Avenging Autumn (2 page)

“Autumn, are you sure?”

“Please,” she breathed against his skin. “If you can, just make me forget about all the bad stuff, if only for a little while.”

She rose from his lap.

Blake wheeled himself so he was right next to the bed. Using his upper body strength, he pushed up in the wheelchair with his arms, creating space between his buttocks and the chair, and then shifted himself over onto the bed. It was an awkward, clumsy movement, one he’d not quite yet mastered, but Autumn made no attempt to help him. He knew she understood his need to be as independent as possible. Having her take care of him did nothing for his male ego.

She’d been so strong for all of them, but for Blake in particular. Even when he’d been at his weakest, believing he had no reason to live, she held him up and brought him through it. Now she was the one who was hurt, and, despite his continued paralysis, he needed to be strong for her. He refused to let her down.

Blake lay back on the bed. Autumn stripped off her jeans, and then climbed onto the bed with him. She straddled his thighs, and lifted her t-shirt to pull it up and over her head, her blonde curls falling down her back. Blake’s eyes fixed on her as she reached behind her back and unclipped her bra. His breath stuttered. Just like the rest of her, her breasts were beautiful. Autumn took hold of his hand and lifted it to her breast. She was warm and soft, and he found himself reacting just as he always had done.

Her fingers hooked under the bottom of his t-shirt. Blake propped himself up as she pulled the material up and over his head. Then she started on the button of his jeans, popping it open pulling down the zipper.

He reached out and stilled her hand. “My legs,” he said. “They’re ... not like they were.”

He’d been amazed at how quickly his well toned muscle had wasted away. What had once been strong and hard, now felt soft and withered.

But Autumn shook her head. “I don’t care about your legs, Blake. It’s you I love. You’re here, and you’re alive. We’re together. That’s what counts.”

She was right. Vanity was a pointless emotion to waste time on.

Without waiting for him to protest further, Autumn pulled the jeans down, lifting him slightly to get them down his ass, and then lifting her own body to pull them off his legs completely. She paused and stopped to lower her lips to his thighs, her hair brushing his skin, and kissing each of them in turn.

She slipped her hand beneath his shorts, and her warm fingers curled around his length and brought him back to life. He hadn’t believed he’d ever be able to respond to attention down there again, but respond he did. Within a minute, she’d ridded him of his shorts, quickly followed by her panties, and then she straddled him again and lifted herself above him. Holding him in one hand, she positioned herself above his length, and then slowly lowered herself onto him. Her wet heat surrounded him and held him in a tight glove.

Blake’s mind swam. Unable to move his hips, he allowed Autumn to ride him. He used his fingers to stimulate her most sensitive spot as she lifted herself up and down. His other hand cupped her breast, his thumb grazing the hardened nipple. Color flushed high in her cheeks, her eyes slipping shut. She looked so sexy, and it had been so long, that he couldn’t hold onto his release for long. But he felt her contract around him, her movements growing more frantic. He bit his lower lip, pleasure tightening in his balls. She let out a cry and shuddered around him. He squeezed his eyes shut and white sparks flashed behind his eyelids as he emptied himself into her.

Autumn fell forward, her breasts crushed against his chest, her face buried into his neck. His hands held the soft, warm skin of her back, feeling her diaphragm rise and fall as she caught her breath.

It was only after he felt damp against his neck that he realized she was crying.

“Hey,” he said, lifting her chin with his finger so she looked at him with her deep blue eyes, wet with tears. “We’ll find that bitch. We’ll avenge your father.”

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M
IA HAD BEEN dreaming about running. She ran as she never had before—with long, powerful strides, and an almost supernatural grace through an endless forest. Every sense was alive in a way she’d never experienced before. Her sense of smell picked up on everything, and she discovered there was a code in those scents—a way of conveying information. From creatures, the musk of urine or droppings told her how old an animal was, what type of beast they were, if they were in heat, or possibly injured. She knew exactly how long it had been since they’d passed this way, and how long it would take her to reach them. She could smell the weather on the air—if there was due to be rain, or if a lightning storm was close. Even the trees surrounding her had their own language, as ancient and mystical as time itself, as they buried their roots deeper into the earth and reached their branches to the sky.

Every sound the forest emanated was distinguishable by her sharp ears. From the scurry in the undergrowth over a mile away, she knew the creature creating the sound was a vole. The whoosh of near-silent wings, and cracking of twigs in the branches of trees overhead, told her an owl had alighted in their foliage. The distant rushing whisper alerted her to the fact a river ran through the forest only a couple of miles away, and the splash of large paws hitting the water told her a bear fished for trout in its rapids. 

Mia had never known it possible to be so
alive
before. She could run like this forever, and never grow tired.

But no, she was dreaming, and would have to wake. Her run wouldn’t last, and the euphoric feeling it brought would fade. The real world pulled at her, coaxing her into waking, though she fought against it. She’d rather stay here, in this intoxicating world of scents and sounds. But she felt herself being pulled, her whole soul wilting in disappointment.

“Mia?”

Oh, Peter’s voice!

Suddenly, waking didn’t seem so bad, and she allowed herself to release the dream and open her eyes.

Peter’s warm, handsome smile and gray eyes looked down at her. The light filtering through the drapes told her morning had arrived. She didn’t mind releasing her dream when this was what she woke to—the man she loved. But then she realized the dream hadn’t ended, but merely faded. Though her eyes were open and she could feel Peter’s warm body pressed against hers, part of her mind was still with her panther, the big cat hunting in the forest. She could see out of the animal’s eyes, and, if she concentrated hard enough, could still pick up on the scents and sounds that surrounded it, and the sensation of being in another creature’s mind.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her.

She smiled. “Good. Strange. Different ... but good.”

“You’re healed?”

She glanced down at her naked skin. Her bare breast was barely hidden by the sheet, but her shoulder was exposed. The skin was smooth and creamy, as if the gunshot wound—the shot intended for Autumn—she’d received while standing on the steps of the Chicago government facility had never been there.

Mia wiggled her shoulder around. No residues of pain alerted her to any deeper injury. “It feels fine. As if it never happened.”

“And what about the rest of you?” he asked, sliding his body beside hers, propped up on his elbow, head supported by his hand. He reached out and touched her temple. “I mean about what’s happening in here.” Weirdly, he didn’t feel as hot as he had before. Peter’s skin had always burned against hers, as if he were running a fever, but now he simply felt warm.

It’s because you’re hot too,
she told herself. Peter wasn’t the only one running a temperature.

“Well, I just woke up from the most wonderful dream.”

He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You know that wasn’t a dream, right?”

“Yeah, I know, ’cause it’s all still happening.” Her fingers fluttered around the back of her head. “Somewhere back here.”

“You’ll learn how to control it over time. It’ll always be there, but you’ll be able to zone in and out of what your spirit guide is experiencing. If your guide wants you to know about something, it’ll break through whatever barriers you’ll have naturally put up in order to function like a normal human being.”

She hugged herself, her skin rippling with goose-bumps. “I’m excited and nervous all at the same time. My future is going to be something I’d never even imagined before.”

He moved closer, his arm slipping around her small waist to pull her body against his. “And I hope I’ll be in it.”

“Of course. I can’t think of a future without you.”

His fingers trailed across the skin of her hip and down around to her bottom. His large hand cupped her rear cheek and pressed her against him. He kissed her again and she smiled against his mouth. She could tell how much he wanted her, his hard length pushing against her stomach. Wrapping her foot around the back of his thigh, she opened herself up to him. A shift in their positions allowed her to guide him between her thighs, and her hold on him tightened as he pressed his hips forward and pushed inside her. Mia gasped as pleasure flooded over her. He filled her so beautifully, completing her, and for the first time her mind focused solely on the sensations running through her body, instead of the other mind that ran through the back of hers.

Their movements were slow and deep, as connected as two people can be. They were the same now, she and Peter. They were equals, something she’d never truly believed they’d been before.

Her fingers dug into the solid muscle of his back, pressure in her groin and lower belly building with every thrust. She placed her mouth against the hard ball of his shoulder and sank in her teeth to muffle her cries.

Her orgasm powered over her and the whole world stopped. She was suspended in the moment, just her and Peter’s bodies joined as though they were one person. He held her tight as he jerked inside her, filling her.

Sated, they fell back, their breathing slowing as one. Peter rolled toward her and kissed her shoulder.

A crack of a gunshot made them both sit up. Instantly, Peter was out of bed, pulling on his clothes. “What the hell?”

Mia followed suit. She wished she had more control over her spirit guide so she could see what was happening outside, but at the moment her connection was weak, and her guide continued to do its own thing.

“What’s going on?” Peter yelled as he rushed out of the door.

“Someone knows we’re here,” said Chogan. The other man stood in the open front doorway. Several of the others stood around him. The male shifters, Tocho and Sahale, were running down Wenona’s long gravel driveway, chasing, she assumed, the cause of the gunshots.

Wenona stepped up onto the porch, a shotgun held in one hand. “I thought I might have got the fucker, but he’s disappeared into the bushes.”

“Don’t worry,” said Chogan. “We’ll find him. He left something for us.” Mia hadn’t noticed before, but a package sat at his feet.

Autumn’s voice came from behind them. “What’s that?”

They all turned to her. She appeared pale and thin in her tank top and jeans. Mia thought she looked like she’d lost more weight overnight, if such a thing were even possible.

Chogan moved protectively in front of the package. “We’ll check it out first, Autumn. You don’t need to see this.”

“Yes, I do. I’m going to assume the box has my name written on it.”

“Chogan is right,” said Mia. “You’ve been through enough.”

Her lips thinned into a line. “I don’t need to be sheltered.”

“You don’t need to take the brunt of everything either.”

She pushed past Mia. “Yes, I do.”

Chogan looked as though he was considering physically holding Autumn away from the box, but he must have decided it would do no good and stepped aside. Tension filled the air. No one knew what the box would contain, but everyone knew it wouldn’t be something good.

“Please, Autumn,” Mia tried again, her heart breaking for her friend. Autumn had already been through so much, and she hated to think something was about to add to Autumn’s pain. But her friend ignored her, and everyone else around her.

Autumn’s focus was solely on the box.

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A
UTUMN STARED AT the cardboard box sitting at Chogan’s feet on Wenona’s porch. Her stomach had bunched into a tight little knot and she struggled to swallow.

“Autumn?” Blake’s rough growl came from down the corridor. While she had jumped out of bed at the sound of the gunshot, it had taken him longer to maneuver himself from the bed and into the chair, in which he now sat.

She turned her face to him. She thought he was about to tell her the same as everyone else, but instead he said, “Open the box if you have to, but prepare yourself for the fact it isn’t going to be something you want to see.”

She nodded. She knew that already, but was pleased he wasn’t treating her like some kind of invalid. Mentally, she cringed at her own internal choice of words.

Bending down to the box, she paused. Everyone around her remained silent; even the birds seemed to stop their incessant chattering. Every eye in the place was upon her, but her whole focus was on the box and what it contained.

Autumn took a breath and reached out. Her hand trembled as her fingers made contact with the cardboard. It was the type of fold-out cardboard box that could be bought at any store.

A dark spot had appeared on the outside of the box, and her heart lurched, her breath catching afresh. She thought she knew the cause of that spot. It didn’t matter how long she delayed for, she would need to see what was inside. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she ran from this.

With shaking fingers, she pulled open the folded lid.

The smell hit her first—a putrid, cloying stench, like trash left out in the hot, mid-day sun, or road-kill left to rot. She put the back of her hand across her nose, and flicked open the flaps fully, allowing her to see inside.

Her whole body froze in shock.

The hand was curled up like a dead crab in the bottom of the box. The hand had been sliced off at the wrist, the open wound raw like a piece of butchered meat. Blood had soaked through the bottom, and dotted on the sides where the severed wrist must have bumped during transit. The fingers were pale, but there was no mistaking the blunt, masculine nails. Every detail stood out to her, the grey hairs on the back of the fingers, the wrinkles around the knuckles, the lines in the palms. But one detail stood out the most—the gold wedding ring around the fourth finger.