Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13 (11 page)

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let go.”

She did, arching, grasping, shuddering. Before

she had time to recover, he slid a finger inside her

and re-built the fire.

Sophie’s scent wrapped around him.

“I need you.”

Trent grasped her waist and pulled her in for a

mind-numbing kiss. She felt her bones melt,

leaving her rubbery and unable to stand on her

own. She threaded her fingers through his long, soft

hair, and poured her heart into the kiss.

He eased himself between her legs, the head of

his cock pressing on her hot, wet entrance. “Yes?”

he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes.”

He stroked his length inside her, and she

welcomed him by wrapping her legs around his

hips. His thrusts matched her eagerness and the

pleasure surrounding her centralized, building with

each stroke. She gasped, grabbing his shoulders

and moving against Trent’s hardness. The pressure

built, her pleasure swirling and sparkling.

“Trent!”

When she cried out, her orgasm triggered

Trent’s own. He gave a final, hard thrust and came,

throbbing inside her, his head dropping to her neck,

as he followed her into ecstasy.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“NO! NOT NOW,” Meckenzie ranted as the

battered CRX coughed, sputtered and died. The car

coasted onto the gravel shoulder of the two-lane

road, braking to a smoldering stop. In the twilight,

and through the belching smoke, Meckenzie read

the big, official sign: ROAD ENDS 3 MILES.

“So, this is where it all ends,” Meckenzie

muttered. “Good to know.”

She shoved open the door and heaved her tired

butt out of the tiny car. She was exhausted. There

was nothing and no one nearby. Her stomach

growled; a reminder that her last meal had been a

granola bar and tepid bottled water. Ten hours ago.

She’d kill for a decent breakfast.

Voluminous gray clouds rippled across the

purple sky, threatening one helluva storm. A crisp

breeze brought with it a reminder that winter could

show up at any time.

She blew out a breath and leaned against the

car staring at an endless field. Not a tree or cow in

sight. The Sooner State sure seemed filled with a

whole lot of nothing.

“May I help you,
mademoiselle
?”

The French-accented male voice startled her.

Meckenzie took a moment to gather her composure.

She hadn’t expected a welcoming committee so

soon. She hoped it was a Broken Heart citizen.

After all, someone out to do her harm wouldn’t

necessarily waltz up and announce himself.

Warily, Meckenzie squared her jaw and turned.

She scowled at a very tall, very buff, very

gorgeous man with moonlight hair and unnaturally

gold eyes. He was pale—like a vampire would be.

He wore a jeweled blue dress shirt tucked into

black pants. His shoes were also black—Giorgio

Brutini dress boots, if Meckenzie wasn’t mistaken.

Hmm. No bike and no car. Where had he come

from? And how had he snuck up on her?

Vampire?

He was pale—like a vampire would be. But

there was that whole breathing thing. Unless he

was taking breaths to psych her out, and she

doubted that, then he was using his lung capacity.

So werewolf?

Shit. Did it matter?

He stared at her. Meckenzie stared back. She

was stubborn, but she was also practical. Her

“borrowed” car was kaput. She was starved and

weary. He was the only help for miles. And she’d

come all this way to get to Broken Heart. She was

walking a fine line between two paranormal

enemies. She just hoped she didn’t get burned in

the crossfire.

Finally, he said, “I’m Ren Marchand.”

“Meckenzie,” she said.

“Meckenzie…?”

“Yeah.” Meckenzie ignored his hint for her last

name. “You’re one of the few people I’ve met who

pronounce it right.”

“It’s Gaelic,” he said. “Mec instead of Mac,

right? It means ‘daughter of a wise leader.’”

“That’s right. My mother had a sense of

humor.”

He waited, presumably for her to clarify her

last statement, but Meckenzie didn’t. The silence

went on as if he had the patience of the ages.

Maybe he did. Once again, Meckenzie gauged his

muscled build, warrior gaze, and designer clothes.

Patient, sure. And predatory. Meckenzie knew the

attitude well enough.

“I’d appreciate a lift into town,” Meckenzie

said.

“I can arrange a ride for you to Tulsa.” He

nodded toward the car. “I will make sure it is

repaired and returned to you.”

It wasn’t her car, so it didn’t matter if she got it

back. Meckenzie had planned to abandon it. “Look,

dude, I’m tired, and I’m hungry. The entire state of

Oklahoma is under construction, especially the

roads. I bet there’s a Motel 6 nearby, right? And a

Denny’s. Every town has a Denny’s.”
C’mon,

c’mon. I know you’re from Broken Heart. Let me

in!

He offered no response. Instead he withdrew a

silver phone from a holder clipped to his belt loop,

flipped it open, and punched in a number. “It’s

Ren.”

He walked away and carried on the

conversation out of her earshot.

Well, he could make all the plans he wanted.

She’d started down this road, figuratively and

literally—and there was no going back. Both her

life and her mother’s soul were at stake now.

“Your ride is on the way,” said Ren in a low

voice as joined her once again. That flutter of

French in his voice was damned sexy. He stepped

close to her, his gaze curious, but wary. Wow. He

was, to coin the phrase of an annoyingly perky TV

chef, yumm-O.

His gaze curved along her low-cut top

designed to draw attention to the wearer’s

cleavage, which Meckenzie had plenty of thanks to

genetics and a push-up bra. Ever hear that saying,

“dress for success”? Well, Meckenzie dressed to

distress and to distract.

His stare dipped from her Double D’s to the

faded jeans Meckenzie wore. His gaze almost

seemed to strip her naked as it meandered from her

leather belt to her fab ankle boots.
Like anything

you see, big boy?

Ren’s head snapped up, and for an instant, her

heart stopped. Lust beat like a raven’s wing in his

gaze, the heat of it so intense Meckenzie nearly

turned to ash. Instead of reaching for that divine

misery, she cocked a hip and glared at him. “You

ever heard of personal space?”

He moved back, his expression far from

apologetic, and crossed his arms. “You are not

scared of me.”

“No.” Meckenzie poked her chin out.

“Perhaps, Meckenzie,” he whispered in a

voice designed to melt steel—or a girl’s insides,

“you should be scared.”

“I know what fear is,” Meckenzie told him.

“And honey, you ain’t it.”

Ren’s mouth hinted at a smile. Whew. She

knew too well the power of pure unadulterated

need. Not for a man, but for a cause. This

unwanted attraction glittered like fool’s gold,

offering so much and delivering so little.

The wind kicked up. She felt a familiar chill in

the air. Realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

Fuck.

Really, Ena?
Her entire being went cold, and

her hair stood on end. Ren sensed the sudden

change in atmosphere, too. He straightened, his

gaze tracking the surrounding area. She resisted the

urge to move closer to him. No matter how badass

this guy was, he couldn’t protect her.

She owed a debt to the wrong person.

The chill weaved along her skin turning into

ice needles, sharp and gelid. She wrapped her

arms around herself and shivered. Panic skittered

in her belly. She had to get into Broken Heart.

Once there, she had to figure out a way to protect

those she was putting into danger.

God, she wished there was a better way.

“What’s wrong?” Ren asked. His hands

wrapped around her shoulders. The warmth of his

fingers barely penetrated the unrelenting cold.

“You’re freezing! Your lips are blue.”

“H-happens every time,” she managed. Her

teeth chattered uncontrollably. She felt as if every

drop of warmth had seeped out of her. Her heart

strummed a harsh beat. She hated this. Hated being

bound. Hated every second she’d been a witch’s

minion. Ena had some serious trust issues if she

was sending the shadows to Meckenzie now. “We

n-need to go.”

“
Il y a quelque chose qui cloche
,” he said in a

low, worried voice. He looked at me. “What are

those things?”

“You see them?” she asked.

He nodded. Huh. She hadn’t expected that. The

shadows were meant for her. A warning. They

stared at the undulating black shapes a few feet

away. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled

Meckenzie close to his broad chest, his muscular

arms tightening around her. She knew with a

sudden, crazy certainty that Ren would protect her.

Ren didn’t owe her squat, but here he was,

putting his safety before hers. Such a terrible

kindness he offered—and the burden of it made

tears crowd her eyes. Only one other person had

made her feel secure. But her mother was dead.

And Meckenzie had no one.

The shadows hissed and scuttled backward,

but were not sufficiently cowed by Ren’s presence

to dissipate. She shuddered and quaked, her skin

tinted gray from the cold that always accompanied

the evil bastards. Then, the cold fell away like a

discarded coat, and with it, the last of her energy.

Bitch. Ena had ensured Meckenzie would be too

weak to do anything rash. Like, confess.

She sank to her knees, swaying … then

crumpled on her side.

“Meckenzie!”

She tried to raise her head, but it ached too

fiercely. She moaned, unable to even lift her arms.

Her vision grayed. Ren’s face drew close, alarm

flaring in his gold eyes.

“Crap,” she uttered.

Then darkness claimed her.

CHAPTER NINE

THE FRAGRANT SMELL of coffee pulled

Sophie out of a restful sleep. It took her a moment

to figure out where she was.

Oh, yeah. Las Vegas. Naked in a hotel room

with Trent. She blushed to the roots of her hair as

she remembered all the really fun and super

naughty naked things they’d done in bed together.

Trent was a generous, adventurous lover.

Wowzer.