by Anne Marsh
She knew what the vamps wanted, but the wolf had been an unknown. A predator and a killer, but one temporarily on her side. It might even be human, a shapeshifter like the two Breauxs she’d met. Maybe. She couldn’t take that chance.
“Run,” she reminded herself. One quick scramble up the bank and she was running through the bayou. Her borrowed sneakers sank into the ground with each step, the heat pressing down on her. Dawn likely wouldn’t come for two hours or more. She couldn’t be sure, but the night was still pitch black, the only light pinpricks from the stars in the sky. She’d always had excellent night vision and her eyes adjusted quickly.
The sense of being watched grew stronger.
She picked up the pace, fighting the urge to look back over her shoulder.
She had three older brothers who were cops and weekend hunters. She knew how to survive in the bayou. The minute she turned to look, she’d face-plant. Hard. Instead, she focused on keeping her breathing steady and searched out the stars in the night sky. West meant heading towards town. Towards the damned Breaux brothers who had dragged her into this.
Killing them was pure temptation.
Thirty years she’d kept her head down and her nose clean. Then one bad night on the Bayou Sweetie where she’d been working with the boat’s captain, Mary Jane Johnson, and the paranormal had found her with a vengeance. Anger kicked in. There had been nothing accidental about that night. The Breauxs had badgered their way onto the crew. They’d wanted on and they’d got it. When the vamps had shown up, the bayou bad boys hadn’t been one bit surprised. They’d known what was lurking in the bayou—and they’d kept that knowledge to themselves. Mary Jane had better be safe, because Riley would kick Dre and Landry’s asses if she got back. When she got back.
“Ten miles,” she promised herself. The distance was quite possibly twenty, but she’d lie to herself and pretend the smaller number was the likelier. She’d hit town, no problem, and make time for coffee, a hot shower, and possibly a complete breakdown before she dealt with the vamps.
And Ameline.
Ameline wasn’t a stranger, not entirely, which made her wonder just where the AWOL vamp had gone to pick up his replacement snack. She recognized Ameline’s face from the women’s shelter she ran and that scared her in a way nothing else had.
A low grow jolted her out of her thoughts. Her pulse hammered. Not a gator. Not anything she’d run into before, but the rough noise sounded feral and positively inhuman.
The underbrush crackled behind her and she made her first mistake. She turned.
Yellow eyes stared back at her.
She wasn’t alone. Her wolf was back.
###
Dag lunged, deliberately falling short.
And Riley Jones whirled.
Ran like she had hellhounds riding her sweet ass.
Christ. He loved this. On this one thing, the man and the wolf agreed: there was nothing sexier or hotter than the chase. His last hunt had been just weeks ago, when the blue moon had brought Rafer’s Mate to the Pack. Rafer’s female had run, laughing and swearing, daring them to catch her. Catch her they had. That night had been the best sex he’d ever had, sharing Lark with Rafer. This female smelled even better—and she was all his. He was the only wolf out here. His paws banged up and down, closing the empty space between them. Blood thundered in his ears, pooled in his groin. He’d run her down, pin her.
Take her.
No, the man protested. Protect. Lark had run as a game. His Riley ran in fear. That wasn’t right either. The wolf whined, slowing reluctantly, tail down. Dropping to the ground, he rolled onto his back, showing her his belly.
She stopped and eyed him suspiciously, clearly feeling more secure now that she had twelve feet of empty ground between them. Which was nowhere near enough space. If she called him, he’d come no matter how great the distance. Nothing would keep him away if she needed him.
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not Dag and not Landry. Last I heard, there were six of you. Are you one of the others?”
He yipped and rolled to his feet.
“Uh-huh.” Hands on her hips, she broadcast delicious feminine irritation. “Thank you for the assist back there, but I’ve got this from here.”
She didn’t have “it” and she definitely needed his help.
He growled softly, stretching his senses and testing the bayou air. They were still alone for now.
“You think the missing vamp is coming back?” She sighed. “Yeah. Me too. I was hoping your brothers would give me some pointers there.”
He could. He debated shifting, but he had no clothes handy and he knew women looked at him and saw a mean son-of-a-bitch. She seemed okay with the wolf, so he’d keep that form for now. He didn’t want to scare her anymore than he already had. Instead, he cautiously trotted up to her and nudged her leg with his nose.
“You think it’s time to get the hell out of Dodge?” She laughed, but she started running again. “You make one hell of a rescue party.”
They ran for hours, the wolf loping easily by her side. A different kind of run, the man realized dimly, from that night chasing after Lark, but strangely satisfying nonetheless. Better in fact, because they ran together, next to each other. Her hand and her leg brushed him occasionally. When she stumbled, slowing, he urged her on, pressing against her legs. She started at each small night noise, her head turning and her eyes quartering the cypress stands. If she’d been a wolf bitch, her ears would have been flat back and her hackles up. She didn’t feel completely safe, not even with him standing between her and the rest of the bayou.
He scented the air again, checking, but the second vamp hadn’t returned, hadn’t come for her yet.
It would.
For the next twelve hours or so, however, Riley had herself a safety pass. Already, the air around them lightened and warmed, the sun coming up fast. Vamp number one would be smoking in just a few minutes and full daylight would buy more time because the vamps couldn’t take sunlight.
The wolf was hard, ready to take its mate. He could protect her, even if taking her back to the Pack now wasn’t an option—it was too dangerous. His Pack had two new mates—the too tasty Lark and the shyer, sweet Mary Jane who’d begged him to come out here and track down Riley— and he’d cut his own throat before he endangered them.
So he’d steer Riley back to one of his bolt holes and cover her trail. Riley Jones had better be ready, because he was the big bad wolf riding her ass and it was time to make her his.
###
Run. Air tore in and out of Riley’s lungs. There was no time to stop, only time to move, her feet pounding over the bank, her eyes picking out the roots and sinkholes, telegraphing desperate messages to her legs. Left. Right. Avoid.
She didn’t want to know if the vamp had picked up her trail and she definitely didn’t want to question the wolf’s determination to stick by her side. The animal was strangely companionable, a warm, solid presence in the dark.
Twist. Feint. She doubled-back, crossing the bayou to erase her scent. Whenever she slowed, another growl and a gentle nudge got her moving again.
Plus, the goddamn fucking moon lit up the sky, the rays blue in a way that made no sense at all. A blue moon was simply the second full moon in a calendar month and looked like every other moon—because it was the same moon. This moon, however, looked like Mother Nature had taken a paintbrush and daubed on the blue but good. Whenever Riley paused, however, her wolf companion growled and pressed her onward. Out of better choices, she went on, pausing only to snag a heavy stick from the ground before making for the bank. Wherever the wolf was leading her, she’d feel better with some kind of weapon.
“I’m calling a pit stop,” she snapped finally. There was lighter air up ahead and she made for it. Tearing through the brush, she slid down, down, down. Pinwheeled her arms and jammed the stick into muddy water in front of her. Gravity still put her on her knees, watching for telltale vee of crocodiles. No way she ended up a gator H
appy Meal now. She’d come too far.
Salvation appeared in front of her in the form of an abandoned houseboat, the wood sides silvered by weather. Spanish moss draped the roof in an otherworldly curtain. A long-ago owner had scrawled a name on the side, but the paint had peeled away in long strips, leaving only the faintest ghosts of letters. Bingo. Abandoned boats and cabins littered the bayou and Port Leon’s residents made good money hauling them out for scrap. This wreck was unexpectedly pretty, like a ghost ship.
The houseboat was currently beached, though, like an ancient Goliath. Too bad, because otherwise she might have got the motor up and running. The boat could have been her ticket out of the bayou. Instead, she’d make a stand here.
She splashed through the three feet of water separating the boat from the bank and climbed on board.
The bushes exploded as the grey wolf caught up with her.
Ears back, the animal snarled, all two hundred pounds of powerful muscle on high alert. She’d seen grey wolves. This one was impossibly large and completely unnatural. He shifted back in a brutally quick process. The wolf shook itself, bones snapping and cracking as fur slipped away to reveal skin. Sun-bronzed, male skin stretched over an impressive set of muscles. Even as her own bones ached in sympathy, she clenched her teeth. Definitely a werewolf.
The man standing there so magnificently naked and unconcerned on the bayou bank clocked in at well over six feet. He was big, all hard muscles and chiseled abs. A beautiful package—she’d admit that much—but his face was pure warning. From the dark hair buzzed brutally short against his scalp to the cold eyes, everything about him reminded her of coming face to face with a deadly predator at the zoo—and discovering the walls and cage bars were gone. The handful of yards between her and the bank were nowhere near enough space.
Had she really believed her wolf meant to help her?
“Pit stop,” he agreed, but he didn’t crack a smile.
Chapter Three
What kind of game was he playing?
Riley had barely formed the thought when he leaped effortlessly from the bank to the deck, the sound of his bare feet slapping against the deck jolting through her.
“No more runnin’,” he growled and advanced towards her.
Yeah, like that was happening. She’d had her fill of being told what she could and couldn’t do.
“Stop right there.” She brought up the board she’d grabbed, pointing the nail-spiked end towards his ridged and muscled chest. Her other hand clutched the homemade shiv. He had beautiful skin, a dusky gold-brown that made her want to lick him from head to foot, concentrating hard on all the sexy bits.
Her attraction infuriated her, so she raised the board higher. “Who the hell are you and why are you following me?”
He stopped his slow forward prowl. Leaning against the railing, he crossed his arms over his chest like they were making chitchat at a bar. He didn’t look like his nudity bothered him at all. Irritation filled his voice. “I’m Dag Breaux. You’re Riley Jones.”
She didn’t care how many shades of pissed off he was. She figured she had the first claim on mad right now, given what she’d endured at the hands of the vamp. Playing the victim card wasn’t in her nature, but Dag definitely didn’t have anything to complain about.
When she didn’t respond right away, he merely stood there and stared at her. Yeah. Like there was nothing awkward or out of the ordinary about him being butt-naked in the middle of the bayou or the whole wolf-shifting thing. Although naked was a good look on him. She forced herself not to look lower to verify she’d seen what she’d seen. Dag Breaux was hung. Unfortunately, he still hadn’t so much as cracked a smile, but she got the feeling he’d registered her interest. She just didn’t know if he cared.
She hadn’t seen this Breaux before. Sure, she’d joked and teased with Mary Jane about the sexy brothers, but fantasies were one thing. Reality was another— and the Breaux brother currently staring her down was six-plus feet of hot, Cajun trouble. There wasn’t an inch of give in him, but she’d bet there was plenty of take.
There were six Breauxs at last count and they had a compound way out in the bayou. Finding it was damned hard, although not too many people tried. That was one thing she really loved about the bayou. Not only did everyone know each other—and had each other’s backs—but they left you the hell alone unless there was an explicit invitation. So, no, she hadn’t popped in to borrow a cup of sugar or chat the Breauxs up. She hadn’t been invited and she hadn’t wanted to be. The Breauxs didn’t mess with anyone, they kept their word—and they kept to themselves. Naturally, Dre and Landry’s brother had to be a bigger, meaner version of the twins—and hotter than hell.
Yeah. The hotness she could have done without.
The wolf part was just another bonus fuck-all.
“Fantastic.” Her eyes narrowed. “You want to tell me what you’re doing here, Dag Breaux?”
“In the bayou?” His eyes travelled over her body. She knew she wasn’t looking her best because a week as a vampire’s prisoner would do that to a girl. But hell, she hated the fact she even considered what she looked like. So she pushed back, hard.
“Sure,” she drawled. “In the bayou. Two steps behind me, growling like a rabid bitch. Standing on this deck when I told you to back off and get lost.”
“I’m rescuin’ you,” he said. He didn’t blink, his dark eyes staring her down like a powerful predator spotting prey. The man clearly hadn’t heard the saying about gathering more flies with sweet than sour. Not that she wanted to be the fly in this particular analogy, but he definitely need charm lessons.
She rested the board on his chest. Figured he didn’t so much as flinch. Maybe she’d get his interest if she dropped the board south, but some trouble a girl didn’t need to borrow. “I don’t need rescuing,” she said, just to be perfectly clear.
He lifted one powerful, bare shoulder. “Don’ look that way to me. You’re goin’ to have a vamp ridin’ your ass when the sun goes down.”
She could and did take care of herself. She dug the board into his chest, careful to angle the nails away from his skin. She shouldn’t care if he got hurt or not, she told herself. She’d warned him and he’d chosen to stick around. If he got hurt, that was his fault.
“I got away from said vamp,” she pointed out.
He wrapped a hand around the board. “I helped.”
They wrestled silently for control of the board, except it wasn’t much of a contest. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. He was also bigger and stronger, although she was fairly certain he wasn’t meaner, even if he was a Breaux and part wolf. She had plenty of mean in her. After a minute, though, he simply tugged and the board flew out of her hands, landing on the other side of the deck. A quick twist of his wrist, a little firm pressure, and the shiv followed.
“Fuck you,” she snapped, hands flying to her hips.
She wanted to go home and she’d give pretty much anything to forget the last week. So far, she’d managed to avoid thinking about exactly what had happened while the vamp had held her hostage, but those memories would eventually demand attention and she didn’t want to be anywhere near this man when she curled up in a ball and gave in to the urge to sob. It was okay to cry. She knew that. But she also knew, having grown up with three older brothers, how presenting a strong front was critical. If she gave this man an inch, if she let him think for a moment she wasn’t in control and in charge, he’d take charge.
And that would be a bad thing.
No matter how sexy rough-and-tough Dag Breaux was, she didn’t need him taking charge of her life—and his kind always did. She’d watched Dre and Landry try that with Mary Jane and pretty much succeed. She wasn’t Mary Jane, however. She wasn’t going to let this man stomp all over the houseboat she’d just purloined.
“Sure, boo,” he drawled and this time she saw something in his dead, dark eyes. A heated, sexual interest that had parts of her perking right up. It just figured he�
�d take her curse at face value.
He clearly needed explicit instructions, she decided.
“Thanks for the assist with the vamp—now get the hell off this boat,” she said sweetly. She would not back up. If he thought he was getting sex here, he could think again. This wasn’t a pick up and she definitely wasn’t putting out. Unfortunately, a little voice whispered, his dark, impassive face said maybe he wouldn’t care much what she wanted. Maybe he’d be all about convincing her she wanted what he did. Just the thought of having hot, raw, animal sex with Dag Breaux on the deck of some godforsaken abandoned houseboat made her want to scream. She wasn’t sure, either, whether or not that scream would be in any way due to anger. “And find some clothes. You’re scaring half the bayou.”
He shrugged like casual nudity was just part of who he was. “That bother you? Because you’re my mate,” he growled, prowling closer. Something hard and hot brushed her belly. “You’re goin’ to see all of me, boo.”
“That’s it?” She was sick and tired of all the alpha crap stinking up her bayou. First Dre and Landry, then the vampire. Now she had this thick-headed, arrogant, too-sexy man to deal with? Fate was so not on her side. “You run me for miles, announce this is your misguided notion of a rescue attempt, and then give me one-word answers? Well, I’ll tell you something. I don’t need this. I don’t need you. All I need right now is to go home—and you can take a walk in the bayou.”
“You need me,” he said, but she had no idea what he meant. Because he couldn’t possibly mean sex. She’d known him all of five minutes and she didn’t do need anyhow.
So she cocked her head and slapped a hand against his chest to stop his forward advance. Don’t look down, she warned herself. An incredible heat radiated from his body. So good, her traitorous body whimpered. Part of her—the weak part—wanted to curl up against his broad chest, demand he put his arms around her. Instead, she dug her nails into his chest and pushed. His erection jerked. Wolf boy liked their proximity. He didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. No, he just stood there like a great immovable wall.
