by MJ Compton
“Take all the time you need,” he replied. His dark eyes glittered in the night.
She bowed her head and concentrated on breathing.
“You stink like Danby,” he said, startling her.
She couldn’t keep tears from filling her eyes. Bill was the last person about whom she wanted to think.
Stoker knelt next to her. “Lucy?”
She shook her head.
“Did he . . .?”
“No,” Lucy hastened to reassure him. “It’s the shirt. I think I’m wearing his shirt.”
“Why would you be wearing Danby’s shirt?” Stoker didn’t sound happy.
“I was in my underwear when Randy hauled me out of bed.”
“Why did you take off your wedding gown?”
She swallowed and blinked. “Because it had . . . it had bits of Bill’s face and brain on it after Randy–”
Stoker shoved her head against his chest before she could finish her explanation. “You’ll wear my shirt.”
“Okay,” she agreed, her response was muffled by his skin.
“Did Danby . . . hurt you before Randy killed him?”
Lucy shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Bill took exception to Randy’s change of plans, so Randy . . .”
She couldn’t talk about it. Not yet.
“I cannot stand the smell of that man.” Stoker’s fingers worked under the ribbed collar and ripped the shirt from her body then flung the scraps to the ground. “My clothes are around here somewhere.”
Lucy nodded.
Stoker sniffed her again. “Damn. His stink is still on you.” A second later, her shredded bra joined the ruined T-shirt, followed by her panties.
The cool night air raised goose bumps. She was warm only where her body touched his.
“Look at that,” he said. “Neither of us is wearing a thing.” He tilted her face to his and kissed her.
Lucy looped her arms around his neck and increased the area of contact. “Too bad I can’t jump into a shower right now,” she said, breaking off the kiss.
He stared at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “I can think of another way to overcome his stink.”
“Really? Do tell.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “It would be better if I showed you.”
He pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace before she could think of a flirtatious enough response. Maybe this wasn’t the time to flirt, but their relationship was so new, so fragile, and so deeply rooted in serious scat, to borrow a werewolf term.
Stoker pulled her beneath him, and after a few seconds, she forgot the pebbles digging into her bare flesh.
His mouth and hands seemed to be everywhere, as if scrubbing lingering traces of Bill from her body. He touched her in ways she never knew one person could touch another; she returned those touches. And when Stoker finally pushed into her, she cried out, because not only was it so good, it was so right.
“Hush,” he reminded her before capturing her mouth again.
Right. Their need for stealth. It wouldn’t do for Randy’s soldiers to find them, especially now.
Stoker’s lovemaking was gentle, as if he were trying not to further abrade her back, but Lucy wanted more. Craving his unleashed passion, she urged him to be a bit less cautious. Drawing his earlobe into her mouth, she nipped.
He jerked, as if surprised she would do such a thing. Then he nipped her back, and Lucy clung tighter to his heaving body, moving in tandem with him. Her insides wound tighter, a sensation she intuitively remembered and wanted to repeat.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Oh, yeah,” he groaned, and added momentum to his thrusts.
She was going to scream; not the way she’d screamed at Randy’s cruelty, but because making love with Stoker freed her from every constraint conditioned into her.
No. She couldn’t cry out. Sound echoed in the ravine. Vocalizing her pleasure would reveal their location to any pursuers. She’d already been too noisy in her clumsy dash after Stoker. He, on his wolf feet, had been silent, at least to her mere mortal ears.
But her climax caught her off guard. She was so busy enjoying the build up that she didn’t realize how close to the edge she was poised.
She cried out her pleasure then buried her face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound. He smelled delicious. She couldn’t help herself. Opening her mouth, she scraped her teeth along his throat, finding the cord running from his skull to his shoulder.
She bit down.
Stoker jerked as Lucy marked him, and lost the last remnant of his control. His seed burst from him in a powerful explosion that rocked him from his toes to the ends of the hair on his head. His fingers dug into the soft globes of Lucy’s ass, holding her steady while he filled her. She was so hot and tight; her internal contractions massaged him as if to claim every available drop from him.
His mate had marked him. Life couldn’t get any better.
Reality crashed.
This was Lucy, who probably didn’t realize what she’d done, and here he was, heaving around on top of her while a madman with warehouses of guns hunted them. What a great couple.
He rolled over, carrying her with him. The stony ground was uncomfortable. He ran his hands along Lucy’s back, dislodging pebbles and dirt, while apologizing for his thoughtlessness.
“Mmm,” Lucy said, nuzzling his neck.
Oh, that felt so good.
“I don’t think I have a bone left in my body,” she said. “I’m all nerve endings.”
Well, that made him feel a whole lot better.
“How badly are you hurt?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“Your back. I know I should have waited until I got you to a bed, or at least a patch of grass before I mounted you, but I couldn’t stand Danby’s stench a minute longer.” He sniffed at her. Sex had done the trick. Now she smelled like him, which is exactly how she should smell when she didn’t smell like herself.
“What are a few more bumps and bruises?” she said, snuggling even closer.
He didn’t like the sound of that. “Did Butler abuse you?”
“Physically? Only when he stole the ring. No, I bruise easily, and you were grabbing at me all morning then tonight sliding down the side of the ravine, and . . . it’s been a real physical day and I’m not the real physical type.”
“I’m sorry. It’s easy to forget you aren’t accustomed to my strength, that you’re more fragile than a female lycanthrope.”
She didn’t say anything. Her breath was warm and even against his throat.
“Lucy?”
She murmured something unintelligible.
The rhythm of her breathing sounded as if–she was asleep.
Irritation flashed then subsided. His mate, who had been to hell and back the past eighteen or so hours, had crawled onto his chest and fallen asleep. Deeply asleep. The sleep of a person who felt safe in their environment.
He couldn’t stay angry at such a perfect expression of trust, because it revealed so much of Lucy’s feelings for him.
First, she’d marked him, now she slept on top of him while they ran away from a terrible situation.
Ancient Ones, he didn’t understand the new sensations squeezing his innards. To be honest, he didn’t understand anything about being mated, Lucy, New Sinai, Restin, Hank’s fixation on Michelle . . . his list could go on all night.
He stared at the moonless sky, counted the stars, identified a couple of constellations, and wished he could stay out, cushioning his wife, until sunrise.
Right. Reality check. Hank, Ethan, and Luke could show up at any minute, so he needed to find his clothes. Lucy could wear his shirt instead of Bill Danby’s.
Chapter 10
“Are you certain the compound is clear?” General Butler stood outside the Tabernacle and snapped at one of his trusted lieutenants.
“Yes, sir.” The soldier’s posture was ramrod straight. He hadn’t taken the time to don a shirt before responding to the emergency, and his ribs created shadows on his torso where the torchlight touched it.
“How did a wolf get inside the stockade?”
“We found a hole under the fence by the ravine,” the soldier replied.
Randy mentally cursed. He’d built the stockade as close to the gorge as possible, believing nothing could traverse that portion of the terrain.
“I want a head count,” he directed, and the soldier scurried away to carry out the order.
Damn it. First Lucy had escaped from his clutches, and now that he had her back, she was openly defiant and encouraging Michelle to rebel. Then he’d had to kill Lieutenant Danby. Lucy had better be worth the aggravation. It was bad enough that she’d run off and married that giant of a musician, but to have so quickly turned over her assets to him–both monetary and physical–infuriated Randy. He was going to enjoy making her scream while he fucked her.
He paced the dark confines of his office, not lighting a lantern for fear the glow would draw the wolf’s attention.
“Randy, I need to talk to you,” Michelle said, as she slipped unannounced into the room. “I can’t find Lucy.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Are you worried the wolf will get the baby?” Michelle asked, her voice mimicking Lucy’s sarcasm.
He should beat her for her attitude, and but for the son incubating in her womb, he would have.
“You’re defying me again, woman. Don’t abuse my generous feelings toward you.”
“Where’s my sister?” Michelle asked. “Servicing you under the desk?”
I wish.
He had a whole catalogue of ways Lucy was going to service him. “You dare to speak to your husband like that? I’m warning you, Michelle, you go too far.”
Someone knocked on the door and said, “General Butler, we have a problem.”
Randy swallowed his rage and turned toward the newcomer. “We don’t have problems in New Sinai,” he snapped. “We have situations.”
“Situation report, sir. The wolf dug into the root cellar.”
Foreign emotion spiked his guts. “And?”
“The prisoner is gone.”
“What?” Michelle asked. “What prisoner?” She lurched closer. “Does he mean Lucy? Did you put Lucy in the root cellar? She’s claustrophobic, Randy. That root cellar will turn her into a babbling fool.”
Randy caught her wrist before her fist connected with his shoulder. Talk about a day going to shit. “You dare to question me? You dare attack me?”
Michelle backed off. Her spurts of defiance required punishment, but he didn’t have time to deal with her now.
“Escort the woman back to her quarters,” he ordered the soldier. He refused to give Michelle a name or the distinction of a rank within New Sinai. She was just another generic woman, not even his.
He followed them outside, making his way to the root cellar prison.
One of his lieutenants approached. “Everyone is accounted for,” the soldier said. “Only your woman’s sister is missing.”
“Search the compound,” Randy ordered. “Make sure Lucy isn’t using the invasion as a cover to hide.”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier melted into the shadows.
Randy peered at the bulkhead leading to the root cellar. He’d have to wait until morning to examine the ground for blood, wolf tracks, or traces of Lucy.
He sniffed. Not much made it past his allergies this time of year, but something did. It smelled like . . .
He stepped in it. Slid. Fell on his ass and landed in it.
Shit.
He swore aloud. Somebody was going to pay for this.
He looked around to make sure no one had witnessed his humiliation then climbed to his feet without additional contact with the huge pile of wolf dung. Fury drove him to where his citizens had gathered in the center yard of the compound.
Several of the children wept and whined, and he suppressed the urge to scream at their mothers to silence them.
“Something smells like poop,” one boy said.
“Hush,” Mattie, the cook, said.
So one of these misbehaving children was hers. Randy filed that tidbit away for future retribution.
“Who was on guard duty tonight?” he asked. His voice boomed and echoed off the fence.
Two of his veteran followers stepped forward.
As if by osmosis, the others formed a circle around Randy and the two slackers.
Randy waited, silent and unmoving. He’d grown immune to the putrid stink permeating his clothes, while the others were just beginning their exposure to the stench. He wanted to share the experience with everyone.
Finally, one of the guilty ones fidgeted, creating the opening for which Randy waited.
“Your carelessness put every life here at risk.”
The wiggler’s partner remained rock still.
“What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Both men were veterans of New Sinai. In fact, at least one of them had accompanied Danby and Lucy into town the first time Lucy had escaped.
Tonight, neither spoke a word.
Randy realized he had a logistical problem. He was already down one man because of Danby’s death. If New Sinai was going to be besieged by wolves, he needed every able bodied person to defend the stockade. Killing these two would be the equivalent of unlocking the gate. He couldn’t even maim them.
Initially, he’d thought to have their women launder his shit-covered clothes, and heat and haul water for his bath, but women were supposed to do women’s chores.
“I trusted you to be faithful men,” Randy said, his thoughts no longer ricocheting off the curves of his skull. “To perform men’s work as soldiers of New Sinai. You have failed.” He paused to let his meaning sink in to their simple little brains then said, “I have decided on your punishment.”
He waited several more heartbeats before continuing. “I will allow you to live. There are, however, consequences to pay for your ineptitude. To begin, you will heat the water for my bath, and you will launder the wolf feces from my clothes. You will perform women’s work until you can prove your manhood. There is no room in New Sinai for anyone who performs below his or her potential–or my expectations.”
“Will I be able to play the violin?” Lucy quipped, as Parker iced her fingers.
“That’s not funny.” Restin paused mid-pace of Stoker’s room to glare at Lucy and snarl. “I ought to punish all four of you.”
Fortunately for him, he left Lucy out of the equation.
Stoker glanced at his companions, the family and friends who had invited this moment by helping him rescue his mate. Covered in grime from digging, they were a sorry-looking den. Hank looked the most bedraggled.
Stoker wanted to ask him what he’d been up to when he was supposed to be guarding the root cellar, but now wasn’t the time, not with a furious Restin breathing fire at them.
Already kicking himself for going along with Lucy’s ridiculous fake wedding reception plan, Stoker hadn’t needed to find Restin waiting in his room.
This was all Restin’s fault. He was the task force leader. He should have known better than to listen to the advice of a delta female.
Well, Lucy wasn’t going to be making any more suggestions, and if she tried, he’d simply have to be firm with her. As her mate, firmness was his responsibility.
He had a lot to remember: don’t hurt her; keep her satisfied; be firm, especially when her safety was involved. Had mating always been
so complicated, or was it just Lucy?
He now reclined on the bed furthest from the door. Lucy sprawled between his legs, her head resting on his chest.
She appeared calm, but he felt her trembling in every spot their bodies touched. Her fear made him feel a little better.
