Moira Rogers - Wilder’s Mate

His hips jerked of their own volition, and he reached for her, stroking his thumbs roughly over her nipples. “More.”

So quick to obey, so eager. Every way he touched her seemed to delight her. Her trust was open and endless, even now as she squirmed and gasped under his attentions but focused on pleasing him.

“Yes,” he rasped. “Make me come, and you know I’ll return the favor.” She hummed her agreement. “Tell me how?”

Oh, he’d tell her, all right. “I can do that.”

And he did.

He cupped water in his hands and let it cascade down Satira’s shoulder, over her breasts. “Why haven’t you gone east to study, like Juliet’s son?”

“Because he’s a son.” She drew her knees toward her chest, and it looked like she was curling in on herself. “They don’t allow women to join the official Guild or serve as inventors in any of the others, like the Bloodhound Guild. They won’t even let me attend any of the schools.” He snorted. “So they’re stupid.”

Satira shrugged and looked away. “Many people are. It isn’t important. We all do what we can with the lives we have.”

The words belied her obvious pain. Wilder wanted to drag her out of the tub and into his lap, but he settled for pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. “Perhaps the Guild will have a different opinion of you when you bring Nathaniel back.”

“Perhaps.” She tried to force a smile. “They won’t risk Nathaniel refusing to work, in any case.

Perhaps the new bloodhound he’s assigned to will be tolerant of me as his apprentice.”

“You don’t think so?”

Satira didn’t respond at first. Her fingers dragged a washcloth up and down her arm as if she wasn’t paying much attention to what she was doing. Finally she sighed. “I think I’m clean enough. If you’re feeling peaceful, maybe we should turn in so you can rest while the need isn’t riding you so hard.”

“Hey.” He tilted her face up with his fingers under her chin. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to ruin this,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think past now. Let me be safe in your arms tonight. Let me be your woman.”

She said it as though there would come a time when she wouldn’t be—and of course there would.

When this was all over, and she and Nathaniel were safe, and the Bloodhound Guild took on the task of deciding where Wilder was most needed next.

For a moment, the shock of the realization robbed him of his breath. Then he reached for her. “Come here.”

Water slid from her body as she rose, wet and bare, and all but tumbled into him. Fingers grasped, her lips found his neck—but she didn’t do anything but tremble and cling to his shoulders.

Wilder wrapped his arms around her, heedless of the water. “They never send me too far,” he whispered. A promise, or maybe an excuse—even he wasn’t sure.

She made a quiet noise and curled closer. Tension left her in bits and pieces, and her shaking eased.

“I’m yours, for now.”

“Mine.” He refused to qualify it, to give it an inevitable ending.

He felt her smile.

Satira panted his name with every slow thrust, a familiar refrain in a voice gone hoarse from three nights of determined loving.

He’d learned enough to coax her legs higher up his sides, around his back, so that his next thrust made her cunt tighten around him, body primed for pleasure. She showed her appreciation with a broken moan, digging her head back into the pillows to reveal her pale throat.

She bore bruises from his teeth already, so he nipped at her jaw with a groan. “Come on, sweetheart.” One trembling hand stroked his cheek. “Only one—” A gasp. “One more. I can’t… Come with me, Wilder. This time, come with me.”

Tense pleasure coiled at the base of his spine, ready to strike. “Just one, no more?”

“Just—just…” Her nails scored his cheek as she scrambled to clutch at his shoulder. “Wilder—” Her body gripped his, her inner muscles rippling, and he lost it. He drove deep and came, shudders wracking him as he joined her in bliss.

When he could breathe again, he dropped his face to her neck. “Christ.”

“Mmm.” The tips of her fingers stroked along his shoulders. “You seem…more at ease. Does that mean the new moon’s power is almost gone?”

“Either that, or you’ve managed to wear me the fuck out.”

Satira’s laugh sounded delighted. “On the first day I met you, I told you I could handle a hard ride.” He hadn’t believed her, but he should have. “I’ll concede the point. I’m a judgmental jackass.”

“But a personable one. And I’ll confess, I’m feeling a bit worn out myself.” Underneath him, her body felt liquid. Boneless. “I could do well by a little gentle handling.” Wilder rolled away and gathered her close. “Meaning to keep my pants on for the foreseeable future?” Satira wrinkled her nose and settled her cheek on his shoulder. “Maybe a few days. Not that I haven’t enjoyed every moment of it…but I’m glad it only happens once a month.” No matter how close the Guild kept him, Wilder doubted he would make it back to her every month.

The thought chilled him. “You need to rest.”

“I am resting.” The words came out sleepy and contented. “I feel…exhausted. And wonderful. And alive.”

Alive. So many plans to make, things to discuss, and now they’d lost the last few days. “We need to talk about what we’ll face when we raid the compound.”

Her fingers curled into a fist against his chest. “As long as you understand that it’s we and not you.” Even if he’d thought she might stay behind, he couldn’t leave her alone. “I know.” After a moment, she relaxed again. “I don’t have the time and tools needed to do anything particularly fancy, but I can put a hole in any wall, or bring a building down, if I need to.”

“I won’t know what we need to plan for until I see where Nathaniel is being kept.”

“I’ll follow your lead, Wilder. I won’t be left behind…but I’ll follow your lead. I promise.”

“That’s all I’ve ever asked, sweetheart.”

“Mmm.” She turned her head and kissed his shoulder. “What do you think we’ll face when we reach the vampire’s home?”

They could meet slight resistance or an army of ghouls and vampires—but Wilder had his suspicions.

“If this vampire needed to have Archer lay a trap for us, chances are he’s not holed up in a fortress. There are weak spots in his defenses.”

“Do you think Archer will be there?”

He tried—and failed—not to tense. “Probably. If I were that bloodsucker, I’d want him around to deal with me in case we pulled out of the trap.”

“I’ve never heard of a bloodhound turning against the Guild.” She began to stroke his chest, tracing endless, soothing circles. “I always rather thought they had ways to ensure it didn’t happen.”

“They don’t have Guild representatives out this far. When they find out, they’ll deal with him. Until then…”

She finished the sentence in a whisper. “You’ll deal with him?” At one point, Archer had been a colleague. A friend. Now, he was a liability and a danger to Satira.

“I’ll deal with him.”

“I’m sorry, Wilder.” She curled closer, as if she wanted to protect him. “This hasn’t been a simple job for you, has it?”

“Not meant to be,” he admitted. “It’s no life for anyone, really, but it’s got to be done.” Her fingers made a lazy circle over his shoulder. Another. She drew in a breath, then hesitated, uncertainty screaming through her silence. Finally she sighed. “Why did you choose it?” There was only one honest answer. “Someone has to, and I knew I’d be good at it.”

“That simple?” She touched his lips this time, then traced along his cheekbone. “You gave up any chance at a life just knowing you’d be making life safe for others?” She made it sound like he could walk on water. Wilder shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t have much of a life to give up.”

“Neither do I,” she pointed out. “Doesn’t mean what I’ve got isn’t dear to me.” He hadn’t had anything left after the war, and he found himself telling her so. “By the time I came home all busted up, everything was gone. My home, my brothers. Everything.”

“Came home?” Satira propped herself up on one arm, her eyebrows coming together as she studied his face. “From where?”

“From fighting. From the War of the Rebellion, Satira. The Civil War.” He cleared his throat and waited for her to absorb his words.

It didn’t take long. “Nineteen years ago. How old were you?”

“I was twenty-three when I joined up. I’m forty-six now.”

“You don’t look forty-six.” She tilted her head and frowned. “How old was Levi?”

“Christ only knows. He had to have been at least sixty when I met him.”

“Oh.” The furrow between her brow eased as she dropped her chin to his chest. “I admit, I’d never considered it. You said you were…broken. Did the change from human to bloodhound heal your injuries?” The change had ripped him apart, broken him down and remade him into something that wasn’t human. “That’s what it does, what it’s for. It makes us stronger.” Slower to age, quicker to heal.

“Levi would never talk of it. He’d only say some things aren’t for impressionable minds and delicate ears.”

For a moment, Wilder missed the old man so much he had to laugh or he’d cry. “I’m surprised he didn’t just tell you to mind your own business.”

She smiled a little. “After my mother died, I think he had a hard time shaking me loose. I was so needy, and he never had it in him to kick me hard enough to stop me from asking questions.” He drew her closer. “That sounds like him too.”

“He’s the one who told Nathaniel to start teaching me. Told me if I was going to keep asking questions, I might as well fill my head with useful answers.” And he’d spoken to Juliet, made provisions for her to have work and a home if something happened to him. “You were his daughter, sweetheart, whether you realized it or not.” She let out a shaky sigh. “I miss him.”

“So do I.”

The silence lingered, and her breathing slowed. Evened. “I believe I need a few hours of sleep. You know how to make a girl wobbly in the knees.”

There was no avoiding the inevitable. “Tomorrow, we ride.”

Clear Springs was the most uncomfortable town Satira had ever seen.

They rode in just before dawn, when the rising sun would stir lethargy in vampires. The town, on the other hand, should have been bustling with early-morning activity. Instead the streets lay quiet and empty, without even a twitch from a curtained window to prove life stirred.

It felt dead, and Satira shivered. “There’s no one left alive?” Wilder reined in his horse and drew up short behind some brush. “Likely not, unless more ghouls are about.”

“A whole town…” The Guild was supposed to prevent atrocities like this—but they could only do so much, she supposed, and Clear Springs would have been considered lost to the Deadlands. The border seemed to creep east a little more every year. If she returned to Iron Creek, there was no guarantee that a new bloodhound would be assigned to Levi’s old position. How long before the vampires edged close enough for the important men in Washington to decide Iron Creek wasn’t worth the cost to protect?

“Satira.” Wilder’s voice was steely. Hard.

She swallowed hard. “You can sense the dead, can’t you? Are the houses empty?”

“I sense the dead,” he confirmed, “and they’re here. Plenty of them. But don’t forget they can sense your fear. It’ll call to them, honey.”

So hiding her worry from Wilder wouldn’t be enough. She’d have to wall it off from her own heart.

Concentrating on Nathaniel helped. Her mentor would need her courage now. “They won’t be able to enter the sunlight, though. So the ones in these houses can’t join the fight, unless they’ve created tunnels.”

“Ghouls,” he reminded her, though his expression remained mild. “Don’t know if we can fight all of them. Might have to, but avoidance would be better.”

There was no telling how many there would be. The vampire could have turned the residents of Clear Springs, or enslaved them, or simply killed them. “A hotel should have plenty of ways in and out. The ghoul said there was a lab underneath now. That’s where Nathaniel will be.”

“Since we know roughly where we’re headed, sneaking’s our best bet.”

“When? Will they be weaker when the sun’s higher?”

“Maybe a little. Not enough to make waiting worth it, though.” His horse danced beneath him. “The longer we sit around, the better the chance someone’ll spot us.”