Jon pulled me close and buried his head in my hair. He inhaled deeply. “You smell of magic, Little Wolf.” 

The Vigilante’s magic had clung to me, buzzing on my skin in a way that could intoxicate, if I let it. It was no surprise that Jon was attracted by the aroma. Secondhand, or stray magic as it is sometimes called, often had that effect on people.

Jon kissed my neck and pulled me toward the bed, half-drunk from the Vigilante’s lingering spell.

I hesitated. The magic made me think of the Vigilante and his kiss, which left me wondering what his touch would feel like on my naked skin. I imagined leading him to my bed and prickled with anticipation and guilt.

Jon’s mouth moved fervently over my lips and then neck. His hands were everywhere, gliding through my hair and under my clothes, removing my shirt and pants with lightning speed. For the first time I let him take the lead as my mind drifted to the earlier, stolen kiss.

“You’re distracted,” he mumbled.

I thought of the kiss, rough and delicious.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just the murders.”

It was the first lie I’d ever told Jon. But how could I tell him that I was thinking of another man’s lips while he kissed me?  Someone who I should not want, but couldn’t resist? Someone who smelled like magic and felt familiar and dangerous at the same time and who may not even be human?

I rolled away from him. Jon didn’t get angry. Instead he draped a long arm over my side. “Mm.” he says. “Little wolf, where have you been today? That magic...it clings to your skin and beckons me.”

I shrugged, not trusting my words where the Vigilante was concerned.

I decided to change the subject. “Jon, I think I have a lead. What can you tell me about Jo Cartwright?”

Jon stiffened next to me, and the air is suddenly chilled.

“Why would you say that name to me?” He asked.

The change in my lover’s demeanor was shocking. Jon had always been quiet, even stoic, but never cold.

“He was the first victim, remember?”

Jon nodded.

“Now we have been finding out that everyone who has been killed had a secret. Some evil that they were guilty of. All but Jo Cartwright, that is.”

“Little Wolf, whoever killed that man did an entire nation of people a favor,” he said, slowly.

“What do you mean?” The Jo Cartwright that I knew was stooped and walked with a cane. He was an old man whose shirts smelled a little sour and who always had a cheery hello to anyone who passed by his roost in front of the drug store. It was hard to believe that any one person would want him dead—much less a nation.

“Jo Cartwright killed my family,” Jon said. “Or he may as well have, anyway.”

“Jon... How can you possibly know that?”

“Jo Cartwright was the man who pushed through congress, the native relocation act. He gave his men the authority to kill my people. He may not have soiled his hands with my family’s blood, but he is as guilty of their death as the monsters who did. He gave people the right to take from us without consequence.” Jon paused and sat up, turning away from me. “He killed many wives. Many mothers. Many families. Whatever death he found, it was much too good for him.”

“I am so sorry, Jon.” I meant it too. I rolled to face him and pressed my hand gingerly against his cheek.  “I had no idea.” I thought of the times I’d passed the old man in the streets. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“What was there for me to say to you? It doesn’t matter now. He has met his fate.” Jon rolled to face the wall and I snuggled up to him.

“Maybe your killer isn’t a bad man after all.”

“Maybe not,” I agreed, squeezing him tightly. “And if Jo Cartwright did what you say, I am glad he was murdered, too.”

“Little Wolf, I know that we...what we have is different, But you should know—I care for you. I don’t have many I care about any more, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost another.”

I rested my cheek against his back, against that broad place between his shoulder blades. Jon had never professed as much to me in the three years we’d been together. He’d fallen into my bed and stayed there. I’d fallen into his arms and never attempted to leave. I knew he cared for me from the way he treated me. But he’d never uttered the words.

“I care for you, too, Jon.” I smiled. “Deeply. You are my best friend.”

***

WITH IMAGES OF THE Vigilante in my mind—his ominous warning firing deep inside my synapses—and with Jon sleeping fitfully next to me, the only thing constant in my life, I fell into a deep slumber.

The curtains billowed at the same time I heard the noise. As if in a dream, things seemed to move slowly, through a thick, moonlit haze. I sat up and reached next to me, to where Jon slept. Where he should have slept. The space was empty.

“Jon?” Sleep was thick in my voice. My lover often struggled to sleep and it wasn’t unusual for him to get up and wander during the night. He’d often take his horse and not show up until morning.

Again the noise sounded—a thump across the wood-planked porch. I slung my legs over the edge off the bed and stood. It was probably coyotes. Only, it sounded heavier. And there had been none of the familiar yodeling barks that accompany the annoying k-9s.

As I walked to the door I recognized the sound. Last year, Jon had given me two rocking chairs for my birthday. It was such a Jon thing to do. I didn’t even realize he knew when my birthday was, he certainly never said anything, but then we were eating dinner and a wagon pulled up and an old man brought the chairs onto our porch. It was one of the rare moments I’d seen him smile. It had warmed my heart, and for a moment I’d thought maybe we’d taken a turn in our relationship—because friends didn’t go through that much trouble to please each other on their birthday. It had been the first real birthday gift I’d received in over ten years. But shortly after, things had returned to how they’d always been. Passionate sex. Same house. Separate lives.  I couldn’t even tell you what Jon did all day.

I loved the way my chairs looked, intricately carved out of heavy oak.  But as pretty as they were, they were rarely used—when did I have time to relax? But every time I thought of the sentiment, I smiled.

The noise I was hearing was the chair bumping into the house, like someone was rocking too quickly, too hard. “Jon?” I called again.

I walked across the floor and pushed open the door. Something pulled at me, luring me on. It was as if I needed to be on that porch. “Jon, is that you? What are you doing?”

Stepping onto the porch, I gasped. My hand instinctively went to my hip , but my gun and holster sat inside at the table. I wore only the long white cotton shirt—Jon’s shirt—that I used as a sleep shirt. My long legs were bare, as were my feet.  “What do you want?”

My Vigilante sat in the rocking chair. A thought struck me. “Where is Jon? Did you hurt him?”

I held my breath waiting for his answer. Though I wasn’t scared he’d hurt me—if he meant me harm, he would have had better luck when I slept—I still didn’t like being without my weapon. I hated not being in control. And no matter how good I thought he might be—no matter how handsome or true—if he’d hurt Jon then he was a dead man. I didn’t know much about my lover, but I knew he was incapable of the kind of heinous crime that exacted the Vigilante’s revenge.

My Vigilante smirked. The corners of his lips turned upward, before parting and showing his perfect, white teeth. Slowly, he pushed up from the chair, and with loud, steady steps, he crossed the porch, his spurs sounding heavily against the planks. “Why would I hurt Jon? I only kill those who deserve death, those who are beyond justice.”

“Okay then. Why are you here? Where is Jon?” The Vigilante now stood directly across from me. With one more step, he was inches away. He was taller than me, and I had to look up into his face. I could feel his breath warm on my face, it was sweet like tobacco, and I was struck by how handsome he was. Jon was sexy and brooding. Dark and deep.

The black mask still covered my Vigilante’s eyes, but beneath the material they shown bright and blue. His cheekbones were high and his lips full. Shaggy, blonde hair hung across his forehead. Without thinking, I reached up and tucked a strand behind his ear. He smiled.

“You still haven’t answered me,” I said, staring into his face.

The Vigilante grabbed my hips and pulled me close. I gasped.

He covered my mouth with his, his lips coaxing open my own, his tongue exploring. Heat rushed through my face and made me light headed. My stomach twisted, and lower...lower I tingled with excitement. I realized I wanted this kiss—had wanted it since the first time I’d met the Vigilante.  I pressed my body against to his, loving the way his hard chest rubbed against my breast through the thin sleep shirt. My heart pounded against my ribcage, and the rush of excitement was pure aphrodisiac. I thought of Jon—sweet and dark—who’d given me the chairs. But we were nothing. We were friends—not in love.

I pulled the Vigilante’s shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. I wanted to feel his skin, to feel the heat and weight of him against me. My hands found their way under the material, and I explored the ripples of his hard abs.

A small part of me—somewhere in the back of my mind, continued to think of Jon. Where was he? Would this hurt him? But what we had...it wasn’t love. We were friends. I told myself this again, this time more forcefully. Lovers. I’d never hurt him. Never.

The Vigilante opened up my senses to something more. The craving I felt for the man in front of me, the man pressed against me, it was pure, unadulterated heat. I needed him.

And somehow, at that time, I knew Jon wouldn’t mind. How could he? He’d had chance after chance to claim me for his own—for me to be his in more than body—but he’d never gave the slightest indication that was what he wanted. And I wasn’t the type of woman to wait around on any man. I was the Sheriff of GloryLand—Alyssa Davis. Indestructable. Bad-ass.

And at that moment, completely turned on.

I explored my Vigilante with my fingers, sliding up his shirt, then dipping my fingers into his waistband. The feel of him beneath my fingers made the tingle in my core tighten. His lips continued to cover mine, his tongue continued to explore my mouth, while my hands continued to explore his body. I pushed my hand further into his pants and felt the dusting of tiny hairs his flat stomach, his long, hard cock. I grazed it with my fingers, not yet daring to touch or grab. How far was this going to go? I knew what I wanted. Should I take it? Why was I nervous—I was never nervous? About anything.

His hands squeezed my hips, kneading and massaging me through the thin shirt. I felt my nipples tighten with need, and my panties grew wet. As if he could read my mind, the Vigilante dipped his fingers into my panties. He pulled away his hand and smiled, before licking my wetness from his fingers. I said nothing.

“I love the way you taste. I think I need another, longer taste.” His grin was devilish.

I pulled my hands free from his pants and let them drop to my sides. He gathered the ends of my shirt and pushed it over my head. I stood on my porch, almost naked, save for my panties, and my long hair hanging over my shoulders.

The Vigilante stepped back and looked at me. “You are beautiful,” he said. “So beautiful.” 

I never thought of how I looked—how I appeared wasn’t important to me or my job—but standing topless in the moonlight, I felt vulnerable. Without thinking I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Don’t.” He grabbed my wrists and slid my hands back to my sides. “Don’t you dare cover yourself. I want to see all of you.”

I obeyed and stood, my shoulders back. I had been in gun fights, stared down baddies of every creed. I’d stood up to some of the worse kinds of people—but I’d never felt as unsure as I did at that moment. My light pink nipples were erect, as I watched him gaze at me appreciatively.

He walked around me in a slow circle, dragging a finger over my collarbone, then shoulders, then back. His boots were loud against the porch. When he again stood in front of me, he wore a coy smile. He hooked his thumbs through the straps of my panties and pulled them down slowly, going to his knees as he lowered them. I looked down and stared into his eyes. I didn’t blink. I couldn’t have. Everything in me wanted him. Wanted all of him.

He reached two fingers and slid them against my pussy. I shivered as they rubbed my clit, a low moan escaping my mouth. This seemed to please him. He moved closer on his knees, and with an open mouth, he kissed my slit, pushing his tongue between my lips.

My knees went weak and caught myself on his shoulders and let out a high pitched moan. He buried his mouth deep in me, sliding his tongue over and inside. With his hands he opened my thighs further, then moved even closer until his tongue found its way inside me. He explored, first licking around, then moving in until he found the special spot that undid me. He continued to kiss me, deeper and slower, before again moving to my clit and flicking his tongue over in quick succession. I grew even wetter and goosebumps broke over my skin. When I thought I could feel no better, when that pent up ecstasy pressed against me determined to escape, he reached up and took my nipples between his fingers and squeezed. Hard. The sensation was both painful and erotic. I was unable to move. I buried my hands in his blonde hair and pulled and held him close to my sex, not wanting him to stop.

When he pulled away, I was desperate, teetering on the edge of that explosive emotion. I said nothing, but stared with wide eyes. What was he doing? Why were we stopping? I panted, my breaths deep and needy.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered.

He stood and scooped me in his arms, then laid me down gently on the porch. The boards bit against my spine and shoulder bones, but I didn’t care. I spread my legs so wide I thought they’d break, willing my midnight visitor to again enter me with his tongue. Instead, his lips landed on my mouth. I could taste myself on his tongue, salty and sweet. I kissed him harder and harder. The need grew so frenzied, I vibrated like a plucked string. His hand landed on my breast, but I needed it lower, I laced my fingers through his and guided him down, then taking his fingers, I inserted them into my pussy. I guided him, moving first slow, and then faster.

He stopped kissing me. “Yes. Show me how you do it. How do you do it when you are alone,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes and turned my head back, until my chin was almost in the air. I breathed deep and moved the Vigilante’s hand faster and faster, working myself into a fury. With my eyes still closed, his lips landed gain on my breast. He sucked on my right nipple, pulling it into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. It felt so good, I couldn’t remain quiet. “Yes,” I murmured. “Yes.”

He sucked and sucked while I worked his hand in and out of my sex. I took a third and fourth finger from his hand and inserted them into me. “Mmm...” I couldn’t keep the sound inside.

He traced his tongue across my clavicle to my left breast. He bit down, and I knew there would be a mark, which made my slit pulse with delicious need.

“Oh you like that?” His teeth again grazed my breast, this time lighter, then took my left nipple carefully between his teeth. He bit down—not hard enough to hurt—but the sensation was a direct line to below.  Pleasure rolled through me. The feeling wasn’t like anything I’d ever experienced before.  He began that slow trace down my body with his lips, across my flat stomach, stopping to nibble on each hip bone. He drug his tongue to my slit, then buried his face in my sex. He moaned as I wrapped my fingers through his hair and pushed him harder against my sex, pushing his face against me.

He pulled away and turned his eyes up the length of my body. “I love the way you taste. The way you smell. I could eat you for hours,” He licked each lip of mine carefully, then caught my clit in his mouth. He sucked hard against my nub, sending a groan of pleasure through me. I shivered, letting my knees fall open wider and wider, hoping for his tongue to go deeper and deeper.  The Vigilante reached for my knees and pressed them open so hard and firm that I gasped, then as he continued to suck my hard little clit, he entered my pussy with three fingers, and slid his other hand to my backside. At first I tense, but his fingers moved gently across my bum until he was lightly pressing me, applying the lightest pressure without entering. I cried out. All at once, he entered my vagina, my bum, and sucked hard on my clit. I tilted my head back, my eyes still squeezed closed and every muscle clenched. I moved my hand to my breast and pinched myself. I knew I was wetter than I’d ever been. This man—this masked man sexy as hell—was able to get a response from me that I didn’t know I was capable of giving.

I felt his rock-hard erection against my leg and I wanted his length inside me. My pussy ached for it.  I opened my eyes to look into his face—to tell him to fuck me hard—but what I saw made me stop. We weren’t alone.