Midnight Shift, page 16
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said, leaning her head against him.
“You’ll never have to find out.” He kissed her cheek before letting her go to resume his care for Trace.
Benie reached down and touched Trace’s cheek. Her own mark warmed with a prickling sensation that verged on unpleasant.
“Ian,” she said, as he finished off the bucket. “Do you feel it?”
He touched his own shoulder almost absently. “Yes.”
“His mark feels…sick.”
“It’s the poison.” Ian sat down on the bed, Trace between them. “Give the clay a chance to draw it out.”
She remembered how Trace had relaxed in the tub when their skin pressed together, and again, when she’d curled behind him after Shade had left. There had to be a deeper reason for the marks other than decoration. Some benefit she hadn’t yet discovered.
*
They’d watched Trace for hours, and he wasn’t getting better. Benie worked to suppress the part of her that feared he wouldn’t survive.
“He needs you,” Ian said, breaking his silent vigil. His tone had taken on a lost boy quality. “I didn’t see it before, Benie. You really care about him. You love him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
Ian looked toward the window. “When I saw him half-dead on the ground, I felt such rage. I’ve never been that angry in my life. I wanted to kill everyone. I felt like…” He hesitated as if grasping for the right words.
“…like someone had to tried to cut off your leg?” Benie supplied.
“Yes,” Ian said. “But even more than that.”
“He’s ours, Ian.” She propped up on her elbow and looked down at Trace, his eyes closed against the world. “And we’re his.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“I’m not sure you have a choice.” She shook her head and reached across Trace for Ian’s hand and lightly rested their joined fingers on Trace’s chest. “I’m sorry. I took that choice away when I marked you.” At her apology, her mark warmed, and the prickling turned to a persistent pulse.
Ian looked down at his hand in hers, and his eyes widened. “It’s turning black.”
Startled, Benie stared at Ian’s hand.
“Not my hand,” he said. “The clay. Look as his joints.”
It was true. Even through the towels, she could see the clay, which had been a light gray, was now developing spots of inky blackness. “What does it mean?
“I think it’s working.” Ian pulled his hand from Benie’s grip and turned on the ceiling light to brighten the room. The black started to disappear.
“What’s happening?”
Ian’s confusion mirrored her own. “I don’t know. It was working.”
The itchy tingle returned. Could the marks be the key? “I think he needs our touch.”
“Maybe yours,” Ian countered.
“No,” Benie said. “I haven’t taken my hand off him this whole time. Only when we both touched him did the clay turn dark.”
Ian reached down and placed his palm on Trace’s stomach. Benie put her hand above his, and the clay around their hands darkened. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” Benie said, pulled the damp towels off Trace. “Take your clothes off.”
Ian rolled his eyes and sighed, but he did as Benie asked. She pressed her naked body to one side of Trace while Ian occupied the other side. They stroked his skin where their bodies couldn’t touch their poisoned mated. Soon, the clay turned all black.
Trace opened his eyes, surprised when he saw Ian curled against his left side. “Arent,” he said gruffly.
“Calder,” Ian responded.
Benie gripped Trace harder when he no longer moved with pain. His voice was strong and certain when he turned his head and drank her in with his soft brown gaze. “I’m alive,” he said.
For the gazillionth time since Trace’s rescue, Benie felt tears slide down her cheek. “Welcome back.”
Within seconds, the man was replaced by a large gray and white wolf lying between Benie and Ian.
Ian raised a brow, his eyes already amber. “Run?”
“We are in suburbia,” Benie said.
“The state park isn’t that far away.”
“What happens if someone sees three wolves slinking down the streets?”
“It’s after midnight, Benie. They’ll think we’re dogs.”
“Big ass dogs,” she said, stroking her fingers through Trace’s fur, her own wolf close to the surface now.
I need to run, Benie. I need to stretch. Trace’s words cut off her doubts.
Ian’s features were already shifting. Benie grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from the drawer. “One of us should have opposable thumbs if we plan to leave the house,” she said as an explanation. Instead of going to the front door, she grabbed Destan’s SUV keys from the hook on the wall near the interior door to the garage. Benie glanced at her two wolves. “I’ll drive us to the park.”
Chapter 15
Benie piled another blanket around her body, her lips shivering against the deep bone chill running through her. She’d turned up the thermostat to ninety degrees, and it still felt freezing in the new safe house. Turning off the television, she hunkered deeper into the cushions of the couch. They’d moved after several reports from the neighborhood watch to animal control about a pack of wild dogs running loose. Gray thought it was a good idea for them to relocate to a more remote area. This place was surrounded by woods, like the first had been, but had a lovely view of the lake off the back deck.
It had been four weeks since they’d rescued Trace. Four weeks since the combination of clay and marks had brought him back from the brink of death. The new safe house was small, and it didn’t afford any room for Ian to have a real laboratory. He and Trace had been using the free time to hone Ian’s new abilities as a shifter, but there was still an unspoken tension between the two men. Since Trace’s return, she’d made love to both him and Ian individually, but not together. The men didn’t seem to want to share her time, and she tried to respect their needs, even if their needs superseded her own. She’d already saddled them with a life they may not have chosen for themselves. Was it fair to try and make them bedmates too?
Goose flesh raised tight bumps on her arms, and she rubbed them hard in an effort to warm herself. It was getting damned near ridiculous. The throbbing headache pounding against the temples of her skull didn’t help matters.
For over a week now, it seemed like her body had been rebelling, with heartburn, having to pee all the time, and a wonky body temperature that made her feel either overly warm or cold. Pregnancy could explain some but not all of what was happening to her body. She had an appointment with a midwife in a few days, her first, and had a full list of questions to ask.
For now, she’d just be happy if she didn’t feel so goddamn cold. And her head, if it would just stop hammering. Her eyes felt hot and tired, such a contrast to the rest of her. Counting the polandrial poisoning, this was the worst she’d ever felt.
Her vision blurred as the headache worsened to the point where she thought her brain might start leaking from her ears. Where were they? Where were Trace and Ian? They were supposed to take care of her, damn it.
Writhing on the couch, Benie buried herself deeper into the blanket and cushions. They were coming. She knew it. But why weren’t they already there? “Trace? Ian?” Delirium settled in. “Where are you? You said you’d be here for me. You promised. You promised you wouldn’t leave me…”
*
Ian had picked up Trace on the way back to the house. He had sympathy for what the man had gone through, even worried a little for him, but he spent most of the time worrying about Benie. Trace no longer talked much, and his sense of humor had long dried up. Frankly, Ian thought, in their situation, humor might be the only thing that would get them through each day.
As they neared the front door, Ian felt the tug of Benie, as if his body instantly reacted to a distinctive distress signal. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes,” Trace replied. The sullen expression had been replaced by alert intensity. “Get the fucking door open.”
Ian jiggled the key into the lock. It wouldn’t go in. The anxiety and distress grew more acute. “It won’t work.”
“Damn it to hell. Give me the keys.” Without waiting, Trace yanked the keys out of Ian’s hand. They went flying out into the dark yard.
“Jesus, Trace!” Ian turned and banged on the door. “Benie. Open the door.” He could feel his wolf scrabbling frantic inside him. Their mate was in danger.
Next Trace pounded. “Benie. Let us in.”
Benie’s stress level was skyrocketing, and Ian could sense it as if it were his own.
He roared, kicking the door and splintering it inward. The path open, he rushed to where Benie lay all bundled except for her face. Her skin was flushed, nearly baked.
Trace gave one amazed glance at the shattered door before he dropped to Benie’s side.
Ian hadn’t meant to break the door. Hell, he hadn’t even known he could do it. He was sure it had something to do with the enhancement serum he’d been developing. It was as if his fear and panic had turned his wolf into Wolverine.
“Benie?” He cupped her face. Her skin was hot, really hot, and dry. “She’s running a fever.”
Trace took off his jacket. “It’s like a fucking sauna in here.” He walked toward the back room. “What’s going on with her face?”
Ian took a closer look. Benie’s skin was changing color, which by itself wasn’t so unusual, but this was different from her normal chameleon-like ability. Dark areas appeared then disappeared as her skin transformed. He pulled the covers back. It was happening with her entire body—like a Christmas tree light with bad wiring, winking and blinking all wrong. He pressed a finger against one of the darker areas on her shoulder, and it was like nothingness—a small black hole. Instantly, the area firmed and pushed his finger out of the empty space.
“So cold,” Benie said through chattering teeth.
“It’s all right, baby.” Ian smoothed her thick red hair.
She curled into a tight ball.
“Here.” Trace handed Ian a thermometer, one that worked from the ear.
A quick beep later, Ian handed it back. “105.6. Too high. Way too high. Her brain is baking.”
“I’ll get some aspirin, you get some cold cloths.” Before Trace could leave, Benie’s hand snapped out and latched onto his wrist.
“No. I need you. I need you both. Touch me. Please, please.” She turned, stretching herself before both of them. “Take off your clothes. Off. Off.”
Ian quickly pulled off his clothes. Benie’s own urgency ran through him, a combination of lust, fear, and anxiety. He didn’t have any embarrassment about being naked in front of Trace anymore. All that mattered was Benie.
“Do it, Trace. She’s sick. Can’t you feel it?” His mark, the violet line and circle on his shoulder, throbbed.
Trace nodded his head and undressed. “I can.”
Benie pushed her hair back, which had grown out just past her shoulders. She spread her legs and reached down to the tangle of dark red curls at the apex of her thighs. She slipped her fingers between the lips of her sex. “I need.” Tears streaked her burning cheeks. “I need.” The dark swirls appearing randomly on her body disappeared as her gaze swept across both men.
Her dusty-green eyes turned nearly fluorescent and caused Ian to catch his breath. She’d pushed her blankets aside, exposing her pale, pale skin with slight freckles, her soft breasts with erect nipples. Blood rushed to his groin, making him hard as the overwhelming scent of her desire drove him insane.
He glanced at Trace. The man, naked now, was just as hard.
Trace’s pupils dilated. “She’s so damned beautiful.” He lowered to his knees in front of Benie.
Benie met Trace’s mouth with a fiery kiss. Ian watched him rub his palms over her breasts. She moaned against Trace’s mouth. Strangely, the mark on Trace’s back, a mirror twin to Ian’s, pulsed with light as he teased one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, his tongue flickering over the tightly drawn crux. Ian wondered if his own pulsating mark was doing the same.
He knelt next to Trace as the man moved further down her body. He and Benie both watched as Trace slid his tongue down her stomach. Her skin visibly quivered under his touch. The back of Trace’s hand traveled up her thigh until his fingers reached the soft folds of her damp sex. He spread her open and twirled his tongue around her swell, sinking a finger into her wet channel.
“Yes,” she groaned.
Watching them, Ian found he enjoyed seeing Benie in the throes of desire, being able to fully view her flushed face and body as she writhed with passion. He suppressed his uneasiness, the part of him that said it was wrong to take pleasure in another man touching the woman he loved.
He watched Trace’s fingers glide in and out of Benie in the same rhythm he used to lick and suck her swollen sex. Every hormone in Ian’s body sizzled at the sight of her squirming under Trace’s seductive attention.
Trace thrust another finger in, and she moaned with pleasure. Ian’s breathing and heart rate increased.
“Ian,” Benie said, heady and husky.
Ian’s body shivered with anticipation. He knelt beside her, and dipped his head to meet her parting lips and kissed her hard. When her tongue darted past his own, Ian closed his eyes, savoring her as he fed from her lips.
*
Benie’s mind began to clear the more Trace touched, groped, and sucked—and the more insistent Ian’s kisses grew. She wriggled her hips, relishing the feel of Trace’s mouth on her. She gazed at Ian until he looked back. His blue eyes looked so lovely, especially this close. Ian’s lips parted to suck in her tongue. She tasted him with a hunger food could never satisfy. The delirium of her fever began to clear as they both attended her urgent desires, but her body craved more.
“I need you in me,” Benie said to both of her lovers.
Trace sat back on his heels and Benie twitched at the loss of his lips and tongue. Without needing direction, Ian moved Benie over, sat down next to her on the couch, and then pulled her on top of him. Her thighs burned as she positioned her slick sex over his shaft and slid down on him. Instantly, she felt more connected, more alive.
Trace scooted his body behind her and between Ian’s legs. Lifting her ass to him, Benie arched in anticipation. She could feel Trace’s fingers lubricating her anus. She tensed as he penetrated her with a finger.
He leaned to her ear. “It’s okay, Benie. I’ll take it slow.”
“Yes,” she said, as Ian gripped her hips. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to feel Ian’s thickness stretching her, filling the aching urgency. The marks on her back thrummed when she felt Trace’s hands spread her buttocks. The tip of his lubricated cock slid the divide, stopping for a moment before he pushed inside her.
Benie moaned at the burning ecstasy that rocketed up her spine. Trace held still, allowing her to adjust to his size, but Ian thrust his hips upward to meet Benie. She squeezed her muscles around him, and in doing so, did the same to Trace. Noises of pleasure sounded from both men. She rolled forward then arched back and down to take them both deep.
Benie raked her nails down Ian’s back until they rested under his firm buttocks, and dug in. Her headache was gone, the cold was gone, all she felt was rapture and bliss as they joined with her, made love to her so fucking good. Stroking, gently, rhythmically, in sync with each other. Pressure built in her groin, scorching red-hot with the promise of gratification. It didn’t take long.
Her upper body jolted at the shockwave emanating from her vibrating depths. She sang out her pleasure in one long blissful moan. Her climax triggered Ian’s and his head flew back, his hands gripping her hips as he drove his cock deep. A howl of final ecstasy poured from his mouth. He collapsed back onto the couch.
The heat of his body soothed her every nerve.
“It’s okay,” Trace said, his fingers twining her hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.” He withdrew from her, slowly, as if trying not to disturb the serenity, but the absence of him settled in her like a bottomless ache. He disappeared to the bathroom and came back a few moments later, dressed in boxers, and holding a towel. He handed it to Benie, and sat down beside them. She drew herself off Ian and sat up on the couch.
“How do you feel?”
She heaved a breath and moved to settle between the men. “Better.” Sweat leaked from every pore in her body, soaking the cushions beneath her. “Damn, it’s really hot in here.”
Trace shrugged. “You had the heat set on tropical, babe.” He felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “Your fever’s broken.”
Ian had covered his lap with the towel. “Let me check your temp.” He grabbed the thermometer and put it to her ear. “Yep. Down to 100.2 now.”
“I don’t understand what’s been happening lately. It seems like I’m getting sick all the time. It can’t just be the pregnancy.”
Nodding, Ian put his arm around her shoulders. “I agree, Benie. Another thing to ask the midwife.”
“Already on my list.” Benie bit the inside of her lip. Her body’s strange behavior had been growing increasingly whack over the past week or so, but she’d noticed it was worse when…“I…no, that’s crazy.”
“What?”
“I don’t want you guys to think I’m trying to manipulate you.”
Trace sighed. “Just say it.”
“Well.” Benie tapped her chin. “I feel better when I’m with you. Both of you.” The dull throb of her marks acted to confirm her theory.
No Ian and Trace, bad stuff.
With Ian and Trace, all better.
Ian wiggled his nose, something he did when in deep thought. He shrugged. “Could be. I’d like to do some hormone and blood studies when our marks are the most active to see how our bodies behave under their…influence. But I need my lab stuff.”
