Jazz lifted one of his hands, touching the hard, work-worn fingers that had wrought such beauty into her beloved guitar. Her heart was full, all that was lonely dissolving into a breath and flying away on the warm May breeze.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly.
Mason’s face changed. He went from a wolf silently waiting to see what she would do to a man who had been suddenly plunged into fierce elation. He reached out and hauled Jazz onto his lap so quickly she had no opportunity to do anything ungraceful like lose her balance and fall.
She rested on his strong thigh, his arms around her. The porch floor creaked, a tiny rumble running through it.
The vibration increased as Mason kissed her, his mouth opening hers, his tongue hot and strong. The vines rattled and the wind chimes began dancing.
Jazz eased back, Mason kissing the corner of her lips. “I think the house likes us doing this,” she said.
Mason’s eyes had darkened to smoke gray. “Good.”
He lifted her into his arms and carried her across the veranda and into the house. Mason swarmed up the stairs that had so readily swallowed Lucas and unerringly found Jazz’s bedroom. He set her on the rumpled sheets and leaned over her.
“I hope the house likes this too,” he said, his voice a rumble. He skimmed Jazz’s top from her, loosening the bra she’d bought in Austin. He made impatient noises as he worked, and she caught mutters about why females insisted on confining themselves.
Jazz had her hands on his waistband, busily opening his jeans. “I could ask the same thing,” she said. “So many layers, when you look just fine without them.”
Mason stepped back and shoved off his clothes with his usual quickness. Jazz had already learned to let him, to sit back and enjoy watching his tight body come into view. Mason tossed away his T-shirt, his lower body already bare. His cock was tight and lifting toward her, beckoning her hands.
Jazz caught it, liking how Mason didn’t mind her tugging him to her with it. He came down to the bed without hesitation, sunlight kissing his skin as he drew off Jazz’s jeans and underwear.
They landed together in the bed where Jazz had dreamed so many dreams. Mason kissed her lips, her face, her throat.
A noise like a sigh went through the house as Mason slid inside her, drowned by Jazz’s cry of delight. She pulled him into her, hands on his back, his firm hips, as he began to thrust.
“My mate,” Mason said, voice going wolf-like. The last of the sun’s rays hugged them, the warm air dampening their skin. Mason traced her cheek, his eyes gray and intense. “I love you, Jasmine. Mate of my heart.”
“Love you too,” was all Jazz could say before wildness took her, and she was crying out.
The house rattled, but maybe it was only the bed banging the wall as Mason drove into her until they both were crazed with it.
* * *
Mason didn’t sleep afterward. He was too keyed up, the mate bond pounding through him, too happy for the first time in his life. His loneliness, his disconnectedness from his brothers, was gone. He had Jasmine, who was beautiful inside and out, watching him with her blue eyes.
Mason lay propped on his side next to her, both of them on top of the covers. This way, he could study her body in the dusk, lean down and kiss her skin, trace the flower under her nipple with his tongue.
He would buy her a sarong, one that would hug her body and let almost all of the tattoo show. A sarong would be easily stripped away any time mating frenzy hit them. Mason figured it would be hitting him again and again for a very long time.
Jasmine gave him a languid smile and tucked one hand behind her head. The movement stretched her body enticingly.
“So how do we make this work?” she asked him. “You talk about living in a filled house like it’s a bad thing. I love family—I like your family. I think what you have is wonderful.”
“You might not after you’ve lived there a while.” Mason traced the vine all the way around her breast. “After Broderick has rampaged through the house, and my brothers snarl, my aunt yells at everyone, and Shifters and their mates have loud and endless sex.”
Jasmine only laughed. “Sounds great.”
“There’s always the safe house,” Mason said. “It’s quiet there.”
“Sure,” Jasmine answered, looking content. “A fine place to get away from it all. I like that house too.”
“And this one.” Mason looked up at the beamed ceiling, the boards between the beams slightly bowed, like a smile. “We can come here as often as you want. As long as I don’t get caught trying to travel outside my state.”
Jasmine’s grin beamed out, her blue eyes like a warm evening sky. “I’ll protect you,” she said. “The house will too.”
“Great,” Mason said, pretending dismay. “I’ve gotta trust my safety to a building that swallows people.”
“It won’t eat you,” Jasmine promised. “It likes you.”
“It must.” Mason smoothed back her hair, his fingers lingering in the natural brown that showed more each day. “It’s letting me stay here and love you.”
Jasmine reached for him, drawing him down to her warmth and softness. “Speaking of that …”
Mason pulled her close and slid into her, kissing her as he went. He began to love her again, slowly this time, the two of them wrapping around each other as the fire of the mate bond flowed through them and made them one.
A breeze sighed through the house, and Mason swore he heard it chuckle in satisfaction.
Out in the gazebo, the same wind stirred the strings of the guitar, its breath joining the louder music of the wind chimes before floating into the sultriness of the warm spring night.
End
Excerpt: White Tiger
Shifters Unbound, Book 8
It was almost time. Addison Price slid the coffeepot back on the heater, unable to keep her eye from the clock.
The diner closed at midnight. Every night at eleven fifty-five on the dot, he came in.
Tonight, though, eleven fifty-five came and went. And eleven fifty-six, eleven fifty-seven.
She’d have to close up. Bo, the owner, liked everything shut down right at midnight. He’d come in about fifteen minutes later and start going through the accounts for the day.
Eleven fifty-eight. The last customer, a farmer in a John Deere cap he must have picked up forty years ago, grinned at her and said, “Night, Addie. Time to go home to the wife.”
He said that every night. Addie only nodded and gave him a warm good-bye.
Eleven fifty-nine. In one minute, she’d have to lock the door, turn the “Open” sign around to “Closed,” help with the cleanup, and then go home. Her sister and two kids would be asleep, school day tomorrow. Addie would creep in as usual, take a soothing shower, play on the Internet a little to unwind, and then fall asleep. Her unwavering routine.
Tonight, though, she wouldn’t be able to analyze every single thing the white-and-black-haired man said to her and decide whether he liked her or was just making conversation.
The second hand on the analog clock above the pass to the kitchen swept down from the twelve toward the six. Eleven-fifty nine and thirty seconds. Forty. Forty-five.
Addie sighed and moved to the glass front door.
Which opened as she approached it, bringing in the warmth of a Texas night, and the man.
Addie quickly changed reaching for the door’s lock to yanking the door open wide and giving him her sunniest smile. “Hello, there. Y’all come on in. You made it just in time.”
The big man gave her his polite nod and walked past her with an even stride, his black denim coat brushing jeans that hugged the most gorgeous ass Addie had seen in all her days. Because this diner’s clientele had plenty of men from all walks of life, she’d seen her fair share of not-so-good backsides in jeans or showing inappropriately over waistbands.
Her man was different. His behind was worth a second, third, and fourth look. He was tall but not lanky, his
build that of a linebacker in fine training, his shoulders and chest stretching his black T-shirt. The footwear under the blue jeans was always either gray cowboy boots or black motorcycle boots. Tonight, it was the motorcycle boots, supple leather hugging his ankles.
And, as always, Addie’s man carried the sword. He kept it wrapped in dark cloth, a long bundle he held in his hand and tucked beside his seat when he sat down and ordered. At first Addie had thought the bundle held a gun—a rifle or shotgun—and she’d had to tell him that Bo didn’t allow firearms of any kind in his diner. She’d lock it up for him while he ate. They had a special locker for the hunters who were regulars.
The man had shot her a quizzical look from his incredibly sexy eyes, pulled back the cloth, and revealed the hilt of a sword.
A sword, for crap’s sake. A big one, with a silver hilt. Addie had swallowed hard and said that maybe it was okay if he kept it down beside his chair. He’d given her a curt nod and covered the hilt back up.
But that was just him. He was like no man Addie had ever met in her life. His eyes were an amazing shade of green she couldn’t look away from. The eyes went with his hard face, which had been knocked around in his life, but he still managed to be handsome enough to turn the head of whatever woman happened to be in this late. Which, most nights, was only Addie.
His hair, though, was the weirdest thing. It was white, like a Scandinavian white blond, but striped with black. As though he’d gone in for a dye job one day and left it half finished. Or maybe he simply liked the look.
Except, Addie would swear it was natural. Dyes left an unusual sheen or looked brittle after a while. His hair glistened under the lights, each strand soft, in a short cut that suited his face. Addie often studied his head as he bent over his pie, and she’d clutch her apron to keep from reaching out and running her fingers through his interesting hair.
In sum—this man was hotter than a Texas wind on a dry summer day. Addie could feel the sultry heat when she was around him. At least, she sure started to sweat whenever she looked at him.
For the last month or so, he’d come in every night near to closing time, order the last pieces of banana cream pie and the apple pie with streusel, and eat while Addie locked the door and went through her rituals for the night. When Bo arrived through the back door, the man would go out the front, taking his sword . . . and the other things he always brought.
They came in now, walking behind him—three little boys, the oldest one following the two younger ones. The oldest’s name was Robbie, and he brought up the rear, looking around as though guarding his two little brothers.
“Hello, Robbie,” Addie said. “Brett, Zane. How are you tonight?”
As usual, the two littlest chorused Fine, but Robbie only gave her a polite nod, mimicking his father. Although Addie thought the man wasn’t actually Robbie’s father.
The youngest ones had the man’s green eyes and white-and-black hair, but Robbie didn’t look like any of them. He had dark brown hair and eyes that were gray—a striking-looking kid, but Addie figured he wasn’t related to the others. Adopted maybe, or maybe a very distant relative. Whatever, the man looked after all three with protective fierceness, not letting anyone near them.
They took the four stools at the very end of the counter away from the windows, almost in the hall to the bathrooms. Robbie sat on the seat farthest from the door, Zane and Brett perched in the next two seats with their dad next to them, his bulk between them and whoever might enter the diner.
Addie took up the coffeepot and poured a cup of fully caffeinated brew for black-and-white guy and three ice waters for the boys. She’d offered them cokes the first time they came into the diner but their dad didn’t like them having sugared drinks.
Considering how much pie they put away, Addie didn’t blame him. Sweet sodas on top of that would have them wired to the gills all night.
“You almost missed the pie,” Addie said to the boys as she set dripping glasses of water in front of them. “We had a run on it today. But I saved you back a few pieces in the fridge.” She winked. “I’ll just run and get them. That’s three banana creams and an apple streusel, right?”
She looked into the father’s green eyes, and stopped.
She’d never seen him look at her like that. There was a hunger in his gaze—powerful, intense hunger. He skewered her with it. Addie looked back at him, her lips parting, her heart constricting.
Men had looked at her suggestively before but they’d always accompanied the look with a half-amused smile as though laughing at themselves, or telling Addie she’d have a great time if she conceded.
This was different. Black-and-white man studied her with a wanting that was palpable, as though any second he’d climb over the counter and come at her.
After a second, he blinked and the look was gone. He hadn’t intended her to catch him.
The blink showed Addie something else. Behind the interest, his eyes held great distraction and deep worry.
Something had happened tonight, some reason he’d come here going on five minutes late.
Addie knew better than to ask if everything was all right. He wouldn’t tell her. The man was not one for casual conversation. The boys talked but kept their answers general. They had never betrayed with one word where they were from, where they went to school, what they liked to do for fun, or why their dad kept them up this late every night.
Addie simply said, “I’ll be right back,” and ducked into the kitchen to fetch the pie.
She took out the pieces, already sliced on their plates, and sprinkled a little extra cocoa powder on the banana cream ones from the dented shaker on the shelf.
Jimmy, the guy who washed dishes, wasn’t there. He liked to duck out for a smoke right at closing time, coming back in when Bo got there to finish the cleanup. Addie hummed, alone in the kitchen, her pulse still high from that look black-and-white man had given her.
If Addie marched out there and said to him, sure, she was interested—in a discreet way in front of his kids—would he break down and tell her his name?
Or would he take her somewhere and make love to her with silent strength, the same way he walked or ate his piece of pie, as though he savored every bite? Would Addie mind that?
She pictured him above her in the dark, his green eyes on her while she ran her hands all over his tight, beautiful body.
Nope, she wouldn’t mind that at all.
She picked up two pieces of pie, still humming. At the same time, she heard a scratching at the back door.
Bo? Addie set down the pie and walked over. Bo always used his key to get in—they kept the back door locked. Even in the small town of Loneview that was pretty safe, robbers passing through might seize an opportunity.
Bo often couldn’t get his key into the lock—his hands shook with a palsy that ran in his family. Jimmy often had to help him, or Addie would open the door for him. Bo was a bit early, but he was sometimes.
Addie reached for the door just as something banged into it.
“Bo? You okay?” Addie unlocked the deadbolt and carefully turned the doorknob.
The door fell inward, a heavy weight on it. Addie looked down.
A curious detachment came over her as she saw Jimmy the dishwasher, a guy of about thirty with greasy brown hair and beard stubble. He was dead, his brown eyes staring sightlessly. She knew he was dead because he had a gaping red hole where his heart used to be.
If this had been a movie, Addie would be screaming, fainting, sobbing, saying Oh my God, or running outside crying, Somebody, help!
Instead, she stood there, as though caught in treacle, unable to move, think, talk, or even breathe.
A faint noise sounded outside, and Addie raised her head. She saw the round muzzle of a gun, one of the automatic ones that shot however many rounds a minute. Her breath poured back into her lungs, burning, and she knew she was looking at her own death.
A rush of air passed her, and the door slammed shut. At the same tim
e a pair of strong arms closed around her, propelling her to the floor, the man with black-and-white hair landing on top of her.
In the front of the diner, every window shattered as bullets flew through them. Glass exploded through the open pass between the kitchen and dining area, as did bullets, shards of cups and plates, tatters of napkins.
The kids, Addie thought in panic. Where were the boys?
There they were, huddled against the door to the freezer. How the man had gotten them in here so fast and out of sight Addie didn’t know, but her body went limp with relief to see them.
“Who’s doing this?” Addie squeaked. “What—”
The man clamped his hand over her mouth. “Shh.” His voice was a low rumble. “I need to you to be very quiet, all right?”
End of Excerpt
Also by Jennifer Ashley
Shifters Unbound
Pride Mates
Primal Bonds
Bodyguard
Wild Cat
Hard Mated
Mate Claimed
“Perfect Mate” (novella)
Lone Wolf
Tiger Magic
Feral Heat
Wild Wolf
Bear Attraction
Mate Bond
Lion Eyes
Bad Wolf
Wild Things
White Tiger
Guardian’s Mate
Shifter Made ("Prequel" short story)
* * *
Stormwalker
(w/a Allyson James)
Stormwalker
Firewalker
Shadow Walker
“Double Hexed”
Nightwalker
Dreamwalker
Dragon Bites
* * *
Immortals Series
by Jennifer Ashley,
Robin Popp, and Joy Nash
The Calling (by Jennifer Ashley)
Wild Things (Shifters Unbound #7.75) Page 18
