by Rider, C. P.
Backing me against the tiled wall, he reached for the soap, working it into a foamy white lather. Then he soaped up my arms, running his hands from shoulders to fingertips, sliding my arms up over my head and holding my wrists with one hand as he dragged the other down my body, skimming my breasts, fingers running over my belly and hips.
Keep your arms over your head.
He released my wrists and knelt, reaching for the soap, holding my gaze as he worked his way from my feet up to my hips, purposely skipping the one place I really wanted him to touch.
Then he did it all over again.
By the time he made it up to my neck the second time, I was reaching for him. Whenever I dropped my arms, though, Lucas gently pushed them back into place.
After the third time, I wanted to scream in frustration and need. He finally set the soap back into the holder, nestled his mouth into the spot between my shoulder and neck, and kissed his way to my ear.
"My turn." He draped my arms over his shoulders and curved his hands around my thighs, lifted me against him, soaping his body with the slick lather on mine. Our mouths met as our bodies slipped and slid and caressed. He danced me beneath the spray, heated water sluicing over both of us, our hands helping with the rinsing, and by the time we were clean, I was desperate for him.
"You are beautiful, do you know that?" His voice trembled as he wrapped a fluffy towel around me. "Do you? Because I can remind you, if you’d like. Every hour on the hour? I can set an alarm."
My breath was coming in fast and hard, as if I'd sprinted out of the shower instead of stepped out. "Lucas."
"Ah, my sweet Neely, I can see that your memory has failed you, so I'll help you out." He lifted me onto the vanity countertop and stepped between my legs. "These thighs. Strong and firm and smooth—like the rest of you, except for maybe here. This part of you is soft. I can think of only one other spot that's softer." He cupped my breasts in his hands and kissed and nibbled and licked, delicate little brushes of lips, teeth, and tongue that drove me wild. He took his time, but when I wrapped my legs around his waist and urged him closer, he started talking again. "Your eyes give you away, you know. Every time I think you might walk out, I peer into those glimmering brown depths and see that you're still with me."
"Always," I whispered.
"Because you're mine," he whispered back with a little growl.
"And you're mine," I growled back, scoring a genuine laugh from him.
"Always." His smile softened. "Your hair makes me crazy. All these dark brown curls, and the chestnut highlights you can see so clearly in the daylight. The first time I saw you I wanted to wrap one of these curls around my finger and watch it bounce away. Waiting for permission was agony."
"Permission?" My left eyebrow hiked up. "You didn't wait for permission."
"Come on. I waited until I knew you liked me. I tried hard not to push, Neely."
"No, you did not, Lucas. But I don't care. I just wish you would push now." I ran my hands up his chest and throat and into his hair, using my hold on him to drag his mouth back down to mine.
He kissed me, then took my face into his hands and ran his thumb over my lower lip. "There's such light inside you. You remind me of a summer day. Pure sunshine."
"Lucas." My hands fell away from him. I closed my eyes, let his words wash over me.
"I love every inch of you, inside and out." He kissed his way down my body. "Every satiny inch." He nipped at my thighs with his teeth, shoving them open with his legs as he lowered his mouth to the skin he'd described as my softest, driving me crazy with sweeps and flicks of his tongue. "Sugar cookie, you even taste like sunshine."
I was close and he knew it. When I reached for him this time, he didn't fight me. He stood up straight and let me tighten my legs around him. He didn't resist as I grasped his length and tilted my hips—he'd reached the end of his control, too.
"Neely." He gripped my waist, lifting me as he slid inside my body.
Home. Every time we made love it was like a homecoming. This man was the other half of my soul—something my body had figured out long before the rest of me.
Mate? Was there really such a thing as a true mate? At times like this, I believed it.
We rocked together, our pace quickening as my orgasm broke over me, goosebumps prickling my skin, adrenaline rushing through my bloodstream, a cry tearing from my throat. Lucas came right after, gasping and shaking, and clasping me against him.
Even after, when my skin and heart and mind had calmed, we stayed in place, holding tight to each other. It was as if we were afraid we'd lose each other if we let go.
Lucas took my hand and led me to his bed. He wrapped himself around me, his chin on my shoulder, one hand tunneled into my hair, the other curled around my breast. We spooned like that, still and silent, until he fell asleep.
My mind soared and dipped like a wild bird in flight, plummeting past memories of the death of my uncle and the other Sundance beta wolves, snatching up threats and accusations from Farrah and Dan and the wolf creature, gliding into guilty thoughts and self-recriminations. Deductions toppled assumptions, all of it spinning in dizzying circles, always leading me back to the same conclusion:
As long as I was around, Sundance—Lucas—was in danger.
I was reminded of one of my uncle's pie-baking lessons. Following an impassioned sermon on the proper type of lard to use when making the Costa family crust, Tío José gave me a short lecture on fresh fruit storage, specifically the plant hormone ethylene.
Ethylene has the ability to set off the ripening process in certain fruits and vegetables. This, he explained, was why he put a banana in a bag with a hard avocado. To soften the avocado for guacamole, to quickly ripen it.
"It's useful, this chemical, but mija, it is good to remember that ripe is a window, a moment in time when the fruit is safe to eat. You have to watch it closely, so it doesn't spoil."
Ripening was the first step in putrefaction. Leave the avocado and banana in the bag together for too long and you end up with mush.
As I stared down at the hand curved around my breast, I wondered if I wasn't the banana to Lucas's avocado. I worried that his continued proximity to me would eventually spoil us both.
"I'm allergic to avocados, so I'd have to be the banana."
"You aren't allergic to them; you just don't like them. And stop eavesdropping in my head, banana." I shoved the comforter aside and padded into the bathroom. The sun was beginning to rise, and orange and pink rays of light speared through the window.
When I emerged again, Lucas was sitting up in bed, the comforter shoved aside, the sheet draped over his bare hips. He was a beautiful man, perfectly formed, and I loved exploring his body, loved exploring him. The way I loved Lucas Blacke defied all reason, especially considering his big, fat mouth.
"Hey, I don't have a fat mouth."
"That was a trap. I knew you were in there again. Keep out unless you're invited." I swiped one of his oversized T-shirts out of a drawer and tugged it over my head. "We had a deal, Lucas Blacke."
"I know, Neely Costa MacLeod. I wasn't trying. Sometimes my head sneaks into yours without my knowledge. I think it might be my Smilodon doing it." He scowled at the shirt. "Take that off. It's feo."
I'd taught him the Spanish word for ugly and he'd liked it so much he'd begun using it all the time. "This shirt is not feo. It's comfy."
Lucas looked at the shirt and then at my expression. "It's a shield. You're blocking me in your head and with your clothing. Don't do that. Talk to me."
He was right. I was putting up barriers between us because I was worried and scared. Maybe that wasn't the best way to handle my fear—or my relationship.
I sighed and ticked my worries and fears off on my fingers. "One, there's a wolf creature threatening Sundance in some diabolical spiritual mission to hunt me down. Two, my dad is lying to me about my birth mom's spiking abilities and I'm going to have to confront him. Again. Three, I am trying like mad to h
old onto my bakery and preserve my financial independence. I am handling all of this and it feels like I'm slowly losing my mind."
"Cut yourself some slack. You just went through a traumatic experience, being held prisoner in a sanctuary, and you're still recovering. After I had to kill Suyin, I went to sea for two months to recover. You went through hell and then came home, fixed up your bakery, and immediately started baking again."
I plopped onto the bed and he eased up behind me. "And tonight you had the hell scared out of you by some lunatic wolf creature. Do you have any idea how strong you are?"
He was wrong about that. So wrong.
"The creature said his leader wanted to hit me with a hammer and then collect the pieces and turn me into an idol for his cause." I laughed sadly. "I'm already in pieces. We can move straight to the idol stage."
"Most people are fragmented. Life tends to do that to us." He kissed my head. "We won't turn into a bag of mush, either. You're not going to over-ripen me."
"What if I do? I don't even know who I am, not really. The mom I thought was my mom was a freaking secret agent. The dad I thought was human is an alpha shifter capable of blocking me out of his brain. My real mom was a telepath—if my father can be believed, and we both know he can't—so she was probably a spiker like me, or something worse."
He scooted closer. "You're still you. That's in stone, Neely."
"Lucas, I'm scared I'll do something to ruin us."
"You, too? Because I'm also scared I'll do something to mess this up. I think about it a lot, actually, which you'd know if you peeked into my head the way I do yours."
"What if I hurt you the way I hurt those shifters back at the sanctuary?" I wrapped my arms around my middle. "I'd never forgive myself."
"Don't you think I have those same thoughts? What if I shifted to Smilodon and fell into that berserker rage of mine and tore you apart?" He pulled my back against his chest and we both stared through the floor-length bedroom window at the sun ascending the horizon, at golden morning light gilding jagged rocks and desert scrub. "I've never had anything as good as this in my life. Every minute I think I'm going to say or do something stupid and push you away or hurt you. I'm always worried, and you fight me when I try to protect you."
Annoyed, I asked, "Is this the part where you ask me to join your group again?"
He sighed. "It would give you another layer of protection—"
"No," I said sharply. "I told you why I won't."
"Because if I'm your alpha leader, I can force you to do things and that makes our relationship unbalanced because you think you'll be submissive to me." He rattled off my reason in a bored voice.
"Don't make fun of me, Lucas."
"I have to. Because if I stopped to think about it, I'd have to come to terms with the fact that even now, after everything we've been through, you don't trust me the way I trust you."
That hurt. "Lucas, I trust you. It's not—"
"No, you don't." He kissed my head again, then climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom. "I'm honestly starting to wonder if you ever will."
Chapter Five
The day after New Year's, I went to see the witches.
"Maybe the wolf is one of those multi-level marketing folks? Did he ask you to buy soap?" Dolores asked as she splashed around the hot spring.
This was no ordinary mineral pool. Dolores and Dottie Fairfield's hot spring had the highest concentration of minerals and earth magic in the desert southwest. It was even comfortable to soak in it during the unbearable low desert summers in Sundance, because when you emerged from its warm waters, your body was cool and energized. It was reputed to alleviate arthritis, indigestion, mild forms of insanity, and the aftereffects of demonic possession, but I wasn't sure I believed that last one.
Sadly, the spring didn't cure headaches or stress, but a soak was often paired with booze, so that was nearly as good. The witches used wine to power their magic—at least, that was their story—which they infused into their slowly awakening tower. Their homemade wine was lip-puckeringly sweet, though, so I stuck to Dottie's homemade prickly pear margaritas. Usually. Tonight, I'd decided to pass on drinks altogether.
"I'm starting to regret calling you, smart aleck." I slipped out of my coverup, kicked off my shoes, and slid into the hot spring with her. I relaxed by degrees, from toes to shoulders. It was bread day and that always took a toll on my back, arms, and feet. I wondered how my tío had done it for so long, even with enhanced healing abilities.
"Oh, hush. I'm just trying to lighten the mood. Dot and I've been discussing this since you called us yesterday. You're sure it was a wolf shifter? Couldn't have been anything else?"
"It was wolf-like." I lifted my hand out of the mineral spring and watched droplets fall from my fingertips like crystals. When the night air became a little too cool against my damp skin, I dunked it back into the warm water. "To be honest, it looked like something out of the lab of a mad scientist."
"Huh." Dolores crossed her arms and gave me an uneasy look. "If it's a wolf shifter, it won't be easy to narrow the list of suspects. There is a slew of those fellas out there."
"Tell me about it." I sank lower, the water splashing my throat. Magic moved through me with a low-grade hum, enlivening my senses without overstimulating them. "Why is that do you think?"
"Wolves can survive brutal conditions, so I imagine that when the human world got too close, the shifters all changed into wolves and lived in the wild until they were little more than a legend, a story told around the fire by elders the younger humans considered foolish and superstitious. Wolves are a natural American species, so the arrangement probably worked out well—except for the human elders."
"Makes sense. Young people can be a little judgy." I winked at her.
She chuckled at the reminder of how I'd been when we first met. "Yeah, but some of 'em come around. The good ones."
We soaked for a while without saying anything. I spoke up first. "Dolores, I think this wolf might have something to do with the sanctuary where I was held. The words he used were very much like the ones the warden—er, Garrett Harris, the man who held me there—used when talking about paranormals. He wanted to eradicate us from the face of the planet. He had personal reasons, but I got the idea there was more behind it."
"Humans have tried to eradicate us since the beginning of time," she replied. "It hasn't worked so far. I have no reason to think it will work now."
"Imagine if they had a murdering telepath-spiker-shifter on their side," I muttered.
"That would even the odds quite a bit." She frowned in concentration. "But remember, there are weapons that can be used against you. Charms, even human weapons. You aren't invincible."
"You'd have to convince Lucas to stop protecting me for long enough to take me out."
"Ha. It would be easier to convince the sky it was pink," she said with a grin. Almost immediately, the grin dropped away. "Hey, do you remember a few months ago when I told you something was on its way here?"
Something is on its way here … No idea what it is, but it feels powerful and ill-tempered … Might be nothing, but you never know.
"Yes, I remember you saying that was why you'd asked Dottie to stay and help wake up the tower instead of summering with her daughter and son-in-law in Sweden. Why do you bring it up?"
"I brought it up then because I had a strong feeling about it."
"Yes, I recall."
She rested her head on the muddy bank and gazed up at the darkening desert sky, clear as water and alive with stars. "I bring it up now because that feeling is back—and it's stronger."
Before I could respond, Dottie popped through the opening in the mesquite trees that surrounded the mineral pool. Screwbean pods clacked together like castanets as she pushed the branches aside.
"I heard you two talking about Dolores's premonition." Dottie swept past me, the hem of her purple-flowered muumuu swishing around her calves. "Tell her, sister. She needs to know."
<
br /> A chill, which had nothing to do with the brisk night air, shivered through me. "You said feeling, not premonition."
The witch sank beneath the surface up to her forehead, then popped up again. "Didn't want to worry you." Dolores glanced at her younger sister, but there was no reproach in her gaze, only concern.
"Tell me," I said.
The elder witch cleared her throat. "In the dreams, there's a wolf. He's larger than life, with claws like scythes and teeth like blades. Seven feet tall on his hind legs, three hundred pounds of muscular, furred flesh, eyes that glow with the colors of the moon."
My heart stuttered. "That sounds like the wolf who accosted me outside the Dusty Cactus."
Dottie took up where Dolores left off. "Where the wolf goes, he brings not only suffering of a physical nature, but is able to haunt the daydreams and nightmares of those he stalks."
"Haunt?" I frowned. "That's a strange way to put it."
Dottie and Dolores looked at each other, then at me. "Not when you consider the source," they said in unison.
"The source?"
Dolores continued, "The wolf we've been seeing in our dreams—"
"Our dreams? You're both dreaming about this shapeshifter?"
They nodded. "The wolf we're seeing is no ordinary shapeshifter."
"So, he's a prehistoric?" I'd feared that might be the case, since he didn't look or react like a normal shifter.
"Yes, but also, no," Dolores said.
"Gee, thanks for clearing that up." I climbed out of the mineral pool and grabbed my towel.
"My sister isn't being purposely vague," Dottie said. "It's the truth. Yes, the wolf is a prehistoric, but it's … more dangerous than that."
"What could be more dangerous than a prehistoric wolf shifter?"
"A dire wolf."
"But aren't they just big wolves? The way Lucas is a big tiger? I mean, not technically, since the Smilodon is only distantly related to modern lions, tigers, and cheetahs. Some have speculated saber-tooth tigers have no connection to modern felids at all, but—"
"Good grief, we get it. You watch documentaries." Dolores rolled her eyes.
