Braxton's Warrior

by Lynn Howard

  Another of those sighs came over the line. “Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I figured you were a night owl, too.”

  “I usually am. But someone ruined my fun tonight so I had to come home early.”

  “Fun?” he said with a chuckle. “That what you call that?”

  She shrugged even though Brax couldn’t see her over the phone. “Eh,” she said. “I’d rather be doing what other women my age are doing. You know. Clubbing. Looking for a husband. Popping out kids.”

  She was being sarcastic. And, even though Brax had known her only for a few weeks and had spent barely a few hours combined with her, he saw through it and chuckled.

  “Yeah. I can totally see you with two point five kids, a minivan, and a two-story house with a white picket fence. Oooh. And maybe a frilly apron.”

  “Oh yeah. I forgot about the apron.”

  “I’ll buy you one. You can clean my house wearing only that.”

  Campbell barked out a surprised laugh. “Flirt,” she said then yawned.

  “I should let you go. You need rest. And please stay in tomorrow. And a few more days after that. Let yourself heal. What good would you do anyone if you’re dead?”

  If she wasn’t mistaken, those last few words were spoken on a growl. And as sick as it sounded even in her own head, that sound made everything south of her belly button go all warm and tingly.

  “I’ll just sit around eating ice cream and watching daytime TV.”

  It was Brax’s turn to laugh. “In an apron.”

  Shaking her head against her pillow, Campbell smiled. “Goodnight, Brax.”

  “Night, Camp,” he said before ending the call.

  Camp. Like her mom and dad called her. And her sister had called her. And her closest friends. Not that she had too many anymore.

  Although Brax felt like a friend. Or he was beginning to feel like one. She didn’t have to hide who she was or what she was doing from him. She didn’t have to make excuses for any bruises or scrapes or why she couldn’t go dancing or something stupid like that.

  Tossing the phone back onto the nightstand, she considered picking it back up and calling her mom. Campbell knew her mom would worry if she didn’t, but she was too tired to fake being fine. Her mom would hear the pain and confusion in her voice and would ask questions. Questions Campbell had no desire to answer. Not tonight.

  Polo climbed onto his side of the bed, and after a few circles, he laid beside her with a groan and closed his eyes. If only she could fall asleep as easily as her dog. There were too many thoughts chasing each other in her head, too many emotions to relax enough for sleep to come quickly.

  But it eventually came. And for once, she had a respite from the constant nightmares that had plagued her for over a year.

  Nope. No nightmares.

  Only dreams of Brax making love to her with glowing eyes.

  ****

  Brax laid the phone on his chest and stared up at the dark ceiling. He’d had his balls busted from the rest of the Pride the entire way home.

  He didn’t care.

  Campbell not only gave him her number but said he could call.

  He probably should’ve waited until morning to use her number, but he couldn’t wait. Every time he was near her, that bond, the mating bond, grew stronger.

  He hated being away from her. Hated not knowing if she was safe or in pain.

  Of course she was in pain. She’d had her leg ripped open by a fucking wolf Shifter.

  Asshole. Shame he wasn’t alive. Because then Brax could track him down and kill him. Slowly. And painfully. He’d inflict ten times the agony the asshole had inflicted on Campbell.

  A tap on his door preceded his twin stepping through. Daxon leaned against the frame, his arms crossed, one dark brow raised. “Really?”

  “What?” Brax said, setting his phone on the TV tray he used as his nightstand.

  “You saw her, what? Twenty minutes ago? And you already called her?”

  “Thirty minutes ago. And you’re jealous.”

  Brax laid back with both arms folded under his head. Didn’t matter how much shit his brother gave him; he was floating on cloud nine. Campbell didn’t hate him. And he’d smelled her arousal from across the room when he’d been in her apartment earlier. It had taken everything he had to keep his feet planted to the carpet.

  For one thing, he wouldn’t do shit unless he was one hundred percent certain Campbell was on board. No matter how hard his dick got around her, he’d keep it in his pants.

  The other thing was his brother and Pride were in the SUV waiting for him. And the first time he was with Campbell wouldn’t be a quickie. He’d take his time and savor every moan and sigh that came from that sexy mouth of hers. He’d spend hours exploring her body, counting her scars, and finding the spots that made her the wettest.

  “You’re pathetic.”

  “And again, you’re jealous. It’s not my fault I’m the hotter brother.”

  “You’re jealous I have the bigger dick.”

  “Bull shit,” Brax said, closing his eyes.

  He didn’t know whether Daxon had the bigger schlong or not. And he didn’t plan to whip his out to compare, either.

  Deep chuckling made him open his eyes. “What?”

  “You’re really into her.”

  “Duh,” Brax said. He’d thought it’d been obvious from minute one.

  “You going to tell her?”

  “Tell her what?” Brax asked.

  “She’s your mate.”

  Brax looked at him like he was nuts. “Really? I’m still trying to make her see me as a man instead of a monster. I don’t think throwing the whole fated bull shit in there will make that any easier.”

  “It’s not bull shit,” Daxon said, reaching up and grabbing the door frame as he leaned forward.

  “I know that. And you know that. But what the fuck do you think she’ll do if I say ‘hey, forgot to tell you something. My panther chose you as my woman. You don’t really have a say in it because the universe decided for us’?” Brax sat up. “She’ll pull her gun and aim it at my forehead. She’ll think I’m fucking nuts.”

  “Or not.”

  “Get out,” Brax said, flopping back against the mattress.

  “She’s a strong chick. And if she likes you, she must be into weird shit.”

  Brax lifted his hand and flipped his twin the bird.

  “Just saying.” With those last two words, Daxon stepped out and pulled Brax’s door shut behind him.

  Didn’t matter what Daxon was saying. Brax had no intention of bringing any of that crap up, not any time soon. Maybe never. He’d make Campbell fall in love with him and she’d think it was the natural progression of life.

  Hell. He’d only been around her a few times and already he was addicted to her. He could see himself falling for her, mating bond or not. He loved strong women. And it didn’t hurt that she was hot as fuck. And funny. And sexy. And…perfect.

  It was still early by the panthers’ standards. They usually didn’t get home until close to dawn unless they happened upon one of the rogue bastards. More and more they’d tracked them to the woods where they snuck the women to one holding place or another while they waited for transport. It would be so much easier if they could get an idea of who exactly they were targeting. Then, they could act as security instead of a search and rescue team.

  Not that he minded tracking those fuckers into the woods; there was something so satisfying about wiping them off the planet one by one.

  It was over an hour before Brax felt sleepy enough to close his eyes. He’d been tempted to put his hand down his boxers and fantasize about Campbell. He’d rather have the real thing, though. If he rubbed off every time the mere thought of the sexy ninja turned him on, he’d end up going blind.

  Rolling onto his side, Brax pretended Campbell was lying beside him, her hand under her cheek, her body curled up, her face relaxed with sleep. For some reason, though, he had a feeling Camp
bell wasn’t a peaceful sleeper. He imagined she mumbled in her sleep, threw her arms around, maybe even snored.

  He didn’t care. He still wanted to be in bed beside her instead of alone with a raging hard-on.

  When sleep finally dragged him under, his dreams revolved around Campbell. As much as he’d have loved some wet dreams about her, some dreams where she was naked and walking toward him with a come-hither look, he’d end up with nothing but nightmares.

  Brax ran through the woods, his legs moving in slow motion as he tried to get to her. He could hear her screaming, grunting, fighting the rogues. But unlike reality, he couldn’t get to her in time. By the time his body worked through the dream sludge, Campbell laid on the forest floor, gasping for breath as several gashes in her throat and chest allowed her blood to seep out of her. There was nothing he could do for her. He couldn’t even turn her to save her life. It would more likely cause her death to come more rapidly.

  In this fucked up nightmare Brax dropped to his knees to hold her as she died. But Campbell recoiled from him, her eyes wide with fear. She was terrified of Brax.

  “You son of a bitch!” Daxon yelled from behind Brax.

  Brax turned, ready to watch the fucker who’d hurt Campbell die. Instead, Daxon was glaring down at Brax.

  Why? Why was his brother looking at Brax as if…

  Looking down at his hands, they were covered in Campbell’s blood. He hadn’t touched her when he’d found her. She hadn’t let him. Why the fuck were his hands covered in her blood.

  “You killed her, asshole!” Aron bellowed, pulling Brax away from Campbell.

  Just as Campbell took her last breath, Brax jerked awake. He was covered in sweat, choking on air, clawing at his own throat as he felt like his throat was closing.

  Fear and agony sliced through him. He grieved so hard he released a sob as the last remnants of the dream began to fade away.

  Sitting up, Brax looked around his room. It wasn’t dark. He wasn’t in the woods. He was in his bedroom. The sun was up. And Campbell was in her apartment where he’d left her last night. She wasn’t dead. He’d gotten to her side in time.

  Why the hell did Aron and Daxon think he’d killed Campbell in his dream? Was his body and mind trying to tell him he was a danger to the human?

  That was stupid as fuck. He’d never hurt a woman let alone the woman his human and animal side had claimed.

  His panther hadn’t verbalized anything, but why else would he feel this insane pull toward Campbell if she wasn’t his true mate.

  Rubbing his hands down his face, he struggled to get his fucking heart to slow down. It was beating painfully fast and hard in his chest as he panted for air.

  She was okay. He’d left her in her house. He’d carried her up the stairs and waited outside her door as she’d clicked all the locks into place.

  But what if she wasn’t okay. What if she’d gone against his wishes and headed out after he’d left? No. They’d talked last night. They’d both been in bed. He’d woken her up.

  He was being irrational.

  Yet, he still had a strong urge to check on her. Not an urge. A need. He had a desperate need to see her with his own two eyes to ensure she was still in one piece. He barely knew her yet he knew without a single fucking doubt he’d fall apart if anything happened to her, especially when he could’ve protected her.

  He should’ve asked if he could stay on her couch to watch over her. If she’d said no, he could’ve camped outside her door until morning.

  Again, he was being fucking irrational.

  “Dammit,” he muttered as he pushed his hand through his hair to get it out of his face.

  Looking through the window, he tilted his head and frowned. A glance at the time made the frown deeper. Brax was awake because of a terrible nightmare. So what was his brother doing up and outside?

  Pulling on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, he padded silently through the house and stepped out onto the porch. Daxon glanced over his shoulder and jerked his chin in an unspoken greeting.

  He’d heard people talk about twin bonds. How twins could communicate without speaking. While that was true at times, this moment wasn’t one of them.

  As Brax climbed down the stairs, he pulled a chair beside his brother’s. “What are you doing up?” he asked.

  “Nightmare,” Daxon said, his voice hoarse.

  “About Campbell?” Daxon nodded once. “Back in the woods. Let me guess: We didn’t get to her in time. Who killed her in your nightmare?”

  Daxon looked at Brax and stared at him for a few seconds. He looked like shit. There were dark circles under his eyes, the lines bracketing his mouth and eyes were more noticeable this morning. His shoulder length hair was messy and tangled.

  “Me,” Daxon finally said, looking away from Brax.

  Yep. Twin bond and all that shit.

  “Same,” Brax said.

  Daxon looked at Brax out of the corner of his eye. “You had a dream I killed Campbell? You know I’d never –”

  Brax held a hand up. “No. I had a dream I killed her.” His stomach still burned from the image of Campbell’s terrified eyes as she fought to stay alive.

  “Fucked up,” Daxon mumbled under his breath so low Brax almost missed it.

  “Yep,” Brax said, staring off in the same direction as his brother.

  They sat like that, watching the birds flitter from tree to tree, watched squirrels foraging for food for the coming winter, watched as the sun crept above the tree line for hours.

  Eventually, sounds of life stirred inside the trailer as Aron and Mason woke. Someone was in the kitchen making coffee. Someone was in the shower. Soon, one of them would look out the window and see the twins acting like statues in the rickety lawn chairs.

  “What time is it?” Brax asked.

  Daxon shrugged. “Probably around eight.” He looked at his brother. “You going over there?”

  Brax pulled his lips into his mouth and nodded. “Yeah, man. I got to see her face.”

  Daxon mimicked Brax and nodded, as well. “Yeah. I get it.”

  Pushing to his feet, Daxon clapped Brax on the shoulder as he passed and headed inside.

  Was eight too early to show up at Campbell’s door? He could always use the pretense of coming to take Polo for his walk so she didn’t have to navigate through her house, down the stairs, and around the mobile home park with her injured leg. He did, after all, want her to heal. And she couldn’t if she constantly put strain on that leg.

  Mind made up, Brax lunged to his feet and ran inside, shoving the sweats off and pulling on a pair of jeans. He didn’t bother putting on a shirt under the hoodie. Not like he planned to take it off any time soon. He simply needed to make sure Campbell was okay.

  He wouldn’t even stay that long. Only long enough to…what? He would see she was safe the second she opened the door. He would even know if he called her. But that wasn’t enough. Already, his panther was pacing like crazy in his head. Both sides of him needed to see his mate with their own fucking eyes.

  Chapter Six

  Damn. Campbell was sore. It was bad enough her leg had woken her a few times, but the rest of her body was sore from the fight last night, too.

  Shame she didn’t have a sexy someone there to rub the kinks out.

  Rolling onto her back, she winced when the bandage shifted on the gashes on her leg. How freaking long would it take for those stupid things to heal. Brax had asked her to stay home, but guilt was already eating at her. How many women like Janie and Amy were out there? How many like Caren? What if someone like Campbell had been out there when her sister had been taken? Would she still be alive?

  But Brax had a point: What good would she be to anyone if she were dead?

  Polo climbed from his side of the bed and sat at her feet, his mouth open as he panted happily. He wanted to go out. He was ready for his morning walk. And she was dreading every second of it. She was dreading walking down the stairs, down the sidewalk, and back up
again. But her baby needed to relieve his bladder and other disgusting things.

  Grunting, she raised to her feet and gritted her teeth as the blood rushed to the wound and caused a whole new throbbing pain. This sucked. She wasn’t even sure a handful of Tylenol would help.

  She did have Vicodin in her bathroom but hated taking them. They dulled her senses and made her loopy. However, if she wasn’t hunting tonight, what harm could it do? She had enough locks on her door to keep someone out long enough for her to grab her gun.

  And she had Polo. He might not be as big as a Shifter, but he was pretty damn big. And protective of his momma.

  “Alright, baby boy. Give me a second to get dressed,” she told Polo as she scratched his head and headed to her dresser.

  As she pulled a drawer open, there was a knock at her door. Someone was at her house. Who? It was barely after eight in the morning. Anyone she was still in contact with would’ve called her…after ten. Or even later. Her mom knew she slept late.

  Shit. She forgot to call her mom last night. No way had she driven from St. Louis simply to check on her.

  Tugging on a pair of sweats over her panties, she limped to the door and called out, “Yeah?”

  “Hey,” a familiar voice sounded. “Did I wake you up?”

  What the hell was Brax doing at her trailer so early?

  Campbell unlocked her door, pulling it open a crack. He was standing at the bottom of the small deck, his hands on either side of the railing.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice excited and a tad breathless.

  Stepping back, she pushed the door open further as an invitation in, then turned on her heel and headed to do her morning ablutions.

  Campbell glanced over her shoulder as she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door before he could try to muscle his way inside. Not that he’d do that. He hadn’t moved any further than the foyer either times he’d been inside her house until she’d given him permission to do so.

  Brushing her teeth and hair quickly, she relieved her bladder, then exited the bathroom, ready to take her furry baby for his walk.