In the Crossfire (Bloodhaven) (20 page)

She couldn’t stop herself from touching him. His face, his silky hair, his hot skin. She moaned when he pulled her neckline down to suck at the upper flesh of her breast.

Something swelled inside her, shifted like tectonic plates in a space deep inside that she’d always thought impenetrably hollow. It was a bright, wretched realization as Isobel forced herself to fight the truth.

No, not fight it. Face it. There was no battling this one. He had crawled underneath all her defenses and taken root in the last place she’d wanted him. Her heart.

Struggling to regain control, she pushed his head back from the kisses he was planting along her collarbone. She buried her face in the crook of his neck.

“Liam. Wait. Not now. . . . Naley’s waiting for us.”

She could hear his heavy breathing. His chest rose and fell as he snaked an arm around her waist. He kissed the inner shell of her ear.

“I want you. So much.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Tonight. We can. . . . Tonight.” A not-quite-steady laugh escaped her. “My bed’s much bigger than yours.”

He sucked on her earlobe, making her squirm against him. “Naley. . . ?”

“Bedrooms are soundproofed. I constructed it that way so she wouldn’t be disturbed whenever I got in or left at odd hours of the night.”

A shuddering breath as his hold tightened around her. “Tonight,” he echoed, his dark tone making it a promise.

Isobel listened as Liam’s heart rate finally began to calm. She was only too grateful that he couldn’t see inside her head. Couldn’t see the desperate panic already quivering inside her as she recalled the terrible realization that had dawned on her only a few moments ago.

She’d known it would come down to this. She’d known if she opened that door, if she let him in, she would get involved.

She hadn’t wanted to get involved.

There was a reason she didn’t do relationships. Relationships rarely ever worked out for a Council agent, often leading to sometimes acrimonious, but always inevitable, partings. Getting involved meant an inevitable separation in future, when the relationship had run its course. When the trials and tribulations of trying to maintain a relationship in the face of a high-pressure job would finally cause one or the other to break and leave.

She’d known from the start that Liam would matter too much if she let him. He would take too much from her, things she wasn’t prepared to give. Now she had a feeling it was too late, that no matter what she did, she couldn’t pretend that all she wanted from him was purely physical.

She had fallen in love with the damn wolf, and it was all his fault.

It was only a matter of time before this thing they had between them, hot and sweet and intensely beautiful, came to an end. And she had only herself to blame for letting it begin in the first place.

* * *

“I don’t want you to go,” said Naley.

Isobel saw Liam halt mid-chew. He swiftly swallowed his pizza before replying, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Those men said they want you to come home.
Their
home.”

Isobel reached out and stroked her niece’s back, trying to soothe away the tension bunched along her spine. They were curled up next to each other on the sofa, while Liam had appropriated the armchair. He’d cast an odd look at the rocking chair situated across from them when he’d first stepped into the living room, but other than that he hadn’t commented on it.

Naley quivered under her touch, but didn’t lift her challenging stare away from Liam. Despite—or, rather, because of—her determinedly cheerful demeanor throughout dinner, it was evident the girl had been worried ever since their encounter with the two wolf-shifters earlier in the day. She’d chattered on, a verbal runaway train as the three of them layered toppings in the kitchen and ate in the living room. She’d only trailed off into silence five minutes ago before adamantly making her pronouncement.

Liam met Naley’s gaze head-on. Isobel marveled, still remembering a time not too long ago when he could barely maintain eye contact.

“They want a lot of things, Naley,” he said calmly. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to give.”

Naley’s brow furrowed. She looked far from reassured.

He leaned forward and tugged on one of her dark curls. “In fact, I’m going to go meet them and tell them so.”

Her eyes rounded. Isobel’s, however, sharpened.

“Really?” Naley breathed.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Isobel demanded.

He sat back in his seat. “I’ve avoided them for far too long. It’s time I faced them and explained how things are. Like I should’ve done long ago.”

Naley’s hopeful look swiftly turned anxious. “What if they knock you out and drag you back with them anyway?”

Isobel frowned. “Where do you get these ideas?”

“It’s the sorta thing you’d do, Aunt Iz.”

Isobel sputtered. Liam grinned, and that was far more effective in stopping her in her tracks.

“They can
try,
” he told Naley, “but they won’t succeed.”

“There’s two of ’em and one of you. Aunt Iz—”

“Aunt Iz shouldn’t have to fight my battles for me.” He cast Isobel a meaningful look. She lifted her hands, palms out in surrender.

“But Aunt Iz—”

“Liam’s fought his way through a war, cub. His weakling cousins haven’t. He can take them easily enough.”

Liam turned a sardonic expression on her. Isobel merely smiled.

“I’m not going anywhere, Naley. I’m staying.”

“You promise?”

“Cub,” said Isobel, “why don’t you check on that third batch of pizza in the oven? Liam still looks a bit hungry over there.”

He narrowed his eyes, but Naley leapt eagerly from the couch and grabbed his empty plate from his hands. “That’s what I keep
telling
you,” she called over her shoulder as she scurried off. “He has nothing to
eat
at his place!”

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Liam asked, but the girl had already disappeared into the kitchen.

He returned his attention to Isobel. She effected a casual smile and slid her own empty plate onto the coffee table.

“Smooth redirection there,” he murmured. “Did you think to save me from making promises I can’t keep?”

Isobel grimaced.
Busted.

“You don’t believe me.” His tone turned flat. “You don’t think I have the strength to stay.”

“
No.
” Isobel scowled. “That’s not true. Stop talking that way. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, and I don’t want to hear otherwise from you.”

His expression softened, then he shook his head. “I’m not going to cave in to my pack’s demands, Isobel. It’s one thing for them to push me on when I plan to ‘get better’ and become a . . . a functioning member of the pack. I’m a grown man. I’ve known them all my life. I’m used to how they operate: bulldozing their way through all wants and needs but those they deem beneficial to the pack.” His countenance darkened. “It’s a whole other matter for them to scare Naley and try to manipulate you. They can fight me all they want, but you two are off-limits.”

“Don’t get overprotective on me, Liam. I can handle them just fine.”

“I’m not being
over
protective, dammit. I’m simply being protective.” He cut her off before she could speak: “You shouldn’t
have
to ‘handle’ them. They’re not your responsibility. They’re mine.”

“You can’t tell me not to get involved, Liam. You can’t tell me not to—”
Not to care.
She shut her mouth with a snap.

Finally she continued, “As I said, you’re far stronger than you give yourself credit for. Than your pack gives you credit for. No, I don’t believe you’ll have any problem bringing them around.”

“But you think I’ll eventually leave anyway. Why?” He paused. “I get it. I have a bad track record. I led a nomadic life for two years. It doesn’t reflect well on me.”

“That’s not it, Liam—”

“But it’s different now. It’s different
here.
” He fisted his hand, mouth creasing downward as his expression turned insistent. Frustrated. “I’ve lived here for more than a year. That’s the longest I’ve ever lived anywhere since leaving the clan. The moment I arrived here. . . .” He swallowed. “The moment I met you, I knew leaving just wasn’t in the cards. Ever. I’m here for the long haul, Isobel.”

She stared at him, stricken.

It was going to hurt so, so damn much when this all fell apart. When neither of them could take the strain anymore.

“Isobel?”

Distantly, she wondered if her expression was the same as his had been when she’d left him—naked, heart pounding, chest still heaving—underneath the stars last night.

His brows drew together. “I don’t think I like what’s going on in that maddening head of yours.”

She put on the unassuming mask again, so familiar and well-worn. It was a second skin to her. An impenetrable armor.

His face immediately darkened. Before he could speak, however, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She was off the couch in an instant, sweeping her phone in hand. “Excuse me, I’m expecting this call.”

She pretended not to hear his uttered curse on her way out of the living room.

She answered her phone in the alcove. “You certainly took your time.”

The impatient sound on the other end of the line was a cross between a growl and a
harrumph.
“Don’t you start. I’ve already got one female telling me what to do.”

“Stop referring to me as a
female,
” Sara’s voice shot from the background.

Isobel smirked. Grayson Moran was a good friend, a wolf-shifter, head of Moran Industries, and apparently unable to handle an ordinary human as a mate. She could almost hear him count to ten.

“You mentioned in your message that you needed a favor,” he growled.

“I do. I figure you’re the best person to talk to regarding referrals. Specifically, for prosthetics.” She raked a hand through her hair. “It’s for an agent. A . . . a friend. He lost his hand.”

A pause.

“Tell me everything,” Grayson said, all his attention sharply focused.

As the CEO of Moran Industries, Grayson headed the nation’s top manufacturer of shifter-related health and pharmaceutical products. Isobel couldn’t recall if the company were involved in prosthetics as well, but even if it wasn’t, Grayson had enough contacts in the industry that he could point her in the right direction.

Like her, Grayson despised the factions. In fact, his dedication to contributing financial and other resources to fighting the factions was how the two of them had met in first place. Their friendship had since grown over the years.

That friendship had been shaken not too long ago, however, when a faction had threatened Grayson’s mate. The Council, in an attempt to safeguard its own interests, had sent Isobel after Sara, and Grayson hadn’t appreciated it in the least. Never mind that Isobel had only been following orders.

Jamal’s face registered in Isobel’s consciousness as she recalled his shouts earlier in the day:
God-fucking-dammit, Saba, stop following the damn rules.

What the hell else was she supposed to have done?

Grayson hadn’t wanted to speak to her after everything had gone down, so she’d left him and Sara alone while she went after each and every one of those faction members. They’d scurried into their dark, dank corners like the roaches they were, waiting until the time was right so that they could emerge from their hiding places. She’d patiently and methodically hunted them down one by one. She liked being organized that way.

Whether or not Grayson had officially forgiven her yet, she knew she could count on him to help now. He wouldn’t turn her away, that much she knew. At the very least, he was sure to lend aid to a Council agent who’d been injured while trying to apprehend a faction leader.

He listened as Isobel told him about Jamal’s condition. He asked specific questions, not all of which she was able to answer. She gave what information she could.

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” he said. “I’ll send Terris over on Monday to see your friend. Once she’s read his file and assessed him properly, she can recommend which line of bio-prosthetics is most suitable. The sooner he gets fitted, the better it’ll take.”

“It needs to have complete range of motion,” Isobel warned. Anything less meant Jamal might as well be stuck behind desk duty, and she knew he’d hate that. Money was no object; the Council would cover it, given that Jamal had been injured in the line of duty. Given the dangers they faced, all agents had one hell of a health-care plan.

“Naturally,” he rejoined. “He’ll still have to go through an adjustment period, though. The emotional and psychological ramifications are sometimes worse than the actual physical harm. He’ll have to train hard to get fully functional and back in the field.”

She allowed herself a
whoosh
of breath. “Thanks, Grayson. I owe you one.”

“Damn right you do,” he grumbled good-naturedly, and Isobel knew then that their friendship would survive.