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Three years later...
LIGHTFOOT AND SEAN sat on opposite ends of the ER waiting room while a toddling Liam charged from one to other. They both felt lucky they’d been nearby when Mac called. Lightfoot had been in DC for meetings at the Bureau of Land Management. Sean had been in Alexandria on a job—setting up the demolition of an old warehouse. As soon as Mac tagged them, they knew what was happening. Sean had reached out and even now, Nakai and his mate Tala were on their way from New Mexico. Hannah would need Tala. Danny Keegan, their other former squad member, was in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico on an oil rig. Captain Harjo was in the middle of the sandbox. Again.
“DA!” Liam pivoted in mid-run and charged the doors segregating treatment rooms from the waiting area.
Mac scooped up the little boy and buried his face in his son’s shoulder as he fought for control. He couldn’t go to pieces. Not yet. Liam needed him. Hannah would need him when she woke up from the sedative. The presence of the two Wolves pricked the hair on the back of his neck and he raised his ravaged face to them.
“Fuck, Mac. We’re sorry.” Sean touched his shoulder, a gesture of solidarity and compassion.
“Nakai and Tala will be here later today.” Lightfoot, though his face remained stoic as ever, bit out the words. Emotion vibrated in his voice.
“Little girl,” Mac choked out. “She was perfect. Ah, God.” Tears clogged his throat and he couldn’t speak. He could barely stand there, his son wrapped securely in his arms, comforted by two of his best friends. “There was so much blood.”
“Hannah?”
“She’s sleeping. They...I almost lost her.” He sagged then, almost went to his knees, would have if Lightfoot hadn’t grabbed Liam while Sean put his broad shoulder beneath Mac’s arm to support him.
Liam fussed and squirmed in Lightfoot’s arms, reaching for his father. “Da! DA!”
“Shhh, little man.” Jostling the toddler on his hip, Michael backed away. “Your dad needs a minute.” The child quieted as he reared back to stare up at Michael with eyes so much like his father’s. The boy patted Lightfoot’s cheeks.
“Da?”
“Your dad’s right over there. Why don’t you and I go see the big horse?” He nodded to Sean and headed out the double doors that swished open at his approach. Outside, the sun blistered a hot summer sky. Crossing the street, he carried Liam to the swath of grass surrounding Washington Circle and the large sculpture of George Washington on a horse.
“Down. Down now!”
“Okay, little man.” Michael squatted, steadied the boy on his feet and then rocked back on his heels to watch.
Inside the ER, Mac listened while a nurse explained that Hannah was being moved up to a room and he’d be allowed back in to see her shortly. Sean thought he might have to physically restrain Mac until his former commander blew out a breath, scrubbed his palm over the top of his head, and simply nodded.
After the nurse, her crepe-soled shoes making no sound, disappeared beyond the imposing metal doors, Mac turned to face Sean. “What do I do? How do we survive this?”
Mac tried to remember to count his blessings. Liam was healthy. They’d lost another child just after conception—one he hadn’t told Hannah about. She’d thought the heavy period was normal. He’d grieved, as Wolves did, and made sure he was away during her fertile periods. But they’d slipped up and she’d gotten pregnant again. Had carried this one for seven months. Their baby girl never took a first breath when she came out into the world.
And the blood. Hemorrhaging. The doctors wouldn’t let him in the treatment room. Hannah’s blood slicked the floor and he’d wanted to rip the doors off to get to his mate. If Lightfoot hadn’t reminded him of Liam, of his son, he would have gone berserk. If he ever lost Hannah, he would. Scorched earth. He’d leave nothing standing.
“She’s strong, Mac. You both are.”
“This will kill her, Sean. Her heart will break and there’s no way I can put it back together for her.”
Sean squeezed Mac’s shoulder. Yeah, just like yours is breaking right now.
Mac raised his head, stared at the other Wolf, nodded. “I need to go sit with her.”
“Roger that, boss. Lightfoot’n I will bring up Nakai and Tala when they get here. And Liam. He’s gonna want you and his mom.”
HANNAH LAY ON her side, back to the door and the people gathered in the room talking in hushed tones. Fucking doctors. What good were they? Didn’t they realize she could hear them? Nonviable fetus. Still born. That wasn’t a fetus. That was her baby. Her baby girl. Liam’s little sister.
She was angry. So fucking angry. No amount of drugs could dull the rage firing through her blood. Seven months. She’d been so damn careful for seven months. Two. She’d lost two babies now. Mac didn’t know about the other one. A week old. Maybe. She’d known as soon as her period hit that something had happened. She’d spent all her love on Liam. And tried not to resent Mac because, damn him all to hell, she loved him. And she didn’t want him to hurt like she’d hurt. She had pulled away from him, from intimacy with him. Liam. She’d claimed him as her excuse. An active toddler who left her exhausted.
Wanting to curse and scream, she bit her tongue, pretended to still be unconscious. Smoothed her breathing and her heart rate when the medicos stopped talking to check the fucking monitors. She’d been so careful. After Liam, she didn’t go back to work. She wasn’t a milk-and-cookies kind of mom but she didn’t go back, resigned her commission, became a stay-at-home mother. Twice now, she’d been careful, done everything in her fucking power to keep the babies growing inside her safe.
But she didn’t. She didn’t keep them safe. Hell, she’d worked right up to the day she’d gone into labor with Liam. She’d left the Pentagon for the birthing center, met there by Mac and the Wolves. Fucking bunch of pansies when it came to pregnant women and babies. They’d all cooed and held Liam. He’d been a gift to them all, she realized now. Her gift to them, a reminder that they could have...normal. But this wasn’t normal. This aching void in her chest was too hurtful to be normal.
The doctors left, followed shortly by the two nurses. She opened her eyes then, stared out the window. She looked out toward the southeast, toward the Mall, though she couldn’t see beyond the buildings on the next block. Work. She needed to get back to work. She could find herself again in the mundane tasks of adding up numbers, find a way to hide from the pain. She would tug on the Secretary if she needed to. She didn’t want the rank, the uniform. Just the work. She could be a DAC. Department of the Army-Civilian. She’d laugh if her chest didn’t hurt so badly.
TALA, LIAM FIRMLY in her arms, shooed her husband and the other two Wolves out of the room. Hannah’s voice raised in anger behind her and Mac’s snarling rumble raised the hair on her arms. None of them should witness this fight, especially the little boy with tear-slick cheeks. He didn’t need to hear the words his parents slung at each other, every one meant to wound, to slice and bleed the other.
Wolves. Their passions ran deep, especially mated pairs. Hannah was stronger than most, as much an alpha as her husband. She could only pray they didn’t injure their hearts so deeply they killed what was between them.
“Come, Liam. I want ice cream. I think you want some too, little man, yes?”
The boy in her arms nodded, his child’s face solemn as he peeked over her shoulder at the closed door.
“I think ice cream is good. For all of us.” Nakai deftly herded Sean and Lightfoot away. “Leave them be. This is a river they must cross alone. We cannot help them. If one starts to drown, the other must throw the rope to save. This is not up to us.”
FOUR MONTHS LATER, Hannah walked into General Bradshaw’s office. He’d gotten his first star while she’d been off playing mommy. He wore a smirk and didn’t rise as she approached his desk.
“Major.”
“Not any more, General. Congratulations, by the way.”
“I told you so.”
She just managed to keep her eyes forward despite the insane urge to roll them. “You always did like getting the last word in, General Bradshaw.”
“Are you settling in?”
“Yes sir.”
“Thoughts?”
Resisting the urge to remain at attention, she shifted her feet and relaxed her shoulders. “It’s not the BRAC Commission.”
Bradshaw laughed—a deep, cheery sound—and his eyes lit up. “I’d think not. The Defense Security Service has a much...broader mission. What are your thoughts on Director Talbot?”
Hannah’s internal radar went off. “My thoughts, sir?”
“Don’t dance around it, Hannah. Can you work with her?”
“I’ve only met her once, sir. She seems very...capable.”
The general leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I want you to understand your role in the agency, Hannah.”
“I’m assigned to counterintelligence, general. I figure that spells out my mission pretty clearly.”
An expression flickered across his face, one gone so quickly Hannah didn’t have a chance to decipher it.
“How does your husband feel about this?”
The question rocked her back on her figurative heels but she maintained her posture and demeanor. “The choice is mine, general. It always has been.”
Seven years later
MAC ENTERED THE Alexandria house through the garage. Liam was happily away for his camping weekend with his best friend. Hannah was home, the sour apple smell of her annoyance overlaying the other scents. Eleven years they’d been together and he knew her as well as he knew himself. Work. Something had happened at the DSS and while she might have shrugged it off, she still dragged the last dregs of it home. He caught another whiff—all Hannah. Rich, spicy. Cloves and jasmine washed in rain. He wanted her, as evidenced by the tightening in his groin.
He found her in their bedroom. She’d stripped out of the suit she’d worn that day and currently wore nothing but a tank and gym shorts. Work clothes and her shoulder holster had been tossed carelessly on the bed. She glanced over her shoulder, acknowledged him with a flaring of her blue eyes. Annoyance, and beneath it, beneath the surge of her arousal, he scented burnt toast. Anger. But not at him. Still, he made a handy punching bag. He would push her buttons, tease the mad until she unleashed it and let it go. Then he’d have her, as she would have him, the give and take of their lovemaking as comfortable as old sweats and as sharp as nails.
“I see what you’re thinking,” she snarled, turning and backing away. “No. I don’t have time to play.”
“Who’s playing, Major?”
“Not me.”
“Good.” He stalked toward her, ripping his T-shirt over his head. “Me either.” He cornered her against the wooden foot board of the bed and ran a hand over her butt, along one muscled thigh. She pushed at his chest but he flipped her onto the bed, following quick as a snake, pressing his body to hers, his mouth searching and finding its mate in an explosion of need that rocked them both to their cores.
Hannah fought, squirming beneath him before surrendering, arms wrapping around him as she met him, her passion turning greedy, reckless, unfettered. She dragged short nails up his back, scraping along his skin before she dug fingers into his shoulder muscles. She craved his body—always had, always would. The weight, the shape, the glorious heat radiating from him. He pressed against her, pinning her down. Her heart slammed against her ribcage and she couldn’t breathe as his clever fingers found her, teased her legs apart, found the heat and depth of her. One finger, two, and she quivered, unable to catch her breath. Everything inside her clenched and she was up and over, spiraling on a wave of joy.
He felt her release, that shuddering surrender followed by a sigh. But he wasn’t done. This wasn’t enough, not for her, not for either of them. He ripped off her tank, knew his hands were rough. Didn’t care. He was wild with need, wanted her desperate for him, wanted—needed—her with him in the delirium.
She followed. Her body came alive, her panting whimpers as eager and mindless as his own. Her hands turned as rough, grasping, taking, leaving her mark on his skin as he marked hers.
No longer a patient hunter, he had no time for tenderness. Not here. Not now. There was only room for wanting her. Only voracious, urgent need devouring all thought, demanding to be quenched. Mac set the wolf in him free, and its mate—his mate—Hannah met them both, ferocious and relentless.
Pushed to feral excitement, they stripped each other of the few clothes left between them. Skin to skin, he drove into her, hard and deep. She gasped at his invasion but he didn’t care, shoving up her knees, wanting her to take more. To take all. Take him.
Hannah cried out as pleasure slashed through her with burning claws. Her hips pistoned against him, the slap of sweaty flesh drowning out the sounds of their breathing. Her hands gripped his shoulders, anchoring her. His squeezed her butt, lifting her, changing the angle so he could drive deeper. Fast. Faster. Even faster still. Hannah’s cry of release came in desperate sobs as his echoed hers and he choked out her name.
Later—whether minutes or hours, her hands slid limply to the bed. Her breath rasped as she gulped air. Surprised her racing heart didn’t leap from her chest to pirouette around the room, she inhaled Mac’s scent, drawing it into her body as she had his cock.
“Christ on a cracker with raspberry jam!” she managed to huff out.
Mac started to laugh, discovered he didn’t have the breath for it. He’d collapsed on top of her. He meant to roll off, let her breathe—and him too, and he would. Soon. Or maybe in a day or two.
She shoved at him. “Move.”
“I don’t think I can.” He waited another moment, gathered his energy. With effort, he slipped out of her, and rolled off. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling, mirroring her posture. “I vote we stay here.”
“Forever?”
“It’s an option.”
She managed to roll to her side, tuck her head against his shoulder. “Have I mentioned lately that I love you?”
“Once or twice.”
“Good. Yeah, that’s good. Should hold you awhile.” She mumbled something else as her eyes drifted shut. “Pups. Remind me wolf pups when we wake up. Like next week, ’kay?”
