"Are you lying on the vent again, Mo-Jo?" she asked, pretty damned drowsy herself now as she noticed the position of his body.
He gave her a disinterested growl.
"One of these days, I'm going to trade you in for a poodle. " She yawned.
Or a lion. She grunted at the image that suddenly appeared before her mind's eye. Six-four. He had to be sixfour.
Height was her weakness in a man. Height and those wide, strong shoulders, and the thick, long goldenbrown hair. Broad hands. Boots. He had worn boots and jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched across that amazingly broad chest as the material strained around the bulging biceps of his arms.
Snug jeans had hugged those long powerful legs, cupping an impressive bulge she had made certain to check out when she aimed the barrel of her police-issue Wounder at him yesterday. It had been just as
impressive today.
Not that she would have shot. Not there, anyway. Some things were just a crime to destroy, and if that bulge was any indication, that was prime male flesh.
The thought of it made her mouth water and a moan tremble on her lips. How long had it been since she had actually had sex?
"He was fine, Mo-Jo. " She sighed then. "Really fine, And he knew it. Damned Tomcat. "
That one sucked.
Not that she had anything personal against the Breeds. Hell, she had even campaigned for the HumanBreed rights law when it had come up the year before. She wasn't prejudiced. Just cautious. That was all.
He was wild and untamed. She could see that in his devil-may-care smile and in the brillian
ce of his dark amber eyes. He was an adrenaline junkie, not the stay-at-home type, or the happily-ever-after kind. He could, and if she let him, he would break her heart.
But he had let her fight. For once in her life she had been able to join the action. She had personally battled the bad guys and won.
The rush of pleasure that suffused her at that thought was nearly sexual. She had trained for this job most of her life. She had fought for it only to have her curse rear its ugly head.
Her empathic abilities had shown themselves during her last year of high school, and had only grown steadily worse.
To the point that working in the field she had dreamed of was now denied her. she was a hazard to a team. and to herself. The stronger the emotions of the people around her, the worse they seemed to affect her.
"Maybe I should have gone into day care. " She sighed with a grimace before groaning in resignation. Day care would not have done at all.
She shifted in the water, sighing as the heated liquid caressed her sensitive body.
"Woof. " Her head jerked around as Mo-Jo came quickly to his feet, turning to the door as he watched it suspiciously.
He might have flunked Politeness at that expensive canine school, but he had excelled at defensive/protective training. And what he was displaying now was pure male aggression. His territory was being invaded.
The most terrifying part was, she couldn't sense it. As she tried to sense a presence, all she felt was cold, dead space.
Coyote Breeds. It had to be. She might not be able to sense Braden's emotions, but she would have recognized his warmth and comfort reaching out to her. The only time she had felt nothing, not even echoes of awareness, had been yesterday when she stared into that Coyote Breed's eyes. She had felt them just before they attacked. The evil and the malevolence.
Shit. Shit. She didn't need this. She couldn't afford for Braden to be right. Dammit.
Megan moved silently from the water, grabbing the long, thin silk robe that hung on the wall and pulling it on quickly. Next came the gun she had left lying on the back of the commode. The forty caliber Glock 22 handgun was a little heavy in her hand, but comfortable, secure. The Glock was a bit outdated, but reliable. She liked reliable.
And the clip was full and ready to fire.
Mo-Jo was in stalking position at the door, his body tense with the need to attack whoever or whatever was invading his self-proclaimed territory.
One thing the canine school had taught him was how to defend Megan and her home. One of the major reasons she kept the ill-tempered bag of fur. That, and the fact that she secretly loved the hell out of him. Especially now.
Following his body signals, she gripped the doorknob and opened the door slowly, allowing him to move through the entrance first as she followed silently. She kept the gun braced at her shoulder, her opposite hand gripping the wrist that held it as she moved into her bedroom.