Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
It took three shampoos, half a bottle of body scrub, and an obscene amount of hot water for me to feel clean again.
I brushed my teeth twice. Even though the worm hadn’t gotten anywhere near my mouth, just breathing the same air as Dominick had me feeling soiled. Odd that I’d never felt that way around Sexton. I should have. They were cut from the same demonic cloth, after all.
When I was dry and minty and smelled like every product in the shower, I slipped into bed and curled against Ronan.
“How’d it go?” he asked sleepily.
“I don’t think the ghoul pulled you into his world.” Ida’s words jackhammered in my head. “I believe you pulled him into yours.”
“Oh, you know, business as usual with me,” I replied as offhandedly as I could manage and slid closer under the covers. “Tell me about your night.”
“There were a couple of things, but it was pretty average.” He yawned, flipped onto his back, and put his arm around me. I dropped a line of kisses from his Adam’s apple to his lips. “Mmm, that’s nice,” he said, “do it again.”
I did, then dropped my head onto his bicep and curled my leg around his. “So, what happened at the pub?”
“Leonard Bly grabbed Jean Acacio’s ass, and she punched him so hard his face looked like it had been turned inside out.
Blood everywhere. Called Leonard’s wife to tell her to pick him up so he could shift somewhere and heal.
She told me to let him suffer and that I should inform him she was filing for divorce first thing in the morning because he’d promised not to get drunk anymore and this was the last straw.
” He sighed. “Leonard spent the rest of the night slumped against the jukebox playing ‘Stand By Your Man’ by Tammy Wynette and sobbing.”
“I didn’t know you had that song on the jukebox.”
“Didn’t used to, but I got a lot of requests for it, so I added it.”
“Huh. I’d have asked for more Pink Floyd. Pretty much anything from The Dark Side of the Moon. So, that’s an average evening at the pub, huh?”
“Sadly, yes. As you’ve figured out by now, shifters can be a real pain in the ass—drunk ones, doubly so.”
“Good for business, though,” I pointed out. “You know, since it takes a lot of alcohol to get a shifter drunk.”
“Leonard wasn’t ordering top-shelf whisky.
He was powering down the cheapest beer I serve.
Also, I’m pretty sure he pre-gamed with his brother’s bathtub gin before showing up.
He’d have known better than to mess with Jean if he was anywhere near sober.
” He trailed his hand from my hair to my cheek. “Tell me about your night.”
“I’d rather tell you about the things I’d like to do to your gorgeous body,” I said, splaying my fingers over his bare inner thigh. Subtle seduction wasn’t a strength of mine, a trait Ronan had told me more than once that he cherished with his entire being.
“That bad, huh? I heard the squeal of Hartman’s tires. It’s how I knew you were home. Sounds like he left half the rubber on the street.”
“He was unhappy with me, as usual. Mason Hartman is a cranky, mean man, Ronan. When you take over the pack, you should keep that in mind. I should warn Bronwyn, too. Although, if she doesn’t know by now…”
“Did you pick another fight with him?” He held up a hand when I scowled. “It’s a fair question given your track record over the last two weeks of working with the guy.”
“This time it wasn’t my fault. Besides, now that I’m the big, bad Alpha, isn’t he supposed to at least pretend to be respectful to me?”
“Oh, so now you’re embracing it?” He gave me a playful nudge. “Because you’ve done nothing but complain since Hartman, the witches, and I convinced you staying on as Alpha was the smart move.”
“Smart, right,” I muttered.
“The pack is another layer of armor protecting you against The Org.”
“But not just me, right? You said it protects them, too. That the wolves are safer with a witch in charge now that The Org is targeting the pack.”
“Yes. That’s right.” Ronan’s voice tightened ever so slightly. “Most of the wolves have already accepted your leadership—especially after what you did to those gunmen.”
I sighed at the reminder of how wrong things had gone that night. If everything had gone according to plan, Ronan would’ve been the one dealing with Mason right now.
“Accepted? Seems like a stretch. Forgive me if I disagree.”
“It’s true.”
“No, it’s not, but thanks.” I smiled, let my hand roll down his hip, fingers trailing over his warm skin. “And thanks for rejoining the pack, by the way—not that your wolf ever left.”
“You’re welcome, Alpha Lennox.”
“Yikes.”
He laughed, and this time it wasn’t strained or uncomfortable. It was nice, and I yearned to hear more of it.
“And thanks also for being my third in command, which feels really strange to say.”
“The wolves need stability. Besides, they know I’m helping you lead, just like Hartman is. Speaking of, what happened tonight…”
“How about we just roll around in the sheets for a while?”
“Betty…”
“I’ll tell you about my night over breakfast. I’ll even make coffee.” I climbed on top of him, gripping his hips with my thighs. “Every second you delay is one less kiss in that spot you like. You know the one.”
“Consider me talked into it.”
He flipped me onto my back and bore me into the sheets with his body, kissing me breathless as he played my body like a stringed instrument, fingers plucking and sliding and strumming.
I gripped his forearms as he rose above me, stared into eyes like banked embers.
His wolf was close, and though this wasn’t the first time he’d made an appearance during sex, this time, it felt strangely like an omen.
I locked my legs around his waist, and he drove home, sliding into me with a force that left me hotter than a Smokethorn sidewalk in August. When he had me panting, keening for completion, he inexplicably withdrew.
“Damn it, Ronan Williams.” I dug my fingernails into his shoulders. “If you stop now, I’ll never forgive you.”
Although his body trembled with urgency, the kisses he trailed over my breasts were slow and leisurely—like he had all the time in the world.
I could’ve smacked him.
“Don’t worry, I have no intention of stopping. This is a pause to let you catch your breath.”
His eyes glowed brighter. I had to squint to look at him.
“I don’t need to catch my breath. I need … you.”
“And you’ll have me. Soon.”
I cupped the sides of his face in my hands. “Is there something wrong? You seem—not yourself.”
“I’m me, Betty. One hundred percent.”
He shifted his hips and slid excruciatingly slowly into me.
The fire in his gaze died down, returning to the banked embers of before.
This time there were no jarring stops or blinding gazes, only tiny, satisfied cries, blips of sound that fell out of my mouth and dissolved like cotton candy on my lips.
Afterward, I lay there and stared at the ceiling, feeling an odd combination of physically sated, emotionally needy, and intellectually confused.
Ronan drew me close, brushed his lips over mine. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I meant it, but like every night we’d made love since I became Alpha of the La Paloma wolf pack, I couldn’t help feeling like there was something missing. As if he was holding part of himself away from me.
Sleep came like a desert whirlwind, spinning me into its warm, chaotic embrace. My dreams were filled with haunting visions of gleaming-eyed wolves, worm-infested cemeteries, and strangers in dark cloaks.
I woke up tired, my brain whirring and heavy. Ronan was already up, and coffee was brewing. Brewing?
That annoyed me. I’d told him I’d do that.
I scolded myself for complaining about someone taking a task off my list then made my bed and padded into the bathroom.
I took the quickest of showers since my skin was pretty dry from everything I’d done to it last night, slathered on a bunch of moisturizer and a little makeup, and threw on a pair of jeans and the Redbone concert T-shirt I’d found in a thrift shop and given to Mom for her birthday one year.
The song “Breathe” by Pink Floyd lured me into the kitchen. It was a great choice for a late afternoon or midnight hour, but an odd one for seven thirty in the morning. It made the kitchen feel dreamy, cut off from the rest of the world.
Ronan stood in front of the stove, easing an omelet onto a brightly colored plate with a spatula. My bare feet made no sound on the cool, tiled floor, but I knew he felt my presence. The man had probably known the moment I woke up by the way my breathing had changed.
“Morning. Strange that you mentioned that album last night and now it’s on the radio.”
“Yeah, I’m convinced KLXX is run by either gods or empaths,” I said. “Have you seen my phone?”
“On the table,” he said. “I think you forgot to charge it last night. You have about ten calls from an anonymous number. Spam?”
“Probably.” I gestured to the full coffeepot. “You already made it.” I tried not to sound accusatory, but he gave me a look that told me he’d picked up on my annoyance.
“Thought you’d appreciate waking up to the smell. It was the least I could do to thank you for waking me up so spectacularly.”
“My pleasure,” I replied. “Literally.”
He placed the plate with the omelet and a fresh mug of coffee in front of me, nuzzled a kiss into the spot where my neck met my shoulder, then returned to the stove for his food.
He set his mug and plate down across from mine. “Want me to make you another? It’s no trouble.”
“Another?” I stared at my plate, astonished that I’d already wolfed down two-thirds of the omelet. “No, thanks. It’s really good, thank you.”
“Glad you like it.” He used his fork to point to a white envelope with my name written across it in perfect cursive. It was propped between two varieties of hot sauce in the middle of the table. “Senora Cervantes dropped off her rent check yesterday. It was wedged between the door and the frame.”