The moment Graham had opened the door to Ned’s and seen Linden, an avalanche of relief had washed over him. She was alive. Not only that, she was healed and a new Lycan—one of the only females he’d ever heard about. And she was his.
That last part brought waves of confusion. He’d never thought about settling down, and even though mating wasn’t marriage, it was still a big commitment. Hell, maybe even bigger than marriage, he didn’t know.
“Shirt off,” Ned snapped.
Graham pulled the navy, fitted flannel shirt over his head and knelt in front of the desk on the far wall. This was going to suck.
“Why?” Ned asked.
The disappointment in the alpha’s voice was so potent, it bit like the first lash. “She was dying. I thought I’d help the process along and let her die peacefully. I didn’t think she’d live.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Not in a million years did I think she’d live.”
Ned sighed and leaned against the table, one leg locked and the whip’s leather tail curling down around him like a pet snake. “Graham, you have an important place in this pack. Being a high-ranking member means you have a responsibility to set an example to these other yahoos. Going out and turning a mate isn’t doing that. How long before they’re going to get the idea women can be turned easier than they thought and start mass murdering the ladies they fancy? That heat blows back on the pack and if the humans figure us out, our entire race will be annihilated or exploited within the year.”
“Ned, I’m so sorry. I thought I was putting her down, not turning her. I’ll explain it all to the boys.”
He flicked his wrist and the whip clapped against the wooden floorboards. “You won’t be able to do it today. This’ll take it out of you. You’ll take the girl and go straight home, you understand? We’ll do her initiation later when I’m not so pissed off at you.”
Graham nodded, miserable. He’d never meant to put the pack in danger or disappoint Ned. The slight man was a good alpha, an understanding leader, strict when he needed to be. He was much better than any leader they’d had before, and yeah, he should’ve thought his actions through. Failing the alpha was a bitter pill to swallow.
“Ready?” Ned asked.
Reaching up, Graham gripped the edge of the desk with both hands. “Ready.”
Chapter Seven
When the door to the back room opened, Graham appeared as an apparition, pale as a corpse and swaying dangerously. Listening to every lash across his skin had flayed Linden’s soul. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered, jumping from the stage and rushing for him. He didn’t have a shirt on and the smell of iron-laden blood filled the room. “Move,” she snapped, shoving her way past men twice her weight.
A hand reached out and grabbed her backside so hard it hurt. She spun and slapped the offender across the face. Her hand stung but the feeling of pure satisfaction was enough to snuff out the discomfort.
An inhuman bellow sounded behind her, so loud she hunched in on herself and covered her ears. Ned was doing an impressive job of holding Graham back, but his silver flecked gaze stayed riveted on her assailant. His face had screwed into something she didn’t recognize but buried instinct surely did. She cowered as the fear of a night terror gurgled up inside of her like choking ash from an erupting volcano. Self-preservation pricked her skin until it felt like a thousand tiny needles punctured it.
Still she moved forward against the power rocketing from his enraged countenance. He’d been holding that raw dominant essence back, which made him more dangerous than she ever could’ve imagined. He was a monster, and though her monster, rage like Graham’s left the fine hairs on her body electrified. Step by tortuous step, she moved toward him until, finally, she rested her splayed hands on the expanse of his bare chest.
“Graham,” she murmured.
Chin tilted downward, a murderous look in his eyes, he gazed at the man who’d touched her.
She ran her palms up his smooth skin until they touched his neck. “Graham,” she tried again.
His churning eyes dropped to her and she happily drowned in the depths of his fury. He cared. They were still strangers, but on some base and instinctual level, he cared about her. The comfort of that revelation was soft, and satisfying, and warm. “Take me away from here.”
His breathing trembled as he pressed his lips to her forehead. She hadn’t a doubt he was death-glaring the man who’d offended him still, but at least he was coming back.
“This way.” Ned gestured and she tugged Graham’s hand.
Ned handed her a card. “Call old Gabe here, if you start to worry. He’s a healer and he’ll get him fixed up in no time.”
Lifting the card limply, she thanked him. For the card—not the kidnapping, trying to foist her on the best fighter, threatening to kill her and whipping her boyfriend. Ugh. Suddenly she felt so drained, as if she could sleep for days.
Graham shuffled to a row of bikes and pulled a Harley out of the mix. He shoved the helmet into her hands, hefted a leg over the seat and ripped the motor. The bike snarled under her as she slid on behind him. With a little luck, he lived close and wouldn’t pass out before they got there. If he did, her new affliction would probably clear that road rash right up. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes closed. She was a go-with-the-flow kind of girl, but this was a lot. Too much, maybe.
Graham’s back was slick with blood, and the open gashes criss-crossing his skin, only half closed. She swallowed bile at the thought of the pain he was in. All she could do for him was try not to touch the horrible injuries, but that was hard, when she needed to hold on for dear life as they roared down the road on the powerful motorcycle.
The tension in his muscles hadn’t gone down and underneath his tanned skin, it looked like a bag of knotted ropes. She bit her lip against the urge to touch anywhere but where her arms gripped his taut abdomen.
Minutes later, he pulled into a gravel drive belonging to a small one story house. It had gray siding with white trim, and a row of neatly trimmed shrubs dotted the stone sidewalk leading to the front door. No fence, but from where she stood, it looked like the backyard stretched on forever. She slid from the bike and pulled off the helmet, shouldered the floral bag she still toted a little better as she inhaled the heady scent of autumn wind and earth.
“Come on,” he said in a hoarse voice as he took the helmet from her outstretched hand. “I need to eat something.”
Eating would’ve sounded fantastic to her empty stomach if she weren’t staring at the ruined flesh of his mangled back. She clutched her bag to her chest like armor as he led her through the front door. A small kitchen opened up to a living room with a couch. A big screen television hung above a wood-burning fireplace. The furniture was simple, dark and masculine, but worked well with the space. He stalked to the fridge and threw it open. With a trio of brown paper wrapped steaks and a carton of eggs in his hands, he swayed and leaned heavily against the wall.
Carefully, she pressed her hand against his arm. “I’ll clean you up and cook while you rest.”
His eyebrows arched almost to his hairline and the ghost of a smile curved his lips. “You cook?”
Fighting the urge to smack him, she replied, “I think I can broil a steak.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
She followed him into the bathroom and hit the hot tap. “Clean rags?” she asked.
“Just use a towel. I’ll buy another later.”
Wasteful, but okay. He didn’t look up for an argument at the moment. She wet a towel and dabbed it gently around the slowly healing wounds until he at least didn’t look like a murder victim.
“What you did,” she started. “Did it fix my head?”
His ribs pushed against his taut skin as he inhaled deeply. “Yes. If we went to the doctor right now and they ran every test on you known to man, you’d come out healthy.”
Her traitorous voice shook. “So my tumor is gone?”
He turned and hugged her in a move so surprising and fast, she froze
against him. His steady heartbeat thumped against her cheek and when he spoke, his deep voice rumbled against her skin. “It’s gone.”
She pulled back. “So I’ll live, but now I’m a monster?” No answer meant yes. “I’m going to cook lunch. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
She left him leaning against the counter, watching her with a silver laced predatory gaze. How was she supposed to feel? She’d prepared for death. Lived in tormented fear until one day she’d decided there was nothing she could do about her doom but accept it. And she had. Now all of the sudden, she was healthy. She should feel thankful but when she thought of Graham biting her, without one word of warning or asking permission, she felt betrayal in place of gratefulness. She’d been ready, and he took that choice away from her.
He’d taken her destiny away and put a wolf in her instead.
Chapter Eight
The scraping of knife and fork against the ceramic plate made Linden’s ears want to bleed. If Graham was trying to torture her with the silent treatment, well, it was working. “So marriage, huh? Your ring-shopping skills need improvement.”
He lifted hooded blue eyes to her and went back to sawing on his steak. “We aren’t married, but I can get you a ring if it’ll make any of this easier on you.”
“Not necessary. You saved my life, so thank you. And you’re off the hook for buying sparkly things.” His eyes narrowed as if he were suspicious, and she shrugged off the uncomfortable itch between her shoulder blades. “So what’s next?”
“What’s next is, we consummate this little bond of ours and get you initiated into the pack.”
“So I’m going to be a member of a biker gang?” She hadn’t ever rocked leather but there was a first time for everything, she supposed.
“The Rebellion is a totally separate thing from the pack. I’m not even a member.”
His tone said it should be obvious, but he rode a Harley and looked tough just like all the other wolves in that joint. How was she to have guessed he wasn’t king of the biker bar? “Okay, so I’m going to be in a pack with all your classy friends and eat barbecue and spit in cans and grow facial hair together, and—”
“Linden, stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop avoiding the serious stuff.”
She threw her napkin onto the empty plate and leaned back. “Huh. I can deal with this however I choose, Graham Hayes.”
“I read your blog, remember? You really named it The Adventures of a Real Life Zombie and you called your tumor Toomey.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Your point?”
“You use joking to avoid dealing with the real stuff, Linden.”
“Oh, I see. You’ve had a life-threatening disease before? No? Well, then you can’t judge another person for how they choose to deal with their lot in life, you pompous ass. I was so scared I couldn’t see straight most days. Joking about it eased the fear! And if it pleases me, I’ll deal with my current situation in the same fashion. You weren’t there today when I was kidnapped and put on a stage to be handed off to the most violent man in the bar. I was alone, Graham, with a bag over my face and a group of angry men threatening to kill me. You ruined my life, and then you weren’t there to protect me from the dangers you drowned me in. I woke up feeling like luke-warm death, survived a legitimate kidnapping and was submerged in the smell of testosterone and beards as I listened to a freaking werewolf flog someone I care about. So yeah, today sucked. Joking is better than crying my ever-loving eyeballs out.”
He did a bang up job of keeping a straight face for a few moments before he cracked a tiny smile.
“What?” she groused.
He stood and dropped his dish in the sink then paused behind her, massaging stubborn knots in her shoulders. “Beards don’t actually have a smell. Smell doesn’t distinguish them from regular hair.”
It was really hard to argue when he was kneading warmth and heaven-flavored relaxation right into her body with his diligent hands.
“Come here,” he commanded, tugging at her arm.
Unwilling or unable to fight the raw power inherent in the order, she gave in to his embrace. Her blood still hummed with the remnants of throbbing fury but sinking into the strength of his arms leeched the hurt away like a poultice drew out a poison. He still didn’t have a shirt on and his skin was smooth and inviting against her cheek. And then the most embarrassing thing happened. The moisture brimming in her eyes, the tears she’d kept in check for all those months, spilled over. Heat rushed up her neck like a torrid summer wind, but Graham massaged the back of her head and rocked gently.
“It’s okay to be scared,” he whispered, a velvet stroke against her ear.
Another traitorous tear fell. “Will it hurt?”
“The initiation or the change?”
“Any of it. All of it. Will it hurt me?”
His chest moved as he sighed. “The initiation won’t, but the change will a little. It always does, but it’s worth the pain. Being a wolf is— Well, it’s magic.”
“Can my mom be at the initiation?”
“Linden.”
“I accept. I accept this life, but my mom deserves to know why I’m not sick anymore and why I’m hanging out at a biker bar on the bad side of town. I get it about not telling Meredith and the girls. The secret is important, but we can trust my mom.”
He was quiet for so long, just stroking her hair. Finally, he pressed his cheek against the top of her head and sighed. “My parents were both Lycans and I don’t know what I would’ve done without their openness. I can understand your need to involve her in this part of your life. Ned’s going to be pissed, though.”
She touched the welts across his back with gentle fingertips. “Will he hurt you again?”
“If your mom exposes us, yes.”
“She won’t.”
“Then we’ll go see her tonight.”
****
Pack initiation was nothing more than a ritual. And it included copious amounts of alcohol and Ned, the alpha, drinking her blood. Lovely. Mom had thankfully walked into the biker bar after that part though, and while pale and shaken-looking, she met Linden’s new support system with polite reverence.
They’d gone to her house and she’d hugged Graham when she realized what he’d done for her only daughter. Linden had to admit, seeing such a powerful man patting her mom’s back and murmuring nonsensical things had cracked her heart open until it couldn’t be closed again. In one week, he’d become hers in all the ways that mattered. She’d given in to their bond in the early hours before dawn, and under his soft and capable touch, her soul had melded with his. Painful tension hummed, pulled tight like a guitar string when he was too far away.
Now, however, the line was slack and comfortable because he sat on the bar with Tristan’s arm slung over his shoulders. A crooked smile, her favorite, tugged at the corner of his mouth as his dancing eyes landed on and held her like an embrace.
Mom patted her leg and smiled in that understanding way of hers. “I always hoped you’d have time in your life to meet a nice boy,” she said through an emotional smile. “I hadn’t ever considered the possibility of him being a werewolf, but I’ll take it if it keeps you alive.”
“Yep, no farewell party for me anymore.”
She’d put more gray hair on her mom than any kid had a right to, with her health problems, but she didn’t have to worry about that stuff anymore. Mom could stop planning to bury her only child and enjoy her life again.
Mom tugged the base of Linden’s ponytail and stood. “I’m going to leave you to it. You and Graham come over Sunday and I’ll make a big dinner to celebrate…” She waved her hand around. “All of this.”
“We’ll be there,” Graham called over the noisy room.
Mom waved and Ned tipped an imaginary hat before she left his bar.
Linden watched her go and like magic, Graham’s lips were there, grazing the back of her neck. “The moon, she’s full and calling. Can y
ou feel her?”
Linden closed her eyes and drifted on the humming waves pulsing through her needy veins. Her insides had felt as if they were blooming like an early spring flower for two straight days, and while the effect wasn’t painful, it made every piece of her sensitive and yearning for something she couldn’t understand.
She slipped her hand into the warmth and steadfast strength of his and followed him out the door, shrugging into her winter jacket as she went. Outside, the air was chilly and the breeze lifted tendrils of her dark hair. Graham stood behind her, arms snaked around her waist and face buried so deeply into her neck, she could feel his lips move as he said, “I’m glad you lived.”
“Did you expect any less?”
His chin rested on the top of her head and they watched the moon together. Soft light touched the woods behind the bar and bathed red-tipped autumn treetops and dry meadows in shades of blue. The wilderness called to the deepest parts of her and something inside her stirred. There she was. Her wolf.
“I was afraid I’d lost you.” He turned her in his arms and lowered his lips to hers. “And now you’re mine,” he whispered as he grazed the tender flesh of her mouth with teeth that elongated and sharpened. He didn’t hide anymore, and the intimacy of the shared secret, evident in their touch, sent a delicious shiver up her spine.
Her skin burned and chilled in turn as he trailed his mouth down her jaw and neck, finding a resting place on the tender pulsing skin he’d bitten to change her life. How could a week feel like ages? She knew him, right down to his very bones. He was honorable, savage, hardworking, protective, and most importantly, hers. She gave him all of her and he, nothing less in return.
“Change with me,” he rumbled against her neck.
“Teach me how,” she breathed.
Those quiet woods were no place for words. Comfortable, reverent silence stretched across the forest and perched pleasantly on the taut string binding their hearts. Snow crunched under her boots in a steady rhythm as she followed him deeper and deeper into the wilderness.
Slip the Skin Page 4
