When she stripped out of her clothes, her panties were wet. Her inner wolf was howling. Siren looked at herself in the mirror, taking in her blue eyes and dark hair.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she whispered to herself. She was pissed at her inner wolf. Pissed at herself. Pissed at her body’s reaction to her mate.
Now she was naked, and he was just on the other side of that door, wearing gray sweatpants. She palmed her forehead and got in the shower.
While the water flowed around her shoulders and over her hair, she ran her fingers between her legs. Her clit was swollen and needy. She was so hot she couldn’t even touch herself.
Siren finished washing up and got out of the shower, hornier than when she got in. This was not working. She needed to do something. If she spent another day alone with Reed, she’d lose her mind.
While she got dressed, she asked herself what would be so bad about fucking him right now? He was her mate. Why was she resisting this? Why not just do what her body was demanding she do?
Then she thought about her mother. Always looking for love and meaning from men who couldn’t give it to her. How she’d chosen a man over her own daughter. Over everything meaningful in her life.
Siren would never allow that to happen to her. It didn’t matter that Reed was her fated mate. If she let her body tell her what to do, she was no better than the mother who’d betrayed her.
She dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt and went back into the bedroom. Reed was eating a brownie and watching TV on his bed.
When she glanced at him, she could see the faint outline of his cock through his pants. She jerked her gaze away and climbed under the covers. This was proving to be the hardest mission of her life.
Chapter
Eleven
The country roadinto Jackie’s property was cracked pavement and grass hills for eight miles after the highway turnoff. Barbed wire fencing ran parallel to both sides. Cattle dotted the distant slopes. Mountains to the south still held snow on the peaks.
Siren had been driving since they’d left the hotel that morning. It had been an awkward night full of fitful sleep and lust filled dreams she couldn’t seem to escape even during the day. Reed was silent in the passenger seat, satisfied with riding shotgun.
Dom’s instructions to the property had been specific. Turn right at mile marker 47, then drive 8.2 miles to a gravel road on the left. There would be a red reflector on the fence post. Jackie’s property would be at the dead end of the road.
She’d be expecting them.
Siren found the reflector and turned onto the gravel road. Stones crunched under her tires. They drove several miles along the driveway before cresting the final rise. Jackie’s place finally came into view, spreading out before them in a shallow valley.
The house was a one-story log construction with steep metal roofing. A covered porch ran the length of the front, supported by peeled log posts. Wood smoke rose from a river rock chimney, and solar panels were angled on the south-facing roof slope.
There was a detached shop about fifty feet behind the house, with metal siding on a concrete slab. About forty or fifty acres of native grass surrounded the buildings, growing green in the early season. Cottonwoods marked a stream cutting along the western edge.
They reached the gate, and she got out to find it closed but not locked. There was a camera on the gatepost, small and easy to miss. She swung it open and drove through. “She knows we’re here,” she told Reed before asking him to get out and close the gate behind them.
Siren parked beside a white F-350 dually with mud on the wheel wells and a toolbox in the bed. The front door opened before she killed the engine. Jackie walked out and started down the steps.
She was in her early fifties, tall, and fit. Her gray-streaked brown hair was braided down her back. She wore a Carhartt jacket, worn jeans, and work boots.
She crossed the gravel with unhurried strides and a military bearing that never quite faded. Siren and Reed stepped out of the SUV. The air smelled of wood smoke and awakening prairie. Jackie reached her and extended her hand.
“You must be Siren,” she said. “Dominic described you well. It’s good to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot of good things.” She turned to Reed with the same handshake. “And you must be the musician who recorded a murder.”
“That’s me,” he said, giving her a faint smile.
“You seem to be holding up well. Come on inside. I’ve got some coffee brewing.”
Jackie led them up the porch steps through the front door. The entryway opened into an open floor plan. The air smelled of coffee and something baking. The living area had a river rock fireplace with a low fire burning. Leather furniture faced the fireplace, and built-in bookshelves lined the walls on either side.
The living area opened into a kitchen with modern stainless-steel appliances. A long farmhouse table held manila folders, a laptop, and stacks of paper.
A hallway led to several additional closed doors she assumed were bedrooms and bathrooms. There was a backdoor in the kitchen that led to the shop.
In the kitchen, Jackie slid on an oven mitt, opened the stove, and bent over. She then pulled out a loaf of banana bread, the scent filling the air.
