Winter of the Wolf (26 page)

“Bree, listen.”

She blinked. “Got it. I mean, I’m listening.”

“Shifters wil come over. Nice males.
Short
males. If you like one, he’l take you upstairs and—ah—kiss you.”

“Okay.” She leaned forward and rubbed her breasts against him.

“Fuck.” His low growl made her pussy tingle, but then he sat her in a chair.

A chair? She started to get up.

“Stay there, lass.” Shay’s gaze compeled obedience. “The men wil come to you.”

As the two men moved away, the air temperature decreased, and her head cleared. Slightly. Taking positions decreased, and her head cleared. Slightly. Taking positions on each side of the barricaded entrance, they waved off man after man until two shorter ones approached. Not smal, barely under six feet.

One was lean and rugged-looking with gorgeous turquoise-colored eyes. The other seemed less tough.

Sweeter. Not as interesting. After Shay talked with them, they walked into her corner.

“I’m Wayne.” The sweet-looking one knelt on her right.

His blonde hair gleamed in the light from the wal sconces.

“My name is Evan. I’m from over the border.” Taking a knee to her left, the lean one was darkly tanned, his grin almost as bright as Zeb’s.

Zeb
. She stared at him, at Shay. Why didn’t they come to her? She caught Zeb’s gaze.

He stepped toward her, then his lips tightened, and he turned his back. When Shay did the same, it felt like a connection snapped.

A hand stroked down her thigh, and she jumped.

“What’s your name, pretty one?” Evan asked in a voice that puled at her, gentle but with a firm base underneath.

“Bree.” His face was al angles, cheekbones high and tight.

His mustache was the rich brown of his hair and silky soft under her fingers. She traced it twice, marveling at how neatly it curved around the slope of his mouth. “I’ve never kissed anyone with a mustache,” she murmured. Would it tickle?

anyone with a mustache,” she murmured. Would it tickle?

How would it feel against her?

“Do you want to kiss me, pretty one?” He took her hand.

His palm was hard, rough, and wonderful, and as he kissed her fingers, his lips were petal-soft in contrast. The mustache tickled her knuckles. When his mouth closed over her fingertips, the wetness of his tongue made her moan. Heat flared into an oven fire inside her, and she leaned toward him.

He pressed a kiss to her wrist, inhaled, and stood, puling her up with him and against his side. His arm curved around her waist. “Let’s go upstairs where it’s not so noisy,” he murmured. His warm breath brushed her cheek, and she nodded. “Sorry, Wayne,” he said.

Had there been someone else beside her? She’d been rude. She tried to turn, but when Evan eased his fingers under her shirt to find bare skin, a rising fire burned the thoughts right out of her head. A pulse throbbed low in her body between her legs.

Somehow, Evan led her up the stairs, but she didn’t notice much, never getting past the feel of his hands—one teasing her fingers, the other on her waist. He steered her into a tiny room. In wal scones, candles flickered with yelow light.

Pilows were scattered across a cushioned floor.

Her legs buckled as she realized what the room was for.

As she landed up on her hands and knees, a quiver of fear ran through her.

ran through her.

Evan dropped down beside her. “It’s okay, pretty one.

The cahirs said this is new to you. We’l just sit for a bit, eh?” His smile was the nicest thing about him, she thought, until he took her hand. Why did the abrasion of his palm make her lower half melt—and flame at the same time.

Watching her with blue-green eyes, he licked her fingers, one, then the next and the next. His tongue was hot and soft but with a little roughness, so different from his mouth.

His mouth. Her gaze fixed on it, how smooth it looked under that silky brown mustache. His lips curved into a satisfied smile.

“C’mere, and you can see if the mustache tickles,” he invited, tugging her closer. As she leaned into him, he kissed her gently. The brush of his lips and mustache sent heat streaking through her and tightened her nipples. “Oh, yes,” he murmured. “You’re a sweet one. We won’t hurry.” He kissed her, over and over, nibbling on her lips, sliding his tongue across her mouth until she opened to his demand.

He tasted of apples and cinnamon, and when his tongue plunged deep, she needed him so badly that she took his hands and slid them onto her breasts.

As he plucked at her nipples, she whimpered. He cupped her breasts and kissed her more deeply, and the mixture of sensations made her head whirl. Laughing, he rose to his feet to unbutton his shirt and pul it off. As he stepped closer, he to unbutton his shirt and pul it off. As he stepped closer, he loomed over her, a huge shadow backlit by the candles. “I’l

—”

“No!” Choking on fear, she scrambled away from him.

No, no, no
.

“Bree. Wait.” He stopped, motionless as a predator, shirt stil in one hand. His nostrils flared. “By the God, you’re terrified.”

Trapped in the corner, she panted and tried to draw in enough air to speak, to scream, to fight. Instead, her chest tightened until she couldn’t breathe.

He took a step back. “Relax, pretty female. Nothing happens if you’re not into it—and, right now, you realy aren’t.”

When he puled his shirt on, she managed to get a ful breath. She stared at him, stomach in knots.

After studying her for a second, he backed farther, al the way to the door.

Evan wasn’t going to do anything. He’d only been nice.

Shame made her want to hang her head, courage kept it up.

“I’m sorry.”

“I am too. You’re very sweet.” His grin was stil nice, especialy from a distance. “Let me take you back downstairs.”

Face al those men. Again? “Can I stay here for a minute?

Settle down a bit?”

He nodded. “I’l wait outside and escort you down.” He nodded. “I’l wait outside and escort you down.” Have him lurking in the hal? A tremor ran up her spine.

“I’l do better alone. I realy am sorry.”

He looked as if he wanted to come forward and reassure her, but he stayed there. “No worries, Bree. I’l be back in the States next fal. If you want, we’l try again, eh?” He stepped out into the shadowy halway. As the door closed, she heard someone speak to him.

She was alone. Resting her forehead on her knees, she shuddered. How had she gone from desire to panic so quickly? What was she going to do? She rubbed sweaty hands on her jeans. As her heart rate dropped to normal, the heat inside her grew. Her skin started to tingle, her breasts—

The door opened and she looked up. “Evan?” Not Evan.
Klaus
. A blade of fear stabbed into her chest.

He closed the door behind him. “Wel, if it isn’t the rabbit.

Having problems?”

“Go away.” Her voice sounded thin and weak. As she pushed to her feet, the cushioned floor sank under her weight, and she staggered sideways.

“Nah, I don’t think so. Got something to finish.” His smile distorted his meaty features into evil. “Not fucking you. But no bitch busts my nose and lives to boast of it.” Her brain froze with the memory of her nightmarish fal, his threats, his fists. She instinctively stepped back. Her lips trembled in spite of her attempt to firm them.

trembled in spite of her attempt to firm them.

He saw and then slowly inhaled. “Oh, you’re scared now.” Satisfaction thickened his voice, and his heavy-lidded eyes gleamed with cruelty as he moved toward her.

Terror grew, until she gasped for air, unable to scream.

She’d barely fought off one panic attack and had no reserves to handle another. Her fingers went cold. Numb. As her heart ricocheted painfuly in her chest, she struggled against the darkness edging her vision.
No, Bree. Must fight
.

He swung, and she ducked, then blocked his folow-up punch. Her return blow to his bely was weak.

His fist hit her cheekbone with an explosion of pain, knocking her back. Her shoulders crashed into the wal, and her senses spun. Leaning on the boards for balance, she front-kicked right into his stomach.

He grunted, hunching over.

Yes
! She swung at his temple, but he slapped her fist aside and backhanded her to the floor. Her jaw felt broken. She struggled to sit up. Blood dripped onto her shirt.

As he stood over her, a
monster
, her head reverberated with shril screams—hers, Ashley’s. The wals turned red as if drenched in gore. Whimpering, she fought her terror, trying to regain her feet. The brutal stench of his anger and pleasure filed the room.

Over the shrieking in her head, she heard his gloating laugh. He kicked her in the stomach.

laugh. He kicked her in the stomach.

Pain. Oh God
. Nausea filed her world and she dry-heaved. Yet it broke her free of the panic attack. Her body took over, responding to years of karate drils. She roled to her feet. Stil unsteady, she staggered back. She glanced at the door. Too far.

He stalked toward her.

Chapter Nineteen

Zeb trotted up the stairs, ignoring curious looks at his unaccompanied state.

With obvious concern, Evan had reported to him and Shay what had happened with Bree. Zeb scowled. If a short shifter didn’t work for her, who would? Maybe he or Shay should try, leaving the other for backup in case she panicked. The thought of mating with Bree filed him with warmth. He’d never wanted to be with a female so much.

And yet, if he scared her…
her
…it would gut him completely.

At the top of the stairs, Zeb slowed. First room to the right, Evan had said, and by the God’s bals, Zeb didn’t want to open the wrong door. Hand on the knob, he sniffed and caught Bree’s scent as wel as Evan’s…and another male’s?

caught Bree’s scent as wel as Evan’s…and another male’s?

Even as he smeled aggression and fear, Zeb heard the smack of a blow—so different from the sound of sex. A muffled cry of pain.

His shoulder rammed against the wood. The door crashed against the wal.

Trapped in a corner like prey, Bree faced the alpha’s brother. His jaw bore a red mark the size of a smal fist, and Zeb’s pride flared. The little female was terrified but on her feet and fighting.

Zeb took a step into the room. “What is going—” She turned and he saw her bloody face. More red was spattered down her shirt. As rage whipped into an uncontrolable storm, he roared and charged.

Klaus jumped back. “It’s not what—”

Zeb hit him so hard that at least three ribs cracked, and the male’s body dented the wal. Grabbing the scat-head by the neck, Zeb threw him out of the room.

Threw him down the stairs.

Trying to scramble away on hands and knees, the gibbering coward wet himself when Zeb leaped to the bottom of the staircase. With a grip on his colar, Zeb dragged him into the center of the tavern.

A female screamed, shril and annoying. Shouts. Males closed in. Warily.

“Zeb!” Shay shoved two people aside.

“Zeb!” Shay shoved two people aside.

“Bree’s upstairs. She needs you. Now.”

Shay ran for the stairs.

Zeb fought his instincts, his need to rip apart the male who’d hurt Bree—
my Bree
. His fists opened and closed.

Where’s the fucking Cosantir
?

Klaus managed to regain his feet, blabbering at the growing crowd of shifters. “She deserved it. She—” The memory of Bree’s terrified face splintered Zeb’s control like an axe against rotten wood. His fist lashed out.

The crunch and breaking of bone was satisfying, Klaus’s gut-wrenching scream of agony less so. The asshole sprawled on the floor. He’d never hurt another woman with that arm again.

Anger pulsed in Zeb’s head; each beat providing a picture of Bree’s face. Blood so red against her whitened face.

Terror and courage. Zeb moved forward.
Hit him, over and
over
. Be sure the male could never—

“Zebulon.” Calum’s voice was a winter mist, damping the fire. “Step back. Now.”

Zeb hauled in a breath. Finding a space of calm and momentary quiet, he moved back an inch. One more. The red streaking his vision faded, and he received horror-struck stares from the people surrounding him. When he looked at the broken man at his feet, he knew he was doomed.

Gerhard shoved forward, belowing more like a bul than a Gerhard shoved forward, belowing more like a bul than a wolf. Standing over Klaus, he saw the damage. “He maimed my brother. During a Gathering!” His hand shook as he pointed at Klaus’s shattered arm where bones poked whitely out of the skin. “I demand Cosantir’s Judgment. I demand

—”

“Silence.” The Cosantir’s command stiled the room, leaving only the clink of a glass and Klaus’s sobbing breaths.

Calum’s gray eyes slowly darkened to the black of the God.

“Zebulon. I require an explanation.”

Zeb gritted his teeth, fighting the compulsion to answer.

He’d broken the Law of the Fight, and he’d be cast out, no matter what he said. Any explanation he gave would reveal why Bree was so terrified—that she’d been abused as no female shifter ever had. She’d shown how shamed it made her. Others, like Thyra, would use it to hurt her.

With no other explanation, the crowd would simply think a mating fight had gotten out of hand.
Leave it at that
. Klaus couldn’t harm her anymore. Zeb shook his head. “Just banish me and have this done.”

His refusal brought a murmur of shock from the shifters surrounding them.

The Cosantir’s unreadable gaze rested on him, then shifted to Klaus. “Explain.”

“She wanted me, and she puled me into the room,” Klaus rushed out in gasping breaths. “I was interested, but she started yeling curses against Gerhard. And she hit me. I only slapped her to settle her down; to get her away from me so I could leave.”

Zeb shut his eyes, unable to look at the lying scat-head. If only he could block his ears as wel. He was the stranger here, always the outsider. No one would believe him over the alpha’s brother.