Chapter Eight
Eyes closed, Onyx breathed deeply, doing her best to calm the pounding of her heart. The man had stamina in the bedroom. He’d devoted the last hour and a half to pleasuring her, touching and tasting every inch of her body. She’d lost count of how many times she’d orgasmed at four. It got blurry after that.
The intensity of their lovemaking should bother her, but she was too sated to care. It was as though he’d had something to prove. To him or her, she couldn’t say and wasn’t about to ask.
When it came to making love, they were compatible in every way, their bodies in sync. It was when the desire cooled that their troubles arose. The first time he hadn’t been able to get out of her fast enough. Not this time. Sprawled on top of her, his cock buried deep, he nuzzled her hair. She patted his broad, slick shoulder. “We should get up.”
He heaved a sigh. “If we must.” When he withdrew, she couldn’t keep from wincing. Being observant, he didn’t miss her slight discomfort. “You’re sore.” It came out as almost an accusation.
“It’s been a while.” It had been a long time since she’d had a lover and never one like him.
His brows lowered; his lips thinned. She was beginning to recognize his moods. He was angry but with himself. It was hard to tell if it was because she mentioned past lovers or because she was sore. Maybe both.
Without another word, he rolled out of bed. Neither his tousled hair—she hadn’t been able to stop playing with the thick mass—or the satisfaction in his dark eyes made him appear relaxed. She wasn’t sure he was capable. Maybe when he collapsed on top of her after sex, but it didn’t last.
His broad shoulders, thick biceps, and defined abs glistened with perspiration. Right in the center of his chest, his tattoo seemed to pulse, or maybe it was her imagination. Her fingers itched to trace the simple design that lay over his heart. She’d lain awake more nights than she should, wondering why the mark of the lone wolf was a sickle. It was both a work tool and a weapon, depending on how it was wielded. She supposed the answer might be as simple as the design itself—he was both in his role as protector and executioner. It spoke of swift justice, a blade honed to a wicked edge.
With hands on his hips, he studied her. “Like what you see?”
“You know very well I do.” She looked him up and down, not surprised when his erection twitched. The man was a machine. Werewolves had a high sex drive, but he’d surprised her with his stamina.
“I like what I see.” The rough tenderness in his voice had her core clenching. He sniffed the air and smiled.
Groaning, she yanked a pillow over her face. It was impossible to hide anything from him with his enhanced senses.
The flimsy barrier was yanked away. He tossed it aside and plucked her off the bed and into his arms. “Ah, I can walk.”
“This is faster.” He carried her into the bathroom and deposited her on the vanity. She yelped when her bottom hit the cool marble top. “Shower or tub?” He rubbed his hand over his chin and answered his own question. “Tub.”
“Shower,” she said, scooting off the counter.
His frown grew downright fierce. “You’re sore.”
“It will pass.” Striding past him, she padded to the shower. “Our two hours is up.” The ache in her chest grew. “The world won’t wait.” When he tried to follow her into the stall, she placed her hand on his chest to stop him. Warmth from his tattoo tickled her palm. She pulled it away and rubbed it against her thigh.
Frowning, he glanced down at his chest before pinning her with a questioning gaze. “Look,” she told him. “We both know what will happen if you join me.” She was sore but not enough to turn him away. There hadn’t been enough softness or comfort in either of their lives. It was more that she needed time alone to regroup and gather her resolve.
She’d never regret their lovemaking. It had been a spectacular joining, beautiful enough to make her heart weep with joy and her body sing with pleasure. It also made everything more difficult.
Their connection had always existed, but the more time they spent together, the more it dug in its claws. Thinking rationally and emotionlessly was no longer possible.
That would give Solange an advantage.
He pressed his forehead against hers, his sigh warm on her skin. “You’re right. I’ll use the shower in the other bedroom.” He closed the door behind him, offering her the privacy she requested. Already, she missed him, his absence leaving a void.
“Get over it,” she muttered. There was no time for further indulgence. Not if they were going to defeat their enemies. Turning the water on as hot as she could bear, she let it sluice over her skin and pummel her muscles. If a tear or two mingled with the spray, she ignored it.
Not lingering, she hurried to dry off when she was done. There was no sign of Dagen when she entered the bedroom, but the sheets had been stripped from the bed. That seemed extreme unless he wasn’t planning on them staying much longer. Then it made sense. They’d have wolves on their trail, all with acute senses of smell.
Her backpack sat on the bed. She’d left it in the kitchen earlier. Something she normally never would have done. That bag never left her sight. At night, it sat right beside the bed in case she had to make a run for it.
Yup, Dagen was detrimental to her sense of survival. He made her forget all the precautions that had kept her safe for thirteen years.
There was no sign of her tattered undergarments, not that they were wearable. His teeth had shredded them. A sensual shiver had her swallowing back a moan. Watching him use his fang to strip them away was a fantasy she’d had many times. The reality had far surpassed it.
Stop it! The last thing she needed was to walk out there and for him to smell her arousal. He might not comment on it, but he’d know. They both would.
She dug clean panties and a bra from her bag—the last of her clean clothes. Fully dressed, she grabbed her bag and carried it to the kitchen in a replay of earlier. She glanced out the window. The night had waned and dawn had arrived. There’d be no rest for either of them. There wasn’t a drop of regret for the lack of sleep. If it became necessary, she’d dip into her well of magic for a boost.
He was fully dressed and waiting. The coffeepot was empty. Damn, she’d hoped he’d had time to start some. “Do you mind?” She pointed at the machine. “I need a hit of caffeine.”
“We’re not staying.” He’d slipped back into the skin of the lone wolf as easily as she had her jeans. It was no surprise, but it left her with a tinge of sadness.
“Where are we going and why?”
“I need to contact the other lone wolves, tell them what you told me.” His chin went up, as though he was expecting her to argue.
“Okay.” He canted his head and studied her, as if searching for some hidden motive behind her agreement. Since strangling him wasn’t an option, she put her hands on her hips rather than around his neck. If she’d thought them sleeping together would change how he dealt with her, she’d have been bitterly disappointed. There was some of that—she was only human—but there was more frustration. “Would you rather I fight you on it?”
“I haven’t figured you out yet.”
“What’s to figure out? We have the same goals. It would be stupid of me to put any impediment in front of you.”
“I’m not convinced our goals align.”
That really hurt. She barely refrained from checking her chest to make sure it wasn’t cracked open, her heart on the ground. Solange would laugh her ass off if she could see them.
See, little girl, you’re nothing.
Ignoring the echo from her childhood, she spun on her heel, grabbed her bag, and headed for the front door.
“Where are you going?”
She didn’t answer him. There was no point. If he couldn’t trust her, they were better off working alone. She grabbed the handle and turned.
A big hand slammed against the door, keeping it from opening. “You’re not going anywhere. Not without me.”
…
He’d fucked up…again. It was getting to be a habit with her. If she were a regular human—like the mates of other lone wolves—trust would come easier. But Onyx was a mage, lived in the world of paranormals, as he did. Understood real power.
He wanted to believe she was on his side. His wolf already did. It was the first time he wasn’t fully in sync with that part of himself. Sex had muddied the waters. He’d known it would, but it hadn’t stopped him. The craving for her had been too great. Instinct demanded he believe her. Intellect warned caution.
The blood vow should be proof enough, but his understanding of magic was limited. Was it binding or could it be broken at an opportune moment? He’d been alive long enough to understand loyalties could be fluid.
Then there was the matter of her past. It was as though she’d come into existence about thirteen years ago. Before that? Nothing. With all his resources, he hadn’t been able to uncover anything. That in itself was telling. He was right to be skeptical, especially since she wasn’t offering the information.
Arms wrapped around herself, she leaned against the front door, head bowed. “Let me go.”
A growl rose up from deep within him. “I can’t.” And not only because she was a source of information, a potential ally, but because she was Onyx.
“I can’t keep doing this.” She muttered the words under her breath. She was talking to herself, not him. Her shoulders went back and she slowly turned. He continued to crowd her, ensuring their bodies brushed together.
A tactile creature, his wolf was soaking in all the physical touch. Part of him resented the need for it, but that was on him, not her.
Her chin tilted up. “Where are we going?” The emptiness in her eyes angered him. She was hiding from him.
Whirling around, he stalked away, dragging his fingers through his hair. He had to stop doing this. He couldn’t keep pushing her away and then get angry with her for withdrawing. Any creature—human or animal—eventually retreated from anything that harmed them.
He stared unseeing out the window, watching the city below come alive. He half expected her to make a break for it. Maybe she’d thought better of it. Understood they needed each other. Or more likely, that he’d stop her if she tried.
“Should I apologize?” Tension gripped his entire body. His hands curled into fists as he awaited her reply.
“It doesn’t matter.” Exhaustion mingled with…not defeat, but something close to it—acceptance.
He barely controlled a flinch as he turned around. She was where he’d left her. The distance between them far greater than the length of the room. As lone wolf and as the broker, he made dozens of decisions daily, many of them life and death. He’d never hesitated, never questioned his actions—until now.
It was tearing him apart not to be able to take Onyx at face value, to believe she was on his side. And it wasn’t only himself he was hurting. “It matters.” He prowled toward her, gauging her reaction as he neared. Her face remained calm, her eyes steady.
For the first time since they’d met he couldn’t read her.
When he continued to stare, searching for what, he couldn’t say, she was the first to glance away. “If we’re going, we should leave while most of the city is still abed.”
He wasn’t sure what he wanted from her. Some recognition that they were okay? It wasn’t as though they had a real relationship. They’d had sex. Reducing it to a physical act infuriated him. It had been more than that. Lying to himself wouldn’t change facts. He cared about Onyx, felt something for her. The confusion lay in where it came from—magic and manipulation or an honest attraction.
The tattoo in his chest throbbed and his wolf went silent.
She canted her head to one side, concern creeping into her gaze. “Are you okay?” That tiny show of emotion had a huge boulder of concern rolling off his shoulders. He hadn’t totally alienated her.
“I don’t know.” It was as honest as he could be. Taking a risk, he raised his hand and cupped her cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Work with me.”
That wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he understood what he had to do. He stared intently, watching the minuscule flexing of muscles in her face, searching for any sign of a lie. “I can do that. I’ve never had a partner before. I’ll likely fuck things up.”
There was nothing pleasant in her laugh. “Trust me, I already figured that out. I had a partner once.” The wistful tone gave him pause. It also stirred jealousy in his gut. “It helps to share the burden.”
“Where is this partner?” He thought about the picture in her wallet, the one of the lanky teenager with dark hair and eyes. Did she mean that guy? Who was he? What was their connection?
She shook her head and moved away, done with sharing confidences. Sorrow shrouded her like a blanket. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t ended well.
Everything she’d told him was truth. If he couldn’t trust his senses, he was finished. He might be a lone wolf, but it would take more than him to end Solange and Charles. As much as it galled him to admit, he needed help. He needed Onyx.
Retrieving his jacket, he slipped it on. He’d alerted his cleaning service. They were renowned for their discretion. They’d be here within the hour and would erase any sign that they’d been here. The heavy-duty cleansers would further dilute their scent, making it difficult to track. He listened by the door before opening it and peering outside. “Stay close.”
She gave him a curt nod and hiked her knapsack strap higher on her shoulder.
They made their way down the hallway to the stairwell without a word spoken between them. They moved together like a well-oiled machine, each anticipating the other. She paused when he did, staying close but back far enough to give him room to fight, if necessary. She understood the need for silence and stealth without him having to tell her.
She was human but slipped through the shadows almost as well as he did. The reality of her existence had never been more glaring. She was damn good because she’d had to be. It was the only reason she was alive. Her heart rate was slightly elevated given the circumstances. She was alert and ready.
She was at his back.
The truth of it slammed into him so fast he came to a jarring stop. He trusted her to cover their exit, not the least worried about an attack from behind. She almost ran into him, pulling up at the last second. Her breathing escalated but she didn’t ask questions, even though she all but vibrated anxiety.
Reaching behind, he found her hand and gave it a squeeze of reassurance before continuing. The parking garage was empty when they arrived. A dark blue SUV waited in the far corner. It wasn’t the same one they’d used earlier, but another.
She raised an eyebrow when he retrieved the key and unlocked the door, but climbed in without a word. Her bag stowed on the floor, she put on her seat belt. It was when he turned onto the street that she finally spoke. “You have a fleet of vehicles at your disposal and minions to deliver them. Impressive.”
He wondered what his people would think about being called minions. Many were ex-military, some were paranormals, and others were highly skilled in various fields. “Whatever gets the job done.” It was a motto he’d lived by his entire life.
“I appreciate your resources. I wish I could contribute, but staying alive meant staying on the run. I have money but nothing nearing what you control.”
He stopped at a red light, watching the sparse flow of people getting an early start to their day…or returning from a late one. “You can contribute.”
“How?” Suspicion coated her question.
“The copy of the journal. It needs to be destroyed.”
She tipped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I know.”
“Where is it?”
A smile played across her lips. “Vernon’s Vault.”
His mind went blank until a horn honked behind them. As he pressed on the gas and continued on, he released a long, slow whistle. “You’re serious?” It would make retrieving it impossible. He’d have to find some way to convince her to give it to him.
She turned her head, her smile widening. “Deadly.”
Onyx might lack his physical assets but she was proving to be downright resourceful. Vernon was a former Death Reaper who owned and lived in a bar in the Midwest. The establishment was part building, part cave. For a hefty fee, he stored various items for patrons. For a hefty fee repeated in his brain. “What did it cost?”
“That’s between me and him. He owed me a favor and I collected.” Vernon’s word was titanium. Nothing had ever gone missing from his vault. Nothing had ever been stolen. Fort Knox was wide open in comparison. Word was he carried his reaper’s scythe at all times. It was the one weapon that could kill anyone—human or paranormal. The copy of the journal couldn’t be safer.
It was another stunning realization that she had a whole other life he wasn’t privy to. One that include a Death Reaper. It also begged the question. “Why didn’t you ask Vernon to protect you?” Not even Solange would risk his wrath.
“For how long? I’ll never be safe until she’s dead. None of us will.” She turned away and stared out the window.