Her Lonely Mastiff (A Shifter Special Forces Romance) Page 7

  “Let them fight it out,” he said. He ran his hand over his face, a gesture Lacey was beginning to recognize as a tell that Cree felt uncomfortable.

  “When they come back, see, they don’t know how to live again. You know?” His green eyes beseeched hers. “They’ve spent so much time killing. On the attack. Living close to their animal. And sometimes, people get to be too much.”

  “Do people get to be too much for you, too?”

  Cree shook his head. “Sometimes, but I’ve been alone a long time. These guys, though, they were military. Brothers in arms. Bonded. They’ve had each other’s backs. Treated each other’s wounds.”

  “They don’t have medics? Or whatever they’d be called.”

  “They’re bullet catchers, Lacey. The military doesn’t give a flying fucking shit if they come back dead or alive. And honestly, the way the Shifter Veteran’s Hospitals are run, you’d pretty much think the government would prefer they didn’t come back at all.”

  Rage at the unfairness of the situation rose in Lacey. They weren’t allowed families, mates, kids, and, when it came down to it, the government didn’t even want them alive?

  “Okay,” she said, struggling to remain calm. Screaming at things that she couldn’t control wasn’t in her wheelhouse. Later, after she calmed down, she would think about how she could change the law. Her parents must know someone in the capital, right?

  “So, when they come back, sometimes, they’re more animal than man. They take solace in their animal. Some of them even live as bears, or cats, or hawks for a while. Whatever it takes.”

  All vets pay with their life. Some all at once. Some by inches.

  The words hung, unspoken. All that time alone had given Cree a philosopher’s soul.

  “Is that what’s going on now?”

  “Yeah, some guy named Dixon came looking for a place to live last night. Most of them stay in one of these cabins until they can face the world again. Quinn fixes ‘em up. Helps them find jobs. He’s their Gunny, you know? Only instead of preparing them for battle, he’s preparing them for life.”

  But who had been there to prep Quinn for life? Lacey thought. The band around her chest tightened. He hadn’t asked her to stay, but she knew in her heart she couldn’t ask him to leave.

  His place was here, protecting his mountain and preparing his men.

  The pancakes, which had looked so delicious earlier, had turned as unappealing as week-old Chinese food.

  “You care about him, don’t you?” Cree said, breaking the silence that fell between them.

  Lacey nodded, eyes falling to her plate. Her heart was breaking as she thought of what Quinn must have seen. What he had done. She wanted to go to him, love him, but didn’t know how.

  Cree cuffed her on the shoulder. His movement was gentle, but there was power behind it. Lacey looked up.

  “My stepfather died in a fire. They thought I did it, and I was tossed into juvie.”

  Lacey gasped at the horror. “Did they know you were a shifter?”

  Cree shook his head. “Well, they did eventually.” His eyes grew distant. “If my father hadn’t already been dead by then, I’m sure it would have been a bigger deal.”

  “How long?”

  “What?”

  “How long were you in juvie?”

  Cree swallowed and looked away. “Six months. That’s when someone else came forward with additional information. Gave me an alibi.”

  Waves of emotion flowed from Cree and Lacey struggled in the emotional minefield he generated. “Do you know why he waited six months?”

  “She,” Cree corrected. He stood. Paced. An angry, anxious animal looking for a way out.

  “She,” Lacey corrected herself.

  “She was just a kid,” Cree said as he stacked dishes in the sink. His hands shook, and his body trembled with memory. Lacey held her breath waiting to see what the tortured young man would say next.

  “And then she died.” The words were torn from his throat, still so full of pain that Lacey was sure there were tears in his eyes.

  She reached a tentative hand out and touched Cree’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Whoever the girl had been, Cree had loved her with all the intensity and power of youth.

  “I need to go. Stay inside until Quinn comes back. Let the animals run.”

  Lacey nodded, suspecting that Cree, too, needed to run for a bit. To forget the pain if only for an hour.

  Quinn

  Quinn stepped out of his own cabin, grimacing with pain. Dixon had ripped him up a bit. He stopped as he saw Cree tear out of Lacey’s cottage.

  “Everything okay?” Quinn asked.

  Cree turned to him, his eyes fierce. “Don’t fuck this up, asshole. That kind of woman only comes once in a lifetime. You make her stay, you hear?”

  Quinn raised his hands. “I’ll do my best, man. But she’s got a career and shit back in Winston.”

  “Don’t let her leave, asshole. You’re the closest thing to family I have. Now we have her. I like her. My cat likes her.”

  Quinn growled, and Cree laughed. It sounded rusty. Harsh, like a man who had forgotten how to laugh.

  “Not like that. Jesus, man. Anyone within a mile can scent you all over her. Even if I was interested in that, I know she’s yours.”

  “Just a mile?”

  Cree smirked and folded his arms across his shoulders. “Don’t lose her. She’s important.”

  Quinn sighed, running his hands through his dark hair. “You know the law as well as I do.”

  “Fuck the law.” Cree’s green eyes were icy.

  “How well did that work for you?” Quinn regretted the words as soon as he spoke them. He knew Creole’s story better than anyone, and he shouldn’t have brought it up.

  Cree took three long, cat-like steps towards him and for the briefest of moments, Quinn felt real fear tickle his spine. “Don’t fuck this up.” Cree spat the words before taking off towards the woods.

  Quinn stood in the cold winter sunshine, barely feeling the warmth of the sun or the bite of the wind. Hooded eyes took in the quaint picture of the cottage, the trail of smoke from the chimney. It looked like a goddamned Currier and Ives picture, he thought with a snort.

  Long strides took him up the yard and into the patio. Quinn made a mental note to clean off the woodpile. He didn’t like the idea of her fighting the snow and ice to get to the wood.

  His heart stuttered as he opened the door. “What,” he managed to get out in some semblance of his normal voice, “are you doing?”

  Lacey looked up from her suitcase. “In English? I believe this is called packing.”

  Pain ripped through Quinn, reminding him of his first shift. The pain of bones breaking, melding, forming new patterns. The torment of seeing himself in dog form the first time. The agony of disappointing his parents.

  Those were all shadows, as faint and as fine as dust in the wind, compared to the ache rumbling through him now. Quinn felt himself blur into a shift, but he fought it. Hiding behind his Mastiff wasn’t going to help the situation.

  Despite his best efforts, a whine worked its way up his throat. Quinn met Lacey’s gaze, both of them surprised at the overwhelming sound of fear and need.

  “Where are you going?”

  Chapter Ten

  Lacey

  “Home. I have a job to get back to,” Lacey said, her voice thick with tears. She didn’t really. When the clinic had sold, she had joined the ranks of the unemployed. Mentally, Lacey tacked ‘job hunting’ onto her to-do list. “And your place is here. With your men.”

  She turned away from Quinn, unable to stand the longing in his brown eyes. The canine-like whine in his throat. Everything within Lacey longed to run to him. Hold him. Tell him it will be okay.

  But he hadn’t asked her to stay. When she first decided she wanted him, she hadn’t realized the implications. How her body would yearn for his. How her nipples would respond to his presence. How her core would pulse and heat, eag
er for more of this powerful thrusts and loving kisses.

  “Cree told you about Dixon?”

  Lacey nodded. “It all made sense to me. The cabins. You need to be here. It fell into place, and I guess.” Her voice choked off. “I realized how I didn’t belong here.”

  “Don’t belong?” Quinn shouted. “Who the fuck ever said you don’t belong here?”

  Lacey’s eyes widened. She’d never, even when he fought with Cree, heard his voice get that deep, angry tone. Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them back. Where was her growly McSeximus Prime?

  Had she broken him?

  “What are you talking about? I’m not broken.”

  “Oh, um. Did I say that out loud?” Lacey felt a stain of a hot blush rise from her neck and shoulders until it settled on her cheeks.

  “Yes.” The half-grin was back. The one that played across his lips and made her want to tease him. Torment him. Kiss him senseless.

  “You’re not a yelling dog. You’re a growly lover,” Lacey said, figuring she had already embarrassed herself enough. What was a little more humiliation between friends?

  From needful longing to passion, Quinn’s eyes changed. He strode over to her, towering over her, letting his scent fill the air between them. There was a crack of awareness as he reached out and touched her cheek.

  Quinn bent his head, his nose grazing her collarbone. For a moment, Lacey thought he was going to kiss her. With startled awareness, it dawned on her he was sniffing her. Learning her scent. Embedding her within his soul.

  A tightness knotted in her belly and arousal coursed through her. If he ever knew his effect on her, she was toast, with a capital T.

  “I am your growly lover,” he said, before tilting her chin and tasting her lips.

  How someone so growly could have lips that plush, Lacey didn’t know. But as her lover pulled her into his body. Into his heat. She felt as though she was flying. Overwhelmed.

  “My own McSeximus Prime,” she whispered against his whiskered jaw.

  Quinn’s shoulders shook with laughter. “I’ll get a T-shirt saying that,” he promised.

  “You do that.” Lacey held Quinn tightly as the pang of leaving him echoed in her soul. Golden brown eyes met his. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Then why are you packing?”

  “You didn’t ask me to stay.”

  Quinn

  Quinn felt like a character in one of those old cartoons he’d watched as a kid. He was pretty sure his eyes had just bulged two feet out of their sockets.

  “What are you talking about? You went on about how you have a career and stuff to go back to in Winston. What do I have to offer you here? You had to want to stay, Lacey. It always had to be your choice.”

  Her lips jutted out in a delightful pout. Quinn vowed to himself then and there that as soon as this conversation was in the can he was going to suck and nibble on her plump lower lip.

  “You didn’t even make that an offer.”

  Quinn shook his head as he realized maybe there were a few things they should have discussed last night.

  “Don’t go,” Quinn begged, his voice growing deep. Husky. Demanding. “Stay with me. Be my lover. My mate. My life.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and Quinn cradled her tear-stained cheeks in his hands. “Be my wife.”

  “Are you sure?” Lacey sniffled. “You said I was nothing but trouble.”

  “Do I look like a man who is afraid of a bit of trouble, Trouble?”

  She glowed. If she didn’t mother-fucking glow at Quinn’swords, he had lost his senses.

  A coy smile played on her lips. “I will need to close out my apartment you know. Quit my job.”

  “We can do that in an afternoon.” Quinn was afraid to hope, and yet, there it was. Hope blooming like a stubborn dandelion in autumn. “I know a few guys.”

  Lacey laughed, a deep rich sound that rose up from her belly and warmed Quinn’s heart.

  “I have nothing to offer you.” Quinn rushed through with the negatives. He wanted them all out in the open. “A military pension and some military friends who are probably in as bad of shape as I am. This cottage. The mountains.” His eyes stared at her, seeking any sign of rejection.

  “There’s only one thing I want.”

  Quinn resisted fisting his hands. Dread rose in his gut, and he wanted to howl at the world at how unfair life was. He’d signed his happiness over to the U.S. Army when he was eighteen. That he’d managed to survive was a miracle. He wasn’t sure he had anything else to give.

  “What’s that?” His voice was hoarse. Ragged. His chest grew tight, and he struggled to breathe without panting.

  “Your love. You’ve talked about desire. About need.” Tears trembled on the lashes of Lacey’s gold-brown eyes. “Do you love me, Quinn Maxwell?”

  Love? He hadn’t thought about love. He knew pleasure. Passion. The urgent need to sate himself within her. But love? Did he even know how to love?

  And then he thought of her bravery in the face of an encroaching winter storm. Her sass when she fought with him. Her maternal caring of Cree.

  Quinn’s Mastiff howled at the thought of giving her up. Lacey had been imprinted on him. Had it just been a handful of days? Or had it been his entire life?

  Quinn traced the lines of her brow, already furrowed from his delay in answering. “I’ve been Mastiff so long, I don’t think I remember how full humans love,” he admitted. “I need to scent you every day. I need to bask in your presence.” His hands spread wide. “You’ve become imprinted in my soul, Lacey.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and Quinn wasn’t sure if that was a very good thing or a very bad thing. Women’s tears had always confounded him that way

  “The only thing I’ve ever wanted was to be loved for me,” Lacey said, voice trembling with emotion.

  “Lacey, baby, if this isn’t love, I am fucked because I don’t know what else to call it.”

  Her smile was instantaneous and radiant, like the sun. It warmed all the places inside Quinn he didn’t even know were cold.

  “Does this mean you’ll stay?” he asked, begging now but he didn’t care about that. What good was pride when love was on the line.

  Lacey giggled, tears clogging her voice. “Who else is going to give you a dose of trouble every time you turn around?”

  Quinn pulled his handkerchief out of his back pocket and let her wipe her face. “No one but you,” he vowed.

  She burrowed into him as though craving his heat. Quinn’s arms went around her slim shoulder, and he pulled Lacey tight against him. If she wanted heat, he had plenty to share.

  Lacey tilted her head back so she could see him. Her eyes grew tender. Loving. “I love you, Quinn.” She grinned. “My lonely Mastiff.”

  “Not lonely anymore.” Quinn’s hands dove into her hair, tugging on it. Her smile ceased as the heat between them rose.

  The moment drew out. Grew sultry with their shared need. Quinn tightened his arms until she was pressed against his powerful body and rigid, aching erection.

  She purred and rubbed against him, kitten-like in her need. “Oh, you are asking for trouble now,” he said into her silken cloud of hair.

  Lacey’s smile turned coy. Seductive. “Do I look like the type of woman who’s afraid of a little trouble?”

  Quinn laughed, a deep hearty belly laugh as she threw his words back at him. “Does this feel like a little trouble?” He pressed his hips into hers and watched as her eyes dilated with desire.

  Lacy shrugged, her eyes full of mischief. She wasn’t going to give him any quarter. “I think I proved last night I can handle what your packing, Seximus.”

  Strong arms led her into the bedroom. Last night, she’d been in charge. Today, he was.

  “I like an obedient woman,” he said, as he pressed her into the bed. Quinn couldn’t resist the pink ripeness of her lips. He sucked and teased the lobe of one ear, rejoicing when she arched into him. Seeking more. Hunger overrode him.<
br />
  “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” she teased, but her body was loose-limbed. An intoxicating treasure surrendering to his strength.

  Quinn gripped her luscious hips. Eagerly, she twined her legs around his hips and pulled him closer. Breaths met. Held. And then with a wanton, urgent whimper, Lacey reached up to kiss him.

  Powerful hands pushed at her clothes. “Don’t rip another pair,” she said, panting.

  He groaned but knelt between her thighs and slid her leggings down, exposing miles of silken flesh and the unmistakable aroma of arousal. “This is my shirt,” he said, pulling on it. “I don’t give a fuck if I rip it.”

  With a tug, it was gone, buttons flying in every direction.

  “You’re going to need to take me clothes shopping if you keep ripping mine.”

  “Or you can stop wearing so many of the damn things,” he muttered, lips against her collarbone. Her shoulder. Her breasts.

  “Oh God, Quinn.” Her breath caught and her back arched, silently begging him.

  “Trouble likes her breasts played with,” he said, nuzzling one plump, berry pink tip. He licked it. Nipped it with his lips, his eyes never leaving her face. Not missing a single reaction.

  “More, please. Harder.” Her slim hands dug into his scalp, pulling him closer.

  “Like this?” The rasp of his whiskers worshipped her tender skin. She pushed her body towards him. Silently beseeching him.

  “Tell me what you want. I suck at mindreading.”

  “Your mouth. Sucking. Biting. But gentle,” Lacey cautioned, her eyes wide and watched him. “Please don’t torment me like this.” The moment stretched between them and then she grinned, reaching for his zipper. “You know, turnabout is fair play, Quinn.”

  Quinn groaned. “Later. In an hour. Tomorrow. I promise. You can tease me all you want. But right now, let me feast.”

  Hands, mouth, body, Quinn possessed her. He knew the grip of his fingers would leave small bruises in the swell of her hips, but he couldn’t resist the temptation she offered.

  And his woman reveled in his attention. Squirming with arousal and begging as she was driven crazy by one highly devoted growly lover.

  Finally, with fiery desperation, Quinn shucked his jeans off in one expedient motion. “I need you.” The words were torn from deep in his throat.