by Jodi Vaughn
The thought of her had him hard in three seconds.
The fact that a perfect stranger could do that to his body had him white-knuckling the sheets while his breath turned to a pant.
“She’s only a woman. Nothing special.” He moaned and swiped his hand across his sweaty brow. The air conditioning in the room was out, and the ceiling fan was going the speed of a turtle.
Something about Catty sent his instincts on high alert.
With Catty, he knew he needed to be wary. He needed to be watchful. He needed to be on his guard.
“Fuck it.” He threw back the sweaty sheet wrapped around his legs and sat up. The aged wooden floor on the bottom of his feet did nothing to cool his body.
What he wouldn’t give for a five-star hotel.
He stood and stalked toward the window. Opening it, he stuck his head out. A sticky slap of humidly hit him in the face like a wet rag. Even after the sun went down, there was no cooling off in the Crescent City.
The smells of asphalt and Cajun food and the occasional putrid whiff of someone losing their dinner after too many drinks hit him like a wall.
He rested his hands on the top of the windowsill and stared down into the city that did not sleep. Neon lights from bars and glow sticks around the necks of tourists lit up the street while music blared from nearby clubs, street musicians, and passing cars. It was almost three o’clock in the morning, and there was still a steady traffic of people looking for their next adventure.
He remembered a time when he’d actually enjoyed visiting New Orleans, back when he was a kid.
His family had been in Louisiana for years and was highly thought of. His father, Robert, had inherited his wealth through the family shipping business and the railroads. He was always out of town on business while his mother had stayed at home and raised their two sons. She was the Martha Stewart of werewolves. She kept a perfect house with maids and a chef. And like clockwork, every three years she would have the house completely redecorated.
When she wasn’t decorating, running a charity, or hosting parties, she was busy chasing after Lucien and his brother who were always hell-bent on doing whatever they wanted and always getting into trouble.
But that was a long time ago.
A time before his world had gone upside down and his family had been destroyed.
Now all New Orleans was to him was a reminder of pain and devastating loss.
He rolled his shoulders to alleviate the tightening in his flesh that started at his shoulder blades and traveled down to his waist.
He growled, pushed off the window, and headed for the bathroom. He’d shower and get ready to meet with Catty, if she didn’t bail.
As he crossed the room, his reflection caught his eye.
He stopped and turned on the lamp. The light illuminated the room in an eerie play of dark shadows and shapes. He turned his back to the mirror.
He narrowed his eyes as he gazed upon the scarred flesh that had been burned so many years ago by one of his own blood. His deformity had caused him such great pain and loss.
The mottled skin seemed to tighten as he took in the length of his scarred back.
The pain of being burned had faded, but the hatred against his brother still burned bright.
No one had ever seen him naked. Not even the other Guardians. He would wait to work out until the gym on the base was empty, and even then he’d dress in a long-sleeved tee.
His secret had almost been discovered by Jaxon.
Jaxon had stumbled in one time after working a forty-eight-hour shift and discovered him lifting weights.
Lucien had soaked his shirt when Jaxon had slapped him on the back. The asshole had apparently been too damn exhausted to notice the unevenness of his flesh. After cracking a few jokes, Jaxon had headed back to his room.
It was something Lucien kept to himself. He couldn’t trust his secret with the other Guardians. He’d be an outcast. He’d experienced it with his own family.
He wasn’t about to experience it with his Pack.
He’d learned the only person he could trust was himself.
Chapter Eight
“Coffee and beignets, please.” Catty gave her order to the waitress at Café du Monde. The restaurant was already buzzing with the voices of customers ordering the sugary doughnuts and chicory coffee. People didn’t visit New Orleans without at least one trip to Café du Monde.
She didn’t usually treat herself to the city’s renowned delicacies, but with her meeting with the stranger in only a few hours, it might be her last day alive. So she was going to enjoy her last meal.
There was something lethal about the Were’s eyes, the way he carried himself. Fear had paraded down her spine when he’d grabbed her, but when he’d started talking about her family, that’s when shit had gotten real.
Her family knew where she was. They knew what she was doing. She couldn’t imagine her father allowing her to come home, not with the amount of shit she’d landed in. She was covered in it.
She studied the plate of beignets and the cup of black coffee in front of her. She stirred an ample amount of creamer and sugar into her coffee to mask the bite of chicory until the coffee was the color of caramel.
She took a sip of the hot brew. “Ah, that’s good.”
She bit into the confectionary sweet and sat back in her chair, watching the city come alive around her.
The majority of the shop owners had not opened for business, and traffic was sparse. The morning had a soft gray glow that covered the sidewalks in a dreamlike state. If she were a tourist visiting the city, she would be enjoying herself. But she wasn’t. She was a captive.
Her stomach clenched and she dropped the half-eaten beignet on the plate, her appetite gone. In a little while she’d be meeting the werewolf in Jackson Square. She wasn’t sure what he had to tell her, but she knew it had to be bad. Like a phone-call-in-the-middle-of-the-night bad.
Maybe her dad was sick? Or her mom? Maybe something had happened to Zane?
She wiped the sugar off her fingers with a napkin and thought about her big brother.
She’d been a pain in his ass when she was a kid. She knew because he’d told her plenty of times. She’d always gotten the feeling Zane was more tenderhearted than he let on, that he put on a tough facade because her dad expected it.
Her lips tugged into a smile as she thought about the times she’d sneak into his bedroom when it would storm outside.
She’d always hated thunderstorms. She wasn’t scared of the thunder. No, she was afraid of the lightning. It would flash at the right time on the right shadow and she would start imagining her dolls coming to life and trying to climb into her bed to hurt her. She would pad quietly over to Zane’s room and crack open the door. She’d done it so many times he wouldn’t say anything, just wave her in with his hand and pull back the cover. They’d sleep back to back until the early morning, and then she’d head back to her bed before her parents would wake up.
She’d had a picture-perfect life growing up. She’d lived in an affluent neighborhood and made friends easily enough. But she didn’t really find her best friend until the day she met Skylar.
Skylar was beautiful with bright red hair and big, curious eyes. She’d seen her out on in her front yard in front of her trailer. Catty had cried and screamed to play with the little red-haired girl until her mother had finally relented and turned the car around. Even at young age, Catty had known how to get her way.
That moment had led to Skylar coming over to her house about every day.
Skylar had a totally different personality from hers. Skylar liked to color-coordinate her Barbies’ clothes, making sure everything matched, while Catty preferred them to look dramatic, mixing colors to make them stand out. Skylar would put away the toys when they were finished playing, while Catty didn’t want to waste time doing something so menial. She always had another game to play, another adventure to explore in the backyard, or another way to irritate Zane. She didn�
�t like to wait or she might miss out on something.
At the time she didn’t realize Skylar was different in other ways too. While Catty was a gray wolf, Skylar was a red wolf. Red wolves were mortal enemies of the gray wolves.
Race didn’t matter to her. Skylar was her friend no matter what.
Although her friend had never spoken about her home life, she knew it wasn’t ideal. Not by any means.
“I thought I said Jackson Square.” The deep masculine voice made her jump in her chair.
“You said six thirty. It’s only six.” She pressed her hand against her chest as her heart thump-thump-thumped against her palm.
“No time like the present.” He grabbed her elbow and brought her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t touch me.” She didn’t keep her anger out of her voice. She snatched her arm out of his grip and gathered up what was left of her breakfast to toss it into a nearby trash can.
He shadowed her every step, the heat of his body almost suffocating.
She turned and glared. “Haven’t you ever heard of personal space?”
“Making sure you don’t run.” His tone was hard and flat and unapologetic, making him an easy wolf to hate.
“Where would I go?” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth and hit all too close to home. She curled her fingers into tight fists, her hands thrumming with each pulse of blood. “It’s not like I could outrun you.”
“Let’s go.” He motioned with his hand toward the direction of Jackson Square.
She hurried across the crosswalk before the light turned green. She didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to see whether he was following. She could feel him.
At this early-morning hour, few people were hanging around. Artists hadn’t even started setting up their highly coveted places around the square.
“Here is fine,” he growled.
He stopped behind the shadows of the shrubbery and trees in an attempt to hide his large frame and crossed his arms over his massive chest.
He was large, larger than the majority of the Weres she’d been around, with large broad shoulders that moved with the agility of a large lethal safari cat.
He wore dark jeans, black biker boots, and a white T-shirt stretched within an inch of its life. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to show off his muscled body or if the department store didn’t make a shirt in his size. With his size, it was probably hard to find clothes that fit.
He still had on the same damn black leather jacket she’d seen him in last night. A bead of sweat curled at his temple, and she knew he had to be sweltering. If not now, he would be once the sun was high in the sky. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need the coat for intimidation. He was intimidating without it.
She met his gaze and shifted her weight, digging the toe of her tennis shoe in the dewy grass and staining the white canvas green.
His dark blue eyes, almost a cerulean color, bore into hers. His face was handsome enough, but the glare he was giving her tempered her thoughts on his physical appearance.
His raven-colored hair brushed the tops of his shoulders. A rogue breeze ruffled his locks, sending his male scent directly to her personal space.
Her body tensed, and something stirred deep in her belly. Shivers raced through her system, and she wasn’t sure whether it was from fear or attraction. He smelled like no wolf she’d ever come across.
Right then, she knew she was screwed.
***
“Avocado flavor. Can you believe it?” Jaxon held up a woman’s green thong and waved it under Barrett’s nose. “I thought they only made candy-flavored thongs.”
“You would know.” Barrett gritted his teeth and shoved the lingerie out from his line of sight. It was bad enough he was trying to keep everyone in the dark as to where Lucien was, but now Granny had invaded the barracks, armed to the teeth with edible undergarments.
“They make all kinds of flavors, not just candy,” Granny stressed to the group of interested Weres. “There’s chicken and waffle, taco and refried beans, and don’t forget bacon. If you can put it on a potato chip, then they can put it on a thong.”
The slight headache that had started at his temple when he’d seen the old lady barging in was now building up to a migraine. She’d said she was dropping off some snacks for his Guardians.
He hadn’t realized she was dropping off thongs.
“Bacon’s pretty good,” Jayden growled with a red thong hanging out of the corner of his mouth. His canine worked the garment like a dog working a barbeque rib.
“Hey, pair it up with this avocado and see how that tastes.” Jaxon tossed the green thong and Jayden caught it one-handed. Jayden stacked the underwear together and began to go to town on them.
“What did I do for karma to put me in this hell?” Barrett mumbled to himself. He had a lot of shit to worry about besides standing around all day watching Jayden slobber over a pair of panties. “Why would you even bring those here?” He shot the old woman a look.
“Because I ordered the jelly bean assortment of thongs and bras.” Granny pursed her lips. “Those idiots at the factory messed up and sent me the football fantasy ensemble.” Her eyebrows furrowed to the point they almost got lost between her wrinkles. “And my ladies don’t want a bunch of underwear that smells like a Super Bowl party.”
“I don’t know. These things are pretty damn good.” Jayden eyes glazed over as he finished off the crotch.
“That’s what you think until you see the reviews. There have been more accidents with this package of thongs than you can shake a stick at.” Granny propped her hands on her skinny hips.
“What do you mean?” Jaxon stopped chewing, dropped the underwear, and gave Granny his full attention.
“There are reports coming in by the droves that men are going wild with lust. Once they start eating, they can’t stop. Why, one woman in Mississippi got her big toe bit off by her husband who wouldn’t wait for her to pull her undies up. He smelled bacon and went in for the kill.”
Barrett felt a bit nauseated.
“What did the woman do?” Jayden asked as he reached for another pair out of the taco-flavored box.
“Apparently it wasn't the first extremity she’d lost. Lost her pinky finger when she was helping her husband set traps for nutria rats.”
“Damn, she got her finger caught in a trap?” Barrett winced.
“Not exactly. When she went back to check the traps there was a live nutria rat. That sucker latched onto her pinky finger and snapped it right off. Like biting into a candy bar.”
“Damn.” Jayden cringed but reached for another set of underwear, obviously intrigued by Granny’s storytelling.
“Now she’s trying to sue the company for an unsafe product and for being traumatized. Said her husband couldn’t help himself, he was attracted to her drawers like a bee to honey.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Barrett mumbled and scrubbed his hand down his face.
Jaxon snorted.
“Granny, please,” Jayden implored.
“I think she’s trying to make a quick buck. Any woman who goes trapping nutria rats with her husband knew what she was getting into when she purchased those bacon-flavored drawers.” Granny glared.
“So why did you bring them here?” Barrett rubbed the bridge of his nose. His headache was now approaching hurricane strength and he wouldn’t be surprised if he blew an aneurysm. On the bright side, if it did happen, he wouldn’t have to listen to Granny and her bacon-flavored thongs, and he would be put out of his misery.
“The company doesn’t want me to send them back. Said they’re not going to make them anymore. Too much bad publicity. So you lucky boys get them.” She picked up a cardboard box, opended it, and spilled the contents out onto the table. Colorful thongs— green, pink and red— decorated the table like a strip club on Mardi Gras.
“Try this. It’s the waffle-and-chicken flavor.” Granny held it out to him with a smile. “You look like a waffle-and-chicken kind
of guy.”
“I’m not.” He scowled, hoping to scare the old woman into quiet submission.
“Taco?” She offered him a red thong.
“No!” He shook his head and struggled to keep his voice calm. “Look, you can’t keep this stuff in here. I’m not running an adult store.” Besides, he had bigger fish to fry, like trying to keep his Guardians from getting skinned alive.
“I think Lucien would like the waffle.” Jaxon picked through the thongs spread out on the table. “Speaking of which, how much longer is he going to be gone?” He met Barrett’s steady gaze.
“As long as it takes.” He narrowed his eyes, daring Jaxon to push the issue. Silence stretched between them, and Jaxon finally shrugged and went back to eating.
“In the meantime, you boys eat up!” Granny clapped her hands and smiled.
Chapter Nine
“Let’s get this over with. I’m not going back to Jonesboro.” Catty lifted her chin and pointed her finger in his chest, despite the pounding of her heart. She wasn’t going to let some stranger roll into town and start dictating to her, no matter how big he was.
“What are you talking about?” His brows drew together and he scratched his unshaven cheek.
“I know my parents sent you to find me.” The desperate words seemed to echo and bounce off the shrubbery as she fought and failed to keep her voice confident. “You can forget it. I’m not going back.”
“Your family didn’t send me.” His tone, slow and deliberate, landed like a punch to her chest.
Her heart felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, and any moment she expected it would break out of her chest and land on the grass with a thud.
“They didn’t?” She cleared her throat and mentally shook herself. What had she been thinking? Why would they want her back if they knew what she was?
She could feel the heat rising in her face but forced herself to maintain eye contact.
“No, they didn’t send me.” He looked around and then narrowed his eyes at her.
“Then what do you want from me?” He might be hot as hell, but she knew better than to trust a handsome face. He was up to something.
