Claimed by the Pack

by Anne Marsh

  She fell back on snark again. “A little extreme, don’t you think?”

  Maybe not.

  The vamp peeled back a corner of the tin roof and the stars twinkled up there in the sky, like the bayou version of a Christmas tree, but all she saw were fangs.

  “Shift,” Dag repeated.

  “I can’t. I have to be calm. Happy,” she said miserably. “Whatever shifter gene I got, it doesn’t work like yours, okay? I’m not going to change into a fox right now and there’s nothing you or I can do to force it.”

  For the first time in her life, she wished that wasn’t true. That she could shift when and where she wanted, because with the smoke filling the room from the fire and the flames licking everywhere, even Dag’s fucked up escape hatch looked palatable.

  He nodded and looked down at the water waiting for him.

  This was it. He’d shift and go. She’d stay—and become vampire sushi. Instead of leaving, though, he darted back out, grabbing her sneakers and shoving them into the bag. He dropped the bag over her shoulder and chest. “Do not let go, boo.”

  He stepped into the water and held out his hand. No betraying tremble there—just rock-hard muscle and skin. He was doing what he needed to do. She looked up at his face and he didn’t smile or coax. Just looked at her and waited.

  “Am I going to wake up in Narnia?” She put her hand in his, trying desperately not to think about what was coming next. The problem was, staying put meant dying and she’d seen firsthand what that meant. She didn’t want to end up like Ameline.

  He turned his head to watch her. “Everythin’ is goin’ to be fine. I’ll buy you a beer when we get to town and you can yell at me then.”

  “Deal,” she said weakly as they sank into the water. The damp was welcome after the heat, but the vampire’s shriek wasn’t. It was closer, held off momentarily by the heat and light of Dag’s fire. God. She tried not to pant, but was fairly certain she’d failed. The armoire didn’t have enough air.

  Dag didn’t say anything more, just shifted. One minute she was thigh-to-thigh with her man and the next moment fur brushed against her. The wolf snapped and growled until she buried her fingers deep in his ruff of fur. She had enough time to suck in a breath and then he pulled her under.

  Don’t think, her head warned. Hold on, her fingers telegraphed. Panic iced her veins as the walls of Dag’s escape tunnel closed in around them. No air, just water, roots and a thick, lightless soup of bayou water she couldn’t see through and that stung her eyes when she tried. She tried to keep her arms in and her legs straight when she banged hard against the walls. Dag didn’t stop, the wolf swimming powerfully.

  Her lungs burned. She had to breath. Instead, she pressed her face against wet fur. Out out out. She was plucking him bald, but the wolf only picked up speed.

  They burst to the surface.

  ###

  Riley’s fingers trembled in his fur, but she didn’t say anything. Just silently sucked in air like she hadn’t thought she’d breathe again. Dag shifted back, fierce pride filling him. She’d held it together. Had held onto him. Carefully, he steered them through the patch of marsh reeds to the edge of the bayou bank. He wanted Riley out of the water. Unfortunately, they were barely a hundred yards from the burning boat.

  “Riley Jones,” the vamp shrieked and her eyes went straight to the monster. He wished he could wipe away the shadows gathered in those pretty brown depths. She shouldn’t have had to live through a week like the last one. No woman should.

  When she opened her mouth, he pressed his fingers against her lips and shook his head.

  Responding right now was suicidal.

  “You think you’ve got away?” Flames flared on the houseboat’s deck and the vamp launched itself towards the far bank and the shadows there. Too bad. Dag wouldn’t have minded if the fire took care of this particular problem for him.

  Riley’s nails bit into his arm and she searched the dark stand of trees where the vamp had disappeared. Dag slid an arm around her, just in case she had any crazy ideas about leaping up and shouting “Here I am” or “You betcha.” Because something about the vamp’s words had her on high alert.

  He knew the vamp was scaling the trees, making for the canopy. The vamp hunters always preferred to cross the bayou in the treetops. It was faster and the Pack hadn’t figured out how to ambush the hunting parties once they’d cleared the ground.

  “You’ve got a place in town you wouldn’t want me visiting,” the vamp called. “Ameline’s home away from home.” For a moment, the moon backlit the bastard hightailing it away from the burning boat. The distance was too great for throwing a knife and, even if he’d been willing to leave Riley alone and unprotected, the vamp had a head start Dag couldn’t make up. Hiding in the reeds, however, didn’t feel good either so, as soon as he was certain the vamp wasn’t circling back around, he moved them to the bank.

  “You think that’s true?” Riley’s lips barely moved, but Dag heard her loud and clear.

  She was worried.

  Then she surprised him, slinging her arm around his shoulders and giving him a fierce, hard squeeze. He was barefoot in the mud, with water dripping off his southern parts. He damned sure didn’t smell good, and he had a twenty-mile run if he planned on making it back to town.

  “Fuck,” she swore hoarsely, rummaging in the bag for her sneakers. The borrowed shoes were wet, but the soles would give her some protection. Shifting would have been simpler, but she couldn’t do what she couldn’t do.

  Since there wasn’t much he could say, he dressed silently, lacing up his boots while she squeezed water out of her hair.

  “So it knows how to hurt you,” he said quietly. “We’ll figure somethin’ out, boo.”

  The flash of pain on her face said it all. He didn’t like their options either. Hiding her deep in the bayou was more his usual approach, but he figured nothing short of the apocalypse would keep her away from Port Leon now. Even if he stopped her—and he could because he was bigger and meaner—she’d never let him forget. And she was his mate. They were going to spend the rest of forever together, although apparently she was going to take some convincing.

  “We need to figure it out fast.” A small sound escaped her. “We can’t let that thing get into the shelter.”

  “Okay.” He took the bag from her and slung it over his back. “Then we’ll run.”

  ###

  Port Leon looked the same as always, the sleepy main street crawling past the marina in a hodgepodge of clapboard houses, gas stations, bait shops, and dirt roads. Riley probably could have named every one of the eight hundred people who lived here.

  It wasn’t until the early morning sun crawling over the horizon turned the bayou waters fiery red that Dag decided it was safe to hit the town. They’d laid low in the swamp until first light, and then Dag had led her to a boat hidden behind a hunter’s blind. For the next hour, he’d gunned the motor, racing them across the open water with single-minded determination. He’d avoided the banks, shooting straight up the center.

  She’d seen firsthand how far those vamps could jump, so sunrise definitely made her feel better.

  “No daylight, right?” she asked, needing to hear his answer.

  He killed the motor, guiding the boat towards the dock. “The vamps? Usually not,” he said, but that wasn’t confirmation. Not in her book.

  Her eyes were gritty with sleeplessness and the muscles in her legs burned from their night run. Wild monkey sex with Dag probably hadn’t been her wisest move, although at least she’d die happy.

  “Usually doesn’t mean ‘Absolutely never, sweetheart,’” she pointed out. As soon as the boat was close enough, she grabbed the mooring line coiled up on the deck and dropped it around the painter. “Under what circumstances should I be worrying? How long do I have to move the women at the safe house?”

  He gave her the look that never failed to rile her up. That look said he was here, so he’d do the thinking and the protectin
g for her. Unfortunately, she hadn’t figured out how to train him better.

  For a moment, there was silence as he docked the boat, his hands capable and strong on the wheel as he took them in. She’d been content, this time, to sit back and let him drive. The soft slap of the water against the boat reminded her she was tired but worse, the longer she sat, the more she definitely remembered what they’d been up to. There’d been a knowing glint in his eyes when he’d asked earlier if she was comfortable.

  Dag Breaux was no gentleman.

  And her ass was deliciously sore.

  Tomorrow’s project could be civilizing him, she decided. If they both lived that long.

  Right on cue, he opened his mouth and proceeded to piss her off. “You don’ need to worry. I’m here.”

  “Lovely.” The sarcasm was clearly lost on him. “Explain anyhow.”

  “When a vamp catches a werewolf, it skins the wolf.” He pocketed the boat key and grabbed the canvas satchel he’d used to carry their clothes. From the metal-on-metal sounds emanating from the bag, he’d also stashed a small arsenal inside as well. “Those skins make it possible for the vamp to tolerate some daylight.”

  Hell.

  “So the vamp could be strolling around town right now?”

  “It’s unlikely,” he said. “From what I saw, it didn’t have any skins. Not on him and not in the shack. I looked. You’re lucky he didn’t realize what you were.”

  One more reason to hide her shifter side. She had no idea if fox skin could let a vamp walk in the daylight, but she damned sure didn’t want to find out. She’d need to warn her family about the possibility of hunters.

  The fishing boats were just going out, leaving most of the town still asleep. To her surprise, Dag held out a hand to her after he’d swung gracefully from the boat to the dock.

  “Should we hide the boat?” Asking him outright if he’d stolen their ride seemed awkward. She certainly hadn’t asked questions back in the bayou, not with a vamp breathing down their neck.

  “Family boat,” he grunted, relieving her half-worry that he’d borrowed the craft from some unsuspecting bayou fisherman. She took his hand and his fingers closed around her wrist, effortlessly hoisting her up onto the dock.

  “You’ve been gone some time,” he said. Reaching down into the boat, he snagged his boots, then turned to saunter sure-footed down the dock. Slung over his shoulder, the boots bumped his ass with each step. God. He had a fantastic ass. Powerful muscles flexed beneath the worn denim, food for plenty of fantasies. “That goin’ to be a problem?”

  “Are you worried there’s a manhunt up and down half the bayou for me?”

  Turning his head, he looked over his shoulder at her. He didn’t stop, but held out a hand. She’d had no idea he was a handholding kind of guy, but the casual gesture would set plenty of tongues to waggling. The problem with living in a small town was that everyone talked. Constantly.

  “Is it a possibility?” He didn’t sound particularly concerned, so she concentrated on savoring the warmth of his fingers around hers. He gave the marina attendant a curt nod as they exited the slip. The man’s eyes just about bugged out of his head, so he’d clearly done the math. One big ass Breaux and Riley Jones sharing a boat and she looked like rough sex.

  Fuck him. Or not. She bit back a laugh. So what if the whole world had a pretty good idea of what this man sauntering along next to her had done to her. With her. For her. Because the important part was that whole togetherness thing. She’d never been part of a couple before, but Dag Breaux, with his mate business, had made it clear he intended to be a keeper.

  “My brothers live up in Baton Rouge. They’re used to my checking in infrequently.” Because she had insisted on her independence and ruthlessly hounded them when they crossed the lines she’d set. She was their baby sister. If she’d let them, they’d have wrapped her up in cotton wool and set her on a shelf inside the house. She appreciated their concern—especially after this last week—but she needed her space.

  “So they won’ be lookin’ for you?” He sounded disapproving, but he’d already made it clear he wasn’t letting her out of his sight so she figured he was biased. Her brothers, on the other hand, were well-trained.

  “It’s unlikely,” she acknowledged. “Give it a couple more weeks and, yeah, they’d be down here in force.”

  “Huh.” He sounded thoughtful. “So there are more of you.”

  If he was lucky, he’d never meet them.

  “I’m going to call them in to move the women at the safe house,” she said, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

  The rest of the short stroll to the safe house passed in silence. Somehow, when she was with Dag, silence was okay. She didn’t need to fill the quiet up with words, just hold his hand and let the momentum swing their arms back and forward where they were connected. Ten minutes wasn’t enough, but it was all the time she had.

  The safe house was on the outskirts of town, surrounded by plenty of non-descript clapboard and dahlia beds. Everything looked the same as the last time she’d been here. From what she’d learned about the bayou vamps, she needed to make the generator her first priority. The equipment had broken months ago, but now it was time to get it back up and running. Stat.

  Dag stopped when she tugged on his hand. “Hidin’ in plain sight?”

  The strategy kept her girls safe. None of them wanted to be found and the men chasing their asses weren’t the safe kind, as the bruises and horror stories attested. She didn’t know how the werewolf keeping pace with her would react to that.

  “You can’t come in,” she said, willing him to understood. Fighting out here on the sidewalk wasn’t what she wanted to be doing.

  “Yeah.” To her surprise, he nodded. “I figured as much, seein’ as how this is a safe place and I doubt many of your girls are feelin’ real friendly towards men right now.”

  Letting go of her hand, he tilted her chin up, his thumb caressing her jaw. Then he dropped a quick, hard kiss on her mouth. “I’ll wait out here for now,” he said, “but we need to get a couple of things straight first. Lay down some ground rules.”

  Here it came.

  “I don’t do rules.” Raising her chin, she glared at him.

  He didn’t look worried.

  “Only two rules here, boo. If there’s danger, you do what I say, because I’ll be keepin’ you safe. Uh-uh,” he said, pressing two fingers against her lips.

  God help her, the gesture had her heating up inside.

  “The second rule’s the most important,” he continued. “The second rule says there are no rules in our bed.”

  Dag wasn’t even looking at her, all protect-and-defend, his gaze quartering the peaceful neighborhood like he expected a SWAT team or a horde of daylight-resistant vamps to explode out of the nearest garden shed. Of course, maybe his caution explained how he’d lived to be a three hundred year-old werewolf.

  She was on board with the second rule. The sticking point was the first. She didn’t take orders as she’d made perfectly clear. Unfortunately, however, her safety wasn’t the only thing at stake here. She’d seen the vamps in action and, while she’d like to think she could handle that kind of aggression, the honest truth was she couldn’t. Her girls had to come first.

  “Okay,” she said hoarsely. “You got yourself a deal.”

  His gaze swiveled back to meet hers. “You got to mean that,” he warned softly. “This time, the words aren’t a game. I need to know you’ll let me do my job here. Tonight, when and if the vamp comes knocking, you let me take care of it. This is what I do.”

  And she didn’t. Didn’t want to, she realized, and maybe didn’t have to. Dag’s dark eyes watched her but this once, he wasn’t demanding. No, he was asking her and she needed to give the man his answer. She leaned into his side, pressing her face against his hard shoulder. He really had this.

  So, okay. She inhaled, only partly to calm her nerves. Dag smelled good, like woods and sunlight and
something indescribably him. He reached out and pulled her into a one-armed hug.

  “Riley?” He was still waiting.

  “I get it.” She nodded towards the house’s front door. “You get to kill the bad guys if and when they show. I’m going to go in there and do my thing. There’s a backup generator I bought a couple years ago for hurricanes and such. It went down a few weeks ago, but I’m thinking it would be wise to get it up and running. Then we’ve got some ammo for the nights.”

  He nodded. “Hit a vamp with enough wattage and—”

  “You’ve got fried vamp unless he’s wearing a fur jacket,” she finished for him and headed for the door.

  He hesitated when she’d expected him to clear out. “They goin’ to question the move?”

  He was worried, she realized. About her girls hiding out in the house, working on a second chance at living life. Her big bad wolf actually had a soft side.

  “I hope not.” She huffed out a breath. “They’re human, Dag, and they’re not familiar with werewolf life—or with vamps. I’ll tell them we’ve had a credible threat phoned in and we need to move them temporarily.”

  She wished with every fiber of her being she didn’t have to uproot these women. They’d suffered through plenty of shit and didn’t need any more trouble knocking on their door. Unfortunately, that just wasn’t the way life worked. The vamp was coming, so all she could do was make sure they were free and clear. If it came down to it, she’d tell them what was coming.

  Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.

  “Riley—” His voice, rough and sure, stopped her.

  “Yeah?” She looked back, which was a mistake. Seeing his face reminded her of the reasons why she didn’t want to go. She liked spending time with him. She even liked his concern. None of which explained why she wanted to close the distance between them and run her hand down his cheek.

  He frowned. “You are goin’ to be careful, right?”

  “I thought that was the rule.” To hell with it. She gave in to the impulse, and pressed herself close enough to drop a kiss on his cheek.

  “Some rules were made to be broken,” he admitted, his words shooting straight to her heart. “But this isn’t one of them, boo. You take care now.”