A hand in her hair, wrenching back her head. “What’s my name?”
She scratched trails down his back. He didn’t even wince. “My name, kitty. Say my name.”
“Mr. Mud Stick, Muddie for short,” she said, even as she rubbed herself against the hard thrust of his denim-covered erection, the roughness of the fabric an exquisite sensation. She would’ve liked naked skin even more, but he wasn’t budging.
“Say it, or no cock for you today.”
Her mouth fell open. “Fuck you.”
“You’ll be doing that shortly.” He kissed her again, a tangling of tongue and teeth and untamed male power. “Now”—he thrust against her, letting her feel the heavy, dark heat that she could have—“what’s my fucking name?”
It was tempting to continue to snarl at him, but her skin was slick with sweat and he was big and wild and delicious over her. And she wanted him in her
. Now.
“Men and their egos,” she muttered, just to piss him off a little. “Now do it, Riley. Or I’ll find someone else.”
He held her head where it was for another long second before lowering his face to hers, those amber eyes telling her exactly who was in charge inside him at that moment. “What did you say?” Quiet, quiet words.
She clawed his back again. This time, the wolf growled at her and the next few minutes passed in a fury of torn clothing
and ravaging kisses, cries of pleasure intermingled with moans. And suddenly he was naked above her. Strong, hot, beautiful. She rose up against him, feeling her eyes go leopard as he put one hand on her thigh to hold her down and nudged at her with the aroused length of him.
She went to reach down, but he growled at her. Normally she’d have growled back, but he was making her feel so-damn-good. So she wrapped her other leg around him and thrust her hands into his hair, rocking her body upward. “I want you in me.”
He began to push in. She sucked in a breath. The man was hard as rock and thick enough to make her muscles stretch to the edge of pain. She shuddered. “More.”
He took her at her word, thrusting into her with a slow, intensely erotic focus that had her inner muscles starting to spasm in ecstasy even before he was fully inside. Then he was and she’d never felt so taken in her life. But he gave her only a few seconds to get used to him before his lips took hers once again, even as his body slammed in and out of her with a power her leopard gloried in. Wolf or not, this man was worth dancing with.
She moved with him, kissing him back, running her hands over his body and nipping at him just because. He kept her pinned to the earth as he took her, as if he knew just how damn much she needed a good, hard ride. When she orgasmed, it was with a sharp cry, a lush clenching around the thick heat of him, and a burst of starlight behind her eyes.
Lights that continued to flicker even after she came back down to earth. Riley was still hot and aroused in her, moving with unapologetically powerful thrusts that pushed her to another peak in moments. She bit his neck in the wolf way this time, and it finally pushed him over the edge with her.
Early the next
morning, a willowy Psy female walked into a breakfast and dinner—no lunch—restaurant just south of San Diego, and sat down, placing her briefcase beside her. She was dressed in a dark gray suit, with a jacket that cinched at the waist, and tailored pants in the same material. Her shirt collar was crisp and white, her nails manicured so they were short and clean.
The waitress smiled, but didn’t expect a response. All Psy—well, except the ones who had defected recently—were emotionless robots. She’d heard rumors that they weren’t born that way, that they trained the emotion out of themselves. Damn fool thing if you asked her. What was life without love, without laughter? Yeah, there were a few tears along the way, but hey, that was life. To be lived.
But she said none of what was on her mind—Psy were emotionless, but they tipped exactly on the correct percentage. Which was better than some cheapskates who ran her off her feet then left a quarter behind. She’d serve a Psy ahead of them any day. “What’ll it be?” she asked, holding up the old-fashioned order pad. That was how this place stayed in
business—folks came for the “ambience,” as the boss called it.
She laughed at him—the old flirt was her husband, she had to keep him on his toes—but he was right. People liked the checkered tablecloths over wooden tables, the real-people service as opposed to order pads built into tables, even the crackling old jukebox they cranked up at night. That’s why they got a lot of human and changeling traffic.
The few Psy who came in were mostly strays on their way to a meeting in the city. This one looked the type. Pretty, too, with those bright green eyes against skin that was a nice, pale bronze. Psy really were striking a lot of the time—probably messed with their genes in the womb, the waitress thought. “Honey?” she prompted when the woman didn’t respond.
The Psy female blinked, staring at her.
And the waitress could’ve sworn she saw desperation in those eyes.
Then the briefcase exploded.
Riley woke to
find his brother, Andrew, sitting at the foot of his bed, mug of coffee in hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. “Nice trick, bro,” he said. “Showering before you went to bed. Probably dunked yourself in a stream before you came home, too.”
Riley just waited. Drew was really good at getting people to spill their guts with sly hints that he knew everything anyway. He blamed it on being the middle child. Riley blamed it on him being a smart-ass.
“But you forgot to empty the laundry hamper.”
“Sniffing the laundry now?” He raised an eyebrow, knowing Drew had nothing. His clothes had been destroyed—he’d come home in wolf form. And he
had
dunked his ass in a freezing lake before he returned. “You really need to get laid.”
“Oh, we’re not talking about my sex life.” Another smug smile. “Yours is much more interesting.”
Riley remained on his back, feeling a soft ache in his shoulder. “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in Los Angeles this week.” Drew had recently been promoted—to a role that necessitated him roving around all the different cities
under SnowDancer control and reporting back directly to the SnowDancer alpha, Hawke.
It was a needed responsibility.
Because as SnowDancer had learned in the snow-white chill of the previous winter, not every wolf was good. Not every wolf protected. The lesson had struck the pack deep in the heart, and they were still bleeding from it. But that pain hadn’t stopped them from fixing it so it couldn’t happen again.
Hence, Andrew’s new position as Hawke’s eyes and ears among those who might otherwise be overlooked. He led a small team of men and women who were known to be absolutely loyal to SnowDancer, people who would cut out their hearts rather than harm the innocent. They were all also quick to smile, easily made friends.
Drew, in particular, could get anyone to talk to him about anything. Which was why Riley had learned to be very wary of his younger brother’s apparently guileless questions.
“I swapped with Kieran,” Drew now said. “He wanted to avoid somebody in the den.”
Riley knew precisely who the other soldier wanted to avoid. “He broke up with his latest girlfriend.” The fact that Kieran was technically human, having been adopted into SnowDancer as a child, didn’t seem to stop him from acting the part of a wolf on the prowl. “Woman’s out for blood, from what I hear.”
“I figured.” The glint returned to his eye. “So, who was she?”
“I thought you knew?”
Drew scowled. “I know you got laid. It’s only a matter of time before I sniff out the truth.”
“Knock yourself out.” He began to get up, then realized why his shoulder ached. Mercy had scratched him hard. It might’ve given a human male pause. It made Riley’s wolf smile. Wearing her claw marks was a badge of honor—because it meant he’d driven her to such pleasure that she’d forgotten herself. If she’d been his lover in truth, he’d be showing them off.
But he didn’t know what she was to him. Except the woman who made him hotter and angrier faster than any other. So he remained on his back, brutally aware that once would never be enough. Not even close. His gut tightened. “Go away, Drew. I’ll get up in a little while.”
“Hmm, he wants me to leave. Why?” Drew sipped his coffee. “Could it be because the little she-cat marked our esteemed lieutenant?”
Riley barely kept himself from reacting to the “she-cat” comment. He had no intention of hiding his entanglement with Mercy—she might be frustrating as hell, a royal pain in his ass, but she was also an incredibly strong, sexy woman, someone any male would be proud to call his lover. But he needed time to figure out how he was going to deal with it. The instant that thought formed, he heard Mercy’s voice in his head, a fragment of memory from their many scuffles.
“Jesus, Riley, do you ever just react?”
“When necessary.”
“When necessary.” She mimicked his voice perfectly. “I’d call you Psy but I think that would be an insult to the Psy.”
“I feel.”
“But your feelings go through about ten different filters before you let them out.” She flipped her hair, tied in a high tail, over a shoulder. “Doesn’t bother me—except when you drive me insane with these plans.” The word “plan” was about seven syllables long. “We’ll deal with some situations as they arise. We don’t need a color-coded flowchart.”
He hadn’t had a flowchart, of course. Mercy simply liked to jerk his chain as far as possible. “I think you need to go see Brenna,” he said to Andrew when his brother remained seated. “Word is, she and Judd had a fight.” Riley liked Judd, but the man
was
mated to his baby sister—Riley reserved the right to hassle him periodically. And use him as fodder to distract Drew. “She won’t talk to me—go make sure he didn’t push her around.”
Drew left so fast, he created a breeze in his wake. Riley wondered if Judd would punch Drew for his unwanted—and entirely unnecessary—interference. “Serves him right,” he
muttered, rising and stealing the coffee his brother had left behind. Judd would cut off his arm before hurting Brenna. That was why he was still alive. Because while Riley wasn’t Mercy, with her breathtakingly vivid nature, he felt deeply.
And he loved his sister with a strength that made her call him an overprotective bear on a regular basis. He didn’t care. The pack had helped—so much—but it was Riley Brenna had looked to after their parents’ deaths, Riley who’d kissed her scrapes and soothed her nightmares. The fact that she was mated didn’t change his right to look after her.
A knot of guilt and fury twisted around his heart on the heels of that thought. He hadn’t dreamed last night, but the ache was there, as always. Because the truth was, he’d failed Brenna when she needed him most. That Psy bastard Santano Enrique had
hurt
his sister, hurt her so much that she’d almost broken.
“But she didn’t break. She fucking survived, and the last thing she needs now is an idiot brother who feels sorry for himself.”
Mercy’s voice again, words she’d thrown at him when he’d snarled at her one time too many after Brenna’s rescue.
What would she say if she could hear his thoughts right now?
He reached back to touch his shoulder, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as old rage retreated under a wave of the most primal desire. If he’d known it would be this good between them, he’d have said to hell with self-control and gone after her months ago. That, he thought as he walked into the bathroom, was one mistake he wouldn’t be repeating.
By the time Drew dragged his sorry ass back through the door, Riley was dressed and eating scrambled eggs. “No visible bruises,” he said, eyes going to Drew’s chest. His brother had been shot through the heart last winter, his blood a scarlet flower across the snow—Riley’s wolf couldn’t help the near-automatic check. “Either Judd was in a good mood, or your ribs must hurt like hell.”
“Laugh if you will,” Drew said, an evil grin cracking his face. “But now Brenna knows something’s up, too.”
Great. If Drew was nosy, then Bren was relentless. “You have no life, Drew.”
“Then you won’t mind if I stick my nose into yours.”
Mercy lay in
bed way past her usual wake-up time, staring at the ceiling of her cabin. She was sore as heck, marked up with bites, scratches, and bruises, and she felt like purring. Not that she’d tell him—
ever
—but Riley knew what he was doing in bed. Or on the forest floor.
The wolf had not only ridden her into damn near unconsciousness, he’d given her the best orgasms of her life. And that was plain embarrassing. Her best sex had been with a wolf. Pa
the
tic. Except her body was telling her to shut up and wallow. ’Cause this felt gooooood. Good enough that she might even want to repeat it.
“No,” she told herself the instant the thought reared its head. “Once—and most of the night definitely counts as once—you can write off as a mistake. But you do this again and he’s going to start thinking he has rights over you.” She knew predatory changeling men. They liked control. They particularly liked their women to submit. And Riley was one big giant hunk of testosterone-fueled Neanderthal wolf—he probably thought her submission was his right. She snorted. “Not in this lifetime.”
Groaning as her muscles protested, she turned. She’d had a shower last night, but a hot bath was unquestionably in order. And a massage. One of her packmates would be happy to give her the latter out of simple friendship, but if they did, they’d see the marks on her body.
She could imagine their reaction when they found out she’d been getting down and dirty with a wolf. The SnowDancers were their allies, but leopard and wolf didn’t easily mix. True friendship would take one heck of a long time. And, though she’d had great sex with Riley—okay, hot, monkey, freakin’ wonderful sex—he wasn’t her friend, either.