by Sarra Cannon
“Dre…” she tried again, wondering if Landry would be easier to convince. She shot a glance at his face and decided not. His puss was as set as his brother’s, his arms folded over his chest as he casually blocked her exit.
“Of course I can. I am. We don' need to go over this now, Mary Jane.”
Going toe-to-toe with Dre wasn’t number one on her to-do list for the morning, but some things needed doing. This mattered. Riley mattered. If she backed down now, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
“There’s right and there’s wrong, Landry.” Her voice rose.
“Take a deep breath, sha.” She saw sympathy in his eyes, and that didn’t help. Sympathy meant he figured she wasn’t getting what she wanted. “This is hard to get used to.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. “This isn’t a new job or a vacation overseas. This is my friend we’re talking about. This is about Riley and doing what’s right.”
“The Pack stays on the down-low. We don’ go to the police, sha. We take care of our own problems.”
“I saw how you took care of that man last night.”
“He wasn’t a man.” Landry dismissed her concerns. “He was a vamp. You leave him walkin’ around, sha, and he’ll kill you dead.”
“You’re worried that the police will go out in the bayou and find his body,” she accused. “You’re talking about sacrificing Riley to save your own ass.”
Anger flashed across his face, and she forced herself not to back up. The germ of an idea formed in her head.
“No,” he bit out. “I don’ like your opinion of me, sha. That’s awful low.”
“There’s not goin’ to be a body,” Dre added. “Soon as the sun came up and light hit that vamp, his body was a pile of ash. No worries there. I’m thinkin’ you owe my brother here an apology.”
“We’ll take care of this. Riley’s comin’ home. She’s one of ours too.”
But to what? As she stared at Dre and Landry, trying to wrap her head around a world where going to the police was not only off-limits but foreign, she realized she had bigger problems.
“I want to go back to my boat. Now.”
She didn’t say anything more, but pulled on her clothes, fumbling with the clasp of her bra and dragging her jeans back up her legs. It looked like going commando was on the menu because there was no salvaging her panties. Kind of like her day. She wasn't sure if it was better or worse that Dre finally finished hauling weapons out of the closet and simply watched her.
“Give me a shirt,” she demanded. He grabbed a T-shirt from his bag and tossed it over. The shirt was too large, but she wanted it on anyhow. Right now being naked was a liability.
“That's a waste,” he observed. “You look good naked, Mary Jane.”
“You would know.” She could hear the bitterness in her own voice. Worse, she was still damp and throbbing between her legs—and the look in his eyes said he knew that, too.
“You stay here,” Dre said. “This room or on the boat. No further, Mary Jane. You need anything, you wait until I get back.”
“Anything?” That damned heat was uncurling deep inside her again, and it wasn't all due to the sensual rasp of the denim against her soaked pussy. He was watching her. She could come again. It wouldn't take much.
“Everything you need, from here on out, you get from us.” That rough growl reminded her all too well that he was part wolf. “We'll take care of you.”
“Maybe I won't let you.” Pushing him wasn't wise, but she couldn't make herself back off. His T-shirt rubbed against her breasts, and her nipples hardened, making the bra an irritation.
“You'll let me, Mary Jane.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But I can take care of myself.”
His big hand slid up her jaw, tangling in her hair as he angled her head backwards. The sensual tug of those fingers on her scalp didn't help her dial back the heat building inside her again. “That's not the way this is goin’ to work. I take care of you. If I don’, Landry does.”
In the tense silence that followed, she exhaled sharply. Go. Stay. She needed to make a move—and she needed to mean it.
He rested his forehead briefly against hers, then his hand slipped away. That gesture said something, even if she wasn't hearing the words. This wasn't just sex and it wasn't just possession. There was something more. Something an unexpected, unrecognized part of her wanted to explore.
They left the hotel room and strolled outside with a quick pit stop at the motel office to return the room keys. She and Landry stayed put, while Dre went in. Her quick glimpse of the day clerk’s knowing smile was yet another wake-up call she could have done without. He knew, and pretty soon the rest of the bayou would know as well that she was the latest notch on the Breauxs’ bedpost. Even if they were looking for something semi-permanent—she forced down the little burst of elation—no one else would believe that they’d picked her.
The bayou’s residents certainly enjoyed sharing the stories of two-on-one action.
Of course, she considered, as their feet hit the docks and she headed towards the Bayou Sweetie, if Dre and Landry really were serious about giving their new relationship some longevity, she wouldn’t care what the rest of the damned bayou believed. She thought that over while she got the boat ready to cast off, checking the tank and inspecting the deck. Now, in the morning light, there were no visible signs of last night’s fight.
“I'll be back as soon as I can,” Landry offered. Like his company was a treat she'd begged for.
She turned away, because whatever this was shaping up to be, it wasn't a romance. He'd touched her, tasted her, and she'd come shamelessly, pushing herself against his mouth and his tongue.
“Take your time.” She waved a hand. “I seem to be waiting.”
“Yeah.” He paused, clearly not done delivering his message. “You're waiting, Mary Jane. For everything. I come back and find you've been touchin’ that pretty pussy of yours, I'll spank your sweet little ass.” There was no missing the sensual threat in his voice.
She stilled, his words ramping up the erotic heat burning in her already. She'd had girlfriends who'd played these kinds of games with their lovers. She'd never wanted to play. Not like that, not then, but the sensual images his casual words evoked had heat flushing her. So she apparently had an imagination after all, because she could certainly imagine Landry pulling her across his lap and paddling her backside. A game. A darkly erotic, wicked, bad-idea game.
“Don't,” she said.
Damned if he didn't growl. “Don' push me, Mary Jane.”
“Why? Because no isn't in your vocabulary? Time to learn then, big boy.” She wanted him to stop, wanted him to turn around and look at her. He'd gone from covering her body, his tongue and his fingers deep inside her, to this cold-eyed predator. She wanted to scream with frustration.
“You enjoyed it.” His eyes dropped to the zipper on her shorts. “You want me to tell you how sweet you taste, sha? Cotton-candy sweet, all pink sugar.”
He couldn't say those things. Not if he was leaving. He might be a fighter, that might be what he'd trained to do, but now she knew how unsafe the bayou could be. How could he walk off into it, like he didn't care about the danger? As if any tomorrows were an unexpected bonus?
Another tremor shook her as that damned fever built inside her and memories pushed harder at her head. When she breathed in, too many scents assaulted her. Dre’s scent and those of his brother. The metal tang of his weapons.
“What happens next? You planning on telling me?”
“With us?” He shrugged, ignoring her sarcasm. “You're a first for us, sha. Virgin territory.”
Hell. She didn’t like feeling pinned. Herded. They were letting her do this, and that made her madder than hell. They’d volunteered themselves to take care of her problems, but the real problem here was that she didn’t want to submit to their taking care of.
She didn’t want to fight, though, and she didn’t like tha
t, either.
She settled for playing twenty questions, buying time while she sought information. “You’re really going after her?”
Dre looked over at her. “Hell yeah.”
“And you think a night in the bayou with those vamps isn’t going to leave a mark?” She’d survived nights she hadn’t wanted to live through, but she’d always known her father would draw the line at some point. She’d feel like dying, but her old man hadn’t wanted to kill her. She was pretty damn sure those vamps had different plans for Riley.
“Our Pack’s goin’ to take real good care of her,” Landry said, his voice tight.
There was that word again. Care. “What is she to you?”
Dre and Landry exchanged glances, but Landry answered her question. “She’s a blue-moon bride too.”
“Excuse me?”
“You remember our conversation about that moon last night, Mary Jane?” He finally sounded exasperated. “Do you understand how uncommon that kind of moon is? That’s more than the second full moon in a month.”
“I’m opting out of this cosmic dating service.” She said the words lightly, but her mind was racing. Fiercely independent, loud-mouthed, laughing Riley wouldn’t like being picked out like a chocolate from a box.
“Centuries,” Landry gritted out. “That’s how long we’ve been waitin’. That moon rose this week, and we had a chance.”
She shot him an incredulous look. “You are aware of what your reputation in this bayou is, right? The two of you aren’t precisely sitting around waiting for the one to put in an appearance.”
“That moon picked you out for us and Riley for one of our Pack mates.” Dre’s voice slammed her to a halt. Maybe she was tired, because she sure hadn’t made that connection. Last night wasn’t about the three of them taking a liking to each other? It was some kind of divine rent-a-bride program? Hell no.
“I don’t think so.”
The hurt she felt was irrational, she told herself. So they didn’t want her for her. She’d known the odds of them sticking around were slim.
She stared out at the marina, and the day she’d believed couldn’t get any worse took a nosedive. The boat tied up a hundred feet down the dock was all too familiar. Dre and Landry hadn’t bothered to name her. Most of the fishermen she knew called it That Damn Boat or Lucky Devil, because Dre and Landry pulled in more than their fair share of catches.
“You said your boat was in dry dock.” She pointed to the boat, and Landry cursed. Too bad she couldn’t bring herself to care. “Guess that was a lie, too.”
Behind her, there was a short, fierce argument, too low to catch, and really she didn’t care right now. No, she was mad, and that felt good. She liked mad.
“Cast off.” She pointed to the lines and, to her surprise, the Breauxs swung themselves up onto the dock and busied themselves with untying the ropes. One. Two. Three. “I’m done with you two.”
“Too late, sha.” The male growl belonged to Dre. “You already made a choice.”
“Like hell,” she snapped sweetly. Before he could get any more words off, she flipped the key in the ignition and motored off, leaving Dre and Landry on the dock.
Chapter 10
Dre and Landry had followed Mary Jane upriver, giving their mate the space she needed. Not too much, though, because they still had a bayou full of fucking vamps. The way Dre saw it, patience was in short supply. If they hadn’t needed to wait for Dag to make it down here and pick up Riley’s trail, he’d have been jonesing to be gone.
She’d put in at the next bayou town and gone straight to the local authorities. Based on the way she’d come storming out, the sheriff had either been a patronizing fuck, or he’d been a careful law enforcement agent and demanded evidence. Mary Jane had to realize how crazy her story was. She had no proof, either. The Bayou Sweetie was squeaky clean—Landry had made sure of that before rejoining Dre and Mary Jane in their hotel room—and the vamp bodies had ashed as soon as the sun rose. No, all Mary Jane had was a missing crew member, and at less than twelve hours old that absence wouldn’t win any attention.
Clearly thinking things through, she’d gotten busy sorting oysters on deck. He’d have bet every dollar he had that she hadn’t given up on Riley. Mary Jane was cooking up a new plan to get her friend back. She sorted fast and furious, the meaty thunk of shells hitting crates an audible accompaniment to her anger.
He needed to fix this, and damned if he knew how.
At least she hadn’t headed straight back into the bayou, although he was betting that was next on her list.
Two hours into her sorting and right before she finished up, Dag made his appearance.
The other male loped out of the bushes, emerging from the dense, lacy canopy of low-hanging branches shading the bayou bank. His wolf was almost two hundred pounds of pure black and muscle, a lean, lethal, killing machine. Cold yellow eyes swept over them, lingering on Mary Jane and the boat for too long. His lips pulled back from his canines as he scented the vamps, a guttural snarl tearing from his throat.
Mary Jane’s head snapped around, her eyes searching nervously.
Dre moved in, putting himself between the wolf and the boat. For a long, charged moment Dre thought the other male wouldn’t or couldn’t shift back. Dag shimmered in between half-man, half-wolf for minutes.
“Change,” Landry bit out when the worry got too much. “Fuck. Don’ you do this to us now, Dag. You come on back.”
Dre crouched beside the wolf, half an eye on Mary Jane and half an eye on Dag. He couldn’t help either, and he damned sure didn’t want to hold Dag the way he did his female.
“You don’ let Riley down,” he ordered. The missing woman mattered to Mary Jane and she was a blue-moon bride. That was the plain truth, so Dag would go into the bayou and bring her back. Fast. Before something worse happened to the woman. Before she was irretrievably lost.
Finally, Dag finished shifting. Dre didn’t know whether the other male had gotten the don’t-fuck-up message, or if he’d simply been ready to make the change. Landry tossed him a pair of pants, motioning for Dag to get dressed. Not that Dag would stay human for long, but they’d all pretend to be civilized.
Ass covered, Dag looked at them. “I’m listenin’.”
His voice was a harsh rasp, like he hadn’t spoken out loud in days. Hell, knowing that wolf, it was true. Dag almost never shifted to human these days. He ran on all fours, every minute, every mile, bringing him closer and closer to the day he wouldn’t come back at all. That was the price a mate-less male paid. The price Mary Jane had saved them from.
“How many vamps?” Dag asked.
Landry rocked back on his heels. “We killed Four. The fifth took Riley. There could be more, probably are.”
“Alrigh’.” Dag assessed the far bank. “I’ll go in.”
Landry nodded, liking the progress. “And?”
“And I’ll bring her out, okay?” The change already rippled over his skin again, so he was clearly jonesing to be on his way.
“You be nice to her,” Landry said pointedly. “She’s goin’ to be Pack. She could be choosin’ you.”
Dag glared at him, his yellow, feral eyes trying to burn a hole right through Landry. Landry wasn’t budging, though, so Dag had to fall back on words. “You wan’ to saddle her with me? I’d think you’d be treatin’ her real gentle after the night she’s had.”
“She’s not ours.” That was the truth right there. He supposed she could have been Luc’s long-lost mate or destined for their Omega, Jackson, but yeah, he had his hopes up for Dag.
Since time was burning, Landry pointed Dag towards the bayou bank where Riley had disappeared and handed over the plain white tank top he’d snagged from her duffel last night. Dag took the shirt, his fingers tightening in the fabric. Wolf nails ripped and tore, but he drew in one breath. A second. Moments later, he’d vanished into the bayou.
Dag wasn’t the kind of male you wanted to set on a female’s ass, but desperate t
imes called for desperate measures.
— —
That moon brought out the Pack. Those boys didn’t hide when the sky lit up all blue and pretty. No, they brought out their big guns, howling and running for all they were worth. Either Kar tracked them, or he tracked the moon’s rays, found the bride-to-be and then waited. And while he waited, he amused himself with the bride.
Like baiting a trap, except the bait was pinker, fresher. Prettier.
Hell, he might be the walking dead, but parts of him still functioned fine. He eyed his new companion. Her mechanic’s overalls sported an embroidered patch that declared Riley and, beneath that, Fuck you and a row of embroidered daisies. That made her position on life pretty clear.
Riley was a fighter. A losing one, of course, as the bruises around her wrists and the dark stain on her jaw where he’d hit her attested. Still, the amount of fight in her as she’d hit back promised she’d be so much fun to break. The way he saw it, he got himself a two-fer. He enjoyed the screaming and the struggles; the werewolves got themselves a little wake-up call because no way would they ignore a screaming bride.
Riley’s eyelashes fluttered.
“Wakey wakey,” he said, immediately on full alert.
Her eyes flew open. “Mary, Mother of God,” she whispered.
He leaned forward, grabbing her wrist. “Not even close.”
Before she could draw another breath or get a word off, he sank his teeth deep into the blue veins. His fangs popped the fragile skin like a grape, the tearing sound audible in the sudden, shocked silence. She hadn’t seen this one coming.
And then there it was. The screaming he enjoyed so much. Over and over, until Riley’s voice was nothing but a hoarse, broken whimper broadcasting Come and die to the Breaux brothers.
— —
Mary Jane motored slowly up the bayou waterways as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, plunging the world into darkness. Her intuition screamed, and listening was a mistake. Go back, her head demanded. Go forward, her heart urged. Something was all wrong in the bayou. After she’d left the Breaux brothers standing on the dock and gone upriver, she’d paid a quick and embarrassing visit to the parish sheriff who now believed she had an overactive imagination and a strong need for anti-anxiety drugs. Her next step eluded her.
