EDGE OF NIGHT

by Rae Morgan, Emma Sinclair, Sherrill Quinn

  The bulldog gave a soft woof.

  Bree took that as agreement and opened the door. Keeping a tight hold on his leash, she muttered, "And don't take off the way you did last night, little man. I don't want to fall again."

  He gave her a doggy grin as if to say he'd planned that whole thing and then gingerly made his way over the snow-covered deck. Bree followed him down the stairs and into the yard, then stood there shivering while he sniffed around. She stuffed her hands into her pockets, still keeping a tight hold on his leash.

  "Oh, for God's sake, Oscar. Pee already. What does it matter where?"

  The dog ignored her and she trailed after him as he moved from one tree to the next, finally deciding on the perfect one to lift his leg at. When he was done, he gave a few quick, hard scratches with his back paws and turned toward her.

  Then he stopped. His hackles rose and a long, low growl came from deep in his throat.

  Bree heard the crunch of snow behind her and drew in a sharp breath. Jack had found her out and would probably be pissed she'd snuck outside. Thinking to diffuse him, she planted a smile firmly in place and turned, saying, "Oscar really needed..."

  Oh, God. It wasn't Jack. She stared into the dark, emotionless eyes of the killer. She glanced toward the cabin and took a reflexive step toward it.

  "Don't bother, sugar. You'll never make it." Ernie walked around her and she turned to keep him in sight. When he faced the cabin, he stopped. "Where's the guy?"

  Oscar strained against the leash, his angry growls turning to ferocious barks. Bree wrapped as much of the leash around her hand as she could to keep the dog by her side.

  "How'd you find us?" she asked, and not just because she wanted to stall for time for Jack to respond to Oscar's barks. She was curious as to how the hitman had tracked them to a different state and in a relatively short amount of time.

  His thin lips twisted. "You used your debit card at the grocery store, darlin'. Shoulda used cash." He took a couple of steps toward her. "Now, answer the question. Where's the guy?"

  "The guy?" she parroted, still stalling. Where the hell was Jack? Didn't he know he was supposed to come running to her rescue again?

  Now would be a good time.

  Of course, it was full daylight, whereas it had been dusk and then evening when he'd saved her before. Was he helpless in the daytime like the movies always showed?

  "That fucking freak who came outta nowhere yesterday. How'd he do that?" His gaze darted to the cabin, up, down and around, before coming back to rest on her. "Just what the hell is he?"

  Before she could respond, Oscar lunged forward, dragging her off-balance. Several inches of the leash unwrapped from her hand as she went sprawling face down in the snow. She heard the man curse. His foot flashed by and connected solidly with the dog's ribs, making him yelp.

  As she righted herself, she heard more growls and then the loud retort of the gun. Another yelp came from Oscar, then a long, low whine.

  Bree scrambled to her feet and called for the dog. He lay on his side, panting, and her horrified eyes took in the obscene smear of blood against the glittering snow.

  "You bastard!" She looked at Ernie, hatred filling her heart. The son of a bitch could do just about anything he liked to her, but he'd damned well better leave her dog alone.

  "Yeah, well, the mutt's just askin' to get shot." The gun pointed directly at her. As if in slow motion, she saw his finger start to depress the trigger. The sound of the gun firing and Jack's rough shout came at the same time. Bree jerked to one side.

  Heat sliced across the top of her shoulder and she fell to the ground with a cry. She watched numbly as Jack—almost faster than her eyes could follow—rushed to stand between her and the hitman. Ernie's eyes were narrowed with anger and fear, but he still kept firing the gun. Jack jerked with each impact.

  He stood between her and the killer, clad only in his jeans. As she lay on the ground, she shivered at the cold seeping through her clothing. Seeing Jack's bare feet planted firmly apart, covered in snow, she shivered again.

  Oscar whined and she looked over to where he was. He'd crawled a few inches forward and was still trying to get to her, his stout body shuddering with the effort. A small slick of blood trailed behind him.

  Putting her gaze back on the two men, Bree bit her lip and inched her way over to her dog. When she reached him, he swiped his tongue over her chin.

  A tear dripped from her cheek onto his fur, then another and another. "Poor baby," she whispered, glancing down at him. She couldn't tell how serious his wound was and, until Jack took care of the hitman, she wouldn't be able to assess it clearly. Keeping one hand on the top of the bulldog's head for comfort—for her and him—she looked back at the men.

  "What are you?" Ernie's voice was strained. His ashen face reflected his bewildered fear.

  "All you need to know is that this woman is out of your reach." Jack took a step forward and the other man backed up. "I'll give you one chance to save your own neck. Leave now, and don't. Ever. Come. Back."

  The man's eyes flicked to Bree, then back to Jack. He was clearly debating whether to leave without finishing the job, even with Jack—the phenomenal, unexplained Jack—in his face.

  Bree's gaze darted down to the gun in his hand, and she saw his fingers tighten around it.

  Jack saw it, too, for he warned, "Don't even think about it. All you'll do is piss me off."

  "Fuck you!"

  Jack raised an eyebrow. A slow smile spread over his face. He could tell Ernie's fear was fading, replaced by desperation. Desperate men made bad choices in life that quite often ended up getting them killed. If that's the way Ernie chose to go, so be it. "If that's an offer, mon ami, you could be a bit... friendlier."

  With a muttered curse, Ernie pulled the trigger. The gun misfired and he tried again with the same result. He dropped the gun and pulled a knife from his pocket, flicking it open and waving it back and forth.

  Jack snorted. A gleaming five-inch blade was a pitiful weapon against a vampire. Perhaps it was time to show the erstwhile hitman the error of his ways. As much as Jack would like to kill the bastard, he didn't want to show that much of the monster to Brianna.

  He couldn't bear it if she turned from him in fear and disgust. So he'd just have to make sure Ernie understood the error he'd made in accepting this job, and convince him it was in his best interest to move on. Before Ernie could do much more than blink, Jack moved in and wrapped the fingers of one hand around the man's throat. The other hand clasped Ernie's wrist, exerting pressure until he cried out and dropped the knife.

  "What the hell are you, man?"

  The monster inside him yowled for release and Jack let just the tiniest piece of it show. His eyes burned, his gums ached with bloodlust. He knew what the other man saw: silver eyes and sharp fangs, a face that had hardened into something right out of a horror movie.

  "I am that which strikes out from the darkness, something you don't want to study too closely. I'm the thing that kept you awake at night as a child, the covers gripped tightly under your chin."

  Jack leaned closer and let his hot breath blow over Ernie's cheek. He put his nose near the pulse pounding in the man's neck and inhaled.

  "Ah, fear," he murmured.

  Seeking to intensify the man's terror and, he hoped, his motivation for staying alive, Jack licked over the skin above that madly pulsing vein. "It gives the blood so much more... How do you say it?" He deepened his accent, knowing it would heighten the sense of unreality. "Saveur. Ah, oui. Flavor."

  "Jesus Christ," Ernie muttered.

  Jack sighed theatrically. "Why is it that all humans, when faced with their mortality, call upon a God whom they haven't sought out in years? Do you think He will hear you?" He swiped his tongue over the man's skin again, the taste of salty sweat curling over his taste buds. "Do you want to take the chance He won't?"

  He leaned back and stared into Ernie's eyes, letting the man see the full extent of his inner beas
t. "Save your life. Leave now. If you ever come near this woman again, I will kill you."

  Jack loosened his grip ever so slightly, but it was enough to allow the hitman to break free. With one last wild-eyed look over his shoulder, Ernie ran through the snow, disappearing from sight.

  Jack turned and pulled Bree to her feet. The smell of her blood wafted to his nostrils. He knew the hunger must have shown quite clearly on his face, for she gasped, then frowned. "Don't look at me like that," she whispered.

  "Like what?" He started to lift her so he could carry her into the house.

  She waved him off and backed up a few steps. "Like I'm a big juicy steak." She motioned toward the dog. "Help Oscar."

  He looked down at the bulldog, which sent him a sad and pathetic look from watery brown eyes. Poor guy. He'd been through it today, all to protect his mistress.

  Jack bent and picked up the dog, and started back toward the cabin.

  "Not a steak, chérie," he murmured in response to Bree's comment. He willed the beast back and felt the gradual retraction of his fangs. The rest of him stayed on high alert, however, and that included his randy prick. "But something equally as tasty, but to be savored slowly. A decadent dessert perhaps, or a rich hors d'oeuvre."

  "Great," she muttered as she tramped up the steps behind him. When he paused at the back door, she moved around him and opened it so he could carry Oscar into the cabin. "I am not some kind of vampire cocktail weenie."

  Her voice wavered and she sniffed. Putting on a brave face after nearly meeting her death was something he'd have expected of her, and she didn't disappoint.

  "Oh, assuredly not a weenie, chérie." He carefully placed Oscar on the kitchen table.

  Bree slammed the door shut and hovered over her baby, making cooing noises that at any other time would've made Jack laugh. But now, hearing the worry in her voice, seeing it on her face... His lips tightened. He should've killed the bâtard.

  "Let me see your shoulder," he said, reaching for her coat.

  She shook her head. "See to Oscar first."

  "Brianna...”

  "I'm all right." She dropped her coat on the floor and pushed her blouse to one side, showing an ugly-looking gash that was red and raw, but no longer bleeding. "Please just take care of Oscar."

  Jack muttered a string of curses, ending with a pithy, "Merde," but he put his attention on the dog. He probed the wound across the bulldog's left flank, wincing in sympathy when the poor thing whined and then let out a loud yelp. Oscar turned his head and licked the back of Jack's hand. Daft thing was probably apologizing for showing weakness in front of his alpha.

  Jack shook his head. Since when did he go around thinking of himself as the alpha male, let alone to a friggin' dog? Damn, Michael was going to have a decade's worth of fun over this one.

  "The bullet went straight through, and the bleeding's already stopped. He'll be all right, chérie." Jack tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "There's some disinfectant and bandages in the bathroom cabinet," he said to Bree. "Go get them. Please."

  She stroked her fingers down Oscar's muzzle, then turned and ran from the kitchen. Big clumps of snow fell from her boots and began to melt on the floor.

  Jack stared at them for a moment. He was getting soft, just like that melting snow. In times past, he would've ended the assassin's life and called it a job well done. But he'd been too concerned with what Brianna thought of him to take care of the problem with that kind of finality.

  He only hoped his... generosity didn't come back to bite him in the ass. For one thing was certain; he hadn't been recalled. The danger to Brianna wasn't over.

  Chapter Eight

  Bree craned her neck to watch as Jack put the finishing touches on her bandaged shoulder. The bullet had barely nicked her, but there was enough gauze taped to her skin that she looked like she was trying to hide some sort of unsightly growth.

  "Well?"

  He glanced at her. "Well, what?"

  "Is that it? Is it over?" God, she hoped it was over. She didn't think the thin thread holding her sanity together would survive another attack.

  But, on the other hand, if it was over... Jack would leave. She didn't want that, either.

  He shook his head. "If it were over, I'd already have been recalled."

  She blinked. "What do you mean, 'recalled'?"

  "When a Protector has finished his assignment, he is recalled and usually assigned to another charge."

  And gone from her life forever.

  When he went to add yet another square pad of gauze, she put her hand over the wad already on her shoulder. "Um, Jack, really. This is good."

  "But...”

  "No. Really. I'm good." Bree hopped down from the kitchen counter, unwilling to dwell on losing Jack. Pursing her lips, she self-consciously put one arm over her bare breasts and looked around for something to put on.

  Jack lifted an eyebrow and a wide grin curled his lips. But instead of throwing a smartass comment her way, as she expected him to do, he held up one finger in a motion for her to wait, and walked out of the kitchen. In just a few minutes, he was back and handed her his t-shirt.

  Bree took it and fought against the urge to hold it to her nose and inhale his scent. She gingerly pulled the shirt over her head, sliding her arms through the sleeves. She smoothed the material over her waist. After she rotated her arm a bit, trying to work out some of the stiffness, she started gathering the first aid supplies. When Jack took the kit from her hand, she frowned.

  "Why don't you go see how Oscar's doing, chérie?" Jack leaned down and kissed her softly on one corner of her mouth. Just that light, affectionate touch set her nerve endings firing with lust.

  "I'll put this away. Go on." He pushed her toward the door, giving her fanny a swat.

  "Ow!" Bree rubbed her buttock against the sting from his hand. She stuck her tongue out at him and then wandered out into the living room. Kneeling beside Oscar where he lay napping on a pile of blankets in front of the fire, she softly crooned to him. He cracked open one eye and gave his tail a little wag. She scratched under his chin, then behind his ears. The bulldog snuffled against her thigh, leaving a trail of slimy slobber.

  "Gee, thanks, little man." She sighed and rose to her feet. It was a good thing she was so in love with this animal. Otherwise...

  Hell. Who was she kidding? She'd bankrupt herself buying non-slobbered-upon clothing before she'd ever give him up. This he-was-so-ugly-he-was-cute mutt was her hero.

  Jack came into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, he patted his lap.

  Don't have to ask me twice.

  Bree walked over to the couch, unzipping her jeans as she went. Once she'd stepped out of them, she perched on Jack's lap and rested her head against one broad shoulder. His skin warmed against her, taking heat from her body. Beneath her, his cock thickened and hardened.

  "Not that I'm complaining, chérie," Jack said, and pressed a kiss against her forehead. A hand swept up her back under the t-shirt. "But why did you take off your pants?"

  "Oscar slimed me." She wiggled, smiling with pure feminine triumph when the bulge under her bottom swelled even more. "You don't seem to, um, mind."

  "Not me."

  Bree shifted to straddle him, bracing her hands on his wide shoulders. Then she leaned forward and kissed a path along one collarbone. Reaching his throat, she lingered over the tendons, lightly nipping and sucking.

  His hands went to her waist and he bent his head to her breasts. He licked one aching, upthrust nipple through the thin material of the shirt, and she moaned in satisfaction, her hands moving to the soft silk of his hair.

  Jack shifted his position under her. He leaned forward, supporting her with splayed hands across her back. His oh-so-talented mouth moved to her other breast and he suckled with strong demand.

  "Jack, I want you," Bree moaned, her grip tight in his hair.

  "Then you shall have me, chérie."

  With the utmost care, he lifted her off his
lap, placing her gently on the sofa. He stood and stripped off his jeans. His cock rose proud and full from the dark hair at his groin. Bree sat forward and traced a thick vein that ran from his abdomen down into the nest of hair and then she gripped his erection and gently tugged him toward her.

  "One of us is a bit overdressed, chérie," he said with a grin.

  She laughed at the repeat of the words he'd spoken the night before. "I guess this time it is me."

  Lifting her hips, she shimmied out of her panties and then yanked the t-shirt over her head. She winced as the movement tugged on her wounded shoulder. The pain soon faded, however, and she reached for him again with eagerness.

  He dodged her hands. "No, Brianna. This time, I get to take my time with you."

  Jack leaned over her and nuzzled her neck. His tongue touched the sensitive skin just under her ear and her heart jumped. Cream slid from her core to lie slickly along her labia. She heard his sharply indrawn breath.

  "I can smell your arousal, chérie," he whispered in her ear. His mouth moved to her collarbone and he traced a path with his lips. His breath blew warm and sweet against her skin, and her nipples puckered in anticipation.

  Giving a soft groan, he covered her mouth with his own. She sighed and opened for his insistent tongue, sliding her hands into his hair to pull him closer. When he finally lifted his head, she blinked, gasping as he moved with purposeful intent to one hard-tipped breast.

  The forceful tug of his mouth on her nipple shot sparks of fire straight to her pussy. The sight of his dark head at her breast ramped up her arousal even more. And when he glanced up at her, she caught her breath at the silver embers burning in his eyes.

  He moved to the other breast and one broad hand slid slowly down her abdomen. Fingers tangled briefly in the curls sheltering her sex. Bree moaned and spread her legs, opening herself more fully to his skillful touch.

  "Brianna, you are so beautiful." His voice was a growl of longing. A thick finger entered her, then another, stretching her, curling to rub against the sensitive walls of her channel.