No. What he needed was an ice-cold beer and some helpful insight.
Back in the living room he snatched his phone from the floor. His gaze drifted over to the far wall and his fingers halted in mid-dial.
Tendrils of wonderment brushed through his mind. “I bit her.” Once again, the implication of a split second decision on his part was changing his life. But panic didn’t come. Contentment did.
He glanced down the hall to the bathroom door, where he knew Jackie was trying, in vain, to scrub his scent from her body. But because of Zan’s mark she could use sandpaper and multiple bottles of her sweetly scented soap, which was even now wafting into his nostrils, and it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good. Every shifter in town would know she was taken, and by whom.
Perversely smug, Zan slipped something into his pocket and stepped boldly out the front door, locking it behind him. The extra pep to his step was undeniable and, with the phone glued to his ear, his eyes alight with mischievous plotting, he made his way eagerly to Thirio’s Keep.
Walking into the soft evening breeze and more focused on the conversation with his brother than his surroundings, he didn’t notice the blue sedan parked three houses down from Jackie’s. While he might not know the vehicle belonged to a stranger in this town, he would have recognized the ugly mug of the man, which had all but twisted in fury at the sight of Zan, tall, proud, and very much alive as he walked into the sunset.
Chapter Twelve
After dressing, Jackie wasted several minutes looking for her vibrator. She dug in the couch cushions, searched the floor and finally gave in to a sort of pissed-off panic. Zan had absconded with it, leaving a very clear message. If Jackie wanted release, she would have to get it from him. The bastard.
She complained all the way to church. She relived every erotic second during service, and she was thankful God didn’t strike her dead for impure thoughts in His house.
It wasn’t just the change in her and Zan’s relationship that caused her exhaustion. The constant arousal that stimulated every nerve ending was unending. She was wired all day long, only to tumble into bed to find sleep an elusive pursuit.
Then there was her internal battle. She’d wanted a mate and family desperately, but she just didn’t know if she could give up her life, her home, to be with Zan. She didn’t want her life to end up a duplicate of her aunt’s. The worry each time her husband and son were gone on deployment and the horror and pain she felt when they were killed in action.
For her uncle and cousin, it wasn’t just serving their country that urged them overseas and into one battle after another. No. It was the adrenaline rush. The feeling of invincibility each time they came home unscathed. But not even a shifter can withstand a bomb blast.
In church she had silently questioned God. She pretended not to see the knowing looks from other shifters in the congregation. They all knew she’d been marked. She might as well have foregone the gaudy mock turtle-neck tank and tattooed Zan’s name on her forehead.
With thoughts of freedom from the curious gazes on her mind, she hurried out to her truck, without looking like she was running away, only to be waylaid by Meg Sorenson, her husband Tom, and their new baby girl. The one Jackie had only days before delivered into the world.
How could anyone resist the darling baby?
Ten minutes later, and calmer, she was finally walking to her truck at the far end of the lot. Halfway there she chuckled to herself. She’d backed in the spot so the vehicle faced the church steps, and under a light. Facing out allowed an easy getaway if need be while the lighting illuminated the bed, front and sides of her vehicle from anyone attempting to hide.
Training or common sense?
Abruptly an uneasy feeling came over her. She slowed down, dug into her purse for her cell phone, using the everyday activity to surreptitiously scan the area. She might not have the same kind of super senses as a male shifter, but she was more sensitive than a human. And right now, her senses were screaming “danger” in large red block-letters.
A soft breeze blew from the west, so if the danger was east, she wouldn’t pick it up. She couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary and her sight wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the gloom outside the lit parking lot.
She turned back to the church. There was safety inside the building. Unfortunately, if the danger was directed at her—and frankly, she just didn’t know—she didn’t want it to follow inside where even now she could see the one hundred percent human pastor holding and cooing at baby Lilly through the glass doors. Lilly’s proud parents where standing protectively by while chatting with three other well-wishers. No. She had to draw whomever it was away.