“Not yet, luv. We’ve a long way to go before that.”
“I’m drunk and horny.”
“Exactly. So ya need to come. But ye’re wearing too many clothes. So why don’t ya remedy that, and I’ll take care of ya.”
She unbuttoned her blouse, revealing lace-clad breasts that would fit perfectly in his hands. At least, he thought so. If she’d come closer, he’d know for sure. “That’s a start.”
“A start?” She laughed, shucking the black shirt, trailing her fingers down over her body, and then flicking open the button at her waist. She shimmied out of her pants, dropping them on the floor.
“Shite. Don’t stop there, luv.” He swiveled to sit up, widening his knees so she could step between them. Liam feathered kisses across her tight stomach, enjoying the quiver of the muscles under his rough fingers. A quiet whimper escaped her when his lips pressed to her mound. “Shh. Let me taste ya.”
He lost himself in sensation: the sweet taste of her skin, her quiet mewls, the way her knees buckled when he slid a finger into her wetness. The pervasive scent of fig blossoms filled his nose. He didn’t care that he was imagining it. For one night, he could almost feel Caitlin, reach out and touch her skin, hear her laugh, see the silver flecks dancing in her eyes.
Laying her down, he raked his gaze over her pale curves. A tight, pink nipple beckoned, and he swirled his tongue around the bud. “Ya taste like honey, luv. And I’ve a sweet tooth.”
Her back arched, and he slid an arm under her, holding her close as he nibbled at her throat, up to her ear. At her moan, he reached down and massaged the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled in her slick folds, and she flew apart, hoarse cries and shudders wracking her slight body.
He held himself over her, watching her come down from the first of several orgasms he planned on giving her that night. The idea of only taking, of stealing his release at the expense of hers, didn’t sit well. Even tonight, when all he wanted to do was lose himself in an anonymous woman, he’d give as good as he got.
“Inside me,” she managed and hooked a finger around the drawer handle, pulling it to the floor and sending a box of condoms tumbling. “Dammit.”
“Shh, luv.” He reached down and snagged a foil packet, sheathing his erection and then pressing gently against her entrance. “I’ve got ya.”
He took his time, savoring the tight heat around him, the way she writhed, and the scent of her.
“Harder—God, please! I need…more!”
He thrust, matching her rhythm as her short nails raked down his back. A growl hummed in his throat, and when her eyes widened, he flicked a thumb to the tender bud nestled between her lower lips. Her cry shattered his own control, and he lost himself in the memory of his Caitlin.
When her shudders faded, Liam nestled his head against hers on the pillow. A satisfied sigh escaped her kiss-swollen lips as she settled closer to him.
“I should go, luv,” he said, tracing lazy patterns on her naked hip. As the words tumbled out, his wolf raged against them. Stay, the beast demanded. She’s yours. Even if only for tonight. The nameless woman in his arms didn’t reply, and he gave into his wolf, enjoying the way she fit against him and her satisfied hum as he pressed a tender kiss to her neck.
He let himself drift towards sleep with the scent of fig blossoms surrounding him. “Mo chuisle, mo chroí.”
Chapter Three
Bella’s eyes popped open. He’d just said something. Not English. She reached for the red crystal at her throat and fought not to panic. The bourbon fuzzed her thoughts, but the connection with Katerina helped calm her. She shouldn’t have let herself drift off. Not with a strange man in her bed. An anonymous fuck was one thing. Sleeping with a man without even knowing his name? Stupid.
Though the tenderness in his touch and the way he’d held her soothed the raw misery of the day. That and the bourbon. What the hell was he still doing here? Sleeping? Oh hell, no. She rolled over to stare at him by the streetlight slanting in through her bedroom window, and curiosity momentarily quelled her ire.
He’d well outpaced her at the bar, and yet she would have sworn he was almost sober by the time they’d collapsed against one another, spent and sated. His eyes, bloodshot and pale when they’d left Teddy’s, had turned amber with his release—and they’d glowed. She’d only known a few types of creatures with color-changing eyes. Elementals, but he didn’t smell like any of the four elements. She’d met a vampire once, while the man had been flying through Phoenix on his way to Alaska. His eyes had shifted between purple and black. But vampires ran a few degrees cooler than other creatures, and this man felt like a furnace. Shit. Could he be…a werewolf? Worse yet, could he be one of Bowman’s pack?
In sleep, his firm, straight mouth curved up at one corner. His long hair fanned out over her pillow, and she leaned closer, frowning as she inhaled his scent: the sea air, freshly cut wood, and something spicy. Aftershave, perhaps. A deep scar slashed across his pectoral muscle, and a burn on his forearm deepened her scowl. Lifting the sheet, she peered lower. God, he was cut. Taut abs angled towards his cock, and warmth pooled in her belly. She licked her lips, the lingering taste of him dredging up a long-ago memory that flitted away before she could grasp the smudged edges.
A tattoo curled over his shoulder. Bella reached back to turn on the bedside lamp. The soft glow illuminated his pale skin. Blossoms floated in a pool of tears, and the profile of a wolf in mid-leap against craggy cliffs tugged at her heart. Feathers glowed amid red flames surrounding the wolf, and along the bottom, a date. April nineteenth.
The crystal burned against her chilled skin.
“Fuck. Who are you?” She scrambled out of bed and took the blanket with her, clutching it to her breasts. “What’s your name?”
He groaned and shook his head. “What is it, luv?”
“Name. Now.” Bella backed up towards the baseball bat she kept behind her bedside table.
“Liam.” Blinking hard, he pushed up on an elbow. “I thought ya didn’t want names.”
“Your tattoo. What does it mean?”
He covered his shoulder with a meaty palm and turned away from her. “I lost someone once. A long time ago.”
“Who?” Behind her, the drapes flapped against the wall, and she took a step back to grasp the bat’s smooth handle, hoping the distance between them and the weapon in her hand would calm her nerves. Her element sang a haunting melody only she could hear, and she held her breath, waiting for his answer.
Liam—how did she know that name?—stared into the far corner of the room. His rough, strained voice beckoned her closer. “Her name was Caitlin. And I failed her. I’ll not say more. Don’t ask.”
The sudden, fierce urge to vomit assaulted her, and Bella dropped the blanket, racing for the bathroom. “Get out,” she managed, before she slammed the door and fell against the toilet, heaving. The bat clattered into a corner, and Liam’s footsteps approached quickly.
“Luv, are ya all right?”
“Go away!” The alcohol exacted revenge with violent spasms, and Liam pounded on the door. “I said,” she gasped, vomited again, and then laid her head against the cool porcelain, “get out.”
The floor shuddered, or perhaps that was the bourbon, but a few minutes later, her front door shut with a bang. Bella sagged, and when the tears fought to escape, she let them.
***
His bike rumbled to life. The alcohol had burned out of his system, leaving him with a sour stomach and a pounding headache. He took advantage of the quiet night to speed through the streets of Seattle, the wind stinging his cheeks.
He rode all the way to Kenmore, parking at the northern edge of Lake Washington. Slivers of light from the crescent moon sparkled in the gentle scallops of the water, and somewhere, a frog called out to a mate. Liam ducked behind some bushes and stripped off his clothes. He needed to run.
The slight dampness at the edge of the water chilled his bare feet. He hated this part. Before the wolf emerge
d, but after the man started to disappear, the agony overwhelmed him. Sinking to his knees in the sand, his fingernails hardened, and every bone in his hands and feet broke, shrunk, and reformed. His wrists and ankles followed. The sensation of his hair shrinking back into his scalp was uncomfortable, but his teeth hurt the most. Wolves had ten more teeth than humans, and when his extra teeth grew out of his jaw, the pain shot right into his brain—or so it seemed. His nose broke, as did his spine, ribs, legs, and arms. Throwing his head back to howl in pain, he stared at the moon, needing comfort. This he knew. This he could control. When his ribs reformed and fur sprouted all over his body, he trembled from the pure exhilaration. And then a deep calm overtook him. The first few seconds brought a dull roar to his ears, but then quickly faded, and he sat on his haunches, panting and thrilling in the raw power of his lupine body.
He took off at a slow trot along the shore, but quickly sped up, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, the spring air unusually warm, full of the scent of fig blossoms.
***
He should go home. But instead of turning the bike down Northeast Eightieth towards the pack’s house, he continued south to her dingy apartment building. He tried to talk himself out of every step, but when he stood in front of her door, the memory of her wrapped around him drove him to knock. The door swung open, and something crashed inside her bedroom.
Fear skittered down his spine, and his wolf growled. “I’m comin’ in.” He made it three steps inside before his legs rooted themselves to the floor. “Shite.”
Tangled, mahogany curls half-obscured her tear-stained cheek. A silk robe draped her body in a deep blue. The empty bottle of whiskey rolled away from the toe of his boot, and the scent of her, mixed with sickness and the drink, filled the small space. She flinched when he dropped down to a knee and whimpered at his touch.
“Luv, can ya hear me? I need ya to answer.”
“Go…way.”
“No.” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bath. The baseball bat she’d threatened him with earlier rested along the back wall. “If ya don’t get it out, it’s going to be worse for ya later. Trust me. I’ve lost myself to the drink a fair number of times.”
Holding her hair, he cradled her next to the toilet.
“Nothing left,” she managed and rested her head against his shoulder.
“Ya sure?” Liam pressed his lips to her clammy forehead.
“Uh-huh.”
He rose, drawing her closer. “A shower then.” She stiffened against him, but as the soothing spray filled the small space, she stopped her struggles and peered up at him through thick, smudged lashes.
“Why are you back?”
“Maybe ya remind me of her a little too much. I’m going to get ya safely into bed before I leave ya again. Now, can ya stand on your own?”
At her nod, he set her on her feet and reached for the clasp of the chain around her neck. “Don’t!” She batted his hand away and grabbed the red crystal. “You can’t steal it. Not again!”
Liam stepped back and tried to make sense of her words. He hadn’t taken a damn thing. Unless you counted several orgasms, and he thought he’d given those. “Calm down, luv. I won’t harm ya.” He unbuttoned his vest, then his shirt, and tossed both into her bedroom. The woman sagged against the counter, fumbling for the belt of her robe before he stilled her fingers. “Let me.”
“I don’t want to think anymore. It hurts too much.” The tremble in her voice stirred a memory of another woman, another country, and another life. Goddammit. He didn’t want to think either. Every time his thoughts wandered, he remembered his Caitlin: frightened, tears staining her cheeks, running away from him.
The robe whispered over the woman’s pale skin, and he turned away. Beast clashed with man, perilously close to the surface. No. Only days away from the new moon, his control ebbed, but she was too fragile for his wolf to assert himself. If she noticed his eyes churning with gold, he feared she’d break.
When the animal backed down, he shed the rest of his clothes and helped her under the spray. Smoothing her soap—something soft, feminine, and floral—down her arms, over her belly, and up her back, he couldn’t help when his cock stirred.
“Fuck me again,” she demanded and pulled his head down so his lips rested against the pulse point of her neck. The thrum quickened, her short nails sending electric shocks along his spine.
“Ye’re too shattered, luv. I won’t take advantage.”
The woman pressed closer. “I’m afraid,” she whispered in his ear. “Please. I need this.”
The chains he’d locked around his wolf snapped with a feral growl, and he dropped to his knees, invading her with his tongue and savoring the taste of her arousal.
“Yes. Liam, more!”
His name on her lips urged him on, the pull to soothe her pain his only thought. Digging his fingers into her hips, he held her as she came apart.
***
She slept peacefully, clutching a pillow to her chest. Liam leaned against the wall by her window, unwilling—or unable—to walk out the door and never see her again. He’d never asked her name, and she’d never offered it. Stars winked against the inky sky, so like the night he’d kissed Caitlin on Ha’penny Bridge. “I miss ya every day,” he whispered and then glanced down at the sleeping woman. He couldn’t stay. He’d had his one night and the momentary comfort of a warm and willing woman to ease his pain.
Brushing his lips against her cheek, he locked this new memory away with all of the other bad decisions he’d made over the years: nameless women, drinking, drugs, fighting, and pain. “Goodbye, luv.”
A step away from her door, he paused. He dug out his wallet and withdrew one of his business cards. No words could adequately express his need for her, or the torture of remembering his Caitlin every time he touched her. But leaving her forever felt wrong.
If you need to forget the pain again, call me.
Setting the lock and then testing the knob once he’d pulled the door shut, he wallowed in the memory of how she’d clung to him and the delicious scent of fig blossoms.
Chapter Four
Sun spilled over the mountains, glaring off rain-slicked streets as Liam pulled his bike into the driveway of the pack’s three-story home east of Green Lake. Peter met him at the door, a mug of coffee in his hands.
“About fucking time.”
Liam’s wolf seethed. “I’m your beta. Watch your tone.”
Peter stared down at his feet. Under the shaggy mop of black hair, his dark eyes glinted with gold. A bitten wolf, Peter couldn’t manage a shift with the moon this new, but that didn’t mean his beast shied away from conflict. He stepped aside, and as Liam brushed past him, he muttered a half-assed apology.
“You look like shite.” Liam tossed the insult over his shoulder as his anger boiled. Every year they repeated the same fucking dance. Peter chastised him for his recklessness, Liam told him to sod off, and a punch or two landed before Cade broke up the melee. The previous year, he hadn’t spoken to Peter for a week afterwards. They’d reconciled only days before Katerina’s attack.
“Fuck you.”
Liam whirled and shoved Peter up against the wall, sending the mug crashing to the floor. “Are we going to do this again?”
Peter’s arms strained against Liam’s grip. “Yup.”
Tired of the dance, Liam let him go, and Peter’s legs buckled, sending him down on his ass.
“Fuck!” The single word, raw with pain, escaped before the bitten wolf struggled to his feet again.
“Ya all right?” Liam raised a brow. He knew better. Peter hadn’t been all right for almost a year now. The fire that destroyed their apartment complex in Bellingham and had served as a cover for Cade’s kidnapping left Peter scarred from his neck to his knee on his right side. Livie, Cade’s personal bodyguard, had almost lost the use of her left arm. Both had been unable to shift from their wolves to their human forms for a week after the fire, so their injuries were
permanent.
If only Liam had been quicker. He’d failed his pack, failed the men and women who meant more to him than anything. He’d let Cade be taken. Let Peter and Livie suffer.
Peter groaned as he straightened. “Leave me alone.”
“Ya started it. Fuck off. I’m due at the new townhouse site in an hour.” Liam turned down the hall, but before he reached the stairs, he paused. Leaving his friend—his brother—hurting didn’t sit well. “Why do ya wait up for me every year?”
“Because someone has to.” Peter picked up the pieces of mug and shuffled into the kitchen. He poured a fresh cup of the rich brew and handed Liam the peace offering before plucking another mug for himself from the dish rack. “One of these years you’re going to fucking kill yourself. You were out on that damn bike, drunk off your ass. Do you have any idea how stupid that is?”
Liam straightened up to his full height, ran a hand through his hair, and let the wolf pulse under his skin. Peter looked away. “I’m not a proper tool, mate. I was sober enough when I left here; then I parked the bike and didn’t touch her again until the drink wore off. Give me a little credit. I don’t want to die—and I certainly don’t want to take anyone with me. I just wanted to forget for a while.”
“Not all of us have that luxury,” Peter said, his voice so low Liam strained to hear the words from behind Peter’s raised mug.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Peter’s wolf challenged, and copper flecks glowed in his brown eyes.
Liam pulled out a chair at the large wooden table off the kitchen. The whole pack—seven wolves plus Mara—ate here twice a week, and boisterous laughter, good-natured ribbing, and tall tales infused the air. Now, though, a thick silence hovered over the space, and Liam nodded at Peter. “Sit down. Now. You have something to say? Out with it.”
An order from a stronger wolf carried a physical weight, and Peter slunk towards the chair, falling heavily into it. “You have to stop this, Liam. The women, the drinking. You’re a fucking asshole for a week before and after, and none of us want to be around you.”
A Shift in the Air Page 3
