Chapter Sixteen

Luke

 

If you’d told me Reagan Grace was going to come to me for comfort, then cling to me like a koala and fall asleep with her head on my shoulder—I’d never have agreed to this trip.

Because now, sitting here with the fire snapping and the dusk air around us, I was finding it too easy to do as she asked. Holding her unleashed a tumult of desires I’d never felt with any other woman. Shit, I should not be enjoying this and be all worried about her. I should be figuring her out.

But Reagan had come to me. She wasn’t afraid of me.

In fact, from what I could gather in that garble, she was afraid I’d let her go. That had surprised me, even as I’d tried to rationalize it. Her life had stabilized, and that was, in part, thanks to me. Not as a bragging thing, but as a matter of circumstance. In my claiming her, she’d found safety, peace, and routine.

At that moment, Reagan moved closer, and now heat crawled through me, slow and lazy. Her firm ass was pressing into my thigh, and her side was brushing my groin.

I didn’t want her to wake up with something pressing into her, especially when she’d just forgiven me. Nor did I want to give her more ammo against me.

Standing up, I tucked Rea close and carried her to her tent, glad she’d put it up. If she hadn’t, I might have been more tempted to bring her into mine. Not only to sleep with her tucked against me, but also to see the hilarious look of horror on her face in the morning.

A chuckle escaped me, and Reagan stirred. “Luke, where are we going?” Her voice was sleepy and disoriented.

“Tent,” I said. “Your tent.”

“No, I said…” Reagan yawned.

I held onto her with one arm and unzipped her tent with the other. Now should be the fun part. Squatting down, I managed to climb inside and plop her on top of her sleeping bag.

“Night,” I said, reaching for a blanket to wrap her in.

“No, Luke, don’t go,” Reagan said, and I froze as warm hands slid under my shirt and pressed against my lower back. She had a sleepy, almost delirious smile on her face. “You’re hot.”

“Yeah, I’m hot-blooded,” I said and gritted my jaw.

Think of non-sexy things. The smell of Tristan’s feet, the gross fish residue after you gut them, Rett’s fur when it sheds. Her hands worked in circles. Oh no. Oh shit. Stop, Reagan.

Instead, Reagan arched up against me, and I blew out a shaky breath. She might as well have been drunk, she was so out of it. I could only hope she’d remember none of this. As I tried to pull away, her breasts brushed against me again. I was now barely holding on to a thread of my sanity. My pants had never been this tight, and her scent had never been so alluring.

“Rea, I’ll be right outside,” I got out. “You’re good.”

“You don’t think I’m pretty?” she demanded.

“What?” I asked and jerked back, staring at her. “I…”

“Forget it, I’m being stupid. I’m smart and tough.” Reagan let me go and rolled over, eyes falling shut. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need anything else.”

“Damn right you don’t,” I said in a low whisper. I was hovering over her and leaned in, whispering, my lips dangerously near her ear. “But for what it’s worth, you’re beautiful.”

Her breathing was soft and even, so I risked a kiss on her cheek and got out of there. Then I staggered to a chair in front of the fire and threw myself into it.

“Still have no idea what she is,” I muttered. “But now you’re even more mixed up with her. Good goin’, Swiftlore.”

I twisted back and looked at her tent. A different scenario from the one I assumed would happen played out in my head. Of Reagan waking up and smiling before she even opened her eyes. Her fingers drifting up and under my shirt, those gray-green eyes opening and meeting mine.

She’d be caged against me and glad of it, arching into me…

My eyes closed, and I bit back a groan.

If Reagan and I ever do, by some miracle, get together—she is going to pay for blue-balling me straight to hell tonight.

 

The next morning, I expected things to be awkward, but instead, Reagan bounded out of her tent, fully rested and grinning from ear to ear. She came up to me, stood on tiptoe, and kissed my cheek. I gave her a dazzled look.

“What was that for? Returning it?”

Reagan looked puzzled. “No, that was thanks for last night. I remember apologizing and blubbering, then it’s all a blur. I was working on very little sleep.”

“Really,” I commented.

“Yes, yes, I know, but I slept great last night.” She stretched, and I averted my eyes. “So, thanks for listening and tucking me in.” She took the coffee I offered her. “You’re the best.”

She didn’t remember. That was okay.

Hell, that was probably for the best.

 

The following days passed too quickly. The bright mornings and breakfasts, the trails and our talks, the lure of dusk and the way we sat a little closer each time.

Whatever it was, something inexplicable had changed between us.

At least when Reagan was furious with me, I didn’t have to worry about not acting like an idiot or calming down the heat in my veins. Or biting back suggestive comments.

Not that I wanted her to be furious with me—I liked being friends. Only, maybe I liked it too much. Now I was wondering if Xander had a point. The man was rarely wrong.

Reagan and I talked easily now, both of us relating more of our pasts. I told her about serving in the military and my half-baked plans to go into either epistemology or medicine. I found out about her life in Seattle, the things she missed, and the family she was worried about. It was easier for her, though, to talk about the long trek to Winfyre. Meeting Jemma, Risa, Gabriel, and Collette, dealing with Cassidy, trying to reassure Drue, and keeping Bix in line. Helping Linh and Shelby deal with their grief and rally them. Keeping her parents safe and healthy.

“Believe me, they know they owe you their lives,” I said to her one evening.

She’d hugged her knees to her chest and shaken her head. “No, I owe them mine.”

I’d left it at that, but I couldn’t quite forget it. Reagan had displayed the kind of fortitude that took years to hone in the service, even if you were born with it. Moreover, she was humble about it, and it made her even more insanely attractive. Especially when her eyes glowed or she tossed back her hair and tossed a snarky comment at me.

When we finally reached Belrush one afternoon, Reagan suggested we pitch camp anyhow, rather than be stifled in the little cottage. At first, I wondered if she didn’t want to sleep in the same room, but then, after dinner, she sat down on the blanket next to me.

Within moments, her side pressed into mine, and I slung an arm around her shoulders. But when she put her head down on my shoulder, my arm slipped lower and knotted into her shirt. Each night, some variation of this had happened, but right now, the air seemed charged. Expectant.

Or was that just wishful thinking on my part?

“Think that messenger will be here tomorrow?” Reagan asked in a drowsy voice.

I shrugged. “Hard to say. Xander didn’t give me an exact date, but I think so.”

Reagan sighed. “That’s fine. I kind of like being back in the woods.” Her head tilted up, hair tickling my neck, and my heart nearly burst. “Seeing the stars.”

“You can see the stars back home,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but here, it’s just for me and you,” she murmured.

That lit a hot fuse of want deep in me. Dangerous, suggestive words that danced in my brain and created some more words of my own.

Unable to resist, I teased, “I’m growing on you, huh?”

Reagan nodded and laughed. “Yeah. You win, as always.”

I wish, I thought, and out of the corner of my eye, traced the contour of her lip. I was delving into territory I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be sitting here like this or thinking these things. Nor could I drag Reagan deeper into my life. In fact, I should be letting her go and letting her get back to her family—as soon as I figured out what kind of Riftborn she was.

“You’re tensing up,” Reagan complained suddenly, and she moved so her back was draped across my chest, and her head was on my other shoulder. “What could you be worrying about?”

You. Me. How we’re headed straight for disaster.

“Nah, it’s not that. It’s my back,” I lied, and she sat up. “It’s sore.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Reagan asked and pushed her hair out of her face. Now she looked more awake and embarrassed, her eyes avoiding mine. “I’m sorry.”

“I was enjoying myself,” I said, and her eyes darted up. Now, mine fell. “You, um, you…”

Her arms went around my neck, and her cheek pressed against mine. “Same.”

Without thinking, I pulled her against me, almost into my lap. I inhaled her scent, and my fingers dug into her shirt. Why was I doing this to myself?

I expected her to pull back, but Reagan didn’t. She held on, quiet and determined.

Finally, it was I who said, “Maybe we should go to bed.”

By then, I had no idea how long I’d been hugging her. I didn’t want to stop, either.

"Okay," she said and pulled free, hopping up to her feet. "Good night."

“Night.”

With that, Reagan went into her tent, and I blinked at the swish of the flap closing.

I looked up at the stars and sighed.

Just for me and you. I see what you mean.

 

Thankfully, the messenger showed up early the next day, and we were well on our way home by the next night. I made sure not to set up the blanket again, and, in general, I was being careful about contact.

However, Reagan didn’t seem to notice or mind. I was both relieved and disgruntled.

Three nights later, we were setting up camp for the last time, tired and worn to the bone. We’d pushed hard that day, hoping to get to Cobalt, but we were still fifteen miles out when sunset rolled around, along with a rainstorm. Fat drops pelted the tarp overhead as I secured it and hopped down.

Reagan was rubbing her arms and staring into the woods. It was cold, but not that cold. Then I noticed her breath puffing out in the air, and I blinked. Mine wasn’t doing that.

“Luke, something’s wrong,” she said and moved closer to me. The cold around me increased, and my instincts flared with warning. “I have a bad feeling about—”

Her words were cut off as I shoved us apart, a black arrow whizzing by and embedding itself in a tree.

“Come on!” I grabbed her and hid her behind a clump of large boulders. It was far away enough from the tree line that no one should be able to sneak up on her. Not that I thought they’d be after a non-shifter. “Stay down,” I warned. “I think it’s Skrors.”

Reagan gripped my wrist. “Luke, you can’t go alone—”

“Stay down,” I growled and shifted, racing into the woods.

Lifting up my voice, I let out a warning howl, hoping someone from Cobalt would hear it. Maybe a shifter squad was nearby. If I’d been alone, I’d have been happy to handle it, but with Reagan here, I couldn’t go too far.

These assholes were lucky.

Yet as I tried to track them, unease began to creep over me. I couldn’t catch their scent.

Circling back, I saw Reagan waiting, hopping from foot to foot at the edge of camp. An irritated growl tore from me. Why couldn’t she listen to one instruction? When she saw me, she rushed forward, only to look up and shout something. But I’d already begun to move from just her look. More arrows whizzed by.

Shaking my wet hair out of my face, I shifted and dragged her back to the rocks. “Rea, what are you doing?” I glanced back at the empty forest. “And what did you see?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Reagan whispered. “Movement.” Her voice sounded unsteady, and I looked at her. Dilated pupils and uneven breathing. “Ocean water.”

“They’re hiding their scent with the ocean,” I murmured. “Go back and hide. Now.”

In the distance, I caught an answering call to mine, and relief swam through me. Help was coming. Shifting and following the pungent scent of the ocean, I managed to locate one of those scumbags. It was Skrors. A small group, thankfully.

Why, though? They were no match for us, even with a new party trick. And now that I knew how to track them, I changed tactics.

Slinking through the woods, I shifted back when I found one. Without a sound, I slipped up behind the Skror and locked my arms around his neck. He choked and gargled for air, the sounds hidden by the rush of rain and rattle of wind.

In seconds, he was out cold, and I let him sag to the ground. Then I shifted and set off to find the next one. In the back of my mind, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about Reagan. What if they thought she was a shifter? Or went after her even though she wasn’t?

I was about to head back when another crossed my path, and I tackled him down.

With Brinney’s condition, we’d eschewed any captures last time, but when I was done here, we’d have six Skrors to interrogate. And we could send them back with the message not to screw with Winfyre. First, I had to check on Rea, though.

Shifting back, I headed to camp and swept my eyes around.

She wasn’t there.

Running past the rocks, I flew down the embankment and out onto a stretch of grasslands.  Reagan was somewhere up ahead. It wasn’t that I had her scent, so much as an impression of her.

Churning faster as the sand sucked at my paws and slowed me down, I soared over dune after dune. The ocean churned in the distance, and whitecaps slammed onto the beach.

Reagan was up ahead, and two Skrors were chasing her.

But she ran like the wind, flying over the sand like it was firm earth. A growl tore from me, and Reagan nearly stumbled, then angled towards me. There were shouts from the men and returning shouts from out at sea. I lifted my head and saw there was a boat out there, bobbing on the dark waves, and it slowly pieced itself together.

I’d been distracted. I’d been tricked.

They wanted Reagan.