by Anne Marsh
Turned and fled because right now all that mattered was laying hands on that gun and distance. Distance between him and her, distance between herself and the world of hurt he promised. Her feet hit the ground, and her boat was too damned far away. He knew where she was. She couldn’t hide. She sucked in air, pushed her legs faster. Run.
And behind her, oh God, behind her he laughed like this was fun and he didn’t mind at all if she did this the hard way. She didn’t look back because looking would slow her down, but a sharp yip of excitement and glee followed her as he watched her bolt. It was a mistake to run, but standing her ground was no better. The husky growl built into a long, low howl, and somewhere another wolf joined in, adding his voice to the building song.
He chased her, and even she knew he was simply playing with her, could have put an end to this at any time. He loped behind her, zigzagging over the terrain to let her get that little bit ahead of him and then he’d pick up the pace. His booted feet dug into the ground as he closed the gap he’d allowed to open. Confident. Sure. He knew exactly how to find her.
She turned the corner, her arms pinwheeling as she lost her balance. Slipped. Her hand and knee headed for the ground and then large hands wrapped around her waist, catching her before she hit. She screamed as those hands pulled her back against a hard chest, and the wild, male-and-mint scent of him flooded her senses. One arm pinned hers, and he squeezed. Not enough to hurt, not yet, just enough to cut off her SOS.
His mouth nudged her ear, forcing her head to one side. Exposing the long line of her throat to the sharp, quick sting of his teeth nipping at her skin.
“Caught you.”
Chapter Five
Dre looked at Mary Jane, and he wanted to touch. He wanted to kiss her, to lick those sweet pink lips of hers, and that was the worst mistake for a man on a mission. Mary Jane made him weak.
Hell, he stood here, boots sinking into the bayou mud, thinking about kissing her, about coaxing her respond to him, and he couldn’t not think about it. This was supposed to be simple. Get onboard Mary Jane Johnson’s boat and be ready for the blue moon.
He was more than ready to know which female was theirs.
It didn’t matter that Mary Jane smelled good enough to eat.
Right.
He gave in to temptation and inhaled, pressing his face against her neck. She squirmed, trying to get away. The little attempt failed of course, just left her more breathless from the hard band of his arm tightening around her waist while the metallic stink of her terror grew stronger.
“No.” She twisted, a futile movement that dragged her breasts over his arm. He was a bastard, but he wasn’t a dead bastard. Her soft, warm flesh rubbing against him was a standout moment in a night that had so far sucked. When he looked down, the dark shadow between her breasts was on display, too. Mary Jane was wearing a lacy bra that cupped and shaped her. It wouldn’t take much more than a second or three to slide his fingers beneath the sexy scrap, to trace the seductive hollow.
Damn wolf DNA. The wolf had some definite benefits, but some things—like sex and killing—were simpler for the animal. Too simple. Too cut and dried. He wasn't a rapist, and he was almost certain he still possessed some shred of common decency. Or honor. One or the other. He really didn't give a fuck.
Even if the man secretly agreed with the wolf that it was a shame to waste a woman this fine.
“You can’t do this,” she continued.
“Bet me,” he snapped.
She bucked hard in his arms, crying out. Hell, he was so far out of his league here, it wasn’t funny. To his surprise, though, he was whispering rough words, doing his best to fill up the silence between them. Over the pounding of her heart, he realized those words were reassurances.
“We got to get you back to the boat, sha. Get you out of here. Open water’s goin’ to be safer tonight.”
Finally, she wore herself out and went limp in his arms, panting. Hesitantly, he stroked a hand over her hair and cupped her jaw.
“Me and Landry, we’re not hurtin’ you. Never that,” he promised.
Mary Jane was all kinds of soft and pretty. Too nice. The nice ones always got eaten first in his world.
“See?” he growled against her ear. “This is why you don’ stop and lend a hand, honey. Bein’ nice gets you in trouble.”
“I was helping,” she protested and wriggled in his hold as she found a new supply of courage.
Dre shrugged because he couldn’t afford to care. “And now you’re in trouble. That was none of your business right there. You see the connection?”
She repeated her earlier plea. “Let me go.”
He stilled. “You goin’ to run on me again?”
Those words had Mary Jane pulling at his hands. That was both amusing—for him—and downright educational for her, so he let her. She went nowhere without his say-so.
“You give me a good reason not to run,” she demanded.
Hell yes. He couldn’t stop the crooked smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth, not even if he’d wanted to. “Because I wan’ to get you back on your boat, sha, not chase you all over this bayou. Another night, you wan’ to play those games, I’m your man. Tonight, though, we got ourselves bigger problems.”
“All right.” She licked her lips, and his eyes followed the movement. Yeah. He couldn’t wait to cover that mouth with his. “But you tell me now, Dre Breaux, what’s going on here.”
He compromised. “I’ll do that as soon as we get you back on the boat.”
With one arm, he pulled her up against his side and towed her along with him. When she squeaked out a protest, he looked down.
“You still got that blade of yours?”
The guilt on her face said it all. She’d dropped the knife, and she was unarmed. Hell, he could practically see the shame burning through her. His honey liked getting everything right, and this night was about as far from right as possible.
“No worries,” he said roughly and slapped his spare knife into her hand, wrapping her fingers around the haft. He figured she wouldn’t want the one he’d stuck the vamp with. “You take this one. Don’ stick me until we’ve got ourselves some daylight, okay?”
“You want me to stab you?” Her confusion was endearing. His longer stride ate up the ground, giving her no choice but to go with him. He had the boat in sight, and that meant their time together was at an end. He was already looking forward to getting her alone again.
“No, but you’re thinkin’ you wan’ to, and I owe you one for tonight.”
He raised a hand over his head, waving for Riley’s attention. With the pirogue long gone, the only way back onboard was through the water.
“Time to get wet,” he said, and to his surprise, her face heated up in a fiery blush. He’d figure out the cause of that delicious color later, but for now he needed to get her into the water. Since he was bigger and stronger, he had her waist-deep before she could so much as suck in a gasp.
“Wait,” she protested, and he shook his head, towing her forward.
“You goin’ to have to trust me, sha. Nothing’s gettin’ to you in this water. Now swim.”
His hand cupped her foot, pushing her forward. The water was warm and dark, hiding God knew what beneath the inky surface. The vamps didn’t swim, so that was one plus and left him merely wondering about water snakes and crocs. Two hundred yards had never seemed so far. He swam behind her, grabbing her foot and propelling her forward. She coughed, inhaling bayou water, but kept going. Good girl.
As soon as they reached the boat, she swarmed up the ladder, and he was right behind her.
“Go, go,” she screamed at Riley who had run to the engine. The motor spluttered and roared to life.
###
“We waiting on Landry?” Riley’s practical, calm voice cut over the motor’s racket as water bubbled around the boat. Mary Jane ran for the anchor, hauling it up. The chain burned her fingers because this was no time for slow and careful.
&n
bsp; She shook her head, not sure what kind of words could explain what she’d seen on the bank, including Landry’s absence. Riley, bless her heart, got the unspoken message and gunned the motor louder as she backed the boat out of the inlet where they’d tied up for the night. The back-up job wasn’t elegant, but only efficiency mattered now. Efficiency—and escape.
Behind her, Riley cursed. The motor eased off some. “Captain?”
“Back us out, Riley.” She wasn’t looking back and going all Lot’s wife. She wasn’t.
Dre cursed as the boat rocked hard, and something hit the bow, landing on all fours. Something not human and freakishly, horribly angry because the animalistic growl from its throat carried all too clearly over the boat’s motor.
Time froze.
“Ah, hell.” Dre pulled the hunting knife. “Too late to run now.”
She backpedaled, every instinct screaming run. Dre’s big hand was still wrapped around hers, his touch almost burning her. The heat coming off his skin was one more impossible thing in her fucked-up, hell of a night.
The thing crouched on the Bayou Sweetie’s foredeck didn’t belong in the bayou. Straight out of a nightmare, the unwanted visitor more than cleared six feet, with a pair of powerful shoulders and the muscled thighs that had devoured the distance between the bank and the boat. She’d never seen anything jump like that and could live without a repeat. Hell, seeing one of these balanced on her pirogue earlier had been bad enough.
No, the only label she had for this thing was trouble. The pale skin looked like something fresh dug from the grave, an unhealthy kind of white glinting wetly beneath the edges of the real pretty, silvery furs wrapped around its forearms and chest. It straightened, finding its footing, all teeth and blades and hostile. Long canines flashed, and there was no missing the threat in the hiss that leaked out of its mouth, like a cottonwood winding up to strike.
Dre pushed her behind him, putting his large body between her and the creature. The boat lurched as Riley worked the motor again.
“Breaux,” the creature rasped, stalking forward. “You’re out of time, boy.”
“What is that?” The words burst from Mary Jane’s mouth. This wasn’t the time for chitchat—she knew that—but who had that kind of trouble dogging their asses? Because whatever it was, it knew Dre.
Dre ignored her, his attention focused on their unwanted visitor.
“Whatever light you’ve got,” he gritted out, “you point those beams at the vamps, okay?”
Her brain shut down at vamp. This was bayou territory, sure, and voudou country, but even here vampires were impossible. Evil, blood-sucking undead? Not in the state of Louisiana’s welcome-to-the-bayou brochures.
“Riley,” he roared. “You point that spotlight at anyone who comes onboard.”
Riley’s weak agreement floated towards them. Her mechanic was feeling overwhelmed, too.
His head swung towards her. “And you, Mary Jane? You do what I say, or you and me are goin’ to be havin’ words later.” His low growl warned he meant business.
His calloused fingers slid away from her wrist. Not willingly, she suspected, but because he needed both hands to fight. That was okay. They could discuss Dre’s dominance issues later. Right now, she scrambled for the locker where she kept the shotgun and a pair of handguns.
When Mary Jane passed her friend, Riley’s face was pale and set, but she hadn’t taken her hands off the wheel. She might be in shock, but the other woman was holding it together as she repositioned the boat, the bayou water churning around them.
“We’re discussing working conditions later,” she called, as Mary Jane shot past her, “if it turns out I’m not certifiable. The word hostile comes to mind.”
Her heart pounded, her pulse slamming into overdrive.
The growling picked up behind her, followed by the hard slam of bodies colliding. The deck juddered as someone went down. Dre spat a curse, so he wasn’t dead. Not going to think about that.
She got the locker open. The twelve gauge was unloaded. Fuck fuck fuck. Hands trembling, she grabbed a box of ammo. Handgun or shotgun? What did you use when the world had gone to hell?
The boat lurched again. “Boarders,” Riley hollered over the whine of the motor and swung the boat in a long, slow arc. Too slow. They were pointed out towards open water now, if they could clear the mile of bayou waterway.
Shotgun. Decided, she upended the gun and aimed the shells towards the ammo tube. The tremble in her fingers, however, meant she missed her target, the shells dropping and scattering over the deck.
Memories swamped her, followed by the sharp prickle of fear. She’d been in this place before. Heard her father’s angry voice and that unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh. That childhood part of her wanted to slip over the Bayou Sweetie’s side and run and run through the bayou. She was a hider, not a fighter. This mess unfolding on the deck of her boat wasn’t something she could do again. As a child, she’d concealed herself in closets or under the bed, wherever she could find. She’d squeezed into the smallest of spaces because anything she could do to prevent him from discovering her and to keep the anger away was a good thing.
She didn’t get to hide tonight.
Grabbing more shot, she loaded. Buckshot, because she’d come prepared for gators, and now it was #4 shells to the rescue. She hoped. She jammed extra shots into the pockets of her shorts. Five shots before she had to reload. The horrific noises behind her picked up.
Turn around. Get in the fight.
She couldn’t do it. Her feet stuck to the deck like she’d grown roots. Behind her, the growls and curses picked up volume. Blows landed. She had to do this. Go over the side and take her chances in the water, or turn around and see what she could do here.
Dre cursed, more fiercely this time, and her ballsy, take-no-prisoners Riley screamed, a cut-off, angry bellow of rage. This was her crew. Her boat.
She turned. Dre grappled hand-to-hand with one of those dead-looking vamps. A second vamp lay motionless on the deck. And more were climbing over the railing. The motor choked and stalled, and they were still too close to the bank.
Dre’s hunting blade flashed, punching through skin and bone. The vamp’s neck flopped, and bile filled her mouth, acrid and familiar. No. Raising the shotgun, she braced her leg. The boat’s churn made aiming difficult. Hitting Dre accidentally would be a colossal mistake, since right now he was apparently on her side.
Movement nearby pulled her attention away from the hand-to-hand. Another vamp leapt from the bank to the boat. Twenty feet and he cleared it effortlessly. Instinctively, she swung the shotgun around and fired. The recoil slammed into her shoulder as she pumped her first two rounds into the vamp. Crimson sprayed, but the vamp kept right on coming.
“Nice shot, bébé. Bet you’re enjoyin’ the job right now, aren’t you? Real glad that you took that contract to come on out here?” The way the vamp spoke, his injury hadn’t bothered him a bit.
“Back off,” she warned.
“Not a chance.” The vamp stalked closer, sizing her up. “You look real tasty. Convenient for us, you comin’ out here when we asked.”
Mind whirling, hands shaking, she emptied the magazine. Then she was out. Dimly, she realized she was whimpering, but she couldn’t hold back the sounds. Couldn’t even manage the battle scream Riley had dredged up. Weak. Her father’s taunting voice echoed in her head as the vamp reached for her.
“No,” she whispered, but words didn’t stop the vamp any more than words had stopped her father. She hadn’t woken up then and she wasn’t waking up now. Not a dream not a dream not a dream.
There was a grisly crunch behind her, then a fierce roar.
Dre slammed between her and the vamp, his hands shoving her clear. Her hands and knees hit the deck, the empty gun flying.
Dre shifted, and her whole world changed. Because Dre wasn’t human, either. Where moments before he’d been a surly, bad-tempered, beautiful, big man, now there was a wolf, all sh
arp canines and grey fur standing between her and the vamp.
Snarling, the wolf sprang, latching on to the vamp’s throat, and she flinched back against the wheelhouse. She wanted to do something, to be brave, but it was too much. Too fierce. Too brutal. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she huddled behind the wheelhouse and tried to make herself smaller.
Chapter Six
Fuck.
Landry hit the water’s edge, mind working overtime. The vamp Dre had stabbed had been hurt. Bleeding.
Landry should have stopped the bastard in his tracks, but instead he’d let the vamp get away. He’d screwed up, his head not in the game. He lifted his head, sucking in air. Scent trail went hard east, then cut up along the bank. Bastard might be trying to make a bolt-hole, but Landry’s money was on the women. The vamp was after them.
Sure enough, the closer he got to the Bayou Sweetie, the stronger the scent trail grew. Hell. Dre had better have this under control, because the potential for disaster was growing exponentially. He didn’t ease up on his run, fueled by a primal urge to protect.
This hunt was already fucked up six ways to Sunday. The minute Mary Jane had stumbled into Dre’s little meet-and-greet on the bayou bank, Landry should have dropped from the trees and finished the business. One quick, hard flick and the vamp would have been sporting a blade in his neck and he could have carted Mary Jane’s sweet little ass right back to the boat. She wouldn’t have run, terrified, and Landry might not have missed the second bastard sneaking up through the swamp.
Because, instead of immediately moving her to safety, Landry had caught Mary Jane’s scent and he’d lost himself in how good she smelled. He’d stood there, all pleased because the smell of her unlocked something deeply happy-making and primitive inside him, and that was ridiculous. The female was a wild card. Either she or Riley was the bride, and until he knew which one belonged to them, they were both in play as vamp bait.
And he’d stood there, like a dumb fuck.
