Kelly Meding: Requiem for the Dead

It was empty of the old safety deposit box lockers, which gave us a space that was about ten feet by fifteen feet, with smooth walls and a solid cement floor. Kismet had put a small cot mattress inside, as well as a few folded blankets, and she'd sprayed the room down with lavender-scented air freshener. Lavender was, according to Astrid, something of a Therian aphrodisiac, so I figured what the hell?

"How was he today?" Kismet asked as I inspected her handiwork.

"Focused. We may have a way of getting the pups to contact him, so I think he's also hopeful."

"That's good. He'll take it insanely hard if they're killed or captured before he finds them."

"I know."

Kismet was Wyatt's oldest friend, nine years and counting, and they knew each other in and out. They'd also betrayed each other several times in the last few months, only to reconcile and become friends again. It was one of the oddest love-hate-love-even-more relationships I'd ever seen, and she was growing on me as well. She was the closest thing I'd ever had to a girlfriend, and the only person in my life who listened when I talked about my and Wyatt's sexual problems (Milo and Tybalt got that look on their faces and plugged their fingers in their ears). Operation: Trust Me was her idea.

Whenever we were alone like this, part of me wanted to ask for more details of her friendship with Wyatt. All I really knew was that Wyatt recruited Kismet into the Triads when the entire organization was still in its infancy. The rest of me—the part that didn't like to dwell on the past—kept silent. It wasn't my business, and like her confessions about falling in love with her own Hunter once upon a time, it was something she could tell me if she wanted to.

"You know he's going to be pissed about this," Kismet said. She waved her hand at the vault.

"I know. But he'll get over it. He needs this."

"He doesn't trust his wolf."

"I know that, but I trust Wyatt to keep his wolf in check and to stay in control. He's strong enough to do that. He's just afraid to take the risk with me."

"You've been through a lot, Evy."

"And I have no doubt I'll go through a lot more before my nine lives run out. But I cannot stand Wyatt handling me with kid gloves. He needs to stop being afraid of hurting me."

"Easier said than done."

"That's why you're my backup."

She rolled her eyes. "Yay, me."

"Listen, off topic, can I ask you something about Tybalt?"

"The last time you asked if you could ask me something about Milo, I told you to go ask Milo."

"Well, this is actually about you, too."

Her eyebrow quirked up. "Okay."

"Did you know he was involved with the whole Seamus/Prentiss kidnapping thing back in May?"

"Not while it was happening. Marcus approached Tybalt during the Triad's off-time. He didn't tell me until a few weeks later. Why?"

"Just curious. Tybalt has a pretty complex relationship with the Felia Pride, doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does. He was never very close to Marcellus, but he still cares about Astrid and Marcus. Marcellus's impending death is going to hurt all of them. And if Riley is challenged, Tybalt will do everything he can to make sure the Dane family remains in control of the Pride."

"The Pride kicked him out onto the streets, and he's still that loyal?"

"Funny, huh?"

"Yeah." And as interesting as the conversation was, I needed to get my mind on someone besides Tybalt. "Time for phase three."

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

While she went to fetch Wyatt, I stripped and threw my clothes into a pile in the corner of the vault. It was chilly and my nipples pebbled right away. I stretched out on the thin mattress, closed my eyes, and let my thoughts wander. Back to that morning so many months ago when we'd made love in a narrow twin bed—our first and only time since my resurrection. I pictured him naked in my arms, his toned body fitting so perfectly with mine, and felt a familiar warmth between my legs. I held onto those feelings and remembered his hands, his touches, his kisses all over.

I almost didn't hear the bank door open, or the sound of voices. Wyatt would be blindfolded (he trusted Kismet enough to allow that, we both knew), but very soon he'd smell my arousal and know something was up. I sat up on my elbows and watched her lead him to the vault. Inches away from the door, he dug in and stopped.

"What's going on?" he asked, danger in his tone.

"Therapy," Kismet said. She gave him a hard shove, then swung the barred door closed with a clang.

Wyatt yanked off the blindfold as he turned, so he didn't see me yet. He grabbed the bars and tugged, snarling, "What the fuck, Gina?"

She ignored him. Looked past him to me. "You know the safe word."

"Yep," I said.

He pivoted to face me, even as she pushed the vault door almost the entire way shut. Mostly to muffle noise—she didn't want to shut it completely and suffocate us. Wyatt's eyes blazed pure silver and his nostrils flared as he took me in, stretched wantonly on the mattress, completely naked. He backed up to the wall, but had nowhere to go.

"What the fuck is this?" The cold in his eyes had crept into his voice. It wasn't encouraging, but it also wasn't unexpected. We had tricked him, after all.

"Couples therapy," I said.

"Let me out."

"Not a chance."

"Gina!"

I stood up, a little weirded out by my complete lack of clothes. I didn't do vulnerable very well, and not only was I about to put my heart out there for him to take or stomp on, I was doing it while exposed. "Scream all you want, Wyatt. She won't open that door without my safe word, and good luck figuring it out."

"Why are you doing this?" Instead of angry, the question came out as a plea. I hated hearing him like that, but I held my ground.

"Because you need to take the muzzle off and start trusting yourself again. I'm your mate, and your wolf knows it. I'm your lover in every way except physically. I believe with my whole heart that neither you or the wolf will hurt me, and this is the only way I can think to prove it to you."

"Evy, I will not be—"

"Another person who abuses me, yeah, I got that memo. News flash, Truman. This distance between us hurts me every single day, because you're not touching me."

He flinched.

I took three long strides forward and was halfway to him. He didn't pull away, just watched me with hooded, angry eyes. "You know I'm better with actions than with words, but here goes anyway. I love you so much, Wyatt, and I want to be able to make love to you. And you need to show your fear who's boss. Every time you let what the goblins or Thackery did to me stop you from loving me, they win. And I don't want them to win anymore. Not with this.

"So take off your fucking clothes."

Something in Wyatt's demeanor changed, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. His eyes stayed silver, yet they seemed to warm. His expression went from icy and angry to calm and collected. A muscle in his jaw twitched. It was the oddest switch. I rarely gave him any sort of direct command like that, so maybe he was just surprised—oh wait. Weeks ago, Phineas told me that the Lupa were a matriarchal society, their Packs led by Alpha females and her mate. Women were the boss.

And I'd just ordered Wyatt to take off his clothes.

Huh.

He reached up and tugged off his shirt, and the black cotton crumpled to the floor. I held still, even though I wanted to run my hands over his skin and feel every sharp line of the muscles on his arms and torso and back. He'd always been in amazing shape, but his Lupa change had increased his metabolism and melted him down to muscle and sinew and the results were jaw-dropping.

Even before he worked his belt and shoved both jeans and boxers down to his ankles, I knew he was hard. I kept my eyes directed right at his face, waited for him to step out of his shoes and the rest of his clothes, and caught his gaze. Bald desire smoldered in his eyes, as well as silent concern.