by Celia Kyle
He whipped his car onto the highway, merging with the sparse traffic. He hit the gas as soon as he broke free of the small crowd, shifting gears and revving the engine while he picked up speed. His tires clung to the curves—right and then left.
“Are you crazy?” she shouted above the roar of the engine, and he glanced at her, grinning when he caught her smile. Nah, it wasn’t a smile. She bared her human teeth in a clear threat. “What were you doing back there? Hell, what am I doing here?”
“Having fun.” He gave her a wink and returned his attention to the road.
“Pull over and let me out. Now.” The sticky burnt scent of her tingling fear filled his nose. She sounded tough, but fear clung to her. He couldn’t blame Stella. He’d essentially kidnapped her. For the greater good, sure, but it was still kidnapping.
“Unfortunately, I can’t.” He grimaced and pressed his lips together, swallowing the rest of his words. Like apologies.
“Look, we both have an agenda. We used each other to get out of a difficult situation, but now it’s time to part ways.”
“Eventually.” Cole couldn’t say much else. Not while he had to focus on navigating the streets.
A deep growl came from Stella’s side of the vehicle, the rumble accompanied by the tempting scent of her jaguar. When she spoke, the words came out in a mixture of growls and snarls. “Let. Me. Go.”
“I’ll explain everything when we get to my place.” He spared a look for her. “I swear.”
Once he got them home, he’d just need to convince her to trust a complete stranger. Easy. He wasn’t sure why—maybe his scent told her he spoke the truth—but she calmed with his promise.
They hadn’t been driving long, but they were already close to his place, the car eating up the miles. Ethan—one of his fellow Shifter Operations Command agents—had turned Cole onto the low-slung, whip-fast sports car. Ethan coveted his Porsches—many. Cole preferred Jags—the engines tuned until they could outpace Ethan’s vehicles without breaking a sweat.
“Cole…”
He wondered if chicks went to school to learn that tone. Every woman he’d had in his bed had pulled off identical hints of warning while they said his name.
“Stella?” He mimicked her pitch, only half paying attention to her while he worked at crossing the highway. He whipped across four lanes, sliding from the far left to the right and onto the exit ramp in a single fluid move.
He ignored her screech.
Chicks had to go to school for that sound.
Cole took his foot off the gas, letting the vehicle coast as he approached the green light. A quick right and he joined the late-night traffic along the Port St. James, South Carolina, coastline. Last time they’d been in the area, Eric Foster of FosCo—the primary financial support of Unified Humanity—had ended up dead and one of Cole’s teammates had gotten mated to a sweet little cougar shifter.
This time their target was the brawn of Unified Humanity—the man responsible for arming and organizing UH’s unending violence. He’d been working on infiltrating the group for months—black-tie events, high-priced sports cars, and the beachfront condo they now sped toward. A place that few could afford. It came at a premium—beautiful views with the right address for James Walters’s circles.
Too bad it was so small. Two thousand square feet wasn’t enough for his cat’s liking, and it wasn’t looking forward to sharing its territory with yet another person—even for one night.
Stella wiggled in her seat, the brush of fabric on leather followed by a creeping tendril of her scent into his lungs. One that beckoned his beast closer.
Okay, maybe he could share his space with her for a night.
The cat wondered if several nights would be enough. Nights when they weren’t worried about being outed as shape-shifters to Unified Humanity. Cole reminded the animal that was a lot of nights. They weren’t into long-term relationships.
It seemed too pleased with the idea of holding Stella close for days.
He slowed the car as they drew near their destination—his high-rise on the right. He slipped down the private drive, and the security system scanned the bar code on his car. The gate parted to grant them entrance and then immediately dropped back into place. The security wasn’t the greatest, but then again, it was created by humans.
They rolled into the underground parking garage. He navigated the darkened space, soon finding his spot, and then they were on the move once more.
Cole helped Stella out of the car, escorted her to his private elevator, and finally they rode up toward his apartment.
Stella stiffened more and more the higher they rose. Layer after layer of her “delicate female” mask peeled away until he was left with a furious feline. She was spitting mad by the time they reached his floor, her eye color wavering between human green and jaguar gold. Her pale skin darkened the tiniest bit, her fur making her appear tan instead of milk white. Each time she fisted her hands, her muscles grew, thickening as her inner cat pushed forward. If she’d shifted, all her fur would be standing on end and he’d be facing a hissing, spitting cat.
The idea of seeing her that way—all fire and fur—made his dick hard. Probably not the best time to become aroused, but he was a guy. Shit happened.
The elevator dinged, announcing their arrival at his apartment, and the doors parted to reveal his temporary residence.
“Home sweet home,” he murmured, holding out his hand and gesturing for her to go first.
Stella stomped into his condo and he kept pace, doing a bit more ogling since she was too pissed to pay attention to him. If she knew how much he appreciated the way her ass wiggled with her heavy steps, she would probably walk softer.
Well, he wasn’t gonna tell her.
The elevator doors slid shut, cutting them off from the outside world, and Stella spun on him. “Well? Is it safe for me to rip you a new asshole now?”
He wanted to tell her no just so he could postpone their argument, but he didn’t make a habit of lying unless necessary. The tiger snorted in disbelief, reminding him they lied all the time. Okay, with her he didn’t want to make a habit of lying unless necessary. He sure as hell wasn’t going to try to figure out why. Or admit the she-cat made him feel things. Not just his cock—it wasn’t all physical—but something in the area of his heart. Not that he had much of one, but what little was there ached for the jaguar shifter.
“Safe enough.” Especially since the guys on his SHOC team shared the apartment with him. He had two thousand square feet of privacy from the world, but not from the rest of his Shifter Operations Command team. Bastards.
“Good. That means I can ask what the ever-loving fucking fuck?” She had a set of lungs on her—her words echoing off the walls by the time she reached that last fuck.
“I could ask the same,” he drawled. “What’s a pretty kitty like you doing breaking into James Walters’s home?”
She licked her lips, and panic filled her eyes. His tiger lent its assistance, and he heard the racing thump of her heartbeat.
“Nothing.” She managed to keep her voice even despite her swirling emotions.
“Uh-huh.” He quirked a single brow. He flicked his gaze to Stella’s bodice, the explosives she’d snuck into the mansion concealed in her dress. “I always bring explosives to a party when I’m doing ‘nothing,’ too. Try again. ’Cause looking at you, sweetheart, you aren’t a bomb and bounce kind of girl.”
He didn’t want her to ever become that woman, either.
“I…” She swallowed hard, and he followed the delicate line of her neck, stroking her body with his gaze until his attention moved to the valley of her breasts. It’d take only one little tug to bare those beautiful tits.
Which…wasn’t going to happen. At least, not while he had his team staying in the apartment with him. They’d remained out of sight so far, but he didn’t think that’d last for long.
“You…?”
She shook her head, red curls brushing her moonli
ght-pale chest. “I had my reasons for being there tonight.”
“Business? Or personal?” Cole voted personal. Stella had been caught—by him and Walters—too easily. Then again, she could be new to the murder game. A game he didn’t want her to play.
“That’s not important.”
“It is, considering I need Walters alive”—for now—“and you tried to kill him tonight.”
“The man doesn’t deserve to breathe,” Stella hissed, her jaguar’s fangs peeking past her upper lip. Her hot fury burned him, the strength of her anger telling him that taking out Walters wasn’t a job. It was personal.
“Why?”
She snorted. “Seriously?”
“Oh, he needs to be six feet under, but why do you want him gone?”
She shrugged. “Like I said, he doesn’t deserve to breathe.”
“Tell you what…” He dropped his voice to a soft murmur. “You help me and I’ll help you.”
“No.” She shook her head, speed picking up with each whip from side to side. “I’m a one-woman show.”
“You just gained a partner.”
“Cats are solitary.” She pointed at him, and he wanted to nip her finger. She’d probably rip off his balls if he tried.
“Aw, sweet…” He poked out his lower lip like he’d seen so many women do. “You don’t want to play with me anymore?”
Her eyes flashed gold, her inner cat rushing forward. “Stop calling me ‘sweet.’ Instead, call me a cab. I’m out of here.”
“If you’re not on that plane to Serene Isle tomorrow morning, we’re both dead.” Cole had seen it in Walters’s eyes—the suspicion, the promise of what’d happen if Cole was caught in his lie. “I saved you by claiming you’re my girlfriend, but that didn’t do anything for his suspicions. One word from him”—Cole snapped his fingers—“and it’s over.”
“Look, thank you for helping me out, but sucking face to pull one over on Walters and flying to a tropical island are two totally different things.”
Cole wouldn’t mind sucking face a little more, but that was a discussion for another time. “Do you even know who James Walters is?”
Stella’s eyes hardened. “He’s the president of Apex Industries—premier supplier of guns and ammunition to the United States government. He’s also a high-ranking member in Unified Humanity.”
“Exactly.”
“Which begs the question…What was a big bad tiger doing at a Unified Humanity party?” she snarled right back. Feisty. He liked it. He also knew she was trying to distract him.
“I like to live dangerously.” He grinned and beckoned his cat forward until his fangs dropped as well. He eased closer, placing his hands on the wall near her head, bracketing her with his arms. He leaned in, not stopping until his lips brushed her ear. There was no missing the delicate shudder and shake of her body. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? The chance of being caught?” He nuzzled her neck and breathed deep, savoring her scent. “Why did you risk your life, Stella? Business or personal? Is there someone pulling your strings? Is that why you were at the party tonight?”
“I’ve got no strings.”
From deep within the apartment, a low tenor followed Stella’s statement. “‘To hold me down…’” Grant.
Pinocchio? Seriously?
Cole sighed. It seemed his bit of privacy was at an end. It also meant he’d have four single shifters—thankfully the fifth member was mated—crowding around Stella at any moment. His tiger pushed him to rub all over her and cover her with his scent.
Weird cat.
Possessive cat, the tiger countered.
Well, he was a possessive cat dealing with a pissed-off cat, because the sound of those voices was enough to flip Stella’s “take a bite out of Cole’s throat” switch.
And she tried. Hard.
Chapter Six
Stella went for his throat first, arm pulled back, hand curled into a fist, and then she swung. But the tiger was fast, his larger hand grasping her wrist before she hit him.
“That’s not very nice.” Cole’s eyes flashed amber, his tiger peering at her through his human eyes.
Instead of replying, she tried with her left this time, only to be thwarted once again.
He clicked his tongue at her. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners? It’s rude to punch your host.”
Maybe it was rude, but at the sound of several deep-voiced men singing a Disney song, her jaguar had flipped into fight-or-flight mode and settled on fight.
The heavy thump of several sets of booted feet filled the apartment, those unseen men closing in on them. Held captive by Cole, she only had one option left.
Stella eased her weight to her right leg and jerked up her left knee, right into his…
Cole wheezed and then grunted, releasing her so he could cup his balls. Now it was time for her to skedaddle. Stella spun in place and took off down the hallway. Her soles slipped on the smooth tile and her pointed heels wobbled, and it took everything in her to remain upright. Her fingernails transitioned to dark claws, and she scratched the wall, using it to steady herself. Tips dug into the paint and drywall beneath, and crumbling Sheetrock fell to the ground in her wake.
Stella drew closer to the elevator, now mere feet from the shining silver doors. She focused on the call button, the round disk her key to freedom. Intent on escaping, she hadn’t paid attention to the chaos she’d left behind. Or the flesh and bone barrier who obviously didn’t want her to leave. A stranger stepped into her path, a breathing wall of male who didn’t touch her—didn’t say a word.
She risked a quick inhale to identify him. Not just a male, a shifter male.
She slid to a stop, arms flailing and feet sliding in opposite directions while she tried to remain upright.
Unfortunately, she still ended up flat on her ass, cream and red dress billowing around her. Dammit. She looked like some sort of smooshed strawberry shortcake that’d been rode hard and put away wet.
The man who’d blocked her—more than six feet of muscular, dangerous-looking shifter—remained in place. He crossed his arms over his chest and braced his legs shoulder-width apart. He stared down at her, dark brown eyes transitioning to black, and his expression said more than words ever could.
She wasn’t leaving the apartment. At least, not through the elevator.
Through the window? That had to be a dozen floors from the ground. Plus, there was the fact that it’d kill her.
“Aw, Birch, did you break her?” Movement to her right drew her attention, and her heartbeat doubled as another man approached. He appeared just as dangerous and deadly as the guy in front of her. Except Stella got the feeling he was more dangerous to the sandwich in his hand than to her. Or was that just the impression he wanted to make?
“Really, Grant? You couldn’t put your food down before you came after her?” That voice came from her left, and she whipped her head around to watch a third male approach. This one was equally tall, blond hair and blue eyes giving him a boy-next-door appearance.
“Fuck off, Ethan,” the guy at her right—Grant—grumbled.
So, she was faced with Ethan to her left, Birch up front, and Grant on her right. Cole was behind her, and she heard two other men near the wheezing tiger shifter.
Six men total. Goody.
Her jaguar did not appreciate her sarcasm.
Stella decided the jaguar could suck it.
“He okay?” Birch looked over her head, but she didn’t turn to see Cole’s condition for herself. She needed to focus on leaving the condo, not on what she was leaving behind.
“Eh, he’ll live.” Dark, a hint of a rough rasp. “It’s what he deserves if he’s gonna let his guard down.”
A low grunt followed those words. On its heels was the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh and Cole’s low wheeze. “Fuck off, Pike.”
A snicker from a different man. “Poor Cole. Don’t be mad a woman handed you your ass. Don’t you remember when Abby took out a Unified Hu
manity goon with a fucking calculator? Made my dick hard.”
“Seriously, Declan?” Annoyance filled Cole’s voice.
Yeah, Stella wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with that information, either.
“Tighten up.” Birch drew everyone’s attention. “Let’s figure out what to do with this one.”
Her human eyes remained locked on Birch’s while her jaguar kept track of the rest of the group. The men at her left and right remained in place, stares intent on her. Two behind her moved in her direction—Pike and Declan. They were followed by Cole’s slower shuffle.
Cole was a tiger. What about the others? Her cat pushed forward a little more, and Stella parted her lips, drawing air across the gland in her mouth. She tasted the air and tried to pick them apart, identify the different scent strands that belonged to the men in the condo.
Except her fear overrode the feline’s abilities. The stench of her own panic filled her nose, blinding her to the others. There was the familiar musk of shifter, but nothing more. All she was sure of was that they were dangerous men who wanted something.
From her.
That was never good.
Two more shadows loomed over her. Pike and Declan had finally arrived.
“What to do with me?” Stella swallowed hard. “You could let me go?”
She hated how timid and unsure she sounded, but it couldn’t be helped. The cat recognized a pointless fight when she saw one. The knee to Cole’s balls had been luck. A single woman—shifter or not—against these six…
Stella didn’t pause to think. If she had, she might have realized her next action was stupid. She shoved her hand down her bodice and nudged her boobs aside as she sought her prize.
“Strip show. Nice.” Grant punched the air with his non-sandwich-holding hand.
“I’ll show you nice,” she grumbled, and curled her lip to expose a lengthening fang.
She yanked her hand out of her dress and held up her prize, the bundle of wires and C4 clutched tightly in her fingers.
