by KH LeMoyne
Her jawline hardened, and her pupils darkened. “I could smell them in our house. In our bedroom. And Trevor’s. They’d rifled through your clothing.”
Matthew fought for breath. Of course, he’d never even known. While she’d lived with the terror. Hiding from him that something was terribly wrong. “That doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t tell me the truth about yourself.”
“What would you have said had I told you?”
He traced his forefinger along her knuckle and then tucked his hand into his pocket before he looked at her. “I would probably have been relieved. Because the night you crept from our bed with a sprained ankle and hobbled out into the dark alone, I was worried.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “You knew.”
“I knew something wasn’t right. I was worried my wife was injured and going to great lengths not to let me know that she was sneaking out of the house. Then the next day, you walked around without a twinge of pain.”
Her breath hitched. “The shift into my wolf heals superficial wounds quickly,” she whispered.
“You left the house again after Trevor was born.”
She blinked, a slow tremble taking hold. “My wolf searched the area to confirm my baby was safe. There was no moon. No one could see me. I scented our property and several close by.” She lifted her hands again. “All this time, and you never said anything.”
“We share that trait, it seems.” He caught her fingertips beneath his own and shook his head. “When I first met you, I couldn’t believe my good luck. You are the sweetest, most giving person I’ve ever met. Beautiful beyond my imagination. And somehow you’d fallen in love with me.”
“You create magic, Matthew.”
Puzzled, he glanced back at her. Her eyes had returned to the beautiful caramel he’d sought every morning when he woke. “That wasn’t enough to be honest with me?”
The frown returned as her lips pursed and her eyes closed for a brief instant. Then she swallowed hard and looked at him with more conviction. “I planned to. Believe me. I’ve spent hours, now days, figuring how I could do that, how I should have done that—even if it meant you left me.”
He curled his fingers as he prepared to deny her concern, but he couldn’t get the words to come out.
“Everything good in my life stems from the bond I share with you. I’d never before expected such joy. I didn’t grow up feeling treasured. Pursued, perhaps. But until Deacon’s rise to alpha, many of the women in our clan spent more time looking over our shoulders than experiencing joy.” She grasped his hand. “That’s not an excuse. I just want you to understand how different you made me feel. I met other men once I left Black Haven, but everything felt so natural with you. My life developed a special hum. A happiness I couldn’t describe and never wanted to lose.”
“Then you understand why I never asked you where you went,” he said, giving her a small measure of acceptance. “Where does that leave us? Why have you never considered the mating Deacon mentioned? Are you ashamed of me?”
“Never—” Her half lurch cut off her breath as she grimaced with pain. Gently, he pressed against her shoulder to keep her on the bed, finally lowering himself to the chair beside her.
“I married you because you are the only one in the world for me.”
Gravelly and harsh, the words warmed Matthew’s heart. “Good. My vows mean as much to me now as they did when we married—actually more.”
“I know this blindsided you.” She rolled slowly toward him. “But you can’t understand yet how much of a change this will be for you.”
Done with distance, he leaned closer until he could feel her breath on his cheek. “I don’t care. As long as you’re open with me from here on out.” He brushed back her hair and settled his head on the pillow beside her so they could be eye to eye without her straining. “I’ll wait for you to heal and be released, but I won’t wait for you to convince yourself that I can’t handle this.”
Her gaze roved over his face as if she were examining every inch of him for some faint clue.
He pressed on. “You expected me to follow you? To find you?”
Guilt flashed over her features, and he cupped her cheek to force her to meet his gaze. “Don’t you dare regret that. I don’t. The only thing I will ever regret is if I lose you and Trevor.”
“You have a successful business—a life back home.” Her hand waved toward the window. “I’m sorry. That was weak of me, but the work you do is important. It will make a difference to so many people.”
“All of what I do is for us,” he growled, unable to hide the frustration biting at him. “Yes, I enjoy what I do, but don’t belittle me by assuming what choices are best for me. I believe in you. If you believe in me as well, then ask me to be your mate! Let me into this private party so you and I can make decisions together for our life.”
Her hand trembled beneath his, and a lone tear traced its way to the pillow. God, he’d pushed her too hard. The Shanae he knew had no breaking point. Her smile and optimism endured all their past struggles and challenges. He admitted, those were minor ones compared to the last several days. “I may not have your special skills, but I’m not weak.”
A tiny spark lit in her eyes. “No. You and that private investigator you bullied into helping you made even my alpha proud.”
“I don’t bully.” He lifted her fingers to his lips. It broke his heart to find them scraped and marred, still healing, but he pressed soft kisses there. She’d fought for herself and for Trevor, clawing her way to safety in a primal fashion he never expected to touch his life. He’d give anything to wipe away the shadows in her eyes. Still, he couldn’t lend her his strength from outside the ring of her people.
“Tell me what it will take to fulfill Deacon’s command.” For the alpha certainly hadn’t been subtle in his request.
“Shifters mark their mates with a bite that lingers and a scent that carries to every other shifter. A physical claim.”
Certainly covered everything he needed to hear. He could handle a bite. Especially one from Shanae. “Can you do it now?”
“Here? In the hospital?” For the first time since they’d really started communicating, he watched her brief excitement dim. Then her voice dropped. “You’ve never even seen my wolf, and we can’t—”
“Climbing through the mountains to find your battered body is the extent of my need for—” He dragged in a deep breath and shook his head as he watched hope die in her eyes. Aw, shit. “This is something special, isn’t it?”
She shrugged, and he moved closer until their lips were almost touching. “Is this like weddings? Ritual. Clothes. Presents. Special girl things?”
“Very special.” Her lashes lowered, and her voice dropped into the husky, mellow range that tied his dick in knots and made him want to pay homage at her feet.
Okay, he could handle special.
“It’s private. Sensual.” Her words whispered against his lips.
He could definitely do sensual. The bite was sounding more exciting by the second.
“No clothes at all.” A faint blush rose on her cheekbones. “I want you as my mate. I want everyone to know. But I want to be healed and for us to have…time alone. Please.”
He licked her lower lip and captured the sigh she released. Then he pulled back and eased onto the bed to lie at her side. They’d come to a resolution. One much better than he’d envisioned when he walked back in the door. The very last thing he intended to do was impede Shanae’s recovery by distracting her. “Then we’ll wait for everyone to know later.”
She pulled him back, opening her mouth for his kiss, accepting his tongue and teasing with her lips. As she stopped for a breath, she smiled. “They don’t need the mark to know. We don’t need to go as far as Deacon and Lena. My kiss will be a warning to the others that you are mine.”
“Warning. Really? Like, don’t mess with him.”
A soft chuckle escaped her. One that eased his soul.
“No
. One that tells other women to stay away. He’s mine.”
He laughed. “Right. Because they are so beating down the door to get to me. And—wait, go back to the Deacon and Lena comment.”
“He hasn’t marked her.” Her nose wiggled, and her eyes twinkled with the familiar magic, releasing the tight band around his heart. His wife was still here. Different. More, perhaps, but the parts that were so comfortable and yet enticing still existed. Then she continued, “However, they’ve been very intimate.”
Pictures of Deacon and Lena together halted Matthew’s peace. Scrunching his eyes closed, he tried to wipe out the image. “Too much information.”
“You wanted full disclosure.” Shanae’s breath fluttered against his lips.
He cocked a brow but kept his full attention on her tongue swiping over her bottom lip. “When it relates to us.” Then he rethought that. Lack of communication got them into this problem. “Forget I said that. Just tell me everything—for a while.”
Her hand squeezed his as she pressed closer. “I figured you’d want to know. She’s your friend.”
Turning back toward the lips that caressed his cheek, he sighed and drew his fingers through her silky hair. “Point made. Now you need to rest.”
She leaned back with a sigh. “If you’ll stay with me.”
Like he could ever choose to leave her. For better or worse, fur or no fur. He’d love her until his last breath. “I’m right here. Always.”
He cradled her in his arms as he watched her eyes close. When an even rhythm claimed her breathing, he shut his own eyes and followed her rhythm into his first calm sleep in a week.
“So you’re my escort back to the boardinghouse?” she asked as Breslin pushed away from his position holding up the wall and fell into step beside her.
Breslin stared straight ahead, hands in his pockets, his body deceptively lax. “I’m here to remind you to see Doc first.”
Remind? Hardly. She should have known Deacon would find a way to put her through this. Damn his overprotective hide. Breslin’s tone and his relaxed posture didn’t fool her. His eyes subtly flitted down the hall and back toward her, always on guard. A lethal guard at that. She’d seen his cougar paw swipe the head off a feral with almost no blood spatter. Speed, accuracy, and no hesitation. No doubt his orders were to escort her to the doctor and not let her slip quietly back to her bed at the boardinghouse. Or else.
“I told Deacon I didn’t need to see a doctor.”
“You can hardly fault him for being too concerned. I remember how pale you were on that mountain. Your hand didn’t shake when you took the kill shot, but a strong wind would have blown you over.”
“Deacon wouldn’t let wind dare touch us,” she muttered following his motion toward the elevator and ignoring his chuckle. With no choice but to placate the alpha, she leaned back against the elevator wall and stifled a yawn. Sleep was what she needed, not poking and prodding.
As if he’d read her mind, Breslin slid her a glance. “The doc’s a minor inconvenience. Not Deacon directing your life.”
“Then go get your own scratches checked.”
“No scratches on me.” He grinned as he pushed through the swinging doors to the next wing. “If you’re a good patient, I’ll have the ice cream shop send a surprise to the boardinghouse.”
“What am I, three? I don’t need ice cream.” Though the thought made her mouth water as her stomach grumbled, and she realized she’d eaten her last meal in the SUV hours ago.
“Everyone needs ice cream, Lena.” Breslin halted at a closed office door. “Especially shifters.”
She rolled her eyes as the door opened and a man with a weathered face, long tufts of black-and-white hair with eyebrows to match, and gentle features gestured for her to enter.
No backing out now.
“Chocolate brownie swirl,” she ordered over her shoulder before the door closed behind her. She swung back to the room, rocked back on her heels, and stared.
Instead of a sterile examination room, bookshelves covered three walls of the enormous office. Ten feet of countertop covered the remaining wall, dotted with computers and lab equipment. A walnut partner’s desk fronted the wall of bookshelves, while a leather padded exam table sat closer to the equipment. She met the doctor’s gaze as he patiently waited for her to finish surveying his room. His eyes twinkled with humor that matched the slight twitch of his nose.
“Not what you expected, Ms. Juarez?” He offered his hand. “I’m Doctor Handleman, but you can call me Doc. Everyone does.”
“Doctor—Doc,” she modified at his frown. “I’m fine. I barely feel a thing.”
“Yet you were attacked by the same feral creatures who nearly killed Shanae Philmont? Puzzling that a born shifter with enhanced strength fared worse than you did.” Doc scratched his head, his tone curious as he glanced at an active monitor attached to the wall. “Only three days ago?”
Without waiting for her concurrence, he handed her a thermometer and gestured for her to sit on the exam table behind her. He slid his finger across a touchscreen monitor on the wall, reviewing information, and then pulled a keyboard close to him as he sat on a swivel stool. He grasped the thermometer as it beeped ready, and frowned. “Did the creature break the skin?”
Rubbing her tongue against the roof of her mouth to remove the taste of plastic, she briefly considered lying and ending this quickly. Or at least until Deacon tricked her again with a doctor’s visit. Grudgingly, she admitted she wanted answers as much as he did. “It tore gashes in my left shoulder and bit my arm as well.”
“Hmm.” He ripped open several packages and advanced with a long rubber strip. “Any aversion to needles? I’d like to examine a sample of your blood.”
She shook her head and endured the time it took for him to extract two vials of blood.
“Now off with your shirt or—” He fixated on her slow, jerking movements as she tugged her shirt over her shoulder. “Unless you’d like to wait until I get a nurse to come in and help?”
“One of you is enough,” she reassured him. She slowly folded the shirt in her lap as he slipped a pair of glasses from his breast pocket, slid them over his nose, and moved to her side.
His fingers were surprisingly warm as he traced across the gashes on her back. “You’ve a fair amount of damage given the scars, but even these are healing well enough. You’ll have little left to remind you.” He took her arm and gently pressed his thumbs around the bite marks. Then he lifted her arm, guiding it through motions as he watched her expression. She pulled her arm away as he scowled.
“I was told you have no shifter heritage.”
“None.”
“No offense, Ms. Juarez, but it’s incredible you’ve recovered so quickly. You’ve no fever, no sign of infection—did you receive special treatment already?”
“Deacon treated my wounds. As unsanitary as his approach was, I’m sure he does that for all injured shifters.”
Doc’s eyebrows rose above the black-and-white mop of hair covering his forehead. “Treated how exactly?” With an odd tilt to his head, he leaned closer.
Close enough for Doc’s animal to cause Lena’s skin to tingle the way she felt around Trim and Wharton. A wolf. Yet wholly unlike Deacon. No one caused her body to respond like Deacon. The distinct unease of being a predator’s meal had her edge back on the table.
“Ah. Your physical contact with him is obvious, but I hadn’t anticipated—” He rose and waved a hand as her cheeks flamed. “Shifters are very attuned to scent signals. It can mean the difference between survival and extinction. Nothing to be embarrassed about—especially given your deeper connection. How did he treat your wounds?” Doc asked.
Deeper connection? A reference to the number of times they’d made love, or did an alpha shifter carry more scent than other men? “He licked me. At least that was what I was told. I was unconscious at the time.”
His brows drew together, and suddenly she felt ridiculous. Matthew must have
been teasing her. Then Doc’s nostrils flared, and he tapped the side of his nose.
Damn, not again.
“Well, being mates would explain it—”
“What?”
His eyes narrowed as he harrumphed, then he spun back to the small tube of her blood on the counter. “As I’ve let the cat out of the bag, we might as well see whether you are truly protected.”
Determined not to be put off again, Lena leaned forward. “I’d like more clarification on the mates comment.”
He extracted some of her blood with a pipette and applied it to a smaller vial, then slid the sample into a larger machine and pressed a button. A low-volume vibration echoed in the room as he brought up a new application on the wall monitor. At the display of a pending signal, he shot a glance toward her. “You should have that discussion with Deacon. All shifters have special gifts. And while the alpha looks out for all of us, you are the only recipient capable of responding to his particular treatment. Fortunately for you.” He looked again at the screen, which now displayed both graphical readings and a visual microscopic view of her blood. “As I suspected.”
Doc tapped a few more keys, and a second microscopic view appeared beside hers. “He must have reached you very quickly?”
“He—killed my attacker before I became hamburger.”
“Fitting.” He waved for her to come closer and pointed to the second image on the screen. “This is Shanae’s lab work after she was brought in. Her cells appear the same as yours, but they’re more active. This”—he pointed at a portion of the image resembling cogs for a car engine instead of blood and plasma—“is the feral saliva mutation. It replicates and tries to bond with the shifter cells. Mature shifters have a high metabolism and can outproduce feral cells. The metabolic rate and multiple shifter transfusions saved Shanae. In humans, I expect the feral addition executes the bond and begins altering the DNA. My report to Deacon will include that hypothesis.”
“The ferals were humans?”
“Perhaps. Though Deacon will need someone far beyond my degrees to pick apart the procedure and develop a cure.”
