Petals on The Moon: A Without Thorns Continuation

Prologue

Walk away...

He kept repeating that to himself as he plunged into the cold rain. He hardly even felt the sting. Walk away...

The temptation to turn around and curl in the warmth of her arms was overwhelming that Dane had to kneel in a lame attempt to anchor himself to the spot. The wolf was thrashing against its cage, its frustration pulsing in Dane's skull. He didn't want any more complications. Hell, he didn't even know what just happened back there. He only knew the way she fit perfectly around him. Like she was made just for him. He could still hear her voice whispering his name as she reached the peak. Damn!

He pushed away the memory but the tightness in his jeans wasn't about to go away. He straightened, ignoring the pain caused by the snug fit of his pants. Dane looked down at his bare chest, belatedly remembering that he gave his shirt to Deva.

He shook his head against the onslaught of memories. Her eyes. Her face. Her scent. The wolf at the back of his head fought against mental cage. No you don't, he growled back.

He walked further into the cold darkness, hoping for relief from the delicious pain licking him. Nothing seemed to ease the throbbing in his pants. A solitary streetlamp stood in the rain. He went to it and swung his fist without hesitation. The metal groaned loudly as it bent under the force of his punch. He had hoped that the pain in his knuckles would tear his mind away from the other part of his anatomy that still throbbed in an uncomfortable way. Dane focused his attention to his other senses, seeking out anything that looked even remotely out of the ordinary just to distract himself. But then again, being a werewolf in the Underworld is not ordinary.

Deva sat on the mattress, still staring at the door Dane had just left. Her body still thrummed from the aftershocks of her--what did he call it?--climax. Nobody told her this would happen. Oh, yes it was painful. But the pain was nonexistent compared to the spiralling heights he took her. Like she was rocketed into space and brought slowly down to Earth. She'd prepared herself to feel detached. She just hadn't expected that after, well--that--she would still be sitting here in the motel in shock.

She looked at the pot from which he plucked the rose she coaxed out. For a brooding man like him, a delicate rose had no place in his pockets. He probably threw it the first chance he got. Like he did with me...

Surprised at the pang that hit her, she hugged her knees to her chest, feeling the soft cloth of his shirt against her still sensitized skin. The musky scent of him still clung to the dark shirt he'd given her. Her eyes grew wide in surprise as her body reacted to his scent, already preparing itself to receive him. Gods, he doesn't even have to be in the room...

Deva counted slowly to ten before she rose shakily from the mattress and padded barefoot to the center of the room. The wooden planks were cold under the soles of her feet. One by one, she picked up the scattered pieces of her clothing from the floor. Something caught her eye as she bent to pick up her slipper by the foot of the bed. She straightened and felt heat rise up her cheeks as she saw the telltale red spots on the sheets. She didn't need to worry about Dane talking. Whoever cleans up in this room would know that she did the deed. With a stranger to boot. Mortified, she yanked them off the bed and rolled it into a ball. She looked around the room for a place to stash it but found none. She couldn't very well push it under the bed and pray to the gods that nobody checks. Fat chance at that.

Something thumped on the other side of the door. She froze.

"Knock, knock," a silky voice said, barely muffled by the door. Clutching the ball of mattress close to her chest, Deva stood as still as possible. She barely breathed.