Chapter Twenty-seven

Shelby huddled on the bench, waiting for the bus that would take her from the square in downtown Jackson to … where? Gods only knew. The line just went in a fat circular arc, trekking from hotel to motel, resort to resort. She was in an idiotic loop that led to absolutely nowhere. The thing was, she could have practically been to Cheyenne by now, but she just couldn't summon up the nerve to really leave Jake.

His eyes haunted her, those electric green depths that forever seemed to sift right through her soul, to dive into the marrow of her very being.

You have to stand still for a while. Stand still with me.

That's what he'd said, and his urgent, loving words had only driven her farther away. Had only made her want to run, just like he'd accused her of doing. So if she really was a runner, why was she still riding circles around Jackson, just ten miles away from the one man who terrified her more than anyone else in the universe?

Because you can't leave him. And you can't stop loving him, either. … Running won't ever fix that one. You're a liar, but those lies can't keep you away from him.

She pulled her denim jacket tightly about her body, cursing Wyoming for being so godsdamned cold, even now in May. Whatever happened to global warming? Obviously someone in this part of the human realm hadn't gotten that memo, not with the light snow flurries currently falling from the sky. The snow itself seemed like nothing so much as one big, gargantuan lie. June was right around the corner, yet they had snow sifting down on them, as soft as a summer rain.

I'll call him. That's what I'll do! Just give him a little ring on his cell and make sure that he's all right. She felt within her jacket pocket but with sinking awareness remembered that she'd dropped the phone on her bed back at base. It had been meant as a gesture, one of those big, dramatic statements that indicated she was cutting all ties between the two of them. So much for melodrama, always better in theory than actual practice. What she wouldn't do just to have that little slim-line right back in her cozy pocket.

Gods, what she wouldn't do to hear Jake's throaty, deep voice just one more time.

You won't leave me. Not this time.

Clearly he hadn't thought her actually capable of it, hadn't believed the very worst of her nature. Tears burned her eyes, blurring her view of the square, of the bars and tourist shops lined all about her. Of the newly fallen snow dusting the elk-horn arch across the street.

From nowhere the urge to time walk overcame her. I could just delve in, reach out … a little bit. I could know whether Jake and I are actually meant to have a future. She bucked against the compulsion, knowing that whatever she might see, it would only doom her to fulfilling her vision's prophecy. Still, the impulse was there, that need to see what life might offer them if only she could stop running.

From around the corner, a bus lurched forward, hissing as it came to a stop in front of her. The door cranked open, the bus driver staring down at her expectantly. "Where you headed?" Shelby asked, stalling. The sign on the front said green line.

"This is the In-Town, honey. That's what you've got."

"But your sign says it's the—"

"Doesn't matter what the sign says," the driver told her impatiently. "This is the In-Town line."

Lies and more godsdamned lies. Signs that claimed what wasn't the truth; snow when it should have been practically summer; men who went by names that didn't belong to them. Lies and more lies, she thought again, feeling suddenly furious.

Cars passed by, their headlights arcing through the nighttime that enfolded her. The driver continued to wait, her impatience so concrete she could almost smell the woman's irritation. "You gonna keep sitting there, or you gonna do something?"

Hell, yeah, she was going to do something. She rose slowly to her feet, tugging her denim jacket close about her body. The bus released another hissing sigh as if it were calling out to her, but she walked past its open door … and kept on walking. Then began running. Running and running and running; for her very life she ran, never planning to stop.

Because finally, at long last, she knew how she was going to fix the madness.

Shelby's feet slapped against the hardwood of the main lodge as she tore up the two flights of stairs that would take her to Jake's quarters. At the first landing, she nearly bowled over her queen, who was carrying several blankets in her arms.

"Whoa! Shelby, I thought you were …"

Breathlessly, she lowered into a half bow. "I'm back, my lady."

"And with a vengeance, I see." Kelsey gave her an insightful smile. "He went upstairs a while ago, so you should be in luck."

Shelby nodded, murmured a thank-you, and hit the next flight of stairs.

Arriving at Jake's door, she didn't wait to knock, didn't bother with any kind of formality—she just turned the knob and catapulted right through. Jake sat sprawled on the leather sofa in nothing but a pair of thin boxer shorts, a leather-bound novel in his hand. As she stumbled into the room, he jumped to his feet with a surprised shout.

"What the … Shell?" He looked past her at the open door as she kicked it shut without a backward glance. "I thought you'd left." His green eyes were bloodshot tired, with dark smudges beneath them that betrayed his deep emotion and exhaustion.

"I did leave, but then …"

"You came back," he finished quietly.

She gave him a hesitant smile and took a few slow steps forward. "I hope that's all right."

He gave a vigorous nod. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, totally okay, of course. Do you want to … sit down or something?" He indicated the sofa, turning slightly so that the muscles of his bare chest rippled magnificently.

You are so very gorgeous. A true thing of beauty.

"You're not going commando," she observed flirtatiously.

Color rose to his face, and he gave the band of his boxers a little pop. "I—I, uh, I picked these up at the commissary. They're comfortable."

"Calvin Klein?" She took another step closer, struggling to breathe.

He stared down at the boxers as if he'd never noticed them before. "I dunno … I guess so? One of our purchasing agents has gotten way into the human realm, and I just thought … I dunno," he repeated, popping the waistband again. "I thought they were a good idea."

She bobbed her head, gasping, and staggered toward the sofa. "I … ran the … whole way here."

He planted one of his bearlike hands on her shoulder, pushing her onto the leather couch. "Sit down." Her body obeyed easily, folding downward. "Ran … from where?"

She pressed a trembling hand to her temple. "I think from town."

"Gods, Shell." He rummaged around on the sofa and then thrust a thick sweatshirt into her hands. "Put this on; you're shaking all over."

She did as he ordered, drinking in the heady scent of him that suffused the cotton pullover. If he hadn't been with her, she'd have curled up with the thing, holding it close against her body and sniffing it until the sun cracked the dawn.

As she settled back onto the sofa, finally catching her breath, he kept his hands self-consciously in front of his hips, and then after several awkward moments crossed the room, yanking a white T-shirt off the floor and over his head. As if that flimsy layer of clothing could hide the pure god that he was—could possibly contain his bulky muscles and his large, developed body.

"Do you need some water?" He gestured toward what she realized was a small kitchenette. "Or … food? I have a whole fridge full. I could make you a sandwich. Or soup … or not." He dipped his head, shuffling from foot to foot awkwardly. "Whatever. I can take care of you."

"I know you can, Scott."

His bright eyes met hers in a flash. "Don't call me that. I've told you before," he said in a sharp tone.

She sank back into the sofa, barely able to lift her head. "I'm sick of all the dishonesty. In this war. And between us."

"There's no lies with you and me, Shell."

"Of course there are. Big, bad lies, the kind that can kill a relationship." She worked to lift her eyes to his, afraid of what she'd see. The white-hot pain in his gaze ripped at her very soul. "Every day I spend with you is a lie. Because you're Scott Dillon, and until you admit that fact—really admit it—then we got no future, you and me. You're still running, Scott. Your maneuver just looks a little bit different than mine. I had to accept who and what you are as an Antousian; now you need to do the same thing and stop running from the truth of who you are."

He staggered backward. "I'm not the one running here; that's you."

She rose to her feet, feeling unsteady, but closing the distance between them easily. "So you've said, boy. So you've said. But I'm not the one hiding behind a name that's not my own. Scott."

"Why does it matter?" he asked in a shockingly small voice. "Huh, Shelby? It shouldn't matter, not really."

"Because Jake still mourns Hope, still lives in the past, and he always will. That's why." She slapped her chest significantly. "But Scott? Well, Scott lives for me."

He shook his head, wincing as if she'd just shot him. "Please don't. Please just … really, just … don't."

"Why not, Scott? Does it hurt you for me to call you by name, Scott? Scott Dillon. S'Skautsa. Beautiful name, lovely Refarian name, plopped right down on an Antousian boy."

He lifted both hands against her, shielding himself. "Don't do this," he said, his voice almost pleading.

"Tell me why I shouldn't … S'Skautsa?"

"Because it is a Refarian name!" He screamed loud enough to rouse the entire compound. "I was given a Refarian name. …"

"Yes, that's right," she whispered, closing in on him, but still he stumbled backward. "You're Refarian."

"Antousian," he cried out in a plaintive voice. "A fucking hybrid freak. Everything you hate and despise. No wonder you run from me."

"I'm here, Scott," she whispered, reaching to touch his cheek. "And I'm not going anywhere. I don't despise what you are."

"I am a vlksai!"he spit out, clenching both her shoulders within his hands.

"Yet your parents gave you the name of a great Refarian king from the very beginning. I wonder why that was."

He lifted his arm over his face, still backing up until he hit the solid wall of his room. "Stop, Shell. I beg of you."

She placed her hands squarely against his strong, muscular chest. "They gave you a Refarian name, Scott, for one reason and one reason only. Are you going to tell me why?"

He shook his head, clearly unwilling to lower his arm.

"Then I'm going to say it," she continued. "Because they knew your heart. They knew what and who you were going to be, right down to the marrow of your being, long before you even existed. You aren't a killer, and you're not a monster. … You're the gentlest, kindest man I've ever known. Of any species. Any species."

Slowly, he lowered his arm, tears gleaming in his exotic eyes. "I can't accept that I'm Refarian."

"Scott does. I know him pretty well, you know, and he doesn't even consider himself Antousian at all."

He slumped heavily. "His life's been different than mine so far. Charmed."

"But you are Scott. Say it. Agree with me."

"No," he argued, shaking his head vigorously. "This is about you and your need to run."

"I won't confront that inside myself until you—you, Scott Dillon—stop running from me and the rest of the world. Tell me now. What is your name? Tell me!"

From the look on his dark face, she might as well have stabbed him with a dagger. "I don't mourn her anymore," he practically breathed.

"No, you're right. You don't. You only mourn the man you were before she died. So say it with me; tell me your name."

He heaved at the air between them, sucking in dry, desperate gasps of it—eyeing her so angrily, she almost decided to back down from this plan of hers. But the thing was, she knew it was the only way. Every instinct inside of her said that he had to come clean with her, that they could have a future only if he would truly be himself.

One last time, she encouraged him; she pushed forward, wrapping her arms upward about his neck. Burrowing into him, planting her forehead against his thick, powerful chest, she nearly whimpered, "Tell me your name, soldier."

A long, long silence met her entreaty, and then he crumpled into her arms with a whisper. "I am S'Skautsa."

The need to claim her came roaring to life within his blood. He was so desperate to have that feminine, delicate body of hers pushed up beneath his that he began to tremble right down to his bare feet. With a bellowing growl, he spun her around until her back was up against the wall. Planting his palms on each side of her face, he framed her much smaller body with his own. His cock stiffened inside his boxers, lengthening until it pushed right out of the opening in front. Pressing his hips against her, he let her feel just how turned on he was.

"This is what Scott was always about," he said in a low voice. "He liked it rough."

"So make it rough for me." Her pale eyes sparkled with danger and seduction. "You take me however you want … Scott."

He rocked his hips, and she fell into the same rhythm. "You've been forewarned. Cause I can't hold back, not tonight." He pressed his mouth against her neck, nibbling so harshly it would leave a mark. This moment was all about claiming her.

She tilted her head upward. "Think I can't handle you, soldier? You already know I like it just like this."

He took her hands and planted them over her head, pinning them against the wall with his own, much larger palms. The position left her vulnerable, her large breasts jutting outward through the material of her top. Her nipples had beaded from arousal, looking like two fabulous pearls beneath the white material of her sweater.

"Arch for me," he commanded, and with a flick of her tongue, she complied.

The round fullness of each breast protruded even more dramatically, and he smiled, a low, dark growl of appreciation rumbling inside his chest "Oh, yes, sweet thing. You are … stunning."

All her need for control had vanished; she was surrendering herself completely. Willingly. Still, her gaze traveled down his body, at least as much of it as she could see. He ground his hips against her, letting her feel the thickened length of his shaft.

"I know you want to touch me," he said as she flushed. "I sense it."

She raised her eyebrows, a coy smile on her lips. "Oh, you sense it, do you?"

"Do I have to soul-gaze you?"

She blinked up at him. "I want to feel you in my hands."

He growled in deep pleasure at her words. "Not just yet." He pressed his face against hers, scenting her. A long, sweet draft of her aroma filtered into his lungs, hitting his body like wildfire. "Oh … gods help me," he moaned, releasing her hands slowly until they dropped back to her sides.

And she was all over him the moment he set her free, nearly tackling him as she wrapped her body about his. His hands skimmed up and down her hips, around her back. Vaguely, she was aware that they were moving in a sort of circular motion, heading toward his bedroom as, piece by piece, he undressed her. Kissing her hotly, he tugged at her turtleneck, getting her loose from it, and only when he was ready to ditch the sweater did he break the kiss long enough to get it over her head.

Then he clamped his lips against hers once again, swirling his tongue inside her mouth, fumbling with her jeans. She slid her hands low about his waist, feeling the smooth warmth of his flesh as she began to work at his boxers, shoving them lower down his hips.

"Gotta have you out of these," she murmured, tugging them down until his cock sprang free with a heavy, joyous bounce.

She managed to untangle her feet from the crumpled jeans, and kicked them halfway across the room. They ricocheted off his coffee table with a soft thud, distracting her briefly, and when she turned back to him he was completely, gloriously naked. She sucked in a breath, staggering backward toward the fireplace.

He was so utterly beautiful to behold, his dusky skin glowing in the firelight, his feet planted slightly apart. That long, thick erection of his jutted outward, glistening with intense arousal and need. He stood bathed in the firelight without shame, his large shoulders defined by striations of muscle that roped down to his much narrower hips. She wanted to kneel at his feet, to treat him like the god he almost appeared to be.

"I can't talk," she finally squeaked out, her gaze traveling down his length one more time. "I mean, I've seen you before, plenty of times, but … not like this."

"Shelby Tyler? Speechless? This is a first." He laughed in a whiskey-rich voice, circling closer to her. There was an implied physical threat in his tone, the promise of intense, raw seduction as he neared her.

She reached a hand to the mantel, steadying herself. "It's you. I've never just … looked at you, not like this."

His lashes lowered as he tugged her flush against his naked body. Skin to skin, warmth to warmth, they stood before the fire. His erection pressed into her stomach, nudging at her belly button. "This body, Shell," he told her softly, sliding his palms underneath her bottom, "it belongs to you. I belong to you completely."

She grinned. "I promise to be kind."

"I know you will," he said, not dropping his serious tone.

She beamed suddenly, tilting her head back so she could stare into his eyes. "Question game," she purred softly, and rabid heat hit his face. The last time they'd gone that route …

"If you could have sex with me in any position right now, what would it be?"

He swallowed hard, his throat tightening. "I'd … be on top … so I could stare into your eyes the whole time."

"I like that answer," she whispered, her lashes fluttering coquettishly. Shelby Tyler definitely knew how to crank his engine to full throttle. That simple fluttering of her eyes and he couldn't hold back a needy growl. Hell, it was about the neediest growl he'd ever laid on her.

She planted her palm in the center of his chest, stroking him sensually for a moment, then whispered, "And where … where would you make love to me, staring me in the eyes the whole time?"

He eased her hands off of him, took one step back, and dropped right on his knees, falling into a worshipful posture that he hoped would reveal how totally he loved her. She deserved a little worshipping. Opening his arms to her, he fixed her with his gaze.

"Here," he said. "Right here, in front of the fire."

She launched herself into his arms, tumbling with him to the floor. He mounted her without another word, sliding into her slickness, and buried himself to the hilt. The floor was hard beneath his knees and forearms, but he didn't care.

There was only Shelby, looking up into his eyes with adoration. There was only the deepest realization inside of him: that he loved this woman. Completely, with absolute abandon. He, who had never believed he could fall in love again, was a total goner.

That thought sent his body into a frenzy; his hips went wild, pumping against hers, and she rose off the floor, meeting every single thrust. Then she took her muscular calves and wrapped them squarely about his lower back, and he sank even deeper into her core. Faster he sped, feeling her quivering, grasping relief the moment it came. And he went off like a rocket grenade at the exact same moment, shooting hot spurts of his seed deep, deep inside of her.

Dimly he wondered if they'd just created a baby. The thought made him grin like a schoolboy as he pressed his sweaty forehead against hers. Yeah, he'd love a family with this woman. He'd love … a lifetime with her.