Branded by Fire

"I’m heading up to check on the bear population," he said, realizing he’d intended to make the offer all along. "Come with me." His entire body tightened as he waited for her answer.

I’m as loyal to my pack as you are to yours.

As a lieutenant, he knew he was playing with fire by continuing to pursue Mercy. He knew that . . . but he was also a man and she was a woman who acted like a drug to his senses. If she denied him again, would he continue to try to change her mind? Yes, he thought, unsurprised. He was stuck on Mercy, and when Riley got stuck, unsticking simply wasn’t on the agenda.

But he could be patient, which was good, because the leopard female took her time thinking about it, yawning several more times before reluctantly getting up and padding off the stone. He knew it was all for show – she was as curious as her feline brethren. She stopped face-to-face with him, showing him her teeth.

"I’m scared."

Those teeth threatened to bite his neck. He jumped out of reach and shifted, trusting her to follow the rules of play and not interrupt. She didn’t. But the instant he was wolf, she attacked. He rolled in the lush richness of the fallen leaves, knowing the scent would cover him when he returned. He might play a game with the kids, get them to guess where he’d been. It was how they learned.

But for now, he was intent on avoiding Mercy’s jaws. Her claws were sheathed this time, and she wasn’t really coming at him. Neither was he. He blocked the attack, then rolled her, threatening to grip her neck. Shaking him off, she shot him a haughty look and began to pad away. Time to go.

Coming up beside her, he deliberately pushed at her with his shoulders, so they walked side by side, their flanks rubbing. A little warning light went off in his brain at the act, an act the wolf in him recognized immediately, but he was in too good a mood to listen. The run to the bears’ territory passed in easy play. Mercy took off more than once, daring him to catch her. When he did, she sniffed and continued on in a lazy way, as if it mattered nothing.

More games.

More alarm bells.

He ignored them all.

When they reached the bears, he nodded as she went left, while he went right. Mercy might be wildfire to his solid, rooted earth, but when it came to work, they functioned with clockwork synchronicity.

They met an hour later at the starting point. By unspoken agreement, they went back to the stone where he’d first met her before shifting. "The sun’s moved," she complained.

"There’s another stone as good."

Making a face, she walked over to the second flat slab with silent feline grace. She had no shame in her na**d body. Neither did he. But, he noticed her. And that wasn’t the changeling way. Not with normal members of the pack – either SnowDancer or DarkRiver. Nakedness after shifting simply was. Nothing to be remarked on.

But his brain was remarking plenty on Mercy. Her fire red hair curled just above the curve of her bu**ocks, drawing his eye to their sweet, toned shape. Mercy was a soldier, her muscles lean and strong. But she was also very much a woman – all smooth, soft skin and luscious, strokable curves.

And her br**sts. He swallowed a groan as he caught teasing glimpses of them as she jumped lightly on top of the rock – very much like the cat she was – and lay down on her front, giving a moan of pure, sensual bliss at the heat. "Stop checking me out and come give me a massage."

He walked over, his body heavy with need. But he wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t going to assume she’d accept him into her body again. Making such assumptions with predatory changeling females got men nothing but bruised egos and possibly, missing body parts. He climbed onto the rock with steady steps that were more natural to him than her quicksilver grace. "Damn it, Mercy," he said the instant he saw her back. "You’re f**king black-and-blue again. You should’ve told me I was – "

"It wasn’t playtime with you that caused this, Kincaid."

Fury rolled through him. "Who?" He’d rip them to shreds.

"Training, so cut it out." Turning her head, she shoved her hair out of the way and glared. "It doesn’t hurt. It’s just my skin – and it’s not black-and-blue. I saw it in the mirror today; the marks have almost entirely faded."

He scowled, wanting to do damage to whoever had dared harm her.

"My muscles, on the other hand, do ache. So massage me while I tell you what I picked up about the bears."

"You sure you don’t hurt?"

"Riley, I’m a natural redhead." A snicker. "In case you didn’t notice."

Of course his gaze dipped downward. "Turn over so I can check."

She laughed. "Massage me already."

Still not happy with the marks, he straddled her. She moaned at the first firm touch of his hands on shoulders.

He didn’t say anything, choosing to stroke over her back again. "Bears?" he finally asked, though it was the last thing on his mind.

"They’re ooo-kay." The last word was a moan as he hit a tight muscle. "I like your hands."

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Touching her was scrambling his brain cells. And that would surprise almost everyone who knew him. Riley Kincaid didn’t get scrambled. He was the one you could count on to be snapping out cool, collected orders while the world turned to custard. Right now, it could’ve been raining icicles and he wouldn’t have cared . . . except to protect Mercy’s body.

"The bears are fine," she said, her voice pure indolent cat. "I scented a couple dead, but no signs of sickness – might be there was a fight. What did you get?"

"Same." His voice sounded like sandpaper to him, but Mercy murmured in agreement and stayed quiescent under his hands.

This, he realized, was another kind of trust. Normally, she’d allow only a packmate to do this. Under his hands, her muscles grew loose, limber. Finishing with her shoulders, he slid down to work on her back. Despite the bruises that continued to anger the wolf, her skin felt soft as satin, warm and tempting. His fingers brushed the sides of her br**sts as he did her sides.