by Renee Rose
“Are we going somewhere?” She arches an eyebrow.
“You need to act normal. Do whatever you do on a Sunday.”
“Normally, I’m not under house arrest.”
The bluster, it’s an act. She’s too smart for her own good. And she’s been alone too long, without anyone to watch out for her.
My wolf wants to give her everything she needs.
“I guess I’ll take a shower.” She scoots out of her chair. “Maybe then I’ll feel normal. Human.”
She pushes past me, and I ignore her disrespect. She’s acting out because she’s scared. And I’m not her pack leader.
I grew up knowing I was a shifter. Expecting it. Meeting my wolf was a beautiful thing, a rite of passage. I felt powerful.
Foxfire emerges from the bathroom, clean and glowing. Her hair falls in soft rings around her pixie-like face. She struts out in cut-off shorts and a tight top, cleavage popping.
“Oh no.” I stand. “You need to change.”
“Why?” she shoots back, pretending to be oblivious to her body’s effect on me. “We’re staying here all day, right?”
“Just… put on some clothes.” I don’t need the temptation.
She puts her hands on her hips. “What’s your problem with these?”
I grit my teeth. My problem is my dick is hard enough to punch through a door. I’d send her to her room for the day, but I don’t trust myself.
“Just change.”
“Sure.” She shrugs and strips off her shirt. It falls to the floor between us.
“Foxfire,” I growl.
“You want me to change, Daddy Pops? I’m changing.” She shoots me a lethal smile. Sweet as strychnine.
“Don’t push me, baby,” I growl. “I warned you what would happen.”
“Mmm.” She twirls a rainbow curl around one finger. “You’ve made a lot of threats. I have yet to see you carry through with any of them.”
Fates help us both. She has no idea what I want to do with that hot little body of hers. And it starts with showing her who’s boss. In more ways than one.
“Okay, baby. Let’s do this.” I lean down and pick up her shirt and toss it at her. “Bedroom, now.”
She smirks and waltzes in that direction.
I fully planned on insisting she get dressed and having a sit-down discussion about dominant animals and her required submission.
Instead, I snag her wrist and spin her to face the wall. I press her small hand beneath mine against the textured plaster, pick up the other, and add it to my collection. She’s still topless, and now I have the world’s best top view of her cleavage. Heaving cleavage. Because she’s definitely excited by my little show of who’s boss.
I pin both her wrists against the wall with one hand and squeeze her breast roughly with the other. My open mouth finds the column of her neck. “You need to understand something, little fox. In a pack, there are rules.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t pack.” There’s a hurt quality to her voice that makes my wolf whine.
“Shifters, then. Either way, you need to know the limits on your behavior.”
“If I misbehave I’ll get groped by a hot wolf?” she suggests hopefully.
I suppress a laugh. “I mean it. Following the rules can save your life.” She doesn’t understand how dangerous this world is, and that’s the part that has my wolf going nuts.
“Okay.”
I release her breast and rest my palm on her ass. “Your actions have consequences. Shifters who step out of line are punished.”
“You gonna ground me?” Her voice is pure sex, husky.
“Mm, no,” I rumble in her ear. I work the button on her short-shorts with my free hand and tug them until they drop to the floor. “I take a more hands-on approach.”
She waggles her ass in a clear invitation.
Fates, I want to take this so much farther than I’m going to. I have images flashing in my brain of stripping her completely naked and pounding her hard from behind.
Instead, I bring my palm down on her panty-clad ass.
“Ooh!” She jumps.
Did I spank her too hard?
I crane my neck to see her face. She’s biting her lip, cheeks flushed with color, eyes glazed.
She likes it.
I smack her cute ass again. And again.
And then the goddamn doorbell rings.
~.~
Foxfire
Tank goes rigid. He releases me in a flash and yanks my top over my head. Motioning for me to stay put, he heads to the door.
So, of course, I yank on my jean shorts and follow him. He stops in the hall.
“It’s a man,” he says softly. “I can smell him.”
I wrinkle my nose. I can’t smell anything that specific yet. “It’s probably Benny. He’s supposed to come by to get his stuff.”
He catches my arm. “Are you going to be cool?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to run now. You’re the only one telling me I’m not crazy.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Har har. I’ll be right back. Stay out of sight.” I wave Tank into the kitchen, and he goes, face stony.
Should I flaunt my ex in front of him? He went nuts over my Daisy Dukes.
The doorbell goes again.
“Coming,” I sing and open the door.
It’s not Benny but a guy wearing a trench coat. It’s still early on a Sunday morning, and my neighborhood is pretty quiet. We don’t usually get solicitors.
“Can I help you?”
“Foxfire Hines?”
“That’s me,” I chirp. “Can I help you?”
“Yes.” The man pulls his hand from his pocket and points a gun at me.
~.~
Tank
I smell the gun before Foxfire’s fear hits me, bitter and potent. My wolf snarls.
I pad through her “grow light room.” Maybe I can move fast enough to get to him before he sees what’s coming.
My lips curl back. My wolf is ready to hunt.
“What the fuck is this about?” My rainbow-haired pixie puts her hands on her hips. I groan No, Foxfire. Behave.
“Just get inside, sweetheart. We’ll talk it over.”
“Who are you?” she demands. “Who sent you?”
What is it about her that makes her bluster in the face of danger? Now is not the fucking time. Does she think the gun is a toy?
I want to smack her ass all over again.
The man pushes inside, and she trips and falls with a soft cry.
I see red. Five seconds later, the thug is on the floor at my feet. I kick the gun away.
“Foxfire. Shut the door.”
She scrambles to obey.
The man is unconscious. Considering how hard I hit him, he’ll probably be out for a while. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him. I still might.
I use a blanket to grab the gun, and then I wrench it open, emptying the chamber.
Unmarked. Street gun. Mine, now. My wolf snarls. I focus on the gun to keep my wolf from tearing the man apart.
“Duct tape in my bag,” I tell her. She nods and rushes to get it. I tie the man and cover his mouth.
Foxfire is pale and trembling. I take a deep breath and get my rage under control. Ripping this man limb from limb won’t solve anything, and will terrify her.
“Come here.” I open my arms. She dashes to them. Her body is so tiny. I swing her up and carry her to the couch, where I can comfort her and keep my eyes on the thug.
“What does he want?” Foxfire shudders.
“I don’t know, baby,” I nuzzle her throat. She’s alive. She’s safe. She’s in my arms. Foxfire and her crazy hair. I use a fistful to tug her head back, gently, and take her mouth. She tastes like melon and strawberries, sugar and spice, and everything Foxfire.
My lips stroke over hers, despite the man unconscious on the floor. She’s mine. Her nipples pebble against the thin shirt, and I’m about to lay her
down and claim her. When I back off, she’s got stars in her eyes. I put them there. My wolf is satisfied.
“You’re going to be okay,” I tell her.
She stares at me, wide-eyed. “What are we going to do with him?”
Normally I’d make a few calls. But this job has morphed into something no one expected. “I’ll figure it out. I’m going to make sure he’s not a danger to us, and try to get some answers. Can you go into your room and work for a while?”
“Yeah. Um, Tank? Can I use your phone, to check my messages?”
“Sure, baby.”
Once she’s gone, I kneel down next to the thug. He has the look of an ex-fighter, rough hands, beefy strength, belly gone a little soft. A local muscle-for-hire. Not too bright. He should’ve come with backup. But he was thinking he’d shake down a small, unarmed woman. He didn’t expect me.
I step into kitchen for a moment while my wolf rages.
Foxfire. Fuck. She could’ve been killed. Or—
“Tank!”
I spin around as she hustles toward me. Something’s wrong. Her face is even paler than it was. Her eyes wide and frantic.
“I think I know who he is. We need to go, now.” She whirls and starts for the door. I catch her, holding her still when she struggles.
“Tell me, baby. What’s wrong?”
She holds up my phone. “My mom called. She’s in trouble.”
~.~
Foxfire
“Listen to this.” I jab the phone at Tank.
“Foxfire?” My mom’s voice comes over speaker. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m in a bit of trouble and had to throw away my phone. There might be some men who come asking after me. Just tell them I’ll get the payment when I can. Stay safe, sweetie.”
Tank plays the message again while I bite my lip. “Sounds like she owes the wrong people money.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I hiss. His face turns to stone, and I remember how wolves don’t like to be challenged. Well, tough. This is my mom we’re talking about. “She left me a message last night, but I didn’t get it because you killed my phone. Dammit! This is your fault!”
He rubs his jaw. “I’m sorry for that. I really am. And I get you’re mad, but dial back the challenge, baby, or my wolf will feel like he has to remind you who’s in charge here.”
The very recent memory of what form that reminder will come in rises up, a shimmering temptation. But now is not the time. “Whatever.” I fold my arms over my chest.
Yeah, he just gave me the best kiss of my life and punched out a gunman to save me.
Whatever. I’m still pissed.
“I need to go,” I tell him.
“Go where?”
“Go help her! I need to fix this.”
Tank looks from the thug lying at the floor to me. “And just how are you going to do that?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
He catches my arm. “You’re not going anywhere, baby.”
“Oh please. I’m hardly going to tell your little secret. I’m one of you, remember?”
“Hush.” He pulls me into the kitchen. “You need to be quiet about that.”
“Well, I am. One of your little gang now, right? The furries?”
“You can’t just run off. It’s not safe.”
“Why not? You already took out the guy they sent after me. He’s not a threat.”
“I don’t mean him. I mean other shifters.”
“What?”
Tank curses, sticks his head in the other room to check on Mr. Unconscious, then returns and hauls me farther into the corner. “You’re not pack. You have no protection. If you ran across a shifter’s pack, they might come after you.”
I blink. “What? Why? And how will they know?
“Your scent. It’s getting stronger. Every time you shift, until other shifters will know exactly who and what you are. And you won’t have any protection. You have no people. You’re alone.”
Jesus. Like I needed the story of my life spelled out once again. I shrug him off. “Well, whatever. I’m used to that.”
He presses his lips together, studying me. I meet his gaze, raise my chin. I’ve always been an outsider, a freak. He knows me a day and thinks I’m going to fall apart facing my problems on my own?
Fuck him. I’ve always been on my own.
“I’m going.” I start for the door.
“You are not,” he growls, grabbing my wrist.
“You don’t get a say.”
“You shifted for the first time in front of me. That makes me responsible for you.” He seems to have just made that decision. His words shock me into stillness. “You don’t want to go out there alone. Trust me.”
“Well, I’m not staying here. My mom is in trouble. The goon in the other room is proof of that.”
“Another reason you shouldn’t be alone. He came here thinking he was going to confront a five-foot, hundred-pound woman he could easily overpower. And he would’ve, if you’d been alone.”
“Luckily, I wasn’t. And I weigh a hundred and twenty pounds, thank you very much.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not going alone. It’s not safe.”
“Fine.” I grin without mirth. “Then you come with me.”
“I—” He stops. “Fuck.” He looks down at his phone like it’s an oracle with the answer.
“I’m going. You can either come with me or stay here with my unwanted guest.” We both look at the still-unconscious thug. Werewolves hit hard.
“Or I could tie you to the bed.”
I don’t dignify this with a response. It’s all fun and sex games until you get a visit from thug and a frantic call from your mom.
Tank reads this on my face and sighs. “Fine. But I’m in charge.”
I blink. I never expected him to have my back. Relief rushes through me. “Okay, yeah. I’m getting used to that.”
“Go pack.” Tank jerks his head at my bedroom. “I’ll take care of this guy.”
“What are you going to do to him?”
“Wake him up and try to question him. I don’t want you in here.”
“Do you want me to get a tarp? In case there’s blood.”
“No. I—”
A sound at the door makes both of us freeze. Someone’s trying to get in. Keys jingle, and I hear a curse.
Shit. It’s Benny. Good thing I changed the locks.
Tank starts for the door, a dangerous set to his shoulders. He’s going to knock Benny unconscious.
“Wait.” I catch his arm. “You can’t—it’s my ex-boyfriend.”
“What?”
The doorbell rings. “Foxfire?” Benny whines. “I know you’re in there.” He rings the doorbell a few more times and knocks. Jerk.
“He left stuff here. I’ve been on him to pick it up,” I explain quickly.
“Fuck.”
The mafia man is still sprawled on my rug. Fuck is right.
“I can stall him—” I start, when the thug begins to stir. At least, until Tank’s fist flashes out and catches him on the jaw.
“That’s probably not good for him.”
“He held a gun on you,” Tank says. The flint in his eyes tells me in his world, you don’t hold guns on women. You do pin them against a wall and spank them if they’re naughty. It’s a pretty interesting place, Tank’s world.
“Foxfire!” Benny shrieks.
“Coming!” I shout, stepping in front of the window in case Benny decides to try to look through the curtains. “Give me a minute.” I whirl to face Tank. “What are we—”
Tank already has the thug rolled in my rug and is carrying him to the back room.
“No, not there.” I whisper. “That is where I keep Benny’s stuff. Out back. ”
Tank heads into the kitchen.
The doorbell dings constantly.
“Go get the door,” Tank orders. “Keep him occupied away from the windows.”
I scramble back to the door, wrench it open, and sl
ip out, pulling it shut behind me.
“What the hell?” My ex squints at me. It’s not yet ten a.m. Early for him. In the daylight, he looks almost anemic.
“What do you want, Benny?” Weak chin, skinny, pothead. I have no idea what I even saw in him.
“I’m here to get my stuff. Whose truck is that?” He scowls, pointing at the big gray truck with a covered bed in my driveway. “It’s in my spot.”
“You don’t have a spot, Benny. I own this house, and we broke up.”
“You got a man in there?” He frowns at the door.
“None of your business. I know you’re here for your stuff, but I’m in the middle of something. Come back later.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tank emerge from the side of the house, carrying the rug. He’s headed down the driveway, to his truck.
“On second thought, now’s a good time.” I pull Benny inside before he has time to ask a question. “Here’s your stuff.”
“What happened to your rug?” he glances at the new bare spot in the middle of my living room floor.
“Termites,” I blurt. “Rug termites.” I grab the lava lamp from the corner. “Here.” I hand it to him. “This is yours.”
Benny frowns at it, which means he’s not looking out the window where Tank is loading a mafia man wrapped in a rug into the back of the big gray truck. Hopefully, none of my neighbors notice, either.
“I don’t want this shit.” Benny says. “I want my lights.”
“What?”
“The grow lights.”
“For my tomatoes?”
“No, you idiot, for my pot.”
I suck in a breath. I knew he used but didn’t know he grew. “Did you grow here?”
Benny rolls his eyes. “Where are they?”
I motion to the back room. “But, what about my tomatoes?”
Benny rounds on me and start in with that cutting, derogatory tone he always used when he thought I was too air-headed, “Listen, dumbass—”
The next thing I know, Tank’s in front of me. He has Benny by the collar and hauls him off his feet.
“Did you just call her dumbass?”
Benny splutters. “Dude—”
“You know this asshole?” Tank growls.
“Yeah, Tank! It’s okay. He’s my ex-boyfriend.”