White Tiger

*   *   *

Kendrick went still as Addison’s warm touch and kiss woke every yearning he’d been trying to suppress. He wrapped his arm around Addison’s warm body and pulled her against him.

She moved in his embrace, her breasts flattening against his chest, the softness of her cutting through the horrific memories and the constant pain in his heart.

You are an amazing man. After everything Kendrick had just told her, about his stepfather and the brutal way he’d had to rid himself of his abuse, she called him amazing.

Kendrick couldn’t think of anything romantic or poetic to say back to her. Words flitted through his head and out of his grasp. He could only groan softly and keep kissing her.

He turned the kiss deep, drawing her up into him, eyes closing as he tightened his arm around her. She was all that was warmth and goodness fighting against the harshness in him. His cock pushed against his jeans, his entire being aching for her.

A cough sounded somewhere at his feet.

“Hey,” Ben rumbled faintly from the floor. “I’m not dead yet.”

Addison broke from Kendrick. He couldn’t see her face in the darkness, but her eyes were shining, and she wiped her cheeks.

“Ben?” she asked in concern. “You okay?”

“No.” Ben’s voice was weak. “I meant—I’m not dead yet, so keep going. Might be the last action I ever get.”

“Stop talking,” Kendrick said sternly. “You might move the knife.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to go,” Ben croaked. “You unbutton her shirt from the top—one, two . . .”

“You’re a shit,” Addison said. “Just be quiet.”

Ben rumbled a chuckle, which ended in a cough.

Kendrick got off the swing to check Ben’s pulse and feel his forehead. The man hadn’t developed a fever, which was good. Even in these days of antibiotics and other medicines, infection happened and could swiftly kill, and germs themselves were developing resistance to antibiotics.

Ben’s eyes drifted closed, his lips parting. Kendrick pulled the sheet over his legs again—the wind that had sprung up was cooling off the hot night. This time, Ben didn’t throw it off. He’d sunk into a stupor and responded to nothing.

Addison joined Kendrick on the porch floor. She smoothed the sheet then rested her head on Kendrick’s chest. “I barely know him, but I don’t want to see him die.”

“I won’t let him,” Kendrick said. He put his arms around Addison and kissed her hair. “He did me a good turn, and I won’t let him pay for it.”

Addison shivered and Kendrick drew her closer. They returned to the swing and sat together as the night cooled, and they waited.

The horizon grayed around five, the night coldest just before dawn. Addison slept against his shoulder, her breathing even. Dimitri and Seamus checked in from time to time during the night, to report all was quiet. Jaycee kept her distance.

Kendrick sensed the motorcycle’s approach before he heard the rumble and then saw it coming up the hill from the highway. He was on his feet, Addison rising and blinking sleepily beside him. Tiger brought his Harley up the drive, a big man clinging on behind him.

Tiger expertly turned and stopped the bike within feet of the porch steps, then looked up at Kendrick with an expression of vast irritation as he killed the motor. Well, the personage of Zander Moncrieff would piss anyone off very soon after meeting him.

The large man climbed off the back of the motorcycle, moving with inhuman grace. A duster coat floated around him, as did two long white dreadlocks that framed his face. The rest of his hair was in a buzz cut against his head, and unlike many Shifters, he wore a goatee beard around his mouth.