by Anne Marsh
“I love you,” he said and cleared the porch.
~~~~
What the hell was she supposed to say? It was a good thing Lark hadn’t known Rafer was feeling sentimental, because she suspected she wouldn’t have held it together. Rafer fascinated and frustrated her. Her body wanted him something fierce, but her heart had been holding back. He loved her. Those words had her eyes suspiciously damp and painted what she suspected was a loopy grin on her face.
Because, as new as all this was to her, her heart whispered she could feel the same way about him.
Maybe already did.
“Be careful now,” she whispered, even though those words were too few and he was too focused now to hear her.
A vamp sailed across the yard, the hard slap of flesh on flesh breaking the silence as one of the twin wolves stepped out and ran interference. This wasn’t the way she’d imagined her kick-off to happily ever after.
Still, she’d take what she could get.
Rafer.
Face fierce, he fought one hundred percent, an enraged medieval warrior. A savage growl tore from his throat as he took on the next vamp into the clearing. His blade came up to block the vamp’s downward strike. Her man was a walking arsenal, a suddenly comforting thought. Big and hard and mean, he moved quicker than a snake, too. Even as the vamp regrouped for another strike, Rafer brought up the wooden stake in his left hand, sliding the wood smoothly into the vamp’s chest.
The vamp dropped, and all hell broke loose.
A tidal wave of pale, dark-eyed vamps hit the farm’s perimeter. Jackson worked one of the farm’s floodlights, pointing the wattage at the vamps off where he could. Not all of the creatures were wearing skins, and the ones who weren’t sizzled and hissed as the light hit them. When Lark breathed in, the scorched smell of burned meat had her gagging. She didn’t like the fear flooding her, but she could count. There were too many vamps slipping through the dark. Too many wearing skins that walked right on through Jackson’s light show.
Somewhere, somehow, her nice, ordinary life had done a 360 and the unexpected geometry had brought her here. Standing on the front porch of the farm she’d poured her life into, watching werewolves and vamps get it on. All the rage and angry what-ifs of the bank’s impending foreclosure pushed at her. This was her farm.
All around her, the Pack growled and snapped as they took on their attackers. Rafer’s brothers used teeth and nails, knives and fists. Whatever it took to bring down the vamps long enough to stake them. She didn’t like parking it on the porch, but didn’t see how she could help, either.
Out in the open, Rafer slammed into a skin-wearing vamp. The powerful slap of skin on skin rocked both males, but Rafer didn’t hesitate. His arm swept up, delivering a powerful blow. The vamp’s head rocked back with a loud snap, but the hit didn’t slow the monster down much. Instead, he palmed a blade, a mean-as-shit grin spreading across his face when the blade’s handle smashed into Rafer’s jaw.
“You recognize this skin?” The vamp’s taunts were all too audible, even from where she stood on the porch. “Fresh. We caught him last week.” A white hand stroked over the lush, dark fur. “He was a pretty one.”
Rafer’s roar of outrage shook the yard.
He grappled furiously with the vamp. One hard blow, and he had the vamp staked, dark blood spurting onto her yard. The vamp vanished, leaving behind a pile of skin on the ground.
Rafer tossed it to Lark. “Go inside. Guard this.” Then he was gone in a whirlwind of savage destruction.
The man who had worn this skin had been part of someone’s Pack. She didn’t know who he had been, other than not one of the Breauxs, but his loss was no less horrifying for that. Her lips peeled back from teeth, her fingers pressing the skin to her chest. She wanted to howl, to lunge for the monster battling in her farmyard who had hurt this unknown wolf so badly. And that was new. She was changing from who she’d been before Rafer had marked her a mere two days ago. The bite mark on her throat throbbed, reminding her that the mark was more than just sexual.
She carefully set the pelt on the wicker loveseat and turned to face the battle in the yard. The wolf pack attacked as a unit. Some shifted, some not. There was no overlooking the brutality of the fight or the thick copper stench of blood. Glass broke as someone sailed through the window of her greenhouse.
This farm was hers.
One of the wolves out there was hers, too.
So she’d learn how to do this because she had to. Those vamps were the enemy. All too soon one broke free. Coming for her. Hot on that one’s heels, Rafer went down beneath a sudden onslaught of vamps. He wouldn’t make it in time.
She got the flashlight up and ready. She was going to be on her own here.
“You need to do better than that, sweetheart.” The vamp paused, his gaze crawling over her face and moving slowly down her throat and body. “You’re a tasty thing, aren’t you?”
She flicked the flashlight up too high, but there was nowhere near enough light. She had to get inside or off the porch, but staying where she was wasn’t an option.
“I’m not on tonight’s menu,” she warned, because this kill-or-be-killed thing still felt alien.
The vamp didn’t give a shit about her feelings on the matter, though—the monster made for her, like it knew words were cheap. She feinted, but Rafer’s howl from the yard blasted through her as the vamp sank its claws deep into her shoulder.
Chapter Ten
Time slowed, stretching out before it sped up with a fuck-you vengeance. The vamp laid hands on Lark, those pale, prehensile fingers closing over her skin. Hell, no. This wasn’t happening. Not on Rafer’s watch and not tonight. Yet as he grappled with the five vamps pulling him down, he had a ringside seat for the slow-motion nightmare. Twenty yards away while those claws did a slice-and-dice down his mate’s arm.
No.
Rafer took out his vamps and cleared a path to her. Shifting, he let loose and gave control over to the wolf. Let every primal, primitive cell in his body free to fight. Hold on, hold on. She wasn’t a trained fighter. Hell, she wasn’t even a shifter. He’d planned to make her that offer later, when she’d had the time to get to know him and his Pack. He’d figured losing her home and her life was enough change for this week, so he’d kept that potential bombshell to himself.
He should have done it. Should have changed her, because now she was still one hundred percent human and too fragile.
She bucked hard, shaking the vamp off so his claw didn’t cut to the bone. Just carved a thin red line down the inside of her arm. A scratch, but still the scent of her blood had every head in the clearing snapped around. And she got the flashlight back up. Good girl. Whipping it ’round, she blinded the vamp riding her arm. He dropped back, but only for a moment.
“Bitch,” he snarled, reaching for her again.
“Get the hell off my porch,” she shrieked, barreling towards the vamp.
God, no. The roar of rage peeled back Rafer’s lips from his teeth. Behind him things heated up, but he was fresh out of give-a-fuck. That was his mate up there on the porch. The scent of her blood was a red flag that had his paws eating up the yard and closing the distance between him and her.
“Got your back.” Luc’s harsh growl came from behind him. Rafer knew that. And not because the woman on the porch was a blue-moon bride. Because she was Rafer’s.
Rafer hit the steps, shifting fast.
She had a knife in her hand, blade out like she was going to shuck herself some oysters. A lethal edge, but the blade was short. Too short to hit the heart. Still, the vamp clearly hadn’t expected his prey to have teeth. The creature froze as the metal edge parted its skin.
“Get in the house,” Rafer bellowed. God, if she didn’t move back, if she got hurt, he didn’t know what he’d do. How he’d go on. Even though, as her mated pair, he wouldn’t live long on his own, that short space of empty would be too long. No, his mate had him wrapped around her dainty fingers. And she’d
put herself square in the way of the very danger he’d told her how to avoid. Hell. He’d deal with that later.
After he’d killed the vamp who’d laid open her arm.
Getting an arm around the vamp’s head, he twisted. A quick lock and pop, and the vamp’s neck snapped. The injury wasn’t enough to kill the bastard, but the blade Luc tossed him reached the vulnerable spot between the vamp’s ribs just fine. Rafer rammed that blade in until it hits hers. Game over.
Before the corpse disappeared, winking into oblivion, he was advancing on her, acting exactly like the wolf he was. Emotions warred in him, the fierce need to protect fighting with his urge to dominate. To force her back into the house, where she’d be safe. He wanted to bury his face in her neck and surround himself with her scent. Go skin to skin with her and drink in the truth.
He hadn’t lost her. Not yet. She was still here, still waiting for him.
His growl hung in the air between them as he prowled closer.
Her eyes widened.
Hell.
~~~~
Her wolf was mean, naked, and covered in dark vamp blood. Lark leaned the hell away from him, keeping her eyes pinned on Rafer’s angry face. His wolf raged too close beneath the surface, and her mind kept running a loop of the battle. Rafer had fought. He’d taken on a pack of bloodthirsty vamps and shredded them with vicious determination.
She could feel the raw fury simmering in him. Now, he was pissed at her. She’d broken another one of his Pack rules, and he intended to teach her a lesson. His way of life was alien, the primal fury of a male determined to keep his mate safe.
“Stand down,” she growled up at him. His arrogance both pissed her off and aroused her. His arms tightened around her, and she swore his eyes lit up. Yeah, her wolf was good and mad at her.
“We’ll get to me in a minute,” he snapped.
As he took her inside, she got a clear look at the carnage over his shoulder. The noise was dying down in her yard, so Rafer’s Pack had clearly done their thing. Even as she watched, Jackson high-beamed the nearest body that must have been still twitching. That body charred in a flash of oily black smoke. Great. At least she wasn’t going to have to worry about the clean up.
Rafer kicked the door shut, his heel slamming into the wood.
She was alone with one pissed-off wolf.
On the other side of the door was her farmyard, filled with the blood-streaked, mean-eyed, victorious members of Rafer’s Pack.
He pushed away from the door, and she didn’t mistake the determined look on his face for a desire to chat her up. No, her wolf was moving the battle straight into the bedroom. Ten strides had him at the bed, bending down to strip back the covers. Only then did his arms let go, depositing her in the center of the mattress. His clothes followed with brutal efficiency.
“First-aid kit,” he snapped.
“Bathroom,” she told him, listening to him rummage ruthlessly through her medicine cabinet while she considered her options. Thought about what she wanted here because in a minute, Rafer was going to take control. She couldn’t hide from what he was to her. Even without the too-bright light leaking inside from the generator lighting up her yard, she could see the truth for herself.
This was her mate.
Water splashed as he washed, then he returned, crouching by the side of the bed. His big hands reached for her injured arm. He cleaned and bandaged her injury with gentle efficiency, his jaw tightening as he examined the vamp’s handiwork.
“Hurt?”
“No.” Whatever he’d done had helped. “I’m okay.”
“Good,” he growled, pushing to his feet. “Then we’ve got business.”
He stood there, legs apart. Proud and hard. All alpha.
All hers.
“Strip.” His guttural command had her panties dampening. “Now.”
She knew she should protest. He was more animal than man, but there was also no denying the adrenaline rush or the desperate need to reassure herself that they were both alive.
When she hesitated, he ruthlessly stripped off her clothes, tossing them to the floor. She let him, enjoying the game. The mark of possession, even though she knew teasing her wolf was dangerous.
Effortlessly, his hands flipped her over on the bed. His big, hard body pinned hers, and his mouth found the sensitive skin of her neck, the rasp of his teeth sending heat flaring through her. His thick, heavy cock pressed against her ass. “When I tell you to do something, you do it, chère.”
He wanted to dominate her, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She inhaled sharply as his hand found the small of her back and pushed her down into the mattress. Well, fuck him.
“You’re not in charge here,” she growled, pushing up against that weight.
He held her in place, throwing one leg over hers. She was ass up, face down. Bare. And angry that her sex was creaming for him already.
The fingers of his other hand slid down her exposed cheek, tucking against her pussy. Just the tips of those fingers, stroking her swollen folds. A little moan escaped before she could bite the needy sound back. She could smell her own arousal.
“I am,” he retorted.
That male confidence had her rearing up again. To hell with his games. “Newsflash,” she gritted out. “This is the twenty-first century, Rafer. You’re not in charge here.”
“Wrong answer,” he drawled.
His hand tapped her ass, delivering a sharp sting before massaging the tender flesh. She was juicy and wet, fighting not to spread her legs apart on the bed. Dear God, what he was doing to her was all wrong. His fingers lingered, pushing in. She squirmed, fighting the shock of pleasure.
“We didn’t discuss game playing.” Outrage warred with arousal. His medieval roots were showing—she shouldn’t let him do this, but God it felt good.
“This isn’t a game.” His low growl warned her, had her ass tensing in anticipation. “You put yourself in danger.”
Another tap, this one lower and harder.
She squirmed. “Rafer—” she protested, but couldn’t get the words past her lips. Her ass was burning, but not as hot as her pussy. This wasn’t the time to be doing this. She shouldn’t let him.
A series of sharp spanks rained down on her bare ass.
“You could have been killed,” he gritted out, his hand stilling. “I couldn’t have stopped that.”
He wasn’t human. She barely knew him, had hardly met him. She should be horrified at what he was, embarrassed by this aching need she had for him.
He was more animal than man.
And yet her arms curled around his neck, pulling his head down. Her body definitely wanted him.
Her head wasn’t far behind.
She shouldn’t have been okay with that. Should have protested what had happened here on the bed, because she recognized a power play when she saw one. Friends had whispered about sensual games, about letting a lover take over and dictate in bed, but she’d never imagine the dark possibilities of Rafer’s attention or the unexpected trickle of pleasure.
She hadn’t known fear could provide such an erotic thrill.
She hadn’t known she could enjoy that.
Relief swamped her, along with the desperate need to hold this man closer still. To make him part of her so she was never alone again. Each erotic tap made her slicker, wetter. Readied her for his touch and his possession.
She bit back a moan. This was all wrong and yet it felt all right. Rafer was hard and almost feral, a trained killer and a soldier in a war she hadn’t known existed. She wanted guarantees he couldn’t, wouldn’t give.
But he would give her pleasure.
And he definitely wasn’t safe. He’d take her until she rode the agonizingly thin line between sensual satisfaction and erotic pain. He’d demand and she would give. In his arms, she’d be safe to explore everything off limits and unsafe. This was exactly what she’d wanted.
“You’re safe now,” he whispered harshly, not the words she’d wanted to
hear. She wondered if she’d misunderstood him, if this rescue was nothing more than a quick exit from an untenable situation. Rather than an erotic prelude to something wilder and hotter.
“Am I?” She reached up to touch his face, to stroke her fingers along his jaw. Dark stubble roughened the skin. He’d mark her if he kissed her. Her pussy clenched. She wanted that too. His kisses, everywhere. The exquisite sensation of his skin teasing hers.
“I’m keepin’ you safe.” His hard voice was all promise. All soldier.
“Okay.” She wanted this. Wanted him. “Keep me, Rafer.”
He jerked, a growl tearing from his throat. He liked her words. She could see the truth of that in his eyes.
Her wolf would keep her safe.
“And you won’t hurt me?” The cautious words slipped out before she could bite them back.
“I won’t be the one who hurts you, chère. That I can promise you.”
Heat glittered in his eyes, a fierce sexual need tightening his face. He was hungry for her.
“Rafer.” Pleasure whipped through her. Nerves. An erotic need so strong she was shaking with it.
He pulled her down to the bed’s edge and slid a pillow beneath her head, spreading her hair over the cotton like he enjoyed that. “Look at me,” he growled. “Give me those pretty brown eyes of yours.”
He was in charge here. She wasn’t.
When he pushed her legs gently apart, there was no time to protest or think. Just that last moment of uncertainty as he drew closer. His eyes watched her face, though, and not the body he’d bared. “You got to trust me, chère.”
“Yes.” Her voice was throaty and needy. “Yes.” Surer. She reached for his shoulders, balancing herself as she let him guide her back onto the bed.
He knelt on the floor in front of her. His hands drew her legs up until her heels rested gently against his back. Embarrassment warred with arousal. She was on display, hiding nothing now. No one had ever looked at her like this, and it was sexy and frightening and almost too much.
He didn’t make her wait long.