ROMANCE: Mason (Bad Boy Alpha Male Stepbrother Romance Boxset) (New Adult Contemporary Stepbrother Romance Collection) (15 page)

10

“We’re here,” Charlie said excitedly, dragging me forwards. I followed willingly behind him, almost gliding across the snow with the speed at which he was walking.

“Where is here exactly?” I questioned as I strained my normally perfect eyes to try and make out what was behind the source of the light.

“Don’t raise your eyebrow at me,” Charlie said, laughing. Just as he said the words my brow rose curiously. I dropped it instantly, scowling but not annoyed.

“How?” I asked; I knew he hadn’t been inside my mind, I had been doing my best to hide my burning curiosity.

“Because I know you,” he said softly, almost endearingly. His words, tainted with his ancient English accent, made me smile.

Before my eyes the smallest of cabins emerged through the white blanket that had masked it from me. If there was any word in any language suitable to describe it, it would be ‘beautiful’. Nestled perfectly in the forest, tipped with snow and burning a deep orange was a cabin like no other. In the centre of the tiny building was a door, an example of perfect craftsmanship, out of place but perfectly fitting. It was deeply carved and while worn from the harsh weather it depleted the story of two people, two people unlike any other. Tied together by invisible bonds they ran through winding streets, through open forest, their hands intertwined.

“How?” I gasped as I saw the carved man’s shaggy hair and the woman’s familiar features. In the middle of nowhere, on a door in the centre of the forest was carved the story of my life, of our lives’ together.

“I made this; I built this cabin just after we first met, when I changed you. It was supposed to be a surprise many years ago but the time has never been right to bring you here,” Charlie said, his voice was almost shy now, if you could ever call a vampire’s voice shy.

I dropped Charlie’s hand and wandered forwards towards the tiny perfect building, only stopping to trail my hands over the small wooden door before entering. The first warmth I had felt in a long time filled me as I entered the cabin, the cabin built for me. Can a vampire feel warmth? Since my skin turned pale and my heart stopped beating I had only ever been cold, it was an unknowing cold and barely even a blip on my radar but now it was more present than ever.

“Wait here,” Charlie said as he slowly walked in beside me, leaving me to stand in the doorway as he made his way towards the only other room in the building.

My hands trailed along the furniture; all the simple pieces were unique, all so like Charlie, so like me. As my fingers explored the room, taking in every new feeling I found something out of place, something that didn’t belong. It was a radio, one I remembered, but from where I didn’t know. My eyes scanned the room and other things caught my eye, things I had forgotten, as much as was possible, with time. They were small things; a blanket, a lamp, a jug, just the tiniest of insignificant objects. But each and every one of them was from our past, a collection of our history.

My fingers found the radio again and I slowly turned the small switch that I had turned hundreds of times before. I expected nothing but yet sound blared out from the ancient machine, the last few notes of a song I had not heard in years died away. Then there was silence before a voice crackled through dusty speakers, filling the room.

News has just reached us, a car has been found deserted and destroyed in the mountains. The authorities are sending out a search party, so far there has been no explanation as to where the driver has gone or if there were any passengers in the vehicle. Stay tuned for more information.

“Another headline,” I sighed, it was as if the news followed us.

“I like to think of it as a free breakfast, delivered straight to our door,” Charlie said, surprising me, I hadn’t noticed him walk back in. One word rang in my ears ‘our’; it was ‘our’ door.

“You would,” I joked but the sound of an easy breakfast made me lick my lips.

“Florence,” Charlie said softly, it had been so long, too long, since he had used my full name. I looked at him now, really looked at him. Gone were the modern clothes, replaced with the suit I had seen him in for the first time. Perfectly tailored, fitting his body exactly even after a hundred years.

“Charles,” I whispered. The radio crackled again and the cabin was suddenly filled with a soft tune so reminiscent of older times.

“May I have this dance,” he asked, his voice was confident yet unsure both at the same time, it was a sound I had more than missed.

“You can have every dance,” I said willingly, it was the truth. While we had grown apart, we were still us, still Florence and Charles, a double act to rival all others.

“And I will gladly take them,” he whispered softly.

Charlie took my hand and brought me instantly closer to him, so much so that I was pressed softly against his solid chest. Ever so slowly his fingers wrapped around my hands and guided them to his neck. His dropped them gently and I wrapped my arms around him, running my fingers through his soft brown hair. His hands snaked around my waist making me jump slightly before he pulled me impossibly closer. In our past lives we had been dancers, locally famous for our command of the waltz, but this was different, more intimate. His held me close as if I was fragile, delicate, breakable, everything I hadn’t felt like in a lifetime.

I rested my head in the crock of Charlie’s neck, nestling into the space that I fitted in so perfectly. I couldn’t help but to inhale his scent, a smell so unique to him it felt like as much a part of me as he did. His lips pressed down on the exposed skin of my neck, sending shivers pulsing through my pale body. I moaned lightly at the new and old sensations that arouse inside of me. We swayed together now to the dying sound of a song I didn’t know; but it was fitting, the tune was slow, soft and beautifully composed to highlight the melodic tone of the strings.

“I love you Flo,” Charlie whispered gently into my ear. The soft feeling of his words caressing my skin oh so gently made me look up. I looked into the eyes of the man I loved as they shone their perfect emerald green. Now I could see the brightness in them, it was masked of course but behind the darkness there was light.

“And I love you too Charlie,” I spoke quietly so that my words were a mere breath of air. But he heard me and he smiled his signature smile, so happy, so him.

Slowly but surely he unwrapped his hand from my waist and used a single finger to tilt my head upwards to meet him. I looked at him like I had done a million times before; it was a face that I knew now I would never get tired of looking at. Then Charlie kissed me. He cupped my face and brought me gradually closer until his soft sweet lips met my own.

Instantly I felt at home, he had given me a life, given me a home and after so long he was giving it back to me, the best present of all. As his lips claimed me for their own and in a tiny cabin filled with our past he once again promised me a future.

It had been a long time. So long. My body yearned for more of his touch and I grabbed his head forcefully closer to mine. He responded by gently pushing my mouth open with his warm sensual tongue. He traced his lips down my neck working towards my collarbone. I felt a shiver go down my back and tingles shoot through my nerve endings.

Oh man. His touch. How I had forgotten what it could do to me.

His hands grabbed for me touching me and caressing me in all the right places. My body began warming down below.

His kisses increased with intensity and suddenly he pulled away. But only to yank me off my feet and into his arms, carrying me to the bedroom.

“My vampire,” I whispered as he led me to the bed. It was completely unbefitting of who we were but a perfect example of who we were to be.

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BONUS

HOLDING MY WEREWOLF

By Sicily Duval When anyone asks me, and it happens from time to time, I tell them that being married to the Alpha of a pack of werewolves is challenging, but not impossible. There are even days that I believe it. Those are the days when being a human among werewolves doesn’t scare me, when I have control over my marriage with Argos, when the pack sees me as an equal.

And those are also the days that happen the most seldom.

I was nineteen when I’d gotten married to him. He was twenty eight, and he’d swept me off my feet. He was handsome in a fierce, wild kind of way, with distinct facial features, dark hair and even darker eyes, and a body that oozed raw power and sexuality. Whatever he was once before, he was Alpha now, and there wasn’t a fiber in his being that didn’t show it. The pack respected him. They loved him, revered him, and because in our relationship
he
respected and looked to
me
, so did the pack.

You would think being a human with a whole werewolf pack behind her is fun. It isn’t. Jealousy is real, even in the pack, and I’m never seen as a monster. Sometimes I long for the days where that was actually a bad thing. Right now it’s a fight for authority. They have no problems looking up to the Alpha. Argos is a leader the way no wolf could ever be. But I’m his mate, the other half of the Alpha couple, and there are questions sometimes about how well I would be able to help protect the pack when it really comes down to it. Hell, there are days when I ask myself the same thing.

I’m just a woman. I don’t have magic coursing through my veins, although I know well enough when I feel it – practice does make perfect – and I’m not affected by the moon even though I’m very aware of it. I’m just me. Rachel DeBosé, the
human
that snagged the Alpha.

Our pack is about sixty large. That’s a lot of wild animal going around. It’s a lot of wolf, especially when I’m not in their favor. But Argos has them under control. And he keeps me safe. And in turn, I keep him safe, and that keeps the pack safe. It’s a cycle.

Every predator has enemies. It’s the law of nature. Vampires, witches, gremlins, they’re all in the mix. I always thought each creature belonged in his own myth. I was wrong. They’re all part of my world now. And the wolves have to protect their territory, and themselves. But sometimes the biggest enemy is already inside the castle walls.

Argos is an alcoholic. They say once you’re stuck the craving never goes, but he’s been clean for five years. We’ve been married for four. Other werewolves struggle with Vampire attacks, or witches that want more power. This pack used to struggle with an Alpha that lost control.

He’d stopped drinking before we’d gotten married because he would have lost me if he hadn’t. I don’t like making compromises. I think I accept enough as it is. When people find out I have a werewolf for a husband they think it’s just another trait –
my husband is a dentist, such a workaholic, his work is his life. What does yours do? Oh, he’s a werewolf, the Alpha. His work is his life too. Don’t you just hate it when they bring work home?
Right
.

The fact is that I don’t have time to hate it when he brings work home. I have to try and work around sixty milling bodies who have teeth and a bad temper.

I chopped up two of the bulk bags of carrots I bought at the market, added radish and celery, and scraped it into the oversized pot on the stove. The meat would be another hour until it was ready, then we could eat, and leave. While I waited for the food – literally enough to feed an army – I went to the bedroom and got ready. I put on a green dress, the same color as my eyes, and brushed my hair. It curled over my shoulders in cascading ringlets of red. It reflected the fire in me, Argos always said. It was why he loved it. With foundation I covered up my freckles. I put on low heels, enough to give me that swing when I walked but not enough to comment that I was trying too hard. My mother would do anything to get at me.

Half an hour later I was just about ready, and Argos slammed the front door.

“I’m home,” he called like I hadn’t heard him. He walked into the bedroom and looked at me. His dark eyes traveled down my body, and I could feel everywhere he was looking like he physically touched me. I felt myself flush.

Argos breathed in deeply, and then he walked over to me. He pulled me against him, resting his forehead against mine.

“You smell pretty,” he said. “You’re beautiful.” His eyes were almost completely black with male authority and sex drive.

Werewolves have a fantastic sense of smell. He would know that under my make-up I was blushing. He would know that my body was responding to the power he was throwing off, that I was getting hot and bothered, and wanted to get out of the dress I’d just slipped into.

“Behave,” I reprimanded, but I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice and he kissed me. “I don’t want to go to my mother and look like we just did it,” I mumbled against his mouth.

He reached around and grabbed my ass with both hands, lifting me up so I had to stand on my toes, and pulling me against his body, already rock hard and ready. I pushed my hands into his dark hair and I could feel the power ripple through my body.

“What is she going to say? We’re married.” His voice was throaty.

I groaned, a cross between lust and protest, and untangled my fingers from his hair. I pushed gently against his chest. It was a feat that I’d stopped him. And he’d listened. He was about a hundred times stronger than I was. Werewolves have exceptional strength. But he listened to me. He respected me. And he understood that the only person that scared me in my world of monsters, was my perfectly human mother.

“Get dressed,” I said and gave him another peck. “I’ve ironed a shirt for you and there’s jeans on the bed. The food is just about ready.”

I left him to get dressed. In the kitchen I dished for him. I stacked the plate as high as I could with rice and stew meat – as much meat as the plate could hold – and a few pieces of vegetables. I’d cooked it all for him, it was how much he ate. Our grocery bill was phenomenal.

I didn’t take any food for myself.

Argos appeared wearing a white collared shirt that I’d picked for him, and blue jeans with his brown shoes. He was breathtaking. The white brought his the tan of his skin, and his eyes were drowning deep when he looked at me.

“You’re getting me all unbalanced,” I said and put his plate in on the table where he sat down. “Hurry up, we have to leave soon. You know how much mom hates it when we’re late for supper.”

Yes, I was cooking for my husband so he could eat before we left. My mother would never keep up with the kind of cooking I had to do to get a werewolf full. And I didn’t want her to have to spend so much on us anyway. Besides, if we were lucky we could stay for an hour, and then leave.

“It’s going to be fine,” Argos said, chewing. “Relax. I can feel your tension from here.”

I took a deep breath and tried to focus on letting the tension go. Seeing my mom was a nightmare. Not because of what she said. It was because of what she didn’t say. The under currents. The looks that she gave me that told me how disappointed she was in who I’d become. The way I could never please her or make her happy, no matter what I did. The fact that my father wasn’t there anymore to contradict her, to tell me afterward she was just being a pain in the ass.

Argos put his hand on mine, and warmth traveled up my arm, paired with the magic that hummed through his system. I felt calmer immediately. He was using the same thing on me that he used on his wolves when they lost control, or when they were breaking out into a fight. I squeezed his hand.

Argos had gone through the entire pot of food in half an hour, going back for seconds and thirds and fourths because his plate was too small. There had been a time when I’d fed him off a tray, but those had been the days when I was still trying to adjust to life as a pack member, life as the mate of a werewolf. I’d managed to scrape together some dignity in the process.

When my mother opened her front door she looked at Argos like she was upset he’d come with me, even though she’d invited us both. She pulled me into a hug, and then ran her fingers through my hair.

“You look beautiful, Rachel,” she said, but while she was saying it she looked at the tips of my hair in her hand. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t pull a face. She just smiled and let go of my hair, beckoning us to the table. And I felt like a teenager trapped in her house again, unable to get away from the judgment. Argos grabbed my hand. It was a plus that he could tell what I was feeling, because I would never be able to explain.

“I made a seafood salad,” she announced when she brought it in and put it on the table. Argos eyed it. Wolves and salad don’t go together. But he dished politely. I dished too, this time. I didn’t like seafood. I wondered if my mother had forgotten, or if she was trying to be difficult. With her I never knew.

We talked about trivial things, I tried to mention some of the teaching I was doing as a remedial tutor. It was what I’d wanted to do – I’d had dreams of working in a school for students with special needs. When I’d married Argos I’d had my hands full with pack business and settled for something more flexible.

“I don’t understand why you always settle for less,” my mother said after I explained that I had let two students go. “Aunt Marie offered you that job at Saint Catherine’s.”

“I didn’t want to be a normal high school teacher, mom. I said that.”

“It’s a lot of money,” she pointed out. My father, rest his soul, had been a doctor, and he’d brought in a steady flow of income that my mother could spend. I felt Argos next to me, wound up tightly and his irritation crackled like a steady hum of static.

“Argos has more than enough money,” I said more for his sake than hers. Werewolves had trust funds. I didn’t know how it worked or where it came from, or why the preternatural world had different laws about money. But we never needed money, we always had more than enough. I worked to keep me sane, to be in touch with humans once in a while.

My mother snorted, the only reply she gave, and changed the topic.

An hour later we walked out of the house. I sighed when I got into the car.

“Well, that went well,” I said sarcastically.

“Remind me why we keep doing this?”

“Because it’s my
mother
, love. I can’t just push her away.”

“But she pushed me away,” he said. There was no hurt in his voice, just fact. And an afterthought of irritation.

I nodded and looked at my hands that lit up again and again in the passing street lights.

“I have more than enough money to take care of you,” Argos said, and I realized what his anger was about. My mom had commented on my salary. She understood that Argos was dominant. As the man of the house he had to look after me, give me everything so I didn’t want. He was also Alpha. He didn’t just support his wife, he supported the pack. And she’d challenged it by suggesting that I earn enough to look after myself instead. If she knew what it meant to challenge a werewolf – never mind an alpha – she would have bit her tongue. But then again, my mother liked to stir.

“I don’t understand why she hates me. Your brother is a wolf, too.”

It’s true. Carlos was turned about ten years ago. Much longer than Argos had ever been on the picture. He’d stopped talking to my mother altogether after my father had died because she couldn’t behave herself and accept every side of him. He’d moved away, found a pack. But I couldn’t just cut her off. I felt like it was my responsibility to look after her now that my father was gone and she had no one else left.

“It’s not about you being a wolf, Argos,” I said. “Although obviously it helps. She was against our marriage from the start.”

“Is she scared you’re going to have wolf babies when we finally have kids?”

His anger rose, different than before – less controlled now that he could show it, and it was getting me agitated too. He should have known better than to push it. My mother didn’t like him, and there was nothing I could do about it.

“It’s about the alcohol,” I said softly, my head turned toward my window. I had barely made a sound, practically mouthing the words, but he’d heard. The car fell deathly quiet. The silence was so thick it was like fog, replacing the flammable rage of a moment ago. I knew that he didn’t like to be reminded. But if he wanted to analyze why my mother was a bitch, he had to own up to the fact that maybe if being a wolf had been his only flaw when we’d met, she might not have been that hard on him.

My mother would never have just accepted him – that was too much. But she wouldn’t have despised him.

“I’ve fixed that,” he finally said and looked at me. His eyes were amber, the black drained out of them to show me the beast behind them. It glared out at me, fueled by Argos’s rage. His wolf was a dangerous animal.

“You did,” I agreed, trying to be casual, focusing on the road before I could think how scary he was. Fear, anger, blood. Those were the three things that riled up a werewolf, and two of the three were already in the car tonight.

“You know how she is,” I kept talking in a calm voice. “She doesn’t forgive and forget. But I do, and that’s all that matters.”

I put my hand on his on the gearshift and I could feel him calming down, the danger in the air draining out of the car. I took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly so it wouldn’t sound like I was sighing in relief. Even though Argos could probably sense it.