Maria reached up and smoothed his hair, liking the wiry silk of it. Ellison’s eyes flickered, the Shifter in him responding, but he only closed his eyes briefly, letting her touch.

He didn’t want to scare her. From the time she’d met him, Ellison had been trying to calm and reassure her, and to keep others from frightening her. He’d been right there when the asshat human had tried to intimidate her last night; he’d been at her side the moment Broderick had tried to harass her on her way home.

Now he stood in silence, letting her touch him, not grabbing her or coercing her. She ran her hands up his forearms, feeling every muscle, finding the hollows inside the bend of his elbows, the hard strength of his biceps under his shirtsleeves. Up to his shoulders, which held the responsibility of his sister, his nephews, Deni’s violent episodes.

So strong, and yet carrying so much for others.

Maria’s touch went to his face, the rough of unshaved whiskers, the warm satin of his lips. She rose on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to those lips, while he watched her, his gaze intent. One arm came around her, solid, holding her upright. The strength of him took her breath away.

And Ellison was . . . sexy. The way he danced to the country tunes at Liam’s bar revealed his grace, and she felt it now as he held her without effort as she kissed him.

Maria had never touched a man like this. Her experience with sex had been limited to Luis deciding when, where, and how. Luis done all of the touching, and that hadn’t been much.

Ellison was different. He caressed her back, easing her closer, kissed her lower lip then the corner of her mouth.

“I think I’m liking this kissing thing,” he said.

“Me too.”

Ellison touched his forehead to hers. “I’m not going to mate-claim you right now. Much as I want to. I told Broderick to give you a little space, and I will too. What I’m going to do instead is teach you how to love life.”

Maria looked up at him in confusion. “I do like my life now. It’s much, much better here than it’s ever been.”

“No, sweetheart, you’re only surviving. Maybe basic surviving is a little easier now, but you’re still living in the shadow of all that pain and fear. You want to go to school because—why? It will help you survive better?”

She shook her head. “I want to be a doctor, to take care of people. I can live anywhere if I do that, maybe go back to Mexico and help people who don’t have anyone. Or find people here that need the same thing.”

“You’re kindhearted. But it’s still surviving. What you mean is you want a way to take care of yourself, so you don’t live under someone else’s thumb ever again. Not Shifters, not family, not friends, not anyone.”

He understood. Ellison’s eyes sparkled gray in the sunlight and were full of knowledge. How he knew exactly what went on in her heart Maria wasn’t sure, but he did.

Maria’s voice was quiet. “I never want to be enslaved again.”

“Neither do I.” Ellison’s hand went to his Collar. “You know what Shifters know—what we’ve learned? That it’s not enough only to survive. We want to live.”

“I want to live too. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. But when I tried, I nearly destroyed myself.” Maria drew a breath, stifled a new wash of tears that threatened to flow. “So now I’m happy with survival.”

“No you’re not. But I tell you what, love, any other woman who’d been through what you have would be dead by now, or maybe in constant therapy on happy drugs. You’re strong, one of the strongest women I know. Now let me teach you how to use that strength, to grab on to life and make it yours.”

She wanted to believe him. Ellison’s eyes sparkled with liveliness, the man more alive than anyone she knew.

“How?”

Ellison seized her hand in a strong grip, and grinned. It was a wide, warm grin, as big as Texas. “Come on with me, sweetheart, and I’ll show you.”

***

They rode. Ellison zoomed the motorcycle down another back highway, the road a black line to the horizon.

Maria threw her head back and let the wind catch her hair. It was warm, the early May heat full of the promise of summer. Fields rushed by, green hills rolling from the river as the Colorado snaked eastward to the Gulf.

After about thirty miles or so, Ellison dove off the highway to another twisting dusty road that led down to the river bottoms, stretches of it overhung with trees. Ellison slowed, and Maria rested her head against his shoulder, ducking low branches and the black swarms of bugs that the little hollows bred.

They came off the winding road to a narrow lane, and a small trailer house set up on cement blocks, under the overhang of stooping trees. The tiny lane ended at this house, and the man standing in front of it with a shotgun.

Chapter Nine

Ellison halted the bike a respectful distance away and held up his hands. “Peace, Granger. It’s only me.”

“Ellison?” The man uncocked and lowered the shotgun, shaking his head. “Shit, you should have called first. I was about to blow your head off.”

“Didn’t know I was coming.” Ellison shut down the bike and tilted it a little so Maria could slide off. He settled the motorcycle in place, pulled his hat out of the saddlebag, and took Maria’s hand. “This is my friend, Maria. How’s the water?”

The man called Granger chuckled. “Nice.” His hair hung in a long dark ponytail, his face bore a coating of unshaved whiskers, and his full-muscled arms were covered with tattoos. His eyes, now that they weren’t glittering over the barrel of the shotgun, were full of good humor.