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“I say we have a lazy day,” Isaiah proposed, weaving his fingers through hers.
“It really does sound intriguing, but I’m not good at being lazy.”
“I’ll fuck any excess energy out of you.”
She smiled. “I like where this is going.”
Isaiah chuckled. That he could even feel amusement when his system was so chaotic was a testament to just how soothing her very presence was to him. “My plans are simple. We relax, watch TV, fuck…” He let his sentence trail off as loud voices came from outside.
“Neighbors arguing again?”
“Maybe.” But maybe not. Still wound tight from the fuck-up yesterday, he wasn’t going to dismiss any disturbance. He released her hand and strode to the window, intending to check. What he saw made his jaw harden. “Motherfucker.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Quinley, sidling up to him. “Isn’t it… You’ve got to be kidding me. What the hell is he doing here?”
Good question. The last place Zaire should be was the bottom of their driveway arguing with Deke, who was blocking his path. Isaiah hadn’t seen the guy before in real life, but he recognized him from the photos he’d circulated among the pride when warning them to keep a lookout for the male black-foot.
His cat unsheathed his claws, eager to draw blood. The animal was already in one hell of a shitty mood after the attack on Quinley. He wanted to badly track, maim, and kill those who’d dared shoot her. The asshole outside would definitely make a good alternative.
Unfortunately, it would be considered an overreaction unless Zaire was here to challenge Isaiah for Quinley—that wasn’t likely. But Isaiah would certainly have his say and order the asshole to get gone and never return.
“Stay inside, Quinley.” Isaiah stalked into the hallway, determination in every step.
She hurried after him. “Wait, you—”
“Baby,” he began, turning toward her, not missing how her expression softened at the endearment. “I need you to do as I say. He’s obviously here to see you. That ain’t happening.”
“I wasn’t going to go outside, only stand in the doorway and tell him to go; make it clear this was a wasted journey.”
“But it won’t have been a wasted journey if he gets to interact with you. If he even so much as sees you, he’s effectively being rewarded for hauling ass to our home—somewhere he has no right to be.”
She blinked. “I didn’t think about it like that.”
Sensing her acquiescence, he gave the side of her neck an appreciative squeeze. “I won’t be long.” Isaiah left the house, closing the door behind him.
The sound made Zaire’s gaze snap to him. A gaze that didn’t once shift from Isaiah as he descended the porch steps and then prowled down the driveway. The black-foot scrutinized him closely, taking his measure; working to detect his level of dominance.
If the asshole thought Isaiah would lower his eyes he was out of his mind.
Isaiah sidled up to Deke, saying nothing; communicating with his steady gaze alone that he couldn’t be intimidated. Glaring at the male who might have claimed their mate if certain things had been different, Isaiah’s cat snarled and flexed his claws.
Zaire continued to stare, his body stiff, his neck corded, his jaw clenched. Lines of tension were etched into his face, giving him a pinched look. He was absently drumming his fingers fast against his outer thigh, as if filled with a restless energy that he couldn’t quite contain. “You must be Isaiah.”
“I must be.” Isaiah slid his fellow enforcer a sideways look. “It’s all right, Deke. I got this.” And Zaire needed to see that; see that Isaiah didn’t need backup. Something that became clear when Deke stepped aside without hesitation or argument, showing he had faith in Isaiah’s ability to protect himself and his mate.
“My name is Zaire Daniels,” he said, his chin inching up. “I’m Alpha of the Crimson Pride.”
Ah, so he’d ascended, then.
“I heard what happened to Quinley.”
“And?”
“I want to see her, I want to know she’s all right,” said Zaire, his voice stilted. The concern lacing his tone held a begrudging note, and there was a strain to his words… as if speaking them aloud vexed him.
The guy didn’t want to be here, Isaiah thought. Not really. He didn’t want to be so affected by the situation. But he—probably largely driven by any concern his cat might feel—had been unable to ignore the urge to check on her.
“Quinley is fine,” Isaiah told him. “If you heard what happened, you’ll know that, too.” He cocked his head. “How did you know where we lived?”
