by Sarra Cannon
His head swung towards her. “And you, Mary Jane? You do what I say, or you and me are goin’ to be havin’ words later.” His low growl warned he meant business.
His calloused fingers slid away from her wrist. Not willingly, she suspected, but because he needed both hands to fight. That was okay. They could discuss Dre’s dominance issues later. Right now, she scrambled for the locker where she kept the shotgun and a pair of handguns.
When Mary Jane passed her friend, Riley’s face was pale and set, but she hadn’t taken her hands off the wheel. She might be in shock, but the other woman was holding it together as she repositioned the boat, the bayou water churning around them.
“We’re discussing working conditions later,” she called, as Mary Jane shot past her, “if it turns out I’m not certifiable. The word hostile comes to mind.”
Her heart pounded, her pulse slamming into overdrive.
The growling picked up behind her, followed by the hard slam of bodies colliding. The deck juddered as someone went down. Dre spat a curse, so he wasn’t dead. Not going to think about that.
She got the locker open. The twelve gauge was unloaded. Fuck fuck fuck. Hands trembling, she grabbed a box of ammo. Handgun or shotgun? What did you use when the world had gone to hell?
The boat lurched again. “Boarders,” Riley hollered over the whine of the motor and swung the boat in a long, slow arc. Too slow. They were pointed out towards open water now, if they could clear the mile of bayou waterway.
Shotgun. Decided, she upended the gun and aimed the shells towards the ammo tube. The tremble in her fingers, however, meant she missed her target, the shells dropping and scattering over the deck.
Memories swamped her, followed by the sharp prickle of fear. She’d been in this place before. Heard her father’s angry voice and that unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh. That childhood part of her wanted to slip over the Bayou Sweetie’s side and run and run through the bayou. She was a hider, not a fighter. This mess unfolding on the deck of her boat wasn’t something she could do again. As a child, she’d concealed herself in closets or under the bed, wherever she could find. She’d squeezed into the smallest of spaces because anything she could do to prevent him from discovering her and to keep the anger away was a good thing.
She didn’t get to hide tonight.
Grabbing more shot, she loaded. Buckshot, because she’d come prepared for gators, and now it was #4 shells to the rescue. She hoped. She jammed extra shots into the pockets of her shorts. Five shots before she had to reload. The horrific noises behind her picked up.
Turn around. Get in the fight.
She couldn’t do it. Her feet stuck to the deck like she’d grown roots. Behind her, the growls and curses picked up volume. Blows landed. She had to do this. Go over the side and take her chances in the water, or turn around and see what she could do here.
Dre cursed, more fiercely this time, and her ballsy, take-no-prisoners Riley screamed, a cut-off, angry bellow of rage. This was her crew. Her boat.
She turned. Dre grappled hand-to-hand with one of those dead-looking vamps. A second vamp lay motionless on the deck. And more were climbing over the railing. The motor choked and stalled, and they were still too close to the bank.
Dre’s hunting blade flashed, punching through skin and bone. The vamp’s neck flopped, and bile filled her mouth, acrid and familiar. No. Raising the shotgun, she braced her leg. The boat’s churn made aiming difficult. Hitting Dre accidentally would be a colossal mistake, since right now he was apparently on her side.
Movement nearby pulled her attention away from the hand-to-hand. Another vamp leapt from the bank to the boat. Twenty feet and he cleared it effortlessly. Instinctively, she swung the shotgun around and fired. The recoil slammed into her shoulder as she pumped her first two rounds into the vamp. Crimson sprayed, but the vamp kept right on coming.
“Nice shot, bébé. Bet you’re enjoyin’ the job right now, aren’t you? Real glad that you took that contract to come on out here?” The way the vamp spoke, his injury hadn’t bothered him a bit.
“Back off,” she warned.
“Not a chance.” The vamp stalked closer, sizing her up. “You look real tasty. Convenient for us, you comin’ out here when we asked.”
Mind whirling, hands shaking, she emptied the magazine. Then she was out. Dimly, she realized she was whimpering, but she couldn’t hold back the sounds. Couldn’t even manage the battle scream Riley had dredged up. Weak. Her father’s taunting voice echoed in her head as the vamp reached for her.
“No,” she whispered, but words didn’t stop the vamp any more than words had stopped her father. She hadn’t woken up then and she wasn’t waking up now. Not a dream not a dream not a dream.
There was a grisly crunch behind her, then a fierce roar.
Dre slammed between her and the vamp, his hands shoving her clear. Her hands and knees hit the deck, the empty gun flying.
Dre shifted, and her whole world changed. Because Dre wasn’t human, either. Where moments before he’d been a surly, bad-tempered, beautiful, big man, now there was a wolf, all sharp canines and grey fur standing between her and the vamp.
Snarling, the wolf sprang, latching on to the vamp’s throat, and she flinched back against the wheelhouse. She wanted to do something, to be brave, but it was too much. Too fierce. Too brutal. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she huddled behind the wheelhouse and tried to make herself smaller.
Chapter 6
Fuck.
Landry hit the water’s edge, mind working overtime. The vamp Dre had stabbed had been hurt. Bleeding.
Landry should have stopped the bastard in his tracks, but instead he’d let the vamp get away. He’d screwed up, his head not in the game. He lifted his head, sucking in air. Scent trail went hard east, then cut up along the bank. Bastard might be trying to make a bolt-hole, but Landry’s money was on the women. The vamp was after them.
Sure enough, the closer he got to the Bayou Sweetie, the stronger the scent trail grew. Hell. Dre had better have this under control, because the potential for disaster was growing exponentially. He didn’t ease up on his run, fueled by a primal urge to protect.
This hunt was already fucked up six ways to Sunday. The minute Mary Jane had stumbled into Dre’s little meet-and-greet on the bayou bank, Landry should have dropped from the trees and finished the business. One quick, hard flick and the vamp would have been sporting a blade in his neck and he could have carted Mary Jane’s sweet little ass right back to the boat. She wouldn’t have run, terrified, and Landry might not have missed the second bastard sneaking up through the swamp.
Because, instead of immediately moving her to safety, Landry had caught Mary Jane’s scent and he’d lost himself in how good she smelled. He’d stood there, all pleased because the smell of her unlocked something deeply happy-making and primitive inside him, and that was ridiculous. The female was a wild card. Either she or Riley was the bride, and until he knew which one belonged to them, they were both in play as vamp bait.
And he’d stood there, like a dumb fuck.
Hell.
Dre had been the one to take off behind their female, and Landry had hung back to cover his brother. Which turned out to be a damned good thing. Mary Jane already had an eyeful. She didn’t need to see a vamp in full hunting mode coming after her. Now they had a pack of vamps bearing down on them like a one-way express train of death.
A real bad night all round.
And it had just gotten worse.
Landry hit the bank, got the Bayou Sweetie in his line of sight, and the problem there was clear as day. The boat was under attack. He felt like a total failure all over again, because Dre was muscling a vamp down to the deck, and here he was, standing on the sidelines. He’d been having his fun with Mary Jane instead of keeping an eye out for trouble, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care. Because, yeah, touching Mary Jane was all kinds of sweet, and he’d treasure those memories.
But what kind of
brother and mate did that make him?
He needed to get in there and engage. He had shit to do, a potential mate to defend whenever the blue moon bothered to get her ass out from behind those clouds and light the woman up. He had to be ready.
He eyed the boat, gauging the distance between his position on the bank and the deck. The vamps were boarding north-northwest of him, and swinging around to their happy little embarkation point was attractive, but he didn’t know their numbers. He didn’t know if he could get a drop on enough of them to make a difference.
So a swim it was.
Shucking his boots, he slipped into the water. The noise on the deck was probably enough to mask his approach, but he needed to be smart about this. He and Dre were heavily outnumbered.
Getting a hand on the railing, he pulled himself up, nice and smooth. As soon as his face was level with the deck, he did a quick headcount. Two vamps moving towards Dre, who was holding the line between the girls and their undead visitors and grappling with vamp number three. He knew the moment Dre sensed his approach, because despite Dre’s life-and-death sitch, his brother still managed a subtle nod towards the two females. Guard duty. Got it.
Riley was cursing like a trucker, working the boat’s wheel as she got their asses the hell out of dodge. Mary Jane had her hands on a gun, but his sweet little beta wasn’t cut out for this kind of work. Ghostly pale, her face promised check-out time was rapidly rounding the bend for her. Landry either needed to wrap the fight up ASAP or get the females to safety.
Unfortunately, the Bayou Sweetie was short on exits and heavy on vamps. Fighting it was, even though he knew his wolf side wasn’t going to up Mary Jane’s happy quotient any.
He shifted, gunning for the pair of vamps moving in on Dre. Two for one. Yeah. That worked.
All male when his feet sent him airborne, he was one-hundred-plus pounds of wolf when he slammed into his first vic. He didn’t bother with pretty, going for efficiency and sinking his teeth deep into the other’s throat, tearing ruthlessly. Blood spattered, and he was certain that was Riley’s high-pitched what the fuck shrilling behind him. She wasn’t too happy with tonight’s action either.
Then he got busy with the second vamp. This one had a heads-up and was ready. He kept striking, though. One hard lunge after another, raking the attacking bastard with his claws and his teeth and then dancing away out of reach. By the fourth blow, the vamp was staggering, and Landry was ready to write the end and drop him.
The boat made a sudden hard right, like being on a horse and dropping the reins, all out of control and off course. Landry finished off his last vamp in time to get a full-on view of their surprise party guest laying hands on Riley. Fuck. The world slowed down and sped up at the same time. The vamp yanked and landed Riley over his shoulder, turning to go.
Dre pivoted, recognizing the ambush a split second too late. Christ, the regrets pounding through him...
The clouds picked that moment to open up, like the show in their theater of what-the-fuck was about to start, and sure enough, that was a blue moon shining up there in the sky. The full moon flooded the bayou and the unhappy bloodbath on the Bayou Sweetie’s deck in silvery-blue light.
And. Fuck. Him.
The blue rays made right for Riley and Mary Jane both, lighting the two of them up like angels on a Christmas tree. Those blue rays twining around Mary Jane were the prettiest, most welcome sight Landry had ever seen. Because those rays kissed her real good and then reached out—to Dre and Landry. Shit. The pair shared everything else, so it made sense they’d be sharing a mate.
And that mate was their very own Mary Jane.
Whoever Riley belonged to, she wasn’t theirs.
That changed everything. She was a mate, and he’d bet everything he had that she was meant for one of his Pack. He needed to make a call, share that good news—as soon as he recovered her from the vamp who’d laid hands on her.
Dre roared, launching himself towards the pair.
The vamp laughed and cleared the railing, the moon disappeared back behind the clouds, and Landry lost Riley in the sudden darkness.
Fuck.
Chapter 7
The woman fought Kar all the way. His first leap cleared most of the bayou, but they fell short with a splash and she went under, trying to fight to the surface and failing. He held her under for long seconds, until panic twisted her limbs. When he finally brought her up, she was choking and crying. Yeah, she liked breathing even better than fighting.
He’d teach her to obey him. Later. Because right now he needed to get the hell out of dodge before he had both Breaux brothers riding his ass. He’d sacrificed four vamps to get in and get out with the female, but she was worth it. The werewolves would follow.
“Please,” she begged, but hatred shone in her eyes. He dragged her head back by the hair. Her ponytail barely brushed her chin, which was unfortunate because there was nothing he enjoyed better than fisting his hand in a female’s hair as he dragged her mouth to his cock. Hair grew, though, and he’d have plenty of time with her.
She opened her mouth and let out a shrill scream, her gaze darting left and then right in pure panic. There was an answering roar from the boat deck, but that Breaux had himself another problem. He still had a shipload of Kar’s sacrificial vamps, so Kar had himself some time.
He tightened his grip in the female’s hair. “Shut the fuck up.”
She panted, fear overriding her brain as muscle memory kicked in, leaving her all fight-or-flight. He had her secured, though, and no way would she outfight him. Letting her go—just to catch her again—would have been fun, but he didn’t have that kind of time tonight.
Later. Medieval Europe, now those had been the best years, those long-gone centuries before he and the wolf boys had ended up here in Louisiana. Plenty of raiding, and although he’d still been ass-deep in mud back then, the acrid tang of blood and the noise had been his constant companions. God, centuries later and he still missed the fucking screaming. Good times. He ran a hand over the ass of the woman laid out on his shoulder. She made a nice handful, but those had been easier times. Times when the strongest man took what he wanted and that was that.
The Breaux boys had just been dealt a losing hand, because he was tonight’s big winner. Truth be told, he hadn’t known until the blue moon came up and did her light-up-the-bride number that either of these women were a potential pack mate. He’d figured it didn’t matter much. The werewolves clearly believed one or both was a blue-moon bride, and that was good enough for him. Being possessive, grumpy sons-of-bitches, the wolves would come charging after anyone who laid a finger on one of their pristine would-be mates.
And he’d be waiting.
His captive moaned. One hard clip to the jaw and she’d quiet right down. Sure, she could only take so much abuse—and he planned on dishing out plenty starting later tonight—but he was also on a timeline.
Before he could make up his mind, she shut up.
Some women, they liked diamonds. Others, it was the offer of a job and the chance to score a payday. The diamonds would have been simpler, but he’d done what needed doing. He’d found a small company that owned leases on several oyster beds deep in the bayou. Buy the company, force a few vacancies at teeth-point, and voila. The two gals he’d had his eye on had dutifully sailed right for him.
Time to get the show on the road.
He leaped, scaling rapidly to the top of a hundred-foot cypress tree. Spanish moss poured off him like water, settling back on the branches as he bounded to the next tree and then the next. Crossing the bayou by treetop was quicker and more efficient than making his way along the warren of twisting banks. Plus, the werewolves would find his trail that much harder to follow. With each leap he took, the head of his human captive banged against his back. Perhaps he should exercise some caution. No. He didn’t need her alive for long. A few bruises, a little head trauma—as long as she could scream, he’d be more than pleased.
— —
He’d been too busy sniffing around Mary Jane. At least his intense attraction to her made sense now, even if it still scared the hell out of him. She was his. Theirs, if he and Dre played their cards right. He wanted to howl, to laugh, to grab Mary Jane and spin her around in a loopy dance.
He wasn’t doing any of those things, however, until he knew where the vamps had taken Riley.
“You take Mary Jane out of here. Back to town. We got ourselves three, maybe four hours until the sun comes up, so you hunker down and call the Pack.”
“Got it.” Dre clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Good. He’d do what needed doing, no questions asked. Of course, he was probably equally eager to spend some quality time with Mary Jane, but Landry was trying not to think about that too hard. He told himself he should be glad his brother was getting his shot. After all, Landry had had his.
He could still taste Mary Jane, and damn, she’d been sweet.
Unfortunately for his brother, Mary Jane didn’t seem to have weathered her face-to-face with the vamps too well. She’d drawn her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself, a small ball of unhappy behind the wheelhouse. She’d tried. He’d give her that. She was a beta and a submissive at heart, he was almost certain of that, but she’d done what she could in their fight.
He respected the hell out of her.
She smelled like gunpowder, with telltale black streaks on her face and hands. Empty shell casings rattled on the deck as the Bayou Sweetie rolled with the tide. She wasn’t one for violence, and right now his need to hurt—to defend—was paramount.
“You goin’ after Riley?” Dre pitched his voice low, low enough that Mary Jane wouldn’t hear them.
“That moon, she lit them both up some,” Landry said slowly. “I’m thinkin’ that Mary Jane is ours—”