Stefan: Le Beau Brothers: New Orleans Billionaire Wolf Shifters with plus sized BBW for mates (Le Beau Series Book 3) (10 page)

He reeled back as if slapped. “Unsafe? I’m wealthy and I’m told I’m handsome, but I’m a lover, not a threat.”

She nodded. “Exactly. And that’s why you’re a threat.”

His brows furrowed and arms crossed. “I’m going to need your unique brand of logic explained.”

“You’re a lover, as you say. A playboy. A man whore. A one night stand heartbreaker. Should I continue?”

A mischievous sparkle lit his eyes and made them somehow glow.

“So, you don’t like it when I do this?” He reached across, curled his palm behind her neck and tunneled his fingers into her hair. Slowly he leaned in and breathed warm air across her neck and kissed her behind the ear.

Breath caught in her throat while butterflies erupted in her stomach.

“N...n...no,” she stammered.

“And definitely not this,” he said, trailing warm kisses across her jaw to capture her lips.

“Yes. That’s ... bad.” It was a good thing she was already sitting. Her legs would have buckled.

“In that case, this is definitely out of the question.”

Thrusting his other hand into her hair, he kissed her forcefully, with all the pent up passion he’d held in for the past several days.

Her head was spinning and she was lost. Utterly lost.

As he loosened his grip, hers tightened. This was such a bad idea, but there was no controlling the needs and desires of her body anymore. She eased a hand around his neck, and her grip tightened as she took control of the kiss. She poured all her pain and frustration into it. Gasping, she pulled back and settled into her seat. That was a terrible idea.

              Stefan looked dazed, his mind foggy, with what she wasn’t sure. He blinked, and a second later his eyes seemed to clear.

“Wow!”

“Yes. We shouldn’t do that again,” she responded.

“No way! We should definitely do that more often, like all the time.”

“It was a mistake, a moment of weakness. Now, I need to get inside. Dale will be worried.”

              “No, you don’t. You can’t go back to freezing me out after that.”

“Pretend it never happened. I know I will. I came here with Dale, and I’m leaving with Dale,” she told him, opening the truck door.

She had been having a great time tonight before Stefan confused everything. She wanted the happy-go-lucky night back.

“El,” Stefan slammed the truck door, then took a step toward her, “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m sorry, Stefan. I’ll admit we have explosive chemistry, but that doesn’t a happy relationship make. Besides, in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never had a relationship. I don’t see that suddenly changing now. Just let it go. You’ll find a new woman to chase tomorrow.”

El spun on her heel and slipped through the bar door before he could stop her. He was left frustrated and baffled. Both he and his wolf were in a state of slathering hunger for their mate.

Goddess, please help me!

He’d watched her around the ranch hands and her grand-mère. Under that prickly exterior was a softhearted woman. Now he just needed to figure out how to get some of that sugar. Stefan smacked his forehead, why hadn’t he thought of it before? He had a mother and two sister-in-laws. Time to pump them for advice.

*****

The new moon had arrived. Anna was lighting candles while Emma busily prepared the dais.

The ritual was surprisingly easy. As the women knelt before the icon of Luperca, John laid face up on the dais.

Emma and Anna quietly prayed, requesting the wolf goddess to join them and grant John his wolf soul.

The limbs on the tree above them gently swayed in a breeze that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Her soft voice was heard before she shimmered into form.

“Rise, my beloved daughters, and await my new son at home.”

Anna glanced at Emma, alarm evident in her eyes.

“It’ll be fine,” Emma whispered encouragingly. “Come, he’ll join us shortly.”

Once they were alone, the goddess focused on John. “John James, what do you ask of me?”

“I ask for conversion. I ask for the gift of a wolf’s soul, and I ask to humbly join your family,” he recited.

“Close your eyes.”

Wind swirled around John and then suddenly stilled. Something filled his chest, creating a tightness that eased after a moment.

“You request is granted.”

One instant he was human and the next a dark-colored wolf lay on the dais.

“Your chosen father, Cade Le Beau, awaits you beyond those trees. Go, learn the way of my children.”

Truck Trouble

Three Days Later

It was already late evening when the emergency call came in from Mr. Chauvin. A calf was down with a high temperature and cough. The symptoms sounded like calf diphtheria. Very serious if left untreated. Two hours later, she was finally headed back to her warm, waiting bed.

El held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip of death as she tried to make it home. Her jaw tightened as another rise loomed in the darkness, illuminated only by her headlights. She’d need more speed to make it up this one. As gently as possible, she added pressure to the gas. Old Patricia was a finicky gal with a squishy gas pedal. Holding her breath, the truck began the ascent.

Near the crest, Patricia began to protest. Then, as if things weren’t bad enough, the front right tire blew, sending the back end into a swishing fishtail. El tried desperately to regain control of the old Chevy, but she knew she was losing the battle.

“Oh, shit!”

The drainage ditch that ran parallel to the road materialized from the darkness in the beams of Patricia’s headlights.

“Shit, shit, double shit!”

That ditch was calling her name. Loudly. And it wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Metal crunched, and the undercarriage screeched as if in pain. This wasn’t going to end well. Her beloved truck came to a sudden halt mere inches from the gator-infested ditch. Thank God she didn’t have airbags or she'd be sporting a broken nose right now. Talk about adding injury to insult. El wasn’t one of those people who fainted at the sight of blood, but gators–she really wasn’t fond of gators. Ever since witnessing her treasured puppy, Scamp, disappear into the jaws of death, at the tender age of six, she hadn’t been a fan.

With no dash lights to aid her search, she patted the seat for her cell phone. Nothing. It must have landed somewhere on the pitch-black floor.

Score!

She snatched the phone and tapped the screen. Nothing. She tapped the screen harder. Zero bars. Evidently beating the cell phone didn’t magically produce more signal bars
.

Great. Just great.

As she assessed her situation, she noticed aggressive eyes moving toward her truck through the water. Either she got out right now and scrambled to the road, or she was going to be trapped in the truck with no cell phone signal and no help in sight. She chose the road.

Hands on hips, El scowled at her stalled truck. “Well, hell, Patricia, what did you go and do that for?”

She grumbled at the truck she’d owned since she first got her driver's license. As if in answer, a loud roll of thunder cracked. It was a heck of a long walk back to the ranch, and lightning lit up the sky like the Fourth of July.

Chewing her lip, she considered her options.

Who am I kidding? There are no options.
Sighing in resignation, she started walking.

Ten minutes later, a half mile closer to home, and soaked from pouring rain, she heard a truck engine. Squinting, she saw headlights in the distance coming straight for her.

“Yes!” El watched as an early model Ford king cab truck slowed to a stop.

Slowly the window lowered and a man leaned toward her. “Hey, darling, I’m Joe. Is that your truck back a ways? Do you need a ride?”

She had two options–walk the three and a half miles home in the rain, or suck it up and accept the ride. Most people in the bayou were harmless and truly reached out to help each other. There was no reason to think this person was a crazed murderer. Right now, Joe seemed the lesser of two evils.

“I sure could use one, thank you. I’m El,” she answered gratefully.

“Hop in, El,” Joe patted the old bench-style seat. “I’ll get you home in a jiffy.”

The truck’s warmth instantly seeped into El’s chilled body as she slid onto the passenger seat. The warmth was welcomed, but that did little to silence the alarms that began blaring in her mind the moment the bare skin of her arm touched the back of the seat.

She didn’t remember the first time, but since she was a kid, when she touched things, she’d get strange visions. Snapshots of the last five times the item had been touched would play out like a slide show. She’d see exactly who had touched it and what had happened.

Her freaky gift blasted images through her mind. Women had been attacked in the exact seat she was now sitting. She was going to have to play this cool if she wanted to get out of this in one piece.

“There you go, nice and dry. So, how did you get into this pickle?”

“My truck was acting up and then a tire blew. Voila, in the ditch I went.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but I’m not sure Patricia is going to make it.”

Frowning, he pulled out his cell phone to dial 911. “Someone is still in the truck back there?”

“What?”

“Patricia, does she need an ambulance?”

“Patricia IS the truck.”

“Oh. Do you always refer to your truck as if it were a person?”

“Sure. Don’t you?”

“Not generally,” he said, laughing.

“With a restored classic like this, she deserves a name. You should give her one.”

As she glanced to Joe for a response, his grin broadened. But, the friendly emotion never touched his eyes or brightened the rest of his face. His brown stare was locked onto her, but remained dark. Cold. Menacing. That was when she knew she was in trouble.

“Damn, I’m dripping all over your seat. Do you have something I can sit on?” she asked as an excuse to examine the interior for possible weapons.

Taking a calming breath, El centered herself. Without giving her suspicions away, she took in her situation. There were no weapon options within reach and now that she looked closer–a shiver of fear rushed through her–the passenger’s door handle had been removed.

This was a rolling trap designed by a predator to abduct women. Well, Joe was in for a very rude awakening. El was no victim. She was a black belt and a trained kick boxer. Dumb ass picked the wrong woman tonight.

Casually, she snuck a glance. He continued to stare at her, only now his eyes held cruelty–no, not cruelty. Evil. Raw, smoldering, evil.

There was little room to maneuver for kicks or punches. This would take precise movements and timing to work. As El planned her attack, Joe put the truck in drive and headed up the road. At least she would be closer to home once she escaped this horror-fest.

A half mile short of her driveway, Joe turned onto a deserted road.

This is it.

Using slow, smooth movements, El prepared to escape. She quietly unbuckled her seatbelt but held it in place with her arm.

“Damn, Joe!” she exclaimed when the truck hit a large water-filled hole. “This isn’t a road, it’s more like a path with tire tracks. Where are you going?”

Joe didn’t respond. He didn’t even acknowledge she’d spoken. Apparently silence was part of his terror tactics.

The truck bounced along the path, splashing through murky puddles for a short distance. Without looking in her direction, he put the truck in park and cut the engine. A snick told her he had unbuckled his seat belt.

Expecting a terrified, docile woman, he leaned toward her, glared into her eyes and yanked the front of her shirt, ripping it away to expose her barely concealed breasts. A wet, white cotton bra hid little, that’s for sure.

The speed of his attack momentarily shocked her.

That isn’t normal.

Now she worried that she might be dealing with a man high on drugs.

Joe licked his lips as his gaze heated with aggression and lust.

With his attention riveted to her Hanes Her Way®, El grabbed a fist full of Joe’s hair. As he cried out in pain, she yanked his head forward and introduced his nose to her elbow with a forearm strike. A sickening crunch and blood splatter verified she’d made a solid hit. Taking advantage of his temporary incapacitation, she hit him with a flurry of punches and jabs to his neck, head, and body.

She had to find a way out of the truck. Only two options presented themselves: scramble to the back seat where door handles still remained, or crawl over Joe and through the driver’s door. Both options held risks, terrible risks.

God, please let me survive this to see
Mémé
again.

The back seat seemed to hold the best odds of success. A quick glance at Joe told her he was still struggling to recover from her assault. El twisted and grabbed the back of the seat as she positioned her knees to propel her body over.

Only a second had passed and she was so centered on breaching the seat, she didn’t realize Joe was fully aware again. She barely saw the fist coming. Out of sheer reflex, she blocked the main force of the punch, but she was a fraction too slow. The blow glanced across her eye socket.

“Fuck!” El’s grasp slipped from the back of the seat and her hand instinctively went to her eye.

“Son of a bitch! What the hell is your damage? Can’t get it up without beating a woman first?”

Gathering a hurricane of strength fueled by rage, she smashed his face into the steering wheel.

“Fucking bitch!”

Blinded by flowing blood, he struck wildly. Random jabs connected before El could press her back against the passenger door and use it for leverage. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as she kicked Joe repeatedly.

The heels of her cowboy boots added power to the punishing blows. His chin lifted and he offered the perfect opening. Her right heel connected hard with the soft underside of his chin. The sickening crack was loud in the confined space as Joe’s head snapped back and he slumped against the badly cracked driver’s window.

Adrenaline fueled her movements. This was her chance. She grabbed the steering wheel for support and swung her legs under her. With no other option, she pressed her left palm into his chest for balance and pushed the door open with her right. A blast of wind and rain heralded her freedom.

Instinct had her lunging for the gaping hole. With zero consideration for her captor, El gripped the steering wheel hard, smashed her palm into his face, and heaved her body through the door. The pointed toe of her boot found purchase in his fleshy groin and drove her forward.

“All the better,” she snarled, twisting the point deeper.

As she leapt for the sodden ground, Joe latched onto her ankle. The leap became a tumble, causing her to crack her head on the running board and land in a nasty-smelling puddle of rank swamp water. The overpowering stench of the rotting vegetation acted like smelling salts and kept El from losing consciousness.

Shaking off the fog forming in her mind, she scuttled away from the truck. She needed room to stand and fight. At this point she was operating more on instinct and training than anything.

With feet planted, she was ready. Joe roared as he bore down on her. Instead of running, she held her ground, measuring the distance to her target with her eyes. When he was in position, she struck with a front kick to his gut.

Shock flashed across his face as he staggered back. The kick stopped him but had little effect other than to piss him off. Roaring again, he lowered his head and charged like a battering ram.

The moment before he made contact, El slammed her knee into his crotch, putting everything she had into the impact. Joe knocked her to the ground with his sheer forward momentum but lay writhing feet away. Before he could recover, El swung her leg high and drop kicked her heel into his temple. Joe would not be getting up again anytime soon.

Exhausted, El walked and jogged the half mile home. The rush of adrenaline from the fight had worn off allowing the pain from her injuries to surface. Initially, she hadn’t felt the screaming pain, which now throbbed in her forearm. She prayed it wasn’t broken.

The further she got from that bastard the better. She wanted to call 911 before he came to. The piece of shit needed to be removed from society before he tried his tricks on another woman.

As her house came into view she saw light pouring from the front windows. Stefan’s truck was illuminated in the glow.

What’s he doing back?

Stefan had gone home well before El took the calf call. As she trudged closer, she saw his shadowed form pacing in the living room, then stop dead center in the picture window. Seconds later the front door slammed open with an echoing crash as Stefan shot from the house.

“Thank goddess! Where have you been?”

El cried out in pain when he wrapped her in a tight embrace and he instantly released her.

“You’re injured. Where? How bad?”

With only the glow from the house, it was too dark to see the extent of her injuries, but he smelled fresh blood. Growls erupted from his snarling lips.

“Who attacked you?” He roared, pulling her blouse together as best he could.

El stepped back, horrified. Stefan looked like a rabid dog ready to bite.

He was so intent on assessing her injuries he didn’t see her reaction.

“Inside, I need more light,” he growled.