Wilder's Mate

Chapter Eight

Dusk was near— too near—when the abandoned railroad camp came into view the next evening.

Wilder’s legs shook, rattling his boots in the stirrups. At least the place was still deserted, from the looks of it. The last vampire who’d set up housekeeping there had grown tired of having to procure his meals elsewhere and moved on to a more populated area.

He glanced at Satira, who seemed more curious than anything else, squinting through the gathering gloom to study the various buildings.

“Should be fine,” he rasped, unacceptably distracted by the slender line of her throat. “I’ll take a look around.”

“Mmm.” Satira pulled her horse to a stop in front of a relatively sturdy-looking little shanty. “How does this one look? I could clean it up a bit while you check the rest of the camp. Make things a little more comfortable?”

“It’s fine, it’s—” He had to move away, or he wouldn’t, not until he’d pounded into her and slaked his lust.

Satira glanced at him, then looked away as she slid to the ground. “If you leave your horse, I’ll take care of everything.”

He swung off his mount with a growl. “I’ll be back soon.”

His body throbbed, insistent and demanding, as he stalked off. Leaving Satira, even to check the camp, turned the heat of anticipation into a boiling rage.

But there was nothing to be done.

He forced himself to cover every building, every abandoned wagon and moldy haystack, before turning back to the shanty she’d chosen. It was fully dark already, and a light burned in the open window.

Inside he found Satira smoothing the blankets from his bedroll over a thick mattress. The wooden floor was swept clean, and most of the surfaces seemed hastily dusted. She turned as the door opened, her face alight with nervous anticipation. “The furniture was quite nice, under the dust. We’ll be comfortable enough for a few days.”

Blood pounded in his ears, but he found himself nodding. “Yes.” Her boots sat next to the door. Her belt was already curled on the table. She stared at him from impossibly wide eyes as she pulled her hair free from its binding. “Tell me how to help you, Wilder. Tell me what you need.”

One of the buttons popped off his vest as he pulled at it. “Help me undress.” She came to him, quiet and shy. Her fingers were steady as she eased the buttons on his vest free one at a time. “The mattress might be nicer than the one I have at home, though the dust hasn’t done it any favors. Seems like someone made this place awfully pretty, then abandoned it. It’s almost sad.” He barely found his voice through the haze of hunger that clouded his consciousness. “Must have been the camp boss’s place. None of the workers’ shanties would have been this nice.”

“Needed a little care, that’s all.” She eased his vest off and reached for his belt next. “Someone to take care of it.”

He grabbed her hands, hands that were too small and delicate. “Am I scaring you?” He knew he had to be wild-eyed, terrifying.

Satira smiled and shook her head, red curls falling riotous around her shoulders. “You need a little care too. Let me.”

If he fought it, he could hurt her when his control finally broke—and it would. “Yes. I need you.” She stepped back. Her gaze never left his as she unfastened her rough trousers and stepped out of them. The oversized men’s shirt followed. She stripped to her skin in silence, then stood shivering in front of him, pale and softly feminine, a desperate longing in her eyes. “Need me. Take me.”

“You’re cold.” Silly words that had nothing to do with the violent way his body reacted to hers, but he had to distract himself. He had to—

Wilder swept her into his arms and crushed his mouth to hers.

His lips couldn’t muffle her moan. Her trembling fingers plunged into his hair, clutching at the short strands as she kissed him with the same hungry eagerness he’d come to expect. But there was an edge to it this time, a vulnerability given voice in her quiet, gasping whimpers.

She would take him, the pleasure he could bring, and give back the same.

Wilder spilled her to the bed, her wrists pinned in one hand, and bit her throat. She twisted with another desperate little noise, then dug her head back against the bed, offering her neck to him in the basest kind of submission.

He licked the pale line of skin she bared, nipped lightly. “I don’t know how long I can be gentle.”

“Tell me what I need to know,” she whispered, rubbing one foot against his calf. “If there’s anything I mustn’t do. If there’s anything you want me to do.”

Only one thing to say, one thing for her to know. “If I’m to stop, tell me so and make me hear it.

Don’t—don’t push me away.”

“Never.” Her foot slid higher, until her leg was all but wrapped around him. “I’m not an innocent, not afraid or delicate.”

“No, it—” He bit his tongue. She’d had hounds before—he had to acknowledge it even as it made his skin heat with primal jealousy. “It isn’t about that. You know why you mustn’t run from me.”

“I know.” Tenderness filled her gaze as she met his eyes. The sunburn on her cheeks had faded, but this close he could see the freckles dusting her pale skin. She dug her teeth into her full lower lip, just for a moment, then smiled at him. “I don’t wish to. I only meant that you shouldn’t worry that I’ll want to run from you. The things I would have you do to me…there is nothing proper or respectable about them.”

“I will take you.” Their encounters up to this point had been passionate, raw…but controlled. “Do you know? Do you?”

She didn’t lie. “No. But I trust you. And I want you.”

Perhaps a better man could have stayed in control. Wilder growled, the last of his sanity slipping away in the blackness of the night.

He wanted her sweetness, her pleasure. Her cries.

He would have them.

Satira expected him to fall on her like a beast. Instead he stared down at her, wildness in his eyes, but the hand grasping hers still gentle. Firm—she imagined she could struggle with everything in her and not break free—but careful.

The hound shaking above her would not hurt her. That truth might as well be carved in her soul.

He put his tongue on her first, licking the delicate ridge of her collarbone. Tasting her skin. She didn’t fight her shiver or her quiet moan. Let him have no doubts about her willingness or the way her body sang when he touched her.

He parted her legs with his knee and nestled his hips tighter to hers. “What is it you want?” he rasped.

She couldn’t deny him anything, even if it meant she might be forced to deal with the consequences later. “You. Inside me.”

The fingers around her wrists tightened, and he thrust against her, hard through his clothes. “Now?

Already?”

Satira didn’t know how to guide him, didn’t know if it was madness to try at all. “I want to hear your desires. To know the ways you’ll take me.”

He drew back to his knees, tugging at his belt as he loomed above her. “I’ll taste you first. Tease your cunt with my tongue and fingers.”

The bedroll scraped under her fingernails as she closed her fingers on it in a desperate attempt not to reach for him. “Do you mean to make me come? Or only tease me?”

“To make you come.” The corner of his mouth ticked up in a wicked smile. “Eventually.” Time would have no meaning to him. Not tonight, or for the two nights to come. In a brothel, he might have had several women to see to his needs. Here, there would be only her. Not enough to give him relief, if he fought to hold himself back. If he feared hurting her… terrifying her.

She could show him he had nothing to fear. She started by reaching for him, sliding her fingers over his. “May I help?”

Wilder grasped her hands, twining his fingers with hers, and pressed them back to the bed. “You said you trusted me,” he reminded her. “Trust me now, Satira.”

“With everything.” That was simple. Harder was admitting the truth. “I don’t trust myself to be enough.”

Something softened in his implacable gaze, and he bent his mouth to her ear. “You are, believe me.

But if you push… I could hurt you, darling.”

A more challenging task had never been set for her. To feel instead of think, to let go instead of clutching at control. She turned her head and brushed a kiss to his stubbled cheek. “You may have to remind me. I’ve always been a bit pushy.”

His laughter blew warm on her ear. “I like that about you. Usually.” She squeezed his hands where they pressed hers to the mattress. “Do you want me to keep my hands like this?”

He squeezed back. “Right there. Just like that.”

Such a simple little request. She should be able to obey, even if growing arousal made it hard to lie still when she wanted to arch up against him.

When he released her, he trailed his fingers down her arms to her breasts. “Is this what you want?” He caught her nipples between his fingers and pinched lightly.

The sensation shot straight through her, like she’d shocked herself on one of her own inventions. Only this time pleasure rode that edge, and a moan caught in her throat, coming out sounding small and needy.

She tried to speak and only managed a whisper. “Yes.”

He pinched harder.

She couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or pain that arched her back. Both, perhaps, in an alchemical reaction more impressive than her finest explosive round. Too late she noticed she was reaching for him and scrambled to clutch at the bedroll again.

“Good girl.” He gave her his mouth then, his tongue teasing around her nipple.

Her body came alive for him. He’d learned it already, even in the short time they’d been together, and now he seemed willing to use that knowledge to relieve her of what remained of her sanity. It felt so good that she had the strands of his hair tangled around her fingers, this time, before she realized she’d moved.

He murmured to her, though his voice had dropped to a low growl. “Almost ready for me, aren’t you?” His hand eased between her thighs. “So fucking ready.”

“All of me.” She eased her hand above her head again, afraid she’d push too far if she didn’t. “I’m always wet for you, as soon as you touch me.”

His hands wrapped around her thighs and jerked them wider. “All of you?”

He’d taken her in so many ways, and never the most basic, fundamental one. Plenty of working women swore that a bloodhound couldn’t get a woman pregnant during the new moon.

It might even be true—it seemed improbable she’d never heard of it happening if it could—but Satira had always been too logical to let herself hide behind such an excuse. She didn’t believe herself safe. She simply thought it worth the risk.

He was worth the risk, and if the worst happened…

Satira pushed the thought away and gave herself over to the moment. To him. He held her spread wide, bare to his gaze, and the erotic power of it stole her breath. So did the words that tumbled forth, crude and illicit. “What do you want, Wilder? My cunt, tight around your cock?” His gaze burned as his hands tightened on her legs. “You want that?” So much. Her hand trembled as she edged it down—her own body, this time, instead of his. She bit back a whimper as two fingers slid through her slick folds, narrowly avoiding the temptation to let her fingers linger where she might give herself relief from twisting tension.

Instead she spread her fingers wide. “Can you see how much?” Several quick breaths soughed in and out of Wilder, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he slid down, putting his mouth close to her hand. Then he licked her fingers, licked her, probing with his tongue.

Even feral, half out of his mind, he was clever. Attentive. Satira squeezed her eyes shut and moaned with every rasping lick, every wicked thrust. Her heels scraped helplessly against the blankets as she curled her toes and trembled at the precipice of something vast and beautiful.

Two of his thick fingers thrust into her as his tongue played over her clitoris.

“Oh—” Both of her hands tangled in the blanket and she couldn’t recall how they’d gotten there, only knew that she would fly away if she let go. He stroked and worked into her, and heat became a fire, an inferno focused on each wicked lick. Every one drove her higher, until she was writhing, pushing up against his hand with sharp little jerks of her hips, each one accompanying a sobbing plea. “Please, please—”

Wilder lifted his head, though he continued to fuck her with his fingers, adding a third before curling them, rubbing inside her. “Like this. So much pleasure, darling. Constant, until you can’t take any more.” It was his voice that did it, the low endearment, hoarse and hungry. He wanted her— needed her—and the empty, lonely place inside her vanished. Tension snapped, and every muscle in her body tensed at the same time before pure, clean relief flooded her, riding a wave of tempestuous pleasure.

“Yes. ” He kept murmuring as he moved above her. His hands closed around her wrists again, pushing them above her head. One thrust, and he slid home, all the way inside her.

Climax faded into a tense pressure, her body struggling to adjust to the size of him. Satira gasped in a breath, then another, still trembling as her oversensitive nerves registered even the faint stretching pain as something pleasurable.

Or maybe he was pleasurable. So close, she could feel his heat, his breath stirring her hair.

“Wilder…I’ve wanted this so much.”

“I know.” The words were a low growl, and he took her mouth, kissing her deep and hard.

The unyielding thrust of his tongue made her hungry for another kind of claiming. Her hands were trapped, but she was free to ease her legs up, bending her knees until his cock edged deeper, driving a moan from her.

“Satira.” He urged her legs higher, tighter around him. “Pull me in, sweetheart. That’s it.” She dug one heel into his back, urging him to move. She felt more tightly wound than a crossbow string, but he was implacable. The only recourse she had was words. “Please, it’s better than anything else.

I—I need more. Please, give me more.”

Finally, he did. He eased away and drove against her with a groan. “Fuck, yes.” No pain now, just beautiful friction. She pressed her open mouth to his cheek and his jaw, kissing anywhere she could reach as she fell into him. “More of you. I need all of you.” It freed something in him, unleashed a flood of desire that he rained down on her with long thrusts and his lips on her skin. Fierce. Untamed.

But still careful. With her pulse pounding in her ears and his claiming trembling through her, she was painfully aware of how easily he could have hurt her. That his grip could have shattered bone, that the need inside him was so vast he could leave her broken.

She wasn’t frightened. He surrounded her, filled her, took her higher with every moment—and when pleasure crested with an intensity close to pain, she felt safe coming apart. Felt safe crying out, letting his name leave her lips again and again as she dug her fingernails into his shoulder and held on to the only solid thing in her world.

He whispered, the words too low and scattered for her to hear. His hips pumped faster, and he kissed her once, then held her gaze. “Again.”

Dark. He was so dark, his eyes swallowed by the beast. Maybe another woman would have feared it, but Satira closed her fingers around his rigid biceps and felt her own power. He was desperate for her pleasure, fixated on it.

As much as she needed him, he needed her so much more.

Satira lifted her chin, offering her throat to him. “Help me.” He bit her hard, with an almost savage growl. His rhythm faltered and resumed, faster. Frenzied.

“Satira—”

“I—I need—” There. A tiny shift of her hips and everything tilted sideways. “You,” she gasped, as climax consumed her.

He howled with triumph, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he coaxed her through the orgasm with slow, firm thrusts and grinned when she whimpered her disbelief at feeling him still hard and ready inside her.

“That’s a start, sweetheart.”

A start.

For one moment, fear tightened its fist around her heart, and she closed her eyes to prevent him from seeing it. She’d been a fool to think she understood, to imagine a bloodhound in the grip of the new moon was nothing more than a particularly lusty man. This was magic, pure and simple, the sort her analytical mind had always shied away from.

I won’t be enough— The traitorous thought struggled to rise, and she rejected it. Magic or not, hound or not, it was Wilder above her, a man she craved with everything she was.

She didn’t need to be enough, and opening her eyes confirmed it. Hunger was there, and need, but something deeper stared out from his wild gaze. Something that made her heart leap. In this moment, she wasn’t just enough.

She was everything.

Moving slowly, she lifted her hands to his shoulders, smoothing her fingers along bunching muscles as she returned his smile. “Take me higher.”

He did.

The hours were a blur of skin and sex.

Wilder traced his hand over the curve of Satira’s hip and drew her closer, until he had her ass nestled against him. “Like this?”

She trembled, her breath coming in tiny, hitching gasps. “Oh—oh yes. It’s—it’s…” He gritted his teeth and eased deeper, until the slick head of his cock breached the impossibly tight ring of muscle. He had to go slowly, carefully introduce her to this new sensation.

“Wilder—” So tight, but she was eager too, damn near vibrating with indecision as her hips moved in small jerks—first away, like it was too much, then back, taking him deeper as if she couldn’t get enough.

He pressed harder, pulling her to meet his slow, careful thrust. “See, sweetheart?” The only way he could manage would be to get her off fast, so he slid his fingers around to her clit.

The moan started deep inside her and twisted into hoarse cry as he stroked her. She was so close it didn’t take much, a few firm circles in just the right spot and she went wild for him.

Holding back was impossible then, control a distant dream, but Wilder knew deep inside that he wouldn’t hurt her. He would sooner take one of her fancy weapons and turn it on himself.

No, he wouldn’t give her pain. He’d give her pleasure, ecstasy.

“Satira.”

Her tongue dragged over his cock in slow, teasing swipes, but through the lust he could see mischief in her eyes. When she lifted her head, her hands came to her breasts. Pressed them together. She arched her back and smiled, nothing shy or retiring left in her demeanor. “You enjoy looking at them. Would you enjoy fucking them?”

A thrill of lust shot through him as he looked down at her, at the soft, pale flesh she held on display.

“And give up your mouth?”

“It seems like you might be able to enjoy both, though it’s only a theory.” Her dark eyes held only excitement and anticipation. “Proving a theory requires rigorous experimentation.”

“Yes, it does.” He thrust against her, hissing in a breath when her soft flesh hugged his shaft. “Fuck.” She circled her tongue around the head of his erection with a satisfied little noise. “See?” Wilder groaned. “Do it again.”

Her breath caught, as if his reaction was enough to make her tremble. She licked him slowly this time, lingering as she stared up at him with big, hungry eyes. He could picture that tongue gliding out to catch an errant drop as her delicate fingers massaged his seed into her skin.

His hips jerked of their own volition, and he reached for her, stroking his thumbs roughly over her nipples. “More.”

So quick to obey, so eager. Every way he touched her seemed to delight her. Her trust was open and endless, even now as she squirmed and gasped under his attentions but focused on pleasing him.

“Yes,” he rasped. “Make me come, and you know I’ll return the favor.” She hummed her agreement. “Tell me how?”

Oh, he’d tell her, all right. “I can do that.”

And he did.

He cupped water in his hands and let it cascade down Satira’s shoulder, over her breasts. “Why haven’t you gone east to study, like Juliet’s son?”

“Because he’s a son.” She drew her knees toward her chest, and it looked like she was curling in on herself. “They don’t allow women to join the official Guild or serve as inventors in any of the others, like the Bloodhound Guild. They won’t even let me attend any of the schools.” He snorted. “So they’re stupid.”

Satira shrugged and looked away. “Many people are. It isn’t important. We all do what we can with the lives we have.”

The words belied her obvious pain. Wilder wanted to drag her out of the tub and into his lap, but he settled for pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. “Perhaps the Guild will have a different opinion of you when you bring Nathaniel back.”

“Perhaps.” She tried to force a smile. “They won’t risk Nathaniel refusing to work, in any case.

Perhaps the new bloodhound he’s assigned to will be tolerant of me as his apprentice.”

“You don’t think so?”

Satira didn’t respond at first. Her fingers dragged a washcloth up and down her arm as if she wasn’t paying much attention to what she was doing. Finally she sighed. “I think I’m clean enough. If you’re feeling peaceful, maybe we should turn in so you can rest while the need isn’t riding you so hard.”

“Hey.” He tilted her face up with his fingers under her chin. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to ruin this,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think past now. Let me be safe in your arms tonight. Let me be your woman.”

She said it as though there would come a time when she wouldn’t be—and of course there would.

When this was all over, and she and Nathaniel were safe, and the Bloodhound Guild took on the task of deciding where Wilder was most needed next.

For a moment, the shock of the realization robbed him of his breath. Then he reached for her. “Come here.”

Water slid from her body as she rose, wet and bare, and all but tumbled into him. Fingers grasped, her lips found his neck—but she didn’t do anything but tremble and cling to his shoulders.

Wilder wrapped his arms around her, heedless of the water. “They never send me too far,” he whispered. A promise, or maybe an excuse—even he wasn’t sure.

She made a quiet noise and curled closer. Tension left her in bits and pieces, and her shaking eased.

“I’m yours, for now.”

“Mine.” He refused to qualify it, to give it an inevitable ending.

He felt her smile.

Satira panted his name with every slow thrust, a familiar refrain in a voice gone hoarse from three nights of determined loving.

He’d learned enough to coax her legs higher up his sides, around his back, so that his next thrust made her cunt tighten around him, body primed for pleasure. She showed her appreciation with a broken moan, digging her head back into the pillows to reveal her pale throat.

She bore bruises from his teeth already, so he nipped at her jaw with a groan. “Come on, sweetheart.” One trembling hand stroked his cheek. “Only one—” A gasp. “One more. I can’t… Come with me, Wilder. This time, come with me.”

Tense pleasure coiled at the base of his spine, ready to strike. “Just one, no more?”

“Just—just…” Her nails scored his cheek as she scrambled to clutch at his shoulder. “Wilder—” Her body gripped his, her inner muscles rippling, and he lost it. He drove deep and came, shudders wracking him as he joined her in bliss.

When he could breathe again, he dropped his face to her neck. “Christ.”

“Mmm.” The tips of her fingers stroked along his shoulders. “You seem…more at ease. Does that mean the new moon’s power is almost gone?”

“Either that, or you’ve managed to wear me the fuck out.”

Satira’s laugh sounded delighted. “On the first day I met you, I told you I could handle a hard ride.” He hadn’t believed her, but he should have. “I’ll concede the point. I’m a judgmental jackass.”

“But a personable one. And I’ll confess, I’m feeling a bit worn out myself.” Underneath him, her body felt liquid. Boneless. “I could do well by a little gentle handling.” Wilder rolled away and gathered her close. “Meaning to keep my pants on for the foreseeable future?” Satira wrinkled her nose and settled her cheek on his shoulder. “Maybe a few days. Not that I haven’t enjoyed every moment of it…but I’m glad it only happens once a month.” No matter how close the Guild kept him, Wilder doubted he would make it back to her every month.

The thought chilled him. “You need to rest.”

“I am resting.” The words came out sleepy and contented. “I feel…exhausted. And wonderful. And alive.”

Alive. So many plans to make, things to discuss, and now they’d lost the last few days. “We need to talk about what we’ll face when we raid the compound.”

Her fingers curled into a fist against his chest. “As long as you understand that it’s we and not you.” Even if he’d thought she might stay behind, he couldn’t leave her alone. “I know.” After a moment, she relaxed again. “I don’t have the time and tools needed to do anything particularly fancy, but I can put a hole in any wall, or bring a building down, if I need to.”

“I won’t know what we need to plan for until I see where Nathaniel is being kept.”

“I’ll follow your lead, Wilder. I won’t be left behind…but I’ll follow your lead. I promise.”

“That’s all I’ve ever asked, sweetheart.”

“Mmm.” She turned her head and kissed his shoulder. “What do you think we’ll face when we reach the vampire’s home?”

They could meet slight resistance or an army of ghouls and vampires—but Wilder had his suspicions.

“If this vampire needed to have Archer lay a trap for us, chances are he’s not holed up in a fortress. There are weak spots in his defenses.”

“Do you think Archer will be there?”

He tried—and failed—not to tense. “Probably. If I were that bloodsucker, I’d want him around to deal with me in case we pulled out of the trap.”

“I’ve never heard of a bloodhound turning against the Guild.” She began to stroke his chest, tracing endless, soothing circles. “I always rather thought they had ways to ensure it didn’t happen.”

“They don’t have Guild representatives out this far. When they find out, they’ll deal with him. Until then…”

She finished the sentence in a whisper. “You’ll deal with him?” At one point, Archer had been a colleague. A friend. Now, he was a liability and a danger to Satira.

“I’ll deal with him.”

“I’m sorry, Wilder.” She curled closer, as if she wanted to protect him. “This hasn’t been a simple job for you, has it?”

“Not meant to be,” he admitted. “It’s no life for anyone, really, but it’s got to be done.” Her fingers made a lazy circle over his shoulder. Another. She drew in a breath, then hesitated, uncertainty screaming through her silence. Finally she sighed. “Why did you choose it?” There was only one honest answer. “Someone has to, and I knew I’d be good at it.”

“That simple?” She touched his lips this time, then traced along his cheekbone. “You gave up any chance at a life just knowing you’d be making life safe for others?” She made it sound like he could walk on water. Wilder shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t have much of a life to give up.”

“Neither do I,” she pointed out. “Doesn’t mean what I’ve got isn’t dear to me.” He hadn’t had anything left after the war, and he found himself telling her so. “By the time I came home all busted up, everything was gone. My home, my brothers. Everything.”

“Came home?” Satira propped herself up on one arm, her eyebrows coming together as she studied his face. “From where?”

“From fighting. From the War of the Rebellion, Satira. The Civil War.” He cleared his throat and waited for her to absorb his words.

It didn’t take long. “Nineteen years ago. How old were you?”

“I was twenty-three when I joined up. I’m forty-six now.”

“You don’t look forty-six.” She tilted her head and frowned. “How old was Levi?”

“Christ only knows. He had to have been at least sixty when I met him.”

“Oh.” The furrow between her brow eased as she dropped her chin to his chest. “I admit, I’d never considered it. You said you were…broken. Did the change from human to bloodhound heal your injuries?” The change had ripped him apart, broken him down and remade him into something that wasn’t human. “That’s what it does, what it’s for. It makes us stronger.” Slower to age, quicker to heal.

“Levi would never talk of it. He’d only say some things aren’t for impressionable minds and delicate ears.”

For a moment, Wilder missed the old man so much he had to laugh or he’d cry. “I’m surprised he didn’t just tell you to mind your own business.”

She smiled a little. “After my mother died, I think he had a hard time shaking me loose. I was so needy, and he never had it in him to kick me hard enough to stop me from asking questions.” He drew her closer. “That sounds like him too.”

“He’s the one who told Nathaniel to start teaching me. Told me if I was going to keep asking questions, I might as well fill my head with useful answers.” And he’d spoken to Juliet, made provisions for her to have work and a home if something happened to him. “You were his daughter, sweetheart, whether you realized it or not.” She let out a shaky sigh. “I miss him.”

“So do I.”

The silence lingered, and her breathing slowed. Evened. “I believe I need a few hours of sleep. You know how to make a girl wobbly in the knees.”

There was no avoiding the inevitable. “Tomorrow, we ride.”