Jealous Freakn’

in my life.”

“If I choose to mark you. I’m still on the fence.”

She jabbed her elbow in his gut and he grunted. “Stop lying or I’ll tell your mama and she’ll get the soap.”

“You really are annoying sometimes,” he grumbled.

“It’s part of my charm. Admit it. You enjoy it.”

“Will not.”

“Liar. Do you prefer Ivory or Irish Spring?”

“Fine. Fine. It’s kind of enjoyable. Happy now?”

“Yes, I am,” she said, beaming at him. “So, what do you think of my idea?”

“This is the most fucked up conversation ever. I assume you mean your suggestion of taking turns being with you? You’d go for that?”

“If it meant having you as well as Alejandro, then yes. I can compromise. I want you, Mitchell. I’ve wanted you for a long time. I never imagined, though, I’d have to share you, especially with another man.”

“Okay that sounds gross when you put it that way.”

She laughed. “You know what I mean. But it does depend on you. Alejandro will claim me when he returns.”

“If he returns.”

“When he returns,” she restated. “I guess the only question left is, will you claim me too?”

“I-” He paused. His brow knitted in confusion while his eyes spoke of longing. As for his cock. Oh yes, definite tenting action.

“You can say it,” she coaxed. “I won’t bite-hard-until you do.”

“I-”

A shriek sounded. “Naomi!” they both exclaimed, him with a note of relief. Mitchell helped her up and supported her as they made their way out of the bedroom to the living room where Naomi paced, ranting at the top of her lungs.

“Unfucking believable. How fucking dare she? That ho! That bloody, dirty skank. I’m going to rip-Oh, hey there, Francine. What are you doing up? You’re supposed to be in bed.”

Her possessed friend pasted a fake smile meant to look reassuring on her face, but rage glistened in her eyes. Francine, plopping onto the couch, careful not to lean back, would have none of it. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“I’m not wearing any. So nothing.”

“Eeew!” Mitchell exclaimed.

“Oh shut it, crotch sniffer,” his sister snarled. “No one’s talking to you.”

“Naomi, be nice!” Javier said in a firm tone. “It’s not his fault you’re upset. And besides, you know he’s going to go ballistic when he finds out. Won’t that be fun?”

“Find out what?” Mitchell asked, sitting on the arm of the couch beside Francine.

“That fucking skanky ho with the slutty-” Javier put his hand over Naomi’s mouth, silencing her, not quite managing to hide the wince when she bit him.

Ethan shook his head. “She’s a little upset.”

“Do you think?” Francine drawled, wondering what had Naomi in such a tizzy. Probably some groupie hitting on one of her mates again. This far in her pregnancy, with her hormones running wild, it didn’t take much for Naomi’s jealous green monster to come out swinging.

Javier, though, shot her theory to hell with his next words. “The hunter who shot Mitchell wasn’t the person who shot Francine.”

Ballistic didn’t even come close to describing Mitchell when he found out who had. Francine quite enjoyed seeing him all riled up. It pleased her inner bitch even more. However, the method of discovery, AKA her trashed apartment, pissed her right off. Someone’s head is going to roll.

Chapter Ten

Irritated and longing to go home, the new home he’d discovered in Francine’s arms, made Alejandro impatient. For the last two days, he’d followed the hunter’s sloppy trail. First missing him by minutes at the scuzzy motel he’d checked out of, the location courtesy of a receipt he’d found snagged on a branch in the tree the bastard perched in. The female clerk at least-after a little persuasion, AKA a smile from him-divulged not only the truck’s plate number for his prey but also the make and color of it, which as it turned out, Javier had if he’d bothered asking before running off. What a surprise, the hunter drove a big ass, red pickup truck. Stupid redneck. Most people thought hillbillies and rednecks were an American phenomena. He had news for them, Canada had its fair share of crass, belligerent types who shot anything that moved. But, even he had to admit, their daughters were raunchy in bed.

Stereotypes aside, he jumped on the highway, the clerk having mentioned the man said he was heading home to deal with his daughter. On his bike, it was a simple matter to weave in and out of traffic, slowing down before overpasses to avoid the inevitable radar traps. Late afternoon, he caught up to his prey on the highway. He felt like thanking the bastard for owning such a distinctive red pickup truck with the redneck sticker that read “Keep Honking Asshole, I’m Loading My Gun.” He meant to follow the vehicle until it stopped for either fuel, food, or sleep, but his fucking bike began to wobble, forcing him to pull off and deal with a flat fucking tire. Lucky for him, the tow truck driver knew a place to fix him up and get back on the road, but he lost two precious hours. Even worse, he’d lost the redneck he chased. Thus far, the stupid human traveled in a straight line, keeping his trek to the highway that led back to his home town. Alejandro decided he’d have to trust the idiot would keep on his path, meaning he’d rendezvous with him in the morning on his home turf.

Tired, wind beaten, and with a cold rain starting to fall, he decided rather than risk road rash, he would pull into a motel off the highway. And then he finally got a stroke of luck, seeing a big, honking red truck in the parking lot.

Thank you, Lady Luck, for that one.

Sniffing around the vehicle, he made sure of his quarry first, scenting the lingering traces of bear, a hunter’s perfume, and the familiar tang of the daughter, whose feminine scent was the last he’d inhaled before meeting his Francine.

Kicking in the motel room door, he startled the balding fellow lounging on the bed watching television. With a curse, the tubby hunter rolled off the bed, scrambling for his jacket and withdrawing a gun. Like that would stop him.

Enraged, not at the temerity of the human, but what he’d done to his precious mate, Alejandro leapt across the room and knocked it from his grasp. Ramming his forearm against the human’s throat, he used this as leverage and shoved him into the wall. But that wasn’t enough. He lifted him until the hunter gurgled, his fingers clawing desperately at his arm.

Alejandro’s lips curled back over his teeth in a vicious snarl. “Fucking prick. Not so brave without your gun, are you? I can forgive you for shooting the wolf. I’ve had the urge myself. But shooting at a woman through her window in the back? For that, you die.”

The hunter’s head tried to shake in a puny attempt at denial. Curious as to what lame excuse the bastard thought to spout, Alejandro eased the pressure to let him speak his final words before he killed him.

“Not me,” croaked the sweating human.

A cold smile danced over his lips at the poor attempt at rebuttal. “Are you denying you shot the wolf and the redhead?”

“Shot the wolf, but I left right after. I didn’t shoot any redhead.”

Truth rang in the human’s words, and Alejandro frowned. Removing his arm, Alejandro let his prey drop. The man slumped to the floor, gasping and clutching his throat.

“Start from the beginning and tell me what you’ve done, starting with following me. You know what I am.”

He nodded his head. “I saw you in the woods behind my place. You’re not human.”

“No shit. So that gives you the right to follow me and threaten the lives of people I know and love?”