Stand & Deliver

by Rhenna Morgan

  He let the door swing shut behind him and the lock shot home like a gavel.

  Judd shifted to the opposite corner, keeping as much distance between him and Beckett as he could and lifting his hands, ready to engage. “I’m not exactly some slacker you can take easy.”

  “God, I hope not,” Beckett said. “You’d take all the fun out of it for me.” He cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck from side to side. “But the fact is, you cut my woman deep. That means I’m not walkin’ out of this room until you bleed in equal measure.”

  Epilogue

  “Admit it,” Gia said with that triumphant grin she always got when she’d mastered something new. “I kick flipping pancake ass!”

  Beckett kept his mouth shut, folded his arms across his chest and leaned into Haven’s kitchen counter, appreciating the sweet image of his woman in flannel sleep pants, a goofy Christmas graphic tee, and her hair still mussed from sleep. The bulk of the Christmas morning feast was already over and most of his family back in the big living room playing with Levi and Mary, but Gia had been adamant about making Beckett’s food and he wasn’t about to quash her fun.

  As if to prove her newfound expertise, she gave the flat griddle a toss and sent the plate-size flapjack soaring well over her head.

  Manning cleanup detail at the kitchen sink, Sylvie glanced over her shoulder at Gia and said, “Lass, ye could bungle boiling water and still make it look amazing with that rock on yer finger.”

  As she had countless times since he’d given her the early gift last night, Gia paused and studied her left hand, giving her ring finger a wiggle. “It is pretty, isn’t it?”

  Ninette took the pan Sylvie handed her and started drying, a whole lot of good-natured ribbing in her voice. “It’s a self-defense weapon.”

  Gabe paused in her trek from the table to the sink, her hands loaded with dirty plates, and ogled the ring over Gia’s shoulder. “I don’t know how you’re not knocking it on everything. How big is it?”

  “Three carats,” Darya answered before Gia could. She poked her fork already loaded with a big bite of pancake toward Beckett for emphasis. “You wouldn’t believe how many stores Beckett dragged us to before he settled on that one.”

  “And she loved every minute of it.” Knox pushed his empty plate out of the way, leaned over and stabbed a bite off Darya’s plate. “She also scored three pairs of shoes and four purses. Who the hell needs that many shoes or purses?”

  Darya shoved his hand out of her way then shifted her body so it semi-guarded her plate. “Your wife, that’s who. You play with your firewalls. I’ll play with my accessories.”

  “Oh, I like playing with your accessories, too. Never doubt it.”

  “Uncle Beckett!” Levi’s voice cut through the arched kitchen entry all of a second before he pounded into sight, his face flush from his syrup and Christmas morning high. Only the bottom half of his Iron Man pajamas were still visible, the top that went with it covered up by the one-size-too-large black Led Zeppelin concert tee Jace had got him. “You gotta come see what Uncle Axel got me!”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Sylvie muttered under her breath. “What are the odds it’s something Nat won’t want to string my boy up for?”

  “A hundred to one if you’re lucky,” Ninette drawled almost as quiet.

  Gia chuckled, slid the last of Beckett’s pancakes onto his plate and handed them over. “I’m thinking you’ll need to eat these in the living room. You can’t make him wait to show you after that kind of intro.”

  Beckett took the plate with one hand and pulled her close to his side with the other. “Well, then lead the way, buddy. I’m armed and ready to ogle your loot.”

  Fortunately for Nat—and Sylvie—the gift wasn’t anything bad at all. Shocking? Well, yeah. Everyone knew Axel was a music lover, but very few people knew how deep that love went. How skilled Axel was at making it in his own right. But Levi was about to find out—just as soon as Axel was done tuning the new guitar he’d bought him.

  Beckett settled into the corner of one leather couch opposite the fireplace and Gia curled up next to him. “Axel plays guitar?” she nearly whispered.

  “Oh, yeah. Sings like you wouldn’t believe, too, but it takes an act of God or a whole lot of Scotch to make it happen.”

  Across the room, Ivan was kicked back in an oversized club chair, more relaxed than Beckett had ever seen him, nursing a cup of coffee and watching his daughter crawl all over Sergei as he read yet another Christmas story.

  It was weird. The vast majority of people who met Sergei kept a healthy distance between themselves and the outwardly smooth Russian. As if some innate instinct pegged him for the predator he was and insisted on staying outside of killing distance. Even Darya who’d known him for years and considered him her brother was careful to offer respect and only approached him when she was sure he was open to it.

  But not Mary. To her, he was her own dark knight and she had no compunction whatsoever in demanding he dote on her every spare second.

  And Sergei? He did everything she asked, his mouth usually crooked in a wry smile that said he not only appreciated her spunk, but couldn’t quite comprehend how he’d ended up so smitten.

  One thing was for sure. Any man that came knocking when she hit dating age better have balls the size of Texas. Getting through Beckett and his brothers would be bad enough. Getting past Sergei would be murder.

  Pancakes demolished and another cup of coffee down, Beckett shifted on the couch, pulled Gia between his legs and guided her so her back rested on his chest.

  She dropped her head back on his shoulder and beamed a sweet smile up at him. “This is really nice.”

  “Not like Christmas at the Sinclair house?”

  “God, no!” For all of a month, Gia’s mom had stayed in Gia’s town house while her attorney made Reginald’s life a living hell. Then she’d decided she’d missed Atlanta and moved back home, but had built enough courage in her time away to get her own place well outside of Reginald’s influence. The divorce wasn’t final yet and would probably take another twelve months, given the assets at stake, but Colette was getting stronger every day, due in no small part to Gia, Ninette and Sylvie’s influence. “I’m not sure anybody but me and my dad have ever seen my mom in her jammies.”

  “Well, we could fix that. Invite her out next year.” Beckett toyed with the ring on her finger. “You given any thought to what kind of wedding you want?”

  She laced her fingers with his and shifted enough to meet his gaze. “Something simple. Something that fits us.”

  “Does that mean fast is an option?”

  She lifted their joined hands and pressed them against his chest. “You’re just rushing to make sure I don’t change my mind.”

  “Which proves I’m a smart man. So? When and where?”

  Cocking her head to one side, her eyes got distant. “I don’t know. Maybe someplace new. Ireland? Scotland? Someplace we could explore together?”

  “We can do that.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, more peaceful in that moment than he’d been his whole damned life. Like his SPD didn’t even exist. He wasn’t stupid. Knew it would rear its ugly head again, but for now he just went with it. Took it for the peaceful respite it was. “I’m still a fan of fast, though.”

  She giggled, but when her gaze dropped to the ring on her finger the smile on her face slipped a little, shifting to something wistful. “My Christmas present was lame compared to yours.”

  He shouldn’t have laughed. Regretted it as soon as the hardy sound rumbled up the back of his throat and drew a whole lot of attention their way. He still had a hard time reining it in, but he lowered his voice and smoothed his hand up her spine. “Woman, you’re out of your mind. I got exactly what I wanted.”

  “You wanted a new Glock? I mean, I’ll grant you it’s a sweet piece, but it c
an’t stand up next to a honking diamond.”

  It was pretty big. One of those rings that not only said, This one’s taken, but added a big fat Get the fuck back on the end of the message.

  “I gave you sweaters,” she said. “And technically that was just me making sure you had lots of soft stuff around when I wasn’t there to take the edge off.”

  Soft was a huge understatement. Wherever it was in Scotland Sylvie had found them, those sweaters nearly outdid the sweet stretch along Gia’s inner thighs. And that had fast become one of his favorite spots in the whole damned world, so the comparison was truly saying something.

  But Gia was still missing the point. He cupped the side of her face. “Gorgeous, you’re forgetting the big gift. The one you gave me last night.”

  She frowned and cocked her head. “I didn’t give you anything last night.”

  Nutty woman. Totally missing the point and so damned stubborn she was gonna make him spell it out. He dipped his head, teased her lips with his own then rested his forehead against hers. “Yeah, you did. You gave me you.”

  * * * * *

  Visit www.rhennamorgan.com to find out more about her books!

  Read on for an excerpt from Rhenna’s first book in a hot new series.

  Author’s Note

  I first learned about Sensory Processing Disorder from a friend of mine who traveled abroad with me and had more than one uncomfortable run-in with odors that barely registered on my radar at all. Shortly after that adventure, another friend shared with me of her child’s reliance on touch to soothe him when anxious.

  This sent me diving into the world of SPD. What I found was that there are many manifestations for the disorder with the strength of each manifestation varying from person to person. So, while I’ve portrayed Beckett as craving an array of sensory stimulation to cope and maintain balance, that’s only one of many possible presentations. For some, it’s a simple aversion to certain fabrics, itchy tags, or overpowering scents. For others, it’s discomfort with too much noise or crushing crowds. Like our personalities, each situation is different. Sadly, as of this writing, SPD is not recognized as a medical diagnosis and getting help is difficult. My hope in incorporating this broad-spectrum disorder into Beckett’s story is to raise awareness and understanding.

  Acknowledgments

  Gia and Beckett’s story was a heck of a ride that went down smack-dab in the middle of a whole lot of personal upheaval. Honestly, their story kept me sane, so the first high five for this book goes to them.

  There were also several people who helped me fill in the blanks and made the whole Haven crew be their badass selves—Gary Glanz, Eric Fusion, Clark Brewster, Kevin Judice, and tech dude extraordinaire, Jay Donovan.

  I also want to thank the growing ranks of Rhenna’s Romantics. You ladies are a freaking HOOT! (And you post some damn fine eye candy, too.)

  For Cori Deyoe, Juliette Cross, Kyra Jacobs, Audrey Carlan, Dena Garson, Lucy Beshara, Jennifer Mathews, and most important, my amazing daughters—you ladies are the bestest of the best. Honest to God, I’m not sure how I’d navigate these books (or life, for that matter) without you.

  And hell’s gonna freeze over before I miss giving Angela James a great big fat virtual squeeze. I wouldn’t be living in such an alpha-rich alternate reality if it weren’t for her. When it comes to champions, she gives the brothers a run for their money.

  Enjoy this excerpt from Guardian’s Bond

  Now available from Carina Press and Rhenna Morgan.

  Priest Rahandras has lived with the darkness trapped inside himself for years. Betrayed by his own brother and forced to watch his clan’s brutal annihilation, the only thing Priest wants more than to escape the curse that haunts him—as both man and beast—is to rebuild.

  Until the mate he’s longed for walks into his life with an elder from his past. She’s everything he’s wished for, and the key to the clan’s very survival.

  Chapter One

  Safe with the Keeper. Guarded from the dark.

  Over and over, Priest repeated the protective words in his head, merging his magic with the ancient symbols he inked at the base of Jade’s nape and down her spine. Black and red swirling links with shades of gray joined each sacred talisman. No one would hurt her. Not her or Tate so long as he drew breath.

  His forearm ached from his constant grip on the tattoo iron, but the steady drone and vibrations from the coils as he worked deepened his trance. Beneath his free hand, Jade’s body trembled from the rush of pain-induced endorphins she’d endured for nearly four hours.

  Safe with the Keeper. Guarded from the dark.

  He swiped the excess ink away from the intricate design. The same intertwining scroll and symbolism that marked his shoulders, back and collarbone—and likely the only thing that had saved his life and sanity in the early days. Had Jade’s and Tate’s parents not guarded him after his brother’s betrayal and marked him with the sacred symbols, the darkness would have consumed him entirely.

  “Priest?” Jade pushed to her elbows on the padded table and peered over one shoulder. “Are you done?”

  The art was perfect. A sufficient start in hiding her from the threat he sensed closing in. A malevolence he’d first felt with an unexplained summons to the Otherworld. Never since he’d been named high priest had he ever been called there so abruptly. Without warning or purpose.

  Priest set his equipment aside and peeled off his latex gloves. As eerie as the memory had been, even if he covered Jade in ink, it wouldn’t feel like enough protection. “For now.”

  Jade grinned, swiveled on the padded table, and snagged her blue tank top off the counter next to them. “How does it look?”

  The tiny chimes above the front door jingled before he could answer, and Tate stalked through, his hands laden with yet another haul of the fast-food breakfasts Priest detested. The coffee, though—that he could use in abundance.

  Through the open door, morning sunshine glinted off the storefronts on Eureka Springs’s Main Street, only a few cars and Harleys motoring down the main drag. Not surprising for a Thursday, but by late tonight or early tomorrow they’d be flooded with tourists and bikers soaking up the spring weather.

  Tate kicked the door shut and threw the bolt. The fifties throwback neon clock showed straight-up eleven o’clock, only one more hour until the shop opened.

  “Tate, check it out.” Jade shifted in front of the full-length mirror behind her and held the blue hand mirror higher for a better angle on Priest’s work. “Mine’s as badass as yours and Priest’s.”

  Ignoring Jade, Tate set the orange and white paper bags and cardboard drink holder aside and stalked to the window overlooking the street. “Hey, Priest. Have you got an early gig today?”

  A prickling awareness danced across his skin. Not danger or evil. Either of those would have stirred the darkness trapped inside him. Instead, it lay still and dormant like midnight fog. He turned from cleaning up his tools. “First client’s at noon. Finishing up that biker from Fayetteville I started last weekend. Why?”

  Tate twisted enough to meet his gaze. “’Cause there’s a little old lady and two people about my age outside in the parking lot. They keep staring up here.”

  Jade sidled up beside Priest. “You sure you didn’t schedule an early one?”

  Hell yes, he was sure. Appointments before or after hours were only for customers needing more than art. Those needing protection, peace or comfort woven into his coveted designs. “Get away from the window.”

  Tate stayed put and studied the parking lot. “Looks like the old lady’s coming in.”

  “Get away from the window. Now.” Two weeks he’d waited, petitioning the Keeper as much as he dared for guidance. For some insight into the danger he sensed or Jade’s subsequent terrifying vision. The Keeper’s only answer was a promise that messengers would be sent
to guide him, but his instincts screamed to brace and prepare. “Stay behind me. Say nothing until I know who they are.”

  “But I locked the door. We’re fine.”

  The bolt flipped before Tate finished his argument, the remnants of air Priest used to unlock the mechanism fluttering the paper want ads on the corkboard beside the door.

  “I want to know who they are, but I want you out of the line of fire,” Priest said.

  Footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs to the shop’s raised patio, a light tread that would have gone unnoticed to someone without the benefit of a predator’s keen hearing.

  The door latch clicked and the chimes overhead tinkled as an older woman eased through the door. Her attire seemed more on par with something from Jade’s closet—comfortable cotton pants the color of a robin’s egg and a fitted white T-shirt. Around her neck hung three charms, each dangling from simple black leather cords.

  Charms fashioned in the symbols he’d honored since birth.

  His gaze snapped to hers. Deep blue-gray eyes he remembered from his youth stared back at him, the woman’s shoulder-length gray hair framing her delicate face. “Naomi.”

  “Eerikki,” she whispered, the emotion behind the sound so deep and fraught with bittersweet memories his knees nearly buckled. Countless nights he’d wondered if she was safe. If she and her children had survived the night his brother murdered so many—Naomi’s mate included.

  Before he could shake the surprise that held him rooted in place, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. “I’d hoped you were alive. I tried to track you through my visions for years, but couldn’t find you until a few weeks ago.”

  The messenger he’d been promised.

  Finally.