She blinked, tired and drunk enough to not care that she was staring. “Hurts,” she muttered.
He held out his hand, still not opening his eyes, offering her the rum bottle. There were several inches left at the bottom. “We'll split it,” he murmured.
She took the bottle, figuring it was a better way to spend the early morning than sober. She was not going to be able to sleep with this kind of pain. She took two shots and handed it back to him, a wave of fuzzy warmth swelling inside of her. She sighed, feeling her muscles relax, her head floating gently in space. The cold glass of the window was soothing.
He finished the rest of the bottle and dropped it in the bag, then sat back, looking at her. He folded his arms behind his head, studying her lazily from hooded eyes. At first she avoided his gaze, but then she leaned back and returned it, glancing over him slowly.
“Where did you learn to sew?” she asked, finally breaking the silence. She felt as though they weren't even in a bus anymore; as though they were in a secluded place, just the two of them. She wished she didn't feel so familiar with him... and that she wasn't so confined.
“I was a Tracker,” he murmured, still looking at her.
“Oh.” She didn't want to sound surprised, but it was clear in her voice. Not the answer she had been expecting, and not by far the most welcomed. She could vaguely remember the stories she had heard; werewolves specially trained to kill, hired by different packs as assassins. Trackers didn't tend to live very long, unless they were from the strongest bloodlines. It was hard to survive in the feral world without a pack. But he had one now, didn't he?
“Mm-hm,” he mumbled. He rested his hand on her knee above the wound, rubbing it absently. It sent bolts of heat across her skin. “Trained when I was sixteen, worked for a long while, quit just before I met you.”
She tried to ignore the memories, but they created a bad taste in her mouth. She didn't want to remember when they had met. For a moment, she had almost been interested in his past – but she reminded herself that she didn't care. “I guess you've killed a lot of people,” she said quietly.
He didn't answer.
Silence spread between them. Perhaps that had been insensitive, but she didn't care; just because he had stitched up her leg didn't mean he was redeemed. She wondered what he wasn't telling her, and why he had the shallow scar across his cheek.
“Don't worry, I've always known you were scum,” she grunted, emboldened by the alcohol. Her brain was buzzed and loose, and she felt touchy and vulnerable; one moment she wanted to yell at him, the next she wanted to hide. “You would be a Tracker. Types like you should be behind bars – not me.”
He leaned back, closing his eyes. “Why?”
“Why? Because you kill people!” she shook her head, disbelieving. “You act like it's nothing! Don't you realize what you did? How can I just go along and pretend like you didn't destroy my whole life?” She sat up, wincing at the dull stab of pain from her leg, her head swimming. Her hands ached, and she realized they were just as badly cut. Had he fixed those too? Glancing down, she realized that she was wearing fresh bandages.
She turned back to him, still scowling. She hoped she wasn't slurring too badly, and she lowered her voice. “You killed my parents,” she hissed. “My entire pack!”
He looked down at her from the corner of his eye. She tried not to be unnerved by its piercing quality.
“You're drunk,” he said quietly. “You're not going to remember this conversation in the morning.”
“Of course I will!” she hissed, leaning over and losing balance. The seats spun. When she finally righted herself, he was holding her by the shoulder, stopping her from tumbling to the floor.
“I'm not drunk,” she muttered.
“You're very drunk.”
“So? That doesn't mean you can't still answer my question....”
“You're slurring.”
“... alright.”
Jaime sat back, leaning her head against the window, letting the thrum of the rain steady her thoughts. Everything was whirling and beautiful, and she couldn't concentrate, especially with his presence permeating the air around her. His delicious smell was everywhere, and his heat called to her like a furnace. She wondered how he could sit there so quietly, ignoring her body's obvious response to his touch on her knee. She felt warm and heavy, swollen with excitement and dripping, aching to be touched. She was only a scant few days from her first ever wolf-moon, the beginning of her month of mating. The only time in the year that she could conceive.
“I know your name,” she said quietly.
He was a long time in answering. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
Another pause. “I know your name, too, Jaime.”
She blushed, wondering why she had said that. She tried to think of something intelligent to say, or at least something mean, but formulating a sentence was too hard. Hadn't they been talking about something before this? Something important?
“Jaime?” he murmured.
“Yes?”
“I want to kiss you.”
Jaime opened her eyes in shock, turning to look at him, his face half hidden in shadow. His eyes gleamed down at her, suddenly bright silver with moonlight, eerie and piercing in the dark.
“W-what?” she whispered.
He leaned slightly closer. “I would like to kiss you... and I think you want me to.”
Her breath caught. Her body roared to life, heat flooding her like a river of fire, coursing through every muscle and rushing to her head. She opened her mouth, wetting her lips with her tongue, momentarily incoherent with lust.
No! a voice suddenly screamed inside of her, pulling her back from the feverish heat. Jaime blinked, realizing she was breathing hard, her entire vision taken up by his silvery eyes... his expression was intense and unreadable. She couldn't let him touch her, she couldn't give her body to the man who had caused her so much suffering.
“No,” she said.
“No?”
She looked up at him, her eyes burning; for a moment, she could barely speak from rage. Then she forced herself. “You would dare? After everything you've done?”
He didn't respond immediately, but stared at her, hovering close. His eyes traveled over her face, dark and unreadable. “Yes,” he finally murmured.
Her eyes widened slightly. “Huh-?” The noise barely escaped her lips before he leaned forward, pressing her easily back against the seat, his body suddenly crowding the space. She moaned, his heat driving her insane. Her thoughts whirled.
“My, just look at you,” he murmured, his hand trailing up her neck. She trembled beneath him, her nipples like pebbles against her shirt, begging to be touched.... He ignored them, despite the way his eyes lingered. She couldn't control herself — her thoughts were warm and hazy, focused on his smell and his calloused fingers. She arched her back toward him without thinking, letting out a small whimper when his thumb finally flicked her breast. Her heart pounded, her breath coming in short, helpless gasps.
“W-what are you doing?” she whispered hoarsely, glancing around the bus anxiously. Everyone else appeared asleep, including the driver. “Sirus...?”
“What does it look like I'm doing?” he said back to her, his voice low and rough.
She couldn't allow this, she reminded herself. He was a murderer, a psychopath.... “Don't,” she glared at him, trying to push him away weakly; god, his light touches were addictive. His thumb left trails of pleasure in its wake, making her shiver and moan. She twisted, forcing her shoulder between them, turning her face to one side. “Dammit, I said stop-!”
“Shh!” He abruptly yanked her head back, sinking his hand into her thick hair. Her eyes widened in shock, and he angled her face upward; his strong grip didn't allow her to refuse. He looked down at her face, his other hand moving to cup her jaw.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, then pressed her against his mouth. The kiss took her without question, crushing her lips and forcing her jaw op
en. His tongue entered her, thrusting against her; she felt claimed, as though she had no right to fight him. A feathery warmth settled in her stomach. Jaime gasped, trying to catch her breath, trying to figure out what he was doing.
His teeth grazed her lip, pulling against it gently, and then—a sharp stab of pain. She gasped, letting out a small noise of surprise. Her lips stung and burned, and she winced, tasting blood when she licked them.
“What...?” she muttered when he released her jaw. She was confused, but he hushed her with a soft breath, kissing across her cheek to her ear. He sucked on the lobe, causing new and startling sensations to bloom through her body. She was a shivering mess, practically dripping all over the seats. It would be so easy to succumb to her wolf-moon... to wrap her legs around him....
Sirus sat back, watching her reaction, studying her body as it writhed in his lap, pulsing with fire. She gazed up at him helplessly. “How do you feel?” he murmured, as though he couldn't see her flushed cheeks, the hooded lust in her eyes. His hand rested on her knee again, stroking closer and closer up her thighs.
She panted, unable to speak; his attention terrified her, making her heart race even as her body begged to be touched. He never did reach the apex of her thighs... just played with his fingers against her spread legs, watching her squirm. “Well?” he murmured darkly, his gaze unfathomable.
She let out a small moan; it was all she could do.
He chuckled low, and his fingers slipped higher, brushing against the apex of her thighs. She bit down on her lip to stop herself from crying out; she wanted to close her legs, but they widened instead, acting on their own accord. “Do you want me?” his voice was harsh and low.
She closed her eyes, tasting the blood on her lip. She wanted to shake her head no... she told herself to do it, to just shake her head, deny him....
“Don't lie to me,” he murmured darkly.
She shut her eyes tighter, blocking out his fingers. Tears squeezed down her cheeks, though she didn't realize it — she focused her will, trying to push him away.
She wished he would touch her....
She never would have opened her eyes, except suddenly his lips were against hers again, tugging her bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it, soothing the cut with his tongue. He pulled back briefly, looking down at her. “I'm going to kiss you until you answer me.”
She shook her head, desperate to fend him off though she knew she was too weak. “No....”
“Don't lie to me,” he repeated; she couldn't tell if his anger was real or not. He grabbed her and kissed her again, stroking her mouth roughly, making her melt back into her seat. She gasped, weak and overwhelmed, trapped by his mouth. The kiss stretched on for a full minute, on and on and on, until he finally pulled away from her, his hand next to her head. She arched back, her nipples painfully erect, trying to catch her breath.
Sirus glanced at her breasts; she caught his look, hooded and heavy. Her breasts were full and round, and stood out clearly from the floppy material. He reached for her shirt and pulled it up. She breathed in sharply as the material rubbed across her nipples, making her moan in pleasureful agony.
“Nice,” he said quietly. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could barely hear him.
Her bandaged fingers touched his hand, the one that had been gently stroking her thighs. He looked down at her, meeting her desperate gaze. “Please,” she murmured, unable to hear her own voice. “Please... I can't stand this....”
“Alright,” he murmured, pressing her back against the seats. He leaned over her, watching her eyes until he ducked down and took a nipple into his mouth. She gasped brokenly, spreading her legs, pressing her crotch against his hand. His thumb pushed down on her through her pants, somehow finding her most sensitive spot and rubbing in a slow, circular motion. She bit down on his jacket again, struggling not to thrash and scream. “Oh god,” she moaned quietly.
His hands were as smooth and cunning as the rest of him, teasing her until she wanted to cry. The pressure was building... it kept getting worse and worse, climbing higher and higher until she couldn't breathe. She looked up at him helplessly, barely clinging to consciousness, unable to believe what was happening. It rushed over her in a sudden wave. She gasped, and his lips claimed hers just as she orgasmed, swallowing the scream with his mouth, her fluid soaking her panties. Pleasure broke over her, sweeping away her senses, making her wild; she cried out and moaned, unable to control the noises fighting up her throat. It was incredible... so intense that she thought she was suffocating....
He released her when the waves had passed, removing his hand after a few more strokes. Her chest heaved with each breath, sweat glistening in the valley between her breasts, her nipples tight and still wet from his mouth.
“Better?” he murmured, pulling her shirt down. She gazed up at him, trembling, feeling acutely vulnerable and exposed. She wanted to curl up and hide... forget the sick deed she had done. He touched her cheek, looking at her, and a sudden knot formed in her stomach. She abruptly had the urge to lash out at him, to scream and demand why he had forced that upon her, why he had to make her so weak. The heat still swam in her blood but her thoughts were clearing considerably, and she glared up at him, barring her teeth.
“How dare you!” Smack!
Her hand lashed out. She had meant to slap him across the face, but he caught her wrist in mid air, easily controlling her arm. She heard one of the passengers snort, disturbed in his sleep.
He stared at her, obviously taken by surprise. She glared, feeling her hatred surge. “Just because you can manipulate my body doesn't mean anything has changed between us. You used me!”
“Used you?” he groaned roughly, subtly squeezing her wrist. “Used you? Baby, you have no idea.”
She spat at him, then wrenched her wrist free and turned toward the window. She put her back to him, not knowing what to expect.... His Alpha presence was always in the back of her mind, and Alphas didn't tolerate disrespect. At the moment, she didn't care.
Tension filled the back of the bus, and she felt the hair stiffen on her neck. Goosebumps formed on her skin. His anger was tangible, terrifying. It rested threateningly in the air, making her pulse quicken. His scent was unmistakable.
When he spoke, his voice was dark and thick. “Don't forget who healed your wounds,” he murmured.
“I won't forget who caused them,” she snapped.
She could feel the frustration through his body, ridged next to her... but he didn't touch her, not even to rest his hand against her knee. She tried to relax, but his silence only made her more nervous. She knew he was mad.... He was in every position to take it out on her, and no one would know any better. She was terribly banged up as it was. If he became violent, she wouldn't hesitate to fight back; she grew tense, ready for a sudden strike.
He stayed quiet and still.
Finally Jaime cracked open an eyelid and looked at him, wondering what he was doing. Much to her surprise, she saw that he had his arms propped behind his head, his head leaned back, eyes closed. She couldn't help but stare at his strong biceps, his hands hidden by his loose dark hair. The set of his face was gaunt and firm... she found herself admiring the strong set of his shoulders, the way his arms bulged against his shirt. She could tell that he had been a Tracker — he was in excellent shape.
“Still hating me?” he murmured, one eye slitting open. He glanced down at her.
She shivered under his cool gaze, momentarily breathless. Words formed in her mouth; they escaped before she could stop them. “Why... why did you do that?”
He continued to gaze down at her from the silver corner of his eye; it made her feel young and small, uncomfortably exposed. Why had she asked that? It had come out all wrong; she had meant to sound angry, but her voice had sounded as hesitant as her thoughts. She couldn't show him her vulnerability.
His wry expression was her only answer. Instead he leaned back and turned his face away, his hand settling a little too co
mfortably across her legs. It sent a flash of heat to her belly. She shifted uncomfortably, anger and shame mixed in her gut.
“Go to sleep, Jaime.”
“What? But Sirus....”
“Sleep.”
She grunted, annoyed and disgusted, trying to force her body to calm down. The alcohol swam up to claim her and she collapsed, exhausted from the long day. Thankfully, the pleasure left from her orgasm masked her pain. She breathed deeply, telling herself to go to sleep.
She slowly nodded off, her head tipping to one side, her eyelashes fluttering down. Soon darkness claimed her, and then dreams; nightmares where she was eternally running, and the demon was inches behind her....
Chapter 8
“Is that him?”
“I dunno... does he look like a Tracker?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Stevie rolled his eyes. He was lucky to have eyes to roll, he reflected, remembering the horror of the previous night. He and his brother had tried to resist the Seneca Alpha in the alley... if only because their punishment from Magnus would have been worse. That was what he had thought at the time, at least.
The bastard had punched his brother in the mouth, breaking two teeth and knocking out the smaller werewolf like a light. Then it had been Stevie's turn. He self-consciously touched the side of his head, where the mass of bandages served to cover his new disfigurement—one ear gone, leaving nothing but a gaping hole. He wondered why the Seneca Alpha hadn't killed them. Why, even as the bastard had laughed over the spurting blood and ripping flesh, he had put his knife away. Stevie had spilled his guts after seeing his ear fly over the neighbor's fence. He didn't know every detail of Magnus the Gray's plan, only that it involved mating with the girl and doing it soon, while she was in her wolf-moon. The Seneca Alpha hadn't seemed very pleased to hear this. Stevie had passed out soon after, and upon coming to, had found both of their wallets and shoes gone.
He had no idea where the Alpha and the girl had gotten to, only that after piecing themselves back together, he and his brother had driven straight to Davenport to meet their assigned Tracker, who was being shipped in from Albany. Neither of them had ever seen the bastard before, so he now stood at the Davenport bus station awkwardly, a cardboard sign in his hands, “T-A-B-A-R-Y” drawn sloppily across the front. They still hadn't found the time to buy any shoes — or the money, seeing as how their wallets had been stolen — so they stood in their socks and waited. A man flipped them a quarter. Stevie glared at him, but didn't say anything. After a moment, Jones picked it up.
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