Free Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set by Colleen Gleason Page A

Dylan had taken up a stance at the back door, watching out the window.
    Sean had eggs and bacon going in two frying pans, instructing Seamus to bring him ingredients from the refrigerator—salsa, peppers, limes, whatever Seamus could find.
    Tiger was the most restless, pacing the room, checking the doors and windows as though calculating the best way out if the place was stormed.
    Bree, who’d run upstairs, came barreling back down just as Seamus heard Nadine finally consent to let some of the police into her house. Bree slid into the kitchen, nearly shoved Seamus down onto a chair, and slammed herself to his lap.
    She’d put on the tightest top and skirt imaginable, the skirt showing off her legs from hip to ankle. Her eyes were once more made up with eye pencil to look catlike, and she’d drawn whiskers on her face. The lines were wobbly, but solid. She’d also put on a new set of fake cat’s ears.
    She’d become the groupie again. Seamus couldn’t decide whether she looked adorable or sexy as hell.
    Bree nuzzled his neck, her arms wrapped well around him as Nadine led the police into the kitchen. Around Bree, who continued to nuzzle and kiss him, Seamus saw a woman in a suit flanked by two uniformed policemen.
    The presence of the police should send him into a panic, but Seamus viewed them as though through a haze. Heat had started in his heart and was busily working its way down his body. Not only was Bree sexy as hell—okay, that was an easy decision to make—she was doing this to protect him. Mates did that.
    “Bree,” Nadine said in exasperation. “I told you, I don’t like that groupie stuff at the table.”
    Bree slid from Seamus’s lap, looking only slightly embarrassed as she straightened her brief skirt. “I know, but ...” She circled behind Seamus and slid her arms around him. “I can’t resist him.”
    Not only did her clasp calm Seamus, it kept him from fingering the Collar, which was too damned tight. If he gave in to instinct and grabbed at it, he’d maybe dislodge it, revealing that it wasn’t real.
    Sean turned from the stove. “Breakfast is up. Dad?”
    Dylan moved slowly toward the table, eyeing the police. This was a Feline used to being in charge, Seamus knew, but he’d been around long enough to know when to be forceful and when to back off. He hated backing off, Seamus saw, but a Shifter didn’t get to be leader—and then keep his life after he conceded leadership—by attacking when it wasn’t prudent.
    Tiger underwent the biggest change. As soon as the police had entered the kitchen, he’d ceased pacing, sat down on a chair, and went still as stone. His big face was a careful blank, his yellow eyes fixed on the table.
    “This is Detective Reder,” Nadine said brightly. “She’s worried about rogue Shifters in the area.”
    Reder was on the tall side for a human woman, her black hair tucked into a neat bun, her brown eyes quickly taking in the Shifters, Bree, the room, the exits, and Sean at the stove.
    Seamus wondered how the detective had known they were here. He couldn’t imagine Dylan and his trackers being so clumsy as to let themselves be followed, or letting them use the GPS on Bree’s phone—a Guardian like Sean would have been wise enough to disable that. Or maybe it had been as simple as one of the hunters who’d been chasing him giving the police the license number of Bree’s truck.
    Dylan folded his arms and deliberately did not meet Reder’s eyes. “These Shifters work for me. None are rogues, as you can see.”
    “Who are they?” Detective Reder asked crisply. “Names?”
    “I’m Dylan Morrissey,” Dylan answered in an even tone. “My son Sean is cooking breakfast, Tiger here is a liaison with Shifter Bureau, and Seamus McGuire is one of my trackers.”
    “And you are all here, because ...” The detective paused, her dark gaze impenetrable.
    “Because of me,” Bree said. She looked up at Reder and gave her an inane little laugh. “I