by Kati Wilde
As soon as Fauconnier runs out of bullets, Ethan suddenly lunges forward. In a single bound he clears a boulder, jumping out of sight.
Then Fauconnier comes flying through the air, landing on the slope and tumbling, rolling. Frantically the hunter clambers to his feet looks around—then goes utterly still as Ethan returns. Crouching atop a boulder, fangs glistening in the moonlight, his claws like daggers.
With sudden desperation, Fauconnier grips a lasso slung over his chest. Ethan snarls, as if daring him.
Fauconnier rips the lasso over his head and tosses it aside—and screams, a horrendous howling shriek that clutches my heart with sheer terror.
“Makena…” Kyle says warily. “What the—”
The crack of bones cuts him off. Oh my god. Fauconnier screams again, but the sound deepens, rumbling and snarling, as the terrifying transformation overtakes him.
And it’s not like Ethan’s. That seems to be painless—and even when I’m watching closely, I can’t detect the shifting of his muscles, the altering of his skin. But now every harrowing bulge and rip and crack that changes Fauconnier from an average man to a giant beast is on horrifying, gut-churning display.
Even more terrifying is when it stops. In ruined clothes that split at the seams and hang off his form in ragged shreds, Fauconnier’s beast crouches, in appearance not much different from Ethan’s wolfskin. Lighter fur, maybe not quite as big. But I never understood quite so well what Ethan said about always being himself, in both forms. Because I don’t recognize anything of Fauconnier—or human—in the beast. Eyes alight with vicious savagery, that bloodthirsty gaze lands on me and Kyle, lips drawing back in a slavering snarl.
Ethan answers with a deadly snarl of his own—and leaps from the boulder, straight at the beast. They crash together in a slashing hurricane of claws and fangs. It’s so sudden, so violent, I stumble backward, muffling my scream behind my hands, not wanting to distract Ethan even for an instant. Beside me, Kyle draws his gun, but just stares over the barrel at the furious battle taking place before us.
A battle that Ethan is quickly winning. The beast is all unthinking fury and instinct, snapping and biting and slashing. But as pissed as Ethan must be, as full of anger and hatred for the man who killed his family and threatened me, he’s clearly still thinking. Using all his years of experience wearing that warrior’s skin to rip and tear with devastating accuracy. The beast howls with pain as a slash of Ethan’s claws spills guts and blood. A powerful bite ravages the beast’s leg, and as it stumbles, turning its back to Ethan for the briefest moment, Ethan rips out its spine.
The beast collapses to the ground. Still moving. Still growling. Fangs dripping blood, Ethan pushes the hulking form over onto its ruined back. Moonlight glints off his claws as he raises his massive hand. Going for the killing blow.
“Wait!” Heart thundering, I race forward. “Wait!”
Ethan pauses, looking back, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl.
“I’m not going to stop you,” I tell him, sweeping up the discarded lasso. “But this beast has no idea why this is happening or what it’s paying for. But he does.”
I toss the lasso onto the beast’s chest. This time there’s no crunching of bones, just the magic in that lasso transforming the beast into Fauconnier again. But only an instant passes—long enough for us to see the dawning realization in his eyes—before Ethan casually swipes at the murdering bastard’s head.
It rolls to a stop at the base of a boulder.
“Oh Jesus.” From behind me, Kyle looks from the head, to Ethan, to me—and then just sits in the dirt, gun held loosely in his hand. “Oh sweet Jesus. Holy shit.”
I reach for Ethan’s enormous hand, his long fingers entwining with mine. “Kyle. Are you okay?”
Though is face is so white that his faint freckles are visible even under the moonlight, he nods. Then swallows thickly. And nods again. “I’m glad you did that. Turned him back human. I don’t know how I’d explain a werewolf body.”
I hadn’t even thought of explanations. Only of surviving—and making certain that Fauconnier didn’t escape what was coming to him. “Okay, but…how will you explain that?”
The body. The head.
Kyle grimaces. “I’m really sorry to say… But probably a bear.”
Just like my parents. Because it’s the most believable story. Though my chest squeezes tight, I nod. “Right.”
I reach the small pile of Ethan’s clothes and hand him the bloodied shirt—which he simply uses to wipe of the worst of the new blood when he changes back to human form. He takes his jeans from me, but doesn’t step into them before asking gruffly, “You all right—after seeing that?”
“Yeah. Weirdly.” A shaky little laugh pushes through me. “Maybe it hasn’t settled in.”
He nods, cupping my cheek before looking to Kyle. “Thank you.”
“Sure. Anytime.” Kyle blows out a long breath, scrubs his hands over his face, then turns his considering gaze on Ethan. His eyes narrow. “You really want to thank me? Every time we have to conduct a search and rescue around here, you be the first to volunteer.”
The corners of Ethan’s mouth twitch into a faint smile. “I’ll do that. I’m also real handy whenever there’s a fire, too.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ethan glances behind him, at what remains of Fauconnier. “I’ll pick up the silver bullets because they’ve got my blood all over them, but do you need me to do anything with this mess?”
Kyle shakes his head. “Just leave him out here. It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. That’ll muddy up some of the evidence—and Christ, I can’t believe I’m saying that. This is a pretty clear case of self-defense, but I’m the goddamn sheriff. My job is to uphold the law and here I am deliberately fucking with it. And I should be more conflicted about that.”
“Me, too,” I tell him softly. But I’m not. And I understand all too well what’s happening to him. Right and wrong hasn’t changed…but some of the other lines that he took for granted have suddenly shifted.
Suddenly he pushes to his feet, his voice ragged. “I need to see my wife. And just hold her for a bit.”
“Take my truck back up to the house,” I tell him. “We’ll clean up here a little and then make our way back up on foot.”
Probably with Ethan carrying me the whole way, because he’s already scooping me up into his arms.
Kyle starts toward the truck, barely pausing when I call after him, “And Kyle—I know you want to see her, but drive slow back up to the house. There’s still a case of dynamite in the truck bed.”
His laugh rolls back to me. “After everything we survived tonight, Makena…I’m not worried a bit. See you at the medical center.”
“As soon as we can.”
But first…we need to do what Kyle is heading off to do. Just hold the person that we most need to hold.
And Ethan holds me tight as he carries me down the slope, around a pile of boulders—until the body’s out of sight, I realize. There he sets me down atop a flat stone, his fingers and eyes gently searching out all the injuries his nose has already told him about.
“Makena,” he whispers hoarsely as the gouge on my shoulder is exposed, as his fingers lift them hem of my shirt to find my stomach, scraped and bleeding. “Let’s get you back to the house, get these cleaned and bandaged up.”
“Not yet,” I tell him. Because I can’t stop touching him, looking at him. On his chest and stomach, there’s no sign of the bullet wounds. And the pain of these cuts and scrapes can’t hold a candle to the joy of knowing that he’s here and alive and he’ll never have to leave. My voice is half laughter, half sob. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”
“You will never lose me,” he swears. “And I’ll never let anyone take you from me. You’re mine, Makena. Which means I’ll always be yours.”
And as his mouth finds mine under the full moon, he kisses me. The kiss of a man who’ll give me everything. The kiss of a man who
believes I’m his whole world. The kiss of a man who’s staying.
Forever.
26
Epilogue
Ethan
Three years later…
I’m standing at the front of my ancient truck, surrounded by a cloud of steam and considering the merits of tearing out the guts of the whole damn vehicle, when the sound of an unfamiliar engine approaches and slows.
A second later, I damn near keel over as the smooth hum of an electric window rolling down is followed by a waft of air-conditioned new-car smell and Makena’s sweet scent.
“Hey, cowboy!” Her husky voice stiffens every goddamn part of me. “Need a ride?”
My heart fills up so damn full, my chest puffs right up with it. Grinning, I head over to her open passenger window, duck my head to look in. She’s laughing at me in that silent way she has, but despite the air-conditioning she’s got in this new rig, the spicy scent that’s slipping through her natural perfume says she’s getting real hot, too.
“Looks like you broke your truck again,” she observes with a grin. “And I bet you had somewhere real important to be today, too.”
Yeah, I did. Home. But home came to me, instead. “So this is the rig you decided on while I was gone?”
“A reverse mullet pickup,” she says. “Party in the front, business in the back. So I couldn’t resist.”
I laugh. Because, yeah. That truck bed is still good for working on the ranch. But I’m not so sure about the party. “Is that what you call Michael throwing crackers at you from his carseat?”
Though our son’s not in there now. Probably he’s at home with Jonas, who traded in being a horse whisperer for being a baby whisperer about the second after we brought Michael home from the hospital.
“Nah,” she says. “It’s the party we’ll have breaking in the backseat of this extended cab. Get in here, cowboy. Because I’ve missed the hell out of you.”
And I’ve missed the hell out of her. I grab my duffel from my truck and load up into hers, tossing the bag in the backseat before moving in for a kiss—and Christ, her taste. Two weeks without her and it’s brand new all over again, leaving me so fucking dizzy and hungry that it takes all my strength just to pull back and tell her, “I love you so goddamn much.”
“I love you.” Her eyes glisten before she blinks the tears away, puts the truck into drive. “But I think we’ll actually have to wait about five months to break in the backseat. Because I don’t know if I can fit back there now.”
“I bet you could. And you know I’m real good at fitting big things into tight spaces,” I tell her and her laugh lifts me straight up to heaven.
Not that she’s all that big yet. Just a swollen little mound that I slide my palm over now, feeling like I do every damn time I touch her. Like a man who somehow gained the whole world in the form of one gorgeous woman.
Her hand covers mine, as if to hold my touch close as she slows and turns down the county road that follows the river to home. “How are you? It looked so terrifying on the news.”
The wildfires that I just spent two weeks fighting. The first time I’ve been called out of state since I joined up on a seasonal crew two summers back. “As bad as it looked,” I tell her. “But I met a few other kin.”
Her gaze shoots to mine in surprise. “Really?”
I nod and rub her belly. “I told them they ought to come up this way for a visit. And that there’s a fancy new resort that they could stay at.”
Because Fauconnier’s death barely slowed the development down. Apparently he handed over the reins to MDC so often to go on his hunts that the transition to the new head of the company was smooth as silk—and the woman who took over his position not the least bit interested in deviating from the development’s original plans. So the construction went ahead—and in the meantime, MDC sold off Rudder’s property.
Which I bought, using the money I’d got after selling my own family’s homestead, and gave it to Makena as a wedding present. So Makena’s spent the past three years slowly building up her herd again. With twice as much land to take care of, she re-hired Julio and he moved into the old Rudder place with his sister.
Me, I could have done nothing else but work the ranch. God knows I love the place like she does. But being who I am, I can easily do the work of three or four men. So the seasonal firefighting fulfills a need I have as wolfkin, that part of me that comes from a family of cops and firefighters. Plus it brings in enough extra cash that, combined with what was left over from selling the homestead, gives us a little more cushion.
“That’ll be great if they can visit,” Makena says, and although she’s telling the truth…I can also detect a hint of uncertainty.
“What’s worrying you?”
She bites her lip before glancing over at me. “We never really figured out why my scent affects you like it does. Like it still does. I thought it was my parents’ rings, but when we destroyed Tyr’s hand, whatever magic that bled into me should have vanished just like it did from the bullets. So what if these kin are affected, too? And why are you laughing?”
“Because”—I bring her hand to my lips, kiss the silver rings she’s still wearing on her thumb and pinky…right next to the rings I gave her—“that part of your scent did vanish. That same night.”
“What?” She looks at me wide-eyed, and now there’s a bit of fear coming off her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Christ. That hint of sour fear is killing me, because I can guess where it comes from. She’s thinking that silver made a rope that bound her to me with that scent—and now that rope’s gone.
Except it’s not.
“Because it was all the same to me,” I tell her softly. “I get a whiff of your scent, and I can’t stop myself from searching you out. I breathe you in deep enough, I still get real damn lightheaded from it. I still get real goddamn hard, so all I can think about is getting between your legs, where the smell of you is so rich and strong. You’re still fucking irresistible, Makena. And every damn time I smell you, I smell a woman who I know will always be my whole damn world—and a woman who it would fucking kill me to walk away from. So all that silver did was let my instincts know what my heart was going to learn.”
Her eyes full, she blinks and swallows, pressing her trembling lips together before whispering, “Okay, then. And I have something for you.”
I grin. “Do you now?”
Her laugh is soft and watery. “I do. Because I had that ultrasound last week.”
My heart squeezes in. I kiss her hand again. “I wish I’d been there for you.”
“It’s okay. Because they gave me a gender-reveal thing to give to you. Like a…I don’t know. You’re supposed to open it and see. Like a surprise.”
I already know what the baby is. I’ve been smelling it in her scent for a while. But I kept it to myself, because the only surprise I could have ruined was hers. “So you’ll give that to me?”
“I was going to.” Her voice thickens. “And then I realized that the whole reveal is based on color. You know. Blue or pink? But you wouldn’t even be able to see it. Especially if it was pink.”
And it is pink. I’m not sure if she’s real upset by this or if it’s just the pregnancy hormones swinging on her emotions. “It’s all right. I can tell blue from pink. So you want me to open it up?”
“Yes. But not until I give you something else.” She pulls into the driveway, tires crunching over the gravel drive. “It’s in that bag in the back.”
A small white paper bag marked with a Vane Optical logo with an oblong case inside. I pull it out, open it up, frown at the pair of glasses sitting there. “What are these?”
“I was going to wait until Christmas. But this damn gender reveal thing—” She breaks off, draws a shuddering breath. “It’s those color-correcting glasses. So you can see pink.”
My throat closes up so fucking tight, I can’t say a thing. How the hell did I get lucky enough to meet Makena Laine? Lucky enough th
at she fell in love with me? This beautiful, incredible, amazing, generous woman.
Who’s so damn beautiful. Dimly I’m aware of the brilliant green around us as she pulls up to the house. Aware of the bright red of the barn and the way all the colors come together, so much brighter and vibrant.
But they’re all nothing next to Makena. The rich tones of her skin, the glittering depths of her eyes. Her gorgeous smile and those full lips and that…pink tongue.
Sweet Christ. It darts out to lick her bottom lip before she says huskily, “You are ridiculously sexy when you’re wearing glasses.”
“You’re ridiculously sexy when I’m wearing glasses, too.”
Her laugh goes straight to my dick—already so hard after imagining her tongue all over it, now it’s aching to be inside her. With a soft growl, I tell her, “I hear Jonas and Michael out in the barn. Which means we’ve got a house to ourselves.”
She unbuckles fast, but I’m faster. I’m out of the truck and around to her side before she manages to open the door. I scoop her up and head onto the porch and into the house. Straight to the stairs, which I clear in three lunging steps. Makena holds on, her arms twined around my neck, her kiss as hungry as mine.
And Christ—our room is a burst of color. It’s always been the most vibrant for me, the way Makena’s and my scents mixed, and then came Michael’s to add to the perfect fragrance that was home. But there’s so much color in here, too.
At the center of it all is Makena. Lying against the pale bedspread, full of so much life from head to toe. I strip her now, slowly, baring every inch as I worship her with my mouth. Then down, to where the essence of her is so strong and pure and hot—and as I spread her open for a taste, she cries out in pleasure.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she says on a little sobbing breath. “Missed this so much.”
Touching her. Tasting her. Especially like this.
She gives a strangled gasp at the first long, rough lick. Then looks down at me, laughing and lifting her hips, her body begging for more. “You’re so bad, Ethan,” she moans as I taste her again, deeper, and I can’t reply as my clawed fingers hold her still, as she begins to writhe and squirm against my tongue. And when she comes, I finish playing, but only after licking away the incredible taste of her pleasure, the way her pussy melted all over my tongue.
