Chapter 4
In the Wolf’s Den
The next time I woke up, I was in motion. Gentle, careful motion, but it was enough to make my stomach turn over and my head spin. I sucked in a deep breath, and the scent of pine and fresh, rain-washed air settled my nausea a little. I was outside somehow, but I was still warmer than I had been, and the arms around me were…arms. Around me.
My eyes popped open. All I could see was a stubbled jaw and one ear, surrounded by auburn curls, and beyond that, the deep-green shadows of tree branches against an overcast sky.
“What the fuck?” I managed to choke out.
“Thought you probably wouldn't want to mate in the house that Jerry Garcia built,” Ian rumbled. I could feel his voice as much as hear it, since I was pressed against his chest. Being carried bridal-style, Jesus. There was irony for you. “I know I don't.”
And seriously? Ian had a sense of humor?
Okay, I could worry about that later. So not the point. “Mate?”
“I thought that was why you showed up here looking like a drowned rat and making sad eyes at Matt until he agreed to help you. Sorry, browbeat me into helping you.”
My heartbeat ticked up as the familiar rage Ian always seemed to inspire really got going. “Fuck you, asshole.”
He laughed, but it didn't sound all that friendly. “Other way around, you lying prick.”
Until that moment, I'd been intellectually aware of what I had to do to survive this curse, yeah, but viscerally? Not so much. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I slumped in Ian's arms, breathing hard and squeezing my eyes shut against the spinning black spots that suddenly filled my field of vision. Different supernatural species had slight variations on the ways they mated, like vampires had to trade blood or gnomes…okay, not even going to go there, because seriously, gnomes were some kinky little bastards. But all the rituals involved sex.
And sex with an alpha werewolf meant one thing, and one thing only: getting fucked six ways from Sunday. Even though p**n wasn't a very good guide to most sexual activities — learned that one the hard way, so to speak, when I was seventeen — I'd seen some knotting p**n with actual alphas that made me wince in sympathy for the guy getting plowed. And maybe, kind of, also get incredibly turned on. I'd just never experienced the real thing.
That was about to change.
“Where are we going?” It came out shaky as hell.
“I have my own place. I don't usually stay at the pack house.” Ian shrugged, jostling me. “Matt calls it my fortress of solitude.”
“Yeah, because Superman's exactly what I think of when I think of you.” I gave that a moment's actual thought. “On the other hand, you have more muscles than brains and constantly fuck things up, so maybe it's not the worst comparison.”
Ian stopped abruptly and his arms tightened, hard. My ribs creaked and I let out a yelp of pain. Ian stared down at me, eyes as cold as glacier ice.
“You get that I'm binding myself to you for life, right? To save yours?” he gritted out.
“You're cracking my ribs,” I wheezed, trying — desperately — to ignore the fact that he was right. Sure, there were magical means to break mate bonds, but those spells were hard to do, involved disgusting components, and came with a risk of insanity or death. I'd missed the part where he agreed to do this, but it finally occurred to me to wonder how Matthew had threatened or bribed him into it.
His arms loosened, barely enough that I didn't think I was about to implode. “I don't give a fuck if you hate me,” he said. “Just shut the fuck up, okay?”
“I don't hate you,” I muttered. Because I didn't. He hated me, not the other way around.
Ian snorted a laugh and started moving again, this time at something closer to a jog. If I'd tried to go that pace carrying a full-grown man, I'd have collapsed in seconds. Ian wasn't even breathing hard.
He did hate me, I knew that. Ever since I hooked up with Jared, I'd been persona non grata. Not that Ian and I had been friends before that, but when we ran into each other we were…cordial. Well, I was cordial. Ian would just stare at me. I was used to that, to be honest. My father hadn't cared how I dressed, or what I did with my hair, or even whom I fucked — he'd even tacitly approved of Jared, probably hoping he could use him somehow. Anyway, I went through some seriously stupid phases with my style. Ian probably remembered the purple buzz-cut, for one. Everyone stared at that.
But after the night Jared and I first had sex, Ian stopped talking to me. Stopped looking at me, either, even though I could always feel the prickling sensation of someone staring when I had my back to him. That was probably my imagination.
Or maybe not. Maybe he hated Jared being with a warlock so much that he tried to kill me with the force of his alpha glare, who knew.
The trees gave way to a clearing, and I had an unobstructed view of the sky. A little bit of blue was starting to peek through the clouds, but it was only a matter of time before it started raining again. This time, at least I'd be safely in bed getting hate-fucked instead of out in the woods dying.
Silver linings and all that.
Ian slowed down at last. I turned my head a little, and saw we'd reached a house. Well, house was generous — more like the sort of cabin where a van-load of teenagers would bet each other to stay the night during the opening scene of a horror movie. It wasn't dilapidated, exactly, but the sides were vivid green with moss and the porch sagged in the middle, like it had given up.
“More like shack of solitude,” I muttered.
A low vibration rumbled from Ian’s chest, a sub-audible growl. He crossed to the cabin with quick, angry strides, kicked the door open, and dumped me on a bed in the corner of the main room. I bounced a couple of times on the mattress and clung to the sheets under me with clawed hands, swallowing hard as I tried not to throw up.
The door slammed hard enough to rattle my teeth, and then Ian was standing over the bed, stripping his clothes in quick, jerky motions. His leather jacket hit the floor, his shirt went sailing over his shoulder, and then he was shoving his jeans down, somehow kicking off his boots as he went.
My mouth went dry. He was more impressive out of his clothes than in them, and that wasn't true of most men in my experience. Broad shoulders dusted with freckles, broad chest dusted with dark red curls, powerful thighs, and between his thighs — I swallowed hard. Fuck. Okay, the rumors about alphas weren't exaggerated. At all.
The jeans got tossed aside, and he stalked toward the bed.
“What the — Ian wait —” And then he was on me, tugging at my shirt and then just ripping it straight down the middle with an impatient growl. “Seriously,” I choked out, “just — fucking — wait!”
I managed to grab his forearms, squeezing as hard as I could. He stilled, staring down at me. I knew it wasn't because I'd overpowered him. I couldn't do that on a good day.
Ian's eyes were glowing, just a little, a trace of that golden werewolf magic bleeding through the blue. “I'm not going to rape you,” he said, very levelly. “But we need to fuck, and we need to get it over with. You're dying, Nate,” and the sound of my name, spoken almost kindly, nearly broke me.
He was crouched over me, his thighs bracketing my hips, his massive torso curved over me and filling my vision. This close, he smelled like the pines outside, with an undertone of something rich and strange. Werewolf magic, but not like Jared had. Deeper, and more enticing.
Knowing that under other circumstances I'd have wanted him, badly, nearly broke what little shards of me were left. I'd had a hell of a day and night, and for once, for fucking once, I longed for something I'd never had: the simple comfort of touch from someone who cared about me.
“I know we need to get it over with. I know. Just. Not like that, Ian. Please.” I could barely get the words out. I sounded pathetic, and I hated myself for it. Ian would hate me for it even more. I doubted he even knew the word weakness. “I'm — please.”
For a second, one single second suspended like a tear about to fall, I thought I saw him soften. Just the faintest gleam in his eyes, the slightest part to his lips.
And then his lips tightened and his eyes went cold, and that was that. It was the Armitage pack enforcer gazing down at me, assessing and emotionless, not Ian. Not the man I'd caught glimpses of, when he interacted with someone he liked. Anyone who wasn't me.
“I won't hurt you.” There wasn't even a trace of inflection in his voice. “Let me get you undressed, turn over, and I'll make it as easy as I can.” And then, as I nodded shakily and let go of his arms, he muttered something that sounded like, “For both of us.”
Chapter 5 MatedWith my face pressed into Ian's pillow, I had to struggle for air. He pushed my thighs open, nudging so that my knees slid up the mattress and left me splayed open for him, completely exposed. I turned my head a little and gasped in a breath, squeezing my eyes shut.Ian reached over me and rummaged in the sideways milk crate he apparently used as a nightstand, and I cracked my eyes open enough to see him pull out a bottle of lube. It was only half full. Maybe he had visitors to his shack of solitude once in a while, then.The thought made my stomach twinge with…something unpleasant. How many of the Armitage pack had been on this bed, right where I was, ass up and ready for Ian to thrust inside? As the biker chick incident proved, he wasn't exactly picky — or at least, since according to Jared's account she'd been hot as hell, he might have been picky but he wasn't gay.Actually, strike that. Was he even bi?“Ian,” I whispered, and then let out a whimper as two slick f
I woke up.That was noteworthy on its own, because I'd been convinced I wasn't going to make it — that the drain on my magic was too much, and the mate bond wouldn't happen in time to save me.So I luxuriated for a few minutes, enjoying unexpectedly being alive. I ached, starting with the stinging bite on my shoulder and ending with the throbbing between my legs, but that was fine. I was alive to ache.And as I started to adjust to consciousness a little, I realized I wasn't hurting nearly as much as I'd have thought. My magic really was connected to Ian's, now. I might be mated to Ian — oh, fuck, I was actually mated to Ian, and now I was seriously wide awake — but at least I was also mated to Ian's super-speed werewolf healing. I wouldn't recover as quickly as he would have, but it'd be at least twice as fast as a normal human.I rolled over in bed and blinked. The shack of solitude was quiet, with that echoing stillness that comes with the absence of other people. I reached out a t
The night after Ian and I mated wasn't the best night of sleep I'd ever had.Strike that, it was the worst. For one, Ian hogged the bed. That shouldn't have surprised me, since in all fairness he should have gotten two thirds of it to start with. But I ended up with a tiny little sliver of mattress, and only sleeping against the wall — and I do mean against the wall, squished on my side with my spine crammed against a wood panel — kept me from toppling off and rolling under the bed, possibly never to be seen again. I'd glanced around a little more while Ian was at the pack house getting food, and it quickly became obvious that the only part of the floor Ian swept was the middle.For two, I was still hungry. Ian's idea of ‘food that came from a grocery store’ was a dented can of minestrone soup and half a loaf of whole-wheat bread with all the gross seeds in it. Without butter.And third, even if my fucking useless mate had scrounged up something more to eat and had a better mattress —
Chapter 8 Give Me Coffee or Give Me DeathWaking up alone in a strange room that smelled like dust and werewolf was starting to be a pattern — one I didn't like much.And since I was now mated to Ian, that might be every morning for the rest of my life. That was a cheerful thought before I even had any coffee.Coffee. I'd finally fallen asleep sometime after dawn, probably right before Ian got up and left. Exhaustion had kept me under while he moved around. Now it looked like it was about noon, going by the angle of the light. Of course Ian didn't have a clock, and my phone was smashed somewhere on the floor of a warehouse. Just as well. If I'd had one, Ian probably would have kept it anyway. I could picture him hunched over it, waiting for a text that read, “Oh hey this is the Kimball shaman. Killed Matthew Armitage yet? Report soon! :) Good luck!” I was pretty sure Ian actually did think I was that dumb.Asshole.I swung my legs out of bed, winced at the chill of the floor against
Chapter 9 Dishonesty Is Important in a RelationshipSeconds ticked by, and Ian didn't move.“Ian,” I whispered, and reached out, gently pushing his hair back from his clammy forehead. I laid my hand against his neck. He had a pulse, and the relief of that nearly bowled me over. Of course, of course I'd have known if he was dead — the bond would have snapped, and possibly taken me out in the backlash. But it took me a minute to remember that, and to start to think clearly.And see clearly. At that moment, I saw Ian in a way I'd never seen him before. He was always wary, often scowling, constantly primed for action. Now he was more vulnerable than I could have imagined him: the thin skin around his eyes shadowed purple from exhaustion, the stubble on his cheeks and chin dark and rough against his waxy skin, his lips parted a little, mouth slack.I wanted to stroke his forehead again. I wanted to cradle his head in my lap and cry. I wanted him to wake up and hug me and tell me it was a
Chapter 10 Kiss It BetterIt felt like a long time before the shower shut off. I was drifting, the tears dribbling out of my eyes burning hot, and the puddles of saltwater in my ears and along my collarbones ice cold. It was even longer before the door opened, letting out a massive cloud of pine-scented steam.“Nate, look, I — what the fuck?” Heavy footsteps thudded across the room, vibrating the bed through the floorboards.I didn't even have the strength to move my eyeballs, let alone my head, so I glanced up at him with my peripheral vision alone. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, his chest bare and gleaming with a few rivulets of water. Fuck, but his shoulders were big. And both of my hands would barely have wrapped around one of his biceps.Then he dropped the towel. My heartrate accelerated, ramping up from sleepy-slow to painful in two seconds. The jolt of adrenaline made my stomach lurch and my head pound, but it didn't give me any more energy, somehow.“What,” I gasp
Chapter 11 Getting the Last Word“Don't move,” I warned him. “I mean it.”Ian narrowed his eyes at me, but that glare didn't have quite as much of an effect when I was sitting on his hips with both of us totally naked.Strike that. It had at least as much of an effect, but it was different from the usual. I wasn't pissed, and I wasn't afraid. I wanted. I wanted to win this round, which was petty as hell, but even worse, I wanted him. Luckily I'd come so hard I wasn't nearly ready to get another erection, so I could pretend for a minute that he was the only one so worked up he could hardly think. Unless he could interpret the sound of my pounding heart. Hopefully he'd mistake it for anger.I kept eye contact as I shifted backwards, sliding down his thighs. He swallowed hard enough that I heard his throat click, and his body tensed under me. Carefully settling between his legs, I smoothed my hands up his thighs, tracing the rigid muscles there. His skin was still a little damp, from t
Chapter 12 Hope for the Best, But…“Look, this stuff isn't going to work,” I said for the millionth time.Maybe only the fifth or sixth time. But still. Ian and Matthew were both leveling identical glowers at me, their brows furrowed and their arms crossed over their broad chests. I turned a laugh into a cough, and they frowned in unison. I choked down another laugh and leaned back against the kitchen table of the pack house, taking a load off, since it looked like we'd be here arguing for a bit. My ass ached, and the boots I'd found in the pack house's hall closet to cover my stolen super-socks didn't fit quite right. I needed the boots, though, if only to keep Ian from ripping the socks off my feet. He’d actually growled when he saw them on me that morning.I was finally caffeinated enough to deal with it, though. Ian and I had slept all night tangled up in each other's arms, and he'd slipped out of bed at the crack of dawn, taken a shower, and set a hot cup of coffee down beside