by Mina Carter
The screen flicked on and she opened a browser, searching for the link she’d saved earlier. Some one-night stand service….
“Madame Eve,” she muttered, inputting her requirements, describing the guy from her dream. “I really hope you’re as good as they say you are. Because this is going to take a miracle.”
Then she hit submit.
Chapter Two
He shouldn’t be there.
Guilt beat at Barrett as he stared out over the twinkling lights of the city below him without seeing them. To his left in the corner of the balcony, a dinner table was set for two, both seats currently unoccupied. Silverware sparkled in the soft candlelight and a breeze rustled the white linen tablecloth, carrying the scent of the roses in the centerpiece across the balcony to him. Soft music played in the background, something classical with pianos and violins, totally different to the heavy rock music he’d listened to for the last year.
All in all, a scene set for romance and seduction. The perfect location for the one-night stand his meddling little sister had arranged for him. A wry snort of amusement escaped him. Since he’d started this by setting her up, turnabout was fair play.
But he really shouldn’t be there.
He turned, leaning back against the railing to glance inside. Lifting his glass, he knocked back the couple of inches of whiskey left, hissing when it burned all the way down to his gut. He had to admit, when it came to luxury, Madame Eve didn’t pull her punches. He’d been given a plush suite in one of the best hotels in town. With the name Castillo over the door, it would be. Even Barrett, who’d never given two hoots about five-star luxury and penthouses, found himself impressed by the Castillo hotels. Although he never thought he’d end up in one waiting for a woman to show up for a one-night stand.
What the fuck am I doing?
A frustrated growl escaped him as he shoved a hand through his short hair. It had grown out from the buzz cut he’d been keeping it in since leaving the army, and curled around his fingers like a jealous lover. He stopped and grimaced. He had orders from Mel to ‘look nice or else’ and mussed hair was so not going to cut it. At least he’d made an effort and shaved his beard off. Every time a cool breeze hit his face, it felt weird, as though he were naked. But not as weird as the prospect of talking to…having sex with….
He swore, blunt soldier’s curses falling from his lips.
He shouldn’t be there. It’s too soon after Saxon.
Guilt and shame warred within him. The docs insisted he should be getting over the worst of the grief by now. That he needed to move on, not forgetting the love he’d had for Sax, but savor it as a fond memory instead. Fond memory, his ass. It still felt like his heart had been ripped clean from his chest, the raw edges mangled and bloody. Agitation rose to fill him with energy and he pushed off from the balcony rail to stride into the room.
Dropping the empty glass on the table, he grabbed his phone. It was no good, he couldn’t do it. He’d ring Madame Eve…oh shit, no. He couldn’t. All contact via e-mail. He should have remembered that from when he set Mel up with her one-night stand. Hand shaking, he swiped at the screen on his phone. If he could get an email off to Madame Eve, perhaps his date could be contacted before she arriv—
Knock knock.
He froze at the soft sound, index finger poised over the screen. Shit, she’s here. He glared at the door as though it were a creature from a nightmare. Fuck, what should he do? Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and opened them again.
Okay. It didn’t matter who the woman on other side of the door turned out to be. It made no difference if she was a walking wet-dream, he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want a tall, leggy supermodel or the ultimate fantasy, he wanted small, curvy and sassy. He wanted Sax and always would.
Putting the phone back on the table, he strode across the room, his decision made. He’d let the poor girl in, explain the situation, then leave. She could have the room for the night and he’d reimburse Madame Eve whatever costs were necessary so his date wouldn’t be out of pocket. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise. She expected a night of romance and…. He cut the rest of the thought off. Not her fault he couldn’t go through with it.
Approaching the door, he paused for a second in front of it, hand flat on the smooth, cool wood. His heart ached, throbbing as a pang of longing filled him. He’d heard stories of Madame Eve’s abilities, whispered rumors of more-than-human abilities spanning time and space that she brought to bear to create a perfect match. Why couldn’t…. He sighed. Time and space, but not death itself, and the last time he checked, the Grim Reaper didn’t run a matchmaking service.
He reached for the door handle.
Time to face the music.
***
Oh my god, she’d actually gone and done it. She was really here.
Sax dropped her hand from the door and straightened her dress. Her heart hammered, anticipation and nerves sending the organ in to overdrive to match the butterflies racing each other around her stomach. Who knew it could be both so easy and so frigging difficult to sort out a one-night stand?
The service—and Madame Eve—had been fantastic, and arranging it all through email rather than over the phone made things so much easier. Since her email was locked down six ways to Sunday, and had been since she’d caught her father snooping around her laptop six months ago, she’d been able to sort things out without her parents knowing. They were so intent on her ‘getting to know Robert’ and uniting the packs through their mating, she’d been surprised her family hadn’t stripped the pair of them naked and locked them together in a room overnight already.
“Gah!” She shuddered, a wave of rejection clomping down her spine in hobnail boots. Robert wasn’t unattractive. He was attractive, in that cookie-cutter, jock sort of way. She didn’t want cookie-cutter, or the jock type. She wanted lean and mean, a soldier-type with short hair, scars…. She closed her eyes for a second and shivered as the face of her dream-guy filled her mind.
She wanted blue eyes, and human, not a wolf. Not Robert. And when she got back home, she would tell her parents as much. Yeah, she knew the issues with the packs, but it wasn’t the frigging dark ages for heaven’s sake. Women, even wolf-women, were not bartered in marriage anymore.
Where the hell was this guy?
She frowned and studied the still-closed door. Reception said her date had already arrived and told her to come right on up. Opening the slip of paper in her hand, she checked the room number, glancing up and down the corridor to check the adjacent numbers. On the top floor of the small, but luxurious little hotel there weren’t many. Yeah, right room. So what gave?
Nerves hit her again. In the excitement of arranging the date, she hadn’t thought much about the guy she’d be meeting. Giving a description, she asked for a human male rather than a werewolf or anything weird and wonderful. One of the testimonials she’d come across had mentioned things like angels. That couldn’t be true though…probably some chick making shit up.
What would he be like? Would he be handsome…kind? Honest? Did she care, for one night? She only had to find him attractive… after all, they were going to be— She bit her lip, a flush of heat burning her cheeks at the idea of sex with someone she’d just met. Again, the guy from her dream flitted across her mind’s eye. In her nightmare they hadn’t touched, nor had he kissed her. In fact, the whole thing was as far from romantic as a dream could get. So why did she have such a yearning ache to know what his kisses would be like?
She sensed movement on the other side of the door, the warm scent of skin and cologne warning her he stood behind it. Human for sure, no way to mistake that scent. She smiled and straightened. Okay, things were looking up. If she were lucky, he’d be everything she’d put down in Madame Eve’s form and more.
The door swung open to reveal a broad-shouldered, tall figure. Oh, lordy, he was built like something from a dream. He wore Italian leather shoes, and expensive pants that fit perfectly, loose in all the right places b
ut clinging right where they needed to, like over powerful thigh muscles and lean hips. A blue shirt was tucked in, and the belt highlighted a trim waist and flat stomach. Her gaze found a broad chest and she almost whimpered when his hand on the door frame pulled the shirt tighter across pecs hard enough to make her drool. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his face and they widened. His features…the blue eyes, dark hair.
The guy from her dream.
Whatever Sax had expected in her date, it hadn’t been that—for her dream guy to be made flesh and blood and presented to her. She also hadn’t expected him to pale like he’d seen a ghost. Without warning, his eyes fluttered closed and he went down like a felled tree. With a squeak, she was a couple of seconds behind, but couldn’t stop him from hitting the deck. Luckily, the thick carpet cushioned his large body as he sprawled on the floor.
“Shit….” She hopped over his prone form and dropped to her knees next to him. “Hey, are you okay?”
She shook him, unable to tear her gaze from his face. Questions buzzed through her mind. How had Madame Eve found him? Why the hell had she been dreaming about him for years? Who was he?
The shoulder under her hand was solid, packed with muscle. His head rocked a little under the shaking motion. He groaned, turning his head to the side before opening his eyes. Clear, piercing blue. Like in her dream.
She smiled. “Hey. Back with me?”
He grimaced, blinking as if to clear his vision. “What happened? What hit me? I could’ve sworn I saw—” He trailed off as he focused on her, paling again.
“Ohh, no you don’t, sweetheart. No more passing out,” she ordered, in her best ‘nanny’ voice. Or what she would have considered her best nanny voice after caring for her cousins’ kids on the occasional evening for the last couple of years, only now it sounded a hell of a lot like a drill sergeant’s bark. Why had she never noticed that before? “What the fuck is going on? Who are you?”
Fuck, he’d fainted. Of all the dumb-ass, stupid fucking things to do. She could have been anyone, done anything to him whilst he was out. Knife to the throat, slid between the ribs…anything.
He ignored the fact that she resembled his dead lover, even smelled like her, and the concerned expression on her lovely face as she leaned over him. Instead he exploded into action, driving up and over to trap her beneath him in a move so swift and powerful, any serving soldier would have been proud.
He covered her and she squeaked, the tumble of blond curls surrounding her head like a halo on the dark carpet. She even had green eyes with that shot of amber on the right that he remembered so vividly.
“Who am I?” he snarled, hauling her hands over her head, then pressing his body against hers. “Who the fuck are you?”
She didn’t struggle, simply lay pliant in his hold, her eyes wide and shocked. “Me? I’m Sax—”
“Don’t.” He spat the word, shaking her wrists. Rage and pain tore through him like the bad guy in a slasher movie, bent on carnage and destruction. “Don’t you dare say her name. I don’t care who you are, or how the hell you’re wearing her face, but so help me God, you’d better tell me what the fuck is going on before…before….”
“Before what? You pin me down and assault me?” she shot back, anger flaring in her eyes at the same time amber leached into them from the center outward.
Shit, she’s a werewolf.
Which meant he had less than a few seconds before she shifted and tore into him. Literally.
Fuck. Talk about coincidences. Sax had come from a werewolf family, but she hadn’t been a full wolf. He hadn’t understood it at the time, hadn’t needed to, but conversations with his new brother-in-law had filled him in on the differences between potentials and full wolves. Male children almost always became wolves as soon as they hit puberty, but women were different.
Some, like Tempest, became wolves, but others, like Saxon, didn’t. Instead they remained human but with the werewolf DNA in their genes. Accounted for random werewolves cropping up in families that hadn’t had a full wolf in generations. All it took was something to flip the switch and a potential either turned, or had a full-wolf kid. Either way, the genes always expressed some way or the other.
But incredibly, instead of shifting, she began to talk.
“Listen, Mister… I don’t know who you are, or who ‘she’ is.”
He eased his grip, the needle about assaulting her cutting through his anger somewhat, and he released her wrists with a muttered apology. He didn’t lift off her, instead he braced himself over her, his interest in what she said overruling his instinctive reaction to the soft curves under him.
“I’m not wearing anyone’s face but my own. I’m Saxon Reeves.” She shook her head, amazement in her dual-colored eyes. “And how the hell did you get out of my dreams?”
“Shit….” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, his brain struggling to catch up and process everything. Him, who’d cut his eyeteeth on rapid tactical decisions in battle. “You can’t be Saxon. Saxon…my Sax…is dead.”
“Your Saxon?” She lay pliant under him, the amber ring of her wolf receding from her eyes. “What happened to her?”
Barrett rolled away and stood, holding out a hand to help her up in an instinctive gesture. No need to forget his manners, even if he had been knocked for six at her appearance and her resemblance to Saxon. It could have been Sax in front of him, right down to the amber flare in her eye and that damned, crooked smile. In fact his body insisted it was Saxon, live and in the flesh, right there…close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss.
“Err…she was killed.” Distracted, he ran a hand through his hair. Screw being neat. “There was an ambush, and I couldn’t get to her in time. She was shot.”
“W-What? You were a soldier?” All the color leached out of her skin, her jaw going slack for a second. “Your Saxon was a soldier?”
The expression in her eyes and the way she held her body made him pause. “Yeah. Damn good one as well. Why?”
“Holy shit.”
Unsteady on her feet, she wavered. In a heartbeat, he scooped her up before she hit the deck. She wouldn’t have gotten more than a bruise on her cute little butt, but that wasn’t the point. He reacted on instinct to protect her.
“You okay?” He carried her over to one of the large couches set in front of the doors to the balcony.
Unwilling to let her go, he sat with her in his lap. Holding her. Cradling her. She was small, delicate. Everything his Sax had been, but softer. Slender. Where his Sax had been a workout freak, toned and lean rather than curvy, the woman in his arms had a voluptuous figure and the male part of his brain broke down and drooled.
“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry.” She shivered and nestled closer, feeding his male pride. “I…um...I have nightmares. One, I should say. One nightmare.”
Holding her tight, he listened, in no rush to lay her on the couch next to him and put space between them, and she seemed content to let him. He closed his eyes to listen. It could be his Sax. Same voice and everything.
“I was involved in a car accident.” In a halting voice, she spoke, and he imagined the frown on her face. Sax had done the same, speaking while she thought things through, putting them in the proper order. He’d loved her for it. It had been so cute.
“Lost my memory. My family thinks the nightmares are because of that. They’re not.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “In them, I always die. In the dream I’m a soldier.”
She pulled back. “And so are you.”
Chapter Three
He froze, the beautiful blue gaze she’d seen in her dreams so many times holding hers. She shivered at the intense focus on his face. What would it be like to be the focus of his attention in other ways? The lush, sinful curve of his lower lip, decadent even, didn’t detract one iota from his masculine appeal.
“It’s nearly sunset,” he said, his voice strangled and rough. Tortured. “We’re in a town, broken-down buildings on either side of us. There’s dust and sand
everywhere. Not the clean kind of sand either, the stuff that gets into everything, sticking to your skin and sweat like grease.”
He described her dream, bringing all the details to vivid life and Saxon caught her breath.
“You’re on point, I’m behind the rest of the squad. I’m worried about you, you twisted your ankle earlier in the week and you’ve been limping for the last hour of our patrol.” He cleared his throat, winced and carried on. “Tried to get you to slow down, but you wouldn’t have any of it. Told me to fuck off. But we’re almost done, so I’m not too bothered. Plan to make you get a shower and sleep for the next few days while we’ve got down time. Then it happens…insurgents have laid an ambush….”
She kept her voice soft and picked up where he left off. “The wall to the left of me explodes. I duck and turn…the guy behind me is dead. Blood…red and bright…all over the sand. There are sharp sounds, bullets I think, and the next man jerks in this weird little dance. He’s been shot, falls into a crumpled heap. More sharp sounds and another wall explodes. I look down and there’s red. So much red.” She shuddered. “I turn and you’re screaming at me. Running….”
“You were shot. I couldn’t get to you in time.” He closed his eyes, pain drawing lines in his face. “We lost two out there, but I got you back to base. You didn’t regain consciousness, died in theater. Two years ago, almost to the day.”
His eyes snapped open. “So again, it begs the question—who the hell are you? Because you’re definitely not dead.”
“Two years?” It couldn’t be…that was way too much of a coincidence. She cleared her throat, frowned. Her family could be assholes, but they wouldn’t do something like that. Would they? “The accident was two years ago next week. I don’t have any memories before that, I lost seven years…. Shit. I wanted to go into the army, but they told me I’d failed the entrance tests.”
