Pleasured by the Pack (Blue Moon Brides) Read online

  Once in a blue moon…

  Dre and Landry Breaux do everything together. Fishing, fighting—and loving. A whole lot of loving. When the blue moon leads these Cajun werewolves to their fated mate, however, they’re ready to reform. Now, they’ll fight to keep the woman of their dreams safe from the evils lurking in the Louisiana bayou—and to tempt her into taking a chance on two of the bayou’s sexiest bad boys.

  The Pack hunts for mates

  Mary Jane Johnson is no heartbreaker. Running from a troubled past, the bayou captain wants only to be left alone. When she takes a pair of bayou bad boys on board, however, Dre and Landry have her rethinking her need for space. These two big males have promised to take orders—all of her orders. Suddenly, she’s dreaming of getting as close as possible… to both of the Breaux brothers.

  PLEASURED

  BY THE

  PACK

  ANNE MARSH

  Copyright © 2013 Anne Marsh

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, with the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  Chapter One

  Music and lights spilled from the oyster bar. A handful of people danced on the dirt square in front, popping beers and downing oysters. It came as no surprise that their quarry wasn’t where the fun was happening. Mary Jane Johnson liked to be left alone.

  Too damned bad for her that the Breaux brothers needed her help.

  Landry headed around the edge of building, while Dre hung back to wait. His twin was the people-person part of this operation. Hell, his brother actually liked talking. Dre didn’t and never had. Plus, right now, the need to shift was an almost painful itch crawling over his skin, his wolf pushing to get out. Dre had never cared much for being human, and his wolf’s call was too strong tonight.

  So fuck it.

  Dre stripped off his jeans and T-shirt and melted into the change. Muscles and bones reformed, popping painfully as he shifted until a hundred pounds of grey wolf stood in the pile of denim and cotton. Growling, he fought through the residual burn, opening his eyes to a different world where even the slightest movement drew his attention. Despite the night shadows, his wolf saw as clearly as the man did at high noon.

  The night smelled better to the wolf, an intricate tangle of teasing scents that promised excellent hunting. A particularly tempting trail led left around the bar. Honey and peppermint, that soft, feel-good smell both man and wolf wanted more of said Mary Jane was definitely here. Patience. Landry never missed his prey, and he’d bring her down.

  Dre imagined following that scent, finding her inside that oyster bar and bringing her back outside. The wolf didn’t want to hurt her, though. No, his wolf’s urge was to pin her, press his canines against the soft skin of her shoulder as he held her down and mounted her. She might not be the blue-moon bride he was searching for, but he wanted. He liked everything about Mary Jane, from her brown eyes that never stopped watching him to the luscious curves she hid beneath her blue jean overalls. He wanted to uncover her and eat her up with one, long, sensual lap of his tongue.

  Landry sauntered back around the corner of the bar. He didn’t so much as blink when he saw the wolf. “She’s around back. Jus’ brought in a fresh catch, and the cook’s makin’ his pick now. We don’ have time for you to go all wolf. Change back.” Landry nudged the pile of clothing towards Dre. “Now would be real good.”

  Both pretended the shift was something Dre could control, that Dre wasn’t sinking further and further into his wolf and that one night soon the man wouldn’t ever emerge again. As a wolf, he’d live out a wolf’s natural lifespan. He’d den with female wolves and maybe produce a litter of pups that might or might not shapeshift themselves, and that alone was reason to hold on. No pup of his would grow up alone in the bayou, missing a human parent to love and guide him.

  Tonight, the shift back was harder than ever. The wolf whined and growled, fighting to keep control. For long minutes, the change stretched Dre’s body, waves of pain pounding his muscles and forcing him to the ground. Christ. Neither man nor beast. Nothing but the pain of not belonging to either. The night darkened around him, shadows collecting over his vision. A rough groan tore from his mouth, but then his fingers were clawing at the dirt, Landry pulling him up as Mary Jane’s delicious scent faded to nothing more than memory.

  “She headed back to her boat?” While Dre waited for his brother to answer, he dragged on the faded blue jeans and hauled the T-shirt back over his head. He didn’t need much more than that, and shoes weren’t happening tonight. The feel of the bayou earth beneath his bare feet was good. Right. Always, being wolf was a damned sight easier than returning to the man.

  “Seems likely,” Landry drawled and moved out, gesturing for his brother to follow.

  Dre fell in behind his brother, content to let Landry lead this time. He’d get his turn soon enough. When they rounded the corner, bingo. Mary Jane was wrapping up her business with the cook, shaking hands and pocketing a slim stack of bills. How she made ends meet harvesting fresh oysters was one of those bayou mysteries Dre had never quite figured out. She looked good, though, and smelled better. Even over here, in the shadows with fifteen feet between them, he caught the honeyed scent of her skin.

  Mary Jane had always smelled good.

  She wasn’t fussy, either, just went with what worked. Flip-flops and denim overalls over a white tank top that cupped her breasts. Her breasts were a nice handful, although he wasn’t supposed to notice. She’d scraped her brown hair back in a no-nonsense ponytail, exposing the soft, vulnerable curve of her neck. He wanted to draw his teeth against her skin there to test how exquisitely sensitive she was.

  He’d bet she’d like that touch, bet that she’d moan a little for him.

  Another night, he’d be coaxing her out to that dance floor. He’d enjoy having her pressed up against him, moving to the blue-jazz beat.

  Tonight, though, Mary Jane was simply a means to an end.

  “She plannin’ to head out again?”

  “That was her intention.” The grin lighting up Landry’s face was pure wicked. “Right up until most of her crew took off. Now she’s short two.”

  “Perfect. Mechanic’s still onboard?”

  “Hasn’t come off.”

  The brothers shared a look. Riley Jones, the mechanic, was the real target here.

  Not Mary Jane...

  They couldn’t have more than one, maybe two nights left before the blue moon disappeared, not to rise again until who knew when. And they needed the blue moon, because those blue rays would lead the Cajun werewolves to the women who were their predestined mates. Follow the light and sometimes a man found redemption and a second chance. Hell, Dre had been skeptical, but when the moon had risen last month, their Pack had found Lark Andrews, a flower farmer from up the bayou. Now that sweet woman was wrapped in the arms of their packmate, Rafer, and there was one less wolf they had to worry about. Rafer was all happily-ever-after with his mate.

  And then the next month had rolled around.

  There shouldn’t have been another blue moon this close to the last one, but there it was. A second full moon in one month. Dre wasn’t questioning the gift fate had handed them. No way. He’d receive it with open arms, because if those blue rays still lit up the bayou, it could mean only one thing.

  Another chance for one of them. He’d squelched the hot start of surprise, the shock of an unexpected chance, and he’d focused everything on tracking. If fate was handing out second chances, he’d seize the
opportunity with both hands.

  Dre wanted that kind of ending for Landry, and he suspected his brother wanted the same for him. So they both waited until Mary Jane had pocketed her cash and started down the docks. She’d get back on her boat, and they’d make a move.

  The bayou town was no hotspot, but a generous handful of folks were already spilling out of the oyster bars to enjoy the night air. There was plenty of music and laughter. Dre and Landry would fit right in, two more fishermen enjoying a little shore leave before heading back out onto the water. They strolled along behind Mary Jane and, sure enough, she never looked back. Simply headed for her boat like someone had lit a fire underneath her fine ass.

  Dre needed to stop thinking about palming those lush curves. He wasn’t getting his hands on her, wasn’t going to smooth his hands over her. Under her. Hell, he wasn’t touching her at all.

  He needed to find the blue-moon bride, not fantasize about a prickly boat captain, even if she did look like a Christmas present he was itching to unwrap.

  “You run off any interested parties?” he asked.

  Landry smiled, a slow, impish smile, clearly enjoying the memories. “Yeah, that I did. Our Mary Jane isn’t findin’ herself any crew in this town. Those gals who were available yesterday got themselves some new plans tonight.”

  Dre nodded. “So it’s just Mary Jane and Riley on that boat.”

  “Uh-huh.” Landry rolled his shoulders and tilted his head back. The blue moon was still lurking up there in sky behind the cloud cover, a miserly handful of rays escaping.

  They hit the docks at the far end of town, Mary Jane disappearing down the end, her flip-flops slap-slapping against the wood planks. They had her now. Dre double-checked, but the moon was still painting a path straight to the Bayou Sweetie, the rays lighting up the dock and the boat like some kind of neon.

  Mary Jane’s boat had a god-awful cutesy name that was nothing he would have expected from the no-nonsense, always practical Mary Jane. That name made a man wonder about Mary Jane, as did the inescapable fact that the woman usually only took on all-female crews. No men sailed on the Bayou Sweetie.

  He and Landry planned on being the first.

  “She’ll go lookin’ tomorrow for more hands,” Landry observed. “No matter who we paid off tonight, Mary Jane jus’ has to sail up the bayou and pick herself a new lot.”

  “So we go in tonight,” Dre suggested. “We do our convincin’, and we sail out tomorrow. No worries there. Our honey’s not stayin’ around much longer, not with the tide turnin’ and the oysters waitin’.”

  Landry shrugged.

  They’d left the Pack for a stretch, giving Rafer and his new mate some space. Lark was settling in real nice now, but they didn’t need to push her too hard, so they’d taken the boat and sailed down the bayou. One night out from home, the moon had risen, and damned if the rays weren’t blue. Rafer had found his mate and apparently instinct had drawn Dre and Landry here. What Dre didn’t like was the stench of vamps hanging around the banks.

  As a hunter himself, he recognized another predator easily. The vamps tracked the werewolves because they needed skins. Werewolf skins. Without those pelts, the vamps couldn’t stand any light. Hit a vamp with enough wattage and the vamp started smoking—unless the vamp had wrapped himself up in werewolf skin. A smart hunter—and there was no pretending the vamps weren’t damned clever—would simply bait a trap, sit back, and wait. A blue-moon bride was the perfect bait because no way the Pack would let go of a potential mate. If there was a bride on Mary Jane’s boat, Dre was guarding that craft like it was Fort Fucking Knox.

  “All in?” Landry tossed the question at his brother as he picked out an intersect course with Mary Jane in the warren of crisscrossing docks and moorings.

  “Always.” Dre stalked down the dock, predator too close beneath his skin. Someone on that boat belonged to them and that meant they got on the boat.

  Come hell or high water.

  ###

  Mary Jane fingered the twenties in her pocket. Her knee was protesting the day’s standing, so it was time to ice up and get off her feet. Damn it all, she was a mess, and tomorrow wouldn’t be any easier. She had oysters to bring in, plus two more beds to harvest over the course of the next few days.

  Pulling that many oysters would have been a sight easier if she had a full crew, but she’d lost two hands this week. Both had cleared out their things and gone. The speed of those departures had roused her suspicions, but they hadn’t taken anything, and she’d heard no rumors about local enforcement, boyfriends, or unexpected Powerball winnings. Maybe those exits masked a sudden, inexplicable urge to see the world. Maybe not everyone was like Mary Jane. She wanted nothing more than to take her boat out and be left the hell alone, which was clearly the minority opinion.

  Being alone on the bayou was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She liked the solitude, liked how there was no one to get between her and the wheel and the water. Guiding the Bayou Sweetie where she needed the boat to go was second nature, and her crew was like an extension of herself as they worked to pull in the oysters. She paid the bills and she had the connection with the bayou that she craved. Out on the water, natural law ruled, not people, and that suited her. Hell, she knew she was shy. Painfully so. Others accused her of being cold and standoffish, but she froze up around too many pairs of curious eyes and probably always would.

  Problem was, no way one woman could pull in oysters fast enough. Even with Riley sticking around to help, Mary Jane needed more help. Crew was hard to find at the height of the season, though, and it looked like her luck had run dry tonight. Unless new deckhands materialized out of the woodwork, she and Riley Jones would work their asses off alone tomorrow.

  So she wasn’t in the mood for any male crap when a man detached himself from the shadows. He wasn’t blocking her path, not yet, but clearly he wanted a few words. Her eyes narrowed. This close to the town’s main drag, she wasn’t worried about someone not keeping his hands to himself. Plus, she was no prize. She was dressed for work and fresh off two days pulling oysters. She was too tired and too damned dirty for dating and flirting.

  She kept her head down and tried to move around the man. “Dock’s built for two, asshole.”

  The rich chuckle from the shadows was plenty of warning. One big hand came towards her, wrapping carefully around her forearm. She recognized the sun-bronzed skin with the map of knife scars. That hand was large and capable—and strangely gentle. Hell. Didn’t it figure she’d run into one of the Breaux brothers here? Of course, the face that belonged to the hand was even better, and as the man slipped out of the darkness, stepping closer to her, she got a full-on look at all that male glory.

  Six-plus feet of broad-shouldered Cajun manhood blocked her path. The shoulder-length hair tied back so carelessly made him look like he’d recently rolled out of bed. From the stories she’d heard, that bed would have been smoking hot, too. This man was sensually confident and infinitely knowing. Those laughing, dark eyes promised les bon temps and more between the sheets.

  If she’d been in the market, which she wasn’t. Plus, he was far, far out of her league.

  “You need something from me, Landry Breaux?”

  He laughed again at that. Landry always did see the humor in things. She liked that about him, liked listening to him laugh as he moved about the deck of his boat. His brother, well, that one, despite the superficial similarity to Landry, was all grim and serious. Like he’d seen and done shit he couldn’t quite shake. He’d be trouble in a whole different way.

  “That’s one hell of a greetin’, and you have no idea, sha.”

  Her traitorous hormones leapt, telegraphing a feminine response she immediately squashed. Just because these boys were pretty didn’t mean she’d roll over for them like every other woman of their acquaintance. Ignoring his words, she peered around him into the darkness.

  “You bring your sidekick?” she asked. Landry never went anywhere without
his twin, Dre.

  “I’m here.” The slow, dark rasp of Dre’s voice slid out of the shadows over Landry’s shoulder. Yeah. She liked that, too. Hell, she must like playing with fire. Whenever she saw the pair of brothers, she couldn’t stop the sensual fantasies unfolding in her head. Fortunately, though, she was practical. All look and don’t touch, because no way she could afford to take on one Breaux, let alone two.

  And it wasn’t as if the pair of them was interested in her anyhow.

  The six Breaux brothers had a fishing camp deep in the bayou some twenty miles upriver. The family largely kept to themselves, but there were plenty of stories about these two brothers. Landry Breaux liked to play, with his brother always a silent, watchful presence at his back. That man had broken more than his fair share of hearts, and she doubted he even knew it. No way she’d add hers to the number.

  “You want something from me, Landry?” She repeated her question, tugging on her wrist for good measure, but Landry didn’t let go. Instead, his fingers rubbed against the sensitive skin of her inner wrist, and her pulse leaped happily.

  He bent his head towards her. “We hear you need two more hands on that boat of yours.”

  No way he’d stopped her for that. She calculated the odds of ducking left around Landry, but something about his body language warned he wasn’t letting her go that easily. He’d say whatever it was he wanted to say to her. “You have a boat of your own. Why would you care?”

  He smiled slowly, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. His eyes crinkled up at the edges as he thought over her question. “Well, now, sha, that’s the thing. Right now, we’re high and dry. The boat, she’s gettin’ herself some repairs, and here we are. Nothin’ to do and no money to make. You’re lookin’ for hands. We’re lookin’ for work.”

  She blinked. Wow. Hadn’t seen that one coming.

  She wasn’t sure she believed him. Landry Breaux had no reason to lie to her—and certainly not about this—but every instinct she had was screaming. The women in her family had always had good instincts. Foresight, her grandmother had said. A little gift from God to make up for the no-good parts of life, her mother had claimed. Call it a hunch or a bone-deep knowing, but Mary Jane was suddenly convinced there was more going on here than an honest desire to work.