Milburn crossed his arms, watching both of them. Marc ignored both of them and headed toward his patrol car parked behind the cars blocking the road. She followed him, noting that he seemed to favor his left arm.
He turned when he reached his car. “Get in.”
She didn’t ask where they were going, and tried not to stare too hard when he drove mainly with one hand, holding his other one close to his chest. When they’d reached a quiet, older part of town that Heather seldom came to, he pulled into a long drive and stopped the car. When he didn’t move at first, she jumped out, running around to the other side to open his door. Whatever pain threshold he had, she had a feeling he’d reached it.
Marc didn’t stop her when she held her hand out and offered her support when he got out of the car. There was no way she could hold his weight, but she slipped her arm around his back anyway, holding him close to her as they walked up the path.
An older woman opened the door, and then hurried down the steps of the large front porch. A teenage boy and several small children filtered around her.
“Who’d you fight?” a little boy around five said as he bounced around Marc.
“Thank you, miss,” the woman said formally and reached for Marc. “I’ve got him from here.”
“I’m staying with him.”
Her words made the woman pause, and she glanced at Marc.
The bright sunny day was such a contrast from what she’d experienced just a few minutes ago. Heather knew she probably looked pretty ashy from the fire.
“Bertha, this is Heather. And she can stay.” Marc didn’t stop moving, and didn’t let go of her as he reached the porch and climbed the stairs.
The children made a path, watching the two of them with wide-eyed fascination.
“She’s human, Mom,” another boy who looked about twelve said.
“Shush, and get on the phone to his den.” Bertha swatted the boy on the head gently, and he ran into the house, the others hovering around their mom.
Heather should have known he would have been going to a werewolf’s house. She glanced around quickly, the place seeming clean and spacious, and then guided Marc to a dining room chair that Bertha pulled out for him.
“We’ve been watching the news,” Bertha said, as she began removing his shirt. “I take it you’ve been out rescuing humans.”
Marc grunted, and looked down at his burnt and bleeding arm.
Heather watched in amazement as the woman’s hand changed, her nails suddenly growing into long, dangerous-looking claws. She sliced the material of Marc’s shirt, and then pulled it gently from his body. Her hand slowly returned to its human form. Heather couldn’t believe her eyes. Even though she’d seen Marc change before, this woman had seemed so…normal.
Heather sucked in a breath, the unpleasant memory of how she’d made so light of her relationship with Marc, stabbing at her like a knife to her gut. She had just as bad as an attitude toward werewolves as the readers whose minds she hoped to change with her article.
Bertha ignored her as she moved around Marc. “Natasha. Bring me my bag.”
A tall, skinny girl with blonde hair in pigtails scurried out of the room and returned with a large black bag. Bertha worked quickly, applying medicine to the burns and then wrapping his arm and chest with white bandages. She then pulled out a syringe and a small bottle and prepared a shot.
“His den on the way?” she yelled into the other room and one of the kids hollered back that they would be here soon. “Good thing,” she said and then poked the top of his arm with the needle. “You won’t be driving for a while.”
Bertha never spoke to her, or even looked at her, but continued to inspect Marc until she appeared convinced she’d done all he could. Heather stood next to him silently, grabbing the woman’s disapproving gaze only once when Heather ran her fingers through Marc’s hair, straightening it.
He didn’t move, or look up, and she wondered what kind of drug the woman had given him. Bertha huffed, then packed up her bag and left the room. An uneasy silence followed while two of the children moved to stand in the large entryway of the dining room, watching her with sullen blue eyes.
She had a feeling not many humans entered their home. Although she smiled at the kids, neither smiled back, just stood and stared.
A firm knock on the door had all the children running to it, and Heather looked up as Stone McAllister sauntered into the room.
“Well, you’re one ugly mess,” he told his brother.
Bertha entered behind him, wiping her hands on her plain blue dress. “I gave him a strong dose of hydrocodone. Take him to his den. He’ll be fine once he sleeps it off.”
“Got it covered. We’ll send someone over for his patrol car.” Stone gave Heather a knowing look. “You playing nursemaid?”
Bertha snorted. Stone looked away from her, as if not expecting an answer, and reached to help Marc out of his chair. He stood a lot slower than he’d sat down.
Marc let out a string of obscenities, and Bertha slapped him in the gut. “Watch your mouth around my cubs,” she scolded, although she didn’t sound overly annoyed.
Stone had driven over in a truck Heather remembered seeing parked at his house. Marc insisted on walking outside by himself, but his younger brother matched his pace, moving slowly alongside him. The two were blond giants, incredibly good-looking. Although one looked tired and the other looked too full of anger.
Heather realized he had the same hesitations about humans that she’d had about werewolves. Stone just didn’t hide his feelings behind hypocritical comments. So that made which one of them the worse person?
Chapter Fourteen
Marc’s tongue was stuck to the top of his mouth when he woke, and his muscles ached. He lay on top of his covers, staring at his ceiling in the dark, while allowing the cobwebs to clear from his brain.
Bertha and her drugs. Damn it. She’d knocked his ass clean out.
Moving slowly to the edge of the bed, he glanced down at the twisted white bandages that circled his chest and arm. The fire came back to him, the intense heat, screams and cries for help. He’d rushed through that building, smoke billowing around him, trying his damnedest to sniff out all the humans. It had been close to impossible to rely on his senses with the smoke filling his lungs.
Padding his way to the bathroom, he removed the bandages, and took in his naked torso. The burns and cuts had healed, more than likely what Bertha had had in mind. He smelled the fading scent of the antibiotic she’d applied. His pack doctor had ensured no infection would occur and knocked him out long enough for his body to heal. Minor cuts and burns would be mended in less than twenty-four hours with most werewolves.
Looking back into his bedroom at the red digital numbers on his clock by his bed, he realized it was almost midnight. He’d damn near slept twelve hours. Well, a good run would get rid of the sore muscles.
After a quick shower, his mind was a lot clearer.
Heather had been with him when he’d come home. He vaguely remembered Stone driving them here, and his annoyance that Heather had insisted on staying with him. Stone was a damn hypocrite. His brother would jump Heather in a second, fuck her until she screamed, yet he pretended disgust at the fact that she was human.
He slipped into a pair of boxers when her scent reached him. He hadn’t noticed it before. Heading into his living room, he spotted her immediately, lying on his couch, stretched out and sound asleep.
Damn, if she wasn’t the most beautiful creature. His insides hardened, a dominating protector’s instinct consuming him.
Mine.
Just staring at her, watching her breasts rise and fall slowly, a warm rush of happiness soared through him. She’d stayed with him, making sure he was okay.
One of her hands was curled next to her cheek. Her strawberry-blonde locks streamed across her face. Her lips puckered together, as if she sucked on something, and her long lashes fanned out above her cheeks. Still wearing the clothes she’d had on earlier, he smelled the smoke on her. But even asleep, and with clothes she’d worn all day twisted around her petite body, that womanly scent of hers reached him, hardening his cock.
“My little bitch,” he whispered, moving so he knelt next to her. “Time to wake up.”
Heather stretched, balling her small hand into a fist as she straightened her arm over her head. Her beautiful green eyes were foggy with sleep as she blinked a few times and stared up at him.
“Marc,” she whispered, moving slowly to sit. Her shirt twisted around her, stretching against her perky breasts.
Damn it, she looked good enough to eat.
She looked around the room, squinting, as if she, too, had been drugged and was slowly getting her wits about her. Then her attention returned to him and her eyes widened. She stood quickly, her hands instantly on him, inspecting him.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” she gasped, and then hurried toward the lamp. “Light. I need light. There is no way you’re completely mended yet.”
“Darling. Werewolves don’t have the same metabolism humans have.”
She ignored him, flicking on lights, her hair adorably messed up from her nap on his couch. Focusing on his chest, she returned to face him. When she ran her small fingers delicately over his chest, he fought the urge to grab her. Intense desire ripped through him. Her touch was so soft, filled with compassion and concern, a touch his mother might have applied. Yet he felt the urge to turn it rough, grab her and toss her to the couch, get rid of all those damn clothes she wore.
She turned her attention to his arm, stroking his skin with her palm. When she looked up at him her expression was full of wonder.
“I’m fine.”
“That is absolutely amazing.” She smiled, shaking her head with her disbelief. “I saw you, bloody and burnt. I can’t believe what I’m seeing here. You’re all better.”
“A little stiff,” he said, taking her hands in his and bringing them to his mouth.
He had to taste her, make her scent and taste part of him. Nipping at her fingers, scraping his teeth and tongue over them, he watched her eyes darken while color flushed across her cheeks.
“I’m glad you’re better,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to his mouth while she sucked in her breath and watched him nibble and lick her fingers.
“I plan on being a hell of a lot better than this here real soon,” he told her, his cock so damned hard that it pressed against the restraint of his boxers.
“Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
“What do you plan on doing?” Her tone had turned sultry. She ran her tongue over her lips, creating an urge to simply throw her over his shoulder.
In fact, he did just that.
Heather cried out, surprised, and then started laughing when he turned toward the bedroom, her adorable ass crushed against the side of his face. He gave it a sound smack, and then tossed her on the bed, which was still unmade from his nap.
She fell on her back, her legs spreading, and he reached for her pants, needing to see all of her.
Heather laughed, and quickly scooted out of his reach.
Marc pounced on her, making her cry out once again in surprise, as a fit of giggles escaped her when she couldn’t get out of his reach.
Her blouse buttoned down her front, the gaps between her breasts showing a glimpse of flesh. He grabbed the material, and ripped the shirt open.
“Oh shit,” she cried, her breath coming in pants.
More than he needed to breathe, he needed her before him, naked, his Heather,
on his bed, ready for him.
The bra went next, a quick hard tug ripping the material from her body. Her plump breasts bounced free, her nipples hardening instantly.
“Damn it, you’re going to destroy every bit of clothing I own.” But her expression showed his actions turned her on.
She was far from annoyed. Her arousal filled the room with an erotic scent that fed his craving to have her.
“And the bad part of that would be?”
“I can’t go to work naked,” she said, still laughing while she managed to slide backwards and sit facing him.
He was on his hands and knees, ready to devour her.
“Then you will just have to tell them you’ll work from home.”
Her pants had to go next. He grabbed them at her waist but she swatted at his hand.
“No. I’ll take them off. Don’t destroy these. They’re one hundred percent wool, and expensive.”
“Better get out of them then.” He backed up on to his haunches, kneeling in front of her, looking down while she quickly slid out of her slacks.
“Happy now?” she asked, tossing her pants and undies to the floor.
She sat cross-legged, facing him, completely naked, and he grinned. Taking in her full breasts, her brown nipples that puckered and hardened as if they called out for him to suck on them, he’d never been happier in his life.
“That’s much better.” He slid off the edge of the bed, standing and looking down at her.
She gave him a small smile, stretching out on his bed, teasing him, inviting him to devour her. Just the way he wanted her.
“Now you’ll stay put. I’m going to go on a quick run. And when I return, I want you spread out on my bed, ready for me, just like you are now.”