And then she was in Grant’s arms, tight against that marvelous muscle, enfolded in his incredible heat. All the while, her mind urged her to be careful and to stop the madness. Warnings came to break away because Grant wasn’t normal. He wasn’t even human.
Breathing was difficult. With her head pressed to his chest and her resolve on hiatus, Paxton heard him speak in thoughts to Shirleen. His words and sentences were like whispers from a far-off place.
“Dangerous,” he said. “More than we thought. So far beyond what we had imagined.”
Grant had found the trespasser he was hunting. Possibly that trespasser and the creature she had, early on, believed to be a bear were one and the same.
Concern wasn’t the only thing Grant was telegraphing to her through their closeness. He wanted to protect her, save her from having to face what he had found. That goal was paramount in his short list of objectives. Save her. Save his friends. Save Desperado and whatever he did here with those awful steel cages.
Nerves that ran along the wires under Grant’s skin seemed to fire hers up in an invasion of blistering heat. The hardness of his body and the realization of how much she noticed it became another insurmountable obstacle to regaining her wits.
Thinking seriously about pulling back, and about reexamining her mental state, Paxton knew that yelling for help was completely out of the realm of possibility. Who would hear her and come to her aid when this man was their leader? Which of these werewolves would challenge or defy him?
She felt him begin to shake. She felt his heat spike to a degree well beyond impossible range. And, still, she did not run.
When Grant tilted her head back to look into her face, there was no claw on his index finger. When he forced her to meet his eyes by whispering her name seductively, Paxton obeyed.
Their bodies were pressed tightly together, and Grant didn’t seem to mind that there were others present. Holding her hostage with an apologetic gaze and an unspoken promise, it was a man’s lips that rested on hers lightly, briefly. Except that the kiss didn’t feel light or brief to Paxton. It felt like goodbye.
When Paxton opened her eyes, she found herself being lifted into Grant’s strong arms. “I’m not a baby,” she protested. “And I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”
Swear to God, she would have said more if Grant’s hungry mouth had allowed her to. His lips kept returning to hers, sampling, tasting, as if he couldn’t get enough.
She was in Grant’s arms and they were moving off the street. Light disappeared when they went inside the old general store. She wondered if he was going to take her there, on the floor. If the kisses didn’t stop, she might even allow that, in spite of what he was.
After several more steps his mouth finally withdrew from hers, but Grant continued to hold her.
Finally, he set her down.
Their eyes met again. His were filled with regret. Was this the goodbye she had anticipated, felt, sensed? Would he head back out to continue his search for the bad guy, maybe without hope of returning?
Grant backed away from her slowly and spoke to her for the first time since his return to town minutes ago. “I’m sorry for this. It is necessary. You will have to trust me on that.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice was raspy with hunger for Grant Wade, whatever the hell he was.
The sound of metal clanging on metal filled the space. Following that came the sound of a bolt sliding into place. Still, it took more time for Paxton to comprehend what had just happened, and by then Grant had moved out of sight.
Dread struck. Panic hit with sheets of ice that replaced the former heat of her internal furnace. Had he? No. He couldn’t have.
Shoving both of her hands forward, Paxton took hold of the steel bars keeping her from accompanying Grant’s departure. They were the cold steel bars of one of the cages she had seen.
Her head swam with the uncertainty of the situation. Her mind protested over and over again. Hell, had she been wrong? That kiss, hot, insatiable, had not been meant as a sad temporary goodbye or been evidence of the pleasure of a blissful reunion between lovers.
It had been a distraction.
A lie.
And a trap.
Chapter 22
Grant’s heart hurt. But his reasons for caging Paxton had been sound. She would be safe until the time came for an all-clear. That stubborn streak of hers could get her into trouble, when trouble is exactly what they didn’t need more of.
His body continued to ache from too many shape-shifts in the span of a day. Even Lycan bones and tissues had their limits. Part of his discomfort also stemmed from another source, however, and that was from having to leave Paxton like this.
She didn’t call out to him, scream or shout obscenities. Silence accompanied his exit from the building. An absolute absence of sound. Bless her, Paxton might actually be trusting him. Either that or she was too stunned to react.
He wanted to go back in there and explain why she needed to be out of the picture for a while. He’d tell her that cage was as much for her protection as it was for everyone else’s, and that the rogue out there had more on his mind than waylaying hikers or cattle. The bastard hadn’t been able to hide from another Lycan the emotions driving him toward Desperado.
That wicked creature was interested in Paxton. Too interested. While the beast’s brief conversation hadn’t resulted in an explanation of what that rogue wanted, his mind had offered up the first real clue.
Paxton was the unspoken name that had filled the creature’s mind.
Since there had been ample opportunity in the past few months for the rogue to have headed into the old ghost town and he hadn’t, Grant might have done them all a disservice by bringing Paxton here. Actually, it turned out that he had ended up using Paxton as bait to corner a madman.
There was no way he could he have told Paxton this, frightening her more than he already had by shifting in her presence. No. She had to remain ignorant of this new turn of events.
“Paxton, I’m sorry,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t hear that or the sincerity of his apology.
One good thing was in their favor. His fair-haired lover was stronger than she looked and had wolf blood in her veins. They had mated, man to woman, forming a bond that went beyond anything in the human world, and no good-for-nothing Lycan with foul habits and evil tendencies was going to set foot here or have face time with her again.
I promise you this, Paxton. He will not get to you.
“Was that necessary?” Shirleen asked, coming up behind him. Shirleen had confessed to liking Paxton, so she would be wondering why he had locked Paxton in that cage.
“She is the draw,” Grant replied. “He wants to come for her.”
“Strange how you all seem to think so,” Shirleen said thoughtfully.
“Yes, well, you’re already taken, so what kind of extraordinary she-wolf does that leave?” Grant teased.
“You think he will come here for her?” Shirleen pressed. “In spite of how many of us there are?”
“I think he might.”
“To do what? Why her?”
“Lycan,” Grant said, uttering the one word that possibly explained what that rogue wanted.
Shirleen’s eyes widened. “Andrew Hall’s daughter is Lycan?”
“Afraid so.”
Shirleen let that go. “It isn’t that rogue’s blood I smell on you. Whose blood is it?”
“He left a trail to throw me off the scent. It worked. I lost him.”
Shirleen looked past him, toward the building housing the cages. “How long will she be in there?”
“As long as it takes to get to the bottom of this creepy escapade.”
She blocked his path when he began to walk. “Full moon tomorrow. Paxton might actually need that cage then.”
Grant shut his eyes to ride out the sensation of falling through space without a parachute. Shirleen was right about Paxton. Who could predict what would happen when that full moon
rolled around and how it might affect the woman he’d started to think of as his mate?
He’d have to be watchful on two fronts if that thing—that mad beast out there—caught a whiff of Paxton in the middle of her first shape-shift and decided to do something about it. Even worse would be for the rogue to come after her tonight.
Shirleen spoke again with the kind of logic she always displayed. “If he waits until tomorrow night to confront us, it will be better for us all. Half the wolf power this pack will have under the full moon would surely be sufficient to contain one Lycan.”
Grant had to agree. But he felt nervous about how much damage a rogue Lycan could do, whether or not his friends were furred-up and ferocious.
He said, “Don’t you suppose he will have considered that scenario?”
“Then if he has any plans to come here, he would implement that plan tonight when we’re more vulnerable. Right?”
And that, Grant thought, was the reason for his anxiousness and the impetus for caging Paxton. The bastard out there could shift without the full moon, and that trick could cost this pack dearly.
He glanced to the end of the street, aware of the positioning of each member of his pack. With his eyes shut, his abilities allowed him to locate Ben and the others at the fence. Given that the beast out there had similar abilities, the rogue would also know those things.
It wasn’t safe to think about Paxton. It wasn’t safe to feel anything for her. He had to close down all channels that led to her and hope the sudden silence would be sufficient to keep a monster out.
That was the plan.
Such was his intention.
Until Paxton, just twenty feet behind him and enclosed by a metal cage meant to withhold the strength of a male Were in the throes of a life-changing event, touched his mind with a call that was a plea for help. A call he couldn’t refuse in spite of the obstacles facing this pack because they were so completely connected.
Holy hell!
His mind reeled. She wasn’t just a she-wolf in the disguise of an unsuspecting human. Nothing so simple as that.
Paxton was much, much more. And tonight, after all these years, without a full moon in attendance and in a scene complicated by the added bonus of having a mad wolf knocking at their door…Paxton Hall was coming into her heritage one damn claw at a time.
*
Sickness twisted Paxton’s stomach with a grip so tight, breathing was nearly impossible. Thinking was out of the question. Standing up was no longer an option.
Sinking to her knees, blinded by the onset of pain so sudden and intense she wondered if she had been shot, Paxton cried out. The onslaught of agony was all-encompassing and not focused in any one spot. Her head was being crushed in a vice. Strength left her limbs. Her heartbeat fluttered weakly and she couldn’t lift her head. She felt as though she were dying, one desperate, insufficient breath at a time.
Vision tunneled, blotting out the small globe of light that had been her lifeline. But moonlight flooded the space, cutting through the dark to reach her from the open doorway and creating a dappled pattern on the front of her thighs. With it came a wave of cold almost as terrible as the initial strike of pain that had driven her to the floor.
She had to be dying. But why?
“Grant!”
Had she said his name out loud when breathing was a stretch?
“Grant…”
He had promised to protect her. Or had she imagined that?
“It’s killing me,” she whispered, doubling over without any real idea about what it was.
Moonlight touched her face now with a cold caress. She shrank back from the only light left in the dark, having nowhere to go and no way to escape her steel prison.
Inhaling the moonlight brought up bile that made her choke. Paxton felt her pulse take a dive. As a nurse, Paxton understood what those symptoms meant. She was going into shock and had never felt so sick and so completely alone.
“Grant. Please.”
Why did she think Grant Wade might swoop in to help her when he had put her in this cage and left her here? If someone was to blame for her current state, it was Grant.
Not true…
She had wanted to come here. To Desperado. All along, she had pushed toward the events that had befallen her.
There was no energy left to raise a shout. Her blood pressure had plummeted. The first convulsion arrived swiftly with a nasty body wave that pressed her against the steel bars for support. Paxton’s forehead slammed against metal highlighted by a beam of silvery lunar particles, and she hardly noticed the impact. Her back arched dramatically. Bones crackled. Inside her, more trouble was brewing. Something deep in her gut was clawing its way upward from her stomach to her chest, wreaking havoc along the way.
The second convulsion sent her to the floor, curled up in a fetal position. She shook so violently, the hard surface she laid on scratched through her clothes, bruising tender, stinging skin. She was sinking beneath a wave of darkness streaked with those damn light particles.
And then, as though someone had flipped a switch, the remaining light went out.
Eyes shut, pulse faint, Paxton thought she heard shouts in the distance. Her mind buzzed with static. She breathed fresh rounds of pain, shook with pain, absorbed each wicked example of extreme physical torture by curling up tighter and trying desperately to hold on to the remaining vestiges of life.
“I don’t want to die here,” were the last words she got out before that darkness became nearly total.
But she wasn’t gone yet. Thoughts still blinked in and out, though the breaths she groped for were inadequate. Only one tactile sensation remained—the icy burn of the steel bar her fingers were clamped to.
Refuse to give in.
Refuse to give up.
Sharp screeching sounds rang in her mind…unfamiliar noises of no particular concern when she faced pain so encompassing.
Was someone approaching?
Maybe she imagined that.
Wait. Yes. Someone was there. Her fingers were being pried from the steel bar, and she didn’t want to let go. If she did, all sensation would be lost.
“Paxton,” a deep voice crooned. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Grant’s voice. He had returned after leaving her there.
You put me here, you bastard. She could not say this out loud.
The stronger voice overrode her unspoken thought. “This was for your own good. I left you here to keep you safe. Please believe me. I had no idea this would happen now.”
Bastard.
A set of instructions followed that she had to consider.
“Don’t let your mind slip away. It’s important that you hang on to what makes you you. That might sound strange, but I’m sure you know what I mean. Can you open your eyes, Paxton? Open your eyes and look at me?”
Hurt. She couldn’t have said that out loud, either, because her lips were numb. Fear of seeing a face that might no longer resemble Grant was what kept her eyes tightly shut.
“I know you hurt,” he sympathized. “I understand what that pain is like. However, you must do as I ask. Open your eyes. Trust me. Take a chance and open them now.”
Her lashes flapped once, twice. She couldn’t communicate the fact that she lacked the strength to do what was asked of her.
Can’t.
“You can,” he directed, as if he had heard her reply. “You bear the mark that indicates a strength you might not yet comprehend. Remember? There’s a mark on your arm like mine. It’s there for a reason. Only those of us from a long-lived family line of survivors possess that mark. When you open your eyes, you’ll see that.”
More cold rushed in. Shaking ensued, along with more convulsions. Paxton again had the sensation of being about to leave her body, and she picked up the inward chant that had become her mantra.
Refuse to let go.
Refuse to give in.
“Yes. That’s it,” the deep voice applauded. “Fight, Paxton. I’ve seen that
fight in you. The pain is temporary. Rise above it and become what you’re meant to be. There’s no going back or holding back the tide once it has begun, so you must stay with me, little wolf. It’s time for you to understand who and what you are.”
Don’t like what you’re suggesting, she protested in silence, unable to argue. Was she supposed to place her trust in a man who hadn’t been honest with her from the start? A man who wasn’t actually a man at all, but a creature straight out of late-night TV?
Grant was here with her. Who else would know about the mark on her upper arm? His voice had the ability to move her.
Excitement jump-started her heartbeat, and yet Paxton still felt half in and half out of the world, as if she floated somewhere in between two places. A bridge between two worlds, Grant had said.
She feared one more quake might do her in.
“Paxton.”
Grant’s authoritative tone served to gather up her rapidly fraying attention.
“It’s a good life,” he said. “You’ll see. You have to want it badly enough to get through this phase. Most of us with the mark can. You can. There is no acceptable alternative. Now open your eyes and see the world as it really is.”
Having no idea where the energy came from to do as Grant asked, Paxton opened her eyes. The light hadn’t gone. Grant Wade’s broad shoulders were blocking it. He was beside her on the floor, looking completely human and cradling her against a bare chest that supplied enough warmth to burn through her tremors.
The icy fear began to melt. Her body’s tightness eased slightly. Paxton blinked up at Grant, wanting to thank him for coming back, but unable to do so because his human semblance was a disguise that hid the secrets beneath his bronzed skin.
Not a man…
Still, God, his heat was soothing and necessary. Paxton wanted desperately to curl into him and hear Grant tell her there was nothing inside her that didn’t belong there, and that the sickness rolling through her wasn’t related to him and what he was. She needed him to confirm this was a dream from which she’d soon wake up.
But he called her a “little wolf,” and the words rang in her ears with a discordant sound. Those words were a mistake. Grant was the wolf. Werewolf. She was Paxton, and that was all. Next up would be to get out of there the minute she could move her legs.
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