Marked (15 page)

Son of a bitch.

Tonight was going to be hell.

Chapter Eleven

Chloe squirmed in her seat, stuck between her grandfather
and her lover, rocking with the motions of the truck Gramps had insisted they
drive. Jackson had gotten dressed as she’d requested, accepting the gauntlet
she’d tossed. He’d teased her with kisses and lingering touches, on his best
behavior when he took her home to speak to her grandfather.

Things had gone better than she’d expected.

Jackson had told her grandfather of his intentions and
promised to marry her properly to appease his human in-laws. She’d been shocked
by his declaration. Jackson had indicated their mating was a forever deal but
having him state it so clearly—without a trace of hesitation—impacted her in
the most wonderful way. She wanted to greet each day with him, learn everything
there was to know about him and enjoy every single moment of their lives
together. There was no doubt, no nervous jitters. She’d finally found what she
needed—the man who complemented and completed her.

The day had been amazing. Almost perfect.

Until they went into Gramps’ office and her grandfather
relayed his terms for meeting with Gavin Worthington.

The man, without a doubt, was bloodthirsty.

He’d stated his terms clearly, so there was no
misunderstanding. He would drive himself to the hunt and return in his truck,
thank you very much. No need for an escort. He also wanted to bring his gun.
Additional ammo was optional, so long as he had a round in the chamber. He
wanted one-on-one time with Mr. Worthington, meaning he didn’t want any
interference.

The no-interference part had terrified her.

Gramps—youthful and energetic despite his age—was too old to
fight.

He would hate her for saying so, but he couldn’t move as
well as he used to. Arthritis in his hips, hands and knees made him slow. There
was no way he could avoid a quick swipe to his head or a blow to his body.
Jackson had attempted to reassure her, promising he wouldn’t allow anything to
happen, but she couldn’t stem the flow of fear that had arisen when she
pictured her grandfather addressing the man who’d wronged his child.

“Have faith,” Grams had told her before they departed from
the place Chloe had always called home, attempting to calm her fears.
“Sometimes, when things like this happen, it’s all you can rely on.”

Sound advice. Too bad she had sensed Grams’ tension and
scented the older woman’s fear. Grams hadn’t been entirely honest. It had been
strange to learn she could tell the truth from a lie with something as simple
as a deep breath. In a way she’d been relieved. As frazzled as Grams had been
about things, Gramps had been calm as a cucumber. The only scent she could
detect from him was anger. The man who’d raised her since birth had no qualms
about meeting Gavin.

Fletcher Bryant was comfortable in his decision.

She’d known part of Grams’ uneasiness stemmed from the
inability to attend the hunt or confront Gavin herself. But deep down Chloe
also recognized her grandmother was afraid for her husband—the man she’d been
with all her life. Their love was as formidable as the mating bond between
werewolves. Chloe had always known if her grandmother or grandfather passed
away, the other would soon follow. They had been together too long. A
separation would destroy them.

A sharp burn radiated up her arm, emanating from the mark on
her wrist. She inhaled raggedly and covered the area with her hand, rubbing the
itchy skin.

As soon as the sun had started its retreat from the sky
eerie sensations had started. At first she’d ignored the tingling burn,
focusing on her family and the preparations for the evening. Jackson’s touches
had become sympathetic, revealing his awareness of the changes from her mark.
As the hours had passed the prickles had gone from annoying to slightly
painful.

Jackson leaned in, his shoulder bumping hers.

“Easy,” he murmured, reaching down to place his hand on her
leg and giving her a comforting squeeze. “It’s going to be all right. Don’t
feed the tension. Fletcher’s edgy enough as is.”

Crap.

Concern about the mark on her wrist evaporated.

There were more important things to consider, such as the
fate of the man who’d raised her. Gramps might as well have been driving them
to meet his doom. The pack had met them at The Divide and things had gone
surprisingly well. Gramps had been cordial when he’d greeted the pack members.
He’d even shaken the hands of several of the men. Yet that hadn’t eradicated
the forbidding feeling of disaster, as though something terrible was going to
happen when they climbed into their vehicles and drove to their destination.

“Chin up, Chloe Bean.” Gramps inserted himself into the
conversation. “You don’t have a single thing to be worried about. I’m going to
take care of this once and for all.” Sparing her a sideways glance, he said,
“It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid. Once done, it’s done.”

Only Gramps would make that kind of comparison.

Any attempt to argue would be futile. The odds of winning a
debate with her guardian were slim to none. She’d learned that lesson early in
childhood.

Lifting her head, she gazed out the window. They were almost
at the hunting grounds—an enormous piece of private property outside Atrum
Hill. It was the perfect location to enjoy the call of the wild away from
prying or curious eyes.

A bonus for those who shifted forms.

Dangerous for a man who would have to rely on a shotgun for
safety.

The instant they drove past the gate to the hunting grounds
her senses went on full alert. She straightened in the seat, staring ahead,
taking in her surroundings. With her improved vision she could see the enormous
structure they approached. Receding light surrounded the cabin-like structure.
It was almost dark, the sun vanishing beneath the horizon.

She thought about the full moon on the way. Excitement and
apprehension sent a rush of adrenaline through her system. She could feel the
wolf inside her. Each passing hour brought more of the beast to the surface.
The animal wanted to break free and run through the trees, breathing in the sweet
scent of pine and leaves, feeling the cold earth beneath its feet.

They drew closer and she studied numerous vehicles parked
around the cabin. She recognized one in particular—the SUV Simone and her
father had driven to The Wolf’s Den. Exhilaration shifted to aggression. Her
heart raced, her bestial half’s howl loud in her head. This time she recognized
the possessiveness—the fury—that her wolf felt. She shared the sentiment.

Jackson was hers.

She’d fight for him. Bleed for him.

Die for him.

Warm breath caressed her ear and the very man she was
determined to mark as her own whispered, “Soon, Chloe.” He released her leg and
covered her hand with his, edging close so only she would hear. “We’ll be alone
and your wolf can come out to play. Until then…”

A powerful surge of energy traveled up her arm and she was
suddenly aware Jackson wasn’t the only one speaking to her—so was his wolf. His
beast brushed against hers, compelling her feral half to heed his warning.

“You listen to me.
Only me
.”

The wolf within her settled, going astonishingly quiet. His
power was shocking, delving into her soul and taking control. She’d never
experienced anything like it. The link between them was undeniable. Maybe she
should have been angry at his domination but his authority gave her peace,
calming her in a way she desperately needed.

“Chloe?” her grandfather inquired, turning his head to look
at her. When their gazes met she recognized the concern in his eyes. “Are you
okay, Bean?”

“I’m fine.” She gave him what she hoped was a confident
smile. Her guardian had enough to worry about. Even if he wanted to, he
couldn’t comprehend what was happening to her. He was completely human, without
an animal inside him to contend with. “It’s just nerves.”

He returned his focus to the road with a loud snort. She
studied his hands, noting the whiteness of his knuckles as he clenched the
steering wheel. He didn’t buy her excuse. Not for a second. Memories of her
childhood came rushing back. Gramps had never confronted her when she’d fibbed.
He hadn’t had to. The moment she’d sensed his disapproval she’d always come
clean.

She stared ahead, studying the people beside the cars and
trucks. As much as she wanted to tell her grandfather the truth, she couldn’t.
There was no room for her past in the present. The future waited. If she wanted
to prove she was worthy of Jackson, she had to rely on herself.

Starting now.

Her wolf approved of her thinking, growling softly in her
mind. She recognized the beast’s intentions. The animal had something to prove
to the werewolves they were about to meet—
to the pack she would soon lead
—and
to any female who had the nerve to challenge her for a place at her mate’s
side.

They had no idea what the wolf was capable of. But they
would.

Both of the men in the car wanted to protect her. What they
didn’t know was her wolf had every intention of protecting
them
.

Chloe tilted her head and peered through her lashes at
Jackson. Her gums were tingling again, her skin starting to itch. She expected
to find him studying her. Instead he was staring straight ahead, eyes narrowed,
glaring at the building. She followed his example and did the same. Seven men
stood in front of an enormous group—including Simone’s father, Wade.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“Alphas from the area,” Jackson responded, skimming his
thumb over her knuckles. “Wade apparently has diarrhea mouth. He must have told
them what happened last night. They know we’re coming.”

She willed her hands to stop shaking, taking deep breaths to
remain calm. Her eyes swept over a man who stood out in the group. Tall.
Muscular. Short curly blond hair kissed by the last rays of the sun. Their eyes
met through the windshield. Bright green irises—a color she was only too
familiar with—matched hers.

Oh God.

It was him.

Time slowed to a trickle. They continued toward Gavin
Worthington, his form becoming larger. No wonder Jackson had identified her
biological father so quickly. Chloe might as well have been looking in a
mirror. Despite being male Gavin had similar facial features, all the way down
to his eyes, nose and mouth.

“Do you recognize him?” Jackson asked.

“That I do.” Gramps eased off the gas, buying them more
time. She ripped her gaze from Gavin when her guardian reached for the gun
wedged between the door and driver’s seat. “He knows about Chloe. Look at him.
He’s waiting for her.”

“He knows,” Jackson confirmed, remaining completely calm.
His fingers tightened around her hand. “I think he intends to greet her
properly before the packs.”

“Good thing I brought Remington along.” Chloe could identify
her grandfather’s rising anger through a scent that burned like pepper in her
nose. He didn’t pull the gun out but rested his fingers on the stock. “I’ll
wipe that smug smile off his face.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Jackson murmured. “Looks can
be deceiving.”

Chloe didn’t want to look—afraid of what she might see—but
she couldn’t stop herself. She froze as soon as she redirected her gaze to the
man she’d resented as a child. Jackson was right. To those around him Gavin
probably appeared confident and self-assured. To her, he seemed apprehensive.

Gavin’s green eyes darted to her grandfather and his lips
thinned.

“That’s right. It’s me. You piss-poor excuse for a man,”
Gramps whispered, his voice a low grumble. “Time to eat a slice of humble pie.”

“This isn’t about you, Fletcher. It’s about the future of
your grandchild.” Jackson kept his tone level but Chloe knew he wasn’t fucking
around. “You said you could keep a level head so do it. Don’t make this harder
than it already is. You’ve only got one chance to face the packs and earn their
respect. Stick to the plan.”

Her grandfather didn’t reply, stopping the truck several
yards from Gavin. She flipped her hand around, clinging to Jackson’s fingers.
Her heart was beating so hard she thought it would burst from her chest. When
Gramps put the vehicle in park and shut off the motor she peered up at the
rearview mirror. The members of Jackson’s pack drove around them, placing their
cars between Gavin and the truck.

Jackson released her hand and opened his door. “Remember
what I said. Stay calm. Don’t fuck around.” Glancing over his shoulder, he
directed quietly, “Don’t leave my side, Chloe.”

She ticked off his earlier instructions.

Maintain eye contact. Don’t show fear. Don’t back down.

And—until their mating was officially recognized—
do not
speak
.

Her legs felt watery when she slid from the seat and her
feet landed on solid ground. Jackson was there to catch her, placing his large
hands on her hips. She rested her palms on his chest, waiting until she felt
steady and her nerves settled. After she was confident her balance was intact,
she lowered her arms.

Doors slammed and footsteps approached. She lifted her head
and saw Jackson’s pack had left their cars and surrounded them. Shane drew her
attention, standing closer than the rest. Their eyes met and he gave Chloe a
nod. He didn’t need to communicate with words, she got the message.

Be strong.

Wolves devoured the weak. Kill or be killed.

Declan’s sharply spoken “shit” had the pack on alert. It
only took a moment to identify the source of their alarm. Gramps had closed his
door and was approaching Gavin with his shotgun in hand.

If Jackson was concerned, it didn’t show. He simply wrapped
his hand around hers, guided her through the people circling them and followed
her grandfather at a leisurely pace. Her stomach rolled, a lemony bitterness
rising to coat the back of her throat. She swallowed several times to combat
nausea, keeping her head high. Her gaze swept over the men behind Gavin. Like
Jackson, they revealed no emotion. She didn’t know if they were curious or
angered by her grandfather’s presence.