Page 21 of Crimson Moon Falling

I followed him to the bathroom, where he turned on the taps to the clawfoot tub, steam quickly filling the small space. He added something from a small bottle on the shelf—bath salts that smelled like cedar and sage.

“Do you want me to undress you?” I stared at him, and a different kind of heat unfurled inside me.

“I can do it.” I held his gaze as I slowly stripped off my jacket and pants, then my shirt. He watched as I unhooked my bra and slid my panties down my legs, his eyes growing lazy as he took me in.

He undressed and ran his hands down my arms to lace our fingers, then leaned in and murmured in my ear. “Get in, and I’ll wash you.”

I stepped into the tub, and he slid in behind me, his chest warm against my back. For the first time in forever, heat penetrated my entire body. The water enveloped us, and I relaxed against him, feeling his hard length against my back.

“Better?” he murmured.

Pleasure flickered. “So much better. You’re warm, and you feel so good.”

His hands slid over my shoulders, down my arms, then around to cup my breasts. Not demanding, just connecting us. “You’re still in there. Your body responds, even if your emotions are muted.”

I leaned back against him, my head resting on his shoulder. “I’m scared.” Fear occasionally broke through the numbness.

“I know.” His lips brushed my temple. “We’ll figure it out.”

His hands moved lower, skimming my stomach, then between my thighs. My breathing sped up, the sensations sharp and clear in a way nothing else had been for days. He continued his erotic exploration, his touch slow and languid.

Eventually, I turned in his arms, water sloshing over the edge, and straddled his hips. Our lips met in a slow, wet kiss that made the bond flare and lazy energy swirl around us. His hands gripped my waist as I sank down onto him, exhaling at the connection.

We moved together slowly, our bodies remembering what my mind struggled to feel. The water lapped around us, steam clouding the air as I rocked against him. Each movement sent tiny fractures through the ice inside me, giving me glimpses of emotion. Tenderness, desire, fear of loss.

“I’m here,” he murmured against my lips. “Stay with me.”

I pressed my forehead to his, our breaths mingling as the tension built. When he caressed my center, then leaned in and sucked and bit my nipples, I arched into his mouth as an orgasm rolled through me. He held me and thrust up into me, water sloshing over the tub. His fingers squeezed my hips as he came deep inside, and I welcomed the bite of pain.

Afterward, I slumped against him in the cooling water, his arms around me as if he could physically hold me together. When the warmth started to recede, a sob hit me.

“I’m losing myself,” I whispered into the quiet. “And I don’t know how to stop it.”

His arms tightened, and he kissed my shoulder. “We’ll find a way.”

An owl hooted as a breeze rustled the pines. And sorrow seeped through our bond.

Chapter 7

Riley

The main street running through Afton, Wyoming looked like something out of a cowboy spaghetti western movie set, minus the highway running through town. An enormous arch over the main street welcomed us to the home of the world’s largest elk horn arch, and boasted a population of just under two thousand. American flags, weathered by wind and sun, fluttered from every light post.

Conall pointed ahead to an old sign advertising a feed store on our right. “The café is between the hardware store and the outfitters store.” Freda and Bennion took a day off from guarding me and stayed behind with the hellhounds.

The name of the restaurant sounded like some quaint country café with checkered tablecloths and homemade pies. Instead, Emma’s was a squat cinderblock building with peeling paint and a flickering neon open sign in the window. Dust-covered pickup trucks and vintage motorcycles filled the parking lot.

Gunnar glanced around. “This place is rough around the edges, but I bet the food’s good.”

I assessed the establishment, my sharpened senses making me aware of every detail. Three bikers watched us as they smoked by the entrance, and a truck full of construction workers walked past and climbed into an oversized work truck.

The cowbell jangled when Ash pushed open the glass door. The linoleum floor was worn thin in the high-traffic areas, and a few vinyl booths were patched with duct tape. The place smelled like hickory bacon and fresh coffee.

The café was about two-thirds full, mostly with men in work clothes. Conversation lulled as we entered, curious eyes taking us in before returning to their food.

“Not exactly what I was picturing,” I admitted, my voice low.

Conall walked past two clean tables and claimed a dirty booth near the back wall, giving us a clear view of both the entrance and the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. A laminated menu stood wedged between a napkin dispenser and a sticky bottle of ketchup. I ran my hand over the table to make sure there wasn’t any nasty residual energy, then slid into the booth.