Otherworld Nights (18 page)

I hugged her, burying my face against her blond curls. “I thought I heard a strange noise, but it’s gone now. Nothing to worry about.”

She studied my expression and nodded. It was true. I had no idea what I’d smelled—it’d been too faint. Just a whiff of something that said danger, gone before I could seize and decipher it. As I stood, lifting Kate in my arms, I looked around, listening and sniffing. Nothing.

I resisted the urge to herd the kids back inside and we continued exploring the forest. A few minutes later, I caught a scent that I did recognize.

“Daddy!” Kate squealed when she caught me smiling.

She raced to her brother and hit him hard enough to send him flying. Then she grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet.

“Daddy’s here! Let’s sneak up on him.”

Logan glanced at me. “Momma?”

“Go on.”

The kids raced back in the direction of the cabin. I caught a distant movement to the left. So did they, Kate screeching then Logan shushing her as they slipped off in that direction.

I found a stump to sit on and listened. I heard the swish of snow pants as they tried to sneak up on Clay. Then his laugh when they failed. Their shouts as they tried to catch him. Yelps of frustration when they lost him. Finally, the nearly silent crunch of careful footfalls behind me.

I waited until the footfalls stopped, then I dodged to the side as Clay tackled air.

“Getting old,” I said. “Losing your touch.”

“You’re losing yours if you didn’t take advantage of the chance to knock me into the snow.”

“Only because you’d have pulled me down and then we’d have ended up in a place we don’t have time to visit, unless you led the kids a lot farther away than I think.”

He stepped toward me. “Nah, but there is a nice thicket over there. We could probably hide for a few minutes before they found us.”

“But then I’d have to be quiet. It’s been a week. It won’t be quiet.”

He grinned and caught me up in a rib-crushing kiss, one that reminded me that these occasional weeks apart were not necessarily a bad thing.

“Think I can wear them out enough for a nap?” he asked.

“Not their first day here. They’re wired.”

“Mmm.”

He kissed me again. At some point, I thought the ground disappeared from under my feet, but I wasn’t really sure until I felt a tree against my back, then his hands on my rear, lifting me up to straddle him. As he pushed against me, I gasped.

“Very nice,” I said. “But probably not a good idea considering we have about two minutes before they find us.”

He tilted his head, blue eyes glinting. “It’s been a week. Two minutes is probably—”

I slapped a hand over his mouth. “No. It’s not. I want at least five.”

He laughed and pulled my hand away, then kissed me again, letting me stay on the ground this time, which helped a bit, but not much. Just the smell of him—the heady scent that had already faded from our bed—was enough to make me think that thicket didn’t seem so bad. I could be quiet. Quiet enough, anyway.

“You sure about that nap?” Clay said. “I passed a drugstore in town. Gotta be something there to help them sleep.”

I chuckled. “If I honestly believed you’d give your kids cough medicine to make them sleep, I might be tempted. But I think it’s going to have to be a shower.”

“That’ll do.” He cocked his head again, and I picked up the faint whisper of snow pants. He gave me one last smack of a kiss.

“Now you need to go work up a sweat to justify it.”

He grinned. “That won’t be hard. I think we’re about to be—”

Kate let out a war whoop as she launched herself from the bushes and flew onto Clay’s back. He spun around and grabbed Logan as he rushed out. Kate dropped from her perch and grabbed his leg. Clay went down, managing to twist just in time to avoid landing on Logan. The twins piled on as they tried to pin him. There was a flurry of snow and a tangle of arms and legs. Then Kate sailed into a drift, her brother following, and Clay leapt to his feet and ran.

Kate squealed and gave chase. Logan glanced at me. I motioned that we’d slip through the woods and try to cut them off. A blaze of a grin lit up his face. His father’s grin. I planted a kiss on top of his head.

“Do you think we can catch them?” Logan whispered.

“I’m sure we can. And if we can’t …” I hefted the knapsack. “Food. We can lay a trap.”

Another grin. Then we set out.

W
e caught Clay and Kate without resorting to traps. A snowball fight ensued, which started as Logan and me versus them, somehow switched to guys versus girls, and ended up as parents versus kids. We lost. I could say we let them win, but they’ve been taking archery lessons from Jeremy and their accuracy has much improved. Also, they’ve learned that we’re fast on the ground but if they launch an aerial attack from the trees, we’re in trouble.

The food came out next. Clay and I didn’t get much—the kids declared that first pick went to the victors, which is a Pack-ingrained logic we can’t argue with.

As we ate, Kate gave Clay the rundown on our schedule for the next few days. They’d planned it with military precision. Logan even wrote out lists, which made me suspect he’d been spending too much time with Lucas.

Bonfires, tobogganing, hiking, board games, gift wrapping, Christmas baking … they were going to keep us busy. Also, unbeknownst to me, they’d noticed a place in town that rented snowshoes and cross-country skis, so they’d added those activities to the schedule, withholding that information until Daddy arrived because while Mommy would probably say yes, it was a sure bet that Daddy would.

While they chattered, I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle. I peered into the woods, then got up and paced around, trying not to be too obvious about it, but I couldn’t find any scent
on the breeze. When Clay caught my gaze, he arched his brows. My slow look around told him something was making me anxious, and he excused himself for a “bathroom break” to do a wider search but came back with nothing.

“Sorry,” I murmured when he returned. “New territory.”

“Alpha instincts kicking in,” he said. “Can’t complain about that.”

In a Pack, the Alpha is responsible for the safety of the group. If he’s around, everyone else can relax. A couple of years ago, if you’d asked me whether I did that when Jeremy was there, I’d have rolled my eyes and said no. I wasn’t like the others. I wasn’t raised a werewolf. I didn’t share their Pack mentality.

Then Jeremy named me Alpha-elect. Which I could say is an incredible honor, but the truth is that if Clay didn’t want the job, there was really no one else—and Clay decidedly did not want the job. He was the ideal Beta—second-in-command, Pack enforcer, Alpha’s bodyguard. The best fighter around and happy to keep that as his defining role, leaving the boring politics of leadership to someone else. Namely me.

Only after I became Alpha-elect did I realize how much I
did
relax when Jeremy was around. I’d assimilated the mindset without realizing it.

Now, suddenly, every new scrap of “territory” had to be scouted for danger. I knew Clay would do that—it was his job, and I suspected he’d done a full circle before meeting up with us. But I’d become hyper-alert, too, and something out here bothered me. Maybe it was because the kids were with us. Maybe it really was that Alpha instinct kicking in, as Clay said—a little too new and a little too raw, sensing danger where none existed. Whatever it was, I breathed easier when we finally headed inside.

Next on the kids’ agenda was quiet time, when we were all supposed to enjoy private pursuits. So we set them up in the family room with their hobby bags—books, games, and other activities—and announced that we were taking a shower. Together.

Kate sighed. “Are there water problems here, too?”

“We aren’t sure yet,” I said. “But we are on a well system, just like at home, and you know what happens there. Sometimes it gets a little low.”

“But it never runs out,” Kate said.

“That’s because we conserve it,” Clay said.

“We should get ours fixed,” Logan said, not looking up from his book.

“Uh-uh,” Kate said. “No strangers in the house. Mommy and Daddy can just keep sharing showers when it’s low.”

“That we can.” Clay picked her up and tossed her onto the sofa. “Just for you.”

There was a bathroom in the master suite upstairs, but that was too far away from the kids. After pushing open three hall doors and finding a closet and two bedrooms, I think Clay was ready to say screw it and try our luck with a bed instead. The next door was a bath. He propelled me inside and managed to kick the door closed, lock it, and get me on the counter all seemingly in one motion. Then he set the alarm on his watch for ten minutes—about as much time as we could count on interruption-free.

Clothing came off in a flurry of deep kisses and sharp tugs, laughs and curses when something didn’t quite peel as fast as we’d like. Ripping would have been easier. But we’re kinder to our attire when the kids are around—one too many times having to explain that Mommy’s shirt got caught on a branch during her walk with Daddy. And so did his jeans. And the socks? Well, they kind of fell off. Somewhere. Clothing destruction was now reserved for kid-free trips.

I was still shucking my jeans as Clay pulled me from the counter, kicked open the shower door, and swung me inside. My back hit the wall hard enough to leave me wincing at the bang.

“Loud pipes,” he murmured.

“Uh-huh. You just better hope they don’t come running to investigate.”

“That’s okay. I’ll be done before they get here.”

I laughed and wrapped my fingers in his curls, pulling him in for a deep, hungry kiss that served for ten seconds of foreplay before he was inside me. I wasn’t complaining. It felt so damned good. Like he’d been gone two months instead of two weeks. The feel of him. The smell of him. The sound of his harsh growls as he thrust.

Clay could joke about being fast, but I’m no better. Foreplay has its place, but not now, not when we’d been separated. It wasn’t long before I arched, hissing, biting my lip to keep from crying out. His hands slid up to the back of my head and pulled me down in a kiss, stifling his growls and my gasps as we climaxed.

We stayed there, me still straddling him, panting, our noses buried against each other’s shoulders. I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent and felt him shudder and sigh, and whisper in my ear, telling me how much he missed me, how much he loved me.

Then his watch beeped. He smacked it off with a soft growl. His hands moved to my hair, entwining his fingers in it as he leaned against my ear again, hot breath tickling.

“They’re being quiet. I think we have a few more—”

A rattle at the door. A knock. Kate’s voice. “Mommy? Daddy?”

Another growl, this one harsher, swallowed as he rubbed his face, looking abashed.

“Ditto,” I murmured as I grabbed the towels we’d draped over the shower door.

A clatter and scrape at the door as Kate poked something into the lock.

“We really need to teach her not to do that,” I said.

Another abashed look. Jeremy says Clay had every bathroom lock broken at Stonehaven within a month of living there. The concept of privacy is a human one. As a bitten child, Clay had been more wolf than human, and the process never seemed to revert. When he got older, he stayed out of bathrooms if the door was closed—usually—but only because he understood that’s what we wanted, even if he thought it was a little silly.

We’d taught the twins to knock and wait before entering. It worked with Logan. Kate interpreted it as “knock and wait three seconds before entering” and nothing we could say changed her interpretation.

At least the knock gave us time to get the towels on before she popped the lock.

“Good, you’re done.” She scrabbled onto the vanity and started chattering about her book.

As usual, Logan was right behind her. He’d never break into the bathroom, but he never stops her, either. Let Kate risk getting in trouble and then slip in innocently behind her.

“It’s almost dark,” he said. “We need to eat dinner so we can have the bonfire.”

Clay scooped up his clothes. “Just let me get dressed, bud. I’ll make dinner if you’ll help.”

Logan nodded, then looked from Clay to me.

“You’re not wet,” he said.

“Hmm?” I glanced in the mirror to see my hair, still combed and perfectly dry.

We’d forgotten to turn on the shower. Clay and I both whispered a curse at the same time.

“We, uh …” he began.

“Couldn’t figure it out,” I said, backing into the shower. “The controls are different and …” I fussed and got a trickle of water. “There. You need to turn this part.”

“Oh. Huh.” Clay stepped back into the bathroom. “We should have that shower, then, darling. Just give us ten more minutes, guys—”

“Hurry,” Kate said. “I’ll wait here.”

“Me, too.” Logan parked himself on the closed toilet lid.

I looked at Clay. “The shower can wait. We’ll need one even more after the bonfire. All that smoke.”

“Good idea.”

I
n the summer, the kids expect weekly bonfires, which can be tough when it isn’t dark until ten and you really look forward to some adult time before bed. It’s much easier in the winter. Colder, too, but I’m the only one bothered by that. Like her father, Kate doesn’t seem to feel the chill. If Logan does, he never mentions it, just bundles up and snuggles in beside me.