by Jayla Kane
“Will you sleep with me tonight?” I swallowed hard. “Just sleep. I—”
“Sure,” he cut me off, not needing more, and I sighed with gratitude. He got it; he got me. He always had. Hunter’s long fingers slid through mine and our palms rested against one another as he slowly spun me back towards the bedroom, his other hand landing on my shoulder. I flushed from his touch, his proximity; he wasn’t wearing anything but boxers, and I hadn’t missed an inch of his glorious skin as he moved around in the bright moonlight. Hunter pulled the blankets down and waited until I was tucked in and comfortable to slip in beside me; he kept a careful distance between us until I reached out for him. “It’s okay,” I whispered, and saw his dark eyes flash as he searched my face. I kissed his forehead, then turned around and nestled into his arms, my back against his bare chest. Heavy arms encircled me, keeping me safe, and I slept dreamlessly for the first time since the last time I was in this bed, when the big man currently wrapped around me promised to be no more than ten feet away.
It was better when he was closer. I snuggled in tight.
The morning was a replay of last Saturday, with one exception; I felt something growing inside of me—a need, an impulse. And when I recognized it I was so relieved I felt like singing.
I wasn’t afraid of how much I wanted him any more.
I still got to feel desire. I still got to want, to crave, to lust.
And that felt good.
It wasn’t perfect; one time while we were out walking in the woods Hunter spun around too fast in front of me and I found myself stumbling backwards, suddenly terrified by the swift movement. He was just worried about wolves in the woods, but my body reacted instantly. Hunter couldn’t stop apologizing at first, but when I told him to shut up he did; he took a minute, trying to settle himself down, and then reached out for my hand. I took it, wordlessly, and we continued through the woods, fingers interlocked, the weave of my gloves hiding his texture but not his strength as he held my hand.
When we got back to the house, we shucked off the piles of clothing we wore—it was officially cold as all hell up there, and he told me more snow was expected tomorrow—and stumbled inside. “That might be my last walk this weekend,” I said, shaking ice crystals out of my hair and listening as they hit the mud room floor. The world was cool and bright inside of the cabin, the windows that lined every wall letting in the reflected glory of the white world outside. “It’s too damn cold.”
“Glad I went back in to town again,” Hunter murmured, taking stock of the pantry in one efficient glance before he started up the oven. “I’ve got to go check the panels, though, make sure they’re in good shape before the storm blows in. Should probably take a look at the pump by the well, too. Everybody’s saying the winter came early this year.” He put on a pan and started making us a pile of grilled cheese sandwiches, two for me and about forty for him.
“They really think it’s going to be that bad?” The sky was pure blue all day, not a single cloud to be seen. The last streaks of daylight were flickering on the western edge of the sky when he sat down next to me with our plates, and we tucked in.
“What the radio said,” he told me, then finished his final sandwich as I shook my head in awe. Hunter shot me a mischievous grin, then stood up and gave me another quick kiss on the top of my head before heading out into the cold one more time. Stacks of firewood covered the walls outside in tidy rows for the entire length of the long, wrap-around porch; there were more in the little barn Hunter showed me out back, a building I’d mistaken as unused. It held extra supplies, a generator and tools, replacement parts for the solar system and satellite, and a gym. Not a big one—it was just as efficient as the man who used it, but it did explain how Hunter continued to be in such incredible shape. His entire existence was physical; he fixed cars, chopped wood, cooked, blazed the trails that cut through this forest. But he was… He was eerily perfect, and whatever magic the Ashwood Coven’s book introduced to his metabolism hadn’t had anything to do with it. I remembered every single sinew, from the very first moment I ever laid eyes on him, more than a year before.
Hunter traipsed back into the house and I could immediately tell something was on his mind. “Hey,” I said, turning in my chair, fingers still wrapped around the mug of tea in front of me. “Something wrong with the solar?”
“No, no, it all looks good—Tristan’s got a good head for engineering, put everything right where it should be, and the sun—” He stopped, and shook his head as he pulled his hat off. His hair was a little bit longer now, and soft black curls clung to his neck. Dark eyes locked on mine. “Baby, I been thinking.”
“Okay,” I said, turning further. He pulled his scarf off, the gloves; his oversuit and then his boots went into the muck room on hooks, neatly stowed by the door, and then he slowly turned back to me. “Hunter,” I said, my eyes narrowing.
“Can we…” He heaved a sigh and stared up at the ceiling for a minute. “I need to talk to you about sex.”
“Okay,” I said, still puzzled. “Do you want to come sit down, instead of hovering over there by the door like you’re debating running off into the woods?”
“I hate talking,” he scowled, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“You just don’t have a lot of practice.”
“It makes me feel so fucking stupid,” he grumbled, pouring himself a cup of black coffee from the pot on the counter and coming over to sit down next to me. His dark eyes tracked my fingers as they hesitantly reached over to lay on the back of his hand, and after another sigh, he rested his own over mine. I squeezed him, then waited.
And waited. “Hunter spit it out,” I said softly, unsure of what was coming. But I trusted him, so I leaned on that and peered into his eyes.
“You… You feel a little different, today,” he said slowly, looking at me for confirmation.
“I feel a little better,” I said. “That’s all. Some of the things that happened… Maybe enough time has gone by for me to start feeling more like myself.” But it was all me; the girl I became after, and who I was before. That was the trouble. Being two different people at once—someone who believed she could make anything she wanted happen, and someone who was afraid she couldn’t even keep herself safe.
“Baby, I want to do… Whatever you want to do,” he said slowly, his eyes locked on mine, pupil dark and still in the center of each grey eye. In this light, I could see that ring of navy perfectly, twisting around the twilight center. “I just think we need to talk about it a little bit, is all.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Hell yeah,” he said, looking at me like I was crazy. “Aren’t you?”
“I would be, if I weren’t with you,” I said, and his face abruptly softened. “I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.”
“See, that’s the part I want to make sure we’re clear on,” he said quietly, watching me closely. “Not whether or not I’ll—I would—” He couldn’t even make himself say it, his nostrils flaring. “But that shouldn’t even be on your mind. Not when you’re thinking about sex.”
“That might always be on my mind,” I said truthfully, and he bit his lip.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. It’s only been a month,” he said, and I realized he didn’t count his own death as the trauma we needed to worry about moving past in our relationship; it was secondary to what happened to me, as if the blackmail, death, and separation from his family were all par for the course. Of course they were, I thought, rolling my eyes. They happened to him. If anything happened to me, he would force himself to—god forbid—have an emotional, vulnerable conversation. The worst punishment imaginable. I rolled my eyes again. “Baby,” he said, an undercurrent of force in his tone. I huffed out a sigh and leaned back, crossing my arms, then halted when he continued. “A month is nothing. I’ll wait a year. I’ll wait forever—we might live that damn long, we don’t know. But when the time comes, I don’t want you to be thinking about…
About…” About pain. About suffering, and terror, and loss.
“About him.”
Hunter’s nostrils flared and he sat up straight, his pupil spreading until it covered his eye. Nothing else changed, and after a minute he was able to pull the predator back inside, almost invisible.
“Do you really think that’s possible?” I wondered if he would know; no one did, not really, but Hunter knew about pain. About suffering. “Does it ever go away?”
“It changes,” he said slowly, his eyes softer. “And it’s different for different people. You know Jake, and you know me—would you say we’re the same?”
I snorted. “Um, no.”
“Tristan, too,” Hunter said, watching me. “All three of us have been beaten to within an inch of our lives by people who should’ve been watching out for us.” I bit my lip, ashamed of my flippant remark earlier; I always forgot about what happened to the Warfield boys. The way he treated Raven made me shove it down, somewhere I wouldn’t have it interfering with my righteous anger. I still hated Jake, but Hunter was right. Everybody knew about Lucas. Even in town. “It’s not like what happened to you, Baby. I wish you had someone you—”
“I don’t,” I snapped, and he took a deep breath. I felt like Raven and Zelle constantly brought up the possibility of seeing a counselor, but I couldn’t even handle thinking about it. Telling a stranger? I don’t fucking think so. I couldn’t even tell them. “He laughed at me,” I heard myself say, and then I felt the tear trickling down my cheek. Hunter held very still. “When it started… I thought it was you.” I swallowed the knot in my throat, my whisper barely loud enough to hear. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t—I should’ve… But I opened my eyes, and he was grinning down at me. And then he said…” He said Hunter didn’t deserve it if he hadn’t taken it yet. It. Whatever the fuck it was—my virginity? The magic that would result from the act? It. And he was already inside of me.
The rest was a blur, a gasping, pain-soaked blur. I could hear him laughing though, right then, in the beginning, when he saw my face and my fear, when I realized it wasn’t Hunter.
“I think that was part of what was wrong with me,” I gasped out, another tear tracking down my cheek. “When I thought it was you, I…” It hadn’t hurt. It felt good—not like it had with Hunter before, but… I was ashamed. Ashamed of the way my body reacted, in those seconds before I registered the different scents, the different feel, the different man.
A big hand wrapped around my wrist, urgent. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. “There is nothing wrong with you, then or now,” he said, solemn and fierce. “There’s nothing wrong, Baby, with surviving. Do you hear me?” I nodded as he stood up from his chair so fast it tipped over, tugging me upright so he could pick me up and carry me over to the couch. I sat curled in his lap, his arms tight around me, my head tucked beneath his chin. “Sometimes I wish I could gut him again,” Hunter whispered. “Sometimes I hate myself for leaving you there so much I can barely stand to get up in the morning. But we made it out, and against all fucking odds you’re here, with me. So we’re going to be careful,” he murmured, pulling back to look into my eyes. “We’re going to make sure we do it the right way. I want you to be able… This sounds selfish, I guess, coming after what we just talked about, but… I want it to be the same for both of us. I want you to be able to want me like I want you,” he whispered, swallowing hard, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.
I was in love with him.
It hit me hard. It felt stupid and sudden and complete and right—he was absolutely correct; a month was nothing. And for all we knew, we were facing eternity. But I would happily sign up to spend it with Hunter Black.
He was my best friend, and I was head over heels in love with him.
So I kissed him.
We hadn’t kissed since the hours we spent together in that dark little room, surrounded by straw and stone; I was filthy and furious and he was smeared with blood and we both felt ashamed. And I dreamed about the way he touched me and felt my whole body come alive, remembering the slow smile he gave me, the dimples I discovered, the realization that he and I were made for one another in a way that could only happen once every couple of lifetimes.
My kiss was gentle. A slow press of the lips, a taste, a memory. He was surprised for a second, but then he kissed me back the same way. His hands tightened around my body, pulling me nearer; I felt myself take a breath, one pause, before I kissed him again.
And the second kiss was not gentle.
I was in love with Hunter not only because of his kindness, his innate goodness.
Hunter was power. He was raw truth and wicked justice and real power. And I loved him for it.
My body slid over his, my thighs spreading open as they slipped down either side of his hips. When he felt me settle against the center of his body, he grunted softly and let his hands slide over my back, long fingers stroking along my spine as he tilted his head and let me in deeper, our tongues teasing one another. I raked my hands over his head and broke the kiss so I could nibble on his throat, and he sighed, his big chest rising and falling; when I grazed his ear with my teeth, he grew suddenly still, and when I turned his head back to mine and sucked his tongue, he growled. I sucked harder, feeling his hands tighten on my waist, sliding lower, so slowly, as I arched my back, long fingers slipping over the curve of my ass, and then I felt him, finally, below me.
And that was it.
I bit his bottom lip and rolled my hips so that I could feel the stiff resistance, pressing against my damp center; Hunter gripped my ass and opened his mouth, his tongue seeking mine as his thumbs used my hips like a guide to push up and into me. We were both panting in seconds.
“No,” he said, nipping my chin as he leaned back and looked down, taking in the shape of my breasts for a second before roughly shaking his head. “I wasn’t trying to—I didn’t—”
“Exactly,” I whispered, and ran my fingers through his hair as I pulled him towards me again. My mouth was feverish, my hands holding on tighter; in another minute, we were grinding ourselves together again, harder, this time, oh god—
“Sugar,” Hunter said, panting as he pulled away again, “I just—”
“Shut up,” I moaned, and just as he started to chuckle and lean in to kiss me again there was a loud knock on the door.
Everything went still. My entire body, Hunter’s body, time. I swallowed and stared into his eyes; relief swept over me when he appeared more annoyed than upset, the delicate flare of his nostrils telling me he already knew who was waiting at the door. “Motherfucking werewolves,” he muttered, his accent blurring the rough words together, and I stifled a laugh and climbed off of him, my heart booming in my chest.
I settled on the couch and tried to catch my breath; Hunter didn’t take a full second to get up and stride over to the door, unabashed by the way desire transformed his body. He threw the door open and scowled out, the perfect picture of restrained aggression. “Sheriff. This is not a good time.”
“Bring her with you,” a deep voice said. It wasn’t frightened at all, which was interesting, because any normal person would have backed the fuck off, reading the suggestion of violence in every tense muscle of Hunter’s body. I sat up straighter, surprised and more than a little irritated myself. “Sorry to interrupt. But the full moon’s tonight.”
“So?” Hunter’s scowl was dangerously close to becoming that vicious grimace I’d seen only twice—the second time I only registered it subconsciously, shivering as I placed the memory. His head was lowering on his neck, his pupils widening.
The Sheriff laughed out loud. “Damn! Wizards and witches, what the hell?” He started to take a step inside, then stopped when a sound erupted out of Hunter’s chest that was definitely not one a normal warlock would make. “Oh. Sorry, fella. I’ll say it as many times as you like—I didn’t realize… But go on and bring her. She’ll be safe.”
“Like hell.”
“Bring me where?” I
stood up and walked over to the door, standing beside Hunter. The man on the doorstep was tall and strong, but not built like Hunter—more quarterback than linebacker. He had bright, clever eyes with a cold glint that told me the winning smile on his lips was mostly a lie. A long scar dragged from the corner of his left eye down to his chin, and another one bisected his throat. His skin was a dull copper, almost the same color as the badge pinned to his thick jacket. He wasn’t wearing any gloves; it was so cold my teeth were chattering, standing there in the draft from the door.
He didn’t look at me, didn’t acknowledge I’d spoken. “You know…” The man let his smile fade as he met Hunter’s eyes. His own shone silver as he locked his gaze on Hunter’s face, a ruthless chill emanating from him. “I’m making this sound like an invitation. It isn’t.”
I could feel Hunter’s body gathering strength, preparing to leap—this was quickly escalating from an untimely interruption to a confrontation, and then, I could only guess, to a fight. I didn’t know anything at all about werewolves—they seemed just as ridiculous as ‘witches’ to me even though I was one, apparently—but I couldn’t imagine this guy backing down from anyone, even Hunter. He had completely dropped the friendly aw shucks demeanor and was staring at Hunter with an eagerness that completely freaked me out.
Hunter liked to fight, sure. But so did the Sheriff. And when I looked behind him, I could see more figures out there beneath the tree line… Big animals, pacing back and forth, eyes glinting in a rainbow of phosphorescent colors as they passed.
I slid my arm through Hunter’s and felt him waver. “Can you give us just a minute? We were getting ready to go to bed. I need to bundle up before we—”
“No,” Hunter said, and his voice wasn’t really human any more.
“Listen to your mate,” the Sheriff said, and I immediately fought the urge to roll my eyes. Mate. Jesus Christ, guy come on; this wasn’t a goddamn YA novel. He still sounded human, at least, but his eyes…
