They exited onto the third floor, Samuel’s worry tangible. Walking side by side in silence, Abby wished there was some way to ease his burden—to provide solace. It scared her how fiercely she wanted that privilege.
They stopped at her apartment door, Samuel’s gaze roaming over every curve and angle of her face, narrowing in on the bruises Abby’s makeup didn’t completely hide.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, gently cupping her unmarred cheek with a calloused palm. “Any dizziness or headaches? Do your ribs hurt?”
“Fine. No. And only when I breathe,” she told him on a soft laugh, hoping to lighten the somber mood.
He leaned in until their lips were an inch apart. Until they were sharing the very same air. “Then don’t breathe,” he whispered, closing the small gap.
The oxygen stole from her lungs as his mouth molded to hers.
Abby found herself clinging to his biceps, up on her toes—and not breathing at all.
Samuel’s thumb applied gentle pressure to the corner of her mouth, demanding entry. She conceded willingly, parting her lips on a contented sigh. The masculine grunt of his approval reverberated down her throat, echoed in her heart and curled her toes.
Sweetly mindful of her tender ribs, he carefully encircled her waist and drew her up the length of the corded thigh he slid between her legs. Abby gave him her weight, her core aching from the friction of the slow glide. She stifled a moan. Or thought she had until Samuel’s smile curved against her lips. His fingers plunged into the hair near her temples, tugging her head back and exposing her throat. His breath was ragged when he finally broke the heated kiss, his mouth dropping to sear the hollow between her collarbones.
Unable to resist any longer, Abby swept her nails gently through his mussed hair, stroking the silky strands and forgetting all about Plan A, B, and C.
Samuel’s lips scorched a trail along her flushed upper chest, canines growing sharper with each sensual pass. He rocked Abby hips against him rhythmically with a forearm beneath her butt. Her toes scarcely touched the ground as she straddled his hard thigh, gasping at the sweet sensation. The throbbing in her center built and her fingers tensed on his scalp. She arched, wordlessly begging for more, stunned by the strength of her desire.
His pointed fangs grazed the spot where neck met shoulder, and Abby’s heart jumped. Not in fear but anticipation, jolted by the realization she wanted his bite—wanted his Mark on her body. Badly.
The smell of evergreens filled her nose; the crispness saturating her lungs. And yet she still couldn’t get enough of his scent.
He lapped and nipped at the sensitive flesh of her throat, his lips gradually moving lower. They brushed the swell of a breast, tracked down the center of her torso, and then up again, closing over a lace-covered nipple.
Abby hissed, every nerve sparking as he latched onto the hardened tip and sucked it through the filmy layer of her bra. His hand slipped from her hair, settling between her shoulder blades to hold her steady. She strained to get closer while he drove her insane with his teeth and tongue.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said hoarsely, pausing the exquisite torture, his breath warming her skin. “I want you.” Samuel pressed her lower body closer, the barrier of his clothing doing nothing to hide the thick arousal pushing into her stomach. “So goddamn much.”
The raw need in his voice shot straight to her heart, wrapped it in steel bands, and squeezed until she thought it would explode. Her hands smoothed Samuel’s hair from his forehead, the eyes of his wolf meeting hers. “I—”
Samuel snarled deep in his throat. In a fluid motion of startling speed, he tucked Abby behind him. The movement so abrupt she grabbed a handful of his t-shirt to stay on her feet.
“Button up,” he ordered, muttering curses about “fucking hallways” under his breath as she heard the ding of an elevator door opening.
Head swimming, Abby looked down. How had her blouse gotten undone?
Cheeks hot, she released his black tee, closing her top with clumsy fingers. Lighthearted chatter drifted to them from the other corridor.
“Done.” Abby rubbed her damp palms on her teal-colored pants, licking dry lips. She tasted pine. What had she been thinking to let the kiss go so far?
Samuel glanced over his shoulder, not budging an inch from his position as her shield. His eyes raked her twice before satisfied enough to step away. She decided it was the ideal time to retreat, using a shaking keycard to unlock the door.
He followed her inside.
Plan C. What was Plan C?
“Thanks for walking me to my room.” Abby went straight to the kitchen. Ostrich. Head in the sand—Plan C. “Do you want a water to take with you?” Perfect. Not obvious at all.
“I’m good.”
“You sure? How about a Diet Coke?” She opened the refrigerator, still not facing him.
“Abby…”
“Sorry, I don’t have any beer. Can’t stand the stuff. Never could.” She grabbed a bottled water for herself, ready to usher him out. Needing him to leave, mostly because she wanted him to stay. Just wanted him.
“Had my first sip at fifteen. Thought it was the most revolting stuff I ever tasted,” she rambled, looking everywhere but at the large Ferwyn standing in the middle of her living room. “But you know teenagers. I wanted to fit in. Be cool. I drank three entire cans and was as sick as a dog the next day. My brother was livid.” Her eyes began to sting.
Shut up, Abby. Just shut up and let him go.
“He made me give him the names of the upperclassman who gave it to me. I think he threatened them within an inch of their lives because they avoided me like the plague from that day until…” Until the car accident destroyed her life and she never saw any of her classmates again. “Conlan never told our parents what happened. But after giving me an earful for being incredibly stupid, he made me swear to call him if I ever felt pressured into drinking again. Or if I got in over my head with a boy. No matter if he was on a date or hanging with his friends, he promised he’d always come get me.” Abby felt the lone tear on her cheek and was horrified, but for some reason, she couldn’t stop talking. “He even made me a hangover sandwich.”
Samuel was next to her in an instant, his arms wrapped around her, his chin resting on the top of her head.
“A what?” he asked quietly, as though afraid she might shatter if he spoke too loudly.
“Peanut butter, banana, and honey on toast.” Her forehead plunked onto his chest. “Works every time.”
“He sounds like a good big brother.” His hands ran up and down her spine, his cheek rubbing side to side, the bristle on his face catching in her hair.
“I miss him,” she told him. “So much.” His hold tightened on her waist, drew her impossibly closer to the heat of his body. Abby released a shuddering breath.
Samuel’s phone rang. He ignored it.
She pulled away and twisted the cap off her water bottle. “You better get that.” She took a sip. “I’m fine. Really. Take the call.”
Samuel swore, but pulled out his cell.
Abby went into the bathroom and shut the door, giving him privacy.
Samuel’s deep voice was muffled as she wet a washcloth and pressed it to her eyes, her traitorous heart loving the sound of the wholly masculine timbre.
What are you doing, Abigail Colleen?
When the apartment went quiet, she returned to the main living area. Samuel was sitting on her couch, his head in his hands.
“There’s been another fire,” he said.
“Where?” Her own worries forgotten.
“Out in old Germantown.” Samuel swept his hand tiredly over his face. “The private residence of an Anwyll family.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No, Billy and his wife got out in time.” He moved to stand directly in front of her, leaned in, and kissed her forehead. Then he headed for the door.
“Do they know who started it?” she asked.
“Yea
h,” he said without turning, his shoulders high and stiff. “It looks like it was another witch.”
Chapter 16
Samuel’s paws dug into the soft earth, dirt flying as he zigzagged around a tall tree and plowed through the dense underbrush. Stray branches scraped lightly over his thick pelt. The night air was mild, the promise of summer’s suffocating humidity a week or two away.
The forested acreage just north of Mud Island was Rose’s private property, acquired shortly after the 1931 signing of the Fae Accord. The city of Memphis sold the prime real estate to the queen because it gave Ferwyn males a safe area to run—a place away from the Untouched population. And although not designated foreign soil, until the recent fire few humans had dared to trespass on it.
Usually, when Samuel stretched his wolf legs, he’d be with clanmates, reveling in the companionship of the pack. Tonight, he ran alone.
Raising his muzzle high in the air, he slowed to a ground-eating trot, allowing the earthy smell of the Mississippi and the surrounding castanet serenade of the cicadas to alleviate some of his restlessness.
Shifters had existed secretly among humankind for centuries, but Samuel’s sire and other Alphas like him understood it would be impossible to conceal their true natures forever. The advancement of technology and the explosion of the Untouched population made discovery inevitable. So, with the support of their Fae Touched kindred, the Ferwyn decided to go public and it almost started the first war with humans on this side of the ocean. Prejudice is a powerful thing. The fear of being knocked down another notch on the food chain—panic-inducing.
Thankfully, cooler heads eventually prevailed. The years after the signing of the treaty and the adaption of the original sanctuaries into self-governing municipalities, with more to follow, were surprisingly peaceful ones. Clans across the newly formed nine regions prospered.
Two decades after the rocky introduction of the Ferwyn race, Samuel’s mother died unexpectedly. His sire surrendered to the Glaofin’s call within a year of her death; his decision to permanently roam the land as a wolf leaving Samuel Alpha of the Walker Pack at the tender age of fifty. Unheard of in shifter society. A mere ten years after becoming one of many Alphas in the queen’s territory, Rose offered Samuel the Commander of the Guard position, the job vacated by a retiring Anwyll. The status would elevate him to the third most influential Fae Touched in the ESC Region, ranked below the prince—and problematically—above his Clan príoh.
Samuel had done his best to maintain harmony between all the races since accepting the prominent role, but he feared the days of amity were over.
The attempted assassination on Rose and the attack at Chess carried the stench of betrayal. The increasing violence by Untouched on the magical community, the knights employing witches, the rise in Ferwyn outcasts, and the reappearance of the Na’fhuil seemed to be inexorably intertwined. He had to discover how. And why.
Concern for his Clan, his region, and his halfblood thrummed in his veins as Samuel ambled across the felled oak bridging the narrow inlet that divided the island from the woodlands.
His halfblood?
No Ferwyn male could positively determine if an unmated female could become his Ca’anam until after the second Mark. But the more powerful the alpha, the greater the pull their wolf would feel toward a potential truemate. Samuel was the most dominant shifter in the territory, and Abby felt like his.
His wolf huffed in agreement.
When he took on the responsibility of príoh, he made himself a target to every mature and ambitious Alpha in the region who thought Samuel was too young and inexperienced to lead their Clan. Faced with bloody dominance battles to hold onto the lofty position, he’d set aside his desire to find a truemate, unwilling to risk the life of his Ca’anam if he died during one of the vicious duels. But he was in his prime now and Alpha of one of the strongest packs in the country. No other male had contested his right to rule the ESC’s Clan in over a decade.
Samuel had been devoted to his kind his entire life, and although it wasn’t in any alpha’s nature to be self-serving, he decided for once to be selfish. He wasn’t giving Abby up. Not yet. Maybe not ever. His primal side had known from the beginning she could be his. It had taken the civilized part a little longer to accept and interpret the signals.
The acquiescence along with the translation came into screaming clarity right around the time the incredibly brave, amazingly soft-hearted, and foolish female tried to stop a blood-crazed Dádhe with nothing more than a fragile piece of glass.
Samuel never lost control of his baser instincts, not even as a young pup. But since meeting Abby, the reins holding his nature at bay had become brittle; snapping like twigs when the vampire struck her at Chess. Fury had blinded him then, every higher thought process switching off. Governed by the primitive drive to protect what was his by any means necessary, resuming his human persona had been impossible. His wolf unappeased until Abby’s soft strokes calmed him enough to convert.
Samuel ground to a halt, burnished gold fur bristling, chest vibrating in renewed anger. Shaking his head hard enough to hurt, the all-consuming rage at the Dádhe who dared attack Abby so viciously slowly receded.
It still disturbed him that she thought the trauma suffered was minor in comparison to using Na’fhuil magic. How harmful was it to Rip Walk? Shifters could take a lot of damage and healed quickly, but they fucking felt it.
He broke into another lope, eager to get back and make sure Abby was recovering as well as she seemed to be. Returning to civilization, he passed the distribution warehouse on the northern end of the island and arrived at the complex’s lobby minutes later. The pungent odor of fallen leaves and freshly cut lumber of Ferwyn magic surrounded him as his bones shattered and mended, reshaping into an entirely different form. He was on two legs, fully clothed, and en route to her apartment before the burn of conversion dissipated.
Samuel smiled recalling Abby’s expression when she exited the bathroom to find him waiting in her bed. Her mouth filled with toothpaste, blond hair in wild disarray, blue eyes huge—clothed in that skimpy outfit.
Samuel lost his grin.
Those tiny pink shorts and the barely-there top had almost been his undoing. He had to hide the erection that sprang the second Abby wiped the foam from her lips. His mind and body going places it shouldn’t before she was fully recovered.
But she’d been so adorable, especially when attempting to worm her way from underneath his arm, thinking him asleep. His wolf nature couldn’t help playing with her a bit. Though the game had backfired. Her warm body pressing against his had Samuel fighting the desire to render the first bite right then and there.
And he tried not to think about how good Abby felt in his arms in front of her apartment earlier. The way her delicate frame fit perfectly to his bulkier one. The softness of her lush mouth as she sweetly yielded to his kiss. The passion revealed in the feminine little gasps and moans she made when he’d rocked her on his thigh. The slender column of her vulnerable throat. The curve of her breast as he tasted her skin. Her goddamn smell.
Standing outside Abby’s suite, Samuel groaned. What if she thought they should date first or some such shit? He needed to explain the first Mark was the declaration of a new relationship. He honestly had no idea how he was going to keep his hands—or fangs—off her much longer. In over a century of life, he’d never wanted a woman like he desired Abby. Never felt the incredible pull of a possible truemate.
Taking a deep breath, he ignored his aching cock and listened to the slow, even respirations on the other side of the door. She was asleep.
He retrieved the master key card from his pocket, and without hesitation, entered her apartment. Maybe an ordinary man would have a smidgen of guilt for breaking in uninvited. But as knowledgeable as Samuel’s race was about the niceties of Untouched culture and acceptable behavior—he was not human. He was an Alpha. A Ferwyn male who’d found a female he wanted to start the Dance with. There was no reason
to follow rules that didn’t apply to him—to them.
Samuel toed off his boots, vision adjusting quickly to the darkness. He walked unerringly to the king-sized bed, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it onto the sofa. Her rhythmic breathing comforted his wolf, drawing his beast inexorably closer to the source of the reassuring sound. He needed to wake her, make sure there were no ill effects from the trauma she’d been through. But not yet. For now, he just wanted to watch her sleep.
Abby was lying on her side, knees bent, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other resting across her chest. She mumbled something indistinguishable, and Samuel leaned in to listen. Her hair covered her face. He whisked the blond tendrils from her cheek with the tips of his fingers, surprised when they came away wet.
“Abby,” he said softly. The faint scent of wood smoke drifted to his nose.
Samuel sniffed. She was wearing a large man’s shirt over another set of minuscule pajamas. The smell was old and weak, but definitely male. Growling low in his throat, he began removing the offending plaid flannel, trying to rouse her from the troubling dream at the same time.
“Wake up, baby,” he said louder, tugging it off by the sleeve and slinging it away.
Whose shirt was this?
Abby whimpered, still partially asleep. The sound was so pitiful Samuel climbed on the bed and lifted her onto his lap. Leaning against the headboard, he shifted her slight weight, gathered her close, and tucked her beneath his chin. He stroked her bare shoulder, crooning over and over that it would be okay.
“Tell me about your nightmare,” he said once she was fully awake, his tone filled with compulsion. The vibrations of an Alpha’s vocals would sway her, and he didn’t give a damn about the ethics involved in using his magic that way. Her heartbreaking pain was pissing him off, and all he could think about was stopping it—immediately. Without the tie of Mating Marks, his voice was the only way to influence a race not his own. It was another reason to bind Abby to him sooner rather than later.
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