Jacks, Marcy - The Hunter's Omega Mate [DeWitt's Pack 2] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (12 page)

“Better?” Tristan asked. He sounded as eager as someone whose  lover had just woken up from a coma.

“Much,” Isaac replied. “Thirsty.”

Tristan was quickly proving himself to be a competent nurse,  because the next second there was a plastic cup pressing against his  lips and cool water trickled into his mouth.

Tristan had a cloth with him, and he wiped Isaac’s mouth when he  finished. “Can I get you anything else.”

“Kiss,” he said.

Tristan made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and then Isaac received his kiss.

By the way Tristan’s mouth trembled, he could sense the sheer wanting and happiness in the other man, but Tristan held back, keeping the joining of their mouths chaste, but no less filled with love.

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“I thought you were going to die,” he said when he pulled away,  and it was then that Isaac realized he was crying. “Christ, your heart  stopped for a minute there. I thought you were dead for sure, and I  don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d left me alone.”

Isaac was glad neither of them would have to find out. “My heart  stopped?” he asked, his vision becoming clearer as the conversation

went on.

Tristan wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed.  “Yeah. Mick had to get it started again for you. Old Maggie was the one to dig out the silver bullet and give you some of her herbs and stuff to get your fever down. I was so scared I would never see your weird, pretty purple eyes ever again.”

“How long was I out for?”

Speaking of eyes, Tristan’s eyes were red and slightly swollen from many tears shed over a long period of time. “Four days.”

Four days
. Jesus. Not only did one of the wolves give him CPR instead of just letting his unworthy ass die, but they’d also gotten one of their own to take a bullet out of him, a silver bullet, of all things.  Then they’d nursed him for four days.

If there was ever a time for them to turn into monsters and eat him

alive, while he was the most helpless would have been the perfect  opportunity.

Despite that, here he was, alive, breathing, and in the most decent  shape as could be expected considering he’d been shot and was not  receiving any care from an official hospital.

“I think I owe you an apology,” Isaac said.

“What?” Tristan  had grabbed him by the hand and was clutching  it as though Isaac would be taken away from him should he let go.

“For saying those things I did before coming here. For thinking  your kind was all monsters.”

“You don’t have to say it.”

“I do. I’m sorry.”

Tristan nodded, accepting his apology and kissing his hand. “I

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knew how much you were worried we would try and change you.  James offered to do it. If you became a werewolf, your healing  abilities would’ve guaranteed you would be fine after a couple of  hours. That’s the reason Corey was transformed. He would’ve died if  James hadn’t done it. But I told them not to.”

Isaac nodded. Grateful that the decision hadn’t been taken away from him. He might now be reconsidering his original beliefs about werewolves, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be anything less than a

Homo sapiens
.

“I guess being shot is my punishment,” he said. “I’ll take it, all things considered.”

Tristan’s lips quirked. “Yeah, it went around among the pack how you took a silver bullet for me. Everyone’s rooting for you to pull through, now.”

Well, at least that meant this next part would come a little easier.

“If you want to, I won’t ask you to leave your pack.”

Tristan’s emerald eyes were still bright with unshed tears.  “Really?”

“I mean, I’ll have to build us a new house if we’re going to stay here, because there’s no way I want to share a place with roommates who can hear us having sex all the time.”

Tristan laughed. “Whatever you want. I can go out and chop you down some lumber if it will help.”

Isaac would do this, too. A nice project that he and Tristan could have all to themselves.

Tristan was still smiling at him, like what he was saying wasn’t

real. “That sounds like it could be nice.”

He thought Isaac was making pie-in-the-sky plans. “No, we can do it. I have the money for it. My parents were all about saving everything they could. That’s why we would always rent a cottage a couple days of the year instead of buying one of our own. I inherited everything when they died.”

Tristan’s eyes were as round as golf balls now, and Isaac could

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see the whites all around the pupils. “You’re serious?”

Isaac nodded. “We have more than enough to build a house and  fix up the ones here that need it.”

Isaac had never known what to do with all the money he’d been  left with. He had barely touched it since it landed in his account, so  likely there would be more since the last time he checked on it.  Spending money he’d come to only after the brutal murder of his  family hardly seemed like the appropriate thing to do, but now he had  someone he wanted to spend that money on.

He wanted a life with Tristan, and if Tristan’s life was here, Isaac

would happily settle down with him.

Tristan kissed him, this time adding in a little of that passion and  pressure he’d wanted to  from before.

It still wasn’t enough for Isaac. “When do you think I’ll be healed  enough so we can…” He grinned at Tristan, letting his lover figure  out the rest of the sentence on his own.

Tristan grinned and planted another soft, wet kiss on his mouth.

“That’s up to Old Maggie. She’s the one in charge of your healthcare.

For now. And you humans heal so goddamn slow.”

Fuck
. Not what Isaac wanted to hear. “I’ll have to be extra nice to

her then so she can give me the go-ahead.”

“Oh, I don’t think we need her permission if you want
 
head
.”

Isaac gasped as Tristan pulled the bed sheets away from his  middle, exposing his naked body. Isaac looked down and noted the  heavily wrapped bandage on his chest, right over the spot that still  burned and pained him, but that only took up half a second of his  attention before his eyes zoned in on the way his heavy cock  disappeared between Tristan’s pink lips.

“Oh, well then.” He sighed, letting his head fall back onto the  pillows. “Don’t let me stop you.”

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THE END

MARCYJACKS.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Marcy Jacks lives and writes in Ontario, Canada, where she is fervently pursuing the writer’s life while writing about lots of

gorgeous guys.

For all titles by Marcy Jacks, please visit

www.bookstrand.com/marcy-jacks

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com