Chapter Fourteen
LJ
T he fox moves first, quick and low through the brush. Then me.
It’s funny. When I fight, I’d rather be in a standing stance more often than not—bipedal. Hate putting my hands on the ground to steady myself even when I have to. Feels wrong, I guess.
But shifted? Easy. Normal. Like my brain shifts to match my body—I move different, I think different.
Up on the bluff, you’d have to look to even see us, let alone really notice us. We’ve been nosing around this construction site, subdivision of new houses going up around some man-made lake. It’s ugly. Glass and steel in what used to be a valley. But looks don’t matter so much as the copper wiring, rolls of insulation, custom fucking tiles that are rolling in by the freighter. Flippable. Copious.
Rob stops near the edge of the fence line, his fur bristling once before he shifts back.
“Debrief,” he says.
I nod. That’s the downside: animals can’t talk. So I shift back too, the feeling like stretching out and snapping back all at once, and try to find a comfortable seat, and now we’re just two guys sitting around buck-ass naked discussing grand larceny. You know, normal shit.
“That pallet?” He nods, indicating. “Smart tech. Thermostats, doorbells, that kind of shit.”
I nod. “But no cameras up? I didn’t see any.”
“There’s one at the work entrance off the feeder road.” He points through the dusk. “But it looks low-res. Not night-vision, I don’t think.”
“Weekend shifts?”
He scratches his chin. “I doubt it. They’ll be thin if there is anyone. Easy enough to get by.”
I grunt. “Getting caught’s not the issue.” When Rob cocks a look at me—dumbass rich boy—I sigh. “You ever work construction? Of course not,” I answer for him. “Shit goes missing on your watch and it’s out of your paycheck. Or job.”
“Oh. Yeah, yeah.” Rob bobs his head up and down, scratching his temple. “Fair enough. These guys aren’t the ones to blame.” He gestures down at the ant-like hard hats we can just make out in the valley. Stares a minute. “Ugly fucking buildings,” he mutters.
“Amen to that.”
He breathes out. “Okay. You good?”
“I’ve seen what I need to.”
“Then let’s turn tail.”
The run back is clean. Our territory. Deer paths and tree markings somehow easier to see with an animal’s eyes. The lights of the house are almost alien as we come up the back way, to the gate by the range. But then I shift back and things settle in again.
Humans have houses. And this one’s mine.
I’m pulling on my jeans and boots in the lean-to when Rob darts in after. He shifts, exhales, and rolls his shoulders.
“Fairy lights are new.” He nods up at the back patio, where a string of winking lights hangs from column to column.
I squint. That’ll be Maren, all right. “Bet she’s in a mood.”
We take off across the grass, toward the pool and the sounds of human voices.
“Hope it’s a good one,” he offers.
I don’t answer. Because we’ve reached the house, and...
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I don’t say it out loud. Rob doesn’t even fucking notice I’ve stopped walking.
Because he looks happy about it.
“Zayn?” he says. “Damn, is that you?”
He walks forward, grabs the guy’s hand and shakes, slaps him on the back.
Me, not so much. I take the last few steps slower. The kind of slow that keeps me from making any moves I regret.
The sliding door opens before I can reach for it—Will. Pink shirt, front half unbuttoned so he can show off his waxed pecs, bringing some beers out from inside. He catches my drift pretty damn quick—sees where I’m staring.
“Hold up.” He presses a hand to my chest, which makes me want to rip it off his arm. “Before you go nuclear. Two seconds.”
I push his hand away. But take the beer it’s holding. “You’ve got one.” I crack the top and stare at his shirt. “Are you wearing pink?”
“It’s salmon.”
“Salmon is pink,” I mutter. “I’m a bear. I would fuckin’ know.”
“LJ.” Will gives me a flat look. “Don’t change the subject. I know he’s here. We ran into him—me and Maren. And I told him I was out of line. I apologized.”
“Bullshit you did.”
“I know, I know.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I meant what I said when he first showed up. But...he did bring her back. He didn’t have to.”
“He also set her up for a fucking car bomb,” I spit out. “Like a sitting duck.”
Will winces but doesn’t push. “Yeah, I...look, I’m not saying you have to like him, LJ. I’m kinda...neutral to middling on the guy myself. But we don’t exactly have an overabundance of allies, okay? So just...play nice, buddy.”
I grunt. No promises. But I let him pass.
“Your drink, my lady,” he says, offering Maren the bottle before staring at his second, empty, hand. “And...looks like I’ll be going back for my own.” He glares at me as he loops back to the sliding door.
I barely pay attention. I smell food. Tuck’s got a whole spread laid out. Stuff I can’t name, but there’s at least meat and cheese. And music’s coming out of a speaker somewhere, acoustic. Boring.
But then I hear her laugh.
She’s out on the deck, feet kicked up on the cooler, beer bottle in hand. The tip of her nose is pink, like she got sunburned today. Smiling.
Absolutely fucking perfect.
From the looks of it, she’s doing her best to listen to whatever the kid’s going on about—Nick. Don’t like him either, but at least he never successfully put any of us in mortal danger. He’s on the steps beside her, animated as hell about something he’s explaining to her and Zayn. I catch the words “subnet mask” and “Tuck said if you reverse the encryption—” before I lose interest.
But Maren’s nodding, smiling. Like a big sister or something. Patient, amused.
Then she glances up and sees me.
I give her the barest nod. Don’t want her to change anything about what she’s doing or how she’s acting.
Something flickers in her eyes. And she looks away.
But damned if her smile isn’t a little bigger.
“Hey.” Tuck strides up to me with a nod. “How’d the casing go?”
“Fruitful.” I drop onto the nearest chair, my legs suddenly sore. “Lots of running. But lots of rich assholes.”
He grins. “You love to see it.”
I swig beer. “How’s your computer shit?”
“Oh, it’s...” He tilts his head. “Layman’s terms, it’s fine. Technical terms, it’s—”
I put up a hand. “You’re good.”
Before I can say more, the air shifts. Zayn takes a seat across from me.
“Hey, LJ.” All casual he says it, like we’re best pals. “No bad blood here, right?” He sticks out a hand. “Truce?”
I stare at it.
I’m not shaking his hand.
He waits a moment. Then drops it. His smile fades back a little.
“Damn, all right,” he mutters. “Gonna make me work for it, huh?”
I say nothing. Just snatch the beer out of Will’s hand as he approaches and pop the cap against the edge of the cooler.
“Again?” he protests. “Come on.”
I ignore him. So does Zayn.
“You got a problem with me, man?” Zayn leans in. “’Cuz I’m offering you the olive branch here and it looks like I’m getting nothing but disrespect.”
The bottle’s cold in my hand. I take a sip, slow. Still don’t answer.
His expression tightens. “This some kind of racial thing with you, or—”
I stand up.
Maren’s head snaps toward us, eyes sharp now. Tuck goes quiet mid-laugh. Even the kid quits his fidgeting.
“You seriously gonna ask me that?” I say to him.
I step in close, close enough Zayn has to look up just a little. He doesn’t flinch. Or answer.
“You know where I come from?” I ask him.
He blinks, jaw tight. “No.”
“Louisiana. Grant Parish. Place called Colfax. Heard of it?”
His brow furrows. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “A race riot, or something?”
“A massacre ,” I correct. “Easter Sunday, 1873. Black men murdered for just trying to vote. Fuckin’ KKK burned the courthouse down with men still inside it and shot the ones who surrendered.”
Silence falls heavy across the deck.
“I grew up near that damn history marker. And my Mama would say, ‘Don’t you forget what they’ll do when they think you don’t belong. And don’t you ever treat people like they don’t belong.’” I take a step, get in his face a little. “And I don’t. ‘Cause I’ve seen what it leads to. So don’t come at me with that shit.”
I exhale through my nose. Zayn doesn’t say anything.
And no fucking wonder. I’m...
...acting like a goddamn lunatic.
I pull back. Run a hand through my hair. Close my eyes.
“Shit,” I mutter. I open my eyes again. Look around at everyone. At Zayn. Can I blame him, drawing that conclusion? A guy who looks like me being an asshole to a guy who looks like him?
“Touched a fucking nerve,” Will mutters.
No. Of course I can’t.
And I can’t blame him for what happened to Maren, either. Not if I really admit it.
“I’m...damn.” I shake my head again. “Sorry, man. That was...you’re good.” I dart a glance at Maren. “If she’s good, we’re good.”
Zayn lets out a long, slow exhale. “It’s cool. I get it. Thanks.”
Neither of us moves.
Fuck it , I think.
I stick out my hand. He shakes it.
“Truce.”
“ ?a roule. ” I nod, sit back down.
Things kick back into gear, more or less. I notice the kid staring all wide-eyed at Zayn, like he’s impressed or something, but the second I meet his gaze, he looks away fast.
Huh.
Zayn catches the look too but doesn’t say anything. Just grabs a beer from the cooler and moves off.
I lean back in the chair, beer resting on my thigh, and finally let myself relax.
Sort of.
“Truce,” I mutter under my breath.
Guess that’s what this is.
DINNER’S CASUAL, WHICH suits me. Tuck made some kind of skillet thing with sausage and beans that smells better than it looks, and there’s a bowl of cornbread on the table that’s already half-gone. We’re scattered around the living room with plates on laps and drinks within reach.
I’m on the arm of the couch, one boot resting on the coffee table, plate balanced on my knee. Maren’s curled in the wingback beside me, wearing one of Rob’s old shirts knotted at the waist. She tears off a corner of cornbread and pops it in her mouth, licking honey from her thumb.
It’s not distracting. I’m just observant.
I also observe Zayn, because truce or no, I’m not letting him out of my sight. He’s leaning in the doorframe, beer in hand, going on and on about the state of things in and around town.
“...really the storm did you a big favor,” he’s saying. “Washed out most of the inroads, and public works is just as broke as the sheriff’s office. Cleanup’s gonna be real damn slow.”
“So what—you’re saying we’re safe?” Rob says from his spot by the window.
“Safe-ish,” Zayn says. “Only your real all-terrain badasses gonna bushwhack their way out here to try and cap you.”
“That’s...reassuring.”
Maren chuckles, eyes flicking to mine as she wipes a crumb from her lip. I let the corner of my mouth twitch up, just a little. She sees it. Looks pleased.
“Here.” Scarlet comes back from wherever he went and motions for Zayn, who straightens up.
“For you,” Will says, lifting a nondescript, bargain-bin cell phone. “One of our burners. Preprogrammed with a bunch of burner numbers of ours, and vice versa. We’ll only call you if we have to, but—”
So that’ll be never for me, I think. Zayn just nods. “Cool. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Will gives him a Boy Scout salute and sinks into one of the oversized armchairs.
Tuck looks up. “You still have access to the backend of things? Or did they cut you off entirely?”
“Nah, it’s all there, so much as it’s useful,” Zayn replies. “I figure the sheriff’s not worried about anyone logging in to check dispatch records or whatever unless they’re being paid. But yeah, I can still see it.”
Will tips his head. “What’s going on with Wheatley, by the way? You seen him since Guy’s little firework finale?”
I lean forward a little. That, I’m actually interested in.
Zayn’s face goes serious. “Laying low, pretty much. Letting the murder-suicide story play out.”
Tuck frowns. “People actually believe that?”
“Easier to swallow than shapeshifters,” I mutter. Tuck considers, then nods in agreement.
“It does kinda fit, the way they’re telling it,” Zayn goes on. “The brilliant legal mind, pushed too far. Missing fiancée, then some mommy issues? Adds up.”
Maren swallows a bite, then mutters, “Sure does. That lady was...weird.”
Her ankle nudges against mine as she shifts in her seat.
Deliberate.
I glance over, but she’s avoiding my eyes.
On purpose.
Oh, it’s like that, is it? I think. Two can play at that game.
I take a bite of cornbread and let the silence stretch.
Zayn clears his throat. “Anyway. I think the sheriff’s mostly spooked because he’s up this year.
“Up?” Tuck asks.
“Reelection,” Rob answers. “So what? He’s never lost before.”
“Is anyone even running against him?” Will asks.
“Nah.” Zayn shakes his head. “But that’s kinda the thing. With Guy off the ballot, there’s no real reason for people to turn out anymore unless they want to vote against someone. And sheriff’s race is so small it’d be easy to knock him out as a write-in. Only take like, two neighborhoods worth of people.”
Tuck points his fork at him, all lit up. “ You should run.”
“Serious?” Zayn barks a laugh. “Politics? Thanks, but no thanks.”
Finally, the man says something I agree with. I tip my beer in a toast.
“According to Plato, the best man to be king is the man who least wants to be king,” Will says, swirling his own bottle thoughtfully. “Or something like that. Been a while since I read it.”
“Best king is no fucking king,” I mutter.
Zayn purses his lips. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind the pay bump. Or getting to crack some skulls in the department. Did Plato say anything about petty embezzlement? ‘Cause if so...”
Maren laughs, low and bright. I glance at her again and she catches me, smiling like she knows exactly what she’s doing without actually looking my way. She licks a drop of honey off her thumb.
Yeah. She knows.
The bear in me is wide awake again.
“Point is.” Zayn picks up his drink again and glances toward Rob. “He’s looking for a PR win. And I guess he figures that’s your head on damn platter.”
Rob doesn’t answer right away. But I can see his jaw working, his mind turning. Wheels already in motion.
Maren turns her head, eyes flicking from Rob to Zayn to me—for a half fucking second.
And then she looks away.
I give her a slow, deliberate once-over, from her bare feet to her long legs to the little peek of her low back and that fiery waterfall of hair.
And I swear to God, she smiles like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
I stand up abruptly. “Trash,” I announce, and take plates from anyone who offers. Hands full, I stride off past the kitchen and right down to the back patio, dumping it all in the big bin—because I truly do not give a fuck about what’s recyclable or compostable—and when I turn around, my legs buckle under me.
“Fuck,” I grunt, and brace myself just in time to break my fall instead of break a front tooth. “What the shit—”
A whirlwind of red-gold hair and lightly freckled skin spins me to the ground.
“Gotcha.”
Maren scoops loose strands out of her face, grinning. One knee planted on either side of me. A mount—sloppy, but effective enough.
“When you least expect it,” she says. “That’s what I call leverage.”
She doesn’t weigh a ton, but the press of her on top of me has me locked in place all the same. I flex my fingers, clamp on hand on each bare thigh.
God, she’s soft.
“Did I win?” she prompts.
A chuckle escapes my throat. Because in two seconds—core tight, feet flat, trap her left arm and hook her foot—I’m the one on top, pinning her wrists down.
“No,” I say. “But I’ll concede.”
She gasps when I kiss her, like she’s been in pain, waiting for it, and all I can think is you have no fucking idea, Princess. The taste of her is so sweet and the feel of her just-damp body is so warm that it takes every ounce of my self-control not to come in my jeans like a fucking teenager. I fist up her hair, drag her into me.
The patio’s rough, scrapes against her legs, and I stop when she winces, but she pulls me back.
“It’ll heal,” she murmurs, eyes on mine. “I’m not made of glass, okay?”
By way of answer, I wrap a hand around her throat.
Her eyelashes flutter as I feel the skittering pace of her pulse against my fingers, the gentle wave of her swallow.
“You like that,” I say. Asking more than telling.
She nods, lip between her teeth. Just that makes my cock twitch, and I’m already uncomfortably hard. I flex my grip only barely tighter, and lean in so I’m right by her ear, my beard grazing her cheek. She smells like honeysuckle body wash and salt.
“You’re a good fighter, Princess,” I mutter in her ear. “But I need you to give up now.”
She nods, chin light against the crook of my thumb, and all at once I drop her from my grip as my other hand finds her shorts and rips them down her legs.
“Bend over.”
I pull back to see her looking at me, wanting but nervous, that perfect combination of vulnerable and bold that puts me right at my own edge.
“Bend over,” I repeat, teeth clenched. My hands are at my belt buckle, zipper, freeing myself.
“They’ll hear us,” she pants. Not an objection. More a warning.
I don’t answer. Just grab her shoulder, push her to the ground, and spin her so her back’s to me and I can wind my fingers deep into the silk of her hair. “Good,” I say, and pull.
I take her like an animal, because that’s what I am—that’s what she is, beautiful and wild and all pure fucking instinct as she grinds her hips against mine.
I want to fuck her until the day I die. Hell, I want to die fucking her.
My Princess.
A moan rips out of her her, and I know I’m not going to make it long.
“Come for me,” I mutter. “Now.”
She keens as she comes, a gorgeous fucking cry as her body pumps, rhythmic, around my cock, and it feels and sounds so primal she almost sends me with her. But I pull back, slow down. Teeth in her shoulder, fingertips rubbing her tits rosy and raw, just my slick tip inside her. And I’m almost, almost back in command of myself when I feel the brush of her touch at the base of my cock, her fingers feather-light where I’m grazing her entrance.
Then she moans again, and the last thread of my self-control snaps.
I roar into her, the force of my body slamming her almost flat to the ground and hot pulses firing so hard and fast I damn near pass out.
When the storm subsides and it’s quiet again, just a summer night and her sticky body clutched to mine, I draw back, panting.
Breathless.
And I don’t get out of breath easy.
She turns around, a little shaky, pushes hair behind her ear, and smiles.
“I. Win.”
I grunt a laugh. Grab her by the back of her neck and kiss her temple. “Beginner’s luck.”
But as soon as I say it, I kinda wish I hadn’t.
Because let’s hope fucking not.