I wouldn't ask how Caleb was able to find me. It was probably better that I just ignore it in favor of being irritated about the whole shaking-me-like-a-naughty-child thing. Right?
I shoved my hands against Caleb's seemingly immobile chest until he relinquished his hold on my waist. I huffed. "I left because I could. Because I am an adult, and I control my own decisions. You were making me nervous with all your bullet wounds and plastic handcuffs. I decided I was better off on my own."
"Oh, yeah." He glanced down at the unconscious men at our feet. "You have everything under control."
"I was doing just fine," I muttered, shifting my shoulder bag and ignoring his quote-unquote compliment. "I am still upright and conscious. So I think that means I win. And frankly, I did it without much help from you. You just distracted them and made scary faces."
"Scary faces?" he asked, his cheeks paling considerably.
"Yeah, you gave them full-on first-day-of-prison crazy eyes," I said, my laughter just a bit forced. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear they changed color for a second there."
He gave the world's most awkward chuckle. "Yeah, that would be weird, huh?"
Really? I'd just given him the perfect opportunity to talk about his other nature, and nothing? Really?
With a disappointed sigh, I gave his shin a little kick, making him smirk at me and ruffle my hair. He grumbled but grudgingly admitted, "I want to rip them limb from limb, but what you did was probably better." He gestured to the crumpled forms on the ground.
Oddly pleased by his praise, I preened a bit. "Never underestimate the short."
Caleb snorted. "I think we need to clear out of here before they wake up. I'm amazed the manager hasn't come out to yell at us for messing up his nice empty parking lot."
I stared up at him. If he was willing to follow me this far, he wasn't going to let me just walk away and plot my own course to Anchorage. And he was handy to have around when one was under attack by parking-lot perverts. Still, I had to give him a little grief. "But I'm paid up for two more nights!" I protested, although I will admit there wasn't much heat in it.
He cast a derisive look at the peeling green motel-room door. "Well, that just goes to show that your judgment has been off in a lot of different areas."
I gave him my unamused dead-eyed stare. "I'm not above kicking you again."
"Frankly, I'm thinking about kicking you back. You left me a two-word good-bye note on a lampshade." He growled, as if he suddenly remembered that he was angry with me. "Two words: ‘I'm sorry.' What is wrong with you?"
"I don't know!"
"That's not an answer!"
"I know that!" I cried, throwing my hands up in the air.
"Why are you yelling at me?"
"I don't know!" I yelled. I frowned, looking down at Yellow Teeth and Grabby Hands. "Should we stash them in my room?"
He nodded toward Yellow Teeth. "Get his feet."
"I don't think so." I gestured at Caleb's thick upper arms. "You came after me to ‘protect' me, you might as well do the heavy lifting."
"I didn't come for you, I came for the baton," he said, scooping it up from where I'd dropped it on the ground. "You're just an amusing fringe benefit. So," he asked in a tone far too casual to be sincere, "is there a reason you ran from me?"
He was pretending to be looking down at Yellow Teeth and Grabby Hands, all the while staring sidelong at me. Could he be mulling over my lack of questions about his finding me? Or why I hadn't mentioned the strange yellow glow-y trick of light over his skin? Maybe the little peculiarities had built up to the point where a "normal" girl couldn't have ignored them. Had it been a mistake to put that one last barrier between our real lives and what we were trying to show each other? Would I have too much to explain now if I told him I knew about were-creatures?
I opened my mouth to say, My ex-husband's determined stalking and your connections to my former employers, not to mention your werewolf issues, are freaking me out. But I lost my nerve and suggested, "Generalized anxiety. So how far are we going today?"
"I don't know," he said, apparently caught off-guard by my sudden change of topic. He peered around the abandoned parking lot. "Where are we?"
For some reason, that struck me as funny. I started laughing. And I kept laughing, even as Caleb chucked the unconscious guys into my motel room and locked the door, then led me toward the truck. He kept an arm around my waist, as if he was afraid I was going to collapse from shock or crippling hyena laughs. Instead of shrugging off his protective grip, I held on to his arm like a lifeline.
"Come on, Rabbit," he said, gently lifting me into the truck while I wiped at my eyes.
"I'm sorry. It's been a long night-day-whatever." I sighed as he tucked my legs into the cab. I grabbed his arm before he could close the door. "Caleb, thanks."
He gave me one curt nod and slammed the truck door.
We drove for the better part of two hours, my head leaning against the cool glass of the window. The strange white buzzing in my head had faded away, and I could feel my muscles unwind from the unbearable tension I'd been under for the last few days. Caleb didn't say a word for the entire drive. He barely looked at me, keeping his eyes glued to the road, as if he wasn't driving on highways he'd wandered on routinely for the better part of five years. I closed my eyes, grateful just to be able to rest them for a few moments.
My eyes snapped open as Caleb turned into a motel parking lot. The Burly Bear Inn was no Ritz-Carlton, but it was certainly in better shape than the Right-Price. All of the rooms in the newly painted three-story building had exterior doors, at least, which couldn't be said of my last "residence." Caleb hopped out of the truck and walked into the motel office, presumably to get a room. He even left the keys in the ignition. It was either a sign that he trusted me enough to leave me unsupervised in his truck or a test to see if I would run off again.
I bunched my hands into fists to avoid the temptation. Because this was not a conversation I wanted to have with Caleb. It wasn't a conversation I wanted to have with anyone. The only person I'd ever discussed my marital "difficulties" with was Red-burn, and that was over the phone. Talking about it face-to-face with Caleb would be considerably more painful.
Caleb emerged from the office after a few minutes, shoving a plastic key fob into his pocket. He opened my door, grabbed his duffel, and hooked my bag around his arm, nodding toward the first floor of rooms. I followed him, wondering where I would even start with my sad, sordid history.
Caleb unlocked the door, and I stepped inside the room, fidgeting and twisting my hands. He dropped the bags, his relentless stare pinning me to my spot on the questionable motel carpet. I took a deep breath. "Caleb, I-mrpgh."
Before I could make another sound, Caleb was across the room and kissing the absolute hell out of me. His arms snaked under my own and lifted me off the ground, the sheer force of the impact throwing my legs around his waist. My mouth dropped open in surprise, and his tongue slipped between my lips.
Breathing. Breathing would be good. But I couldn't seem to draw air. His mouth was everywhere, nibbling my lips, trailing along my jaw, nipping at my throat, stealing all of my oxygen and rational thought. There were no muffled voices from the other rooms. There was no questionable carpet. Only warm lips, clashing teeth, and strong fingers digging into my hips.
I was so focused on the hot, insistent pressure against my mouth that I didn't notice that somewhere between the door and the bed, my shirt came off. I yanked at his jacket, pushing it from his shoulders as he stumbled back and landed against the mattress with a squeak. Our descent had just enough bounce to send me tumbling toward the edge of the bed, but Caleb caught me and rolled me back over him.
I barely resisted the urge to laugh into his bare chest, biting down gently on his Adam's apple. He moaned softly, threading his fingers through my short hair and pulling me closer. His hands stroked and petted, slowly peeling away my jeans and bra. My pulse jumped every time his hands brushed my breasts, and my hips jerked.
I lost track of time, getting acquainted with the body that, well, let's face it, I had been ogling for weeks. His skin was so smooth. I couldn't resist reciting the muscle-group names as I traced my fingertips along his arms, down his stomach and thighs. Deltoid, pectoralis major, external oblique, quadriceps femoris-all connected and fairly shaking as I ran my hands over them.
He flipped me onto my back, growling low as he worried my collarbone with his teeth. Lips open and wet, he ran his mouth in one smooth line from my breasts to my belly button, pressing one last kiss to the little bow on the waistline of my panties. I giggled, until he nudged the panties aside and plunged two fingers inside me. Then I gasped, grinding my hips against the palm of his hand. I came with embarrassing speed, but it had been a very long time since someone had touched me. I threw my head back, panting as I felt that first spasm of my climax. I rode it out, wave after wave, until I was sweaty and still beneath him.