by Kari Cole
622 glared at him while the cougar plotted and planned. They wouldn’t eat this one. The black magic made him too foul.
From habit, he sniffed the cup. Sometimes they put tranquilizers or other things in the food and drink. Not that he’d be able to do anything about it if they had. He’d refused before and been strapped to a chair, had a tube shoved up his nose and down his throat. He’d rather not repeat that experience.
It smelled like water and plastic from the cup and pitcher. He drank. Then he drank some more. Damn, he was thirsty. And hot.
“Subject is exhibiting an elevated temperature,” the tech said.
Huh? Well, yeah, that’s what happens when you run more than twenty-six miles in under an hour and you haven’t had any real exercise in... Wait. How long?
“Excellent,” the Widow said.
So close. She was so close, 622 could take her down in three seconds flat.
If he could stand.
“Extrapolating from these results, we should begin testing of the OT variant of the serum right away.” Hermann swiped through some things on his tablet. 622 would love to bash the bastard’s brains in with it. The edge would do some serious damage before the device shattered to pieces. He pushed up onto his hands and knees—
A jolt of lightning smashed into his side and coursed through his veins. He flopped back onto the treadmill, rolled off onto the gray speckled linoleum, and lay there gasping.
“Wh-what happened?” Hermann asked. At least that’s what 622 thought he said. His ears were ringing, so it was hard to tell.
“His eyes changed and he started getting fangs,” the guard said. He stood over 622, the jacked-up cattle prod held in both hands, ready to give him another shot. “He was going to attack you two.”
“How amusing,” the Widow said, sounding bored. “As I was about to tell you, Dr. Hermann, Subject 622 and the others’ test results are with the odorless and tasteless variant of the serum. Upon waking for the day, they were given food and water that had been treated with it and given more post-workout.”
622’s eyes popped wide. What? Was she saying...
“Had they detected the presence of the additive and refused as they usually do, we would have known that more work was needed,” she said.
No. No, no, no. His stomach roiled. He was going to be sick.
“How many?” Hermann asked.
“Subject 622 is the last.” The Widow met his gaze, her dark eyes flat and cold as a shark’s. “I always save him for last.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
No one had ever accused Hannah of being shy. Without breaking their kiss, she climbed onto Vaughn’s lap and straddled his thighs. He smelled fantastic, all warm, clean, and spicy, like the best cologne she’d ever encountered, though he wore none.
“Mmm.” She pressed a line of kisses along his jaw and down his neck.
She shouldn’t want him like this, shouldn’t need his kiss like she needed her next breath. She wanted to wrap herself around him, feel the beat of his heart, chest to chest.
Something metallic creaked and clattered, and he jumped, actually twisting around to put himself between her and the sound.
“Shh, it’s just Frost. He does that.”
“Opens the door by himself?”
“Well, it’s not like he opened the regular door with the knob. Now that’s actually impressive. This was just the screen. It has a lever. Sheesh.”
Vaughn shook his head as if trying to clear it. “What—you know what? Never mind.”
Good call, because she wanted to get back to the kissing. Especially that lower lip of his. It was slightly fuller than the top and she just wanted to nibble on it for about a week straight. She tugged on it with her teeth. He growled and gave her a light swat on the butt. Before she could protest—oh, hell, who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to complain. That was hot.
He stood suddenly, taking her with him, hiking her up and wrapping her leg around his waist. A ring of gold glowed around his irises. “Bedroom.”
“Down the hall. First door on the left.”
He walked and she kissed—his jaw, the strong column of his throat, his cheek. Left to right. Her door was already partially open and he hip-checked it wider. On his neck, she found the three-inch-long pink scar. As he kicked closed the door and locked it, she looked at the similar one on his cheek.
“You’re growling again, Cassandra,” he said, setting her on the middle of the bed and pushing her onto her back with a palm on her chest. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from the moon outside. It was enough for her to see the darker lines on his skin.
Anger—no, fury—coursed through her, her wolf stalking through her mind. She touched the damage on his face. “These are from silver.”
She’d known, of course. Only two things left scars on a shifter’s body: damage from the claws or teeth of another shifter, or silver. Still, being up close and personal with the damage he’d suffered was different than when he was just a gorgeous cop saving her ass. She tugged on the bottom of his shirt, wanting to look at the other scar she knew was on his side.
He grasped her hands. “Ask me again later,” he said, throwing her own words back in her face.
She couldn’t be too annoyed though because he reached behind his head and pulled off his shirt by the collar in that uniquely masculine way. Then she was looking at the broad expanse of his chest, his ripped abs, and...that other freaking scar! This one was much larger than the other two. On the left side of his body, above his hip.
In a flash of movement, she reversed their positions, flipping him over onto his back. He laughed until he saw where she was headed and what she was looking at. “Cassandra.”
It was puckered like a hole. Like a bullet hole.
“You were shot!” She felt around his side to find the entry—exit?—wound. It was hard with the gloves on, so she tipped him over, ignoring his grunt of annoyance. There on his lower back was another, smaller scar.
He grabbed her wrists and flipped her. They were going to get dizzy if they kept this up.
He caught her gaze. “Hey.”
Claws pricked the tips of her fingers. “Someone hurt you.”
“I hurt them back.”
“Are they still alive?” Because if that were the case, she’d have to fix that.
“No.”
“Good.” She opened her mouth to ask more, but he stopped her with a deep, wet kiss that curled her toes and transformed the heat of her anger into passion.
“I want you,” he said against her lips. He skimmed a hand down her side until he reached the hem of her T-shirt. He dipped beneath it and caressed the bare skin at her waist. “I want to touch you.” His fingers slid higher until he rested his palm just below her breast. His thumb stroked up over her ugly cotton bra, circling her nipple, and she gasped. “All over.”
Hannah breathed out a shaky laugh. “Now you talk.”
He kissed the side of her mouth, then traced the outline of her lips with his tongue. “I want to taste you.” She tried to chase him for more, but he’d moved on, dragging openmouthed kisses along her jaw, her neck, her earlobe. As that wicked hand of his sank beneath the waistband of her shorts, he whispered in her ear, “Everywhere.”
“Oh God. You’re killing me.” She grabbed his arm to...to... She didn’t know what. Pull him closer? Urge him to go faster? He’d scrambled her brain. Who the hell knew the stoic sheriff was a dirty talker? How was anyone supposed to cope with that?
He took her arms and ran his hands up them, raising them above her head on the pillows. “Are the gloves staying?” he asked.
“Have to.”
“Germs?”
“Vaughn!”
He laughed. The bastard laughed this rough and unbearably sexy sound, and she growled at him.
“Later,
right?” he asked.
“Definitely later. Not now. Please!” She wasn’t above begging.
Seemed like please really was a magic word, because he got down to business, kicking off his boots, and dropping his pants in short order.
When she sat up to pull off her own top, he grabbed her hands and said, “Uh-uh. My job.”
Then he proceeded to peel it off inch by inch, kissing and nuzzling every bit of skin he revealed along the way. He paid sweet attention to her wounded side, growling as he placed a ring of gentle kisses around it. By the time he stripped off her bra, she was shaking with need.
“Poor baby,” he murmured in her ear. “So wet and eager.” His voice sank into a rumble. “I can smell it. It’s driving me crazy.”
“Good! Then let’s get rid of my shorts and panties already, and take care of that insanity problem.”
His low chuckle and slow smile made her stomach flip. For a male no one thought had a sense of humor, he sure knew how to use it to devastating effect. “Not yet. I haven’t tasted your nipples.” He gently pinched her right one before sucking it into his hot mouth and throwing her onto the crazy train, too.
She writhed beneath him as he paid the same thorough attention to her other breast. Goddess, she wanted to feel his skin on her bare fingertips. Wanted to trace each rippling muscle and strong bone. Learn where the softest skin was. But she didn’t dare. He wore a beautiful copper cuff on his right arm. One glancing touch of it or the sheets and she’d be shaking for a whole different reason.
“Still with me, Cassandra?”
She blinked up at him. His hair was a mess from her grasping fingers and his face was flushed. “I want to touch you, too. Make you feel as good as you’re making me.”
White teeth flashed in the dark. “Next time. I still have sweet, delicious things I want to explore.”
She stopped breathing. Next time? She may not survive this time.
Lack of oxygen might have made Hannah lose consciousness for a few seconds, because the next thing she knew, he’d already removed her shorts and settled down with his head between her spread legs. Her panties weren’t anything like the expensive scraps of satin and lace she used to wear. Plain, white cotton bikinis were not designed to entice a male, yet Vaughn looked at her like she was wearing black lace Agent Provocateur.
It was too much, that look, and she closed her eyes.
He caressed the creases of her thighs. “So beautiful.” Each pass of his thumbs brought him closer to her center. “Look at me, baby.”
She did, just in time to watch as, eyes still glued to hers, he dipped his head and sucked her through the plain cotton panties she’d never disparage again.
“Good God!”
His dark laugh vibrated through her and she nearly bucked him off the bed. He gripped the sides of her underwear. “Time for these to go.”
Thank the goddess. She was more than ready.
But she should have known better. He dropped her panties onto the floor and wedged his shoulders between her thighs again. “Oh, I’m not done yet, Cassandra. Not by a long shot.” He traced his index finger over her drenched folds. “We were interrupted last night, so by my count we have at least two times to make up for, probably three, before we even get started on tonight.”
Her mouth dropped open. Say what? She couldn’t really be this lucky. For eight months her life had been a long, hard slog through depression, displacement, and fear. There’d been precious little to smile about, certainly no passion. But then he put his mouth on her and she believed. Oh, good Lord, did she ever.
Vaughn Ellis was as dedicated a lover as he was a protector. He licked and kissed and stroked every exquisitely sensitive inch of her until she sobbed his name. He was also ruthless, because he didn’t stop until she’d come so many times her legs were quaking and she was gasping for breath.
As black spots ate at the edges of her vision, he crawled back up her body, his hot, smooth skin caressing her. He brushed sweat-damp hair from her face and kissed her cheek. “Cassandra?”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me, sweetheart.” Huh. When had she closed her eyes? His irises were dark, inky pools, but as she stared at him, gold fire spread out from the pupils. “I still want you. Can you take me?”
Could she? Every muscle quivered from his ministrations. She barely had the strength to lift her head from the pillow. Yet something in those glowing eyes gave her greater pause, like he meant more than just could she handle him physically.
Dangerous. He was so, so dangerous to her. Still, she couldn’t have stopped herself from stroking the sweat from his brow or rubbing his back for anything in the world. In answer, she brought one leg up, curling it over his hip, opening herself to him further. “Oh yes.”
* * *
Was there any sweeter word in the English language than yes?
Vaughn lowered his head and took her mouth in a slow, deep kiss, the taste of her arousal still on his tongue. Despite the need rocketing through his veins, making him shake for her, he wanted this last sweet moment before his control shattered.
He couldn’t get over her reaction to his bloodlines or his bullet wound scars. If he weren’t a shapeshifter and able to rely on his sense of smell, he might have thought she was trying to put the brakes on the evening, but she’d been vibrating with rage. The bitter tinge to it overwhelming her sweet honeysuckle scent. Her wolf had stared out at him through her eyes, and the expression had been one of bloodthirsty violence. If the traitor who’d tried to kill him had been in the room, Vaughn had no doubt she would have ripped the bastard to shreds.
That knowledge warmed a part of him he hadn’t known was starving for her fire.
Cassandra fisted his hair. As if he was going anywhere. But when she hitched her other leg over his ass and moaned into his mouth, her heat scalded him. Goddamn. The last thread of his restraint snapped with an explosion in his brain.
Vaughn surged forward, not even having to seek out her core. Driving her wild had made him rock-hard. “Fuck,” he said on a groan. She was so damn tight...and wet. He slid into her with one long, sure stroke, winning another moan from her. Teeth gritted, he withdrew, just a bit, and rocked back into her. Again. He pulled out a little farther each time until she was slamming her hips up, meeting him thrust for thrust.
Flushed and glassy-eyed, she stared at him. In the moonlit room, her eyes looked like the night sky, deep and endless. He didn’t know why, but he had to hold her hands. The fucking gloves were in the way of skin-to-skin contact, but he didn’t let that stop him. He locked their fingers together and held on tight. She clenched around him, inside and out, and he about lost his mind.
She whimpered suddenly, and he froze. “Cassandra?”
“Please.”
Her rich, sweet scent didn’t speak of pain, but lust. He checked her face and his heart flipped over in his chest. He’d been the one demanding eye contact, but he couldn’t look at her now. At the naked shock, the trust, the vulnerability in her eyes. All of it right there for him to see when she otherwise hid so much. He buried his face in her throat, kissing her neck, while she clung to him.
When she came again, with him buried deep inside her, she took him over the edge with her. Flying. He never thought he’d get to experience that stomach-dropping freedom again. But with Cassandra, he flew.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
What the hell is going on out there?
Raze squeezed a stress ball while he waited for a response to his message. One minute turned to five, then to ten. By the time his laptop pinged at sixteen minutes and thirty-two seconds, he’d squished the thing past all tolerance until a lumpy foam blob lay in his hand. He tossed it in the corner with all the others. A new box of stress balls was due to arrive tomorrow anyway.
Nothing right now.
Nothing? Unacceptable. This is taking 2 fuck
ing long.
Three dots appeared in the window next to the generic A icon for Arachne. Excuse me?
Two words and a question mark. He could practically feel the ice through the computer. Whoops. Managing all the players’ egos was becoming a full-time job. They all thought they were the most important thing. Whatever.
This is taking 2 long, he repeated. He could play nice. I didn’t take the risk of dosing her with the serum all those months ago for nothing. Or hiring a witch to make him smell human. That had cost more than most nine-to-fivers make in a year.
Thirty seconds passed. Then, She worked all day, even past what J advised.
U were there? She’d let someone watch? What the hell?
OFC not. Set up the equipment.
He threw a soda can across the room. U didn’t tell me that. Jackass. He could have been monitoring Hannah all this time?
Telling you now. Not easy moving around a witch’s property unnoticed. Especially with a werewolf in residence. Did it in stages & had to hide my scent. Kitchen, living room, dining/office area, front porch, & back porch. Couldn’t get H’s room yet because she came back too early.
Swear words flew while Raze entered commands on another keyboard. He clicked through images. Holy shit! Why’s there a cop car there? He sent her the image.
Don’t worry. She’s banging him.
What? The popping sound must be his brain exploding. Why was he still upright? He looked at his suddenly aching hand and scowled. He’d crushed his favorite metal travel coffee mug. Good thing it was empty.
He typed in a flaming response and stopped right before he hit Enter.
Could work 2 our advantage, he sent instead. He doubted Hannah had intended that, but still.
Like a canary in a coalmine, Arachne responded. Yes. He’s already distrustful of IA. He won’t want any more agents.
No, he wouldn’t. If he was suddenly inundated with more Interclan Authority agents, Sheriff Ellis would put up an official stink. Plus, he was just such a conscientious report filer. And Raze was able to read every keystroke.
Have 2 get back. Arachne’s icon disappeared without waiting to see if he needed more.
