Psy & Changelings 06 - Branded by Fire

It was instinct to want to touch him, to offer comfort, but she knew that right now, he’d accept nothing. So she stuck to the facts.
    “Let’s hope it was a one-off.” She felt deep sorrow for the murdered woman and her family, but a jealous boyfriend or husband would be quickly caught. A serial, on the other hand . . . “No use borrowing trouble. I’ll get the word out and have some of our comm people follow the story.”
    Riley nodded as they exited. Leaning back against the hood, she returned to their earlier topic of conversation. “I’ll call you the second we hear anything about Nash.” The groundwork had been laid—the intel would come in, of that Mercy was certain. “Trying to hide an adult lynx in a city full of changelings isn’t going to be easy.” Especially with the Rats on alert for any sign of the missing male.
    “We can’t underestimate them,” Riley cautioned. “They managed to grab a pissed-off male lynx and get him out pretty efficiently.”
    About to tease him for his caution, she glimpsed something in his hair. “Don’t move.” Reaching up, she removed a square of glass, putting it on the car’s hood so it wouldn’t litter the forest floor. To double-check, she ran her fingers through the thick weight of his hair. “You’re tense as a board.” His body was so taut, it was a wonder he could breathe.
    No answer.
    Looking into his eyes, she felt her breath lock. The wolf glimmered amber bright, hungry and edgy and dangerous. “What is it this time?” She shouldn’t have provoked him, but she couldn’t help herself. It was like he was catnip. One sniff and she lost her mind.
    Riley was barely holding back his wolf. The creature wanted him to throw Mercy to the ground, rip off her pants, bite down on her neck, and take her. Hard. Fast. Again. And again. Dear God but the man in him wanted to do exactly the same. Fighting the instinct, he squeezed his hands into fists so tight, his veins threatened to explode.
    “Riley?” Mercy scowled, taking a step back.
    The wolf bared its teeth inside him, but he held on to his humanity. She’d bled earlier today when her arms had hit the asphalt as they took down the would-be shooter. The wolf had gone insane at the scent. Riley had somehow managed to keep it together this far—he wasn’t known for his control for nothing—but now the wolf was clawing at him, determined to get out. And do what?
    Mercy didn’t belong to him.
    The wolf didn’t care. Neither, Riley was surprised to realize, did the man. He wanted to take her, taste her, fucking bite her for daring to allow harm to come to herself. The possessive, protective thoughts hazed his brain, pushing him closer to the edge than he’d been for a long, long time.
    Focus.
    He closed his eyes.
    And felt her breath against his neck. “So tense you’re about to snap.” Lips brushing his skin, hands on his shoulders.
    “Mercy.” It came out a growl.
    “I’m being nice to you.” Teeth closing over the pulse in his neck, a gentle reprimand. “Accept it gracefully.”
    He squeezed her hip with a hand that had somehow found its way to her body, but remained still. She was being nice to him, using touch to anchor him. It was the changeling way. But he didn’t particularly want comforting from Mercy. He thrust his hand into her hair, pulling it out from the rough ponytail.
    Her hand stroked the side of his neck. “Can’t help it, can you?” A kiss pressed to the hollow of his throat. “You’re going all wolf on me because I got a little bruised up.”
    He was too startled by her knowledge to answer.
    “Didn’t think I saw the way you looked at my hands, did you?” Sliding those hands under his T-shirt, she ran her nails gently down his back. “Poor guy—blinded by testosterone.”
    Now she was laughing at him. He should’ve snarled. Instead, he relaxed his hold on her hair so she could more easily claim a kiss. She was the uncontested aggressor this time. He let her taste his mouth, let her lick her tongue over his lip. Cat. She was such a cat. Stroking him with those cat claws, nipping at his lip with feline flirtatiousness.
    When she broke the kiss to tug at his T-shirt, he cooperated and pulled it over his head. Her lashes dropped to shade the expression in her eyes as she shaped him with her hands, stroking down the planes of his chest. His hand was back in her hair, but he was no longer as wound up, no longer as close to going wolf.
    Then she pressed an