“Judith Shaw, Ray Marker, and Brent Roster. Tennyson Blakemore vanished a couple days ago. No one’s heard from him since.” Her lips pursed together briefly, and she seemed to be steeling herself for what she was about to say. “Does the name Carson Owens mean anything to you?”
Brock rolled the name over in his head for a few moments. “Your sister’s ex-husband?”
“You know my sister and her mates moved a small pack of lycans to Tennessee.”
The significance of the locations wasn’t lost on him. He’d never gotten the complete story from Moira, but he knew she originally came from a pack in Tennessee near the mountains. It didn’t explain how the information correlated to this Owens guy, though. Her sibling’s move came months before his departure. If Moira had brought it up, though, it had to be important. “What happened?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. I’ve heard bits of gossip here and there, but it’s all just whispers and hearsay.” The greens of her eyes darkened, and a mask of fury settled over her features. “He was an abusive piece of shit. That was the one thing everyone seems to agree on.”
Pushing off of the sofa, Brock knelt next to Moira’s chair and took her fisted hands in both of his. “It’s not your fault, Mo. You did the best you could.”
“I let him hurt her!” she exploded, the anger falling away to be replaced by grief. “I should have known! I should have seen it!”
She put up a good fight, but Brock was eventually able to wrestle the woman into his lap where he held her tight and rocked her from side to side. A heartbreaking sob echoed around the room when Moira stopped struggling and fisted her small hands in his T-shirt. Her face pressed against the side of his neck and her shoulders shook, but she didn’t make another sound.
“She’s safe now. That’s what matters, baby.”
“I was supposed to protect her.” Moira sniffled and pressed closer to Brock’s chest. “I was supposed to protect her.”
Crap, he was no good at this stuff. He didn’t know what to say, was afraid anything out of his mouth would only make it worse. Looking over to Koba, he pleaded silently with his eyes for the man’s help.
Smiling gently, Koba slid down to the floor and crawled over to them. He took one of Moira’s hands, untangling it from Brock’s shirt, and stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “Is your sister alive?”
Moira lifted her head enough to peek out at him. “Yes.”
“Is she loved? Happy? Safe?”
“Yes,” Moira whispered. “She was going to have a baby when she left.”
Brock could hear the smile in her voice and hoped she’d have a chance to get to know her sister one day, to be an aunt for the first time. There was no one else like Moira Gilson, and she deserved the world.
Leaning forward, Koba brushed a soft kiss over Moira’s cheek and wiped the tears from her eyes with his fingertips. “Then, I’d say you did your job. I’m willing to bet that no one knew he was abusing her until after the fact. Am I right?”
There was no verbal response, but Moira nodded, her silky hair rubbing against the underside of Brock’s chin. “I still should have known, though.”
“No one expects you to be perfect, kitten. You did the best you could.”
A very unladylike snort erupted from her nose. “Kitten?”
Koba winked and wiggled his eyebrows. “I told you last night that you fought like a hellcat.”
Some of the tension melted out of her shoulders, and she actually giggled at the silly endearment. Relief flooded Brock, and he pulled Koba to him by the collar of the man’s shirt and planted a grateful kiss on his lips. He was beginning to suspect there was something more between the two than just mutual respect, and he couldn’t have been happier about it. “Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you,” Moira agreed. “And can I just say that was freakin’ hot? Do it again.”
Koba laughed, grabbed Brock’s face in both hands, and attacked his mouth until they were both gasping for air. “Good?”
“Very.”
Moira sounded a little breathless herself, a fact Brock found interesting—and extremely arousing. He didn’t want to ruin her vastly improved mood, but he had to know. “What does Carson Owens have to do with anything?”
Leaning away, Moira made no move to break the hold he had around her waist, but waited for him to meet her gaze before she spoke. “He was a Shadow Walker.”
Chapter Five
“Damn it, Brock! I know what I’m doing. Just get out of here.”
“I’m trying to help. Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
“I’ll show you stubborn.”
The sound of glass shattering was Koba’s cue to once again rise to the occasion and intervene. The two were amusing from a distance, but being tossed in between them was exhausting. Shutting off the television, he pushed up from the sofa with a groan, and trudged toward the kitchen.
After their small breakthrough, he’d hoped things would calm down and get better. Four days later, not much had changed, though. Other than having to constantly play the referee, he was confined to the house. If he didn’t get out soon, he was going to go insane.
“What now?” he asked tiredly, barely glancing at the pair as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. “I thought you were supposed to be making dinner.”
“I was,” Moira growled. “Brock, however, thinks he knows best…as always.”
“Well, I’m right,” Brock argued. “You’re going to overcook the tortellini if you do it that way. Koba, tell her.”
Settling down at the kitchen table, Koba stared blankly at the wall across from him. His powers as an omega only worked to a certain extent on his mates. Plus, he felt it was a betrayal of trust to use his unique abilities on them. If something didn’t change soon, he was going to knock them both over the head and tie them up until they learned to play nice, though.
He was supposed to be the light of the pack. That was his job. His only purpose in life was to bring peace and happiness to those around him. Maybe he should have remained with his birth pack. As son of the alpha, no one had to claim him, and he didn’t have to hide who he was. With the Red Moon Pack, he had no familial connection with anyone, and as long as the alpha hadn’t claimed him, he was basically up for grabs.
It was all very confusing and made his head hurt when he thought about it. Moira was alpha by proxy, while Brock was the rightful alpha by birthright. Since the former alpha was only missing and not yet found dead, did that make him the true alpha of the pack? Since Brock had claimed him months ago—and he had the mark to prove it—he supposed that kind of eliminated his mate in the scenario.
“No, I’m going to bake the chicken.”
“It’ll be faster to grill it,” Brock argued. “I’m hungry and I want to eat sometime this century.”
“The recipe says to bake it.”
“Who cares? Chicken is chicken.”
“Don’t be an animal.”
“Fine. I’ll grill the asparagus.” Brock grabbed it off the counter, only to have it lifted out of his hands by Moira.
“What is your obsession with grilling?”
“I don’t know. I’m a man. That’s what we do. We grill shit.”
“Oh, yes,” Moira scoffed. “That makes so much sense.”
Back and forth they bickered until Koba thought his head was going to explode. It wasn’t in his nature to lose his temper or his patience, but he was sick of it. How much was he expected to endure? “Shut up!” he roared. “For Christ sakes, just shut the fuck up!”
“What the hell crawled up your ass and died?” Brock demanded.
“Seriously uncalled for,” Moira agreed.
Well, at least they had finally found some common ground. Figuring that meant his work was done, Koba abandoned his water bottle, pushed back from the table, and stalked out of the room. He wasn’t running away, and he wasn’t doing his best impression of a petulant child. He just wanted five minutes of quiet.
/>
Entering the bedroom he shared with Brock, he fell face-first onto the mattress with a grunt. The team had been patrolling night and day with the help of a few male members of the pack. Everything had been quiet, and there were no signs of the Walkers. Koba didn’t know what it meant, other than they’d be staying there indefinitely.
That wasn’t fair. He didn’t have anything against the town or the pack. Being locked away like a dirty secret and having to listen to the constant fighting was just making him grouchy. Already he was feeling guilty about his outburst. Tensions were high, and everyone was feeling the strain. He had no right to take it out on his mates.
That was another thing that bothered him. Every time he got closer to Moira, he could feel…something. It wasn’t a clear connection, and if he wasn’t looking for it, he’d probably dismiss it as mere physical attraction. It was the only way he knew to describe it, but it was more than lust or infatuation. What the hell did that mean?
A soft knock sounded at the door, but Koba ignored it. Brock would come in anyway or he’d leave. With the mood he was in, Koba didn’t really care either way.
“Koba?”
To his shock, it was Moira who called his name. “What?” His voice came out muffled against the mattress, but it was just too much effort to roll over.
The bed dipped beside him, and a shaky hand settled on his back, right between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Sighing in defeat because he couldn’t possible remain angry at her, Koba rolled to his side and tapped the end of her nose. “I know. I’m sorry, too. I guess I’m just not good company today.”
“I think you’re entitled. I’d be going nuts by now if I had to stay cooped up in this house with me and Brock.”
“You’re so beautiful when you smile.” She didn’t do it near enough in his opinion, but then again, there hadn’t been much occasion for it.
Her hair fell around her face as she ducked her head and blushed. The slight tint to her cheeks only made her more alluring. Brushing back a lock of hair, he skimmed his fingers down her jawline and urged her face up with gentle pressure under her chin. “Don’t hide.”
“Can you feel it?”
His skin tingled where they touched, so he knew exactly what she meant. It wasn’t a continuous stream of energy, though, more like low-wave pulses. “It feels broken.”
“How do we fix it?”
Hope blossomed in Koba’s heart. Moira had mentioned several times that Koba belonged with Brock, but it was the first time she’d admitted that there might be something between the two of them. “I want to try something.”
Though she looked confused, she nodded once. “Okay.”
Slowly, hesitantly, he moved closer until their lips were just a breath apart. The air sizzled between them, his pulse accelerated, and just like when he kissed Brock, everything disappeared except for the beauty before him.
Cupping her delicate cheek, he closed the small distance, brushing their lips together in just a ghost of a touch. Electricity thrummed through his body, and his wolf clawed at him, demanding he take more. Applying slightly more pressure, he traced the seam of Moira’s lips with his tongue, gauging her reaction while silently asking for entrance.
With a quiet gasp, Moira opened for him and tilted her head to the side to deepen the kiss. Their tongues met and twined, sliding together in a sensual duel, and what had started as a simple experiment quickly became heated and hungry.
The hushed whimpers and quiet moans had his dick hard and aching within seconds, and his wolf howled in triumph, pushing him to claim what belonged to them. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Moira was his mate, designed for him by fate to complete their circle.
“Mine,” they both growled in unison, breaking the spell that held them captive.
Pulling away, Moira stared back at him with big, wide eyes for the longest time. Then her expression softened, and her swollen lips quirked up on one side into a half smile. “Well, I guess we have an answer to that question.”
“Why was my favorite hoodie in the trashcan?” Brock held up a faded and tattered sweatshirt, petting it lovingly while he glared at Moira. “Well?”
“What were you doing in my room?” she shot back.
“Please,” Koba begged with a tired moan. “Don’t start again.”
Of course, they both ignored him. “What did you do to my shirt? You killed it.”
“Did you just answer your own question?” Moira jumped up from the bed and stomped over to Brock, poking her finger in the middle of his chest. “Stay out of my room.”
“Stay out of my closet.”
Fed up with their childish behavior, Koba rolled out of bed and left the room. Neither of his mates even noticed his departure. For the love of everything holy, he wished they’d just tear each other’s clothes off and find more productive ways to relieve all of that aggression.
Maybe he’d just go check on the team and find out if they’d learned anything new. If nothing else, maybe Casey would have a job for him to do. Anything was better than sitting around and waiting for his mates to implode.
* * * *
“Ugh!” Moira threw her hands in the air and growled. The man completely infuriated her, and worse, she knew he was doing it on purpose. “I don’t have time for this. I have to finish cooking d—shit!”
Shoving past Brock, she darted down the hallway toward the kitchen and skidded to a halt in front of the stove. All the burners had been turned off, and the tortellini sat in a colander in the sink.
“I didn’t do it. Whatever is wrong with it,” Brock clarified, “it wasn’t me.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“In that case, it was all me.”
Moira smiled in spite of herself. Then before she knew what was happening, she was leaning against the counter and literally falling over with laughter. Why was she trying so hard to fight the inevitable? Brock owned her heart and soul, always had, and no amount of denial would change that.
“What are we doing, Brock?”
Draping the sweatshirt over the back of one of the chairs, Brock shrugged. “Foreplay?”
It was such a typical male response that Moira felt another fit of laughter bubble up in her chest. “I’m serious,” she said once she got control of herself. “This isn’t us. With those things on the loose and all of these unanswered questions, we can’t afford to be fighting each other.”
“I don’t want to fight with you.” Brock moved a step closer. “Why was my sweater in the garbage, Moira?” By the time he’d finished speaking, he was standing so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. “Just tell me that one thing.”
“I didn’t want you to know.”
“Know what?” Brock took the last step, trapping her against the counter. “What didn’t you want me to know?”
With nowhere to run, no place left to hide, Moira had no alternative but to tell the truth. “I didn’t want you to know that I’ve worn that sweater almost every day since you left. I even blasted the air conditioner in the summer so I could wear it at night.”
“Tell me the truth, Mo.” His strong hands settled on her hips and jerked her closer. “Did you honestly stop loving me?”
Her heart beat faster, her breath hitched, and her throat constricted, making it almost impossible to form words. “You don’t just stop loving someone, Brock. I was angry. I wanted to forget you.” She sniffed audibly and slapped at his chest. “You’re like a damn leech, though. You burrow in and won’t let go.”
“Then why are you still fighting me?” His hands inched their way up under the hem of her tank top, the rough calluses of his palms smoothing over the skin on her belly. “Stop fighting me, Mo.”
Why was she fighting so hard to hold on to her anger? Really, Brock hadn’t done anything wrong—if he was telling the truth. She’d never known him to lie, though. He hadn’t forgotten her, had risked much more than his pride to come bac
k for her.
Dropping her brow to his chest, she rolled her head from side to side and groaned. “I have no idea. I guess it just seemed like the right thing to do.” She didn’t want to be one of those women who forgot every bit of hurt she’d felt just because her white knight had returned. In her desire to be strong and independent, perhaps she’d taken it a bit too far in the opposite direction.
“Stop being such a brat and kiss me. You always overthink everything.”
The minute she lifted her head, Brock’s lips were on hers, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth, reestablishing his claim. One hand tangled in her hair while the other fisted the fabric of her top against the small of her back.
It wasn’t sweet and gentle, coaxing, or hesitant. Brock dominated every aspect of the kiss, taking what he wanted while somehow making her think it was her idea. He’d always been tricky that way, but she’d never complain.
“No more, Mo,” he rasped as he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head up under his chin. “No more running. No more fighting.”
“We have to tell Koba.” Not knowing what his reaction would be was nerve-wracking, but it wasn’t about her. “He has a right to know about me. I can’t lie to my mate.”
“He’ll understand, and I’ll be right there with y—” Brock stopped abruptly, gripped her upper arms, and pushed her back from him. “Did you say mate?”
“Yes.” Warmth and happiness invaded her just thinking about the kiss she’d shared with Koba in the bedroom, and she shivered down to her bare toes. “Definitely our mate.”
Brock didn’t seem as ecstatic about the news as Moira had anticipated, however. “That’s great. I mean, really great.”
“Cut it out. What’s wrong?”
Brock glanced around the kitchen as though searching for the answer. “Where is he?”
Something tickled at the edges of Moira’s subconscious. “I think he left the bedroom when we were arguing.”
“Maybe he’s in the shower,” Brock suggested, though he didn’t sound very hopeful.
Ducking under Brock’s arm, Moira darted from the room, calling Koba’s name as she went. “Koba! Koba, are you here? Where are you?” Not finding him in any of the rooms, she hurried back down the hallway, colliding with Brock when he stepped out of the guest bathroom. “You don’t think he left the house, do you?”
Blood Rights [Wicked River 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 5
