by Anne Marsh
Luc snarls, his face a mask of frustration and anger. He’s seconds away from shifting, and then we’ll have that dominance fight on our hands. Part of me yearns to fight for Gianna, to fight in front of her where she can see. The smarter, more human part of me knows that would be a colossal mistake. She’s already stated her anti-werewolf position and I need to ease her in gently.
I give Luc a look. “You leavin’ now or in the next thirty seconds?”
Luc’s accompanying Gianna here is a fuck-you of epic proportions because he shouldn’t drive into my territory without permission. Same way that I don’t head into the bayou unless my sheriff duties call me out that way. Apparently neither of us cares much for following the rules, however, which bodes poorly for our packs.
Luc bares his teeth, not bothering with even a pretense of polite. “You go on in, honey. Cruz and I need to have a little conversation, and then I’ll be goin’.”
Gianna glares right back, and damned if she doesn’t do some teeth baring of her own. The lack of canines makes the gesture cute, but I’m not dumb enough to tell her that. “You’re not the UPS driver, and I’m not a package. Got that, big guy?”
GIANNA
I’ve worked courtrooms filled with less hostility. The way Luc presses against my butt screams ownership, and Cruz pins me from the front. Together, the two of them make one hell of a Gianna sandwich, except neither of my big guys is feeling friendly. Both of them radiate back-the-hell-off vibes, and I suspect I can cue the growling any minute now.
But the memories… those are hot. Two men held me that night in the bayou, their bodies moving with mine. In me at the same time. They’d brought some of my darkest fantasies to life, and experiencing those sensations again tops my to-do list. Unfortunately, whatever accord my guys reached that night in our bed is clearly over now. Finito. Done or just plain jacked up. There’s nothing happily ever after about this driveway standoff.
I meet Cruz’s eyes. “Give me a moment here alone?”
My question sounds more like a request than it is. To my surprise, though, Cruz nods and actually steps back. Chalk one up for me. I don’t think he’ll give in so easily to all my demands. He’s not called Alpha for nothing, even if he is a sweetheart of a guy and a true Southern gentleman.
“Oui,” he agrees, and then, miracle of miracles, he actually backs off a few more paces. For a guy who doesn’t say much, he sure packs a punch with his words. He’s giving me permission to finish up with Luc before he takes over. Part of me goes weak at the knees just thinking about that. I’m not a woman who needs a man to take care of me, but it’s tempting to let him. Kind of like deciding I’ve earned a six-foot-plus, hard, yummy treat for the crap hand life recently dealt me. He’s gorgeous. He makes me feel safe. And I… still want him.
Cruz’s tacit permission is likely intended to rile Luc up even more. I’ve taken a similar tack myself in more than one courtroom, pushing opposing counsel into an outburst by graciously granting them permission to do whatever the fuck it is they were already doing. Funny how Cruz and I have that in common. Together, we will probably drive Luc wild.
Luc pulls me into a hug, his hands rubbing up and down my back. It feels so good, so right, that I bury my face in his chest to hide the smile I can’t hold back. He’d be happy to hand me back into my car and follow me home. He doesn’t want me here, doesn’t want Cruz in our lives, but I can’t bring myself to let go of Cruz.
Luc exhales roughly. “You really wan’ to do this?”
I give him the truth. “I think I need to.”
“To be sure about us.” Luc sounds unhappy, and I can’t blame him. Not really. He’s made it clear that he believes I’m his one and only fated mate, a woman the blue moon picked out special for him. He gave me a ring, and he promised to try and make this thing work among the three of us. It’s not that I suspect him of reneging on his offer. It’s just that in reality relationships get so much more complicated when there are three people involved and everyday life intrudes.
“Stay with us,” I suggest. I’m not holding my breath, waiting for his answer. I’m not.
Luc shakes his head. “You don’ move one Alpha into another Alpha’s territory. Plus you were the one who said you needed alone time with Cruz here. You take it, and you do whatever thinkin’ you need to do. I can wait a week.”
Seven nights isn’t a whole lot of time. I twist my engagement ring on its chain while I scramble to find a way forward. The ring means something. Luc chose it, but Cruz helped him slide it onto my finger. All I have to do is figure out what, exactly, the gesture meant. Or didn’t mean. Then I’ll be golden.
Luc leans down and nips my ear. “You’re thinkin’ too hard. You just need to hang on to one thought.”
“Which would be?”
“You remember me, boo.”
The answering pulse of heat deep inside me makes it clear forgetting this man would be impossible. He’s imprinted deep within me, in a place beyond skin and heart. “Oui, bayou man.”
Cruz steps forward, calmly holding out a hand, making me choose. He agreed to share, to be part of a threesome. He knows that Luc and I are a package deal. Doesn’t he?
“Are you ready?” he asks.
Am I? I hate indecision, and yet I seem incapable of choosing when I’m around Cruz and Luc. Because I don’t want to have to choose. The desire for both is a broken record looping through my head. So naturally, instead of opening my mouth and giving either man an answer, I just stare down at Cruz’s outstretched hand.
“Gianna?” Luc says my name, and he probably intends it as a question. He probably doesn’t mean to sound pleased, but he is. He’s thinking I’ve changed my mind about taking a chance on Cruz—when the truth is, I haven’t made up my mind at all.
I open my mouth to say something and look over his shoulder. A big, wolfish-looking man hovers behind him, his body language screaming enforcer or bodyguard. There are plenty of labels I could slap on the guy. Including familiar-looking… he’s the Mr. Big, Bad, and Tattooed who guarded me the night I was kidnapped by the Breed. I definitely owe him something, although whether it’s a punch in the gut or a floral thank-you bouquet… yeah, that part I’m not so sure about. No one mentioned he belonged to Cruz or that he was an inside guy.
When I narrow my eyes, Mr. Big, Bad, and Tattooed waggles his fingers in greeting, earning himself the punch instead of roses. I’m not feeling playful, and I needed to know who was on my side.
“I’d prefer it if we all three stayed,” I say. Luc exhales, his breath feathering over my skin.
“Shug,” he says roughly.
I love the endearment, but I can’t let him take control of this moment. “I already made my choice,” I say and slip my hand into Cruz’s. His fingers close over mine, and he gently tugs me forward and away from Luc. I could stay between the two of them forever, and how screwed up is that? Luc pulls away, and I can only pray that my sense of loss isn’t written all over my face.
CRUZ
Tension radiates off Luc’s body. Gianna and Luc might be a couple and I may have been their fucking third, but she’s not staying with him out there in the bayou. She’s staying with me and I just hope I’ve bought the first week of forever. I make damn sure I hide my satisfaction, though. Luc’s ready to kill someone, and if he goes for blood here, it will mean war.
I nod to Jace because I don’t want Gianna caught in the middle of a two-wolf standoff. “Show Gianna inside, okay?”
She hesitates, but she goes with him. Thank Christ. I love that fucking quick mind of hers, the sass and the calm strength she wears like armor. She doesn’t fluster or panic, just analyzes, the pieces slotting together in her head as if our lives are one big jigsaw puzzle she’s working. If anyone can, she can, and I wish I had the words to tell her so.
She isn’t afraid, even when she should be. I admire that, although the same quality also frustrates the hell out of me. What we feel for each other doesn’t have one correct answer. We ju
st kind of are. The important thing though is that she’s coming with me. Willingly. And I have a week to persuade her to stay longer.
To stay fucking forever.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Luc goes for the jugular. “Gianna’s safer right now with a little law enforcement on her side. You and I both know that the Breed isn’t done with her. She hurt them; they’ll be gunning for her. I could bury her in the bayou, lock her up, but that’s not the way to keep her.”
“Roger that.” Gianna’s fiercely independent and caging her is the surest way to lose her.
Luc steps in closer until only inches separate us. Fine with me. I’d be happy to fight for Gianna with my fist, but I don’t think that would fly with Gianna herself. Fuck. Being skin to skin with Luc hadn’t solved anything that night in the bayou. We’d been naked and loving on Gianna… and she still hadn’t chosen him or me.
“One thing else you should know,” Luc says.
“Hit me,” I taunt him.
Luc’s lip curls. “Gianna’s always goin’ to pick me first. She may be curious about you, and you may be one hell of a hot fuck, but that’s just sex. I’ve got her heart. You’ve got seven nights. You can do the math on that, but I’ve got what’s important.”
And… amen to that. That’s why I want this week to myself. Maybe, if Gianna and I have enough alone time without Luc around, Gianna will love me. Too. Instead of. Shit. My head is as screwed up as my heart.
“Message received,” I say, keeping my voice down. “Although I’m thinkin’ you’re wrong. She hasn’t done her pickin’ yet, or she wouldn’t be here. Which means I’ve got a chance and you can go fuck off for the rest of my week. Imagine what I’m doin’ with her. To her.”
It isn’t nice of me to rub the other male’s face in the possibility that Gianna and I will be having sex, but I’m turning over a new leaf. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I want Gianna Lynn by my side for the next fifty or sixty years—minimum—and I don’t care how I accomplish that.
“You hurt her in any way and I’ll kill you,” Luc growls.
“You do that,” I say, meaning every word. Hurting Gianna is the last thing I want to do. I might not have a fucking blue moon picking out females for me and my pack, but I have a goddamned heart and it feels something of epic proportions every time I’m near Gianna. So I’m not going to accept that I’m the bastard stepchild in this relationship, not without a fight. At the end of the week, Gianna does the picking and choosing. Luc’s wishes don’t count any more than mine do.
This is all about Gianna.
GIANNA
Cruz catches up and pulls me into his side as Luc gets back in his truck and slams the door. Grouchy Alpha. Yay me. He does nod in my direction before flipping the key in the ignition, the motor roaring to life. When he reverses down the drive, peeling his truck away from us in a shower of gravel and testosterone, I feel Mr. Big, Bad, and Tattooed visibly relax.
Coming here isn’t my smartest move, and it’s not as if I want to be parted from Luc. But the DA’s office is adamant that I need to spend at least the next week in protective custody while we wait to see if the Breed will come after me or not. Without my testimony, much of the case against Z-Pain—who refuses to give anything but his biker name—falls apart, and his pack must be desperate to get him out of jail before he goes wolf and shifts.
Cruz looks down at me, and I hope to God he hasn’t acquired secret mind-reading powers since I saw him. “You don’ have to stay.”
“I know that,” I say instead, and it’s true. Protective custody aside, I brought my car to give myself an out clause. I always mark my exit points. Cruz has given me zero reasons to not trust him, but I’ve worked too many courtrooms, seen too many cases where nice guys lost their tempers and went crazy with their fists. Plus there’s that whole closet full of unhappy childhood memories I don’t think about. Ever. Pick one reason or pick them all, but I’m not putting myself in a subordinate position. If we’re exploring this thing and trying on fantasies for size, I’ll own it. I’m independent and I’m the one in charge.
“Neither do you,” I say, because some things need to be put into words. “Have to stay, that is.”
He stills. “I guess the question is: what do we want to do?”
I can think of a few things.
Instead of sweeping me off my feet or showing me around his place, however, he gestures toward the dark-haired male now standing watchfully on the front steps of the plantation house. Apparently, I finally merit an introduction to Mr. Big, Bad, and Tattooed.
“Meet my brother, Jace.”
The guy doesn’t fit the picture of Southern splendor that is the plantation house behind him. Jace is rough and hard around the edges, although he’d likely look the same way in an Armani suit. Still, he smiles unexpectedly when Cruz draws me forward, the edges of his eyes crinkling up in a way that has me smiling back. Cruz’s brother possesses a certain charm.
“We meet again.” No point in pretending I don’t remember him—that night in the bar is indelibly burned into my brain, and I just finished discovery, which forced me to relive it minute by minute. I could definitely pick this guy’s photo out of a lineup in twenty years.
He rocks back on his heels, arms relaxed by his sides.
“You wan’ to punch me, go for it,” he advises.
Oo-kay. So much for my poker face. “Knowing you were on our side would have been good.”
He shakes his head. “You’re no actress. I needed it real.”
I don’t want to think about what it means. The fear. The gut-wrenching terror at being helpless, even though I’d known, logically, that both Luc and Cruz were nearby. It was not a night I have any intention of repeating, especially now that Z-Pain, the gang’s lieutenant, has been taken down and the world made a little bit safer.
“You’re working undercover in the Breed.” Hearing him say it seems important. It’s unlikely Cruz would tolerate any member of his family being on the wrong side of the law.
Of course Jace looks at Cruz. That tacit request for permission to speak, sir grates on me. Werewolf packs seem to run more like medieval monarchies than any kind of modern democracy, and that sucks. When I work a courtroom, there may be times and places to speak, but outside, when I’m on my own, I say what I want, and I don’t hold back because it might piss someone off. Either I’m a one-woman pack, or I’m not made for Alpha living.
So I give Jace a little verbal nudge. “You need him to okay your telling the truth?”
Jace shrugs, not giving Cruz a chance to reply. “He’s Alpha.”
And those two words explain everything. Cruz is the big man, the boss, the ruler of his own little empire of Port Leon—and it doesn’t matter that Jace’s explanation makes me want to punch Cruz, to holler at him that they’re living in the twenty-first goddamned century and his brand of take-charge disappeared with the last of the Russian tsars. I don’t begrudge Cruz his success at his day job or even the loyalty of his brother and family, but he doesn’t get to take charge of my life too.
“He’s not my Alpha.” The words hang in the air between us, the conversational equivalent of a hand grenade.
Jace, of course, looks at the man standing next to me and throws his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not touchin’ that one.”
“Jace is workin’ undercover in the Breed.” Cruz bends his head so his mouth is by my ear, his voice rumbling through me. Damn it. I have to get this attraction under control. “Because, yeah, I asked him to help us out on this one. I couldn’t do it. As sheriff, I’m too visible.”
“Getting Z-Pain arrested wasn’t enough?”
Cruz wraps his arms around my waist, tugging me closer as if he’s my own personal easy chair. Apparently he’s happy to have a conversation standing in his driveway.
“Nope,” he agrees. “Z-Pain was the tip of the iceberg.”
“And if Jace was on site when they brought me in, you’ve been worried about them for a long time.” Getting a m
an in undercover, especially one positioned to help, isn’t a quickie job. Cruz has to have been working on this for a while, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Particularly since my law office is unaware of any undercover work… and that likely means it’s happening off the books entirely.
“The Breed is a threat to my pack’s safety.” And there’s the Cruz I know. He doesn’t pull his punches either. Just speaks his mind because it’s the right thing to do. He means what he says. The last time he was alone with me and Luc, he claimed to love me. Claimed is a word they’ve both used, but it means different things to each of them. In my world, in my life, claiming is a matter of doubt. A word I use to cover my ass or when I’m not one hundred percent yes-your-honor certain. For Cruz, it is an instinctual, primitive possession.
“How?” I don’t see Breed members marching down the road to launch a full-blown assault on Cruz’s family place. Sure, if he ventures into biker territory or visits another biker bar, he’s courting trouble, but the war doesn’t look as if it’s meeting him on his front doorstep either.
“The Breed don’ let an insult or an injury go. We got to Z-Pain, but he has wolves loyal to him, and plenty of others will wan’ to step into his shoes, figuring puttin’ the hurt on you is a good way to prove they’ve got the chops to do so. These wolves are goin’ to keep on comin’ until they’ve hurt you every bit as badly as you hurt them.”
“And Jace is helping me with this problem… how?”
Cruz’s arms tighten. “He’s goin’ to give me the details I need to take down the rest of the Breed’s leadership.”
At least he says down and not out. That counts for something, right? “Don’t tell me anything more,” I decide. I’m not getting disbarred because of werewolf politics.
“I don’ wan’ to put you in a tough spot.”
I’ve never regretted my decision to pursue a legal career, but my knowledge of the law and history prosecuting Baton Rouge’s criminal element puts me in an uncomfortable bind. I’d be the first to admit the legal system wasn’t designed with long-lived werewolves in mind, but I’m also not throwing my support behind vigilantism either. So… the whole conversation is lose-lose. Time for a change in topics.