by T. S. Joyce
He frowned and looked out the front window at the street out front.
“Wait,” she mused. “Have you been sleeping in front of my house? No. Sorry, that sounded crazy.”
His tongue slipped out to moisten his lips and his chest rose as he inhaled deeply. “Don’t be mad.”
“Are you sleeping outside my house?”
“Just until things settle down.”
“Am I really in that much danger?”
“I told them you were mine, so it’s my responsibility—”
“I’m not your responsibility, Bron. I’m a big girl now. If I’m in trouble, I need to know what to look for so I can watch out for myself.”
“So, you don’t want the pie.”
“Of course I want the pie. I swear if you tease me with it, then take it away, I’ll paint your face Carriage House green,” she said, reading off the paint can. “And I know you’re changing the subject.”
He set the bag on the dining table and winced at her paint job. “Have you ever done this before?”
“Painted a house?” she asked. “Never.”
He stared at the scribble scrabble lines she’d made with the roller and frowned.
His disgruntled look made her feel defensive. She would fix it eventually. “But, you know…how hard can it be?”
“Geez, okay, well first off, you don’t draw pictures.”
“I didn’t!”
“There’s a giant smiley face.”
She giggled when she saw it. “Okay, so I drew one picture on accident.” She sighed. “Fine. Teach me your ways.”
“Give me that,” he said, reaching for the roller. “This is too much paint on here, and when you get it to this consistency, you do long, steady strokes.”
The way he said the word strokes drew her focus to his lips. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and stubble graced his masculine jaw. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch it, just to see how it felt.
“Samantha?”
“Mmm hmm, long strokes.”
“Samantha,” he repeated in a low, annoyed tone. “I didn’t come in here to do the work for you. I have another job site I’m managing. Learn, woman.”
“Fine,” she said, keeping her pout inside. She’d been relieved when he hadn’t showed up this morning, but now that he was actually being civil, she didn’t want him to leave. Fickle heart.
“Like this,” he murmured, stepping behind her and wrapping his hand around hers. Moving the roller up slow and steady, he paused and brought it back down.
Pulse tripping, breath hitching, body heating, knees quaking, she tried to keep it together as he brushed his fingers to her wrist and held her gently as she moved to paint more of the wall.
She stifled a gasp as his other hand slid onto her hip bone as he guided her farther down the wall. A burning warmth started in her chest and spread downward, pooling just above her thighs. If she didn’t breathe soon, she was going to pass out.
He moved his hand from her wrist to her shoulder and she could feel the heat from his chest against her back. He dropped his chin, and the delicious rasp of his stubble brushed her oversensitive cheek. When his chest finally touched her back, she could feel his thrumming heartbeat through the thin material of their shirts, and she sighed heavily and leaned back to soak in his warmth. God, she’d missed him.
“Is Ryan real?” he asked in a soft stroke against her ear.
“Yes.”
“Are you his?”
“I was on a blind date with him when Reese called. He’s a weasel-faced ninny-pecker.”
Bron huffed a laugh and pulled the roller from her hand, dropped it into the paint pan, then turned her slowly. “So, you lied about what he was to you—”
“Misled you.”
“You mislead me about your relationship with the man, and then you fileted me for withholding the status of my separation and divorce. Is that the right of it?”
“Well, when you put it like that…” All sexy, with that pouty lip she wanted to bite, she did feel a little bad for her reaction.
Running his hands down her arms, he gripped her wrists, brought them above her head, and pressed her against the wall. The new paint was in serious jeopardy of butt smudges, but fuck it all. Bron’s eyes were burning into hers like he was incapable of looking away, and she had to make a conscious effort not to melt into a puddle and slide through the scratched up floorboards.
“No more stripping me down, woman. I’m not the same as I was, and you’re going to have to forgive and forget, or our friendship doesn’t work.”
He pressed his hips against hers, and despite his steely grip on her arms and invasion of her personal space, she didn’t feel trapped at all. She felt hungry for more. Even as she burrowed against him, it wasn’t enough. Tipping his chin, he lowered his lips to hers. The most embarrassing helpless sound wrenched from her throat as his jaw worked, and he nudged his tongue past her lips. She would remember to be mortified when the sound didn’t cause Bron to push his impressive erection harder against her belly.
If this is what he called friendship, Bron was officially the greatest friend of all time. They should make a friend hall of fame, and just line the hallways with pictures of his sexy face.
His tongue lapped hers and she clenched her hands against the urge to fight his grip and touch the skin just under the hem of his T-shirt.
“Hey, boss?” Dillon asked from the porch. “Oh, shit, this is happening.”
Bron pulled away by an inch and turned his head. “Get out.”
“Yep, on my way.” Dillon still stood there, watching and rocking his weight from heels to toes and back again.
A muscle twitched beneath Bron’s left eye. “What, Dillon?”
“Congratulations.”
“Get. The fuck out,” Bron growled.
Samantha pursed her lips to stifle the laugh bubbling up from her throat.
Bron looked pissed, and she dropped her forehead to his chest and let out a happy sigh.
“I Googled Ryan Cummings,” he muttered. “He looks like a tool.”
“Gasp! You stalked my fake boyfriend? Careful, Bronson. That’s getting dangerously close to more-than-friendship territory.”
A chuckle rattled from him, and she pressed her cheek against his chest so she could feel the vibrations from that consuming sound.
“At the cemetery earlier, that was the first time I’ve been able to lean on anyone,” he said against the top of her hair, serious once again. “It’s not usually my thing, but it was nice not feeling alone for a moment.”
“It used to be me and you against the world.”
“Things are different now though,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “You have to know that. Feel it.”
“What are you saying?” Why did it always feel like he was building up to hurt her again?
“I’m saying I think we should do lunch at the cafe, like you and Reese did. I think we should try to be friends again, because all this despising each other shit has my head messed up. I hate it. With all the stuff that’s going on behind the scenes in my life, I need something more steady right now. And if you’re here for a week, I can’t go a full seven days not knowing if you’re going to roast me every time you see me.”
She loved hearing his voice while feeling the rumble of it against her face. Easing away, she leaned her shoulder blades back against the wall and offered her hand for a shake. “A casual, middle-of-the-day lunch between friends.”
Leaning forward, he playfully nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth and shook her hand, then turned it over and brushed his lips against her knuckles. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Wear pants.”
“Har, har,” she said sarcastically as he walked out the front door. She’d been sure to wear her pajama pants when she opened up the door this morning, but he’d missed the effort on account of playing hooky.
Tomorrow she would wear a skirt just to let him know she couldn’t be bossed a
round.
****
What was he doing? Bron was in way over his head and had been getting there steadily ever since Sam blew into town. And now he was conjuring all these protective instincts from his bear that would do nothing but get them both hurt, or worse.
Dodger was going to maul him.
The alpha’s house sat right off of East First. It was a historic Victorian style home he shared with his mate.
Bron was stalling going into the war zone.
What was he supposed to do though? When she’d been caught at the meeting, the other shifters had bloodlust written all over their faces. He couldn’t just stand by while they hurt a human. No. She was more than that. She was his human, she just didn’t know to the extent he was willing to go to protect her yet.
Yet? Like he was going to tell her he turned into a monster a couple times a week. She’d run, and this time, she wouldn’t come back. He hadn’t wished he was human even once in the last six years, but she had him questioning everything. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or bad.
He had to stop being a pussy and just do this. Pumping his hands a couple of times to ramp his bear up, he walked up the stone pathway and knocked on Dodger’s door.
The old biker didn’t greet him with a smile and a clap on the back like he normally did, only opened the door and jerked his head in silent invitation.
Inside the pristine and sparsely decorated home, Bron sat at the dining room table and bounced his knee nervously as the alpha took the seat across from him.
“Boy, what have you done?” Dodger asked.
“Nothing.” Yet. “I haven’t claimed her and she’s only here for a week. I’m fixing up her house as fast as possible and then she’s gone. Sam won’t be any trouble for us. I promise.”
“Sounds like the promises of a man who cares too much. Have you forgotten whose blood runs through her veins? Or are you just so lovesick you’ve forgotten.”
“You don’t know what we went through when we were younger. We were bonded. It’s hard to break it.”
Dodger slammed his fists on the table. “Don’t talk to me about how hard it is to break some bullshit bond, Cress. You do it for your people. We all make sacrifices, and this one’s on you. Are you really willing to go through banishment for her?”
“Give me a week. Let me finish her house. Hell, I’ll buy the damned thing off her if it’ll make her leave faster.”
“And what’s your motivation?”
Bron rubbed his hands over his eyes like it would relieve the headache building there. “I don’t want her hurt.”
“I need to know where your head’s at, because when it comes down to her leaving, I need to know you can let her go.”
Bron scrubbed his hands over his face until his stubble made a scratching sound against the palms of his hands. “I can let her go. I did it before, and I’ll do it again.”
Dodger raised his eyebrows and canted his head like he didn’t believe a word Bron said. “She’s human, and you’re the last of the Cress line. None of the bears left can afford to take a mate who is a genetic dead-end. We’re seventy-five left in the world and we just lost Trent. We’re about as endangered as you can get, and you’re this close to your alpha term. Don’t fuck this up over a woman. And don’t put us in the path of those Hunters again. For all we know she’s the reason Trent was killed too. She’s poison to our kind.” The chair creaked as the lanky alpha leaned back and crossed his arms. “You have one week to get her out of town. If she’s still here when that time is up, I’ll take matters into my own hands, and I ain’t afraid to get ’em bloody, you savvy?”
Oh, Bron savvied all right. Getting to alpha rank was a bloody process, and not for the weak at heart. It’s why Dad never made it that far, and why Trent never tried. Cress blood in the alpha rank was important for tradition, and it was up to Bron and the bloodthirsty grizzly that lived inside of him to succeed.
He was second right now, but only because he’d fought just about every dominant bear to get here. And if he could hold this spot when Dodger’s ten year term was up next month, the position of alpha would fall to him. Did he want the responsibility of the entire clan of remaining bear shifters’ survival on his shoulders? Not particularly. But his bear was made to lead. It was in Bron’s lineage and he’d worked hard to get where he was, just like his ornery cuss of a father had trained him to do.
“I understand, and I have no intention of being banished. She’ll be gone in a week.” Bron stood to leave.
“One last thing,” Dodger drawled. “I got a call from Marsden this morning. He says you’ve been ignoring Muriel’s calls.”
“So?”
“So, if there’s a chance at reconciliation with her, you’ll do it and keep our clans allied. There’s too few of us left to be bickering and murdering each other off.”
Bron shook his head slowly. “I’m not doing that again. I’ve given enough to try and make that alliance work.”
“It wasn’t a fucking suggestion, boy. I’m your alpha still and that’s an order. Pick up your damned phone when she calls.”
Red fury seared up Bron’s spine and his bear roared to be let loose inside him. Leaning against the table, he leveled Dodger a look and gritted out, “Don’t you call me boy again or I’ll lay you out, alpha or no. You said I can’t have Samantha because she’s human. Fine. I get that. But I ripped myself to shreds trying to make a pairing work with Muriel, and I’m not stupid enough to try for another round. I’ll choose who I take to my bed from here on. Find another bear to breed her.”
“You’re walking a dangerous line disobeying me like this.”
“Save your threats. You gave me a week with Samantha. Muriel is off the table. I’m not playing puppet dick to this clan’s whims anymore.”
He slammed the door on his way out and wanted to yell his anger until his roar sent all the roosting birds to flight in the trees around him. His insides were being shredded from the animal trying to claw his way out of him, and if he didn’t find some woods and soon, he was going to change right here on the main drag for all the unassuming humans in town to see.
Fighting to stay human, he jumped in his Ford and sped through town. He needed to be watching Samantha’s house tonight, because no matter what Dodger said about giving him a week, that alpha wasn’t trustworthy. Never had been, never would be. It was part of what made him so good at his job.
Clan first, fuck everyone else.
Bron’s bear was coming, and he wasn’t going to make it to the cabin. Jerking the truck off the road, he stumbled from the cab and pulled at his shirt and jeans, and ran as far as he could manage into the tree line.
His spine cracked in a hundred little machine gun bursts, and he pitched forward onto his hands and knees. His snarl of pain turned to a roar as his beast slowly shredded him. Bones stretching and face elongating, he gasped at the blinding pain right before the prickle of fur burst from his skin. He stood on two legs and raised his nose to the coming night. He bellowed a promise that if Dodger or any of his clan touched a hair on Samantha’s head, he’d maul every last one of them.
She’d eased his pain over Trent’s death with nothing more than an embrace and soft words.
She made him feel again.
Her life was his to protect.
Chapter Eight
Two rooms were now painted and it was useless trying to get any of the dried drops of Wisp of Mauve out of her hair. Bron wouldn’t care, but she wanted to look nice for him. Even if it was just a casual meal between friends, he’d let her know he still had feelings for her with his affection yesterday.
Hope bloomed in her like the opening morning glories creeping up the south wall of the house.
She fussed with her dark tresses, picking and plucking until at least the front was free of splattered paint. Dillon catcalled from the front room, which could only mean one thing.
Bron was here.
Nervous flutters bumped a
round her belly as she smoothed her black A-line skirt. It hit above her knees, and though the breeze outside was laced with the chill of autumn, she made up for the show of skin by pairing it with knee-high boots and a warm purple sweater.
Bron was in the middle of play-punching Dillon in the stomach, and his smile was easy as he talked too low for her to hear. A subtle crook of his too masculine lips and a flash of white teeth, and she was mesmerized by his smile. When she moved toward him, his gaze collided with hers and his mouth dipped open for a moment. A slow rake of his eyes down her figure and back was enough to turn those butterflies in her stomach to dragons.
“Damn, Samantha,” Dillon said. “You clean up nice.”
“You’re fired,” Bron muttered as he offered a hand to her. “You ready?”
“You aren’t really firing him, are you?”
“You don’t have to champion me, Sam,” Dillon said with a solemn shake of his head. The blue in his eyes was practically dancing. “If Bronson doesn’t fire me three times by Tuesday, it’s a slow week.”
She laughed and slipped the palm of her hand into Bron’s.
“We’ll be back in an hour,” he said to his crew. “I want that ceiling textured when I get back or I really will consider firing your ass. Our timeline just jumped forward by two days.”
Dillon’s eyes narrowed. “You talked to Dodger?”
“He’s given us a week. She needs to be gone in four days for me to feel good about this.”
Dillon made a single clicking sound behind his teeth and twitched his head. “You got it, boss.”
Four days? That seemed so soon. And permanent. And why was she being run out of town by his asshole cult leader anyway? What had she done? Not a damned thing, that’s what, because being in the same genetic pool as her murderin’ daddy wasn’t a crime. And even if it were, she’d been punished enough.
She opened her mouth to ask for details, but Bron turned and led her out to his truck. He buckled her in like he’d done the night of the meeting, and looked distracted as he hopped behind the wheel.
“Are you going to explain why I have to be out of town in four days?”
