by L. A. Banks
“Oh . . . we’re different.”
“How?” he demanded, clearly losing patience with her. “Because you work for the government?” He shook his head. “Try this concept on for size. We’re secretly funded and I bet your project is not an obvious line item in the national budget, probably buried under layers of bullshit, Sasha. And if you’ve ever heard of the Iran-Contra scandal, that had something to do with drugs and guns being illegally converted to cash to support secret government projects, or did I read the newspapers wrong?”
He leaned in closer when she turned away again. “We’re small, your group is small. We’re underground, your group is underground. We use a network of shamans, you probably use a network of surveillance since your technology replaces what our people with gifted perception do naturally. And if you stop and think about it, we have fewer resources than you, but we’re more effective because we’re closer to the situation . . . we’re frontline, not holed up in some technology-riddled war room.”
She refused to look at him as he ranted and his voice escalated. She’d pushed his buttons and now he was pushing hers.
“But if you could get off your high horse for a moment, you’d realize that with the resources you have at your disposal by working on the inside, and the ones I have at mine on the outside, an alliance could make our teams virtually unstoppable against this thing we’re up against.”
Now he had her attention.
“An alliance,” she said coolly, flatly.
“Yes.” His gaze burned into her.
“I’m already in enough trouble, most likely, and I’m to propose—”
“Tell me you never work with outside sources . . . ones that have no interest in coming inside to be lab rats.”
Her gaze narrowed. Those damned vampires were such gossips. She also wondered if word had crossed borders, wolf pack to wolf pack—even though, according to Shogun, there was bad blood between werewolves and shadow wolves. Sasha turned her head. Hunter’s proposal had merit, one that would allow her the best of both worlds, but one she’d have to get past the general. The biggest hurdle would be keeping knowledge of the species called shadow wolves on the down low. Even though she wasn’t sure she completely trusted Hunter, she was certain that she didn’t trust the general not to try to wipe out something new that he didn’t understand . . . or to try to capture it and dissect it in a lab.
“I’ll consider it. Working together against a common enemy is better than working at odds against each other.”
He looked away, the muscle in his jaw pulsing as though he needed time to deescalate from the argument. Then, suddenly, he turned the key in the ignition and changed the subject, lurching the snowmobile forward. “We’ll go as far as we can, and then we may have to hike some of the way.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“You’re military. I assume you’ve done that before.”
“The man has jokes.”
“The wolf will keep you warm.”
“I’ll bet.”
A half-smile tugged at his cheek. “The heat from yours, not mine. Call it while we’re hiking and we’ll get where we’re going a whole lot faster, too.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. She could handle the hike.
Sasha listened to the dull hum of the snowmobile and watched the shadows go by under the blue-white wash of the silvery moon. It was gorgeous outside. The snow, the scent of the forest, the scent of where deer and rabbits had passed, all of it was breathtaking. His distinctive scent—divine. The forlorn hoot of a hunting owl made her want to throw her head back and send a call into the echo-barren wild.
At a fallen tree, he stopped the snowmobile. “From here, I guess it’s on foot.”
“We came the long way, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we came the long way, true . . . but this is more scenic.” He chuckled as he hoisted up the backpack of supplies and glanced at her over his shoulder with a challenge in his eyes. “I heard your wolf . . . she wanted to howl. Let her.”
Before she could respond with a snappy comeback, he began running. At first it was an easy jog, and she prayed that where they had to go wouldn’t be too far away. But as she scaled snow-covered rocks and frozen underbrush, her lungs began to normalize . . . her body warmed . . . her muscles stretched and worked in pleasurable rhythm beneath her skin. Her eyesight and hearing keened, as did her sense of smell. She wanted to get out of her coat, out of her socks and long johns and boots. She wanted her hair to be free and her scalp to feel the bite of winter. Her hands felt trapped within gloves. She was burning up. Gasping, not from the run but the need to strip.
“Seek the shadows,” he called out, dodging into them only to emerge yards away in the full glory of the moonlight.
Almost blind with heat exhaustion she fell into a shadow, twirled in it, spun her body in spirals of delight and relief, and then leaped as far as she could to the next one.
Sasha laughed out loud as they came upon a clearing and she spun around with open arms, her face lifted to the night sky. An urge so natural, so deeply embedded in the pit of her stomach, bubbled up her throat and came out on the night song of the wolf.
Hunter stopped, turned to witness her poised silhouette in the moonlight. She was so absolutely stunning that for a moment he couldn’t move. She’d ripped the knitted cap from her hair and jammed it into her pocket. Her gloves were gone, jammed in the other pocket, as she raked her hair, head thrown back, a look of ecstasy overtaking her beautiful face . . . His call met hers, exploding from his chest up to his larynx and out to follow the wind.
Instantly other calls came in response, sobering him. He hadn’t meant to alert the pack. They had to keep moving before a welcome party convened—and he definitely had other plans.
Hunter released a series of short barks to ward off a group meeting in the woods, which snapped Sasha’s attention toward him. He’d rendezvous with his pack brothers later . . .
Trying to recapture the shattered moment, he held out his hand to Sasha. “Run with me. We’ll get there sooner.”
She reached for his hand, her eyes ablaze with desire. “It’s so beautiful out here, though.”
He knew what she meant, what she wanted—the same thing had definitely occurred to him. But border sentries were on the way. It would not be how he wanted to introduce her to the pack—naked, sprawled out in the snow, gasping.
“I know . . . but the other howls mean—”
“There’s wolves,” she said in a deep, husky tone that ran all through him. She closed her eyes. “Hunter, I don’t know what’s the matter with me, but . . .”
He watched painfully as she began to unsnap her down coat. “Baby, listen, you’ll get frostbite out here. Seriously.”
It was a lie; he knew she’d caught it from the half-smile of disbelief she offered as her answer.
“Then can we hunt?” She closed her eyes and breathed in. “Something big?”
He swallowed hard. “Five-mile run and we’re at my cabin.” He stood before her trying to stay calm, trying to catch his breath, listening for shadow steps. Quickly, before he changed his mind and gave in to her erotic pull, he held out his hand. “Run with me,” he whispered. “You trust me?”
She nodded and took his hand. “I probably shouldn’t, but I do.”
Her sultry statement and the way she gazed at him with those large, luminous gray eyes of hers suddenly made him not trust himself. A second of hesitation carved away rational thought, but knowing his curious band of brothers were on the move broke his temporary trance.
Pivoting his body in a fluid turn, he pulled her through a patchwork of shadows that morphed into a line of trees, speed escalating. Power flowed through them. Each shadow sending a shiver of want through him, through her, the moonlight showering them with a blast of silver warmth. And then he heard it. Heard their breaths sync up along with their footfalls and heartbeats—her hand squeezing his.
They sailed over a downed log bathed in moonlight
and when they hit the next series of shadows, she moaned with such abandon that he almost turned to fell her in the snow. Running, breathless, hair lifting from their shoulders, hands clasped, sensations joined, scattered howls in the distance—his brothers picking up on his hunt, scenting female in the air—chaos . . . glorious, glorious chaos, and it wasn’t even a full moon.
Leaping through moonlight and shadows keeping the wolf within his skin was becoming painful now. Pleasure had reached its zenith and now had nowhere to go, like a prolonged orgasm left hovering on the edge of the crest. He could see her swooning from the unspent agony, the feral look in her eyes as she tried to keep up with him. Pressure was building in his groin. And his amulet was around her neck.
Hunter closed his eyes, running blind, biting his lip till it bled. The wolf could not come out, not like this, not before talking to her, not before she was ready to deal with that part of herself.
They hit the porch of his cabin at the same time, landing hard on their boots, making the wood reverberate. In two seconds she had him by the lapels of his deerskin jacket, shoved him against his own front door, and took his mouth, moaning into the kiss, climbing up his body, tangling her hands in his hair. Multiple sets of watching wolf eyes glowed in the underbrush, but he didn’t care, couldn’t stop kissing her as the silent sentries disappeared one by one.
“Why does releasing my wolf make me feel like this?” she gasped, devouring his mouth and not giving him a chance to respond. “I can’t act like this all the time. Can’t go on missions like this,” she choked out between kisses. “I have to be able to control it. Right now, it’s controlling me.”
He had no words of wisdom for her; right now his wolf was controlling him, too. All patience gone, he couldn’t fidget with keys, and simply lifted his elbow and brought it back hard, opening the door by ramming the dead bolt off the hinges.
The scent of fresh-split pine filled his nose as the door gave way and he walked backward, blind, her warmth, her mind-eroding kisses all he could focus on. She was stripping the heavy backpack from him, and he had to make a decision—let her down to get her out of her clothes or prolong the mutual torture.
He dropped her with a deep groan that synced up with the whimper she’d released. The sudden loss of her body heat and friction against him was agonizing.
Colorado wind had blown the door open, sending blasts of freezing air in along with snow flurries. As he worked on her coat, his thoughts fractured and he put his boot against the sofa and shoved. In the back of his mind he heard a loud bang, something that sounded like wood breaking, but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that the wind had stopped its invasion. All he knew was that Sasha was burning up in his arms. All he was sure of now was, come the full moon, there’d be no holding back the wolf, if she were around.
Tears coursed down her cheeks as she clawed at his clothes and they both fought with layers of fabric. This time he was mindful that he had to present her to the pack, to the elders, and he covered her hands, guiding her, helping her fight the urge to rip the offending materials from her overheated skin.
Writhing in his arms, she was practically twisting out of her own skin. He could feel the she-wolf within demanding release as he kissed down Sasha’s throat, her freed breasts lifted to his mouth. Her voice was broken to a low, urgent moan, breaths becoming staccato. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and so different from the previous time. A night run had changed everything, her first moon dance in the shadows. The first glimpse of brand-new female shadow wolf coming into her own, mirroring his wolf . . . hunting by his side, hunting his passion . . . chasing it down to the thick, hand-loomed rug.
His control teetering on the very edge of his humanity, he kissed the amulet between her breasts and said a quiet prayer that his form would hold as his hot, wet skin slid against hers.
Delirium. Burning satin thighs gripped his waist, his shaft so hard it felt like the skin would split. Agony. Hard plunge, hilt deep, his voice rent the air, head thrown back, her nails scoring his ass and hips, the sound of her voice maddening. Lost. Abandoned to the fluid run, every muscle connected to locomotion. Pleasure. Her breath, his breath, her lunge meeting his in perfect sync. Oh, God. Breathless. Spasms convulsing his sac, pleasure sucking his balls up into his abdomen. Sheath pulsing wetness bringing tears, bringing sweat-lodge visions. Fist-pounding ecstasy, cries that sounded like murder.
Shivering beneath him, she clung to his body as a pool of moonlight bathed them. Ragged breaths torn raw by ecstasy haunted the room, fled the shadows, till the next shudder joined them. He dropped his head into the crook of her shoulder; she made fists at his back and began to sob. All he could do was stroke her hair with a trembling hand. He had no explanation for this; one couldn’t explain the wolf, one had to experience it.
Slowly, as the tremors abated, he was able to gather her in his arms and shift his weight to pull her on top of him without leaving her body. He kept a possessive hold around her waist with his arm, his other hand gently cradling the back of her skull. His chest was so filled with emotion that he could hardly breathe. Her cheek against his breastbone felt like it would burn right though to blister his heart. He couldn’t open his eyes. Could only experience the night with his other senses . . . his skin belonged to her. Sasha’s breaths were all that he heard beyond the thud behind his breastbone. Her skin was all that he could feel. His chest was so tight, like a creek overrun at spring thaw.
When she weakly lifted her head to find his mouth, the cool air kissed the vacancy she’d left, making him know that a part of him had been ripped away. They shared a soft whimper, their tongues circling it and chasing it down their throats.
“Don’t move,” he whispered against her cheek as her weight shifted so that she could touch his hair. “Not yet.”
She pressed her body against his tighter, making him release a low, rumbling groan.
“Hunter . . . what just happened?” she murmured, petting his shoulders with a soft, rhythmic caress.
“First run, first shadow dance under the moon,” he said with his eyes closed. “We mirrored.”
She had fallen silent but he could feel a question brimming just below the surface. Exhausted, dozing, he waited, breathing slowly, stroking along her supple spine, over the meaty rise of her behind, and back again.
“Will it always feel like this . . . after we moon dance? Be mirrors?”
He leaned up enough to find her mouth and kissed her slowly. “As long as you’re my mate.”
She tensed. “Mate?”
He nuzzled her hair. “When you mate-marked me last night.” His voice was a balmy, satisfied murmur.
“Ohmigod, Hunter . . . I didn’t mean—what I’m saying is, that sounds permanent . . . isn’t it?”
He sighed. “It is and it feels fabulous. It’s supposed to feel like this.”
Panic seized her. “How do you know?”
“Because my grandfather told me,” he murmured, and brushed her lips with another kiss.
She traced his left nipple with her index finger. “Have you ever . . . no. Unfair question.”
“No, to answer the unfair question,” he said, leaning back against the rug and closing his eyes. He shook his head. “I’ve never had a mate.”
“But—”
“Women, but not a mate.” He gently brought her head back to his chest. “That’s different . . . they were different from this.”
This was bad. Real bad. The man had gone to the next level and she was still idling in the garage. She was most definitely not going to mate with anyone. Yet she wasn’t ready to hurt him, either. “I’ve never experienced anything like this in my life, Hunter,” she murmured against his chest, trying to find the right words.
Pure contentment entered his spirit and pure exhaustion made him groggy. “Good,” he murmured, beginning to doze.
“But . . . this is like agreeing to get married based on a one-night stand,” she said quietly, firmly, and waited until his gaze met hers.
“It’s too soon.” Her palm cupped his cheek. “A lot has happened and it’s just . . . too soon.”
The disappointment in his eyes matched the tension in his body and she hated that she’d been the genesis of both. But just as he’d told her he was no liar, neither was she. His reaction was no less than she’d expected of a man with integrity, which pained her all the more. He simply lifted his chin, allowed his eyes to slide shut, and gave her a one-word answer that may have been the first lie he’d told her.
“Understood.”
SOMETIME IN THE middle of the night she felt herself gently lifted and delivered to soft goose down and covered in mounds of blankets. Familiar, comforting skin heat soaked into her back, arms, and thighs as it spooned her, cradling her entire body in quiet protection. She felt his heartbeat against her back and took comfort in its consistent rhythm and the warmth of his breath against the nape of her neck, letting it lull her to a place of peace she’d never experienced.
So the absence of that warmth and deeply comforting scent was enough to wake her, even though Hunter moved in complete silence across the room.
She watched his nude back, staring at him in the semidarkness without a sound. Moonlight added a blue sheen to his jet-black hair that cascaded over his dark shoulders like an onyx waterfall. His breathing was measured, heavy; she could feel something troubling his soul. She wondered if her reluctance to be his life-mate was the cause, or if it was something deeper.
New snow was falling, a gentle whisper against the heavy-limbed trees and crystal-white ground. Waning moonlight made each flake sparkle as it passed the large window and she wondered what was falling down in his world. He didn’t turn but she knew he’d finally sensed that she was awake. It was all in the minute tension that crept into his posture. Then again, maybe it was something else, a deeper knowing that she didn’t understand but simply felt.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, his back still to her. “The end of the moonlight is just so beautiful.”
“I missed your warmth,” she admitted quietly. “But I didn’t mean to intrude on your peace. I know sometimes you need that. Space to just be still.”
