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  “Don’t look at me like that.” He pressed his palm against his forehead. He must have had one hell of headache.

  “I didn’t say anything,” she said defensively and opened the door for him.

  “You didn’t need to. I’m driving.”

  “The hell you are! Sit down. Shut up. And for the love of God, would you cover up?” she yelled and threw the blanket she kept behind her seat at him.

  When he grinned, she shook her head.

  Chapter Eight

  The headlights cut through the slant of rain. Drops pinged off the roof and created a boom of sound inside the cab. When he’d listened to the drops of beer falling off the table earlier that night, he should have taken it as an omen. The chill set in and the hairs on his arms rose. It wasn’t from the moisture clinging to his skin or from the temperature outside.

  Pain flared, tightened his skin where the wounds mended. His muscles twitched, pulsed and cramped tight. He was a lucky bastard. He’d never been so close to the grim, fiery gates of Hell.

  “Sam…”

  With her eyes glued to the road, he was free to study her profile. Her nose was small, her lashes long. She blinked every few seconds. Exhaling a soft breath, she sucked her lip into her mouth. Where the tears had leaked from her eyes, trails cut through the dirt smudging her cheeks.

  “Come on, Sam, we need to talk.” His tone was as gentle as he could make it.

  The road curved. Her knee dipped and she put pressure on the gas. As the faded-green county line sign whirled past the truck, the town disappeared. Trees lined either side of the road, and with every mile, the forest surrounding them became denser.

  She slanted her eyes in his direction for a moment before darting them back to the road. “You need rest.”

  Fresh tracks shimmered over her cheeks, dripped from her chin. Oh hell, she was crying.

  “Pull over,” he ordered.

  “What?” She laughed—it wasn’t the one he was fond of. “No.”

  He was really beginning to hate that word. “Damn it, Sam.” Reaching across the seat, he grabbed the wheel and jerked.

  Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. She let off the gas and slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded, sliding through the layer of water until it came to a stop on the side of the road. One more inch and they’d go headlights first into the muddy ditch.

  She whipped her head to the side. Anger made her cheeks red. There, that was the spark he remembered.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” she screamed. “Almost getting killed once tonight wasn’t enough?” The tears fell quicker.

  “If you’d listen to me for a goddamn second.” It was a rant—he knew it, but he was helpless to hold back. They were both running on nothing but emotion. The deep breath he took stung his lungs. “I know you’re scared but I swear, I’m going to be all right.”

  She made a rude sound in the back of her throat. “Classic! You have no idea what I’m thinking. I know you’ll be fine. You wouldn’t be such a pain in my ass if you weren’t going to make it.”

  “Then what’s up with you?” Women. There was a reason he avoided them.

  “Nothing.” She said it too quickly.

  The heavy beat of her heart thudded in his head. She gripped the steering wheel, and her knuckles turned white.

  “Nothing, my ass,” he mumbled, turning his head to the window. His cheek was swollen, eye turning black. The bruise would be gone by the morning.

  “We can’t do this,” she blurted.

  His jaw clenched, created an ache that shot up the side of his face. He was tired, sore and cranky. His head snapped in her direction. “Woman, I wish you’d stop telling me what I can and can’t do.”

  “This, us, it’s not going to work. You were right. You’d be at my side. The only place you want to be is on top. I didn’t realize it until I saw you out there tonight.” When she turned to look at him, tears dripped from her chin. Her voice took on a low, breathy tenor. “God, Trent, it was the most amazing and terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Was there some kind of a riddle he needed to solve?

  “So you’re afraid of me, then? I’d never hurt you. When the jaguar is free, instincts take over. I can’t change that. You saved my life. I saw the look in your eyes when you pulled the trigger that second time. You were scared shitless, yet you still did it. Without a shadow of a doubt, you belong to me. I’ll be your familiar, in turn, you’ll be my mate—that shit won’t be easy but we’ll muddle through it.”

  She whipped her head to the side and wet locks slapped her cheeks. Her hands fell into her lap, her mouth dropped open. “You’re saying that only because I saved your life. I won’t create this bond out of obligation. I don’t need magic. I’ve accepted that. I’ve got friends, the bar and ’Miah. You’ve got your job.”

  “So that’s what’s wrong with you? You think I feel duty bound? Sam, I care about you.”

  In that clichéd second before he bought the farm, so to speak, the only thing he could think of was Sam. Of making her his. Of what a jackass he was. Now he’d been given a second chance.

  Jeremiah had appeared like a hallucination of yellow sunshine. As Trent lay there fighting death, he’d thought it was a figment of his twisted imagination. A shot had rent out. The smell had stung his nose. The wolf at his throat had released, snarling. It had found a new target. Sam. She’d saved his ass. As she’d backed up, her brown eyes wide, lower lip trembling, he’d felt her heart exploding with fear. The gun had wavered in her hand, too heavy for her frame. Another shot, another burst of acrid gunpowder. The wolf took it, kept on moving.

  He’d never been good around others. Kill, fight and fuck. He was one hell of a selfish bastard. He was top cat and everyone else was beneath him. As he’d laid on the ground, there had been one spark left inside him. Shifting would have saved his life. Forcing his body upright, he’d known he needed to throw every ounce of strength he had left to protect his mate—to save her life.

  When he rose from the ground and pushed forward, there’d never been a choice. Without her, he was nothing.

  Grasping the bundle of keys hanging from her ignition, she cranked. The motor roared to life—tires squealed. The truck bounced over the grass until it smoothed under the pavement. She sped through the rain, pressing the pedal all the way down.

  “Forget it. I’m not going through with it. Right now, you don’t know what you want. I saw the look in your eyes when I told you that you were my familiar. That doesn’t go away because you’ve had a near-death experience.”

  The urge to smash his fist through the window surely wasn’t going to win him any points. Never in all his life had he met someone who frustrated him the way she did.

  “Damn it, woman, stop being so stubborn! I know exactly what I want. It’s you who’s having the issue. Sure, I was scared, still am. But I’m more terrified of losing you. So what if it took me almost dying to realize that? There might not be another chance. We’ll grow into each other. I’ll be what you need.”

  The truck veered off the highway, onto the long stretch of bumpy road his property was set on. She took the driveway at forty miles per hour, making his teeth rattle. He waited, stomach starting to knot with a sick feeling. She’d been silent too long.

  A moment later, the modest, one-story cabin he and his brother had lived in all their lives came into view. A lake formed around the back of the house and surrounded the property like a peninsula. The surface was normally calm. Tonight, it rippled from the rain. Sam pulled to a stop, killed the engine but didn’t move. Over her breathing, the only thing he heard was the rain pelting the roof.

  He dropped the blanket he clutched around his shoulders. The wool pooled around his waist, scratchy and abrasive on his skin. Trent reached across the seat and cupped the side of her face that was pointed to her window. He turned her head, slid near, and closed the distance between them. He moved his finger along her face, cradling her cheek and the back of her
neck.

  When he ran his tongue across her lower lip, the taste of her tears broke his heart. Capturing her mouth, he pushed his need for her into their kiss. Desperate. He held her tight. Wet, tangling strands of hair covered his fingers. Every ounce of love and frustration he had, he poured into that moment. She responded, curved into him, her hands trailing over his chest, over the fresh scars.

  She moaned into him. His stomach coiled, muscles jumping. Their heads turned, pressed together in a new angle that made his brain shut off. He dropped his hands from her face and cupped her shoulders before sliding around her back. Despite his injuries, his cock grew stiff against her thigh. At least something worked. She froze against him and straightened until her palms were flat against his shoulders. She pushed, used all her strength to separate them.

  “I’m sorry,” she sputtered through a new burst of tears. “I never meant to lead you on.”

  He was angry. For once, this wasn’t about sex. “You think I want to fuck? Give me an ounce of credit. I just got my ass kicked.”

  “Go get some rest.” She never bothered to answer his question. That pissed him off the most.

  He closed his eyes, fought the instinct to reach for her dashboard and rip it from the console. His fingers twitched. He was too exhausted to do more than growl and push the door open. As he jumped from the truck and slammed the door shut behind him, rain stung his skin. He saw her jump and, as the sobs started to hiccup her chest, her shoulders buckled. It was all too much too soon. She needed time. On Samhain he’d be there. He’d show her that his feelings for her weren’t an obligation. He was done being a coward.

  The truck roared to life, tires spinning in mud. She lurched forward and sped off. He watched, standing naked in the cold, unforgiving rain until the red glow of taillights disappeared. Finding his legs, he trudged to the house. He went from the first step to the fourth in one stride, his feet sliding over the wet porch.

  Water dripped down his back, between his ass cheeks, before falling into a puddle that gathered around him. “Goddamn women,” he muttered and paused to wipe his feet on the thick straw welcome mat.

  He stared at the locked door. Cursed. Stepping back, he bent and retrieved the spare key from under the mat before unlocking and opening the door. A rush of scents hit him—wood, the lingering odor of liquor and stale food. Any other night, it would have been a comfort. Tonight, it felt lonely. Through the darkness, he made out the stacks of takeout cartons and empty beer bottles littering the coffee table. He didn’t even bother turning on the light. From memory alone, he navigated around the large, oversized couch to the kitchen.

  He bypassed the fridge and went straight for the cabinet. He dug around until his fingers stroked the square bottle of Jack. A quick twist and the cap pinged to the ground somewhere behind him. He wrapped his lips around the spout and let the thick, sweet whiskey whet his palate, easing the chill in his stomach.

  Bottle in hand, he walked out of the kitchen and down the hall. With every step the liquor splashed against the sides of the bottle, reminding him of Sam.

  The first waves of fatigue hit him and his eyes fluttered closed. Taking another swig and swallowing, he looked down. A mixture of mud and blood painted his stomach and thighs. Lines of pink, puffy scars drew along his side and created a deep ache he felt each time he drew in a breath. He’d been taken tonight.

  He fumbled with the switch. Bright, yellow light filled the bathroom. It made his eyes water. Setting the whiskey on the side of the bath, he bent and twisted the faucet. Hot water poured from the spout, and he crawled inside the tub. A hot bath always helped heal him faster. When he reached for the liquor, the muscle in his arm spasmed then jerked.

  “Shit,” he mumbled, trying to catch the bottle of shampoo he’d knocked into the water.

  It was too late. Before he was able to fish it out, the soap had already done its damage. Bubbles multiplied into a moving, pulsing layer of foam. It spread out, tickling the hair on his legs. If it weren’t bad enough that he was Sam’s beck-and-call boy, he was now taking a bubble bath. It really wasn’t his night. He leaned back, neck cradled on the lip of the tub, and stared at the ceiling. He was too tall for the bath and had to hang one leg over the porcelain side. Warmth lapped at his skin and he settled into it.

  When he was completely immersed in water, he used his big toe to nudge the dial closed. He cradled the bottle to his chest and let out a breath. His eyes fluttered. As the numbness took over, his eyes snapped open at the sound of the front door slamming shut. Jeremiah. He’d know his brother’s scent anywhere. Damn. He must have fallen asleep.

  His brother came to the bathroom, and his footsteps faltered. Trent could tell there was some hesitation before ’Miah peeked around the door. Eyes crossing in confusion, Jeremiah walked into the bathroom and folded his arms over his chest. His gaze scanned the tub, the leg hanging over the rim and then the foam layer of bubbles.

  “What’s next? Scented candles and a Celine Dion CD playing in the background?” Jeremiah said it with a perfectly straight face.

  “Fuck you,” Trent growled.

  Ignoring him, Jeremiah pressed on. “Where’s Sam?”

  Trent let out a short sound that resembled laughter. It took an insane amount of effort to bring the bottle to his lips. It was worth it. His head buzzed, the pull of the liquor taking over. He was far from drunk, but he sure as hell was going to sleep like a rock.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” He waved his brother away with the bottle before cradling it against his chest.

  “You never want to talk about it. And damn, dude, move the suds. The submarine is surfacing.”

  Trent didn’t even look down. The only muscles he moved were the ones it took to shrug.

  “What the hell is going on between you two? No more bullshit.” His baby brother was starting to grow a backbone.

  Rolling his head to the side, Trent glared at his brother. It was hard to be intimidating while in a bubble bath with your dick floating above the water.

  “I’m not scared of you.” Jeremiah’s arms over his chest tensed. “Spill.”

  “I’m a witch’s bitch.”

  “That’s not how she explained it to me,” Jeremiah said.

  “No,” Trent took another drink, “you were too preoccupied with the chance to fuck her.”

  Jeremiah lifted an eyebrow.

  Trent kept talking. “Strangest part is, despite the crap Dad went on and on about over the years, I think I’m okay with that. I think…I love her, ’Miah. If I don’t do this, I’m going to lose her. Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but eventually she’ll resent me for screwing up her life. So, I tell her I want to go through with it. What does she do?” He was on a roll now.

  “She changed her mind?” Jeremiah guessed.

  Nodding, he took a long swig. It helped numb everything except the pain in his chest. “She told me no, that I didn’t know what I wanted.” He unfolded his arm and offered the bottle to his brother. Jeremiah looked at it, shrugged, then took a drink. His brother slid down the wall, closed his eyes. Dirt smudged his face—scratches marred his neck and chest.

  Then it hit Trent. He was sitting naked, in a bubble bath, with his brother in the same room, pining over a woman. Fuck. He was in love. He stood. Water ran down his chest and legs, taking the trailing remnants of bubbles with it. Jeremiah blinked, his eyes opening, then he groaned and shut them. No matter how comfortable shifters were in the nude, there was something different about seeing your brother naked up close and personal.

  “You’re turning me into a girl,” Trent grumbled, snatching a towel from the rack and pulling it around his waist. He walked over the length of legs in his way, shaking his head on the way to his bedroom.

  As he gripped the knob to his bedroom, his brother’s voice carried down the hall. “Remember, you were the one with the bubbles, not me.”

  “In the morning, I’m going to kick your ass,” he yelled back.

  “Right.”


  Collapsing face-first into the mess of sheets on his bed, he closed his eyes. The world spun around him. The overhead fan swooshed, sent a chill over his wet skin. He shivered but was too tired to care.

  Chapter Nine

  Sam blinked her eyes open and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. She tried to figure out why in the hell she was awake. It felt as if she’d just fallen asleep. Darkness flooded the room, telling her she’d slept for much longer than she’d planned. It was officially evening. She groaned and clutched her blanket, drawing it over her head. If she could sleep for the rest of eternity, she’d be all right. Dreams were a heck of a lot better than reality. Had yesterday really happened?

  A wet, warming sensation tickled her toe.

  She jerked her leg and shot straight up in bed. The covers slid down her face, pooling around her waist. Static electricity hung in the air. Her hair, once neatly pulled back in a ponytail, was loose and sticking out everywhere. She gave the term “bed-head” an entirely new meaning.

  Had someone been licking her foot? Her heart jackhammered in her chest. She was almost afraid to look. When she glanced down, the breath she’d been holding released all the tension in her body. Samhain was tomorrow and already the veil was dissolving.

  Hovering on the edge of her bed was a furry puff of drooling canine. It was her childhood puppy, Gordon. Through the Pomeranian she could see the dresser behind him. And thank goodness, his drool didn’t create a pool on her covers like it had when he was alive.

  Eager, panting, the pup swiped his tongue against the sole of her foot where it peeked out from under the blanket. She hated when he did that.

  “Stop that,” she chastised with a frown.

  She swung her legs over the bed and sank her toes into the carpet. Bringing a hand through her hair, she refastened it in the rubber band she fished out from the nest of tangles. When she brought her head up, the eyes that appeared in front of her face made her heart stop. Screaming, she gripped her blanket and covered her bare shoulders. It had been hot and too humid from thunderstorms for her not to peel off her tank top in the middle of the night. The apparition in front of her grinned. Floppy blond hair, pale-blue eyes…it was an ex-boyfriend who’d disappeared a few years ago. So that was what had happened to him. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. What a way to wake up.