by Sienna Aylen
“Well, hopefully, she isn’t like the last one you brought home. That was a train wreck from start to finish. I still have nightmares about her becoming Alpha female.” Bleu shuddered.
Damien grabbed a muffin for himself. “That won’t happen this time. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
Bleu turned at the faint sound of gravel crunching outside. “Looks like they kept to the schedule.”
* * * *
The Jeep swerved around a bend and into a valley caged in on two sides by steep cliffs. Tucked away in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains, their surroundings were a vivid spread of green. Spring had sprung in the Rockies, even though the mountain caps still had a layer of powder on them. Tall evergreens blanketed the landscape like a giant plush carpet, the smell of pine permeating the air. At the west end of the valley glistened a small crystalline lake. A few wooden docks jutted out on either side of the shore, colorful rowboats tied to them.
Sprinkled among the trees were cottages of every shape and size, all with wide front porches. All unique, nestling among the trees as though they were a natural part of the scenery. Some blended in with the forest so well that if you weren’t looking for them, you would pass right by without even knowing they were there.
It was a throwback to simpler times, better times. No extravagant homes or fancy vehicles—they didn’t even have paved driveways leading to their houses or motors attached to their boats. They were leaving a very small footprint on their land, all very basic and sustainable.
At the far end of the valley, settled against the slope of one of the mountains, stood the most beautiful home Emma had ever seen. An enormous log cabin a couple of stories high, a wraparound porch on each story, it claimed her undivided attention. Built from solid wood, it was a magnificent structure, flanked by towering firs on either side. Creeping vines wrapped themselves around the thick posts and railings, crawling upward in a bid for more sunshine. It was almost as if the forest was claiming the house as its own. Giving it the official stamp of approval.
Rafe drove them down through the valley, kicking up a cloud of dust on the dirt road and gathering attention. Emma sent up a prayer of thanks. If he had run his mouth any longer, Tessa would more than likely have eviscerated him.
And that would’ve just made a mess.
Cubs scrambled down from tree limbs and curious faces peered through open windows to see the newcomers. Emma grimaced. It was like being in a fishbowl, with some strange kid poking at the glass.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t just sneak in and out for this job. She would have to step out of the shadows, socialize with the Alpha as well as the Clan. Not that they hadn’t done this kind of job before, but she found it tedious. She wasn’t the type of person who played well with others, unless they were her sisters.
Even then, it was iffy.
A prickle of unease at her nape accompanied the penetrating stares. By the time the Jeep had veered into the clearing in front of the main house, Emma was not surprised they’d gained quite a bit of attention. Showtime.
After the Jeep jerked to a stop, all the women stepped out, stretched their stiff legs and looked around. Except for Tessa, who wrenched open her door with a thud and took off like a bat out of hell up the stairs, just catching herself before crashing into the three giants who stepped through the doorway.
One of the men wrapped his beefy hands around Tessa’s waist to steady her. Large hands that covered her whole waist. Emma watched Tessa’s wide eyes look up, up, up into the giant man’s intense gaze.
The man leered down at Tessa and drawled, “Going somewhere, sugar?”
Emma heard Tessa mumble her reply in a breathy voice, “Bathroom.”
Releasing Tessa, the man grinned like the cat who’d caught the mouse. “By all means. Second door down the hall on your left, and just holler if you need anything.”
Without another word, Tessa scooted underneath his arm and disappeared around the corner. Emma smothered a laugh. Using the distraction, she sized up the three men. The three enormous men. Most shifters were quite large, but these guys were giants, all topping six and a half feet.
The one who’d caught Tessa was still watching the door she’d just gone through, blowing out a breath while running his fingers through his shaggy black hair. It was long enough that it just touched his collar. Poor guy, he had the look of someone who’d been hit by a semi-truck on the highway. Tessa didn’t like very many people…that is, when she bothered to notice their existence. It took a very special person to pique her interest.
The second giant was an inch taller than the first and built like a linebacker. He glanced at his watch every few seconds as though staring at it would make it move faster. Ten bucks said he was the one who’d sent them the precise schedule for their trip…laminated and color-coded, with bathroom breaks timed down to the millisecond. Efficient, if not practical.
Emma’s stare found the tallest of the three and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her heart beat out a quick tempo against the fabric of her shirt. Intrigued, she took a slow scan of his frame from the top of his head all the way down to the mud caked on his boots. Rugged, he wasn’t handsome in a classical sense. A slight tilt to his nose told her it’d been broken at least once. He also sported a day’s worth of scruff that was a few shades darker than the dirty-blond color of his hair.
Built like a mountain, he wore a black T-shirt that emphasized his biceps and chest. Paired with dark jeans that had seen better days, and rough work boots, his outfit seemed to be at home in the wilderness. He wasn’t a pretty guy by any stretch of the imagination, one who worked out just to stay fit. His frame was filled out in all the right places, and those muscles were made by hard physical labor, she would bet all her money on it.
Maybe this job wouldn’t be as monotonous as the others, especially with all the man candy hanging around. Emma mentally slapped herself. Concentrate. You have a job to do, remember? J-O-B, job.
Shaking her head, she tried to expel some of the heat that burned her cheeks. She must be going batty, loco with a side of ridiculous. Her libido had always been pretty much dead by definition. Now it was waking up, as though it had just been asleep for all those years. It had to be a fluke.
Yep, a fluke. That’s what it was. There was no other explanation.
Almost back to her normal body temperature, she turned to the Jeep and reached in for her navy duffel bag, but a giant hand almost beat her to it. Emma stretched out to slap the hand away. “Don’t! I got it.”
Before anyone else could make a try for her bag, Emma snatched the handle and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. Of course, the stupid thing would get stuck. It was just her luck. Sighing, she rubbed her hands together and gripped the strap firmly, placing one foot against the seat for leverage. Grunting, she gave a good hard yank, popping the bag free and propelling her backward…right into a set of thick, tanned arms.
Emma let out a breath, trying not to laugh outright at her predicament. Taking a moment to compose herself, she focused her gaze on the man’s arms. Bronzed from the sun, they had fine white lines that curved around and disappeared underneath his elbows. Enticed, she wanted to follow the lines with the pads of her fingers to see where they went. If they traveled far enough up his body, it would give her a plausible excuse to see his chest, perhaps taking a moment or two to run her hands along his pecs.
Pull it together, Emma.
She couldn’t wrench herself out of the moment, not yet. Not when his front melded along her backside, the heat from his chest seeping through their clothing to scald her skin. Damn, he was a warm one. Like a toasty, heated blanket. A very muscular blanket. With a grin, Emma noted that a certain portion of his anatomy was prodding her with excitement. Oblivious to the stares of the others, she lost herself for a few moments in the fantasy of rolling around in bed with the behemoth.
Wait a second, is he sniffing my hair?
Yep, he was. She could feel his nose tickle the hairs on the top of her he
ad. Had she taken a shower yesterday? She couldn’t remember, but the mere thought of having body odor ruined the moment.
Gwen dropped her own bag on the steps and turned. Meeting Emma’s eyes, she shook her head, tsking. “Emma, I told you, you should’ve decreased what you packed by seven-point-three percent.”
In an instant Emma straightened, severing the connection. She rose to Gwen’s bait with pleasure, primly wiping the imaginary dirt off her jeans. “Seven-point-three percent, my ass. Don’t mock my new boots. You’re just jealous because your chunky gams can’t do them justice.”
Gwen raised an affronted hand to her chest. “Chunky gams? You rude swine! At least I can pull up my jeans without a crowbar.”
“Hey! My butt looks amazing in these jeans.” Propping her hands on her hips, Emma took a steadying breath and fell into the familiar banter. They could go on like this for hours. When they were younger, they had passed the time on stakeouts by playfully bickering about anything and everything. It was almost therapeutic.
“What butt? Oh, you mean the two watermelons attached to the bottom of your spine?” Gwen smirked, cocking her head to the side in an unmistakable challenge.
Emma’s mouth hung open at the implied insult. Narrowing her gaze, she took two steps forward before hearing the shrill whistle. Tessa stood atop the steps, shaking her head at both of them. “Emma, you just had to pack the boots, didn’t you?”
Chapter Three
#xa0;
Once introductions had been made, Tessa and Gwen were happy to let the men carry their luggage into the house. Emma, however, wasn’t having any of that, hefting her duffel bag and dragging it up the three steps to the porch.
Settling her luggage at her feet, she looked through the eight-foot-tall entry doors into the interior of the home. The foyer flowed into an open-concept room that was outfitted like a ski lodge made for giants. Giant bears, anyway—perhaps that was why she felt like Goldilocks. Lost in the woods, surrounded by bears. With one bear in particular who gave her glances that made her feel like the steaming porridge he was about to devour.
If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn for a moment that the attraction she felt for Damien had to be more than just regular lust…but… No. Nothing more. At least that was what she was going to keep telling herself. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let her newly awakened libido make decisions for her.
She wasn’t that desperate.
Did he take her breath away? Sure. Was he a hunk? Undoubtedly. Did she want to roll around with him for a few hours? Yes, please! But that didn’t make them compatible. He could be a complete douchebag for all she knew. They had known each other for all of ten minutes.
Ten minutes.
She wouldn’t bust out the wedding march just yet.
He did have that voice, though, like sandpaper and molasses. The sound of it did funny things to her insides. Pull it together, Emma. As long as she stayed focused, she would make it through the investigation. Then what? Go back to one of many lonely apartments? Wait for the next job?
Face it, Emma. Life’s gotten rather dull with old age.
Shoring up her defenses, Emma forced herself to concentrate on her surroundings. Escape routes, weapons, possible weak points, that’s what she needed to be focusing on…not what kind of soap made that delectable smell.
The ceilings were at least fifteen feet tall, with high, exposed wooden beams that made the space bright and spacious. It was exactly the type of home she would have chosen for herself if she’d ever stayed in one place long enough to settle down. Substantial fluffy rugs, comfortable chairs and oversized couches you could get lost in. On the far wall sat a massive fireplace where she could roast marshmallows and enjoy the warmth during a snowstorm.
Not very much in the way of accessories—it would be easy to navigate in a fight, and yet more difficult to defend if they were invaded. Large windows let in a ton of light but also meant anyone could look in and see the interior. It wasn’t the best place she had stayed in terms of defensibility, but it wasn’t the worst, either.
To the left ran a long hallway, ending in what appeared to be a storage room. Next to the hallway, a staircase swept up to the second floor. To her right, a large kitchen gleamed with top-of-the-line equipment—a chef’s stove, double ovens and a large white farm sink.
It was almost perfect.
All it needed, perhaps, was a feminine touch. A throw blanket here, a picture or two there, maybe a single vase of wildflowers on the table. Cute accents that could be used as weapons in a pinch.
Hefting her duffel, Emma placed the wide strap over her shoulder and followed the group to the stairs. The sweeping staircase led to the upstairs hallway, a long spacious corridor lined on either side by four doors, each with a different pattern carved into the surface. The door Emma was shown to was inscribed with a beautiful scrollwork design flowing across the upper half. Almost Celtic in style, it reminded her of the carvings that had been prominent when she was growing up, gorgeous and mystical.
She placed her hand against the rough wood of the door, but with her gloves she wasn’t able to feel the deep grooves. She wished she could take her bare fingers and run them along the intricate design, tracing the scrollwork. The ache was a physical one, a desire to satisfy her curiosity through touch.
But she couldn’t. She would never be a regular person. She was a Council member. A warrior. A survivor.
So what if she couldn’t touch a stupid door? It was just a door. A giant piece of wood, the dead carcass of a tree.
Damien opened the door to Emma’s room and she swept by him, dropping the duffel bag by the foot of the bed with a resounding thud.
Emma didn’t even bother to turn around and acknowledge Damien’s continued presence, though she heard his voice clearly enough.
“I’ll give you some time to settle in. My room is right across the hall, so let me know if you need anything. Lunch will be ready in about a half hour. We’ll discuss everything then.” As soon as Damien left, Emma sank down onto the enormous bed with a sigh. Pulling out her large bamboo brush, she went to work getting the tangles out of her hair.
Staring at the closed door of Emma’s room, Damien blew out a harsh breath and ran a hand over his face. Lord forbid this investigation take longer than a week.
These were the fearsome Council women? The ancients among paranormal beings? Weren’t they supposed to be old and ornery, perhaps with a dash of wisdom? He’d expected wrinkles and Zen-like gurus. Instead they looked and acted as if they were in their late twenties, at most.
The redhead, though, was the worst of the bunch. Emma. The woman was as stubborn as a mule and sexy as hell, but impossible. Like with her duffel bag, the one that easily weighed upward of forty pounds. He had tried to do the polite thing and carry it but she’d wrinkled her eyebrows and frowned, telling him off with a firm ‘ No ’, tempting him to kiss that adorable look right off her face.
Compared to most of the women in the Clan, the three Council women were rather small in stature. Emma the tallest of the three. Technically speaking, she wasn’t small, per se, about five-ten or so, but with him standing at six-nine, the top of her head would just barely meet the bottom of his collarbone. He could imagine himself fitting two fingers under her chin and tilting her head back just enough to lean down and sample a taste of her pouty lips. His bear growled in pleasure at the thought.
When she’d fallen into him, melding her soft curves into the hard planes of his body, he’d wanted to throw her over his shoulder and haul her upstairs. Even at the memory of it he was getting hot and bothered.
Damien shook himself back to reality. This was a Council member…a two-thousand-year-old Council member. She was older than his great-great-great-grandmother’s great-great-grandmother. Killing was in her job description, as was anonymity. He knew next to nothing about her. The thought sobered him as no other would.
Turning away from her door, Damien headed for his room. A quick cold shower ought
to help bring his body back under control.
Lord save him from the stubborn vixen.
Inside the attached bathroom, Emma admired the way the white subway tiles and skylights made the space light and roomy. It had a shower big enough to fit three people, and an immaculate ivory Jacuzzi that was closer to the size of a small pool than a bathtub. The entirety of her last apartment could have fit inside this bathroom, with room to spare.
It was almost a culture shock, what with her being used to living light. Her lack of possessions wasn’t a question of money—being immortal gave plenty of opportunities to amass wealth and she had more than she knew what to do with. Tangible things had never held much value in Emma’s eyes. If the situation called for it, she could start over with just the clothes on her back, or no clothes at all…as she had done before.
Sometimes, when she was feeling sentimental, she contemplated what it would be like to have a house of her own where she could have a collection of books and antiques, what it would be like to have someone to come home to. It was a dream better left buried.
The lifestyle of a Council member didn’t allow for such flights of fancy.
It wouldn’t be practical to settle down when each job was bound to take her to other cities and countries without a specific timeline of when or even if she would return.
Apartments were used for sleeping, when she did sleep, and that was it.
Emma met the green eyes of her reflection in the mirror over the sink. As she drew her shirt over her head, her eyes automatically found the tiny tattoo that seemed to be a cross between a star and a flower. In actuality it was an ancient symbol, one given to her when she’d received her immortality on her twenty-fifth birthday. She rubbed her thumb over the mark where it rested on her right hip.
The black ink would never fade. Just like her.