"Now, now, darling, you know how much Jeremy hates damage bills."
"Then you're going to have to stop chasing me."
"Then you're going to have to stop running, and start following orders."
I laughed my answer to that. He leapt at me. I jumped onto the bed, scampering across it. I stopped before hopping off. He'd stayed on the other side of the bed, still on the floor, slowly making his way to the end of the bed, ready to dart around and cut me off. I backed up. He backed up. I started forward. He started forward.
"This isn't going to work," I said. "The room's too small."
"Then stop running."
"Pfft."
"I'm getting older, you know. Keep running and I might decide I'm just not all that interested."
I glanced down at his crotch. "You sure look interested."
"But you're not?"
I bounced on the bed. "I can take it or leave it."
Now it was his turn to laugh. Then he started peeling off his shirt.
I stopped bouncing. "Hey, that's cheating."
"If you aren't interested, it shouldn't bother you."
He tugged the shirt off over his head, taking a little extra effort with the motion, making sure all those perfectly defined muscles got into the action. He tossed the shirt onto the bed and grinned.
"Your indicators might not be as obvious as mine, darling, but that sure as hell looks like interested to me."
"It's been a long two weeks."
He stepped back, eyeing the bed, considering a leap. "I'm sure you found ways to relieve the pressure."
"Actually, no. I waited."
"You...?"
"Waited. Isn't that what you always say? Get spoiled, and you only want the real thing? Better to build up an appetite? Well..." I met his gaze. "I guess I'm spoiled now, too."
He leapt onto the bed, coming at me so fast that I tripped trying to get off the other side. As I fell, he grabbed for my leg. I managed to jump up, standing on the bed again, sidestepping his grasp, then leaping over to the tiny desk. It groaned under my weight.
"If you break that, Jeremy won't be happy."
"I won't need to, if you stop chasing me."
He slid slowly off the bed, measuring the distance between us. "Always my fault, isn't it?"
"Always."
He lunged. I saw it coming and vaulted over his head for the bed again. As I jumped, my foot sent the desk lamp crashing into the wall.
"My fault, I suppose," Clay said.
"Naturally."
He started circling the bottom of the bed, then twisted, lunging and knocking my legs out, tackling me to the bed. This time, I couldn't get away. I tried... well, kind of. Within seconds, though, he had me pinned beneath him, face looming over mine.
"So what's this about waiting for me?" he said.
"Just like I said. I'm spoiled. I only want the good stuff."
That made him grin.
"It was a long two weeks," I said again. "Why did you think I missed you so much?"
He growled, pulling my hands over my head and holding them in one of his. I struggled... well, kind of.
"I could make you miss it a lot more... even being in the same room as me," he said.
"Think so?"
"Know so."
Maneuvering carefully, he managed to get my shirt and bra pushed up, then switched hands to get them off without releasing my wrists. He grabbed the pillow with his free hand, took the case between his teeth and ripped a strip off the end.
"Hey, damage bills," I said. "How are you going to explain that one to Jeremy?"
"Weak fabric."
He tied it around my wrists, binding them to the headboard. I gave a few experimental tugs.
He mock-frowned. "Hmm, maybe not so weak after all. My mistake."
He pulled off my pants, followed by my underwear. I arched, feeling the whisper of warm air from the heating vents tickle across my skin. Clay unbuttoned his jeans. I watched. He slid them over his hips. I watched. He kicked them across the room, then peeled off his boxers. I watched. I enjoyed. Then he slid his hand down his stomach, ending at the inevitable barrier. He wrapped his fingers around it and stroked. I watched. I enjoyed. I continued to enjoy until about a minute passed when I began to feel a little left out.
I cleared my throat. He stopped.
"Yes," he said.
"Ahem."
He arched his brows.
"Me..." I said.
"What about you?"
I kicked him for that, bucking under him, knee flying up and smacking against his back with an oomph. He grinned. I glared.
"You want something, darling?"
"Yes. Do you need instructions? Or directions?"
He stroked himself again, fingers tight, eyes narrowing in pleasure. "Nope, I think I'm doing just fine."
I kneed his back again. "I believe your mandate was to make me want you, and as hot as that is... it's not going to do the job all by itself."
"No, I believe the mandate was to make you miss sex, not want it. Missing it would imply--" He leaned down. "--that you aren't going to get it."
I struggled against the tie. It was only a strip of fabric, laughably thin, but I couldn't get the leverage to yank hard enough. I tried, though, twisting and bucking under him.
"All right," Clay said with a sigh. "I suppose I could give you a little of this..."
His mouth moved to my nipple, biting and licking until I stopped fighting and arched up, eyes closed, hips straining for his. He moved on to the other, flicked his tongue across it, making me gasp and writhe.
"Or maybe a little of this..."
His tongue traced a path down my chest and over my stomach. I lifted my hips. He chuckled, and slowed down, tickling and teasing as I wiggled, trying to redirect him. Finally he made it, teeth grazing exactly the right place, nibbling and sucking, making me decide I could forgive him for toying with me, if only he'd keep toying with me this way just a little longer, driving me to that point where all it would take was--
He stopped. I growled. He chuckled.
"Sorry, darling, just thought maybe you were ready for a little of this..."
He slid into me. I moaned my appreciation. Foreplay is wonderful, but this was what it was all about, him inside me, slowly pushing deeper, building up to that moment when we couldn't hold back, that frantic, hard, desperate thrusting--
He pulled out.
"And I think that's enough of that, don't you?"
I snarled. I growled. I called him really, really nasty names.
"Now, now, darling," he said. "You just relax while I finish up here." He started stroking himself again. "If you want to watch, feel free. It won't take long."
I called him more names. I yanked and pulled and struggled so hard the headboard groaned.
"Hey, damage bills," he said. "You really don't want to explain that one to Jeremy."
"Then finish what you started and we won't have to."
His brows arched. "Is that an order? You know, I think this Alpha business is going to your head. Yet another reason why, if we're going to make this relationship work, we need balance. Outside the bedroom, you're in charge. But in it?" He leaned over me, teeth flashing as he grinned. "It's all about me."
I snapped the baluster from the headboard and leapt up, knocking him over backward and pouncing on him.
"Or maybe not..." he said.
I slid myself onto him. Just an inch. Then another inch. He grinned, eyes rolling up, a sigh hissing through his teeth. Another inch. I clenched him tight, and his hands slid up under my armpits, thumbs flicking my nipples. Another half inch. He groaned, eyes closing now, all but a slit, never completely closing, always watching me. Another half inch...
I jumped up, dancing backward on the bed.
He snarled and tried grabbing my legs. I backpedaled... right over the edge of the bed, grabbing the floor lamp as I went down. It toppled onto me. Clay sprang, pushing my knees apart, plunging into me. He knocked t
he lamp aside. I dimly heard it crash into something else. I didn't really care. I just arched up to meet his thrusts, bruisingly, wonderfully hard thrusts, his arms around me, mouth coming to mine, kissing me just as hard, growling deep in his throat, the growls getting ragged as my own breathing did, taking us closer and closer until... Bliss.
We lay there a moment, entwined around each other, panting. Then I lifted my head to look at the room. Two broken lamps. One ripped pillowcase. One damaged headboard. Not bad... Oh, shit. Was that a picture frame? Two picture frames. How the hell did we...?
I sighed.
"We'll snag the bill before Jeremy sees it," Clay said.
I sighed louder.
"Bigger room, darling. Like I said, we need a bigger room."
SNUBBED
WE WOKE BEFORE seven, which seemed plenty early given our long day and late night, but there were already two messages from Jeremy. I tried calling him back before checking the messages--usually one from Jeremy is a simple "call me when you get a chance." But no one answered at the house.
I added the four-hour time difference and figured he'd taken the kids for their usual play-at-the-park-then-go-out-for-lunch routine. By nature, we prefer to stick with our own kind, so we need to schedule socialization time for the kids.
Logan isn't keen on the socializing part, but he loves getting out and exploring the world. Kate, like her father, doesn't see the point. Once she's at the park, she's fine. She enjoys watching and following the older kids. I call it social interaction. Clay calls it stalking. Either way, she has fun, and when she starts getting bored, the promise of lunch perks her up again.
I retrieved the first message.
"Elena, it's Jeremy. No, I don't recall mentioning the Wendigo article to Dennis. More likely, Clay's--"
"Is that Mommy?" Kate's voice piped up in the background.
"Yes, but she's sleeping and I'm leaving a message--"
"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"
"Would you like to leave her a message for when she wakes up?"
"No. Want her home. Mommy?" Her voice rose, taking on that imperative tone I knew too well. "Come home."
"Kate, she's--"
"Now. Come home now. Tell Daddy. Come home. Mommy and Daddy. Come home right now."
"I'll call back."
The message ended. Parental guilt for breakfast. Yummy.
Message two.
"It's me again. I apologize for that. I thought she was downstairs. As I was saying, it's likely Clay was right--that Dennis was investigating whatever you two saw in the woods. As intriguing as that is, though, I'm more concerned with these apparent new immigrants. I decided to call--"
"Is that Mom?" Logan's voice sounded in the distance, then stockinged feet padded across the floor.
"Yes, I'm just leaving her a message. If you can wait a minute, you can say something."
"I want to talk to Mom. Not her voice mail."
There are times when it's nice having a preschooler who can communicate so well. This was not one of them. It's like when they were infants and we couldn't wait for them to walk... then we were running ourselves ragged chasing after them, wondering, What the hell was I thinking?
"You will talk to her," Jeremy said calmly. "Later, after she wakes up. Now can you sit on the bed and wait, please? We'll be leaving soon." He returned to the message. "I decided to call Roman."
Roman Novikov was the Alpha of the Russian Pack. He'd made contact with Jeremy last year, through the interracial council, wanting to ask about a new mutt they presumed was American.
This may seem perfectly natural. It's the twenty-first century, we have computers, telephones, a million ways to keep in touch long distance, so why wouldn't Alphas share information and resources? But it just doesn't happen, no more than wild wolf packs interact. We each have our own territory and most are content to pretend the others don't exist. Roman is one of the more progressive Alphas. We weren't the first Pack he'd reached out to, trying to open the lines of communication, but Jeremy was the first Alpha who'd welcomed the contact, and they'd talked a few times since.
"Roman thought--"
"When is Mom coming home?" Logan asked. His voice was far enough away to tell me he'd obeyed the command to sit on the bed. As for waiting quietly, well, the quiet part had been implied, as Clay would say. Since it hadn't been explicitly stated, it wasn't an actual order.
"In a couple of days."
"You said a couple of days two days ago. A couple is two. So she should be coming home now. Is she coming home?"
"Not yet. Now--"
"When is she coming home? Is Dad still with her? Why do they both need to be away?"
"I know you miss them, but they're very busy. They want to come home and they will as soon as they can."
"Kate!" Logan called.
The distant thump of answering footsteps.
"Jeremy's on the phone with Mom again, Kate."
"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"
I sighed. Why kick up a fuss and risk getting into trouble when you can get your sister to do it for you? Sneaky little beggar. We were going to have to have a chat about this. A firmly and carefully worded chat, so he couldn't find a loophole.
Besieged by Kate, Jeremy tried calling Jaime, but she was apparently out of earshot, so he quickly finished leaving his message. With Kate screeching in the background all I caught was something about a call, presumably that he'd phone later.
I tried calling him back. Still no answer. I had Jaime's cell phone number, but that wouldn't solve the problem, as the kids were with them. I left a message at home saying I would try again later.
"I miss them, too. But we'll get back as soon as we can."
I looked over to see Clay propped up on his elbow in bed, watching me. I nodded and said nothing, just put the phone down. He reached over and fingered a couple of bruises on my hip.
"You okay?" he said.
"That?" I managed a smile. "That's nothing. I'm sure I did worse to you."
"So you're okay? Not too battered and bruised?"
"I'm fine."
"Good." He scooped me up. "The water pressure in this place sucks. We're sharing a shower, and you're going to forget that phone call."
"Is that an order?"
"Nope, that's a challenge. For me. And one I will happily meet."
WE HAD BREAKFAST a few blocks down at the Snow City Cafe. A white chocolate and vanilla latte, pumpkin pancakes and side orders of smoked salmon and farmers sausage. Heaven.
On the way to the cafe and on the way back, Clay tried to bring up the subject of what else was bothering me. Again, I almost answered. Again, I chickened out. A letter from a former foster parent had nothing to do with our current situation, and even admitting that it was bothering me gave it too much power. We could talk about it later.
AT EIGHT-FORTY we were outside Joey's office waiting for him to arrive. We stood across the road, under the shadow of a crab shack awning. As Clay scanned the streets, his face was immobile, but I knew what he was feeling--dreading the horrible news he had to break to Joey, yet looking forward to seeing his old friend.
"He's coming," I said when I caught a werewolf scent on the breeze.
Clay pivoted, searching. "That's him. With the bald guy and the older lady."
If we hadn't been looking for Joey Stillwell, I would have never noticed him. He blended with everyone else on the street, one of those cookie-cutter businessmen who filled every American business core at this hour.
He was average height. Slender, though softening at the edges as he settled into middle age. I knew Joey was only a few years older than Clay, but he really could pass for fifty. He was bespectacled and serious, with frown lines that said serious was his usual expression. His brown hair was shot through with even more gray than Jeremy's, making me wonder if he dyed it trying to look his true age.
"Go on," I said to Clay.
"Come with me. We should--"
"Go. I'm in charge now, remember?"
&nb
sp; He smiled and loped off. We'd decided earlier that Clay should approach Joey alone. It seemed right--he came from a part of Clay's life before me. Even if Dennis had told Joey about me, I didn't need to complicate the reunion.
"Joey!" Clay called as he jogged across the road.
Joey should have heard him, but he kept walking as if not recognizing the old diminutive.
"Joseph!"
Now even his companions heard, both turning, the older woman catching Joey's elbow as he kept walking. Her lips moved, telling him he was being hailed.
Joey glanced over his shoulder. He saw Clay. No sign of recognition crossed his face. I'd met Clay a few years after Joey left the Pack, so I knew Clay hadn't changed much. Hell, other than aging, he hadn't changed at all, from his hairstyle--close-cropped gold curls--to his fashion sense--jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket.
Joey kept walking. I tensed. But Clay only broke into a jog again, not slowing until he was close enough for Joey to smell him. He laid a hand on his shoulder, in a quick squeeze.
"Joey," Clay said. "It's Clay. Clayton Danvers."
Still Joey's expression didn't change. In a voice so soft I could barely hear it from across the road, he said, "I'm afraid you have the wrong person."
Clay grinned. "Sorry. It's Joseph now, isn't it? A bit old for Joey. You never much liked it as a kid either."
"You've mistaken me for someone else."
Before Clay could respond, Joey gave a curtly polite nod and strode back to his coworkers.
"He seemed to know you," the man said as they approached the office doors.
"Does that accent sound like anyone I'd have grown up with?"
The woman laughed. "It's damned sexy, though." She glanced back, admiring Clay's rear view as he walked away. "You couldn't pretend to know him for my sake? Invite him to coffee? Make an old lady's day?"
The other man laughed and they headed inside.
ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER cappuccino. And another unique and wonderful place to enjoy it. If we had more caffeine-fill-up locations like this back home, I'd become a total coffeehouse nut.
This cafe doubled as a Russian Orthodox museum and was across the road from the museum where Reese had been attacked. We were the sole patrons that morning, the silence broken only by the occasional murmur of conversation between the clerk and a Russian Orthodox priest.
I had hoped the quiet surroundings and the religious artifacts would draw Clay out. But we were almost done with our coffees and he had yet to say a full sentence.
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