CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Waking to her alarm the following morning, Quinley leaned over and turned it off. Letting her head loll to the side, she saw she was alone in bed. Her brow knitted at the very unusual occurrence. And then, just as she was extending her senses to detect if Isaiah was in the attached bathroom, memories of yesterday rolled over her.

Quinley felt her lips flatten. That goddamn sorry excuse for a pack needed executing fast. She couldn’t lie, it had given her a little scare to have them come at her that way—guns, claws, teeth, and all. But as she’d sat in the Alpha’s house waiting for Isaiah to return from trying to locate her, fury had settled in. And it hadn’t left.

It had, however, eased under the warmth of Isaiah’s attentiveness. He’d stayed at her side all evening, broody and quiet. He’d showered her, cleaning every inch of her himself. He’d then dressed her, carefully brushed her wet hair, and sat her at the kitchen island with a mug of tea while he made dinner.

A mini argument had ensued when she’d tried stacking the dishwasher—he hadn’t wanted her to lift a finger. She’d subsided, sensing he not only needed to feel he was taking care of her, he needed to feel in control. And it had allowed him to give all the protective anger tumbling around his system some release.

Several people had come to check on her, including his parents and both her sisters—who’d also kindly returned her bag and clothes—but he hadn’t let any of them stay long, insisting she needed to rest. None had argued, all sensing the real problem was that his protective instincts were in a tailspin and driving him to keep everyone at bay.

When he’d finally taken her to bed, he hadn’t fucked her; just held her close. She might have protested, but she’d sensed he hadn’t trusted that he wouldn’t lose all control. She actually wouldn’t have minded if he had lost it, but he would have minded. He would have later regretted it and been upset with himself. She hadn’t wanted that, so she’d let it alone, planning to wake him in style come morning.

Except … he wasn’t here. And if her senses could be trusted, he wasn’t in the attached bathroom either.

It surprised her that he was awake. He hadn’t slept well. She’d woken several times due to how restless he’d been, too in tune with his moods to sleep through it.

Her own cat had been just as restless. She still was, as it happened. Fleeing for her life wasn’t exactly a common occurrence in her world. That the danger to both her and Isaiah hadn’t yet been taken out … yeah, the feline really wasn’t happy.

Making a decision that brought the animal just a little relief, Quinley took her phone from the nightstand and rattled off a quick text to Adaline. She then sluggishly sat upright, yawning. Her sister’s response came fast. Satisfied by it, Quinley left the bed and then went on about her morning business.

Finally presentable, she padded downstairs and tracked Isaiah down to the kitchen. He stood near the sink, his gaze on whatever he could see through the window above it. His shoulders were stiff, and his body was a mass of tension.

Turning on sensing her presence, he frowned on seeing her in her sweats.

“I’m not going into work today,” she explained.

His shoulders lowered, losing their stiffness, and his eyes drifted shut. “You don’t have to stay home just because my protective instincts are going nuts.” He opened his eyes, both relief and conflict swirling in their depths. “I was planning on going to the salon with you and hanging out there to keep an eye on things. Tate already okayed it.”

“I figured you’d have that in mind. But my cat is a little too wound up to deal with a lot of company today. I’m not sure she’d want strangers near her.”

Isaiah crossed to her, his gaze delving into hers, searching. “Yeah, I see her looking all agitated and edgy.”

“A day at home where she feels safe should settle her down.”

He skated one hand along her upper arm, over her shoulder, up her neck, and then skimmed it over her ear as he sank his fingers in her hair. “I’ll stay here with you.”

Loosely gripping the sides of his tee, she opened her mouth to protest, not for a moment expecting him to neglect his responsibilities just to keep her company.

“I won’t be able to focus for shit if we’re apart today, not even knowing you’re here at home. Your cat isn’t the only one feeling edgy.”

Quinley bit the inside of her cheek. “Okay.”

He cruised the pads of his fingers over her scalp in a slow, circular, soothing motion. “I’ll be coming with you to work tomorrow. I won’t get in your way. I just want to stand guard.”

“That’s fine. I don’t think the pack will strike in the same place twice, but I’d rather not take chances. I really don’t feel like getting shot again.”

His expression turning sober, he caught her face with his hands. “That won’t happen.”

She ran her fingertip along the shadow beneath his eye. “You didn’t sleep well.”

“No,” he readily admitted in a murmur. With a sigh, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I didn’t think you’d matter this much to me this quickly. Didn’t even realize how much you’d come to matter until yesterday.”

Her chest squeezed, warming. Before she could share that it wasn’t a one-way street, he was talking again.

“You should know that my cat is now fully on board.” Isaiah righted his head. “He doesn’t just consider you his because I branded you. He considers you his, brand aside.”

Relief, delight, and affection flowed through her. Her lips curved. “You know how to cheer a girl up.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t be smiling. You thought he was protective before? It’s just gone up several notches. He’s also gone from slightly possessive to full-on territorial. To the point where if I were to let him out now, he’d bite you to leave his own mark. And if I was to let him and your cat have time together, he’d bite her too. Probably fuck her at the same time.”

“Stop, you’re turning me on.”

His lips twitched into a smile. “I never quite know what you’re gonna say.”

Her stomach chose that moment to rumble, annoyingly breaking the soppy spell that was brewing in the air.

He released her face. “Sit. I’m going to feed you.”

“I can do—” She stopped when he raised a bossy brow, clearly intent on still babying her for a while. “All right.”

Satisfaction lit his gaze. “Better answer.”

They ate at the breakfast bar as usual, both taking their time, in no rush to get gone. They then stacked the dishwasher and made their way into the living room.

“I say we have a lazy day,” Isaiah proposed, weaving his fingers through hers.

“It really does sound intriguing, but I’m not good at being lazy.”

“I’ll fuck any excess energy out of you.”

She smiled. “I like where this is going.”

Isaiah chuckled. That he could even feel amusement when his system was so chaotic was a testament to just how soothing her very presence was to him. “My plans are simple. We relax, watch TV, fuck …” He let his sentence trail off as loud voices came from outside.

“Neighbors arguing again?”

“Maybe.” But maybe not. Still wound tight from the fuck-up yesterday, he wasn’t going to dismiss any disturbance. He released her hand and strode to the window, intending to check. What he saw made his jaw harden. “Motherfucker.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Quinley, sidling up to him. “Isn’t it … You’ve got to be kidding me. What the hell is he doing here?”

Good question. The last place Zaire should be was the bottom of their driveway arguing with Deke, who was blocking his path. Isaiah hadn’t seen the guy before in real life, but he recognized him from the photos he’d circulated among the pride when warning them to keep a lookout for the male black-foot.

His cat unsheathed his claws, eager to draw blood. The animal was already in one hell of a shitty mood after the attack on Quinley. He wanted to badly track, maim, and kill those who’d dared shoot her. The asshole outside would definitely make a good alternative.

Unfortunately, it would be considered an overreaction unless Zaire was here to challenge Isaiah for Quinley—that wasn’t likely. But Isaiah would certainly have his say and order the asshole to get gone and never return.

“Stay inside, Quinley.” Isaiah stalked into the hallway, determination in every step.

She hurried after him. “Wait, you—”

“Baby,” he began, turning toward her, not missing how her expression softened at the endearment. “I need you to do as I say. He’s obviously here to see you. That ain’t happening.”

“I wasn’t going to go outside, only stand in the doorway and tell him to go; make it clear this was a wasted journey.”

“But it won’t have been a wasted journey if he gets to interact with you. If he even so much as sees you, he’s effectively being rewarded for hauling ass to our home—somewhere he has no right to be.”

She blinked. “I didn’t think about it like that.”

Sensing her acquiescence, he gave the side of her neck an appreciative squeeze. “I won’t be long.” Isaiah left the house, closing the door behind him.

The sound made Zaire’s gaze snap to him. A gaze that didn’t once shift from Isaiah as he descended the porch steps and then prowled down the driveway. The black-foot scrutinized him closely, taking his measure; working to detect his level of dominance.

If the asshole thought Isaiah would lower his eyes he was out of his mind.

Isaiah sidled up to Deke, saying nothing; communicating with his steady gaze alone that he couldn’t be intimidated. Glaring at the male who might have claimed their mate if certain things had been different, Isaiah’s cat snarled and flexed his claws.

Zaire continued to stare, his body stiff, his neck corded, his jaw clenched. Lines of tension were etched into his face, giving him a pinched look. He was absently drumming his fingers fast against his outer thigh, as if filled with a restless energy that he couldn’t quite contain. “You must be Isaiah.”

“I must be.” Isaiah slid his fellow enforcer a sideways look. “It’s all right, Deke. I got this.” And Zaire needed to see that; see that Isaiah didn’t need backup. Something that became clear when Deke stepped aside without hesitation or argument, showing he had faith in Isaiah’s ability to protect himself and his mate.

“My name is Zaire Daniels,” he said, his chin inching up. “I’m Alpha of the Crimson Pride.”

Ah, so he’d ascended, then.

“I heard what happened to Quinley.”

“And?”

“I want to see her, I want to know she’s all right,” said Zaire, his voice stilted. The concern lacing his tone held a begrudging note, and there was a strain to his words … as if speaking them aloud vexed him.

The guy didn’t want to be here, Isaiah thought. Not really. He didn’t want to be so affected by the situation. But he—probably largely driven by any concern his cat might feel—had been unable to ignore the urge to check on her.

“Quinley is fine,” Isaiah told him. “If you heard what happened, you’ll know that, too.” He cocked his head. “How did you know where we lived?”

His shoulders stiffly rose and fell. “I heard Harlan mention the cul-de-sac. I knew there was one near the stores run by your pride. I drove here, noticed Quinley’s car, figured out this is your place.”

“Our place,” Isaiah corrected. “Mine and Quinley’s.”

The black-foot ground his teeth. “I want to see her.”

“I’m unsure why you’d think I care what you want,” said Isaiah, keeping his tone bored.

The corners of Zaire’s eyes tightened. He opened his mouth but didn’t speak, either intent on choosing his words carefully or struggling to find the right ones. Finally, he settled on asking, “Did she talk to you about me?”

“You were mentioned.”

“So you know who I am to her.”

Anger pricked at Isaiah and wrenched a growl out of his cat. “You’re no one to her. The woman you imprinted on? She’s yours. Not Quinley.”

Zaire’s nostrils flared. He drew in an impatient breath and then exhaled slow and heavily. “If you don’t want to let me in your house, fine,” he clipped. “Just call her out here. Five minutes is all I need.” Authority vibrated through his voice, thick and oppressive.

“Throwing your Alpha weight around isn’t going to work here. You’re not my Alpha, or hers.”

Zaire swore. “You can’t stop people from seeing her.”

“I don’t keep people away from her. I’m just keeping you away from her.”

A taunting brow hiked up. “Why, worried I’ll lure her from you?”

“Not at all.” It was the truth. “Even if you weren’t mated, neither she nor her cat would ever accept you.”

Zaire’s flinch was minor, but Isaiah saw it.

Taking a slow yet aggressive step forward, Isaiah felt his face harden. “That being said, I’m really not fucking okay with you showing up to see Quinley whenever you feel like it. That’s never going to be something I’ll tolerate, or something she’d want even if I okayed it.”

The black-foot’s face scrunched up, his cheeks reddening. But then his expression smoothed out as all emotion washed away from his face. “I looked into you.”

“Did you now?”

“You had nothing to gain from entering an arranged mating. And you’re not so far ahead in life that you’re running out of time to start a family. That tells me you did this because you found your true mate but can’t have her.”

Isaiah didn’t allow his expression to change, giving the cat nothing.

“Put yourself in my position for a minute. Let’s say you heard she got shot and pursued by a pack of fucking wolves. Would you not want to know she’s all right?”

In truth, yes. But Isaiah wouldn’t seek Lucinda out; wouldn’t try to check on her even from afar. To do so would shit on the promises he’d made to Quinley. Worse, it would not only disrespect this female he’d come to care for, it would hurt her. That wasn’t something that Isaiah would ever intentionally do.

“You already know that Quinley’s fine,” Isaiah pointed out. “And as it happens, no, I wouldn’t be stood where you are right now if our situations were reversed. You shouldn’t be here at all. I get that it can’t be easy to keep your distance from Quinley now that you’ve faced reality. But it’s too late for you to do shit about it. Focus on the woman you chose to mate. She needs you. Quinley doesn’t.”

“You’re really gonna stand in the way of me seeing her for two fucking minutes?”

“I wouldn’t care if you only wanted to see her for two fucking seconds. The answer would still be no. You’re not getting near her. Not now, not ever again.”

“You have no right to—”

“I have every fucking right,” Isaiah asserted, a growl edging his voice. “You look at me, and you see someone who has no real claim to her. But it’s actually the other way around. You gave up what you could have had. You hear me? You had a right to her soul, but you gave it up. And I then took it. Claimed it. Wrote my fucking name on it. She is mine.”

“Won’t make you her true mate,” Zaire sniped. “That’ll always be me.”

Which bothered Isaiah on one level, yes, but … “That doesn’t mean anything, really. I take care of her, not you. I come inside her, not you. I wear her brand, not you. And she wears mine, always will. You’re just a walking, talking road her life might have gone down but didn’t.”

Zaire’s face turned so red it gave a whole new meaning to the term, “Crimson Pride Alpha.”

“Now get the fuck away from here,” Isaiah ordered. “And Zaire, don’t come back. If you do, I’ll take it as a challenge—you’ll walk away from that bloody and broken … if you walk away at all.”

Zaire hissed. “You son of a—”

“You heard Isaiah,” a new male voice cut in. Tate.

Isaiah had sensed both his Alphas step out onto their porch, so he didn’t start in surprise. Zaire did, though.

Go,” Tate bit off. “That or challenge my enforcer here and now. Though you’d then have a lot of explaining to do when you got home.”

The latter comment made Zaire’s eyes flicker. Yeah, Nazra wouldn’t like it much to hear he’d got into it with Quinley’s mate.

Rolling his shoulders, the black-foot pinned Isaiah with a resentful glare but backed away. He angrily stalked to his car and jerkily hopped inside, slamming the driver’s door behind him. Then, after flashing Isaiah one last hateful look in his rearview mirror, Zaire was speeding out of the cul-de-sac.

Deke rubbed at his nape. “I thought he imprinted on someone.”

“He did,” Isaiah confirmed.

“How can he care that much about what happened to Quinley? I mean, if I knew who my true mate was and heard she’d been shot, I sure wouldn’t like it. But I wouldn’t feel any need to track her down to look in on her. Bailey is my mate. The imprint bond exists where a true-mate bond might have been—it leaves no room for that kind of emotional response to anything happening to whoever was predestined for you.”

“But the imprinting process can reverse itself, can’t it?” said Tate, approaching with Havana at his side.

Isaiah glanced at him. “You think maybe that’s happening to him and the woman he claimed?” He’d been close enough to Zaire that he could have sensed if the bond was only partial, but he hadn’t thought to check.

“Possibly,” said Tate. “I don’t see how he’d otherwise have sensed that Quinley is his true mate. The imprint bond should have acted as a block between the realization and him.”

Havana nodded. “People who are imprinted generally don’t recognize their true mate.”

“Like with Mila and Joel,” said Tate, referring to Alex’s sister and her fated mate. “He’s protective of her, and he wanted to be near her sometimes until he realized they were predestined—then he knew it was best they keep their distance from each other. But anything he felt, and still might feel, toward Mila is totally platonic. His commitment to the female he imprinted on drowned out everything else.”

“Exactly,” said Havana. “But it isn’t drowning out everything for Zaire.”

Deke puffed out a breath and turned to Isaiah. “It was ballsy of him to come here. He had to know you weren’t going to step aside and let him talk to Quinley.”

“Actually, I think he did expect it,” said Isaiah. “Maybe he assumes she doesn’t mean anything to me, or maybe he thought she’d insist on talking to him and that I’d then back down.” Sighing, he gave Deke a nod. “Thanks for stopping him from coming to the door. If he’d gotten that close, it would have been hard for me not to kill him.”

“Wouldn’t have been a huge loss if you had,” muttered Deke.

Havana dipped her chin. “Fucking A.”

Isaiah backed toward his house, sweeping his gaze along each pride member. “Later.” When he entered, he found Quinley stood by the living room window, her arms folded.

“I’ll admit,” she began, “I cracked the window open just enough to overhear the conversation. I also overheard what you and the others were just discussing.”

Isaiah headed straight to her. “And what do you think?”

“I think it doesn’t matter whether he’s tightly bonded to Nazra or not—that’s for them to worry about. I’m only bothered about you. Are you okay?”

Fuck, that got to him. Like a fist of warmth punched into his chest. “Yeah.”

She sighed, her arms slipping to her sides. “I really didn’t think he’d come back.”

“Because it didn’t occur to you that the imprint bond might not be solid.”

“If it isn’t, it would explain the stuff that Nazra said to me.”

Isaiah felt his brows draw together. “What stuff? When did she talk to you?”

“She came to see me at my old cabin the night before you claimed me.”

“You never mentioned that.”

“Forgot about it,” she said with a blasé shrug, clearly so utterly unmoved by it that it had completely slipped her memory.

Undeniably pleased that this woman she could rightfully have been jealous of simply wasn’t on Quinley’s radar, he asked, “What did she say?”

“She wanted my assurance that I wasn’t mating you to get a reaction out of Zaire, and that I would definitely send him away if he approached me. She also said there were things I didn’t know. Maybe this is that; maybe they’re having problems. But if that’s the case, why would Harlan let them ascend?”

Isaiah twisted his mouth. “He could be hoping that it would help mend things between them; that if they’re focusing on ruling the pride together, it would help unite them and distract Zaire from you.”

She let out a long sigh. “I suppose it could be that.” She looked out of the window. “It will have cost his ego to leave before he was ready. But it was a good sign that he didn’t insist on staying—your points must have hit home. Let’s hope he doesn’t come back.”

“You wouldn’t want to watch him get his ass handed to him by me?”

She gave another loose shrug. “Not really. I don’t have any interest in what happens to him, good or bad. What I definitely don’t want is to watch you brawling—not that I think you’d lose, I just don’t want to see you injured.”

Feeling his lips tip up, Isaiah looped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him. “You genuinely don’t give a hot shit that he’s finally sensed the truth, do you?”

“Nope. It doesn’t make any difference to anything. As you pointed out, you claimed me; it’s your mark I wear—he’s no one to me. And I don’t wish the situation was different.” She fiddled with his collar, avoiding meeting his eyes. “Did you mean what you said out there? That you wouldn’t go to Lucinda if she was hurt?”

Isaiah used his finger to tip up her chin so he could fix his gaze on hers. “I meant it.” Even his cat wouldn’t demand it. Not now, because it wasn’t torn where Quinley was concerned anymore. She’d won her way into his affections, pushing Lucinda’s memory out.

“Really?”

“Really. You’re my mate, not her. My commitment to you is absolute. That’s what that brand on your neck means.”

Quinley swallowed. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Isaiah lowered his head and took her mouth, sipping and tasting. “Now … I say we forget about them and everything else but us. I say we concentrate on our original plans. You ready to start our lazy day?”

She grinned. “More than ready. Bring on whatever you have in mind.”