Personal Demon

HOPE: MATING INSTINCT

We returned to my apartment. As we walked into the building, I said, “Thank you, Karl.”

He hesitated, hand on the door.

I touched his arm. “I mean it. Thank you.”

He nodded. As we walked through the lobby, Karl cleared his throat. “I’m sure it might be busy for you tomorrow, but if you can find the time, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“Dinner? Uh, sure.”

“It’s my birthday.”

The admission was so unlike Karl that I was silent until we reached the elevator.

“I’d ask how old you’ll be, but I know I’ll never get it from you.”

“Fifty.”

I thanked God he picked that moment to push the button, leaving no chance to glimpse my reaction. I’d always guessed Karl was in his midforties, and fifty wasn’t much older, but it seemed a lot older.

I could say it didn’t matter-werewolves age slowly, so physically, Karl’s no more than midthirties, but all that means is that when I’m walking down the street with him, I won’t be mistaken for his daughter. In terms of life experience, he is fifty and that’s what counts.

The elevator arrived and we stepped on.

“Is your birthday tomorrow? Or today?” I asked.

He checked his watch. “Oh, I see. Today, then.”

I stood on my tiptoes and brushed my lips across his. “Happy birthday, Karl.”

Before I could step back, he leaned down. His kiss was almost as brief as mine, but firm. Like his hands on my hips, pressing, but not pulling me to him, making me strain forward, hoping for more. But I only got that one brief kiss. When he pulled away, I found myself arching onto my tiptoes, prolonging the contact until the last possible moment. Then I jolted back onto flat feet.

I thought about what I was doing, the door I was reopening. Was I trying to reopen it? And if I was, did that mean I was closing another? I tried to remember Jaz, but his image wouldn’t form. All I could think about was Karl.

My gaze down, I laid a tentative hand on Karl’s chest. I listened to his breathing, felt the rise and fall of his chest and the warmth of him through his shirt, sensed his gaze on the top of my head, waiting for me to look up. But I couldn’t.

“I hate this, Karl,” I whispered. “Who’d have thought we’d come to this? You and me, snipping and snapping at each other. I hear us doing it, and I can’t believe it. Not us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You?” I managed a laugh, harsh to my ears. “I’ve been just as bad.”

“But you had a reason to be angry.”

I looked up, finally meeting his gaze. “And, maybe, so do you.”

He inhaled. Exhaled. And looked away.

The elevator climbed another floor.

“Hope…”

His voice was so soft I wasn’t sure I heard him, and I looked up. He touched my chin, fingers gliding up my jaw, so light that when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t feel it. When I looked, his eyes were right there, inches from mine. He tilted my chin up-

The elevator dinged. As the doors opened, we both looked over. In unison, our gazes shunted to the button panel.

“That ‘stop’ button looks pretty good,” I said.

He made a noise in his throat that sounded like agreement. “Unfortunately, if it stops for more than a couple of minutes, we’ll be rescued by the building super.”

“Had some experience with that, have you?”

He gave me a look. “On a job.”

“That’s what I meant. Seducing the marks in an elevator. How déclassé.”

A growl and he grabbed for me, but I quickstepped out of his reach and darted through the doors. He swung in front, caught me and slammed me against the door opening. His mouth crushed against mine, knocking the breath from me. The door bounced against my back, but he only pushed me into it, hands going to my rear, fingers digging in as he boosted me up, pushing between my legs until I straddled his hips.

I wrapped my hands in his hair, legs clasped around him, pulling him closer as he pressed into me, fierce and insistent. My brain whirled, a high made all the richer because there wasn’t a chaos vibe to be found. It was all him. The smell of him, the taste of him, the-

The alarm buzzed right behind my head. The elevator, warning us that its door was blocked.

Karl snarled at it, and I laughed, and he turned the sound into a harrumph, with a glare that said I hadn’t heard what I thought I heard. His lips went back to mine, punishingly hard, and my brain reeled, body arching into his, the ache so sharp that he could have taken me there and I wouldn’t have noticed where we were. Noticed or cared.

He pulled back, my lip caught between his teeth. I shuddered and squirmed against him, and he let out a low growl, then swung me around, in two steps pressing me into the opposite wall, next to my apartment door. He thrust me against it, hard enough that he could let go with one hand and tug the keys from my pocket. Once the door was open, he tried to swing me through, but stumbled, and we crashed to the floor.

When I laughed, he gave me another “pretend you didn’t notice that” glower. I closed my eyes, braced for another bruising kiss, but his lips brushed mine, feather light. I shivered. When I opened my eyes, he was right over me, and in his face was everything I’d seen that Valentine’s night and later convinced myself I hadn’t.

I inhaled sharply and the shock hit me, like a whiff of smelling salts. That morning after flashed back. All the pain, the humiliation. My hands shot between us and I tried to scramble back, but his grip tightened. He leaned down to my ear.

“I won’t hurt you again, Hope.”

He kept his lips at my ear, his breathing shallow, caressing my jaw as he pushed back a lock of hair.

“Never again,” he whispered. “I promise.”

My heart skittered. This was what I wanted to hear. What I’d dreamed of hearing. That it had all been a big misunderstanding.

But it hadn’t been. He’d said so himself. There was no other way to interpret what he’d said.

His lips moved to my neck, gliding along my pulse, registering my reaction. He moved to my throat, light kisses that sent my pulse racing, but I stayed stiff in his arms.

He rose, face coming to mine. “I didn’t walk away from you that morning, Hope. I ran. Turned tail and ran. My problem. But it won’t happen again.” His hand moved to the side of my face, fingers brushing my cheek. “I came back, and I’m staying.”

His mouth came down to mine. The kiss started slow, almost tentative, as if testing his welcome. When my hands went to the back of his head, it was like a watershed breaking. He grabbed me, and rolled us over, moving on top of me, his weight crushing in the most delicious way.

When I gasped, he thrust against me, all smoothness gone as he fumbled with the front of my jeans. He cursed, as if undoing a simple button was beyond him, as lust-clumsy as any teenage boy, and I was thrown back to that night in the pool, that first kiss igniting, Karl pulling back, struggling to be suave, to be gentle, to be a perfect lover, only to be swept up again and finally giving up, slamming me against the side of the pool. Brutally passionate and unforgettable.

And how many nights since then had I spent trying to forget it?

How many nights would I spend trying to forget this one?

When I broke the kiss, he hung there for a moment, panting. Then he looked down at me and blinked, and I knew he saw the truth, that I didn’t trust him. His lips curved in an oath.

He cupped my face, lowering his until he was so close I could see only his eyes. “It won’t happen again, Hope. It was my problem.”

“And that problem was…?”

“Later. I’ll explain it all later.” He brushed his lips against mine. “I need you. Now. Please.”

I shivered, eyelids fluttering. God, how many times had I dreamed of hearing that? I could look into his eyes, and see it. He wanted me. Desperately. And I had to talk about it first? Was I crazy?

I squeezed my eyes shut. If I said yes, I’d never get that explanation. Right now, he might honestly intend to give it, but come morning, he’d brush me off with a, “Don’t worry, it wasn’t about you.” That would be that.

Every morning after, if I went to sleep beside him, I’d worry he wouldn’t be there when I woke, because I didn’t know what drove him away the first time.

I opened my eyes. “I need to know now.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not now?”

A tightness in his voice turned the words into a query-or maybe a plea-and I sputtered a laugh.

He growled. “You have no respect for a mood, do you?”

I eyed him. Considered my options. Realized there was only one way I was getting my answers, as much as I hated to use it.

I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down in a kiss. His hands went to my shirt, and he had it out of my jeans and over my head so quickly, I barely realized we’d broken the kiss. A snap of the front clasp on my bra, then his thumbs tickled over my breasts as he pushed it aside.

His shirt started to follow, but I caught his hands and whispered, “Let me. Please.” I took hold of the hem, met his gaze and said, “Right after you tell me why you left.”

He let out an oath on a blast of chaos so sharp I arched my head back and shuddered.

“Like that, do you?” he said.

I grinned. “You know I do.”

“Damn you.”

“Mmm.” I nibbled the side of his neck. “Tell me more…like what you meant that morning.”

A growl and another string of obscenities.

I writhed under him. “Not bad. But it needs a little more venom. Say it like you mean it.”

“I wish I could. You have no idea, sometimes, how much I wish I could.”

He grabbed me in a kiss so hard, so rich with frustration, that had he reached for my jeans again, I wouldn’t have stopped him. Instead, he broke it off and sighed.

“You’re right,” he said.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Damn you.”

A moment’s silence. Then he rolled off me and propped his head up on his arm. I twisted onto my side to face him.

“This is going to take a while.”

“I’ve got all night.”

A noise, half sigh, half growl. “All right then. When I went to Europe, I planned to take you with me. I’d make it sound like a whim. A lark. Light and casual. Then morning came, and I realized you’d know it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision, and if I was telling myself it was light or casual…”

He shook his head. “I wanted to forget about it, but I couldn’t. So I told myself I’d mention the job, see your reaction when I said I was leaving.”

“See how crushed I was?”

A muscle in his cheek twitched at the coolness in my voice, but after a moment he nodded.

“And when I wasn’t upset enough, you had to keep pushing. See what did upset me. Not just flying off to Europe for a few days, but indefinitely…and maybe I should date other guys while you were gone. See if anything dug in enough to hurt.”

“Yes.”

I scrambled up. “You bastard.”

“Hope-”

“No.” I backed away. “You want brownie points for being honest? You hurt me just to see if you could, just to prove that I have feelings for you?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to see if I could get a reaction. I wanted a reaction. I wanted you to think exactly what you did-that you’d been seduced, that I was just as cold and self-serving as you’ve always suspected. I wanted to walk away and close the door. Slam it, so I could never come back.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I do either.”

He pushed to his feet and looked around, then settled onto the couch. I stayed on the floor, arms around my knees.

“I’ve never understood it,” he continued. “What happened that night at the museum. Why I helped you get away from Tristan and why, after I had helped, it was so hard to walk away. Why, even when I did, I couldn’t stay away.”

He shifted to see me better around the coffee table. “Not that I couldn’t understand the attraction. You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re fun to be around. But I’ve been with beautiful women, smart women, fun women, and there wasn’t one I didn’t walk away from in the morning. I only ever felt a twinge of regret if I had to leave a piece of jewelry behind. At first, I told myself it was because you were a challenge. You weren’t interested in me and I wanted to change your mind. But even when I knew I could change your mind, I didn’t. Because, if I seduced you, then I’d have no excuse for coming back, and…” A pause. “I wanted the excuse.”

I hugged my knees, wondering if I should say something, but feeling like I wasn’t supposed to.

“I’ve been having dreams. For a few months now…” Another pause, his jaw working, as if trying to figure out how to word something. “I don’t dream very often. It’s usually…wolf. If I postpone my Change, I dream of Changing. If I haven’t hunted, I dream of hunting. I’m reminded, prodded. Lately, I’ve been dreaming of you. Of us. Of…”

He fell silent, jaw tensing again.

“Cabins,” he spat finally, as if making some terrible confession. “I dream of forests and cabins and us, and no one else. I dream of taking you someplace, holing up, making love and making-” He clipped off the last word.

“Making what?”

He met my gaze and his lips twitched. “From that look on your face, you know what I was about to say. Let me remind you, emphatically, that it’s a dream. When I wake, I’m as horrified as you.”

“Thank God.”

He arched a brow. “Can you honestly see me living in a cabin? It’s a symbol, obviously. An impulse. Not to carry you off into the woods and raise a pack of squalling brats. Just to…be with you.”

“The instinct to mate.”

He gave a low growl, and I braced for an argument, but he only turned his gaze toward the window, as if he’d already figured out what the impulse was, and just hated hearing it put into words.

“It’s understandable, isn’t it?” I said. “You’re fifty years old with no children. The animal instinct to reproduce is sure to kick in-”

“So I start having caveman fantasies about the first woman in prime childbearing years to cross my path? In some ways, I wish to hell that’s all it was. A biological imperative that randomly fixed on an appropriate target.”

He stood and walked to the window, his back to me.

“I used to hear other werewolves talk about it,” he said. “The problems of living solitary lives. Fighting the urge to find a mate and settle. I’d commiserate, if it was to my advantage, but even as I was listening I was calling them fools. Weak. Convincing themselves it was an instinct because they didn’t have the balls to admit the truth-that they wanted a wife and kids and a picket-fence life. I’d never felt the urge to stay with a woman until morning, let alone for life, so I was living proof there was no mating instinct. The truth was, it seems, that I just hadn’t met…”

He let the sentence fade, and stared out into the night. The silence dragged out past seconds into minutes.

“Damned inconvenient, isn’t it?” I said finally. “That’s the problem.”

He glanced my way. I got up and perched on the edge of the coffee table.

“You’ve been on your own since you were sixteen,” I said. “Since your father died. There hasn’t been anyone. No lovers. No friends. No one you couldn’t cut ties with in a heartbeat…and wouldn’t kill if they got in your way. Then you joined the Pack, but you’re still ambivalent about that and tell yourself it’s a business arrangement and keep social contact to a minimum. Now you have me. Someone who might expect some kind of commitment from you in return, a commitment you might-horrors-want to give. Damnably inconvenient.”

He gave a hoarse laugh. “You can’t resist, can you? Even this you can turn into ‘Karl thinking about himself again.’”

“Am I wrong?”

He met my gaze, then turned back to the window. “Damn you.”

I crept to him, stood on tiptoes and kissed the back of his neck-or that was my goal, though I barely reached his collar. He glanced over his shoulder in surprise. I put my hands on his sides and leaned in, laying my cheek against the middle of his back.

“Remember when we met? Before you left, you said you were going to make a fool of yourself over me. That’s still what you’re worried about. That you’ll find yourself doing things you never dreamed of doing, things you laughed at in others, and you’ll make a fool of yourself.”

A sigh rippled through him. “You never cut me any slack, do you? You can’t find some unselfish motive, like that I don’t want to hurt you. Or even a romantic one, perhaps that I’m worried about having my heart broken.”

“A broken heart is just a fancy way of saying you’ve been made a fool of-that you opened up, let someone in, and they took advantage. As for hurting me, I’m sure that’s in there somewhere, but it’s not the driving factor.”

“Dare I ask what is, in your opinion?”

“That a relationship with me would not only be inconvenient, but potentially humiliating. After all these years of being happy on your own, why risk that for a relationship that might not work out?”

“Sounds like you’re trying to dissuade me.”

I kissed the back of his shirt. “If you can be dissuaded, I think you should be.”

“No. I don’t think I can.”

He turned, pulled me to him and kissed me. Then he waited. After a moment of silence, he sighed. “My grand confession, my soul laid bare, and you aren’t even going to throw me a scrap, are you?”

“If you’re waiting for me to say that the idea of being a werewolf’s chosen mate is incredibly romantic, maybe swoon at your feet…”

“Perish the thought.”

“Granted, my mother would be thrilled to see me hook up with someone, but a fifty-year-old werewolf thief might not be her idea of the ideal partner.”

“We won’t tell her about the thief part. Or the werewolf part.” A pause. “Or the fifty-year-old part.”

“If you ask me whether a fifty-year-old werewolf thief is my ideal partner, in my idealized life…”

“I suppose not.”

“Sorry.” I looked up at him. “But if you ask me whether it’s what I want, my answer might be different. No guarantees. But there’s a strong possibility.”

“I can live with that.”

He scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom.