Marked

by Aline Hunter

  “In you go.”

  In an instant Chloe seemed to become aware of her nudity. She quickly tried to cover herself and hurried to the water. He thought the temperature was too much for her at first, concerned when she hissed and gritted her teeth. Then she slid into the clear depths—vanishing as she ducked her head below the surface—and he released a sigh of relief.

  He crouched beside the tub and waited for her to reappear. She came up for air with a greedy gasp, using her hands to clear the water from her eyes. The liquid caressed her breasts, lifting them high. After she finished swiping at her face and gazed at him, something inside him changed.

  With her like this—wet, confused and vulnerable—it was hard to do the right thing.

  Instead of protecting her, he had other things on his mind. Things she might not appreciate this early on. He had to battle his wolf for dominance, determined to behave as a mate should.

  “I’m going to make breakfast,” he said hoarsely and handed her a washcloth, forcing his hand away from the temptation of her silken skin. “Come into the kitchen when you’re finished.”

  He hurried from the room, trying to focus on feeding his mate instead of fucking her like the animal he was. She was young and inexperienced. He had to prove his worth and soothe her rattled nerves. This was the most important meal he’d ever prepare in his life. He had to focus.

  Storming away from the bathroom, he forced himself not to look back.

  One more glance at his female—one more caress of the combined scent of her pussy and his seed flowing to his nostrils—and he’d lose all control.

  Chloe stared at Jackson’s back as he walked away. Her heart was racing, her pussy throbbing for attention. One simple look from the man she’d shared the night with and she’d turned into a puddle of goo. She couldn’t think clearly, her thoughts turning on themselves. He’d told her that her father was a werewolf and her birthmark was far more than she’d ever bargained for.

  In the light of day what he said seemed plausible and scary as hell.

  She ducked her head beneath the water again, letting bubbles of air seep from her lips. The pictures and scents that had invaded her senses when she opened her eyes—of her and Jackson, doing all kinds of naughty things to each other—slowly bled away. What they’d shared was more than she’d bargained for. She’d thought they’d share a night together and her need for him would go away. But she was wrong—so very wrong—and now she wanted him more than ever. In a way that terrified her.

  Get clean and go home.

  She splashed to the surface and scrubbed at her skin, dismayed as the alluring scent that was all Jackson faded. For a moment she stopped to study her wrist. Oddly, the mark didn’t hurt at all. She couldn’t detect an uncomfortable twinge. She couldn’t be a werewolf. It wasn’t possible. She’d feel it. On some level she’d have to know.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Getting back on task, she shifted back and let her hand drift to the tender tissue between her legs. She used gentle strokes of the cloth, swiping at the folds, remembering how they’d gotten so swollen and sore in the first place.

  Panic made her heart drum in her ears, adrenaline and fear raging through her system. She’d thought about protection but by the time Jackson had started making love to her it was too late. At that moment she’d been lost, thinking only of him.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Hadn’t her mother’s loss taught her anything? If she was lucky she’d be able to walk away with a broken heart, not a bun in the oven.

  After a cursory glance at the shampoo bottle nestled at the foot of the tub she decided she didn’t have time to worry with her hair. Gram and Gramps had to be frantic. She always made it home on time, determined to prove she was worthy of their trust. They had probably called the police and reported her as missing.

  You told Rachel to call them. Calm down.

  She quickly toweled off and jerked on her clothes. Her best friend had never failed her. That was why Chloe had called Rachel as soon as she’d realized where she was and what she’d done. Rachel was disappointed she hadn’t been told all the details but she wouldn’t judge. It was the primary reason Chloe trusted her and was able to share things with the young woman she’d never told anyone else.

  Like details about her dreams of a man who didn’t exist.

  Correction, she reminded herself. A man who does exist. A man you apparently dreamshared with.

  Gram and Gramps would kill her when they saw Jackson and realized what she’d been up to. They’d always been protective. If she brought a werewolf home there was no telling what they’d do.

  The mouthwatering aroma of cinnamon and butter drifting to her nose caused her stomach to growl. She slapped her hands over her abdomen, hoping like hell that Jackson couldn’t hear the obnoxious sound. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day. Since Grams was an early riser, Chloe had always greeted each morning with a healthy appetite.

  Knowing she had no other choice, she exited the bathroom, tiptoed down the hallway and stepped into the living area. Her stomach knotted as the smells intensified, so vibrant and rich. She could almost taste what she couldn’t see. Jackson appeared, clothed in sweatpants that left nothing to the imagination. He looked as good as the food smelled, mouthwatering in his own way.

  He stopped in front of her, his chest blocking the kitchen from view. “Feel better?”

  To lie or not to lie? Decisions, decisions.

  “Yes,” she answered as honestly as possible.

  If he knew she wasn’t being truthful, he didn’t let on. Instead he snaked his arms around her and urged her close. The warmth of his skin caressed her cheek, his scent coming at her hard and fast. She wanted to melt, her muscles relaxing at his nearness. To her surprise she realized she’d never felt so comfortable around another person, as though she’d finally found the one place she was intended to be.

  She jolted when Jackson lowered an arm, rested it against her ass and lifted her into the air. Scrambling to maintain her balance, she clung to him, burying her nails in his arms. The deep rumble of approval coming from his chest hummed against her breasts.

  “Relax,” he crooned, pressing a kiss to her forehead and stopping at a nearby barstool. He lowered her to the seat and waited for her to let go before he pulled away. “Let’s get some food in you.”

  There was no sense in arguing. She was hungry and he’d gone through all the trouble to cook for her. She watched him in the kitchen, awed by his movements.

  For a big man he moved silently, prowling through the space. He retrieved a stack of French toast from the counter and brought it to her. Then he turned and retrieved syrup. He piled her plate high, poured the syrup over the scrumptious pieces and retrieved a knife and fork. She reached for them but he stopped her, sawing into the stack. Before she could question him he brought a morsel to her lips.

  Watching her mouth, he instructed, “Open up.”

  She did, nearly coming apart as the tastes burst in her mouth. She chewed slowly, savoring the flavors. The cinnamon tasted better than it smelled, the toast crumbling in her mouth.

  “It’s delicious,” she whispered, licking her lips.

  “I’m glad you approve.” He brought another forkful to her mouth, studying her closely. She took the offering and he lifted his eyes, their gazes locking across the counter. “Everything is as it should be. You’ll see. You just have to trust me. I’ll make you happy, Chloe girl.”

  The endearment shouldn’t have made her as happy as it did. She should have been fearful or anxious at the sentiment. Instead she felt at peace. She decided not to explore the feelings too deeply, taking the food he offered to her. Soon enough she’d face the demons that plagued her. She’d confront her grandparents and demand an explanation.

  Right now she’d accept the pampering he offered.

  It was always best to enjoy the small things in life.

  Especially if there was a chance something might come along and pul
l the rug out from beneath you.

  Chapter Four

  Rachel Gentry slammed the driver’s side door closed. Swiping strands of hair away from her face, she marched toward The Wolf’s Den. Her best friend had called forty-five minutes before in a panic, terrified of something she’d done. Chloe had begged Rachel to tell her grandparents she was fine but before Rachel could ask questions the call had ended.

  That shit didn’t fly.

  Chloe was always reliable—it was the primary reason they’d always been close. Rachel was the one with the volatile lifestyle, taking things as they came at her. Now, with the strange way her friend was acting, she knew something was wrong. She was going to get some answers, even if Chloe begged her to leave well enough alone. And she was going to start with the tattoo parlor Chloe had become obsessed with in the last few weeks.

  She yanked the parlor door open and stepped inside. So flipping what? A werewolf tattoo shop. What was so special about that? Chloe had always been fascinated by the supernatural. Why? She had no idea. Humans didn’t mingle with werewolves or vampires. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t normal. Rational people didn’t venture to Atrum Hill.

  Leave it to Chloe to start a new trend.

  Although she approached the counter with a confident stride, a pang of fear rattled inside her chest. This wasn’t home—this was wolf country. She was in the den of beasts. She shrugged the notion aside in an instant, relying on anger and worry. Chloe needed her. If not, she never would have contacted Rachel so early in the morning. She needed to find out where Chloe was and make sure her friend was safe.

  “Damn it,” a deep, masculine voice yelled from the back. “We’re not open. Come back during business hours.”

  Displaying more bravado than she felt, she screamed back, “The open sign is on and the door wasn’t locked. I need to speak to a member of management.”

  Curses rang from the back of the building and she heard a chair scrape against the floor. She braced herself, pulse racing, her breath coming out in stilted gasps. No one could make her do anything she didn’t want to do. Mortal police were weaker than preternatural law enforcement but they didn’t back down. Not when it came to their people. She relied on that fact, even as her fight or flight instincts kicked in.

  Be strong.

  A figure appeared at the end of the hall and stomped in her direction. She didn’t look away, lifting her head, keeping her shoulders straight. She hadn’t traveled into his neck of the woods to be turned away. As a female mechanic, she dealt with her fair share of dickheads. Men always assumed she would be gullible or stupid, something she was quick to nip in the bud. This asshole—even if he wasn’t entirely human—couldn’t bully her unless she let him.

  “What the hell do you want?” he snapped, approaching fast. “I told you that we’re not…”

  He stopped halfway down the hall, nostrils flaring. His dark hair was clipped short, a few strands ruffled around his ears. His features were more arresting than she could ever have imagined—full lips surrounded by a slight covering of shadow, a nose in perfect proportion to his face and a squared jaw with a steady tic that made him seem dangerous.

  His brown eyes turned gold, his irises striking in the dark.

  Trying to shake off his presence, she responded, “Chloe Bryant sent me.”

  That seemed to reach him. He shook his head and took another step. From her vantage point she could see his arms. The black T-shirt didn’t fully cover the intricate, ink sleeves that covered his skin. The tribal designs contained what appeared to be wolves within the layers.

  “And you are?”

  “Rachel,” she answered quickly, meeting his gaze.

  “Rachel…?” he prodded, obviously wanting her last name, and stopped in front of her. This close—standing just inches away from him from the counter—she could smell him. Like a touch of the woods, forest and earth. Were werewolves supposed to smell this good?

  Who cares? You’re not here to get warm and cozy with a man who changes into a dog and hikes his leg at trees to mark his territory. Get a grip!

  “Just Rachel,” she retorted hotly, getting her hormones under control.

  “What can I do for you, Just Rachel?” he asked, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. If he meant to break the ice, he’d fucked up big-time. He was teasing her, and she hated being teased.

  “I’ve come to pick up Chloe.” When he didn’t react one way or another and just stood there watching her, she asked between gritted teeth, “Are you hard of hearing? Do I need to break out in sign?”

  “Actually my hearing is better than most.” The man across from her lost his playfulness and leaned against the counter, the muscles in his chest flexing with the motion. “As you can see, you made a trip for nothing. Chloe isn’t here.”

  “Don’t even. I’m not in the mood for games.” She smirked and moved closer. “You don’t want me to call the police, do you? I’m sure they’d love to hear that a human woman entered your parlor and vanished. You might even make the evening news.”

  Instead of taking her threat at face value, he grinned. Her insides wilted and burned white-hot. The air seemed to thicken, making it difficult to breathe. When she drew a deep breath the scent in the air increased, swarming her mind, making her sway on her feet.

  “You wouldn’t do that,” he rasped, still looking her in the eye. “Not to me.”

  The hell I wouldn’t.

  “Oh yes I would.” She ground out the words, forcing her increased libido aside, remembering why she’d come here. Chloe needed her. An attractive man with what appeared to be a gorgeous body wasn’t going to catch her off guard. “In fact, I called them before I came here.”

  His irises flashed, becoming gold. “You’re lying,” he stated with total conviction, watching her with eyes that saw more than she wanted them to.

  Anger replaced desire. True, she hadn’t called the police, but there was no way he could possibly know that.

  “Wanna bet?”

  He paused as though he was trying to read her. Then his attention shifted to the door. She heard a car pull up to the parlor and his golden eyes narrowed. In a split second the annoying man moved, standing in front of her one moment and beside her the next. The teasing glint in his gaze was gone, replaced with an anger that sent her heart thundering in alarm.

  “Son of a bitch.” He reached out, snagged her arm and tugged her around the counter. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” She tried to yank away and winced when his grip increased, his fingers biting into her jacket. “Hey! Let go, asshole!”

  If he heard he didn’t listen, literally dragging her down the hallway. Terrified and unable to do anything else, she tried to drop to the ground. To her shock, he seemed to know what she was going to do before she did it. He caught her, slipping his arms beneath her legs and back. She squirmed as he carried her into a room and slammed the door closed with the heel of his boot. He thrust her into a tattoo chair, knocking the air from her lungs, and took a step back. He looked intimidating, folding his massive arms over his chest.

  “All right, Just Rachel. Listen up. I’m only going to say this once. Keep your sweet little ass parked in that chair until I get back. If you piss me off you won’t like what happens.”

  Her heart skipped a beat before it started to race. “Are you threatening me?” A part of her actually hoped he was threatening her, that he wasn’t all bluff.

  What the hell?

  “Nope, threats are a waste of time.” He glanced at the door, cursed and returned his attention to her. “Keep quiet. We’ll talk about Chloe after I take care of business.”

  With that he spun on his heel to exit the room.

  “Wait,” she called out, wondering if he’d ignore the request.

  He took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “You didn’t tell me your name.” She wanted to wince as soon as she said it, wishing she cou
ld take the words back.

  Now you’ve gone and done it, dummy.

  It was a stupid, girly thing to say. And she knew it.

  She should be asking about Chloe or scrambling out of the chair. Instead she felt an odd tug in her chest, some part of her wanting to know at least something about the man standing imposingly across from her.

  The amused grin on his face made her tingly in all the wrong places. “I didn’t, did I?”

  Even though she was hoping for more, he left her guessing.

  The door closed behind him with a soft snick. She gasped for air, realizing it was difficult to breathe. This wasn’t the woman she’d trained herself to be—strong, unbreakable and unwilling to bend to another’s will. The pride she took in her self-assurance cracked, leaving her shaken.

  No one had ever affected her in this way, and the knowledge terrified her. For the first time in her life Rachel found herself staring into empty space without anything to say.

  Coming to The Wolf’s Den was a very bad idea.

  Of all the dumb fucking luck.

  Declan Schroder strode down the hall, trying to calm down and get his throbbing cock under control.

  Talk about a complex female.

  The woman who’d walked into his building was all attitude with a fuck-with-me-and-regret-it glare, lithe frame and intriguing face. The little minx had gotten his blood pumping, making his dick harden to the point of pain. As a male, he couldn’t resist the challenge she’d issued. There was no give in her, zero softness. Even if she’d been aroused by his flirting, she’d blown him off good and proper. She’d be a hellion in the sack, giving as good as she got.

  Stop thinking with the wrong head. Just Rachel has to wait.