Hunter's Need (24 page)

Ana shrugged. “No. I don’t feel it. I can feel them, though. Souls, or something. I sensed them the first time I was here, but there’s nothing I can follow.”

He could. He could follow the blood. But he wasn’t ready to do it yet. “What else do you feel?”

“Nothing.” Ana shook her head. “Just them. Like they’re calling me. It’s too chaotic for me, like a bunch of voices all screaming at once. None of it makes sense. But that’s all. Why . . . what do you feel?”

“Just the urge to get the hell away from here,” he said. He almost didn’t say it. Didn’t really want to. But he knew he had to. Get it out, get it done, before they went there and got caught up in whatever mess waited for them. “Only time I’ve ever felt anything even remotely like this was back in Cincinnati. Right before I met you.”

She glanced into the trees and then back at him. She swallowed and shook her head. Something flickered in her eyes—hurt.

“Duke, I’m not doing—”

“I know it’s not you,” he interrupted. “It’s not the same, not exactly. Back in Cincinnati, you just cast a pall on everything, hid anything that might have set my instincts off. Whatever this is, it’s more than that. There’s a pall, I can smell death, but I don’t
feel
it. And this isn’t just some passive blocking. It’s more like something’s actively screaming at me, telling me to leave. You didn’t ever do that. You were like a vacuum—this is one massive, motherfucking black hole.”

She blanched. “Shit. You . . . Duke, you think there’s somebody around here, like me?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t know. He really didn’t
want
to know. But he was going to have to find out. He rolled his head back and forth, loosening up muscles that had long since gone tight and tense. “Come on. Let’s get this done.”

Done. As in quick. Real quick, because he wanted
out
of there. Wanted away.

 

 

“Y
EAH, well, you don’t always get what you want,” he muttered a few days later, remembering his very definite desires to get away from the small town of Palmer. An hour north of Anchorage, the small town didn’t seem to have any answers for them.

A damned waste of time. After four, fruitless, empty days, he’d decided it had been a damned waste of time coming here. Four days—four
fucking
days.

Spent tromping out in the forest, following overgrown trails, basically just chasing his own damn tail, it seemed like. His senses weren’t working. He could smell the blood, could smell the death.

It burned inside him, that death. Blood spilled, calling out to him a way that left no doubt about why he might be here. If he could just track the source, he could find something. He hoped.

But searching for the source had proved to be another lesson in futility, as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t find it. It was like he’d gone scent-blind and couldn’t smell anything more than the blood. The stink of that surrounded him. It felt like it permeated his entire damn body.

As he followed Ana up the stairs that led to the private entrance of their room, he wondered what in the hell was wrong with him. Wrong with his head, wrong with his nose.

“I need a shower,” he said curtly, brushing past her and stalking into the bathroom. She was quiet but that was nothing new. Over the past four days, she’d retreated more and more inside herself and that wasn’t helping his frame of mind any, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

He was on edge just being here and while whatever it was that affected him didn’t seem to bother her, she was a mess of tension, too. He didn’t want to say anything that would make it worse, so basically, neither of them were saying anything beyond what was necessary. Son of a bitch, he couldn’t take much more of this.

Stripping out of his clothes, he climbed into the shower and turned up the water as hot as it would go. He scrubbed every inch of his body, washed his hair twice, and still smelled the blood.

Maybe we should just leave. This is a waste of time
—

“No.” Appalled, he jerked his thoughts back in line and mentally kicked himself. Not a waste of time. So what if they weren’t finding what they needed? This was how things were found, through process of elimination, weeding down to the possible problem by getting rid of the more improbable ones.

Furious with himself for even thinking about getting rid of it, he turned the water off and climbed out, drying himself off. He went to reach for his clothes, but he’d forgotten to get clean ones and there was no way he was putting on the dirty ones. Hell, if he had the clothes to spare, he’d burn them. Might do it anyway. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to buy more.

Blowing out a disgusted breath, he looped the towel around his waist and slipped out of the bathroom. He came up short, though, as he caught sight of Ana standing in front of the gas fireplace and staring at the dancing flames. They flickered across her face and glinted off her pale, gold hair.

She looked so beautiful, he thought. Beautiful and sad. That sadness he glimpsed in her eyes hit him in the gut, low and hard. “Ana.”

She glanced up at him, gave him a faint smile and then resumed her study of the fire. “Are you done in there? I think I’d like to take a bath.”

“Have at it.” As she passed by him, he reached for something to say, something that might ease the misery inside her. He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. He knew what he wanted to do—pull her up against him, hold her, stroke her—it didn’t even have to be anything sexual, though he knew it would probably come to that.

He just wanted to touch her. Needed it. She was too deep inside him, stuck inside him. The kind of stuck that just didn’t get
un
-stuck.

The sound of running water started in the bathroom. He had half a mind to go stand in the doorway, watch as she stripped out of her clothes, while she climbed into a steaming tub of water. But he knew how she’d react. It would make her damn uncomfortable and that wasn’t going to help any.

 

 

T
WENTY minutes of soaking in a hot tub of water didn’t do a damn thing to help. Her back and neck were still a mess of knots and tension. Thirty minutes on a massage table probably wouldn’t do jack to help her stress level right now.

Ana stared up at the ceiling, her head resting on a folded-up towel, and tried to keep her mind blank. Tried not to think about anything, not to let herself feel anything. She might as well try to walk on water. The dread, the apprehension knotted inside her, leaving her with tense muscles and a horrendous headache.

She was frustrated and she felt utterly and completely useless. She wasn’t helping Duke at all. He’d seemed so sure she could do something to help, and she’d wanted to believe that. But it wasn’t happening.

They hiked through the woods, searching for a needle in a haystack, and each day that passed had him more and more tense. She could feel it, coming off of him in waves, feel it as his frustration started to turn into anger. Too much of it was self-directed and she hated that he was beating himself up over this.

Hated that she couldn’t do more to help.

You can’t hide in here forever
.

No. She couldn’t. The water was getting too cool, she was way too tired and she wasn’t about to let him stay out there and keep beating himself up over this. That decision made, she made quick work of washing her hair and her body.

Dripping wet, she stood up in the tub and wrapped her hair in one of the towels. She was reaching for a second towel to dry off when he opened the door.

Their eyes met. Duke didn’t say anything. He took the towel from her and held out a hand. She climbed from the tub and stood in front of him, shivering and silent as he dried her off.

Ana hadn’t ever realized the simple process of drying off could be made erotic. Although she was fast learning that Duke could make almost anything erotic, even things as simple as eating or walking. She caught her lip between her teeth as he stroked the soft, thick cotton over her nipples, down over her belly. He knelt in front of her to dry her legs off, taking a lot more time doing it than she ever did.

She was all but quaking with need by the time he finished. All but ready to pounce on him. Her breath caught in her throat as he stood up. He pulled her against him and she tipped her head back . . . only to have him curve a hand around the back of her neck and cradle her against him. His free hand glided up and down her back, long, soothing strokes. When he rubbed his lips against her temple, her heart melted inside her chest. A soft, shaky sigh escaped her lips and she turned her face into his neck, breathing in his scent.

She’d gotten too used to him being there, she realized. Too used to having him close, too used to having his warmth and strength within reach, close enough to touch. Her throat went tight as an unwelcome thought danced through her mind. How much longer? How much longer was he going to be right here, close enough for her to touch, close enough that his warmth chased all the darkness and ice from within her heart?

Her hands clenched and opened, unconsciously kneading the firm flesh of his back as she held him close. However long it was, a few days, a few months, even a few years weren’t going to be enough. Not with Duke. Not with a man she’d loved almost from the first. His strength, the kindness he kept hidden so deep inside, the passion he brought to everything he did.

Memories—she needed to hoard them, to stockpile them up so she had enough to get by one once he left. Warm memories—they weren’t going to do much to dispel the chill of loneliness, but it was better than nothing, she figured.

He rubbed his cheek against hers and said softly, “You’re thinking awful heavy thoughts.”

Tipping her head back, she smiled at him and said, “How do you know how heavy they are? Did you go and get psychic?”

“Don’t need to be psychic to feel that,” he said, tracing the line of her mouth with his finger. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” she said honestly. Then she surprised herself, and him. Reaching between them, she molded her fingers to his length, feeling him through the thick weave of the towel. “Let’s go to bed. I want you.”

Want . . . did that even describe what she felt? Want—it seemed so fleeting. An urge easily satisfied, a temporary desire that came and went. She didn’t
want
—she craved. She needed. She longed. And for now, she could have.

As he lifted her up, the towel fell to the floor. She wrapped her legs around his waist, shivering as her position had him nestled in just the right spot. Each step he took toward the bed had him brushing against her. A deep, empty ache throbbed inside her and she arched her back, working herself against him, trying to deepen the contact.

Duke growled under his breath as he took her to the bed, crushing her into the mattress as his mouth swooped down on hers. She met him, heat for heat, hunger for hunger. He tore her towel away and she reached for him. But he didn’t come—he sprawled between her thighs and urged them open. He pressed his mouth to her, licking, nuzzling and teasing the sensitive flesh and the empty ache inside her womb grew.

“Duke, please,” she whimpered, fisting her hands in his hair and tugging.

His groan rumbled through him and he tore his mouth away from her, staring up at her with eyes that swirled and danced with heat.

“Please . . . ” She’d beg if she had to. She needed to feel him inside her, needed to feel his weight and his strength—
him
.

Golden hair fell into his eyes and he tossed it back impatiently, staring up at her over the length of her body. She didn’t know what he was looking for, but she didn’t really care, not when he crawled up and settled atop her body, wedging his hips between her thighs. She sighed in satisfaction, her lashes fluttering down over her eyes.

“No,” he muttered, dipping his head and nipping her lower lip. “Look at me. I want to see you . . . I want to watch you.”

It took a monumental effort, but she forced her eyes to open and stared up into his face. A satisfied smile curled his lips and he shifted, reached between them and tucked the head of his cock against her entrance. “Look at me,” he muttered. “Fuck, Ana . . . I’m getting lost in you.”

Lazy. Sweet. She hadn’t realized how quickly desperate desire could turn into something so lazy and sweet. He sank into her, inch by slow inch, his eyes locked on her face. He reached down and caught her hands, twining their fingers and pressing their palms together. Then he kissed her and it was so gentle—full of wonder and delight and pleasure. It left her with tears stinging her eyes.

“My Ana,” he muttered against her lips. Then he shifted and rubbed his cheek against hers. “My Ana. Say you’re mine.”

“Yours, Duke.” She sighed. “For as long as you want.”

“And if I want forever?”

Her heart stuttered to a halt and if she could have jerked back, she would have done so. Dazed, she stared at him.

“Forever?” He didn’t mean forever.

Not with her.

“Forever,” he whispered, and then he kissed her again and the doubt inside her mingled with hope and joy.

Too quick. Beauty never lasted long enough, and neither did this. He crushed his mouth to hers, muttered against her mouth, “Forever, Ana.”

She desperately wanted to believe that. For now, maybe she could even let herself. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she clutched him tight and shuddered as he moved against her, moved within her. Deep, so deep . . . filling her, warming everything cold and empty. She cried out against his mouth and then moaned as he shifted higher on her body, rubbing against her clit with every deep, driving thrust.

“Mine.” His voice was a rough, guttural growl and it sent shivers down her spine.

“Yours . . . ” It was what she’d wanted for so long. And somewhere, even as doubt lingered, part of her began to hope. Began to believe.