He pressed a palm against her shoulder, the heat of him drawing her to the present. “Everything okay?” his smooth-as-sin voice came from behind her. She fiddled with her keys to unlock the door before turning the ornate brass knob.
“I don’t get many visitors,” she admitted. Most of the times when she hung out with her packmates she lingered around her place of business, Beaver Tavern, or the communal cabin they all shared. This was her sacred space, her retreat away from being an alpha. Whatever impulse pushed her to drive Dax here, already she regretted it. Yet as they stood with his hand still on her shoulder, her hormones took the wheel. The marching beat of their attraction rose by the second. She could feel his proximity, the controlled strength behind his careful touch, and her wolf lunged to mark him every time they met. Sierra might have discipline, she might have self-control, but she wasn’t a goddamned saint.
His shadow fell over her. “Are we going to stand around in the door here? I thought you wanted to kick my ass, soldier,” he said, aiming a light punch to her bicep. Right, a good brawl would provide the exact sort of distraction to get her head out of the gutter.
“Come on in,” she responded, not bothering to look back as she plunged into her house. The lavender sachets she left tucked in cushions and drawers did their job, their delicate aroma woven through the room. The desk she’d been trying to build lay sprawled across her hardwood floor, newspaper still laid down and the pieces scattered. Not like she’d had down time as of late. “Comment about the mess, and I’ll let my claws slip when we brawl,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair.
“Violent, violent woman,” he purred. She didn’t even need to turn back to know a wicked smile graced his lips again, the amused heat in his tone conveying everything. “If you think that’ll scare me away, guess again.”
Even as she hurried through her house, having someone else in her space made her skin prickle as if she stood before him bare. Most of the pack didn’t know the clear lines of delineation she’d drawn between her time as pack leader and anything personal. She loved her people with an unparalleled fierceness, but some bruises from her past had never healed, and some scabs lay one conversation away from ripping raw again.
Sierra reached the kitchen leading to her back door, even though she had to swerve around a couple of piles of mail she’d thrown on the floor and the bag of laundry spilling into the living room. Her hand rested on the battered doorknob, ready to lead the way to the backyard, when she turned to face him. His gaze burned into her with an intensity that made her shiver; a crease formed between his furrowed brows.
“You’re buzzing like you downed an entire pot of coffee,” he said, his voice quiet and for once without the teasing that defined him. “Did I do something to piss you off?”
Shame flushed through her. So much for keeping a tab on her emotions. All his earnest attention might be focused her way, but she wasn’t ready to go under the microscope for anyone. Sierra straightened, lifting her chin as she opened the back door.
“I don’t invite people to my place,” she admitted, letting the implication hang there. “Ever.” Already vulnerability grew to a roar in the back of her mind, a paranoia that spread like a virus.
Dax’s blue eyes darkened with understanding as he nodded in response. Sierra held her breath. The instinct to run pulsed under her skin, and if he pushed for more, she couldn’t control the urge. Instead he grabbed the top of the door, pushed it open wider, and muscled past her, down her rickety steps and out onto grass.
“I think you’re just nervous to take me on,” he teased. Yet as their eyes met, she understood he dove in for her sake, covered up the vulnerability with the same care he did his own.
She took the chance to recover and flashed her teeth with a smile. “You wish. Time to stop talking and see what you’re made of.”
Her steps creaked as she strode down to her backyard, which sprawled into the fringe of the woods. The proximity to the wild sated her wolf, and the freedom of deep forests and the rolling fields kept her sane. The sun beat on her skin, which had darkened to a deep bronze, and a sprinkling of buttercups glowed neon in the afternoon intensity. Dax stripped off his shirt with a familiar ease, the sun illuminating his tanned skin and taut muscles. As far as distractions went, she didn’t mind this one at all.
“Human or shifted form?” he asked.
Sierra snorted. “If I wolf out, you won’t stand a chance. Let’s run drills in human form for now.” What she didn’t say was if she shifted and gave the wolf even a bit of an edge, she was liable to lose her mind and jump his bones. Not like her human side did a great job reining in those impulses either.
A smile spread on his face, one that made his eyes twinkle as if another smartass remark was about to descend. She stripped her shirt off, down to her sports bra and shorts—that shut him up. The air thickened between them, a mixture of the sexual tension curling in her core and the urge to fight pounding her bones. Even in her human form, parts of her shifter self remained, the wolf so intrinsic that she padded around with a similar vigilance, a predator’s caution.
Dax circled her, languid amusement in his gaze. He didn’t have the bracing nature of a wolf—this mountain lion teased with a patience in his approach she couldn’t hope to match. Those muscles flexed with every motion, drawing her attention to his movements. Her pulsing desire took a backseat to the predatory instinct that rode her as she waited for him to give an indication of his first move or, better yet, an opening.
He continued to circle, the slow movements sparking her nerves which bristled with anticipation. She scanned the ground around him, searching for a dip in the dirt or patch of uneven grass where he might shift footing. Knowing the mountain lion, he’d trail around her forever, trying to tire her out or bait her into going first. So when she dove in, her first move would have to be a good one.
Not like the tactic wasn’t sound. Already her muscles begged for action, and the wolf in her readied to snap.
A bird whistled in the background, and his gaze flicked in that direction. Only for a second, but a second was all she needed. Sierra lunged.
* * * *
Sierra stretched her arms over her head, a grin spreading wide on her face. Sweat rolled down her biceps, matted her hair, and the late afternoon sun showed no sign of relenting. Dax’s shoulders heaved up and down, but a smile plastered his own face, the joy of unwinding through a good sparring session unparalleled for her kind. She hoped by fighting out the tension winding through her body she could get back in control, yet the moment their gazes locked, familiar warmth coiled in her core, a pulse between her legs that begged to be sated.
“Is this where you boot me out and tell me to run the rest of the way home?” Dax asked, sauntering past her toward the cottage. Even though she’d been in full contact with him as they’d sparred, her mind transitioned into a different zone during the fight. Watching him stride up her stairs into her place with those delicious defined back muscles on full display punched her in the gut. Something about him in this space felt all too right, and she’d be lying if that didn’t scare the hell out of her.
“This is where we get some grub,” she said, following him into her place. “After a workout like that, I’m jonesin’ for a pulled pork sandwich.” Sierra walked into her bedroom, wiping down her body with a towel. Dax’s shadow spilled across her floor, drawing her gaze up. She fixed him with a look. “That wasn’t an invitation to watch me change.”
He smirked, pushing up from where he leaned against the doorframe to wander through her house. “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he called, his voice echoing through her small cottage.
Sierra tugged on her shirt so hard at the comment she almost ripped the fabric. Her brows narrowed on instinct, the man’s ability to get under her skin formidable. “You want to stop off for food? I know better places than the shithole you dragged us to.”
She slipped on a maxi skirt and popped on a pair of sandals, since she didn’t
plan on running through any forests—at least not in this form. When she stepped out of her room, Dax stood by the mantle. He ran a finger along the surface of the porcelain animals she’d placed there, remnants of the home she’d left behind. Her hands balled into fists on instinct, and a sharp sound came from her throat before she could rein it back in.
He glanced up. “You okay?” he asked, removing his hand at once. “Didn’t realize they were valuable.”
Sierra shook her head. “Not worth anything in that sense.”
He nodded, and the tension dissolved when he slapped a smartass grin on. “So where are you taking me on this date?” he asked, dipping his hands in his pockets as he thrust his hips forward.
Sierra clenched her jaw for a moment before responding. “We’re grabbing food. That in no way constitutes a date. Invite whoever you want to join, see if I give a damn.”
Dax tugged his shirt over his head. “So you want me to bring a date?” he asked. “Let me call Ally up.” Fierce heat thudded through her, the blinding sort that pulsed behind her eyes. His eyes twinkled in amusement. “Careful, you’re growling.”
“Let’s go,” she huffed, striding to the door and not waiting to see if he followed. The mating bond went to her head, messing with her control. Once they stepped outside, she locked up, and Dax hopped into the car.
When they interacted as alphas, she could relate; that encouragement and camaraderie came naturally for her. However, she’d stepped on too many past landmines in relationship territory, and anytime their conversations turned this way, she couldn’t help trying to dodge the vulnerability prickling under her skin. Yet the fighter part of her protested, the part the abuse and past disappointment hadn’t managed to snuff out of existence. The idiotic voice of hope that this time might be different.
Sierra hopped into the driver’s seat, aware of the way his gaze glided over her the moment she got inside.
The impulse to fuck, to claim, pounded in her every breath, enhanced by the way they’d sparred together. Enhanced by this proximity plus the scent of mountain lion and cedar that put her brain on the fritz and drove her wolf wild. Sierra veered onto the road, throwing all the energy brewing between them into pounding on the gas pedal.
Instead of the normal right turn on the highway toward the Beaver Tavern, she took a left. Within minutes of zooming across the asphalt, the turn she knew by heart appeared. She often escaped to this bar when she’d had enough of strutting around as alpha for one night, when she needed to clear her mind in a different setting than racing through the woods. The red neon lights were on since the sunlight was waning in early evening. Sierra pulled into the lot, gravel and dust kicked up in the wake of the car.
“If you wanted somewhere private, we could always go to the woods,” Dax purred, the sound of his voice stroking her core and igniting her temper in one sweep.
“Food. We’re going for food,” she repeated. “Unless you’re planning on killing and cooking a rabbit or some venison out there, I’m not seeing how a jaunt through the woods is going to help.”
He snorted in response, hopped out of her car, and strode to the bar like he owned the place. Sierra heaved a sigh and followed.
Jarrod’s Taproom was painted black from top to bottom, with dozens of windows and a couple of dim overhead lights inside separating the shadows around the joint. The owner liked it that way—even though the place was human owned and dominated, more than a couple of shifters from the different packs came here to escape their drama. Not like bringing Dax here provided any sort of escape.
She muscled past him to enter first, throwing a hand up in acknowledgment to Rachel, the waitress by the host stand. With a wink, Rachel led them to one of the corner booths, knowing Sierra’s preference with her frequent attendance. The scent of pine and mouthwatering barbecue drifted through the place, the grills and smokers in full swing.
“Thanks, Rache.” Sierra gave her a nod as she took the menus from the girl and slid into the seat. The AC didn’t blast here, more leaked through the air in wisps, enough to choke out the humidity trailing in while the dim lighting of the joint helped the place feel cool. Dax slipped into the opposite seat, eyeing her as if she ranked as the top choice on the menu.
“I recommend anything from the grill or the pit,” she murmured, giving the menu a once-over before she went with her tried-and-true pulled pork sandwich. While the place supposedly couldn’t compare to bona fide Southern cooking, she’d take the juicy, tangy meat from here any day of the week.
He scanned the menu for a minute, not looking up as he responded. “What’s with the buried past, Kanoska? That seems more my avoidance drill than yours.” Even though his tone remained light, the question hung in the air, the one she’d been expecting after all her twitchiness back at the cabin. Not like she disagreed with him—she preferred to lay most things out on Front Street. However, this burn from her past refused to heal, one that held no resolution.
“Let’s do a care-and-share then,” she challenged. “You dive into all your daddy issues and I’ll dredge up my family history from Philly.”
His gaze sharpened, pinning her, as seriousness descended between them like a storm cloud. “Not fair, Kanoska. You already know my shit, but I don’t have a cent of yours.” He kept his voice level, feline calm an ever-present part of him, but she could feel the way he burned behind the mask.
When the king of avoidance stopped playing games, she knew she was in trouble. Keeping her past quiet had been an isolating burden, and the more she’d shared Dax’s, the more they worked together, the more she realized how deep the loneliness dwelled. The comfort his presence provided, the natural way they flowed together spoke to her in volumes. For the first time, confiding her past didn’t terrify her the way it should’ve. For the first time, she wanted to take that free fall—to let him in.
Rachel chose that moment to pop in with water and a soda, taking their orders with a whip-fast pace. Just as quickly, she flitted off to help the next customers making their way in. Sierra lifted the hot coffee to her lips to take a sip before she broke the silence.
“I didn’t come out until I was a teenager, when I hopped in my car and left home. I knew more shifters lived in this region, and a couple of wolf packs roamed here. The old Red Rock alpha took me in at once. Life in the boonies took a big adjustment since I’d grown up in cramped city apartments.” The memories of the home she left behind thudded in the back of her mind, the combination of sweet and bitter a brew she didn’t want to swallow.
“Bad home life?” he asked.
Bile rose in her throat, but she pushed through anyway. “The bullshit part was my parents were sweet as can be. All the kindness in the world doesn’t amount to shit though when they turned a blind eye to the scars my older brother left. Asshole wanted target practice, and I happened to be around.” The words gummed up her mouth. Dax’s eyes flashed, his gaze burning hot and furious for a moment. The one indication he gave was the way his claws surfaced, biting into the hardwood table.
Sierra lifted her hands, needing to re-collect her pride. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. “Hey, I made it through stronger and gave the guy a couple of scars of his own to remember me by. When I left, I didn’t look back, but the cottage was the first home I made for myself—I give most of myself to my pack, but that and my history—that’s mine.”
“Brothers are a bitch, right?” Dax smiled, even though his eyes blazed. He’d sheathed his claws just in time, because Rachel approached with two plates, one laden with the juicy pulled pork slathered in their secret brown sugar sauce, and the other a roast beef sandwich dripping on the plate. Sierra’s stomach rumbled at the sight.
“Here’s your usual,” Rachel said with a smile. “Dig in.”
Sierra nodded her appreciation before plunging in. The sweet tang of the sauce spread across her tongue, melding with the spice of the pepperjack. She had to keep herself from moaning out loud. Dax tackled his sandwich with the same desperation. Their
type needed to fuel up more than most, and after the way they’d burned calories earlier, they’d both earned the meals. Within the span of minutes, the contents of their plates lay destroyed before them, the sandwiches a distant memory.
“So are you ready for tomorrow?” Sierra asked, wiping the remains of the sauce from her mouth.
Dax leaned back in his seat with his hands behind his head, putting those defined triceps on full display. “As ready as I’m going to be. If this is the path I have to take to get my land and my pack back, so be it.” His determination resonated with her, with the shared fierce protectiveness for their packs.
Sierra pulled out her wallet and dropped cash on the table. “I’ve got this.”
Dax reached out and swatted her cash out of the way, then grabbed his own wallet. “Bullshit you do. You carted my ass around all day and gave my pack support when we needed help the most. This is one drop in the bucket of what I owe you.” He reached out, his fingertips brushing against her wrist as his gaze honed in on her. “Please, let me do this much.” Even though she still felt stubborn about it, the hoarse scrape in his voice sold her.
“Fine,” she said, the word coming a little more spitefully than intended. She took a deep breath and let go of her resistance. “Thank you,” rolled out more softly.
The flirtation was one thing between them, an effortless dance she could get swept away in with ease. This back-and-forth sank its claws inside her and tugged, slicing deeper than she preferred. Even though Sierra tried to keep her distance, tried to ignore the pulse of the mating bond between them, Dax Williams had made his mark on her without fail. He was a charming smile and hot-as-hell promise at first, but the more experiences they shared and the more she revealed the hidden parts of herself, the deeper the gravity of their interactions settled in her marrow, striking a deep part of her she’d long buried.
Tribal Spirit: Forged Alliances Page 10
