Moira Rogers - Wilder’s Mate

The ghouls were no danger to her. Not with Wilder there. Satira gambled everything on it as she pivoted to face Lowe and dropped the gun. She pulled the sun-sphere out of her bag, one finger already curled through the pin’s copper ring. Archer had dragged Nathaniel halfway across the room, but they weren’t clear. Not yet.

So she stalled. She smiled at the vampire and inched the pin up, just a little. Enough so it would jerk free if anyone jostled her before Nathaniel was safe. “You should be more precise with your orders.” The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “And you, my dear, should watch your pretty little mouth. Someone might—”

Wilder roared again and dove for him, teeth bared.

Adrenaline surged. Time slowed. Some tiny, scientific part of her brain babbled at her in Nathaniel’s driest voice, explaining the physiological reaction that made Wilder’s leap take weeks.

At the far side of the room, Archer all but threw Nathaniel through a doorway and dove after him.

Satira tightened her finger and whispered a prayer to a God her mother hadn’t raised her to believe in.

Lowe flicked his fingers and Wilder stumbled back, clawing at his muzzle as long lines of blood appeared on his fur. The vampire turned—slowly, oh so slowly—toward Satira.

The pin slid free as smooth as one of Ophelia’s silk dresses.

For one moment—a terrifying moment—nothing happened. A gear clicked and something inside the sphere sparked.

Then—light. So much light Satira flinched back instinctively, sure it would sear the flesh from her hands. It took another few seconds for her to realize there was no accompanying heat. Just endless, pure sunlight, growing brighter by the second as Nathaniel’s simple, brilliant plan sprang to glorious life.

Squinting, Satira lifted her precious weapon higher as the ghouls began to scream.

Lowe’s upraised hands started to smoke. His mouth opened impossibly wide, and he let out a scream that sounded like a hundred voices crying out in unison. Sparks jumped from his pale skin, sparks that grew into tiny licking flames and flared up into an inferno that engulfed his entire body.

He was gone in the time it took to lower her hands, the ball of flames imploding in a way that pained her rational mind and stretched the boundaries of physics.

Magic, and a fitting end for a creature borne of dark powers beyond the understanding of men and science. Lowe disappeared as if he’d never been there at all, leaving not even ashes to mark his passing, only angry scorch marks on the floor.

And the lives he’d destroyed.

And Wilder. The violence in him hadn’t subsided. If anything, it seemed to intensify without a focus.

He whirled in a wide circle, seeking foes to vanquish, to feed his frenzy.

The sphere in her hands wouldn’t darken until the energy from the gear mechanism ran low, but tucking it into her bag dimmed it enough to let her blink away tears. “Wilder, it’s all right.” He stopped with a growl and turned.

Crazed yellow eyes fixed on her. She couldn’t help but stare at the sharp teeth filling a mouth large enough to crush her. “Wilder.” Perhaps if she said his name enough times, he’d remember who she was.

Who he was. “I’m safe. The danger’s past. We can go home now.” He didn’t charge, at least. He approached her slowly, almost warily, his claws clicking on the floor.

She’d seen Levi in his other form. Only once, when she’d been barely fourteen, and only for a few moments. When her mother had been alive, Ada had insisted on being the one who dealt with Levi during the full moon. After her mother’s death, he’d forgone the cage in the basement and spent the full moons in the wilderness.

A glimpse of a beast in a cage was far from facing the real thing with nothing to protect her. But Ada had tended to Levi, month after month. Her presence had soothed him…because she’d been his mate.

Satira lifted her hand, proud that it barely trembled. “Thank you for protecting me. Now let me help you.”

After an endless silence, he growled, a sound she probably imagined sounded like her name, and dropped to the floor at her feet, his sides heaving. His gaze darted back and forth, everywhere, still searching for threats.

He was low to the floor, but the tallest part of his shoulder came nearly level with her waist. Satira brushed her fingertips along the coarse fur at the back of his neck. When he didn’t snarl, she stroked his shoulder, awed by the promise of strength in the bunched muscles beneath her hand.

He was the perfect weapon, and he was hers. No matter what the Bloodhound Guild did to them in the days to come, they couldn’t take this from her. They couldn’t steal the perfect peace of knowing where she belonged. With Wilder, always, even if it broke both of their hearts in the end.

Archer crept in, his eyes wide. “What the holy fuck was—”

Wilder stiffened and rose to a crouch, a growl vibrating through him at the intrusion.

Hell. Satira kept her hand where it was, pressed against Wilder’s shoulder. He seemed tense, though he didn’t lunge at Archer. Yet. “Archer? I didn’t know it was possible for a bloodhound to change outside the full moon. How—how do we bring him back?”

The other hound dropped to his knees, putting his body lower than Wilder’s. “Hard to tell. Time, probably, though it’s bound to help if we get him away from here. From the fight.” Which meant moving Nathaniel. During the day. “I saw horses. Did Lowe have any carriages?

Anything to keep Nathaniel safe from the sun?”

“Most likely.” Archer didn’t take his eyes off of Wilder. “We’ll handle that part. You’d best be thinking about how to get your man there into one of them without a tussle.”

“We left our horses and packs tied up at the edge of town. Fetch those and get a carriage ready. I’ll take care of Wilder.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He ducked out of the shattered door.

Satira turned to Wilder and managed a shaky smile. “I know you’re in there somewhere, Wilder Harding. You need to come back to me. I think I earned one hell of a kiss, and I mean to collect.” The growling subsided, but he didn’t move. He stared at her instead, yellow eyes tracking every move.

A swift victory and a triumphant ride back to Iron Creek would have been too easy. Sighing, Satira settled in for a long afternoon.

The jarring woke Wilder. He opened his eyes to the opulent interior of a large carriage, one he’d never seen before, and the warmth and scent of Satira’s body draped across his.

He stirred, and she murmured his name, voice sleepy. One small hand curled around his bare shoulder, and her chin dug into his chest.

He was naked under a rough blanket. Wilder sat straight, cradling her in his arms, and cursed. Vague memories of a showdown with Lowe teased at him, and he shook Satira awake, “Sweetheart? What happened?”

“You ripped your clothes.” She wiggled a little, getting her knees on either side of his hips, then sat back against his thighs. “Convincing you that you wanted to ride in a carriage wasn’t easy.”

“Did I get knocked on the head?”

“No.” Her lips tugged down into a disapproving little frown. “Hunter was ready to try, but it wasn’t necessary. Once they backed off, you followed me inside.”

It didn’t explain why he couldn’t remember anything. “Why did I have to follow you anywhere?”

“Because you changed.” She touched his cheek. “When you thought Nathaniel had hurt me. You changed into your other form.”

“I—” The memory rushed back. Fur and fangs, rending anyone and everything in his path. Wilder sucked in a sharp breath and asked the question he wanted to bite back. “Did I hurt him?”

“No. No, we’re all in one piece, more or less.” She gestured to a narrow doorway behind her. “This is one of Lowe’s carriages. Nathaniel’s in the other room. It’s sealed against sunlight.”

“Lowe.” He clenched his hands to still their shaking. “He’s dead?” That made her smile, though her expression held more than a little vindictive pleasure. “He was ash, last time I saw him.”

There was only one reason for her to look so pleased instead of merely relieved. “You did it, didn’t you? I remember…light.”

“Sunlight,” she confirmed. Her fingers brushed his cheek again, stroking as if reassuring herself he was all right. “Nathaniel did it, really. He’d already built the weapon. And even when Lowe ordered him to bring me upstairs, Nathaniel fought him long enough for me to prepare it.” Questions remained, a hundred questions that would take time to answer. Right now, only one thing was important. “I changed, and you were able to calm me.”

“Yes.” She stroked his jaw as she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. “You needed to protect me.”

He needed to kiss her, so he did, tilting his head to better fit his lips to hers. Her taste filled him until the world was nothing but her, every sense focused on the way she felt in his arms.

“I want to be with you,” he whispered finally. “I have to. Do you understand?”

“You need me.” Her lips tickled his lips with every word, and he felt her smile. “It’s a good thing, since I don’t think you’re devious enough to be rid of me. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, if that was what it took.”

“It won’t.” One thing, all he needed to hear. “I love you.” Her mouth crashed against his. She kissed him so hard her teeth dug into his lower lip. “Love you.” She kissed his cheek. His jaw. When she found his ear, her breathless whisper shivered pleasure down his spine. “I love you, Wilder Harding. Full moon, new moon and everything in-between.”

“Good, because this means you’re saddled with me, whether you want to be or not.”

“I want to be.” She leaned back, curled her fingers into a dainty little fist and drove it into his shoulder. “And next time someone drags me into a room, you’d best do me the courtesy of at least considering that I’m right where I intend to be. Because if you think you’re locking me up somewhere safe, maybe you did hit your head.”

He smiled. “Don’t think I can help it. I’m never going to be rational when you’re threatened.” Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling as she heaved an entirely melodramatic sigh. “Fine. We can spend the next twenty or so years bickering over it. It’ll add spice to our life between bouts of mortal danger.”

“Reminding me about the mortal danger isn’t going to help your cause, you know.”

“Yes, all the things I could do to help my cause seem somehow less appealing with my guardian in the next room. Especially now that he probably has preternatural hearing.” Wilder swallowed hard. “Are you straight with that? We’ll probably have to help him hide from the Guild. Lord knows what they’d want to do.”

Her humor faded. “He’s Nathaniel. I don’t—” An uncertain pause. “Levi gave me…prejudices.

They’re not comfortable, now. But he’s still Nathaniel, and that’s all I care about.” Most people had similar beliefs and prejudices, if only because they’d never actually seen a vampire.

Never spoken to one. “I think, if it were as simple as that, he might not be the Nathaniel you knew. But he’s part hound too.”

“Then we’ll hide him.” She curled her arms around her body. “What about you? Us? I thought the Guild didn’t encourage hounds to take mates. And they’re not likely to consider me a qualified weapons inventor. If they tell you that you have to leave me—”

“They won’t,” he assured her. “And if they try, they can go to hell. They need me more than I need them.”

“And I need you most of all.” One arm uncurled and looped around his neck, and she leaned into him, pressing her forehead to his cheek. “I need you.”

He might have to fight for her, leave his life behind and forge a new one. Instead of terrifying him, the thought made him feel light. Free. “I need you too.”

“The Guild representative has kept Wilder in Levi’s old study all day today.” Satira rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes and sighed. “Nathaniel’s been hiding in his lab for three days. Wilder thinks he should pose as his own nephew. He looks so much younger that it might work.” Ophelia lifted her tea cup and took a sip before answering. “It might avert questions later, especially from those who have known Nathaniel for some time. Secrecy about one’s family is commonplace, but an unrelated man who could double for a dead Guild inventor? Not as likely.” Which was what Wilder had said, in fewer, blunter words. After the past weeks, Ophelia’s gentle refinement was almost soothing. Satira dropped her hands to her lap and gave her friend a helpless look.