He knocked on her door. He felt the leap in her energy, excitement, and fear. And then a gathering pause.
“Who is it?” Miranda asked.
“You know who it is.”
She opened the door, just a crack. Enough that he could see the creaminess of her skin, the deep brown of her eyes. As if her thoughts mirrored his, her tongue peeked out to moisten her lower lip.
Cole put his palm against the door. It was cool from the night air. The wood heated as his hand rested against it. The same way she’d heat if his hand rested on hers, but the heat in her wouldn’t come from him. It would be in response to him and, damn, if that didn’t make his cock jerk in his pants.
“Why are you so jumpy?”
“Clark was here.”
Fuck. “Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head. “Gaelen talked to him.”
As Dirk had promised. “Did you open the door for him?”
“No.”
“But you did for me.” The knowledge sank deep, satisfaction spreading outward, blending with his lust. The spot on his shoulder where she’d bitten him tingled.
She sighed and rested her forehead against the edge of the door, frowning at him. “Would you just go away?”
“Apparently not.”
“You’re ruining everything.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me.”
“Of course it doesn’t. It never looks that way to men. They get in their head what they want, and it’s the only thing they can see.”
He caught her chin in the edge of his finger and lifted her face up, bringing her gaze to his.
“Don’t go lumping me in with everybody else you know.”
Her eyes were dark with worry. “Why not? You’re acting just like them. Only concerned with what you want, paying no attention to what I want.”
“I’m paying attention to what you want. But more than that, I’m paying attention to what you need.”
He drew his thumb across her bottom lip, taking that touch of moisture for himself. Letting go of her chin, he rubbed his fingers together, working that bit of her into his skin. He wanted to lick the woman from head to toe, drink in her kiss, her pleasure. Take her so hard, so deep, he’d breathe her scent on his deathbed.
Passion spiked between them. Miranda’s breath caught. Her energy twined with his, blending in perfect harmony. His cock strained his pants. His breath strained his lungs. Miranda moaned and leaned against the door. Fuck, he wanted her. Now.
“No.” Her voice was so sultry he didn’t even hear her denial for what it was. It took the slamming of the door to do that. And even then he couldn’t quite absorb it.
He blinked and breathed deeply, inhaling her lingering scent.
Through the door, she said, “If you want to give me what I need, go hunting. I’m out of meat.”
The bar dropped down with a thunk. Cole didn’t think he’d ever had a woman slam a door in his face before. Especially not one he’d been in the middle of seducing. Miranda had hidden depths. Strengths. He smiled. He liked it. Resting his shoulder against the door, he offered a bit of logic.
“It’s evening.”
“So?” The thickness of the wood did nothing to dull the soft stroke of her voice over his senses.
“Damn tough to hunt in the dark.”
“I’ll ask Clark.”
The hell she would. “You do that, and you’re going to find yourself over my knee.”
That got a quick, “Hush. Wendy will hear.”
He smiled because that jump in her energy had been excitement, not fear. “She sure will if I get to tanning that ass.”
“Cole!”
He liked the way she said his name, all breathless and airy. Even through the door, it sounded good. He’d like her to say it like that when she climaxed.
“Did Wendy hear that?”
There was a pause and then, “She sneaked off to see those kittens again.”
“That girl needs a better corral.”
“She has so little fun here . . .”
He sighed. That was true. “I’ll send her home when I get Rage.”
“Thank you.”
“And I’ll get your damn meat.”
“Venison?”
He shook his head. At least the woman wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. If that tendency extended to bed, they’d be good.
“I’ll see what I can do. And Miranda?”
“What?”
“When I come back, we’re going to have a chat about your habit of slamming doors.”
“What if you don’t come back?”
“I’ll always come back to you.”
Whether she knew it or not, it was a promise.
* * *
Something was wrong in these woods. Cole stopped at a stream, set his rifle against a rock, and knelt down, letting the cold water run over his hands. He’d been hunting now for three hours. It wasn’t unusual to hunt for three hours and not find anything, but it was unusual to hunt for three hours and not find any signs of anything.
Something had spooked the game to the point it’d all gone to ground. Not much could cause that. An upcoming storm, if it was going to be a doozie, could sometimes. But not for three hours. And not so thoroughly.
A ripple in the energy around him set the hairs on his neck to rising. He shook the water off his hands and with apparent nonchalance sat back on his heels, drying his hands on his pants before grabbing his rifle, spinning around ready to shoot. Except there was no one there. Nothing. Just the ghost of a sensation in a forest gone quiet.
He knew that feeling. He’d had it for the last two months while hunting Addy. He’d had it strongest right before that last battle. Only Reapers could trigger his alarm with that invisible presence.
Clark. Had he followed Cole? He wouldn’t put it past the man. Clark wanted him dead, and the Reaper didn’t seem the type to be content with the council’s ruling.
Grabbing his hat up off the ground, Cole stood. That feeling of something being wrong intensified as he stared around the woods. Dense and thick, they should have rippled with life, instead no birds sang and no squirrels chattered. It was as if everything around him could feel what he did. The danger lurking.
The spot on his shoulder itched. He rubbed at it, feeling the heat through his clothes. He pulled his shirt aside and looked at it. The wound had healed very quickly, already barely more than a few dark brown marks on his skin. There was no redness to show infection. He shook his head, sliding his fingers over it again, remembering that tight little body against him and the soft breasts melting into his chest. His cocked twitched in his pants. He licked his lips as he thought of the taste of her kiss. The urge to get home hit him hard. He shook his head and put his rifle over his shoulder. Since when had a Reaper camp become home?
He headed down the mountain toward the meadow where he’d left Rage. The farther down the hillside he went, the more his shoulder burned, and the stronger that sense of not right became. He started walking faster. The tickle grew stronger, the burn hotter, and soon he was running. When he got to Rage, he heard it. The first gunshot echoing off the hills. There was no way to tell which direction it came from. No way to tell how far away it was. The sounds were just an echo bouncing over and over. But he knew. Down in his gut where it mattered. He knew. Shortly after that first shot came another. And then another.
In his mind he heard a scream.
Addy!
Shortly after that scream came another. Pinging between gunshots, the voice echoed in his head in a high, desperate cry. Pushing through his consciousness. Tearing a place for itself from his mind. High-pitched, young. Fuck. Wendy.
From Miranda nothing. The camp was under attack, and the one who should be screaming his name was silent. Fuck.
Rage snorted and tossed h
is head. Grabbing the reins off the ground, Cole leapt onto his prancing horse’s back, spun him around, and kicked him hard.
“Go!”
Something was very wrong in the Reaper village.
Rage gave Cole everything he had. Stretching out into that ground-eating gallop that had saved their asses so many times. Not flinching at the roughness of the terrain. Just recklessly plunging down hills, weaving through trees, charging up the rocky terrain. Giving Cole all he demanded and then some.
It wasn’t enough.
The spot on Cole’s shoulder burned like fire. He put his hand on it, focusing harder. Then he could feel it, like a blink, a knot of tension so tightly controlled as to be barely discernable. He poked at it.
Miranda.
No answer. He tried again, urging Rage to go faster, but the horse was already running flat out, flecks of sweat flicking off his neck, his breathing labored but not faltering. Just pushing forward with that heart that was so much of him.
The thundering of the hoofbeats blended with the sound of gunshots. They echoed through the hills, one on top of the other, resonating with the panic inside Cole.
Miranda.
Dammit woman, answer. And then, jaw tightening, he sent another thought to her. Just in case she couldn’t.
Live.
One word, carrying all the force of his personality behind it. An order he wanted obeyed. He felt the flinch of her energy. She was alive, but for how long? And what condition was she in? For once he was glad she was Reaper. A Reaper could stand a hell of a lot without dying.
Hold on, Miranda.
Despite every instinct telling him to find Addy, to get to Miranda and Wendy, when he got close to the village, Cole pulled back on the reins, slowing Rage. Charging in and getting himself killed wasn’t going to help anyone. He didn’t regrow body parts. He couldn’t afford to be reckless.
Pulling Rage to a stop by a copse of trees at the foot of a small rise, Cole jumped off and led the tired horse beneath the cover. Dropping the reins, he climbed the ridge.
The mark on his shoulder burned as hot as his rage. His clothes were too tight; his skin was too tight. He wanted to rip them off. He wanted to . . . He didn’t know what, but the compulsion inside was strong to do something. Something he didn’t understand, but he could feel it simmering. The need . . . the potential. Something just . . . more. Lurking.
More shots sounded. This close he could hear the shouts and snarls, which meant all were not fighting as wolf. Interesting. It would be a lot more interesting if he knew whether that was an advantage or disadvantage. As he started climbing the rise, the cold coherence of prebattle surrounded him like an old friend as he blended into the shadows, casting out for energy. So much came at him at once it was almost a blow. Unlike with humans whose energy was weak and easy to sort through, Reaper energy was different. They were individually strong, yet their energy was cohesive. The threads blended together as if on some level they thought with one thought, but the strands shone through with varying levels of clarity. As if some hid or overpowered others. Cole stored the information for later.
Scouting cautiously from the top of the ridge, he could see bits and pieces of the Reapers’ village through the trees. There were flashes of light in the gloom, random movements, and smoke. A lot of smoke. They were setting things on fire. It was impossible to tell more than that. He checked for Miranda again.
Miranda.
Nothing. Dammit!
A flicker of panic whipped his attention around. He focused hard on that thread. Miranda?
As soon as he thought it, he knew it was wrong. The energy was too weak. Too scattered. Too . . . young.
Wendy. Weaving his way through the clamor in his head to that single thread, he pulled it close. Panic, pure and simple, came at him. And not the kind of panic that came from worry, but the kind of panic that only being in the face of danger inspired.
I’m coming, Wendy.
Goddammit, he was coming. Plunging down the hill, he mentally ran over his options. They were few. He could ride Rage in with guns blazing. That was the fastest. An option with humans. Not an option with Reapers.
Fuck.
Hold on, little bit. Just hold on.
He had the impression of heat. And choking. And surrender.
Oh shit. His gut went cold. She was in the fire. He didn’t let his panic slip past his control, just channeled his fear and frustration into an order.
You will hold on!
He ran faster, picturing that fairy-child face, those big brown eyes so like her mother’s. That incredible spirit.
Hold on! he mentally barked again. Hoping she could hear. Demanding she hear.
And then he did the hardest thing he’d ever done. He let her go. He needed all his senses to get to her.
Controlling his breathing, his senses strained outward for danger, as he skimmed the edge of the trees heading to the village. When he got close enough to smell supper cooking on the outskirts, he spotted a Reaper standing guard in the shadows. Not one of Isaiah’s men. Cole blocked his own energy, slipped inside the man’s mind, and, coming up behind him, slit his throat. Then Cole brought the blade across the man’s neck again, cutting off his head.
Regrow that, bastard.
He moved forward, the scent of smoke stronger in his nostrils. When he came around the corner, he could see what was burning. Flames nibbled up the side of the barn while smoke billowed all around in a thick cloud.
Wendy.
Dread settled like a ball of ice in his gut. Wendy was in that barn. He knew it as well as he knew his name. The impression of heat and choking took on an all-too-vivid significance.
Caution was no longer a concern. Cole ran through the battle, ignoring the bullets pinging at his feet, the shouts of the men he knocked over, and the claws tearing at his clothes. The only thought he had was getting to Wendy.
Hold on.
A Reaper leapt out in front of him, teeth bared in a horrific grin. Without breaking stride, Cole shot him four times and watched him go down, knowing he’d get back up again. Eventually. But eventually wasn’t now. And Cole just needed the Reaper down for now. Cole leapt over the body. It was a clear shot to the barn.
When he got to to the door, the heat drove him back in a hard shove. A Reaper might be able to survive such a fire, but Wendy wasn’t Reaper.
Son of a bitch.
Wrapping his bandana around his hand, Cole grabbled the latch and threw open the door. Outside the battle raged. Inside the fire devoured everything in sight with a dull, constant roar of satisfaction.
Nothing could survive that. Nothing. Not even a Reaper. Why the fuck couldn’t the little girl be a Reaper?
He searched for her energy. There was a flicker of something. It could have been her; it could have been his imagination. The fire roared a challenge. A hay bale in the corner burst into flame. It was hell pure and simple, and going inside was nothing short of suicide.
Pulling his hat down tight over his brow, Cole whispered, “Fuck” and charged for the door.
11
Miranda was there before him, coming out of nowhere, screaming Wendy’s name, her skirts flapping about her legs, coming too close to the flames. Grabbing her by the back of the shirt, he yanked her away. Not fast enough. A tiny lick of fire caught the hem of her skirt and started to spread. He beat at the flame. She turned to him wildly.
“Dammit, woman, hold still.” The skirt still smoldered. He ripped it off.
She strained against his grip. “Wendy!”
He shook her to get her attention. When her gaze met his, her energy locked with his, and he told her. “I’ll get her, but you stay here.”
She looked at him and shook her head. “You can’t.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement. He shoved her behind him, whipping out his revolver, n
ot relaxing when he saw that it was a bloody Clark.
Miranda threw herself at him. “Wendy’s in there. Get her. Please.”
Clark caught her shoulders, gave the burning barn one look, and shook his head.
“If she’s in there, she’s dead,” he told her.
Miranda screamed. Cole swore and dipped his bandanna in the water trough to the side of the door before tying it around his face. Didn’t that son of a bitch know that would just send her back into the fire? Couldn’t he feel how much she loved her daughter? That she’d burn with her rather than leave her alone?
As if on cue, Miranda jerked out of Clark’s arms and headed back in. Cole grabbed her again by the shoulders, shaking her. Using all his energy to drag her gaze to his.
“I’ll get her for you.”
The fire roared in the background. Clark swore. Bullets fired. Men died. None of it mattered, not in that moment. Only Miranda mattered. When her energy wrapped around his and clung, he repeated, “I’ll get her.”
Before she would answer, Cole shoved Miranda back at Clark.
“Hold on to her. Do not let her go.”
“Fuck you.”
Cole turned back to the fire. He probably was fucked. In the brief time they’d been arguing, the flames had spread; there was only a small corner to the left of the door where they hadn’t reached. Taking a breath and reaching mentally for Wendy, he dove forward, clinging to the trail of energy that was the little girl. The happy little sprite who was so terrified right now her energy stuttered in and out.
Over the roar of the flames he hollered, “Stay where you are, Wendy! I’m coming.”
He didn’t know if she could hear him. Hell, it didn’t even matter. Thinking she could kept him pushing forward as the heat seared his lungs and burned his skin. He followed the trail of her energy through the smoke, bumping into objects he couldn’t see. Feeling his way around, pausing only when forced to regain his bearings. The smoke was so thick he felt like he had to part it with his hands to pass, but when he did, there was just more smoke, more blindness, more heat. He coughed and choked. His eyes watered.
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