Hawke bursts into laughter beside me. Not only does he laugh uncontrollably, he squats down and slaps his knee as if he’s never heard a better joke in all his life. To complete my humiliation and annoyance, he hoots a little and stands up, as he wipes tears from his eyes. I’m that amusing to this man.
“Natalie, you should rest for a second, and I’ll explain everything.”
As if hearing some command, Hawke sobers and walks away, leaving Gavin and me alone. Gavin grabs my hand, ignoring my pitiful efforts to escape his touch. He pulls me to a large rock amid the tall grass of the forest. It’s about knee height.
He moves so fast that I’m still sputtering after he’s settled me down on the rock, then he hunkers down in front of me.
“Hi,” he says, gently.
“Hi,” I say back.
Why we’re greeting each other after all that’s happened, I don’t know, but it feels right when he does it. Feeling like the dog I mentally compared him to earlier, I tilt my head at him. This man is an enigma.
His hand reaches up to cradle my face. After all I’ve been through, I’m still tempted to lean into his touch.
He caused all this, I remind myself. I’m so easy it’s ridiculous.
His thumb moves to stroke across my upper cheek along the purple bruise, right below my right eye. I wince at the pain the simple contact ignites.
“This displeases me,” he rumbles.
I smack his hand away.
“Yeah, well I’m not too happy about it either.”
So much for gentle camaraderie. Truce officially over, caveman.
He growls, deep and low in his chest. I can see his chest vibrate with the sound. I know I flinch, and I hate myself for the fear, even as tears flood my eyes. I jump to my feet atop the rock to create distance, but he stands, putting us at eye level once again.
“How were you caught?” he asks.
“Why does it matter? It’s your fault.”
“I did no’ abduct you. Though I wish I had.”
“You have got to be kidding me. What is wrong with you?”
“I would rather risk your hate than have you go through a single minute with the deamhanan.”
“The real thing you should be asking yourself is why I was caught.”
“Do you seek my anger, little mate?”
“I was about to ask you the same!” I reply. But I hadn’t been planning on asking like that, all seductive and reproachful at the same time.
“Testy are we?”
“Yes, ‘we’ are.”
The man’s an annoying idiot. Why do I somewhat like him? Again, ridiculous. He reaches out, this time for my hand. I back out of his reach and rub my hand over my churning stomach.
He frowns down at my belly. It looms between us, not physically so much yet, but figuratively for sure. If not for the little one who caused the shocking plus sign on a pee stick, we wouldn’t be here like this right now.
“Come. We’ll assess your injuries and get you fed. Then we can worry about explanations.”
I don’t want to go with him, because I know what he’ll think if I do. He’ll think I’ve given in to his insanity, and that I’m willing to follow him in whatever crazy plan he has against the bloodsuckers. And I don’t want that. This baby may share his blood, but the little bundle is mine. I know a court would agree with me too. Mr. MacCrae would be thrown into an asylum, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about this mess.
“Come,” he repeats insistently.
Sheesh, is everything an order with this man? My legs tense to run, when he lifts his arm to reach out yet again.
His hand is wrapped around my wrist before my brain is able to comprehend the fact that he’s moved. He’s fast.
I notice he’s no longer frowning, but rather baring his teeth in vicious mockery of a smile.
“I would no’ if I were you. I’d catch you, and even if I did no’—you’d wish I had.”
How does he read my mind? My intentions?
I open my mouth to deny the insinuation I want to be caught by him and tug at my restrained wrist. He leans closer until his eyes are aligned with mine, and I can smell his minty fresh breath. It reminds me that I desperately want a toothbrush right now. The metallic taste of blood still lingers along my tongue.
“No, you may no’ want me, but if I doona catch you, they will. Neither of us wants that, do we?” he says, destroying my denial.
No, “we” don't. Infuriating man.
He pushes even closer and presses his forehead against mine. I hold my breath, worried that the slightest movement will set him off.
“Do we?” he repeats the question.
I don’t remember the answer. He shakes his head no against my forehead, and my head moves with the pressure of his.
“Guid girl.”
He’s praising me, but I don’t know what I’ve done to earn his approval. The tears are welling again, and no matter how pathetic it may be, I realize I’ve needed this. I need the contact, the comfort, and reassurance. I need someone else to be in control.
I’ve just been through the worst few nights of my life, and my normal support system of my family isn’t here to see me through. Even if they were, they wouldn’t be able to deal with this. To deal with the supernatural that somehow seems to exist, though I want to deny it does, I need someone well versed in it. I need the insane father of my baby.
I’m shuddering, as the adrenaline leaches from my system, leaving room for the panic and fear that I couldn’t express before.
He rubs his nose against mine in an approval that feels wolfish, like he’s nuzzling me.
The tears pour from my eyes, and I’m undone. I can’t believe this is happening! My world is falling apart all around me.
“Guid girl,” he says again “There’s a brave lass.”
He wants me to cry?
His hands clasp my hips, and I’m brought down from the rock as he steps backward. With my feet back on the ground, we’re no longer the same height. He wraps his arms around me and pulls my face into his chest, one hand cradling the back of my head. Ridiculous me burrows closer into the insane wolf man.
He strokes my hair and down my back, and the tears dry up. I could wilt right here and never get up again if he let go. He doesn’t.
He’s whispering words above my head in a language that sounds ancient. Is he speaking Gaelic? And what’s he saying? Maybe he’s praying to thank God for letting him have a crying woman to entrap. I realize that my hands are clenched in his shirt and force myself to release the tight grasp. His hand tightens at the back of my head and urges my head back.
“Food. Care. Rest. In that order.”
Another command?
His eyes narrow when I don’t assent, and his hand in my hair squeezes warningly.
“Fine,” I grumble.
I’d like to think that I’m a strong enough person that I’m not won over by something as simple as food. I’d like to think that, but the melt in my mouth pizza I’m munching on may prove me wrong.
“Mmmm.”
The entire pack stares at me as I down two slices of primo, supreme pizza, complete with stuffed crust. I don’t pay them any attention. All in total, there are fourteen members of the little band of wolves, Gavin included.
Gavin watches me with bemusement as I chow down, trying to anticipate my every need before I can think to ask. For instance, I’m wearing his leather bomber jacket in the late spring chill. It’s sweet, and I can appreciate sweet after the vampires. Connor, my newly appointed, personal bodyguard, is glaring lasers through each bite of pizza as I chew. He tenses every time I swallow, as if pizza is a choking hazard.
Connor takes his job way seriously. His hair is a military buzz cut, so short I’m not sure of the color. He’s big and burly, built like a soldier. I bet he hates his eyelashes. Long, thick, and dark—they’re every girl’s dream, and the only thing soft about the man.
He wasn’t soft when he insisted I drink a little vial of a
green liquid that smelled like grass earlier. I downed it like a shot though, when he said that I’d get my meal afterward. These people don’t want to kill me or my baby, of that I’m sure, so I trust them somewhat.
Hawke, who I would have preferred as my guard, but I’ve since learned is Gavin’s guard, is patrolling the perimeter. The rest of the pack eyes me with a mixture of apprehension, curiosity, and even outright anger.
Anger is emanating from one middle-aged woman in particular. There are so many of them that I can’t remember all of their names, but that woman’s name stood out. Athol. She keeps maneuvering in front of her husband, mate, or whatever they call it. The man is oblivious to her actions, staring with unmasked curiosity at Gavin and me. I, however, am not oblivious.
I don’t want your man, lady. I’ve got enough man on my plate as it is. If one could even call them men.
When I lick my fingers for excess sauce, there’s a gasp from the back.
“What is to be expected of a queen plucked from a pub whilst the king was lost to the devil’s brew?” Athol stage whispers to the woman who made the sound.
I’m too consumed in finishing my meal to fret about the undisguised disapproval. Gavin, however, is not. He sends a glare toward the woman, prompting her husband to grab her arm and shake her violently. I ignore it all, and lick off a pizza crust crumb I can feel against the corner of my lips.
Despite my hunger, I’m only able to eat two and a half slices of pizza before I close the takeout box. Connor breathes out a sigh of relief, happy that I didn’t have a near-death experience from a stray pepperoni.
I look to Gavin, content to let him call the shots for now. When we joined the pack at this little clearing, he already had a water bottle with an unopened toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, the pizza, and flavored water waiting for me. We must be close to a town or something for him to have gotten all of this.
I have to admit that the consideration has earned him some brownie points with me. Oh, brownies. I could make room for some brownies.
“Full?” Gavin asks.
“Yep.”
“Too full for some dessert?”
Oh, man. How am I supposed to resist this man when he comes bearing the most perfect gifts? My self-restraint only extends so far.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been too full for dessert.”
From behind his back he pulls out a bakery box. He opens it as I lean forward, dying to catch a glimpse of whatever treat waits inside. Connor also leans forward, worried the box contains small pieces.
Inside the box is one large, lovingly iced, cinnamon roll. It’s superlative. Icing drips from the roll, letting me know that it’s still warm, and cinnamon peeks out from each swirled layer of golden dough. I stop myself before I say what I’m thinking, “OMG, I could kiss you right now,” because I know he’d take me up on it, manipulative male that he is.
Before I can pounce, he pulls the box just out of reach, setting it down on the grass between us. He tears off a piece of roll, then blows on it, before holding it out to me. Anything for intimacy I guess. He has to know that as soon as I’ve had, “Food. Care. Rest. In that order,” I will be making my merry way back to my own life, regardless of how sweet this cinnamon roll might be. And as soon as I take the morsel from Gavin and place it between my lips, I discover that it is sweet. It’s decadent. The cinnamon sweetness lingers along my tongue. I chew slowly, trying not to let everyone’s attention bother me. Nothing should stand in the way of my enjoyment of this cinnamon roll. I’ve earned it, through pain, and fear, and suffering.
“Mind if I have a taste?” Gavin asks, leaning forward once again.
Oh, puh-lease! I’m beginning to suspect Gavin’s a bit of a “playa.” He might have more of the fictional pimp, Romeo, in him than I first believed. I wonder whatever did happen to that taxi driver . . .
“Have at it,” I respond easily, gesturing toward the box.
Two teenagers sitting near the back of the crowd burst into giggles. The girl’s name I remember as Piper, because I find the name and the girl adorable. Piper has strawberry blonde hair and bright green eyes. She’s fifteen or so, and it’s too cute how she and her boyfriend hold hands all the time. Her boyfriend is a tall, gangly mess of limbs with big brown eyes. His hair is a shaggy mop of sandy brown, and he has freckles dotting his nose and upper cheeks.
The two also seem to be the most welcoming toward my presence, besides Gavin and Hawke. Gavin smiles, and takes a bit of cinnamon roll for himself. He doesn’t seem the bothered by my attitude. If I’m reading him correctly, he’ll enjoy the chase. Wolves are hunters.
Listen to me! I can’t let myself think or refer to them as wolves. They’re people, very delusional people. They have to be, because nothing else makes sense.
“Where are you staying?” I ask.
There’s no way they’ve been sleeping out in the woods for however long they’ve been here. It’s been months since my liaison with Gavin.
“Once you’re done eating and have received proper care, we have some vehicles tae travel tae our hotel.”
Hotels are nothing close to permanent, and I know that Gavin wants permanent, and with all these people, hotels are far too expensive long term. If he thinks he’s dragging me to Scotland . . .
What does he mean received proper care? I wish he’d get on with the explanations. Nothing makes sense right now. I wonder if the truth could be any worse than what I’m imagining.
“Are we in a state park?”
“Forest preserve.”
That helps narrow down my location. If we’re anywhere near home, there are three distinct location possibilities.
Just south of Astoria, Oregon, there is Clatsop State Forest, and below that, Tillamook State Forest. Capitol State Forest lies north of my hometown, and farther out is Olympic National Forest, both of these putting us out of Oregon and into Washington—any farther than that and I have no idea where I am. Astoria is on the border of Washington, so it’s possible we’ve crossed state lines, though I doubt we’ve crossed all the way into Canada.
The cinnamon roll is so huge that I don’t even make much of a dent before my stomach cries out for mercy. After going so long without, my mind wants more than my stomach, but I know better than to push myself to the point of illness.
Gavin polishes off the rest of the cinnamon roll with ease. I bet it does take quite a lot of calories to keep up those muscles. Then he sets aside the box and motions to some guy whose name I can’t remember. He turns to the side enough that I can’t determine what he’s saying, but the man stands and motions to people in the crowd. They all disperse almost immediately, leaving Gavin and me alone with Connor.
“I have it from here, Connor,” Gavin says.
Connor bows his head and almost fades into the trees, never making a sound. They’re like ninjas, a hierarchy of ninjas.
“This is the care part, isn’t it?” I ask. I’m already dreading whatever care Gavin plans to administer. He’s been too secretive about his plans for me, and it makes me uncomfortable to not have possible witnesses to whatever is going to happen next.
It makes me even more nervous that Gavin appears so excited about this care. I can almost see us tangled in the sheets, playing above his head in some kind of cartoon, dream bubble memory.
I am not in the mood, lover boy.
“Come here, lass.”
Like a child, I scoot farther back from his reach, shaking my head in denial.
“Ach, lass, you should never fear your mate. I’ll always have your best interests at heart.”
Mental check—nope, still not comforted.
He stands and comes to sit right beside me, our knees touching, both of our backs resting against my large rock.
He strokes a finger along my neck.
“I need tae renew my bite. You’re vulnerable as it is.”
“Your bite? Oh! You mean the hickey?”
“You thought—you thought twas a hickey? No, tis nothing
as banal as that.” Then he mutters under his breath, “Mating a human is hard on the ego.”
“One . . . bite is more than enough, thank you. I’ve been wearing scarves for months as it is to cover it. There’s no need to reinforce it or anything,” I say.
“Aye, there is great need. My mark was no’ focused enough the first time tae seal fully. It has extinguished itself protecting you from the vampires.”
Mark? What had Akim called it? Brand.
“No,” I say.
Then I plant my hands into the grass to slide to the left so that I can see his face.
His beautiful amber eyes widen in shocked surprise. That I’m disagreeing with him? Or because I don’t want him to bite me?
“Tis necessary! My mark cements my claim and will permanently protect you from a vampire transformation.”
“The protection bit sounds good, but the claiming I can do without. Besides, that makes no sense. If everyone here bites his . . . ”
“Mate,” he supplies helpfully.
I bet Gavin was one of those annoying, “Ooh, ohh! Pick me! Pick me!” hand raisers when he was in school.
“ . . . wife. If everyone here bites their wives,” I interject. Mate is a word I’m not too fond of at present. “How does it ‘cement a claim?’ There’s got to be tons of bite marked women in your . . . ”
“Pack,” he says, once again providing an unwanted answer.
“ . . . group . . . ” I say, replacing the unfamiliar with the familiar and more comfortable. I think I’ll be doing a lot of that here.
“Each mark has a scent marker and specialized appearance, individual to the Were, and any paranormal being can recognize who placed the mark, solely by seeing it.”
Brand.
Gavin essentially wants to burn a “GM” for Gavin MacCrae, in a circle on my neck, as if I’m cattle. Aren’t wolves known for hunting and eating herd animals like cattle? I’m prey to him? Just like with the vampires. The only difference is in how they choose to use and display their trophies.
Die By Night Page 14
