Del-Rey twisted against the bed, that agony of need raging through him. His hands clenched in the sheets he could feel beneath his body, the bed he’d picked out with Anya in mind. Large so they could roll around on it. Comfortable and warm, and now it felt like a bed of bricks.
His body was on fire for her. Just one more touch. He wanted to feel her hand, not whatever that cool touch was. He wanted her flesh. Flesh to his flesh. But he knew better than to reach for her.
“Anya.” He forced the word past his lips. “Warm me.”
He could smell her, so warm and sweet. He wanted to wrap around her, just for a while. He couldn’t drag himself far enough from the healing to still the mating heat.
He was lost in this need. The need to just feel her warmth. He had ached for her warmth. It had driven spikes of agony into his soul for months, unceasing, always there, reminding him that what should have been his would never belong to him.
“You’re burning with fever.” Her hand stroked over his chest and something inside him unknotted. Flesh to flesh. That was how he needed her.
“Warm me, Anya,” he sighed, wishing he could touch this dream, feel it, just for a while. “Flesh to flesh.”
Then she was gone. He wanted to howl in agony. The sweet gentle touch was gone. The warmth was gone. He could smell her scent, but only barely. Only enough to know she had been there.
Anya stared down at Del-Rey, uncertain why she was toeing off her sneakers, pulling free her T-shirt. Stripping down to flesh.
“Flesh to flesh,” he had whispered as his fingers dug into the sheet and the fever raged in his body. He could be cold. Fever made one cold. Chilling clear to the bone. She remembered the one time she had really been sick, just before the Coyotes’ rescue. She had ached with the cold as she ran a fever.
She felt her breath catch in her throat as she unlatched her bra and pushed her panties from her hips. He was aroused. He could take her even as he slept and she couldn’t blame him if he did. She wouldn’t stop him if he did.
The longer she sat beside him the hotter his flesh seemed to get until touching him was almost like touching a flame. And he was shuddering, shivering.
The healing was excruciating by itself, and she knew the mating heat was hell. At least, it had been for her.
“Del-Rey.” She whispered his name as she moved onto the bed, felt him stiffen, then growl her name again.
Pulling the sheet over both of them, she settled slowly against his side, trembling with wariness, wishing she knew more about this man that nature had decided belonged to her. And that was her fault. She had forced the separation, he hadn’t.
She had no more settled beside him than he moved. Anya almost whimpered in fear as he flipped her to her side and moved. He shifted, shifted her. Pulled her over him, then under him.
Confused, she followed his mumbled directions, moved here and there until she realized they were in the exact center of the huge bed. Finally he settled, draped over her, her head tucked beneath his chin, his leg thrown over hers, his arms wrapped around her, and then he eased.
She felt it; almost a muscle at a time, she felt him relax until he was limp, curled around her, his breath stirring her hair, the inferno that had fired his body somehow seeming cooler. And if she wasn’t mistaken, she might have heard a soft little grumble, almost a snore slip from his chest as his hand curled around her breast and his heavy weight held here beneath him.
She lay there, tense, silent, uncertain what he would do next. When nothing came, when he continued to sleep, she felt her own lashes drifting closed, felt her own weariness dragging her down.
Being a coya was damned hard work, she decided. She would sleep here, just for a little while. And maybe slip away before he awoke and she found herself pinned by a fully aware, fully aroused Coyote Breed in mating heat.
But she couldn’t help the smile that edged her lips as her eyes closed. He was like a puppy. Rumbling here and there, twisting and turning and dragging her to suit his comfort until he slept peacefully.
It was kind of cute.
Hell, she had to admit, Del-Rey had a charming side that had mesmerized her before the mating crap managed to scare the hell out of her. Until she had convinced herself he had lied, deliberately, that he had taken his promises and her heart and trampled them.
He had trampled her sense of confidence in herself when her body had gone crazy with the heat. He had taken her, as lost in the pounding lust as she had been. She had convinced herself that he should have had the control to make it easier for her. That he should have taken responsibility for something neither of them had expected. That he should have been the charming, in control, teasing Coyote Breed that had spoiled her with the hint of laughter in his eyes and his promises that he would care for her. Take care of her. That he would make everything work out.
It had worked out. He had protected her. He had made certain she had what she needed even above what he needed. And like a child, she had blamed him for the results.
He was still arrogant. He was definitely too dominant. But she had learned that that was a male Breed. It was a part of them. It was even a part of him that made her crazy to touch him, even when she wanted to hate him.
She hadn’t seen a single Breed mating that went easily. They fought, they yelled, they clashed, and they challenged each other. And as Hope had once told her, once it was over, they laughed and they loved and they knew they belonged. No matter what happened in the world around them, they belonged.
Could she be lucky enough to find that with Del-Rey?
She still had issues to resolve with him, Anya knew that. But she also knew that until they clashed, fought and yelled, those issues would never be resolved and they would never have that chance to laugh, to love and to belong.
As she slipped into sleep, she prayed she hadn’t waited too long to attempt that resolution.
CHAPTER 14
He was warm. The only time he was ever warm was when Anya had slept in his bed.
He usually awakened from a healing chilled to the bone, damp with his own sweat and feeling like an animal that had lain in a gutter for two days.
He shifted, moved to stretch and realized, in one heart-stopping moment, one instant of cognition, why he was so warm.
His eyes opened and he stared into a sleeping face. Anya’s face. Spiked red gold lashes lay against her creamy flesh; her lips were parted as she breathed, her breath whispering over his chest.
Their legs were tangled together, his erection, fierce and engorged to the point of agony, throbbed with brutal insistence where it lay, pressed between her thighs, surrounded by the slick, creamy essence of her arousal.