by Sadie Hart
The bed was empty when Hexe woke, the room still cast in darkness. Either it wasn’t morning yet, or the storm hadn’t broken. The wind snarled outside, quieter than it had been earlier, but it still snaked around the house in violent gusts. Slipping out of bed, he dragged his boxers off the floor, slipped into them, and headed out into the main part of the house. The fire still glowed and Steele sat on the couch, curled up under one blanket.
He stopped dead in the doorway.
She wore his shirt. She’d wrapped herself in his scent.
His throat went dry, wishing like hell she’d ditch the blanket so he could see those pale, long legs. She had a coffee mug clasped in both hands, the sweet smell of cocoa thick in the living room—she obviously liked hers with more chocolate than he’d put in on that first day—and she stared into the fire. Her hip-length hair still hung loose, draped out over the arm of the couch and Hexe ached to run his hands through it. To wrap it around his fist and tug her head back for another kiss.
He’d never get enough of her.
The thought made him smile and he took a step towards her, the floor creaking under his weight, and her head jerked around, startled. A smile slid over her face, swift and reassuring. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Hexe dropped his gaze to the shirt. “What else are you wearing under that blanket?”
Steele tossed back her head and laughed. A hearty, no ice, nothing held back, laugh. Fresh heat burned through his body, his cock stirring to life. Nothing had turned him on more. A wicked smile dashed over her face, her dark eyebrows lifted, amused. “Wanna see?”
Oh, but he did. Hexe stalked across the room, his eyes on the slowly lifting blanket, the tantalizing hint of skin beneath. Steele flicked back the blanket, revealing nothing but skin. Heart pounding, Hexe caught her face and bent to steal a kiss. Her lips went soft beneath his. Warmed from the hot chocolate, she seemed to melt underneath him. He dipped a finger into the warm liquid and smeared it over her lips, only to kiss her again, licking them clean.
Hexe leaned in to kiss her again when a soft sound stopped him. Something solid crunched through snow, slow and damn near silent. Hexe went still, and he could hear Steele’s breath catch in her throat as they both froze. Silent. There. The barest twist of the handle on the front door. Steele’s attention was riveted on the door, her knife drawn. She took a cautious step around the couch and eased towards the front door. Hexe couldn’t even hear her feet against the hardwood.
Hexe reached for a knife and for the first time since he’d fallen into the world hidden away in the mountains, he wished for a gun. They didn’t need them up here. The leopards could take any prey they wanted with teeth and claws. Their knives were simply tools, honored gifts amongst the tribe. They had no need for guns. Until now.
It could just be their imagination, yesterday still riding their adrenaline hard, but he didn’t think so. Somehow, Hexe knew the man that had hunted them yesterday had survived the night and he was just outside the door. Easing into a crouch, Hexe swept up his second knife and edged around the couch, moving to take the door from the opposite side. He kept low, his thighs screaming from the low crouch.
Across from him, Steele angled around to the other side, her eyes wicked in the dim light. Her irises looked tinged with frost, an icy coldness that had wrapped around her, making her almost inscrutable. If not for the flicker of rage burning under all that ice. She wanted this bastard, even more than he did. For her mother. The door handle twisted and Hexe leaned his head back against the wall and took in a deep, soft breath.
With a jerk, the door lunged opened, slamming back towards Steele, but she caught it. Hexe twisted, expecting the man to dart inside, gun raised. Instead there was nothing. He caught himself, staggering, trying to get out of the doorway when the gun cracked. Pain ripped through his shoulder as he stumbled again and at this range…this son of a bitch wasn’t going to miss.
The rifle muzzle pressed against the back of his head. Hexe shivered, heart pounding as he knelt on the ground, his gaze on the hardwood floor. Wood he’d painstakingly shaved, smoothed, and polished. He’d slaved over every inch of this house, intending on making it a home. A place for a family again.
He could never get his parents back. He’d once hated himself for taking them on the vacation of a lifetime… It’d been that, at least. The vacation that had ended their lives. But it’d started his. He’d gone from a nobody, unhappy with his job, unhappy with his life…to someone who’d finally found where he truly belonged. It’d changed everything about him, and when he’d joined the tribe, he left the man that had been Drake Reardon behind and became Hexe. A warrior. He’d found his happiness.
He’d become a King.
And now, he’d even found the one woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
“Ah, ah,” the man behind him chided, voice soft. Almost playful. “Put down your weapons little she-cat and shift.”
Hexe’s gaze slid to Steele. She was still poised for attack, her knees bent slightly, her body perfectly balanced on the balls of her feet. Her knife glittered in the light cast off from the fire. Sleek and deadly, just like the woman who held it. She pulled back her lips and bared teeth at him—still human, but the gesture was all feline.
The man behind him wasn’t at all cowed. The muzzle pressed harder into Hexe’s skull.
“Now. Or he dies.”
Chapter Ten
It was him.
She’d never believed she’d recognize the man who’d killed her mother, his face always marred by blurry branches and the thick, furred hood of his parka. But she recognized his scent. The rich cinnamon undertone of his cologne. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but with the grief came rage. It was him. The bastard was now standing in front of her, a gun to Hexe’s head, and he expected her to shift.
To let him kill her?
A familiar coldness wrapped around her heart, a glacial fury that poured through her. This man, he was going to die. If it wasn’t from her blade in his heart, or her teeth in his veins, it’d be from her claws sliced over his throat.
Steele tightened her grip on her knife as Hexe winced. The man behind him waited, one finger over the trigger. He was playing a risky game, thinking she cared about Hexe. She could feel her heart in her throat. This man, he would not win.
She forced herself to smile, a harsh baring of teeth as she looked her mother’s killer in the eye. “That last time you were in these mountains you killed a woman.”
Surprised flashed through his eyes and Steele laughed. “Her mate ran from you.”
She stalked forward a step, her blade a comfortable familiarity in her hand. The killer smiled then. “So you don’t care if he dies?”
“You never saw the little girl in the tree above you.”
He shook his head and laughed at her. “Bitch, I don’t give a damn. That pelt was worth money and you all, you’re not human. Not all the way. I killed an animal that day. I’ll kill another right now.”
His finger flexed over the trigger and Steele froze at the flash of fear in Hexe’s eyes. The soft sound of the trigger starting to depress. Fear slammed through her, white hot, it burned through the ice around her heart. Damn, but she wanted revenge, wanted this son of a bitch dead for what he’d done to her mother.
But she wanted Hexe alive more.
“Fine,” she said, her eyes on Hexe’s as she dropped her weapon.
Her cat half came easy, like a blanket under the skin she pulled it out, wrapping the animal around her. An image of her father fleeing through the snow flashed through her mind, the stink of his fear. She smelled like that now. But as her gaze slammed into Hexe’s, she calmed. She trusted him. And unlike her father…he wouldn’t leave her to die.
Just like she was saving him, he’d save her.
The words were lost under the roar of her beast as she slashed out. The killer jerked his gun up to take aim and Hexe spun, slashing out with one leg he knocked the man off balance. The gu
n bobbed, swerving wide and Hexe rammed his knife into the man’s stomach. He staggered, a gasp spilling from him as his gun slipped from his hands, just as Hexe rammed his second knife into the side of his neck.
Steele stood there as her mother’s killer crumpled to the ground. His gun clattered over the wood, as the killer gave one last gurgling breath and went still. He stared at her, unblinking eyes locked on hers, but Steele felt nothing for the man who’d haunted her for years. No triumph, no sudden feeling of closure.
Then her gaze shifted to Hexe’s, his green-gold eyes watching her as he stared over the dead body, blood on his hands. Relief stirred in her gut, but it was more than that. She took a soft step towards him, one large paw splayed out over the wood as she stopped just shy of the growing puddle of blood that spilled out over Hexe’s floor. A soft rumbling sound roused from her as she pulled the cat back in and shifted. Standing over him, Steele stepped around the dead body and reached for Hexe, just as he reached for her.
“You okay?” his voice was soft, gentle. Filled with an emotion she hadn’t dared believe in. Not for her.
Instead she swallowed as she blinked back tears. “Fine.”
“Steele…” His hands caught her face, blood smeared over her cheeks, but she leaned into him and found his lips, covering his mouth with hers. She kissed away the worry, the fear.
“Thank you,” she whispered as she pulled away. She covered his blood stained hands with hers and held them to her face, unwilling to look away from him.
Her partner.
She leaned in and kissed him again, the faintest brush of lips on lips, like a fallen snowflake before she pulled away. Hexe leaned in and snagged her lips, his teeth skimming over her mouth before she opened to him, letting him inside. Only to realize, he already was. He’d dug a place in her heart in a week that no one else had ever come close to. He’d made himself a part of her life.
Even before he’d staked his claim, he’d been trying to push his way in. She should have known a man like Hexe—someone who hadn’t even been born in these mountains, who had not only made a life for himself, but had made himself King—would know exactly what he wanted. What he needed.
And in a way, he’d known exactly what she needed too.
“Thank you,” she said again.
“Any time,” he whispered, a soft smile on his face.
Pulling free, Hexe knelt over the man on the floor and grabbed his pack. She watched as he unzipped it, pulled out a small leather bag. She could smell the fur in it, the fresh scent of death still clinging to it. Liam. At least this time, the bastard wasn’t getting his payday.
Hexe held up a wallet next. “Jackson Woodrow.”
Heart pounding, Steele took it. The leather was bloody from Hexe’s fingerprints, but she flipped it open. The man stared up at her from his driver’s license. Thirty-four, lived in Ohio. He had a wedding picture of his wife, but Steele didn’t feel a pang of sympathy. Maybe she hadn’t known, but it didn’t matter. The man on the floor in front of her had deserved to die. Not just because of what he’d done to her mother and Liam, but for what he’d tried to do to Hexe, to her. For the simple fact that he’d either had to die or one of them…and Steele wouldn’t have had it end any other way. She tossed the wallet to the ground and reached for Hexe, dragging him up. “It doesn’t matter. Not who he was, or whatever else is in that bag.”
“Your mother…”
“Died a long time ago.” She leaned into him and for the first time, she really accepted the truth. Her mother…wasn’t the only person she had room in her heart to love. Nor was she the only person in Steele’s life worth trusting.
She placed her hands on either side of his face and drew him down for a kiss. She didn’t know if this was for forever, but right now, she didn’t want to leave him. He’d warmed a part of her she’d wanted frozen, but now that love had touched her heart again, she didn’t want to go back.
The man in front of her deserved a chance, and looking up at him now, Steele decided to give it to him.
“I think I’ll stay awhile,” she whispered and watched the surprise play along his face. Damn, but that would never get old.
He drew her closer. “Stay as long as you like.”
Smiling, Steele pulled him down for another kiss. “I will.”
###
About the author: During the day, Sadie Hart works as a secretary in a library. At night, she writes steamy, paranormal romances revolving around the things that go bump in the night - both the spooky and the naughty kind. She lives in Michigan with two large dogs and a flying pig, who’s possibly a superhero and possibly a figment of her imagination. You can find her website here: http://sadiehart.com/
Available Titles by Sadie Hart
Hounded - Shifter Town Enforcement #1
Cry Sanctuary - Shifter Town Enforcement #2
Bending Steele
Moonlit Lovers - Short Story Anthology
What the Heart Haunts
Silver Bells
***
Now Available
Hounded by Sadie Hart
Shifter Town Enforcement #1
Chapter One
Lennox Donnelly crouched behind a sparse yellow bush in the middle of the desert. She’d crawled the quarter mile from the billboard where she’d hidden her car to the wooden fence she eased under now. A soft grunt slipped out as her belly scraped the rough grass, and then she was under, safely in the Bayrock Pridelands.
Well, as safe as a Hound from Shifter Town Enforcement could be around here.
The lion-shifters of Bayrock would hardly welcome the shifter equivalent of a cop on their lands, especially when she’d come to tag and bag one of the resident pride males. That tended to get their tails in a twist. Her lips twisted in a wry grin as she lay there, breathing in the thick scent of dirt and dried grass. He shouldn’t have attacked a Hound if he hadn’t wanted to get caught.
Hounds didn’t take kindly to one of their own getting clawed up by a giant-sized kitty cat. Lennox slowly eased herself into another crouch, her hands and clothes stained with the desert-red dirt all around her. A quick scan of the area revealed barren, yellowed rock that stretched for miles, broken only by tufts of weed and the occasional boulder. Well, that and the small cluster of ranch houses sitting several hundred yards to the south.
With the sun still clinging to its perch in the sky, more than a few of the pride members were lolling about outside, meaning Lennox was stuck in wait mode for the time being. Licking her dirt-chapped lips, she decided that having to hunt a pride male in his own territory wasn’t her favorite way to spend the evening. She wouldn’t exactly be able to march in there without drawing the attention of the whole pride, and Enforcement liked their takedowns cut and dried. No fuss, minimal mess.
Meaning her boss would shit sticks if Lennox botched the takedown and he had to send the rest of the pack out to save her ass. She needed to take Kanon Reyes in quietly, but quiet wasn’t something lion-shifters did very well. They were a lot like their wild brethren. Lions, both shifters and real ones, were violent, edgy, and always riding that fine line between aggression and brutality.
Visitors more often than not equated to snacks.
Keeping low, Lennox crept closer to the small ranch. Six houses total. It wasn’t the biggest pride around, and once everyone settled in for the night she should be able to make her move with a minimum of uproar. A car rattled up the road and Lennox froze. The only cars heading up this drive would be other pride members. But she should be fine since she’d planned her clothes to blend in easily with the red dirt and wiry brush that dotted the landscape. She’d dressed for a romp along a country dirt road, and at this point her khaki camos were dusted thoroughly with prairie dirt, and her tan tank top matched her skin. To a car racing down the road, she should be invisible.
The car drove on past, exhaust billowing out in dark, angry plumes, and Lennox waited, breath held. Watching. Taillights flashed in the dim evening light as the car p
ulled to a stop in front of a two-story house with a wraparound porch. She watched the towering form of a man get out, black hair flipped back in the wind. Had to be her man.
And he was alone. Lion prides, just like in the wild, were typically run by a coalition of ‘alpha’ males. The Bayrock Pride only had two coalition males, and one of her pack mates was supposed to have eyes on Tegan Sharpe to make sure he didn’t make it home in time to come running to his partner’s aid.
One pissed male lion-shifter was going to be bad enough. She licked the grit off her teeth and stretched out, belly-crawling over the dry, cracked grass. All this would have been easier if she’d just shifted into her dog-half and trotted the distance in a low crouch, but she kept her inner Rhodesian ridgeback clamped down. The trip to the ranch would have been easier, but it was a waste of energy and magick that no experienced Hound would risk.
She needed hands to put cuffs on Reyes when she got to him. Hands to slip a gag in his mouth if she needed one. Hands to tranq him enough to make him cooperative. Human logic had won out, so Lennox crept over the ground. Lean muscles bunched as she hung low, scanning the road for any other cars heading this way. Her shoulder holster chafed against the back of her arm as she rolled to get a good view.
All clear.
About damn time. She loved a good hunt.
Quickly working her way closer to the ranch, she was stopped cold by a roar that filled the slowly darkening sky. A tremor ran down her back, raising gooseflesh down her arms in a rush. It sounded again, deeper this time. Throatier. The roar had a physical punch to it. She could feel it rattle in her lungs and she caught her breath at the sheer force behind it.
With nothing more than sound, Reyes left her frozen on the dirt a quarter mile away from his ranch, staring as the pride scurried into their homes. A lion cub pounced on a human sibling before darting in a front door; an impatient woman tapped her foot against the whitewashed porch step before she, too, disappeared inside. Reyes stood on the tan steps of the two-story house in the center, his face tilted back toward the dying sun.
