Branded by Fire

"No one like you." He shook his head. "It’s like you’re dancing. I almost wanted to put two swords in your hands."

"I can do that, too," she told him, grinning at the unhidden spike of interest in his eyes. "Someday, when I’m in a good mood, ask me and maybe I’ll play with knives for you."

"Why do I get the feeling that if any blood was spilled, it would be mine?" Dark eyes, steadfast gaze.

She shrugged, very aware of the sweat molding her black sports bra to her body, the airy thinness of the loose white gistyle pants she preferred over tights. "No pain for Riley, no fun for Mercy." She was still so mad at him, but now that he was here, the anger was dulled, covered by . . . hope. Because he’d come. The arrogant bastard had come to her.

"Merciless," he said. "Is that why they call you Mercy? To be ironic?"

"No."

"No?" Open interest in his expression.

"It’s because my mother would always say ‘Have mercy on my nerves, baby!’ after I pulled one stunt or another," she said, not sure why she’d shared that childhood memory. "It stuck."

"Your poor mother." He stepped out of the shadows. "What stunts did you pull?"

"Why don’t you tell me what stunts you pulled."

He gave her a pensive look. "Sorry. I was a pretty good kid."

She knew he’d helped raise Brenna and Andrew, but his parents had been alive till he was ten. "What, you behaved even when you were seven or eight?"

"Yes." He watched her, so intent it was almost a physical touch. "My mother used to say I’d been born old."

"Do you agree?"

"I am who I am."

It was such a Riley answer that she smiled. "What you are is a pain in the ass when you want to be." Especially to her.

"Never said I didn’t pull stunts as an adult."

Clever, clever. Her cat liked clever. "What’re you doing here, Kincaid?"

"Looking for a cat to play with."

"Hmm." She put a hand on her hip. "I think I saw a nice tame tabby over thataway." She pointed over his shoulder, in the opposite direction from her home.

"Still mad, huh?"

"You could say that."

He reached up to rub the back of his neck, and it was a nervous gesture . . . from a man who didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word. "You confuse me, Mercy." Not said as an excuse, but as a frank truth. "I don’t know what I’m doing around you half the time."

"New experience?" she asked, leaning against a tree opposite him.

"A little." Dropping the hand from his neck, he shoved both hands into his pockets. "Actually, a lot."

"Big brother and lieutenant," she said. "Both positions that require you to lead."

"It comes naturally."

But it had been honed by his position in his family, in the pack. "Ever tried letting go of the reins?"

"No."

There it was again, that blunt honesty that hit her in the gut every time. "Never?"

"Not that I can remember." A drawing in of breath that sounded painful. "Hawke’s sometimes been able to push me back – like when I wanted to rip Judd to pieces after he and Brenna first got involved, but I’ve never submitted in my life." A pause. "Is that what you want?"

Chapter 37

"What?" She blinked. "Submission? From you?" The idea was so extraordinary her mouth fell open. "What do you think?"

"That’s just it – I don’t know." It sounded like he was having teeth pulled.

"Knock it off, Riley." His discomfort was cute, but that’s not what she wanted from him. "You know the answer."

That made the wolf bare its teeth. Mercy could feel the aggression in the air, though Riley was doing an impressive – and irritating – job of keeping it locked behind bars of steel.

"I think you’d chew up," he said, "and spit out a submissive. And I think you’re smart enough to know that that wouldn’t make you happy."

"That makes me smarter than you." It was the cat clawing at him, still pissed at the way he’d attempted to turn her into something she wasn’t. She waited for him to come back with a justification that she had every intention of shredding into a million pieces.

"Yes," he said, poking a big fat hole in her balloon of indignation. "But no one ever called me stupid – just thickheaded."

She raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t punched the air right out of her.

"Maybe," he said, dropping his hands to his sides and moving closer, "I realized my mistake."

"Did you, now?" She shook her head. "Stop right there, wolfie."

He actually obeyed. Hmm, the leopard thought, perhaps they might forgive him after all. But it wasn’t yet a fait ac compli. "And what," she asked, "did you realize?"

He folded his arms.

"Body language," she pointed out with a – just slightly – gleeful smile.

"You’re not making this easier." He kept the arms folded.

Stubborn wolf. "If I did, I wouldn’t be me."

"Yeah." A slight smile curved his lips as he dropped those arms.

And for now, for the cat in her, it was enough. She had no desire to humble him – this, what he’d said, what he’d done, it was a big step. "So, you leaving now that you’ve done a half-assed job of an apology?" It was very deliberate provocation.

"Invite me in and I’ll give you a massage." It was a playful offer from a man who, she was learning, rarely played. "I’ll attempt to turn half-assed into full."