Cipher

by Moira Rogers

  He believed it. The young coyote tended to think every human belonged to the strongest shapeshifter with a claim. “Who would she tattle to? Julio?”

  Kat actually laughed. “Hell, no. She wouldn’t go within ten feet of Julio if you paid her. She’d tell her dad, who would tell Alec, who would fly down here just to call us idiots to our faces.”

  Maybe he would have, once upon a time. But now he had the Conclave to deal with, a million problems more pressing than Andrew and Kat getting themselves offed on a fool’s errand. “She could always call Derek, I guess.”

  “I think I’ll keep her updated and happy.” Kat started to dial, then froze with her thumb hovering over the screen. “Unless you think she’s not safe in my apartment. They have to know where I live.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to get her out,” he admitted.

  “Okay. Shit.” Guilt laced the words. “Damn it, after everything she’s been through… I was supposed to give her somewhere safe to crash. This went so wrong, so fast.”

  Andrew could think of only one good option. “Send her to Anna.”

  Kat stiffened, enough to be telling. “Yeah, you’re right. Anna’s tough. She can take care of anyone who needs help.”

  Shit. “You said she wouldn’t go near Julio. What about Miguel?”

  “Anna,” Kat said, her voice careful and precise. “Sera needs a break from male shifters bossing her around. Anna makes sense, and my tender little feelings don’t get a vote.”

  “I’ll call her.” He reached for his phone without taking his eyes off the road. “Want to give Sera the heads-up, maybe get her out to the bar?”

  She made the call and laid out the situation for Sera in a calm, clear voice. Judging by the coyote’s reaction, Kat’s previous updates had glossed over all of the details involving danger and violence.

  The conversation lasted through Montgomery and another ten miles past, both sides clearly audible in the silence of the car.

  Kat hung up looking ragged around the edges. “Wow. Shapeshifters don’t like it when people shoot at their friends.”

  “That can’t be news, sweetheart.”

  “Maybe you’re throwing off the curve. You kept it together okay.”

  She never seemed to understand how hard he worked not to freak out at the slightest hint of danger to her. “Still a work in progress, but I figure you should have one alpha bastard in your life who doesn’t flip his shit every time you get a paper cut.”

  Kat swallowed and looked away from him. “You haven’t been in my life much lately. I kind of figured you weren’t comfortable there.”

  The bare truth, Callaghan. Too late for anything else. “I haven’t been comfortable much of anywhere lately.”

  “Is it the wolf stuff? I thought—I mean, when you joined the council with Julio and Alec, I thought you had a place.”

  “They made a place, Kat. There’s a difference.” An uncomfortable one.

  “I suppose there is. Prejudices don’t change overnight.” She sighed softly. “I remember, from when Derek was turned.”

  “Yeah, Derek’s smart.” He’d done what he had to for Nick and her family, and then he’d walked away.

  “Andrew?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want to be on the council?”

  Want had never much figured in to it. “I’m needed. Before Alec brought me on, I had no idea things were as fucked up as they are. I barely believed it.”

  “Does helping out at least make you happy?”

  He had to think about that for a moment. “Not happy, not exactly. Content.” Satisfied in a way he still didn’t entirely understand.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her staring at him. Studying him. “Instinct,” she offered after a moment. “Taking care of people. If I thought the shifters could help it, I never would have put up with it all these years. But it was something I could give them, something that made them feel content.”

  “I need it,” he confirmed. “I never understood that. Before, I mean.”

  She wet her lips, a gesture as nervous as her sudden quickened heartbeat. “You can take care of me, if it helps. I mean—if you want to.”

  Of all the things she’d never wanted, that was king. The ultimate cap on her own self-sufficiency. “I know how much it means to you to stand on your own, Kat. I get it.”

  “I wanted to stand on my own.” She hesitated, and her breathing sounded too loud, raspy and hoarse. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but he held out his hand. “You’re not alone.”

  “I know.” Her fingers trembled as she curled them around his.

  Part of him wished they were in New Orleans already, locked away in the confines of his home, safe and untouchable. The rest of him was glad for the drive and grateful for the tentative truce they’d reached.

  Chapter Seven

  Andrew stopped at her apartment long enough for her to pack some clothes and trade her netbook in for a more powerful laptop. Sera had already cleared out, but she’d left a plate of freshly baked cookies and a note with her work schedule for the next week.

  Kat tucked the folded paper into her jeans pocket and let Andrew wrestle her bags down the stairs. The drive to the new headquarters was short, and soon they parked beside the old building in the Warehouse District. It looked like it had once been a factory, and even the service-style elevator remained, though Kat had always taken the stairs.

  Andrew slid shut the metal grate behind them and pushed the button for the third floor. “I haven’t done much decorating at my place. I spend most of my time now traveling or fixing up the other units.”

  Decorating had never been her priority. Her apartment had been disorganized college-geek-chic at best before Sera, who did domestic, grown-up things like sew curtains and pick color schemes for the bathrooms and kitchen.

  Even her efforts at chaotic comfort seemed impressive compared to the stark emptiness of Andrew’s loft. A small kitchen sat to the left, separated from the rest of the room by bar counters. The closest thing to decoration was the fact that he had punching bags hanging from the ceiling. An open door showed an equally Spartan bedroom.

  Kat swallowed and glanced toward the television stand. Game consoles were stacked neatly, cords organized instead of tangled like they were at her apartment. “I guess if I can’t sleep, I can catch up on my gaming.” The lamest joke she’d ever made, but it helped cut the miserable sadness of imagining Andrew living every day in an empty, lonely loft.

  “Feel free.” He dropped her bags by the couch. “There should be stuff in the fridge.”

  He didn’t sound sure, and she didn’t want to look. It wasn’t like she could cook worth a damn anyway. “I’ve still got gas-station junk food. And the cookies Sera made.”

  “I can cook later, if you stick around. We could even go downstairs and make a family-style meal, hope Julio shows up. Right now…” He swayed. “I think I should take a nap.”

  As far as she knew, he hadn’t slept much in forty-eight hours. Not impossible for a shapeshifter—but not comfortable, either. “Get some rest. I need to catch up on my mail anyway.”

  He kicked off his shoes. After a moment, he pulled off his shirt, as well. “Can you stay close? I think it might be the only way I can sleep.”

  Her heart ached so much that not even miles of naked skin could stir lust in her. Just sadness, and protective anger simmering at a low boil. People had known. Alec, Julio—they’d known that Andrew was living some empty shadow of a life, and they’d left him to stew in it for God only knew what reason.

  He was so tired, and she could help him. She eased off her shoes, then her sweatshirt, stripping down to the sweatpants and tank top she’d purchased in Huntsville. “Can I lie down with you?”

  Something flashed in his eyes, something almost like gratitude. “Will you?”

  It wasn’t just a random hotel bed this time. It was Andrew’s bed. A place where he slept, wh
ere his scent would curl around her. She didn’t always understand shapeshifters and their instincts, but she’d never met one who issued an invitation to their bed lightly.

  Most of her half-formed sexual fantasies had started with Andrew’s bed. Innocent ones from years ago, when he’d been human and she’d been virginal and basing her knowledge entirely on fiction and dubious web searches. Then the darker ones, fueled by anger and bitter longing and the desperate need to be the one thing Andrew wanted more than perfect control.

  So many fantasies, and none of them eclipsed this moment, with him looking at her like she held the secret to peace in her hands. He was showing his weakness to her, and it melted her heart.

  She didn’t need to sleep. She probably couldn’t, not after dozing most of the way back to New Orleans—and it didn’t matter a bit. “Let’s take a nap.”

  Once in the bedroom, he didn’t pull back the covers, just crawled on top of them and held out his arms. Kat went to him. She couldn’t have stopped herself, and it wasn’t until she’d settled against his chest that she worried about her empathy and the feedback and the miserable way her body heated at the slightest touch.

  It hadn’t faded, which scared her, but it wasn’t as bad this time, which made it easy to rationalize. They’d both been excited before. Years of wanting and not having had pushed them over the edge, no imprinting necessary. Now he was tired, and she felt more protective than sexy. Without the echo of his desire feeding into hers, she could enjoy the comfort of just being held.

  They’d be okay. She believed it.

  Liar.

  He stroked his hand down her arm. “Relax.”

  Closing her eyes helped, so did taking a deep breath. Pushing away worry, Kat focused on the present. On the things she could control. On him. “We’re kind of cuddling.”

  “Kind of.” His voice had already slowed, begun to slur. “It’s nice. I’ve missed stuff like this.”

  So had she. Andrew’s breathing evened out, and Kat let herself ease into the pleasure of being in his arms. It felt foreign. New, even though it shouldn’t have been. Once upon a time they’d had casual touches and moments full of maybes.

  They’d had her twenty-fourth birthday, when she’d gotten tipsy on tequila and he’d never commented on the fact that she’d landed a drunken kiss or two on his jaw before he managed to pour her into bed.

  Five days later the world had ended. He’d almost died, and she’d killed two men, and all of those maybes had turned to dust.

  Starting over felt like traversing a minefield. Every time they took a step forward, something blew up in their faces. Misunderstandings. Assumptions made in anger and left to fester over fourteen months. Andrew’s time with Anna, her relationship with Miguel.

  She’d brought trouble down on herself. On both of them, maybe, and the irony of it was that trouble might be the only thing that could keep them stepping forward long enough to get to the other side of their respective pasts.

  Of course, to do that, they’d have to stay alive. Metaphorical minefields seemed a lot less terrifying when people started trying to kill you for real.

  Andrew woke in a dream, with Kat draped over him, her head on his chest and her hips snug against his.

  He didn’t think. He didn’t want to think. He wanted to roll her underneath him and kiss her, so he did, sliding his fingers into her hair to hold her still. Her lips parted on a sleepy murmur that turned to a moan as borrowed heat zipped up his spine. Her pleasure, vast and needy and wrapping around him until he had to admit it, even though he didn’t want to.

  This wasn’t a dream.

  Next on the agenda was figuring out if he cared. Andrew nipped at Kat’s chin and groaned. “You want me to stop, tell me now.”

  She was breathing fast already, gasping little breaths as her fingers opened and closed on the covers. “I don’t want to stop, but I’m afraid I’ll ruin it again.”

  “Make me come again, you mean?” Maybe, if he said it like that, she’d realize how ridiculous it was to worry.

  Color flooded her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. “My experience is limited, but most of it has led me to believe that guys don’t like coming in their pants.”

  “It’s not the most convenient thing in the world.” He kissed her closed eyelids. “Wouldn’t call it ruining anything, though, not by a long shot.”

  “Oh.” Her hands found his shoulders, tentative and shy. “Everything is all tangled up. I’ve wanted you for so long, before I even knew what I wanted.”

  He had his own tangles, ones that twisted tighter at her words. “Don’t think so hard for once, Kat, and neither will I.”

  “Even if it means crazy orgasms in under five minutes and you having to take a shower?”

  His lips grazed hers. “Even then.”

  She kissed him, hard and fast, clumsy with speed, like she was trying to squeeze in every touch she could before her hunger swallowed them both.

  And it would. Already, he trembled on the edge of control. She was in his bed, her scent entwined with his, and it sparked to life the banked hunger that lurked inside him.

  So he licked her lips and sighed. “Open.”

  She made a quiet, aroused sound and obeyed. He took his time fitting his mouth to hers, letting every sensation shoot through him. She’d feel it, and maybe she’d know how much he needed her.

  There was nothing slow about her response. He felt her thrill at the stroke of his tongue, felt hot need twist when she shifted her hips and he settled more firmly between her thighs.

  Kat tore her mouth from his with a gasp. “Andrew, it’s too much. I’m projecting—what if I hurt you?”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes fluttered open, glazed and uncertain. “Promise me you won’t let me.”

  So hesitant, so terrified, and it was all because of him. “You won’t hurt me. I promise.”

  “All right.” She touched him then, slid her fingertips along his jaw and smiled. “I like your beard.”

  “Yeah?” He tilted his head and closed his eyes to focus on her gentle caress.

  “Mmm. If you were an action hero, you’d have to shave it off in a dramatic moment of renewed dedication.” Her lips brushed his cheek. “There might even be a montage.”

  So carefully slow. “What if I want to keep it? Can it be a training montage instead?”

  A tiny hitch in her breathing, and that control wavered. “I don’t think I should watch. You getting all sweaty and badass sounds a little pornographic.”

  “Really?” He teased her with a quick nip of teeth on her earlobe. “That’s hot?”

  “B-blame biology. Human evolution.” The words trembled, and she arched her hips, rubbing up against him with a soft moan. “I can’t hold it together much longer.”

  Neither could he. Andrew gripped her thigh and ground against her, a low growl vibrating free before he could stop it. “Relax, baby.”

  “Oh—oh, oh God.” Pleasure returned, twisting tighter with every desperate rock. Kat’s fingers clutched his hair, guiding his mouth to her throat as she arched her head back.

  Biting her would send them both spinning, but he had to. He had to. He closed his teeth on the delicate, pale skin at the base of her throat.

  She cried out. Not just with physical enjoyment, though that thrummed through him strong enough to shiver pleasure up his spine. In that moment, underneath sensation, he caught a hint of her, open and vulnerable and so relieved to be wanted.

  So relieved to be his.

  It tripped instincts he’d fought so hard to wrestle under control. Possessive, protective ones that demanded he close his arms around her, keep her safe from everything, including herself. “Kat.”

  She came with a gasp, all of her frozen for one breathless moment when she stretched taut beneath him. Then her empathy slammed into him, bringing with it the blinding echoes of her release.

  It was easier this time to lock it down, to ride
the waves of her pleasure without letting them sweep him away. He distracted himself by stroking her hair, pressing his mouth to her cheek, her ear. “Beautiful.”

  “Andrew…” Just a whisper, husky and low. “I think I’m floating.”

  Purely masculine satisfaction offset his own physical tension. “Good. That’s how it should be.”

  “But you’re not—” She blushed. “Was it not so bad this time?”

  When she looked at him like that, nervous and shy, it was as if the last year never happened. The trauma and hurt feelings melted away, leaving it easy to smile. “It was good.”

  The sweet innocence vanished as she wet her lips and rubbed her foot against the back of his calf. “Are you going to take care of things on your own, then?”

  She wanted him to, and she wanted to watch. Arousal spiked again, his blood roaring in his ears. “You’d like that, huh?”

  “Maybe.” Her toes crept higher, and she was stroking his arm now too, fingers drawing tiny circles on his skin. “Maybe if we’ve both taken the edge off, we can work our way back around to the kissing. It’s backwards…”

  “No such thing.” He rolled to his back, bringing her on top of him. “You want me to come?”

  The uneven tips of her hair tickled his cheek as she nuzzled her nose against his ear. “Yes.”

  Control. She needed it, and she needed him to have it—up to a point. He raised his arms and folded them under his head. “Make me.”

  Kat lifted her body slowly and ended up straddling Andrew’s thighs. Her perch afforded her the perfect view of his chest and arms. All jokes about training montages aside, he was doing something to look like he’d been chiseled out of the side of a mountain.

  Ten months of private lessons with Zola might have slimmed some of the extra padding off her hips, but Kat was still soft. Soft all over, but Andrew didn’t seem to mind, and she couldn’t feel self-conscious with him watching her like the slightest move could strip away what was left of his self-control.

  He didn’t touch her, but he spoke. “You’re gorgeous.”