here for the fight.
“My people are headed back in.” Braden moved into the kitchen and before she could gasp or anyone else could protest he lifted her into his arms and strode from the room.
God, he was warm, secure. Her arms gripped his shoulders in instinctive response as she fought the need to get closer, to absorb more of the natural shield that enveloped her as well.
“I’m not a baby,” she tried to snipe despite the sudden desire to curl against him.
“No, you’re not. But the floor is bloody and you aren’t wearing shoes.” He set her down on the stairs. “Sometimes you see the bloodstains when you least expect it.” He stared back at her, his golden eyes solemn. “Go. Dress. My people will be here and there will be a clash of tempers that you don’t want to deal with half naked.” His voice lowered.
“And I sure as hell don’t want anyone else seeing those perfect nipples shining through that damp cloth as they are now.”
Her face flamed as her horrified gaze went down. Her nipples were hard. Spike-hard, pressing against the silk of her robe like signals.
Her head raised as arousal and embarrassment coursed through her. It wasn’t him, she assured herself. He was not turning her on. She didn’t even know him and she didn’t want to know him.
She sniffed disdainfully, refusing to even attempt to explain or protest her body’s response.
———
Braden watched her stalk to her room, his chest tight, his heart racing. God, he wanted to wrap her up just as much as the three men behind him did. Seeing her in that chair, looking so forlorn, had nearly been more than he could stand. He had picked her up and moved her to the stairs for his own mental well-being. The thought of her having to step around the death in that hallway, that it could have been her lying there rather than two Coyotes had his guts clenching in fury.
He hadn’t realized how small she was, how light, until he picked her up in his arms and felt the frailty of her body.
How the hell had she managed to battle two Coyotes and survive?
Dark midnight-blue eyes, nearly black, had seemed overlarge in her pale face, filled with excitement and an edge of confusion. But there was no fear. She was pissed. Quickly falling from an adrenaline high and aching with the demands she had put on her body in the past two days.
But she wasn’t scared.
And he couldn’t wrap her up. He couldn’t shelter her from the danger. He could only stand behind her and pray he could help her. The world wasn’t a playground filled with laughter and games. At least, his world wasn’t. It was bathed in blood and cruelty and only the strongest survived. She was being thrown into the middle of his world for some reason he couldn’t fathom. He couldn’t protect her from that. He could only guide her through it.
“She’s a warrior.” The old man, her grandfather, spoke behind him.
“She’s a woman,” the father snapped furiously. “Dammit, Lance, what the hell is going on?”
“She’s crazy, is what’s going on,” Lance argued. “She drove right into a murder scene yesterday afternoon with me screaming at her to back off. The woman is looking for trouble. This time, it found her.”
“She searches for justice…” Joseph murmured.
And they were all searching for a way to protect her. Their need to shelter her was slowly smothering her. Braden could feel it, could see it in her face. She needed to fight, and now she had no choice but to do just that.
“No.” He turned to face them all. “She’s a fighter and a survivor and if she’s going to survive this in any way, then you’ll have to let her fight. Until we find out why the Genetics Council marked her, we have to let her fight, or you’ll all lose her.”
Silence, waves of fury, confusion and one old man’s knowledge seemed to flow around him. He met the sharp, ages-old gaze of the old Navajo who stared back at him, his graying braids framing his square, stark
“My people are headed back in.” Braden moved into the kitchen and before she could gasp or anyone else could protest he lifted her into his arms and strode from the room.
God, he was warm, secure. Her arms gripped his shoulders in instinctive response as she fought the need to get closer, to absorb more of the natural shield that enveloped her as well.
“I’m not a baby,” she tried to snipe despite the sudden desire to curl against him.
“No, you’re not. But the floor is bloody and you aren’t wearing shoes.” He set her down on the stairs. “Sometimes you see the bloodstains when you least expect it.” He stared back at her, his golden eyes solemn. “Go. Dress. My people will be here and there will be a clash of tempers that you don’t want to deal with half naked.” His voice lowered.
“And I sure as hell don’t want anyone else seeing those perfect nipples shining through that damp cloth as they are now.”
Her face flamed as her horrified gaze went down. Her nipples were hard. Spike-hard, pressing against the silk of her robe like signals.
Her head raised as arousal and embarrassment coursed through her. It wasn’t him, she assured herself. He was not turning her on. She didn’t even know him and she didn’t want to know him.
She sniffed disdainfully, refusing to even attempt to explain or protest her body’s response.
———
Braden watched her stalk to her room, his chest tight, his heart racing. God, he wanted to wrap her up just as much as the three men behind him did. Seeing her in that chair, looking so forlorn, had nearly been more than he could stand. He had picked her up and moved her to the stairs for his own mental well-being. The thought of her having to step around the death in that hallway, that it could have been her lying there rather than two Coyotes had his guts clenching in fury.
He hadn’t realized how small she was, how light, until he picked her up in his arms and felt the frailty of her body.
How the hell had she managed to battle two Coyotes and survive?
Dark midnight-blue eyes, nearly black, had seemed overlarge in her pale face, filled with excitement and an edge of confusion. But there was no fear. She was pissed. Quickly falling from an adrenaline high and aching with the demands she had put on her body in the past two days.
But she wasn’t scared.
And he couldn’t wrap her up. He couldn’t shelter her from the danger. He could only stand behind her and pray he could help her. The world wasn’t a playground filled with laughter and games. At least, his world wasn’t. It was bathed in blood and cruelty and only the strongest survived. She was being thrown into the middle of his world for some reason he couldn’t fathom. He couldn’t protect her from that. He could only guide her through it.
“She’s a warrior.” The old man, her grandfather, spoke behind him.
“She’s a woman,” the father snapped furiously. “Dammit, Lance, what the hell is going on?”
“She’s crazy, is what’s going on,” Lance argued. “She drove right into a murder scene yesterday afternoon with me screaming at her to back off. The woman is looking for trouble. This time, it found her.”
“She searches for justice…” Joseph murmured.
And they were all searching for a way to protect her. Their need to shelter her was slowly smothering her. Braden could feel it, could see it in her face. She needed to fight, and now she had no choice but to do just that.
“No.” He turned to face them all. “She’s a fighter and a survivor and if she’s going to survive this in any way, then you’ll have to let her fight. Until we find out why the Genetics Council marked her, we have to let her fight, or you’ll all lose her.”
Silence, waves of fury, confusion and one old man’s knowledge seemed to flow around him. He met the sharp, ages-old gaze of the old Navajo who stared back at him, his graying braids framing his square, stark
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