Dearborn Page 17

  A rustling noise pulled my gaze away from the window. My eyes fell on the door as a slip of a paper slid beneath it. I leaped from the chair and bound across the room, remorse urging me forward.

  I swiped the note from the floor. Nothing had been added. It still read, ‘Forgive me.’ The yes box was still marked from earlier that morning. The check was written in pen—not because I hadn’t been able to find a pencil, but because my answer would always be the same.

  I threw open the door and my future stood in front of me with a tentative and contrite half smile on his face. He didn’t need to speak. The apology was written all over his heart, and it enveloped mine.

  He stepped into the room, bathing it in deep purples and warm, vibrant reds. It reflected everything I felt, making it impossible to discern where his feelings stopped and mine began. He cupped my face in his hands, his emerald eyes full of longing and sincerity. He brushed my cheeks with his thumbs and blanched at the tears he found there.

  “So this is what it feels like to feel someone else’s pain as your own.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. An acknowledgment of acceptance. He believed me. He accepted me. He’d hurt me but had hurt himself more in the process. He empathized with me.

  All of my curses and disabilities were forgotten. All of his flaws and afflictions be damned. He was unpredictable, damaged, and volatile. I was overly sensitive and hexed. We were a match made in either heaven or hell, but I wanted him regardless.

  My fingers burned to touch him. My heart ached to welcome him back. I wanted to feel him under my fingers and over my body and kiss our mistakes away.

  In seeming agreement, he slid a hand around my head, threading his fingers through my hair, forcing me to look him in the eyes until his mouth covered mine. Our tongues tangled with one another, speaking silent promises that nestled into my soul and made a home there.

  I was only vaguely aware of the hotel door slamming shut as we moved further into the room. Our hands everywhere all at once, we were pulling at clothing that seemed to disintegrate into thin air. I ran my fingers up his bare chest, marveling at every ridge and ripple. He was beautiful and perfect, and I kissed the small scars peppered across his chest. To him, the scars were probably merely another reminder of the war he’d fought and the battles he’d lost, but to me, they epitomized all of his best qualities. Brave, resilient, and strong.

  He pushed me backward onto the bed with a wry smile, and I propped myself on my elbows while I watched him pull off his jeans. His boxers followed, and he stood gloriously naked in front of me, knowingly and willingly this time and without an ounce of the humiliation I’d sensed before.

  I sucked in a breath, my eyes wide, and my heart rattling in my chest.

  He’d been magnificent in the yard with only the light of the strobing thunderclouds behind him, but it was nothing compared to the sight of him naked, bold, and bright in a room he filled with streams of Dearborn colors.

  “Your turn.” His voice was deep, rough, and intoxicating as he leaned over me. He trailed kisses across my bared stomach as he hooked his thumbs into the sides of my panties. He pulled them down my legs, moving away from me as he did so, leaving only the heat of his gaze to warm me. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Willow.”

  I smiled as his mouth reversed where his eyes had been, first planting small kisses up the inside of my thigh and then exploring everything he’d been unable or unwilling to accept until this night. I fell backward, unable to support myself any longer, and weaved my fingers through his hair as his mouth paid reverence to my body.

  So many feelings. So many sensations.

  Moments like this were rare. The only thing clouding my mind and coloring my feelings was Quinn’s adoration.

  A hiss escaped my lips as he found the spot.

  I uttered intelligible words, begging for more of him, all of him.

  Quinn’s hands, rough from the weeks of working on my house, pushed my thighs up so I spread wide and bare as he climbed higher over me. “So worth the wait,” he mumbled into my neck.

  Those words alone were nearly enough to send me over the edge, but I held on, not wanting to let go until he did. I reached down and wrapped my fingers around him. I guided him to where I needed him and then held my breath as he slid inside.

  I was filled to the hilt with him as well as some emotion I knew better than to try to label.

  He paused, waiting for me to adjust to the moment, and when he moved again, my breath hitched. His pace was slow and purposeful as he looked into my eyes. There was no question in them now. He knew how he felt about me and how to show it even if he couldn’t speak it.

  His fingers left blazing trails across my skin while mine dug into his back.

  I quaked beneath his touch.

  He found that spot again, and more incoherent pleas rolled out of my mouth.

  He responded, quickening the rhythm he’d set until we both, nose-to-nose, gasped in unison. I rocked against him and the world came alive as he bathed me in his color. A shudder ran the length of me and I laid silent, reveling in the feeling of him all around me.

  When I finally opened my eyes, he was watching me tentatively. “What do you feel now?” he asked, his breathing still ragged.

  I brushed my fingertips up and down his arms. “Content. Satisfied. Deliriously happy.”

  He chuckled, and it filled my heart with warmth. “I didn’t ask how I felt. I asked how you felt.”

  He collapsed around me, pulling me against him and wrapping his arms around me. Somehow, it felt as if he was everywhere at once, touching every piece of me.

  I was probably still smiling as I drifted off to sleep.

  I AWOKE TO FIND THE bed empty and the room dark. When my call for him went unanswered, I pulled myself begrudgingly from the bed. I rummaged through my bag for a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt, somehow knowing he hadn’t gone far.

  I stumbled through the hotel lobby with bare feet and groggy eyes, using my intuition to find him. He sat alone at the end of a long hall in the exhibit area of the hotel. His fingers lightly tapped on the edge of the bench. He was lost in thought, absorbing the pieces hanging on the walls around him.

  I cleared my throat so as not to sneak up on him or startle him. When he smiled in return, I took it as an invitation and took the last few steps to sit down beside him.

  “Were you having trouble sleeping?”

  “Not like usual, no. I slept really well, but then I was wide-awake. I didn’t want to disturb you. The sign out front for this exhibit caught my attention earlier this afternoon. I wanted to come check it out.”

  It had caught my attention too. “It’s lovely,” I said, gazing at the bronze sculpture of the mounted doe head that had held Quinn’s attention before I’d approached. She was dainty and sleek in comparison to the magnificent hammered copper buck hanging beside her. My eyes naturally drifted to the male, but Quinn’s were riveted on the female.

  He was quiet for a moment and I waited.

  Finally, he took a deep breath as if he needed it for what he would say next. “How do you do it?”

  “What?”

  “If you feel everything I feel, then how can you stand to be around me? Why would you want to be in such an ugly place?”

  I slipped my hand into his and threaded my fingers through his fingers. I thought of how it felt to finally sleep next to him, our legs intertwined and his chest expanding against my cheek. “I want to know you, Quinn. All of you. The grief I sometimes feel when I sit next to you is because of the road you’ve walked. You’ll have to walk it again if you want to move forward, but you won’t walk it alone.”

  I rubbed my thumb against his wrist. “Besides, there is no part of you that is ugly. I think you’re beautiful inside and out. Every scar. Every flaw.” I tore my eyes away from his face and looked again at the exhibits. “You’re just as beautiful as everything in this museum.”

  He was quiet for a few minutes.

&
nbsp; “There was this deer in the forest the other day,” he finally said. “She was so beautiful. Her coat was glossier than I’d ever seen on a deer in our area. When I came out of my PTSD episode, she was lying smack-dab against me as if she was trying to keep me warm or keep me company. She looked at me with these big brown eyes, and it was almost as if she was speaking to me, telling me to stay calm because it would be okay. When the guys got close, she let out a bleat and then ran away. I swear she was telling them where I was.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Maybe she was. Animals are very intuitive, you know. She probably knew you were in trouble.”

  He shook his head as if still in disbelief. “Maybe so, but I’ve never known a wild animal, especially a deer, to act like that.” His eyes swept the walls, roaming from one mount to another. “I can’t shoot them anymore. There’s no way. She doesn’t realize it, but she risked her life by being there. Will, this is going to sound crazy, but I almost want to find her and thank her. Give her a carrot or something. I don’t know.”

  I giggled. “I’m sure she would appreciate it. What deer doesn’t enjoy a carrot?” I rubbed my thumb against his hand and then squeezed it. “Quinn?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “Will you take me back to bed?”

  He stood, scooping me into his arms at the same time. “You’ll never have to ask me twice again.”

  He carried me, nestled in his arms, back to our room where we rocked each other back to sleep.

  WILLOW

  QUINN WAS ON THE MOVE again. I rolled over and watched him walk naked toward the open doorway of my bedroom. Shoulders back, head up, his body was a wonderland of angles and curves I was still getting to know.

  He’d stayed with me both nights since we’d returned from Cincinnati. The first night, I woke up and he was already gone, but this time, I’d caught him in the act. I definitely preferred to see him coming rather than going though he was a vision from any angle.

  I patted the bed to get his attention. “Where are you going?” I whispered. When he didn’t answer, I assumed he was sleepwalking.

  I’d always heard you shouldn’t wake a sleepwalker, so I decided to follow him instead. Truthfully, after watching him come back naked from the woods the week before, I was a little curious to see where he went in his sleep. I didn’t like him being out there by himself.

  I pulled on the sweatshirt thrown across the end of my bed and a pair of yoga pants while walking down the hall. Quinn walked through the house as if he knew exactly where he was going and let himself out the back door. I purposely kept my distance, waiting until he was halfway across the lawn before I followed so I wouldn’t spook him.

  His pace was a leisurely stroll until he hit the tree line and then he took off at a sprint. I shot across the yard after him but came to a sudden halt when the air around him turned iridescent. It shimmered and quaked, and in a flash of a second, Quinn was no longer a man but the most glorious animal I’d ever laid eyes on. While I stood silently as a field mouse behind him, he snorted and tossed his head. He stamped on the ground and then took off, leaping over the creek in a stunning display of grace. He zigzagged through the trees as magic I’d never sensed from him glittered around him.

  Quinn was two-natured and beautiful and my heart capsized from the sheer amount of adoration it held.

  But a darker cloud of realization was fast on its heels. I didn’t need to count the tines on his head to know he was the eighteen-point monster the town was clamoring to kill. His rack was more than impressive, reminding me of the stories I’d been told about another buck who’d roamed our woods many years before. Just as everyone in town referred to Quinn as The Monster, the one before him had been known as The Legend. Was it possible Quinn came from the same bloodline? His white tail disappeared into the denser part of the forest while fear kept my feet rooted to the ground.

  Dread filled my chest.

  That massive set of antlers had been a death sentence for the one before him. It had turned otherwise cordial hunters into fierce competitors. They tracked him and baited him. They shared stories of sightings, even going so far as to devote a small article in the Sunday paper to him every week but tucking away the best information into their own pockets. They all wanted him, but no one suspected The Legend was a Woodland Creek citizen and that losing him would also mean losing the new doctor who’d moved to town not too long before.

  To both sides of the community, it had all seemed like harmless fun. The hunters took to their tree stands, but the deer shifters considered themselves too smart to ever be caught in the crosshairs of a rifle. That confidence had cost them. They’d underestimated the tenacity of the hunters and their desire for the grand trophy upon The Legend’s head.

  He’d fallen on a November morning, not unlike the current one. The hunter who brought him down had tracked him for miles before losing him in the woods. He’d told the story many times, and no one doubted his story since The Legend was never seen again.

  I squinted, trying to catch sight of Quinn through the trees. He wasn’t safe in shifted form just as The Legend hadn’t been safe. We were in the middle of deer season, and while it was unlikely that there were any hunters out at this time of night, any reported sighting of Quinn would only fuel the fire.

  I ran to the tree line, knowing it was futile. I’d hesitated too long, and he’d disappeared into the trees—just as the doctor had disappeared so many years ago. Wrapping my arms around myself, I paced along the tree line. The chill of magic was still in the air, begging me to ask myself some hard questions. Why, when I’d told Quinn about the special natures of the citizens of Woodland Creek, had he looked at me with such disbelief? Why hadn’t he told me the truth about himself then? Surely, he knew I could accept he was different too.

  And why had he seemed to have such a hard time accepting what I’d told him? As far as I knew, I was the only empath in Woodland Creek, but many two-natureds had special powers in addition to their ability to shift. As a two-natured, he would know that. Learning about my special abilities shouldn’t have been such a shock to him; yet, it clearly had been.

  I continued to pace, kicking through the brush as I tried to piece together the puzzle that was Quinn Dearborn. I laughed at the clue that had been right in front of my face all along. Like Ryan’s last name of Balere, Quinn’s name hinted at his heritage. Then again, the name belonged to his mother, and to my knowledge, she wasn’t two-natured.

  My foot kicked something and I brushed the leaves away with my foot to discover Quinn’s boot. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place, filling a gaping hole that had been nagging at me. One day, Quinn’s ankle had been broken. The next, it was well enough to walk on and climb ladders. By the evening, he hadn’t had a limp at all.

  Of course.

  It was a known fact that shifters were rapid healers. Even in human form, they healed faster than average humans did. In shifted form, it was downright miraculous. If Quinn had shifted during the night before our Cincinnati trip, his ankle could have easily healed by morning.

  I chided myself for not figuring it out then, and racked my brain trying to remember exactly what he’d said about it. Had he given me any hints? I was sure he hadn’t. He’d looked as confused as I’d felt when he’d said he’d tried standing on it that morning and discovered it was better. He’d said he’d been misdiagnosed all of his life. He seemed to accept that answer, but why had I?

  I’d been stupid. Blinded by my infatuation with him and my desire to have a relationship with someone who hadn’t been touched by the magic of Woodland Creek. The signs had been right in front of me.

  I marched myself back to bed and stripped my clothes off so he wouldn’t know I’d followed him. In a few hours, it would be time for me to get dressed again and open the diner. I hoped Quinn would rejoin me before then because I had a confrontation in mind.

  I tossed and turned with no real hope I would fall sleep. My mind was all over the place, wanting to accuse Quinn of lyi
ng to me but knowing I had no right.

  When he crept back into the room more than two hours later, he walked, not with the straight back and proud shoulders he’d had when he left, but as a man with a guilty conscience. I squeezed my eyes shut and saw streams of weary browns and cautionary yellows. The combination was acidic; eating holes through what I’d decided was the truth only moments before.

  An anomaly among otherwise proud creatures, he slid into bed, still smelling of cedars and crisp Indiana air. He settled beneath the thick down blanket, and his heavy heart instantly defused my anger.

  “Where did you go?” I whispered.

  He froze and then let out a long, frustrated breath. Regret and confusion filled the space between us. “I assume there’s no point in lying to you. You’ll see right through it.” There wasn’t a hint of annoyance in his voice, only resignation, proving he was close to accepting the intrusive nature of my abilities.

  “Only if it gives you a guilty conscience.” I slid closer and slipped my leg over his, curling into his side. His arm came around me, pulling me against him. “Would it give you a guilty conscience?”

  “Lying to you? Yes.” His conviction hung heavy in the air around us. “And why would I after everything we’ve been through?”

  “Does it feel like too much sometimes? I worry it’s too much with everything else you’re dealing with.” We hadn’t been together for very long, but nothing had come easy for us.

  “What do you think?” He was testing my abilities.

  “I think you know you can handle it,” I answered honestly.

  “I know I can handle you.” As if to prove it, he slid his palm up my bare thigh. The pads of his fingers grazed along the curve of my backside. I closed my eyes reveling in his touch and the adoration of it.

  “And I can handle the truth, Quinn. I can accept anything you tell me. Where were you tonight?”

  He was quiet for a few long seconds before he spoke. “Would you believe me if I said I’m not sure?”