Nightfall (16 page)

He smacked his fist into his hand. “If Mitch was right and this is magic, then who the fuck knows what's possible? Those things out there shouldn't exist—beasts so wrong that you can hardly stand to look at them. Monsters that turn into
men
.”

“I guess in comparison, what we have doesn't seem as scary.” She tapped a rhythm against the glass. “So what now?”

“When you feel brave enough to peel open your brain, then we'll talk.”

“When you feel brave enough to talk instead of intimidate, I'll take you up on that.”

They watched each other like wary enemies. That fight-or-flight feeling snuffed out, and even his hard-on took a powder. He just felt ... tired. “Look, can you change my dressings? My back itches and it's driving me nuts.”

“Huh. You're actually asking me?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll get the supplies.”

She crossed his path, the musky, charged-up smell of her like liquor in his blood. Ripping open base fears had dimmed his arousal, but her scent cranked it back to full power. Mason grabbed her arm before she got too far. “Jenna?”

“What?”

“It would bother the hell out of me if you could do that with anyone else.” He brought her wrist to his mouth and kissed the place where her pulse fluttered.

Her sharp inhale was like that whoosh when a match touches gasoline. His body jerked. He bared his teeth and gently bit the pad of flesh at the base of her thumb, daring her in return.

A tremor raced down her arm. “I can't,” she whispered. “Only with you.”

Cool relief washed through him, but reckless violence, coupled with nearly uncontrollable desire, built a storm inside him. Whatever this was, they were in it together.

If he thought he could get away with that, he was out of his mind. Time and again, he pushed her to the breaking point. Fear and longing tied her up in such a knotty package that Jenna no longer knew what she wanted. His mouth, his teeth. He shouldn't promise what he didn't intend to deliver. Heat lingered in her palms and ricocheted under her skin.

Which gave her an idea.

She pulled back with a murmur about his bandages and reined in her anger as she fetched the supplies. Oh, she wouldn't hurt him. He'd been hurt enough, all scars and pain. But a woman had other means of making a man pay.

The way Mason tracked her return with his eyes gave her hope, though she pretended not to notice. He carried himself like a starving animal. But desperate creatures could take a hand off at the wrist. She just needed to be quick.

As Mason shrugged out of his T-shirt, she stifled the base, needy reaction that always slid through her at the sight of his thick muscles. She peeled tape away from his smooth brown skin, lifting the stained gauze pads with delicacy born of practice. He wouldn't let anyone else do this, not that they were lining up. At first she'd told herself that meant something, but as the weeks passed, she realized she was convenient. Nothing more.

If only he'd give her an inkling that she meant more to him than an obligation. But he never did. So she indulged in a resentment she knew was childish.

“You're healing well,” she said quietly.

His back bore fresh new scars, pink-silver and slightly ridged, in addition to the old. Cursorily, she wiped them with peroxide-soaked pads, but they'd healed over a week ago. In time they'd be nothing but raised lumps, signs to mark where the skin had been so violently broken. That evidence of weakness had to gall him, proving he wasn't invincible or immortal. Or maybe that was the problem. He knew he was flesh and blood.

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “I need to be in top form before the thaw.”

Was that all he ever thought about? It frustrated and saddened her. She ran her fingertips over a purple mark high on his left shoulder. Tension coiled through his muscles at the caress. Mason didn't do softness. That was how she'd bring him to his knees.

She knew better than to ask how he'd received the older scars. He'd only stonewall her, and now she had the half-formed mental images from his past to sort through—answers for when she was focused enough to understand. He hadn't thrust those images into her mind out of trust or openness, but rather as a punishment for prying. She needed to find the real man beneath those defenses. He'd lived in a world of tooth and claw too long, forgetting that certain things should be shared, not taken.

He needed a reminder.

Jenna had felt at a disadvantage with Mason since he shoved her into the trunk of her own car.
He
had all the answers.
He
chose the time and place for their encounters. If he didn't learn to respect her, he would never consider her a necessary equal.

She brushed her hand over the next scar, this one down low on his back. A sharp breath hissed through his teeth. In her mind's eye, she played a slow waltz of sensual images. Skin on skin. Mouths clinging. Legs tangled together. She showed him a candlelit version of his raw sexual fantasy, his head at her breast, her hands curled to hold him there.

With such lovely distractions, the crack in his armor became a fissure. As she touched and soothed, she gleaned little details of each battle, every attack. The scars told her unspeakable stories. But this time she gained the knowledge on her terms.

Mason made a small sound. She circled him, no longer pretending to work. Though he was too strong for coercion, he could be seduced. By venting his temper, he'd also shown her what he wanted. So she added a new act to those dark moments. After the fighting, after the pain, he would find her waiting. They'd take each other endlessly, sometimes hard and fierce, sometimes slow and soft. She'd tend his wounds and then remind him he was alive—why living was so important.

Instinctively Jenna knew it could be like that between them ... but not unless he learned to give.

Lightning echoed back. His broad back expanded in a quick inhalation. “You're a witch,” he rasped. “I have to kiss you.”

“Do it.”

Strong arms came around her, hard and hot, dragging her against his body. Jenna didn't wait to seal her mouth to his, lips clinging just as she'd shown him. Mason kissed without finesse, all pressure and demand. He ran his hands down her back, cupped her ass, hauled her closer. She licked his lower lip, then the upper. He answered with a hot lash of tongue, followed by a fierce nip. She sensed his primitive need to take and claim.

“God, you smell good.” Burying his face in her neck, drinking her in, he grazed his teeth along the tender column of her throat.

Jenna moaned, her hands fisting against the bunched muscles of his back. Tremors ran through them both, rocking them together. His cock blazed against her belly, hard enough to hammer nails. Deliberately she slid back and forth against that hot length.

But she wasn't tall enough for the friction she wanted, and a soft growl tore from him as he lifted her, bracing her against the window. The glass was a cool contrast to his heat. Mason would burn her up, and she didn't care. She wound her legs around his hips, locking her ankles at his back.

His big hands slid up, fingers splayed to the sides of her breasts. Jenna felt more aware of herself as a woman than she ever had. Compared to Mason, she was small but also incredibly powerful. She made him feel like
this
. He brushed his thumbs against her nipples, sending a spark all the way to her toes. She wanted him like she wanted air or water or sunlight.

“Someone could come in,” she whispered.

His response came low and guttural. “Let them watch.”

Though she'd never had an exhibitionist streak, dark fire streaked through her at the idea of fucking like animals. Her lips curled away from her teeth in a hungry snarl, and she leaned forward, teething his throat as he'd done hers. They strained together, pure sex impeded by clothing.

Just before she lost her mind entirely, Jenna took a deep breath. And another. It was almost impossible to shove the sex-starved wolf back in its box, but she called on civilized instincts. Her legs fell away from his hips, and she gave him a little shove. He fell back half a step, his expression dazed.

She landed on her feet, but it took everything she had to smile. Pure sham. Her knees damn near gave way. Mason wanted her, more than any man
ever
had.
I can't do this to either of us. I should—No
. She slammed the lid on her doubts. If she couldn't earn his respect any other way, she'd get his attention with her willpower.

“I think you can go without bandages now. The air will do your skin some good.”

He regarded her with stark, simmering desire. “What?” he began. “I mean, you're—”

“Leaving. Don't fuck with me again, or you'll be sorry.” She paused. “Wait, you already are.”

She was too. Not that she'd admit it aloud. Her legs trembled. She wanted him so badly that her head might explode. Her panties were soaked, and merely walking away was an exercise in frustration. As she headed for the door, she half expected him to give chase.

“Jenna.” His too-soft voice came from near the window. “We're not done.”

She flashed a smile over one shoulder as she reached the hallway. “Well, it's over for now, 'cause your pants are too tight to chase me. Maybe you'll fare better next round.”

Before she'd managed twenty steps toward the stairs, she heard the sound of something breaking. Yeah, she shouldn't see Mason for a while, even if he'd had that coming. At the very least, she'd given him something new to brood about. Jenna quickened her step and jogged down toward the bunker at a sprint, where she found Chris and Tru hard at work with sheet metal and a soldering gun.

“Stay back,” Chris said. “We're wearing safety gear, okay?”

She nodded and heeded his warning, leaning against a nearby wall. Her body was still so keyed up. And swear to God, if they couldn't discern her current state of arousal, they were both completely dense. Not that she wanted them to notice.
Oh God.
But she was sure they could see it on her face, how hot her cheeks burned—if they glanced up from soldering.

“I like your thinking. But it's only been, what, a month?”

That might be a slight exaggeration. Jenna didn't mark off time like Ange, trying to keep things normal for Penny. What was the point? No matter how much they wished it, shit would never be the same. It seemed smart to figure out the changed world instead of clinging to the lost one.

“Nag, nag, nag,” Chris said. “Next thing you'll be complaining about the way I slack on the yard work.”

Though Tru rolled his eyes, Jenna glimpsed a genuine flicker of amusement.

“Well,” she said—anything to take her mind off her collision with Mason. “How long has it been since you shoveled the walk? And you never take me
anywhere
.”

“Now you do sound like my mom,” Tru said.

The kid froze, then returned his attention to holding the sheet metal in place for Chris. Or maybe he was remembering. She wondered what he'd meant. Had his mom bitched a lot, or did he see Jenna in a maternal role? She didn't like either possibility. Hell, Ange was the group mom.

Fortunately, Chris wasn't interested in distractions. “Lift up the panel now. Higher. There we go. Hold it steady.”

The soldering gun blazed blue and white as he ran it along the seams, melding a patch onto the top. Until that moment, Jenna hadn't realized burning metal had a smell, but it did, somewhere between hot copper and ozone. She sealed her hands over her nose and waited for them to finish.

But waiting meant thinking. Waiting meant feeling the tremors of need that still shook her body. Her heart pounded like mad. It had taken all of her willpower to walk away. Every bit. Even now she wanted to run back up the stairs.
Hey, Mason, sorry for jerking you around. Can we please finish what we started?

That would be easy. So easy. But she refused to let him keep dictating the terms.

The guys stepped back to admire their handiwork.

“Looks good,” she said.

Chris shrugged and pulled off his safety glasses. The elastic band made his hair spike up in the back. “Thanks. I'm not a professional, but I dabble.”

“Color me astonished.”

In the weeks since their arrival, Jenna had figured him for a man with boundless curiosity about the way things worked. Too bad that world changed faster than he could keep up.

He was handsome in a professorial sort of way, if a little on the thin side. The scientist often forgot to eat, so his cheekbones were sharp. She preferred Mason's skull-cut hair to Chris's shaggy locks, but he had a pair of very soulful hazel eyes. Jenna had noticed them turned on Angela, more than once, which brought to mind a question.

“What are Ange and Penny doing?”

“She's reading to her from an old
National Geographic
.” Tru shook his head. “Poor kid. Like she's not already messed up enough.”

“Even money the article's about Pygmy elephants,” Jenna murmured.

Tru shook his head. “Nah, I think it was monkeys, actually. Pen likes 'em.”

“And Chris likes Ange.” Jenna grinned, enjoying the chance to tease. “Did
she
ask you to reinforce the door?”

To her astonishment, his ears reddened. He didn't respond—merely wiped his glasses on his shirtsleeve. She hadn't expected such an obvious reaction, not from the closed-off doc, so she offered a little privacy by shifting her attention to the door. With a last sigh, her pulse steadied. If only she could find her balance with Mason so easily. She'd drawn a line, so to speak, but they still had to live together.