Silent Embrace Book 2

TRISTAN

Tristan wasn’t much of a worrier normally. Then again, these circumstances were anything but normal.

In fact, after the seventy-two hours he’d had, he found it hard to imagine that life could ever be normal again.

He circled the building, just focusing on one step after another.

No one else in sight.

At intervals he broke into a jog, but it was never long before he slowed back down. He could never run far, or fast, with all these cameras in the yard.

Things had even been starting to settle in for him. Six months was a long enough time since the shake-up to give him a sense of where and how he spent his time, whom he saw, and why it mattered.

Whether he could put up with it forever was another story. But he had planned not to worry about that. Because he wasn’t a worrier.

Then Carrie had died.

And then Walker had all but died.

He had always taken Carrie for the rebellious type. Not one to put up a fuss or make a public spectacle, but a quiet schemer: a person who made things happen little by little behind the scenes.

She was a warrior—unusual for a Lazarus woman.

That was one of the many qualities Walker had found attractive and lovable in her. Tristan knew because sometimes Walker wouldn’t shut up about her.

In those early days, at least. Those courtship days. After they’d gotten together, Walker spent a lot less time with Tristan. He and Carrie became very insular.

It didn’t help Tristan’s loneliness.

Again, Tristan didn’t worry about being alone in the long term. He figured he found someone when he found someone. Or someone found him.

It wasn’t as though a time limit existed on finding the special thing that Walker and Carrie had shared.

It wasn’t as though the community would eventually stagnate to the point that Tristan would have to make it work with someone already in the compound—or die unmated.

It wasn’t as though he would finally settle down only to have his mate wrenched away from him, maybe by pure accident.

Was it?

On the other hand, he had his suspicions about Carrie’s death. She was a schemer. She ~was~ an independent worker. What had she been up to that night?

Walker didn’t know.

Even if he had known, he was too far gone by now to be able to make sense of it.

And even if he had known, he would take that type of thing with him to his grave.

His grave. Tristan shuddered involuntarily. Since he’d had to step into Walker’s place on the Council, there had been tension. Concern.

For starters, Walker had always been more passionate about matters of governance and politics, and Tristan couldn’t bring himself to feign that level of interest.

For another, Walker had just been more easygoing. Which was ironic, given how he looked now.

For a third, Tristan just didn’t trust Milo.

The guy was unfit to lead.

Hell, he doubted himself—why should anyone in Lazarus, including his own Council, believe in him?

And if they were going to be discussing whether to let Walker go on living—which was an interminably painful priority on the docket of every meeting for the foreseeable future—it would only get harder for Tristan to respect the man.

He wondered how Killian dealt with it.

Not that Killian was especially levelheaded. He’d nearly started a fight with Hannibal that last time.

Well, Tristan could say this much: if Walker met his end, and Milo had anything to do with it, there would be blood. There would be hell to pay.

Speak of the devil…

Tristan had just rounded the first nether corner. The back door of the building faced him from several yards off.

Just before the sliding metal closed, he glimpsed a familiar trench coat disappearing into it.

Milo?

The son of a bitch. What was he doing out?

He had obviously circled around from the guards’ entrance. No one outside of the guards was allowed there.

Was Milo conspiring with the fucking ~producers?~

Oh, this was rich. This was so much better and so much worse than Tristan could have guessed.

Now that he thought of it, it made sense. Milo was ineffectual. Politically impotent, you might say.

Tristan wouldn’t have put it past the guy to consult the creators of this mad invented world on how to do his fake job.

What did they have to do to get some respect around here?

That was what Tristan hated most of all. If he was going to live in this manufactured reality, he at least wanted to be treated with some respect.

Evidently that was too much to hope for.

He revved up into a sprint. Once around the building, and then it would be back in for a check-up on Walker.

Besides, the sky looked like rain.

KILLIAN

People had been avoiding Killian since the last Council meeting.

Maybe he was paranoid, but it seemed like he was less liked.

Not that he ever cared about his popularity amongst the other shifters, but now he had additional responsibilities to the people of Lazarus, including the human women.

Risking Blythe’s life was unfathomable to him.

All this overthinking exhausted a man. He was en route back to the room when he felt a hand on his other shoulder.

“Derek!”

Here was a guy he could always tolerate. Looking rather ruffled, by Derek’s standards.

“What’s going on, man?”

“Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure,” said Killian, but Derek was already motioning him around the corner into a more private spot where the cameras wouldn’t pick up a conversation.

They had eyes everywhere.

“Is everything alright?”

“Would I be talking to you like this if everything was all right?”

That was a point. Derek was a close acquaintance, but guards and residents were never really friends.

“Okay, shoot,” Killian said.

“I need a favor from you.”

Killian didn’t have to consider that one too deeply. After Derek had essentially saved his and Blythe’s lives, he was going to be affable. “Anything.”

“My sister, Rowan—well, half-sister—something’s happened at her job, something bad, and I need to go get her.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“I don’t have the details, but”—Derek dropped his voice—“her boss was killed.”

Killian’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

“I know. Anyway, the killers might be on to her, and she isn’t safe at her apartment. I’m planning to bring her here for the time being, so—she’ll need a place to crash—”

Killian put his hands on Derek’s bony shoulders.

“Blythe and I can keep an eye on her. Make sure she stays out of danger. We’ll put her in the back room. It’s small—Blythe just uses it for reading—but there’s a sofa and no cameras.”

Derek was obviously overcome with relief. “You don’t know what that means to me, man. I thought it might be too much to ask.”

“We’re here for you. Just come by.”

“Thanks.” After a quick handshake, Derek disappeared and Killian made his way to his room.

He had to tell Blythe they’d be expecting company.

When he opened the door, he found her clad in a towel. “Hey, you.” He kicked off his shoes.

“Hey.”

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Everything alright with you? You look...worried.”

“There’s…something I have to tell you.”

“What’s up?”

“Derek’s younger sister is coming to stay at Lazarus. With us.”

Blythe’s face paled slightly. “Really? Why us?”

“We’re the only ones he trusts with her. Something’s happened and she needs to go into—like a witness protection, of sorts.”

“Can we do that?”

Killian shrugged. “That inner room is probably the safest she’ll be anywhere.”

There was a mischievous glint in Blythe’s eye.

“When does she arrive?”

“Sometime tonight.”

“Well, then, I guess we’d better get this out of the way now.”

She unwrapped the towel.

Killian’s eyes opened wide.

“Are you sure?”

The towel hit the carpet.

“It’s been awhile. We’ve been through a lot. We could use a reminder that we’re alive.”

Killian didn’t need to be told twice.

He knelt on the bed and yanked her forward so she fell, laughing, into his arms.

He kissed her with a hunger that surprised him, and she returned it with equal energy.

When was the last time they’d made love?

Not for days.

Certainly not since the Carrie incident—the place had been consumed with commotion ever since, and Killian’s duties with the Council had intensified.

“I love you,” he murmured as she kissed his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead.

“I love you more,” she panted, and since she had just kissed his forehead he went for her neck, her shoulders, the sloped beginnings of her breasts.

She was perfectly formed to him. He adored her body.

She lay flat now, her mouth already open in anticipation.

He brought his left hand up and ran it through her fine hair, stroking it.

They sustained their kisses, but kept them shorter; they were establishing a rhythm, and they wanted to look into each other’s eyes.

One of the many things he loved about Blythe: she agreed on the importance of eye contact. He had been with so many women who would close their eyes, or avert them.

With Blythe everything was right. Everything was perfect.

“Come on,” she pleaded as she took his member in her hand and moved it to her warm center.

Her voice didn’t get high-pitched; it got low, husky, sexy.

He heard this voice in his dreams sometimes.

He bent down and nipped at the slope of her neck where her mating mark was, and she gasped with pleasure as he entered her.

Slowly at first, they rocked together.

“I love you,” Blythe said between the small, short moans that escaped her mouth with each of Killian’s thrusts.

“I love you,” Killian said into her ear as he began picking up speed. “So much.”

Faster and faster.

He had to make sure they came together.

It had taken them a few tries to get that right.

She’d kept saying it was okay, but it wasn’t okay to him.

Every staggered climax was an indication that they weren’t of the same mind.

And he wanted to share her mind. He wanted them to be two halves of one person.

Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling and then back down to him. This was going to work.

“Okay, okay, yes, yes…”

“This is it, you can—”

She couldn’t finish that, because they were both saying “Oh!” and then grinning and he was rolling off of her. They lay side by side, sated, happy.

“Killian.” She nestled into his arm while trying not to let her eyes wander up to the camera they both knew was in the corner of their bedroom.

“I wish I could mark you.” Blythe shifted her weight and rolled onto her side so that she could look into his eyes once again.

“It’s too dangerous. You know what happened with…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence.

Blythe nodded, but he could tell she still wasn’t done talking about this. Fortunately, she didn’t continue to push it for the time being.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Busy,” Killian called lazily as Blythe rolled further into him and kissed him.

“Killian, it’s Tristan. Emergency Council meeting.”

Killian sat up. “Fuck. A vote?”

Blythe slid off the bed and donned her towel again. “What could you possibly be voting on?”

He couldn’t look at her as he slipped back into his shoes. “Only one thing. Humans.”

“Humans?” There was a pause. “What about us?”

This was it. This was down to the wire.

“Killian!”

But he was out the door.