He went through a vicious series of moves and ended a foot from her, breath calm, eyes furious. “Drew has a big fucking mouth.”
“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” She grinned, but there was worry in those magnificent eyes she’d turned from a scar to a badge of courage. “Riley, is this … I …”
Scowling, he closed the distance between them to cup her cheek. “It’s not about you.” Her hurt haunted him, but he wasn’t going to put that weight on her back. That was his cross to bear. “I’m not sleeping because I want sex.”
Her mouth dropped open. Then she went bright red. “Too. Much. Information!”
Satisfied at having distracted her from the past, he raised an eyebrow. “You did ask.”
“Argh.” She rubbed at her temples. “Am trying to erase image from mind.”
His temper lessened at her theatrics. “What, you think I’m a monk?”
“Might as well have been,” she said with a shrug. “You haven’t been with anyone for months.”
“And that’s not too much information?”
“That’s looking after my brother.” She poked him in the chest. “And if you’re—you know—why don’t you go and do something about it?”
He stroked a hand down her hair, reassuring himself for the millionth time that she was still alive, still breathing. God, he felt for Dorian. The other man’s sister hadn’t come back. That heartbreaking truth was why Riley had allowed Dorian to strike the killing blow when they’d hunted down the monster who’d stolen so much innocence. “You think it’s that easy?”
“You’ve got confidence leaking out your pores.”
“The bigger the ego,” he muttered, repeating something Mercy had said to him, “the louder they pop.”
Brenna laughed. “You never had an ego problem, Riley. You had a responsibility problem. You didn’t even go away to roam—you were always there for me and Drew.”
“You were more important. And Pack centers me.”
“Maybe now’s your time to roam?” She grinned at him. “With a certain redhead.”
“Out,” he said, pushing her to the door. “There are some things little sisters don’t need to know.”
He shut the door on her grinning face, but as he went back to his routine, his mind circled back to the problem that had driven him here in the first place—the gulf that would always separate him from Mercy. His wolf was blood-loyal to the pack, to his people. Her leopard felt the same about Dark-River.
He knew all that.
And still he wanted her with a fury that made him snarl at the idea of any other male laying a hand on her.
The men and
women tapped for the second San Francisco operation were loyal, had reasons to be loyal.
“A Psy killed my family,” one man said to his workmate, “but the Council covered it up, said there was no violence among their race. They made it seem like my father killed my mother.”
“Fucking bullshit,” his teammate muttered. “They’ve got those Jax junkies, strung out on the streets. That’s violence—they’re killing themselves every time they mainline that stuff.”
“I never thought about it that way,” the first man said, “but you’re right.” A pause. “Why did you sign up?”
“I’m sick to death of being at the bottom of the food chain.” A shrug. “Maybe we succeed, maybe we fail, but no one will ever dismiss us again.”
“DarkRiver and SnowDancer know we’re here,” his partner replied. “I almost got caught today.”
“We lost a bunch of supplies, too—no one can get near the pickup point.” A word that turned the air blue. “People are making mistakes. We do that, we might as well give it up.”
“You really think we can pull this off in wolf and leopard territory?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “They’re searching for a needle in a haystack.”
“Where do I put the wire?”
“Here.” The explosives expert completed the low-tech but stable bomb and handed it off to the third man. “You know what to do?”
The man nodded. “I’ll make sure no one sees me.”
“Hey,” the first man said. “Why are you here?”
For a minute, the other man was silent. Then he said, “One of them wanted something I knew. I wouldn’t give it to him. So he tore into my mind and took it.”
The word wasn’t used, but they all knew it—rape. The Psy had been getting away with it for far too long. Now they would pay. And if this attempt failed, the Alliance would rise again. And again. And again.
Because the Psy wouldn’t stop until they were forced to.
Mercy was not
amused to come home after a night shift in the city to find breakfast waiting for her. “Out,” she said to both the males on her porch. “And I’m not messing today.”
Eduardo raised his hands in surrender. “I’m heading home. This is good-bye.”
“Thank God for small mercies,” she said. “And you?”
Joaquin gave her an enigmatic smile. “Still no scent.”
“Suit yourself.” Grabbing a muffin, she walked into the cabin and shut the door. She heard Eduardo laugh and Joaquin curse, but she really wasn’t in the mood. Eating quickly, she showered and got ready to catch some shut-eye. When she looked out the window, it was to find the men gone, though they’d left the food behind in a thermal container. Reluctantly impressed by their refusal to give in, she stored the food in her kitchen, then crashed, planning to be up by one in the afternoon.
If she’d known what was going on in the woods not far from her house, her sleep might not have been as smooth.
* * *
Riley had come
down to talk to Mercy and found Eduardo and Joaquin. This time, he wasn’t in a walking-away frame of mind. Stepping out behind the men as they left Mercy’s cabin, he waited for them to turn.
They did, faces predator-sharp. These two were sentinels, strong and well trained. But they didn’t have violent possessiveness running through their veins. “I thought she told you to get lost.”
It was Eduardo who answered. “Leopard females that dominant don’t take well to males who do exactly what they say. But you wouldn’t know that,
wolf
.”
“I know her far better than either of you ever will.” He watched their eyes, waiting for an aggressive move.
“She doesn’t carry your mark in her skin,” Joaquin said, and it was obvious from his tone that he wasn’t ready to leave the field.
“And I bet she hasn’t let you lay a hand on her.” Her knew Mercy. She was easy with skin privileges in the pack, but she zealously guarded her privacy outside it.
Joaquin smiled. “Her skin is soft, creamy.”
It was a taunt meant to make Riley’s wolf see red and it succeeded, but he was also a lieutenant honed in fire. He narrowed his eyes. “Me and you. Eduardo stays out of it.”
“Done.” Joaquin’s claws slid out. “I win, you walk away.”
“Never going to happen.” He released his own claws, slicing them through skin with the thoughtless ease of someone who’d grown up semishifting.
“Hold it,” Eduardo said, scowling. “What the fuck are you doing, Joaquin? We didn’t come here to mess up DarkRiver’s pact with the wolves.”
Riley waved him off. “I give you my word this won’t impact things politically.”
Eduardo raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Then go for it. I can’t wait to see how you explain this to Mercy.”
Riley was no longer thinking. Joaquin had moved a bare
fraction of an inch, but Riley knew it was in preparation for a strike. He was proven right an instant later as the South American sentinel came at him in a rage of claws and speed. Joaquin was good, Riley thought, moving out of the way even as he used his own claws to shred the other man’s sides.
There was no blood, though Joaquin’s shirt was in tatters. The sentinel had twisted away in a fluid move no wolf would ever make. But a wolf could utilize that fluidity against his prey. He went as if to strike, Joaquin shifted left … and Riley struck up with his free hand.
“Fuck.” Joaquin hissed out a breath as his blood scented the air. “Lucky hit.”
Riley didn’t speak, watching. But he wasn’t quite fast enough to evade the kick that almost dislocated his shoulder. Moving with the kick, he grabbed Joaquin’s foot and twisted. Bones would’ve snapped in a human. But they weren’t human. The other man landed on his feet, but his balance was slightly off. Riley had damaged something.
Not allowing his opponent to regain control, he attacked, his driving possessiveness giving him an edge even Joaquin’s feline grace couldn’t counteract. Slamming his claws to within a breath of the leopard’s throat, he gritted out the words, “Be on the next plane out of here or I won’t stop next time.”
Joaquin’s aggression was a golden glow in his eyes. “You’re faster than you look.”
Taking that as acceptance, Riley drew back.
Joaquin straightened, wiping blood off his lips. “Good luck.” He held out a hand.
Unsurprised, Riley shook it. Changelings stuck to their word—it was part of the code of honor that kept peace among their kind. “Make sure your alpha doesn’t send replacements.”
Joaquin rubbed his jaw. “That, I can’t promise. Isabella is a law unto herself.”
“Then tell her that anyone else she sends up,” Riley said quietly, “I’ll be sending back minus body parts.”
Eduardo grinned. “That, she’ll understand. You sure you want to mess with Isabella?”
“If she’s Mercy’s grandmother, I’ll have to deal with her
eventually.” He nodded once as the two men headed off. Part of him wanted to follow to make sure they truly were leaving, but the other part wanted desperately to see Mercy, to drive his scent into her skin so no other male would dare what Joaquin had. The field
was not
clear.
Trusting the honor of the two sentinels, he walked left, to Mercy. He was on her doorstep when he realized he was bruised and bloody. One look and she’d know exactly what he’d been doing. He didn’t care. Raising a fist, he knocked.
The door was pulled open a few moments later by a sleepy-eyed cat dressed in an old T-shirt. Those eyes widened when she saw him, but he kissed her before she could say a word, clasping the back of her head to keep her in place as he fed his need for her. He was expecting to feel her claws any instant, but it was her hands he felt, under the torn fabric of his T-shirt. Shuddering when she flattened her hands on his back, he deepened the kiss until it was a melding of mouths, raw and hot and honest.
That was when her claws pricked him, hard enough that he knew he’d have bruises. Breaking the kiss, he looked down into eyes gone leopard in anger, though her lips were soft, full, so tempting.
“Riley Kincaid, you have Joaquin’s blood on you.” Her nostrils flared. “Dead or alive?”
“Alive.” He winced as her claws dug deeper.
“I told you to stay away from them.”
“I’m not a pet dog,” he growled, closing his hand around her throat. “Don’t try and leash me, kitty cat.”
Those golden cat eyes shimmered with the sharp bite of feminine anger. “Get your hand off my neck.”
Leaning in close, he breathed his next words against her lips. “Make me.”
A taut moment, as they stared at each other, both furious, both unable to walk away. He waited to feel real pain—predatory changeling females could do serious damage when riled, and he’d made her plenty angry—but he didn’t care. Right now, this moment, it was pure ambrosia.
Mercy’s lashes lowered, and when they came back up, he
saw the cat prowling behind the irises. “You’re insane, Kincaid.” She bit his lower lip hard enough to make her point. Then, withdrawing her claws, she raised a hand to her throat and pulled at his pinkie. “I’ll break this if you don’t get your hand off me.”
He knew instinctively that he’d pushed her far enough.
“Good choice,” she said as he released her. “Now come in and maybe I’ll patch you up.”
Realizing he’d somehow skirted the icy blade of her anger, he walked in. She padded away into the bathroom and he followed, pulling off his T-shirt as he entered. She stared at the claw marks on his chest, the cuts on his side, his face. “You don’t need stitches.” Putting her hands on his arm, she tugged. “Turn.”
He decided to obey because it felt so good to have her touch him.
“Hmm. No stitches necessary here, either, though you’ll have some enormous bruises. Most of it will heal within the next couple of days.”
“Do you have anything for the bruises?” Stiff muscles could be dangerous, slowing reaction time when it mattered most.
Coming to face him again, she said, “Maybe. Shower off the blood and find me. I might be in a good mood. I might not.”
He blocked her exit from the bathroom, very aware of the sleek nakedness of her body beneath that old T-shirt. “Stay.” God, he was starved for her touch. Just that, just touch.
She looked at him out of eyes that continued to hold a golden edge. “Shower and I’ll let you sleep with me. I did a night shift.”
He moved immediately out of the way. “Why didn’t you say so? I wouldn’t have kept you from bed.” He scowled, the protectiveness he felt toward her trumping everything else. “I’ll be out in five.”
He was as good as his word, rubbing his hair dry as he walked naked into Mercy’s bedroom. She was curled up, half-asleep below the sheets, but waved him over. “Bruise cream.”
“I’ll put it on.”
“Shuddup and lie still.”
Throwing aside the towel, he lay down on top of the sheet. Her fingers felt like perfection on his flesh, feminine and strong and uniquely Mercy. When she’d put the cream over all the bruises, she yawned and got up to wash her hands before crawling back into bed. He was waiting for her beneath the sheets, and to his surprise, she didn’t say a word as he spooned his body around hers, their lower limbs tangling, his hand flat on the warm skin of her abdomen.
“Take off the T-shirt,” he murmured against her ear.
“Pushy.” But she gave him what he wanted, surprising him once again.
Mercy, he thought, was an intrinsically generous woman. He’d known that, but today, he saw another facet to that part of her nature. She was angry with him for fighting with Joaquin, but even so, she was giving him what he needed. She could’ve made him beg—he was so starved for her, he might just have done it. Instead, she’d allowed him into her bed, allowed him the most intimate of skin privileges.