Bad Blood Wolf (Bad Blood Shifters Book 2) Read online

  “I don’t know what it means,” she said. “I don’t. But maybe we can find out.”

  She felt him take a long, hitching breath, and then let it out, some of the tension and stress going with it. He wrapped his arms around her, one hand cupping the back of her head, his cheek resting on her hair.

  They stood that way for a long time, holding each other.

  Jasmin didn’t know what to do next. She was so used to being hard and tough, and now her armor was broken in pieces and she was like a sea creature, all soft and vulnerable without its shell.

  She didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

  “I’m not what you’re looking for,” she said finally.

  Brody loosened his arms and pulled back just enough so he could look down into her face.

  “How do you know?” he said. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

  “You said it in the truck,” she said. “You want someone soft. I’m not soft.” It was important that he understand that. “I don’t do soft, and I don’t do gentle.”

  And I don’t do love. Those things made you vulnerable. Weak. She couldn’t afford to be weak.

  He went quiet for a minute, obviously thinking. His fingers moved through her hair, stroking it gently. It was almost like the feeling she had when he stroked her fur. It was… nice.

  Finally he said, “You were gentle when you fixed up my ear.”

  She snorted. “I called you a crybaby.”

  He grinned. “Yeah. It was hot.”

  She shook her head. “You’re a strange man, Wolf.”

  His grin faded, and his eyes turned serious. “It’s not what you say,” he told her. “It’s here.”

  He skimmed his fingers down her arms until he got to her hands. He picked them up and kissed the knuckles softly, one on each hand. “Your hands say what’s in your heart.”

  She didn’t know what was in her heart. She’d slammed the door on all that when she’d turned her back on the person her family wanted her to be.

  He seemed to sense her uncertainty. He let go of her hands and stretched his arm, reaching over to grab one of her oversized shirts off a hook on the wall.

  “Put this on,” he said.

  Jasmin narrowed her eyes. “You don’t want me naked?”

  The grin came back. “I will probably always want you naked. But this—whatever it is—is about more than getting naked.”

  That made no sense. All male/female relationships were about getting naked. “What are we supposed to do if we’re not naked?”

  Brody laughed. It was a nice sound, deep and rich. She realized she’d never seen a full-on, genuine smile on his face before. He was breathtakingly hot when he smiled all the way to his eyes.

  “We’ll get to know each other. Put the shirt on. Where’s your hairbrush?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind, I see it.” He grabbed her hairbrush off the top of the dresser and led her to the futon, shrugging his jacket off while she slipped the shirt on.

  “Sit down. This way.” He positioned her so she was sitting with her back to him. He sat down, and she felt him gather her hair into his hands.

  “I used to brush my mom’s hair, when I was little,” he said. He started at the ends, easing the tangles out, gripping the hair about halfway up so it wouldn’t pull at her scalp. “She was a wolf, not a cat, but she liked it.”

  He’d said was. “Is she—did she die young?” Jasmin asked.

  “No,” Brody said. “She left. When I was six.”

  “Oh.” She felt a little piece of her heart break for him. She pictured a little boy brushing his mother’s hair, so sweet and careful, and then one day she just wasn’t there. What could have made her leave him?

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Brody moved the brush further up her hair, encountering another tangle. “She had problems,” he said briefly. “It was better for everyone that she went.”

  His voice was cool, but she could recognize armor when she heard it. There was a deep wound there he was protecting. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Yeah.” He teased the tangle out, and moved on to the next one.

  He said, “I heard you cursing out Bastian in Portuguese. Did you grow up in Brazil?”

  A not-so-subtle subject change. “I was born there,” she said. “We lived there until I was five, and then we moved to Florida. I grew up in the Everglades.”

  “Cool,” Brody said. “Were your family crocodile hunters? Tell me you were crocodile hunters. That would be so awesome.”

  That made her smile. “Sorry,” she said. “My dad was an accountant.”

  “God, really? That’s so boring,” Brody said.

  Yeah. So boring that he took his frustrations out on the women in his life.

  “I’m disappointed,” Brody went on. “I figured you came from a long line of superheroes.”

  “Well, if I did, I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you, would I? Although ‘mild-mannered accountant for a boring metropolitan corporation’ would make the perfect cover for a superhero. Just sayin’.”

  “Is that what you did too? For work, I mean?” Brody had smoothed out all the tangles, and now he was brushing her hair in long strokes. It was soothing. She could see why his mom had liked it.

  “Hell, no,” Jasmin said. Like she’d want to be anything like her dad. “I was a professional chef.”

  Brody stopped brushing. “For real?” he said. “That’s almost as cool as crocodile hunting. Did you wear a white coat and make unpronounceable dishes with squiggly garnishes for hipsters to ooh and aah over? And did you salute and say ‘yes, Chef!’ to some screaming tyrant, like on TV?”

  “All of the above,” she said. “In a very fancy hipster restaurant in St. Louis. Except I was the screaming tyrant and everyone saluted me. It was awesome. Yelling at the crew when they mince instead of dice isn’t nearly as satisfying.”

  She heard the grin in Brody’s voice. “Head chef? Wow. Why’d you leave?”

  Brody had gone back to brushing her hair. Every few strokes, he ran his fingers through it. She liked how that felt.

  His question brought her own armor back. “Alexander Grant,” she said, her voice hard. “And his ‘make shifters into pets for the wealthy’ program.”

  Brody’s hands stilled. “Hell, I’m sorry,” he said. “Stupid question.”

  She shrugged. It wasn’t like people didn’t know. “We got out,” she said. “And now I get to cook in Alexander Fucking Grant’s state-of-the-art kitchen every day, and lounge on his expensive furniture, and drink his black label whiskey and brandy. And he’s the one in a cell.”

  He should be dead. She still dreamed of bleeding him slowly, toying with him like he was a mouse in her paws. But at least he was locked up. She hoped the prison guards and the other inmates were treating him very, very badly.

  Brody began brushing her hair again. “He should be fucking dead,” he said, as if he’d heard her thoughts.

  No argument from her.

  He gathered her hair together, then let it spill back down, as if he liked playing with it. He went on, “You ever think of going back to cooking? I mean, chef-ing?”

  “Sometimes,” she said. “I don’t know if my jag can handle it now, though. Too much stress, and not allowed to bleed anybody.”

  He gave a snort of laughter, but when he spoke, his voice was serious. “Give her a little time.”

  He had no idea. Jasmin didn’t know if she’d ever be fit to be around people again.

  She just nodded, though. “I’ve been thinking of getting a job as a cook in a lower-key kind of place. To start out.”

  “Not a bad idea. What does your crew think?”

  “I haven’t told them, but they’re gonna hate it if I’m working every night. Right now I do all the cooking, and those assholes are spoiled rotten. Except breakfast. I don’t do breakfast.”

  “Cold cereal never hurt anybody.”

  “Nah, Flynn usually
does breakfast. He makes killer pancakes, for an amateur.”

  “I’ve only met Flynn once, but I’m having trouble imagining him making pancakes. Of course, that could be because he was strapped with about six different firearms at the time.”

  “He’s multifaceted,” Jasmin said. Brody snorted.

  She wondered what Flynn would think of Brody being here. Of them ‘getting to know each other.’ She’d promised not to bring his trouble home with her.

  He scooped her hair up again, and slid the collar of her shirt down, kissing her on the shoulder. His lips were soft, and the scruff on his face rasped lightly against her skin.

  “See, we got to know each other a little,” he said, echoing her thoughts again. It was uncanny. “Like normal people. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “I guess not.” His lips were moving up her neck, and she had to hold back the urge to start purring. “It wasn’t as much fun as being naked, though.”

  “No?”

  He’d reached that place just below her ear, and she couldn’t help but let out the tiniest little moan. She felt his grin this time, and he sucked on the spot, his teeth grazing the skin.

  Goosebumps spread down her chest, and her nipples tightened. “I still don’t understand why you don’t want naked.”

  His tongue made a slow circle on the side of her neck before he answered. “I might have changed my mind about that.”

  Chapter 11

  This time, he was the one who was soft. Soft kisses, soft murmurs, soft touches.

  Jasmin never knew soft could be so sexy.

  His body was hard and his spirit was wild, but he kept it all reined in. Instead of the violent headlong desperate need of a few hours ago, he coaxed her with his lips, his tongue, his fingertips.

  Lips on her neck, finding all her tender, sensitive places.

  Tongue sliding over her skin. Under her ear, down her spine, in the hollow of her collarbone.

  Fingertips grazing the curves of her body. Ribs, hipbones, the small of her back. Thighs and breasts. Feather-light pressure, sizzling over her skin, spreading heat and lightning wherever they touched.

  Brody took off his shirt and she leaned back against him. Skin to skin. Heat to heat.

  Heat pooling in her belly, between her legs. Her shirt disappeared, and she was naked under his hands, turning boneless under those soft, deliberate touches.

  She wanted more, and she never wanted it to stop.

  He wound his fingers through her hair, stroking her body with it. It felt soft and silky and erotic, sliding over her skin, followed by more kisses. More swirls of his tongue, wet heat and cool breath.

  She could feel his heart pounding, belying the slowness of his touch. She could feel him wanting her—the swell of his cock, the thunder of his blood. His fingers drifted up her thighs, stroking, stroking, stoking the fire between her legs.

  The memory of him inside her made her belly clench. His mouth on her, his hot cock thrusting into her core, shattering her from the inside out.

  She wanted that again. She wanted more. Wanted to taste him and touch him and draw him within her.

  He laid her down on the bed, lifting her hands over her head and running his palms up the insides of her arms. He pinned her wrists lightly to the bed, lying against her and covering her mouth with his.

  Slow. Leisurely. Exploring with his tongue. Tasting with his lips. Sucking her lower lip into his mouth, just barely grazing it with his teeth before taking her once more in a deep, soul-penetrating kiss.

  Something inside Jasmin opened like a jungle flower. Heat and wet and intoxicating scents. Arousal and longing.

  He freed her hands and rolled to the side, unfastening his jeans. She reached for him, cupping his muscular ass before sliding her hand around to free his swollen cock.

  He sucked his breath in when she touched him, and his heartrate ratcheted up.

  She pushed him over on his back. Her turn to go slow.

  She took off his boots before eased his jeans off. She raked her nails lightly over the inside of his thigh, watching his muscles clench. Her tongue followed in a slow lick from his knee to the crease of his hip.

  He tasted of sweat and salt, and the unique musk that said Brody.

  His cock was heavy, begging for a taste. She licked it, slowly, from the base to the tip, sliding the head into her mouth and out again.

  His moan went straight to her sex. She licked and sucked, learning his scent and his taste, what made him writhe and moan and clutch at her shoulders, fist his fingers in her hair.

  Without warning, he shifted position and pulled her hips around, spreading her thighs over his face. His tongue found her core while she still worked his shaft, and sensation shivered through her as they both gave and received pleasure simultaneously.

  Jasmin felt her climax cresting, her whole focus on Brody’s lips and tongue caressing her pussy, and the feel and taste of his shaft in her mouth. She cried out, shuddering, her body shaking with emotion and sensation. He held her to him, licking at her as his hips bucked, and she forgot everything but the wild pulsing all through her.

  When he had pulled every ounce of her climax from her, Brody lifted her hips and slid backwards. Before she had even recovered, he was on his knees behind her, thrusting into her entrance, so wet and ready for him.

  He gave a long, low groan as he entered her, as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this. He pushed into her, his huge length filling her completely, holding her hips as he found a home inside her.

  His thrusts were long and slow, immediately starting another rise of pleasure. Her jag was ecstatic, loving the feel of Brody behind her, the press of his hips kissing her buttocks with every thrust. She was snarling softly, with pleasure rather than anger, pushing backwards to take as much of him as she could.

  Sexy wolf, strong and hard, soft and gentle. He was everything. So good. So fucking good.

  Brody’s thrusts grew faster and stronger, sending her up to the edge again. He leaned over her, one arm on the futon next to her, one hand caressing her breasts, his lips moving on the back of her neck.

  “Oh, yeah,” he was whispering. “So beautiful. So hot and sweet.”

  She could feel his climax building along with her own, the tension in his body, the gasp of his breath, the thunder of his heartbeat. Finally he gave one last deep thrust, then wrapped his arm around her waist. He sat back on his heels with her on his lap, still inside her, teeth lightly gripping her neck, fingers sliding down to caress her clit.

  They exploded together, completely undone, their minds full of nothing but heat and skin, pounding blood and cascading emotion.

  It took a long time for them to come down. At some point, Jasmin became aware that she was twined around Brody, wrapped in his arms, head on his chest.

  It took another minute for her to realize that low, vibrating rumble she felt was her jag. Purring.

  Underneath that she could hear his heart beating—a slow comforting rhythm. He ran his fingers lightly down her back, to the curve of her hip, and back up again, as if memorizing her contours.

  Out of the blue, he said, “I want to spend the day with you tomorrow.”

  Jasmin felt herself tense, and willed her muscles to relax again.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Brody gave a little huff of laughter. “Geez,” he said. “I suck at relationships, but I’m going to look like a star next to you.”

  She curved her fingers, letting her claws out the tiniest bit and pricking his chest. “No need to be insulting.”

  “Fine,” he said. “I will explain the complex intricacies of relationships. I want to get to know you better. Meet your crew.”

  “My crew is insane, loyal, good-hearted, fucked-up, and homicidal. And one of them is obsessed with Christmas. There. Now you don’t need to meet them.”

  Brody went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I want to eat with you, and annoy you by stealing food off your plate. Walk with you in the woods. Kiss y
ou under some mistletoe. Take you out for ice cream. Just… I don’t know.” A serious note crept into his voice. “I want to keep trying to figure out what this is, that makes me feel so damned good when I’m near you.”

  His voice grew softer. “And makes me feel like I don’t want to leave you.”

  She felt good when she was near him, too. Too good. This was probably the way her mother had gotten sucked in, and her grandmother and all the jaguar women before her.

  She should say no. Make him go, make him give her space. But when she opened her mouth, what came out was, “We’ll see.”

  Brody kissed her hair gently and didn’t say anything more, but she could tell he was disappointed. She could also tell he wasn’t giving up. The White Tornado never gave up. He just locked his jaws and held on until his opponent tapped out.

  His jaws were locked on her now. Too bad for him, her jag would never submit. She didn’t know why that knowledge suddenly made her sad.

  Chapter 12

  When Brody woke up, the bed next to him was empty. The woodstove had almost gone out and the skylight was open, letting frosty air pour into the little shed.

  Brody dressed quickly, the cold penetrating into his gut. He’d asked Jasmin if he could spend the day with her. This was looking a lot like a ‘no.’

  He thought he remembered her jaguar rubbing its face against his, just before she left in the middle of the night while he was half asleep. He’d hoped it was a gesture of affection.

  Now he was thinking it was ‘goodbye.’

  When he stepped out of the shed, he saw no one but a man up in the oak tree, busily hanging a fourth reindeer ‘corpse’ from the limb he was sitting on. He had on all black—jeans, t-shirt and fleece-lined denim jacket—and his black hair tumbled down over his collar.

  “Nice decorations,” Brody called out casually. “Nothing like dead animals to make Christmas feel festive.”

  The guy gave him a feral grin. “That’s what I always say.” He jumped off the tree branch, landing gracefully on the ground eight feet below. “I’m Xander. Panther. I like to kill stuff. You looking for Jasmin?”