Pack bound, p.5
Pack Bound, page 5
He had to bite back a laugh at her tone.
She pushed open the bathroom door and hobbled inside. The door clicked closed behind her. Running water sounded a moment later—she was in the shower.
He thought of soapy water moving over that soft, creamy skin and silently cursed as his cock hardened, pressing painfully against his jeans. He tried to think of something else. It was more difficult than it should have been.
The shower turned off after a few minutes—thank the Moon. He didn’t think he could take much more of that. Although the thought of her towelling down that delicious body was just as bad.
Fuck. He needed a shower. An ice-cold one.
Ten minutes of hell passed before the door opened. A steamy cloud billowed out into the hallway, filling it with the fragrance of orange and lemongrass-scented soap and herbal-fragranced shampoo. Skylar emerged behind the cloud, her wet hair pulled back into a ponytail. The severe hairstyle emphasised the slash of her cheekbones, the rose pink of her lips, the slightly tilted almond shape of her eyes.
He took in a sharp breath, drinking in the delicious perfume that was her essence. She was a beauty. But it was the kind of unknowing beauty that made a man tremble inside with longing to be the one to show her just how beautiful she was.
He shook his head against the thought. That’s not what he was here for.
She limped back to her room.
The wolf lunged inside him, wanting him to move, to touch the silken flame that was her hair, caress the creamy skin of her shoulder exposed by the T-shirt. But he didn’t. He stood in the shadows, hands clenched to his sides.
When she returned a moment later, he didn’t follow her. He knew she wasn’t going out—she still wore those mismatched socks and leggings.
Before he showed himself, he had to get under control.
Halfway down the hallway, she stopped and turned, looking right at him. ‘Look, you can see for yourself, Grandpa,’ she said, pointing at the shadowed corner Jason stood in. ‘There’s nothing there. Now stop making me even more paranoid than I already am and let me go and get some dinner. I’m hungry.’
With that she turned and hobbled down the hallway towards the lounge room and kitchen.
Jason stayed where he was, the spark of desire that had flared to life now thoroughly doused by confusion.
She had definitely been talking to someone. Grandpa? Strange name for a familiar. Even stranger that the familiar sensed him, yet she couldn’t. And what was going on with the limping? She should have healed herself by now—unless she was hiding her abilities for some reason. Or someone was blocking them, as Adam had suggested. Although, if that were the case, he shouldn’t be able to sense magic on her at all; yet there was a definite something emanating from her. It just wasn’t what he expected.
None of it made sense. Unless she wasn’t Skylar Collins.
But then, why had the dreams shown her to him and brought him here? There was also the fact she had Paul Collins’ red hair and piercing emerald-green eyes and Ivy Collins’ heart-shaped face.
And what about her scent?
He breathed in deeply, her familiar scent still vivid among the others in the hallway. He remembered that essence emanating from the baby he’d held in his arms all those years ago, mingling with normal baby smells of powder and mother’s milk. Yet something had changed in it that had nothing to do with the fact that she was an adult now. There was something wrong with it. Almost like a hint of something dank and musty clinging to the edges. But this afternoon, that dankness hadn’t been there. Whatever was going on, he was intrigued.
So was his wolf. It was lunging forward, trying to break out of the protection of the aura cloak, wanting to get closer. Needing to touch, to taste.
No!
That wasn’t what he was here for. Besides, it was ridiculous. He barely knew this woman. She certainly wasn’t his type. And yet, this afternoon, lying on top of her, her scent surrounding him, those green eyes searching his soul, the raw edge of lust had threatened to take over. He’d almost leaned forward and taken her mouth in a kiss that had nothing to do with duty to his pack and everything to do with getting her into bed.
But he’d fought off the raw, edgy need. This woman wasn’t his for the taking. If she was who he thought she was, she belonged to the pack. He’d known then there was only one way to prove the truth of that.
The wolf insisted he give her the Bond Wine right now.
‘When we find her, your father will give her the Alpha-made Bond Wine.’ He heard his mother’s words in his head as though she stood beside him. ‘Once it enters her system, she’ll respond as if she is drinking sun-warmed nectar. The Packbond will ignite inside her and flare to life. Then she will be ours.’
She will be ours.
There would be no denying Skylar’s ties to pack after that moment, even if she wished to. She would return with him to the pack, take up her birthright and stave off the Curse.
Once that was accomplished, he’d be able to move on to what was driving him beyond his need to save the pack: revenge.
Whoever was responsible for kidnapping Skylar Collins would pay. They would pay three times over: for killing her parents and twin; for bringing the Curse down on his pack; for killing his family. He would hunt them down and they would regret the day they’d ever tried to bring down the McVale Pack.
But only after he’d proved she was Skylar Collins by giving her the Bond Wine.
His wolf lunged inside him, longing to get out. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the hammering of his heart, he dropped his hold on his aura. Promising his wolf freedom soon, he stepped out of the shadows and walked down the hall to claim his destiny.
6
Skye watched the soup spin slowly on the microwave plate, tapping the spoon against her hand.
‘C’mon! Hurry up.’
Her stomach growled, almost overriding the prickling in her neck.
Almost.
But she wasn’t going to look behind her again. Nobody was watching her. She was just being stupid and jumpy because she was still angry about the idea that Morrigan was probably having her followed. She had to let that go. She couldn’t allow her powers to take control again.
She wished she knew why the spell hadn’t worked to stop the magic. Or why the inner voice had barked at her all afternoon.
She wished there was someone she could ask about what was going on. Shelley and Bron couldn’t truly help. Wiccans didn’t have their own magic—it was only borrowed from their Goddess, which, according to her grandmother, didn’t count. Skye was grateful that was true because otherwise she would never have become friends with them, and their friendship was more precious to her than she could explain.
If Grandpa was still alive, she’d be able to ask him, but he wasn’t. So that left her grandmother—and Morrigan always refused to even discuss anything magical.
The microwave pinged and she jumped.
Stupid. Jumping at microwaves!
This is what happened when you had the kind of overbearing grandmother who sent people to follow you around on your holiday. Paranoia.
Slamming her hand against the button, she barely waited for the door to swing open before grabbing the bowl. Soup spilled over her thumb.
‘Fudge a fudgy-duck!’ She put the dripping soup bowl down on the bench and sucked at her burned thumb. ‘Ffffffruitloops, that’s hot.’
‘Wow, impressive. She not only skis like a pro, but she knows how to swear in the most inventive way I’ve ever heard. Tell me you can dance the samba and I think I might just want to marry you.’
The prickles on her neck bloomed into hot fire at the sound of a voice she would never forget. ‘You!’ she said, spinning around.
‘Me.’ His lips twitched.
Her gaze collided with those incredible eyes and her heart took a flying leap up her throat, cutting off her breath.
Breathe. Don’t act like a teenager with a crush. He’s just a man.
But what a man!
Luckily, her lungs responded to the demand for oxygen, because her brain was still missing in action.
‘Here. Let me help.’ Without asking, he took her arm and led her out of the kitchen to a bench, made her sit and then headed back to the kitchen, returning with her soup, toast, a spoon and a glass of water a moment later.
‘Thanks.’ Skye spun the spoon between her fingers as he sat on the bench seat opposite. It clanked against the side of the bowl, the sound kick-starting her brain enough for her to ask, ‘What are you doing here?’
She almost rolled her eyes at the stupid question. It wasn’t like he would tell her if he was the one her grandmother had sent to follow her.
His face split into the kind of grin that could break a mother’s heart and have a father pull out a shotgun. ‘I didn’t follow you here,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘I’m staying here.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since today. How about you?’
‘Almost two weeks.’
‘I didn’t see you when I got in this morning.’
‘My friends and I hit the slopes first thing. Didn’t want to waste a moment of such a beautiful day.’
He leaned against the wall behind him and crossed his arms, a smile curving his mouth. ‘Of course not. I can imagine though, with the way you ski, even the worst weather wouldn’t stop you from getting out there.’
Convinced he wasn’t the one following her—and he certainly wasn’t the type of man Morrigan would use—she relaxed a bit. She picked up her spoon and said, ‘Is that a compliment?’
‘Do you need compliments?’
Smiling cheekily, she took a sip of soup before answering. ‘No. But it’s nice to hear I’m an amazing skier from someone other than my friends.’
‘I don’t think I said “amazing”.’
‘No. But I know that’s what you meant.’
There was a pause and then he laughed. Skye took another mouthful of soup and a bite of toast, trying to ignore the impact of his laugh on her system. ‘So, you’ve been here for a day. At least that explains why you were so terrible on that board.’ He didn’t laugh this time, but his smile let her know he hadn’t taken offence. In fact, his smile warmed her on the inside in a way the soup couldn’t.
‘As I said on the slopes,’ he said, his lips twitching, ‘I was doing pretty well until I hit that icy patch.’
She smirked. ‘I thought ogling my nice arse caused the accident.’
He laughed. ‘It was more than your arse. It was like I was drawn to you.’
‘What? Like animal magnetism?’
‘Something like that.’
The smirk died on her face at the look in his eyes. Smouldering didn’t cover it.
Careful.
She coughed and looked away.
He leaned forward and tapped her bowl with his long, masculine index finger. ‘Finish your soup before it gets cold.’ He stood.
‘Going out?’ A wave of disappointment made the words sound choked. She’d said no to him this afternoon because it was the right thing to do. But Fate had thrown him into her path for a second time, and she didn’t feel like giving Fate the finger again right now. Not when flirting with him was taking her mind off her magic. Aside from that, she’d been enjoying it. She covered the sound of her disappointment by swallowing a spoonful of soup.
He shook his head. ‘Just getting a drink. I’ll be right back.’
Skye blinked as he walked away. For one strange moment, she thought his pupils had glowed amber. It must have been the light. She shook her head and watched him as he moved around the kitchen. Her eyes lingered on his broad shoulders, tracing their way down to his tight bottom framed in dark jeans. Stop it. You shouldn’t encourage him when he comes back. There’s no future here.
Once again, that sounded more like something Morrigan would say than her grandpa, Harrison Cantrae, so she didn’t feel like listening. Besides, there was nothing quite like having a good-looking man pay his undivided attention to you and only you. Compliments were nice, but the fact that he wanted to come back and talk to her was better.
Surely some harmless chat and flirting wouldn’t hurt despite the fact that Morrigan would never approve of a man like him. Her grandmother never approved of the men Skye was drawn to. And she was incredibly drawn to this one. Morrigan would hate him. There was something altogether too raw and masculine about him. So much so it was sinful.
But she didn’t care. She rather liked sinful. And why did it have to matter that there was no future here? Couldn’t she have a bit of fun for once in her life?
A hot tingling raced through her at the thought.
He walked out of the kitchen holding a bottle of red and two glasses. ‘I feel like a drink and I don’t like drinking alone. Will you join me?’
Say no. He’s dangerous.
‘Sure,’ she said, ignoring the spell voice. It was definitely playing up. It shouldn’t be channelling her grandmother’s kind of overprotective smothering. There was nothing about this man that said he was a warlock. There was nothing of the air or fire or water about him. In fact, she’d never met anyone more grounded in the scent of earth than this man—except, perhaps, for River. It was kind of comforting.
‘Great.’ He put down the glasses and began to pour.
‘Where’s your brother?’
‘He went out for the night. I preferred to stay here and have a quiet one after a day of falling on my arse.’
Skye laughed. ‘You really shouldn’t mistreat such a nice arse.’
He sent her a simmering look. ‘I thought it was yours I mistreated.’
‘Touché.’
Uncorking the bottle, he poured two generous glasses, lifted his and tipped it towards hers. ‘Here’s to your health.’
‘Here’s to rather nice arses and out-of-control snowboarders.’
He chuckled and clinked her glass. ‘That too.’
He held his glass on an angle, watching her in a way that encouraged her to drink first. Wondering if it was some strange custom of his, or if he was just the old-fashioned-gentleman type, she took a sip of the wine. It was rich and full bodied, with a slight tang and an aftertaste of cinnamon. ‘Mmm, it’s lovely.’ She had to take another sip. A warm path followed the wine down her throat, spreading until she felt it even in her skin. The pain in her leg and foot diminished in the wake of the warmth. ‘This is amazing.’
‘You like it? This is a new mix I’m trying out. It’s taken me a while to get it right.’ He took a sip, his wolf-blue gaze never leaving hers over the rim of his glass. ‘But I think this may be what I’ve been looking for.’
Skye’s brow furrowed as she looked at the label on the bottle—McVales was a well-known name in wine. ‘You made this?’
‘I come from a long line of vintners. The earth and the grape are in my soul.’
Her mouth dropped open. So, not only was he tongue-hanging-out-fall-over-yourself good-looking, he was a part of one of the most successful wine labels in Australia in the last ten years. ‘You’re one of the McVales?’
He held his glass up to the light, looking deeply at the rich plummy colour of the liquid gold his family had become famous for, then flashed a grin. ‘You know your wine.’
‘Not really. But who hasn’t heard of your family in the last few years? You’ve been big news, particularly after the accident—’ Her voice faltered. Surely he didn’t have to be reminded of the tragedy that had struck his family. ‘Sorry. That was tactless. I should know better than to mention it. I lost my parents when I was younger in a car accident, too. I know how much pain the thought of them still brings and your loss is far more recent.’ She took a hasty sip of wine, looking anywhere but at him, and almost choked as it caught in the lump of embarrassment in her throat. Why the hell had she said so much to him?
‘Don’t worry about it.’ His hand on hers made her jump. ‘I knew we had something more than loving to ski in common. I felt it in my bones.’
She glanced up to see if he was serious. Their gazes collided and she caught her breath, the depth of understanding in his eyes touching her soul.
Panic clawed at her chest, and yet, for the first time in her sheltered life, she couldn’t make herself back away despite the danger to her equilibrium. The desire for a connection was just too damned strong.
Unsettled by the direction of her thoughts, she took another sip of the wine, the full-bodied flavour melting across her tongue and down her throat to pool low in her stomach with a warm buzz. She decided to change the topic. ‘This smells like passionfruit and raspberries, but has a spicy aftertaste, like chilli-chocolate and cinnamon.’
His brows rose and a hint of confusion crossed his face but all he said was, ‘You’ve got excellent sensory perception.’
‘Not so excellent. I didn’t hear you coming before you smashed into me.’
His lips twitched. ‘I’m not going to apologise for that again.’
She curled her hand around the glass to stop herself from reaching out and running her finger over that enticing scar. ‘You don’t have to if you pour me another glass of that wonderful wine.’
He did so with a smile. ‘So, seeing we’re sharing a bottle of wine, would it be too forward to ask your name? You already know mine.’
‘Only your last name. Which is fine as long as you want to be called Mr McVale.’
He screwed up his nose. ‘Mr McVale was my grandfather. My father didn’t even get called that. He always preferred Luke. You can call me Jason.’
‘Nice to meet you, Jason.’ She tipped her glass at him.
His smile widened as she sipped at her wine and said nothing else. ‘Are you going to make me guess your name?’
‘You’d never get it right. My father was a bit of a hippy.’
Jason winced. ‘Don’t tell me they named you something improbable like Moon Unit.’
She laughed. ‘Nope. They weren’t high when they named me. But I was born outside; and that’s all the clue I’m going to give you.’ She looked up at him over the rim of her glass.
