WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  She’d well and truly bulldozed down my walls and no longer needed a key. She was my key.

  Shoving aside my chaotic emotions for her, I jumped off the stoop to open her door the moment she’d pulled to a stop. “Thank you so much for coming. Seriously this means—”

  Climbing out, she silenced me with a cool finger on my lips and grabbed my hand. Her blue eyes glowed in the darkness and her blonde hair somehow captured the embarrassing excuse for a porch light and turned it into spun gold. “Don’t mention it.”

  I had a wounded dog who hadn’t stopped howling. I had a bleeding arm that hadn’t been washed. But all I wanted to do was kiss her.

  So I did.

  Pushing her shoulders, I backed her against the car and flattened her body with mine. “Fuck, Vesper, what the hell am I going to do with you?” My lips locked over hers.

  She didn’t fight me.

  Her mouth opened, and we slipped from welcome kiss to savage.

  The explosive past two days erupted and her leg hooked over my hip as I did my best to morph into her body while unable to stop rocking my hips.

  Her breathy moans only made me harder, fogging up my brain, adding to the pain in my cock.

  The kiss lasted a lot longer than was appropriate for middle of the night canoodling, and when I pulled away, she giggled. “Dry humping me again, Mr. Carson. Are you sure you aren’t part dog like all your rescue friends?” She cocked her head. “Do you have any secrets you’d like to tell me?”

  She had no idea how much I needed a light-hearted joke. The past few hours had been far too serious. I’d had tears in my eyes most of the time from listening to the rescue dog whine in pain on the way home. She took away that heavy anxiety and let me cope once again.

  I laughed, taking her hand and leading her up the rickety front steps. “Not part dog but I can’t deny I have fantasises of taking you doggy style.”

  Her cheeks heated but not in embarrassment. We’d spent enough time together now that I recognised it for the same desire I felt.

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Promise?” My stomach clenched.

  She looped her pinkie with mine. “Pinkie promise. It’s a favourite position of mine.”

  Honestly, could she get any more perfect?

  First, she let go of all inhibition and then didn’t mind discussing sex even when we hadn’t leapt that barrier yet. It was so natural, so easy. No hesitation or coyness.

  Letting her go, I took a step away. “I’m sorry, but I can’t touch you right now.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Because we have work to do and creatures relying on us and if you don’t stop touching me, you’ll slam be against another convenient hard surface and have your wicked way with me?” She pulled a foil packet from her back pocket. “Because if that’s the case, then yes, I suggest you keep your dirty paws off me, but if you can’t, at least one of us is prepared this time.”

  I groaned loudly, stirring sexual intoxication with mirth. “Fuck.” Rubbing my face, I murmured, “Everything you said is true and put that damn condom away. I don’t need any more temptation than I already have.”

  She waggled the packet, pouting with her delicious watermelon flavoured lips. “Pity. I was rather hoping I could break you.”

  “Oh, you’re breaking me all right.”

  Her chin popped in the air. “Well, I’m glad. You’ve already broken me.” Her eyes darkened. “Want to know a secret?”

  I groaned again. “Does this secret have anything to do with how wet you’ve been over the past few days? Because if it is, I don’t want to know.” Cupping between my legs, I fisted my erection. “This damn thing hasn’t deflated since our last phone call. It’s your responsibility to do something about it.”

  “My secret was I’ve been through a whole weeks’ worth of knickers because I get so worked up whenever I think of you.” Her gaze dropped to my groin. “And because of that, Mr. Carson…you have a choice. I’m here to help, after all.”

  I stiffened. “What choice?”

  She took a sensual step toward me. “One, I help you out with your problem.” Her finger lashed out and drew a line down the length of my dick. “Two, you keep being a selfless saviour and point me in the direction of your canine friend so I can help him or her.”

  I shuddered as I released my hold, pushing her away a little. “I’m not a saint, Vesper Fairfax, and if you touch me again, I’m going to put myself first. But…if you keep your distance, I can manage—just barely—to let you give your Mother Theresa routine to someone much more deserving of your help than me.”

  She smiled, the sexual teasing faded, but her eyes spoke of deep affection and respect. “Ryder, I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than you in this current moment.” Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she smiled. “However, you’re right. Let’s cure the patient and then we can cure ourselves.”

  I laughed loudly, feeling the stress of the past few hours trickle off me. I would never tell her how horrifying the fight pit had been when I’d helped the council round up dogs who were scared shitless and bloody from fighting for asshole’s pleasure. I would never speak of the wire muzzles, barbed wire chains, or filthy cages.

  She didn’t need to know.

  I wanted the images gone so I could get past it and be happy. At least the dogs were safe now and on their way to better lives.

  But I did show her my earlier purchase. After all, she’d shown me hers. As we cut from the foyer into the kitchen, I grabbed the paper bag on the temporary wooden counter. “You’re not the only one who’s prepared this time. I bought two boxes. Extra large.” I winked. “And ribbed for her pleasure.”

  “The ribs have nothing to do with it.”

  “Oh?”

  She grinned. “It’s all on the man. No pressure or anything.”

  “Believe me, I’m feeling the pressure.” I tossed the box back onto the table top and guided her into the lounge where the overhead chandelier with sixteen light bulbs and glittering glass crystals illuminated a dog snapping and pulling at the tight collar and leash tethering him to a heavy rosewood snooker table in the middle of the space.

  Dust sheets covered furniture that I wanted to preserve, while paint splattered old couches that I wasn’t precious about, littering the large room for the tradesmen to kick back while eating lunch. The floor was dusty, the chandelier full of cobwebs. The only thing finished in here was the north wall with the most incredible marble fireplace that I’d painstakingly cleaned and restored.

  But Vesper didn’t care about any of it. Not the old world glitz or the modern run down mess. She only had eyes for the growling Pusky Bull currently cowering with his tail tucked, ears flat, and teeth bared.

  The shelter had informed me this breed was a Pitt-Bull crossed with a Husky. It was a favoured fighter dog for its vicious bite and endless stamina. Its ice blue eyes were entirely too wolf like as he tracked us as if we were a roast beef buffet.

  Vesper switched into vet mode. “Hey, little guy.”

  I snorted. “Hardly little.”

  She ignored me, sitting on her heels as she put her hand out. I squatted behind her, fighting the instinct to snatch back her hand and bring it to safety. “Careful, Ves.”

  “I know. But he needs to smell me if I have any chance of helping him.” Turning her gaze on me, she added, “I forgot my medical bag. I swung by work to grab a few things. Do you mind? It’s in the backseat of my car.”

  “Do I mind? Shit, woman. Of course, I don’t mind.” Stroking the back of her head in utmost gratitude, I stood and backed slowly away as the Pusky Bull snarled. “Just be careful. He’s not in a good space.”

  “I will.”

  Dashing back to her car, I grabbed the bag—surprised at how heavy it was—and ran back inside.

  I expected Vesper to still be in a standoff with the black and brown snarling death machine, but I walked into a miracle. The growling had stopped. The teeth were still bared, but the ears were w
orking as radar, listening to her voice as she murmured kind comforting things; his nose twitched, sniffing her from a distance.

  “Wow, you charmed him pretty fast.”

  She didn’t look up, keeping eye contact with the glacial blue irises of the fighter. “It’s a matter of changing your intentions inside.” Her voice remained soft and soothing. “They can sense so much of what we don’t say. To him, our nervous energy at wanting to save him puts him on edge. I calmed myself—sending an internal message that all I want to do is hang out. He relaxed instantly.”

  Carefully placing her bag on the floor, I sat on my haunches beside her. “Well, it worked.”

  Shuffling forward in an awkward frog-leg kinda walk, Vesper kept her hand out and body language calm. “What did they do to you, Scar?”

  “Scar?”

  She pointed at the crisscross wounds all over his body.

  Scar was apt.

  Just sad.

  I tried to give them names that made me smile when I called them, so they didn’t remember the rough life they’d had before coming to me. However, this dog was brave. Messed up and dangerous, but brave.

  “Do you have any food?” Vesper asked, slowly making contact with the dog’s wet nose with her knuckles.

  My stomach twisted in fear. Her hand could be mauled in two blinks. But she didn’t seem to worry. Her fingers unfurled, letting the Pusky Bull lick tentatively and accept a soft touch on his muzzle.

  “Food, Ry?”

  “Shit, sorry. Yes, I do. I’ll go get some.” Climbing to my feet slowly to avoid any spook induced attack, I reluctantly turned my back on the woman I desperately wanted and the dog I didn’t trust, and dashed to the fridge where I kept gourmet homemade dog tucker.

  Mrs. Fitzherbet down the road made a mix of all natural grains and meats and bound it with proper stock gravy. None of that additive store bought shit for my pooches.

  Once I’d ladled a generous potion out and added some dried kibble into a stainless steel bowl (seriously, my cupboards were more stainless steel and ceramic for canines than crockery and crystal for humans), I headed back to find Vesper with her legs crossed and the Pusky Bull over her lap.

  His large head draped over her knees and his front paws, still bleeding from whatever fight they’d enrolled him in last, spread over her ankles. Vesper looked up as she massaged his torn ear; the stethoscope from her bag pressed on his barrel chest, a distraught look on her face.

  The dog wheezed and huffed, breathing shallow but calm. He tracked me with his eyes but didn’t try to move, even with the promise of good food.

  I didn’t interrupt as I placed the dog dish in snarfing distance and waited for her to finish listening to his chest. When she finally pulled the earpieces free and told Scar what a good patient he was, she looked up and made eye contact with me.

  And I just knew.

  I fucking knew.

  I hated this part.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I asked, tipping the bowl so he could eat without having to lift his head far from Vesper’s lap. Instead of diving in like his skeletal ribs suggested his hunger, he took a delicate mouthful and chewed slowly as if savouring every taste.

  Anyone who said dogs didn’t feel pain or happiness like we did were morons.

  This dog knew what we did.

  This was his last meal. Or, if not his last…definitely numbered.

  His last chance at comfort before he could finally let go because he knew what we did.

  Vesper’s eyes glossed, but she didn’t cry—a professional with high levels of empathy—but still a professional. “His heart is struggling. I can’t tell without an X-ray, but it sounds over enlarged and pressing on his lungs. There’s a lot of liquid on his chest and it’s slowly suffocating him.”

  My own chest constricted at the thought of slowly dying from breathlessness. How had he run around so long while I tried to catch him? Where did his energy come from barking and growling?

  I raked my hand through my hair. “Am I to blame? Did I scare him too much? Make him exercise too—”

  Vesper took my hand from where it rested on the dog bowl. “It’s not your fault, Ry. Adrenaline kicked in and kept him going. But he’s tired. His body has had enough and I don’t blame him.”

  Scar continued to eat, his ears twitching while listening to our voices. “How long does he have?”

  Vesper sighed. “Honestly? I’m not sure. If we kept him quiet for the next few days, pampered the hell out of him and gave him everything he missed out on, he might hold on for a week, possibly two to enjoy it. But he’d suffer. Or…” Her eyes flittered to her bag. “I could send him to sleep and grant him peace finally.”

  I jerked. “No, not yet.”

  She didn’t argue, merely nodded as if that was where her thoughts had gone too. Was it right to let the dog be breathless just because we didn’t want to be the ones to take his life? Or was it kind to give him a few cuddles and good dinners before he said goodbye?

  I didn’t know and who were we to make that decision on his behalf?

  While Scar took another mouthful, I risked patting his head. He didn’t grumble and I accepted the invitation to touch him. “What do you want, boy? Are you done and want to go, or are you happy to stick around for a bit?” I looked up. “What about surgery? Is there anything you can do to bring the heart back to normal size?”

  Vesper shook her head. “Not without flying him to specialised clinics—even then, it’s touch and go.”

  No apologises or explanations. It was what it was.

  My shoulders rolled. “Well, buddy, you tell us. We’ll take it by the hour. How about that?”

  His head bounced as he grabbed another mouthful of dwindling dinner.

  Vesper smiled. “I think that was a yes.”

  Silence fell as our attention remained solely on Scar. We didn’t speak as the battle weary Pusky Bull finished his food, yawned, and licked us in gratitude. When he stood on wobbly legs and left a patch of blood with every foot fall across the dusty wooden floor, I literally couldn’t fucking take it.

  “Can you take away his pain at least?”

  Vesper nodded. “Of course. Now he’s eaten, I’ll clean his wounds and bandage them.” She looked around the uninviting lounge. “Will he sleep in here? Or do you have a place with the other dogs?”

  “He can’t go in with the others.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “He’s a killer. He’s been bred to attack others. I can’t run that risk or freak out the other rescues.”

  “I agree.” Standing, she headed after Scar as he looked at the window where a breeze came in and whined. “I think he wants to go out. Do you have a dog bed you can set up at least? Give him his own space until…”

  Until he goes.

  “Yes, of course.” Jumping into action, I added, “You take him to do his business and I’ll get his room ready.” I grinned, but it felt tired and forced. “Can’t have him sleeping in anything less than luxury from now on.”

  She half-smiled. “You’re a good guy, Ryder. The best. And the dogs know it. You’re loved…by all of them.”

  The moonlight cast her in silver shadow and it was my heart that lurched this time, not my cock. The intensity of that inconsequential moment filled me with lead and bubbles grounding me at the same time as making me float away.

  I couldn’t reply.

  I merely nodded and turned on my heel to prepare the best few days of Scar’s life.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Vesper

  BY THE TIME SCAR HAD done his business outside and allowed me to wash his paws in betadine and apply topical cream with bandages, tiredness was a heavy shroud. I’d found a few puncture wounds on his left flank from another dog’s teeth and a few festering sores under his front arms.

  Every inch of him was inspected and tended to. I just wished I could reach into his chest and somehow fix his enlarged heart.

  The clock in the kitchen showed two forty a.m. by the time I was happy
with his condition and given him a Schmacko treat I found in a drawer designated for utensils but was choc-a-block full of squeaky toys and dried jerky for dogs.

  I’d completely underestimated Ryder.

  Looking around his large but unhomely house, I picked up clues that he’d kept hidden. His humour and antics made him come across as carefree and slightly self-absorbed. But as my gaze landed on hammers and chisels and the occasional crude comment written by a finger in the dust on the kitchen top, I saw a man who had a fascination with fixing broken things.

  Dogs. Houses. Maybe even humans, too.

  I hadn’t been broken, but I had forgotten how to laugh; how to ask myself what I truly wanted. That night in my apartment had been the first honest to God connection I’d felt—not toward him but toward myself.

  I’d been true and didn’t hide behind filters or thoughts of what I should be and how I should act.

  He had a gift, and he gave it so damn generously to everyone.

  Thinking of him must’ve summoned him as he appeared, his hands jammed in paint-splattered jeans like always, and his hair a mix of dark brown and plaster grey from dust. “How’s the invalid?”

  Scar wagged his tail as Ryder bent over and scratched behind his ear but his breathing was no better. The rattle and wheeze broke my heart.

  “Time for bed, buddy?”

  Scar licked his hand.

  Rubbing my lower back, I said, “He’s all done and I’ve given him a dose of Metacam which is an anti-inflammatory and painkiller. He’ll be feeling pretty happy right about now.”

  “That’s great.” Ryder stood. “In that case, time to show his highness his throne for the night and then, I want to show you something, too.”

  My heart skipped as Ryder patted his thigh. “Come on, boy. Your night of decadence isn’t over yet.”

  Scar hauled himself up with a war-weary groan. He took a few strides to become flexible enough to walk without stumbling.

  I wrapped my arms around myself as I followed the two males from the kitchen, through the partially renovated foyer with its gorgeous wood panelling and cobwebbed chandelier, and up the elegant sweeping wide staircase.