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Bryce lunged forward and swiped a massive paw at the wolf, his grizzly acting on instinct. Protect our mate.
The wolf yelped as it landed in wet plants. The fog, which had been faint before, started clouding in around them, obscuring Bryce’s vision. He looked for Margot, saw her running for a nearby boulder, her tail a beacon of orange. Bright, colorful, beautiful woman. He wished she didn't have to hide.
Turning back to the wolf, he approached, his footsteps fast and angry. The wolf scrambled to its feet.
Another scent—this one feline. As he searched for the owner of the feline scent, the wolf attacked, locking its jaws on Bryce's forearm. Pain radiated from his elbow joint and he roared through it, lifting his arm and whipping it back. The wolf lost its purchase on his fur and flew, spine first, into a boulder. It slid down the rock with a thud. Without checking, Bryce knew that it was dead.
His breaths came hard and fast as he whirled around, seeking the feline. He couldn't find the beast, but he smelled a second one. A panther approached the boulder where Margot had crouched. She was cornered. Bryce roared, hoping to get the panther's attention. Me, he thought, fight me, instead.
He never should’ve told her to hide. Otherwise, she wouldn't be trapped. She screamed at the panther, her fur bristling, her teeth bared. She was going to fight back.
She would lose.
Bryce growled, advancing on the panther. Me. Come after me.
The panther ignored him, and Bryce was too far away. He lunged forward.
Not in time.
The panther swiped at Margot, tearing into her side. Bryce's vision went red. Fear and rage filled his system, pumping cold and hot through his veins. He pounded forward, not even conscious of moving, and raked his massive claws against the panther. The metallic scents of blood filled the damp air. Bryce roared again and threw the limp panther's body aside so he could reach Margot.
Another shifter was nearby—he picked up the scent of the snow leopard. Rhiannon, that was her name. Bryce whipped his head around, searching for her. At the far reaches of his vision on the darkened trail, he saw her standing, naked, watching. She turned on her heel, then disappeared into the fog.
Not a threat. He had to care for Margot. Her fur was soaked with blood and she breathed heavily.
He shifted back to human faster than he'd ever shifted in his life, and it burned more than ever as he rushed the bones and muscles tearing apart and reforming. No time to recover afterward—he crouched, bare knees touching the bloody ground where Margot lay, still in her fox form.
He smelled blood and violets.
"Babe," he said, pressing his hands over the wound.
She whimpered.
"Babe, come on," he said. "Shift back, it'll help you heal. Come on."
She opened and closed her eyes.
He knew what she was thinking—a shift was always painful, and she was already in so much pain it would be hard to put her body through more.
"I'm with you," he said. "You're so brave. I'm with you, you can do this."
She kept her eyes closed, but a faint, shimmery light surrounded her. He removed his hands from her bleeding side to give her space, hoping it was the right thing to do.
When the light faded away, Margot lay before him, naked in her human form. Still bleeding. He frowned. He had to dress the wound before moving her, at least to stop the blood.
Her eyes were still closed, but her breathing sounded more regular.
"I need to find my shirt," Bryce said. "I'll be right back."
"'Kay," she murmured.
At least she was conscious.
He found his shirt and jeans where he'd stripped out of them, and Margot's clothes, too. Gathering them up, he raced back to the boulder where she lay. There, he tore his shirt into strips and wrapped them around her torso. She didn't make a sound of complaint, not even a whimper.
"You're so brave, babe," he said.
She gave him a smile. "Thanks."
He looked from her to the trail. They'd climbed far up already—it would probably be easier to find the witch than hike back to town. Wherever he went, he'd need pants. He found his in the pile of clothing and pulled them on.
A rustling sound brought his attention back to Margot. She was trying to stand up, bracing one of her arms on the boulder, her face contorted in pain.
"Here, I've got ya," he said.
He helped her into her pants, then her shirt. Then he bent slightly so he could pull her into his arms, bridal style.
Her face was pale. He needed to get her somewhere safe and warm as soon as possible. How much farther was the witch's house? For a moment he stood torn between going back to town and heading up the dark mountain toward uncertainty.
Then he decided. Uphill to the witch—she could heal Margot faster. He'd do anything to ease Margot's pain. His woman wasn't going to die, but if the witch could ease her suffering, that's where they'd go.
A wind whipped along the sides of the mountain, tearing through his clothes. Shifters didn't usually get cold, but Margot shivered. He held her close, but not too tight, afraid of putting too much pressure on her wound.
"Gonna be all right," Margot said into his neck.
"I know you are," he answered.
The house couldn't be far, could it? He walked almost blindly, staying to the path, unsure of how much farther he'd have to go. With every step, he listened to the surrounding wilderness while listening for Margot's shallow breaths.
He nearly missed the house in the darkness. He'd expected windows to be lit, and a cheerful-yet-enigmatic witch to stand outside and beckon them forward. Instead, the single door hung on its hinges, open.
"Fuck," he whispered, slowing his pace.
He sniffed, but all he got was a noseful of chill, damp air. No other signs of life, shifter or human.
Margot moaned and her closed eyelids fluttered, her forehead wrinkled with pain.
"C'mon, babe," he whispered, then approached the house. "You'll get to rest soon."
He knocked the door open the rest of the way with his foot. Once inside, his eyes didn't need to adjust to the darkness—it was just as black in here as it was outside. There was a bed in the corner, and a counter lined up along another wall, covered in jars and cans. He didn't know much about witches, but it looked like she'd used that area for more than just eating. Making spell ingredients? He didn't know.
Worse, he didn't know how to tell Margot that the witch wasn't here and he couldn't ease her pain.
Margot was asleep, though. They'd stay here tonight, rather than risk putting her through more pain by hiking back down the mountain. He latched the door closed with the coil of rope that wrapped around a peg on the jamb. It wouldn't keep out intruders, but Bryce was more than a match for anyone who might come. Even fucking Rhiannon. Damn her. He and Margot should have been more careful, but how could they have known.
She was still in his arms. He didn't want to let her go, but she couldn't sleep all night like this, as much as it would have soothed the angry beast inside of him.
Folded blankets sat in a stack on the bed, so he laid Margot down and spread them out over her. He didn't have to change the dressings on her wounds, luckily—no risk of infection, with a shifter's fast healing.
As he fluffed out the blankets, he noticed signs of a hasty retreat. The witch had been here fairly recently. A small wood stove held some heat. He found a stack of logs nearby and put one in the stove, lit a fire. Margot sighed in her sleep and started to turn before stopping with a pained sound.
"Hey, it's okay, I'm here," Bryce murmured, easing down next to her in the bed.
He fell asleep next to her, trying to stay as still as possible so as not to disturb her. He dreamed of caring for her, helping her heal and rest, watching her sleep, and making sure she was comfortable.
*
WHEN HE AWOKE THE NEXT morning, Margot was curled up next to him. She'd thrown one of her arms and one of her legs possessively over him, trapping him in place on the tiny bed. He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. Violets now, and only the faint scent of dried blood.
He exhaled in relief. He'd known she would be okay, and he'd tried to reassure himself repeatedly during the night, but nothing, nothing could compare to the abject fear he'd felt at seeing her hurt and bleeding.
The witch's home looked more cheerful in the morning. Still dim with fog rolling outside, and not entirely warm, but at least it was light and looked like up until recently, it had been a comfortable home to someone.
She stirred next to him, snuggling her head against his shoulder. He looked over at her face, watching her slowly wake up. Her breathing changed and her heart rate increased slightly.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Hey," she said back, her blue eyes opening and finding his.
"Comfy?" he asked.
She started to pull away from him. "Oh, sorry, I don't know what I was doing—"
"Come back here," he said, tugging her over again. "I like it. I want you here."
She grinned at him. "I like it, too."
"How's your side?" he asked.
"Doesn't hurt anymore," she said.
"Mind if I check it out?"
"Kinda. It means I'll have to let you go."
"We have to get up in a little while, anyway," he said, "and plan what we're doing next."
She huffed and rolled onto her back. "Fine."
He lifted the edge of her t-shirt and found the bloodstained remains of his t-shirt still wrapped tightly around her. "I'm gonna take the wrappings off now, okay?"
She inhaled, exhaled. "Okay."
He pulled the torn fabric away. Her smooth skin was marred by four jagged lines, all scabbed over. Reaching out, he ran his fingers between the wounds.
Margot sucked in a breath.
He pulled away immediately. "Sorry, does it hurt?"
"No," she said. "Touch me again."
Her scent of violets filled his nose, highlighted by her feminine arousal.
Skimming his hand along the other side of her torso, he marveled at her beauty and her bravery. She'd kept him from panicking last night after she'd been hurt. She'd faced the panther, she'd been ready to go down fighting.
She covered his hand with hers and guided it along her belly, running his fingertips all the way to the edge of her shirt, which was bunched up just below her breasts, and then down to the waistband of her pants.
Bryce lowered his head until their foreheads touched. "I want to make love to you, Margot. But if you don't want that—"
She let go of his hand and reached over to run her fingers along the front of his pants, where his cock stretched the fabric. "I want that. I want you."
Her fingers stroking him felt like fucking paradise, and he surged forward, capturing her mouth with his, showing her with his lips and tongue all the love, all the desire running through him.
My mate, he thought, stroking his tongue against her lips. She opened her mouth, allowing him in, allowing him to take and give. Her body arched up, bending toward him as she showed him without words that she wanted more.
Careful of her healing injury, he slid her shirt over her head. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with desire. He took in the view before glancing down to her heaving chest, her breasts moving with each of her ragged breaths, her nipples hardened peaks of pale pink.
He looked back up to her face. "You're beautiful, Margot."
He kept his eyes locked on hers as he lowered his head to take one of those nipples in his mouth.
She gasped and brought one of her legs around his hips, drawing him closer. He sucked and nibbled her breast, refusing to touch her anywhere else despite her wordless pleas.
"Bryce," she moaned. "I need you."
"Need me where?" he asked.
"Everywhere," she said, giving him a cross look.
He grinned and scraped his whiskers along the sensitive skin of her breasts. Then he sat up and yanked her pants down over her legs.
Eagerly, she kicked them off her feet and they fell to the floor next to the bed. She looked up at Bryce with expectation. "Well?"
"Touch yourself where you want me."
"What?" She started to cross her arms over her chest.
He reached down and pried her arms apart. "Don't hide yourself from me," he said. "Show me what you like. Show me where you want me."
"Like the dreams," she said, chewing on her lower lip.
He nodded.
Looking uncertain, she brought one of her hands down to her pussy and stroked her fingers through her folds. Her other hand she used to gently knead the smooth skin of her breasts.
"It's not as good as you," she said, gently pinching one of her nipples.
He leaned down, unable to resist, and took the other nipple between his lips.
"Oh, yes," Margot moaned.
He kept an eye on what she was doing between her legs, at the way she moved her fingers, how she pressed one inside of her. His cock felt thick with need in his pants, so he jerked them down over his hips, freeing it. The cool air against his warm skin only heightened his desire to be inside of Margot. He stroked himself in time to her movements.
"I don't have a condom," he said.
"I'm on birth control," she whispered.
"Can't wait any longer, then," he said. "I need to be inside you. Do you want this?"
"I've wanted it since the first dream you gave me," she said, using both hands to reach for his hips.
Slowly, he guided himself in, allowing her to adjust to his girth.
"Bryce," she said, clutching his shoulders.
"You okay?"
She nodded, closing her eyes.
He couldn't resist kissing her, and the movement caused his cock to slide the rest of the way inside of her. Pressing kisses to her mouth, her jaw, her neck, he thrust within. Her inner walls gripped him tightly, adding to the friction. Fuck, if he wasn't careful, he wouldn't last long, and he wanted to make this great for her. So he grabbed her around the shoulders and held her up against him, then turned around so he lay on his back.
She blinked in surprise at the change in position, but then smiled as she began to set the pace, lifting up on his cock before coming back down. The warmth, the heat of her was just as tantalizing as before, but he'd do what he could to help her reach the peak first.
"Show me again," he said, grabbing one of her hands and guiding it to her clit.
Using two fingers, she rubbed herself in circular motions and brought her other hand up to cup one of her breasts. Her breathing grew heavier and her movements became jerky. He could feel her tightening around him and he sat up, wanting to kiss her while she came.
She wrapped her legs around him and continued to rock back and forth, still touching herself with those little circles of movement. He memorized them, wanting to do the same thing to her soon, but right now she was coming apart in his arms, her body tensing up. Crashing his mouth against hers, he swallowed her cries as her body shook and trembled, rhythmically pulsing around him. The squeezing of her pussy sent him over the edge and he moaned into her mouth as his own orgasm took him.
He held her in his arms and fell back so they lay together, her chest to his. Smoothing a hand up and down her back, he held her while she continued to tremble with the aftershocks of her orgasm, until she was finally still.
She pressed a kiss to his chest and he rumbled in contentment.
"That was perfect," he said.
"Yes, it was." She sat up and climbed off of him. "But we have a job to do, don't we?"
Inwardly pouting, he sat up and watched her put on her clothes. Why did he get the feeling that they weren't quite on the same page with the meaning of what they'd just done?