Page 16 of Taken By Raider Kings
That wasn’t a goodorhelpful thought, so he shut it away.The smell of smoke wouldn’t quite retreat until he took a few deep breaths and reminded himself that he had problems in the here and now, so thinking about the past wouldn’t solve them.
Sundown meant Kyle’s spirit was safely over the border now, well into the shifting realm of themajir.Which meant hehadto talk to her, and try not to screw it up too badly.
He gave her ten more minutes, then turned the television off and tapped at the bathroom door.“You can come out, sweetheart.We need to talk.”The sooner you understand a few things, the better off everyone will be.
Nothing.No sound of running water, no sniffles, just deathly silence.He was sure there was no window in there; he’d checked.Still, his hand hovered above the doorknob.It would be a simple matter to snap a cheap hotel-door lock and walk in.
He didn’t have the faintest idea who this girl was.Sophie, okay.Married once, possibly married again.Curly hair and steel-rimmed glasses, vulnerable wintry eyes and curves to make a racetrack die of envy.She smelled good, but among Carcajou there was such a thing as courting a female.Even when she smelled like she was his already, her pheromones striking sparks against his sensitive nose.
He knocked again, suddenly acutely aware that he was unshaven, reeking of unwilling attraction and acrid worry, still wearing the same clothes he’d been in last night—probably spotted with blood, as well.She was bound to be confused, upset.He’d have to handle her carefully.
Yeah.Like you have a clue how to deal with a bleeder girl.You’ve been doing a bang-up job so far.
He’d been too young to even think about mating while his parents were alive, and the gatherings where young people of each Tribe eyed one another and courted were closed to his Family once they were on their own.Human women mostly smelled like prey, not mates.His entire knowledge of what to say to a female bleeder came from television.Julia was no help at all.
A slight scraping noise was his only reward.What’s that?Zach listened so intently he could hear her pulse, quickening now, and the soft sough of respiration.Up to something in there.Huh.He knocked again, softly.“Look, I’m not going to hurt you, no matter what you think.I’ll explain everything.Just come on out, Sophie.Is it short for Sophia?”
Another soft sound—possibly a laugh?The animal in him perked its ears, expectant.It was like hunting, waiting patiently for food to appear.
Only she wasn’t prey.She was something else.Something good, something he wanted to run down and fill his mouth with.
“Come on.”He touched the doorknob, running his fingers over its curve.Not nearly so nice as her shoulder, or those hips.“At least say something.”
That worked, at least partially; a muffled answer barely managed to pierce the door.“Go away.”
But her breathing was high and harsh now, her pulse thudding like she was in pain.There were other scratching, wrenching noises under the thunder of stress-laden breathing.
What the hell?He twisted the knob—breaking any pretensions it had to locking—and pushed the door inward, opening his mouth to ask if she was hurt.
The blow came out of nowhere.Faster reflexes saved him; he ducked and caught the bar in one hand, her surprising strength sending a shock all the way down his arm.She was screaming like a banshee suddenly, trying to wrench it away—the cheap towel rack, pried loose from the wall.He smelled blood, too; instinct woke in a red blur.
He ripped the thing out of her hands and caught her wrist as she flew at him, still screaming.
She flailed at him with her other fist until he caught that too, trapping both wrists in one hand and yanking her into a spin; she weighed less than a feather.With that done, he dragged her out of temporary shelter.There was a clear space next to the bathroom door, between the jamb and a closet holding an ironing board and hangers permanently attached to a much more robust rod.
Good thing she didn’t grab that one.Bleak amusement flashed through him for a bare moment.
Her shoulders met the wall with a tooth-rattling thump.She kept struggling until he got her arms up over her head and pressed against her, bloodscent tease-taunting the beast and the acrid reek of a shaman’s fear tearing at his control.
Goddammit.She pitched from side to side, mad with fear, and tried to bite him.Her mouth landed against his shoulder, she drove her teeth in again and he froze, fingers clamping hard until she made a small hurt sound, the only interruption to her screaming.
Biting him, again.Teeth in flesh, a promise and spur all at once.A crimson wave washed through him, and he almost lost it right there.
Control.Memory rose—he was twelve years old, and the alpha’s fingers were crushing the back of his neck, holding him still.Control the beast.We are people, we are Carcajou.We are not savages.
Still, with a shaman in an ecstasy of fear, accidents could happen.Badaccidents.And she had no idea that her teeth in his hide were an enticement.
She tried kneeing him, but he was pressed so close there was no leverage, a slim softness between him and the unforgiving wall.The ice-and-moonlight smell broke over him; confusion between the obedience to that smell bred into every Carcajou’s bones and the response to the feel of her turning him in circles again.The sunshine aroma of her hair filling his nose, its softness rubbing against his stubble as he buried his face in tangled curls, gave him bare seconds to take a breath before drowning.
He returned to himself piecemeal, a trembling woman caught between him and the wall, his fingers tight around her wrists and violence just a hairsbreadth away.
Oh, God.Control yourself, goddammit; nobody can do it for you!You’re not a savage.You’re Carcajou.
The animal didn’t believe it.Arousal was a lead bar in the lowest part of his belly, her fear dragging tingle-sharp claws over his skin.“Calm down,” he managed, in a thick voice with precious little humanity left.It was a snarl, pure and simple.“Calm thefuckdown, girl, or we are going to haveproblems.”Problems that make this look like making out in the back of a Chevy.Jesus, don’t think about that.Control.
She quieted, breath hitching as she sought to swallow tears.And she stopped struggling, which was good.Except that he still wanted to press against her, past irritating layers of cloth in the way.She was sweating, he couldtastesaltsweet musk, and the urge to press his face against her throat and flick his tongue delicately against her skin to absorb even more made a fine tremor run through his marrow.
Fur receded.The claws prickling through his fingertips retreated as well.He won the battle with himself by bare inches and the animal retreated snarling, back down to the very floor of his mind, curling up and promising trouble later.
