Authors: Moira Rogers
Tags: #Paranormal Romance, #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Romance, #Paranormal, #Western Romance
Wilder's Mate (3 page)
Wilder’s Mate
“Thank you.” She rested her chin on her arms and watched him, that wild curiosity filling her eyes again. “You’re not much like Levi at all.”
And she hadn’t expected that. Wilder held his tongue as he set up the spider and filled the kettle with water from his pack. “You mean because I’m not a hundred years old and mean as a rattlesnake?” The corner of her mouth kicked up. “He’d call what you’re doing right now babying me. Wouldn’t think much of it, either.”
“There’s a difference between babying someone and having a little compassion,” he argued. “Besides, if you get stove up, we won’t be able to ride on tomorrow morning.”
“You could send me back home. That’s what Levi would do.”
“Thought we’d established I’m not Levi.”
She tilted her head, sending loose strands of blonde hair tumbling over her sunburned cheek. “Why did you let me come with you?”
She was still looking at him like she half-expected him to abandon her on the trail. “Because Nate’s a hell of a lot more important to you than he is to me,” he answered honestly. “If I ever turn up missing, that’s who I want looking for me. Someone who gives a damn.”
“I see. And I do. Give a damn, I mean.” Her eyes drifted shut. “I don’t have many people left, just Nathaniel and Ophelia. Now that Levi is gone, the house and all of his things will belong to whichever hound replaces him. It might not be one who wants his weapons tended by a girl.” He couldn’t argue with that, though he wanted to. “Where will you go?” She didn’t answer. Not directly. “I’m bringing Nathaniel home. Wherever he goes, he’ll take me with him.”
If
Nathaniel came home. “Fair enough.”
Silence lasted all of twenty seconds before she came up with a new question. “I assumed, but I didn’t ask. Are we going to the Deadlands? I have no idea how far it is on horseback. Nathaniel always took the train as far as he could, even though it took us out of the way.”
“We’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.”
“You have contacts there?”
Every good hound did. “I know people.”
She nodded to her bags. “I brought a few trinkets for trade. I knew I’d have to buy information somehow.”
Trinkets wouldn’t buy much of anything in the Deadlands. “You would have ended up having to offer your neck to a vampire. You’re damn lucky I came along.”
“Maybe.” Her green eyes turned hard. Old. “I’d have done it, if I had to. I still will. I don’t have much to lose.”
15
Moira Rogers
It chilled him. “Well, curb your reckless fucking behavior, because I like life and I want to keep living it.”
She held his gaze for one second before dropping hers to the ground. “I wasn’t being reckless because I wanted to, or because I didn’t know any better. I’m not a foolish girl. I’m a desperate one. Levi died from some horrible full-moon complication that no one will explain to me, and Nathaniel could be suffering or
dying
, and if it were me, he’d know how to save me. He’d find a way.” So no one had yet told her the truth. “You want to know what happened to Levi?” Her head snapped up. “Of
course
I do.”
Wilder poured hot water from the kettle into a tin cup and dropped in the tea. “When did your mother die?”
“A little over four years ago.” She hesitated. “Levi was…kinder before that. Or at least more patient with me. I think it hurt him to look at me.”
“Maybe.” He handed her the cup. “It’s important you understand something. If your mother died four years ago, so did Levi, after a fashion.”
She curled her fingers around the battered tin and took one careful sip. Her nose wrinkled at the taste, but she closed her eyes tight and drank again. “Levi was fond of her,” she said after a moment. “It was never more. Losing her hurt him, but it couldn’t have killed him.”
“She was his mate, Satira, and he didn’t let her go, even when she died. That’s what killed him.” Confusion furrowed her brow and brought her eyebrows together. “I don’t understand. My mother came to the house as his housekeeper because it was against the rules…for…” Comprehension. “Oh. That’s why it’s against the rules?” A tentative question, hesitant and uncertain.
She was so brazen in some ways, and so innocent in others. “Most hounds won’t walk away, even after a mate dies. The loss can kill them quick or drive them crazy, but it gets the job done. They join their woman soon enough.”
“I see. But how does—” Her cheeks were pink from the sun’s glare, but her sudden blush lit up her whole face. “These are personal questions. I shouldn’t be asking them.”
“Suit yourself. I’d tell you whatever you wanted to know, though.” Better for her eyes to be uncomfortably open.
Her lips pursed as she tilted her head. “It’s not just sex.” She sounded confident about that. “But saying it’s about love seems rather…well, far-fetched, to be honest. Sex, at least, might have a biological explanation.”
“It’s about…” Wilder searched for the right word. “Need, I think.” She worried her lower lip and stared down into her mug. “I see. Thank you for explaining.” Her expression was one of loss—and loneliness. “Nate never told you?” 16
Wilder’s Mate
“That would have required talking about sex.” She finished the rest of her tea in one gulp. “We pretended I didn’t know why he had to sneak out some nights to visit the nice widow on the other side of town.”
“And what of your own visitors?”
She shivered, and it was hard to tell if it was a response to the cool night wind or to his question.
“They were never
my
visitors. Bloodhounds came to visit Levi and Nathaniel often enough. Some were amiable. Levi pretended not to notice, and Nathaniel never spoke of it.” A dangerous thing to think, that she might have enjoyed her romps. That it might have led her to ask him if they’d be together during the new moon. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“The hounds. Did you seek them out, or were they convenient?”
“Both.” She peered up at him, her eyes wary. “Does it trouble you? Would you prefer me wide-eyed and liable to swoon at the sight of a naked man?”
The very thought made him laugh. “No. It arouses some women, that’s all. I wondered.”
“Why does it—” Her mouth snapped shut, but she trembled as though only a great effort kept the words from tumbling out. A few seconds later, the dam burst. “Is it so different, then? I mean, do human men…do things differently?”
“Sometimes.” Wilder shrugged. He wasn’t about to tell her everything his lovers had told him, because then she’d want to know where he’d heard it.
“Interesting.” Her gaze lingered on his face for a heartbeat before drifting down his body, a speculative curiosity filling her eyes. “I think I should turn in.”
Tread lightly, boy.
“It’s the tea. It makes you sleepy.” Amusement sparked in her eyes as she pushed slowly to her feet. “Rest easy, hound. I have no intention of climbing into your bedroll like a lost puppy.”
“Good.” He grinned up at her. “I bite.”
Her breath caught, either at his smile or his words. She pivoted too fast, wobbled, then caught her balance and moved to the small, rough blanket he’d laid out on the opposite side of the fire.
She shivered in the night air. Wilder told himself he was seeing to her comfort—and not to his own carnal curiosity—as he curled up behind her. “Too cold to sleep alone.”
“No biting,” she murmured sleepily, but snuggled back against him with a contented sigh.
“Bloodhounds have a core body temperature several degrees warmer than that of humans, you know.
Perhaps the women who chase after you simply dislike a cold bed.” Wilder was glad she couldn’t see his smile. “Perhaps they do.”
“Mmm. You should tell me the plan for tomorrow.”
17
Moira Rogers
“The plan? First we’ve got to get you a disguise.” If anyone involved with Nate’s disappearance recognized her, they’d never make it into the Deadlands.
“If we must.” She was clearly too exhausted to be concerned what that might mean. “I’ll figure something out tomorrow.”
“I know someone who can help. Now sleep.”
18
They rode into the edges of the border settlement just after noon, and Wilder led them straight to a whorehouse.
Not that it was advertised as such. No, the building looked boring enough on the outside, like a ramshackle hotel that had taken to selling liquor to fill its common room every evening. The clues were in the small things, like the way the damage and poor repair were merely cosmetic, and a closer look revealed that underneath the weathered boards were sturdy walls that would keep out the heat and cold. There was a knack to hiding wealth with squalor, a skill the border madams had taken to the heights of artistry. Old paint, crooked signs, tables with one wobbly leg—understandable, since it wasn’t wise for women to appear
too
prosperous in these times.
Most people wouldn’t notice the subtle signs that a brothel was doing well. Then again, most people hadn’t grown up in one.
Satira dismounted, struggling to hide a wince as she got her feet on solid ground. The discomfort was better
and
worse today—better because at least she could move a little, but moving certainly hurt more than sitting still. She surreptitiously stretched her legs and almost smiled to think of what Levi would say to her now, his gruff voice exasperated beyond measure.
If you can’t walk it off, don’t stand up to begin with.
Wilder, of course, seemed perfectly fine. She pushed down an irrational surge of envy as she tied her horse next to his. “Does one of your contacts work here?” It wasn’t inconceivable, she supposed. Her own mother hadn’t spoken of such things but, if Ophelia was to be believed, whores heard more secrets than any preacher.
He gave her a maddening half-smile she already recognized. “You could say that.” The front door crashed open, and Satira flinched at the noise as it rebounded against the board wall. A voluptuous woman stepped out, boots creaking on the porch as she shouldered her shotgun and eyed the pair of them.
She was wild. Untamed. Corkscrew curls sat high on her head, held in place by who-knew-what sort of alchemy. She looked old enough to be Satira’s mother, but the body on fine display in her low-cut corset had curves, the sort men never seemed able to tear their eyes away from.
Her shrewd, assessing gaze lingered on Satira, too long for comfort. Then she shifted her attention to Wilder with a throaty laugh. “Wilder, honey, where you been hiding yourself? The girls have been crying into their pillows every night, they surely have, thinking you’d forgotten all about us.”
Moira Rogers
“Juliet, the day I forget about you will be the day they lay me in the sod.” He removed his hat and offered the woman a playful bow. “I’ve come to ask a favor.” An unmistakably fond smile curved the woman’s painted lips, and Satira felt the first stirrings of an odd, nearly foreign emotion.
Jealousy.
She fought to keep her expression politely blank, but Juliet’s too-sharp eyes narrowed. Fortunately, she didn’t remark on anything she might have gleaned, just nodded. “Why don’t you round up that poor girl and bring her inside. She looks like she might like to sit a spell on something that isn’t moving.” Juliet turned and retreated inside, and Satira glanced at Wilder. “Is it safe to leave our things here?” He shrugged. “Safe enough. If you’re worried, I can fetch your bags.” Combined incorrectly, some of the contents of her bag could set off a violent explosion that could level a good part of this settlement. After a moment’s thought, she flipped open one pack and dug through the contents until she found her kit, wrapped in one of her shifts. Each chemical was sealed safely in a nearly unbreakable container, but it wouldn’t stop a curious human from twisting off the tops and setting off a catastrophe. “This should stay with me.”
Wilder arched one dark eyebrow. “What the hell is it?”
She slipped the narrow leather strap of the small padded bag over her head. “You might be able to fight your way through a horde of vampires, but I planned to kill them a little more indirectly, if possible.”
“You’re not going to blow up Juliet’s place, are you?”
As if she’d be foolish—or suicidal—enough to ride with the bag behind her if it were liable to explode at any moment. “Not unless someone takes the bag from me, opens up everything inside and starts combining chemicals at random.”
“I meant on purpose.” Again, that wicked smile. “You haven’t seen what I’ve got planned for you.” The pieces fell into place a moment too late. A whorehouse. A favor.
A disguise.
Juliet’s voice roared from inside the brothel. “Wilder, I told you to bring that girl inside.” Satira flinched. “I think I might hate you a little.”
“No you don’t, sweetheart. You just wish you did.”
A woman met them just inside the door. “Wilder Harding, how did I know you’d—” She stopped short when she caught sight of Satira. “Hello there.”
She was beautiful. Perfect brunette curls swept back from her heart-shaped face to frame an elegant neck. Juliet might be hiding her wealth on the outside, but she’d clearly lavished it on the girls, if the cut and quality of the brunette’s corset and skirt were any indication.
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Wilder’s Mate
Satira became painfully aware of her own appearance—her sunburned nose, uncombed hair and the dusty, ill-fitting clothing she’d worn for more than a day. She felt like a gawkish child as she averted her gaze. “Hello.”
The woman held out her hand with a friendly smile. “I’m Polly.”
“Satira.” Her own hand was dirty and far from elegant, marked from chemical burns, with chipped nails even Ophelia had given up trying to keep neat. She shook Polly’s hand gingerly and wished Wilder far, far away before her growing awareness of him turned her into a witless fool. At least she could still remember her manners. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
