by K. de Long
Shirtless, he was a treat. Every time she’d seen him before, he’d been aware of her perusal. She’d never been able to simply look without it being colored by whatever they were embroiled in.
But now, she could stare her fill. She could watch the beads of sweat trickle down his body, and how they danced in the light. She could admire the gleam in his eyes as he concentrated, without having that intense stare directed at her. She could admire his brutality and violence without feeling the need to defend herself.
Marrock was a piece of art. If only that same beauty that was evident in every tanned inch of his body was inside him, too.
She sighed.
Several of the members ringing the combatants cast glances at her, and their whispers drew Marrock’s attention. His opponent seized his moment of distraction, when his eyes flicked toward her, and landed a nasty punch right across his jaw.
Marrock didn’t seem fazed. As though on reflex, he sent the man to the ground with one of his own. The man didn’t get up.
Tessa swallowed hard. Here we go.
He strode over to her. She didn’t know what to make of what she saw in his eyes. He wasn’t unhappy to see her...but he wasn’t exactly thrilled either. There was a little crinkle to the edge of his eyes that might be pity or might be warmth.
Just once, she wished he could be as easy to understand as his packmates. The group he’d left behind were sneaking glances at her while trying to avoid looking like they were, and she could read their apprehension as though it were scrawled on their foreheads.
“Warm up, and we’ll find you a partner,” Marrock said.
That was it. But from him, it might have been a hello hug. He gripped her arm, and turned away. His palm lingered just a second too long for politeness. Just long enough for it to become almost a tug, steering her toward his friends.
She pulled her arm away from him, stretching it across her chest and bracing her other arm to lever it farther. It would disguise the goosebumps that had risen on her arms at his touch. The feeling of her muscles screaming and protesting at being stretched would help, too, driving the thought of his calloused fingers against her skin away.
Marrock stood near Tessa while she stretched, performing the introductions in a low voice, so as not to disturb the people currently sparring.
“That’s Eve.” He nodded toward a buxom blonde woman wrapping fabric around her bruised knuckles. “Hagen.” A broadsword of a man taller even than Marrock. “And Titus.”
She sat on the ground, stretching her hamstrings, and her shoulders. She couldn’t resist stealing glances at him from under her eyelashes. It wasn’t lost on her that he was doing the same, even as he chatted with the man next to him.
She moved to stand, and Marrock put out his hand for her. She accepted it, and he drew her close as she stood.
“I’m glad you came,” he whispered.
She blinked. Had she heard that right? The big guy, Hagen, gave her a questioning look. She’d bet a chit that he knew something about her. That meant he was close with Marrock. A friend, from the looks they traded.
As difficult as Marrock was to get along with, she had a hard time imagining him just fucking around with the guys over a bottle of booze. She took in Hagen slowly, until he caught her curious look and raised a shaggy eyebrow.
“Eve, Tessa, you’re up,” Marrock called, clapping her shoulder. The motion was ever-so-slightly possessive—maybe he thought she was eyeing Hagen for a completely different reason.
She stepped into the center of the ring, feeling at home for the first time in days.
Eve stepped into the ring, eyes gentle, lips smiling. There was a softness to her that Tess hadn’t seen from anyone else in the Nefari pack. Her blonde hair fell in careless waves past her shoulders, where Tessa’s was pulled back and braided tightly.
“Loser buys the winner dinner,” she said, her voice still friendly. She winked, then put out her hand out to tap hands to signal the start of the sparring match.
Their palms slapped together, then they pulled back and began circling one another. A giddiness swirled through Tessa. She dipped, lunged forward, and took Eve down. Eve rolled through it and grinned.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” she said playfully.
Tessa nodded. This was going to be the beginning of a great friendship.
Tessa was a strong fighter. She might not look it, unless he was watching closely, but the power was there. And there was some catharsis to him watching her take Eve down. Despite being smaller, and having had a break from her training in the chaos surrounding their alliance, she had a ferocity to her that intrigued him. At least, it intrigued him now that he wasn’t bearing the brunt of it.
Her performance during the ambush in the woods hadn’t been a fluke. She took on three more people before her tawny skin began glistening with sweat. He was hardly aware of the minutes flying by as he watched her graceful dodges and lightning-fast attacks. No, though his eyes might have been on the violence and movement, he was really watching her. The flicker of concentration in her eyes, her clenched jaw, the light catching in her hair as her braid whipped away from her head.
He hoped she’d come again. She was a wildwoman never intended for domestication. It seemed all but ludicrous that she’d returned to his house, over and over again, like a hawk returning to its handler. It seemed beneath her.
Watching her fight, his worries and insecurities fell to the side. He looked at her, and saw someone he truly thought he could love, at least if she didn’t tear his throat out.
The others were breaking up for the day, but he still had some energy.
“You want a turn?” he asked her. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of hitting her, but he’d noticed how eager her eyes had been when he first noticed her. She owed him some pain, and he was happy to let her collect, if it would help them put it behind them. Better to have her land a few blows while sparring than have her lose her temper on the street.
“Sure,” she said.
She sank into a fighter’s stance, knees bent, body angled to the side, weight on her toes. He grinned and put up his hands between them. He’d be ready when she made her move.
She threw her first punch, and he caught her fist in his, deflecting it to the side. Her second came almost before he’d recovered. Perhaps it was something in the thin Kumori air she’d talked about that made them so fast, as though they were floating. He blocked the second strike, but couldn’t make himself happy at how difficult the fight was already.
She wasn’t holding back. He’d felt the force in the blows; they weren’t sparring love-taps or placeholders. He turned subtly, putting the sun at his back, and she blinked, her eyes watering. He seized the opportunity, aiming a blow of his own. She ducked under it and punched while he was still swinging, knocking the wind out of him.
“Good one,” he gasped in a halting rasp.
The other groups had disbanded, several members edging closer to watch their confrontation. She cast them a nervous glance, but otherwise ignored that they had an audience. He liked that, liked that she didn’t seem concerned about whether she’d lose face if she lost. Well, when she lost. He had no doubt that if he wanted to finish the fight, all he had to do was use his weight against her, pound for pound.
She jabbed her left fist in his face, but he could tell from the way she braced her body that it was a feint, nothing more. He let the blow glance off his chin, even as his fist collided with her stomach. The air whooshed out of her and tickled his face.
She cocked her head and shrugged, but no sound left her. He liked that. She was disciplined. It wasn’t just that she knew how to fight, in theory or with a bow...it was that she could stick to it even through the pain and the risk of defeat.
She was his equal, on and off the battlefield. As much as he hated how she’d tested him, it had only confirmed that she was someone to be respected. Someone he could understand.
His wolf growled. He wanted to get in her
face, get close. Wrestle her down and feel that muscular body pressed against his. Feel her wrap her legs around him as she struggled to get a blow in for herself. And then kiss her until she lost the will to try.
What the hell was wrong with him? How many times did he have to tell himself that she wasn’t his? Not that way. Not because they’d hunted together, and definitely not because he’d kissed her, held her close.
He was getting distracted. He retrained his eyes on her and solidified his defensive stance, but it was too late. Tessa’s kick landed midway up his thigh, making the muscle spasm and knocking him to the floor. She knelt on top of him, pinning his arms down with her hands in his.
Her body pressed against him. She was straddling him, her breasts pressed against his chest. Her hands held his down, preventing him from pushing her away or rolling on top of her.
And her lips were at his throat with the promise of a predator’s bite. If she’d had absinthe anytime in the past day, she’d have fangs pushing into his neck.
Defeat. Pleasure and pain, and lust, and acceptance. He couldn’t face any of it.
He bit her shoulder, hard, and when her muscles tensed, he jerked his hand free of her grip. He swept her to the side, rolling her onto her back. The advantage was his now. He’d pinned her, her body laid out before him like a butterfly on a card. He wanted to reach between her legs, cup her sex, feel her heat searing his palm, before he—
“Ahem,” Hagen said behind him. “Someone’s gotta say uncle before this gets obscene.”
Dry laughs sprang up around them, and Tessa’s face reddened. He swept her hair off her cheek, and released her, sinking his weight back onto his knees and calves. She crawled away from him before standing.
“Good practice, everybody,” he said, to hide his anger.
He didn’t know who he was more mad at: himself, or Hagen. If the man hadn’t interrupted, he might even now be—
No. Not a chance in hell. He had to put that right the fuck out of his head. This fucking minute.
Marrock walked Tessa home. Her body ached from sparring so long, but she wouldn’t have traded the aches for anything. For the first time in a long time, she and her wolf were both at peace. She’d fought and honed her skills. She’d traded blows with new opponents and proved she was someone to be respected. All of that without arousing Marrock’s ire.
Other parts of him, certainly. She’d all but ground into him when his cock flexed against her thigh as he held her down. If he’d transformed recently, if his senses were heightened, he’d have for sure smelled her arousal, and he’d never let her live it down.
Her heart raced at the thought of her hands in his, his lips at her throat, her body arcing off the floor to bring her closer to him, to—
Damnit. She didn’t understand why Marrock had that effect on her. How a single afternoon trading blows with him paled compared to the last five seconds of it, with her heels catching against the back of his thighs, and the look in his eyes that said he was only seconds away from stripping her bare and sinking into her.
Would it really be so bad to give this mate thing a go of it? They were plainly attracted to each other...couldn’t keep their hands off each other, really. Maybe if they just...talked...set new boundaries...
She flashed a glance at Marrock. His face was expressionless, cold. Had she misread the spark in his gaze? Was he actually interested in her as more than a trophy?
Her resolve waxed and waned. When she’d set out to the training field, she’d been determined to flatten all of their ups and downs into a carefully level plane. But the moment his eyes had caught hers, her inner wolf had ripped that resolve to shreds and then peed on its remains.
No. He’d ripped it to shreds. Her wolf might have been the one tearing into her notions of a safe and platonic distance, but her wolf was a docile puppy except where he was concerned. Even with her own beast growling his name, it was easier to think that he’d torn her resolve to shreds, marked it as his, claiming her soul like another piece of territory.
Her lips tightened as she bit the question back. Did he want her? Or was he merely pent up, toeing the line to let the public scrutiny settle before he returned to another lover’s arms?
The thought stung. Her wolf growled, ready to tear into him just at the thought of another woman’s legs wrapped around his waist or her lips around his...
Fuck. In her mind’s eye, that other woman had Mara’s eyes. She had no clue where that had come from. Probably because Marrock had said some in the pack had supported that union, and even she could see that Mara would be a good match for him. Still, she had to squash that thought before it took root. It wasn’t Mara he looked at as though he wanted to devour her.
She swallowed. She’d ask him. Ask if he wanted to renegotiate. Put their boundaries aside, and try to see if maybe it was possible for them to build a relationship together. A…a life.
They were at their door. He opened it for her, and she waited for him to follow her in. He didn’t. Her brow knotted.
“I’ve been—” she started, but his deep voice blocked hers out.
“Do you mind cooking?” he said at the same time. He didn’t stop to let her continue. He just kept talking, which had her second guessing herself anyway. “I have something to take care of, before I settle for the night.”
That was it? Ten minutes ago, she’d been on the ground, in his arms, exposed and vulnerable for him. Ten seconds ago she’d been bracing herself to talk about something deeply personal, deeply important.
And all he had on his mind was his next meal. She was a den mother, there for his convenience.
Nothing more. Never anything more. And it never would be.
Her stomach sank as she tried to resign herself to returning to her previous plan: ignoring the moments of attraction and holding her distance.
Her blood pounded in her veins. Her wolf wanted his throat, fickle beast. Not ten minutes ago, her wolf had been howling with glee at the look in his eyes.
Shut up, she told herself, willing herself to keep the frustration in.
“Is that it?” she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. She needed to see a sign—any sign—that he was looking for something deeper, too. Something she could cling to to make herself think he truly felt the way she did.
His face was blank, still. “Yeah? Why, did you have other plans?” His eyebrows pulled together. “What do you want from me?”
A home. A love. A life. A mate, not just in name. A companion.
She swallowed hard. “Nothing.” Damnit. He’d read her anger in her clipped tone. And she didn’t want to fight. She wanted to lick her wounds in peace.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping inside behind her.
“Nothing. You’ve got somewhere to be.” She turned away, rather than risk showing him more of her chaotic emotions than she already had.
“Tessa?” There was something of his wolf’s snarl in his voice, at having his answers denied. Shit was about to go downhill, and fast.
She stiffened, and took a deep breath. When she released it, she felt calmer. “Don’t worry about it.” Her voice was neutral, even pleasant.
He wasn’t buying it, though. He turned her to face him, frustration etched in the lines around his eyes. “Pet?”
The name was a cruel irony. “I fucking hate when you call me that, you know? It’s bad enough that everyone else thinks I’m your pet. That you do, too?”
“I don’t, Tess. It’s—it’s affectionate.”
“Right. A pet can’t cook. That’s what a servant’s for, though.”
“I just can’t win with you, can I?” he asked, glaring at her. “You aren’t actually mad—you just want someone to chew on.”
Was that what he thought? She bit her lip. He’d made her sound like a cranky child. She hated this. Hated every second of it. Why couldn’t things be like they were when they sparred? Why couldn’t he just treat her like he respected her any time other than when he’d just acted like an as
s?
No. Fuck no. There would be no relationship with Marrock. She’d been an idiot to let her wolf’s eagerness convince her there was even a chance they could be good for each other.
She spun and walked into the kitchen to start cooking dinner—for one.
He seized her arms and pulled her close. “Why the hell are you mad at me?”
He’d never get it. She dug her nails into his forearms to punish him for touching her. Her wolf was torn between snarling at him and inhaling that spicy, manly musk until it permeated every bit of her body and soul. Caught between the two impulses, she froze. His grip on her arms tightened, and he leaned down.
He feels it, too, she thought. If she didn’t stop him, he was going to kiss her. And how could she stop him, when it seemed so right breathing him in, waiting to taste him? How could she pry herself away, hold onto that anger and disappointment, until it had eroded every good thing she felt with him?
His lips found hers, hungry and forceful. Daring her to fight, to tell him no. Daring her to say she wasn’t his.
She knew the truth. Whether they acknowledged it or not, the words weren’t needed.
She was his. He’d claimed her. And she’d remain alone forever because of it. She wanted to cry—more importantly, she wanted to cry alone.
She jerked her arm free and slapped him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Marrock stared at her, first frozen, and then with temper flaring in his eyes. But he’d been the one who overstepped. Who confused her. Who ran hot-and-cold.
Slapping him was uncalled for, but it would ensure that he didn’t attempt to stick around, didn’t attempt to discover what was in her head. She’d take it to her grave, the way she felt about him, in all its complex, confusing glory. If he didn’t know, he couldn’t use it to hurt her. She had to hurt him first, to convince him to keep his distance.
“Get the fuck out,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. If she had to go for her knife, show him she meant business, she would.
She had to protect herself. She couldn’t let Marrock work his magic again. Couldn’t let him tempt her and tease her and kiss her. Couldn’t let him twist her about until she didn’t know left from right, let alone her own purpose.
