Moira Rogers: Wilder's Mate

“Yes, he was.” Her voice held tension, and loss. “He didn’t have to take us in. He didn’t have to give me a home when she died.”

The old man hadn’t often spoken of things like sentiment. “You were family.” Her lips twitched. “I was Ada’s girl, and as welcome most days as a stone in his shoe.” Levi hadn’t been a particularly warm man, but he was ruthlessly practical. “He may not have been handing over pretty words and hugs, but he provided for you. With a man like that, it’s all the same.”

“He never saw much use for pretty words and hugs.” A brief hesitation, and Wilder picked up the rapid beat of her heart, fast and nervous enough to belie her calm expression. “If you brought me with you intending to have a warm body during the new moon, I’m not unwilling.” Wilder’s jaw clenched. She didn’t think much of him, if she thought he’d plan to take that sort of liberty without asking. “Takes a damn sight more than ‘not unwilling’ to heat my blood, girl.” He grinned because he knew it would fluster her. “I like my women enthusiastic.” Color rose in her cheeks, but her eyes glinted with stubborn challenge. “It’s a wonder you find any, unless you take care not to speak to them first.”

“Funny,” he murmured. “I’ve never had a problem, discussion or no.”

“I was wrong. Thirty pounds of ego, and I pity your poor horse.” Wilder laughed. “He’s accustomed to my insufferable bullshit.”

“I suppose he would have to be. Do you think we’ll be able to rescue Nathaniel and return before the new moon, then?”

Despite her light tone, she was eyeing him with unmistakable interest. Perhaps her questions about the moon phase had less to do with her low opinion of him and more with her own curiosity. “If not, I’ll make arrangements,” he told her.

“I see.” She rubbed the palm of one hand against her dusty trousers, a nervous gesture that matched the quick way her gaze jumped away from him to her horse’s ear. “I’ve never crossed the border before.

Nathaniel took me out to the Deadlands a few times when I was younger…”

“But not after you…blossomed?” It was the most polite way he could think of to refer to her considerable curves.

Satira looked like she wanted to cross her arms over her chest again, but she only shrugged. “He said it wasn’t a good place for a young woman.”

Wilder had seen women traded and sold there, either as whores or meals, and not enough of them had been willing participants in the transactions. “He’s right.”

“I know. I’ll do what I have to do, just like anyone.”

She would have run off, unaccompanied. She’d planned on it. The knowledge made Wilder’s gloved fingers tighten around his horse’s reins. “Remember what you agreed to, honey. What I say, when I say it.”

“I remember.” And she sounded grumpy about it too.

The afternoon sun gilded her pale skin, and a hint of breeze ruffled the golden strands of hair that curled around her face. She’d burn without a hat or bonnet, but something told him she wouldn’t appreciate him pointing it out.

They made it out of town before she spoke again, glancing at him with both eyebrows raised. “The plan isn’t to walk the horses the entire way, is it? I can handle a hard ride.” Leading words, ones she’d meant to make him think of fucking. Of sweat and bare skin and the delicious, wet grip of an eager cunt around his cock. “Hope to hell that’s true, sweetheart.” He urged his horse into a gallop without turning or waiting to see if she could keep up. If she wanted to play dirty, so could he.

Wilder didn’t hold the gallop for long, but he pushed them hard enough that Satira knew her bluff had been called.

Not that she wasn’t a decent rider. Levi had made sure she could sit a horse and stay in the saddle no matter how rough the ride, but she wasn’t accustomed to it.

By the time they stopped—to camp, not in a town where she might enjoy the luxury of a hot bath—

Satira thought it might be a blessing if she died on the spot. Almost better than facing the humiliation of trying to dismount and ending up in the dirt.

“Having trouble?” Wilder slid from his horse with enviable ease.

“No.” Liar. She stroked her horse’s neck and gathered every bit of stubborn will she possessed, everything that held her together.

Then she swung her leg over the horse’s back and almost cried.

He caught her before her feet hit the ground. “You don’t know when to admit you’ve had enough, do you, little one?”

If she’d thought she could stand on her own, she would have driven her heel into his balls. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a child.”

The sound that passed his lips was half laugh, half groan. “I know. You’re rubbing your ass up against me.”

Her aching thighs had provided suitable distraction from their relative positions until he called attention to it—and the sheer power that resided in him. Strong hands spanned her rib cage, holding her effortlessly. She wiggled one foot, trying to reach the ground, and let out a frustrated noise when he held her there, snuggled back sweet as can be.

He was warm. And hard. Hard all over and getting harder by the second where his hips bumped against her ass. “It appears you like our respective positions just fine.”

“I’m breathing, aren’t I?”

“So far.” The threat lacked heat—she didn’t want him to put her down.

Wilder laughed and eased her down until a little of her weight rested on her feet. “Take it easy. You’ll need to.”

“I know.” A better woman might have pulled away and kept a shred of dignity, but her body wasn’t interested in the state of her pride. Few decent men were willing to be caught dallying with the daughter of a notorious whore, and few indecent men had been eager to brave Levi’s wrath, not when they could pay a few coins for an uncomplicated fuck from a far more experienced woman.

No, her bed had been cold for a good, long while. Her life had been cold since the last time a hound had come to town and bedded her with the enthusiasm of any untamed creature. Perhaps she’d developed a taste then for wild, inappropriate men. It would explain her current madness.

“Ready?”

If she said no, he might keep holding her. If she said no, she’d look like a fool. “Yes.” Wilder released her, though his hands lingered, sliding from her rib cage down to the flare of her hips.

“Got your footing?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.

Enough was enough. “Hard to get my footing with you gripping my hips like you’re ready to take me for a different sort of ride.”

“My apologies.” He sounded anything but sorry as he pulled his hands away.

The loss of his touch hurt more than her aching body, and it was only then she realized that sex wasn’t driving her. It would be a welcome distraction, to be sure, but the hot press of his body had been something else entirely: proof she wasn’t alone.

Her fingers tightened around the saddle, and she swallowed hard. “I should see to my horse.” He caught her arm. “Are you all right, Satira?”

Weakness was unacceptable. How many times had Levi pushed her to the edge of tears and sighed his disappointment? Bloodhounds were strong. Unwavering. To earn Wilder’s respect, she had to convince him she was both. “I’m simply tired. It has been a difficult day, and I worry for Nathaniel.” His expression was impossible to read in the waning light. “You didn’t answer the question, just listed off a bunch of reasons why you wouldn’t be all right.”

“I suppose I did.” She tugged away, trying to free herself from his grip before she collapsed and clung to him like a desperate fool. “I’d be grateful if you could help me with my bag. I can admit that I may not be up to managing it just yet.”