Chapter 9
Hank teetered on cracking ice. The balance point was an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of possibilities.
He was a man in his body, but at this moment his mind was more bear than human.
The urge to care for Cecilia had come from both sides of himself, so that choice had been easy.
He’d carried her upstairs, fed her with his own hand, and now came the inevitable result.
A kiss.
She pressed her lips to his and he gripped the edges of his sanity like a man trying to hold Jell-O together. Thoughts melted away. Morals, decisions, the things a man chooses to think and do—all lost their form beneath the press of her lips.
He tried to hold himself back. She didn’t understand what he was.
What the animal would do to her wasn’t human.
It was simple, raw, and would go on for hours.
Her wishes wouldn’t be considered except in that they got her to spread her legs.
And then he would plant himself inside her and stay until he was done.
The only thing stopped him was a disappearing Jell-O mold of human beliefs. And she wiped them away with every stroke of her tongue against the seam of his lips.
His body locked tight, every muscle, every bone frozen. He couldn’t draw back, and he would not soften forward. So he trembled on the last pinpoint of balance of neither bear nor man but a denial of both.
But she would not be denied. She teased across his lips with a wet heat that melted the balance point.
His lungs were shut down, but he had to inhale.
His body demanded breath and with it came the scent of her arousal.
Spiced persimmon. An exotic enough scent that his mind grew distracted by it.
He followed it in his head, savoring the wildness of it.
Where did it come from? Where would it take him?
He didn’t even realize it had pulled him off his balance until he was lost in pursuit of her scent.
He didn’t find it in her mouth, though he plundered inside it. His tongue touched every part of her there. Teeth, tongue, roof of her mouth. He tasted heat mixed with chocolate and peanut butter and knew that the persimmon was not there.
He pressed her back onto the bed, setting his nose to her cheek and then into her hair.
Most of his senses weren’t as precise in human form.
Though his vision improved, his sense of smell and taste were dulled, so he had to take his time as he followed her scent.
He had to taste her cheek and ear; he had to press his nose to the curve of her neck.
And he had to breathe there while he learned the details of her scent in minute detail.
And what he learned was that she tasted sweet, but the spice scent that drew him so firmly was not along her neck even though he used his teeth to scrape across her jaw just to be sure.
So he went lower.
Her clothing blocked his path. White cotton with scents that did not appeal to him. His hands knew how to unbutton the garment, and so he did. But the action required his human mind to be stronger and as it surged forward, it began to ask questions.
What was he doing?
Why was he doing it?
And most dangerous of all, are we in control? The answer was a clear no and the human mind pushed into more awareness.
But Cecilia hadn’t been idle. As his hands had manipulated a plastic button through its hole, she had helped him, shrugging out of the white lab coat.
Suddenly, his vision was assaulted by the bright primary colors of her top. The pattern was random, the colors extreme, and the human struggled to understand it, but the bear gloried in the brilliance of it. It always liked females it could see easily.
The human was distracted, so the bear surged forward. He chased her scent, and that required the blinding colors removed as well. But this the bear managed easily, slipping his hands under her shirt as she lifted it off for him.
Now he could taste her skin. The heat of her body mixed with the sound of her breath. Sweet tight pants as her scent thickened in the air. He drew his tongue over her collarbone and down. Purple lace interfered with his progress, but she shrugged the bra away.
He found her breasts. His actions here were no different than anywhere else.
He inhaled her scent, he stroked with the broad flat part of his tongue, and then he scraped his teeth across her flesh to deepen the taste.
When it was not the source of her spiced persimmon scent, he moved on.
When he nipped at her nipples, her breath changed, and her hands gripped his shoulders, but they were not what he pursued, so he continued on.
“Hank. Hank, take off your clothes.”
She was speaking to him, and some part of him processed her words.
He knew that she was willing, and that was enough for him to keep foraging around her body for her purest scent.
So he tasted the flesh along her belly. The scent was clearer here, and he moved more quickly.
The swipe of his tongue covered more of her skin, and he nipped with his teeth more aggressively.
Not deeper, just over wider stretches of her body.
She jolted when he did that. Then there was a long shiver, but she did not draw away.
He murmured against the top of her pants.
A purr that came from his gut. He bared his teeth, ready to bite through the fabric, but he didn’t need to.
She pushed them down before touching his shoulders, his head, his face.
She was trying to adjust him. Perhaps get him to lift his head, but he would not be stopped. Not by something so gentle as a tug.
Then he found the source of her spice, the taste of her persimmon. On the fur between her legs, on the sweet, flushed center of her.
He licked it as he consumed every drop. If she said something to him, he didn’t hear it. If she wanted something from him, he didn’t notice. He wanted her spice and her willingness. She gave him both. With every lick, her body stretched open. With every taste, her sweetness flowed stronger.
He felt her orgasm while he was delving between her legs. The undulating movement, the tightening of her thighs, everything that told him she was ready for him came while he burrowed into her sweetness.
And while she cried in delight, a part of him opened up. A connection of sorts. A slender thread that bound him to her and he was so delighted he redoubled his efforts while she gasped and cried in her completion.
Until she tugged at him. Until her body fought so wildly, even he could not contain her.
So he drew back to look at her. Her body was flushed, breasts peaked, and eyes dazed. But most important was that her thighs were spread. She was still flushed with spice and open to him.
He stood up because he needed to shuck his clothing before he mounted her. His hands went to his pants, but his fingers were clumsy. And with the surge of the human in his mind, words spilled from his lips.
“Stop me, Cecilia.”
“It’s okay,” she said, her words breathless. “I liked it.”
She didn’t understand the bear. Worse, she didn’t understand that taking a woman without care was wrong. The human needed balance in all things, most especially with a woman. To simply take according to his desire was wrong. To act without thought was the height of imbalance.
“Stop me,” he rasped again.
“Hank, what’s wrong?”
He was out of control and that always led to disaster. She pushed up on her elbows to look at him. He needed to draw back. He needed to find that lost center of Zen awareness, but the bear scented her spice and tried to pull his attention back to it.
Something was important about it. Something that the bear wanted him to know so he would comply. So he would release control back to the animal.
He inhaled deeply. He tasted the persimmon on his lips. And the bear pushed him to know the truth.
It had to act now. It had to penetrate her now, because of her scent. Because of her taste, the bear knew it had to be now.
She was fertile.
“A baby,” he said. Then he repeated it more strongly. “A baby.”
“What?”
“Stop me,” he said again. “Or have my baby.” He inhaled again and nearly lost himself to the magic of her scent. “A shifter baby. Now.”
His pants hit the floor. His organ thrust forward, thick and proud. He paused a moment to let her admire it. Their child would have his strength. Their offspring would survive. She must see that.
“Put on a condom, Hank.”
His gaze caught hers and in that moment, he felt his humanity slam forward. The biology burned strong, but her eyes caught his soul. She kept him from toppling into raw need without thought or restraint.
“Hank?”
I choose balance. I choose sanity.
A mantra, repeated over thousands of hours. He latched onto it like the lifeline it was.
“Magic is a force,” he said. “Stronger in some than others.” It was the first thing his teacher had told him so long ago. And the words came hand in hand with the mantra.
She frowned, and her head tilted slightly in confusion. He couldn’t blame her. The last thing either of them wanted right now was for him to lecture her on shifter life. But it was the only way to hold onto his rational mind. That, plus the steady connection of her gaze.
I choose balance. I choose sanity.
“I gave myself over to it,” he rasped. “Earlier. To fight the hybrid outside.”
Her eyes widened, and her gaze hopped to the window, but he couldn’t lose her eyes. So he reached out, his hand jerking too hard, too fast. He stopped a split second before he touched her, and she looked back to him. And that settled him enough to speak rationally.
“You’re safe,” he said. “But I…” He swallowed. “I want you.”
Her expression softened. “I want you, too.”
His abdomen rippled at her words, but he held himself rigidly back. She had to understand.
“And babies?” he rasped. “The magic wants babies.”
She bit her lip. “Yes, I want children, but not right now. That’s why you need a condom.”
His bear snarled at the word, and he heard her gasp in surprise. She also straightened, pulling herself into a sitting position while he fought himself. The drive to have her seared him, pushing every cell forward to her. But he kept himself back.
I choose balance. I choose sanity. He voiced it inside his head. He repeated it beneath his breath.
“Hank?”
“I choose balance. I choose sanity.”
She nodded, and she gently grabbed his hand, tucking it tightly between hers. “What can I do to help?”
“Get dressed,” he rasped. “But hold my gaze.”
She complied, though it was awkward. She held their eyes locked together as she pulled on leggings, which hid her fertile scent. The tunic came second, bra ignored. He saw in his peripheral vision that her hands shook, but her gaze remained steady on his.
“I choose balance. I choose sanity.”
Then a third voice cut through the air. It was hard and cold. The voice of his alpha, and both bear and man listened. The bear because it had to, the man because it chose to.
“Step into the hallway, Dr. Lu. I will handle Hank.”
Like hell. No man came between him and the female, even his alpha. He bared his teeth and forced out words. “She stays.”
“Hank!” the alpha snapped, and Hank could hear dominance in every word. “Get control!”
“She. Stays.”
Cecilia froze, her hands raised in surrender. “I’m not going anywhere, Hank. I’m right here.”
The alpha shot her an irritated look. “You don’t know what’s going on here.”
She snorted. “The hell I don’t. He spent the night protecting us. God knows when the last time he slept was. And then he scented…then he.” She swallowed. “He wants—”
“To mate, Dr. Lu. He wants you.”
She dropped her hands on her hips. “Well, duh. And you getting between me and him is just going to rile him up.”
“He’s dangerous.”
The female bared her teeth at the man. “He’s in control. Aren’t you, Hank? Remember? Balance. Sanity.”
He dipped his chin. He was in balance. He was in control.
“How about you put on your pants?” she suggested.
Hank growled low and deep, but the human mind returned to the frozen balance point of control. And with it came the bear, however reluctantly. They had trained too many times in this for it to refuse.
I choose balance. I choose sanity.
He looked down, consciously seeing the clothing and imagining what he had to do. His body obeyed because he required it to. And when it was done, he looked at the female.
“I am balance,” he said to her.
“Yes, balance.”
“I am sanity.”
“That’s good, Hank.”
“And I am bound to you.”
“Um…what?”