by Thalia Eames
He looked around at the mess he’d made. A huge hole had turned the front wall into a disaster zone. The furniture lay scattered in various states of demolition and the dust still hadn’t cleared. Not to mention, Cash’s claws were out. His brother looked ready to slice him up.
Lucky for Daz he’d made a lot of money in the SMMAL, the Shifter Mixed Martial Arts League. A wave of guilt so strong it temporarily clouded his vision hit him the moment he thought back to his days in the ring. Daz breathed deep for a few moments and forced himself to forget all the damage he’d done, especially to one family in particular.
Daz needed his personal form of therapy. Lifting his helmet, he did a quick sweep of the room, allowing the mini-camera inside to view the wreckage. That done, he turned his helmet-cam back to eye level and started vlogging.
“Nope, this isn’t a disaster movie, Dazzlers. But it is the scene of my latest crime.” Daz swung his helmet around to focus on Cash, without showing his brother’s extended claws, of course. He wasn’t about to expose the existence of shifters.
“That guy over there, the one who looks like he’s about to rip my head off. That’s my little brother Cash.” With the camera pointing back at him, Daz continued, “He’s about to rip my head off. Did I mention that?”
Daz paused to cast a side eye in Cash’s general direction. “So, if I get dismembered before I can make amends,” he said, gesturing at the living room, “this vlog will be known as ‘Oops I Did It Again – Part 4’. And because I won’t get to tell you this with no head and thus no face…” Daz warmed his expression up by twenty-five degrees, bit his lower lip and whispered with all the sex-drenched melodrama he could,“…remember me in your fan-fic.”
Click. He turned the camera off and tossed the helmet onto his front seat. His YouTube subscribers were going to love that shit.
Now that he’d had a therapy session, Daz’s mind reached back to his original train of thought. Yeah, he’d made a lot of money in the fight game and even more after he’d retired and started designing vehicles for high-end buyers. Even though this latest crash through his brother’s friend’s house would cost him, he had enough money to take care of it.
Daz strolled over to stand in front of his brother. He’d already reached into his pocket for his credit card when Cash called him a “fucking idjit”. True, but his brother didn’t have to be so emphatic about it. Daz could fix the house and the furniture. He’d always been good at fixing the things he broke. It didn’t hurt that most people called him gorgeous. He wasn’t pretty like Cash but he did all right. Good looks, money and charm went a long way. Two of the three would make any life sweeter. Daz happened to have the trifecta. He shrugged and his brother called him an idiot again.
Before he could retaliate by sweetly whispering angel baby, the same way their mother did (that always pissed young Cassius off), Daz got a good look at the woman standing beside his brother. A magnetic pull immediately snapped in place, as though an invisible bond stretched between them, steadily drawing him toward her. He took a step back but the attraction yanked him two steps closer.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” he murmured under his breath. No, really. He hoped the diminutive yet curvy Latina at Cash’s side would be obliged to let him bed her in every which way. Hell, he’d be willing to kneel down and pray for it. Even though he knew, with his condition, disease, curse—whatever the hell it was—he’d never be able to physically touch this beauty. He couldn’t touch anyone, hadn’t been able to for five long years. So the dream of having the gorgeous little woman in his bed wasn’t going to happen. He cursed. Clearly the lone-wolf status he’d once claimed for himself had become his prison. Figuratively, anyway. Wolverines were typically loners but he was human too and humans needed touch.
He couldn’t reach out and caress the silky texture of her skin but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t look. Daz moved closer, tossing a glance at his brother. Cash looked good. That satisfied Daz so he could focus on the woman. Gazing at her again, he could see she came from Asian descent, not Latin. He inclined his head and took in her features. Ah, a Filipina, one with a sassy blue stripe dyed into her thick, pure black hair.
Damn it. In that moment he’d give anything to be able to touch this woman—to reach out and run his knuckles across her cheek, to whisper his intentions in her ear and see if she agreed. If so, he’d sweep her into his arms and carry her off to one of the dozens of bedrooms he knew waited inside this big house. But he couldn’t. The pleasure of touch had been taken from him. There’d be no intimacy with anyone, let alone his gorgeous little Blue.
And why had he started thinking of her as his? She never would be. He didn’t even know her, but for reasons he couldn’t name, that pissed him off.
Chapter Three
An arc of red slashed down, whacking Daz on the upper arm. It didn’t hurt but he backed away before the skinny, golden-brown grandma with vengeance in her eyes could pop him with her weapon of choice again. She lifted the duck-billed, red umbrella overhead and swung on him. Daz dodged it, looking to his brother for help. “Whoa, grandma, slow down.”
Cash grabbed his arm and pushed Daz behind him. That hurt. Needles stabbed into Daz where his brother’s hand made contact with his skin. Cash immediately realized his mistake and pulled away, but kept his body between Daz and the crazed grandma.
“Gran, stop.”
“Get out of the way, Cash, that demon tried to kill us,” grandma said in a crisp, snappy voice.
Cash kept body blocking the path of the umbrella and grandma kept swinging. Daz covered his smile with a fist. Grandma looked like a samurai and Cash started to look a lot like sushi. As the scene went on Daz couldn’t stop himself. He burst out laughing. Both Cash and grandma stopped to stare at him. The umbrella trembled in midair, which made the whole thing more ridiculous. Daz had to sit down or fall over. Then something miraculous happened. The woman, the pretty Filipina with the blue stripe in her hair, started laughing with him.
“Gran! With your hair up in that bun while you slice at Cash with your umbrella, and Cash dressed in all black,” Blue said, “you’re like cosplayers from a shonen anime series.” She coughed on dust but didn’t stop giggling. “Hilarious.”
Daz gazed at the woman. He knew she was perfect on sight.
Cash chuckled. Gran clapped her hands. “Can I be Lady Tsunade from the Naruto series? I always wanted to be a clan leader.”
Daz and the woman of his dreams—he smirked to himself at the thought— said the same thing at the same time, “Those are ninjas. You’re a samurai.”
His Blue (why did he keep calling her his in his head?) caught his eye and grinned at him, surprise and delight lighting her expression. At that moment he decided to make her his. He didn’t care how. Especially since they’d never have intimacy through touch. He knew that. But he needed something, so he’d have to settle for becoming her best friend in the whole wide fucking world. Eventually he’d be so intimate with her mind and her spirit that the physical wouldn’t matter. Yeah, it’d be torture to be that close to her and not be able to hold her, but he didn’t care. He already knew she was worth it.
Cash jerked a thumb over his shoulder and told Gran, “That’s my brother, Dashiell.”
Gran’s mouth rounded in recognition. “Oh, that one.”
“And what does that mean?” Daz started to rise. “What the hell did you tell them about me?”
“That you’re a destructive SOB with a need for attention.” Cash then held out a hand to help him up.
Daz refused, but denying his brother such a simple show of affection hurt more than any touch could. He changed his mind and took his brother’s hand. The pain of needles erupted through his skin a second time. On impulse he hugged Cash hard and fast. Gritting through the pain, Daz stepped back and winked. His brother mirrored the expression.
“Missed you.” He wasn’t sure which one of them sa
id it, but they both felt it. Daz hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his younger brother until now.
Cash still walked with a limp and Daz had never forgiven himself for not being there to take that bullet in his brother’s place. Not that Cash had ever blamed him. Daz had been in another city altogether, but big brothers always felt the guilt of not being there to make everything okay.
They gave each other a once over, both doing a thorough sight check to make sure the other had taken good care of themselves. The warmth of his brother‘s affection filled Daz up for a split second before the aftermath of touch kicked in, the raw agony of sandpaper made of broken glass scraping across his skin. Cash’s dark eyes filled with confusion before he remembered Daz’s condition. “I’m sorry,” Cash said. “Sometimes I forget.”
Daz shook his head. “It was my call and well worth it.”
Cash grinned slowly. “Since you don’t mind the pain, should I rub your ridiculously silky tresses like Mom does?” Cash threw his hands up and clasped them against his cheek before he went into a spot-on impersonation of their mother. “Oh my gawd, it’s like butter. See how it goes from maple syrup dark to honey gold on the ends. Cash, come feel your brother’s hair, it’s like silky brown butter.”
Daz knew his brother teased him to put him at ease. It worked. “Stop it.” Daz held up a single finger. “I love that woman but she knows how to make a man feel like a stuffed bunny. That or make him want to shave his head.” He pushed his sleeves up before he said, “And don’t touch me. Not if you enjoy the benefits of breathing.”
“Eh.” Cash shrugged, with no signs of fear. “I’ve kinda gotten used to the oxygen equals life equation.”
“Good choice.” Daz nodded. Cash mirrored him but dropped the grin. “I really don’t care why you came, I’m just glad you’re here.”
Daz nodded again. He’d missed his brothers too, along with their mom, their pops, the whole family. But not being able to touch them made him feel more like an outsider than being adopted ever had. At every family gathering for the last five years an invisible bubble formed around him. Hugs were aborted mid-embrace. Kisses floated on the air around him. Kids would hug his leg only to be snatched away by concerned kin. Daz had stopped going to family events because the invisible bubble of his condition isolated him in a way being alone never did.
Shaking off the memory, he ditched the sentimentality and gestured to Blue, who now stood next to the samurai grandma. “Why don’t you do something I’ll actually enjoy,” he asked his brother, “and introduce me to Blue over there.”
They walked over to the two women. “The one who tried to take your head off is Gran. I don’t blame her either. She’s Garrett’s grandmother-in-law.”
Gran nodded at him and said, “What are we going to do about this hole?”
Without missing a beat, Cash said, “Dashiell is going to pay for everything.”
“Yup, I am.”
Cash continued. “He’s also going to oversee the repairs himself.”
“I am?”
“Yeah.”
Although he fully intended to draw up the plans and hire a trusted restoration crew to fix the damage he’d done, Daz didn’t like being forced to do it before he could offer.
Gran looked skeptical. “I don’t know.”
Her doubt bothered Daz more than Cash forcing his hand. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, “and I’m better than most restoration specialists.”
Cash took the pause as an opportunity to move on. “This is Jules.” He wrapped an arm around Blue’s shoulders. “Juliana Perlas.”
She smiled in greeting. Damn, just looking at her did things to him he couldn’t explain, like the stars had aligned. Her large, light-brown eyes with their slight taper at the outer edges, the fringe of her lacy lashes, lush lips and thick hair flipped to one side, falling in midnight waves over her shoulder. Everything about her did something to him.
“Jules,” Cash continued. “This is my brother Dashiell Warren, but our family calls him Daz.”
“Good to meet you, Daz.” Jules held out her hand and he watched her soft, rose-gold fingers hang there for a second. He hesitated. Daz did not want to associate her with the pain he knew taking her hand would cause, but he couldn’t resist her.
Her lips compressed while he paused and her brow furrowed. She’d mistaken his hesitation for rejection. Cash stepped in. “Daz has a medical condition. Touching other people brings him physical pain,” Cash said. “Where are your gloves?” He directed the question to Daz.
Daz nodded back toward his Hellion. “The more I get used to my condition, the less I need them,” he replied, refusing to take his eyes off Jules. She smiled but looked to the left and tapped her right foot.
Cash noted their chemistry with suspicion. “I’m going to get Gran out of here,” he said. “Be right back.” Neither of them answered. Neither even looked Cash’s way. He studied them for a while, then escorted Gran out of the house, leaving Daz and Jules alone.
Their connection stretched taut between them, reeling Daz in heartbeat by heartbeat.
“Dashiell, huh? Are you a mystery like Dashiell Hammett?” Jules asked.
One corner of Daz’s mouth turned up in a slow smile
“I meant to say mystery writer,” she corrected. “That shit came out all wrong,” she mumbled under her breath.
He decided to ignore the correction and answer her original question. “Mystery? No. I’m a hardboiled thriller.”
She took in a sharp breath. “You, sir, are a Prince of Hell,” Jules said offhandedly. He almost burst out laughing again, but she wasn’t done. “I know this because your smile is beautiful and absolutely wicked all at once.” She tugged on her right ear. “And if I smile back, I’m willing to bet I’ll be signing my name on the dotted line…in blood.”
He had no idea what the hell she was talking about. He didn’t care, as long as she kept talking to him, kept making him…he searched for the right word. Feel. She could do or say whatever she wanted to him as long as she continued to make him feel. He moved a bit closer, the space between them now only inches. “Well, that answers my next question.”
Jules licked her bottom lip nervously. “What’s that?”
Daz moved in closer. “You looking for a thrill, Jules?”
“Nope,” she said with an over-dramatized shrug. Then she sucked her lips in tight and examined the ceiling. Daz looked up with her at the same time a loud crack sounded. He watched as one of the ceiling beams split and shifted.
Shit.
Daz had no idea whether the house would hold or crush them. He had to make a decision fast. One thing for sure, he couldn’t risk their lives by going deeper inside Averdeen Manor.
He scooped Jules into his arms and spun toward the front of the house. The ceiling shrieked and sagged, loose debris raining down. Daz took two big bounds and leaped through the hole he’d made in the living room. Once he cleared the broken walls, he curled forward and around Jules. His body somersaulted when they hit the ground, taking most of the impact and protecting her from harm. He ended up flat on the front lawn with her on top of him.
Daz peered back over his head just in time to watch the entire living room collapse. Which normally would’ve kept his attention. He’d never seen part of a house cave in before. It made for a hell of a viewing party, especially upside down. But none of that mattered, mostly because he had Jules in his arms. Her large eyes, the color of a Tiger’s eye gemstone, blinked in disbelief. Her soft curves pressed to his front, and he felt no pain. Shock momentarily paralyzed him. There hadn’t been a single time in the last five years that touching someone or having them touch him hadn’t been a curse—until right here with this woman. Pleasure pulsed everywhere their bodies met. He’d been starving for the smallest gestures of skin-to-skin contact and she suddenly gave him what he hadn’t had in so long. Juliana
Perlas was magical. Daz stared at his Blue Fairy, amazed. Then his dick got hard.
Chapter Four
Jules watched part of Averdeen Manor crumble and she became acutely aware of two things. One, her friend Lennox, or maybe her friend Garrett, Lennox’s husband, was going to eviscerate Dashiell Warren. They might even tag-team him. Two, Dashiell Warren had a huge dick. She knew this because the entire hard length of it was pressed into her belly and it felt hella good.
The thrill of having flown through the air in the arms of the most dangerous man she’d ever met as the ceiling closed in on them turned her on. So Jules did the only thing that made sense. She shimmied higher up Daz’s muscular body, grabbed both sides of his bearded face, and kissed the shit out of him.
She had to kiss him now since he might get eviscerated soon. It’d be a shame not to enjoy as much of him as she could before Lennox ripped his guts out.
When their mouths first met he froze, tensing beneath her, his muscles rippling. Jules sighed and sent her fingers on an exploration from his glorious beard to surfing over the curves of his ears, down his neck, sweeping along the corded strength of his shoulders, stopping to play across his sculpted collarbone, and down to the perfection of his chest. Then she nibbled his bottom lip, stroking his hardened nipples at the same time. He groaned, going into action mode. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other he used to ease her legs down to either side of his hips so she straddled him. His hardness nestled against her heat. Jules could feel how much he wanted her, and that knowledge did wicked things to her mind, igniting sensations low in her body.
