by Callie Rose
“Amora,” he rumbles. “Put me inside you.”
Fuck. He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I rise up on my knees a bit, fisting his cock to line him up with my entrance, and when I ease down onto his length, I feel even more full than before with his fingers still buried in my ass. He thrusts up a few times, matching the rhythm of his hand and his hips, but after a while, that doesn’t seem to be enough for him anymore.
He slides his fingers out of my back hole, grabbing my hips to lift me and slam me back down on his cock.
“Shit, that’s good,” I breathe, my mouth falling open.
He’s gonna make me come again. He won’t even have to work that hard for it either. I should be a puddle on the fucking floor by now, unable to even move, let alone orgasm again, but I can feel another one gathering low in my belly.
“Wait for me,” he commands, and I recognize that tone from earlier.
“Then hurry up,” I shoot back, reaching up to tweak my nipples as he picks up his pace, thrusting harder into me from below.
He growls. Then he moves so fast the room around me becomes a blur. The next thing I know, I’m on my back, Kian’s body covering mine as he settles between my legs and fucks me like he’s trying to leave a permanent reminder of this night imprinted on my body.
Like he’s trying to ruin me for anyone else.
His cock drives into me hard and fast, and he rests his forehead against mine as we both pant for breath. I lose track of which are his inhales and which are my exhales, and I can feel his heart slamming against his ribs, mirrored by my own.
Despite the feverish desperation of our bodies as they collide, there’s something so intimate about this moment, as if we’re wrapping ourselves up in a little cocoon that blocks out everything but each other.
My body is straining, building toward another orgasm, calling on reserves of energy I didn’t even know I had as sweat drips down the side of my temple.
“Almost there, baby,” he murmurs, his voice raw. “So fucking close.”
“Me too,” I gasp. “Please. Kian, fuck, please…”
I want to come for him.
I want to come with him.
I want to feel pleasure pour through us both, and I never want it to stop.
Because he’s mine.
That thought—that certainty—hits me square in the chest, nearly knocking the wind out of me.
He's mine.
Kian is my mate.
A rush of emotions surge in my chest, matching the flood of pleasure racing through my veins, and combined, it’s all too much. I bury my fingers in his hair and buck beneath him as white-hot pleasure erupts inside me.
He lets out a deep groan, pounding into me before burying himself to the hilt. His face drops to my shoulder, and he bites down on the spot low on my neck, sending another jolt of sensation shooting through me.
“Mine,” he grinds out, and the word sounds like it comes from the depths of his fucking soul.
His.
Mine.
He knows it too. He felt the same thing I did.
Our sweat-slicked skin sticks together as he rests on top of me for a moment, then he slowly pulls out and collapses to the mattress next to me. Breathing hard, I stare at a crack in the ceiling, trying to focus on slowing my heartbeat and getting control of my breaths. Every part of me aches in all the best ways, and that transcendental orgasm still quivers through me in tiny aftershocks.
I had no idea sex could be this incredible. That anything could be this incredible.
Kian rolls over and wraps his arms around me, tugging my body against his. He peppers kisses along my shoulder, though his eyes are half-closed. He nuzzles my neck and buries his face in my hair, going still.
We’ve fucked each other into total exhaustion. I can barely think, let alone move.
Still, giddy happiness and nerves race through me.
I’ve found my mate.
I have a mate.
I guess I never thought this would happen; it seemed like something that happens to other people, not to me.
I know we need to talk about it. No matter what, our lives are going to be changed irrevocably from here on out. Will I have to leave my pack? Or is Kian a lone wolf who’d feel comfortable joining us? So many questions, so many details to work out.
But that can all wait a little longer. It feels too good to just lie here in his arms right now, surrounded by his warmth. I turn farther into him and bury my face against his tattooed chest. Whiskey and woodsmoke and sex.
“I think I might love whiskey,” I murmur.
If he replies, I don’t hear it as I fall asleep in his arms.
When I open my eyes again, pale sunlight filters through a tiny crack in the curtains and slants across the beige carpet toward the bed. I’m in a cocoon of blankets, and the soft down comforter is much more decadent than the hand-stitched quilt I use at home. I know I didn’t pull the blankets up before I passed out last night, so Kian must have covered us up at some point while I slept.
I’m sore in delicious places, including muscles I didn’t even know I had. The aches bring back memories of Kian’s hands on me, of the way he touched me and the way he dominated my pleasure. I could get used to a lifetime of that kind of intense connection.
I stretch out the kinks in my body and roll over, reaching out for him. Worn out body or not, I’m ready for another round.
My hand hits empty sheets.
I sit up, and the comforter falls away from me as I glance around the empty room.
“Kian?” I call, leaning over to peer into the bathroom. The light’s off, but I shove the blankets aside and crawl out of bed to double check anyway.
I flip the switch, and the bathroom light flickers on with an audible hum. Nothing’s out of place—a towel is draped over the curtain rod, but otherwise it’s clean and empty.
Maybe he went for coffee, I tell myself with a shrug. Or breakfast. Shifters have notoriously large appetites, and after the workout we gave each other last night, he probably woke up starved. Hell, I’m starved.
I cross to the coffee pot and check the selection of Keurig cups for something potable. Last night, I walked past this table and noted a nice gold watch and a handful of change lying next to the Styrofoam cups. The change is still there, but the watch is gone.
Watches are meant to be worn, I remind myself, even as a sinking feeling starts to settle in my stomach. He put it on. That’s all.
I open every drawer beneath the television, my heart racing. Then I hurry back to the bathroom area and check the built-in closet—the hangers are empty, and so is the closet.
All of Kian’s possessions are gone.
I locate my dress draped over a chair, then find my high heels under the bed where I remember Kian kicking them in his haste to get me on the mattress. Pausing by the large mirror next to the television, I smooth my hair down, take a few deep, centering breaths, then leave the room.
The front lobby has very little natural light thanks to the giant overhang out front, and the fluorescents tinge everything a sickly yellow. My high heels clack too loudly on the cracked linoleum as I bypass a sad “continental breakfast” display of bagels and fruit and head for the front desk.
I recognize the short, squat, toad-looking man behind the counter as the same individual who was here when we stumbled in last night. His shiny blue Oxford shirt is rumpled with a pale stain near his breast pocket, and the dark circles beneath his eyes look big enough to drown in.
As I sidle up to the desk trying to look like I’m in control of the situation, he leers at my breasts and asks, “May I help you?”
Ugh. Lecherous old creep. I know I still look thoroughly fucked, and anybody with eyes can see it, but I’m not here for his goddamn entertainment.
I snap my fingers near my face. “Eyes up here, buddy. I’m looking for Kian—” I break off, realizing I don’t actually know Kian’s last name. “The guy in Room 112. Have you seen him?”
<
br /> The clerk shrugs. “Lots of people staying here.”
I briefly consider reaching across the desk and slamming his face onto the keyboard, but I refrain. “Perhaps you could check the computer?”
His eyes narrow, but I don’t think he’s tough enough to wanna rumble with me. He grabs the mouse and clicks a few times, his rheumy eyes on the glowing screen. Then he grins—a little too happily—and says, “Room 112. David Neal. Checked out this morning.”
“Dav—” I shake my head. “No, his name…”
Trailing off, I swallow hard. Am I supposed to be surprised that Kian gave a false name when he booked this place? I mean hell, he’s a shifter. We’re paranoid on the best of days, especially when surrounded by humans.
The clerk’s smile widens. “What’s wrong? Did he leave without paying your fee?”
“Go fuck a bridge,” I tell him sweetly, then slip out the door before I lose even more dignity than I already have.
Dark clouds race quickly across the horizon. A storm is brewing over pack lands, which means I’ll be running right into it on the way home. The electric charge in the air reminds me of the feeling I had last night during the hunt. The unsettled sensation that sent me into town to get laid.
To get my heart broken.
By the time I reach the barn where I left my pack last night, the strange, tingling feeling I’ve felt since I realized Kian’s things were gone has turned my stomach to rock. I can’t breathe—the rock is pressing on my lungs, and my heart is an aching, twisted knot. As I strip from my heels and dress, I struggle to get a full breath.
Kian’s gone.
He left, and I have no way of finding him. I don’t know his full name. He didn’t leave me a note. A number.
As I shift to wolf form, I expect the ache to go away, but it doesn’t. Not even when I fall into a sprint over the plains. Not when the rain begins to fall. Not when I reach a speed where I can’t tell where my legs end and the earth begins. I’m flying, flying, and my heart is frozen.
My mate has left me. I know that’s what he is; I know he felt the moment we made the connection, too.
But he left anyway.
My mate has rejected me.
Chapter 4
Present Day
My motorcycle purrs like a tiger beneath me as I lean into a curve on a remote highway, taking the turn a little too quickly. Adrenaline skitters through me, and I laugh out loud when I can sense the road only inches from my leather boots. Danger makes me feel alive, more than anything else has in years, so it’s par for the course for me to take a few chances here and there. Once through the curve, I straighten out on a long stretch of empty road as flat as a board beneath a sunset sky.
I like sunset in New Mexico. It’s the only time I see color in this desert country. Everything’s brown—brown mesas, brown dirt, brown rocks, green shrubs that are so dry they’re a hair shy of brown. I miss the green mountains of Montana, the colorful wildflowers, the big blue sky. The sky here isn’t ever brown, but when temps soar into the nineties, into triple digits, the sky turns colorless. Might as well be riding my bike on Mars.
I open up the throttle and shoot forward, taking advantage of the empty stretch of this two-lane highway. My ass has been on this seat for a big chunk of the day, and my tailbone’s sore. My body’s stiff. I’ll need a damn shovel to peel my thighs off this bike when I finally stop. A road sign whips past—Oscura, 5 mi.
As good a place as any, I guess.
For now, I take pleasure in the speed and in the wind whipping through my hair. It’s the same excitement I feel while running in wolf form, except turned up a notch. The power between my legs, the total control over my machine and my own destiny. Hell, even the lack of control is a turn on. I could hit a deer right now and unwillingly learn how to fucking fly.
A wreck at this speed would hurt. Maybe not kill me; shifters are pretty tough. But it would definitely fuck my day up.
But what’s pleasure without danger? These little things are all I have left.
That’s my fault, though. I’m the one who walked away from everything I’ve ever known and left my pack.
For six months after Kian disappeared, I tried to go back to normal. I never told anyone what happened that night in town, and nobody was ever the wiser that I’d met my mate. I did such a good job shoving all my emotions away and pretending that everything was hunky fucking dory that even Ridge never noticed I’d been broken inside.
It helped that some other shit came up to distract me. A major threat to my pack—to all the packs in our region, actually. There was loss. And war. We made new friends and rediscovered old ones. In the end, all three packs stood united and defeated our common enemy. Through it all, I perfected the art of pretending Kian had never happened, and I thought life would go on when the battle ended.
But it didn’t. Not for me.
Who the hell would ever have thought I’d choose to become a lone wolf? I guess I wouldn’t have, though… if not for the witch.
Gwen. I can still recall her face in as much detail as I can picture my own. She’s seared into my memories like a boogeyman. A moment in time I’ll never forget that rocked me to my core and changed my life forever.
She told me I don’t just have one mate.
I have three.
A memory ripples through me, so strong and sudden that it’s like I’m reliving that moment in real-time. I’m back there again in the sunshine while the people I love are celebrating our victory. Ridge is celebrating his new mate, Sable, who has become one of my best friends. Everyone is happy, despite the loss of life in battle. It’s a new dawn.
But I’m fucking hollow inside.
In my mind’s eye, Gwen leans in, her lips close to my ear.
“Three mates, Amora,” she repeats, driving the point home. “And they’re capable of bringing destruction to the world. Ruin. Death.”
I purse my lips and slow my bike as her words filter through my head. I dream of them often. I hear them in the quiet moments. The moments where I’m desperate for a reprieve from this weight on my shoulders.
It wasn’t just the words the witch spoke to me. There was… magic involved. Or something. I couldn’t explain it then and I can’t account for it now, but as she whispered her dire warning, I got a flash of knowledge. A vision, like a glimpse into the future.
The earth was burning, and my mates were at fault. I saw so clearly what they were capable of doing to this world.
I knew I couldn’t let that happen. I can’t let it happen, no matter what it takes.
So now I hunt for my mates.
Not to find my happily ever after, but to stop them.
I slow at a red light where an arrow points me right to Oscura, look both ways, then roll right on through as I make the turn. Civilization comes back in pieces. A few ranches with crude wooden fences and grazing cattle. A big box store and a giant parking lot, then a grouping of fast food joints that make the air redolent with oil and spices. I hit the downtown area—quaint, Spanish-style courthouse, a strip mall, people on the sidewalks going about their day. Oscura looks like every other small town I’ve stayed in over the past two years.
They all blur together. I started my search for Kian and the other two elusive mates close to home, back in Montana. Then I worked south, following my gut instinct and “leads” that led me nowhere. If I wasn’t so damn stubborn, I’d give up.
Yet here we are.
I pull up to the first motel I see and park my bike near the front door. My knees are wobbly as I slide off the seat, and I pause to stretch my arms and legs. Usually, I try not to be on the road so long, but shit happens.
The glass door is so light that a strong breeze could throw it open. I yank it shut behind me, then pass under a flickering light and wrinkle my nose at the very obvious scent of mildew beneath the pungent odor of bleach. Just another run-down hovel clinging to capitalism, like all the dozens of other places I’ve lain my head.
“Need a room,�
� I greet the guy at the front desk.
At first glance, I think he’s young. But when he smiles, his eyes fold into laugh lines. His tan is too dark. Not “I spend time outside” dark but “I’m terrified of getting older so I bake in a sun bed every other day to halt my existential crisis” dark. There’s a white line on his left ring finger. Recently divorced, or pretending she doesn’t exist on the off chance he can stick his dick in someone else. Any roll of the dice would do.
“Just you, gorgeous?” His grin widens, and he sucks his teeth before adding, “I could keep you company if you’re feelin’ lonely.”
I roll my eyes and reach into the holster beneath my leather jacket, then flip open my switchblade and lay it pointedly on the Formica counter, tip facing him. “Call me gorgeous again, and you’ll be comping my room with a few less fingers.”
The poor sap rolls his dinky little stool away from the counter, putting some space between his orange face and my blade.
“Hey, sorry. My bad,” he says, stumbling over the syllables. “I’ll get you checked in ASAP.”
I return the blade to its holster with a smooth, practiced movement, then lean my elbows on the counter and hover over him as he works, silently menacing him to type faster. My ass is tired. I want to drop my bag and go find something hot to eat and cold to drink before I kick up my dusty boots for the night.
I can already tell that Oscura is going to be one more useless domino in a long line of them. Not a single one has fallen and revealed Kian. I’m chasing shadows through the goddamn night without a flashlight. I don’t know why I ever expect any town to be different, to offer up its secrets or give me a leg up on Kian’s or my other mates’ location.
Still, I keep searching. Keep going.
What the fuck else am I going to do?
Finally, cheap plastic keycard in hand, I leave the front office for the dry, hot evening and grab my duffel bag from the back of my Ducati. Pretty much everything I own fits in a single bag, and none of it is worth much. Traveling the country by bike on a quest to chase down and kill three men doesn’t set a girl up for a decent wardrobe. Three pairs of jeans. A few t-shirts. Some cotton shorts. One modest slip dress in case I need to get dressed up. One pair of motorcycle boots. Underwear, in case I ever decide to wear it.
