by Bec McMaster
Tomorrow they'd be climbing the escarpment, and end up in Confederacy territory. Butterflies whirled in her stomach at the thought. She could give CJ and Colton an earlier night.
"My mother taught me," he muttered, almost too quiet to hear. There was calmness about him in this moment, as though the action was almost meditative. Colton grabbed the fry pan and gave it a swirl, sending chopped bacon and onion sizzling around the pan. As he set the pan back on the rack, he glanced her way. "Where'd you learn to cook?"
And... there it was.
Eden scowled. "Don't think I didn't see your expression this morning when you were eating breakfast."
A faint smile danced over his lips. "You're officially banned from desecrating my fry pan ever again."
Of all the nerve. She sucked in a breath... and deflated. "Okay, fine. I just wanted to help. I know I'm terrible in the kitchen. Adam used to do most of the cooking when we lived together. My talents run in other directions."
Adam had mostly taken over when it became clear Eden had other things on her mind.
"You can help by not helping. How can you be so bad at it?"
"I was training to be a healer when I was a teen," she admitted. "And I get distracted. Cooking always seemed to be something necessary to sustain life, but not... not intellectually stimulating like my textbooks were. I mean, I like the finished product but I never have the time to go through the process."
"Sustain life? Yeah, that pretty much covers it."
She watched him stirring the mix in the pan. "You like cooking."
Odd to think of Colton in any way as domesticated.
He shrugged. "In my family, home revolved around food. My mother was always in the kitchen. It helped calm her and she'd had a rough childhood. I think she wanted to make our house as homely as she could."
"What happened to her?"
Dark eyes flashed to hers, then looked away. "Why do you think something happened to her?"
"Because you speak in past tense when you mention her, and your voice gets a little soft."
"Eden—"
"It was Cane, wasn't it?"
The muscles in his cheeks tensed as he poked the items in the pan with an intense focus. "Yes."
"You don't like to talk about him."
"Would you?" Moving stiffly, he reached for the flask in his pack. "Why so damned curious?"
"Because I think I was wrong about you, and now I want to know the truth."
Colton tipped the flask to his lips, then winced and held it out, shaking it up and down. A drop of liquid hit the ground but nothing else, and Eden squirmed away, remembering when she'd thrown it on the fire. "Bloody. Fucking. Hell. I'm out."
And clearly trying to change the subject. "Language."
He flashed her an intense look. "This situation—"
"Doesn't require it."
"You're probably right, because I've got no intentions of discussing Cane or my mother. Now... I'm pretty sure I saw a flask in your bag when you were bandaging me up."
"You would be correct."
He stared at her.
She smiled sweetly. "What makes you think I'd give it to you? That flask is for medicinal purposes only."
"I think my claw marks are playing up."
"Nobody likes the Boy Who Cried Wolf."
"How about the Wolf Who Would Like A...n F'ing Drink?"
She stared at him.
"Because I did not swear?" he suggested.
She fetched the small flask of medicinal whiskey she had in her medical bag. "Use sparingly. It's all I have."
Colton uncapped the flask and took a decent swallow. "Now I know you want me to bare my heart and soul. Are you trying to get me drunk, Eden McClain?"
"Yes," she deadpanned. "I have ulterior motives and want to get you drunk in the middle of the Great Divide. Sounds like an excellent way to die."
He laughed. "I never knew you were so uptight."
"I am not."
"Doesn't like swearing. Doesn't approve of drinking too much. Please tell me you're not a virgin."
"I have—occasionally—said a rude word. I just don't think they have to be part of every sentence you utter. I drink with my friends. And no, I'm not a virgin." Though I might as well be. "Stop looking at me like you think I'm a prude."
Colton slowly unscrewed the cap, offering her the flask as if he dared her. "All work, no play. No wonder you're tense."
"Are you serious?" She sat up straight. "The reason I'm tense is because I'm on a tight timeline, while you don't seem to give a damn."
"Can't travel at night," he pointed out. "You could join me."
"I don't even like you. Why would I drink with you?"
He shrugged. "Didn't think so...."
Screw him. Eden captured his hand and brought the flask closer to her lips. She tipped it up and drank, watching him all the while, her hand covering his.
Their eyes met.
And suddenly she realized how it might look.
Eden froze, lowering the flask. A slow heated smile spread over his mouth, as if he could read her mind.
"Don't worry, mi corazon," he said, with a faint, half-mocking lilt to his voice. "I'm not getting ideas. You're the last woman I'd ever touch. Your brother would skin me alive."
A little flutter went through her at the words as she hastily swallowed the burning mouthful of whiskey. "You're the last man I'd ever allow to touch me."
But that was a blatant lie, as evidenced by the rasp of her nipples against her bra, and the sudden wet heat in her panties. Eden spilled some of the whiskey down her hand as she hastily screwed the cap back on.
His smile was pure evil. "Do you know the best thing about being a warg?"
"There is something good about it?" Her heart skipped a beat.
Colton leaned closer, as if breathing in her scent. "You can tell when someone's lying to you."
"You're dreaming if you think I'd ever lay hands on you. That's not a lie. Truce or not."
Even so... She licked the whiskey off her fingers and paused the second she realized his gaze had turned hot and he was watching her, like a hunter scenting prey.
A long breathless moment.
The seconds ticked out, as Eden considered her feelings. There was a part of her—a very small part—that liked having him watch her like that. Knowing he wouldn't touch her without permission.
Knowing he wanted to.
It made her feel powerful.
It made her pussy clench.
Eden unfroze and slowly finished licking her fingers, taunting him the entire time with her eyes. Ask me how uptight I am now....
Colton sucked in a sharp breath. "Hate sex," he growled. "You. Me. And one night in which to get all this out of our systems."
"Hate sex?"
"Let's not pretend you're ever going to forgive me. But every time you look at me, your eyes are saying one thing, and your mouth another. You don't like me, but there's a part of you that wants to be under me."
"Who said I'd be under you?" she shot back, leaning close enough to breathe in his exhale.
Colton's lips curved in a slow smile. "I said. Because I can guarantee if you give me a single hint the answer is yes, you won't be the one doing the fucking."
Holy. Shit. Her heart was racing almost too fast to hear anything else. In this context, that word was exactly the right one to use.
"That itch you can’t scratch," he whispered. "I know you feel it."
Eden smiled sweetly at him and waggled her fingers. "That’s why I have these. Let’s just say… I can scratch my own itch."
Heat gilded the dark depths of his irises. His nostrils flared. "Tell me… is it as good as the real thing? Because my hand does the job too, sweetheart, but there’s something to be said for the feel of someone else’s hands skating over your skin, and their teeth sinking into your shoulder. Something to be said for soft lips between your legs, and a fist wrapped in your hair, and—"
Eden sucked in a sharp gasp. She co
uld almost feel his touch on her skin, his words painting a picture she could feel. "I’m not that desperate."
"Or is it just the fact it’s me that makes you itch that pisses you off?" Colton’s fingertips ghosted over her chin. "Because I’m fairly fucking certain you’re wet right now."
Colton's thumb dug into the muscle on the inside of her leg. He went to one knee in front of her, his thumb sliding up, stroking her inner thigh. "Are you wet, Eden? Are you thinking about it?"
"I—"
"I can hear you," CJ suddenly called out, from where he was on watch.
Eden jumped. Jesus. What was she even thinking? Hate sex? With Johnny Colton? Bad idea. Bad.
Shame her body wasn't getting that memo.
Colton scrubbed his large hand over his mouth. "Good," he called back. "That means nothing else should sneak up on you."
The moment was broken. Eden sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath and pushed to her feet, taking the flask with her. Good God, she'd actually been thinking about it. Worse. She'd been craving it.
He's right. You're tense. That's why this makes sense. It's just an itch to scratch, just a little bit of pressure to relieve....
"Eden?" His voice came out low and hard, as if he could feel her pulling away.
"Never going to happen."
"Think about it," Colton told her, then pushed to his feet, dusting his knees off. His dark eyes looked like molten chocolate. "Or stop torturing me."
Chapter Eleven
Eden blew out a deep breath as Colton fetched a larger log and dumped it on the fire.
Damn him.
She was hot and wet and flushed again.
And that fucking itch was back.
"I swear to God you drive me crazy," she muttered.
His lips quirked as he kicked the log into place on the coals. "Likewise. Are you doing the dishes, or am I?"
"You cooked." It was only fair.
"Darlin', I plan on cooking all the meals out of self-preservation, if nothing else. Doesn't mean you have to wash up all the time."
"Careful. I'm going to remember that." Eden pushed to her feet, searching for the fry pan so she could fill it with water and set it on the coals to soften the remains of dinner.
Anything to get away from Colton for a moment.
"You finished with your plate?" Colton called out to CJ, who'd drawn the first watch.
Eden turned her back on him, her cheeks hot. She'd been too long without a man. That was the problem. Grabbing the pan, she used the spatula to scrape out the crust on the bottom of it. Nope. Definitely needed to soak.
"CJ?" Colton's voice sounded strange.
Two seconds later, a hand rested on her shoulder. Eden looked up sharply, but Colton wasn't looking down at her. Instead he peered into the shadows of the night.
A familiar nervousness flooded through her. "Shadow cats?"
Again?
Her heart skipped a beat.
Colton knelt at her side. "Not sure. But there's got to be a reason he's not answering."
Boots scuffled over granite somewhere out there in the dark. Colton's head snapped in that direction, tension radiating through his body, and then he cut her a quick look, slashing a hand as if to say, stay there.
Clutching at his knife, he vanished into the shadows of the night.
Armed with a fry pan and a spatula, Eden squatted by the bedroll, not daring to move. Damn him. What the hell was out there? What had he heard?
And where was her gun?
She saw the barrel of the shotgun near her pack and edged toward it, cocking her head to listen as she put the pan aside. The breeze whispered through her clothes, and she thought she caught a faint grunt.
"Why, what do we have here?" drawled a voice.
An enormous man leaped up on a boulder, his body lit by firelight. He wore a gray tank with the sleeves cut off, and muscle flexed in his arms.
Eden snatched the double barreled shotgun and rolled onto her back on the bedroll, pumping two rounds into the chamber and holding it steady on him. "Don't move."
Shadows shifted in the corner of her vision. An Asian woman melded out of the darkness, holding a spear. Her clothes were dark gray; a long tunic that left her arms bare, held together with black leather straps.
And then another woman to the right of her, who looked like she wrestled men for a living.
Eden was surrounded.
"Colton!" she yelled.
No response. Just a muffled grunt and then a hooting sound, out there in the night.
Another voice lifted, hooting back.
A flash of silver went through the stranger's eyes, and Eden's lungs seized up. Wargs. She was surrounded by wargs. She almost pulled the trigger in her fright.
"Stay back."
"You've only got two rounds in that chamber, sweetheart." The man grinned at her, pacing back and forth, almost as if he was taunting her. "And there's three of us."
"There's silver in the bullets, so whoever I hit first is going down." Eden deliberately swung the shotgun toward him. "And I don't think I like your tone, so it might be you."
"Put the gun down," said the muscly woman. "You won't be hurt."
"Forgive me if I'm not very trusting." Eden stared along the barrel, and swallowed. Her gaze dropped to the stranger's chest. No amulet. Full night was still an hour away, the moon not quite fully in the sky yet, but.... Letting go of the shotgun was probably not a great idea. "Why the hell haven't you gone warg?"
The man glanced toward the dark-skinned woman.
"Why the hell haven't your friends gone warg?" the woman returned.
"Because they're not monsters."
"Maybe we're not either?"
"Put the gun down, before I take it off you," the man said, his voice dark and low.
The second she lost that gun Eden was vulnerable. "I think not."
"Then we're at an impasse." His weight shifted forward, onto the balls of his feet.
"No, now we're at an impasse," came Colton's voice as he melded out of the shadows. Another man leaned stiffly against him, with Colton's arm locked tightly around his head, tilting it to the side. Colton held the tip of his knife to the flickering beat of the stranger's jugular. "I'm assuming this is one of yours."
The stranger's eyes narrowed, and his glance slid sideways.
"If you're looking for the others, three of them aren't coming," Colton muttered. "They had a sudden pressing appointment with the sandman."
"Are they dead?"
"No."
A faint smile graced the stranger's face. "You're good."
"Thanks."
"But we're better," said another voice, and suddenly there was CJ, forced to his knees as another pair of men materialized out of the night. One of them pressed his shotgun directly to CJ's temples.
"Drop the knife," said the stranger. "Or we'll kill the boy."
Colton's eyes narrowed. "If I drop the knife, what's to say you won't kill the boy anyway?"
"Pinkie promise," said the stranger with a smile. "If you're a good little warg, nobody needs to get hurt."
"Just do it, Colton," she cried, the shotgun getting heavy in her hands. Eden crawled to her knees, holding the shotgun up in surrender. See? She swallowed. "Let CJ go."
"Eden," Colton warned. "They're wargs."
"Noticed that, thanks."
It didn't change her decision. If there'd been any sign of hairy rage erupting out of any of them she'd have never let go, but they were human. Potentially open to negotiating. And they could have killed any of the three of them, but they hadn't.
"Eden," Colton warned.
Eden set the shotgun down, and slowly pushed to her feet, hands in the air.
"Kick it toward me."
"No. I'm human and you're not. You know you can get to me before I can lift the gun. I did what you wanted as a show of respect." She locked eyes on the man holding the shotgun to CJ's head. "Now you lower your weapons. You said we wouldn't get hurt."
; "I'm the one giving the orders here. This your woman?" said the stranger, leering at Colton.
"Yes."
Eden's heart skipped a beat as the stranger captured her chin and tilted her face toward him.
"She's pretty," he mused.
"Rath," said the muscly woman, and it sounded like a warning.
Colton shifted.
"Just playing, Bobbi."
Nobody was watching her. Nobody expected her to cause trouble. Eden's hand slid to her belt—and her emergency precaution.
"You keep your fucking hands off her," Colton growled, and the knife in his hand drew blood.
"Maybe I'll have some fun with her." The enormous stranger grabbed her and wrenched her back against his chest. His hand rested a little too comfortably on her waist.
"Hey!" She wriggled, but his grip was merciless. "You promised."
"What's your name, sugar tits?"
"Eden." There it was again. Eden seethed. "You don't happen to know a guy called Black Tom, do you?"
"Can't say I do. Why? Friend of yours?"
Eden uncapped the syringe behind her back with her fingers, and swallowed. "Not exactly."
"What's your man's name?"
"Johnny Colton."
She could feel his breath stirring her hair, and her eyes met Colton's. Unlike everyone else, he'd noticed the syringe in her hand.
"You want to have some fun with me?" Rath murmured, but she knew he was watching Colton. His enormous arm locked over her chest, and the hand on her waist began to shift, moving up.
"Not really."
"Pity. Now we have both your friends, Colton," Rath said, sliding his hand up and down the side of her ribs, his fingers brushing against the under curve of her breast. "But I think since I've got the prettier one, you might start paying attention. Put the knife down. I won't ask again. If you hurt Lincoln, you're a dead man."
"You fucking touch her like that again, and I'll kill you," Colton growled.
"I put my gun down," she said, "because you swore you wouldn't hurt us. You just broke your promise."
"Gun in the air, Rodriguez," Rath called.
Instantly the man holding the shotgun to CJ's head lifted it, aiming toward the sky. He kept a hand wrapped in CJ's collar, to keep him on his knees.
