by Becky Flade
The sound broke Aidan’s restraint and on a groan, his mouth crushed down on hers. The kiss was savage and possessing; it took Maggie’s breath away. She met the thrust of his tongue with her own, his seeking, hers soothing. He’d released his hold on her hand and both his were on her, one in her hair and the other splayed across the small of her back. His strong fingers were flexing, squeezing, and releasing, pulling her closer and closer. He growled fiercely and nipped her full lower lip with his teeth. He suddenly pulled away from her.
Maggie realized why now. He was afraid of himself and the wolf within, not me, she silently concluded. Well the hell with that. With the water making her even more graceful and fluid, she glided into his lap, her inner thighs cradling his hips as she pressed herself against him.
“Maggie!” He gasped his voice a mix of desire, surprise, and reprisal. He reached for her hips obviously meaning to move her, but she tangled her fingers into his hair and yanked his head back. This time she took his mouth and plundered. Unaware of the little noises she was making in her throat, she rubbed her body against his hard chest. Aidan pushed gently until there was enough space to see into her eyes. With a growl he stood, scooping her into his arms.
He took her to his room and laid her out on his bed. He stood there just staring at her and, remembering how the wolf had looked with the moonlight glinting off his pelt, she was struck by how magical Aidan appeared now, with the sun at his back. He stripped off his wet trunks before slowly removing her suit.
Aidan stretched out on the bed beside her and ran his hands down the length of her. With his eyes following his hands, he got familiar with all her planes and curves. Her skin tingled wherever he touched her. Their eyes met as he levered himself over her and when they were finally joined, he whispered, “Mine.” They moved together in a rhythm all their own yet older than time itself. Bound together, they soared and fell back to earth as one.
Maggie lay there, listening to her heart pound and their matched ragged breathing slow, wondering at how she’d gone through life without even knowing how it felt to be whole. Without speaking, Aidan reached over and pulled her close. Content, she curled her body into his side, pillowed her head on his chest, and allowed the steady beat of his heart to lull her.
Chapter Nine
Maggie woke with the unsettling sensation that she didn’t know where she was. Having travelled often, it was a feeling she was accustomed to so it didn’t startle her as it would have most people. She simply took in her surroundings and gave herself a moment to not only shake out the cobwebs sleep had left but to orient herself to her present location. Within seconds, she was smiling and stretching, not unlike a cat, as the lovemaking she and Aidan had shared filled her memory. She took stock of her body, feeling the parts that were a little sore and tender and enjoying those minor discomforts for they were memories of the pleasure she and Aidan had shared.
She knew she was alone, suspected she’d been for some time, and wondered where in the house he’d wandered. She could tell from the light cascading through the curtains that she’d slept most of the day away and was thankful he’d closed the curtains and allowed her to rest. Without hesitation, she rifled through his drawers until she found a t-shirt of his to slip into and then set off to find her wayward lover. Aidan’s home was spacious but consisted really of very few rooms, so the search was short—and fruitless. She was quite literally alone. She refused to allow the slight to dampen her mood; he was probably off over-thinking the entire thing, letting himself fear the intensity and the speed of their connection. Instead of worrying, she let herself enjoy the opportunity to snoop.
She was delighted with the pictures of him growing up she found stuffed into books, drawers and boxes, literally scattered throughout every room. There were few shots of both him and his mother, presumably because she took the bulk of them herself, but in them Maggie could see the love and devotion mother and son shared. His electronics, boy toys as she thought of them, littered the house, as did little odds and ends that proved he didn’t just own horses: a currycomb here, a hoof pick there. His music collection made her frown; he hadn’t lied, and there were more country western titles than any other. But his books made her smile blossom.
The man obviously loved to read. He had bookshelves packed to overflowing and stacks of books in nearly every corner. His interests ranged throughout every conceivable genre. She even saw the occasional romance novel peeking out from a stack of crime or sci-fi novels. His movie collection, however, geared more toward action adventure than any other. She finally found herself standing in his kitchen and realized she was starving just as she spotted the note.
M,
Help yourself to whatever interests you. I’m not sure what time I’ll return, sorry I won’t be able to walk you out. Thanks for breakfast.
A.
The irritation at being abandoned that Maggie had so easily overlooked earlier festooned into anger at what she perceived to be a dismissal. How dare he belittle what they had shared with a casual brush-off? She had known—known—in those last seconds before she’d fallen asleep, while listening to his heart and feeling his hands in her hair, that they’d be linked forever. That he’d taken a piece of her soul. She was certain it was the same for him. He had marked her as his; he’d said so himself when he finally, slowly, took her. Hurt confusion mixed with anger, and Maggie felt both knotted in her throat. Until she saw the newspaper resting against the toaster, partially obscured by the note. It was her paper and splashed across the front page was a headline that turned her blood cold: WEREWOLF FOUND IN MINNESOTA. Under which in smaller lettering read, by Maggie O’Connell.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Maggie exclaimed as she sat down on the cool tile of the kitchen floor. She scanned it quickly, wincing when the wolf was described as a vicious animal. Most of the article was a bastardization of the pitch she’d provided to Bobby when she asked permission to follow the lead here. The rest was pure fiction and she knew who’d written it. Ricky Rhoads was a pernicious asshole who thought she was bouncing Bobby and expected her to bounce him as well. Her constant rejections of his disgusting come-ons made things between them hostile even on the best day. What she didn’t know is why on earth Bobby would’ve published this mess and under her name.
She clenched the paper in her hand and ran into Aidan’s bedroom, seeking both her pants and her cell phone. Maggie saw her clothes neatly folded on a chair in his room and instantly knew he’d washed her things for her while she slept. Probably before he got a look at this shit, she thought to herself, waving the paper in the air like a flag as she grabbed her phone from her purse. She speed dialed Bobby as she shoved on her jeans. He answered on the first ring and without acknowledging his “Hello stranger,” she pounced.
“Bobby, why in the hell is there an article on the front page I didn’t write with my name on it?”
“You don’t sound happy.” Bobby sounded hurt. “I thought I was doing you a favor, Sweetie, you get an extra paycheck this way. It’s not as good quality as you would’ve written, but Ricky generously agreed to let your name go on it.”
“Oh, Bobby.” Maggie couldn’t stay mad at him: he’d meant well. She sat on the bedroom floor and explained, “Ricky is a prick. He thought you and I were sleeping together and was very put off that I wouldn’t sleep with him, too. He wrote a crappy story and slapped my name on it ’cause he knew it would upset me.”
“Damn, Mags, why didn’t you tell me he was giving you a hard time?”
“Yeah, it always helps when the man everyone thinks you’re having sex with comes to your defense.” Maggie sighed. “Bobby, I need you to print a retraction. Not just because Ricky’s a prick, not just because it hurt someone here that I care about, and not just because it’s a crappy story, but because I didn’t write it. After all the problems I had with Noah, I can’t have Ricky Rhoads hanging over my head.”
“Ah, crap, Maggie, I didn’t even consider it from that angle. No problem, Sweetie. I’ll have
the retraction printed on the next few issues and I’ll have the story off the website and retracted within the hour.”
“They finally got the website up and running? Great.” Maggie wondered if Aidan had seen it online or in print first.
“Both Claire and Jenna told me to check with you first; I thought the paycheck would be a nice surprise.” He sounded truly miserable, and she could picture him fiddling with whatever tie the kids had picked out for him that morning.
“It’s okay, Bobby, really it is. And, yeah, big guy, listen to your women next time.”
“You’re one of my women, Sweetie. Now tell me who this someone is.”
“Pardon?”
“You said someone you care for was hurt by the article. I want to know who.”
“You gossip worse than an old woman, Bobby; go print my retraction and give my love to Claire and the kids.” Maggie hung up on her friend without saying goodbye; it was the closest she could get to yelling at him without feeling guilty. Now she needed to explain to Aidan.
His truck was parked out front and she knew by now he’d only the one. Maggie looked in the stables and found Sly working alone, a smile in his eyes that told her he had a good idea how she’d spent her morning. He said he had seen Aidan earlier, when Sly had returned from town with groceries, but not since. That’s how Aiden got his hands on the paper, she deduced.
“Saw your story, Maggie. Gotta say it’s not what I expected, but it was good. Kind of scary, you know?”
“I didn’t write it, Sly, my editor thought he was doing me a solid by having someone else write up the story based on my early research. But I’ll be sure to pass the compliment along next time I talk to the boys back home.” She waved and headed back towards the main house. Maggie stopped about halfway between the house and the stable, staring off into the woods abutting the meadow and wondering if he’d gone there to sulk or to rage or just to hide from her.
She went back into Aidan’s house, dug her iPod out of her purse, and with the Foo Fighters playing loud and dirty, she waited. To pass the time she tossed the dirty, crumbled sheets into the washer and made herself a sandwich before checking the paper’s new website; Bobby was good for his word. The apology was up and the story no longer appeared online. Unfortunately print apologies were much slower and usually ignored in her line of work. But it was the best she could do.
She put the sheets into the dryer and picked up one of his many books. By the time the sheets had dried and she’d put them back on the bed, dusk was closing in. She knew by then that he’d no intention of returning to the house that day. She tucked his book into her bag and felt the tube of lipstick she rarely used rolling around the bottom. With lipstick in hand, she stalked into the bathroom and scrawled COWARD across the shiny glass. Minutes later, she was in her car and tearing down the road toward town.
She made it to the General Store five minutes before closing. Betty Barnes had turned toward the door when the bell signaling a customer had arrived chimed, a look of annoyance clearly etched across her features. A look that quickly dissipated when she saw her last minute customer was Maggie. Betty wanted to talk about the article and much to her obvious displeasure, Maggie wouldn’t accommodate beyond correcting Betty about the authorship. Maggie stored her groceries in the trunk and since nothing she’d bought was in serious danger of perishing, decided to get dinner at the diner. It took her less than five minutes to wish she hadn’t. She told at least a dozen people she hadn’t actually written the story before she’d an opportunity to order. Most of the townspeople had liked it, some were disappointed that no one from town had actually been quoted. But it was Red’s comment that made her flee the diner without finishing her meal. He thought it might boost tourism. She thought of the masses wandering the Maryland woods after The Blair Witch Project was released and she shuddered.
Maggie got back to the Black farm right after nightfall. It took several trips from the car to get all her groceries unloaded. She showered, cursing the ice cold water the entire time and got dressed in comfortable flannel pajamas before putting the pot on to boil some spaghetti. She set up her laptop and notebooks on the makeshift dining room table that would serve as desk and dinette, silently thanking Jake and Alice Black for saving her from the prying eyes of Susie Monroe, and was sad to see that she was right; she did not have internet service.
“Oh well,” Maggie told the empty room, “this gives me a real chance to work on the novel I’ve been putting off.” After eating, she felt restless and caught herself listening for the wolf. Shaking it off, she tried her cell and found that she had a faint signal, which got stronger as she headed towards the door. With hot chocolate and a lantern, Maggie stepped out onto the rickety porch, lowered herself into an ancient rocking chair, and called her oldest and closest friend.
“What the hell are you still doing out in bumble-fuck?” was Jenna Gavin’s, nee McAllister’s, idea of hello. Smiling, Maggie pushed off with her foot, and as she rocked and sipped, the two friends, nearly sisters, caught up. When Jenna hung up an hour later, Maggie felt a little homesick and a little nauseous that she hadn’t been entirely truthful with her friend. They’d never kept secrets from each other and this one was big with a capital B.
Only yesterday she’d told Aidan, honestly, that she was by nature a forthright person and here she was keeping secrets from Jenna of all people. She’d known being with Aidan would change her, but she had thought it would be for the better.
She sat out on the porch a little longer, melancholy settling over her shoulders. Maggie didn’t feel the wolf’s presence nearby and she was still hurt over Aidan’s casual dismissal of her and the passion they’d experienced. She wondered why she was still here, running through her meager savings. She had no reason to stay other than her wish to be near the wolf and her desire for Aidan, a man who didn’t trust her. Hot, angry tears spilled down her cheeks as Maggie muttered to herself, “Way to go Mags, first guy isn’t trustworthy and the second is incapable of trusting.”
She stomped into the cabin and started tossing things into her suitcase; the sensible thing would be to head straight to the airport first thing in the morning. As she stalked around the small cabin, packing her things and berating herself for being all kinds of a fool, she accidentally knocked her purse off the back of a chair and its contents spilled out. “Can’t I do anything right?”
Maggie knelt, stuffed the little bits of her life back into the bag, wondering why she carried so much junk in the first place, and bent all the way down to make sure nothing had rolled under any furniture. Sure enough, there was something in the shadows under the couch. She scooted over, reached her arm underneath and said a silent prayer that she didn’t encounter any mama spiders, or baby spiders for that matter, when her hand closed over something hard and smooth. She stared at it as it lay on her palm, the wolf figurine the Indian woman had given her. And the woman’s words, so strange at the time, trickled back through her mind.
Maggie got up from the floor, checked the locks, and climbed into bed with the stolen book and the wolf token. After a few chapters, Maggie felt herself getting dopey and she put out the light, snuggling down in the blanket, the moon casting shapes across the room. She heard a low howl echo through the forest as she slipped into slumber.
• • •
The wolf paced the forest. It wanted to go to her. It needed to be near her. But Aidan exerted his will over the beast’s and refused it. She’d betrayed them both; portrayed the wolf as a monstrous, vicious beast that should be feared. People would come now; fanciful people would be filling the woods with strange scents and sounds, careless people would litter and damage the beauty they were unaware was all around them, and some would come to hunt. Him.
Her scent and the sound of her voice filled the wolf’s mind, and memories of the morning they’d shared flooded Aidan’s. The wolf shared the memory of the lovemaking. He remembered how he’d lain with her after, the sensation of her petite, curvy body sleeping along
side his. The wolf’s need, his desire to protect his mate, was overwhelming. Aidan felt his control slipping, knew the wolf would fly to the cabin to be near her. He felt ashamed and weak for wanting it, too. She’d trusted him, with her history, with her body. He felt her heart beat under his lips. She took him and then surrendered to him. She was his.
The wolf flew through the woods as both man and beast thought as one, “She is mine.” When he could see the moon shining down on the tiny cabin, he slowed. The lights were all off. The cabin was still. He ambled down the hill and across the stream onto Black land, carefully approaching the cabin. He popped up on his hind legs to gaze into the window where he saw her bags half packed. Both man and wolf bled. She was leaving.
He drifted towards his own lands, slowly, and when he stood in the little clearing where he had first seen her, the wolf loosed a mournful howl.
Chapter Ten
When dawn broke, Aidan strode into his bedroom and instantly wished he could live in the woods indefinitely as her scent washed over him. He could tell she’d washed the sheets and made his bed for him, but she’d left her scent all over his room and he imagined in every room of his house. He’d be haunted by her enough without the sensory overload. When he’d stripped and entered the bathroom he saw the message on the mirror and smiled despite himself. He left it there while he showered. It was still there an hour later when he left for the stables. He intended to put Jez through her paces today.
He passed Sly as the old man led a young mare to the paddock, nodding to acknowledge the chipper “Mornin’, boss” that was thrown his way. He sensed her presence in the stable as soon as he entered and just a second before her scent reached him. She was talking quietly to Jezebel, who was eating grain directly from her palm. He stared at her a moment, unsure if he was simply imagining her there or if she really existed. His voice was quiet but it carried as he said, “You’re here.”
