"Get used to it. " Her father's voice brooked no refusal. "Until I leave this world, you are still my daughter and still under my protection. "
"Protect Lance. " She waved her hand at her smirking cousin. "He's in more danger than I am if he keeps pissing me off. Share the love, Dad. "
Her father only snorted as he applied a thick coating of skin repair to Mo Jo's underbelly.
"The dog will be fine. " He closed the bottle of fleshsimulating latex and returned it to his bag. "The wound wasn't too deep; he's just a big baby. " He patted the dog's head before filling a syringe and injecting it into the thick shoulder muscle. "There, something to ease the soreness. He'll be good as new in a few days. We'll take him back to the clinic and put him on some antibiotics to be certain. "
At the same time, her grandfather set tea and ginger cookies in front of her. She could still smell death all around her. There was no way she was eating.
"Your blood sugar is low, Granddaughter. Eat as well. " He shuffled around the table and, of course, put on coffee for everyone else. Sometimes, she wished she smoked. If any situation called for a cigarette, it was this one.
"Explanation time. " Her father stood up, his broad body tense, his roughly hewn face matching the anger in his eyes as they met with Braden's gaze. "Who the hell are you and what do you have to do with this?"
Braden stiffened.
"Enough, David," her grandfather came to the rescue. She hoped.
"Come, all of you, sit down at Megan's table and speak with respect in her presence. She has defended herself well today. She has done what no man could have done for her, and satisfied her warrior's soul in her own protection. It is time to celebrate, not to berate her or those who defend her. "
Her grandfather's pride in her never failed to fill her with warmth.
Her father flashed him a disgruntled look.
"David_ husband of my daughter. " He sighed. "I feel your worry as it is my own. But I have warned you, her destiny is not as you would have it. "
Argument time. Megan knew if she didn't change the subject quickly then her father and grandfather would end up fighting again.
"Someone has to clean up the mess," she sighed, pushing away the cookies and tea. "Has everyone forgotten the two bodies in my hallway?" she asked them all with an edge of incredulity. "They are staining my hardwood floors. Ask him, he knows all about it. " She waved to where Braden still stood silently, watchfully.
Too many men were crowding around her. She was wearing nothing but a robe and reaction was starting to tremble through her as all the testosterone began to brew in a furious cauldron. She did not want to be here for the fight.
"My people are headed back in. " Braden moved into the kitchen and before she could gasp or anyone else could protest he lifted her into his arms and strode from the room.
God, he was warm, secure. Her arms gripped his shoulders in instinctive response as she fought the need to get closer, to absorb more of the natural shield that enveloped her as well.
"I'm not a baby," she tried to snipe despite the sudden desire to curl against him.
"No, you're not. But the floor is bloody and you aren't wearing shoes. " He set her down on the stairs.
"Sometimes you see the bloodstains when you least expect it. " He stared back at her, his golden eyes solemn. "Go. Dress. My people will be here and there will be a clash of tempers that you don't want to deal with half naked. " His voice lowered.
"And I sure as hell don't want anyone else seeing those perfect nipples shining through that damp cloth as they are now. "
Her face flamed as her horrified gaze went down. Her nipples were hard. Spike-hard, pressing against the silk of her robe like signals.
Her head raised as arousal and embarrassment coursed through her. It
wasn't him, she assured herself. He was not turning her on. She didn't even know him and she didn't want to know him.
She sniffed disdainfully, refusing to even attempt to explain or protest her body's response.
*********
Braden watched her stalk to her room, his chest tight, his heart racing. God, he wanted to wrap her up just as much as the three men behind him did. Seeing her in that chair, looking so forlorn, had nearly been more than he could stand. He had picked her up and moved her to the stairs for his own mental well-being. The thought of her having to step around the death in that hallway, that it could have been her lying there rather than two Coyotes had his guts clenching in fury.
He hadn't realized how small she was, how light, until he picked her up in his arms and felt the frailty of her body.
How the hell had she managed to battle two Coyotes and survive?