What's New, Pussycat? (Wolf Mates Book 2)
Author: Dakota Cassidy
Date: 2014-09-02T21:00:00+00:00

Wolf Mates Book 2

What’s New Pussycat?

Copyright ©2014 Dakota Cassidy

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holder. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then purchase your own copy from appropriate distributor. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement from the author of this work.

Text copyright © Dakota Cassidy 2014 All Right Reserved

Cover Art: Renee George

Other works by Dakota Cassidy

Paranormal Novels

The Accidental Series

The Accidental Werewolf—Book 1

Accidentally Dead—Book 2

The Accidental Human—Book 3

Accidentally Demonic—Book 4

Accidentally Catty—Book 5

Accidentally Dead Again—Book 6

The Accidental Genie—Book 7

The Accidental Werewolf 2: Something About Harry—Book 8

The Accidental Dragon—Book 9—Coming February 2015

The Hell Series

Kiss And Hell—Book 1

My Way To Hell—Book 2

The Wolf Mate Series

An American Werewolf In Hoboken —Book 1

Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha Serial

Part 1—Alpha Down

Part 2—Girl Most Lycan

Part 3—Were in the World is Gannon Dodd?

Part 4—In the Zone

Part 5—Revelation

The Bundle—Parts 1-5

Contemporary Novels

The Call Girls Series

Talk This Way—Prequel Novella

Talk Dirty To Me—Book 1

Something To Talk About—Book 2

Talking After Midnight—Book 3

The Ex-Trophy Wives Series

You Dropped A Blonde On Me—Book 1

Burning Down The Spouse—Book 2

Waltz This Way—Book 3

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Books by Dakota Cassidy

About Dakota Cassidy

Join the Tiara Diaries

Dear readers,

Please note, if you recognize the title and concept of this book, this is an expanded, revised, revisited, rejuvenated, re-everything’d version of the original Wolf Mates novella, published with a small e-press in 2006 as a stand-alone, then sold in a collection of four stories once available in digital and also print. This book, in its latest incarnation, is the second in the revised Wolf Mates series. The first book in the newly revised series, An American Werewolf in Hoboken, can be found here

Enormous thanks to my BFF Renee George, who creates the most amazing covers and is the most amazing friend. If not for you, I don’t know that I would have had the courage to just let go. But I’m glad we did—together.

To my brain twin Robyn Peterman Zahn—I remain convinced we were separated at birth. Savagely torn apart, but ironically reunited by Facebook like some bad soap opera. You’re an angel, and your advice is invaluable. Always remember, if you pull the fire alarm, I’ll plan the escape route.

Chapter One

“Mrowwww!” Martine Brooks howled again, extra long and extra loud for the benefit of her viewing audience. Then she hissed, opening her mouth wide for clarity—in case anyone in the room mistook her mewling for anything other than complete dissatisfaction.

Because being so rudely awakened from a sound catnap, then thrown into a plastic sweatbox the size of a sardine can, heinously lobbed into a moving vehicle smelling of beer and Fritos, bounced around for what felt like an eternity, and dumped at a 7-Eleven was surely cause for discontent.

And now she was here. Wherever here was.

Rescued.

By a man named Derrick Adams, who drove like a lunatic. A man who, though he’d rescued her, appeared put out by her very existence.

Which, on his part, was incredibly rude. It wasn’t as though she’d asked to be kidnapped to begin with. Though, she had to admit, as rescuers went, she could have made out far worse, because phew, this Derrick was pretty. So, so delectably pretty.

Angular cheekbones, hair the color of coal just touching the collar of his T-shirt, blue eyes with thick lashes, leaving his eyes looking like they’d been outlined with smudged liner. Dusky skin stretched taut over his biceps and thick thighs flexed against his low-slung jeans.

Yum.

Martine shook off her stray lustful thoughts. First, because who the fresh hell was Derrick Adams anyway, and what did he want with her? Second, how had she ended up in a Dumpster at a convenience store, warranting the need for rescue to begin with? Third what if Derrick Adams was a homicidal maniac and she hadn’t been rescued at all? What if this was the place where he did all his killing?

Though, if this was the killing room where Derrick the Homicidal Maniac did the deed, he kept his sacrificial altar clean as a whistle, because it was beautiful.

But they weren’t alone in this beautiful place. So there was either a Cult of Derrick or these other two scantily clad people in the room were blissfully unaware he was a homicidal maniac.

Derrick and another equally hot, yet edgier-looking man named Max, and a pretty woman with gorgeous hair were in on this, too. This Max, according to the eavesdropping she’d been doing, with the sheet wrapped around his waist and the sinfully delicious body made of steel, was brother to the man who’d rescued her.

Max stuck his handsome face in the opening of the infernal carrier she’d been so callously stuffed into and muttered, “A cat.” He offered this wisdom with wooden words and a confused expression.

That’s right, big and brawny—a cat. Hashtag #Meow and all that feline-ery.

Martine sniffed the air, unable to pinpoint exactly what Max was. He wasn’t human, that much she was sure of, and neither was Derrick.

She sniffed again. Gargoyle? No. They didn’t have the right hint of musty old man and dragon breath to be gargoyles.

Derrick’s sigh grated her ears on the way out of his delectable mouth when he addressed Max. “Yeah. A cat. So what do you suppose this means, pack leader?”

Max tightened the sheet around him and chuckled. “You’d better get a laser pointer? Cat litter?”

Ah. Funny. Max was both funny smelling and ha-ha funny. Two funnies in one.

Derrick narrowed his eyes at Max, sending out a distinct vibe of displeasure. “You know what I mean, Max. Where do I go from here?”

What did Derrick mean? What did any of this mean? And what was a pack leader? Like a Boy Scout leader? Cult leader? Boy-band leader? Thank God she was stuck in full shift. If she had to escape, it would make getting away easier.

Max pulled the pretty woman wearing a bathrobe much too large for her to the couch, settling them both in before speaking. “Listen, you know the rules, Derrick. This is how it goes.”

Derrick held up the carrier, waving it in the air, making her dizzy. “How come when it goes for you, you get a woman who walks and talks, but when it goes for me, I get one with four paws that sheds?”

Wow. That was harsh. She walked and talked. In fact, she’d once had a really great job that involved plenty of walking and talking.

Dickknuckle.

The pretty woman next to Max pointed to the carrier. “Put her down, would you, please? Stop treating her like she’s not in the room and she can’t hear you, Derrick. I thought when you were in shift you paranormal people could still understand everything we humans say? If that’s the case, don’t be an insensitive knuckle-dragger. There’s a person inside that carrier you’re talking about.”

Thank you, pretty woman with the hair to die for. Girl power.

Derrick set the carrier on the coffee table between the couch and an enormous chair, leaving the grate opening to face the far wall so everyone could see inside. “You’re right, JC,” he said to the woman, looking down into the carrier. “My apologies,” he offered, gruff and low.

Martine opened her mouth wide and yawned.

Derrick ran a hand over his jaw, littered with dark stubble she wanted to rub against. Which, of course, made her a dirty, dirty whore. But so be it. It had, after all, been six months since she’d had contact with a man. With anyone, for that matter.

Now, because the universe was LOL lately, a sinfully good-looking man had rescued her. One who potentially had nefarious intentions and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

Derrick looked to Max. “So…shapeshifter, ya think?”

JC rolled her eyes at him, moving to the edge of the couch. “Oh, wait, I know what we should do,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Let’s play a guessing game instead of just asking her? You know, seeing as she’s in the room with you.” Leaning forward, she popped open the gate on the front of the carrier.

Derrick jumped up, his hand moving to snap the door shut, but JC whipped a finger in the air. “Leave it open! For the love of Pete, she’s not a saber-toothed tiger. She’s a cat, Derrick. You’re behaving like you’ve never encountered another species of the paranormal. Max told me you have vampires here in Cedar Glen, but you’re afraid of a cat?”

Derrick sat back, his pretty face turning hard. “I’m not afraid of a cat, but we don’t know if she’s just a cat. I’m just taking precautions because with the paranormal, you just never know.”

Okay, so JC was definitely a human, Derrick and Max were paranormal. Good to know. And they were in Cedar Glen. As in, New Jersey? Like farms and cows and trailer hitches?

Um, no. That wasn’t going to work. She was a city girl through and through. New York forever. No disrespect to the people who hoed the fields or tilled the lands or whatever they did in the country, but she liked city living.

Because you’ve done so much of that lately? Living, that is.

JC slipped off the couch and peered into the carrier, but she didn’t do it as though she were leering at some alien life form.

She smiled at Martine with a flash of white teeth and red lips. “You come out when you’re ready. Until then, I promise to help Neanderthal Derrick use his big-boy words to communicate. Deal?”

Martine decided poking her head out probably wouldn’t get her killed. She sniffed the room, taking in her first full view of how breathtaking this house she’d landed in really was. Windows spanned an entire wall, with a magnificent view of all varieties of trees, and there was a fireplace in the living room from floor to ceiling that was to die for. One a girl could curl right up by on a cold winter night.

JC sat back on the couch and looked at the men with a smile of satisfaction. “So, introductions. I’m JC Jensen, the Neanderthal is Derrick Adams, and the man next to me is Derrick’s brother Max. You’re in Cedar Glen, New Jersey.”

She let one paw touch the coffee table then another, wary as she listened to JC speak.

“You do realize you’re talking to a cat, right, J?” Derrick asked.

JC made a face at him. “You do realize that while your brother pretended to be my dog during our courtship, I talked to him all the time, don’t you? So quit waving your crazy stick at me like I’m the one who flew the freak flag first, buddy.”

Come again? This man Max, who looked like he’d eat your face off if you looked at him the wrong way, pretended to be her dog? What kind of kinkety-kink was that?

Derrick’s face tightened before looking at Martine and then he sobered, directing his gaze at his brother. “So again I ask, what now? I don’t get where I go from here.”

Max ran a hand through his dark hair. “Maybe you should explain why she’s here? I mean, to her.”

JC smiled and patted Max’s thigh with approval.

Derrick rolled his head on his neck, the crack of his bones sharp as he rocked it from side to side. Like he was preparing for a boxing match instead of a simple explanation. “Do you think she’s ready to hear why she’s here?”

JC leaned toward her again, her eyes warm and sympathetic. “I’m going to be honest with you. Girl to girl. This part’s a little hairy—the explanation, I mean. Literally and figuratively. But I promise you it’ll be okay. It might take some time before it’s okay, but it’ll be okay.”

Martine cocked her head, following the line of her whiskers to look at Derrick, waiting as she inched her way completely out of the carrier.

“Maybe we should wait until she shifts?” Max asked. “You can’t have a conversation if she’s not in her human form.”

“We don’t even know if she has a human form,” Derrick responded, clenching his fists. “Maybe this is some kind of flub in the prophecy?”

Prophecy? And she did have a human form. She just didn’t have it right now.

Max shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “First, you can smell she’s shifter. So of course she has a human form, Derrick. Second, when was the last time Aunt Eva screwed up a chicken noodle soup reading? She’s legend and you know it.”

His Aunt Eva read chicken noodle soup? Chicken noodle soup was good for the soul. Not your eyes. What sort of whackadoodle read soup? What in all of hell?

Yet another reason to hate being paranormal. All sorts of crazy rules and legends and nonsense, but absolutely no explanations.

Derrick’s lean face went grim and dark. “Fair.” He looked to Martine, his blue eyes scanning her face. “It might be a good idea if you shift now. So we can talk. There’s nothing to be afraid of. But we really do need to talk.”

If she could let out an exasperated sigh in her cat form, she’d blow it right in Derrick’s face. She couldn’t shift.

She hadn’t shifted in six solid months.

And it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon.

So now what, Derrick?

Chapter Two

Derrick weighed his options as he watched the cat, the color of ebony, stretch out her front paws and yawn again, settling down on the coffee table to curl into a ball as though he’d bored her to death. They’d waited a full fifteen minutes for her to shift while they made coffee, poured her a bowl of fresh water, and all to no avail.

There were two possible reasons why she wasn’t shifting. Fear or avoidance. But there was no doubt in his mind, now that he’d adjusted to her scent, that she was half human. Well, mostly no doubt. She smelled half human, but then again, there was plenty of trickery to be had in the paranormal realm.

If this was some damn stupid joke his friends were going to heckle him for on poker night, if he was talking to nothing more than a domestic cat they’d somehow managed to disguise with a human scent, who didn’t really understand anything he was saying, he’d kick the shit out of every single one of those yahoos.

Yet, that didn’t sit right with him. Eva didn’t play on chicken noodle soup night. When she read a prophecy, she meant business.

So, that left him with two choices. Tell her she was his life mate while she was in shift and take the chance she’d be so freaked out, she’d never shift again. Or take her back to his place and wait it out.

But how fair was it for her not to understand why he’d brought her here to begin with? How scared would she be if she didn’t at least have some information to work with—like who they all were? Taking another gulp of coffee, he decided on the former.

He gave her ear a light tap, for which she responded by lifting her chin, haughty disdain in her enormous glasslike green eyes. “I’m just going to lay this on the line for you. I don’t know why you’re not shifting, but it’s only fair you know why you’re here.”

JC was back in the living room at the speed of light, dropping onto the sofa. “Hold that thought, Master of The Delicate Words. I want to be here to lend support to…her. Sorry,” she apologized to the cat. “But I don’t know your name yet.” Then she rolled her hand in the air to gesture Derrick should continue, patting the place beside her when Max brought her a steaming cup of coffee.

Derrick leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “So here’s the deal. I’m a werewolf. I don’t know if you can tell, because you either can’t or won’t shift and tell me so yourself.”

JC ran a finger across her throat, shaking her head. “Ixnay on the accusatory.”

He fought the well of impatience boiling up inside him and forced himself to display some restraint. “Sorry. Anyway, I have an Aunt Eva. She reads our pack’s prophecies, and as werewolves, we’re all expected to find life mates. If you know anything about werewolves, you’ll know we’re part of a pack. Our pack, the Adams pack, was cursed in retribution for saving werewolves who’d been used as experiments. So when we’re sent on our life-mate journey, the curse ensures the journey to finding a mate will be next to impossible—in the hopes that we’ll die trying. Which is probably true at this point, because just look at you, not shifting.”

JC tapped her coffee mug with a fingernail and gave him the same frowny face he’d often seen his sisters give him. That meant bad Derrick. “Decidedly not delicate. No finger pointing,” she said, sending him fiery signals with her eyes he didn’t understand.

Christ. He’d apologized more in two hours than he had in a lifetime. “Sorry—again. So, like I said, the curse dictates our life-mate journeys are next to impossible. As an example, we’ll use Dr. Phil here on the couch.” He gave JC a pointed look. “And my brother Max, who’s also the alpha of our pack. Max’s prophecy was read last month. He had to find his life mate, and when he did, he found JC. JC is a human.” He waited for a reaction, maybe a flick of her tail, a tuft of hair out of place.

Nothing. Cool as a cucumber.

“Are we still on board? Or do you want me to stop?” he asked her, trying to keep his wealth of indelicate to himself.

Her gaze was solemn, unblinking, maybe even snooty. So be it.

“Anyway, JC is a human. So you can imagine the kind of trouble Max, a werewolf, would have convincing her that werewolves really exist. You being a shifter, you obviously understand we have to hide and be very careful who we reveal ourselves to, right?”

She began to groom her paw, running her tongue over the shiny fur, utterly unaffected by his words.

“So that was the impossible part. And let me make something clear. I’m not sure who put you in the Dumpster at the 7-Eleven or where you came from before this. That wasn’t me. After Eva gave me the clue about where you were, instinct told me to look inside the bin. I can’t explain it. I just knew you’d be there.”

She rolled on her back, arching her spine, pushing her belly upward toward the sun streaming into the living room from the massive windows.

Derrick took another deep breath, fighting to stay unruffled. “Like I said, the curse was designed to set us up to fail, as was the case with Max and JC.” He still had major admiration that his brother had pulled that off.

Max had not only managed to find his life mate, but she’d actually fallen in love with him and come to terms with him being a werewolf all in one fell swoop.

It had to be the pretty words Max was so good at, which could mean Derrick was already on the road to failure.

“But!” JC chimed in, squeezing Max’s hand. “Max didn’t fail. Sure, I was probably more freaked out than I’ve ever been in my life. When he told me he was a werewolf, that topped even Pennywise in a Stephen King novel on the fear-factor scale. But you’re one up on me anyway. You already know all this paranormal stuff exists. Plus, it did all work out in the end. We’re together and in the process of getting to know each other better.” She smiled adoringly up at Max, snuggling against him.

“You’re forgetting the mating part of this,” Derrick reminded her. How could she possibly gloss over the worst part of it all?

JC’s sigh was ragged as she rolled up the sleeves of her bathrobe. “I was going for easy entry, not a crash landing. I wanted her to have a glass half full before you sucked it dry.”

Max chuckled, pulling JC closer, but he remained unhelpful, meaning this was Derrick’s to handle.

Derrick clenched his jaw. This was ridiculous. He was sitting in the middle of his brother’s living room, talking to a cat, gearing up to tell her she had to mate with him or he’d die. “Is there a delicate way to tell her the rest, JC?”

Max looked at JC and winced. “That’s a fair question.”

He took another deep breath and fixed his eyes on the cat’s—so green and round like colored glass, they were mesmerizing. “Let me preface this by saying, I still don’t know the impossible part of this prophecy, because as JC said, you’re a shifter, too. So you won’t find that information out of the ordinary. And I don’t think when you hear the rest of this you’ll find the idea so unappealing you’d rather be skinned alive.”

Smooth, Adams.

“Derrick!” JC warned, glancing down at the cat, now busy rubbing her cheek on her paw without missing a beat. “Skinned alive? Could you be any more insensitive? Save the analogies, Cyrano.”

Max nodded, trying to keep his face serious but for the twitch of his lower lip. “Wow. You really suck on every level at this, brother.”

He did suck. He wasn’t into sweet words or beating around the bush. He was very unlike Max. Max was patient and a good listener, always had sage advice, making him the perfect alpha for their crazy pack. Derrick, on the other hand, was impatient, struggled with flowery words, and was direct as all hell.

But he was trying.

So Derrick nodded his agreement. “Max is right. I do suck at this, and I’m leaving a blanket apology on the table from this point on for any foolish mistakes I make that offend your sensibilities. So, I’m just going to give it to you straight because I’m not any good at pretty speeches. Here’s the clincher to the curse. You, according to my aunt’s prophecy, are my life mate. As my life mate, you have to mate with me on the next full moon or I die.”

There it was in all its un-pretty-ness.

Boom. Life-mate speech complete.

* * *

Martine fell forward, losing her balance on the coffee table and cracking her kitty skull on the hard surface.

Mate? As in, do the do? Make the woot-woot?

Or die?

That couldn’t mean the kind of mating they meant. Could it? Martine tried to remember what she knew about werewolves and their mating rituals. When you mated, you mated for life with a werewolf, didn’t you? Very unlike the feline family.

And didn’t they want you to make more werewolves? Wasn’t that important to their packs for longevity?

She was absolutely not in the market to make little anythings—especially not with a werewolf. He was, if you looked at it from a very basic evolutionary aspect, essentially a dog. She was a cat. Cats and dogs didn’t mate. What would they produce if they mated anyway?

Catdog?

No-no to the mate. She liked single. She didn’t want to mate for life with anything but a copy of Vogue, and even then, she cheated religiously with Cosmo. What she wanted was her freedom.

And really, what kind of line was he spewing? I’ll die if you don’t mate with me on the full moon.

It certainly had more impact than “If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put U and I together” followed by a yuck-yuck-yuck, she’d give him that. But the curse of death? Not that she wasn’t privy to plenty of curses. She knew all about them.

Just ask Escobar the warlock.

JC had a sympathetic look on her face when she peered at her. “We’re not inspiring you to shift, are we? It was the death thing, right?”

Why would something as dire as death-sex keep her in shift atrophy? Silly.

Martine walked to the edge of the coffee table and looked at JC. Her instincts told her there was no malice here. If there were a way to tell JC how thankful she was that she’d at least been kind enough to address her, she’d do it.

Instead, she stuck a paw out, placing it on JC’s arm, hoping that was enough to show her she understood.

JC patted it, smiling at her. “It’s a little like the paranormal Hunger Games, huh?”

This was a little like the paranormal Crazy Games, was what this was like. Even in her world, this was crazy. How could she, out of all the shifters in the world, have been picked to be this man’s life mate?

Ah, but you’re forgetting the big picture here, Martine. While you’re here, you’re free. Sort of.

But for how long before someone came looking? Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe she could just hide here for the rest of her life?

And in order to do that you have to have death-sex and mate for life.

A lottery of choices, if you will, Martine.

JC nodded her head, tucking her curls behind her ear. “I know exactly what you’re thinking right now. ‘Who’s in charge of this life mate thing and how did I end up like this?’ I’m still not sure how I, out of all the people in the world, was chosen for Max,” she said, poking him in the shoulder playfully. “It was a little like, ‘here, take that. Have a human who’s going to drive you out of your mind because she doesn’t believe in werewolves. Then, for your troubles, go on and try to make her fall in love with you and convince her to mate so you won’t die. Ha-ha-ha.’”

Max wound an arm around her shoulders, a definitive possessive gesture, making Martine shiver. It was clear this man Max loved this woman, and JC loved him back. It was in the way he looked at her, in the way he touched her, in the way her eyes scoured his face with unadulterated worship.

The mate-or die-thing had clearly worked for them. Squee, love.

Martine looked to Derrick and waited. He had a jaw that possessed a delicious tic she’d take a nip of if circumstances were different. There’d been a time when she’d enjoyed a man just for the pure enjoyment of him. If she’d run across Derrick during that time, she’d have definitely chosen to enjoy him.

Like if they’d met in a club—or at one of her office parties. Not in the backwoods of Cedar Glen, New Jersey, where distant banjos plucked the tune from Deliverance.

JC cocked her head. “Maybe you should explain the details of the curse, Derrick? Tell her why the need to mate is truly so dire?”

He was clearly running out of patience. Martine smelled it, saw it in his rigid posture. “A long time ago, several scientists kidnapped a group of werewolves to perform experiments on. We’re still not sure what those experiments entailed. We only know the results. Anyway, the experimental weres managed to break free, but they were scarred from years of abuse, and their DNA altered somehow.

“When they returned to their packs, our elders shunned them, didn’t want them to reproduce for fear they’d weaken their packs. They were due for extermination until my grandparents stepped in and spoke out. When they chose to defy the elders by taking in those pack members and their families and coming here to Cedar Glen, the elders cursed all Adams males. Sort of retribution for disobeying their wishes.”

Shunned? She was somewhere in the country with a bunch of redneck werewolves who’d been shunned? That really was a banjo she heard playing in the distance.

So maybe the person who’d dumped her in the cat carrier thought she could help them? Maybe her kidnapper thought she could break this curse they were fretting over?

Hah.

Fat lot of good she’d do them.

“Buuut…” JC said, looking like she was going to attempt to inject sunshine into a very dismal story. “The story has a happy ending. Max’s grandparents saved the day, and now everyone who was shunned lives here in Cedar Glen. Okay, there are some kinks in that happy ending, if I’m being fair, but so far, everyone’s been pretty great.”

Aha. Kinks. That was likely the key word here.

As everyone grew silent, Martine’s stomach began to roll. She hadn’t eaten in hours and there was so much to digest she felt dizzy from it. Curses and kinks and dogs and humans and death-sex.

Derrick finally rose, giving her a brief glance with those hard eyes before he said, “So where do we go from here? Maybe we should call Aunt Eva for advice?”

Max reached for his cellphone on the coffee table and held it up. “Nat just texted me. She’s gone again. You know her, she rolls on in here on chicken noodle soup night, whips up her crazy, and then she’s out until the next mate call.”

JC looked at Martine again and winked. “Nat is Derrick and Max’s younger sister. They have two. And a mother who’s an amazing cook. You’ll like them.”

The mention of food was her tipping point. Martine couldn’t stop the turning roll of her stomach. She heaved a long moment and then coughed, opening her mouth wide.

Martine gagged and finally relieved her throat of the ball lodged in it since some lunatic had stuffed her into that cage.

A round hairball lay at her feet.

Ick.

But phew, that was better.

Chapter Three

Derrick deposited her, cat carrier and all, on his kitchen counter, popping the grate door open with a lean finger. “So here’s the deal. I’m thinking you might be stuck in shift due to nerves. I don’t want you to be upset or feel pressured in any way. Take your time to adjust, and then we’ll start figuring this out. While you catch your breath, I’ll find you some water and maybe once your stomach’s settled, you’ll feel better.”

If nothing else, at least he was trying to work this out. After his explanation, and if what he said were true, he was in as much of a jam as she was.

Poking her head out of the cage, she sniffed the air and assessed the lay of Derrick’s land. It wasn’t an apartment in Manhattan; there were no sirens blaring, no horns squawking. In fact, it was pretty damn quiet.

Too quiet.

But in Derrick’s favor, the house was really tastefully decorated--for a man. Lots of big, overstuffed furniture in sedate beige hues with touches of lemon and green for accents. The walls were taupe and gray with splashes of color in the way of framed art; the appliances shiny; the kitchen cabinets whitewashed and clean, with a wire basket of fake lemons and green pears in the middle of the large island.

An entire wall was devoted to what she suspected were family pictures framed in black. Derrick laughing with his arm around another man holding a rabbit. Derrick with his arms around two beautiful girls who vaguely resembled him. Derrick and Max, their shirts off, throwing a football.

To his credit, there were no deer heads hanging from the walls or crushed beer cans strewn across the floor in a puddle of chew, and not one dead squirrel freeze-dried in its “natural” repose, nibbling on an acorn and mounted to a slab of wood.

As Derrick filled a bowl full of water for her, Martine decided to explore. Hopping from the cage, she stretched from neck to toe before jumping off the counter and onto the hardwood floor. The sunlight streaming in from all corners of the breakfast nook was divine. She made a mental note to nap there as soon as possible.

She liked the smell here in Derrick’s house. It smelled of pine and the outdoors, brawny man and the woods. Making her way down a long hall, she found several bedrooms, all as well decorated as his living room and kitchen.

She stopped at what she decided was his bedroom, filled with an enormous bed big enough to fit a man of his size, covered in a dark green comforter with plump red pillows and a window with a view of the pine trees surrounding his house.

Slipping inside Derrick’s bedroom felt a little intimate at this point, but if he was talking mercy mating, surely he wouldn’t mind if she took a peek at where the death-sex was supposed to happen.

His bathroom was what dreams were made of, an enormous white tub with jets and a big-screen TV, a mocha and gray tiled shower with two showerheads, and a bench seat where you could sit under the spray fo the water.

She’d missed taking showers—long, hot showers full of sweetly scented shower gel to wash away a long hard day.

Derrick stuck his head around the corner, interrupting her thoughts, his dark hair gleaming in the sunlight-bathed room, a question on his face.

A ripple of pure awareness skittered along her spine. Wow. He was really beautiful to look at—tight, tan skin, thick thighs, lean waist.

He drove his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, his expression tentative. “I’m a little at a loss right now. I don’t know what to offer you in terms of nourishment, and I don’t know how to ask without offending you.”

Please, for my dignity, don’t offer me tuna in a can.

“Tuna maybe? I have a couple of cans.”

Oh, heaven.

Rather than offend him, she decided tuna from a can was better than nothing from a can. To communicate her willingness, she skirted past his legs to head toward the kitchen, her tail brushing his calf as she did.

And there was that tingle again, a small beat of electricity, beginning in her stomach and spiking along her spine in a whisper of heat.

She shook it off, chalked it up to her new surroundings and lack of male companionship for so many months and sauntered down the long hallway again, heading toward the kitchen, where she sat in the middle of the floor, waiting.

As Derrick made his way into the large space, she stopped breathing momentarily.

She’d have to attribute that to nerves, too, but while she watched him open the can of tuna and put it in a bowl, watched the muscles in his arms flex and move beneath his skin, she had to wonder if admiring him the way she was had less to do with nerves and more to do with pure physical attraction.

Derrick set the tuna in front of her along with a bowl of water. “I have to head out to get some work done. Will you be okay here alone for a little while?”

Martine looked up at him, pausing before gobbling down the tuna she’d wanted little to do with moments ago.

He dropped to his haunches, tipping her chin up. “Maybe we can work out a sign? Meow for yes, it’s okay to leave you alone for a little while, don’t meow if not?”

Derrick’s hand on her chin was sort of nice. She found she had to fight to keep from rubbing her head against it.

Instead, she meowed her consent.

Satisfied, he rose, grabbing his keys from the countertop and glancing at her one last time. “I’ll be back soon. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

With that he was gone and she was left alone with her tuna and her thoughts.

Bleh, tuna.

At least it was albacore packed in water.

* * *

He caught sight of Hector just as he was crossing over the pathway connecting their houses.

“Look, Derrick!” Hector yelled from the doorway of his barn, his voice full of excitement. He held up a small brown bunny from the hut he’d had built for them right next to his house in order to keep them close.

Derrick let his head hang low, hiding his groan as he strode into the barn. Another bunny. “Hector, you’re going to need another hut the way you’re going. You can’t save them all, buddy.”

Hector rolled his dark eyes and made a face. “I could if you’d all stop eating them. You’re heathens, you filthy carnivores.”

Hector was a descendant of those damn experiments he’d told the cat about—a vegetarian werewolf who despised the hunt and refused to participate. Somehow, his DNA had been so irrevocably changed he managed to thrive without protein, yet was still able to shift.

Derrick held his hands up like two white flags before scratching Hector’s latest love under the chin. “Hey, I stopped eating them the minute you told me you gave them all names. I stick to stuff from the supermarket. No free-range woodland creatures in this belly. Promise, buddy.”

Hector slid bunny number eighteen at last count into the heated hut and smiled his approval. “So what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your mate, you know, mating?”

“About my mate…”

His eyes rounded when he grinned. “I heard. We all heard. A cat, right?”

Derrick sighed, jamming his hands into the pocket of his coat. The trouble with a close-knit family was the close-knit part. “Yes. She’s a cat. But she shifts. At least I think she does. She smells like she does, anyway.”

Hector leaned against the hut, readjusting the night-vision goggles he always wore in order to be prepared to watch for any small animals in distress. Unfortunately, as a result of his lineage, he’d also inherited poor eyesight. Or what was considered poor for a werewolf. “So what’s the problem?”

Derrick sighed. “She won’t shift.”

Hector threw his head back and laughed so hard his slender shoulders shook.

Derrick frowned. How was this funny? Okay, so maybe it was a little ironic that he’d ended up mated to a cat who wouldn’t shift, but it wasn’t damn well funny. “I fail to see the humor in this, Hector. I can’t communicate with someone who won’t shift.”

Hector lifted his glasses and wiped his eyes. “Yeah. That’s the funny in this. You, the crappy communicator, has to somehow communicate with someone who can’t. It’s priceless.”

Derrick fought a sharp retort. Mostly because Hector was right. Among his many flaws, he also wasn’t very good at communicating. That’s why he’d turned to Hector. Hector could talk a coon out of raiding a garbage can in ten seconds flat. No doubt he could communicate with his cat. “So any thoughts on what I should do? You’re so good with animals…”

Hector pulled his knit cap tighter over his ears, letting his goggles drop around his neck as he shook his head. “Oh, hell no. No, no, no. I’m not getting in the middle of the mate. And she’s not just a cat. She’s a shifter cat, meaning she’s half human woman. I suck at talking to women, and you know it. Sometimes I’m glad my DNA got all screwed up because it means I’m not forced to mate. But I’ll give you a little tip—don’t yell at her. You yell a lot.”

A lot? “Do I?”

Hector rolled his eyes and mimicked him. “Do I?” he squawked in a perfect imitation of Derrick. “Are you kidding me? You’re always yelling about something.”

He blustered at first, but then he gave that some thought. He did yell. Maybe it was from the years spent working in his bar in town, where he was always breaking up fights, or maybe it was from fighting for attention in a family of two sisters and an older brother. “Okay, so I’m impatient, and in my impatience, I get noisy sometimes. It’s not intentional.”

Hector threw up his gloved hand, the fingers of the wooly material cut off. “Exactly. But we all know that’s just Derrick. We know you and your big mouth. We’re used to you getting frustrated easily. But a woman? One you have to spend the rest of your life with? You might want to reign that shit in, pal. Use your indoor voice. Cats are skittish—easily scared.”

Derrick rocked back on his feet, nodding. “Fair enough. Any other tips?”

“A ball of yarn? Catnip? Oh! Salmon. Bet she’d like some salmon, and maybe one of those kitty condos. You know, with all the tiers and the carpet on them? Good exercise.”

Derrick scowled at him, his foul mood growing fouler. “Not laughing.”

Hector shrugged with a wide grin as he made his way toward the opening of the barn. “It’s all good, dude. I’ll laugh for you,” he said, before laughing again, the echo of it scaring the birds sitting atop the bales of hay in the rafters.

As Derrick watched Hector exit the barn, he sighed.

A cat.

He needed to get to his mothers and grab some cans of tuna. Hopefully he’d be able to get in and out before she began the inevitable round of questions and answers about his mate.

His mate the cat.

Christ.

Chapter Four

Martine spent the afternoon wandering Derrick’s home, familiarizing herself with the nooks and crannies in case escape was necessary. Hopping onto his bed, she lay down on the pillow where he rested his head every night, because it smelled delicious. Like musk and pine and Derrick.

She was hoping as she settled into her new surroundings, the tingle of her shift would somehow magically appear and if nothing else, she could explain to Derrick how she’d gotten stuck in the first place.

Escobar. That’s how she’d gotten stuck in cat form. How Escobar had found out about her, or from who, was still a mystery. She’d lived a life almost entirely magic free until Escobar. Free from the crazy that was this world of paranormals she wanted no part of.

Free from her ugly past.

She’d made it her mission to only shift when her body couldn’t take the bone-crushing pressure not to do so any longer, and even then, she took a quick run, flexed her kitty muscles, and she was back in human form pronto.

She hid from everyone and everything supernatural, and she’d planned to keep right on hiding until Escobar had come along.

Since she’d left home at the tender age of eighteen, she hadn’t looked back. She’d made a niced life for herself. Gone to college on a scholarship, found a good job, saved until she’d almost put Ramen Noodles out of business then began a journey into self-employment. But most of all, she’d avoided all messy entanglements.

Life had been damn good until Escobar showed up.

Now that she was out from under his thumb, somehow out from under the spell he’d cast on her, dooming her to the confines of his condo in Manhattan and that crazy catio he’d locked her up in, she should be able to switch forms.

So what the what, universe?

She’d heard him spew the spell with her own ears and it had involved tethering her only to his condo. So what was the hell was taking so long, and who’d confiscated her from Escobar’s and dumped her at a 7-Eleven?

As she scratched her back on Derrick’s sheets, she pondered this predicament, weighing the pros and cons.

For the moment, she was safe and free from captivity. It didn’t appear as though Derrick was going to harm her, and while he was less than thrilled about her being here, he wasn’t booting her out in the cold either.

Check one in the column of things to be thankful for.

However, she had a life she wanted to go back to—to resume, if that was still possible. A life she often wondered if anyone even knew she’d left. In her effort to keep from engaging in messy entanglements, she’d also done a great job of isolating herself.

Speaking of messy entanglements—this certainly would qualify.

This death-sex thing… She’d heard a lot of batshit crazy in her time, but death-sex?

Check one for the get-me-the-hell-out-of-here column.

So now what, Martine? Where to go from here?

A nap. That’s where she was going from here. A nice, long, rejuvenating nap.

Stretching out, she settled into the patch of buttery sun sprawling across the bed and snuggled down against Derrick’s pillow with a sigh, letting the silence seep into her bones.

Okay, so there was something to be said for the peace of the country. No one was blaring an episode of Cops from the apartment next door and the guy across the hall wasn’t practicing his squeaky rendition of Oklahoma on his trombone.

All other things aside, she could get used to the quiet.

* * *

Derrick tried to sneak into his mother’s house in order to avoid the inevitable falsely cheerful spin she’d attempt to put on finding his life mate. He didn’t want to talk about love and happily-ever-after when it was forced on him.

This wasn’t like JC and Max and their love story. This wasn’t going to be some great romance where love conquered all. It was going to be him, forced to do something he didn’t want to do, forcing someone else into a situation that was unfair at best.

This was him doing something he didn’t believe in.

He especially didn’t want to talk about it with his mother, who still burned a candle for his father, a man who’d up and left them when they’d needed him the most, leaving Max and Derrick to handle everything.

Max didn’t believe it—he still held hope someday their father would walk right back in the door he’d walked out of. But Derrick called bullshit.

Brock Adams had left. End of.

“There’s my boy!” Faith Adams squealed just as he was sneaking out of the pantry with some extra cans of tuna for his cat.

His. Cat. Jesus.

Faith clapped her hands, her eyes bright, her smile wide. Too wide. Fake wide, like when he was a kid and he was going to have to take medicine she knew would taste like donkey’s ass, yet still tried to convince him was grape-flavored. “So?”

Rather than answer, Derrick gave her a hug, long and hard. “How’s it going, Mom?”

She leaned back in his arms, her pretty eyes suspicious. “I’d ask the same of you, son.”

He held up one can of tuna, giving her a sheepish grin like he used to when he was stealing cookies as a kid. “Just borrowing some supplies until I can get to the store.”

Now her eyes turned playful. “For?”

“Mom…” he warned, refusing to be goaded into the life-mate talks.

“Your cat!” she said on a chuckle, slapping him on the arm. “You, my fine boy, have a cat for a life mate. Wanna talk about how you’re feeling about that?”

No. He absolutely wanted to avoid how he was feeling. “Not a lot.”

Faith’s sigh was ragged and full of motherly exasperation. “Derrick, when will you learn that clamming up isn’t the way to work things out? Surely you have feelings about this you need to talk about?”

He held his tongue for a moment, pausing to give thought to how he’d respond. “You heard she hasn’t shifted, right?”

Faith nodded, her eyes grave. “I did.”

“Okay, so in all fairness, how should I feel about this? We can’t have a conversation yet. So what do you want me to say?”

Faith avoided his eyes. “That’s fair. But when she does shift, and I’m sure she will, then what? Are you going to give this half a chance or are you going to poo-poo all things romantic?”

“I don’t know about you, Mom, but being forced to mate with someone you don’t even know isn’t exactly romantic,c nor does it inspire romance.”

“Well, it did for Max and JC.”

“And I’m happy for them—for Max. Really happy. But JC’s human. That’s just a bit less like the antichrist to a werewolf. In our truest form, we’re canines. Canine as in we’re known for eating cats. We’re supposed to chase them, not mate with them.”

Faith sighed, rolling her eyes. “That’s so archaic. We haven’t eaten cats in forever, and you know it. The hunt is more a tradition than anything else these days, and with Hector, we’re all very careful about who and what we choose to chase.”

“All that aside, Mom, this isn’t romantic.”

“If it could be romantic for your brother, why can’t it be romantic for you?”

His frustration with his current situation was beginning one of those slow simmers he had to be careful didn’t turn into a rolling boil. “Because I don’t want a life mate? Because I’m not a believer in happily-ever-after like you? Because sometimes I wonder if death isn’t preferable to being forcibly tied down to someone you didn’t want in the first place?”

Faith gazed at him, her eyes intense. “Take that back now, Derrick. That you would even speak those words makes me want to put you over my knee. There will be no death.”

He squeezed her arm in apology. “I’m sorry. That was crappy.”

“This is because of your father, isn’t it?”

He avoided eye contact, knowing it was definitely about his father. “Why would you draw that conclusion, Mom?” And how had he done such a piss-poor job of hiding it from her? He didn’t want to hurt her. He was just a realist.

“Because I know how you think. I know you’ve asked yourself this question over and over. How could a man like your father, who genuinely appeared to adore his wife and family, up and leave one day and never return?”

Okay, yeah. How did a man who Derrick was sure thought the sun rose and set upon his mother, just walk the fuck away without so much as a backward glance?

If there were ever two people in the world he’d been sure were nuts about each other, it was his parents. So what made a man who seemingly loved his wife just leave? Dissatisfaction? Another woman? Didn’t his mother ask herself that, too?

The moment he realized his father was never returning was the moment he realized everything could change on a dime, and he wanted no part of that. To invest all you had emotionally in someone only to have them simply toss it away? Um, no.

His mother grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “Derrick? This is about your father, isn’t it? Answer the question. Answer it truthfully.”

Rather than have a confrontation about how foolish he thought it was for his mother to pine away for his father, he plastered a fake smile on his face. “I can’t, Mom. I have a cat to feed, remember?”

She made a face full of disapproval and clucked her tongue. “You’re avoiding.”

“Yep. I am. I don’t share your views, Mom. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you, or respect your choices or advice. It just means we disagree, and right now I have a lot on my plate I have to figure out. On that note, I’m taking my tuna and going home.” Derrick held the cans up and grinned, dropping a kiss on her cheek before making a break for the front door.

As he stepped outside, he took a deep breath of the frigid air and let it go.

He didn’t want a life mate. He didn’t want anyone in his life to become so important to him emotionally he’d be all torn up the way his mother was over his father.

He didn’t believe he’d suddenly feel all the ridiculous feelings Max felt for JC. He didn’t believe, period.

Forever didn’t exist.

End of.

* * *

Martine woke from her nap with a stretch and a long yawn, rising to the surface of consciousness in slow, delightful increments. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d awakened without the ugly anxiety in the pit of her belly, without the fear of the unknown waiting to plague her all day long and well into the night.

“You’re naked,” a deep voice rumbled, sending a ripple of heat along her spine.

Oh, that voice. Yum.

Wait. Naked? She was? Martine stretched again, wiggling her toes. Oh my God, she was. Now, the key was to remain calm while naked in front of Derrick.

She propped one eye open to see Derrick in the doorway, tall, dark, strong, incredibly sexy. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes focused on the ceiling. “Good eye,” she responded, keeping her tone casual. She didn’t mind if he didn’t.

Clearly, he minded. He continued averting his gaze, throwing her a blanket from the chair in the corner of the room. “So, I’m Derrick Adams. I’d shake your hand, but you know, naked.”

Martine sighed on a chuckle, sitting up and wrapping herself in the warmth of the throw before he finally gazed at her, his blue eyes roving over her face. “Pleasure.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyebrow raised. “And you are?”

Pulling herself upward, she leaned back on her elbows. “Well, if what I’m hearing is correct, I’m the answer to all your death-sex needs.”

Derrick barked a laugh, rich and throaty, that slithered through her body with a tingling vibration. “That’s the word on the street.”

“You werewolves are some edgy bunch with this Russian Roulette sex, huh?” she asked, enjoying the fact that she had a leg by letting it swing off the side of the bed.

“We have our moments.”

“So what happens from here, Derrick?” Because if he didn’t know, she had some ideas.

He swished a finger around in her general vicinity. “You put some clothes on and we talk about this like adults. Dressed adults.”

She grinned at him. In the midst of all this upheaval, his obvious discomfort made her snicker. Uncomfortable was precious on him. “But I don’t have any clothes.”

He finally entered the room, his feet padding along the carpeted floor toward a dresser. His lean fingers dug around in a drawer, pulling out a flannel shirt and some boxer-briefs and tossing them to the bed.

“Socks, too? If it’s not too much trouble, please?”

Derrick responded by opening another drawer and rooting around until he came up with a pair of white socks, dropping them on the bed as he headed for the door. “I’ll meet you out in the living room so we can talk,” he said, totally avoiding even a glance in her direction.

She let the blanket fall away the moment he was gone, hopping off the bed and trying her feet back out for size. It had been too damn long since she’d walked erect. But her joy was tempered by the fact that she didn’t know how long she could sustain her human form.

Scooping up Derrick’s clothes, she went straight for the bathroom to assess herself in the mirror. Dropping the clothes on the vanity, she leaned forward and gave herself a critical once-over.

Thinner. She looked a bit thinner than she had before Escobar—being held hostage was the best diet ever. Holding up a strand of her hair to the light above the sink, she eyed it critically, noting the frayed ends. Her dark hair was dull, and in desperate need of a wash and trim. A mani/pedi wouldn’t kill her, either.

Her legs, however? If she didn’t shave them soon, it wouldn’t be much longer until Sasquatch welcomed her to the fold.

But all in all, no worse for the wear. All of those things would have to wait for now. For now, she was only interested in settling this issue and making a deal with Derrick the Werewolf.

Slipping Derrick’s shirt over her head and rolling up the sleeves, she tied her hair into a knot on top of her head, threw on his boxer-briefs and socks, and made her way toward the living room.

Her nap had brought with it a plan.

One she was going to put into motion ASAP. It was bold. It was maybe even a little crass, but if the overall vibe she was picking up from Derrick was correct, he didn’t want the mate thing any more than she did.

Derrick’s socks flopped as Martine walked, trying to hold up his boxer-briefs so they wouldn’t slide down over her hips. She found him in the kitchen, his hair gleaming under the recessed lighting, his broad back to her as he cut something on the cutting board at the kitchen’s island.

She swung around the granite countertop, stopping in front of him. He didn’t even look up at her as he chopped a stalk of celery. She put her hand on his tan one, thwarting his motion. “I’m Martine Brooks, and I’m from Manhattan. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner, but I was stuck.”

And that was all she planned to tell him. The less Derrick knew about her situation, the better. For everyone involved.

He lifted his eyes, pinning her with his gaze. “Good to know. Hello, Martine Brooks,” he responded before his lashes swept his cheeks and he returned to the celery.

Martine grabbed a piece of celery and popped it in her mouth, savoring the taste of real food. “So, let’s talk about this—about your curse.”

He stopped chopping. “So you did understand everything I said?”

“Every sex-or-die word,” she joked, forcing her eyes away from his thickly muscled chest.

He laughed again, that deep rumble that made her toes curl and her stomach feel like butterfly wings were tickling her from the inside out. “Good. I was worried we’d have to start all over, and you have to admit, the subject is a little awkward.”

Leaning in, she examined some carrots he had on the sideboard. “You mean the sex?”

“Yeah, I mean the sex. How many guys do you know tell you they have to have sex with you or die?”

Martine winked at him, tucking her chin into her shoulder, her talent for flirting alive and well. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“Touché.”

“So about the sex…”

“What about it?”

“I’m in. All systems go.”

“What systems?”

“Death-sex.”

His pretty face went deliciously blank. “What?”

“I, Martine Brooks, will have save-your-life sex with you, Derrick Adams.”

Derrick dropped the knife then, letting it clatter to the floor.

Chapter Five

Martine scooped up the knife, dropping it in the sink while Derrick’s jaw hung open. She quickly grabbed another from the chopping block and said, “Just hear me out. “Here’s what I propose. A deal of sorts.”

His eyes narrowed. “A deal…”

Martine’s return gaze was direct. “Uh-huh. I’ll have sex with you by the light of the full moon—”

“On the night of the full moon.”

She waved a hand at him, using the knife to pick up where he’d left off with the celery. “Whatever, Dr. Seuss. Around, in, on top of the moon, if that’s what you need. Anyway, I’ll have sex with you to save you from dying.”

Now his eyes went cautious. “And in return?”

“In return, you let me stay here, no questions asked. I can come and go as I please, of course, being respectful of your space and hospitality until this is over.”

His brow furrowed. “And then?”

“And then I get out of your hair forever. Look, you don’t want this any more than I do, right? We’ve been thrown together by some force—”

“Destiny.”

“Baloney,” she spat. She didn’t believe in fate and destiny.

“Wow. Not a fan of happily-ever-after, huh?”

She held up a finger. “I didn’t say that. I’m a huge fan of happily-ever-everything. I just don’t necessarily believe it has to be with one person. I know that sounds callous and no, before you get all psycho-babble-y with me, it’s not because I’ve been burned or scarred in an emotionally traumatic way because of a romantic relationship. I just like variety. There’s never been a single man I’ve wanted to commit to for longer than a couple of nights. No one’s that amusing.”

And that was true. She’d dated plenty at almost thirty-three. She’d dated pleasantly, wisely, and she’d always left without looking back the moment she lost interest. She loved men—for a time, and then at the first sign of ownership on their part, she was out. No one owned her. No one had the right to tell her what to do. She made the rules.

Derrick’s lips fell into a devastatingly handsome grin, leaving deep grooves on either side of his mouth. “You know, I like you more and more. But here’s something to think about. You can’t leave if you’re my life mate.”

Dropping the knife, Martine put her hands on her hips. “Said who? You know, I gave this whole curse thing some thought today. Now, here’s what I’ve been thinking. The curse just says you have to mate with me on the full moon. It doesn’t say you have to set up housekeeping with me, does it? There’s no saying I have to cook and clean while you mow the grass and take out the garbage or even live with you day in and day out, is there?”

Derrick’s beautiful face went blank, but his listening ears were definitely on.

Now they were getting somewhere. She smiled as she continued. “Will you still die after we have sex if I go back to Manhattan and you stay here in Cedar Glen? Max didn’t. And if that were the case, how do you people get anything done if you’re always glued to each other’s backsides? Does the curse say wives of werewolves can’t ever take a girls’ trip? Shop for shoes? Have some personal time?”

His eyes widened, and Martine was sure she saw a tiny bit of hope in them. “You have a point.”

“Exactly. So I don’t mind, for all intents and purposes, wearing the title Derrick’s Mate, if you don’t mind being Mr. Martine. It’s like everyone always says, marriage is just a piece of paper, right? That’s what our mate will be. A piece of paper—an agreement. I suspect you feel the same?”

His chin lifted, dark with stubble and almost defiant. “Definitely right.”

“So deal?”

Derrick picked the knife back up and pointed to the drawer. “Let me process. Mind peeling the carrots while we hash this out? Peeler’s in the drawer on your side.”

Martine reached in and dug around until she found it. “What are we making?”

“Not chicken noodle soup,” he joked.

Martine laughed as she peeled. “I bet there’s a special kind of hate reserved in your family for all things soup.”

“It’s Bolognese, and don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the mate. I just don’t…” He set the knife down, moving away from the island and toward the fridge.

“Want to mate with someone forever,” she finished for him, peeling a carrot. “I get it. You don’t have to defend that because I don’t either. I like single probably as much as the average male, maybe even more.”

Derrick pulled out a bottle of red wine and held it up, a question in his eyes.

She nodded with a happy sigh, feeling more relaxed than she had in a long time. “Oh, please. A glass of wine would be fantastic. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.” A long while.

“Because?” he asked, pouring two glasses and dropping one in front of her before he resumed chopping some onions.

“No questions, remember?” she asked, taking a long sip from her glass, letting the chilled liquid sit on her tongue for a moment, feeling the pressure of guilt for asking him to stay out of her business when her business could bring trouble. She was still at odds over whether she should tell Derrick why she hadn’t been able to shift.

But are you risking his pack and its members if you don’t?

Derrick smiled, and when he did, it was more of that beautiful he had going for him. His teeth perfectly white, his lips full and delectable. “We haven’t made the deal yet, remember?”

“Right. So the deal. You have any fine-tuning you want to do?”

He eyed her over the rim of his glass. “Maybe just a question or two before we finalize. Nothing too personal.”

Martine pursed her lips. “Go,” she said, setting the wine down and grabbing the peeler.

“How did you end up at the 7-Eleven?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea. All I remember was going to bed the night before—”

“In cat form?”

Martine nodded, pushing the stray tendrils of hair falling from the knot on top of her head out of her face. “Yes. I went to bed and woke up when you found me in the cat carrier. I don’t know how I got there or even how someone managed to stuff me into it without waking me.”

Come to think of it, that was rather strange. She was by no means a light sleeper, but she certainly would have awakened if someone were dumping her into a tiny plastic box.

“And why couldn’t you shift?”

“I wasn’t being difficult, honestly. I guess it’s like you said, nerves? Anxiety?” That sounded as good as any explanation.

“Fair enough. Anyone you want to call to let them know you’re okay? Family?”

She bristled at his intrusion then caught herself. Derrick was clearly close to his family. It was only natural he’d think she had family she needed to inform of her whereabouts. But she didn’t. None she wanted to call anyway. No one who would answer that call, and definitely no one who could help her…

There was no one. Well, maybe her landlord—because she was six months overdue on her rent, and then she thought better of it. “Nope. I’m golden.”

“Okay, so the deal is, you stick around for another three weeks until the next full moon, we…”

Martine watched him falter, struggle with the words. More adorable. More melty-knee syndrome. “Make the business. Do the do. Copulate.”

“You’re not shy, are you?”

“I just told you I’d have sex with you so you won’t die, and you don’t even have to buy the cow. Does that say bashful?”

He laughed, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he did, the deep rumble of the sound pleasant. “Also fair. So why would you do this? You don’t even know me. What difference does it make to you if I end up dead?”

Because she knew the paranormal. She knew the kind of fruitcakes running around in their world. She knew what it was to be frustratingly held captive with no control and the clock ticking away as your only bedfellow. Because Derrick didn’t seem like the kind of guy who should die for something he had nothing to do with.

Also, because she needed a place to stay, a safe harbor, and she wasn’t above doing what she had to do in order to hang on to it for as long as she could until she was able to figure out what to do next.

Doesn’t that make you loose? She’d given that niggle of her conscience a good dressing down the first time it reared its ugly head. Did it make her loose if she was saving a life? One that was likely good and honorable, if her nose and senses were still in proper working order?

Would it make her loose if circumstances had been different and she’d met Derrick at a bar? Or maybe at the reception of one of the weddings she planned? He was beautiful to look at.

There was nothing wrong with two people making love for nothing more than the sheer delight in connecting on a physical level. If she’d have met him any other way, likely she would have made her intentions quite clear from the start.

“You’re right. I don’t know you. But I believe you. I know curses, and this one’s a doozie. Curses are just one of many things I despise about being paranormal. Consider it a favor from one supernatural survivalist to another. There are plenty of people who deserve to end up dead. You just don’t seem like one of them. And you’re not exactly ugly,” she tacked on. Hopefully, that explanation was enough.

Derrick paused, his expression said he had more he wanted to ask, but if he did, he kept it to himself. “Okay, so you stay here until the full moon. Come and go as you please. You save my ass on the full moon, and we call it over. You go home to Manhattan. I go back to my life. No harm, no foul.”

“Protection. We also use protection. No catdogs running around.”

He barked another one of those laughs. “Catdogs?”

“Me being half cat and you being half werewolf sorta equals half cat, half dog. I don’t know how our cycles would mesh, and I don’t want to know.”

He nodded. “Aha. Okay, so protection—the best there is.”

Martine held out her hand with a smile. “Deal?”

“You’re on.” Derrick took her outstretched hand, closing his long fingers over hers and squeezing.

And when he did, something happened. Something peculiar and new. Something that felt far too right. Far too good.

Far too much like that one thing she’d been told through movies and books to look for all her life but could never quite nail down.

And that was complete bullshit.

* * *

Derrick watched Martine eat her spaghetti Bolognese with relish from across the table as if it were her last meal, and wondered what he’d gotten himself into.

Well, Derrick, a gorgeous woman with a body right out of a painting by Rubens has just agreed to have sex with you so you won’t die.

Yay! Cheers from the crowd.

As if that weren’t enough, this beautiful, savvy, amazing carrot peeler also agreed to go away forever and never ask anything of you when all’s said and done—ever.

More cheers from the crowd. Maybe even some swaying and a lone Bic lighter held up in your honor.

I don’t know what you’d call it, Derrick, but for someone like you, who didn’t want a life mate, the rest of us would call this a big win. A coup. Score. Jackpot. Don’t question it, just roll with it.

When he’d come around the corner of his bedroom door to find Martine stretching on his bed, her limbs long, her hips full, parts of him that had no business having such a vigorous reaction had sprung to action. Her creamy skin in the setting sun, her amazing hair falling to the middle of her back in thick black layers, her eyes fringed with thick dark lashes—all of it made his groin tighten painfully.

Under normal circumstances, that wasn’t like him. It usually took a little more than just a quick glance of a naked woman to fire him up.

He hadn’t stopped much to think about what her human form would look like, being so caught up bemoaning the fact that he had a life mate, but well, wow.

As life mates went, Martine was undoubtedly a jackpot.

And she wanted the same thing he did. Out.

So throughout watching her eat two full plates of spaghetti, a half loaf of garlic bread, and sharing almost two bottles of wine with him while Vivaldi’s Four Seasons played in the background, he patted himself on his back at his good luck.

Martine Brooks was gorgeous, intelligent, and she didn’t want anything from him.

“You have a good appetite. It’s nice to see,” he commented, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

She grinned at him, her pretty pink lips full and lush, tipping upward, leaving dimples on either side of her mouth. “I love to eat. So count yourself lucky you’re not dating me—because I’m not one of those girls who picks at a salad and declares she’s full up to her eyeballs after a leaf of lettuce. I love food. That was delicious, by the way.”

While they’d cooked, he’d stolen glimpses of her as they’d moved in sync in the kitchen. While she’d diced, peeled, sautéed, he’d stolen some more.

Damn she was good-looking, and well versed in the kitchen. He also found himself wondering more than their bargain allowed. Like, why did she want to stay here until the mate was done? Why wouldn’t she just go home to Manhattan and return on the full moon?

But he’d promised not to ask questions, and he wouldn’t. If he didn’t ask, he couldn’t get involved; if he didn’t get involved, he didn’t have to deal with all the emotions involvement brought.

“So what does Derrick do for a living?” she asked, taking another gulp of her wine and leaning back in the chair, leaving the front of his shirt to gape open, allowing just a hint of cleavage to show.

“Derrick owns the local bar in town. He slings booze and breaks up fights.”

“A bartender? Huh.”

“Surprised?”

“Is it your passion?”

“Owning a bar?”

“Yeah. Do you like owning your own business, serving drinks?” she asked, crossing her long legs at the ankles, his socks drooping from her feet.

“I do. Some say it isn’t very ambitious, especially in Cedar Glen, but I do pretty well, considering.”

Tipping more wine into her beautiful mouth, she capped off another glass, licking her lips and smiling. “Considering what?”

“A good portion of Cedar Glen is vampire and they don’t drink anything.”

Her green eyes went wide. “Vampires? Aren’t they a violent bunch? I haven’t had much exposure to them, so I don’t want to judge, but I’ve heard things that aren’t exactly without some gore.”

He shook his head and smiled, liking the way her eyes met his. There was nothing coy about Martine. Her direct nature was incredibly hot. No games. No innuendo. Hot.

“No one in Cedar Glen is violent. A little left field? Definitely. Many of the folks in town have one affliction or another that separates them from their race. It’s what Cedar Glen was founded on. Differences.”

“So sort of like a land for misfit toys?”

He smiled. He hated the kooky labels they’d been given, but he was damn proud of his grandparents for giving the outcasts a place to go—even with a curse on his head. “Yeah. Just like that, in fact.”

Martine leaned forward on the table, the shirt gaping open again, forcing him to drag his eyes to her face and ignore the creamy swell of breasts. “I was thinking about what you told me back at your brother’s, about how your grandparents saved all those werewolves. How courageous to thumb their noses at your elders. What an amazing testament to your kind.”

Her words of approval made his gut clench, filled it with warmth that was strange and new. “What about your kind?”

Martine bristled immediately, her body language a clear sign he should back off. It was in the way she sat up straight and smoothed her hands over her shirt, in the way her lips tightened as if to say keep out. “What about them?”

Derrick threw up his hands before pushing his chair out. “Sorry. I forgot the no-questions rule. Forget I asked. How about we clean up? I’ll rinse the dishes, you load the dishwasher?”

Martine pushed her chair back, too, and rose, grabbing a plate, an awkward silence settling between them. “You bet.”

As she trailed off to the kitchen to the tune of Claire De Lune, he fought to look anywhere but at her rounded ass, grabbing more plates and glasses to keep his eyeballs in his head.

He followed her into the kitchen, dropping their glasses into the sink and placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to intrude. I guess it’s just hard to know what’s out of bounds. I was just making conversation.”

She looked up at him then, her expression sheepish. “No. That’s on me. I’m going to tell you something honestly, and I hope you won’t judge me too harshly.”

Martine paused, letting her head drop, her thick, dark hair falling toward her face in silky strands. “I hate being paranormal. I hate the rules. I hate the hiding from humans. I hate the ridiculous restraints placed on us. I hate that someone placed a curse on you that will leave you dead just because your family helped people in need. It makes me angry—it enrages me, in fact, and I want no part of it. I’ve always struggled with it.”

Derrick wanted to ask what restraints, but he knew better. He might not be a great communicator, but he smelled her struggle, her helplessness, and it only made him want to ask her more questions. “It’s not so different than being human, you know. Humans have all sorts of rules, and grossly unfair ones at that.”

Martine scoffed. “Can they curse you to die if you don’t have sex with someone you’ve never met before? Can they cast ugly spells on you? Hold you…”

Hold her what? Spells? She grew more interesting by the second, but he kept his questions to himself. “In all fairness, humans have plenty of crazy rules, Martine. Someday, you should read what’s illegal in Idaho alone. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had rules just like my curse. Some are so ludicrous they’re laughable.”

Her eyes fell to the sink with a sweep of her lashes against her cheek “Do humans have to hide from us like they’re lepers? Hide their abilities so they won’t turn into someone’s science project?”

He could argue this all night, but he’d hit a raw spot, and he wasn’t into rubbing salt into her very clearly open wounds.

Instead, he squeezed her shoulder again and said, “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Martine. But just as an FYI, here in Cedar Glen, we specialize in just being who you are. For the most part, we’re loud and proud here, unless humans are driving through, and that’s mostly only in the summer months. I hope while you’re here, you’ll get out and experience some of it.”

When Martine nodded, her chin brushed his hand. It was just a quick collision of skin, but it was enough to make him let his fingers fall away.

Because he felt her vulnerability—her loneliness—and he didn’t want to.

Because for some crazy reason, that simple touch of skin on skin made him want to fill in all those gaps, make up for whatever she was lacking.

And that was damn crazy.

Chapter Six

Martine’s long, supple body slithered over his, sending a wave of heat across Derrick’s flesh. Naked, she crept upward along his body, sliding, rubbing leaving her silky imprint on him, leaving her scent of raspberries and cinnamon in his nose.

He knew he should be surprised she was in his bedroom, surprised she was anywhere near him after their dinner conversation. Yet, she felt familiar and unfamiliar all at once. As though she were a favorite pair of jeans he’d forgotten he had and was slipping back into for the first time in years. She felt new, but comfortable, taking all the surprise out of it.

As her soft hands roamed along his pecs, his brain knew he should speak up to keep her from doing something she’d possibly regret. But his limbs? They were erring on the side of “Shut up, Derrick. Extremely attractive woman in your bed. Go with it, brother.”

Still, the stand-up guy in him wanted to give her the chance to opt out of whatever this was when she drew her long fingers along the crease where his hip met his thigh. But his body wouldn’t listen to his brain—didn’t want to listen to his brain.

And neither did his cock, burning hot and painfully erect. Everyone but caution and common sense wanted to come out and play tonight.

As Martine’s legs straddled his chest, the gentle swell of her hip by the light of the quarter moon caught his eye. It was soft and plump, creamy and smooth, and he wanted to dig his fingers into her supple flesh, touch her silky skin everywhere.

And then the half of his brain still capable of exercising caution mocked him. Oh, Derrick. You don’t even know her. Shame on you. She’s kindly offered to save you from death, and you’re not even considering engaging her in a conversation about her reasons for showing up in your bedroom completely naked? Maybe ask her what bought this on when earlier tonight she would have sooner had sex with a wart-covered Cyclops than even be in the same room with you?

That’s harsh and totally untrue. She never once said I was unattractive.

But he quit arguing with his brain when Martine pressed her body to his, sinking into him. Thigh to thigh, chest to chest. And it was damn good. Damn good. Too good.

Derrick…

Look here, Brain. Shut. Up.

There was a mingle of moans, an echo of sighs before Derrick finally stirred beneath her, the lower half of his body arching upward as she settled on his abdomen, leaning over him, letting her long, black hair caress his chest.

He groaned when her tongue snaked out, stroking the line of his lips with a heated swipe. She lingered on the surface, lightly licking, tasting, exploring, until he forgot all the warning signs that this was a bad idea and captured her mouth in a deep kiss.

When their tongues touched for the first time, he moaned, his chest vibrating with deep satisfaction, her breasts, full and round, pushing against him in response. Martine’s mouth on his was soft, plump, and he wanted to devour it.

She sank deeper into him, pressing every available inch of her skin against his, making his cock tighten even more painfully, ache with need.

Derrick’s hands instantly went to her hair, his fingers thrusting into it, pulling her closer.He was learning about this woman who didn’t want any personal involvement through this amazing kiss, learning what she liked, learning what made her nipples tighten and her toes dig into the bed.

And then he took her mouth deeper, fully, inhaling the flavor of her taste, stroking the texture of her tongue until her fists pressed into either side of his head.

She returned the kiss by pressing her lips to his with a whimper, matching his tongue’s forceful strokes.

He slipped deeper still into the cavern of her mouth, tasting, exploring, needing this with a burn in his gut and a tight pull of his shaft.

With suddenness and a light moan, Martine pulled away, lifting herself slightly and gazing down at him, her green eyes on fire, her breasts brushing his lips before she settled in.

She stared at him, scanned his face while he searched her eyes, looking for the smallest hint she wanted him to stop. Her chest heaved as she sat up fully, driving her tight nipples upward, the pretty pink buds making his mouth water.

Still, he waited, forcing his body to remain in check, keeping his impatience in check.

But Martine took his hands and placed them on her breasts, as though she were giving him the final permission he needed to touch her, and then she closed her eyes, her tongue slipping out of her mouth to wet her lips.

His cock jerked in response to the picture she made, making him husk out a low moan at the silk of her skin, the heat of it.

She gripped his wrists tight, hissing as he gently pinched her nipples, turning them into tight, hard points. Lowering them to his mouth, she gasped when he pushed them together and lashed each bud before drawing them between his teeth and nipping them.

Her hips rolled as she pressed her breasts deeper into his mouth, a sigh escaping her lips. He sipped at the rigid buds until she fell against him, reaching to clutch handfuls of his hair, whispering words he couldn’t make out.

His first instinct was to roll her to her back and drive into her until she screamed—it was always his first instinct. Yet, he wanted more. He wanted to discover what made Martine tick, what wrought those breathy sighs from her, what made her writhe in passion.

The overwhelming need to slip between her thighs became an urgent, aching must. He was on fire, his cock hard and pulsing, but he needed to taste her first, to slip his tongue between her folds.

Now.

He rolled her to her back, kissing her breasts once more before leaving them, smiling against her belly when she groaned a protest, Derrick trailed kisses along her ribs, down over the swell of her abdomen before parting her thighs.

His chest tightened at the sight of her, unexpectedly shaved smooth, and he moaned his approval, leaning forward, inhaling her scent, running his tongue along her creamy inner thigh.

Her impatience grew, judging from the bucking of her hips and the insistent hand she placed on his head, making him linger longer at the crease where her thigh met her hip. As Martine’s chest rose and fell, the peaks of her nipples lifting into his line of vision, he spread her swollen flesh, letting the wetness seep into the pads of his fingers.

Martine cried out at his touch, her body shivering against him. Rising up on her heels, she strained toward his fingers.

When his tongue slipped inside her for the first time, Derrick’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. His cock pulsed, white-hot and needy as he took a long swipe, flattening his tongue against the swell of flesh, savoring her essence.

Martine’s pussy was nirvana, salty/sweet perfection, and as his lips explored her, she rocked against them, her breath coming in short pants. Circling her clit, Derrick suckled it, stroked it, teased it before slipping a finger inside her.

The easy rhythm he’d begun increased, matching his finger’s strokes to that of his tongue, savoring the tight pull as she contracted around the digit.

And still, he grew greedier, hot spears of agonizing need tearing at him, driving him to taste as much of her wet flesh as he could. The sounds of her heavy panting hitched, released, caught, let go again until her hands gripped his hair, clutching it in her fists.

Martine lifted her hips, her heels digging into the mattress as she cried out, hoarse and raspy, the air thick with the tangible smell of her release as he drove his finger into her and licked her clit.

When she sank back into the bed, Derrick stroked her thighs, soothing her, learning the feel of her skin beneath his palm, listening for her breathing to slow before he inched his way back upward, dropping kisses on her belly, along her ribs, making his way to her mouth.

Her delicious mouth parted when Derrick nibbled her silky lower lip. Her hands kneaded his shoulders, wound over his back, moving down along his spine, cupping his ass.

She wrapped her long legs around him, whispering words that again he couldn’t quite make out, they were so muted and indistinct. She coaxed him to his back, laying her palms flat on his chest. She pinched his nipples, drawing her hands over his skin until she was between his legs.

It took everything he had in him to remain still, to let her explore the way he had. Soft lips grazed his belly, tiny flicks of her tongue wound their way to his cock.

He was dizzy with expectation as she neared his shaft, his mouth dry, his senses on overload. But he forced himself to open his eyes, to watch her take him in her mouth. His chest tightened when she licked her lips, anticipating the slick, hot glide of tongue over flesh. His heart sped up, racing in time with the electricity sparking through his veins in hot jolts.

Martine let her hair graze his cock, draping it over the rigid flesh as she lingered, her hot breath caressing him.

The long, slow swipe of her tongue along his length made his hips bolt upward and his hands found her hair, gripping the long strands, threading his fingers through it as he pulled her to him.

She took her time, circling the head of his shaft, licking it swiftly, lightly, her hands cupping the heavy sac of his balls as she teased him with her tongue. With a motion of catlike grace, Martine enveloped him and he bucked in response, clutching her head tighter, her slow descent making the muscles in his thighs tense and bulge.

Gripping each thigh, she kneaded them as she allowed Derrick to glide freely between her lips. The visual of her body curled between his thighs, her long, dark hair tousled, the sweet slide of her lips against his cock, were almost as hot as her mouth on him.

His teeth clenched in an effort to take this slow, but the hot cavern of her mouth was too much, not enough, overwhelming, as she tightened her lips around him and pulled upward on his cock then slid back down.

Over and over until every nerve in his body was on fire, until he was so close to coming, he had to pull from her mouth and drag her upward, rolling her to her back.

He needed to drive into her, to sink into her wet, silky depths.

Needed.

Martine arched in response, wrapping her long thighs around his waist, placing one palm at his chest and looping her other arm around his neck.

He didn’t hesitate when she lifted her hips, encouraging him to plunge deeply within her—but the moment he did was a moment he’d never forget.

As he drove upward, their gazes met, Martine’s as surprised as he was certain his was. This felt too good—too right—too much. She wasn’t just wet and tight, she was everything—all consuming, and her gasp mingling with his own made them both pause.

He pulsed inside her, torn by this unfamiliar rush of emotion, caught off guard by the intensity until she writhed beneath him, enticing him, making him take control and thrust inside her again.

His cock was like steel, deeply wedged in her tight depths when he began to plunge, drawing his hips back and letting go with no mercy. Martine’s pussy clenched around him like a slick glove. She matched his thrusts, raising her leg higher, clawing at his back.

The sting of her nails and her harsh moans against his ear served to heighten his need. He hooked an arm at the bend in her leg, lifting it higher, driving toward the white flashes of light behind his eyelids.

Martine frantically thrust her hips against him, making his blood pound in his ears. Derrick hissed a breath when her hands found the muscled flesh of his ass, digging her nails into it as he swelled within her. She whimpered low, her nipples tightening, scraping his chest, her neck arching, signaling her release.

And as the roar of climax surfaced, gripping him, milking his cock, Derrick tensed above her, sinking into her tight wetness one last time before he came, the orgasm hard, relentless in its grip.

Martine rode the wave with him, their hips crashing together, a fine sheen of sweat covering their flesh as Derrick found her lips, sealing them in a kiss before collapsing against her and pulling her close.

He drifted off to sleep, the sweet smell of their lovemaking in his nose, and the profound discovery of how at ease he was with her in his bed weighing heavy in his chest.

* * *

The clatter of pots and the aroma of coffee woke him. The sounds of someone in his kitchen made him lift himself to his elbows before the memory of last night hit him.

Martine’s hot skin on his, his tongue buried inside her. Some of the most amazing lovemaking he’d ever encountered, and he’d encountered plenty. His cock clearly remembered it, too, lifting beneath the sheets in salute.

Then reality settled in. Shit. Now came the awkward weirdness always associated with the morning after.

But hold on, he hadn’t been the one to make the first move. She’d appeared in his bedroom. So what the hell did that mean?

Martine poked her head around his bedroom door, an eyebrow raised, her hair falling about her shoulders and down over her breasts in shiny waves of black silk. “I made breakfast. Figured it was the least I could do after last night.”

Instantly, he was in defense mode. The least she could do? Was this a passive aggressive poke at how quickly they’d made love?

She’d made the first move. He couldn’t be blamed for succumbing to her incredibly amazing body. “The least you could do?” he asked dumbly.

She shrugged her shoulders, covered once more in the shirt he’d loaned her, and gave him a half smile. “I guess what I meant was, you did most of the cooking last night. The least I can do is take on the task of preparing a meal or two. I mean, you are letting me stay here hassle free. I’m a little rusty, but I managed to make eggs Benedict, if you’re interested.”

He eyed her from the bed. No recriminations? No angry words? No “You only used me for my body” melodrama?

And eggs Benedict, too? What woman made anything but a voodoo doll she could stick pins in for a man who had every intention of their interaction being nothing more than a one-night stand?

Okay, they obviously needed to clear the air. If she wasn’t going to touch it, he would because he needed to clear the air. “About last night—”

Martine flapped a hand at him, effectively cutting him off, and gave him a lopsided smile. “You mean all my carrying on about my hating being paranormal? I’m sorry. It was really morose and gloomy, huh? It was insulting to you because you don’t seem to mind—even with a curse hanging over your head, and I regret sharing that. Promise, from now on, I’ll be warm sunshine and cream-filled cakes. So let’s forget it, and let me make it up to you with breakfast. I won’t speak another word about how I feel on that particular subject. Now, hurry up and get dressed before it gets cold.”

With that, she turned on her heel and wandered back toward the kitchen like they hadn’t made wild, incredible love.

Well, now, hold on a second. Was he that forgettable that she could just dismiss what had happened between them as though it were nothing?

No, his brain said. You hold on a second. Why do you care if you’re forgettable?

He threw the blankets off and rolled out of bed, pulling on his jeans.

He didn’t.

Then where are you going in such a rush, buddy?

He was going to figure this out before it came back to bite him in the ass, that’s where he was going. But he skidded to a halt when he got to the kitchen, his breath somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

Martine had her back to him, her curvy ass just peeking out beneath his shirt, when, spatula in hand, she turned sideways and lifted her arms to stretch. The sunlight streamed over her glossy black hair, her breast silhouetted in the flimsy shirt, plump and full.

And his mouth watered again.

Not typical for him. He was never much enamored the day after, no matter how good-looking a woman was.

Never.

When she gave one of the frying pans on the stove a shake, he had to close his eyes to block out her image.

It wasn’t just that she was sexy. It was that she, in the middle of his kitchen, left him warm, and that concept rather irritated him. She was using all his kitchen gadgets like they were her own and he didn’t mind a bit.

He was usually protective of his gadgets—especially his food processor. Yet, seeing her with his twenty-dollar spatula didn’t piss him off at all.

Huh.

“There you are,” she said when she turned around, waving at the place she’d set for him at the breakfast bar. “Sit.”

He slid onto the stool, clamping his mouth shut when she put the plate in front of him and brought her own to place next to his.

She took a forkful of egg and held it up with a smile, her eyes happy. “I hope I didn’t keep you up last night. I was a little restless.”

Derrick’s mouth fell open then snapped shut. A little restless? Is that what she was calling it? Was that code for “making amazing love”? “Restless?”

Martine cut another forkful of egg and held her hand under it, pressing it to his lips and shrugging her shoulders. “New surroundings always make for some insomnia with me.” Martine coaxed his mouth open, dropping the piece of food into it with a grin.

Insomnia? Was she for real?

And hell. Best damn eggs Benedict he’d ever had.

“I heard you in there moaning and bouncing around. I hope that wasn’t because of me. I tried to be quiet.”

It damn well was because of her. What the hell was going on?

Leaning on her hand, she looked up at him. “Clearly, you’re not a morning person. So I’m going to leave you to your breakfast and grab a shower if you don’t mind.” Without waiting for an answer, she slipped from the stool, dropped her plate in the sink, and sauntered her delicious ass right out of his kitchen. “Oh, and leave the dishes. I’ll get them after I shower,” she called.

His eyes narrowed, but he picked up his fork and scooped up some more of the eggs. Because if she didn’t want to hash out what had happened between them last night, who was he to press her when there was an amazing breakfast to be had?

Restless.

Hah.

* * *

Max slapped him on the back as he entered Hector’s barn. His smile was that of a contented man, one who was enjoying the fruition of his life mate journey far more than Derrick was capable of stomaching, and it only made him grumpier.

“How goes it, brother? Is your cat settling in?”

Pulling his knit cap over his head, Derrick strolled toward the bunny hutch, alongside Max, where Hector was busy fussing with the position of a heat lamp. The days were getting colder now, and the bunnies always came first with Hector.

Max nudged him with a shoulder. “So, your cat?”

“Her name is Martine. Martine Brooks.”

Max shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and raised an eyebrow. “Really now? So she finally shifted, huh?”

Among other things. “Yes.” His return response was tight.

Max’s eyes scanned his, probing. “So how did the first meeting go? What’s she like? Do you find her attractive?”

“We had sex.”

Boom. There it was. Why bother walking on eggshells? Martine didn’t want anything to do with him other than the mate. He wanted the same, so getting to know his family was a moot point.

Hector pulled his goggles and let them drop around his neck, his hair springing up in wild patches. “Wow, Slick. Did you even get her name first?”

Derrick frowned, not in the mood for a good ribbing. “It had nothing to do with me.”

Max cocked his head, resting an arm on top of the hutch. “Say again?”

“I said I wasn’t the one who made the first move. She was. Came right into my bedroom in the middle of the night and bam. But won’t even acknowledge it today…forget it. I don’t want to disrespect her by talking about it with you two.”

“Ahhhh,” Max said with a grin and another thump on his back.

“Ah, what?”

“Life-mate dream,” both Max and Hector replied in unison before cackling.

“Which means you didn’t really have sex,” Max reminded him with a grin.

Shit. He’d forgotten all about the legend of the life-mate dream. If your life mate were true, she would come to you in a dream.

A dirty one.

He felt less unmemorable now, and that was easing his bruised ego. Still, he called bullshit on the translation. “You two don’t believe that crap, do you?”

Max nodded his head. “I do after JC. I had the life-mate dream the first night I met her.”

Hector pulled one of his bunnies out of the hutch and rubbed its soft fur against his cheek. “You doubt, Neanderthal?”

Yeah. Yeah, he did. He’d had a hot dream about an attractive woman. Happened all the time. “I doubt.”

“Do you doubt that I was at death’s door just before JC came and saved my ass?” Max asked.

Fear washed over him. No. He didn’t doubt that. Not even a little. He’d been there the night of Max’s full-moon mate. To say he’d been worried he was going to lose his big brother was putting it lightly. JC had shown up just in the nick of time.

“Nope. I don’t doubt that. But I’ve got that part of this fucked-up curse all figured out.”

Max crossed his arms over his wide chest and made a face. “Oh, do you now? Share with the class, why don’t you? How did you come upon the answer to the curse? One no one else has ever been able to figure out?”

“To be fair, I didn’t. Martine did. What she said makes sense. She brought up some valid questions. Who says just because we mate, we have to live together? Or even stay in the same vicinity? That’s what we all believe a life mate means, right? Marriage, or our packs variation on the theme. But is that what it means?”

Hector’s mouth fell wide open and he snapped it shut. “I can’t wait to hear the kooky reasoning behind this.”

Derrick shook his head, stroking the ears of the bunny Hector held. “It’s not so kooky, Hector. Look, Martine and I mate on the full moon, right? I live. She goes back to her life. I go back to mine. We never have to see each other again. There’s nothing in the curse that says we do, is there? I’ve never heard a thing about having to play house just because we mated.”

Max pursed his lips, his brow furrowing. “In theory, that makes sense. But I can’t help but wonder if there’s a hitch somewhere. A loophole bigger than any of us has ever seen. I don’t know what it could be, but I bet it damn well exists, and I won’t have you taking risks with your life. I need you as my right-hand man, Derrick. Not gonna lose you.”

Hector pushed his goggles up on top of his nodding head. “Isn’t that always the way with this curse? Something comes back to bite you in the ass. For Max, it was convincing a human he was a werewolf. He was damn close to dying that night because of it, Derrick. Or are you forgetting that the curse was designed to make it nearly impossible for you to mate?”

Derrick felt just a little smug about that. He also felt strangely proud that Martine had found a very plausible solution. “Well, I guess we outsmarted it, didn’t we?”

Hector’s head shook hard in time with his finger. “Naw. Nope-nope. I don’t believe that for a second, Derrick. Not a second. There’s more, and you’re just tempting fate by treating this cavalierly, man. The curse was made to make things hard on you and Max. To take you bitches out and make the Adams clan extinct. Period. Mark my words, there’s more.”

Derrick ignored Hector’s ominous tone when Max asked, “All that aside, you still have to convince her to mate with you.”

He gave them both a sheepish look. “I didn’t have to. She offered to do it.”

“Come again?” Max said, clear disbelief in his tone.

“I said, she heard everything we explained to her when I brought her to your house. She agreed to mate with me on the full moon to save me as long as she could come and go as she pleases while she’s here, no questions asked, and in return, I’d let her go back to New York when it’s all done.”

Hector’s goggles fell down his astonished face to his chin. He swished them around his neck with his free hand, grating out a sigh. “Jesus,” he scoffed. “How do you manage all that machismo? Does it hurt to be so charismatic—is it a huge burden? ‘Hey, stranger I found at the 7-Eleven, I need you to mate with me on the full moon, you in?’ And like magic, no fuss, no muss? You kill me, Derrick. I’m thoroughly flayed.”

Derrick wanted to smile at Hector’s stab at him, maybe even take a little pride in the fact that he had a reputation as a ladies’ man. He liked the idea that he was a free bird and everyone knew it. But he couldn’t.

He didn’t understand why it bothered him so much that he had little to no effect on Martine, but that niggle he’d felt this morning was beginning to grow. “It was her idea.”

“Why is it that women never have that idea with me?” Hector joked, settling the bunny back into the hutch.

“Because you’re not cursed to die if you don’t mate?” Derrick shot back.

Hector tipped an imaginary hat at him. “Touché. Still, I think you’d better prepare for more. There’s more, Derrick. I know there is. Feel it in my gut.”

Max gave him a concerned-big-brother gaze. “Me too. There has to be some obstacle to it or the curse means nothing—especially with a guy like you, who scores more often than the NFL as a whole. Keep your eyes and ears open, would you? Don’t think this is over because Martine agreed to the mate so willingly. You might get to skip the hearts-and-flowers stage of things, but there’s a hurdle.”

Hearts and flowers. Hah. As if Martine would be receptive to that phase anyway. She’d been pretty no-nonsense from the word go.

And why do you care if she’s receptive to anything but the mate?

Hey, over-thinker, shut up. I don’t care.

Do so.

Glaring at Hector and Max as if it were their fault he was having all this inner turmoil, he said, “I have to get to the bar. Would you mind asking the girls if they have anything she can borrow to wear? She has nothing.”

He liked her in nothing.

Jesus. He had to stop remembering her naked and willing and perfect.

“You bet,” Max called after him, but he was too deep in thought to hear the rest.

Too busy trying to convince himself he didn’t care.

Chapter Seven

She’d spent the better part of her morning and into the later afternoon online, sifting through the wreckage of her wedding planning business, when she wasn’t thinking about Derrick and last night when his hand had touched her arm

Or the way his shirt clung to his thick chest, or how much she’d wanted to crack the door to his bedroom open and catch a glimpse of him sleeping.

This had to be a physical reaction, or maybe even an overreaction to the idea that she hadn’t been near another human being for such a long period of time.

Yet her mind’s eye had gone back to him over and over since she’d sat down with his computer shortly after he left. She’d never daydreamed about anyone, let alone a man.

Well, again, let’s be clear. You were without human contact for months. Maybe you just need it more than you thought you did.

Martine shook her head. No. She didn’t like that answer at all. It was an unacceptable answer. Better to focus on what to do with her crumbled life.

Leaning forward, she began to read the messages left by the hundreds on her Facebook page from infuriated customers who’d lost bundles of money as a result of her involuntary stay in Escobar’s prison.

Essentially, her small business, Just Say I Do Wedding Planning Inc., was toast. If that wasn’t enough, her employees and vendors had all left scathing messages on her Facebook page, too, calling her a con artist.

Though, she had to give it to Lilly Guthrie, her personal assistant. Right up until just last week, she’d defended Martine while fending off some of the most hateful comments about everything from her wedding planning skills to the size of her ass.

The soon-to-be Mrs. Whitshire had some nerve calling her ass big when her intended, Levi Whitshire the Third, couldn’t keep his damn hands off it every time his fiancée had her back turned.

Lilly’s exclamation-point-filled rant about how she was sure her former boss had been kidnapped was beautiful. She declared it the one and only reason in the world she could think of why someone as reputable as Martine Brooks would stiff her employees and clients. Those words left Martine not only missing her sort-of friend, but warmed inside that Lilly had gone to the mat for her like a real tiger.

Until she read Lilly’s final post, stating that everyone was right about her beloved boss.

Lilly, according to her next Facebook post, had finally gone to the bank and spoken to the very teller Martine saw on her last day of freedom six months ago—a teller who knew Lilly legitimately worked for Martine. On the sly, and under the guise of easing Lilly’s worries her employer was dead, the teller confided her ex-boss had emptied both her personal and business accounts.

Then she’d used words like “shyster” and phrases like “scum of the earth” in her final post, and that hurt. Though she didn’t let people get too close, she’d liked Lilly a lot, had enjoyed her attempts at forming a friendship, even if they were futile.

One click to her now-empty bank accounts, chock full of overdraft fees, had proven Lilly correct. There was nothing. No trace Martine Brooks had worked hard for a living.

Martine gritted her teeth. Damn him. She’d loved her business—it had just begun to thrive when Escobar stepped in and nabbed her, the son of a bitch.

And now, apparently, she had no money left either. Her fists clenched tight against her thighs. Someone, likely Escobar, had clearly impersonated her—he’d probably done one of those cloaking spells and stolen her life right out from under her.

A frustrated tear formed at the corner of her eyes. Everything was gone—which meant, she had nowhere to go when her deal with Derrick was done.

Somehow, she’d find a way to return the money to all of her customers and her employees and vendors when this was all said and done. Until then, she had bigger fish to fry.

Like where Escobar was and if he knew she was gone yet. He was infamous for disappearing for weeks at a time once she’d done his dirty work for him. But if he had some sort of tracking spell on her in order to locate her, she would inadvertantly involve Derrick and his family.

And she didn’t want to do that. Her problems were hers alone.

A knock at the door had Martine’s ears picking up the sound of female voices. Closing the laptop Derrick had loaned her, she rose with reluctance and headed for the door.

Popping it open, she saw JC, the woman from the day before, and another woman who resembled Derrick and Max in the most flattering of feminine ways.

JC grinned, her eyes sparkling and clear, her breath coming in cold puffs of condensation. “We come bearing gifts.” She held up a shopping bag chock-full of colorful material and the other woman held up a foil-covered tray.

Martine forced herself to smile and open the door wider, smoothing her hands over her borrowed shirt. “Come on in,” she offered, stepping aside to let the women pass.

The young woman had hair as dark as Derrick’s, worn in a high ponytail, her willowy arms and legs slender, her cheekbones sharp and defined by color from the chill of the outdoors. She stuck out her hand after dropping the tray on the kitchen counter. “I’m Natalie Adams. Just Nat is fine, though. Really good to meet you.”

Martine took her hand and smiled back, liking how their eyes met and how Nat didn’t bother to try to hide her curiosity. Her gaze was direct and clear, and Martine returned it. “Martine Brooks.”

JC held up the bag with the clothes. “And you know me. We, er, talked at my fiancé’s—well, sort of,” she said on a sheepish chuckle.

“JC, right?” she asked, waving them to the couch.

JC dropped down on the sofa next to Nat and nodded. “That’s me. Unsuspecting mate to Max, and reigning death-sex champion.”

Martine chuckled. JC had been kind to her yesterday. She wouldn’t forget that.

As everyone settled in, so did an awkward silence. What did you say to people you didn’t know at all, but who knew your very reason for being here among them was for the coitus?

How did you make small talk with that on the table?

With no warning at all, Martine found herself feeling self-conscious with these two women. It was an unfamiliar feeling—unfamiliar and uncomfortable, and so totally unlike her. She was strong, independent and had been accused of being overly confidant a time or two.

Squaring her shoulders and clearing her throat, she asked, “Can I get you two anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“I think the better question is, can we get you something? Like an escape plan?” Nat asked, her blue eyes full of amusement when she folded her hands over her knees.

Martine laughed, relaxing a little and tucking the collar of Derrick’s shirt tighter around her neck. “You have to admit, this is a little out of the ordinary.”

“Oh, you’ll get no argument from me. Makes me damn glad I’m not a male Adams,” Nat teased.

JC laughed, too, her red lips turning upward in a wide grin. “Aw, c’mon. I don’t see the crazy in a man telling you he has to mate with you or he’ll die. Doesn’t that happen all the time to you two?”

Martine instantly warmed and found herself sinking into the chair opposite the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. “It’s certainly a jaw-dropper.”

Nat leaned forward, eyeing Martine, a smile on her lips. “Okay, so first, let’s get this all out in the open. You’re here because Derrick has to have sex with you. No point in pussyfooting around about it. No pun intended. You get all that, right?”

Martine’s cheeks went red. Red. Her cheeks. This from a woman who had no remorse when she hit the man buffet in order to feed her very active libido. Not a shred. She wasn’t afraid of her sexuality—she enjoyed it. But to have it on display like this…was awkward. “I get it,” she finally managed.

Nat grinned. “Good. So how are you? I mean, really? Don’t stiff-upper-lip this either. Forget Derrick and death and all the other stuff. This puts you in a ridiculous position, Martine. It’s unfair and archaic and as much as I love my brother, I’d get it if you wanted to run as fast and as far away as you can. Not one of us would blame you.”

“The truth,” JC chimed in, pulling some of the clothes from the bag she’d brought.

Martine shrugged her shoulders. Despite the fact that her life back in New York was in ruins, and she was caught up in this mate drama, she was all right. Really all right. She wasn’t in Escobar’s clutches anymore, and that was more than all right.

“So this will probably sound crazy under the circumstances, but I’m okay. Derrick’s been very nice, and so have all of you.”

Nat’s pretty face shadowed with concern. “So how did this all happen? Derrick says he found you at a 7-Eleven? Did someone kidnap you right from your own home and stuff you in a cat carrier? That’s some nutty shit.”

Yeah. A little. Again, the problem was, she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten into that cat carrier and who had dropped her off at the 7-Eleven in the first place. Not to mention, she was going to have to lie to these people who were only trying to be nice to her about how she’d been kidnapped.

“I don’t remember much, to be honest. One minute I was asleep. The next I was in your brother’s truck.”

“And your family?” JC asked, her eyes full of warmth. “Have you contacted them to let them know you’re okay? I have a cell, if you need it.” She began to dig through her purse, but Martine stopped her.

Her throat threatened to tighten up, but she managed, “No family.”

“Friends? The people you work with?” JC prodded, her smooth brow furrowing.

Keeping her eyes focused on the clothes JC set on the coffee table, she prepared another lie. “I lost my job just before this…this all happened, and I was new to Manhattan. So no one’s looking for me.” More lies. Well, technically, no one cared where she was. They only cared about where their money was.

Nat exhaled, her expression full of sorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

JC reached out a hand and patted Martine’s knee. “Me too.”

Martine shook her head and forced a sunny smile. “Please, don’t be. I’m a bit of a loner anyway.” And she was. If she was truthful about anything with them, that was her biggest truth.

Nat rose and held up a red shirt, shaking it out. “Well, not anymore. Now, like it or not, you have all of us nosy, interfering, pain-in-the-ass Adamses to drive you right out of your pretty mind. You’ll never be alone again. That’s a promise.”

Martine’s chest began to tighten. They thought she was in it for the long haul. Obviously, Derrick hadn’t told them about their deal. But that wasn’t the entire reason she was feeling overwhelmed.

Being alone all these years meant she didn’t owe anyone anything. You couldn’t be held accountable for anyone else’s emotions if you didn’t allow yourself to become wrapped up in them. Safe distances were her bread and butter.

But she couldn’t say that. Not when everyone was welcoming her with open arms like she was going to be their newest addition to the family. “Good to know,” she responded.

Nat flapped her hands. “Anyway, we brought you some clothes. Most of them are JC’s. When Derrick described you, he said you were curvier like J.”

Derrick had described her? The word curvy made her warm and smiley. Also not something she was familiar or comfortable with. Since when did a man’s approval mean squat to her?

Yet, here she was, warm from head to toe.

Nat stuck out one of her long, gorgeously slender legs. “I’m too damn tall. Everything I have would be too long on you. But JC’s got some great stuff and this is just to tide you over until we can drag you into town and pick you up some things of your own. As I’m learning, J loves any excuse to shop.” Then Nat brightened. “Unless you’d like us to take you into the city to get your own things? Derrick said you were from Manhattan—love Manhattan, and I’m all for a girls’ day trip.”

“I’m in, too,” JC said. “We could grab some lunch, maybe hit Macy’s.”

Sure. They could do that. If she had things of her own. An apartment of her own. Money of her own. Anything of her own. But she couldn’t tell them that.

More lies on their way. “This is perfect for now, really. I sort of need a break from the city anyway, if…if that’s okay by you?”

Martine caught the women passing each other looks of concern, but she chose to ignore them in honor of having something better to wear than just Derrick’s shirt.

Though, if she were honest with herself, Derrick’s shirt smelled good—like Derrick, clean and musky with a hint of the outdoors.

As JC and Nat watched her, she knew what she had to do. She’d done it all her life.

Divert them. That was how she got through all the rough patches in her small world. Diversion, diversion, diversion. Take the focus off her. It was how she avoided getting too personal, avoided girl talk—avoided.

“But maybe you could help me get these things together? Show me what you brought? I think Derrick has a bottle of wine in the fridge, and I’d love the company.”

That wasn’t a lie. She liked these women, liked their vibe. Things could be far worse than having two women offer to take you shopping. She could still be holed up at Escobar’s with Jersey Shore on an endless loop and nothing but dry cat food and water. Or they could be the pack members charged with tying her to a pillar for the death-sex.

It could always be worse.

The suggestion appeared to appease them. “I call first dibs on Hector’s brownies!” Nat yelped, loping into the kitchen to grab the foil-covered tray.

“Brownies?” Martine asking with a tilt of her head and a smile. It had been so long since she’d eaten real food, if she wasn’t careful, she was going to OD on it.

Nat nodded, fishing out a chunk of moist, cakey chocolate. “He makes the most amazing brownies.”

Brownies and some clothes to wear. Yeah. Right now, everything really was all right.

* * *

Upon Nat and JC’s departure, Martine polished off the last of Hector’s brownies. Whoever Hector was.

And whoever he was, he did make an amazing brownie. She felt euphoric, electric, alive. So alive.

Licking her fingers, she ignored the notion that euphoria and she weren’t exactly BFFs and decided to go with it. She had some cute clothes thanks to JC, her head wasn’t full of questions after polishing off a bottle of wine between the three of them, she wasn’t locked in a cage, and she was erect for the first time in months.

She was free—so free, she wanted to dance and sing in celebration.

Also something she didn’t do, but somehow, her fingers found Derrick’s TV remote and she flipped it on, surfing the music channels until she found some satellite dance station.

Martine grinned as she spun around, letting her hips gyrate to the hard beat, sipping the remnants of her wine and smiling to herself as the sun slipped away and night fell.

“Martine?”

Oh, that voice. Why did it sound extra gravelly and silky tonight?

Turning around, she greeted the man at the center of this crazy and grinned. Heavens, he was so sexy with his tight jeans clinging to the muscles of his thighs and his thin blue sweater hugging his pecs.

“You’re home,” she cooed, not fazed at all by how happy her tone rang. She sashayed out into the kitchen to grab another bottle of wine from the fridge.

Her hips still moving to the beat, Martine popped the cork and poured him a glass, offering it to him when he walked into the kitchen, fighting to catch her breath at how glad she was to see him.

As he pulled off his jacket and dropped it on a breakfast barstool, Derrick’s gaze met hers—and it held suspicion. “I’m definitely home. So, you look pretty happy there. Am I allowed to ask why? Or is that too personal?”

Nothing was too personal right now. Right now everything was hunky-dory. She giggled as she made her way back into the living room, twirling once more, enjoying the feel of the fabric of her ruffled skirt fluttering around her thighs. “I met your sister, Nat, and JC brought me some clothes. I figured it was cause for celebration.”

His eyes scanned her length in a way she knew all too well. One she’d seen plenty over the years—one she didn’t mind at all because she was guilty of the same thing.

Derrick was beautiful to look at. She planned to look without hiding her approval.

At that moment, as he crossed the room, it didn’t dawn on her that even while she was comfortable indulging her libido under these very trying circumstances, normally she’d keep it in tight check.

But tonight she felt giddy and light and pretty and something else that was a song she couldn’t remember the words to at the moment.

Instead, she wiggled a finger at him and winked. “Dance with me,” she encouraged when a slower John Mayer tune echoed from the speakers.

He shook his head, the dark fall of his hair grazing his cheek. “Nope. I don’t dance.”

No was an unacceptable answer tonight, so Martine swayed her way over to him, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him close. “Aw, c’mon,” she coaxed, in a delicious haze of wine and brownies, letting her hips graze his.

All that hard muscle and rugged man made her even more breathless.

She heard him hiss when their bodies met, felt the spark of chemistry, knew she was tempting someone she had no right tempting, but did it anyway.

Derrick’s hands, wide and warm, went around her waist, though he kept them in a perfectly respectable place. “You’ve had too much to drink,” he said all nice and yummy and honorable.

Yeah. That was odd. She’d only had three glasses of wine today, but it felt like much more. Still, she didn’t care. “Are you afraid I’m going to do something I’ll regret?”

“Truth?”

She inhaled his musky scent, intoxicating and all man. “Always.”

“I’m afraid I might.”

A shiver ran along her spine, showing up in the way of goose bumps on her arms. “And why would you regret it?”

“Because you’re clearly under the influence. I’m not a fan of taking advantage.”

Dreamy sigh. So honorable. Martine pressed closer, her nipples tight against the thin fabric of the silk shirt she wore. “I’ve only had three glasses of wine. But what if I told you I wouldn’t mind if you took advantage of me?”

“I’d tell you that’s the three glasses of wine talking.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

His eyes were skeptical, but he nodded, letting his fingers reach up to trace the length of her arm, making circular patterns of heat on her skin. “Always.”

Her brain said stop, but her lips, well, her lips managed to fight off her brain. Rationally, she knew this wasn’t some one-night stand she could hide from come tomorrow. Irrationally? She wanted him—was on fire for him—didn’t care about the consequences.

So she decided on blatant honesty. “Here’s the score. I find you very attractive. The bonus for you is, I don’t get attached. I don’t believe in or want forever—neither do you. But I do want to make love with you. It’s been a long time since I made love. I can’t see any reason why we shouldn’t pass the time we have together amicably, can you?”

“I can think of a million, but you’re trashing all of them with that damn skirt,” he said gruffly, tucking her closer, letting his lower body move in time with hers. “So name your terms.”

“Terms?”

“The rules of engagement outlined in black and white.”

How could she do that when his hand was tracing the crease in her thigh? “Um, we agree to make love until this thing is over and then we go back to our lives?”

“No hard feelings if one of us isn’t into it?”

She shook her head. She couldn’t imagine not being into Derrick ever. “Meaning?”

“Well, let’s say you’ve had a stressful day, and you’re tired—”

She put a finger to his lips to squash that notion. “I’m never too tired. I warn you, I have a pretty healthy appetite.”

“So you like to initiate?”

Her hand strayed to his abdomen, caressing him. “I’m not shy,” she whispered, letting her lips graze his, shivering when his tongue slipped out to tease her mouth.

“Good. Me neither. Anything you don’t like?”

“Mushrooms. Not a fan.”

Derrick laughed, the rigid outline in his jeans pushing at her lower abdomen. “I meant in the bedroom.”

“Then always open for discussion. Unless you want to wear a diaper and call me Mommy. Not open for discussion.”

Derrick’s beautiful face crumbled in mock sadness. “Dream crusher,” he said on a laugh. “Seriously, if I never promise you anything else, I can promise diapers and moms are off the table. I like good old fashioned lovemaking.”

“So are you in or are you out, Farm Boy?” she asked, groaning when his hand slid upward over her thigh and along the cheek of her ass possessively.

Derrick kneaded the handful of flesh while she watched his brain absorb her offer. He warred with it, chewed on it then gave in to it. “You sure about this, Pussycat?”

Was she sure? She was so sure, she was surer than sure. “Oh, I’m sure,” she purred back.

The left half of his mouth tilted upward in a grin. “Then in it is.”

That was all the incentive Martine needed. Standing on tiptoe, she planted her lips firmly on his, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing when their chests crushed together.

But when Derrick’s tongue slipped into her mouth, when he took command of the kiss, when his lips, soft and hard at the same time, consumed hers, she inhaled sharply.

His kiss was like no other she’d ever had.

Right then and there, she knew she should stop this. Knew this was going somewhere she didn’t want to go—had always been afraid to go. Knew she’d end up in hot water, but the rest of her refused to cooperate with reason.

No. Rather, the rest of her threw her into the decadence of Derrick’s mouth, the hot swipe of his tongue, the way he hauled her up close as if her lips were the only pair left on the planet.

He didn’t just kiss her, he demanded she kiss him, and it made her head spin.

There was instant connection, instant lust—so much lust, her head throbbed with it, her nipples tightened to the tune of it, and her heart reacted violently to it. The crash in her chest left her almost breathless.

And she wanted more. She wanted to stand in the middle of his living room and kiss him forever.

Derrick’s moan brought her more satisfaction than she thought possible when he deepened their kiss and began to move her toward the couch.

Her fingers found the edge of his sweater, driving it up over his chest, and she left his lips only long enough to get it over his head. When her palms touched his flesh for the first time, her fingertips tingled. She let them lie flat on his pecs, absorbing the heat of his smooth skin, arching her neck, desperate to keep their mouths connected.

Derrick’s fingers were nimble, popping open the buttons of her shirt until it was left hanging off her shoulders. And then he cupped her breasts, using both hands, pushing them together, thumbing her nipples, bringing them to rigid peaks until she squirmed from the heat building between her thighs.

Tugging at his belt, Martine yanked it open and found the button on his jeans, tearing at it and dragging the zipper down, forcing his jeans over his lean hips and to the floor.

Derrick kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his jeans, keeping her flush to him, pulling her closer, bending her backward until she was on the couch and his hands were driving her skirt upward.

Martine held her breath, clenched her fists, squeezed her eyes shut when Derrick began to travel down over her collarbone, skimming her nipples, licking them, blowing on them, and bringing them to tight peaks. He dipped his tongue into her bellybutton, swirling it around before kissing his way toward the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

He spread her legs wide, his hair soft against her skin when he leaned forward, his eyes caressing the most intimate part of her body.

Martine’s breathing hitched when he let out a low groan and murmured his approval. “Smooth like silk.”

Then his arms circled her, cupping her ass and pulling her to his lips. Lips that seared her as he pressed them flush to her aching core.

Derrick stilled for a moment, breathing her in, unmoving, making her writhe with anticipation until she grabbed a handful of his hair and lifted herself toward his mouth.

His tongue slipped inside her, slick and hot, jolting her, eliciting a groan of achy need, making her bite her lip to keep from begging him to lick her.

And then he began to stroke—long, slow, measured swipes of his tongue, until she rocked against him, savoring the rasp against her clit, relishing the rhythm. Pangs of desperate need clawed at her when he circled her clit, suckled it, keeping the swollen bud aching with desire. His strong hands kneaded her ass, lifting her higher against his wet mouth, pushing her to the brink then easing her away from the edge again.

Martine’s stomach clenched as the easy rhythm increased, creating delicious friction, drawing sharp twinges of need from deep within her until her back arched, thrusting herself into the moist heat of his mouth.

As her orgasm drew near, her thighs trembled, her heart crashed against her ribs and there was nothing but Derrick’s mouth on her, nothing but his tongue sliding in and out of her slick, swollen flesh. When his hands moved to her waist, spanning her lower body, pressing her to his delicious lips, Martine strained, reaching for fulfillment.

The sounds of his mouth devouring her became intoxicating, a wild beat in her head as she came with the speed of light, hard and heavy, letting the heat rip through her body and crying out as her head thrashed against the arm of the sofa.

It left her panting and gasping for air, her muscles tight, almost painfully rigid. But Derrick soothed her with the palms of his hands, letting them caress her skin in circular motions until her hips relaxed back into the couch.

Lifting her to a sitting position, he brushed his cheek against hers and whispered, “Condoms. A deal’s a deal.”

Martine fought a whiny groan, her hands running the length of his arms, delighting in the tight muscle. “Please say you have some, or I might be forced to MacGyver this and use the Saran Wrap in the kitchen.”

He barked a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before scooping her up in his arms and throwing her over his shoulder. “In the bedroom,” he growled as she giggled against his back and gave his adorable butt a pinch.

Derrick stopped beside the bed, letting her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor and she was staring up at him, his blue eyes sparkling.

He made his way over to the nightstand on the opposite side and Martine watched him move with a sigh. He was, of course, as chiseled and honed to perfection naked as he was fully clothed. His shoulders were wide, his waist lean, his hips narrow, with those damn delectable creases that led to his hard cock, just thick and long enough to make her mouth water.

His movements were graceful when he opened the drawer to his nightstand and held up the condom with a grin of triumph. With a chuckle, Martine wiggled her finger at him and pointed to the floor in front of her, eager to touch him, anticipating the moment he’d be inside her.

Derrick didn’t waste any time, he hopped over the bed and sat on the edge, patting the space beside him. With a flat palm, Martine pushed him to his back and sprawled beside him, sighing when their skin met, grasping his cock and taking her first pass of his hard length.

He moaned, shifting his weight on the bed, jutting into her hand as she cupped his balls and gently massaged them. A small shaft of light shone between the heavy drapes, falling over his muscled thighs, thick and sprinkled with fine hair. Martine’s throat tightened at the sight of him lying on the bed, all hers for the taking.

Leaning over him, she was dizzy with desire, her chest tight as she licked her lips anticipating the slick, hot glide of tongue over flesh, loving the way he thrust his hips.

She let her hair graze his cock, draping it over the rigid flesh, enjoying the sharp intake of breath Derrick took as she lingered, allowing only her hot breath to caress him.

His hands reached for the strands of her hair, entwining his long fingers in it, pulling her closer until she took a long, slow swipe of him, loving the silky-hot texture of his skin.

Derrick’s groan rang through the bedroom, his lower body bolting upward as Martine took her time, circling the head of his cock, licking it with quick, light skips of her tongue.

Her hands cupped the heavy sac of his balls as she teased him with her mouth. His shaft was hot and sweet when Martine finally enveloped him fully and he clutched her head tighter, her slow descent making the muscles in his legs tense and bulge beneath her hand.

Gripping both thighs, she kneaded them as she settled between his legs and allowed Derrick to glide between her lips of his own accord. The surge of his hard flesh left her wet, hot, trembling as this enormous man shuddered beneath her touch.

Derrick pulled out of the hot cavern of her mouth with a harsh pant and dragged her upward with arms of steel, rolling her over, his hard body pushing her into the bed, his heavy weight thickly muscled and delicious and against her own.

She loved the way his body enveloped hers, crushing her beneath him. A sigh escaped her lips at the pleasure of their flesh connecting.

As he busied himself with the condom, Martine let her hands roam his back, squeezing the corded network of planes and ridges, wrapping her thighs around his waist and arching upward into him when he finally rested between her thighs.

Derrick paused, looking down at her, his eyes no longer playful but dark and swirling, as though he’d seen something, making her stop all motion.

But then he took control and thrust into her with a powerful surge, jolting their bodies, gluing them together.

Her gasp echoed with her surprise at how they needed no adjustment, their alignment was so perfect.

Derrick’s cock was like steel embedded snugly inside her, plunging with no mercy into her wet depths. She clenched around him, matching his thrusts as his arms scooped her up and crushed her to him, grinding, driving, taking what he wanted.

The swell of white-hot heat between her legs rose and fell, sought relief, backed away in an effort to prolong their complete connection.

But her hips didn’t cooperate as she frantically drove her body toward the cock that filled her, stretched her, made her blood pound in her ears.

Derrick hissed a breath in her ear and her hands found the muscled flesh of his ass, digging her nails into it as he swelled within her and found his release.

Martine let go then, rode the wave with him, her nipples tightening sharply, scraping against his bare chest when she came with a fierce yell.

In his final thrusts, Derrick’s lips found hers, mumbling incoherent words she couldn’t make out, but she didn’t care.

She only wanted this man to stay inside her forever.

Martine frowned. No forever. She’d never wanted anything for forever. She chalked it up to the wine.

As Derrick settled against her, his large frame sagging in release, Martine allowed herself the simple indulgence of a last roam of hands over his hard back, reminding herself that while this lasted, she’d enjoy his incredible gift for lovemaking in between figuring out what she was going to do with her trashed life.

She’d enjoy his beautiful body, his insanely talented tongue, his amazing meals.

Period.

And that was the last thing she reminded herself to do before she disappeared into thin air.

Chapter Eight

Derrick’s eyes flew open when Martine’s luscious body simply evaporated from beneath him. He sat up, his eyes scanning the room for her. Was she some sort of magician? Since when did a shifter have the ability to vanish?

What the hell?

Stunned, he hopped off the bed, shoving the covers back as though she were hiding beneath them.

His gut tightened momentarily in worry then suspicion set in. Maybe this was why she hadn’t wanted him to ask any personal questions?

She’d mentioned spells in their earlier conversations, but he never guessed she was actually capable of them, and he certainly didn’t understand how they related to her. He’d thought she was just talking in general about her dislike for the paranormal.

So who was Martine Brooks really? Was she a witch? He’d heard plenty about witches and warlocks, but he’d never encountered any, not even here in Cedar Glen.

Was this the impossible part of his curse? That she’d just up and disappear on him when the time came to mate?

But what if she was hurt? What if this was something that happened against her will? Maybe someone had put some kind of spell on her? His lips tightened into a thin line, at a loss for what to do next.

Derrick ran a hand over his jaw, scraping the pads of his fingers along the stubble before heading back to the living room to put his clothes on and find his phone.

He jammed his legs into his jeans and went in search of his cell, poking around in the pockets of his jacket until his hand felt the hard square.

But wait. Who did you call when the woman you just made amazing love with vanished right before your very eyes?

Dean and Sam?

Nat. Nat knew all sorts of crazy shit. Maybe she’d know something about this. Using the pad of his thumb, he scrolled his contacts and sent Nat a text, trying to keep as calm as possible.

Need your advice ASAP.

Please tell me you didn’t yell at Martine and scare her off. We like. Don’t fuck this up.

Derrick grated a sigh. Him and the yelling again. He’d never once yelled at Martine. He’d pause for a moment to consider why he hadn’t yelled, because they were certainly in a frustrating position, but right now he just needed to find her and know she was safe.

This is an emergency. Come now, please.

A knock at his door was almost instantaneous before Nat popped her dark head in and took a peek around the room. “What have you done, brother?” she asked, pushing her way in and tugging at her scarf around her neck to drape it on the coatrack by the door.

“Why do you assume I’ve done anything?”

“Because Martine’s really nice and you’re not so nice?” She rubbed her hands together to warm them.

He rolled his eyes, pulling his shirt over his head and jamming his arms into it. “I am nice.”

“Okay, maybe nice isn’t the right word. You’re impatient. That’s the word, and when you get impatient, you yell—”

“I don’t yell!”

Fuck. He did yell.

Nat pointed her finger at him and grinned. “Just like that,” she pointed out. “So what happened? Did she touch your Cusinart? Ohhh, the horror! Does she still have fingers?”

Funny, but he wasn’t laughing right now. He needed to know she wasn’t hurt. “No. She disappeared.”

“You mean like left the house?”

“No, Nat. I mean like into thin air.” He snapped his fingers.

She cocked her head, her ponytail swaying. “Um, drink much?” she asked, nodding to the empty bottle of wine.

Derrick fought his urge to yell again. Because, you know, he was a yeller. “Damn it, I had half a glass. She was in my be—er, in the room and then she was gone. Just like that. Swear it.”

Nat’s mouth fell open as she rushed to his side, rubbing his bicep. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. So what does this mean? You know all about this kooky-spooky shit. What could possibly make a shifter disappear into thin air without warning?”

Her eyes went wide. “I have no clue. Unless she’s not a shifter? Okay, let’s not panic. First, what were you doing when she disappeared?”

“None of your business,” he responded all too quickly, wanting to rip his tongue from his mouth.

Now his pretty sister’s face went all disgusted and disapproving. “You already bagged her, Derrick? She’s been here, what? Two days? God, pal. Does no one ever turn you down? Do you even know what rejection is?”

“I didn’t prop her. She propped me. And that’s beside the point. We had just finished…and she was just gone.” So gone he was starting to worry. Really worry. What if this was because of his curse? What if she had no control over it and ended up hurt?

Nat snorted. “She propped you? Jesus.”

He narrowed his eyes at his sister. He’d been subject to plenty of rejection. He just preferred everyone thought otherwise. It kept his loner reputation intact. “Not the point, Nat.”

Nat’s face softened, her eyes gentle when she gave his arm a squeeze. “You’re worried, aren’t you?”

Yes. Yes, he was damn well worried. He liked her. If he had to have a mate, she was the perfect one because she didn’t want anything from him.

That’s not why you’re worried, Derrick. Don’t lie to yourself.

“Are you worried because she might not come back to mate? Or are you worried for her? Like her safety?”

He’d have liked to give the response Nat expected of him, but he couldn’t. “I’m worried about her and her safety.”

Nat was suddenly all business, her disbelief shelved. “Okay, first thing’s first. Has she told you anything about her background? A clue as to why or how she’s capable of vanishing?”

“Not a word. She asked that we keep things impersonal.”

Nat nodded, grabbing his laptop and dropping to the couch, tucking her long legs beneath her. “She was pretty vague with us, too. She did say she has no family to speak of and no job.”

Which was more than she’d told him. Which made him angry. Which shouldn’t. He’d agreed to no personal questions. That she was able to share with his sister and JC shouldn’t upset him. Yet, it stuck in his craw.

He sat down beside his sister and squeezed his temples. “So now what?”

Nat nudged his shoulder with hers. “Did she use your laptop at all?”

He nodded, leaning back into the couch and closing his eyes. “Asked if she could use it this morning before I left for the bar.”

“Then let’s search the history.” She flipped it open and began clicking, her expression going from passive to concerned.

“What?” he coaxed, sitting upright, fighting the urgency in his voice.

Nat pointed to the laptop screen. “This is her Facebook page. Apparently, Martine Brooks owns a wedding planning business she all but abandoned six months ago.”

His eyes scrolled the messages left on her page, one angry comment after the other, until he had to push the laptop away for the anger the messages stirred in him.

Not for a second did he believe she’d just up and abandoned her life. There was no rationale for that gut feeling, especially after the way she’d talked about her dislike of getting too involved, her disconnect with who she was as a shifter. The way she wrinkled her cute nose when she spoke of how unfair their world was.

But he didn’t believe she’d abandoned it willingly.

And he didn’t know why.

He just knew.

* * *

Martine fell to the hard ground with a grunt and a harsh slap against the freshly fallen snow.

That was snow, wasn’t it?

She let her hands feel around before she opened her clenched eyes.

Yep. That was snow, powdery and still falling, and damn cold when you were buck naked. Where was she? Her eyes popped open, and she found herself surrounded by a midnight-blue sky and trees, lots of trees.

And bunnies. Wow, so many bunnies. Their glowing eyes assessed her from their hiding places. Rolling to her side, wincing as the sting of snow hit her unclothed sides, she made a face at the lot of bunnies poking their heads out from beneath the shrubs. “Don’t judge, okay? Derrick’s a good cook. Now scoot!”

So, if all the small woodland creatures and the trees were any indication, she was definitely still in the town known as Deliverance. Er, Cedar Glen.

But what had happened from the time she’d left Derrick until now?

Panic seized her. Jesus. How would she explain this to Derrick? One minute she was in the warm cocoon of his lovemaking, the next poof, gone.

Her stomach, bloated, churning in turmoil and in need of relief, reminded her of exactly where she’d disappeared to.

She’d been in the ether, or the realm, or as Escobar liked to call it, “That place where you steal shit against your will and bring it to me because you have no damn choice in the matter, seeing as I own you.” Then he’d cackle infuriatingly and disappear again until he needed her to snatch more magic.

Had Escobar found her? Her eyes scanned the surrounding area frantically. He was the only one who could send her into the realm. In the past, he didn’t have to be present to ship her off to do his dirty work. He only had to show up afterward and snatch what he’d stolen.

So what the hell? Did he still think she was in his apartment in New York?

More panic clutched her gut. Sitting up, Martine groaned not just at the freezing cold but also her bloated belly—full up with the witch magic Escobar so desperately needed to become a stronger, more powerful warlock. The bunnies scattered in every direction, leaving her alone with her fear.

And naked.

In the woods, with no idea where Derrick’s house was in all this vast acreage she’d heard JC and Nat talk about today.

If Escobar was responsible for plucking her from Derrick’s bed that meant he’d want the magic he’d sent her to retrieve.

Violent chills accosted her exposed flesh as she tried to remember how to purge the magic. Out. It needed out, now. She’d never done it alone before—Escobar snapped his fingers and it was just magically gone.

But if she didn’t purge, surely she’d explode at this rate. Not to mention, she was certainly some sort of homing device, and if he hadn’t found out she was gone yet, it wouldn’t be long before he did if she didn’t get rid of it.

Rising to her feet, she hopped around in a lumbering fashion, the snow sticking between her toes as her teeth chattered. Maybe if she shifted, weathering the icy cold would be easier.

You see, Martine? This is that point in your life that pig of a father of yours told you you’d come to. He told you, someday, as a familiar, you’d need to learn how to handle things like this.

Martine pictured his angry eyes, cold and as green as hers, his face red and pitted with scars from his drinking and fighting, and shivered harder. She pictured her dainty, dark-haired mother clinging to his beefy tattooed arm, coaxing him away from his daughter, shushing him, offering him another drink to appease his foul, hot temper.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She missed her mother so much—a mother who was too weak, too afraid to leave a man like Gavin Brooks. Too afraid to stay in contact with her only child.

So Martine had left instead—the moment the ink was dry on her high school diploma. Packed her things at the tender age of eighteen with her father’s words roaring in her ears. “Someday you’ll pay for turning your back on your own kind, you stuck-up little priss!”

As another round of shuddering chills assaulted her, she began to wonder if someday hadn’t arrived.

Familiars, much like humans or any supernatural creatures, had their good and their bad. As she recalled, a good familiar was an advisor, a healer and a guide to their witch.

A bad familiar killed witches by betraying them and snatching their powers on a quest for immortality.

Her father was the bad. Super bad. A wicked, deceitful man who wanted nothing more than to become a warlock and, eventually, immortal. The problem with that was he’d been really crappy at it, if the hushed whispers of her mother and her now-deceased grandmother were true.

He loved the bottle and horses far more than anything or anyone, and dedication to his wish for immortality fell to the wayside more often than not.

Martine closed her eyes and fought the memory of her mother, Dianna, rushing after her the day she’d left, handing her a thick roll of bills, hugging her hard and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before shooing her off to keep her husband appeased.

All her attempts to contact her mother were met with deaf ears from there on out. Though, over the years, she’d spied on her often, putting money in places where her mother would find it, like under the welcome mat of their old house in Queens where she knew Dianna would religiously sweep beneath each night after her long shifts at the hospital she cleaned.

All in the hope that one day her mother would try to find her, reach out, allow Martine the opportunity to ease the burden of her alcoholic father’s ever-increasing madness.

But in well over fifteen years, that hadn’t once happened. So she lived on the outskirts of her mother’s life, made sure from a careful distance that she was in good health, had enough money to survive her father’s gambling debts and drinking.

Don’t think about your mother, forget your father’s stupid words, Martine, and think. You can’t go back to Derrick’s with a bellyful of magic. Who knows what could happen. You don’t know the first thing about it other than Escobar uses it to gain rank and build his army of nutbags. Get rid of it before you hurt someone!

Purge. She had to purge. Pacing back and forth, she tried to forget the biting wind, lose herself in the memory of the few stories her mother had told her about how she’d stored and ditched magic.

If only she’d listened instead of shunning her legacy.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and focused. Purge. How to purge? Stick her finger down her throat?

Her hands went to her belly, as round as if she were going to give birth at any moment. It moved beneath her hands, growling with discontent at being captured. What would happen if she expelled it? What kind of magic was it? She’d never had magic retrieved from her when in human form.

When Escobar sent her into the realm, she never remembered much about her visits upon return. It was all like a hazy dream—a vague, floaty event where she only saw blurry images she could never quite piece together into something clear. But Escobar retrieved the magic from her cat form.

Oh, God. What to do?

The snow began to fall harder, fat white flakes of stinging cold against her face as she paced to keep warm, all the while her belly rolling, making noises akin to an angry, caged lion.

The pain began shortly thereafter, clawing at her insides as though it was trying to fight its way out. Panic seized her again when she doubled over and fought a scream.

Jesus, what would Derrick think if he found her like this? Surely he’d try to find her. She’d vanished right under his nose. He’d want answers—who wouldn’t?

Martine, focus! You’re going to freeze to death and it won’t matter what Derrick thinks unless he favors brain-dead popsicles.

And that’s when Escobar’s words came back to her. When he relieved her of the magic, he always chanted the same thing.

“Hand to me the powers that be.”

Right?

She shook her head, wrapping her arms over her breasts. Shit, Martine. What if that isn’t right? Why did you spend so much damn time tuning things out instead of being present? Escobar was forcing you to do his dirty work and you hid beneath the covers like a coward!

But what choice did she have other than to try? She had to get it out.

Just as she wondered what would happen if she didn’t at least give it a shot, her stomach heaved, shifted, distorted, her skin stretching, pulling unbearably tight.

And then her belly began to split as though she had some alien baby needing birthing.

Stuffing her fist in her mouth to ward off a scream of agony, Martine stumbled, tripping over a stump.

She threw her hands out to brace the fall and as she did, she bellowed without thinking, “Hand to me the powers that be!”

The earth shifted, rumbling and groaning as she landed hard against a fallen tree, tearing a stinging gash in her arm.

As she looked to assess her injury, her mouth fell open of its own will, as though it were on a hinge and someone had pulled it open. Her lips spread wide, her throat grew so tight she couldn’t breathe.

When her hands reached for her throat was the moment lava erupted from her mouth, hot and thick, roaring in an eruption of color and sound, spraying everything in front of her.

Trees lit up as though strands of lights had been wound around them, the sky exploded with colors of pink and purple, illuminating the snowflakes still falling furiously.

And a man with wild sprigs of hair streaming from his head.

Her lava vomit highlighted a large man, hair covering his body and face in only random patches, his hands holding a bunny, a look of complete guilt in his eyes.

As she spewed the last of whatever the hell had just projectile flown from her mouth, she coughed, sputtering and choking.

Then she burped, long and loud. So loud, the release of air echoed, the acidic taste on her tongue bitter and hot.

Martine, head rest between her legs, was sucking in the frigid air when a hand fell into her line of vision. A hand with patches of hair. “I’m Jerry.”

She coughed again, wiping tears from her eyes, her teeth beginning to chatter. “I’m naked.”

“Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”

She fought for another breath. Jerry. She remembered Derrick mentioning a Jerry. “O…okay.”

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” And she didn’t know. What the hell had just happened? Her hand went to her belly, never very flat to begin with, but flatter than it had been when she was swollen with ill-gotten magic. She sighed in more relief. She was beginning to heal already.

Thankfully, she, much like Derrick, was capable of self-healing. Because wow, that would have taken some explaining.

Then she really realized there was a half-man, half-somethingorother staring down at her in all her nakedness. Her hands flew in every direction, trying to cover her exposed bits.

And hello, Martine. Sasquatch alert. She should be afraid of this Jerry, who resembled something out of a horror story. But after what she’d just hurled into the forest from her mouth, she didn’t have the energy.

The man fell to his haunches, his eyes red and glowing in the darkness, but his face, changing rapidly back to his human form, was full of concern. In a calm voice, he asked, “Are you Martine?”

Now was maybe the time to be alarmed. How did he know her name? She backed away, catching her hip on a limb from the fallen tree and wincing. “How did you know that?”

He half-smiled at her, his hazel eyes, as thickly fringed as Derrick’s, crinkled at the corners, making him almost adorable in the right light. “I’m Derrick’s cousin Jerry. That thing you did, you know, with your mouth—that was really something else. I thought you were a cat shifter, not a witch?”

She shook her head, her hands trembling. “I’m not a witch. I am a cat shifter. A familiar, to be precise.”

Jerry’s mouth fell open then snapped shut before he said, “Oh.”

His one word held all the condemnation she knew she’d face if anyone ever found out what Escobar made her do.

Putting her shaking hand on his arm, she shook her head, her sodden hair clinging to her cheeks. “I swear, it’s not what you think. I was just getting rid of something I was forced to take. Please believe that.” Why did she care if he believed her?

Because you like Derrick’s family, and you don’t want them to think ill of you.

“Here, take my coat. You’re gonna get real sick out here in the cold, and Derrick won’t like that.” He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her with tender hands.

Stupid tears, hot and salty, sprang to her eyes at his kindness. Why were all the Adamses so damn nice? Enough with the nice, it was making keeping her secret from everyone even harder. “Thank you,” she murmured, pulling it tightly around her.

“I have to get you back to Derrick. Will you let me help you?” He held out his hand again, now shifting back to normal.

As she gazed up at Jerry, even in her shivering state, she couldn’t help but notice as he shifted back, how handsome he was. Classically handsome with chestnut brown hair that fell to his collar, high cheekbones with two red patches defined by the cold air, and an easy, calming smile.

“Martine?” he prodded in that hushed, gravelly tone he had.

Fear swept over her. If they knew about Escobar, if Escobar knew about them, he’d come looking for her. She’d seen the damage Escobar could do when he’d snatched her right out of a nightclub, trashed the place, and left everyone with no memory of it. She didn’t want that to happen here to these nice people who had no choice about their involvement with her.

Which meant, she had to tell them so they knew what they were getting into. She didn’t come free of baggage, and maybe Derrick wouldn’t want his life saved by someone who might put it in even more danger before they ever got around to the death-sex.

“Will you tell Derrick what you saw?” She wouldn’t blame him if he did.

Jerry’s face, now fully in human form, was sweet and soft when he cracked that half-smile again. “Nope. He won’t hear it from me. That has to come from you. So I need you to promise you’ll tell Derrick, because I get the feeling whatever just happened out there wasn’t good. Just like I’m going to have tell Hector I was out here hunting bunnies when I found you. Honesty’s the best policy, even if he’s going to kill me for it.

Martine took his hand and let him help her up, groaning at the ache of her muscles. “You mean Hector of the amazing brownies?”

He nodded his dark head and smiled. “Uh-huh. Did you like them? He put catnip in them just for you. He said cats love catnip.”

Well, that explained her uninhibited-dirty-girl performance back at Derrick’s and her heightened sense of awareness. She and catnip had a touchy relationship. “Okay. So we both come clean on our own terms. Fair?”

“And as long as you promise you’re not here to hurt anyone with whatever just happened. Because I’ll eat you for dinner and pick my teeth with your bones if you hurt my family.”

“Promise.”

Her heart did a funny shift thing as she agreed. Rather like it had when she and Derrick made love. Martine believed he would make a meal out of her if it meant protecting the people he appeared to love enough to threaten her. That was what she’d heard family was all about.

She’d just never had one like it.

And you don’t want one now, do you?

Affirmative.

Now what she wanted was to figure out how to deal with Escobar when he found out she’d thrown up his magic like a day-after hangover.

Eventually, he was going to come hunting for her to collect what he called his.

Another violent shiver raced along her flesh. “Can you take me back to Derrick’s, please? I have no idea where I am.”

He hitched his clean-shaven jaw. “Hop on. I’ll piggyback you.”

“But I’m naked,” she squeaked.

“Yep. And fifteen miles from Derrick’s. We could walk it, if you want. Or you could shift into your cat form. Though fifteen miles is still a long haul as a cat. I have super speed, even if I can’t fully shift. We’d be there in no time, and I’d never do anything forward. Derrick would kill me.”

He couldn’t fully shift? Martine couldn’t tell if it upset him or not, and she didn’t want to pry.

But she didn’t have to. Jerry offered. “I’m sorry if I scared you when you first saw me. I’m a defective werewolf. I’m pretty sure Derrick told you about the curse and us affected weres. I’m the product of one of the weres who was experimented on. So I can’t shift, and yes, that sucks. But it would suck a lot more if not for Max and Derrick. They make me feel like I’m a productive part of the pack even though I’m, in all truth, kinda lame.”

If she wasn’t so damn cold, she’d melt right there on the spot. She vaguely remembered Derrick telling her about the affected weres, she just hadn’t realized the extent of it.

Her heart flipped in her chest when she looked up at him, his eyes no longer red, his expression full of hesitance. “I don’t think you’re lame at all, Jerry. I think you’re a real knight in shining armor for saving a mess like me. Turn around,” she ordered, placing her frozen fingers on his shoulders and hopping onto his back.

“I promise, no funny business,” he said before he took off.

Everything became a blur around her due to his insane speed, and as trees sped by, and the muted lights of Derrick’s house grew closer, she hunkered down against Jerry’s back, grateful.

Very grateful.

Chapter Nine

“Jesus, Martine!” Derrick yelled when Jerry pushed his way through the door, depositing her in the living room.

Her hair began to melt almost instantly, dripping snow in splotches in the middle of the room all over the beautiful hardwood floors. The jacket Jerry had loaned her clung to her in soggy patches, her toes were so numb she almost couldn’t walk.

Derrick scooped her up immediately while Nat grabbed a throw from the back of his couch and ordered her brother to put Martine in the chair in front of the fire.

Nat knelt down in front of her, helping her peel Jerry’s jacket off, tucking the blanket around her naked form. “Oh, Martine, what happened?”

Well, I was doing your delicious brother and poof, just like magic, I ended up fifteen miles from here, naked and a belly full of stolen magic. Swear, it was like I’d gotten myself knocked up. Then I yarked it all over your beautiful forest and I think I set a couple of things on fire. So sorry. But you should have seen it. It was spectacular—like the Fourth of July.

Martine shook her throbbing head, wincing when Nat began to rub life back into her legs. She couldn’t say that. So she lied again. For now. Until she could gather her wits about her and explain. “I don’t know. I—”

Nat squeezed her arm through the blanket, her eyes so warm and blue they brought tears to Martine’s. “Don’t say another word. Just warm up.”

“I found her in the snow. She was freezing. As soon as I found her, I brought her right back here, Derrick,” Jerry added, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“What were you doing in the woods this late at night, Jerry?” Derrick asked, definite suspicion in his voice.

“Taking a walk,” Martine interrupted with a croak, her throat sore and on fire. “He was just taking a walk.” They’d forged an unlikely bond back in the woods, and she intended to keep him out of trouble for just a little longer.

She heard Derrick slap Jerry on the back from her position on the chair. “Thanks, Jerry. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’ll make her some hot tea. She needs to warm up,” Jerry offered, dropping his shoes by the fire and shooting her a conspiratorial wink.

Derrick was there then, his blue eyes roving her face. He brushed a long, wet strand of hair from her cheek, letting his thumb caress her skin. “What happened, Martine?”

She wanted to lean into his hand, but she didn’t deserve his compassion. Instead, she was going to stall him. No compassion required. “Can we talk about it later?” she asked in hushed tones, hiding her eyes for fear he’d see her guilt written in them.

Nat gripped Martine’s hand and nudged Derrick with her knee. “Say no more. Just warm up and rest. You can talk later.”

Jerry brought her a steaming cup of tea, handing it to her and smiling. “I hope you feel better soon, Martine. Maybe we could take a walk when you do. I’ll show you around the woods. I know them well.”

Using all of the energy she had left, Martine leaned forward and grabbed Jerry’s hand, squeezing it hard, letting him know she appreciated him. “Thank you for helping me, Jerry. I’d love to take a walk with you sometime.”

Derrick shook Jerry’s hand, and for some reason that small gesture made her heart skip a beat. Jerry was right. Derrick was a decent man, and each moment she spent around him, she liked him more.

“Martine?” he said, running a finger down her cheek. “Let’s get you to bed. You need to rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Rising, he pulled Nat up with him and gave her a hug. “Appreciate it. You go home and get to bed. You have a job you need to get to tomorrow.”

Nat nodded, her worried eyes looking to Martine before she brought her gaze to Derrick. “Call me if you need anything.” Squeezing Martine’s shoulder, she left, leaving them alone.

Her eyes grew heavier by the second as she warmed from the tea and the fire, and the amazingly welcoming bunch of people she’d somehow managed to horn her way in on.

Derrick took the tea from her, setting it on the table and pulling her toward him. He enveloped her in his arms, this man everyone accused of yelling all the time.

This man she barely knew but found she might have wanted to if circumstances were different.

As he led her to his bedroom, pulled back the covers, sat her on the bed and lifted her legs, her thoughts drifted to how nice it was to have someone to be there for her.

Several someone’s, in fact. It was nice to just let go, to have someone worry for her, even if the worry was only surface concern.

He brought a towel from the bathroom, fluffy and crisply white, and pressed it against her hair, absorbing the water, using gentle hands before he urged her to lie flat on the bed.

Derrick climbed in beside her, tucking her close to him, rubbing her arms as she buried her face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against his pecs, the scent of him and fresh laundry detergent in her nose.

He cupped her head against him and stroked her hair. “Not now, Martine. Tomorrow. Just sleep.”

Finally warm, her eyes drifted closed, her mind at peace, and her heart felt safe.

That was the nicest thing of all.

* * *

Derrick slid a beer along the polished surface of the bar to one of his regulars, missing his mark by a couple of feet.

“Losin’ your touch there, Derrick,” Morris Polanski cackled, slapping the bar with a wide, wrinkled hand.

He threw a towel over his shoulder and gave one of his favorite patrons a playful scowl. “You don’t drink it anyway, Polanski. I don’t get why the hell you’re always in here darkening my doorstep. Has anyone told you you’re a vampire? You can’t drink beer, buddy, remember? You puke anything that isn’t blood right back up.”

“Good a place as any to get the hell away from the missus and all those dead people. And I like the smell of beer. So sue me.”

Derrick chuckled, shaking his head at the vampire who had no sense of smell at all. Morris Polanski and his family ran a funeral home in the town over, but they lived here in Cedar Glen. Upon finding out about Derrick’s grandparents, and what they’d done, they’d left their clan and migrated here.

Morris was yet another misfit paranormal—one who’d been around almost as long as Derrick could remember. A vampire, in a family of vampires, who had no sense of smell, something considered crucial in the vampire world.

Morris was a steady patron at the bar, paid like any other customer, and often held family events at his favorite local watering hole.

Derrick loved this damn bar—aptly named Bar. Every last shabby corner of it. From the mismatched multi-colored tables to the scuffed barn-wood floor, the short-order cook who was as temperamental as a trained chef, and the jukebox he had to slam a fist against to motivate.

He loved the people who frequented it, and he loved owning his own business.

But today, he didn’t want to be here. Today he wanted to be back at his place, questioning Martine about what happened to her last night, checking and rechecking to be sure she was okay and still on the same plane as the rest of them.

All night long, he’d held her close and wondered. Not just about what had happened to her, but about why he was feeling all these feelings. Protective, possessive—emotions he liked much better on someone else.

He’d also talked to Jerry on his way in, but Jerry stuck to his story from last night. Jerry was a crappy liar. He always tucked his hands in his pockets when he was lying. Derrick knew that much from experience when Jerry’d been caught hunting the rabbits in the woods against Hector’s wishes.

But why would he lie? It was obvious from his conversation with Jerry this afternoon that he liked Martine, and Derrick was glad he did. Jerry was a good guy. But he’d seen something last night, and Derrick knew it.

What? What had happened that had Jerry so close-mouthed?

“So how’s that new lady friend of yours?” Morris queried, his bushy gray eyebrow raising.

The mention of Martine as his “lady friend” did something weird to his chest. Something he’d been battling as he’d held her all night long, and long after he’d left her this morning to sleep. And it made him uncomfortable—yet, at the same time, it made him something else he couldn’t define. “Her name is Martine.”

“Fine name. Hear she’s a cat. That true?”

“Yep. Meow,” he said on a chuckle. A beautiful, sensuous, amazing cat with secrets he wanted to know.

“You like her?” Morris asked gruffly, his gnarled hand cupping the beer mug.

“I do.”

There was that unwelcome shift in his chest again. He did. He liked her a lot. He liked everything about her. Making love to her had been unbelievable. Her scent drove him almost mindless, and it made him smile. But then he wiped the grin off his face. He didn’t smile after spending the night with any woman. Why was Martine different?

Morris tapped the bar top. “Good thing to have in a mate. Somebody you like. Eternity’s a long time, pal.”

Derrick laughed again, stacking some clean glasses. “Is that how you feel about Mrs. Polanski?”

“Nope. Hate her guts.”

“Oh, c’mon now, Morris. You know that’s not true. I saw the two of you over there in the corner at the fall dance, acting like a coupla teenagers.”

Morris’s eyes squinted at Derrick, the corners of them crinkling. “A man’s gotta get laid. He does what he must to ensure it.”

“You’re a scoundrel, Morris Polanski, and the next time I see the missus, I’m telling her you’re only in it for the sex,” Derrick joked, shaking an admonishing finger at him, knowing full well Morris was nuts about his wife and had been for well over two hundred years.

Morris cackled again, leaning forward to reach for the peanuts Derrick always kept in baskets. Peanuts he couldn’t eat, but would shell and toy with because he liked to remember what it was like to be human.

The bar door opened, letting in a shaft of light. “Incoming, Morris,” he warned, holding up a car windshield sunshade he kept handy for the vampires in town who managed to tolerate minimal sunlight on daytrips.

Morris ducked behind the shade until the door closed again and someone Derrick didn’t know sat down at the bar. A rarity for early December.

Cedar Glen was pretty busy with tourists during the late spring right up until the late fall, when townsfolk gave hayrides on the various farms. But when winter arrived, there wasn’t much that brought in new people.

Tall and lean, the guy dropped into a barstool and nodded at him. “Whiskey, neat.”

“You got it.” As he poured the drink, he couldn’t place what bothered him about this newcomer. He was perfectly normal, sandy brown hair, dark eyes, looked like he knew what a gym was used for, dressed like he worked in an office, but there was something…

Derrick sniffed the air. Jesus. Someone should warn him about his liberal use of cologne. He sniffed again with a subtle twitch of his nose. Was he human? No. He didn’t smell human—but he didn’t smell not human either. He smelled like he’d put on a lot of cologne in order to hide something. Strange.

Sliding a bowl of peanuts down to the newcomer, he attempted to make pleasantries the way he did with everyone who stepped over the threshold of his bar. “What brings you to Cedar Glen?” Derrick asked amicably, keeping his eyes on the glasses he was stacking.

He shrugged his shoulders beneath his beige trench coat, pulling out some bills from the pocket of his pressed trousers and throwing them on the bar. “Just passing through. Anywhere to stay the night here?”

“Not here in Cedar Glen, but the next town over has some nice hotels.”

The man eyed him over his tumbler, the amber liquid sloshing as he swirled it. “Good enough.” He took a long gulp, finished the whiskey and rose to leave, but stopped at the door before he opened it and said, “Get many strays here?”

That made Derrick pause. He eyed the man as he grabbed the sunshade for Morris. “Strays?”

“Yeah, dogs, cats, you know?”

Alarm bells sounded in Derrick’s head, but he kept his reply cool. “Not often. You lookin’ for a stray?”

His gaze connected with Derrick’s, holding it, searching it, his jaw tight, but he relaxed it almost immediately and said, “Nope,” before walking out the door into the late-afternoon sun without looking back.

Morris poked his head around the shade, his brow furrowed. “Friendly fella, huh?”

Derrick reached for his cell phone and scrolled for Max’s number, an ominous, unsettling feeling grabbing his guts and twisting them in a knot.

It was too coincidental for his taste that some stranger had suddenly shown up asking about strays. After last night, something he still hadn’t been able to discuss with Martine. And the fact that she’d all but run out on her old life, and now this guy shows up, left him feeling damn uneasy.

Fuck.

It left him feeling more than uneasy.

He shot Max a text message. He needed an ear to confirm or deny his suspicions.

And to get back to Martine. It was fine to request “no questions asked” if there was nothing to ask about. But this wasn’t nothing.

So what was it?

* * *

Martine sat at the big table in the middle of Faith Adams’ kitchen and absorbed the endless conversations going on around her as everyone ate dinner together.

She and Derrick still hadn’t talked about last night, and as the day wore on, her fear Escobar would hunt her down began to fester as she stalled the conversation she knew she had to have with him.

Yet, being here with the Adamses, observing them as they passed bowls full of steaming mashed potatoes and green beans, laughed, joked, listened to one another, she almost didn’t want anything to come between this warm feeling she was having and her reality.

This wasn’t something she was accustomed to. Her mother had kept her quiet during meals. Either because her father was passed out and she didn’t want to wake him because he was a belligerent monster when he was drunk, or he had a hangover and too much noise bothered him.

The Brooks meals from days gone by certainly weren’t the occasion this one was.

This one was nice. It was easy. It was talking about your day. Poking fun at each other, sharing mealtime chores, listening. It was a big table, scarred and worn from many family dinners in a kitchen that screamed family first.

And she had to admit, it beat her old kitchen back in her apartment with its shiny appliances and virtually unused, slickly polished countertops.

She ate on the run, takeout, leftover takeout, and alone. She almost always ate alone.

As she sipped her wine and simply observed, she found no one seemed to care that she was sitting quietly and absorbing her surroundings.

Well, except for Faith Adams, who shot occasional unblinking stares from across the table when she thought Martine wasn’t looking.

Martine didn’t have to ask why she was staring. Derrick was her son, and from the looks of it, a good one. She was supposed to be his life mate. Any good mother would want to know what her good son was getting into with a woman who’d been dumped in his lap.

As she chewed her last bite of the most delicious rib eye she’d ever had, she wondered if she shouldn’t just ease Faith’s fears, and tell her the truth about she and Derrick’s arrangement. If maybe it would ease her worry if she knew Martine wasn’t going to let him die.

And then she thought better of it. That was up to Derrick to share. She didn’t want to blow anything for him, and she certainly didn’t want to be the one who told his mother they were just going to have death-sex.

Clearly, his mother was of the old school way of thinking—life mates stayed together forever. It was tradition. So who was Martine to mess with their beliefs?

But it wouldn’t be long before Faith took the bull by the horns and wanted a word with her.

By the looks of things, that would happen in three, two, one…

Faith’s chair scraped back as she rose, smoothing a hand over her shoulder-length hair. “Martine? Would you help me gather some firewood?”

Derrick pushed out of his chair, placing his hand on Martine’s shoulder. “I’ll get it, Mom.”

Faith shook a finger at him. “No. No you won’t. Martine and I are plenty strong enough to manage some firewood, aren’t we?” She shot Martine a smile of encouragement.

Martine patted Derrick’s hand and grinned at the panicked look in his eyes. “I got this, Farm Boy. Sit. Have some coffee. In fact, make me a cup, too, would you, please?”

Derrick nodded his head, making his way over to the coffeepot when Max laughed out loud, draping an arm around JC. “Would you look at the unwhippable, totally whipped.”

Laughter followed her as Martine grabbed her jacket from the coatrack in the hall, put it on then slipped her arm through Faith’s. “Firewood,” she said on a smile and a wink.

Faith chuckled, leading her out to the large entryway of her house and through the door. “So tell me about yourself, Martine.”

As they stepped out into the cold, Martine tried out what she’d practiced all day, knowing they were doing a family night dinner and she’d be Faith’s target. “I come from Manhattan, raised in Queens. I’m thirty-three and between jobs right now.”

Faith stopped on the brick pathway leading to the side of the house, her eyes sharp and clear. “Very well done. But we’re not speed dating here. Now tell me about the real Martine. Like how she ended up in a cat carrier at a convenience store? What she wants from life? What she expects in a mate.”

Oh boy. Leave it to her to believe Derrick’s family would be as superficial as she was when she was getting to know someone. She went into a relationship thinking it would end—knowing it would. There was no need to poke around and get deep. Derrick’s family thought she was staying forever. Faith’s question never came up when she’d gone over the list of things she might ask her.

Honesty. She’d promised herself she was going to come clean with Derrick but she’d begin with Faith. It was all she had, and what Faith deserved.

Martine shook her head, slipping one of her hands inside the pocket of her jacket. “I don’t know how I ended up in that cat carrier, and that’s the truth, Faith. One minute I was asleep, the next thing I know, I woke up in a Dumspter.”

It was driving her crazy. Who’d kidnapped her from her kidnapper and why? Was the person who’d dropped her at a convenience store part of this fate thing the Adamses were such fans of? How had she slept through a second kidnapping?

Faith gripped her arm and smiled warm and wide as they walked. Martine had to wonder if Faith knew how gorgeous she was. She didn’t look a day over thirty, and her figure was amazing. “I believe you. Sometimes, the mystery of the mate remains a mystery. So what do you want out of life?”

What did she want? Had her life really been all that great before Escobar? She’d loved her job as a wedding planner, definitely an odd career for a loner like her. But was her life full of much else but taffeta and seating charts? Rich in love and friendships? No. It was all just work.

She used to think her job was what filled her up. It took so much of her spare time just getting her business off the ground, she hadn’t considered anything else was missing. She didn’t think it was possible to fit anything else in.

She’d heard about the things that were missing from everyone else. From her employees who said she worked too much, and her clients who balked when she told them the woman planning their wedding was single.

But she’d never experienced any sense of loss aside from her mother until just recently, as she witnessed firsthand what healthy family dynamics included.

Faith squeezed her hand and pulled her along toward the stack of firewood. “So, life?”

Her throat threatened to close up. She didn’t want anything new or exciting. She wanted what everyone wanted. She just didn’t know how the definition of what she wanted fit her. “Happy. I want to be happy.” And out from beneath Escobar’s curse.

Faith sighed, resting an arm on the wood. “We all want that. But what else do you want, Martine? I’ve decided there’s more to the makings of a woman than just her family. Do you want a career? Do you have one now?”

“I do.” Or she did. “I was a wedding planner. So, yes. I definitely want a career.”

“That’s a really specific choice in careers, I’d say. So you must believe in happily-ever-afters? A romantic, maybe?”

How she was going to look this lovely woman in the eye and tell her no? How was she going to tell this woman she’d laid bets on every nuptial she’d planned and the hour of its possible demise? “Nothing lasts forever, does it? I believe in happy for now. I believe happiness, within and otherwise, takes work. I believe everyone’s definition of happy is personal and individualized.”

God. That sounded so Zen. Like she’d read it in a magazine instead of really feeling it.

Faith shook a finger at her with a laugh and a raised brow. “I believe you’re snowing me. Listen, Martine. I know this thing happened out of the blue for you. At the very least, while Derrick’s always known his life mate would be a surprise, he did know he was going to end up having one. For you? Total blindside. I don’t expect you to be madly in love with him after just a couple of days, but I really hope you’ll give this relationship a chance. Three weeks doesn’t seem like a long time, but it was all I needed to know when I was up for mating. I’m not just saying this because of what could happen if you don’t mate, but because Derrick, aside from all his blustering, is a good man. A really good man. Just like his father and his brother.”

“It only took you three weeks?” Martine responded in disbelief.

“Actually, it was two and a half, but we weren’t under the kind of pressure you kids are. We had more time to get to know one another without a curse hindering us. But I knew what fate had chosen for me was right.”

Ah. Derrick’s father, Brock. She’d heard just a small bit about his disappearance from Nat, but it rather strengthened her belief that nothing lasted forever. Yet, to look at Faith when she mentioned him, you’d think he walked on water.

But he didn’t. He’d walked out. He’d been gone a long time, too. To love someone like that when he’d left them was, in Martine’s opinion, foolish and ridiculously hopeful.

She decided again to be as honest as she could with Faith without revealing too much about her agreement with Derrick.

She didn’t want to hurt these people, but she also didn’t want them to build something in their heads that just wasn’t going to be. “I like Derrick a lot. He’s been very kind. He’s a great cook. I like talking to him, but no. I’m not madly in love.”

Faith began to speak, but Martine cut her off.

“That’s not to say I won’t be…sometime in the future. I mean, who knows, right? But for now, we’re just getting to know each other. I hope you understand.” She reached a hand out, placing it on Faith’s arm. Okay, so it was a little lie, but if it made Faith more comfortable, she wanted to at least give her that.

Faith nodded her head with a quick bob. “I understand completely. But give it time, won’t you? At least stay until the full moon? I wouldn’t be his mother if I didn’t ask.”

“Because his life’s at stake.”

“Ye-yes,” she said, her voice hitching, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she looked directly at Martine. “That I even have to say that enrages me, but yes. Derrick’s life is at stake, and you’re the answer. No pressure there, huh?”

Martine looked her directly in the eye. “Then I promise you I won’t go anywhere until at least the full moon.”

Faith took a deep breath and grinned, her eyes tilting up at the corners. “Phew. Now that I’ve made a plea for my son’s life, I think I can sleep again.”

Martine laughed and let Faith squeeze her hand one more time before she began helping her gather firewood.

As they giggled and chatted about nothing, it dawned on her that she’d laughed more in just the last two days than she had in a long time.

Despite the fact that she really had nothing to laugh about.

Chapter Ten

As they strolled back to Derrick’s, he put his hand under her arm, guiding her over the strewn tree trunks and rocks. “Did my mother give you the talk?”

Instead of pulling away, she leaned into him, liking the fact that he was near. He made her feel protected, cared for, maybe even a little less alone.

She laughed at his question. “Well, not the talk, but she made her wishes clear. And fear not, Farm Boy. I didn’t give up our porn-ish arrangement.”

“Phew. Because that would have been a conversation, huh?”

“Um, yeah. Actually, I really like your mom. She’s very nice, and I’m guessing your cooking skills come from her?”

He chuckled, a warm, rich sound that made her chest tingle and her knees melty. “She said that because of the curse and the dying bit, she was going to help us appear as attractive a catch as she could just in case.”

Martine laughed again, shivering in the cold, clear night. “She’s a smart woman, your mother.”

“Yeah. Yeah, she is.”

The admiration in his voice made her smile. “She’s nuts about your dad.”

Derrick stiffened, letting his hand drop from her waist. “Unfortunately.”

Shit. Obviously a sore subject. Martine stopped in her tracks, kicking some freshly fallen snow with her loaner boots. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

Derrick ran a hand over his hard jaw. “It’s fine. You were bound to find out eventually, the way my sisters all talk as if he’s still here. But my father isn’t here, and he hasn’t been in five years.”

The sting of his words made her wince. Grabbing his hand, Martine held it tight, liking the way he curved his fingers around hers. “I’m sorry.” In this moment, she wanted to tell him she knew what disappointment with your father was like, but her tongue wouldn’t let her. The less he knew about her other than Escobar, the better.

“Don’t be. It’s just a fact. That my mother still pines for him instead of moving on is just one of the many reasons I’m not a fan of this forever everyone’s so stuck on.”

“I get it.”

But Derrick’s mouth had become a harsh slash in his beautiful face. His disappointment, his hurt, radiated from him, and it stung her as a result. “If I ever believed any two people were meant for each other, it was my parents. They had a solid marriage. My mother still thinks they do.”

Martine paused for a moment, searching for the right response to something she didn’t believe in either. But for some reason, she didn’t want Derrick to give up hope. It was irrationally important to her that he kept the faith. “Maybe she knows something no one else does? Isn’t love like that, though? Doesn’t love involve hope? Doesn’t it involve faith in the person you fell in love with? Trust and understanding?” Didn’t it?

“I’m sure it does. It doesn’t involve deserting your family.”

She cocked her head, confused by how his words sat with her. Why was it okay for her not to believe in all those platitudes, but it wasn’t okay for Derrick? Why did that matter? “So you’ve never been in love…like that?”

He shook his dark head, his eyes now on her. “Nope. You?”

“No.” The moment the word slipped from her mouth, she felt a deep sadness, as though someone had planted a seed and she’d watered it and cared for it, but it refused to grow.

“Then how can you defend him?”

She flapped her hand up in the air, exhaling a breath into the chilled night. “Oh, I’m not defending anything, Farm Boy. I’m just not emotionally involved the way you are. It lends to a different perspective is all. To see your mother’s face light up when she talks about your father, and she only did so in the vaguest of the sense…she makes me believe, I guess.”

Derrick chucked her under the chin, his expression lighter now. “Are you falling for the bullshit after only one conversation with my mother?”

Was she? No. Never. “No. I’m saying your mother believes, and I’ve never loved anyone like that, so who am I to say it doesn’t exist? I’m no one, that’s who. So ease up there, Adams, and let your mom be.”

It was equally important to her that Derrick let his mom have her dream. She didn’t understand the reasoning behind that either, but it seemed so important to Faith, she was willing to forgo her skepticism.

Derrick’s jaw clenched then unclenched, his face changing from dark to light. “Whaddaya say we change the subject? Like, I was thinking…”

Here it came. The dreaded explanation she was going to have to give him for last night. She mentally began to prepare by doing what she’d been doing—hedging. “About?”

“What you said the other night about shifting and hating paranormals.”

“I don’t hate them. I hate their stupid rules. That you’re a fan of them after this curse is a source of constant amazement for me.”

He grinned—deliciously, mischievously. “Let’s shift. Together. Let me show you my world from my point of view.” Holding out his hand, he hitched his jaw toward the forest. “C’mon. It’s good exercise.”

Martine smiled, shooting him one of her best smoldering yet coy glances. “Is this your way of saying I need a good workout?”

“Hell, no. Believe when I say, I like you just the way you are. I’m saying let’s take a run together. Maybe I can show you what it’s like to be free enough to just be who you are. Who you really are. Not just who the human world sees. Also, if I do say so myself, the shift to werewolf is pretty amazing. Thought you might want to see it.”

Her cheeks flushed at his words of approval.

Flushed? Her cheeks never flushed. Nothing on her flushed over a man. Yet, here she was, flushing. And he was avoiding the subject of his father. But who was she to press a sore subject anyway?

You mean like you’re stalling having that conversation you promised yourself you’d have?

Shhh. It can wait just a little longer. Hot man wants to show me his hotness. “So like right here? Out in the open?”

Removing his coat, he dropped it to the ground and nodded. “Right here, right now. In fact, I dare you, Pussycat.”

“You’re on,” she said, determined to try to see someone else’s value in this. More importantly, she wanted to see what Derrick loved so much about being a werewolf.

Closing her eyes, she focused on morphing. It took more effort than she was sure was normal, but it wasn’t something she ever did very eagerly to begin with.

It didn’t bring her the kind of peace it seemed to bring Derrick, but she was willing to give it a go. Rolling her head on her neck, the crush of bones twisting began, moving, shifting positions, realigning as her clothing melted away.

Falling forward onto her hands, Martine’s eyes followed the swift change from skin to black fur covering her hands until they became much smaller paws. Her tail sprouted, long and winding, sensitive to the shift in wind, almost like an antenna. She gave her haunches a shake before sloughing off the last of her human form.

Derrick’s eyes on her felt somehow intimate. No one had ever watched her shift before. As a child, once she learned it was of value to her father, she’d flat-out refused unless she was alone and the pressure became too much to bear.

As an adult, it was never a very pleasant experience. The urge to run often came hard and heavy with the shift, but finding somewhere to run freely in Manhattan without ending up caught by Animal Control or having things thrown at her wasn’t a treat. So she suppressed it as often as possible until she couldn’t suppress it anymore.

Yet, Derrick watched with approval. She caught his eyes gleaming in the dark just before she’d dipped her head and allowed the full change to take over.

When Martine lifted her gaze, Derrick had begun his shift, too, and it was magnificent to watch as rippled muscle turned into a solid set of legs covered in thick fur or a barrel chest, wide and strong. He stole her breath when he, too, fell forward on his paws and his face began to change.

It was so swift, one blink of her eye and she would’ve missed it, but she forced herself to watch—to see why this appealed to him so much.

As if Derrick could be anything else, he was gorgeous in shift, majestic, as black as coal, enormous and regal. On soft paws, he approached Martine, using his nose to nudge her.

She stuck one of her paws out from beneath her fallen jeans and tripped over the pool of clothing until Derrick used his teeth to pull them away and free her.

He looked toward the forest and the field beyond and then he began to run, glancing once over his shoulder, his eyes red and glowing, as if he were challenging her to a race.

She was awkward at first, stumbling and very un-catlike until she found her footing, until the ground became not just frozen and uncomfortable, but part of her, its energy surging through her. Her eyes stayed on his backend, mesmerized by the power in his haunches as they ran through the woods, between trees, over hills, while the quarter moon shone down on them.

Peace. That was what she felt. Not just in her surroundings, the vast acreage the Adamses called home, but from within, creeping along her spine, rustling through her fur.

Snow began to fall, but she almost didn’t notice the pelt of large, icy flakes—this was too exhilarating, too overwhelming, too amazing.

Suddenly everything was different. She wasn’t hiding in some alleyway to relieve the pressure of the shift, avoiding humans and their angry words when they chased her away.

She was running and life was flowing through her veins, singing in her blood. Her heart was thumping, the cold air was ruffling her fur, invigorating her. Flying. It was almost like flying, and there was no one here to tell her she couldn’t do it.

It was euphoric.

Well, that is until she ran smack into a hand that snaked out from a bush and grabbed her by her scruff, hauling her upward and stealing all this newfound freedom right out from under her.

The. Hell.

Martine didn’t think. She didn’t pause to see who’d grabbed her. Instead, she reacted like a poked bear, reaching with her paws and swiping as much flesh as she could possibly scratch, howling, twisting, biting until she tasted soft skin between her teeth and the coppery tang of blood.

It was a man—she smelled him, sensed him, but Martine didn’t stop to figure out who or why. Instead, she scrambled atop his head and began to tear at his scalp, forcing her paws into his thick hair and ripping at him with sharp claws.

He reached upward with a grunt, grabbing for her fur, swinging his head forward then thrusting it back to knock her off.

No! No one was going to snatch her up against her will again!

The owner of the hand yelped, cursed, tore at his head until he got a hold on her and threw her to the cracked, icy ground with a snarl, leaving her dazed when she smacked her head on a rock.

Just as footsteps thumping against the ground began to fade, a low, threatening growl hit her ears.

Derrick nuzzled her with his cold, wet nose, running it over the top of her head until her eyes popped open. His eyes held a question as she tried to stand, but her legs wobbled and her paws felt numb.

She hadn’t had a workout like that in quite some time. Coupled with assault, it left her feeling a little weak. Leaning against him, she panted, attempting to reorient herself.

Derrick didn’t wait to see if she could walk back with him. He grabbed her by her scruff, keeping his jaw slack, and began to run with her toward his house, the lights from his front porch fast approaching.

He made a hard right around the side of the porch and headed toward a doggy door, pushing his way through into a utility room she’d somehow missed in her explorations.

Derrick set her by the washer, laying her on a towel he knocked off the shelf with a paw. His shift back was rapid and blurry, leaving him standing naked in the middle of the floor. Then his hands were tucking the towel around her, stroking her spine. “Are you okay?” he asked in a tone so sweet, so tender, her shift was almost thwarted.

The crunch of her bone and the modification of her muscles happened easily this time, far more easily than it ever had before, leaving her sprawled on the floor beside him.

Derrick hauled her against his chest, and she buried her nose in it, unashamed that she was freaked out. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. One minute we were running—and FYI, you were right. That was pretty great. The next, some guy grabbed me.” Had it been one of Escobar’s minions? He had them. She knew he did. Still, she was almost positive it wasn’t Escobar.

Derrick stroked her hair, pulling the towel around her. “Did you see him?”

Martine scoffed. “No. I was too busy trying to scalp him. Did you?”

He brushed the wet hair from her eyes. “No. You got a little behind me in your freedom journey there, so I thought I’d let you enjoy it. Next thing I know, you’re not behind me anymore but I can hear you howling like you’re being skinned alive. So I doubled back to get you.”

To rescue her. God, he was so damn chivalrous and this close to irresistible, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from saying so.

“Okay, look. I know we said no personal stuff, no questions, but I’m not going to stand by and let someone hurt you, Martine. Clear? This has happened twice now, and I’ve damned well kept my mouth shut, but this isn’t some coincidence. So either explain or—”

“Or?” When she asked the question, her voice wavered and her pulse raced. Would he kick her out into the cold and risk dying for the kicking? She struggled with that notion, and it wasn’t just because she had nowhere to go…

“Or we’re going to have to rethink this arrangement. Maybe keep someone with you twenty-four seven. I don’t know. I just know I deserve an explanation.”

Her heart melted into a puddle of goo. He wouldn’t kick her out. But that was only because she had what he needed, right? She looked up at him, searching his face, trying to read it, knowing now was the time to tell him everything.

Derrick’s eyes were soft when he asked, “Are you in some kind of trouble with someone? If you’ll just tell me what the hell it is, maybe I can help? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She shook her head, pushing away from him and pulling the towel over her chest. “You can’t help me, Derrick. No one can help me.” Unless he knew someone who could break a spell.

He cocked a suspicious eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell me what the problem is and let me decide?”

She gulped, fighting an irrational need to sob. “I’m afraid to put you or your family in danger.”

“You’re already in danger. The danger is here in Cedar Glen. The point is moot, Martine.”

Her stomach muscles clenched. “Do you want me to go somewhere else and wait out the full moon?”

“No!” he yelled, his mouth becoming a thin line of anger. For all the yelling everyone said he did, this was the first time he’d yelled at her. “I’m not just doing this because you’re my ticket to living, Martine. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

She put a hand on his chest, pressing it against the place where his heartbeat drummed. “And I don’t want to see you or anyone in your family hurt because of me. So, yes, we have to talk.”

He pulled her to her feet and popped the utility room door open. “First we put some clothes on, then we talk. And I mean that, Martine. I want to help. You just have to let me.”

She followed him down the hall, watching his completely naked, utterly delicious ass until she came to her room, veering off into it to grab one of the nightgowns JC had loaned her and throwing it over her head. Blowing out a pent-up breath, she headed back toward the living room where Derrick had already begun to build a fire.

Slipping to the couch, she sat, her heart racing as she waited.

It was go big or go home.

Derrick turned to look at her, his muscled arms crossing over his chest. “So the full story. I’d like to hear it. Who are you and what’s going on in your life that you’re disappearing into thin air and people are trying to snatch you from the woods?”

Martine tucked her knees under her and looked up at him, her tongue thick, her throat tight.

He sat on the couch beside her, taking her hand in his. “Listen, you asked me not to get personal, and I respected that—even when you literally vanished last night. But things just got personal when you were snatched up by some random guy in the woods. You’re here because of what’s happening to me. I can’t help but feel a little responsible. So spill. Now,” he demanded.

Derrick was right, and if she didn’t tell him, and Escobar came calling… If he hurt someone in Cedar Glen to get to her, she’d never be able to live with it. But if she left and Escobar found her before the full moon, Derrick could die.

Rock, meet hard place.

Disgust crawled along her exposed flesh. God, she hated this. This was a perfect example of why she’d give almost anything to be a human. “I’m a familiar.” She spat the words out as if they were coated in toxic waste.

He cocked a raven eyebrow. “A what?”

Her gaze fell to their hands, where they were connected, noting how easily they fit. “A familiar. We’re like guides for witches. We’re supposed to teach them how to harness their magic, cultivate it. It’s…I know this sounds crazy, seeing as I am one, but I don’t know a lot about it. In fact, I’ve spent all my life avoiding it until…recently.”

Derrick’s disbelief said it all. “Your parents didn’t teach you about it? About your powers? They’re familiars, too, right?”

Her parents. Delicate business indeed. How did you tell a man who loved his family as much as Derrick did that you didn’t exactly come from the Waltons? “They are, and my father tried. Look, my father wasn’t exactly the best of the best in the decent-person category. I watched him do horrible things all my life in order to become a warlock, his ultimate goal being immortality. His quest for that goal was unsavory, to say the least.” As the memories washed over her, she cringed.

He held up his free hand, still caressing hers with the other. “Okay, so if you’re a familiar, you can become immortal?”

“If you steal enough magic from witches, yes. But while my father was motivated enough to do plenty of dirty deeds, he just didn’t have the stick-to-it-iveness to follow through.” Unless it involved a twelve pack of Miller Light, but she left that part out. It was hard enough to admit she came from such filth.

Clearly, Derrick couldn’t fathom a parent as remiss as hers. He’d had some pretty good ones. “What about your mother?”

Martine’s heart tugged. Dianna had come up in her memories a lot lately, but she hadn’t told anyone about her out loud in a long time. “My mother was, or is, an amazing human being. She protected me from my father at every turn. I almost think she didn’t want me to learn to practice magic because she was afraid I’d turn out like my father. My mother hardly ever practiced herself. The trouble is, she’s just attached to someone she can’t seem to break free from.” And that was all he was getting out of her about her mother.

It wasn’t as though she didn’t know her mother was weak where her father was concerned. It wasn’t as if she didn’t realize the word “enabler” came to mind whenever she thought about her. But she loved her—loved her so much she couldn’t bring herself to spit openly on her memory.

“Bad marriage?” he asked, concern and sympathy in his blue eyes.

So, so bad. “Very. Let’s just leave it at this—I resisted my father’s way of life for as long as I could because I saw what my father did to my mother. Until I was forced to make a choice, that is. I hated what my father did to other people in his wish to become immortal. He was cruel and callous and wanted power he just couldn’t manage to gain. If I consider my father and his penchant for abusing his craft, I imagine my mother was afraid I’d be another way for him to get what he wanted. She refused. End of.”

“I’m—”

“No.” She stopped him by squeezing his arm, her eyes finding his full of pity. “Don’t say it. I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me. Once I left home, everything got much better.”

“If not a whole lot isolated.”

Point for Farm Boy. “Yes. But I was used to handling a lot of things on my own anyway. My father was a black sheep among familiars because of his misdeeds and trickery. As a result, I was painted with the same brush, and I’m okay with that. It taught me how to survive. I stayed away from humans for fear of discovery, and I stayed away from my own kind because they didn’t exactly want me around anyway.”

Derrick’s next question was hushed, soft and low, concern threading through it. “Where’s your mother now?”

Martine fought the scoff. “Still living in Queens and married to my father.”

“You said you had no family.”

“Yep, and I’d say it again. Would you want to claim a man like that as part of your family?”

“Understood. So you know nothing about the lifestyle of a familiar. I don’t get how this connects you to where you are now.”

“I was kidnapped by a warlock.” God. Even with his crazy curse she’d roll her eyes at that explanation.

Derrick cupped her chin, forcing her gaze to his. “When?”

“Six months ago…”

“How?”

“I don’t know exactly how he found out about me. Don’t think I didn’t curse my stupidity for not learning the ways of a familiar, after that. Anyway, he grabbed me at a nightclub I was in, trashed the place, put a spell on me to keep me in shift, and kept me prisoner until someone came along and stuffed me in that Dumpster.”

Derrick’s face went as hard as his eyes. “Kept you prisoner?”

“Ironic, right? Me, the familiar who’s supposed to teach a witch their craft, doesn’t know thing one about witchcraft. It’s laughable. So, yes. Escobar, that’s his name, kept me prisoner in his apartment in a sort of jacked-up version of an enclosed catio, and kept me quiet with a silencing spell right up until you found me. Because I know nothing about magic, which is surely a testament to how stubborn I can be, I was helpless to stop him from keeping me there.”

“Why did he kidnap you? If you can’t help him with his craft, what good are you to him?”

“Ready for more crazy?”

Derrick’s grin was ironic and dimpled and delicious. “I’m the one cursed to die on the full moon if I don’t mate, Pussycat. Don’t go talkin’ crazy to me.”

The tight ball in her chest eased a bit when she laughed. “He sends me off to another realm.”

“To do what?”

“Steal other witches’ magic.”

“For?”

“World domination?”

“Try serious.”

“I am serious. Or rather, it wouldn’t surprise me if that were his goal. The more magic a warlock collects, the greater his chances of becoming immortal. That’s the end game. Immortality. What he wants to do with immortality is anyone’s guess. Why he chose me out of all the familiars in the world…I don’t know the answer to that question either.”

Derrick’s thick brows connected. “And how do you steal it—the magic, I mean?”

Her laugh was derisive and bitter. “Ready for more irony? I have no clue. When he ships me off to the ether, it’s all very vague and floaty, sort of dreamlike, you know? Flashes of colors and sounds, but no definition to them. When I wake up, I’m always back in Escobar’s condo, bloated, like I’m on the verge of giving birth. He waves his magic wand—”

“He has a magic wand?”

“Are you ten?”

Now his grin was sheepish. “Look, ten or two hundred and ten, a magic wand’s a magic wand.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at the boyish look of interest on his beautiful face. “He doesn’t really have a magic wand. He says some words and suddenly, the magic’s gone.”

“So it’s like you swallow the magic? Can I just say how crazy that sounds?”

Martine let her eyes fall to the couch. “Tell me about it. I don’t know why the magic goes where it goes. I just know that’s where it goes.”

“And he’s been sending you off to do his dirty work for six months?”

God, that sounded weak and pathetic. That she’d allowed someone to take advantage of her abilities for six months because she had no clue how to get herself out of the mess she was in was a sad testament to what her life had become.

“Yes, and the worst of it, or what keeps me up at night sometimes, is I don’t know if anyone’s been hurt by what I’ve been doing—because I don’t know what I’ve been doing.” It made her stomach turn at the very thought, to have fought so hard to keep from participating in a world she wanted nothing to do with, only to become a slave to it.

“Okay, so we think Escobar’s who grabbed you tonight?”

Martine bit her nail and shook her head. “I don’t think it was Escobar. But who else would want to kidnap me? I do know from some of the conversations he’s had in my presence he has plenty of people who follow him around as if he has the answer to the meaning of life, so maybe it was someone who owes him something. But I know whoever it was, Escobar has a hand in this.”

“And the other night when you disappeared?”

“I can’t explain that either. I don’t know what happened to me from the time I left your bed until I woke up in the middle of the woods where Jerry found me.” And the fire. Don’t forget the fire, Martine.

“So Jerry did know what happened to you,” Derrick said, his mouth now tight.

“Please don’t be angry with him. I asked him not to tell, and he only agreed with a promise that I’d tell you. Eventually, anyway.”

“And when you woke up naked in the middle of the forest, what next?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It was the same as it was when I used to wake up at Escobar’s. I woke up with a belly full of magic.”

Derrick scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “And the magic is where…?”

She winced, remembering the amazing display of light and sound. “I expelled it when I remembered the words Escobar used to use to take it from me.”

“Don’t make me pull teeth here, Martine. I want to help. I really do, but you have to tell me everything. Where did the magic go?”

“I set some trees and shrubs on fire with it, but I swear I didn’t know what would happen when I actually expelled it. I…don’t know what I thought. I just knew I had to get it out.”

“Because?”

“Because it’s not like Escobar uses it for good if he’s stealing it, right? So I have to go with the assumption that he’s collecting it for some evil deed he’s planned, like the fruition of his immortality. I don’t want it if it’s going to hurt someone. I just wanted it gone.”

“So we have to assume he knows where you are? I mean, if he sent you to get him more magic.”

“That’s where I’m iffy. Escobar didn’t have to be in close proximity to me in order to ship me off to the realm. One minute I’d be in my catio, as he called it, not having seen him in some cases for days, the next I’d be in the realm. Then I’d end up right back where I started and he’d extract the magic. What worries me is the extraction. He’s going to want what he sent me to the realm for, Derrick. I don’t want to be in Cedar Glen if he’s going to come looking for it. He took out an entire club when he snatched me up, wiped everyone’s memory of it happening, and restored order to it before anyone was the wiser. Do you want that to happen to Cedar Glen? To the people who live here?”

She shivered all over again, but Derrick rubbed her arm, soothing her. “So we have a magic-stealing, kidnapping warlock on our hands.”

“My hands,” Martine stressed, a tear threatening to fall, her eyes and throat burning. “This is all mine.”

Derrick shook his dark head, running a finger over her cheek. “No. You’re here because of me. This is ours, Martine. If not for my curse, you’d still be at Escobar’s.”

“So you don’t want me to go?” She was astonished. She’d want her to go.

“Um, no. And before you say it, it isn’t just because you hold the key to me breathing.”

Looking into his eyes, she asked before she had the chance to temper her words with caution. “Then what is it? Why would you want me to stay if there’s a possibility I could put everyone around me in danger?”

He looked right back at her. “I like you. People I like, I don’t want to see in danger.”

Martine’s heart clenched and relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Aren’t you going to say you like me, too?”

“Is your self-esteem account running low today?” she joked, still warm from his admission.

“Nope. But if you don’t like me, too, I’m dumping you back at the 7-Eleven.”

Her head fell back on her shoulders when she laughed, light and easy. “Oh, all right. I like you, too.”

“Good. That settled, there’s something I need to tell you, too. But let’s do it over dessert. I have some cheesecake and I’m pretty sure I have a bottle of wine that’ll work with it somewhere. You in?” he asked, his eyes lighter now.

She took the hand he offered, the tingle running up her arm making her shiver. “Cheesecake and wine? Are you kidding? I’m in.”

So in.

And it wasn’t just because of the allure of dessert and booze.

Chapter Eleven

Over cheesecake and wine, Derrick told Martine what happened with the guy in his bar, forcing himself to pay attention to the conversation rather than the press of her tempting breasts against her flimsy nightgown.

An odd protective feeling crept over him as she’d told him about Escobar, followed swiftly by sharp rage that someone had dare touch his life mate…er, guest with benefits.

He knew squat about magic and witches, but he’d be damned if he’d let someone turn her into their personal lackey.

Nibbling her last bite, her full lips enveloping the fork, Martine asked, “What did this guy look like?”

Derrick shrugged, pouring her another glass of wine if only to watch her swirl it around in her mouth and lick her lips with the tongue that had done some pretty amazing things last night. “Tall, lanky. Maybe six-foot, sandy brown hair. Well-dressed, had on a suit.”

Twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, she shook her head, making a face. “That’s not Escobar by a long shot. He’s short and fat and sort of looks like a cherubic troll with the strength of ten oxen. Short and round are two of the best adjectives I can think of for him.”

“But could it have been someone he sent in to find you?”

“Anything’s possible, especially with the amount of magic he’s collected. He can cloak himself, too. Take on anyone’s façade. For a time anyway, until the magic wears off. He also sells the magic sometimes, too, by the way.”

“Like a bookie?”

“It is a little like that. If he gives someone some of the magic he’s accrued, they owe him. So maybe he sent someone in who owes him. But how could he have possibly found me in the first place? Does he have some kind of tracking spell on me? It’s not like Cedar Glen is an obvious conclusion to draw. I’d never even heard of Cedar Glen before you. Maybe he found me through the magic itself?”

He shrugged, far more concerned than he was letting on, or than he was allowing himself to admit even to himself. “I know zero about magic and witches and warlocks.”

She grinned. “That makes two of us.”

“So you really shunned your fellow familiars?” He found it almost impossible to wrap his head around. Impossible and sad. As far as he was concerned, she had a pretty cool gig in terms of her magic. Maybe that was the twelve-year-old in him talking, but he also didn’t know what he’d do without his roots, his family.

“I did everything I could to stay far away from all things magical. I shifted only when I couldn’t stand the pressure of it anymore, and I stayed out of my father’s line of vision as often as possible. He was mostly too drunk to care what I did, and my mother didn’t force the issue as a way to compensate for my father, I think.”

Derrick’s chest grew tight when he thought of little Martine, afraid of an abusive father with nowhere to turn. “Straight up, I’m going to tell you, I can’t imagine a life without my family. They’re loud, nosy, intrusive, but I need them as much as I need to breathe. I’m sorry you don’t have the same thing. I’m sorry everyone doesn’t.”

Her smile was sad and distant now. Maybe the first sign he’d seen that she might be a little sorry she didn’t have those things, too. “You can’t miss what you don’t know. Though, I will tell you, you’re very lucky to have the support you do. So give your mother a break, huh? I know what it’s like to have a mother who loves someone unconditionally—to a fault. Your father was nothing like mine, if what everyone’s told me is true. Be glad of that much, and let your mother be.”

“So your mother…you haven’t seen her in a long time.”

Martine sighed, her soft lips turning downward. “I just couldn’t watch it anymore. He was destroying her day by day. My entire life was spent walking on eggshells, with her holding my hand and leading the way. I wanted to live out loud, and you couldn’t do that with my dad around. He was always too drunk and ornery. The few times my mother really let loose were so few and far between, if I thought back on them, I could probably remember every tiny detail. My mother was a vibrant woman when my father wasn’t there to suck her spirit out of her. Maybe that’s why I’m so free in other areas of my life.”

Derrick’s hands clenched into fists, his lips tight when he asked, “Did he hit you? Your mother?” Because he’d hunt the motherfucker down and kill him with his bare hands.

Whoa, buddy. Where’d that come from?

She shook her head, stamping her index finger on the plate to gather the leftover crust crumbs. “No. He never hit us. He was just ugly and cruel and bitter, and he took that bitterness out on us every day.”

He relaxed back in his chair. “So the let’s-not-get-personal thing comes from your childhood.”

“Ya think, Dr. Derrick?” She laughed. “I say we stop talking about my childhood and let me figure out what I should do next to keep all of you safe. You don’t want Escobar here, Derrick. You don’t. He’s a power-hungry monster. Not to mention, a pretty powerful warlock.”

“Okay. So first, promise me you’ll always use your nose, Martine. Paranormals like us live and die by the scent of others. You’ll get used to it if you do it more often. I know you’re a paranormal hater, but if you’ve got it, and it can save you from a bad situation, do it. There’s no damn excuse not to. If you smell Escobar, get the hell away from him.”

“Promise.”

He nodded his approval. “Good. Second, I say we figure out what to do next, starting with having someone with you at all times.”

She scoffed, making a face at him. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t need a babysitter and I don’t want to inconvenience anyone. You all have lives to lead.”

“Listen, let me be blunt. You’re doing me the favor, Martine. In return, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Clear?”

She smiled then, as though she were surprised. “I get it. Protect the death-sex mate at all costs.”

Standing and pulling her hand, he hauled Martine out of her chair, molding her body to his. “It’s not just that, Martine. Stop diminishing it because feeling things is uncomfortable for you.”

Said the pot to the kettle…

Her giggle made his gut clench. He liked when she laughed. He liked when she smiled. He liked. “I don’t like that weird thing beating hard in my chest when someone’s nice to me. What is it called again?”

Derrick traced a finger along her neck, loving the purr slipping from her throat. “I hear it’s called a heart, but that could just be a rumor. So, another confession.”

Letting her hips mold to his, she looked up at him. “Go.”

“When you disappeared the other night, I called Nat to help me figure out what to do. She asked if you’d used my laptop. We looked up your search history in the hopes of finding a clue as to where you’d disappeared.”

Martine stiffened only momentarily before she said, “So you know about the shambles my life is in, and how popular I am on Facebook these days.”

“Yeah. They were pretty harsh, huh? Especially that Lilly. Wow, she’s pissed.”

“Do you blame her? I stiffed nearly everyone I’ve ever done business with.”

“Well, you didn’t. It wasn’t exactly your fault, Martine.”

“No. It was a warlock’s fault. I suppose I should just tell all my vendors and employees and clients that, right? All those humans will totally understand I was kidnapped and held captive by magic. It’ll be almost as good a story as the one where the aliens took me to their mother ship.”

He held her tighter, splaying his hand over her ass, forcing himself to concentrate, to reassure her. “Point taken, and I’m sorry. You lost everything, didn’t you?”

Her answer was to press her face to his shoulder, to look away. “Bah. It’s nothing I can’t regain. I mean, I’ll have to assume an alias, maybe cut off all my hair and dye it—”

“Don’t you dare cut your hair off,” he ordered, grabbing a fistful and tilting her head back. He liked it long, falling over her shoulders and down her back. He liked when it trailed over his stomach when she put her glossy mouth around his cock.

“That’s not ownership I hear in your tone, is it, Farm Boy?” she teased.

Was it? Damn it. “The hell you say, Pussycat. That was fashion advice. Long hair suits you. The color suits you, too.” Yeah.

She smirked at him before returning her cheek to his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Maybe it’s time to consider a change in your life plan.” What the fuck was he saying?

“I don’t get what you mean?”

“You could always start over here. It’s safe as long as I’m around, and Cedar Glen could always use a wedding/party-planning business. God knows the mate happens often enough. Someone’s always celebrating something.”

“But Cedar Glen isn’t Manhattan.”

He chuckled against the top of her head, his hand straying to the curve where waist met hip, stroking it. “Nope. It’s better. You can breathe here—see the trees and the sky, smell the sunshine.”

Smell the sunshine? Jesus, Derrick. Who are you, John Denver? Why the push to keep her here?

Lifting her head, Martine gazed up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What’s with the brochure-like pitch, Farm Boy? It’s almost like you don’t want to get rid of me when our death-sex is done.”

He shrugged, as much to convince himself that he was indifferent to where she ended up. “Just figured your old life has hit a bump in the road, what better place to pick up the pieces and start fresh than here? In the interest of our blossoming friendship, I’m throwing out possibilities. Take them or leave them. No skin off my back.”

Yeah. No skin.

“But won’t that make things uncomfortable for us—for you? Isn’t everyone going to wonder why your mate’s off living in her own apartment and dating other men?”

Now he stiffened. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Dating other men? Who the hell would she date?

And why the fuck do you care, Farm Boy?

To refrain from pouting like a two-year-old and to avoid being forced to explore his feelings on the subject anymore, he opted to nip this conversation in the bud. “You make a valid point. So let’s table this conversation for another time—maybe after we handle the other stuff, like this Escobar, who’d damn well better hope I don’t get my hands on him. You don’t have to make decisions this second.”

“Good thing. It’s hard to make viable, important life choices in your nightgown,” she whispered, taking the option for conversation off the table when she used his neck as leverage and hopped up, wrapping her long legs around his waist.

Now this? This he could get with. Losing himself in her body was an easy way to avoid dealing with how she made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. His cock, already aware of her curves pressed to his body, stiffened almost painfully. Martine did something to him—something new—something he couldn’t stop thinking about whenever they were apart.

Right now, he wanted more of that something he couldn’t define.

He plucked at the front of her nightgown, running his tongue over her lower lip, smiling when she shivered and her nipples tightened. “Speaking of nightgowns, isn’t yours uncomfortable?”

She chuckled that low, husky laugh that left his chest tight and his desire raging and, while still clinging to his waist, lifted her arms up, indicating he should remove the barrier.

Which he gladly did, admiring her pretty pink nipples and the way they turned upward, making his tongue itch to lick them.

She slid her arms back around his neck in a loose hold, her eyes sliding closed when he cupped her breasts, thumbing each hard nipple until her head fell back on her neck.

Her breathing grew choppy, her legs tightening around his waist when she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Let’s go make good on our agreement. Now.”

Derrick grunted his approval, carrying her down the hall to his bedroom, where he dropped her on the bed and she watched him remove his clothes.

Martine wasn’t shy as her eyes roved over his chest and down to his painfully erect cock. Her uninhibited sexuality turned him on like nothing else, made his mouth water and his pulse race.

He crawled over her to grab a condom from the nightstand, dropping it on the pillow beside her head before bracketing her hips with his knees.

Letting his body hover over hers, he entwined their fingers, pulling her arms over her head before taking her lips, capturing them in a kiss so deep, their teeth collided.

Her nipples scraped his chest as she strained up against him, her tongue lashing back at his as she clung to his hands. The heat from her lush curves emanated upward, searing his body, making his cock tighten and swell until he needed her to touch him. Needed it like he needed to breathe.

“Touch me,” he grated out, letting her hands go.

Martine did as he requested, her soft palms skimming his chest, making his nipples pucker, grazing his arms, rolling over his back, sending waves of heat along his spine.

When she reached between his legs, he hissed his pleasure, fought a yelp of satisfaction as her fingers wrapped around his shaft.

Derrick bucked with a groan, driving into the tunnel she’d created with her hands as his mouth devoured hers. She urged him up the bed by bracing her hands on his hips, tilting her head to lock eyes with him until his cock neared her mouth.

Christ, she was beautiful, unashamed of her desire, wanton green eyes staring up at him, her hair splayed around her shoulders. Martine licked her lips before she took him into her mouth with an agonizingly slow, deliberate slide of her tongue.

He clenched his teeth to keep the roar in his throat from erupting as she bathed him with her wet, warm tongue. Her hands found his balls, tight with need, and cupped them, rolled them gently as she rode his cock with her mouth. His legs tensed and his hips thrust to meet the bob of her head as she took him deeper and deeper. Derrick drove into her mouth, his cock burning with untapped desire, thick and hot, fighting not to come.

The picture she made as she pleasured him almost drove him as insane as her tongue, and he had to pull from her mouth, wincing at the cool air on his wet shaft. He could have stayed in her mouth forever, but she had places he wanted to explore with his lips and tongue and he couldn’t hold out much longer, with the kind of mind-blowing skill she possessed.

She whimpered as he pulled away, sliding down her body with his lips, over the slope of her shoulder and down to her full breast, avoiding the tight nipple. Derrick let his tongue savor the underside of it as he teased her soft skin and she writhed beneath him when he began to plant hot kisses along each curve. Martine’s hands wound in his hair, clutching him to her as he captured a nipple and tugged at it with firm pulls, running his tongue over the tip, laving it with long strokes.

Her long legs wound around him, using them to lever her hips upward toward the cock he wanted to ram into her, but he wasn’t ready to succumb to her tight depths just yet. He needed to taste her slick pussy, inhale the scent he knew waited there for him.

Her breathing was ragged as he cupped her breasts, bringing them together and bathing each nipple alternately until Martine bucked beneath him, mewling small, breathy sounds of delight when he let go and paved a path of tongue and lips over her firm belly, caressing her rib cage beneath his hands as he went.

Her scent, spicy and musky, filled his nostrils, making his head spin and his tongue burn to lick her wet flesh. Settling between her thighs, Derrick lifted her legs high and wide, exposing Martine’s flesh to his gaze.

He closed his eyes as the sight of her, the sheer power of his lust making his gut clench and his body quake with need. He gripped her knees in order to regain control before running his hands over the silken expanse of her thighs, tracing a pattern of heated caresses. Derrick let his hands swoop down and rest between her legs, savoring the heat of her smoothly shaven pussy.

Martine’s impatience became evident from the grip she had on his wrists, her hands small in comparison to his own, her skin a stark contrast of ivory against his own olive complexion. Lifting her hips, she offered herself to him with a raspy sigh, forcing him to lean forward and inhale, devouring her hunger as he dipped an urgent tongue between the slick lips of her core.

Derrick heard her hiss and inhale sharply, her belly caving beneath his hands as he delved deeper, tasting the essence of her pussy. Finding her clit, he circled it with slow deliberation, wrapping his lips around the swollen nub, flitting his tongue across it.

Martine’s hips rotated beneath his lips, lunging forward when his finger slid into her, gripping it as she clenched her muscles, her depths hot and slick, the taste of her sending a bolt of electricity from his mouth to his cock.

Impatient hands yanked at his shoulders, digging into the flesh as Martine drew him away and up to her again. As he hovered over her, she opened her eyes and snaked her tongue out across his lips, tasting herself and purring with satisfaction.

Sliding a hand under her back, he rolled Martine to her stomach, leaning forward to kiss the length of her spine. She immediately lifted her perfect ass in the air, ready to accept him, slithering the upper half of her body to lay low on the bed.

Derrick fought not to tear into her, his cock raging, pulsing with need, his eyes drinking in her creamy skin. He dug for the condom, slipping it on before his hands found the smooth globes of her ass, round and firm. He squeezed them, smiling when Martine responded with a low, husky moan.

Derrick positioned himself between her thighs and swallowed hard. Thinking it wouldn’t do to take her with the abandon he struggled to contain.

Until he heard her whisper, “Fuck me, Derrick, hard.”

That was it— he couldn’t stop now if he wanted to. His cock paused at her entrance only for a moment before he drove into her, hard and hot. Martine was slick and tight, so wet, he fought to keep himself in check.

She gasped from the force of his thrust, but when he hesitated, she hissed again. “Don’t stop,” she whimpered, harsh and low.

Lights flashed behind his closed eyes as he gritted his teeth and rode her relentlessly, pushing into the silk that clenched his swollen shaft with a frantic rhythm. Each stroke he took, she matched, driving back against him with a strength he’d never guessed she possessed, but she took each thrust with pleasure, tightening her small hands into fists beside her head when he reached around her and stroked her clit.

When she bucked against him uncontrollably, lifting her luscious ass high, he totally lost it, his climax roaring through him from the base of his cock, shooting upward, tearing into him with white-hot heat.

Martine shuddered, the slap of their flesh echoing in his ears as she came, gripping the blankets. His yell of completion echoed off the walls of his bedroom as he continued growling his release, pumping into Martine until he knew she was spent too.

Her legs collapsed beneath her and he fell forward on top of her, her smaller body heaving against his larger one.

Then she nestled against him, rendering him as speechless as he’d been since they’d first made love in a dream. It was the most incredible lovemaking he’d ever encountered, bar none.

Derrick tucked his arm beneath her, hauling her close, inhaling the scent of her hair and trying to process the intensity of this driving need to keep her close, to show her that not everyone had to be a disappointment.

That she didn’t have to be alone.

She could be safe.

She could be loved.

Chapter Twelve

Almost a week and a half had passed since she and Derrick had found a semblance of a routine, and since that stranger had snatched her up in the woods.

They made dinner together, watched TV together, did crossword puzzles, talked about all sorts of things, and made more amazing love every night.

They’d found a comfortable place—were they shared everything and nothing, because the expectation of a relationship, all the little things you held back when you wanted to impress someone, were unnecessary.

She wasn’t afraid to show her displeasure when Derrick dropped his towel on the floor every morning after a shower and simply left it there, soggy and rumpled. Though, he had shown her how delicious it could be when he picked it up and wrapped her in it, pulling her close and giving her a searing kiss.

Derrick wasn’t hindered either—he’d very loudly expressed his dislike of her spaghetti sauce, claiming it lacked his special ingredient. After which she’d flicked a spoonful of it at him, then licked it off his lips, leading to more incredible lovemaking on the kitchen floor while her sauce burned. He’d bought her dinner at the local diner to make up for it.

They’d bonded over not bonding. Their words with each other were honest and sometimes raw. Their opinions uncensored—they were naked in the purest sense.

And as each day passed, Martine found herself watching him when he wasn’t looking, not just because he was beautiful to look at, but because everything he did, he did well. He did it with purpose, and when it came to his family, he did it with so much love, her heart had almost exploded a time or two.

Like Jerry, who’d offered to keep her safe when she wanted to leave the house. Derrick hugged him every day, unashamed to show his appreciation. And Hector, whom he’d sworn off eating bunnies for, or Max, who he religiously had coffee with every morning at the bar.

She and Jerry walked together every morning now, and she found each day she looked forward to their time together more than the last. The quiet of the morning, the crunch of snow beneath their feet, the freezing air stinging her lungs were all welcome things.

Things she’d miss when she had to leave. Things she was discovering didn’t smother her, but filled her up. Way up.

Usually she and Jerry chatted about all sorts of subjects on their walks, but this morning her mind was elsewhere.

Yep. It’s on that vacant storefront you saw yesterday when you went in to drop a sandwich off to Derrick for his lunch.

She couldn’t help but smile when she remembered his grin of surprise the first time she’d made him lunch, carefully packing it up in a cooler.

He’d dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose in gratitude before he’d gone off to handle some tussle between Morris Polanski and another vampire, playfully arguing over the pool table.

That gesture, one he’d repeated every day since, was the reason she made him more sandwiches.

She’d fought that notion—fought it hard until she realized his approval, his happiness over stupid pieces of bread and leftover sliced roast beef made by her hands, brought her happiness, too.

And then there was the empty store, just down the street from the Bar, needing someone to fill it. It would make a great place to reopen a business—a business she was determined to breathe new life into.

“Penny for them,” Jerry said quietly.

She smiled, slipping her arm through his. “I was just thinking about the empty store down the street from the bar.”

Jerry perked up, his sweet eyes alight. “Used to be an antique shop. Belonged to Mortimer Chase, but he gave it up to travel when he hit five hundred. Said he was retiring.”

Martine chuckled at the notion. “Five hundred?”

Jerry grinned down at her. “Vampire. I guess after five hundred years, I might want to retire, too.”

“It’s in a great location.”

“Yep. Right near Derrick’s place.”

“That’s not the only reason I like it, Jerry.” Doth thou protest too much?

“It’s one of ’em. Probably the biggest one.”

No. No. No. She didn’t base business decisions on a man’s whereabouts. But she was curious. “Why do you say that?”

His wide shoulders shrugged. “You guys are good together in your efforts not to be good together.”

That stopped her in her tracks. “What?”

He rolled his eyes, pulling her back into the rhythm of their walk, his handsome face serene. “Time for some honesty. You’re not fooling me. Your plan is to go back to New York once this mating thing is done. You think you’re going to be able to do that without looking back. But I know differently. I don’t know what kind of arrangement you and Derrick have, but I can guess. Neither one of you talk like you’re mates, because that would go against everything you think you believe, but you act like mates anyway.”

Martine stayed silent, absorbing Jerry’s words, pacing her steps to meet his larger ones.

“Too much honesty?” he asked, his face now worried beneath the overcast sky.

“I don’t want a mate,” she said, her eyes falling to the ground for speaking with such brutal truth.

But was it still the truth? Or was she just being lulled into this whole idea of love and family because she didn’t have one, and the second she gave in to the idea, it would all crumble around her?

But Jerry grinned, easing her concern she’d spoken out of turn. “Yeah. That’s why this is getting harder for you each day. Because what you say you want and what you’ve always thought you wanted sometimes turns out to be exactly the opposite of what you really want. That hurts for people like you—so determined to go through life without any attachments. Because attachments can mean disappointment. Easier to avoid if you just float. It’s the chicken-shit way out for sure.”

She pinched his arm, making him growl. “Hey, now. I’m no chicken-shit.”

Now Jerry stopped and turned her toward him, his face as relaxed as it always was, but his words—his words were another story. “I always wonder about people like you. People who think the best way to avoid getting hurt is to hide from it altogether. But if you don’t get hurt, how can you know what really good feels like? Know what? You can’t.”

Now her temper was rising. She had experienced some of the worst hurt. Her father. She didn’t need to justify her fears to anyone. “I’ve experienced pretty bad. Maybe by comparison, it’s not the worst tale you’ll ever hear, but it certainly won’t leave you warm and fuzzy on the inside. Don’t judge me, Jerry, because you have no clue about where I come from.”

Nice crutch. Lean harder on it, Martine.

Jerry raised his lean hands like two gloved white flags. “Oh, you won’t hear me trying to compete for the gold with you in the Suffering Olympics, Martine. Whatever keeps you from wanting to join the rest of us in the world—join something—is yours alone. Life is messy, relationships are messy, but sometimes you have to keep jumping in the mud to find the sweet spot. Or you can give up. So you live a half-life. And I’m okay with that, if you’re okay with that. Just promise you’ll stop back in and visit when you can because I’ll miss our morning walks.”

With that, he patted her on the arm before strolling off, taking the path they usually took every day without another word, leaving her to stand there like the big, fat, classic example of abandonment cliché she was.

* * *

Max sipped at his coffee as Derrick eyed him over the rim of his own cup. “So how are things with JC?”

He asked only because this comfort he’d found with Martine, comfort laced with passion, made him antsy. Made him angry. Made him happy. He needed to find a flaw in Max’s happiness, one he could work a finger into and tear a big hole in, so when something went wrong, he could say, “See?”

But Max’s smile said it all. It was satisfied. Content. “We’re good. Really good. It’s taking some time to adjust, and we’re still figuring stuff out, but I love her. Damn well nuts about her. In the end, that’s kind of all that matters to us.”

His next admission was sincere. He was happy Max had found the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. “The mate looks good on you.”

Max gazed at him, raising his coffee mug. “It looks good on you, too, brother. Whether you like admitting it or not. I think instead of preparing to ship Martine off the minute she saves your life, you might want to consider how happy she seems to make you and beg her to stay. You yell a lot less with her in the picture.”

“She’s easy to get along with.”

Max winked. “I get it.”

Suddenly, he was defensive. “But that’s all it is.”

“Right. Got it.”

“Do you get it, Max?”

“Yeah, brother. I get it. Look, don’t get defensive because you’re falling for her.”

“I’m not falling over anything.” So fuck you.

Max shrugged. “Okay.”

His temper flared and he fought to keep his flaw for yelling in check. “Stop agreeing with me, jackass.”

“Okay.”

Derrick’s jaw clenched. “Let me spell this out for you. Martine’s easy to get along with. We have a lot in common. She likes to cook and so do I. She can carry on a good conversation on just about anything, and she’s pretty good at crossword puzzles. She also doesn’t bitch at me when I want to watch Ice Road Truckers and have a beer. She makes me laugh. But that’s it.”

Max bobbed his head, his eyes amused. “You have things in common, talk, hang out companionably, an assload of chemistry. Check. Got it.”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Max rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “What am I thinking, Derrick?”

“You’re thinking those are all the qualities a guy needs in a life mate. Except you’re forgetting, I don’t want a life mate. Besides, we hardly know each other. How can you sign on for life when you’ve known each other for three damn weeks?”

“Noted, and don’t forget, you’re asking the guy who did just that—signed on. But here’s something you’re forgetting. You don’t have to know everything about each other right away. Sure, you have to hop in the sack with her in order to keep on living, but afterward, when all the bullshit’s passed, you can get to know each other at your own pace. There’s no rush. The point is, she’s the first woman I’ve ever seen you interact with and actually enjoy the interaction. I’m just sayin’.”

“Well, stop sayin’. I repeat, I don’t want forever. I like playing the field.” Yeahhh. That big field full of women all over Cedar Glen. Just sayin’.

“Check again,” Max agreed with a smug smile.

He sat silently, stuffing some eggs into his mouth to keep from sharing with Max how much he looked forward to seeing Martine at the end of a day. How he thought about her all the time when he wasn’t with her—a first for him and any woman he’d ever even loosely been involved with.

“So ever figure out who the guy that came in here the other day was?” Max asked.

“Nope. Haven’t seen him since either.” And after Martine’s confession, that worried him.

“I made sure everyone’s aware of what happened. The guys in the pack are keeping an eye out, and I’ve tightened up the perimeter around town with extra security just to be safe. We won’t let anything happen to her.”

Derrick nodded, taking a last swallow of his coffee, ignoring the fear that swept over him at the idea of anything happening to Martine. “Appreciate that.”

“So we still haven’t talked about the impossible.”

“The impossible?”

Max’s head dipped in a nod. “Yeah, you know, that part of the curse that says your mating will have an impossible stumbling block?”

Oh. Right. That. “Can’t deal with something we can’t see.”

“Have you given thought to what it might be?”

Was his brother kidding? He’d thought about it day and night. “I’m gonna go with this son of a bitch Escobar.”

“Yeah, the warlock. JC and mom have been doing some research on familiars and warlocks since they heard about what went down with Martine. This magic shit, it’s pretty crazy, Derrick. I don’t know any witches or warlocks to consult, but I’m gonna be honest, it scares the shit out of me.”

“What really worries me is, neither does Martine. If she at least had some basic knowledge of the craft, I’d feel a little more prepared, but she shunned that entire portion of her life.”

“Bet there’s some instructional videos on YouTube,” Max joked.

But Derrick wasn’t laughing. He was beginning to panic. With only a week and a half until the full moon, he felt as if he was going to crawl out of his skin with paranoia. “If only it were that easy.”

“Ever thought about contacting her mother?”

Yeah. He had. Martine would kill him, but if it meant keeping her safe, he’d do it. “She’d probably kill me.”

“Listen. I don’t want to get pushy with you, but I’m not going to lose you. Got that? If I have to, I’ll snoop the hell around and figure out who her mother is and drag the woman back here to help us. She knows the ways of a familiar, right?”

Derrick clenched a fist, dropping his fork. “Martine wasn’t really clear on what she knows. Only that her father was abusive and her mother spent a lot of time keeping her under her father’s radar. He was a real prick.”

Max wiped his mouth, throwing his napkin on the table and leaning back in his chair. “If you think it’ll cause you trouble with Martine, I’ll find her and bring her back myself, but I’m not waiting too much longer for you to shit or get off the pot. If we need to fight fire with fire against this Escobar, if he’s the impossible part of this curse, we need someone who knows something about magic. We need to prepare, Derrick.”

“What about JC’s friend? What was her name? Viv?” JC’s best friend had surprised everyone with her admission the night of Max’s mate, when she’d revealed that she, too, was paranormal. She’d hidden her shifter form from JC almost all their lives. But Viv had been the catalyst to convincing JC shifters truly existed, and the last push needed to ensure JC knew how dire the mate really was.

“She really is just a cat shifter. Nothing more. So no help there.”

Fuck. It just might come down to him locating Martine’s mother. He didn’t want to go behind her back, but he wasn’t going to lose her either.

Lose her? You don’t have her to lose, pal.

I meant let her die.

No. You meant let her go, Mr. Freudian Slip.

“So, one last question,” Max said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Go.”

“You’re sure she’s telling you the truth about this Escobar? You’re sure he really makes her steal magic from others and it’s not the other way around?”

He knew it was Max’s job to ask, knew he was doing it for his own good and the good of the pack, but it pissed him off anyway. He leaned forward over the table, his eyes full of a deadly stare aimed right at his brother. “I’m sure. Don’t ask again.”

Max just smiled—smugly. “Aw, all that bark over a woman you claim you don’t want to set up housekeeping with.”

Derrick clenched his fist. “Enough.”

Max, still smiling, rose, his gaze catching JC as she and Martine and Nat turned the corner outside and headed toward the bar. “You’ve got ’til the end of today to talk to Martine about finding her mother. Then I go fishing, brother. Don’t make me play the alpha card with you and demand you take action.”

As the women entered the bar and Martine’s eyes met his, her smile bright and welcoming, warmth invaded his chest.

The kind of warmth that comes with compatibility, anticipation, comfort.

As she approached him, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it in order to hang on to that feeling for just a little longer before she blew her stack. “Come with me, Pussycat. We need to have a talk.”

She grinned, winking up at him and leaning in, putting her hand on his chest. “Is it the kind of talk we had in the storeroom just the other day? Like the one where I ended up with sticky notes stuck to my butt?”

Derrick couldn’t help but chuckle. That had been a pretty damn good talk.

But he shook his head, slapping on a serious face. “Nope. Not this time, you lusty wench.”

She pouted prettily, her glossy bottom lip thrusting outward. “Boo-hiss.”

As he led her to his office in the back, he prepared himself for a lot of booing and hissing.

* * *

“Absolutely not!” Martine yelled at him, hopping off the chair opposite his. “My mother is off limits!”

His eyes narrowed as he rose, determination written in them. “Look, Martine, your life could very well be in danger simply because of the mate. If what I suspect is true, Escobar could play a role in that. I want to be prepared. You do remember the part of the curse where it states it’s supposed to be impossible for me to mate, right? It’s bad enough I could end up dead. What if it’s impossible to avoid because you end up dead? I damn well won’t let that happen to you!”

Martine swallowed hard, wrapping her sweater around her waist tighter. “And you think my mother can stop that? How, Derrick? The only magic I ever saw her perform was silly stuff like snapping her fingers to turn off the lights and stirring a pot of soup for that pathetic excuse of a father I had while she wasn’t even near the stove!” No. Not ever.

She paced the floor, processing the plan Derrick had laid out, her legs trembling.

“You yourself admitted you don’t know a lot about her background as a familiar because she sheltered you from the life—because she didn’t want your father to abuse your possible powers. How do you know what she’s capable of and whether or not she can help you?”

“Don’t forget you! This won’t just help me—it’ll help you!”

Gripping her shoulders and stopping her in her tracks, his jaw clenched. “Fine. Yes. It’ll help me, too. But there’s no way I’m leaving this earth without knowing you’re safe.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Not now. She couldn’t acknowledge words that heavy and so full of possession right now. “My father is a vicious, spiteful man, Derrick. If he knew she was helping me, I’m afraid of what would happen to her at his hands. I can’t let you risk her life!”

Derrick’s chest lifted and released as he took a deep breath. “I would never endanger your mother, Martine. I promise you. But I’m not going to let an opportunity to see if she can offer help slip by. That’d be damn foolish.”

Sorrow seeped into her soul. God, she missed her mother. “She won’t see me, Derrick.” She’d made it clear the day Martine left that she wouldn’t ever see her again.

No explanation.

His lips flat-lined. “Then she’ll see me. So either you tell me where she lives or I start looking. But I warn you, like it or not, this meeting is happening.”

Fear washed over her. Deep, bone-deep. She hadn’t seen her father in fifteen years, and she didn’t want to now. The very thought made her heart crash so hard against her ribs she was sure Derrick could hear it.

But one thing was certain—her mother was sacred ground.

Keeping her voice low, Martine narrowed her eyes in Derrick’s direction. “Then I’ll just warn you, if my father gets wind of this and my mother ends up hurt—one little hair on her head out of place—I’ll leave Cedar Glen and you won’t have to worry about anything but digging your own damn grave on the night of the full moon.”

She pushed her way out of his office, slipping through the bar beginning to fill with lunchtime customers, zipping past JC and Nat as they waved her over to their table, and opened the exit door by shoving it with the flat of her palms.

The sun was blinding against the white of the snow on the ground, making her inhale sharply.

Fuck Escobar and fuck the paranormal. Fuck all of it.

The hell she’d risk her mother’s life to save her own—or even Derrick’s.

Chapter Thirteen

Okay, so she’d been really harsh with Derrick.

Upon reflection, and with a wince or two as she remembered her words about digging graves and her mother’s safety, she had some regrets.

It was two days later, and neither of them had spoken a word to each other, and at this point, she was feeling like someone had dug an enormous hole in her heart.

She missed talking to him. She missed laughing with him. She missed the heat of his chest against her back as she fell asleep. She missed making love.

And what will that feel like when you go away forever, Martine? If you miss him after only two days of silence, what will a lifetime of silence be like?

Oh, shut up! I’ll adjust. I’ll do what I did when I left home. I’ll get over it. That’s what it’ll feel like.

Sure it will. In the meantime, you owe him an apology. He was looking out for you, protecting you. Is that such a crime?

No. It wasn’t a crime. It was chivalrous and sweet and swoon-worthy.

But this was her mother they were talking about—attached to a man who was known for his brutality. No, he’d never hit Dianna, or even Martine, but now was as good a time as any to start.

He was a filthy drunk whose pattern of abuse could have changed. As he grew older, his dream of immortality still elusive, maybe his bitter anger had morphed into something neither she nor Derrick would be able to contain.

Derrick was a werewolf who could run super fast and beat people up with his super strength. But he knew zip about spells and the horror Gavin could create if he really set his mind to it.

Yet, she owed him an apology. He was, after all, looking out for her, too. She really believed his motivations weren’t selfish. She sensed he cared as much about her life as she did his.

And maybe that’s what had scared her. Maybe just as much as contacting her mother after all these years scared her.

Derrick cared.

She cared.

Things were getting too sticky—too invested. There was too much caring going on.

But that didn’t mean an apology wasn’t in order.

As she headed to the bar to do exactly that, to end this unbearable silence between them, she snuggled deeper into her jacket and pulled her cute knit hat down over her ears.

She’d come to love the slow pace and quiet of Cedar Glen. The town square lit up with tiny twinkling lights in the enormous oak trees. The whitewashed gazebo with wide steps lined with colorful pots of mums that led to the interior, where you could sit on the built-in benches and watch the people in town mill about.

The row of stores and small cafés, the cobblestone roads, the quaint houses painted in bright colors, their roofs with dollops of white snow.

She’d wondered a time or two what it was like in the summer when tourists filled the place and all the flowers were in bloom. Derrick had told her about the ice cream truck one of his pack members ran for the children, about the fairs they held, about the barbecues and potluck dinners that even the vampires attended.

And then she’d stopped herself from wondering. By summer she’d be long gone and resettled in the city. Hopefully her business would rise from the ashes and she’d be able to fill her life back up with work.

Yay.

Somehow, the idea of her life going back to the way it once was seemed impossible. There’d be no more cooking collaborations with Derrick, no more Adams family dinners, no more early morning walks.

Just no more.

Jesus, Martine. You sound like a pathetic love song. You know, the ones you so openly used to scorn?

She swung the door of the bar open, squinting into the dimly lit interior, dismissing her maudlin mood due to her argument with Derrick.

Morris Polanski lifted his hand to wave to her, deep in discussion with who she’d heard was a bear shifter by the name of Jagger Durov.

She peered behind the bar to find one of Derrick’s employees tending it. Odd. He never left the bar before six and it was only four.

“Look who decided to come visit. You up for a game of pool, pretty kitty?” Morris teased. She’d played a game of pool with him earlier in the week, and ever since she’d whipped his butt, he’d been looking for a rematch.

Martine grinned, giving him a playful poke in the arm. “Are you looking for another beating, Morris? It was a pretty grim game. I kinda smoked you.”

He puffed his chest out in mock indignation and cackled. “I was just letting you win because you’re so dang pretty. But I won’t be blinded by all that green-eyed beauty this time. Now the gloves are off, missy.”

She grinned at him again. “Oh, you sweet-talker, Morris. Now I see why your wife is head over heels for you, but I don’t have time today, Prince Charming. However, later next week, you’ll have to tear the pool cue from my hands.”

“Chicken,” he razzed, poking her back.

She gave him a coy, flirty smile. “Bawk-bawk. Now, have you seen Derrick around?”

“Heard him say something about going to the city tonight.”

Panic made her knees weak. “The city?”

Morris nodded his gray head, rolling a shelled peanut between his fingers. “Yep. You know, bright lights, Broadway?”

Her hands began to tremble. Had he found her mother that quickly? Not that it was much of a challenge. He’d just have to search the history on his computer to see she’d looked at her mother’s Facebook page.

Shit. “Are you sure, Morris?” The quiver in her voice was unmistakable.

Morris’s brow wrinkled, his eyes going concerned. “Sure as I’m sittin’ here, young lady. You okay? You’re pale as a ghost. Trust me, I know. I’ve seen one or two.”

“Does he go to the city often?”

Morris made a face. “Hah! Boy hates the city. Only goes if he absolutely has to.”

She gripped the back of one of the bar chairs, her knuckles white. There was no other reason for him to choose now to take a trip into New York other than her mother. Panic raced along her spine.

Morris nudged her. “Hey, you okay, good-lookin’?”

“I’m fine.” But her mind flew. Surely he wouldn’t go see her mother alone. Oh, God.

“Martine, is it?” Jagger asked, rising from his seat to peer down at her, his enormous shoulders blocking her view of Morris. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m happy to help. Jagger, by the way. Jagger Durov. We haven’t been introduced yet.”

“No!” She lowered her voice and forced herself to stay calm. “No. I’m fine, thank you. Just surprised is all. And nice meeting you. Sorry I can’t stay to chat, but I have to run.” As big and brawny as Jagger was, as useful as he might be because of his enormous muscle, she didn’t want anyone else involved in this.

She waved to Morris and zipped out of the bar, heading back in the direction of Derrick’s house, her heart pounding. How the hell was she going to get to the city to stop him from confronting her mother without her present?

She had no phone. Despite Derrick’s offer to buy her one, she, like the independent idiot she was, had turned him down. She had no car either. If she asked someone to drive her to Queens, she’d involve yet another person in this mess she was in the middle of. There was no train out of this godforsaken town. She didn’t possess super speed like Derrick, so she couldn’t shift and run to her mother’s all the way in Queens.

She’d be lucky if she got there before next week.

So now what?

Shit.

Head down, she ran the rest of the way along the snow-covered dirt road toward Derrick’s, ignoring the fat snowflakes that began to fall—and rammed right into someone’s chest.

“Martine?”

Jerry. Inhaling a breath, she gazed up at him with a distracted smile, the snow swirling around his head. “Hey, Jerry. Can’t talk now, have some stuff to do.”

“Are you okay?”

Hopping from foot-to-foot, she nodded. Time was of the essence. “Great, but I really have to run.”

He gripped her arm and thwarted her efforts to flee. “Something’s wrong. Tell me.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” She completely avoided his eyes by shielding hers from the snow with her hand.

But Jerry wasn’t letting it go, his expression hard—something that struck her as odd. His grip on her arm was even harder. “I can smell something’s wrong, Martine. Tell me what it is.”

Martine pulled her arm out of his hold. “You’re hurting me, Jerry.”

He softened then, his face melting back into his easygoing smile. “Sorry, but you’re scaring me. Why so intense?”

What could it hurt to tell him why she was worried? He knew about Escobar because of Derrick and the lockdown to keep her safe anyway.

He didn’t have to know she planned to go after Derrick. “I’m worried about Derrick. He’s gone off to find my mother, thinking she can somehow help with my Escobar troubles. But she can’t. No one can. He’s too powerful.” Fear slithered along her spine, and anxiety settled in the pit of her stomach.

Jerry held out his arm, escorting her to Derrick’s front steps. “Your mother?”

She sighed, trying to formulate a plan. “Yeah. My mother. He seems to think Escobar might have something to do with the impossible part of his curse. Like maybe he’ll be the one to stop us from mating on the full moon. If that’s the case, his assumption is that my mom can help because she’s a familiar. But my mother isn’t going to be interested in helping me, and even if she were, my father would never allow it.” At the top of the steps, she pushed the door open and waved Jerry in first, following behind him.

“Does your mother know magic?” Jerry asked over his shoulder.

She shrugged, hoping against hope he’d let this go so she could figure something out in peace. He was edgy today—edgy and something else she couldn’t put her finger on.

“I don’t know what she knows. She shielded me from most of it with the exception of the occasional floating object. I do know I don’t want her involved in this, at least not without me there to help Derrick explain.”

Jerry brightened. “So you’re planning to go see her? See if you can find Derrick? Is that what all the rush is about?”

Martine popped her lips. “I have no plans.” Yet. Which wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Yes you do. I can see it written all over your face. But you can’t figure out a way to get there.”

Guilty. “Forget it, Jerry. It’ll all be fine.”

“You want me to take you?”

She squeezed his arm with a smile of gratitude. “Um, no. I can’t let you get involved, too, Jerry. First, Derrick would kill me if anything happened to you, and I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. Second, you know not thing one about magic and neither do I. So one lame-o going in unarmed is stupid, I’ll admit. Two of us? No can do.”

“Why don’t we text him and see if he’s even located your mother? Maybe all this worry’s for nothing and he just made a trip in for something else?”

Martine cocked her head. “You know him better than I do. Why else would he go into the city? Morris said he hates it.”

Jerry nodded solemnly, his handsome face and clear skin as perfect as always even in broad daylight. “With a passion. So let’s just text and ask him.”

“Okay, but do me a favor and don’t tell him I’m asking. I don’t want you to lie for me, just avoid why you’re asking.” Because she had to know.

He nodded. “Anything if it’ll bring you peace of mind,” he said, pulling his phone from his pocket and moving his fingers over the screen.

As her mind raced, she began to pace, until Jerry’s phone pinged the sound of an incoming text. Her eyes looked hopefully to him.

He held up the phone for her to read Derrick’s message. Yes. On my way to the city to see her mother. Please don’t tell Martine. Keep her on lockdown and watch her carefully until I get back.

Fuck. And lockdown? Hello! She was a grown woman. She could do as she pleased. But that didn’t worry her nearly as much as what could happen if her father got his hands on Derrick. “My father will kill him if he catches him, Jerry.”

“Derrick’s a werewolf. Not so easily killed.”

“But my father is a drunk familiar. Who knows what he could do to him? Derrick’s strong, sure, but how will he combat magic?” How would she, for that matter? It didn’t make any difference. All that mattered was keeping her mother and Derrick safe.

“Not if we go help him,” Jerry enticed, holding up the keys to his truck.

“How are we going to do that? He asked you to keep me on lockdown. You’d be going against his wishes. Maybe we should go to Max and ask his advice?”

Jerry shrugged his shoulders, pushing a hand over his square jaw. “I guess we could. But you know Max. Always playing it safe.”

Screw safe. Screw sitting here and waiting to find out if Derrick was going to come out of this unscathed. Her father scared the living shit out of her with his loose-cannon ways, but Derrick or her mother getting hurt scared her more. “Okay, let’s just go. But how are we going to get out of here? Don’t we have to go through town? What if someone sees us?”

“I have an idea,” Jerry said with a mischievous smile.

As Jerry laid out the plan, she grabbed a pair of gloves and her cat carrier.

* * *

“Jerry?” Derrick yelped when he rounded the corner leading to Hector’s barn. “Hector! Get out here!”

He fell to his knees to find Jerry crumpled in a heap near the base of a pine tree, his jacket torn, his face bloody and bruised where he’d whacked the side of the tree with it. He slid his arm under Jerry’s head, cradling it in his lap. “Jerry! Buddy, wake up!”

Hector hovered behind Derrick, dropping to his knees, too. “What happened?”

Dread filled his gut like sand filling an hourglass. “I don’t know. I found him like this. Let’s get him out of the cold.” He scooped Jerry up, carrying him into the barn while Hector grabbed some blankets.

Cupping Jerry’s jaw, Derrick brushed his mussed hair from his cheek as he began to stir. “Jerry, buddy, what the hell happened?”

Jerry groaned, his swollen eye, merely a slit in his head, landing on Derrick. “Somebody hit me. From behind, I think…”

“Hit you? Nobody hits anyone around here unless it’s at Derrick’s bar. What the hell, man?” Hector asked, tucking a blanket under Jerry’s legs, his face worried.

Jerry winced, running a finger over the gash in his lip. “I don’t know. I was going to Derrick’s to see if Martine wanted to have lunch like he asked me to. Nat was already gone when I got to your house, and so was Martine. Then wham—it’s the last thing I remember.”

Derrick’s internal alarm bells sounded. Martine. She was the thread here. He was damn sure of it. “Okay, Hector, you stay here with Jerry. Jerry, you rest until you heal, and if you can think of anything else, text me.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He ran from the barn, his pulse like thunder in his ears. They hadn’t talked in two days, and now he was regretting every single second he’d spent letting her have her space and adjust to the idea they needed her mother’s help.

He’d left Martine with regret this morning, standing in the doorway of her room and watching her sleep, but reluctant to wake her. So he’d asked Nat to stay with her while he was off helping Max, and she’d texted back that she’d be right over.

He’d left knowing Nat was hot on his heels to stand watch, should anything come up.

As he raced down the path and across the yard that connected he and Hector’s two properties, he smelled something wrong.

Something really wrong. Strange smells, foreign smells, scents that turned his stomach. He took the fronts steps three at a time, pushing the door open, his gaze scanning the interior of the house. “Martine?”

Room to room he went, calling her name, his panic increasing with each fruitless glance into another empty space. He yanked out his phone and texted Nat. Where the hell are you? Fighting the impulse to punch a wall, his mind raced.

Whoa, brother. I’m at Mom’s. Right where I said I’d be all day if you needed me. What’s going on?

Fuck. He knew it. Goddamn it, he knew it. You were supposed to be staying with Martine.

“No,” Nat said, her breathing heavy as she pushed her way into his house. “You texted me earlier and said you didn’t need me because Jerry was coming over.” She held up her phone, her cheeks flushed from the run over.

Derrick held up his phone, too, his heart thumping out a harsh rhythm. “No. I asked you to come stay with her until Jerry got here to take her to lunch!” he all but yelled.

Nat’s eyes widened, her fingers trembling as she called up the message. “Oh Jesus, D. Oh Jesus. I’m sorry, but you can see what your text says.”

He clenched a fist tight, fighting for control. “I see it. I don’t get it, but I see it. Because read the text I sent you.”

Nat’s mouth fell open as she read his phone message. “What the hell?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just know someone clocked Jerry in the head, I found him unconscious, and Martine’s disappeared. We have to find her, Nat.”

Nat was all limbs and motion as she began to make her way to the door, her fingers flying over her phone. “We’ll gather the pack to search every corner of Cedar Glen. I’ll text Max and JC. Don’t panic yet. Maybe she’s just at the bar?”

“If she’d damn well taken the phone I’d offered her, we could text her and see, couldn’t we?” he replied, terse and hot with anger.

Nat threw a scarf and gloves at him from the basket Martine had set on the small table by the front door so he wouldn’t keep losing them. “Well, she didn’t, okay? Now get your shit together and let’s go!”

They had to find her. Of course they’d find her. She was probably at the bar, razzing Morris about his crappy pool playing. She had to be.

He needed to find her.

Jesus. He needed to find her.

Chapter Fourteen

Now she understood why people always wondered how they could be so stupid.

Today, she could add herself to the list of people who asked themselves that question. In fact, she’d be at the top of the stupid-people list.

Because somehow, in her stupidity, she’d landed herself right back where she’d started.

As Escobar’s prisoner.

Lying on her back, she stared up at the ceiling of her chicken-wire prison, reveling in her stupidity, letting it wash over her as though it were pouring from that lovely dual showerhead Derrick had in his amazing shower.

Derrick. Her heart tugged with a sharp jolt. Unless a miracle occurred, she’d never see him again. Not after what Escobar said he planned to do with her.

She shuddered, fear rising in her throat, her stomach a knot of panic. The thought of never seeing Derrick again after they’d had that argument over her mother broke her.

This wasn’t the way she’d wanted her and Derrick’s time together to end.

Now that she was back here at Escobar’s, she was starting to realize she didn’t want it to end at all.

But end it would if she didn’t figure out how to get the hell out of here.

Maybe that realization was borne of desperation, maybe it was fear, but the more she thought about never seeing Derrick and Cedar Glen again, the more she wanted to claw Escobar’s eyes out for trying to take both away.

Escobar’s thick finger poked into one of the holes in the chicken wire surrounding her catio—the structure he’d built to keep her contained but comfortable while he used her for his nefarious deeds.

He made a comically sad face, his eyes playful. “I’ve missed you, Martine. Haven’t you missed me?” he whispered, the thick swoop of dark hair on his head never moving an inch as he leaned down and peered at her.

Backing away, she hissed at him, because to make everything doubly humiliating, he’d posed as Jerry and she’d never once caught on. The moment she’d agreed to go with him, fake Jerry whipped up a spell, putting her right back into cat form.

Then he’d stuffed her stupid, easily duped body inside that damn plastic box, cast a thwarting spell to prevent her from shifting back, and driven her directly to his apartment in Manhattan.

More stupid.

He flicked the wire surrounding her catio and admonished her, his pudgy face frowning, and then he clucked his tongue in disappointment. “Now, don’t be like that, Martine. I simply did what I had to do. I used a cloaking spell or two to disguise myself as your friend—tweaked a text message here and there sent between your boyfriend and his sister. No harm, no foul. No one was hurt in the making of your second abduction. Well,” he said on a lascivious wink. “Not really, anyway. So don’t be such a sourpuss.”

He wiggled his finger at her again. Still on her back, she struck out in her fury, back paw swiping at the chubby tip and successfully drawing blood.

But Escobar wasn’t put off by her anger. Instead, he smiled, licking the crimson drop before it fell to his brightly colored flowered shirt. “Sad face, Martine. I’m so disappointed. But it looks like that bunch of rough-looking werewolves took really good care of you. You had a nice break, right? I admit, you were darn tough to find at first. I should have lengthened my reach on your tracking spell. It was weak and thready for a while, but I was finally able to pinpoint your location. So I sent in a couple of people to recapture you. People who owed me, but as always, they failed me. It’s so hard to find good help. But they did locate you, then it was just a matter of logistics. And now look at the two of us. Reunited just like Peaches and Herb.”

If only it felt so good. She hissed at him again, wanting to scratch his very eyes out, wipe the self-entitled smile from his cherubic face.

Escobar only sighed, patting his soft middle beneath his festive Hawaiian shirt. “We only have a little time together before I’m done with you—and you know what’s going to happen when I’m done. You don’t want to spend your last moments on this plane angry, do you? Let’s spend it peacefully, eh?”

Her ears twitched in terror. Yep, she knew what was going to happen.

He’d told her all about it. He was going to kill her.

Fear swept down her spine as she rolled to her stomach and rose on her legs. God, she was a moron. She’d fallen for his cloaking spell like lemmings fall from a cliff. She’d never once thought to do some of the things Derrick had, in their many conversations, urged her to do when she’d gotten that strange vibe from fake Jerry.

Use your nose. Paranormals live and die by the scent of others, Martine. Had she taken the time to smell fake Jerry, she would have known he was an imposter.

More panic set in when she thought about sweet, insightful, kind Jerry. Was he hurt? Oh God. Rage made her legs shake. If Escobar had hurt Jerry, she’d find a way to kill him herself, even if it took until the end of time and a million years learning spells to do it.

Stretching back on her haunches, she watched Escobar, his round form moving from room to room in the condo as he gathered herbs and oils. He was in a rush to go somewhere, that much was clear.

Think, Martine. There has to be a way to get out of here. You have to get out of this damn cage in order to save Derrick. Do something.

Do what? She was stuck in shift. Even if she had a spell, she couldn’t speak to recite it anyway.

I dunno, but you’d damn well better figure it out!

As he approached the cage again, he cocked his dark head, his squinty gray eyes twinkling. “So one last mission into the realm for me, and then I’m afraid we have to call it a day. Breaking up is hard to do, huh, kitten?”

No. He was going to send her back into the realm? No. No. No.

She braced herself for the woozy feeling Escobar’s spell always created just before he sent her on a magic haul, her brain racing to find an answer.

But he paused for a moment, staring into the catio, a question in his eyes. “You know, I’ve been wondering something. Who do you suppose had the audacity to steal you from me?”

Her ears perked, her head cocked—and that was when she spotted it.

The key to getting out of this predicament.

* * *

Derrick shoved open the door to the bar, seeing Morris at a table with Jagger Dubrov first. “Have either of you seen Martine?”

Morris shook his head. “Nope. But I’d like to. That’s some good-lookin’ cat you got there. She owes me a rematch.” He waggled a finger at the pool table and cackled.

Jagger frowned and shot Morris a look of confusion. “Morris, she was just in here about two hours ago. Old age catching up with you, pal?”

“The hell I saw her. Two hours ago I was embalming some poor stud who fell off a roof and landed in a pool head first.”

Jagger held up his wide hand. “No, Morris. You were here. Right over there at the bar with me on my lunch break. You told her Derrick had gone into the city. She looked pale as a damn ghost over it, too.”

“The hell I was, boy! Call up my granddaughter Joy over at the funeral parlor and ask her where I was two damn hours ago,” Morris scoffed, rising from his seat and reaching for his sunglasses. He thumped Derrick on the back. “I ain’t seen your girl since our last pool game. Damn tired of you kids makin’ me feel like I’ve done lost my mind. I might be five hundred, but I still got my wits. So what’s wrong with my pussycat? She okay?”

Derrick didn’t want to worry or offend him. “Everything’s fine, Morris. No worries.”

Morris harrumphed and nodded. “Say hello to your girl when you see her.” He stalked off toward the door, wrapping a scarf around his head as he went.

Jagger rose from his chair, too, his enormous girth shadowing Derrick’s. “I’m telling you, Derrick, Martine was here about two hours ago while I was on my lunch break. I left just after she did and Morris was still here. He told her you went to the city. New York, to be exact. I don’t know what that old coot’s talking about, but I was right here when he said it.”

Derrick clenched his jaw. What the hell? If he knew anything, he knew Morris was sharp as a damn tack. But he didn’t have time to ask questions. Jagger was a solid member of the community, if a bit reclusive. If he said Morris told Martine he was in the city, he believed him.

“Did she say where she was going when she left?”

Jagger shook his dark head. “Nope. But she looked worried about you. I asked if there was anything I could do, but she wouldn’t hear it.”

Derrick’s nod was curt when he reached up and clapped Jagger’s shoulder. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

Jagger looked down at him, his face, carved in granite, genuinely filled with concern. “You need help finding her?”

“I have a bad feeling she’s not here in Cedar Glen.” If Morris, or whoever, had told her he’d gone into the city, she probably thought he’d gone to see her mother behind her back.

He’d almost done just that, but he was going to try one more stab at talking her into finding all the help they could before she’d disappeared today.

“If you need me, you know where I am. Always happy to help,” Jagger said before taking his leave, his large feet clapping out his exit.

Max came in just as Jagger was leaving, his eyes meeting Derrick’s across the room. He answered the question Derrick held on the tip of his tongue by simply shaking his head.

Which meant Martine wasn’t by the pond or in the surrounding woods.

Fuck. If he wasn’t worried before, he was worried now. If she’d somehow gone into the city on her own, thinking he was there, what would her prick of a father do to her?

“Anything?” Max asked, his face grave.

“I think she went into the city because she thought I went there to talk to her mother.” He explained what had transpired with Morris and Jagger.

Max ran a hand over his jaw. “So now what?”

“Now I take the information we found on her mother and I go find Martine.” Fuck, he needed to find her. Needed to see her, needed to know she was okay.

“We go find her. I’m not letting you walk into this shitpile alone.”

“Can’t let you do that, Max.” Not a chance in hell was he going to let Max risk his future with JC.

Max’s eyes went dark and domineering. “You can and you will. You don’t have a choice. Now let’s not argue about this. We’re losing time while we bullshit. You wanna run or drive?”

Derrick was already halfway out the bar door. “Running’s probably faster. No cops to worry about giving us tickets.”

Max nodded, right beside him. “I’ll text JC and ask her to pack us a backpack so we have clothes.”

Derrick nodded as he braced himself for the harsh wind that had begun to blow. He pointed up at the darkening sky. “We’d better hurry it up. Looks like this could get nasty.”

Max clamped a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Hold up. You okay?”

No. No, he wasn’t okay. He was worried sick about Martine and her safety. About the possibility of her meeting up with this Escobar or her father or both, defenseless, and it made him want to punch his fist through a wall. “I’m damn worried about her,” he admitted openly.

“Then let’s go get your mate,” Max urged, taking off toward his house, where Derrick knew JC would have packed some clothes for them to put on when they got to Queens.

As he ran to catch up with Max, he was reminded once more that he hadn’t made up with Martine. They hadn’t talked to each other for two days, and if something happened to her, he’d never be able to tell her that while he wasn’t backing down on his position about her mother, he was sorry they’d argued.

Because he missed talking to her. He missed wrapping his arm around her and tucking her close after they made love, falling asleep with the scent of her in his nose.

He wanted to tell her that the hole in his gut was getting deeper by the second just thinking he wouldn’t have the chance to tell her that.

* * *

Distract him. How the hell could she distract Escobar while still in shift?

This was the thing weighing heavily on her mind as she listened to him wonder out loud who’d taken her from him to begin with.

As she’d listened to him hatch a plan to wreak havoc on their lives for even considering stealing from the great and powerful Escobar.

While his rant had picked up steam, she’d found a hole in her catio. One she couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen. One she was not only sure had been made by whomever had stolen her from Escobar to begin with, but that she knew she could fit through if she was willing to end up with some chicken wire embedded in her skin.

She’d gained weight since staying with Derrick and his delicious meals showed along her rib cage. No way was she getting out of this unscathed.

“So who do you suppose would dare steal you from me, Martine? If only I had more time, I’d press you for details, because you do know this thief needs to be punished—severely. No one steals from me and gets away with it.”

“Meowwwww!” she howled, rubbing her body up against the rusty wire, her eyes wild and fierce when she looked into Escobar’s.

He tilted his head full of dark hair and flicked the wire. “Hush! What’s the matter with you?”

She howled louder, pulling air into her wee kitty lungs and letting ’er rip. “Meooooowwww!” she wailed, pacing back and forth as though she’d gone mad.

What worried her most was the possibility he’d put a silencing spell on her, snatching her voice so she wouldn’t keep howling and end up discovered.

He’d done it plenty after he’d first captured her. She’d railed against her captivity, and with no ability to speak, she’d done it loudly—vigorously—and it had driven him insane. He’d silenced her from that point on, so when he was gone, no one would ever know she was in his clutches.

But the walls were thin here. She knew that from experience. Very thin. Maybe, if the guy next door heard her before Escobar stuffed a sock in her mouth, he’d wonder what all the fuss was about and come knocking.

For now, it was the only plan she had.

“Martine!” he warned, his thick lips turning to a fine line of anger. “I don’t have a moment to spare. I can’t think when you howl like that!”

Good to know. So she meowed harder. “Meeeeeeeooooowwwww!”

Escobar’s face turned red with anger, his eyes bulging, his thick hands swatting at the cage.

Somewhere she’d read that if you were confronted with someone who was just a sock shy of a pair, be the other sock.

In other words, always be the craziest bitch in the land.

That in mind, Martine began to thrash her body against the chicken wire, throwing herself into it time after time, running up and down the length of the pole leading to her kitty condo, flopping on the padded perch like a fish out of water until Escobar screamed his frustration.

“Shut up!” he bellowed, his head swiveling around toward the door. “You’ll draw unwanted attention!”

“Meeeooooowwwwwww!”

Ding-dong. As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

Escobar’s face turned crimson, his rounded cheeks puffing up, his eyes full of hot anger.

Now she howled for all she was worth, long, pathetic, screeching howls in a desperate cry for help—which resulted in loud banging on the door.

“Hey, man—shut that fucking thing up! Christ, can a guy get some sleep?” the voice just beyond the door yelled.

Martine let out another war cry, paying close attention to the vibrato in her voice, making it tremble on its way out.

Escobar whipped around, pointed his finger at her and hissed, “Silence thee, mine ears be free!”

Fuck.

Instantly, Martine felt the spell, her throat tightening, her vocal chords effectively squashed.

But the guy from next door clearly wasn’t going to let the disruption in his afternoon go without a good tongue-lashing. He pounded on the door again. “Open the goddamn door before I report you to the landlord! There’s a no-pet policy in this building, you asshole! What the hell are you doing in there?”

She stilled as Escobar turned to stomp a path to the door, popping it open to find an angry, equally red-faced man behind it.

His eyes assessed the warlock with disdain. “What the hell is going on? Jesus Christ, man, it sounds like you’re skinning the damn thing alive! I’m reporting you, jackass. Not just to the landlord but to animal control…”

As the man ranted, and with Escobar caught off guard, she made her move, pushing her way through the hole, making herself as small as she possibly could.

The sharp wire tore at her side, and in that moment, she was grateful Escobar had silenced her so she didn’t cry out in pain.

Hot blood dripped down her fur, coating her paw as she wiggled the rest of the way out and fell to the floor while the two men argued, their hands flying in each other’s faces.

Slipping along the wall, she made her way around the catio and snuck behind the couch Escobar had in the middle of the living room, giving her a straight shot to the open door.

Martine flexed her front paws, stretching her neck and ignoring the sharp tug of her wound.

It was now or never.

Falling back on her haunches, she sprang forward, hurling herself across the tile floor and skidding smack into Escobar’s sandaled foot.

The next-door neighbor’s eyes went wide when Escobar reached a hand down to grab at her, shouting angry words.

But this time she was ready. Claws out, teeth barred, she began to scratch at him, clawing and digging until he screamed, “You stupid, stupid bitch!” Shaking her off, he flung her against the wall in the hallway, knocking the wind out of her.

The next-door neighbor rushed to her side, kneeling down and yelling over his shoulder, “What the hell kind of jackhole are you, throwing a defenseless cat? I’m calling animal control and the police, you freak!” He drove a hand under her body in order to scoop her up, but she twisted out of his grip, grazing his hand with her claws.

She did her best to give him a brief look of apology before she took off. No way was she going to get caught up with Animal Control.

Flying down the stairs, she ran as though the devil himself were behind her, trying to remember the way they’d come in. Confusion warred with the ache of her throbbing head and the gash in her side.

When she came to a landing, she stopped short. Left? Had it been left or right on the way up?

Shit!

The heavy thud of footsteps coming from upstairs forced her to make a choice. She tore down the stairs to the left, almost losing her footing on the slick surface.

“Martine!” Escobar roared from above, his rage-filled tone making her stomach do a somersault.

Panic seized her, threatening to immobilize her.

Run, run as fast and as far as you can. You have to get to Derrick!

But where? How the hell do I get out of here?

While she pondered the way out, the floor beneath her began to quake.

And that was when the first fireball landed right at her feet, singeing her front paws.

Okay. Escobar had broken out the magic—right here in front of a human in broad daylight.

Game on.

Chapter Fifteen

“What the hell was that?” Max yelled over another series of loud rumbles and a flash of yellow light inside the apartment building.

Dianna Brooks grabbed Max’s arm, her eyes intense. “Escobar! It’s Escobar! We have to hurry!” she shouted, fear for her daughter so acutely written on her face, Derrick squeezed her hand to offer some measure of comfort.

He and Max had gone to Dianna’s, walked right up to the door and rang the doorbell, ready to take Martine’s prick of a father out if he interfered—magic be damned.

And they got damn lucky. Gavin Brooks was off at some tavern, drinking himself into his usual sundown stupor. Though, Dianna hadn’t quite put it that way.

She also didn’t appear terribly surprised to find them on her doorstep, which had caught Derrick off guard. She’d ushered them into her small house in Queens, offered them hot tea with honey and some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

Dianna struck Derrick as warm and friendly, not at all skittish or fearful. Though diminutive in size, she possessed a commanding personality—as evidenced by what happened next.

When they told Dianna that Martine was missing, and the story of Escobar, she’d surprised them both by pulling on her coat and ordering them to take her to this address.

Neither he nor Max had questioned how she knew where they’d find Martine. They were both still in too much shock that Dianna had agreed to help at all, after Martine’s description of her childhood, coupled with the fear she’d described was so deeply ingrained in her mother. But neither of them said a word as she marched out of her house, her face full of angry determination.

“So Martine’s here?” Derrick hollered, yanking Dianna out of the way and shielding her when a spray of hot embers rained down on them.

Dianna, no more than all of five feet tall, and as dark haired as Martine, shoved him aside with impressive force, her lips thinning, her green eyes fiery. “I’d know the scent of my daughter anywhere, and she’s here!”

In a flash, she tore up the steps, her conservative purse balanced in the crook of her arm by its strap, swinging wildly.

He and Max followed, racing behind her, dodging falling sheetrock and flaming balls of fire. Derrick didn’t question what was going on—he didn’t have time to. All he had time to do was trust Dianna knew her business, and she’d help find Martine.

She stopped at the top of the third flight, holding up her hand, cocking her head.

“Where the hell are we?” Max muttered under his breath.

Dianna turned to them, her eyes narrowed, her heart-shaped face hard. “Escobar’s—and he has my daughter. And now I’m going to kill the bastard!”

Max and Derrick passed each other the “look.” The one filled with more unexpected surprise that Dianna was so damn fierce.

Derrick hissed into Max’s ear, “If she gets herself killed, Martine’s gonna kill me. We have to stay close.”

Max began to charge after her again, his last comment ringing in Derrick’s ears. “I’ve got Dianna’s back. No matter what, find Martine!”

And then an entire wall collapsed on top of his brother.

* * *

Escobar raced down the stairs just as she made a leap for the landing above to scurry away from him. Avoiding his grasp by mere inches but putting her right back on Escobar’s floor.

The hair on Martine’s back lifted, shivering along her spine as he tore after her, stomping back up the stairs, hurling flaming balls of fire, pieces of the roof falling around her feet in loud, crashing chunks as snow fell through the holes in wet splotches, making visibility low.

She zigzagged, swooshing down the long hallway, trying to remember the numbers on doors to keep track of where she was, skipping over hot metal and debris.

“Martine!” Escobar bellowed—before everything went quiet.

Painfully, deadly quiet.

Stopping short, her heart crashing against her ribs, Martine paused to listen.

Silence. There was only silence.

That meant one of two things. Escobar was planning a different course of action.

Or all hell was going to break loose.

Something made her turn around then, demanded she do so. Something premonitory and cold, painful and terrifying.

Pivoting on her paws, she peered down the hallway, past the blue-gray clouds of smoke mixed with wet snow and debris, to see Escobar.

Holding a person.

As the smoke began to clear, so did the big picture.

Escobar stalked down the long hallway, his bright shirt now covered in ash, his face smug as he dangled her mother from his fist like a pair of dice from the rearview mirror. “So, what’s new Pussycat?” he taunted on a gurgling chuckle.

Score one for all hell breaking loose.

* * *

Derrick hauled hunks of sheetrock off Max’s back, wrapping a hand around his wrist and hauling him up.

Max huffed, clearing his throat of the sheetrock dust with a hacking cough. He wiped his forearm over his mouth and asked, “Where’s Dianna?”

Derrick’s head swiveled around as he listened and sniffed the air. “Up. Martine’s upstairs! You okay?”

“Go! I’m right behind you!” Max urged, following his brother, taking the steps three at a time.

“Martine!” Derrick bellowed into the long hallway, squinting to see past the smoke and snow just as everything went from total chaos to eerily still.

He heard her then. Heard her as clear as day. Heard the plea in her voice. Heard the fear, the helpless request she made. “Please, Escobar! Just take me. Let my mother go!”

Fuck. The warlock had Dianna and Martine.

Max pulled up short behind him.

“He’s got Dianna and Martine,” Derrick whispered, barely spitting the words out. “I’ll kill the fuck.”

Max grabbed his arm with iron-like fingers. “Stop,” he demanded, harsh and low. “Let’s think before we go rushing in.”

Think? He couldn’t think. There was no thinking about this. He’d think about it after he’d ripped Escobar’s body in fucking half. “We don’t have time to think, Max!”

Max’s grip grew firmer, more insistent. “Derrick, this Escobar is a warlock. The man can cast spells. We have what to counteract that? Brute strength? Stop and take a deep breath. If we die, we’re no good to Martine and her mother.”

“Escobar!” Martine screeched, her voice hoarse, ragged. “Put her down and I swear I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll go wherever you want me to—no questions asked. Please!”

Derrick stiffened, his body rigid with the need to kill this asshole Escobar. It was the fear in her voice ripping him to shreds, turning him inside out, and he’d do whatever he had to in order to make it stop. The feral half of him, the hunter, needed this man’s blood.

“Do you hear her? She’s petrified. I can’t take it, Max! I have to kill this motherfucker.”

Max held up a hand, his eyes so grim, Derrick almost couldn’t look into them. “I know. I get it. She’s in danger. You want to rip this bastard apart, but let’s at least have some sort of plan, okay? Let’s steamroll the bastard. It’s the only thing I can think to do at this point. I’ll distract, you take his ass out.”

Derrick shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. You get the fuck out of here now. The hell I’m going back home to face JC if something happens to you. Get out!”

“That’s just not gonna happen, brother. We’re all in or we’re nothing. Don’t waste time trying to convince me to leave without you. The fuck I’m letting you take this on yourself. The only thing I ask is that you wait for the right moment to ambush. Now shut up and let’s get up there.” Max squeezed his shoulder to soften his angry words.

“Please, please, please, Escobar,” Martine cried out. “Let her go!”

Derrick looked to Max. “It’s now or never,” he murmured, just before he took the last flight of steps leading to Martine.

* * *

Somehow, in the madness, she’d managed to shift. Whatever had done it—bone-deep fear, anxiety—she now stood in the middle of Escobar’s hallway, stark naked.

But she didn’t care. He had her mother. Her mother, who dangled from his fist, swaying back and forth as he edged closer to his apartment door, stepping over the next-door neighbor who was lying in a heap.

Escobar didn’t look like much to most. Why he chose to keep his true form had always made her curious with all the cloaking spells he had at his disposal, but he had the strength of ten men, and he’d use it to make a point.

Dianna flashed Martine signals with her eyes. Signals she didn’t understand—couldn’t make out. Her heart throbbed hard in her chest, threatening to spill right out onto the floor.

She’d forgotten how small her mother was, how fragile she looked. Dianna didn’t fight Escobar, didn’t move a muscle. Instead, she stared straight at Martine—right up until the moment Escobar disappeared inside his apartment with her in his clutches.

Running the length of the hall, she ignored the tear of her flesh when she tripped on the metal banister, now ripped from its steel bolts and scattered along the hall.

The neighbor who’d pounded the door, now sprawled across the hallway, had a sweater on. Without thinking, she tore it off his limp limbs, briefly surprised at her strength and dexterity, and threw it over her head before rounding the corner of the doorway of Escobar’s apartment.

Her eyes flew wildly over the room, searching for her mother until they focused in on the area by the window where she caught movement.

Escobar still had Dianna in his wretched grip, and he was heading for that very window. Terror ripped through her, along with a rush of pure adrenaline. In what could only be called panic mode, she lunged for him, tearing at his back, grabbing her mother’s arm and yanking her away from the warlock.

Dianna fell to the floor hard, crashing into the couch with a grunt, struggling to rise the moment she gathered her wits.

But Escobar was quicker, faster, stronger than Martine would ever be. She might have caught him off guard, but it didn’t take long for him to get his bearings. In seconds, he had his thick arm wrapped around her neck and a shiny knife appeared out of nowhere, which he pointed at her throat.

“Take one more step and I’ll kill her, Dianna. I’ll slice her head off like I’m slicing bread!” Escobar roared.

Dianna crept close, her eyes ablaze. “Let her go, Escobar. Let her go or I’ll kill you!” she screamed, the demand hoarse and raw.

Martine dangled in his grip as her mother had, shrinking when Escobar screamed back, “Aw, you won’t do that, will you, Dianna? You won’t risk losing your daughter’s pretty head!”

Hold the phone. Escobar was talking to her mother as though he knew her, and Dianna was reciprocating.

Curious.

But none of that mattered. He would kill her and her mother if this went too far. She had to stop him somehow. An eerie calm invaded her, one Martine knew was borne of the realization that sometimes the jig was just up.

“Mom,” she begged, her eyes capturing Dianna’s. “Go. Go now. Don’t look back.”

The sharp point pressed to her neck made her legs tremble. Escobar’s words in her ear sent chills racing along her spine. “You know, I didn’t give you enough credit, did I, Martine? Who knew you’d have the chutzpah to escape? But now you’re just mucking up a perfectly good negotiation.”

Negotiation? Martine inhaled, gulping the acrid air as she struggled to think. “But I’m here now. Do whatever you want to me, just let my mother go!” Please.

Yet, rather than retreat, Dianna inched closer still, refusing to back down, utterly astounding Martine. “Let her go, Escobar,” she growled. “Let her go and take me in her place.”

Um, huh? Take her for what? “Mom—get out!”

Escobar clucked his tongue against the shell of her ear. “Now hold on there, my little familiar. I don’t want you anymore, Martine. I thought I made that clear when I brought you back here. But had I known your father was married to this woman—this gem—I’d have skipped his offer to purchase you entirely and insisted he give me your mother instead.”

Her mouth fell open. Purchase her? Everything was one big ball of tangled information she couldn’t parse. But one thing was clear. She’d been sold to Escobar. By her father.

Her pulse bobbled then sped up. What the hell?

But the only thing she managed to squeak out as his grip tightened around her neck was, “My father?”

Escobar’s sigh was put upon, his chest heaving against her back in a theatrical gasp of so-over-it. “Yes, kumquat. Surely you know how I ended up with you, don’t you?”

Martine trembled. Her feet, bloody and raw, ached as she clung to his forearm and shook her head. “No,” she whispered in horror. “I don’t know what you mean…” But she had an idea. A sick, twisted idea.

He sighed again, repositioning the shiny knife. “Your father sold you to me—for a tidy sum, too, I might add. Cost a fortune. And you were worth it. You served your purpose.”

Gavin had sold her to Escobar? Of all the horrible things her father had done, not in a million years would she have guessed even he was capable of something so treacherous—so heinous. “Why?” she husked out, raspy and raw. “Why did he sell me to you?”

His chuckle rumbled against her back, slipping from his throat in a slimy gurgle. “Why does your father do anything, Martine? Because he’s a helpless, useless drunk who actually believed me when I told him I’d help him get his immortality, with you as my guide. That’s why. Of course, your father, always looking for a buck, wanted money for you as part of our deal. Didn’t bat an eye when he offered you up, either. Gave me your exact location, in fact. Everything else was easy. I had someone follow you for a couple of days and then poof—you were mine.”

Tears were streaming down Dianna’s heart-shaped face, but her eyes still latched onto Martine’s, communicating something Martine just couldn’t grasp. Yet, she said nothing.

Martine swallowed the hard lump in her throat, fighting tears, fighting fear. “So if I’m so valuable, why don’t you want me anymore? Why would you want my mother?”

“Because you’re all used up, pretty girl. You don’t have anything I want anymore, and I can’t afford to take a chance you’ll tell anyone what I’ve done with you all these months. Stealing magic is a no-no in our world, sunshine. But you have a bargaining chip. Your mother. She ensures not just your life, but your everlasting silence, and if she doesn’t come with me, I will kill you.”

Perfect. Bargaining chip officially useless. Fear threatened to swallow her whole, yet she tried to stay calm.

Twisting her neck around to look up at him, she asked, “But what does any of this have to do with my mother? Why not just kill me to shut me up and let her go?”

Escobar paused a moment, his eyes narrowing, changing the entirety of his cherubic face to an ugly mask of evil. “Let her go? After she so selflessly offered herself up in return for your life? Offered to do my bidding for eternity if I let you live? Why, that would be like throwing away a winning lottery ticket. But I’ll do it if you come any closer, Dianna. Make any attempt to trick me to save your daughter, and I’ll slit her throat!”

A lottery ticket? He’d gone mad. Surely he was as drunk on his quest for power as her father was on a bottle of Jack.

Escobar waved the shiny knife under his nose, his scoff ironic. “After all these years, all this time, I can’t believe I didn’t know, Dianna. You hid well, dear. But none of that matters now. So let’s do this amicably. We make the swap and Martine lives. Do we understand each other?”

Dianna nodded, taking a step closer, but Martine cried out. “Wait!” What did “after all these years” mean?

Her mother paused, shooting more signals to her with her eyes, but Martine wasn’t letting Escobar take her mother. So she stalled by using her complete confusion as a tactic.

She held up a shaky hand covered in scratches, her voice trembling. “Explain something to me. You owe me that much after all this time, Escobar. Why me? I know nothing about magic—I don’t know the first thing about being a familiar. Obviously you know that, as evidenced by the way I always return from the realm like some drunk. What did I bring to the table that any other familiar couldn’t?”

His smile was doting now, almost fond as he wrinkled his nose. “You are precious. I mean utterly adorable. How can you not at least know the laws of the familiar? You’re more in the dark than even I realized.”

She shivered, fighting the desire to pass out from his tight grip on her neck, the way he bore holes into her as he glared down at her. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, her hands were cold and clammy, but still she pushed. “Meaning?

“Meaning this,” he grumbled. “Do you know how often a familiar is willing to steal magic from others for someone? Never. That almost never happens. It goes against everything we’re taught as familiars. It’s against our laws, in fact. But when your father offered you up in his desperation for some cold hard cash, I poked around and found out something very interesting. You hadn’t cultivated your abilities. That, in and of itself, can be useful to someone like me. You were weak, but in your weakness, you were also malleable. I knew with a spell or two, I could turn you into my little puppet. So I nipped and took Gavin’s bait.

“That you came back from the realm with some very useful magic was a pleasant surprise, and led me to believe your father was misguided all these years about just how powerful you really are. He had no idea what he’d sold me, which is par for the course with your drunken sod of a father.”

Her chest heaved as she gasped for air. No matter how horrible her father had been, hearing Escobar lay it all out on the table made him so much worse.

Forcing herself to focus, trying to contain the quiver in her voice, she asked, “So I brought back powerful magic. Why wouldn’t you want me to keep bringing you powerful magic? What does my mother have to do with this?”

He clucked his tongue before directing his next question to Dianna. “She has no idea, does she? How can it be that she’s been kept out of the familiar loop all this time? Maybe because you kept her that way?”

Martine watched her mother stiffen then for the first time, flinch, and she knew whatever she was “out of the loop” about was bad.

Martine’s heart thumped in her ears. She was afraid to ask, but she was going to anyway. “No idea about what?” What? What? What?

“It’s not just any old witch magic you collect, Martine. Your familiar abilities allowed you to steal from some of the most powerful witches in the realm just by virtue of your lineage. You’re one of the strongest conduits alive today. That made you very valuable to a warlock like me, who’s unsavory and greedy and willing to do whatever it takes to claw his way to the top.”

This was crazy. Why didn’t she know this about herself? Why hadn’t someone filled her in on her omnipotence?

She was struggling with an overload of information that just wasn’t clicking. She knew there was a common thread, one that would likely have her slapping her hand to her forehead once she heard it, but in her panic, it just wasn’t jiving.

Martine’s chest ached with the throb of her heart, her throat stung when she gulped out her next words. “That still doesn’t explain my mother and why you want her.”

Escobar chuckled, soft and low. “First of all, she offered herself to me in sacrifice if I promised not to kill you. Noble, don’t you think? There really isn’t anything like a mother’s love. But that’s not all. There’s more to this.” He shook his head as though he’d veered off course. And then he smiled. “Forget all of that. Why don’t I just introduce you properly? Martine, meet the most powerful familiar in all the land. Your mother.”

* * *

From just outside Escobar’s apartment door, Max and Derrick’s eyes met when he revealed Dianna’s importance in the overall familiar scheme of things.

“What the hell?” Derrick mouthed, his fists clenched.

Max’s eyes flashed and he mouthed back, “On three?”

The plan was to bum rush Escobar with their combined strength, catch him off guard, take him out then get the hell away before he could whip up any more chaos. But the knife—that damn shiny, gleaming-sharp knife at Martine’s throat—had Derrick worried.

Really worried.

Beyond the knife, he was worried about Martine’s mental state. Would finding out her father had sold her to the highest bidder simply enforce her hatred of Gavin, or push her further toward the belief that there really wasn’t anyone in her world she could trust?

Damn Gavin Brooks. Damn him to hell.

Derrick shook his head at his brother. No way would he risk Dianna’s life.

Max moved in closer to Derrick, pushing him down the hall with a hard shoulder. “Listen to me,” he whispered, his tone urgent and harsh. “We have to act fast, buddy. This asshole won’t play show and tell for much longer.”

“But he’ll damn well kill Martine, Max. I won’t risk that.”

Max’s next words were calm and rational, just like Max himself. “Did you hear what that fuck said? Dianna’s a valuable, powerful familiar. You don’t really think a power junkie like him is going to kill Martine and risk losing Dianna, do you? Dianna offered herself in place of Martine. All he’s doing right now is showing his ass, taking advantage of the fact that Martine had no idea about any of this. He’s enjoying terrorizing her, and he’s got your mate right where he wants her. Freaked out. Martine’s not in danger, Dianna is, because if Escobar gets her out of here, I imagine whatever he’s planning for her isn’t pretty.”

Jesus, he couldn’t think straight where Martine was concerned. He could only react to her pain, a pain he felt so deeply it ached, and it didn’t make for clear thinking. The sight of her with a knife to her throat made him want to rip the very limbs from Escobar’s body, chew his way through his intestines while the man screamed for mercy.

But resolve washed over him like the tide rushing in. There was no choice but to take a chance. “Then on three,” he said from tight lips.

Max nodded as they slipped back along the wall and Derrick waited for his signal.

When Max flashed up his third finger, Derrick charged in behind him, headed straight for Escobar’s head as Max dove for his round torso, knocking him to the ground, the knife clattering to the floor.

Escobar flung Martine away from him on Max’s impact, her body smashing into Dianna’s before they collectively crumpled to the floor. Dianna pushed herself up and dragged her daughter’s body toward her with a cry. “Martine!”

But Escobar wasn’t nearly as easy to take out as they’d thought. The moment he hit the ground, he spread his fingers wide and bellowed, “Life to spare, take the youthful one with long dark hair!” before crashing to the floor.

In that instant—in that heart-stopping instant, as Max was lifted into the air and slammed into a wall, as Dianna screamed Martine’s name, and as Derrick lunged for Escobar, using his fist to knock the warlock unconscious—time screeched to a grinding halt.

Martine went limp in Dianna’s arms, her dark hair falling around her creamy shoulders, her eyes glassy and wide.

For the first time in his life, Derrick experienced an agony no words could express, everything seeping out of him at once—gutted. He felt gutted, torn, shredded to his very soul at the sight of her unmoving.

Visions of Martine, quick to spar with him, beautiful under a white snowfall, wrapped in his arms after they made love, smiling up at him, blurred his vision—flashed before him as though they were on instant replay.

In those seconds before he rushed to her side, before he scooped her up in his arms and howled his rage, the emptiness drenched him, shook him to his core.

Derrick dropped to his knees, pulling Martine from Dianna, rocking her, fighting inexplicable sorrow and an almost uncontrollable fury.

Dianna was the first to offer comfort, tears slipping from her eyes, her hands trembling. “Derrick…oh Derrick, noooo!” she screamed, reaching for Martine’s face, stroking her pale cheek, sobbing.

He couldn’t find the words, didn’t know where to go, what to do. He only knew he’d failed to protect Martine, and he couldn’t live with that.

Didn’t want to live with it.

His mind raced, rushing forward, searching for anything to fix this. Dianna was a familiar, right? Surely she had something in her bag of tricks. Wasn’t she the most powerful familiar in the land, according to Escobar? That had to mean something, right? She had to have a bag of tricks, and he wanted them.

“Fix this,” he demanded. “Use your biggest-baddest-familiar-in-the-land powers and fix this!” he all but spat in her face.

But she shook her head vehemently. “No, no! This can’t be fixed without…it can’t be fixed!” she cried, hysteria lacing her words.

He lay Martine on his lap and gripped Dianna’s shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “It can’t be fixed without what?”

Fear. Fear and pain were in her eyes. She clung to his arm, her fingernails digging into it. “I said no! There’s no fixing it!”

“You’re lying!” he roared at her. In his gut, he knew she was lying. “Tell me what to do to fix it, Dianna!”

Escobar stirred by his feet, his lip thick with blood, his body shuddering when he tried to move. “A life for a life, eh, Dianna?” he rattled off before Derrick grabbed the collar of Escobar’s shirt, and dragged Escobar closer, slugging him into oblivion once more.

Derrick turned back to Dianna, his eyes narrowing, his chest tight from forcing air into his lungs. “A life for a life? What does that mean? Tell me now!”

Dianna shook her head again, trying to pull Martine’s lifeless body away from him. “No! No! No!”

“A sacrifice, that’s what it means, doesn’t it, Dianna? Doesn’t it?” he roared, shaking her. “A life for a life?”

“Yes!” she yelped back, still shaking her head, her tears spattering him.

Then the choice was simple. He didn’t think about it. He didn’t hesitate. “Then take mine, damn it! Take my life in place of hers!”

That was when it hit him—the impossible part of his curse.

In that moment, he made an enormous discovery, one he wouldn’t have seen coming a couple of weeks ago, maybe even as far back as just five days ago. One he never thought would come in his lifetime. In that moment of complete madness, he found there was nothing more he wanted to do than give this thing between him and Martine a shot.

How ironic he’d found a woman he’d sacrifice his life for—one he’d give everything he had in order to ensure her safety and happiness—and he had to die.

Welcome to impossible.

Chapter Sixteen

“Do it!” Derrick ordered. “Do it now!”

Dianna gripped his arm, her eyes pleading, her face wet with tears. “Please, please don’t make me do this. The process before you die is painful—unbearable. It will hurt you, and when Martine comes back she’ll be heartbroken! I can’t bear to see her any more hurt than she already has been!”

Scanning the room, he located Max, his brother’s chest rising and falling, allowing him a brief moment of peace. Knowing he was still breathing, still alive, would still be able to return home to JC and their family, solidified his choice.

Derrick’s jaw tightened. “But she’ll be alive. Nothing else matters. Do it, Dianna!” he bellowed before pressing a quick kiss to Martine’s still lips and gently laying her back on the floor.

He hauled Dianna close, pulling her to a standing position, his eyes now doing the pleading. “Listen to me. Tell Martine to be happy. Tell her she doesn’t ever have to be alone if she doesn’t want to. Do this, Dianna. Do this for Martine. Give her the chance to finally find some happiness.”

Dianna took a deep breath, raising her hands, shrugging him off, muttering something in Latin he neither understood nor cared to understand. He just wanted Martine to get up off that damn floor.

The room began to move, tremble, picking up speed, shaking, cracking beneath his feet as Dianna paced, murmuring as if she were in some kind of trance.

The air grew thick, hard to inhale, smelling of sulphur and the cloying scent of jasmine.

The first knife to his chest burned, sizzled through his skin, digging deeply into him as though his flesh was nothing more than softened butter.

The pain brought him to his knees, made him clench his jaw to keep from screaming, capturing his muscles, plucking them so tight they grew rigid. He fell forward on his elbows when the next blow came, twisting his intestines as though a fist had gathered them up straight from his gut and squeezed them in a viselike grip.

And Dianna continued to mutter, her small, ballet-slippered feet passing before his eyes while the very breath in his lungs seeped out in slow, unbearable increments.

“Derrick!” someone screamed, someone muffled and far off.

Small hands were pulling at him then, screaming orders to Dianna. “Take Martine’s hand—take it now!” the female voice demanded while he struggled to resurface from the thick haze invading his head.

Someone took his hand, squeezing it, bringing it to the soft skin of a cheek, wetting it with tears. “Open the bag, Dianna!” the voice shouted. “Open it nowww!”

Derrick fought the enticing pull of blissful nothingness, fought the wish to find solace in darkness as myriad lights flashed behind his half-closed eyelids. The tile beneath him began to rock, pull away and crumble in protests of earth-quaking chunks.

There was a screech, long and piteous, and he knew he had to get up, move, do something. Yet his body refused to cooperate, refused to leave its dormant state.

“Say the words with me, Dianna—repeat after me!” a very familiar voice commanded.

Derrick found himself cocking his ear despite his immobility, straining to hear what was happening, trying to force his eyes open to see who was doing the ordering around. But the words were fading in and out like a radio station with too much static.

And then air whooshed to his lungs in a rush, jolting him upright to a sitting position before knocking him forward with such force, he put his hands out in front of him to stop the momentum.

Derrick gulped air, taking it into his lungs, hearing the rasping wheeze as he did, his eyes immediately scanning the room for Martine.

As things came back into focus, he saw Dianna kneeling over Martine, holding her hand, while the other clutched another, familiar hand, one he’d seen a million times in his life, making a sort of human chain. The familiar hand’s twin held Escobar’s pudgy, unmoving digits.

“Mom?” he huffed the word out, coughing as he rose.

Faith dropped Escobar’s lifeless fingers and threw herself at Derrick, relief flooding her face. “Oh, thank God. Thank God you’re all right!”

Martine roused now, pushing herself upward, letting Dianna help her to a standing position.

The vulnerability on her face, the fear, the uncertainty tore at him. Tore so hard, dug so deep, he held out his arms and she rushed into them, burying her face in his shoulder.

He shuddered against her smaller frame—grateful, so grateful.

“I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing.

Derrick’s hands cupped her face, tilting it upward, planting kiss after kiss on her lips. “You’re okay. Jesus Christ, you’re alive.”

Martine leaned back in his arms, her eyes confused. “Of course I’m alive, Farm Boy. What do you mean by that?”

Dianna put a hand on Martine’s shoulder from behind as she looked up at Derrick with unsure eyes. “Can I borrow my daughter for just a minute? I promise to give her right back after I explain everything.”

He pressed a kiss to Martine’s forehead, taking in another deep breath of relief. “Of course you can. But Martine, don’t leave my sight. Because you’re infamous for doing things you damn well know you shouldn’t be doing.”

Instead of the anger he expected, Martine chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll be right over there,” she said, pointing to the decimated corner of the apartment where the kitchen used to be.

As Dianna led Martine away, Derrick and Faith helped Max up off the floor, his cheek covered in blood from his crash into the wall. “Damn,” he muttered, rolling his head on his shoulders.

Derrick slapped him on the back, bumping shoulders with him. “Thanks, brother.”

“For a shitload of nothing,” he groaned. “What the hell happened?”

Um, yeah. What the hell had happened? One minute he was giving up his life to save Martine’s, the next he was alive and his mother was holding hands with the enemy.

Looking down at Faith, Derrick asked, “Explanation?”

Faith winced, wedging the tip of her fingernail between her teeth. “It’s going to involve me and what a nosy, interfering pest I am…”

Derrick rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Well, you did save my life. At least I’m assuming it was you who did this.” He pointed to the debris all around them and an unmoving Escobar.

Faith nodded, her dark hair singed at the ends and sticking up from the side of her head. “Guilty.”

“Seven hells, Mom,” he murmured gruffly, pulling Faith into his embrace and hugging her hard. “How in the hell did you know what to do to stop that?”

She chuckled against his shoulder. “The truth?”

“I’m almost afraid to say yes.”

“YouTube.”

“What?”

“YouTube. While you were both trying to convince everyone you were only in it for the death-sex—”

“Mom…” he warned on a groan, already feeling the sting of humiliation creep along his neck from knowing his mother knew about his deal with Martine.

“Oh, Derrick, don’t be silly,” she chastised him with a grin. “It’s not like I didn’t know what was going on. I have super ears. I knew all about your deal with Martine. Sometimes I can’t believe how ridiculous it is for you to think you can hide things from me. Anyway, while you were pretending you weren’t falling in love with Martine, JC and I did some research about witches and, more importantly, spells on YouTube, and I found an old, very dear friend who had a channel. I contacted this friend, and she gave me a crazy bag of herbs and voila.”

Derrick’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Voila? Explain that, Mom.”

“When I found out Martine had been held captive by a warlock, and with the odd things going on back in Cedar Glen, like her almost abduction, I wanted to be prepared in case of an emergency. So I reunited with someone who shall remain nameless for her safety and asked her advice. My friend said likely Martine’s ability to use magic was alive and well inside her, but she’d chosen subconsciously to keep it dormant, and all we needed to do was give it a kick-start. You know, sort of like jumping a car?”

“Noted. So how did awakening her magic save me?”

“When your brother texted to tell me you were going to see Martine’s mother, I texted my…er, my friend. I described Martine and her situation and my friend made an obscure connection I thought was a real leap. But she knew exactly who Dianna was, and it turns out, she was spot on. Though no one had seen or heard from her in years—in the familiar world, Dianna and her family are legendary.”

Max nodded, running a hand over his healing jaw. “Right. The baddest familiar in the land.”

Faith punched a finger in the air. “Bingo! A familiar in hiding, no less, which I’m sure is what Dianna is explaining to Martine right now. Anyway, after I told her about Dianna and this spell Martine was under, I hoped she could help me break the hold Escobar had on her. I also told her all about this warlock. My friend knew all about him. Apparently all familiars know about him,” she scoffed with a tone full of distaste.

“That doesn’t explain how you knew exactly what to do to save me and Martine, Mom.”

She shrugged her shoulders but her eyes twinkled. “I, unlike you two, came prepared for every scenario. I brought a bag of tricks filled with lots of witchy goodness. In other words, I was loaded down for bear. Locked and loaded,” she added with an impish wink.

“And you found us how?”

“How I’ve always found you lot of unruly children. My nose. I followed you and Max to Dianna’s and then I followed you all here, and I listened to everything Escobar said and texted the information to my connection. Though, I’ll admit, when you offered up your life for Martine’s, it was all I could do not to rush in here and beg you not to do it. Don’t you ever do that to me again, Derrick Adams!”

Derrick gripped her hand, remorse on his face. “I’m sorry, but—”

“But you were protecting your life mate. So while I was full of maternal pride at what a fine man I’d raised, I also wanted to kill you myself.” Faith patted his hand with a smile. “Anyway, when I texted what was happening to my friend, that you’d sacrificed your life in order to rejuvenate Martine’s, she told me how to counteract the spell of a life for a life.”

“I can’t wait to hear this,” Max groused, shaking his head with a smile.

“I repeated a spell—some mumbo-jumbo in Latin.” She held up her phone with a text message from someone named Spooky Chick. “You can read it if you’d like. Essentially, I stole Escobar’s magic by opening up that bag of tricks and touching him. Whatever’s in that bag activates some sort of energy I’m still not sure I understand. Then, coupled with Dianna’s magic, and all of us holding hands, we created a potent conduit. That conduit created a current and brought you both back to life.”

“And stole Escobar’s magic?”

Faith winced again, smoothing her hand over her mussed hair. “I’m afraid he’s magicless now. A mere mortal forever.”

Derrick shook his head. “But wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of sacrifice? A life for a life, Escobar said.”

Faith nodded. “Losing his magic was the sacrifice—losing his immortal life, specifically,” she explained.

Derrick couldn’t help but laugh. “Dang, Mom. Who do you know who has a spell like that just sitting around?”

Faith patted his cheek and grinned. “I’ve been around a long time, honey, and being around a long time means I know a lot of people. Some of them witches. And as an aside, if you talked to me more, shared what’s troubling you, you’d have known that and maybe I could have helped much sooner.”

“But then again, maybe this was the part of the curse that needed to happen. The impossible?” Max asked, hugging his mother.

“Good point, son. I hope that’s true because wow, I don’t ever want to have to hear those words come from your brother’s mouth again.”

Derrick hugged her. “You could have been killed,” he murmured against the top of her head, fighting the residual waves of sheer terror the notion brought.

Faith leaned back in his embrace and grinned. “But I wasn’t, and neither was Martine, and that was the point. To save the mate you claim you don’t want for a mate. Now, I don’t fancy running back home again in shift. It’s cold and whether I like to admit it or not, my bones aren’t as young as they used to be. So I’m going to call a car service, let them charge me an arm and a leg to drive me all the way back to Cedar Glen, and leave the two of you to work this out. Maybe I can talk Dianna into coming with me so we can get to know each other.”

“Why would you want to get to know her?” Derrick asked.

Faith sighed and chucked him under his chin like she used to when he was six. “Oh, I think you know the answer to that, honey. Don’t play dumb—not after all this.”

He knew.

Now he had to convince Martine she knew, too.

* * *

Dianna gripped Martine’s hand, her eyes pleading with her daughter. “Do you understand why I protected you for so long now? Why I never wanted you to have to live with my mistakes?”

Martine’s head swirled with information, dizzy from not just the recounting of how she’d died and Derrick had offered his life up for hers, but of her mother’s admission. Seeing her mother for the first time in so long, so much smaller than she remembered, almost defeated, made Martine want to throw herself into Dianna’s arms and never let go.

But she’d been a part of this ruse. This maddening, insane ruse.

Pinching her temples with her fingers, Martine pressed her mother for answers. “So Dad didn’t know who you really were? Where you really came from?”

Dianna’s eyes went sad, the fine lines around them becoming more pronounced. “No, but he wasn’t always like he is now, honey. When I met him he was charming and funny, and I fell wildly in love with him. I was swept away. My parents warned me all my life about the lengths people would go to if they knew who I was, but I didn’t listen. I, much like you, wanted to be free of all the restrictions they’d placed on my life.”

Martine shook her head. “It wasn’t you who restricted me, Mom.”

“I didn’t do it purposely. I did it to keep you safe. Anyway, the only smart thing I did after meeting your father was not tell him who I really was or at least my real last name. I used my mother’s maiden name. Thinking back on it now, I don’t know what kept me from telling him. Intuition, maybe?”

Imagining her father anything but surly and angry was almost impossible. “So you married him…”

Dianna shook her head, tucking her hair back behind her ears and gave her a sheepish smile. “Against both our families wishes in one impulsive, defiant trip to Vegas and a visit to a sketchy warlock—which is how two familiars are bound for eternity.”

“So Dad’s family didn’t want him to marry you either?”

Dianna’s eyes shadowed briefly. “Oh, no. Your grandfather didn’t think I was good enough for your father. He wanted him to marry up. His father was particularly vocal about how Gavin would never amount to anything with me as a wife. Your grandfather didn’t care how much I loved your father, or thought I loved him. He wanted someone with power and money to support his son—a son he’d clearly recognized as lazy and worthless long before I did. Which is the reason why I didn’t tell your grandfather who I really was either. I was fine with him thinking I was an average familiar.”

Martine frowned. She knew almost nothing about her father’s side of the family. To hear they thought her mother wasn’t good enough made her wonder if some of her father’s behavior stemmed from years of their criticism.

“And then you got pregnant with me.”

Her mother’s eyes warmed. “Yes, and when I found out I was pregnant, I almost told him who I was. But that was around the time I began to realize your father wasn’t meant to be a family man. He’d never have a steady income and we’d never be able to rely on him.”

“Yeah. That’s the father I remember,” she said, knowing it came off as bitter.

But that didn’t faze her mother. “When I found out the kind of man he was, the things he was doing behind my back, when I found out how he used his magic, all of the evil things he was willing to do in order to become more powerful, I swore I’d never let him find out about me, or use you and the magic you inherited from me. The day you were born, I cast a spell on you to keep whatever magic you had dormant, to weaken it into submission, but even that wasn’t enough to contain it, Martine. It slipped out every now and then no matter what I did to squash it. I didn’t practice magic around you for that very reason. I didn’t want you to learn. Any of it—ever.”

“But Dad knew. He told me the day I left I’d regret not practicing magic. He clearly knew I was capable.”

“He knew you were capable, of course. You were born to two familiars, honey. But there are all sorts of levels of abilities, if you will. Some familiars can practice forever and never do much more than making objects fly, and some, like me, can wreak havoc. I managed to convince him you didn’t inherit my abilities. I convinced him you were weak, but I knew someday you’d have the mark, just like I do, and then he’d find out.”

“The mark?”

Dianna slipped her shoe off, holding up her right foot and pointing to the bottom of her heel, where a deep-purple crescent moon was stamped on her skin. “This mark. The mark of my family—of your family. It’s a symbol of who we are, and the proof I needed to convince Escobar I am who I said I was. It’s also how I bargained with him for your life just before you found us.”

Her eyes went to her feet. She didn’t have a symbol of anything anywhere on her body. “But I don’t…”

“Not yet, you don’t. But you will when you’re allowed to practice.”

Nothing made sense in her world anymore. Everything was topsy-turvy, upside down. As more horror washed over her, she still had trouble wrapping her brain around one thing.

She brushed the hair from Dianna’s cheek, peering into her tortured eyes. “Okay, so why didn’t you just leave Dad? Why didn’t you go back to your family? If you’re so powerful, why did you stay with someone so horrible? Someone who was so cruel to you? A drunk!” she yelped, trying to contain her rage for so many lost years. For her lost childhood, for the years lost with her mother.

“First of all, in the world of a familiar, when you mate, you mate for life. It’s quite rare that a divorce is granted. But there was more. I’d made my bed, now I had to lie in it, and as far as I was concerned, I deserved as much for going against my parents’ wishes. But you didn’t deserve the life you were given, and I considered leaving every day. But…”

Martine held her breath, wrapping the sweater tighter around her. “But?”

“As I said, familiars don’t allow divorce, and there’s an old law—very old, mind you. One almost no one ever calls upon, but one I’m sure your father would have used and gotten away with…”

Now she rolled her eyes. A law. Of course there was a law. There was always a law, a rule, a bullshit reason why you couldn’t just live your life when you were paranormal. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

Dianna gripped her hand. “Your father told me he’d kill me if I ever left him, and in the world of a familiar, he could have done it and been well within his rights,” she replied, her voice hitching, the fear in it so very real.

Clearly, today was the day of bombshells. “So you were afraid.”

“I was terrified. But it wasn’t just your father I was afraid of, Martine. It was your grandfather, too. He hated the idea of your father marrying me. He knew there was no way out once the deed was done. But he would have loved an excuse to kill me. If I left and took you with me, he would have helped your father hunt me down, Martine, and there was no way on earth I was leaving you in their hands. I had to protect you at all costs.”

Who was this man? This man she’d never even heard mentioned in polite conversation. “Who is my grandfather? Who is this son of a bitch who has such a hold on you?”

A tear slipped from her mother’s eye. One lone, salty tear when she answered, “Escobar. Escobar is your grandfather.”

Chapter Seventeen

Martine’s eyes went wide, the wind knocked out of her.

Escobar? This man who’d kept her hostage for six months, had used her countless times to enter the realm and steal for him, was related to her? Her actual flesh and blood?

Add in Gavin and it was like finding out Charlie Manson was your long lost relative. “Escobar is my grandfather?”

Dianna reached up to cup her cheek, her fingers trembling. “I know this is too much all at once, but I need you to understand why I did what I did, Martine. I did it to protect you. It’s why I sent you away so long ago. Why I wouldn’t have any contact with you all these years—because I never wanted you to know who your father really was. Not just the spitting mad drunk, but a man who’d do anything to get what he wanted. I knew what he’d do to you if he knew what you could do, especially with your grandfather egging him on. Your father was always trying to prove something to him. If they’d known what you were capable of, I shudder to imagine the chaos…So when I found out Escobar had you—”

“You knew he was holding me hostage?” she squeaked out.

Dianna’s shoulders sagged. “Not until just a few weeks ago, and I only found out because of one of Gavin’s drunken tirades. That Escobar trusted him to keep a secret as big as kidnapping you is ludicrous. He knows what your father is like after a twelve pack.”

That’s when it hit her—hit her hard. Martine’s eyes widened, her throat tight. She gripped Dianna’s hands and asked, “It was you who rescued me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she offered, her voice low and hushed. “The moment I found out what your father had done, I came and got you. I can’t explain why I left you in a Dumpster at a 7-Eleven, but there was this voice in my head that told me everything would work out if I just listened to it, and anything was better than leaving you in Escobar’s clutches. If I hadn’t taken you, he would have drained you and killed you. I couldn’t let that happen, Martine. Wouldn’t.”

Martine’s head dropped low as she fought tears. This news changed everything. Her mother wasn’t a weak coward. She was amazing, and so much stronger than Martine had ever given her credit for. This had happened for a reason, all of it—right down to dumping her at the 7-Eleven.

Still, she had to say the words out loud. “So all those years with my father—all this time…it was for me?”

Dianna lifted her chin, her face streaked with tears. “Yes. I was terrified Escobar and your father would find out about who I am and what you can do—so rather than risk your safety, I decided to keep my enemy close,” she said on a sob.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.” She pulled her mother into a hug, inhaling her scent, letting it soothe her.

Dianna patted her back and sniffed. “But some good did come of it, because you found a big, handsome man to spend the rest of your life with. He loves you, Martine. He doesn’t know that’s what it’s called yet, but that’s what it is. Don’t hide from what you’re feeling because of the example your father and I set. I know that’s what you’re doing, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Let yourself feel what I know deep down inside you’re feeling for him—and explore it, take your time while you do it, but don’t walk away until you do. Please.”

Martine finally smiled, and it felt good. “The way you explained things, you were willing to kill Derrick to save me, Mom. How’s that going to pan out come Thanksgiving when we’re all sitting around the table? Pass the stuffing, attempted murderer?”

Dianna smiled and laughed, too. “Don’t be silly, young lady. I was going to do no such thing. I was going to steal Escobar’s magic while he was out cold and use it to reanimate you and Derrick. But Derrick’s mother saved us all instead.”

Martine let her side sag against the cracked wall, taking deep breaths when Derrick came up behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist, forcing her to lean on him. “Hey, you two all right?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, smiling at her mother and entwining her fingers with his. “But I think I will be. I think we all will be.”

Faith approached them and held out a hand to Dianna. “I think we need to get to know each other. I mean, we did just commit a paranormal felony together, and we are going to be family whether these two youngsters think so or not. So why not join me, maybe come back to Cedar Glen to get your wits about you—get back on your feet? We’ll take really good care of you,” she coaxed with a smile.

“Um, speaking of a paranormal felony,” Derrick said, interrupting them. “What do we do about him and this mess?” He pointed to Escobar, who was rousing from his unconscious state, and then to the enormous fallout in the hallway.

Dianna’s cheeks flushed red. “Oh, we can’t have these poor tenants come home from work to this, and we certainly don’t want that man out in the hall to remember anything. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. It’s a simple spell. Anyone in the building who might have seen what happened won’t remember a thing when I’m done,” she assured them.

Martine grabbed her mother’s hand and smiled. She didn’t want to let go, didn’t want her mother to run back to Gavin out of fear. There was nothing to fear anymore. Not as long as she was around. “I’m not very good at it, obviously, but if you show me how to do whatever it is you do, maybe I can help you clean up? And will you come back to Cedar Glen, Mom? I’d really love to spend some time with you…”

Another tear seeped from the corner of her mother’s eyes. “What we do, Martine. I’m going to teach you to love being who you are. And I’d love to go to Cedar Glen, honey. As to this mess, this one’s on me. You and your handsome man go home and work things out. You have a lot of talking to do. I’m sure Derrick’s mother will help me, won’t you, Faith?”

Derrick’s mother wrapped an arm around Dianna’s smaller shoulders and smiled. “You bet I will. I say we start with Mr. Warlock here. As a parent, I’m not sure how I can let such poor behavior, by a family member no less, go without some sort of consequences. What do you think, Dianna?”

Dianna laughed as she and Faith picked their way over the debris. “Consequences ahoy!”

Derrick turned Martine in his arms, pulling her close and resting his chin on the top of her head.

She smiled into his chest—relieved and happy. So happy, she was almost afraid to enjoy it. Her mother was coming back to Cedar Glen. That was the first step to leaving her father. For right now, that was enough.

“So, Pussycat, speaking of Cedar Glen. Let’s make a deal.”

Martine chuckled against his pec. “Haven’t we done this before, Farm Boy?”

Tipping her chin up, he kissed the tip of her nose. “We have indeed. But this one’s going to be a little different.”

Melting against the shelter of his body, she wrapped her arms tighter around his waist. “Oh, really. How so?”

“Don’t make any decisions now. Not about your future or your mother or anything else for at least the next week, until the mate. During that week, get to know me. Date me, for lack of a better term. And at the end of the week, we’ll talk about where to go from there.”

“Date you, huh?” she asked on a playful smile. “I hope that means you’re paying for everything because I’m flat broke.”

“It means we do this like two people who really like each other. You stay at my mom’s or Nat’s. I text you lame texts just to say hello. You giggle and twirl your hair. We go out to dinner. We take walks. Maybe I send you some flowers. You know, date stuff.”

“Stay at your mother’s? So no sex until the mate? What kind of hedonist are you?” she teased, pressing her lips to his, woozy with delight that Derrick wanted to court her.

“The kind who wants you to decide whether you want to stay in Cedar Glen forever without me muddying the waters with my amazing sexual prowess.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “And if I don’t?”

Derrick chuckled. “I’ll call you crazy and find a cuter witch.”

“Better be careful, Farm Boy. You did hear about where I come from, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Baddest-ass familiar in the land, right?” Derrick pulled her toward the door, grabbing a jacket from a hook that had managed to stay standing and wrapping it around her.

Zipping the jacket, she giggled. “That’s right, and don’t you forget it. Don’t make me cast a spell on you, buddy.”

Derrick wiggled his eyebrows as he pulled her out the door and helped her over the huge gaps in the floor. “I think that’s already happened, Pussycat.”

As she followed Derrick along the hall, down several flights of stairs and out of her prison, hope swelled in her. The rise of it was strange, new, and warm.

So warm.

Chapter Eighteen

Martine walked hand and hand with Derrick, pushing their way through the snow after an incredible dinner with their family, both of them trying to behave as though neither were in any rush to leave and get back to Derrick’s.

The moon, high in the velvety black of the sky, shone with buttery brilliance.

It was death-sex night.

And both of them had promised to relish tonight. To savor each moment as a reminder of how hard they’d fought to get here.

Until they hit Derrick’s steps and he pulled her close, brushing his cold lips against hers for a kiss. One of many they’d shared over the course of the past week. Usually—okay, almost always—it turned into a hot make-out session where one of them had to remind the other they were still getting to know each other, and they’d made a deal.

Their bodies were plenty acquainted. It had been time for their minds to become acquainted.

Derrick had stuck to the deal. He’d sent her texts that did indeed make her smile, so wide and so girlishly, she had to hide her face from anyone else who happened to be in the room.

In those texts, he’d invite her out to dinner or for a picnic lunch in the barn he and Max used to play in when they were children. They talked for hours over wine and the grilled brie-and-tomato sandwiches she made. They played pool at his bar. Sometimes with Morris and sometimes with Max and JC.

They laughed—so much, her stomach hurt. She shared her fears about leaving Manhattan behind. About her father and what he would do if he ever found out where Dianna was.

And Derrick soothed her, promised her as they walked the fields or shifted and took a midnight run that no one would ever harm her or her mother. That no matter what it took, he’d always be there, always keep her safe.

The more time they spent together, the more Martine became aware that Derrick had become a part of her life—a part of it she looked forward to, enjoyed, needed in order to complete her life package.

She wanted this man who everyone called impatient but she called adorable. She wanted to try forever on—slowly, carefully…but if she’d never been sure of anything else, she was sure she wanted to see Derrick every day. Hear his voice. Hold his hand while they watched TV.

Fall deeper in love with…

Then there was her mother, still broken but determined to reconnect with Martine. They sat up at Faith’s into the wee hours of the morning just talking or watching old black-and-white movies together, finding each other again with an ease she didn’t consider at all alarming. Rather, she’d found comfort in her mother’s cinnamon-scented presence, in her hand as she guided Martine and this craft she possessed but had never used.

Some of it was exhilarating, and some of it was damn scary, but she was absorbing it like a sponge because she was learning to appreciate her gift instead of hate it, and when the time came that she was given her mark, she’d be worthy.

Dianna and Faith had forged a friendship, too, while they baked cookies or made dinner, laughed about how Escobar had taken the news that he was now a mere mortal, took long walks in town, found common ground in their desire to see their children happy and healthy.

All of that had led up to this night. One Martine had waited for like she was waiting for her first prom date.

The full moon and the mate.

“So, here we are,” Derrick said, husky and low against her ear, brushing her hair away from it to nibble on the lobe.

She snuggled into him, curving her hands over his waist. “It’s death-sex-or-die night,” she teased, melting against him when he molded her lower body to his.

“Which brings me to my question.”

“No. I will not watch one more episode of Ice Road Truckers with you,” she said with a giggle.

“Why won’t you love Ice Road Truckers?” he asked between kisses.

She shrugged her shoulders, letting him pull her inside. “Why won’t you love The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills?”

“Because it’s not filmed on ice?”

Martine’s head fell back on her shoulders when she laughed. “Fine. You keep your truckers and I’ll keep my backstabbers.”

As he peeled off her jacket, letting it fall to the floor, he kicked the door shut with his foot before setting her away from him, his beautiful eyes serious. “You know what I want to know, Pussycat. It was part of the deal.”

Her pulse raced in tune with her heart as she looked up at him and smiled, hot tears pushing at the corners of her eyes. “I think you know the answer to that, Farm Boy.”

“Then say it. So I can hear it. So it’s out in the universe and you can’t take it back.”

Her breath caught in her throat as the most amazing man she’d ever met waited for an answer.

Taking his hand, she pressed it to her cheek. “Yes.”

Derrick grinned, dragging his T-shirt over his head. “Good. Now, clothes? Off. All of them. It’s been all I could do not to devour you all week long. One more make-out session in that barn and I was going to have to start showering in some damn ice.”

Kicking off her boots, Martine pulled her sweater over her head and had her jeans off in record time. Completely naked, she held her hand out to him. “Then follow me to the death-sex chamber, where lives are saved with just one mating.”

Derrick barked a laugh behind her, following until they rounded the corner to his bedroom where she stopped short, catching her breath.

“Oh,” she breathed, turning to look up at him. “Did you…?”

There were candles in every shape and size scattered everywhere, leaving the smell of mint and pear in the air, two of her favorite scents. The room glowed soft amber, the flickering light making shapes on the walls.

And butterflies—paper butterflies glided in circles, floating on red and gold wings, soaring high then darting back into formation.

Derrick caught one of the paper butterflies mid-air in his hand and gave it to her. “Well, your mother made them fly with her hocus-pocus, but I cut them out.” He held up a bandaged finger. “See?”

Her knees melted, her heart clenched. “For me?”

Derrick slipped his arms around her waist from behind and nuzzled her neck. “Your mom said when you were little you loved them. I thought it would bring back a happy memory. I want you to have happy memories, Martine. I know there aren’t many, but we’ll make some now. Lots of them. You, me, your mom, my family, our family.”

Tears slipped down her face when she turned in his arms. No one had ever done something like this for her before. She’d never let anyone cherish her enough to allow for it.

But that would all change tonight.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Derrick’s hands cupped Martine’s breasts and she purred, arching as his solid chest warmed her.

Her arms wound around his neck as he walked her toward the bed. His cock, stiff and hot, pressed against her thigh when he pushed her down, falling on top of her, letting their bodies touch for the first time in well over a week.

Martine hummed her satisfaction as their flesh met, sighing when Derrick’s hand, broad and hard, slid between her thighs, dipping into her already wet flesh. A ripple of pleasure shuddered over her sensitive skin, on fire with his touch, desperate with pent-up need.

His lips found her ear, nibbling it, rimming the shell with his tongue. “Christ, I missed you.”

Martine arched, letting her hips roll against the pleasure his hand wrought. “I missed you, too. So, so much.”

His thumb found her clit and began to roll it gently to a swollen nub, sending pulses of heat throughout her body. Martine’s hands found his hair and she clenched it, gripping the thick locks as he spread her wet flesh wider and his mouth found hers.

Suckling her tongue, he kissed her, deepening it with each stroke of his hand, stealing her breath, creating a storm of fire in her veins.

Tearing his lips from hers, Derrick wrapped her hair around his wrist and pulled her head back to expose her neck. He seared a path of tongue and lips over the long column and ended at her nipple, letting his hot breath linger before placing his mouth over it and inhaling.

Martine squirmed against him, pressing her breast farther into his mouth as he took long licks of her nipple. With trembling fingers, she reached between them, finding his cock and gripping it with a fevered caress, stroking it so he rocked into the tunnel her fist created.

She cried out when he left her breast to drop wet kisses along her belly, over her hip and her inner thigh until he was on the floor and between her legs.

Derrick pulled her forward roughly, slipping his hands beneath her ass, holding her to his mouth. Her legs clenched around his neck as his tongue tasted her. Her senses exploded when he took the first long stroke of her. Wet and hot, it glided over her aching flesh with a rush that left her almost screaming.

She trembled beneath his tongue, arched into it, ground against it as he placed it flat over her clit then swirled it over the swollen bud.

Dragging a finger between the cheeks of her ass, Derrick found her slick passage and inserted a finger, pushing and pulling in forceful strokes until her hips bucked, her hands clutching at his head as she rode his tongue.

Her release was swift, sharply sweet, tightening every muscle in her body until she was rigid with pleasure, heaving from the intensity, clenching her thighs together as her orgasm roared through her.

Derrick eased her back down to earth with gentle hands, smoothing them over her legs before standing to gaze down at her. His eyes were dark, full of hot need as his hands roamed up her rib cage, cupped her breasts, brushed long strands of her hair from her face.

He trailed a slow finger between her legs, slipping into the wet warmth, then back over her belly, along her throat until he reached her mouth. He leaned over her then, pressing his body to hers as she wrapped her legs around his lean waist. Martine licked his finger, taking in Derrick’s heated gaze as she suckled him.

He kissed her then, matching her hungry need, outlining her lips with his tongue, and she clung to him, digging her hands into his hair, lifting her lower body. Reaching between them, Derrick slipped between the folds of her flesh, letting his cock spread her, tease her clit before driving into her.

Martine jolted and almost instantly he stilled inside her, as though he were afraid to hurt her, but she held his face in her hands and locked eyes with him. “I love you inside me, Derrick. You won’t hurt me. Don’t hold back. Please,” she whispered before taking his lips again.

Derrick bracketed her head with his arms as he pulled back and drove into her slick heat, but still he held back. She sensed it. Smelled it.

Martine kissed his cheek, his forehead, and coaxed him by saying, “You won’t hurt me, Derrick. I promise.” She raised her hips again, moving away and rolling them back up to meet his, insisting he drive into her.

His cock stretched her, filled her when he finally let go and thrust upward. Her eyes slid closed and her neck arched as she took the harsh thrusts with a long, throaty moan, encouraging him to drive deeper.

Derrick growled, low and eerily feral as his hips moved to match Martine’s thrusts. The clap of their flesh pushing her to an edge she’d yet to stand at.

An army of chills skittered up her spine, and the heat pooling in her belly exploded. When he lifted her thigh in the crook of his elbow, she reared up, reaching to wind her arms around his neck as she came.

Derrick tensed, his cock pumping into her harder with each stroke until he, too, let go with a howl while she watched the muscles of his neck work, while she watched his abs flex and her hands kneaded his ass.

He fell forward on her, pushing her deeper into the bed, tucking her to him and kissing her lips.

Martine sighed against him, reveling in his scent, luxuriating in his tightly chorded muscles and hard planes, and then she smiled.

Derrick rose on his elbows and gazed down at her as she ran her palms over his chest, still unable to believe they were going to give this thing a shot. That this amazing man wanted to give things a shot with someone like her.

Someone who had a pretty crappy relationship track record.

“So, death-sex mission complete,” she cooed up at him with a giggle.

“And well done, too, Ms. Brooks.”

“Curtsy.”

“So, what’s next? Do I have to keep sending you flowers?”

She made a mock frowny face at him. “Were you just doing that to get me into bed?”

“Um, yeah,” he joked, nipping her lower lip.

“I get it. That was the only reason I willingly watched Ice Road Truckers with you. Otherwise, I’d rather have my eyeballs sporked out.”

“Courtship is hard, huh?”

“The hardest week of my life,” she admitted. “But one of the absolute best, too. Have I said thank you yet?”

“For?”

Martine cupped his hard jaw. “For saving me. For giving my mother somewhere to go until she can figure things out. For your family. For this,” she said, kissing him. For showing her that she didn’t have to be afraid of who she was anymore. For letting her find her own way.

“No thanks necessary.”

“So now what, Farm Boy? Where do we go from here?”

“We keep doing what we were doing this week and we never stop doing it. There are a million more things I want to know about you, Martine. I say we just keep right on discovering until we’re old and gray. You in?” He held up a fist for her to bump.

Martine’s heart clenched, and her throat tightened when she knocked fists with him. “I’m in. All in.”

Always.

“Then it’s a deal. Now, since we’ve successfully kept me from death, I say we eat in celebration. I’m starving,” he moaned as he slipped from the bed and held out his hand.

“But we just ate dinner,” she teased.

Derrick wiggled his eyebrows. “Yep, and then I worked up an appetite again. Plus, wine. Need I say more?”

“I think I like the way you think, Adams.”

Pulling her up into his arms, he grinned that delicious grin. “I like you, Pussycat.”

She liked him, too. So, so much.

Hand in hand they headed to the kitchen, their soft footsteps moving in time.

Derrick headed toward the fridge, while Martine went straight to the pantry, loving how in sync they were when they cooked together. She grabbed some onions and potatoes while he pulled out eggs from the fridge.

A knock at the door made them both freeze and eye each other over the kitchen island. “It’s probably someone from my nosy family, checking to see if I survived the mate.” Waving a finger at her, he said, “You might not be thanking me for them in the not-so-near future.”

She giggled, pulling her jeans and sweater on while Derrick drew his jeans over his muscled thighs.

Martine grabbed the handle and pulled the door open to find not one of Derrick’s family members, but instead an incredibly handsome older man with hair as dark as Derrick’s, graying at the temples.

He cleared his throat, his eyes tired and his face worn under the bright orb of the full moon. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude, but is Derrick here?”

Derrick was behind her instantly, the huff of his breath echoing in her ears, his fingers wrapping possessively around her waist.

Martine craned her neck to look back at him, finding Derrick’s eyes were no longer warm and gentle, but hard, icy chips of blue. “Well, look who decided to finally come home. What the hell are you doing here?”

She frowned, confused, feeling the instant tension in his big body. “Derrick? Who is this?”

The man extended his wide hand, browned from the sun, his eyes shadowed and sad. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me not to introduce myself. I’m Brock Adams. Derrick’s father…”

The End

(For now…)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dakota Cassidy is the nationally bestselling author of over thirty books. She lives in the gorgeous state of Oregon with her real life hero and her dogs, and she loves hearing from readers!

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I hope you’ll join me again for Faith and Brock Adams’ story! If you enjoyed reading Wolf Mates Book 2: What’s New Pussycat?, I’d so appreciate it if you’d help others enjoy this book, too.

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