by Tina Gower
“Blood magic.” Becker nearly growls it. “She’s found a specialty in sacrifices and speaking with the dead to manipulate the fates. She’s since gone through several years of treatment for mental illness and is supposedly stable, but if we wanted the perfect candidate we wouldn’t need to look much further.”
I stare into the photo at her unfocused eyes and shiver. Looking up at Becker, I see he’s shaking. His muscles are tight all over his body. He tries to cover his reaction by standing and taking his bowl to the sink. I gulp mine down quickly and follow behind him. He rinses his dish and places it into the dishwasher. Talia Lee could very well be the druid behind his pack’s murder nearly five years ago. I’m not so dense that I don’t understand what investigating her might do to him.
He places both palms on the sink, putting all his weight onto his arms, and lowers his head.
I hug him from behind. “Let’s take a break. It’s a good time to stop and get some sleep. We can pick this up in the morning.”
He lightly pushes away from the sink. “Yeah, we should rest. It’s been a long day.”
I yawn, dragging my feet to my room, the events of today catching up to me. But there’s also a zing of energy, too. It’s weird. I’m excited to lie with Becker—looking forward to the charge I get when we’re together as pack.
I’m beginning to see the benefits and hoping I can have Becker both ways: as pack and start a relationship. He’ll see in time that the setup with Dalia will minimize the risks and we’ll find a way to make it work for everyone.
In my bathroom, I kick off my work suit, replace it with yoga pants and a ratty T-shirt, scrub my face clean, and brush my teeth for much less time than the dentist recommends. I’m too tired to put much more effort into it. And too ready to get this pack snuggle started.
I come out to see Becker leaning against the door to my room. The look on his face stops me in my tracks.
“I can’t stay, Kate.”
I sit on the end of my bed. “You have to go to work? Right now?”
He shakes his head.
“Then what is it?”
“I’m wound up. I’m edgy.” He cuts himself off as though he was about to say more but thought better of it. His gaze goes to the twisted sheets on my bed. “It’s not a good combination.”
“But won’t skin calm you down?” My brow furrows. I pull out my ponytail a little to forcefully. “Pack time is what you need when you feel like that, right?”
He squeezes and releases a fist, then jams both hands in his pockets. “Normally, yeah.” He lowers his head and one hand goes to rub the back of his neck. “When I say I’m wound up, I mean it in a different way.”
If his emphasis and delicacy with each word didn’t clue me in, his slight blush sealed the meaning. Only Becker would trip over talking about sex.
I cover a smile, coughing into my hand. “I’ll try not to jump you in your sleep then.” I pat the mattress. “Come on now.”
He doesn’t move. Heck, I don’t think it’s a good idea to let things get too heated, not when the arrangement isn’t in agreement yet.
The amusement I felt earlier fades, leaving annoyance in its place. “Do you think I’d let you do something we’d both regret?”
“Of course not.” He grips the door like he’s holding himself back. “I’m afraid I’ll force you, okay? I’ve never been in this position before and I’m terrified. If you haven’t been paying attention, I’m not exactly an ideal werewolf. If Dalia’s my sister then I’ll know beyond a doubt if I’m too dangerous. If I’m going to become violent. If this was ever a good idea.”
My chest aches at the last whisper of his admission. He thinks he might force me. That he’d hurt me. Given the information he knows about other wolves like him, he could be right. There’s an edge of danger in his admission. It explains his need to let me always have the upper hand and insist on it. To look him in the eyes, challenge him. His fight to keep himself in control before he touches me.
Becker tucks his hands in his pockets, assessing me, waiting for any negative reaction as an excuse to leave.
Tough, he’s not getting one. I stand straighter, refusing to believe that stereotype of wolves losing control. Becker is stronger, more intelligent than that. If he had the same proof I have he’d believe it himself. He’s been able to pull back even when he knew I wanted it too, but it wasn’t the right time. He can do it. He just doesn’t believe it yet.
“Let me be the judge of what I can handle.” I slowly step forward until we’re nearly touching. I place my hand on his chest. He glares at my hand like it burns. “If you can’t trust yourself, then trust my assessment. You’ve never once overstepped or forced yourself on me.”
His pained expression softens and he heaves a breath. “Okay.” One step back and he’s out of my reach. I lean forward to close that distance. Becker holds his hand up to stop me. “Wait.”
My heart rate speeds. I can feel each beat in my throat. If his solution to every difficult moment in our relationship is to leave, then this can never work. We don’t need a relationship oracle to tell us the forecast of success.
Becker returns from around the corner with his coat. He digs around in his pocket and pulls out a pair of cuffs.
I stumble backward. “Wow.” My hand goes to my chest. “What are those for?”
“Me.” He snaps one half on his wrist and widens the other cuff, inspecting my bed.
“Becker, this is a little over the top. It’s completely unnecessary.”
He levels me with a look.
“Oh come on.” I press my lips together.
He ignores my protests and turns to his side to slide by me to get in the doorway.
I follow behind him as he tests the strength of each of the posts on my bed. It’s a woven metal braid pattern. He finds one at the farthest end, against the wall, that is wide enough to get his cuff through. He kneels on the mattress and works the cuff and metal through the opening to test it’s fit. He pulls it out again, checking the chain and post for any other weaknesses he might have missed.
I shake my head. “You can’t be serious.”
He gives the cuffs a tug. “If I can’t handle it, then you have a head start. This”—he shakes the cuff—“won’t hold me for long. Maybe enough time for me to regain my senses, but we can’t rely on that.” He unbuttons his shirt and shimmies out of it in one move.
“What do you think we’re doing here? I’m suggesting we just do our normal thing—”
“So am I.” His lips flatten into a line. He blows a long breath out his nostrils. “That book you were reading a while back?”
“Yeah.” I look up, blinking and trying to remember the title. “Lone Wolf, Surviving Without Pack…or something like that.”
“That author wrote another book. When you get a chance, read chapter thirteen and you’ll agree this is the absolute minimum, but it’s all I can come up with on short notice.” He kicks off his boots and they fall at the foot of the bed. He goes to clamp the cuffs to the bed.
I gather them up and set them aside. “Hells, it seems like such a production. Maybe it would be better to just have sex and get it over with.” I say it flippant, no seriousness in my inflection.
The chains clang against my bed post. Becker grunts. My back is turned so I don’t see what happens, but I certainly hear it and flip around in time to see him straining on the edge of the chain. His eyes glow and his upper lip curls. The cuffs catch again—this time it’s enough to startle him back to reality. He glares, shaking his head at my not-thought-out comment.
Okay, I get it. Wolves don’t do sarcasm. At least not in this context.
He’s pulled the unclasped chain through the hole during the struggle. He’d never had a chance to lock it, so it was chance that the chain caught. He re-threads it again, winding it around the bedpost and pulling with his one cuffed arm to check it. “You’re lucky that it held. Another second and I’d have tackled you.”
“You would
have stopped.”
He doesn’t look so sure, but I know him. He’s all gloom and dark clouds at the moment, except he’s not giving himself the credit he deserves. He’s too wrapped up in believing his genes determine his behavior more than his environment. He’s wrong. Whatever his parents did, they did it right, because he’d never hurt an innocent.
I join him on the bed. He inspects the setup, testing it for weakness. He must find it satisfactory because he places his other hand in the remaining cuff.
“Wait. You don’t have to have both hands restrained. That will be really uncomfortable. It’s just to keep you stationary, right? To keep you from coming after me if you’re unable to hear my voice and I can’t stop you?”
He focuses on the cuffs, keeping his head low and forces out each word. “If you don’t think I can’t pin you down or take off your pants with one hand you’re sorely mistaken—”
“I take self-defense. At your insistence, by the way. And I have”—I reach over and pull out my night stand drawer—“a powder mix from Ali. If I throw it at you it creates an electrical charge like a Taser to the person I’m aiming at.”
His eyebrows snap together. “You’d have to be able to get to it. You’d have to promise me you’d use it with no hesitation.” He leans forward, analyzing it. “Is that legal magic?”
“I’ll keep it between us.” I dangle the pouch from my fingertips. “Add eggs and a cup of milk, it deactivates the magic and you can make biscuits. So it doubles as breakfast in a pinch.”
“A second purpose to hide the source magic. Sounds illegal.”
“The charge isn’t that high,” I lie, hoping he’s too distracted to notice.
He presses his thumb between his eyes. “Fine.” He reaches over and clamps the cuff onto my bed post instead of his other wrist. Victory. “Promise me you’ll use it at the slightest sign.”
“We really don’t need to—”
“Promise.”
I sigh. “I can tell you’re really concerned about this.”
“I am.”
I cradle the pouch to my chest. “I promise.” Although I’m betting we’ll be eating it in the morning. But betting isn’t enough, and statistically the odds are always in the favor of the house. I need to convince Becker he’s safe and he doesn’t bring any danger to me.
He lowers himself to the bed, getting situated. His arm attached to the bed is curved slightly and his head falls on it like a pillow. I prop a neck roll behind him because it doesn’t look at all comfortable. He flattens his back against the wall, motioning for me to lie against him. I do, facing him.
We lock eyes. Not saying a word. His arm runs along my side. I press both of my hands into his chest.
His eyelids droop. “The key is in my right coat pocket.”
Sure. We can both pretend that these chains would actually hold him, that one good jolt wouldn’t sheer the skinny little screws holding my cheap frame together. It’s enough for Becker, at least, and provides some thin veil of security. It also holds him captive. He can’t run away this time and that assurance gives me a confidence I’d not felt since the beginning of all this mess.
My fingers curl and dig into his pecs. “I trust you. Do you trust me, Becker?”
His face scrunches, like he can’t understand why I’d ask it. Then I move my face closer to his, my fingers trail down his chest and pause at his abdomen and his eyes widen.
I stop, letting him adjust to the new distance. “I want you to know, I can’t choose an option that doesn’t include you. No oracle can read my future, but I know you belong in it. Call it a hunch, based on some advanced mathematics.”
“Okay.” He swallows, nodding a little too emphatically, like he’ll agree to anything to get me to move a little further away from the danger zone. Or closer to it?
“I think you should know how things are going to go.” My fingers hook onto his waistband. “I’m set on a real relationship with you and you’re going to have to do what you need to make that work into your own equation. But I’ve already done the math.”
My lips hover over his, testing. I can feel his pulse quicken, but he doesn’t move away.
He brushes his mouth over mine. “This wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“Does everything have to be run through a committee in your head, Becker?” Hells, he takes chances at work, but closes himself off in private. I sneak a glance at his face. His eyes are teal, but the gold is creeping in along the edges. A good sign for the point I want to make.
“This is a dangerous game, Hale.”
“But I’m still going to make you play it.” I lean all the way in and our lips press together hard.
He angles his head to go deeper. He hugs me closer to him. His free arm pins mine to my side. I wiggle slightly and he eases that grip as quickly as he applied it. The glow in the room tells me he’s deep into his wolf instincts. I dip slightly lower and unbutton his pants. Then stop. Wait.
His hand goes over mine. He doesn’t attempt to force me to continue. His breath saws in and out until he catches his breath. Our gaze meets.
Check and match.
“See, Beck.” I grin and pull my hands away from below, sliding them back up his chest. “You do have some control.” I give him one last peck on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I had no intention of taking advantage and neither will you.”
“Get used to the cuffs, Kate. I’m not going to be this strong all the time. And until we figure out a long-term agreement, it’s the way it has to be. You don’t have a clue what you’re doing by agreeing to be with me.”
“To be fair, Ian, neither do you.” I twist in his arms until my back is to his front and, like always, sleep rolls in like a boulder over a cave. Tunnel vision and then lights out with no awareness of what’s going on around me, just a deep trust that Ian is protecting me. Even if he doesn’t believe he can.
Chapter 17
I wake to beeping, phones ringing, and at least two hundred pounds of werewolf pressing me into the wall. Somehow our positions were swapped in the night and Becker’s body covers mine. I push back, wiggling for some room to get free, but Becker clamps down on what little space I create.
“Becker. Becker,” I whisper. His teeth graze my shoulder, easing down on the curve right before my neck. He bites. It’s more of a warning nip to silence me. “Becker!” I reach behind me to slap at him.
He startles and jerks from me. The chains clang against my metal bedpost, holding him down. “What?” He rubs the sleep from his eyes. He yanks on the cuffs again, frowning at the contraption while he slowly blinks to awareness. “Five a.m., Kate? You didn’t need to set your alarm for so early. I would have taken you to work.”
“Not an alarm.” I fish around his coat pockets until I find the key for the handcuffs. “It was my phone. And yours.”
He scrambles, sitting up, pulling on the chains again. “Shit.”
His phone starts up again. I toss it to him and he answers. I work at his cuffs, unlocking them.
“This is Officer Ian Becker.” He doesn’t wait for me to unlock the other wrist, instead he jerks the chain through the hole and stumbles out of my room, snatching his shirt on the way.
My phone beeps with an incoming text message. It’s Ali.
Are you home? Have you seen the news? Oh my goddess.
I jog into the living room and flip on the news and there’s an aerial view of downtown Angel’s Peak. It follows a long line of cars in every direction.
“…Nobody knows when the traffic predictions were taken offline, maybe sometime in the night, but it’s caused a complete standstill for all traffic entering the area. Motorists were encouraged to stop where they were and wait until the area was deemed safe. It’s expected to resolve in the next half hour…” I mute the reporter.
Becker looks over at me, hanging up his phone.
I point with my thumb over my shoulder to the TV. “You gotta go clean up that mess?”
He crosses his arms, giving
me a look I don’t really like. Pity. Apology. He’s guilty of something and he’s already trying to find a way to break it to me.
“It’s just a traffic blip.” Not that they’re very common, but for once I’m super happy to not be working in Traffic. Gods their office must be a zoo right now.
Becker motions for me to turn around and Mrs. Morrison’s face comes onto the screen. I fumble with the remote to unmute it.
“…I’d already turned in my full confession, but I hadn’t realized the whole story. Nobody had explained to me what the fateless could do.” She fiddles with her sleeves as though they’re too tight, sweat drops evident on her temple and upper lip. “It all seems so dangerous—that they’re able to walk freely among us.”
“Are you saying that Jared Walker was fateless and his presence interfered with your daughter’s prediction?”
She swallows several times. Her natural pleasantness from when I saw her on her morning news show is gone. In its place is a more wooden version. “I feel terrible about the sacrifice he unknowingly made. It changed our outcome for the better, but imagine what someone less charitable might do to change fate if they knew.”
Holy fuck. I spin around to Becker. “You said he wasn’t fateless.”
“He’s not. I wrote it up in my report and that was my boss reaming me just now for missing it. But I had it. I saw his predictions history up on the screen and now it’s blank on the public site.” He runs his hand down his jaw. It scrapes along the stubble.
I go for the files on my counter. “Impossible. I printed out the case notes you sent me.” I flip through each page. “I printed out his predictions history.” I find it. “Ha! There.” I wave the sheet like a victory flag. “Saved your ass. Organization for the win.”
He grabs the sheet. “Make a couple copies. Someone had to have deleted the file in the public records so this news story would get some legs before anyone figured out what was going on. They couldn’t have deleted it from every database. Nobody has the security to go that far. I’ll get IT on it.”
I glare at Mrs. Morrison. “She just couldn’t let it go.”
