by Anne Marsh
“Will your family be safe if I’m here?”
Jace nods toward us both and strolls off toward the garage I spotted by the side of the house. The chrome-and-horsepower wet dream parked there must be his. He’ll tear up the road, heading back into Baton Rouge and his pseudo-gang affiliations. Or whatever it is an undercover werewolf does in his down time.
“My family’s goin’ to be fine. We’ve lived under the radar for decades.”
“No werewolf outings?” I ask lightly. God. His family home is a pretty place. I count three stories and at least a dozen white columns gracing the front. A verandah wraps around the house, giving its occupants the perfect spot from which to watch the bayou or wait out a hot, sleepy afternoon.
Cruz bypasses the front door, pointing me toward a path meandering around the side of the house. “We don’ ever tell humans about the pack or draw attention to it. That’s rule number one around here.”
Not the answer I’ve secretly been hoping for, I realize, because I am now a threat to their safety. I attended his sister’s wedding, and now I’m here, where his parents live.
“I know about you,” I point out.
“Uh-huh.” He rests his hand lightly at the small of my back. “I’m hopin’ that’s not a problem. Plus since I’m the guy who’s keepin’ you safe, I don’ think you’ll out me.”
“You don’t have to kill me now that I know the big secret?”
He grins slowly. “The only killin’ happenin’ around here is le petit mort.”
Yes, please.
“Are we going inside?”
“I don’ sleep in the big house,” he states casually, steering me down a side path with my suitcase in his free hand. His hand pressed against my back points me in the direction he wants me to go. Why is the gesture so impossibly sexy? I have an inexplicable urge to run, to see if he’ll follow, because I need to know what kind of power and games are at stake here. This isn’t like me. I feel awkward, aroused, curious. I also can’t forget Luc’s final words or kiss. Could I go back to him?
“I like havin’ my own space,” Cruz adds, as if I’m listening to him intently and not staring off into space, lost in my own thoughts. The need for privacy is something else Cruz and I have in common, although I wouldn’t have minded the grand tour. His family’s home is downright pretty, like something out of a historical tour.
Port Leon is a sleepy town with a handful of streets. The pack’s home stands on the furthest outskirts, perched on the banks of the bayou. Cypress trees trailing Spanish moss surround the property as far as I can see, the darker water of the bayou peeping through the screen. It’s beautiful, but definitely isolated.
I should have insisted harder that Cruz spend our seven nights and my protective custody gig at my Baton Rouge house. Digging my heels in, I try to bring the crazy train to a halt, but he tugs me effortlessly along. Stupid heels. Instead of power shoes, I should have worn steel toes. Then I could have kicked him in his Alpha ass.
“We should set some ground rules.”
He stops dead at that, my words getting through where my feet failed. “You really wan’ rules?”
Um, yeah.
“You bet.” Rules are important. Rules mean everyone understands the game and what’s at stake.
He runs his fingers along mine, his hand tangling with mine. “Because I thought, you and I, we were both tired of keepin’ other people’s rules.”
Imagining Cruz as a rule breaker is actually difficult. He wears his sheriff’s uniform well—and yes, looks plenty hot doing so—but I’d have sworn that upholding the law is personal, at least for him. He understands why people need rules, and then he makes sure everyone follows them.
“You don’t want to be a sheriff anymore?”
He shifts his hand to my wrist, lazily rubbing a thumb over my pulse. Which speeds up. Damn it. “I like my job jus’ fine, but that’s not all I am.”
“I know that.” After all, he isn’t wearing his uniform right now, is he? And I’ve seen him naked—he definitely wasn’t wearing his uniform then, although I might not have minded borrowing his handcuffs.
“I’m the pack Alpha,” he says. He doesn’t move. He does that often, this planting-his-feet-and-taking-a-stand thing. Clearly he has a point to make though, because he keeps on talking. “I make the rules for the pack. I enforce them.”
I have zero idea how this matters to us. I’m not a wolf. “Is there something I need to know about? Some secret set of wolf rules I’m about to violate?”
Usually, I excel at playing by the rules. There are rules for the courtroom. For writing legal briefs. For driving, exercising, and likely every other moment of my life. This makes me pretty much the rule expert, with the possible exception of werewolf etiquette—and clearly he intends to enlighten me there. If nothing else comes of this week, I can go into business as the Emily Post for werewolves.
He sets my suitcase down and faces me. “There are very few rules here.”
Which implied there are some.
“Lay them out for me,” I suggest.
“Three rules.” He growls, and I half expect him to tick his items off one by one on his fingers.
“What are you, a fairy tale?”
He ignores me.
“Rule number one. Loyalty to the pack.” He presses a finger against my lips.
Loyalty definitely works for me. “Got it.”
“Shifting is our secret. We don’ tell outsiders about the pack or what we can do. No one human can know about the shape-shiftin’ community.” A second finger brushes over my mouth.
Curiosity compels me to admit the obvious. “I know.”
“Luc shouldn’t have brought you into this.” That’s not the reaction I hoped for. Did Cruz not want me here?
“Would you have kept the shifting a secret from me?” I’d thought about dating him before Luc burst back into my life. How far would Cruz have taken the secrecy? Sex without any kind of genuine intimacy at all? A relationship where he slipped out at night to shift, but told me he had to work late?
“Oui.” One big finger tugs on my bottom lip. “I would have tried, boo.”
“Really?” Because his brand of blunt sucks. I nip his finger and he makes a tight, hoarse sound. Payback. “You’re saying we could have dated for a couple of years, moved in together, maybe made a little wolf baby… and you wouldn’t have told me?”
He shrugs. “I don’ know, do I? Because here we are, and you know about the packs. So we’re goin’ to have to go with rule number three trumps all.”
“Which is?”
“Loyalty to me. You may not be a wolf, but I’m callin’ the shots in this show.”
“Because you’re the Alpha.”
“That’s partly right. This is my world. I know what it takes to keep you safe.”
“And the other part?”
“The other part’s about the two of us in bed. I’m thinkin’ you might enjoy lettin’ go a little there. I plan on bein’ in charge there too.”
In his dreams. Or mine… “I don’t do submission.”
He grins. “Maybe you could consider learnin’?”
Oh, he’s pushing it. “In your dreams.”
His smile gets wider and he steps closer, his booted foot nudging mine.
“I’ve had some good dreams,” he admits. He curls his fingers around my hips, the thin fabric of my dress no protection against the heat of him. He touched me like this in front of the house when Luc was there. And Jace. Now we’re alone. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but the lazy smile tugging at his mouth is promising. My wolf is clearly ready to play.
“You going to tell me about them?” This time, when I take a step backward, my back hits a rough wooden wall. Some long-gone Southern lady tucked her garden shed deep in the garden surrounding the main house. Even through the wild tangle of plants surrounding us, I can still see the windows of the big house. Believing we’re truly alone is a mistake.
“Maybe.” He moves c
loser until he has my front pressed up against him. The thick, hard length of his erection gives big, bad wolf a whole new, delicious meaning, and his booted foot widens my stance.
GIANNA
Someone clears his throat behind us. So much for sexy, happy times on the bayou.
“Dad’s waitin’ for you,” Jace growls, clearly not happy with being sent on messenger duty. My heart’s banging hard against my ribs, my fingers itching to tangle in Cruz’s shirt and tug him closer. I want to ignore Jace and kiss Cruz again and again, never minding the outside world.
Cruz steps away from me and nods. “We’re comin’.”
The plantation house is as gorgeous inside as it is out, probably the kind of place the local historical society likes to add to its tours. If, of course, werewolves let humans check out their homes. Hah. Probably not, given their code of secrecy. It’s entirely possible that I’m the first non-wolf to set foot on the dark wood floor with its sun-faded oriental rugs. I could be some kind of Neil Armstrong, taking one small step for humanity.
Elegant white columns stretch away toward a formal set of reception rooms filled with dark wood furniture and velvet-covered settees. A crystal chandelier hangs over our heads. My brain draws an immediate blank on imagining Cruz surrounded by all this old school Southern charm, even if it is where his family lives and he’s made it plenty clear that he’s a family-first kind of guy. If I believe the women’s magazines, I’m at the mercy of some primitive, ancient mating instinct to seek out the male most likely to settle down with me, and that explains my attraction to him. Luc doesn’t live like this and won’t.
It’s bullshit.
I’m certain of it.
Because my brain apparently switches off when confronted by hundreds of years of elegant Southern living, I let him draw me down the long hallway toward the reception rooms. Each foot, each inch of the place, embodies Southern graciousness at its best. The rooms sport twenty-foot ceilings and enough columns and decorative trim pieces for a museum. The fireplace could hold two people in a Hansel-and-Gretel moment. But the kicker is, of course, the wolf pack. An enormous gray wolf lounging in front of the fireplace raises its head when we come in. I’d bet that bad boy knew the minute I stepped foot on the driveway.
“Meet the pack.” Cruz flashes me a hard smile. “My father, Dean Jones. My baby brother, Eli. Jace, you know. And we got ourselves a couple of visiting cousins too.”
Well, shit. I’d expected people. Not wolves. Which means I clearly win the Naïve Houseguest of the Year award. Or something. Wolves are out of my league.
“The cousins won’t eat you.” Jace playfully smacks the large gray wolf who bumps against my leg and then waves toward a woman who has just entered the room. “And this is our mother, Shelli Jones.”
Pretty and curvy, Shelli Jones appears to be in her fifties. Her gray-streaked blonde hair is pinned up in a neat twist, and smile lines lightly crease the corners of her mouth and eyes. She has a happy face and looks like the sort of woman who you smile at automatically in the grocery store line, right before you find yourself spilling all your secrets. The Baton Rouge police force has a cop like that, and they send her in to chat up suspected felons and pry their secrets loose. She’s brilliant.
Shelli Jones pulls me straight into a hug. I’m not a casual toucher, but I’m strangely okay with letting Shelli wrap her arms around me and squeeze. The older woman wears yoga pants, a loose T-shirt, and a plaid flannel. A pair of cotton Toms in hot pink peek out from the bottom of the pants. She moves with easy grace, looking Saturday-morning comfortable, although there isn’t a wrinkle in sight. Eventually, Shelli lets go with a laugh and takes a step back.
“You’re the girl seeing my Cruz,” she announces, nodding her head in answer to an unspoken question.
Oh. God. I am so not explaining my already inexplicable desire for a ménage a trois to Cruz’s mother.
I’m a lawyer. I know how to hedge. “I’m a friend of Cruz’s.”
Jace smirks, clearly willing to throw us both under the bus. “That’s an interesting label, shug.”
I smile determinedly at Cruz’s mother. There’s no way on God’s green earth I’m trying to explain my relationship with Cruz—and with Luc. Hi, I’m having sex with two wolves, because one isn’t enough for me! is so not the introduction I need.
I settle for a smile. See? No words to incriminate me.
“Friends are good. It’s a nice start.” Shelli beams at me, then turns her gaze on her eldest son. Definitely dangerous.
He holds up a hand. “Gianna’s calling the shots on this one.”
“You be nice to her now,” Shelli says. “And she’ll give you more.”
Um. Okay. I’m not entirely sure how to interpret her comment, so I settle for smiling pleasantly. Nothing to see here, mother of my lover.
Jace snorts. “You sure you remember which son you’re talking about?”
Shelli looks as if she’s torn between thumping Jace and pulling him in for a hug. The rough affection in her face is something I could get used to. “You bet. All you boys are stubborn. I’ve been telling you for years to find a nice girl, settle down. I’d like grandbabies.”
She winks at me. Inspecting the gorgeous Oriental rug on the floor is an unexpectedly attractive proposition, but I’ve faced down some of the state’s toughest attorneys. I can handle five feet two inches of concerned mother. I hope.
Shelli reaches down and rubs the older wolf’s ruff. “You shift back now so you can meet Cruz’s girl properly.”
So much for getting my point across.
“I’m not—” I break off as the wolf pads away. Okay. Good to know the shifters understood English even in furry form.
“She’s staying with Cruz for a week.” A wicked smile tugs at Jace’s mouth. God. Would he actually tell his mother the truth? “He’s playing officer of the law with her.”
I’ve faced less cross-examination from the state prosecutor, but love and concern fill the older woman’s voice and I envy Cruz that. He has a family here, even if they like to run around furry. My own family doesn’t win any prizes.
Is this what pack life is like? This cross between family and pile of furry, wolfy bodies? I didn’t get the chance to see much with Luc—just a collection of cabins and houseboats out in the bayou and the rough-and-tough collection of brothers he loves so fiercely. Luc’s bayou realm is a foreign world. No question about it. Cruz’s home is more familiar, but it’s kind of like picking your favorite exhibit at the zoo. Another wolf—one of the unidentified cousins?—bumps against my leg, and I involuntarily press closer to Cruz. It’s as if Cruz’s cousin is a shark testing a nice, fat seal bobbing around in the water. I feel like prey, and I don’t like it. Cruz the Sheriff suddenly seems a whole lot less familiar. Labeling him safe was a mistake on my part, because there’s nothing safe about him.
Jace winks at me. “I prefer cops and robbers myself—all those handcuffs.”
I add Cruz’s handcuffs to the list of things I’m not discussing with his family.
“They always give you that much grief about your job?” I say instead, trying to sound as if I’m teasing rather than prying.
He steers me toward a back door without answering, ignoring the cheerful catcalls and goodbyes of the human wolves in the room behind us. His arm brushes mine, and if the casual touch makes me shiver, I’m not admitting it.
“Being sheriff isn’t a job,” he says finally. He’s looking out toward the bayou through a series of floor-to-ceiling windows as he says the words, but I know what he means. Being a lawyer may come with a paycheck I appreciate very much, but it’s a way of life. It’s who I am.
We step outside, and Cruz’s hand goes right to the small of my back. That calm, steady weight against my skin telegraphs so many messages. Mine, that’s definitely one. We do this my way is another, because he’s steering me down the path to his place and I’m letting him. But there’s something else that small contact tells me. Not enough and L
et me closer and, just possibly, I’m here for you. The first two turn me on, but those last three give me hope, and hope suddenly feels even more dangerous than the wolves. I like this man too much.
“Tell me why a shifter would go into law enforcement,” I ask, dividing my attention between the gravel path and Cruz’s face. When I picked out my shoes this morning, I was thinking about making the right impression, not navigating outside.
His gaze follows mine to my feet, and I can practically feel his eyes running over my ankles. “Pretty,” he says gruffly, and I can’t hold back the stupid smile. Cruz notices everything. It’s one of the things I like so much about him.
“For you.” Picking out shoes that I think he’d like is right up there with stupid smiles, but it’s true. I did think about him when I chose these heels. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
He’s quiet for a moment as he thinks, in no rush to fill the silence. “The pack has rules of its own,” he says eventually. “And as Alpha, I enforce those rules. I keep my pack safe. Times change though, and the packs aren’t so alone in the world anymore. We need to play nice with others now.”
“No more ravening wolf men?” I ask lightly.
He makes a rough noise. “You don’ wan’ wolves running free and huntin’ in your world. We don’ mind hurtin’ people.”
And that’s the truth right there, stark and not pretty. He’s got a wolf inside him, an animal with strong predatory instincts who hunts. I can’t help remembering the Breed shifting around me, the sheer, violent power of those lupine bodies coming after me. I hadn’t stood a chance, not until Luc and Cruz intervened.
“So you’re keeping us safe?”
He sounds almost thoughtful. “I’m makin’ sure my wolves don’ come after your kind, that we respect your rules and your territory.”
“So your life ambition was to be a living, breathing line in the sand?”
