by Moira Rogers
He didn’t remember most of the previous night, which wasn’t reassuring. He reached up and tugged at a wild strand of her hair. “Don’t get me wrong, Sasha. If you like crazy sex, I’m all for crazy sex. I just…want to do it because we want to, not because I have to.”
“No argument here.” Her expression turned serious. “I think we need to talk about that. I mean, not about that, specifically. But about what happened.”
The nerves returned, stronger this time. “Okay.”
“Sit,” she urged. She pulled a scarred chair from the corner and sank onto it. “First things first, I guess. We, uh, didn’t use a condom last night. I’m on the Pill, so it’s not a big deal. I’ve always used condoms for birth control before…”
Blood pounded in his ears, bringing with it the threat of full-on panic. Ten years as a werewolf and three years before that as a hormonal young human, and he’d never forgotten a condom. If women weren’t safe in his world, children would have been the ultimate irresponsibility. He’d never been so drunk, so needy, so anything that he’d forgotten that one rule.
Until last night. His fingers clenched around the bedspread and he tried to process her words. “You’re… You’re okay?”
“Yeah.” She pushed her wet hair from her face and eyed him seriously. “Not that it’s a situation I want to have repeat itself. I mean, condoms protect you from more than just pregnancy. That’s what I meant, it just…didn’t come out right, I guess.”
He knew what he had to do. Unclench his jaw and tell her she didn’t have to worry, that werewolves didn’t carry STDs. That it wasn’t going to happen anymore because a life of paranoia wasn’t easily overcome.
Except last night it had been.
She was starting to look uncomfortable, and that gave him the self-control to pull himself back together. He relaxed his hands and cleared his throat. “Werewolves have some natural protection, so you don’t have to worry about anything else. Other than pregnancy, I mean. But…I’m a fan of condoms. Huge fucking fan. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry that I was that out of control.”
“I understand, Dylan, and it’s okay.” She wove her fingers together and clasped her hands in her lap. “But I don’t think we should have sex anymore when you’re going through something like that. Not because I didn’t like it, or because I was scared, but because you were.”
The blunt truth deserved equal honesty in return. “I was scared because it’s never happened before. It was too damn much. Power I could barely control, violence and blood and you being hurt while everything between us…” He swallowed and closed his eyes. “Things aren’t sure, Sasha. Because we keep saying we’ll talk about it later. I don’t think we can keep waiting for later, because it makes me weaker, not knowing.”
“Okay.” She barely hesitated. “I want to be with you.”
Dylan ruthlessly crushed a rush of triumph. “It’s not fair to ask you to come back to Red Rock with me. And Ethan wants to talk to you. He wants to ask you to stay here.”
“Well, I can’t. They need me in Red Rock, even if some people don’t want me there.”
He opened his eyes and stared at her, trying to read anything in her steady gaze that might indicate she was going back for him, or out of some misplaced need to pay back a nonexistent debt. “You don’t owe them anything, Sasha. You saved us here. Again. Gavin would be the first to tell you that.”
“They need me,” she repeated. “I want to finish what I started, Dylan. And then…I want us to decide what to do next. But if Red Rock is where you feel at home, I’m not letting a bunch of virtual strangers drive me away. What you want means more to me than that.”
He opened his arms in a silent question.
Sasha came into his arms and perched on his lap, her lips against his cheek. “It’s pretty simple. If I can be what you need, then I want that. That’s all.”
He tightened his arms around her, held her close to his chest and buried his face in her hair. “I can’t leave Abby and Brynn in the middle of a war,” he whispered. “I got them into this world. But when it’s over, when everything’s safe, we can find somewhere we both love. Some place that feels like home for both of us.”
“Actually…” She pulled back enough to rest her forehead against his. “Would you think I was crazy if I said I sort of miss it now?”
“Not at all. Red Rock’s a dream. Maybe that’s not always good for them, because they don’t remember what the rest of the world’s like. But for all its faults, it’s still sanctuary.”
“Yes, it is.” Her lips brushed his. “When do we go home?”
Home. The word shivered through him, brought a sense of safety and longing he’d never imagined could be associated with a place. But it wasn’t just the place…it was the dream of peace and pack, and the promise of having Sasha there to share it with him. “Soon. There’s one thing we have to do first.”
Chapter Eleven
They found Adam behind his cabin by following the repetitive sound of an axe crashing through wood. The sky was overcast, but it was only midmorning, making it obvious that this vampire, at least, didn’t find daylight painful.
Dylan nudged Sasha in the side. “Cross sunlight off our list of weapons for Helena.”
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Adam swung the axe up with one hand and embedded it three inches in the log in front of him without any apparent effort. “Most vampires don’t do well in the sun.” Unspoken was the casually arrogant assertion that Adam wasn’t most vampires.
“We still have beheading and fire.” Sasha shrugged one shoulder. “Should be a piece of cake. Well, if we had a vampire ally of our own, anyway.”
Adam rubbed one hand against his opposite shoulder and surveyed them both. “Chopping wood’s good for thinking. Had a lot to think about.”
Sasha offered him a smile. “We thought we’d extend an official invitation to return to Montana with us. Just in case you were serious about wanting to work off that life debt.”
“I am. But there are a few things to consider.”
Unsurprising, especially since Dylan still didn’t know what—or who—Adam ate to stay alive. “Sasha’s the one who knows about vampires. I thought they were a myth until a few weeks ago.”
Adam transferred his gaze to Sasha. “You know how vampire magic works?”
“I know enough to tell you the Helena vampire makes your friend Prudence look like a child, and I’d feel a lot better not facing him alone.”
“I need to feed,” Adam said, his voice soft and deadly enough to make Dylan shiver. “Not a lot. Not all the time. I’m strong enough that I’m not tied to constant blood, but if I’m going to be fighting my own kind, I’ll need the energy.”
Dylan frowned slightly. “Feeding on wolves. If you can’t use their magic, how does it help you?”
“Never said I couldn’t use it.”
He’d said that it made vampires crazy. Of course, he’d also said some were willing to take the risk. The thought of bringing someone that dangerous to Red Rock chilled Dylan. “So you take power from wolves.”
“No. Wolves give power to me.” Adam nodded to Sasha. “She knows the difference.”
Sasha’s brow furrowed in confusion, but her eyes cleared as realization dawned. “So it works the same way as a spell, then.” She turned to Dylan. “It’s like the difference between when I took power from you and when I took it from Brynn. She fought me instinctively, and it changed things. Made the energy harder to control.”
“Willing blood sacrifice is powerful magic.” Adam met Dylan’s eyes. “Are there wolves in Red Rock willing to give that gift?”
Not if you call it blood sacrifice. But it wasn’t a question. Red Rock needed a strong ally, and he could bring them one. “Even if no one else is, I am.”
Sasha tensed beside Dylan and gripped his hand tighter as she spoke. “We both are.”
Possessive fury roared up inside him, stronger than he’d felt in ten years of living as a werewol
f. His jaw tightened, but he refused to give voice to the protest growing inside him. Sasha deserved the freedom to make her own choices, to be as strong as she wanted to be. Even if it killed him.
Adam’s eyes flashed with something almost like amusement. “My dear little witch, you have a lot to learn about werewolves. If you care about the one standing next to you, you might not want to offer strange men the chance to sink fangs into your throat.”
Oddly, Adam’s words made it easier to choke down his rage, though it didn’t make his voice any calmer. “Sasha makes her own choices.”
“I don’t live to upset the man I love.” Sasha sounded almost grumpy. “You’re not getting near my throat, Adam Dubois, unless people’s lives actually depend on it. But, in the end, I think he and I understand each other.” She looked up, and her clear blue eyes met Dylan’s. “We’re tough, and we do what we have to do, right?”
“We do what we have to do,” he agreed in a quiet murmur. And right now, he had to slide his fingers into her hair and tilt her head back…
“I’m still standing right here, you know.”
Dylan didn’t tear his gaze away from Sasha’s mouth, which was soft and beautiful and clearly needed kissing. “So go pack your bags.”
“If the two of you are going to make out the whole way back to Montana, I’m driving my own truck.”
“Have fun with that.”
The vampire huffed and strode past them, leaving Dylan alone with a beautiful witch whose smile summoned the one feeling he’d needed for a decade. Happiness. “Are we going to make out the whole way back to Montana?”
There was that smile. “Joe might try to lash us to the luggage rack.”
“Let him try.” And because Dylan had to acknowledge the very real possibility that Joe would not only try but succeed, he tightened his fingers in Sasha’s hair. She was a woman who needed kissing. Kissing and touching and love, so much that it would take a lifetime to give her everything he wanted.
A lifetime sounded just about perfect.
About the Author
How do you make a Moira Rogers? Take a former forensic science and nursing student obsessed with paranormal romance and add a computer programmer with a passion for gritty urban fantasy. To learn more about this romance-writing, crime-fighting duo, visit their webpage at www.moirarogers.com, or drop them an email at [email protected]. (Disclaimer: crime-fighting abilities may appear only in the aforementioned fevered imaginations.)
Look for these titles by Moira Rogers
Now Available:
Cry Sanctuary
Crux
Sanctuary Lost
Coming Soon:
Crossroads
She’s ready to fight at his side. He’s fighting for the strength to let her go.
Sanctuary Lost
© 2009 Moira Rogers
Red Rock Pass, Book 2.
If there’s one thing that Brynn Adler hates, it’s feeling helpless and vulnerable in unfamiliar territory. Three weeks ago, life tossed her into just such a world. A world of werewolves she never knew existed—until she found out her sister was one of them.
The pack seems determined to hurry her back to the normal world of humans. But after everything she’s witnessed, she’s not sure she wants to go—especially if it means leaving not only her sister behind, but the one man who makes her forget her life is falling apart.
Now all she has to do is convince him to agree to a plan to force the pack to let her stay.
Joe Mitchell has been battling his protective instincts since he rescued Brynn from her kidnapper. Getting involved with her is a bad idea for a lot of reasons. She’s on shaky emotional ground, and a supernatural war is no place for a human woman. He’s not about to let her make a hasty decision, one that will only bring her pain and regret.
Now all he has to do is let her go.
Warning: This book contains violence, a war between werewolf packs, hot, primal sex and sexual power games with a badass ex-Special Forces alpha who will do anything to keep his lover safe.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Sanctuary Lost:
His control wavered. He dragged her head back and growled against her jaw line. “You have to watch the biting, sweetheart. Do it too much, and it’s as good as a brand. You’ll be stuck with me.”
“Stuck with you?” Her voice sounded breathless and unsteady. “I’m not—I don’t think I understand…”
“Everyone will think I belong to you.” He meant the words as a warning, but they came out sounding like a harsh plea.
The silence between them felt heavy and tense, even though Brynn’s fingers never stopped their slow, maddening caress. Finally she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Do you want to?”
Joe swallowed, then let go of her and backed away a step. He’d convinced himself that, if Cindy would be Brynn’s Guide, he could handle everything else she asked of him. “What happened to friendly sex? No big deal?”
Something flashed across her face—pain or vulnerability or maybe even rejection—but she was good at controlling her expression. It was gone a heartbeat later, replaced with a fixed smile that looked strained around the edges. “I’m sorry. I got a little carried away.”
He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Damn it, Brynn. Will you stop trying to be so damn sophisticated and worldly for five minutes and tell me what it is you want?”
That got an honest reaction out of her. Brynn scrambled to her knees and clutched her bra against her chest as she glared at him. “That is some condescending bullshit right there. But if you’d like me to blunt it up for you, sure. I want to have dirty fucking sex with you with an intensity that sort of freaks me out, because guns and muscles and hero shit has never turned me on before, but suddenly now I can’t think of anything but you.”
He steeled himself, tamping down the surge of emotion that rose at her words. “That isn’t what I meant. You just can’t seem to decide whether you want to take me for a tumble, or warn every other woman in town away from me.” He caught her arm as she jerked away. “So which is it?”
“I don’t know.” The words were low and desperate, and he knew she was lying. She knew, too; he saw it in her face before she looked away and squeezed her eyes shut. When she spoke, it was in a whisper so soft he almost couldn’t hear her. “I don’t want to share you. I want you to myself.”
He hauled her toward him, catching her when she might have tumbled off the bed. His mouth landed on hers, firm and demanding, opening her lips so his tongue could slip inside. Her hair spilled around them like long threads of silk, and he pulled the cotton bra away so he could smooth his hand over her skin.
She moaned, the sound mostly muffled by his mouth, and for several long minutes she seemed content with nothing more than kissing him. As aggressive as she’d been about initiating sex, she seemed more subdued now. Not submissive, exactly, and certainly not passive, but willing—even eager—to let him take the lead.
Joe climbed on the bed, pressing her back into the pillows, and trailed his lips down the soft curve of her neck. “I’ll be careful. I swear it, Brynn.”
Her sigh was one of pleasure, and she tangled her fingers in his hair and tilted her head back a little more. “I trust you, and I’m not going to break.”
He’d throw himself off the roof before he hurt her physically, but he wasn’t sure if that was what he’d meant at all. “I know.” He scraped his teeth over her skin and fought a groan when her body jerked under his. “Tonight’s just going to be something good, honey. You need that. We both do.”
“We both do,” she agreed, and the way her voice trembled made his fingers tighten around the button of her jeans. The fingers of her free hand traced over his shoulder and down his arm, following his biceps. “You never did tell me what else you kinky Green Beret werewolves like. Are we talking Discovery Channel and hair pulling? Or, like, whips and chains and leather skirts? I didn’t pack any vinyl, just so you know…”
He yanke
d the button free and nudged her zipper down slowly. “Good thing I have plastic wrap in the kitchen,” he joked.
She laughed, low and breathless, and there was something distinctly naughty about the look in her eyes. “I let a guy try to tie me to the bed with plastic wrap once. The idea was much more appealing in theory than practice.”
“Do you usually sleep with stupid guys? That’s not what the plastic is for.” He levered himself up and reached for the drawer in his bedside table. “See, this is what you use to tie a woman up.” He dragged out several scarves and let them drop to skim over her bare breasts as he moved them to his other hand.
He didn’t need his enhanced senses to register her approval of the idea. Her nipples tightened under the teasing brush of silk, and she sucked in a sharp breath as her eyes fluttered shut. “I didn’t sleep with stupid men. I slept with overeducated men. Sometimes that’s worse.”
“Losers come in all shapes, sizes and tax brackets, honey.” He reached for her arm and froze when he saw the wrap around her delicate wrist. Shit. He’d forgotten about her sprain. “This is a bad idea.”
Her eyes popped open again. “What? Why?”
He grinned, his ego soothed by the fact that she’d forgotten, as well. “You’re hurt.” His thumb stroked over the bandage. “It slipped our minds.”
“So don’t tie me up.” She shifted her other hand and slid it down his back. “Save something for later.”
They should be saving it all for later, for a time when he could think, when his mind wasn’t so scrambled by desire. But he still dropped the silk to the bed and stretched out over her, his lips finding the bare, vulnerable curve where her neck met her shoulder.
She drew in a breath and let it out on a soft sigh as her fingers drifted lower. Her hand dipped under the waistband of his jeans, and she turned her head so her breath tickled against his ear. “I’m thinking the clothes need to be gone.”
