Shift Happens(73)

Holding me close, he stomped to the guest room at the end of the hall. Shifting my weight, he managed to open and close the door without setting me down or letting me go. He placed me gently on the bed before turning the lights off and clambering into the bed to sprawl out beside me.

“Tell me.”

So I did. Every sordid detail, every thought, every fear. It felt liberating not to censor what I said and a crushing pressure I didn’t realize was there, released my chest, allowing me to breathe. My mouth kept moving as I drifted to sleep. Maybe I talked in my sleep, too.





Chapter Thirty-One


When I woke up bathed in Wick’s warmth, I found my phone filled with text messages and voicemails; most of them from Wick and Mel, first worried about my progress, then frantic about my whereabouts—the stress and panic in their voices progressing as time went on. Even Booth called, demanding an update. But my last text arrived at 5:30 this morning while I blissfully slept in Wick’s arms. Tonight. Sundown, Clint wrote, and he didn’t need to elaborate. Wick must’ve reported my return. I wanted to be pissed off about that, but he didn’t have much of a choice.

Eyeing the red horizon cast by the setting sun through the window with a dual sense of trepidation and excitement, I moved quietly through the room to pick out my outfit for tonight. Wick had gone to work. Some sort of emergency he couldn’t delegate. Knowing little about the world of building development, I didn’t ask.

I’d wasted most of the day lounging around in bed, being able to relax for the first time since I took the hit on Clint. I knew the person responsible for the orders and where to find him, and only had to relay the information to Lucien to pay my debt.

My phone beeped with a text from Clint: We’re here.

I texted back: I’m about to take a shower. Do you mind waiting?

I’ll be right up.

Huh? I looked over my last text and cringed. Instead of ‘waiting,’ I’d asked Clint if he minded ‘watching.’ Damn autocorrect.

Waiting! I texted as fast as I could. I meant waiting.

Too late—Clint’s head poked through the doorway. He must’ve run. With the house uncharacteristically empty of wolves, there’d been no one to stop him. His phone beeped and his attention flicked down to quickly read my latest message—the one correcting my error. He raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down with a smile. “Freudian slip?” he asked.

“You know me so well.”

Clint smiled at my dry voice, and then frowned. He strode up to me, a little too close for my liking, and studied my face. When he brought his hand up, it took everything in my self-control not to flinch. That would be a mistake with Clint. He pinched my chin and used the chunk of flesh and bone to turn my head from side to side. “Who hurt you?” he demanded.

“I didn’t know you cared.”

He snorted. “Of course, I care.”

My turn to frown.

“Only I can mark you.”

Groaning, I looked up to the ceiling and fervently wished some deity would save me. Someone needed to write a book for this social situation: Avoiding Sadomasochists for Dummies.

Clint hesitated before releasing my chin. “Who?”

“A dead man.” Not a complete lie.

“Good.”

“I still need to shower. You can WAIT downstairs.”

Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hands together like a birthday boy about to get his cake.

Well I have a surprise for you, buddy. Clint would have to find a new toy to play with. I could tell him now, but a perverse joy in misleading him overcame my urge for honesty.

“When you’re mine, privacy will be a luxury I’ll permit only if you’ve been good.” He leered and ran his eyes slowly up and down my body. “Very good.”

“Uh huh.” I closed the bathroom door firmly, locked it and then hopped in the shower. His laughter leaked into the room. Good thing I’m not yours, Clint.

I kept my shower brisk. The tiny cuts healed up, but the one on my face and the incisions on my arm and inner thighs stung under the onslaught of water and soap. Wick hadn’t dared tell Lucien he lost me. He’d used the tracking device app on his phone to follow my chip, but Ethan’s goons had inserted it into a mangy coyote. When Wick’s pack finally tracked it down, Wick panicked, but kept quiet, lying by omission.

When we finally stumbled out of bed, Wick told me he would’ve let me run. Something tightened in my gut, but my feelings clashed. The idea of getting out from Lucien’s control? Electrifying. But leaving Wick… That brought up a whole different mix of emotions.

I toweled off. My feelings would have to wait for examination after I cleaned up this mess. My mind needed to be on lockdown once I climbed into the car with Allan.