Chapter Nineteen
He tasted like fine whiskey and hot sex. A combination she loved. Nothing wrong with a single malt after work. Probably something wrong with having hot sex with Forge. But with his mouth on hers as he backed her across the gym, Hope couldn’t bring herself to care. She didn’t try to look behind her. She didn’t ask where he was taking her. Or what he intended. None of it mattered. The moment he kissed her, the outside world fell away. All that remained was him—the wild taste of him, the heady feel of him, the delight as he dragged her so far under she couldn’t catch her breath.
The idea of rethinking her decision disappeared.
It was done.
Over.
A lost cause. Ethics thrown under the bus along with her ability to say no.
She’d gone and done it. No second-guessing necessary. Hope didn’t want to change her mind. She’d already tossed caution to the wind and said yes. Might as well commit. Might as well go with the flow. Might as well enjoy the ride and reap the reward.
Tangling her tongue with his, she pressed her breasts to his chest. The shift and rub drove her higher. She opened her mouth wider, took him deep, her skin so sensitive she tried to get closer. His big hands roamed the length of her back, fingers seeking the skin left exposed by her tank top. The fabric shifted. Damp cotton stuck to her skin. Hope frowned. Crap. Her workout. She was a mess, the opposite of sexy, a total—
Her shoulder blades bumped against the cinder-block wall.
She turned her head and broke the kiss. “Wait.”
With a growl, his mouth jumped her throat. Day-old whiskers brushed over her collarbone.
“Forge, wait.” Struggling to catch her breath, Hope gripped his biceps with her boxing gloves. “I’m all sweaty. I need a shower before—”
“Nay, I love you this way—hot, wet, and sticky.”
Caging her with his body, he licked the side of her throat. Delight chased chills across her skin. She shivered as he did it again, humming his enjoyment, making her tip her head back to give him more access. Teeth pressed to her jugular, he suckled her pulse point. His tongue stroked her again before he settled in and drew on her skin. The slight pinch made her jump. He sucked harder, long enough to leave a mark.
Pinned in place, she gasped, uncertain whether to be delighted or outraged.
He tongued the underside of her chin. “You taste fantastic. Fucking gorgeous. I cannae wait tae spread your legs and lick you.”
Forget outrage. Delight won out. “Forge, now. I need it now.”
“Such impatience.”
“It’s been so long,” she whispered without the least bit of shame. He needed to know she wasn’t sexually active. Hadn’t been for a very long time. Unwise, maybe, to give him that kind of ammunition. He could, after all, use it to tease her beyond what she could endure. Somehow, though, she didn’t think so. Forge wanted to please her. She could see it in his eyes, felt it in the way he touched her, in the depth of his caring. Breathing hard, she undulated against him. “I’m on edge. I can’t wait.”
He raised his head to look at her. “I’ll not rush my first time with you.”
Panic nipped at her. She pushed against his chest with her boxing gloves. “I can’t wait. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t.”
“Easy.” Reacting to her urgency, Forge gripped her hips and ran his gaze over her face. She squirmed, the pulse of desire so strong she couldn’t stay still. “Does it hurt, Hope?”
“Yes,” she said, her bottom lip trembling. She needed him, skin on skin, right now. Waiting would kill her. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never . . . I’m not usually this—”
“Needy?”
Her cheeks heated. Needy was a good word for it. The maximum kind of horny—extrasensitive—might be better ways of describing it. She’d never experienced anything so ragged. Her body throbbed. Her mind blurred, the burn jolting through her as though she’d been plugged into an electrical socket. Amped up. Voltage at dangerous levels. Supercharged and now ready to explode. No matter how hard she fought, Hope couldn’t control her reaction. Heat buffeted her, rolling like whitecaps, frothing up desire, pulling her under until she was drowning in it.
He murmured her name.
She whispered, “Please,” the plea in her voice bordering on pathetic.
With a quiet curse, he laid his palm to her breastbone, flattening her against the wall. Calloused fingers cupping her jaw, Forge tipped her chip up. Her gaze met his. His eyes started to shimmer. Muted at first, the glow intensified, the violet hue so mesmerizing time fell away, leaving her floating inside her own head. Hope blinked, a slow up and down. Her heart rate slowed. Her body calmed, powering down, moving her away from panic. Arousal banked but still burning. Muscles relaxed but still ready. The hum in her veins—the hot, hard edge of need—more manageable.
“There we go. Better. Breathe for me, Hope.” The rise and fall of his voice washed over her.
Her chest expanded. “There’s something wrong with your eyes.”
“Is there?” He raised a brow. “Look again.”
She did and . . . blinked. Weird. Whatever she’d seen was gone. What had done that to his irises—a trick of the light, long-denied pheromones, her somewhat scrambled brain cells? Had she imagined it? Her brow furrowed. She must have. No one’s eyes glowed that way. Well, perhaps in the movies, but that was all computer generated, so—
“Jalâyla.”
His growl dragged her away from the thought-she’d-seen-something dilemma. Tucking the mystery away, she refocused on Forge.
Staring at her from beneath his brows, he leaned away. “Arms up.”
Hope startled. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said, the angles of his face sharpening. “Arms. Up.”
His voice deepened. The command in his tone made her move. Both her hands shot above her head.
“Good lass.” The rumble of approval made her heart do a happy hop. “Now, hold still.”
“Okay.”
Movements measured, he reached up and grabbed her wrists with one hand. Holding both against the wall, he tugged the Velcro on the wrist-lock boxing gloves away from the cuffs. Slow and sure, he pulled until he held half of each wide strap in his hands. Hands still encased in her gloves, half the Velcro still locked around her wrists, Hope watched him tie the trailing ends together. She stared at the strong knot and frowned. What the heck was the point of that? The gloves needed to come off. Knotting them together didn’t make—
Watching her closely, he looped the knotted length over a hook embedded in a cinder block above her head.
Her eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“Restraining you. Pleasing myself.”
The straightforward answer made her quiver. Oh God. Makeshift handcuffs. She tugged, testing her theory. No give. The microfiber held. The knot didn’t slip. Her heart stalled, hanging behind her breastbone a second before starting up a driving rhythm. Tied up and trapped. Completely at his mercy, and oh, the things he could do to her. Naughty things. Delicious things. All the best kinds of things, and now, she couldn’t do anything to stop him. Surprise dropped away. Excitement took its place, raising goose bumps on her skin.
One corner of his mouth creased. “Enjoy that idea, do you?”
Mouth gone dry, Hope swallowed. “Maybe.”
“Scared?”
“A little, but . . .” She tugged on her wrists again.
He ran his hands up her arms. Checking the tension, he caressed the hollows on the inside of her elbows, the soft, tantalizing touches designed to drive her wild. Strung up, body on display, arousal rising, Hope trembled. He stroked her over and over, ever patient as he waited for her to continue.
She searched his face. Solid. Steady. Not an ounce of artifice in him. Forge would never hurt her. It wasn’t his way. The realization steered her toward confidence. Worry leached away. “I trust you.”
His breath caught. His hands stilled as he leaned in to kiss her. Once. Twice. A third brush of his mouth. “Sweet lass, you honor me.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. Hope kissed him back, each soft caress as soothing as it was arousing. She shouldn’t cry. Not now, in the face of desire and in front of a gorgeous man who wanted her. Too bad her heart didn’t care. His compliment tunneled deep, digging up old wounds, exposing past grievances, laying her bare. Hope told herself to stop it—to be sensible and strong—but as her eyes burned and her chest ached, she couldn’t stem the growing tide of emotion.
Such simple words. Each one, though, touched a place deep inside her.
No one had ever called her sweet before, certainly not her father, the one person who should have loved her no matter what. As strong as her father had always been, he couldn’t hold a candle to Forge. He was the best kind of different—everything the vice admiral wasn’t—and as she gazed up at him, heart in tatters, Hope absorbed his compliment like a plant denied water for too long. Oh, to be accepted and valued, to be found sweet instead of lacking, was incredible.
Inconceivable. Confusing too.
After years of playing second fiddle to her brother, she’d never thought anyone would truly see her. Not just the facade she presented to the world, but her—the flesh-and-blood woman behind the mask. In one sentence, Forge changed all that. She sensed it in his kiss. He liked her just as she was, making her feel cherished and important, seen in a way she’d never been before and . . .
Hope flinched. Whoa. Hold your horses, lady. Far too heavy a thought.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Hope nuzzled the stubble along his jaw. Rough whispers scraped her skin, helping her regain her bearings. Thank God. Serious thoughts needed to wait for a more serious moment. Sex with Forge was supposed to be fun, not world altering. Which meant she needed to lighten the mood. Now. Before things got out of hand and she lost her heart to him for good.
Wiggling, Hope threw him a playful look. “You planning on torturing me?”
“Only a little.”
Well, that sounded ominous. “Why am I not reassured?”
He chuckled. “Fuck, you’re fun.”
“Well, then, reward a girl, would you?” Wanting to get to the good stuff—like him naked and over her—she tipped her chin up and offered him her mouth. “I’ll take as many orgasms as you care to give.”
“Would you like each on a silver platter?”
“No,” she said. “Just fast.”
“There’s that impatience again.” His mouth curved. “But you’ll have tae wait, jalâyla. I intend tae enjoy you first.”
“Selfish.”
“Ask me if I care?”
“Mean too.”
Amusement in his gaze, Forge slipped his hands under the hem of her tank top. Strong fingers drew circles over her belly. Calloused palms slid over her rib cage. Without breaking eye contact, he found the bottom edge of her sports bra and pulled. The heavy elastic band obeyed the tug, the slow draw of fabric baring her an inch at a time. Cool air attacked her damp skin. Tugging on her bound wrists, Hope arched, begging him without words to touch her.
Forge didn’t disappoint. Shoving her clothes up her arms, he cupped her breasts, big hands holding her secure, surrounding her with his heat. Her nipples furled tight. He rolled each one, pinching them between his fingertips.
Pleasure throbbed through her. “God, that’s good.”
“We’ve barely started, lass.”
She twisted, trying to get closer. “I want your mouth on me.”
With a growl, he dipped his head and nipped a tight peak. The tip of her breast pulsed. He licked the small hurt away, then suckled, drawing her into his mouth, bathing her in heat, making her breath catch. Closing her eyes, Hope tipped her head back. He bit down, pressing her between his teeth. She moaned. He sucked harder, taking her to the edge of pain and . . . glory, glory hallelujah. He was unbelievable. Just right, giving her what she craved: the firm hand of a skilled lover.
Arching into his touch, Hope keened in encouragement, egging him on.
Please, please, please, her mind screamed.
More, more, more, her body added, as urgency overtook her, zipping through her veins, glowing bright, pushing her into imprudence. She should do as Forge asked and be patient. He wouldn’t leave her hanging. He’d please her in his own time. Hell, the pleasure would no doubt be better for it—explosive even—but as an insistent throb settled between her thighs, thinking became history. She didn’t want a slow, gentle exploration. She wanted him hard. She wanted him fast. She wanted him inside her now.
Using the makeshift restraints as leverage, Hope fisted her hands and, with a quick lift, wrapped her legs around his waist. Hot and hard, his erection settled against her core. Shoulder blades pressed to the wall, she rocked her hips.
Forge released her breast. His head came up as he grabbed her bottom. She moved again. He shoved her backward, meeting her stroke for stroke. Her back bumped against cinder block. The Velcro holding her prisoner rasped in the quiet as Forge rolled into her, stroking her through her shorts. He snarled her name. Bliss blurred her surroundings, making her move with him, enslaving her a stroke at a time.
He shoved forward again.
The pleasure mounted. God, she was close. So very close. Almost there. Just a little more and—
Forge ripped the Velcro imprisoning her wrists open. The bindings gave away, freeing her hands.
“Oh yes, please.” Curling her fingers in his hair, she offered him her mouth. He bared his teeth, snapping at her. The click of his molars echoed inside her head. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Go slow next time. Please, Forge—I need you right now.”
With a soft curse, he grabbed the outside of her knee. “Unlock.”
Thigh muscles quivering, she obeyed and opened, unwrapping her legs from around his waist. The second her feet hit the floor, he knelt and dragged her shorts down her legs. Tossing the thin fabric over his shoulder, he curled his hand over her bare hips, leaned in, touched his nose to the curls protecting her core, and inhaled.
“God, you smell good.” Nuzzling her, he caressed the back of her thigh and kept going, moving down until he grasped her ankle. Applying gentle pressure, he lifted her foot off the floor. Her knee bent. He pushed it sideways, opening her to his touch. “Bet you taste even better.”
Without giving her a chance to answer, he bent his head, spread her open, and licked between her folds. His tongue lashed her. The heat of his mouth scorched her. Delight whiplashed, sending her spinning into the abyss. Pleasure blasted through her. Forge growled and, tasting her deep, brought his fingers into play. Wanting more, she opened wider, baring all, giving him everything. Slick with need, her sex welcomed him. He slid in with ease, caressing her with one fingertip, then two. Back and forth. Rub here, stroke there, return for more as he learned what pleased her. Circling her entrance, he played, dipping in before retreating, only to come back and do it again.
Soft touches.
Slower caresses.
Mind-blowing pleasure.
The kind that left her hanging over a precipice Forge refused to push her over. Another light flick of his tongue. More gentle thrusts of his fingers. Her knee wobbled. He firmed his grip on her bottom. Muscles deep inside her clenched, released and . . . God. She couldn’t take any more.
“You’re so wet, lass. So hot.” Flicking her with the tip of his tongue, he drew circles around her clitoris, exposing the bundle of nerves. Hips canted forward, Hope gasped, then groaned when he licked her again. “Like that?”
“Yes!”
“Want tae come?”
“Please!”
“Go on, then. Come for me.”
His lips firmed. His fingers found her entrance and thrust deep—once, twice, a third time before he sucked . . . hard.
Hands buried in his hair, Hope came screaming.
The explosion rocked her world, sheeting white behind her eyes. Her legs gave out. Forge didn’t give her time to recover. Still throbbing inside, unable to feel her toes or fingertips, Hope didn’t object when he laid her down on the hardwood floor. She lay limp instead, fighting to catch her breath as Forge kissed her curls one more time and rose over her. His biceps bunched. She shivered, mesmerized by the hard flex of muscle when he fisted the back of his T-shirt and yanked it over his head. His heat hit her first, rolling over her belly to caress her breasts and . . . God be merciful. Look at him: so big, so strong, so beautiful he made her heart hitch.
Unable to resist, she set her hands on his chest.
He growled her name.
Hope whispered back, asking for patience. She wanted to explore, to make him hers one touch at a time, to enchant him even as he did her. Caressing him with her fingertips, she stroked over his shoulders. His nostrils flared. She ventured down, roaming over his chest, skimming his abdomen, following the dark trail until she reached the waistband of his jeans. She played with the buttons holding him behind his fly. He froze, chest pumping, muscles tense, as her hand slipped beneath denim. She played a moment, fingers dancing over his skin and—
Forge bared his teeth on a curse.
Hope hummed and, with a tug, popped open his button fly. One button, then two. Three, four, and five followed. Her gaze on his face, she curled her hand around his erection and . . . oh wow. He was incredible, velvety-soft skin over hot and hard. Wonder filling her, she explored his length, giving him pleasure, taking her own. “You feel so good.”
“Bloody hell, lass.” Eyes half-closed, he rolled his hips, seeking more of her touch. “Tell me you want me. Tell me tae—”
“Take me,” she whispered, arching beneath him. “I need you inside me.”
“And you’ll have me—so deep, so fucking hard you’ll scream my name.” Taking her mouth, he forced her to open wide, take more of him, and taste herself on his tongue. The kiss lasted forever, yet not long enough, and when he lifted his head, Hope tried to follow. With a snarl, he nipped her bottom lip. “You’re mine, Hope—mine. Every gorgeous inch of you. Donnae forget it.”
His. All his.
The assertion should’ve scared her. Belonging to someone had never been big on her list of things to encourage, but somehow . . . for some reason . . . Forge’s claim lent her power. The power to choose. The power to agree. The power to claim him in return. Strange in some ways. Just right in others. She didn’t understand it. Couldn’t explain it. Didn’t care to either. Right now, all that mattered was Forge—pleasing him, seeing to the needs of the only man who’d ever claimed her as his own.
The idea settled deep.
As it found a home inside her, Hope trembled beneath him. Poised above her, balanced on his elbows, Forge nuzzled her cheek. Day-old whiskers burned over her skin, layering on sensation as he settled between her thighs. In no hurry, he stroked her out of afterglow and back into arousal: strong fingers playing over her skin, hot breath against her ear, sharp teeth grazing the underside of her chin. Such gentle touches. So generous in his attentions. So unbelievably hot, Hope burned brighter with each new caress.
His chest brushed over her breasts. She moaned. Intense violet eyes met hers. Her bottom lip trembled. He kissed her again. She opened her mouth wider, accepting his claim and staking her own. Craving the heat of him, Hope raised her knees and tilted her hips. The rasp of his jeans brushing her inner thighs, he notched against her core. Big hands in her hair, he held her still, pressed in, thrust deep, possessing her with one hard stroke. Pleasure, more intense than before, arced through her, arching her spine. Lips parted on a silent scream, arms holding him tight, she tumbled off the edge and into ecstasy, trusting Forge to catch her.
Flat on his back in the middle of the sparring gym, Forge played with the thick ends of his female’s long hair. Half on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest, Hope lay at ease in his arms, lost to the world after a long, intense loving. Raising his head off the floor, he watched her sleep a moment, then readjusted her, moving her head to the hollow of his shoulder.
A pucker appeared between her brows. She grumbled in protest.
Drawing a circle on her temple, he soothed her with a soft rumble.
The sound of his voice settled her. Her breathing evened out, warming the spot above his heart as he lay back and closed his eyes. God, she was sweet. Beyond beautiful. So bloody responsive she surpassed spectacular, burning hotter than any female he’d ever touched. His mouth curved. Not a bad tally when it came to Hope and sex. Throw impatient into the mix. Pencil in demanding—and peevish when she didn’t get her way—onto the bottom of the list and . . . aye. Sounded about right.
Recalling the extent of her need, Forge hummed.
Christ, she was something. A female who enjoyed sex hot, hard, and fast. Every male’s fantasy, the complete package, his absolute dream girl. Grinning like an idiot, so content he could hardly stand it, Forge stroked his hand over her back. The gentle caress kept him content, but didn’t wake her. Up and down. Around and over. His palm roamed curves covered by the blanket he’d tucked around her. He wanted to do more. Pull the thick fleece away. Bare her body for another round of loving. Wake her, take her, until she satisfied the ever-present need inside him.
His body stirred at the idea, readying him for her.
Forge blinked. Shite. Seriously? Again?
He’d already loved her twice. Had come so hard inside her the second time he’d feared for his recovery. Glancing down, Forge looked at his fast-growing erection. Demanding prick. It had the worst timing. He couldn’t stay, was already fifteen minutes late for the meeting. Even now, the pack gathered, waiting for his arrival inside the clinic. Which meant he should get up and go. Now. Before Bastian and the boys came looking for him.
He stroked the backs of his fingers over her cheek.
She sighed.
“Hope?” Slipping his hand beneath the thick fall of her hair, he palmed the nape of her neck. His fingers went to work, massaging in gentle circles. “Time tae wake up.”
She whined, the soft sound full of complaint.
“Come on, luv.”
Her eyelashes fluttered open, tickling his skin. Stretching, she undulated against him, cranking him tight as she raised her head and set her chin on his chest. Sleepy green eyes peeked up at him. “Wow. I fell asleep.”
“Aye, you did.”
“How long was I out?” she said, covering her mouth with her hand when she yawned.
“Not long. Twenty minutes or so.” Just long enough to make him late.
Knowing he needed to go, but unable to release her, Forge picked up a lock of her hair. The thick tendrils slid over his palm, glinting reddish gold under the glare of industrial-grade lighting. Fascinated by the color, he twirled the strands around the tips of his fingers and . . . hell. He was in danger of acting like a pansy—one of those males who refused to leave a female—instead of the warrior his brothers-in-arms expected him to be.
Any other time, he would’ve said screw it and stayed. But not now. Not tonight. Mac’s life took precedence over pleasure, but God, he hated to leave Hope after loving her so hard. When she was still so warm and cuddly . . . and looking at him as though he mattered to her. The soft acceptance in her gaze taunted him. Made him yearn for something he knew he had no right to think. Not that it mattered. The unruly questions refused to be ignored, circling inside his head, firing his imagination, making him ask what it would be like to be needed each day, accepted every night, but most of all loved by the female fated to him.
A mate for him, a second mother for his son.
The possibility swelled, taking root inside him. Pictures flashed in his mind’s eye—a snapshot of Hope holding Mayhem, the sight of her growing round with his bairn, the idea of him creating a family of his own. And as he held her gaze, he wanted it so badly his arms tightened around her.
“Hey.” Shifting to rest more fully on top of him, Hope folded her arms on his chest. “You all right?”
“Aye and nay.”
“Give me the bad news first.”
“I need tae go.”
“Oh, well . . . okay.” She glanced away, breaking eye contact, but not before he saw hurt glint in her eyes. Gathering the blanket, she shifted away, preparing to leave him. “No problem. I’ll just . . . go.”
Her voice cracked on the last word. She pushed to her knees.
With a muttered oath, Forge grabbed her waist, lifted her, and, sitting up, set her astride his hips. She gasped in surprise. He pressed down, nestled her core against his erection and her bottom on his thighs. The blanket slipped from around her shoulders, leaving her glorious and bare. Lust lashed him, urging him to lay her back down. An iron grip on her, he kept her in place and shoved desire back into its box, reasserting his control.
Unable to move off his lap, a blush spread over her face. She grabbed for the blanket.
Forge growled. “Leave it.”
Hope froze, the blanket halfway up her back.
“Drop it, lass.”
She hesitated a second, then let the heavy fleece fall. Soft and full, the folds pooled over his thighs and around her hips. With Hope naked in his arms, he looked his fill. Her nipples pebbled. Her color heightened. The hot flesh pressed to his groin grew hotter, slicker, sliding over him as she shifted in his lap. He groaned. She whimpered. Fucking hell. He needed to regain control of the situation. Fast. Without delay. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be going anywhere, and Bastian would get an eyeful when he came to drag him out of the gym.
Inhaling deep, he exhaled smooth, throttling down. “Hope—look at me.”
Leveling her chin, her gaze met his.
“When we’re together like this, you donnae hide from me. No retreating. No running away. No jumping to conclusions either,” he said, tone firm as he set more ground rules. He might have blundered by stating his intention to leave without an ounce of tact, but that didn’t matter. She needed to understand he planned on keeping her, to have her in his arms for as long as the fates allowed. “Now, ask me for the good news.”
“What’s the good news?” she whispered, white teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“I donnae want tae leave you. If I could, I would stay, but I cannae. Not tonight,” he said, hoping to reassure her.
He understood her reaction, and the insecurity that drove it. Women were complicated. No matter how confident, a female required reassurance after sex, kindness and cuddles, all the kisses she could handle. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t care. The females he slept with understood he never stayed afterward. He gave each one what she asked—maximum pleasure in a minimal amount of time—then left.
No strings. No love words. No need for the softer side of things.
Hope, however, was different. For the first time in his life, he wanted to stay and give her what she needed. Forge huffed. Hell, he craved the intimacy too—the kind of closeness that would permit him to lounge in bed with her all day.
Holding her gaze, he traced her lips with his fingertip. Swollen from his kisses, her mouth parted, letting him push inside. Sucking on the pad of his thumb, she rolled her hips, sliding her slick heat against him. The muscles roping his abdomen tensed. “Bloody hell, lass.”
“Sorry to be leaving?”
“Aye, bad girl, I am.” Cupping her bottom, he stopped her from moving again and leaned forward. Hope met him halfway, returning his kiss before he pulled away. “Will you be all right until I get home?”
“Of course,” she said, reacting as expected, like a strong female who’d had her independence questioned. His lips twitched. Her eyes narrowed. Forge swallowed a chuckle, knowing laughing at her would get him in trouble. The kind he might not survive given the fierceness of her expression. He clenched his teeth to keep from smiling. Fuck, he adored her spirit. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got lots to do. I still need to plan our sessions.”
“Good enough,” he muttered without cringing.
A miracle. A true testament to his control. Christ, he deserved a gold star for hiding his uncertainty. Hypnotherapy. Forge swallowed his distaste. Shite, the word sounded as unappealing as the treatment. Not that he knew much about it. Mac said it would help. Forge wasn’t so sure. Hope might be skilled, but nothing he’d tried rebuilt the memory. That night remained a black hole, the missing piece in a puzzle he couldn’t complete. Bastian hadn’t been able to help. Returning to the scene of the attack years after it happened hadn’t worked either. Maybe he was a lost cause. Maybe hoping was a waste of time. Maybe the memory would never come back. But as he pushed to his feet and set Hope on hers, Forge wanted to give the female in his arms the benefit of the doubt.
“Keep the home fires burning, lass.” One last kiss. A brief nuzzle against Hope’s cheek. A quick pat to her bottom, and Forge turned toward the door. The holes in his memory would have to wait. The next few hours were about Mac, not him. About getting his best friend what he needed to survive whatever continued to attack him. “I’ll be back for you later.”
Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, Hope rolled her eyes. “You are such a caveman.”
Pausing on the threshold, Forge grinned at her. “Jalâyla, you have no idea.”
She laughed.
The sound lightened his heart and cemented his resolve. He hadn’t lied. He would be back for her. Would have her flat on her back in his bed when he got home. He consoled himself with the image and, footfalls thumping on the hardwood floor, left the sparring room and crossed the gymnasium. The buzz of industrial lights hummed, following his progress as he conjured his clothes. Magic flared. His favorite jeans and T-shirt settled on his skin. Leaving his feet bare, he walked across the basketball court toward the double doors.
Time to put his plan in motion and join the others.
Attuned to the chatter, he listened to his pack-mates talk, picking out the individual voices drifting in from the hallway, and sent a quick prayer heavenward. A quick word with the goddess, a ritual of his, one he observed each time he flew out of the lair. Life was short. Especially for a warrior in the heart of war. No matter how carefully planned, a mission could go sideways without warning. Tonight’s op would be tricky, the raid more dangerous than most. A potential clusterfuck in the making. Downing any dragon without killing him was difficult. Caging a powerful water dragon would be even more so. So instead of shrugging off the ritual, Forge took solace in his routine, murmured each of his brothers’ names, asking for safety and mission success.
Superstitious, maybe.
He didn’t care.
Every little bit helped. And praying never hurt.