Page 27 of Fae Devoted
Johnnie accepted the challenge, thrust her chin high, and said, “Me.”
Chapter 8
“No,” Tucker allbut shouted before cutting himself off, mindful of his Ferwyn neighbors. Most Dádhe lived in the Harbor Complex, and most witches in the Anwyll Colony in East Memphis. But clanmates often preferred the island neighborhoods, and they were a nosy bunch, literally and figuratively. The denial still came out more of a feral snarl than the hushed tone he was going for. “No way, Jo.”
“Listen to me for a minute,” she pleaded, moving closer and laying her slim fingers on his forearm. The heady scent of orange blossoms and rosewood filled his nose. His cock stirred, and he grit his teeth, willing the inopportune erection to subside. It didn’t. It was difficult enough to concentrate with the persistent pressure behind his zipper and his primitive impulses screaming, “Mine. Mine. Mine.”anytime Jo was near, but how was he supposed to resist her when she was touching him like this? When her enticing scent filled his nose and saturated his lungs?
“A she-wolf who isn’t officially mated and has reached her majority can enter any Clan’s region in search of a Ca’anam,” she was saying in a sensible tone. As if a logical argument would persuade Tucker to change his mind and place her in danger.
Not fucking likely.
“I can secure hotel rooms, buy gas, and get food. I can visit the local Fae Touched and their hangouts, ask if anyone has seen Jeremiah without attracting much notice.”
“Except from unmated Ferwyn males,” he said, stomach souring at the unpleasant thought of other shifters vying for her attention.
“About that…” she said. One side of her mouth thinned; Jo was biting her inner cheek. A sure sign Tucker would enjoy her next suggestion even less than the previous ones, if that were possible.
He caught her hand, pulled her past the fire pit to the steps and onto the deck, activating the motion sensor lights.
“Shit.” He knew he shouldn’t have splurged on the damn things.
“I have a way to avoid them and the wholecould-we-be-truematesstuff,” she continued, ignoring the scent of frustration that was rolling off him in waves.
“Doubtful.” He drew Jo to the farthest corner of the deck and into the shadows, situating her between the house, him, and the wooden railing, sheltering them both from any late-night busybodies.
The peppery aroma of Jo’s anxiousness spiked at his curt dismissal, and he slowly exhaled, attempting to soften his tone. “What’s your idea?”
“Well, it’d be counter-productive to deal with every unattached shifter who wanted to explore the likelihood of a mating bond with me while I’m trying to gather information on Jeremiah. The male sniffing and posturing would interrupt any meaningful conversations, and taking the time to dissuade them would be time-consuming and super annoying, don’t you agree?”
Tucker couldn’t control the angry hum emanating from his throat at the image of another male wanting to testcompatibility.
Jo startled at the low-pitched rumbling and talked faster. “But my idea would make it impossible to start the Dance withanyone,andit would provide the perfect excuse to speak with your brother. It’s quite brilliant if I do say so myself.” She plucked at a button on her flower-print top. “Assuming your twin’s scent is similar enough to fool them, and you cooperate, of course.”
“Cooperate how?” he asked in a strangled voice, hands balling.
Don’t say it, dammit! Donotsay it.
She placed her hand over his heart. “By biting me.”
The loud drumming of Jo’s heart warred with the blood pounding in Tucker’s ears before it rushed to his groin. His gums pulsated in time with his cock, both preparing to fulfill his female’s suggestion. Despite his best efforts to halt the conversion, his canines descended. He closed his eyes, struggling to regain control of his body, the inside of his lids bathed in a yellow hue. His wolf clawed at his skin.
“I’ll be off-limits to single Ferwyn males until the next full moon,” she continued recklessly, unaware how close he teetered to the edge. “Until the Mark is defunct, they can’t even speak to me without a formal introduction from my future maybe-truemate,” she stuck out her lower lip, “who’s tragically unavailable.”
The initial bite a Ferwyn placed on an amenable partner to begin the Mating Dance was the most tenuous and temporary of the three, the visible imprint fading within weeks if not remade. And although the majority of first markings never led to the potentially life-altering, or heart-shattering, second, the initial claim was respected in shifter society. No male could proposition Jo while she bore his Mark.
His Mark, and no one else’s!
“Any shifter or vampire recently in contact with Jeremiah will assume the Mark is his and won’t question the absence of another pack’s scent on me since he’s a clanless outcast. Andvoilà!” Jo’s smile was borderline smug. “My motives for finding your twin are instantly validated: I’m chasing after my poor exiled male who now thinks he’s unworthy of little ol’ me. I’m there to set him straight, doncha know. Easy peasy.”
“Easy peasy,” he murmured in disbelief.
“I could be your best shot at finding him fast.”
His eyes popped open and zeroed in on his headstrong female. “There are other she-wolves.”
Jo gasped and yanked her hand away from his chest as though burned.
“Trained warriors.” Not many. And not in the ESC.
