Daybreak (11 page)
There’s only one way to shut this woman up
. When he claimed her mouth, Tru kissed her with driving demand and a thrusting tongue. He permitted no distance, no reserve, and pushed past her lips to delve into her mouth. She made a small, surprised sound, but he ignored it and dragged her into his arms. She had been treated with too much delicacy, not like a woman a man intended to fuck.
. When he claimed her mouth, Tru kissed her with driving demand and a thrusting tongue. He permitted no distance, no reserve, and pushed past her lips to delve into her mouth. She made a small, surprised sound, but he ignored it and dragged her into his arms. She had been treated with too much delicacy, not like a woman a man intended to fuck.
After settling Pen astride his lap, he made love to her mouth for endless moments. It gave him a jolt of intense satisfaction when she wound her arms around his neck and pressed closer. Her lips warmed as he nuzzled them, went swollen from the little nips, from the way he sucked gently at the lower, before teasing her tongue with his own. He wrapped his hands around her hips and rocked her against his hard cock as she learned how to kiss. God, he could almost swear nobody had done this with her before. But she was a quick study, working out how to breathe through her nose. Her response became hotter, more ferocious, as he cupped her ass and worked her body against his.
He nibbled his way down her jaw to her throat, sucking, kissing, licking. Her nipples peaked and grazed his chest. An actual moan escaped her. Fucking beautiful. Music to his ears.
And that was when he stopped.
Her eyes were glazed, mouth parted. She panted, hands on his chest. “That was more than two kisses.”
“Technically, no. I never broke contact.”
Dazed, she seemed to think about that, obviously trying to find a flaw in his logic. Then she leaned in. “Time for round two.”
That made him smile. But Tru stopped with her a touch on her shoulder. Now she looked worried, as well she should.
“I don’t want this kiss on your mouth,” he whispered.
“Where, then?” She didn’t try to argue. In fact, he’d almost say she looked . . . intrigued.
Or maybe he just wanted her to.
“Here.” He unbuttoned the top two buttons on her shirt—once a man’s garment, he thought, cut down to fit her. Delicately, he pulled the fabric aside, exposing a small, pert breast to the night air. It wasn’t cold enough to explain her taut nipple, so she must feel . . .
something
.
something
.
He’d call it desire.
Tru urged her to kneel over his lap, bringing soft flesh right to him. He kept his hands on her hips, touching her upper body with nothing but his mouth. A soft kiss, first, and then a sweep of his tongue. She tasted faintly of salt. As long as he didn’t break contact, he could do this as long as he wanted, as long as she’d let him. Her gasp told him she liked it, especially when he sucked the tip into his mouth. She wrapped her arms around his head, urging him closer.
For a delicious eternity, he played with her, sweeping his mouth back and forth between breasts. He nuzzled and sucked them both, until she seemed unable to control her breathing. Tru felt just as crazed.
At last, he eased back and fastened up her shirt. She trembled in his arms, and he didn’t have the heart to push her away immediately. He was masochist enough to want the pressure on his aching cock.
To his surprise, she curled into his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin. That roused an unnerving sensation, as if this was precisely where she belonged. He’d only experienced that peace with one other person, a thought that nearly had him scrambling away from the woman he’d just kissed senseless.
“Now I see why you have no trouble getting laid,” she said softly.
Tru swallowed. “You didn’t before?”
“No. You’re kind of an asshole.”
“No more than anyone else,” he said with a shrug. “Less than some.”
She frowned up at him. “But
you
should be better.”
you
should be better.”
“Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because you’re Tru.”
His heart twisted. That would have started an argument of epic proportions, except that she fell asleep in his arms. He didn’t know what disconcerted him more. That she could set sex aside so fast, or that she trusted him enough to do so.
Whatever.
Despite his better judgment, Tru held her long into the night.
Despite his better judgment, Tru held her long into the night.
ELEVEN
Pen rubbed her aching neck and came away with the smear of a mosquito on her palm. She hefted the rifle on her shoulder, wondering when the busted blisters would form calluses. Maybe never. Even after Pen healed them—for herself, Adrian, and a begrudging Tru—they came back. Just endless wear and tear on human bodies.
The soggy ground and constant sweating meant no time for the skin to dry and toughen. Trudging behind Tru, she kept her eyes on the soles of his boots. Wet sand caked the waffle pattern as they continued the trudge through an unkempt waste of overgrown dunes.
The ocean had stopped being interesting three days ago. Now the waves were a constant drone, numbing her mind.
Just walk and keep walking.
The bright summer sunshine reflecting off the mica burned her eyes, so that even closing them—if she’d been able to—only hurt worse. Quick blinks to get rid of the salt and sand. Unable to wear the cloak because of the heat, her skin blistered daily. She used minimal magic on the worst of it, to keep from getting sunstroke or burns that would leave her with a fever. But mostly she sucked it up and saved her resources for bigger trouble.
Just walk and keep walking.
The bright summer sunshine reflecting off the mica burned her eyes, so that even closing them—if she’d been able to—only hurt worse. Quick blinks to get rid of the salt and sand. Unable to wear the cloak because of the heat, her skin blistered daily. She used minimal magic on the worst of it, to keep from getting sunstroke or burns that would leave her with a fever. But mostly she sucked it up and saved her resources for bigger trouble.
And for more walking.
Her unlikely companions filled more dead air with talk than she did. Adrian had opened up, not so much about his past. Maybe he sensed that Tru wouldn’t respond so well to that type of confidence. But he opened his mind. Question after question. He soaked up every answer, which triggered more curiosity. Pen could only wonder how he’d lasted this long. Cared for by a sexual master? It was the only answer that made immediate sense, and offered another reason why he wouldn’t be eager to offer up his experiences for others to hear.
Three days.
And at the end of each day, after Adrian fell asleep, Pen went to Tru. An added kiss for each day. The night before, he’d used up one of them on the end of her nose. His mouth had been swollen and wet from the delicious madness he inflicted on her breasts.
“Now somewhere new,” he’d said.
But not her navel or the aching hollow between her legs. Her nose. As if he had all the time in the world and could blithely waste opportunities. She hadn’t ever known anyone to behave that way.
Their sessions had started to feel less like payment and more like reward. Her reward. At the end of a long, tedious day of walking, they worked out the kinks and aches in each other’s body, first with nearly medicinal massage. Then with kisses that set her insides alight. She was achy and tired, eager to reach their destination—if only for something new to occupy her mind. But she could’ve continued indefinitely with the promise of spending the night in Tru’s arms once again.
Soon they’d reach Arturi’s camp. And Tru would leave.
She would enjoy him while he was there. That was the only option, knowing his desire to run outweighed his greed for her body. In introducing Pen to sexual passion, he would never disappoint her. Best to keep to fields of play where his cynicism wouldn’t ruin what fragile regard she had for him. And guard herself for that moment. She wouldn’t be able to watch him go, whether he did so as a lion or a man.
But it was for the best. Pen couldn’t trust herself, her judgment, her magic. Why would she ask anyone else to do the same?
A distant rifle shot snapped her out of that trudging stupor. She dropped. Tru and Adrian were already belly down in the sand. With a quick flick of his wrist, Tru motioned for them to stay put. He crawled up the dune, using tall sand grass as his cover.
Pen slid up to lie side by side with Adrian. “Don’t follow me. Stay absolutely still. Understand?”
The boy nodded, eyes no longer so wide in the face of situations that required quick thinking.
She returned his nod and shimmied to meet Tru at the dune’s crest. Mouth pressed nearly to his ear, she whispered, “Standard plan.”
“Yup.”
They’d come up with the protocol on their first day walking, same as when they’d taken the truck. If Tru needed to shift, he’d go hunting and meet them at dusk at a camp due north. They hadn’t needed to use the plan again, but it made emergencies less frantic. He would be there.
For now.
“I can’t see anything,” he said, voice clipped. “And the wind’s blowing the wrong way.”
“Shift now?”
“Could be nothing. Just a local hunter after game.”
“Then let me work.”
He quirked an eyebrow but asked no questions. “I’ll cover you.”
Three simple words. A hot fissure of something close to hope fired down her spine. What would it be like to know this man had her back? Always?
Another rifle shot. The sound ricocheted closer this time, glancing down across the beach.
Pen shook out of that daydream and lay on her back. Kneeling was out of the question, not if she wanted to keep her head attached to her neck. But she needed her ritual. Needed to keep control, even though the moment demanded speed.
Palms together. Eyes down. Then to the sky. She said her thanks and found the moment that unlocked her to the rest of the universe.
Still dazed, as if her arms and legs were made of fog, she turned back to her stomach. Sight beyond sight. Vision so far off that it couldn’t be human.
“A man. Midforties. Aiming at waterfowl. Two women with him. One dark-skinned and slim, one short and fair. They’re watching him. Seems to be the only rifle between them.”
“Magic?”
Pen extended her sight even farther. A feathery tickle brushed behind her ears, and a bright leaf-green aura emanated from one in particular. “The woman with the dark skin. Something like me, but not a healer.”
“Violent?”
The touch of another mind pushed her back. Gently. A warning, it seemed, to be polite. She jerked and panted. Her head felt heavy, so she let it drop to the sand. Tru put a hand at the back of her neck and kneaded.
“You have to tell me. Any trace of violence from her?”
“No,” she whispered, head still bowed. “She seemed . . . curious? As if she recognized me? That can’t be right.”
“I’m not taking any chances. Either we walk past them or we go meet them, but I’m shifting before we do.”
“You sound like you’re leaving that decision to me. Why?”
“You’re the Orchid,” he said curtly. “Something special, right? So prove it.”
Pen twisted her bottom lip between her teeth.
Something special, all right.
Something special, all right.
But Tru didn’t appear ready to change his mind. He waited, arms crossed, looking impossibly self-assured. He wouldn’t walk blindly into danger. Although he called her the Orchid, he was no blind, obedient follower.
She glanced behind her, down toward the ocean. Cloaking mounds of sand to the west. Great waves crashing in from the east. “We could walk between the water and the dunes, risking that they won’t spot us. But that would also risk meeting them from a vulnerable position. They don’t outnumber us and they don’t appear to have more weapons.” She shrugged. “They might know something about the camp. We have to be nearby now.”
“Lots of talk, Penelope. Gimme a straight answer.”
After a deep breath of salt-laden air, she met his gaze. The sky matched his eyes today, clear and eerily pale in the bright sunshine. “Let’s go meet the neighbors.”
He nodded. “Would be my call, too. You and Adrian can cover me with the rifles.”
Despite her nerves and the exertion of her magic, she grinned. “You think you’re special?”
“You know it. And even a good judge of character has trouble reading an animal.”
He slithered backward down the dune. Pen followed, trying to shake the feeling of foreboding out from under her skin. The vibe she’d gathered off the trio wasn’t violent, but neither was it honest. One of them crackled with deception.
Tru outlined the plan to Adrian when they met at the bottom of the dune. From her pack, Pen grabbed a slab of fish they’d caught and cooked that morning. She stuffed a quick handful in her mouth and swallowed it down, despite how the salty flesh turned her stomach. The light-headed feel that always came in the wake of using her magic was nearly gone by the time Tru had shifted.
She sat on the beach. And stared at him.
Even if she could get used to the sight of a fully grown wild cat striding five meters away, she couldn’t reconcile him against the backdrop of the sea. Lions were supposed to be on a savanna somewhere. A huge, beautiful male lion with blue eyes was never supposed to prowl along the eastern coastline, his paws leaving gouged prints in wet sand.
But there he was. Tru. The wind fluffed his mane and skated ripples along the short fur of his back. He tipped his face toward the sky. Quick inhales wrinkled the bridge of his nose and flattened his nostrils. His tongue lolled out in a giant yawn, as if he’d just awoken from a nap—the opposite of preparing to meet a potential enemy. Yet, that was Tru, too. Casual insouciance in the face of the worst situations. Maybe that lion side had always been a part of him, just needing the Change to fulfill its most impressive potential.
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