CHAPTER NINE
Frankie~
All the way to the cottage, Frankie turned Eleanor’s words over in her mind. Sure, phoenixes could heal. That was part of their gifts. Just as singing and flying were. But her talents in that direction were not special. That was Eleanor’s gift. Besides, Cam no longer resonated to her melodies. Clearly, three years ago, her phoenix had been utterly, sadly mistaken.
Last night’s dinner was still tightly shrink-wrapped. His evening meds were untouched. Cam’s cane was on the floor beside the couch. His hat was on the coffee table. His dress blues were on the bedroom floor. He was lying half off his bed, face down, in just his shorts and undershirt, right foot dangling off the mattress, dead to the world.
He was thin. Not skeletal. Just thin for him. The great muscles in his back and shoulders were shrunken, as were his calves and thighs. Van Buren! His left leg was even smaller than the right. Either side of his thigh, two ghastly tracks of red scar tissue ran from behind his knee to the front. Shrapnel had pockmarked his calf. He was still wearing his socks, so Frankie couldn’t tell how bad his left foot and ankle were.
Why hadn’t he been taking bear to speed up the healing process after such brutal injuries and invasive surgery?
She glanced at her watch. Tasha had headed back to the compound with her brother after the ceremony. It was now zero four hundred hours. Cam looked to have come straight in and collapsed into bed. That was around ten hours of much needed sleep. Had her lullabies done their job and bought him a little sleep? Unless the sneaky bastard had found those blasted sleeping meds? Was he merely passed out again?
She stooped to pick up his uniform. Shook out the wrinkled midnight blue fabric. Hung up pants and coat. Unpinned his medals and found the box they were kept in. Returned to gaze at her erstwhile lover. Picked up his lower legs and swung them onto the mattress. He was burning up with fever again.
The heat was affecting him on both the normal and paranormal planes. He moaned in his sleep. Her phoenix senses told her he was not far from delirium. But controlling fire was what she had been born to do. She laid her hands on the back of his knee where the swollen skin glowed as if pus and embers were buried there.
His skin cooled. She left her hands there while his blood passed under her palms, until his fever dropped. His brain waves began to smooth out in response to his temperature lowering. She hummed under her breath as she pulled the sheets over his now clammy skin.
He sighed. Turned over with a great sigh. His eyes opened. “Frankie?”
“Yeah. It’s me.”
“Are you real or a dream?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re a dream,” he said, voice slurred. His eyes closed again.
“Then that must be what I am. Here tonight. Gone tomorrow.”
A powerful hand grasped her wrist. Tugged. Caught by surprise, she fell. His arms went around her. “If you’re a dream, Frankie darlin’, I can do what I want to do.” He pulled her mouth down to his.
She could have broken free. Of course she could have. He was still stronger than most men, but no longer stronger than she. And he would have stopped if she had properly woken him up. But she was tired of pretending. Tired of being horny. Tired of missing her other half.
She let her phoenix fly free. Their kiss was hot and hungry. They feasted on each other without finesse or consideration. Her body tingled where they touched, as if he was resurrecting long-dormant nerves. The sensation was overpowering. Frankie returned his fierce caresses with nips and bites of her own.
His cock was long and hard against her jeans. She deliberately rolled her thighs over it and caught his delicious moans with her mouth. Whatever might have gone wrong between them, making love had always been perfect. Having sex. Except that it had never felt like just sex to her.
He wrenched his mouth away from her suction. His chest was heaving as if he had run a long way and his lungs were oxygen starved. Poor bear. Weak from his wounds, being mauled by a voracious, savage bird of prey. If he needed his mouth to breathe, she could always find other tasks for hers to perform.
She flung his sweaty T-shirt to the floor. His curls were dirty-blond in the dim light, as though his lost strength had robbed him of his golden perfection. She ran her fingers through them and brought the tips to her lips. He watched her as she slowly sucked his scent from each one. Beneath her buttocks, his cock leapt and twitched. He groaned.
“Put me out of my misery, Frankie,” he begged.
“Not yet. I’m not done with you.” She intended to kiss her way from pecs to cock. Slowly. Savoring every inch.
“It’s my dream,” he objected stubbornly. His hands found her waistband and popped the snap, reached inside and squeezed. “Butt floss,” he murmured as he found her thong. He traced her crack, fingers slipping in her juices. “Now I know I’m dreaming. My Frankie doesn’t wear butt floss.”
Except for a wedding.
He tasted her juices. Made a guttural, appreciative noise. “Yeah, that’s my girl.” It was beyond exciting that he remembered her taste.
Cam lifted her up and set her down, rubbing her butt against his erection. Trying to tuck his cock inside her folds. His rough cries were music to her ears. What the heck? She was hot and needy too. Her pussy was dripping. Her core felt swollen and aching. She had been ready since she got home.
She let him strip her jeans and panties to her knees. His urgency and depleted strength did not permit him to remove them altogether. But having her thighs bound by the heavy folds of denim was strangely thrilling.
He didn’t bother to remove his shorts, just pulled up one leg to reveal his engorged cock. It bounced into position as soon as it was free of the confining fabric. He guided her over him. She sank slowly down, letting his big mushroom cap scrape her tender inner tissues. Deep inside the remembered pulsing began. No other man had ever made her feel this aroused, this fast.
She raised herself up slowly, fighting his desire for a fast and furious rhythm. She wanted this moment of bliss to last. She put her hands back on his pecs. Fluffed his curls. Found a ragged scar over his heart that pinched hers. Plucked his flat nipples with thumb and forefinger. Soothed them with her thumbs. Traced his furry six-pack all the way to his belly button. He was such a bear. She licked her finger and wet his navel. He bucked beneath her, ramming himself upward. She clenched around him, holding him deep.
“I can’t wait.” He pumped himself into her, shouting his release. His fingers found her muff and pressed her clit in time to the pulses of her pussy. She spasmed. The waves of release spread into her aura. Where they encountered Cam’s, they amplified. Gradually his aura began to resonate with hers as it used to.
He transferred his hands to her back and pulled her down on top of him. “Mine,” he announced in a gravelly slur. “Mine.”
Millard Fillmore. He was fast asleep. Already. Lashes lying in two curves over the darkened hollows of his eyes. Was it her imagination, or was his face marginally less thin and sunken? Her jeans were still around her knees. She suspected that her lacy thong would never recover from this interlude.
She was tempted just to stretch out and use him as a mattress. But no can do. You’re just a dream, Phoenix. Dreams were supposed to vanish with the dawn. She rolled off him and laid on her back staring at the ceiling, blinking hard.
While it was nice to get her rocks off, this was a sure-fire way to get her heart broken. Again. Plus, she had been reckless. Not just in ignoring birth control, but in letting Cam trade an orgasm for all the things he needed. Like his antibiotics and his dinner. He at least could blame his behavior on his head injury and being half-asleep. What was her excuse?
After she had cleaned up and straightened up the bedroom, she reheated his chili and brought it and his pills to him. “Cam,” she sang. “It’s time to eat.”
It took a while to rouse him. But this time her phoenix song worked. At least he eventually opened his eyes. “What time is it?”
“It’s zero five hundred hours.”
“You woke me at dawn to eat chili?”
“I woke you at dawn to take your medication. The chili is optional.”
“Strangely enough, I’m ravenous.” He struggled up to sitting. Looked down at his bare chest. Frowned. Scratched himself. Looked at her. Shrugged.
“Pills first.” She handed him the saucer.
He took them all in a bunch, chasing them with water. “I don’t get it, you think I’m taking too many drugs, but you keep pumping them into me.”
She had made Eleanor spend an hour talking to the Grape Creek pharmacist. Cam had been prescribed multiple medications that ought not to be taken in combination. What his erratic and random schedule had done to him was unclear. Nothing good.
“The only thing worse than taking psychotropics is taking them on a hit-and-miss basis. Ditto antibiotics. Question is, how are you feeling?”
“Just peachy. ‘Zactly like a peach that got run over by a Mack truck.”
“But you are not stuttering.”
“I will be by noon.”
She filed away that factoid about his slurred speech for when she was less tired.
He started shoveling in chili. He ate like a starveling. Or like a soldier who had learned his next meal might be a fifty-mile hike away. Or a bear shifter who had just had hot and sweaty sex on an empty stomach.
When he had scraped his bowl clean, she said, “There’s more, if you want some.”
“Yes, please.” He handed her his bowl.
She dished him a refill rejoicing. Of course, he had yet to get it down and keep it down. And even with seconds, this meal was by no means a full portion for guy his size. While it was heating in the microwave, she checked the sleeping meds. They were still stuck behind the sugar canister. She counted them to be sure. Nope. He hadn’t taken any. He was sleeping the sleep that healed. Thanks to her.
Before she broke out the champagne, she needed a reality check. Because, despite her bold statement to Eleanor, she had never denied to herself that she loved Cameron Reynolds. Theoretically, her song could heal her mate. But if she had not been able to bind him to her heart-to-heart in the eternal phoenix bond, how could he be her fated mate?
The microwave pinged. She took him his second serving. He was still sitting up, but he had been out of bed because he was wearing a clean T-shirt and the blanket covered his legs.
He grinned at her. “Thanks. I guess I hadn’t eaten since lunch.”
She focused on his brain waves. They were still chaotic and flatlined in places. “Or taken your meds.”
He spoke between swallows. “I meant to, as soon as I took that damned coat and pants off. Next thing I remember, I’m being woken up by the prettiest girl in Texas.”
His silver tongue was returning. She stiffened her spine. “I’m not a girl,” she snapped. But her voice came out sultry.
He winked at her and licked his spoon. “Your mom is a great cook. Got any coffee to go with that?”
“I haven’t been to bed yet, Bear Boy. And you should try to sleep for a few more hours.”
“It’s a big bed.” He patted the mattress and smiled that crooked smile that had started it all.
She shook her head and marched out with the dirty dishes. She began his lullaby while she was washing up the dishes. He was out like a light when she checked on him. Typical. All talk and no action. Time to go home.
When she came in the back door, Uncle Sam and Aunt Lois were drinking coffee at the kitchen table. They looked up beaming.
“It’s nice to see at least one of you young people isn’t a lie-abed.” Aunt Lois waved her coffee cup.
Uncle Sam looked at her jeans. He patted his wife’s hand. “She’s probably been out for some exercise.” He winked at Frankie.
She didn’t know how to tell Lois that she had not yet been to bed. She settled for smiling and pouring herself a mug of coffee. She didn’t get to see Lois and Sam often and she might as well take advantage of this opportunity to visit.
It only took a moment to remember why she had avoided their table at the reception.
“So when are you going to get married?” Aunt Lois asked. “You and Eleanor ought to be settling down.”
“We have to find our fated mates first,” Frankie said lightly.
“What about that boy who was watching you in the church?” Uncle Sam asked, blue eyes twinkling. “The one sitting with Harry’s wife. I looked for him at the reception, but he didn’t show. Had a fight with your boyfriend, eh?”
Frankie felt her face flame. Aunt Lois’ black eyes were snapping now. She remembered that Lois was something of an expert in the genealogy and family history of the D’Angelos. “You might say that,” she said cautiously. “The trouble is, Cameron is a bear shifter.”
Lois looked interested. And troubled. She leaned forward. “And you’re wondering about the children, aren’t you?”
That was certainly part of it. Frankie nodded. Aunt Lois looked wise. “Phoenix genes are dominant,” she said flatly. “Your babies will all be phoenixes. Your young man will just have to deal with that.”
“Are you sure?” Frankie asked.
“You’re not the first phoenix to fall for a different species of shifter. But I’ve never yet heard of a phoenix having anything but little phoenixes.”
“That’s good to know, if I can ever persuade Cameron to accept the Egg of Immortality.”