by Susan Bliler
The waiter settled Tyson’s expensive bottle of wine on the bar between them, and even though she’d said she wasn’t going to have any, she accepted the filled wine glass Tyson handed her and took a healthy swig before setting the glass near her plate and digging back into her food.
Brows furrowing as he watched her, Tyson offered, “Maybe you should take it easy. Your stomach’s been empty for two days.”
“Three,” she corrected around a bite of food.
When Tyson looked at her in confusion, she elaborated. “All I had the day I shot us was a couple of margaritas.” She stopped with a forkful of green beans to her lips when she looked up and realized the bartender was standing there. His brows were hiked up and were confirmation enough that he’d heard her.
“Ha ha,” she forced out a brittle laugh. “Short us,” she rushed out and cleared her throat. “The day the bank shorted us,” she explained to the bartender who shot her a weird look and went back to the other end of the bar.
Beside her, Tyson was laughing a deep rumbling sound that had her grinning as she dipped her chin and angled her head to the side to hiss out of the side of her mouth, “Asshole. You could’ve said he was standing there.”
After that, they ate in silence, and because Tyson was right, she slowed way down. It didn’t take much to get full, so by the time Tyson filled her wine glass a second time, she was shoving her plate away.
“Feeling better,” he asked.
“Mmm,” was her response as she sipped her wine.
Tyson polished off the rest of his food, and when she slid her plate toward him, he accepted it and ate what remained on her plate too.
“You eat a lot.”
“I’m a big guy.” His eyes turned mocking. “Us brick shit houses burn a lot of calories.”
Her eyes tripped down his frame, and when her blood went all hot, she tore her eyes from him and tried—and failed miserably—to sound utterly nonchalant as she asked, “So…guys huh?”
Tyson, who’d just taken another long pull of his beer choked.
Eyes rounding, Cersi patted him on the back until he stopped coughing. When he looked at her accusatorily, she shrugged her good shoulder up to her ear and offered, “Sorry. Inappropriate topic.” Reaching for her glass, her hand stopped when Tyson caught her wrist. She looked at him, and he was shaking his head.
“I’m not gay.”
What? “But…you said…”
“I said clothes on at all times in my presence. That doesn’t mean I don’t like women, Badass. It means I don’t trust myself in the presence of one like you.”
Like me? She stopped herself from asking by lifting her wineglass to her lips and drinking heartily as she considered his words. His declaration had her way more excited than she should have been. Finally, she set her glass down and said, “It’s okay, you know. I’m…”
“I’m not gay,” Tyson bellowed loudly enough that the bartender glanced up from where he was washing glasses at the opposite end of the bar.
Leaning closer to her, Tyson growled, “I am not gay. I just can’t have you parading around half dressed in front of me and my…”
Eyes narrowing, Cersi studied him. “You and your what?”
When he didn’t answer, she pressed, “And what did you mean, one like me?”
Letting his head fall back, Tyson sighed, “Oh dear God, you are difficult.”
Feeling a little too proud of that, Cersi lifted her glass and clinked it off his bottle that sat on the bar. “Thank you.” She drank down the rest of her wine, eyeing Tyson over the rim.
To himself, he muttered, “It wasn’t a compliment.”
She knew that, but messing with this behemoth was just too much fun.
Cersi finished her second drink far too quickly. Setting the empty glass on the bar, she swayed a little which had Tyson’s brows spearing down. One large hand settled on her lower back. He placed his other hand on her thigh. She swore she could feel the heat from his palm searing her skin through the denim she wore.
“That was probably too much too soon.” He pulled some money from his wallet and tossed it on the bar before standing. “Your first meal in three days and we punctuate it with two shots of gin and two glasses of wine, probably not a good call.”
Cersi got to her feet and had to admit he was right. She was feeling way too good. Belly full, arms and legs flushing with liquid warmth, her head began to grow fuzzy.
The bartender hurled a, “Thank you, Mr. BloodMoon,” down the bar but Tyson only grunted, his eyes never leaving Cersi.
She went from feeling warm to feeling hot and a little achy under his gaze. It only got worse when he swept her up off her feet to cradle her in his arms.
“Tyson,” she breathed peeking around. “People will see.”
“There are no people, and even if there were, I don’t give a fuck!”
He didn’t even break eye contact with Cersi as he carried her out of the bar and up the stairs to the second-floor landing.
“You…should probably put me down.” She hated saying the words but having him carrying her around like she was his wasn’t doing her stupid addled insides any favors.
He didn’t put her down though, so she said again, more firmly this time, “Put me down.”
With a sigh, he did as she requested but caught her hand in his. When she looked down at their interlocked fingers, he shook his head. “Ain’t letting go, don’t ask.”
She didn’t. Hand tucked in his, they made their way down the hall back to their room.
“I’m exhausted,” she admitted.
“I know.”
How could he know? “It doesn’t make sense. I just woke up.”
“Your bodies healing. It needs time.”
He was right. She’d never shot herself before, but she had been shot in the line of duty. A bullet went through her left thigh, and it had taken months to heal properly.
“Hey,” Cersi exclaimed glancing down with a grin as her thoughts were brought back to the present. “Our penny’s still there.” She pointed at it before looking up at Tyson. “Must mean the luck is meant for us.”
“Told you,” he stepped over it again pulling her along with him. “I make my own luck. And I ain’t superstitious.”
At the door to their room, he pulled out the key card and held it to the lock, but his eyes were on Cersi. “Are you?”
“What?” she asked. “Superstitious?” She shrugged. “Sure. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. Plus, a lot of superstitions have historic significance. Most have been around longer than me.” She released his hand and slid under his arm when he pushed the door open. “Who am I to shirk tradition?”
He caught her arm just as she brushed past him.
Eyes lifting to his, her breath stalled a minute when his bright green eyes narrowed on her. “Then why didn’t you pick it up,” he asked.
Looking over her shoulder and back down the hall, a corner of her mouth kicked up. “I’m superstitious, but I’m also a germophobe.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’m not touching some old penny from God knows where that’s sitting on a filthy hotel carpet.” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “It might as well be sitting in the bottom of a toilette.”
Without another word, she stepped into the suite and made her way to the bathroom. She didn’t need to use the facilities, but she definitely needed to put some space between herself and Tyson because being close to him was messing with her head. She kept forgetting she was on a mission. She kept forgetting that he and his brother had Vesa and that they could be her enemies.
Chapter 8
Hand still tingling from holding Cersi’s in the hallway, Tyson fisted and un-fisted it to get the sensation to stop. He knew Cersi was worn out. He could scent exhaustion tugging at her so when she made her way to the bathroom and then came out and went to the bedroom, he slowly made his way to there to check on her. Inside, he slammed to a halt and studied the bed.
“What’s that?” Tyson jerked his
chin toward the bed.
Cersi climbed on the bed, fully clothed except for her shoes, and settled on one side of the bed that she’d divided down the middle by stacking pillows the length of the bed. “It’s a pillow barrier.”
Lying on her back, she tucked her good arm behind her head and watched as Tyson’s brows shot up.
“Pillow barrier?”
“Yeah. It keeps you on your side and me on mine.”
Excitement zinged up his spine when she smiled.
“Woman, no man nor beast has been able thus far to keep me from anywhere or from anything. You think four measly pillows are gonna do the job?”
Lowering her arm, she pushed up onto her elbow to frown at him. “What I think is that you’re too damn big for the couch, and I sure as shit ain’t sleeping on that sucker. I also think that if you want to share this bed, you’re gonna stay on your side or you're taking the floor.” Her face scrunched up as she scanned the room. “Where have you been sleeping up to this point?”
He eyed the empty spot beside her and tried to keep from smiling when she blushed.
“Well, that was then. This is now! Pillow barrier,” she dropped back onto the bed. “Respect its boundaries.”
Inside, Monster was chuffing. Pillow barrier! Ha!
Crossing to his side of the bed, it sunk under Tyson’s weight as he bent to unlace his boots. While he removed his boots, he wondered if he should admit there was a rollaway tucked in the closet. It’s where he’d actually been sleeping for the past few nights.
Nah, he fell back on the bed and mimicked Cersi’s pose, crossing an arm behind his head, and staring up at the ceiling. The bed was way more comfortable than the rollaway. Besides, the scent of Cersi’s uncertainty brought a smile to his lips. Since she’d woken up, she’d been a demanding little thing. He’d been putting up with her sass for hours because he’d been worried about her, but now that he knew she was okay he was done letting her slide.
“Lights?” she asked from beside him.
He opened his mouth to tell her he wasn’t her damn servant, but when she yawned mightily, he got up off the bed and turned off all the lights in the suite before checking the door. He checked his cell too. There were a dozen missed calls from Haddix. There were a dozen or so texts too, but he didn’t check them. He could handle this mission without Haddix and the pack checking in on him every ten fucking seconds!
Storming back to the room, he wasn’t surprised at all to find Cersi fast asleep. Her breathing was deep. Pulling the blanket off his side of the bed, he shucked Cersi’s precious, to-be-respected, pillow barrier. Folding the blankets over her, he studied her a moment. Watching her like this felt powerful. It felt like watching a sleeping tiger. It felt like he was doing something that not many got the chance to do. Inside, Monster was puffing up, proud that she felt comfortable enough to fall asleep like she had. Most shifters gave him a wide berth and humans—even with their shitty instincts—still knew enough to steer clear, but Cersi was different. She wasn’t afraid of him, and it was fascinating.
Climbing onto his side of the bed, he lay on his back a few minutes before giving into to Monster’s urge. Rolling to his side, he watched Cersi for a long time before guilt finally had him sitting up and retrieving the pillows he’d tossed on the floor. They’d make Cersi feel comfortable, and she deserved as much. Just until she’s healed, he told himself.
Pillow barrier back in place, it didn’t keep him from hugging one to him, so it didn’t block his view of her face. It was the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him.
***
Tyson startled awake, surprised that he’d even fallen asleep. Monster hadn’t, and something had his animal on high alert. Sitting up, he scanned the darkened room. Being torn from sleep the way he had been had him trying to remember where exactly he was.
A noise beside him, had his lips peeling back in a snarl as he shot off the bed and turned prepared for battle. But Monster wasn’t. Inside, his animal was clawing at him, urging him to something but there was zero impulse to fight.
Cersi!
Instantly, he knew what had roused him. Monster was thrashing around inside of him because Cersi was hurting. It was dark in the room now, but with Monster’s sight, he could see that Cersi was sitting on the side of the bed facing away from him. She was cradling her arm and rocking her body. The sight of her hit him almost the exact same instant her scent did. Agony! She was hurting and hadn’t bothered waking him.
The scent of her pain was so intense it had him quickly circling the bed to drop to a squat before her. Hands settled on her thighs, he noted how her delicate brows were speared down. A fine sheen of sweat coated her forehead, and her cheeks were flushed.
“Cersi?”
She didn’t answer, just kept right on rocking and holding her arm.
“Cersi, is it your shoulder?”
“I’m fine,” she rasped, but even her voice was filled with ache.
“Why didn’t you wake me? Wait here!” He rushed to the bathroom and was back in a flash. One hand was fisted around a glass of water while the other cupped two pills. Kneeling beside her, he held out the pills. “Take these.”
He knew she must have been hurting something fierce because she accepted the pills and popped them into her mouth without any of her usual questions. Accepting the glass from his hand, she drank heartily before pulling the glass back and looking at it. With a groan, she asked, “What…what did I just take?”
“Pain pills.”
A former medic in the Marines, he kept a well-stocked first aid kit in his truck at all times. He’d added the pain meds when he and his pack had gone to The Hunt because he didn’t know if Haddix’s prize would come away from The Hunt unscathed. Often, women were injured in the archaic tradition and he’d secretly been worried that any choice his Alpha made would be more fool hearty than most and take greater risks. It was in Haddix’s nature to choose a female who matched his Alpha tendencies, which meant she wouldn’t be taken without a fight and she hadn’t been.
A silent tear tracked down one side of Cersi’s face, and it pissed him off. She pissed him off because she’d done this to herself and there wasn’t anyone he could mutilate for making her hurt like this.
“They should kick in shortly.” He took the glass from her hand once she emptied it. “Wait here.”
He didn’t know why he kept saying that. It wasn’t like she was trying to get up and waltz around the suite. Still, he felt compelled to utter the useless words.
In the kitchen, he opened the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of something before dumping it into a rocks glass. Alcohol would help until the pain pills kicked in…he hoped. Shifters healed fast, and while they dealt with pain often, it typically didn’t last long. He didn’t know how it worked for squishy little humans and their fragile little bodies.
Back in the room, he handed Cersi the glass. “Drink this, it’ll take the edge off.”
She accepted the glass and took a healthy swig before choking on a cough. Holding the glass out to him she kept right on coughing. “What is this shit?”
“Whiskey?”
She gagged and pinched her eyes shut. “I hate whiskey.”
Just as he reached out to take the glass away, she lifted it to her lips and took another healthy drink before spitting it back in the glass and shaking her head. Shoving the glass toward him, she breathed, “I can’t…can’t drink that.”
Taking the glass, he raced back out to the liquor cabinet and read each bottle. There had to be girlie shit in here…right? Reading each label, he realized he had no idea what girls drank because up until recently there hadn’t been any in their pack.
Margarita! That’s right. Cersi said she liked margaritas.
Shuffling around the cabinet, he found a bottle of tequila. There was orange juice in the fridge, so he took the time to fill a large glass with ice and then poured tequila in until the glass was half full. The rest he filled with o.j. before he stirred it wi
th a knife. Girlie shit! Proud of himself, he rushed back to the room and found Cersi still in the same state.
He flicked on the light so she could see and then hurried to her. Dropping to a knee, he held up the drink. “Tequila and juice.”
She closed a shaking hand around the glass, and afraid she would spill it before ever getting a drink, he helped guide it to her lips where she took a tentative sip before wincing but licking her lips. Two seconds later, half the contents of the glass were gone before she was handing it back to him with a shake of her head. Dropping back onto the bed, she rolled to her side and commenced rocking.
Ffffffuck!
He shoved her goddamn pillow barrier onto the floor and climbed onto the bed behind her. Sliding one arm under her head as a pillow, he wrapped his body around hers, spooning her as he started rocking his body in time with hers. After a few minutes, she stopped rocking and let him do the work for both of them.
“It hurts,” she breathed, and when the scent of her agony and tears filled the air, Tyson had to pinch his eyes tightly closed. His jaw was clenched so damn hard he swore he’d break his teeth. A man like him, a beast like him, didn’t know what to do with a woman’s tears or pain. If there were a foe or an enemy who’d caused it, he’d rip them to shreds, but there was none of that. No, Cersi was hurting because she’d taken drastic measures to escape him. They were measures that would have worked if he wasn’t a shifter. They were measures she wouldn’t have had to take if it weren’t for the fucking Council and their goddamn dictates. They’d forced Haddix to participate in The Hunt. They’d forced Cersi to go looking for her sister.
Council, he snarled inwardly. This was their fault, and once Cersi healed, he was going to pay those fuckers a visit.
It took exactly twenty-two minutes and thirty-seven seconds for the pain meds to kick in.
Thank fuck!
He only knew because Cersi stopped the high-pitched whine that had been emitting from the back of her throat and had fallen into a medicated slumber.
