Miranda closed her eyes. If Cole was healing, he’d live. The relief was overwhelming.
“Then that’s a good thing.”
“As long as being half converted doesn’t drive him insane, yes.”
“How will we know?” Miranda whispered.
“Considering the man’s impulsive nature, that’s another good question.”
The joke fell flat.
“I would know,” Addy snapped at Blade, reaching for Isaiah. And he was there, as he always was, giving her his hand and his support. Miranda envied Addy that.
“Maybe, maybe not. If it came on hard, yes, but if crazy snuck in, he might be able to hide it,” Blade added.
“I take it you have a solution?”
Miranda could have kissed Isaiah for that. Please let the enforcer have a solution.
“He could be converted now.”
“He doesn’t want to be Reaper.” Despite everything in her that said, “Do it,” Miranda owed Cole better than to listen only to her selfish wants.
“I’m not sure his wishes matter in this,” Blade continued. “The good of the pack has to be considered.”
Cole’s opinion mattered. Miranda sat on the bed carefully, sliding her hand under the sheet and beneath the thin mattress until her fingers touched the hilt of the sword.
“Do it,” Addy whispered.
“You know how it can go, Addy girl. Conversion is not easy for anyone, even someone with Reaper blood. You almost died. As weak as he is, he darn well might.”
Addy didn’t take her eyes off Cole. Miranda could feel her love and desperation. “He’s almost dead now.”
“Do it,” Isaiah ordered Blade.
Miranda tightened her fingers around the hilt.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” Addy and Isaiah demanded as one.
Blade motioned to Miranda. “Hers was the last bite. Hers has to be the final bite.”
So it was up to her. She released her grip on the sword. “No.”
“Miranda?” Addy’s gasp was part question, part shock.
Miranda shook her head against the plea in Addy’s eyes. “He’ll hate me.”
“But he’ll be alive.”
“He might live anyway.”
Addy turned to Blade. “Really?”
Blade shrugged. “Slim to none is still a chance.”
“It’s not enough,” Addy snapped.
Miranda brought her hand back up to Cole’s shoulder, feeling the tingle, the expectation. Hearing his “no” again.
Addy waved her hand dismissively. “He’s my cousin. You owe him!”
Miranda did.
She looked at Blade. “It has to be me?”
“Anyone else and he’ll die for sure.”
All or nothing. Why was it always all or nothing?
“Looks like you’re his only chance.” There was no mistaking the sympathy in Isaiah’s tone. She knew why. He’d made this choice himself. For Addy. But in much more dire circumstances.
“Would you do it?” Miranda asked.
He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”
Neither did she. She owed Cole so much. He’d given Miranda her daughter back. He’d given her hope. She owed him everything. No, she corrected herself as selfishness nudged her along. She owed him the right thing.
“Isaiah!” Addy gasped.
“It’s not my choice, Addy.”
No, it was Miranda’s.
“Then you should lie!”
Isaiah pulled Addy into his arms, pressing her face into his chest.
Miranda heard him mutter, “You know I can’t do that,” as she leaned down and brushed her lips across Cole’s brow, breathing a caress across his cheek and his neck, inhaling his scent before replacing her hand on his shoulder with her mouth.
Just a bite. One bite and he’d be in her world forever. The way it should be.
Her fangs ached and lengthened. She opened her mouth ever so slightly and set her teeth against his skin, tasting him. Familiar. Addictive. And human. So completely human. All she had to do was bite down and that would all change. Just one little bite.
Why did the right thing always have to be so hard?
12
Cole should have looked smaller sprawled on his stomach in the bed, but he didn’t. To Miranda he looked as big as ever. As powerful. She remembered the way he’d stood there in the devil’s light of that fire, his eyes reflecting the flames, his mouth set as hard as the grip on her shoulders as he’d promised her he’d get Wendy out. It’d been suicide but he hadn’t hesitated. He’d just . . . She tugged the sheet up a little higher over his burned shoulders, letting it settle butterfly soft back on his skin. He’d just kept his word. The dull gray muslin wasn’t what he was used to, she was sure. But she’d given him the best they had. It was so little in light of what he’d given her.
Touching her finger to the warmth of his skin, she trailed the nail higher until it touched the mark of her bite just visible over his shoulder. He was healing fast. After only three days the worst burns were no longer oozing. Some were but dark spots of memory. Was he Reaper? Or human? Or caught somewhere in between? She didn’t know, wouldn’t know until after he woke, though his scent seemed different. But that could be her imagination. Or wishful thinking. Opening her palm over the mark, feeling the heat and the immediate answering warmth stir inside of her, she felt the overwhelming weight of guilt. She hadn’t bitten Cole the third time, but that second time? She curled her fingers into a fist, releasing him from her touch. That second time might have been in the heat of passion, but she’d known what she was doing. Somewhere inside, she’d known.
Brushing his brown hair off Cole’s face, she traced her finger over a slight scar on his forehead, wondering not for the first time how he’d gotten it, feeling the desire for him well inside her. So much more than sexual. So much more than anything. God forgive her, she wanted him, and she’d done what she’d had to to have him.
She paused, fingertips just shy of his beautiful mouth. God forgive her. She curled her fingers into her palm. When had she started believing in God again? She’d thought she’d given that up a long time ago, when she’d given up on her marriage and her husband had died in her arms from self-inflicted wounds because he couldn’t face what had happened. She was as good as dead to everyone in her past, but apparently belief, like Reaper blood, could lurk undetected beneath the surface. It was yet another sign that she was coming back to life inside. She didn’t know how she felt about that. Or how Cole would. But Blade? Blade would be happy.
She remembered Blade’s expression of satisfaction when he’d thought she’d made the decision to convert Cole. He wanted Cole to be Reaper. She didn’t know why. Nobody ever knew why that one did what he did. He was an enforcer with mysterious powers. Always on the fringes, always showing up when the balance seemed to be breaking. Moving between the high council and their council. Playing games. Her lip lifted in a snarl. She didn’t want to be part of his game. She smoothed her fingers over the fresh growth of Cole’s eyebrows. She wouldn’t let him involve Cole. Blade might think he knew her, might think he could use her guilt against her, but she wasn’t hiding anymore. She owed Cole better. She owed Wendy better. She owed herself better.
Cole stirred beneath her touch, his energy gathering beneath his skin. He’d be awake soon. Hopefully sane. Blade had speculated it would take a couple of weeks for a full healing once Cole came to. But Blade had been unable to speculate as to when Cole would be clear of the threat of madness. As she brushed the back of her fingers down Cole’s cheek, his beard rasped against her skin. A harsh response to a soft gesture.
“Sleep,” she whispered, not really wanting him to wake too soon. She wasn’t ready to face that particular judgment day just yet. Anything other than human and he’d never forgive her.
/> He didn’t sleep, but some of that restlessness left him and he relaxed. Miranda wished she could follow her own order. She was so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of trying to survive, tired of trying to protect her daughter, tired of doing it all alone. When she’d agreed to follow her idealistic husband out West so many years ago, to set up a store, and to reap the riches of this wild land, she’d never dreamed just how high the price would be, how harsh her future would be. What her dream would cost her. But she’d learned and she’d stopped dreaming. Until Cole.
Standing, she put her hands in the small of her back and stretched the kinks from her spine. But now she had another dream. And this time the price might be higher than she could bear. She blinked back the silly tears. She needed some air. She was getting morbid. Before she could step away, strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, anchoring her in place. Her heart jumped. Her pulse stuttered, and beneath the dread the joy that always arose from Cole’s touch spread through her. Looking down, she found Cole was staring up at her, those hazel eyes of his intense with emotions she couldn’t decipher.
“Hi.” Her voice sounded strained to her own ears.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
His voice sounded raspy, and utterly beautiful. She bit her lip as more tears welled. She’d been afraid she’d never hear his voice again. “Watching you.”
“Why?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.” He ran his hand over his chest, grimacing as he touched spots still working on healing. “Not yet.”
Damn. She tugged at her hand. “You were hurt.”
He didn’t let go, just frowned, and he rubbed her mark on his shoulder. Her canines tingled and her nipples peaked. And she watched.
His gaze cut to hers. “How?”
She gave him the simple truth. “There was a fire. You were caught in it.”
He looked around at the shadows darkening the room. It would be night soon.
“How long have I been out?”
“Three days.”
He started to swear, then caught himself.
“Sorry.”
“I think in light of everything that’s happened, you can say whatever you want.”
His thumb grazed the inside of her wrist. “A promise is a promise.”
“You remember that?”
His smile was a quirk of his lip. “I remember everything up until I went hunting.”
She envied him that amnesia. She remembered every bit of how she’d become Reaper.
“I’m sure you’ll remember the rest in time.”
He nodded. His gaze searched the room. She knew what he was looking for. There were scars all over his body. The marks of a warrior. A warrior was never far from his weapons.
“Your gun belt is on the chair by the head of the bed. Your rifle is propped on the wall behind you. Your knife is under your pillow.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Are they loaded?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded and closed his eyes for a moment, letting her go. “I’ll check in a minute.”
“All right.” She rubbed her hands down her thighs, wondering how much he already remembered. He’d been aware as they’d been discussing converting him. Would he remember that, too? “Are you in pain?”
“Fair to middling.”
“I have some willow bark tea that might help.” She couldn’t bear the thought of him in pain.
He cracked an eyelid. “I’m not in that much pain.”
Willow bark tea was bitter. “I could add some honey.”
His smile was a shadow of its former strength but it was still a smile. “That just makes the bad nasty.”
She wished she could find her own. “All right. But let me know if you change your mind.”
He pushed up on his elbows and cautiously arched his back. “I won’t.”
She wanted to run her fingertips over the muscles of his chest, to pet him like one would a big cat. He had such sleek, well-developed muscles. As if he heard her thoughts, Cole shifted onto his side. The sheet slid to his waist, highlighting the tan of his skin, the laddered muscles on his stomach, the hollow of his naval, and the dark line of hair that thinned until it disappeared beneath the sheet. He was a man in his prime, and the old scars mixed with fresh wounds did nothing to diminish his impact. Miranda forced herself to look away. It took a lot of will. The man was beautifully made.
“Aren’t you worried I might use them on you?”
It took her a second to realize he was referring to his weapons and not his muscles. She shrugged, hoping he wouldn’t notice her blush. Hoping he would.
He noticed. He was Cole. He noticed everything.
Cocking an eyebrow at her, he asked, “Care to share what’s got you blushing?”
“I’m sorry, but no.”
“That’s a darn cold attitude for a man’s future wife to be taking.”
She wanted to match him in the relief that made him happy despite his pain, but she just couldn’t. All she had was guilt and remorse. “I’m sorry.”
Cole ran his hand over his chest, testing and probing, occasionally wincing. “I’ll take some water in the way of apology.”
She fetched it immediately. He drank it straight down. It took three more cups before he was satisfied. She couldn’t help but compare it to a Reaper’s thirst.
He started to sit up. She put her hand on his chest.
“You need to stay down.”
“The hell I do.” He tugged the sheet free of the mattress. “But if you want to be useful, get me some clothes.”
Walking over to the chest at the foot of the bed, she opened it and pulled out the spare pants, shirt, and drawers she’d found in his saddlebags and tossed them to him before turning her back.
She listened as he got out of bed, braced for the thud of him hitting the floor. There was no sound beyond his grunt. Looking over her shoulder she saw his back was to her as he sorted the clothes. The man had a mouth to make hers water. Her canines tingled. She’d like to bite it. Folding her arms across her chest, she stifled the thought. “We need to get you more clothes.”
Clothing rustled as he dressed. “I’m used to making do.”
She couldn’t just stand there imagining him dressing, dreading him remembering. “Would you like some coffee?”
“I thought you were out.”
“Addy sent some over.”
“You’ve got enough?”
She headed to the fireplace.
“Of course.” There was silence as she grabbed the rag to protect her hands.
“I remember the fire,” Cole said in that careful way people did when they didn’t have all the answers.
Damn. “I’ve been waiting to thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. Is Wendy all right?”
She kept her back to him, fussing with the rag, getting it just right around her hand. “Thanks to you, she’s all right. Her voice is a little rough and she’s got a little cough, but she’s fine.” She wanted to turn around so badly. “Thank you again.”
“It was nothing.”
She did turn then. He stood there, shirt shrugged on but open, fastening his pants. Button by button, covering that intriguing line of hair bit by bit. Her breath caught. She ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips to moisten them. If the hot wrap of his energy around her wasn’t enough to tell her that he knew how she felt, the sudden softening of his beautiful mouth would. The way he made her feel was nowhere near decent. She sighed. She should turn back around. But they both knew she wouldn’t.
Letting her eyes devour him, feeling the tension rising within him, she said, “It was everything. Clark would have let her die.”
“And you were going to marry him.”
She shook her head. He started buttoning the shi
rt. No matter how closely she looked, she couldn’t see any sign of unsteadiness in his stance. Her stomach clenched. Another sign he’d changed. “It was a good plan at the time.”
“Uh-huh.” He shrugged gingerly into his shirt. The washed-out gray brought out the blue in his eyes. “You nursing that coffee or serving it?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Grabbing a rag, she wrapped the handle of the coffeepot and took it off the fire. Fooling with the pot and the cups bought her a couple minutes. Cole was already at the table when she turned back. Pants and shirt buttoned neatly. Sighing, she brought the items over. He met her halfway, moving stiffly but determinedly.
He took the cups from her hand. The brush of his fingers over hers was as deliberate as his gaze when it met hers. “You don’t give me orders.”
It was a purely masculine correction that brought everything feminine in her tripping forward. Her “Would you please sit down?” came out soft and breathy.
He did. She didn’t know if it was because she asked nicely or if it was because his legs were about to give out. But at least he was sitting and not towering over her. Pouring coffee into the cups, she pushed one toward him.
He took the coffee she passed him without a word.
She licked her lips. “We don’t have any cream.”
“I like it black.”
She remembered. She remembered everything about him. She was just stalling.
He blew across the cup, eyeing her steadily. “Are you going to sit or are you going to stand there looking like a cat with its tail under the rocker?”
Sit. She was going to sit. She grabbed a chair on the opposite side of the table, pulled it out. He waited while she got comfortable, sipping his coffee patiently as she put sugar in hers, watched while she adjusted her skirts and her seat. When she’d run out of fiddle, he reached across the table, casually pried her fingers from her cup, and cradled her hand in his. She forgot to breathe as he rubbed his thumb across the back.
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