Breeds: The Breed Next Door Part 10

Creighton's ego was legendary.

"Shut up, Tim," he snapped. "I have him under control."

"You sure he's not a Coyote?" Tarek nodded to good old Tim, with his washed-out hazel eyes filled with fear and lanky dark brown hair. "He shakes like one."

Creighton's chuckle was mocking, grating on Tarek's nerves as the barrel of his gun slid against Lyra's temple in a cold caress.

"He'll do," Creighton a.s.sured him as he stared back coldly.

"Unfortunately, there's no bounty on your head. But I guess I'm going to have to kill you anyway. If you had just let me be, boy, I would have done the same." He shook his head in mock regret.

"Some Breeds never learn though."

Just a little more. Just a few more seconds.

He could smell Braden and another Breed at the back door.

But he could also smell the overwhelming scent of fury at the front door. Human fury. A father's fury.

s.h.i.t.

"This was really a bad time to come calling, Creighton."

Tarek shook his head, almost feeling sorry for the other man now. "It's bread night, you know."

He glanced at Lyra, praying she would get the message. She blinked, amazement and a surge of renewed fear glittering in her eyes.

"Bread night?" Creighton stared at him in confusion. "What does bread have to do with anything? Has freedom rotted your brain?"

"Sadly, for you, I believe it may have."

The back door splintered as the house alarm began blaring.

Lyra, bless her sweet heart, was no one's fool. Before Creighton could stop her, she threw herself to the floor, rolling beneath the table as her feet kicked out at Tim's knees as Tarek dropped, whipped the gun from his back, and fired back at the Trainer.

The front door exploded as Creighton went down and Tarek threw himself beneath the kitchen table, his body covering Lyra's as he left the other man for Braden and whoever the h.e.l.l was screaming b.l.o.o.d.y-a.s.sed murder to take care of.

"I told you it wasn't going to work. You can't play with men who know you so well, Lyra," he growled, reminding her of his warning as she spoke to her father earlier. He pulled her deeper beneath the table, forcing her behind him, sheltering her between his body and the wall as she struggled to push him away.

Braden and Jonas were on the floor, weapons raised ready, as three well-trained Navy SEALs burst into the room, weapons drawn, murder glowing in their eyes.

"Dammit, Tarek, let me go before they destroy the house,"

Lyra yelled at his ear. "They'll tear it apart."

"Better the house than me," he grunted, holding her in place as the black-clad figures halted at the table, followed by a set of legs clad in jeans.

The father.

h.e.l.l.

"Look, I like this house better than mine." She smacked his shoulder before putting her knees into his back and pushing.

"And they're going to ruin it."

"Dammit, stay in place, woman," he snarled. "I can rebuild the house, and as I can't kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds because of you, I'd really prefer to stay out of harm's way. If it's all the same to you," he snarled mockingly.

"Moron."

"Brat."

"Well, at least she's alive," a mocking voice drawled as three Navy SEALs hunkered down to stare beneath the table.

Eyes amazingly similar to Lyra's stared back at him. They quickly took in the fact that he wasn't about to let her move just yet, and she was fairly content to be where she was, insults notwithstanding.

"You can't shoot my future husband." She finally managed to wiggle past him.

Heaving a sigh, Tarek glanced across the floor as Braden came slowly to his feet.

"Are those a.s.sholes bleeding on my kitchen floor?" Lyra was out from under the table just ahead of him, facing her brothers, hands on her hips. "Why are they bleeding on my floor?"

"Blame your boyfriend under there." The broadest of the four men faced her squarely, his black head lowered to snarl back at her, anger lighting his eyes. "He shot them. We didn't.

And since when the h.e.l.l is this your house?"

"Since I said it was." Tarek pulled her back, his instincts flaring at the other man's fury toward his mate. This was not acceptable.

"And who the h.e.l.l are you?" Violence raged in the brother's expression. A violence he could d.a.m.ned well direct somewhere other than toward Lyra.

"Her mate..." His cold smile didn't go over any better than his announcement.

Pandemonium ensued.

Chapter Ten.

"I can't believe you actually got into a fist fight with my brother." Lyra's expression was none too pleased later that night as she stood before him, inspecting the black eye and split lip he had gained from the effort.

"Neither can I," he grunted, wincing as she pressed the alcohol pad she held to the abrasion on his cheek. "It was wasted effort. You, Lyra, are a troublemaker. I've seen this tonight."

"Me?" She drew back, her eyes innocently wide as she stared back at him in surprise. "What did I do?"

"You antagonize your brothers." He caught her hips as she attempted to move from the bed where he sat. "You deliberately challenge their authority and continually keep them in a state of combat-readiness. That fight was your fault. Had you been a bit more forthcoming, as I encouraged you to be on the phone, they would not have charged in, determined to protect your honor."

Her lips twitched. The little h.e.l.lion.

"If you had stayed out of it, there wouldn't have been a fight." She braced her hands on his shoulders to hold him back from licking once again at the scratch she had somehow gained from the night's adventures.

The red mark extended from her shoulder, past her collarbone, and although the sting was irritating, it was nothing compared to the fires burning in the rest of her body.

"No man gives you orders but me," he grunted at being denied access to her sweet flesh. He deserved something in reward for the aches and pains echoing beneath his flesh.

"You don't give me orders, either," she informed him imperiously. "What is it with you guys that you think you can?"

He sighed wearily, seeing his life stretching out ahead of him, constantly amazed or exasperated at one small woman.

Not that he wasn't looking forward to it. But Lyra had a habit of antagonizing her brothers where perhaps she should be less confrontational.

He was definitely going to have to talk to them alone in regards to this. She seemed to enjoy keeping them upset.

"The fact that you can so easily get into trouble?" He arched his brow mockingly. "Lyra, sweetheart, after discussing this with your brothers, I'm certain you are a trouble magnet."

The fight had been a d.a.m.ned good one. Clean, brutal, fists flying, and curses raging as he and Grant, her oldest brother, proceeded to destroy the kitchen.

When they finished, Lyra had stomped to the bedroom to pout while they agreed to a beer and a heated argument on whether or not Lyra would stay with him.

Not that there was a question of it as far as he was concerned, but in the eyes of her family, he had seen their love for her, and their fears. He wasn't exactly the boy next door. He was a Breed, and he had just nearly gotten her killed. It would be enough to terrify a brother who had accepted responsibility for his headstrong sibling.

And they seemed to accept him and his ability to protect her.

Most men would have been hesitant. Thankfully, the prejudices against the Breeds were absent in the Mason family, due to the fact that her three brothers had been instrumental in the rescues of many of the Breed captives.

He pulled her to him then, his chest tightening at the memory of Creighton's gun caressing her temple, the bullet much too close to extinguishing the fire that warmed everyone she touched. How could he endure life without her now?

"You didn't have to fight them." She leaned against him, her slender body flowing easily against him as he lifted her to straddle his lap, his arms wrapping tight around her back as his lips lowered to the mark he had left on her shoulder. "I had them under control."

"You had them in cardiac arrest," he sighed. "Your poor father will never be the same."

Lyle Mason, the father in question, had been most determined to take his daughter home, to wrap her in the protection he felt only he could provide. He had been a man tormented with thoughts of losing the daughter he so obviously adored.

Not that Tarek understood the family dynamics, but he understood the need to protect, the need to love the tiny woman he held in his arms. She was his light. His world. She could be nothing less to anyone who loved her.

He pressed her tighter against him, feeling her rock against the erection straining beneath his soft pants, dampening the material with the damp heat of her p.u.s.s.y.

She wasn't wearing panties beneath her gown. His hands smoothed down the material until he caught the hem and lifted it, his hands gripping her smooth, bare a.s.s.

A moan locked in his throat at the feel of her sliding against him, her breathing deepening, the scent of her heat filling the room.

"Don't leave me, Lyra." He couldn't stop the words from slipping past his lips as he held on to her, lifting her, laying her back to the bed as he rose above her.

"I have no intention of leaving you, Tarek." Her eyes were glowing with emotion, with hunger. "I told you, I love you. And I don't say that lightly. Not to anyone."

He touched her cheek, his throat tightening as he fought past the confusion, the disbelief that this woman could love him. That G.o.d, in all his bountiful mercy, had finally adopted him and given him this gift he never thought he could have.

Something, someone, to always call his own.

"The next time you start a fight with your brothers, I will spank you, though," he growled as her head raised, her lips finding the hardened nub of his nipple as she nipped at it playfully.

"Sounds like fun. How many fights are we talking about before I get my just desserts?"

He moaned as her fingernails raked down his abdomen before her fingers hooked in the waistband of his sweatpants and began to lower them slowly.

"You are a h.e.l.lion," he breathed out roughly as he moved from the bed and stripped quickly.

Her gown went flying past him as he shucked his pants.

When he straightened, there she was, on her hands and knees, her tongue reaching out to lick the bulging head of his c.o.c.k.

Her black hair fanned around her face, her blue eyes glowing with emotion and hunger. They were as brilliant as the brightest, purest sapphire, and more precious than gold to him.

Her pink little tongue flickered over the crest of his erection again, leaving a trail of fire around the sensitive hood as he tensed at the pleasure shooting from his c.o.c.k to every other nerve ending in his body. He didn't think pleasure could get any better-until her lips parted, her heated mouth opening to accept the head of his c.o.c.k into the damp depths.

Tarek watched as the flushed, straining crest of his erection disappeared between her lips, her tongue stroking the underside with such incredible pleasure he wondered if he could bear it.

His hands tangled in her hair, clenching tight as a strangled growl filled his chest, escaping his lips as she began to suck him with hungry abandon.

Her movements were hesitant, innocent.

She was killing him.

She stared up at him, laughter and arousal gleaming in her gaze as her tongue stroked, her mouth drawing on him, her wicked hand moving slowly up his thigh until she cupped his b.a.l.l.s with silken fingers and destructive pleasure.

"Brat," he groaned, fighting for breath. For control.

His tongue was throbbing like a toothache, the need to spill the excess hormone into her mouth making him wild. He could taste the spice, feel its effect on him, feel his c.o.c.k tightening further, the need to release becoming a near-agonizing pleasure.

And still her mouth moved on him. Slow, delicate licks, deep, drawing caresses until a purely animalistic growl erupted from him.

Tarek tightened his hands in her hair, pulling her back as he felt the pulse of the barb just beneath the hood of his c.o.c.k.

"Enough."

"Hmm. I'm hungry." She licked her lips sensually, full, swollen lips. "Maybe I want more."

She laughed, a low, sweet sound, as he pushed her back to the bed, spreading her thighs as he lowered his shoulders between them.

There was no time for preliminaries. He had to taste her.

Sample the delicate liquid silk of her p.u.s.s.y before he went insane. Or kissed her.

If he kissed her, there would be no waiting. He was riding too close to the edge, her own hunger rising so quickly the scent of it was going to his head.