by Eve Langlais
When A Liger Mates
A Lion’s Pride #10
Eve Langlais
Copyright © 2020, Eve Langlais
Cover Art by Yocla Designs © 2019/2020
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
http://www.EveLanglais.com
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
E-ISBN: 978 177 384 158 8
Print ISBN: 978 177 384 159 5
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Also by Eve Langlais
Introduction
Lawrence is in trouble. That’s nothing new. What is unexpected is how he accidentally ends up mated to a human.
Oops.
To make matters worse for this tomcat, Charlotte has no idea what he is, and when he finally shows her his majestic liger shape? She is less than impressed and dares to ask if he’s up to date on his shots. As if her lack of respect isn’t enough, she doesn’t believe they can have a happily ever after.
How to make her understand she’s the only woman with the power to make him purr?
Previous books in A Lion’s Pride, a USA Today Bestselling series:
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Chapter One
Thick fingers adorned in chunky rings stroked the fur of the giant feline leashed by his side. Guillaume Champignon had certain hobbies. Collecting large and rare wild animals—and training them to obey him—was one of them.
“Are we on track for the hunt?” Guillaume asked of the woman standing in front of his desk, her hair cut blunt and streaked with gray.
Tracey held up a tablet and slid her finger across it, the light from the screen illuminating her face. “Everything is a go for tonight’s entertainment.”
“We have enough prey?” His fingers stilled on the large cat’s head. It had gone stiff. It made no sound, and yet he could have sworn the liger vibrated. It had better not be growling without permission. His kennel master had assured him the beast was quite tame.
“We have more than plenty, with two to spare.”
“Good.” Nothing worse than when a client finished the hunt unsatisfied because they didn’t bag anything.
“I don’t pay to leave empty handed,” one of Guillaume’s most generous guests had once exclaimed. Those paying for the privilege expected a trophy.
They also weren’t picky about what they shot. The accident on the last hunt had cost him a chunk of his profits to cover it up.
Somehow, a woman had wandered onto the secured property. Went gallivanting through the woods on a night the hunters were set loose. It was an easy mistake to make. The hunters all wore bright fluorescents, whereas the intruder appeared to be trespassing naked as the day she was born.
The bullet went through her stomach, and while she was alive when his wardens got to her, it was a deadly wound. A nearby river took care of the remains.
Which left only the client who shot her. Rewinding through the footage that tracked the hunter and prey, they could see who’d been in that sector just before the kill.
Bernard, a low-end client, claimed innocence. He tried to convince them he’d shot a lioness, except their tracking data showed no one near him. It cost Bernard a large sum to keep his mistake secret. And even after he paid, Guillaume had him taken out as an example to anyone else that thought to jeopardize his operation.
An oddity about the whole mess was they did come across a discarded tracking bracelet in the woods—for a lioness as a matter of fact, a feline who’d disappeared without a trace.
“I hear we have a few lionesses this time,” Guillaume mused aloud. Quite a few, considering they mostly managed to capture bears and wolves.
“Three, all brought in last night.”
“Did another illegal zoo get raided?” Animals for the hunt weren’t easy to come by. Either they poached them illegally or purchased them from a collector thinning their herd.
“Private owner. Claimed he was remodeling and needed to get rid of them.” Tracey dropped her arm with the tablet practically attached at the end down to her side.
“His loss, our gain.” A distant sound caught his attention. Guillaume strained to listen. “Did you hear something?”
Tracey turned to look over her shoulder. “Is that gunfire?”
Removing his fingers from the tense hairs on his cat, Guillaume stood. He braced his hands on his desk, opening the line to his secretary. “Cirine, what’s going on?”
Usually the height of efficiency, his secretary didn’t reply.
The popping sounds stopped abruptly, only to be replaced with a roar.
A second blood-chilling snarl followed.
Then a third.
What the ever-loving fuck was going on?
Grawr.
Was that a freaking wolf? In his lodge?
It sounded as if his menagerie had gotten loose. Unlikely, and yet he leaned over to open the drawer of his desk. Reached for—
Nothing. He gaped at the empty space. No gun.
There was a sudden staccato of gunfire, then a muffled yell, followed by a roar, then nothing.
Eyes wide enough to pop, Tracey hugged her tablet and backed toward the wall farthest from the door. She appeared fixated by it.
The urge was understandable. Guillaume stared, too. Held his breath at the silence beyond it.
What was going on?
A shift of fur and muscle drew his attention to the forgotten feline by his side. A massive beast. Part lion, part tiger. A liger as they called these kinds of hybrids. And already so tame.
It was sent to him as a gift only a day ago. He’d been amazed at how well it obeyed commands, even as he scorned how meek the creature was.
It didn’t appear subservient at the moment. It sat on its haunches, and Guillaume would have sworn it smiled.
It definitely winked.
Guillaume found it hard to control the tremble in his muscles as it stood, stretched. Then suddenly it wasn’t a liger anymore but a big man with a shaggy head of hair. A naked man.
“Who are you?” Guillaume managed to exclaim.
“You may call me Law. Cousin to the young woman you tried to murder last month.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Guillaume blubbered. What was happening? How could this man be the liger he’d been petting only minutes ago? Sweat rolled down his temple and dripped off his cheek.
“I know what you’re doing here.” The man who called himself Law stepped forward.
“I don’t care what you
think you know. You’re trespassing. My guards will shoot you if I ask.”
“What guards?” Law took a step forward, his eyes intent and deadly. “Let’s play a game, Guillaume. A game of the hunter and the hunted. Guess which one you’re going to be.”
“But you’re not human. That’s not fair,” Guillaume sputtered.
“And you’re going to tell me that the slaughter you’ve arranged here is fair?” Law smiled. Guillaume’s bladder constricted. “Payback’s a bitch. Are you ready to run for your life?” The blond goliath rolled his head, cracking his spine. Shrugged his shoulders.
“You can’t do this.” Guillaume had begun to hyperventilate.
Law stood still. “Five, four, three—”
The countdown spurred Guillaume into action. He ran for the patio doors leading onto the balcony. Surely there was someone on duty who could shoot the intruder.
As he emerged onto the terrace, three lions swaggered into view. Big. Tawny. And staring at his juicy ass.
“Fuck me!” he wheezed.
But it was only when they shifted in a way his mind refused to grasp, and stood as naked women, that he pissed himself.
An hour later, basking in the heat of the flames crackling from the lodge…
“I hate it when they pee themselves.” His aunt Lenore was the one to start the lament. “Way too easy to track. Takes all the fun out of it.”
“Not to mention who wants to touch them once they’re marinating in it,” Aunt Lacey declared, having already donned her one-piece pantsuit.
Lawrence wore a pair of pants and not much else as he watched the lodge burn. There would be no more hunts, not here at any rate, but fighting poachers remained a full-time job.
Aunt Lena, who was quite fond of cousin Miriam—the one shot and dumped in a river—stood by his side. “Miri is going to be pissed we took care of this without her.”
“We couldn’t wait, and she needed more time to recover.” Because his cousin had almost died. Being a lion shifter made her strong, but even they had to give themselves time to heal.
“I am hungry,” Lenore announced. “Bring on the meat.”
“I know a place,” Lacey declared.
“Does it offer only fake meat?” Lena asked with a scowl. “I don’t want any of that weird vegan stuff.”
“It’s not weird. It’s choosing to not eat possible distant family members.”
“I am not related to cows. And even if I were, I’d still eat them because they’re delicious.” A deliberate jibe.
“Savage.” Lacey’s lips pursed, and Lena flexed for battle.
It happened all too often. He stepped between his aunts.
“Now, ladies,” he chastised.
Aunt Lena shoved him out of the way. “We don’t need you getting involved, squirt.”
Squirt.
They still treated him like a child. “I’m a grown man,” he declared.
“Really? I couldn’t tell on account you’re still getting into trouble.” That was a matter-of-fact statement from Lenore.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he blustered.
“Ahem.” Aunt Lacey cleared her throat. “The incident with the Russians.”
“Was fixed without incident.”
“Only by accident. What about the Canadian-border thing a few months ago?” Aunt Lenore had one of those memories that could bring up every wrong thing he’d ever done.
“A misunderstanding.” Apparently having sex in the interview rooms was a no-no.
“You need a keeper,” Aunt Lacey stated.
“Not us,” piped in Aunt Lenore. “No offense, you’re like a son to me, but it’s time someone else took on the task.”
“I don’t need a keeper. I’m thirty-five years old. I am a well-regarded member of the Pride.”
“And it’s past time you settled down and got domestic,” Lacey replied pertly.
“None of you ever did,” he pointed out.
“Because I didn’t need a keeper,” Lena pointed out.
“And not entirely true,” Lenore complained. “I’ve been married.”
“Three times. We know,” chimed in his other two aunts with a roll of their eyes. Which would have set off another argument if their phones hadn’t all pinged at once.
“It’s him again,” muttered Lenore.
“For a guy who was never going to marry, he’s awfully pushy about it now,” said Lena with a sniff.
“I think it’s cute,” exclaimed Lacey.
“Oh, please. It’s because he’s horny.” Aunt Lena wagged her finger. “I hear that Tigranov girl won’t let him have any until they’re married.”
“That’s because Grandma threatened to geld Dean if he touched her before their union was sanctified,” Lacey told them in a theatrical hush that probably everyone heard for a mile around.
All true. Lawrence had to listen to his best friend as he moaned about the lack of nookie.
“I never knew tigers could be such sticklers for propriety,” Lenore declared with a shake of her head. “In my day—”
“Woman wore stirrup pants and thought they were sexy.” Lena snorted.
“Don’t be snickering so hard. You had the same teased hair.” An arched brow went with Lenore’s rejoinder.
“But I had the good sense to never wear those fluorescent biker shorts,” Lena said with a tilt of her chin.
As the newest fight ramped up, Lawrence, being a shit disturber, just had to toss in, “Okay, boomers.”
It almost cost him one of his lives.
Luckily, the aunts loved him, and they all made it to the wedding on time and got to see confirmed bachelor Neville Dean Horatio Fitzpatrick get married. His best friend had chosen to bind himself to one woman—gulp—for life.
Despite what the married folks and others said, it gave Lawrence the shudders. He couldn’t even manage six days in a relationship. How the heck did forever work? He knew firsthand how the whole dating thing worked; the first date was always the best, sometimes he could squeak a decent second. By the third, it was all downhill.
Best to keep things short and sweet. He planned to be single forever. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the company of women.
And weddings were a great place to get laid.
The ceremony was thankfully boring, the grandmother having bribed some bishop or other to officiate. Apparently, it was a prestige thing. It meant standing in place, or kneeling, only rarely sitting, and there was singing. Lots of it.
As best man, Lawrence suffered it all. On a positive note, this time the bride didn’t try to kill him. A long story and the main reason why Dean and Natasha got together.
The reception after the wedding provided a massive buffet, a live band, and lots of bodies, a good number of them shimmying and swaying. They couldn’t resist a good beat.
Many of them he already knew. Cousin. Cousin. Second cousin—which still counted as family when it came to extracurricular bedroom activities. His aunts. Dean’s aunts. Then there were the ones he knew he shouldn’t go near. Daughter of a Russian mobster. Wife. More wives. A few grandmas who smiled at him. The prospects appeared rather slim.
And then she emerged.
Cute as a chipmunk, her hair swept into a ponytail, glasses dark-rimmed and rectangular. Her curves just right. Her humanity on display as she managed to trip over her own feet and go flying.
Chapter Two
The tray almost slipped out of Charlotte’s hands as the door to the kitchen swung open requiring she lean out of the way. The tray she carried—with a double layer of bacon-wrapped shrimp and scallops—tilted slightly, but none of the appetizers hit the floor. She managed to straighten herself without mishap and sighed in relief. Disaster averted.
Usually, she stuck to washing dishes because she was known to be clumsy, but they’d been short staffed on the floor, and she fit in the uniform of black slacks and white blouse. Clumsy or not, they wanted her serving food.
The tray seemed easy enough t
o hold on to, except for the fact it proved more unwieldy than expected. But other people did it all the time. She’d get better with practice. She’d learned all kinds of new skills since she’d left a decent-paying job in a marketing firm to come to Russia. Given she didn’t speak the language, her working choices proved limited. Currently, she had two jobs, one to survive, the other to save so she could go back home.
This evening’s gig involved a catered meal for an after-wedding reception being held at a hotel featuring some of the most gorgeous people Charlotte had ever seen. Tall, muscular men, athletic women, graceful in a way that only made her ultra-conscious about her own shortcomings, like literally short. By at least a foot on most of them.
If someone called her fun-sized one more time, she might show them the biggest advantage to her height. She’d dropped a few guys in the past for thinking they could get fresh with her.
But what of the older women that had patted her on the head and asked if she shouldn’t be in bed? It seemed wrong to hit them, and at the same time, hello! She didn’t look that young.
“Are you going to stand there all night? Serve that food,” barked Viktor, the guy running the kitchen.
“Yes, chef,” she barked. She could do this. Just don’t drop it. Easy peasy.
Shoulders back, hands gripping the tray tight, with a bump of her hip, Charlotte went out the door and was hit by a wave of noise. The last time she’d gone out, placing fresh baskets of bread on tables, there’d been a few people. A fraction to what had arrived since.
The room overflowed, boisterous with life. The towering guests moved with a grace that slowed her as she hesitated in front of the door. She went from confident to awkward. Her feet tangled, and she pitched forward, the tray held out in front of her. So much food about to be wasted. “Please don’t let this come out of my paycheck.”
