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“And you don’t tell Grandpop either,” Noah warned him.
Rory shrugged. “I won’t tell, doesn’t mean he won’t know. You know Granddad.”
Unfortunately he did. Riordan Malone always seemed to just know things. It had been creepy as hell when he was a kid, comforting as he grew older. And now, now it was just worrisome.
“Why Noah?” Rory asked the question Noah couldn’t answer. “Why the name, and why are you back here for the BC and not your family?”
Bitterness filled his brother’s voice, his expression, and Nathan was damned if he could blame him.
“I’m back because the BC threatens my family,” he stated, his grating voice harsher, darker than it should have been. “As for the name.” His lips quirked. “It’s Irish. Now keep your eyes and ears open. I’ll tell you more as I can.”
Rory gave him a mocking sneer. “Fuck you, man. You know, you’re right, Belle doesn’t need to know who you are. She has a second chance now; maybe this time, she’ll get a man that will stay home a while.”
Noah froze, he didn’t even blink. “Meaning?”
“You should have checked things out a little before you came back and accused me of touching what’s yours. It’s not me you have to worry about, Noah. Try worrying about your good friend Duncan Sykes. She’s been seeing him since his divorce a year ago.” Rory’s smile was mocking. “If I were a betting man, I’d bet she’ll be letting him drive your truck soon.”
Noah pushed back the demon rising inside him. Long of fang, sharp of claw, it tore at his brain, threatened his control, his ability to think.
Duncan Sykes.
No. It hadn’t happened. Bella hadn’t been with another man. No other man had touched her. No other man would dare. Because he would kill him. And he would have known.
Noah slipped back into the night as silently as he had come in. He made his way back around the house, moving quickly, staying in the shadows until he reached the canyon where he’d left the Harley, more than a mile away.
He was aware of Rory trying to track him, but the kid wasn’t experienced enough. He’d lost sight of Nathan seconds after he left.
But there were other eyes, old eyes, tear-filled eyes, that watched every stride he took with pride, love, and fierce exultant joy.
Dawn wasn’t far way, but rather than returning to the command center to catch a few hours’ sleep and report to Jordan, Noah pointed the Harley home instead.
He couldn’t get it out of his head. Sabella was seeing someone? Was she sleeping with his old friend Duncan Sykes? He had to know. He had to see her for himself, feel her, know she belonged to him even though he knew he couldn’t have her.
Six years. He couldn’t be reborn. Nathan Malone was dead in more than just name. The man he had been was dead. The man Sabella had loved was dead. Had she found someone to replace him?
He couldn’t consider it. Over six years without her touch, without the soft scent of her. He couldn’t take another woman. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. His vows held him. Sabella’s soul held him. He couldn’t have her, but he couldn’t have anyone else either. Could he bear to know she was in another man’s arms?
He turned down an old back road and pulled the Harley into a shelter of trees, turned the ignition key, and swung off. He began the short hike that would take him to the back of the house. The two-story brick house sat at the edge of town. There were no neighbors close enough to see him if he came in on the lower edge of the property. He just wanted to stay a minute, he told himself as he moved through the predawn light, keeping to the shelter of trees that bordered the backyard.
He had nearly stepped into the yard before he stopped. Came to a hard, freezing stop and just stared at the vision that stepped out on the back porch.
His reaction was like a fist to the gut, threatening to double him up. It was the immediate, violent erection in his jeans. It was his heart rate increasing, the blood rushing through his veins hard and fast. His breathing felt restricted, locked in his throat. His fingers curled against his palms, forming fists so tight the bones ached.
He stared at the woman, the man’s long white shirt falling past her thighs, gaping open to reveal the white tank top and boyshort panties she wore beneath. She lifted a cup of coffee, the steam curling against her face as dawn edged in, lighting the yard, the porch, and the woman with gold and violet rays.
“Sabella.” He whispered her name.
Rory had noticed his slip. He had always called her Bella, unless he wanted her. Unless the need to be buried inside the velvet-soft, rich warmth of her body had been overwhelming. And it had never been as overwhelming as it was now.
He imagined he could smell her scent in the air, a blend of honeysuckle and feminine warmth. Against his palm he imagined he felt the heat of her flesh, silken and giving, lifting to him, her lips whispering his name.
He remembered several times, many in fact, that he had taken her on that back porch. He’d lifted her astride him as he sat on that swing. He’d bent her over the railing and buried into her from behind.
Agony pierced his chest and bit into his soul like an animal’s fangs. And that was how he wanted to bite her. He wanted to grip her neck between his teeth and hold her in place like an animal. He wanted to pound inside her and hear her scream for more.
But her screams would be far different than when she cried for more, he thought. The man he was now, the dark hungers that filled him, would terrify her.
But still, he watched her. Watched as she enjoyed that first cup of coffee. The almost sensual pleasure in her face as the heated liquid passed her lips, and he let himself remember when that sensuality had once flowed over him as well.
