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Hawke Snow enters the quarters he shares with his mate and finds her standing in the middle of their living room, clothes of all kinds and seasons spread over their couch, coffee table, and her favorite plush blue chair. Tilting his head, he kicks off his boots and glances around.
“Redecorating?”
Crinkling her nose, Sienna plants her hands on her hips. “I’m trying to pack.”
He blinks, a slow smile curving his mouth. It’s bone-chillingly cold outside, January laying its heavy grasp on the den, but when he looks at her, the bright gleam to her dark cardinal eyes, the softness about her mouth even in frustration, warmth is all he feels. Four years with her, and he still just wants to be around her all the time. He thinks he’ll never tire of her, of the hot bright connection that grounds their hearts and minds.
So sue him; he’s a fucking poet when it comes to Sienna.
“We’re not going to seven different climates, baby.”
She frowns deeply at him, her cheeks flushing. “We are going to metropolitan capitals of the world. I want to look appropriate,” she says uncomfortably.
It’s times like these that Hawke remembers that Sienna hasn’t had the opportunity to really go anywhere. She spent her youth in a virtual prison and her young adulthood hiding her true self. It hasn’t until the last year or so, with Ming’s death and the defeat of the Consortium, that she has been able to move with any freedom outside of the den.
A month ago, as a Christmas present, he left two sets of round-trip tickets under her pillow as well as an itinerary. London, Barcelona, Rome, Paris; a week in each city, just the two of them. It will be the first time he leaves the den for such a long time since his birth, and her first vacation ever. He will never forget the look on her face when she found the envelope; utter surprise and pleasure and a flicker of fear, as if it could be taken away from her.
All that he ever wants to do is make her happy. They’ve figured out how to deal with each other in times of stress and triumph, how to negotiate the delicate balance between his role as an Alpha and hers as a soldier and representative of Psy population outside the Net. Now, he just wants to enjoy their time together, without fear of violence or retribution or loss. Threats will always exists; it’s the nature of their positions. But with this trip, he can bring her true pleasure.
“You’re always beautiful, Sienna,” he says after a moment, grinning. “Don’t bring any clothes at all.”
“You’ve got a one-track mind,” she says primly, and holds up a silky black dress to her form. “For Paris?”
“What makes you think we’re leaving the room in any of these cities?” he teases. He shrugs off his parka and lays it across the back of the couch as he moves deeper into their quarters. He had come home with a mind for food and a beer, but now he just wants to watch her.
“We have to,” she protests, tossing her head. Her sleek ruby-dark hair shimmers in the warm light. Inside him, his wolf curls up against his skin, eager to listen to her every word. “I’ve been practicing my French.”
Sienna’s thirst for knowledge is voracious, and he loves that about her. “Oh yeah?” he asks, coming over to stand in front of her. He touches the line of the black cocktail dress, with its flowing skirt and its scoop neckline, as she keeps it flush to her frame. “Want to practice on me?”
Blushing, she pulls the dress away and lays it flat on the coffee table, next to a set of champagne-colored lingerie that he wants to see next to her skin. “You don’t know French.”
He sets his hands on her hips, pulling her close. “Yeah, but I like to hear you talk.”
She smacks his shoulder even as she nestles closer into the breadth of his chest. “I want to try to communicate in their own language,” she says. “It’s a beautiful culture.”
“I hear they have good chocolate,” he says with a grin, lifting his hand to stroke through her silky hair. It’s straight today; she had time to dry it before her shift. He likes the wildness of her curls when she braids it damp, but the soft feel of his against his fingertips is just as lovely.
She punches him lightly in the stomach, then flattens her hands on his chest. When she looks up at him, she smiles brightly. “I’m so excited,” she says, her honesty cutting him to the quick.
He leans down to kiss her softly, biting her bottom lip in a gentle nip. “I figured as much. You started packing a month before we leave,” he teases.
Crinkling her nose, she slides her hands over his thermal t-shirt – a blue she picked up, to match his eyes – and creeps her fingers under the fabric to his hot bare skin. “I want to be prepared.”
“I know, baby,” he says warmly. He then scoops her up in his arms, eliciting her squeal, and begins to walk towards their bedroom. The light in the quarters is muted, reflective of the dark night sky outside. “Why don’t we prepare a little later?”
She laughs and twines her arms around his neck. Her fingers sink into the thick hair curling at the nape of his neck. He can’t help but shiver; no one has ever touched him with such care. “Oui, d’accord,” she says.
“I have no idea what you said but I like it,” he says, tumbling them both into bed and rubbing his body fully against hers.
She sighs and tugs at his hair, sending a low pull of longing through his body. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” she whispers, moving sinuously beneath him.
At that, he laughs and lowers his face to her bare throat, growling against her skin. “Now that one, I know.”
He makes sure she cannot speak a full sentence a long time after.
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Seven weeks later, Hawke Snow waits in the glittering lobby of a Paris hotel, sitting with animal grace in an upholstered slick silk chair. It is their last night in the city, their last night before they head back to the den and to their regular lives. He leans his elbows on his knees, hands linked together in front of him as he focuses his eyes on the foyer. His observation is lazy but primed; he is always aware of his surroundings. The décor is richer than he’s used to, all golds and blues; but he likes the way Sienna’s eyes widen every time they walk in. He’ll never forget her expression in every moment of this trip, from the British Museum to the Coliseum to the Opera House here in Paris. They’ve done every dorky touristy photo opportunity possible, from the kiss on the Eiffel Tower to tossing coins into the Trevi Fountain.
He’s loved every moment of it.
A slip of black silk catches his eye. He glances up and watches as Sienna tiptoes her way down the carpeted stairs, the black silk cocktail dress flaring out at her hips and scooping at her throat to reveal the rise of her breasts. With her hair pinned back into a sleek fall down her back, and winking diamonds at her ears, she looks utterly striking.
He rises just as she hits the landing, standing still in her suede black pumps. Her dark gaze meets his and she smiles, linking her hands in front of her at the waist.
“Do I know you?” he asks as he approaches, reaching out to touch her elbow.
“You look so handsome,” she says with a laugh. The wolf within can’t help but preen; he knows how she likes the black-on-black, and he wore the suit jacket and shirt just for her.
“You’re beautiful,” he says and she flushes. He can’t help but bring her into his arms, kissing her softly and slowly in the midst of the quiet warm foyer. “I love you.”
Sienna bites his bottom lip gently as she pulls her lips away from his. “I love you too.”
Later, in their bedroom, they lay cocooned under the sheets skin to skin. The city lights seep through the draperies across the windows and make shadows over the blankets, but in their bed it is quiet darkness. Sienna shifts and nuzzles her mouth against his sternum, her hands stroking lazily over his bare ribs.
“Thank you for this trip,” she whispers, her voice thick.
Hawke twines his hands in her hair, content and slumberous beneath her. “You had fun?”
“It was perfect,” she whispers, and presses her face into his neck. He can feel dampness against his skin, smell warm salt between them. “It was – “
“Sienna,” he murmurs, stroking his hands over her back. “Sienna, baby –“
“I never thought I would get to see these things,” she whispers, her body trembling under his touch. “I never thought I would see them with you.”
He wraps his arms around her and rolls them, so that she is on her back and he is above her, sheltering her in the cradle of his body. Their limbs tangle together, warm and bare. “Anything you want, love,” he says softly. “I want you to have anything you want.”
She blinks up at him, his wolf gaze sharp in the darkness. Her cheeks are damp but she is luminous, touching the fall and curl of his hair. “I’m ready to go home,” she whispers. “With you.”
Hawke’s soul seems to shiver. He can feel her inside of his heart, safe and sound. This is his mate, his partner; with her by his side, the burdens of their everyday life are lifted. He will give her these vacations, these life experiences; but to know she will always want to come home with him, to live the life that is his through responsibility and birthright, soothes both wolf and man.
“Don’t get me wrong, I want French pastries all the time,” she adds with a small smile. “But I will be very happy to be back in the den, with you. And back at our little cabin.”
He curls himself around her and kisses her deeply, stroking his hands over her body until she is alive and thrumming with heat beneath him. “I love you,” he whispers.
She smiles against his lips, stroking her hands over his back. “I know.”
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