His reflection caught his eye. He ran his fingers over his jaw again. How long had it been since he’d seen his face? He traced the hollow of his cheek, touched the slight bump on his nose. It was so familiar yet eerily not. His nose had been broken. The change didn’t heal old injuries, only new ones, so the bump was a legacy from before he’d been taken. He touched the narrow scar on his lip. Had he fallen as a child? Had he been hit? Had there been someone to comfort him? Had there ever been anyone? His fingers curled into a fist. There was a lifetime in his face, and he couldn’t remember a damn minute of it. His beast growled.
“Shut up.”
He didn’t want to hear from
it
. He hadn’t wanted
it
, had fought
it
, but
it’d
been stronger than he and now he was stuck with
it
. But that didn’t mean he was going to have daily chats with
it
. Or let
it
dictate his life.
He dipped the knife in the water again, making a mental note to resharpen the blade when he got back. Or maybe later. He had a warm, willing woman in his bed.
His cock thickened on a pleasurable throb as he recalled the faint scent of her arousal. Sharpening his knife was not going to be a priority. A shiver snaked over his skin as he imagined the soft buss of Addy’s lips on his. They’d be softer than her touch, sweeter than her scent. And they’d be his. Just his. A growl rumbled in his chest as satisfaction washed through him.
It’d been forbidden for the Reapers to have contact with women. The penalty had been death, but all of the Reapers’ appetites, especially the sexual, had been enhanced, right along with their senses. Isaiah, like the others, had had some contact with women, but not much, though it wasn’t the threat of death that kept his encounters few and far between. No, that had been seeing what Reapers, in the throes of lust while under the influence of the drug, did to the women with whom they lay. If the women survived the beasts’ passion, they were often left insane by the bites many Reapers invariably delivered.
Three times Isaiah had been called in to clean up the mess—killing the rogue Reapers and supposedly killing the women. Two of the women had been bitten multiple times. They had been pathetic to see—half beast, half human, tearing at themselves with their claws as the metamorphosis could not proceed. Killing them had been a mercy. The third woman had only been bitten twice. She’d been scared, but lucid. When she’d looked up at him from her bed, sleep and innocence in her eyes, he’d stayed his hand. It would have been so easy to kill her, but he . . . hadn’t. To this day he didn’t know what it was that had stayed his hand, made him disobey an order, but when he’d left that house, she’d still been alive.
And when he’d returned to the compound, no one had looked deeper than his assurance that he’d handled it.
They
’d never questioned his obedience at that point.
They
’d just assumed he’d given himself over to the beast that was so strong within him by then. His lip curled in a snarl.
They
had been too complacent.
He hadn’t said a word as
They
’d given him his reward. Just accepted the drug and the oblivion it brought, her face and a niggling wonder accompanying him into the void. That woman haunted him. His one failure of duty. His one act of mercy. He’d even gone back to the house for reasons he didn’t understand, either, except he’d needed to know something. She hadn’t been there. No one had. The house had the musty smell of neglect. He’d found a tintype with her image on the dresser. He didn’t know why, but to this day, every time he looked at it, he had the same questions. Had he really done her a favor? What if it wasn’t the bite that drove the women insane? What if she’d only had a delayed reaction? What if. What if. What if.
Isaiah splashed water over his head before tossing it back and shaking the excess out of his hair. She was fine, he told himself for the hundredth time. The woman was fine. Sparing her life was one of the few good things he’d done, which just went to prove nothing was all bad. He stood and shoved the knife back in the sheath. Not even a Reaper.
9
WHEN ISAIAH ENTERED THE LEAN-TO, ADDY WAS SITTING where he’d left her, fully dressed, hands folded in her lap—the left over the right. She had her worry stone in her right hand. He knew this was a mistake, but the same way she clung to her worry stone, he was clinging to her. Her dress was stained, her hair a mess. And she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
She touched her hand to the end of the sloppy braid, then moved to the lose strands hanging around her face. Her gaze was belligerent and vulnerable all at once. “I don’t have a comb.”
The same turbulence warred inside him. He reached out then thought better of it. It was too soon for touching. “You don’t need one.”
She didn’t need anything but to be herself.
She blinked as his hand fell to his side. The belligerence in her expression increased as did the vulnerability.
Shit. She wanted him to make her see stars, and he couldn’t even allay her concerns about her hair. The weight of all he didn’t know, all he needed to know, pressed down on his shoulders, heavier than any load he’d ever had to bear. Addy was a good woman. She should have a good man. But she was stuck with him.
“I don’t do too well with words.”
She blinked again. Some of the belligerence faded. With the calm logic he’d come to expect from her, she said, “I may be new to this, but a skill with words is not necessary.”
“You know you’re beautiful.”
“You make it sound like an accusation.”
Maybe it was. “Beautiful women expect a lot.”
“Practical women accept what they get.”
“As you’re accepting me as a lover because I’m the only choice you have?”
She bit her lip, dainty white teeth sinking into pretty pink flesh, leaving it white around the edges but a deeper red farther out. She reached out and caught his hand in hers. His beast made a sound it never had before, half moan, half growl. Pleasure. Her touch was such pleasure.
He froze, closing his eyes, imprinting the memory on his mind, expecting her to withdraw her hand. Wanting her to. Needing her to. Prepared to hate her if she did. Refusing to stop if that was her wish.
“You’re going to have to meet me halfway.”
That he hadn’t expected. He opened his eyes at the tug on his hand. Her hand looked so small in his. Because she was expecting him to do something, he curled his fingers around hers. She smiled. The connection sank deep into his bones. This was his sanity. His pleasure for the night. Her fingers tucked around his. His woman.
Yes.
Satisfaction whipped through him, whether driven by beast or man, he couldn’t tell. But it was enough. Her scent held a slight, acrid tinge. “You’re scared.”
Her smile faltered to a twitch of her lips. “A little.”
He liked that she told him the truth. He knelt beside the pallet. Her breath caught on a betraying gasp. She really was afraid. “For a woman of bold talk, you aren’t that sure.”
“Talk can only get me so far. At some point I need experience.”
“That’s true.” He took a swathe of her hair in his hand. It felt like silk and looked like sunlight. “Then I guess it will be up to me to get you the rest of the way.”
“To the stars?”
He nodded. “I remember the deal.”
“Please.” Her fingers squeezed his. “For tonight? Don’t mention it being a deal.”
She was still holding his hand. Her fingers were so fragile against his. “You want it to be more?”
She shook her head. “The pretense of romance will be sufficient.”
Even his beast recognized the longing so carefully absent from the sentence. She wanted to be romanced. For tonight to mean more than lust. Well, so did he.
Removing the tie from her hair took little effort. “Then we will pretend.”
Her smile came back as he unraveled and smoothed the heavy strands. A bit shaky around the corners, but back. She was an admirable woman. Most would be on their knees right now, crying from the emotional exhaustion of their trials. Addy was assessing the situation and making the most of her opportunities. Admirable and resourceful. He’d have to keep his eye on the latter.
But for now he’d rather look at her breasts.
Isaiah brought his hand to her cheek, bringing hers along with it for the simple reason that it was inconceivable to let her go. He felt like a fool until his knuckles brushed her cheek and her eyes widened. At that point the gesture transformed into a caress as her fingers pressed subtly against his. Her scent became muskier with pleasure. And a mistake became right.
He could do this, he realized. By following the clues of her body, he could keep his promise.
Lowering his voice, he murmured, “You have your clothes on.”
Her voice was just as soft, with a husky little catch that tugged his desire forward. “I didn’t know I was supposed to take them off.”
Truthfully, he didn’t know, either. His few encounters had always been quick and semiclothed and there was nothing about tonight that he wanted to be similar to those.
“Yes. You were supposed to.”
“You expected me to await you naked?”
It did sound stupid, phrased like that, seeing as she was a virgin.
“Maybe not.”
“Definitely not.”
“But I want you naked.”
A blush rode high on her cheeks, warming the backs of his fingers a second before she lay back. “Then you’ll have to make it happen.”
Lust stole his breath before spearing to his core, heating his blood, rousing his beast. His gums and fingertips itched with the need to change. His bones ached to become Other.
No!
The beast would not have this. This was his moment with his woman. Isaiah closed his eyes, trapped between heaven and hell, fighting until he won.
“Isaiah?”
He opened his eyes and found Addy looking up at him, worry replacing that first hint of passion. Leaning down, the beast’s howl of protest fading into the distance, he touched his mouth to hers, being careful, so careful. He wanted that passion back. He wanted it growing to an inferno that would consume them both. He wanted . . . her.
“Isaiah.”
The whisper of his name blew across his parted lips. He took it in on a deep breath. Yes, Isaiah. Not Reaper. Not bastard. Not scum. Isaiah. The man.
“Addy.” Her blush deepened as he gave her back her name.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Neither did he, but his instincts had been sound up until now. This was not the moment to start doubting them. “Then I guess you’d best let go of the worry stone and hold on to me.”
“Oh.”
He lifted up and to the side, letting her slip it back in her pocket. When she was done, he fitted his lips to hers. “And now hold on to me.”
Her fingers touched his hip, his waist, his ribs. Those tentative touches spread through his soul like want on fire. “That’s right. Touch me.”
Hold me.
He didn’t say that, but the hand he settled in the hollow of her spine spoke for him, pulling her to him, riding the flow of need, of desire, of years of longing, letting it flow out through his fingertips. Letting her feel what he wouldn’t say. She flowed with him as he leaned forward, her lips parting on a gasp as she fell back. Her breasts cushioned his chest, her hips his pelvis, her moan his passion. All three offered him a soft landing. A place to start something new. With her. She’d been changing his life since he’d first seen her.
Cupping her cheek in his hand, he moaned, “You’re a dangerous woman, Addy Cameron.” He felt her smile, heard her chuckle.
“I think I like that. It puts us on equal footing.”
“How so?”
“You’re a dangerous man.”
“Yes.” There was no point arguing with that. And he certainly didn’t want to argue with her right now. Not when he could smell that intoxicating scent that was uniquely hers, not when the heat of her desire coated her skin in a fragrance so addicting he couldn’t resist a taste. He touched his tongue to the side of her neck. Sweet. She was so sweet.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, arching her neck, giving him better access to the soft skin beneath her chin.
He smiled, breathing her scent as it deepened with her pleasure. “Something sweet.”
“Oh, don’t . . .”
He paused. Had he misread her response?
A quiver shook her from head to toe and a small erotic whisper of sound preceded her words. “Don’t stop.”
It was his turn to shiver. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard a woman make that statement. He’d gotten the impression from his few covert encounters that it was a mandatory utterance that lost its impact after the first couple of times. But when Addy said it, it was . . . the difference between real and pretend, he realized as she moaned. This woman wanted him. His cock throbbed and his breath hitched. Him. Isaiah Jones. Just as he was. Because she knew nothing about him, making this his once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, too. The pleasure froze in a moment of doubt. He had no right to take her like this, to do this to her. His beast surged forward, possessive and demanding. Isaiah barely had time to pull his nails away from her as his claws tore through his skin. He broke off the kiss, burying his face in the side of her throat as she whispered his name. He loved the sound of his name on her lips. He preferred it husky with desire.