Marked (8 page)

Shit.

He kept his mouth shut, knowing his smartass remarks would
no longer be welcome. He watched as she walked across the room and left the building.
It wasn’t until the door closed that he released the breath he’d been holding.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

The pack already had enough going on without dealing with an
arranged mating. Jackson would hit the roof when he found out what Simone had
been up to. Her father—Ward Wilson—wasn’t the most easygoing werewolf in the
area, and everyone knew he worshipped his only child.

Shaking his head, he headed back down the hall. At least
there was one thing to look forward to. He was about to discover if his unexpected
guest did as she was told. He growled when he opened the door. Not only was she
not where he’d left her but the little hellion had given him the slip.

He didn’t bother looking out the opened window, rushing back
down the hall instead. He heard a car start followed by the sound of grinding
gravel. He ran across the sitting area and opened the door, knowing he was too
late.

Damn it.

She’d already pulled onto the road. With a grin, she punched
the gas and flipped him off. He wasn’t good at reading lips but her mouthed
“Fuck you” came out loud and clear. Surprisingly the offensive gestures didn’t
make him angry. Instead his cock rose, stiff against his zipper. His wolf
stirred inside him—not for the first time since he’d met the ballsy
female—brushing against the inside of his skin. The beast wanted to nip at her
flesh and mark her as its own. He wondered what it meant, confused by something
he couldn’t explain.

The woman was attractive and he’d love to spend time between
the sheets with her, but she was human. There hadn’t been dreamsharing. Since
she didn’t have a hint of wolf in her, there probably
wouldn’t
be. The
likelihood of finding his mate—a mate connected to Chloe of all people—was slim
to none.

Maybe it was something else, like the recent drought of sex
brought about by work, pack and other responsibilities. He hadn’t gotten laid
in months. That certainly didn’t help matters.

Still…

He stomped into the parlor and took a deep breath.

Honeysuckle and linen greeted him—Just Rachel’s alluring
scent calling to his beast. His wolf rumbled a throaty growl, wanting to track
the female down, bend her over his lap and bust her softly rounded ass. He’d
keep her hanging on the edge of climax between swats, teasing her clit, making
her regret her reckless behavior. Only when she begged for relief would he give
her what she wanted, sliding his cock into the haven of her cunt, taking her so
hard and fast her eyes would cross.

His dick pulsed, balls going taut. He could only imagine how
sweet she’d sound when she came, how husky her voice would become when she
asked for more.

Mate or not, he’d make it happen. It had been years since
he’d had this kind of interest in a female. Just Rachel had screwed herself
over coming for Chloe. When the dust settled he’d find out where the sultry
woman lived and pay her a visit—one she’d never forget.

Pissed off, sexually frustrated and at the end of his rope,
he locked the door, flipped the sign to closed and strode toward the back of
the building. It was time to start thinking with the proper head. Good thing
his Alpha had listened to his advice and left home. That gave him a window of
opportunity to make some calls. His visit to the diner had been a bust. If he
wanted to get answers, he had to start digging for information.

He took a seat at the desk, flipped through the Rolodex and
picked a place to start. As the phone rang in his ear, he settled back in the
chair and raked his fingers through his hair.

Sometimes being the Beta of a prominent pack blew balls.

Chapter Five

“Maybe you should stay here.” Chloe didn’t look at Jackson
as she spoke, staring up the drive. She’d had Jackson stop a safe distance from
home, wanting to make sure she was calm enough to face the firing squad she
knew was waiting for her. “The house isn’t far. I can walk the rest of the
way.”

“No,” he said, sounding calm and confident.

She pulled her focus away from the graveled road, meeting
his level stare. It shouldn’t be possible for a man to look so good, his mere
presence making her body throb in all kinds of wicked places.

“They’ll be upset. You shouldn’t expect a warm welcome.”

His fingers brushed her chin and angled her head. He leaned
close and nuzzled her nose, his breath warm against her face. “It doesn’t
matter. In case you haven’t realized it yet, I’m not here for them. I’m here
for you.”

She swayed, knocked off balance once again by how sincere he
sounded, by how he looked at her as though nothing else existed in the world.
Since breakfast he’d been nothing but a gentleman, opening her doors, touching
her in innocent ways that made her restless. The only time he’d been firm was
when she’d asked to call a cab. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t going
anywhere and she’d better get used to it.

Why in the world did that make her feel so giddy?

Spending time alone with man she hardly knew—despite feeling
close to him in a way she was trying to wrap her head around—went beyond
impulsive. When she thought about it, it seemed absolutely crazy.

How would he react if she decided she couldn’t pack her
things and leave with him for a weekend alone together?

“I don’t want to rush you but waiting isn’t going to change
anything,” he murmured, his deep baritone sending a tendril of heat from her
belly to her sex, his eyes shifting from brown to amber. “I’ve had to deal with
a lot as an Alpha. Trust me when I say things often seem like they’ll be worse
than they actually are.”

“An Alpha?” she whispered, alarmed for entirely different
reasons now.

They hadn’t had a chance to discuss aspects of their
personal lives, but she never imagined he had his own pack. She swallowed hard,
seeing him on an entirely different level. She’d known he was dangerous, she
just hadn’t appreciated how much power he truly had. She’d done enough research
on werewolves to know Alphas weren’t to be trifled with. They were known to be
aggressive, dominant and in total control.

“That’s right,” he replied softly, as though he could sense
her apprehension. “Once we finish here I want to take you somewhere private
where we can learn everything about each other.” He lowered his head and
feathered his lips over hers, moving from right to left, making her breath
catch. “I want to know you inside and out, Chloe girl.”

“Then I’ll start at the beginning,” she found herself
saying, unsure of where she was going with the conversation. “My mother had me
when she was my age. I never knew my father. For my grandparents, I’m all
that’s left of her. They taught me everything I know. They’re the only family I
have.”

He pulled away and peered down at her. “You make it sound
like I want to take you away from them.”

Her cheeks heated.
Damn.
She did make it sound like
that, didn’t she?

“Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t. You promised me the weekend. I’m only taking
what you’re willing to give me.” He paused and his lips lifted at the corners.
“For now, anyway.”

Butterflies erupted in the pit of her belly, something that
seemed to happen a lot around him. “You’ll have to make them believe that
before they’ll let me leave. If you don’t, Gramps
will
shoot you.”

She grimaced when she heard her grandfather’s voice in her
head, warning her potential suitors would be staring down the barrel of the gun
he kept behind the front door. She’d thought he was joking until she’d entered
high school and a study partner who happened to be of the male gender had
visited her house. Poor Casey Roberts had pissed his pants. Her grandfather had
puffed his chest out with pride as the young man had rushed to his car and
fled. And she’d been left standing on the porch embarrassed and horrified.

Suffice it to say she’d had to study Biology on her own
after that.

“Duly noted.” Jackson moved back to his seat and put the car
in gear. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

The heavy weight in her gut built, making her queasy as he
took the vehicle up the drive. Prior to the departure from Jackson’s home she’d
convinced herself she was a grown woman making her own decisions. She’d felt
good about it then—confident. She wasn’t a child anymore. Her grandparents, as
much as she loved them, had interfered in her life for too long. It was time to
take the reins and start living her life as she chose.

Sadly a thirty minute drive had managed to chip away at her
newfound sense of independence.

As she’d feared, the door opened when they pulled next to
the house. Out came Gramps, dressed in his usual jeans and work shirt, toting
the very shotgun she’d warned Jackson about. Despite the sixty-five years
behind him, her grandfather had aged well. His broad shoulders were as
intimidating as she’d always remembered, the stern look on his face daring
anyone to fuck with him.

The door opened again and her grandmother appeared. While
Fletcher Bryant put the fear of God into someone, his wife Abigail had the
exact opposite impact. Five years younger than her husband, she too had aged
gracefully. Her grandmother always had a welcoming smile on her face, her
temperament much more easygoing.

Despite the firearm, Jackson didn’t appear nervous. He put
the vehicle in park, killed the engine and reached for the handle to open the
door. Instinct had her reaching out to stop him, fear and concern crashing into
her. She jumped when she felt that strange part of her—a part of her from the
night before that she’d nearly forgotten about—rear its head. It wanted to
protect the man seated beside her, to warn those who would dare threaten him of
the wrath that would fall on their heads.

Jackson’s eyes changed colors, becoming intense and
luminous. He wrapped his fingers in the hair at her nape and gave the strands a
harsh, almost painful tug. A humming energy extended from him to her, wrapping
around her like a cocoon. The prickles of what seemed like electric current
were sharp, piercing her flesh.

“No you don’t,” he whispered, meeting her gaze. “Settle
down.
Now
.”

Abruptly the rage inside her vanished. She frowned,
perplexed.

What in the hell just happened?

“What was that?”

His fingers slid from her hair, the prickly sensation
vanished and he shook his head. “Something else we’ll have to discuss when
we’re alone.” He opened his door and slid from the seat. “Let’s go. Your
family’s waiting.”

Taking a deep breath, she opened her door before Jackson
made it around the car. After she’d climbed out and closed it behind her, she
turned to face her grandfather. As she’d anticipated, he was pissed. Anger
radiated from the aging man, his eyes narrowed, disproval and disappointment
evident in his face. Her shoulders slumped, guilt hitting like a fist to the
stomach. She hated it when Gramps was mad at her. She did everything in her
power to avoid upsetting him.

Jackson moved beside her and wrapped an arm around her
waist.

“Get away from him, Chloe Bean,” Gramps ordered, using the
nickname he’d given her as a child as he lifted the gun. “Walk yourself up here
and go inside.”

“
Fletcher
,” Grams whispered, standing behind her husband.
“Calm down.”

“Don’t, Abigail.” Gramps ignored the softly spoken plea,
glancing over until he met Chloe’s gaze. “His kind isn’t welcome here.”

Chloe felt the muscles in Jackson’s arm tense. She wanted to
chance a peek to see what he might be thinking but thought better of it. Before
she could figure out what to say Jackson gave her a gentle nudge toward the
house.

“Go inside,” he said gruffly.

“What?” She gasped, tearing her gaze away from her
grandfather and peering up at the man who had obviously lost his mind.

“You heard me.” He took a step forward, the hand at her
lower back ensuring she did the same. “Go inside.”

Jackson gave her another nudge, making her take another
couple of steps away from him. Grams quickly descended the stairs, taking it as
her cue to get involved. When Chloe was within reach the older woman took her
by the hand.

“Come inside, sweetheart. We’ll leave the men to sort out
their issues.”

“But…” She whipped her head around, looking at Jackson. He’d
folded his arms over his chest, his legs shoulder’s width apart. He didn’t look
at her, his gaze locked with her grandfather’s.

“Go pack your things. Your grandfather and I need to talk.”
For a second his eyes flicked to her. He gave her a comforting smile and
winked. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh yes, you are,” Gramps snapped, his voice laced with
hate. He pumped the shotgun, kicking things up a notch. “If you don’t want a
bullet in your hide you’ll get the hell off my property.”

“Oh dear,” Grams murmured.

A deep sound penetrated the air, carrying on the wind.
Immediately Grams was gone, leaving Chloe standing alone as she balled her
hands into fists.

It was then that she realized the noise—a horrible,
distorted growl—was coming from her.

Her vision changed, covering the world in a haze of red. She
lifted her head, staring across the distance at the man who’d raised her. He’d
kill Jackson if given the chance. He’d pull the trigger and put a bullet in the
body of the man who belonged to her. He’d try to take him away, force her back
inside a cage and make her exist without the one person she needed most.

Never.

Fury boiled over. The tips of her fingers burned, her gums
starting to itch. Blood pounded in her ears, a violence she never knew stirring
inside of her, clawing its way free.

“Put the gun down,” she snarled in a voice that wasn’t
entirely hers.

She shook at the possibility of an impending fight, her
vocal cords vibrating as she growled. When she saw her grandfather pale, his
hands trembling as he gawked at her, she felt a peppery hotness slam into her
nose.

Fear.
She could smell it, identify it, the scent so
strong she could almost
taste
it.

Delicious.

A firm hand wrapped around the back of her neck, followed by
Jackson’s authoritative reprimand, “You listen to me. Stop. Right now.”

This time the force inside of her fought the compulsion. She
started to snarl, prepared to yank away from his hold. Something she didn’t
recognize slammed into her, burning as liquid fire seemed to travel from
Jackson’s hand into her body. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her neck
and his voice changed, a low growl that commanded obedience.

“I said
stop
.”

Holy shit.

Jackson let his beast reach out, calling on his power as an
Alpha, forcing his mate to back down. He knew without a shadow of a doubt Chloe
would be able to shift. Her wolf was too powerful to be contained. Even now it
fought him, wanting to remain in control, to take over the human portion of his
female.

Damn it to hell.

He should have waited to bring her home until he knew
exactly what he was dealing with. He hadn’t expected her to react this way. Her
wolf was determined to protect him from her own family if necessary. In wolves
the behavior was expected. No one—friend, family or otherwise—came between
mates. Attempting to do so resulted in dire consequences.

“Stop,” he repeated, trying to use as little influence as
necessary. If he wasn’t careful he could make the situation worse. He gave
Chloe a firm shake, his wolf snarling at its female, demanding her submission.

He knew the precise moment her wolf subsided, the prickles
of energy fading as Chloe’s human half took over. He caught her before she
fell, lifting her in his arms. Until the full moon, when she officially claimed
her beast, she didn’t have the strength necessary to call on the feral portion
of her.

He looked up, eyes narrowed. Her grandparents stood together
on the porch, looks of horror on their faces. “You knew this was coming,” he
said, livid that the ignorant humans had kept his female from those she needed
most. “You should have warned her—you should have
prepared
her.”

“You should come inside,” Abigail informed him, bringing a
hand to her throat, fingers playing at the collar of her shirt. “I assume there
are things you’d like to discuss.”

Hell yes there were things he’d like to discuss.

Lots of fucking things.

Jackson hiked his chin, eyes on the gun in the man’s hands.
“I suggest you put that away.”

Fletcher’s eyes drifted to his hands. He gave a pained nod,
lowered the weapon and turned to walk into the house with his wife. Jackson
almost felt sorry for him, noting how defeated the man looked. Something bad
had happened to this family. Something in the past continued to haunt their
lives.

A growl crept up his throat. He had a good idea who was
responsible.

Gavin fucking Worthington.

He nodded at Abigail as he strode past her into the home.
The house was old but tidy, everything in its proper place. He spotted a couch
and walked to the furniture. Chloe didn’t protest when he laid her down,
sighing as he rested her head on one of the hand-stitched pillows at the end.
She was tired but she’d recover. If he wanted to speak to Fletcher he had to do
it while she was out. The clock was ticking.

He rose and looked at Chloe’s grandmother. “She’s fine.
Don’t worry.” Turning his attention to the man who was propping his gun behind
the door, he said, “If you want to talk, now’s the time.”