Hawk's Revenge: Lone Pine Pride, Book 3 (9 page)

He cursed his sensitive hearing, closing his eyes against the temptation to peek through the crack in the door, but that only made the sounds more vivid and fired his imagination even hotter.

She was still the most gorgeous creature he’d ever laid eyes on in real life. And she was six feet away. Wet. Dripping. Her skin silky and slick. Water droplets beading on the high curves of her perfect breasts. He could hear her. The sound of her stroking her hands across her stomach. Sliding soap over her long, sleek legs. Up along the softness of her inner thighs and higher, into her warm, slippery folds.

Adrian groaned and lurched up from the table, half-tripping over the chair and scrubbing both hands hard over his face. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t stay here, fixated on every nuance of sound coming from the bathroom. He adjusted his jeans around his painful erection, hissing out a curse of his own.

He remembered every detail.

She’d been the most seductive combination of shy and wanton when she caught fire in his arms. He’d worshipped every inch of her, wanting to remember every second of their first time together. And every time after. His Rachel had been so much more than scratching an itch. She’d been everything. He’d seen his future in the light of dazed pleasure and adoration in her eyes.

A light he would never see again. He could never let himself be such a fool a second time.

He stalked from the cabin, instinctually reaching for his hawk, but again, nothing was there. And he could still hear the damn water. Frustration compounded on frustration and he snarled out a string of curses, tearing into the night.

Chapter Twelve

Rachel heard a sound like a door slamming while she was in the shower and flinched, instinctively covering herself. “Adrian?”

Nothing.

She shut off the water, listening hard, but couldn’t make out a single squeak from the other room. Had he left her?

Rachel dried off as best she could with the scrap of a towel she’d found and wriggled back into her clothing—a distinctly undignified contortion thanks to the chain dragging at her ankle. Decent again, she yanked open the door and found the main room empty once again.

Dang it. She shouldn’t have stomped off and taken a shower. She should have taken advantage of the fact that he was there and willing to answer questions, taken the opportunity to ask him everything she could think of. But when he’d been sitting there across from her, arms folded, looking like the king of the universe, she’d just wanted to prove to him that she wasn’t cowed. That he wasn’t the boss of her—even if he was. And now her bout of immaturity had landed her right back where she started. Alone and ignorant.

Though she knew a bit more than before.

She knew she would meet the pride Alpha tomorrow. She knew she was at Lone Pine Pride—and Adrian was watching over her.

Adrian.

She knew his name now. It suited him. Adrian. Her hawk.

She sat on the futon, tucking her legs up tailor fashion, and finger-combed the worst of the tangles out of her hair. He’d left no clues as to where he’d gone or whether he would be coming back tonight. He’d told her the bed was hers, but not where he would sleep. Perhaps he had a warm bed waiting for him.

A bed being warmed by a lissome lioness.

The thought made something unpleasant clench in her chest and she kicked herself for caring. Of course he would have someone here. He wouldn’t stay celibate forever. He was a handsome man. Okay, not handsome, perhaps, but compelling. Magnetic. Undeniably attractive. The raw shifter animalism was more contained in him, but no less seductive for that control.

It was probably that blonde she’d seen at the lab. Tall and strong, obviously a warrior—she’d be attractive to a man like Adrian. A fellow soldier who would fight shoulder-to-shoulder with him in the battle to free the shifters. Perhaps she was even a hawk like him. His mate.

Rachel had read a lot about hawks in the wild in the last several months. Little was known about avian shifters, but there was always a certain amount of bleed over from the animal side into the human characteristics. Hawks mated for life. Their loyalty was unswerving.

Had that blonde woman earned his loyalty?

Rachel flopped onto her back on the mattress, hating the image of the two of them together that rose up in her mind, but incapable of banishing it. They would make an attractive couple, his darkness and her fairness. She was beautiful in a strong, striking way. Not unlike Adrian.

“Stop.”

She said the word aloud, hoping it would work to stop the highlight-reel playing in her head.

It didn’t matter if he’d gone off to his lover. It made no difference to her if they were soul mates. It wasn’t like Rachel had ever had a shot of reclaiming his affection. He would never let himself care for her again—she’d seen that truth in the way he watched her, angry and unforgiving. But it still hurt to think of him with that blonde Amazon.

No sense getting caught up in girlish fantasies of the big, heroic Hawk now. He was her jailer. Nothing more. She needed to focus on that truth, on the present, and forget the might-have-beens of the past. Forget the way he could set her on fire with just a look. The way she’d been clenching her thighs together just sitting across from him at that fucking table.

She had a meeting with the Alpha in the morning. That was what she needed to be worrying about. Would he value all she’d done for them or fixate, as Adrian did, on her sins?

She was exhausted—who knew being in a drugged stupor all day was so tiring—and she knew she should sleep. She needed to be at her best in the morning. But her thoughts wouldn’t settle.

She compromised by closing her eyes as she mentally rehearsed what she was going to say to the Alpha, one ear always open for the sound of Adrian returning. But he never did.

Rachel fell into a fitful sleep and must have eventually settled into something deeper, because when she opened her eyes, sunlight was poking through the holes in the curtains and a pile of fresh clothes rested against her ankle.

Her
unbound
ankle.

Somehow Adrian had come in here, unchained her and left the clothes—complete with shoes and socks—without ever waking her. Rachel lunged for the clothes, racing to the bathroom to change before her jailer returned and changed his mind.

The bathroom was a revelation in itself. Lined up in a neat little row behind the faucet were a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, a brush, face wash and
deodorant
. She could kiss that man—if it weren’t for the fact that her privation was due to him in the first place.

She quickly made use of the toiletries and the toilet, then began tugging on the clothes. He’d thought of everything—bra, panties, a soft, long-sleeved undershirt and heavier sweater, and a pair of snug, black slacks. The quality was high—certainly higher than the clothing the Organization had provided for her use—and each item fit as if it were made for her, with the exception of the pants which stretched just a little tight across her hips and butt. Even the shoes fit.

She only hoped he hadn’t gotten these things from the blonde. She didn’t want to be dressed in his lover’s clothing. Though Rachel probably wouldn’t have fit in her clothes anyway. The blonde had looked taller, broader across the shoulders and hips, with more exaggerated curves along with all her muscle. Which still didn’t explain where the clothes had come from.

Banishing the thought, Rachel smoothed her hair into a snug ponytail and stepped out into the main room of the cabin. No chain rattled at her steps and she was tempted to smile, though the urge faded quickly.

Why
had she been released? If Adrian had released her this was probably some kind of test to see if she would try to escape.

She wasn’t about to run, but neither did she have any intention of wasting this freedom if this was going to be her only chance to breathe fresh air and get a look at where he was holding her.

There was no lock on the door, just a latch that lifted easily. She stepped out onto the narrow seen-better-days porch and took in her surroundings as quickly as possible.

The dense evergreen forest that shrouded the clearing on every side looked and smelled so different from the Georgia woods she’d played in as a child. The air was crisp and cooler than she was used to, the slight breeze cold enough to sting her cheeks, though there was no snow on the ground. It would be November now, she realized. Well into winter in the northern part of the country—provided they were close to the Wyoming facility where she’d broken Adrian out.

He melted out of the trees as if conjured by the thought—something he was making a habit of. Though as often as she thought of him, it would be more surprising if she
weren’t
thinking of him when he appeared.

He’d changed as well—the jeans newer than his usual ragged pair and his preferred Henley covered by a rich green sweater that made his eyes look even more electric than usual. They’d both dressed up for the Alpha, it seemed.

It was surprisingly tempting to sass him about the fact that she hadn’t attempted to run away as soon as the chains were off, but her mama’s raising asserted itself and she said instead, “Thank you for the clothes and the sundries.”

He shrugged, the muscles shifting beneath the green cloth and she shivered—half-cold and half-keen awareness.

“They fit perfectly. Where did you get them?” she asked as he reached past her, grabbing the coat she hadn’t noticed hanging on the hook beside the door.

He dropped the coat around her shoulders. “It’s a full-service pride.”

Whatever that meant. “Well, thank you,” she repeated, slipping her arms into the winter coat, instantly grateful for the warmth. Though she wasn’t sure whether the sudden heat was from the coat or her body’s reaction to his proximity.

He moved away from her to push the door closed and fasten a padlock over the latch. It was a strange dance they seemed to have with one another—frustration and care, anger and gratitude. Nothing could be straightforward with her hawk. A fact that was proven again as he pulled a black scarf from his back pocket and reached for her—at first she thought it was another nod to the cold of the day, but then the black cloth covered her eyes and she grimaced.

Of course she wasn’t to be trusted. She, who had rescued over a hundred shifters. She couldn’t be allowed to see where they were. God forbid.

“Is this Wyoming?” she asked, smelling the crisp freshness of his aftershave and the pine as her other senses tried to compensate for the loss of vision.

“Montana,” he grunted, tugging the scarf tight.

“Would you tell me the truth?” she mused aloud. “What if I led my evil overlords back here?”

“I thought I explained,” he said, his warm breath brushing against her neck. “You’re never leaving my sight, so we don’t have to worry about what you know about us.”

She fought down a little shiver of awareness. “Then why the blindfold?”

“If you can’t find your way to main pride compound, you can’t go there begging for sympathy from shifters who don’t know your treachery as well as I do.” He took her arm, guiding her down the steps and onto the uneven ground of the forest with a touch that was just firm enough to be comforting.

As he led her through the forest, she was instantly hopelessly lost—a fact which likely would have been just as true if she’d been able to see. Her sense of direction had never been particularly good. She estimated they’d been walking for about five minutes when he stopped her and spun her in a circle until her already confused directional sense was completely obliterated. He caught her hand then, linking their fingers together and pulling her onward. They walked on for another ten minutes down a gradual slope before she began to discern sounds of life beyond Adrian’s breathing and her own heartbeat.

She’d never had occasion to wonder what a shifter pride sounded like before, but she strained her ears now, picking out the familiar hum of voices in the distance, the high-pitched shrieks of children on a playground, the occasional crunch of footsteps passing them, though no one spoke to her or Adrian as they passed. Were they staring? Maybe it wasn’t strange to see a woman being led blindfolded through their midst. Just another day at the pride.

“How big is the pride?” she asked.

For a moment Adrian didn’t answer, waiting until another set of footsteps crunched past them before he spoke. “Almost two hundred strong at last count and growing every day—thanks to the Organization driving us into groups for safety.”

Two hundred.
“Heavens, it’s a town.”

“Full-service pride,” he repeated. “Steps now.”

They fell silent as he guided her up a set of stairs, shifting his grip so one hand held hers and the other braced her hip. She was excruciatingly aware of him, tempted to lean against him, but as soon as they reached the top, he stopped her and his warmth slipped away. She heard the rap of knuckles against wood, the sound of a door opening and a feminine voice. “Adrian. Good. Everyone else is upstairs.” A pause, and the female’s voice grew dry. “Is that really necessary?”

“Not here,” Adrian acknowledged, and she felt a tug and the loosening of the blindfold before the black scarf fell away. “Patch, meet Dr. Rachel Russell. Rachel, the Alpha’s mate, Patch Fontaine.”

“Jaeger, now,” the petite woman corrected absently, avidly studying Rachel. “So you’re the Organization doc who changed the game for us, huh?”

“That’s me.”

Patch didn’t look like any alpha lioness Rachel had ever seen. Slim, dark and tomboyish, she had a direct gaze and a sloppy ponytail. And none of the regal hauteur Rachel had expected. “Come on in.” The alpha female waved them through the door and Rachel’s awareness expanded to take in their surroundings.

They were on the doorstep of a grand house. It was massive, set high on a hill overlooking what did, indeed, appear at a glance to be a small town, filled to brimming with people she assumed were shifters. Did the Organization know about this place? If they did, it was only a matter of time before they attacked. This many shifters in one place was too juicy a target for the Board to resist forever.

Adrian nudged the small of her back and Rachel stepped obediently into the house. The foyer was massive and spacious, with a curving staircase that could have come straight out of
Gone with the Wind
. Patch was already leading the way toward it as Adrian took her coat and stowed it on an overflowing rack. This kind of place, this much infrastructure, indicated a permanence to the pride that she had never suspected.

“I thought shifters were migratory,” she whispered to Adrian as they followed Patch up the stairs.

“Not all of us,” he replied, one hand resting on her back as they ascended. She wondered if he was even aware of the touch. “The prides and packs are all about territory. But the migratory ones are easier for the Organization to snatch, so those are the ones you see more.”

That would explain why there were so few lions and wolves in the Organization cells, even though they were rumored to be the most plentiful breeds. The ones they did manage to catch tended to be nomads and lone wolves. She doubted the Organization was ignorant of the prides and packs. Far more likely they were avoiding the larger threat of the larger groups. For now.

That concern would have to wait for another day. They reached the second floor and Patch opened a pair of large double doors, releasing a buzz of conversation on the other side that quickly fell silent as they entered.

Showtime.