CHAPTER 29
The place is bigger than it
looks.
Concealed rooms
branch off from the main bunker, offering an illusion of privacy.
From the looks I receive, I’m not welcome either. So I slide back
out like a shadow, weaving between the tents.
I want to scream. My
stomach has tied itself into knots, worrying about the man—
Who steps out of a
large tent, right behind Keri. He’s blood-spattered, wounded, and
filthy, but more or less whole. As March turns, the whole world
slows, receding into the background.
I see his lips move,
mouthing my name, even as he pushes past the people between us. Not
walking. Running. I’m afraid to smile, but I meet him halfway. He
wraps me so tight in his arms that it hurts, but I don’t complain.
Not when I can feel his heart beating against mine. He spins me in
his arms as if I weigh nothing.
“Jax,” he
whispers.
With shaking fingers,
I touch the pale bandage at his temple. It looks like he’ll have
another scar for the collection.In turn he brushes rough fingertips
across my cheek. I’m surprised to see them come away wet.
I have no
words.
For now it doesn’t
matter how complicated things have become between us. It only
matters that he’s here.
His breath hitches.
All around us, people enjoy their own tearful reunions, paying us
no mind. The same can’t be said for Keri, whose angry gaze bores
into my back. She has another reason to hate me, among so many
others.
“They’re waiting for
us in tactical,” she tells him, gesturing at one of those
semiprivate alcoves.
I can’t imagine what
strategy will get Gunnar-Dahlgren out of this mess, but the clans
never give up. I admire that.
To my surprise he
doesn’t let go. “Do this one without me.”
He gives her no
opportunity to argue. I intended to look for Jael and Dina as well,
but he swings me into his arms and carries me toward one of the
larger tents. If I wasn’t so damn happy to see him, I’d probably
struggle. As it is, I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes
for a moment. He smells of smoke and unseen battles.
March ducks a little
to get inside, sets me on my own two feet, and then seals the flap
after us. It’s dim within, a plain canvas shelter that underlines
the gravity of our situation. I’ve been in a lot of messes in my
day—at this point it’s sort of my specialty—but I do believe this
one frosts them all.
“You made it.” He
sounds hoarse.
I imagine him
shouting orders until his voice gave out, helping organize the
retreat. March knows about killing. I have only a passing
acquaintance with that side of him.
“I have Doc to thank
for that. I never would’ve made it through those tunnels without
him. I wanted to run out and look for you.” With a long sigh, I
drop onto the sleep mat he’s unrolled.
He smiles. In the
faint light, his face looks even rougher than usual, all harsh
planes and angles. His eyes glitter like uncut amber, pure cognac
gold. “Of course you did. I’m so fucking tired, Jax.”
“So sleep.” Okay, so
that’s not how I imagined this would go, but I don’t want to fight
with him anymore.
“I haven’t been alone
with you in weeks,” he says. “Do you really think I’m going to doze
off? I can actually see your heart beating . . .” As he collapses
beside me, he touches the base of my throat. “Sometimes I
forget—”
“What?” I tilt my
head back, registering a pleasurable shock.
How fragile you are. When he fills my mind in a hot
rush, I realize how lonely I’ve been. How much I’ve missed him. I
don’t even take umbrage at being called fragile. Right now I am,
physically, and there’s no value in denying the obvious.
But that reminds me.
“Why didn’t you . . . make contact? Let me know you were
alive?”
He pulls me back into
his arms as if he’s loath to lose hold of me even for a minute.
“Sometimes I forget you don’t know everything about me. If you
think back, I’ve never touched you across long distances.”
Shit. He’s right.
Most of our contact occurs when we’re on ship together or in the
same room. Here I thought— well, never mind. Relief surges through
me. March wasn’t punishing me with the silence, which is good,
because I don’t know if I could’ve forgiven him that.
“Do you still love
me?” When the question comes gusting out, my face burns like I’ve
been splashed with acid.
March leans his head
against mine. “What do you think?”
“You’re the psychic.
It’s mean to toy with me.”
He eases down until
our noses touch, lips mere millimeters away from a kiss. “I don’t
always agree with your decisions, and you drive me out of my mind
sometimes. Like you pushing me away when I want so bad to be there
for you. I’m still trying to understand
that. But yeah, I love you.”
“Don’t you
understand?” I ask tiredly. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”
“The last few weeks,
you’ve been breaking my heart.” Such a stark tone, unadorned
truth.
I have no defense
against that. Mary help me, I want him so bad.
And he knows.
I see it just before
his mouth takes mine in a kiss that I feel like I’ve waited for my
whole life. Heat. Need. He cups my face in his hands.
At this moment I
don’t care about the people outside these fragile walls. The world
shrinks to him and me. My fingertips brush the curve of his ear,
and he shivers in reaction. I know all his hot spots now.
He laughs softly,
trailing his lips down my throat. I suck in a shaky breath. Yeah,
he knows mine, too.
“This is only a
temporary truce,” I whisper into his jaw.
He gives me a slow
simmering smile. “I can live with that.”
March pulls my vest
over my head, skimming my skin with his palms. For just a moment I
feel scrawny and self-conscious, but it’s nothing he hasn’t seen
before, scars and all. Plus he has more than his share, and I
relearn them all as I tug his shirt over his head.
Even in the dim
light, I can tell he’s a mass of bruises. I don’t even know how he
can stand for me to touch him. I hesitate, my good hand hovering
over his chest.
“You’re sure? I won’t
hurt you?”
A soft laugh escapes
him, as if he can’t believe I’ve asked. I know he’s twice my size,
but he’s wounded, dammit. And I’ve been known to bite.
“We’re both a little
bit broken,” he says quietly. “But we’ll take care not to cut each
other on the sharp edges.”
I smile. “We’ll
manage.”
Quiet lightning
surges between us, a longing that cannot be channeled or contained.
He touches me with exquisite gentleness, lips trailing heat
wherever he claims me with his hands. I arch against him,
melting.
His penis feels so
hard, it almost hurts where it jabs me. I undo his pants with
unsteady hands. In this moment I need nothing more than
March.
Primitive.
Mine.
“Yes,” he gasps,
though I don’t know if it’s because of my thoughts or my fingers
curling around him. I love how I short-circuit his higher brain
functions. “You, on top. I want to watch you.”
“Lazy bastard,” I
manage to tease as I climb on.
His eyes drift shut
as I sink down, sheathing him. He fills me, pure heat. I start slow
and easy, but I can’t control myself for long, not that he’ll let
me. March cradles my hips in his hands, moving me on him. Showing
me how he wants it.
“Take me, Jax.” I
can’t resist his whispered plea.
Faster.
More.
I don’t know whether
that’s him or me, but we both crave it. Our breathing changes
tempo, staccato urgency. Once we find a hungry rhythm, his hands
roam my body as if he owns me. Or wants to.
When his fingers
drift down my belly, stroking lower still, I bear down and let the
orgasm come. Liquid lust wracks me in hard, frantic waves.
March offers a wicked
smile, holding me upright. “Don’t pass out, baby. I’m just getting
started. Lost time and all that.”
I manage to snort,
though I feel shaky as hell. “You wish. I’m still woman enough to
wear you out.”
“Take your best
shot.”
His eyes shine as he
settles back, preparing to make me work for it. I roll my hips on
him as aftershocks spark through me. But he’s not ready for what I
do next.
Lean down, nip his
throat. Grind. I suck, tugging his skin with my teeth. That’s going
to leave a mark.
He shudders, breath
rushing in noisy gusts.
I whisper, “Every
time I’ve touched myself in the last four months, I thought of you.
Every. Time.”
And then he’s all
mine, groaning, shaking, and breathless beneath me.
