Mate Bond

  It was a shaky smile, but one that hit him in the gut.

  “Mom has some news,” Ryan said as Bowman at last picked up his fork.

  Bowman skimmed the tines through the thick stew. He’d use a spoon later, to slurp the last of the juices.

  Only, today, he wasn’t sure he could eat. He didn’t want to hear any news—he still hadn’t processed the last piece of news Kenzie had given him.

  “Later,” he said curtly. He dug into his jeans pocket and drew out the silver charm. “What do you make of that?”

  He slid the charm to Kenzie, and Ryan looked at it with interest.

  Kenzie lost her artificial smile. “It’s Fae.”

  “No shit,” Bowman said. “So what do you make of it?”

  “Old.” Kenzie turned it around in her hands, her food forgotten. She lifted the charm to catch the light. “Looks like it has some runes scratched on it, but I can’t read Fae. Pierce might be able to.”

  “What about your uncle? Could he read it?”

  Kenzie pursed her lips, a pucker that made him want to leap across the table and nibble on her mouth. “Doubt it. Uncle Cris loathes everything Fae. He only puts up with the Guardian’s sword because it’s necessary. But don’t ask him to read the runes on it.”

  “I’ll learn Fae,” Ryan broke in. To Bowman’s frown he said, “We should know as much about them as we can, right? The Fae bastards are plotting to drag us back to them to fight their battles again. I don’t think they’ll stop trying anytime soon, even if they lose out on controlling us through our Collars.”

  Bowman stared at his son, feeling shock. Had he been that perceptive at twelve years old? Bowman couldn’t remember, and he doubted it. He’d only wanted to run and hunt—who cared about pack problems? Ryan, on the other hand, was already thinking like a leader.

  Ryan reached for the charm, and Kenzie handed it to him. Ryan examined it as Kenzie had, but shook his head. “Not enough information to form a definitive conclusion.”

  “Who have you been hanging out with?” Bowman demanded as Ryan handed the charm back to his mother. “To be talking like that?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Uncle Cris. And Pierce. They know a lot. And Mom. She’s pretty smart.”

  “Well, warn me before you start using words like that again,” Bowman growled. He picked up his fork once more and this time shoveled stew into his mouth. It was good, and spicy enough to make his eyes water.

  “Yes,” Kenzie said. “Your father will need time to look them up.”

  She gave him a look so sly, so Kenzie-like, that Bowman dropped his fork. He wanted her with all the intensity mating frenzy brought, wanted her now, and here they sat at the dinner table with their son. Ryan ate happily, uncaring that Bowman burned for his mate.

  “I bet Gil would know what the words on the silver say,” Ryan said after a time. “If we could find him and figure out who he really is.”

  Bowman’s rising appetite encountered a wash of chill. “What do you mean, who he really is?”

  “Mom found out he doesn’t exist. At least, that Gil isn’t his name, and he’s not a human cop. Or maybe not even a human at all.”

  Bowman’s glare sliced across the table at Kenzie. “Tell me what the f—” He slapped the word aside. “Tell me what the . . . what he’s talking about.”

  Kenzie sent a severe look at Ryan—Bowman bet that she’d told Ryan to keep his mouth shut. Good for Ryan. He knew better than to obey that kind of order.

  Kenzie then launched into a tale that made Bowman forget about food, and almost about mating. “We need to find him,” Bowman said when she finished. “Why the hell are we having stew instead of hunting for him?”

  “Because you haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, and you haven’t slept much either,” Kenzie said. “If Gil doesn’t realize we’re onto him, he might contact me again, answering the twenty messages I left for him.”

  “You’re saying we should sit here and wait to see if he calls?” Bowman scraped back his chair and got to his feet. He swayed, exhaustion catching up to him. “Not after he came here and f— messed with me, and fed you that bullsh— bull crap about the mate bond. I’m going to make him pay for that.”

  “We don’t know what he is,” Kenzie said calmly. “He might be powerful. We need to find out more about him before we hunt him.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan said. “He might be a zombie.”

  “There are no zombies,” Bowman said, struggling to hang on to his patience. “There’s no such thing as the walking dead.”

  Ryan raised his brows. “Uncle Cris says vampires are real.”

  “They are,” Kenzie answered in a serene tone. “But they’re not dead. They have to drink blood to survive, but they’re as alive as we are. I met a couple in Romania.”

  “Will you two stop talking about vampires and the walking dead?” Bowman shouted. “You’re trying to distract me. Don’t tell me you’re not.”

  Kenzie picked up a glass of water and touched it to her lips. “Do you want me to tranq you instead? I can.”

  “Tranq . . .” Bowman broke off and stared at the stew as she gave him a knowing smile. “Kenzie, you did not put tranquilizer in my bowl of stew.”

  “No,” Kenzie said. “But I could have. I stuck a needle into your thigh as I served you the food. You were busy looking at my chest as I bent over you. It’s a slow-acting tranq, and you have a lot of body weight. It should be taking effect right about now, though.”

  Bowman’s rage flared as warm relaxation flowed through him. “Kenzie, damn you . . .”

  A breeze rushed past as he started to fall, and he was out before he hit the floor.

  * * *

  Bowman.

  Bowman woke, or thought he did. Everything was hazy, and a faint breeze blew in the open window of the kitchen. It was warm, summer, but the stew was still on the table. Ryan was gone, off to play with his friends probably. That was the beauty of Shiftertown. Ryan could run anywhere he wanted, do anything he wanted within its confines, and they never had to worry for his safety.

  These were happy days, and Bowman would do anything to hang on to them.

  “Hey, Bowman.”

  The voice belonged to Kenzie. She turned around from the stove to face him, wearing a tight dress that bared her thighs and showed him a deep shadow between her breasts.

  This was Kenzie younger, before they’d mated. Shifters aged slowly, but fifteen years could bring a change. Kenzie had borne a child since then, and her breasts were fuller now, but they’d been plenty sweet when she’d come to him in the roadhouse, where she’d been dancing with her friends.

  Dancing, letting her ass sway in that tight, short black dress, drawing the eyes of every male Shifter in the place. Bowman’s anger had wound high as he’d watched her being watched. He’d already decided she was his.

  She came to him in the dream as she’d done that night in the bar, arms overhead, body undulating slowly to the music. “Hey, Bowman. Come dance with me.”

  She’d been slightly drunk, and he’d figured her friends had dared her to flirt with him. Whatever the reason, his cock had flared to life, not that it had been very flaccid while watching her enjoy herself.

  “I don’t dance,” Bowman had said in a harsh voice.

  Instead of blushing and stammering, as a submissive wolf would, Kenzie only gave him a wide smile. “Too bad. I love it.”

  She walked away from him, giving him another smile over her shoulder. Walked away on those long, strong legs and mile-high shoes. The little shit.

  Bowman had kept his eyes on her the rest of the night, and when she’d waved her hand in front of her face and told her friends she needed some air, he’d followed her outside.

  She’d let out a little yelp as he caught her and pulled her around the corner to the back of the roadhouse. This side faced no parking lot, just weeds and the beginnings of woods.

  Bowman had pushed her into the wall, curving over her, one fist planted beside her he
ad to brace himself.

  Was she afraid of him? Intimidated? Cowed? No, she said, “Bowman, this is a new dress,” and tried to shove him away.

  “You want to dance?” Bowman had said, his voice going guttural. “This is how I dance, Kenzie.”

  Kenzie’s irritation had fled, her golden eyes softening. “Yeah?”

  Bowman leaned in to her, thrusting his knee between her thighs. “Exactly like this. Do you want to dance with me now?”

  Her whispered “Yes” had almost made him lose it. Bowman was very careful about what females he had sex with, and how much he let himself go. He couldn’t afford to drop illegitimate cubs here, there, and everywhere.

  With Kenzie, he didn’t care. He wanted her to carry his cub, wanted to put his hand on her abdomen and feel the cub kicking there. Needed it.

  How he didn’t have complete sex with her that night, Bowman never knew. He must have had massive self-control, which he seemed to have lost lately.

  Very quickly, he had his hands up her skirt, her panties down, her slick heat in his hands. She’d arched against him, the sounds from her mouth uncontrolled, her hips moving against his fingers. Bowman pleasured her with his hand, using one finger, then two, then three. At the same time, she’d fumbled open his jeans, her palm cupping his aching hardness.

  They’d pulled at each other, rubbing, sliding, grinding together. Kenzie’s breathless climax had opened up spaces inside Bowman he’d not known were there. Her honey had poured over his hands, her teeth on his earlobe had made him come himself, his seed flowing against her fingers.

  “Don’t stop,” she’d moaned. “Please.”

  Bowman, shaking, had brought her to pleasure again. Their kisses after that had been hot and savage and, at the same time, needing and loving.

  It had taken a long time for both of them to calm down. Then they’d leaned against the wall, side by side, breathing hard, taking in the peace of the night.

  They’d cleaned up with paper napkins Bowman had stuffed into his pocket from his fast-food lunch earlier in the day. Kenzie had straightened her clothes and given him a wide smile.

  “I gotta go,” she said. “Thanks for the dance.”

  “Anytime,” Bowman thought he answered. He watched her walk off, as graceful as ever in those high heels, tossing her napkin into the nearest trash can. She’d gone back into the bar, calm and uninhibited.

  Bowman hadn’t been able to keep still. He’d torn his clothes from his burning body, shifted to wolf, and gone for a long, long run.

  He wanted to do that now. Then again, he wanted the woman he found in the kitchen, who said, “Hey, Bowman,” and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Want to dance?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Bowman didn’t bother to ask where Ryan had gone. This was a dream—Ryan would be well, and Kenzie and Bowman were alone.

  Kenzie kissed his lips, then she took a step back, unzipped the dress, and let it fall, showing him what he’d suspected that night at the roadhouse—she wore nothing underneath but a pair of black lace panties.

  This Kenzie was not from his past. She was his Kenzie now. Her body showed new lines, her breasts were rounder, her nipples large and dark.

  Her attitude hadn’t changed, though, even after fifteen years of being mated to him. She canted her hip and smiled up into his face. “Now, what about my dance?”

  Bowman snarled. The haziness had gone, and he saw everything sharp and clear—the table empty of dishes, one light on against the growing dusk, the smile of his mate.

  He caught her by the shoulders. Kenzie’s lashes swept down, but not in shyness. Her hands, strong and competent, landed on his chest.

  She let out a laugh when her butt bumped the edge of the table. Bowman was still growling, the animal in him needing release . . . Who was he kidding? Everything in him needed release.

  Kenzie was gorgeous, her strong legs lifting under his touch, her soft hips pressing the table, her look growing languid. Bowman skimmed the panties off her and tossed them aside. Stepping between her legs, he leaned down and kissed her abdomen, then her navel, making her laugh.

  He kissed his way lower. Kenzie stopped laughing as he brushed his lips over the tender place between her thighs.

  She groaned. “Oh, no.”

  Oh, yes. Why not? Bowman licked her, tasting the beauty of her. Salt and sweet rolled together on his tongue, the scent of her arousal heightening his own.

  Kenzie rocked beneath him, moving with what he did. Bowman hooked his arms around her knees, lifted her hips, and slid his tongue all the way inside her.

  He loved the sounds she made of pure pleasure. No coy protests, no timidity. Kenzie enjoyed making love and had no qualms about letting him know.

  Bowman appreciated that. He knew that if he pressed his fingers there, she’d jump and hum in pleasure. If he licked there, the hum would turn to a sharp cry. If he thrust his tongue into her like that, she’d go crazy, her hands in his hair, begging him for more.

  “Love,” she gasped. “Love you.”

  Fire flowed with the words, erasing every restraint Bowman put on himself. He licked and suckled her, playing with her as she lifted to him, her coming sweet.

  He was wearing too many clothes. Bowman yanked off his shirt and jeans, hearing something tear, but he didn’t care. He threw the clothes from him and pressed Kenzie back down as she started to rise from the table.

  His cock was thick and hard, hot with wanting. Kenzie glanced down at it and sent him a tiny smile.

  Bowman lost his last shred of control. He lifted Kenzie’s hips, pulling them off the table, positioned himself, and slid swiftly inside her. All the way. Kenzie’s eyes widened, and she rose on her elbows.

  She was used to him, and yet she watched him in wonder, as though this was their first time together. The same joyful discovery, the same burst of mating need.

  Kenzie was tight, wonderfully tight, but she knew how to take him, how to rise to him so they fit perfectly. She clung to his arms, his skin slick with sweat, the cold of the winter evening nothing. Her cries of joy and the sound of their bodies against the table wound him into white-hot pleasure.

  She was his. Only his. Not Gil’s or whoever the hell he was. Kenzie belonged to Bowman. Always.

  “Love you,” he said, the words hoarse. He found it difficult to speak when they made love—he always struggled to put his profoundest emotions into words. But this was a dream, and he could let the words pour forth. “Loved you from the first day I saw you. It doesn’t matter about the mate bond, or the Goddess, or any of that shit.”

  Kenzie’s eyes widened, the gold of them glinting in the dim light.

  “It’s you and me that matter, Kenz,” he went on. “You’re my mate, the love of my life . . . My everything.”

  “Bowman . . .” she whispered.

  Kenzie reached for him. Bowman’s climax grabbed him at the same time, his coming twisting him like a tornado wind. He threw his head back, groaning, shouting words—no idea what he said, but mate, mine, love were all in there somewhere.

  When he looked down at Kenzie again, his breath coming fast, she tucked one arm behind her head and smiled at him. “We are good together,” she said softly.

  “Yes,” Bowman answered. “Damn it. Yes.”

  Then the dream rushed away—Kenzie, the table, the kitchen, and the light swirling like watercolors on oil—and all was darkness.

  * * *

  Bowman opened his eyes. He was lying on his side on the bed in their bedroom, still in his clothes. His eyes were sandy, his mouth parched.

  He rolled himself off to land on his feet, then sat quickly back down, his head spinning. He put his hands to it, groaning.

  Time had passed. The room was dark, the clock on the nightstand telling him it was nine P.M. Damn it. He was supposed to have met Cade and Jamie at seven to compare notes and discuss what Bowman and Cristian had found up in the woods.

  Kenzie opened the door and walked in. She was in
a sweatshirt and jeans, but she looked as good as she had in that slinky black dress—though maybe her standing in only the panties had been a little better. She carried a big glass of water, which she wordlessly handed to him.

  Bowman took it, a tingle running through his fingers as their hands brushed. He gulped the water, eying Kenzie over the glass. She watched him, a little smile on her face.

  “Why’d you tranq me?” he asked when he’d finished, his voice a croak.

  “You’d been running on adrenaline and no food. You looked terrible.” She wrinkled her nose as she took the empty glass. “You don’t smell that good either.”

  Bowman ran his hand through his hair. It did feel dusty and lank. “Thanks.”

  “If you want the truth, there was hardly any tranq in the stew I gave you. A couple drops, that’s it.”

  “Wait.” Bowman rubbed his hair again, trying to clear his head. “You said you stuck it in my thigh with a needle.”

  “I fibbed. Shows you how far gone you were. You believed you hadn’t felt the needle stick, and you believed me when I told you an untruth. You never let me lie.”

  “Kenzie, you’re a—”

  “Total bitch, I know. But I’m your mate. I take care of you, bitchy or not.”

  “I was going to say a pain in my ass.” I was going to say you’re an amazing woman, and I love you.

  Kenzie’s smile widened. “How about a shower?”

  Bowman’s need jumped to life, the dream lingering. His imaginings hadn’t sated him, not physically.

  “Take one with me?” he asked, voice going low.

  She put her hand on her hip, the sassy Kenzie returning. “You know how to wash yourself.”

  Bowman came off the bed, his strength returning. He ended up next to Kenzie, in her personal space, which was pretty small for Shifters. “Why are you so chirpy all the sudden?”

  “Because Gil is a fraud,” Kenzie said, eyes sparkling. “He tricked me into thinking I was forming a mate bond with him. He lied. He was trying to drive a wedge between you and me—I get that now. When I see him, I’m going to kill him.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Bowman gave her a grin, then sobered as he laid his hand on her chest. “But you felt something, right?”