by Christa Wick
He wasn’t going to give up so easily.
“You’ll call me if anything is wrong?”
“Of course,” I lied, my body vibrating with the need to claw the flesh at the side of my waist. “And, if I don’t, you know your snitch will.”
Pulling back, Braeden cupped my cheeks. “Joshua’s not so bad when you take the time to understand where he’s coming from.”
I plastered a fresh smile on my face, the gears in my head spinning in a new direction. I had no doubt of Reeves’ origin.
#StraightFromHell
It was time for me to take control of big brother and steer him away from any discussion of me and his VP. I couldn’t say what I was feeling or keep my face from revealing my inner thoughts. That was no bueno. He had a honeymoon and a beautiful bride to focus on.
Threading my arm through his, I walked him back to my best friend. I did it without chiding him for taking the cat’s side, not on his wedding night. The poor schmuck was drunk on love. All the joy bursting within Braeden made it impossible for him to remember that cats were the worst.
Especially cats at weddings who couldn’t keep their paws in their pockets.
Chapter 2
Clover
Seven days after the wedding, I prowled the porch of the home I would continue to share with Braeden and Paisley for a little while longer. I had received a text half an hour before with a location update that meant they were only half an hour away. I lasted fifteen minutes inside, dashing around to pick up all the scraps of evidence of a week wasted alone at home watching chick flicks and speed snorting hot buttered popcorn.
With the house passably tidy, I took to the porch and waited like a six-year-old on Christmas Eve.
Are they here now?
How about now?
Oh, a truck!
Damn, wrong truck!
Hearing the soft hum of a motorcycle, I jerked to a halt. My wolfish ears estimated the bike was about two streets over, the break between houses a familiar pattern. My brain rejected the information and countered with the hope it was a louder bike at a greater distance.
The only member of the Woodsmen with a ride that quiet at two blocks away was Joshua Reeves.
I snarled as the bike came closer, the gentle purr of its engine unmistakable.
Was he really going to elbow his way in on Braeden and Paisley’s first night home?
That was my job!
For the first time since the wedding reception, I scratched along my cheek. I absolutely could not deal with that damn cat at that moment. I was supposed to be wrapping my arms around my best friend and my brother, not dodging sly insults and a calculating blue gaze that always made me feel inadequate.
Hadn’t I suffered enough of his boorish ass over the last week to last me two lifetimes? Just having to read his reply to my nightly text check-ins had sliced a solid decade off my sanity.
To think I had actually smiled the first night I texted him!
Home, Loser Stalker Boy.
The smile had splintered the second I read his reply.
Love you, too, wolfling.
With that, we were officially locked in a battle of the wills. At least on my end we were. Reeves probably had a good, long laugh at my expense.
Seeing Joshua turn onto my street, I melted into an apoplectic fit. I stomped off the porch and down the sidewalk to where he was parking his motorcycle. The urge to give the bike, no matter how beautiful it was, a solid kick and dump it on its side rattled the length of my arms and turned my hands into fists.
“There’s no club business that justifies pouncing on him the second he gets home!”
Reeves stared at me with that bored cat gaze he wore so well.
My hands unclenched. My nails swiped absently against my collarbone. Flinging myself around, I stomped up the walk, onto the porch and into the house, a slow itch crawling down my spine. The sensation descended across my plump bottom then wrapped around my thighs.
Hearing the solid thunk of Reeves boots on the porch, I fled into my bedroom.
It didn’t matter that he was the club’s VP, I was not inviting him into the house! If it took Braeden five minutes or five hours to get the rest of the way home, Reeves could stay outside.
I started to scratch like I’d fallen into a pool of fleas. I could feel a million imaginary insects crawling over me. My pulse beat loudly against my eardrums. All ten fingernails worked the sides of my neck and the underside of my chin. The scraping made so much noise I missed the sound of Paisley’s truck until it was already in the drive.
Running for the front door, I skidded with the memory of Reeves out on the porch. I corrected with a hard left toward the side exit. Throwing open the kitchen door, I ran to where Braeden had backed the truck into its space.
Paisley was just getting out of the cab. I threw myself at her, almost tackling her with my hug. Laughing, she squeezed me back then released me so I could circle the truck and give Braeden a more sedate welcome home, my hands too busy clawing at my collarbones to embrace him.
My fingers moved to my neck as I pulled back. He grabbed my wrists, one brow cocked in accusation.
“Like you’ve never had an itch,” I mumbled with an upward roll of my eyes.
“He’s been scratching his all week,” Paisley giggled.
Smirking, Braeden leaned closer, scenting me for early signs of my coming into heat.
It was embarrassing and a waste of time. Whatever had my skin crawling had nothing to do with estrus. I had never come into heat twice in one year. Maybe other female shifters did something like that. I didn’t know. Except for Onyx, I didn’t have that kind of a relationship with the women in our pack to ask. And Onyx’s development as a shifter had been stalled by a decade or more after an emergency infusion of human blood. To date, Onyx had only ever had one heat—which made me the expert in my small circle of friends.
“It’s not THAT,” I whispered in a low rumble. “Now go get rid of your pet cat. I’m dying to hear all about the honeymoon.”
“All?” he asked, pulling away with a satisfied grin.
The itch spread across my shoulders as I shoved at Braeden’s chest.
“Don’t be gross,” I warned. “That is my sainted best friend you’re talking about. The only reason I’m not cock blocking you every chance I get is because I want lots of cubs calling me auntie.”
“Working on it,” Braeden laughed.
He looked across the truck at Paisley, the warm glow in his eyes making my chest tighten.
They were crazy in love and finally free to express it.
One day, I was going to have that.
First, I needed that damn cat off my front porch.
Chapter 3
Paisley
I thought Clover was taking the day off,” Braeden said, standing at the kitchen door and looking out onto the driveway the morning after our return home.
The space should have been crammed full with my truck, his bike and Clover’s decrepit blue Jeep.
“More like a week or more,” I answered, coming up behind him. “But she’s not taking it here.”
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I placed a light kiss on his neck then along the curve of his jaw. He hadn’t shaved yet. The rough shadow of beard engendered very naughty thoughts. Our five days in Aspen had been far too short for the amount of non-stop sex I needed from my new husband.
Turning, Braeden sniffed suspiciously at my bathrobe.
“Did you hug her before she left?”
“Yes,” I laughed, trying to snuggle closer. If I could just slide my fingers between his flat stomach and the waistband on his pajama pants, I would be able to stop his tongue—or put it to a better use than interrogating me.
He blocked my attempt and held me a hand’s width away from him as he continued to sniff.
“You realize it’s more than a little weird for you to be snouting your way around my body in search of your sister’s scent?”
Braeden threw a
look that would have put the shifters in his pack on their best behavior, their tails tucked between their legs.
I tried to hold back my giggle. Really, I did.
“Wherever the hell she popped off to for the morning,” he said, “she shouldn’t be out on her own right now.”
“I told you,” I said, wrapping my hands around his lean hips as he let me move in close. “She has popped off for at least a week. And what’s wrong with her being alone?”
The color left Braeden’s cheek, his grip on me tightening.
“Because she’s in heat,” he growled. “She wasn’t yesterday, but she sure as hell is today. By the time night rolls around, she’ll be so deep into estrus that any male shifter within a mile will be able to pick up her scent if the wind is blowing his way.”
My brows made a lively attempt to kiss the top of my forehead. “I thought that was over?”
I hadn’t pried very much when Clover told me she was in heat while we were planning the wedding. Mostly I had wanted to know how long the delay would be. The short discussion was an odd contrast to all the frank and frequent talk about our cycles while growing up. Of course, back then, Clover was lying with uncanny detail about experiencing anything remotely similar to my periods instead of a bloodless event that occurred once a year. All I had really learned was that she never left the house while in heat, a fact that made her mysterious, extended mid-semester absences while we were in high school suddenly not so mysterious.
“It was over,” Braeden agreed. “Now it’s not.”
“Oh…that’s…” I stopped, thought it over another full second, then smiled brightly. “Well, she’s at Holly’s. There aren’t any shifters around for miles and miles. Heck, there’s barely a human around for miles!”
“She’s at your grandmother’s?”
A line of sweat broke along Braeden’s forehead at the mention of the homestead where I had been raised. While the two bedroom house had remained empty since my grandmother’s death earlier in the year, it really wasn’t accurate to call it her place anymore. The property and everything on it had passed to me under her will.
“The interior needs painted before we move in, remember? She’s getting a head start on it as an extra wedding gift.”
His head slid left to right as he released a shaky breath. His gaze looked numb, a shadow darkening the green irises.
“Baby, the place needs more than just a coat on the inside.” He whispered like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I had my own plans for getting a head start on the work that needs finished.”
I didn’t understand the problem. He could work around Clover while she was in heat. We could all go up there and finish three times as fast.
“I gave Joshua the key last night,” he explained. “He’s going to repair the barn and get some fishing in.”
“Holy hell,” I whistled, a vision of the apocalypse dancing in my head. I ran to the counter where my cell phone was charging. “She said she was stopping at the hardware store to pick up supplies. I can turn her around before—”
Braeden plucked the phone from my hand. “We never had this conversation, babe.”
I stared at him, nose crinkling as my mouth quirked down.
Was he crazy?
Could he not hear the four horsemen approaching at full gallop?
“You mean the conversation about two people who really, really don’t like each other running into one another at a place where there are no witnesses and plenty of spots to dig a grave?”
“Yeah, that one.” Braeden put the phone back on the charger and kissed the tip of my nose.
I pulled my head back to check his face.
Seriously, had all the sex killed off one too many brain cells?
“Don’t look at my like that, love. Baby sister has got to start getting along with the cats around here. Especially with Joshua being my Veep.”
I gnawed at my bottom lip, my stomach twisting in knots. In the end, I closed my eyes and sighed.
“There’s going to be blood, you know that, right?”
“Yeah,” he laughed, lips finding my throat, his hot breath warming my skin as the hairs on his cheek sent a thrill racing down my spine. “But it won’t be ours.”
Chapter 4
Clover
It was almost one in the afternoon by the time I reached Holly Ulster’s cabin, curse words dripping from my mouth like a leaky faucet.
For all the denials and protests I had lodged the night before, I was in heat. With my damn body acting like I had a starring role in a Twilight Zone or Supernatural episode, I had to go to the hardware store out by the highway instead of the one in town where every unmated male shifter would be sniffing at my wake. I also had to stop for food for the week and cleaning supplies so I wouldn’t need to risk another trip into town as the scent of my heat became more pervasive.
Judging by my body temperature, I would be in full blown estrus in less than an hour.
ESTRUS, ESTRUS, ESTRUS!
Gawd, I fucking hated that word! Hated having to hide myself away because the minute I opened a window or stepped outside, I sent out a heat signal detectible for blocks around the house in Night Falls.
At least, as a member of the pack, I didn’t have to worry (much) about local males trying to get into my panties using anything more than sweet talk. But I hated how they all switched from not giving a shit about me for some fifty weeks out of the year to suddenly walking around with their cocks pointing at me like I was Magnetic North.
I also felt like a freak because, at almost twenty-four years old, I should have found a male whose brains I wanted to bang into next week even if I didn’t like him the rest of the year, either. My biology was betraying me on so many levels, I needed a calculator to keep track of its bitchery.
My lips vibrating with a growl, I grabbed the food bags and carried them inside. I had already been out to the cabin a few days ago to plug in the refrigerator, so I put the cold goods inside it and the rest of the food in the cupboards.
Even with the lights on, the place was dark and dreary. Holly had died in February and the house had been closed up since then beyond a few quick checks for things like making sure the pipes hadn’t frozen and the furnace was still working. Without much to disturb it, a thick layer of dust had settled over the walls and furniture, giving everything a gray cast.
I went around pulling back the curtains and opening the screened windows. Once I had light and fresh air flooding the place, I brought in the rest of my supplies—stuff to clean, plastic sheeting, masking tape, brushes and rollers, cans of primer and cans of white base paint, and my kit of tints for when I decided on the palette.
Sinking onto the aged couch, I looked around for inspiration.
All I saw was a long list of things to fix.
Braeden already had plans for building on an addition. For now, the house was old and small. One bathroom, two bedrooms, a postage-stamp of a kitchen with an open doorway to the living area. All the walls throughout the place were a grayish beige thanks to the dust and fireplace. The couch and side chair were a faded green that had once been a dark forest.
I ran my hands over the fabric. I hadn’t thought about it before, but I would need to measure everything and make slipcovers. I didn’t want the place to look anything like it had when Holly died. There were too many depressing memories wrapped up in the cabin’s decor.
Standing, I walked over to what had been Paisley’s bedroom. Braeden had carried me in there and placed me on the mattress from where he had found me dying in the barn. It had almost turned into my deathbed from the poison on the bullet.
I walked next to the threshold of Holly’s bedroom. My sleeping options for the next two weeks were the couch, the bed I had almost died in or the bed Holly HAD died in.
#NotCreepyAtAll
“Think happy thoughts,” I admonished, walking into the kitchen with my arms wrapped around my head.
Clearly, the space was fucking with my br
ain. I needed an antidote to the abysmal dreariness. I needed something to wake up my muse if I was going to turn this cramped mausoleum into something Paisley and Braeden could build upon as they started life as a married couple.
My gaze landed on a straw basket atop the refrigerator. Better memories than the ones ghosting through my head surfaced. Paisley and I had gathered many a flower using that basket. With a jump, I snatched it up and smiled at the feel of it in my hands. There were sure to be spring flowers by the creek. They would brighten up the place, add a soft fragrance to the rooms and maybe give me inspiration for paint colors.
Not that Braeden was going to put up with having violet and pink walls all around, but I could sneak in a few flowery shades as accents or subtle tints to the white walls, shades I could duplicate with the slipcovers.
I left the cabin with its windows open, the door unlocked and my keys and purse on the kitchen table. The only thieves in this part of the county were foxes and raccoons. And, as many bad memories as had recently filled the place, the land and the cabin were still my second home. At my core, I knew I was safe there. Once I had painted over and slipcovered the bad, the rest of me would feel it, too.
The creek I was headed to wasn’t far from the cabin, but the meadow full of flowers was fifteen minutes upstream at the meandering pace I kept, my thoughts floating on a light breeze that caressed my cheeks. I wasn’t even halfway to the clearing before I could smell wild blue phlox and iris, both the purplish dwarf lake iris and the yellow flag iris.
The breeze carried another scent with the flowers, something decidedly animalistic and heavy. My stomach started to twist, the tendrils of my body’s reaction coiling low down, my thighs tightening in response as my nipples hardened.
My nose led me forward. I had the sensation that I was floating, a ridiculous image filling my head of a cartoon Clover, my feet off the ground, my body pulled along by the delicious aroma of…
Cat?