by Leeah Taylor
He keeps shaking his head while looking over the trees from end to end. “Assuming we don’t break any chains or ropes and the bus holds up, a couple hours at least. And that’s being optimistic. Realistically, longer than we probably have daylight left.”
Berkeley sighs. “What were you guys even doing out this far?”
“Looking for more survivors. Scavenge any supplies.” It’s mostly the truth. “This time we kept going.”
Cooper glances back at the bus. “Twenty-five people can’t sleep on that thing.”
“We packed the bus with emergency supplies. Tents, food for a few days, stuff like that. Just in case. It’s all in the back under the seats.”
Setting up camp feels a lot like laying out a buffet for the Ferals, but traveling at night, on a bus, feels like the worse idea. If the Ferals are hunting in packs now, communicating, I don’t doubt they’ll stop us and it guarantees people will die. Either in an accident or becoming a meal.
“Set up camp off the road, but not too far into the woods either. We’ll keep watch in each direction. Just wish we had weapons.”
Berkeley smirks. “Now, who raised me, Carver?”
There’s my Spitfire.
I hate the idea, but it’s the best one we have. The one that has the best chance for most everyone to get away if there’s an attack. But I hate it. If it were only me and my pack, I wouldn’t worry. We can shift on a whim and are faster than Ferals. Getting away has never been the problem. It’s leaving the ones who can’t get away so easily causing stress.
I make my way across the little encampment we’ve set up to the jolly giant.
“Hey big guy.” He raises a brow at me. “Jay. Hey, Jay.”
He’s a scary-looking dude. I’ve never felt so small.
The man laughs. “I’m teasing. What’s ya need?”
I hand him a gun. “Take watch on the east side?”
He takes it, turning it over in his massive hand. “You got it.”
I give one to Cooper and send him to the north end of the camp. Another one goes to Anthony, one of my guys, and I send him west. I take one and plan to leave one in camp. It’s better than no guns at all, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about setting up camp.
“Where’s mine?”
There has never been a person’s voice that made me want to hit them more than Tristan’s. He’s everything I hate. Men like him in the pack, got their asses handed to them on the daily. For nothing more than thinking they’re above the pack and everyone in it. I’ve killed wolves for it.
“Didn’t Berkeley tell you to get some rest? Look like shit, man.”
He scowls, and it pulls at the long claw marks across his face. His nose doesn’t look much better, swollen and bruised. I’ll give Berkeley some credit; the girl can throw a punch.
“I want a gun.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.” I eye his arm. “And have that shit looked at before you die from infection.”
“It’s fine.”
“How exactly did you get your arm shredded, anyway?”
He shrugs it off and walks away. “Just clumsy, I guess.”
Cooper eyes me from across the camp the minute the words leave Tristan’s mouth. Something’s not right with him. Whether it’s Berkeley and his obsession with her or he’s finally buckling under the pressure of it all, Tristan isn’t in any right state of mind.
Cooper stops beside me and we watch Tristan disappear into a tent.
“Need to keep an eye on him.”
“Yeah, trust me, I know. Grab Brax, tell him to stick around camp and give him the other gun. Have you seen Berk?”
“Headed out toward the highway side facing the fields.”
“I’ll be out there then.”
Cooper grabs me. “Sort this shit out with her, Carver. The two of you are making this more complicated than it needs to be.”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Making it worse. You know Berkeley better than anybody. You push her out now, when you have a chance to have her back, and she’ll shut you out. Again.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know damn well what it means. Don’t make the same mistakes.”
“It wasn’t my—”
“Yeah, it was, Carver. She should have been there with us and not whisked away to some bunker like a helpless little princess. She wasn’t then, and she isn’t now. She’s always been a survivor, our Spitfire. And when she needed you to make her feel equal, you made her feel inadequate, and that’s why she gave up on you and left.”
Whoa. “Been holding that in for a minute?”
“Fix it with her. And don’t give me any line about some Tristan bullshit. You’ve fucked your share of bodies in the last three years to stay whole. Well, obviously so did she. Get over it. Move on.”
I glare at him. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Probably wouldn’t piss me off so much if he didn’t have a point, and I hate when he does this shit. Sits back and doesn’t say shit before sweeping in like a goddamn hawk in the sky and sucker punches me out of nowhere. And that punch usually hits me right upside the head with logic and sense.
Guess it’s why he’s my beta.
Chapter Nine
Berkeley
“We really gotta stop meeting like this,” Carver teases and takes a seat next to me on the ground. “Good spot.”
I can see the road and the fields, but the trees offer enough cover; nothing can see me.
“How’s camp?”
“Mostly settled. Those kids of yours are unshakeable.”
“That’s not true. Scared, just like the rest of us.”
He drags a finger down my jaw and hooks it under my chin to make me look over at him. “Are you scared?”
What isn’t there to be scared of? We’re out in their world and forced to play by their rules. And at night, anything goes. One wrong decision and people die. I pull away with a brick in my stomach.
Carver could die.
“Berk?”
“Yeah, Carver, I’m scared. I’d be worried if I wasn’t.”
“Me too.”
If this is one tenth of how he must feel as the alpha, or what his father felt leading the pack, I really don’t want the responsibility anymore. It weighs heavier than anything I’ve ever had to carry.
“How many people have you lost?”
Carver is quiet for a while, and it only adds to the weight.
He finally settles back against the tree and says, “Twenty-seven, but you can’t dwell on it, Berkeley. Learn from it but then move on.”
“And the Mountain is really there? It’s everything the stories said it was?”
“Yeah.” A smile reaches his eyes and I can’t tear my gaze from them. “Everything dad said it was. It’s huge. There’s at least a hundred of us there, and we could probably take another hundred comfortably. More, maybe. It’s like a goddamn maze the further back you go.”
“They used to tell us it was the earth’s mansion. Big caverns where the packs would commune together. Smaller caves and systems branching off.”
He nods. “It’s exactly that. Got my own little cave all to myself.”
“Probably as messy as your bedroom was too.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. “I’ve grown up a bit.”
I roll my eyes. Yeah, sure Carver. “A bit.”
“Did you just roll your eyes?”
I straighten up. “No.”
“I think you did.”
“Carver…”
His eyes light up.
“We’re not seventeen anymore, Carver Moore!”
He tackles and straddles me before going right for the kill as his fingers dig into the spot above the bone at my hips, making me squeal. It’s a dirty move, even for him.
“You’re going to get us killed in a fit of giggles. Stop.”
Carver freezes, lip
s too close to mine. “Then stop being so loud.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “You were kinda loud, baby.”
“You’re louder.”
He shakes his head while I nod, and we have to look like a couple of children. I finally laugh, conceding for now, and begin pushing him off, but his body only pushes me back down into the cool grass.
“Carver…”
“What’s wrong, Berkeley? Afraid that psycho is going—”
“No.” I shake my head. It’s had nothing to do with Tristan. “I don’t care if he finds us.”
“Then what?”
His lips caress up my jaw and I’m falling deeper but press my hands into his chest and my favorite blues pierce through me.
“We aren’t the same people.”
“I am exactly the same person, Berkeley, who wants all the same things. The only thing that has changed is the world.”
It’s not that simple. Or easy. “I’m not.”
“Yeah.” He smirks. “Spitfire, you are.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “Still goddamn beautiful and sinful. Still don’t take shit from anyone. And still as fucking fierce as I remember you. You are everything I fell in love with.”
“But the world changed, and we did too. We’ve done things we aren’t proud of. Things to protect the ones we care about. Just to survive. We moved on…”
“No, Berk.” He pushes up from the ground and stalks away, dragging a hand through his hair. “I did not move on. Maybe you did, but I can’t.”
I pull my knees into my chest and hug them. We can’t ignore three years, just like that. Pretend like we haven’t both spent them infuriated and hating each other. It doesn’t all go away and I’m not sure we’re enough of the same people to be anything, mate bond or not.
I love him.
Down in my soul it hurts, I love him.
But is it enough? I’m not sure it is.
“Say the words, Berkeley. If it’s what you want…”
I jerk back with the pain of his words cutting deep. Hurt he could even believe I’d ever want to say those words. This has nothing to do with rejecting the mate bond. He’s not understanding I’m not the mate he remembers from before. Or the one he deserves.
But my fury hasn’t changed, and passionate anger coats my veins. I jump to my feet and close up the distance between us with my fists slamming into his chest.
“Asshole. Just—you’re an asshole.”
He catches me by the wrists on the third assault and my back meets with rough bark. It scrapes and digs between my shoulders, but it doesn’t come close to the fiery rage pinning me down. It’s his wolf mixed with his alpha and only a sliver of Carver. A rush of warmth prickles through me as my wolf bows and submits, craving the dominance. Begging for it. It reaches too far down, caressing the parts I’ve neglected, and drags it all to the surface.
I attempt to jerk free, but he grips tighter and raises my wrists above my head, locking them in place with one hand while a growl builds low in his chest. “I’d say keep fighting, but you and I both know it won’t go the way it should.”
And yet, he’s bearing down on me with all the weight of his alpha and ignites a wicked pulse between my legs until it aches. I press against his hard cock to relieve it, to relieve anything between us, but it only makes it worse.
He leans in with a groan and his lips graze mine. “Fuck, make up your goddamn mind already before I do it for you.”
I nip at his bottom lip. “Fuck me like old times, Carver.”
His fingers tug at the button on my jeans as his lips crush mine. I try to wiggle my hands free, but he growls low with a warning. My fingers twitch to feel him. Burn to touch him and find out what’s the same and what’s different. If his dips and curves down his chest to his abdomen are still firm and smooth or harder and more defined.
“Carver…”
Carver’s only response is a small glimpse of who’s really in charge, and it’s barely him. It only makes me want him more and I buck my hips, grinding against him and it earns me a firm grip to my chin. Another growl ripples through him and the sound has my wolf practically ass up doggy style, ready to be used and abused.
The bitch is a ho.
“Like old times, baby, or like I’ve been needing to fuck you for years?”
I grind my pulsing pussy harder against him. “Like it might be the only chance you ever get.”
It may be.
All the bright blue of his eyes darken until they’re nearly black. He drags his thumb over my bottom lip, tugging it down, and slips his thumb in. I swirl my tongue around it, earning me a low, steady vibration through his chest. The grip on my wrists loosens until he releases them entirely to shove my jeans down past my hips. Cold air cools my overheated skin.
I grip the hem of his shirt and drag it over his head. His lips land on mine again while my hands trace every dip, line, and curve on my way down to his jeans as I kick out of my own. I’ve never missed or craved anything more than the feel of my hand gripping tight to his thick cock or the sound it earns me deep from the back of his throat. A sound only he makes, and I’m wet and throbbing harder for it.
Aching to feel him inside of me.
Never knowing how badly I needed to feel him consume me.
Inside and out.
It’s an inferno wrapping around me when he lifts me up, pinning me between him and the tree. The scratch of the bark is my only anchor to reality as his lips consume the spot at the base of my neck where it meets my shoulder. It ignites with a wicked pulse of heat and need until it hurts, desperate to be claimed.
Hot breath rushes out over my ear and Carver nips at the lobe as he lines himself up, then stills. “Tell me no before there’s no going back. Tell me you hate me. Tell me it’s too late. Anything, Berkeley, before I take what I want.”
The only thing standing between me, him, and our broken bond, is us. Sure, I’m pissed at him for not looking for me. For still leaving me behind. But there’s no denying one simple fact; Carver has always and will always be it for me unless I reject him. And I don’t have it in me to do it. There’s no reason clouding my mind. It’s my wolf demanding my submission to the most natural part of me and my soul pleading to be reunited with its other half.
He searches me, waiting for an answer. We’ll stay like this forever if I don’t say something. Anything.
I kiss him hard, teeth clashing, and grip tighter to his shoulders.
“It’s too late to go back and I can’t hate you.”
I tried, but it never stuck long enough before I was missing and loving him. In the cold of night or heat of the day, Carver Moore has always been the end all be all in my existence.
He thrusts with a punishing force, stretching me and sating my throbbing need. A low, throaty groan blots out my yelp and he buries his face and lips into the soft spot at the base of my neck. His fingers twitch and dig deeper into the flesh where he grips my ass, sure to leave bruises and my greedy self wants him to hold tighter; dig deeper.
Mark me.
Bruise me.
Use me.
Claim me in every carnal way.
Whatever it takes to fill the gaping void inside of me.
I’m sure he’s going to stay like that—buried between my legs, chest heaving while he nearly trembles—when he pulls out and thrusts again. He squeezes harder, pinning me against the tree with nowhere to go. My head falls back, submitting myself to the most animal parts of me.
Lips graze the spot I’ve offered for him, fire and ice collide in my veins and blood roars between my ears. His pace quickens with purpose, and the first shock wave of pleasure ripples from deep in my core.
“No going back,” Carver rasps against my skin.
“Make it so we can never go back.”
He presses a kiss to the spot and I hold tight, bracing myself for a rollercoaster. For the pain I’m a slave to. More heat prickles over my ear and another thrust has
me unraveling. I bite my bottom lip to hold back a scream sure to attract our camp, probably the dead, and Ferals.
But if we were to die like this, I’m not sure I’d be too disappointed.
“No, I wanna hear you scream, beautiful. I want the whole goddamn world to hear it so they know who’s claiming you.” My legs hook behind his back and tremble as his lips press harder to my ear with another firm thrust. “I want you to remind me how fucking good it feels when you come all over my cock.”
Fucking Carver and his dirty mouth sends me spiraling, ready to cave and give into the hot pleasure; I’m already burning from the inside out.
Teeth and fangs barely scrape over the flesh on my shoulder, primed to be claimed and pulsing in time with my mounting orgasm, when shots pierce through our moment and ice water coats my veins. Carver freezes, body going rigid. His eyes widen, darkening for an entirely different reason. Screams follow and my feet hit the ground.
Instinct dominates all of me and I snatch my pants from the ground, nearly eating dirt as I try to drag them on and take off running. It’s never the blood that haunts me. Or the absolute terror of these things that keeps me up at night. It’s the cries and screams of people I care about. The ones who rely on me to protect them, to take reasonable risks, to keep them safe.
If they’re screaming, I’m failing.
I hear them before reaching the camp as the night fills with their shrieks and shrills. Another gunshot sends my heart plummeting to the pit of my stomach and I push harder until it burns with every breath. I’ll suffocate if it means saving them all.
Shift Berkeley.
I ignore the order.
Goddamnit, Berk, shift!
Get the fuck out of my head, Carver!
The first shadowy figure fills my sight as it hisses and lunges for a handful of my kids. All I see is red as my blood boils with fury. I snatch up a thick branch and swing it like a baseball bat; I’ve never needed to hit a home run more than now. It sends blood, brains, and skull flying. The body drops like a sack of bricks.
“Go! Run to the bus. Lock yourselves inside. Stay there!”
They run and it’s the first time I see what Carver was talking about. These kids should be terrified. Fear death. Instead, they were staring it in the face, almost unfazed.
