In a sense, he could understand Randy’s fascination. Not that he had designs on Crissy—he could see the fire between the two of them, and it warmed his heart to watch his cousin having to work for what he wanted for once. But for himself, the little lady sitting with him now intrigued him more. There was something about the Carter women, some quality—a potent and, to a male, challenging blend of sensuous femininity mixed with blatant independence that promised to test any male—that set them apart from the usual women he and Randy mixed with. “Perhaps my cousin may just have met his match.”
“With Crissy?” She laughed. “I hope he deals with frustration well, then. She’s been driving me nuts for years—stubborn, determined, never listens to a word of advice…”
“Two peas in a pod. Randy suffers from the same deficiencies. I’m hoping Crissy will give him a run for his money.” He leaned closer and licked his lips. “Now, about you and me…”
She leaned closer, the subtle scent of vanilla teasing his senses, her eyes twinkling as she looked him up and down. “I wasn’t aware there was a ‘you and me’.”
“Not yet,” he grinned, “but there can be…”
Chapter Eight
“What’s wrong with him?” Ziggy asked.
Chad stretched his legs out, crossing his ankles, locking his fingers behind his head. Randy had been kicking around in the outer office for the full ten minutes since they’d arrived.
Crissy had won round one. She and Georgie had gone to lunch and then on to “girlie” shopping for the afternoon. The proviso of her being let out without her shadow had been for her to call in every half hour and tell him where she was—and be home well before dark. He’d been especially rigid on that last point. Chad looked at his watch. Another fifteen minutes until she’d call. Hell, at this rate, the outer office would be a pile of matchsticks by the time the first check-in call came through.
“Randy is having a bit of woman-trouble.”
Ziggy snorted and laughed. “You’re kidding me, right? Randy?”
Chad nodded.
“Since when?”
“You sure you want to hear this?”
“What— No! Ah, shit. I thought I told you guys not to mess with the clients anymore.”
Chad laughed. “Yeah, well, you forgot to take the old canine mating instinct into it, man. Leastways, that’s my guess.”
“Okay, now I know you’re bullshitting me. Randy, mating? No way!”
“Zig, you’ve gotta see him and Crissy together. He’s all over her like glue. She can’t even take a breath without he’s there rubbing her diaphragm. But does she have his number! It’s beautiful to watch, Ziggy man. Truly beautiful.”
Ziggy sat back, a thoughtful look on his face. “Well, well, well. Maybe it’s time I met this lady in the flesh.”
* * * * *
Dusk was coming, the sun sitting low in the western sky like a big ball of red and orange fire as Randy tore down the street to Crissy’s. The afternoon had been interminable, and now his whole body was screaming with the need to make sure she was safe. To fuck her. Hold her down until she damn well submitted to him. He sure hoped she enjoyed her little afternoon out, because it would be the last one for a long time. No way would he be going through another day like today—it’d kill him.
Screeching to a stop outside her house, he threw the truck in park, yanked on the handbrake and jumped out, punching the button on his keys to lock it as he raced down the path to her front door. He slowed as a distinctive smell reached his nostrils, making him curse as the hairs stood up on his neck and along his spine.
Wolf.
Dammit!
Tamping down the urge to throw caution to the wind and blast inside, he crept around to the back. Placing a quick call to Chad to get his butt over there—pronto—he clung to the shadows as he crept around the back to the steps leading to the laundry room.
Attached to the house and sharing a landing, the laundry afforded him a clear view into half of the kitchen. A light was on. A soft meow alerted him to Fatso’s presence, and when he searched, he could just see two unblinking eyes staring at him from under a shivering bundle of dirty washing sitting on the floor. Listening closely, he could hear the man’s voice and Crissy’s strained voice as she replied.
Craning his head around the doorjamb, what he saw filled him first with terror, followed by furious rage.
Georgie was crumpled on the floor, unconscious, wearing a cut lip and a swollen eye. Crissy was tied to one of the kitchen chairs, her ankles secured to the chair legs, and her hands behind her back. Only able to see a thin wedge of profile, but mostly back, nevertheless he could see the knife the man kept slapping against his leg. And recognized it. He owned one himself. A Randall—a commando’s weapon, the deadly seven-inch blade glinting in the light.
Fury. Hate. Retribution. Violent emotions surged through him at the sight of his mate, her eyes fearful, but with a hint of defiance, the dampness on her cheeks indication that she’d been crying. And the bastard would pay for every single tear. No one touched his mate and got away with it. He’d kill him, right after he finished tearing him limb from fucking limb.
As his murderous rage threatened to overcome him, his vision turned red around the edges and the unmistakable tightening in his body intensified, his eyes narrowing as thick hair started to appear over his hands, up his arms, muscles filling out, changing…
The man asked her a question and Crissy shook her head, the blind fear on her face filling Randy with a choking rage. When the man squatted down in front of Crissy, running the tip of the blade along the curve of her throat leaving a string of small beads of bright red blood where the knife nicked her, Randy’s heart picked up its pace, the thumping so loud it almost deafened him.
The buttons on his shirt popped as his chest filled out. Taking a step back into the darkness of the laundry room, he gritted his teeth as the change started to surge through him—fast—cloth tearing as his body morphed. Clumsy fingers, curling, nails lengthening into claws, fumbled with his jeans. Stripping them off, he stood naked, his head thrown back as a silent howl left his lips. Body shuddering and bones popping and realigning as he completed the change, he gritted his teeth, feeling the strength and power surge through him as he dropped to all fours.
He could hear the man’s voice rising, his tone filled with impatience and anger. Crissy’s stuttering as she tried to answer…
Randy’s lip curled back over sharp, curved canines, a deep, throaty warning growl rumbling along his body. Padding softly, he moved to the doorway of the kitchen.
The knife trailed down over the taut fabric of Crissy’s blouse and with three soft pops, the buttons flipped away, leaving the fabric gaping. He could hear Crissy’s repeated pleas—no, no, no—as the tip of the knife slipped under her bra and with a flick of his wrist, the lace gave way, the release of tension pulling the lacy cups back so they barely covered her nipples. The mumble of voices and then the sharp crack of a slap split the air followed by a cry as the man backhanded her.
Randy saw red. Suffocating fury filled him, and with a savage, full-throated roar, he coiled his body and leapt. Sharp talons dug into the man’s back and they rolled, Randy losing his hold as their bodies slammed up against the cabinets. The man twisted and stabbed wildly, and Randy felt the unmistakable chill of cold steel slicing through his hip leaving a trail of burning pain in its wake. He howled.
Ignoring the fire shooting down his side, he waited until the man lunged, jumped sideways out of the path of the deadly blade, and grabbed his arm between his teeth, clamping down so hard he felt his teeth scrape against bone, followed by the sickening crunch as they snapped and the man roared in pain.
It hardly slowed the bastard down though, and he switched the knife to his other hand, his arm raised to slash downward. Randy released his hold and rolled out of the way just before the deadly blade hit its mark.
Getting to his feet, he limped, favoring his left hind leg, but moved to stand i
n front of Crissy, prepared to defend his mate to the death. The man got to his feet and laughed, a chilling, evil sound, his eyes black and flat like death was staring them in the face. Ripping his shirt open with his good hand, the man shrugged out of the torn fabric, the telltale signs—chest and arm muscles growing, filling out, the hair on his body darkening, thickening into a light pelt, indication of the change starting to take place. To Randy’s surprise, he stopped it before the transformation was complete, instead just giving his body more strength, greater ability to absorb the blows, and brandished the wicked-looking knife in his good hand, ready to lunge again. Dripping blood from the fingertips of his mauled arm, he feinted left and right, laughing, as if it was a game. But the sneering smile on his face collapsed into disbelief as the soft thud of a silenced bullet pushed him back against the wall, where he crumpled to the floor, the knife clattering as it fell, forgotten, as he palmed the crimson bloom spreading across his shirt over his stomach.
Randy swung his eyes around, seeing the steely resolve in Chad’s as he stepped closer and lowered the gun, kicking the man where he lay, moaning, his eyes wide in disbelief.
* * * * *
Randy looked at the top of Crissy’s head as she knelt down and swabbed at the cut on his hip. Apart from answering some questions for Chad and Marcus, she’d hardly said two words. And none of them to him.
Cuffed in spite of the hole Chad’s bullet had made, the werewolf had been picked up by one of Marcus’ men and driven back to Marcus’ place for questioning. Once she regained consciousness, a bruised and concussed Georgie had been taken home by Chad, who was determined to stay with her until he knew she was all right. The cops weren’t called. They’d be taking care of this one themselves. Marcus and his cronies had some sort of dungeon they used for detention of wayward vamps, and the werewolf would be kept there until some answers were forthcoming.
What gave him shivers every time he thought about it, was that Marcus had ID’d him as Louie, the rapist. Just the thought of that guy’s hands on Crissy was enough to make him want to kill something.
But first he had to fix things with his mate.
His hand covered hers and stilled it. “Hey, Crissy honey, it’s okay now.”
“The cut is deep, you stupid ass.” She looked up at him and rage swelled within him at the red blush of a handprint still coloring her cheek. “A few inches to the right and you could have been singing in the Vienna Boy’s Choir.”
“Look, it’s not so bad. I’ll heal quickly. Tomorrow morning you won’t even know it was there.”
She stayed silent, but he could feel the tension in her body. She threw the gauze in the bowl. From her kneeling position beside him, she looked up. Her eyes, though full of tears, were flashing fire at him. “You think I’m worried about this little scratch? You think that—” she pointed at the wound that even now was starting to mend, “is all that’s on my mind?”
Okay, she was pissed at him. He’d expected that. He braced himself for what was coming. Finding out she was mated to a werewolf would rattle any human woman, he guessed.
“Oh, and the fact that I’ve had a guy living with me—sleeping with me–who has the worst case of a five o’clock shadow I’ve ever seen isn’t something you saw fit to mention earlier?” she bit out through gritted teeth.
“Look, yes, I’m a werewolf, but it’s not that bad—”
“Oh, the fact that you get a little furry isn’t what really bothers me—”
“It isn’t?” That confused him, considering very few people knew they existed for real. It wasn’t something they advertised.
“News to you, I guess, but I’m well aware of the existence of weres and vamps, although you might have mentioned it at some point.”
She stood and placed her hands on her hips, anger spilling out in every line of her body as she stopped him from speaking. “But you’re a damn dog. I’m living with a dog. I told you, Randy, I don’t do dogs!”
What? He surged to his feet, ignoring the small flinch of pain from his wound as he leaned over her until their noses almost touched. “I am not a fucking dog,” he gritted out. “I’m a wolf. A werewolf. And you did me, babe, more than once. And you loved every damn second of it. We both did, so don’t try to deny it.”
She glared back at him, hands on hips. “That’s beside the point. I didn’t know.”
“And so now you do know and it doesn’t change a fucking thing. You’re stuck with me, Crissy. For your information, that wasn’t some fancy fuck we had earlier. And that isn’t your garden-variety hickey you’re sporting either.” He gritted his teeth as her fingers went directly to the spot where her neck met her shoulder and she gasped even as a shiver passed through her. “Yeah, I mated you, honey. You’re mine. So get used to it.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You didn’t! How could you?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly plan it. It took me by surprise as much as it did you.”
“Rubbish!”
“What—you think I make a habit of going around mating human females? Mating is not something I’ve had much experience at, either. Jesus, you think I would have let it get this far if I’d realized? But we’re stuck with each other now, so deal with it.”
She flinched as if slapped. “You bastard,” she uttered, her words a whisper.
Dammit! He didn’t mean it like that. But she had a way of getting him so damn mad. He needed to cool down before he said anything else.
She flopped on the seat he’d vacated and stared, unseeing, at the floor. He prowled around the kitchen, banging on cupboard doors, trying to get his anger under control. Anger at who? At himself? At the bastard who had dared to hurt her? Anger at Crissy for not wanting him?
In a moment of heartwrenching clarity, the meaning behind her words hit him. And if he was right, the pain it inflicted burned stronger than the feel of the blade when it pierced his flesh.
He stiffened. “You think I’m an animal.” He couldn’t even turn around to say it. Just the thought of the look in her eyes as they confirmed it would have killed him.
Silence greeted his words. His eyes lost focus as he withdrew inside. Trying to find a way to deal with the truth, the pain. She’d found the one thing that could really hurt him, and this wound cut deeper than any blade. Dropping his head to his chest, he drew oxygen into his lungs, the little flood of adrenaline making his heart race.
“R-R-Randy?” The stuttering, indrawn breath that followed sounded off, and snapped his attention around. He felt a moment of alarm as he took in Crissy’s shaking body, her normally tanned face pale and drained.
Rushing over, he squatted down in front of her, grabbing her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Her cheeks were still damp, her eyes going in and out of focus, and her lips trembled as she tried to speak.
“What is it, honey? Tell me! What’s wrong?” Panic filled him.
“C-cold. S-so c-cold.”
Shit, shock must be setting in. Why hadn’t he thought of it? After what she’d been through that night, she’d been too calm, fixing his wound, acting like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. He should have known this would happen. Some useless fucking mate he was.
Slipping an arm under her knees, another under her arms, he lifted her off the seat, holding her fast to his chest. Taking the stairs two at a time, he kicked open the door to her bedroom and strode in, sitting her on the bed just long enough to remove her clothes before he lifted her and placed her under the covers. Walking around to the other side of the bed, he slipped under the cool sheet and joined her. With a leg wrapped over hers and his arms tight around her, he held her close, willing the shaking to ease, hoping his body heat would warm her up—fast.
Nestling her head under his chin, he ran his hand down her back, trying to soothe her. “I’m sorry, Crissy. So sorry. You try and sleep. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, I promise. Just rest…”
All through the long hours of the night, he held her close, moving when she moved, turning when
she turned, unable to let go for more than a second.
Gradually, the tightness in his chest started to ease just a little. But unfamiliar emotions pricked and prodded at him all night. Emotions too intense to put a name to, but that tore at his gut. And when images flew through his head, the memory of her tied to the chair, crying, murderous rage filled him again, along with a terrifying fear that she could’ve been taken from him so easily.
* * * * *
A soft snuffle and the tentative wriggling of a curvy body next to him pulled Randy out of the light doze he’d slipped into just before dawn as exhaustion finally beat him down.
He breathed in, his heart clenching with unfamiliar feelings of tenderness at the sleepy scent of the woman in his arms, the warmth of their bodies meshed so tightly together. Even though what he’d told her was true, that he hadn’t intended for things to go so far, he’d realized through the long hours of the night that he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her. It was more than physical. He’d done “physical” ‘til it bored him to death. Crissy, with her laughter, her spirit, the way he caught her looking at him sometimes, the way they just seemed to fit—even when they were fighting—filled all the emptiness that had been growing inside him for months. If only he could convince her of that, make her see, make her understand. Make her realize he was more than an animal—he was a man too. Her man.
Maybe there was a way. Maybe sex, for once, wasn’t the answer—to what ailed either of them. No, he needed to show her there was more between them than that. If he could just control his dick for five minutes. He’d show her gentle, that there was more to him than the fucking machine he became whenever he thought of her naked…
Gentle…control… The mantra repeated in his mind as he leaned down, searched for her lips, bussing them gently with his. Soft, tender feelings warmed him when she responded.
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