by Sarra Cannon
“You settled this,” she countered. “I’m more hostage than houseguest.”
Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong.
In two quick strides, Dre had Mary Jane caged between his forearms and the couch. While she stared at him, he ran the options in his head. There weren't many. Tonight’s reprieve was temporary at best. The woman facing him had to sense the danger she was in, even if she was human, but she didn't drop her gaze. At all. That surprised Dre almost as much as her next words.
“You’re wolves. Almost.” The fear in her voice shot straight to his balls. He wanted to mark her in the most primitive way possible, wanted to bury himself deep inside her. Dre's wolf lurked too close to the surface, desperate to come out and play with this blue-moon bride of theirs.
“You knew we weren’t human,” he pointed out. “Before you came here with me. You watched Landry change.”
“I knew you were acting inhumanely.” She pressed her lips together, folding her arms over her breasts. The little gesture made him want to peel her apart, flick open her buttons and lick every inch of her so he could see how well she held things together then. Her composure was a thing of beauty, but he wanted to undo her.
He wanted to reach out to her, tell her how pretty she looked parked there on the cheap motel couch. She was jonesing to go, though. He could see that. Plus, he had no business pulling courtship crap, not with her. He wanted to take her, sure, but that didn't need to include a conversation listing every thing he found so unexpectedly appealing about her because he didn't need to hand her any more advantages in this battle they were fighting.
“Tell me now,” she demanded. “What you are. Who you are.”
“Honey.” He leaned in, and her breasts brushed against his chest, the warmth of her body surrounding him in a delicious little cocoon of feminine scent. He could scent her body heating up as arousal built in her. “We don’ have time for twenty questions.”
"Back off." Her hands landed on his chest and shoved. Too bad for her he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Can’t do that.” He bared his teeth, sending her a message that was one-hundred-percent wolfish. Mine. “You belong to my Pack now.”
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head, and her pretty hair bounced around her shoulders. “People don’t own people. Not in this country.”
“You said it yourself.” Giving in to temptation, he settled himself on her, pinning her lower body with his. He wanted that contact, and he'd take it. “I’m not human.”
“Then tell me what you are.” Her finger plucked at the slippery fabric beneath her ass. She was restless, a pink flush lighting her skin. He had no reason to believe she knew what that prickly crawl of heat meant. And even if she did know, what made him think he was her solution?
Because his Mary Jane was aroused. Normally, arousal was a good thing. Right now, though, her desire was one more entry into the FUBAR column. The blue moon liked to rile up the brides, tease their senses with erotic dreams and needs. Make them want what the wolves could offer until the wanting was almost suffering. He didn’t like the thought of her hurting.
“Dre?” Her fingers dug harder into the couch. Shit. He was staring, and she was waiting for him to give her answers she didn’t want to hear.
“You get a real good look at the moon tonight?” He gave her more of his heavy weight, drinking in her feminine glare. She was getting the message here. Mary Jane was no longer in charge. He was. “That moon was blue, sha.”
“A blue moon,” she said, as prim as if she were reading him the dictionary, “is the second full moon in a month. It’s more saying than actual description. The light doesn’t turn blue.”
Except it had tonight. Just like it had when Rafer had hunted down his Lark the previous month. Two blue moons in a row defied both science and history, but sometimes a man had to accept what was.
“Yeah, but that kind of moon means somethin’ special to my kind. That moon says it’s huntin’ time.”
He waited for her to ask the obvious question.
“What exactly are you hunting, Dre Breaux?” She lay still beneath him now, so he figured she’d already connected the dots.
“A special kind of woman.” He tucked his fingers against her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft, the type of soft that didn’t come from a drugstore jar. He’d bet she’d hate it, too, if he told her how good she felt, because he was sensing his Mary Jane valued hard and invulnerable. She wouldn’t want to be soft.
“I’m no one you’d be looking for.”
That was where she was wrong. Even if the moon hadn’t picked her out for him, he’d have seen the special in her. She was a good woman. Sweet to a fault, for all her tough exterior.
“I’d be lookin’ all right,” he drawled, and her eyes widened.
“Then you’re telling me I’ve been up shit creek since I ran into the two of you.”
“Pretty much.” He considered holding back some of the facts—going all 4-1-1 with humans was high on the Pack's Thou Shalt Not list—but there was more here to be gained by honesty. As soon as she understood what she was up against, what her place in this world was, she'd give him the intel he needed. “I told you stoppin’ was your first mistake. The nice ones don’ last in my world.”
“What happens?” Yeah. Her voice was breathless now despite the challenge. Like he could read the weather report or recite NASDAQ closing numbers, and she’d be all over him like white on rice.
“You’re prey.” His lips peeled back from his teeth as he brought her fingers to his mouth and nipped gently.
“And you’re the big bad wolf.” She tugged at her hand, but he didn’t let go. He didn’t want to, and this was his world. His rules. Instead, he let the tip of his tongue stroke along the pads of her fingers, tasting her. She jerked, and he didn’t know if she liked the little caress or not.
He didn’t care, he decided. Right now, this wasn’t about sex. It was about showing her who was in charge, because until she accepted his dominance she wasn’t safe.
“Absolutely.” He considered how much to tell her. She wasn’t leaving the Pack. He knew that, no matter how much lip service he gave the idea of choosing. Sure, maybe she’d choose Landry, but someone would coax her into staying. He had to keep her here long enough for Landry to come back and work his sensual brand of magic. And containing her? Had his dick hard and his head busy running X-rated fantasies.
“Tell me,” she demanded a second time, and he caved. He had a feeling he’d always give her what she wanted.
“You saw Landry,” he began. Landry was the smooth talker. Dre had no business explaining the Pack’s existence to Mary Jane. “He’s a werewolf. So am I. Our Pack has lived here in the Bayou for two hundred years now. We were attacked on the Bayou Sweetie by vamps.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Honey, you can’t argue with the living, breathing proof on this one.” He jerked a thumb at his chest. “Exhibit A is right here.”
“So why are you telling me this?” She glared up at him like he should have let her stick her fingers in her ears and sing a la-la-la-not-listening song. She couldn’t pretend this one away. Neither of them could—because she was part of his world now, for better or worse.
“You should know.” He pressed his face against the skin of her throat, breathing in her scent with each breath he took. He allowed himself a little taste, a quick, soft lap of his tongue. “You belong with us.”
Brown eyes stared at him, making him feel like shit. “I thought you planned to kill me.”
“Never. Any one of us, we’d die, sha, to keep you safe. You remember that.” He got off her, ignoring her surprised look. Yeah. He’d surprised himself too. He’d had her pinned like a good wolf, and yet he’d backed off rather than going for the win. She sat up, tugging at her T-shirt as if covering up two inches of belly would fix everything that had gone wrong.
Cotton wasn’t going to help her out here. Not too much could. Before his wolf put him back
on top of her, pressed her hardcore down into that leather, he put some floor space between them. He wasn’t a stay-at-home man. He preferred to be out doing, and he was happier on the bayou than cooped up inside any day.
“So you’re part of a secret paranormal world order, duking it out on the bayou. Let’s say I accept that for a moment. Your state secrets still have nothing to do with me.”
“I told you about the blue moon. About the women that moon finds for us.” He leaned forward. She looked so sad that he wanted to fix things for her. Take her in his arms and promise her everything would work out. He wouldn’t lie to her, either, and that left him searching for what to say because he didn’t see a way out of this one. “You’re a blue-moon bride, sha. There’s your truth, plain and simple.”
“I want to go after Riley,” she said. “Now. No more of this tomorrow crap. I’m done waiting.”
“Landry’s on it.” He knew his brother. Landry wouldn’t rest until he’d rescued Riley. “When you see him again, things are going to be okay.”
“Riley’s going to be okay,” she reiterated stubbornly.
The Pack was a band of territorial bastards. Pack fought to hold what was theirs. Riley belonged to the Pack, so Landry would bring her back.
Mary Jane, on the other hand, was his.
Not having gotten that memo, Mary Jane swung her legs off the couch like she was getting ready to go somewhere, and then sucked in a breath hard, her face flushing. He’d bet, if he looked outside, the clouds had come off the blue moon again, and their hidey-hole was bathed in blue light. She collapsed backwards, hands planted on her forehead like she could keep the heat in—or out—by holding on real tight. She whimpered, and that little sound ripped through him. She hurt with the needing, and that made him want to howl too. Her teeth bit down on her lower lip, puncturing the fragile skin.
“This isn’t sexy.” She glared at him, then buried her face in her hands.
The fear scent pouring off her had his wolf’s hackles rising. That scent was all wrong, an almost chemical stink of blood and metal like a hit of stale air from a newly cracked tomb. He could almost see the memories from tonight jackhammering at her head.
“See?” His voice hardened. “You feel me now? Your pussy is all wet and achin’ and needin’, sha. Your body’s makin’ demands, because your body recognizes the blue moon for what it is. A matin’ call.”
She glared at him, but she didn’t dispute the truth of his words. Hell, he could smell the sweet scent of her arousal. “You’re saying this is your fault.”
His wolf liked her strength, liked how she was all feminine accusation because she wouldn’t give in.
— —
She needed to get her head together. Problem was, Mary Jane’s mind was buzzing with memories of Dre’s one-sided takedown of that unknown man, followed by the attack on the Bayou Sweetie and Riley’s disappearance. The info dump she'd just received wasn't helping, either. Her body still rode the adrenaline rush of the fight, of being plunged into a world where dying was apparently an everyday occurrence. How did Dre do this every day, day in, day out?
The motel bathroom had been surprisingly clean, and right now it looked like a safe refuge. She fled back inside the small room, welcoming the healthy dose of reality in the functional tile, the plastic shower curtain and handful of cheap sample-sized bottles. Clean had seemed like the answer earlier, but now she couldn’t stop shaking. She sat on the toilet lid. Her legs were plain done holding her up.
The precise knock on the door wasn’t a sound she'd have associated with the big, silent hunter who'd methodically ripped his way through an army of vamps. That man had been all give-a-fuck. The knock sounded careful. Almost gentlemanly.
She didn’t bother responding, and sure enough he turned the knob and came on in. Flipping the feeble little lock hadn’t been worth the effort. Nothing would keep Dre out.
Reaching around her, Dre hit the water in the tiny shower stall, and heat filled the room.
"Shower," he said. “That sounds good to me right now. You want to come in, there’s plenty of room. You want to stay put, your call.”
He undressed all matter-of-fact and precise, as if he had no idea what the sight of his clothes coming off did to her. First the shit-kicking boots lined up, left and right. Then the rest of his clothes followed in neat progression as he disrobed and disarmed until he had an arsenal stacked on the counter.
The man was a marvel. She gave up pretending she wasn’t watching him, just sat there exactly like the nervous Nelly she was and stared her fill. He was all rough, male beauty and powerful shoulders. Not perfect, because the fighting had marked him up and left scars on his arms and back. Nothing horrific, those marks were a constant reminder that this man fought every day of his life. He bent to push his pants down his thighs, and she sat there, watching the cut muscles of his abdomen ripple as he moved.
He opened the shower door, and steam billowed out, making the room fuzzy around the edges. Or maybe that was her exhaustion. She definitely should stop staring at his groin. God, even semi-erect he was a big man. His chiseled abs drew her gaze down and down, until her imagination was doing lascivious things her fingers itched to try in real life. Right now with this man.
“You look all you want,” he said, when she dragged her gaze away. He shoved the shower curtain open. “Lookin’ don’ hurt me none, sha.”
Busted.
What did she want? He’d taken charge earlier. She’d expected more of that, not this choice. He wasn’t going to strip off her clothes and carry her into that shower with him, even if her imagination really liked that particular fantasy. If she wanted to join him, she had to take her clothes off and climb on in. So, the question was, once again, what did she want here?
A break. For something good and easy and comforting. She eyed the man standing beneath the stream of hot water. The shower stall had barely enough room for two. He stood there, back to her as he rinsed off with brisk efficiency, dark hair slicked against his skin.
How hard could it be to open a door? She made this move, or nothing happened. Tonight was all her choice. Her call. Quickly, before she could chicken out or overthink things, she slipped off her clothes, dropping them into an untidy pile on the floor. She wasn’t all hospital corners like Dre. She didn’t think he’d recant his invitation because of a little mess, though. Pulling the door open, she stepped in.
Heat and wet hit her. The water streamed down around her, delicious sting against her skin. Washing away the bad things and leaving just her and him in this steam-filled space.
“Come on over here,” he invited, gesturing to the empty spot next to him.
Why not? Why not let him give her what she craved and a chance to forget what happened for a little while?
One small step brought her up next to his big, wet body.
“Okay,” she said. “Now what?”
A sexy little grin tugged at his mouth. This was the playful smile of a male welcoming his lover. Dre wasn’t one for emoting. Landry was the sensual charmer, while Dre, despite his physical resemblance to his twin, was the darker Brother Grimm. This smile, though, lit his eyes and bathed her in warmth. He reached for the soap. “Now, I take care of you, Mary Jane. Let me see to you, okay, honey?”
He drew her back against his body, taking her weight. When his penis stirred, thick and hard against her lower back, she froze, uncertain. Sex in the shower might be too much, too fast.
“You don’ worry,” he said, shifting his erection away from her. “I’m not pushin’ for nothin’ here, and there’s not a thing you need to do, okay?”
His hands getting busy with the soap mesmerized her. They were all erotic strength as he soaped up the cloth, working up a lather. A warrior’s hands. Watching him, she remembered where those hands had been, what he’d touched. Carefully, he freed her hair from its scrunchie, fingers combing through the long strands. Each careful pass brought another erotic tug, then those big, sure hands were on her scalp,
massaging away the day’s tension before moving on to the base of her neck. Smoothing and kneading upwards.
The tension flowed out of her.
— —
Eventually, Dre killed the water, reaching for a stack of thick towels and wrapping Mary Jane up good. Cradling her in his damp arms, he carried her out of shower and set her down on a chair. He grabbed two towels to dry himself off roughly. His dick wasn’t interested in the sweet-and-slow plan—or the very real possibility that his Mary Jane was going to fall asleep sitting up—so he tightened the terry around his waist, covering up the evidence. This time was for her. This was about what she needed tonight.
Picking her up, he gently set her on his lap. The gesture wasn’t all that altruistic, if he was being honest with himself. He’d take the sweet, feminine weight of her on him any way he could get it. For long moments, he ran a brush through her hair, carefully working out the tangles from the shower. Her hair was darker from the wet, but the ends were already drying. She’d have made a real pretty wolf, with a dark brown pelt and a hint of gold. Now her hair smelled like his soap, and he liked that, too.
He didn’t know what to do.
He didn’t do tender. Didn’t have any damned practice with the concept, but Mary Jane was no wolf, and he’d handed her one hell of a day.
So, while he thought about how he’d start a future with her with a pack of vamps riding their asses, he worked the dryer. He wasn’t a fucking hairdresser, but he didn’t think falling asleep with a head full of damp would be comfortable. She’d wake up and the pillows would be wet, and some unfamiliar part of him wanted tonight to be perfect for her. Tomorrow would mean more fighting, both the hand-to-hand and the verbal kind. He knew that, was pretty sure she did, too. Any détente they had right now was a temporary truce, but he intended to savor every sweet moment.
Eventually, she started leaning into him. Her eyes were open, too, and a pink flush colored her cheeks.
