Page 79
The smell of warm bread and honey pulls me from sleep. Darian sits on the edge of our bed, a wooden tray balanced on his knees, fresh flatbread, soft cheese, a steaming cup of chamomile. His brown eyes catch the morning light filtering through the windows, and the bond between us hums low and golden, a warmth settling in my chest like embers banked for the night.
"Eat," he says, tearing off a piece of bread, smearing it with cheese, and lifting it to my lips. I bite, and he takes the next piece himself, chewing while his gaze holds mine. Something in the way he watches me, steady, unwavering, makes my throat tight. I tear a strip of bread and press it to his mouth. His lips brush my fingertips, and the bond sparks, a tingle racing from my hand up my arm.
His palm slides along my forearm, slow and deliberate. The sparks follow, warm, electric trails dancing across my skin wherever he touches. His fingers trace down to my thigh, and the tingle deepens, pooling low in my belly. I shift beneath the oversized shirt, my legs parting instinctively. His hand drifts between my thighs, and when his fingertip finds my clit, a jolt of pleasure sharpens the golden hum into something molten. A moan slips from my throat before I can catch it.
One finger slides inside me, then two, stretching slowly. His other hand cups my breast through the thin fabric, his thumb circling my nipple in tight, deliberate strokes that send sparks cascading down my ribs. Three fingers now, curling deep, and my hips roll against his hand, chasing the pressure building low and urgent. His eyes never leave mine, dark, blown wide, watching every flutter of my lashes, every parting of my lips.
He leans down, trailing wet kisses along my jaw, my neck, down to the crescent moon scar on my collarbone. His tongue traces the old mark, and the bond flares white hot, a current snapping through every nerve. I grab his face and kiss him, deep, slow, tasting honey and chamomile on his tongue. His fingers slide free, both hands cradling my waist as he guides me back against the pillows, his body pressing over mine, the heat of him radiating through the thin shirt.
The bedroom door slams open.
Two small bodies barrel through, Damian first, dark haired and wild eyed at six, Darlene right behind him, her four year old legs pumping furiously. I shove Darian hard. He goes sideways off the bed, hitting the floor with a heavy thud and a grunt that rattles the tray.
Darlene plants her hands on her hips, surveying the scene, me flushed and tangled in sheets, Darian sprawled on the floor, the breakfast tray tilted sideways dripping honey onto the blanket. Her little face scrunches with the exact expression Darian wears when he's about to deliver a lecture.
"Mama, Papa, don't play rough with each other." She taps her foot. "That's what you always tell me and Damian."
Damian, still half in the doorway, nods solemnly. His eyes, Darian's eyes, dart between us, then glares at Darian. He probably thinks his dad was bullying his mom. He looks at his dad like no six year old should.
Darian, flat on his back on the floor, stares at the ceiling. A laugh rumbles out of him, helpless and low.
*****
Later that night.
“Silver Moon, we are under attack.” Rylan’s voice rings through our pack mindlink.
My eyes snap open. Beside me, Darian is already throwing the covers back before Rylan’s voice finishes crashing through our pack mindlink.
“Combat trained wolves, report to your assigned defensive positions. All other pack members get to your safe rooms. If you cannot reach one safely, get to the pack house. Protect the pups and those who cannot fight. Wait for further instructions.”
“Darlene.”
“Damian.”
Darian and I split the second we hit the hallway. I rush into Darlene’s room and find her already sitting up, her green eyes wide with fear. Before I can reach the bed, she grabs her stuffed teddy bear from beside her pillow and hugs it against her chest.
“Mommy?”
“I’ve got you, baby.” I scoop her into my arms and hurry back into the hallway. Darian comes out of Damian’s room at almost the same time with our son held securely against his chest. Damian has one arm wrapped around his father’s neck. In his other hand, he’s clutching a pair of the Meta glasses Luna Selena bought our family during our shopping trip.
“Safe room,” Darian says. I start toward the stairs, then stop. Darian stops too. We look at each other. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
“Pack house,” we say together.
We move at the same time. Darian takes the stairs quickly with Damian while I follow with Darlene clinging to me. When we reach the bottom, Darian heads straight for the front door. I spot the small emergency bag I always keep ready, grab it, and sling the strap over my shoulder without slowing down.
Darian opens the door, and we run. He stays right beside me as wolves pour from the houses around us. Some shift and race toward the fighting while others hurry toward the pack house with pups in their arms. A howl tears through the distance, followed by another. Darian’s head turns toward the sound, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t leave us.
“Almost there.”
Darlene buries her face against my shoulder with Teddy trapped between us. I tighten my hold on her and keep running.
The pack house comes into view with the doors already thrown wide open. Wolves stream through them while Luna Selena stands inside directing everyone with a calm authority that cuts through the fear around us.
