He groaned, melting in anticipation, quivering at the sight of her, which only turned her on even more.
As she took him into her mouth, tasting and sucking, she felt powerful and in control, far more so than she had since coming to the Fist, since watching her world crash down all around her having learned of her father’s passing.
In the simple, primal effort to pleasure Dean, Elizabeth felt like she was rebuilding herself, strange as it might have seemed. Within the four walls of his bedroom, she didn’t have to worry about life or death, about threats or survival, about what yesterday had taught her or what tomorrow would bring. Her existence was no greater than the friction of her body against Dean’s, the incredible feeling he was giving her, the way they easily breathed in rhythm with each other as they laid down on the bed, Dean having pulled away from her mouth.
She kissed him, feeling his weigh lower over her, wanting and needed to disappear under him, or merge with him so that she wouldn’t know where she stopped and Dean began.
“Why did you stop me?” she breathed, locking eyes with him as he played with the long locks of her blonde hair, studying the shape of her face.
“I want more of you,” he told her, speaking in a deep, smooth voice that was barely more than a whisper.
She smiled and spread her legs beneath him, inviting Dean to have as much of her as he wished.
With exceptional control over his hard body, he began moving and she was highly aroused to feel his length brushing and angling teasingly around her hot core. His touch down there felt like warm silk and soon she moved her hips, attempting to catch him inside her flowery folds.
He grinned then kissed her lips lightly, as the game below their waists unfolded.
“Are you sure you want this?” he breathed, turning suddenly serious.
She felt her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. It hadn’t occurred to her before now so she asked, “Is sleeping with you…it? Is that how it’s done?”
He laughed and stroked her hair. “No, having sex won’t turn you. It’s not that simple. I just wanted to make sure you’re ready to… you know… feel me inside of you.”
“Ah,” she smiled.
“I’m still trying to be a gentleman,” he reminded her.
“Is that what you call it?” she teased.
“For now,” he allowed then he fell serious again and a split second later, Elizabeth felt the stiff shape of his body slip into the opening of her sex.
She gasped, surprised and loving the feel of him, loving his incredible control. He hadn’t thrust into her, but was rather tempting her by playfully dipping and pulling himself shallowly against her.
She had reached dizzying heights of arousal, her body having grown hot and aching for him, her core clenching and clamping in anticipation of being penetrated.
Reaching down, she took hold of his firm ass in both of her hands and Dean’s dark eyes flared at her with lustful interest.
“Is that an invitation?” he growled.
She smiled and was about to answer him when the window above their heads suddenly shattered, the deafening sound of a gunshot sounding off loudly.
In an instant, Dean rolled with Elizabeth and the next thing she knew they had slammed to the ground as another shot sliced through the bedroom.
She was pinned under him, Dean using the length of his body to shield her from gunfire. She nestled into his chest as he hugged her close and it barely registered in her brain when he shouted, “Are you hit?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said.
It seemed the gunfire had ceased, but Dean didn’t trust it. They had leapt to the ground out of view and even Elizabeth was wise enough to know that if either of them lifted up in front of the shattered window, the gunman would open fire all over again.
Dean reached up and opened the drawer of the nightstand at their heads and grabbed a gun, which he quickly checked to confirm was loaded. It was. He cocked it.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, terrified.
“I’m going to lay down fire while you get my cell phone. It’s in my jeans at the foot of the bed.”
Elizabeth glanced across the bedroom and saw one leg of his jeans lying on the floor.
“On my count, okay?”
“What?!”
“On three,” he told her.
She was not ready for this but before she knew it, Dean yelled, “Three!” at her then he jumped and aimed his weapon out of the shattered window. As he squeezed off shot after shot, Elizabeth felt paralyzed.
“Go! Now!” he ordered, and she scrambled over wooden floors on her hands and knees before tucking herself behind the foot of the bed.
Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely check the pockets of Dean’s jeans, but she managed to find his cell phone and wasted no time dialing 9-1-1.
“Hello?” she yelled through the line. The gunshots were so loud she couldn’t tell if someone had picked up or not. “I’m at Dean Quinn’s cabin and we’re under fire! Someone is shooting at us! Hello?”
Dean ceased firing and yelled, “Throw me the phone!”
She did, winding up and doing her best to toss the cell phone at Dean. But as soon as the device arced up into the air, another gunshot sounded and the cell phone smacked down, having been shot clean through its screen.
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped and she stared wide-eyed and horrified at Dean. Whoever was out there shooting into the cabin was one hell of an excellent shot.
“Don’t move,” he ordered her. “Stay behind the bed. We’re going to have to wait this out until the police arrive.”
“We’re naked, Dean!”
“Embarrassed is better than dead,” he told her.
But Elizabeth wasn’t so sure about that.
***
At the exact moment Elizabeth found Dean’s tee shirt on the ground and pulled it over her head, bullets zinging by the second she lifted her hands, Sheriff Rick Abernathy was driving through the Fist like a bat out of hell, Detective Rachel Clancy in the passenger’s seat of his police-issued SUV, as the cherry siren he’d placed on the roof flashed red and wailed.
“I can’t say I’m surprised!” Rachel yelled over the sound of the siren, as they made a hard left onto Berry Road. “What did we think would happen?”
“On the surface, we all still have to obey the laws of the land!” Rick defended.
Rachel shot him a quizzical look.
“You don’t know the rules, Rachel, because you’re not one of us,” he argued. “But there’s a reason we don’t suddenly shift into our wolf forms in the streets for all eyes to see. Secrecy is still number one, and Eddie blew that secrecy.”
“I’d say,” she agreed wholeheartedly. “Anyone at the station who either didn’t believe in werewolves or never thought some were working right beside them in the precinct must have had a very rude awakening!”
Rick clenched his jaw at the thought. They certainly had. Though Rick had handcuffed Eddie Friendly, having arrested him right then and there in the station for having attacked Elizabeth Halsey, as soon as he’d gotten him into the jail cell, Eddie had shifted. He’d collapsed onto all four paws, Rachel standing and holding the jail cell door open. Rick himself had still been inside the cell. The second Eddie had shifted, the handcuffs slipped off, wolf paws being sizably smaller than human hands. That’s when he had leapt, careening into the sheriff’s barrel chest and knocking him to the ground. Rachel had squealed, horrified, but had drawn her weapon. She hadn’t been fast enough, though. The wolf had already torn through the stationhouse for all eyes to see. Officers and detectives alike had gasped. Some had witnessed the transformation while others had only seen the wolf sprinting through, but word had spread, and it was nothing compared to the sight Eddie had caused along Main Street. Residents and tourists alike had screamed and dodged out of the wolf’s way.
If Devil’s Fist had been filled with rumors of werewolves, the majority of residents still holding out that the tall t
ales couldn’t be true, all that had been shattered thanks to Eddie’s transformation.
The fallout would be incredible, but Rick couldn’t think about that now.
His top priority was to get to Dean Quinn’s cabin as fast as possible. If anyone had opened fire on Elizabeth Halsey, it had to be the one man she’d nearly thrown in prison.
Rick cut his eyes to Rachel then snapped his gaze back to the winding road ahead.
“Are you a werewolf yet?” he asked.
Thrown by the question, Rachel stared at him and said, “Are you making small talk?”
“I can’t very well send you out there if you’re still mortal. Humans are no match for werewolves and you know it.”
“I’ve gone after werewolves before,” she reminded him. “Hell, I’ve chased Dante Alighieri himself through the old Halsey land and you know it.”
“That was different,” he told her, recalling the incident. She was referring to the time Dante had abducted Reece Gladstone. The Quinns had arrived on the scene first and Dante had been in the hot throes of opening fire against them. He’d managed to clip Dean Quinn in the shoulder, but soon took off through the woods to flee. Rachel might have chased after him, but Rick doubted that Dante even knew she was there. His main concern in that moment had to have been escaping the Quinns who were sprinting after him in their wolf forms. “I take it that’s a no.”
“I’m not a werewolf,” she grumbled. “But I made detective if you remember.”
Of course he remembered. He’d handed her that silver detective badge himself right before Sasha and Gaylord’s wedding.
“Why are you digging your heels in?” he asked her.
“It’s not like I’m refusing to become a werewolf.”
“Oh? Seems that way.”
“Just because I’m with Conor Quinn doesn’t mean I’m going to turn my whole life upside down. I’ve worked hard to get where I’ve arrived in life. I have enough to worry about. And quite frankly, some of us residents in town are going to have to stay human if we want Devil’s Fist to even remotely resemble the town it had once been.”
Grumbling, Rick slowed to a crawl and killed the headlights.
“I don’t see the Quinns, do you?”
Rachel scanned the darkened acreage around Dean’s cabin, glanced at the other cabins up the street and across the way, looking for the Quinn brothers’ telltale pickup trucks.
If it was any ol’ gunman out in those woods, Rick would’ve brought backup, but given that many of his officers were mortal humans and not werewolves, he hadn’t dared risk it. The only appropriate backup he could rely on were the military-trained bodyguard brothers. But where were they? They should be here by now. Whether they were at home in their own cabins or at Quinn Security, they would have had far less road to travel to get here by now.
He killed the engine, having pulled onto the shoulder in front of Shane Quinn’s cabin, which was the first on the right. Dean’s was situated just past it, further down the road, and just beyond that was Conor’s.
He grabbed his shotgun and stepped out into the dark night, Rachel following suit. As soon as his boots hit dirt, he heard gunfire sound off loudly. It was coming from behind Dean’s house. They didn’t have much time.
“You got your walkie?” he asked Rachel.
She clamped her fingers around the two-way radio that was clipped to her shoulder and whispered into it. Her voice came through, loud and clear, on Rick’s walkie that was hanging from his belt.
“You go around that way,” he ordered her. “Shoot to kill if you get Eddie in your sights.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said before she started off at a breezy jog around the right-hand side of the cabin, her gun drawn and aimed low.
Her weapon was loaded with silver bullets, but at this point Rick wasn’t entirely confident a silver bullet would take Eddie down. Maybe it would if he was shot in the heart. Rachel had excellent aim, but it was dark out and if Eddie shifted and raced off through the wilderness in his wolf form, they could lose him forever.
Killing Eddie Friendly would be a win for the Quinns and everyone in the Fist who valued their peace. This would perhaps be the most important ambush he’d ever embarked upon, and he was going in disorganized and with only one officer. The time for prayer was now.
He started off around the left side of the cabin as returning gunfire popped out from the rear of the house. Rick took it as a good sign that Dean was still alive.
He cocked his shotgun and picked up his pace. He engaged his heightened wolf hearing and crisp werewolf eyesight to combat the low light of the moonless night, as he came to the rear of the cabin. Dropping to his knee and aiming out at the expansive backyard, he scanned the terrain, but didn’t see Eddie anywhere.
It told him that Eddie had opened fire from beyond the tree line far behind the house. There was no way he was using a handgun. Had to be a rifle with a scope on it. He was functioning as a goddamn sniper, well hidden in the woods, and Rick and Rachel were attempting to come after him like ducks paddling out into open waters.
He heard someone hiss, “Psst!” from his left and found Conor Quinn tucked with his back to his own cabin, gripping a handgun in his fists. “Troy and Shane shifted,” Conor told him. “They’re rounding through the forest, hoping to ambush Eddie from behind.”
The ceaseless gunfire told Rick that if that was their plan, they hadn’t yet found Eddie.
“Where’s Lucy Cooper?” Rick demanded.
He’d come a long way in terms of his respect for Lucy. For years he’d regarded her as a creepy little thing that he’d wished would stay the hell away from his Whitney. But he had since learned that when it came to battling Dante and his damned, no one was better equipped than the Astral Goddess who had proved herself to be more powerful than any of them.
“With Kaleb?”
“That’s sounds like a guess,” Rick scoffed. “You haven’t turned Rachel yet?”
“What the hell?” Conor hissed, astonished that at a time like this the sheriff actually had the audacity to nudge into his personal affairs.
“You know how ambitious she is!” he hotly returned. “She’s started off for Eddie from the other side of the cabin!”
“She what?!” Conor yelled, appalled.
Before Rick could explain the situation further and tell Conor that he had no other resources at the stationhouse to bring with him. Rachel was tried and true, and—bottom line—had refused to be excluded, Conor took off running along the edge of the backyard, sticking to the thin line of trees to stay out of sight as best he could.
As Rick sucked in a deep breath to get a burst of oxygen flowing through his bloodstream before sprinting off into the darkness after him, Nikita Quinn came to mind.
He should’ve asked her out. It was times like these that put the whole of life into perspective. Rick had been holding himself back from happiness for years. He promised himself, as he ran through the woods after Conor, that if he made it out of this in one piece, he would take that woman out on a date.
And with that determination in mind, he charged through the thickening woods, preparing to kill Eddie Friendly the first chance he got.
***
“I’m out!”
“You’re what?” Elizabeth called out from where she had remained tucked in a ball at the foot of the bed. She’d managed to scramble Dean’s tee shirt on to cover up her nudity, but reasoned she would never fit into his jeans.
“I’m out of ammo,” he clarified.
Planting her elbows on the ground to stay as low as possible, she peeked out around the leg of the bed and looked at him.
He was nestled between the nightstand and the side of the bed, his back to the wall, the top of his head just barely lower than the windowsill. He had moved the nightstand aside in order to snug himself there and had also managed to pull on the boxer-briefs that Elizabeth had tossed to him earlier. The drawer of the nightstand was open, which told her that he’d probably searched it f
or bullets and came up dry.
“So what the hell are we supposed to do?” she asked, terrified.
“Wait it out.”
“Wait it out?” she questioned. Who knew how much ammo the gunman had brought with him out there? What if this went on all night? What if the gunman realized that Dean had stopped returning fire for a reason? He could easily close in, march right through the shattered window, and take their lives.
“It’s our only option at this point,” he insisted.
“What if we could get to the living room?” she suggested.
“I don’t have ammo to lay down gunfire,” he reminded her as he assessed the footage across the floor to the closed bedroom door. There was a clear line of sight from the window to the door, Elizabeth could see that clearly enough. As soon as either one of them lifted up to make a run for it, they could very well be shot and killed before they even got the door open.
“I don’t want to die like this, Dean!” she told him. “I don’t want my mother to have to fly out to Wyoming to identify my naked body! I’m not even wearing makeup! Hell, I’m not even wearing clothes!”
“Good to hear you’re feeling better.”
“You’re cracking jokes? Really? At a time like this?”
She startled and nearly peed herself when a bullet struck into the wooden floor a mere inch from her fingers. She quickly ducked behind the foot of the bed, out of sight, and focused on steadying her breathing and the fast punch of her racing heart.
“Move to your left!” he told her.
“What?” she asked as she heard the distinct sounds of Dean scrambling over wooden floors.
She scooted aside just in time for Dean to roll beside her as a spray of bullets tore up the floor.
Taking her hand, he said, “We have to trust that they’re out there. The police. My brothers. This will all be over soon.”
Elizabeth wasn’t nearly so optimistic as she clutched Dean’s hand, holding on for dear life.
This was putting everything into perspective. It might have been faulty logic to assume that had she allowed Dean to turn her into a werewolf, had she agreed to mate with him, and be his for all of eternity, she would be invulnerable to this assault that they were currently trapped in, but that’s how she felt.
Quinn Security Page 117