Rush of Pleasure. Rhyannon Byrd

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СКАЧАТЬ ignored the question. Thanks to his maternal bloodline, he had the same ice-blue eyes as the Casus, but he wasn’t one of them. Not yet, at any rate. “I’m looking for Jessie Broussard,” he said, making an effort to sound patient. “Do you know where I can find her?”

      The scowl deepened. “What’s yer business with Jessie?”

      “I need her help.”

      “S’that right?” the guy drawled.

      “I’m willing to pay for the information.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wad of folded bills and slapped them on the counter. The scent of the money filled the air, sharp in his nose, but the shifter didn’t so much as blink.

      Leaning closer, the guy eyed Noah with a dark, steady stare. “Do I look like the sort to be bribed?”

      “You don’t want the money, fine.” His voice was tight, his irritation rising like the heat spilling in off the murky waters of the bayou that lurked just beyond the bar’s entrance. “But I’m not leaving until I’ve spoken with Jessie. It’s a matter of life and death.”

      “For who? You?”

      Noah clenched his jaw as he pocketed the money. “Let’s just say that I’m here on behalf of the Watchmen.”

      A gritty laugh rumbled from the giant’s chest. “Those crazy-ass shifters? Hell, what makes ya think I care what they’re up to?”

      “Because a helluva lot of people are going to die if you don’t.”

      The seconds stretched out, marked only by the whirring of the ceiling fan and the distant sounds of the pool game, while he stared the older man down.

      Finally, the shifter muttered, “You can find her out back. Last cabin on the left.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Hell, don’t thank me yet.” Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of the bartender’s eyes as he smiled. “Knowing Jessie, she’s liable to shoot ya before you get yer first word out.”

      “Tell me something I don’t know,” he grated under his breath, turning and heading for the door. It was common knowledge that the Winstons and Broussards had never gotten along. The human residents in Sacred believed the decades-old disagreement had been spawned by a particular piece of land that bordered both their properties. But those locals who were a part of the ancient clans—nonhuman races who lived hidden among the humans—knew the truth. That truth being that Chastain witches generally disliked any species that fed on blood, such as the Deschanel, or vampires. And the only species they hated more than the vamps were the Casus.

      The Broussards didn’t care that Noah’s family was human. Nor did they care that the only reason the Winstons had Casus blood running through their veins was because one of his ancestors had been unfortunate enough to be raped by one of the monsters a millennia ago. They distrusted the Winstons’ ice-blue eyes, and they feared the day when the Casus would escape their immortal prison called Meridian and return to this world, using families like Noah’s as their human hosts. It wasn’t a fair prejudice, but was one that had been bred into Jessie’s grandparents, her parents and into Jessie herself.

      About the time that Noah turned sixteen, the local sheriff had had enough of their constant bickering and proclaimed it was time the two families learned to get along. Jessie was ordered to give Noah a part-time job at the bar, which she’d inherited from her father, and her nephew Harris had been ordered to help out at Noah’s grandfather’s garage on the weekends. Though it took a few months, and a couple of brawls, he and Harris had surprised everyone by breaking the legacy of distrust and becoming friends. The hostilities between the families had cooled for a time—but Jessie had still scared the crap out of him.

      Heading around the side of the building, toward the cabins that had been built in the woods behind the bar more than a hundred years ago, Noah figured the once ramshackle cabins must have been renovated before Jessie moved into one of them. The lady might have been one egg short of a dozen, even for a Chastain witch, but he remembered Jessie as a silver-haired woman who enjoyed things exceptionally neat and clean.

      Wondering just how loudly she was going to screech when she set eyes on him today, Noah set off down the winding path that wove through the lush woods. He told himself he wasn’t afraid of Jessie Broussard, but an uneasy feeling still burned in his gut like bad whiskey. His instincts urged him to turn and get the hell out of there, but he couldn’t do it. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he’d already wasted too much damn time as it was. He’d known for months now that this visit needed to happen, and yet, he’d put it off. Dragged his feet like an old woman. Yeah, he’d sent letters, but he hadn’t really expected the Broussards to respond to them. And he’d known that trying to email or call would be pointless. The Broussards had always trusted modern contraptions about as much as they’d trust a cranky cottonmouth. Twelve years might have passed since he was last in Sacred, but there were some things that just never changed.

      So, yeah, he’d known this visit was unavoidable. But he’d stalled, because he hadn’t wanted to spend what might be his last days scraping off emotional scabs that had never quite managed to heal. Crap like that sucked. Left you raw. Bleeding. And he already had enough problems to deal with.

      Following the path farther into the woods, Noah lifted his face as a cool breeze fluttered its way through the trees and he pulled in a slow breath that had him instantly jerking to attention.

      There was something there. Something rich and sweet beneath the verdant scents of the forest. Something primal and female that called to those increasingly visceral parts of him. But despite the instinctive hardening of his body and the almost primitive impulse to hunt and take, he knew he had to maintain control. Damn it, he knew that scent. Knew precisely who owned it.

       Willow.

      With his heartbeat pounding in his ears and a low curse on his lips, Noah scanned his surroundings, knowing beyond a doubt that Willow Broussard was there in the forest with him. That mouthwatering scent was his first clue. The delicate little hand suddenly whipping around his shoulder, pressing a sharp blade against his throat was his second.

      With her other hand fisting the collar of his T-shirt, wrenching his head back, she spoke quietly in his ear. “What the hell are you doing here, Winston?”

      He choked back a frustrated growl and forced his body to remain still, unwilling to fight her for his freedom. She sounded irritated, but she wasn’t going to kill him in cold blood.

      At least, he didn’t think she would. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms twelve years ago. No way to know how she felt about him now—but he figured it would be wise to play it safe. Especially for a guy with luck as crappy as his had always been.

      “I asked you a question, Noah.” The soft weight of her body pressed closer against his back, making it damn hard for him to concentrate. He could feel the sexy shape of her breasts, the tightness of her nipples, and knew damn well that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Sweat broke out across his forehead that had nothing to do with heat and everything to do with the woman breathing into his ear. “What are you doing here?” she repeated.

      It was a mistake to pull in another deep breath through his nose, his temperature spiking when her scent flooded his senses, his brain derailed by the feverish surge of lust ripping dangerously through his system. Determined to stay in control, he managed to rasp, “I need … to talk to your aunt. To Jessie.”

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