Saved by Wolves (Shifters Meet Their Mate Book 1) (11 page)

He ignored her protest, picking up the pace. A minute later, he took a sharp right, off the path, and forged his way through another ten feet of dense brush. Brambles swiped at her legs, and he pressed her face against his chest to protect it from low-lying branches. At least she assumed that’s why he did it.

“I’m starting to think the mood has broken,” she muttered. Her bare breasts rubbed against his chest hair with every step, sending equal amounts of lust and self-consciousness through her. It was one thing to be naked in a passionate, mind-numbing embrace. It was another to be carted around half dressed with no explanation. “Is this your way of telling me—” Her words broke off when he came to a sudden stop and let her legs slip to the ground. Their fronts were still plastered together. A quick glance of the area showed they were in a small clearing on the bank of a slow-moving stream. Yellow and purple wildflowers dotted the thick carpet of grass. It was a picture taken from the pages of a storybook, or a travel brochure.

Jackson didn’t give her time to admire the scenery. He helped her shed her pack and tugged her shirt over her head. Free of its restraint, her bra dropped to the ground. Kirra unzipped her jeans, and Jackson slipped his thumbs in the waistband of her pants and tugged them down her legs, growling in frustration when her boots blocked his way. Kirra ended up on her butt, legs in the air as Jackson unlaced her boots and tossed them away. One landed dangerously close to the edge of the riverbank, and Kirra instinctively reached out to save it from tumbling into the water. Jackson shook his head and used his grip on her ankles to pull her closer while he finished stripping her pants and socks off.

They were her favorite boots, but they were just that. Boots. Kirra dismissed them and, from her position flat on her back, focused on Jackson.

“You’re overdressed,” she said, gesturing at his sweatpants. If the bulge pressing against them was any indication, he was as ready for this as she was.

It was as if he didn’t hear her. He pushed her legs wide, then knelt between her thighs, resting one palm flat on her belly. Kirra let her eyes flutter closed, giving herself up to the slight caress. She didn’t know what to expect anymore. One second he was demanding, and the next he was sensitive and—

Thick fingers speared into her, and she jackknifed up, gasping, eyes flying open. Jackson leaned forward and claimed her lips in a deep kiss, fingers working inside her like pistons, hitting pleasure points she hadn’t known existed.

Kirra sank back to rest on her elbows, and the new position gave her leverage to raise her hips to meet him halfway. Briefly, she gave thanks there was a thick blanket of grass under them. Otherwise, she’d be black and blue by the time they were done.

His fingers thrust deep and curled on their way back out. Kirra bit her lip to muffle her scream of release as it washed over her.

Shaking his head, eyes glowing bright in the sun, Jackson scraped his teeth along her neck. “Let go. Scream for me.”

She did.

As shudders wracked her body, he gentled his touch, and then it disappeared altogether. Kirra reached out blindly, wanting to bring him back. Her hands connected with soft material instead of warm skin. He was still wearing his pants.

“Take them off,” she ordered, trying to yank them down. The guy walked around nude half the time, totally uncaring, and yet the one time she needed him naked, he was taking his ever-loving sweet time about it.

Jackson surged to his feet and shucked his boots and pants, kicking them away to keep her boots company. Kirra only caught a brief glimpse of his huge, pulsing cock before he reached down for her. She raised her arms, thinking to embrace him, but he flipped her over in one smooth move. She landed on her hands and knees with him draped over her back.

She’d never done it in that position before. What if—

His hands worked their way under her body, one plucking at a nipple while the other flicked the nub between her legs.

Kirra dug her fingers into the grass and dropped her head, gasping when Jackson’s hard hands clamped down on her hips, pulling her up and back toward him.

Then he was inside her, driving deep. There was no thought, no awareness of anything but the sweet smell of the flowers filling her nose and the feel of him stretching her, pushing her limits.

He thrust, short and fast, long and slow, again and again and again, until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please,” she gasped out. “Please ...”

Jackson pulled back on her hips harder. The sound of their sweat-slick bodies slamming together rang through the clearing. He changed the angle of penetration, and steady thrusts became erratic, jerky ones. That was all she needed to send her flying over the edge again.

He followed with a guttural shout, and they collapsed in the grass, limbs entwined.

A
twig was digging into her knee. Kirra shifted to move it, and Jackson, still half draped over her body, muttered a protest.

“You’re heavy,” she said.

Instantly, his weight disappeared. A light breeze played over her suddenly exposed skin. He’d apparently been acting as an effective wind block. Kirra felt him settle behind her.

She reached back, grabbed his hand, and pulled his arm over her, smiling when he used it to pull her tight against his body. A comfortable silence fell, and her smile grew as she replayed the last hour in her mind. The sex had been mind-blowing. She didn’t have a lot to compare it to, granted, but still. Mind-blowing. A nagging sense of guilt tugged at her that she’d let him do all the work, but she pushed it away. He hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact, if she had to guess, she’d say he’d liked being in control. Dominant. And as long as that was restricted to the bedroom—or the field, as the case may be—she didn’t mind. Giving up control and going with the flow was oddly freeing.

“If I ever see Lash again ...” he muttered into her hair.

She didn’t want to think about Lash. Or Monroe. Or the council or Blackstone. She didn’t want to think about anything except how good she felt. The gash in her side throbbed with a dull pain, but it barely registered under the pleasure. She felt safe in his arms. Yawning, she closed her eyes. It was only midafternoon, but it had been a long day, and between her lack of sleep, the heat of Jackson’s body behind her, the afternoon sun beaming down, and the lethargy from her two climaxes, she was ready for a nap. “Let it go, Jackson. I get the feeling he was just following orders. Besides, it’s not like it was the first time someone’s threatened to kill me.”

Jackson’s arm tightened around her, then relaxed. When he spoke, his voice was controlled, unconcerned even. “Someone’s tried to kill you before?”

Sleep beckoned, and she yawned again. “Threatened to. I’m not sure if they actually had orders to kill me. Probably not. It would have been too much of—”

“They?” Jackson sat up abruptly, sending Kirra rolling face-first onto the ground. Insistent hands around her waist hauled her up to her knees, and she found herself nose to nose with Jackson, who was leaning forward to be on her level.

“Who’s ‘they’?” he demanded. “Why would they try—or threaten—to kill you?”

For a second, Kirra thought he was angry with her. Then the sleep fog in her brain cleared, and she was wide awake. Jackson’s focus on her was intense and unrelenting. He wasn’t going to budge until he had answers. So much for a nap.

“It’s a long story, and—”

“Give me the highlights, then,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll get the gist.”

“Okay, yeah... I was going to tell the council anyway.” A tiny flicker of doubt surfaced in her mind, questioning if she could really trust him. She ruthlessly squashed it. She’d just slept with him. It had been driven by animal attraction, true, but she trusted her instincts enough to know that she never would have made love to him if she didn’t trust him deep down, at least on a subconscious level.

His hands shifted to her shoulders. “Start talking. Why are you here, and why were the soldiers after you. Are you in trouble? Did you kill someone?”

“What? No? Of course not.” Suddenly chilled, Kirra broke away from his grip and drew her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. “How could you ask me that?”

He raised a brow. “It’s a logical question given the facts.” He didn’t seem particularly perturbed about the idea of her being a murderer on the run.

“No, it’s not.”

“Okay. I apologize. Talk.”

The time had arrived, but she wasn’t quite sure where to begin. With Francesca? The military? Blackstone? Micro shivers ran through her, and she tightened her arms, resting her head on her knees while she gathered her thoughts. Rustling noises came from around her, and she figured Jackson was getting dressed.

Something settled over her shoulders, and Kirra tilted her head to one side and cracked an eye open. Jackson had draped her shirt over her and stood holding her pants and boots. As soon as he saw her looking at him, he placed them beside her. She fought the urge to turn her back on him while she dressed. It was a little late for modesty.

“You want to get dressed too?” she suggested as she pulled on her clothes, gesturing toward his pants, still by the riverbank.

“I’m not cold,” he said.

That wasn’t exactly what she was concerned about. Jackson’s nudity—all the men’s nudity, actually—had been easy to ignore earlier, in the heat of the fight with the Cats, but it was hard to ignore when all his interesting bits were directly in front of her at eye level. She tried to keep her gaze above his waist, but it was hard. “Could you get dressed anyway? What if we have to... run or something?” Even as his brow raised again, she knew how idiotic her words sounded. A hundred Cats could have attacked them while they were in their own little world, and she wouldn’t have known until it was too late. Instead of calling her on it, though, he got dressed.

“Who are they?” he demanded again.

Kirra gained her feet and searched through her pack for one of her few remaining energy bars, needing something to occupy her hands. “I was born in a lab,” she said.

“A lab?”

She gave a short laugh. “Well, we didn’t know what it was officially called back then—still don’t actually, although we’ve found out more about the company behind it—so that’s what we called it. We being my mom, my sister, and me.” She finally found a bar, tucked in a bottom corner of the pack, and tore the wrapper open with her teeth. “Anyway, my sister and I lived there until we were fourteen. Then we... left.”

“You left.”

“Yes. No.” She wasn’t explaining properly. It was much harder to say out loud than she’d expected. “We didn’t exactly leave so much as escape. And we’ve been running ever since, trying to stay under the radar, working under-the-table jobs. I always knew we were only a step or two ahead of them, but still, I didn’t expect—if only she hadn’t broken her leg.”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who broke their leg?” The tight lines around Jackson’s mouth belied his even tone as he asked the question.

“I told you—Francesca, my sister.”

“No, you didn’t—never mind. Why did you have to escape? Were they keeping you prisoner? Did they hurt you?” His voice dropped to a rumbling growl.

Sterile rooms, an endless parade of scientists in pristine white lab coats, and her mom’s silent tears tracing down her face as Kirra called to her for help flashed through her mind. Phantom needles pricked her skin, and Kirra rubbed her arms, shuddering at the sensation.

“I was wrong,” Jackson said, bringing her back to reality.

She felt herself gaping, and shook her head to clear it. “What? Wrong how?”

“I’m going to need more than the highlights. And I have a feeling Marcus should hear this. When he catches up with us, you’re going to tell us the whole story, including what it has to do with the council.” One hand one the small of her back, he urged her away from the clearing, toward the path.

T
he setting sun was painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and purple when the scent trail Marcus was following sharpened. He was close. Just another few minutes.

Although he could be silent as a ghost when he needed to be, he deliberately crunched down on leaves as he approached the clearing he could sense ahead.

“I hope you were quieter when you followed the Cats,” Jackson called out to him. “You sound like a drunk bear crashing through the woods.”

The words might have been meant in fun, but they came across as impatient, maybe even a touch cranky. Jackson was never a barrel of laughs, but he usually controlled himself better than that. Something was off.

In two bounds, Marcus cleared the trees and landed to Jackson’s right.

Legs braced wide, arms crossed over his bare chest, an even more serious than usual look on his face, Jackson stood under an old oak. In the middle of the clearing, less than ten feet away, Kirra sat cross-legged on her makeshift bed. She’d looked up at Jackson’s words, and when she met Marcus’s eyes, she set down the long twig she’d been poking the dirt with and surged to her feet, taking two steps forward, then stopping. Her gaze flickered back and forth between him and Jackson, and he heard her breathing kick up a notch. Something was definitely off.

Instead of immediately shifting into human form the way he wanted to, Marcus focused his senses. Jackson wouldn’t look at Kirra, and she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off of him. That wasn’t so strange, but the scents he was picking up were muddled. The light, clean scent that sweat and mud couldn’t mask still emanated from Kirra, but there was a different, familiar scent mixed in.

The answer blazed in his brain, and he dug his claws into the grass. Surely he was wrong. They wouldn’t have...

His inner Wolf howled, and Marcus gave himself up to the change, almost reveling in the pain of shifting.

“The Cats are off our land?” Jackson asked.

“I wouldn’t have come back if they weren’t,” Marcus said, brushing dirt from his hands as he gained his feet. Kirra visibly stiffened and retreated a half step. Great, now he was the one coming across as surly and snippy. He took a deep breath, intending to clear his head and regain control, and their mingled scent bombarded him again, strong even to his human senses. He bit back a curse, aware of Kirra studying him.