Run (Caged Trilogy Book 1)

by H G Lynch

  With his body as close as it was, I felt the shudder that ran through him and heard his breath catch in his throat. The small sound rolled into a low, rumbling growl, and he released my hands, so he could wrap his arms around me. He kissed me, and lightning exploded through my body, every inch sizzling with the sweet shock of it. His mouth was brutal on mine, demanding, excited, hungry. I could taste the wildness on his lips, the moonlight on his tongue.

  With a moan, I sank my fingers into his hair, clutching at him and wanting him closer even though we couldn’t possibly get any closer with clothes on. Violent waves of desire rushed over me, smothering me and tossing me, and I was completely at their mercy—completely at Spencer’s mercy. And he was entirely at mine. I’d never felt so vulnerable or so empowered, especially when I scraped my nails lightly down the back of his neck, and he made a helpless noise of desire, somewhere between a groan and a growl.

  So fast it made me dizzy, he lifted me and spun, dropping me on the bed. Panic skittered through my head, making my muscles tense, and he paused, sensing my anxiety. Tearing his mouth from mine with some obvious difficulty, he pulled back and stared down at me. His eyes were hooded and stormy, the blue a dark ring around his dilated pupils, sparkling with gold glitter. We were both panting, both trembling, both wanting. Spencer’s hands were half-curled into the mattress on either side of my body, and he hovered just slightly over me. The breeze blew cool air over us, but I still felt far too hot.

  Quietly, his voice so ragged I could barely understand his words, Spencer murmured, “Tilly, it’s okay. We don’t have to…”

  His mouth made a funny shape, and I was sure I blushed, but I was already burning all over, so I couldn’t feel it. He saw it, though, and lifted one hand off the mattress, holding and balancing himself on the other. He touched my face very gently, a stark contrast to the way he’d been kissing me. The wildness in his eyes softened a little.

  “We can wait, Tilly. This is all so new to both of us. Give it time. Give us time.” He smiled, a fragile thing as tender and mysterious as the moonlight stroking through his midnight-black hair.

  Slowly, I nodded, relaxing. I raised my hand and brushed dark strands out of his eyes, watching them flicker blue and gold under his lashes. It was a constant fight against the wolf, instinct pushing and the boy resisting. I knew it couldn’t be easy for him to wait when his every animalistic impulse was snarling for him not to. I knew he wanted me, and damn, did I ever want him. But he was right—always, he was right. I wasn’t ready. It was too much in too short a time. We’d known each other less than a month, and while that must have felt like months to his wolf, which had already chosen me and wasn’t changing its mind, it was hardly any time for two people to fall in love.

  With a cheeky smile, I said, “We’re still going to make out, though, right?”

  He shifted to lie next to me instead of hovering over me, and I suspected it was because the way we were slotted together was way too provocative. He laughed, and I felt the sound rumble through his chest. His smile was blinding in the darkness, and he nodded.

  “If that’s what you want, it’s fine by me.”

  He leaned in, sweeping his mouth over mine gingerly. He took his time with this kiss, really took his time, even as his left hand coasted down my side to the hem of my shorts and slid down my bare thigh, drawing circles on my skin. I let my own fingers roam his body, his biceps to his bare chest to his solid abs.

  I traced the curve of his hipbone and suddenly remembered something I’d noticed before. I was kind of ashamed to admit I’d noticed, but it was a little hard not to have, considering how often he showed up naked in front of me.

  I broke the kiss and asked, “What’s your tattoo of?”

  He stared at me with dazed, golden eyes for a moment. Then he blinked, and his eyes were blue again, the gears in his head slowly churning to life again. “My tat? Oh, the one on my hip?” he said in a tone of dawning realisation.

  I raised my eyebrows at him. “What, you have more than one?”

  His answering smile was the definition of wicked. “Actually, I do.”

  I opened my mouth to ask where it was, then shut my mouth without saying a thing, feeling colour rise to my cheeks. I decided that if I hadn’t seen it, it was probably somewhere I had deliberately not been looking, and I didn’t want to know.

  Instead, I simply said, “Yes, the one on your hip.”

  He grinned, and I bit my lip. He rolled onto his back and peeled back the waistband of his jeans, and I averted my eyes, blowing out an unsteady breath as I fixed my gaze out the window. He chuckled and I was sure he rolled his eyes.

  “It’s okay, you can look. I’m not getting more indecent than that. But you can see the tat.”

  Hesitantly, I looked down to his hip, catching his eyes briefly on the way. There, against the fair skin just under his hipbone, was a strange symbol like shape permanently inked. It looked like an X cutting through an M. Curiously, I reached to touch it, and pulled my hand back shyly, glancing at him for permission.

  His expression answered mine, and I hesitantly traced the shape of the tattoo with my fingertips. Spencer made a soft sound—so soft I almost didn’t hear it. I heard the stifled moan of delight, and I took my hand away quickly. I glanced at him again, under my lashes, and saw his eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Clearly, he was having self-control issues. I decided not to push him, and sat up, folding my legs modestly under me.

  Tucking my hair behind my ears, I asked, “So, what is it?”

  After a second, Spencer let his waistband fall back in place, covering most of the tattoo and allowing my heart to stop trying to pound its way out of my chest. Carefully, he sat up, putting his back against the wall and turning his face to the cool breeze coming in the window. His eyes were still gold, and his voice low, but he seemed to be better in control without me touching him.

  “It’s a rune,” he said, flicking his gaze to me sideways, “Well, technically it’s two runes, from the Elder Futhark Alphabet. An old Norse alphabet, I think. The X is Gebo. It means Gift. As in, the wolf is my gift. The M is Mannaz, and it means Man. It reminds me I’m not just an animal, although sometimes I wish I was. The tattoo is a symbol of what I am, both man and wolf.” He touched his hip with an absent gesture, his eyes sliding from me to the moon hanging just above the treetops outside, a mysterious ghost against the black, starry sky.

  Fascinated, I asked, “What’s your other tattoo of?”

  Turning back to me, he smiled and lifted the hem of his pant leg, showing a little black shape on his ankle. That would explain why I hadn’t seen it before. It was so small, no one would never notice it, if they didn’t already know it was there. It looked like a squared off, upside-down U, with one arm shorter than the other.

  “Uruz. It’s a strength rune. I think, in some obscure way, it also means Rain in Icelandic.” He explained with a shrug.

  I laughed, and he gave me a strange look, folding down the leg of his jeans again.

  “What’s funny?” he asked. I shook my head, but he pressed, “Come on, explain why you’re laughing. You don’t believe in the runes?”

  I shook my head again, this time in negation to his assumption. “No, no, that’s not it. I’m a witch, remember? Of course I believe in the power of runes. I was just thinking it’s funny that your tattoo means Rain because, well…” I hesitated, feeling silly and embarrassed, but he gave me that intent stare and I sighed. “Well, because you smell like rain.”

  I hunched my shoulders, bowing my head. My ears burned. Would he think I was weird for noticing how he smelled? I hoped not. I mean, come on, he was a wolf for God’s sake, he could tell from my scent when I was feeling things, sinful things. That was weird, and yes, a little embarrassing. Maybe more than a little.

  Spencer blinked. “I smell like rain?” he asked, sounding both surprised and curious.

  I nodded. “Rain and burning wood.”

  “Hmm,” he murmured
, looking thoughtful.

  Abruptly, he leaned forward and I tried not to flinch. He sniffed my hair, and I laughed quietly. He leaned back, his lids half-lowered.

  “Mmh, you smell like wild roses and freesia. Delicious.” He hummed in delight.

  I blushed. I’d never been called delicious before.

  Aware that it was getting late, and that the conversation had strayed, I started to worry. “Spencer?” I said cautiously.

  His smile faded as he registered my tone. His eyes darkened to their usual blue, and his eyebrows pulled down.

  In a whisper, I asked, “What’s going to happen?” I wasn’t sure if I meant what was going to happen with our relationship, since Frank had found out and essentially banned us from seeing each other, or if I meant what was going to happen with the witches and their attacks on the wolves.

  With a grim expression, Spencer lay down and patted the space on the mattress next to him. Obediently, I lay down next to him, and he looped an arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest. I rested my forehead against his collarbones, breathing in his rainwater-and-bonfire scent.

  “I don’t know, Tilly,” he admitted quietly. “I really don’t know.”

  I sighed and closed my eyes, snuggling against him. Despite the breeze fluttering the curtains, I was perfectly warm in his arms. “Will you stay?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound needy.

  Spencer kissed the top of my head. “Of course,” he whispered into my hair.

  I felt myself already starting to slip away, safe and drowsy with him next to me. The last thing I heard before falling asleep was Spencer’s voice warm in my ear.

  “Sweet dreams, Tilly.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  ** Tilly **

  I woke up alone, with warm sunlight pouring onto my face through the open curtains over the window. The space in the bed beside me was empty and cool, letting me know that Spencer had left some time before. He’d closed the window, but not the curtains, which I suspected meant he’d actually gone out the window and closed it from the outside. A little part of me was sad that he’d left, but I understood why he had. He hadn’t wanted to get caught leaving my cabin, so he’d slipped out early enough that nobody would be hanging about to see him.

  With a sigh, I rolled over and stretched all the way to my toes, groaning appreciatively as my spine cracked, relieving an ache in the small of my back. The sheets were blissfully soft and cool against my skin, and the pillow still held Spencer’s rain storm scent. I smiled, rolling back over and burying my nose in the pillow.

  Memories of the previous night flashed through my head, a tumult of emotions and sensations accompanying the images, and I laughed quietly, slightly giddy. Despite everything—the witches, Frank, and all the complications—I felt good about me and Spencer. Even if we couldn’t be together publicly, we could still secretly be together in private. The idea gave me a thrill, and made me feel wicked.

  Eventually, I got the energy to pull myself out of bed, and almost skipped into the bathroom. The first thing I did was look in the mirror. My hair was a wreck, and my lips looked darker than usual—tender from the wild kissing the night before. I grinned at my bright eyed reflection.

  Wrinkling my nose, I noticed a mark on my collarbone, and tugged down the top of my t-shirt. My face turned pink as I realised I had a love bite. The grey eyes in the mirror widened with surprise. I’d never had a hickey before. I couldn’t even really remember getting it, but things had been a little out of control. My cheeks went from pink to red as I remembered just how unruly it had gotten.

  Just thinking about Spencer’s hands on my bare thighs and his breath hot on my lips, I saw my pupils in my reflection expand into big, round, black holes. Blowing out a breath to calm myself, I blinked and pushed the memories away. Slowly, my pupils dimmed to their normal size, and the achy heat in the pit of my stomach dissolved. I turned away from the mirror and hit the shower, more because I needed the cold water, than because I was particularly dirty. After all, all I’d done between my shower the night before and that morning was sleep—and make out with my hot werewolf boyfriend. Yeah. I cranked the temperature dial on the shower all the way to the blue, as low as it would go, and stepped into the freezing spray.

  After my shower, I grabbed a quick breakfast of chocolate cereal, eating it as I danced around the cabin to Billy Idol’s ‘Dancing With Myself’, which was blaring from a radio I’d found hidden away in a closet in the spare room. The thing was ancient and dusty. I hadn’t been sure it would even work, but when I’d plugged it in, I’d been pleasantly surprised to find it picked up four different stations. I was sticking with the 80’s station because it sure beat the hell out of the techno crap on the others.

  I didn’t want to leave my cabin, knowing that if I did, I’d have to avoid Spencer every time I saw him. So I stayed inside all morning, dusting and washing the floor and such, while listening to the radio. Nobody, not even Dominic, bothered me. Well, not until around lunchtime. It was just a little after one in the afternoon when someone finally came knocking on the door and interrupting my housework. While Steppenwolf’s ‘Born To Be Wild’ poured out of the radio, I danced to the door of the cabin and flung it open, wielding a fluffy blue ledge duster like a sword, pointed right at Desmond’s face.

  Jerking back in surprise, Desmond’s green eyes widened, and he held up his hands. “I surrender! Please don’t dust me to death!” He grinned cheekily.

  I jabbed him in the chest with the end of the duster before lowering it to my side. “What are you doing here?” I asked, baffled to find the other brother standing on my porch in ratty jeans and a faded green t-shirt that matched his eyes.

  Desmond snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, afternoon to you too, Tilly,” he muttered.

  I realised how my question had sounded and felt slightly ashamed. I bowed my head, duly chastised. “Sorry. I’m just surprised. I was expecting Dominic.” I wasn’t sure what it meant that Dominic hadn’t come to see me yet. Was he sulking with me, or mad at me after the day before? I mean, he’d seemed okay with me and Spencer once I’d explained everything, but still. Maybe he’d had time to think about it and decided he didn’t want to be my friend anymore. Maybe he didn’t want to be friends with someone who’d lied to him and snuck around with his half-brother behind his back.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but Dom’s busy dealing with Spencer, so all you get is me.” Desmond flashed his cheeky grin again, and the breeze blew a few wavy strands of hair into his eyes. He pushed them back absently, tucking them behind his ear.

  I blinked. It was the most feminine gesture I’d ever seen him make, and I wondered for a second just how often he had to stop himself from saying or doing something that would him give him away to his father or the pack.

  Before thinking about it, I said, “You told Dominic, didn’t you? About…being…” I hedged around the word, remembering the way he’d winced when I said it before.

  He looked down, his smile fading. He nodded. “Aye, last night. That’s actually sort of why I’m here. I was kind of hoping…I could just hang out with someone who knows. Take a break from…acting.” A splash of red bloomed across the tops of his angular cheekbones, and he shifted uncomfortably.

  I opened the door wider, silently inviting him in. He slunk in with his shoulders hunched, giving me a quick, grateful smile. I frowned.

  “Dominic didn’t take the news well, then?” I asked, concerned. I hadn’t thought Dominic, sweet and understanding as he was, would have a problem with his brother being gay.

  Des shook his head, tapping his fingers nervously on the back of a chair at the dining table. “No, it wasn’t like that exactly. It was more that he was hurt I hadn’t told him sooner. And when he asked who else knew, and I said Spencer…well. He kind of flew off the handle.”

  He glanced at me, and I felt the worry on my face.

  He misread it and said, “It’s okay, I didn’t tell him you knew. He won’t be mad at you. But he wa
s seriously pissed that I’d told Spencer before him. He said something about Spencer knowing everything and stealing everything that he wanted.” Desmond gave me a canny look from under his lashes. “He stormed out after that, but I gathered there was more to his hissy fit than that.”

  I sighed and gestured toward the sofa. I sat, and Desmond sat next to me, an expectant look on his face. I rubbed my hands over my face, my good mood deteriorating. ‘Born on a Bayou’ came on the radio, and I got up to turn it off.

  When I sat down again, I asked, “How mad was he at Spencer last night, exactly?”

  Des made a face, which wasn’t reassuring. “Pretty damn mad. Mad enough that he sprouted fangs and claws and had to go for a run. I don’t think I’ve seen Dom so mad since we were kids, and me and Spence tied him to a tree for a joke.” He smiled faintly at the memory.

  I almost asked why they tied him to a tree, but then I figured it was just the sort of thing boys did to each other.

  Feeling guiltier by the second, I said, “You said Dominic was ‘dealing with Spencer’. What does that mean precisely?” I was worried there would be another fight, and after what I’d witnessed in the clearing, I was scared someone would end up with missing parts.

  “Don’t worry, Dominic was calmer this morning. I think he just went to talk to Spence.” Des paused and grimaced at me, linking his hands together on his knees. He tilted his head down, still looking at me with eerie focus. Quietly, he asked, “What happened yesterday, Tilly?”

  I blew out my breath, slumping back against the sofa cushions. I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling, staring at a nest of cobwebs hanging in the corner of one of the rafters. What happened? A lot happened. I didn’t even know where to begin, how to even start to explain it all to Desmond.

  “It’s complicated,” I muttered, hoping he’d drop it.

  Des just sat back and waited patiently. “I’ve got time.”

  I sighed again and spoke while still staring at the ceiling, because it was easier that way. “God, Des, it’s such a mess. I made a mess of things.” I shook my head, trying to figure out where to start. I bit my lip. “Spencer caught me kissing Dominic,” I said softly, and saw Desmond’s eyebrows shoot up. I groaned at his reaction and went on, “They nearly got into a fight, and I…I had to explain that I’d realised I didn’t love Dom the way I love Spencer, and…” I rambled until my throat closed up suddenly, cutting off my words.