Chapter Nine
Preacher
I slowly woke up, reaching for the warmth of Trent’s body, but found the bed empty. We’d fallen asleep cuddled last night. So where was he? I sat up and rubbed the last remaining sleep from my eyes, feeling a part of me missing without Trent in my arms.
Last night had felt like a dream. My wolf’s desire for dominance had clashed with my human will. I’d bitten Trent without warning, and I was now wondering if the male would actually try to remove my balls.
It was shocking my animal hadn’t tried to break free when I’d gotten my mate off last night. God, he’d been so gorgeous, falling apart on the very bed I was sitting on.
The rich aroma of coffee pulled me out of my thoughts, followed by off-key singing. I got up and walked into the kitchen then paused.
Trent stood in front of the stove, oblivious to my presence. His back was turned toward me, earbuds in his ears. With one hand resting on the counter, he bounced his hips back and forth in time with whatever music was playing, scrambling some eggs in a fry pan.
Badly from the smell drifting through the room.
Leaning my shoulder against the wall, I watched him dance unknowingly for me, heart swelling with affection at his cracking voice. He looked carefree and beautiful, and even though he didn’t know it, every move he made tugged at something deep inside me.
But then he shuffled his feet like he was doing some fancy dance move and banged his knee against the lower cupboard, causing me to wince in sympathy. He shook out his leg, softly cursed, then started bopping around again.
My gaze slid over his slender body, growling possessively at the sight of him in one of my tees. Seeing your mate in a piece of your clothes did something to a man.
He slid the spatula across the surface of the pan, and that was when I noticed he was using the metal one for the grill.
The pan would be useless when he was finished scratching the hell out of it.
Drift headed down the hall toward the kitchen. One look from me and he pivoted, heading back to his room. My tee was all that Trent was wearing. Nobody saw him half nude but me.
Trent reached for a note his voice had no business attempting, and even my wolf flattened its ears. He brought the spatula up to his lips like a microphone, eyes closed, fully committed. Then he spun on one heel with a little flourish, and found me standing there.
“Ack!” He startled, stumbling back into the stove, his hand catching the pan handle. I lunged forward and yanked him clear as the eggs launched off the burner, sad little globs spattering the walls and floor.
I lifted the hem of his shirt to check his legs. “You hurt?”
“Warn a guy before sneaking up like that!” He waved at the eggs stuck like brown spackle on the wall. “I was trying to cook you breakfast. Now it’s ruined.”
It hadn’t had much of a future to begin with.
“How about I get Drift to cook while you shower?”
Trent’s hand flew to his cinnamon-brown hair. “Does it look like I stuck my finger in the socket again? I didn’t check before I left our bedroom.”
Our bedroom. I dug the sound of that.
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, unable to resist. His skin was warm against my lips, and he smelled like me—my soap, my shampoo, my scent marking him as thoroughly as the bite on his shoulder had.
“Your hair looks perfect,” I murmured against his skin. “Messy in all the right ways.”
He shivered, and I felt the tremor go through him where my hands still gripped his waist. The eggs were forgotten, congealing on the floor, and neither of us moved to clean them up.
“I was trying to do something nice,” he said. “You fed me last night. I wanted to return the favor.”
My chest tightened at the admission. This man had spent his whole life taking care of everyone else, and his first instinct was to feed me breakfast. Even if he’d been murdering my cookware in the process.
“You don’t owe me anything, Trent.”
“I know.” He tilted his chin up to look at me, those sea-glass eyes still soft with sleep. “That’s why I wanted to.”
I kissed him properly this time, slow and thorough, tasting coffee on his tongue. His hands came up to grip my shoulders, fingers digging in just enough to ground us both. When I pulled back, his lips were swollen and his breathing had gone unsteady.
“Shower,” I growled softly. “Before I take you back to bed and we scandalize my entire pack.”
His cheeks flushed pink, but there was heat in his eyes now. “Would that be so bad?”
“Drift’s been hiding in his room for ten minutes because you’re not wearing pants.”
Trent’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god.” He tugged at the hem of my shirt, trying to make it longer. “I didn’t even think—”
“Shower.” I turned him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle push toward the hallway. “I’ll handle breakfast. And find you some actual clothes.”
He padded off, muttering something about traumatizing bikers, and I watched him go with what was probably a dopey smile on my face. My wolf was practically purring.
Grabbing paper towels, I started cleaning up the egg disaster, scraping dried bits off the wall. The pan was definitely ruined, deep scratches all through the non-stick coating. I’d have to remember to hide the metal spatulas from now on.
“Safe to enter?” Drift’s voice came from the hallway.
“He’s in the shower.”
Drift appeared in the doorway, took one look at the kitchen, and shook his head. “What happened to my wall?”
“Trent tried to cook.”
“Ah.” He moved to the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug. “He okay? Heard the crash.”
“He’s fine.” I dumped the ruined pan in the trash. “Could use some actual breakfast though. Something that won’t poison us.”
Drift snorted. “On it. The usual?”
“Extra bacon. No eggs.”
“Got it, Prez.” He paused, studying me over his mug. “You look different this morning.”
“Different how?”
“Settled.” He shrugged. “Like your wolf finally stopped pacing.”
I didn’t answer, but we both knew he was right. Finding your mate did that to a man. Made everything else fade into background noise.
“Silent Moe still breathing?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Reaper and Deadeye are keeping him company in the basement.” Drift’s expression went hard. “He’s not talking yet, but he will. Nobody takes shots at our house without consequences.”
“I want to know who was with him.” I poured my own coffee, black and strong. “Someone bailed fast when things went south. Left Moe to take the fall.”
“Could be Hammer sent him.”
“Could be.” But something about it didn’t sit right. Hammer was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. Besides, Dr. Haaz hadn’t told me about Hammer having visitors or making any calls. “Keep him breathing until I can have a conversation with him.”
“Copy that.”
The shower shut off down the hall, and my wolf’s attention immediately shifted. Drift caught the look and chuckled.
“You got it bad, Prez.”
“Shut up and cook.”
He was still laughing as he pulled ingredients from the fridge. I headed back to the bedroom, grabbing a pair of my track pants and a clean shirt from the dresser. They’d be too big on Trent, but they’d do until we could get his things from his house.
If I had my way, that would be the last time he set foot in that place.
Trent emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped low on his hips, water still beaded on his shoulders. The bite mark stood out against his pale skin, already healing faster than it should thanks to my saliva but still visible enough to satisfy my wolf.
He caught me staring and touched the mark self-consciously. “Is it bad?”
“It’s perfect.” I handed him the clothes. “These should fit well enough.”
“Yeah, right.” He dropped the towel without warning, and I had to force myself to look away before I ended up pinning him to the nearest surface. “So... about last night.”
Here it came. The regret, the second thoughts, the—
“Am I gonna turn into a wolf now?” He pulled the shirt over his head, voice muffled by fabric. “Because ‘surprise, you’re gonna have fur’ is kind of a big revelation to spring on someone.”
I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d expected.
“Does it hurt to change into one? I’m not sure if I can deal with pain on a constant basis.” His eyes snapped up to meet mine. “I don’t have to eat raw meat, do I? Or sniff butts?”
The questions were so ridiculous I nearly laughed. “No, you won’t turn into a wolf, and we don’t sniff each other’s butts.”
If the pack had heard him say that…
* * * *
Trent
I grabbed my popcorn and my soda, dragged a chair to the edge of the grass, and made myself comfortable.
Preacher and half his terrifying biker pack were hunting for the silver rings that had apparently slipped off during the shift.
I ate a handful of popcorn. They were going to be out there a while.
“Found something!” Holler held up his prize triumphantly. “Oh. It’s a lug nut.”
I snorted into my soda. “You guys need a metal detector.”
“You’re being a shit,” Crowbar corrected, returning empty-handed again. “Sitting there like the queen of England while we’re—fuck!” He yanked his hand back from whatever bush he’d just reached into. “Something bit me!”
“Probably karma,” I suggested sweetly.
Preacher’s lips twitched as he moved to another section. The man was trying so hard not to laugh, but I caught the way his shoulders shook slightly.
“Found another lug nut,” Mayhem announced. “And what I think might be Jimmy Hoffa.”
“That joke’s older than you are,” Drift told him.
“Your mom’s older than I am.”
“My mom’s dead, asshole.”
“Then she’s definitely older.”
I munched my popcorn and watched them bicker like kids while searching.
It was surreal—these big, dangerous men on their hands and knees in the dirt, like they’d dropped their keys at a picnic.
Less than twelve hours ago, one of them had literally taken down an armed intruder with his teeth.
Now they were having a “your mom” fight in the woods.
“Trent,” Preacher called out. “Come help.”
“Can’t.” I lifted my soda. “Hand’s full. Besides, someone needs to supervise. Quality control, you know.”
“I’ll show you quality control,” Crowbar muttered then yelped again. “Son of a— What is in these bushes?”
“Nature,” I said helpfully. “It’s what happens when you go outside.”
Ghost emerged from deeper in the woods and held up three rings. The man was efficiency incarnate. He’d probably found them ten minutes ago and had just been waiting for the rest of them to suffer appropriately.
“That’s five,” Drift counted. “Two more.”
“Check near that oak,” I suggested, pointing with my soda. “You guys haven’t looked there yet.”
They found the sixth ring wedged between two roots near the oak, exactly where I’d suggested. Crowbar shot me a look that promised retribution, probably involving caramels and emotional manipulation. I was just as shocked at my lucky guess.
“Last one,” Preacher said, and I could hear the relief in his voice. The man really loved those rings.
Twenty minutes later, they were no closer to finding it.
“Could a bird have grabbed it?” Diesel suggested. “Like a crow or something?”
He was the largest of the pack. Not tallest. Diesel and Preacher were the same height, around six-five. He was just the bulkiest in muscles.
“Why would a bird steal jewelry?” Drift asked.
“They like shiny things. I saw a documentary.” Diesel shrugged, still searching for the last ring.
“You watched a documentary? Voluntarily?”
“Fuck off, it was on at the dentist’s.”
I spotted something shiny about ten feet away. Setting aside my popcorn, I stood and walked over, grinning when a silver ring looked back up at me. Crowbar was definitely gonna hate me. “Found it.”
The silence was deafening.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Crowbar said flatly. “It was right there in front of you?”
“All right,” Preacher said, but his eyes were warm when they found mine. “Show’s over. Drift, start on lunch. Crowbar, you might want to get that hand looked at.”
“It’s fine,” Crowbar grumbled, but I could see the red welts rising on his skin.
“That’s poison oak,” I informed him cheerfully. “Or sumac. Either way, you’re gonna want calamine lotion. Maybe some Benadryl.”
The others dispersed, leaving Preacher and me standing by the deck. He looked tired.
“You should rest,” I said. “That shoulder needs time to heal properly.”
“I’m fine.”
“Everyone ’round here seems to say that.” I stepped closer, fingers ghosting over the edge of his shirt where I knew the bandage was. “But I did good work on those stitches, and I’ll be very offended if you pop them doing something stupid.”
“Stupid like hunting for rings in the woods?”
“Stupid like not admitting you’re in pain.” I met his eyes. “You don’t have to be tough all the time. Not with me.”
Something shifted in his expression, a vulnerability he probably didn’t let many people see. His hand came up to cover mine where it relaxed against his chest.
“I’ll rest,” he said quietly. “If you stay.”
“Deal.” I threaded our fingers together. “But I’m picking the movie. And if you complain about my choices, I’m making Drift cook dinner again.”
“He’s a good cook.”
“I watched him put ketchup on a perfectly good steak last night. It was horrifying.”
Preacher chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “No ketchup on steak. Got it.”
“See? Compromise.” I grinned like an idiot. “We’re practically domesticated already.”
This thing between us was moving fast, from stranger to claimed in the span of days. But standing there with his hand in mine, his pack treating me like I belonged, his scent still clinging to my skin, I couldn’t bring myself to pump the brakes.
“Inside.” Preacher tugged me toward the door. “Before Crowbar tries to touch you with that hand out of spite.”
“He likes me,” I said confidently. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“That’s what you think?”
“That’s what I know. He gave me caramels. You don’t share candy with people you actually dislike.”
Preacher shook his head, but he was smiling. “Your logic is interesting.”
“My logic is flawless.” I let him lead me inside, already mentally cataloging which movies would annoy him least. “Also, we’re watching something with explosions. I’ve had enough nature documentary for one day.”
“Deal.”