Losing It: A Collection of VCards Page 5

  Stacey lives in an orange house in Beaverton, OR with her two young kids who have old people names. When she’s not writing, thinking about writing, or driving the kids around, Stacey is most likely volunteering to do all the things or running to relieve the stress of volunteering to do all the things.

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  Books by Stacey Wallace Benefiel:

  YA Paranormal Romance

  Glimpse

  Glimmer

  Glow

  Zellie Wells trilogy

  YA Sci-fi Romance

  Found

  Frayed

  Fearless

  Penny Black trilogy

  NA Urban Fantasy Romance

  Day of Sacrifice

  Rebellion

  Dormant

  Takeover

  Dissent

  Unfavorable

  Day of Sacrifice Omnibus

  NA Contemporary Romance

  Crossing

  Diving In

  My Remedy

  Contemporary Erotic Romance

  (Stacey Wallace Benefiel writing as Reina Stowe)

  Open Me

  Twenty Questions

  Cheating Hearts

  The First Time

  Crazy On You

  Flinging In the New Year

  Upton All Night (The Complete Series)

  One Hour

  By Heather Hildenbrand

  An interquel between Blood Rule, book 4 in the Dirty Blood series, and book 5, the final installment coming spring 2015.

  Seventeen year-old, Tara Godfrey, is being held prisoner for being a Dirty Blood (half Werewolf, half Hunter) and undergoing various tortures in order to understand her biology, among other secrets.

  ***

  Loneliness was a worse pain than any agony their shiny instruments had inflicted.

  It’d been eight weeks since Gordon Steppe had made me his prisoner. Eight weeks since I’d last felt the mental bond I’d shared with my hybrid Werewolf pack. Eight weeks since I’d last saw my friends, George or Victoria or Logan or … Wes. I didn’t know what had happened to them. The last glimpse I caught of them was their bent-over forms, sick from Gordon’s poison, as Gordon’s goons surrounded them in that dirty warehouse.

  Since then, I barely knew what had happened to me.

  Some days I did, but most days were too blurry to get a clear understanding of what it all meant. I did know one thing without question: Gordon, the leader of CHAS, the Committee for Hunter Affairs and Security, was using me. Some days he used me as a punching bag. But, mostly, he used me as a human (or almost human since I was half Hunter, half Werewolf) pincushion. I’d been stuck with needles, both injecting and retrieving various solutions into and out of my body. I’d been strapped to heart monitors, brain scans, body scans, and all manner of verbal and ocular testing. Something they’d given me made it impossible to shift into my wolf.

  I’d fought back for the first week or so but then the reality of my situation hit home. After over a week of being hit and shoved and poked and prodded—and not rescued—I’d had to admit this was my life now.

  And I’d sucked it up. But then the loneliness hit.

  I hadn’t spoken with anyone besides my doctor and Steppe in six weeks.

  My throat hurt from not speaking. My head hurt from not reading others’ thoughts. I’d take another eight weeks of medical torture if it meant an hour alone with someone I cared about. Although I ached for Wes, I’d take Cambria or Grandma or Fee. I might even take my mother at this point.

  With that in mind, I curled up into my dirty mattress and drifted off…

  The room was hazy with smoke of some kind—fog, maybe? It had no smell, and I didn’t feel the urge to cough as it infiltrated my throat and lungs. Strange. I took a step, the sensation startling me as I realized my bare toes were suddenly buried in thick carpet instead of padding along on cold cement. I looked down.

  A rug, thick and rich and the color of bark, stretched out into the foggy cloud hanging over everything. I took another step. My hand brushed something soft and I jerked back, squinting to see through the white haze. A burgundy quilt … a bed. What the heck?

  This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Was Steppe messing with me somehow? He’d been trying so hard to get into my head, maybe he’d finally succeeded.

  “Who’s there?” The voice was gravelly, the words slow. Wary but lazy from sleep. I took another step because, dream or not, terrified or not, I’d know that voice anywhere.

  “Wes?” I whispered.

  “Tara?” The drowsiness was gone, replaced by hope and underneath it, a sharp fear.

  I leaned forward through the clouds hanging in the room, their soft white aura giving off a glow like a nightlight. I could just barely make out where the burgundy quilt arced upward and then fell away against a body.

  Shirtless abs, a broad chest, and a stubbled chin. “Wes!” I said at the same time he reached for me and said, “Tara!”

  His hand closed around my arm and he pulled me off my feet. I tumbled into his lap, clinging and kissing and careful not to close my eyes in case it all disappeared when I opened them again.

  “How are you here?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” I frowned. “Where is here?”

  “I’m … I’ve rented this studio for a few weeks,” he told me. “In DC. I’m…” Pain twisted his features and his eyes narrowed into something so tortured, it made my eyes water. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. How did you get out?”

  “I don’t think I am,” I said slowly. “I think I’m dreaming or … something.”

  Wes frowned and his hands rubbed slowly up and down my arms, his touch so real it made me doubt my own words. “You don’t feel like a dream,” he said softly.

  “Neither do you,” I admitted. Our eyes met and in his, tiny bronze flecks floated in pools of chocolate brown. The haze still hung in the air but it was welcome now, like a cozy cotton ball hiding us away.

  Then I remembered my last wish before I’d fallen asleep. To have one hour. And suddenly I knew I was getting my wish. I refused to waste it.

  “This is crazy. You’re here but not here,” Wes said. “I don’t underst—”

  “Sshh.” I put my hand to his mouth and sighed at the feel of his lips against any part of my skin. “Please. I don’t want to talk.”

  Wes looked down at me, his arms tightening around me. “What do you want, Tara? What can I do?”

  The fog felt thicker, like a blanket pulled tight, and I welcomed the swaddling. It’d been so long since any contact felt good.

  I met Wes’s eyes and, despite the weeks apart, utter trust and overflowing love sprung instantly to every hidden and damaged corner of my insides. And I knew exactly what I wanted from this hour. “Touch me,” I whispered.

  His eyes flickered with hesitation. “Tara…”

  We’d been at this crossroads before and turned back. And I’d let it go, knowing there’d be time later for being together this way. But I couldn’t bear the thought of turning back now. Not when the only uncertainty was whether we’d ever get another chance like this one again.

  “Please,” I added.

  Wes let out a low growl somewhere between frustration and acceptance; it sent a thrill through me. God, I’d missed that growl. “You know I can’t tell you no. Not like this,” he said.

  He leaned down and I arched up so that our mouths met halfway. It was the most delicious, most amazing, most luxurious sensation I could remember. His hands trailed over my arms and slid around my back, hugging me closer. But it wasn’t enough. This was my single hour of escape and I intended to take as much as I could back with me when I went.

  My hands slid up his arms, his muscles rippling underneath my touch. I pressed myself closer and slid my hands higher, over his bare shoulders, before clasping them together behind his neck. My fingers sank into his bronzed-br
own hair. Vaguely, I was thankfully aware that somehow this dream came complete with bathed skin and clean clothes. God, I hoped it had also given me shaved legs.

  But then Wes lifted and resettled me so that I was centered on his lap and all worry was forgotten. There was only his kiss, the feel of him pressed against me—hard and taut and completely mine—and my unending love for this Werewolf boy I’d met in an alley so long ago.

  The kiss melted from deep to needy. His mouth was insistent on mine, teasing my lips open before his tongue flicked out to brush over my bottom lip. My fingertips went still against his skin and gripped his shoulder blades.

  It wasn’t enough. I needed more.

  As if in answer to the thought, his hands reached for the hem of my shirt and lifted it over my head. As soon as my arms were free, they returned to roam over his skin. He tossed the scrap of fabric sideways and it disappeared into the fog that licked at the edges of the bed. I waited impatiently while his fingers fumbled to unhook my bra and when that was cast aside, I pressed myself against him.

  Torso to torso, our skin heated and hummed with the contact.

  My hands traveled lower, over his rippling abs and down to his hips. When my fingertips met bare skin below his waistline I leaned away in surprise. My brows creased and Wes flashed a wickedly delicious grin. “I sleep naked. I never told you?”

  I laughed and the sound of it was strangely wonderful in my own ears. How long had it been since I laughed? And all it took was five minutes with Wes. My Wes. Teasing, playful, and sexy as hell.

  “God, I’ve missed your laugh,” he said, pulling me in and burying his face in my hair while he held me.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” I whispered back.

  For a moment, we stayed that way. Embracing. My eyes blurred with hot tears as I wondered how much longer this dream would last. But I shoved them back and swallowed my sadness. I wouldn’t think like that. Not now.

  In the silence, Wes stroked my hair. Even at the innocent gesture, tension and need still pulsed between us. It felt softer now, more patient, but it was there. Just like it had been all along. I tucked myself into the crook of his neck and kissed him lightly in the hollow of his shoulder. He shivered and the reaction spurred me on.

  Wound tight, I trailed kisses up his jawline, thrilling at the way his smooth skin gave way to textured stubble along his chin, and, finally, the silky smoothness of his lips. The moment our lips met, the fire returned, more insistent than ever.

  His mouth was fervent on mine, his fingertips trailing from my shoulders down my bare back and teasing at my hips. Slowly, they began to trail upward from my belly button. Anticipation, hot and tortured, built below my stomach as his hands made their way higher. Over my ribs and up to my breasts. His thumb brushed my nipple, already hardened and aching, and I shuddered.

  “Wes,” I managed. It was a plea and an answer all in one.

  He took my breasts in his hands, cupping and massaging them before taking my nipple again between his fingers. My breath caught and I wanted to melt into a puddle and never leave this place. From somewhere deep inside me, a sound broke free—a moan that ended in a sigh—and Wes broke our kiss to capture my nipple between his lips. He took turns nipping and licking and sucking the tender skin. I threw my head back with the ecstasy of it.

  “Wes,” I said again, breathless now with the aching.

  He let out another growl, louder than before. And, with far less restraint than he’d ever used, he picked me up by the hips and thrust us both backward against the pillows. He lowered himself over me, his gaze heating my skin and sending goose bumps over the parts of me that were currently bared.

  The blanket slid away, revealing all of him as he hovered over me. From his rippled abdomen to his throbbing erection, I drank him in. I could feel his eyes on me, doing the same. And still, all I wanted was to show him more. Flesh for bared flesh.

  His fingers hooked the edge of my pants and tugged.

  Without looking away from his burning stare, I lifted my hips and held my breath while he tugged the fabric down to my thighs before completely pulling them free and tossing them aside. I was just as surprised as he was to find myself without underwear. Apparently this dream knew what it was doing when it knitted itself together. Wes swept his gaze down the length of my naked body and slowly back up again. My skin tingled where he looked at me.

  Nerves danced at the edges, but I wasn’t scared. I was ready.

  Wes lowered himself over me, his face almost glowing with the intensity of emotion in his expression.

  “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long. You are so beautiful, Tara,” he said. The words sounded as if they’d been dragged over jagged rocks. My throat ached all the way down to my chest and lungs. For a horrible moment I thought I might cry and ruin the beauty of what was about to happen.

  “Then have me, Wes. Right now,” I whispered.

  He settled himself between my legs and pushed gently until first my thighs and then all of me was completely open to him. Pleasure turned to pain and back to pleasure again as he slid into me. We began to move together, hips arching toward hips in a dance I understood on an instinctual level. My hands scraped along the smooth skin of his back and shoulders. His fingertips roamed and caressed every inch of me he wasn’t sliding against.

  A moan escaped me and Wes pulled back, staring down at me in concern.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  “No, you…” I struggled to find words through the joy. “You healed me,” I whispered, shoving the words out around the tears.

  He smiled, slow and languid, and when he came into me again, all that was left was pleasure, each stroke building and building toward something I couldn’t quite grasp until suddenly I was shoved over the edge and into the blissful wide open.

  “Wes, I…” and then I couldn’t speak as blissful sensation rushed in and out of me.

  “Tara,” Wes said, and then with a final stroke he went taut and his body shuddered wildly. Wave after wave crashed until finally, his shoulders sagged, and my muscles puddled. We sank into a cuddled heap together against the sheets, both of us breathless and deliciously sated.

  “Is it possible to be full and empty at the same time?” Wes asked a moment later.

  I grinned, but it faded too quickly as I caught the edges of my own reality tugging at me.

  “What is it?” he asked, immediately sitting up with knitted brows and pinched eyes.

  “I think … I am being pulled back,” I said.

  “Already? But how? You can’t.” He shook his head and the hair on my arms stood up as the scent of his panic hit me. He smelled like wolf.

  My muscles coiled, ready to jump out of his way if he shifted. But he wrapped his hand around my waist and pulled me close. “Don’t go,” he said, looking down at me with a desperate expression.

  “I don’t think I have a choice,” I said. “It’s like a dream or something. But not my own. A mind trick. They’ve been doing experiments on me. Giving me drugs. I hallucinate sometimes and I can’t … I can’t always tell what’s real anymore.” The words came faster and faster as I rushed to tell him anything that would help him find me.

  “Wait, tell me where you are. What you see. Something to help us find you.”

  “I don’t know where I am.” My voice broke under the frustration. And then I realized who else would want answers from me after tonight’s little magical road trip. “Gordon. He’ll know. He’ll use the drugs to make me tell him what happened.” I looked around wildly at the studio apartment. Some of the fog had cleared and I could make out a pane of glass with a city skyline view draped in shadows in the distance.

  “Tara, calm down. You don’t know enough to—”

  “But I do, don’t you see?” I pressed my palm to his chest and scooted backward until I could sit up. I couldn’t even be concerned with the fact that I was naked and sitting in a hardly flattering position. My panic covered even that sort of embarrassment. �
�He might’ve orchestrated this whole thing. I don’t know how real it is but—” I squeezed my eyes shut and when I opened them again, the studio apartment was still there. Wes was still staring at me with wide, worried eyes.

  “Tara—”

  “You can’t let me take this back with me,” I said, hurting at the truth of what I was saying even as I spoke the words. “It’s too dangerous to know where you are. You have to make me forget.”

  Something prickled at the edges of my mind. Something was calling me back—and soon.

  “You want me to take away your memory of what just happened?” he asked. “All of it?”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, hating that it had to be this way.

  Wes stared at me and I cringed, waiting for his horror to give way to something uglier like anger or disgust, but in the end, he only nodded and hung his head. “You’re right. It’s safer if you don’t remember.”

  And somehow, his agreement made it worse. A tear slipped down my cheek. Wes looked up and flicked his finger out, catching it before it could fall off my chin. “There will be other times,” he said.

  I nodded sadly.

  Another tear fell. Wes caught it too and then cupped my cheek with his palm. I knew he had to touch me in order to make his memory-erasing talent work. He’d done it to me only once before, the night we’d first met. There was irony buried there but I was too heartbroken to name it. I knew from experience, even if he returned my memories later, this special night would never feel the same in my thoughts.

  Wes hesitated and I felt the claws of my imprisoned reality tugging harder.

  “Hurry, Wes,” I urged.

  He pressed his lips together and nodded. “I’ll never stop looking for you,” he said.

  In a fast dip, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine in a hard kiss. The glowing white fog became darkness as my eyelids slid closed. At once, the apartment felt vast and empty and just … nowhere. The pressure of Wes’s lips on mine suddenly vanished. I was being pulled back.

  I tried uselessly to fight it but the exertion, after everything else that’d just happened, was too much. My strength flagged, my muscles gave out. And then the claws grabbed hold and, with a final, piercing yank on my subconscious, everything disappeared…