Wonderland Ch. 05

Thatcher looked over his shoulder at me, lifting up one eyebrow in response. For a second, he looked like he was going to retort with something smartass like usual, but instead he let out a heavy sigh. "Put your arms around me. I don't want you to fall off and God forbid go unconscious."

I did as I was told, the close proximity giving me a whiff of leather and male musk. Clearly Thatcher did not believe in wearing Axe – a first for a guy in high school. "Is that your way of politely insinuating you want me to be quiet?" I asked his shoulder blades.

Thatcher revved the motor once before looking over his shoulder at me again, though this time a small grin lit up his face. "Hang on," he chuckled, intentionally avoiding the question.

I buried my face in Thatcher's back, fighting a squeal as the bike roared beneath me and zoomed off down the path. Over the sound of the bike engine and shifting gears I could hear the rumbling thunder, but I was too chicken to look around, afraid that I would puke if I snuck a peek.

I didn't like motorcycles. They made me feel unprotected and exposed to everything, bad drivers and the elements included. But as Thatcher neatly zipped through the forest, warning me in advance of curves or of low-lying branches, my fear began to – slowly – slip away. When I felt the bike bounce onto smooth asphalt I lifted my head, squealing when I got a raindrop right in my eye.

"Which way?" Thatcher called as he pulled up to a stop sign.

I peeked around again before choking out, "Left. To Bella Lane. Big white house. Can't miss it," before burying my face in his back again, ignoring his laugh as he pulled away from the sign.

Thatcher shifted gears again, moving it into high gear as we wound through the hills. When we reached my house, he pulled up into the drive and parked, gently prying my fingers from their place deep in his chest and helped me off the bike.

He took one look at my face and busted out laughing, clutching his ribs softly, and his laughter careened off a couple minutes later. I stared at him unblinkingly and he shook his head, taking off the helmet for me.

"Never again," I breathed, shaking my head slowly.

"I boycott anything with an engine and two wheels from this day forward."

Thatcher rolled his dark eyes as he put the helmet over his head. "It's not for everyone," he joked. "Try to not miss the bus next time, Kitten."

I lifted my eyebrow. "Kitten?" I repeated dryly.

Thatcher chuckled and gestured to his chest. "You nearly clawed me to ribbons. Trim those things every once in a while," he joked, winking at me.

I caught his wrist when he went to reverse, finally managing to get past my shock. "What kind of person parks their bike in the middle of a hiking trail deep in the woods? What were you doing in there anyway, Thatch?"

Thatcher's smile faded slightly and I didn't miss the cloudy expression that darkened his eyes. "Now Kitten, I can't give away all my secrets on the first date," he joked, the humor in his tone definitely strained. He released the clutch to pry my fingers from his wrist, giving them a soft squeeze before he let go. "Get inside before it rains."

I caught his jacket sleeve and the warning in his eyes. "T-Thanks, Thatcher. For the ride and...and for saving me back there in the woods," I said quickly, stumbling a little over my words. I released his jacket and stepped back, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

Thatcher watched me for a moment before he winked, a small smile pulling up the corners of his lips. "Sure thing, Kitten."

He backed out of the drive and turned, zooming back down in the hill, the sound of him shifting gears reaching my ears long after he was out of sight.

"Well that was weird," I told myself out loud, turning to walk back into the house. "Mom?" I called out as I dropped my bag on the kitchen counter. "Anyone?"

The house echoed silence and after a quick look around, I found no one was home and mom hadn't left a note or message on the answering machine. Suddenly a spike of fear went down my spine and I raced out of the house and through the backyard, pushing open the door of the pool house.

It was cold and dark, and the place smelt like chlorine and must.

There was no sign of Talon.

Wiping my clammy palms on my jeans, I did one last walk around before sitting on the edge of the bed Talon had used the first night he was here, which felt like a lifetime ago. So much had happened in such a short span of time: Talon's arrival, our bonding, Connor's arrival... The incident at Lake Wonder seemed like forever ago. I picked up the pillow that still held the indentation of his large head and pressed it to my face. The smell that filled my lungs was so entirely Talon that tears pricked white-hot at the backs of my eyes and my arms tightened on the pillow as I buried my face into its plush. I stayed in that position until my body ached, then I curled up in a ball at the end of the bed until the afternoon light began to dim.

With a sigh I looked around the darkening pool house and confirmed once again to myself that Talon had left here a long time ago, perhaps even last night. I walked back to the house and settled down with a Lean Cuisine, rubbing my chest just below my left collarbone where a dull ache was beginning to form as I flipped through the TV channels.

Despite one of my favorite shows being on tonight, I couldn't pay attention to the snarky and slightly pathetic doctor that touted arbitrary diagnoses at everyone while he limped around popping happy pills. I was too busy thinking of a tall, blue, winged male and wondering why in the hell he wasn't here with me, and whether or not he was in trouble.

I sighed and sank further down into the couch, letting the crippled genius work out how to cure the male porn star, all the while completely oblivious to the storm that was raging around me, in more ways than one.

+++

Thatcher had barely rolled his "borrowed" motorcycle beneath a blue tarp strung up through the pine trees when the rain started coming down hard. While the forest canopy overhead did much to block out the rain, it wasn't enough, and the accumulating fog caused from the cool air meeting the heated earth didn't help matters any either.

He cut the ignition and took off the helmet, his eyes straying to the hastily prepared camp where his firewood was beginning to get damp. After pulling a blanket over the Kawasaki, he finished prepping camp, his spine tingling with awareness when he realized he wasn't alone.

"The girl is safe, Táxim-se?" asked a woman's voice void of emotion.

Thatcher grunted in response as he pulled off his leather jacket and replaced it with a hooded sweater and slick rain coat, pulling both sets of hoods over his head to block out the moisture.

"Kitini found the location of the tracker's camp, Táxim-se," the girl continued, her monotonic and halting way of speech too familiar to him now to grate on his nerves. Thatcher eyed his small advisor in surprise. Bayothet tilted her head then, her large mismatched brown and blue eyes reading him carefully.

"Continue, Bayothet," Thatcher said quietly, turning his eyes towards his soggy firewood to defend himself from analytical gaze.

She did after a moment, watching as he knelt and began to build up a fire. "The tracker was following another camp. Their trail leads towards Queensland. A new set of tracks appeared halfway to the town of Desmond, meeting up with the main camp. After that the tracker's trail goes cold."

Thatcher paused from shoving kindling into the small firewood tepee he had made and looked up at Bayothet. "Goes cold?" he repeated slowly.

Bayothet smiled chillingly down at him, which was her normal smile. "Kitini believes the tracker either made himself known or was discovered accidentally and taken with those in the other camp. His trail went cold—"

"Because he's being carried, meaning he's unconscious," Thatcher finished quietly, rocking back onto his heels once he had the fire going. Kitini was one of his best trackers, a descendant of one of the tracking bloodlines that had been crucial to operations during the Great Battle. Tracking her quarry required registering thermal energy and scent, among other things. When Kitini lost a trail that meant the quarry had been cloaked or knocked out. In this case, it had been both. Apparently, this group did not want anyone to find them.

"Whatever his intentions were following the campers, he's stuck with them," Thatcher said after a while, turning his attention back to the conversation. "I can't imagine why they would want to keep him," he tagged on in afterthought.

"To retrieve information," Bayothet said matter-of-factly. "That would be the tracker's only worth to them."

Thatcher nodded slightly, drifting off again. "I wonder who the other set of tracks belong to."

"Josef retraced the path, but it was too erratic."

"Erratic how?" Thatcher asked curiously, his brow furrowing.

"The scent is potent, Táxim-se. Joset traced it to many parts of these woods and to some areas of the city."

Thatcher understood immediately. "The one responsible for the scent lives nearby – and uses the forest to hunt," he murmured slowly, his black eyes wandering over the foggy forest bottom around them. "Did Joset manage to find a starting point?"

"Yes. At your human's house."

Thatcher felt every muscle in his body tense, but to his credit he did not get flustered by Bayothet's accusation or the information she had just imparted. "Is the scent...one of our own?"

For once, Bayothet smiled warmly. "No, Táxim-se, it is a Gargoyle's. An Ancient Gargoyle's."

Thatcher could not help but stare up at her in surprise. An Ancient Gargoyle consorting with a human? It was unheard of!

Thatcher's inner eye went back to the small, pale girl with hair the color of fine red wine who had sassed him, defended him, and ultimately went pale-faced on the back of a motorcycle. How could such an innocent harbor such an enormous secret? How hadn't she been killed upon discovering the old soul? Why had she even agreed to keep the Gargoyle safe?

Thatcher fell into silence, amassed by questions that did not have answers, entirely unaware of Bayothet's growing impatience or of the slowly escalating tempo of storm that surrounded them.

Tempest was definitely someone to watch, Thatcher thought to himself. She knew things, had answers to riddles that he desperately needed. She was guarding a valuable key to ending the perpetual war that had killed far too many. But how could he get closer to her? How could he win her trust?

His eyes strayed to the ratty quilted blanket that covered his bike, a smile coming to his face.

"Táxim-se?" Bayothet asked as quietly as she could.

He met her mismatched eyes and nodded as he confirmed his next course of action was a good one. "Go with Kitini. Take the others. I will stay here and learn what I can from Tempest." When she opened her mouth to propose a smarter plan undoubtedly, Thatcher arched an eyebrow. "That is an order, Bayothet." She shut her mouth with an audible clack.

Bayothet blinked and bowed low before moving out from beneath the tarp and into the fog surrounding them. "Bayothet." She turned on her heel, standing at attention. "Just follow them," Thatcher said carefully. "Do not make your presence known. Interfere only if absolutely necessary. If the camp arrives at the Queensland Mountains, do not go any further." He turned back to the fire. "I cannot afford to lose anymore of my people to the Elders."

"What of those in the camp? Should they not be warned?"

"Only those who obey and believe in the blasphemy of the Elders know their way into the stronghold. Little use in warning them, I think."

Bayothet made a noise torn between disgust and disproval. Thatcher knew it was directed at the Elders and the mindless obedience of those who carried out their orders, but he could not turn up his nose entirely at the situation. There had been a time when he too had followed all commands, even the ghastly ones, without batting an eye. He was still paying his penance for those misdeeds.

"What of the Ancient?" Bayothet tried again. "This Gargoyle cannot be allowed into the mountains. You know better than I do what the Elders will do to him."

Thatcher dropped his chin slightly, pressing his fingertips gently to the tape on the bridge of his generous nose as a small headache began to set in, ghosts of his past flickering in his mind's eye as he thought over her words.

The Ancient threw off everything. If the Gargoyle had just stayed put, everything would have turned out so much simpler. No need to track, no need to split up his group, no need to worry of being caught...

Thatcher lifted up his head and fed the small fire more kindling. "Use your judgment, Bayothet. I trust that you'll make the wise decision when the time calls for it."

Bayothet bowed again, silently thanking the soft spoken leader for giving her the chance to prove her worth to him, and to her ability to contribute to the pack as a whole. It was all she had ever asked for, which wasn't much. Now that he was giving in, and so readily, she knew that he was worried. She vowed to not disappoint him.

"I will report back when we have found something," she promised. He nodded absently and Bayothet took her leave, eagerly lengthening her strides as she sprinted towards the mountain stronghold where the others were waiting for her.

Thatcher pulled out food from his satchel, his stomach grumbling at the sight of his chopped beef sandwich. After the ridiculous beating he had taken at the hands of the jocks, he had been too sore and pissed to eat lunch. Now, he planned to remedy that. After setting up his sandwich, he tugged out the largest bag of potato chips the school cafeteria had to offer, and his favorite fizzy drink, Dr. Pepper.

Thatcher ate his meal in silence, and not for the first time, alone; his thoughts wandering, despite his best efforts, to the pale girl with hair the color of crushed cherries and eyes of a soft emerald green.

Tempest...

She was waiting for him in his bedchambers, a fact that ignited his male pride more than he could ever say. Her creamy pale skin was a stark contrast to the dark sheets she laid upon, her hair a stain of flowing red wine against the pillows. Her eyes were dark and heavy with passion, a welcoming but nervous smile played on her full pink lips. He took a step forward, drawn to her like a sailor to a siren, watching as her body opened up like the most delicate of flowers to reveal herself to him.

He stood there at the edge of the bed for long minutes, simply taking in her beauty. Her body was curved but firm, a plentiful banquet of things he ached to touch. His dark eyes wandered over her full breasts, his hands tingling with the ghost of his prior conquests, remembering the warm and abundant handfuls that he could spend hours worshiping. Her mounds were tipped with budded coral pink nipples, begging for his touch. But he couldn't stop drinking her in, he couldn't get enough.

"Spread your legs," he whispered hoarsely, not missing the flush that colored her face and neck at the command. She did so slowly, and he hungrily took the complete image of her in.

Her calves tightened as he knelt before her and drug his fingertips up from her ankles to her kneecaps, his eyes never leaving her center. Her crimson-colored curls were neatly trimmed, exposing sweet pink folds and swollen outer lips, revealing how much she wanted this – him. He smiled at her sharp intake of breath when his hands gently trailed down from her knees to her inner thighs, and he chuckled when she squirmed beneath him, aching for him to touch her like she wanted. While using his thumbs to massage the crease of her thighs, he gently shifted her weight so she was more exposed, pushing her legs back and up. She moaned when his thumbs pulled apart her outer lips, exposing the slick wet center that oozed small drops of liquid. He rotated his thumbs in tight, gentle circles, watching as the liquid trickled slowly from her tiny hole down to the equally pink star beneath.

Sucking in a deep breath he calmed himself, ignoring the almost painful protest his cock made.

He dropped her legs slowly to the mattress but kept them spread, rising above her to give the rest of her body the attention she so desperately needed. Without preamble he licked and slurped her right nipple into his mouth, grumbling in pleasure when she gave a sharp cry. Starting from her hips he caressed her sides with his palms all the way up to her breasts, fondling them slowly as he made love to one breast, then the other, taking his sweet time. He drank in every cry, every moan, every sharp gasp of pleasure; the noises only adding to his own hunger and need.

Finally, he had enough.

He licked a pathway up to her neck, gently nibbling on her chin before sweeping his tongue over the seam of her lips, demanding she open up to him. When she did, he plunged into her, conquering her soft swells and warm cavern with a relentless hunger. He broke the kiss to nibble on her plush mouth, pulling away to admire the raw look to them when he was finished.

That was when she touched him. Her warm palms pressed to his chest, mapping the planes and cuts of his torso, her nails gently scraping over the curve of his hips and ass before returning back to his shoulders. She winked and pulled him down to her again, initiating the kiss with a passion that matched his own.

When they parted again, she let out a shaky breath and looked deep into his eyes. "I need you," she murmured breathlessly, a single hand quickly moving down his firm body to the steel bar that throbbed with every heartbeat. Her dark green eyes dropped down then as her hands began to measure up his length, feeling his girth carefully. He studied her expression as she explored, unable to keep his hips from moving forward with her ministrations, his nostrils flaring with every tight breath.

"I-I've never done this before," she whispered quietly, not meeting his gaze as a deep pink blush colored her high cheekbones. "Does that bother you?"

Taking her hands in his to stop the torture, he brought her gaze back to his. "Of course not. I'll take care of you, I promise."

She nodded her acquiescence and he fought against growling in triumph, instead kissing her softly and used one hand to check her wetness for him. She was soaked.

He gently slid a finger inside her, watching her face as he flexed the digit. In response her legs widened and she jerked her hips up, unaware that she was silently begging for him with that movement. He added another finger and began to twist and pump slowly, smiling down at her as her hips rocked up to meet him. Once he had three digits sliding neatly in and out of her sheath, he knew she was ready.

He used her arousal to slicken his member, hissing slightly when her hot center impatiently bumped his aching tip. "Patience, Kitten," he murmured as gently as he could. She shook her head and repeated the action, squealing when he clamped his hands around her thighs to hold her still. "Patience," he repeated firmly.

She went still with a nod, trembling slightly as he reached in between them and began to push forward, greeting her slick, velvety soft muscles before retreating again, gathering dew as he repeated the actions over and over again until she broke down and begged.

Gritting his teeth, he tasted salt from his sweat and the sweet cherry flavor of her lips, and unable to hold off any longer, he pushed into her virgin tunnel all the way to his hilt. The scream that left her lungs was torn between pain and relief, her muscles clamping down on him so tightly his back arched at the sensation. It took every ounce of his resilience to not cum then and there, almost like how it used to be when he was so many years younger and so untried.