by Sarra Cannon
Unfortunately, her imagination appeared to be on vacation because she didn’t see any obvious way to bring Riley back. Sure, she could scour the bayou and hope some sign jumped out at her, but that was like hunting for a needle in a haystack. She doubted she would get lucky—and part of her worried that those things, the vamps, would be the ones doing the jumping.
No, unfortunately, it looked more and more like the Breauxs were the only answer to Riley’s disappearance, and that certainly wasn’t happy-making. Landry and Dre were the types to say I told you so, and she wasn't crawling back to them, begging for help.
Unless it was the only way to save Riley.
Return. Stay away. Do something or do nothing. Worse, about an hour ago, her intuition had flared, making her antsy and nervous. Something wasn’t right, and she’d eventually given in to the urge to push deeper into the bayou and find her Breauxs.
Now she drove through the narrow waterway, letting instinct unwind the twisted snarl of possible paths and dead ends until she hit a dead end. Houseboats and hunting cabins on stilts perched on the banks, the men who had been sprawled on the decks rising to their feet, bristling at her uninvited, unwanted intrusion. She swore she heard growling. Too fucking bad, she thought.
“I’m looking for Dre and Landry,” she called, and the biggest male swore, shaking his head.
He was a big motherfucker and impossible to miss, his face a calling card for menace. A thick scar ran down one cheek, almost cutting into his left eye. And, God, those eyes were empty. Those eyes were all don’t-give-a-fuck as he ran his gaze over her, did the math in his head, and then clearly found something about her interesting.
“How’d you get all the way out here?” His words were more demand than question, and she had no idea how she was going to answer him, but then a large grey wolf staggered out of a nearby cypress stand. Red smeared the fur on its side and its muzzle.
Keep on walking. That had been Dre’s advice.
And yet here she was, deep in the heart of the bayou, about to borrow more trouble.
The wolf shifted, and then Landry stood there. His knees buckled and he slammed a second hand out for support, bracing himself as he rested his head against the wall. She could hear him sucking in air as he worked through a wave of pain. Oh God. She had open water behind her and no excuse for having come back here. Other than wanting to do so. And she’d already done plenty of wanting—Dre and Landry had seen to that.
Landry hit the deck, and she flew up the side of the houseboat, making for his side.
— —
His twin was injured and stank of vamp.
Dre charged across the houseboat’s deck, laying in a line for Landry. His brother was a goddamned mess. The Pack healed quickly, but that was a gut wound and a bad one, too. Landry needed a patch job and a helping hand. Or at least someone to bitch to while nature did her thing and he healed. Instead, what Landry got was Mary Jane. She crouched over him, her hands slick with blood, but she wasn't hurting him. Instead, she pressed her wadded-up sweatshirt against the wound.
Her tender care of his brother undid him.
His Pack didn't do tenderness. He'd trust his brothers with his back anytime, but they were hunters first. Rough and tough, with no smooth edges or finesse. Hell, they were weapons in a war most never knew existed. That was okay. The work needed doing, and he'd never passed on a fight. But Mary Jane’s actions were something else. Her hands held his brother together, while she whispered all concerned and worried. This male stretched out on the floor mattered to her.
She wasn't walking from his brother.
She looked up and spotted him.
“You shouldn't be here,” he growled, and he had to wonder why those words were the ones his mouth decided to put out there. He wanted to thank her for her care of his brother, but instead he’d apparently opted to pick another fight with her.
“Shut up,” she snapped, her head coming up. “Get your ass over here, Dre, and help me hold him together while one of you calls 9-1-1. He needs an ambulance. A chopper. A fucking rescue boat. I don’t care which, but get him something.”
The worry in her brown eyes told him she thought Landry wasn't sticking around until medical help came.
“He's goin’ to be fine, honey. You jus’ keep holdin’ him together.” In another couple of minutes, Landry wouldn't even need a needle and thread. He'd be sore as hell, but he wouldn't be bleeding out on the floor of the houseboat they shared, either.
“Find a fucking phone,” she ordered, “and call for an ambulance. I don't care what kind of off-the-grid life you run out of here. You call now, because I'm not letting him die if there's something I can do.”
Her soft heart was a liability that would get her killed.
“You need to listen to me,” he said. “Landry will be okay. Give him five, maybe ten—” it had been one hell of a hit, “—and he's going to be up and about.”
“Dre.” She shot him a glare that could have peeled paint from the wall. “No one walks away from a gut wound. I'm holding him together. Literally. So. Pick. Up. A. Goddamned. Phone.”
Behind him, his brothers moved closer, hemming them in. Mary Jane's gaze flickered to them, and her shoulders sagged.
“Move your hands. Look,” he suggested.
Of course she didn't move. His brothers finally turned away and headed back to whatever strategy session they’d been holding. Yeah, they didn't want to get tangled up in this. As if on cue, though, Landry stirred and cursed. “Fuck. That hurt.”
“You should have been payin’ attention,” Dre pointed out.
“Pardon me for not seein’ a bastard vamp in the shadows,” Landry grumbled. He levered himself up on his elbows, then realized he had Mary Jane's hands all over him. “This isn't a bad way to go, Dre. You should try it.”
Mary Jane's shock was almost comical. “Oh my God.” Her hands fell away from Landry’s stomach. Her sweatshirt pulled away, the fabric sticky and stiff with blood.
Landry cursed as the material caught on his injury. “Careful, darlin'. I'm feelin’ tender.”
“You should be dead,” she accused. “Your intestines were all but falling out. You were bleeding.” She looked down at her hands and the crimson slick on the floor.
“Yeah.” He winked up at her. “And it hurt like a bitch, too.” They both examined the shiny pink scab on his abdomen.
Dre had had enough. “I told you before, Mary Jane.” He dropped his hands onto her shoulders and sank down behind her, nipping at the skin of her throat. “When you see a man down, you don't stop.”
She shook her head like that would straighten everything out. He had news for her. The world wasn't ever going back to the way it had been before. “He should be dead.”
Landry cleared his throat. “Let’s take this inside the cabin.”
Getting carefully to his feet, Landry wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. Hell, at least it was a black shirt. Blood showed less on black. Landry swayed once, planting his booted feet apart, putting a hand out looking for support. Mary Jane shot to her feet, right there to lend a hand. She bore Landry's weight, even though he about took her back down to the deck. His brother wasn't a small man. None of them were.
Moving carefully, Landry made for the door of the houseboat’s cabin and stepped inside. Mary Jane matched him step for step. Dre followed, shutting the door behind them as soon as they were clear.
Instead of letting Landry tumble onto his ass on the floor, she led him carefully over to the big bed filling up a corner of the room. As soon as she released him, Landry went down for the count.
“So,” Dre said. “Thanks.” Turning, he made to limp away.
To his surprise, she reached out and snagged his wrist.
“You should lay down too,” she said. “You don’t look as bad as Landry, but I’m thinking you don’t feel a hundred percent, either.”
Not knowing what to say, he said nothing. Just enjoyed each soft brush of her fingers against hi
s skin as she pulled off his clothes, folding each piece neatly. T-shirt first, then her fingers skimming his abdomen, making the muscles jump, as she found the buttons on his fly and undid them. His jeans hit his knees and she pushed him down onto the bed beside Landry and slid the denim away.
She dropped one quick, sweet kiss on his forehead and then she was tucking him in, following him down. She curled around him protectively, tenderly, and, Christ, he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.
Chapter 11
The chicory scent of hot coffee and beignets woke Mary Jane up. Or maybe it was the sharp, no-nonsense rap on the houseboat’s front door. The way the door jumped in its frame, the man knocking was clean out of patience.
By the time she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Dre and Landry had already rolled out of bed and pulled on clean clothes. Ten minutes later, she had a cup of that coffee and a front-row seat for a meet-and-greet she didn’t want any part of. Rafer and Jackson Breaux were damned scary.
“They really all your brothers?” She asked the question sotto voce. Unfortunately, the small smile tugging at Rafer’s mouth said he’d heard. Must be that damned wolf hearing.
Rafer Breaux was dark and rough, although there was a look in his eyes that said he wasn’t real interested in her because he’d already given his heart away to another woman. That worked for her. Whoever the male’s mate was, she was welcome to him. Rafer looked barely half-civilized, a warrior and a fighter first, more comfortable with blades than words.
He fit in with the rest of them.
Jackson, the baby brother, was an easier male to deal with even if he was still a gorgeous, Cajun bear of a man. He was almost as dark and broad-shouldered as the other three, and looking at him was plenty enjoyable, but that zing of attraction she got when she caught sight of Dre and Landry was missing.
Landry smiled and refilled her coffee cup. “Dre and I, we shared the same dam. Famille isn’t always about blood, though, sha. Luc found us early on, and some things just fit.” He shrugged, an easy, powerful roll of his shoulders. “We fit as a Pack. Luc’s our Alpha.”
“You all think that this Riley Jones is a mate for our Dag?” Concern and hope laced Rafer’s voice, and Mary Jane’s stomach twisted. God. Riley. She needed her friend back now.
“Sure do.” Landry dropped onto the bench beside her, his hip brushing hers as he squeezed into the too-small space.
Rafer nodded. “That would be good.”
For Dag, maybe. Mary Jane had a hunch Riley might have a different opinion.
“You’re looking for her, too, right?” No way would one tracker be enough. She wanted an entire army out there combing the bayou for Riley.
“Absolutely,” Dre promised her. “Dag’s out there now.”
She frowned. “Why can’t you all go?”
His big hand sifted through her hair, tugging gently as his fingers tangled in the strands. She wanted to moan, to sink into his touch, but they were on the deck of his damned houseboat, surrounded by his brothers. The pads of his fingers found her scalp and rubbed. Bliss. Her tension eased with each firm circle he drew against her.
Her eyes closed, and she melted against him. No. She forced herself away from him because, damn, he was dangerous. His rough chuckle undid her further.
“Ah, sha.” He gathered her closer with one arm until he’d closed the space between them, pulling her into his side until her thigh curled over his. Amusement filled his brothers’ glances—amusement and sensual awareness. She pressed instinctively closer to Dre, unsure of what to do with all that male hunger.
Surely they weren’t expecting...well, she didn’t know what they expected from her, but she wasn’t misreading the erotic hunger on the faces watching her. She got the impression that if she gave them a sign, they’d all come over and join her. God, that ought to be enough to send her running back to her boat, but beneath the frisson of fear was another emotion. A sensual curiosity. Not today, but someday...
“Dial it back,” Dre bit out, eying Jackson. One hand stroked possessively, comfortingly, down her back. The other found her scalp again, guiding her cheek against his chest and the reassuringly solid rhythm of his heartbeat.
If anyone could help Riley, these men could. They were hunters and predators, waiting, all coiled tension, for precisely the right minute to strike. The houseboat rocked, wake wash hitting the sides as a motor launch came up the bayou. She tensed, lifting her head.
“Cavalry’s comin’,” Dre murmured.
Landry pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with a hotly possessive kiss. At first she stiffened—what would the rest of his Pack think?—but then she got lost in the heated crawl of his mouth over hers. Dre pushed to his feet, wrapping his arms around her as well. Just the three of them. Perfect.
The staccato punch of booted feet hitting the deck broke the spell. Shit. Luc made the others look like lap dogs. Hard-faced and broad-shouldered, the take-no-shit look on his puss had the others nodding and backing up a step. She’d seen these men take on vamps, fight ruthlessly, so if this man made them retreat even so much as an inch, he was no one she wanted to mess with. Or share a deck with.
His gaze slid over her and landed on Dre and Landry. “We got us a problem.”
The words hung in the air between them. Dre gently let go of her, one hand urging her back down onto her seat.
The two men locked gazes. She could smell the tension filling up the bayou air, could smell the other man like he was a bottle of perfume cracked open on a sales counter. Unlike Dre’s scent, Luc didn’t have her hormones doing happy handstands. She didn’t want anywhere near him, because frankly he scared the piss right out of her.
She didn’t want him interested in her.
She didn’t want him anywhere near her.
Ever.
“Alpha,” Dre growled, exposing his neck before backing off. “Luc.”
When Luc didn’t immediately respond, Dre tipped his head back and howled, a long, low thread of sound that demanded look at me. She’d never believed in the supernatural and never wanted to. She’d wanted dreams, not nightmares. Yet there was no denying what she’d seen.
This was a whole other world.
“Stay,” Dre ordered, as if he sensed the primal need to flee rising up in her.
She didn’t like the order but she wasn't stupid, either. She’d make it off the couch, but she wouldn’t make it off the deck, let alone back to the Bayou Sweetie.
Dre moved in front of her, putting his body between hers and the Alpha.
“This is our mate.” His blunt words didn't so much as make a dent on the Alpha’s implacable face.
The Alpha steepled his fingers with deceptive care, like he was working out a crossword. “Did she choose?”
Dre’s stance was all challenge. “I’m keeping her.”
Landry surged to his feet. “We both are.”
Before she could blink, Luc lunged, knocking Dre down in a brutal hit. The hard slam of Dre’s body going down rocked the room. She could feel the impact from the sofa where he’d parked her.
Not finished with his smack down, Luc growled. His mouth opened in snarl, a low, harsh noise tearing from his throat as his hands slammed into the other man’s shoulders and knocked Dre back down when he twisted up off the floor. Dre’s mouth locked in a rictus of a snarl as well. Teeth bared, Dre brought his hands up, holding off his Alpha. Luc shoved a second time, and Dre flew backwards, head slamming against the floor.
The next few minutes were a blur of no-holds-barred hits and animalistic growls. Arms and legs wrapped around each other, the two men grappled, fighting to pin each other down. Grunts and the raw sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled up the tense silence. Teeth flashed. Men snarled in a blur of arms and legs as they wrestled.
Mary Jane could smell the aggression and the need to dominate rolling off the pair of them. Luc was all cold piss and anger as he methodically beat down Dre. Worse, Dre wasn’t pushing back hard, and th
at made no sense at all. None of this did. When she tried to move away, however, someone curled a large hand around the back of her neck, forcing her to stay put. That heavy weight kept her where she didn’t want to be, front and center in a war zone.
And then, as suddenly as the fight had begun, it was over. Dre hooked a leg through Luc’s, flipping the other man. Finally on top, he stared down at his Alpha, breathing hard, but his face was as cold and emotionless as when he’d gone for the vamp on the bank yesterday. There was no mistaking him for anything other than a killer.
To her surprise, though, he rolled off and dropped to his knees, offering his throat to Luc. Luc didn’t hesitate, either, wrapping a hard arm around that throat and yanking Dre’s head back and down to the floor.
“You fight me and then you cede?” The raw chuckle eased from the other man.
“Yeah.” Dre didn’t move. “I still say I’m keepin’ her. What do you say?”
Luc released his chokehold but didn't let up on the full-body press. “You keep her only if she’s agreein’.”
“Agreed.” Dre stared at her, and even with the room between them, that stare burned. “I’m all over that.”
“Right.” The Alpha nuzzled Dre’s neck, his hand ruffling his hair. “Christ, you’re goin’ to kill me one of these nights.” He sprawled on his back for a moment, then got stiff-legged to his feet and turned towards her.
Oh God. She backed up when he came at her, but he stopped short of getting in her face. Just stood there, toe-to-toe with her, looking down at her for a long moment. His hand came up, and reflexively she closed her eyes. Too many memories swamped her, the old fear beating a fierce, painful rhythm in her chest.
He dropped down beside her, and she sucked in air frantically. Too close. Too big. Too angry. What did he want from her?
His hands wrapped around hers, his thumbs rubbing over the back of her hands. She pulled, and his grip tightened.
