by Moira Rogers
“What, regret? Or representative?”
Instead of answering, the man set his glass on the end table. “Do you figure on staying in Iron Creek, Hunter? I reckon you just might, on account of Miss Ophelia and all.”
If Wilder had told him the truth about the mating, he hardly had a choice. “There’s nowhere else I care to go.”
Emmett nodded slowly. “So…ask me. Anything you haven’t had a chance to ask Harding, or anything you think he might not tell you. I will, even if it scares the shit out of you.”
Frustration and impatience melted away, banished by the possibility of answers. The truth, as much of it as he was brave enough to ask for—
—or Emmett’s version of it. It could still be a trap. But Nate seemed to trust the old man, and Hunter trusted Nate. “Tell me about the new moon. How bad it should be, and what it means for a woman we’ve…fixated on.”
Emmett shook his head. “Not much to tell, except that you can’t shy away from it. The more you fight, the crazier you’ll get. And if you’ve fixated on a mate—wanted or no—you’d best be sure she welcomes you, or you haven’t begun to know pain.”
He met Emmett’s gaze squarely and downed the whiskey. “Tell me if it can go wrong. For her.”
“Depends on what you mean, and what you think the problem might be.”
Hunter turned his glass over in his hands, and finally looked away. “They keep telling me not to worry. That I can’t hurt her. I don’t think I’ll believe everyone rushing to tell me I won’t hurt her unless someone admits that I could.”
“You’re likelier to hurt someone who got between you. Who was keeping you from her. But in the end, you’re capable of the same atrocities as any jealous or spurned lover.” Emmett leaned forward, a deadly serious light in his eyes. “I’ve seen hounds have to be put down because a woman wanted nothing more to do with ’em. I’ve seen others die slow, but no less sure. The beast isn’t what decides which one you’d be, Hunter.”
Hunter nodded and looked to the floor again. “What about during the full moon? Will the beast know her?”
“Should. Hard to say, though, what with you being new. If you’re worried about it, best to err on the side of caution.”
It wasn’t an easy, trite assurance. Perversely, it steadied Hunter. He glanced up at Emmett and raised one eyebrow. “What’s the worst thing I wouldn’t know enough to ask?”
The older man focused on the fire and stared at it, unseeing. “You’re going to live longer. Too long. You’ll have to watch people you love die. That’s the worst thing no one ever thinks to ask, and the most important.”
The fire snapped. Hunter listened to the tiny crackles until the silence between them had grown heavy.
To live too long. He studied Emmett’s weathered face again, catalogued his gray hair and craggy features, and tried to imagine how many decades he had to his name. Seven? Eight? But Wilder had five or more himself, and he still looked like a man in his prime.
One had only to watch Wilder watching Satira to know he’d follow her into death more readily than he’d linger without her. How many years had Emmett lived without that connection? If he’d found love, surely he would have faded, just as the last bloodhound to hold the manor had perished within a few years of Satira’s mother.
Mating Ophelia might have been a mistake, and it might still make fools of them both. She might still leave him. But better to die before his time, sick from the loss of her, than linger forever alone.
Pity swelled, and Hunter swallowed hard. “What does the Guild offer that makes people like you choose this life?”
“Your friend Wilder can walk, right? A heady thing to a man who’d lost his legs, I imagine. And I wasn’t there, but I heard Archer’d lost his eyesight.” Emmett sighed. “They break a man down and rebuild him. The trick is, they pick damn near broken men to start.”
“I reckon they’d have to.” It explained the weight in Wilder’s gaze, and the darkness Archer couldn’t hide behind a thousand ribald comments. “There’s more I need to know, without a doubt, but it’s been a long day. If you don’t mind, I’ll turn in now.”
Emmett wrapped a trembling hand around the whiskey bottle and began to refill his glass. “You be my guest.”
Chapter Ten
It was past midnight when a knock sounded on Ophelia’s door. She slipped from her bed and crossed the room to unlatch the chain. “I thought you might not be coming.”
Hunter looked exhausted. His damp hair clung to his neck in tiny curls. He wore a loose shirt, untucked and open at the neck, baring skin and the dark hair on his chest. No boots, no belt, just hastily donned pants and a tired smile. “Seeing as how I visited the slums three times tonight, I thought a bath would be wise. And polite.”
“You look…” She combed her fingers through the hair at his temple. “Like you could use twelve hours of sleep, honestly.”
“Or eight hours with a pretty woman cuddled up against me,” he suggested. “If I’m still welcome…”
Suddenly, Ophelia was glad she hadn’t bothered with anything dressier than a simple silk nightgown. She stepped back and slid under the covers, patting the spot beside her. “Lower the lights before you come to bed.”
Hunter shut the door and turned to fiddle with the panel, frowning at the controls until he’d managed to plunge the room into darkness. “Too much?”
“I don’t mind the dark.” She could barely see him, outlined by the scant moonlight filtering through the curtains. “How did your patrols go?”
He moved silently, as if he had little trouble seeing. Fabric rustled, and the edge of the bed dipped. Moonlight hit his skin as he tugged his shirt over his head and slid next to her, his body so warm she felt the heat before he touched her. “It’s…irritating. I’ve lost my patience for fools.”
“Lucky you,” she teased, “to have ever had any in the first place.”
His arm snaked around her waist and tugged, inching her across the sheets toward him. “Not enough. Funny, how happy people are to see me now that they think they might need me.”
“Better that than the alternative, yes?”
“Mmm. Maybe not, if I’m expected to ignore how they scorn me once the danger’s past.”
And they would, just as they’d scorned her and the other whores when they had no need of physical release. “I haven’t told you how I came to Iron Creek, have I?”
He brushed his hand along her hip before settling just below her ribcage, his fingers spread wide. “Tell me.”
Somehow, lying in his arms made the memory less painful. “I grew up on a farm not far from here.”
“A farm girl?” His breath stirred her hair as he nuzzled closer. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“Few would.” She shivered. “My mother died when I was very young, and my father remarried soon after. When he died, my stepmother figured it was best for me to leave. So I did.”
Hunter eased closer, wrapping around her as if reacting to her trembling. His skin blazed, far hotter than any man’s would have, the heat of a bloodhound curled protectively around her. “Where did you go?”
“I was fourteen. I didn’t know where to go.” Impossible to explain the overwhelming helplessness. She’d had options, but so few appealing ones. “I made my way to Iron Creek, planning to take the train…somewhere. Miss Featherstone found me at the depot.”
He stroked his thumb along her side and rumbled an encouraging noise. “Not the one who owned the brothel before your friend.” He sounded sure.
“No. She’d worked in Savannah before the War.” In her mind’s eye, Ophelia could still see the kohl-lined wrinkles that appeared when the old woman had smiled. “Miss Featherstone was retired. She took me in and taught me…everything. And when I was old enough, I made her a very rich woman.”
“And did she allow you to become a rich woman as well?”
“I wanted for nothing,” she assured him. “And now, yes. I’m quite wealthy.”
How terrifying that must have been for him—already scared of the bestial pull inside him, and then to have it all be a blur. “You told me your name. Matthew.”
“Matthew Underwood,” he murmured. “Somewhere back East, my younger brother is celebrating his good fortune at becoming the new heir to the Underwood riches.”
She hesitated to tell him the rest. “You seemed worried that I might wish you were that man again. I don’t, you know. Not for my sake.”
Oddly, he chuckled. “When I’m feeling beastly, I worry that you’ll want a civilized man. When my head’s on straight, I worry that you wouldn’t have cared much for Matthew Underwood. He was a rich, spoiled fool.”
Ophelia slid one leg over his hips. “You’re right. I like you much better.”
“No longer rich or spoiled, but still a fool?”
“Hush.” She sat up on top of him, then leaned down to press a kiss to his chin. “You handled Emmett’s arrival very deftly, I must say.”
“Did I?” He lifted his hands to her hips. “He said something just now, something I should have deduced on my own. But it gave me a scrap of hope.”
“What’s that?”
“That the Guild picks broken men to become bloodhounds.” Turning his head, he kissed her cheekbone. “I came to this life hard, but I have my own advantages. I was passably clever, for a drunken rake.”
No, anything that might have broken him had been part and parcel of his transformation, not of his life before. And he’d survived that time in his cage with his mind intact. “Does that mean you feel better about taking on your duties here?”
He smiled against her cheek. “Someone has to be the thinker. Sure as hell isn’t gonna be Archer.”
She had to laugh. “No, not likely.”
Hunter fisted his hands in her nightgown, coaxing it up a few inches. “Still don’t know who I’m going to be, not really, but I know what I’ll be without you.”
Heat and anticipation robbed her of her breath. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.” He moved his mouth to hover just above her ear. “I know what the mating means now. I’m yours, for as long as you have breath. If you don’t want to be tied to me, you’d best run now. I plan to make you mine, Ophelia, and I don’t trust myself to play fair.”
Not long ago, he’d been hesitant, so scared of hurting her that he’d held back. That hesitation had vanished. Now, he sounded the way he had during the new moon—certain. Sure.
She closed her eyes with a grateful moan. “What’s your definition of playing dirty?”
He bit her earlobe and laughed, low and dark and full of promise. Another tug, and he had her nightgown around her hips. “Ride me, and maybe I’ll tell you.”
“I think I have my answer.” But she moved anyway, shifting her hips until her cunt rubbed against his erection. The intimate contact splintered through her, left her shuddering.
“Like that.” He dragged at her gown, pulling it higher. “Take this off.”
It was nothing less than a command. She dragged the silk over her head and trailed it across his chest before tossing it off the side of the bed. “Yes, sir.”
Another laugh, and he landed a teasing slap to her hip before stroking his fingers up the center of her body. “Maybe I showed you more of Matthew Underwood than I realized.”
“You didn’t seem to have any doubts about what you liked.” She rocked against him. “Or any compunction about asking for it.”
“Demanding it?” He cupped her breast and caught her nipple between two fingers, squeezing with a low growl. “Maybe that’s the only thing that hasn’t changed. I’m a domineering bastard in bed.”
She arched into his touch and bit her lip to hold back a whimper. “I’m fine with it, in case you were wondering.”
“I was working my way around to asking.” He planted his other hand at the small of her back. “Rub that sweet clit against me, darling. Come on my cock before you come around it.”
Ophelia gasped and laughed through her delight. “You’re bad—but so am I.”
“I fucking well hope so.” With another growl, he curled a hand around the back of her neck and dragged her body to his, claiming her mouth with brutal directness.
He licked her tongue and sank his teeth into her lower lip. Ophelia braced her hands on his shoulders and circled her hips, grinding against him, searching for just the right amount of slick pressure and heat. Hunter encouraged her with a hand spread wide across her back, the other tangling in her hair to pull her head to one side.
In the next moment, she felt his lips on her throat. “Tell me I can mark you again. On purpose this time.”
“Yes.” Acquiescence or plea, she didn’t know. “Hunter.”
His tongue touched her first. A teasing swipe across her pulse and then his lips, feathering over her skin before retreating only to return for another soft brush. She was trapped between that too-gentle caress and the hard press of his cock against her, and she moaned her frustration. Tried to wiggle and shift enough to take him inside her.
“Bad girl.” The hand at her back turned to iron, holding her in place as he closed his teeth on her throat.
She barely heard the cry through the buzzing in her ears, much less recognized it as her own. Ecstasy—she’d experienced plenty of it in her time, even plenty with him, but nothing like this. The bite of his teeth drew the wave higher. One more sharp jerk against him and it crested, crashing through her in a glorious haze of pleasure.
Her back hit the mattress, and he was over her, huge and looming. Moonlight cut across his face, painting his features silver. He smiled at her even as she shuddered, and then his smile melted away, replaced by hunger. Need.
Strong fingers landed on her thighs and spread them wide. Hunter settled between them, took his cock in one hand and teased the head against her cunt. “Is this what you want?”
She’d already said yes—with word and deed—so he had to need something more. “Please. I’ll beg.”
“Not this time.” A promise, a whispered caress, and all the warning she got before he pushed into her.
He drove deep, and she shivered helplessly beneath him. “Christ, yes. Hunter, I—” All possibility of speaking fled as he cupped his hands under her thighs and urged her knees up toward her chest.
“You what?” He ground deeper, circling his hips. When his hands dropped to the bed, it left her legs hooked over his arms, spread helplessly wide. “You want me?”
“Yes.” She barely managed to choke out the word as need cinched tight around her.
“This is playing dirty, darling.” He withdrew only to surge back, thrusting hard enough to inch her up the bed. “I’ll fuck you every way man’s invented and a few God hoped we’d never figure out. Anything to make you beg for more.”
She bit her lip until it bled, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough to hold back her cries. “Everyone will hear.”
“Do you care?”
She should have, but all that mattered at the moment was the two of them. “No.”
“Then fuck ’em.” He slid his hands higher, until her knees rested over his shoulders and he’d buried his fingers in her hair. He covered her completely, surrounded her and contained her. There was nothing withdrawn or careful about the way he touched her now, just possessive hunger, a need borne out by the unsteady strength of his next thrust. “Take me.”
She had no leverage to move, to meet his thrusts, so she reached up and braced her hands on the carved wooden headboard. It was enough to keep her from sliding away and hold her steady for every plunge.
Impossible pleasure. Her breath came in rough pants that gave way to screams as he lifted her hips just a little more. The first scream seemed to shatter his self-control, and he gave his pleasu
re voice in a snarling growl as he focused his quick, hard thrusts on the spot threatening to send her flying apart.
“Hunter!” She was beyond control, beyond anything as simply defined as release. Familiar heat and something more, a possession and belonging that tied them together as surely as any bindings.
“Again,” he ordered, his voice edged with madness. “Need more. Need me.”
“I do,” she gasped. Her hands clenched convulsively, digging furrows into the wood above her head. There was nothing more to give, nothing—
And then she came again, a sudden, intense seizing that left her fighting for air, with no breath left even to scream. Her body clamped tight around his, so tight she could feel every pulse as he gave in to his own roar of release and buried himself deep as he shook above her.
Dazed, Ophelia wrapped her arms around his neck. When he started to pull away, she tightened them. “Don’t. Not yet.”
“Shh.” Hunter lifted one hand to loosen her grip, but only retreated far enough to let her legs slip to the bed. Then he returned, settling in the cradle of her hips as he smoothed her hair back from her brow with careful fingers. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
She forced her eyes open and focused on his face. “Like I never want to move from this spot.”
“All right with me.” With her hair brushed away, he eased one hand under her to cradle the back of her head. “You feel like you’re mine.”
“I know.” She studied his features in the dim moonlight. “The mating—it’s a physical need. But it’s not all I want. I should tell you that.”
His expression didn’t change, except for a slight softening of his lips. The first hint of a smile, maybe, one held back. “That’s a relief to hear, since I’m planning to make you fall in love with me.”
He touched her with such tenderness, and the emotion echoed through her. “Well, you have quite the running start, darling.”
“Good.” He nuzzled his way to her throat and brushed a kiss to her pulse. “We’ve got time to get there. All the time in the world.”
