Homecoming Luna

Chapter 13: You Feel That?

• •• •••Daen's POV••• •• •

Under the lush green canopies of adjacent trees, close to the whistling Carmine creek, stands a man scared shitless, with his breathing minimized in an effort to make no sudden move. A wise decision because pointed right at him is an unwavering gun, safety off. Unluckily or luckily not by me, but by Merlara.

Surrounding them are nine of my Red-U men dressed same as the man, in red leather apparel of full body tactical suits and matching boots. Hands at the butt of their weapons, they stand alert but a good distance from the scene, unsure and awaiting my orders. I can't tell if the poignant smell of fear in the air is theirs or of the man—hands in the air and gun in his face—whose unfortunate name made my 'Wanted' list. Apparently, I'm getting lenient on some motherfuckers.

Standing to the side too is Al-Noyal, my Beta. We were together when the report of an intruder came through, mere seconds after I felt the unauthorized breech.

As I draw closer, I take in the sight of it all. And the palpable tension strumming the lazy, late afternoon breeze punctuated by birds chattering and the rustling of leaves overhead.

There's a heavy chill in the air. That, and a fresh scent of blood.

My eyes gravitate to Merlara. Skin glistening and near naked in just black lace panties and a tight tank top. Tight enough that the wet flimsy material stays plastered to her astounding t**s and stops midriff, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her damp hair sticks to the sides of her bisque face, sun kissed by the rays of sun peeking through the patches of leaves. She must've been swimming. The folded ends of her haphazard top suggests she threw it on in a hurry. My eyebrows knit. Was she swimming . . .naked? Skinny dipping?

Fuckin' hell!

Barefoot, her stance puts her back slightly in my direction. And with the gun leveled in her left hand, she can only see me in her peripheral. The candy yellow of her nail polish stands out against the dark metal of the gun, in turn highlighting the blood on her knuckles which isn't hers, judging by the blood on the healing torn lip of the nitwit feet away from her. Far as I know, she's double-handed but I've seen her favour her lefts in combat.

I eye the gun in her hand.

I have seen women fight. Seen them wield knives and arms. Always in manic fear and with trembling hands, or in a frenzy. But Merlara is none of that. Quite the contrary. Unfeeling, she points the gun with the calm resolve of someone who knows the power she commands. Detached but with calculative control. I've seen her keep her cool in more life-threatening circumstances. Witnessed her take out men twice her size without flinching. And much as it cramps to admit it, most of my Red-U have nothing on her. Absolution powers or not.

"How do you own a gun?" Curious, I ask not because I'd be surprised she does. Black-U are exempt from carrying guns, especially the brand she's got right now.

"I don't." Her eyes remain fixed on the fucker before her. There's blood on her cheekbone productive of an already perfectly knitted cut. "This belongs to him."

That gets my brow to fascinatingly lift a little.

I look again at the unlucky fuckwit across from her. Still in his Red-U get-up even as a rogue. He's got a hulking, well-developed body mass with an overall athletic look, similar to my build but about two inches shorter. Yet all he has to show for it is his bloodied face and palms up in the fuckin' air.

But no, what's got me hiding a smile is the apparent ease with which Merlara must've freed him of his gun and her ability to wield it. With the help of very powerful sorcery, I made sure every Red-U man gets their guns customized which implies the inability of others to so much as touch it. Attempting to would be suicidal. Yet, Merlara had no doubt mentally hacked it in the fig seconds it took to disarm him and get him staring down the muzzle of his own gun.

Hands still in my pocket, I casually walk up behind her. Careful to keep those creamy ass cheeks away from my tenting fly but close enough my front is one with her back. With calm precision, her aimed hand stays rock steady even as her heartbeat goes wonky and I smile the tiniest of smiles.

I've never been so elated to hear someone's heart go batshit in my presence. And I've had lots of hearts do that. Men and women in terror, awe, pain, pleasure. But with her, it's only fair that her heart's going crazy too. It can't be just me.

The night at the bar is still a mystery to me. Instant mate recognition is rare and has been for several generations which would involve my wolf declaring 'mate'. So the mate tattoos are the way to go now. But with none of that, I haven't the slightest clue what that sudden intense pull meant.

I lean into her, into the left side of her neck. I look from the strength in her arm to the hold of the gun, and to the drained face of the fucker whose eyes are widened. As they should be, with the deadly accuracy she's aiming with.

I stare right ahead as I whisper into her delicate neck. "You're not gonna shoot, are you?"

As much as I care none for the waste of bullet and oxygen, I'd prefer he be interrogated. However way he chooses to slip after or during that is entirely up to him. With luck, he'd live to see the end of it. Slim luck.

She shrugs her right shoulder.

"Depends on him," she whispers. Then in a louder voice says, "Have I got a reason to shoot?"

My lips twitch before I realize it. It sounds nothing like a question. More like a plea. One that underlyingly says "Please, oh please give me a reason to put one in you." I heard it. And so did everyone else.

Last time I got a report of an intruder she apprehended, the guy—immobile— was carted away. She'd shot and asked questions later. Her excuse was she didn't like his beard. Seems our friend here knows the story well because in answer to her question, he raises his hands higher, fear obvious in his alert eyes.

Motherfuckin' piece of s**t.

"Alright, Sweet Mint. Try not to shoot me."

Her eyes flick to mine in question. I throw her a quick wink in the same moment I move out from behind her and in front. With a swift jab to the throat, I have our little friend collapsing onto the leaf-littered ground with a heavy thump. Unconscious before he even hit the ground.

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• •• •••Merlara's POV••• •• •

I watch the man fall in the blink of eye it takes Alpha Daen to blur and knock him asleep, snapping off his decorated Red-U badge in the same quick motion. In paranormal speed. One nanosecond he's torturously behind me and the next, he's standing over the man as the Red-U guys come forward to drag him away.

He could've as easily used his Alpha influence but I understand that would be exerting power that'd indicate inclusiveness.

Imperceptible, but I see a look pass between Daen and the only other guy in mufti and longer hair but blonde.

I relinquish the gun to one of the Red-U who then proceeds to file out with the rest of his colleagues, leaving just Alpha Daen and me.

I'd felt more than seen him when he'd walked in with no care in the world. Like he was on an evening stroll and couldn't be bothered but happening upon us—an entertaining sight—decided to make an exception. Play tik-tak on who drops and who stands. Tak for the dipshit on his favoured team of Reds, or tik for me, some drowned rat Black-U girl.

Suddenly feeling naked, I look around for my clothes to find it at the mouth of the creek and soaked, probably in my fight with the sneaky bastard who had a nasty lot to mind-link. I pick up my phone from feet away where it rests with my dorm keys.

I turn around to find Daen looking right at me. With everyone gone but us, the cooing forest suddenly seems louder. And cozy.

"I thought we stopped coming here." Voice husky, he makes the none question sound like an accusation.

You did. But I didn't.

But I don't say that. I let his words float until the moment passes. I instead, give a facial expression equivalent to a noncommittal shrug.

Saying nothing, I walk before him onto the path leading out and I feel him follow right behind.

As I walk, I look around at the trees hoping to find the usual wrap of clothes tied up on tree branches for impromptu shifts but I find nothing. And with my luck, I'm likely going to walk all the way home looking like a drowned rat. The deep voice interrupts my string of muttering curses.

"Here, take this."

I turn around to find Daen whipping off his shirt. His muscles strain against the fabric at the chest and biceps as he gets the t-shirt over his head, causing his shaggy hair to fall over his eyes. The sane move would be to refuse but I'm too busy ogling the sight that greets me beyond his outstretched hand.

His right forearm spots vivid inks but his entire left arm is covered, snaking over his shoulder and probably down his back, leaving his entire front clean. Magnificent is the word and I didn't even know I liked tatts.

Goddess gracious! It's enough that I'm suffering his nearness, he has to go and feed me a sight I wouldn't stop thinking about for days to come, weeks to come. Taut bronze skin where his tattoos end. The mean set of chiseled abs with a slight dent in his lower abdomen leading to the deep V disappearing into his black briefs and pants. Yeah, describe s*x appeal.

Hurriedly, I accept the shirt for the sake of my pebbled n*****s. His scent hits me beyond the sap sweet fragrance of the forest as I throw the shirt on with mumbled thanks. I frown down in an attempt to figure out a spice of his scent I can't place. He mistakes that as me looking at his pants.

"You want my pants off too?" My eyes fly to his face to find the cockiest of smirks. "Sweet Mint, if you wanted me naked and willing, all you need do is ask."

My eyes bulge when he moves to snap off the belt buckle of his jean, prying the top button open. My hand quickly stops him.

As if on cue, we both suck in sharp breaths at the zinging effect of my touch. I ignore the jingle sound of my keys and phone clattering to the ground. I look down at my hand over his large, tatted ones equally grazing his hard abdomen.

With the continued contact, whatever it is thrums like taut guitar strings connected to a power source. Getting stronger even, if that's possible.

I won't admit it but I've always held out hope for a mate. Someone who sees stars when he looks at me, no matter my shortcomings, through thick and thin. I came close once and it burnt me. So yeah, I've avoided contemplating the bar from few days ago. Avoided dwelling on what the static electricity between us could mean. It took great effort, but I convinced myself it was the alcohol or just something I'd absolved that night. Unsuccessfully because, even though my wolf's as clueless as I am, I could feel her snorting at my stupid optimism.

Daen breaks the heated silence, smiling devilishly.

"I was going to say feel free to touch. But it doesn't look like you need much encouraging."

What?

My eyes refocus on my hand still on him. I withdraw my hand instantly and take a little step back, cheeks flaming. I try to get my s**t together but I look up into the inferno that is his eyes and it goes to hell.

"But why?" I mutter the abrupt question. I note that he isn't surprised by it. Doesn't play dumb either.

He angles his head and regards me.

"I don't know the 'why' yet. And neither does my wolf."

I mull this over for a beat while my eyes caress every inch of his rugged face. He's rocking a V-shaped stubble beard. My fingers itch to trace it. From a near distance, a scavenger bird's screech echoes as it pirouettes high up and flaps away.

I shake my head tinily. "What changed? We've known for awhile now. This is new. This—it's different."

Leave it to me to state the obvious.

He nods gravely but with a sweet smile on his face. "Nothing's changed. Not much, if you really think about it."

I'm tempted to take another step back as he comes closer, putting our bodies a hair breadth apart. Him gloriously bare chested and I, in his shirt and panties with my head angled to meet his charcoal eyes.

His fingers brush aside my drying hair to leave a hot trail over my cheeks as his warm hand comes to cup my face. I unconsciously lean into it with a sigh.

"You feel that?"

Ofcourse, I do. The contact is driving me nuts with something I'd rather not give name to. It's like this potent but invisible current being transmitted between our touching skins. Like a fiery pull that makes me want to get as close as possible.

I say nothing but then I don't need to. It's obvious in his eyes that he knows all too well because he feels it too.

"Yeah," he concurs. "Pretending it hasn't always been there is fuckin' exhausting. And frankly speaking, that s**t takes energy. Energy I'd rather not spare."

I quickly pry my eyes open not even aware I closed them.

"What does that mean?"

He only smiles bigger.

"What do you want it to mean?"