"Meg. Dad and Granddad are on their way. Are you okay?' Her mother's voice was frantic as Megan inspected the deep slice along Mo-Jo's underbelly.

Her mother, bless her heart, had always known when her children were in trouble even if her empathic abilities weren't as strong as her daughter's.

"Fine, Mom. Jo is just hurt." She rose, jerking a dish towel from the counter to apply pressure to the wound.

Leaning close to the animal, she cradled his head as the decrease in adrenaline began to leave her weak.

"He'll be fine until they get here."

"You're sure?" Her mother wasn't fooled. She had been waiting on Meg's call, proof that her father and grandfather left the house at a dead run.

Her grandfather would have known something was wrong as well. He said the winds spoke to him of her. She shook her head at the thought. Empathy ran on her grandmother's side. She had never been certain what ran on her grandfather's, but Megan knew it was just as powerful as the talents she possessed, if not more so.

"I'm sure, Mom. I love you but I have to go now."

She disconnected the phone before staring up at Braden.

He was watching her with concern, and she realized she was definitely going to be stuck with him. Lance would not let this little event pa.s.s without having a stroke, or at the least without calling the whole d.a.m.ned family in.

"You know, Braden, we're really not going to get along. As a matter of fact, I don't even think I'm going to like you."

She turned away from him before he could speak, the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the drive drawing her attention. She moved to the back door, breathing a sigh of relief as her father and grandfather moved quickly from the truck and headed for the house.

"You okay Meg?'Her father hugged her tightly.

"I'm fine. Mo-Jo is down though. He took a knife to his underbelly." She was shaking, trying to avoid her father's gaze and the concern that always made her feel smothered.

Her father was dressed in his customary jeans but wore a dress shirt and silver string tie, indicating he had been preparing to go out for the evening. His thick black hair was peppered with gray, his black eyes hard and probing as he moved through the kitchen to the hall entrance and glanced over at Lance.

"It looks pretty deep, Dad,'' she sighed, staring at her grandfather in resignation as she let him help her up and lead her to a kitchen chair.

"Uncle Dave, meet Braden Arness," she heard Lance mutter from the hall.

She was aware of Braden watching her, his head tilted, taking in every movement, every expression, as he watched the scene before him. But even more, that calm that was so much a part of him weaved around her as well, sheltering her. A girl could get used to that. Too used to it. It would be a b.i.t.c.h when it was gone again.

His eyes were questioning, almost confused, as her grandfather, stooped with age and shuffling from his stiff joints, patted her on the shoulder.

"You sit still, little warrior. I'll fix you tea." His voice was filled with concern, his weathered expression lined with worry.

"Coffee."

"Tea," her father and grandfather spoke firmly.

She grimaced. The tea wouldn't even be caffeinated.

Despite their calm, she sensed the fear. She didn't feel it, thankfully. But she sensed it thickening the air around her.

"What happened here, Lance?" Her father was bent over Mo-Jo, a small, black medical bag at his side as he checked the wound.

"Why are you asking him? He wasn't here." She hated the protective coddling she could feel beginning to wrap around her. Why hadn't they just brought her mother along with them? That would have finished up the wool wrapping nicely.

Her father glanced back at her, and for a second she glimpsed a fury and fear that she knew shouldn't have shocked her. Yet it did, because she only sensed it, she didn't feel it. It wasn't washing over her in blinding waves or taking her breath. She also noticed Braden had moved closer to her, making it easier for her to pull that shield around her.

"Because I'm tending a wound to your animal that could have been inflicted on you." He didn't snap at her, but she could feel the anger vibrating from him. "I don't know if my nerves can stand hearing a report from you, Daughter."

Her shoulders drooped. How did you battle that kind of love, dammit?

"I don't know what happened, Uncle," Lance finally answered. "I was bringing Braden Arness here to talk to her. We walked in as Mo-Jo was ripping out a throat."

"And what of yesterday?' her grandfather asked then. "The winds blew through the land with a warning, her name echoing on the breeze."

Megan wanted to groan. "You guys are smothering me."

Braden leaned against the wall, watching it all, never speaking. s.e.xy and silent. Okay, so he had a few things going for him.

"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 p.i.s.sing 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 h.e.l.l 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.

G.o.d, 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 h.e.l.l 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 embarra.s.sment coursed through her. It wasn't him, she a.s.sured 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. G.o.d, 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 h.e.l.l had she managed to battle two Coyotes and survive?

Dark midnight-blue eyes, nearly black, had seemed overlarge in her pale face, filled with excitement and an edge of confusion. But there was no fear. She was p.i.s.sed. Quickly falling from an adrenaline high and aching with the demands she had put on her body in the past two days.

But she wasn't scared.

And he couldn't wrap her up. He couldn't shelter her from the danger. He could only stand behind her and pray he could help her. The world wasn't a playground filled with laughter and games. At least, his world wasn't. It was bathed in blood and cruelty and only the strongest survived. She was being thrown into the middle of his world for some reason he couldn't fathom. He couldn't protect her from that. He could only guide her through it.

"She's a warrior." The old man, her grandfather, spoke behind him.

"She's a woman," the father snapped furiously. "Darnmit, Lance, what the h.e.l.l is going on?"

"She's crazy, is what's going on," Lance argued. "She drove right into a murder scene yesterday afternoon with me screaming at her to back off. The woman is looking for trouble. This time, it found her."

"She searches for justice_" Joseph murmured.

And they were all searching for a way to protect her. Their need to shelter her was slowly smothering her. Braden could feel it, could see it in her face. She needed to fight, and now she had no choice but to do just that.

"No." He turned to face them all. "She's a fighter and a survivor and if she's going to suivive this in any way, then you'll have to let her fight.

Until we find out why the Genetics Council marked her, we have to let her fight, or you'll all lose her."

Silence, waves of fury, confusion and one old man's knowledge seemed to flow around him. He met the sharp, ages-old gaze of the old Navajo who stared back at him, his graying braids framing his square, stark expression.

"She is a warrior," the old man said, raising his head in pride. "But beware, my young Lion, she is also a woman. And that is most often every male's greatest weakness. Even your own."

How the old man knew who and what he was, Braden didn't know and he didn't care. Now, as earlier, confusion swamped him. The Breeds, except for a very select few, had no children. No mothers, no fathers, uncles or cousins.

They were created in a Lab, trained rather than raised, and now fought daily for survival in a world that wasn't certain exactly what to do with this new species.

Braden had never experienced the emotion, the sheer protective fury and determination to protect one's family.

He could easily see the three men slowly smothering the woman's fighting spirit with their love.

"You'd better come up with a plan before she gets back down here." Lance hissed as he stared at his uncle and grandfather. "I'm not firing her. She'll never forgive me. Besides, she just ignores me when I try."

"I told you to do that three months ago," David, the father, snarled furiously. "The very day he"-he jerked his thumb at the old man-"heard her name on the winds. "But no, wait, Uncle_" he mocked the younger man.

"Don't hurt her. She'll leave Broken b.u.t.te.' "

"Or shoot me," Lance snapped. "Dammit, Uncle, she's had three offers from the larger cities but she stays here instead. Push her too far and she'll leave."

"I won't allow it."

"You cannot stop it, my son_" the old man said.

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, she's going to find trouble no matter where she goes_" Lance argued.

Braden c.o.c.ked his head, watching as the three argued. How interesting. Personally, he thought it was a bit delayed and definitely the wrong time for accusations, but interesting all the same.

The three males were obviously well used to arguing over how best to protect a woman who wanted nothing more than to be who she was, to fight as she was needed. It defied logic. Women were as fierce and often less merciful than any man. They were excellent fighters when they cared for the battle they were engaged in or for those they fought for. And Megan was all woman. In that moment, he decided, she was also his woman.

Chapter Four.

Megan was in no better mood the next morning than she had been the night before when Braden and Lance dragged their sorry b.u.t.ts into her guest rooms to sleep. The dead bodies had been cleared out of her house by ill-tempered Feline Breeds, one of which was a scary, silver-eyed son of Satan she was really glad didn't stick around long.

Her father and grandfather had finally left around midnight, under protest. Braden and Lance had stayed, which meant sleep had been next to impossible knowing that the object of her arousal was so close. She had ached for his touch, her skin so sensitive that even the sheets were an irritation against it.

Now, with the breakfast dishes cleared away and coffee sustaining her, Megan stared at Lance and Braden. Fighting this wasn't going to work, and she knew it. As much as she hated it, she needed Braden in this fight.

She glanced over at him, aware that he was watching her closely, his gaze hooded, his body tense. Was he aroused as well? Was he tormented by the same desire she was? One as confusing as it was strong?

She gave herself a mental shake before confronting both men.

"Now what?" She leaned against the counter and sipped at her coffee as they stared back at her.

Lance got to his feet with a sigh. "I have to get back to the office." The coward. He wasn't even going to hang around for whatever fireworks he expected to result from their discussion. "You're off today. I'll see both of you in the office in the morning_"

"No. She's off indefinitely." Braden spoke as though his word were law. Her eyes narrowed at the tone, her lips flattening in irritation as she glared back at him.

"That is my job," she snapped. "I can't just lie around_"