Nalini Singh: Wild Invitation

Wolf and woman, every part of her felt a simple, deep happiness at being home.

“Grab a seat,” she told Lucy. “I’ll put on some herbal tea—we’ve both overdosed on coffee today.”

“Do you have that peppermint and chocolate one we had last time?” The blonde woman beamed when Lara held up the tin, before pulling out a seat at the kitchen table and continuing with their earlier subject. “I think the guys felt more comfortable with me, since we’re friends, grew up together.”

“And because you’re very good at what you do.” Lucy had an inherent kindness of heart that could put anyone at ease, young or old. “How are they doing?”

“Fine, generally speaking, but they’re having the issues we discussed—both were taken out by the sonic weapon, made helpless against the Psy. The experience haunts them.”

Changelings termed the Psy arrogant, but Lara was well aware her race had its own arrogance, especially when it came to physical strength. It had been a hard lesson to realize that one of those strengths—acute hearing—could be turned into an agonizing weakness. “How did you handle it?”

“I listened. Like we talked about, most people just need to get it out.” She accepted the tea Lara held out, breathed deep of the decadent aroma. “And, I pointed out that now they’re aware of the weakness, they can guard against it, take countermeasures.”

Lara slid into a seat across from the nurse, luxuriating in the scent of her own cup of tea. “Good. That returns control into their hands.” Critical when it came to dominant wolves.

“I think it worked, but I made sure they know I’m there anytime they want to talk.”

“Thank God you decided to work for the pack.” Lara adored the young nurse. “As for the dating situation—have you tried the cats? I don’t want you being ravished by someone out of the territory and stolen away.”

The front door opened before Lucy could reply, the whirlwind that was Marlee running in to throw her arms around Lara in wild affection. “I’m starving! Can I have cake?”

Laughing, Lara hugged her tight. “Fruit bowl will tide you over till dinner.”

Not the least abashed, Marlee grabbed an apple on her way to hug Lucy. “Hi, Lucy! Are you staying for dinner? Want to see my art project?”

“Yes, stay, Lucy,” Lara said. “I’m in the mood to cook—you can be my sous-chef.”

It ended up being a dinner party of seven. One of Toby’s friends had permission to eat with them, and Walker brought home a twelve-year-old female pup whose parents were running late getting back from their work outside den territory.

As they sat down to eat, her mate reached over and ran his knuckles down her cheek, the affectionate gesture making her wolf rub against her skin. “Hey, you,” she whispered.

He tipped up her chin, kissed her to the delight of the children and Lucy, before turning back to the table. It wasn’t until after everyone had filled their plates that she saw him watching Toby and Marlee. Marlee was currently giggling with the pup who’d come home with Walker, while the boys chatted to Lucy about the effectiveness of a twist in a recent movie. All the children were clearly in good spirits, but there was something in Walker’s eyes, the same shadow of pain she’d seen the day of their mating, as Toby spun Marlee. She knew in that moment that there were gaps in her knowledge of what had taken place in his life immediately before his defection.

“Walker?” She touched her fingers to his thigh. “Sweetheart, what is it?”

He closed his hand over hers. “Sometimes, I see Marlee laugh,” he said in a rough tone so low, it reached her ears alone, “and I remember a time when my daughter didn’t understand what it was to be happy. Only what it was to be hurt.” His gaze shifted to a grinning Toby, the memories a quiet ache in his voice as he spoke. “And Toby, he was in so much pain after Kristine’s suicide, I was terrified we’d lose him, too, my sister’s cherished baby boy.”

The poignant sadness of his words wrenched at her. Tangling their fingers together, she “spoke” to him through the visceral connection of the mating bond, showering him in her love, in the joy she felt at being his mate, in the cheerful contentment her wolf sensed in the children. His gaze sharpened, the shadows fading to be replaced by a deep happiness that made her entire body sing.

And she knew she wouldn’t ask him about the shadows, not tonight. No, she would love him, counteract any lingering whispers of sadness with affection, pleasure, and touch. He would tell her when he was ready—she had faith in the trust that linked them to one another, was no longer afraid she’d never know the heart of this incredible man who was her own.

Perhaps it would take a little more time, a little more patience…but they had a lifetime.

• • •

WALKER woke around midnight, Lara curled up against him, and he realized he couldn’t imagine ever again spending the night without her at his side. Even the idea of it caused an agony of pain inside his chest. It was a startling sensation for a man who had always come to a cold bed, believed himself wholly self-sufficient, but one he had no will to fight. He wanted a forever tinged with the warmth of her against his skin, her hand on his heart, her curls tickling the bottom of his jaw.

Shifting with care so he could look down at her sleeping face, he ran his finger along the delicate shell of her ear. His mate was so lovely, and so gentle. So very good . That was what made her a healer. She might be a SnowDancer, but should he bring her the broken body of a Psy Councilor, she’d do her best to heal the enemy, regardless of the fact that enemy might one day strike her dead.

That was who she was.

It was also why she needed him. Because Walker wasn’t that good. He’d do whatever it took to protect her from harm, spill blood without blinking. He knew Lara saw that ability to kill in him, understood his moral compass wasn’t like her own, but she loved him just the same.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her, deserve this life where he was so passionately loved that it was an incandescent glow against his heart, but he knew he’d fight to the death to hold on to her. Lara was his.

QUIETLY MOVING ASIDE a curl that was tickling her in her sleep, he felt his lips curve when she wrinkled up her nose before falling asleep again. It was something she did every time he cleared away a curl—and he loved that he knew that. As he knew that if he ran a finger down her throat, she’d sigh and turn into the touch, her hand flexing on his skin. It made his entire body tighten, his flesh hungry for her though he’d shared skin privileges passionate and exquisite with her a mere two hours ago.

Shifting his focus, he played with the thin strap on her left shoulder, his callused fingertip scraping against her skin. He didn’t pull back—Lara had made it clear she loved his hands. Instead, he smoothed the strap down her arm and leaned over to press his lips to the silky hot skin he’d bared, the taste of her an addiction he intended to indulge in for the rest of his life.

Making a sleepy sound, she tunneled one hand into his hair, holding him to her as he slid his own hand up over her thigh and to her hip, pushing up the satiny fabric of her short nightgown at the same time. He’d experienced sensation, so many layers of it since leaving the Net, but each time he touched Lara, he found there was more to feel, to explore.

Kisses along her throat, her pulse thudding against his tongue, her breast taut and perfect in his palm.

“Oh.” A hitch in her breath, followed by a husky, “Don’t stop.”