She laughed bitterly. “Do you know how long I waited to sleep with someone after you left?” Did he know how long she’d waited for him to come back? “Then the urges hit. A little desire here, some horniness there. I hadn’t heard a word from you and finally, I just couldn’t help it.”
His breath heaved out and the bed moved again as he lay down next to her. She was under the quilt and he was over it. Safe enough.
“I threw up after the first time with someone else, you know.” Had he? Would that make her feel better? Or sadder? “But I couldn’t stop. The needs. Then…the anger followed. It’s my job to take orders from my parents and carry out their wishes. Suddenly, it was like I was a teenager again, getting resentful when they’d pass along instructions. Moody. I didn’t want to listen to anyone. And the sex got rougher.”
“Your moods?”
Another humorless chuckle escaped her. “Would you believe yesterday was better than most days? I can hide it though. I’ve been hiding it. I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up.”
“What made yesterday better?”
Her mouth flattened. “I assumed it was from the night before, but it doesn’t make sense. He wasn’t memorable enough to remember.”
Several emotions passed through his eyes. Displeasure. Heartbreak. Smugness. Then he gave a humorless snort. “Not-memorable-enough encounters about describes my last couple of years.”
“Yeah.” She stared at the ceiling. Never would she have thought she’d be in her bed with Waylon talking about their lackluster sex life with other people. “Are you going to tell my parents?”
“Why haven’t you told them?”
Good question. It wouldn’t be an easy conversation. But why hadn’t she told them? Did she have a drive to do it all alone? It’s not as if she hadn’t thought of their reaction.
“Several reasons, I guess, but I kept thinking that maybe I’d get better.” And that she might find someone to bond to stave off the madness.
“No, I won’t tell them.”
She ignored the pounding in her head to look at him. He was staring at the ceiling like she’d been doing. “Why?” Was it his history with her family?
“They have Langdon to worry about, and the fewer people who know, the less chance the information will get back to the Covet pack.”
She let out a gusty breath and returned her stare to the ceiling. Watching his profile in such a familiar spot ignited an ache in her chest she’d thought she’d recovered from. “All right. There’s not much to do today.”
“Then rest.” Waylon rolled up. “Meditate. Whatever keeps you from wanting to slaughter forest creatures.”
She winced and sat up much slower than he did. “I have to go take care of my mess.”
“Already done. I’ll be downstairs when you get up.” Waylon strode out of her room.
He was taking care of her. All he’d been hired for was extra security, another obstacle for Covet to keep from orchestrating a way to trap her in their colony. But Waylon was taking care of her.
She lay in her bed for several more minutes, relishing the lack of restlessness roiling under her skin. Calm. A rare feeling for her these days.
But it wouldn’t last long. It never did anymore.
Chapter 7
A whole day had passed and Shilo had managed to function like a normal person both inside and out. Right now she was in bed, having woken from a night of tossing and turning.
Yesterday, after she’d cleaned up and eaten, she’d spent most of her day at home in her crafting room. Waylon had hung around but hadn’t been in the way. So many times, she’d wanted to chat but stopped herself. They weren’t acrimonious, but they weren’t friends either. The complication of being destined mates who hadn’t worked out, then having to pal around while one or both moved on with their lives, was too difficult.
How did he do it? Could she have gone to that bar he worked at and stood against the wall while he went about his life?
For the evening, she’d retreated to her craft room. It had been a guest bedroom next to hers, but she didn’t have guests over. The act of threading beads should’ve been relaxing, but the itchiness was growing. Being alone made it worse, like the madness sensed she was supposed to be with someone and so it spurred her to find anyone.
Would Waylon look the other way if she went killing tonight?
Her stomach turned. How many more mornings of being sick to her stomach and brimming with regret over her treatment of nature could she handle? It went against her shifter self.
Mother had survived centuries without a mate. Which would disappoint her more? That Shilo couldn’t make it more than a few years without Waylon, or that she wasted bunnies to hide her secret?
Why couldn’t Shilo live without a mate while surrounded by her friends, family, and pack?
It wasn’t fair.
She caught herself sneering at the ceiling.
It was almost eight a.m. and she had to get moving. They had a long drive to Freemont for the meeting with Langdon. Waylon was anticipating being stopped in Passage Lake. He wanted to leave with plenty of time to spare.
She went through her routine and after spacing out in the shower for a few minutes, she was done and made her way downstairs.
She sniffed. Waylon’s scent was permeating her home once again. She should be upset. It’d taken patience and effort to wipe his presence out before. But the closer she got to food and him, the more her tension uncoiled, the tightness dissipating—not going away, but retreating, weakening.
The savory smell of sausage in the air must be his doing. Her stomach rumbled. Turning into the kitchen, her fangs dropped. Waylon’s back was to her. He wore a clean shirt, but it was exactly like the others he wore. Hanes tee in white, black, or blue. Today’s was black, his security outfit. That boxing had done his body good. The wide set of his shoulders tapered into his waist but was offset by his thick thighs. A perfectly proportioned specimen of a male.
His longish hair was the same as it’d always been, like when she’d first seen him prowling around town, his face full of suspicion over what other shifters would say or do. He didn’t know it, but he’d inspired many a female shifter’s naughty dreams, the bad boy all of them wanted a shot at but who none of them wanted to stick around.
Shilo had. She’d been sexually attracted to him from the get-go, but it was his face. Those mysterious, dark eyes that saw everything, and that lush, full mouth that commented on nothing. She almost smiled. How that trait had changed.
His lower lip was fuller than his top, and his nose was just a little crooked. His face was longer than it was square, but his chiseled chin kept him from looking gangly. He was strong. Inside and out.
Just not strong enough to stick around.
She slumped into a chair and snagged a link of deer sausage. Munching on it, she shifted in her seat. Sweet Mother, couldn’t she go more than two days without sex before the urges hit?
When Waylon was around? No.
“The Jeep is ready,” Waylon said. His back muscles flexed as he dumped a pile of eggs from the pan to the plate. She could groan. He’d scrambled eggs in the sausage grease and it was fucking amazing. “I just have to gas up before we leave town.”
“’Kay.” Shoving more food into her mouth so she didn’t have to talk, she hunched over her plate.
The platter with the eggs was slid in front of her. She couldn’t look at him without the burn blooming in her belly.
Using the excuse of refilling her plate to hide the movement, she ground her ass into the chair.
Waylon dropped his fork and sat back. “We can’t go rolling through Covet with you smelling so ripe.”
“I showered,” she growled.
“Ripe in a way that makes all of us males want to sink our teeth into you.”
A flush crept up her cheeks. “I can’t help it.” She stabbed another sausage link.
Waylon’s chair scraped along the floor as he pushed it back. Picking up hi
s plate and fork, he left the kitchen and went out the sliding door.
She chewed but the meat could’ve been dust. This was going to be a long trip.
Measured breathing for over two and a half hours wore him down like a thirty-mile run through rolling hills loaded with trees.
Waylon sucked in a breath, wishing he could warp his nose and block out Shilo’s heady scent. She was more turned on than he’d ever seen her.
But from the prim way she sat in the passenger seat, with her shiny black fuck-me shoes and burgundy pantsuit, no one could tell. Her sleek hair was secured in a—what had she called it?—a French twist.
He wore black jeans, a black shirt, and black boots, and he’d been calculating the fastest ways to strip her down for the last 155 minutes.
Passage Lake was approaching. His Jeep was working fine and they had plenty of time before they had to meet Langdon in the back room of a trendy restaurant. The owner was a “friend.” A friend that was probably male and willing to sleep with Shilo.
Was that Langdon’s kink?
Waylon passed by the gas station in Passage Lake that Langdon had stopped them at. The two gas stations in town acted like guard posts. Paulie manned the station on the other end of town. Did Langdon take post in this one? Waylon couldn’t see anyone, but something was sending shivers up and down his spine.
“We’re being watched,” he said.
“Of course,” Shilo replied. She gazed out the window like the damn princess she was, her ski-jump nose in the air and her chin lifted.
Idling through town brought no activity. Waylon tensed as Paulie’s place approached. Two cars were at the gas pumps, but no one was walking between them and the convenience store. One of the big service doors was open, but again, no movement from inside.
They were almost past when the hair on the back of Waylon’s neck stood up.
“Wait for it.” He gripped the wheel and looked around. While he should be ecstatic that he had more confirmation of an ability, the situation robbed his elation.
A pop resonated through the night, followed by a flap, flap, flap.
“They blew a tire.” He pulled over on the side of the road.
“Dammit.”
Waylon dug out a tire change kit and rolled the spare next to the blown tire that was inconveniently located on the driver’s side where his ass would hang out in traffic. A shadow caught his eye and the smell of burning oil and exhaust hit his nose. Paulie stood in the darkness of the garage.
Waylon straightened and turned around, calling to Paulie, “Wanna do me a favor and not blow another tire?”
The corner of Paulie’s mouth went up to reveal a long fang.
Waylon slid his measured stare away to get to work.
A door slammed. He jerked his head up. Heels ground into the pavement as Shilo strode across the highway.
Where the fuck— He glanced over his shoulder.
Her hips had an extra swing, her leggy walk mesmerizing. Paulie was hooked.
“Paulie,” Shilo purred, the sound traveling straight to Waylon’s cock.
“Ms. Ironhorse.” The lust in Paulie’s voice spurred Waylon on.
Using every advantage of his species, he changed the tire in minutes, straining to hear Shilo and Paulie. But as he tossed his tools into the backseat, Shilo’s heels clicked back toward him.
She ignored him and climbed in.
Nothing but a dutiful bodyguard.
He got in and slammed the door. As he twisted to glare at her, his gaze dipped down to where the top two buttons of her pink blouse were strategically undone. “What’d you two talk about?”
“Idle small talk. I wanted to make him so damn uncomfortable he gets his dick caught in the zipper of his overalls.”
He paused, putting his vehicle in drive. “You went over there just to shower your pheromones all over him and leave?”
“I shouldn’t be the only one uncomfortable.”
“You’re not. Believe me.”
Chapter 8
Waylon was Shilo’s shadow. The best part of the day had been enjoying Langdon’s reaction to seeing him with Shilo. The male’s eye had twitched, his lips went flat, and the hard look he gave Waylon had bordered on murderous.
Yeah, the guy was up to something.
If that hadn’t been his first clue, the room full of virile male specimens would be his next. Only one other female shifter mingled in the crowd and she resembled Langdon enough to be confidently labeled a relative. The other male shifter in the room also had the Covet look and wasn’t eying Shilo like he was imagining the number of sexual positions he could pretzel her into.
Shilo kept her hands folded in front of her, doing a half bow when Langdon introduced her to individuals. Did she come here smelling like sin on heels every time?
Waylon concentrated on the spicy aromas of the Chinese fare served at the establishment instead of her, but that backfired. His stomach threatened to rumble but he tightened his abs to keep it from happening. Bodyguards don’t stand watch, craving kung pao chicken.
The human men in the room were enraptured by her. Her regal features, her taller-than-average stature, and those two fucking buttons revealing bronzed, creamy flesh weren’t lost on humans. Her suit jacket tucked in at her trim waist and flared over her ample hips. The ensemble didn’t make her look like a waif, but enhanced the strength and power of her body. Add in her sexual vibes and the men might as well hang their tongues out.
Each time one looked Waylon’s way, they glanced away again within a second.
The occupants of the room were seated around a long table. Serving staff came and went from a side entrance with trays of water, egg drop soup, and egg rolls. As negotiations progressed, Waylon learned more than he wanted to about laying cable, access multipliers, and last-mile connectivity. Shilo was charming and savvy, and by the time the main course arrived, the contractors had promised the fastest internet at the best prices by the fall. That they were going to dig hundreds of miles of line in a few months, Waylon wanted to call bullshit. Unfortunately, there weren’t other options for Shilo. These people had worked with Langdon, and another company would have to start from Freemont and cover the entire distance, bringing the concern back to the original problem: How would they get around the Covet pack?
Everyone turned to their food and instead of ignoring him like most powerful men would do with bodyguards, Langdon pinned him with a bright amber stare. “Waylon, I hear you’re from Ironhorse Falls originally.”
“Yep.” Waylon was standing behind Shilo, but the stiffening of her shoulders was visible.
Langdon’s shrewd gaze stayed on him, his plate of noodles steaming across his features, untouched. “I was born and raised in Passage Lake and have worked closely with Ironhorse Falls for years. I don’t recall you. What’s your last name?”
“Wolf.”
Langdon’s mouth flattened. The male showed his displeasure easily. Had he thought Waylon was messing with him? Wolf was more than an ironic last name, it was intentional. Uncle Wolf had never let on that it wasn’t his real last name, but Waylon had assumed it wasn’t. The whole colony had, too, but since they wanted little to do with the wacky hermit who lived in the woods and the wild child he’d adopted, no one had pressed the issue.
Langdon switched his attention to Shilo. “You two grew up together. Is that how he became your…escort?”
Shilo rolled lo mien onto her fork. “Yes. He’s my ex.” She shoved the food into her mouth and chewed like nothing was wrong.
Lips in a hard line. Two issues with Langdon. He hated not having the upper hand when it came to information, and he didn’t like it not being freely shared. Which one was it in this case? Waylon had been around two days, but Langdon wasn’t letting on what had filtered down to him.
“How magnanimous of him.” Langdon’s grip on his chopsticks was tight enough to snap them.
“Mmm.” Shilo’s patronizing response was lost as she worked on her food. Way to go, prin
cess. Make him wonder.
Waylon watched him. Yes, Langdon must have heard he and Shilo were mates and the male was not happy to have the tidbit confirmed. Waylon needed to find out what Langdon had planned for Shilo that a mate hanging around would interfere with.
“Is Shilo what brought you back to Ironhorse Falls, or are you there to stay?” Langdon still hadn’t touched his food despite his hand clutching the chopsticks hovering over his plate.
Waylon lifted a shoulder. “We’ll see.”
The answer didn’t please the shifter. “Indeed, we shall.”
The internet contractor on Shilo’s right asked her about Ironhorse Falls’ amenities and the conversation turned. Waylon kept his post and tried to forget his hunger. He surreptitiously studied all the men in the room. A couple were married, and while they seemed enamored with Shilo, their intentions were nothing more than simple male awareness. The obviously single men though… A younger internet contractor who had started the current conversation, Tim, was leaning closer, his eyes twinkling, his human scent full of lust. Another man in his mid-thirties across the table had a calculating gleam in his gray eyes as he followed the lively conversation, never taking his gaze off Shilo.
Had Langdon promised one of them that Shilo would go to bed with him? Both of them? What was Langdon’s game?
The epiphany hit Waylon. Langdon was plying Shilo with human sex partners who couldn’t claim her and who she wouldn’t fall in love with or mate. The latter might be a worry, but that was eliminated since it wasn’t a secret her mate had left.
Was the Covet shifter going to make a play for Shilo himself? Try to mate her with one of his own pack? Or keep her single and therefore presumably weaker?
Langdon was up to something.
Shilo’s tinkling laugh made Waylon’s fangs throb. That was her flirty laugh. It’d haunted his dreams for the last five years.
A Shifter's Claim (Pale Moonlight Book 4) Page 7
