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Tuesday Teaser, 2 Days Late-Wolf’s Oath

Between the overtime at the day job and having two releases this week, It’s been a crazy! I totally missed doing my Tuesday Teaser. I thought about just skipping it this week, but I am THIS close to having the rough draft of Wolf’s Oath finished. So here is a snippet for you.

 

Ice gleamed smooth and slick on the moonlit road and stung the pads of his paws, but Des, trailed by Hawk on his right and Red Wing his left, didn’t stop running. Dawn was only a few hours away, and they could have stayed at the den, but they all wanted their mates. Heartsick, weary, and wounded, Des needed Connie like a starving man needed food. He needed to burrow his face into the warmth of her neck and release his grief into her keeping. He needed the touch of her hands on his body, her lips on his brow. Not for sex, but to fill the hole grief had torn in his heart.

They stopped in front of the gate at the Plane Women’s House and changed back to their man shapes. It would have been quicker to leap over the fence, but the guards from Kearney might have been alarmed and shot them. So they waited, naked in the wind, for the guard to open the gate for them.

Once inside, the three of them nodded at each other, eyes dark with the weary pain of grief, and parted to seek the solace their mates could give them. Hawk and Red Wing didn’t know which room their mates were in, so they used their noses to search out their scents. Des remembered very well which door led to Connie’s apartment. He turned the knob and ghosted through the empty communal area to the door that opened to her private room.

She was a tightly curled ball under the layers of bedding, only a few disheveled locks of pale hair showing on the pillow. He stood above her and inhaled her precious scent. It was laden with the saltiness of tears and faintly soured by fear. His hand trembled when he reached to touch her hair.

“Connie,” he whispered, his voice the merest thread of sound, perhaps too low for human ears to hear, but she woke with a start.

“Des?”

He took her searching hand in the dark and lifted it to his cheek, and then his lips.

“Yes, love.”

“Oh, God, you’re back!” She struggled to uncurl from the bedclothes and sit up. “Are you okay? Is everyone else okay?”

The grief, lifted momentarily by the sweet scent of her concern, sank back into his heart like a stone in a pond and stole his voice.

“Des?” she said again. Her groping hand brushed over the bullet hole in his shoulder. He jerked in a breath through his teeth. “Des! Are you hurt? Where’s that damned candle?”

He glanced around the room, dark to her human eyes, and found the candle on the ledge beside the door. He left her long enough to light it and carry it back to the small bedside table.

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