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Calla’s future intersected with his, so perhaps this was why he’d been given a glimpse of hers. Was this the fate that awaited his mate if he didn’t get his act together? For her to be lost to him forever?
Or was his stress simply manifesting itself in his dreams? He wished he knew.
A glance at the clock showed it was just after five in the morning. Early but not so much that he cared to fight for sleep any longer. Rising, he padded naked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water was getting hot, he brushed his teeth. Then he stepped under the spray and groaned as it pounded on his sore muscles.
He ached from the punishing workout he’d given himself in the gym the evening before. He’d hoped to exhaust himself into oblivion, but it wasn’t to be. Now the water made him think of Calla’s sleek, naked body under the waterfall and his cock lifted to half-mast. The memory of her spread and ready for him, of sliding himself deep into her channel, wrung a groan from his lips.
What would it have been like if he’d allowed her to claim him? That was such a natural step for Bondmates, and his wolf rumbled in agreement.
Taking his steely rod in hand, he relished the feeling of the water cascading over his dick as he stroked. In his fantasy, Calla faced him and pressed her breasts against his chest, a gorgeous water nymph ready to take him to heaven.
She kissed his lips, tangled her tongue with his. His palm worked faster, his cock swelling as he pictured her attentions moving to his jaw. His neck.
There, she teased his skin with the tip of her tongue. Just there, over the vulnerable artery. One fang grazed the spot where she would claim him—
And her body became hard. Male.
Carter.
Fear seized his chest and he gasped, opening his eyes as his erection suffered a swift death. As dead as he would have eventually been in Carter’s hands.
Disappointment enveloped him like a shroud. He couldn’t even fantasize about what should be a beautiful act between mates without the awful memories ruining it. For a moment, he rested his head on the tiles and tried to get his shit together.
He would put this behind him. Things had to improve, right? Getting out of the shower, he dried off and dressed in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt, and headed for his office. The kitchen staff wouldn’t have breakfast ready to serve until six, so he had plenty of time. Maybe some paperwork would provide the distraction he needed.
Halfway there, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling out the device, he scowled at the screen. Damien, again. What the fuck did that asshole want, and so early in the morning? And why the hell didn’t he just take the hint and fuck off?
But no. It was like some Mexican standoff. Damien was determined to speak to Nick, and in turn Nick was equally as determined to ignore him. As he tucked his phone away again, guilt pricked his conscience. He had told his brother, or implied, that he would at least try to be open to communication between them, perhaps reconcile someday. That couldn’t exactly happen if they didn’t speak.
Yeah, he’d call Damien later. After paperwork. Phone calls. Breakfast. Scrubbing his toilet.
In his office, he proceeded to tackle some of the tasks awaiting his attention. There were more shifters on the way to Sanctuary, being sent by Grant. They needed more beds in their empty rooms, so he set about ordering those. Next was a report Grant had e-mailed him about rogue vampire activity, which had decreased with Carter’s death but was still problematic. The report contained surveillance on where a few known pockets of them were hiding, and Nick made notes, planning for the team to make several strikes in the coming days to eradicate them.
Then there was another report on human hunters, who killed innocent vampires right along with the bad ones. The bastards were vigilantes. Radical, dangerous. They caused more problems than they solved, leaving vampire families torn apart. Activity involving hunters had increased by leaps and bounds, and Grant wanted to know the source.
So did Nick.
Reports on the hunters’ various locations weren’t as numerous, which was frustrating. The fuckers were good at lying low.
His stomach rumbled and he closed his laptop, heading for the dining room. A few of his team were already there, loading their plates with pancakes, bacon, eggs, and sausage. The cooks here rivaled the best ones at any great diner, and this pack of hungry wolves rarely missed a meal if they could help it.
Spotting Hammer, he joined him at a table. The big man eyed him as he took a seat, grabbed a plate, and began loading it with food.
“You look tired,” Hammer observed. “Not much sleep?”
“None to write home about.” He didn’t get into why. His friend didn’t ask.
“So, what about that meeting Tarron held with all those fancy-ass vampires? Think anything good will come of it?”
Nick shrugged and slathered butter on his pancakes. “Hard to say. The name of the game is to have something everyone else wants. With that bunch, it’s the power of sheer numbers. Everyone wants that, and they can give a measure of safety to each other. Maybe it’ll work.”
“If one coven is under attack, the rest will come to help? Right.” He snorted, clearly skeptical.
“That was the agreement they made. We made it, too. Though I hope we never need to test their honor.”
“Yeah.”
“Any word on Tom?” Nick asked. Their inability to reach the former mechanic was becoming a cause for concern, and his friend’s next words did nothing to alleviate it.
