Till Abandon Page 5

  A chorus of growls and angry curses filled the room. Voltaire smiled. She understood the need for revenge, that innate instinct to hurt the one who had hurt you. This pack, Blake's pack, could and would grow on her. They would be her family. Not now, though—she read the hate and violence coming off them.

  Eh, she shrugged mentally. Can't win ‘em all.

  "Now, let's bury our friend."

  Blake motioned to the crowd and two burly men stepped forward. They helped her mate to lift the body and carry it out of the door. Voltaire, hands shoved into her coat pockets, followed the crowd as they traipsed out into the dark woods behind the bar.

  Silver moonlight illuminated their path as the surprisingly silent crowd, led by Blake, stopped at a wide clearing. The cemetery. Intense anguish from Blake washed over her. His pain brought tears to Voltaire's eyes. She couldn't help the feeling of culpability. If only she hadn't come here. If only.

  A few men grabbed shovels, began digging, and she couldn't look. Turning away, she raised her gaze to the sky, deliberately shifting her thoughts to who could have done this. Marcus's body remained untouched in death. Murder with the mind. Very few she knew would be able to pull off that feat. If they wanted to silence her, why go after Marcus? Yes, he had been Blake's best friend, but what other purpose would his death serve than to make Blake hurt? Her mate's pain was hers as well, but she still didn't get it.

  Black anger clouded her mind, stealing her breath. She turned back to the crowed. The body had been lowered into the ground and now they shovelled dirt into the hole. Blake stood off to the side, his face like granite, fists clenching and unclenching. She hurried to his side.

  "I'm here.” Wrapping her hands around him from behind, she pressed her forehead to his back. He initially held himself stiff, then relaxed against her, bit by bit. Voltaire smiled. “I've got you.” She slid her hands over his chest, while an invisible pair stroked his cheeks. A sigh escaped from him. It took an effort on her part but she managed to stay out of his head. He needed his privacy to grieve.

  They remained in that position, her arms around him, while the crowd dissipated. Finally it was only the two of them, the Elders having left after issuing an ultimatum to deal with this quickly. Old farts.

  "Do you want to leave?” she asked.

  Blake shook himself slightly. “Uh, give me a minute."

  He disengaged her arms from around his waist and walked to the freshly covered grave. Kneeling, he grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it on the grave.

  "Marcus, I'm so sorry.” His voice broke. “I'll find out who did this and I will make them pay. This, I promise.” He bowed his head for a second, then rose to his feet, a hand outstretched.

  Voltaire took it and looked at him.

  "Let's go home, Voltaire."

  * * * *

  They stood naked in Blake's shower, water cascading over their bodies, arms wrapped around each other. Blake hadn't spoken since they'd come inside and Voltaire didn't push. She simply maintained skin to skin contact, providing silent reassurance that she was, and always would be, right next to him.

  Breasts flattened against his chest, she dropped tiny kisses on his neck and shoulder blade. Her mate shuddered in her arms, his head thrown back, corded muscles bulging. Between them, his cock swelled. Her pussy clenched in response. Blake was grieving but his wolf wanted its mate. She was all too willing when he palmed her ass and lifted her off the floor.

  Voltaire wrapped her legs around his narrow waist and pulled his mouth down to her breasts. He took a nipple in his mouth as he slid into her. She moaned, he sighed and the wolf roared. Digging her nails into his flesh, Voltaire rode her man, encouraging him to give her all he had to give. She reached into his head, past the pain and thoughts of revenge, and flooded him with warmth and reassurance. And while her pussy milked his straining cock, she slid invisible fingers down his spine, traced his ass crack and pushed into him.

  He jerked. A choked cry fell from his lips as he came, emptying himself into her. Blake sank his canines into her neck, triggering her climax.

  In the aftermath they clung to each other until the shudders stopped, then made their way to the bedroom and fell into bed.

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  Chapter Eight

  * * * *

  Before the bright sunlight jolted her awake the next morning, Voltaire felt his absence. A glance at his side of the bed showed the bed rumpled, but his warmth lingered. He hadn't left too long ago. She closed her eyes, searched for his presence with her mind, only to find herself alone in the house.

  Is it too much to ask that my man be at my side when I awake? She projected her thoughts to him, trying to get a hint of where he was and his state of mind. They'd slept tangled in each other, and she'd felt the wolf's restlessness and Blake's sorrow. Her man ached to shed some blood and she stood right there with him, but she still worried. Nothing could happen to Blake.

  Maybe he was too far away or had suddenly learnt to block her visits into his head, because she couldn't get a read on him. Voltaire stared up at the ceiling. Was it a good or a bad thing that she couldn't get into Blake's head? He certainly couldn't access hers, and how shitty was it to have someone know your every thought when you don't know theirs?

  So...a good thing?

  The phone beside the bed rang, startling her. She let it ring two more times before snatching it up. “Blake's phone."

  "Hey, it's me."

  "Where are you?"

  Blake sighed. “I'm having breakfast with Marcus's mom. I didn't want her to learn about it from anyone else."

  Damn. Her heart broke for him all over again. “Why didn't you wake me? I would've come with you."

  "I know, but I had to do this myself. I heard you calling, that's why I called."

  "Are you sure you're okay? I can come to you."

  "I'm fine. It's just—it's hard."

  She nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Okay. Just know I'm here for you. By the way, I have nothing to wear. My clothes are all at the Sunrise Inn opposite the train station."

  "I'm near there, I'll pick them up."

  "Thanks.” They said goodbye and Voltaire hung up the phone with tears in her eyes. He'd sounded so defeated, beaten down. There was no trace of the strong, aggressive man she'd tangled with when she'd first gone to the bar the evening before. That couldn't last—she needed her man back, all of him.

  Voltaire rolled off the bed and stretched. First step to getting her man back was to deal with the threat the PSC posed to them. Rummaging through Blake's drawers, she grabbed a shirt and shrugged it on. She picked her coat up off the floor and searched the pockets until she found the prepaid cell phone she had bought the day before. The cheap-ass thing was almost out of charge.

  No matter. She dialled. What she had to say wouldn't take long.

  Remi answered on the third ring. “Yes."

  "You sent a team after me?” Voltaire kept her tone low and even, no evidence of her rage or the sense of betrayal that coiled in her gut.

  A brief pause, then Remi spoke. “Voltaire?"

  "One and the same.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “What? Didn't expect to hear my voice?"

  "What the hell are you talking about? I didn't send a team after you!"

  A hollow laugh fell from Voltaire's lips. She brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “Really? Because someone from PSC is here and they've already killed my mate's best friend."

  Remi coughed. “Mate? You have a mate?” Surprise and disbelief were evident in her voice.

  "Yes. Mate. Mine. And if anything happens to him, I'm coming for you, Remi."

  "All right. You need to calm the fuck down with the threats.” Remi's voice went up by an octave. “I don't even know where the hell you are. I did not send anyone after you, Voltaire."

  "Humph. Forgive me if I don't believe you, Madam President."

  "Believe what you want.” The cold steel had returned to Remi's voice. “But think bef
ore you act. The consequences—"

  Voltaire jumped to her feet. “Fuck the consequences. I am the motherfucking consequence if you continue to come after Blake. And you'd better warn Czion as well—I'm wiping out anyone who's foolish enough to go after my mate."

  Remi inhaled sharply at the mention of Czion. “What does Czion have to do with any of this?"

  "Are you freaking listening? Czion is here, in Colorado, trying to start a war with my mate over centuries-old territorial bullshit. I will kill him."

  "No, you can't."

  The tremor in Remi's voice shocked the hell out of Voltaire. Did Remi care for Czion despite her ranting to the contrary? She raised an eyebrow. A kink in the PSC president's facade...how to exploit it?

  "If you didn't authorise my death, who did?"

  "There's no one after you, Voltaire.” Remi sighed. “At least, not on our command. Besides the elite team isn't together right now. Saint is on assignment in Germany and Prescott is here with me."

  "I don't get it.” Voltaire shook her head in confusion. “Someone from the PSC is here, Remi,” she stressed. “The way Marcus was killed... Very few people can do that, and I trained all of them."

  "How was he killed?"

  "His body was untouched, literally immaculate.” She rubbed her eyes. “Only a trickle of blood at the side of the mouth, eyes open."

  "A mind death,” Remi whispered.

  "Exactly. How many people do we know who can do that?"

  Remi tried to rationalise. “There could be others out there, people we're not aware of with these abilities.” She was almost pleading with Voltaire to let it be so.

  "Maybe, but their psychic presence lingered. Familiar in an unexplained way. I know this person, Remi."

  "My God.” Shock and fear rang in Remi's voice as she finally got what Voltaire had been trying to tell her.

  "The PSC has an unsanctioned killer on the loose, and he's targeting my mate's pack."

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "Stay the fuck out of my way.” Voltaire hung up.

  Mouth set in a grim line, she headed to the kitchen—she couldn't brainstorm about setting a trap for a killer on an empty stomach.

  * * * *

  Half an hour later, she'd devoured a plate of bacon, eggs and toast, and still had no plan of attack. She sprawled out in the middle of Blake's bed and tried to think of all the PSC agents she'd come into contact with over time. Nobody stuck out in her mind. But then again, it was those fuckers’ job to blend in. The only person who didn't blend in was her.

  A warm tingle heated the nape of her neck. Blake was home. A smile played on her lips as she listened to his steady footsteps ascending the stairs. God. In such a short amount of time she'd come to care for and admire her mate so much more than she had before they met.

  He came into view, her black duffel in tow, and stood framed in the bedroom doorway. The wolf let out a contented rumble.

  Hmm, he'd missed her.

  "Hey.” She smiled at him.

  He returned her smile. “Hey."

  Voltaire opened her arms wide and bade him, “Come to me."

  He dropped the duffel and was at her side in two strides. Dropping to his knees beside the bed, he met her lips with his. She opened her mouth, let him inside and sighed when their tongues touched. Growls echoed in his chest. Voltaire cupped his cheek, deepening the kiss. He tasted of wildness, heat and crisp winter. Her pussy grew wet as Blake sucked on her tongue. A few more seconds of indulgence, then she broke the kiss.

  Blake pressed his forehead to hers. His chest rose and fell rapidly as she smoothed her hands down his front.

  "Thanks for the clothes,” she said. “How did it go with Marcus’ mom?"

  He heaved a heavy sigh and squeezed his eyes shut. “I think it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, telling Mrs van Treble her only son was dead."

  "Oh, God. I'm so sorry, Blake.” Once again, she was reminded that her arrival in his pack had started the whole thing in motion. Voltaire closed her eyes under the guilt's heavy weight.

  He caressed her cheek with rough fingers. “I promised her we'd find out who's responsible."

  Her lashes flew open and she met his heavy gaze. “We will,” she vowed. “We will find them."

  Blake leant forward, pressing kisses to her forehead, eyelids, and nose. “I have no doubt about that. I have you."

  Damn. Tears welled up in her eyes and clogged her throat. “It's my fault it happened, so I have to fix it."

  He reared back. “What are you talking about? How is it your fault?"

  Voltaire couldn't look at him—she fixed her gaze somewhere over his shoulder. “There's a rogue PSC agent out there, gunning for your pack. I brought him here. If I hadn't come... If only I'd stayed away..."

  "Then I wouldn't have you. I wouldn't have my mate.” He tightened his fingers on her chin. “I don't regret your being here, because you're my mate. My other half.” He brushed her lips with his. “My sanity. You're the only thing keeping me breathing right now, keeping me looking forward to another day.” His voice trembled.

  Tears spilled over and slid down her cheeks. He brushed them away with rough fingers. Voltaire sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. She leaned in to him as he shifted between her parted thighs, dropping kisses on his neck and shoulders. Blake held her tight and close, those strong arms keeping her right where she wanted to be. She slid her hands under his shirt, smoothed her palms over the corded muscles in his back, then grabbed his ass. Squeezed through the rough material of his jeans.

  The wolf growled. Blake moaned and she smiled. Purposely, she stayed out of his head, choosing to only feel and listen to what his body wanted to say. Right now, the man bucking and grinding his hard cock against her leg needed her as much as she needed him. Reaching around to his front, she undid his jeans and pushed the faded denim off his hips.

  Blake grabbed her legs and brought them to his waist. She hooked her ankles around him and slid off the bed. He moved with her and they remained locked in position with him on his knees, her anchored to his waist and him rubbing his hard-on into her softness.

  Voltaire licked a wet trail from Blake's ear to his shoulder, nipping the veins bulging there. Groans rumbled in his chest—the wolf roared.

  "Voltaire.” He sank his canines into her neck.

  Heat sparked in her core. What the fuck? The fingers she'd laid on his chest curled, digging in to his skin. He hissed, the tight grip he had on her loosening. Tremors rocked her body so hard, her knees shook and her body folded backwards. She crumpled to the floor with a moan.

  Blake grabbed her hand. “What's happening? Are you—” He sniffed the air, growling. “You're coming!"

  Contractions rolled through her. Voltaire writhed on the floor, clawing at the T-shirt, fighting to pull it off. What the hell was happening to her? Blake yanked off her T-shirt and she dropped a hand between her legs, rubbed her clit.

  "Ugh, fuck.” Legs spread wide, she rocked her hips. Juices poured from her, dripped down her ass. Blake stared at her, eyes and nostrils wide. “Don't just watch me,” she cried. “Do something!"

  With a grin, he dipped his head and lapped at her sopping cunt. Her body arched, legs lifted to wrap around his neck.

  "Motherfuck,” she sobbed. “I can't believe you made me come just like that."

  Blake chuckled as he tongued her sensitive folds. He licked first one side, then the other. He pushed his fingers into her pussy. Her walls contracted, pulled them deeper.

  Voltaire placed both hands flat on the floor and used it for leverage to lift up and lower herself onto his face. He worked with his tongue and fingers on her hungry core. Another orgasm bubbled up and she struck out, using invisible hands to push Blake's face closer into her wetness.

  Deeper, harder, she chanted. His thrusting fingers sped up, probed deep as he stiffened his tongue and flicked it over her clit. She bucked, cried out as the climax overtook her, dragging her down. Blake slurped he
r juices until they were all gone and her body's shudders subsided, then he lay on his back beside her, breath ragged.

  She climbed onto his stomach and settled her moist cleft over his enormous cock where it lay across his stomach. The thick, veined organ was curved just so, made for seeking out all her hidden spots. The red, mushroomed head glistened with the slick mixture of his and her juices. Bending over him, she kissed his lips and tasted herself. Blake rose to a sitting position, taking her with him. She curled her legs around his back again and locked her ankles.

  Bite me again. The feeling was indescribable. “I want your bite all over me until everyone knows I'm yours.” She brushed the hair away from her neck, exposing the right side to him. Do it.

  He pulled her close, rubbed both hands up and down her back as he licked her neck, nibbled. She rolled her hips over his length. She reached between them and palmed his straining cock, brushing the soft head against her dripping pussy. Blake groaned against her skin. His sharp teeth scraped her once, twice, then sank deep.

  "Mother. Fuck!” Fire heated her blood. Her pussy quivered, begged to be filled. In her palm, his cock pulsed, swelled. Blake sucked the bite, sending wicked need shooting straight to her cunt. His hips jerked, thrust up.

  Voltaire swiped the head of his cock with her thumb, spreading the pre-cum around. She waited until the climax coursing through both of them was imminent, then lifted off his thighs. Blake canted his hips. She bore down and impaled herself on him.

  Pleasure-pain stole her breath, froze her heartbeat and stilled her movements. Blake was far gone, thrusting into her like a man possessed. The wolf growled its approval. Voltaire rode him with her eyes closed, head thrown back, fingers digging into his shoulder. She tugged off his T-shirt and threw it aside. Her nipples grazed his chest as she flattened her front to his.

  Blake gripped her hips, driving up into her with savage grunts. His climax triggered hers. She moaned. This was what she had stayed away from for so long, what she'd feared. This feeling of contentment, belonging. He pressed his forehead to hers, took her lips.