by L. A. Banks
“Yeah, and the truth is out there.”
They both laughed.
Sasha slid down deeper in the soothing water. “I’m telling them about genetic smugglers because I want to have a seemingly bona fide reason to be digging into genetic processes. Up till now, they put me on a target and told me to blow it up. That’s what we did. Went in, hit the ground, and blew it up. But I need to find out—”
He let his hands slide down her shoulders until his arms were submerged up to the elbows and his chest grazed the back of her head. “There are things you can tell me later, or never at all . . . there are things that will take time for me to disclose, too. Let’s work on phase one,” he murmured against the crown of her wet hair. “Let’s get you back out from that tomb they have in the ground—alive. Free. Hunting with me as my partner, and me as yours.”
She covered his hands as they gently stroked her tender sides beneath the water. “I can pull that off, Hunter. I’m good.”
His kiss against her wet scalp was more ardent but his touch remained soothing and gentle. “I have no doubts.”
“I don’t want there to be friction in your camp about me, though,” she murmured, her fingers gently sliding with his, splaying her much smaller palm over the warm, now tingling surface of his hand. “Your grandfather said you two had had words. If I’m a—”
“That’s one of those things for later . . .” His kiss against her cheek was fierce as he continued to kneel behind her and caress where she’d been hurt. “I can’t have that conversation right now . . . but just know it didn’t have anything to do with you. Old family wounds— things I found out that were ugly.”
She turned her head to nuzzle his shoulder. “That I understand. It’s why I was out running. I found out things that should have turned my hair white today. But we’re survivors, I guess . . . We love the people who made some bad choices, and we opted to live.”
His warm mouth found the crook of her neck. “That was their shit, not ours. We’ll survive it.”
His hands covered her belly beneath the water’s rippling surface, and gentle, circling strokes made her lean her head back against his shoulder.
“I like the sound of ‘we.’ Never used to use the word much.”
“I never did use that word before. Never had occasion to.”
A slight shudder passed through her as his lips grazed her shoulder. His arms were so long, his reach so all-encompassing, that he was practically hugging the tub with her in it. The position he had her in made her feel like she was floating. Safe. Protected in a womb. His massive chest was at the very edge of her back, warming her neck and pillowing her head. A deep thudding heartbeat lulled her into lazy, spine-gelling relaxation.
Warm currents of soft breath pelted the crown of her wet hair. Thick biceps bracketed her upper arms, moving back and forth in a slow, metronome-like rhythm of peacefulness, huge hands sending healing sensation up and down her abdomen, over her hips, his reach long enough to caress her inner thighs.
Soon her body awakened on its own, even while she dozed, swelling, lifting ever so slightly at each pass of his wide-splayed touch, her breasts bobbing, nipples kissing the broken water’s surface until they stung. Her tongue darted out to chase the ache his lack of attention caused, seeking his mouth that only caressed her cheek. Disappointed, her lips parted to sip quiet streams of air as her thighs slid open to rest on either side of the tub.
Submerged and ignored, her nether lips pouted, leaking their own wetness. He’d felt it when he grazed her . . . she knew it when his breath hitched along with hers. For a moment, he petted away the offense, making her moan, but then went back to his lazy strokes inside her thighs, over her belly, and up her arms.
On each pass now, she was straining to make contact with his mouth, which refused to stray from planting gentle kisses on her hair and shoulder and neck. Her mouth hungered for his so badly that it was becoming parched, in need of his lips and tongue to quench the burn. But her body was still too tender to turn and take what she wanted from him.
His hands enfolded hers, his fingers laced between hers, his voice a low rumble in her ear. “You’ll feel better tomorrow after a good night’s sleep. If I do more than this, you won’t be able to report for duty.”
She knew it was true, but damn him anyway. She kept her eyes closed, her head leaning back against him, and simply told him the truth. “I am in so much pain, though . . .”
He kissed her ear roughly and forced his words into it like slow, liquid heat. “Trust me, I know.”
His fingers unfolded and untwined from hers to flatten his palms over the backs of her hands. Taking them up, he carefully dragged them up her belly beneath the water, until she quivered as they swept her torso, then he brought them to gently rub the underside of her breasts. She began to close her thighs; it was an impulse, it ached so badly between them. He shook his head no against her hair and she let them fall apart again and breathed through her mouth.
To let her know he’d heard her, his thumbs stretched beyond hers to trace half-moon circles at the very edge of her nipples till she arched. The moment she did, his hands guided hers to cover the place that hurt until her voice rushed out, echoing back to them from the tiles. Her grip tightened, increasing his labored breaths, as he nuzzled her cheek watching, and then guided her hands away to rest on her thighs.
The edge of the water now felt like a knife of pleasure as she lifted her nipples above it and then sank back down below it, allowing the water to lick her where he wouldn’t. But a huge hand placed on the center of her chest drew a whimper.
“Mine,” he murmured in her ear.
At this point she was ready to tell him whatever he wanted to hear. She lifted her nipples above the water’s edge and fought not to close her thighs. “Yours.”
When his hands slid over her breasts she closed her eyes so tightly pinpoints of light formed beneath her lids. The slow flicking that plucked the water as he thumbed each sensitive tip made her dig her nails into her thighs.
“Hunter, I—”
“Shsssh . . .” he soothed in her ear, leaving her breasts to explore her belly underwater. “I know it hurts.”
His large, water-soaked hands rubbed a lazy pattern inside her thighs, brushing by the plump, silken thatch that was so engorged her lips parted on their own. Her breaths became short jags. Her hands now clutched his wrists, needing something to hold on to. She couldn’t help it, her hips bounced up to meet his touch. The sound of water splashing added to the symphony of staccato breaths, low, quiet gasps, and two heartbeats out of control. Lifting higher on each pass, her mound broke the surface and the water licked her bud. Just as suddenly, her gasp released his voice and two thick, seeking fingers sank deep inside her.
She turned and held on to his bicep; injuries be damned, she was coming. She pressed her face against bulging muscle, her thighs closed and became a pulsing vise. His other arm was sure, his hold steady. The convulsion was swift; she nearly blacked out.
Eyes closed, half floating, curled in a fetal position, his hand wedged between her legs, and her fingers gripping his arm, she lay breathing hard with her mouth open for a moment, dazed. By degrees, as the climax contractions ebbed, her grip loosened and the muscles in her thighs went slack. Thankfully he caught her with his other arm or she might have drowned. The thought of drowning and his wondrous touch made a half-smile slowly appear while her eyes remained closed and she tried to steady her breath.
“You do have healing hands.”
He brushed her mouth with a kiss. “How’re your sides?”
“What sides? The ones that are all jellied and loose?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice deep and raw. “Those.”
She opened her eyes and then kissed him slowly. “Wanna go to bed so I can show you?”
He shook his head no so avidly that she had to catch his chin to make him stop.
“Let me get you settled,” he said on a heavy exhale. “You lie down for a coup
le of hours. This was just to help you really relax . . . endorphin rush, so there’d be no more pain, and—”
“You’re babbling,” she said calmly with a smile, holding his chin.
“I know. Let me get you settled and—”
“And you’re repeating yourself.”
He closed his eyes and visibly fought to speak slowly and succinctly. “Let me get you under the covers, warm, resting. I’ll take away the bloodied blankets. I’ll clean up while you rest. Then I’ll take you home. You’ll rest some more, and then you’ll be fresh and healed to report for duty so they’ll never be the wiser.”
She held both sides of his face. “But you are in pain.”
“Yes. I am in pain. But it will pass.” He didn’t even open his eyes and simply covered her hands where they lay against his cheeks.
“I have a remedy for pain.”
He leaned his forehead against hers and shuddered quietly. “I’ll be all right.”
“It won’t open up my wounds, I promise you.” She kissed him gently, suggestively rubbing her hand up and down his bare chest and toying with the amulet he wore, then sucked his earlobe. “I’ll even give you your choice of remedies.” She flicked her tongue over his mouth and then lowered her hand to rest on his stomach. “Those are your two choices. How badly are you in pain?”
“Chronic,” he said on a raspy swallow.
“If you come to bed with me, we can both sleep curled up together for a couple of hours afterward . . . my remedy is swift.”
“It would have to be, right about now.”
She smiled. “Good. I’m glad we don’t have to fight about it.”
CHAPTER 12
HE DIDN’T LIKE it, not one bit—letting her go, allowing her to be surrounded by the enemy, but it was her choice. It was her job. He hadn’t really meant to put his tongue halfway down her throat when kissing her goodbye. Had to remember to hold her gently in the shadows when he’d delivered her back to her SUV in Ronnie’s lot, although every cell in his body was shouting, Mine. If they hurt her, they’d die.
UP UNTIL NOW, walking up the steps to her own apartment, Sasha had thought she was a pretty tough cookie. But letting go of that man in the shadows was probably one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. Never in her life had forty-eight hours been so crazy . . . so frickin’ insane that she wanted to laugh and cry and howl at the moon.
Death, shadow dancing, wolf fights, revelations, and sex like, whoa. Healing, shape-shifting, life-altering truths.
Sasha trudged up the steps. She wasn’t even fazed when Special Agent Baker opened the door in drag, wearing her curlers, scarf, and old-lady-robe getup. She just hoped that while she’d been in her apartment reinstalling surveillance devices that she’d fed Fred.
“Honey, are you all right? I was so worried . . .”
Sasha looked up blankly. It was no act. Her responses were normal. “My squad,” she said sadly, not needing to pretend. “They didn’t make it in Afghanistan.”
Baker rushed down the steps doing the neighborly thing, and hugged her. Sasha allowed it. Hey, they were all military or a branch of Homeland Security. Special Agent Baker had a role to play, just like she did—but that didn’t mean it didn’t break her up to know that some of their own didn’t make it. No matter what, she reasoned, they gave their lives for the cause. That deserved respect. Rod, Johnson, Gonzalez, Sherwin, all had served their country to the best of their ability. God rest their souls in peace. Her issue was with the brass. Special Agent Baker wasn’t brass, she was a grunt, like herself. Just following orders. Part of the new Homeland Security team integration that put all branches under the same aegis.
Slowly but surely Sasha returned the hug.
“I went up into the mountains,” Sasha said quietly, beginning the ruse. “I just needed a coupla days to get my head together.”
AS SHE PULLED up to the base and flashed her ID, she wasn’t really surprised when two MPs commandeered her Nitro, stripped her weapons, and provided her with a silent escort.
That was cool. They were following procedure to have her checked for contagion first. No hazmat suits required; what she had possibly contracted in the wild wasn’t airborne. A scratch or a bite would require a blood exchange and the men gave her wide berth. Couldn’t blame them. That also made sense.
Sasha kept her eyes straight ahead as they walked with her to their Jeep. The ride into the yawning cavern was tense and silent, and as their vehicle slipped into darkness she just hoped the very nervous men guarding her didn’t get jumpy enough to accidentally blow her away.
Eyes forward in the elevator; the descent seemed endless. But her mind was focused on one thing: making sure she pulled off her shell game with the general. This would have to be the best game of poker she’d ever played, and she only hoped that Special Agent Baker had done her job reporting in, and done it well.
The MPs nodded toward a clear lab containment cell with fluorescent lights and a small boxlike cutout in one of the walls. Sasha sighed and stepped into the chamber as they shut and bolted the steel doors closed behind her.
Two feet worth of bulletproof, reinforced glass surrounded her, giving a slight fishbowl effect to the workspace beyond. Now she knew how Fred probably felt. She made a mental note to be nicer to him and maybe one day bring him a worm. Or even a girl fish.
A lab was on one side. Cameras were hidden within the isolation chamber, but she knew they were there. Had she had any modesty this would surely have killed it. Too bad the military was coed and more than half the personnel in the lab were guys.
She began to strip, knowing they had to be sure there was no sign of an attack bite. For a moment she hesitated, remembering the bitch fight she’d been in with Shadow Falcon. As she took off her fatigues, she became aware that a battle for dominance could have cost her her life.
As she pulled off her boots and yanked down her pants, suddenly she realized why Hunter was so panicked. She could be cut down like a dog that was thought to have rabies!
Turning slowly with her arms extended, she fought not to double-check the places that had healed. All she could do was say a little prayer. When she saw Hunter again, she would seriously thank that man for making her eat raw venison.
“Is this okay, or do I have to lose the underwear?” she called out dryly. But her insides were jumping.
“Aw, baby. You look like a Victoria’s Secret model, Trudeau, but you’re gonna have to lose the bra and panties.”
She smiled. Leave it to Winters to kick the bullshit. “Ha, ha, ha,” she said flatly into a monitor, placing her hands on her hips. She squinted to see him better through the distorted glass. She could make out his boyish face, shock of brunette hair, and the way he wiggled his impish eyebrows at her. “In your dreams.”
“Every last one of ’em,” he said, laughing. “These decons are wreaking havoc with my water bill.”
“Knock it off, Winters,” McGill said with a smile in her voice. The heavyset blonde in her mid-forties ran the lab, and she pushed away from her desk to bring blood-drawing supplies to the cutout in the decontamination cell. “Some shaman you are. If you can’t tell she hasn’t been mauled while she’s wearing that getup, then her stripping all the way down wouldn’t do you much good anyway. Get a new set of contact lenses.”
“Thank you, Clarissa,” Sasha said with a wry smile. It was nice to have another female present who had her back. “Next time I’ll wear cotton drawers so Winters has a better excuse.”
“Well, our resident psychic should have known that I wait for these decontamination moments with you, Trudeau. I have fantasies about the tank, baby—one day it’ll be me and you under glass.”
“For that, Bradley would have to pull out his ancient spell books,” Sasha said, laughing.
Joking around, even for a moment, was the MASH humor she needed to regain her balance. The rest of them needed it, too. Who wanted to be the one to make the call to have a friend and coworker put down? These decons were
always tense.
When Bradley didn’t answer, she squinted through the thick glass trying to see the expression of the lab team’s dark arts expert, loving it when Winters could break his moody façade. The man was only about thirty-five but had the countenance of a British aristocrat which made him seem so much older. She could only see half of Bradley’s face above his endless rows of satellite equipment. His brow was furrowed and his glasses had slid down his nose. His eyes seemed tired, like he’d been up all night tracking her on radar.
“How about it, Bradley,” Sasha called out, needling him. “Do you have anything in those spooky books of yours, like saltpeter spells, that can cure a horny computer lab tech? Or can we just do away with these stupid decontaminations altogether? What do you say, guys? I’m gonna start wearing swimwear under my fatigues if you all don’t stop gawking and hurry up to give me the all clear.”
“Patience, patience, just turn around for me slowly so I can capture the body image . . . on my screensaver,” Winters said, laughing.
“Ooooh, I will hurt you bad when I get out of here,” Sasha said, chuckling.
Bradley finally smiled. “Don’t knock the decons, Trudeau. Winters can’t help it. I live for these moments, too. Love the black lace this time.”
“Oh, so the guys are joining forces again, are they?” Sasha shook her head. “Can I get dressed?”
“I cannot believe you guys give her such a hard way to go. Don’t worry, Trudeau. I’ll slip something in their coffee that’ll make both these lab rats behave.”
“You ladies are so mean to guys locked in a lab eighteen hours a day. Can’t even go looking for hotness on the Internet without—”
“Heads up, brass in pursuit. Corridor five and closing,” Bradley announced. “Trudeau, you’re clear. Get dressed.”
Sasha snatched up her clothes and began yanking them on. She quickly thrust her arms through the cutout so Clarissa could draw her blood. By the time she was lacing up her boots, the entire chain of command for the project was there: General Donald Wilkerson, Colonel Matt Vlasco, Lieutenant Colonel Ralph Waters, Major John Adams, Project Leader and Geneticist Dr. Xavier Holland.
