CHAPTER 3

Megan knew she was in trouble. She wasn’t stupid; she wasn’t being stubborn just to be stubborn. She was terrified, and that fear wasn’t directed where it should have been. It wasn’t the Council or their beasts of war that terrified her. It was her response to one arrogant, too-sure-of-himself Breed.

She wanted him. And it didn’t make sense. She had given up on physical pleasure years ago, preferring to do without rather than suffer the thoughts and emotions that poured from her partners during sex. The stress from that alone was enough to pull a woman back from any orgasm she may be nearing at the time.

Yet her heart was racing, her flesh heated, the soft folds between her thighs were tender, sensitive, swollen with need. And she was wet. And not just from the hot water that covered her as she stepped into the steaming water of her bathtub.

Her ear was tingling, burning. Megan pulled at the offended lobe as she relaxed in the huge claw-foot tub, fuming over Braden’s complete arrogance.

She hated arrogant men. And she hated how easily her body betrayed her when Braden was anywhere near. One day. She had known the jerk one freakin’ day, and her body was clamoring for his touch.

Let the bastard just try to move in with her. She would show him exactly how fast she could shoot. She would blow his balls to dust.

Steam enveloped her from the hot water, soaking into her flesh to ease the aches and pains of the numerous bruises that marred her upper body. Her ribs looked like Christmas decorations, abraded red, deep blue bruises and a multitude of scratches that burned like hell from yesterday’s battle.

She was pissed off and worried. The worried part was going to keep her awake for a while, she knew.

“Woof.” The soft snuffle of the shepherd/chow mix was a soothing comfort. It also helped to pull her thoughts away from a certain Lion Breed and back to the present.

Mo-Jo had refused to allow her to touch him when she first stepped up on the porch. Again. As though yesterday hadn’t been enough. The smell of the Breed had been an affront to his canine pride. Or something.

He had taken one sniff and growled at her as though she was the enemy and it was his job to dispose of her. Baring the wicked, sharp, perfectly white teeth in his mouth, he had made her wonder why she even kept him around as she snarled back at him. She had earned herself a doggy sneer as she unlocked the door and he pushed past her. He plopped down on the air-conditioning vent as she fixed herself snack. Well, fixed him a snack that he allowed her to share.

Now he lay at the bathroom door, watching her with that confused doggy expression as she bitched and raged about Lion Breeds for the last thirty minutes. He was a good dog when he wanted to be.

“Mo-Jo, go get me a beer.” She sighed whimsically as she glanced over at him, wishing he were a little less temperamental and stubborn. If he had been, then that school for stubborn pooches might have worked out for him. He would have known to go get her a cold one instantly.

Instead, he tilted his head and lifted his nose disdainfully, as though she had asked him to do something distasteful. She reminded herself not to share the next beer with him.

“Must be an animal thing,” she muttered, thinking of Braden’s expression when she had sneeringly referred to him as Puss in Boots the day before. That brought a smile to her face. Pure male outrage had reflected in his expression. Score one for the female deputy; she mentally marked the invisible scoreboard of life. She deserved that mark after the shock he had attempted to give her today.

Move in with her? She didn’t think so.

Mo-Jo heaved a sigh when she glanced back at him, his big brown eyes drowsy as he enjoyed the climate-controlled coolness of the house. The temperature outside had reached a hundred, and though he survived just fine in the higher temperatures, he still preferred it inside.

“Are you lying on the vent again, Mo-Jo?” she asked, pretty damned drowsy herself now as she noticed the position of his body.

He gave her a disinterested growl.

“One of these days, I’m going to trade you in for a poodle.” She yawned.

Or a lion. She grunted at the image that suddenly appeared before her mind’s eye. Six-four. He had to be six-four. Height was her weakness in a man. Height and those wide, strong shoulders, and the thick, long golden-brown hair. Broad hands. Boots. He had worn boots and jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched across that amazingly broad chest as the material strained around the bulging biceps of his arms.

Snug jeans had hugged those long powerful legs, cupping an impressive bulge she had made certain to check out when she aimed the barrel of her police-issue Wounder at him yesterday. It had been just as impressive today.

Not that she would have shot. Not there, anyway. Some things were just a crime to destroy, and if that bulge was any indication, that was prime male flesh.

The thought of it made her mouth water and a moan tremble on her lips. How long had it been since she had actually had sex?

“He was fine, Mo-Jo.” She sighed then. “Really fine. And he knew it. Damned Tomcat.”

That one sucked.

Not that she had anything personal against the Breeds. Hell, she had even campaigned for the Human/Breed rights law when it had come up the year before. She wasn’t prejudiced. Just cautious. That was all.

He was wild and untamed. She could see that in his devil-may-care smile and in the brilliance of his dark amber eyes. He was an adrenaline junkie, not the stay-at-home type, or the happily-ever-after kind. He could, and if she let him, he would break her heart.

But he had let her fight. For once in her life she had been able to join the action. She had personally battled the bad guys and won.

The rush of pleasure that suffused her at that thought was nearly sexual. She had trained for this job most of her life. She had fought for it only to have her curse rear its ugly head.

Her empathic abilities had shown themselves during her last year of high school, and had only grown steadily worse. To the point that working in the field she had dreamed of was now denied her. She was a hazard to a team, and to herself. The stronger the emotions of the people around her, the worse they seemed to affect her.

“Maybe I should have gone into day care.” She sighed with a grimace before groaning in resignation. Day care would not have done at all.

She shifted in the water, sighing as the heated liquid caressed her sensitive body.

“Woof.” Her head jerked around as Mo-Jo came quickly to his feet, turning to the door as he watched it suspiciously.

He might have flunked Politeness 101 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, almost 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.”

Her father only snorted as he applied a thick coating of skin repair to Mo-Jo’s underbelly.

“The dog will be fine.” He closed the bottle of flesh-simulating latex and returned it to his bag. “The wound wasn’t too deep; he’s just a big baby.” He patted the dog’s head before filling a syringe and injecting it into the thick shoulder muscle. “There, something to ease the soreness. He’ll be good as new in a few days. We’ll take him back to the clinic and put him on some antibiotics to be certain.”

At the same time, her grandfather set tea and ginger cookies in front of her. She could still smell death all around her. There was no way she was eating.

“Your blood sugar is low, Granddaughter. Eat as well.” He shuffled around the table and, of course, put on coffee for everyone else. Sometimes, she wished she smoked. If any situation called for a cigarette, it was this one.

“Explanation time.” Her father stood up, his broad body tense, his roughly hewn face matching the anger in his eyes as they met with Braden’s gaze. “Who the hell are you and what do you have to do with this?”

Braden stiffened.

“Enough, David,” her grandfather came to the rescue. She hoped. “Come, all of you, sit down at Megan’s table and speak with respect in her presence. She has defended herself well today. She has done what no man could have done for her, and satisfied her warrior’s soul in her own protection. It is time to celebrate, not to berate her or those who defend her.”

Her grandfather’s pride in her never failed to fill her with warmth.

Her father flashed him a disgruntled look.

“David…husband of my daughter.” He sighed. “I feel your worry as it is my own. But I have warned you, her destiny is not as you would have it.”

Argument time. Megan knew if she didn’t change the subject quickly then her father and grandfather would end up fighting again.

“Someone has to clean up the mess,” she sighed, pushing away the cookies and tea. “Has everyone forgotten the two bodies in my hallway?” she asked them all with an edge of incredulity. “They are staining my hardwood floors. Ask him, he knows all about it.” She waved to where Braden still stood silently, watchfully.

Too many men were crowding around her. She was wearing nothing but a robe and reaction was starting to tremble through her as all the testosterone began to brew in a furious cauldron. She did not want to be here for the fight.

“My people are headed back in.” Braden moved into the kitchen and before she could gasp or anyone else could protest he lifted her into his arms and strode from the room.

God, he was warm, secure. Her arms gripped his shoulders in instinctive response as she fought the need to get closer, to absorb more of the natural shield that enveloped her as well.

“I’m not a baby,” she tried to snipe despite the sudden desire to curl against him.

“No, you’re not. But the floor is bloody and you aren’t wearing shoes.” He set her down on the stairs. “Sometimes you see the bloodstains when you least expect it.” He stared back at her, his golden eyes solemn. “Go. Dress. My people will be here and there will be a clash of tempers that you don’t want to deal with half naked.” His voice lowered. “And I sure as hell don’t want anyone else seeing those perfect nipples shining through that damp cloth as they are now.”

Her face flamed as her horrified gaze went down. Her nipples were hard. Spike-hard, pressing against the silk of her robe like signals.

Her head raised as arousal and embarrassment coursed through her. It wasn’t him, she assured herself. He was not turning her on. She didn’t even know him and she didn’t want to know him.

She sniffed disdainfully, refusing to even attempt to explain or protest her body’s response.

Braden watched her stalk to her room, his chest tight, his heart racing. God, he wanted to wrap her up just as much as the three men behind him did. Seeing her in that chair, looking so forlorn, had nearly been more than he could stand. He had picked her up and moved her to the stairs for his own mental well-being. The thought of her having to step around the death in that hallway, that it could have been her lying there rather than two Coyotes had his guts clenching in fury.

He hadn’t realized how small she was, how light, until he picked her up in his arms and felt the frailty of her body. How the hell had she managed to battle two Coyotes and survive?

Dark, midnight-blue eyes, nearly black, had seemed overlarge in her pale face, filled with excitement and an edge of confusion. But there was no fear. She was pissed. Quickly falling from an adrenaline high and aching with the demands she had put on her body in the past two days. But she wasn’t scared.

And he couldn’t wrap her up. He couldn’t shelter her from the danger. He could only stand behind her and pray he could help her. The world wasn’t a playground filled with laughter and games. At least, his world wasn’t. It was bathed in blood and cruelty and only the strongest survived. She was being thrown into the middle of his world for some reason he couldn’t fathom. He couldn’t protect her from that. He could only guide her through it.

“She’s a warrior.” The old man, her grandfather, spoke behind him.

“She’s a woman,” the father snapped furiously. “Dammit, Lance, what the hell is going on?”

“She’s crazy, is what’s going on,” Lance argued. “She drove right into a murder scene yesterday afternoon with me screaming at her to back off. The woman is looking for trouble. This time, it found her.”

“She searches for justice…” Joseph murmured.

And they were all searching for a way to protect her. Their need to shelter her was slowly smothering her. Braden could feel it, could see it in her face. She needed to fight, and now she had no choice but to do just that.

“No.” He turned to face them all. “She’s a fighter and a survivor and if she’s going to survive this in any way, then you’ll have to let her fight. Until we find out why the Genetics Council marked her, we have to let her fight, or you’ll all lose her.”

Silence, waves of fury, confusion and one old man’s knowledge seemed to flow around him. He met the sharp, ages-old gaze of the old Navajo who stared back at him, his graying braids framing his square, stark expression.

“She is a warrior,” the old man said, raising his head in pride. “But beware, my young Lion, she is also a woman. And that is most often every male’s greatest weakness. Even your own.”

How the old man knew who and what he was, Braden didn’t know and he didn’t care. Now, as earlier, confusion swamped him. The Breeds, except for a very select few, had no children. No mothers, no fathers, uncles or cousins. They were created in a Lab, trained rather than raised, and now fought daily for survival in a world that wasn’t certain exactly what to do with this new species.

Braden had never experienced the emotion, the sheer protective fury and determination to protect one’s family. He could easily see the three men slowly smothering the woman’s fighting spirit with their love.

“You’d better come up with a plan before she gets back down here.” Lance hissed as he stared at his uncle and grandfather. “I’m not firing her. She’ll never forgive me. Besides, she just ignores me when I try.”

“I told you to do that three months ago,” David, the father, snarled furiously. “The very day he”—he jerked his thumb at the old man—“heard her name on the winds. ‘But no, wait, Uncle…’” he mocked the younger man. “‘Don’t hurt her. She’ll leave Broken Butte.’”

“Or shoot me,” Lance snapped. “Dammit, Uncle, she’s had three offers from the larger cities but she stays here instead. Push her too far and she’ll leave.”

“I won’t allow it.”

“You cannot stop it, my son…” the old man said.

“Bloody hell, she’s going to find trouble no matter where she goes…” Lance argued.

Braden cocked his head, watching as the three argued. How interesting. Personally, he thought it was a bit delayed and definitely the wrong time for accusations, but interesting all the same.

The three males were obviously well used to arguing over how best to protect a woman who wanted nothing more than to be who she was, to fight as she was needed. It defied logic. Women were as fierce and often less merciful than any man. They were excellent fighters when they cared for the battle they were engaged in or for those they fought for. And Megan was all woman. In that moment, he decided, she was also his woman.