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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

AMbrOSE

I throw the last few days’ worth of dirty clothes into my suitcase, burying Charlotte’s adoption file. Once I’m back at my ranch house, I’ll give her a call with the names. She’s more than capable of tracking her parents down, especially if she has Jaxon helping her out. He’s got a couple of decade’s worth of experience stalking prey.

Over in the living room, Max whines, then scratches at the door. I frown and put out my senses. A couple of humans are nearby, moving around, but they aren’t in the little cul-de-sac where my cabin is. Just the guards, no doubt.

Whatever it is that’s got Max worked up, Roxi doesn’t care. She’s sitting at my feet, ears perked up, watching me pack.

“What’s your brother doing, huh?” I ask her, slamming my suitcase closed and then zipping it up. She tilts her head, eyes curious.

“No idea, either, I take it.” I heave the suitcase off the bed, and she stands up, tail wagging. Ready to go on our next mission. She’s bloodthirsty enough that she probably hopes it’s a killing job.

Max’s whines grow louder, his scratches more urgent .

“Max, knock it off! No one’s there!” I wheel the suitcase into the living room to find Max up on his hind legs, pawing furiously at the door. He’s on the alert, big time. His ears are flat against his head, and his tail sticks straight out behind him.

His whine turns into a low growl, then a loud, sharp bark.

“Shh!” I drop the suitcase and rush over to him, running my hand over his raised hackles. He looks at me, his pupils black, then turns back to the door. Barks again. Scratches the wood.

“What’s going on, boy?” I don’t like this. My dogs work as a team; they’re both trained to alert me to a threat. So I don’t understand why Roxi’s calm and Max is losing his mind.

He lets out a loud, thunderous chorus of barks and scrabbles so hard against the door that it’s like he’s trying to pull it down.

I glance over at Roxi, my breath tight. She sits on her haunches, head cocked with interest.

“What the fuck is going on?—”

That’s when it hits me. A sudden whiff of sweet, smoky fear. After the last few days, I’d know it anywhere.

“Mercy,” I breathe.

Max barks more furiously. I press my hands against the door and close my eyes and put my senses out—only this time, I have a target. That target should be tucked away in her bed, sated after the good fucking I gave her. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself so I don’t feel guilty about ditching her without warning.

Something’s wrong, though. She’s definitely not in her bed, because I can sense her nearby. My first thought is that she’s coming to see me again, which I’ll admit gives me a warm little swell in my chest even though it shouldn’t. But no. Her fear wouldn’t be that strong just from walking through the night, even alone.

And Max wouldn’t be acting like this, either. He senses danger. Just not danger to me.

“You motherfucker,” I tell him. “You like her, don’t you? ”

I step away from the door, squeezing my hands into fists. I ought to just leave it. I like her well enough that I don’t want to kill her, but I can’t get involved with this bullshit arrangement Gunner has set up with her—even if it does send a sour twist of jealousy through my belly. I have no business getting involved with human women, even one who managed to charm my guard dog.

And yet I’m still standing here. Not grabbing my suitcase. Not loading up my car and planning how I’m going to get around the patrol.

Max slams against the door, his teeth bared and a growl emanating from deep in his throat.

Then Mercy’s fear spikes.

It’s not just fear, though. It’s sorrow. That same sweet, overpowering sadness I felt the first time I saw her down by the river.

“Fuck.” I try to shove Max back as I fling the door open, but he tears out of my grip and takes off across the courtyard. “Fuck!” I shout, louder, and I follow him. I know exactly where he’s going because I’m following the same scent.

It leads me around the block to another set of empty cabins. Visually, they all look abandoned—no lights, no movement. But the one closest to the walkway is throbbing with life. Mercy is in there—frightened, angry, upset. Someone else is in there, too. A man. And he’s not fucking upset at all

I know, with a sudden and blazing clarity, that I’m going to kill him.

Max bounds up to the cabin’s front door, barking furiously. “Heel,” I order, and to my relief, he listens, falling silent and backing off from the doorway. His hackles are still up, though. Teeth bared.

“I’ve got this,” I tell him. “Wait.”

Then I kick the door in, the flimsy wood splintering beneath my boot heel. A male voice shouts from inside the house, a mix of surprise, confusion, and guilt. I stomp inside, my bloodlust surging inside me as I follow the delicious trail of Mercy’s fear.

I know what I’m going to find, but knowing it intellectually and seeing it are two different things.

There’s Mercy, my Mercy, on the couch, naked, tear tracks over her cheeks.

And there’s one of the goddamned church guards scrambling away from her, his pants shoved down over his hips.

“What the hell?” he shouts. “What are you doing here?”

I look over at Mercy, and she lets out a soft, hiccupy sob. She’s not afraid anymore. But I can still sense her shame and her sorrow. Her self-loathing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

I look back at the guard. I’ve seen him before. He’s always hanging around Gunner and Gunner’s right-hand man, Sullivan. I don’t remember his name, just his smarmy smile. He’s not smiling now, though. He’s glaring at me as he tries to tuck his cock back in his pants.

“This is none of your business,” he spits out, although I hear the fear behind his words. Not real fear, not life or death fear, although that’ll be here soon enough. He’s just afraid of getting caught. “Go back to your cabin, preacher. This is a church matter.”

I step toward him. Cold. Calm. His fear twists and darkens, and I can’t help but smile a little.

Because he’s slowly realizing what I am.

“Mercy,” he says softly. “Mercy, you need to run.”

“Mercy doesn’t need to do anything she doesn’t want to.” The words come out slow as molasses. “Mercy’s safe.”

That’s all I need to say before I let the bloodlust take me completely.

I launch myself at Mercy’s rapist using all my speed. He shrieks and tries to duck away, but I’m much too fast for him. I grab him by the neck and slam him up against the nearby wall, hard enough that I leave a smear of blood behind. Then I fling him down to the floor, slamming his head against the cheap vinyl floorboards. He chokes and sputters, blood oozing between his lips. I pin him there one-handed, fury surging through my blood.

“You shouldn’t have touched her,” I snarl, tightening my fingers around his throat. He grabs at my wrist, kicking desperately up against me. But he’s human, and I’m furious.

I drag his head up by his neck and then slam it back down again. Again. Blood splatters across the floor. “Don’t fucking touch her,” I growl, over and over. “Don’t touch her. Don’t fucking touch her .”

He’s dead. I sense it when his life cuts out, when he goes from being prey to being meat. And with that death, the rage washes out of me. I drop him, staring down at his ruined head and the gore splattered across the floor, trying to catch my breath. Trying to calm myself.

Behind me comes a choking, terrified whimper.

The full realization of what I just did slams into me. I jump to my feet, whirling around to face Mercy. She’s pressed up against the wall, still naked, tears streaming over her face, her mouth twisted in anguish.

“You’re safe,” I tell her immediately. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Even though I should. She knows what I am now. She knows, and she’s horrified by it.

“It was you,” she chokes out, shoulder hitching with her sobs. “All this time. You—you killed— why ?” She screams the last word. “Why did you do that? Why did you?—”

She doesn’t finish her last question because she breaks down into tears instead, but I can guess what she was going to ask. Why did I fuck her ?

Because I thought I would get out of this compound before this happened. Before she discovered what I am.

“I’m really not going to hurt you,” I murmur, reaching out to her on instinct—only to realize as I do that my hand is covered in blood and specked with brain matter. Mercy screams when she sees it and darts sideways, her panic making her thoughtless. I grab her around her waist before she bursts out of the house and ruins this for both of us.

“No,” I whisper into her, pulling her up to me without thinking about how painfully hard I am. When she feels my erection, she screams again. Tries to get away. “No, I can’t let you do that.”

“Why?” she sobs.

“I don’t want to get caught.”

Mercy slumps down, weeping. I whistle softly, and a few seconds later, Max shoots into the house. He goes straight to Mercy and licks her fingers, which makes her hiccup and jerk back in fear.

“He’s really not gonna hurt you,” I murmur into her hair, still holding her tight. “He’s the reason I even knew you were in trouble.”

Mercy wails out her terror, and I know we can’t stay here. I got what I came for, which means it’s time for me to vanish into the desert. As for Mercy, I’ve got two options:

Kill her, or take her with me.

“Why?” she whispers, over and over like she’s reciting a prayer. “Why? Why me? Why did you do this to me? Why?”

Max keeps licking at her fingers, trying his damnedest to bring her a little comfort. I slide my hand up over her chest, inching closer to her throat.

Because you’re beautiful, I think, even though I know better than to say it aloud. Because of the way she yields to my touch. Because of the sound of her scream shattering the early morning silence beside the Concho River .

I have one hand squeezing around her waist, pinning her up against me. The other lays over her heart because I can’t bring myself to kill her.

Fuck. Fuck .

“They’re going to arrest you,” she babbles. “They’re going to arrest me , they’ll think I had something to do?—”

“That’s not going to happen.” Her fear scent is overpowering in its sweetness, and I wish, with a sudden, violent clarify, that she was one of my kind. That I could throw her into the puddle of blood oozing across the floor and fuck her until we’re both drenched in death and moaning with pleasure. It would make this so much easier, wouldn’t it?

God, Jaxon really lucked out.

But I’m not Jaxon, and I’m not lucky, and right now I’m holding a panicked, terrified human woman that I don’t want to kill.

“Mercy,” I whisper softly. “Mercy, I’m not going to hurt you, okay? I need you to remember that.”

It doesn’t do any good. She screams and kicks against me, which I expect. I clamp my hand over her mouth and drag her into the kitchen, Max trotting behind us, still trying to lick at Mercy’s fingers. These cabins are furnished, just like mine is. There’ll be something in here I can use.

I keep my hand clamped around Mercy’s mouth as I jerk the drawers open, the contents rattling. Mercy screams in terror, her breath hot and damp against my palm, but I skip right past the drawer of knives, even if my belly tightens at the sight of them.

“Fuck.” I drag Mercy across the kitchen, over beside the stacked washer/dryer, and that’s where I finally find what I was hoping for: a roll of black duct tape. She wails when she sees it, thrashing against me. Her panic is thick as syrup, and I’ll admit I like it. A lot. But I’ve got to focus on getting us out of here.

I let go of Mercy’s mouth just long enough to wrap the tape around it, silencing her once again. She stares at me from over the top of the tape, her eyes wide with fear and red from weeping. It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, but I snapshot the image for later and keep going. Lord knows Mercy’s never gonna let me touch her again.

I really should kill her. But I just don’t want to.

I wrench the tape around Mercy’s wrists, binding her hands behind her back. Do the same with her ankles. It takes a few minutes, with all her squirming and all those betrayed, terrified glances from above the tape. By the time I’m done, my cock is so hard, so sensitive, that the fabric of my underwear is almost enough to set me off.

I ease her down on the kitchen floor, where she rolls back and forth in a panic. My balls tighten like I’m about to come.

“Watch her,” I tell Max.

He barks once, then curls up at Mercy’s side, tail thumping. Mercy’s muffled screams follow me into the living room, where I grab a blanket off the sofa and gather up her clothes—the dress, the panties. No bra. Because three hours ago, I was cutting it off her, and she was willingly spreading her legs for me.

Now she’s seen what I really am, and I’m afraid it might have broken her. The idea doesn’t exactly diminish my erection, though.

Back in the kitchen, Mercy lays sideways, bound and weeping and naked. And for a moment, all I can do is stare at her—her anguish and suffering and terror are so beautiful. Exquisite. Perfect. And I want more than anything to mar that perfection, to pull my throbbing cock out and jerk off until she’s strung with my cum.

I don’t, of course. I just stomp over to her, throw the blanket around her, and heave her up over my shoulder. She screams and kicks and having her on me like that is too much. Her fear wafts around me, as delicious as the scent of her lust, and I can’t stand it?—

I come with a strangled choke, a wet spot growing across my underwear.

I stare at the empty wall, sucking down breaths of air. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I gasp out, for what it feels like the millionth time.

I know she doesn’t believe me. I know it’s pointless. But at least it’s the truth.