by Anne Marsh
Holy. Moly. Her body heated up as his words hit her. Apparently, Cruz had no problem talking BDSM. She’d never considered bondage, although, yeah, maybe she’d enjoyed a couple of books. Still, fantasies were fantasies—and he was six-plus feet of hard-bodied man. The reality was far bolder than she’d imagined. The blush she could feel crawling up her cheeks had definitely not been part of her seduce-sheriff-fantasies.
“No worries,” he drawled, as if he’d somehow read her mind or sensed her discomfort. Perhaps her pink cheeks were his first clue, but without skipping a beat, he moved right on. “We’ll come back to that later. Right now, I need you to be aware of what’s been happening out in the bayou.”
“Okay.” Darn it. Her voice came out in the world’s unsexiest squeak. “What’s up?”
The sensual teasing disappeared instantly from his face. She hadn’t really wanted to have her wicked way with him, but his abrupt change through her off-balance. “We discovered the body about two hours ago,” he said. “Since I doubt you knew Red Shug by more than sight, I wouldn’t ordinarily be bringin’ you this news.”
Maybe she’d read about it in weekly county paper or hear about it on the radio. More likely, though, one of her clients—or all of them—would tell her. Red Shug had been pushing sixty, but hale and hearty. The older man had also preferred his solitude, spending most days out in the bayou, hunting and fishing. He knew his way around those waters and he traveled armed. He wouldn’t have been an easy victim.
“Red Shug was murdered?”
“Absolutely. His injuries included a slit throat.” Cruz’s closed-off expression said she really didn’t want the details about the dead man’s other hurts.
“So why are you here?” she asked quietly.
“Shit, Eden.” Cruz scrubbed a hand over his head. “I followed a blood trail away from that trapper’s body and it lead me here. To your place.”
Her throat closed up. “I didn’t kill him.”
Cruz smiled gently and that smile was scary as hell. “I know you didn’t.”
“Then who?” she demanded. “You got a name for me?”
Please don’t let it be Jackson. Letting him in had been a mistake. Not that she’d done much letting—Jackson had been more take than ask.
Cruz shook his head. “I don’ know for certain. I jus’ know that there’s a man I need to find and I’m pretty damned certain he swung by your place earlier today. Let me in? I’ll do a quick search and make sure your clinic is secure.” The question wasn’t much of a question at all.
Her instinctive reaction to send him away was unreasonable. The sheriff simply wanted to do his job and make sure that she was safe. She truly appreciated that. In fact, she should be jumping up and down to help him rather than dragging her heels. God, she was twenty different kinds of messed up.
“Cruz—”
He cut her off. “Have you seen Jackson Breaux this morning?”
Cruz said the name she’d been expecting because, really, when you had one man show up naked and injured and another man coming by looking for an escaped fugitive, that math was pretty simple. Whatever had happened out there in the bayou last night, Jackson had been involved.
Jackson was a wanted man. Wolf. She stared at Cruz, grateful for once that shock could explain away her open mouth and wide eyes. Yeah. The good sheriff didn’t know who or what he was really hunting and…wow. She wanted to make sure he never found out. The fierce surge of protectiveness was as awkward as it was unexpected. Talk about stupid, but she didn’t want to turn Jackson over to Cruz. Two words: he’s here. If she said those words, Cruz would take over.
Cruz stared at her, watching for any signs of discomfort or alarm on her face, and she deer-in-the-headlighted him right back. She wanted him gone, except that Jackson was apparently a wanted man and that meant she really needed an assist. Ask for his help, she told herself, but the words refused to form.
“Did Jackson come by here? Did he ask you to help him?” Cruz moved closer, the smell of his after-shave teasing her senses. She swallowed. How did she reconcile bloodthirsty murderer with the man she’d just left inside? Just met, she reminded herself. One date or not, Jackson was a stranger. That was the God’s honest truth, no matter how talented his tongue and his fingers.
She didn’t know him. Maybe he was precisely the kind of monster who would tear an innocent man to pieces. Maybe he’d been up to no good in the bayou, and not in the sexual hijinks sense either.
She shook her head and stepped back toward her front door. “I haven’t seen him.”
If the sheriff had tracked him to the clinic this quickly and easily, the vamps wouldn’t be far behind. Jackson needed to get out of here and take Eden with him. No way was he leaving her alone and vulnerable.
The sheriff’s attraction to Eden and his desire to protect her was obvious to Jackson—and he didn’t like it all. He fought to stay in control and to master the jealousy ripping through him. Worse, Cruz was a shifter himself, although Jackson was betting that Eden had no clue.
You need to let her go.
Cruz could protect her. The man had fought against the skin hunters before. He was allied with Jackson’s pack because his sister had mated with Dag. Letting Cruz step in and take over here was probably the smartest thing Jackson could have done. If Cruz had followed the blood trail here, the surviving vamps would. As soon as the sun set, Eden would be in danger.
Unless he hid her.
Unless he killed their enemies and made the world a little bit safer.
Jackson moved swiftly into the back room. As always, he’d outstayed his welcome and it was time to go. There was no place for him here in Eden’s clinic. In Eden’s life, if he was being honest with himself. While he considered various plans, he grabbed medical supplies, bottled water, and a stash of granola bars. Apparently, logic was on vacation as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t, wouldn’t abandon Eden here. He’d been bred to fight and he’d finish what he’d started out there. Dragging Eden with him—and he was under no illusion that she’d go willingly—would slow him down. If she made enough noise or moved slow enough, they’d be caught out when the sun set. The thing was, he’d left the other shifter alone in that camp. That guy was injured and desperately needed the kind of care Eden could provide.
Which made his plan to kidnap her and take her into the bayou on his rescue mission positively humanitarian.
He’d practically deserve a Nobel peace prize or some other piece of crap for his behavior. If, of course, he hadn’t been planning on slaughtering the surviving skin hunters before they egressed from the bayou and brought out the wounded shifter.
Really.
As plans went, it wasn’t the worst he’d thought of. He snorted. Yeah, because he usually didn’t plan. He acted.
The wolf growled, demanding its freedom. Out out out. Oui, he was in trouble here. His animal side rose, fighting to surface.
Mine.
Chapter Six
Be practical.
Eden stepped back inside and closed the door. Quietly. She didn’t want to burn any bridges in this community, so she didn’t flip the lock or slam the door to make her point. She’d spent ten minutes politely debating Jackson’s non-presence with Cruz and now she was on edge, without knowing why, her nerves jumping. Maybe it was Cruz’s laconic description of the crime scene he’d worked in the bayou. That was the logical reason but…it was something more. Some inexplicable, unspoken tension in the air. Something to do with the dark-eyed, hard-bodied male she’d stashed in her office and invited to do wicked, naughty things to her body.
Cruz’s lips moved—she was pretty certain he cursed—and then he exhaled roughly and headed back to his patrol car. She’d worked hard for this practice. She was tired. That was the only reason she hadn’t followed Cruz and told him exactly who—or what—she had inside her practice. Jackson Breaux was hot, delicious trouble she couldn’t afford.
God, she was stupid.
The frame diploma
from LSU’s vet school mocked her from its place of honor over her front desk. If word got out that she was harboring a suspected murdered, her practice would be sunk before she could even get it off the ground. She’d be known as the woman who had put her lover first. Her mother had done that. From the photos Eden had seen and from her mother’s late night over-sharing, her dad had been gorgeous trouble too. That man would swoop into town, laughing and smiling, her mother would blossom like one of those white night-blooming flowers that crawled over the front of the clinic. The fragile petals would open up when it grew dark, flowering vigorously in a rich cloud of scent. And then, when morning came and the sun rose, those same blooms closed up and withered away. Eden’s mother hadn’t done well when her part-time man left town and Eden wasn’t stupid. Like her dad, Jackson wouldn’t stick around forever, and she couldn’t afford that kind of hit to her fledgling professional reputation.
No matter how good he’d made her feel on her own damned desk.
Bottles rattled in the back room and Jackson cursed. And…there was her proof, in case she’d needed any. He was emptying her drug cabinet into a backpack. Getting knocked off for drugs was practically an occupational hazard when you ran a veterinary practice, but she hadn’t expected this. Okay. She was a fool.
She’d fix it. She turned back toward the door. Letting Cruz know about Jackson’s presence in her clinic was now painfully, obviously the right thing to do. She couldn’t risk doing anything else, not with drugs and murder in the picture. She had student loans, an electric bill that wouldn’t end, and two full-time staffers who were counting on their paychecks clearing the bank. Throwing away their security wasn’t fair.
Jackson prowled out of the shadows. He snaked a hard arm around her waist and tugged her back against his front. Too late. “Regrets?”
He had no idea. She pulled carefully against his hold. No sudden movements, but no backing down, either.
“Let me go.” She kept her voice level. Working with animals had taught her that much. Animals sensed fear and Jackson was part wolf. She just didn’t know which part.
“That’s not a no.”
Absolutely. “Jackson.” His name part huff of irritation, part sigh. Being mad at him was constructive. The attraction, however, was still an unwelcome problem.
“You got that straight.”
Out in her parking lot, Cruz popped the door on his cruiser and leaned in, snagging his radio. She still had an opportunity to call him back and do the smart thing. He looked back at her clinic and, even though she knew he couldn’t see her or Jackson, she imagined forming that one word. Help. He would, too. This could all be over. She opened her mouth.
“Shug.” Hard fingers pressed against her mouth. “I can’t let you do that. You decide to scream and I’ll be takin’ action.”
“This is wrong.”
“You bein’ here with me?” He sounded more amused than angry.
“I don’t recall inviting you to hit the cabinets up for parting gifts on your way out the door.” She flicked her fingers toward the backpack.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he said.
“Of course not.” Another wave of exhaustion hit her, hard enough that she almost didn’t care. Except that she did. Had all of Jackson’s loving been a ploy to get her to drop her guard so he could rob her blind. It didn’t feel like the right answer, because if he’d really wanted to make off with her supply of drugs, why had he revealed himself to her? The shifter thing didn’t fit either.
“You don’ believe me.”
“Exhibit A says you’re a liar.”
He grunted. “I won’ ever lie to you, shug.”
“Mmmm. And I believe you because we’ve got such a long-term, committed relationship.”
“You need to trust me.”
“Right. Because a five word demand is going to make me do that. Cruz claims you’re a murderer.”
“He didn’t say that precisely.” The arms around her didn’t loosen.
“You heard him?” She twisted, trying to see his face. He looked focus and preternaturally intent, like he was expecting a whole different brand of trouble to come waltzing through her front door. He didn’t, however, looked shocked or flabbergasted or any other color of upset. Cruz’s news hadn’t been news to him.
“Wolf. Remember?” She caught a quick flash of teeth. Did he have canines? She couldn’t tell, didn’t know how she’d feel about that.
“It’s hard to forget,” she growled. “Particularly since you keep bringing it up.”
She didn’t know how she felt about Jackson’s lupine side. The strangest thing was that, on some level, she felt like she knew him. They’d had one date. If she was being generous, they’d spent a grand total of four or five hours in each other’s company, excluding the time he’d spent passed out in his wolf form while she worked on him. Those minutes didn’t make a grand total anywhere near high enough to justify the sense of rightness she got when she was near him.
“If you don’ wan’ me listenin’ to you, you need to put another fifty yards or so between the two of us.”
“Good to know. If I was splitting hairs.”
“Ask your questions.” His mouth brushed her cheek. She was cocooned in warmth. How on earth was she supposed to form a logical thought?
“Cruz said that you were a person of interest. Why are you out here so early? Normal people don’t come out of the bayou naked and injured. They don’t break into my clinic and they darned sure don’t change into wolves.” She ticked her points off on her fingers.
“Cruz and I, we have a little history together. His sister mated one of my brothers and we got to know each other some while we were working out the details.”
“One of you Breauxs got married?”
“Not precisely.” He lowered his head, his mouth brushing her skin. Goosebumps erupted in his wake. “I didn’t mention wedding bands and priests. We do things a little different in the Pack. You wan’ a church thing?”
Just the thought of taking a walk down the aisle with Jackson set her pulse to pounding. Marriage hadn’t been part of her five-year plan. If she was being honest, she hadn’t thought much beyond: get the practice up and running. Get some sleep. But a wedding starring Jackson as the groom…that was fantasy fodder all right, even if it wasn’t practical. “Is that a proposal?”
“You bet.” His mouth roundtripped back up her throat. “You tell me when and where and I’ll be there for you, shug. Whatever you wan’.”
“I was thinking we’d just have sex,” she blurted out.
“That too,” he said agreeably, “but matin’s more than the sex. I’m playin’ for keeps.”
Riiight. She decided not to push him on that point.
“Cruz didn’t have any lastin’ objections,” he said gently.
“Lasting isn’t the same as none,” she pointed out.
His mouth found her ear and blew. Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Was it even possible that he’d gotten better at kissing since their first date?
“Why were you out in the bayou? Did you harm Red Shug?”
“What do you think?”
“It doesn’t seem like you.”
“I didn’t touch him, other than to make sure he wasn’t breathing.” Regret didn’t fill his voice, just a quick flash of emotion. She didn’t know what to make of it or of him. “There was nothing I could do for him. I promise you that.”
“Do you know who did?”
“Oui.” His heavy exhalation warned her she wouldn’t like what came next. “I do. You saw me shift.” He waited for her to nod before he continued. “My kind, we have enemies. Vampires who can’t walk in the sunlight, unless they’re wearing wolf skins.”
“So you did commit murder out in the bayou.”
“It wasn’t me that killed Red Shug.”
“But you killed.”
The gaze that met hers was cold and level. “I hunted, shug, and there’s a difference.”
“You did it on purpos
e.”
“You bet your sweet ass I did.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m a hunter and I have a Pack to defend.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“Murder’s for human.” He shrugged, a lazy, powerful roll of his shoulders. “But executioner? Oui. My kind, that’s what we do sometimes.”
Sometimes? The urge to laugh hysterically almost overwhelmed her. “Who hunts you?”
“Skin hunters.”
“Give me more words.”
“Vampires. Predators. Vicious-ass bastards who peel a werewolf’s skin off his body and then make a suit out of it so they can walk in the daylight. I tangled with one in the bayou last night and he did me good.”
Those were words all right—the kind she hadn’t really wanted to hear.
“You want me to believe in vampires.” She heard what he was saying, but how was she supposed to believe?
“You believe in werewolves,” he said wryly.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice there.”
“You still wan’ to run after our boy Cruz?”
Not really. She double-checked, but the sheriff had fired up his cruiser and was pulling out of her lot. Odd that the strongest emotion she felt right now was relief. Not worry or fear or even irritation at the male manhandling her and making demands in her own clinic. Nope. She was simply glad to be alone with him and that alone was enough to qualify for the funny farm.
“Tell me more about these skin hunters,” she said, because she was so not thinking about what she’d just done.
“There’s not much to tell and I’m hopin’ you never lay eyes on one, shug. They’re tall bastards with pale skin, white hair and eyes blacker than a bayou night. They move fast, so once you see one, it’s already too late. He’s got you and you’re goin’ nowhere.”
“Weaknesses?” Jackson had got away. Barely. If a man like him couldn’t hold his own, couldn’t fight off a skin hunter, she wouldn’t stand a chance.
