9. Chapter 9 Marcus
Chapter 9: Marcus
I just couldn’t sleep. Jake and I had spent the last four hours setting traps for the wolves that had started to wander into the camping grounds. Its better to catch it and release them back deep in the woods, then have a camper injured.
Now back home, images of Daisy kept coming up.
Scout's low woof makes me realize I've been staring at the same piece of wood for an hour. The ghost of Daisy's lips haunts me, the way she felt pressed against that wall. My hands clench, wanting the feel of her again.
"Shut up," I tell the dog. He just wags his tail.
My hands are still sore from the traps. I know I should take a break from carving, but staying busy keeps me from driving down the mountain. From seeking her out. From pressing her against the wall and finishing what w nearly started.
The way she'd said my name, looking up through those lashes. Christ.
The chisel slips, nicking my palm.
"Damn it." Blood wells, dark against the wood.
Scout's at my side instantly, concerned. Luna follows, both dogs pressing close.
"I'm fine." But my hands are shaking. Not from the cut.
From need.
The phone buzzes. It was probably Jake checking in. We've been monitoring the trails since the traps, making sure no other campers had had any sightings.
But it's not Jake.
Daisy: The furniture misses you.
A picture: the half restored table, her tools laid out exactly as I showed her.
Daisy: Maybe I miss you a little.
Something cracks in my chest.
Before I can respond, another message:
Daisy: Store's quiet tonight. Could use help with that finish-matching technique you promised to teach me.
Daisy: I'm still wearing your shirt.
"Fuck."
Scout's already at the door, Luna right behind him.
***
The Trading Post's lights glow through the rain. My traitor dogs bail out before I fully stop, heading for the back door they somehow now have privileges to use.
Daisy's waiting in the doorway, and fuck me, she wasn't lying about the shirt. My old flannel hangs to mid-thigh over tiny sleep shorts, her legs bare and endless. Her hair's loose for once, falling in waves past her shoulders.
"That was fast." Her smile is pure sin.
My blood runs hot. "Daisy."
"Afraid to be alone with me?"
"Terrified."
The honesty surprises us both.
She softens, moving closer. "Why?"
Because you make me want impossible things. Because you see too much.
"The finish won't match itself," I growl instead.
"Coward." But she leads me to the table, hips swaying. "Your hands are shaking," She notices as I rub my hand over the table.
"Cut myself earlier."
"Let me see."
Before I can stop her, she takes my hand as she examines the wound.
"First aid kit's upstairs."
"It's fine."
"Marcus." That tone again. "Upstairs. Now."
The stairs creak as I follow her to her apartment above the store. I've never been up here, it feels intimate, crossing this threshold.
Her space is all soft lights and cozy chaos. Books everywhere, half-unpacked boxes, bits of the store's history she's salvaged. A big bed dominates one corner, heaped with quilts.
I stop in the doorway, suddenly unsure.
Daisy rummages in the bathroom, returning with supplies. "Sit."
I take the safer option of her chair. She stands between my legs, cleaning the cut with careful hands.
"You could have called," she says softly. "After you left in a hurry with Jake. Let me know you were okay."
"I'm fine."
"Are you?" Her fingers trace old scars on my palm. "Because you look like you haven't slept."
I haven't. Not since I held her against that wall, tasting her skin.
"Don't."
"Don't what?" Her thumb strokes my wrist. "Care?"
"You can't fix me."
"Did I say I wanted to?" She steps closer, still holding my hand. "Maybe I just want you. Broken pieces and all."
The words hit hard. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"Then show me."
My free hand finds her hip, fingers digging into soft flesh.
"Last chance to run," I warn.
Instead of answering, she straddles my lap.
The position brings her core against me, thin cotton the only barrier. My hands slide under the flannel, confirming my suspicions about what she's not wearing.
"God you’re perfect."
"Touch me." She rocks against me. "Please."
I capture her mouth, swallowing her moan. My hands roam her back, her thighs, learning every curve. She grinds down and I growl, biting her lip. The sound she makes tests my control.
"Tell me to stop."
"Never." She tugs my shirt up. "But I do need to feel you."
I stand, taking her with me. Her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her to the bed. She's a vision against the quilts, my shirt rucked up to show miles of skin.
"Beautiful." I trace the curve of her hip.
"Marcus Steel." She props up on her elbows, eyes dark with want. "If you don't get down here and—"
A howl splits the night.
We freeze. Another howl answers, but closer.
"Wolves," I growl. "In town."
Daisy sits up, frustrated. "Seriously?"
"Stay here." I'm already moving.
"Like hell."
She follows me downstairs where Scout and Luna are going crazy at the back door. More howls, definitely in town now. Probably driven down by the storms.
I grab my rifle.
"I'm coming." She's pulled on jeans under my shirt. "Those wolves could hurt someone's pets."
Can't argue with her there. "Stay behind me."
"Yes, sir." The way she says it still makes my blood run hot.
Scout takes the lead, pulling against the makeshift lead I had on him. Luna is more timid, but follows. The dogs are well-trained enough to stay quiet now. There is steady rain and I see more of the town coming out with their flashlights and rifles. Everyone knows wolves can attack anything and we need to drive them back into the woods.
Daisy moves beside me, the now wet flannel clings to her curves, distracting as hell.
Focus. Wolves first. Ravishing her later.
There is now a small group of men and women, Jake and Finn included, and we find the pack in the park – four adults, looking lean and desperate. They've cornered something under the playground equipment.
Daisy's hand finds my arm. "Marcus. Look."
Wolf pups. Two of them, barely old enough to walk.
"They're starving," she whispers. "The storms must have destroyed their den."
The adults watch us warily. Not acting aggressive. Yet.
Jake steps forward with a dart gun, while Finn and I raise our rifles just in case.
"Wait!" Daisy's grip tightens on my arm. "We can't just kill them."
“We aren’t,” I explain, as Jake starts to circle them to get a better vantage point. “Jake will tranquilise them, but Finn and I are ready in case they attack.”
Jake quickly and efficiently tranquilises the four adults. Finn steps forward and gently toes one of the wolves to make sure they are out, before picking up the two pups and handing them off to one of the women. Some other men step forward with some cages and they quickly move the wolves in and lock the cage door.
Finn jogs back to his truck and then the wolves are loaded in before Jake nods to us and drives off.
“Where are the going?” Daisy asks as the town begins to walk back into the warmth of their own homes again.
“He will take then to a rescue farm until they are well enough to be released back,” I explain as I gather her now shaking body to mine. “Come on, we need to get you warm and dry again. Don't worry, I won't push you again until we talk about what almost happened."
"Or." She rises on tiptoes, bringing her mouth to my ear. "We could go back upstairs and finish what we started."
Thunder cracks overhead. The rain picks up.
"Not like this." I cup her face. "Not with wolves and storms and adrenaline."
"Then how?"
"Let me do this right," I murmur against her lips. "Tomorrow night. Dinner at my place."
She steals one more kiss before stepping back. "Tomorrow then."
I watch her walk away, hips swaying.
What the hell am I getting myself into? But for the first time in years, the ghosts are quiet.
And I love the quiet.