One True Mate 3: Shifter's Echo

by Lisa Ladew

  He watched her closely, reading her every move. The pink of her tongue dipped out to wet her lips as her eyes raked over his face, then his chest. Her hand lowered to touch him above his right pectoral and he couldn’t help but groan as the sensation shot to his throbbing cock.

  When he groaned, she made a tiny noise and her eyelids lowered, then her hands went to her throat. He tracked them as they caressed the hollow between her collarbones, then dropped to her barely visible cleavage behind the open zipper of her jacket and under the sensible neckline of her shirt.

  Did she want to aggress? Or be aggressed upon? Once the first move was made, he knew his part and would play it to perfection, but if he screwed up this portion of the dance, she might not give him another chance.

  Female shiften were strong beings in their own right, loving to test the males of the species. They always had the advantage emotionally and intellectually, so most preferred a male to physically dominate them in shows of sexual aggression in order to prove their worth as a potential mate. But all females differed in how soon they wanted the domination to start and how far out of the bedroom it could be carried. He would learn this female’s preferences as if his life depended on it. Her name was less important than what she wanted from him. For now.

  She turned her face up to his and her lips parted again, her big eyes eating up her face. The heat in her gaze was all he needed. He threaded his right hand into her hair and his left hand around her waist and moved in slowly. He saw fear and indecision in her expression but only for a moment, then whatever was passing between them took over. He tugged on her jacket, slipping it off her arms and letting it fall to the floor, then sliding his hand around her waist again as her fingers floated up to his shoulders.

  As the distance between them closed, he pulled lightly on her hair and whispered, “You are the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen.” Her eyes slipped closed and he felt her return his desire. Their lips met. She opened for him immediately, meeting his kiss hesitantly at first, then stronger, as her hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer to her.

  She tasted sweet and for just a moment he forgot where he was. Forgot everything. Only she existed. Only that moment. Only their exploration of each other. He pulled every inch of her body to his, pressing his erection against her stomach, but paying it no mind. This moment was about their kiss and the heat building between them. Heat he could scarcely handle. It rocketed up from inside him, creating a frenzied need to touch more of her. He hooked his fingers under her shirt and caressed her back, alternating between light, barely-there butterfly touches and deep presses. She moaned into his mouth and slung her hands around his neck, directing him, urging him on.

  Crew broke the kiss. “I have to know your name,” he rasped. “Tell me.”

  “Dahlia Woodridge,” she said opening her eyes for just a second, then standing on tiptoe to pull him back down to her.

  Dahlia. Dahlia. Mine. Mine. Now he just had to show her that she was his and he hers. Something about the name pushed at him but he dismissed it, not wanting to think, only wanting to feel, to take, to command, to give, to provide, and to protect. His body shuddered at the need growing inside him.

  A male got too close to them and Crew pulled back from her, eyes narrowing as the male addressed Dahlia and raised his hand to touch her shoulder. “So, love, you found what you were looking for, then? Any chance you’d be interested in doubles?”

  Crew lost himself, instinct taking over his body. He began to shift, putting Dahlia behind him, a killing snarl erupting from him. Before he completely lost himself to his animal, he caught the male’s hand and squeezed it, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone and tendon. “Touch her and die,” he growled, pushing the male backwards, barely holding on to his human form.

  Chapter 9

  “No!” Dahlia cried, pulling at the sleeve of the man who had made her lose her mind with his kisses. His eyes turned an angry yellow and his canine teeth grew long in his mouth, making Dahlia back away from him, her hands clutching at her throat.

  Werewolf. Not man. Just how dangerous was he? And was he dangerous to her? He seemed to grow in front of her eyes, taller, bigger. Fury and power leaked out of him. She didn’t even know his name to call it. Why hadn’t she asked?

  So scared she was almost shaking, she decided to try one more time, and if he didn’t calm, she was going to get the hell away. And go where?

  She reached out, trying to think of what to say. She touched his hand and, like a bubble popping, he relaxed slightly, then looked at her, his eyes the warm amber she remembered from before. He grabbed her hand, gave her a look of concern, then shot his gaze back to the interloper, who was backing away.

  “Let him go,” she said, running her fingers up the werewolf’s wrist. “He’s just stupid, that’s all.”

  “Yes, stupid,” her werewolf agreed, watching the other male go with his eyes narrowed. His canines were normal length again.

  She looked around. “Is there… somewhere we can go?” She wanted more of him, werewolf or not.

  He squeezed her hand and looked down at her. “Go? You want to leave?”

  She caught her breath, her body throbbing with want for him. Leave? He had a home somewhere. She couldn’t quite handle the thought of being alone with him yet, no matter how much her body said that was just what she needed. She scanned the crowd. Not that there was anyone here to help her if he turned on her. He wouldn’t do that! She shook her head. What she knew about him wouldn’t fill an acorn cap, but on some deep level she did know he wouldn’t hurt her. She’d always liked powerful men, but this one was scary powerful.

  “No,” she breathed. “Not yet,” she added quickly as his gaze darkened. “Is there somewhere quieter?”

  He held her hand to his lips, his intense gaze boring into her. “Yeah, there is, forgive me for not taking you there already,” he murmured and her heart turned over. She was falling for him. And she still didn’t know his name.

  He picked her coat up from the floor and began walking fast, pulling her to the very back of the room, behind the dance floor, past the tables of food, to the left to check her coat. She stared at the food as they waited for the slip and her stomach gurgled loudly. He noticed her looking. “You’re hungry?”

  She nodded.

  He didn’t respond, but went to a table and gathered up a plate, napkin, and silverware. He stopped at each dish and looked at her questioningly. He was going to serve her. She nodded at the beef glazed with something that smelled sweet, then at the coleslaw and the fries, but shook her head at everything else. He picked through the drinks, showing them to her: Coca-Cola, Pepsi, Sprite, then something called Dragon’s Best Sparkling Tea, in an aluminum can with a swirly label like the sodas. She nodded at the tea and asked for a water, too, just in case she didn’t like the tea, wondering if there was anything in this world that could hurt her.

  No sense worrying since there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

  Plate and drinks in his hand, he put out his elbow and waited for her to hook her arm through. She did, almost shyly, embarrassed at what she had to ask him.

  She stood on tiptoe to be closer to his ear, not wanting to shout over the music. “Ah, what’s your name?” A hot blush stained her cheeks. She’d practically climbed him like a tree just a few moments ago, and now she had to ask him his name. Something about the heat between them made it hard for her to think.

  “Crew,” he told her, with a smile that made her heart stop. Crew. An unusual name and one that made her frown as he began walking again. Why did it make her heart speed up and the back of her neck feel clammy? He picked his way through the crowd, then entered a doorway she hadn’t seen. Inside, the light was low, but there were no flashing disco balls and the music from outside was muted to a comfortable level. Tables and chairs lined the left side of the room and couches lined the right. They had it to themselves, except for one young couple sitting on the first couch, their heads together as th
ey whispered and giggled, not even looking up as Crew and Dahlia entered.

  Crew led her to the very back table and put her food down. He pulled out the chair for her and she sat, the entire scenario feeling surreal. But her stomach didn’t care. It wanted food.

  She waited until he sat across from her to pick up her fork. He watched her intently, making her squirm.

  “You aren’t, ah, hungry?” she asked.

  “Not for food.” His voice was low, raspy, sexy as hell.

  Oh man, what could she say to that? She fiddled with her fork for a moment, then put it down, popped the top on her tea, and took a small sip. Yum. A mild green tea with a sweetness she hadn’t expected and a slight carbonation. She drank it down quickly, forgetting the eyes on her for just a second.

  When she finished it, Crew watched her hand drop the empty can to the table. “I want to get you another one, but I don’t want to leave you here alone,” he said, looking around as if men were waiting in the wings to accost her.

  She watched him, wondering that he seemed to care so much about what she liked and wanted. “I can drink the water.”

  He frowned, as if that wasn’t good enough, but nodded slightly. She dug into her food, and it was good enough that she almost didn’t start obsessing about what she had just done. How fast she had moved with a man─werewolf!─she had just met. Almost.

  She tried to slow her thoughts, knowing if she focused too much on everything that had happened that night she might lose it. Just freak out at how crazy the night had been. How much should not have been possible, but somehow was.

  “Where are you from, Dahlia?” he asked, his voice still heavy from their kisses.

  She shuddered when he said her name, even as fright crept into her thoughts. What was she going to tell him? Instead of telling him anything, she asked her own question. “You called me ‘doll’ earlier. Why?” Because you call all women that before you know their name?

  He frowned as if he was thinking about it and a vertical line appeared between his eyebrows. “I’m not sure.” He canted his head to the right and gazed at her from his peripheral vision. “Unless… my mom used to collect dolls. Her favorite was a Burgundian Victoria that my dad gave me to remember her by after she died. The doll looks a lot like you. The same lush brown hair and the large, gorgeous eyes. Maybe I was thinking of it. I’ll have to show─” He broke off, then looked away.

  Dahlia’s mouth fell open. Was he for real? Watch yourself, Dahl, he’s too good to be true. But she didn’t believe that. He was good, and he was true. She’d felt it.

  His silence felt heavy and weighted. She wanted to break it. “My mom used to call me Dahl, but short for my name.” She exaggerated the drawled A sound. “My friend Fern calls me Doll, like the doll your mom had.”

  He looked back at her and gave her that smile again. The one she felt all the way to her toes. “I like both,” he said. “Your name is beautiful.”

  Dahlia looked down at her food and snatched up a French fry. See? They knew each others’ names now, and were sharing pleasantries like normal people. He hadn’t completely turned her into some sex-crazed lunatic.

  But now that her thirst was slaked and her hunger partially dealt with, why was getting her lips back on his all she could think about?

  ***

  Crew watched Dahlia eat, an unfamiliar smile on his face. The longer he watched her, the calmer he felt, like maybe life would slow down and was going to treat him right for once. Her scent swirled around him, heady and soothing, making him take long breaths through his nose. He wanted her right up next to him, on his lap maybe, but he also wanted her to eat. Somehow, he held himself back until she had finished everything on her plate.

  When she was done, he policed her dishes, then held out his hand to her. She took it, her eyes guileless, but scared. He pulled her to her feet and positioned her close to him, whispering in her ear. “Don’t be scared of me, doll─Dahlia, I’ll never hurt you, I swear it.”

  Her fingers clutched at his chest and she nodded, her hair bouncing around his face. He took some in his hand and smelled it, his eyes rolling back in his head, his muscles relaxing, his mind unraveling. Heaven.

  A couple entered the room and he lifted his head to watch them. They took a seat next to the other couple near the doors. Crew turned to the couch farthest away from them, at the very back of the wall. His cock had wilted only slightly, but it jerked as he thought about kissing her again, running his fingers through her hair, caressing her skin. He wouldn’t do any more than that, though. Not here. He growled low in his throat at the thought of anyone other than him seeing her bare skin, her breasts, the scoop of her stomach. No. He would take her alone or not at all.

  She pulled back from him and looked around, then at his face. “Crew?”

  “Sorry, doll. It’s nothing.”

  She smiled at the endearment and he drew her to the couch, then sat, pulling her, wanting her on his lap. She sat sideways, leaning her torso against him, waiting for his next move. Good girl.

  He pinned her arms to her sides with his body and his left hand, then fisted her hair again, slowly pulling her mouth to his, watching her eyes. They widened in surprise, then lowered in compliance. Her scent flared and he smiled again. Surprise. More smiles in one night than in the last ten years, in either world. He could get used to it. He wanted to get used to it.

  He kissed her then, gently, taking the long way around her lips and her tongue, until they were both breathing heavily and his cock felt barely contained in his pants. He ran his hands over her back, up and over her shoulders, under all that hair. When his hand grazed the skin where her shoulder met her neck, he paid close attention. The skin there was smooth, completely unmarred. She’d never been claimed. The realization almost made him come in his pants.

  They explored each other with such intensity he lost track of time. He felt like a teenager again, learning to kiss, not needing anything more than her hot, wet mouth against his. He could kiss her all night. He pulled back and put his forehead against hers. “You’re driving me crazy,” he rasped.

  “I’m not trying to.”

  Crew laughed, surprised into it, then startled at its heartiness and the way it loosened knots inside him he didn’t even know had been there. “You’re special,” he whispered. “I’m glad we met.”

  “Me, too,” she whispered back, staring into his eyes. “Thank you for saving me from those men.”

  He frowned and pulled back slightly so he could see her face better. “They weren’t men.”

  Her cheeks colored and she nodded, too quickly. “Right. I know.”

  Crew stared at her for a long time, knowing she was hiding something from him, but not wanting to push her. She could be his mate, he was certain of it, but wolven females could be capricious before they were claimed, and they didn’t like to be pushed. But if she’s not wolven?

  The thought took him by surprise, bothering him more than he wanted to admit to himself. He licked his lips, then made himself ask the question. “Excuse me for asking, but I don’t scent well. Old injury. You are wolven, aren’t you?”

  Her hand flew to her throat, twisting at nothing and her eyes grew haunted again, more scared than she’d looked even when he’d pulled those males off of her. She hopped off his lap and tried to back away but he caught her hand and pulled her gently back down, brushing her hair away from her face. “Hey,” he said gently. “I meant it when I said I wouldn’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone else hurt you, either. You can tell me.”

  She couldn’t possibly be human?

  Chapter 10

  Dahlia’s voice shook as she tried to think of what to say. She wanted to admit that she knew nothing about this world and she was not a werewolf, but on some deep level, she knew that would put her in danger. Maybe not with Crew, but certainly with everyone else.

  “I-I,” she stuttered, twisting her fingers at her throat. Normally she wore a necklace that she rubbed if she were nervous or deep in
thought, but it hadn’t made the transition between worlds with her. A slip-sliding vision of the pressure at her throat at the moment of impact made her wonder if her necklace was colored with her blood in the other world.

  The food she had eaten turned in her stomach and she gagged slightly. What was she doing? She’d died. She’d lived. She was in a world she didn’t belong in and she’d been making out with a werewolf! Like it was Saturday night and she had no greater care in the world than to find a hook-up. She pulled her hand out of Crew’s grasp and put it to her head. “Oh, God,” she whispered under her breath, not looking at Crew. She knew he had to be staring at her like she was crazed. She felt crazed.

  Think! She needed a place to stay. That was job one. A place to sleep. Maybe when she went to sleep and woke up in her first world (please God, let that be what happens) she would stay there permanently and not travel in her dreams anymore. Maybe she would never come back to this place at all. If she could just get through the night until she slept, maybe she would never have to answer the question Crew had asked her.

  She looked at him then, steeling herself for the pity or indecision or maybe irritation she would see on his face, but there was nothing there except concern. Her knees buckled slightly at it. If she never came back to this world, she would never see him again. The thought went through her like a knife. He was special. Strong. Handsome. Sexy. Insanely good kisser. Valiant. Werewolf. Sweet. Thoughtful. Why couldn’t she meet a man like him in a normal world?

  “Dahlia?” he asked, standing, grasping her elbow.

  Dahlia swallowed a sob. She didn’t want to use him. Didn’t want to tell him lies. Didn’t want to never see him again. Her hands shook and she pressed them against her temples. She wanted her notebook. Wanted to write in it. Needed the soothing calm it provided as she put her thoughts on paper.