by Rebecca York
Yeah, what exactly was he going to tell her? That he’d ripped out the throats of the guys in the search party? He was sure she was going to love that. And as he went back over the past few hours in his mind, he didn’t like it much either. It had been a savage night’s work. But it had been his only option if he was going to save her.
He’d been in a kill or be killed situation. And if he’d been taken out, his mate would have been in a world of trouble.
“His mate.” This time, he said the words aloud, feeling a surge of wonder as he let the reality sink in.
With an almost giddy anticipation, he moved along the cliff to the ledge where he had left her.
Chapter Twenty
From the ledge on the cliff’s face, Tory strained her ears. She’d heard nothing for a long time. Now she detected something. It sounded like a person or an animal moving along the edge of the drop-off again.
Was it Brand? Or was it one of the security guards who had been hunting them all night. She’d taken care of one of them; now she thought she didn’t have the strength to climb up the rope and do it another time.
Brand, Brand Marshall, she shouted inside her mind, praying that it was him.
She couldn’t call out; all she could do was pick up a grapefruit-sized rock and clutch it in her hand, her breath shallow as she waited for disaster.
“It’s me.”
The voice startled her, and she realized she hadn’t dared to hope that he would make it back.
“Brand. Thank God.” The rock she was holding clattered to the ledge.
She saw him come down the rope, first his legs, then the rest of his body. When he landed on the stone surface, she ran to him, clasping him in her arms.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes. Are you?”
“Fine.”
As he held her, his mouth lowered to cover hers for a long hot kiss.
“What happened up there?” she asked when the kiss broke.
“I picked them off one by one, until the two guards who were left figured it was better to cut their losses and run.”
“What about Raymond?”
“He’s dead.”
She caught her breath. “I heard shots. Did you shoot him?”
“No, that was a couple of his men shooting at me.”
“But you’re okay?” she asked, needing reassurance as she ran her hands up and down his arms.
“Yes.”
“You fought them?”
“Yes, but I had to be silent, so they wouldn’t know what was happening.” He hesitated for a moment, then went on. “I cut the doctor’s throat—like I did some of the others.”
She swallowed hard, trying to picture it. “You . . . eliminated all of them with a knife?”
“Mostly. I think one slipped and went over the edge of the cliff.”
“I pulled him over,” she whispered and heard him catch his breath.
“You did?”
“He was coming along the edge. I was afraid he’d see the rope and call the others. He did see it, but I had already climbed up and was waiting for him. I grabbed his leg and yanked him off balance.”
He stared at her.
“You think I shouldn’t have killed him” she whispered.
“Of course you should. And I think that was brave as hell.”
She gave a little nod.
“But you’re okay?” he asked urgently.
“Physically. Mentally—not so much. I never thought I’d kill anybody.”
“You did what you had to—to save yourself.”
She had started to shake in reaction, and he stroked her and kissed her, murmuring reassuring words until she felt more in control.
He eased her down, and they both sat with their backs against the rock wall.
“How did you get so many of them?” she asked in a thin voice.
“They spread out to search for us. I started picking them off.” He made a low sound. “I can operate pretty much like a ghost when I have to.”
“Like the way you got into the compound.”
Before either of them could say more, the phone gave a low chime, and Tory startled.
“Oh! I forgot. Someone from . . . Decorah Security called you. They didn’t like it that you weren’t here. They told me to tell you to call.”
When she handed him the instrument, he pressed the talk icon.
“This is Brand.”
Tory couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the line.
“No, I’m fine.” He glanced at her. “I’ll give you the details later.”
Again, the other person spoke.
“Yeah, there are bodies. . . That would probably be best.”
Again he listened for several moments.
“I understand. We’re on a ledge at a place where there’s a drop-off. We’ll wait here for you. When you reach the area, we can climb up.”
He clicked off, and turned to her. “The rain delayed them.”
“They told me.”
He looked up at the overhanging rock. “This is as good a place as any to wait. It’s dry and nobody’s likely to stumble on us here.”
She watched as he reached into the pack and brought out a thin blanket which he draped around her shoulders. It was surprisingly warm.
“I didn’t even know that was in there.”
“It will help now.”
“You too.” She pulled at the end so it reached around him, and they sat together.
“Thank you,” she murmured, “for getting me away from Dr. Son of a Bitch.”
She saw his face harden.
“Son of a Bitch is right. If I’d tried to imagine the scenario back at that funny farm, I couldn’t have come up with anything like it in a thousand years. Thank God I found you at that place.”
Everything had happened so fast that they’d barely had a chance to talk. Well, they could have done it on the escape route if she hadn’t needed all her energy for putting one foot in front of the other. Now she bubbled with questions.
“What were you doing up here?” she asked.
“I was taking a break from work, if you can believe that.”
“Why?”
“I was restless. I felt like I had to get away for a while, and I picked this area for a camping trip. My dad and I had been up here when I was a teenager, and I liked the park.”
“That’s right. You told the guy on the phone that we’re in a park?”
“Yes, the sanatorium is on the edge of the Finger Lakes National Forest.”
“Oh.” She shuddered. “I don’t want to think about the sanatorium. Not now.”
“You’ll have to . . .”
“Not now,” she said again, turning to him and pressing her lips to his. “I want to forget about it for a little while. Please.”
“I have to keep guard,” he said in a gritty voice.
“We’re safe.”
“I’ll be sure of that when my friends get here.”
Needing to be as close to him as she could get, she switched her position, straddling his lap, the intimacy making it very clear what she wanted.
He made a strangled sound. “Don’t.”
“You don’t want to?” she asked, moving against the erection that had sprung up as she settled onto him.
“Of course I do. But this isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“For the reasons I gave you,” Brand managed to say. He was dizzy with desire, and suddenly all he could think of was claiming this woman for his own. But he couldn’t have what he wanted—not yet.
Still, when she leaned forward to kiss him, it was impossible not to respond. He ran his hands up and down her back, then slipped them under the back of her knit shirt. When he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra, he felt jolt of need.
“Ah, God, Tory.”
“I’m right here,” she answered with a little gasp.
He brought his hands around, taking the weight of her breasts in his palms,
entranced by the feel of her. When he skimmed his thumbs across her swollen nipples, he heard her drag in a strangled breath.
“That’s so good.”
It was for him too. He had never wanted a woman more and never been more aware that he couldn’t have her—not until he had brought her to safety.
But he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, kissing her, loving the small sounds of pleasure she made.
She was his mate, even if she didn’t know it yet. He understood that without rational thought. They had spent only hours together, but he knew they would be together for the rest of their lives—unless she was too afraid to accept him.
That thought sent a wave of desperation through him. Wanting her to know how good it would be between them, he slipped his tongue into her mouth and was gratified by her heated response. The need to bind her to him almost wiped away his ability to think about anything besides mating with her. She was his, and he wanted her to know it.
At the same time, in some corner of his brain, he realized that he had to stop. This was not the time and place for the ultimate intimacy.
But was it possible to stop when the blood coursing through his veins felt like it would burn him from the inside out?
The need for her tore and clawed at him, but he had to master it. Teeth gritted, he pulled his hands away from her breasts and pressed them to the hard stone below his body. Immediately, her eyes snapped open, and she gave him an uncertain look.
“Brand?”
As she asked the question, she moved her sex against his erection, driving him to the edge of insanity. Still, when she reached for his belt buckle, he stopped her.
“Don’t.”
“You don’t want to?”
“You know I do.”
“But what?”
“We can’t. Not here. Not now.”
Ignoring the sharpness of his need for release, he shifted her farther down onto his legs, relieving a little of the pressure building inside his body. But it was impossible to separate himself from her completely. Could a werewolf bind his mate to himself without the two of them having intercourse?
Perhaps that was what he hoped when he reached his hand into the front of her sweatpants and panties and found the folds of her sex. She was slick and wet for him, and he burned to drag her pants off—and his.
Instead he caressed her intimately, as possessive emotions leaped inside him.
He dipped his finger inside her, then stroked up to her clit, learning what felt best to her as he gave her pleasure.
Her hips moved as she thrust herself against his hand and away, and he drank in every subtle shift of her body and every sound she made.
“Brand.”
“I have you.”
He felt her movements become more urgent, heard her cry out as he moved his hand faster, feeling small convulsions against his fingers, convulsions that traveled outward, making her body shudder. She went limp against him, her head dropping to his shoulder.
Knowing he had given her so much pleasure sent a wave of satisfaction through him.
Her eyes blinked open, and she raised her head, staring at him, looking confused and embarrassed.
She flushed. “I . . . shouldn’t have done that.”
He laughed. “Did I give you a choice?”
The flush deepened. “There’s always a choice.”
“Right. And I wanted to do what I could with you—for now.”
“But . . . what about you?”
“I have to make sure we stay safe.”
“And I tempted you almost beyond endurance.”
“Almost.”
He was glad she didn’t know what it cost him to lift her off his lap. Still fighting the needs coursing through him, he pulled the blanket around her shoulders and settled her against himself again.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be. You’ve just been through a horrible ordeal, and that was the first taste of the pleasure I’m going to give you to wipe the bad stuff away.”
“Oh, Brand. I’d still be back at that horrible place if you hadn’t found me.”
He pressed his lips against her hair, drinking in her scent as he settled her head on his shoulder. “Try to rest.”
“You, too.”
She closed her eyes and leaned into him, but neither one of them was really relaxed—for different reasons.
Still, he was glad he had taken a step in binding her to him.
“I want . . .”
“What?” he asked.
“I said that out loud?”
“Yes.”
“I want to be with you,” she answered lamely.
“You are with me.”
“I mean . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“If you mean forever, you have me for as long as you want me,” he answered, hearing the gritty tone of his own voice.
She drew in a quick breath, turning her head so she could meet his gaze. “You hardly know me. You never would have met me if . . .”
He held his breath, waiting to hear the end of the sentence.
“If you hadn’t stumbled on that asylum—and believed that I wasn’t crazy. I mean, didn’t I seem . . . screwed up?”
“I heard them talking. I knew you were their captive—and that something weird was going on. But it wasn’t your fault.”
He stroked his hands up and down her arms, raising goose bumps on her skin.
“What kind of man would do what you did for me?” she asked in a small voice.
“Anyone with an ounce of moral fiber.”
She raised her head. “I don’t want to think about Dr. Son of a Bitch. Tell me stuff about yourself. Where did you grow up? Did you have a big family?”
That seemed like an easy question. At least part of it.
“I grew up on a farm in Howard County, Maryland. My family raised sheep, and my dad repaired machinery for other farmers. We did a lot of outdoor stuff.”
“That’s why you’re so good in the woods.”
“Yeah.”
“It sounds like a good life.”
“Some of it was very good.”
She tipped her head to the side, studying him. “What was the downside?”
“My dad was strict. It was either his way or not at all.”
“You had brothers and sisters?”
He swallowed. “I have a couple of brothers.”
She must have seen something in his face. “You get along with them?”
“We’re not close,” he clipped out. He didn’t say that two other Marshall boys had died when they made the change from boy to wolf—and a sister had been born dead. He didn’t tell her that was what had happened with werewolf families down through the ages. To turn the conversation away from himself, he said, “What about your family?”
“I’m from Pittsburgh. My dad works for the government. My mom’s a housewife. We had a pretty middle-class life. I went to a coop nursery. My mom was a Girl Scout leader. She baked cookies. She decorated my room in classic girl style.”
He nodded, picturing her as a toddler, then a teenager.
“I have one younger sister, Anna,” she went on. “We’re still pretty close. My parents encouraged me to do what I wanted in life. Unfortunately.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Instead of going to college, I studied dance, and I was good at it. That’s how I ended up at the Midnight Club.” She made a snorting sound. “Or maybe getting the job had more to do with my looks than my dancing ability.”
“Your looks are stunning.”
She touched her hair. “I’m a mess.”
He laughed. “You can wash your hair soon. And you know a top New York nightspot wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t good.”
She sighed. “I guess. But I’m not cut out to be a professional dancer. I’d decided I was going back to Pittsburgh to teach at my friend’s dance studio and start college part-time. That will give me a lot more career choices. I should ha
ve left before I met Denato.”
“None of what happened is your fault.”
“I should have had the guts to say I wouldn’t go out with him. Does it make sense that I knew my manager would have been angry if I’d said ‘no’? I mean, I saw it as part of my job.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The only good thing about all this is that I met you.”
“I wish we could have done it the easy way.”
“Like how?”
“If I’d come into the Midnight Club, would you have dated me,” he teased.
She tipped her head up and looked at him. “I would have been drawn to you. But maybe I would have been a little frightened, too.”
“Why?”
“You’re pretty intense.”
He tightened his hold on her, cradling her in his arms.
He wished he could simply let her relax after her ordeal, but now that she’d brought up the subject, he knew there were questions he had to ask.
“Do you know what Dr. Son of a Bitch wanted from you?”
He felt her shudder. “He said a couple of things,” she whispered. “In the therapy session, he saw we were going to explore my role in Johnny Denato’s death. But there must be more to it. He had the fake patients waiting at the Refuge before I got there.”
“How do you know?”
“June—one of them—told me. I switched drinks with her at the snack break, and she got loopy.”
“Clever.”
“I keep wondering if Raymond had something to do with Denato’s death, and that’s why the interrogation was all set up.”
“That’s a possibility.”
“He said I was wanted by the police for questioning.”
Brand’s voice rose. “That’s a damn lie. His death didn’t even make the papers.”
“It didn’t?”
“No. Somebody must have cleaned it up.”
She hitched a breath before going on. “I think his saying that was just to scare me into cooperating—so I’d spill some confidential information about Denato.”
“Why?”
“Because I was going out with him.”
“Would Denato confide in a woman he was casually dating?”
“He certainly didn’t confide in me. He was charming but distant. I tried to tell Raymond we had a casual relationship, but I don’t think he believed it—or didn’t want to believe it.” Her gaze turned inward as she thought about the past few days. “I told him I’d only seen the man for a few weeks. He seemed surprised about that—like he thought it was longer. Or somebody told him it was longer.” She raised her face and looked into Brand’s eyes. “Do you believe that?”
