Bad Wolf (A Breed MC Book Book 5)

by Anne Marsh

  “I need you. Keelie Sue needs you.”

  She actually pats me on the arm. “Love makes us do crazy things, but you can’t kidnap me anymore. Drive me back to the clinic and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

  As if.

  Her stomach growls again, so I reprioritize.

  “You want to eat?”

  “I didn’t have time for lunch today,” she says with wounded dignity. She follows that up with an admonishing look. “And excuse me for not planning ahead for being kidnapped by a deranged lunatic.”

  Uh-huh. I head into the kitchen, and she rides my ass the whole way. Not sure if she feels safer keeping me close, or if she’s just that interested in food. Can’t help but notice that she’s stopped looking toward the door, too. My dick twitches, suggesting that maybe she’s sticking around for the company, but my head tells it to shut the fuck up. I’m a sex god, not a fabulous conversationalist.

  My kitchen’s a temple. It’s all gleaming stainless steel and glass, although that’s just what the previous owner put in. The realtor said that guy was some kind of gourmet cook who liked to host dinner parties. He was all blah-blah-blah about how many people I could cram into the dining room I’ve never used. I’m not into cooking. Most of what happens in my kitchen is drinking, so I’ve got four different kinds of beer. I open the fridge, anyhow, just in case a twelve-course Michelin-chef-prepared banquet has appeared since my last look-see. And… nope. I spy with my little eye ketchup packets, some years-old mustard, and an unidentified Tupperware that looks like it might walk away on its own soon. Good thing I’m not trying to impress this girl.

  I shut the door quick, but not before she gets a good look and snorts.

  “Bachelor much?”

  “I’d hate to deprive a lady of the pleasure of my company.”

  She snorts again. She really needs to work on her emotional repertoire. “Has that ever happened?”

  I turn around and wink at her. “That’s why I’m a single man. If I mated, I’d be a one and only man. Doesn’t seem fair to all my admirers.”

  Wait. I take her hand, smoothing my fingers over her knuckles. No white mark and nothing on her ring finger, but not all women wear the jewelry. I’ve overlooked a key piece of information.

  “Are you married?”

  I’m… not sure how I’d feel about that.

  “Not any more.” She makes a face, part sad, part embarrassed.

  “Mr. Roses?”

  “Dave didn’t grasp the concept of monogamy.” The sad disappears from her face, replaced by mad, and even though I’m not into emotional shit, I kind of want to offer to kick his ass for her.

  I lean back against my empty fridge and try to look non-threatening. It’s probably like a Doberman trying to appear fluffy and cute, but I also can’t remember the last time I had a conversation with anyone—let alone a hot girl—so it’s my night for different. Plus, there’s only one possible response to Rain’s revelation.

  “Stupid fuck.”

  She shrugs as if it’s NBFD that her mate cheated on her. “Maybe I wasn’t enough. He said I was too masculine and liked to bust his balls too often.”

  “Because he wasn’t strong enough to be your mate.” Look at me, dispensing relationship advice. I’m even more surprised than you are.

  The face Rain makes this time is sort of disbelieving. She’s the most surprised of all. “Are you harboring a secret Neanderthal streak? You think a woman needs a firm hand?”

  I told you I’m not Ann fucking Landers, right? If Rain wants answers, she’d do better asking a Magic Eight ball. Still, I give it a shot. I’m a dick, but not that big of a dick.

  “I think you need a fair fight,” I say, trying to find the right words. This would be so much easier if I could just draw her a picture. “Someone who can push back when you push, give as good as he gets. Someone who’s strong enough to be whatever you need on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.”

  “Are you discriminating against the other days?” Her eyes laugh at me.

  “Well it depends,” I lean toward her just a little. “Maybe in this hypothetical relationship, you’d be taking turns giving the commands. Or maybe Thursday, Friday, and Saturday are good days to play sexy dom. Take his orders and let him make you feel good. Sometimes it’s not a bad thing, letting go, not having to be the one in charge.”

  She chokes. “Do you talk to everyone you just met this way?”

  “Don’t talk much,” I admit. Whatever I’m gonna say next is drowned out by the growling of her stomach. “You want me to fix that? Or is that taking too much charge for you?”

  “Why don’t you drive me to the clinic and I’ll buy you a burger?”

  She fires right back and I like that about her.

  “So we’re having a dinner date now? Awesome.” I wink at her. “You stay put and I’ll go grab us some take out. You can thank me later. I’m partial to sexy lingerie and blow jobs.”

  She’s still sputtering when I slip outside and bolt the door behind me. My house may be pretty, but it’s also built solid. It’ll take her a good long while to get out on her own, especially since I’ve left her hands tied. And even if she does get out, she’s facing a long walk, a longer swim, or trying to figure out how to hotwire my truck. I’ve got plenty of time.

  I fucking love hunting, so that’s what I do when I come out here. I run down my dinner and eat it on the spot. Don’t think Rain’s gonna be into that though. Might have to barbecue that shit for her. I strip down and shift.

  Christ, I love running as a wolf. Sticking around in my human skin gets itchy and uncomfortable. Everything’s way more complicated as a guy. My wolf runs, he hunts, he marks his territory. If he’s bad ass enough to bring it down or hold it, it’s his. I run through the bayou for the better part of an hour, just letting the fresh air clear my head, feeling the ground beneath my paws. Eventually I stop with the joy ride and get down to business. It doesn’t take long before I spot dinner. A quick run, a snap of my teeth, and I’m at the checkout in the wolfie grocery store with a nice, fat rabbit.

  Mission accomplished, I lope back to the house. When I reach the edge of the porch, I shift back. T-shirt, jeans, boots, knife—I put myself back together. Slamming through the front door with a dead rabbit in one hand and a blade in the other with my dick waving in the breeze won’t endear me any to Rain. Although on the other hand, she’s dealt with the shit I’ve tossed her way so far—so maybe she could deal with wolf-me too.

  You know.

  If it weren’t completely, totally against pack law.

  In fact, it’s probably the only law I haven’t broken. And while breaking it now just to maintain a perfect record of evil-doing appeals, I opt instead to make a discreet entrance into my own goddamned house and toss the rabbit into the sink. And then since I’ve got blood and furry bits on my hands, I even do the soap and water thing instead of shifting and licking them clean. It’s like leaving a forkful of frosting on your plate—it’s a fucking waste.

  “Honey, I’m home,” I holler, giving her a heads up so she can stop trying to escape. Because I’m sure she’s made one attempt after another since I left an hour ago. Joke’s on her though as my place is way the hell out in the bayou. She’s stuck with my ass now.

  “You’d better have brought food,” she yells right back. She sure sounds like she’s right where I left her. After stepping outside to turn on the big-ass grill I’ve got on the deck, I go hunting for my girl and find her in the living room. As I mentioned before, I’m light on furniture—don’t need that much—so it’s not hard to spot her.

  Rain’s parked on the couch. She’s got her legs up, her head back, brown hair spilling everywhere. She looks amazing even if I did just drag her out a window and stuff her down behind a car seat. Her shirt’s all twisted, exposing an inch or two of imminently lickable collar bone, and my wolf promptly suggests we do just that. Maybe press our mouth, our nose against that soft, sweet hollow and drink her in. She’s totally mate
-able.

  Off limits.

  I need to get those words tattooed on my dick. Her eyes narrow as if she just might be able to read my mind. Or maybe she knows exactly what the ten inches of hard-on punching the front my jeans means. I’m real happy to see you. Let’s be friends.

  “Untie me,” she orders, twisting so she can shove her hands at me. “And then we’ll talk.”

  Funny how someone who’s lolling around all tied up still manages to look and act like the Queen of Sheba. Rain’s as used to giving orders as I am. See, we both make life and death decisions. We’ve got a team of people depending on us. You can see it in her face, in the way she weighs her options and then decides. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t take shit. Once she’s decided, it’s game over. Right now, she’s decided she’s done with me.

  “Now.” She waves her hands at me. Pretty sure she flips me the bird too because I have the urge to paddle her sweet butt.

  And that’s how I know that I’ve got a chance with her. Her words may be all about the no… but her body? She’s thinking about it. She hasn’t dismissed my request out of hand. In the handful of hours that we’ve known each other, she’s told me what’s wrong with me, what to do for Keelie Sue, and how, exactly, she wants me to go fuck myself. I respect that.

  Still, I pull out my hunting knife from my boot. It’s a twelve-inch blade, so it sends a message. I get what I want in this life by taking it or fucking it. And since she’s made it clear that my dick isn’t of interest, that leaves force.

  She doesn’t flinch at the sight of my blade, though. My girl’s got a spine of steel. Instead, she winks at me.

  Fucking winks.

  I practically come on the spot.

  She lifts her wrists toward me. “That’s a big knife.”

  I slice her wrists free, careful not to cut her skin. “That’s what all my ladies say.”

  She rolls her eyes and then shoves me out of the way so she can hop off the couch. “Mine’s bigger.”

  “Really?” I eye her pants. Pretty sure I didn’t get the lady parts wrong.

  She groans, stretching and doing some kind of wiggly, yoga move thing. Her shirt rides up, exposing a sun-browned stretch of skin that just begs for a good kissing. My cock is rock hard, and I reach down and give it a good, hard squeeze to settle it down since Rain’s distracted with her gymnastic performance. I think she catches me, but that’s her fault for looking.

  “You suck,” she announces, as if this is news to me. She pads toward the kitchen.

  I follow. “Tell me about this knife of yours.”

  “Big.” She stretches in the other direction. “Sharp.”

  Huh. That doesn’t sound like fun.

  “You gonna show me?”

  She looks at me over her shoulder. “Just as soon as you drive me home, bad boy.”

  I hate waiting. I chew on Rain’s offer while I watch her. She’s definitely worth a glance or six. The scrubs hug her ass, the cotton clinging to her curves as she struts into my kitchen like it’s hers. She’s tiny and yet not, all lush curves that would be fucking awesome to dig my fingers into and hang on. She’s not fragile—she’s strong. She’d ride me as hard as I rode her.

  She brushes against the door, trails her fingers over my counters. I can’t tell if she’s checking for dirt (I’ve got a cleaning service because I’m a wolf, not a pig) or marking my territory as hers. I kind of like option two.

  And then she looks into the sink. “Jeez.”

  It comes out more whisper than shout.

  You’d think a woman who births babies for a living would be okay with leftover dead animal, but she actually takes a step backward. If I were a gentleman, I’d back up before she slams her ass into my dick, but that new leaf of mine doesn’t cover accidental sexual encounters. It’s more of a fig leaf in that regard. I consider moving—just long enough that she makes contact and I steady her hips with my hands because it’s like her entire body is making like a box of pop rocks and trying to dart in forty different directions.

  “It’s dinner,” I inform her. She should have seen me catch it.

  “You eat bunnies?” She wriggles, looking uncomfortable. The hard on I’ve got for her is just biology. I think about telling her that—I want her for her super smart mind and all the crap she’s learned about birthing babies. I can get pussy from dozens of other women, so I don’t need to mess up our relationship with sex and I wouldn’t go where I wasn’t invited anyhow. Loud, enthusiastic consent is my personal rule. Instead, since the longer she eyes the rabbit remains, the paler she gets, I go with the dinner diversion.

  “Limited choices out here, sweetheart. You want fish instead?” I guess I could wrestle up a gator for her but who wants something that tastes like a combination of chicken and a really chewy rubber boot?

  Her eyes narrow. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  That’s gonna be a challenge.

  “Huh,” I say. “You might have to explain that one to me.”

  “As if.” She smacks my hand off her hip and marches over to my fridge. Pretty sure she already knows what’s inside, but she’s welcome to look if that makes her happy.

  I get busy with my knife and start turning Mr. Bunny into something grill-worthy. Vegetarian rules out rabbit sushi for sure.

  The fridge door slams shut. “If you’re going to kidnap me, you could at least feed me.”

  “Trying.” I nod toward the rabbit and she makes a face.

  “But I don’t think you kidnapped me.”

  Maybe she’s the one who needs an explanation—or possibly a dictionary.

  I open my mouth. “You saying you came with me voluntarily and the duct tape was just a kink on your part?”

  She waves a hand as if the past few hours are nothing more than an Etch-a-Sketch and she’s resetting shit to a blank page. “I think we need to work on your communication skills.”

  Maybe she’s crazy. Maybe her too-big, too-smart brain has diverted all the oxygen and brain food and shit from day-to-day stuff so she can focus on helping women have beautiful, healthy babies? Yeah. I don’t really care. I just need her to fix Keelie Sue, so if she doesn’t want to slap a kidnapper label on me, I can humor her.

  “I do need your help,” I allow.

  She nods. “Successful communication usually takes the form of a question and a request.”

  Please. Guys like me? We don’t ask. We order, demand, seduce, and possibly flat out dominate.

  “Would you really stop me from walking out that door?” she asks me. “And is your name really Fang? And you’ve got a pregnant girl stashed away somewhere?”

  Her forehead puckers in the cutest frown, like she’s seriously trying to figure me out. I like having her attention focused on me.

  “You think I’d lie to you?” I finish with the rabbit. Pretty sure she’s not gonna eat it, which means I need to come up with an alternative. The pizza guy doesn’t like making the trek out here. I could call one of the prospects, but I’m not ready for my pack to know what I’ve done. Ask forgiveness, not permission. I should get that tattooed on my ass. Or maybe my dick. Did I mention that my dick’s huge? I’ve got more than enough room for all those words.

  Rain sighs and shoves her hands through her hair. It’s full of waves and kinks from being twisted up in that knot all day. I decide it’s like hair happy hour, all her curls kicking loose. “Did you ask me for my help?”

  I shrug. “This seemed easier.”

  “I have patients. What if one of them goes into labor? What if someone else needs me tonight?”

  Goddamn, she won’t let it go, will she?

  “You got a good point. What if I bring your purse in from the truck so you can keep an eye on your pager and phone,” I suggest.

  She raises an eyebrow. “How about you take me home?”

  “You want me to take you, sweetheart, you just say the magic word.”

  Naturally, the next words out of her mouth don’t include please, do me now, or God, yes, F
ang, that’s what I was thinking and what other awesome mind-reading powers do you possess? Because while I’d be happy to show her my secret sexy-times powers, she’s still focused on work. She probably should address those workaholic tendencies of hers and I have just the dick to help her with that problem. I’m such a giver.

  She stabs a finger at me. Busted. “Do you ever not think about sex?”

  “Nope.” I slap the rabbit in a cast-iron skillet and shove it into my ten-thousand-dollar oven. I’m hungry and I’m definitely not a vegetarian.

  “There’s more to life than sex,” she says.

  “Sex keeps you in business,” I point out. “Gotta make all those babies somehow.”

  I like sex—it’s one of the few things I’m good at. Practice makes perfect and all that jazz.

  “I don’t need a penis to make a baby.” Swear to fuck her cute little nose turns right up in the air.

  “Organic’s better. Plus, a turkey baster’s nowhere near as much fun as me.” I shut the oven door. Not sure how long roasting a rabbit actually takes, but now I have to magically rustle up a vegetarian course. In the meantime… “How about we negotiate?”

  Her nose comes back down and her gaze meets mine. “I’m listening.”

  “Stay with me tonight. I’ll feed you something that didn’t used to have legs or a face or whatever the fuck it is you object to and while we eat, you do some listening. If you want to leave in the morning, I’ll take you back to the clinic, no hard feelings.”

  Her eyes narrow. “I’m not the one who committed a felony.”

  True.

  Some guys send flowers and some guys sweep you off your feet—literally. Me? I toss you over my shoulder. It’s the take-out version of a relationship.