Chapter 10
“Oh my god,” she murmured.
Jack could barely catch his breath. He had never climaxed in a semi-shifted state, and even with only his claws out, he could feel the difference in intensity.
“You have to ask me to marry you more often,” Darcy breathed as he kissed her forehead, pulling out of her body and rolling onto his back beside her.
“Wow.” He sighed, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breathing. That’s right! She’d said…He turned his neck to look at her. “Did you mean it?”
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, rolling toward him, onto her side to face him. “I meant it, fiancé.”
He chuckled, glancing over at her red face, plastered with still wet and sweaty wisps of light red hair, and trying out the word for himself. “Fiancée.”
“But here’s something I need to know,” she said, her voice taking on a serious edge.
He propped himself up on his side, worried. He searched her eyes, then relaxed when he realized she was trying not to smile.
“Where’s my ring?”
He had a wedding ring for her, but no engagement ring. He chuckled again, letting himself fall back. “We’ll drive to North Conway tomorrow. I’ll buy you whatever ring you want.”
She lowered her head and pressed her lips to his shoulder.
“I have to go home tomorrow,” she said softly. “Now that Lela’s been taken care of.”
He twisted his neck to look at her. “Move in with me.”
“I will,” she said. “But this is Carlisle, and my mother lives in this town. So it’ll have to be a gradual sort of thing until we’re married.”
“Let’s get married tomorrow,” he suggested, frowning.
She smiled at him, shaking her head.
“Why not?” he asked. “I love you. You love me. We’re already bound, and we’ve waited long enough.”
“We did the binding your way. We do a wedding my way.”
“Fine,” he growled. “One month. One. And I’m sleeping at your place or you’re sleeping here every night until then. I’m never sleeping without you again. Ever.”
She shifted herself over his chest, letting her breasts crush softly against his hard muscles and staring into his eyes.
“One month. Agreed. And if you thought you’d ever spend a night without me after that, you’re one crazy skinwalker.
You are good and stuck with me now.” She lowered her lips to press them against his before sliding down and resting her head on his chest comfortably. “You’re going to need a new mattress.”
“We’ll get whatever mattress you want,” he assured her.
“Rings and mattresses,” she said softly. “We’re really doing this.”
We’re really doing this, he thought, his heart swelling with love for her. He reached one hand up to stroke her damp hair away from her face, suddenly reminded of how close he came to almost losing her.
“Darcy, I’m sorry about tonight,” he murmured. “Lela…”
“She’s something,” said Darcy.
“That’s kind,” he sneered.
“She’s young, Jack. How old is she?”
“Twenty-one.”
“So young.”
“She’s wild and reckless.”
“And bound to your brother. Oh. Your, uh…brother’s bound to your sis—”
“Lela and Julien aren’t related by blood. Lela’s my father’s daughter, and Julien’s my mother’s son. But they don’t share blood.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Your mother cheated too.”
Jack took a deep breath, thinking about his parents. “They were bound young. Eighteen. I think they always loved each other in their own way, and the binding made them find each other, but I don’t think they were very happy.”
He felt her nod. “I’m so sorry about your dad.”
“I lost him a long time ago. I grieved for him a long time ago. I’m glad I was able to get him back to my mother before—”
“You couldn’t stay for the funeral?”
“We don’t have human-style funerals. Once someone’s gone, they’re just…gone. There would have been a tribute and burial. But I couldn’t stay.”
“Because of me.”
“Because of Lela.” He flinched, remembering the image of Darcy in the shattered window with Lela’s claw against her neck. “If she had hurt you—”
She flattened her palm against his chest and gently rubbed. “She didn’t.”
“I would have killed her.”
She propped herself up to look at him. “Don’t say that. She’s your sister and barely grown up. She didn’t hurt me, Jack. You don’t have to hate her.” She paused before adding, “I’m sorry you missed your dad’s burial.”
“I got to say goodbye.” He thought of his father’s dead weight over his shoulder as he ran the miles and miles back to his car. He’d barely had a moment to process his passing, and it felt soothing to talk about it with Darcy, but he didn’t want to feel sad.
Nor did he want to talk to her about the re-binding, but he knew he should. As his bound mate and human fiancée, she had a right to know. Fifty days. Fifty.
He felt her breathing change to a deep and even rhythm, and he knew she had fallen asleep. There was time. He would tell her tomorrow.
She looked like an angel with her hair spread out on his pillow, rumpled and shining in the morning light that filtered in through his bedroom window.
She belonged to him, and miraculously, had agreed to spend her life with him.
She was too good for him, too sweet and good-hearted, too hopeful and trusting.
He would endeavor to earn his place in her life every minute of every day they had together from now until the end of their days together.
In his heart, he was already married to her, and he let himself fantasize for a moment about springs spent in the garden, winters by the fire, summers taking walks in the woods, and watching the leaves change in the fall.
After a lifetime of longing, she was here, she was his, and his heart swelled with recognition and gratitude.
In spite of their separation and the recent revelations about his nature, she still wanted him, still chose him. It humbled him absolutely.
Getting up carefully, he took a quick shower, pulling on a pair of jeans and a plaid flannel shirt that he buttoned twice.
His body was always so hot. Clothes were an irritation most days, but he wore them to conform to her society.
Living under the radar in human society came easily to Jack after a decade living in Boston, preparing himself to, one day, he hoped, live in Darcy’s world.
He scribbled a quick message on a piece of notepaper.
Good morning to the future Mrs. Beauloup. I love you. Hot coffee. Downstairs. Come find me.
He placed the note on the pillow beside her and stared at her face for a long moment.
The pink skin dotted with freckles looked lightly sunburned.
Her pale lashes brushed the elegant lines of her upper cheekbones.
Her lips, swollen and red from so much attention, lightly opened in sleep.
He’d get hard and need to mate with her if he stayed any longer, and he wanted her to sleep.
He turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Julien and Lela had taken over the kitchen, undoubtedly attempting to replenish the calories they’d burned last night. By the looks of things, Lela was toasting bread and making eggs and bacon. A shitload of calories had been exhausted.
He stood in the doorway watching them unobserved, his scent masked by the frying food.
Julien sat at the table, clad only in Jack’s jeans.
Lela stood by the stove, a spatula in one raised hand.
Jack’s bathrobe closed modestly around her body.
She had one hand on her hip, and she was smiling and laughing that wonderfully happy, throaty laugh that Jack had heard so seldom throughout her life.
“I’ll do it, Lela. I will. I’ll take you right on the floor of our brother’s kitchen.”
“Just try it, skinwalker,” she taunted, thrusting out her chest.
In a flash, Julien was out of his seat, his hands inside the bathrobe, his mouth hot on his mate’s.
Jack cleared his throat, and they broke apart, looking over, surprised, then wary. Julien slid his hands up and out of the bathrobe, and Lela used her free hand to hold it closed, keeping her eyes down.
“How long have you been standing there?” asked Julien, taking a step in front of Lela, hands on his tan, well-muscled hips.
“Long enough.” Jack sauntered into the kitchen, enjoying their discomfort. “Coffee hot?”
“Yes,” said Lela, opening a cabinet and handing him a cup. “I made it Tallis’s favorite way, so it’s good, it’s…”
Her voice trailed off as Jack looked at her with cold eyes, and she swallowed, looking back down.
“Jacques,” said Julien quietly, a mild edge to his usual cajoling tone. “She’s sorry. How long are you going to be mad at her?”
Jack whipped his head to Julien, eyes burning. “She tried to kill Darcy twelve hours ago, Julien. I think I’m entitled to some time to process that.”
“She’s bound now,” said Julien. “She wouldn’t hurt Darcy.”
Jack looked at Lela, whose shoulders were rolled forward in submission. He took a deep, loud breath through his nose.
“Maybe. But there’s the troubling matter of the re-binding. Lela’s rained a hailstorm of shit down on me.”
“Good point.” They all turned back to the doorway to find Willow leaning against it, still wearing the same simple black dress from last night, deep circles under her dark eyes. “What exactly are you going to do about that?”
Willow stepped into the kitchen, eyeing each of them one by one.
“Do you want coffee, Enchanteresse?” asked Lela softly, reaching for another cup.
Willow stared at her with fury, and Jack braced himself for a confrontation.
“How’s Amory doing?” he asked, trying to distract her.
“Better,” answered Willow in a cold, tense voice, still holding Lela’s eyes. “Fever’s long gone. He’s finally sleeping without thrashing. His chest will be scarred for the rest of his life.”
“S-Sorry,” offered Lela.
“I should make you more sorry,” Willow burst out, taking a step forward.
Julien blocked her path, and Willow looked up at him. “Oh, Julien. How quickly things change.”