York (4 page)

Chapter 6

By the time he hit the street, he was sweating with the need to fight and fuck.  His hand had stopped rubbing her ass, but it didn’t leave the rounded mound filling his hand.  When his fingers brushed between the two globes, he hissed as the front of his pants tightened painfully.  His mate smelled like heaven, but he’d need to kill the Megalya and his friend before he’d get to enjoy the silken heat of her.  Elation shot through him and had him itching to battle the Megalya.  For the first time in his existence, York McDonnough had something to fight for,
someone
to protect!  

Several passersby openly stared, but he didn’t care.  He had bigger concerns. 

A deafening roar rent the air and his head snapped up.  The Megalya and his friend were scowling down at him from Shy’s window, confirming that they’d been after his mate.  York wanted nothing more than to march back into the building and mutilate the Megalya and his cohort, but Shy’s safety came first.  Permitting a partial shift, York let his incisors elongate and his eyes go black as he curled back his lip and growled ferociously up at the duo still watching him.  He lifted a fist and pointed straight at the Megalya.  It was a call-out.  York and the Megalya would battle, and it’d be soon.  He wanted the Megalya to know he was looking forward to it.

A car screeched up to the curb and with one
blink, York’s teeth and eyes were back to normal as he lifted a hand in a protective gesture, covering his mate as he took a step back. 

It was Benjie.  The slight man popped up from the driver’s side.  “You again!  You need taxi, big guy?”

York didn’t hesitate.  He easily maneuvered his woman off his shoulder and cradled her in his arms before jerking the door open, easing into the back seat, and adjusting his mate on his lap before slamming the door closed behind them.  Benjie was already at the wheel.

“Where to?  You hotel?”

York couldn’t risk being followed.  “No.  Take me to the airport.”

“You leaving?  You girlfriend no fly like that!” 

“No,” York looked down at the sleeping beauty in his arms. “I’m not leaving.  I just want to ride around for a bit.”  And the airport was as good a place as any to lose a tail that might be following a taxi.

“
H’okay!  Then maybe I take you to Max.  You girlfriend eat sampaloc soup.  It wake her up.”

“Who’s Max?” York grumbled, trying to be inconspicuous as he ducked his head to eye the side mirror
checking if they were being followed.

“No who…it’s what.  Max a restaurant.  You like.  You see!”

The car sped away from the ratty motel and the Megalya.  York cursed the distance, knowing that there was no way in hell he’d be able to use the mist to contact anyone back home.  No, he’d need a phone.  Monroe had given him one, but he’d left it back at his motel, certain he wouldn’t need reinforcements for his simple mission. 

After several moments of eyeing the side mirror, and satisfied that they weren’t being followed, York shifted the slight burden in his arms and looked down.

Perfect pink lips were slightly parted.  Auburn eye lashes lay across creamy skin, and once again, fiery red hair was clinging to his mate’s cheek just as it was earlier when he’d found her sleeping.

Smiling, he used a finger to brush the hair back off her cheek.  Her skin was soft.  As if of their own accord, his fingers brushed her bangs to the side and then traced down her little nose.  He’d thought Shy was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen…he’d been wrong. 

His hand brushed his mate’s shoulder and once again his eyes snagged on the mark peeking out from under her shirt.  He lifted a hand and slowly pulled her shirt down.  He smiled and looked at her face before leaning closer to her tattoo.  It couldn’t have been more perfect if he’d picked it himself.  Two hands held a heart created by negative space.  The black and gray design was of an Irish Claddagh. 

The
Claddagh was a traditional ring given to represent love, loyalty, and friendship.  The one on his mate’s chest was feminine and perfect.  Calligraphy on each side spelled out two words and it took him a moment to make out the delicate lettering. 

“Shy,” he read and shifted his eyes to the opposite side.  “And…Sky?” He smiled. 
My mate’s name is Sky.  Sky McDonnough.
  He liked the sound of her name mingled with his own, and he loved her tattoo.  It only served as affirmation, because he bore a similar Claddagh on his shoulder.  York liked tattoos and unlike most Walkers, he wore many, most boasting his Celtic ancestry. 
 

York looked up and caught Benjie eyeing Sky’s chest where York had her shirt pulled down.  “Hey!” York growled darkly, quickly pulling Sky’s shirt back into place.

Benjie lifted his eyes to York’s, regarding him suspiciously in the rearview mirror.  “Hey!  That you girlfriend?”  He sounded skeptical.

“No,” York supplied, dropping his voice to a low register.  “She’s my
wife
!”

Benjie’s furrowed brow relaxed.  “Oh! 
H’okay.” 

My wife!
  York rolled the term around in his head as he held Sky a little tighter.  Part of him wanted her to wake up, so he could talk to her, but he knew that she’d just freak again, and it’d be hard to convince Benjie she was his wife when she was screaming and fighting to get away from him.  Relaxing back in his seat, York contented himself with studying her sleeping form.  Her frame was fuller than Shy’s.  More curves, more attitude, more to enjoy!  He pulled her higher and rubbed his nose against her forehead, slowly inhaling her scent.  He wanted to memorize her now.  He wouldn’t take the risks so many other stubborn Walkers had taken with their mates.  
Mmmmm, sweet pears!
  She smelled good enough to eat.

“You try wake her up.  I take you to Max?”

Annoyed at the interruption, York frowned up at Benjie.  “No.  We’re not going to Max’s.”  He eyed the area and realized they were heading away from the airport.  He’d been too consumed with Sky to pay any attention to whether or not they were being followed.

A soft moan brought his attention back to
Sky, and he knew she’d be waking soon. 

“Circle the airport and then take me to my hotel.”

Benjie simply nodded and York forced himself to focus on his surroundings, paying close attention to the vehicles behind them.  It was difficult to keep his attention on whether or not they were being followed when his most sought-after treasure was nestled in his arms, but he managed.

As the taxi pulled up to the hotel, York had bills ready and shoved them toward Benjie.

“I got it,” he offered quickly as he let himself out of the back seat.  He didn’t bother scanning the area, just carried Sky quickly inside, grunting at Benjie’s offered, “See you, big guy.”

Entering the grandiose lobby of the Shangri-La, York was more than a little surprised that the unconscious woman in his arms didn’t garner the attention he’d initially anticipated.  Most people milling about the lobby glanced up and then went back to their tasks.   Funny, he’d been prepared for questions, but none came. His eyes darted to Sky’s
hair, and he smirked at the near-perfect match to his own.  Pride shot through him and he lifted his head a little higher. 
She even looks like she’s mine!
 

Unwilling to wait for the elevator, he crossed the great expanse of golden-hued marble that covered the lobby floor.  Finding the stairs, he didn’t even break a sweat as he carried his
Angel up to his penthouse suite. 

When Walkers were on
a mission that didn’t require deep cover, they traveled like kings.  The fact that their missions were typically funded by Monroe StoneCrow, or the equally wealthy Tyce Steele, may have played a part in the Walkers’ opulent tendencies.

At his room, York shifted Sky to retrieve his key card, before sliding it into the door and gaining their entry.  Sky was just beginning to stir as he carried her into his suite.

Dark carpet, cream-colored walls, and vaulted ceilings welcomed the Walker home. The intricate chandelier hanging in the center of the sitting room, just above the beige leather sofas, almost made York feel like he was back at StoneCrow.  If it weren’t for the wide window that looked out over a bustling metropolis, he might  forget he wasn’t home.  Even the heat was non-existent as the hotel’s air conditioning silently worked to keep the city’s climate at bay.

Skirting a glass
-topped table that sat between two fat chairs, York carried his Angel to the bedroom.  The room was sophisticated in its simplicity.  One large bed, one oversized chair, a glass-topped vanity, and a few bamboo plants accentuated the size and beauty of the room. The window in this room also had the curtains peeled back to reveal breathtaking views of the city.  York ignored them, too enraptured by the beauty in his arms to care about any outside his window. 

Placing one knee on the bed, he gently
settled his burden on the bed, fighting the urge to lay down beside her, pull her into his arms and rest knowing that he’d finally found his mate.  The fact that Sky still thought he was a threat was the only thing that kept him from acting on his impulse.

Sky mumbled then rolled to her side, facing him.  He reached down to brush hair back from her forehead and noted that her skin was finally starting to cool.  His eyes
lowered, and he throttled a growl at how her tiny shirt clung to her sweat dampened body.  The material hugged every luscious curve and had him fighting images of her body sweat-slick from other, highly sensual, exertions. 

He remembered how hot her room had been and was displeased that she’d chosen to stay somewhere where the air conditioning didn’t even work.  Her room had been a damn
swamp, and the memory had him walking to the bathroom to draw his Angel a bath.  Surely, she’d want to freshen up once she woke.  

Unable to decide on a steamy dunk or a cool
soak; he set the water somewhere in between and frowned at a half-dozen large bottles that lined the windowsill behind the deep, jetted tub before he found the bubble bath.  He eyed the tub and then the bottle. 
How much of this junk am I supposed to use?
  He turned the bottle over to squint at the infinitesimal writing.   Unable to find anything referencing amount, he opted to err on side of caution and dumped half the bottle into the running water.  Damn! He cursed as bubbles frothed forth at an impossible rate.  By the time the bath was nearly full, bubbles were piled so high that his Angel wouldn’t even be seen if she were sitting in the tub. 

Scouring the bathroom, he sought out a means of dispelling some of the perfume
d foam.  He found a small ice bucket in the bathroom closet and scooped a bucket of suds from the pile then turned and eyed the bathroom, unsure what to do with it.  He stalked to the sink and turned the bucket over, but nothing came out.  The bubbles were happily nestled in the small confines.  He growled. 
How in the hell do women do this?
 

Setting the still bubble-filled bucke
t back in the closet, he crossed his arms and eyed the tub in consternation, willing some of the bubbles to pop.  They didn’t.  An idea struck, and he pulled one of the large fluffy towels from the rack and unfolded it.  Pleased with himself, he pinched two ends and whipped the towel out to lay it over the bubbles to flatten them down.

“Christ!”  Bubbles
flew out from beneath all sides of the towel and coated the floor.  Jerking the towel back, York balled it up and tossed the useless thing into the wastebasket before backing out of the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him.  Hopefully, they’d dissipate by the time Sky woke.

Chapter
7

Cool air greeted Sky and had her moaning in pleasure at the welcome respite from the stifling heat.  Eyes still closed, she stretched and noted that h
er bed was much softer than before, or she was simply more comfortable.  Unwilling to relinquish such heavenly luxury, she rolled to her side and curled her legs up while tucking a hand under her cheek. 

I could sleep right here for days.  Sleep. 
Mmmm…. 
Funny, she remembered it being unbearably hot when she’d fallen asleep.  Had night already come?  She didn’t care as she snuggled more deeply into the bed. What was it she’d been dreaming about?  Oh yeah!  A Viking warrior with a flowing red mane, mesmerizing sea-green eyes, and muscles for days. 
Big Red.
  Suddenly, her contended grin died. 
Big…Red! 
Her senses were slowly waking up and alarm bells were going off.  

WAIT! 
Where was the din of the city traffic?  She had opened the window before lying down earlier.  Her eyes shot open and terror seized her.  She wasn’t in her room!

Shooting upright
, Sky blinked.  She was in a hotel room.  It was nice, for the Philippines.  She took in the large bed she lay on, the bedside table and chair, the huge flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.  The room was ornately decorated, and the plush dark carpet was new, which was a surprise.  Compared to the dives she’d been staying in, this place was high-end.  Her eyes snagged on a chair near the door and she frowned at Big Red as he sat scowling back at her.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low.  “And with each other they did plot and battle into the bloody night.”

Sky’s heart seized.  Only one person on the face of the earth would know that line.  It was from a poem Shy had written for her on their nineteenth birthday.  The fact that Big Red was reciting it meant only one thing.  Sky shot off the bed.  “Where’s my sister, asshole?”  Her hands balled into tiny fists even as her legs gave out and she dropped to her knees.

“Shit!” 

She tried to look up, but her vision was swimming and when Big Red pulled her up with impossibly thick arms, all she could do was blink repeatedly, attempting to focus as she ground out an accusatory, “What did you do to me?  Don’t touch me!”

Lifting her into the cradle of his arms, he gently placed her back on the bed.  “You were hysterical.  I had to get you to safety.”

“Hysterical?” she challenged, but York could scent her underlying fear.  She was still afraid of him and attempting to mask it.

Kneeling on the floor beside the bed, he ran a thumb absently over the back of her hand.  “We were in danger.”

Sky jerked her hand away.  “
We
? 
I
was sleeping! 
You
broke into
my
room!” 

“You weren’t in danger from me.  I’m a friend, Sky.”

“Yeah,” she didn’t bother to mask her sarcasm.  “If the man breaking into my room wasn’t the threat, who was?”

“The man from the bar.”

His revelation had her stilling to peek at him.

“The one you hit.  He came to your hotel.  He was looking for you.  Why?”

“You drugged me and dragged me here because of that crackpot?”  She snorted derisively and winced when the movement caused her brain to pound.  “He’s some looney who’s been trying to offer me a million dollars.  He thinks I’m…” What was it he’d called her?  Oh yeah.  “I’m the key to Skin Walker procreation.”  She let her head fall back and sighed, willing away the pain in her head.  Talking wasn’t helping.  “He’s just crazy.”

She didn’t see York pale suddenly before his jaw tightened in anger.

Not wanting to get side tracked, Sky struggled to think around the pounding in her head.  She frowned at him.  “Where.  Is.  My.  Sister?”  She managed the last words just before she winced and squeezed her eyes shut, lifting a hand to massage her temple.

“What’s wrong?” York stood quickly.  “You’re in pain.”

Sky kept her eyes closed.  It was all becoming too much.  Still slightly drugged and in the clutches of someone who claimed to be a friend, she was too frightened, too groggy, too headachy, and too hungry to have much fight left.

“It’s just a headache,” she groaned even though it felt like the migraine to end all migraines.  Silence hung in the air, so she cracked one eye to peek up at him. 

He was staring at her in confusion.

“Headache!  You know.  Head. 
Ache
!  As in pain in your brain!”

“Headache…”

He appeared contemplative.  “I think Monroe gets them.  He often looks pained.”

Sky drew in a steady breath and dropped her hand.  Her migraine had set in full force.  No amount of closed eyes and pretending the world didn’t exist would will it away.  Scooting
away from him, she dropped her feet on the other side of the bed.

“Don’t get up,” he commanded.  “You’ll fall again.”

“I won’t fall,” she bit out impatiently.  “And answer my friggin’ question.  Where’s my sister?”  She nearly choked at his causal response.

“She’s in Montana.”