Werewolf in the North Woods (12 page)

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Authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson

BOOK: Werewolf in the North Woods
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Because he was so involved with thoughts of Abby, he nearly missed the faint trace of Sasquatch scent that came to him on the gentle breeze. Naturally it crossed the path, which meant if Abby and Roarke intended to follow it, they’d have to leave the trail.
He’d been afraid of that. The Sasquatch pair wouldn’t bother with trails. They’d go cross-country, but he’d hoped for Abby’s sake that the trail would bring them into the general vicinity. He paused to sniff again. Yep, faint, but there and off to the right, through what looked like pretty rugged terrain.
Shit
.
At least the rain had stopped for now. That would make things slightly easier, although he realized it could start up again at any moment. For now, though, the sky was overcast but no longer dripping on them.
Turning back to Abby, he was confronted with a pitiful sight. She was limping. Noticeably. Of course she hadn’t said anything, stubborn and foolish woman that she was.
Now what? Leaving the trail would have been a challenge for her before, but now he couldn’t ask her to attempt it.
She glanced up, as if just noticing that he’d stopped.
He took off his pack and set it beside the trail. “You’re limping.”
“No big deal. Why did you take off your pack?”
“Because it is a big deal, and I want to help.” He closed the distance between them. “Did you trip?”
“No. I have a charley horse in my right calf. I’m walking it out.” She backed away from him and made a shooing motion with both hands. “Go get your backpack and we can continue on.”
“Stand still for a minute, Abby.”
“Look, I’m perfectly capable of—” She cried out a protest as he scooped her up in his arms, pack and all. “Stop this! I’m too big for you to carry!”
“You’re not if you’ll stop struggling.” He was amazed at how right she felt in his arms, even wearing the damned backpack. “My plan is to carry you over to that rock and work on your leg.”
“Damn it, no! That’s wasting valuable time. Put me down, Roarke. I’m fine!”
“I beg to differ.” He tightened his grip, but she stubbornly continued to wiggle and protest as he crossed to a rock about the size of a coffee table. As he started to lower her onto it, she pinched his earlobe.
“Let me go! We need to move on!”
Making an impatient sound low in his throat, he did what he’d been longing to do ever since he’d met her. He kissed her full on the mouth. She went perfectly still, which had been part of his goal. The other part involved taking that brief, almost chaste kiss she’d given him yesterday and turning it into something that wasn’t even slightly chaste.
Because he’d surprised her, he’d caught her with her mouth partly open, and he took advantage of that to mount an invasion with his tongue. She trembled on the knife edge between surrender and resistance. Then she lost that delicate balancing act and tumbled into a surrender that took his breath away.
Clutching his shoulder with one hand, she used the other to cup the back of his head and urge him deeper. With a moan of triumph he changed the angle of the kiss and claimed her with a boldness that left no doubt of his ultimate intentions. She welcomed him with such passion that he was afraid he’d drop her. Not cool.
Summoning what little reasoning power he had left, he settled her on the rock, but he didn’t end the kiss. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to. She tasted like rain, but she also tasted like licorice, which she must have been sucking on while she battled her gimpy leg.
Arousal made swift work of any remaining composure on his part. He was hard and aching, and he’d decided licorice was his favorite flavor. Sinking to his knees on a cushion of wet pine needles, he cradled her head in both hands as he continued to plunder her mouth. As he combed eager fingers through her silky hair, her ponytail came undone.
Freeing her hair gave him a jolt of desire, as if he’d started taking off her clothes. Now there was an idea. Except she still had a heavy backpack anchored to her shoulders, and his original purpose had been to relieve a pain in her calf.
With immense regret, he ended the kiss, although he couldn’t seem to stop running his fingers through her hair. He looked into her blue eyes, smoky with desire. “I knew this would happen,” he murmured.
“So did I.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “And just so you know, I liked it a lot.”
“So did I.”
“But if I don’t take off this backpack, my shoulders are going to fall off.”
“Damn.” Cursing himself for being a moron, he eased the pack from her shoulders and set it beside the rock. “You’re finished carrying that.”
“But—”
He placed a finger against her warm, moist lips. “Yes, you are. I’m very strong, Abby.”
“I admit you’re stronger than I thought. I’m not a small person, yet you carried me as if I were a little kid.”
“Exactly. I can easily transport everything in my pack plus everything in yours. So let me do it.”
She kissed his finger and moved it aside. “You may be able to do it, but carrying extra weight has to slow you down. And you can’t maneuver as well, in case we come upon the Sasquatch pair. I have to insist that you let me haul what I’m supposed to.”
He gazed at her, appreciating the grit that she was showing yet wanting to make sure she didn’t hurt herself any more than she already had. “Let me see about your leg, and then we’ll discuss who carries what.”
“It’s a charley horse. Everyone gets them.”
He didn’t, but he chose not to mention that. “They can be painful, though.” Leaning down, he began rolling up her right pant leg. “Are you drinking enough water?”
“Probably not. I get so focused on hiking that I forget. I’ll do better. I promise not to be the weak link, Roarke.”
As he rolled her pant leg up to her knee, he was feeling like the weak link around here. Her skin was like silk as his fingers brushed her calf, and he caught the scent of lotion, soap, and the unmistakable musk of arousal.
“Tell me if this hurts.” He began kneading her calf muscles, taking care not to push too hard or deep. She drew in a quick breath and he stopped. “Too much?”
“No. It . . . helps.”
“Good.” The scent of arousal grew stronger as he applied gentle, rhythmic pressure. His massage became a caress and he leaned forward, placing soft kisses from ankle to knee. He touched the back of her knee, rubbing in tiny circles, and her breathing grew shallow.
Slowly he raised his head and met her gaze. “Better?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded rusty.
Looking into her eyes, he carefully rolled her pant leg down. “From now on, you need to tell me when you have a problem.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Any problem?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then. Roarke, I have a problem.”
He rested his hands on her knees, as if it were a casual, friendly touch. It was anything but that. “What is it?”
“I want to make love with you.”
His groin tightened. “Why is that a problem?” He brushed lazy circles over her knees when what he really wanted was to rip off her pants and take her.
“You know why!” She sounded impatient. “For starters, it’s not on the agenda. We have a job to do. And it’s obvious you’re attracted to me, but you don’t want to be—I guess because I’m a human, although I don’t quite get that, because it’s not like I’m asking for a commitment or anything, but—”
“Past history.” He stroked her thighs through the Lycra and felt her tremble. Heat danced in his veins. “Not long ago my brother got involved with a woman, thinking they’d just have sex, but the attraction was much stronger than that, and now they’re mated.”
“You mean married?”
“That, too, although it was just a formality.” He continued a slow massage of her thigh muscles. He told himself he was making sure she’d be ready to hike in a few minutes. Yeah, right.
“My brother and Emma had a church ceremony to please her mother and friends, but only for the sake of appearances. The Were bond is more basic and physical than a walk down the aisle and an exchange of rings.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “You mean she had to become a werewolf, too?”
“No. There’s no way a human can become a Were. As I mentioned before, you have to be born that way.”
“Will your brother and his . . . his
mate
have children?”
“I just found out yesterday that Emma’s pregnant. My parents are excited, but with a mixed mating situation, there’s no telling whether the kids will be Were or not, which is—”
Abby gasped. “She could actually give birth to a
werewolf
?”
Her horrified expression was exactly why he’d prefer to mate with his own kind. Humans could never truly understand or appreciate what being a Were was all about. Roarke wouldn’t change his status for anything, but a human could easily view him as a freak.
“I’m sorry,” Abby said. “That reaction was rude.”
He shrugged. “At least you’re being honest. And it’s not quite what you’re picturing. Even if she has a Were baby, the kid will look and act human until puberty.”
“Oh.”
“At that point he or she will develop the ability to shift if they’re Were. If they’re not . . . well, they won’t.” And pity that poor kid, born into a tradition they couldn’t be part of. If Emma and Aidan had more than one child, they could end up with one who was Were and one who wasn’t. Sibling rivalry would be taken to new heights.
“So what about Emma’s mother? Does she know her daughter married a werewolf?”
“God, no. That’s the other major problem. Emma’s not allowed to tell anyone, not her friends or her family. As far as her mother knows, Emma married the son of a wealthy financier. End of story.”
“That would be a tough secret to keep from your family.”
“I’m sure it is tough.”
“And what if her baby turns out to be Were?”
“One grandma will be thrilled and the other one will never know her grandchild can shift.”
“What a weird dynamic that would be.”
“It’s the price Emma pays. A steep price.” The more Roarke talked about his brother and Emma, the more he realized he was courting danger by even kissing Abby, knowing how she affected him.
He didn’t want a human mate, and not because Aidan would never let him live it down. He could handle Aidan’s comments. But he couldn’t handle knowing what he’d done to a woman’s life. To Abby’s life.
Apparently Emma had made the choice willingly and was very happy with her decision. But Abby had just registered shock at the idea of producing a werewolf child and keeping secrets from her family. Abby wasn’t Emma.
And he wasn’t Aidan, either. A werewolf’s life was complicated enough without adding in the human mate element. Weres belonged with Weres, and humans belonged with humans. Mating a human with a werewolf put a terrible burden on everyone.
Beneath his palms Abby’s warmth called to him, and making love to her right now, on this conveniently flat rock, would be so sweet. But he had to resist or they could both suffer serious consequences. She might think she could walk away from him, but she didn’t realize how strong the mating instinct was between them. Humans often didn’t pick up on that kind of thing.
Breaking the contact, he rose to his feet. “Yep, weird dynamics for all concerned. So you can see that it would be risky for us to get involved when it could become intense.” He gazed at her. “I’m afraid it would,” he said softly.
She gave him a lopsided smile. “I don’t know why. I’m a scrawny specimen who can’t even make it three hours on the trail without getting crippled up. I can’t imagine what you see in me.”
If she only knew how sexy she looked right now in her rumpled hiking clothes with her glorious hair curling around her shoulders and her eyes bright as a summer sky. He wanted to kiss every freckle on her nose and then find all the rest that were under wraps so he could kiss those, too.
But he decided not to say any of those things, which would only take them down the very road he’d decided to abandon. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said. “It’s a werewolf thing.”
“Meaning you like the way I smell.”
“That’s a big part of it.”
She shook her head. “You’re right—I don’t understand that part of the attraction.”
“Which is exactly my point. We’re very different. We’re two different species, to be exact.” He paused and glanced at his watch. It was getting late.
“We need to get going, don’t we?”
“Are you up to it?”
“Of course.”
“You’d better test your leg and see if you can walk without limping.”
“I’m sure I can.” She slid slowly from the rock and stood. Then she walked a few feet, turned, and walked back. “Way better. Thank you, Roarke. You have magic in your fingers.”
“I’m not going to touch that line with a ten-foot pole.”

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