Wanderlust

But I needed to make sure Tarn told me the truth, and I wasn’t abandoning my obligations to Keri. I had to make sure I wasn’t forsaking people who helped me out of a jam. And on a personal level, I needed Doc to check me out. I just don’t trust anyone else. If I’d known stopping would prove so disastrous, you can bet I would’ve gone another way.



But hindsight is twenty-twenty.



The silence grows awkward. I toy with the idea of reminding him he’s supposed to watch my back, and he owes me for sticking by him on Emry, but I don’t say another word. I figure he knows those things already.



No clue what thoughts run behind his eyes, but the silence starts to make me uncomfortable. Maybe he’s not used to such . . . intimacy? I can’t imagine that he is, given his race and what he does for a living. I’ll say it’s that, and nothing personal. Mary knows, enough people hate me as it is.



“You can stay with me,” he says finally. “Are you still going to look around?”



“Yeah.”



“If I see”—he pauses—“anyone, I’ll tell them where to find you.”



His hesitation tells me he’s worried about March. That makes two of us.



I’m none too eager for my own company, considering that everyone blames me for the increased furor of the McCullough attack. It feels like the Hate Jax backlash that followed the crash of the Sargasso—only this time, it really is my fault. Nothing I did on purpose, but bad mojo follows me just the same.



With a wave, I set off into the crowd. I have people to find, or I’ll die trying.



* * *



CHAPTER 29



The place is bigger than it looks.



Concealed rooms branch off from the main bunker, offering an illusion of privacy. From the looks I receive, I’m not welcome either. So I slide back out like a shadow, weaving between the tents.



I want to scream. My stomach has tied itself into knots, worrying about the man—



Who steps out of a large tent, right behind Keri. He’s blood-spattered, wounded, and filthy, but more or less whole. As March turns, the whole world slows, receding into the background.



I see his lips move, mouthing my name, even as he pushes past the people between us. Not walking. Running. I’m afraid to smile, but I meet him halfway. He wraps me so tight in his arms that it hurts, but I don’t complain. Not when I can feel his heart beating against mine. He spins me in his arms as if I weigh nothing.



“Jax,” he whispers.



With shaking fingers, I touch the pale bandage at his temple. It looks like he’ll have another scar for the collection.In turn he brushes rough fingertips across my cheek. I’m surprised to see them come away wet.



I have no words.



For now it doesn’t matter how complicated things have become between us. It only matters that he’s here.



His breath hitches. All around us, people enjoy their own tearful reunions, paying us no mind. The same can’t be said for Keri, whose angry gaze bores into my back. She has another reason to hate me, among so many others.



“They’re waiting for us in tactical,” she tells him, gesturing at one of those semiprivate alcoves.



I can’t imagine what strategy will get Gunnar-Dahlgren out of this mess, but the clans never give up. I admire that.



To my surprise he doesn’t let go. “Do this one without me.”



He gives her no opportunity to argue. I intended to look for Jael and Dina as well, but he swings me into his arms and carries me toward one of the larger tents. If I wasn’t so damn happy to see him, I’d probably struggle. As it is, I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes for a moment. He smells of smoke and unseen battles.



March ducks a little to get inside, sets me on my own two feet, and then seals the flap after us. It’s dim within, a plain canvas shelter that underlines the gravity of our situation. I’ve been in a lot of messes in my day—at this point it’s sort of my specialty—but I do believe this one frosts them all.



“You made it.” He sounds hoarse.



I imagine him shouting orders until his voice gave out, helping organize the retreat. March knows about killing. I have only a passing acquaintance with that side of him.



“I have Doc to thank for that. I never would’ve made it through those tunnels without him. I wanted to run out and look for you.” With a long sigh, I drop onto the sleep mat he’s unrolled.



He smiles. In the faint light, his face looks even rougher than usual, all harsh planes and angles. His eyes glitter like uncut amber, pure cognac gold. “Of course you did. I’m so fucking tired, Jax.”



“So sleep.” Okay, so that’s not how I imagined this would go, but I don’t want to fight with him anymore.



“I haven’t been alone with you in weeks,” he says. “Do you really think I’m going to doze off? I can actually see your heart beating . . .” As he collapses beside me, he touches the base of my throat. “Sometimes I forget—”



“What?” I tilt my head back, registering a pleasurable shock.



How fragile you are. When he fills my mind in a hot rush, I realize how lonely I’ve been. How much I’ve missed him. I don’t even take umbrage at being called fragile. Right now I am, physically, and there’s no value in denying the obvious.



But that reminds me. “Why didn’t you . . . make contact? Let me know you were alive?”



He pulls me back into his arms as if he’s loath to lose hold of me even for a minute. “Sometimes I forget you don’t know everything about me. If you think back, I’ve never touched you across long distances.”



Shit. He’s right. Most of our contact occurs when we’re on ship together or in the same room. Here I thought— well, never mind. Relief surges through me. March wasn’t punishing me with the silence, which is good, because I don’t know if I could’ve forgiven him that.



“Do you still love me?” When the question comes gusting out, my face burns like I’ve been splashed with acid.



March leans his head against mine. “What do you think?”



“You’re the psychic. It’s mean to toy with me.”



He eases down until our noses touch, lips mere millimeters away from a kiss. “I don’t always agree with your decisions, and you drive me out of my mind sometimes. Like you pushing me away when I want so bad to be there for you. I’m still trying to understand that. But yeah, I love you.”



“Don’t you understand?” I ask tiredly. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”



“The last few weeks, you’ve been breaking my heart.” Such a stark tone, unadorned truth.



I have no defense against that. Mary help me, I want him so bad.



And he knows.



I see it just before his mouth takes mine in a kiss that I feel like I’ve waited for my whole life. Heat. Need. He cups my face in his hands.



At this moment I don’t care about the people outside these fragile walls. The world shrinks to him and me. My fingertips brush the curve of his ear, and he shivers in reaction. I know all his hot spots now.



He laughs softly, trailing his lips down my throat. I suck in a shaky breath. Yeah, he knows mine, too.



“This is only a temporary truce,” I whisper into his jaw.



He gives me a slow simmering smile. “I can live with that.”



March pulls my vest over my head, skimming my skin with his palms. For just a moment I feel scrawny and self-conscious, but it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, scars and all. Plus he has more than his share, and I relearn them all as I tug his shirt over his head.



Even in the dim light, I can tell he’s a mass of bruises. I don’t even know how he can stand for me to touch him. I hesitate, my good hand hovering over his chest.



“You’re sure? I won’t hurt you?”



A soft laugh escapes him, as if he can’t believe I’ve asked. I know he’s twice my size, but he’s wounded, dammit. And I’ve been known to bite.



“We’re both a little bit broken,” he says quietly. “But we’ll take care not to cut each other on the sharp edges.”



I smile. “We’ll manage.”



Quiet lightning surges between us, a longing that cannot be channeled or contained. He touches me with exquisite gentleness, lips trailing heat wherever he claims me with his hands. I arch against him, melting.



His penis feels so hard, it almost hurts where it jabs me. I undo his pants with unsteady hands. In this moment I need nothing more than March.



Primitive.



Mine.



“Yes,” he gasps, though I don’t know if it’s because of my thoughts or my fingers curling around him. I love how I short-circuit his higher brain functions. “You, on top. I want to watch you.”



“Lazy bastard,” I manage to tease as I climb on.



His eyes drift shut as I sink down, sheathing him. He fills me, pure heat. I start slow and easy, but I can’t control myself for long, not that he’ll let me. March cradles my hips in his hands, moving me on him. Showing me how he wants it.



“Take me, Jax.” I can’t resist his whispered plea.



Faster.



More.



I don’t know whether that’s him or me, but we both crave it. Our breathing changes tempo, staccato urgency. Once we find a hungry rhythm, his hands roam my body as if he owns me. Or wants to.



When his fingers drift down my belly, stroking lower still, I bear down and let the orgasm come. Liquid lust wracks me in hard, frantic waves.



March offers a wicked smile, holding me upright. “Don’t pass out, baby. I’m just getting started. Lost time and all that.”



I manage to snort, though I feel shaky as hell. “You wish. I’m still woman enough to wear you out.”



“Take your best shot.”



His eyes shine as he settles back, preparing to make me work for it. I roll my hips on him as aftershocks spark through me. But he’s not ready for what I do next.



Lean down, nip his throat. Grind. I suck, tugging his skin with my teeth. That’s going to leave a mark.



He shudders, breath rushing in noisy gusts.



I whisper, “Every time I’ve touched myself in the last four months, I thought of you. Every. Time.”



And then he’s all mine, groaning, shaking, and breathless beneath me.



* * *



CHAPTER 30



When l come to, he’s dressed and about to slip out on me.



That’s probably fitting, given the way I ran out on March the first time we had sex. The universe has a way of rewarding people with what they deserve. I’m not sure what this says about me.



No, I do, actually. It says things I don’t enjoy hearing.



I push up onto my elbow. “You weren’t going to wake me?”



“I didn’t want to bother you.” That sounds like an excuse.



“I need you more than sleep.” The words feel barbed coming out of my mouth. There, I said it, damn him.



“You don’t need me,” he says with quiet finality. “You want me. You might even love me. But you don’t need me. I wish you did.”



Is this because I wouldn’t lean on him? Didn’t want to become physically dependent?



He goes on, “They need me in planning sessions. Though we’ve retreated, we can’t just hunker down here. We need to talk strategy and coordinate the war effort. The McCulloughs won’t settle for anything less than a full hostile takeover, so we have to exterminate them.” He sounds so cold.