A trapdoor!
None of my business. Nonetheless, that extra hiding place perhaps explained why her grandfather had lent Carson this particular house and greenhouse. John could have had a greenhouse built anywhere; one a lot newer and more efficient.
She sat in the chair, swiveled it around and stared across the greenhouse towards the house. Did the trapdoor lead to a cellar, or was it something more adventurous? Perhaps a tunnel back to the house? It sounded unbelievable, until you remembered London’s history. Houses were built over layers of the past: Roman, Saxon, Medieval, Victorian and that great cause of tunneling and excavation, the bombing of the Second World War.
“No aphids,” Carson announced.
“You can’t believe how pleased I am for you,” Albert said sourly from the doorway.
Liz pushed her right foot against the floor, swiveling the chair to face the action. “Could you ward against them, Albert?”
“Now is not the time,” the mage said sharply.
Liz’s good humor faded a bit. “Are you still hurting? Should you still be in hospital?”
“I’m fine. Paid an arm and a leg and a first class ward to that woman who calls herself a healer, but I’m free and whole.” He squinted up at the roof of the glasshouse. “Look, let’s get this done. I’ve other things to attend to. Since you’re here, Carson, I’ll tie the ward to you. Blood will make it stronger. And since it’s your blood, it’ll even keep out other weres.”
“Blood?” Liz questioned.
“No one will break this ward, not without killing Carson.”
“Perhaps we should think about this…” Liz began.
Carson strode towards the desk. “I’ve got a knife.”
“And I have a sterile razorblade, antiseptic enough to satisfy Ms. Doctor.” Albert flourished the razor.
“You are in a crabby mood,” Liz complained.
Carson smiled at her. A secret smile, complicit, theirs.
“I want to see Daria,” Albert said.
“Daria?” Liz peered around Carson to stare at Albert.
“I like her, all right?” Albert was truculent. It almost hid his blush. “And I’ve got John’s permission to visit, so I’m going. Just as soon as we’re done, here.”
Carson took the razorblade from him and tore open its sterile packaging. “How much blood do you need?”
“Just a dab.”
Carson sliced his upper arm.
Liz came closer to watch proceedings.
“That’s the stuff.” Albert swiped up a drop of blood onto the tip of a quartz wand. “Now, both of you out of the glasshouse. I’m going to ward it.”
They squeezed past him in the doorway and turned. Carson put his arm around her.
She didn’t fuss about the small cut. Given his alpha wolf-were nature, it would be already healing. Instead, she leant into him and they waited for Albert to seal the ward.
She’d observed Fay set the ward around her grandfather’s London property yesterday. Fay hadn’t used words or props. She’d simply marked a few places, tracing the pattern into the dirt with her finger, then concentrated a minute or so when they’d circled the perimeter. It hadn’t looked difficult, but Fay had appeared tired when she finished.
Albert was slightly more dramatic. He had the crystal wand and a drop of Carson’s blood, plus he muttered under his breath. Then his shoulders slumped and he seemed completely exhausted, bloodless himself.
“Too much magic, too soon after healing,” Liz scolded.
“Let be.” Albert shooed her away, straightening his shoulders. “It’s a major ward. Stupid to waste it on plants.” A sharp look at Carson. “But I’ll not have someone breaking my wards again. Look.”
“Holy hell-fire.” Carson pulled Liz back from the greenhouse.
Every pane of glass danced with translucent aqua-tinted flames.
“Mage fire,” she said.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Carson stretched out a hand. “It’s not hot.”
“Because it’s blood-tied to you,” Albert snapped. “You can walk in there. Anyone else who tries it, they’re fried. Anyone entering will need your invitation. Better yet, hold their hand and walk them in.”
“Like travel through a portal.” Liz felt no temptation to experiment with the eerie, dancing flames.
Albert shut them down. “Close enough.”
“Too dangerous,” Carson objected.
“No. It’s the inner ward. The outer one imposes a disinclination to approach the greenhouse. Even the guards won’t be able to approach within five feet of it. Credit me with some sense. Anyone who encounters the mage fire is here for no good reason and deserves everything they get.” He tugged the cap on his head lower. “I’ll be going.”
“Give my love to Daria,” Liz said, and got a grunt in response.
Albert vanished around the side of the house.
“I’ll just shut the door to the greenhouse.” Carson bravely walked through the doorway. No mage fire blazed. He closed the door, locked it—perhaps out of habit—and returned to Liz. “Ready to go home?”
She smiled at him; stretched up and kissed him. “Oh, yeah.”
Chapter 13
Liz waited in the kitchen, chatting with Yan, while Carson went upstairs. He’d said he wanted to grab some gear, but she heard water running. A shower. When he came downstairs, he’d also and obviously shaved. Yan hid a grin behind a mug of coffee. Liz didn’t care. She crossed to Carson and rubbed her face against his. “For me?”
Carson kissed her, brief and possessive. “Yeah.”
“I appreciate it.”
Yan snorted, coughed and was dwelt a solid thwack between the shoulder blades by Matthew, who’d just entered.
“Man’s jealous. Can’t find a woman. All the good ones are taken,” Matthew said, obviously comfortable in his own marriage.
“And on that note…” Liz led the way out, with Carson right behind her, his hand on her hip.
They were quiet on the drive back to her house. Albert’s presence at the glasshouse had been a reminder that while her responsibility for Daria’s safety had been lifted, Carson still had to ensure the security of the gentians. It was a measure of her importance to him that he was with her, and not back at the glasshouse or tracking down Brandon’s confederates.
She also admitted, to herself, that she felt a bit nervous.
“Will you excuse me a few minutes,” she said when they walked in the back door, into her kitchen. She didn’t have any flashbacks to fighting the mercenaries. She was intent on a quick shower.
Carson smiled at her, snatching a toe-curling kiss with his hand at the nape of her neck, before releasing her. “I’ll wait.”
“There’s food in the fridge,” Liz said. “If you’re hungry.”
In fact, she’d checked the fridge on their first visit, and it wasn’t merely full of food, it was bulging. On top of what Daria had baked and stored in there, Liz’s own pack members, those who hadn’t joined the hunt for Brandon, the nurturers, had expressed their love and concern via food. Casseroles and desserts, salads, soups and various breads filled the shelves.
“I guess I won’t starve,” Carson said, bemused, as he stared in the fridge door.
Liz laughed, and left him to the typical male activity of standing in an open fridge door. She showered quickly, using a Tahitian lime and melon shower gel, and slipped into the lightest silk underwear in a shade of cream, and a spring-green satin shirt-style dress that stopped at mid-thigh. She walked downstairs barefoot.
Carson met her there. He set aside the drink he held, and pulled her into his arms. He tasted of bourbon and desire. Briefly, he broke their kiss. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
He picked her up, and—wolf-were strength—carried her back up the stairs.
She kicked her feet just a little. “I feel like a starlet from a 1950s movie.”
“You’re every bit as sexy.”
“Smooth, very
smooth.” She traced his shaved jawline.
He tipped his head and nipped her fingers. Inside her bedroom, he let her stand.
The satin of her dress slid and shifted against his shirt and jeans. Through it, she felt the warmth of him. Her nipples pushed flagrantly against her dress.
He ran his hands from her hips, up her waist and cupped her breasts. He played with them, teasing her sensitive nipples as he kissed her. The dress parted, drifting open against her skin as he dealt with the buttons and kept going, undoing the clasp on her bra.
She shimmied out of both, her stomach clenching at the scorching look he gave her near-naked body. “You’re over-dressed.” She tugged up his white t-shirt.
He stripped it off.
She unbuckled his belt.
He watched.
She inhaled unsteadily, and unzipped his fly.
He trapped her hand.
They stared at one another, and then she flung herself backwards, across the bed, and he followed her down. They rolled, so that she ended up on top. He rubbed his hands over her breasts; strong, claiming caresses that had her panting into their kiss.
She ground down instinctively, and yelped at the abrasion of his open jeans zip, at its warm metal teeth against soft skin.
“Are you okay?” He tipped her onto her back, parting her thighs to see for himself. “No scrape.” He kissed a spot, licked it.
“Like that,” she said.
“Do you?” He smiled at her wickedly, and then, kisses and strokes, feathering over her inner thighs, approaching but never reaching her knickers.
It was wonderful, glorious, not enough! “Carson,” she demanded.
And there. He touched her there, where her arousal had dampened her knickers. The sheer silk was barely a barrier to his gliding fingers. Her hips twitched. Her heels dug into the mattress.
He lifted his hand away and came up to her breasts.
“What are you doing?” She clutched at his shoulders, ran her fingers up his neck and through his hair.
He growled as she massaged his scalp. “I should tell you. I’m a breast man.” He sucked her right breast into his mouth. His tongue circled the taut nipple.
She pulled his hair. She didn’t mean to. Her fingers just tightened involuntarily as her body spasmed on the edge of orgasm.
“Other breast in a minute.” He lifted himself off the bed and stripped off his jeans and briefs.
“My knickers, too.” She hooked her thumbs in their waistband.
“Don’t you dare!”
She stared at him. Smiled sultrily. “Then you had better.”
“I intend to.” He came back to her, settling over her, making a place for him between her legs.
“That feels so good. You feel so good,” she said. “Don’t make me wait.”
“We have all night.”
She didn’t know whether to groan in frustration or anticipation. She settled for kissing him, before he returned to her breasts, praising them in whispered, wicked language, sucking on them, licking, blowing, and tormenting them with pleasure.
Finally, he tugged down her knickers and found her there. She shattered at the touch of his fingers; opened her eyes to see him watching her, the wolf in his eyes. No words, just the jerk of her chin. Now.
He rolled on a condom and entered her.
Maybe her first orgasm hadn’t ended. At any rate, its tremors shook her at his slow invasion. She stretched and took all of him. Then she nipped his neck.
Carson’s control broke. All of his beautiful strength and power concentrated on her, on driving them both faster, harder, over the edge. And Liz matched him. They moved together as primally perfect as when they danced. The rhythm was in their blood, pounded in their bodies, and they had to meet it. They challenged each other even as they surrendered everything, and the reward was glorious.
Liz thought she lost consciousness. Certainly, when she could notice things again, she was lying cuddled into Carson and he was stroking her butt, very male and possessive. Very satisfied.
She sighed and stretched. Well, she was satisfied, too. Wonderfully so.
He smiled at her, and she wondered what romantic thing he’d say. At least, she hoped it would be romantic! She wasn’t much for post-coital chit-chat that was really a game-play assessment.
“You know that fridge of food downstairs…” he began.
She laughed into his shoulder. “You are the perfect man. I’m starved.”
They ate cold roast chicken, pasta and quinoa salads, and dug into a luscious chocolate and berries trifle. Liz licked some up with her finger, and of course, that gave them both ideas.
The night was long and loving, exciting and tender. Perfect.
By morning, Liz was incapable of doing anything but smiling. At least, that’s how she felt. And whenever she caught Carson’s gaze as they moved around the kitchen, making breakfast, he smiled, too. They touched casually, greedily, stretching out the pleasures of the night.
She leaned back against the counter and sipped her coffee as pecan rolls Daria had baked and frozen warmed in the oven. Carson was frying bacon and eggs, and she appreciated the fine view of his butt. Outside, it was raining, but inside was warm and welcoming. She loved her job at the hospital, but just now, she was grateful that she didn’t have to work that day. She had to stay away to hide the fact that her serious grazes on palms and knees had already healed.
“Plans for the day?” Carson asked as he slid eggs sunny-side up onto their plates alongside stacks of bacon.
She tumbled the hot pecan rolls into a basket lined with a clean white cloth. A special touch for a special morning. She topped up their mugs. “Not much. I can’t go into work, so I thought I’d drop in and see Daria. See how things are re Albert.” She paused to crunch some bacon. “I need to catch up with Mom and Fay. I’m to be Fay’s bridesmaid.”
“Congratulations.” He grinned at her excitement.
“It’ll be a lot of work. The wedding’s going to be huge.”
“I bet.”
She glanced at him as he ate steadily. “Does my family bother you?” She hadn’t got that sense from him. Some men were over-awed by her family’s power or wealth. The fact that her brother was now Suzerain had changed something in how people approached her.
“Their money? Social status? The fact Steve can take away someone’s were-nature?”
“Yes. All of that.” She was suddenly serious, unable to eat.
He held her gaze as he reached for a pecan roll. “I couldn’t care less. You’re the woman in my bed, my arms, my…mind. I like and respect your family for their love and loyalty. That’s what matters to me.” He popped a piece of roll in his mouth.
“Me, too.” Happy again, she tucked into her food.
Carson relaxed as Liz resumed eating. Brandon’s pursuit of her—most men’s pursuit of her for her wealth and status—could have rendered her mistrustful. Instead, she seemed more worried that he’d be put off by just how powerful her family was.
She underplayed it, but he’d discovered a few things about them over the last couple of days. It wasn’t just the Suzerainty and money that made Liz’s family dangerous. Her mom and dad, for instance, leveraged those advantages to create networks of influence and information.
But he was an alpha wolf-were; strong enough not to fear others’ strength or be lessened by it. He hadn’t lied or exaggerated. What mattered to him was that Liz’s family shared his values: the power they owned was used to protect their own.
“What are your plans for the day?” Liz asked.
“I intend to find out who was behind or involved in Brandon’s attack on the glasshouse. I’m going to catch up with Steve. If the bad guys know about the Elixir Gentian, John and I agree it’s time a few more of our people know, too.”
She nodded. “We had proof of its effect on weres, yesterday, with your cracked ribs healing. Who was it you said was handling the medical testing? I’d like to talk with them.”
&nbs
p; “Dr. Victoria Pye. I’ll arrange a meeting.”
“Thank you.” She beamed at him.
Joy surged in him, nearly tangible. He wanted to make her happy. He’d learned last night just how good they were together and how her pleasure intensified his. This morning her scent was in his skin, even after a shower. He could smell it. Perhaps other weres mightn’t, not yet, but it was there, raising the question: were he and Liz mate-bonded?
His heart thumped, feeling enlarged—with hope, not fear. A mate-bond was metaphysical and real, a forever connection to one’s life partner. It was a were trait, one that not all weres found, but which signaled deep and lasting commitment. It opened the door to a relationship that joined souls.
Looking across the table at Liz as she finished her coffee, he gave thanks for how good his life and future appeared. Then he got up, walked around the table and kissed her.
London traffic roared. It also coughed, spluttered and aggressively crawled along the city’s busy roads. Carson shook his shoulders, trying to shake off the itchy feeling between his shoulder blades. Crossing the road was not a big deal. Brandon was in jail. No one was waiting to drive a car at him. More importantly, no one was going after Fay. This strange mood that had suddenly struck him had to be shaken off. He assessed a break in the traffic and ran across.
It would be a ridiculous state of affairs if he became nervous about crossing traffic.
Determined to rid himself of his unfounded unease, Carson concentrated on his busy morning and his plans.
He and Steve were meeting for lunch at Kew Gardens. First, though, Steve wanted to catch up with Albert, since Fay had some technical questions for the warding mage. Then Fay was lunching with Steve’s mom to talk about her dress—and Carson knew that because Liz had phoned to share the excitement of a girl-talk, wedding-planning lunch. Men, especially the groom, were strictly banned.
Carson grinned at that as he reached the far side of the road. It seemed Liz was a sharer, someone who phoned or texted with updates on her day. He liked it. He liked the connection, and he had his own update to share with her. He’d filled in his morning profitably with a visit to the glasshouse and a visit with Dr. Vicky to discuss his accelerated healing, her progress in analyzing the gentians, and Liz’s interest in talking with her. Liz would be pleased to have Dr. Vicky’s phone number and email address, and an invitation to talk any time.
Doctor Wolf (The Collegium Book 4) Page 15
