Wolf Claim (Wolves of Willow Bend Book 3) (13 page)

Their tongues tangled together. She savored the heat of him and the strength. Her wolf stretched out inside her, shivering with the impatience. They’d waited a long time for this male to chase them. Sometimes she’d thought it was too long.

“Gillian.” He whispered her name against her lips and dampness flooded between her thighs. One word and she was so ready for him. The hell with the shower. Everything she’d ever wanted was right here. “No.”

The last word took time to register. He took advantage of her puzzlement to break the kiss and ease back, though she remained in his arms, glued to him—and she was fairly certain he couldn’t mistake the dampness of her arousal for anything else.

“Why?”
Rejected, twice.
It hurt. “I know I’m not a Hunter. I know I’m not strong and fierce like the other females I’ve seen you with.” Ones she’d done her damndest not to see. Not that there had been many, even one other would have been too much.

“Sweetheart, don’t look at me like that.” The ragged state of his breathing betrayed him. He wasn’t unaffected by her, so why? What was holding him back?

“Look at you like what? A woman who wants you? As a wolf who craves you?” She’d retreated before and, hell, she wanted to retreat now. Her heart could take only so much humiliation. “I
love
you, Owen. I’ve loved you for years…”

He closed his eyes and his hand slid from her nape to cup her face. He stroked his thumb along her cheekbone. “You are exquisite. Perfect in so many ways.”

“Except the most important one,” she whispered. “I’m apparently not perfect for you.”

In a flash, his eyes opened and anger flared in them. “You are everything I want, Gillian. I hurt for you. It kills me to be around you and not stake my claim. I want to kill every damn wolf out there starting with fucking Brett Dalton for daring to say he wants you.” His voice had gone deeper, harder and more aggressive.

Oh?
Inside her wolf quieted, and her agitation calmed. They both focused on the man who should be the center of their world. They understood the hunt now. With absolute trust, she tilted her head back and gave him access to her throat. The primitive heat of his wolf washed over her. She could feel his animal, simmering just below the surface.

“Claim me,” she told him. “I choose you.”

His hand flexed against her hip, his fingers tensing but never biting into her flesh. “I’m not good enough. You deserve the best.”

The woman in her should probably have been flattered by the pretty words he’d used in his rejection, but the healer in her narrowed her focus. The lack of faith in himself spoke of a deeper disturbance, an injury to the soul. Neither healer nor woman could allow that to continue. Let him repudiate her and choose another—she’d get over it eventually. But she would not allow him to continue hurting the way he hurt right then.

“Will you help me take a shower?”

He jerked. Her request startled him. “Are you feeling worse?”

“Weak,” she admitted, and it wasn’t a lie. “A little dizzy. I’ve burned a lot of energy. To be honest, I really don’t want to be alone.” She wouldn’t involve Brett. If Owen walked away, she’d manage. Nor would she use whatever the male had said to Owen against him. What happened between her and Owen was theirs and no one else’s.

“Of course,” he said, and shifted his grip, lifting her into his arms as he stood.

She could probably have walked, but his nearness fed her need for him. Looping her arms around his neck, she went quiet as he carried her into the steamy bathroom. He set her into the shower and she leaned on the wall, watching him.

He wore an unreadable expression, but his eyes remained wolf. Nothing could disguise the need reflected within him, need that mirrored her own. Confidence bled into her. Whatever his issue might be, lack of desire for her wasn’t at the heart of it. It wouldn’t matter if it were. His injury beckoned her to heal.

The sensible route, then
. She would attack this sensibly. “You should take your clothes off and join me.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Oh, it’s a great idea. You smell.”
Fabulous.
“You’re exhausted and should be in bed…”
Mine, specifically.
“And I need you.”
God, do I need you…
“To help me.” She didn’t have to feign weakness, she’d done way too much. At least the poison was out of her system, neutralized by her gift. Not even her skin contact could endanger him. All of that knowledge had filtered through her in the minutes after she’d awakened from her sick slumber as though having been plunged into an icy lake.

Owen stared at her and disbelief etched across his face. “Do you really need my help?”

“Yes, Owen. I need you.” None of it was a lie. She needed him there, with her. She needed to figure out what was going on inside his head and, since she finally had the scent of trouble plaguing him, she wouldn’t let up until she’d repaired the damage.

“You are a stubborn little wolf.” Even as he said the words, he stripped out of his clothes. Gillian eased under the hot water. She needed the distraction because Owen was a beautiful man. Broad and huge in the chest and shoulders, he hardly tapered at the waist and his thighs were as powerful in appearance as his well-muscles arms. He was the wolf equivalent of a tank.

She trembled, her stomach quivering as excitement threaded through her veins. It would take every ounce of her self control not to tackle him in the shower. First his issues, then him. It was a promise she planned to keep to herself and her wolf.

Her wolf, surprisingly, agreed. They watched their male stride toward them, anticipating the moment he entered the tight confined space when they would have no choice but to touch. Yes, Owen was their prey and their future. Their everything.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile as he edged in and she twisted to flatten her back to the cold tile so they could share the spray. “It’s just you and me, Owen.”

His chin dipped and he nodded slowly. “I’ll take care of you.” A promise if she’d ever heard one.

So will I,
she told him silently.
I will take care of you, too.
 

Gillian was killing him by inches, wearing away at his resistance. In the shower, with hot water pouring over them, he drowned in her scent. Pure musk, delectable female, and utterly her—she was ambrosia to his senses. The hurt shimmering in her eyes when he’d told her no threatened to gut him. Still tasting her on his lips, feeling the weight of her sweet curves pressed into him—
Stop
. His body had zero interest in obeying his mind.

She said little once he was beside her, though she touched him with an almost tentative hand.
I love you, Owen.
His wolf raked his claws along the insides of his flesh. How could he turn her away? She was perfectly willing to be taken, and she’d asked him to do it.

The tilt of her head as she bared her throat, the absolute trust in the single act touched his soul. She turned to the water, reaching for the soap, but the shower rack angled high and she had to go on her tiptoes. Settling his hands on her hips, he steadied her then lifted, so she could reach the shampoo. When he set her back down, she slid along his front and he closed his eyes, savoring the exquisite torture. His blood had all gone south, and his cock pounded with every beat of his heart.

“Owen?”

“Yes?” Nothing about his voice sounded close to natural anymore. His wolf was furious, beating inside of him to get out and to her. They could claim her. Mark her and make her theirs. Tie her to them forever. God knew the man wanted even more than wolf, but he refused to make the same careless choices as his parents.

Gillian deserved so much more.

“Tell me why.”

Anything, but that.
“Tell you why what, sweetheart?” He tried to ignore the way she moved, the simple short washing motions of her hands thrust into her hair. Because he ached to touch her, he glided his hands along her sides to her nape and threaded his hands into her soapy hair. She gave a little sigh at the first brush of his fingertips to her scalp.

Cataloging her enjoyment, he took over washing her hair.
She asked me to take care of her.
It seemed a reasonable excuse. Especially if he ignored the fact they stood together, intimately close in a shower, and her arousal wreathed him. Every lungful of it provided a provocative invitation.
Sweet.
Making love to her would be so fucking sweet.

Not a casual fuck, he reminded himself for the thousandth time.

She leaned her head into his hands, relaxing, and deep inside him something eased. The trust she demonstrated without difficulty aroused him more than his lust. “Why don’t you deserve me? I’m not some prize or item you achieve through the accumulation of points.”

He nudged her forward beneath the water, taking the time to rinse all the soap free. Her curls were heavy when they were wet, darkened to a browner shade of gold and yet so uniquely her. “It doesn’t matter.” It couldn’t matter. What mattered was he didn’t dare take her, no matter how provocatively her bottom fit against his aching cock or how every move she made incited his lust to a point he thought his balls might explode from the wanting.

Gillian braced her hands against the wall, her back perfectly aligned with his body, and then she rubbed her bottom against him. Nothing innocent in that maneuver and he caught her hips, holding her still. If he adjusted his angle, he could take her and what a fierce coupling it would be. “It matters to me, Owen. Your body tells me you want me. Your scent tells me you’re aroused. And the way you treat me? How you rush to protect me? Even the way you tried to forbid me from this journey? Everything speaks of a deeper caring.”

She wanted the truth. Maybe he
should
tell her. Water droplets slid down her spine, accentuating her sleek beauty. Her soaked hair clung to her skin, writhing with every move she made. He wanted to imitate her hair, stroke her until all he could feel was her.

Holy fuck, showering with her was a mistake.

“Owen? Tell me, please?” She turned, facing him and the water sluicing over her shoulders then down her breasts drew his attention. She was built so light and lithe. Her breasts were barely a palmful, but the tight buds of her nipples beckoned him. The hard little tips were flushed a deep rose against the brown sugar sweetness and the deeper sun-ripened caramel of her skin.

“Gillian, you are so fucking beautiful.” Her tremulous smile was reward enough, but he shouldn’t want her. Hell, he shouldn’t touch her and yet he was. He cupped her chin, met the brilliance of her eyes, and knew he saw into her wolf as much as the woman. Both were so open, so giving, so brilliant.

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning into him and offering no resistance to his touch. “But a compliment will not get you out of telling me. Why don’t you think you deserve me? Shouldn’t that be my choice?”

Wolves chose, he knew that. They could have all the chemistry in the world or none, but when they chose, they bonded to one another and those bonds were for life. “Not all matings are happy ones, sweetheart.”

She rested her hands on his chest and he soaked in the contact—the softness of her skin on his, the way her nails dug in. Feather light, and yet with enough force he could feel her. “No, a sad truth for sure. I am not a child, Owen. I know that not every relationship has a happily ever after. But if you love enough, you make it work.”

If only that were true…
He reached for the conditioner and worked it into her hair. He had to keep his hands busy, or he would stroke her beautiful body and they would both be lost. She growled, and the low vibration skated over his skin. He wanted to feel her teeth and the bite of her nails as he pumped into her, hear her howl as he drove her to orgasm over and over.

Yet, despite her apparent frustration with him, she didn’t retreat or push him away.
Healers heal, Owen. They will give and give until they have nothing left. Then they will give more.
 

“You aren’t going to give up, are you?” No matter how much he might believe it the better alternative, he couldn’t help but be touched by her insistence. Proud of her determination and awed by her strength.

“No.” She smiled. “I love you, Owen.”

“Gillian…”

She gripped his cheeks, and he knew if he moved he would feel her claws. She angled his head until he faced her and their gazes locked. “I. Love. You.”

Reason and right abandoned him under the declaration and his chest burned. “I love you, too.” Admitting it opened the door and the joy in her eyes dimmed with a question.

“Why do you repudiate me? Why did you walk away? Why are you still walking away?” She moistened her lips, then smiled. “You do realize that it is the female who runs and the male who pursues?”

“You’ve never run from me.” Another facet about her that held him utterly captive.

“I never wanted to get away.”

He bent his head to touch their foreheads. “What do you know about my parents?”

If the change in subject bothered her, she revealed nothing. He continued to massage her hair, teasing along her scalp. Petting her calmed him in ways he couldn’t explain and didn’t want to try. “Your father is Elias, the Hunter, and your mother is Sonja, a teacher. Um, not much more than that, I suppose. You have three siblings, all younger than you, two sisters and one brother. You are not close with your siblings, something of an anomaly in the pack, but you’ve always been a loner, even when we were in school. I can count the number of real friends you kept on one hand. Oddly, Mason was one, though you were older. You were closer to him than to your biological brother.”

The amount she’d noticed about him should have surprised him, yet she was Gillian. She cared, even about him.

“Mason’s exile hurt you deeply and you retreated further.” That surprised him and her smile said he didn’t do a good job of disguising the fact. “You took assignments farther and farther from home. You ran circuits, but you always came back. Sometimes for a few days, other times only a few hours.”