Wolf Kiss (Warrior Wolves Book 1) Read online

  “Aye. Thank you.” He stepped toward it, resting his hands on the back, but still not sitting until Brandy lowered into her seat. Then he sat, giving her a smile that made her hungry for dessert again.

  Post-dessert really.

  ****

  So this is what a home looks like? Reardon glanced around the tidy dining room, the food spread out on the table, the folks gathered around to share the meal. He’d never been a part of anything like this. Most of his meals as a child had been more of the stolen variety. A loaf of bread here, a piece of fruit there, always a found meal instead of a planned one. His mother wasn’t the cooking type either, so he and Jaemus had usually fended for themselves. Never had the three of them sat together at the same time and eaten the same food.

  Not once.

  Sitting here now with these people made conflicting emotions rise up inside him. On the one hand, he was thrilled to be amongst them, accepted into their group and enjoying their company—especially Brandy’s and Dylan’s. On the other hand, he couldn’t help feeling he didn’t quite belong there.

  Of course he didn’t belong there. This wasn’t his home. This wasn’t his time. He had no right to insert himself into this family, but he couldn’t shake the sense that perhaps it was his destiny to be there. Saving Brandy and Dylan earlier today was clear evidence that his presence in Canville, Vermont meant something. At least to them anyway. Of course, they wouldn’t have been in any danger if Flidae wasn’t pissed at him.

  But he also couldn’t ignore the pull he had toward the beautiful, red-haired fairy lass and her energetic boy. He’d fallen for them in wolf form and his human form was beginning to feel the same way.

  “Steak cooked how you like it, Reardon?” Parker asked.

  “Aye.” Reardon held up his fork with a piece of pinkish steak speared onto it. “A little wriggling still. Exactly how I prefer it.”

  Brandy scrunched up her nose. The movement put the most adorable expression on her perfect face. “Ugh. Pink stinks. I like mine cooked all the way.”

  “You like yours until it’s tough enough to use as a spare tire.” Parker shook his head. “I always feel as if I’m completely ruining a perfectly good steak when I cook yours.”

  Brandy stuck her tongue out at Parker and he waved his knife at her, slicing his index finger across his neck in a threatening gesture. She laughed so Reardon tamped down the urge to take Parker outside and give him a lesson on how a man treated a lady. Brandy and Parker teased each other. That was their relationship, but it took a little time for Reardon to understand that. He’d never had a female friend. He wasn’t sure how a man could simply be friends with a lass like Brandy.

  Doesn’t Parker have eyes? From where Reardon sat, Brandy was a million times more attractive than Chella and had the personality to go with those incredible physical features. So far, what he’d seen of Chella put her in the lacking category.

  “What are you going to do about a car now?” Chella asked Brandy.

  “I’ll borrow Mom’s until I can work out the details with the insurance company. Then I guess I’ll be shopping for some new wheels.” Brandy didn’t look too happy about having to do that.

  Reardon had no idea what kind of experience purchasing one of those vehicles was, but if it was anything like securing a ship, he understood why she wasn’t happy.

  “Can we get a venom red Dodge Viper?” Dylan asked, his mouth full of steak.

  “Because that’s a practical car for Vermont.” Meredith reached over and rubbed Dylan’s head. “Next, he’ll be wanting a motorcycle.”

  Dylan’s eyes brightened. “Yeah!”

  “No,” Brandy, Meredith, and Parker said in unison.

  Dylan leaned toward Reardon. “They always say that.”

  “They care about you. That’s a good thing, no?” Reardon wouldn’t mind having some people care about him that way. He had his men—well, he used to have his men. Before he betrayed them all in the name of fame, glory, and riches. He gritted his teeth over the memory of his selfishness.

  “It’s good.” Dylan shrugged. “I don’t want a motorcycle anyway. I want my own snowmobile.”

  “And someday you will get one.” Brandy handed him a napkin and pointed to his chin where some rogue barbecue sauce rested.

  “Someday after I’ve given you a million snowmobiling lessons,” Parker said, winking at the boy.

  Reardon knew Parker had been a part of this group for a great deal of time, but he couldn’t help feeling jealous of that fact. He wished he could manipulate time—like Flidae had—and get to the day where Brandy knew all about him and accepted and cared for him.

  All of him.

  “Are you here in Vermont to stay?” Chella asked.

  “I hope so,” Reardon said. “It’s beautiful here.”

  “Where are you from?” She took a sip of her wine, licking her lips in a way that told Reardon he’d bought a suitable kind. The choices had been many. Not at all like in his time and place.

  “Ireland.” Short answers would get him through this night. He had to believe that. It was the only plan he had.

  That and somehow getting his hands on Brandy later tonight.

  “Who leaves Ireland to come here?” Chella frowned, her face becoming even less pleasing.

  “Apparently, he does.” Meredith arrowed a thumb toward Reardon. “Sometimes a man needs a tranquility only the woods of good old Vermont can provide, right?”

  “Aye. There is a certain peace here.” And he’d never been one to surround himself with peace. Just the opposite in fact.

  “Except when you’re running into the street to save us,” Dylan said.

  “Well, I didn’t want too much peace.” Reardon glanced at Brandy. “Too much peace would be boring.”

  Brandy’s cheeks colored nicely, and Reardon got the impression her mind was following his down a possible path for them both that would definitely not be boring.

  “I hate being bored,” Dylan said.

  “So do I,” Chella added, sounding like a person Dylan’s age rather than Parker’s.

  “Fortunately, you have me, my dear,” Parker said, nuzzling Chella’s cheek with his nose. “I am anti-boredom.”

  “Humble too.” Brandy winked at him, and again, Reardon wanted that attention directed toward him.

  “You never would have made it through college without my anti-boredom strategies,” Parker said. “I should write a book.”

  “Yeah, a coloring book,” Brandy shot back, earning a laugh from the group.

  “Coloring books are popular right now,” Chella said. “I bought three of them online yesterday.”

  Brandy regarded Chella then slid her gaze to Parker. Her eyebrow slowly rose above her right eye. Reardon got the impression she was communicating with Parker without words.

  What message is she sending? He would have loved to know because he definitely sensed some tension along with the message.

  Parker narrowed his eyes at Brandy then turned his attention back to his plate. “So Dylan, I was up at Mrs. Rangeley’s farm yesterday and she has five more dwarf goats that need naming. She wanted to know if you have any suggestions.”

  “Do you have any pictures of them? I need to see them to name them.”

  Parker nodded. “They are on my phone. I’ll show you later and we can text her some options.”

  “Okay.”

  The rest of the meal passed with what Reardon assumed was normal family conversation. Topics like the high summer temperatures expected next week, when Dylan was going to camp, new books Meredith ordered for the library, and how Parker planned to do the wolves’ annual physicals were discussed. Reardon listened mostly, not loving that last topic much, considering he was technically one of Silver Moon’s wolves. He’d have to think of a way to get out of that experience if he could. It was one thing to have Parker tend to him when his leg had been broken. It was another to have the thorough veterinarian poking around his body.

  Everyone pitche
d in to clean up then Brandy served something delicious called brownies. The group had moved to the patio behind Brandy’s cabin and Parker lit a fire in a small stone pit. Cricket song mixed with the hiss, crack, and pop of the flames. Shadows danced all around everyone. Moonlight filtered through the trees.

  Reardon couldn’t imagine a more perfect evening. He didn’t want it to end, but soon Parker and Chella were saying their goodbyes. Meredith was ushering Dylan inside to pack up some of his things to stay with her for the night.

  Brandy hadn’t moved from her position across from Reardon, flames still flickering in the fire pit between them. Did she want him to go? Did she want him to stay? He had no idea what current etiquette called for in this situation. Was it rude of him to linger?

  Did he care if he were rude? He definitely didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

  “Do you like whiskey, Reardon?” Brandy leaned forward, the firelight making her hair glow. She looked even more like a fairy lass now.

  “Aye.” In fact, he’d been tempted to bring that instead of wine, but the storeowner convinced him wine was a better selection for a dinner event.

  Brandy got to her feet and walked around the fire pit, stopping to stand in front of him.

  He made a move to get to his feet, but she gently touched his shoulder and nudged him to stay in his seat.

  “You don’t have to rush off anywhere, do you?” she asked.

  “Not unless you wish me to.”

  A slow smile turned up her lips. “I don’t wish you to. I’ll be right back.”

  He looked over his shoulder as she slithered through the darkness and disappeared into the house. Anticipation ran wild throughout his body. He wanted to howl at the moon, but contained the urge. Instead, he got up, walked to the small wood pile beside the patio, and added a few logs to the fire. In a couple of moments, the flames reached high again, pouring an orange glow over everything. He poked the fire, adjusting the logs and it climbed a little higher.

  Reardon was reminded of all the fires he’d built with his men as they camped under the stars dotting the skies over Ireland—and how Erik Rheagan stomped them out with his bare feet when they were done. The lad had feet of iron, and remembering the man made an ache pulse in Reardon’s chest. How were all his men faring? Where were they? Flidae had hinted that some of them hadn’t landed in a comfortable situation as he had.

  He looked up at the night sky and focused on dark treetops. He’d never minded being outside. Being part wolf gave him a connection to the outdoors—a connection he’d never fully enjoyed. Silver Moon Sanctuary was changing that for him.

  While in wolf form, he’d done nothing but spend time outside. The sanctuary had a small area with wooden shelters for the wolves, but he hadn’t seen many of the wolves use them. Maybe when the weather got worse they would, but this summer had been gorgeous so far, and sleeping out in the open had been the norm.

  For the other wolves anyway.

  Reardon spent most of his nights curled up on the floor of Brandy’s room. He’d known that was a special privilege, especially because he was the newest wolf in the sanctuary, but he’d earned his place there by defending her against Hank Swift. While he hated that the man had scared her—touched her—he didn’t mind the way she sought safety from his wolf.

  Could she seek things from his human too? Gods, he hoped so. He was definitely willing to give her whatever she might need or want.

  Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned away from the fire to find Brandy standing there with a glass held out to him. Ice clinked as he took the glass from her.

  “What should we drink to?” she asked, her own glass held aloft.

  “Whatever the lass wishes.” He took a step closer.

  Her tongue came out to wet her lips, and Reardon had to keep himself from tasting her instead of the whiskey.

  “To heroes who save the day.” She angled her glass at him.

  “I’m hardly a hero.” If she only knew what he’d done to his men. How Flidae had banished him. How he’d lived the life of a savage.

  She shook her head. “You said we could drink to ‘whatever the lass wishes.’ I wish to drink to you, Reardon.”

  He tapped his glass to hers then they each tossed the whiskey back in one gulp. It burned the back of his throat exactly as it was supposed to then heated his chest in a warm, spreading wave.

  Brandy held her hand out for his glass. She set both of them down on a small, iron table.

  “Listen.” Her voice was soft, tentative, a little raspy from the whiskey. “I don’t know much about you, Reardon, but what I do know, I like. A lot.”

  But you do know me. He wanted to tell her that so badly.

  Reardon put his hand to his chest. “You honor me, fairy lass. I’ve had a very enjoyable evening.”

  She smiled, a glint of confidence shining in her eyes now. “Parker’s steaks are pretty amazing, aren’t they?”

  “I wasn’t referring to the steaks.” He took another step closer. Close enough that he could reach out and touch her. If he wanted to.

  And he wanted to.

  “The wine you brought had a fine taste.” Brandy took his hand—the one without the unnecessary bandage—and walked backward so she still faced him. She tugged him toward the house.

  “I wasn’t referring to the wine either.” Reardon took her other hand and allowed her to pull him into the kitchen.

  “Hmm. The brownies? Dylan’s hero worship of you? Meredith’s jokes? Chella’s… sandals?” Her smile was full on now, amusement reflecting in her wide, blue eyes.

  “No, no, no, and definitely no.” Reardon backed Brandy up against the wall between the kitchen and dining room.

  She slid her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, a wicked little gleam in her eyes heating him all over. “Then what has made your evening so enjoyable?”

  Reardon put his hands on her waist. Slowly, he leaned in close enough to put his lips to her ear. “You, lass. I’ve enjoyed you.”

  “You haven’t yet.”

  She rose to her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Sparks exploded in his body and a low growl of possession rumbled in his throat.

  Whether she knew it or not, Brandy Wendon had become his with that kiss.

  Chapter Ten

  Who was this seductress and what had she done with Dr. Brandy Wendon? How had she gotten herself in a liplock with an almost complete stranger?

  And had she actually been the one to initiate said liplock?

  Brandy pushed all those questions to the dark recesses of her mind and gave herself over to kissing Reardon. Shit, he was a fabulous kisser with those full lips. Just the right amount of pressure, warmth, skill. The kiss reached places all over her body. Places gone dusty with neglect.

  This was nothing like the kissing experiment she and Parker had indulged in a few weeks ago. Parker knew his way around a woman’s mouth, but Reardon? Good God. When his tongue gently caressed hers and his hand came to rest at the back of her head, holding her in the kiss, she nearly lost her ability to stand on her own two feet.

  Not that she was actually standing to begin with. Leaning. She was definitely leaning. Into Reardon’s body. Against all that hard muscle. Drowning in his heat. Craving more.

  Another low growl vibrated in his throat. The sound was so wolf-like, so familiar, resonating deeply within her on a primal level. She felt like an animal herself, all her senses heightened, ultra-tuned, zeroed in on only Reardon.

  His hands slid down to cup her bottom as he deepened the kiss. When those same strong hands found their way to the backs of her thighs, she moved on instinct to let him lift her. Her legs clamped around his waist and her ankles linked at his back while his hands climbed up to her shoulders, pressing her closer still.

  How close could two humans get? Could they inhabit the same space? Because she wanted to. Physics be damned.

  Reardon broke the kiss, his breath coming in gasps. “Forgive me, lass. I take too many libertie
s.” His green-gold eyes were filled with remorse and something… else. Something Brandy couldn’t identify.

  She cupped his cheek, rubbing her palm against the short, bristly beard on his jaw. “No. Forgive me. I give too much away.” Brandy brushed her lips against his once, twice. Short, teasing pecks. “But I can’t seem to stop myself.” She bit her bottom lip and looked him directly in the eyes. Not an easy task as intense as his gaze was. “If you don’t want to—”

  His fingers came up to rest against her lips, silencing her. “I want to. Desperately.” It was his turn to press a few, quick kisses to her lips, along her jaw, in the curve of her neck, which made her wild with wanting. “But are you sure?”

  Brandy nodded. “It’s occurred to me that I never do anything for myself. I’m always doing things for Dylan and Meredith. Even Parker. Definitely for the wolves. It’s high time I did something for me.”

  “And so you want to do me?” Reardon’s mouth turned up on the left side, his eyes darkening to a deeper green-gold.

  She hit his shoulder. “Don’t get cocky. I could change my mind. Let logic and reason take over.”

  “Forget logic and reason. They are no friends of mine.” He hiked her up a little higher on his body, burying his nose in her hair and kissing a line from one ear, under her chin, and over to the other ear.

  “Logic and reason are too friendly with me… but not tonight.”

  She slid down from her perch on Reardon and grabbed his forearm. After leading him down the hallway and up the stairs, she pushed open the door of her bedroom and hoped to God Meredith and Dylan didn’t have to come back to the house for anything. What in the world would she say to Dylan?

  Hey, honey. Mom wanted a playmate. One she could play with naked.

  Ugh. She had to shake this line of thinking from her warped mind. Meredith had given her “the eye” before she’d left with Dylan. The message had been clear.

  You’ve got the house to yourself. Go crazy.

  She had to admit to feeling a little on the crazy side. Why else would she be turning on the bedside lamp and sliding her hands under Reardon’s T-shirt?