by Renee Rose
I wake with my psyche bruised and battered. The need to take care of Sheridan—to fix things once and for all consumes me. But what good will it do? Yeah, I purposely drove us apart because I wanted the best for her. It might help her to know that. To know I never stopped loving her.
Hell, I’ve never even been with another girl since her. My wolf wouldn’t accept it. He wanted Sheridan from the first day he saw her and he wouldn’t let me sully the memory of her with anyone else. The pack calls me ‘the monk.’
But why stir up the past? Nothing’s changed. Sheridan’s still the pack princess. Her father’s still never going to accept me as her mate. Making sure she went to Stanford didn’t win me any points with her or him. It just solidified our differences.
I climb out of bed and step into the shower. Sheridan’s fucking everywhere in my head—she surrounds me, my thoughts swirling in an endless loop of worry around her.
And then it hits me why.
It’s October 25th. The anniversary of her brother’s death. My mate is suffering.
I slam off the water and grab a towel. I don’t give a shit what went down between us. I don’t care if a future’s impossible. If Sheridan needs me, it would take every pack on Earth to keep me away.
I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and one of my leather jackets and go outside. Thank fuck I asked Sheridan where she was staying. I get on my bike and drive to Meyer Street, going up and down until I see her car parked in front of one of the casitas.
I verify it’s her place by the sweet vanilla-orange scent and walk up to the door.
It’s only then it occurs to me that she might not appreciate my support. But fuck it—I have to offer.
I knock. She comes to the door, heart-breakingly lovely. Her caramel-hued hair falls around her shoulders and she’s wearing a soft, mauve t-shirt that molds to her ample breasts, and a pair of skinny jeans that look like pure sin on her. But she’s not her usually, snappy, together self. There’s a subdued quality to her that makes my heart twist.
I was right to come.
“Trey?” Her honey and peaches voice is soft and puzzled.
I flip the motorcycle keys around my finger. “Want to go for a ride?”
Her eyes fly open in surprise, confusion and wonder warring in her expression. She tilts her head to the side. “Why?”
I shrug. “I know this day is hard for you.”
Her beautiful face instantly crumples. Tears pop in her eyes and she falls into my arms. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
I stroke her silky hair. “Yeah, of course I remembered, baby.” I breathe in her scent. “Of course I did.”
Her back shakes on a silent sob. “I still miss him,” she chokes, her tears wetting my neck.
I slip my hand under her hair and massage her neck. “I know,” I murmur.
After a moment, she gets it back together, sniffs and pulls away, ducking her head. “I’ll go get my shoes on.”
I’m almost lightheaded with relief—she’s coming with me. She’s letting me offer this comfort to her today.
I’m not foolish enough to believe this means anything in the grand scheme of things, just grateful I get to be with her today.
She comes back, wearing my jacket and her sexy club boots. She’s put lip gloss on, which makes my damn dick forget that she was just crying two seconds ago.
I hold my hand out and she curls her fingers into mine, letting me lead her out of the casita to my bike parked on the street behind her car. “Where to? Mountains?”
“Have you eaten?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Wanna get food first?”
She takes the helmet I offer her and tosses her hair back before putting it on. “Definitely.”
I take her to a nouveau Mexican restaurant on Broadway where we both get heaping plates of huevos rancheros smothered in salsa verde and extra avocado. She shovels the food in her mouth like the healthy shifter she is.
“I didn’t think I could eat today, but suddenly I’m starving,” she says between bites.
I smile. Adorable wolf. “Good. Eat up.”
She wipes her lips on her napkin. “So, how much do you bring in a week with Fight Club?”
Oh boy. Here comes MBA Sheridan, with that brilliant mind and laser focus pinpointed right on me.
I shrug. “Enough.”
She takes a large gulp of ice water. “No really. Let’s talk numbers. I’ll bet there’s places to improve profitability.”
I raise a brow. “Thought you were gonna try to shut me down.”
Something flickers over her face—regret, maybe. She drops her eyes to her food and scoops another forkful. “That may not be necessary.”
“Mm,” I grunt in response.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“What?”
“Your numbers? Let’s see, I would say Luka and I rang up about $900 in drinks Wednesday night and the margin’s probably around thirty percent. So $600 profit. You had five people on staff, including me. What does that eat up?”
I’m incapable of denying her this chew-toy for her brain. “Two hundred. Fifty bucks to each of the security guys, twenty-five base pay for the bartenders. I’ll get your breakfast,” I say wryly, since she never got paid.
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t care about that. I made a ton in tips, anyway.”
“So four hundred after paying staff. Do you pay the fighters?”
I shake my head. “That’s a separate business enterprise.”
“Financed through illegal betting?”
Of course she’s too damn smart to miss what’s going on. I give a ghost of a shrug as acknowledgement.
“So four hundred a night. What’s the overhead on the building?”
“We own it, so it’s just three hundred a month in utilities.”
Her brows shoot up. I shouldn’t be pleased to see she’s impressed, but they are half-million dollar warehouses. I’m not the poor, scrappy kid whose mom works the lowest job in the pack anymore.
“You own it personally?”
“Jared and I own both warehouses on the lot. His mate uses the other one as a dance studio and performance space.”
“Really? Wow. I’d like to see it.”
“I’m sure Angelina would be happy to show you around.” For a brief moment, I ride the high of picturing Angelina and Sheridan hitting it off and the four of us becoming happy couple friends.
That’s not happening. Sheridan’s going back to Wolf Ridge, where she’ll eventually be running the entire show.
I’ll be here running Fight Club.
“Anyway, with you owning the building, the opportunity for profit is huge. You just need to maximize the number of shifters who come through that door, and give them good reason to stay—whether it’s the fights or other entertainment. And of course, keep the trouble out.” She frowns and my gut tightens.
I throw down some cash on the table. “Ready for a ride?”
She nods. “So ready. Where are we going?”
“Gates Pass.” At her questioning look, I grin. “You’ll love it, come on.”
* * *
Sheridan
Riding on the back of Trey’s motorcycle for the second day in a row has my heart somersaulting. I was too melancholy to get horn-gry riding with him to the restaurant, but now the giant vibrator between my legs and the familiar scent of Trey and his leather have me rocking my hips over the bike seat. My breasts press up against his back, arms loop around his washboard abs.
I still can’t believe he remembered.
I mean, I know today marks the anniversary of the day he took my V-card, but I doubt he marked it on a calendar to celebrate every year. Especially considering how easily he was finished with me at the end of senior year.
My brain wants to tear at this puzzle until I have it solved or demolished, but I keep pushing it away. If I think too much about Trey and his actions toward me, I’ll end up twelve years in the past with my heart beaten to a bloo
dy pulp.
No, better to just be in the now. Appreciate Trey showing up for me when I needed him. Allow the suffocating heaviness of the day to lift and move off me.
He drives west, toward the Tucson mountain range and takes me up a beautiful mountain pass. The air smells fresh and clean. Saguaro cacti shimmer and glow in the warm autumn sun. Trey drives through the pass and down the other side, then parks at the trailhead for King Canyon. It’s Friday—a work day for most of Tucson—so the lot is empty except for Trey’s bike.
My wolf starts wagging her tail in anticipation of being out in nature.
Trey takes my hand and we walk up the trail, cutting through the desert. He doesn’t speak, and for once, I keep my mouth shut, too. Suddenly, there’s nothing to be or prove with Trey. Our silence is companionable. Honoring.
We reach a saddle, an incredible overlook over the city of Tucson. Trey starts kicking off his boots as he pulls his shirt over his head.
For one stupid second, I think he wants to have sex—like he expects it because that’s what we did on the last anniversary of my brother’s death. But he grins at me. “Last one on four legs is a rotten egg.”
“No fair,” I holler, because he already has a head start. I scramble out of my clothes and shift, then bound over his wolf as I tear up Wassan Peak.
We run for hours, nipping and playing, sniffing. Hunting.
And then it all ends when I get my nose into a cholla cactus. It’s idiotic. The first lesson I learned as a cub growing up in Arizona was to stay away from cholla—also known as jumping cactus because of the way the giant burrs jump from the mother and attach their barbs into passersby.
I yelp at the pain—mostly because it’s my tender nose and the face is so personal. Pain there is so intense. In the blink of an eye, Trey shifts and crouches beside me, concern etched in his face.
I whimper, trying to paw the damn thing off, which only gets more burrs stuck in my paws.
“Easy, baby. Let me.” Trey—the idiot—grabs the thing with his fingers and pries it off my nose. I yelp again, but it’s only partly out of pain, partly out of concern for him, because now he has the burr firmly embedded in his hand, which means he won’t be able to shift and run back to where we left our clothes.
He’s totally unfazed, though. He just strokes my ear with his good hand. “Are you okay?” He leans close to examine my snout and paws. “Any left?” I lick his face and he laughs and rubs my cheek.
I sit and wait as he pries the cactus ball from his hand with a stick, then uses his teeth to pull out the remaining barbs.
“All better.” He holds up his bloodied palm for me to see and I lick it, too.
In a flash, he’s back on all fours, running down the mountain.
I give an indignant, joyful bark and bound after him, down the mountain, passing his sleek white and silver form just before we reach the saddle.
I shift back, laughing, and yank on my clothes. “Beat you.”
He shifts and pulls on his jeans, too. “Of course you did.” The satisfaction in his tone tells me he let me win, just like he let me throw him yesterday at the gym.
Just like he let you think he was interested in playing the field, my wolf whispers.
But no. That’s dangerous, wishful thinking. I spent hundreds of hours in college sitting in my dorm trying to talk myself into believing that. But it didn’t matter. Because even if it were true, I made sure he’d never speak to me again.
But he’s here now, she whispers.
Yes. He’s here now. Does that mean he’s forgiven me?
Have I forgiven him?
Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Just enjoy this moment.
We hike back to the bike in the same comfortable silence. Ride back to my place. Trey doesn’t get off his bike, like he’s just dropping me off. Definitely not expecting sex.
The disappointment spearing my mid-section tells me I was hoping for it.
“You want to come in?” Oh crap. Do I sound desperate? He should be begging me, not the other way around.
His eyes flash silver. “Fuck, Sheridan. Of course I do.”
“But?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t.” He sounds pained.
“Why not?”
His breath has grown quicker, the veins in his neck are popping out. “I have to get to Fight Club. We have an event.”
“Want me to work?”
“No.” His answer is quick and definitive, which hurts way more than I want to admit. “Nope, we’re all set,” he says, like he’s trying to soften it.
“But I’ll see you tomorrow for the leech thing.”
Something tight coils in my gut. “Right. Sure.” I turn and walk up the path to my casita without saying goodbye.
Trey’s up to something. He doesn’t want me at the club tonight. Why? Is it a woman? Or something with the vampires?
Whatever it is, I’m going to find out.
I’ll be darned if he can keep me out.
* * *
Trey
Oh holy hell.
Was Sheridan actually inviting me into her place...for sex?
Damn, the girl never stops surprising me.
It took every grain of willpower in me not to pick her up, carry her inside and mark her as forever mine. Because that’s what will happen if we ever get naked again together.
But she’s weak today. She’s grieving. I may not have been strong enough to resist her offer as a teenager, but I’m sure as hell not going to take advantage now.
Especially when I have no chance of keeping her as mine.
Because I’m definitely not okay with a little recreational sex. There’s no such thing for my wolf. He wants me to claim Sheridan. Mark her. Make her mine forever.
Which means I need to keep a very healthy distance between us. Before I fuck everything up between us.
Again.
Chapter Eight
Twelve Years Ago
Sheridan
Trey growls when I pop the button of my jeans, then shimmy them down my hips. Young she-wolves are warned against fooling around with pubescent boys—they can easily lose control, but Trey’s not a boy.
He’s all beautiful man and other than the growl, he’s showing major restraint, considering I just gave him the green light.
He kisses my pussy over my panties, gently bites my inner thigh. He rubs his thumb over the satin, finding the place that makes me squirm. It’s unbelievably intense. I’ve never been touched there by another person and the urge to shove him away before I lose myself is almost as great as the searing pleasure his touch brings.
“Trey,” I moan.
“Fuck yeah, baby. You can say my name like that any time.” He slips his thumb under my panties and strokes over my slit.
My belly shudders in on a breath and I squirm. Trey wraps an arm around one of my thighs and dives between my legs. I’m totally unprepared for the shock of his tongue on my most sensitive bits.
I squeal and jerk, but he holds me still, tortures me with quick flicks to what must be my clit—I should probably know where it is, but I don’t—then flattens his tongue and licks into me. He traces my inner lips, penetrates my opening.
I moan and sigh and writhe beneath him. “Trey, the condoms.”
He lifts his head and chuckles. “You in a hurry to get to the finish line, baby?”
My laugh is a release of nervous tension. “Maybe. I have a lot of anticipation rolled into this.”
He screws one finger into me and I jack off the table with a cry. The fit is tight and a little intense, but it also feels so right. He slides it in and out slowly, and I let my head tilt back. My eyes roll upward under my closed lids.
I knew sex would feel good. I just didn’t know it would feel this good. And we haven’t even gotten to the main course yet.
Trey adds a second finger and I whimper, not because it hurts, but because the intensity doubles. When he pumps now, I start to moan on each exhale.
Trey drags my
backpack over with his free hand and I grab it and fish out the box of condoms, then hand him one. He’s still in no hurry, though. He ducks his head and sucks one nipple while he moves his fingers in and out of me.
I snatch the condom out of his hand and rip it open. “Please, Trey,” I moan.
He growls and takes the rubber, then shoves his jeans down enough to free his erection. For a lean, muscled guy, his cock seems out of proportion big. Not that I have anything to compare it to.
He rolls on the condom and climbs over me. I spread my knees wide and reach for him. He claims my mouth with passion, kissing and sucking my lip and—oh fates! He spears me with his erection, entering me with one swift stab.
I cry out from the flash of pain, but once he’s in, he doesn’t move, except to stroke my hair back from my face and gaze into my eyes. “You okay, baby?”
My entire body trembles, heat cascades through me. I give a shaky nod. He smiles and rocks his hips, easing out just a bit before pushing back in.
Yes.
This time it feels right. Satisfying. So good.
“Again,” I urge.
He repeats the action and my toes curl. I moan. He continues, gently rocking, filling me, stroking my insides with his thick length.
I’m nearly out of my mind, but somehow he’s still able to lower his head and worry one nipple with his tongue, his teeth.
I dig my nails into his shoulders, hook my feet around his back to pull him in tighter, demanding, “Faster.”
He curses and braces his torso above me, thrusting with more force.
It’s shockingly too much and so delicious. The head of his cock hits something inside me—my cervix?—but I ignore the dull ache it causes, and keep pulling Trey into me.
“Sheridan,” he rasps. His voice is gravelly and pained. His eyes shine silver, his wolf surging to the surface. I wonder if mine have changed, too.
The muscles in Trey’s back and shoulders flex into hard rocks. The world spins around me. I close my eyes, throw my head back with pleasure.
