“Nothing else explains why you’re still standing here. Or why you need her so badly,” she added.
He stopped, realizing he’d turned around to return to Kennedy. “How do you know what I need?” he asked, irritated that he couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying to the human. Even talk of the wraith and protecting her didn’t stem the need to see her, talk to her. Touch her.
“It’s…ah…a little obvious.”
He gave her a blank look.
His sister cleared her throat and nodded to his groin.
“Jesus, Briana.” He jerked around, hiding his erection like an embarrassed teen caught jerking off. One quick snap finished the button he’d left undone after yanking them back on earlier.
He dragged his hands through his hair. “I met her months ago and still spent every damn day as a statue.”
“Meeting your mate doesn’t automatically prevent the shift at sunrise. It only gives us control over it. Your need to protect your mate gave you control over it when Lucan cut you.”
He shook his head against her logic even though the doubts were slowly receding.
“Have you actually tried fighting it at dawn?”
Why would he? For over a millennium the change had been an unavoidable part of his existence.
Gods, could Kennedy truly be his mate?
The cat roared in affirmation.
Eager to return to her—whatever the reason—he strode for the front door.
“Tristan.” Briana touched his arm as his hand closed over the knob. “The sun will be up in a few minutes.” Meaning she’d be heading to the roof. “Lucan is…” She trailed off. “Just be careful, okay?”
Something in her tone made him think she’d wanted to say something else but held back.
He nodded and slipped out into the night. Because he could travel faster on four legs, he stripped off his pants and shifted. Around him the night came into sharper focus, but it was the wraith’s scent that hit him first, filling his nostrils.
Growling, he retreated a few steps, then clamping down on the need to find Kennedy, he sprinted toward the western perimeter. His steps slowed as he padded up a short incline that looked down at the mansion.
Lucan stood with his back to him, his earlier phantom form abandoned for his human one. “I had no idea,” the mercenary said without turning around. “Not until I tracked her here did I realize how fully you were involved in the situation, and even then I never expected her to be your mate. I was only instructed on how to deal with Cale.”
His brother? Tristan waited for the wraith to explain, preferring to stay in cat form should the wraith attack. He wanted to give his friend the benefit of the doubt, but he’d witnessed the bloodlust that consumed Lucan when a contract compelled him to kill. Tristan knew better than most how vicious the former knight could be when he gave in.
Lucan finally turned to face him. Already Tristan noticed the signs of strain on Lucan’s face from denying himself the kill. It was only a matter of time before the tremors that made his friend clench and unclench his fist worsened.
“I’ve been ordered to negotiate for the dagger. If it’s not turned over in forty-eight hours, I’m bound to fulfill the terms of the contract.”
Tristan snarled.
Lucan gave him a weary look. “I’m sorry my friend. I’ll be close if you want to talk.” He paused. “Two days, Tristan. That’s all I can give you.” Lucan’s shape grew dark at the edges, then he was no more than a shadow fading into the night.
Two days. Two days to turn over the dagger or Lucan would hunt down Kennedy. Two days to figure out how in the hell he could sacrifice his brother’s freedom.
But if she truly was his mate, how could he possibly sacrifice her?
—
Kennedy stared at the closed door, unable to talk herself into opening it and searching for Tristan. She clutched at a faded leather belt, tightening her grip until her knuckles whitened. As far as weapons went she might as well have been armed with an arsenal of cotton balls, but holding onto something felt better than cowering in the closet. Too bad doing exactly that wouldn’t seriously sabotage the image she hadn’t lost her ever lovin’ mind.
Movement on the other side of the door made her pulse pick up speed, and her gaze locked on the turning handle. Unless the oversized pussycat also had an opposable thumb, it wouldn’t be opening the door. Breaking through it, sure, but slowly twisting the knob around until she felt every near-soundless click…
“Hey.”
Tristan. Relief swept through her, relaxing her spine. Marginally. “Shut. The. Door.”
“Kennedy—”
She shook her head. “Before Puss in Boots comes back, preferably.”
He arched a brow, but did as she asked. His gaze dropped to the belt in her hand and the chair she’d dragged in front of her.
“Don’t tell me you were a lion tamer in a former life?”
“Are you laughing at me?”
He struggled not to smile. “No.”
“You take off and leave me to deal with something from the Phantom Zone and a wild animal jacked up on super catnip, and now you’re laughing at me?” Death wish, meet Tristan.
His half grin faded. “You’re not hurt, are you?” In the space of a heartbeat his gaze turned critical. “I didn’t think it touched you.” Closing the distance, he frowned intently as though he might see any injuries through the borrowed clothing.
She stared at him, gripping the belt tighter when he tried tugging it loose. “It. You said ‘it’.”
Tristan tugged again. “Are personal pronouns against some bartending code I’m unaware of?” He changed tactics, smoothing his fingers across her wrist.
The soft caress succeeded in slowing her runaway heart, and she found herself relinquishing her weapon.
“I didn’t imagine it, did I? That thing. The cat. They’re both real.” She didn’t want them to be. If there was something wrong in her mind, she could fix that. A shrink, some meds, something. Accepting Casper and his furry nemesis actually existed would be a whole lot harder. “I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone, haven’t I?”
“He’s harmless.”
Somehow knowing Tristan referred to the cat, she shook her head. “A week-old kitten is harmless. That beast could have used my bones for toothpicks.”
“He prefers his meat cooked most of the time, if that makes you feel better.”
“Oh, much.” She snorted, then closed her hand, only to remember Tristan had taken the belt and tossed it on the nearby table. “Please tell me what the hell is going on. Because the more I try convincing myself none of this can actually be happening, the more real it becomes.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Please.” She touched his hand, barely curbing the urge to launch herself straight into his arms. Not since her mother’s death had she felt so helpless, so unsure of what the hell to do.
His fingers curled tightly around hers, too tightly. Her gaze darted up to meet his. For a moment she thought he meant to kiss her, triggering a flare of warmth in her belly that defied reason. Uncertain, afraid, bewildered—sure. But aroused?
Caught off-guard, she stumbled back a step. Tristan spun away from her, driving the tension up between them with his silence.
“I need to know what’s happening.”
“Give me a minute,” he snapped.
Frustration swelled inside her. “You’ve already had a whole lot longer than that to start explaining.”
He said nothing.
She took the few steps separating them and planted herself directly in front of him. “Damn it, Tristan. Talk to me.”
“I can’t.” The words sounded forced, almost growled.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because talking is the last thing I want to do right now.”
It took her a minute to see past the rigid shoulders, clenched jaw and the tense lines bracketing his mouth. Another moment to search his eyes for the cause of his s
udden anger.
And just a heartbeat to fully realize he wasn’t pissed off at all.
“Tristan?” Wary, she backed up. “What’s wrong?”
He laughed, the sound laced with frustration. “That same thing that’s been wrong for months.” He moved toward her and she retreated further.
A devilish smile, one that instantly reminded her of a cat cornering a canary, curved his lips. “What’s wrong is watching you, catching your scent and craving your touch. Night after night. Always wanting what I couldn’t have. Never giving in.”
“Until tonight,” she said softly. He had certainly given in when she’d all but wrapped herself around him in the car. Forget what his mouth had given her in the bathroom earlier.
He cocked his head, his gaze sliding down her front, lingering on her chest before dipping lower to the borrowed baggy shorts. The heated look on his face made her feel as though she were wearing a string bikini bottom instead, emphasis on string.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Until tonight.” Another confident step in her direction.
Another retreat, one that brought her up against a small table. “That doesn’t explain—”
He silenced her with a shake of his head. “This is going one of two ways, and neither of them involve any explanations.”
The annoyance she wanted to feel, that she should have felt, deserted her, leaving her confused and just a little bit nervous. “Because talking is the last thing you want to do?”
He nodded, erasing the last of the space between them.
“So what is it that you want to do, because I’m really not up for another hour—”
His thumb brushed her bottom lip, silencing her before he splayed his fingers along her jaw. The same eyes she’d been fantasizing about for months bored into hers. She knew what came next, and her belly tightened in anticipation even as she braced herself for it. As she hungered for it.
Everything from the brush of his thumb at her throat to the way he moved in, his chest crowding her, his leg nudging her thighs apart, said soft and slow. But when he opened his mouth over hers, his lips hot and greedy, his tongue pushing in to sweep across hers, the kiss turned fast and hard and downright explosive.
She rose up on her toes, snatching a breath before he captured her mouth again. He tangled his hands in her hair, angling her head back a little more. Despite the fierce kiss that promised she’d beg for more before he was through, he gently cupped her nape.
The scorching trail he followed down her neck would have turned her into a puddle at his feet if not for his other hand grazing her breast. Tension, hot and sharp and so damn good, echoed in her core, keeping her feet firmly planted.
It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed her—and she hoped like hell it wouldn’t be the last—but this felt more…real. Not a sleepy seduction or a coaxing tease, just raw and unrestrained and breaking her apart inside.
Looping her arms around his neck, Kennedy hung on, rubbing herself against his thigh. Tristan’s appreciative groan slid into a thick growl when she sucked his bottom lip between hers. He pressed against her, jostling the table behind her. Something shattered on the floor. Probably something expensive.
“—of guessing what you’re thinking,” she finished when the crash succeeded in thankfully slowing things down. She needed a second to process everything.
“Do you really need to guess what I’m thinking about?”
She swallowed, her eyes sliding shut as he ran his mouth down her throat, nipped her shoulder.
“Stop.” She planted a hand against his chest, ignoring the soft ache between her thighs. “I can’t do this now. I need to know what’s going on.”
At first she thought he planned on giving her some space, then he lifted her, setting her on top of the small table. He flattened one hand on the wall near her head. The other slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, his fingers trailing across her skin.
Nothing about the predatory look on Tristan’s face matched the lazy caress, as though he were holding back. She shivered, resisted closing her eyes and sinking into another kiss that would surely fry the last of her rational brain cells.
She refused to let that happen. Not again. Twice tonight she’d let her hormones override her common sense. It couldn’t—wouldn’t—happen again. “We need to slow down.”
A frustrated groan rumbled past his lips, lips lazily brushing the corner of her jaw. “We need to stop talking.” His teeth grazed her throat.
She thought about pushing him away, but anticipating the brush-off, Tristan snared her wrist and brought it to his mouth.
“Please, Kennedy.”
“This doesn’t make sense. Before tonight, you didn’t even like me.” Clinging to that fact helped to slow the flames that licked through her veins wherever his lips touched her skin.
He tucked her hair behind her ear, giving him uncompromised access to her neck. “I liked you too much.”
“Then why ignore me for months?” Why drive her crazy wanting him when he felt the same way?
“To stop this from happening.”
She parted her lips to ask him what this was. He bit her bottom lip, dragging it between his before sliding his mouth over hers completely. She moaned, felt herself melt a little into his arms. Strong, muscular arms, lifting her up, wrapping her around him, and carrying her toward the other room—the bedroom.
“Wait.” Kennedy wiggled free of his hold, putting some distance between them. She couldn’t keep a clear head when he touched her. Even out of arm’s reach she felt the pull of him. Every cell in her body craved him like an addictive drug, yet she clung to the faint voice warning her to tread carefully. “We can’t do this.”
“Yes. We can.” He might as well have said, “Yes, we will.” The subtle tilt of his head, as though he were already imagining them doing a whole lot more with a lot less clothing on worried her.
Worried her more because every second that passed left her achingly aware of him. Her skin still buzzed from the last brush of his fingers. Her lips still damp from his mouth.
Why was it so damn hard to concentrate? “Tell me why you brought me here. What came after me? Where were you and where in the hell did that animal come from?”
“Is that everything?” He moved toward her, his steps casual, his expression determined.
She shook her head. “Why can’t I stop this?” She pressed her hand to her belly, which clenched with every purposeful step in her direction.
He stopped in front of her, his gaze burrowing right into her heart. “Because right now this is more important than anything else.”
“It shouldn’t be.” Nothing should matter but getting this figured out, and at the same time the deepest parts of her knew he was somehow right. And that made even less sense.
He lifted a hand to touch her face, and her breath caught then locked in her lungs when he changed his mind. “This goes one of two ways. Either I walk out the door and try getting a hold of myself. Or—” his gaze darkened, his voice low and rough, “—I start peeling your clothes off.”
Chapter Five
Arousal streamed through her. “Why does that sound like some kind of ultimatum?”
“Choose.”
The demand unleashed a wave of molten butterflies in her stomach. Instead of moving toward him, she skirted back toward the leather sofa, anticipating his pursuit.
He didn’t disappoint her.
“Okay, now it feels like you’re stalking me.”
He grinned, never letting her get too far from him. “Then tell me to leave, Kennedy.”
“And be alone in the house with that big-ass cat? Doesn’t sound like a bright move to me.”
“I don’t think he would mind keeping an eye on you.”
“It’s not his eyes I’m worried about.” Too bad the image of all those teeth and razor sharp claws didn’t stay with her long enough to cool the fever burning her up inside. She was starting to think nothing could, and even worse, that she didn’t really w
ant it to.
“Then tell me to stay.”
“Of course I want you to stay. I just need—”
“Answers? Later.”
“Now,” she insisted, dodging back toward the doorway only to stop short of opening it. She didn’t know what scared her the most. Facing the panther or jaguar or whatever the hell it was, or staying and giving in to Tristan.
He stepped up behind her. “Am I making you nervous?”
“No.”
“Angry?”
“I want to be.”
“Aroused.” It wasn’t a question.
Kennedy shook her head, unable to voice the denial.
His soft laugh called her a liar. “Then tell me to go. Now. Before I lose the last of my control.”
She turned her head and her cheek brushed his jaw. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
“I want to do a lot of things, but hurting you definitely isn’t one of them.”
Closing her eyes, she said, “I need a minute.” But not nearly as much as she needed him to touch her right that very second.
“You’ve already made up your mind,” he challenged.
Had she? Kennedy started to shake her head, wondering if she’d ever been so confused and impossibly turned on.
“Okay then.” He moved around her.
“This is insane, Tristan.”
He gripped the door handle.
Everything inside her cried out to stop him and it had nothing to do with being afraid of being alone. There was a lot more to be scared of in here, with him.
Tristan opened the door.
Don’t leave.
He stepped through.
She parted her lips.
“You’re killing me here, you know that?” The almost playful comment was lost beneath the desperate edge in his voice, like hot steel dragged across granite.
“Stay.” One word was all she could manage when she feared letting him stay more than letting him walk away. She knew attraction, she knew all about getting caught up in something hot and unpredictable, but none of that felt anywhere close to riptide threatening to drag her under now.
Primal Hunger: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 1 Page 6
