Where Wild Things Roam

Resistance

Ian    

My mate’s bedroom is awash with her odor, the delicious floral-scented shortbread smell of her permeating everything. I stand in the middle of the room, just breathing it in for a minute and look around. Her taste is simple, and the warm natural colors and utilitarian wood furnishings and cotton linens are a stark contrast to the modern luxury of the Candlewood packhouse.

She’ll get used to it, I think, making my way to the adjoining bathroom, a rectangular windowed affair with a gigantic copper bathtub at one end. And if she hates it, she can redo it until her heart’s content.

I sigh, taking a seat on the side of the deep claw-footed tub, my mate’s legs dangling off my lap and her head cradled against my chest.

It takes a moment listening for me to figure out Jack is rooting through my mate’s refrigerator. I start the water running in the tub, waiting for it to warm.

 Tessa says patiently through our link.

 His snide and mocking Tessa imitation is so ridiculously petulant both she and I laugh.

Behind me, the water’s become warm, so I close the drain and start the tub filling. It takes some shuffling Darby about on my lap to get her undressed, then I realize I’ve forgotten her braid.

Propping her against my chest again, I remove the tie at the tip, and begin to unravel her long walnut hair. By the time I’ve reached the back of her neck, there’s an unbroken, undulating drape of heavy, silky darkness wrapping from one side of my body to the other and tickling my shins. For a moment, I sit still and just stare at the way the light moves in the waves as we breathe. It’s absolutely glorious. Why does she keep such magnificence bound in a braid?

I wonder at the silvery strands, most dense at her temples and glittering randomly in the dark waves like stars in the night sky. Normally, these are a sign of age. I lean her backwards, brush her hair away from her face with my fingers. Her body and her face don’t reflect that though. She looks like a girl, nubile and graceful and definitely younger than me.

Not that that would be hard—I’ve been looking for my mate for a decade.

But something about those silvery strands in her hair belies her physical youth. And in her surgery, taking care of Ivan. Medical skills and knowledge like she has would have taken years to acquire.

I sigh and scoop her up. I know little about Fae beyond they exist. In all of the history I’ve learned, I can’t recall mention of any were ever meeting one except in stories of ancient lands. Essentially I'm cradling a myth tenderly against my chest. “I wish saving Ivan hadn’t taken so much out of you,” I whisper. “I have so many questions.”

Rising, I step into the tub with her and take a seat, slowly lowering her into the warm water. I hold her against my chest to turn the tap to off, then relax against the warm copper tub back to soak for a minute. After the night I've had, it feels glorious. Her soft sighing against me sounds like agreement and I smile, lifting water in my cupped hands to trickle over her gracile neck and smooth shoulders. 

We haven’t been submerged long, and the water is already red with the blood, mostly coming off her. Her hair floats on the surface, swirling ominously like tendrils of smoke.

“Maybe I should have rinsed you first,” I murmur against her head and she stirs a little at the sound of my voice.

I pull the shower curtain around the top of the tub, then use my toes to open the drain and start the water running again. When most of the bloody tub water is gone, I pull the valve to switch the water to the showerhead and let the warm gentle rain fall onto us, rinsing us clean.

There’s a bar of grainy, oatmeal-smelling soap in a dish on the lip of the tub. Under normal circumstances, its texture would be off-putting, but it lathers nicely. I soap up my hands and work them over Darby, massaging gently, and thoroughly enjoying the feel of her body.

Her bubble bottom fits perfectly into my hips and I harden and rise just noticing it as I wash her. I cup her breasts, growling when each fills one of my massive hands. Definitely delicious, delightful, delectable D-cups. I squeeze both rosy n*****s between my thumbs and forefingers and Darby stirs.

She lifts one fine hand weakly, resting it on top of mine and pressing until I release her n****e. Then she slides her hand to the other breast and repeats the process. “Need rest,” she whispers.

“Okay,” I agree reluctantly. This time.

I let the water run, rinsing the last of the soap away, then turn everything off. Two of the biggest, fluffiest, softest bath sheets I’ve ever touched are hanging on the towel rack at the head of the copper tub, almost as if she was expecting me. I wrap her in one, then carry her out to her bed and return to dry myself with the other.

I haven’t heard any more complaining, so I don’t think Jack and Tessa have returned from their hunt yet. Which means he also hasn’t looked for any clothes for us. I drape the towel over the rack and return to the bed. Darby is curled up and sleeping soundly in the bath sheet, so I lay down behind her, pulling her body against my chest.

I drift off to sleep with the smell of shortbread and lilac around me.

Jack     

— I gesture to the edge of the orchard we have only just reached, the one I think we’ve been trying to get to for a few years

There’s something in the way she says ‘old’ that makes me pause. She really is a cute old lady and I like her.

I’ve given up trying to convince her to let me carry her—for the moment—and just listen as we make our way through the orchard.

Tessa noses towards a tree we’re passing, a young sapling barely a few feet tall. I don’t know the species, but I could see it growing this big after three, maybe four years. I glance around the orchard and a thought hits me.

I’m struck dumb and just stare.

We’ve reached the edge of the orchard and stopped. The meadow between the grove and the forest surrounding us is narrowest here—a good choice for cover—and I scan with my senses before we step out of the trees. Tessa’s going to get carried now, whether she likes it or not. I don’t have time to amble at the pace of a twenty-year old dog…

Twenty-year-old dog. 

One dog at a time.

I turn around and look back at all the trees in the orchard. I can count everything I know about faery folk on one hand—they existed at some point and until we came to this cottage, no one knew if they still did. I do a rough calculation in my head.

Noooooooooo.

I whirl around, staring at the copse of trees across the meadow that rings the cottage. Though they’re only a few deep, given the size of this small valley, there’d have to be a couple thousand of them at least, probably more. 

I look down at the dog and grin. She wags her tail. “I’m going to carry you. You know that, right?”

**

Darby    

It’s dark when I wake. Though I half expected it, I’m not lying on the floor of my surgery in a puddle of clotted were blood. In fact, I’m not lying on the floor at all. As my eyes adjust, features of my room become visible and I know I’m on my bed.

And, though I’m wrapped in my towel, I’m completely naked.

Damn weres.

Delicious heat rolls over me from behind and as I try to sit up, I realize my hips are pinned by a heavy arm resting over them. Well, s**t.

I roll to my back, and the were’s heavy hand settles into the space between my hips, pressing me into the mattress. The distance from fingertips to the base of his massive palm spans the entire breadth of the widest part of me. It’s rather impressive.

And warm. His body radiates heat along my left side, and into me where his hand rests on my abdomen. It feels nice. Simultaneously stoking and soothing the fire he causes beneath it.

I turn my head to look at him, unsurprised to confirm the were in bed with me is the alpha. Moonlight pours over him from the window, washing out his tawny skin and glinting blue-black in the waves of his shiny, pitch-dark hair. His full mouth is relaxed, even tender looking, and built entirely for kissing—deep breath-stealing kissing. The thought makes me flush.

Damn weres.

Beside me, the alpha’s nostrils flare at the end of his straight, narrow nose and he takes several quick breaths, scenting the air. One straight brow flicks up and I wonder what he’s dreaming. Then he inhales deeply, relaxing again with a heavy sigh.

Since I can’t move my hips, I turn at the waist, rolling onto my shoulder in as much as I can. Reaching across me, I trace his dark brows with my fingertip and brush the hair away from his temple, staring at him.

“Of all the supernaturals,” I whisper, my thumb tracing the margin of his bottom lip, “you weres are the beautiful ones.”

When he doesn’t stir, I stroke the backs of my fingers against the grain of the scruff along his jaw like I’ve been itching to do since I first set eyes on him. “But you, Alpha, you’re ludicrously handsome. Not that you need me to tell you.” Reaching the edge of his jaw, I open my palm, lay it flat on his neck beneath his ear.

There’s a strong, reassuring pulse beneath my hand. Solid. Reliable. Like him. I linger letting it throb against my palm. It’s comforting. Lulls me into wondering just how dangerous a were like this alpha really is.

My eyes drift downward, linger on his smooth pectorals, his six-pack abs. Just because I want to—and, hey, turnabout is fair play, right? – I let my fingers follow my eyes down the gorgeous muscled length of him to his navel. There’s a thin line of hair that trails downward below it and doubtless leads to trouble of the most enjoyable kind.

My n*****s pebble at the thought and the alpha draws another deep breath and lets out a contented sigh. His warm breath tickles my shoulder, becomes a cool caress by the time it reaches my breasts making my n*****s draw tighter. Unable to stop it, a sighing moan escapes me at the unintentional caress and my aroused mental meanderings. I flatten my palm against his side, and unconsciously one finger traces the path of the deep V line that lays beneath it.

Great goddesses. His kind are so alluringly s****l even without trying.

I know I must be mistaken, but it seems like he’s warmer and I bask in it, siphoning it into my slightly achy body. It’s irresistible, his heat. My hand wanders along his narrow hip to his powerful thigh, tracing well-defined muscle groups in unadulterated appreciation. Another exhaled moan escapes me. The heat coming off of him is enough to make me dizzy.

Damn weres.

I’ve grown confident that my explorations aren’t enough to wake him. Which seems reasonable, since he spent his morning battling vampires and fleeing for miles for his life. And frankly, I’m curious. “Well,” I whisper, letting my hand roam towards his midline, “since I’m already here.”

I can’t help the gasp when my fingers stumble upon it. “Oh. My. Word.” His hands aren’t the only massive thing about him. Slowly, I trace my fingertips up the generous length of his s*x. I breathe out, “Ooooooh!” and bite my bottom lip, wrapping my fingers around the head.

Emboldened, I draw my hand down the thick girth of him to the base, closing my eyes to reduce the distraction of any sense but touch. Impossible as it seems, what’s beneath my fingers swells more, then twitches slightly, and feels incredible to handle.

“Holy goddesses! You’ve created perfection.”

**