Tiger's Claim

by Celia Kyle

  Island secretary? What the fuck? Seriously?

  Cole must have realized Stella was two seconds from asking the question aloud because he’d given her the stink-eye. She’d snapped her mouth closed and swallowed her words. She’d reluctantly allowed herself to be hauled away by the bubbly woman and then dragged across the island from one end to the other. She’d seen the spa, the pools, the beach, and then her eyes had sort of glazed over while the chick continued to prattle about the other amenities.

  Thankfully Stella had only had to listen to little Miss KillMeNow for two hours before she’d been deposited in front of the bungalow she’d share with Cole for the weekend. The woman had given Stella a big smile, a small wave, and assurance that Stella had plenty of time to get cleaned up before Cole returned.

  She had to look her best for her lover after all.

  Where was the equality, dammit? Maybe he was the one who should get prettied up for her. He was the one who should slip into something silky and lacy. How about a jaguar-spotted “banana hammock” with bows at the hips for easy access?

  She’d tug a dangling string and then pop goes the weasel. Er, tiger.

  Since she sure as hell wasn’t going to get prettied up for Cole’s arrival, she could at least be useful. Cole needed intel and, at minimum, she could do a little recon. There’d been several buildings Miss KillMeNow hadn’t identified during their tour. Those had piqued her inner kitty’s interest, and now was the perfect time to investigate while the “menfolk” enjoyed drinks and cigars.

  Was Stella a Shifter Operations Command agent who had been trained in bad-assery? No. But that didn’t mean she’d sit around and do nothing while Cole interacted with the humans. There were two of them, which meant that together they could do twice the work.

  Eh, who was she kidding? This was probably a dumb idea, but everything from the moment she’d snuck into James Walters’s home the previous night had been a dumb idea. Why stop now?

  Stella went to her suitcase and unzipped the bag, delving into its depths for the perfect outfit. A combination that balanced between “thief in the night” and “butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”

  It didn’t take her long to find what she sought—adorable, high-waisted floral shorts in shades of pink, orange, and burnt yellow on a white background. Then she pulled out her contrasting light-blue, spaghetti-strap bandeau top and ballet flats that matched the shade perfectly. She tugged her red hair into a high ponytail and then added light-pink, semi-translucent sunglasses.

  Instead of exiting the front of the bungalow to the paved path, she snuck out the back door to the sandy beach. With all the new arrivals, she was sure the “island secretary” and her staff would be busy with orientation. Stella didn’t want to chance running into them. She was supposed to be getting pretty for her lover, after all. Yuck.

  She carefully made her way across the wood porch and down the worn steps. At the bottom, she toed off her shoes and gathered them in her hand before stepping onto the white sands. The cool, fine grains felt almost like silk against her soles. She padded across the beach and closer to the edge of the waves, walking easier on the damp ground.

  Stella scanned her surroundings as she moved along the island’s edge, her jaguar on alert for any others nearby. She kept her lips tilted in a small smile to appear happy and carefree as she took a stroll. Soon the coast curved left, curling inward into a small, natural bay. A handful of docks stretched into the water, their tethered sailboats swaying with the gentle waves and the cool breeze.

  The long stretch of beach remained empty, and Stella decided now was her chance to duck out of sight. The vegetation grew thicker the more inland she moved, thin grass turning into low bushes that were eventually replaced by overhanging trees. Then she reached the asphalt pathway.

  Traveling parallel to the path, she finally reached a fork in the lane. The right would take her back toward the main buildings open to guests. She went left, to the portion of the island off-limits to visitors and separated by an eight-foot concrete wall.

  With her kitty already imbuing her with its abilities, she bent her legs, arms raised, and hopped up to scale the wall. Nothing too big just in case someone managed to catch her on videotape. She was “human,” after all.

  She grasped the edge of the fence and swung one leg up and over. She used her weight and momentum to pull the rest of her along and rolled across the wide ledge. She landed on the ground in a crouch, feet hitting the grass with a soft thump. She remained in place, scanning her surroundings and watching for any guards, but none came into view. No alarms were raised to announce an intruder. Nothing.

  It remained quiet. Too quiet?

  She darted across the walkway and moved deeper into the vegetation on the opposite side. She made a beeline for the nearest building, careful to keep her steps silent as she moved.

  Adrenaline coursed through her veins, fine-tuning her senses, and she paused near the next pathway. She remained hidden and scanned the area once more, cataloging the building not more than twenty feet away. A sign above the door labeled it as BUILDING A.

  She mentally snorted. Super inventive.

  Security cameras panned across the area in a slow arc, and she knew their gradual progress was easily avoidable. The front entry was nothing more than a single glass door with two windows on either side. Access seemed to consist of both a keycard system and a numbered keypad. Or maybe they could crack one or the other? They might not need to disarm both.

  Unless…She recalled that statistics showed that even though people paid tens of thousands for security systems, they also then tended to leave them unarmed. Would James Walters be that stupid? Well, she’d find out.

  She kept her gaze on the slow-traveling cameras and timed her movements, striding across the asphalt and up the narrow sidewalk to the door without being seen. She ducked beneath the overhang and completely out of the camera’s view.

  Now for the fun stuff.

  She nibbled her lower lip and wrapped her fingers around the handle, giving it a soft tug until she came up against the lock. Unfortunately, James Walters wasn’t that stupid. Dammit.

  Stella turned her attention to the numbered keypad. She searched for extra wear on any of the buttons. The one looks rough. And the five. Maybe the nine…

  “What are you doing here?”

  She froze, shoulders twitching as she winced and scrunched her eyes shut. If she couldn’t see them, then they didn’t exist, right? At least, that was the game she’d played when she was little.

  She slowly turned to face the human. Or rather, humans. Two bulky men stood nearby—paunch hanging over tight belts and buttons straining to keep their shirts closed over their bulk. The word “security” was embroidered near the collar, and a small badge was pinned just beneath the stitching. As if they were actual cops.

  One of the men placed his hand on the butt of the gun in its holster on his right side. The other actually drew his weapon. She narrowed her eyes, giving the firearm a hard look. What were they carrying? A nine-millimeter? A forty-five caliber?

  Ha! She swallowed her snort. What she’d thought was a gun was a Taser. It’d hurt, but it wouldn’t slow her—or her jaguar—down, and it sure as hell wouldn’t kill her. Not like a carefully placed bullet.

  “Lady!” The man on her left shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his grip tightening on his Taser until his knuckles turned white.

  Stella slipped off her sunglasses and hooked them on her top between her breasts, drawing their attention to her cleavage. She wasn’t a fan of distracting men with her body—she had a mind, dammit—but she’d do what needed doing.

  Their gazes followed her movements, eyes widening when they focused on her chest. She breathed deep so her tits strained against her top and put her hands behind her back. God had given her boobs, and she’d use them.

  “Hi.” She brought one arm around to give a small wave and immediately tucked it back in place while she pasted a wide—utterly
fake—smile on her face. “How are ya?”

  Her grin remained strained while her mind spun, trying to think of a way out of this mess. If it were Walters, she could pull off one of those bimbo schmoopy routines like she had last night. Rich guys like him were familiar with the dumb trophy-chick type and never expected for there to be a brain beneath the beauty.

  “What are you doing here? This half of the island is off-limits to guests. How’d you break in?” He still had his weapon drawn, fingers tightening and relaxing in a steady rhythm. The look in his eyes said he’d love nothing more than to hurt her. Creepy human.

  “Break in? That seems a little excessive, don’t you think? How about wandered? How did I wander in?” I hopped but not like a bunny because…jaguar. “The, uh, usual way.”

  Mr. Doubtful Asshole on the right scoffed and shook his head. His gaze slid over her body from head to toe, lingering on her chest. “Uh-huh, sure.”

  She threw up a little in her mouth. “I really was just—”

  “Cover me.” Doubtful holstered his Taser and looked to the other guy. She’d name him Idiot Asshole.

  “Cover you? What?” Idiot frowned and furrowed his brow in confusion, but he did as ordered. He slid his glorified cattle prod out and pointed it at her.

  Then Doubtful reached behind his back and pulled out a pair of zip-tie cuffs.

  “Do we really need to cuff her?” Idiot frowned some more. “It’s not like she got into anything. She’s a guest.”

  She was beginning to like Idiot Asshole. As for Doubtful Asshole…

  Oh. Hell. No. She wasn’t going to let some shifty-eyed asshole with a superiority complex incapacitate her, thankyouverymuch.

  There was a definite twinkle of lust in Doubtful’s eyes as he crept forward. “Ma’am, please turn around.”

  Stella shook her head and backed away. She held her hands up, palms out to stave off his approach. Her cat yowled and snarled, pushing to be set free. If some human thought he could tie them up, the jaguar would be more than happy to show him the error of his ways. Violently.

  “Yeah, not happening.” She shuffled backward, putting more space between them. “I’m gonna wander back to my bungalow and leave y’all to do what you do.”

  “We have to take you in for questioning and—” He darted forward, meaty hand reaching for her, and she ducked his grasp.

  Stella popped up on his other side and jerked out of reach once more. “You’re not taking me anywhere. I’ll leave and go find my ma—” Okay, it was odd that she’d almost called Cole her mate. Weird, right? Eh, it was because of their charade. That was all. “My boyfriend.”

  She spared a glance for Idiot and was relieved to see that he hadn’t moved. He wasn’t stopping Doubtful, but he wasn’t helping him, either. Good enough.

  Doubtful snarled at her. “All you’re gonna find is your ass cuffed.”

  “That’s rude.”

  Another quick snatch and he failed once again, Stella using what little space she had to avoid him. Mostly. Because then he grazed her arm, the human’s soft fingernails scratching her skin, and her kitty…sorta lost it.

  Stella grasped the human around his throat and squeezed his vulnerable neck. A quick twist of her hips, and she used her body weight to throw the man to the ground. She followed him down, still choking him while she lowered herself until they were nose to nose.

  Through every movement, she fought her cat. With every flex of muscle, she battled the feline for supremacy. The beast wanted to sink her nails into his flesh. It wanted to rip out his throat for even thinking about restraining her. Her bones ached, the jaguar straining against its leash. It attacked her from inside out, the cat rippling just beneath the surface of Stella’s skin. But she kept it at bay. Barely.

  The jaguar needed to stay under wraps. There was no coming out to play while they still had a job to accomplish. She couldn’t allow herself to ruin this chance at ending UH. She’d already fucked up enough by being caught. She wouldn’t make it worse.

  “Like I said, I want my boyfriend,” she growled in the man’s face, swallowing the instinctive hiss that traveled up her throat. “If I let you up, are you going to try to cuff me again?”

  “You’re in an unauthor—”

  “Your mother dropped you on your head a lot, didn’t she?” The cat pushed forward, wanting to bite the human’s head. The jaguar decided he’d make a lovely snack. If the cat didn’t stop, she’d upchuck all over the security guard.

  Not waiting for an answer, she snatched up the guard’s discarded zip-tie cuffs and shoved the human this way and that until she had them secured around his wrists. Stella gave the ends one last tug and then straightened. She propped her hands on her hips, Doubtful bound at her feet, and met Idiot’s gaze.

  “You got something to say about this?” She huffed and blew a puff of air at an errant lock of her hair.

  Idiot wasn’t as big of an idiot as she thought, because he quickly shook his head. “Nope. Not at all.”

  Thank fur for small favors.

  Chapter Ten

  Agreeing to test SHOC’s new com device—designed by his teammate Grant—had been a mistake.

  Pro: he didn’t have some shitty piece of plastic shoved in his ear anymore.

  Con: the com was buried under his skin.

  Before letting them insert the small disk beneath the skin behind his ear, he’d asked for one promise. Nothing big. His demand wouldn’t make the team or SHOC vulnerable. His only request: don’t contact him unless it was absolutely necessary.

  Grant had sworn he wouldn’t abuse his electronic power. Then Birch had sworn he’d keep the wolf under control.

  They’d lied.

  Grant didn’t only like to munch in Cole’s ear. He also liked to identify any animals he saw outside his hideout, give weather reports, and recite random facts he discovered while surfing the Internet. The asshole needed to find something else to do before Cole put him down like a rabid dog.

  “Hey, did you know that an octopus has three—”

  “Enough,” Cole growled softly, thankful that human hearing was far inferior to a shifter’s.

  “No need to get pissy.”

  Cole snorted. No need? There was an “hours of listening to the wolf ramble” level of need.

  “You’re not the one locked in an empty, boarded-up bungalow.”

  No, Cole was the one surrounded by humans who deserved killing. He mentally sighed, but he couldn’t do anything. Yet. Hopefully soon, though.

  His tiger perked up at the thought, tail flicking and ears swiveling as if listening for permission to go on a rampage. When he denied the animal, its ears drooped and it curled its lip in a silent snarl. Yeah, his human half was just as disappointed.

  “Besides, I’m just doing my job.”

  “Your job?” Cole scoffed.

  “I’m trying to keep you from slaughtering everyone, and you haven’t killed anyone yet. You’re too busy trying to figure out how to take me out without getting caught.”

  “Quiet,” he snapped.

  The fucker was right. Not that Cole would agree with the wolf. Instead, he refocused on the world around him.

  Nearly twenty human men occupied the bar area, the dimly lit room filled with groupings of heavy leather chairs and couches, low tables, and unobtrusive waiters that seemed to anticipate everyone’s needs. The servers swapped out empty glasses for full, swept away used ashtrays, and remained at attention to meet any comfort.

  Walters’s guests congregated in the area, raucous laughter occasionally overriding low murmurs. Cole chose to relax by the bar, one elbow on the aged, polished wood and a lowball of scotch in hand. He sipped, ignoring the sting as the alcohol slithered down his throat. He preferred bourbon, but Walters was a scotch man and Cole’s job was to get close to the human.

  Cole called his tiger forward, but the cat hissed at him and gave him its back with a flick of its tail. Apparently, it didn’t want to cooperate.

  This tim
e he gave a yank on its mental leash, tugging hard until it was forced to slide closer. The little shit was going to help so they could do their job and leave. He wouldn’t admit that his motivation wasn’t so much about getting intel as getting to Stella’s side. She’d felt so right—so damn perfect—in his arms, and he wanted to experience that again.

  The tiger grumbled, its version of Why didn’t you say so?

  The animal padded forward so he could better overhear the humans.

  Gossip. Mentions of who was fucking whom and murmurs about who was next to claim bankruptcy. Two men farther down the bar discussed whose boat was bigger, and another handful of humans chatted about their recent car purchase to the tune of two million dollars.

  From what he could catch, no one discussed Unified Humanity. Dammit.

  “So, Cole…” Grant. Again. He’d thought he’d get a longer reprieve.

  He sipped his scotch, swallowing quickly so he didn’t have to taste the drink for long.

  Cole used the glass to shield his mouth. It was easier than keeping up with the ventriloquist crap. “What?”

  “Do you happen to know where your girlfriend is?”

  “In our bungalow.” He wouldn’t admit that thinking of her as his girlfriend felt too damn good.

  Then Cole sighed, sure Grant was about to tell him he was wrong. The wolf had that tone. The one that conveyed he knew something Cole didn’t.

  “Eh, not so much,” the other shifter murmured, and Cole noted the tension in Grant’s voice.

  Cole pushed away from the bar and straightened, then downed what remained of his scotch in a single gulp. Connoisseurs would call it a travesty—scotch should be savored—but he had a feeling he’d need to slip away soon.

  He turned and placed the lowball glass on the smooth bar, his back to the room. Adrenaline crept into his blood while his tiger padded forward, the beast recognizing that something was wrong. “Where is she, then?”

  Please, dear God, let her have not been caught by Unified Humanity. His tiger released a low rumble, adding its agreement. If Stella had been captured…he’d destroy the island.