Branded by Fire

he’d first met her before shifting. “The sun’s moved,” she complained.

“There’s another stone as good.”

Making a face, she walked over to the second flat slab with silent feline grace. She had no shame in her naked body. Neither did he. But, he noticed her. And that wasn’t the changeling way. Not with normal members of the pack—either SnowDancer or DarkRiver. Nakedness after shifting simply was. Nothing to be remarked on.

But his brain was remarking plenty on Mercy. Her fire red hair curled just above the curve of her buttocks, drawing his eye to their sweet, toned shape. Mercy was a soldier, her muscles lean and strong. But she was also very much a woman—all smooth, soft skin and luscious, strokable curves.

And her breasts. He swallowed a groan as he caught teasing glimpses of them as she jumped lightly on top of the rock—very much like the cat she was—and lay down on her front, giving a moan of pure, sensual bliss at the heat. “Stop checking me out and come give me a massage.”

He walked over, his body heavy with need. But he wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t going to assume she’d accept him into her body again. Making such assumptions with predatory changeling females got men nothing but bruised egos and possibly, missing body parts. He climbed onto the rock with steady steps that were more natural to him than her quicksilver grace. “Damn it, Mercy,” he said the instant he saw her back. “You’re fucking black-and-blue again. You should’ve told me I was—”

“It wasn’t playtime with you that caused this, Kincaid.”

Fury rolled through him. “Who?” He’d rip them to shreds.

“Training, so cut it out.” Turning her head, she shoved her hair out of the way and glared. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just my skin—and it’s not black-and-blue. I saw it in the mirror today; the marks have almost entirely faded.”

He scowled, wanting to do damage to whoever had dared harm her.

“My muscles, on the other hand, do ache. So massage me while I tell you what I picked up about the bears.”

“You sure you don’t hurt?”

“Riley, I’m a natural redhead.” A snicker. “In case you didn’t notice.”

Of course his gaze dipped downward. “Turn over so I can check.”

She laughed. “Massage me already.”

Still not happy with the marks, he straddled her. She moaned at the first firm touch of his hands on shoulders.

He didn’t say anything, choosing to stroke over her back again. “Bears?” he finally asked, though it was the last thing on his mind.

“They’re ooo-kay.” The last word was a moan as he hit a tight muscle. “I like your hands.”

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Touching her was scrambling his brain cells. And that would surprise almost everyone who knew him. Riley Kincaid didn’t get scrambled. He was the one you could count on to be snapping out cool, collected orders while the world turned to custard. Right now, it could’ve been raining icicles and he wouldn’t have cared . . . except to protect Mercy’s body.

“The bears are fine,” she said, her voice pure indolent cat. “I scented a couple dead, but no signs of sickness—might be there was a fight. What did you get?”

“Same.” His voice sounded like sandpaper to him, but Mercy murmured in agreement and stayed quiescent under his hands.

This, he realized, was another kind of trust. Normally, she’d allow only a packmate to do this. Under his hands, her muscles grew loose, limber. Finishing with her shoulders, he slid down to work on her back. Despite the bruises that continued to anger the wolf, her skin felt soft as satin, warm and tempting. His fingers brushed the sides of her breasts as he did her sides.

“Hey, no copping a feel.”

Leaning over, he nipped her ear. “Quiet.”

He saw the edge of her smile. “Do the rest.”

Her languid laziness was so feline he couldn’t do anything else but stroke her. After he finished her back, he swept the heavy weight of her hair to cover her. Pretty, his wolf said as he ran the strands through his fingers.

Mercy didn’t hurry him up, and he realized she liked having her hair played with. It was a surprising discovery, it was such a feminine thing. But it fit her. Releasing the strands after long, long minutes, he ran his fingers down to trace the delicate lines of the tattoo at the base of her spine. It was a fine blade anchoring and twined by beautiful curling lines.

Feminine and martial.

He liked it. Just as he liked the fact that she had another tattoo on her right arm—slashing lines that echoed the markings on her alpha’s face. Loyal. This cat was loyal. And that both drew him and frustrated him. But he wouldn’t think about that today.

These minutes, these hours, were for Riley and Mercy. Not a lieutenant and a sentinel. Here, they were two ordinary people who happened to set one another aflame . . . and, perhaps, touch each other far deeper than either of them was willing to admit.

Drifting lower, he ran his knuckles over her buttocks. No protest. So he kneaded her muscles with careful hands, learning her far slower than he had either of the other times they’d been together.

By the time he reached the tops of her thighs, the scent of her arousal had wrapped around him like a thousand soft whispers. But he didn’t push. He was enjoying having her under his hands—Mercy rarely stopped being in motion. To have her like this was a rare treat, one to be savored.

The sole of her foot hit his back lightly as she bent it in a lazy movement. He squeezed her thigh. Instead of dropping the foot, she tapped him again. So he stroked his hands back over her body and off her shoulders, bracing them palms-down beside her head as he bent to nip at her ear again. Except this time, it was gentle, a question.

Reaching up to sweep her hair off her back, she bared the line of her neck. He was agonizingly hungry for her, but he didn’t immediately move to take. The other two times, he’d been in a fury. Today, he wanted to savor, to taste her in slow sips and little bites. Another nip, the graze of his teeth along her jaw. She made a complaining noise that wasn’t really a complaint. “Wolf.”

He stroked his hand down her side, over the curve of her breast, her hip, then back up. “Cat.”

She arched into the caress, but the move was languid, relaxed. “Pet me some more.”

“You always this greedy in bed?” But he was doing what she wanted—petting a warm, compliant, and sexually aroused Mercy was no hardship. Hell, if he was honest, it was an erotic fantasy come to life.

“No.” She was purring under his touch. “But I’m not promising anything.”

“Of course not.” He got off her and the rock.

“Hey!”

“The stone’s hard.” And there was no way he was chancing adding to her bruises. “Come down here and I’ll pet you as much as you want.”

“Bribery doesn’t work.” But she got up with a slow, graceful movement and flowed off the rock. It was the only word he could think of to describe it. She was pure liquid silk. And then she was in front of him, her arms around his neck, her body pressed to his.

As he leaned down to kiss her, he was hit by a fantasy of her hair sliding over his skin, wrapping around his cock. Groaning, he deepened the kiss, stroking his tongue against hers. Her hands tunneled into his hair and she made little noises in the back of her throat that let him know she liked what he was doing.

“I’m ready.” It was a whisper against his mouth, her lips sliding along his jaw, soft and lusciously feminine.

“I’m not.” Kissing his way down to her throat, he sucked. Just enough to leave a mark.

“I know what you’re doing.”

He smiled. And bit her. Her body jerked but she kept her claws sheathed. “Behave, Riley.” A lazy warning.

“You, telling me to behave?” he asked, dipping his head to tug a nipple into his mouth.

Her hands clenched in his hair. “Mmm.” That purr was vibrating against him, setting off a thousand small