Her frantic gaze lit on the notebook propped on the counter. Perfect. She hurried over and flipped it open, hoping there’d be something interesting inside. More interesting than her inconvenient sexual awakening with a guy she couldn’t have anyway.
But nope. Supply lists. Spell recipes. Oh, wait.Jackpot.
“Hey.” She waved everyone over. “It’s the map of Nathan’s traps.” According to the key, hashtags indicated magical traps, asterisks marked physical devices, and checkmarks signified the placement of wards.
Blade eased next to her and pointed to one of the hashtags. Heat billowed off him like a furnace. Had he always run so hot? Or was it because he was angry at her? Or was guilt making her sense something that wasn’t there?
“That’s the one that caught Mace,” he said.
She forced herself to focus on the notebook and not Blade’s proximity. It would be easier if his hip wasn’t brushing hers. And if he didn’t smell as earthy as the forest.
“Nathan placed everything in a layered web pattern, with the cabin in the center.” She flipped the page and drew an uneasy breath at the chicken scratch and smears of blood on the back. “Guys. This was the last thing he wrote.”
Mace sank down hard on his bunk, as if his legs had given out. “What’s he say?”
“He was attacked by a wendigo while checking a trap.” She squinted, struggling to make out the last sentence. Despair and pain bled into the paper, along with his blood. “It tore up his chest and arms. He barely escaped.”
Jon cursed. “No onebarely escapesa wendigo.”
“What do you mean?” Blade shifted his stance, no longer touching her, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not. What she did know was that she hated that she’d noticed at all. She’d stopped being hyperaware of their every touch the moment they swore their oath and had accepted that neither of them wanted her the way she wanted them.
But their dynamic seemed to be shifting, which couldn’t be a good thing.
“It’s kind of like lycanthropy. If they get a hold of you, you turn.” Jon’s voice turned even more somber. “If the thing didn’t finish him off, Nathan’s a wendigo now. And he knows this land.”
Okay, yeah. That was a problem. Now, there were potentiallytwowendigos. And if Nathan was a monster who could evade his own snares…they were sitting ducks.
Chapter 7
Mace woke up in agony. Half the reason was that his eardrums were pulsing to the tune of Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon.” But Blade’s stupid alarm did what it was supposed to do. It made you want to get out of bed, even if it was to beat the crap out of him so he’d turn it off.
For once, though, Mace didn’t want to get out of bed. The mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable as hell, but he’d rather suffer in the bunk than put weight on his left leg.
And because the fun just couldn’t stop there, his cock ached too. The bastard throbbed painfully against the fabric of his sleep shorts, pointing directly at Scotty as if she was true north and his dick was the needle of a compass.
It wasn’t often that he hated being a lust demon, but right now, he’d give anything to not have to deal with the life-or-death consequences of his sex drive.
Groaning, he fumbled through his pack for the injector that would suppress the desires and keep him from dying for a little while. He and Blade had brought a three-day supply and a two-day emergency backup. With any luck, they’d be out of here long before they had to reach for their reserves. Things started getting dicey by the end of day three as the lack of real sex made them strung out, grumpy, and fighting to stay focused. Then there were the health risks, which included atrophied organs, fever, heart failure, and death.
So, yeah. Best to avoid using the injections often.
With that happy thought, his fingers found an injector pen just as Scotty sat up on the futon, her sleep-mussed hair floating around her bare, slender shoulders. He rarely saw her with her hair down. It brushed against her black tank top and mesmerized him, holding his gaze as he wondered what it would feel like to run his hands through the curls.
She stretched like a lean, graceful cat, the fine muscles in her arms and back flexing beneath smooth, freckled skin. Skin he’d tasted when he’d penetrated her throat with his fangs and swallowed her sweet, life-giving blood.
He’d fed from countless, nameless females, but what he’d done with Scotty had been more than feeding. It had been an experience. A strengthening of their connection. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel closer to her, but the sense of rightness left him reeling.
So did the guilt. He could tell Blade over and over that being with Scotty had only been about feeding, but eventually, he had to convince himself.
It’s natural to get turned on during feeding.
Scotty’s blood is only half human. She’s also a quarter angel and a quarter succubus, so, of course, his desire would be amplified. He’d basically been plugged into a supercharged battery.
There’s nothing to be ashamed of.
Remember the oath.
Fuck.
