Dire Needs: A Novel of the Eternal Wolf Clan (15 page)

Don’t hurt her.

“Harder, Rifter,” she begged. God, if he complied…

But her nails raked his back and for a second, he swore he saw wolf’s eyes.

He must be seeing his own eyes reflected in hers, so he squeezed them tightly shut before she noticed, buried his head along her neck.

He forced back a growl. The air changed, and he took her then, plunged into her, stretching her, taking her with the ferocity he craved. Speared her with his cock, her wet heat sucking him in, and he took her hard, rode her until she came with a shudder and a cry, and then it happened.

If she noticed she didn’t let on. Rifter thought she was too deep in the throes of the orgasm… but he was locked inside of her. Mating with her.

Up until this point, the mating was only something he’d heard described, but he’d certainly never experienced it firsthand. That was impossible.

All of this was fucking impossible.

But he couldn’t
have pulled out of Gwen if he’d wanted it. And he didn’t want to.

You can’t mate with a human.
A dying one at that, and maybe it was the meds she was on or maybe he was for sure losing his goddamned mind, but he continued thrusting and they both had multiple orgasms that lasted longer than he’d thought possible.

Afterward, he waited for the familiar pain to hit him. Nothing could be that good and not make him suffer for it afterward.

But it didn’t.

Something was happening—his body began to tingle, the way it would at times before a shift, and he smelled the shift.

Had he lost that much control or…

He pulled back and looked at her. She seemed to be lost in pleasure, her eyes closed, her body responding to his, but he needed to stop. With a herculean effort, he pulled out of her, and it seemed to take a few minutes for her to open her eyes and realize something was wrong.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice slightly hoarse, her eyes unfocused.

Lie to her… don’t make her feel bad.
“You seemed… different. I thought I was hurting you.”

She blanched visibly. “Shit, I’m sorry. I think I must’ve seized.”

He kissed her to stop her from saying anything more, for apologizing for something that didn’t happen—some-thing that, if it had, certainly wasn’t her fault. He pulled back and said, “I must’ve brought it on—I came on too strong.”

“You came on just right.” She buried her face in his neck and hugged him, and they lay together, wrapped around each other, the strains of music drifting in through the open window.

The party would last until dawn, with some lingering through breakfast and a few lucky women past noon. Gwen would be here long after that—it was a definite first for him. “It’s okay, Gwen. You told me what was going on the first night we met.”

Granted, that seemed like years ago, rather than less than forty-eight hours earlier.

“It’s not every day I get attacked and rescued like this,” she said. “Normally I’d be scared.”

“I don’t want you to be.” No, he wanted her final time to be peaceful. Didn’t want her going anywhere, and for the first time he wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all.

God, this was embarrassing. Sex and seizures most definitely didn’t go together. And if Gwen didn’t know better, she’d have thought it had all been a dream, except she was wearing the beads someone had placed around her neck at the party.

Rifter played with them now.

Maybe you are really dreaming.

But the ache between her legs told her something real had happened, even if Rifter’s unmistakable presence wasn’t telling enough. And still she said, “Tonight seems… unreal.”

He glanced at her, the silver and pink beads still twined around his fingers. “The celebration always feels like that.”

“You have them a lot?”

“Once a month.”

Would she be around for the next one? “Am I here because you feel sorry for me?”

“No. But the thought of you being alone through this—”

“So then, a little sorry?”

A smile brushed his lips. “I want to spend more time with you.”

“You know I have nowhere else to go. Judging by what happened tonight, that probably works out well for you.”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

That should probably sting a little more than it did, but she appreciated the honesty. Maybe there was more where that came from, so she took a chance. “Will you answer some questions for me?”

“Some.” He stroked a hand over her cheek. “You need some food first, because I can barely hear what you’re saying over your stomach rumbling. Again.”

She punched his arm playfully—it was like punching steel. She studied his muscles for a long moment while he made a quick call downstairs and turned back to her. “Food is on the way.”

She settled back, the sheet barely covering her. “Thanks.”

“Why don’t you tell me more about your parents—and your aunt and uncle. You seemed pretty convinced that you’re—cursed, I think you said?”

“My parents were… it’s a long story.”

“I didn’t realize we were out of time.”

She fingered the tribal wolf tattoo that ran from Rifter’s collarbone toward his pec—it appeared as alive as the one on his back, even though the look was totally different. He watched her intently as she touched it, and she felt his skin ripple under his touch. Maybe the tattoos made his skin more sensitive? But he didn’t tell her to stop, was waiting for the rest of her story. “They’re dead.”

“So not really that long of a tale after all.”

She smirked. “Wiseass.”

“I’ve been told that.”

“
By all the women who follow you?”

Rifter looked around, then back at her. “You’re the only woman with me.”

Something in the way he said it made her not want to question him further. “My dad… my mom said she didn’t know who he was.”

She didn’t want to expound, but she had a feeling he’d understand. “I think he might’ve… raped her. She never wanted to talk about him, always seemed really angry if anyone brought up my father in front of me. I was born in England and we lived there until she died. I was ten when my aunt and uncle took me in and brought me to the States. I stayed with them until I went to college.”

“My parents died when I was young too.”

“Did you go into foster care or did family take you in?”

He shook his head, and for a second, the shaggy, handsome wolf from last night’s dream came roaring back to her. “Neither. I went out on my own.”

“Was that hard?”

“Sometimes.” He wasn’t giving her more than that—not now, anyway. “Did you ever stop to think that it could just be a shitty coincidence that people die around you?”

“Coupled with the fact that I’m dying as the ultimate irony?” she pointed out as she threaded her fingers together. “No, it’s not a coincidence.”

“And so you went into medicine to try to make up for it?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing is.”

“I was fired from the program today,” she admitted with a casualness she didn’t feel. “At least I got to do some good for Liam.”

“Why did they fire you?”

“You know, the whole falling, seizing, dying thing.” She
looked at him pointedly. “I’m sure that wasn’t what you expected last night. I’m guessing that’s why you left—you were probably scared.”

“Do I look like there’s a lot that freaks me?” he shot back. “Who do you think put you into bed? I stayed with you until I was sure you were asleep. I didn’t leave until close to five in the morning, Gwen.”

She didn’t want to believe him. “Sure you did. I’m sure it was a real turn-on for you.”

“Why are you so hard on yourself?” he asked. “You’re beautiful. You’re sick, and it’s not your fault. I wish I could’ve been there when you woke up, but I had work to do.”

He just looked at her, no pity in his eyes, but she knew he felt bad for her. Time for a change of subject. “You know, I dreamed about you after you left. Or maybe while you were there. I felt you. And I liked it.”

Now she looked up at the dream catcher hanging on Rifter’s headboard. She’d noticed it earlier—it was bigger than any she’d seen and quite intricate.

She reached up and fingered the delicate feathers now.

“It’s a dream catcher,” Rifter said.

“I know. My aunt bought me one—I used to have these really… odd dreams. I still have them sometimes.”

“About what?”

“I’m running through the woods and it’s really dark but I can see and hear everything.”
Sort of like what happened earlier,
she thought, but didn’t say that out loud.

“Doesn’t sound bad.”

“That part’s not. But then something starts chasing me—or a few somethings. I wake up before they get too close because it’s like I know I’m in danger.” She paused. “What kind of dreams do you have that you need one of these?”

“Let’s just say it’s doing its job.”

She wanted to find comfort in the thought of sweet dreams, but somehow she knew he was lying about it. And then the events in the woods and at her house came rushing back at her, full force. She sat up, felt dizzy. “This is all too much to take in. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel. I’m here in your bed, partying after the man I just saved killed a woman in front of me. And then you… God, you killed those men.”

“Gwen, I think the meds are—”

“I’m off them. I might be hallucinating, but people died today. And I killed one of them.”

L
iam moved through the cemetery, careful not to step on the graves as he wove through the complicated coordinates he’d memorized a week earlier, when he and his father had their last meeting in secret.

He forced himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other before grief threatened to bury him. The fate of the pack weighed on him heavily enough already, and that was the only thing that had gotten him out of bed and down the driveway of the Dire mansion.

He’d waited until the music started before he attempted to get off the stretcher. The scar would remain forever, but the stitches were already disappearing. He was still weak, but he didn’t plan on fighting tonight. No, it was about recon and it couldn’t have waited another second. And it was too private to spill it to the Dires, no matter how much he owed them for saving his ass.

His body had naturally pulled toward the moon-celebration party but he’d forced his wolf out the door and down the long drive, his hair wrapped in a bandana, a borrowed black leather jacket and boots letting him blend in with every other Were wandering the property.

He scanned the passing wolves—no outlaw should have dared to come to this party—but Liam didn’t put
anything past Tals and Teague’s group any longer. Hoped the Dires were too caught up in the moon celebration to worry about him, used one of the Harleys parked outside—hot-wired it and took off for the cemetery two towns over.

If the rumors panned out, he’d find out tonight.

His father had died because he had this intel. Word was no doubt already out that Liam had lived through the attack—if he wanted his proof, tonight would be his last shot before the meeting place was moved. That’s if the original Were informant had the correct information to begin with.

He was downwind—the scent of Dire and of Gwen lingered on him—and he watched the stone mausoleum, innocuous and just like the others that surrounded it.

The stone would stop him from hearing much of anything—the witch’s spell would take care of the rest. But he needed only his sight for this to know for sure.

Twenty minutes later, he had his answer.

She exited behind Teague, and Liam’s throat threatened to close. He bit down so hard he thought his teeth would break, closed his eyes and reopened them, hoping the scene before him would be different.

It wasn’t. Max let Teague take her by the hand and lead her away from the meeting place… and she was smiling.

He really had no one left.

The betrayal sliced him worse than the knife the outlaws had wielded against him. Dying would’ve been so much easier than this. He cursed his weakness, felt the shift start to take hold, which would split his chest back open.

“Hold it together.” Vice’s low growl, a command that Liam’s wolf responded to. He became aware of Vice’s viselike grip on his arm, the only thing keeping him from shifting and barreling into the group of outlaws.

They stood there as he calmed—Liam vaguely aware that Jinx was behind him as well—and watched Max and Teague and a few others disappear across the cemetery, followed by two humans who walked along the same path.

Weretrappers. Possibly witches, but Vice and Jinx wouldn’t let him get close enough to tell.

No, Liam was on the witch shit list as of now because of Cordelia.

“Who’s the chick?” Vice asked.

Liam opened his mouth but the words,
my mate
, lodged in his throat.

Mating was complete bullshit. “Grab her,” he managed instead.

“Not here,” Jinx said.

“She works at the hospital,” Liam told them.

“Tomorrow,” Vice said.

“Alive,” Liam reiterated.

Vice sighed. “I’ve really got to teach you not to play with your food.”

“You know she’s human?” Jinx asked, and Liam nodded. It had been a shock to him as well.

And Max knew he was wolf. Knew who his father was. She knew everything about him, and even though she’d never truly fit into his pack, he was determined not to give her up.

And she’d obviously used him. What other explanation could there be? Hanging out with the outlaw wolves who’d killed his father…

He bit back a fierce curse as he thought about the guilt he’d felt hiding from her this past week so he wouldn’t bring danger to her doorstep. They’d hidden their relationship for the last year from anyone but their closest packmates, although his father had known about it from the start.

Max, with her long dark hair and icy green eyes… the tattoos down her arm that originally drew him to her in the bar that night a year earlier.

Broaching the topic “I’m a wolf and howl at the moon” had been easier than he’d thought. She hadn’t spoken to him for two weeks after that, not until he’d serenaded her outside her window and made her laugh.