Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
JESSE
Ialways woke earlier when I was in France.
It didn’t matter whether I was one day or twenty off the plane.
My body was programmed to recognize the subtle differences in the air.
An hour before dawn, I’d lie in bed and listen to the house settle around me, my ears pricked for the creak of old timber and the rustle of the breeze stirring the flowers in the window boxes.
Lately, though, I listened for the deep, even pattern of Caleb’s breathing. He was a bed hog, which didn’t surprise me in the least. No matter how we fell asleep, he ended up with his head on my pillow and his body plastered against mine.
Mornings in France were a lot better with Caleb around.
He was getting stronger. Four weeks of daily shifts had served him well.
His transitions were faster now. His connection between his human half and his wolf was less like a standoff and more like a negotiation.
He perked up before our nightly runs, shedding his clothes and racing to the courtyard while I hid a smile.
Of course, his enthusiasm probably had a lot to do with the way we spent our time after our evening runs. I’d promised to bend him over every surface of my townhouse. That promise had to wait, but I was making good progress on doing the same at the manor.
Things were almost perfect. But not quite.
Because Caleb showed no sign of manifesting a gift.
I watched for it the way a sailor watches the weather, my senses primed for the smallest shift in the air. Anything to signal that Caleb’s magic was finally coming. But day after day, nothing happened.
We were safe enough in Burgundy, but how long could that safety last?
The countryside was relaxing, but moonlit sprints and movie nights could only satisfy Caleb for so long.
He’d grown up in a house that kept him small.
Now I’d exchanged one cage for another. It was a better, more comfortable cage, but a cage nonetheless.
He never complained, but he deserved more than a manor house in the middle of nowhere.
He deserved Paris. Florence. The crowded, cramped tourist spots in Venice and the quiet, secret places only the locals knew. He deserved to eat his way through every market in Madrid and sit in an Amsterdam café watching boats and passersby.
I wanted to take him everywhere. To show him the streets I’d walked as a younger man. I wanted to show him the version of Europe that existed before the war, the beauty that had survived, and the places that hadn’t changed in four centuries and wouldn’t change in another four.
Instead, I kept him in a field, feeding him hachee and waiting for magic that refused to appear.
And the isolation wasn’t even our biggest problem. Sooner or later, the Council would look for me. The elders would wonder why I hadn’t found the rogue. They’d question why I hadn’t checked in—and they’d dig until they got an answer.
Everything would change if Caleb developed a gift. Rogue or not, he’d have standing. Magic would take him from liability to asset.
But I couldn’t make one appear. And I’d die before I let him feel like a failure. He didn’t need additional pressure. No, what Caleb Lawson needed was the thing he’d been denied.
He needed to be loved.
So I loved him. I showed it in every way I could think of. Feeding and training him. Thrashing him at Madden. Pretending not to notice when he cheated at cards, then tying him to my bed and taking my revenge until we were both wrecked and sated.
On the first day of our fifth week in France, I pulled two bicycles from the coach house and packed a picnic lunch.
He appeared in the courtyard at a quarter to eleven, squinting in the late December sunlight with his hair still damp from the shower and his feet thrust into a pair of my running shoes.
“There you are,” he said, a disgruntled look on his face.
“I didn’t see any breakfast, and I wondered—” He stopped, his gaze locking onto the bicycles standing side by side.
He wore one of my flannel shirts and a pair of dark lounge pants with cuffs that showed his ankles.
Seeing him in my clothes did all sorts of inconvenient things to my dick.
“I thought we could do something different today,” I said.
He frowned at the bicycles. “Something different besides eating breakfast?”
I gestured to the rugged tote I’d strapped to the back of my bike. “I packed brunch.”
“A picnic?” He walked a slow circle around the bicycles, rubbing a palm over his mouth.
“This nice weather isn’t going to last,” I said. “People fly from all over the world to cycle across the French countryside.”
He stopped circling and looked at me. “This might be the gayest thing I’ve ever done.”
I folded my arms. “I’m pretty sure deep throating my dick is the gayest thing you’ve ever done.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Did you read that dad joke on the internet?”
Laughter bubbled in my throat. “I’m not as well-versed in internet culture as you, but I haven’t seen many dad jokes about deep throating.”
Caleb grinned. Then he stretched his arms over his head. His shirt rode up, exposing his taut abs and the waistband of the boxer briefs I’d laundered after he left them on the bathroom floor.
“True,” he said, voice lazy. “I guess deep throating is more of a daddy joke.” He deepened the stretch, revealing more golden skin. “My favorite kind of daddy.”
A snort broke from me before I could stop it. I headed for the door, pausing long enough to pinch his ass. “Get on the bike, college boy. I’ll grab us some jackets.”
Ten minutes later, we pedaled down the narrow road that carved a path between the hills. Gravel crunched under our tires. The sun glinted off our handlebars and chased the worst of the chill from the air.
Caleb cast me a curious look. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” I said.
“That’s an ominous answer for a man who’s already kidnapped me twice.”
I gave him a look. “Is this as fast as you can go?”
The mischief fled his eyes, replaced with the competitive glint I knew all too well. He straightened in his seat and glanced at the road.
“Try to keep up, Grandpa,” he said, pumping his legs and shooting ahead.
Laughing, I gave chase. And I let him lead because the view was far more spectacular than the countryside. His shoulders bunched under my shirt. Wind ruffled his hair, which was the color of wheat in the sun. The tight, round globes of his ass shifted against the bicycle seat.
“You coming, old man?” he called over his shoulder.
As soon as I can arrange it.
Grinning, I increased my pace. I caught him, and we raced along the winding road, laughing as we took turns in the lead. Wind whipped at our faces and tugged at our clothes. Caleb smiled at me, his blue eyes the same shade as the sky above us.
“I win,” he called out.
I shook my head. “I did.”
I’d spoken softly, but he heard me. And judging from the flush that touched his cheekbones, he knew I wasn’t talking about the race.
After about an hour, I slowed and dismounted. When Caleb followed suit, I nodded toward the small dirt path that branched from the road.
“It’s easier to go on foot from here,” I said.
We picked our way along the path, avoiding rocks and patches of tall grass until we arrived at a lake with a tiny island in the center. A replica of a Roman temple stood in the middle, its white columns reflected in the water.
“Wow,” Caleb said, leaning his bike against a tree. “It’s like something from a painting.”
I unstrapped the tote from my bike. “The locals say the nobility used to row out there for trysts. An excellent way to spread syphilis.”
Caleb let out a startled laugh. “You are the worst French tour guide ever. I’m leaving a one-star review on Tripadvisor.”
“History is riddled with syphilis,” I said, pulling a blanket from the bag.
“Jesse.”
Chuckling, I shook out the blanket. “Sorry. Come over here and eat your brunch.”
He cast me a wary look as he moved closer. “You’ve ruined my appetite.”
I tossed him a bottle of French beer, which he caught one-handed. “I brought those little pickles you like.”
His eyes went soft. “Cornichons.”
“Breaded and deep-fried,” I added.
“Yes, Daddy.” He plopped down on the blanket. “You just got bumped to four stars.”
We ate next to the lake, the sun warming our shoulders as we worked our way through baguettes, cured ham, and a block of cheese. Afterward, I handed him a pastry and a cup of hot chocolate from a thermos.
When we finished, he leaned back on his elbows, his long legs stretched in front of him. He tipped his face toward the sun and closed his eyes, looking like a god who’d decided to spend an afternoon among mortals.
“So what are we calling this place?” he asked, turning his head toward me. “Syphilis Lake? STD Island?”
I pounced, pushing him onto his back and pinning his wrists to the blanket. “You are, without question, the biggest smartass on either side of the Atlantic.”
He laughed as I seized his lips, then groaned as I stroked my tongue over his, tasting sugar and chocolate. And him, which was all I really wanted.
Neither of us came up for air, both lost in the kiss and each other. Our dicks swelled. He hooked a thigh around my hip and pulled me closer, grinding his erection into mine.
When I finally drew back, lust glazed his eyes, his pupils so wide they reflected the clouds above us.
“Did you bring me out here to ravish me, Mr. van der Meer?” he murmured.
Fuck.
My hand shook as I rubbed my thumb over his full bottom lip. “Stop giving me bad ideas.”
His lips curved. “You don’t want to fuck me next to this lake?”
“I want to fuck you everywhere,” I said honestly. “But I have elaborate plans, and I don’t want to scare any wildlife.”
“I thought we were the wildlife.”
“Good point,” I said. “My plans are definitely wild.”
“I hope they involve drilling my ass.”
I knew my smile was hopelessly stupid, but it couldn’t be helped. “I’m never going to get used to your mouth.”
He picked a piece of grass off my shirt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so crude. I cordially invite you to drill my ass.”
Laughing, I pulled him to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go home before I’m too hard to get on a bike.”
Forty minutes later, we stumbled into the manor, both of us winded from the ride. I pushed Caleb against the kitchen wall and went for the zipper of his jacket.
“I think that was a record,” he said, yanking at my shirt. We were both rock hard and breathing heavily. “We should try out for the Tour de France.”
“Too much chafing,” I muttered. The zipper stuck, and I growled and ripped open the jacket. With another growl, I buried my face in Caleb’s neck and licked over his thundering pulse.
He gasped and threw his head back. “Yeah, but think of all those men in bicycle shorts.”
I shoved him harder against the wall. “I’d rather think about you wearing me.”
He moaned and clutched at my shoulders.
I froze, every hair standing on end. My body recognized the threat a split-second before my brain.
Wolves. More than one.
Caleb stiffened.
I whipped around as four men stepped into the doorway leading to the dining room.
Three werewolves. One witch. The smallest werewolf stepped forward, a polite smile on his face. Black-haired and olive-skinned, he looked as unassuming as always. From what I knew of him, he preferred it that way. I also knew that anyone who fell for it was a fool.
He looked at Caleb behind me. “Hello, Caleb. Jesse and I have met, but I’ve yet to make your acquaintance. My name is Stefanos Tasakis.”
I didn’t dare look away from him. “Say nothing, Caleb.”
Stefanos nodded. “Sound advice. Then again, you’ve always been careful, Jesse. An admirable trait. We should all be more cautious.”
The werewolves on either side of him didn’t move.
Both built for fighting, they loomed over Stefanos.
The witch was just as motionless, but the telltale scent of witchcraft rolled off him.
Juniper laced with iron, it wafted thick in the air.
It should have been impossible to miss. But I’d missed it.
“You’re probably wondering how we got close without you sensing us,” Stefanos said.
He gestured to the witch. “Valentin has a gift for cloaking. He also used to work for Sterling Moray, so he has considerable experience with the Moray Corporation’s wards.
” Once again, Stefanos shifted his dark gaze to Caleb.
“Like bombs, spellwork can be reverse engineered.”
Caleb’s fear bled across our bond. He obviously knew Stefanos hadn’t stopped by for coffee.
I couldn’t comfort him. Worse, I couldn’t protect him. But I could try to bargain.
“Caleb has done nothing wrong,” I told Stefanos. “He didn’t consent to being turned. You can’t hurt him.”
Stefanos’s smile vanished. “That’s not for me to decide.” He motioned to the wolves. “Get the boy.”
They sprang forward, rushing past me in a blur.
“No!” I bellowed.
Stefanos flicked his hand.
An invisible force slammed me to my knees. I fought it, desperate to get to Caleb, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even turn my head. But I could still speak.
“Don’t fight them, Caleb!” I yelled as the scuffle erupted behind me. The thud of flesh hitting flesh followed. My wolf snapped its restraints, but it was just as helpless.
“Get off me!” Caleb shouted, sounding winded. He was fighting them because of course he was. Someone growled. Another thud, heavier this time.
Stefanos kept his gaze on me. “I take no pleasure in this.”
“You could have fooled me,” I bit out, rage searing my gut. My muscles twitched as I fought his hold.
Behind me, Caleb grunted, then fell silent.
Stefanos’s expression cooled. “You broke the law, Jesse. The boy is a rogue. Not only did you keep his existence from us, you took him as a mate.”
“He’s not a rogue.” I strained, listening for Caleb. There. His heart thumped, quiet but steady. He was hurt but alive. I had to keep him that way.
“He was sired by a rogue,” Stefanos said. “That makes him a rogue. You of all people know that, wolfseeker.”
“He’s different,” I said. “If you want to hurt someone, hurt me.”
More shuffling at my back. Sweat dripped down my temple as I tried to break free.
“What I want is irrelevant,” Stefanos said. He broke my stare and gestured to someone behind me.
His magic lifted. I surged up. Turned.
Something connected with the back of my skull. Pain exploded.
The world went dark.