by Anne Marsh
So I go alone.
If I made my destination clear, I’d have at least two of my brothers guarding my ass like a fucking honor guard and the exclamation point at the end of the I’m here to fuck my girl sentence. I can’t stop picturing Cruz getting her naked, taking advantage of her sweet hunger. She needs to make up her mind fast, choose soon, because all the pretty words about sharing and figuring out a way to make our threesome work are just that. Words.
I’ve been out Cruz’s way more than once because I need to see. I have to know. It puts me in stalker territory, and I don’t like myself. I want her back. All the way back. Each time I shift, it gets harder and harder to return to the man. That’s the Breaux curse right there. We lose ourselves in our wolves, shifting longer and longer until there comes a night when we don’t shift back. I lost a brother that way, centuries ago, before I brought my pack here to the Louisiana bayou, and I’ve done everything I can to make sure my brothers have their mates and avoid the same fate.
I shift, the change effortless. It’s like taking a step sideways. One minute I’m the man and the next, I’m shucking those human trappings and sliding into the wolf’s body. Fur ripples over my human skin, my bones shaping and reforming as I fall into my wolf. The bayou explodes around me, the wolf’s senses even finer attuned than the man’s.
The night’s velvety, the darkness wrapping around me as I slip into the shadows. A gator bellows somewhere not too far away, slipping into the still waters. Hunting. Loving. The animal’s life is straightforward, and everything is simpler for the wolf too. I’m hunting my mate, and I leave all the reasons not to go after her behind with my human self.
Dre falls in beside me, loping along on four legs, as I near the edge of our territory. I snarl, nipping at his hindquarters. He’s not coming with me, not tonight. Dre protests, but too fucking bad. I’m the Alpha of our pack and eventually my wolves listen. It’s that or challenge me for the leadership, and we all know how that would work out. It’s not that Dre and the others aren’t capable of leading, but that kind of control isn’t what they want. Still, he forces me to drive him back a second time and then a third. Eventually he falls away, point made, and I’m alone again.
Gianna.
I don’t need a blue moon to find her now. She’s under my skin, deep in my heart, and I’ll always be able to find her.
I run for a good hour, my paws eating up the swamp, before I draw near Port Leon. The small bayou town is the heart of Cruz’s territory, a weather-worn, silvered collection of clapboard houses and sleepy businesses. It’s not as if there’s an actual boundary line between his territory and mine, but there’s a definite divider that I’m aware of. The scent of the land itself seems to change, and the closer I draw to his family’s plantation, the thicker and more humid the air grows.
The werewolf lurking by the side of the road doesn’t belong here anymore than I do. I’m upwind, and he hasn’t scented me yet. He’s a large, rangy wolf, ropy with muscles. A scar bisects one ear and brands his face, the ravaged skin a souvenir from a fight gone wrong. He’s still alive though, which means he’s hard to kill. That’s okay. I am too.
I circle around. Not my territory, not my kill, but Gianna’s just up the road and this wolf is a threat. The roar of a motorcycle coming up the road has me falling back into the shadows, and that gives me a ringside seat for what comes next. As the biker tears around the bend, the other werewolf launches himself at the rider. The bike slides across loose gravel, the engine cutting out as the rider throws himself clear, twisting and shifting. I’ve got myself a werewolf party, and none of the RSVPs are mine.
The black wolf slams into the lurker wolf with a fierce growl, teeth tearing at the other animal. I inhale. One MC werewolf… and one of Cruz’s. I recognize the family scent, so I’m betting that’s Jace, the wolf Cruz had inserted into the MC. He certainly fights like a son of a bitch, so I should back the fuck off. Not my fight.
Except that I scent more wolves coming up the road fast. Jace-or-whoever-he-is sinks his teeth into the other wolf and blood sprays. He’ll be outnumbered when the new party guests reach him. I put the start of Wolfaggedon at approximately nine seconds out. I should keep going, should take my straight shot to Gianna. Except I can’t help but admire the black wolf’s brutal takedown, even if it’s not going to be enough. And it’s going to leave the road wide open to Cruz’s lair—and Gianna.
Well, fuck. It looks as if I get my fight tonight after all.
GIANNA
Cruz is a man who knows how to say hello. He’s spent most of the day away from me because being sheriff is apparently one of those twenty-four-seven jobs. I’ve been sifting through work e-mails myself, venting my frustration on the Delete key and making sure my bosses don’t use my stint in protective custody as an excuse to forget me. I’ve got a virtual mountain of case documents to review, too, so it’s not as if I’ve been at loose ends while Cruz has been out saving the world or at least doing his best to take care of it.
He strides into his kitchen where I’ve set up my makeshift temporary office, and there’s no mistaking him for anything other than the predator he is. He doesn’t hesitate either but makes straight for me, bracing his arms on either side of me so I’m backed against the edge of the table, caged between his big, tough body and unforgiving wood. I should probably be concerned about how well the position works for me, but instead I get shamelessly wet.
He kisses me wordlessly, as if getting his mouth on mine is simply his first and only priority and he can’t be bothered with anything else. It’s hot as hell. I can admit that. Cruz’s kiss is part hello, how are you? And part let me dominate you, ma’am—and he gets me going like he always does. Much to my shame, I’m not the one who ends the kiss either. Nope. My lips are clinging to his, my fingers twisting in his shirt, when he pulls back.
“Honey, I’m home,” he says, his low, growly voice kicking things up another notch in the heat department.
Home. I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about me being here. It’s weird and plenty awkward. The district attorney believes I’m parked in a watered-down version of a witness protection program, and I haven’t disillusioned him. And it’s not as if my week with Cruz is turning out to be a nonstop orgasmfest. One minute Cruz will have me pinned up against the wall (or in the shower, on the counter, or under him on the bed—the man’s definitely flexible), and he’s giving me an orgasm to end all orgasms, and the next minute he’s off doing sheriff things and I’m sitting all alone except for the stand-in bodyguards he leaves lurking around the property.
“Did you miss me?” he asks.
Let me think. The answer to his question is yes, yes, and hell yes, but there’s no tactical advantage to admitting the truth. Particularly not when Cruz does such a sexy job of convincing me. The man certainly knows how to rise to a challenge.
I link my arms behind his neck. “Maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” He grins down at me, inserting a thigh between mine. “We’re gonna—”
I’m damned sure whatever it is we’re gonna do will be mind-blowing, orgasmically spectacular, but the cottage door slams open and a big, black, torn-up wolf explodes into the room. Cruz spins, shoving me behind him as he goes on the defensive.
The wolf shifts before I can scream. I tell myself surprise is the only reason the shrill sound is building in the back of my throat. I’ve seen shifters change. I’ve got this. But the black wolf is fierce, violence rolling off it in waves even as its body twists and contorts. Jace.
Cruz lets go of me and strides over to the man leaning against the wall. Or using the wall to hold himself up, because Jace doesn’t look so good at the moment. Keeping my eyes fixed above his waist isn’t difficult because the man’s left side is torn to hell. The skin over his ribs is already purpling from some unseen blow, and blood streaks his side. When Jace’s palm slips on the wall and Cruz catches him, I see bone. Oh God.
“We’ve got Breed wolves on the main road,” Jace says ho
arsely, as if he’s not bleeding out or something equally horrible on Cruz’s kitchen floor.
Jace isn’t done, though. “Luc Breaux is holdin’ the wolves off. The cousins and Dad have the house on lockdown.”
Cruz curses. “I’ll finish it.”
I don’t want to know what the it is, but Jace needs help. When I grab my bag and fish for my phone though, Cruz’s hand covers mine.
“No calls,” he says, holding my gaze.
“He needs 9-1-1 and an ambulance.” Jace and I may not ever be besties, but I’m not standing here and watching him die. That’s a line I’m not crossing.
Cruz shakes his head. “He’ll heal, and we don’ need the attention. You wan’ to help him, get him some towels and a shot of whiskey.”
“I’m not a doctor.” Or a vet or whatever these guys need when someone furry punctures their asses with a wicked set of canines. Plus the scent of blood is making me woozy, reminding me of things that happened years and years ago. Taking a trip down memory lane now would be stupid, so I opt for fighting with Cruz instead. Taking him on is better than hiding in the bad places in my head.
Cruz moves for the door. “Stay here with Jace.”
With another glance at Jace, I follow him. “Where are you going?”
Cruz’s face closes off. “Out,” he says shortly. “To deal with my wolf problem.”
“As the sheriff?” I watch his face closely. “Or as Alpha?”
“I’m takin’ care of the problem,” he growls. “You stay here with Jace, and he’ll keep you safe.”
I open my mouth to protest—because I don’t need a babysitter—but Cruz is already gone. I settle for grabbing a stack of towels from the bathroom and a pair of Cruz’s jeans. When I return to the kitchen, Jace hasn’t moved much. Frankly, I’m amazed that he’s still standing.
He looks me over as I come in, but he takes the pants and the towels, wadding the cotton up and pressing it against his side. His ribs look as if they’re covered with shredded hamburger meat, but his color is a little better. Or maybe that’s the side benefit of the way he’s glaring at me.
Jace doesn’t like me much.
Okay. To be honest, he doesn’t like me at all.
I don’t care, but his dislike needs to be addressed. Cruz loves his family, and he’d never walk away from them… and that means I need to find a place of my own with them. Which means I need to address Jace’s dislike somehow. We don’t have to become besties, but I need something besides overt hostility.
He leans against the wall, arms folded over his bare chest.
“You don’ like me.” He’s got bloody gouges over his ribs, but apparently he’s still up for a little heart-to-heart conversation. Pigheaded must be a character requirement for werewolves. I try and fail to imagine standing there as if there’s nothing wrong.
Ignoring his statement of the obvious, I focus on the more immediate problem. “You need a doctor. A vet. Help.”
He ignores my medical commentary. Apparently male werewolves are just like their human counterparts, because I get the feeling that I could cut Jace’s leg off and he’d still maintain the fiction that he was fine.
“You’re nothin’ but trouble for my brother, so I don’ like you much either.” He shoves off the wall and prowls closer, all big mean biker wolf. Somehow, the blood splattering the kitchen floor doesn’t make him seem weak. It’s more like the gruesome punctuation in our conversation. “You gonna cry about it?”
Tears don’t help. That’s another childhood lesson I haven’t forgotten. I cry, and my tears give Jace the upper hand.
“You forgot to ask me if I care about your pretty emotions,” I point out.
“I’ll take that as a fuck no.” Then to my surprise, he laughs. “You might work out after all, sweetheart.”
He strides over to the door and throws it open. I think at first that he’s leaving—thank you, Jesus—but instead two new guys step inside. The cottage is way too small for this much werewolf testosterone. I scan the newcomers’ faces and decide I’m hosting the third brother, Eli, and someone else who may possibly be a cousin.
“Your babysitting detail is here.” Jace jerks his head toward our company.
“I don’t need watching,” I say, although it’s not entirely true. I’m not stupid. If there’s an entire pack of werewolves barreling down the road, intent on killing me, I could use a helping hand or three.
Jace smiles as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Eli and Jules are going to stick to your butt like white on rice.”
“You’re threatening me.”
“Just a little.” Jace shrugs and heads out the door. I hope he’s going to get someone to patch him up, but I have my doubts. The man puts Superman to shame in the stoic department.
The other wolves leave too. Or they skulk in the shadows outside the cottage. God knows, I’m almost certain I’ve got watchers.
CRUZ
Fuck but Luc can fight. He tears into the other wolves, and clearly he could give a fuck about the losing odds he’s facing. I like his attitude but there are twelve renegade wolves. Even Luc isn’t good enough to take down that many opponents. In a few more minutes, the wolves will have him flanked. Fuck. The idiot matters to Gianna. That’s going to have to be good enough for me.
Luc glances my way. His wolf eyes glow in the dark, but he doesn’t stop fighting. He won’t so much as ask for my help, and begging is definitely out of the question. The copper scent of blood floods the darkness, underlain by the earthier scent of shit because Luc’s ripped a gut wound into one of the MC wolves, and the stupid bastard is dying slow and hard on the edge of my territory.
“Don’ make the mistake of thinkin’ I’m a Beta,” I growl. I shift then and there, shedding my human body, the wolf taking over everything I am.
My wolf is vicious. Gianna insists on thinking I’m a nice guy—but truth is, I just have a slower fuse than Luc. Together we take down the last wolves.
When it’s over, when we’re the only ones standing, I inhale the night air, Luc’s scent a sharp shock. He doesn’t smell so much wrong as he does… different. The bayou calls my name, the shadows shifting and sliding, rich with prey. The dark hides all sorts of sins. If I took down Luc now, for instance, his pack would never know. Would believe he’d lain down his life fighting the MC wolves, and I’d be home free and clear. I’d have Gianna, and I’d still have my life and my pack.
Instead, all I have is temptation. Dragging the fallen wolves deeper into the bayou helps with that, although not enough. I’ll have to come back tomorrow with the truck and take care of the bodies permanently. For now, though, the problem has been taken care of, and I’m free to turn and run back toward the big house. Luc doesn’t hesitate. He falls in beside me, shoulder to shoulder, the same way we fought. I’m not shaking him that easily.
Luc shifts when we get close to my place. Maybe his wolf doesn’t like the scent of other wolves. Maybe it’s some last vestige of manners. Fuck if I know, but the change shimmers over him, the fur parting to reveal bronzed skin and hard, human muscles. He stands there, casual in his nakedness, hands propped on his hips as he prowls forward.
I try to see him from Gianna’s perspective. Luc is a big, hard motherfucker—and I’m not even looking at his junk. I’ve got no interest there, no matter how sexy our night together with Gianna was. I definitely remember his body, pressed against Gianna’s, sealing her smaller frame to mine. Touching was inevitable and pleasuring Gianna… was perfect. Would we have the same effect if we held her, shared her again?
He certainly doesn’t look as if he knows how to compromise, either as a wolf or as a man. The man’s got muscles to go with his scars, his body a map of fights won and enemies conquered. He’s a walking, talking Alpha billboard. All that strength is bound to appeal to a woman as strong as Gianna. Like calls to like.
Luc waits for me to shift, leaning against a tree as if he’s got all the time in the world. We keep clothes stashed in various place
s since one of the inconveniences of shifting is ending up buck-ass naked. I toss Luc a pair of worn blue jeans.
He tugs the pants on, but his eyes never leave my face as we dress silently.
“I won’ let her get hurt,” he says eventually, as if we’re continuing a conversation. And maybe we are. The fight said plenty, and the two of us, we’re never gonna be finished talking about Gianna. It’s as if we both just rolled out of bed, leaving her tucked behind in the covers, and now we’re taking stock of each other. Of what we did together, and wondering if we could do it again—or if we even should.
“I know you don’ wan’ me anywhere near your place.” Luc’s voice roughens and he jerks a thumb toward my house behind the bigger one. “And I’d feel the same way about you pokin’ about in the bayou, but she called me. Invited me out here.”
“She’s not a prisoner,” I say, but I’m more than a little pissed off about the situation. I’d at least like her to ask me. Consult me. Treat me like something more than a fuck buddy and a convenient B&B for her protective custody stint. We apparently need to work more on our relationship skills.
Luc nods, but he’s got this look on his face. He knows how I feel, probably because he’d feel the same way if I’d shown up at his bayou cabin while he’d had Gianna there.
“She wants me here,” he says carefully.
Fuck. Don’t I know it?
His next words, however, aren’t expected. “She wants you, too.”
I give him a look and he shrugs.
“She’s got this thing about life bein’ fair,” he admits.
Oui. We both know fair isn’t happening.
