Forbidden Instinct

by Cassandra Chandler

  Instead of walking inside, she paused and angled her body toward his. She took his hand in hers, going so far as to interlace their fingers.

  “You should take better care of yourself.” She smiled at him when their gazes met again. She hoped that made the contact feel less out of place.

  She didn’t know how long Darren would indulge her before finding it weird that she was just holding his hand and staring at him, but holding hands was the best conduit for reading someone’s future. If she held on long enough, maybe she could pierce the fog surrounding him and see what was on the other side.

  It actually seemed to be working. The fog thinned, as if it was being burned away. Finally, an image formed.

  Darren. Naked. Above her.

  His head was thrown back, eyes clenched shut in an expression that was unmistakable.

  She felt her heart quicken at the sight, her body responding. He was so gorgeous. For a brief moment, she wished she was the one conjuring up that expression of ecstasy on his face.

  She couldn’t see the person he was with. The vision was from their point of view for some reason.

  The explanation came quickly, as she saw the woman’s hand rise, caressing Darren’s cheek, then trailing down his chest before he bent down to kiss her. Miranda knew the back of that hand like…the back of her hand. Because it was the back of her hand.

  Her mouth went dry and the tingling that had started deep in her belly burst into full-blown fireworks. That could be her. That would be her.

  But how could she start something with Darren when she thought they might be in the middle of a world-changing event? When she knew it was going to end in death for them both?

  Unless she’d been wrong about the fog. Unless she was wrong about…everything.

  The vision faded, but she found herself still staring into those steel gray eyes. His brows had lowered and the predatory expression was back. It didn’t bother her a bit this time. She wanted him just as much, her body thrumming from the energy of the vision.

  The look of rapture on his face… She wanted to be part of that, even if it seemed like a bad idea.

  “Miranda…” He leaned in, absolutely planning to kiss her. She stood on her toes to meet him half way.

  His lips touched hers gently at first, then harder as he gripped her arms and pulled her tight against his chest. The fireworks in her belly went lower, tingling energy spreading between her legs. It had been a long time since she had kissed someone at all. She had never kissed someone like this.

  She put her arms around his waist, wanting to be closer. She parted her lips to run her tongue across the velvet surface of his mouth. He moaned, letting her in, then he plunged into her, his tongue thrusting against hers.

  They needed to find a bed. The back seat of his car would do. She could find out what she needed to know before, during, and after sex. But right now, she needed this most of all. She needed him.

  He let go of her arms, but only to grab a fistful of her hair, his other hand lowering to her ass and pressing her tighter to his body. Heat blazed from him.

  He tilted her head to the side, his kisses trailing along her cheek to her neck. He nuzzled her ear, nipping her earlobe and pressing his hips against hers. The fireworks intensified as he ground his hard length against her.

  At this rate, they’d end up having sex on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. She wasn’t sure she even cared. She was on the edge of the end of the world, after all.

  “Step away from her.”

  Miranda jerked her head toward the strong voice that had broken through their moment. Whoever it was had better—

  Her thoughts cut off as she saw Jack standing on the sidewalk, his placid expression severely out of place with the gun he was pointing at them. It was an old-fashioned revolver, like in a western. She thought of the modern version tucked under Darren’s jacket.

  “Jack, what are you doing?” she said.

  Darren let out a deep rumbling growl, moving to stand in front of her. If Jack had snapped, he was more likely to kill Darren, though. Right?

  She tried to move back in front of Darren, but he blocked her with his left arm. She glanced at it and saw that his jacket was shredded. His hand was coated in blood that had dried and darkened.

  “Oh my God. Darren…”

  He didn’t seem to register that she had spoken. How was he upright? He must be in agony.

  He let out another low growl, his weight shifting as if he was about to leap at Jack.

  “Don’t you dare.” Jack pulled back the hammer on his gun. “If you have any humanity left, you’ll step away from her. I’m a little rusty, and I don’t want to hit Miranda if you jump away too fast.”

  “No one is getting shot.” She wrapped her arms around Darren’s chest, managing to slide around so she was at least standing next to him.

  He was so hot. Even through his clothes, his skin felt like it was almost burning her. Weren’t there some zombie stories about the person having a fever as they changed?

  She shoved the thought away. She was being ridiculous. Zombies weren’t real. Guns were very, very real. She needed to get Jack to back off so she could figure out what was going on with Darren.

  “Miranda, you’re not helping,” Jack said.

  “I’m not trying to help,” she said. “Not you, anyway. What are you doing, Jack?”

  He sighed, then reached into his pocket and pulled something out that was too small for her to see. He tossed it toward them. Darren plucked it out of the air with his right hand, then yelped and dropped it. It landed on the sidewalk with a tink, rolling in a circle until gravity made it stop.

  A bullet.

  “I have a full magazine in here just like that one,” Jack said. “Silver. More than enough to put you down.”

  Darren still had his arm around her and his grip tightened. He was so strong, it was getting hard to breathe.

  “Careful,” Jack said. “She’s only human. And judging from the look of things, you’re pretty new to what you can do now.”

  Darren loosened his embrace and glanced down at her. His eyes glittered in the light cast from the streetlamps and the sconce above the door.

  It wasn’t moisture. Maybe the fever?

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said, even though she knew it was a lie.

  Neither of them was escaping their fate. She suddenly understood how they could start a relationship in the middle of this. He’d already been bitten and she had managed to infect herself doing her psychic detective work. They were both doomed, so why not seek comfort from each other while they could?

  She latched onto the thought, reassured by feeling that she might finally understand what was going on.

  “Jack, you have to stay away from us,” she said. “I don’t want you to get sick, too.”

  For the first time, Jack seemed to be thrown. His forehead crinkled up and he shook his head.

  “What are you…” His features relaxed briefly, but then his jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed. “Pick up the bullet, Miranda.”

  “What?”

  “Pick it up.” His gaze hardened as he pointed the gun at her. “Now.”

  Darren started to lean forward. She pressed her hand against his chest and shook her head when he looked down at her. The glittering in his eyes was brighter. Almost like they were lit from within.

  She was imagining things. It had to be from the stress—or from the illness already germinating within her.

  “It’s okay,” she said. She looked back at Jack and repeated, “It’s okay.”

  Slowly, she squatted down and picked up the bullet, then stood next to Darren. He draped his arm across her shoulders again and she wrapped hers around his waist. Well, the one not at all connected to the bullet.

  She didn’t understand what was so special about it, but when she brought her hand closer to her chest, Darren started to growl.

  “Open your hand,” Jack said. “Let me see you holding it.”

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nbsp; “For Pete’s sake.” She held out her arm and opened her hand, the bullet rolling over her palm.

  Jack nodded at her. “Okay. He hasn’t changed you yet. But you still need to step away from him.”

  “What, so you can shoot him?” She tightened her grip on Darren’s waist.

  “Miranda, that’s not Darren anymore,” Jack said.

  She looked up at Darren. His jaw was clenched, his lips tight, and his nostrils flaring. He looked super-pissed, which made sense, given the situation. But even staring down a gun, he’d tried to stand in front of her, to shield her from danger.

  No. This was Darren. And as long as he was still himself, she would stand by him.

  “He’s not a zombie,” she said.

  She was mostly trying to reassure herself—to ground herself firmly in reality—but she spoke a little louder than she expected. Darren looked down at her, surprise softening the edges of his anger.

  “You’re not a zombie,” she repeated, looking up at Darren.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Jack let out a snort. “I know. If he was a zombie, I’d have brought out my shotgun or a machete. Instead I brought silver—same as the bell he set off when he stepped close enough to the front door.”

  Miranda tore her gaze away from Darren’s and looked over at Jack. Was he seriously talking about zombies as if they were real?

  Jack lifted his free hand briefly, then let it drop to his side. “He’s a werewolf.”

  Chapter Eight

  This was nuts. Darren was looking down the barrel of a revolver that was wielded by a man who planned to put him down with silver bullets. Because he thought Darren was a werewolf.

  The really crazy part was that Darren sort of believed him.

  Darren’s hand still itched where he had touched the bullet. He could hear Jack’s heart—and Miranda’s. Both thumping out quick beats, like drums before battle. The sound pounded in his ears and made his head ache.

  He wanted to rip Jack’s heart out of his chest to make it stop. He had a feeling he could, if it wasn’t for the silver bullets in that gun—a gun Jack was pointing at Miranda. She had all but wrapped herself around Darren in an effort to protect him.

  And Jack was threatening her.

  Darren could smell the sweat and grease on Jack’s skin. The gunpowder on his hands. Jack had fired a gun recently. Probably at a range to keep up his skills, no matter what he said about being “retired”.

  It didn’t matter how sharp Jack kept his skills. If he tried to shoot Darren—or if Darren tried to get the gun away from him—there was a chance Miranda would get hurt. Darren couldn’t risk that.

  But for putting Miranda in danger, Jack was going to die.

  The thought repeated in Darren’s head, his vision going red. He could see the blood flowing in Jack’s veins, the vital areas where the arteries were nearest the surface, and the bright red point in the center of his chest feeding it all. Darren would rip Jack apart, tear out his throat, and drape him over the Red Thread’s sign as a warning to anyone who dared to endanger the people Darren cared about.

  Except Jack was ready for Darren. Armed with silver.

  How could he have known?

  “Miranda.” Jack’s voice had become deadly calm. “Step. Away.”

  “No,” Miranda said.

  She smelled like fear. Sugar-sweet and cloying. Darren much preferred her scent a few moments ago, when he was kissing her. Her scent had blossomed around her then, light and pure as honeysuckle.

  Now, her body was trembling against his. God, it felt so good. But he didn’t want her afraid. He wanted her to tremble from his touch, to be as hungry for it as he was for hers. He wanted…her. Even more than he wanted to kill Jack.

  Darren closed his eyes and took deep breaths, drinking in her scent, focusing on it. If he really was a werewolf, Miranda was in danger. In danger from him.

  Shit, am I really considering this?

  Jack wasn’t threatening Miranda. He was protecting her.

  Darren thought about the thing in the grocery store. The giant bipedal wolf who had nearly torn his arm off before turning into a man.

  The red overlay was gone from his vision when Darren opened his eyes, leaving the night bathed in the washed-out sodium glare of the streetlamps. Jack was still staring at him, muscles tensing, ready to fight, but his cardiovascular system was hidden behind his flesh and clothes.

  Darren held out both hands in surrender. If he could get Miranda clear, maybe he could…jump over the building or something. Werewolves were fast, right? That’s what he’d seen in movies and read in books. He could dodge the bullet and run away.

  “Do as he says.” Darren tried to step away.

  Miranda pressed herself even closer to him. “Are you crazy?”

  “Probably.” Why else would feeling her softness against him be able to turn him on even in this insane situation? “Then again, I seem to be in good company.”

  Miranda had mentioned zombies. Jack not only believed in werewolves, he was prepared to fight them. And after what Darren had seen—what he was currently experiencing—he was starting to believe as well.

  This wasn’t the result of being drugged. He couldn’t even try to convince himself it was some sort of psychotic break.

  This was real. Darren had been bitten by a werewolf and now he was facing down a man who seemed to be a werewolf hunter.

  “So, this is your similar profession?” Darren asked.

  Jack chuckled darkly. “It wasn’t too much of a stretch.”

  Darren let out a laugh. He let his arms fall back around Miranda’s shoulders, pulling her cool body closer to his as gently as he could. One last hug, and then he would push her away. Except he wasn’t sure how he could without hurting her.

  “Miranda, I need you to let me go,” he said.

  She glared up at him. “Not happening.”

  Warmth suffused his body as she clung to him. She was so insistent on putting herself in danger for him. He closed his eyes and took another deep, steadying breath.

  Her fear was diminishing, morphing into something smoother. Concern. He nuzzled the top of her head, letting her hair tickle his nose.

  What would have happened if he’d worked up the nerve to ask her out before this? He had noticed her…noticing him. And she was impossible to ignore.

  She wasn’t as thin as a stick and top-heavy like Scott seemed to prefer. She was shorter and rounder, with softness everywhere, matching her expressive eyes and warm smile.

  Scott was right. Darren had been seriously crushing on Miranda for a long time. Even without realizing how he felt, he’d been keeping her to himself, worried that his more adventurous partner would swoop in and charm her away.

  A growl rumbled up from his chest.

  Don’t think about that.

  He focused instead on Miranda in his arms, Miranda wrapped around him.

  Okay, don’t think about that too much either.

  Things were already starting to stir. He tried to find the razor’s edge—the balance between anger that there was a gun pointed at them, and the peace that holding Miranda and thinking about what she was willing to do for him brought.

  “How did you do that?” Jack’s voice had lost some of the fire, but none of its sharpness.

  When Darren opened his eyes, Jack was staring at them. He had lowered his gun a little.

  “Do what?” Darren asked.

  “Come back from the edge.” Jack shook his head. “I’ve never seen a werewolf back himself down from a change like that. I didn’t know it was possible.”

  “I didn’t know werewolves were possible until about five minutes ago.” Darren managed a smile.

  Jack snorted.

  “What are you guys talking about?” Miranda relaxed her hold a little.

  “You can step away from him.” Jack lowered his gun a little more. “I’m not going to shoot him. Yet.”

  “This is insane,” Miranda said. “Werewolves aren’t real.
”

  Jack chuckled again. “You, of all people, are going to lecture us about what is and is not possible in this world?”

  Miranda’s heartbeat spiked and she sucked in a breath. Darren didn’t understand what it meant, but it seemed to stop her argument.

  “We have some things to talk about.” Jack gestured toward the door with his gun. “Werewolves first.”

  Darren shook his head, but then opened the door to the restaurant and walked inside. Miranda trailed right after him, keeping herself close.

  As he stepped over the threshold, one of the bells above the door started to chime again. The note was different than what he was used to. He glanced up to see the silver bell dancing frenetically above his head. The others were still.

  “Neat trick,” he said. “Werewolf alarm?”

  Jack shrugged, then reached up to still the bell as he followed them inside. “Some of my friends are…crafty. Keep moving. Through the kitchen and on your right.”

  Miranda was keeping herself between them still. She looked over her shoulder as they walked through the kitchen and said, “Jack, could you please put away the gun?”

  Jack shook his head. “Not yet. But you’re welcome to walk beside me if you’d like.”

  She scowled, increasing her pace so she was right at Darren’s back. He crossed the small room, noting piles of iron skillets everywhere—more than it seemed the restaurant could possibly need. He stopped in front of the door Jack indicated. A small sign read, “Office”.

  Jack started to lean past him, reaching for the handle. His gun was kept leveled at Darren’s stomach.

  “Close quarters here,” Jack said. “Hard to miss. I wouldn’t try anything.”

  “I wasn’t planning to,” Darren said.

  Jack had information Darren needed. He just had to figure out how to get it.

  He wished he could get Miranda out of harm’s way so he could put his full attention on finding those answers. Then again, having her to focus on was helping Darren control the rage simmering within him.

  The door swung open on a dimly lit room. Darren’s skin prickled as he stepped into it. Walking through the doorway was like pushing his body through air that felt substantial—almost like water.