His hands traced my upper arms, biceps, triceps, and deltoids, his fingertips giving no more pressure than the water trickling down me. The pressure increased slightly as he outlined my shoulder blades, the points and wide planes of scapulae. He massaged my shoulders, digging gently with his thumbs into the pressure points between blade and spine. When my shoulders finally relaxed, he feathered his fingers beneath my armpits and, even more slowly, languidly, down my sides, almost ticklish, almost. Not quite. Just on the edge of . . . something . . . but not quite anything. Not yet. But heated fingers, slick and slippery.

He eased his weight away, our bodies still connected at our hips, and paused, hands spread wide just at the curve of my lower back. My bones went liquid. Beast purred deep inside me. Ours, ours, ours. Mate.

Bruiser whispered, “I hear your cat when you breathe,” as he massaged up the long muscles of my spine. I moaned, the pitch deep and low, a vibrato of need.

My eyes slitted open, to see the steam that was rebuilding in the shower stall, swirling around our feet, Bruiser’s and mine. His need pressed up against me. Insistent, in contrast to his patient, languorous, stroking hands.

I smiled as his palms slid down my spine and between our bodies, to cup my buttocks. The heat of the water and of the Onorio radiated into me. His hands glided around and caught my hips, his long fingers splayed over my abdomen.

My arms skated down from cradling my head, my fingers covering his hands and interlacing. My right hand was traced with reddish streaks, still not healed from the wyrd spell damage. I leaned back into him, and his head came down again, close to my cheek.

We stood like that, for a long time, body to body. Silent. Content. I felt his lips curl into a smile before he spoke. “The last time I was in your shower, I had been nearly drained by Leo and beaten into a bloody pulp by his other Enforcer. And I was alone. Totally alone.”

“That sounds so sad,” I whispered, my smile widening, my face relaxing.

With mate. Not alone now. With mate, Beast purred.

“It was very sad,” Bruiser said. “Positively wretched. And to make it worse, there was this body wash that smelled like a greenhouse in bloom. No bar soap. No unscented anything. Just . . . floral bouquet soap. When I returned to the Council House, several days later, unwashed since that time, unshaven, and unkempt, Leo said I smelled as if I had spent an uncommon amount of time at Katie’s Ladies.”

A giggle slipped out. I do not giggle. But one slipped out. Bruiser laughed with me, his breath hot at my ear. I said, “I didn’t know you showered then. The soap was a Christmas present from one of Katie’s girls. If it makes you feel better,” I said, “I dropped that bottle of body wash some time ago. It accidently drained out and away before I had a chance to pick it up.”

“Accidently.”

“Absolutely accidently.”

He bit my shoulder, catching my trapezius, holding me still, like a big-cat would grab his mate. Heat blossomed in me, breasts tightening. Beast hissed and the sound came from my lips.

Bruiser’s hands slipped free of mine and down along my hips, one finger caressing the mound at the center of me. And lower, across the cleft. Clever, skillful caress. I wanted to step to either side, widening my legs, giving him access, but his feet trapped mine. His body pressed against me, a tender prison. My eyes followed the movement of his fingers, such talented fingers. One slid gently between the lips and over the heart of me.

I sucked in a breath, arched my spine and threw back my head, resting it on his shoulder, my hands now spread on the wall, supporting us as he pressed harder, forcing me against the cool tile. My breath came fast as his fingers danced, curling and circling and driving me to a peak. The sound I made was nothing a human throat can mimic. A low, muted growling that vibrated my bones and hissed at the end, “Yesssss. Yesssss.”

The orgasm caught me unprepared, banging my face on the tile as it gripped my body. Shook me like prey. Shot through me like lightning through river sand, burning every nerve end as if crystalizing them all at once. “Yesssss.” It began to fade, singeing me here and there.

Bruiser whipped me around and lifted me, catching me under my buttocks and settling me onto him. He caught my breast in his mouth and bit. And I came again, long before he even started to move inside me.

* * *

A quarter hour later we were lying exhausted in my bed, the covers shoved off to the floor. When I could speak, I mumbled, “Are you sure that wasn’t hot, wild monkey sex?”

Bruiser laughed. “No, love. Hot, wild monkey sex is what you give me when you see the wyrds I discovered in the manuscripts you found and gave me. Wyrds of power. Molly says they are wyrds that she and Sabina can use to ensnare Joses Bar-Judas.”

I managed to roll my head on my neck. “You’ll have to wait a while on any activity that requires more energy than turning my head.” Bruiser gave me that grin, the one a man used when he knew he had satisfied his partner—part conceit, part lasciviousness, part wicked pride. I ignored it. “You got wyrds? Seriously?”

“I did. I already gave them to Molly.” A smile creased his face and I rubbed my temple against his scratchy beard.

“Fine,” I said, as if measuring his offer. “Next time, monkey sex.”

“Hot and wild,” Bruiser specified, as if this was a bargain we were striking. “But for now, we sleep. We need sleep. Even a skinwalker and an Onorio can’t fight well on no sleep.”

I rolled over and pressed my backside into his lap, scrunching into him until we were skin to skin from top to toe. “Okay. Wake me when it’s time to kick SoD heinie.” I closed my eyes and slept.

* * *

I woke when Bruiser rolled to his feet and stretched, our mingled scents coating the air, wafting from his heated body. “Don’t forget your promise,” he murmured to my ear.

“Yeah. Whatever,” I said, and closed my eyes. Moments later I heard Bruiser leave the house. I flipped back the covers and showered off our fun-time smells. Playtime was over. Now might be a good time to wake up a vamp from her daytime nap. Never a fun thing to do. And made doubly unfun when said vamp was as crazy as a mattress-full of bedbugs. I braided my wet hair and twisted it up into a tight fighting bun, in case I didn’t have time to do so later. While I pulled on my jeans, I dialed Eli, and when he answered I said, “Get up and armed. We’ve got about three hours before dusk to figure out all the causative factors of this mess, devise a plan that will make the witches happy, avert a vamp war, and have time to prepare to capture Santana sometime tonight.” Eli groaned and I could hear the sheets move as he rolled over in his bed. “You said to call,” I added, trying not to taunt. “I can do this alone. But if you’re coming, we need to conference in the kitchen.”