Claws on the floorboards came closer to the window. Maggie swung a knee up to crawl over, her gaze riveted on the struggling pair.
“No!” she cried.
A gun clicked with a whooshing sound unlike any gun Porter had heard before. A heavy body thudded on the floor. Porter didn’t have time to react when he heard the fast approaching footsteps, other than to grab Maggie and yank her back into him, twisting to take the brunt of the fall.
“What are you—” Her scream cut off as a large form leapt out the window and took off into the woods.
Porter recognized Seamus’ departing form. Chayton leaned out the window, aiming at the male’s back. A quick look at the weapon explained the weird noise. It was a dart gun; he intended to tranq Seamus.
Fuck. That.
Porter released Maggie and rolled up, drawing his weapon from his waistband.
It was just like target practice…over a quarter of a century ago.
He centered Seamus in his sights. The male ducked around trees, weaving to keep from getting hit. Seamus twisted around one trunk, Porter aimed for the other side. When the body crossed into his sights, he fired.
Seamus’ shoulder jerked, he stumbled in surprise, but continued running. Unwilling to fire randomly into the woodland, Porter waited for another opportunity, but Seamus had gotten too far away.
Chayton leaned out, his gun popped; they all waited in breathless anticipation. Keen eyes watched the dart fly through the air…and fall short two hundred yards from the target.
“These things have shit range,” Chayton muttered.
“Ma!” Maggie rose and jumped to the window.
A startled Chayton lunged out of her way as she sailed in; Porter followed.
Once inside, he hated being surrounded by Seamus’ tobacco-laced scent. Smoke and asshole, that’s what he smelled. A sable-colored wolf lay on her side, out cold. Jace knelt next to her, a hand resting on her pelt.
Maggie eased down next to him, running her hands up and down Armana’s side. “She’s not hurt.”
“She got the jump on Seamus before he could draw his knife or gun.” Jace rose, pacing around the room. “Call a town meeting, Porter. Chayton, go back and grab our ride. And Maggie, what the fuck were you thinking?” He turned back to face her, but she was no longer there.
She was snooping through Seamus’ items. “Is this his office? I bet he has some kind of trophy for his bad deeds.” She rifled through papers, searched drawers, eventually Jace joined her.
A landline phone sat on Seamus’ desk. Porter used it to call the other clan leaders individually. They all paused, unwilling to cross Seamus, until Porter informed them that the Guardians would find them and physically drag them to Town Hall.
Jace raised an eyebrow at the threat but didn’t deny it.
Papers rustled, furniture was moved, Maggie was relentless in her search for proof against Seamus for his crimes against her family. If he kept any, she would’ve found them by now.
“I thought I smelled cigarette smoke.” She tossed a pack of unfiltered on top of the dresser she rummaged through.
Porter checked the time. They’d have to get to Town Hall soon. “I think him running off when your mother and the Guardians arrived confirms the intention of his actions. Either way, you’re here and you trump Seamus’ rule.”
Movement ceased. The siblings stared at him.
“I’m not taking over,” Maggie said. “I need to stay with my mother.”
Porter understood her need to ensure her mom was well, but there was no way she’d refuse taking over now that Seamus was on the run while the village was left with no one.
Armana twitched, the first sign she was regaining consciousness, but she still had a ways to go. Maggie was right. When Chayton returned, they couldn’t just throw Armana in the back seat with the windows cracked to hang out while the Guardians confronted the clan leaders.
Jace hurriedly texted on his phone. “You’ve got a place in town, right Denlan?”
“It’s on the other side of the colony,” as far away from Seamus as he could get, “built into a hillside.” He rattled off his address.
“Take Armana and Maggie. Bennett and Kaitlyn are driving up to hunt for Seamus. He’s lived here his whole life; he can’t have gone too far.”
“No,” Porter agreed, “we haven’t heard the last of him.”
He wouldn’t be involved with the meeting. It was for the best. It’d help Jace and Chayton seem impartial, give the clan leaders the rundown of what just happened. It’d also give Maggie a chance to immerse herself in Lobo Springs. Give her blood a chance to remember its home and draw her back. Once that happened, there was no way she’d turn her back on Lobo Springs and its shifters.
Stooping down, he slid his arms under Armana, lifting her up until she was settled across his shoulders. “Maggie, can you find the keys to Seamus’ ride?”
Chapter Ten
Maggie sat in the backseat with her mom, who’d started twitching more. She’d probably shift once she came to. And she’d be naked. Her mom may not mind even after all these years away from shifter life, but Maggie sure would. So she’d pilfered a shirt and shorts from Seamus’s stash. After her time at The Gift Shop, she was impressed by his collection of restraints. Digging for shorts, she’d found handcuffs, ball gags, leather ties. Finding basketball shorts had been no easy task for a male who seemed to prefer not to wear clothing around his house.
One hand buried in her mom’s fur, she gazed out the window. Proud structures stood, defying the wear of years, and the lack of updates. Porter avoided downtown where she saw taller buildings, many built with brick, much like the older areas in Freemont. Lobo Springs had no towering walls of glass reflecting sunlight. Houses were small, worn down, but not rundown. Proud shifters lived here, they took care of what they had.
Much like Guardian headquarters, Lobo Springs organized itself among nature. Large cottonwoods shaded many structures, the trees clearly having been at the location first. Porter wove through the streets that didn’t run straight like Freemont. Like the houses and businesses, the road moved with the land, instead of moving the land for the road.
Around a curve, a good-sized home appeared. Maggie leaned forward.
Is this place for real?
All the log cabins she’d seen—on TV, of course—were square or rectangular. This one curved itself into the gently sloping hillside. The logs were all different shapes, not uniform pieces stacked precisely, but like a puzzle. Large windows ran from end to end across the front, facing the east. She could almost feel the early morning sun, warming her face, gently waking her up after a night spent in Porter’s arms.
Well, that thought came out of nowhere.
There was no time to analyze it because Porter pulled into the driveway, parking in front of a two stall garage.
“I’ll park this inside in case Seamus gets close to town.”
The empty garage reminded Maggie that his vehicle was still parked in the cheap motel’s parking lot. Or sat in impound. Or someone stole it.
“I’m sorry about your pickup,” she blurted. How many hundreds of dollars in tools did he have stored in the box?
He opened the back door. “Couldn’t be helped.” When he reached to grab her mother, he snatched his hands back like he’d been burned.
The fur under Maggie’s hand turned to smooth skin. The shaggy head resting in her lap became her mom’s youthful face.
Armana sat up with a snarl. Porter stepped back and turned around. She doubted he was worried about her mother’s modesty, but more about her own reaction to Porter seeing her mother in the buff.
Because her mom and had a rockin’ body, and even though she didn’t feel jealous in the slightest, it’d just be awkward. Really.
Chest heaving, her mom looked around, calming when she sensed Porter and Maggie.
Putting a hand on her forehead like she could rub away the fuzziness, she asked, “Did Jace knock me out?”
&nbs
p; “Another Guardian did.” Maggie handed the stolen clothing over. “Seamus got away. Jace is dealing with…clan stuff. We’re at Porter’s.”
Her mom pulled the shirt on, wiggled into the shorts, and then sat with her eyes closed. “Is Jace coming here when he’s done?”
“I don’t know.”
A wave of sadness rolled through the cab. Her mom’s blue eyes opened, shining with regret. “I need to explain to both of you what I did.”
“Actually… I already know. I dreamed what you were doing last night.”
Armana chuckled softly. “Your father could do that.” A sad sigh escaped her. “For all the good it did us.”
Porter led them inside. His home was rustic, sparse. Nothing hung on the walls, although they were artwork in themselves. Chairs. That was all the furniture he had. Beautiful, handcrafted chairs. Two of them. Was that a sawhorse in the living room?
He followed her gaze. “I told you I don’t own a TV. But,” he pulled open his fridge door, “I have food.”
***
Porter opened the door to let Jace and Chayton in. He sincerely hoped that when they left, they’d take Armana with them. Not because he disliked her, nor because she’d been interrogating him about his past, but because Maggie’s scent permeating his house, mingling with his, was driving him feral.
He should thank Armana for distracting him enough that he didn’t carry Maggie caveman-style to his bedroom and ravish her. His mate wouldn’t have time to protest, though from her furtive glances all afternoon, he suspected she wouldn’t.
Armana sat stiffly in a chair while Jace filled them in on the whole lotta nothing they accomplished with the wary clan leaders who still feared Seamus, or supported him. Her eyes roamed Jace’s face and evidence of her heartbreak wove into the tension lines around her eyes. They were nothing compared to the pride that radiated off her.
“We’re going to stay in town, continue searching for Seamus with the others.” Jace scanned around the room, pinning each one of them with his perturbing stare. “None of you will enter those woods to search on your own.”
“I need to talk with you first, Jace.” Armana’s hands twisted in her lap.
Maggie’s breath froze in her lungs. Porter rested his hand on her shoulder.
“It’s a bad time, Ma,” Jace said in a carefully measured tone.
“Not really, dude.” Chayton was either oblivious to the strained relationship between Jace and Armana, or stupid. More likely, he wanted to instigate. “There’s three of us searching now that Bennett and Kaitlyn have arrived. Thanks to Porter, Seamus left us a good blood trail for at least an hour before he healed. We can spare you for an hour or two.”
Jace covered his are you kidding me? expression quickly, replacing it with a neutral look. “Sure, we can talk.”
Armana flattened her palms on her legs, meeting Jace’s gaze. “Alone.”
Always a mother, her tone brokered no argument.
Jace sighed. “You’ll be all right here, Maggie?” Porter took that to mean Jace no longer thought he was the worst thing that’d happened to her. Maggie nodded, not meeting Porter’s gaze. “Fine. You can come to the hotel with us.”
Porter ushered everyone out of his house and bolted the door. He watched the three shifters load up and leave before he turned to Maggie.
“You and I have some unfinished business.”
She licked her lips, driving him insane. That tongue was going to be all over him by the end of the night. Standing, she ran her hands down her pants like they’d gotten clammy.
He advanced on her. She backed up.
“Do you want this?”
“Yes.” The throaty quality in her voice drove his lust up another notch. “It just seems so sudden after everything we’ve been through.”
“No, Mage. It’s not sudden. It’s been excruciatingly drawn out since the moment I walked into that store.” His gaze swept her body. “I’d love to see you in a few of those outfits that were on display.”
“The store! And work! I forgot to call and tell them I wouldn’t be in.”
“Call them later,” he growled.
Her pupils dilated at his aggression. He smelled her arousal; it was as strong as his own.
“Okay.” She rushed him.
He clamped her close to this body, meeting her lips as she smashed them into his.
Yessss.
Shirts ripped, pants were dragged down, they stumbled to step out of them while maintaining contact with their tongues. After several frustrating seconds, she pushed him back to kick her shoes off. He did the same. Damn boots.
Finally, his feet were free and he stepped out of his pants. Maggie was already naked.
The dim light in the cheap motel hinted at her beauty, but the daylight pouring into the room accentuated every curve. Her skin radiated heat, almost glowing with her desire. Porter shrugged the remains of his shirt off and swung her up into his arms.
Her lips trailed his shoulder. When he felt a hint of fang scrap his skin, he quickened his step, his strides eating the distance to his room, his bed.
Foreplay was done. Everything in him screamed to put his mark on her. He was more than obliged to listen.
Laying her down, he caught her legs and splayed them wide. Her folds glistened, his cock straining to reach them, bury itself inside.
Porter tugged on her legs, pulling her toward him. He positioned himself and drove inside.
Her back arched, baring her graceful neck. Her moan of pure bliss mimicking his own.
Nothing had ever felt this good, so right. Her warmth surrounded him, inviting him to seat himself so deeply his balls hit her ass. Her sex clamped tightly around him. Tremors pulsated through her channel and if he didn’t start pumping, he’d release from that sensation alone.
Not before she hit her first peak. Even the need to mark his mate bowed down to ensuring her pleasure.
He set an unforgiving pace, but from the sounds emanating from her, there was nothing to forgive.
Her hands trailed down his chest to his abdomen, and back up, her fingernails lightly scoring him. He fucking loved it. Pressing her knees out wide, he aimed for deeper penetration. Maggie’s hands fell away, her climax bearing down on her. He held off his own—with great effort—driving her toward satisfaction first.
A tight swirl with his thumb on her clit sent her walls spasming around his tender shaft.
“Oh, Porter!” Her voice ricocheted off the walls.
Maggie, abandoned in sexual pleasure, her breasts bouncing with his thrusts, her legs pushed out wide, was the most mind-blowing image he’d ever seen. He wanted it burned into his retinas, her portrait, his alone to conjure.
His will gave out. The dam of self-control broke, his balls tightened with exquisite pain before the rush of ultimate sensation overrode his body. He clenched, jerked, thrust forward one last time, and emptied himself inside her, groaning her name—her real name.
“You’re mine, Mage.” he growled. Releasing her legs, he dropped over her, bracing an arm by her head to prevent himself from collapsing on her. His own damn legs wanted to give out, but he had plans for them.
He might’ve just experienced the best orgasm known to shifter-kind, but he wasn’t done with Mage Troye.
She needed to be claimed.
He withdrew. Leaving the searing wrap of her body made him shudder. His was still rock hard, anticipating what was coming, he grabbed one of her hips to roll her over. Her eyes drifted open, her gaze landing on his fully erect manhood.
“Again already?” There was a hitch in her question, like she couldn’t believe…her luck.
“I ain’t no human, baby,” he drawled, flipping her over and lifting her hips until her ass was raised in the air. “You’ll be saying ‘again already’ all night.”
She stretched, leaning back toward him with a slight wiggle. The temptation astounded him, but he needed to admire the view of her awaiting his mark: rounded, firm ass cheeks, swollen wet center f
rom being well-loved, and an inviting look being thrown over her shoulder.
Picture. Permanent. Every time he closed his eyes, he’d see this erotic fantasy to remind him what a lucky bastard he was.
He didn’t enter her right away. Lazily sliding a finger from her clit until he entered her, feeling her slick with his release.
“I feel myself inside of you.” He pumped his finger in and out, stroking back down to her nub, only to repeat the process.
“Porter, you’re driving me crazy.”
“That’s the point, Mage.”
Her hips bucked in a rhythm that urged him to go faster, but he kept it slow, relaxed. He was anything but. The only way he kept from going mad was watching Maggie’s body flush, her pants as she strained for more, the tint in her cheeks from her first release.
He wanted her coming when he seated himself inside.
So he played. She twisted, writhed, moaned for him to go faster. He wanted to explode, but he kept it down.
It would be worth it.
Finally, he relented, quickening his pace. She sighed in approval, threw her head back, curving herself into his hand. He worked her tight sex, circled her clit, until he felt her walls clamp his fingers with the first ripples of orgasm.
Removing his hand, he drove inside. He leaned over her back, reaching around to continue stroking her center.
“Porter,” she gasped, bucking under his hand, “I can’t keep up.”
“I’ve got you Mage. Trust me with your body.”
She was strong, her capability to reach epic states of euphoria not yet tapped. His either, but he knew he could reach them with her.
Licking along her shoulder, up her neck, she thrashed under him, her climax unrelenting. He clamped her against him, his hips pistoned, until the crest of his orgasm hit.
Rearing his head back, he bared his fangs and struck the juncture of her neck and shoulder, marking her.
Cries turned to turn wails as Maggie’s ecstasy reached cataclysmic levels. Porter knew—her body squeezed his shaft with extreme force, milking every drop from him, way past the point of going dry.
Birthright (Pale Moonlight Book 1) Page 12
