She’d followed Warren many times in her invisible state. He would often run belowground on the enormous track he’d built for his entire pack to use at the Caldion compound. This track had been a small feat of engineering with numerous massive boulders and a few piles of smaller ones the wolves could race up and down. Four paws created a vast amount of traction.
She’d been amazed to watch him and the other wolves run.
Though the rise and fall of his steady breathing reminded her he needed his rest, she was tempted to run her hands over his body just for the pleasure of it.
But she knew Warren. He would wake up if he felt her touch, so she contented herself with turning on her side to face his back, both her hands planted beneath her cheek.
Warren.
Her eyes grew hot with tears. She was overcome as she thought about what it had been like to make love with him. He was a storm and she a grotto. She smiled, but the curve of her lips quickly faded.
What if the ghost in her dreams was right, the unknown woman with long blond hair? What if she was simply trying to warn Kiara that she posed a threat to Warren? Wouldn’t leaving Savage behind be best for him? For her?
Her throat tightened. She didn’t know, but the thought of leaving him hurt badly as though powerful hands gripped her insides and twisted hard. Again, the compulsion to touch him had her hand sliding away from her cheek and extending her fingers toward him.
Again, she held back.
She adjusted her pillow instead then released a sigh. She knew what she had to do. As soon as Warren was safe, she would leave Savage for good. She’d never thought she had a real future with him and his safety was paramount.
~ ~ ~
Late in the afternoon, Warren sat on the side of Kiara’s bed striving to wake up. He had his hands planted on his knees and he stared at the striations in the earthen floor. The humidity of the nearby grotto was a relief.
Events of the previous night had taken a toll. They moved through his head like a video on a constant loop, of coming off his Border Patrol shift, escaping from Julio and the forces aligned with him, then going invisible with Kiara. Later, of course, there was all the storm sex and his decision to disengage from her as soon as possible.
The storm experience played over in his mind yet again. How he wished his life was different, that he wasn’t in charge essentially of an entire Territory. He’d leave the bedroom right now, hunt Kiara down and haul her back to bed. He wanted to feel his storm take possession of her once more.
He touched his chest remembering how the storm had come out of him. Savage needed a storm right now, something powerful enough to stand against Julio’s ambitions and whatever monster was behind him.
Right now, though, he felt weary. He’d dreamed of Tonya again, the way she’d been before the alter serum had turned her into something unrecognizable. He planted his head in his hands.
He’d loved her so much. She was only a shell now, something he kept hidden away from everyone who knew him in Five Bridges. She wasn’t a ghost, yet she haunted him. She had a strange power to appear in ghost form, even though she wasn’t dead.
He felt as though he hadn’t slept at all.
“Hey, there. I thought maybe you could use this.”
He looked up. Kiara stood in the doorway not far from him with two mugs of steaming coffee, one in each hand.
For a moment, time skidded to a halt.
He always forgot how beautiful Kiara was until he laid eyes on her. She took his breath away. Her large eyes were an enticing shade of brown, somewhere between mahogany and chocolate. She wore her thick brown hair parted in the middle. It lay over her shoulders and chest in waves. Her purple tank was tucked into snug jeans. Maybe it was the color of her shirt, but her complexion seemed to glow.
A familiar ache drove through him, a need so strong he felt it had no end. He craved her. He wanted to go to her, to take the mugs from her hands and drag her into his arms. He wanted to kiss her into eternity.
She never stopped looking at him and her smile dimmed to be replaced with a matching desire. The sweet freesia scent of her floated in the air. His jaw quivered. His nostrils flared. She was life to him and fire and everything he’d wanted but knew he could never have.
She set the mugs on the bedside table and came to him. She dropped to her knees. When he opened his arms, she settled her head on his chest then wrapped her arms around his waist.
He felt her shudder. He kissed her temple then rubbed her back. She was feeling it as well. She matched the state of his heart and his need. Yet within her, as with himself, was a chasm of hesitation. He could sense how she felt, but more with a warlock’s ability than a wolf’s intuition.
He held her for a long time, surprised that no words needed to be said, no explanations, no judgment, just shared longing and pain.
When she drew back, she stood up and retrieved the mugs. She brought one to him, then drew a chair forward, sat down and cradled her own mug in hand. She didn’t look at him as she sipped. She appeared deep in thought.
He let her be and followed her lead.
He understood in that moment how complicated their relationship was and how equally impossible. He absently touched the ridged, tattooed scars on the side of his head. They were an ever-present reminder of the deadly nature of his world. With so many lives to protect, including his own, he couldn’t take risks. The smallest one could bring him down which right now meant Savage would fall.