Chapter 5 #4
It was unusual for Rougs to seek employment in the human world.
In fact, it was so unusual, there was a name for it: êtreseul.
Literally, it meant “to be alone,” and while it wasn’t exactly frowned upon—many of the Rougs close to Quebec had jobs working for or with humans—it wasn’t commonplace for members of the pack from Portes de l’Enfer.
Money was far better when they sought employment in the human world, but it was always risky.
You had to be able to hide or explain your three-day absences from work, control your temper and impulses, but more than anything, it meant that you didn’t have the support of the pack around you.
While Jack had missed his family, working in the human world was important to him for two reasons. One, he knew he needed to make a lot of money to be able to renovate the old Southern Bloodlands lodge for him to share with Darcy, and two, he needed to learn how to blend in with the humans.
Working for the CE had toned his body and taught him important self-defense techniques, and he and Tombeur had long mastered control at all times except Pleine Lune.
The reality was, however, his superior sense of smell and hearing, even while in human form, gave him a distinct edge over other employees.
After a short stint guarding a warehouse in Waltham, Massachusetts, his excellent record and good looks got him assigned to protecting a wealthy family who lived in Weston, Massachusetts, in a ten-million-dollar compound.
His salary jumped from $25K to $160K per year, and with only modest living expenses and one extravagance in his life, the rest of the money was banked.
The extravagance? The mostly empty brownstone apartment he’d rented that had a mattress on the bedroom floor, his clothes in the closet, and a little bit of food in the fridge.
After scaring the owner to death—well, almost—by shifting on the fire escape and scraping at the kitchen window, she’d moved out in a haste, claiming the apartment was haunted, and Jack had stepped up to sign a lease within a day of her departure.
It was Darcy’s old apartment, of course, from her Harvard days.
She had lived there for four years, which meant that remnants of her scent were everywhere in the small dwelling.
Finally surrounded by her smell on a consistent basis for the first time in his life made Jack feel more at home than he’d ever felt in Portes de l’Enfer.
It reminded him every night what he was working for, where he was going.
He would hold Darcy’s Métis necklace up to the light of the moon through the bedroom window, the light reflecting through the holes of the figure eight like eyes as he made his plan to include her in his life, to reclaim his mate.
He’d close his fist around the necklace as he slept, the cool metal imprinting on the heat of his skin, never allowing him to lose sight of his life’s destination: the arms of Darcy Turner.
And now here she was, sitting beside him on the countertop of his kitchen, wearing the very necklace he’d held onto for so many lonesome nights.
Suddenly overcome with relief and gratitude for the miracle of her presence in his life, he stopped chopping the onions and carrots and put the knife on the counter.
“But it’s okay. My mom’s a great cook, and I don’t really have anyone to cook for anyway except myself and—”
He put his hands on her knees, capturing her eyes.
And I can cook for us, he told her, finishing her sentence. His eyes flicked to her lips, lingering for a moment before looking back into her eyes.
She put down her carrot and raised her hands to his face.
Us.
She smiled at him, but it faded as her eyes darkened to evergreen, her legs parted to welcome him closer, and he pressed against her, until the erect tips of her breasts brushed against his chest.
He eased his hands up her thighs, finally resting them on her hips.
He could smell her arousal, and it made him harden, wanting her.
He would never stop wanting her like this.
And all he wanted right now was to pick her up off the counter and carry her up the stairs to his bed.
He was distracted by her tongue running over her lips.
He watched her teeth gently bite into the pillow of her lower lip, and his eyes slammed up to seize hers.
Kiss me, Jack.
He heard the low growl leave his throat at the same time his lips came crushing down on hers.
He pulled her roughly up against his body, and she raised her legs, wrapping them around his back, locking them.
He plunged his tongue into her mouth, and she moaned, arching her body up against him, running her hands through his hair.
She wiggled her hips to fit more closely to him, and he groaned, pushing into her softness, only holding onto the edge of his control with a thread.
If they didn’t stop, he was going to rip off her pants and take her on the kitchen counter beside the chopped carrots until she screamed his name and ran her nails down his back.
As if sensing this inevitability, she pulled back from him. Her lips were rosy and puffy, and her eyes were heavy with arousal.
“Can you please finish cooking quickly?” she panted, lowering her hands from his hair.
He dropped his head to her shoulder, feeling laughter bubble up from a joyful place in the middle of his body.
Yes, Lela was coming. Yes, the equinox was coming.
Yes, they were having guests for dinner.
But this impossibly sweet, bright angel was his, and nothing could dampen his hope for them. Not in that moment.
He finally drew back and looked at her.
“Going to be hot,” he said, licking his lips, kneading her hips under his hands, making no move to pull away from her.
“Dinner?” she murmured.
He shook his head back and forth slowly. Damn, his body didn’t want to calm down, and he needed another few minutes to prepare the food before he could carry her upstairs and have his way with her.
“Nope.”
She raised her eyebrows in question.
“My bed. In about…” He glanced at the chicken about to burn in the sauté pan, then back at her. “Ten minutes.”
“Promise?” she asked saucily.
The look on her face was killing him.
He nodded, taking a deep breath, backing away from her and picking up the knife again.
She picked up the carrot she’d been nibbling on and popped it into her mouth. He watched as her lips settled over it and suddenly wasn’t sure he’d actually make it ten minutes.
She watched him with those heavy, aroused eyes.
Quit it, he told her.
She withdrew the carrot from her mouth slowly, letting it make a popping sound at the end, and Jack groaned, licking his lips, feeling his eyes brighten dangerously.
I mean it, Darce. Stop.
She smiled at him, glancing at the enormous bulge in his jeans, and he could see how much she was enjoying his pain.
“Just wait,” he growled, cutting the vegetables with more speed and less precision than before.
“For what?” she breathed in a low, husky voice.
“You’ll see,” he groaned, imagining her spread eagle on his bed, his face buried between her thighs as she writhed under him, bucking up against his face. Yep. He’d get her back for her carrot antics.
He worked in silence for a few minutes, transferring the carrots and onions to the Crock-Pot and turning the chicken once more before she spoke again.
“You’re good with knives,” she said, and Jack made a mental sigh of relief that she wasn’t using that low sexy voice that had him dying to mate with her.
“I should be. I worked for the Council Enforcement for ten years,” he said, deftly moving the salted and peppered chicken, thigh by thigh, to the waiting Crock-Pot.
“Doing what?” she asked. “Or do I want to know?”
“Keeping order, mostly,” he said quietly, adding red wine to the mix of chicken and vegetables, averting his eyes. Hunting rogue Rougs, enforcing hunting boundaries and kill limits, arbitrating bitter feuds between neighboring packs. It wasn’t easy work.
“In…your pack?” she asked, and he could tell she was testing out the words for the first time.
“Mm-hmm. Well, mine and the seven others. There are eight packs in the Northern Bloodlands. The Council is the governing body. It’s made up of representatives from the eight packs.”
“I’ve heard you talk a lot about the Northern Bloodlands. Is there a southern?”
He turned to her and nodded. “Yep.”
“Where are they?”
“Um…here, actually. Carlisle was the Southern Bloodlands, Darcy. From Carlisle to Colebrook. Used to be three southern packs on this land and five up north.”
“How long ago?” she asked with wide eyes.
“A long, long time ago.”
“When Proctor Woods was Bois Loup Garou,” she said.
“You remembered.” He looked up at her and marveled that they were able to have this conversation. She was discussing his life, the history of his pack.
“How many of you are there?” she asked, taking another bite of carrot.
Jack sighed. It meant everything to him to hear her say that she loved him, but he still didn’t want to scare her away with too much information.
“About a thousand,” he said, whisking a mixture of flour and chicken stock to pour over the mixture and finally be done with it for a few hours. Or two, he thought, averting his eyes.
“That’s at least a thousand kills per month,” she gasped.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not. Not at all. The young don’t hunt. Only adults. And bound couples share a kill with their families. There are strict rules.”
“It still must be several hundred,” she murmured, and Jack hated the fear in her voice.
“Many think like me, do what I do, hunting wild game instead. Especially the ones who keep company with Métis partners. Others have contacts at the morgue, at ceme—”
He saw her hand whip up to cover her mouth, and he stopped talking, wincing as she heaved twice, her shoulders rolling forward. Finally, she uncovered her mouth and took a deep breath, looking down.
“We don’t all hate humans,” he said softly, pouring the stock mixture over the chicken and covering the Crock-Pot. He dusted his hands on his jeans, then put them on her knees. “I think things might be changing. But change is slow.”
“It has to start somewhere,” she breathed. She covered his hands and nodded bravely.
His heart swelled with love for her, and he slid his hands slowly up her leg, pushing his fingers between the V of her thighs, seeking the hot, sensitive skin buried beneath too many layers of clothes.
Dinner preparation was done for now. There were other things that needed his attention and that definitely needed hers.
He looked up at her, and she held his burning eyes with her clear green ones.
I want you, Darcy. Now.
I want you too.
With his eyes locked with hers, he put his hands around her waist, slowly pulling her off the counter. Her body slid down the front of his until her feet touched the floor, and every nerve ending in his body demanded more.
“I love you,” he said simply. “No matter what.”
“I love you too,” she answered.
He brushed lips against hers, then took her hand and pulled her toward the stairs.