Taking that as acceptance, Riley drew back.
Joaquin straightened, wiping blood off his lips. “Good luck.” He held out a hand.
Unsurprised, Riley shook it. Changelings stuck to their word—it was part of the code of honor that kept peace among their kind. “Make sure your alpha doesn’t send replacements.”
Joaquin rubbed his jaw. “That, I can’t promise. Isabella is a law unto herself.”
“Then tell her that anyone else she sends up,” Riley said quietly, “I’ll be sending back minus body parts.”
Eduardo grinned. “That, she’ll understand. You sure you want to mess with Isabella?”
“If she’s Mercy’s grandmother, I’ll have to deal with her eventually.” He nodded once as the two men headed off. Part of him wanted to follow to make sure they truly were leaving, but the other part wanted desperately to see Mercy, to drive his scent into her skin so no other male would dare what Joaquin had. The field was not clear.
Trusting the honor of the two sentinels, he walked left, to Mercy. He was on her doorstep when he realized he was bruised and bloody. One look and she’d know exactly what he’d been doing. He didn’t care. Raising a fist, he knocked.
The door was pulled open a few moments later by a sleepy-eyed cat dressed in an old T-shirt. Those eyes widened when she saw him, but he kissed her before she could say a word, clasping the back of her head to keep her in place as he fed his need for her. He was expecting to feel her claws any instant, but it was her hands he felt, under the torn fabric of his T-shirt. Shuddering when she flattened her hands on his back, he deepened the kiss until it was a melding of mouths, raw and hot and honest.
That was when her claws pricked him, hard enough that he knew he’d have bruises. Breaking the kiss, he looked down into eyes gone leopard in anger, though her lips were soft, full, so tempting.
“Riley Kincaid, you have Joaquin’s blood on you.” Her nostrils flared. “Dead or alive?”
“Alive.” He winced as her claws dug deeper.
“I told you to stay away from them.”
“I’m not a pet dog,” he growled, closing his hand around her throat. “Don’t try and leash me, kitty cat.”
Those golden cat eyes shimmered with the sharp bite of feminine anger. “Get your hand off my neck.”
Leaning in close, he breathed his next words against her lips. “Make me.”
A taut moment, as they stared at each other, both furious, both unable to walk away. He waited to feel real pain—predatory changeling females could do serious damage when riled, and he’d made her plenty angry—but he didn’t care. Right now, this moment, it was pure ambrosia.
Mercy’s lashes lowered, and when they came back up, he saw the cat prowling behind the irises. “You’re insane, Kincaid.” She bit his lower lip hard enough to make her point. Then, withdrawing her claws, she raised a hand to her throat and pulled at his pinkie. “I’ll break this if you don’t get your hand off me.”
He knew instinctively that he’d pushed her far enough.
“Good choice,” she said as he released her. “Now come in and maybe I’ll patch you up.”
Realizing he’d somehow skirted the icy blade of her anger, he walked in. She padded away into the bathroom and he followed, pulling off his T-shirt as he entered. She stared at the claw marks on his chest, the cuts on his side, his face. “You don’t need stitches.” Putting her hands on his arm, she tugged. “Turn.”
He decided to obey because it felt so good to have her touch him.
“Hmm. No stitches necessary here, either, though you’ll have some enormous bruises. Most of it will heal within the next couple of days.”
“Do you have anything for the bruises?” Stiff muscles could be dangerous, slowing reaction time when it mattered most.
Coming to face him again, she said, “Maybe. Shower off the blood and find me. I might be in a good mood. I might not.”
He blocked her exit from the bathroom, very aware of the sleek nakedness of her body beneath that old T-shirt. “Stay.” God, he was starved for her touch. Just that, just touch.
She looked at him out of eyes that continued to hold a golden edge. “Shower and I’ll let you sleep with me. I did a night shift.”
He moved immediately out of the way. “Why didn’t you say so? I wouldn’t have kept you from bed.” He scowled, the protectiveness he felt toward her trumping everything else. “I’ll be out in five.”
He was as good as his word, rubbing his hair dry as he walked naked into Mercy’s bedroom. She was curled up, half-asleep below the sheets, but waved him over. “Bruise cream.”
“I’ll put it on.”