by Bec McMaster
She hadn't understood why Colton even obeyed the psychopath.
Hadn't given it a thought.
Just assumed he'd been there for the hell of it.
Do it often enough and you can twist even the most hard-core alpha to your will in a way he'll never be able to break....
Everything inside her went cold.
What if Colton hadn't been Cane's accomplice by choice?
What if Cane had used torture to break Colton at a young age, and he'd been forced to obey him? She'd heard enough of his conversation with CJ last night to understand how it might have been done.
Which meant all her preconceived notions about Colton were wrong.
Feeling breathless, Eden forced herself to mechanically chew the meal CJ had cooked when they finally stopped for the night, but the two wargs’ quiet words went right over her head as she tried to replay every interaction she'd ever had with Johnny Colton.
Sunlight drenched the street as Eden bustled out of the general store, lugging the basket of groceries she'd purchased. She was waving goodbye to Mr. Miller, all smiles and good humor, when she turned the corner and almost slammed into a young man washing his face in the water trough.
He had his head tilted back, and water tracked rivulets down the side of his face and his throat. A black Stetson hung on a nail on the wall, and he'd tugged his black shirt open at the collar to run his wet hand across the back of his neck.
Young, perhaps a couple of years older than she. All tanned skin and white flashing teeth. She'd caught him in a vulnerable, careless moment, but her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, and Eden had the feeling she'd been punched in the chest.
Man, those jeans were tight. And he was the most attractive guy she'd ever met—which, granted, wasn't a great deal of men.
"I know we're in the middle of nowhere," she somehow managed to say, feeling tongue-tied and breathless, "but surely you can find yourself an actual bath."
Dark eyes locked on hers.
He froze.
So did she.
But there was a skitter of butterflies fluttering raucously in her stomach, and Eden tucked a strand of hair behind her ears self-consciously. Holy. Shit. Why had she said that?
"Hi," she said.
The stranger tugged his shirt together and started buttoning it back up. "Hello, angel."
"If you wanted an actual bath," she said, tilting her head toward the boarding house her father had run when he was alive, "I might be able to help you out."
The stranger stiffened.
"Eden," she said, sticking her hand out for him to shake. "Eden McClain. And my brother owns the boarding house now, so I'm fairly certain I could help accommodate you. There's a washhouse out back, and we don't have any lodgers at the moment, so you'd be welcome to use it, Mr...?"
"Colton. Johnny Colton," he breathed, staring at her hand as if it were dangerous. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You don't even know me."
"I don't know most of the people who stay with us." She rolled her eyes and dropped her hand. "Are you planning to hurt me?"
"No."
"Good," she'd told him, glancing coquettishly at him over her shoulder as she turned toward the boarding house. "Because if you were, I would have to warn you my brother taught me how to shoot and throw a knife, and he was pretty thorough about where to knee a man if he thought to get too friendly... if you know what I mean?"
The faintest of smiles softened Johnny's mouth and he stared at her as if he couldn't look away. He took one hesitant step after her. "Should I be worried about running into your brother too? Because if you're half as dangerous as you say you are, then I might not want to meet him."
He was definitely flirting with her now. Wasn't he?
"You have no idea." Speaking of, Adam was somewhere in town. Eden glanced toward the main street, and then slipped into the shadows beside Johnny before anyone could tattle on her. "He's six years older than me, but you'd think he was my father. Plus he's a bounty hunter. Hunts wargs out there in the Wastelands. He's a total badass."
And if Adam caught a glimpse of her speaking to a handsome young stranger, he'd be right over here, getting all up in her business.
There was possibly a reason she'd never seen a man this gorgeous before.
"A bounty hunter?" Johnny murmured, and paused a step.
"Don't worry," she said, crossing the narrow alley behind the general store and heading for the boarding house. "He won't like you, but it wouldn't be personal. Adam thinks every guy has ulterior motives."
"They probably do."
"And what are your motives, Mr. Colton?"
Johnny scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, glancing behind him as if keeping an eye out for overprotective brothers. The bit about bounty hunters had clearly thrown him. "My motives include getting clean and keeping my hands to myself." He paused. "I probably shouldn't be doing this."
"Relax," she teased. "You're a paying customer."
Johnny arched a brow. "Paying, am I?"
"Water's scarce. So it will cost you half a silver."
A shy smile twisted his mouth. "You're a right regular hustler...."
Eden dragged her knees up to her chest. The image was as clear as a bell. Every moment of that day she met him had etched itself in her brain, like a scar. If you grabbed a boiling pot, you'd remember the flinch of pain, no matter how many years passed, and this was exactly the same. Simply seeing Colton again bought that pain to the surface.
But now she had a chance to reconsider events, she couldn't help remembering Colton's skittishness that day, as if he'd never had a chance to flirt either. There'd been a reluctance about him as he followed her, as if he simply couldn't help himself.
He'd also been nervous, his gaze constantly roving the horizon. She'd always thought it had been Adam he'd been looking for, especially after she stole a kiss.
But what if it hadn't been?
What if he'd known exactly what sort of evil overshadowed him, and he'd been trying to protect her from it, even as he simply couldn't resist?
Eden brushed crumbs off her fingertips, shooting Colton and CJ a guilty glance. Firelight danced over their faces. CJ's face was rapt as Colton murmured something to him, turning the wolf's head talisman that kept the warg at bay over in his hands.
Speaking of the kiss....
She could almost feel it on her lips still. A swiftly stolen moment when she'd opened the door to the washroom and found Colton shaving with deft, mechanical movements, his skin bare except for the white towel around his waist.
The sight of him had stolen her thoughts. She'd stammered her apologies. He'd used the screen to dress swiftly, heat darkening his cheeks, as Eden scrambled to collect the towels—and her wits.
"I should go," he said, as they both escaped that cursed washhouse.
Still reeling from her first encounter with lust, Eden grabbed his arm, reluctant to see this dream vanish. When he shot her a startled look, she wasn't able to help herself.
Lifting on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his, aware of the tension in his lean body.
He didn't move. Didn't kiss her back for such a long moment, she was about to lower her feet firmly to the ground, when he finally broke. Hands came up, capturing her face. A soft sound of pure aching need erupted from his throat, his chest, his toes—as if the sheer hunger to be touched came from so deep within his soul, it almost vibrated through him. And then he was shoving her back against the wall to the washhouse, his mouth capturing hers, and his body imprinting itself against every inch of her body.
It stole her breath.
Her wits.
Left her aching and vulnerable, despite the relative inexperience she couldn't fail to recognize in both of them. A clumsy, sloppy kiss, full of need and unspoken desire, and a burgeoning hunger on her behalf.
"What have we here?" a voice called, cutting through the haze of desire like a knife.
Johnny shoved away from her as if he'd been burnt.
>
"You should go." Johnny's soft smile turned hard all of a sudden, and he gave her a little push behind him as a stranger appeared out of nowhere, his malevolent shadow separating from the ones he hovered within on the veranda, and the ever-present glow of his cigar burning like hot little embers.
"Oh, no need to run along, young lady," the stranger called, sounding exactly like someone's jovial uncle. He winked as he breathed out a wreath of smoke. "I'm sure Johnny's manners will get better."
"She has things to do," Johnny replied flatly. "And her brother's around. Her bounty hunter brother."
"A bounty hunter brother, huh?"
The sight of the sudden intensity of the stranger's eyes haunted her until this day.
Bartholomew Cane.
I drew him right into Adam's life.
Eden shuddered, bowing her head to rest on her knees. Stop it. It's not your fault. You had no way of knowing what Cane would do to Adam.
Easier to say than to believe.
But now there was another aspect of the puzzle to uncover, one she'd never thought about before.
Knowing what she knew now, had Colton been trying to protect her from the real monster? She'd almost forgotten how he'd shoved her behind him, putting his body between them as if to protect her.
I didn't want to remember it.
And why had he kissed her back in the first place?
It was the one piece of the puzzle she'd never been able to fit into place. Because she'd started it. She'd gone after him, so despite the guilt and hate twisting her into knots after everything that happened, she could never believe he'd just done it to toy with her, or to use her.
"Are you all right?" CJ asked, breaking through the ever-looping repeat of her thoughts.
"Fine," Eden managed to mutter.
But the questions wouldn't go away.
And whether Colton refused to discuss it or not, she needed to know the answers—if she had any chance of sorting through the confused jumble of emotions in her chest.
He'd spent most of his life being hunted, one way or another, so he knew when a predator was stalking him.
Even if it was the prettiest damned predator he'd ever seen.
Johnny's eyes narrowed as Eden circled the fire and knelt at his side, bringing her medical kit with her. He'd seen her haul it out of her pack earlier. He was pretty sure she'd packed more in the goddamned kit than she had in the way of clothes. The only personal item he'd seen was a hairbrush she tugged out constantly, as she retamed her curly hair, again and again throughout the day. Prepared for any emergency, except humidity.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
Tension slid through him. There'd been a certain look in her eyes ever since she saw his scars, and it made him panic. "The same way I did an hour ago when you asked."
"I want to check your wounds," she said, tapping on the hem of his shirt. "Off."
"You've checked them twice. They're getting better." End of story.
He didn't know why her sudden attention unnerved him so much.
Or why he both craved and feared it.
"I want to check them again," she said, without a single trace of heat in her voice.
"Leave it alone, Eden. Pretending to give a damn doesn't become you." He rolled to one knee, about to get the hell out of there. Nothing had changed. Nothing. He couldn't trust this new form of truce between them. "Mierda."
A hand punched him in the shoulder lightly. "Language."
"You speak Spanish?"
"I don't need to speak Spanish to know you just swore. And I do care." Her voice softened. "I do."
Johnny reached for the flask in his bag. "Yeah, well, what are you going to do about it?"
Sharp eyes watched every move he made. He could see the judgment in them. Then sudden soft dawning, as if she'd had a realization about him.
"What?" he all but snarled.
"You get your flask out whenever I push you," she murmured, resting her hands on her thighs.
He did? "Maybe you're driving me to drink?"
"Maybe you're using it as a crutch, every time I get close enough to stir your emotions."
"I'm not emotional." He was a goddamned omega warg.
And half alpha.
"Oh no, you're fine," she mocked. "You're not helping me because you feel guilty. You don't owe me a debt. You're just crossing the Divide—which might get you killed by the way—for the heck of it."
Smart-ass. He tipped the flask to his lips and swallowed. Not much left but damned if he'd give her the satisfaction of resisting. As if what she'd said bothered him. "I seem to recall blackmail."
"I seem to recall some dick luring me out of my bed with promises I shouldn't have trusted before he threw me in a hut with a transitioning warg. But I'm also starting to wonder if my recollections of certain events aren't clouded by my own emotions about everything that happened between us."
Johnny froze. "I knew Adam wouldn't hurt you. He loved you. I knew he'd give in to Cane's demands."
And I didn't have a choice.
If he'd fought Cane over it, then the consequences would have been bad.
For her.
He'd spent years trying to deny Cane by then, feeling the kickback of pain as Cane broke him to his will. Years of torture. Years of losing the fight, bit by bit, until sometimes it was easier in the end if he didn't fight.
The second Cane saw him kissing Eden McClain, Johnny knew the bastard would try to destroy her—if only to ensure nothing ever came between Johnny's "loyalty" to him. In some sick and twisted part of his mind, Cane had thought of Johnny as his ally.
His nephew.
His possession.
"You ever run like your mother did, and I swear I'll burn your world down around you. I'll find you, no matter where you hide. I'll repay you for every ounce of your treachery. You belong to me, boy. You understand?"
His only option at the time had been to yield to Cane's will. Bring Eden along, throw her in the hut, use her to get what Cane wanted from Adam.
If he'd hesitated....
If he'd stood against Cane....
Then Cane would have killed her. Slowly. Painfully. And he'd have made Johnny watch, after he'd broken him again.
When did you stop fighting? When did it become easier to give in, just a little? When did you become numb, even as a part of you died, over and over again? He wished he didn't know.
The lesser of two evils. How many years had he spent making a choice between the lesser of two evils, so he wouldn't rouse the devil in Cane?
"Tell me about Cane," Eden whispered.
"No."
He didn't want to think about Cane ever again. I killed him. I finally killed him. But he still felt the ghost of Cane hanging over him, every damned time he woke up.
I am what he made me.
It made him feel sick, even now. Especially now. He tried to move again, but Eden leaned forward, her weight resting on his thigh. "Don't," she said.
A chill ran down his spine.
"He hurt you, didn't he?"
"What part of no don't you understand?"
Grabbing her by the hips, Johnny threatened to tip her onto her ass in the dirt. Eden grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and glared at him as if to say; I go. You go.
Somehow she was almost on his lap. She straddled his thighs, using her weight to keep him there, but his gut churned with too much emotion to let himself enjoy the experience.
"I thought I'd be the last person you'd ever want to roll around on the ground with."
"You are."
"Do you want to check my wound or not?" Johnny snapped. "Because if you do, then fine. Check it. But I'm not talking about Cane. Not now. Not ever. Your choice."
Eden's lips pressed together. "I'll check your wound."
As she climbed off him to fetch her kit, he almost thought he heard her mutter, "But don't think I'm going to give up."
Colton slumped on the bedroll with his hat over his face, the blankets drawn
up under his chin. His chest rose and fell in steady movements, and he began to snore softly. Eden watched him from across the fireplace, still not quite certain how to take the day's revelations.
Colton had wanted to take first watch, but she'd taken one look at him and put her hands on her hips.
"You'll be no good to anyone if you keel over from blood loss and lack of sleep." He'd started to protest so she'd held her hand up. "Five hours. Give me five hours of sleep, and I'll let you out of bed. Otherwise, I'll simply get CJ to take you down and I will tie you to your goddamned bedroll. We'll both keep watch."
She wasn't going to think about his reply about beds and just who'd be tying whom down, but at least he'd finally complied.
And started snoring almost immediately.
Stubborn bloody men.
Eden glanced to where CJ was keeping watch, and kept sewing the hem on his shirt. It was the least she could do, and she needed to keep her hands busy.
Four days down.
Halfway across the Divide.
One warg injured; two dead shadow cats.
Guess I can call that a win, she thought with a sigh as she tied off her last neat stitch. Adam had taught her how to sew when she was a kid, and she needed to keep her hands busy, or else that internal clock would start ticking loudly again.
Hopefully Lily's okay.
Argh. Don't think about it. There's nothing you can do for her—except keep pressing on.
Finishing CJ's shirt, she set it aside and glanced to where Colton's sat folded beside him.
Sewing the rips in his shirt felt a little too personal, but she didn't know how else to thank him. Plus there was the queasy feeling inside her whenever she thought of how bitchy she'd been toward him.
Guy nearly passed out because he didn't think you'd care if he were bleeding or not.
Then there were those bloody scars.
And the violent churn of emotion in him when she brought up Cane. She recognized fear when she saw it, which only added to the mystery.
The least she could do was mend his bloody shirt.
Moving quietly, so as not to wake him, she grabbed his shirt and tugged it into her lap. The blood had dried and it would need a wash at some point, but waste not, want not was the personal motto of anyone born in the Wastelands.
