by Lara Adrian
If it was only lust driving him, he might have been able to deal with it. He hadn’t fucked in a while, but he knew plenty of places he could go between here and Las Vegas to scratch that sort of itch. He doubted another woman’s body would be enough to slake what he was feeling for Naomi. She stirred more than physical curiosity or need in him. She stirred more than simple blood hunger too.
She piqued his interest in ways no other female had ever before. More than just sexy and smart, she was resilient and strong too. Tough and tenacious as hell, despite her diminutive size. He respected that more than he cared to admit. But along with the steel spine she so obviously possessed came stubbornness the likes of which he’d only seen in a mirror.
No doubt about it, the woman was going to be trouble for him.
Already was, since his threat to dump her on the Order was an empty one now. No, after tonight, she was his to protect. If Slater or Cain or anyone else had ideas about harming her, they were going to have to come through him first.
He felt a thump against the back of his leg and glanced down at Sam’s expectant stare and impatiently wagging tail.
Asher grunted. “Sure, now you’re my buddy, eh, old boy? So long as our pretty visitor isn’t in the room or if I’ve got your food in my hands.”
Sam led him eagerly to his empty bowl, nudging his big head down to start eating even before Asher finished pouring the kibble. As the hound munched enthusiastically, Asher patted his short golden fur and the thicker hair at the back of the dog’s neck.
Unbidden, a memory swept over him—one of his own—from around the time that he had first arrived at Ned’s place after drifting aimlessly across the States following his release from Dragos’s control.
They’d been sitting in this very kitchen, Ned eating a bowl of beef stew at the small table that still sat in front of the window overlooking the back of the property. It was dark and Sam was in need of a run.
“I’ll take him,” Asher had offered. “You sit and finish your meal.”
Ned had given him a nod of thanks and continued eating. “Put his collar and leash on him before you let him out. That damn coyote’s been prowling around again and I don’t want Sam thinking he oughta go after it and try to drive it off. That pup’s got more attitude than sense sometimes. Kinda like a couple other people around here.”
Asher remembered smiling at the quip as he’d turned to grab the dog’s woven nylon collar with its jangling tags. As soon as his fingers had closed around the cool, unbreakable material, his whole body had gone cold.
As if he were rooted in ice, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t hear anything but the rush of his own blood pounding in his head. He’d been unable to breathe, feeling the ghost of another collar clamped tight around his own neck.
It was the sensation of Ned’s leathery brown hand on his arm that shook Asher out of his stupor. It grounded him, pulled him back from a dark ledge. But in that moment, Asher had seen insanity just over the horizon. So close, he could almost touch it.
“No collar,” he’d ground out, his voice wooden and distant.
Ned had squeezed his arm gently and nodded. “All right, son. No collar, then.”
They never spoke of it again, and while Ned knew the basics of Asher’s past—a consideration he felt he owed the old man in exchange for his willingness to share his home with someone so different from him—Ned didn’t know about Asher’s origins as a Hunter. He didn’t know any of the hideous things Asher had been made to do while his neck was ringed with the collar he never dreamed he’d escape.
Ned never pried, never judged. Instead, he’d tried to convince Asher—unsuccessfully—that sooner or later he would need to leave the ranch and go find a family of his own. He didn’t realize Asher’s freedom only stretched as far as his legs could carry him. He would never be free of his memories. Nor of his sins.
A soft sound jolted him back to the here and now.
Naomi cleared her throat behind him, bringing with her the fresh scent of warm, clean skin and damp, shampooed hair. Her pink cheeks and shiny black hair sent an ache through him that he could hardly curb.
But no more than the long white T-shirt she wore. His shirt.
He scowled, all he could do to bite back the sudden surge of his fangs and the heat that prickled his skin from head to toe. His erection was instant, and he knew he had to be glowering at her just from the agony of his arousal.
“I, um, hope you don’t mind. My clothes smelled like smoke from the casino and I couldn’t stand to put them on once I was clean. I found this T-shirt on top of the dresser with some other folded laundry.”
His blood rushed out of his head and went south as he realized she was practically naked beneath it. Her breasts were small and high, with little need for a bra, not that she seemed to be wearing one. The cotton held no real shape on her small frame, but it was so thin he could just make out the dusky peaks of her nipples and the hint of her lavender-colored panties beneath it.
Holy fuck.
“It’s fine,” he snarled, pivoting if only to keep her from seeing the hot coals of his eyes. His glyphs were writhing with dark colors, all in response to the desire he felt for this female. When he spoke again, his voice was like gravel and thick from the crowding presence of his fangs. “We can head out tomorrow night to get you some clothes. We’ll need groceries, too. I hope you’re not hungry, since anything I have here is left over from when Ned was alive. Which means it’s somewhere between inedible and radioactive.”
She laughed. “I’m not hungry, but if I get there I’m sure I can figure something out.”
“You’ll have to, because I don’t cook, either.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. As I recall, you make a mean can of chicken noodle.”
He felt her warmth behind him as she stepped further into the kitchen and went over to pet Sam, who was licking his newly emptied bowl. Her feet were bare, and he found himself staring, fixated on the peachy polish and the delicate silver band that circled one of her perfect little toes.
“Michael texted me while I was in the shower,” she said, sounding more than relieved. “He says everything went off without a hitch. He’s home, and he’s got the check. He’s going to bring it to the bank on Monday morning. It should clear in a few days, and it looks like Slater has no idea what hit him.”
Asher hoped she was right about that, but his gut told him she and Michael were far from in the clear with Slater. They might never be safe again. Not if he ever got wise to their scam.
Dread over that eventuality cooled some of the heat he was feeling for the Breedmate who’d not only upended his solitary existence but lit it on fire. He wanted her, no question about that, but what he wanted most was her safety.
“What did you tell Michael? You didn’t mention that you were out here with me, did you?”
“No.” She drifted over to him, leaning against the counter. “I just told him I was someplace safe and that I thought it best to stay away for a while. I don’t want him to have information Slater or anyone else could use against him if things get sticky. The more plausible deniability he has these next few days especially, the safer he’ll be.”
Asher nodded, studying her worried expression. “You and Michael are pretty close, I gather.”
“He’s like a brother to me. We’ve been family to each other for the past eighteen years, since we were both eight years old.”
Eight years old. Asher exhaled a sigh. “Since you lost your mother.”
“Michael and I met later that same year. My mom had been missing for a couple of months by the time child protective services came around to the apartment and took me in as a ward of the state. I bounced through a few group homes and foster situations that year, but nothing stuck. I guess I made sure of that. I kept running away, rebelling even more every time they tried to discipline me. I was, as most everyone put it, difficult.”
Asher felt the corner of his mouth tug in a wry smile. It didn’
t take much to imagine a younger version of Naomi, headstrong and angry and independent, balking at the slightest attempts to break or contain her. Here she was, half his size even full-grown yet she’d had more courage as a child than he’d had even as a teen and a young man.
“Where did you finally end up?”
“On the street,” she answered flatly, shrugging. “It was better than anything the state had in mind for me. At least the predators were easier to spot. I’d rather take my chances with the addicts and scumbags living on the street than the monsters who live in nice houses and smile at you as they invite you inside but don’t show their claws until you’ve finally decided to trust them.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
“A few times. But I trust my gut more than I ever trust anyone else, so I always managed to get out of there before the worst could happen.” She glanced at him then, her soft sherry gaze bleak. “Michael had it much worse than me. He had a proper family once, the loving parents, the big house and a dog, the whole white picket fence Utopia. But then on his eighth birthday, he made the mistake of confiding in his mom that he thought he was gay. She told Michael’s dad and instead of having cake and ice cream, his father beat the living shit out of him. It was so bad, Michael had to get his jaw wired shut.”
“Christ,” Asher muttered. His gut churned the way it always did whenever he heard about children being mistreated, and he struggled to find words of comfort.
Naomi swallowed audibly, emotion thick in her voice. “His parents told the doctors and the social worker who came to the hospital that he got in a fight at school. Michael didn’t deny it. He never told anyone the truth. As soon as he was sent home to recuperate, he split and never looked back. We ran into each other later that year. I spotted him trying to lift a wallet off a tourist outside a fast food place. He got caught and the guy’s shout drove him away. I saw where Michael ran to, so after I finessed twenty bucks out of an ATM, I bought a couple of burgers and drinks and brought them to him. We ate together inside a drainage pipe near the highway, and we’ve hardly been apart since.”
Asher studied her, marveling at her fortitude. He even admired her little streak of larceny, considering she’d used it as means of survival and kindness, rather than for her own gain. Even her hits on Slater’s casinos seemed to be done as a means of providing for others more than herself. The problem was her motivation. She wouldn’t be the first person to lose their life because of an insatiable vengeance.
“How does Michael feel about you taking so many chances when it comes to Leo Slater?”
“He doesn’t like it,” she admitted. “He’s been begging me to let it go for a long time.”
“Smart man. I like him already.”
She slanted him a sardonic look. “Anyway, I promised him this last job would be it for me. No more stealing from Slater. We have what need to keep the shelter going for a while, so I’m done with that now.”
Asher narrowed his scrutiny of her, sensing there were things she wasn’t saying. Things she hadn’t promised Michael. “You’re done taking money from Slater, but you’re not finished with him yet. Are you.”
Not a question, but a flat realization.
“I told you, Asher. I have a debt to collect from him. For my mother, for what he did to her and believes he got away with all this time. All the beatings and other abuse she suffered. And, finally, her death.”
“How can you be certain he killed her? People disappear, Naomi. Even mothers sometimes walk away and leave everything behind.”
“Not her.” She shook her head, resolute. “The only thing we had was each other. That is, until Slater came along. He dazzled her with fancy cars and clothing, with promises of a better life—for both of us. But all he did was use her up. He destroyed her, first with the beatings, then with drugs. By the time she disappeared, she was only a husk of the woman my mom had been before she met him.”
“And you want vengeance.”
“That’s right,” she whispered, nodding. “I want to make him suffer. I want to ruin him, and then make sure he understands that it was me all along. I want to make him pay for all the things he’s done, things that can’t be excused or ignored just by greasing someone’s palm or through any of his threats.”
Asher grunted. “It’s understandable, Naomi. I can’t tell you I wouldn’t want the same things if I were you. But you have to realize even if you get your revenge on Slater, the odds of you walking away with your life are slim. Less than slim.”
She shook her head, quietly dismissive. “I don’t care what happens to me.”
“That’s where you and I differ, then. I do care what happens to you.”
As he stared at her, Naomi’s expression softened at those words. It only lasted for an instant. She exhaled and gave him a flippant roll of her eyes. “Right. Because I have a mark under my chin?”
“Yes,” he answered solemnly. “Because you are a Breedmate.”
But there was something more he was feeling too. Something he wasn’t prepared to acknowledge, let alone express. When he thought about keeping Naomi safe, everything lethal and violent in him seemed to take on a deeper meaning.
He felt protective.
Possessive.
Those foreign emotions swamped him, along with the desire he’d barely been able to bring to heel since that reckless kiss back in the city. He couldn’t keep his gaze from roaming over her again now, her scent and the vibration of her pulse so near to him driving him mad with need.
She must have sensed it—the low throb that seemed to charge the air between them. The kitchen felt too cramped, too warm. Electric with all of the things Naomi awakened in him.
She swallowed, but didn’t move an inch.
“Anyway,” she said, “the only things that matter to me now are Michael and the kids we’re trying to help. They’re my family now. I would do anything for them.”
“They’re lucky to have you.”
“What about you, Asher?” At first, he wasn’t sure what she was asking. His brows knit in question and she tilted her head at him. “Do you have a family? A bunch of scowling, overbearing brothers like you somewhere out there?”
“I have no family,” he answered tonelessly. That much was true, at least.
“What about Ned? Seeing as he left you his ranch and his dog, you and he must’ve been close.”
Asher didn’t know how to answer that. He’d never considered himself close to anyone. It wasn’t how he was raised. Quite the opposite, in fact. But he had felt gratitude for the kind old widower who opened his home to a stranger, a drifter he had every reason to fear.
But Ned hadn’t been afraid. He’d treated Asher like a person, not a monster. He’d treated him like an equal, not a servant or a tool. He gave Asher his respect. More than that, he’d given him his trust.
“We were . . . friends.” The word felt odd on his tongue because he’d never used it to describe anyone before. “It seems strange here without him sometimes.”
Naomi smiled gently, reaching over to lay her hand atop his. “I’m sorry you lost your friend, Asher.”
The tender sentiment left a pang inside him that felt as unsettling to him as his admission that he missed the old man. Evidently, being around Naomi was a minefield of revelations. Not the least of which being how badly he wanted to take hold of her and feel her body against his.
He wanted to kiss her again, and if she continued to touch him and talk softly about feelings, he was going to go mad. He pulled away from her and stalked over to put Sam’s kibble back in the cabinet.
Behind him, she let go of a sigh. “Do you mind if I get a glass of water?”
“Help yourself. You won’t find me to be much of a host.”
She made an acknowledging noise then padded over to the cupboards and foraged for a glass. She filled it at the sink, then paused in front of the refrigerator to study the collection of curling, yellowed photographs that had been permanently stuck to the metal surfac
e with magnets and old tape long before Asher had arrived on the scene.
“Is that him?” she asked. “The African American man in several of these pictures?”
“Yes, that’s Ned.” Asher stowed the dog food and glanced at the array of faded images. “The woman he’s seated next to on the porch in this photo was his wife, Ruth.”
Naomi looked closer and turned a warm smile on him. “She’s beautiful. Did you know her too?”
“No. She died six years before I came here.”
In the picture was a smiling fifty-something Ned, taken before his short black curls had turned white and his deep brown eyes had gone cloudy and unseeing. He and his tawny-skinned, gentle-eyed wife were seated side-by-side in matching wood rocking chairs. Asher had never seen such contentment in a pair of faces before in his life.
He’d never known such love existed.
“Ned made those chairs himself,” he said when the silence stretched between them. “He told me after Ruth died he put them in the barn out back and couldn’t bear to look at them again because they reminded him of her and everything they lost.”
“How sad.” Naomi glanced at some of the other photos before turning a curious look on him. “How did you two meet, anyway?”
“One night about fifteen years ago, I ended up outside Vegas. Wasn’t much for letting any grass grow under my feet, and I had no idea where I wanted to go next. All I knew at that moment was I’d gone too long without feeding. More than a week, which is further than any of my kind should push it. I ran more than fifty miles before I finally saw signs of civilization. And by that, I mean a rundown gas station and convenience store. Nobody around except an old piece of junk pickup truck sitting at one of the pumps.”
“Ned’s Chevy,” Naomi said with a smile.
Asher nodded. “This old black man shuffled out of the place and went over to start pumping his gas. He knew what I wanted the instant he saw me. Christ, I had to be a sight. My vision was hazy with hunger, and my fangs felt like they were on fire in my mouth. I snarled something at him. I don’t even know what I said. I expected him to run—or try to. I wasn’t there to kill him, but the way my thirst was racking me, he had to know it was a possibility.”
