Protecting the Wolf's Mate (Blood Moon Brotherhood)

by Sasha Summers

  “Very little,” she murmured, running a finger down his chest. “I’ve often wondered if my wolf keeps things from me. She’s very protective.”

  But did that mean her wolf was hiding something worse than what he’d seen? “She should protect you. Wolves do that, don’t they?”

  “You tell me.” Her voice was low. “You can’t deny yours exists now, can you? I saw him. In your eyes. Pushing to get out.”

  He shook his head. He knew very little about the wolf inside of him, except… “He’s protective of you.”

  “As he should be. Assure him I can take care of myself.” But there was no bite to her words.

  But her words had him, and his wolf, bracing for an argument. As brave and strong as she was, protecting her was nonnegotiable. He knew that now. “Neither of us doubt you can. But now you’ll never have to.”

  She burrowed closer, her hand splaying wide on his chest. “I like that. Us. You’ve already accepted him.” Her palm was warm.

  Why the image of her burned palms cropped up now was a mystery. But she was touching him, and he needed to know. “Can you read me now?” As close as he wanted them to be, it was unnerving to think of her getting into his head without his knowledge.

  She stiffened in his hold. “You think I would do that to you? Without your consent?”

  “No,” he whispered. Consent was important to her. And, from what her hellish memories had revealed, consent had rarely played a role in her life with Cyrus and the Others. His mind raced, trekking through the sensory stimulus, broken conversations, and inescapable torment she’d suffered. One image, Cyrus—blood dripping from his mouth—smiling down at her. She’d hated him then. Hated herself for the power she was giving him.

  “What is it?” she asked, her fingers gently grasping his chin and forcing him to see her. “Your mind is wandering.”

  There were times he wished he wasn’t a scientist. Maybe then he could turn off the constant questions and curiosity, the need for answers and truth, even when it wasn’t what he wanted. But her reaction was unshakable. His wolf was prowling around, raging, for reasons Hollis didn’t fully understand.

  “Hollis,” she whispered. “Tell me.”

  “Cyrus.” He cleared his throat, hating the way her gaze fell from his. “He…he did something to you—”

  “He did a great many things.” She stiffened. “I was of use to him, you see. First as a healer for the pack, then a potential mate when his pack began to weaken—I’d birthed a child, I could do it again. But I didn’t, I couldn’t. So he punished me. When he tired of that, he lent me to Byron. But he could never truly let me go. Or kill me. He needed my blood.” Her voice faltered, cracking.

  Coldness seeped into his blood—his bones. “What do you mean?” He turned on the lamp then, needing to see her.

  She blinked, shielding her face, blinking rapidly.

  “Why did he need your blood?” He pushed now.

  “My blood makes him stronger.” She couldn’t look at him. “That’s why he wants Finn’s children. They were born wolves. Their blood is pure. Like mine.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he ground out. “What are you telling me? He ingested your blood?”

  “In the beginning. Later, with an IV.” She slipped from the bed and walked to the window. “I was collared, or I could have fought him. Silver. It burns.” Her hand crept up, stroking her neck. “He kept me weak. If I’d been stronger, I would have stopped him—”

  He was up then, barely controlling his fury, and spinning her to face him. “You would have died.” He tilted her head back, forcing her to look at him. “You said we were fated. That means you survived for me.” His forehead rested against hers. “You can stop him now. Let me help you.”

  She stared into his eyes for so long he worried he’d said something wrong. He was new to this. All of it. Talking, sharing, and feeling. And he suspected he was failing, epically.

  Her hands slid up to cradle his face. “You believe me?” It was a whisper. “Believe, a little, in magic?”

  How could he not? It stood there, before him. And lived inside of him. “Yes.”

  “Good. It’s easier to fight for something you believe in.”

  He’d never thought of himself as a fighter. Until now. But she was right. As hard as it was to know what he knew, it explained why she was so single-minded. If Ellen was taken from him? It was hard to breathe, to think, or pay attention to what she was saying. His wolf was up and pacing again, the drive to take Cyrus down now overruling everything else—except the feel of her as she pressed herself closer to him.

  Soft. Warm. Inviting. His.

  Her mismatched eyes were studying him. “He can never get his hands on the children. Ever.”

  He nodded. Until Cyrus was dead, the pack needed to be on alert. He wasn’t sure he could handle the answer but knowing just how patient Cyrus could be was relevant. “When did this happen, Ellen? How old would Isabel be?”

  She stared at his chest. “According to their death certificates, she died with her father in the San Francisco earthquake. April eighteenth, nineteen hundred and six. So many died that day, Cyrus must have been waiting for the perfect time. The chaos and devastation left behind ensured no one would find mass casualties unusual.” She stared up at him. “My pack, I think, though I cannot be sure. All of them, William and Isabel, too, were staying in a hotel that collapsed—killing all inside.”

  His arms snaked around her then, holding her close. Holy Fuck.

  The implications of what she said weren’t lost on him. While his brain ticked off a list of questions that included how long she’d been alive and how her blood strengthened Cyrus, a less rational part of him wanted action—violence—against the motherfucker who’d done so much to her. Eighteen hundred and six? She’d been Cyrus’s captive ever since. A vice clamped down on his heart. Before it thundered wildly, endorphins and adrenaline kicking it into overdrive.

  But her reaction to the vault made sense. Half of the artifacts he’d collected came from the remains of a purported witches’ coven that was destroyed in the San Francisco quake. He’d almost passed the wooden chest up. Almost. But something about it had held his attention until he’d carried it out. Now everything clicked into place. The beaded necklace. He knew, with absolute certainty, that it was the one she’d mentioned. Her pack’s story. Her forgotten history. What he’d found was for her. It was hard to wrap his head around what was happening. He didn’t need more evidence of her magic, more proof that she was right—about everything. Denying it? Impossible. They were fated to be together.

  A new thrum, hot and wild, flooded his blood. This time, he didn’t ignore what it was. No, who it was. It was his…wolf. And it was time the two of them came to an understanding.

  …

  She woke to a new world. A far more complicated world than the one in which she’d fallen asleep. And the man beside her? Pleasure wasn’t something she remembered well. Her wolf did—she was the one that put them in this position. In bed. Naked. Thoroughly satisfied.

  And mated for life.

  Everything about him appealed to her. No, not appealed. That wasn’t enough. He called to her, demanded a response—one her wolf was all too happy to give him. Surrender and domination, she wasn’t sure which was which when she was with him. Did it matter?

  It was an alarming thought.

  Still, it was the truth. A terrifying truth.

  He turned his head, his hair falling onto his forehead. Thick copper lashes rested on his cheek. Lips parted. Body relaxed. He slept deeply, his breathing deep and even. Too tempting to resist. Her wolf refused to resist.

  Which made her frown. Her wolf was happy. Was she? This brilliant, stubborn man was now inextricably bound to her. Forever. They had no common ground—no shared beliefs—except the overwhelming urge to explore and pleasure him. To touch him. To be with him.

  And, now, to hunt Cyrus. But would he still feel that way when he woke? When his wolf was caged and he was b
uttoned into his starched shirts and white lab coat?

  How will this work?

  Her wolf dismissed her worries and settled in, staring at him in delight.

  Stupid animal.

  Before she knew it, one finger ran along his jaw, the scrape of stubble against her fingertips tickling her heightened nerves. Her wolf wanted more. According to her wolf, there was far too much space between them. I won’t climb on top of him while he’s sleeping, she argued silently.

  What would happen when he woke up? Knowing him, there would be no shy smiles and tender glances. And why should there be? Being mated had little to do with emotion and everything to do with instinct. Instinct was something he didn’t understand—not yet. Not as long as he continued to fight who and what he was.

  Her wolf had every confidence they would draw him out. Last night had been promising, but Hollis was a stubborn idiot. Even if he stopped denying his wolf’s existence, he wouldn’t wake up smiling and happy about it.

  And now she was stuck with him.

  If only she could share her wolf’s delight.

  To her, there was nothing delightful about this. Except for the sex.

  She slipped from the bed, tugging on his boxers and then one of her tank tops as she walked to the balcony. Outside, the moon was a sliver in the night sky. Not that it had ever been truly dark. There were too many lights here for that, too many lights for the stars to shine and for the wolf to feel at ease.

  Fresh air. That’s what she needed.

  But standing on the concrete balcony, peering down at the crowds below, didn’t do much to smooth her nerves.

  Who lives like this? Surrounded by concrete and noise, traffic and chaos. A barrage of scents and sound. Complete sensory overload. The perfect setting for an attack. The air was thick and humid, but that didn’t stop a shudder from running along her spine.

  How could he feel at home here? It was no wonder his wolf was so wary. This place, this life… There was nothing natural about it.

  She sat in one of the wicker chairs, drew her knees up, and closed her eyes to concentrate. As hellish as her time with Cyrus had been, he’d taught her many things. One of them was to sift through the garbage, to hone her senses until she found what was important—and what it meant. Here, now, sitting high above the streets with potential threat, it took time for her wolf to do its job.

  Beyond drunken foolishness and mayhem, there was nothing to fear from the people celebrating whatever the fuck Fiesta was. There was no ripple in the air that warned of the Others. No scent of Cyrus.

  A scent she knew all too well.

  Her mind drifted to places it shouldn’t, pulling up things best locked deep inside. His touch. The slice of a blade, deep enough to bleed but too light for lasting damage. His smile. Pure menace. A promise of what he was capable of. His smile was a warning. One that turned her blood cold even now. And his eyes? Colorless, soulless. He was evil.

  As much as she longed to shy away from her memories, she couldn’t. Remembering him, the tiny clues she’d learned over the years, would be important when she faced him. She would face him. She would defeat him.

  Or die trying.

  The shrill ring of the phone set the hair on the back of her neck straight up and her heart thundering. The sky was lightening, streaking pink and gold. How long had she sat here, her mind adrift?

  The phone rang again, but she was rooted in place—attempting to lock all thoughts of the Others and Cyrus away before Hollis found her.

  “Yes?” His voice, thick with sleep. “Food? Twenty minutes.”

  Just the sound of his voice had her insides clenching with pure hunger.

  “Wait…” Noise. He was up, moving around. “Call you back.” More noise. The slam of a door against a wall. “Ellen?”

  She crossed the balcony, catching sight of her mate in all his naked glory. He was incredible. Muscle and sinew, moving with a predatory grace that demanded respect.

  “Fuck.” He growled, spinning, searching, the bathroom. “Ellen?” Green eyes narrowed, body tense—he was hunting. Agitated. For what? One hand ran over his face and through his hair. For a split second, he sagged heavily against the bathroom counter. The rhythm of his pulse was increasing. He pushed off the counter and stalked back into the bedroom, his gaze sweeping the room—frantic. “Fuck,” he whispered, striding from the room.

  He was looking for her. Frantic over her. An odd tightness rolled up her stomach and into her chest. The weight of it grew warmer, sweeter, with each passing second.

  She’d just stepped into the bedroom when he returned. His wild gaze landed on her. Hands fisted. Breathing labored. She saw so much before he pressed his eyes shut and closed the distance between them. “Where were you?” he asked, gripping her shoulders so tightly she winced. “Dammit.” He glanced at his hands, on her shoulders, and frowned.

  He cared. Not just his wolf. Hollis. The man.

  “You left.” His words were raw.

  And just like that it was impossible to breathe. Or stop herself from touching him. The scrape of his stubble on her palms was oddly comforting. “I didn’t.” She stared up at him, willing him to hear her.

  He turned in to her touch and buried his nose against her palm.

  The warm tug in her chest was too much for her, too real, too dangerous. “Mal?” She cleared her throat. “He called?”

  He nodded, stepping back. “Hungry?” His gaze fell from hers.

  “Ravenous,” she answered, hurrying into the bathroom—in need of space. She frowned at her reflection. What did you make us do? But her wolf was too excited to worry over the reality of their new situation. In the mirror, she caught sight of him—standing, stretching, all rippling muscles… She kicked the door shut and turned on the water.

  Ten minutes later, they were staring at each other in the elevator. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something but holding back. And he wouldn’t stop looking at her, a look she couldn’t decipher. Was he happy? Irritated? Confused? Or craving her body the way she was craving his?

  She was. Desperately. His quick shower had left his hair wet, the scent of it reminding her of all the delectable things he’d done to her body. The nub between her legs pulsed, hot and demanding.

  Could he smell her arousal? His expression was so closed and rigid, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe that was for the best.

  The elevator doors opened but his eyes never left her, even when he gestured for her to go first. The entire walk from the elevator to the hotel restaurant he watched her. His wolf watched her, the blazing ownership in his vibrant green eyes making food the last thing on her mind.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Staring didn’t help. Not that he could stop. No matter how hard he tried, his gaze returned to her—homing in on her. For reassurance. And, dammit, after this morning—he needed reassurance.

  Waking up—finding her gone… He was still recovering.

  Panic didn’t quite explain it. Neither did fear. It was bigger than that. Stronger. More desperate. And it wasn’t going away. Even though she was right there, across the table from him, devouring pancakes like her life depended on it. Not in the least worried about whether or not he’d disappear on her.

  What the fuck was he supposed to think? She’d made it clear she wanted to leave. Was he supposed to think their bond changed that? Did it? He didn’t know how any of this worked.

  “You’re embarrassing yourself, man,” Mal whispered, nudging him in the side.

  “Fuck you.” He growled.

  “Wow.” Mal sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Here I thought you’d be in a better mood now.”

  He glared at Mal.

  “We thought we’d tour the Alamo?” Olivia jumped in, hooking her arm through Mal and giving him a firm tug.

  “We did? Great.” There was no denying Mal’s sarcasm.

  “We’ll pass,” Hollis said, his gaze drifting back to Ellen.

  She kept chewing, sparing him a
quick glance before taking another bite of pancakes drenched in blueberry syrup. A drop clung to the corner of her mouth. Blue and sticky. On her skin. Beneath the table he was hard as a rock. This was going to be a problem. Especially since all he could think about was licking it away—slowly and thoroughly.

  “What about a riverboat ride?” Olivia asked.

  “You lost him,” Mal answered.

  “I appreciate the offer.” He did his best to smile at Olivia, he really did. But the syrup, on Ellen’s mouth, and the way her tongue traced her lower lip…

  “You’re full of shit.” Mal laughed.

  “Mal.” Olivia sighed. “Be nice. It’s a lot to get used to.”

  Meaning it would get easier? Thank God.

  “You’re used to this?” Mal chuckled, capturing Olivia’s hand in his.

  So, no easier. Fucking terrific.

  “You shared memories?” Ellen asked, pausing between bites.

  It was still troubling her. Understandable, considering she wasn’t one to share anything with anyone. To have her past poured out for him, into him, had to be one big, jagged, nasty pill to swallow.

  Mal studied her, then Hollis. “Yea. All that shit. The shared wound, the mental bonding—all that.”

  Ellen stabbed at her pancakes but didn’t eat anything else. “It was expected then?” she asked, the accusation in her tone unmistakable.

  Silence stretched out.

  He stared at her, sifting through a variety of responses and knowing there wasn’t a single one that would diffuse her reaction. She was pissed. At him. Had he known what would happen? Yes, he knew. He’d asked Jessa and Olivia, Mal and Finn hundreds of questions—for scientific research. But in practice? Had he been thinking about anything other than getting that fucking asshole’s hands off of her? No. Not until he’d touched her.

  After that, there’d been no thought or choice about any of it.

  If he had a choice in any of this, would he have lost his fucking mind when he woke up alone? Fuck no. But it didn’t matter. He had—he still was. So much so that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.