This Weakness For You (Entangled Select Otherworld) (Taming the Pack)

by Wendy Sparrow

  Disappointment bloomed into something darker.

  It was rare he felt regret. As he once told her, he’d lived an indulgent life. He regretted that. Their ways were different, and the drive to procreate wasn’t something an Alpha could suppress easily, but he hadn’t tried that much up until two years ago. It had been his right.

  His last kiss on her exposed skin was as much a sigh as a kiss.

  He tipped his head back. “I’m sorry it’s not my first time.”

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t think I care, do you?”

  He frowned. “Don’t you?”

  “No. I figure it’s good one of us knows what we’re doing.”

  She always said the last thing he expected her to say.

  “Besides, you didn’t seem hung up on them.”

  “I’m not. Also, one of them is dead.”

  She tilted her head and a grin spread across her mouth. “Well, then I won’t be jealous of her.”

  He smiled. “What I meant was that they didn’t mean anything and won’t be in my life anymore.”

  “Especially not the one who’s dead.” She dropped down to sit on his lap.

  He loved this woman. It came to him like that. Simple. Instinctual. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I think we should get married.” A symbol that he was done wasting his life and wanted only her. It had always seemed a pointless ceremony before, but now it would be a new start for him.

  “Was that a proposal?” Her forehead wrinkled up.

  “No. I mean I think we should get married before we…consummate our union.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  It’d sounded better than “have sex” but didn’t involve the word “love,” which might have tripped on his tongue coming on the tail end of his realization.

  “Will I recognize a proposal when it comes?” she asked.

  “I hope so, or that will certainly be awkward.”

  Her deep and throaty laugh almost made him toss all his brand-new intentions. Instead, he pulled her closer and hugged her while inhaling. Hell, she smelled good. It was going to be a long night.

  “We’re wasting a lot of water,” she said, looking around.

  “You ready to go out there again?” He nodded at the bathroom door.

  “Well, I don’t want to sleep in here. Though this might be where we have to stick anyone else who shows up at your house.”

  He leaned over and turned off the tub’s faucet. She got up and did the same with the sinks. She met him at the shower.

  “Hey, you go ahead to bed. I think I’ll take a shower—wash off the hunt.” Maybe relax—if he could manage that—just before he climbed in bed with his mate and spent a very unrelaxing night.

  “Okay,” she said.

  When she didn’t rush out, he said, grinning, “You’re welcome to stay and watch.”

  She spun away with a heartfelt sigh, saying, “No, thanks, I’ve already seen it.” She walked out of there with the posture of a lady and the presence of a queen. Maybe she was right…maybe ladies could look.

  Chapter Fourteen

  First Ross had listened in on her dirty fairy tale, and now he was making her miss work. Jordan could rip out his throat. It was a very unpacifisty thing to think, but dammit, that had been a sexy version of Red Riding Hood that was forever tainted in her mind now.

  Some of her vets might never forgive her, but she couldn’t tie up the phone that way. Still, she felt guilty taking more time off. Plus, Charlie had a post-cataract appointment this week that she’d wanted to hear about. And Trigger had promised to tell her about this one time with him and the captain’s daughter if his own daughter wasn’t around. Not to mention she was really worried about Carl these days now that his wife had died, but he’d seemed excited when she’d called a few days ago.

  But no, instead of doing something she was genuinely good at, she’d be sitting here and stewing and worrying and pacing. While she was good at pacing, it didn’t help much with her self-esteem.

  At least Jordan was back and here with her.

  He was going over the map with Dane and a dozen other members of the pack, discussing strategy while she was in the room working on her laptop. She’d feel a tingling awareness and heat rush across her body and glance up to find his gaze on her, his face serious. He’d jokingly mentioned he’d stopped short of branding her as his, but that didn’t feel true anymore. Every time she saw that look in his eyes, it said “mine,” and she couldn’t argue with it.

  Last night had been painfully sweet. She slept wrapped up in his arms, his body sheltering hers. Each brush of friction between them sent heat radiating through her body whether she was awake or asleep. Jordan had periodically woken up and whispered her name or pressed a kiss on her shoulder, her head, or her neck. Once, he’d twined his fingers between hers and brought her hand to his mouth to kiss—and she wasn’t even sure he’d been awake then. His breath had tickled her skin, sending ripples of awareness across nerve endings.

  The sensual arousal built and built until she felt on the precipice of something incredible. Standing on the edge of that was thrilling and exciting, but the lack of fulfillment created an ache inside. Her greedy body kept saying “more.” She’d pushed herself closer and slipped her leg between his and wrapped his arms tighter around her, but nothing soothed the need that had built.

  As she sat here, staring at her monitor, her senses didn’t feel the chair or recognize the light. Her back and legs remembered in tingles how it had felt with him behind her. The light on her skin only seemed to illuminate all the invisible kisses brushed against her in the dark. Her stomach hurt from wanting and wanting, and it never being enough, and she couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything besides how it felt to have him spooned around her.

  And there he was, twenty feet away, branding her with his eyes, and his deep voice reminding her of how he’d said her name, and she could almost feel his breath. She kept shivering, even in the warmth of the study.

  Tonight, they’d be doing the same thing, and she was anxious for it and already averse to it. Tonight, she might give up and beg him to take her on the bathroom floor—forget special and perfect; now and just do it sounded about right.

  Plus, he’d mentioned waiting until after they were officially married, which involved a three-day waiting period or a trip to Vegas. She was leaning toward a trip to Vegas. As soon as this was over—if it was ever going to be over.

  She was only halfway listening to their discussions on strategy. She’d tried standing beside Jordan, but then he’d started pointing to where he’d been and where the gunshots had been coming from, and the map wasn’t nearly big enough for that to be more than a millimeter apart. When her brain had started screaming “He was almost killed!” over and over again, she’d decided it was time to do other things rather than hyperventilate and pass out in front of the entire pack.

  And every day would be like this until it was over. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. And what if something did happen? She took a deep breath. She had to stop freaking herself out like this. It seemed like the Lycans in the room could tell. Maybe they could hear her heart pounding or something. They’d start giving her tiny looks—still trying to hold on to deference while probably thinking she didn’t deserve it. Then Jordan would stare at her with a frown…and she liked it better when he was giving her that smoldering “mine” look.

  And this was how it was going to be.

  If it didn’t end soon, she’d be back in another MS flare-up. This time, it’d be with the entire pack around, watching her look all weak and helpless, and dammit, she wasn’t either. She pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned against the small desk in the corner.

  Get a grip, Christa.

  Jordan cleared his throat. “It’s time to break for a few minutes so I can touch base with Travis and update him.”

  Slapping the table, she pushed to her feet and turned. “I think we should bring in Rainier to help. It’s time.”

/>   Jordan’s jaw dropped, and the others in the room looked up to stare at her.

  “You said we’d do that. Anything should go better with other Lycans.”

  Jordan shook his head slowly. “We still don’t know what we’re dealing with, and you don’t understand strategy, Christa. It’s harder to organize a larger group…especially that group.”

  The silence from the remainder of the house said everyone was listening in.

  Fantastic.

  And like hell she didn’t understand strategy. She worked with vets. She’d heard more war stories than everyone in the room.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “You said the good of the pack is first. Honor is second. If that was true, you would set aside your egos and slam these poachers with the full force of what you have available. Travis’s group wants to come. They’re dying to come. Literally. One of their pack died to bring this to a head. Call them up. I’ll make them pancakes. We’ll have a party and you can all rip their throats out together.”

  And the whole time he was shaking his head.

  Dammit, Jordan.

  “No. Not right now.” And the other men in the room were nodding at her…and not bothering to drop their eyes. Why should they? If their Alpha didn’t respect her opinion, why should they?

  She forced a smile that had Dane swallowing and looking apologetic. Great. Her brother pitied her. She nodded. Fine. Great. Turning back to the computer, she dropped into the chair.

  They were all going to be killed, wrapped up tight in their massive egos.

  “We’re done for now,” Jordan said, and she heard the immediate shuffle of feet. Jordan had probably given them his “I’m Alpha and you’ll obey me” look that he’d tried a couple times on her in the beginning.

  Covering her face with her hands, she willed herself not to cry.

  She felt his presence beside her—the warmth of his body and the power that he just exuded like a scent—and then there was that scent, the smell of forever. She still couldn’t nail down why it smelled like that.

  But she didn’t want any of it right now. He’d cut her off at the knees in front of everyone.

  “Christa?” he said in a soft voice, his voice that much deeper because he was trying to be quiet as he bent over where she was sitting.

  She took her hand away from her face and looked up.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he said slowly, making eye contact…and she wanted to believe him. He sincerely believed that, but he’d never had his strength fail him. He was the Samson among Lycans, and there had to be some weakness Ross and the poachers could exploit. Something that could make him weak. She didn’t even want to suggest it out loud, because he was their Alpha—they had to believe the same as him, that nothing could beat them. And he’d just insisted they didn’t need help, and they’d all wanted to believe that, anyway.

  Stupid, stubborn wolves.

  “It is,” she lied.

  “We’ll send out a hunting party this afternoon, and we’ll go after them during the day. We’ll find where they are hiding and take them down.”

  He made it sound so easy. Like the poachers weren’t planning just like this. Like another hunting party wouldn’t be vulnerable while they were out hunting for them. And their enemies had probably realized where the pack was by now—what was to stop them from attacking this house tonight? They’d never be safe until it was over.

  And more of them would die.

  And even if she was right, no one would acknowledge that, because Jordan had shown her opinion didn’t actually matter.

  If only she hadn’t taken that ceramic heart into his room and put it next to the bed after he left for Rainier… It would be really effective to slam it against his idiotic thick skull.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he said again. He opened his mouth to say more, but went still and looked toward the front door.

  “What is it?” She’d recognized that look by now—that analyzing alertness. He’d heard something that she wouldn’t hear for a while.

  “A siren,” he said.

  “A siren?” She didn’t think she could be any more alarmed than she already was. A siren would do it. “Police, fire, tsunami…what kind of siren?”

  “It’s…” He turned to her. “Did you say tsunami?”

  “They have those here!”

  Jordan smiled as he shook his head. “It’s our local sheriff. He doesn’t travel anywhere without sirens.”

  “You guys called the police?” Wow, that was unexpected. Dane had halfheartedly suggested it, but even he’d acknowledged it would be impossible to keep them in the dark…and no way to kill the poachers and Ross and end their threat. If they were turned over to the legal system, there’d be no proof they were serial killers. Jordan had even mentioned that bringing in the police might get them killed, also. It’d terrified her. It was crazy Wild West vigilante logic that she actually agreed with, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to live in that make-believe world where cops could fix everything. Still, maybe she’d been wrong, and he was willing to ask for help.

  “No, we didn’t.” He pressed a hurried kiss on her mouth before striding from the room toward the front door.

  No, of course they didn’t.

  Aggravating, pigheaded wolves.

  She followed more slowly, not because she wasn’t feeling 100 percent, but because she didn’t want to know what new thing was about to go wrong and take Jordan away from her. It was a new addendum to Murphy’s Law. Anything that could keep Jordan away from her, would. The universe was against them having sex.

  “I’ll handle this,” Jordan said as he reached the doors. He turned to give a commanding stare to everyone. “Act normal.”

  She should definitely hang back and wait to the side. She couldn’t have acted normal if her life depended on it.

  The sirens were loud enough that she and Dane could hear them. Through the curtains, flashing lights blared among the two dozen other cars parked in front of Jordan’s house. Jordan opened the front door and lounged in the doorway as if this happened every day. Dane came forward to stand near the door, but even Jordan would have to admit that would’ve been normal for him.

  She saw the sheriff, a man in his forties, emerge from the cruiser and walk toward the front door. He looked genuinely shocked to see Jordan standing in the doorway—apparently he thought they were all deaf.

  “Mr. Hill,” he said from about six feet from the door, where he stopped and gestured around. “You’ve got quite a lot of cars out here. Having a party?”

  Jordan shrugged. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

  The sheriff pulled his hat off and rubbed a hand across his head uncomfortably. “Well, this is where it gets…well, I’ll just tell you. Ross was visiting town, I guess.” He paused for a moment and watched Jordan.

  Jordan didn’t react.

  “He claims you’re starting some sort of cult. He says he saw you’re all armed and that you’re planning to attack the police station first…which all sounded so impossible that I just came out here alone.”

  Jordan frowned.

  “But then I arrive here, and there’s all these cars.” He gestured behind Jordan. “And it looks like you’ve got a full house…and, well, with what he saw, I’ve got reason enough to…” He gestured again before throwing a glance back at the safety of his cruiser.

  Christa looked around. It did look odd, especially with the tumble of sleeping bags in the corner visible from the door. There had to be a plausible explanation, though—one that didn’t require the sheriff to call for backup to search the house. With all the kids around, they’d gathered all the weapons and locked them in a closet, but everyone in the pack had guns. It would look suspicious for them all to have brought weapons to a house party. And not even just hunting rifles—Ethan had brought an old revolver he hadn’t fired in twenty years.

  All these people.

  All these guns.

  Together.

  In a house.


  Crap, hopefully Jordan didn’t have a bunch of pitchforks in his shed out back, because even she’d think “mob” with this evidence. It had seemed like such a brilliant idea to get them all together.

  Then it came to her. She whispered, “Team-building get-together for your work.”

  “It’s a team-building get-together,” Jordan said. It sounded even more convincing out of his mouth. “Hill’s Contracting is in its off-season, but I wanted us to meet up and spend some time together.”

  The sheriff looked both relieved and skeptical.

  “Vanessa, show him Nathanial,” Christa whispered. Nothing said “we’re not a cult” like a baby.

  Vanessa strolled toward the front door. “Sheriff, have you seen the newest little contractor? Nathanial was born two weeks ago.” She held up the baby, who was staring at the flashing lights with great interest.

  “Oh, well, I knew there was a logical explanation,” the sheriff said, smiling. Then he looked back to Jordan and cleared his throat. “There was something else.”

  Jordan waited expectantly.

  The sheriff sighed. “Ross claims you assaulted him. He’s got a messed-up face, and he says you did it. He says you’re responsible for Sammy being missing—that you killed her, and when he accused you of it, you attacked him. He’s charging you with assault.”

  “I did hit him,” Jordan said, standing up straight. “He came at me, and I hit him once. You can call me a lot of things, but accusing me of murdering a woman isn’t something I’m prepared to take lightly.”

  Several of the pack members stepped forward to back him up, but he cast them a quick look that froze them.

  “Were there any witnesses?” the sheriff asked.

  “Does there need to be? How long have I been a member of this community? And Ross comes back into town to stir up trouble for no good reason—making ridiculous accusations. If he had any proof, he would have come to you first instead of coming to embarrass me in front of my company and their families.”