by Thalia Eames
Jules squealed with the thrill of free falling as fast as one of those drop rides at the State Fair and pressed her breasts tighter to his back. When they reached the ground she gripped his hips with her thighs. The impact pumped her into him.
Once again, his dick hardened to stone. He could’ve used it to slide down the tree just as well as his claws. In that moment one truth echoed in Daz’s mind. No matter what kind of relationship they got into, Juliana Perlas was going to fuckin’ destroy him.
Chapter Seven
“I’m okay with it.”
“You keep telling me that.” Daz switched to hands free so he didn’t have to hold the phone while his brother talked nonsense.
“Don’t factor me into your equations,” Cash said. The sound of L.A. traffic muffled his voice. “I get the feeling I already played my role. I looked out for her until you got there.”
“Like the universe wanted it that way?” Daz failed at keeping the skepticism out of his voice.
“Yeah. It happens.”
Daz smoothed his beard, rubbing his upper lip with an index finger. If only Cash’s words were true. It’d mean he and Jules were fated to be together. Which meant they could get past his touch aversion and her aversion to bad boys. Shaking his head, Daz moved away from that thought quickly. Fate usually ended up howling with laughter at him.
“We’ve decided to be friends,” he said, taking the last step on the central stairwell at Averdeen Manor.
Cash laughed in his ear. “We were raised in the same house, I know you’re not that stupid. You two visually burn for each other. That’s why I’m okay with it.”
“It’s too risky. What happens to my touch-deprived ass if it ends?” Daz made his way to a bedroom on the second floor, where Gran told him he’d be staying until he fixed her family home. She’d put him as close to the collapsed living room as she could. According to her it’d keep him honest about their safety. He couldn’t argue with logic.
He’d already put in new permanent supports along with temporary ones to be safe. The house would hold as long as he didn’t lose control of the Hellion and take out the living room again. Damn, he never should have tweaked the steering without testing it with the new engine first.
“You’re a ‘danger boy’. Take the risk.” Cash sounded preoccupied.
Daz found his room and flattened his palm against the door. “Then what happens to Jules when another danger boy lets her down?” That got Cash’s attention.
“That’s why you’re the older brother. It makes sense now,” he said.
Daz chuffed. “Younger or older, I’m smarter than you. You’ve been an idiot since birth. Trust me, I saw the whole thing. The nurse marked it on your chart.”
He pushed the door open as Cash protested the truth behind his idiocy. The scent of orange blossom washed over Daz and Jules jumped, startled by his sudden arrival. Recovering quickly, she laid the towel set she carried down on the newly made bed. A spring breeze blew through the open window and a whiff of cleaning products carried on the wind. “The room needed airing out and fresh sheets,” she explained, heading past him for the door.
Without thinking about it, Daz disconnected the call with his brother. “Wait.”
Jules paused and turned. “For what?”
For me to be worthy of you.
“Talk to me while I unpack.” He paced over to drop his army-style duffle by the foot of the bed. “Can you do that, Blue?”
“I can do that.” She followed his path and sat on the bed, drawing her legs up beneath her.
Everything about her energy turned him on. Confidence rested easy on Jules. In the way she resisted the insecurities that muzzled most people and kept them from being upfront about what they wanted. That self-assurance took her sexiness up another notch.
He tossed a few things into the dresser drawers, simply enjoying being in her presence. Daz discovered something else he liked about her, she knew how to keep a companionable silence. You could tell as much about a person from when they chose to keep quiet as when they spoke. Jules’s ability to pick her moments highlighted her strength.
Eventually she lay back on his bed and stretched. Not a good idea. Not at all. Her shirt rose to reveal a softly rounded expanse of belly with a diamond sun piercing through the navel. Daz licked his bottom lip, hungry for her. He started toward the bed with the thought of finding out if her skin tasted of citrus like her scent.
“You got any more of those?”
“What?” she asked, completely unaware of the predator on her scent.
“Piercings.”
“Maybe I—” She turned his way and her eyes widened when she realized he’d gotten close enough to touch.
The theme song to Doctor Who stopped him cold. Jules reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, swiped the screen, and answered.
“We’ve got another one?” She looked concerned. “I’ll go get them. Just send me the address.” She listened. “If you’ve got a bad feeling I believe it. I’ll go right now.” Hanging up she gave Daz an apologetic expression. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”
He studied her and made a decision. “Mind if I go with you?”
Hesitance furrowed her brow. The trademark combination of ear tug and toe tap made it clear Jules both wanted and didn’t want him to come along. He’d lifted a hand to wave off his offer when she said, “Backup could be nice.”
He didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. Daz dropped the boots he’d taken out of his duffle into the closet and followed Jules out the door.
Outside in the sunlight, Jules pointed Daz toward Lennox’s truck. “I can drive,” he offered.
She shook her head. “Not that I mind crashing through folks’ houses.” She took a moment to toss him a grin before she continued. “But I’ve got to pick up a few people and we’ll probably need room for a car seat.”
Have mercy; she loved the way he shrugged and marched his fine ass over to Lennox’s truck. He opened the door and swung himself inside with no comment and no questions. Today he’d worn a pair of cargo pants that had various pockets and loops for his tools. Of course the only tool she wanted to see was the bouncing bulge of his junk as he walked.
“What?” he asked from the other side of the rolled-down windows.
She whistled. “Your ass is smokin’,” she said, not bothering to hide her thoughts. “I mean, I know we’re friends and everything but goddamn, Dashiell Warren. I say goddamn!”
A chuckle rushed out as he tossed his head back. He rubbed his index finger across his upper lip. “I appreciate it.”
Jules opened the driver’s side door and got in the truck beside him. “All true,” she said, and peeled out down the gravel drive.
They reached the home of Kirby and Mariel Grace thirty-five minutes later. “You can wait out here or come in,” Jules told Daz as she got out and went into the backseat for her shotgun. With her weapon in one hand she gave it a pump to make sure the mechanism worked smoothly. Then she released the gauge.
Off of Daz’s raised eyebrow she said, “It’s a prop. Every now and again I need props to help with negotiations.”
“I’ll make sure not to negotiate with you.” He took his gloves out of his back pocket and slipped them onto his big hands. Jules had a thing for big rugged man hands like Daz’s. Calloused and work roughened with blunt cut nails and obvious strength. She got out before she said something that reversed the terms of their friendship agreement and they walked in step together up to the front porch.
Jules gave the door a friendly knock. Kirby ripped it open as soon as she’d finished. He didn’t look thrilled she’d come by for a visit. Then again, assholes were seldom happy to see her sunshine face.
“What do you want, Juliana Vivian Perlas?”
Oh no, oh no, he did not just full name her. That carried a certain air in the South.
Jules did not take kindly to the reprimand it implied.
“Well, Kirby Wayne Grace, move outta the way and let me in the house so you can find out. You’re a Southern gentleman, right?”
With the reprimand returned, Kirby stepped away and let Jules and Daz inside. Display cases lined the walls, filled with comic book memorabilia and action figures. Most were from the Marvel Universe, but DC, Image and Dark Horse made appearances as well. Jules huffed; such a great collection. It pissed her off because she took it personally when a fellow geek turned out to be an asshole. Geeks were her tribe and she wanted them to be the best.
Mariel stood in her sitting room, her face red and starting to swell, the rest of her skin sickly pale from being denied sunlight. She seemed to be another pose-able doll in her husband’s collection, trapped behind glass and easily bent to his whims.
A baby rode high on Mariel’s hip and a little one clung to her leg. Jules wondered if they’d grow up to be playthings for their father too. The oldest Grace kid had escaped at sixteen and gone to live with her grandma over in Wilson, North Carolina. Jules planned to get the rest of the family out too.
Kirby initiated a staring contest with Daz to test his manhood. The smaller man lost and apparently found something more interesting and less deadly than the wolverine to stare at on his worn-out carpet. Jules would’ve smiled if the situation weren’t so serious.
“Mariel Grace, you’ve got a decision to make. You can come with me now and go somewhere safe or I can stop by every day and hope your man doesn’t kill you or one of your babies between my visits,” Jules said.
Kirby pushed forward and muttered something. Daz snarled and silenced the man.
Mariel’s shoulders began to shake as cried, softly, like a person who’d given up. Jules knew kindness wouldn’t help the other woman make her choice so she kept herself in check. “Make a decision.”
Nobody moved.
“Make a decision now!” Jules barked. “You staying or leaving?”
There had to have been a thousand moments when Mariel considered leaving. And each time something, whether it was her own fears or Kirby’s fists, had held her back. She probably told herself as long as he doesn’t hit my kids. Then he’d hit her eldest. But then C.J. left, so things were okay. Right? Jules could tell Mariel had rationalized staying another thousand different ways: her children needed their father, she couldn’t make it on her own, she’d made him cage her up and beat her down, he was tired or stressed or drunk. None of that added up. None of it factored into this moment. Only the decision Mariel made today mattered.
When the whispered answer came, Jules wasn’t sure she’d actually heard Mariel’s response or what she’d wanted to hear. Mariel said it again, “I wanna go. Help me, Jules.”
Kirby made a noise and lunged. Jules pumped her shotgun and fired a hole into the wooden roof. The little boy yelped but quickly swallowed his tears, as though he’d already been taught crying had consequences. Daz, who’d stepped between everyone in the room and Kirby, blinked at Jules. “You said ‘prop’.”
“Yeah, but my dad always says don’t wear stilettos unless you mean business and don’t carry a weapon you’re not ready to use.” She glanced at Daz. His expression seemed to ask her if she had the situation under control. The curl of her lips told him she did indeed. So he moved out of the way, trusting her to do what she did so very well. Incredible man.
Jules turned her glare on Kirby. “I hate using this gun these days, Kirby Wayne. Three of my closest friends had a gun change their lives, one nearly lost his leg, one would’ve died if he’d been human, and we visit the third at the cemetery every six months.” Jules maneuvered herself into position; her body formed a barrier between Kirby and his terrorized family. “If Lennox were here,” Jules continued chatting, calmly as conversation at Sunday dinner, “she’d grab you by the throat and slam you through a wall. Which makes you a damned unlucky son of a bitch ’cause she’s out of town.”
Kirby looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Good. She wanted him to think she was crazy enough to hurt him if he hurt his family again, because that truth would save him from a visit to the hospital.
“Let me break this down in terms you’ll understand, Kirby Wayne.” Jules nodded toward a display case filled with action figures inspired by the Avengers movies. “See, I’m not Wonder Woman. That’s not my comics universe. I’m a Marvel girl. That makes me more like Hawkeye with a liberal dose of Black Widow thrown in. Which means I’m not a fighter. I’m a shooter. And despite the fact I don’t love guns like I used to, I will shoot a hole in your ass and take you to the hospital with a post-it note stuck to your chest. It’ll say something like: This is Kirby Wayne Grace. He is not loved. Please take care of his stupid ass anyway.”
Jules stopped talking to Kirby when he didn’t move or protest. She looked over her shoulder and gently told Mariel to go get in the truck. Daz walked over to the crying woman told her he’d help, and asked where he could find the car seat for the baby.
They left Kirby Wayne in his sitting room, mad as a bull in the ring. Daz buckled Mariel and both her kids into the car while Jules stood watch in case Kirby made a run at them. Once they’d gone tearing down the dirt road, dust flying in their wake, Daz spoke for the second time since they’d arrived at the Grace house. “What’s the local sheriff going to say about your shotgun methods?”
That brought out her grin. “Sheriff Stan, The Exterminator? Who do you think sent me?”
Their banter almost made her miss it when a huge grayish brown blur leaped in front of the truck and Jules had to turn the wheel hard right to avoid crashing into the beast.
Chapter Eight
The wild boar shifter blocked the road. It huffed at them, tossing its huge head, daring them to try to get past it. Jules hadn’t expected this. She could handle Kirby Wayne Grace. Kirby Wayne never learned to shift and had been a coward ever since they’d called him “scaredy pants” on the playground. This wasn’t Kirby, it was his older, far more lethal sister, and Jules said so out loud. “I can’t handle Willie Mae Grace without shooting to kill.”
She grabbed her phone and thumbed out a quick text. Before she finished Daz pulled his sleeves down and readjusted his gloves. With those firmly in place he turned to her and lifted his hand to float above the crown of her head, so close to touching that his heat caressed her. Something instinctual told Jules the gesture had meaning but Daz didn’t explain.
“You’re doing a good thing here,” he said. His eyes did that crinkly smile without using his lips thing that made her want to surrender to him. “I know you don’t need me, but let me help you anyway. Yeah?” His gloved hand skimmed down her hair, stopping in the perfect place to cup her cheek—if he’d wanted to. “You shouldn’t have to get your hands dirty by shooting to kill.”
His free hand popped the door open and he stepped out onto the dirt road. The warmth he left behind slowly receded.
The look of resignation he carried made Jules remember his reasons for quitting the shifter fight league. He’d said he didn’t want to hurt people anymore. If he didn’t want that, she didn’t want it for him. She dove to his side of the truck to stop him. “What about you?”
Daz’s assessing gaze dropped from the snuffling animal roadblock, as he dipped his head toward Jules. “There’s no cleaning me up, Blue. My hands are fuckin’ filthy.”
Feeling a little desperate, she tried again. “But you don’t want to fight anymore.”
Daz started walking. “And I’m not going to,” he called back. Moving to the driver’s side of the truck, he faced the enraged shifter and leaned against the door.
The boar snorted, tossed its head and pawed the dirt road. Daz stared it down without a word, watching and waiting.
Jules felt around beside her for her shotgun, keeping her eye on Willie Mae Grace in boar form.
Mariel whined, although Jules
could tell she’d fought for composure every step they’d made. “I can’t let you shoot the kids’ auntie in front of them.”
Jules sucked in her lip before a biting retort popped out. She pulled her patience tight around her because what she wanted to do was remind Mariel that she’d allowed Kirby to beat her cross-eyed in front of those kids on a daily basis. That must’ve done a lot more harm. Instead Jules scolded herself; Mariel had been mentally abused as much as physically. She’d been told she wasn’t worth much and the Graces were the only ones stupid enough to love her. She’d been imprisoned by those lies. Years of that would make anyone distrust themselves and value their oppressor above all else. Jules knew this because abuse followed the same patterns.
“All right, I’ll do my best not to shoot her but I won’t let her hurt Daz.” Mariel didn’t protest anymore. Jules assumed they had a deal. As they watched her sister-in-law’s boar, the sound of Mariel’s teeth chattering put Jules’s nerves on edge. She shushed the other woman for sanity’s sake. Feeling much more twitchy about the situation, Jules rested her arm on the window frame and trained her shotgun sight on the boar. “Just in case,” she told Mariel.
They each got so still Jules only heard the sound of the wind blowing through the trees. A dark cloud moved in overhead bringing a clap of thunder along with it. A bolt of lightening struck the ground, filling the air with an electric sizzle that raised the hair on their arms. The baby started wailing and Willie Mae Grace’s boar charged.
Daz leaped eight feet forward, braced himself, and met the charging boar head on. The shifter hit him and bounced off his solid body. It rolled its thick neck, dazed, and charged again, tusks down and ready. Daz brought both arms up in an X and blocked the boar’s path. They struggled forward and back until Daz threw his arms wide and the boar slid backward several feet. Another charge. Another block.
The faceoff continued with charges and blocks but despite being a champion shifter fighter, Daz didn’t shift or throw a punch, no chokeholds, no kicks. He didn’t unleash his claws, he only blocked and pushed the beast back. But the continuous push and pull against the crazed shifter soon started to wear on him.