Marked (7 page)

“In you go.”

In an instant Chloe seemed to become aware of her nudity.
She quickly tried to cover herself and hurried to the water. He thought the
temperature was too much for her at first, concerned when she hissed and
gritted her teeth. Then she slid into the clear depths—vanishing as she ducked
her head below the surface—and he released a sigh of relief.

He crouched beside the tub and waited for her to reappear.
She came up for air with a greedy gasp, using her hands to clear the water from
her eyes. The liquid caressed her breasts, lifting them high. After she
finished swiping at her face and gazed at him, something inside him changed.

With her like this—wet, confused and vulnerable—it was hard
to do the right thing.

Instead of protecting her, he had other things on his mind.
Things she might not appreciate this early on. He had to battle his wolf for
dominance, determined to behave as a mate should.

“I’m going to make breakfast,” he said hoarsely and handed
her a washcloth, forcing his hand away from the temptation of her silken skin. “Come
into the kitchen when you’re finished.”

He hurried from the room, trying to focus on feeding his
mate instead of fucking her like the animal he was. She was young and
inexperienced. He had to prove his worth and soothe her rattled nerves. This
was the most important meal he’d ever prepare in his life. He had to focus.

Storming away from the bathroom, he forced himself not to
look back.

One more glance at his female—one more caress of the
combined scent of her pussy and his seed flowing to his nostrils—and he’d lose
all control.

Chloe stared at Jackson’s back as he walked away. Her heart
was racing, her pussy throbbing for attention. One simple look from the man
she’d shared the night with and she’d turned into a puddle of goo. She couldn’t
think clearly, her thoughts turning on themselves. He’d told her that her
father was a werewolf and her birthmark was far more than she’d ever bargained
for.

In the light of day what he said seemed plausible and scary
as hell.

She ducked her head beneath the water again, letting bubbles
of air seep from her lips. The pictures and scents that had invaded her senses
when she opened her eyes—of her and Jackson, doing all kinds of naughty things
to each other—slowly bled away. What they’d shared was more than she’d bargained
for. She’d thought they’d share a night together and her need for him would go
away. But she was wrong—so very wrong—and now she wanted him more than ever. In
a way that terrified her.

Get clean and go home.

She splashed to the surface and scrubbed at her skin,
dismayed as the alluring scent that was all Jackson faded. For a moment she
stopped to study her wrist. Oddly, the mark didn’t hurt at all. She couldn’t
detect an uncomfortable twinge. She couldn’t be a werewolf. It wasn’t possible.
She’d feel it. On some level she’d have to know.

Wouldn’t she?

Getting back on task, she shifted back and let her hand
drift to the tender tissue between her legs. She used gentle strokes of the
cloth, swiping at the folds, remembering how they’d gotten so swollen and sore
in the first place.

Panic made her heart drum in her ears, adrenaline and fear
raging through her system. She’d thought about protection but by the time
Jackson had started making love to her it was too late. At that moment she’d
been lost, thinking only of him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Hadn’t her mother’s loss taught her anything? If she was
lucky she’d be able to walk away with a broken heart, not a bun in the oven.

After a cursory glance at the shampoo bottle nestled at the
foot of the tub she decided she didn’t have time to worry with her hair. Gram
and Gramps had to be frantic. She always made it home on time, determined to
prove she was worthy of their trust. They had probably called the police and
reported her as missing.

You told Rachel to call them. Calm down.

She quickly toweled off and jerked on her clothes. Her best
friend had never failed her. That was why Chloe had called Rachel as soon as
she’d realized where she was and what she’d done. Rachel was disappointed she
hadn’t been told all the details but she wouldn’t judge. It was the primary
reason Chloe trusted her and was able to share things with the young woman
she’d never told anyone else.

Like details about her dreams of a man who didn’t exist.

Correction
, she reminded herself.
A man who does
exist. A man you apparently
dreamshared
with.

Gram and Gramps would kill her when they saw Jackson and
realized what she’d been up to. They’d always been protective. If she brought a
werewolf home there was no telling what they’d do.

The mouthwatering aroma of cinnamon and butter drifting to
her nose caused her stomach to growl. She slapped her hands over her abdomen,
hoping like hell that Jackson couldn’t hear the obnoxious sound. Breakfast was
the most important meal of the day. Since Grams was an early riser, Chloe had
always greeted each morning with a healthy appetite.

Knowing she had no other choice, she exited the bathroom,
tiptoed down the hallway and stepped into the living area. Her stomach knotted
as the smells intensified, so vibrant and rich. She could almost taste what she
couldn’t see. Jackson appeared, clothed in sweatpants that left nothing to the
imagination. He looked as good as the food smelled, mouthwatering in his own
way.

He stopped in front of her, his chest blocking the kitchen from
view. “Feel better?”

To lie or not to lie? Decisions, decisions.

“Yes,” she answered as honestly as possible.

If he knew she wasn’t being truthful, he didn’t let on.
Instead he snaked his arms around her and urged her close. The warmth of his
skin caressed her cheek, his scent coming at her hard and fast. She wanted to
melt, her muscles relaxing at his nearness. To her surprise she realized she’d
never felt so comfortable around another person, as though she’d finally found
the one place she was intended to be.

She jolted when Jackson lowered an arm, rested it against
her ass and lifted her into the air. Scrambling to maintain her balance, she
clung to him, burying her nails in his arms. The deep rumble of approval coming
from his chest hummed against her breasts.

“Relax,” he crooned, pressing a kiss to her forehead and
stopping at a nearby barstool. He lowered her to the seat and waited for her to
let go before he pulled away. “Let’s get some food in you.”

There was no sense in arguing. She was hungry and he’d gone
through all the trouble to cook for her. She watched him in the kitchen, awed
by his movements.

For a big man he moved silently, prowling through the space.
He retrieved a stack of French toast from the counter and brought it to her.
Then he turned and retrieved syrup. He piled her plate high, poured the syrup
over the scrumptious pieces and retrieved a knife and fork. She reached for
them but he stopped her, sawing into the stack. Before she could question him
he brought a morsel to her lips.

Watching her mouth, he instructed, “Open up.”

She did, nearly coming apart as the tastes burst in her
mouth. She chewed slowly, savoring the flavors. The cinnamon tasted better than
it smelled, the toast crumbling in her mouth.

“It’s delicious,” she whispered, licking her lips.

“I’m glad you approve.” He brought another forkful to her
mouth, studying her closely. She took the offering and he lifted his eyes,
their gazes locking across the counter. “Everything is as it should be. You’ll
see. You just have to trust me. I’ll make you happy, Chloe girl.”

The endearment shouldn’t have made her as happy as it did.
She should have been fearful or anxious at the sentiment. Instead she felt at
peace. She decided not to explore the feelings too deeply, taking the food he
offered to her. Soon enough she’d face the demons that plagued her. She’d
confront her grandparents and demand an explanation.

Right now she’d accept the pampering he offered.

It was always best to enjoy the small things in life.

Especially if there was a chance something might come along
and pull the rug out from beneath you.

Chapter Four

Rachel Gentry slammed the driver’s side door closed. Swiping
strands of hair away from her face, she marched toward The Wolf’s Den. Her best
friend had called forty-five minutes before in a panic, terrified of something
she’d done. Chloe had begged Rachel to tell her grandparents she was fine but
before Rachel could ask questions the call had ended.

That shit didn’t fly.

Chloe was always reliable—it was the primary reason they’d
always been close. Rachel was the one with the volatile lifestyle, taking
things as they came at her. Now, with the strange way her friend was acting,
she knew something was wrong. She was going to get some answers, even if Chloe
begged her to leave well enough alone. And she was going to start with the
tattoo parlor Chloe had become obsessed with in the last few weeks.

She yanked the parlor door open and stepped inside. So
flipping what? A werewolf tattoo shop. What was so special about that? Chloe
had always been fascinated by the supernatural. Why? She had no idea. Humans
didn’t mingle with werewolves or vampires. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t normal.
Rational people didn’t venture to Atrum Hill.

Leave it to Chloe to start a new trend.

Although she approached the counter with a confident stride,
a pang of fear rattled inside her chest. This wasn’t home—this was wolf
country. She was in the den of beasts. She shrugged the notion aside in an
instant, relying on anger and worry. Chloe needed her. If not, she never would
have contacted Rachel so early in the morning. She needed to find out where
Chloe was and make sure her friend was safe.

“Damn it,” a deep, masculine voice yelled from the back.
“We’re not open. Come back during business hours.”

Displaying more bravado than she felt, she screamed back,
“The open sign is on and the door wasn’t locked. I need to speak to a member of
management.”

Curses rang from the back of the building and she heard a
chair scrape against the floor. She braced herself, pulse racing, her breath
coming out in stilted gasps. No one could make her do anything she didn’t want
to do. Mortal police were weaker than preternatural law enforcement but they
didn’t back down. Not when it came to their people. She relied on that fact,
even as her fight or flight instincts kicked in.

Be strong.

A figure appeared at the end of the hall and stomped in her
direction. She didn’t look away, lifting her head, keeping her shoulders
straight. She hadn’t traveled into his neck of the woods to be turned away. As
a female mechanic, she dealt with her fair share of dickheads. Men always
assumed she would be gullible or stupid, something she was quick to nip in the
bud. This asshole—even if he wasn’t entirely human—couldn’t bully her unless
she let him.

“What the hell do you want?” he snapped, approaching fast.
“I told you that we’re not…”

He stopped halfway down the hall, nostrils flaring. His dark
hair was clipped short, a few strands ruffled around his ears. His features
were more arresting than she could ever have imagined—full lips surrounded by a
slight covering of shadow, a nose in perfect proportion to his face and a
squared jaw with a steady tic that made him seem dangerous.

His brown eyes turned gold, his irises striking in the dark.

Trying to shake off his presence, she responded, “Chloe
Bryant sent me.”

That seemed to reach him. He shook his head and took another
step. From her vantage point she could see his arms. The black T-shirt didn’t
fully cover the intricate, ink sleeves that covered his skin. The tribal
designs contained what appeared to be wolves within the layers.

“And you are?”

“Rachel,” she answered quickly, meeting his gaze.

“Rachel…?” he prodded, obviously wanting her last name, and
stopped in front of her. This close—standing just inches away from him from the
counter—she could
smell
him. Like a touch of the woods, forest and
earth. Were werewolves supposed to smell this good?

Who cares? You’re not here to get warm and cozy with a
man who changes into a dog and hikes his leg at trees to mark his territory.
Get a grip!

“Just Rachel,” she retorted hotly, getting her hormones
under control.

“What can I do for you, Just Rachel?” he asked, an amused
smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. If he meant to break the ice, he’d
fucked up big-time. He was teasing her, and she
hated
being teased.

“I’ve come to pick up Chloe.” When he didn’t react one way
or another and just stood there watching her, she asked between gritted teeth,
“Are you hard of hearing? Do I need to break out in sign?”

“Actually my hearing is better than most.” The man across
from her lost his playfulness and leaned against the counter, the muscles in
his chest flexing with the motion. “As you can see, you made a trip for
nothing. Chloe isn’t here.”

“Don’t even. I’m not in the mood for games.” She smirked and
moved closer. “You don’t want me to call the police, do you? I’m sure they’d
love to hear that a human woman entered your parlor and vanished. You might
even make the evening news.”

Instead of taking her threat at face value, he grinned. Her
insides wilted and burned white-hot. The air seemed to thicken, making it
difficult to breathe. When she drew a deep breath the scent in the air
increased, swarming her mind, making her sway on her feet.

“You wouldn’t do that,” he rasped, still looking her in the
eye. “Not to me.”

The hell I wouldn’t.

“Oh yes I would.” She ground out the words, forcing her
increased libido aside, remembering why she’d come here. Chloe needed her. An
attractive man with what appeared to be a gorgeous body wasn’t going to catch
her off guard. “In fact, I called them before I came here.”

His irises flashed, becoming gold. “You’re lying,” he stated
with total conviction, watching her with eyes that saw more than she wanted
them to.

Anger replaced desire. True, she hadn’t called the police,
but there was no way he could possibly know that.

“Wanna bet?”

He paused as though he was trying to read her. Then his
attention shifted to the door. She heard a car pull up to the parlor and his
golden eyes narrowed. In a split second the annoying man moved, standing in
front of her one moment and beside her the next. The teasing glint in his gaze
was gone, replaced with an anger that sent her heart thundering in alarm.

“Son of a bitch.” He reached out, snagged her arm and tugged
her around the counter. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” She tried to yank away and
winced when his grip increased, his fingers biting into her jacket. “Hey! Let
go, asshole!”

If he heard he didn’t listen, literally dragging her down
the hallway. Terrified and unable to do anything else, she tried to drop to the
ground. To her shock, he seemed to know what she was going to do before she did
it. He caught her, slipping his arms beneath her legs and back. She squirmed as
he carried her into a room and slammed the door closed with the heel of his
boot. He thrust her into a tattoo chair, knocking the air from her lungs, and
took a step back. He looked intimidating, folding his massive arms over his
chest.

“All right, Just Rachel. Listen up. I’m only going to say
this once. Keep your sweet little ass parked in that chair until I get back. If
you piss me off you won’t like what happens.”

Her heart skipped a beat before it started to race. “Are you
threatening me?” A part of her actually hoped he was threatening her, that he
wasn’t all bluff.

What the hell?

“Nope, threats are a waste of time.” He glanced at the door,
cursed and returned his attention to her. “Keep quiet. We’ll talk about Chloe
after I take care of business.”

With that he spun on his heel to exit the room.

“Wait,” she called out, wondering if he’d ignore the
request.

He took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“You didn’t tell me your name.” She wanted to wince as soon
as she said it, wishing she could take the words back.

Now you’ve gone and done it, dummy.

It was a stupid, girly thing to say. And she knew it.

She should be asking about Chloe or scrambling out of the
chair. Instead she felt an odd tug in her chest, some part of her wanting to
know at least
something
about the man standing imposingly across from
her.

The amused grin on his face made her tingly in all the wrong
places. “I didn’t, did I?”

Even though she was hoping for more, he left her guessing.

The door closed behind him with a soft snick. She gasped for
air, realizing it was difficult to breathe. This wasn’t the woman she’d trained
herself to be—strong, unbreakable and unwilling to bend to another’s will. The
pride she took in her self-assurance cracked, leaving her shaken.

No one had ever affected her in this way, and the knowledge
terrified her. For the first time in her life Rachel found herself staring into
empty space without anything to say.

Coming to The Wolf’s Den was a
very
bad idea.

Of all the dumb fucking luck.

Declan Schroder strode down the hall, trying to calm down
and get his throbbing cock under control.

Talk about a complex female.

The woman who’d walked into his building was all attitude
with a fuck-with-me-and-regret-it glare, lithe frame and intriguing face. The
little minx had gotten his blood pumping, making his dick harden to the point
of pain. As a male, he couldn’t resist the challenge she’d issued. There was no
give in her, zero softness. Even if she’d been aroused by his flirting, she’d
blown him off good and proper. She’d be a hellion in the sack, giving as good
as she got.

Stop thinking with the wrong head. Just Rachel has to
wait.

Another visitor had thrown a wrench into what could have
been a very good time. Fuck if it didn’t piss him off. Just once he’d like to
relax and unwind without having to do the right thing.

Goddamn Simone.

It was bad enough dealing with the bothersome bitch the
evening before. Talking to the obtuse female before he’d even settled into his
routine burned like a rash beneath his skin. Not to mention she’d arrived at a
shitty time. She needed to take a hint and find some other dumb schmuck to fuck
around with.

“Declan,” Simone purred as she turned from the framed tattoo
flash on the wall.

She’d dressed to impress in a skimpy top and skirt, her long
black hair hanging in bouncy curls down her back. Fortunately werewolves had
higher body temperatures and could handle the cold. Otherwise she’d have to do
the respectable thing and wear modest attire for a change.

She shifted her feet, her high heels clicking on the floor,
and her full, cherry-red lips dipped into a frown. “You don’t look happy to see
me.”

I’ll take understatement of the fucking millennium for
five hundred, Alex.

“I’m never happy to see people who come in without making an
appointment.”

“Then I’ll make this quick.”

As she approached he had to force himself not to laugh.
Simone knew he wasn’t interested but she didn’t stop playing her stupid games,
shifting her hips from side to side, making her legs flex with each step. Sure,
the female had a great body—one that was blessed by werewolf genetics—but the
central command center between her ears was no longer in service.

“I went to see Jackson this morning but he wasn’t home. Do
you know where I can find him?”

Here we go.
“I’m his second-in-command, not his
secretary.”

“Oh come on. Everyone knows Jackson tells you everything.
That’s why you’re his Beta.” She stopped at the counter and leaned over it,
revealing huge breasts that strained to escape the lacy material confining
them. “I have something I want to give him. You’re ruining my surprise.”

“It wouldn’t be an STD, would it? I don’t think he’d be too
thankful for a gift that keeps on giving.” As soon as the words came out he
wanted to kick himself in the ass. He just couldn’t help himself sometimes.

Thankfully the insult floated right over her head. “That’s
you, always making a joke of things.”

I wonder what she’d say if I told her it wasn’t a joke?

He quickly moved away from the temptation of actually asking
the question, shrugging. “Life would be boring without a little spice.”

“I agree.” Simone’s dark blue eyes lifted a shade and her
smile went from playful to seductive. “That’s why I need to talk to Jackson.
Once he understands what I can bring to the table he’ll know why we’re meant to
bring the packs together. It doesn’t have to be all work. I know how to play.”

“I just bet you do.” He lowered his arms and slid his hands
into his pockets before he did something stupid, like snatch Simone up and
march her shameless ass outside. “Like I said, I’m not his secretary. If he’s
not home he probably had things he needed to do. Call his cell and leave a
message. I’m sure he’ll get back to you when he’s got a minute to spare.”

Or when hell freezes over.

“Well…” She frowned and glanced at the arm he’d inked,
studying her slightly reddened skin. “What if I waited here? He’s bound to show
up sooner or later. You could work on my design. It definitely could use more
color.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m booked.”

He peered down the hall, thinking about the fiery temptress
with wild strawberry-red hair and eyes the color of the morning sky. He
wondered if she’d stayed where he’d put her. A part of him hoped she hadn’t so
he could make good on his threat.

“In fact,” he continued, “you interrupted me while I was
speaking to a client. I need to get to work.”

“Tell him I’m looking for him.” Her voice took on a harsh
edge, becoming serious. “You boys can only play games for so long. I think you
should know my father consented to the match. Unless Jackson wants to piss him
off, he’ll make sure he finds time to see me. Make sure your Alpha knows that.”