Deceiving the Protector (18 page)

The hand on her nape tightened. “I wanted to make this good for you.”

“
You’re
good for me.” All of him, elemental. Out of control. She could see the surface cracking. The man, the Wolf, the violent storm inside him, called to her. She was just like that, but unlike him, she’d been trapped. Not anymore. She could feel her own Wolf stretching free within her. Awakening, its energy surging through her. Needing. Baring its teeth in demand. “Please.”

She didn’t know exactly what she was asking for, but she knew she needed it. Needed him to fulfill it.

He turned her, the water pouring over them both as he claimed her mouth again. He devoured her, taking her breath and raising her spirits. A minute later, the water turned off like a crank before a towel wrapped around her back. He lifted her off the ground, tucking her legs around his waist, their bodies flush against each other, but it wasn’t enough. The emptiness in her grew, yearned.

“What are you doing?” she asked after he stepped out of the shower with her. He walked them over to the bed, spilling them both onto the rumpled blanket. Raising up on his knees, his erection slid temptingly between her thighs.

“I’m giving you what you asked for.”

She watched, her mouth watering as he palmed his sex, taking hold as he fit himself over her. The blunt head pushed against her opening, the pressure of it both alien and perfect at the same time.

“Open for me, Lia,” he whispered, his voice sending quivers over her body. “Let me in, baby.”

She wasn’t helpless in this, she knew. He could force her, the power of him inescapable in that moment because she could see he needed all of it to keep himself from lunging into her slick folds. She spread her legs, lifting them high, willfully relaxing her muscles to admit him inside.

“Ah, fuck yeah,” he groaned, sinking into her, his clawed fingers squeezing at her thigh, pulling her tighter against him. He took her mouth, leaving her no sense that wasn’t filled with him. Only him. Mind, body…
soul.

Moisture filled her eyes. Not tears. Tears were reserved for pain. This, this was wonder. Awe.
Glory.

Their eyes both flew open as he came to a stop, still not completely embedded, but most assuredly blocked by a membrane stretching taut within her.

“I’m an ass,” he ground out, their noses pressed together. Even with the shadows between them, his gaze glowed. “You’re a virgin.”

She blinked up at him, confused. “I know.”

His smile now could only be called wolfish. “You’re
mine.
”

Not much more enlightened, she gave him the best smile she could muster and shook her head. “No, you’re mine.”

Tate took hold of her hand, pulling it between them to place over his heart. The heavy thud of it against her fingers felt like a vibration, changing the rhythm of her own. Of everything.

“Mine, Lia, the way it should be,” he whispered, voice low and strangled. Almost as if he were overwhelmed by whatever knowledge he’d come to. Knowledge she wished she understood. “My choice. My heart. My mate.”

The words hurt, reminding her that she couldn’t give the same to him. She tugged on her hand, but he wouldn’t let go. Instead, he moved her hand to her belly, just above the place where he’d nearly joined with her.

“If we finish this—”

“If?”

“I’ll be yours. Your choice. Your imprint.
Your mate.
”

“Impr—?” It hit her then, the meaning behind his placing his hand over her stomach. Where life would be able to grow when her next Heat cycle came. But only for Tate. Strangely, out of that shocking realization, only one question arose. “Asher’s not my mate?”

His lip curled over his fang, the Wolf’s anger at that name spoken between them in this moment all but filling the room.
“Mine.”

She didn’t know if it was a sob or a laugh that escaped her, but it was moist with relief. She tugged his hand over her breast as well, let him feel the heart he’d made beat again. The heart he’d stolen into. “
My
heart,” she repeated back to him, angling up to kiss him. “
My
choice.” She pulled on his shoulders, tugging him deeper into her body. “
My
mate.”

He sighed, his arms curling under her as he followed her lips back down to the mattress, finally, finally surging deep within her, coming to rest only when he was pressed all the way to the hilt. His gaze never left hers, watching her for any sign of distress. She only felt an overwhelming fullness. Completion.

He held still within her again, while she tried to come to grips with the feel of him. So solid, an anchor she could tie herself to. Could give herself to. She licked his lips, their mouths sliding against each other, heated breaths a caress all their own.

“More.” She lifted her hips for him, rolling them and gasping at the sensation.

He slid back, every inch of him stroking in a way that nearly rolled her eyes back in her head. Until he came back, slowly, gently. So careful not to hurt her.

“More,” she said, her voice strangely hoarse.

He continued his slow stroke. In…out…in…

“More,” she cried, her claws less gentle across his back. He surged in response, bucking into her. It was bliss, her vision shifting fully black and white. Crystal clear, every line of him against her body, the scents of them both blending together in her mind.

“I can see your Wolf,” he growled, the deep vibration rumbling though her as he rose up on both hands, his thrusts gaining speed. Strength.

So deep, she devolved into near rapture, pleasure all but dripping from her pores as he drove her higher, faster, deeper. She gave into it, her lids falling shut—

“No, open your eyes. Let me see you,” he demanded in that Wolf-voice that reached down into the center of her heart and pulled.

She stared up at him, into him, the connection between them as taut as their bodies. Woman to man. Wolf to Wolf.

He hid nothing from her, she realized. Not the shadows staining him with loss and sadness, not the bright flare of hope as he waited for her to accept him.

And the last wall she had left crumbled into so much dust.

“Then look.”

For the first time in her life, she was completely open to another person. Not just exposed—revealed. She held her breath, waiting. Unafraid of what he might find, at the same time willing him not to crush the fragile pieces of her still shivering beneath his steady stare.

He said nothing. A slow blink, then the corners of his lush lips spread, curling with a wonder she only recognized because she felt it herself, looking at him.

In that instant, something in her heart clicked into place, like a piece that was missing. Yes, this was what she’d needed. What she’d been waiting so long to feel. Passion. Fire. Connection.

She lost all sense of her own thoughts then. There was only the moment, her body straining beneath his, trying to hold him close even as she wanted him to ride her harder. Rougher. She felt when her claws sliced his back, but she never imagined what it might do to him. Completely giving over, she could do nothing more than hold on as he turned completely wild above her. With each lunge of his body, he brought her with him, winding a coil of pressure inside until, suddenly, breathlessly, it snapped.

She clung to him, the rush of ecstasy and emotion tossing her over the edge of what felt like oblivion. The only thing keeping her grounded was the feel of his arms around her, his mouth on hers until, finally, he tumbled over with her, grinding himself into her until all she could feel was the fullness, the rightness, of him inside.

In her body. In her heart.

Where he belonged.

Tate rumbled as he slid to her side, turning her with him so he wouldn’t have to pull free of her. He pulled her knee over his hip, pushing himself deeper once more with a satisfied grunt before burying his face in her neck.

She smiled at the pleased sound as he licked her throat lightly. Turned her head, even, blissfully enjoying the lazy caresses and the feel of him regaining his breath. Of the two of them joined, connected more than just physically. His fingers wound through with hers, lying just over her heart.

It was only then that she felt his teeth on her neck, the skin so sensitive there she nearly burst into another orgasm from the pressure alone. She moaned, curving more toward his mouth.

Before she realized what he meant to do.

“No, don’t!” Suddenly, clearly, awake, she squirmed away, removing herself from his mouth but not his arms.

Tate froze next to her, the sleepy, sated expression she’d barely glimpsed fading quickly. He didn’t let go, not even when she pushed. “What’s wrong?”

“You can’t bond to me. Are you insane?” Terrible words to say, even worse to see them land. She wanted them back before they finished escaping her throat, but it was already too late.

In an instant, he hid himself behind an expressionless mask, pulling himself from her in every way, almost as if a vacuum sucked even his essence from her skin. The all-consuming sense of him simply disappeared, leaving her cold inside, hurt. She reached for him, but he twisted farther away, turning his back on her to sit at the edge of the bed that suddenly seemed too large for the little room.

“You don’t understand.” She could tell by the shuttered look in his eyes as he’d left her. The gunmetal gray they’d turned as soon as he’d freed himself of her body. She rolled onto her side, stretching to touch his arm, unwilling to let him go. “If something happens to me—”

But he wasn’t having it, glaring at her over his shoulder. “Still not trusting me?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you,” she replied, an uneasy panic in her belly. Like sickness that shouldn’t be there. Pain. She had to explain, couldn’t let him think she’d turned him away. “I don’t trust him.”

The flicker in his gaze wasn’t reason kicking in.

“I’m not
his,
Tate. I don’t belong to him. Not even when I thought I was mated to him. But
he’s
bonded to
me.
As long as he’s alive, I’m a risk to you.” She refused to cry despite the emotions threatening to take her over. Damn it, she was still wide open and couldn’t bottle down the feelings like before. “Listen to me.
Please.
”

His anger felt like a lash across her face as he stood, his hands in his hair.

“Tate—”

“No.” His pacing reminded her more of a hunting cat than a Wolf. He strode the length of the room and back again.

How could things be so beautiful one moment and absolute shit the next? Too raw, too vulnerable, she tucked the blanket and sheets around herself, holding them to her chest under crossed arms.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
“Why do you do this? Every time I’m trying to make you see things from my side, you act like I’m betraying you.”

“Because you are.” His voice was dark and silky as he paced. Dangerous as the edge of a blade to her skin. “Don’t tell me you can’t feel it.”

“What could possibly make you so crazy you have to act like this just because I’m trying to protect you?”

His teeth snapped in response. “You don’t protect me.
I
protect
you.
”

“Says who?”

“Nature. I’m stronger. I’m faster.”

The utter bullshit of that response made her lip curl over a surprisingly descended fang. “If you say you’re smarter, I’m throwing the lamp at you.”

That got her a half-hearted smirk. “Wolves don’t take rejection well, all right? It’s not easy to keep ourselves from simply taking what we want because we know we can.” His gaze might have been his hands, coursing over her body through the thin bedding. “All too easily.”

She considered throwing the lamp at him anyway, but she wanted to give calmness—not to mention reinforcement—a chance to sneak past his thick skull. “I’m not rejecting you. I’m lying here naked. I can still feel you inside me, for fuck’s sake. Does that scream
rejection
to you?”

Only a savage snarl came back from him.

It was enough to ignite her own temper. “Fine, be angry. But don’t blame me. I’m
not
rejecting you, you idiot. I’m willing to give you everything I am, everything that’s left of me, but I won’t be the reason you die. Do you fucking hear me? I will
not
be the reason you die.”

He finally turned back to her, stomping back to the bed, gathering her face in his hands so fast he might as well have been a blur. “You’re not, goddamn it.” He kissed her, hard, as if he meant to imprint her with his lips instead of his blood. “Why don’t you ever
listen
to me?”

She stared at him, words completely failing her.

But his eyes, those cloudy skies that had managed to bring some light back into her life, bored through her like mercury at full burn. “I want you, Lia. I chose you, over everything and everyone I have ever known, because from the first second I saw you, you cut right through me. I hated it at first, didn’t understand it. Resented it. But the whole time I knew you needed me, and I told myself that was why I stayed with you. It wasn’t until you pushed me away on the street that I realized
I
needed
you.

“I feel you. Inside. In the parts of me I crushed the night my mother died. No matter how I tried to keep you out, you got in and I couldn’t let you leave me behind. So listen to me when I say this. My life is
yours. You’re
the reason I’ll stay alive. The only goddamn reason I
want
to.”

When he took her mouth this time, he wasn’t the only one with demands. Her hands dug into his hair, pulling him over her even as his body settled between her thighs. The blanket between them tore away, the burn of it across her belly, across her breasts, only heightening the fierceness growing wild between them. She bit his lip, he grasped her hip, dragging her onto her back, unapologetically taking command. For some reason, that sent a thrill up her spine, so that when he thrust into her less than a second later, filling her with unmitigated dominance, she felt no guilt at all about letting her claws dig into his shoulders. He roared into the kiss, but she only smiled, widening her legs so he could pound deeper into her.

And, oh, he did.

There was no gentleness, nothing held back. Hunger and anger, desire and need swirled together into a potent, volatile blend that blinded her senses to anything but the man above her. The man she even now wanted to soothe as much as she wanted to slap. She’d hurt him, she knew, but refusing him wasn’t something she could change her mind about. Not even the little bit of her mind still working despite him so avidly striving to make her lose control.

She arched upward, losing the struggle beneath the sensation onslaught. With one last thought before she gave in to the delicious mindlessness, she covered his mouth with her hand.
Don’t break my trust.

He snarled again, moving impossibly faster, stroking deeper, riding her past one explosion, then a second, not satisfied until she screamed his name, her claws streaking down his arms. Mouth free of her restraint, he pressed his teeth into her shoulder, but they never broke the skin. The last thing she felt before falling into an exhausted sleep was his gentle kiss along the same spot. Reverently.

Then she knew no more.

She slept in his arms, her breath slipping through her soft lips with a puff he felt against his chest. It was a ridiculously small thing to be so pleased about, but his heart felt full enough to explode.

Their bodies, still slick, pressed so close their skin felt melded from breast to hip. Her hair, damp from the shower, was actually off her face for once. Some of her bangs had dried enough to feather forward across the rounded curve of her brow. So peaceful, so completely at rest against him. Half of what filled him, he realized, was tenderness. For a woman who seemed to have forgotten what tenderness was.

He hadn’t exactly shown her much, but he wasn’t quite able to dredge up any remorse. He wasn’t a gentle man, even in the best of times. Too much a hunter. Too much a beast, in some ways. For the first time, he wished that were different. She deserved gentleness, even if she’d trample a man who gave her too much of it.

He brushed those feathery strands off her face, curling the ends behind her ears. They didn’t stay. Even wet, her hair wouldn’t curl. Still, the thick strands slid through his fingers like silk. He fed his need for her by weaving his fingers into it, massaging her scalp with the tips. She moaned, curving her neck for more.

How could he deny her?

Concentrating on the task before him, he worked his fingers down the line of her neck, drawing firm little circles into her flesh. Inch by inch, he rubbed, taking his time, savoring the knowledge that she was letting him take care of her.

The only dark spot was the angry red wound on her shoulder. Savaged flesh that might have been bitten only the other day. So much strength in her, strength she didn’t seem to realize was there. He’d met hundreds of female strays, each with her own story, each strong in her own way, but none of them had kept herself whole when a male forced his claim. Only Lia.

But she’d given herself to him.

Lying here, staring down into the face that had become precious to him so quickly, that knowledge humbled him in a way nothing else ever had.

When she’d looked up at him in the shower, her eyes already shifted into an unexpected cerulean blue, her Wolf so close to the surface that even her scent changed, he’d seen that strength. Been awed by it. Unbroken, the vitality and power of her had blazed so bright he’d been mesmerized. The determination that had kept her alive when so many others would have given in only made him want her more. His chosen mate was a survivor, a fighter.

Even if that meant fighting
him.

He could still feel her fingers on his lips, the look in her eyes telling him she knew he wanted to bind her in every possible way. That he could make her want it, make her body scream for it. So she’d asked one final time for his understanding, then left herself defenseless in his hold. It was a gesture even a ravening Wolf couldn’t ignore.

Stroking his hand down the front of her throat, he forced down the simmering hurt of her rejection. The warm, silken texture of her skin went a long way toward that goal. Long strokes, keeping her skin from cooling too fast. Down the vulnerable line of her neck, across the delicate bridge of her collarbone to the rippled arc of her deltoid. Being able to touch her so freely soothed him while she lay like a melted puppy against him. He traced the muscle there, memorizing it. There was so little softness to her, so many hard angles and scars that shouldn’t have puckered the perfection of her skin.

Surgical scars.

It took a hell of a lot for a shifter to gain scars. Wounds that cut to the bone, something they couldn’t heal in an hour or so. Wounds that were reopened, again and again. Even this knifing from Asher wouldn’t leave more than the thin pink line already there. It might even fade some. But hers weren’t that way.

He ran his fingers over three evenly spaced, equidistant lines across her lats, not one of them shorter than three inches. They reminded him of gills on the side of a shark. Curiosity had him wondering if there were matching marks on her other side, but it wasn’t worth waking her to check. There would be other times, other chances to see her naked and open to his perusal. To ask her about all the other scars he’d seen or touched, to share his own.

But even as he imagined her on his bed in Resurrection, laughing and warm in the sunlight from the window, he knew it would never happen. Because this time right now was stolen. It wouldn’t matter if she was wrong that Asher was dead; she wasn’t free. They’d come looking for her, this Shifter Task Force she’d mentioned, and they’d find her, no matter how well he hid her, how fast they ran. Because they’d marked her like property they could claim at any time.

Rumors of the tags had existed for some time. Some said you never knew they were going in, a chemical of some kind that could be placed on your skin with a touch. All it would have to do is sink in and it was in your blood, in your body, forever. A beacon you couldn’t turn off, if you even knew it was there. Lia was the first person he’d ever met who knew for sure.

Were these scars—maybe the long ones on her lower back that he’d seen while washing her hair—the way Asher had proved to her that she would never be free? That she risked his life every moment she stayed near him?

The scowl on his face felt weighed in concrete.

It might piss him off, might hurt like a sonofabitch to admit, but she wasn’t wrong to stop him from completing the bond. Her logic, her iron will aimed at protecting him, made sense and, in its own way, comforted him.

The Wolf, however, wasn’t so easily dissuaded.

There was more to a bond than the transfer of blood. That was only the final step. In every other way—her growing acceptance of him emotionally and physically—only strengthened the pull of it between them. Soon, the need to cement it would become overwhelming to both of them. Once the choice was made for a mate, shifters got tunnel vision. It happened every time. Choice became need. Need became starvation. To survive, a shifter had to either give in…or waste away.

A cool hand settled against his chest.

Tate looked down to realize that Lia was awake, her eyes a sleepy moss green and fixed on him. “If you’re not going to pet me,
I
should be the one growling, not you.”

“Sorry.” His voice was thick, his throat tight. She did that to him, with one small hand sliding up his chest to his neck. She wasn’t subtle either, his mate, pulling him down to kiss her, and that just made her all the more irresistible. Not that he was resisting…

Lia’s kiss, her lips firm but soft as they moved over his, wove a spell he willingly fell into. Not desperation, not even passion driving her. A caressing kiss, a whisper of gentleness, like balm on his raw emotions. Those kisses moved up his cheek, over his jaw, her fingers moving through the bristles of his beard. She pushed against his chest, and the only fight he put up about rolling onto his back was pulling her over him. She laid her head on his chest, breathing out a sigh of contentment when he smoothed his hand down the length of her back.

“What you won’t do for petting.” He smiled and swept his palm up again across her skin. Her hair tangled itself around his arm, as gently demanding as the woman at his side.

“Just keep it up and this won’t get ugly.” She already sounded half asleep again. “Tell me more of the story,” she said over his low laughter.

“What story?”

“Kyrios and his queen. You never finished it.”

“Petting
and
a story. What am I, woman, your slave?”

“Don’t you forget it, either. You’re here for my pleasure and protection, right?”

He frowned, but he just couldn’t hold it in this mood. “I don’t know if that’s the order I’d go with.”