Unable to sleep, Dean sat up. The couch was soaked in his sweat. Deloris had come by after he’d gotten back and fixed his wound. Stitches the second time around had hurt worse than the first time. Dean shoved from the couch and pressed his hand into his side as he wandered around the large living room.

  There was an explosion of plants in Trigger’s house. Dean didn’t know their names, but there were small ones with barely any leaves, large ones that stood as tall as he did, and ones that had leaves as big as his palm. He recognized the ferns and the fat but short palm tree in the corner, though.

  Trigger’s walls were filled with photos of his brothers, and one of a very pretty woman. She had green eyes, blonde hair, and a smile that lit up her face. Dean assumed she was Trigger’s mother since he saw a strong family resemblance.

  The house seemed cozy, with overstuffed tan couches, a well-used recliner, and garden magazines spread over the coffee table as if this were a dentist’s office. The color scheme of the walls even impressed him. Light gray with cream trim.

  He spotted pocket doors to his left, and when he opened them, the room beyond had a large dining room table in the center with six seats around it, a china cabinet, and another explosion of plants. It was as if the forest had strong-armed its way into Trigger’s house and settled itself. Trigger truly was a nature guy.

  Dean wandered closer to the hallway, his bare feet pressing against the shiny wooden floor, telling himself he wasn’t heading for Trigger’s room. He was just trying to figure the guy out, see what kind of person Trigger was from the things he had in his home.

  A well-stocked liquor cabinet sat against one of the walls. Dean’s mouth watered as he turned and spotted a shelf beside the cabinet. Shot glasses with funny sayings or names of different states on them lined the shelves, as though Trigger had collected them on his travels.

  He even had one from Dean’s home state, Ohio. But he no longer lived there. He’d moved when he’d joined the bureau. Although there was an FBI office in Cleveland, Dean had wanted to get as far from his family as possible.

  But what did he really have to go home to? Dean had no significant other, no pets, and no plants that needed watering. He didn’t even own a goldfish. Dean had his empty apartment and his job that he put too many hours into, yet got no reward out of.

  His social life was nonexistent. Dean hated his job, so he didn’t hang out with any of the people at work. As he stood there analyzing his life, he realized just how lonely and boring it truly was.

  He stopped when he reached Trigger’s bedroom door. It was ajar, and Dean heard light snoring just beyond it.

  Don’t do it. Don’t go in there.

  Dean forced himself to look away. He ran his hand over the pajama bottoms Trigger had given him to wear. His cock was hot and throbbing, tenting the thin material. He squeezed the head, giving a small gasp as his eyelids fluttered closed.

  When was the last time he’d had sex? Oh yeah, it had been two months ago when he’d hooked up with some stranger he’d met in a seedy bar. That seemed to be all Dean did. Hookups and one-night stands. Not that he was against relationships, but he’d never found the right person, and his job ate up most of his time.

  But how long had it been since Dean had had fuck-me-into-the-wall sex? God, forever.

  You’re not getting that from Trigger, so back away from his bedroom.

  Dean turned toward Trigger’s room.

  Don’t do it!

  He stepped closer until he could see past the crack between the door and the frame. He saw a long, white dresser with a large mirror attached. The only thing on the dresser was a digital alarm clock.

  The wooden floor continued into Trigger’s room from the hallway, but a cream-colored rug covered a large portion of the floor. Dean pressed the tips of his fingers against the door and eased it open just a bit more. Trigger’s bed was situated between two large windows. The moonlight spilled into the room, illuminating it.

  Dean bit his lower lip and squeezed his eyelids closed when he saw Trigger lying there, his bedding kicked aside, showing off his firm ass while he slept on his stomach.

  Dean moved away until his back pressed into the wall. He took several deep breaths, still strangling the head of his cock. His pajama pants were wet with pre-cum as he tried to bring his galloping heart back under control.

  Instead of creeping around Trigger’s home, Dean should have been escaping. He should have been working his way to civilization, not peeping at Trigger’s naked body.

  As he stood there, Dean slid his hand down his aching erection, gripping the length in a firm hold. Why in the hell couldn’t he simply walk away, go jack off in the bathroom and relieve the pressure in his balls? The thought wasn’t even tempting. Not when he had a hard male body just beyond the wall he was pressed against.

  He had no doubt Trigger wouldn’t turn him down if Dean went in there and slipped into bed beside him. He also had no doubt Trigger would give him the fucking of a lifetime.

  Dean peeped around the doorframe, then quickly pulled back. God, the sight of Trigger’s bare ass had his hole pulsing to be filled. He remembered vividly what Trigger’s cock looked like. He’d seen the man naked in the woods. Had ogled Trigger’s prick for several long seconds.

  And it was ogle-worthy.

  Horny beyond sanity, Dean stroked himself through his pajama pants. He wasn’t sure how much more of this heat he could take. It was like walking through the fires of hell on hot coals. Every inch of his body was in flames.

  But the harder he stroked himself, the more frustrated he became. It wasn’t his hand he wanted to feel on his cock. It wasn’t the hallway where he wanted to be.

  Dean twisted to the side and peered back into the bedroom. Oh God! Trigger had turned over, and now his cock was exposed in the pale moonlight. This was complete torture.

  Even soft, Trigger was well hung. Dean forced his feet to move, forced them to guide him back to the living room. He shoved his pants down to his thighs, spat on his hand, and jerked his prick until the skin felt raw, but his orgasm wouldn’t come.

  Damn it!

  Dean gasped when a hard wall pressed into his back. Trigger’s hand snaked around Dean’s body, smacking his own hand away as he curled his fingers around Dean’s erection.

  Unable to resist, Dean leaned against Trigger’s firm body as Trigger slowly stroked him. He ran his lips over Dean’s heated skin, kissing along his neck, biting down gently on his shoulder.

  Dean whimpered as he fucked Trigger’s hand, his hips punching forward, his eyelids fluttering closed. They stood in the middle of the living room, facing the couch as Trigger brought Dean off.

  He cried out, his cum spurting across the coffee table. Dean reached his left arm behind him and gripped Trigger’s neck for leverage as his body exploded.

  But that wasn’t enough. His climax hadn’t even knocked the edge off. His cock was still hard and throbbing in Trigger’s hand.

  Without a single word, Trigger took Dean down to the floor. He yanked Dean’s bottoms off and spread his cheeks before burying his tongue in Dean’s ass.

  “Oh, fuck!” Dean rocked on all fours, his limbs quivering, pleasure making his body pulse. He clawed at the wood, thrusting his ass into Trigger’s face. The heat threatened to tear him apart, threatened to drive him insane as Trigger’s tongue fucked Dean’s hole as if it were a dick.

  Then he shoved two fingers inside Dean’s ass, spearing in and out as his tongue trailed lower, lapping at Dean’s balls.

  “I…I need.” Dean gritted his teeth. He needed more than just fingers.

  “I know, baby.” Trigger licked up one side of Dean’s ass, then trailed his tongue to the other side. “I know what you need.”

  Dean held his breath as Trigger removed his fingers and replaced them with the head of his cock. Dean was so far gone that he hadn’t thought of telling Trigger they needed lube.

  But he soon found he didn’t have to say a word. Something spurted against his aching hole, and his entrance relaxed. The muscles loosened to the point Trigger slid into him with minimal pain.

  Dean mewled like a cat in heat, scratching at the floor, trying to pull air into his lungs as Trigger grabbed his hips and pounded into Dean’s ass.

  “More,” Dean cried out.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Trigger’s fingers dug deeper into Dean’s flesh.

  “I need more!” Dean pounded his fist against the floor.

  Trigger slammed into Dean with bone-jarring ferocity. Trigger thrust his cock so deep that the head should’ve been touching the back of Dean’s throat.

  When Dean came again, he swore he saw stars. He hadn’t even touched his cock to bring himself off—which was a first for him. The pleasure threatened to drown him. Dean tried to crawl away, to escape the barrage of ecstasy tearing him apart, but Trigger clamped a hand over Dean’s nape, forcing him to stay put.

  He bit Dean’s shoulder, growling like a wild beast as he came deep in Dean’s ass. The heat let up and Dean fell to the floor. Trigger collapsed beside him as they gasped for air.

  Trigger turned onto his side and smoothed his hand down Dean’s sweaty back. “Don’t ever deny yourself the pleasures I can give you. Next time, don’t walk away from my room.”

  Exhausted, Dean closed his eyes. He didn’t care that he was lying on the floor in his cooling cum. He didn’t care about anything at the moment. All he wanted was sleep, and after the earth-shattering orgasm Trigger had given him, twice, Dean had no problem finally falling asleep.

  * * * *

  Forest Ranger Burt Valentino parked his vehicle next to the log cabin that served as the station. It had been one long-ass night, and he was exhausted by the time he dragged his weary bones from his Yukon.

  Now he could add Senior FBI Field Agent Ryan Nolan to the death count. Things were getting way out of hand. He hadn’t signed up for this. Protecting the shifters’ secret was one thing, but covering up murders wasn’t something he wanted to do.

  But what choice did he have? Valentino loved his job, loved living in the mountains away from people. If he turned the shifters in, his beloved mountains would turn into a three-ring circus. Not only that, the shifters would come after him for revenge, and as much as Valentino hated carrying around the secrets they forced him to carry, being hunted down by shifters was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

  Path lights illuminated the walkway as Valentino made his way to the door. He’d climbed the three wooden steps and was ready to let himself in when he stopped. He cocked his head to the side, listening. The light scratching sound repeated.

  Had a woodland critter gotten inside? The noise had come from inside the station. Valentino was sure of it. He looked around, squinting into the darkness, listening for the sound. A month earlier a raccoon had broken through a window screen and torn up the kitchen something awful. Valentino had ended up throwing everything away.

  He worked with two other guys at the station, but Ralph was home sick and Adolph and his wife were expecting their first child. Since she was close to being due, Adolph had taken time off, so Valentino was alone on the south side of the mountains. He pulled his service weapon free and stepped inside. If it was a raccoon, he was going to shoot the nasty thing.

  But as Valentino’s eyes adjusted, he saw that the kitchen was pristine. No cupboards were open, no boxes torn to shreds. He closed the door behind him and moved around the station, so familiar with the layout that he hadn’t needed to turn on a light.

  Only, something felt way off. Instead of stepping into familiarity, into the station he’d worked at for the past fifteen years, the place felt cold, uninviting, and fraught with menace.

  And Valentino didn’t feel alone. “Who’s there?” he called out.

  The place stayed eerily silent. As he slowly crossed the large open floor plan, the smell of earth filled his lungs—like the smell when someone raked across moist dirt. Earthy, with a touch of worm. The air also smelled sour in a way Valentino couldn’t describe.

  He kept his gun in one hand, grabbing his satellite phone with the other. If he did need to call for help, he was screwed. There wasn’t another being for at least twenty miles. His closest neighbors were the Risings, and Grizzly Ridge was fifty miles away.

  Valentino had never been afraid of the dark, but standing in the station with nothing but the moon to guide him, he had an urge to turn on every light in the place.

  Including the spotlights outside.

  He moved toward the wall and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. Valentino flipped it repeatedly, as if that would make it magically work. He was a hard man to spook, but damn if he wasn’t unnerved right now.

  Something to his left scraped across the floor, like dead leaves being pushed by a light breeze. Valentino spun and raised his gun, at the same time dialing Clint’s number before pressing the phone to his ear.

  “It’s late, Valentino,” Clint said, his voice heavy with sleep. “Can this wait ’til morning?”

  “I need you at the station,” he said, his voice slightly quivering.

  “What’s wrong?” Clint sounded much more alert.

  “I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling in my gut. Someone is here, watching me. The lights don’t work, and—”

  “Get out of there,” Clint snarled. “Drive right to my house.”

  Valentino made a beeline to the door. He tucked his gun under his arm long enough to get the door open. He leaped down the three wooden steps and hurried along the pathway, but stopped when he reached his Yukon.

  Around the dry lump of fear in his throat, he said, “My tires are flat.”

  “I’m on my way. Get into the Yukon anyway and lock the doors.” Clint hung up.

  Valentino did as Clint instructed. He felt like a sitting duck as he sat there staring at the station. He didn’t care what anyone said, someone was inside.

  Someone or something.

  Chapter Four

  Dean’s eyes flew open to the blaring sun, and bile rose up the back of his throat. He rolled to his side and shot up, confused by his surroundings as he looked around.

  “In here.” Trigger jumped up from the bed and pulled Dean to a door to the left of the bed. He stumbled, nearly colliding with the wall as he tried to hurry to the toilet.

  Dean dropped to his knees and hugged the porcelain as he emptied what little he had in his stomach. The taste was enough to make him hurl again. The gut-wrenching twist of his belly had him gagging. He felt like he’d been binge drinking the night before. Dean should know. He’d gotten sloppy drunk on more than one occasion.

  Trigger knelt beside him and wiped a cool cloth over Dean’s face. “Feel better?”

  With a groan, Dean slid sideways and pressed his cheek against the cool tiled floor. Trigger rinsed the cloth and wiped the back of Dean’s neck. “Do you want to stay here or go back to bed?”

  Dean waved a hand, making a noise in the back of his throat. “Just let me lie here and die.”

  Trigger chuckled. The sound would have been sexy if Dean’s stomach wasn’t flip-flopping around, or if the pounding in his head didn’t feel like tiny men jackhammering against his skull.

  His eyes widened when Trigger picked him up as if he weighed nothing and carried him to bed, but Dean was too nauseous to protest. He might not be as muscled as Trigger, but his solid build wasn’t anything to sneeze at.

  “Lie here while I get you something to settle your stomach.” Trigger pulled the sheet over Dean, kissed his temple, then left the bedroom. Dean felt as if someone had painted a fuzzy rug over his tongue. He needed to brush his teeth. The aftertaste alone had him ready to gag.

  Tossing the sheet aside, Dean staggered into the bathroom. To his right was a long counter with two sinks spaced apart. A mirror stretched the length of the counter, and to the left was a stand up shower and a large garden tub with big bay windows behind it. The sun brightened the room, making Dean squint as he rummaged through the multiple drawers under the counter.

  He found a brand-new toothbrush still in the package, and a tube of toothpaste. Dean opened the package and scrubbed his tongue and teeth until the toothpaste foamed around his lips.

  Trigger entered the bathroom, grabbed some mouthwash from one of the drawers, and handed it over. Dean rinsed, gargled, and spat, then repeated the process.

  “Now are you feeling better?” Trigger replaced the cap on the toothpaste as he spoke.

  “Not by much.” Dean wet a cloth and wiped it over his face. He didn’t care that he stood there butt naked or that Trigger did, as well. He just wanted his stomach to settle.

  Trigger’s gaze lowered. At first, Dean thought the guy was checking out his dick, but he moved closer and ran his palm over Dean’s stomach. He had a strange look in his gray eyes, something close to awe.

  Dean glanced down and frowned when he noticed a faint line running from his navel to the patch of hair nestled around his cock. “What the hell is that?”

  Trigger moved in behind Dean, spreading his hands over Dean’s belly. “The conception line.” He kissed Dean’s bare shoulder. “You conceived last night.” His right hand glided over Dean’s hip. “You’re carrying my cub.”

  Dean spun and shoved Trigger away from him. “God, you really are nuts.”

  “The heat is gone,” Trigger pointed out. “You have morning sickness.”

  “I got fucked and the stress is making me sick.” Dean refused to believe a word Trigger said. Men did not become pregnant. He had to get out of there. He needed to get back to the real world where coffee shops were on every corner and life sucked your soul out until you were an angry, bitter person.

  There would be no happiness in these mountains. There would be no—Dean rubbed his chest as a war raged inside him. The real world held nothing for him. Not a damn thing. He agonized every second he spent with his family, and his job really, really sucked.

  But Dean was a realist, and the reality was, the Rising men were criminals who needed to be brought to justice.