I laughed.
He gave me a rueful smile.
I spread my hands. “Well? Where’s the syringe?”
“Yeah, I already injected myself.”
“You did? Is it working? We’re sitting here talking, and we only have an hour, and we might be wasting the whole thing.”
“It’s not going to work,” he said. “I think we should go out in the woods because I’m going to try to rage out, and when I do, I don’t want to hurt anyone. Actually, I’ll just go on my own. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“No,” I said. “I need to see it. I’ll, um, I’ll keep my distance.”
“Right,” he said. “Yeah. Good.” He turned and started for the door.
“Landon?”
“Hmm?”
“What if it does work?”
He just kept walking.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I hugged myself against the cold wind. I really should have brought a coat. I was wearing a long-sleeved sweater, but it was still cold out here at night. Spring was around the corner, but it wasn’t here yet.
Landon was a hundred yards away, not looking at me, doubled over.
We’d been like this for about ten minutes.
He slowly straightened.
“Landon?” I whispered. He probably couldn’t even hear me.
He turned and strode with a purpose through the woods over to me. He took me by the arms. His blue eyes flashed. “Holy fang, Camber,” he rasped. “I can’t rage out.”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
His grip tightened on my arms.
“You’re hurting me,” I squeaked.
He let go of me. “Hell.” He ran a hand over the fur on the top of his head. “I never thought it would work.”
“It works,” I whispered.
“We’re wasting this hour. We’re wasting it.” He grabbed my hand and tugged me along and we ran through the woods, back to the village, back through my front door, through my living room and into my bedroom.
I was panting and laughing and my heart was beating way too fast.
We looked at each other. We looked at the bed.
“Landon,” I whispered.
He reached out and caressed my cheek.
I shut my eyes.
He kissed me. He pushed me back into the wall, and his fingers danced over my waist and smoothed over my hips and then he picked my legs up and wrapped them around him.
I dug my fingers into his shoulders, rolling my head against the wall.
He kissed my neck. He kissed my jaw.
I clung to him, and then I let my hands travel over his solid back, squirming under his shirt to feel his muscles.
He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
“Is this happening?” I breathed. “Is this really happening?”
“Yes,” he growled. And he reached back with one hand and pulled his shirt over his head.
I kissed him again.
His mouth was firm and demanding, and his hands were urgent, and I opened myself to his lips and fingers, and I was tunneling into something intense and sweet. It was sweeter than the way I felt for the pack, stronger than what I felt for Judah, more intense than running in wolf form under the moon. I gasped. I cried out.
I let go, surrendering to that sweetness.
* * *
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Blood Melody Page 22
