by Angela White
Angela waved it away, hoping this was the end of it. “My first time in control. I overreact.”
“First one’s always the best. They still have a hope it will change back.” Lenore grinned, clapped her on the arm again, and this time, adrenaline kept Angela on her feet.
7
Hours later, as Marc finished changing parts inside the radio, Lenore led Angela through a dark, and blanket-covered room where at least five adult women and three kids were sharing a very large bed.
As Lenore pushed open a back hallway door, she saw Angela’s look and shook her head. “You’re putting no one out. They sleep together for warmth now that their men is gone and the snow comes unexpected.”
Angela heard and understood the tone of betrayal in Lenore’s words. “The Draft?”
Lenore recognized a fellow victim. “Aye. Yours too?”
Angela’s eyes were haunted. “My son. I’m on my way to get him back.”
The giantess raised a surprised brow. “Just the two of you?”
“Yes. No one will keep me from my blood.”
Respect laced the woman’s voice. “My prayers will be with ya. Not that God listens any more now than he did before.”
Angela smiled her thanks, suddenly tense as the wide bed, lit by a candle in each corner, came into view. She hid it, and closed the door with relief. A few minutes alone at last!
8
“Coming in,” Marc called softly, as he stepped in and then locked the door. Dog went straight to Angie, and then began exploring the room. Covered in dust, it sported a rickety bed, one end table, a plush, dusty chair below a window, and a long, cluttered dresser with no mirror.
Marc frowned when he saw she had a row of medical supplies spread out on the dresser. “You hurt?”
Angela didn’t look up from the needle she was threading. “You are.”
Marc gave her a sheepish look at the dry tone and began taking off his coat and sweat-stained shirt. He tried not to wince as the cloth peeled painfully away from the wound, the blood long-dried.
“When did I get you?”
Marc shrugged out of the gun belts and laid them on the stand near the bed as Dog curled up under the front corner. “First few shots. It’s just a trim.”
Angela rolled her eyes at the crusted, three-inch furrow along the underside of his arm, “I’m always hurting you, Brady. I’m sorry.”
He noticed that she had cleaned herself up and put on the jeans and black shirt from her emergency bag. They’d gotten lucky to have them close by when the wolves attacked. “Mistakes happen.”
“I could have killed you.”
Marc tensed as she cleaned the wound with alcohol pads, and Angela found herself watching the way his muscles flexed.
“This world is full of chaos. It was your first real fight. I think you did great.”
She met his eye, needing to know how true it was. “Really?”
"Yes," Marc said, his tone revealing that he wasn’t blowing smoke and Angela smiled, fighting the urge to reach out and run a soft hand along his lightly-bearded jaw.
“You learned well.”
Her eyes darkened, and she looked down at his injury, letting the Doctor take over. “Hope it’s enough.”
Marc twitched at the needle as it sank into his skin, and Angela moved faster. It occurred to her that she now had stitching in both of his big arms. How many more times would he be put in the line of fire for her? The wind outside picked up suddenly as if responding, and Angela shivered.
“Damn. It got colder. How would they keep warm in these back rooms?” Marc mused.
Angela kept her tone light, but flushed at the pictures running through her mind. “They don’t use them. They all share one bed for body heat.”
Marc‘s eyes showed understanding: that explained all the people in one sloppy tangle in that center room, and it made him think of how the big woman had held his arm as she led him through, fingers caressing. Lenore had whispered of being a good master if he was unhappy with his current one.
Angela turned to look at him, anger making the demon’s red eyes bleed through. “She made a move on you when she brought you back here?”
Marc said nothing and Angela moved to her side of the bed as she dried her hands and controlled her rage. She had no real claim to him. If he wanted to sleep with the woman, he could.
“I don’t.”
Her eyes flew to his in time to see him grimace as he tried to pull on his shirt.
“You sure?”
Marc’s eyes were amused, and it calmed her. “Yes.”
He began trying to button the emergency shirt, but with only one arm and pain shooting through the other, it was slow going.
Angela waved a hand at him. “Leave it open or you’re gonna rip out those stitches.”
“You could do it for me,” he suggested, feeling the throbbing increase.
She frowned, thinking he wouldn’t ask for a painkiller, but he’d take it if she said to. What was it with men and their pride?
“There’s Vicodin in my bag, top left side. Take two, leave the shirt as it is, and go to bed, will ya?”
Marc raised a brow at the curtness and Angela sighed. “Damn. I’m sorry, Brady.”
He moved slowly towards her bag. “You wanna tell me what’s got you on edge?”
Angela turned toward the window, glad for the bars on it as she spotted shadows padding restlessly outside. “Besides the wolves out there? I’m not sure. “
Marc saw the V on the bottle and dry swallowed two of the tiny blue pills without really looking at them, thinking she sounded restless.
“Nerves from today. You wanna talk it out, play some cards? Both?”
She shook her head, shivering. She wasn’t anywhere near ready for that bed, either. “No.”
Marc sat in the chair and began working on their guns, hands always sure and steady.
He was right, it was just nerves from the battle, Angela agreed, starting her own nightly rituals, but she was very aware of the man pretending not to watch her. This was their first time in a real bed together since they’d made a baby, and the old Angela was harassing her with memories of how good their time together had been. The mating had been sweet, soft and beautiful, and she’d forgotten none of it.
Marc knew she was thinking about him, but kept quiet, sure he was out of time. If she said her man was close, then he was and that meant this was their last night alone together. His heart was already breaking, missing her, and Marc burned to remind her of what it was like to be made love to, instead of being taken.
The sparks in the room thickened, and Angie felt him tense when she unbraided her long, black hair and began to brush it.
“Can I do that for you?” he heard himself asking, thinking his heart was pounding harder than it should be.
When she hesitated, Marc smiled. “Please.”
Angela couldn’t deny him or herself. The need to get close to him tonight was undeniable. When he stepped behind her, big body warm and hard, she snapped her eyes shut and held herself in place.
The feel of her curls running over his calloused hands was like silk, and Marc took his time, using his fingers to gather it, brushing her neck softly.
Angela heard the brush hitting the bed behind them, felt his big hands go to her shoulders, but instead of moving away, she allowed him to rub her. The heat from his touch was like heaven.
“That feels good,” she moaned, and Marc breathed in deeply of it before moving back a bit, his body hardening.
Angela knew it was teasing him and surprised them both by letting him continue, even when his fingers brushed the curve of her breast, and sent little chills into her stomach. She forgot to listen to the voice of fear as his thumb brushed her again, the sensation rushing into her gut like a bullet. “Mmmmm…”
Marc’s eyes snapped shut at that sound, liquid heat flooding his gut. He moved his hands away from her ribcage, sending them to her waist, her slender hips.
They
had to stop now, Angela knew that, knew she’d probably hate herself later, but the feel of him was comforting, enticing… When he tugged gently, she leaned back against his hard, bare chest, wishing she had the nerve to give him what he so clearly wanted.
Marc controlled himself, didn’t push against her ass like he wanted to. When she would have turned to get closer, he moved back, not willing to destroy the peace.
Angela stifled a protest at his retreat, her face flushed. She hadn’t meant to lead him on, had done really well so far, but the need was on her, the Witch and the old Angela crying for release.
Marc realized her confusion. The killing had done it for her. It was something no one liked to admit, but he’d had some of the best orgasms - alone - right after a battle where blood was spilled. “You okay?”
Her eyes darted to the threadbare coverlet pulled across her lap. “Yeah, you?”
Marc noted the bars over the windows, arm still throbbing. “Sure. You got that rolled yet?”
Angela forced a grin as the temperature dropped lower in the dusty bedroom, blowing grit across the dark, hardwood floor. “It’s in your pack.”
Marc got it and fired it up, body tight. He tried to force his mind to other things as she pulled her sweater over her shoulders. Her long curls hung around her pale skin, the smell of her was assaulting his nose, and Marc frowned at himself as erotica flashed through his mind.
He moved to the other side of the bed, not really feeling the cold anymore, but he saw her pointed chest and knew she was. Marc got another blanket from his kit and tossed it on the pillow next to her. “Put that one around your shoulders.”
Angela didn’t look at him as she drew on her courage. “Share it with me?”
Marc felt the need rise up, strong and hungry, as he sat back against the headboard. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Honey.”
He held the smoldering joint out and she took it carelessly, letting their fingers brush. Flames sparked, vanished.
Marc felt like he was sweating, body making it hard for him to sit. He shifted restlessly, waiting for it to go away like it usually did. He had quietly pleased himself from time to time when she was asleep, but right now, he felt like he hadn’t in years, and he struggled to keep it out of his voice as he took the joint back. “You ready for tomorrow?”
Angela blew out a thick stream of sweet, pungent smoke. “As much as I can be.”
Marc turned toward her, unable to stop his eyes from falling to her red lips. “You’ve learned a lot. I think you’ll do fine.”
She smiled at him, in a good mood despite the wrongness here, and she tried not to let the thuds and creaks outside the ranch home bother her as the wind gusted loudly. She was with Marc. They could handle just about anything together. “I had a good…teacher.”
Sparks flew between them, the hunger alive, and Angela felt heat flood her stomach. The passion was new to her, almost like she’d never felt it.
When his eyes darkened, she felt a streak of heat that she knew he sensed by the way his grip on the joint tightened and the muscle in his jaw began to twitch. She should be scared, she knew that too, but this was Brady. Nothing would happen that she didn’t want.
Marc moved off the bed and settled himself in the wide chair under the window, blowing out the candle closest to him. He left only one flickering flame in the far corner that gave off very little light, not trusting himself. He lit a smoke, body and arm now throbbing together, one pain, one sharp and sweet. What the hell was wrong with him?
Angela was asking herself the same thing. She wasn’t some tramp and she was pushing him. Marc was a man, one with needs that hadn’t been met for a long time, and here she was letting him kiss her, rub her, touch her breast. Her face flamed at that thought, and she heard him shift in the chair, as if he picked up on the image.
Her heart thumped as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His shirt fell open at the movement, and she couldn’t look away, wondering where that furious wave of need was coming from.
“Angie.”
She heard it in his voice and instead of fear, the woman inside responded. “Yes.”
Marc’s eyes snapped open, but her guilty face had him shaking his head. “No. Go to sleep.”
Angie braced herself. There was one last lesson to be learned. “Come back to bed, Brady.”
Marc groaned, breaking out in a sweat, and he shook his head, not looking at her. His blood was pounding through tight veins, breathing rough.
Angela frowned at him. “Are you all right?”
Marc tried to nod, but the tempo of the lust beating inside him grew, and he shifted again, thinking he’d have to do something about the iron bar in his jeans before climbing into bed with her. That picture made the need tighten another notch, and he jumped when he felt her cool hand settle on his brow. He hadn’t heard her move.
“Damn, you’re hot. Let me see your eyes.”
Marc grit his teeth as she checked him out, the feel of her hands on him, her hair sliding across him, incredible torture.
“I don’t understand. You don’t ha…” Angela broke off, frown growing. Her bag. She’d told him top left. “I think I know what’s wrong with you.”
He did too. He needed to get laid more often.
”You didn’t take Vicodin. It was Viagra.”
Marc’s eyes flew open again, horrified. “What?”
She opened her worn medical bag. “It got mixed up during the fight. You didn’t read the label.”
Marc watched her step back, hands itching to pull her close. “How long will I be like this? And why the hell do you have that?”
Angela flushed. “It’s for diseases. Lenore wants to trade it for the cornbread.”
Marc groaned again, body on fire. He eyed the white pills she held out.
“This is really Vicodin.”
He swallowed it before she could get him anything to drink and looked at her with wide, glazed eyes. “How long?”
She looked away. “At least four hours, maybe six or eight.”
Marc’s head snapped back, eyes slamming shut. He wouldn’t last that long. “Can’t you give me something to counteract it?”
When she hesitated to speak, he knew there was something, but she didn’t want to tell him.
“What?” he demanded.
“If you...take yourself in…” Face a furious red, Angela indicated the bed, “It will go away once you...” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Marc no longer felt the cold or heard the wind. “Next!”
“Let it wear off.”
Marc stifled a curse, shifting again. “There’s gotta be something else.”
“I’m sorry, there isn’t.”
The tension in the room only continued to grow. After five minutes of watching him squirm (and feeling her own hormones responding), Angela stood up.
“I’m gonna step out in the hall for a few minutes, have a smoke,” she stated, waving off his protests. “I’ll take Dog. You... handle things.”
“Stay?”
Angela froze at the blatant need in his rough voice, looking at him. “While you…?”
Marc looked down, surprisingly embarrassed, and heard himself beg. “Please.” He’d never been so hard in his life, not even during their time together all those years ago.
His voice was gruff with embarrassment, and Angela was surprised to find herself considering it, woman’s body long denied any real pleasure. “I couldn't...”
“I’ll stay right here. I won’t move from this spot,” he pleaded.
Angela knew she should go before things went any farther, but the heat between them was pulling, stronger than the fear for a change, and she hesitated, torn. He’d made her feel so alive when they were young! Memories, old and powerful, swirled through the drafty room.
"I can't," he groaned as their lips met again, "I'm sorry."
The beautiful girl shifted restlessly under him, body begging for his touch. "But I want you to!" she complained
/>
The boy held himself in place only by a hair. They'd never gone this far before, and the hormones were in control of her mind. She was too young, forbidden…
When she slid a hand between them, he sucked in a harsh breath. "I can't do..."
"Sshhhh..." her hand closed over him, stealing his voice, and he bucked in her grip as she stroked.
Struggling to think, he let her slide his tense hand under her skirt.
"Love me, Brady," she moaned against his mouth, "as much as you can."
Tortured will crumbling, he did just that.
"One of my favorite memories of us."
Angie flushed at his words. The time after that, they'd gone as far as they could. There hadn't been any holding back.
"I can't, Marc, I just..."
"Shhh...." His beautiful blue eyes were tunnels to the past. "Love me, Angie. As much as you can."
Jerked into the pain and loneliness she'd been forced to endure for so long, Angela nodded shakily and watched his hands go to the buckle of his jeans with wide eyes.
Marc couldn’t stop himself, the lust raging, and he held his breath as he popped the button on his jeans, expecting her to flee the tense seat she was taking on the corner of the bed.
Angela’s face was red, but there was no denying she wanted to be here. When he raised his hips to slide his pants down, she tore her eyes away, breathing rapidly.
“Throw me a blanket.”
His voice was gruff, laced with need and control, and she did it without moving from her perch. She heard the blankets rustle, hands shifting for comfort, and couldn’t stop herself from stealing a peek. It was just in time to see his hand go around a rod of flesh that had her on her feet.
Marc saw her eyes go over his body, flashing fear and desire, and tightened his grip. “Mmm…”
The sound woke the woman inside, and Angela found herself returning to the bed to lean against the headboard while she watched him pull the blanket up and start to stroke…she wasn’t sure she could look away.
Marc watched her through narrowed slits, feeling the need tighten as she stared at the movements the blanket now hid. Slowly, he pulled it back down so she could see.
