Keri Arthur - Circle of Desire

"She wasn't a crush." His voice was tight with the anger that rolled through him. "Drop it, Kat."

She sighed again. "You are really the most stubborn and irritating man."

"Takes one to know one."

Amusement swam around him. "I hardly think you can call me a man."

He couldn't help smiling, despite the anger. "Well, no."

"Will you answer just one more question?"

His smile faded as he flexed his fingers against the steering wheel. "Maybe."

"Why do you say you hate kids so much when you're obviously close to your niece?"

He relaxed a little. At least this was a question he could answer with practiced ease. "I don't hate kids. I just don't want any of my own."

"Why?"

Because he didn't want any child of his going through what he'd been through. And the surest way to ensure that was simply not to have any. "That's a second question."

"Given you didn't actually answer the first properly, I think it should be allowed."

She was persistent, he had to give her that. But he also had to wonder why. Was she thinking about trying to trap him by becoming pregnant? He stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge whether she was capable of such deception. While he didn't really think she'd stoop so low, the truth was, beyond the physical, they really didn't know each other all that well.

God, he'd better keep his wits about him and make damn sure they kept using condoms.

"Because," he lied, his voice a little sharper than necessary, "a werewolf's sense of family is all tied up with his heart. I can't physically love any offspring I might sire on any woman other than the one who captured my heart."

"Yet you love Janie."

"But she's not my get, and I don't love her in the same way."

"So what would happen if one of your monthly mates were to get pregnant?"

Tension knotted his gut, and he shot her glance. "Don't even think about it, Kat. I like you — a lot — but that's as far as it goes. I don't love you, and I certainly couldn't love any offspring you and I might produce."

"I'm not thinking about it, believe me." Her voice was hard, almost bitter. "And that didn't answer the question."

He took a deep breath, then blew it out in exasperation.

"If I answer this, will you promise to drop the subject for good?"

Her gaze searched his briefly. He wondered what the hell she was searching for.

"Yes," she said after a moment.

"Good." He hesitated, steering the car around a sharp bend. They were approaching the cabin where he'd found the zombies, and he slowed, needing to look for a place to park. "If one of my mates got pregnant, I would support them financially, but that's it. I wouldn't see them again.

Wouldn't see the kid."

"But why? That's what I can't understand."

He stopped the car in a stand of trees and turned to face her. "Because it's never good for a child to see his father treating his mother with utter contempt. And that's all I'd feel for someone who tried to trap me that way."

For several seconds there was nothing to be seen in her expression. Nothing beyond curiosity in the emotive swirl that swam between them. That in itself eased some of his tension, and when she smiled, it dissipated even more.

"I was only asking, Ethan, so relax. In a job like mine, I can hardly afford to be carting a kid around."

Even so, he was going to keep carrying condoms in his jeans pocket. "Good. Because I'd hate to think you'd sink so low."

"Never fear," she said, thrusting open the door almost viciously. "I know you're in it for nothing more than a good time, and I don't intend to forget it. Or the condoms."

"Good," he muttered and climbed out of the car.

And wondered why the thought of her belly fat and round with his child filled him with such fierce and sudden longing.

Kat squatted beside Ethan and studied the old shack below them. It was a small wooden structure that looked to have been at the mercy of the elements for a good five years. Not the warmest hideaway in the world, though it was doubtful the dead really cared.

She shifted the weight of the pack on her back, then said, "You wait here. Once I'm sure the sleep bombs have worked, I'll call you over."

He placed a hand on her arm, stopping her from rising. "I don't think you should go down there alone."

She bit down on her impatience and ignored the concern in his eyes. "We've been through this already. Gran only included one mask." Truth was, she didn't include any .

They didn't need them, because these sleep bombs were designed to affect only the dead. But she needed to get away from him for a few minutes. Needed time alone to gather her thoughts. To contemplate the reality of bringing a kid into the world who might never know his father.

Pain rose. She pushed it away and stood. "I've been doing this a long time. I know what I'm doing when it comes to the dead." It was the living she couldn't understand.

She walked down the slope to the small cabin. The smell of death was so overwhelming she gagged. She took several deep breaths through her mouth to ease the churning in her stomach, then edged around the corner and headed for the nearest window. The glass was grimy, but even so, she could see the dead on the floor. Ten of them. God help her and Ethan if they woke before the sleeping potions had a chance to work.

She kinetically unlocked the window and eased it up. The zombie closest to her stirred. She froze, hoping the gentle breeze playing in her hair didn't take her smell to it.

It turned then began to snore. She swung the pack off and carefully dug out the four golf ball-sized bombs. They were warm against her palms, their feel almost jellylike.

She tossed one into each corner of the cabin, listened for the gentle plop that indicated the outer skin had broken, and watched as pale fingers of red smoke began to ease across the floor. She closed the window and glanced at her watch. They'd have to wait five minutes for the mist to do its stuff, making it safe enough to enter.

She squatted on her heels and leaned back against the cabin wall. Thunder rumbled overhead, a warning of the storm clearly gathering. The smell of rain sharpened the air but didn't quite erase the smell of the dead. She hoped the storm didn't break until after they'd explored whatever it was the zombies protected. If those clouds were anything to go by, the storm was going to be a doozy.

Maybe enough to wake the sleep-spelled dead.

She let her gaze roam across the tree line until she found the shadows in which Ethan hid.

What in hell was she going to do with him?

He kept insisting he wasn't capable of loving her, and yet his touch and his eyes and the emotions that sometimes surged between them suggested otherwise.

Could a wolf lose his heart more than once?

She'd ask him, except for the fact she'd promised to drop the subject and didn't want to risk alienating him completely. Maybe it was a question Gwen could answer.

She hoped so. Because she very much suspected she was falling in love with the damn man.

She hugged her arms around her belly. She'd find out tonight if she was pregnant or not. And if she was, there was one thing she was suddenly certain of.

Her child would know its father.

She'd grown up without that knowledge and knew the pain it caused. If he didn't want any part of his child's life, then fair enough, but her child would know who he was, what he looked like, what he did and where he lived.

They would have the sense of history, of belonging, that in many respects she never had, no matter how much Gran had loved her. Four simple pieces of information could have made her childhood seem a whole lot less of a mistake.

And perhaps most importantly, her child would never be in doubt that her mother not only wanted her, but loved her. Or him, as the case may be.