Primal Promise

Seventeen

The house was redolent with the steamy scent of coffee. Several pots had been brewed and consumed in the hours since Charles' ill-timed and brutal unveiling of the secrets of the Kasabe to their guest.  Every adult member of the household was in the living room or kitchen, and each was waiting for the inevitable fall of the other shoe.  Jameson would return soon enough, and when he found out what had happened, there was no telling what he would do.

He would find the house more occupied than when he'd gone for his run.   Herb had called the Belcourts, as another strong male to subdue might be needed, as well as a female to offer a comforting and soothing touch.  Not that a female could not kick ass.  

Jaris, for instance, was livid. Every time she passed Charles she paused, frowned and then punched him in the arm out of pure frustration. Charles, having sobered up considerably, did nothing to stop her. It was far less than he deserved. Far less than he was sure he would get the moment Jameson walked back inside.

Dawn broke, the sky just barely gone tinted at the horizon when Jameson appeared at the patio door. He was weary-seeming, his clothing was mussed and he'd missed a button, leaving his shirt askew. He saw Jaris standing by the sofa and confusion flitted across his features. When he'd seen the truck, he'd thought she'd gone into labor and the call had gone out. He looked from face to face, seeing the nervousness, the tension, and Charles would not meet his eyes.

"Jameson." Herb broke the silence with a quiet voice that set Jameson's hackles to rise. "Sit." He motioned toward a chair.

"I'll stay where I am," he growled through his teeth. "What has happened?"

"I ...I didn't mean to ... I was drinking and she ..." Charles began, his head hung. A moment later he was pulled to is feet, Jameson's fists having taken hold of his shirt and jerked him off the stool.

"What did you do?" He had smelled him on CJ, and he'd believed the story about him only touching her to wake her up, but now he smelled her on him, the hand that pried at his fingers bore the scent of her skin, her breath, her tears. He tightened his grip against Charles collar, twisting against his throat, the fury too great to even bear hearing what his nose told him was true. He had hurt her.

Strong hands took hold of his arms, yanking him backward and off-balance long enough for Charles to get loose. A twin on each arm, Herb at his chest pushing backward, Ed Belcourt's weight on his back, arms around his chest and shoulder. 

The only males not dragging him away were Charles, choking and gasping on the ground, and Blaine who was pulling Jaris out of harm's way. Jameson thrashed and fought, but he'd been running all night and they had not. Wearily, he was pushed down into a chair.

"You will listen!" Herb barked. His face was ruddy and his eyes were wild. Unlike the others, he was, at least halfway, only human. "Charles didn't hurt her." Herb grabbed his chin and made him look at him. "Your mate is unharmed. She. Is. Not. Hurt."

He heard, but it took several seconds for the concept to push away the murderous rage. She was safe. Uninjured. He still glared at each of them in turn, the pair holding his arms down, Belcourt's hands pushing upon his shoulders if he made even a hint he'd try to move. Herb holding out placating hands, Blaine shooting back equally dangerous looks, protective of his own as he kept Jaris behind him and well across the room.

Charles pulled himself to standing and lifted his chin. "I told her the truth. All of it."

Again, the men found their task of keeping Jameson in place a near impossibility. The chair's legs clacked as it rocked back and forth with the determined wriggling of its occupant in his bid for freedom to go wring Charles' neck.