Tied With a Bow

by Lora Leigh

  All of these kids, happy and healthy and safe. Everyone here—safe.

  Benedict’s arm tightened involuntarily around Arjenie as he thought of how nearly . . . but she hadn’t been hurt. Not even a scratch. And K. J. Miller wouldn’t put her family in danger again.

  The authorities ruled it a heart attack. The man had been over fifty and had smoked for most of those years, so that was believable. It might even be true. Benedict didn’t know what exactly Coyote had done, but he’d never forget the look of utter terror on Miller’s face when something drifted up out of little Havoc and swept down over the skinwalker.

  It had worked out. It had all worked out, even the presents he’d been so worried about.

  He’d made a bowl for Robin, hand-turned from the stump of an old elm, then hand-finished using beeswax, because that way she could use it in her spellwork if she wanted. For Clay he’d found an antique blacksmith’s hammer—nothing he would use, probably, but he might want to display it. Seri and Sammy got lift passes at a ski resort Arjenie said they liked. Pretty much everyone else got gift certificates, which was a cop-out, but he hadn’t known any of them yet.

  Next year, he thought, he’d do better.

  But the house . . . that had kept him awake nights. Was it too pushy? Would Arjenie see it as him tying her down or assuming too much? But one reason she’d hated giving up her apartment was that she’d put a lot of effort into decorating it, making it hers. He’d hoped that planning a house together, making it theirs, would ease the sting.

  It seemed to have worked, even though, properly speaking, he hadn’t given it to her yet—just the appointment with the architect. He’d put the man’s business card with the day and time of the appointment in the small box he’d made out of mahogany. A real pleasure to work with, mahogany.

  Naturally, the card had required explaining. When he did, there had been a moment of complete silence in the room. Ambrose had broken it, saying with a shake of his head, “A custom-built house? Way to blow the curve for the rest of us, Benedict.”

  Everyone had laughed then, and the normal chaos of paper-ripping, exclaiming, and zooming-around kids had resumed.

  Havoc came trotting up, propped his forepaws on Benedict’s leg—the uninjured one, fortunately—and inserted his head beneath Benedict’s hand. Benedict chuckled and gave the little dog a good ear rub. Ever since their adventure, she’d considered him pretty much hers to order around.

  In other words, she’d accepted him. Like everyone else here. He didn’t understand. Nothing had gone right, not from the moment he’d stepped onto Delacroix soil. He’d turned into a wolf, then gotten caught up in circumstances that never let him present himself as normal. As one of them.

  But the kids all called him Uncle Benedict now, and the adults were as relaxed and teasing with him as they were with each other. Maybe he’d gotten the sympathy vote because of his wound. If so, he’d take it.

  He looked at Arjenie, intending to ask her about the little charm her aunt had given her, the one that had them exchanging sly grins. And smiled. In the midst of all the noise and commotion—outside, kids were shrieking as they pelted each other with snow—she’d fallen asleep.

  Havoc apparently though a nap was a good idea, because she hopped up into Benedict’s lap, turned around twice the way dogs do, and settled down. He grinned and stroked her head. Life was good. Life was very good.

  In the woods behind the Delacroix home, a man sat on the snowy ground, leaning against a tree trunk. He was lean, with a compact body, neither especially tall nor short. He had a blade of a nose, a small dimple in his chin, and the high, harsh cheekbones of one of the People. His hair was like his height, neither short nor long, but it was definitely shaggy.

  On this bright winter morning three days past solstice, he wore only jeans, boots, and a western-style snap shirt. He looked utterly relaxed sitting there in the snow, though his eyes were unfocused.

  At the moment, he wasn’t using them. He’d borrowed some from a friend.

  After another moment of stillness, merriment jumped into those dark eyes. He shook his head and laughed. Oh, such plans he’d had. He’d intended to walk up to the door, knock, and present himself in this body—a perfectly good body, and he’d missed it when that silly cub bungled his calling spell. He’d been looking forward to seeing their faces. Especially Benedict’s.

  Once inside, he would have informed them he was there to complete the task he’d been called for. That was nonsense, of course, but they would have believed him. He was always believable—what kind of trickster would he be if he couldn’t manage that?—and he’d had the best of motives. Benedict was one of his people even if he was a part-time wolf, and Benedict had wanted so much to be accepted.

  The plan had been to tell them he was acting as judge of Benedict’s relationship with Arjenie, then steer his witnesses—all of them, really, but especially those twins!—into explaining to him why Benedict was right for Arjenie. Then he’d have them explain why she was right for him. It was all quite obvious, but people were amazingly able to overlook the obvious if you didn’t give them a nudge.

  Even him. He chuckled again and got to his feet. He wouldn’t be needed here, after all. That family pulled together just fine. But it was a nice day for a walk, a lovely, sunny day, and as he headed for the road he enjoyed the play of muscles and the sunshine, glad to be back in his favorite body. Maybe he’d find someone else who needed a little help.

  Whistling softly, Coyote set off on the road, ready—happy—to lend a little of his special brand of help.

  An Inconvenient Mate

  LORA LEIGH

  So many dreams and so many years waiting in painful anticipation.

  So many pieces of a heart broken, so many nights spent watching the darkness, wondering where you were.

  I was here, and I was searching, always knowing somewhere, you waited.

  So many times I fought back tears, felt incomplete and feared you weren’t there.

  So many nights I howled into the darkness, incomplete and searching.

  I would have lost hope, I would have lost faith, then your smile lit my world.

  Your lips touched mine.

  For the first time in such a long, lonely life, I touched love.

  You held my heart in your hands.

  I felt its warmth, its power and its promise.

  So many times I only dreamed you were there.

  Then the dream came true . . .

  Chapter One

  So many dreams and so many years waiting in painful anticipation.

  WINDOW ROCK, ARIZONA

  She couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

  Isabelle Martinez watched the male across the bar as he lifted the frosted bottle of beer and drank. He placed the mouth of the bottle at his parted lips, tilted his head back and seemed to relish the cold bite of the liquid.

  The strong column of his throat worked lazily before he lowered the bottle, allowing his gaze to sweep the room. As though he hadn’t been watching every movement possible in the small bar before and while he’d taken that drink.

  Shaggy blond hair fell to his broad shoulders while the formfitting black of the uniform he wore shifted over his muscles with each move.

  Mission uniform, that was what they called it, she thought in fascination. The black material wasn’t skintight, it was simply formfitting, and it set him apart as exactly what he was—a lethal weapon. A creature no man nor beast should be stupid enough to confront.

  “I double-dare you,” her sister whispered at her ear.

  Chelsea simply had no idea what she was doing.

  “Not going to work, Chel.” Liza, her best friend, laughed from across the table. “She doesn’t have the guts to go for it. I told you, Holden drained the courage right out of her.”

  The mention of Holden Mayhew had a dark, sickening feeling slicing through her and sent an icy chill down her spine. His gaze slid past hers, then sliced back, his eyes locking with hers for
a second that seemed to last a lifetime as he motioned the bartender almost absentmindedly.

  Isabella licked her lips nervously, and his eyes were on the action like a cat on a mouse.

  A coyote on a rabbit.

  Predatory.

  Narrowed and dark. Were his eyes black or a blue so dark that the distance made them appear black? From where she sat and the shadows cast from the distance between them they could have been any color from dark brown to blue. One thing was certain, they were intent and gleaming with interest as they met hers.

  He held her gaze now, though, as he lifted the ice-filled glass the bartender set at his side and brought it to his lips.

  His eyes, narrowed and focused, remained locked with hers, mesmerizing her, holding her as no other man ever had.

  Oh sweet Lord.

  She could feel her breathing escalate, lust clawing at her senses as his lips touched the rim of the glass and he sipped the liquid before returning the glass to the bar.

  Whiskey?

  Of course.

  The bartender topped off the drink, no doubt hoping for one of the tips it was rumored Breeds were prone to give.

  It was one of the finest brands, and her favorite.

  “Couldn’t you just eat him up,” Chelsea murmured at her side. And she could. One slow, luscious lick at a time.

  “Come on, Isa.” Liza breathed out in awe. “It’s not like you can get a disease from him. Or get pregnant. Remember, their wives have to actually take those pills to get pregnant.”

  Isabelle didn’t bother glancing over at her friend.

  The documentaries they had watched over the years on Breeds were very enlightening. That, combined with every article they could get their hands on as well as every gossip rag Chelsea dragged into the apartment. Those stories, along with her father and grandfather’s stories of missing members of the Nation over the decades, filled her head.

  She had never been as fascinated by other Breeds as she was with this one, though. And he was so obviously one of the baddest of the bad.

  A Coyote Breed. The news story released days ago about the restructuring of the Breed communities had shown the Coyote Breeds’ new uniforms and identification.

  The white curved fang on the left shoulder of the lightweight mission jacket, the new designation patch of the Coyote Breeds, showed clearly through the dim light of the bar. He would be carrying a picture ID and, if he were with the Bureau of Breed Affairs, an official badge and ID.

  But she would have known he was a Breed without the uniform or the identification. They were easily picked out in a crowd. They were the most perfectly engineered creatures on the face of the earth and reflected the most perfect genetics that scientists could envision putting together to create a rough male beauty that seemed almost painful to look at.

  The perfect height, the perfect strength and health. Perfect teeth, savage features for the males, classic beauty for the females—just perfectly, exquisitely dangerous.

  A hell of a combination for a woman who now feared strength and danger.

  “She’s not talking to us,” Liza pointed out, the smile obvious in the tone of her voice.

  “’Cause he’s watching her,” Chelsea gasped in sudden surprise. “Oh my God, watch him stare at her. He’s, like, fascinated with her, Liza. Do you think she’s finally found a man she won’t say ‘no’ to?”

  Isabelle dropped her gaze and closed her eyes for a quick moment, hoping to still the racing of her heart and the sudden knowledge that her friends, and possibly others, were watching now. That silent, hungry exchange shouldn’t be shared. She didn’t want others to see it. She didn’t want it remarked upon, or gossiped about. It seemed too deep, too intimate to spoil it in such a way.

  There were few places a Breed could go where he or she wasn’t watched. Watched, judged, criticized and often feared. Just as their lovers, wives or even their friends were hated, reviled and insulted. She didn’t care if she was judged, or how she was judged, but that look, it was too special to risk, even here in one of the few places Breeds had found any acceptance.

  The people of the Navajo Nation accepted them, did what they could to protect them and stood behind them when political or social reform was needed to ensure their safety and their survival.

  It was one of the few places they could also trace their roots. Too many of the missing sons and daughters of the Navajo Nation had been taken by the Genetics Council for Breed research, and many of those families were desperate to claim the last ties to what they had lost.

  Drawn irresistibly back to him, Isabelle lifted her eyes once again to find the Breed’s gaze supposedly drawn to her left of her. As though he were watching the entrance.

  He seemed bored. Waiting with impatient patience, she thought, almost smiling at the contradiction. She knew he was watching her; she could feel his touch like a ghostly caress against her face. A sensation of warmth and sensual hunger washed through her.

  His fingers gripped the glass again as he brought the drink to his lips and sipped. And though his gaze was to her side, she knew he could see exactly where she was and every move she made. Just as he no doubt knew she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

  “You are such a wuss.” Chelsea leaned close and whispered in her ear, her voice amused and challenging.

  “Meaning?” Isabelle lifted her own drink, the same expensive whiskey the Breed had ordered.

  “Meaning, go talk to him, dimwit,” Chelsea hissed, suddenly somber. “Come on, Isa, this could be the answer to your prayers. Holden wouldn’t dare come around you if he knew a Breed was interested in you. Not now and not later.”

  Holden. God, she didn’t want to think about Holden.

  She had fought to put that night behind her, to eradicate the fear from her life and from her nightmares. It was impossible, though. That night had become so imprinted on her brain that she couldn’t seem to shake the memories.

  And she sincerely doubted anything or anyone would change Holden’s mind short of a bullet. Perhaps even death itself. He wouldn’t allow anyone, man or Breed, to stand between him and anything or anyone he decided he wanted. And he had decided not only did he want Isabelle, but he would have her. Whether she wanted him or not.

  A shudder raced up her spine at the thought.

  At the same time, the Breed’s gaze was suddenly locked with hers once again, unblinking, his dark eyes glittering dangerously. He watched her intently, his nostrils flared, his whole demeanor appearing on guard, as though he perceived some threat.

  Isabelle could feel her mouth drying, nervous excitement and a hint of fear lacing the arousal she couldn’t seem to help.

  She wished she knew more about the Breeds. Knew more about their strengths, or even their weaknesses. Amazingly, facts were sketchy, though the rumors were incredibly numerous.

  Could he really smell her arousal?

  Could he smell fear?

  Did she care?

  She licked her lips again. She had always held back where men were concerned, always refused to make the first move. She was still a virgin, determined to wait for the one man who would make the waiting worth it. In this case, the Breed she couldn’t resist. She had a feeling this Breed wouldn’t make that first move, though. Not with her. There was something in the air between them that assured her he would never allow her to hide from the fact that he was what she wanted. She would be woman enough to give an invitation that neither he nor anyone watching could mistake. If she wanted him, she would have to be woman enough to prove it.

  Was she woman enough?

  A part of her was screaming, “Hell yes,” while another part was screaming, “No way in hell.”

  While her head and her heart were arguing over whether or not she was brave enough, the woman took up the challenge and went for it. She stood from her chair.

  “Umm, this isn’t good, Chelsea, maybe we should leave,” she heard Liza mutter, an edge of something that may have been fear sharpening her voice. She ignor
ed the other girl’s comment and instead began moving across the room.

  She felt drawn by him.

  Mesmerized by that dark gaze and becoming a person she didn’t wholly recognize. The woman she had always fantasized about being.

  Independent. Free. A woman facing the most dangerous adventure of her life. One that could leave her either eternally whole, or forever heartbroken.

  She had always told her father she would know the second she met the man she wanted to give her heart to. That knowing him would never be the problem.

  Holding him would be another story.

  And Isabelle knew that several of her friends had thought they could hold on to one of the rapturously, sexually experienced males science had created, only to end up with a broken heart.

  Having a future with a Breed wouldn’t be the easiest job a woman could take on. Or the easiest challenge. Falling in love with one could be termed the height of idiocy. In that second, Isabelle knew her heart was now on the line as well. If she hadn’t already lost it. Not that she had ever believed in love at first sight before. She wasn’t certain she believed in it now. But she knew a part of her would grieve for a lifetime when this Breed walked out of her life.

  “Isabelle,” Chelsea hissed behind her. “Sweetie, I think we better go.”

  Isabelle ignored her. Her sister didn’t seem panicked, just worried. Worried was okay.

  She felt as though she were gliding across the bar, held by his gaze, so fascinated, so intent on the man watching her that she could barely breathe.

  She was instinct. She was living every fantasy she had ever had in that moment. Stepping to him, her gaze still captured, her senses narrowed to this one moment, Isabelle reach for the broad, masculine fingers that held the glass.

  She didn’t take the glass from him.

  Using her fingers, she urged the glass to her lips and he complied easily. Tucking the edge of it at her lips, he lifted it slowly until the icy liquid was touching her tongue, burning across her senses as she took a slow, sensual drink of the fiery liquor.