Gray Bishop (23 page)

He flipped her onto her back, trapping both wrists above her head. He knelt between her thighs, looming over her. Cheeks flushed. Eyes gleaming. Such a vision of male beauty and desire that her gut ached with it. Knowing he’d chosen her, even before the choice had been taken away. She licked her lips, a silent invitation, and then his mouth crashed into hers.

His tongue swept inside, claiming her, his taste breaking over her senses. She clutched at his shirt, tugged it out of his jeans so her fingers could rake over bare skin. The harsh kiss spun her around, waking her up inside and out. Demanding more. She almost missed her wrists being switched to a single-handed grip. His free hand left a scorching trail down her jaw and throat, between her breasts without pause. Seeking another target already slick with need.

She trembled as he paused to undo the button on her shorts. The zipper. With a hard thrust of his tongue, his fingers slid beneath her panties and stopped. A single digit pressed against her clit. Arousal surged so fast and hard she cried out, her soft scream swallowed by the force of his kiss.

He circled her clit, rubbing and pressing just enough to drive her higher, higher, hips thrusting, desperate for more. More of him. She could easily tear from his hold, demand what she wanted, but allowing him control, letting him take what he wanted—it made her entire body burn for him. Never in her life had she desired a man the way she desired Bishop, fully clothed, in the leaf-strewn grass.

Her climax built, a pressure like no other, stealing the breath from her lungs. She wrenched her mouth from his, gasping for air, soaring toward a peak she couldn’t quite reach. And then that wicked finger slid lower, off her clit, to tease at her entrance. Feather light circles. No pressure where she really needed it.

“Please.”

He nipped at her jaw, hot breath fanning over her cheek. “One day soon I’ll make love to you in a real bed. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

She nearly combusted at the mental image of them tangled together in a bed, sheets thrown back, clothes littering the floor. “Yes.”

“You’ll wear something lacy and thin. Black. I’ll peel it off a piece at a time, tasting every inch of skin as I uncover it.”

Every muscle tightened as he drove her mad with his words and his teasing touch. She tried to demand he finish it, give her some relief, but the words came out as a soft keen.

“Once you’re naked, I’ll spread your thighs and taste you. I’ll drive you mad with my mouth and tongue.” A knuckle brushed her clit, a brief zing of pleasure that still wasn’t enough. “You want that?”

“Oh yes.”

“When you’re my wife.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Let me come, you bastard.”

He thrust two fingers deep inside, filling her completely while the heel of his hand pressed hard on her clit. She raised her hips off the ground, needing more, harder, everything strung so tight she thought she might burst. He bit the side of her neck, just below her ear, and her orgasm exploded in a pulse of pleasure that left her breathless and panting and desperate for more. To have him inside of her, connected the way they were meant to be.

She wrenched her hands free from his hold and fumbled with his belt. Jeans. Boxers. Shoved it all out of the way while he stripped her of her panties and shorts. The warm grass tickled her backside, a sensation forgotten the instant he pushed inside. He muffled their combined moans of pleasure with his mouth, thrusting his tongue in time with his hips. Plunging into her body. Taking his mate. She raked her nails down his back, then grabbed his ass, urging him faster, harder.

This was right. This was her future. Her mate.

She tried to say so through his unrelenting kiss.

He broke it first. “You’re mine.”

Something deep inside of Jillian thrilled at the declaration. The claiming. “Yes.”

“No one else’s.”

“No.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, taking him deeper. “And you’re mine.”

“Oh yes.” He drove himself harder, almost brutally, and she met him with each thrust, demanding more. Bodies wrapped together in a tangle of arms and legs and mouths, Jillian let go. Let go of thought and fear and grief and simply existed in the endless pleasure of this mating. Of knowing she was home and only death would take this man away from her. She became a single mind with her beast, and together they submitted to their mating. Submitted their minds and hearts.

As if sensing the change, Bishop slammed home once, twice, then emptied himself inside of her. Marking her his.

They clung to each other as their breathing slowed and their sweat cooled. As the world once again spun around them, reminding Jillian of all the things she’d forgotten: field, public, soccer, inappropriate.

“I think we broke the rules,” she said with a soft bark of laughter.

“Don’t care.” He brushed damp bangs from her forehead. “I meant every word, sweetheart.”

“Me, too.” She carefully lowered her aching legs, his softening cock shifting inside. She didn’t want to part from him, to lose this connection, but the longer they lingered, the greater the chance of them being seen.

Of course, there was an excellent chance a patrol had already seen them.

Bishop gazed down at her with an open adoration that made her insides heat. No one had ever looked at her with such intensity—like the world would stop spinning without her in it. Like no one and nothing mattered more. She reveled in the fleeting moment, taking it in to remember later when the stress of his tasks left no room for her. The memory would sustain her when the needs of the run came before her.

“I don’t want this to end,” he whispered.

“It’s only just started for us. When we’re married I plan on keeping you in my bed for a solid week.”

“You have high expectations of my stamina.”

“There are other things to do in bed besides sex.”

“Such as?”

“Sleeping.”

He chuckled, then kissed her. Slow and sensual, a soft glide of lips and tongue. “We have to go.”

“I know.”

He pulled away, and she ached for the loss of him—not only in her body, but all around her. She glanced around as she dressed. The woods behind them were quiet, the nearest house dark. The sun had set, leaving them bathed in shadows and gloom. She finger-combed bits of grass from her hair.

Before she could inspect her shirt for grass stains, Bishop hauled her against his chest, arms circling her waist. “This shouldn’t have happened,” he said, “but I don’t for one second regret that it did.”

“Neither do I.”

“Good. And thank you for telling me about Elizabeth.”

“I would have eventually. It’s not an easy topic to bring into a conversation.”

“I imagine not.”

She pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips, not trusting herself with more. “We need to get back and shower so you can make an appearance at that soccer game.”

“If it’s not over before I manage.”

“Then hop to it, Speedy.” She swatted his ass. “I’m going to check on Shay.”

“After you shower?”

She arched an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “Stupid question, sorry.”

Even though her body was still singing from their joining, part of her still knew it had been a mistake. She had no regrets, but she shouldn’t have done it. Not when anyone could have seen and potentially use it against them. Now that she knew for certain what she stood to lose if Bishop didn’t win Alpha, she’d do anything to make it happen. “We can’t do this again.”

“Ever?” The flirty tease in his tone and smile melted into something more somber. “I know. You’re right.”

“Don’t forget how to say that when we’re married.”

Her confident statement made his back straighten and his chin tilt up. “I like the sound of that. When we’re married.”

“I bet you never thought you’d say those words a month ago.”

“Truthfully I’ve wanted to say them to someone for a long time. I had no idea I was simply waiting for you.”

“We’ll get through this, Bishop. We will.”

Grief flickered in his eyes, chased away by a warm smile. “Yeah.”

He left ahead of her, striding toward the house. Jillian lingered by the fence, skin still buzzing from his touch, her beast both sated and energized by the claiming. She’d found her mate, and in nine more days, they’d be together in every way.

They just had to survive them first.

***

Walking away from Jillian took every last ounce of Bishop’s self-control. He’d tried to resist the pull, the sharp need to be touch her, the unbridled instinct to be inside of her, claiming her as his. Tried and failed, and he wasn’t sorry for it. He knew exactly what he was fighting for now, and he wouldn’t lose his mate. He wouldn’t lose his family or the run.

He slipped into the quiet house through the back door, then quickly upstairs to shower and change. Losing Jillian’s scent on his skin. Nothing could remove the memory of her writhing beneath him, slim legs tight around his waist, taking and demanding. She was beautiful like that, free and unburdened by grief or pain. He wanted to see her like that every single day for the rest of his life.

Halfway through his own shower, the water pressure changed. Jillian was using the upstairs bathroom. He finished up, then went to his room to throw on clean clothes. Shay’s bedroom door was shut. He knocked. No answer, only a distance rustling sound. Her scent there was strong. Probably sound asleep, so he left her in peace.

Bishop left the house, completely alone for the first time in days. The street was quiet. Lights blazed in almost every window of Dr. Mike’s house. He resisted the urge to go check on Knight. Someone would call if there was a change, and he needed to make an appearance at the soccer game.

The Barneses lived a few hundred yards off Main Street, opposite the McQueen house, and Bishop took the walk with casual grace. Hands in his pockets. Nodding at passersby, greeting folks by name. Simple things he’d seen his father do thousands of times. Thomas McQueen had been a true believer that showing your people that you were one of them, rather than above them, increased respect exponentially.

Cheers and shouts rose up long before the crowd came into view down Oak Street, the gathering a welcome sight. His people were smiling, chatting, sharing food and drinks. Bishop shook hands and answered questions as best as he could while nudging his way forward. Kids of all ages were doing battle over a yellow and black soccer ball. About half wore white bandanas around their foreheads, differentiating the two teams. He recognized Rusty, one of the orphans from Springwell.

Devlin and Rachel stood together near a tree, a definitive space between them and most of the other loup. Bishop approached them, enjoying their obvious affection for each other. Despite the crisis happening around them, he’d never seen Devlin so at peace.

“So who’s winning?” Bishop asked.

“I’m not sure if they’re actually keeping score,” Rachel replied. “Some of them are really good.”

“I take it Dr. Mike forced you to get out for some fresh air?”

“He did.” She blushed. “All I want to do is help.”

“You are, believe me.” To Devlin he said, “I guess you’ve heard the latest on Knight?”

“Yeah, Rook called a bit ago,” Devlin replied. “It’s a hell of a thing, what Shay did.”

“Yes, it was.”

“So where’s your shadow?”

For an instant, Bishop thought he meant Jillian and his heart kicked. He was asking about the other shadow. “I invited Colin to the game, but he declined.”

“Afraid of getting lynched for having the balls to come here and challenge you?” The earnest way Devlin asked the question spoke volumes about his loyalty.

“He doesn’t want to cause undue stress, or something like that.” Bishop didn’t really remember the excuse and he didn’t care. Colin may have come to Cornerstone under duress, but he was here and he was standing in Bishop’s way.

Devlin snickered. “Undue stress, like he’s causing just by being here?”

“I get it, Dev, trust me. But hybrid attacks or not, the challenge window is part of loup law. He has a right.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

“No, it doesn’t. Speaking of shadows, where are yours?”

“Out patrolling with Winston, actually. They volunteered.”

“They’re probably bored,” Rachel said.

“Could be.” Devlin bussed her cheek. “At least they’re being useful while they’re here.”

A cheer on the field caught Bishop’s attention. Patrick Lester’s six-year-old son Neal had just scored a goal, and the little boy was pumping his fists in the air. Down the field, Bishop spotted Patrick and his wife, both clapping like mad for their son. Such a simple, beautiful moment during a long, painful siege.

Familiar faces surrounded him. Mason and Lila were chatting nearby, seeming oblivious to the world. Jeremiah stood with a cluster of Springwell and Cornerstone loup. Teenagers. The elder folk. All ages in between. He couldn’t wait for this to be the norm again. For his people to be at peace.

Soon.

Two days of meetings and phone calls had Bishop’s nerves worn thin, and no amount of quiet encouragement from Agnes was helping him relax. They’d finalized plans and broken ground on several new multifamily homes, organized permanent homes for the Springwell orphans, created a new patrol roster that included the enforcers from Springwell and their temporary guests Luke and Tanner. The continued search for the hybrids outside of Cornerstone had yet to turn up any leads, but Bishop stubbornly refused to call them off completely—dumb luck might be on their side one day and hand them a clue.

General anxiety was down everywhere except the McQueen house.

Shay had fully recovered from her long shift, and something about the experience had removed a layer of fear from the young woman. She regularly left the house to visit Knight. She engaged in conversations about security and patrols. The strong daughter of an Alpha was reappearing.

Meanwhile, the son of an Alpha lingered in a coma, unresponsive to anyone who visited, even Shay. Knight hadn’t regained consciousness since his shift back to skin. He’d been put on an IV for fluids and a feeding tube for nutrition. Shay, Rachel, and Brynn took turns exercising his arms and legs, reading to him, and being a companion. By Bishop’s orders, he was never alone. Live or die, he didn’t want Knight to be left alone again.

Questions were becoming more difficult to answer. Where is Knight? Why isn’t he answering his phone? Is he all right? Bishop and Rook had decided to fudge the truth and tell those who asked that Knight was ill and being quarantined until Dr. Mike identified the bug. The only person outside of their small in-the-know circle who’d been told was Alpha Weatherly.

“Prepare yourself for the worst, son,” Weatherly had said the day before.

It was the first time in the last three days that Bishop did not take Weatherly’s advice.

At quarter after five, his cell phone chiming startled him out of staring blankly at the newest set of building plans. He’d holed up in the office an hour ago, hoping for some time to air out his simmering temper. Two days of not knowing. Two days of keeping a polite distance from Jillian. Two days of being cordial to Colin Corman. Two days and still no sign of the hybrids.

At least one thing was about to come to a head. He checked the text from Rook.

They’re here.

Bishop abandoned the wicker chair and moved to stand behind his father’s desk. A parade of footsteps thumped up the stairs. A sharp knock was followed by Rook’s entrance, his face impressively neutral considering his hatred of this entire challenge process. Carl Weatherly came second. Short, stocky, and bald, he still exuded a “don’t fuck with me” vibe that Bishop felt from across the room, despite the friendly smile.

His companions for the challenge were Alpha Lionel Parks from Sunset, California and Alpha Jim Montgomery from Riversong, Florida. Bishop had only spoken to the men on the phone, and he was pleased to put faces to the names. Formal introductions were made. Hands were shaken. Afterward, Rook circled to stand on Bishop’s left—the same place in which Bishop had stood countless times for their father.

They made small talk until Colin arrived, and then more hands were shaken.

“Gentlemen, we find ourselves in a rather unique situation,” Weatherly said. “Alpha challenges are rare, but we have laws that have governed our people for hundreds of years. Those laws are why we’ve traveled all this way, and why we’re having this meeting.”

“Of course, Alpha.” Bishop couldn’t bring himself to sit, which was keeping the others standing. There were only two extra chairs anyway, so they all stayed on equal footing. “A challenge was issued two days ago, and I accepted.”

“A challenge to what end?” Weatherly knew the answer already—he’d been surprised that Colin hadn’t known he could challenge to yield—but was required to ask.

“Death.”

Parks and Montgomery shared a look. They didn’t know. Colin didn’t react. He’d kept his distance since their clandestine chat two nights ago. Bishop hadn’t shared the details of the conversation with Rook yet. He held out hope he could tell Rook and Knight at the same time.

“According to run law, the challenged loup is allowed to name a second to fight in his place,” Alpha Parks said. His voice was heavy and thick, like it was drawn from deep down in his gut. “Have you named a second, Mr. McQueen?”

Bishop straightened his spine. “I’ve named my brother Rook.”

Colin blinked hard several times—probably another thing his father hadn’t warned him about. He didn’t comment, though. No one liked admitting they weren’t in the know in front of three experienced Alphas.

Parks angled to face Rook, who stood at attention rest. “You understand what this means for you, son?”

“I do, sir,” Rook replied.

“And you accept this responsibility of your own free will?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.”

“The fight will begin at sunrise tomorrow,” Weatherly said. “We will scout for a suitable location tonight, and we’ll let you know what we’ve decided by nine o’clock.”

Less than fourteen hours, and it would be over. “Shall I organize an escort for you?” Bishop asked. “Someone familiar with the town.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Fast, light footsteps ascended the stairs. No one had closed the office door, but Jillian paused just outside and knocked. She pinned him with a hard stare, her cheeks flushed. She was pissed and trying hard not to show it.

“Come in,” Bishop said.

“Apologies for interrupting,” Jillian said to the other Alphas. “I wasn’t informed that you had arrived. Jillian Reynolds.”

After another round of introductions and hand-shaking, Parks said, “This is a private meeting Miss Reynolds.”

“I realize that, Alpha, and seeing as how the outcome of tomorrow’s challenge directly affects my future, I have a right to be included.”

“Explain.” Parks didn’t seem like the type who was used to being second-guessed or bossed around—even by his own wife.

Jillian put the full force of her inner Wolf on display as she stared down Parks. “I’ve been named the Alpha female of this run. At the end of the challenge window, the contender standing is the man I will marry. I have a right to be involved in the process.”

“Well said, Miss Reynolds,” Weatherly said. “I have no problem with your inclusion.”

Parks and Montgomery consented quickly. Interesting. Weatherly seemed to carry more clout than the other two, and he was on Bishop’s side.

Jillian smiled warmly at Weatherly. “Thank you, Alpha.”

“We were just discussing venue, which will be determined by nine o’clock this evening. Bishop there was about to assign us an escort around town.”

“Normally I would have Rook show you around,” Bishop said, “but as he’s now directly involved, that might be construed as a conflict of interest. I’ll have Winston Burke show you around. Rook?”

Rook excused himself to the back of the room to make the call.

“I’ve also arranged rooms for you in my home.” That hadn’t been an easy task. Shay had taken to sleeping on a cot in Knight’s room, and Knight wasn’t using his, which had freed up two beds. Bishop had reluctantly reassigned himself to his father’s master bedroom, so one of the traveling Alphas could use his. Mrs. Troost had spent all afternoon changing bed linens and adding her personal touch with bouquets of fresh flowers for the guests.

“Excellent, thank you,” Weatherly said. “Unless either you or Colin have any questions, I believe we’re finished for now.”

Colin shook his head, even though Bishop would have placed money on the man having questions. “No, sir.”

“Not at this time, sir,” Bishop said. “If you like, Rook and Colin can show you to the house and help you get settled in.” Might as well send the pair off together. He didn’t want to show a sniff of favoritism.

The quintet moved out, leaving Bishop alone with Jillian for the first time in two days. She wilted a bit, allowing some of the stress of the week to show. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss away her exhaustion, but he wouldn’t be able to stop with kissing. He’d want her again, and with his house full of guests—no. The chance of being caught was too high.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” Bishop said. “I got the text that they were here thirty seconds before they walked into the office.”

“I deserved to be here.” A hint of anger peeked through.

“You’re right, you did. You didn’t miss much. Posturing about acceptance of the challenge, and does Rook understand what it means to fight as my second. It happens at sunrise, location forthcoming.”

“Rook will win. He held off two shifted loup with a piece of wood, and he survived. One man in skin is nothing.”

“He shouldn’t have to fight for me.”

“But he wants to. He knows what’s at stake.”

“And I don’t?” He clamped down on his temper. He wasn’t angry with Jillian. He was angry at the situation. “I’ve made my decision about him fighting for me, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

“Are you sure that feeling isn’t your instinct to protect Rook?”

“I’d be lying if that wasn’t part of it, but I have other instincts, too, Jillian. I don’t know if I made the right choice.”

Her body jerked toward him, as though reaching out and then remembering too late why contact was a bad idea. “Does this have anything to do with what Colin told you the other night?”

“No. I was doubting myself before I met Colin.” His phone rang. Brynn’s name lit up the screen. He didn’t bother with a greeting. “Is it Knight?”

“No, there’s no change with Knight,” Brynn replied. Wobbly. She was upset. “I had a vision, and we need to talk.”

“I’m in the office.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

He hung up, curious and worried. “Brynn’s coming over,” he told Jillian.

“She had a vision?”

“Yes.”

“Did she elaborate on who or what?”

“No, but we’ll find out soon.”

Bishop circled the desk so he could lean against the front. Jillian took one of the wicker chairs. They waited in an awkward silence for Brynn’s arrival, heralded by featherlight footsteps on the stairs. She was red-cheeked and breathing hard, probably from running all the way to the auction house. She plunked down on the other chair, strings of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry, I was halfway across town at the boarding house when it happened,” Brynn said. “I brushed Jonas off so fast he must think I’m nuts.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.” Bishop hunched a little to get closer to her eye level. “Tell me about the vision.”

“It was a brief flash, no sound or actual action. I saw Colin Corman in a bed, and I’m pretty sure it’s a room in Dr. Mike’s upstairs. I recognized a picture on the wall. His throat was bruised and he looked like he’d been beaten nearly to death.”

“What about scratches or blood? Anything to indicate a beast or hybrid attack?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Damn. “You didn’t see anyone else? Anything to indicate a time frame?”

“I saw a man I don’t know. Mostly his profile. He was standing by the bed.”

“Describe him.”

She closed her eyes as she often did when remembering details of her visions. “I’m guess he’s taller than me, but shorter than you. Kind of compact, but not overweight or anything. Bald. Muscular. He wore a dark blue suit, and he looked sad.”

“Sounds like Alpha Weatherly,” Jillian said.

Brynn’s eyes widened. “The other Alphas are here?”

“They just arrived,” Bishop replied. “And the man you described sounds like one of them, right down to his suit.”

“Could the vision have been the aftermath of tomorrow’s challenge?” Jillian asked.

“It can’t be.” Brynn’s wide eyes watered. “Rook is fighting first, right? If he’s so beaten and hurt, then that means—” She gulped for air as the horrifying thought hit her.

Bishop’s gut churned. “It means Colin beats both of us.”

“Only if the vision is connected to the challenge,” Jillian said. “We can’t be certain.”

“If not the challenge, then very soon at the least.” Bishop stopped himself from rubbing his left arm. “Weatherly won’t be in town for long. There’s a good chance he’s in that bed because of the challenge. The injuries fit with a fist fight.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s the fight with you and Rook.”

“How can I assume it’s not?” He looked at Brynn, who was battling against tears. Trying to disguise how scared she was for her mate. “I could be sending Rook to his death tomorrow.” And himself, as well.

“You don’t know that.” Jillian clasped Brynn’s hand. “We don’t know that.”

“But it’s the only explanation that makes sense.” Brynn wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand. “My visions always come true, and I hate knowing anyone will be in so much pain, but I hate not knowing the fate of Rook and Bishop even more.”

“But what of your other vision of Rook that hasn’t come true?” Jillian asked. “Seeing him standing by your father’s dead body. Surely he can’t die tomorrow if that hasn’t happened.”

“That vision occurred before we knew about the Alpha challenge,” Bishop said. “Brynn, are you certain that a vision’s outcome can never be changed by circumstances?”

“No, I’m not certain.” Brynn had never looked less certain of herself. “I’ve had visions that I’ve never investigated, never taken the time to identify or unravel. I suppose it’s possible that a vision can be changed, but in my limited experience, it’s never happened.”

Which told him exactly nothing. Brynn had never held a high status among the Magi people, so her limited precognitive powers were never developed or investigated. She didn’t know her limits or exactly how they worked. All she knew for certain was that many of the visions she’d seen about her loup garou family had come true.

Bishop’s choice was for Rook to fight the challenge, and the vision came the night before when every word and action was hurtling them toward the inevitable outcome of Colin in a bed at Dr. Mike’s. Alive. His gut told him those future injuries were a direct result of the Alpha challenge. But how the hell did one man take on two of them and win?

“Thank you for sharing the vision,” Bishop said. “Go home, Brynn. Go home and be with your mate tonight. I’ll do what I can to protect him, I promise.”