Hawk's Revenge: Lone Pine Pride, Book 3 (12 page)

She’d been wary, cautious, and there was something fiercely protective in her eyes. He’d known instinctively that she would fight to the death for the little cub in her arms—and that knowledge had reached through the distance he always kept around himself and made his chest ache strangely.

Instead of trying to pry the cub from her arms, he’d broken protocol yet again and led Rachel with her cargo through the forest to his waiting Jeep. They hadn’t spoken on the trek. Nor when he’d opened the door and tucked Rachel and her ungainly burden into the passenger seat. They were miles down the road, the cub snoring softly in Rachel’s lap as more miles whipped beneath the wheels, before she spoke, thanking him for waiting.

He’d frowned, his gaze never veering from the road ahead.
I shouldn’t have.

Then I’m even more grateful you did.

Then he had looked at her. Rachel. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in real life—but this time every hair hadn’t been in place. There was dirt on her jaw and a stick snarled in her hair. Dark circles were heavy under eyes haunted by whatever she’d seen tonight. Lines of tension slashed between her eyebrows and at the corners of her mouth. And she was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

They reached a truck stop where he called in a favor to get her a ride back to within a decent hike of where she’d left her car. The night was cold, so after they settled the sleeping cub in the back seat, they waited in the warmth of the cab for her ride, the heater quickly fogging the windows and giving them a false sense of isolation, of safety. They who knew better than anyone that no one was ever safe.

He didn’t remember everything they talked about that night—she’d teased him about filling an ark and blushed when he’d carefully extracted the twig from her hair. Talking nonsense mostly. He’d just wanted to hear her voice, the soft lilt of her accent—but he did remember asking her if it was safe for her to go back. Her soft promise that they didn’t suspect. That she would be fine. He’d been surprised by the protectiveness she called up in him. Surprised when he heard himself say,
You don’t have to go back.

The desire to keep her with him, to keep her safe, was a bright burning thing, but she’d just smiled and murmured,
Yes. I do.

That should have been the end of it. He should never have seen her again, but Rachel tempted him to break every rule he’d ever had. Soft, sweet, innocent temptation.

He’d known from the beginning that every meeting with her could be a trap, but he had wanted to trust her. She had tempted him to go against his instincts, tempted him as nothing else ever had, and here he was, weakening toward her again, if only in his own mind.

She was different now. Fiery. Less restrained. And that fire was a temptation in itself, but he would resist it. He would keep his distance. He was stronger than this.

Or he thought he was. Until he heard the shower turn on and heated memories made him painfully hard. Adrian closed his eyes, but the visions were no less vivid that way. Unsnapping his jeans and taking himself in hand was pure self-defense. He recalled her slick heat, the way her eyes would flare with surprise every time she came—as if each frisson of pleasure startled her anew. His grip tightened and he groaned, jerking hard into his hand until the muscles in his neck knotted and his spine tingled.

Fantasies of her were still more satisfying than sex with anyone else. But the fantasies were all he would let himself have.

Adrian slumped back against a tree. He would get over this. He had to.

The hot water wasn’t very hot to begin with, but Rachel stood under the spray until it was downright icy, waiting for some epiphany about how to crack Adrian’s anger toward her. Jailer or protector, lover or punisher. Something had to give.

The toiletry buffet he’d left for her that morning had yielded her preferred brand of shampoo, conditioner and body wash. She was clean and floral-scented again when she emerged from the bathroom to find even more mixed-messages from her hawk.

He was gone again, but signs of his presence were everywhere. The fire blazed in the stove. Cozy flannel pajamas were stacked neatly on the bed, next to another set of clean clothes for the morning. A tray of food was perched on top of the flat top of the pot-bellied stove, staying warm and smelling good enough to have her stomach growling and reminding her how little she’d eaten today.

Rachel put on the pajamas and devoured every last morsel of the meal. The fire had warmed the small room nicely. Warm, clean and fed, the exhaustion of the day rose to the fore and she curled onto the futon, facing the door. She tugged the single blanket over her and wriggled around to find a comfortable position on the lumpy mattress, all the while watching for Adrian’s return.

She wasn’t chained. He wouldn’t go far. He wouldn’t trust the padlock to hold her forever. He could be lurking on the porch. Or shifted into hawk form and watching her from a perch in a tree.

The thought stuck. She’d often wondered what his bird form looked like. Would those yellow eyes still hold the force of his personality when he had wings? Would he be larger than the average hawk? Would his wings beat at the air with graceful sweeps? Would he ever trust her enough to show her?

Her dreams were filled with raptors in flight and feather-light brushes against her lips that deepened into long, erotic tanglings of tongues, but Adrian never returned.

Chapter Fifteen

“Looking for something?”

Adrian jerked guiltily, automatically trying to hide the bottles in his hands behind his back, but Grace just lifted one tawny brow and snorted at the attempt. “Relax, Hawkeye.” She plucked one of the flowery bottles from the shelf in front of him and rolled it between her hands. “I’ve seen men trying to figure out how to buy lotion for their girlfriends before.”

“She isn’t my—”

“I know, I know. You don’t care for her even a little bit and you’re certainly not in love with her. Which is why lavender versus peach has become like Sophie’s freaking choice for you.”

Adrian looked down at the bottles in his hands and shoved the peach one back onto the shelf. The general store at the pride was pretty bare bones—if you wanted something, you took whichever brand they had and said thank you—but when it came to feminine toiletries there were an abundance of options. He’d remembered what kind of shampoo Rachel used—the one time they’d showered together was engraved in his memory—but he’d never seen her put on lotion. Didn’t know what she’d prefer.

Not that her preference mattered. She was a prisoner.

He shoved the lavender back onto the shelf, plucking up the peach. Or what the fuck was Midnight Mist? Was that better? He started to switch the bottles—

“Jesus,” Grace grunted. She shoved the bottle she’d been playing with into his hands. “Go with orchid. Orchid is hot.”

“It’s not about hot,” he snapped. Rachel’s face was getting chapped by the harsh winter wind on their walks to and from the compound for her interrogations each day. It was his job to look after her. This had nothing to do with fucking hot, damn it.

“I get it. It puts the lotion in the basket or it gets the hose again.” At Adrian’s horrified stare, Grace grinned wickedly. “What? I’m funny.”

“Says who?”

“My mom. Of course, she also thinks I’d be happier if I was married with a pack of rug rats nipping at my heels, so clearly the woman has been smoking something.” Grace grabbed a bottle of her own and started down the aisle. “So how’s the good doctor?”

The good doctor was temptation and torment. But he couldn’t very well say that.

He’d been avoiding speaking to her as much as possible ever since that…aberration the other night. She was too tempting. Too familiar. His memories too sharp.

She wasn’t his lover. She was his prisoner. And he wouldn’t blur that line. He’d gotten in trouble before when he’d let his feelings for her rule his actions. He wouldn’t be so foolish again. Not when she was still lying to him, playing games.

Their days had fallen into a certain routine. He would collect her each morning after she’d dressed and eaten the food he left for her in the night. He’d guide her, blindfolded, down to the compound and deliver her to the Alpha, his mate or his lieutenants, depending who had new questions for her that day. The sessions were always recorded, but as the days wore on and she was able to provide less and less new information, they grew shorter.

He hovered nearby until the questioning was complete, then blindfolded her again and led her back into the woods to his cabin. She often tried to engage him in conversation, but he’d grunt monosyllabic replies and ignore her as much as possible. After checking the cabin for threats, he would lock her inside, returning only when he brought her dinner tray.

He hadn’t chained her again—she’d made no attempt to escape and he didn’t want her to be completely vulnerable if someone like Dominec should find where he’d stashed her. Though Adrian was rarely far from her.

He’d constructed a little lean-to in the forest with sight lines on all the approaches to the cabin. It was too cold to be sleeping outside, so when his bones started to ache with the chill in the middle of the night, he’d slip inside the cabin and stretch out in front of the door for a few hours. Rachel slept like a rock. She never even stirred with his comings and goings, but he snapped awake every time she shifted and sighed. His gaze would take in every detail of her sleep-softened face, his vision sharp even in the night-darkened cabin. He’d watch her sleep, sometimes for hours, and then sneak back out into the forest beyond to keep watch—no more settled on how he felt about her than he ever was.

She still tugged at something inside him. Something that refused to give up on her even after the way she’d betrayed him. That part of him argued that he should forgive her, that she’d done what she needed to for the greater good. But another, unforgiving part of him screamed that you didn’t betray your mate. Not ever. If she had been his, she never would have been able to hurt him. Not for any reason.

How was she? Intoxicating. Infuriating.

“She’s fine.”

Grace snorted. “Yeah, if I’d been a slave to the Organization for years, fearing for my life and hating every second of it and I finally escaped, I’m sure I’d just be, you know,
fine
too.”

Adrian glared at Grace while she paid for her own items, waving to the lion at the counter to add Adrian’s things to her tab as well. He waited until they were outside the store to admit, “Now that Roman has most of what he needs from her, I think she’s bored.”

“Not surprising. Few people are as good at being inactive as cats.”

“I don’t think she’s used to doing nothing. She’s always been an overachiever. I think she was one of those graduated-med-school-at-twenty-three types.”

“What, didn’t Mommy and Daddy love her enough?”

Grace was joking, but Adrian didn’t think she was far off the mark. When Rachel had told him about being the valedictorian, always-the-best-at-everything perfect daughter, he hadn’t been surprised to learn she was adopted. She’d protested that her parents had never treated her like she had to be perfect to earn their love, that she’d always known they adored her just as much as if she’d been their biological child, but all that perfection had screamed overcompensation to him.

But it felt wrong to share any of that with Grace, so he shrugged, changing the subject. “How are the other prisoners?”

“Pains in my cute furry ass,” Grace grumbled. “We’ve never needed a jail-type facility before, so we had to improvise, put them in an unused barn at the edge of the main compound—but the thing is hardly Fort Knox and some asshole leaked the fact that we were hiding them there to the pride at large. Three guesses which psycho ass tiger probably spilled that little tidbit. So now every shifter in the pride with a beef against the Organization is camped outside the fucking barn calling for their heads. Loudly. Twenty-four hours a fucking day. I could use you, if you’re up for watch duty. Someone with your eyesight would be invaluable on the perimeter and free up some of my guys to babysit the barn. It’s getting harder and harder to find guards who’ll keep the good guys from going all Tarantino on the helpless bad guys’ asses.” She grimaced. “Good times.”

“Is Rachel in danger?”

“The patron saint of captured shifters? You should hear the way the shifters she’s rescued talk about her in the dining hall. Gandhi had a worse reputation.”

“But there could be some who don’t see her that way. Dominec—”

“Is his own brand of crazy. Don’t judge the pride by him.”

“I’m not judging anything.” But neither was he willing to risk Rachel’s safety on Grace’s opinion of how the pride saw the Organization doc. Things were volatile now.

Yes, they were striking back against the Organization and even rescuing some of their own, but seeing the condition of those rescued wasn’t making the shifters feel any more kindly toward the Organization prisoners. Too many of their lives had been touched or even ruined by the Organization. Too many scars of the both physical and emotional variety could be laid at their door.

The last thing he needed was Rachel getting in the middle things.

And she would get in the middle. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from pointing out that not everyone who worked for the Organization was evil. All she had to do was say that to the wrong person and she’d be gutted in seconds flat.

No. Better that she stayed tucked away in his cabin. Bored and safe.

And beyond temptation.

He shivered, tugging his leather jacket closed to keep out the winter wind.

“Do you think the fact that the Organization didn’t immediately retaliate or try to get the prisoners back means they don’t know where we are?” he asked.

Grace grimaced. “I wish I believed that. Wouldn’t it be great to be that naïve? But no. It feels like we’re being set up.”

“Like they’re just biding their time,” he agreed.

She nodded. “Wearing us out.” They reached a fork in the path and Grace paused, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Everyone who is remotely trained is working flat out, but how can we hit over a hundred facilities before they move everyone? It’s like fucking Sisyphus. We just keep shoving that boulder up the hill and it rolls back down to crush us again. And then I think about what Dominec did on the last raid and part of me is tempted to just sic him on them. See how much damage he can do.” She had been staring out over the pride as she spoke, but now she turned to him. “What would you do, Hawkeye? We can use someone with your experience. How do you kill an organism that doesn’t have a heart or a single brain? Our battles are successful, but we’re losing the war because we can only attack one facility at a time.”

“At least we’re doing that much. Rachel’s group freed over a hundred and fifty shifters by smuggling them out one at a time. So we’ll fight this war one battle at a time. And we won’t give up.”

“Even if some among us still think we’re doing the wrong thing by attacking at all?”

“What’s the alternative?”

“Running and hiding. Avoiding poking the monster.” She shook her head. “Never mind. Go bring your doctor her lotion. But be careful, Hawkeye,” Grace tossed off as she moved down the left path. “You can keep her in a box, but boredom can make us stupid. If I were you I’d find something to distract her. Or someone.”

He was trying to kill her with boredom. That was the only explanation.

Rachel had never been idle in her life. She didn’t know how to be. And now here she was. Useless.

After six days of interviews, her time at the pride compound had diminished to under an hour and her hours at the cabin were making her stir-crazy. She cleaned. She wrestled the damn furniture around in an attempt to feng-shui the tiny cabin. She scoured every cupboard and closet for reading material, without success.

She’d taken to spending an inordinate amount of time on her appearance, showering and primping with the ever-growing supply of beauty products Adrian provided for her—always when she wasn’t looking, as if it would be too intimate for him to hand her a canister of tangerine-scented shaving cream. A Southern woman knew the power of being well put together. There was persuasion in a pretty face and Rachel wasn’t above using every weapon in her arsenal to get back in Adrian’s good graces.

Maybe she would be waiting for him naked when he came with her dinner tray.

He’d have to kiss her then, wouldn’t he?

Not that she wanted that. Her feelings for him were too tangled and sideways to invite affection right now. But that didn’t mean she was above seduction to get her way.

“Oh, who do you think you’re fooling?” she asked her compact mirror. “You want him like there’s no tomorrow.” Seducing him to get her way was just a handy excuse.

He’d been taciturn since the latest kiss, no longer accusing or antagonizing her, but neither did he speak to her. He cared for her in as close to absolute silence as she would let him, never eating with her, just leaving the food and clean clothes—sometimes taking her dirty things away and returning with them freshly laundered the next day.

She’d tried bringing up the kiss once when he brought her dinner and he’d turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance. When she’d dared to bring up the so called taunting the drugs had convinced him she’d done while he was in Organization captivity, rage had pulsed off him in a near tangible wave and he’d stormed out, not returning for hours.

At this point she would talk about whatever he wanted as long as he stayed.

When he shouldered open the door and walked in with her dinner tray and a bottle of lotion that evening, she was ready for him, greeting him with her best company smile.
Catching flies with honey.

“Adrian. I’m so glad you’re back.” Latching on to the sight of the lotion tucked under his arm, she folded her hands over her heart like it was a diamond tiara. “Is that for me? That’s so considerate of you. And the shampoo was my favorite—”

“Don’t,” he cut off her ode to shampoo. “They aren’t gifts. You’re my responsibility.”

“Yes, but I still appreciate—”

“Grace picked it out.” He set the tray on the table and moved to drop the lotion in the bathroom.

He was going to leave. Even though she was starving, she ignored the food—and the twinge of jealousy at the mention of perfect
Grace
—putting herself between the Hawk and the door so he wouldn’t be able to vanish on her. “Won’t you eat with me? I miss your company.”

He frowned, but didn’t immediately charge for the door. Progress. “What game are you playing?”

“I’ll settle for anything but solitaire at this point.”

Only when his eyes fired with heat did she realize how suggestive the words had come out. Well, she’d wanted to seduce him.

She twirled a lock of hair around one finger and drew it forward so the tips fell into the plunging V of the button-down top she hadn’t buttoned up all the way.

“Please stay. You used to enjoy my company.”

His expression darkened. “You’d do best to never mention the past to me again.”

“It wasn’t all bad—”

“
Never
.”

Oookay.
She wasn’t in a position to push him. Time to change tactics. “There has to be something I can do,” she said. “I’ll shovel latrines, if you want. Think of it as community service. Please, Adrian. What possible use am I to anyone out here?” Her plea was only somewhat ruined by the growling of her stomach.

“Eat your dinner.” He brushed past her.