magician, but damn it, he would keep her safe. Every step became a deliberate act as he concentrated on erecting a wall of sheer stubborn willpower around Stefanie. A bristling wall that would make that coward Ron run for his life.
He rumbled as he walked, rubbing his musk on every wall and every bush. He’d mask her scent with his own and secret her away. His mind cast up battlements, watchtowers, and catapults, all of them howling the same message:
There is nothing for you here.
He imagined the defenses going up, brick by brick, as if they were a physical thing instead of ephemeral, and power flowed from him as from a tap. Let Ron seek. He’d find more than he bargained for.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins like the soldier’s high he’d heard about—the one that could fuel a man for hours if his cause was just. Around and around, losing track of time and place, pouring everything he had into protecting Stef.
He was stepping into yet another lap when the moon, already long past its zenith, whispered,
Enough.
He paced one more lap around the old adobe, assuring himself that that probing outside force had given up, at least for the night. Then he hauled himself up on the porch, turned three circles, and slumped down in front of the door, utterly drained. With a heavy sigh, he tucked his nose under his tail, and closed his eyes in an approximation of sleep. But his ears stuck up like a couple of rotating radar domes, fully alert.
Stef Alt, back in his life. He’d be damned if he ever let her go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Pink morning light filled the room with a cheery glow. Stef could sense it, even from under the sheets. Everything was peaceful. The only reminder of her torturous night was the bedding—damp and twisted from sweat and fear. But that had only lasted the first part of the night. Eventually, the fear had ebbed away, and the house that had first felt like a cage became a safe haven where she could finally drift off to sleep.
She was still half asleep, lingering in her last dream. One in which she’d been intimately wrapped around a man. A good man, not a monster. If she kept her eyes closed, she could still imagine Kyle spooned along her body.
Of course, it was just a dream, but one worth hanging on to—even rewinding and reliving a couple of dozen times.
It started the same way every time: he would appear like a spark of light in the otherwise bleak world of her imagination and pull her close, just like he’d done at the barn.
“Stef,” he’d whisper, and she’d whisper right back.
“Kyle.”
Like he was hers, and she was his, and both of them knew it.
His touch was warm and tender and incredibly right, and she shaped her body to his like they were practiced lovers. Then she touched every inch of him, from the bulk of his shoulders to the smooth of his chest. His hands slid over her, too, and everything she’d been ready to give up on came giggling back to life. Her face went warm, her core even warmer, and when his hands palmed her breasts, it was like she’d immersed herself in a hot bath. Make that a hot tub, with the jets aimed at all the right places.
Her chuckle climbed to the rafters. Kyle was about the last person she could imagine in a hot tub. She’d only ever been in one once, but hey, this was her dream and she was running with it. She imagined sliding a hand underwater and working the length of him until he was hard and high and whispering her name like no man had ever done before. Looking at her through half-lidded eyes that said she was a thing of wonder and not the skinny kid from next door. She’d pull him closer than close, wrap her legs around his waist and urge him inside.
Then he’d work them both into a raging heat that threatened to consume the night, and she’d rock with him, clutching with her inner muscles to push him over the edge half a second before she took off, too. Flying, flying, diving through the night.
“Kyle.”
She
He rumbled as he walked, rubbing his musk on every wall and every bush. He’d mask her scent with his own and secret her away. His mind cast up battlements, watchtowers, and catapults, all of them howling the same message:
There is nothing for you here.
He imagined the defenses going up, brick by brick, as if they were a physical thing instead of ephemeral, and power flowed from him as from a tap. Let Ron seek. He’d find more than he bargained for.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins like the soldier’s high he’d heard about—the one that could fuel a man for hours if his cause was just. Around and around, losing track of time and place, pouring everything he had into protecting Stef.
He was stepping into yet another lap when the moon, already long past its zenith, whispered,
Enough.
He paced one more lap around the old adobe, assuring himself that that probing outside force had given up, at least for the night. Then he hauled himself up on the porch, turned three circles, and slumped down in front of the door, utterly drained. With a heavy sigh, he tucked his nose under his tail, and closed his eyes in an approximation of sleep. But his ears stuck up like a couple of rotating radar domes, fully alert.
Stef Alt, back in his life. He’d be damned if he ever let her go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Pink morning light filled the room with a cheery glow. Stef could sense it, even from under the sheets. Everything was peaceful. The only reminder of her torturous night was the bedding—damp and twisted from sweat and fear. But that had only lasted the first part of the night. Eventually, the fear had ebbed away, and the house that had first felt like a cage became a safe haven where she could finally drift off to sleep.
She was still half asleep, lingering in her last dream. One in which she’d been intimately wrapped around a man. A good man, not a monster. If she kept her eyes closed, she could still imagine Kyle spooned along her body.
Of course, it was just a dream, but one worth hanging on to—even rewinding and reliving a couple of dozen times.
It started the same way every time: he would appear like a spark of light in the otherwise bleak world of her imagination and pull her close, just like he’d done at the barn.
“Stef,” he’d whisper, and she’d whisper right back.
“Kyle.”
Like he was hers, and she was his, and both of them knew it.
His touch was warm and tender and incredibly right, and she shaped her body to his like they were practiced lovers. Then she touched every inch of him, from the bulk of his shoulders to the smooth of his chest. His hands slid over her, too, and everything she’d been ready to give up on came giggling back to life. Her face went warm, her core even warmer, and when his hands palmed her breasts, it was like she’d immersed herself in a hot bath. Make that a hot tub, with the jets aimed at all the right places.
Her chuckle climbed to the rafters. Kyle was about the last person she could imagine in a hot tub. She’d only ever been in one once, but hey, this was her dream and she was running with it. She imagined sliding a hand underwater and working the length of him until he was hard and high and whispering her name like no man had ever done before. Looking at her through half-lidded eyes that said she was a thing of wonder and not the skinny kid from next door. She’d pull him closer than close, wrap her legs around his waist and urge him inside.
Then he’d work them both into a raging heat that threatened to consume the night, and she’d rock with him, clutching with her inner muscles to push him over the edge half a second before she took off, too. Flying, flying, diving through the night.
“Kyle.”
She
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