by Laura Wright
By Laura Wright
Mark of the Vampire:
Eternal Hunger
Eternal Kiss
Eternal Captive
Eternal Beast
Eternal Demon
Eternal Sin
Eternal Beauty (novella)
The Cavanaugh Brothers:
Branded
Broken
Brash
Bonded
PIATKUS
First published in the US in 2015 by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC
First published in Great Britain in 2015 by Piatkus
Copyright © Laura Wright, 2015
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN 978-0-349-40592-6
Piatkus
An imprint of
Little, Brown Book Group
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
An Hachette UK Company
www.hachette.co.uk
www.piatkus.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
By Laura Wright
Copyright
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Branded
One
Some people might call it the hots, but if you asked Emily Shiver directly what her feelings regarding Blue Perez were, she’d probably say it was more like an . . . appreciation.
Especially seated on that barstool like he was.
She righted the flower tucked behind her ear and headed back into the Bull’s Eye kitchen. She didn’t do “hots.” It sounded so junior high school—which was when she’d seen Blue for the first time. Of course, back then he hadn’t been all that much to look at. Tall; super skinny; shy; huge, nervous blue eyes. Not that she could blame him on the nervous thing. He’d just come to town with his mother, hadn’t known anyone—moved into the Triple C to take care of the house and Everett Cavanaugh. The older man was alone. Wife had passed on, all three of his boys gone. For Blue, it couldn’t have been a happy place to come to. From the outside looking in, doom and gloom coated that ranch like thick, hungry fog.
But truly, what did anyone expect? From Everett or from those boys? Well . . . especially the boys. They’d lost their girl. Cass. In the most painful way imaginable. Taken from the movie theater bathroom when they were only a few feet away. Those poor kids. They’d just wanted to do what every brother would’ve wanted to do: watch the darn movie. Not take their annoying kid sis to the bathroom. To them, she was old enough to do that on her own—and grab some Skittles and popcorn on the return trip. But there’d been no return. She’d gone missing.
Christ, the terror that family must have felt. And the horror that followed when her body had turned up in the meadow out past Lake Tonka. The world as they’d all known it, over.
Emily remembered those days well. Seemed like the whole town of River Black was just watching and praying and hoping. Their breaths held. But it was no use. No coming back from pain that all consuming. The Cavanaughs had been irrevocably destroyed. Their mama gone mad. Seemed like no light would ever find its way to them. Then in came Elena Perez and her son, Blue. Moved in, cleaned up and out. A hope for comfort and peace, and maybe things returning to some new sense of normal. Which they had. For a while. Until Everett passed . . . and the truth of his affair with Elena, long before she’d moved into the Triple C, and the child they’d created came to light.
“Emily, hon,” came a voice near her right shoulder. “That’s my Coke you’re manhandling there.”
The kitchen of the Bull’s Eye came into focus like someone was fiddling with the lens of a microscope. Emily looked up into the gentle dark eyes of Rae, the Eye’s longest-serving employee, then back down to her hands wrapped around a large red tumbler filled to the brim with black liquid. She instantly released the glass and stepped back from the soda machine.
“Sorry, Rae,” she stumbled. “My brain isn’t working well tonight.”
“Least it’s just the one night. Mine hasn’t been firing on all cylinders for a while now.” With a soft laugh, the older woman placed the bubbling Coke on her tray. “You only have ’bout fifteen minutes left, ain’t that right?”
Emily glanced up at the clock on the wall. Quarter of nine. “Can’t come soon enough. Along with my addled brain, my feet are pretty much done in.”
“Give it a few years and a layer of calluses, honey,” Rae said before pulling out and heading back into the dining room.
A few years, Emily thought. She was hoping for one at the most. Just enough time to save up for the down payment on that abandoned storefront on Main and Kettler. Granted, there was nothing wrong with serving up drinks and good food, if that was your choice, but she had a dream of opening her own flower shop she was looking to fulfill.
After filling up another glass with Coke and placing it on her tray alongside the two whiskeys, she too headed for the dining room. It was a slow night, and she had only one table still occupied. A couple of guys she guessed were traveling through, because she’d never seen them around River Black before, and one tended to see the same people over and over. They’d ordered food and several rounds of drinks. Pretty standard. Easy-peasy. She’d serve them up and get herself out, home, and to bed.
And would not—repeat, would not—stare in the direction of the bar while she did it.
As if the silent promise were really an enticement to do just that, Emily’s brown eyes—which her father called doe eyes, or can’t-say-no-to-my-baby-girl eyes—tracked left. Seated at the bar, his back to her, Stetson riding low, was the very object of her . . . what word had she resorted to again? Hots? No. Not hots. Oh yeah, appreciation. And boy oh boy, could she appreciate him tonight. His long, lean, hard body was showcased in nothing special: standard cowboy gear, jeans and a black T-shirt. But her eyes moved covetously over him anyway, from tanned neck to broad shoulders, trim waist, and . . . a denim-clad butt that made her heart kick up and certain unmentionable lady parts quiver.
Sigh. She’d worked at the Bull’s Eye for a year and a half now, and the man had an irritating and—she was pretty sure—random habit of coming in when she was on duty. Not that he was much of a drinker or a socializer. He never sat at the bar, like he was now. Usually at a table eating lunch or dinner with Mackenzie Byrd. The pair worked at the Triple C together and seemed like pretty close friends. Or they had been. Emily hadn’t seen them in the Eye together all that often
lately. Since Mac had gone and married the eldest Cavanaugh, in fact.
Emily continued to stare at what God and his parents had granted him. What the heck had brought him in here tonight? So late? And straight to the bar? He’d been tossing back one—
“Goddammit, girl!”
Emily whipped around just as one of her customers shot to his feet, hands going instantly to his crotch. Crap. Emily glanced first at her tray and the now-empty glass on its side, then back at the man—and the denim that was sporting a spattering or two of whiskey. That’s what appreciating does, flower girl—makes for some pretty wet and pissed-off customers. Not to mention the no-tip factor.
As quick as she could, she set the tray down on the empty tabletop behind her and grabbed some napkins. “I am so sorry,” she began, holding out the napkins for him. No way was she offering to clean up his crotch. “Here. Please take these.”
The man’s head jerked up, and venom fairly bled from those two pale brown eyes. “What the fuck are you?” he ground out. “Blind? Or just clumsy?”
Perfect. No forgiveness here. She ignored the grunt of humor from the man’s heavily bearded friend, who was leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. “I really am sorry. Let me get you another, on the house. And some club soda.”
For anyone in River Black, this would’ve been enough. Hell, a free drink would’ve probably garnered a begrudging smile from one of the locals. But for this out-of-towner, blood and humiliation were all he was after now.
“So you can spill that on me too?” he snarled at her, swiping at his crotch with the cloth napkin near his plate of nachos. “Pass.” He turned to his friend. “Should’ve known. Stopping in these tiny towns, all you get are stupid, clumsy bitches with big racks.”
Wow. Okay. Heat spread through Emily’s neck and jaw, and she felt her lip curl against her top teeth. Truth was, assholes came and went. They were part of the job. Maybe not as much in River Black as in the bigger cities, but it happened. For the most part it was always better to walk away from the table or let Dean handle it. But Emily had never been able to suffer insults or blatant misogyny well. Shoot, she’d grown up with two brothers and had schooled them early and often. In fact, they’d stopped thinking they could get away with sexist bullshit at about the age of five.
She eyed the men before her. She supposed Jerkweed One and Two here were going to have to learn that hard fact a little later than most.
“I don’t think I caught all of that, sir,” she began, her tone low and cool as she locked eyes with him. “What did you call me?”
The bearded friend made a low whistling sound, his smile wide with delight, before Jerkweed One muttered, “No eyes, but she’s sure got ears.”
“I absolutely do,” she agreed. “And they’re almost as big as my rack.”
Both heads came up. Both sets of eyes widened.
Pressing the flower deeper behind her ear, she continued undaunted. “So I’m surprised I didn’t hear all of the degrading and insulting things you just said to me.” Her eyebrow lifted. “Things I’m sure your mothers, sisters, daughters, girlfriends, and/or wives wouldn’t be so proud of—am I right?”
They both just stared at her.
“Now,” she said, easing back just a touch, giving them room to rethink their attitudes and drop their crap. She wasn’t looking to have a problem in the Bull’s Eye tonight, and hell, her shift was almost over. Getting home and putting her feet up was a priority. “I sure didn’t mean to splatter you with the whiskey. I’m offering to bring you another. On me. Be done with this. What do you say?”
For one brief, shiny moment, Emily thought the jerkweeds had heard what she’d said and were going to act like civilized human beings about it. But jerkweeds were called jerkweeds and not jerkflowers for a reason.
Number One opened his big mouth and let it rip. “You’re a feisty one, darlin’,” he drawled, dropping into his chair and spreading his legs wide apart so the whiskey stain could be seen by the few people who were still in the Bull’s Eye. “But a man only likes his women feisty in the bedroom.”
“Is that right?” she returned. Oh, this wasn’t going to end well.
He nodded, all slow and thoughtful, his eyes taking on a glitter of malevolence. “I think someone should teach you some manners.”
She rolled her eyes just as Jerkweed Two offered, “I’ll do it.”
“Okay,” Emily said on a sigh, her patience pretty much worn down to the nub. “I’ll get you guys the check. Or, better yet, leave now and I’ll take care of it.”
Jerkweed One laughed. “She thinks she has a say over what we do, Tim.” The man snorted and leaned back even farther in his chair. “Oh, honey, get a clue. Big tits and a nice ass only sway a man—”
“How we doin’ over here?” came a welcome interruption behind Emily. It was a low, masculine, unyielding voice. One that drove both cattle and the cowboys who herded them.
Where, seconds before, the fire of tightly held anger had raged through Emily’s body, now a different kind of heat coursed through her blood. The kind that blanketed her with warmth and curiosity, and she instantly turned toward it, like one of her beloved flowers to the sun. Blue Perez Cavanaugh was standing beside her. He was a good foot taller than her, strong and handsome, with eyes so fierce and so piercing they near took her breath away.
“What do you want, cowboy?” Jerkweed One called out, ruining Emily’s moment of intense perusal.
She wanted to club him.
A muscle flickered in Blue’s jaw, but he kept his voice calm and cool and his eyes on Emily. “You all right?”
“Fine,” she said, her voice a little too breathy.
“That’s right,” Jerkweed One chimed in. “She can handle herself. Get lost, cowboy.”
Emily turned to glare at the man. He was killing the mood. She wanted Blue’s eyes back on her. They were so intense. Forget appreciation. “Hots” might indeed be the word for what was running through her right now.
“I’m not speaking to you,” Blue assured the Jerkweed Twins in a voice so cold it sent a shiver up her back. “Did you think I was speaking to you?”
Jerkweed One’s lip curled and he pushed forward.
“Okay,” Emily broke in. Last thing she wanted to do was watch a fight break out. Or hell, be in the middle of one. Best thing she could do was get the Jerks out of the Bull’s Eye, and Blue back to his barstool. “It’s all good here. Just wrapping things up.” She turned to Blue and gave him an encouraging nod. “Seriously, nothing I haven’t seen, dealt with, or kicked to the curb before.”
“Or got down on your knees for, right, honey?” Jerkweed One tossed in with a chuffed grin, elbowing his friend in the side.
Shit.
“That’s how we shut her up, right, Tim?” Jerkweed Two said. “Stick something in her mouth.”
Emily felt Blue go rigid beside her.
“You bet,” Tim answered thickly. “While I stick something in her—”
Not surprisingly, that was as far as Tim got. Blue reached out, grabbed the idiot by the collar, hauled him to his feet, and slammed his fist into the man’s smug face. The guy went flying back and hit a chair at the empty table behind him. In seconds, Jerkweed Two was up and coming after Blue. But the ranch hand was more than ready. No doubt he’d taken on cows five times the man’s size before. While Rae and Dean were rushing over to a mumbling on-his-ass Tim, Blue had Jerkweed Two in a chokehold and was dragging his ass across the Bull’s Eye and toward the front door.
Emily turned to stare at the man on the ground. Tim. Poor, stupid Tim. She sighed. He could’ve just accepted the drink. Asswipe.
Suddenly he too was being hauled to his feet, given a good shake. Blue had returned. Controlled ire sizzled around him. As if the man weighed close to nothing, Blue dragged him over to Emily.
“What do you say?” Blue ground out, giving the jerkweed another molar-cracking shake. “What do you say to her?”
The man blinked s
everal times in succession, no doubt trying to get his full range of vision back. Then he locked eyes with Emily. “Sorry.”
Blue shook him again. “Again. Like you mean it this time.”
“I’m sorry,” he said through clenched teeth. “Ma’am.”
“Yeah, okay,” she returned. “Just, you know, don’t ever come back.”
Blue roughly handed the man off to Dean, who had a few choice words to spill before he escorted Jerkweed out to his waiting and possibly unconscious friend. Emily glanced over at Rae, who just shrugged, then went back to clearing a table. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t seen this kind of thing before. Rae probably more than a few times in her years. Emily turned back to Blue. It was then that she noticed he was bleeding. A small gash on his lip—and his chin was bruised. Must’ve happened outside with Jerkweed Two. Dammit . . . Last thing she wanted was someone getting hurt because of her. Especially someone with such a beautiful face. That hard, sexy jawline . . .
This time when she rolled her eyes it was internal and at herself.
She reached for a napkin on the table behind her. “Your lip . . . Let me clean it up for you.”
“Naw, it’s nothing.”
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
He swiped at his lip and the blood with the back of his hand. “All gone.”
“Well, that wasn’t very sanitary,” she said.
His eyes, those incredible blue eyes, warmed with momentary humor. Then he touched the brim of his hat and turned to head back to the bar. “Ma’am.”
Emily stared after him, confused. What was that? Saves the day and on his way? “Hey, hold on a sec,” she called out. “I didn’t thank you.”
“There’s no need,” he called back, sliding onto the same barstool he’d occupied earlier.
Well, that’s not very neighborly, she mused. She followed him. “Maybe not,” she said, coming up to stand beside him. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”
He turned to look at her but didn’t say anything. Good night, nurse, he was handsome.
She inclined her head formally. “Thank you.”
Those incredible eyes moved over her face then. So probing, so thoughtful. They made her toes curl inside her shoes. “Something tells me you could’ve taken those men out yourself.”