Page 90 of Crimson Moon Falling

“Don’t hide things from me that put you at risk.” His fingers tightened. “You didn’t tell me you were attacked in Carlsbad. You went back to the Mary Mountain site and fucking Spooled Wilson’s signature. You didn’t demand answers about those photos. And now this. Damn it, no more. You are going to start talking to me.”

“You have no room to accuse me,” I returned, “and I was going to tell you—”

“When? After you got injured or kidnapped again?”

The bond flared hot, his anger bleeding through, and mine rose to meet it. “You want to talk about shitty communication? Fine. Let’s talk.” I pulled my arm free. “You kept Anna’s pregnancy a secret and didn’t communicate with me for months. You cut me off and let me go through withdrawal alone because you thought the baby was yours. And you let me sit there for two days while I wondered if you were fucking someone else because you couldn’t find two minutes to call me. So don’t stand there and lecture me about communication.”

“You’re right, and you’re making my point for me,” he said quietly.

“I… What?”

“We’re both shit at communicating.” He ran a hand through his hair, and for a moment he looked exhausted. “I should have told you about Anna, I should have called you back, and you should have told me about Spooling Wilson’s signature and what Parker’s source said.”

“I don’t want to put the Pack in danger,” I whispered.

“And I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow. Freda will watch out for me–” He caught my wrist and pulled me into him.

“Stop running.” His forehead pressed against mine, his warmth seeping into me. “For five minutes, just stop.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he leaned in to kiss me. It wasn’t gentle. His teeth caught my lower lip, and the bond surged between us like a live wire. My hands found his chest, and my fingers curled into his shirt as his tongue swept across my mouth. The implant scrambled, overwhelmed by a flood of pure lust and need, and I told it to take a hike.

His hands slid under my shirt, palms rough against my ribs, then he went higher. I arched into him, my hips pressing against his, feeling his hardness and reveling in it. He fumbled with my waistband, and his hand slipped inside my panties.

I gasped against his mouth. His fingers were clever and impatient, circling my clit, then sliding inside me. My head fell back, and he kissed my throat, his teeth grazing the tendon there.

“Oh god, what are you doing to me?” I sighed.

He groaned against my skin and pushed my shorts down. Then he opened his fly and lifted me. My legs wrapped around his hips, and he thrust into me in one hard stroke that drove the breath from my lungs.

My back hit the cool wall, his body hot against my front. He set a hard, delicious rhythm. Each thrust pushed a sound from my throat, a strange half-gasp and half-moan. His mouth found mine again, swallowing the noise. He gripped my ass, holding me steady as he fucked me against the wall, the angst and anger between us burning into hungry, desperate lust. Electricity twined around us, and I felt his need swirling through me.

Crying out, I came with his name on my lips, my body clenching around him. He followed a few strokes later, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as he shuddered.

For a long moment, we stayed like that, his skin warm against me. When the knot softened enough, he carefully lowered me until my feet touched the floor, and we disentangled ourselves, my legs unsteady.

Neither of us spoke. The anger had burned off, leaving something quieter in its wake. He used his shirt to clean us up a little, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me into his lap. I leaned into him, my head against his chest.

“We need to talk about Marlowe,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“The bastard is fixated on you, and he’s not going away. I know he said he’s not going to kidnap you again.” He absently fingered the white streak in my hair. “But he’s tied with ApGen and Wilson. We need to take them all down.”

“We have a positive identification on Senator White and the General. But Marlowe…” I trailed off.

Conall’s eyes bled gold. “That psychotic fucker is not getting his hands on you.”

“He said he’s waiting for me to come to him, but he still scares me,” I admitted.

“We’ll figure it out, but no more secrets.”

I couldn’t promise him that yet, so I leaned in and softly kissed him. For the first time in days, the bond felt warm and steady against my sternum.

The next morning, when I walked into the kitchen, Owen sat at the oversized oak table with Feeny in his arms, feeding her a bottle at an awkward angle. Milk dribbled down the baby’s chin.

“You need to tilt it higher,” I muttered, reaching for a paper towel. “Otherwise she swallows air and gets gassy.”