Bite the Bullet, Page 2

  “Then slow your pace and walk it off.”

  “Fine. Are you coming with me, then, or not?”

  Sasha slowed her pace to a trot, breathing hard. Cold air knifed her lungs and she hated that Hunter was right; she was burning up. Acute pain made her fight against a whimper. She could tell that Hunter was undecided. He claimed he was going to make camp and needed to eat, but yet he was following her, torn. That was the problem, they were both torn. But she had to remember what was at stake: lives. Human lives. She should have taken the meds Doc had developed, but doing so blinded her to so much of the preternatural world that she needed to see. One week clean and she could see Fae auras. Two weeks clean and she’d been able to see the subtle mesh of scales beneath the skins of those who hailed from the Order of the Dragon. Phantoms announced themselves to her nervous system now even before she saw them, bristling the hairs on the back of her neck. Without meds muddying her perception, she could scent other Were-beings, especially other wolves, a half mile away. And Vampires made her snarl while still vapor. Meds might have made her survive the heat with less duress, but they definitely wouldn’t make her job in New Orleans any easier.

  Bottom line was, she had to focus—had to collect her squad members Fisher and Woods from the Canadian border, and then double back to the big shindig in New Orleans, regardless of Hunter’s beef with the Werewolf clans or Shogun, the alpha southeast Asian pack leader.

  As it was, HQ didn’t even know that Fisher and Woods had made it out of Afghanistan alive. Only Doc knew the truth. Flashes of Rod’s Werewolf infection going full-blown entered her mind and she briefly closed her eyes as she recalled his death at the barrel of her gun. Captain Rod Butler was more than a fellow soldier—he’d been her closest friend, like a blood brother. The image of dropping her mentor would always haunt her.

  Hunter clearly didn’t get it. There were also hundreds of decisions to address, like whether or not it was safer to keep Fisher and Woods on the books as dead or let it be known that these two guys with a little natural wolf in their DNA posed no threat to people.

  Annoyed that Hunter had neither answered her nor sounded like he was following her, she began to call out to him again, causing her voice to bounce off naked trees and frozen earth.

  “My guys have been shifted around the damned globe, and it’s been nearly a month since I could shake the brass at the base and get a free pass to handle things my way. Now I’m supposed to show up late and—”

  “The time lapse did them good,” a low, even voice said, standing close enough to her that she could feel his breath. “They needed time to learn what they were, just like you did. My pack brothers have been educating them to the ways of the Shadow Wolf.”

  “Oh, great. Just fine, Kung Fu,” she said, now picking up her pace to a panting jog. “So they’ll really be clued in to my so-called condition. Well, ya know what? You’re really pissing me off! Maybe I don’t want my guys to know all of that. Haven’t you ever heard of things being on a need-to-know basis?”

  “They won’t be able to scent it, only other Shadow Wolves. They’re just familiars.”

  “And knowing that your men will know makes me feel better, how?” Sasha began running faster, not sure of the direction but needing to move.

  “They know you’re my mate. Period. What occurs between a life-mated pair is natural. Known. No shame.” His voice had slipped out of the shadows at her side along with a wisp of warm breath against her ear before she’d veered off from the sensation. “There is nothing more for them to know.”

  “We have been over this already, Hunter! I told you I wasn’t ready for the life-mate commitment. We’re lovers, true, pack mates, but—”

  “Decide under the moon. Making love to me when you need to isn’t a sign of weakness or a criminal offense; nor is being my mate. Let the pack, or even the clan, assume what they will. They don’t have to know what parameters define our so-called relationship. It is unimportant, as long as you and I know the truth. Period.”

  “What!” She stopped running and folded her arms over her chest. “That is such a crock. It’s about respect. When I meet a new clan, I require that—that’s what’s period, mister. I’m not going down to New Orleans weak and waltzing into an international diplomats’ meeting under the whispers of foul rumors and—”

  “Why would your body following the natural rhythms of ancient Shadow cycles and also having a mate challenge your respect? Now I’m confused.”

  She turned, following his voice as he circled her. “Because it does—don’t try to cloud the issue.”

  “How? You are trying to layer Western patriarchal concepts about female weaknesses over a culture that does not understand that. A strong she-Shadow is just that—a strong she-Shadow. Her being in heat only makes her stronger, more desirable . . . it doesn’t impact her authority. You’re my pack alpha, Sasha—even if you have yet to commit to being my life mate. And while I would hate to see you fight for dominance at the clan level to take a lead role as North American clan she-alpha, I have no doubts that you would prevail. I admire that.” He paused and she could hear the strain in his voice as it echoed through the trees and she tried to follow it, her ears keen.

  Suddenly his voice exited the shadows on what felt like a sonic boom, containing so much force and passion that it gave her a start. “The International Federation of Shadow Clans, even the Werewolf Clans, view a she-alpha in phase with much awe and respect—and screw the flaky Fae Parliament or the lesser voting blocs coming from the Mythics and phantom feudal lords! And you know we don’t give a damn about the Vampire Cartel. How can I make you understand?”

  Sasha closed her eyes and counted to ten as her voice dropped to a disgusted mutter. “Oh, my God . . . I cannot believe I’m standing out here in the damned forest arguing philosophy with a male wolf.”

  A low growl of discontent made her open her eyes. “I do not believe this conversation, either, Sasha. It makes no sense—especially when the moon is full.”

  “You think I’m enjoying this?” she shouted, suddenly defensive and not sure why. “I didn’t ask for this, okay? And it’s the first time I’ve felt so out of control—why now, huh, when I have everything else to contend with? And, so what, I was raised with a Western perspective where we’re used to compartmentalizing things!” She was practically stuttering she was so upset and had begun to walk in a tight circle. “Why now? At the most inopportune time—damn!”

  “Because of me,” a deep voice murmured, stalking her as it resonated between the trees.

  “Gimme a break.” She leaned against a tree and closed her eyes, beginning to feel fatigue weigh on her.

  “How many times do I have to tell you I am no liar?”

  If she wasn’t so frustrated she would have smiled at his peevish tone. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, all right,” she muttered. “Your grandfather said this first time would happen because I had finally been around my own kind.”

  “Correct,” a low rumble ricocheted from nearby. “You and I had been intimate, your senses heightened to male Shadow pheromone . . . now your body has adjusted to no longer only being with humans—each phase will be like this.”

  “Every time the moon goes full? You have got to be kidding me!”

  “No . . . like Grandfather told you, just when it’s your time . . . and I’ve taken herbal precautions, as always, so you don’t have to worry about a pregnancy before you’re ready.”

  “Glad this shit only happens once a quarter, then,” she volleyed back, and was met with eerie silence.

  Sasha pushed off the tree and strained to listen for Hunter, and then let out a hard sigh. “All right, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that . . . about you or kids. I just hate being out of control, okay?”

  Silence met her. Now she had to deal with a wounded wolf, too? Oh, puh-leease! The absolute insanity of being in this predicament made her finally throw her head back and howl.

  “You think you’re the only one who hates being out
of control?” a low, tense voice said behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder and then turned slowly. The most beautiful jet-black specimen had stepped out of the shadows, eyes blazing deep golden fire. He was absolutely breathtaking and stood no less than three feet at the shoulders. A silver chain around his neck dangled with a large hunk of etched amber that matched the one she also wore. All she could do was watch the sinew knead beneath his glossy coat as the moon shone blue-black against him. And then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared to her, he was gone.

  Why that made her frantic, she wasn’t sure. Why just a glimpse of his wolf had coaxed out her own, she would never truly know. But her backpack hit the snow, and she stripped while running, almost laughing as her wolf broke free to hunt his in the shadows.

  Their mission became fuzzy as the primal overtook her human mind. Yes, they had to find the black market sources of demon-infected Werewolf contagion. Yes, they still had to find out if remnants from Guilliaume and Dexter’s rogue Shadow Wolf faction had made it out alive after that weasel Dexter did . . . needed to know the real role any Vampires played in all of this going forward. She never trusted the species. Needed to rendezvous with her guys that were operating in the shadows in a way that even her brass at NORAD didn’t know about . . . but this thing that had her in its grip was so welded to her DNA that she couldn’t have fought it if she’d tried—and she had really, really tried.

  Hunter headed for a virgin carpet of snow, untouched powder along a lonely slope. Stars winked against midnight as though a thousand diamonds scattered on black velvet. Didn’t she understand this was as much a part of who she was as the uniform she wore? More so, as it came from within. And in this form she was so beautiful . . . incredible silver coat that reflected slivers of the moon, just like her clear gray eyes.

  Wanting to witness her hunting him, he gave her wide berth, circling her on the slope and hanging back, just so he could face her head-on. Intense joy filled his chest as she lowered her head, growled, and began to stalk him. Oh, yeah . . . do me.

  Laughing inside, he tilted his head, released a playful yelp, and began running again, loving the chase. He knew what they had to do, knew what was at risk. Their job descriptions were the same—exterminate demon-infected Werewolves and any supernatural threat to humanity.

  It was simply a matter of style that created differences between them. Anticipation knotted his stomach as he heard her gaining on him. For centuries his kind hunted according to the natural laws of the universe; she was led and directed by those with no innate understanding or respect of natural ebbs and flows. Perhaps one day she would see the wisdom of the elders, but tonight he really didn’t care if she did or not. As long as she kept chasing him . . . as long as her incredible body hunted his . . . as long as she became his mate and gave into an urge that was as basic as breathing, they could square up their differences in the morning.

  The sudden absence of sound made him glance over his shoulder just in time to see Sasha go airborne. She collided against him with a thud; willingly her prey, he rolled over on his back and gave her his throat. The sport had gone out of resisting her. Glistening white teeth rested on his Adam’s apple, pinning him down. He closed his eyes and released a mournful howl, his man-shape returning naked and shuddering beneath her she-wolf. He wanted her so badly, he didn’t care if she got angry and bit him; he’d heal.

  Unafraid, his fingers reveled in her thick, soft coat, soon sliding against heat-dampened skin as she shape-shifted right into his arms. The snow at his back began to melt the very second her hot body blanketed him and she took his mouth, coaxing a groan up his throat.

  “Just once, like this, out here, tonight,” he murmured, stuttering promises into her mouth as his hands traveled over her smooth backside. “Then we’ll get back on mission. I swear—I just can’t function like this.”

  The truth finally broke him as he lost his fingers in her thicket of brunette hair, cradling her skull. It was impossible to think, much less remain rational as she dragged her voluptuous five-foot-seven-inch frame up his body in a molten sweep. He was beyond pride. She was in heat. The moan she pulled out of him was damned near a howl.

  Skin against skin was making him delirious. Steel-gray eyes pierced his as her silver and amber amulet grazed the similar ward he wore against his chest. His trembling hands soon covered her breasts, his thumbs gently caressing her taut, caramel nipples. She winced with a soft moan, encouraging his fingers to tease her pebbled flesh all the more. Breaths growing shallower, he watched as a combination of agony and pleasure overtook her expression. Beyond articulating, his mind focused on one word: please.

  She didn’t answer him directly, but pulled his bottom lip between her teeth for a second before kissing him harder. He took that as a yes and nearly lost his mind.

  Within an instant he’d flip-rolled her so quickly and with so much force that her body left a deep impression in the snow. Melting snow by the second from heat and friction, the slick sound of her, the puddle forming at her back, the sound of her voice, his, all of it echoing off the night, the trees, the very sky itself caused him to enter her on one hard lunge.

  Creamy, café au lait skin filled his palms as her breasts pressed against his chest. Her voice fractured the night and his spine, contracting every muscle in his groin with her earthy wail. But it was her scent that had stolen his judgment, just like the feel of her tightening sheath dredged his sac, the all of her demanding recompense for denied release. It wasn’t his fault, he’d tried all evening and she wouldn’t hear of it—now she was breaking his back . . . and he loved it, loved her, couldn’t stop if she’d shot him.

  Every hot sweep of her silky hands over his ass caused a shudder, and he cried out when she clutched the halves of it to bring him against her even harder. There was no way to drag enough air into his lungs through his nose. He had to break the suffocating kiss or pass out with a hump in his back. But leaving her mouth, tearing his away from hers, was just as painful. All he could do was throw his head back and cry out her name to the understanding moon.

  She released so hard that it felt like her spine might snap from the sudden arch. Her fingers couldn’t hold enough of his broad back, nor could her thighs seem to anchor themselves around his waist tightly enough. She needed him inside her but the ache of each contraction that traveled up her canal to devour her womb put jags of his name in her mouth. Every exhale was timed with his deep return to her body. As she thrashed with pleasure, his name was soon broken cries sent forth into the relentless wind.

  Tears stung her eyes, his thrusts making her crazy, while the full moon made her entire body wax anything but philosophical. She was still shuddering when he rolled them over with her belly cemented to his, his fingers caressing her back. His large hands sent warmth across her skin. Resting on his hard body was like laying against hot stone on a cool spring day.

  Damp, temporarily sated, she could feel his heart slamming against hers through ribs, muscle, and skin. Her amulet was precariously tangled with his, just like their legs were. Both panting, she ran her fingers through his wild spill of hair.

  “We need to pitch a tent . . . go back and recover the dropped weapons and supplies,” he finally said, gasping. “Hunt down dinner.”

  She just nodded, hadn’t yet caught her breath. He leaned up and suddenly kissed her, forcing her to look into his eyes as he held her face when he pulled back. His gaze was so furtive she thought the man was going to throw his head back and howl.

  “I can build a fire, melt snow, make enough water for you to wash up in the morning . . . but with you in this condition, I’m gonna have to do this again tonight. Especially after we hunt. I’m just being honest.”

  Sasha simply closed her eyes and nodded again. Some things were just natural. The man was definitely no liar.

  Chapter 2

  Full awareness slowly returned as Sasha opened one eye and squinted against the morning brightness. It felt like she’d been hit in th
e back of her head with a sledgehammer, but she could only smile at the memory of last night. Sun bounced off the snow and created a reflective glare that made it seem as though headlights were focused in her direction. The last thing she remembered before she’d shuddered and passed out was Hunter’s strong arm around her waist as he kissed the back of her skull, mounted her, and repeatedly told her he was sorry. Hell, she wasn’t.

  Little by little she was able to tolerate the filtered light coming through the tent wall. A cool vacancy at her back told her that Hunter was already up, awake, and on the move. She strained to hear him through her mental haze and then inhaled deeply to pick up his scent. What a night . . .

  Struggling to sit upright, she pulled the thick sleeping bag around her. It felt like she’d been in a prize fight . . . then she remembered. Oh yeah, the moose. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, taking a moment to relive the joy of it all. The sultry scent of a morning fire teased her nose, and soon the smell of grilling meat drew her out of her private reverie to find her clothes.

  She shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight as she opened the tent flap and peeked out. Hunter looked up at her from the sizzling spit with a smile. Hunger made her stomach growl, but the look of him squatting by the flame, jeans drawn taut against his thighs and only a thermal T-shirt hugging his ridiculously chiseled chest and abs, threatened to get her started again. He knew it, she knew it, the situation balanced dangerously on a razor’s edge and could be seen smoldering in their eyes.

  The issue was, whoever crossed the line first would dictate the next Shadow dance. But as badly as she wanted to just hang out in no-man’s-land with him, making love and forgetting about the rest of the world, she couldn’t. They both knew they had a mission to complete, even if he’d been right about taking a brief break. She saw that in his eyes, too—the conflict—the same one that must have shone in hers.

  Hunter stood slowly, unfurling his fantastic body from the squatting position he’d been in. The sight of him was nearly paralyzing, but her mind seized on the almost eclipsed priority: the mission.