He yanked her to him for a quick kiss. “It’s done now. No more apologies from either of us. You’re mine, and we’ll make it permanent as soon as we can.”
“It is permanent.” She stared down the road. “Now let’s go piss off Langdon Covet.”
“Should I crack the window?” Waylon glared down the road.
“Absolutely.”
He did more than crack it. The window went all the way down, wind blowing through the cab. He’d been through Passage Lake enough to know that the gas station on this edge of town was Langdon’s perch for monitoring the comings and goings of his people and those from Ironhorse Falls. The stations on both sides of town were just security gates disguised as normal businesses. Waylon bet this place had a tiny convenience store and a palatial office with opulence that didn’t fit the exterior.
Shilo pressed her hands into her thighs, her gaze not missing any details.
Waylon slowed to the speed limit. As they passed the building, Langdon came into view. He leaned against the entrance of the station. His suit coat was off, his starched white shirt had the sleeves rolled up, and the first two buttons were undone.
Waylon slid his gaze away but kept his eye on the rearview mirror. Shilo didn’t smile, nod, or wave. She didn’t so much as tip her head.
Langdon pushed off the wall. Even as he faded in the rearview mirror, the rage in his features was clear. The Jeep stuttered, but the engine didn’t quit.
A black SUV was parked to his right at the sole stoplight in town. Both front doors opened and the two from the meeting got out. They couldn’t have arrived much earlier than him and Shilo.
But they didn’t stop him. Were they the shifters who patrolled the woods and stalled vehicles in order to dig into others’ business?
The other gas station was coming up. Paulie was dressed the same. He hadn’t had time to get out of his coveralls.
Shilo’s voice entered his thoughts. Think we should stop and ask if you’re going to get invited to the next family reunion? Too soon?
A laugh burst out of Waylon. Fierce suspicion in Paulie’s eyes flared like his nostrils.
Shilo giggled. Like they’d planned it, they both gave Paulie a salute as they passed.
“I should feel guilty about the trouble that’s going to cause Mother and Father.”
“Covet was going to cause trouble anyway.”
“True.”
Neither one could fully relax until they were out of Covet territory.
He rolled his window back up. It was time to take Shilo home.
If only his home felt right.
Chapter 16
With the fabric stretched over the counter, Shilo was able to move around and cut out the pattern. She hadn’t bought a cheapo sewing machine yet. She should’ve brought hers along, but she hadn’t been thinking clearly.
Waylon had sensed an impending panic attack when she realized she’d forgotten it and reassured her that he could afford a new machine since hers was currently six hours away.
Shilo jolted. She’d been stalled mid cut, thinking about the last week she’d been in Freemont.
Her parents hadn’t contacted her.
“Maybe they don’t have a cell signal.” Waylon came up behind her, rested one hand on her hip, and grabbed the scissors from her hand with the other.
“I’m not think—” Why was she bothering to deny it? This was Waylon. Only they’d switched roles.
He was the one working and she was the one without a job. So she needed to take care of him, and it was getting late. He was dressed in a black tee that hugged his sculpted chest like she did each night they went to bed together. The blue jeans on his long legs only made him look rugged and approachable.
And he got approached. Every shift. She smelled it on him. Lust. One-way horniness that he brushed off and didn’t give a second thought to beyond his “no.”
Shilo had instinctively stayed away from Pale Moonlight. Sitting at the edge of the bar, growling at every female who ordered a drink or even smiled at Waylon wasn’t good for her or Pale Moonlight.
Waylon turned her into his embrace and dropped a kiss on her mouth. “Need anything before I get home?”
“No.” She hadn’t left the loft. Waylon got the groceries and dammit, he even had to cook them. She’d been watching cooking shows but she hated the chore and they both liked Waylon’s food better.
“You can call a cab or Uber or something and get the machine tonight.” He’d offered last night. And the night before. He was starting to get worried about her.
“We’ll see how I feel.” Which was to not go anywhere. Her hair was in a messy bun and she was wearing an old pair of his basketball shorts and a tattered T-shirt he’d meant to convert to rags. Her packing job had been subpar and she couldn’t blow money she wasn’t earning for a new wardrobe. “I think I’ll call Armana though. See what she found out.”
Except for the sewing machine money, Waylon was saving the cash he’d earned for Armana and the researcher-slash-hacker she’d yet to find. She understood how critical discretion was, but it wasn’t easy to find a shifter who could dig that potentially deep and remain undetected.
Waylon nodded but didn’t move away. “Everything okay?”
How could it be all right? “I’m with you. That’s all that matters now.”
He set a wad of cash down on the counter next to the dress material. “Last night was good for tips. Bachelorette party. We moved them out pretty quick and managed to keep the tipsy bride-to-be out of the back rooms.”
Shilo made herself laugh. “Humans.”
Waylon wasn’t fooled. “Seriously, Shilo. Are you okay?”
“It’s a transition. To be expected.” Only it was nothing like Shilo had expected. She had Waylon back. She was mentally stable, enough that she could hang with Waylon for years and keep her feral instincts at bay. It was like the madness had never happened.
He kissed her again. She curved into him. This part she craved, the feeling of being wanted. Ironically, it helped her forget to think about Waylon and how he’d lived under worse duress his entire life than she had for one week.
“I love you,” she murmured against his lips.
“You’re my everything. I don’t care who I am as long I’m with you.”
She smiled and gazed into his eyes. “When’d you get so soft? Go to work and beat those females off you with a stick.”
He flashed a smile with a hint of fang. The spot he had marked tingled. “It’s better since I have your scent all over me.”
She would put her scent all over him again, but he couldn’t be late. “Have a good night. I’ll be fine. Promise.”
One last kiss and he was out the door. She was alone again.
She picked up the scissors again. Staring at the half-cut fabric, her thoughts touched on the same topic they did every night Waylon left for work.
This was Waylon’s life. For five years, she’d been steeped in jealously about how easily he’d moved on, but all he did was sleep, eat, work out, and go to work. Like her, he had filled his time with pointless distractions that had moved on as soon as the climax faded.
Five years lost, all to make a point. Her job was important, but not more important than him.
But with no role in the colony, she was stuck with the now whats.
Shifting her grip on the scissors, she bent over her work. First, Olga’s dress. She’d get it cut out while waiting for Armana’s call.
Time flew by as she lost herself in the calming work of crafting. Her happy spot. All the pieces were cut. She was folding the main dress section when suspicion wormed its way in.
Can I trust Waylon?
The material hung limp in her hands.
He gets hit on so much, does he reject them all? We’ve only been reunited for a few weeks.
Shaking her head, she finished her task and laid all the items on the edge of the counter.
All those scents he comes home with.
Dammit!
Where were these worries coming from? This was Waylon. Besides, she was a shifter. She’d know.
To concentrate on a more comfortable duty, she gave up waiting and called Armana.
“Ms. Ironhorse. I was just about to ring.”
Shilo smiled. Armana’s no-nonsense tone reminded her of home. From what she knew, the female had once helped her first mate lead their colony before he was killed. Now mated to a human and running her own business with him, Armana was one of the most chill shifters Shilo had ever met. Had Mother ever dreamed of leaving the constant stress of colony leadership behind and just living life on her own terms?
Mother and Father were a team, but the last decade had taken its toll. Covet had only added a metric ton of stress to their lives.
Was that why they were so intent on grooming her for the role?
Armana jumped right in without Shilo having to ask. “I’ve located a computer specialist, and she’s willing to dig up any records without me having to go into detail about why.”
“I’d have to ask why she doesn’t care about the whys.”
Armana chuckled, not insulted at all. “Me, too. All I had to say was that we suspect a colony of hoarding technological advances to oppress their people and others and she was so indignant I could barely talk her into limiting her search to the Covet bloodline. I can give you her price quotes if your mother is interested.”
“I can pass it on.” Would Mother listen? Would the computer specialist—hacker—be put in danger? “When will she have some files to share?”
“Give her a couple of days. She’s setting up a secure account and I can get the log-in credentials to you, but we’ll wait until you need to use it.”
“Right. Keep it as secure as possible. Oh, I have a photo in case it’ll help with her search at all.”
“Once you log in, upload it.”
“Thanks, Armana.” Hanging up with Armana, she was filled with excitement. The emotion withered under the constant thread of worry.
Can I trust Waylon?
Is he true?
Maybe he’s bitter about what happened between us. What if he holds a grudge?
Is he using me?
She snarled and tossed the phone onto the counter. Putting her hands to her temples, she wandered around the apartment.
Stop it. Just stop it.
Where was this crazy coming from? She was finally feeling whole again, strong enough to take on the obstacles lobbed her way. Major ones, like her family letting her leave. She was saner than she had been in years, and yet…
Bumping into the punching bag, she opened her eyes.
Waylon’s gloves rested on the weight bench to her right. She put them on and found the tape.
Waylon worked for another seven hours. She’d beat the shit of this bag and by the time she was done, maybe she’d be too tired to worry about the male she loved.
Waylon was starting to worry about Shilo. The last three nights, he’d gotten home to a Shilo so sweaty, so worn, that she hardly managed a shower before collapsing into bed.
Before he left for work in the evening, she basically attacked him.
He wouldn’t complain. Rough sex was good sex when it was with Shilo, but the frantic motivation behind it disturbed him. He’d tried for slow and sweet this morning and tears had shimmered in her eyes. So he’d taken her like a maniac and told her he loved her at least four times before he left for work.
“Hey, Christian. Can I take off a couple hours early? I got a thing with Shilo.” Waylon scrubbed a glass with a clean towel to keep his hands busy. He never asked to leave early, and he didn’t have a good reason why.
“Sure, man. Whatever you need.” Just when Waylon thought he was getting away with no questions, Christian nailed him with a knowing stare. “Everything okay?”
A quick yes was on the tip of his tongue, but Christian would smell the bullshit in his answer. “I don’t know. Shilo’s been acting…different.”
“Family troubles?”
“Maybe. It seems deeper. More personal.” How could it get more personal than her parents? But that was how Waylon interpreted it.
“Someone messing with her?”
Waylon put the glass down. “She talks to Armana and that’s it.” He hadn’t detailed the mystery of his birth, but Christian wasn’t a nosy leader.
Christian dropped his voice to barely audible. “Shifters are crafty bastards. Someone’s been dicking with your life. They could be doing the same to her.” How the fuck had Christian known? The male nodded like Waylon had asked the question out loud. “It was clear as a bell, between what the Ironhorses said about you and what I saw for myself. You’re not wanted in Ironhorse Falls and as soon as you find out why, or by who, then I think your life will change. Get on home now.”
Waylon didn’t waste time. He could ponder Christian’s insights on his way home.
He dove into his Jeep and managed to keep from squealing out of the parking lot. A few blocks from home, he pulled up behind a mechanic shop and parked. He needed to think. Once he walked into his apartment, he’d have Shilo’s troubles to handle.
If someone was getting to Shilo, how would they do it? She hadn’t mentioned talking to anyone other than Armana.
Covet shifters had already demonstrated potent mental abilities. If they were in the vicinity and targeting Shilo, he’d feel them.
Waylon slipped out of his Jeep and jogged toward his apartment, keeping to the shadows and stopping frequently to use his senses.
The closer he got to his home, the more the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end.
Someone was nearby using their abilities. He knew it in his bones.
After all these years, he had something to contribute other than a steady hand to fill lip balm containers. He was like a Geiger counter for shifter abilities.
He changed course to pad down the alley that’d give him glimpses of the roads that ran on each side of his place. The avenue behind the row of offices was his concern. Shifters targeting Shilo wouldn’t do it from the road in front of his place.
Grateful he was in another black T-shirt, he crouched and sped down the alley. Each gap between the buildings, he peeked out.
There. A car with two people.
Waylon narrowed his eyes. A male and a female. Their shadows resembled the two who were always with Langdon. Oscar and Brynley.
Fuckers.
His body was tingling, little zings of electricity running up and down his nerve pathways.
He had to check on Shilo.
Backtracking, he crossed the alley and went to the street in front of his place. The few cars and pickups parked along the curb and in the lots were empty. The shifters didn’t want to be seen. More and more suspicious. He’d chosen this part of town based on availability, cost, and the lack of shifters around, the least hostile environment he’d ever known. He darted in and out of shadows until he got to his front door.
He let himself in and charged up the stairs. Bursting through the door, he squatted down and put his hand to his lips.
Shilo spun away from the bag she was wailing on. Rivulets of sweat ran down her face, over her shoulders, trailing down her back.
Holy shit. Did she beat the bag the entire time he was gone?
The most disturbing part was the anguish in her eyes. Relief flashed in their brown depths, but was brief. Her sides heaved and her gaze traveled to the empty water bottle that had been abandoned on the floor. She licked her lips like she was parched and scowled at him.
He scanned the room. Vibrations sped up and down his spine.
He spoke only loud enough for her to hear. “Someone’s targeting you, using telepathy or empathy or some shit, but they’re fucking with you.”
She blinked and wiped off her face with the back of her hand. “What are you talking about?”
“I can feel them.”
He waited a second and her breathing slowed. She looked less ravaged and more confused. “Are you sure?”
; “My ability is stronger when I’m with you, and growing more precise. I get twitchy when a shifter is using a mental power around me, and before I got in here, I wanted to vibrate off the sidewalk. Think about it. Do your feelings make sense?”
She glared toward the window, and the storm in her eyes calmed.
“It’s not me,” she breathed. Her body folded until her butt hit the floor. She heaved a mighty sigh and collapsed back, her arms sprawled to the side and her eyes closed.
He rushed to her side, but she was more relaxed than she’d been in days.
“It’s not me,” she said again, opening her eyes, her smile dreamy. “Oh my God, it’s not you either.”
“Me?”
Rage tightened her expression. “Those fuckers.” She sat up and peeled the boxing gloves off.
Waylon rested on his heels. “What’s been going on?”
Tossing the gloves aside, she prodded her temples. “I thought I was going crazy again. Three nights ago I started getting hit with these major insecurities. Did you really love me? Could you be faithful? Why would you want to?”
“And you used the bag to get through it? Why not talk to me?”
She dropped her hands and gazed at him. “Because I felt stupid. We’ve reunited, you’ve been working every night to keep the money coming in, and here I was with debilitating anxiety about what a good male you are. I know you are. Questioning it felt…traitorous.”
He wrapped her in his arms. “You fought it. You didn’t know those thoughts weren’t coming from your own mind, yet you still fought them.”
“I think you might need a new bag.”
He chuckled and looked up at the red punching bag. It’d been used when he bought it, and Shilo was right. A few more nights of this treatment, and all the stuffing would drain out, or a rafter would drop the swinging load.
“I think I saw them.” Waylon pointed to where the car would be sitting. “Do you still feel them?”
“I will rip them apart,” she growled. Then she shook her head. “Those thoughts are still bombarding me. But it’s easier now to tell they’re foreign and not from me.”
A Shifter's Claim (Pale Moonlight Book 4) Page 14
