Blood Kissed (Lizzie Grace 1)

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his breath warm as it brushed past my ear. “We’re okay.”

“I know,” I said through the tears and hiccups. “It’s just the relief.”

“If this is relief, I’d hate to see happiness.” I could hear his amusement even if I couldn’t see it. “And I think my shirt is going to need a serious wringing out.”

I laughed, as he’d no doubt intended, and pulled back a little. As I did, he shifted one hand from my back to my waist and brushed the moisture away from my cheeks with the other. His fingers were warm against my skin, his touch gentle. I licked my lips and tried to ignore the flick of desire, only to have any hope of control shattered as his gaze followed the movement and became heated. Between one heartbeat and another, the desire to resist—to not get involved with anyone else again—fled. All I could think of—all I wanted—was to kiss this man. I leaned forward imperceptibly and, in a moment of perfect synchronicity, our lips met, the kiss a teasing promise of heat and possibilities.

And that’s all it was.

He pulled away so abruptly that the cold afternoon air hit my face as sharply as a slap. I blinked as his eyes lost their heat and his expression settled into one of careful neutrality. Annoyance surged, but at my own moment of weakness rather than his sharp retreat.

What the hell was I thinking? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t made his opinion of me clear. I might have seen desire—might have even felt it—but it was surely nothing more than relief. Nothing more than a brief need to affirm life after such a close brush with death.

Footsteps approached and it was only then I remembered we weren’t alone. I glanced around. The man approaching was shorter and broader of shoulder than most wolves, with dark reddish hair and brown skin.

I smiled up at him as he stopped beside us. “Thank you so much for helping rescue—”

“There’s no need for that,” he cut in. “You’re just lucky I happened to be in the area.” He held out his hand. “I’m René Marin.”

I smiled and shook his hand. “Lizzie Grace.”

“The witch who owns the new café with the amazing cakes?”

Interestingly, there was no rancor in his question, and definitely no underlying distaste. The O’Connors might hold witches in very low regard, but it appeared the other packs didn’t.

My smile grew. “The very one. Next time you’re near, drop in. Cake and coffee will be on the house.”

“That’s an offer no sensible man could resist.” His gaze shifted to Aiden. “You need anything else?”

“Just the flashlight, if you don’t mind.”

René nodded. “I’ll be back in five.”

Aiden nodded, then rose. He undid the climbing gear then offered me his hand, his grip decidedly impersonal. Obviously, that very brief slip toward attraction was not going to happen again.

It should have made me happy, and yet, it didn’t.

Nor should it, given you’re both fighting what is ultimately unavoidable—

Says who? I cut in.

Says me after seeing the unspoken—and certainly up until this point, unacknowledged—desire surging between the pair of you, Belle said. Oh, and color me ecstatic that you’re safe. But if you can avoid such calamities in the future, I’d appreciate it. I’m far too young for gray hairs.

Idiot. To Aiden, I said, “Did you have any idea René was in the area, or was that call simply a wide cry for help?”

“The latter, but I was hoping he was close.” He untied the rope from my waist and began to roll it up. “He’s been reworking one of the old mines a couple of miles further down for some weeks now.”

“Why would a werewolf work an old mine?”

“There’s still plenty of gold in these hills, and these days we have better methods of finding it than they did back in the gold rush heyday.” He shrugged. “A lot of folks also use metal detectors around the tailings, with various degrees of success.”

“And here I was thinking this reservation was one of the richer ones.”

“It is, thanks to all the tourists coming to the mineral springs,” he said. “But no matter what you or others might think, the three packs here aren’t lolling around getting fat on the profits. Nearly all of it is plowed back into the reservation, and most of us work.”

I raised my eyebrows at the bite in his tone, and said mildly, “Generalizations suck, don’t they?”

He stared at me for a beat then a somewhat rueful smile touched his lips. “I guess they do.”