Tempted by her protector, p.3
Tempted By Her Protector, page 3
All that mattered was they were alive and well. True, there were a lot of unknowns about the Wessex brothers, but that was okay. They could deal with it for Caro’s sake.
For example, traditional Dragon Shifters were rare, but they existed. Though not immortal, they lived thousands of years. But no one knew if Wyverns were the same. Their longevity was a total mystery.
Yes, they were older than their appearance, but that was the same for other Shifters. They had advanced healing, increased metabolism, incredible strength, endurance, and each one had a unique gift.
But until tried, they did not know their limits. There were just so many things the Wessex boys had never experienced. So many uncertainties and unknowns for Carolina and Jasper’s young, and that didn’t sit well with any of them.
Admiration for his brother simply for having the courage to go forward and face those unknowns with his mate filled him, mixed with a little awe. Larimar wondered if he would ever have that chance. Losing his heart, and his sanity, to a mate seemed like risky business.
Likely, he’d remain a bachelor for life. The odds were simply stacked against him. Fated mates were rare for Shifters. His brother had already hit the lottery in that respect, and Larimar highly doubted it would happen to the Wessex clan twice in one generation.
It wasn’t all bad being alone. Any passing moments of pleasure Lari found between a woman’s thighs were not worth the constant worry he saw on his brother’s face. Yeah, he was oversimplifying, but that was just his way. He wanted to enjoy life, not worry himself to death. Larimar would much rather ride his Harley, fly in his scales, or converse with wildlife than tie himself to some ball and chain.
“Larimar, are you paying attention?” the Owl Shifter asked, annoyance plain on her face.
The chittering of the mother raccoon that had been staying in their garage unbeknownst to his family brought his head up with a suggestion for her to be silent until Jennifer left.
The hell with matters of the heart. He saw what happened to his father after his mother passed from this world. The general had been inconsolable for months. And even then, Lari knew he’d only held on for his sons.
“Earth to Lari,” Jennifer tried again in an annoying sing-song voice.
He rolled his eyes but refocused on their conversation. He had a job to do, after all.
“What did you say Dor was doing?”
“Your brothers are a no go, Lari. Dor has been sent on a special assignment in Antarctica. This one is for you at the request of Agent Sanchez—”
“Sanchez asked for me?”
“Well, he asked for Jas first.”
“So, I’m second choice?”
“He only asked for Jasper because the client in need of your protection is a friend of Carolina’s,” she told him and pushed her glasses further up her nose.
He’d never known another Shifter who needed them, but then again, he did not know many other Great Horned Owls either. Jennifer was one of a kind. Like them. She sniffed delicately and opened the file.
“I thought you were Carolina’s friend?” he asked.
“I am. Humans have more than one bosom buddy, Lari. Now come on, pay attention. Kimberley Scott is an archeologist and a professor with tenure at Washington University. She’s been tied to a sudden string of black market items—stolen Egyptian artifacts.”
“So rare and dangerous?”
“Yep. The agents found video surveillance of her boss in the middle of the buy, but the paper trail he left led back to her. Agent Sanchez’s suspicions that it was a frame job turned out to be true.”
“Seems like he has it solved. Why am I even needed?”
“Because she needs help, Larimar.”
“Really? So, what? Is this college professor going to attack her? What’s he going to do, hurl textbooks at her?” Larimar snorted, amused with himself.
“No,” Jennifer replied scathingly.
“Apparently, Harold Jenkins, the Dean of Anthropology, who set Miss Scott up to take the fall for his crimes, stole something from his partners.”
“Something powerful,” he muttered, all seriousness.
“Yes, Lari, it’s dangerous too. They think she’s behind the theft. These are bad, bad guys. They want revenge for what they see as a betrayal. Until Jenkins and the artifact can be found, Miss Scott is in danger. There has been one attempt on her life already.”
Fucking pricks. Larimar hated cowards who went after women. His beast was roiling inside him. The Wyvern enraged at the mere thought of someone harming a female. It was against his nature to fathom such a thing. Women were to be protected, cherished, coveted. Only bullies and dickheads thought otherwise.
But before he could even think to calm his Wyvern, Jennifer held up a picture of the woman in question, and the entire world seemed to stop. Larimar rose slowly from his position, bent over the Harley. His heartbeat went from steady to pounding in no time at all.
Bum bum. Bum. BUM. BUM!
“The second Agent Sanchez agreed with Miss Scott that she was, in fact, framed by Jenkins, who they can’t seem to locate, an attempt was made on her life.”
“What happened?” he growled, voice barely human.
“Hitman tracked her to her office, far as we can tell. The bastard showered her office with bullets while she was being questioned by Sanchez. It was a near miss.”
Miss? Near miss? What the fuck? Larimar wanted to rearrange Sanchez’s face. That motherfucker should have been protecting her.
“Lari? What is going on? Your eyes are glowing,” Jennifer told him, moving back a step.
Wise move.
Blood pulsed through his veins at an accelerated rate. Blood thundered in his ears. Larimar took the photo from Jennifer.
“Kimberley Scott,” the Owl Shifter supplied.
Kimberley, he thought, testing the woman’s name in his brain. She was something. Clear, smooth complexion, long, multi-faceted hair, eyes a brilliant jade green, and a pretty, straight nose. Her mouth was wide with perfectly kissable lips, and a smattering of freckles dusted her cheeks.
Beautiful. Mine.
A sudden pang zapped him right in the chest and Larimar damn near fell to his knees with the strength of it. Jennifer was talking, but he was having trouble remaining standing, never mind listening to whatever his handler was saying.
Mate. Mine.
His Wyvern hissed and flapped his wings inside the metaphysical plane where the beast waited to be called. He felt with sudden surety the woman was his. His to protect. His to guard. His to cherish. His to claim.
“Lari? Fucking answer me,” Jennifer growled.
“I’ll do it. Starting now,” he told her, grabbing the folder from her hands.
Fuck. He guessed lightning really did strike twice. At least, it did for the Wessex boys. Fuck being alone. Larimar had found his fated mate.
Mine.
Soon, he assured his creature.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“Sanchez brought her to a safe house last night. She has strict orders to stay indoors and trust no one, but she knows you are coming,” Jennifer said.
Blood rushed through his veins, and he struggled to control his beast. He couldn’t just show up with a huge monster crashing through her safe house, for fuck’s sake.
“I’ve packed this bag for her with some standard toiletries and some clean clothes. It’s been about sixteen hours since he extracted her—”
“Give me,” he grunted, securing the supplies in his saddlebags.
“What? Are you leaving now?”
“Yes. Right now. I must get to her.”
“Well, that was a quick turnaround,” she said, eyes wide as he did a quick check of his engine and gas.
Larimar jumped on his Harley, only waiting till Jennifer rattled off the address. It was farther away than he would have liked, but he’d break the laws of nature and man if he had to, just to get to her.
“Tell my father goodbye for me, will you?” he asked, revving the engine.
“Okay, but I still don’t get why you’re leaving so quickly?”
“She’s safe for now?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“Yes. She is in a safe house. That’s kind of the operative word.”
“Jenn,” he growled.
“Oh, my fucking gods. Yes, yes, the place is completely off the grid.”
“Good,” Larimar grunted.
It would be faster to fly, but he needed the time to think and plan. Larimar could not afford to make any mistakes. The woman was destiny. His one and true fated mate.
Holy fuck.
From the way Jasper described knowing Carolina was his the second he saw her picture, Larimar knew he was right. He’d never have guessed his mate was out there, but she was, and so were the bastards hunting her.
Grrrr.
Speeding towards the address Jennifer had given him, Lari sent out feelers to the creatures in the vicinity. He was not sure how it worked exactly, but knowing the address or GPS location of a place was enough for him to psychically connect to forms of life nearby.
Of course, he couldn’t actually converse with all creatures, as some were far less advanced than others, but he could impress ideas and even his will upon them. A lesser man would take advantage of such creatures, but not Larimar.
He had a profound respect and love for all life. Although, he admitted, the bastards who’d threatened his unclaimed mate were pretty damn low on his list of lifeforms to be respected at the moment.
He pressed the accelerator and advanced down the double lane highway at lightning speed, making a mental note to thank Weylin and the whole Dire Wolf MC for meeting his specifications. The motorcycle zipped quietly along the glittering asphalt like lightning.
Grinning like a wildcat, Larimar calculated the distance remaining and approximated forty minutes until he’d meet his mate in the flesh. Meanwhile, he’d picked up on a den of coyotes near to where Sanchez had stashed her.
After locating their alpha, a wily male with a loyal group beneath him, Larimar set them about the place. The canids agreed to keep guard until he arrived. She did not know it, but the tempting woman was as safe as could be right then.
Good, his Wyvern rumbled.
Kimberley Scott’s safety had just become the most important thing in the whole fucking world to him.
Mine.
Chapter Four
Darkness fell early in this part of the Garden State. The eerie sounds of nature had Kim huddled in the corner of the dimly lit room, clutching the frying pan she’d found stored inside the oven of the tiny kitchen of the safe house with both hands.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” she whisper-screamed.
Her panic level was steadily rising, but who could blame her? When Agent Sanchez had dumped her frightened ass in this small, but thankfully air-conditioned, safe house somewhere in Cape May, she thought he was staying to protect her.
Unfortunately, he’d passed the job on to some security company in the private sector. Wessex Protection Unit, she thought he’d said. That was all fine and good, but where was the new guy?
Kimberley had been waiting for hours. All alone. Stuck in some weird ass nature reserve in Cape May, New Jersey, in July of all months—might as well change the name to swamp ass month far as she and her chubby butt were concerned.
Ugh.
She should be used to the heat. After all, Kimberley spent a lot of time in a desert, but that was a different kind of hot altogether. Thank goodness for cotton undies and a refrigerator packed with water bottles.
How long until she went crazy from being stuck with her own company, no internet, no work, and no damn TV? She was not built for this kind of isolation.
Not to mention the sounds of howling, yowling, and whatever the heck noises the animals outside were making were seriously giving her the creeps. Kim gave herself minutes until she hit rock bottom. Maybe seconds.
After she passed the point of no return, she knew it was only a matter of time before she had a serious mental and emotional breakdown. Maybe Mom was right. She should have taught Kindergarten.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, help,” she whimpered as something started scratching at the door.
No point in looking back on her suddenly questionable career choices. Who knew a job in academia could lead to this? Being framed by her boss, hunted by killers, and stuck in a swamp with freaking monsters in her yard.
Calm down. Think happy thoughts, Kim, for fuck’s sake, you can’t die like this!
Her students were right. Kim really sucked at pep talks. Even the ones she tried to give herself. She puffed out a breath of air and blew her hair back off her face. She was in dire need of some hair ties. And French fries.
YES! French fries!
Kim wanted a whole sack of oily, crispy, salty goodness, and she wanted it now, damn it! How far away was the nearest burger joint? And could she walk? That was the real question.
Unfortunately, she had no idea where she was. Not really. She knew she was in Cape May, but had never heard of this woodsy reserve. The chances of her finding any greasy spoon goodness were nil.
Kim had only ever seen the resort part of town. Cape May was one of her favorite holiday destinations with its pretty beaches, quaint little shops, delicious restaurants, and cozy B&B’s that looked more like gingerbread houses than real live dwellings. Her family spent many a Memorial Day Weekend and Fourth of July at the Jersey Shore, and the area held many special memories.
But instead of turning down the road and heading to one of those awesome beachside getaways, Agent Sanchez took her here. Wherever that was. Arriving at this so-called safe house had been a revelation.
This cabin in the woodsy-not-so-cutesy section of the southernmost tip of the Garden State was a fucking shithole.
“Cabin, my ass,” she muttered, and whimpered when the lights flickered.
If the electricity went out, she was absolutely going to die out there. No question about it. Her head whipped to the door as more scratching and growling sounded from just outside the pretty flimsy piece of particle board.
Kimberley had spent a weekend last March at a vacation cabin in Aspen. She’d been impressed as hell by the location and the size of the place. It was larger than her parents’ home in Pennsylvania. Of course, the impeccable sights she’d seen and the sheer luxury of the bedroom she’d occupied during that retreat had been the only highlights of the trip.
But that was Kim for you. Her life seemed to be one relationship faux pas after another. In her experience, social entanglements were completely overrated in her highly educated and grossly undersexed opinion.
Aspen sucked. Period.
Her hands were cramping, and Kim released the handle of the sturdy little frying pan that was her only line of defense against whatever fangy furry beasties were trying to get in—never mind the hitmen hunting her like some animal.
She mumbled unintelligibly and lifted the bottle of whiskey she’d found in the cupboard above the fridge. The linoleum floor was squishy in parts, and she tried not to think about why, as she chugged a long pull right from the bottle. The fiery burn of the liquor went with the label.
She’d never heard of Bite before, but apparently it was distilled right there in New Jersey. Someplace called Maccon City.
“Hmm, kudos to you Maccon City. This is good whiskey,” she toasted and took another sip.
“Oh god, I’m talking to the frying pan,” she mumbled, then hiccupped again.
Increased growling outside got her attention, and Kim shivered and closed her eyes. If only she could recall the prayers she once knew by heart as a kid.
She was not particularly religious, but she was raised Catholic and had attended parochial school as a kid. Boy, that Sr. Rita had been a tough old bird. She’d freak if she knew Kimberley couldn’t recall a single line in what was obviously her hour of need.
The old nun had tried to make sure everyone knew the words to the prayers, using the same threats and punishments as her predecessors. In other words, if you messed up, you had to write out whichever prayer you goofed on a hundred times to ensure you never forgot it again.
She’d never been caught slacking, and now she wondered if that wasn’t too bad for her. Maybe she would remember those prayers had she written them out. Too late now.
Kim never understood writing assignments as punishment. It was like they were teaching their students to hate work. As a college professor, she could always tell who of her students had good experiences in their early education with teachers and those who did not. Mostly, she loved her job.
Suddenly, a rumble of thunder sounded, and the whole cabin seemed to shake. Shit. Kim really should’ve told that big dumb agent no. No cabins. She’d had some of her worst luck in a cabin. Stupid Aspen weekend trip.
“This is fantastic whiskey,” she said, taking another sip.
Kim should’ve known better than to go on that trip. She had always hated the cold, and March had been cold. It was that trip that sped up her decision to go to Egypt for a few months.
Margot, the beyotch who’d invited her, had actually been sleeping with Kim’s boyfriend. Unfortunately, she found that out the hard way. Margo hadn’t bothered to deny it and Dan was a total douchebag, stating her coldness in bed left him wanting.
Like that was her fault. Blech. Point was, cabins were grossly overrated. Bad things happened to Kim in cabins. But to be fair, this tiny little box of a cabin had air condition, water, no cheating boyfriends, and whiskey—so already it was better than Aspen.
A lot better.
Thunder crashed again, and a blinding bolt of lightning flashed right outside. Rain poured onto the roof, making loud splatting noises, and right on cue, the lights crapped out.
“Fuuuckk!” she screeched, dropping the whiskey onto the floor, and readjusting her grip on the frying pan.
Of course, the power went out. Kim stood up slowly, creeping across the floor. She’d already done a check of the indoors and knew there were no electric boxes inside the house. That meant it was outdoors.
Whimpering like the big baby she was, she opened the door, steeling herself to go look for a fuse box, but found herself surrounded by at least a dozen pairs of yellow eyes and some really gnarly sounding growls.
