Nash’s jolt gave her a brief flare of satisfaction, but when her bad knee began throbbing from her kneeling position, she held a hand out to him. “Help me up, will you?”
His hand was warm and strong as he pulled her to her feet, bringing her almost against him. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Fine.” Their eyes met for a brief moment, but she pulled away and turned to Connor. “Let’s get you out of the bushes so we can deal with that leg. Can you stand?”
“I half dragged him the last mile or two,” Nash said. “Silver ain’t a wolf’s best friend.”
“I can make it,” Connor said. Still, two attempts to get up on his own netted him little more than a pained look and string of curse words.
“Who is that woman, anyway?” Terra asked. “Why is she hunting werewolves?”
“Long story,” Connor said. “Suffice to say she’s got a vendetta on our kind.” He bit his lip while he struggled again to get to his feet.
“Come on, cowboy.” Nash handed Terra back the towel-wrapped supplies. He couldn’t push past without forcing her into the bushes, though, so she backed out of the way and let him in to haul Connor to his feet.
Two wide-shouldered men weren’t exactly silent brushing against shrubbery, and Terra prayed no one would hear. After a quick peek around the neighborhood, she gestured them out of hiding and past the garage, back to the side gate. On the other side, she paused to grab the key to the rear garage door from under the mat.
The garage held two cars, a workbench, a deep freeze, and a collection of lawn and garden care implements that Nash had to navigate while helping Connor. “Sorry there’s not a lot of room in here,” Terra said. “But at least Dad insulated the walls last year. It’ll be quieter to work here than trying to sneak you into the house.”
Her car was unlocked, and she opened the rear door for Connor to slide in. With his long legs, he wound up sliding along the bench seat sideways, leaning his back heavily against the far door and raking a hand through his mussed hair.
She let out a sigh as she took in his sorry state. “Where’s your hat?”
“Lost it in the woods.” Terra leaned in to hand over the bottle of Jack, which he took and unscrewed the cap. “Lost my job, lost my hat. Some cowboy, ain’t I?”
“Actually, throw a dog gettin’ shot into that song and you’re a textbook cowboy,” Nash said. With a glance at Connor’s leg, he added, “Then again, guess you got that angle covered, too.”
Connor’s eyed narrowed. “You know, you were a lot funnier when I used to work for you.”
“That’s on account of you were bein’ paid to laugh at my jokes.”
“There’s not much room in here for us,” Terra said to Nash. “Let me shove the seats up.”
Nash helped her adjust the front seats and tilt them forward so they could climb in the back of her sedan.
“The light ain’t the greatest,” Nash said, peering up at the car’s interior lamp. “Don’t suppose you got a shop light around that workbench?”
“I think Dad does, actually. But I’m not sure where.”
Nash ducked out of the car to dig up more lighting while Connor took a swig from the whiskey bottle. She watched his Adam’s apple bob with two deep swallows before he pulled the bottle from his lips and licked them off. “Thanks for comin’ out to help me. You didn’t have to.”
“Not like a gal can sleep, what with cowboys climbing through her window and sticking their fat paws over her mouth.” Connor’s scowl deepened at that. “Besides,” she added quickly, “I couldn’t just leave you bleeding out there.
A faint crash came from the workbench area, and Terra unfolded herself from the back of her car to glower across the roof. Nash had found a work light and was pulling an orange extension cord from a pile of her Dad’s miscellaneous junk.
“Do you mind?” Terra snapped in as loud a whisper as she dared. “I said it was quieter out here, not soundproof.”
“Sorry.” He plugged in the cord and harsh light flooded from the metal-hooded lamp. “Let there be light.”
She ignored his self-satisfied smile and moved over when he rounded the back of her car, holding the lamp. Connor lifted the bottle to block the glare from his eyes. “Jesus, is that a shop light or a lighthouse beacon?”
“Take another drink and you won’t care,” Nash said, and he turned to her. “How are we gonna do this?”
“I volunteer you,” Terra said. “I skipped bullet-digging class in my First Aid training. I could hold the light for you.”
“No need. It’s got a clamp on it that’ll hold it to the roof.”
She eyed Connor from head to toe, her eyes landing on the still-wet thigh. “Help me get his pants off, I suppose.”
Connor’s eyes darted to hers. “Of all the times I’ve imagined you sayin’ that, I never dreamed I’d be in quite this fix.”
She climbed in beside him and stared at his embossed belt buckle. “A wolf buckle?”
“You got a better totem animal in mind?” Connor reached down and unhooked the belt and his jeans. “Those ain’t exactly bunny slippers you’re wearin. Got a thing for wolves?”
“I hoped you wouldn’t notice.” She swallowed as his fly gapped open. “Please tell me you’re wearing underwear.”
“Some of us do,” he said, a hint of humor underlying the thick tone.
“And some of us apparently don’t,” Nash said in an appreciative tone from behind her. Her head whipped around to find him studying the backside that was covered only by the thin material of her nightshirt.
With an irritated growl, she took hold of Connor’s waistband and tugged downward. “Can you help a little? Lift your ass.”
After another swig of Jack, he gave her a sexy wink. “Darlin’, my ass is all yours.”
He arched himself up, swearing and stifling a moan as she slid his tight jeans over his hips. He had black undershorts on, but they started coming down right along with the denims.
She stopped tugging. “Hold onto your briefs, will you? They’re falling off.”
“Nothin’ under ’em you ain’t already seen.”
“I’ve got other things to focus on, thanks.”
He complied while she and Nash got his pants down to where the wound was. There, she paused and told him, “This part might hurt like shit, but we’ll go slow and easy.”
Connor shook his head. “Don’t bother. Just yank the bastard off and get it over with.”
Before she could respond, Nash gave a strong pull on both pant legs, and the denims came down to Connor’s calves. He cried out between clenched teeth, and Terra slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle it. His eyes glazed over with pain, but they softened into something calmer when they met hers.
His hand came up and wrapped around her wrist, which he gently pulled away from his face. “It’s okay.”
Nash’s growl of displeasure pulled her away from the electric feel of his hand gripping her, and her eyes followed his to Connor’s bare leg.
She gasped. “Oh, my God. It is most certainly not okay.”
The bullet hole was not only black and dripping red blood, but oozing white and yellow pus. Around the wound, his flesh was angry red, with darker crimson streaks radiating in a jagged path out from the hole to each part of his thigh. The effect looked like a nuclear sun.
“I thought you said this just happened tonight?” she asked in alarm.
“A couple hours ago,” Nash said.
“This wound looks days old.” She wrinkled her nose. “Smells bad, too.”
“That’s the way of it with silver,” Connor said. “Werewolves can’t tolerate even a tiny amount in our system.”
“So this won’t heal on its own like Nash’s injuries did?”
He shook his head. “The infection will spread, putrefyin’ and eatin’ away flesh and bone until the leg falls off completely.”
Terra’s eyes flew wide. “Jesus.”
“That ain’t gonna happen,” Nash said. �
�We got Terra’s handy bullet-removal kit.”
She couldn’t drag her eyes off the vile wound. When Nash brought the light closer, she saw the flash of silver metal lodged deep in his thick thigh, down near the bone. Her stomach began to churn.
Connor must have seen the look on her face. “You don’t have to stay and watch.”
“No, I’m fine.” She turned to him. “If there’s one thing I understand, it’s pain. I won’t leave you alone while he’s cutting the slug out.”
“Here, let’s get that towel under it,” Nash said. “It’ll bleed more once I start diggin’, and we don’t wanna ruin your new upholstery.”
“Fuck that,” she said. “Just help him.”
Connor smiled and pushed back a lock of her hair. “Here. I think you need this as much as I do.” He held out the bottle of whiskey.
She eyed it with suspicion. “I don’t drink.”
“I’ll be glad to hoard the lion’s share. But just one belt will settle your nerves.”
Nash stuffed the towel under Connor’s leg and pricked the knife against the pad of his thumb, testing the sharp edge. Terra grabbed the bottle. “Maybe just one.”
The bronze liquid burned her tongue and singed her throat even more. She coughed and dragged a forearm against her mouth to wipe away the excess before handing the bottle back. “How can you stand that stuff?”
“Better than feelin’ like your leg is gettin’ gnawed off.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Okay,” Nash said. “The fun begins. Sorry in advance, partner.” He glanced at Terra. “Anythin’ you can do to keep him quiet, I’d do it now. He ain’t gonna take this nice.”
She and Connor shared a weighted look, and then his eyes rolled back. His face contorted in a silent scream for a moment, but it didn’t stay silent for long. He cried out, and she clamped her hand over it in a panic, praying no one heard.
A glance showed Nash working over the wound, the knife tip digging and the blood flowing much faster. Tears of sympathy blurred her view and she turned back to Connor, who was thrashing his head. Tears of his own squeezed out from his squinted eyes, and her stomach lurched for him. He stilled for a moment, breathing hard, right before she heard the knife drop onto the seat.
She removed her hand from his mouth. “Is that it?”
Nash picked up the tweezers. “No. I just cut down around the bullet enough to get at it. Now I gotta try to wrench it out.”
Connor put the bottle to his lips for a long drag. A drip of whiskey fell from his lips onto the front of his black T-shirt, and when his gaze met Terra’s this time, his gold-tinged eyes were fired with something wild and desperate. Then he swallowed hard and gave Nash a curt nod.
Her heart fluttered at the sight of his pain, his need for something to drive it away. She glanced around for something that would distract him from the torment of having a bullet cut out with no better anesthesia than a couple drags of booze.
A memory flickered of the day they met, and she leaned close to him. “Remember when you asked if I’d ever been so driven by animal passion that suffering and pleasure blurs into one and the same thing?” she whispered.
He gave her a questioning look that quickly devolved into agony as Nash got to work. Terra acted quickly. She reached down and pulled her nightshirt all the way up over her head, exposing herself to him completely.
Nash swore and gaped at her. “Holy Christ.”
Her cheeks flamed under his scrutiny, especially when his blazing eyes dropped to her newly shaven pussy, but she slapped at Nash’s arm. “Hurry up and finish before the shock value wears off.”
“That ain’t never gonna happen,” he said in awe, but he bent back over Connor’s leg.
Connor, too, stared at her with the hunger of a starving man at a free buffet, but his head shot back with a barely stifled yell when Nash began rooting inside the wound with her tweezers. Instead of pressing her hand to his mouth, she covered it with her lips and pulled his free hand to her breast. She felt his body go rigid beneath her, not in passion, but no doubt in sheer agony over Nash’s ministrations.
The muffled scream grew louder, and she pulled back long enough to cover it with one hand, grab the whiskey with the other, and pour some into her mouth. She returned to their kiss with the burning alcohol still on her tongue, which she thrust into his mouth. The swallow of whiskey that they shared brought a light sensation to her stomach. Then she took his hand and slid it all the way down her body this time, right to her sensitive, naked cunt.
Whiskey dribbled from both of their mouths as they devoured one another, and somewhere within his stifled cry, something more animal and needful emerged. His hot fingers slid over her pussy lips, sending throbs of longing through her. She bucked her hips against his hand and groaned in pleasure. This time, he pulled away to take another mouthful of liquid burn, then went back to her lips and let the whiskey flow between them. The drink went down easier this time, heating her stomach almost as much as the feel of his tongue diving around hers and his fingers sliding down her wet slit to find her cunt opening.
A single finger slipped inside her, and she cried out against his lips. She tried to push her pelvis off the back of the passenger seat to get him in deeper, but she was bent in an awkward crouch. Her knee throbbed, but she didn’t give half a damn. His touch brought the rest of her body alive. The need to claim womanhood roared deep inside, hardening her nipples into tingling nubs and sending her head into a dizzying spin. Maybe the alcohol helped that along, but what she was really getting drunk on was Connor’s moans, his feverishly swirling tongue, and the possessive fingers seeking to claim her.
Connor wedged the bottle of Jack between his hip and the backseat and dragged her hand down to his briefs. The erection waiting there was huge, throbbing and long enough for the head to stick out through the waistband. She grabbed hold of his shaft and milked it hard, but when his hips thrust upward in response, Nash gave an unpleasant grunt.
“Will the two of you keep still so I can do this? You make me slip with these tweezers and I’ll end up yankin’ out one of your nuts.”
“Sorry,” Terra breathed against Connor’s lips. “You told me to distract him.”
“You’re distractin’ me, which ain’t exactly what I was goin’ for.”
Connor just growled and pressed her hand tighter against his pulsing cock, thrusting his tongue deeper into her mouth. Her cunt juices increased, sliding over his probing finger. “If all you’re offerin’ is a quick distraction,” he said hoarsely, “you’d best stop right now. Cuz I ain’t plannin’ to stop once that bullet’s out.”
“Who said I was planning on stopping?”
Connor released the hand pushing hers against his cock and threaded it into her hair, crushing her against his lips. He pulled hard enough on the delicate strands for her to feel faint stirrings of pain, but with his tongue thrusting in her mouth and a second finger sliding up into her cunt, she finally understood how a spike of pain could enhance pleasure. When his thumb flicked back and forth over her clit, the pressure building in her pelvis finally erupted. She gripped his cock and rode his fingers into orgasm, moaning against his mouth just as he stiffened and let out a muffled yell she was certain had nothing to do with her climax.
“Bullet’s out,” Nash said with a sigh of relief. “Not that anyone gives a shit right now.”
Connor’s breath came in heavy gasps, and the cobalt blue in his eyes was rapidly giving way to the gold flecks that were spreading outward like wildfire. Both of them had broken out in a sweat. No, she could see that he truly didn’t give a shit about his leg right now. He called to her for something else entirely, something she knew she was prepared to give him. The climax whose tremors were dwindling hadn’t eased the ache she felt for him, either. If anything, that orgasm had driven her hunger for him even higher.
His fingers pulled out of her, trailing slick wetness along her labia and up over her mound. “Do you have any idea
how much of a turn-on your shaved cunt is? Not many virgins out there bare themselves this way.”
“Today was the first time I’d ever done it. Shaved, I mean.”
“Why? Cuz you knew it would make me crazy?”
She shook her head, her eyes fluttering at the light touch he traced over her bare mound. “I don’t know why I did it. I just felt like it.”
“Another random impulse?” His voice was languid and yet taut with need as he stroked her. “Do you know I’ve dreamed of you shavin’ yourself clean as part of preparin’ to be mine?” He reached inside his briefs and grabbed his dick. “I’ve stroked myself off fantasizin’ about it. That’s what drove you to it, darlin’.”
She was suddenly aware of both men’s eyes on her and realized she should be ashamed and cover herself in front of them, especially Nash. Yet every moment that she felt their need for her heighten, a power grew inside of her that was more intoxicating than the booze Connor had shared with her.
“Don’t tell me shaving is another mate thing?” she asked.
He shook his head with a seductive smile. “Unconsciously livin’ out your mate’s fantasy is.”
“And so is the female stayin’ a virgin ’til she finds him,” Nash added.
She swallowed. “I’m only a virgin because I was in a coma for most of the past few years.”
“And what about before then?” Connor asked. “You never had a boyfriend who wanted you to give yourself to him?”
She paused. “Just one. I wasn’t interested in anyone until my senior year. Not even then, honestly. But I was a cheerleader and Tommy was on the football team, so I agreed to go out with him because it was expected. Because I expected that I should be ready to take that step like everyone else around me.” The fateful night flashed in her mind, and she tried to shut out the memory of angry words, the screech of metal. “He got angry when I admitted I wasn’t ready on my eighteenth birthday. I should have been ready, I suppose. But I wasn’t.”
Gold eyes flashed with erotic fire. “Yet you’re ready now.”
“Yes.” The word slipped out as a faint whisper.
Connor swiveled around in his seat, holding his injured leg with both hands as he tried to bend it to put his foot on the floorboard. The puncture site was bigger now and still bleeding freely, but the red streaks emanating from around it were fading, and the wound looked clean.
Allister, J. Rose - Displaced Cowboys [Lone Wolves of Shay Falls 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 12
