Mated to a Cajun Werewolf

by Selena Blake

  “I can't go back there. Your family must hate me.”

  He reached out and took her hand. Her skin was warm and soft against his.

  “My brothers never hated you. You certainly gave them reason to, but they never did.”

  “I gave them reason to?” Her voice was sharp and she tried to pull her hand away. But he held on tight.

  “You broke my heart, cheri. Certainly you remember.”

  “You make it sound like I did it on purpose. I did nothing of the sort.”

  “You didn't do anything to stop it. You didn't stand up to your family. You didn't listen to the truth. Do you remember what you told me that day? I came to Savannah to pick up Laurent and Burke, only you were the first one off the ship. You said you never wanted to see me again.”

  “Let me go, André.”

  “No. I like the feel of your skin against mine.”

  “You always did,” she murmured.

  More memories flashed before his eyes. She'd never objected to feeling his skin against hers. If anything she'd welcomed it. Over and over, she'd accepted him into her body, clinging to him, crying out his name, urging him on.

  “So you remember.”

  “Of course I remember. You act as if our time together meant nothing to me.”

  “You seem hell bent on forgetting that we were ever together.” That old pain came rushing back. The pain of a young wolf, in love and wounded.

  “I do not.”

  “You could have fooled me, cheri.” He trailed his thumb over her palm. “But I don't want to argue. I can think of a far more pleasurable way for us to spend the next twelve hours.” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “Really? It seems you've been itching for this argument since the airport,” Juliette said, but he could smell her desire, feel her temperature kick up a notch.

  “You're wrong, cheri. This is the argument we should've had a few hundred years ago.”

  She jerked her hand from his and his irritation rose.

  “At one time you begged for my touch,” he reminded her quietly.

  “That was before you murdered my brother.”

  “Back to that, are we?” He'd run out of ways to deny his involvement in her brother's death. Frankly he was tired of trying. So he remained silent.

  Juliette couldn't stand the look in his eyes. Torment and longing. For the longest time he'd denied any involvement in her brother's death. Until that day that had changed the course of her live forever. She took a deep breath but still felt the suffocating emotions, remembered the disbelief, the betrayal she'd felt in that moment.

  Needing to get away from him and the memories he brought rushing back, she reached for the door handle. Rain pelted her, stinging against her bare skin as she jumped down from her seat and slammed the door. Her high heels sank into the quicksand-like slush that had once been their driveway. Picking her feet up high she started toward the porch but her left shoe stayed suctioned into the goo. A frustrated cry tore from her lips as she bent to retrieve the once beautiful shoe.

  Taking off its mate, she held the pair together and looked up at the house. It seemed so far away. But in reality only a dozen steps or so. She was losing it. The fine grasp of control that she clung to all her life was unraveling fast.

  She had to get inside. Needed to find the squatter that had ruined the beautiful home. It was going to take twice as long to get the place ready to sell.

  Taking another step forward, her foot slid in the mud and she started to go down. But just as quickly, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and another curled beneath her knees. For the second time today she was held high against André’s chest, held as if she weighed no more than a feather and was sacred as a priceless Fabergé egg.

  He was solid and warm. The definition of strength and masculine grace, he strode forward, blind to the rain and thick mud. The old wooden steps creaked under their weight. Then, in the middle of the cluttered porch he sat her on her feet. The connection was broken. Lost. The feeling of protection, gone.

  She must really be losing it if she wanted protection from her brother’s murderer. After all these years, all the time that had past, her heart still had a hard time believing what her mind knew to be true. But she’d better believe it.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Juliette.”

  He turned and started down the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” She suddenly felt panicked.

  “I’m getting your luggage,” he called over a broad shoulder. Her stomach did a little flip-flop as she watched him stalk through the mud as if it didn’t bother him in the slightest. As if he weren’t ruining an obviously expensive pair of leather shoes.

  “Wait!” The word was out before she could stop it. She couldn’t stay here. Not like this. No matter what was inside. It would drive her mad. She liked things orderly. Clean. Organized. He turned and stared up at her expectantly. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to straighten the tangled strands. As if doing so would somehow bring order back to her life.

  Since the moment she’d stepped off the plane things had gone haywire. Nothing was as it should be. From the rental car, to André showing up, to the disarray of her family home.

  This was the moment she'd both longed for and dreaded. It had taken a long time to summon her courage and let go of the pain enough to return. But now that she was here, she didn't want to turn the doorknob. She was suddenly afraid of what she might find. There was the fleeting irrational worry that her family would be inside, massacred, just waiting for her to find them again.

  How could she explain to him what she was feeling? He made her want things she couldn't have, threatened her sanity. And why should she want to explain anything? She should get as far away from him as possible.

  But she’d done that the last time. Run from him, from their relationship. She’d believed what her family had told her. Bought it hook, line, and sinker. Went against everything she’d known to be true…and where had that gotten her?

  A lifetime of loneliness. The inability to love, to mate, to have a family of her own. She glared down at the worn boards beneath her bare feet. Her heart pounded in her chest like the steady rhythm of a horse galloping down the backstretch.

  What if her family had been wrong? What if they'd lied to her? What if they'd paid for those lies with their lives?

  “Nevermind.” Maybe she was dreaming the whole thing. She watched, torn between wanting him to stay and needing him to go. He shouldered her bags effortlessly and trudged through the mud and dropped them at her feet. Small clouds of dust rolled away.

  Tension knotted her stomach as she looked around. “This isn't how I left it,” she murmured, wondering how she was going to get everything taken care of and get out of here before the hurricane.

  André strode to the parlor window and unlatched one shutter and then the other. She watched silently as he closed them over the window and locked them in place with the bracket.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, even though it was obvious.

  “Helping.”

  “You don't have to do that.” When she'd lost everyone she'd ever relied on and no longer had a pack supporting her, she'd learned how take care of things herself. In a world that had turned upside down, it was a comfort to know that there was one person she could truly count on. And that person, almost a stranger now, stared back at her each morning in the mirror.

  “Sure I do.” He continued to the next window. “Need I remind ya that there's a hurricane comin’?”

  Another clap of thunder shook the porch. “No,” she called over the rumble. “You don't have to stay, André. You can leave. I'll take care of it.”

  His gaze searched the yard briefly then he started back toward her. “I'm not the one who's good at leaving.”

  “Meaning I am.” She crossed her arms over her chest. He continued shuttering the windows, ignoring her.

  Two could play that game.

  Turning, she reached for the doorkno
b and twisted. The door swung open and a rancid smell hit her square in the face. Her lip curled at the odor. Momentarily she closed her eyes, thrown back to an age when her family had been at war.

  With the world, other packs, the Deverauxs. It had been a century of fighting. Of death and pain.

  She blinked into the darkness. More trash littered the entry hall and her stomach rolled. Had it only been a year since the southern plantation home had been polished and bright? What a stark contrast to the gloom and dust that lay before her now. Nothing was the same as it had been. The rugs were missing. So was the oak foyer table.

  A crack of thunder made her jump. She caught her startled expression in the hall mirror and instantly felt foolish. She was a werewolf. Fear was not supposed to be in her vocabulary. From the moment she’d been born, those around her had drilled her strength into her brain. Her family had told her to be fearless, powerful, strong, loyal.

  She’d been loyal. Too loyal, the little voice whispered. And where had that gotten her? She snarled at the woman in the dirty mirror, peeved at the argument that circled around and around in her brain more often than not lately.

  It was obvious now just how sheltered she'd been her whole life. Two hundred forty-seven years old with the life experience of a nineteen-year-old.

  “You’re pathetic,” she said to herself. Forget pathetic. That word shouldn’t be in her vocabulary either. She was her father’s daughter. She needed, wanted, no one.

  What a lie you feed yourself, the voice murmured.

  She mentally snarled at the voice. She was the Alpha of her pack now. The last one left. She had to be strong.

  Her keener senses took over and she sniffed the air, listening for any sign of an intruder. Who had taken her family’s things? She stepped into the parlor, found it bare, save for a small picture of her mother hanging on the wall.

  Juliette turned and crossed the hall, practically running from one room to the next, finding each one empty, covered in dust, lifeless. It was as if she'd never lived there. As if the Vassar Pack had never called it home.

  Fury coursed through her, burning through her veins, warring with a sadness that threatened to bring her to her knees. She had to be strong. For the Pack.

  What Pack? She was all that was left. Oh my God. She was the last one left. And there was nothing here to prove that her family had ever existed.

  She stopped in front of the French doors that overlooked the river. The dark waters churned, threatening to overflow the banks. André stopped beside her and she furiously wiped away the hot tears trailing down her cheeks.

  “What is it, cheri. Why do you cry?” Did he have to be so gentle? What happened to the cocky jerk who'd been bossing her around all afternoon? She couldn't be mad when André was tender. Caring.

  He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and then slid his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him. It felt so right. As if everything would be okay.

  But that was wrong. Nothing was as it should be. Her family wasn't here. Her family home had been robbed. The family business was hemorrhaging money. And she was falling for the one man she'd sworn she would never forgive.

  Chapter Four

  Juliette's sapphire blue eyes met his in the dimly lit hallway. She turned to him and buried her face in her hands. He could sense the emotions pouring through her, just as dark and dangerous as that river out there. Bringing her here hadn't been a good idea. He should have known about her family. He should have known she wasn't ready to face her demons.

  But when would she be ready to face them? the voice asked. There's no time like the present. He shouldn't have pushed her.

  “I can't go through this again, André. I just—can't.”

  “Go through what?” he asked and shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn't pull her into his arms. He had a feeling she needed her space.

  “You. Us. It ended…so horribly last time. I don't want to feel that kind of pain again. But every second I'm with you…makes me long for you again. And I—“

  “You've never been the type to separate sex and your emotions,” he supplied. “I agree with you. But I also remember why it ended last time.”

  Her bottom lip trembled, and she bit it between her teeth. He reached out then and cupped her cheek in his hand. She leaned into his touch, unsure what to believe.

  “Your family isn't here now to call me a liar. But they're not around to tell you to stay away from me either. So I'll say it for them. Stay away from me, Juliette. I'm not the man you once knew.”

  Her jaw dropped open and her eyebrows rose.

  “What…what do you mean? Are you admitting—?”

  “No. I didn't kill your brother. I swear on your life that I did not kill Leon.” He let his hand drop to his side. Damn, she was beautiful, even with tears in her eyes.

  “What do you mean, André? How are you not the man I knew?”

  He turned back to the raging river. His demons danced around him, laughing. Past and present collided. Had it gotten darker since they'd arrived?

  “Years ago your beauty enchanted me. And I believed that we could overcome anything. I believed that you loved me enough to run away with me, to leave everything behind. To take a leap of faith, Juliette. I was wrong.”

  A strangled sob tore from her throat and he didn't dare look at her. He couldn't cave now. He ground his teeth together.

  “You have to understand—” He could hear the tears in her voice.

  “I understand completely.”

  “But you admitted—”

  “Think carefully, Juliette. You were crying. Pleading with me.” He glanced at her then. “Much like you are right now. Pleading with your eyes. Begging me to take away the pain. To make it stop. You believed that I'd murdered him. They'd convinced you of it.”

  “No,” she cried, shaking her head as a fat tear ran down her flawless cheek.

  “Yes.” His hand sliced through the air, cutting off her denial. “Yes. They'd convinced you. You'd have me believe there was a kernel of hope left? Of doubt?”

  “Yes!”

  Her passionate cry rang in his ears, and he studied her for several moments as the silence stretched between them.

  “No. You may have that kernel of doubt now, but it wasn't there then. If it had been, then maybe none of this mess would have ever happened. But I told you what you wanted to hear. I asked you what you wanted me to say. Do you remember?”

  Even now he felt sick bringing all this up again. His heart ached and his stomach soured. She just leaned against the door, shaking her head, trying to deny the truth.

  Her denial fueled his anger.

  She had to hear this, all of it. He had to make her believe. Because only then could she get on with her life and he with his. He gripped her upper arms, forcing her to look at him.

  “I asked you what you wanted me to say. I pleaded with you. I asked you if you wanted to hear me say it.” Once again he felt his heart, what was left of it, breaking in two. “Would that make you feel better? Would that solve things for you? Could you put the pieces of your perfect life back together? Yes, I said. Yes, I killed him. And then I said goodbye. Do you remember, Juliette?”

  “Like it was yesterday! Why are you doing this? Making me remember?”

  “I left then. Because I thought that's what you wanted. What you needed.” He stalked away and ran his fingers through his hair. Dieu. “Somewhere deep down I'd hoped that you would come to your senses, that you'd realize the truth and that you'd come after me.” He stopped. “But instead you sent your brothers.”

  “My brothers?”

  “Oui, cheri. Did you tell them what I said word for word? Or just the part where I admitted to killing your precious brother?” he asked, facing her with his hands on his hips.

  She held her hand to her lips and shook her head. “I didn't tell them anything.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “What—?” She cleared her throat. “What did they do?” />
  He looked away. “I won't degrade them in death by telling you. Your memories of them should remain happy.”

  “André, tell me.” She reached out to him then. “Please. Please tell me.”

  He stepped forward and took her hand. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  He took a deep breath. Prayed he was doing the right thing by telling her. “They came after me. Three of them. I told them I wouldn't fight them. I wasn't going to kill one of your brothers for real. It would have destroyed you. They beat me until I passed out. When I came to I was in the middle of the Mediterranean, watching their boat sail away.”

  He struggled to remain emotionless. To tell what happened without reliving every painful punch, without remembering the clawing panic he'd felt when the waves had crashed over his head.

  Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks and she cupped his cheeks in her hands.

  “No. Please, André. No?”

  The last word was a question, and he could read it in her eyes. Part of him wanted to save her from the pain. Again. But look where that had gotten them.

  “Sorry, princess. This story doesn't have a happy ending. I'm alive, that's about as good as it gets.”

  “I'm so sorry, André,” she whispered and raised up on her tiptoes. Then she pressed her lips against his, as if her kiss could soothe his wounds.

  The sixth sense that had saved his ass more than once alerted him to the presence of something dark, dangerous in the room. Anger coiled around them. He held Juliette close, letting the beast inside him rush forward, ready to fight, protect.

  “Isn't this charming?”

  Juliette gasped and spun away from him. André turned toward the eerily familiar voice to find Jacque Vassar standing a few yards away. His hair was long and shaggy, his eyes bloodshot and lifeless. The cargo pants hugging his hips were hopelessly stained and ripped. He was shirtless, a wiry physique packed full of muscle.

  André remembered him well. He had always been more brain than brawn, and never quite right in the head. It was his voice that André heard in his head whenever he remembered that night so long ago. Jacque was the ringleader that had come after André.