Megan's Mark (7 page)

Her father only snorted as he applied a thick coating of skin repair to Mo-Jo’s underbelly.

“The dog will be fine.” He closed the bottle of flesh-simulating latex and returned it to his bag. “The wound wasn’t too deep; he’s just a big baby.” He patted the dog’s head before filling a syringe and injecting it into the thick shoulder muscle. “There, something to ease the soreness. He’ll be good as new in a few days. We’ll take him back to the clinic and put him on some antibiotics to be certain.”

At the same time, her grandfather set tea and ginger cookies in front of her. She could still smell death all around her. There was no way she was eating.

“Your blood sugar is low, Granddaughter. Eat as well.” He shuffled around the table and, of course, put on coffee for everyone else. Sometimes, she wished she smoked. If any situation called for a cigarette, it was this one.

“Explanation time.” Her father stood up, his broad body tense, his roughly hewn face matching the anger in his eyes as they met with Braden’s gaze. “Who the hell are you and what do you have to do with this?”

Braden stiffened.

“Enough, David,” her grandfather came to the rescue. She hoped. “Come, all of you, sit down at Megan’s table and speak with respect in her presence. She has defended herself well today. She has done what no man could have done for her, and satisfied her warrior’s soul in her own protection. It is time to celebrate, not to berate her or those who defend her.”

Her grandfather’s pride in her never failed to fill her with warmth.

Her father flashed him a disgruntled look.

“David… husband of my daughter.” He sighed. “I feel your worry as it is my own. But I have warned you, her destiny is not as you would have it.”

Argument time. Megan knew if she didn’t change the subject quickly then her father and grandfather would end up fighting again.

“Someone has to clean up the mess,” she sighed, pushing away the cookies and tea. “Has everyone forgotten the two bodies in my hallway?” she asked them all with an edge of incredulity. “They are staining my hardwood floors. Ask him, he knows all about it.” She waved to where Braden still stood silently, watchfully.

Too many men were crowding around her. She was wearing nothing but a robe and reaction was starting to tremble through her as all the testosterone began to brew in a furious cauldron. She did not want to be here for the fight.

“My people are headed back in.” Braden moved into the kitchen and before she could gasp or anyone else could protest he lifted her into his arms and strode from the room.

God, he was warm, secure. Her arms gripped his shoulders in instinctive response as she fought the need to get closer, to absorb more of the natural shield that enveloped her as well.

“I’m not a baby,” she tried to snipe despite the sudden desire to curl against him.

“No, you’re not. But the floor is bloody and you aren’t wearing shoes.” He set her down on the stairs. “Sometimes you see the bloodstains when you least expect it.” He stared back at her, his golden eyes solemn. “Go. Dress. My people will be here and there will be a clash of tempers that you don’t want to deal with half naked.” His voice lowered.

“And I sure as hell don’t want anyone else seeing those perfect nipples shining through that damp cloth as they are now.”

Her face flamed as her horrified gaze went down. Her nipples were hard. Spike-hard, pressing against the silk of her robe like signals.

Her head raised as arousal and embarrassment coursed through her. It wasn’t him, she assured herself. He was not turning her on. She didn’t even know him and she didn’t want to know him.

She sniffed disdainfully, refusing to even attempt to explain or protest her body’s response.

———

Braden watched her stalk to her room, his chest tight, his heart racing. God, he wanted to wrap her up just as much as the three men behind him did. Seeing her in that chair, looking so forlorn, had nearly been more than he could stand. He had picked her up and moved her to the stairs for his own mental well-being. The thought of her having to step around the death in that hallway, that it could have been her lying there rather than two Coyotes had his guts clenching in fury.

He hadn’t realized how small she was, how light, until he picked her up in his arms and felt the frailty of her body.

How the hell had she managed to battle two Coyotes and survive?

Dark midnight-blue eyes, nearly black, had seemed overlarge in her pale face, filled with excitement and an edge of confusion. But there was no fear. She was pissed. Quickly falling from an adrenaline high and aching with the demands she had put on her body in the past two days.

But she wasn’t scared.

And he couldn’t wrap her up. He couldn’t shelter her from the danger. He could only stand behind her and pray he could help her. The world wasn’t a playground filled with laughter and games. At least, his world wasn’t. It was bathed in blood and cruelty and only the strongest survived. She was being thrown into the middle of his world for some reason he couldn’t fathom. He couldn’t protect her from that. He could only guide her through it.

“She’s a warrior.” The old man, her grandfather, spoke behind him.

“She’s a woman,” the father snapped furiously. “Dammit, Lance, what the hell is going on?”

“She’s crazy, is what’s going on,” Lance argued. “She drove right into a murder scene yesterday afternoon with me screaming at her to back off. The woman is looking for trouble. This time, it found her.”

“She searches for justice…” Joseph murmured.

And they were all searching for a way to protect her. Their need to shelter her was slowly smothering her. Braden could feel it, could see it in her face. She needed to fight, and now she had no choice but to do just that.

“No.” He turned to face them all. “She’s a fighter and a survivor and if she’s going to survive this in any way, then you’ll have to let her fight. Until we find out why the Genetics Council marked her, we have to let her fight, or you’ll all lose her.”

Silence, waves of fury, confusion and one old man’s knowledge seemed to flow around him. He met the sharp, ages-old gaze of the old Navajo who stared back at him, his graying braids framing his square, stark expression.

“She is a warrior,” the old man said, raising his head in pride. “But beware, my young Lion, she is also a woman. And that is most often every male’s greatest weakness. Even your own.”

How the old man knew who and what he was, Braden didn’t know and he didn’t care. Now, as earlier, confusion swamped him. The Breeds, except for a very select few, had no children. No mothers, no fathers, uncles or cousins.

They were created in a Lab, trained rather than raised, and now fought daily for survival in a world that wasn’t certain exactly what to do with this new species.

Braden had never experienced the emotion, the sheer protective fury and determination to protect one’s family.

He could easily see the three men slowly smothering the woman’s fighting spirit with their love.

“You’d better come up with a plan before she gets back down here.” Lance hissed as he stared at his uncle and grandfather. “I’m not firing her. She’ll never forgive me. Besides, she just ignores me when I try.”

“I told you to do that three months ago,” David, the father, snarled furiously. “The very day he”—he jerked his thumb at the old man—”heard her name on the winds. ‘But no, wait, Uncle…’ “ he mocked the younger man. “ ‘Don’t hurt her. She’ll leave Broken Butte.’ “

“Or shoot me,” Lance snapped. “Dammit, Uncle, she’s had three offers from the larger cities but she stays here instead. Push her too far and she’ll leave.”

“I won’t allow it.”

“You cannot stop it, my son…” the old man said.

“Bloody hell, she’s going to find trouble no matter where she goes…” Lance argued.

Braden cocked his head, watching as the three argued. How interesting. Personally, he thought it was a bit delayed and definitely the wrong time for accusations, but interesting all the same.

The three males were obviously well used to arguing over how best to protect a woman who wanted nothing more than to be who she was, to fight as she was needed. It defied logic. Women were as fierce and often less merciful than any man. They were excellent fighters when they cared for the battle they were engaged in or for those they fought for. And Megan was all woman. In that moment, he decided, she was also his woman.

Chapter Four

Megan was in no better mood the next morning than she had been the night before when Braden and Lance dragged their sorry butts into her guest rooms to sleep. The dead bodies had been cleared out of her house by ill-tempered Feline Breeds, one of which was a scary, silver-eyed son of Satan she was really glad didn’t stick around long.

Her father and grandfather had finally left around midnight, under protest. Braden and Lance had stayed, which meant sleep had been next to impossible knowing that the object of her arousal was so close. She had ached for his touch, her skin so sensitive that even the sheets were an irritation against it.

Now, with the breakfast dishes cleared away and coffee sustaining her, Megan stared at Lance and Braden. Fighting this wasn’t going to work, and she knew it. As much as she hated it, she needed Braden in this fight.

She glanced over at him, aware that he was watching her closely, his gaze hooded, his body tense. Was he aroused as well? Was he tormented by the same desire she was? One as confusing as it was strong?

She gave herself a mental shake before confronting both men.

“Now what?” She leaned against the counter and sipped at her coffee as they stared back at her.

Lance got to his feet with a sigh. “I have to get back to the office.” The coward. He wasn’t even going to hang around for whatever fireworks he expected to result from their discussion. “You’re off today. I’ll see both of you in the office in the morning…”

“No. She’s off indefinitely.” Braden spoke as though his word were law. Her eyes narrowed at the tone, her lips flattening in irritation as she glared back at him.

“That is my job,” she snapped. “I can’t just lie around…”

“Your job is to stay alive.” He walked over to the coffeepot to refill his cup. Megan made certain she moved far enough away to keep from so much as brushing against him. “We’ll get organized and see if we can figure out what the hell is going on. You’re the link…” The look he gave her when he turned back was hard, cold. “That means you have the answers.”

Which made sense. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

She glanced at Lance then, noting the tension in his muscular body, the merciless anger that glittered in his blue eyes. Damn, she was glad she wasn’t feeling that. She couldn’t have handled it. It destroyed her, the fear and worry that filled her family because of the job she had fought for so desperately and the weakness the empathy caused within her.

“Well.” She breathed out roughly, containing the shiver that worked up her spine. “So much for our complaints that Broken Butte is too quiet.”

Lance snorted at that.

“Those are your complaints, Meg. Not mine. I had enough excitement when I worked in Chicago,” he snapped.

He was angry. Really angry this time. She stared at his closed expression, the haunted pain in his eyes, and felt her chest tighten.

“I’m sorry.” She stared back at him directly, hating the fact that he was worried enough about her to be so furious.

“Dammit, Meg, I don’t blame you.” He reached out, his arm looping around her shoulders as he pulled her close for a brief, hard embrace. “Check in on schedule,” he told her roughly then. “And watch your butt.”

She hugged him back. Hard. Then watched as he left the house. For some unexplained and upsetting reason, his touch rattled her. As though her body was faintly protesting, uncomfortable with the once comforting embrace of the cousin who was more like a big brother.

She listened until the sound of his Raider faded into the distance, leaving a deafening, tension-filled silence between her and the Feline watching her closely. She turned to look at him, seeing the curious gleam in his eyes, the quizzical look on his face.

“What?” she asked with mock impatience, controlling her breathing, mainly to control the abrasion of her sensitive nipples against her lace bra. What the hell was wrong with her? She had never been aroused by so little in her life.

He inhaled slowly. What the hell was he sniffing for?

“Nothing.” He finally shook his head slowly. “Get ready. I want to make a trip back out to the gully to look around and I want you to stick close. From now on, baby, just call me your shadow.”

“Puss in Boots.” She glanced at the boots. The man had some fine legs in between, too.

Tension filled the air. It wasn’t angry tension; it was hot, blistering in intensity. He set his coffee cup on the counter, moving closer, his shoulder brushing against hers as he passed her, moved behind her.

Megan stood completely still, feeling the displacement of the air around her, the way he moved, turning until his chest nearly touched her back, his breath wafting over her sensitive earlobe.

“You know, Meg,” he breathed out softly, his voice rough, growling, “you’ll call me that one time too many, and then I’ll have to show you which of us belongs on top. And it isn’t you, sweetheart. I’d be careful pushing me, if I were you. The scent of that sweet, hot little pussy has my mouth watering and my cock pounding. I might show you not just who belongs on top, but exactly how a Breed teaches dominance to his woman.”

She felt herself pale then flush, her eyes widening at the realization that he could actually smell her arousal. That he knew she was wet, hot. Ready to take him. That he fascinated her more than any man ever had. It was a fascination that scared her to death.

“Get your vaccinations first,” she snapped, moving away from him, covering her embarrassment with snide anger rather than dissolving in his arms the way she wanted to. She would be damned if she would. Just what the hell she needed—the hots for a Breed, and he hadn’t even kissed her yet. Could life get more complicated, please?