Moira Rogers - Wilder’s Mate

Impossible to imagine Levi laying a violent hand on her mother. And yet…

“No, not exactly. Not like—” Ophelia bit her lip. “The physical demands are almost the least of it. Do you understand what I mean?”

Warmth filled her cheeks as she remembered the last bloodhound to take her to bed. A cocky young stranger, new to his power and full of himself and life. He’d still had an edge, an intensity that expressed itself with dark looks and teasing games. He’d plied her with dominance and control until she was ready to sob from the relief pleasure brought.

Her knees hadn’t worked right for days, and he’d been barely more than a boy. The man waiting downstairs was anything but. “I—I think so.”

“I hope so.”

“I suppose we’ll see.” When they were far enough from town, she’d simply ask him. It wasn’t as if he’d proven himself eager to curtail coarse language in her presence. If letting a handsome man between her thighs was the only way to save the man who’d raised her, she’d consider it a fair price.

She might even enjoy it. If that made her as much of a whore as her mother or Ophelia, her closest friend… Well, she’d been called worse.

At least she couldn’t be called a coward.

The girl came running out of Nate’s house with two bags and a harried look on her face. She’d taken more than the time he’d allotted her, and he would have left, had he not already chosen and prepared a mount for her.

He jerked his head toward the horse. “Saddled this one for you. What’s all that?” Color rose in her pale cheeks. “The things I need to keep myself alive against a vampire.”

“You lame your horse before we find Nate and it won’t matter,” he admonished. “Keep it light.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t flinch away, just turned her back on him to see to her bags as she muttered something that was probably meant to be too low for him to hear. “We’re not all carrying around fifty pounds of muscle and twenty pounds of ego.”

He wasn’t about to let her get away with it. “Which is why you have to do as I say. It’s up to me and my muscle to keep you alive. All the newfangled shit in your bag there isn’t going to get that done.”

“So you’re one of those hounds.” Disapproval dripped from the words, but she dragged open one bag and began to discard things. One or two items she clipped to the wide belt buckled around her hips.

“You’re not interested in anything we have?”

“What?” The words startled him, because he’d been wondering how the hell she’d expected anyone to look at her and see a boy just because she’d put on a pair of trousers. “Weapons, you mean?” Stiff pride filled her eyes as she pulled a heavy gun out of the bag, hefting it with two hands.

“Nathaniel is the best there is. I brought this to show you, but if you don’t want it…” It looked like an automatic-fire revolving rifle, its oversized cylinder chambered with glass rounds that glinted brightly even in the afternoon sunlight. Wilder drew his horse closer to her and reached for the firearm. “What’s in the rounds?”

She lifted it higher, and a frown formed between her brows when he picked it up in one hand. “A chemical compound. There are two chambers, and the chemicals mix when the glass breaks to create a focused burst of light. If you hit a vampire in the right place, one will take him down.”

“Which place is the right one?”

“The head. Maybe the neck or gut. The chest, if the heart is already exposed.” He nodded his understanding and offered her a smile. “All right. This newfangled shit might keep you alive.”

She swung the bags across her horse’s back, and one small hand fell to the pistol holstered at her hip, fingers brushing it for an instant before she scrambled up onto her horse. “Mine’s a modified six-shooter, but the ammunition works the same way, and I’m a fair shot. I wasn’t planning on getting myself killed.” He was starting to see that, and it made him feel like a jackass for assuming she couldn’t take care of herself. “Sorry.”

Surprise widened her green eyes, like she couldn’t quite believe the word had crossed his lips. She tightened her fingers around her reins and nodded her acknowledgement. “Nate and Levi all but raised me.

Levi wasn’t tender with anyone’s feelings, especially if he thought flattery might put someone in harm’s way, so I’m plenty aware of my physical limitations.”

From where he sat, it didn’t look like she had any. “You don’t have to be at a disadvantage when it comes to fighting. Bigger usually means slower. Use that.”

“Nathaniel always told me to use my head.” She guided her horse forward, riding like it was second nature. “I’ll do whatever you tell me when it comes to a fight. I only want to bring him home.”

“Then we just might have a chance.” He nudged his horse and headed for the edge of town. “Where are you from? Nate never said.”

Something about that made her laugh. “Of course not. I’ve lived in this town all my life.”

“Local girl, huh?”

“Something like that. How do you know Nathaniel? I know bloodhounds come to visit him sometimes, but I don’t think I’ve seen you.”

Nathaniel had been one of the first people he’d met when he’d started hunting. “Levi trained me. Back when he still lived up north.”

“Almost eleven years ago.” The number came so fast it had to have been burned in her memory.

“Levi was…fond of my mother. We came to live with him not long after he arrived.” There was only one woman Levi had ever valued enough to keep near. “Ada was your mother?” Satira stiffened so fast her horse sidled before she tightened her hands on the reins. “Yes.” Another thing Nate had never mentioned. “Levi talked about her sometimes. He…” He’d loved her, as much as he’d been able. “Yes, he was fond of her.”

“Yes, he was.” Her voice held tension, and loss. “He didn’t have to take us in. He didn’t have to give me a home when she died.”

The old man hadn’t often spoken of things like sentiment. “You were family.” Her lips twitched. “I was Ada’s girl, and as welcome most days as a stone in his shoe.” Levi hadn’t been a particularly warm man, but he was ruthlessly practical. “He may not have been handing over pretty words and hugs, but he provided for you. With a man like that, it’s all the same.”

“He never saw much use for pretty words and hugs.” A brief hesitation, and Wilder picked up the rapid beat of her heart, fast and nervous enough to belie her calm expression. “If you brought me with you intending to have a warm body during the new moon, I’m not unwilling.” Wilder’s jaw clenched. She didn’t think much of him, if she thought he’d plan to take that sort of liberty without asking. “Takes a damn sight more than ‘not unwilling’ to heat my blood, girl.” He grinned because he knew it would fluster her. “I like my women enthusiastic.” Color rose in her cheeks, but her eyes glinted with stubborn challenge. “It’s a wonder you find any, unless you take care not to speak to them first.”

“Funny,” he murmured. “I’ve never had a problem, discussion or no.”

“I was wrong. Thirty pounds of ego, and I pity your poor horse.” Wilder laughed. “He’s accustomed to my insufferable bullshit.”

“I suppose he would have to be. Do you think we’ll be able to rescue Nathaniel and return before the new moon, then?”

Despite her light tone, she was eyeing him with unmistakable interest. Perhaps her questions about the moon phase had less to do with her low opinion of him and more with her own curiosity. “If not, I’ll make arrangements,” he told her.

“I see.” She rubbed the palm of one hand against her dusty trousers, a nervous gesture that matched the quick way her gaze jumped away from him to her horse’s ear. “I’ve never crossed the border before.

Nathaniel took me out to the Deadlands a few times when I was younger…”

“But not after you…blossomed?” It was the most polite way he could think of to refer to her considerable curves.

Satira looked like she wanted to cross her arms over her chest again, but she only shrugged. “He said it wasn’t a good place for a young woman.”

Wilder had seen women traded and sold there, either as whores or meals, and not enough of them had been willing participants in the transactions. “He’s right.”

“I know. I’ll do what I have to do, just like anyone.”

She would have run off, unaccompanied. She’d planned on it. The knowledge made Wilder’s gloved fingers tighten around his horse’s reins. “Remember what you agreed to, honey. What I say, when I say it.”

“I remember.” And she sounded grumpy about it too.

The afternoon sun gilded her pale skin, and a hint of breeze ruffled the golden strands of hair that curled around her face. She’d burn without a hat or bonnet, but something told him she wouldn’t appreciate him pointing it out.

They made it out of town before she spoke again, glancing at him with both eyebrows raised. “The plan isn’t to walk the horses the entire way, is it? I can handle a hard ride.” Leading words, ones she’d meant to make him think of fucking. Of sweat and bare skin and the delicious, wet grip of an eager cunt around his cock. “Hope to hell that’s true, sweetheart.” He urged his horse into a gallop without turning or waiting to see if she could keep up. If she wanted to play dirty, so could he.

Wilder didn’t hold the gallop for long, but he pushed them hard enough that Satira knew her bluff had been called.

Not that she wasn’t a decent rider. Levi had made sure she could sit a horse and stay in the saddle no matter how rough the ride, but she wasn’t accustomed to it.