Chapter Three

He made it sound so absolute, so permanent. Those knots were back in her belly and a whole slew of other places. Feelings she wasn’t used to experiencing raised their head. She ignored them and focused on the image of Rissa’s gentle brown face with her big sepia eyes.

“Can you handle me walking up behind you and grabbing your ass, or jerking you into my arms and kissing you?” Into his voice leeched some of his toe-curling Irish accent, and his gray eyes, burning with feral fire, held her prisoner. “Because if you can’t, beag amháin, it ends now, and you are on the first flight back to South Africa. And I will make sure Dane knows what you’ve been up to and why I’m sending you home.”

Did I really think there was no emotion in those eyes? Or that voice? Her throat felt uncomfortably dry and tight. She could feel her heart pounding, and there was an ache in the pit of her belly.

“You can dish it out, I can handle it,” she informed him.

Lera knew he wanted her to say no, and truth be told, were it anyone else, she would have most likely said no. Although, anyone else also would have gone straight to her father. But it wasn’t anyone else; this was Cormac MacLochlainne. And it was for Rissa.

“We’ll see, mo chara,” he purred.

Unable to continue holding his gaze, Lera walked with shaking knees to the bathroom where, once behind the closed door, she settled, quaking, to the lowered toilet seat cover. She stripped off her gloves and clenched and unclenched her fingers a few times.

“Hang on, Rissa. I’m coming,” she whispered to the room.

With a determined breath, she washed her face and hands, dried them, and had her gloves back on before she opened the door. Kori leaned against the wall, those roped muscular arms still crossed.

Lera gave him a dismissive glance and strode to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Where are you going?”

She paused with her hand on the knob. “My hotel room.”

“And the bar?”

Lera opened the door but peered briefly over her shoulder at him. “You said you’d help me find her. I won’t go back there without you.” She walked through and pulled it shut behind her. Heading down the steps to her bike, Lera could feel his eyes on her but she never looked back, just got on and drove off.

Cormac “Kori” MacLochlainne shook with need. He stared out the window and watched Lera vanish into the night on her motorcycle. He’d been up in Canada when he felt her presence. The one who was created for him and he for her. His mate. Valera Grace Sidorov. A fact he was sure she didn’t know. No one did; no one aside from him.

But he’d known since the day her young mind screamed out and reached him in agony at the injustices she suffered. From that moment, he’d become her angel. Unable to be there and physically save her, he took her mind to a safe place. Eventually, he told her about Dane when he headed that way, knowing full well Dane would do as he did. Take her in as one of his own. Kori avoided her until she turned thirteen, which was when they’d first met face to face. Unlike she did with everyone else, she didn’t call him by his first name, but used his nickname. He liked that; it made him feel special. Kori kept their interactions to a minimum and ensured his emotions weren’t present on his face. When she was nineteen, the urge to claim her then had flown powerfully through him but he’d ignored it. Lera was now twenty-five, and he was ready to make his declaration on her. She was scared, and he knew he needed to go slowly. But he also knew she was his future.

He’d tracked her here and had almost come unhinged when she entered the small dive of a bar. Lust and a roaring need for her had blindsided him. She’d strode in wearing black leather pants along with a silver and charcoal gray leather race-fit motorcycle jacket which covered her shirt. Her thick black hair now had some copper highlights through it. He had seen the heel of her boot when she’d swung her leg over her bike and he shook his head. She would be riding in heels.

His wolf had risen protectively within him like it always did in regards to her. When she’d tossed back the shot like it was water, he’d wanted to kill whomever had taught her to drink. Still, he was arrogantly proud when she cocked that sexy brow of hers without so much as a wince from the drink. Fighting Cock was 108 proof, and she acted as if it were water. But when those three surrounded her, Kori acted. He knew she was frightened, he knew she hated to be touched, but it never showed on her face. Her expression remained composed in a mask of disdain and boredom. And she’d been more than ready to defy him, too, until he allowed her to see the wolf in him. She’d deferred to him but it took a moment, and he knew she wouldn’t have done so with anyone else.

Which is fine since no one else should be near her.

“Then, she goes and climbs on a bike. Not a nice safe one, no, a sleek silver and gray Suzuki Hayabusa, a racing bike,” he muttered as his cock got even harder.

Watching her firm legs straddle the bike had been like a wet dream. Add to that the fact she had touched him, and he couldn’t do anything but offer to help. If he was smart, he’d ignore the deal and send her packing home to Daddy.

“I must be a dumbass then, because I’m keeping her here with me. And I know Dane would rip out my throat, for more than one reason.”

He paced for a while, but two hours later, Kori ran a hand down his face and found himself outside in a heartbeat. The urge to see her again overwhelmed everything else. The dark of the night covered him like a lover and concealed him until he reached her hotel. Searching, he found her scent, fresh and pure, and another round of lust pounded him. Lera didn’t wear perfume or scented lotions, and he loved her natural smell.

Before he realized it, he’d picked the lock and slipped into her dark room. His rapid reflexes were the only reason he wasn’t bleeding. He jumped back as the material of his shirt parted courtesy of the blade she’d swiped at him. Two more quick and precise attacks came before he opened his mouth.

“Stop attacking me, Lera.”

“Kori?” Her voice was sleepy but hard.

A glow filled the room as she turned on the light. And he lost what little breath he had left. Her hair was tousled; a light gray sleeveless tatty t-shirt hung from her shoulders and black lounge pants rode low on curvy hips. And around her neck sat a silver necklace, one he knew well for he’d given it to her when she was thirteen. A silver oval with the Ogham letter “C” marking on it in jet. Need, raw, hungry and angry roared through him. He could feel the wolf pushing through.

“Are you insane?” she snapped. “Why would you sneak in here? I told you I wouldn’t go back to the bar without you.” Lera raked a hand through her hair, and the light in the room glinted off the silver rings on her hands. “Sweet goddess, do you know what my daddy would do if I had to tell him I killed you?”

Kori fought the urge to smile. He couldn’t begin to explain how grateful he was by her not even thinking he was there to hurt her. “Yeah, I can imagine how bad my death would be for you,” he drolled, cocking a brow at her.

Her face scrunched up, and he had this overwhelming urge to kiss her senseless.

“Did you just crack a joke? The ever serious Cormac MacLochlainne cracked a joke?” Lera smiled, and he felt his knees weaken, even more so with the way his given name rolled off her tongue, spoken like a true Irish lass. “I think the world just shifted on its axis.”