The Stranger's Secrets

by Beth Williamson

  Sarah shivered in anticipation as he spread her legs and nestled closer. He cupped her breasts and ran his thumb back and forth across the nipples.

  “That feels good.” She smiled. “Your mouth would feel better.”

  He leaned forward and captured one nipple in his hot mouth and she closed her eyes. His other hand crept down between her legs and lightly teased her clit.

  Whitman bit and sucked at her until she thought she’d come just from his mouth. She took a much needed breath when he moved to the other breast.

  “How am I doing?”

  “I’ll let you know in about ten minutes.”

  He chuckled just before he licked the other nipple and his fingers plunged into her. Sarah grabbed his shoulders and hung on as her body thrummed in tune with his touch.

  Lick, bite, suck. Lick, bite, suck.

  Sarah yanked at his hair. “I need you. Now.”

  He gave her one last bite, then leaned down to lick her pussy from top to bottom.

  “You taste delicious, kitten.” He lapped at her again. “Hot and spicy.”

  Much as she wanted him to lick her, she needed him inside her more. Later they could play in bed all night.

  “You’d best climb up on this bed.” She lay back and scooted to the side to make room for him.

  “Oh, but my kitty needs to be petted.” He lapped at her again.

  Sarah’s legs spread open wider, of their own volition. “Please, Whit.” She didn’t intend to beg, but damn if it didn’t come out of her mouth.

  “Please what?” His rough tongue licked her throbbing pussy.

  “I don’t know. Just something, now.” She grabbed her own nipples and pinched as his mouth returned to her.

  Whitman sucked her clit, then bit it while his fingers slid in and out of her wetness. She could hardly contain the scream building inside her. In all her experience, she’d never felt such pleasure, such ecstasy at a man’s hands.

  As Sarah was mere licks away from coming again, he stopped and kissed her pussy. “Beautiful.”

  When he rose above her, she opened her eyes again and met his gaze.

  “Love you, kitten.”

  She forgot to breathe as he thrust into her, hard and fast. This, this was what she needed. He felt so damn good, sliding in and out.

  Theirs was a mating, a base, primal mating of two souls forever fused into one. Sarah scratched at his back as he plunged into her, touching her womb, filling her.

  Whitman leaned down to kiss her, capturing her mouth in a wild kiss, a clash of tongues that mimicked his cock inside her.

  She felt her orgasm building near her toes, and it traveled through her body like the train that had carried them to Colorado.

  When it arrived, he swallowed her scream as she received his. He poured his seed into her waiting body, bonding them together, bringing them the peace they needed.

  Sarah’s tears were finally ones of joy instead of sorrow. She had been healed by the stubborn jackass Yankee who had wormed his way into her cracked heart.

  He had healed her with his magic.

  Sarah Spalding was once again whole.

  Epilogue

  Whitman sat on the front porch with Sarah drinking coffee. The nightmare over, they were ready to talk about the future.

  “Do you still want to go to San Francisco?” She took a sip of the hot brew. “Damn, Eppie makes good coffee.”

  Whitman smiled. “She does know how to brew it just right.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Sarah poked him in the shoulder. “San Francisco?”

  He met her gaze. “I bought a house there months ago and it’s still mine. However, we can live wherever you want. I don’t care where, because as long as we’re together, I’m home.”

  Sarah could get used to that. It might take some time, but she would. “It’s cold here. Especially in the winter.”

  “Yes, it surely is. Colorado is a snowy place.” He cocked one brow at her. “Southern girl doesn’t like cold, right?”

  She humphed. “No, I don’t. Is San Francisco cold?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. It is usually foggy in the mornings, then sunny and warm in the afternoons. It rains in winter instead of snow, and it’s beautifully set with the ocean on one side and a bay on the other.”

  She nodded, picturing the city in her mind. “It sounds beautiful.”

  “It’s not nearly as beautiful as you, kitten.” He kissed her hand.

  “Flattery will get you in my drawers every time.”

  Whit laughed and kissed her hard. “I love you, Sarah.”

  She stared at him, knowing she needed to respond, realizing it meant she’d have to make the final step in becoming a whole person.

  “I love you too, Whit.”

  His smile was worth every second of pain she had endured the last two weeks. He was amazing, handsome, smart, funny, and he was hers.

  “When are we going to get married?” She snuggled under his arm.

  “We can do it here or wait until we get to San Francisco.” He kissed the top of her head.

  “Then my family can’t attend unless they travel there too.” Sarah had a sudden thought and sat up to meet his gaze. “Whitman, what about your family?”

  He looked away. “What about them?”

  “Your mother is alive, right?”

  “Yes, she is. She lives in Maryland on a small farm.” He glanced down at Sarah. “She and I haven’t always seen eye to eye.”

  Sarah smiled wryly. “I figured that out already. You know, we all have things to say and do that we don’t want to. But I want to help you fix whatever is broken between you and your mother.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You can’t, so leave it be.”

  “No, I won’t. You need to write her a letter and tell her how you feel and what’s happened.” She cupped his cheek. “We can’t move on until you do, and you know it.”

  Sarah sat up and handed him her cup to rise. She had something she had to do too. “I’ll leave it to you to decide what you want to do.”

  Whitman looked up at her, a scared little boy hiding in his green gaze. “Sarah, there’s so much hurt there.”

  “I know, but I have faith in you.” She took her cane and her cup and turned to go into the house. “I have to tell the story to my brother face-to-face. At least you can do it on paper.”

  He managed a grin. “Love you.”

  She blew him a kiss. “Love you too, Yankee.”

  After Sarah left, Whitman stared out at the street as the leaves moved with the breeze. It was so peaceful, so idyllic, it was hard to imagine there had been death there the day before.

  He knew Sarah was right. There was much to be said to his mother and it needed to be done. He was thousands of miles from his mother, but it felt as if she was right next to him.

  Whitman stood and went in search of pen and paper.

  Sarah hobbled into the house and found Micah in the parlor alone. He smiled when she came into the room, but his smile faded when she closed the door.

  “What’s going on, sprite?”

  She sat down on the settee next to him and took a deep breath. “Whitman and I are moving to San Francisco.”

  “I’ll miss you, but we can visit, Sarah.” He took her hand. “Now that we’ve found each other, there’s nothing to stop us from being together as a family.”

  Sarah nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. “We’ll leave after your wedding, of course, and get married in San Francisco. But first, I need to tell you my story.”

  Micah nodded, his silver gaze steady. “And I’m ready to hear it.”

  Sarah held her brother’s hand and thanked God she’d found him again. “I’ll start with the story of how I came to use a cane.”

  Together yet apart, Sarah and Whitman healed the wounds from their past and looked toward their future. Magic, it seemed, had saved them after all.

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  She reached into her bag and pulled out a check. Not the usual way things were handled in the DA’s office, but…“I’ve been authorized to acquire your services.” He didn’t glance at the check, just kept those blue eyes trained on hers. Her fingers were steady as she held the check in the air between them “This check is for ten thousand dollars.”

  No change of expression. From the looks of his cabin, the guy shouldn’t have been hesitating to snatch up the money.

  “Give the check to Night Watch.”

  At that, her lips firmed. “I already gave them one.” A hefty one, at that. “This one’s for you. A bonus from the mayor—he wants this guy caught, fast.” Before word about the true nature of the crime leaked too far.

  “So old Gus doesn’t think his cops can handle this guy?”

  Gus LaCroix. Hard-talking, ex-hard drinking mayor. No nonsense, deceptively smart, and demanding. “He’s got the cops on this, but he said he knew you, and that you’d be the best one to handle this job.”

  Erin strongly suspected that Gus belonged in the Other world. She hadn’t caught any scent that was off drifting from him, but his agreement to bring in Night Watch and his almost desperate demands to the DA had sure indicated the guy knew more than he was letting on about the situation.

  Could be he was a demon. Low-level. Many politicians were.

  Jude took the check. Finally. She dropped her fingers, fast, not wanting the flesh on flesh contact with him. Not then.

  He folded the check and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Guess you just got yourself a bounty hunter.”

  “And I guess you’ve got yourself one sick shifter to catch.”

  He closed the distance between them, moving fast and catching her arms in a strong grip.

  Aw, hell. It was just like before. The heat of his touch swept though her, waking hungers she’d deliberately denied for so long.

  Jude was sexual. From his knowing eyes. His curving, kiss-me lips, to the hard lines and muscles of his body.

  Deep inside, in the dark, secret places of her soul that she fought to keep hidden, there was a part of her just like that.

  Wild. Hot.

  Sexual.

  “Why are you afraid of me?”

  Not the question she’d expected, but one she could answer. “I know what you are. What sane woman wouldn’t be afraid of a man who becomes an animal?”

  “Some women like a little bit of the animal in their men.”

  “Not me.” Liar.

  His eyes said the same thing.

  “Do your job, Donovan. Catch the freak who cut up my prisoner—”

  “Like Bobby had been slashing his victims?”

  Hit. Yeah, there’d been no way to miss that significance.

  “When word gets out about what really happened, some folks will say Bobby deserved what he got.” His fingers pressed into her arms. Erin wore a light, silk shirt—and even that seemed too hot for the humid Louisiana spring night. His touch burned through the blouse and seemed to singe her flesh.

  “Some will say that,” she allowed. Okay, a hell of a lot would say that. “But his killer still has to be caught.” Stopped, because she had the feeling this could be just the beginning.

  Her feelings about death weren’t often wrong.

  She was a lot like her dad that way.

  And, unfortunately, like her mother, too.

  “What do you think? Did he deserve to be clawed to death?”

  An image of Bobby’s ex-wife, Pat, flashed before her eyes. The doctors had put over one hundred and fifty stitches into her face. She’d been his most brutal attack.

  Erin swallowed. “His punishment was for the court to decide.” She stepped back, but he didn’t let her go. “Uh, do you mind?”

  “Yeah, I do.” His eyes glittered down at her. “If we’re gonna be working together, we need honesty between us.”

  “We need you to find the killer.”

  “Oh, I will. Don’t worry about that. I always catch my prey.”

  So the rumors claimed. The hunters from Night Watch were known throughout the U.S.

  “You’re shivering, Erin.”

  “No, no, I’m not.” She was.

  “I make you nervous. I scare you.” A pause. His gaze dropped to her lips, lingered, then slowly rose back to meet her stare. “Is it because I know what you are?”

  She wanted his mouth on hers. A foolish desire. Ridiculous. Not something the controlled woman wanted, but what the wild thing inside craved. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “Don’t I?”

  Erin jerked free of his hold and glared at him. “Few things in this world scare me. You should know that.” There was one thing, one person, who terrified her—but now wasn’t the time for that disclosure. No, she didn’t tell anyone about him.

  If she could just get around Jude and march out of that door—

  “Maybe you’re not scared of me, then. Maybe you’re scared of yourself.”

  She froze.

  “Not human,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Not vamp.”

  Vamp? Thankfully, no.

  “Djinn? Nah, you don’t have that look.” His right hand lifted and he rubbed his chin. “Tell me your secrets, sweetheart, and I’ll tell you mine.”

  “Sorry, not the sharing type.” She’d wasted enough time here. Erin pushed past him, ignoring the press of his arm against her side. Her body ached and the whispers of hunger within her grew more demanding every moment she stayed with him.

  Weak.

  She hated her weakness.

  Just like her mother’s.

  “You’re a shifter.” His words stopped her near the door. She stared blankly at the faded wood. Heard the dull thud of her heart echoing in her ears.

  Then the soft squeak of the old floorboards as he closed the distance between them.

  Erin turned to him, tilted her head back—

  He kissed her.

  She heard a growl. Not from him—no, from her own throat.

  The hunger.

  Sure, he made the first move, he brought his lips crashing down on hers, but…she kissed him right back.

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  She knew it now without a doubt.

  She wasn’t alone.

  Fighting the sudden lump of fear in her throat, Cassandra pressed herself against the granite slab. Not for protection, but to better see whoever, whatever, prowled in the darkness. She held her breath, waited.

  There, again. A justified chill of fear scraped down her neck. Someone was sliding from shadow to shadow, movements so swift, so silent, anyone who wasn’t trained to spot such subtlety would have missed it. Who could it be? Another Heir of Albion, like Broadwell? It couldn’t be a Blade, for Cassandra had been unable to send a telegram to let them know Broadwell’s whereabouts. Someone else, then.

  Something else. The shadows gathered, shaping themselves into the form of a man gliding from darkness to darkness—tall, long-limbed, powerfully built. Twenty feet away. At a slight sound, he turned to investigate. His eyes literally glowed. Hollow and white, unearthly.

  Cassandra stifled a gasp. Oh, it was one thing to read about and study magic. Entirely different to sense it, see it.

  Whatever this…man…was, he moved with unearthly speed and stealth. She could not see his face as he shifted back into the shadows, more subtle and elusive than any human or animal. What was he? Before she could study him further, he melted into darkness, disappearing.

  For several moments, Cassandra peered into the night, straining for another sense of him. Yet he was gone, absorbed into the fabric of shadow like a half-remembered dream. Cassandra, trying to refocus, turned back to keep her vigil on the tavern.

  The unknown man stood right in front of her.

  They both started, neither expecting the other.

  Her p
istol came up immediately.

  Ambient light from the tavern revealed his face, the glow of his eyes vanished, and her fingers around the trigger slackened in shock. The tall man also started again, as shocked as Cassandra.

  It could not be. Yet it was. She took a step forward, lowering her weapon, hardly daring to believe what she saw.

  “Sam?” Her voice was a stunned whisper. “Samuel Reed?”

  “Cassie.”

  Oh, God, she knew that voice. Knew it as well as she knew the deepest recesses of her own heart. A low, masculine rumble, much deeper now than it had been ten years ago, but it was him. Sam.

  “Cassandra now,” she said automatically as she grappled with understanding. Nothing made sense. It could not be that Sam was the creature she had just witnessed prowling through the darkness. “What the blazes are you doing here?”

  Sam emerged slightly from the darkness, wariness evident in the guarded movement of his long, lean body. He’d been only eighteen the last time Cassandra saw him, verging into adulthood. Now there was no debate. Sam had grown up. He was, positively, a man. She noted it in the breadth of his shoulders, his broad chest, and powerful limbs. Even in shadow, even dressed in clean but slightly threadbare clothing, she could see it. Sam had left boyhood long ago. This man radiated potent strength, barely restrained.

  Cassandra stared up at his face and felt another jolt of shock. The softness of youth had vanished entirely. Sam’s face…there was no other way for her to describe it…it was hard, a collection of sharply chiseled planes that made no allowance for leniency. Bold jaw, tight-pressed lips, sharp nose, and forbidding, dark brow. Too severe to be handsome, but undeniably striking. Such a change from the boy he’d been.

  “I should ask you the same damned question,” he growled. “You shouldn’t be out. Alone.” He moved, as if to reach for her, but his hand stopped, curling into itself and falling to his side instead.

  Fear suddenly danced along her neck. His voice was rough, almost menacing. But that was ridiculous. This was Sam, her brother Charlie’s best friend, the boy she’d known—and adored—almost her whole life. Ten years ago, he and Charlie both bought commissions, joining the army and serving in the same unit together, as they had done everything together. Including—