Winter Igniting

by Rebecca Zanetti

  He sucked in a breath.

  Then he lost the fight.

  Grabbing her hair, he lifted her up to his mouth again. He yanked off her tank top and tossed it somewhere. Then his talented fingers found her bare breasts. He bent his head, and his mouth closed over a nipple.

  Ecstasy took her, and her knees gave out.

  He caught her with an arm around her waist. His tongue stroked her. With an abrupt movement, he lifted her against him, and his mouth crashed down on hers. It took her a second to realize that they were moving toward the bedroom. When they reached the bed, he paused and looked down at her. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He set her down and tugged off her shorts. “You want fast or slow?” The tone of his voice was low and guttural.

  The sound washed over her skin, and she shivered. “Fast.” God, fast. And hard and deep.

  He shoved down his jeans, giving her the first look at his erect penis. The guy was huge…and ready to go.

  She gingerly reached out and ran her finger along the impressive length of him.

  “Later.” He shuddered and pushed her back, a condom in his hand.

  Later worked for her. She scooted up on the bed, enjoying the graceful way he climbed up her. He was so big above her, he blocked out the moonlight streaming through the window. “Damon.” Her hand shook, and she cupped his angled cheekbone. His five o’clock shadow scratched her palm.

  He paused, his dark eyes boring into her. “I want to taste you.”

  She shivered. He didn’t mean her mouth. “Later.” She repeated his word, a small smile playing on her face. She had to know what he felt like inside her. What it felt like to be that close to him. Something in her, a part she’d never known, needed to be a part of him. Just for a moment. He’d drawn her from the beginning, and she had to know.

  He reached between them, his fingers circling her clit.

  She arched against him and shut her eyes. It felt so amazingly good. Sparks flew through her lower half, turning her need into a devastating ache.

  He rubbed lower, murmuring in approval.

  Yeah. She was good and wet and ready. His fingers were killing her. She moved restlessly against him, needing to be filled. Just for a while. Just to get away.

  He rolled on the condom and moved closer, pausing at her entrance. “April. Look at me.”

  She opened his eyes to stare into his dark ones. Then he started pushing inside her. Slowly and gently, taking his time, he entered her.

  Pain flashed, and she bit her lip. Her body shook. The confusing contrast between her need and the hurt caught her up short.

  He paused. “You’re okay,” he murmured. Halfway inside her, he shifted to the side just a little, and his fingers stroked across her hip. Those long and talented fingers, slightly callused, moved across her clit.

  She gasped as fire lanced through her.

  “There you go.” He caressed over her, keeping his weight on one arm, his muscles straining.

  Pleasure cut through her. She whimpered and moved against his hand. He pressed hard against her clit and sent her into a shocking orgasm. Clamping her hands on his arms, she held on tight, riding the waves.

  Then she came down, still gasping. Her body softened onto the bed, her thighs naturally opening wider. She was wetter than before. More relaxed.

  He slid farther inside her.

  That quickly, her heart rate picked up again. She lifted her knees on either side of his hard hips. A quick thought came out of nowhere to question what the hell she was doing. She threw it away into the abyss.

  He pushed harder, finally shoving all the way inside her.

  She gasped and settled, feeling him all around her. Inside her. Everywhere. Her body wound tighter than before, and she moved before he could.

  Then he was thrusting inside her. Hard and fast. Close. She was already so close.

  The moment took her away, and she stopped thinking. This wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t a promise. It was intense and devastating.

  She grabbed his arms again, digging in, trying to reach that pinnacle. Her hips lifted to meet his powerful thrusts.

  Only his hands on her kept her from flying up into the headboard.

  She clenched his hips with her thighs, and then she was spiraling. Her climax threw her away from the moment, consuming and taking everything she had. She rode the waves, her eyes closed, the release so intense she couldn’t breathe.

  He was right there with her.

  With a powerful shudder, he came against her, his mouth gentle on her neck. Then he moved inside her a few more times, sending tingles throughout her lower half. Finally, he withdrew and disposed of the condom.

  Returning to the bed, he piled the covers on top of them and curled her into his side. “That was a nice start,” he murmured, his hand already at her breast.

  Her eyes opened wide. “Start?” Her breath quickened.

  “Oh, yeah. Hold on, baby. We’re just getting started.”

  17

  Scorpius will probably always be a risk. I’ve known that from the beginning.

  —Damon Winter, Journal

  Damon woke, sweating through the sheet. He opened his eyes to see early morning light coming through the window blinds. His head felt as if he’d taken a hammer to the temple, and every muscle in his body ached as if he’d been through a cement mixer.

  Something soft brushed his upper arm.

  He turned his head to see April sprawled across the bed, her head on her pillow and her hair everywhere. The woman was a bed hog.

  His smile made his teeth hurt. What was wrong with him? He blinked. Oh God.

  His eye caught on the bandage on his upper arm. He’d been cut, and a Ripper had sprayed blood. Panic grabbed him, and he slid from the bed, careful not to wake April.

  Was he infected?

  The room spun dizzily around him.

  He swallowed, and his throat protested. He’d kissed April last night. Full on and a lot. They’d sweated against each other. He swayed and nearly fell on his face. Wait a minute. Just hold on. He quietly yanked on his jeans and shirt before hustling for the door, pulling on his boots as he went.

  If he were infected, he’d go crazy and want to bite her. Or he could just hurt her without meaning to by thrashing around. She was safer with him figuring this out at headquarters.

  He had to see the doctor.

  The sun nearly blinded him, even though it was weak at this hour. He rushed through the streets, ignoring soldiers, and reached the main headquarters for Vanguard territory. His stomach lurched, and he had to take several deep breaths before sliding open the back door to the main dining area for the lieutenants. The top Vanguard soldiers lived at headquarters. The bottom floor held a medical area, a dining room, and then Jax’s war room and weapons lockers.

  Upstairs were apartments.

  Trying not to puke, Damon moved into the somewhat cooler dining room and skirted plastic and wooden tables to reach the stairs.

  The room tilted around him again, and he grabbed the wall for support. Then he inched his way upstairs to a narrow and dingy hallway with metal doors every few yards. Reaching one toward the end, he knocked as softly as he could.

  The apartment across from him opened immediately.

  Damon partially turned to see Marcus Knight step out, wearing only shorts. His bare chest had so many healed scars that Damon wanted to puke again. “Get away from Penny’s door,” Marcus said, one long line of threat.

  The door opened. “Hello?”

  Damon turned to see the petite doctor, her hair up on her head, her eyes unfocused. “I think I was infected last night,” he said, pressing a hand to the doorframe to keep from falling over.

  Marcus moved in, setting him to the side and away from Doc Penelope. “You look like shit.”

  “Feel like it, too.” Damon’s throat felt like it was on fire. “I had sex with April last night. If I’m infected, was there time to get her infected?” There couldn�
��t have been. His main goal was to keep her safe. She had to be all right.

  Doc Penelope leaned up and felt his forehead. “You are burning up.” She glanced down at her thin shorts and T-shirt. “Let me get dressed, and Marcus will take you down to the infirmary. I’ll be right there.”

  “Want me to secure him?” Marcus asked, his hoarse voice harsh in the early morning.

  Penelope frowned. “Not yet. He seems to still be in control. If he starts to fight or thrash, then we’ll tie him down.” She looked closer at Damon’s eyes. “How long have you felt like this?”

  He shrugged, trying to keep his legs locked in place. “I’m not sure. I was hot last night, but it’s always hot around here these days.” Sweat rolled down his back, somehow chilling him. “If one of the Rippers got to me, it would’ve been last night. Then I went and kissed April.”

  Penelope felt his head again. “Let’s take a look down in the infirmary. I’ll meet you two there in just a few moments.”

  Damon’s vision fuzzed. “No. Need to get to April. She’s what matters.” He tried to move toward the doctor.

  Marcus shoved him up against the wall, and for the first time, Damon couldn’t fight back well enough. The darkness got closer, and then took him over. His last thought as he dropped to the ground was that when he awoke, he would kick Marcus’s ass.

  April slowly rolled over in the sunlight, almost waking up. Aches and pains flared alive on her body in new places. Her eyelids flashed open. Damon. She’d slept with Damon.

  She turned to face him…and he wasn’t there.

  What the hell?

  She partially sat up and listened to the rest of the apartment. Nothing. No way. Slipping from the bed, she padded into the empty living room and former kitchen. He was gone.

  There had to be a note. Right?

  She looked around, her stomach starting to drop. No word. He’d just left?

  Biting her lip, she returned to the bed and snuggled down, smashing a pillow over her face. Guilt bombarded her so quickly, her muscles trembled.

  She’d slept with another man. Long ago, she’d been happy with the fact that Don would be her one and only. He was sweet and kind. Even as a kid, he’d looked like the boy next door with his blond hair and green eyes. And he’d been good in bed. Very.

  Damon was devastating. Beyond so. She hadn’t realized her body could feel like it had the previous night. Maybe it was Damon, or maybe it was just being in her early thirties and having more experience. Or perhaps it was because the world had ended, so why not forget insecurities and just feel good?

  Something told her it was Damon. Damn it.

  He hadn’t even left a note. In the movies, the guy always left a cute note folded in a cool way.

  Had she sucked in bed? She groaned. Damon had done all the heavy lifting. She’d just flopped there, grabbed his arms, and orgasmed until her head had almost blown off.

  Oddly enough, she wished that Don were there to talk to. He’d always been her sounding board. Of course, if he were there, she wouldn’t have slept with Damon.

  Obviously, she couldn’t talk to the sexy ex-cop. He’d taken off and left her.

  Her cheeks burned. Yeah, she’d had too much to drink last night. After they’d had sex—three times—she’d pretty much passed out.

  Had she farted in her sleep?

  God. She rolled over and buried her face. What if she had?

  This was why people did not have one-night stands with people they would see again. One night meant one night and goodbye. Probably. What did she know? She’d never had one. Apparently, she sucked at it. How could he just leave without saying a word?

  Was she snoring when he left? She wasn’t a snorer as far as she knew, but she had been drinking the night before. That changed things.

  Shaking her head, she slowly stretched out. Her body felt like she’d run a marathon or two, and her thighs were sore. As were her hips…and her personal areas. A good pain, kind of sexy but achy nonetheless.

  Damon had pretty much explored her entire body. There wasn’t a dip or crevice he hadn’t touched, licked, or kissed. He’d been a bit rough, too. She’d liked it.

  She’d heard the expression attentive lover before, but she hadn’t truly put the words together. He’d attended to pretty much everything. He’d come a couple of times, too. So he hadn’t been unaffected.

  Between the guilt and doubt, she was going to drown.

  So, enough of that. Enough of all of it. Considering that the apocalypse was upon them, and she was going undercover into a possible cult, there wasn’t time to worry about whether she was good in bed or not.

  Yeah, right.

  She groaned and pressed her palms against her eyes. Okay. Enough with the wallowing. Rolling over, she ignored the delicious aches and pains before standing and tossing on a sundress. Her sandals were in the former kitchen, and she slid them on before walking outside toward the outhouses and outdoor showers set up on the side of the building. Individual partitions created some privacy along with dark shower curtains.

  Her shower was quick, and at the early hour, she was the only one tipping back the already heated water from buckets tied above.

  She had slight love marks across her body. A hickey—definitely a hickey—stood out on her hip. Her face flamed, and she hustled to redress and brush her teeth. After putting up her hair, she moved outside and hurried back to her apartment and then went to awaken the younger kids.

  Lena was waiting at her kitchen table, already eating a granola bar.

  April smiled at the girl’s lopsided braids. “You did your hair yourself.”

  Lena grinned and nodded, her dark eyes sparkling. She’d dressed in light blue overall shorts with a bright pink top, and her feet were bare.

  “Did you brush your teeth?”

  The kids had water and buckets to spit in in their makeshift bathroom.

  She nodded and continued eating, studying her.

  April pushed wet hair away from her face. Did she look different somehow? Of course, not. That was crazy. “Do you want to try to talk today?”

  Lena tilted her head. She never nodded or shook her head at the question, yet she understood it.

  April sat at the table and studied the pretty little girl. “I know you understand me, and I think you can talk. How about just one word?”

  Lena just looked at her.

  “You can say any word.” April leaned in, lowering her voice. “Even poop.”

  Lena laughed, her young cheeks creasing. But she didn’t attempt to speak.

  April sighed. “When you’re ready, you’ll talk. But I wish it would be soon.” Her heart hurt for the little girl.

  Lena reached into her pocket and drew out a present.

  April caught her breath, wondering what it would be. Would it have a significance? She’d given Jax Mercury blue rocks, blue glass, blue…everything before Lynne Harmony, the woman with the blue heart had entered his life.

  Of course, it could all be coincidence. People were looking for any meaning these days.

  Lena pushed something silver across the table. It was a star. A sheriff’s type star, probably from a kid’s Halloween costume. The badge was dented and rusty, and it was missing two of the prongs. But it was definitely for a cop.

  April’s breath caught. “Is this for Damon?”

  Lena slowly shook her head and pointed at April.

  “For me,” April said, taking the warm metal. “You brought me a police badge.” She rubbed her neck, which had a little bit of whisker burn from Damon the previous night.

  Lena smiled.

  18

  There’s way too much testosterone around here. And I grew up in a house with several brothers.

  —Damon Winter, Journal

  Damon came to at the sound of raised voices and bunched, reacting to the danger.

  “You’re fine.” Doc Penelope’s soothing voice calmed him before he could move.

  He opened his eyes to find himself in th
e infirmary off the main room in Vanguard territory. A quick and rather frantic check confirmed that he was lying on an examination bed but wasn’t tied down. His head felt as if it might blow off.

  Penelope stood next to him, a cold cloth in her hands. She pressed it to his forehead. A cracked orange counter ran along the wall behind her, holding bandages and not much else.

  Suddenly, the door banged open, and Marcus flew past the bed to hit the opposite wall. Who had thrown him? His eyes turned a startling and deep green. He instantly regrouped and bunched his muscles to attack.

  Damon shoved to sit. What the hell was happening?

  “Marcus,” Penelope said sharply.

  Marcus stilled in place as if every nerve in his body had responded to her voice.

  Greyson Storm shoved the door out of his way and stomped inside, cutting Marcus a hard look before focusing on Damon. Worry darkened Grey’s eyes almost as much as fury tightened his lips. “I told you to get the hell out of my way,” he snapped at Marcus while studying Damon.

  Marcus growled low like a panther. Or a psychotic wolf.

  Damon’s eyebrows rose, making his head hurt even worse. Grey had attacked the attack dog? “I’m okay,” he croaked.

  “Bullshit.” Greyson moved in and placed his large hand over Damon’s sweating forehead.

  “Jesus.” Damon knocked his hand away. “I’m fine, Mom.” He wasn’t. Not even close.

  Greyson rounded on Penelope. “Was he infected? Damn it. Those fucking Rippers.” He shook his head, his back a line of raw tension. “I pushed him out of the way, but he had a wound. Blood must’ve gotten into it. Shit. Do you have B in him?”

  Penelope gingerly stepped around Greyson to place a cloth on Damon’s forehead. It cooled him somewhat, but not a whole lot. “He doesn’t need B.”

  Greyson jerked back. “The hell he doesn’t.” He started scrambling through the drawers.

  Marcus moved for him.

  Greyson turned, settling into a fighting stance.

  If Damon didn’t feel as if he were about to die, he might’ve laughed. “Stop,” he croaked.