Hunted (Riley Cray) (39 page)

Oh, ha ha. Very funny.

I bared my canines to let him know that I was not at all amused by his question.

“Sorry, sorry!” he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture, though the effect was diminished by the laughter bubbling over in his voice.

Exhaling heavily to blow hot air in his face, I pulled my head off his lap and scooted backwards just enough to allow myself room to turn around and stand, making sure to whack him in the face with my tail in the process.

“I said I was sorry!” he called after me as I stalked across the room.

Stopping in front of the couch I swung my large head around to glance at him over one muscled shoulder, giving him a disparaging look, before hopping up onto the couch. I was already beginning to feel the positive effects of the shift, my muscles loosening and my aches subsiding. My more serious injuries weren’t anywhere close to healed, but my movements came easier and with less pain. Yawning wide I stretched out along the couch, resting my chin on my crossed paws. I made a show of ignoring him, pretending not to notice when he got up from the recliner and kneeled beside the couch, bringing his face down to the same level as mine.

“What can I do to make you forgive me?” he asked, propping one elbow on the arm of the couch to trail his fingers through the ruff of fur at the back of my neck. “Should I get you a cookie? Or give you a belly rub?”

While part of me wanted to snap at him for his predictable, and marginally offensive, use of dog humor, I couldn’t stop my ears from twitching at the mention of a belly rub. I mean, come on, who doesn’t like a good belly rub every once in a while?

Letting out a loud sigh, as if the action was a great inconvenience, I rolled onto my back, baring the pale downy fur of my stomach. I jerked at the soft touch of his fingers close to the scar on my stomach buried beneath my fur. I looked at him askance, watching him with a combination of wariness and the wolf’s suspicion.

Sensing my stiffness he halted the motion of his fingers. “Is this okay?”

It took a long moment for me to decide the answer to his simple question, wrestling with the wolf’s proclivity to bite first and ask questions later, while trying to examine my fear of letting him get close to me. The tangle of emotions was dizzying, but after a while I was able to reassure both the wolf and myself that he wasn’t a threat, that we could trust him, even with this. Closing my eyes once more, I sagged back into the couch cushions, silently giving him permission to continue.

The first explorative touch of Holbrook’s fingers made me melt, his fingers sliding through the soft fur covering my belly with gentle hesitation as if he were touching me for the first time. I didn’t know what to expect, never having let anyone touch me while I was shifted, but I soon realized I had nothing to worry about, not with him. His familiar crackling energy pulsed along my skin in lapping waves, gliding over my various aches and pains like the questing kisses of a lover. It wasn’t until I sighed in contentment that I realized the pain in my ribs had lessened considerably.

A second hand joined the first, twining through my fur in a slow dance that left me boneless and on the edge of sleep. My tongue slipped between my lips, lolling to the side like a dog in the midst of delirious pleasure, and I didn’t care at all.

Sweet Jesus, never let this stop.

Gradually the tingling sensation of his fingers traversing the curve of my hips and belly began to inspire other, more libidinous feelings. As much as the wolf shared my desire to feel him shuddering and gasping beneath us, she understood the logistical issues of achieving release while she remained at the forefront of our consciousness.

Sliding down off the couch, drawing a confused look from him, I stopped long enough to gaze back at him over my shoulder before trotting towards his bedroom, hoping he’d follow.

The creak of leather signaled his capitulation as he used the arm of the couch to push himself up from the floor and came after me, his bare feet padding almost silently against the carpet. “Where are you going?”

Maintaining my loping pace I went into the bedroom, and then the adjoining bathroom, nosing the door shut behind me. I didn’t think either of us was quite ready for him to witness the actual transformation.

“Riley? Where’d you go?” he called on the other side of the door.

Unable to answer I bowed my head, bracing myself for the dizzying mix of pain and pleasure brought on by the shift from one form to the other. My thoughts became crystalline, suspended in the ether, as my physical being was transformed, bones and muscles shifting and reknitting to create familiar human shapes.

My first shuddering breath was like water after a long thirst, flooding me with buzzing energy until my thoughts were light and delicate as gossamer. A shake of my head reseated me fully, easing me back down into my body as if I were pulling on an old pair of gloves. It had been thrilling to let the wolf out, even if we had not been able to run amongst the trees and sky, but it felt equally good to spread my fingers against the cool tile floor.

“Here,” I croaked, my voice hoarse and faint. Swallowing, I tried again. “I’m in here. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Grasping the edge of the vanity, I pulled myself up on trembling legs. The face that looked back at me in the mirror was pale with weariness, but lust burned bright in my eyes. Turning on the faucet I splashed cold water over my face and eagerly drank from the cup of my hands. Straightening, I wiped water from my chin, shuddering as a stray rivulet trailed down between my breasts, trickling over my belly and the ridge of scar tissue bisecting my middle.

My fingers, still shaking with the after effects of the change, tracked along the edge of the scar, one of the few I still possessed. I knew its ridges and bumps as well as the back of my hand, the puckered skin as familiar to me as a favorite song. I’d spent many quiet, lonely nights lying awake in bed tracing the path of the thick scar across my belly, wondering where my life would have led if I had not attracted the attention of Samson. He’d stolen more than just my chance to ever wear a bikini again.

Only those few small scars I had before Samson’s attack, and this one left by his savagery, would stay with me until the day I died. Any other injuries I might suffer, unless inflicted by silver, would disappear without a trace, erased by the virus coursing through my veins. Even the cut across my ribs looked better than it had before the shift to wolf and back.

Giving the scar that had been my silent companion for the past eight years one final look, I ran my hands back through the messy tangle of my hair and opened the door.

“Is everything okay?” Holbrook asked when I emerged from the bathroom, my knees still feeling liquid, now as much from lust as the last fading tremors of the change.

The night was quiet beyond the window, a break in the clouds letting the moon shine down through the open curtains. He stood in a shaft of moonlight, bathed in its bright, pure light that made his emerald eyes appear to glow with unfathomable power. There was something oddly intimate about his bare toes peeking out from beneath the hem of his jeans, curling against the carpet. Dark stubble covered the slope of his jaw, and his hair stood up at odd angles from where he had run his fingers through it repeatedly.

“Everything all right?” he asked again, his brows beginning to crease in concern.

In answer I strode across the room towards him with sure, if not entirely steady, strides and grasped his face in both hands, dragging his lips down to mine. He hesitated for the span of a single heartbeat and then melted into me, lifting his hands to fist them in the hair at the nape of my neck, sending prickles of energy marching across my scalp. Time ebbed, meaningless and liquid, as we suckled at each other’s lips, tasting and nipping in tandem.

Releasing his hold on my hair, reassured by the pull of my lips and fingers that I wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon, he skimmed his fingers down the back of my shoulders, following the curve of my spine to clutch the swell of my ass. A giggle bubbled up in my throat, and breaking our kiss I pulled back enough to see the laughter sparkling in his eyes, creasing the skin at the corners as he smiled in a lopsided, boyish grin.

Grasping the front of his t-shirt I issued a simple demand. “Off. Now.”

Without hesitation he obeyed, whipping off his shirt and casting it aside in one fluid motion that made the muscles across his chest and shoulders ripple. A dusting of dark hair covered his chest, flowing down over the taunt muscles of his stomach, to disappear into his jeans. His fingers were full of quiet tension and need when they grasped my hips, pulling me tight against his body until it was impossible to tell where his skin ended and mine began. Every muscle in my body burned with the combination of his crackling energy and my desire.

From the corner of my eye I thought I saw my hair lifting off my shoulders, dancing with faint crackles of green, sparking energy, but dismissed it as the moonlight casting strange shadows about the room. The heated brush of Holbrook’s lips against mine soon erased all unrelated thoughts from my mind, sweeping me up in a renewed rush of desire that left me pulling him down to the bed with urgency commanding my fingertips.

* * *

Stretched out across the rumpled sheets, I shivered as the sweat clinging to my skin began to cool, but I made no move to cover myself, my limbs both leaden and light as a feather as I tried to ease the rapid pounding of my heart. With heavy-lidded eyes I watched the moonlight dance across the ceiling, appearing to ripple like the reflection of water as clouds scudded across the sky. Holbrook lay beside me in a breathless and sweaty tangle of limbs, his fingers curled around mine, refusing to break contact.

“That was...” he began.

“Intense. Yeah,” I finished, trying to blow a sticky curl out of my face, not sure that I had enough energy to run a hand through my hair.

“You ever felt that before?” he asked, his words broken by a wide yawn.

“No. You?”

“No.”

Turning to look at him, catching the gleam of his eyes and the sheen on his brow, I raised an eyebrow in a challenging expression and asked, “Wanna try again?”

Filling the room with laughter as rich and decadent as the scent of warm molasses that rose from his skin, he pulled me tight against him to slide a lean, muscled thigh between my legs, capturing my gasp as he sealed his lips over mine.

I’ll take that as a yes.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“WHORE!” CAME THE bellow through the window, accompanied by shattering glass that fell around us like slicing little raindrops.

For a single heartbeat I froze in shock, unable to move, and then adrenalin tore through me like wildfire, spurring my limbs into motion. Leaping up from the bed I scrambled across the room, putting as much space between me and the broken window as I could.

“Get down!” Holbrook yelled, moving almost as quickly as I did, pulling his Glock from the holster hanging from the headboard. Instantly I sank down, crouching low with my back pressed against the wall. He didn’t need to tell me twice.

A hand the size of a bear’s paw, covered with dark fur and tipped with wicked looking ebony claws, reached through the window, shredding the curtains. When the first series of loud pops cut through the quiet outside, the hand retracted and Samson let out an ear piercing howl of fury that sent tremors down my spine. Inside, the wolf let out a pitiful whine, wanting nothing more than to find a hole to crawl into and hide.

Samson’s hand disappeared from the window when another volley of shots rang out, each one making me jump.

“Stay here,” Holbrook instructed as he pulled on his jeans.

“Like hell!” I fired back, grabbing the first items of clothing I laid my hands on which happened to be my panties and Holbrook’s shirt.

He shot me a sharp look, but I set my face to its most stubborn setting.

“Alright,” he sighed. “Stay close behind me.”

Sticking close to his back, I followed him out into the hallway, flinching each time a shot went off outside or Samson’s howl split the air. The sound of gunfire was interspersed with frantic shouts and bone chilling screams that cut off with terrifying suddenness. With each successive scream, the gunshots became less frequent, until they stopped altogether. Nauseous tension lay as a leaden ball in the pit of my stomach by the time we reached the front door.

Unbolting the door, Holbrook turned to look at me over his shoulder and said, “Wait here.”

“Are you serious?” I squeaked.

“Yes. I need to check on the security detail and I need you to stay here,” he said, his body singing with tension.

“No way. I’m not just going to stand here and wait for Samson to saunter over and gut me.”

“Riley, please. Just this once, will you do as I say?” he pleaded, the earnestness in his voice giving me pause.

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded and watched from the doorway as he padded down the driveway, sticking close to the line of winter bare trees and bushes, his Glock drawn and in a ready position. The blowing wind ruffled his hair, but he paid it no mind, creeping forward in slow, but precise movements. Errant snowflakes had started to dance on the wind signaling the approach of another storm that I could sense it in the crisp scent of the air.