Read Online Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set by Colleen Gleason - Free Book Online
Authors: Colleen Gleason
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back from Spike and opening fire. Nadine hated obeying orders, especially from men. Back in her younger days, Nadine hadn’t had to fight for her rights as a woman—she’d simply taken them, to hell with anyone who got in her way.
Finally, Nadine shrugged and headed into the house. She wanted to know what was going on as much as Bree did.
Bree went straight to Seamus. He’d shifted from lion to human before her eyes and now stood tall in the dust and weeds beyond their small yard without a stitch on. He’d been hot enough in only his jeans, but now ...
The bandages had ripped away when he’d shifted—pieces lay scattered across the patch of lawn behind the house. The bruises on his ribs had faded, the holes where the bullets had been, now small, red marks.
Seamus betrayed no embarrassment being unclothed in front of Bree or the others. From what Bree had learned, Shifters were more animal in their emotions than human—shifting was natural, nothing to be ashamed of.
Bree saw nothing at
all
to shame him. Seamus’s thighs were tight under flat, hard abs, and what hung between those thighs made her break into a sweat. Shifters were bigger than human men, in all ways. Seriously.
Bree realized she was staring and raised her gaze from his nether regions, but Seamus had seen. From the look on his face, he didn’t mind.
Behind his mild satisfaction that she liked looking at him, Bree read need in his eyes, and despair, and deep fear. Seamus was afraid he truly had killed the hunters, Bree saw, and the idea haunted him.
“I don’t remember,” he said fiercely. He looked directly at Bree, no one else. “I don’t remember anything. Only fighting something, running hard and fast, the shots, the roadhouse, and then you.”
Bree stepped closer to him, the ground cold and sharp under her bare feet, and closed her hands around his forearms. “I won’t let them take you away.” She looked straight up into his face, willing him to believe her. “I won’t let them lock you up for something you didn’t do.”
Seamus’s golden eyes glittered in the morning light. “I don’t
know
if I didn’t do it.”
“Come inside,” Bree said softly. “We’ll find out.”
Seamus kept his gaze on her, in spite of the other Shifters drifting to circle them—Dylan wasn’t about to let him get away again. Only he and Bree might be standing there in the Texas dawn, a cold breeze plucking at them, while the rest of the Shifters, the house, the sign in the field promising a new development coming soon—the sign had been there for five years, their neighbors had told them—the entire world, floated away.
Bree gave Seamus’s arms a squeeze. His skin was hot, smooth over muscle, satin over steel. Seamus stood impossibly still while his eyes betrayed that, inside, he was one mass of pain.
Bree remembered when he’d first jumped into her truck, the wildness in his eyes, the anger, the fear.
Are you feral?
she’d asked him.
Maybe,
he’d answered distractedly.
Not yet
...
But he feared he was becoming so. A feral Shifter might not remember that he’d killed two men and fled, coming to himself long enough to force a woman in a truck to help him get away.
“I won’t let you,” Bree told him, her voice firm. “I won’t let you be feral. Understand me?”
Seamus only watched her, whatever thoughts warring in his mind making his eyes fill with fear, his skin bead with sweat.
He abruptly closed his hands over her arms in return, his large fingers folding around her. “I need ...”
Whatever he needed, he couldn’t express with speech. His hands bit down, the grip tight, and mercilessly strong.
But not to hurt her—Seamus was trying to hold on to something that wasn’t whirling, rushing, and tumbling over him. Bree met his gaze, wanting to tell him she believed in him, was there for him, but not finding the right words.
He didn’t need words, she realized. Her touch was enough.
Behind Bree, Ronan was rumbling in
Finally, Nadine shrugged and headed into the house. She wanted to know what was going on as much as Bree did.
Bree went straight to Seamus. He’d shifted from lion to human before her eyes and now stood tall in the dust and weeds beyond their small yard without a stitch on. He’d been hot enough in only his jeans, but now ...
The bandages had ripped away when he’d shifted—pieces lay scattered across the patch of lawn behind the house. The bruises on his ribs had faded, the holes where the bullets had been, now small, red marks.
Seamus betrayed no embarrassment being unclothed in front of Bree or the others. From what Bree had learned, Shifters were more animal in their emotions than human—shifting was natural, nothing to be ashamed of.
Bree saw nothing at
all
to shame him. Seamus’s thighs were tight under flat, hard abs, and what hung between those thighs made her break into a sweat. Shifters were bigger than human men, in all ways. Seriously.
Bree realized she was staring and raised her gaze from his nether regions, but Seamus had seen. From the look on his face, he didn’t mind.
Behind his mild satisfaction that she liked looking at him, Bree read need in his eyes, and despair, and deep fear. Seamus was afraid he truly had killed the hunters, Bree saw, and the idea haunted him.
“I don’t remember,” he said fiercely. He looked directly at Bree, no one else. “I don’t remember anything. Only fighting something, running hard and fast, the shots, the roadhouse, and then you.”
Bree stepped closer to him, the ground cold and sharp under her bare feet, and closed her hands around his forearms. “I won’t let them take you away.” She looked straight up into his face, willing him to believe her. “I won’t let them lock you up for something you didn’t do.”
Seamus’s golden eyes glittered in the morning light. “I don’t
know
if I didn’t do it.”
“Come inside,” Bree said softly. “We’ll find out.”
Seamus kept his gaze on her, in spite of the other Shifters drifting to circle them—Dylan wasn’t about to let him get away again. Only he and Bree might be standing there in the Texas dawn, a cold breeze plucking at them, while the rest of the Shifters, the house, the sign in the field promising a new development coming soon—the sign had been there for five years, their neighbors had told them—the entire world, floated away.
Bree gave Seamus’s arms a squeeze. His skin was hot, smooth over muscle, satin over steel. Seamus stood impossibly still while his eyes betrayed that, inside, he was one mass of pain.
Bree remembered when he’d first jumped into her truck, the wildness in his eyes, the anger, the fear.
Are you feral?
she’d asked him.
Maybe,
he’d answered distractedly.
Not yet
...
But he feared he was becoming so. A feral Shifter might not remember that he’d killed two men and fled, coming to himself long enough to force a woman in a truck to help him get away.
“I won’t let you,” Bree told him, her voice firm. “I won’t let you be feral. Understand me?”
Seamus only watched her, whatever thoughts warring in his mind making his eyes fill with fear, his skin bead with sweat.
He abruptly closed his hands over her arms in return, his large fingers folding around her. “I need ...”
Whatever he needed, he couldn’t express with speech. His hands bit down, the grip tight, and mercilessly strong.
But not to hurt her—Seamus was trying to hold on to something that wasn’t whirling, rushing, and tumbling over him. Bree met his gaze, wanting to tell him she believed in him, was there for him, but not finding the right words.
He didn’t need words, she realized. Her touch was enough.
Behind Bree, Ronan was rumbling in
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