CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“It doesn’t matter how many times I watch this movie I never get sick of it,” said Quinley.

With her sat between his thighs on the sofa as he pretty much wrapped himself around her, it was easy for Isaiah to dip his hand into the bag of chocolate drops she held. That she didn’t bite his fingers was a testament to the level of comfortability they had—black-foots didn’t share food with just anyone.

He threw two chocolate drops into his mouth. “So it’s a favorite, then?”

“Yes, but I only ever watch it in December—and usually only on this very evening each year.” Tipping her head right back to meet his gaze, she asked, “How do you usually spend Christmas Eve?”

“I don’t really treat it differently than any other day.”

She grimaced. “Oh, you poor soul. That’s just sad.”

He felt his lips curve. “And you do this every year?” he asked, his gaze sweeping from the movie to the wide selection of snacks on the coffee table.

“Watch Christmas movies and pig out? Yup.”

Typically, Quinley didn’t do well with sitting still for long periods, so he was honestly surprised she’d been content to laze about for several hours straight. Then again, the abundance of candy, cookies, and other snacks were probably responsible for that.

They’d spent the whole day together, aside from the hour she’d disappeared upstairs to finish wrapping the gifts she’d then stuffed under the tree with the others.

“You’re free to leave me to my own devices and go do whatever you want,” she said. “I don’t expect you to lounge about with me.”

“I like lounging about with you.” He nabbed another chocolate drop and threw it into his mouth. “There’s beer at hand, more snacks than even you could eat—”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“—and I get to feel you up.” He cupped her breast over her sweater and squeezed. “What’s not to like?”

“How come I don’t get to feel you up?” she groused.

“Because I said so.”

“Lame.” She righted her head, returning her attention to the TV.

Smiling, Isaiah nuzzled her neck and pulled her closer. She fit against him just right. Fit there like she’d been born to. He couldn’t imagine that another person would suit him better than she did.

His father had said the same of Andaya, just as Deke had said the same of Bailey. Originally, Isaiah hadn’t really understood how a shifter could feel that way about anyone other than their true mate, the literal other half of their soul.

But Quinley … she was like a puzzle piece he’d been missing. She made him feel alive and chased away the numbness. She’d restored the balance he hadn’t realized he’d lost.

It had cut him deep that he’d never have his true mate. But each time Quinley had given herself over to him, had trusted him so implicitly, had let him in that little bit more, she’d increasingly closed over that wound. It now no longer bled. More, she was a balm to the jagged scar there.

Both he and his cat were elated that imprinting had begun. They were also less edgy, satisfied that their claim to her was taking metaphorical shape. But neither man nor animal would relax completely until the bond formed. Both were resolute that it would; both determined that said bond would never turn brittle or break.

There had been a slight change in her since yesterday. She was more relaxed. More sure of him, of them. As if the beginning of the imprinting process had given her the reassurance she’d needed that they were on the exact same page.

It was just as much as a relief for him. He was actually glad they’d come across Lucinda yesterday. Because it had been the subsequent conversation between him and Quinley that had fully opened up the possibility of imprinting.

He’d assured her in the very beginning that she wasn’t some kind of fallback mate; that she would never play second fiddle. She’d seemed to have believed him, but maybe a part of her had needed some extra reassurance. He hadn’t seen that. Should have.

Once the bond formed, she wouldn’t be able to—consciously or subconsciously—hide such doubts from him again. He’d feel them. The thought of that pleased him. He would then be able to better monitor her emotional welfare. He didn’t like the idea that she might hold shit in and torment herself with it.

They hadn’t yet told anyone that imprinting had started, because they knew that they would be thereafter swarmed by nosy well-wishers. They wanted this time alone; wanted to spend their first Christmas Eve as a mated couple alone.

On the table, her cell phone began to ring.

She leaned forward to peek at the screen. “It’s Tina again.”

Annoyance sizzled through him. He’d always liked Tina—she was a friend of his mother’s, and she’d been one of those who were adamant that Isaiah had not killed Jenson. But she could be a bit of a diva at times. Like now.

Quinley again tipped back her head to look at him, worrying her lower lip.

“The answer is no,” he told her.

She sighed. “I’m a healer, I’m supposed to help those in pain.”

“But as we’ve established, she’s being unreasonable. All she has to do is let Helena heal her wound, but she won’t. She’d rather suffer than accept the aid of someone she’s currently unhappy with.” It was all part of the diva thing.

“I know, but—”

“Worse, she’s been coming to you morning and night for pain relief. She doesn’t even need it that often. The slightest twinge and she calls.” Again, it was part of the diva thing.

“Not everyone has a strong pain threshold.”

Isaiah exhaled heavily. He didn’t like saying no to Quinley. Didn’t like seeing her face fall in disappointment. But he couldn’t support her ignoring her limits.

He wanted to be everything to her. He wanted to lift her up. Be her strength when she needed it. Make her feel safe and secure. Spoil her in what ways he could. But shove aside what was best for her? No. That he wouldn’t do.

He stroked a hand over her hair. “Baby, I get that you want to help people. That’s a good thing. But it’s important to have boundaries and ensure others don’t cross them. It’s important to take care of yourself. Tina isn’t being fair to you. She knows that coming to you so frequently for that level of relief will make you feel drained. She’s doing it anyway. It’s not right, and it’s stupid when she could rid herself of the pain easily by accepting Helena’s help.”

“It’s hard for me to ignore when someone’s hurting.”

“I know. But your wellbeing comes before healer instincts. It has to, if only because you’d otherwise be too worn out to be of help to the rest of the pride.”

The lines of distress in her face smoothed out. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

Even as her eyes shimmered with humor, she gave him a dirty look. “You’ve been very bossy today. I can’t take Tina’s calls. I’m not allowed to cook because you want to make dinner for us. And I’m not allowed to touch you until we’re in bed.” Huffing, she cut her gaze back to the TV. “Sounds like a crap deal to me.”

He licked at her brand. “Let’s not pretend you don’t like when I give you an order to follow. You like the challenge. You like the tension. You like to hand over control.” He grabbed his beer from the small shelving unit beside the sofa. “You also like when I make you wait for what you want.”

“Uh, the latter? No. You’re wrong there. I’m no better at waiting for things than you are. On that note, stop eyeing the stocking, you’re not opening anything until tomorrow.”

He did occasionally eye it. She’d hung four on the fireplace—one for him, one for her, one for his cat, and one for hers.

He, of course, had piled small gifts into the stockings belonging to Quinley and her feline. She hadn’t asked for hints or peeks, content to wait until Christmas morning. But Isaiah and his cat were far more curious and impatient than their mate, so they both wanted to know what she’d bought them.

He swigged back some beer and complained, “You’re supposed to cater to my every whim.”

“Ha. You’re funny.”

He caught her earlobe with his teeth and tugged. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Her breath hitched. “No.”

Isaiah returned his bottle to the unit. “Or I could torture your agreement out of you.” Wicked fast, he slipped his hand—cool and damp from condensation—under her sweater and tickled her bare skin.

She let out a little squeal, squirming like crazy. “Don’t, your fingertips are cold!”

“I know.” He continued for a good five seconds before stopping.

“That was cruel.”

“It’s your own fault for not giving me my own way.”

“I’m curious, are you going to be like this every time there are occasions when I buy you gifts that you don’t immediately get to open?”

“Yep.”

So this was her life now. Rolling her eyes, Quinley leaned back against him. Watching movies was much more enjoyable when she had him virtually curved around her like this, making her feel all snug and cocooned, his scent the best kind of blanket.

A scent she now wore on her skin.

She loved that. Her cat preened each time she thought of it, smug as all shit that she had Isaiah for a mate. He was everything the animal would have wanted. Everything Quinley would have wanted. So it seemed nuts that her predestined mate didn’t have much in common with him.

But then … Zaire’s rejection had changed Quinley. She’d been just a teenager at the time. Barely grown, her identity not quite fully developed. Having her true mate turn his back on her, enduring years of bullshit rumors and having to watch him get closer and closer to Nazra, had all gone towards shaping Quinley into the woman she’d become.

So if those things hadn’t happened, maybe she would have grown into a different person. One who would click with Zaire well. A person who therefore wouldn’t click so well with Isaiah.

God bless FindYourMatch.com. Because without that site, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have found Isaiah.

And thank the high heavens that, of the women on his list, he’d chosen to reach out to Quinley. Because it seemed highly likely to her that any of the potential matches would have resulted in a claiming—he was just too easy to like, so any of the women would have agreed to sign a mating contract. Then again, she was totally biased.

As the movie credits came up, she said, “I’m so glad you’re smart.”

“What?”

“Well, you could only contact one of the females who FindYourMatch recommended. You picked me. That was smart. I’m an absolute winner.”

He chuckled. “You are, baby. You are. And you’re just as smart for agreeing to the meet without hesitation. I would have otherwise had to hound you.”

She snorted. “You would have just moved onto another female on your list.”

“I don’t think so. The messages we exchanged weren’t deep and meaningful. But the tone, the easiness, the kinship there … it all gripped me. And I think it gripped you, too.”

“You know something, you’re right.”

“You always sound so surprised by that. Eventually, you’ll get used to the fact that I’m never wrong.”

She let out a pfft. “I wouldn’t say never.”

“You should, because it’s true.” Keeping an arm tight around her waist, he stood, easily lifting her. “Need to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

As he left the room, she put down her empty bag of chocolate drops and did a long, languid stretch … which was right when a double-knock sounded on the front door.

Oh, that had better not be Tina. Isaiah would freak. And much as it wasn’t easy for Quinley to ignore a person’s pain, he had been right in all he’d said.

“Check who it is before you open the door!” ordered Mr. Cranky from the half-bath.

Like she hadn’t already planned to do so. “Yes, sir!” She cautiously walked to the window. Relief worked through her. “It’s just Havana!” Smiling, she strode to the front door and opened it. “Hey, everything okay?”

Shuddering with the cold temperature, the Alpha replied, “As okay as everything can be when I’m doing all my wrapping at the last minute.” Havana bent to itch her knee, adding, “I won’t come in, I just wanted to ask if—”

Quinley jerked as white-hot fire blazed across her temple, shaving off skin. Her hand automatically whipped up to touch the spot as she hissed in pain. Becoming aware that something had thudded into the wall behind her, she fast realized what had just happened.

She’d been shot at.

She ducked, yelling, “Get in!” But it was unnecessary, because the devil was already all but diving into the house. They both slammed the door shut as more bullets flew, all peppering the door but not penetrating it.

“What the hell?” Havana burst out.

Straightening, Quinley probed the wound on her temple—it was wet and warm, and she could smell blood. “Are you okay?”

“That was going to be my question.” The Alpha pulled out her cell just as Isaiah came striding into the hallway, his brow furrowed.

“Why did you slam the—” He stilled, his nostrils flaring. “You’re bleeding.”

“Tate,” Havana said into her phone, “we’ve got a sniper somewhere.”

“Sniper?” Isaiah echoed.

“Someone just shot at me, but the bullet only grazed my temple.” Quinley watched as his face turned hard, red, and menacing.

“Motherfucker.” He glared at the bullet that was lodged in the wall behind her.He gently but firmly dragged her into the living room. “Wait here, Quin. Do not move from this house.”

“Like I planned to go for a stroll, you weirdo. Be careful.”

He planted a hard kiss on her mouth and then vanished, disappearing out of the patio doors.

She blew out a breath and peeked at the living room bulletproof window. There were no marks to indicate that it took any hits. She wondered if maybe her shooter had known that every house and apartment complex owned by the pride was built to withstand such an attack, because why else would they have waited for her to open the front door?

“Right,” began Havana, walking into the living room, “I texted Helena; she’s on her way. I’ll wait with you while our mates and a bunch of others deal with who shot you.”

“The bastard’s probably in the wind.”

“Oh, I’m sure that he intended to be. But we knew one of the Vercetti brothers was a sniper, so we were prepared for such a move. I’ll be surprised if he isn’t being detained as we speak.”

Standing on the rooftop of the pride’s bookshop, Isaiah glared down at the wolf shifter pinned to the concrete floor like a butterfly by several enforcers. His stubbly face was red and splotchy, and there was a manic glint in his hazel eyes that said he knew he was fucked.

The enforcers had been stationed on nearby rooftops, unhidden. They hadn’t noticed the stranger in time to prevent him from taking shots at Isaiah’s house, but they’d spotted him swiftly enough to subdue him when he tried fleeing.

Rage flamed in Isaiah’s blood and took over his cat. This motherfucker had made his mate bleed. Had attacked her from afar when she was in her own damn home, the one place she should feel safe. He’d taken that from her.

More—and far worse—he’d tried to kill her. He’d tried to take herfrom Isaiah.

And the wolf would goddamn pay for it.

“So you’re Tommaso Vercetti,” said Isaiah. “You look a lot like your baby brother.” Same colored eyes, same brown hair, same chin dimple. “Samuele was his name, wasn’t it?” It was a taunt; a reminder that Isaiah himself had killed the youngest Vercetti.

Tommaso peeled back his lips, revealing gleaming white, slightly crooked teeth. “Do not speak of him.”

“Why not?” asked Isaiah with a slight shrug. “It isn’t like he’ll know, being dead and all.”

A deep growl rattled the wolf’s lips.

Tate looked at Isaiah. “You were right in thinking he’d come. I didn’t believe he would.”

“Neither did I,” said Luke, stood slightly behind his brother with Deke and Camden.

“It’s said that Tommaso here is a bloodthirsty hothead.” Isaiah met manic amber eyes once more. “You’re the reason a lot of the ransom victims either went home injured or not at all. You like to hurt people. And once you start, you don’t like—maybe don’t even know how—to stop. So yeah, I figured you’d make this move.”

It was likely that Isaiah had been Tommaso’s primary target. Likely that, tired of waiting for him to show, the wolf had tried executing Quinley instead. After all, the death of a shifter also meant a death of sorts for their mate—if it didn’t kill them literally, it would at least destroy a part of their soul. That would definitely have counted as vengeance for Tommaso.

But that Quinley might have been a secondary target made no difference. The fact was she’d been grazed by a fucking bullet while standing in her own damn house.

“My pack will be on you any second,” Tommaso warned.

“No,” Tate contradicted. “Apart from your getaway driver—who’s already dead, by the way—you’re alone.”

It had been disappointing to learn that the aforementioned driver hadn’t been Davide, another of the brothers. He typically drove during “jobs.”

“My guess is that the others don’t know about this,” Tate continued. “Especially not your big brother. Much as your pack doesn’t have an official Alpha, Sebastian more or less calls the shots, doesn’t he?”

Isaiah cocked his head at the wolf. “You’ve been wanting to come here for weeks now, but Sebastian vetoed it, didn’t he? He knew the move was too predictable. He knew we’d be prepared for it. You were aware of the risks. But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

In a way, Isaiah understood it. He didn’t have siblings, but if he had and their life was cut short, he’d ache to avenge their death.

“You’re wrong,” Tommaso swore with a snarl. “He knows. He’s in your house fucking up your mate as we speak.”

Isaiah tensed, his gut twisting in panic. But then it loosened, because … “No, he wouldn’t sacrifice one of his brothers, especially when he only recently lost another. But when he realizes you’re missing, I’m sure he’ll suspect that our pride killed you. It won’t be a stretch to assume you went against him and then died just as he’d likely warned you would.”

Luke hummed. “Bet you’re wishing you’d listened.”

Tommaso kept his gaze locked on Isaiah. “It was worth it just to make her bleed. Again.”

Isaiah didn’t rise to the attempt to bait him. “Oh, that’s part of why you came tonight, is it? You hated that she got away from you; that she survived the hit.”

Deke snickered at the wolf. “You don’t know shit about black-foots if you were expecting her to be an easy target.”

Tate scratched at his jaw. “Much as it pisses me off that you tried putting a bullet in Isaiah’s mate—a bullet that was far too close to my own mate, come to that—I can’t be sorry that you’re pinned to this roof right now. It means we get to kill you.”

“Congratulations,” Camden drawled. “You’ve made your pack smaller and weaker just like that. We appreciate it.”

Tommaso’s cheeks darkened. “Don’t bother asking me where they are. I’d never tell you.”

“I know that,” said Tate. “I know that, because I have brothers. I wouldn’t give up their location either. Someone could cut me up a piece at a time and I’d still say shit. So I’m not going to waste my time trying to torture the information out of you. That said … torture is still on the table just because.”

The wolf went motionless.

“If you feel like throwing in some helpful info to make it stop early, you do that. If not, well, we’ll just stop when we’re bored.” Tate arched a brow at Isaiah. “Want to be the first to draw blood?”

Oh, Isaiah would have insisted on it. He advanced on the wolf, his cat growling its eagerness to gut him open. “You shot my mate. Twice. I’m going to enjoy every minute of this, I really am.” Isaiah sliced out his claws. “Happy fucking Christmas to me.”