What the actual hell was this lady doing here in Red Havoc territory? Did she have a death wish? She was damn lucky Barret and the others were in town right now or she would’ve had a brawl on her hands at the front gate.
“Can you not read the signs. No trespassing,” he gritted out as the woman approached his porch.
She had a piece of paper in her hands, and rudely, didn’t answer him. Just climbed the stairs steadily and handed him the paper. Her hand was shaking.
Greyson narrowed his eyes at the familiar paper and snatched it from her hand. He read the first few lines out loud. “Greyson McCarty. Registered panther shifter. No mother. Father in shifter prison. Protective naturally. Bottom of the Red Havoc Crew by choice. Known likes…” He shook his head in shock. “What the fuck? I didn’t put any of this on the questionnaire.” Realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. “Wait, are you Genevieve?”
She nodded, her chin tucked to her chest like a child in trouble, her eyes on his lips.
“Are you submissive?” he asked, his voice getting louder.
Another nod, and he was going to fucking kill Willa Barns.
“The main thing I asked for in a match was a big-cat shifter, and the second thing was she needed to be dominant. Submissives won’t work in this crew. The females here are dominant she-monsters.”
She shook her head like she was confused, and she was still staring at his lips. This was getting weird. Genevieve was here, standing on his porch, the exact opposite of what he’d asked for. His hands shook, but not from submissive nerves like her…from anger instead. Somebody had wasted both of their time.
Greyson scrubbed his hand down his three-day scruff and sighed. “Okay. Let me think. We both got played. I’m not mad at you. You don’t have to be mad at me, but this isn’t a match. I’m sorry you drove out here. I can give you…I don’t know…gas money if you want it.”
Genevieve frowned at his lips and nodded once. And then without a word, she spun and bounded off the porch. He watched her go and really looked at her. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than him, and fit. Her ass looked fantastic in those tight, dark-wash jeans. Girl did her squats, or maybe gorilla shifters were just built like that. Strong. She had that hourglass shape he found so damn sexy, and her dark hair was cut short in a bob. She had bangs that hung in front of her face and swept to the side, but her hair didn’t hide her eyes. No, instead, they made the blue more vibrant surrounded by all that dark. She was wearing a black headband with dark jewels that matched her skin-tight black shirt. What was most surprising was the ride she drove in. That wasn’t a rental license plate, so she really owned the royal blue ’69 Ford Mustang with the black racing stripe down the body and the hood scoop. Someone had put big tires and shiny chrome rims on it, and the old car was clean. Even the leather seats inside were black with a thick blue racing stripe down the driver’s seat. He’d heard it coming it. Sounded like damn thunder coasting through the clearing. Clearly someone had done some serious modifications to this car to get it sounding like a damn beast. Did she work on the car? She was interesting—he would give her that much. Rude, though, for not talking.
She got in her car, and he gave her a two-fingered wave. Bye, Genevieve.
But instead of driving away, she leaned inside and got back out, toting a suitcase like it weighed nothing. She slammed the door to her car and marched back up to the porch. His face probably had a dumbfounded look right now.
“What, no!” he said as she shoved her way past him and into the house. “Seriously, no! You aren’t staying.”
She ignored him like a champ, so he grabbed her suitcase handle and pulled.
Genevieve startled so bad her entire body jerked, and when her eyes locked with his, the terror there made him let go of the suitcase immediately. She retreated toward the wall, not giving him her back, her eyes dipping to the floorboards as she clutched her suitcase close to her body like a shield.
Her hands still shook badly, so he squatted down and exposed his neck. It had been a long damn time since he’d been around a submissive, and he’d forgotten how gently they needed to be handled. God, he was an asshole. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
No reaction. Her eyes were still on the floor, her back pressed against the wall next to the hallway. Genevieve inhaled sharply, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were rimmed with tears, her lips parted like she wanted to say something.
“What is it?” he asked low. “What’s wrong?”
A tear streaked down her face, and her cheeks went red as she rushed to wipe it away. She shook her head hard, sidestepped into the hallway, made her way into his bedroom, and then shut the door with a soft click. The lock sounded a second later.
Greyson stood slowly, utterly stunned by the moment they’d just shared. Inside, his panther was snarling, ready to fight what had hurt her, but that made no sense. She was a stranger, and the only thing she needed protecting was from him. He’d hurt her somehow. Made her cry, and now he felt like shit.
Ben was gonna kill him, revive him, and then kill him again for bringing a gorilla shifter into the mountains. He needed to talk to the alpha of Red Havoc as soon as possible because Greyson couldn’t kick her out now. He wasn’t mean enough, and something was wrong with her. She was scared. The terror in her pretty blue eyes at just being touched said as much, and now those protective instincts Willa talked about on his information sheet were kicked up to level-red.
Bangaboarlander had been a huge mistake—for both of them.