by L. A. Banks
While what she said was true, he couldn’t gather the words to describe the breadth and depth of what he was feeling. Never before had he been so completely taken over . . . never so accepted for what he was. There would be no going back—once he’d experienced Sasha there was no past. Yet there were so many things that could make her leave, with valid cause. And his pack . . . how would he explain their probable icy reaction to her? Although they wouldn’t dare challenge her in his presence, they wouldn’t bring her into the fold as a welcomed part of it. She’d be tolerated. Perhaps she’d instinctively known this and therefore refused to claim him as her permanent mate. Maybe her inner wolf knew more than his did.
Hunter closed his eyes, feeling the heat of her gaze boring into his back, feeling the weight of her silence seeking an explanation. But how could he explain her lack of silver aura without destroying her sense of self? He knew what that felt like, had suffered being different, a mixed breed, not even a half-breed. He dropped his forehead to the cool window and closed his eyes, releasing a weary breath.
“Come back to bed,” she said quietly, “and tell me.”
Hunter stood where he was for a moment and then slowly pushed away from the window. He turned and looked at her and her gentle gaze drank him into her. The expression of concern, compassion in her eyes, nearly seized his heart. For what seemed like eternity, he couldn’t move, and then she simply held out her hand and he could move forward.
The warmth of her hand when he clasped it radiated up his arm, and he slipped beneath the sheets into a private den that smelled like her, felt like her, was her as she gathered him into her arms. The sense of rightness, of being home, was so complete that his eyes slid shut. Velvet hair brushed his face in a dark curtain, her soft lips soothing the ache within him as she took his mouth and then laid her hand against his chest.
“If there’s someone who might not understand this,” she said quietly, “I can go.”
He exhaled tightly. There was no other woman. She didn’t understand. “It’s not like that,” he murmured, stroking her arm.
She didn’t respond but her body had tightened slightly.
“There are things about the shadow life that are difficult to explain,” he said, choosing his words carefully, and dismayed when she tightened even more. “Nothing illegal. This is all about customs and culture, all right?”
He felt her immediately relax in his arms, and continued to caress her as her creamy skin melted against his.
“Sasha . . . we can see each other in the shadows by the silver in our auras. That’s also like a protective shield. The stronger it is the more protected one is from demon attacks.” He fell quiet for a moment to allow her to process what he’d said and then kissed the crown of her head. “No shadow hunter wants to flank a wolf with a weak aura. It imperils the hunt, puts the wolf flanking you at risk. We separated from werewolves long ago because they never acquired the silver, cannot shift at will . . . there is longstanding prejudice that I find hard to explain.”
He felt her nod slowly.
“Same thing where I’m from. Nobody wants to be in a firefight with a weak link, somebody not prepared. Good way to get your head blown off.”
He nodded slowly, sadly. “No one wants to permanently bond with another of us that has a weak aura, because that means the child will suffer the same defect. It will be vulnerable. It might even be full human.”
She kissed his chest and he closed his eyes. Pain scored the place where her tender kiss landed.
“I don’t have an aura, do I?”
He swallowed hard. “A human one, yes . . . every living thing has one.”
“But not the shadow silver.”
“No,” he said quietly, after a long pause.
She pulled away. “Then I guess I understand why the leader of a shadow wolf pack wouldn’t want to tarnish his future with me as his lover. Like I said, all of this happened too fast. Too soon.” There was no anger in her tone, just sad acceptance as she moved to leave the bed.
He sat up and held her wrist before she could flee. “No, that’s not what I was saying. Hear me out.”
Her gaze trapped his. Heartbreak and the need to understand shone in her luminous gray irises, but she didn’t say a word or try to escape his hold. It was as though she were hanging on everything he might tell her, waiting to breathe.
“Sasha, I had to fight, literally, for number one alpha position in the pack—”
She snatched her arm away. “Like I said, I’m not trying to bring you down or create—”
“Listen to me,” he said in a deep, booming command. “My aura is not as it should be.” He slapped the center of his chest. “Due to the circumstances of my birth.”
He leaped from the bed and walked to the window. In all his life he’d never said that to another living soul, much less a potential mate in his bed. None before would have him . . . they’d seen the schism and refused to even mate. Old pain resurfaced with such a vengeance that he found himself dragging in hard breaths, feeling cornered. His gaze sought the moon for answers. Suddenly he wanted to be outside, dash into the arms of nature, escape the conversation . . . get away from her.
Only a pair of soft palms gliding over his shoulders calmed the wounded beast within him. A satiny cheek soon lay against his back, and the warmth of naked skin slowly pressed against the length of his body.
“Tell me what happened, Hunter. No judgment . . . I won’t pull away again . . . I’ll let you tell me without trying to second-guess what you’re about to say.” A kiss planted at the nape of his neck made him close his eyes. “Trust me . . . I am no liar,” she whispered.
He braced his hands on the window frame and soaked in her warmth, soaked in her promise. “My mother was almost due to deliver,” he said in a low rumble filled with shame. “My father had been hunting the beasts . . . his pack brothers had tracked two, but they lost the trail. Werewolves are like us in that regard, part human, part wolf, and very intelligent. This pair were infected. They circled around, the hunted became the hunters, and they found the shadow dens. On the full moon, they attacked. That’s when they are at their strongest, as are we. My mother was savaged before my grandfather could get off a shot. My father died in the battle. Several of his pack were severely wounded and had to be put to their deaths for mercy.”
Arms enfolded him as he spoke in a low, raw rumble. Touch made him believe in soul-healing from the mere laying on of hands.
“My mother was so badly mauled that she died in her father’s arms. I was trapped inside her body . . . the virus spreading through her, to me, an unborn infant not fully immune yet to the werewolf toxin.”
“Oh, God, Hunter . . .” Sasha came around him when he stiffened and she held him tightly. “It wasn’t your fault.” Her head sought his shoulder; her voice was a warm, balmy caress.
“There was a doctor,” he said quietly, fatigue weighting his words. “A man who’d once been a World War II military trauma surgeon but had become interested in genetics late in life. He was here in the national forest . . . investigating . . . had been asking questions about the wolves. He was testing some kind of antivirus; humans had just discovered the existence of some supernatural species.”
He watched her eyes carefully as she looked up, slow recognition dawning in them. But there was no distrust, no narrow judgment, so he continued in a quiet, far-off voice, staring out the window.
“My grandfather was so bereft that he couldn’t bring himself to put me to death once he’d freed me from my mother’s womb, and he didn’t know if I’d make it without additional medical care. Her entire insides had been gutted, entrails everywhere, with me trapped, smothering and struggling, inside her womb that lay in the snow. I was convulsing from the werewolf toxin and had also been severely scratched. They couldn’t cut the umbilical cord fast enough. My mother was on the forest floor, slaughtered, her father’s hands covered in her blood. The human authorities wouldn’t have understood. The pack was howling in
mourning. So he had the pack, those still standing, fetch the doctor, unconcerned what he might learn. Then, Grandfather was the alpha and they did as he commanded.”
“Oh, dear Jesus,” she whispered, hugging him tighter. “You remember this?”
“I was told, but our shadow memories are different than humans’ . . . I see impressions like fast snapshots from a camera. The mental pictures fit into my grandfather’s words.”
“The doctor . . .”
“Tall, brown, worried eyes, gentle.”
Sasha covered her mouth with her hand. “Holland?”
Hunter simply nodded. “Grandfather said the doctor did as much as he could, and then asked him if he wanted him to try an injection . . . a new drug.”
“Oh . . . God . . . it explains everything . . . Doc’s obsession with the vaccines, with werewolves, with finding a cure for the virus-fatal bites. He could give a damn about military maneuvers, but he does want the infected beasts exterminated like you and I do. His primary goal, Hunter, has been helping infected people not to transition. It’s his life’s work.”
“If he hadn’t been working on a cure, if he hadn’t brought some antidote along for his own protection while tracking the phenomenon, I wouldn’t be telling you this story today.” Hunter looked at Sasha briefly then sought the safety of the dark horizon again. “It was an experiment, giving me the antidote—I was an infant, they didn’t even know if it worked, it had never been tested on a living subject before . . . but it was also a last resort.”
Feeling exposed, he pulled back and became silent. Telling her his story was one thing, unveiling hers was quite another and not for him to do.
“But it worked,” she said, pressing both hands against his chest.
He nodded and looked away from her, his gaze seeking the shadows again for confirmation. “My grandfather was nearly insane from the loss and agreed. I was as good as dead, anyway. His visions confirmed what my paternal grandmother had warned her son—my father. An infected child would be born, a line lost, if he married my mother. My father’s mother was her pack’s shaman, a revered shadow-woman seer, even though of mixed breed. The pack was circling, snarling, ready to do what a grief-stricken shaman could not, if it didn’t work. The only friend my grandfather had in that moment was the doctor, and the only thin line between the doctor and his certain death from stumbling upon shadow clan secrets was my grandfather.”
Hunter pushed away from the window, needing space from Sasha’s intense gaze. He walked to the far side of the room and stood in the dark, also needing the shadows. “I was a mixed blood like they’d never seen. The convulsions stopped, but my aura was fused with that of the demon that had killed my parents and had slaughtered half of my father’s pack. Silver laced with a black line of death. Infected werewolves are demons, Sasha. Every year I grew stronger, my wolf grew even stronger than the others. No female in the shadow clans would ever dare be my mate.”
Sudden bitterness claimed him as he moved from shadow to shadow, keeping himself invisible from Sasha now. “Mixed bloods with humans are bad enough, in our world. They are considered human, never taught the ways of the wolf, unless they have a special gift like my Haitian grandmother did. The union between my mother and father wasn’t even recognized by the clan; not a strong alpha female, daughter of the pack’s leader, with a mixed-breed mate—my father.”
“That is such bullshit.” Sasha’s hands went to her hips, her indignation on his behalf glittering in her gorgeous eyes.
“Yeah, well . . . Half-breeds are only tolerated, never fully included. They’re isolated from the clan packs, but they have the human family and are never the wiser . . . unless your grandmother is a seer. But, given my mother’s lineage, I was supposed to be of pure-blood parents—a solid silver line that went back to the beginning of our kind—and shadow wolf parents drew their children away from me, fearing that if I played with their offspring, one bite could pollute. Females . . .” He chuckled harshly, the sound brittle. “All human. So, you needn’t worry. You were my first shadow dance.”
He lifted his chin, his posture proud and angry before he disappeared into another shadow. “Now do you understand why I am conflicted about presenting you to my people? I don’t know how I’ll react if they snub you . . . I don’t think the outcome will be good.”
Her gaze scanned the room and she found a very quiet center within herself. Right now, for her own reasons, she wasn’t ready to commit to a permanent bond with any man. At some point she had to make him know that she hadn’t made that decision for the same reasons all the others in his life had. This was her own shit, not his. But clarifying that at the moment was impossible. She had to remain still; his wounds were so deep that instinct told her he’d probably lash out at the closest thing to him— which was her. She’d done that herself on a number of occasions, lashing out, and knew where he was. Any sign that he was being pitied and he was out. It was a delicate dance, but she knew the steps very well.
“Then I’m glad I was your first,” she said after a moment, folding her arms and lifting her chin as she stared at the shadows. “Fuck ’em. Their loss. I’m used to being the oddball wherever I go, so whatever. Take your pick, schools, in the service, in a damned club. The pack can kiss my no-aura-having ass. Anyway, you became the pack’s alpha, right? So what’s your problem?”
“I only became the alpha by default,” he shot back, moving into another shadow.
“Define default.” She followed his voice, circling as he paced and moved around her.
“I grew larger than the others,” he said with disgust. “When my wolf is out . . . it’s more . . . ferocious. Harder to control under a full moon. Not like shadow wolves—a fucking birth defect left over from the werewolf virus latent in me. But it has more power.”
He found another shadow, not wanting her to see him or have her gawk at his oddness now that she knew. “That’s why I have to wear a damned amulet; the others don’t,” he said in a near growl. “The infected werewolves sometimes can’t tell me from their kind because the black line in my aura overlaps when my rage goes beyond the normal darkness. I can go in and out of the demon doors more easily than the others. I don’t burn, and my grandfather fears one day I’ll go in and won’t come back out—at least not the way he knew me. The pack fears it, too . . . they fear to even battle with me for dominance because none of them wants to risk getting bitten or slashed. That’s the only reason I became the alpha. From pure fear and this defect. Not from the normal ways of our kind . . . And I lead mateless. Solo! In a culture where clan is everything, the pack is your identity, and one’s life-mate is the bedrock of all that! It’s not like with the werewolves, who do not necessarily mate for life—we do!”
He spun on her, a snarl of frustration released beneath his words. “Until I met you, there was no hope of having that—and I’ll be damned if they chase you away. I just need to know where you stand before I bring you to them.”
Sasha’s expression was not what he’d expected. Not what he’d ever witnessed in the eyes of a she-shadow. There was infinite patience, but no pity, and then the patience quickly transformed into outright indignation.
“Okay. Now I understand why you hate werewolves, infected or not.” She folded her arms over her lovely breasts and set her jaw hard for a moment. “But have you ever heard the phrase ‘by any means necessary’? Who cares how you got to be alpha, as long as it wasn’t by criminal means. Birthright is overrated. So are genetics. I’m the only female in the pack and the others thought I couldn’t hang at first—until they saw that I could strategize my way out of almost anything when they couldn’t. So, yeah, I like position by merit, myself. It’s more respectable, if you ask me. The point being, you are the leader of an elite fighting force that addresses the same problem that I do. Demon-infected werewolves.”
She went to the bed and flopped down on it hard. “I fail to see the problem. If anything, it seems like you got a whole lot of extras from being a mixed-bre
ed . . . double seer capacity from grandma and grandpa, plus a little werewolf superstrength and stealth ability—if the enemy can’t tell you’re not one of them until you’re right up on ’em, whoa. Package that up in a body like yours, and I can only shake my head.” She shrugged and sighed with an easy smile. “So, let those other bitches pass. I’m in.”
“What does that mean?” he asked through his teeth.
She paused, not sure how to define it yet, but knowing that her statement needed definition. “We have a relationship and I’ve got your back.” That’s as far as she’d go, as much as she could commit.
“Like my maîtresse-imposeur?” He released a hard chuckle and turned away.
“Clarify?” She folded her arms over her chest but her tone was gentle.
“My alpha-enforcer paramour.” He released a hard sigh. “I want you so badly, Sasha, that it’s pathetic.”
“I want to be with you so badly,” she said in a quiet tone, “but without the pressure of making a permanent decision about us, till it’s pathetic.” She waited until he glimpsed her over his shoulder, wanting him and an alliance with him more than she’d realized until this moment.
He just looked at her “Then be my alpha female—the clan’s alpha female—for now. I don’t want to lose you. Can you live with that?”
A nod and a kiss was her best answer.
CHAPTER 9
SHE WAITED, WATCHING without directly looking at him, and saw him slip from a shadow in the corner of the room. Although she wanted to hold him, she knew it would cut at his personal dignity until he came to her. To be different, shunned, considered an abomination all his life . . . she almost cringed under the pain she knew that reality had brought him. He’d said he’d been rendered mateless, and after witnessing the pure ecstasy of a shadow dance, that, more than anything else, stabbed her heart.
