Stolen (Otherworld 2)

"Too late. I'm already packing."

"I don't need your help, and I don't nee

d your protection."

"And my company, darling? I suppose you don't need that either."

"Give it a rest. You only left yesterday, and I'll be joining you on Monday."

"Then I can save you two flights. I'll drive down tonight, and when you're done there, I can bring you back to Detroit--"

"No."

"I'm just trying to be--"

"Controlling, possessive, overprotective."

"I miss you."

"Nice try. The answer's still no. I can handle this."

"So what exactly are you handling?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow," I said. "After I speak to Jeremy."

"Anything good?"

"Maybe."

"Fun?" he asked.

"Definite mayhem possibilities."

"Come on. Tell me."

"Later."

"Tease," he growled.

"You want to hear teasing?" I asked.

"Sure, if you want me in Pittsburgh in an hour."

"It's a six-hour drive."

"Wanna bet?"

We went on like this for a while, forty-five minutes actually. Before we ended the conversation Clay had agreed--most grudgingly--not to follow me to Pittsburgh. I had to admit that since we'd been back together, he really had been working at being less controlling, possessive, and overprotective. Not that he was giving up and letting me lead a semi-independent life. We kept separate bedrooms, but that was as far as it went. He still expected me to be with him twenty-four hours a day. Even the separate bedroom thing was a joke. Having my own room only meant I had a place to store my stuff. Wherever I slept, Clay slept.

As part of my own relationship-saving efforts, I'd had to admit that this togetherness thing was part of Clay's nature. Bitten as a child, he'd forgotten ever having been human, and nothing in his later experiences convinced him he was missing out on anything. He was more wolf than human. About the togetherness thing, Clay would argue that you'd never see a wolf telling its mate that it had to "get away for a while" or needed "some personal space." They formed lifelong bonds that seemed to work out just fine despite the grievous lack of relationship therapy.

Clay and I had been together nearly twelve years. Well, "together" was a mild exaggeration. We'd started out twelve years ago, then there was the biting thing. After ten years of bouncing back and forth, I'd broken down and admitted to myself that I loved him and couldn't live without him--all that Harlequin romance stuff. Still, our relationship was hardly the sort of thing Harlequin would endorse. Clay and I went together like fire and gasoline--intense heat, incredible fireworks, and, occasionally, devastating destruction. I'd come to realize that was how we were. It wasn't a calm, stable relationship, it never would be, and, frankly, neither of us wanted that. Blissful domesticity was for other people. Give us fireworks and explosions, of both the positive and negative variety, and we were as blissful as could be.

I couldn't sleep that night.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, fighting off an unease that kept me from closing my eyes.

First, there was the question of the witches. Were they witches or not? Either way, I didn't trust their motivation. Too much of what they'd said didn't make sense. I should have called Jeremy as soon as I'd left their hotel. He wasn't going to be happy when he found out I'd waited a full day to tell him. At least two people knew I was a werewolf and I hadn't told either Clay or Jeremy. Where the hell was my head at? Should I call Jeremy now? It was 2:45 A.M. My flight left at 8:00. This could wait. Could it? Should it?