Monsters & Guardians

by Kay Elle Parker

  The three brothers shared a resigned look. Quinn’s back was rigid now, and Dubh had no doubt he was trying to contain the hurt Raine was deliberately piling on his brother. She was hitting Quinn where it would sting the most. He wondered if she knew what she was doing.

  Of course she did. She was striking first, making sure her hits counted before theirs did. An offensive position for a female—most would take the defense, hiding and protecting themselves, but she was spoiling for a fight. Did she think to push them so far they’d kill her? Was that her master plan?

  If so, she’d summed them up completely wrong.

  But how was she to know that? Dubhlainn admonished himself. They’d had no introductions, no prior interactions. He and his brothers had laid the dead livestock as a trap, knowing she’d come investigate because of her curiosity and her after-hours activities. And then they’d chased her, terrorized and kidnapped her with the intention of turning her into their breeding bitch, willing or not.

  For all she cared, they were monsters.

  “Guess we’ve got fair warning,” Cabhan muttered, hanging back when Dubhlainn gestured to him and Finn. “You want to go with Quinn?”

  “No.” Dubh watched his brother carry the female away, leaving that seductive trail of hormones in their wake. He didn’t know how Quinn could bear being so close to that scent for so long without wanting to ravish her—immaculate self-control, at a guess. “You’re right. It shouldn’t be me. She sees us as monsters and if I’m as...single-minded during sex as you’ve suggested, I’ll only solidify that opinion in stone.”

  Finn nodded. “Quinn?”

  Although it burned his gut to admit it, Finn had nailed the right decision. “Quinn. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s bonding with him. Trusting him. No female lets a male carry her that intimately without there being a connection. So let him cultivate it. By the time they get to the den, maybe she’ll relax and make life easier on herself.”

  “I think that’s the right choice for Raine,” Finn agreed. “Cabhan?”

  Amber eyes darkened. “Yeah, Quinn’s the guy.”

  “Okay then, leave him to it. There’s gotta be a deer or two around here somewhere, something we can carry home. My wolf requires a kill if it can’t fuck.”

  “Well then, let’s go distract him with a good chase and some fresh blood. Could do with a decent run myself. You want to veer off deeper into the woods, or stay close to Quinn?” Cabhan stripped his jeans off, tied the bottom of the legs together in a knot and looped them around his neck. Beside him, Finn was doing the same.

  “As far away as we can get. He’s adamant he’s not going to take off after her but if he gets another whiff of that scent...” Dubh groaned at the thought. “We won’t tempt him or me. A couple miles should do it.” He hoped.

  His brothers grunted in sync as their changes started. While shifting sometimes seemed to take forever when he was going through it, watching others go through the process often appeared to take mere seconds. Maybe it did, who really knew?

  Behind on his shift, Dubhlainn rushed into it, enduring the pain and welcoming his wolf again. Locked in the body of the wolf had its benefits—Dubh often felt like a puppy, exuberant and so excited by everything he came across. The wolf was joy as much as it was death.

  The three of them stood proud under the clear night sky and howled in unison, a stunningly haunting chorus of nature’s music, which was joined by a fourth. Malachi slipped from the shadows, green eyes gleaming as he stalked forward.

  Well then. Dubhlainn howled again for the sheer sensation of the vibrations in his throat, then bounded away into the trees. Leaving thoughts and feelings about his potential mate behind, pushing away the irritation of knowing his brother was grooming said mate for sex even as he raced the rest of his siblings through the woods.

  Four dark shadows, blacker than the pits of hell, flew over damp earth and fallen leaves, rough and tumbling each other as they went. Expending energy that could otherwise be used for other, more vigorous activities. It needed to be burned, expelled, before any of them got near Raine.

  Enough, he demanded. Now was for running, for clearing his head and exhausting his body, not thinking about things he couldn’t have just yet. So he ran, pushing himself faster and harder.

  Dawn was coming.

  *

  Quinn

  Raine weighed nothing in his arms. She clung to him like a monkey, quiet now after the rant that gouged claws into his heart, his gut, and eviscerated him with guilt. Her arms were loose around his neck, her legs barely holding their grip around his hips, and her head was a dead weight on his shoulder.

  She was almost asleep, and he was thankful for it.

  Quinn’s stride hadn’t missed a step when she gave him an earful and didn’t now as he bore the burden of taking her further and further toward a fate she didn’t want, and he couldn’t help but execute.

  Honestly, he didn’t know where he’d gone so wrong in life. Only twenty-five when their father banished them from the pack, Quinn had been enjoying a quiet and fruitful existence. Not as highly-sexed as his older brothers, he’d preferred to spend his time reading and gaining knowledge about the pack, the genetics of his people. The reasons and methodology of how they had become what they were, how breeding practices had changed over the centuries. The inner workings of the pack’s continued survival as the human race expanded at a rapid pace and threatened the secrecy of not only the Galway pack, but others across the world.

  Of course, that wasn’t to say he hadn’t gotten his dick wet once or twice over the years since he came of age. He hadn’t been kicked out into the big, wide world as a virgin, thank God. But Fergus’s claims that his sons were nothing but—essentially—male whores—were unfounded, and something Quinn found himself resenting the longer they were cast from home.

  He had his suspicions that there was a bigger, more pressing secret beneath the reason for Fergus to scatter his sons across the globe in order for them to find mates. His suspicions always, always came back to the blood.

  Blood running through his veins, his brothers’, through the heart of the pack. Blood tainted by incest and recorded in history as legal conception. There were hidden ledgers in Fergus’ sacred office—ledgers Quinn should not have knowledge of—documenting the eradication of large numbers of newborn pups showing signs of deformities from inbreeding, a fact that horrified Quinn to the bone.

  More records for the deaths of pups under the age of ten who developed their abnormalities later in life. Pups that fell into the river, were mauled by wild animals despite the fact there were no beasts in Ireland at that time that would have touched a shifter pup, let alone a child.

  For a long time, he’d wondered why there was such a large age gap between him and Finn, even if it was only three years. Three years was one hell of a gap for a fertile breeding couple, especially the Alpha and his mate. As Alpha, Fergus should have produced as many pups as possible in order to keep the title in the O’Callaghan stranglehold.

  Fergus’s story was that Sheila, his mate, had suffered three devastating miscarriages between Quinn’s birth and Finn’s. The loss of three beautiful daughters had almost broken his mother and Fergus had refused to let her breed again for fear of more loss. But he’d given in when she begged for one last pregnancy and been rewarded with another son to complete the Alpha’s legacy.

  Quinn thought it was bullshit and had his own theories.

  Fergus and Sheila had been close in age—Fergus would be sixty-seven by now, his birthday been and gone, and Sheila would have been sixty-two. From what Quinn remembered of his mother, there had been physical similarities between her and his father, similarities that had been vehemently dismissed when Quinn raised them at the age of twelve.

  He was betting on brother and sister, a forbidden mating pair under pack law, yet still hadn’t worked out how Fergus had skewed the data on that. First cousins was another option, highly frowned upon but not forbidden. Cousin to co
usin breedings were usually limited to one litter per pair, in order to keep the inbreeding to a minimum without denying the couple a child.

  Three miscarriages were possible, anything was, but after all he’d read in the ledgers, everything he had diligently studied over the years before exile, Quinn knew in his heart his father and mother had conspired to murder at least three of his siblings. Sisters, if they were to be believed. Whether they had been girls or whether his mother chose the loss of three females for shock and sympathy, he wasn’t sure, just as he couldn’t be positive there hadn’t been more miscarriages between the births of his eldest brothers.

  By Quinn’s estimation, the Galway pack would be in dire straits within the next decade, two at a push. The bloodlines too convoluted and needing an urgent injection of fresh DNA.

  Rather than request some of the pack to relocate, integrate into another pack in a new part of the world and spread the genes around, Fergus had played his sons to his tune and sent them out to harvest compatible women. Pack relocations were rare but accepted—Fergus could have sent a dozen strong warriors to, say, the Icelandic pack in exchange for the same amount of willing female wolves.

  But no. Fergus had damned them all.

  Raine stirred in his arms, flailing slightly as her legs slipped off his hips. With his arm secure beneath her ass, she wasn’t going anywhere, but her mind registered the slip and braced for the fall. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”

  “Wasn’t asleep.”

  Yeah, you were, he thought but wisely said nothing. Her eyes were still blurred with it, slumber darkening the gray almost to black. He hitched her up firmly and paused when he heard the raucous howls of his brothers echoing in the trees. His own wolf yearned to join them.

  She’s more important, Quinn reminded it sternly. Once he got her to the den and his brothers were in charge of her care, he would escape for an hour and give himself an hour to cleanse his mind. Running the wolf was the easiest way to do so.

  Outrunning the guilt was more difficult.

  “How much longer?”

  Considering her, he cocked his head. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I’m asking.”

  “Are you asking because you want to know how much more we have to travel, or because you’re going to stress over how much time is left before...” Quinn trailed off, cleared his throat. “Before we get there and you can lay down?”

  She sighed. “How long before you rape me? Succinct enough for you, wolf, or would you like to beat around the goddamn bush like a clumsy oaf some more?”

  “Another couple hours by foot. We’ll be there by dawn.”

  As Quinn looked down, Raine looked up but beyond him to the dark sky. There wasn’t a hint of sunrise yet, but soon the sky would lighten, shadows would draw out until they barely existed, and the sun would breach the horizon on a new day.

  Misery etched into her features and he saw the glimmer of tears along her lashes. He wondered if she thought the night would hide them from him. Her voice was taut, strained, when she asked, “What happens then? When we get there?”

  “Don’t torture yourself with this, sweetheart.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Mad was better than sad, he told himself as she tried to lean back and smack him. Her hand cracked against his face—an impressive feat, he had to admit, given her lack of swinging room. Hard enough to leave a sting across his cheek. He retaliated without thinking, striking her ass cheek with twice the force and making her jolt, squeak and slap him again.

  “Bastard!”

  She wouldn’t back down. Even riding the front of him so intimately, her knees clutching his sides as she reared for a third blow, he saw the stubborn rage in her eyes and knew she wasn’t going to submit.

  Not now.

  Not today.

  Not to him.

  Quinn’s hands clapped on her face hard enough to shock her. Cupping her cheeks, praying she kept her grip on his waist, he stared deep into her furious eyes and waited for the tempest to calm. Arguing with a riled female gained nothing—her ears would be closed until her heartbeat stopped pounding through them. “Stop this, Raine. Stop trying to be brave when your world just imploded around you, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Put me down.”

  “I haven’t got hold of you, sweetheart.”

  Raine blushed and slid down until her boots touched the ground. Gaze searching the area around them, she took a step back. Another, when he made no move to touch her.

  “Sweetheart, you try running for it, I’m gonna catch you. Chances are you won’t make it fifty feet and that’s if I’m generous and give you a head start.” Quinn lifted his hands up in peace. “Just talk, Raine, if that’s what you want to do. I won’t touch you until you’ve said your piece, I promise.”

  Chapter Three

  Raine

  Under different circumstances, she could have fallen for him.

  Not the happiest thought, Raine decided as she studied the gentle giant in front of her with his hands raised unthreateningly. But unfortunately true. If she’d had the good fortune to meet him in a bar, on the street, in the library...she’d probably be sans panties right about now, under him on the nearest flat surface with her heels digging into his ass.

  Sex wasn’t high on her list of priorities, but she’d read books, seen movies. Had a good idea of what was in store for her. A cold chill rippled over her skin. That universe was a dead and dusty dream.

  She thought of the razor blades tucked into tiny sheaths sewn into her bra straps, all six of the lethal weapons expertly concealed. This wasn’t the time or place to reveal them, but the mini extendable baton strapped down the inside of her left leg could certainly come out to play depending on what happened next.

  Just talk, he’d said. There was nothing to say, was there? Nothing to change the goddamn catastrophic event waiting to happen. So when speaking didn’t work, that left action. She had plenty of action in mind. “I need to pee.”

  Quinn looked surprised. “Oh.” He glanced around and after a few seconds, gestured to a tiny shrub bush a few feet away. “There you go.”

  Her lips curled into a sneer. “I’m not peeing in front of you.”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “And you’re not leaving my line of sight, sweetheart. Besides, in a few hours I’ll be seeing all of you anyway. We monsters have no regard for privacy.”

  Huh. Was it possible she’d lodged a barb in the thick skin of the big, dumb dog? God, she hoped so with a ferocity that shocked her. Wanted to drive the arrow deeper so the barbs sank into the heart of him—if monsters possessed that particular organ. “There’s a tree over there. I’m using that.”

  “No,” he growled impatiently. “You are not. The bush or your pants, Raine; they’re the only choices you’re getting.”

  A growl of her own built in her chest. Pushy, arrogant bastard needed taking down a peg. Tempted to reach for the baton, even though it meant revealing the nifty weapon when she might need it for more urgent purposes, her eyes landed on a sturdy section of branch six feet to her left.

  A little long for her to lift, she assessed, but just right for both hands to fit around for one hell of a swing or six. Maybe it would be enough to put a dent in that head of his, knock him out and give her a chance to run for her life.

  She circled Quinn slowly, each step to the side edging an inch back at the same time. Fully aware his eyes never left her, she stepped back over the branch and stopped, smiling at him; that suspicious gaze narrowed. “Come on, Quinn. You said it yourself, how far could I get before you caught me? All I want is two minutes to pee by myself.”

  “Not happening.”

  Still smiling, with effort as the seconds ticked past, she looked down and grunted in disgust. “Goddamn boot laces are coming undone. Do I need permission to tighten them up, boss?” Before he could answer, she dropped into a crouch and made a show of untying and refastening one boot at a time.

  “You think I d
on’t understand your attitude, Raine?”

  “It doesn’t matter what you understand, wolf. It matters what you do.” Quick as a whip crack, she grabbed the branch in both hands hard enough for the bark to dig deep into her palms and straightened to her full height. “At this moment in time, what matters most to me is taking over control of my life again.”

  “With a tree branch you can barely lift?” he asked with a chuckle.

  Okay, so it was heavier than she thought. Angry he was dismissing her as a threat, driven by adrenaline and determination, Raine hefted the damp wood up and onto her shoulder. She’d get one good swing, she decided after a few moments of balancing it.

  “Put it down before you hurt yourself.” Quinn walked toward her with his hand out for her makeshift bat, his face set in no-nonsense lines. “Take a shot at me, Raine, and this will be the last time you see the night sky for a long time. Think carefully, sweetheart.”

  She firmed her grip on the branch as he came within optimum distance. Hit and run, that had to be the plan. Use surprise and pain as a distraction and then her natural speed and ability to outrun and outmaneuver what was surely gonna be a pissed-off wolf.

  “I’m not your sweetheart,” Raine snapped and used everything she had to load her one shot with force. She saw his hand fly up to protect his face, his arm angled to block his head, and laughed wildly. The branch cracked solidly into the side of his knee with a sickening crunch, then he was down and cursing.

  Had she broken the wood or his knee? Guilt slithered through her as he groaned. Then she brushed it aside, focused on the impossibly small window of time she’d bought herself, and let the branch fall to the ground.

  “I’m sorry,” she told him before she turned and darted into the trees. Not stopping when she heard him shout her name, she plunged into the wood with little thought but escape.

  Zigzagging through trees and around bushes, she tried to make her trail as complicated as possible without wasting the precious seconds at her disposal. Her name was a roar on the air, warbling into a vicious howl that set the hairs on her arms and nape standing on end.