by Anne Marsh
“Where are we going?” Suspicion filled her voice, his offer clearly not the right one, and she tugged on her wrist again. No dice. Letting go now wasn’t in his plans. At all.
“Under cover,” he said patiently. “You need to get out of sight, Mary Jane. You saw what was huntin’ us back there. You wan’ to give the vamp another shot?”
He didn’t wait for her reluctant nod. What they needed right now was backup. His call finally connected, and Luc picked up with a terse greeting.
“Blue moon’s still up, and I’ve got two mates,” Dre snapped, because there was no point trading social chitchat. He waited out the cursing on the other end of line while Luc worked through the implications of Dre’s bombshell. Yeah, he and Landry should have called this one in yesterday, but he hadn’t wanted to share a potential mate with anyone but Landry. So fuck him. Unfortunately, that meant the missing crew member belonged to one of his Pack mates, and he’d let her slip through his fingers.
Hell.
He looked over at Mary Jane while Luc launched into part two of his tirade. His honey was all big brown eyes, a look that made him want to protect her. When a particularly vitriolic curse from Luc drifted her way, she closed her eyes and then opened them right back up. Yeah, the way she was glaring at him now was part pissed, part wide-eyed fear. It looked like the jury was still out on which way she’d go in the end. He knew bone deep, though, that she was theirs.
He and Landry would have to find a way to help her deal with that fear.
“Congratulations,” Luc bit out. “Since this doesn’t sound like an invite to a weddin’, cut to the chase.”
“We ran into trouble out on the bayou. Vamps.” He covered his theory that Mary Jane had been lured out there. “Riley Jones was taken. Blue moon lit her up, too, but she’s not ours. I can tell you that much.”
He stuck the key in the lock and opened the door with a hard flick of his wrist. The room was cool and dark, the air conditioning humming. The place looked clean enough, but the hotel was nothing fancy. He wished he could have offered her more.
Mary Jane didn’t come in, so he tugged gently. Her wrist was so delicate in his bigger hand, all pale skin and fragile bone. If he squeezed, those bones would bite it. Her pulse beat hard and fast beneath his thumb, and they both knew she was fucked here. She wasn't getting away from him. Each breath he took filled his lungs with the scent of her panic. His wolf whined, wanting to bury his face in the side of her neck and lap at that skin. Soak in the sweeter, more personal scent beneath the acrid fear, and taste her. So what the fuck did he do with her?
She finally moved, following him inside the room right when he was getting ready to swing her up in his arms and bring her in.
“You one hundred percent certain this Riley is a match?” Luc’s voice on the other end of the line snapped Dre back to business.
“Damn sure,” he bit out, hating to have to admit that truth.
His Alpha cursed again. “I’ll put the Pack out.”
“Mary Jane is ours,” he growled into the phone. “You send Dag for Riley. Maybe she’s a mate for him. Maybe she’s not. He’s the best damned tracker we have, though, and he’ll get her back.”
He should have volunteered to go, too, but he was done fighting the primal urge to protect his female. To hold Mary Jane, to keep her safe and mark her as his. Besides, Landry had asked him to stay by her side, and he wouldn’t let his brother down.
“Fine,” Luc snapped. “You got a direction?”
He’d snagged the history from the Bayou Sweetie’s GPS, so he texted Luc the coordinates. “You get there,” he said, “and then Dag needs to start on the southwest bank and head inland. Those vamps were moving fast, and Landry was riding their asses. Follow his scent trail. Our boy will get there.”
Luc sighed. “I’d say, next time you check with me from the get-go, but there’s not going to be a next time, is there?”
“Nope.” He eyed Mary Jane, and heat blossomed inside him. Damn. He and Landry had finally found their mate. Centuries of hunting and waiting, and now here she was, a mere ten feet away from him.
“Don’ fuck this up,” Luc ordered.
“Goin’ to do my best,” he replied, because that was the truth, plain and simple.
“Dag’s heading out now. He’s goin’ to need the night to get down to you all,” Luc warned. “He can keep trackin’ in the daylight, and we’ll make up time then, but there’s a lot riding on what those vamps wan’ with Riley Jones.”
Yeah. Dre didn’t need Luc to connect the dots on that picture. The vamps tended to kill first, skin later. Riley Jones was no werewolf, but she was a blue-moon bride. Over the centuries, the vamps had taken out any bride ASAP. So, the fact that she was still alive—God, he hoped she was still breathing—said the vamps had a new plan up their sleeves. And the Pack wouldn’t like it.
“Dag will get her out,” he said to his Alpha.
“He better.” There was a grim pause, while they both considered the alternatives. Riley Jones was undoubtedly going to experience a world of hurt—and then the darkest werewolf of them all was going to haul her ass up the bayou whether she liked it or not. The female would have to be one hell of a strong woman to survive what was headed her way.
“Dre? Is this Mary Jane yours or…” Luc paused, clearly searching for words.
“Ours,” Dre said fiercely. “She’s ours.”
“Okay.” Luc didn’t sound too surprised. “But you remember the rules here. She’s got to agree. And she’s got to choose. If she wants both of you, that’s fine, too. Hell, I’ll be the first in line to congratulate you.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” he said and disconnected the call, tossing the cell onto the dresser.
Part of him was glad that Landry wasn’t here, and that was a bitch, wasn’t it? He wanted her to choose both of them, but if she couldn’t or wouldn’t, he couldn’t imagine turning and walking out that door on her, either.
He had a shot at winning Mary Jane, heart and soul.
No way would he walk away from that chance.
###
She should have protested more, Mary Jane decided, hugging herself. Should have insisted on heading out after Riley herself or, at the very least, making a beeline for local law enforcement. Problem was, she was fairly certain the sheriff couldn’t do much to help Riley—but the Breauxs could. So, instead of doing something, she was sitting here in a Motel 6 while Dre went out “for supplies.” She didn’t know whether he meant a burger and a six-pack of beer, or if he meant something more deadly. Either was possible. Dre was far more than a bayou fisherman—and that was without thinking about the wolf thing, which she was still pretending was a bad dream.
Even if Dre had leaned in real close before he left her alone and warned her not to take off, he was dangerous. He could and would track her wherever she went. Yeah. That hadn’t sounded like a threat at all. He’d also helped himself to her keys, her shoes, and her money, virtually guaranteeing she stayed put.
She’d watched the door close behind him, and she had no idea how she felt. He hadn’t tied her up, but he’d stood there for a long minute on the other side of the door, while he waited for her to flip the lock like he’d ordered. Ordered. She’d had more than enough orders today. Bits and pieces of memories flashed through her head, though, on some kind of autopilot slideshow. Landry kissing her and touching her, all sensual confidence as he brought her to orgasm. Then afterwards, when he must have realized that there was a problem back on the boat and that those creatures—vamps—were out and about and on the warpath. Blood. The savage noises and Riley’s screams. Yeah, not a night she wanted to repeat.
The chain on the door made her feel better—even though, logically, she knew that thin length of metal could never keep a male like Dre out—enough so that she headed for the bathroom. He’d be gone at least twenty minutes, and she wanted a shower. She was covered in blood and swamp water. Whatever Dre Breaux wanted from her was better faced clean.
###
The bar adjacent to the Motel 6 was banging out a nonstop Cajun beat when Dre returned from his shopping expedition. He’d snagged some food in takeout containers, and then stopped to pick up some essentials from the five-and-dime. The store didn’t offer many choices, but he was betting his Mary Jane would like a change of socks and underwear. He’d also added toiletries and a soft, buttery lotion. And when had he started thinking of her as his? She hadn’t done any choosing yet—and there was no guarantee she’d pick him. Women liked Landry, that was the truth. Landry knew how to laugh, how to tease. He smiled and coaxed. Dre was more blunt in his approach.
Too blunt.
He settled up with the cashier and headed back to the hotel room, the plastic sacks in his hand.
When he knocked on the door, she opened up and let him in, so that was progress. He could have forced his entry, but they were laying low tonight, and he didn’t want to scare her. More than he already had, that was, because he’d seen her face when she’d thought he was murdering an innocent man. Slicing and dicing wasn’t part of her world, and he hated like hell being the one to drag her into his.
She might have let him in, but she wasn’t throwing him a welcome-home party, either. Her hand fell away from the door, and she turned, walking away from him to perch on the faded couch. She’d taken a shower while he was gone. Her damp hair, smelling like hotel shampoo, curled wildly around her shoulders. She’d dressed back in her dirty things, though, so clearly she hadn’t wanted him to catch her in a towel. His shirt was neatly folded on a chair.
He would never force her to do anything, but he didn’t see how he’d convince her. His sha was nervous, and that made her smart.
“I brought you some things.” He held the plastic bag out, but when she made no move to take it, he tossed it onto the bed. The big, king-sized bed that ate up the room and then some. The front-desk clerk had smirked when Dre had asked for two doubles, like no couple checking in had ever wanted separate beds.
“Thanks,” she said, her gaze darting towards the door.
He reached behind him and flipped the lock. Slid the chain on, too, for good measure. Nothing there would keep out a vamp for long, but it drove home the point to Mary Jane. She wasn’t going anywhere else tonight. He’d get behind whatever choice she made, but only so long as it didn’t kill her.
Which gave him one night to convince her to stay put.
To stay with them.
Hell, no night was long enough for that.
“We settled this already, sha. You got to stay with us tonight. Tonight’s a bad night to be runnin’ around the bayou.”
“You settled this,” she countered. “I’m more hostage than houseguest.”
Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong.
In two quick strides, Dre had Mary Jane caged between his forearms and the couch. While she stared at him, he ran the options in his head. There weren't many. Tonight’s reprieve was temporary at best. The woman facing him had to sense the danger she was in, even if she was human, but she didn't drop her gaze. At all. That surprised Dre almost as much as her next words.
“You’re wolves. Almost.” The fear in her voice shot straight to his balls. He wanted to mark her in the most primitive way possible, wanted to bury himself deep inside her. Dre's wolf lurked too close to the surface, desperate to come out and play with this blue-moon bride of theirs.
“You knew we weren’t human,” he pointed out. “Before you came here with me. You watched Landry change.”
“I knew you were acting inhumanely.” She pressed her lips together, folding her arms over her breasts. The little gesture made him want to peel her apart, flick open her buttons and lick every inch of her so he could see how well she held things together then. Her composure was a thing of beauty, but he wanted to undo her.
He wanted to reach out to her, tell her how pretty she looked parked there on the cheap motel couch. She was jonesing to go, though. He could see that. Plus, he had no business pulling courtship crap, not with her. He wanted to take her, sure, but that didn't need to include a conversation listing every thing he found so unexpectedly appealing about her because he didn't need to hand her any more advantages in this battle they were fighting.
“Tell me now,” she demanded. “What you are. Who you are.”
“Honey.” He leaned in, and her breasts brushed against his chest, the warmth of her body surrounding him in a delicious little cocoon of feminine scent. He could scent her body heating up as arousal built in her. “We don’ have time for twenty questions.”
“Back off.” Her hands landed on his chest and shoved. Too bad for her he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Can’t do that.” He bared his teeth, sending her a message that was one-hundred-percent wolfish. Mine. “You belong to my Pack now.”
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head, and her pretty hair bounced around her shoulders. “People don’t own people. Not in this country.”
“You said it yourself.” Giving in to temptation, he settled himself on her, pinning her lower body with his. He wanted that contact, and he'd take it. “I’m not human.”
“Then tell me what you are.” Her finger plucked at the slippery fabric beneath her ass. She was restless, a pink flush lighting her skin. He had no reason to believe she knew what that prickly crawl of heat meant. And even if she did know, what made him think he was her solution?
Because his Mary Jane was aroused. Normally, arousal was a good thing. Right now, though, her desire was one more entry into the FUBAR column. The blue moon liked to rile up the brides, tease their senses with erotic dreams and needs. Make them want what the wolves could offer until the wanting was almost suffering. He didn’t like the thought of her hurting.
“Dre?” Her fingers dug harder into the couch. Shit. He was staring, and she was waiting for him to give her answers she didn’t want to hear.
“You get a real good look at the moon tonight?” He gave her more of his heavy weight, drinking in her feminine glare. She was getting the message here. Mary Jane was no longer in charge. He was. “That moon was blue, sha.”
“A blue moon,” she said, as prim as if she were reading him the dictionary, “is the second full moon in a month. It’s more saying than actual description. The light doesn’t turn blue.”
Except it had tonight. Just like it had when Rafer had hunted down his Lark the previous month. Two blue moons in a row defied both science and history, but sometimes a man had to accept what was.
“Yeah, but that kind of moon means somethin’ special to my kind. That moon says it’s huntin’ time.”
He waited for her to ask the obvious question.
“What exactly are you hunting, Dre Breaux?” She lay still beneath him now, so he figured she’d already connected the dots.
“A special kind of woman.” He tucked his fingers against her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft, the type of soft that didn’t come from a drugstore jar. He’d bet she’d hate it, too, if he told her how good she felt, because he was sensing his Mary Jane valued hard and invulnerable. She wouldn’t want to be soft.
“I’m no one you’d be looking for.”
That was where she was wrong. Even if the moon hadn’t picked her out for him, he’d have seen the special in her. She was a good woman. Sweet to a fault, for all her tough exterior.
“I’d be lookin’ all right,” he drawled, and her eyes widened.
“Then you’re telling me I’ve been up shit creek since I ran into the two of you.”
“Pretty much.” He considered holding back some of the facts—going all 4-1-1 with humans was high on the Pack's Thou Shalt Not list—but there was more here to be gained by honesty. As soon as
she understood what she was up against, what her place in this world was, she'd give him the intel he needed. “I told you stoppin’ was your first mistake. The nice ones don’ last in my world.”
“What happens?” Yeah. Her voice was breathless now despite the challenge. Like he could read the weather report or recite NASDAQ closing numbers, and she’d be all over him like white on rice.
“You’re prey.” His lips peeled back from his teeth as he brought her fingers to his mouth and nipped gently.
“And you’re the big bad wolf.” She tugged at her hand, but he didn’t let go. He didn’t want to, and this was his world. His rules. Instead, he let the tip of his tongue stroke along the pads of her fingers, tasting her. She jerked, and he didn’t know if she liked the little caress or not.
He didn’t care, he decided. Right now, this wasn’t about sex. It was about showing her who was in charge, because until she accepted his dominance she wasn’t safe.
“Absolutely.” He considered how much to tell her. She wasn’t leaving the Pack. He knew that, no matter how much lip service he gave the idea of choosing. Sure, maybe she’d choose Landry, but someone would coax her into staying. He had to keep her here long enough for Landry to come back and work his sensual brand of magic. And containing her? Had his dick hard and his head busy running X-rated fantasies.
“Tell me,” she demanded a second time, and he caved. He had a feeling he’d always give her what she wanted.
“You saw Landry,” he began. Landry was the smooth talker. Dre had no business explaining the Pack’s existence to Mary Jane. “He’s a werewolf. So am I. Our Pack has lived here in the Bayou for two hundred years now. We were attacked on the Bayou Sweetie by vamps.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Honey, you can’t argue with the living, breathing proof on this one.” He jerked a thumb at his chest. “Exhibit A is right here.”
“So why are you telling me this?” She glared up at him like he should have let her stick her fingers in her ears and sing a la-la-la-not-listening song. She couldn’t pretend this one away. Neither of them could—because she was part of his world now, for better or worse.
