Megan's Mark (6 page)

He might have flunked Politeness at that expensive canine school, but he had excelled at defensive/protective training. And what he was displaying now was pure male aggression. His territory was being invaded.

The most terrifying part was, she couldn’t sense it. As she tried to sense a presence, all she felt was cold, dead space.

Coyote Breeds. It had to be. She might not be able to sense Braden’s emotions, but she would have recognized his warmth and comfort reaching out to her. The only time she had felt
nothing,
not even echoes of awareness, had been yesterday when she stared into that Coyote Breed’s eyes. She had felt them just before they attacked. The evil and the malevolence.

Shit. Shit. She didn’t need this. She couldn’t afford for Braden to be right. Dammit.

Megan moved silently from the water, grabbing the long, thin silk robe that hung on the wall and pulling it on quickly. Next came the gun she had left lying on the back of the commode. The forty caliber Glock 22 handgun was a little heavy in her hand, but comfortable, secure. The Glock was a bit outdated, but reliable. She liked reliable.

And the clip was full and ready to fire.

Mo-Jo was in stalking position at the door, his body tense with the need to attack whoever or whatever was invading his self-proclaimed territory.

One thing the canine school had taught him was how to defend Megan and her home. One of the major reasons she kept the ill-tempered bag of fur. That, and the fact that she secretly loved the hell out of him. Especially now.

Following his body signals, she gripped the doorknob and opened the door slowly, allowing him to move through the entrance first as she followed silently. She kept the gun braced at her shoulder, her opposite hand gripping the wrist that held it as she moved into her bedroom.

Mo-Jo was at the door now, silent, nearly quivering.

She turned the doorknob carefully, cracking it slowly as Mo-Jo began to force the opening wider to allow his broad body freedom.

Megan was more cautious. She peeked around the doorframe, lowering the gun and flipping off the safety as she surveyed the silent hallway. Mo-Jo stood at the stairs, crouched and ready as he waited on her.

She was moving silently toward him when he suddenly turned, a look of canine calculation on his face as he stared back at her. She couldn’t hear anything, not the squeak of a floorboard or a whisper of sound. But she felt it.

Malice. Evil. Just as it had been at the gully. As though the destructive energy of the Coyotes drifted on the air itself.

It wasn’t emotions. No fear, hopes or dreams. Just cold, deadly intent instead of dead space. It wrapped around her, tightening at her throat and her chest until she was forced to regulate her breathing and stamp back the fear. They were closer, in her home, moving in for the kill. She felt it, just as she had felt it in the gully.

She backed up, watching as the dog followed her. If Mo-Jo didn’t want to tackle whatever was downstairs then she would be damned if she was going to.

She flicked her fingers to the bedroom door, commanding the animal to follow her. They moved quickly back to the room. Locking the door silently, she raced to the window, threw it wide and slipped over the windowsill to the porch roof.

Mo-Jo followed as she closed the window and moved back from it an instant before gunfire blasted through her bedroom door and the sound of shattering wood sent Mo-Jo jumping from the porch roof to the thickly padded sandbox she kept for him.

Megan quickly followed, landing hard and cursing silently at the impact of the ground on her bruised body.

“I’m going to kill them,” she muttered as she came to her feet and raced to the front of the house, following her furious canine as he ran to the open front door. There were no vehicles in the drive; the lock had been lasered. Whoever was in there knew what the hell they were doing.

She slid into the kitchen as Mo-Jo moved to position himself at the entrance of the short hallway that led to the staircase. When he moved, she moved, until they were beneath the stairs, silent and waiting.

“The bitch was here. Water is still hot. She went out the window.”

She crouched close to Mo-Jo.

“All I smell is that stinking dog,” another voice growled. “People should learn to bathe their fucking animals.”

They were at the top of the stairs. Megan narrowed her eyes, her fingers clenching Mo-Jo’s ruff as she waited.

Yeah, so getting the mutt smell off him wasn’t always easy, but he was about to show these bastards exactly why she put up with it.

They were coming down. Her fingers tightened. Wait. All she had to do was wait. Mo-Jo would surprise them and she would take them out. Simple. Easy.

“Outside.” The animalistic growl had the hairs at the nape of her neck rising in alarm. “She’s on foot. We’ll catch her.”

They ran down the stairs, nearly silent in their pursuit of her. She released Mo-Jo’s ruff and waited on him to make the first move.

When he did, he went out snarling as they made the landing, while Megan rolled across the floor, lying flat and firing. She took out the first intruder with a deadly blow to the chest while Mo-Jo took the other man down. Rushing to her feet, she raced to the confrontation to kick the assailant’s gun across the floor.

“Jo. Move!” she yelled as she watched the flash of a knife heading for the dog’s exposed belly. She couldn’t get a clear shot, but she didn’t have to. She turned her head as wicked, sharp canines tore into the Coyote’s throat no more than a breath before the knife touched vulnerable flesh.

Mo-Jo wasn’t a neat animal. Blood splattered around her as he shook the neck of the assailant viciously before letting it go and jumping protectively to her.

She went down in a surprised heap, rolling to her stomach and coming up with her gun aimed at the door. The dog set off a round of snarling. furious barks as Lance and Braden skidded to a shocked stop at the doorway.

“Fuck!” Lance stared at the scene, his expression blank as he blinked at the sight.

“Where did you come from?” she snapped, blinking back at him in surprise.

“We drove up as the shots were being fired.” Lance shook his head as Mo-Jo snarled in warning.

“Down, Mo-Jo.” Megan pulled herself to her feet, all most groaning in pain as her body suddenly began to protest the additional abuse. “Down.”

The two men stared at the dead bodies at the foot of the stairs. Lance shook his head in amazement as Braden turned back to stare at her, his brows lifting in question.

“Hope you have a good cleaning service.” Braden drawled as he leaned against the doorframe. “Blood stains old hardwood like that fast, Megan. Might want to go ahead and call them.”

A sharp burst of laughter escaped her lips, not hysterical but not exactly calm either as she stared at the mess.

Blood pooled around the bodies, the stench of death nearly overwhelming in the closed area of the house.

“Now this just sucks.” She felt her knees buckling as she stood up and moved quickly to the steps. “They’re Breeds.”

She sat down.

“Coyotes. God dammit Megan. We warned you. Didn’t we warn you?”

Lance’s fury slammed through the air around her, but this time, it didn’t touch her, didn’t assault her mind. Instead, that aura of calm stability reached out from Braden and wrapped around her.

She looked at Braden. He moved slowly from the doorframe, careful to avoid the blood as he stooped next to the man she had shot and lifted a lip cautiously.

“Coyote,” he agreed.

Braden did likewise to the other before jerking his cell phone from his belt and pressing a button quickly.

“We have two more. Area Four B, Megan Field’s residence. Get your ass out here.”

Megan turned to Lance in numb confusion.

“Are you going to call this in?”

He stared back at her, his expression livid.

“Hell no!” he snapped. “They can have this one too. We don’t need news of this hitting the streets in town.” He wiped his hands over his face before staring at her worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she sighed before lifting her eyes to stare at the dog. He was whimpering at the doorway, having lain down, watching her with miserable brown eyes. He didn’t move.

“Mo-Jo, come here.”

He didn’t attempt to move, only whined miserably.

“Oh no.” She struggled to rise to her feet as Braden turned to the animal. “Don’t touch him, he’ll take your face off,” she warned the Breed as he moved to check the animal. “Lance, call Dad. The Coyote had a knife.”

Evidently the assailant had managed to land a blow after all.

“Are you crazy?” Lance stiffened in rejection. “We’ll take care of him. If Uncle David sees this, Megan, he’ll jerk you off the force so fast it will make both our heads spin.”

“You’re just afraid he’ll hit you,” she sniped.

“You keep thinking that.” He grunted in frustration.

She shot him a furious look as she jerked the phone from the wall and knelt beside Mo-Jo. She punched speed dial.

“Meg. Dad and Granddad are on their way. Are you okay?” Her mother’s voice was frantic as Megan inspected the deep slice along Mo-Jo’s underbelly.

Her mother, bless her heart, had always known when her children were in trouble even if her empathic abilities weren’t as strong as her daughter’s.

“Fine, Mom. Jo is just hurt.” She rose, jerking a dish towel from the counter to apply pressure to the wound.

Leaning close to the animal, she cradled his head as the decrease in adrenaline began to leave her weak. “He’ll be fine until they get here.”

“You’re sure?” Her mother wasn’t fooled. She had been waiting on Meg’s call, proof that her father and grandfather left the house at a dead run.

Her grandfather would have known something was wrong as well. He said the winds spoke to him of her. She shook her head at the thought. Empathy ran on her grandmother’s side. She had never been certain what ran on her grandfather’s, but Megan knew it was just as powerful as the talents she possessed, if not more so.

“I’m sure, Mom. I love you but I have to go now.”

She disconnected the phone before staring up at Braden.

He was watching her with concern, and she realized she was definitely going to be stuck with him. Lance would not let this little event pass without having a stroke, or at the least without calling the whole damned family in.

“You know, Braden, we’re really not going to get along. As a matter of fact, I don’t even think I’m going to like you.”

She turned away from him before he could speak, the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the drive drawing her attention. She moved to the back door, breathing a sigh of relief as her father and grandfather moved quickly from the truck and headed for the house.

“You okay Meg?” Her father hugged her tightly.

“I’m fine. Mo-Jo is down though. He took a knife to his underbelly.” She was shaking, trying to avoid her father’s gaze and the concern that always made her feel smothered.

Her father was dressed in his customary jeans but wore a dress shirt and silver string tie, indicating he had been preparing to go out for the evening. His thick black hair was peppered with gray, his black eyes hard and probing as he moved through the kitchen to the hall entrance and glanced over at Lance.

“It looks pretty deep, Dad,” she sighed, staring at her grandfather in resignation as she let him help her up and lead her to a kitchen chair.

“Uncle Dave, meet Braden Arness,” she heard Lance mutter from the hall.

She was aware of Braden watching her, his head tilted, taking in every movement, every expression, as he watched the scene before him. But even more, that calm that was so much a part of him weaved around her as well, sheltering her. A girl could get used to that. Too used to it. It would be a bitch when it was gone again.

His eyes were questioning, almost confused, as her grandfather, stooped with age and shuffling from his stiff joints, patted her on the shoulder.

“You sit still, little warrior. I’ll fix you tea.” His voice was filled with concern, his weathered expression lined with worry.

“Coffee.”

“Tea,” her father and grandfather spoke firmly.

She grimaced. The tea wouldn’t even be caffeinated.

Despite their calm, she sensed the fear. She didn’t feel it, thankfully. But she sensed it thickening the air around her.

“What happened here, Lance?” Her father was bent over Mo-Jo, a small, black medical bag at his side as he checked the wound.

“Why are you asking him? He wasn’t here.” She hated the protective coddling she could feel beginning to wrap around her. Why hadn’t they just brought her mother along with them? That would have finished up the wool wrapping nicely.

Her father glanced back at her, and for a second she glimpsed a fury and fear that she knew shouldn’t have shocked her. Yet it did, because she only sensed it, she didn’t feel it. It wasn’t washing over her in blinding waves or taking her breath. She also noticed Braden had moved closer to her, making it easier for her to pull that shield around her.

“Because I’m tending a wound to your animal that could have been inflicted on you.” He didn’t snap at her, but she could feel the anger vibrating from him. “I don’t know if my nerves can stand hearing a report from you, Daughter.”

Her shoulders drooped. How did you battle that kind of love, dammit?

“I don’t know what happened, Uncle,” Lance finally answered. “I was bringing Braden Arness here to talk to her. We walked in as Mo-Jo was ripping out a throat.”

“And what of yesterday?” her grandfather asked then. “The winds blew through the land with a warning, her name echoing on the breeze.”

Megan wanted to groan. “You guys are smothering me.”

Braden leaned against the wall, watching it all, never speaking. Sexy and silent. Okay, so he had a few things going for him.

“Get used to it.” Her father’s voice brooked no refusal. “Until I leave this world, you are still my daughter and still under my protection.”

“Protect Lance.” She waved her hand at her smirking cousin. “He’s in more danger than I am if he keeps pissing me off. Share the love, Dad.”