Claimed by the Pack (Blue Moon Brides)

by Anne Marsh

  “You were fine,” he agreed. “And you think what we’ve been doin’ here is just fine too.”

  “Prove it.” Impossible.

  He smiled slowly. “I can smell you.”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it. “You can?”

  “Yeah. So I’m callin’ bullshit. You liked me just fine last night—and you like me right now.”

  “Don’t you dare get in this bed, Dag Breaux.”

  “Never challenge a wolf, boo.” Bending over, he snagged his boots from the floor. The muscles of his ass flexed as he did the getting-dressed-thing and—shit. He was right. She did want him.

  “Still think you’re rescuing me?”

  “Uh-huh.” He eyed her levelly. “From yourself, I’m thinkin’.”

  “If this was genuinely a rescue, I’d be home by now,” she snapped.

  He shoved his feet inside the boots and worked the laces. “You are home.”

  His matter-of-fact statement was scarier than the two hundred pound wolf chasing her through the bayou. “No way.”

  “Yes, way.” He put a hand over her heart and she knew he had to feel the angry thump. “You’re not scared of me,” he continued. “That makes you perfect.”

  “That makes me pissed. Not this mate of yours.” She waved a hand.

  His dark eyes began to glow. Just how close to the surface was his wolf? Not too close, because he stood up and tested the fit of his boots. “You’re my mate. You chose me last night.”

  She stared at him. “You’re holding me to words I said when you were going down on me? That’s not fair.”

  He nodded slowly. “You don’ mean anything you say in bed?” Her mouth opened, closed. Busted. “So I can’ trust you.”

  Hell. He was too close, his dark eyes too stormy. “You can.”

  “Uh-huh. And the minute I step foot out that door?”

  “Pit stop,” she reminded him. “That was the deal. I’m rested and now I’ll be on my way.”

  He shook his head. “I’m checkin’ things out before you go.”

  “I’m going now,” she emphasized as his hand snaked around her wrist.

  “Not yet and not without me.”

  He tied one wrist to the bed, ignoring her cursing and kicking. Clearly, she’d been right in her assessment of him. He’d do what he believed needed doing, no matter how she felt about it. Worse, he knew how to tie a line. Not only was the rope impossibly thick, but he’d woven a complicated set of hitches and knots. She wouldn’t get those undone anytime soon and not without a knife.

  “We need to work on our trust issues, you and me.”

  “This isn’t helping.” When she got free—and she would—she’d kill him. Where did he get off tying her up?

  He gave her a slow smile like her death glare didn’t bother him one bit. “This rope here, it helps me. You stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  As he went out the door, she hollered after him. “You’ve got no right doing this, Dag Breaux. This wasn’t our deal.”

  “Finders, keepers. That’s my deal,” he growled and slammed the door shut.

  Chapter Seven

  She didn’t mean the words she’d said.

  She’d agreed to be his—and now she’d tried to take it back.

  The wolf didn’t understand how Riley could reject his mate claim—or pretend he hadn’t marked her good. She’d come apart in his arms for him, yelling his name and digging her nails into his skin. He loved those pink crescents, the tiny marks she made on his skin that faded too fast because he was a goddamned wolf and his biology erased what it thought was an injury, but his head knew was the tangible sign of his connection with Riley. Instead, she’d demanded more. More kisses, more words, more of something he couldn’t give her because he fucking didn’t know how.

  Hell. The man snorted with laughter. She’d ordered him to buy a damned book and learn up on how to treat her, but he already knew exactly what he’d do for her when he got home tonight. How he’d touch her and where he’d kiss her. If she wanted kisses, he was her man and the only one who’d be kissing on her.

  That had to be enough, because he couldn’t give her what he didn’t have. She was his Pack now and he’d take care of her. He had her back, her front, and any other side she cared to show him. He just didn’t know how to tell her, because he was more wolf than man, and neither man nor beast was a fucking poet. So he’d kiss her, love on her, and hope for the best. He still didn’t like leaving her, though. Not when she’d challenged him and pushed him. No, he’d wanted to take her straight back to bed and show her exactly who was the boss.

  Tonight.

  He’d show her tonight, tomorrow, and every other day ending in y.

  Now, however, he had a different kind of monster to hunt. He pushed through the underbrush, careful not to make any betraying noises as he closed in on the vamp’s lair. Adrenaline shot through him the thrill of the hunt a welcome distraction from the need burning through him for his Riley. He needed to take care of this threat, before he could turn all his attention to her.

  Girls were disappearing, if his mate was to be believed, and that had to stop too. No matter how many skins a vamp had, no vamp went anywhere during the daylight hours, but now sun sank fast below the horizon, an angry red ball lighting up the bayou and the trees. Insects buzzed and somewhere nearby a gator roared, hunting. Dag felt a surge of kinship at the sound. The bayou was a world of predators and prey, a brutal simplicity he loved.

  Her scent trail still lingered, on the very edges of the bayou’s banks, even though she’d dropped down into the water to break the trail. The shack was, not surprisingly, right where he’d left it. He approached cautiously, scenting the air, but the place appeared deserted. The wolf’s nose sent the all clear. No vamps here.

  He’d all but ripped the door from its hinges on his last visit, because he hadn’t had time to bother with the doorknob. No, he’d been too hot to pursue his mate, chasing the ass of the woman the blue moon had chosen for him. No one had bothered the door since he’d left; it hung crazy-ajar, barely moving in the sultry bayou heat. He trotted up the steps and peered inside at the oily patchy still marring the hardwood.

  It had been barely twenty-four hours since Riley Jones had hightailed it away from this spot. He didn’t know for a fact the older vamp had returned since then and there was actually every possibility the bastard didn’t know his quarry had escaped. That gave Dag an edge.

  Dag did a little interior re-decorating to hide the floor damage, set the door back in place, shifted, and settled in to wait. Two hours later, his patience was rewarded. The bitter, oily scent preceded the vamp, a thick stink of old blood layered with new. One minute, the clearing was empty and the next, the vamp dropped down from the canopy, landing on all fours, as he called the dead vamp’s name.

  A raunchy French curse echoed through the trees when the recently deceased failed to answer. “Lazy fils de pute.”

  The vamp stalked towards the front door, fists curling.

  That bad mood had the wolf baring its teeth.

  A booted foot kicked the door. “Come on out, unless you’ve got yourself the werewolves penned up in there. We’ll take the girl downriver. Cut her up some and make her bleed. That ought to get those Breauxs riled up good.”

  The door creaked painfully open—Dag’s patch job on the hinges held but barely—but as the vamp’s hand hit the knob, it paused.

  The vamp’s head turned, eyes scanning the clearing. “Casse toi, I’ve got me a werewolf after all.”

  Dag sprang, his wolf snarling, teeth snapping as he aimed for the vamp’s throat. The vamp wasn’t interested in fighting, shooting upwards towards the canopy instead. Fuck. Taking out the vamp now had been a long shot, but watching the bastard disappear over the treetops still sucked.

  “I’ll make a jacket out of your skin, Breaux. Then I’ll have all the time in the world to cut your new mate.” The vamp’s parting words drifted back to Dag, fading as the vamp did.

/>   Mate. The wolf growled, hackles rising. The vamp wasn’t getting near Dag’s mate, not while Dag drew breath. Human or inhuman, he’d protect her at all costs. She was his, her female scent marking his skin where her pussy had milked his fingers in a slick vise almost as tight as her rear hole. No one, nothing got to Riley Jones.

  A rough growl from the stand of cypress trees nearest the shack had him pausing, however. The bushes shook as Luc padded out.

  Luc was a big, mean bastard in either skin. Two hundred fifty pounds of muscle and bone with coal-black fur and yellow eyes that glowed as he stalked towards Dag.

  Alpha. The man cursed, but the wolf knew what had to be done. Before either of them could go home to the mate waiting for them in the houseboat, Luc had to be acknowledged so Dag approached the other wolf, tail up and teeth peeled back from his lips.

  Luc’s low growl carried in bayou night. Yeah. His Alpha was pissed. Dag’s wolf was itching for a fight, but he’d decided centuries ago that he’d only fuck up a Pack of his own. He did better fighting as Luc’s right-hand man, even if that sometimes meant taking both shit and orders from the man. Luc’s wolf raised a large paw and rested it on Dag’s shoulder.

  The familiar weight pressed down Dag towards the ground in a clear hint. Yeah. The wolf whined angrily, resenting the demand to back down, but this time the man won. If he wanted to get back to Riley stat, picking a fight with Luc was pure stupid.

  After a long moment, Luc shifted back. Fur faded away, replaced by skin. A tribal tattoo stretched from his neck down his side in a complicated pattern of dark ink. He scrubbed a hand impatiently over the dark hair buzzed close to his scalp and stared at Dag like he was trying to stare right inside the wolf.

  “Shift,” he snapped, the order clear.

  Reluctantly, Dag shifted. Staying wolf was simpler and definitely required fewer words.

  Luc slapped a hand on his shoulder playfully and they locked arms, hands clasped. Some back pounding and then Dag was free.

  An amused smile played over Luc’s lips. “How’d your plan work out, boy?”

  Dag eyed the broken door and the empty shack. Yeah. That was FUBAR territory right there.

  “She’s not dead,” he pointed out. He deserved that much credit.

  Luc’s eyes laughed back at him. “Your female?”

  Unexpected warmth spread through him. His. “Oui.”

  Luc cuffed his shoulder. “Good. We should keep it that way, yeah?”

  “That would be my preference.” He eyed the canopy where the vamp had disappeared. He’d shift and follow the night sounds some. See which direction the vamp had gone.

  Luc turned towards the shack, gesturing for Dag to follow. Maybe he wasn’t done asking questions. “You hid her good?”

  Some things went without saying. “You bet,” he said dryly. Hell, he’d tied her up to make her stay put. “The rest of the Pack is good?”

  “Yeah.” Luc took the sagging stairs two at a time and peered inside the shack. “Shit. They did a number on that female.”

  “Ameline.”

  Luc’s head swiveled toward him like he hadn’t expected that particular contribution.

  “Her name was Ameline.” Dag felt stupid saying it, but Riley had accused him of not listening and he did. He just wasn’t so good at saying the right kind of thing.

  Luc nodded. “Good to know.”

  “She might have people in town,” he offered. If she’d been one of Riley’s women, however, she probably didn’t have much to do with those people anymore. Any woman with a good family and friends didn’t need to live in a woman’s shelter. Not unless her man was a violent ass or worse. “Riley knew her.”

  Luc swore again. “When we’ve taken out the vamp, we can come back for her. I send in the sheriff now and he’s more likely to get killed than not. I can’t justify that.”

  Dag couldn’t, either. Leaving her here, alone, however didn’t feel right. “We could bury her.”

  Luc shook his head. “If she does have people, they’ll be wanting her back.”

  For just a moment, Dag allowed himself to imagine how he’d feel if that was Riley lying in there, dead and alone. Yeah. He’d want her back, just so the not knowing could end. Riley would know, he decided. He could ask her what she wanted to do when he got back. Hell, he liked the idea of getting her opinion on this. It was another one of those right things to do.

  “I’ll find out,” he said and Luc eyed him again.

  “Riley’s okay?” he asked again.

  Dag bit back the growl that threatened to escape. What the hell did the question mean? He’d said she was fine. He’d made it clear he’d got her denned up to wait out the vamp.

  He glared at his Alpha and fuck Pack hierarchy. Mates came first. “Wasn’t I clear?”

  The expression on Luc’s face didn’t change. He just watched Dag like he was half-considering making a citizen’s arrest or throwing down. Hell, he was the one who’d sent Dag after Riley. So Dag wasn’t giving in on this. He kept his mouth shut and waited until Luc finally exhaled roughly and rubbed a hand over his head. Dag could have told him none of this made sense and that the blue moon clearly had chicken shit for brains, but his Alpha hadn’t asked and he didn’t feel like volunteering.

  “You were,” Luc admitted finally. “You said she was fine.”

  “So?”

  “Did you claim her?” Luc’s eyes bored into his. “Did she choose you, boug?”

  He hadn’t heard that endearment from Luc in years. This was his brother speaking to him, not his Alpha.

  “She did.” Of course, she’d also taken issue with the choosing, but she’d said the words. Her reluctance to claim him bothered Dag and that was an unfamiliar emotion. He wanted her to choose him—and she hadn’t.

  “Introduce me?” Luc asked the question lightly, but Dag didn’t miss the undercurrent. His Alpha was back and wanted to check up on Dag. Wanted to make sure his mate was doing fine.

  “Sure.” He lifted a shoulder, like he didn’t mind distrust at all, and turned away.

  Hell, he didn’t trust himself much. He knew exactly how close he’d been to losing himself in his wolf, before the blue moon had brought him his Riley. A few more weeks—days, even—and he wouldn’t have come back. He’d have been one more wild wolf running the bayou banks. He wouldn’t have had an ounce of human left in him.

  So, yeah, he understood he wasn’t high on the trust list.

  And that Riley Jones deserved much, much better.

  Turning, he shifted back into his wolf and started the run home.

  ###

  The closer they got to the houseboat, the more Riley’s scent called to Dag, a sensual beacon lighting both the bayou and his body up. The good thing was, he’d clearly done an A-1 job on the knots tying her to the bed. The bad news was, now he got to explain to Luc.

  As soon as the houseboat came into sight, Luc skidded to a halt and shifted back. “You got clothes stashed here?” he called.

  Yeah. Because Riley probably wouldn’t appreciate two naked shifters bursting in on her. It was dark out, he realized, assessing the boat, and he hadn’t left her so much as a lantern or a flashlight. Hell. He wasn’t much of a mate, was he?

  He shifted back and silently passed Luc a stack of clothes he’d cached nearby. She probably hadn’t met Luc, or had only seen the Alpha from a distance. Luc didn’t mix much with the locals. Maybe she’d like his brother. Or not. He’d overheard Lark telling Rafer their Alpha was a scary ass bastard.

  “She’s inside?” Luc gestured towards the boat.

  Dag nodded, because the question sounded more rhetorical than not. Sure enough, Luc shook his head.

  “Leaving her here in the bayou after a week with a vamp isn’t looking out right for her.”

  Shame stung him. “I saw to her.”

  He’d cleaned her up and fed her. Loved on her as much as she’d let her. But you didn’t even kiss her on the mouth, the voice in his head taunted. She’d wan
ted a kind of closeness he couldn’t give her.

  “And left her in the dark.” Luc headed for the bank

  Also true.

  One more reason he didn’t deserve the woman waiting for him inside the houseboat. Maybe you could change some. Part of him wanted to. The problem was, he didn’t know how and no book could fix his issues.

  Luc waded into the water. “Women like to talk about their feelings. How many words you given her, Dag?”

  Luc didn’t turn around, just kept pushing for the boat and that was fine, because Dag didn’t have an answer for that particular question. His Alpha was probably wondering how to undo the mistake he’d made in sending Dag after Riley Jones. None of them really knew how the blue moon worked, exactly. It was possible that the moon paired up the first wolf it found with the first bride. His claiming Riley could have been dumb luck on his part, because he was in the right place at the right time. Maybe, if Jackson had come after her, the youngest Pack member would have been shacked up and mated right now. Maybe he’d stolen Jackson’s chance.

  Maybe she could even have been right for Luc, even if Luc was supposed to have found his mate years earlier. If Luc had, however, he’d lost her, because his Alpha was one of the most solitary males Dag knew. He’d skirted a wide circle around the Pack’s new mates too, although they’d all played some with Rafer’s new bride. Sensual, kinky games—the sort a man dreamed about. Rafer’s bride had liked that just fine, but she’d picked Rafer in the end. Moon or no moon, she was Rafer’s through and through and he was hers.

  “Dag?” Luc paused, his hand on the ladder up the boat’s side.

  Yeah. Answer the question. “We didn’t do much talkin’,” he admitted. His feet sank into the muddy bottom of the bayou with each step he took. The water didn’t reach higher than his knee here—explaining how the houseboat sat tight year after year—but it made it a hell of a lot easier to hear anyone coming. “Maybe we should have.”

  Luc swung onto the ladder. “You think?”

  Not often enough and that was the problem. “Why’d you send me after her then?”

  He told himself he wasn’t waiting for Luc’s answer. Because, odds were, he wouldn’t like it much. Above him, Luc dropped lightly onto the deck and Dag took his turn on the ladder.