So I Married a Werewolf (Entangled Covet) Page 13

  Mine.

  He stilled, moments before emptying into her. The urge that leveled him was unmistakable. The wolf part of him wanted to bond and claim her as his own. But wolves bonded for life, and his mate was long gone. He was destined to roam the world solo. He wasn’t supposed to have the desire to claim another mate.

  Faith glanced back at him, her chestnut hair fanning over her shoulder.

  God, she was a vision.

  He could spend every day of his life telling her how stunning she was, and it still wouldn’t be enough. She probably still wouldn’t believe him.

  “Now,” she said, panting.

  He drove into her harder, relishing every enchanting detail of her face. He struggled to drown out the voice whispering from the deepest part of him.

  Mine.

  The sensations sparking in his gut were pure possession. It was ludicrous, but it felt the exact same as it had when he’d found his first Luminary.

  But that didn’t make sense.

  Wolves got one Luminary in each lifetime, and marked one woman as theirs; Faith would make two. Impossible.

  Why, then, did the primal need to claim Faith claw at his insides?

  She flattened onto the mattress, her backside arching up for him. Hunger hollowed him out. Unable to resist the spike of lust spearing through him, he lifted her hips, teasing her, massaging her with his fingers. He yearned to pleasure her over and over again, until her body shook and her heart beat his name.

  But each desire, each thrust, was linked to the unmistakable need to claim her.

  “I can’t…again. Oh…my…” She cried out again, louder, as her core clenched into a fist around his hard length. “Carter!”

  He fought the urge, swallowed it down, and pushed it to the back of his mind.

  Grinding his back teeth, he pitched over the edge, emptying into her in a series of intense surges. The need to claim her as his life mate struck him true.

  He resisted…barely.

  It was too close.

  As he collapsed over the top of her, breathing hard into the curtain of hair falling over her shoulder, he knew, unequivocally, that this could never happen again. She was too mouthwateringly sweet. Made him lose control too easily.

  The rational part of him whispered that wolves didn’t have two Luminaries.

  But he knew what he felt…

  “I need to shower.” He removed himself from her core and slid off the bed. It tortured him not to cradle her in his arms, to settle into the pillows and hold her against his chest. “I’ll be right back.”

  He shut the bathroom door behind him, and cranked the shower knob toward freezing cold.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She could not, under any circumstances, sleep with her husband again.

  Sleeping with Carter was everything Faith had always thought it would be and more. It was magical. His touch was tender, yet when it came to getting down and dirty, he wasn’t afraid to make a move and turn her around.

  Best. Sex. Ever.

  She’d told herself she wouldn’t get involved with him that way. She’d said they’d be friends only.

  What’d she do? Slept with him the moment he gazed into her eyes and made her feel beautiful. In that moment, it didn’t matter that they wanted different things: she wanted a relationship, and he wanted friends with benefits. She would’ve given the world to lie in his arms like that for another second, minute, hour, whatever.

  Way to throw the wrong signal.

  The last thing she wanted was to be seen as a floozy…someone like Paisely. Someone who would jump into the sack with Carter after a few smooth lines.

  But she was nothing like Paisely, she rationalized to herself. Paisely was probably the aggressor when it came to sex. She probably took control. She was probably a strumpet, granting Carter’s every fantasy.

  Faith had smacked herself on the forehead so many times after Carter sprinted out of bed. He took an hour-long shower, probably to scrub her scent off his body parts. He told her good-night and slept on the floor beside the bed. He tossed and turned the rest of the night, the same way she did. She knew because his pathetic attempt at snoring should’ve won him an Academy Award.

  She must’ve been desperate to sleep with someone who had zero romantic interest in her. How had she fallen for his seduction tactics so easily? He was a flirt—she knew that about him already. He’d probably seduced hundreds of women before—she didn’t know for sure, but he was a serial dater, so who knew what his actual sleazy tally was? She’d fallen for a pro, after all.

  Did he keep a black book with all his conquests? She’d have to search through his office for that when she moved in. Did he still call Paisely when the nights got long and he got lonely? Would she jump at the chance to slide into bed with him, even though she was newly married? Faith bet, given the chance, Paisely would ditch Nate for Carter.

  Faith would have to seriously raise her defenses if she didn’t want to fall head over heels in love with Carter.

  Thankfully, he was in meetings with the captain and other members of the bureau almost the entire day Sunday. If she had to do another adventure tour, she might’ve buried her head under her pillow and slept the day away. During the afternoon ferry ride and drive back to Seattle, she barely looked at him. It wasn’t until he dropped her off at her place and turned off the Tahoe that she finally met his gaze.

  “Guess I’ll see you tonight,” she said, popping open the passenger door.

  His face scrunched. “What’s tonight?”

  “I’m bringing a few things over to start the move. Who knows when a member of the bureau will stop by?”

  He tapped the steering wheel as he gazed deep into the forest surrounding her cabin. “I can’t be there.”

  Can’t be there, or wouldn’t be?

  He slid a key off the ring hanging from the ignition. “This one’s for my front door. Let yourself in, but make sure you lock it when you leave.”

  “When will you be home?”

  “Home?” He said the word as if it tasted sour. “Not until later. I’ve got a long day at the office today and some research to do after hours tonight.”

  “Fine by me.” She took the house key and hopped out of the truck, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Which room do you want me to take?”

  He rubbed his temples. “Umm…the one closest to the living room is fine.”

  The one farthest from his. Good call. She might not be tempted to tiptoe across the hall and slink into bed with a few doors separating them.

  “Sounds good,” she said, adding more pep to her step than she felt. “See you, Carter.”

  He waited until she stepped inside her cabin before he left her drive, and even then it seemed like he hesitated before pulling onto the street. She glanced out the window, waiting to see if he’d turn around, every nerve in her body on edge. Instead, from the opposite direction, Tracy’s midnight-blue Volvo turned in. Faith’s stomach twisted into a knot, but what did she expect? A non–fairy tale to suddenly turn into one? Not likely.

  Disappointed beyond words, Faith tossed her bag into her room, shut the door, and pressed play on the answering machine sitting on the kitchen hutch.

  Two messages.

  Alert the media. Two messages in three days? Boy, she was popular. Every hot, eligible bachelor in Seattle was beating down her door. She pulled down a bottle of Apothic red from the top of her fridge and poured a glass, keeping an ear open.

  The machine droned: First message, Saturday, 9:00 p.m.: Hey Faithie, it’s Dawson. The conference is awesome. You wouldn’t believe how many people my professor has introduced me to. I even met one guy who reminded me of Dad. He went to Yale, majored in design with the same emphasis, and graduated a few years after.

  Faith’s throat squeezed. Dawson really missed their father, more than she might’ve realized. Now that he was following in his footsteps, Dawson sounded content. Happier than he had in years.

  Just calling to say tha
nk you, he continued. I couldn’t do this without you.

  As Faith gulped down the last of the wine, the front door slammed shut.

  “Faith!” Tracy called. “Your dog’s got serious identity issues.”

  Faith turned the corner as her black-and-white furball ran at her feet, yapping as if to welcome her home. “Hey!” she said, picking Humperdinck up in her arms. “How’d you do at Tracy’s?”

  “He mounted the damn cat.” Tracy set the travel kennel beside the couch. “You’re going to have Siamese Yorkies if you don’t do something about him.”

  Faith held him up to get a good look at those adorable puppy dog eyes. “You’re my goal this week, but I need to focus on me, too. We’ll work our issues out together, how’s that sound?”

  As Humperdinck whimpered in reply, the machine beeped and rattled off the second message. It was probably Dawson again, this time happy and drunk.

  Sunday, 2:30 p.m.

  That wasn’t more than an hour ago. She’d just missed the message.

  Faith Hamilton, this is Jack Winchester from Wagging Tails Dog Supplies in Sacramento, California. I’m calling in regard to your blog, Have a Little Faith. I’ve had more than a few customers come in requesting products featured on your blog and was wondering if we could talk about product placement and advertising options. I’m very interested in working with you. My phone number is…

  As Faith scrambled to find pen and paper, Humperdinck squirmed to get down. She set him at her feet and copied the number as Jack Winchester recited it.

  “Sounds like a serious offer.” Tracy’s eyebrows shot up. “From Sacramento, no less. Your blog must be doing well.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to look in the past few days, actually. We just got back.”

  “We? I was going to ask how your romantic getaway was, but I guess that answered it.”

  Faith had called Tracy earlier while Carter was in meetings and filled her in on the details of their dry business deal, wham-bam engagement, and phony-baloney marriage. Tracy disapproved, stating that they should’ve made a clause where Faith could sleep around on the side. So Faith had left out that she had, in fact, slept around…with her new husband.

  “Stop it. You know what I mean.” Faith dragged her laptop from beneath her couch—her super-duper-secret hiding spot, a place thieves would never think to look—and swiped the mouse to turn it on. A few clicks later and she was starting up her page. “Holy shit…”

  Page clicks were through the roof. Overall views had doubled. Eighty-six comments were awaiting approval.

  “Eighty comments in two days?” Faith gawked at the screen. “That’s amazing.”

  Tracy leaned over her shoulder. “No wonder the Winchester rifle man is calling you to advertise his stock.”

  “There’s more than one Winchester.” Faith scrolled through her hits and the search engines supplying them. “The man sells dog supplies, not rifles.”

  “Could be both.” Tracy poured herself a glass of wine, plopped onto the couch, and shrugged. “Never know.”

  “He’s not both.”

  What happened to make Have a Little Faith take off in a little more than forty-eight hours? She hadn’t done anything differently, yet the spikes in views and comments were undeniable.

  She’d have to make sure to carve out a solid chunk of time out of her schedule each night to answer questions and write new posts. Wouldn’t want to lose momentum.

  Glancing down at Humperdinck as his tiny tail wagged over the hardwood, Faith got an idea. She’d make the pooch her new project. Post photos and video, and record his training and progress. At the end, she’d announce that he was up for adoption. With all the views, he was sure to go to a good home.

  Now that she had a solution for Humperdinck, all that was left was solving her own problems. She had a move to make, a dog blog to run, dinner to cook for the bureau in a few weeks, and a husband to gleefully irritate.

  “You’ve got that crazy look in your eye,” Tracy said. “What’s tickin’?”

  Faith smiled. “Know any chefs looking to give private cooking lessons?”

  “No, but there’s a hot one giving sessions at the senior center.”

  Faith’s spirit soared. “Perfect. That’ll work.”

  She hoped.

  …

  Carter worked through the afternoon and straight into the night. He hadn’t even noticed that everyone had filed out until he rose from his seat to raid the vending machine and found the entire twelfth floor vacant.

  His stomach growled as he punched the buttons for a Twix. The bars holding the chocolate sticks twisted and turned, and stopped short of releasing it.

  “Come on.” He pounded his fist against the glass.

  Gravity defied him. The bar didn’t budge.

  Hell, fate defied him. What was the issue with Faith and the Luminary pull? He’d been around the werewolf block for a little over a hundred years and he’d never, not once, heard of someone having two Luminaries. That wouldn’t even make sense.

  Candy-less, Carter retreated to his office, closed the files he’d been working on for the bureau, and pulled up the general internet search function for the Seattle Wolf Pack’s computer system.

  He typed “Luminaries” and read a handful of articles relaying information he’d heard a thousand times before. Luminaries were fated mates. Bonding with one’s Luminary extended his or her life to a thousand years, strengthening both partners, blah, blah.

  He skimmed.

  Clearing the initial search, he typed “Dual Luminaries.”

  No search results found.

  He scratched his head and stared out over the city of Seattle. It was supposed to storm for the next few days. Relentless, battering rain coupled with intense wind gusts that would die off tomorrow morning.

  Die off…

  An idea pinged.

  He typed “Deceased Luminaries” into the search bar.

  A few articles popped up, including one from 1976 about a man from Auburn who lost his wife in a tragic hunting accident thirty years prior. Carter clicked on the link and read:

  “Jameson Clark, age 253, claims to have found his second Luminary last month while boating on Lake Washington. He and his new companion, Jenna, age 31, completed the bonding ritual in an intimate ceremony at Clark’s home a few weeks after meeting. While the theory of multiple Luminaries has never been proven or disproven, this reporter remarks that the Clarks seem content.”

  “So maybe it’s possible to have two Luminaries,” Carter whispered aloud.

  He cued up a search for Jameson Clark and found two additional articles. The first article was a tiny piece in the back of the Seattle Mariner. It was from 1991. Carter read aloud:

  “The Jameson Clark story of discovering two Luminaries continues to twist. Clark now reports finding a third Luminary, Cynthia, age 21, at a Christmas party in Portland, Oregon. No one has been able to explain this tale, and many consider Jameson to be a liar or joker, at best. If you recall, Clark’s first wife and Luminary, Francine Clark, was killed during an unfortunate hunting accident in the Wenatchee National Forest. Jameson’s second wife, Jenna Clark, has declined to comment on the discovery of her husband’s third mate. The question is now posed: just how many fated mates does each werewolf have?”

  Carter scrolled to the third article from 2011 tagged with Jameson Clark’s name. It was an obituary for Jameson’s second wife, Jenna.

  “Jenna Clark, second wife and supposed second Luminary of the reclusive Jameson Clark, surrendered to her twenty-two-year battle with a rare form of cancer that infects the blood cells of werewolves. She was a doting wife and mother to the couple’s five children. She lived her life fighting for werewolf equality and founded the Clark Foundation for Lone Wolves. The organization provides financial security for wolves who lose their Luminaries. She was sixty-six years old.”

  What the hell was going on?

  Three fated mates? How was that possible? Was the guy craz
y, as the articles suggested, or did he know something that others didn’t?

  Thanks to the bureau’s contact system, he pulled up Jameson Clark’s address and jotted it to his phone.

  “Knock, knock!”

  He jumped as Faith strode into his office.

  “Jesus, Faith, what are you doing here?”

  She dropped a giant paper bag on his desk. “Feeding you. What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t bring you dinner on nights you worked late?”

  “A wife on paper only?” He sighed, but the food smelled delicious. His stomach growled, the traitorous thing. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Chinese. I was grocery shopping today—did you know that your fridge is low? There’s nothing in there but beer and butter—anyway, I was stocking up at the store, was in the neighborhood, and thought I’d stop by to drop off food.” She unloaded the white boxes onto his desk, though he didn’t miss that she wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I would’ve cooked something from all the goodies I bought, but I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. Hopefully by next week the classes will have paid off and I’ll be cooking gourmet.”

  “Gourmet? From your cooking?” He pushed aside his computer, grabbed a paper plate, and started scooping rice. “You shouldn’t be able to say those things in the same sentence.”

  “Kind of like the vows ‘love and obey’?”

  They laughed together, and for the first time since before they slept together, it felt the way it had before.

  “I signed up for a few cooking classes at the senior center,” she said. “It’s mid-session, so I’ll be behind the curve, but they let me join anyway. Wasn’t that nice?”

  “Um-hmm. They probably don’t care when you join as long as you pay the full fee.” He plopped chow mein and chicken in foil on his plate and dug in. “Thanks for this.”

  “No problem.” After making her own plate, she perched on the edge of the chair across from him. “What are you working on?”

  “Nothing.” He waved a fork near the computer screen. “Well, not exactly nothing. I’ll be busy for a few weeks checking into new leads on a cold case.”

  She shoved her cheeks full. “What kind of case?”