Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf Hunter\Possessed by a Wolf (34 page)

He was absolutely right, but he was also missing the point. “It was never just about you, or the fact that the Night World—all that supernatural stuff—exists.”

“Oh?”

“Some of it's the world you live in. The danger. It was what I saw you do in the alley—attacking that man.”

“Who was attacking you at the time.”

“It was the last straw, but there were a couple of bales of it in my life already. I just broke. I couldn't absorb one more shock.” She rested her forehead on her knees. “You think I'm being unreasonable.”

Faran sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed her foot through the coverlet, giving it a squeeze. His voice softened. “You said that was some of it. What was the rest?”

“Me.” She didn't like the defensive edge to her tone, but she couldn't help it. “I get this feeling—like when I saw Gillon on the ground. I can't explain it. It's like I'm hungry and restless and lonely all at the same time. I have to run—get away from it—because it's the only thing that makes me feel better.”

Lexie had never said that to anyone before. She wasn't even sure she'd known it herself before that instant. She raised her head to look at him.

He studied her for a long time, saying nothing but giving her the full force of his blue eyes. His expression wasn't hostile, but it was sad. “Did you ever love me?” he finally asked.

“Yes.” Her mouth went numb. Not dry. It just ceased to be.
How can he think I didn't? That I don't?
She didn't want to consider that. Her heart hammered as if her rib cage was suddenly too small. She gave a slow nod. “I'm a mess.”

“Yes, you are.” He smiled to take the sting from his words. “And you kind of made a mess of me.”

They'd run up against the wall she'd been dodging for so long. Tears stung her eyes. “I'm sorry. I know that's not enough. I—”

He put one finger to her lips, stopping the flood of apology. “You can't help what you feel. There's no blame here, but we need to be smart about this. I need you to tell me the truth. Don't tell me what your head says—tell me what the rest of you knows. That's what a wolf thinks like. That's always honest.”

“I don't understand,” she protested.

“Stop thinking.”

Chapter 10

F
aran leaned forward, sliding his hand up the side of her thigh, to her hip, to her waist. Lexie's limbs froze, not sure whether to lean in or pull away. “I can't think when you do that.”

“Good.”

There were layers of bedclothes between his palm and her skin, but memory supplied the feel of his touch. He'd always been able to ignite her like a match to tinder. Raw desire had never been the problem between them—just what her mind did with those feelings.

“I...”

“Shh.”

Faran's breath fanned warm against her face. His lips brushed hers, barely there at first, and then with hunger. He pulled her closer, drawing her into his embrace. Her hands found the smooth skin of his shoulders and trailed over the bulk of his chest, delighting in the clean, hard lines. And then his arms tightened, folding her in the strong circle of his embrace. She felt the power of him, the sheer brute strength banked in all that hard muscle.

She tensed. He froze.

“What does your body tell you?” he asked.

“Danger.” The word was barely more than a whisper.

He released her slowly, his brows drawn together in puzzlement. “Talk to me.”

Lexie inhaled as if she'd been fighting for air without realizing it. “I know holding me like that's supposed to make me feel protected, but it doesn't. Not right now.”

“What do you think I'm going to do?”

“Nothing—it's like there's something buzzing inside me when you get close.” She couldn't exactly explain what she meant. She felt like a horse kicking down the barn door to get loose. She'd heard about people who got caught between a car and a wall and were slowly crushed to death—and in that moment she knew what it felt like. Helpless, immobilized, vulnerable. Desperate for air.

His fingertips traced the line of her cheek. “Claustrophobia?”

“That's part of it, but it's only part. Call me crazy.”

His lips thinned at her evasion, but he pressed on. “I don't remember you ever mentioning feeling like that before...” He trailed off.
Before the wolf
.

Lexie knew she was hurting him. She had to give him something. “It was fine at first. It got worse the closer we got. The more I wanted to be with you, the worse it became.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, it wasn't just you. Maybe I'm allergic to relationships.”

Her tongue felt like a shriveled, dead thing. Faran waited, but she couldn't say any more. There were layers of emotion involved, and she barely understood half. Shame, habit, reflexes born of years of punishment muzzled her. She could see Faran thinking through the problem. He always wanted to fix things—but this wasn't a simple repair.

“Are you willing to try?” he asked softly.

“I want to.”

“Good. That's all I ask.” He lay down beside her, rolling onto his back with a come-hither grin. “So now you're the one in control.”

Lexie looked down at him, feeling suddenly lost. “What?”

“Ravish me. You know you want to.” He put his hands behind his head. It did great things to his arms.

“Uh.” She bit her thumbnail. Lexie's first instinct had been to kick him off the bed, but suddenly she didn't want to. Faran looked like sin. She wanted to forget everything and just launch herself at him like a starving woman, but she felt tangled in the net of her own anxieties.

Her hand drifted to settle over his heart. It beat strong beneath her palm. He was so warm and alive, nervous energy almost crackling the air around him. Her own body responded, quivering in response. It made her short of breath.

“Do you still make those crispy shrimp things?” she asked, grasping for something safe and light to calm herself.

He responded with a lazy blink of his blue eyes. “I think I still have the recipe somewhere. I remember you like those.”

She bent and kissed his mouth, feeling his heart kick slightly as she did it. It gave her a twinge of ridiculous pride. “You want to know what I like? I like that.” She kissed the spot over his heart. “And that.”

He reached out, taking her hand in his. His fingers were so long, they engulfed hers. Her breath caught.

“But you don't like that,” he said.

She pulled away. “I need to know I can get free. I like being touched, but only if I'm in control.”

“Why didn't you ever tell me?”

Tears rushed up the back of Lexie's throat, and she clamped her teeth hard to keep them in.
Because I'm fearless. I'm the one who lives without a care
. She'd told herself that a thousand times, but it was a lie. She'd just hidden it until she couldn't anymore. “It's old stuff. Baggage. Damage.”

The admission left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Lexie, what happened?”

She sucked her breath in, shaking her head as if to push away the groundswell of memories. “I think that's enough fun and games for one night, don't you? It's been a really, really long day.”

She was running without even moving, and she knew it. Faran knew it, too.

The air between them seemed to go cold. Without a word or a look, he slipped off the bed and padded toward the door. No judgment, no protest.
I can't do this to him again.

“It was my brother, Justin,” she said, not looking up. The words came out so quickly, they barely made sense. But somehow that fit.

“Lexie,” he said softly.

Slowly, she raised her eyes. Panic began to stir. “He didn't touch me that way. Not like you're thinking.”

His expression darkened. He was like a bow before the arrow was drawn, force waiting for purpose. “Whatever happened was enough.”

She didn't want to talk about it. It was like an ugly, twisted scar that deformed the parts of her that should have been lovely. It was proof that she couldn't fix herself, or protect herself. Pride—shame—had made her want to be whole, but that was a lie. And it was costing her Faran's love.

“Justin is dead. He died when I was sixteen. He was three years older.” She hauled in a breath and let it go. All at once breathing seemed like a terrible chore. “The police shot him. He was involved in a home invasion. They think he killed a nine-year-old girl.”
After all, he'd been practicing on me for a dozen years, bit by bit
. “My parents still don't believe it. Not even with all the evidence in front of them.”

The room fell eerily silent, as if the air itself stopped dead. Lexie could almost hear her blood moving through her veins.

“There's a lot more to that story,” Faran said.

“Yes.”

“You never went home the whole time we were together. I don't think you even called.”

“Like I said, my parents didn't believe. Especially not Mom. Not the way Justin died, and not about what he did to me. Not even when he broke my arm.” Her hand went to the spot just above her elbow. A feeling of hopeless, helpless rage awakened in her gut, scrabbling like a rat. “They called it sibling rivalry, but that doesn't usually involve repeated trips to the emergency room.”

Faran hadn't moved a muscle, but the color drained from his face. “When did it begin?”

“I'd just started school.”

Random images spiraled through her mind. Her favorite plaid dress. The chain-link fence around the playground. Her stepdad's car driving away in the bright California sun. Those were okay, but there were others. Finding out her real dad was gone forever. Her brother watching her from an upstairs window like some ghost from a horror film. Her mother taking endless pills. Lexie had been fascinated by the amber plastic bottles that rattled like candy. It was only when she was older she learned the problem was depression.

“Mom was under the weather all the time, and my stepdad traveled a lot. I was just a kid, into everything, making messes. Justin never was. It was like he was already old when he was born. Mom said he looked just like our real dad. Maybe that's why she liked him so much.”

“So your brother looked after you when your parents weren't around,” Faran guessed.

“Yeah. He looked after me.”

Other people would have called it torture, but that conjured images of chains and dungeons. That wasn't it at all. They'd had a nice house with a nice yard, and she'd had swimming and piano lessons. There were never any pets, though. Her parents were that smart, at least. “It went on for ten years.”

“Until he died.”

She nodded. “It was all about Justin being in charge. He'd set traps just to show he could get me whenever he liked. This—” she pointed from herself to Faran and back “—this doesn't come easily. I don't trust. Not after looking over my shoulder every day for a decade, waiting for the next ambush.”

With soft-footed grace, Faran crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He took her hand, holding it lightly, and kissed her palm. He shut his eyes, saying nothing but just warming her flesh with his.

Lexie's throat ached with remembered pain. “This is the moment people want to tell me Justin is gone and it will all be okay,” she said faintly. “Don't ever do that. He's still with me every time I jump at a loud noise.”

“I'm not going to tell you what to think or feel.” Faran leaned close, the line of his body touching hers. “I just hope it fades over time.”

She bit her lips together, refusing to cry. “I want this to work.” She kissed his cheek, feeling the roughness of his beard. “I hope I don't drive you crazy first.”

“I know it's complicated. Believe me, I know.” He slid an arm around her, but he did it gently. Justin had stolen the kind of carefree rough-and-tumble she knew Faran liked—but horseplay set her nerves on edge. It was too much like an attack.

A hot tear rolled from under her lashes. “I'm not much of a girlfriend, am I?”

Faran's head was bowed, but he smiled with a touch of his old mischief. “That's what's great about dogs. They adore you no matter what.”

She kissed him. There was nothing else she could do because she thought her heart would break from the sheer weight of her feelings. He responded, easy and sweet and yet with a heat and hunger that let her know he wanted more than just to be her friend. Somewhere in their years apart, Faran had grown wise.

And maybe she had, too. The wolf mattered—it was an essential part of him—but it didn't frighten her nearly so much. Not when she felt the gentle affection in his caress. Faran was right. Her body knew things about him her brain had skipped over.

His teeth tugged at her lip, teasing her, promising her as much as she could handle. Daring her to match his fire. He knew all too well that, for all her uncertainties, she was proud and that spark inside her would give her the strength to be whole.

Her hands slid over his skin, reassuring her that Faran wasn't just a wonderful dream. She wasn't alone, and for the first time ever, the possibility of healing seemed real.

Chapter 11

“I
don't know why we're doing this,” Lexie said as Faran's car wound up the mountainside the next morning. True, it was a magnificent day for a drive, with a cloudless sky and only the lightest breeze, but their last road trip had ended in the fight with a melting man. She wasn't getting over that in a hurry. “Don't we have bad guys to catch back at the palace?”

“Sure.” Faran turned the car onto a narrower path that led to an abrupt stop on a grassy plateau. “But investigation is about more than running around shooting people. I need to think. And I need to get away from the city for a while. Yesterday was a little intense.”

As Faran parked, Lexie scanned the scene through the windshield—rolling hills, mountains and a hawk against the flawless sky. Faran had always been a lover of the great outdoors, and now she knew why. Part of him belonged to it. She waited for that reminder of the wolf to rouse her anxiety, but it didn't. “Okay, but this is pretty isolated. What if Gillon's friends show up?”

He turned off the motor and opened the car door. “This isn't a twisty back road like yesterday. No one is going to take us by surprise here. Look around you.”

Lexie got out and did as he asked. They were in the middle of a flat meadow, the sheltering side of the hill a hundred yards away. The only break in the rough grass was an irregular ring of gray stones about four feet tall and too narrow for anyone larger than a child to hide behind. He was right; there was no opportunity for an ambush. It should have been reassuring, but there was something odd about the place. “It's awfully warm here. It almost feels like summer.”

“They say it's because of the stone circle.”

Lexie gave them another look. “Is that an ancient monument of some kind? Like a mini-Stonehenge?”

“Apparently. There are circles like this all over the countryside. Ancient human tribes used them as meeting places, but the fey built them.”

“The fey?” she asked curiously. “For real?”

He nodded. “People sensitive to magic say touching the stones gives them pins and needles.”

She approached the closest stone, half expecting it to start glowing. Nothing happened. The stone was just gray rock, lumpy and hunched. It leaned to the side like an old gravestone, its base lost in the long grass.

But despite its plain appearance, it felt very much alive—not as if it would move or make a sound, but it was somehow
aware
. She stopped walking. She didn't want to get any closer. “Can't you feel it?” Lexie asked.

“I can tell this was a fey place, but not more than that. I'm just a werewolf. It's not the same thing.”

Her thoughts slid sideways a moment, as if they'd lost their footing on the strange subject matter. “You say it
was
a fey place, like they aren't here anymore.”

“They're not. The Light Fey keep to themselves, far away from the Company. The Dark Fey were exiled from the mortal world a thousand years ago.”

Lexie stretched a hand toward the stone. She felt tingling, but it might have been no more than the power of suggestion. No, it was more than that. Truth be told, it felt like sticking her finger in a light socket.

I can feel magic?
So not what she wanted to know—and yet it made sense. She'd felt that buzzy, unsettled feeling she'd experienced around the stones—and Gillon and Faran—off and on ever since childhood, mostly in times of stress. As her relationship with Faran had stirred up other anxieties—mostly to do with her family—that unsettled sensation had only muddied the waters. The wolf had eventually become the focus of her dread.

Complicated? Yes. There were a bundle of factors at work—misunderstood psychic abilities, deep-seated family trauma and a boyfriend who turned into a raging werewolf. No wonder she was a bit tense. But just now Faran had given her more insight than the past three shrinks and a Reiki master combined.

Yet all this would explain why proximity to Gillon had sent her senses reeling—because he was definitely connected to magic. And it would explain at least one reason why the closer she'd grown to Faran, the more restless she'd become. He might be just a werewolf, but he hit the same radar. She definitely had a sixth sense for the supernatural.

Stuffing her hand into her jacket pocket, she turned back to him. Faran was unloading something from the trunk of the car. “Is that why you brought me here? To see if I could feel the stones?”

He was rummaging in the trunk of his car, his back to her. “Maybe. It was an idea.”

“I can feel them.”

“Cool.”

She felt a brief stab of irritation. She could feel magic! Surely this was big news! “What does that mean?”

“From what you were saying last night, I wondered if you might be a little bit psychic. From what I've heard, understanding that helps when you cross paths with the supernatural.” He didn't sound particularly excited by the fact. “It's less freaky if you understand you're picking up energetic backwash.”

Backwash? It sounded about as exciting as dishwater. Disappointment edged her mood. “You mean this is just a piece of practical information?”

“For now.” He turned around, a bundle in his arms and a sneaky grin on his face. “Maybe you've got a nonhuman ancestor in the family tree. It could happen.”

That sounded oddly suggestive. She eyed Faran, wondering what he was up to. “What's that you're holding?”

“We're having a picnic,” he said, and shook out a large checked blanket. The wind caught the fabric for an instant, making a huge sail of the red-and-white fabric against the blue sky before it settled on the grass. “You know I always want to eat.”

He ducked back into the car and pulled out one of the huge wicker hampers the city's delicatessens rented to tourists for their day trips. “See?” He opened the lid, and even from a distance Lexie could tell it was packed to the brim with food.

Her mind stalled as she tried to deal with magic and Faran at the same time. They were two huge subjects, both loaded with land mines. Suddenly overwhelmed, she approached the blanket with caution.

It felt like stepping into the past. They used to have picnics all the time. She'd forgotten what it was like to be with Faran like this—drowned in sunshine and creature comforts. She didn't need to look to know he would have brought her favorites from the deli. He'd remember what they were.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“Sit,” he said. “Relax. I've got it covered.”

But she stayed standing, unable to let down her guard. It struck her, perhaps deeper than ever before, how much his revelation of the Night World had changed everything. She was about to have a picnic with a wolf, caught in some bizarre reversal of Red Riding Hood. And she could feel the magic of fairy stones—which was amazing even if he dismissed it as
backwash
. If it was that mundane, why had he even bothered to test her perceptions?

Faran uncorked a bottle of Cabernet, drawing the cork out with practiced ease. He sniffed it appreciatively.

“Do you still cook?” she asked, still standing.

“Not much. I don't have free time.”

It was a shame. He really was an artist in the kitchen. “You're too busy saving the world.”

With a droll expression, he poured wine into glasses. “No, it's more like I don't make time. Cooking isn't fun unless there is someone there to eat it, and vampires make terrible dinner guests.”

Lexie took the hint. She sat and took the glass of wine he handed her.
“Salut,”
she said.

He clinked his glass against hers. “Your health.”

They sipped the ruby wine. It was the way she liked it, with a good body but not too heavy. “Answer me this,” she said. “What kind of genes make a person sense magic?”

“Recessive ones.” He set the glass aside. They were sitting cross-legged, their knees nearly touching. Lexie could see the forest rising a little distance behind him in a curtain of deep green. He pulled a cardboard carton out of the basket and opened it. “There's a nice selection of cheeses here.”

“Is there a known DNA factor?” she countered.

“You'd have to ask someone with medical knowledge. I do know there are plenty of people with some sensitivity to magic and it tends to run in families.”

The words held a strange echo, like something she'd heard as a little girl. “But you think it's from a mixed marriage somewhere along the line?”

Faran shrugged. “Not necessarily. Humans have their own powers, even if they deny it.” He was unpacking the picnic basket, putting out one thing after another: olives, bread, grapes, thinly sliced ham and slivers of dried fruit. “I can't explain why you in particular seem to be sensitive to the presence of magic. I don't know anything about your family history.”

She picked up a grape and rolled it between her fingers. “My mother was a schoolteacher. Clive—my stepfather—was a businessman. He was the one with all the money. My brother and I were the only two kids. That's all there is to know, except for my father. I don't remember him very well. I was really little when he left. Justin would remember more.”

“Your father left?”

“My mom waited years before she divorced our dad and married again.” The grape was mangled. She tossed it into the grass. “How would I know if there was something special in my bloodline?”

“With mixed families—and I'm not saying that's what's going on with you—supernatural skills tend to show up as a person matures, and occasionally not at all. Often it's no more than weird dreams and luck playing the lottery.”

“I want...” She trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

He reached over, squeezing her knee. “Tell me.”

Lexie was at a loss. What
did
she want? It was an endless list, and a lot of it had nothing to do with Faran or what they were doing there. She wished she could remember her parents before everything went wrong. She wished her brother hadn't become the terror that defined her childhood—and maybe her adulthood, too.
No, I won't let that happen
.

“Lexie?” Faran asked. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking about the past. This conversation is so strange. I remember as a girl I felt like there was nothing special about me. Like I was the most boring creature in the world.”

He went still, but it was a solid, quiet stillness. “Where would you get that idea?”

She picked another grape. “I remember walking to school one day and seeing my brother up ahead. I slowed down so he wouldn't notice me. He was standing in front of the corner grocery store talking to some guy who must have been in his fifties. I don't remember his name, but my brother was around him a lot for a while. He was a teacher or a tutor or something.”

Faran said nothing, but refilled her wineglass.

“They saw me,” Lexie went on. “I remember my brother telling his friend that I wasn't anything special. And then I remember the older guy saying they'd never know until I feared for my life.”

Faran looked up. “He said what?”

“At that point I turned and ran. I don't think I've ever stopped. It was bad enough to read the look on that man's face and realize he was serious. He'd kill me to figure out what he wanted to know. Worse, I still wonder what he expected to find out.”

Faran set the bottle down and captured her hand in his. This time he didn't try to hold back but squeezed, imparting all the warmth and strength she could ever need.

Lexie desperately wanted to change the subject. She'd spoiled the mood enough, but memories were lurching to life. “I think they tried not that long afterward. When Justin was around thirteen, he stuck me with a meat skewer.”

Faran swore, but she barely heard him. Thinking about it brought back the burn along her nerves. What she remembered even more than the agony, though, was the look of trepidation in Justin's eyes. “He was waiting for something to happen, but nothing did, of course.”

Justin had been exhilarated and curious, but he'd also been afraid. Of what?
Of not being the special one.
She shied away from the thought as if it had been poison.

But there wasn't room to think anymore because Faran's mouth was on hers. “Hush,” he whispered, sliding one hand behind her head to cup it securely. He leaned in for the kiss, tasting her as if she were one of the treats in his picnic basket. Lexie leaned forward to meet him, careful of the glasses. He tasted of wine and fresh grapes, like some ancient god of revelry.

Maybe kissing was a simplistic cure for all that old distress, but it was an effective one. Faran touched her face, lightly brushing it with the backs of his fingers. It was a cherishing gesture, relishing the simple contact of skin on skin. There'd been a time when neither of them had possessed that kind of self-control, and there was a burning deep in her belly that said that restraint wouldn't last forever. She kissed him again, feeling the warmth in his flesh. He was filled with life, rich and vibrant as the sun-warmed vintage.

“I don't want all that garbage following me around anymore,” she whispered. “I want to be rid of it and be happy.”

“Then that's our plan A,” he replied with a wicked smile.

Her fingers ran down his arm, tracing the tight, heavy muscles. He was indeed a male animal, his very presence making her chest ache with wanting. She sucked in a gasp as his hand found her ribs, the stroke of his fingers wildly intimate though they were both fully dressed.

She could feel the tension—the magic—of the place spiraling through her, twining with the coil of her desire. Faran smelled so good, so familiar. Her fingers laced in his hair, loving the rough texture of it.

And yet the ghosts they'd disturbed—those memories she wanted gone—refused to lie still. Too much had come back to life today. The hum of magic clinging to the stones pulsed behind her eyes like a headache about to happen.