Taken by the Pack

by Anne Marsh

  “Can we do it vanilla? Nothing fancy,” she repeatedly hurriedly, chewing on her bottom lip. “Me on my back, you on top. I want to watch you and hold you.”

  The wolf whined happily.

  “Honey, you can have me however you want me.”

  She lay back on the bed, all sweet and trusting. There was nothing exotic about the position, but at the same time, it was everything perfect. She was a woman welcoming her mate and it was better than any fantasy he’d ever dreamed up. The only thing better would be coming to her as his first. He’d done things he couldn’t take back.

  He didn’t deserve her.

  “Come on,” she whispered. “No holding back now, wolf boy.”

  He moved over her, reaching down to part her slick folds and guide himself home. Her hands tightened on his shoulders as he pushed slowly into her body in a sweet rhythm. She surrounded him, took him, and the pleasure burned through him until he couldn’t hold back any longer. He moved harder, faster, his hips slapping against hers as he drove them both higher and higher. She followed his rhythm, holding him tight until she spiraled out of control, coming around his dick in tight little spasms.

  “Eden.” All he could feel was her and he gave in to her and the pleasure, coming harder and faster than he ever had before. Afterward, he had just enough energy left to nip the soft curve where her neck and shoulder met. Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough pressure to leave his mark on her sweet skin before he tucked her up against his side and wrapped himself around her. She was his—and he was hers.

  Chapter Eight

  Given the steady in and out at the clinic, Eden hadn’t had a chance to catch her breath until after lunch. She’d de-fleaed, de-wormed, and vaccinated two puppies and a semi-feral cat before lancing an abscess. Glamorous stuff. So it wasn’t until afternoon when she finished up with a pregnant boxer that she got the chance to look out the window and discovered that Jackson hadn’t been kidding.

  He’d growled a promise that he’d be watching out for her. So what? They’d been naked and wrapped around each other in his bed. That tended to color a man’s perspective. Honestly, she hadn’t been thinking straight at that point, all logical thought drained right out of her head by the downright wicked things Jackson had done to and with her.

  Naturally, when he’d spoken up, her brain had ticked the uh-huh yeah box, along with the things men say after really awesome sex box. She hadn’t thought he’d meant the words—or that she’d acquired a bodyguard. He’d parked his truck outside her building, however, and he was leaning against it, scanning first the bayou and then the boxer’s owner. Darn it. If he scared off her patients, she’d have to hurt him. He hadn’t changed position since she’d hopped down out of his truck and scurried into the practice. She didn’t think the man ate or peed. Maybe it was the wolf thing.

  Had she really had sex with him?

  Hot, nasty, fabulous sex her brain reminded her, clearly on-board with her body in the demanding-an-immediate-repeat department.

  “That is one fine man.” Jeannie, her assistant, leaned into her shoulder. “Or were you admiring the bayou?”

  Eden snorted. “If I say bayou, will you believe me?”

  “Nope,” the younger woman said cheerfully. “Because there’s not a woman alive who’d ignore a Breaux standing around in her parking lot.”

  “I hear you there.” Shoot. The words came out more sigh than not. She had it bad.

  “Is he here for you?”

  Yeah.

  Jeannie plowed right on ahead. “Because you’ve been smiling all morning and you’ve got this glowing thing going on. If you’re getting some of that—”

  Jeannie gave Jackson a once-over so heated Eden was afraid she’d need to check the floor for drool. Jackson didn’t need any more encouragement. She was pretty sure all the screaming and moaning—not to mention the completely out of character begging—that she’d done last night had pumped the man’s ego to new levels. It certainly explained his possessive presence in her parking lot. She’d erased every line, every boundary she’d erected between them and he’d been happy to take over.

  “Jackson Breaux is trouble,” she said firmly.

  “The best kind.” Jeannie patted her on the back and grinned. “If I thought he’d be interested in me and was free, I’d be popping out there to offer him a cup of coffee. Water. Hot sex in the back of his truck.”

  “And then you’d have an amazing hour, a sore butt, and memories to last a lifetime.” Some things had to be said. She turned and headed back to the counter. The boxer had been her last appointment for the day, so now she had some bookkeeping fun and the animals to take care of.

  “Butt sex, huh?” Jeannie craned her neck for a last shot of Jackson. “I figured he liked it hot and nasty, but you’re exceeding my expectations.”

  “I’m not talking about it.”

  “You can’t not tell me all about it,” Jeannie complained. “I have a toddler and that means I have no sex life for the next ten years or so. I need to live vicariously through you.”

  “It was a one-time thing,” she said.

  Jeannie made a face. “Was he no good? Sometimes, guys like that…they’re all reputation and no dick.”

  The blush on her face gave her away and a smile stretched Jeannie’s face. “Which is apparently not the case with our Jackson?”

  “He’s good.” Great.

  “So what’s the problem? And why is he out there while you’re in here?”

  “He’s not a keeper.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jeannie shook her head. “Did he say that?”

  He’d said the opposite, actually. She tried again. “Do you see him fitting in here with my clinic? Buying a house and settling down?”

  “You won’t know until you try. And are those things you want right now? Some stuff comes later. Sometimes it never comes.” Jeannie shrugged. “And sometimes it all ends in spectacular flame-age. You won’t know unless you try, but if I had that man waiting for me, I’d be giving it a try. Have you asked him what he wants?”

  Me.

  “He’s talking long-term.” Forever. Yeah. Some things were too much to commit to, no matter how good the sex had been.

  Jeannie whistled. “Then get him in here. Hang on to him and see where this could go. A reformed bayou bad boy is the best kind of man. He knows what he’s doing in bed, but he’s all yours.”

  Eden, on the other hand, was the bayou good girl. Sure, behaving herself could be boring as hell, but she kept her head down and her head focused. She had a two-year plan, a five-year plan and—yes—a ten-year plan. In fact, she had plenty of plans, broken down into actionable steps. She dropped in her desk chair and memories promptly assailed her. Today her desk was a neatly organized set of color-coded, post-it-note-bristling stacks. There was no room in her plan for the too hot, damned fine bayou man who had shoved those lists aside and eaten her until she screamed on said desk.

  Her pussy throbbed, reminding her exactly how talented Jackson was with his mouth and his fingers.

  He wasn’t even housebroken. He padded around barefoot, and she was never purging the memories of his borrowed sweats dipping perilously low on his mighty fine hipbones. He’d put the pack in six-pack, because this man definitely packed. One good tug and his good parts had been all hers. She needed to add sex or a date with a vibrator to her to do list.

  Except that neither of those things would be Jackson, darn it.

  She popped the door and his head turned toward her. Of course. Mr. Big Bad Predator apparently felt the need to keep tabs on his mate. Clearly, she had plenty of housetraining to do before her wolf would be even partially civilized.

  “Get your ass inside.”

  Accommodating Eden was no problem at all. Hell, Jackson was happy to do it because close was better than far. It wasn’t like he enjoyed sitting outside her clinic like a dog on a leash. He was the alpha in their relationship. She didn’t get to give the orders and yet…oui, he had it bad. He�
�d come when she called and, even though she was now studiously ignoring him, he wanted to make her see him.

  The desire he felt for her was certainly a no brainer. She looked adorably cute in pink scrubs with white and yellow kitten print. She’d pulled her hair up into a sleek ponytail that bounced around her shoulders as she moved from point A to point B with devastating practicality. She didn’t waste time, his Eden. Instead, she did what needed doing and moved on to the next task. The thin scrubs clung to her ass, though, and it would be so easy to tug them down, to get between her sweet thighs and coax her into letting him love her again.

  But it wasn’t just the sex. That was the worst part of this whole mating business. She fussed over her litter of rescue kittens and he wanted that, the concern and affection he saw on her face as she rubbed her thumb gently over the tabby’s head. The kitten’s loud motorboat rumble of a purr filled the clinic, the sound bigger than its body.

  Eden’s assistant brushed past him, wearing a similar pair of cat-print scrubs and a big grin. His eyes narrowed. What had Eden told the other woman?

  “You all have a nice night now,” she announced. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Eden growled something and the other woman bounced out the door. Interesting. Eden had definitely been telling tales out of school.

  ”Hand me that bottle.” Done ignoring him, she waved a hand toward an itty-bitty bottle warming in a coffee mug of water.

  He reaches for it and hands it over, making her stretch just a little until her lab coat parted around her. Her coat drove him crazy, making him want to peel back all that fabric and unwrap her. She’d let him do it once—maybe she’d let him do it again.

  “Are you watching?” She didn’t look up from the kitten nursing the bottle in the palm of her hand. The little beast’s eyes were closed, its paws working tiny claws into her skin. Eden cradled her kitten like it was the most precious thing in the world.

  Shit. He was jealous of a kitten.

  “You bet.” The kitten in her palm shifted uneasily at the sound of his gruff voice and she frowned.

  “Now you try with that one.” She pointed toward the waiting litter.

  Obediently, he reached for kitten number two in the nest of towels. The kitten hissed, arching its back as its fur stood up. Oui. The feline knew Jackson had no business being here in Eden’s office. He felt a funny pang of something unexpected. He wanted to belong by her side and he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that she’d take him just because the blue moon had picked her out for him. She’d made it clear that he’d had his chance and he’d blown it.

  “She don’ like me.”

  Understatement. The kitten hissed louder, doing a frantic little dance over the countertop until Eden gently dropped a towel over the small body. Immediately, the kitten stopped the whirling dervish impression and pancaked. Eden reached under the towel and retrieved the frightened animal, cupping it against her body. Golden kitten eyes regarded him smugly from against her breasts. Oui. The kitten had definitely won this round.

  “Wolf.” She sighed, like the one word label said it all. ”Is this where I ask you if you’ve always been a werewolf?” Her eyes twinkled up at him.

  “The bitten versus born question?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Born,” he said. Jesus. He’d had sex before. He’d never had a relationship. He’d teased Dag mercilessly when he’d caught his brother checking out the self-help section in the bookstore. Intel, Dag had claimed. Maybe his brother had been onto something there.

  The kitten slapped his hand with its paw, trying to establish its dominance. Scooping up the small body, he did a quick check. Female. It figured. It was black and white with a dot on its left cheek and a kinked up tail. Bayou inbreeding at its best.

  ”You feed that one.” Eden passed him a bottle.

  The soft weight of the kitten settled into his palm. Shit. He was a killer and a hunter. He was no mother figure. The kitten eyed him balefully and then started sucking with one eye cracked.

  “So how old are you?”

  “Three hundred years old.” He gave her the truth.

  “Wow.” She tucked the kitten back in with its siblings. “That’s a long time.”

  She had no idea.

  “What will happen to the cats?”

  “Eenie, Meanie and Mo?” She grinned at him. “I’ll find them homes. Are you in the market?”

  He didn’t know what the right answer was. Her clinic was peaceful with the late afternoon sun turning the place gold as the animals rustled in their cages. Nothing bad here.

  “You wan’ me to have one of your cats?”

  She looked wistful. “I can’t keep them all.”

  Keep me.

  He opened his mouth—although, fuck, he had no idea what to say—but then she veered off on a tangent. “Why does finding a mate matter so much to you?”

  “You don’ dream of a white dress and happily ever after?”

  “Not really. I’ve got my practice.”

  She sounded so damned happy about that. He wasn’t a go-to-church kind of male and he’d never thought about walking a female down the aisle. He didn’t do rings and proposals. Not because he didn’t have the cash or the words, but because that wasn’t how he worked.

  He took.

  He never gave.

  He’d talked her into two days and, suddenly, that was nowhere near enough time to learn what made Eden happy. The clock was ticking on their relationship and she’d made it clear that sex wasn’t enough. She wanted more and he didn’t know if he had it in him to give.

  He was a shit-ass bastard. That was the truth, plain and simple. With each passing month, it grew harder and harder to shift back. He and Eden had laughed that night, although now he couldn’t remember why. He didn’t laugh much now and any pleasure he found was fleeting. He’d screwed his way through the bayou, pushing himself into sweet, wet female holes for the moment of hot contact. For that brief moment of contact in which he knew he wasn’t alone. He’d envied his brothers their mates. Not nice, but he didn’t have to admit that truth aloud. Although he would have if asked. Jackson Breaux didn’t lie.

  Chapter Nine

  They went home after work. Home. Jackson liked that word. He had his place with his brothers out in the bayou, but that was simply the spot he crashed, when he needed shuteye and a safe place to lay his head. He didn’t have to worry about skin hunters sneaking up on him there. Eden’s place had definitely not earned a place on the safe list. Since last night had been quiet, however, and Luc hadn’t sent up a distress signal, it should be okay.

  The small cottage perched near the edge of the river. It was also full of comfortably rundown furniture, tiny knickknack things, gauzy curtains and way too many cats. Indoors, outdoors—his Eden practically had her own zoo. Hell, he was scared he’d crush something.

  She’d picked up take-out Chinese on her way home and, while he got out her plates and silverware, she’d changed into pajamas, a thin tank top with cotton pants. For a moment, he considered skipping dinner altogether and stripping those sexy pants right off her. The faded fabric clung to her ass and her thighs and, if pink flamingoes hadn’t been his thing before, they sure were now.

  He’d arranged the cartons on her dining room table. The table was a big ugly piece from an antique market. He knew that, because she’d told him, patting the pockmarked surface proudly as she waltzed by en route to her bedroom. He had no idea where she’d gotten the girly armchairs she’d stuck at the head and foot, but he definitely wouldn’t be shopping there. She also had a pair of benches on either side of the table and damned if he didn’t feel like Goldilocks because none of these chairs were just right.

  When she came out, he handed her a plate, all loaded up with Chinese. It was a shame about her table. The surface was nicked up and battered, but someone had painted it with a glossy varnish. He’d bet it was her. It was the kind of thing he could imagine her doing, salvaging something good from the b
ad.

  “If you wan’, I could smooth this down some.” Or just buy her a whole new table.

  She flashed him a grin. “I like it because it’s banged up. It comes with a story.”

  “Uh-huh.” He’d still buy her a table. “You’re goin’ to love my brothers then. They’ve got more scars and stories than your table.”

  She nudged the Kung Pao toward him with her chopsticks. “Am I going to meet the rest of them?”

  “Whenever you wan’.” He grabbed a fork and dug in. If she wanted to twiddle with sticks of wood, that was fine. He’d starve before he got enough in if he did that.

  “Okay.” She sucked in a breath. “I’d like that.”

  Well, yeah. He stuck the fork on his plate and wrapped his hand around hers. He’d like that too. He wanted to do couple things with her.

  “As soon as you want,” he said. “You’ve met Luc, but the rest of them are up at the camp. They were givin’ us our space last night, but they’d love to get to know you.”

  She nodded and rummaged in the box, looking for some bit she liked best, and right then and there the world went to hell. The wide picture window in her living room exploded in a spray of glass. Rolling, Jackson took her with him as he flipped her table over onto his side.

  Goddamn, but he hated vampires.

  Something sharp and hard hit her table and cartons of Chinese flew everywhere. Jackson’s face peered down into hers, fierce and intent on hers. “You stay down. You hear me, Eden?”

  He didn’t give her time to agree, palming his handgun and a knife as he vaulted over her table. Right. Stay put. She compromised by peeking.

  The snarling sounds of animals fighting filled the room, along with the unmistakable sounds of fists meeting flesh. There was a wet tearing sound and then something large and unhappy bounced off the table and back into the fight.