by Mason Sabre
As usual, he took off his jacket and hung it on the back of her door. Then he slipped off his shoes and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to just above his elbows.
Elizabeth leant back in her chair, pushing her breasts out to him with her hand, tilting her head and putting an expression she thought was supposed to be sensual. Henry only ignored her and carried on removing various items to make himself more comfortable. She sighed. “Still no?”
Elizabeth liked this game, and she had played it with him more times than he cared for. Once was enough. It was perhaps the only thing he didn’t like about her, but he found if he stayed quiet, she would stop, and the façade would drop. She was not a stupid woman. Certainly not as stupid as she liked to pretend. But she was one of the older ladies. Fewer clients, Magda had told him once. He thought that odd. Surely age meant experience, but then that didn’t seem particularly important anymore.
“Where do you want me?” Her voice had lost the irritating sing-song tone that Henry detested so much. It grated against his nerves, and sometimes, if he hadn’t been for a while, he considered asking her to gag herself.
“On the bed. On your back. Do not remove your undergarments.” The same warning again, the same one he always gave to make sure there were no misunderstandings between them. The second time he had come here, she had pulled her panties off. Henry had left.
She moved to the bed as he instructed her. “My shoes?”
“I do not need you to remove those.” She wore small heels. Anything higher and they would not hold the weight of her. She wore stockings too. Stockings held up by suspenders and a belt around her waist.
Henry knelt on the end of the bed and crawled toward her. When he got closer, she pushed her legs apart, accommodating the space for him to get between. He ran his hands along her calves. He found that it seemed to have an odd effect on her. It made her breath harder, ragged almost, but when he pushed her legs wider, and then sank down, plunging his fangs into the fleshy part of her thighs, she gasped and tensed, and the rush of her pleasurable fear spurted her blood into his mouth. He drank, sucking the very life force of her into his body.
Humans tasted the best. Their blood was sweet, rich and rife with whatever emotion rode their bodies. Lust, sex, those were the better ones, and as Henry fed from her, Elizabeth’s hands wandered down her body, her fingers slipping under the fabric of her panties. He could scent her need, taste it. It was perhaps the most delicious thing he ever fed on. He had tried shifters, but their blood metabolised too quickly and sent him into a hyped-up craze. Henry needed calm, clarity. He needed his mind to be his own and not controlled by what he had ingested. His answer to that was Elizabeth.
She cried out when he sucked harder, one hand inside her underwear, the other fisting the bed sheets as she arched her back. She moved her fingers inside her panties and pushed herself to him. “Oh, God.” Her breath was ragged, her body trembled, and the scent of musky arousal swept to him. He clung onto her thigh as she cried out in sheer ecstasy.
Then … nothing.
She relaxed in a pool of perspiration and breathless delirium. Her body went loose, relaxed, sated. Henry licked across the two tiny wounds in her flesh to seal them, but Elizabeth was already asleep. Her eyes closed, her breaths coming short and slow. He tugged the blanket out from under her and lay it across her body. When she wasn’t trying to push herself onto him, she really was an attractive woman.
He dressed and left her to sleep in her room. When he closed the door, he added a do not disturb sign to it. He was alive … alive with her life flowing through him.
He gave Magda only a passing nod as he left. Some nights he would stay, talk, and learn about things in the world he didn’t yet understand. She had a world of knowledge, ladies of the night always did. They saw things many didn’t, heard things, listened to secrets no one would ever say. She didn’t complain when he left without word. She never did. She had plenty of company … the small box.
“You’re late,” the female voice said from around the corner when Henry emerged from the tunnel. He passed Joel on his way out and ignored him. He was asleep.
Henry slipped his arm into his jacket. “I am on time. It is you who does not realise how to tell the time.”
She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and then moved, walking off into the night, making Henry follow. He followed no one, but she did this to test him … to see if he really wanted what she had. “How did you find the teeth?” she asked when he caught up. “I assume they were to your liking.”
“They did not end the shifter,” he said. “Although I believe they rendered him unconscious.”
The woman only nodded. She wore a hooded shawl, covering herself from him and anyone who might see them.
“Do you have what I asked?”
“Not yet,” she said. She stopped, turning, angling it so he was in a position where the lights made it hard to see her. She was a fool, though. He was a vampire. He could see all. “I need you to do something else for me. Then you can have it.”
“That is not what we agreed. You told me—”
“Things change. The price has gone up.” She reached out one delicate manicured hand. Her skin was aged, mottled, dotted with dark spots. Long nails gripped paper, and he took it from her. “I have new problems. I need you to solve them for me.”
She stepped back from him, stepping into the shadows as Henry opened the paper. Dark, rolling hatred rose at the name on the paper. He looked up, meeting the eyes of the woman. She waited. “What is this?”
“An execution.” She nodded toward him. “You want what I have, you will do as I ask. I want her dead.”
He folded the sheet over and took a dominant step in her direction. “Maybe I could end you instead.”
She laughed and then shot her hands out as if to hit him. Pain lanced through his chest. Lightning and fire, all mixed into one, spread around his being and he flew backward. She held her hand out again, this time holding her hand in a claw like shape and twisted an invisible mass.
Henry clutched at his chest. His heart beat so wildly that even he feared it might stop. “Stop it,” he ground out, eyes glaring at the woman before him, but she angled herself, so he couldn’t see her properly.
“In what world do you think you can beat me?” She let go. Letting Henry fall. One hand clutched his chest, the other the paper. “I want Gemma Davies gone. Or the deal is over.” She moved closer, making the hood create deeper shadows across her face, so he couldn’t see her. The air moved with every step. “I want her dead, and when you do it, I want you to tell her that the MacDonalds sent you.”
Henry scowled, a deep heavy scowl as his memory flashed to the night at Gemma’s house. “You sent the Human.” It wasn’t a question. If she had been Human, she might have heard the icy edge to his words and backed away. She might have feared him.
The woman sneered, and Henry moved. Moved so quickly that she missed him with the lightning strike she thrust out. It hit the ground, sizzling the grass where he had just been. Raising one hand, she shot out again. This time, she didn’t miss.
Chapter 12
Gemma
Cade pushed back a stray lock of hair that had settled on Gemma’s face when she moved, then he ran his knuckles along the soft skin of her cheek. Gemma shuddered and leant into him even more if that were possible. His touch was electricity pulsing through her veins. It travelled along her body and down the centre of her, and to the heat between her legs. She shifted easily against him, her hand bracing against the solid wall of muscle that was Cade’s chest. She needed him. Craved him. But she didn’t give into it … didn’t give into her tiger. She didn’t dare. She was already walking along a tightrope in her mind. Fear and terror entwined themselves so deeply in her chest she had to fight not to pull away. She wasn’t afraid of Cade … she was afraid of losing him, as every threat rolled in to place a wedge between them. She had convinced her mind that to just allow one touch … one moment this close to him,
it would be fatal. How would she ever live if Cade didn’t?
But Cade was right. She had to trust him. He wasn’t a simple pack wolf who needed protection. He was the son of the alpha, strong, perfect. He could look after himself in almost any fight, but then, wasn’t it the job of the wolf’s mate to protect him? To bow down in front of enemies and cover his weakest spots with her own body so he could fight? Except, she wasn’t wolf, and she wasn’t his mate. Her tiger acting the way it did around him had always been odd. Like she was caught not knowing what she really was.
Cade’s hand slipped around the nape of Gemma’s neck and she let herself cling to him. His body was warm, soothing and she couldn’t help but let her hand travel up his back, under his t-shirt so she could find the taut muscle and move closer.
She sighed as she moved, content to just lie there with him. The universe could blow up around them and neither one would care. He rested his face against hers and the warmth of his breath swept across her ear. She nuzzled into his neck, tasting the saltiness of his skin. She was where she was supposed to be, and so was he.
“I love you,” she dared to breathe across his skin, feeling it so deeply in her chest. Cade was a fundamental part of her soul. This was the bond Henry spoke of, love. Something so deep and so raw it rocked every bone in her body. In that moment, as she lay there with the very man she craved, she couldn’t help the lump rising in her throat for the agony Henry must have felt when he had watched her die.
She had to bite back the pain of it, the way it made, not just her throat constrict, but her entire being heavy with sadness. If she could have unzipped Cade and climbed inside of him, she would have been content to stay there for the rest of her life.
As if sensing her need to be even closer, Cade wedged his knee between her thighs, pushing at the heat of her. She tensed. It was all she could do not to give in and take him for herself. But they had agreed. Cade didn’t want to hurt Natalie, and she respected him for that. She could wait. She could take these moments right now and hold onto them, knowing tomorrow, everything would be different. It was frightening, though. But they couldn’t rush. Not if they were to survive this.
Gemma slid herself back enough, so she was almost nose to nose with Cade. He was hers. Beautiful, strong … she was sorry she had doubted him. Sorry she hadn't dared to believe in them the same way he had.
“I can feel you watching me.” His eyes were closed.
She lay a hand across his stubbled cheek and then moved closer to kiss him, but then she paused. Her mind and her tiger fought with each other. She could settle into what her tiger wanted and then, without notice, her mind would kick up and bring to mind things, thoughts, moments that made her question everything.
Cade opened his eyes, the deep blue of them meeting hers and giving that look as if he could see into her very soul. “What is it?”
Thoughts, conversations … so many memories streaked through her head. Several seconds passed. “Do you believe Stephen is dead? Like really dead?” It was a question she hadn’t dared ask but needed to. She needed to know she wasn’t just going mad.
Cade’s eyebrows drew together, and he backed up enough so he could see her completely. “What do you mean?”
Staring at him, watching Cade’s face, she knew the words sounded absurd, but they had waged war in her mind since Henry had said it, and she had to give Henry some credit. Everything he had said, had proven to be true. “I mean exactly that. Do you believe he is dead? We never found a body.”
She could see Cade’s need to protect her, feel it even, like it was a physical force she could grab hold of and move out of the way. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at Cade. His arm was still around her and holding her safe. She had thought about Henry and thought back to her father’s reaction. Her mind had run off with the ideas and made the thought Stephen was dead feel more ridiculous with each passing moment. If anyone were to ask her, she would state, hand on heart, that she knew Stephen was alive. Alive and out there. “What if he didn’t actually die?”
“There was a body …”
“No.” She shook her head. “I mean, yes, there was. But was it his? How do we know it was him?” There had been a body, but it was so charred and damaged that it could have been anyone. She hadn't seen it herself, but that was what her father had told her.
Pushing Cade’s t-shirt up, Gemma lowered her face to press her lips to the solid wall of muscle. She lay her face against him, needing the comfort from his wolf—the only animal that could make her feel the way she felt just then … safe.
He ran his hand through her hair, brushing it back and then played with the ends with his fingers. “It could be possible. He had our tickets.”
Where she had her face, every time Cade took a breath, there was a sharpness to his ribs when his muscles sucked in. It made her want to sprawl out across him, but she needed that sharpness … needed that slight pain to keep her mind in a sane place. She let her hand slide around the side of him, slipping down at his waist. Cade had his hand tucked under the waist of her skirt, his hot fingers touching her skin. “He could have gone.” She had pictured it so many times in her head that now it was more truth than if he had died. It gave her hope, but all this time, two years, she had wished with every piece of herself that he hadn't, and that hurt, because if he was alive, and if he had gone off to Exile, he hadn't made contact.
“I still feel him.”
The admittance made Gemma stop and bolt up “What?”
Cade didn’t move, though. Didn’t let her up enough or take his hand from her skin. “I feel him the same way I feel you and Phoenix.” He pointed to his head. “It’s like when we are apart, I can still feel you there. I can feel Phoenix, even now, like we’re forever connected.”
He stroked his hand down her back and it did nothing for the parade of butterflies that suddenly danced in her stomach. “Can you feel him on purpose? Like reach out to him?”
“No,” he said, but then added, “I can with Phoenix. I can find him, but he’s wolf, and we’re bound.”
She understood that. When he had first found Phoenix, when his body was battered and bruised, and they weren’t sure he would survive the transition from Human to Other, Cade had bonded with him. Bonding was a connection so deep it tied their lives together. If Cade ever died, Phoenix would too. That scared her. Being selfish and taking what she needed just now, wasn’t just risking her or Cade, it was risking Phoenix, too, and he didn’t get a say in the matter.
Gemma scooted up along the bed, her tiger needing to feel Cade even more when her guilt racked her. The tiger wanted to anchor herself and put up protests in case Gemma changed her mind when she thought about Phoenix. She let herself lie on Cade’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arm even tighter around her back as she settled against him. “I asked my dad, but he was evasive about it.” She shook her head. “I know him. I asked him if my brother was alive, and he told me Stephen Davies was dead.” She twisted to look at Cade. “He plays on words.”
“Would your father do—”
“Yes.” Cade would ask if her father, the alpha and Council leader, would lie like that, but they both knew he would. He had done it for them when she had fallen pregnant, and Trevor MacDonald could have easily asked for her to be executed. With everything that Malcolm was, he could never be faulted for the way he put his children first and did what he needed to protect them.
Just thinking made Gemma even surer that Stephen lived. He had been cold when he had told them Stephen had died. His face in the usual poker expression, giving nothing away. That was what niggled her about Angela, she realised. He had shown emotion. It had been too much for him and in a blink, his frosty façade had slipped. No. Stephen wasn’t dead. If he was, it would have devastated her father. His only son.
Gemma nestled against Cade’s side again with that thought in her head and the warmth of Cade’s solid body against hers. She draped a leg over his, her arm across his chest and let herself just
be quiet. She was exhausted, a good exhausted. They had talked for hours, but right then, she was happy just to lie with him. He’d need to go home soon … go back to Natalie.
Loud banging threw Gemma out of unconsciousness and into the real world with a heart stopping bang. She bolted up and her eyes tried to open and force sleep away. She visually searched the room, her pulse racing. Cade slept, though. His deep breathing sounded like soft growls that vibrated along her skin. She frowned. Unsure what had woken her.
The sun streamed in through the open curtains. They had slept the rest of the night away. She yawned and went to lie back down but hammering on her door came again.
“Cade,” she hissed, pushing herself to climb over him and pad barefoot to the window. “Oh shit.” She spun quickly, pushing against Cade. “Wake up. Your father is here.”
Cade’s eyes flew open at the same time as her front door crashed open. The sound of wood and glass echoed through the house and the floor shook. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Chapter 13
Cade
Cade positioned himself between his father and Gemma. Trevor could do anything he wanted to him, but he was damned if he would let his father hurt her. She was his and he would protect her to the end. It wasn’t just duty; it was the passion of his wolf. She was his mate and he would die first, and even then, he would fight. He’d fight his own if he had to … his pack. He would always choose her over them. She was worth more. Even worth more than his family. She was his.
“Let me handle this.”
“Cade …”
He shook his head, his intention clear. Stay back. Whatever his father was bringing with him, Cade would face.
Trevor raced up the stairs, feet heavy against the wood, clomping through the house like a monster about to emerge from the darkness. Cade braced himself, eyes wide as Trevor came into view. Footsteps bounded behind him, the sound making Cade and Gemma back into her room. They were trapt.
