Breeds: Megan's Mark Part 4

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

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

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

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

Let the b.a.s.t.a.r.d just try to move in with her. She would show him exactly how fast she could shoot. She would blow his b.a.l.l.s to dust.

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

She was p.i.s.sed off and worried. The worried part was going to keep her awake for a while, she knew.

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he tilted his head and lifted his nose disdainfully, as though she had asked him to do something distasteful.

She reminded herself not to share the next beer with him.

"Must be an animal thing," she muttered, thinking of Braden's expression when she had sneeringly referred to him as Puss in Boots the day before. That brought a smile to her face. Pure male outrage had reflected in his expression.

Score one for the female deputy; she mentally marked the invisible scoreboard of life. She deserved that mark after the shock he had attempted to give her today.

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

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

"Are you lying on the vent again, Mo-Jo?" she asked, pretty d.a.m.ned drowsy herself now as she noticed the position of his body.

He gave her a disinterested growl.

"One of these days, I'm going to trade you in for a poodle." She yawned.

Or a lion. She grunted at the image that suddenly appeared before her mind's eye. Six-four. He had to be sixfour.

Height was her weakness in a man. Height and those wide, strong shoulders, and the thick, long goldenbrown hair. Broad hands. Boots. He had worn boots and jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched across that amazingly broad chest as the material strained around the bulging biceps of his arms.

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

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

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

"He was fine, Mo-Jo." She sighed then. "Really fine, And he knew it. d.a.m.ned Tomcat."

That one sucked.

Not that she had anything personal against the Breeds. h.e.l.l, she had even campaigned for the HumanBreed rights law when it had come up the year before. She wasn't prejudiced. Just cautious. That was all.

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

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

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

Her empathic abilities had shown themselves during her last year of high school, and had only grown steadily worse.

To the point that working in the field she had dreamed of was now denied her. she was a hazard to a team. and to herself. The stronger the emotions of the people around her, the worse they seemed to affect her.

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

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

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

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

The most terrifying part was, she couldn't sense it. As she tried to sense a presence, all she felt was cold, dead s.p.a.ce.

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

s.h.i.t. s.h.i.t. She didn't need this. She couldn't afford for Braden to be right. Dammit.

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

And the clip was full and ready to fire.

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

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

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

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

She tumed the doork.n.o.b carefully, cracking it slowly as Mo-Jo began to force the opening wider to allow his broad body freedom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The b.i.t.c.h was here. Water is still hot. She went out the window."

She crouched close to Mo-Jo.

"All I smell is that stinking dog," another voice growled. "People should learn to bathe their f.u.c.king animals."

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

Yeah, so getting the mutt smell off him wasn't always easy, but he was about to show these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds exactly why she put up with it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"f.u.c.k!" Lance stared at the scene, his expression blank as he blinked at the sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now this just sucks." She felt her knees buckling as she stood up and moved quickly to the steps.

"They're Breeds."

She sat down.

"Coyotes. G.o.d darnrnit Megan. We warned you. Didn't we warn you?"

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

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

"Coyote," he agreed.

Braden did likewise to the other before jerking his cell phone from his belt and pressing a b.u.t.ton quickly.

"We have two more. Area Four B, Megan Field's residence. Get your a.s.s out here."

Megan turned to Lance in numb confusion.

"Are you going to call this in?"

He stared back at her, his expression livid.

"h.e.l.l no!" he snapped. "They can have this one too. We don't need news of this. .h.i.tting the streets in town." He wiped his hands over his face before staring at her worriedly. "Are you okay?"

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

"Mo-Jo, come here."

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

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

Evidently the a.s.sailant had managed to land a blow after all.

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

"You're just afraid he'll hit you," she sniped.

"You keep thinking that." He grunted in frustration.

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