Justice (10 page)

Justice touched the spot. It was damp, and his fingers came back bloody. Paul looked absolutely horrified. Justice wasn’t having that. He sat up and grinned cockily.

Paul quit gawping and instead gave him a confused look. “I hurt you. Why aren’t you mad? Why did I—I can’t do this if I’m going to turn into some wannabe killer!”

“Oh now, stop that,” Justice said. “You’re only killing the afterglow. This here”—he touched his wound—“is something every mate longs for. Well, every shifter mate, at least. It might be scary to our human mates.”

Paul scowled at him. “You long to be bitten, to be bloodied and hurt?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds bad,” Justice admitted. He winced when Paul merely gave him an arch look. “It’s a mating bite, a claiming, as such. You made me yours, marked me for other males to see that I’m—” He just stopped himself from saying owned. It was true, but the word might rattle Paul. “Committed to you.” He shrugged and winced again. He needed to remember to not do that until the bite healed a bit. Hopefully, though, Paul would mark him again, soon. “It’s painful when it happens, I guess, but by the gods, talk about the orgasm to eradicate the memory of all prior orgasms. I almost passed out, it was so intense.”

Paul went back to looking confused. “So that…” He gestured at the mark. “That’s really a shifter thing? You’re not just saying that so I don’t feel bad?”

“Look.” Justice tapped his temple. “You can see whether or not I’m telling the truth.”

Paul’s complexion had almost returned to normal, but at that he went white. “I can tell…in your mind?”

That might have been a mistake to point out, but it was already done, and Justice wouldn’t lie to his mate anyway. “It’s the mate-bond. Sometimes it’s very strong, and other times couples barely register that it exists, I guess.”
“But you can feel me, hear me even, can’t you?”
Justice sent all the warmth and affection he could in the thought, wanting Paul to know it was okay—better than okay.

Paul landed with a thump on his ass. Justice saw the dark stain his cum had left on his jeans. He brought his attention back up to Paul’s face. It was time to move them forward before Paul gave in to any doubts he had. “I’m not trying to freak you out. I can’t just leap into your head. I wouldn’t. I’ll always—from this moment on—let you make the first move with that part of the bond, just as I have and will with the sexual part of it. But I’d really like you to come eat dinner with me. I’m starving.”

Justice’s relief when Paul stood and waited for him to rise was so great he could have swooned.

“I hope you can cook. I can’t, and Marybeth said she was going to town for supper at the diner. Vivian went with her,” Paul told him as they began walking to the cabin.

“I’m never gonna be a chef, but we won’t starve.” He wished he could put an arm around Paul, or just hold his hand, but he was afraid to push. He told himself to be happy with what he had, and he was. Things would move along as they should. He just had to have faith.

Chapter Eight

The next few days were hell, there was no other way for Paul to describe it. He had daily sessions with Vivian, even though she told him it might be better to set a twice-a-week schedule.

But Paul wanted to be better
right the fuck now.
He’d lost over two years of his life to the human traffickers. Even once he’d been freed, the acts of violence they’d perpetuated on him had controlled him. He was sick of it, sick of rolling in self-loathing and self-pity.

He talked to Vivian until his throat ached and he was actually ill. He talked when he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry—and he did that, too. But he had too many horrible things to deal with to wipe it out easily.

Every day, he found himself needing to reach out to Justice more and more. At first he avoided their mental link. Despite his prior envy of his brother and Nischal’s closeness, Paul was freaked out by the mental part.

It didn’t help that he knew he’d already overshared with Justice. That first day when he’d come apart and had a panic attack while talking with Vivian, it had been him reaching out to Justice. What if he’d shared…everything, that had been zooming through his head?

Paul quickly got over being embarrassed by the possibility. He suspected he had done just that, and Justice hadn’t been disgusted nor had he treated Paul like he was damaged goods.

“It’s going to take time, Paul,” Vivian told him again, for what was probably the tenth time. “We’ve only had five sessions. I really think daily is too much. It’s bringing up issues faster than we can deal with them effectively. Rushing is only going to make things worse. Isn’t this session kind of proving my point?”

Since he’d just had another horrible panic attack, Paul was inclined to agree. “But I want—” He stopped and wiped at his eyes. Then he took a drink of water from the bottle Vivian handed him. “You don’t understand, and it sounds so fucking crazy, but…Justice is leaving tomorrow. I don’t—” Yeah, it was going to sound as crazy out loud as it did in his own head. “I don’t think I want to be here without him.”

Vivian’s eyes bugged before she quickly moved to sit beside him. “Paul, that’s an extreme attitude, and I know mates hate being separated, but talking about killing yourself is taking it too far, don’t you think?”

Paul scowled at her. “Get your head out of the graveyard, Vivian. I meant I want him to stay.” Or he wanted to go with Justice, but he didn’t know how to bring the possibility up, and he knew Justice wouldn’t. Everything was up to Paul.

“Funny,” Vivian said dryly. “I did leap to a wrong conclusion, sorry. Justice can’t stay, you know that. He has his job, and it means a lot to him.”

“More than me?” Paul asked, feeling like a petulant asshole as soon as he said it. “Never mind. I know he has to work, and that he loves his job. I wouldn’t want to make him feel like he had to choose, I just wish he didn’t have to go.” He eyed Vivian. “Don’t you live with him?”

Vivian eyed him right back. “Okay, session over. We are no longer in therapist-patient mode. Now I’m simply Jus’ sister, and you’re his mate.”

Once Paul nodded she continued.

“Okay, yes, I do live with him, but only for another month or so, and I’m sorry, but I really don’t think it’d work well with the three of us there and me being your therapist. That would be stretching the lines between us too thin, don’t you think?”

As much as Paul wanted to tell her he didn’t care, he did. He had to, because what he was and what he wanted to be were still too far apart. “Yeah, I get it.” It just sucked. “Once you find your mate, you’ll understand how hard something like this is. I want to be with him all the time, but I can’t. Sometimes I need to be alone, and think, and after these sessions, I feel like shit. If I hadn’t seen the mate-bond in action with Preston and Nischal, I’d think I was developing some kind of new psychosis, but I know it’s just the pull between mates. Preston can hardly stand to be away from Nischal for even a few hours. He can do it, but God, does he bitch and whine about it.”

Vivian laughed and set aside the pen and tablet she’d still been holding. “Yeah, some mates are like that, especially at first. But reality generally demands a separation—people have to work and eat and pay bills. I think Preston and Nischal are still in their new, lovey-dovey phase.” She touched his hand. “I know it’s going to be hard, but it will give you even more incentive to work at getting better, right? And Jus will come down on his days off, if he can get a flight. The man isn’t broke, he saved most of his military pay, he told me so.”

Then she tapped his hand. “As for the psychosis, that’s a bit harsh. Do you know what psychosis is?”

“God damn it,” Paul muttered as he rolled his eyes. “I thought I did, but apparently I was wrong.”

“It’s defined in the DSM-5 as a disorder in which a person loses touch with reality. I don’t think that was quite what you meant.”

Paul gave her a narrow-eyed look. “You’re the kind of little sister who is always right and has to have the last word, aren’t you?”

Vivian blinked at him, her expression one of innocence. “What other kind of little sister is there? We all have chips on our shoulders, don’t you know?”

“Not really. I only have a twin brother.” Paul looked at his fingernails. They could use a buffing. “At least that wasn’t as bad as the last one, the anti-social bit.”

“Yes, there’s a big difference between being unsociable and being anti-social.” Vivian stood up. “I’m pretty sure you’re not the latter.”

“I don’t think I’m a sociopath, either, but it’s nice to know you believe in me.” He stood as well. “I’m going to go try to take a nap. I’m meeting up with Justice for an early dinner, then he’s going to try to teach me to play some game, Bioshock Infinity, Infidel, something. It’s a game, and there’s an ‘I-n’ to part of the name.”

“You two have fun. Remember,” Vivian slipped right back into her therapist mode. “No guilt. What you two do is completely different than anything from your past.”

“I know.” And he did. It was different from anything he’d even done before being abducted and sold, different from those sweet young men he’d liked to mess around with. What happened between him and Justice was deep and…
and meaningful in a way those other relationships never were.
He truly felt like Justice was a part of him, the other half of his soul. Love wasn’t in full bloom, but the seed was planted and Paul could imagine it growing into a vine that bound them happily together. “Thank you,” he said to Vivian as she walked to the door. Paul followed and locked it behind her once she left.

If he could ever get over all his hang-ups and issues. He got so horny for Justice at times, but since that day he’d attacked him in the grass, Paul had held back. Despite hearing from Marybeth, Vivian, Preston and Nischal that the mating bite was normal, it still freaked Paul out a little that he’d so completely lost himself to his desires. He didn’t even remember making a conscious decision to bite Justice—he’d just done it.

And God, it’d felt
so
good! The salty flavour of Justice’s skin, the coppery tang of his blood—and that was disturbing, or it should have been. Paul couldn’t quite regret it, and that worried him.

There was so much to learn. He was working past his fear of shifters. He wasn’t afraid of Justice, Vivian, Nischal or Marybeth. Snow leopard shifters weren’t the breed that had hurt him, and he didn’t think he had a problem with them.

Wolf shifters, however… Everyone could tell him they weren’t all evil, but Paul couldn’t accept it. He didn’t want to meet Oscar’s mate, ever. Shit, he still worried about that third, unknown shifter who’d attacked Terence and Pat. What if he came after Paul?

There were others still out there, too. Paul decided he needed to be more proactive. Well, more would imply he’d been proactive in the first place, and he hadn’t, but it was time to start. He’d call the FBI agent in charge of his case tomorrow, and see if she’d learnt anything new.

He was wrung out from the session and wanted a nap, then a shower. Actually, he wanted Justice, but he wouldn’t seek him out. They had a date of sorts planned, and Paul didn’t want to cut into whatever it was Justice was doing.

The temptation to prod through their mental link was strong, but Paul had to admit, he really needed the nap. He went to his room and collapsed on the bed. Within minutes, he was dozing, his mind in that not-quite-sleep phase. He wondered idly what Justice was doing.

Honestly, he hadn’t meant to intrude, and he wasn’t sure Justice was even aware of him poking around. Not when Justice was hovering at the edge of orgasm, his mind filled with images of Paul—his face, his hands, his soft skin. That last thought was definitely Justice’s. Paul didn’t pay attention to his skin except to glare at his freckles.

As if that thought reached through to Justice—and it might have, Paul had to admit—Justice groaned loudly. An image of Paul’s freckled face, then his shoulder, stilled in the maddening swirl of pictures. Paul felt Justice’s climax rising. He flopped onto his back and quickly shoved a hand down his jeans. His inhibitions vanished and he wanted Justice there, wanted Justice’s hand on him. God, he wanted Justice
there!

“Give me two minutes, honey, and I’ll be knocking at the door.”

Hearing Justice’s voice in his head was comforting and sexy at the same time. More than getting off, Paul wanted to just see Justice, and maybe, maybe, have Justice hold him.

Paul took his hand out of his pants. He got up and though he probably should have went to the bathroom and washed off any vestiges of tears that had dried on his skin, he didn’t. There was nothing he wanted to hide from Justice. Nothing he should hide. Justice had almost assuredly already seen his darkest moments that first day when they’d connected mentally. What could be worse than that?

Paul made his way to the door and stood there, one hand on the deadbolt, the other hand on the doorknob. He stared out of the peephole with one eye closed as he waited. Justice came into sight at a full run, wearing nothing more than a pair of cargo shorts. Sunlight reflected off his sweat-slicked tanned skin. His chest heaved as he sawed his arms back and forth, setting off ripples in those mighty biceps. Paul wished Justice was naked so he could see his thighs bunching, his cock bobbing. Still, he had a damned fine man to watch.

A flick of the wrists had the lock turned and the doorknob twisted. Paul stepped back as he opened the door. Justice leapt onto the porch, landing almost at the doorway.

Paul did what he’d ached to do—he opened his arms.

Justice moved so fast he was a sexy blur of man and comfort. Paul was holding him, wrapping his arms around those broad shoulders and resting his head on a rock-hard chest in an instant.

Justice murmured soothingly and lightly stroked Paul’s back. Paul held his mate tighter, and to his mortification, a sob slipped free.

There were many things Justice could have done, like pick him up, coddle him, spew banal words that really meant nothing in the face of Paul’s pain. He didn’t. Instead he just held Paul, and hummed softly as he rested his chin on Paul’s head. Those slow, gentle touches to his back never ceased as Paul tried to compose himself. He didn’t want to keep falling apart. He wanted to be strong for Justice, and for himself.