Together they worked. They cleaned him with hot towels, and handed Howard whatever he asked for. The scrawny wolf sewed up what could be, and covered all the wounds in heavy aloe vera for healing, and numbing herbal medicine for the pain. Twice Draik screamed himself awake, and both times his packmates gave him whiskey to help. Normal painkillers don’t work on werewolves. It was the best they could do, and in between giving him the booze, they drank some themselves.
It was five torturous hours before they carried Draik to his gauze-covered mattress, and laid him there to sleep. The three backed away, each exhausted.
Curragh’s body was tight and weary, his chest twisted on the inside. He turned to Howard. “Thank you.”
The younger wolf glanced over, tired. “You’re welcome.”
After a weighted pause, Xavier asked, “He’s going to live?”
Howard pushed his glasses up on his nose and nodded. “Yes. We did it.”
Chapter Twenty
Standing out on her balcony with a cup of very hot chamomile tea, Kara watched Chicago from her perch. It looked so beautiful from up here, and she had to admit, she was beginning to feel at home. The detectives on the scene today were different. They treated her with a little more respect, or at least less disrespect. She’d caught a few judgmental glances, but for the most part, it had been a big win in the Kruglov case, and she’d helped make it happen. One step closer to catching the man, when it was usually two steps back. And she’d taken a hit for it. When a cop gets hurt, the others rally and show respect. It’s just the way.
She took a sip and leaned her forearms on the railing, her favorite worn-in T-shirt hanging loosely over blue pajama pants. The air was strangely calm that night, the moon a little more than a sliver. She was exhausted, but it was a good tired. She felt peaceful, maybe for the first time since she’d moved here.
Her thoughts went back to when she found this apartment, a small one bedroom on South Indiana Avenue, only a couple nights after flying in. The exposed brick wall on the street side of the building was charming and reminded her of New York. The rest of the walls were painted white, but she’d yet to hang anything on them. Wanting to start fresh, she’d left all her art and furniture with her ex. The space was even a little larger than the place she’d shared with Mike. So hard to find space in Manhattan. This place was perfect, and the landlady was tickled pink to have a policewoman move in, someone reliable. “Unlike the last couple,” she’d said with a snort. And Kara was more than happy to check out of the hotel. It was depressing not having a place of her own.
Remembering walking up to it for the first time, she glanced down to the quiet street. Her hands tightened around the cup. There, coming toward her building was Curragh. He looked like he smelled the air with purpose. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was hunting something, like an animal might. He had the same crouched stance.
“What are you doing?” she called down, exasperated.
His body straightened up like a shot, eyes locking on her. “Buzz me in.”
She blinked a couple times, turned around, and set down her cup so fast it almost toppled over. Did he come looking for me? How does he know where I live? She ran out the door and down the stairs. Is this just a…no, it can’t be a coincidence. He wasn’t surprised to see me. What is the deal with this guy?
Throwing the front door open to the small six-unit complex, she explained, out of breath, “There is no buzzer. I mean, there was. But it broke.”
He nodded tensely, pointing to her bruised face. “How’s this feel?”
She shrugged, eyeing how tired he looked. “You okay?”
“No.” By his expression, she knew how much he needed her to say yes when he asked, “Can I come in?”
She moved over to let him through and he headed for the stairs without looking back. Shutting the door, she followed him.
“I live on a third floor, too,” he quietly told her, thoughts far away.
“Oh? It’s unlocked.” She watched him grunt and throw the door open. He turned and waited for her to enter before closing and locking it behind them.
“Want something to drink?”
“What have ya got?” He sat on her loveseat, the world on his shoulders.
Her lips parted and she pointed to the kitchen cabinets as one does when thinking. “Ummm, coffee, tea. No, you don’t look like you drink tea.” He shook his head once. “Vodka. I’ve got some Tanqueray gin. Jack Daniels.”
“Jack.” He brought his huge hands up, cradled his head, resting his elbows on his knees. As she went to get the bourbon, she heard him say in a lower register, “Please.” She paused and looked over at him, then continued on to the task. Pouring herself a glass seemed like a good idea, too, and soon she was carrying two short glasses into the living room, the bottle under her arm.
“Here.” She set the bottle down on the glass coffee table. “Thought you might need more.”
He nodded and downed his glass, but didn’t refill it. He turned to her, eyes drained of light. “One of my brothers almost died tonight.”
“You have brothers here?”
“Not by blood. But they may as well be.”
She reached out for him, picturing a stepbrother in a car accident. It didn’t occur to her how wrong her first guess might be. “Oh, Curragh, I’m so sorry.” He pulled her onto his lap. “Is that what this is?” she asked. He followed her finger to the bloodstains on his shirt. He closed his eyes and put his forehead to hers. “Is he going to be okay?” He nodded once.
She began tenderly tracing her lips across his frown, his cheekbones, his shaking eyelids. Finally she pressed her mouth to his and he responded, pulling her close. His arms slowly encircled her, not rough like before. She felt how much he needed the softness of her woman’s heart.
He slipped off the worn out t-shirt she favored sleeping in, and kissed her shoulder a couple soft times. Then he looked into her eyes. He lifted her breasts, one in each strong, warm hand. “I don’t know why I came here.”
She offered a small smile, lacing her fingers in his hair. “I do.”
He tightened his hold on her, molding his mouth sensually with hers. Together they pulled off his bloodied shirt. She traced his chest muscles with feathery fingertips before kissing him again. He lowered her onto the circular rug at their feet and pulled off her pajama pants, trailing kisses down her legs as they became bare. Tossing aside the cotton fabric, he bent his broad torso and kissed her mound. A heat rushed there and she moaned. He came to sit in between her legs and lifted her pussy to his mouth, kissing it softly. The warmth of his breath made her ache with need. He burrowed into her wet folds and slid his tongue ever so slowly up and down until he heard her moan again and again. Kissing her once more, he rose up and tugged off his jeans, tossing them aside. His erection was immense and intimidating. The other places hadn’t afforded her a good look. Surprised, she glanced from the crimson shaft and darker mushroom head to his face. The look in them was so wounded, it tore her up inside. She rose up to touch his face, but he grabbed her hand and brought it to his stiff length, helping her stroke him. “I need you,” he groaned.
“I’m here.” She mounted his lap and slid onto him one wide inch at a time. He stretched her so tight and they moaned together as he completed the journey. Kissing her, he stayed there a moment, his hands clasping her lower back. Then he began to move. He kneeled up, carrying her with him, slowly undulating his hips back and forth. The slick hardness of his manhood brought her so much pleasure, but it was the way he was kissing her that broke her heart.
He began to shake like he was cold, when to her touch, he was quite the opposite. His arms tightened even more around her so that she had barely room to breath. “You’re so strong,” she whispered against his lips. He loosened his hold. “No, I like it,” she confessed. She held his look and their bodies took over. One after the other, their heads fell back in ecstasy, hands running down naked flesh, searching to know each other. The intensity gr
ew as their jaded walls dissolved. Kisses became much more urgent. The grinding more feverish, sweat tickling down their skin. She cried out as her stomach clenched and her walls tightened around him. He groaned loudly and grabbed her mouth with his, holding her in a frozen, painful kiss as they came together. Out of breath, he released her lips and buried his face into her neck, gripping her hair with one of his hands, fingers laced through. It was awhile before either said anything. For this one moment, she forgot what he was and what she was, and what they could never be.
Chapter Twenty-One
Curragh traced the outline of her bruises with his thumb as they lay naked on the floor, limbs wrapped around each other. He had a pillow under his head and she had her chin on his chest. “You’re a tough woman,” he smiled.
“I did what had to be done.”
“I did it,” he teased her, loving how her eyes lit up. “I’m the one who punched your face.”
A slow, sleepy grin appeared as she laughed. “If one more man says that to me today.”
He paused, not getting the joke at first. Then he laughed and moved some long, dark hair from where it blocked her cheek. “You’re beautiful.”
“With my face all bruised up?” she cried out. “You’re a sick puppy!”
He chuckled. I am that. She relaxed onto his chest, laying her bruised cheek down and looking toward the balcony. He could only see the top of her head now, and a little tip of bruised nose. He laid his head back and looked at her ceiling, then glanced around. “Your walls are like ours.”
“Oh?”
“Nothing on them.”
Her fingers absently tickled his leg as she replied, “I need to buy some art. Just haven’t really felt like this was my home yet, I guess. Until tonight.”
“Why tonight?” he asked, craning his neck to see her.
She looked up at him. “The other detectives were nicer to me tonight. I think they respected that I took a fall, and was a part of a massive step in finding who we’re looking for.”
At the reminder of Viktor Kruglov, Curragh felt heat pour into his bloodstream. “What did you find?” She opened her mouth to answer, but then shut it, glancing away. His tone was harsh as he demanded, “Kara. What did you find?”
She sat up on her heels, hands on naked thighs. Her long hair hung over one shoulder and those gorgeous breasts of hers were topped with tight pink crests. Only this time it was from stubborn agitation. He sat up, too, leaning on one hand.
“I can’t talk about it,” she insisted, her voice quiet.
He stared at her. “AFTER WHAT WE DID FOR YOU TODAY?”
“Don’t yell at me, Curragh!” Her eyes turned icy, her back very straight.
Leaning closer, he grated, “You tell me what you found out about Kruglov.”
She narrowed her eyes. “No.”
Jumping off the floor, he pulled on his jeans. “I can’t fucking believe this.”
She stood up, eyes darting around like she didn’t want him to go, but didn’t want to bend to his will either. “You’re leaving?”
Snatching his shirt up, he shouted, “FUCK YES I’M LEAVING.” He tugged it on, glaring at her. Here he’d felt protective of the woman, had left Tutors at the mansion so she didn’t get pissed off, or see him as the criminal she already acted like he was, and now she wouldn’t help him finds the man who’d hurt Draik? He grabbed his boots and yanked them on while standing. “Unless you want to help me out.”
“I can’t!”
He headed for the door. Flipping around, he demanded, “Why not!!!”
She looked truly helpless as she reached out for him. He was stone cold, but he let her touch his chest. “You have to understand. I’ve been here six months chasing this man and the force has been after him for much, much longer. But today—and yes, thanks to you—we found a paper trail that can lead to the phantom called Viktor Kruglov. If I told you what they found, then…”
“Then what?! Then I’d help you take the piece of shit down? Because that’s what we do! We do what you can’t!”
She stared up at him, and stepped back. “I helped you today, but I can’t be a part of what you’re doing. Not if I want to keep my job.”
“Fuck your job,” he snarled, reaching for the door handle.
“Wait!” He felt her grab onto his left arm with both hands. “Please don’t leave like this. I’m sorry. We’re just on the wrongs sides.”
His chest deflated, all the air knocked out of him. She was right. He knew this, and had known it since he discovered she was a cop. It had to be the worst trick fate had ever played on him. He let go of the door handle and turned to her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, hard and desperately. She responded, gripping him by the head to hold his mouth as close to hers as she could. He released her. “This has to stop.”
Tears jumped into her large, brown eyes. “Oh God,” she whispered. “I know. It won’t work.”
“No. It won’t,” he muttered, touching the side of her naked breast because he just couldn’t help it. Like he’d touched fire, he yanked his hand back. His wolf was not happy about this conversation, and if he waited any longer, it would show itself. He gritted his teeth and, shoving the beast back with all his power, kept his eyes normal. “Maybe I’ll see you out there.”
Her hands floated to cover her mouth, and the tears began to fall. It killed him to watch, so he turned away.
“I hope your friend is okay!”
Thinking of Draik’s ravaged body and his promise to avenge him, Curragh paused. “Yeah, me too.” He closed the door. After a few moments, he heard the lock turn from the other side. His stomach twisted with it.
Outside, the cool air was welcome. Long strides took him up the street away from her. As he went to turn the corner, Curragh looked back to her balcony. Kara was up there, staring at him, so he stopped walking and waited to see if she’d say something.
She turned and went inside.
With knots in his chest, he walked home thinking about how screwed up all this was. Couldn’t she see that they were fighting on the same side? That he and his packmates were able to get things done faster? Why didn’t she tell me what she knows? And why did she have to be so fucking unforgettable…
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kara quickly slipped back into her t-shirt and PJ bottoms, then walked out onto the balcony. She looked down at his retreating form. His walk was determined, but as he neared the end of her block and turned, he glanced up over his huge shoulder at her. Her heart stopped with his footsteps. It looked like Curragh wanted to say something, but what could be said? Picking up her forgotten, cold cup of chamomile, Kara left the balcony and walked into her kitchen, the quiet hum of the refrigerator, her soundtrack.
They were on opposite sides. And she loved hers. Being a cop had been her dream ever since she’d witnessed the police car blazing a trail to her freedom.
She was twelve and had mistakenly thought that since he was a neighbor he was safe. That the food he offered was given without motive save for basic human kindness. He’d seen how violent her father was. Everyone knew that her dad couldn’t hold his liquor, but he could hold his belt. He said he could be a father figure to her. One she could look up to. Oh, how she’d wanted that.
He was sneaky. The asking her to sit on his lap didn’t start right away. By the time it did she’d become hooked on the ‘friendship,’ and didn’t want to lose it. Then he began to touch her. She knew it was wrong. She tried to stop him. She didn’t like it. But he forced his hand and threatened her that if she told anyone he would say she asked for it. That she was a dirty little girl. She knew her father would beat her, only this time harder than all the others. He’d believe the man. Call her a whore like he called her mother. So she kept quiet until she couldn’t anymore.
One rainy Monday morning when Kara was in the seventh grade, the bell rang, ending second period English. All the other kids filed out for their third period classrooms. After this class was her favorite teach
er’s ‘free hour,’ which meant this was Kara’s chance.
She pretended to be collecting her papers, and whispered with every ounce of courage she had, “Mrs. Dobbs?”
The curly haired woman with a love for E.E. Cummings turned from the chalkboard and removed her reading glasses, a white dusty stick still held in powered fingers. “Yes?”
Kara croaked, “I…I need help.”
Mrs. Dobbs blinked before she set her spotless glasses on her desk. Her soft brown eyes seemed to understand something big was about to happen. Kara even saw the woman hold her breath. It was suspenseful enough to make her want to cancel the whole thing and escape into the bustling hallway.
Please don’t judge me.
Please don’t look at me like I’m gross.
But he’d done terrible things to her yesterday. She couldn’t imagine living another moment in that kind of hell.
Kara shuffled her feet and squeaked, “There’s a man who’s been…” She threw her hands over her face. Through tear-drenched fingers, she whispered, “He’s been making me do things.”
Kara would never forget that slim white stump of chalk floating down and bouncing into a corner. She’d stared at it, eyes averted as her teacher kneeled and took her hands. “What happened, Kara? Who is it?” There was a long pause, then Mrs. Dobbs said the one thing Kara so needed to hear. “I believe you.”
That night sirens drew her family to the window in their living room. Kara’s trembling hands steamed the cold glass as the police car stopped in front of his house. With surprised innocence on his lying face he appeared on his porch. She watched mouths moving as metal rings were pulled out and wrapped around his wrists. His head hung lower and lower as he walked, until one of the police officers in a pretty, dark blue uniform pushed on the evil man’s head and shoved him into the backseat.
Werewolves of Chicago: Curragh (Werewolves of... Book 6) Page 7
