by Tina Gower
“You’re not breaking up with me.”
I look down at my legs. “I’m crossing my legs because I’m not wearing any pants and this helps keep everything covered, and this foot”—I wiggle the one I have crossed and elevated off the car floor—“has the most cuts and it was irritated, so I didn’t want it to rub. And my voice is afraid because I don’t know how to proceed from here. What do you need? So, no, I’m not breaking up with you.”
“Good.” He lets his foot off the break and we continue down the drive until we hit the paved road. He doesn’t speak for a few more minutes and then he taps his fingers on the wheel. “So we got the witches from Wyrd who are the most likely candidates for the blood magic working against the fates, but what about New Karma? What’s our plan on tackling them?”
I rub my thumb along my lower lip. So we’re talking shop. I rearrange myself in the seat so I can settle for a long conversation about the case. While I go over each point and possibility, Becker sits quiet and motionless. I prod him for his take and he manages a shrug here and there. Maybe a few questions and side comments. It’s like he’s parroting what he thinks will keep me distracted for the drive in to the city.
Except I’m not buying it and he knows it.
We pull into the Sugar Hill Estates after about an hour of driving. Becker’s old pack house looks a lot better than the last time I saw it. There’s fresh paint on the outside, the broken lawn ornaments are fixed and the cheesiest ones like the sunbaked flamingo are thankfully absent. The dull bark has been raked up and replaced with different colored rocks and there are patches of grass in design patterns that give it a unique but classy ambiance.
Becker pulls the keys out of the ignition and swings them around his thumb. He gives me quick side glance. “Dalia isn’t here. She went back to Turmoil for a few things and won’t be back till tomorrow.”
Even though I’d like a fresh pair of clothes and a shower, I’m not ready to go home either. I haven’t been to Becker’s house since the first time we worked together to save an oracle, Jack Roberts, from what we thought was an anti-fate group, but it may have been Wyrd. Those details hadn’t been worked out yet. Now we were finally getting the real facts as to what happened in that case. It all feels oddly full circle. Almost.
I turn to see Becker watching me, as if he’s waiting for some response.
It seems I’ve given it to him because he nods, opens the door, and pockets his keys. “Wait here.”
The car door locks behind him and he circles the house a few times. He goes into his house for a minute and comes back much more relaxed and sure. He opens my door and I shimmy out of the seat only to have him scoop me up and bring me level to his chest. A little more romantic than the fireman hold he carried me around in earlier. He kicks the car door closed and I hear the chirp of the lock as we walk away.
I snuggle in close, hooking my arms around his neck, close my eyes and breathe in the pine and rain scent from his body. He sets me on his bed, well, it’s two king sized beds pushed together. An old leftover from his pack. I assume he keeps it as a tribute to them, or maybe it feels wrong to get rid of something that didn’t start out as his or belong to him alone. To Becker his pack is very much present, haunting him until he can fully solve the reasons and find the people behind their death. Even with the admission Talia gave us earlier today, he doesn’t have all the criminals apprehended yet.
I scoot, propping myself up on the mountain of pillows of every shape and size. The room is dark, and with no moon there’s not much light streaming in through the slightly open blinds, but it only takes a few minutes to adjust.
He leaves the room, closing his front door, and opens and shuts a few cupboards, and reappears with a first aid kit and towels. He sits at my feet and uses the wet towels to clean around the cuts. Whatever solution he uses burns, and I flinch, pulling away from him.
He winces. “Sorry.”
I present my foot for more torture with a sigh. “It has to be done.”
He bandages them up when he’s done and leaves my feet elevated on the pillow. Then he does the same for the bite on my hand. He puts the kit away and tosses the empty bandage packages in the trash.
He pauses at the door, hovering a few steps from the end of the bed. “Can I get you something else?” He inches away from the mattress. His hair curls over his ears and is tossed in wild directions, yet he still manages to be somewhat adorable, when he flexes his arms and looks down as if to realize for the first time he’s shirtless. He crosses and uncrosses his arms, glancing at the kitchen. “I can make tea.”
“I’m fine.” I pat the vast empty space of bed next to me. “Why don’t you lie down with me.”
He eyes my patting hand, my bare legs, and then looks longingly into the kitchen as if he’s mourning the excuse to stall a few minutes longer. But he crawls in next to me, falls into the pillows, and pulls me into him, smelling the top of my head.
“Gods, it took everything in me to leave you in that forest. When I’d heard they found you, Lipski had to tackle me to keep me from running back to you.”
“He was right though. If you’d come, they’d have had us both. The night would have ended differently.”
“Yeah.” His fingers run down my arm and play with the tattered cuffs of his shirt that I’m wearing.
I bring my palms to his chest, displaying the tears and rips of his shirt. “I owe you a shirt.”
He frowns at the cuts on my palm. Bringing my wrist to his nose, he stops short and sniffs the fabric of the shirt.
I furrow my brow. “What’s wrong?”
He stops like he’s been caught doing something naughty and places my hand on his chest, shaking his head. “Nothing.”
I hide a smile and slide my fingers to the buttons. “Would you like it back?”
His eyes snap to the shirt as I slowly unbutton, but he doesn’t stop me. I ease it off my shoulders and shimmy it off, dropping it on his stomach. I relax, fitting myself into the nook under his armpit.
“Now you can sniff it all you like.”
He balls it up in his fist, his lips twitching into a smile. “You find it funny.” He brings the shirt to his nose. “It smells like you.”
“I only find it funny that you’re sniffing the shirt when you could be getting a hit directly from the source.”
He tosses the shirt aside and turns to his side to face me, his jaw clamped shut. I almost think he’s going to “Kate” me—where he says my name in that dropped dangerous tone that means he thinks we shouldn’t be going down that path. But he surprises me when he nudges my arm over my head and leans in.
“Is this too weird?” He nuzzles the skin around my armpit, the hairs on his face scraping.
I giggle. “It tickles.” He draws back and I grab his face between my hands. “I didn’t say you should stop.”
He tips an eyebrow like he’s not sure about my answer, but then he fingers the strap of my bra. “Can I…?”
I nod with an amused expression.
He slides the bra strap down my arm on the one side and his lips trail down the same path to the inside of my elbow. His tongue licks there and he plants a slow kiss. He presses his thumb into my waist and comes up to my neck, breathing deep.
I shrug out of the other bra strap and unclasp it. The material hangs loose between us.
He grazes my skin just above my nipple with his knuckles and swallows. “I wanted to wait.”
I set my hand on his arm, laying my head on the pillow between us. “I know.” I use my other arm to cover myself. “Do you still want to wait?”
“It’s just that if I’m going to go feral—”
I interrupt him with a kiss. “It won’t change my decision. I don’t believe it and neither should you.”
He doesn’t look convinced. Removing my bra, I take his hand and move it lower. The warmth of his palm over my breast sends a shiver down the rest of my body.
He teases his lips centimeters from mine. “Are you s
ure?”
“Yes, but only if you’re ready.”
He kisses me instead of an answer, but the heat of the kiss and the build of intensity is answer enough.
He pulls away, panting for air, reaching over me to his nightstand. A pocketknife and an empty glass fall off as he jerks the drawer open. He doesn’t bother to right them or retrieve them.
“After tonight, I swear I’ll take you on that date. I promised. Maybe a nice vacation on the beach.”
“That sounds nice.”
He reveals an unopened box of condoms and proceeds to rip the cardboard open. “You should know…” He eyes me with caution as if he doesn’t know how to word it, and without his shirt I can see his chest dotting with red blotches that match his cheeks. “I’m guessing you don’t want fateless wolf babies running around.”
I nod. Right. He knows when I’m ovulating or close to it. Ribbons of condoms come out like a jack in the box. He selects one line and rips off a section, passing it to me.
Then he kneels on the bed, attempting to unbutton his pants, but fumbles at the technical aspects of it. He laughs, but it comes out as a frustrated grunt. “I swear I’m not usually this clumsy.”
I put my hands over his. “Here. Let me.” I unbutton and slowly unzip. He licks his lips, watching me. I tug his pants over his waist. My fingers brush up against him. There’s a flash of gold in his iris.
He stands, dancing away from my touch. “Not yet.” He wiggles out of his jeans, but keeps his underwear on. “Not yet.” He puts a hand over his heart. “Give me a second.” He stares at the ceiling taking long gulping breaths. Behind him is the corkboard detailing his pack’s murder case. I can’t help but stare at the group of them. Smiling. Happy. Unaware of what happens to them.
Are we kidding ourselves? Am I?
I’ve never changed a destiny before. Jack’s didn’t really count. His own fate had been manipulated by Wyrd for a certain outcome; it wasn’t his true destiny. Not like my parents, and I failed them. What made me believe I could do this now? Did Ian think this moment was a now or never thing? Is that why he’d changed his mind? My gaze wanders to the pictures of his pack again. I’ll try my best to change his destiny. I stare hard at his pack picture and vow it to them.
Becker follows my gaze to the picture of his pack. “Is it okay?” he motions to the bed. “I can take you to another room. Or the couch…” His shoulders drop; the offer to stop the direction we’ve decided to go hangs unsaid.
There’s a reason he drove here. Why he set me in his bed. It’s the place he feels comfortable. Where he’s sure and confident. Safe. It’s where he goes when he’s lost. It’s like he’s bringing all his pack together. It’s a sweet gesture, even if he doesn’t realize he made it.
“This is perfect.” I lie back on the pillows. “Come here.”
This time he doesn’t hesitate.
We fall asleep soon after. Becker pets my hair back from my temple, and his eyes close into slivers, until he’s sound asleep. It’s the last image I have as my own body pulls me under.
He wakes me some few hours later, nudging and whispering, asking me if I’m okay. When I answer a groggy yes, he covers my mouth with a kiss. He explains it’s his own personal witching hour of some kind. He’s feverish to the touch and damp with sweat. He rolls on another condom and guides himself into me.
“I’ve opened the werewolf Pandora’s box.”
He grunts, lowering his head to my shoulder as he focuses on small little careful movements. “You have no idea.”
“I’m not complaining.”
He bites his lip, concentrating.
I tug his ear to my mouth. “Except to say you should go faster.”
Chapter 18
Of all the ways I visualized the morning after, it oddly did include my cousin staring at my body covered in a sheet and intertwined with a naked werewolf—but that was in my worst-case fantasy scenario.
Ali sips her coffee and shakes her head. “Interesting.” She pokes the bottom of Ian’s foot. “What did you do to him?”
He flicks his toes and slides them under the sheets, but doesn’t stir further or wake from her prodding.
“What are you doing here?” My eyes go wide. I untangle myself from wolf and sheets. “How did you get in?”
“Relax.” She jerks her head for me to follow her into the living room.
I snag another of Becker’s shirts off a hanger and follow her. Limping jaggedly on my abused feet like I’m walking on glass.
She gestures to the window in the living room. “I warded this house to the gills once, remember? I may or may not have left a back door.” She wiggles her eyebrows and sips.
“Well, don’t use it again. Becker will kill you if he figures out he’s got even a hair thin crack in his security.” I go through the cupboard for some coffee, finding only herbal teas.
Either this is some new sick health kick of Ian’s or it’s part of Dalia’s regime—in both scenarios I don’t like it. I straighten. “Please tell me you brought me a coffee.”
She cradles her own cup and angles her body away from me. “I brought you clothes, your computer, and your phone. I should not be responsible for coffee.”
My gaze goes to the duffle and my laptop case. My cousin really is good to me. One day I’ll be in a position to do the same for her. “Thank you.” But I wander back to the coffee in her grip.
“No.” She takes a step away. “No sharing. I earned this coffee. I was up all night talking with police. When you got to go home I went to the coven counselors and filed a report of wrongful use of magic. You have your disciplinary actions and we have ours. Dorcus and company will lose their license to purchase certain controlled substances required for spells.” She rolls her eyes. “Not that it will stop them after they’re out of prison and then rehab.”
“Gods, I hope they’re put away for a long time.” I begin my search for coffee again in earnest.
“The laws are cut and dry on this, right?”
“But it’s never a guarantee.” I go for the usual hiding places now, remembering I saw a gourmet bag in his freezer when we worked Jack’s case. I open it only to have a cascade of frozen vegetables belly flop in loud, slap, slap, slaps onto the floor.
We both cringe at the sound and snap our heads toward the bedroom in one synchronized movement. Nope. Not even that stirred the sleeping beast.
Ali tiptoes and peeks in to be sure and she comes back shaking her head. “Goddess, he’s out cold.”
I fiddle with the buttons of my shirt. “He’s sleeping off a lot of magic.”
She eyes me up and down. “If you mean whatever magic is between your legs, then yeah.”
I glare at her.
She snorts. “I have to get going anyway.” She hums a tune that suspiciously sounds like the childhood taunt of lovers sitting in a tree, K. I. S. S. I. N. G.
Whatever.
After I confirm she’s gone, I go through the pile of things she’s brought. My phone is drained of batteries—probably courtesy of Edu and his metal manipulation spell—so I dig for the cable in my laptop bag, find a socket, and charge it. The clothes are all useless, something a teenager would wear. Short crop shirts with no backs, skinny jeans, leggings, lacy underwear. I’m desperate so I at least change my underwear and bra.
My phone buzzes with missed messages. I shrug back into Becker’s shirt, button it, and wonder if he’s got some sweatpants or shorts I can borrow. Continued digging reveals a homemade energy bar from the stock at the safe house. Sour cream mocha with ground espresso beans. Ali’s joy in life might align with how much weight I put on. I unwrap and savor.
Now, okay, now I’m ready to tackle some work-related stuff.
My email? Ugh, too many meeting requests to go through. One cc from Gretchen in request to reinstate me into Accidental Death and disregard the death notice hanging over my name. Nothing from Michelle Kitman yet on her vote in my favor. Might be too early. She did mention she’d be leaving to
wn last night. It could have slipped her mind. A follow-up email from Kyle Dillingham detailing that the capture of the three witches may have lowered my prediction significantly, certainly low enough to return to work, and a pingback from HR asking for the predicting oracle’s confirmation.
Which is a huge oops, because we don’t have a predicting oracle, and if Kyle reveals that, then I’ll be placed into a suspicion pile as fateless and likely moved to a department where I won’t do any damage. Well, crap.
Kyle hasn’t answered the email yet. There’s at least that. If I needed to, I could ask a couple oracles to vouch for me. Jack was a weather oracle, but maybe they wouldn’t notice? Zoey would also be a likely candidate.
I think quickly, having a better option in mind, and write out the email before I can stop myself.
Yin, a love actuary, owed me. I’d seen her briefly at the Kitman talk and she did say she’d do anything for me, with hide-the-body levels of intensity in her tone.
Yin,
I’m such an idiot. We lost the love note you did for Ian Becker. I might need proof that we’re compatible and hope you still have a copy? Let me know if you have it on file. I know we asked you to keep it secret, so I’m feeling terrible about asking, after I practically insisted you toss it.
Kate
I clutch the shirt against my stomach to calm the dragonflies swirling around in my gut. I don’t lie well. I don’t like dragging Ian into it either. But this will cover all our bases. If I have a love note, forged or not, it should be enough to prove I’m not fateless.
And on to the finale. My phone messages. Seven from Kyle. Gods, he’s a pain in the butt now that he’s been reminded of my phone number.
I dial and wait. Two rings.
“Kate? Kate?”
“Yeah. I’m alive. A heads up would have been nice if we had more investigative power behind the scenes. Solved your damn case for you, but what’s new there?”
His breath is a rickety metallic rush of air against the speaker. “Nine hells, you are hard to get a hold of. Could it have killed you to answer your phone?”
