Moira Rogers: Wilder's Mate

“You mean that I upset you.” He leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “You’re so mad you could spit.”

“Yes,” she agreed readily, still staring at his legs. “Because you treat me like I’m one of them . I think you’re an unholy, arrogant bastard, but I’ve never thought for a moment that you’re beneath me.”

“No, you think I’m mercenary and mindless, which is even worse.” Her temper snapped. “You are mindless if you can’t tell that I look at you and see the only safe thing left in my world. It’s not my fault you’re a fool!”

He surged across the coach so fast it swayed. One strong hand curled around the nape of her neck, and his breath blew hot across her cheek. “I should kiss you now, show you what a fool I really am.” The heat of him burned through her, leaving need in its wake. She pressed one hand to his chest, fingers spread wide as if she had a hope of holding him back. “And I’d be one to let you, if you’re so dense about women that you think I don’t want you.”

“You’re a prickly sort. Hard to figure you out.”

So strong. So close. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his, though his rough stubble scratched her skin. “I’m lonely.”

Just like that, his touch gentled. “Shh, you’re all right. Safe.”

“Be a fool,” she whispered. “Kiss me.”

His fingers tightened for a mere second, but then he released her and retreated to his own coach seat.

“That would be a damn bad idea and you know it.”

The warmth of his hand lingered on her skin, but the rest of her was cold. Aching, even if she knew he was right. “Then only one of us proved herself an idiot.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

Simple words, but they made her uncomfortable. “I can’t afford to forgive my own mistakes when they might cost Nathaniel his life.”

His eyes shadowed. “Are we back to that? You not trusting me unless you give me what I want?”

“No,” she said quickly, not allowing herself to consider the subtle shift. What I want. “No, I simply mean—I want to help. I need to help, so I can’t make mistakes.” Wilder turned to the window once more. “Everyone makes mistakes. Convincing yourself that you’re different doesn’t help anyone.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t.” She dropped her hands to the smooth fabric of her skirts and closed her eyes.

“What will we do when we reach the border?”

“If I played my cards right, someone will come to us.”

“Someone who will lead us to wherever they’re keeping Nathaniel?” His jaw tightened, as if in anticipation of the fight to come. “Someone who will lead us to someone important. That’s where we start. If it also happens to be whoever has imprisoned Nate, all the better.” Wilder was smart. Skilled. For the first time it struck her as odd that someone so valuable had been sent on a rescue mission. Her willingness to risk her life for Nathaniel made sense. Perhaps his did as well, if he’d forged a friendship during his training.

But bloodhounds were not their own masters, and the Guild had better uses for them than rescue missions that would only save one man, no matter how brilliant that man might be. “Is this what you do?

Save people who have been spirited away into the Deadlands?”

“I solve problems,” he answered simply. “Doesn’t matter where they are.”

“And Nathaniel…” It felt traitorous to even imply that he wasn’t worthy of rescue, but he was the one who’d taught her to assume the Guild was always looking out for their own best interests. “Is it because he’s good at his job? Or because of whatever secret project it is that he kept locked away where I could never see it?”

He glanced at her, just a little too sharply. “What sort of project?” She’d only glimpsed inside the private workroom once—an accident Nathaniel had been careful never to repeat. Curiosity might have led her to snoop once—or twice—but when her mentor wanted to secure a room, he knew all the ways to do it. “I’m not sure. I thought it was one of his pet projects.” He watched her, his gaze intense. “What do you know? It could be important, Satira.”

“Nothing,” she repeated, dread uncurling inside her. “But I’m beginning to suspect you know more than you’ve said.”

“All I know is that Nate was working on something big. Something important to the Guild.” To the vampires too, presumably. Levi’s death during the last new moon had given them the perfect opportunity. A well-planned attack, under cover of darkness… “So that’s why they left me alone? Because they were only there for Nate?”

His hands closed into fists. “I don’t know.”

Satira wrapped her arms around her body and fought back a shiver. “He managed to set off our alarm before they took him. I was still half-asleep when they reached my room, but I’d already—” Guilt very nearly choked her. “I have a safe room. Levi taught me to lock myself in if anyone attacked. Perhaps it wasn’t worth it to break their way in once they had who they’d come for.” His voice lowered to a tense rasp. “It means they came in with a very specific objective. A task to complete.”

“And they completed it.” She closed her eyes and drew in a slow, careful breath, desperate to settle her nerves. “So he’s more likely to be alive, then?”

“The Guild seems to think so.”

Looking at him was more difficult this time, but she forced herself to do it. To reassess what she’d seen of him, and the conclusions she’d drawn. It had been easy to believe the Guild wouldn’t waste a competent asset to rescue one lone man who was likely already dead. But with an important project at stake… Oh yes. They’d send their best.

Perhaps it was time to assume Wilder might deserve a little bit of his ego. “Then I owe you an apology. I made certain…assumptions about your qualifications as a rescuer.” Wilder actually laughed. “Yes. Yes, you did.”

Satira pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “I wasn’t the only one.” He acknowledged the truth of her words with a small nod. “So we’re square now, right?” As square as they could be with no mention of how very close they’d come to kissing. Or that she’d slept in his arms the previous night, safe and warm and more at peace than she’d been in weeks. “I believe we are.”

Again, he nodded, this time as if her words settled the matter. “Then we can get on with what needs doing.”

Saving Nathaniel. For the first time since he’d been taken, Satira honestly believed they might manage it.

They reached the border just after nightfall, and the main street through the rough-and-tumble settlement blazed with gaslights and lanterns hung from windows. More than half were red, though there was no telling whether they advertised sex for sale…

Or blood.

Wilder climbed out of the carriage and held a hand out to Satira. “I know which hotel we should go to. I’ll do the talking, you just stand there and look put out if it takes too long.” 32

She slipped her hand into his and stepped down, still a bit uncertain in the heeled slippers Polly had provided. Her gaze swept the street, taking in the details in a slow, methodical fashion until the first piercing whistle split the night air.

A dirty, intoxicated gunslinger leered appreciatively at her from the opposite side of the street, and Wilder was close enough to hear the tiny, nervous hitch in her breath before she tightened her hand around his and lifted her chin.

He bared his teeth, and the drunk man sneered but backed down. “Keep walking,” Wilder whispered to Satira. “You don’t notice his sort, because that’s my job.” She nodded, the barest whisper of movement. “I’m ready.”