Pack Bound, page 8
‘I know. Just give me time. I wasn’t prepared for this. Moving too quickly could be disastrous—as tonight has shown. But for now, keep her warm and then keep your distance.’
‘How far?’ He always thought he understood the mating bond, but now a blaze of fresh, white-hot understanding flamed across his mind. His mother hadn’t died from life-threatening injuries—she’d died because her husband, her mate, the man she couldn’t live without, had died. Mates were joined in ways that even the bonds of family, children and dear friends could not replace.
He’d hurt if Skye hurt. He’d die if she died. Staying away from her was almost unbearable to contemplate.
Cordelia’s voice held a wealth of understanding, although her tone was firm. ‘Tonight you have to get as far away from her as you can. Afterward, you can watch from afar—I know you won’t be able to stand not seeing she’s safe. You’re too much like Marcus in that way. But you cannot be in the same building tonight and you won’t be able to be in the same room for a few weeks at least. You cannot touch her or be near her until we’re certain the channel has closed. Until then, I’ll see if the Pack Witch Diaries have anything to add to this unusual situation.’
He could watch her from afar. It was something at least. ‘Thanks, Cordy.’
‘Don’t thank me yet. When I know what’s going on, I’ll let you know.’ With that, she hung up.
Jason put down his cracked phone and turned back to face Skye.
It hurt to move away, but despite the wolf growling inside, he made himself do it. He threw on some clothes, gathered hers up—they were torn. Damn! He spied the blanket tangled at the base of the bed. With more caution than he’d take with the most fragile of porcelain, he wrapped her in the soft folds of the blanket, picked her up, cradled in his arms, and moved to the door.
The lodge was dark and quiet, with most of the guests already asleep in their rooms. Even so, he moved through the darkness, folding the shadows around them, using his natural Were power to cloak them both from all but another Were or someone with power.
Down the stairs, past the central lounge and kitchen, down more stairs to the lower floor, he moved with stealth and speed that marked him as nothing human. In less than a minute he stood in front of the door to her room and opened it—she’d left the door unlocked. When this was resolved, he’d have to have words with her about security.
Nudging the door open, he carried her to the bed that held her scent and laid her on top. Standing back, he looked down at her cocooned in the blanket, her bare shoulder an unbearable temptation.
Clenching his hands at his side, he forced himself not to give in to the need to stroke, to lick, to nip.
He turned away.
Turned back.
He couldn’t leave her lying there, naked, helpless. He didn’t know if she was that familiar with her friends, and he didn’t like the idea of anyone seeing her as he’d seen her tonight.
Pyjamas lay on the floor next to her bed, as did some other clothing that carried her scent. He smiled, wondering if untidiness was one of her habits. Trying to keep his mind on harmless thoughts, he unpeeled her from the blanket and dressed her in the pyjamas, clenching his teeth to stop from touching her more than necessary, Cordy’s words echoing loudly in his ears.
Once done, he tucked her back in the blanket and placed the doona over the top. He knew he should take the blanket, but he had a strong need to leave his scent with her in something more than her skin. Besides, Cordy had told him to keep her warm.
He stood there, watching as she breathed, listening to the beat of her heart, taking in her glorious scent. Her magic still caressed his skin. Too long. She’d given him too much for too long. Her breathing was shallow, her skin cold.
He must leave.
A sound above caught his attention. Footsteps on the metal stairs leading to the front door. The door opening and closing. The sound of female voices and one male voice—Adam. Her friends had arrived home. They would look after her.
Shivering, he whispered, ‘I will see you soon, my mate.’ He longed to bend and kiss her but couldn’t risk it. Besides, he had to leave the room before her friends came downstairs and saw him there. They might not be born witches like Skye and her ancestors, but Adam had told him they had the scent of Wiccans on them when he’d ‘bumped’ into them this afternoon. If they were from one of the old families, they could still have enough power— power borrowed from their Mother Goddess—to see him, despite his aura cloak. He didn’t want to have to explain what he was doing there, nor why Skye wouldn’t wake up.
Taking one more look, one more long, deep breath, he padded to the door and let himself out.
As he slipped up the stairs, he heard the Wiccans and Adam in the kitchen. By the smell, they were warming milk in the microwave. Their voices were low, but happy. They’d had a pleasant night.
He didn’t feel like facing his brother right now. How could he explain what had happened? His actions tonight had endangered the safety and health of their Pack Witch and, therefore, their pack. What kind of Alpha was he to put his own pleasure before his duty?
Taking the rest of the stairs in one bound, he sped down the hallway, leapt up the final stairs and was through the door with barely a whisper of sound as it clicked softly closed at his back.
The curtain was open and moonlight shone, pale and milky, through the trees, glinting on the snow that made the limbs bow down under the heavy weight. Normally he would have been drawn to the window to look up at the simultaneous joy and curse of the moon.
But tonight, his gaze halted on the ruin of his bed.
The scent of her warmth, the perfume of her skin, the musk of sex, all rose to greet him with memories he would never forget.
He might not have her here in his arms, waking beside him in the morning as he wished, but he did have the memories of what had occurred. He wouldn’t give up those memories for anything or anyone. Despite endangering his pack, he wouldn’t be sorry for those hours of bliss here with Skye.
Not now he knew his mate.
But he couldn’t stay here, surrounded by her scent. It would drive him insane.
He unlocked the glass door that led out onto a balcony and stepped out.
A light misty fog enveloped him, full of the smell of wood smoke and eucalypts and the heavy, tangy scent of snow. He shivered as the cold curled around him, the snow crunching crisply under his bare feet, but it was a cold he needed to calm the burn of panic and self-recrimination in his chest. He closed the door behind him and let the change take him over, not caring that his clothes were ripped to shreds by the explosion of energy that tore through him.
Mid-change, he leapt over the balcony and landed a floor below, his paws sinking into the soft coldness of the snow. Without so much as a glance behind him, he ran into the night.
He would do as Cordelia had said. He would get as far away as he could to make certain the channel closed. And afterwards …
Cordelia would figure out how to help Skye. She had to. But Jason couldn’t sit around leaving Skye’s safety and the health and wellbeing of Pack McVale up to Cordy. He would return home tomorrow and read through their Pack Witch Diaries. Maybe there would be a clue there as to what to do. He also had to figure out who had taken Skye and why they had done this to her—and to his pack.
Whoever they were, they would have to be incredibly powerful to have shrouded her from the McClunes’ Pack Witches all these years. He had to be careful, but that didn’t mean he had to cower in the dark at the mercy of their evil.
He had to find a way forward. For pack, of course, but also for himself.
The wolf growled in agreement.
She was his, and one day soon she would know it. She’d have to know it. Because without her at his side, life wouldn’t be worth living.
9
‘Why do I feel like the waking dead? I didn’t drink that much,’ Skye grumbled as she dragged her aching self out of bed to pack the next morning.
Minutes later, Bron and Shelley came back into the room, freshly showered and looking sickeningly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Bron, after taking one look at Skye as she hobbled between the wardrobe and her bed, hustled across the room. ‘Sit down before you fall down,’ she said, snatching the t-shirt out of her hand. ‘And let me do that.’
‘Stop fussing. I’m fine,’ Skye insisted, holding her toiletries bag against her chest when Bron reached to take it.
‘You’re not fine. Is she, Shelley? Your aura is all muddy. I think you might have hit your head or something yesterday. Please, sit down and let us take a look.’
Annoyed with all the fussing—her head thumped with every word uttered—she snapped, ‘I didn’t hit my head. It’s just because I got angry yesterday and my magic spurted out a bit and then the suppression spell hit me and that’s why I feel so crappy.’
Bron gaped and looked at Shelley. ‘Did you know about this?’ Shelley didn’t answer, just continued to pack. ‘I can see you did. And you didn’t tell me?’
Touching her aching head, Skye said, ‘I asked her not to say anything because I didn’t want you to carry on about it.’
Bron frowned. ‘Well … I can’t say I’m not feeling a little hurt but—hang on.’ She crossed her arms. ‘That explains why you were feeling so bad last night, but you still shouldn’t be feeling like that now unless you used your magic again.’
‘I didn’t.’ Skye looked away, ignoring the flash of memory of her tumble in bed with Jason, magic flaring from her into him, creating a bright, golden-rainbow nimbus to surround him. That hadn’t been real. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t have done that—she didn’t know how to use her magic like that. Besides, one-night stands were not her style. And it all had a hazy aspect to it, like she hadn’t been in control of herself. Exactly like what happened to her in her dreams.
So it had to be a dream. ‘I didn’t use my magic again,’ she reiterated when Bron continued to stare at her.
‘Then explain why you’re so sick.’
Skye swallowed hard, scrabbling for a reason, any reason, that didn’t have anything to do with magic. ‘It might be a little self-inflicted. When I got up to eat something last night, one of the other guests sat down with me and we shared a bottle of wine.’ She grimaced sheepishly. ‘I think maybe I drank too much.’
‘You what?’ Bron shouted. Skye winced. ‘Don’t tell me you were stupid enough to drink wine on top of those tablets Shells gave you?’
‘I think maybe I was exactly that stupid.’ She stopped, looked up. ‘Could drinking that wine on top of the tablets have caused me to hallucinate?’
Bron’s eyes widened. ‘Yes. You could have really tripped out. Did you?’
Skye twisted her mouth. ‘I think so.’ It would certainly explain the erotic dream and the impression she’d used her magic. Not to mention the image of the silver and gold wolf standing in the room watching her, its lightning-shot blue eyes glowing in the dark. She shuddered. Apart from the mind-blowing sex in the dream, the rest had been somewhere in the vicinity of her worst nightmare.
‘You didn’t go anywhere, did you? Do anything you wouldn’t normally do?’
Skye shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t remember much after having a few drinks. I think maybe the guy I was drinking with carried me back here.’ She had a hazy memory of him tucking her into bed. Hell! She hoped she hadn’t passed out or thrown up or done anything equally embarrassing. ‘I think I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. But I had some pretty disturbing dreams.’
Bron sighed heavily. ‘Goddess, Skye. It’s no wonder you’re as sick as a dog this morning. In fact, it’s a wonder you’re not a whole lot worse.’
Shelley chuckled as she folded a blanket and placed it on the bed. ‘I think that’s the pot calling the kettle black, Bron. Give her a break.’
‘But it’s so refreshing not being the irresponsible one.’
‘Do you mind not shouting? My head’s about to split in half.’
Bron dropped down beside Skye. ‘I’m sorry. Shells is right. I know how you feel. It’s just … Please don’t hide things from me. I don’t like it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Skye murmured.
‘I know.’ Bron gave her a gentle hug and took the clothes that Skye had been trying to stuff into her bag. ‘I’ll do that. You go and ring for the taxi and Shells and I will finish packing.’
Skye whispered, ‘Thanks,’ then limped upstairs to find enough reception for her mobile and ordered a taxi. Achy and miserable, she wanted nothing more than to sink into the chairs in the foyer but made herself head back to the stairs to help bring their gear up. Shelley and Bron were already coming up with the bags. They hustled her out of the way, dumped them by the front door and ordered her to stand guard.
A few minutes later, the taxi arrived and Skye dragged her bag out to it—had the air suddenly become ten times as thick as usual? It was harder to breathe, harder to walk, harder to think. She couldn’t be suffering from altitude sickness—it wasn’t that high here—but that was certainly what this felt like.
After handing her bag up, she turned back to get another one, but Shelley bustled her into the taxi, where she sat with a heavy sigh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this ill.
‘Where to?’ the driver asked.
‘Andrews Car Park,’ Shelley said, handing him the taxi tickets. He nodded and they set off.
As they drove away from the lodge, a flash of grey caught Skye’s attention. Turning, she saw the grey wolf-dog she’d seen yesterday standing in the shadows of the trees. It seemed to be watching them.
‘Look. There’s that wolf-dog I told you about yesterday.’
‘Where?’ Shelley asked, craning around to see.
‘Just there …’ It had gone.
The taxi swung out onto Goal Post Road and she lost sight of the lodge. ‘I swore I saw it.’
‘Probably another hallucination from mixing drugs and alcohol,’ Bron said, her lips twitching. Shelley hit her.
Skye turned to face forward and shook her head but stopped when the thumping upped its tempo. ‘Why do I have to hallucinate about terrifying, wolf-like dogs, while other people hallucinate flowers and faeries?’
Bron turned, the brightly interested glow in her eyes making Skye want to crawl into a corner and hide. ‘Must be something in your psyche trying to come out. Do you want to come and do a hypnotherapy session with me? We could figure out where your fear of dogs comes from.’
Skye shuddered. ‘No thanks. I know where it comes from.’
Bron shook her head. ‘But the dog that attacked you didn’t even bite you. I think your fear stems from something much deeper.’
‘Bron.’ Shelley put her hand on Bron’s arm, her gaze on Skye’s face. ‘She’s not up for soul searching today. Keep it for when she’s feeling better.’
Bron’s eyes flickered down to Skye’s hands and back again—Shelley must have told Bron exactly what had happened, Skye surmised. She winced inside, waiting for the flood of questions coming her way.
Instead, Bron said, ‘You’re right. Sorry. I just want you to feel better.’
Skye nodded, relief flooding through her. ‘So do I.’
‘You should sleep in the car,’ Shelley said as the taxi pulled into Andrews Car Park.
‘Oh, my Goddess. Look at all the snow!’ Bron leapt out of the taxi and began to attack the snow heaped on their four-wheel drive while Skye and Shelley unpacked their bags from the taxi and thanked the driver.
It took them half an hour to dig the car out before they could pack their bags into it and leave. Exhausted, her muscles aching, Skye dropped into the back seat and closed her eyes. Shelley was right. She would try to sleep on the drive home.
The sway of the car as they wove down the mountain, Bron’s voice in the background as she chatted and sang to the song on the radio, all comforting and familiar, lulled her into sleep. She snuggled her head against the pillow she’d made of her coat and sighed as Jason walked into her dream, his lips cocked in that lopsided smile that had charmed her the night before.
His gaze fixed on her. ‘Come with me?’ He held his hand out.
She nodded, placed her hand in his.
Suddenly, she was lying on a bed, writhing, her skin sweat-covered and tingling as he ran his hands down her sides, over her breasts, between her legs. He was naked, the tip of his erection sliding over her cleft.
‘Please,’ she begged, the tease too much to bear.
He pushed himself inside her in one hard thrust that spilled her over the edge. As she spiralled through her orgasm, screaming his name, his eyes locked on hers. ‘You’re mine,’ he said, sliding in and out, in and out; rhythmic, hypnotic, sensual.
Her body clenched around him and magic sparked between them, on her fingers, burning under her skin, longing to get out and do—
‘Wake up, sleepy head.’
Skye jerked, sitting up with a gasp.
‘Are you okay?’ Bron stood at the side of the car, the door open, her forehead furrowed. ‘You look terrible. Worse than before.’
Skye tried to breathe past the panic in her chest. ‘I’m fine. Just a bad dream.’ She stood up, boots crunching on the pebbled drive, and almost fell over when her ankle protested.
‘You need to go and put that foot up,’ Shelley said. ‘Put some ice on it if it’s still that bad.’
Skye would have nodded, but she thought if she moved her head it might explode. ‘I’ll just help get the bags in first.’ She bent to pick up one of the bags Shelley had dumped out of the boot. Dizziness overwhelmed her and she staggered into the mud-splattered back of the car.
Shelley snatched the bag out of her hand. ‘Honestly. Go inside and get in bed. I’ll get all this in.’
‘But you have to go to work.’
‘Not for another couple of hours. I have time if only you don’t fall over and crack your head open.’ She gestured to Bron. ‘Make sure she gets in bed and look at her foot again.’
