Masters of the Hunt: Fated and Forbidden

by Sarra Cannon

  His brother’s growl cut him off, the “Fuck yeah” loud enough to bring Mary Jane’s head up.

  “—and that Riley’s a match for someone else. You get the boys on down here, let them know we’ve got a mate waiting for someone out there in the bayou.”

  Landry hesitated. He wanted to go to Mary Jane and kiss her. Mark her. She was still all lit up, so pretty in the blue moonlight, but her face was pale, and he could see the tremors making her body shake. Leaving her wasn’t something he wanted to do, but he was the better tracker, and the vamp was undoubtedly already up in the trees. So he dropped down beside Mary Jane, ignoring her small flinch.

  Abandoning his plans for a goodbye kiss because he was clearly part of the big bad in her mind right now, he settled for dragging his thumb along her jaw. Time was burning. He had to go.

  “Hey,” he said. “You look at me for a minute, Mary Jane.”

  She flinched again, then her head came up. “You get the hell off my boat, Landry Breaux.” She surged to her feet, slapping her hands against his chest, and shoved. Their Mary Jane was even prettier when she was angry. He’d make sure to rile her up some in the future, just to watch her expressive face, savor that little bite of spirit.

  “I’m goin’,” he said.

  “After Riley,” she ordered. “You swear to me she’s going to be okay. One of us has to make sure she’s not out there alone. I’ll do it or you do it.”

  Christ. Imagining her taking off into the bayou—and she would, because that was her friend and crewmate out there—had his blood running cold.

  “You have my word, sha.” He made her that promise with everything he had in him. “I’m goin’, but Dre here, he’s goin’ to take you back to shore. Find a real good place to hole up for the night.”

  She shook her head, hair falling around her face. When he smoothed away a lock, she growled at him and pride filled him. She was hanging in there real good.

  “You both go. Now. Bring back Riley and then consider yourselves fired. I don’t hire wolves.” Her voice rose, and that was his cue to leave before she broke. End things on a high note.

  “I go. He goes with you somewhere safe. If that vamp comes back and grabs you, that doesn’t help Riley come home any faster.” He nodded over his shoulder at Dre, his brother stalking silently forward, his big arms wrapping around her. She fought for a moment, then sobbed quietly, turning her face away from them both.

  Well, hell.

  Dre looked helpless, like he’d rather be ass-deep in vamps, with a blade in both hands. Landry snorted. Mating was going to take some adjusting on all their parts. In the meantime, though, his brother would take care of their little mate. It didn’t matter how much Landry wanted to stay, because Riley needed rescuing, and he wasn’t leaving anyone, human or wolf, in the hands of the damned vamps.

  He vaulted over the side, making for the bayou bank. While he eyeballed the area, he stripped off. The vamp had stuck his landing, Riley’s added weight driving the male’s footprints deeper into the muddy surface of the bank. Then the footprints vanished.

  Landry dropped his jeans on the ground, and shifted. The world exploded into deeper, richer shadows, his lupine eyes seeing more than his human half ever could. Behind him, the Bayou Sweetie disappeared up the waterway, and he tipped his head back, loosing a howl. Gone. The sense of loss stunned him, tugged him briefly back towards the bank before he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

  Above him, moss still stirred near the top of a stand of cypress trees. The vamp had indeed gone up, and now the bastard was moving fast, despite the human prey he carried. Riley’s scent barely registered, a faint trace of lemon and motor oil and something uniquely feminine and sweet. Four quick steps brought the wolf to the place on the bank where she’d clearly gone down, the mud bloodied and cut up. That unmistakable mark of a struggle sent fierce rage pouring through the wolf. Hurt her and the vamps died slow and painful. No mercy.

  Moving swiftly, he set off through the bayou, following the faint trail.

  Both wolf and man refused to think about what condition Riley might be in when the Pack caught up with her.

  — —

  Dre tied the Bayou Sweetie up fast in the small town fifteen miles upriver. The place was nothing big, but there were boats and folks enough here to lose themselves briefly. A handful of bars spilled music and light onto the bayou, the noise mingling with laughter and the clink of beer bottles. There was even a Motel 6. The place was slightly seedy and not where he’d take his mate under normal circumstances, but he wanted her under cover, and he wasn’t making the long trip back to the Pack’s camp in the dark while the vamps could follow. As soon as the sun came up, however, they’d haul ass.

  He’d keep his female safe.

  He pocketed the keys to the boat—although he was betting she knew damned well how to hotwire the Bayou Sweetie—got his fingers around her wrist, and did a little steering until she stood inside the Motel 6 office with him.

  The desk clerk’s knowing smirk as Dre peeled off a wad of twenties didn’t improve Dre’s mood any. Dre wanted to pound the other man for what he was clearly thinking, but Mary Jane’s lost look held him back. She was in shock. Before leaving the boat, he’d wrapped her in his flannel, and now her fingers curled into the hem. The way the desk clerk was eyeing her long, bare legs where the hem stopped mid-thigh, the bastard liked what he saw.

  “You all have a real good night now.” The clerk tossed them a single room key, and Dre caught it. Five minutes max and he’d have Mary Jane under cover. Then, he’d somehow fix what was wrong with her, and he’d call out the Pack. Hell. He didn’t know where to start with Mary Jane, but he’d never lost a hunt before, and he damned certain wasn’t starting tonight.

  He punched buttons on his cell as he guided her back outside and up the stairs. The Motel 6 was a U-shaped stack of rooms placed around an open courtyard. If he had to, he could get out the front or the back. He wouldn’t be trapped in a corridor if tonight came down to a fight.

  She woke up some when they hit the hallway, like she saw the inevitable end coming and had decided she needed to make a stand. The fighting suited her better than trailing along in his wake like a zombie. He liked the self-preservation she was showing because, yeah, female alone in a hotel room with a male was a certain recipe for disaster. He was bigger and stronger, and if he’d been human, her only chance would have been to kick up one hell of a ruckus in a public place. Seeing as how he was a werewolf with teeth, however, noise wasn’t going to be enough to save her.

  He didn’t give a fuck about public embarrassment, and he definitely moved faster than she did.

  “You can’t do this,” she insisted, looking like she was working up to a scream or a good, hard kick to the balls.

  Dre absolutely could. He would.

  “Feel free to stop me,” he suggested and the pulse in her throat picked up, jumping frantically against her skin.

  “What have I done to you?”

  “Nothin’. Yet. I already told you, I’d give you a shot with that knife of yours once I get you inside.”

  “Where are we going?” Suspicion filled her voice, his offer clearly not the right one, and she tugged on her wrist again. No dice. Letting go now wasn’t in his plans. At all.

  “Under cover,” he said patiently. “You need to get out of sight, Mary Jane. You saw what was huntin’ us back there. You wan’ to give the vamp another shot?”

  He didn’t wait for her reluctant nod. What they needed right now was backup. His call finally connected, and Luc picked up with a terse greeting.

  “Blue moon’s still up, and I’ve got two mates,” Dre snapped, because there was no point trading social chitchat. He waited out the cursing on the other end of line while Luc worked through the implications of Dre’s bombshell. Yeah, he and Landry should have called this one in yesterday, but he hadn’t wanted to share a potential mate with anyone but Landry. So fuck him. Unfortunately, that meant the missing crew
member belonged to one of his Pack mates, and he’d let her slip through his fingers.

  Hell.

  He looked over at Mary Jane while Luc launched into part two of his tirade. His honey was all big brown eyes, a look that made him want to protect her. When a particularly vitriolic curse from Luc drifted her way, she closed her eyes and then opened them right back up. Yeah, the way she was glaring at him now was part pissed, part wide-eyed fear. It looked like the jury was still out on which way she’d go in the end. He knew bone deep, though, that she was theirs.

  He and Landry would have to find a way to help her deal with that fear.

  “Congratulations,” Luc bit out. “Since this doesn’t sound like an invite to a weddin’, cut to the chase.”

  “We ran into trouble out on the bayou. Vamps.” He covered his theory that Mary Jane had been lured out there. “Riley Jones was taken. Blue moon lit her up, too, but she’s not ours. I can tell you that much.”

  He stuck the key in the lock and opened the door with a hard flick of his wrist. The room was cool and dark, the air conditioning humming. The place looked clean enough, but the hotel was nothing fancy. He wished he could have offered her more.

  Mary Jane didn’t come in, so he tugged gently. Her wrist was so delicate in his bigger hand, all pale skin and fragile bone. If he squeezed, those bones would bite it. Her pulse beat hard and fast beneath his thumb, and they both knew she was fucked here. She wasn't getting away from him. Each breath he took filled his lungs with the scent of her panic. His wolf whined, wanting to bury his face in the side of her neck and lap at that skin. Soak in the sweeter, more personal scent beneath the acrid fear, and taste her. So what the fuck did he do with her?

  She finally moved, following him inside the room right when he was getting ready to swing her up in his arms and bring her in.

  “You one hundred percent certain this Riley is a match?” Luc’s voice on the other end of the line snapped Dre back to business.

  “Damn sure,” he bit out, hating to have to admit that truth.

  His Alpha cursed again. “I’ll put the Pack out.”

  “Mary Jane is ours,” he growled into the phone. “You send Dag for Riley. Maybe she’s a mate for him. Maybe she’s not. He’s the best damned tracker we have, though, and he’ll get her back.”

  He should have volunteered to go, too, but he was done fighting the primal urge to protect his female. To hold Mary Jane, to keep her safe and mark her as his. Besides, Landry had asked him to stay by her side, and he wouldn’t let his brother down.

  “Fine,” Luc snapped. “You got a direction?”

  He’d snagged the history from the Bayou Sweetie’s GPS, so he texted Luc the coordinates. “You get there,” he said, “and then Dag needs to start on the southwest bank and head inland. Those vamps were moving fast, and Landry was riding their asses. Follow his scent trail. Our boy will get there.”

  Luc sighed. “I’d say, next time you check with me from the get-go, but there’s not going to be a next time, is there?”

  “Nope.” He eyed Mary Jane, and heat blossomed inside him. Damn. He and Landry had finally found their mate. Centuries of hunting and waiting, and now here she was, a mere ten feet away from him.

  “Don’ fuck this up,” Luc ordered.

  “Goin’ to do my best,” he replied, because that was the truth, plain and simple.

  “Dag’s heading out now. He’s goin’ to need the night to get down to you all,” Luc warned. “He can keep trackin’ in the daylight, and we’ll make up time then, but there’s a lot riding on what those vamps wan’ with Riley Jones.”

  Yeah. Dre didn’t need Luc to connect the dots on that picture. The vamps tended to kill first, skin later. Riley Jones was no werewolf, but she was a blue-moon bride. Over the centuries, the vamps had taken out any bride ASAP. So, the fact that she was still alive—God, he hoped she was still breathing—said the vamps had a new plan up their sleeves. And the Pack wouldn’t like it.

  “Dag will get her out,” he said to his Alpha.

  “He better.” There was a grim pause, while they both considered the alternatives. Riley Jones was undoubtedly going to experience a world of hurt—and then the darkest werewolf of them all was going to haul her ass up the bayou whether she liked it or not. The female would have to be one hell of a strong woman to survive what was headed her way.

  “Dre? Is this Mary Jane yours or…” Luc paused, clearly searching for words.

  “Ours,” Dre said fiercely. “She’s ours.”

  “Okay.” Luc didn’t sound too surprised. “But you remember the rules here. She’s got to agree. And she’s got to choose. If she wants both of you, that’s fine, too. Hell, I’ll be the first in line to congratulate you.”

  “Yeah. Thanks,” he said and disconnected the call, tossing the cell onto the dresser.

  Part of him was glad that Landry wasn’t here, and that was a bitch, wasn’t it? He wanted her to choose both of them, but if she couldn’t or wouldn’t, he couldn’t imagine turning and walking out that door on her, either.

  He had a shot at winning Mary Jane, heart and soul.

  No way would he walk away from that chance.

  — —

  She should have protested more, Mary Jane decided, hugging herself. Should have insisted on heading out after Riley herself or, at the very least, making a beeline for local law enforcement. Problem was, she was fairly certain the sheriff couldn’t do much to help Riley—but the Breauxs could. So, instead of doing something, she was sitting here in a Motel 6 while Dre went out “for supplies.” She didn’t know whether he meant a burger and a six-pack of beer, or if he meant something more deadly. Either was possible. Dre was far more than a bayou fisherman—and that was without thinking about the wolf thing, which she was still pretending was a bad dream.

  Even if Dre had leaned in real close before he left her alone and warned her not to take off, he was dangerous. He could and would track her wherever she went. Yeah. That hadn’t sounded like a threat at all. He’d also helped himself to her keys, her shoes, and her money, virtually guaranteeing she stayed put.

  She’d watched the door close behind him, and she had no idea how she felt. He hadn’t tied her up, but he’d stood there for a long minute on the other side of the door, while he waited for her to flip the lock like he’d ordered. Ordered. She’d had more than enough orders today. Bits and pieces of memories flashed through her head, though, on some kind of autopilot slideshow. Landry kissing her and touching her, all sensual confidence as he brought her to orgasm. Then afterwards, when he must have realized that there was a problem back on the boat and that those creatures—vamps—were out and about and on the warpath. Blood. The savage noises and Riley’s screams. Yeah, not a night she wanted to repeat.

  The chain on the door made her feel better—even though, logically, she knew that thin length of metal could never keep a male like Dre out—enough so that she headed for the bathroom. He’d be gone at least twenty minutes, and she wanted a shower. She was covered in blood and swamp water. Whatever Dre Breaux wanted from her was better faced clean.

  Turning, she headed into the bathroom and hit the shower. Twenty minutes wasn’t enough time. Twenty years might not have been enough. She stood there, letting the hot water rain down, while she soaped and soaped with shaking hands. Somehow, somewhere, before Dre returned, she’d find her courage.

  — —

  The bar adjacent to the Motel 6 was banging out a nonstop Cajun beat when Dre returned from his shopping expedition. He’d snagged some food in takeout containers, and then stopped to pick up some essentials from the five-and-dime. The store didn’t offer many choices, but he was betting his Mary Jane would like a change of socks and underwear. He’d also added toiletries and a soft, buttery lotion. And when had he started thinking of her as his? She hadn’t done any choosing yet—and there was no guarantee she’d pick him. Women liked Landry, that was the truth. Landry knew how to laugh, how to tease. He smiled and coaxed. Dr
e was more blunt in his approach.

  Too blunt.

  He settled up with the cashier and headed back to the hotel room, the plastic sacks in his hand.

  When he knocked on the door, she opened up and let him in, so that was progress. He could have forced his entry, but they were laying low tonight, and he didn’t want to scare her. More than he already had, that was, because he’d seen her face when she’d thought he was murdering an innocent man. Slicing and dicing wasn’t part of her world, and he hated like hell being the one to drag her into his.

  She might have let him in, but she wasn’t throwing him a welcome-home party, either. Her hand fell away from the door, and she turned, walking away from him to perch on the faded couch. She’d taken a shower while he was gone. Her damp hair, smelling like hotel shampoo, curled wildly around her shoulders. She’d dressed back in her dirty things, though, so clearly she hadn’t wanted him to catch her in a towel. His shirt was neatly folded on a chair.

  He would never force her to do anything, but he didn’t see how he’d convince her. His sha was nervous, and that made her smart.

  “I brought you some things.” He held the plastic bag out, but when she made no move to take it, he tossed it onto the bed. The big, king-sized bed that ate up the room and then some. The front-desk clerk had smirked when Dre had asked for two doubles, like no couple checking in had ever wanted separate beds.

  “Thanks,” she said, her gaze darting towards the door.

  He reached behind him and flipped the lock. Slid the chain on, too, for good measure. Nothing there would keep out a vamp for long, but it drove home the point to Mary Jane. She wasn’t going anywhere else tonight. He’d get behind whatever choice she made, but only so long as it didn’t kill her.

  Which gave him one night to convince her to stay put.

  To stay with them.

  Hell, no night was long enough for that.

  “We settled this already, sha. You got to stay with us tonight. Tonight’s a bad night to be runnin’ around the bayou.”