Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

“And neither Zee nor any of the fae we knew could tell us if we’d ever get you back. Samuel’s woman couldn’t find you—everything you had burned up in the fire. Neither the van nor the Rabbit worked as a close enough tie. She tried to approach me to see if she could use me, but she couldn’t even walk into the same room as me—not half-crazed as I was. Touching me was out of the question. I thought I had lost you.”
    I remembered feeling Mary Jo and Paul hunting me. “You looked for me.”
    â€œWe did,” he agreed. Abruptly he turned and hauled me against him. He was shaking, and he hid his face in my hair. It was useless, if he was trying to prevent me from understanding what he was feeling. I had a Technicolor view through our bond.
    I hugged him as hard as I could so he’d know I was real, that I didn’t mind him holding me hard. “I’m here,” I said.
    â€œI couldn’t find you either,” he told me, his voice a bare whisper. “Our bond was broken, and I couldn’t tell if you’d done it on purpose, if the queen had managed it—or if you were dead. We could feel you in the pack bonds, but that’s been known to happen when people die. Bran came and he couldn’t find you either. Then yesterday, Darryl was feeding us lunch and dropped the pan on the floor.”
    I’d heard about that already, from various people, but I didn’t interrupt.
    â€œDarryl thought someone was messing with Auriele, and stormed halfway up the stairs—only to be met by Auriele, who was worried about him for the same reason. That’s when Bran came up from the basement and said . . .” He stopped speaking.
    â€œHe said, ‘I’ve done the hard part, Alpha. Now tell us where your mate is,’ ” I said. “And he was holding the walking stick in his hand.”
    â€œAnd there you were,” Adam told me. “Inside of me, just where you belonged.”
    He drew back, moving his hands to my cheeks. The heat of his skin felt precious to me, his hot amber eyes feeding the fires in my heart—and my body.
    His nostrils flared, like a stallion scenting a mare. His hands dropped to my coat, and he ripped it down the back and threw it on the floor before backing away from me.
    â€œDamn it,” he said gruffly, his head against the door. “Damn it . . . I can’t do this.”
    I pulled my shirt over my head and stripped off my jeans and underwear. Warren didn’t keep his house at seventy degrees—since he was mostly sleeping at Kyle’s these days. But I didn’t feel the cold, not while I could feel the force of Adam’s need roaring like a welding torch.
    â€œWhat can’t you do?” I asked gently, pulling back the bedding and lying down on the sheets.
    â€œI can’t be gentle. I know . . . I know you need care, and I can’t do that right now.” He pulled open the door. “I’ve got to go. I’ll send—”
    â€œIf you leave me naked and waiting on the bed without making love to me, I’ll—”
    I didn’t get to finish the threat. I think it was the word “naked,” though maybe it was “bed,” but before I finished my sentence, he was on me.
    He was right; he wasn’t gentle. Up until that point in our relationship, our lovemaking had been passion tempered with humor and sweetness. I’d been hurt and he’d been so careful of me.
    In the darkness of Warren’s guest bedroom, sweetness and humor had no place in him. And though there was care in his touch, he was anything but careful. Not that he hurt me—quite the contrary. But he was fire and need that went so far beyond simple desire that it consumed me—and like the phoenix, I found myself reborn in the crucible.
    I met his urgency with my own, digging my fingers into the silk-covered stone of his arms as his sinful mouth tasted my skin wherever it fell. He was hot and hard, his need forcing me to rise to meet his fire with my own. Sweat dripped onto my skin, and the scent of it was an aphrodisiac because it was all Adam. If he needed me, I needed him every bit as much.
    He rose over me, closing his golden eyes as he pushed through me, into me, became a part of me with one heavy thrust. Only when he was all the way in did he look at me again, and in that look was triumph and a claiming so basic that it should have scared