by T. S. Joyce
Dillon was silent and eerily still the entire ten minute drive. And with every minute that brought them closer, the air in the truck grew thicker and thicker until she could hardly breathe.
“I lied to you,” he said, shattering the silence.
Dread filled her, and she clenched her hands until her nails dug into her palms. “Okay. About what?”
“I know what is going to happen tonight. At least part of it.” He ghosted a glance her way, then back to the road passing under the high beams. “I disobeyed a direct order, and I’ll be punished for it. I just didn’t want you going into this not knowing what to expect. You have to let it happen, Bre. If we want a shot at avoiding banishment, Bron will have to make an example of me.”
“I don’t want that,” she said. Her voice sounded small, even to her.
“I know, but things are probably a lot different than what you are used to. The best thing you can do for me is keep quiet and let it happen, okay?”
Not even a little part of her wanted to stand idly by while Dillon was hurt. He’d already taken a claw to the chest today, and anything more just seemed unfair. But he was asking, and she owed him whatever promise he needed. “All right. I won’t mess things up more for you.”
Bron’s cabin looked to be newly built in the middle of a clearing in the woods. A long, gravel drive led to a newly mowed meadow where Dillon parked the truck. Stacks of lumber still sat in piles near the house and a man stood on the porch, arms crossed and looking every bit as pissed as Thomas had earlier.
Dillon muttered an oath and told her to, “Wait there,” again.
He took his time about opening her door and took her hand in his warm grasp as he led her toward the cabin. A motorcycle sat right near a black pickup, and another man emerged from the shadows of the porch to grip the railing and watch their approach. Breshia squinted at the familiar silhouette. It was definitely Logan, and this shit storm was about to get a little bigger.
If Dillon noticed his presence, he apparently didn’t care, because his approach to the porch never faltered.
“This her?” the angry man asked. It must’ve been Bronson Cress.
“Yes, and before you tear into her, you should know—”
“You don’t fucking talk, Dillon. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”
Dillon spun her and pulled her shirt up in the back so fast, she gasped. “What was I supposed to do, Bron? They were going to breed her against her will.”
“Shit,” Logan said, his triceps flexing as he gripped the porch railing. “Who?”
She drew a shaky breath. “Thomas.”
The railing creaked under Logan’s tightening grasp.
“Explain this,” Bron demanded.
“Last year, the Chicago pride started pushing genetic testing,” Logan said, shifting his weight as if he were uncomfortable with the subject. “There’re so few lion shifters left, we had to start worrying about inbreeding. When I left, we were still challenging for breeding rights, but if the Portland pride started genetic testing, they would be choosing who is paired up and with whom. Sounds like Breshia here got the short end of the stick, and was slated to be bred by my brother.”
“Why are you here?” Bron asked. “And if I hear a single false note in your confession, I promise you, you’ll regret it.”
“Okay,” she squeaked out. “My heat cycle is starting soon, and Thomas was already hurting me. I haven’t been bred before and another lioness interrupted what he was doing.”
“Who?” Logan asked.
“Shay. She was bred by Thomas and said he hurt her. She helped me to get away, and it was her who suggested I come to the Seven Devils clan to beg sanctuary.”
“Why does Shira need you so badly,” Bron asked in a softer tone.
“Because besides Shay, I’m the only one who came up as a viable breeder right now, and they want numbers. There’s only one cub in the pride, Samuel, and he’s a male. They’ll breed Shay as soon as she has another heat cycle.”
Logan was standing with his mouth open in disgust as he rubbed his short, dark hair over and over again. “Tell me you aren’t here for my child, Breshia. Tell me they didn’t send you to spy, or to take my child.”
“I wouldn’t ever take your child. I was Samuel’s caretaker, but it should’ve always been Shay. You and Muriel are doing right by your baby, raising her yourselves.”
“True, true, true, all fucking true and what the hell am I supposed to do with this?” Bron asked. “I can’t argue she’s telling the truth. We can all hear it, but she’ll bring a war we can’t afford.”
“Bron,” came a feminine voice from the shadows of a porch. A woman stood from one of the rocking chairs and came to stand beside the alpha. “You can’t send her back to that. You know what’ll happen to her. It’s not in you to turn your back on a woman who’s at risk like that.”
Bron’s eyes blazed silver and he clenched his fists. “My people are more important than the comfort of one lioness.”
Logan stepped down the stairs with the most curious expression on his face. Without a word, he lifted Breshia’s hair and dropped it again like it had been made of fire.
A long, low chuckle came from Logan’s throat as he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Dillon, tell me you didn’t do this in front of Thomas.”
“Do what?” Bron asked.
“She’s mine now,” Dillon said low.
“Yours how?” the alpha asked slowly.
Breshia turned and lifted her hair so they could see the fresh bite wound on her neck.
“Welp,” the woman said in a cheerful sounding voice. “You can’t boot her now. She’s clan.”
“I’m clan?” Breshia breathed.
Bron was standing above them, shaking his head back and forth, cheeks growing redder by the second. The air crackled with power and grew heavy across Breshia’s shoulders as he said, “Please tell me you didn’t do this to force my hand.”
“Wasn’t thinking about you at all when I did it. I was thinking I didn’t want that asshole lion shifter anywhere near her. He did this to her back before her heat cycle even started. What do you think he would’ve done to her if he was allowed to breed her?”
Logan looked sick and the woman covered her mouth and made a small, sympathetic sound deep in her throat.
“Do you even realize how serious claiming a mate is, Dillon?” Bron spat out. “Because you aren’t acting like it. This is forever for her kind. She’ll bear your mark for the rest of her life. You’ve now killed her shot at ever finding a real mate.”
“I am a real mate!” Dillon roared. “Don’t talk to me about the importance of claiming. I know! I thought I’d never find a mate, because no one in either of our clans fit my bear. Then Breshia comes along and wakes my animal right up. I couldn’t just let her go back to her life to be abused at the hands of her own damned people. Now banish me or bleed me, but don’t give me a lecture on the intricacies of bonded relationships. She’s mine.”
Holy shit, Dillon had just claimed her in more important ways than even the mark on her neck. He’d gone head to head with his own alpha to keep her. She was trying not to cry, but it was the most romantic thing she’d ever witnessed, and it was happening to her.
“Change,” Bron demanded.
Without hesitation, Dillon immediately pulled his shirt over his head.
“Come on, Breshia,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “Let’s give the boys some room.”
Dillon pulled her close and pressed his lips against her hairline. “Don’t watch,” he murmured against her skin.
Wide-eyed and terrified, she padded up the steps and took the woman’s offered hand, then followed her straight through the front door and into an oversized living room.
The tears she’d been holding back hadn’t a chance in the world now. A roar rattled the house, followed by an answering bellow, and Breshia hunched in on herself and covered her ears.
“Is he going to hu
rt Dillon?” she asked, panic flaring until she couldn’t think straight.
“Of course he is. It’s what they do.” The woman’s concerned, caramel colored eyes gave away every emotion. “He’ll live though. I’m Samantha, Bron’s mate.” He held out her hand for a shake and Breshia pressed her palm lightly against it.
“How do you know?”
“Because they’re best friends. Have been forever. They’ll fight and then everything will be fine. They’ll put their noggins together tomorrow and figure out solutions to what has them all riled up, but first, they have to bleed. It’s the way of men, and it’s the way of bears. Shifters are violent little monsters, but of course,” she said, her voice going soft, “you already know all about that.”
In an obvious attempt to distract her, Samantha showed her around the house. It still smelled like fresh-cut sawdust, and she explained that the last house had burned. It was horrible, what this clan had gone through with Bron’s brother’s murder and the struggle they went through to find out who did it. Still, it was hard to focus on what Samantha was saying when she could hear the snarling and slapping just outside the door. Pained grunts echoed through the hallways, and Breshia swallowed the bile that threatened to choke her. Some of those awful sounds were being wrenched from Dillon.
When at last the front door creaked open and Bron and Logan sauntered into the living room, Breshia was seconds away from biting her fingernail to the nub.
“Where’s Dillon?” she asked.
“He’s fine,” Bron said, running his hand through his hair. “Or at least, he will be.” He was dressed, but his shirt was already spotted with red. “Probably best if you give him some time to himself though.”
She tried to keep the fear from her voice. “I need to check on him.”
“Look, lady—”
“Breshia,” she said in a small, trembling voice. “My name’s Breshia.”
“Look, Breshia,” Bron corrected himself. “Your new mate is off in the woods, where he’ll likely stay until he can heal a bit. You wouldn’t want to find him like this, so let him be if you value your hide.”
Logan approached slowly and turned her with gentle hands. Lifting her shirt again, he sucked air through his front teeth. She closed her eyes against the embarrassment. She’d only met Logan a few times, when he’d been summoned by the pride. He was basically a stranger, lifting her shirt for all to see the shameful marks on her back.
“The cuts will be closed by morning, but my mate has some salve that’ll take the color and tenderness out of them. I’ll bring some by. Reese called and said she’s dropping your car off at Dillon’s house. She said its beat up pretty badly, but I can take a look at it when I bring the salve. I can probably fix it for cheap if it’s just cosmetic damage like she thinks.”
“Okay,” Breshia said, exhaling a long, steadying breath. As soon as she figured out how to withdraw her savings from her Portland account, he could have whatever amount he found fair. Her old beat-up beetle wasn’t much, but right now, it was about all she had to her name in the whole world. Logan’s offer to help was more than generous. “Thank you.”
“Did Thomas force you?”
“I ran before it got that far,” she explained quickly. Nothing about this conversation was comfortable in front of mixed company.
“Come on,” Logan murmured. “I’ll give you a lift to Dillon’s house. He could take all night and you look exhausted.”
To her surprise, Samantha wrapped her up in a tight hug, then handed her a scrap of paper with a telephone number scribbled across it. “Call me if you need anything.”
Breshia didn’t know Samantha, but as she lifted her gaze to her friendly, open face, she knew she liked and respected her. Samantha had shown more kindness tonight than anyone in her own pride had ever done, and at no benefit to herself.
“Same,” she breathed. “I know me being here messes up a shaky alliance with Shira.” She looked at Bron, who’d sunk into the cushion of the couch. “But know I wouldn’t do anything to purposely bring harm to any of you. If you need anything, just ask.”
The alpha nodded his head slightly, then Breshia followed Logan outside.
He ripped the engine of his motorcycle and handed her a helmet, and when her arms were around his waist so she wouldn’t fall off the back, he eased through the meadow and onto the gravel driveway.
Breshia scanned the woods beside the road for any sign of Dillon, but he was gone, like an apparition who didn’t want to be found. Whatever Bron had done hurt him. She swallowed her worry down and held onto Logan a little tighter as he sped up.
Dillon’s pain, and whatever he was going through out there in those cold woods was on her.
She didn’t understand the way things worked around here, and she was out of her element, but if this is what needed to happen in order for them to stay together, then she had to remain strong for him.
He would come back to his house eventually, and when he did, she would begin the long process of making all of this up to him.
Chapter Eight
Fear trembled down her spine as the cold desk chilled Breshia’s cheek. She was wearing her favorite skirt, the white one with the coral colored flowers, but Thomas had rucked it up over her hips and any second now, she’d feel his tongue on her wet folds.
“Please don’t do this,” she begged.
“Bre, you know I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want me to,” Thomas said in a strange voice.
The deep velvet tones of his words halted her fear and pooled warmth in her middle. Baffled, she twisted on the desk to see him.
Dillon stood behind her, hungry eyes rapt on her bare backside. He looked like he had the first time she’d seen him—clawed shoulder and dark jeans hanging low. Mortified that he was seeing her in such a vulnerable position, she lurched forward.
“No,” he crooned, dropping to his knees. “You’re beautiful like this.” His hands slid softly down her back, around the curve of her hips, then his fingertips brushed down her thighs to the backs of her knees. “May I taste you?”
This wasn’t scary anymore. Not like it had been with Thomas. She whimpered with need when she felt the soft brush of his breath against her sex.
“I won’t touch you until you ask.”
He was so close to her, she could feel his warmth, and instinctively, she arched her back and spread her legs wider.
“Say it,” he murmured.
God, he was close. This would be so different from her time with Thomas. Dillon was good and gentle. He would breed her slowly, especially for her first time. She pressed back toward him and his hands gripped the backs of her knees.
A warm chuckle filled the air. “No Bre. I want you to ask me.”
“Please,” she whispered.
His tongue lapped her, and his chin bumped a sensitive spot that threatened to buckle her legs. She moaned as a clenching sensation filled her. Over and over he drove his tongue into her. Resting her forehead against the desk, she squeezed her eyes closed as pressure built inside of her. Part of her wished she could watch him as his head bobbed to the rhythm of him eating her out. Piles of genetic paperwork sat in neat stacks under her palms, but she crumpled them in her fists as he drove her toward the edge.
Damn what they said about her people’s future.
Her body chose Dillon.
Her heart chose him, too.
She cried out as his tongue went deeper and something wet bumped her hip.
What was that?
It pressed against her again and she frowned and turned.
She stifled a scream as a giant bear beside her curled his lips over impossibly long teeth.
It was dark in the room except for a single stream of blue moonlight that filtered in through the window. It was enough to illuminate the monstrous grizzly bear astride her bed. Breshia gasped and sat up. From the way her body was still writhing on the inside, she’d been about two seconds away from a wet dream. Did women even get those? Mortificatio
n heated her cheeks as she scrambled backward against the headboard.
“Dillon?” Please, God, let it be him and not some random bear in her bedroom.
The animal shook his head, as if it were confused.
“Dillon, if it’s you, can you please change back?” Her voice came out so small, she was afraid he hadn’t heard her, but he sat back on his hind legs and shrank into his human form in moments.
“Bre?” he asked in a gravelly voice, churning silver eyes almost as wide as the full moon outside. He dragged his gaze down to his open palms, like he couldn’t remember how he’d come to be here.
He was torn up, to be sure, but not as badly as she’d imagined. She’d waited hours for him to come home, but perhaps him staying bear most of the night was to speed up his shifter healing. Already, the claw marks that crisscrossed his torso looked to be half-healed.
Dillon clothed was a beautiful sight.
Dillon naked was about the most mind-altering experience she’d ever had.
Her breathing grew shallow as she raked her gaze over his taut abdomen. The moonlight highlighted and shadowed deep indentations between muscles, and his stomach flexed with every breath he heaved. A flock of what looked like tattooed ravens curved around his ribcage and when she dropped her eyes to his stony erection, full-mast and thick, she clenched the sheets in her palms.
“What did you do to me?” he asked, confusion seeping into every word.
“It’s my heat cycle,” she said as quiet as a breath. “It’s started.”
“You were touching yourself, and—”
“Okay!” This couldn’t get any worse or any more humiliating than this.
Her body still felt like it was writhing, but when she looked down, she was just shaking. His nostrils flared, and he opened his mouth to say something but she shook her head. She knew what she smelled like. Her scent had morphed over night to equal parts cat in heat and arousal. And it wasn’t going to get better any time soon.
“Your animal called to my bear. I was out in the woods behind the house and I could feel her calling me.”
“I’m so sorry. Oh, my God. I’m so embarrassed!” She jumped up and looked down, chagrinned to realize she had stripped off her clothes at some point during her dirty dream. The dream! Her eyes flew wide and she reached for the sheets to cover herself. Now, she couldn’t meet his gaze if she tried for a hundred years.
