Claimed by the Mate, Volume 3

by Kate Douglas

  “I’m gonna fuck that sweet ass tonight and you can get back to work in the morning,” he told her, his teeth scraping along her bottom lip.

  There was a pinprick of pain at that action and her heart raced, all but exploding in her chest. Her mind screamed now, even as she tried to reach back for her purse again. When Davis had grabbed her he’d pulled her away from the table, so it wasn’t within her reach as it had been before.

  “This is not a good idea, Davis. I promise you . . . it’s n-n-not,” she stuttered.

  “No,” he insisted. “I promise you this will be the best night of your life.”

  His words ended with a slight chuckle and then what she might have thought was a growl, if her heartbeat hadn’t been thumping so loudly in her ears. She was shaking her head, his hand still holding her neck tightly. His other hand was working her dress up until he managed to touch the bare skin of her upper thigh.

  “Please don’t do this,” she said in a voice that sounded nothing like her own, tears stinging her eyes.

  “I knew I’d get you to beg,” was his response as his tongue traced a line down her neck.

  Her body trembled, mind racing with what might happen, what could go down in just a few more minutes. Everything she’d ever worked for would be gone, down the drain because she hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings. He was going to rape her and laugh about it in the morning. She would have to press charges against him, solidifying the end of her career at the firm, because she knew for a fact there were other partners who wouldn’t believe her. She reached back, trying to move her feet and to get closer to that table once more. She’d gotten her purse unzipped; if she could just get her hand inside, all she needed was to get—

  Pain seared through her shoulder, like a billion fire-hot needles sticking into her, ripping her skin and possibly part of her soul. The tears that had been burning her eyes poured down her cheeks and that scream she hadn’t wanted to break free sounded throughout that room like a siren.

  Davis was laughing. That’s what Marena heard next, laughing, and she felt him rip her panties, his fingers touching the bare skin of her crotch. Adrenaline soared through her veins and she reached back far enough to get her hand into her purse. The eighteen-hundred-dollar designer bag probably fell to the floor, she’d put her hand inside and pulled it out so fast, but Marena didn’t give a damn. All she knew was that she had to stop this madness, before it went too far.

  With her other arm she pushed against Davis with all her might, sending him stumbling back a few steps. He looked startled, then smirked, his lips . . . bloody. Shaking her head so her mind would clear, Marena lifted her arm, the gun she’d taken from her bag clenched tightly in her hand.

  “Get out of my room,” she said in a surprisingly steady voice.

  He had the audacity to free his erection at that point, gripping it in his hand as he said, “Not until I’m done with you.”

  She released the safety on the gun and aimed at his dick. “Now!”

  It happened so fast Marena didn’t have a moment to do anything other than react. Davis lunged for her and she squeezed the trigger, catching him in the stomach. He paused for only a second, smiled, and came at her again. Marena fired off another round and another and then another, until the gun was empty, clicking loudly in her hand as she continued to pull the trigger.

  Her entire body trembled now. She felt like she was on fire, her heart racing so fast any second she was certain it would explode out of her chest. She dropped the gun, taking a step back to try to catch her breath. Her next thought was that she needed to call the police, but when she turned to look for her purse again the room spun around her. Marena clenched her stomach that churned and bubbled as nausea swept through her body. She was cold and she was hot and in the next instant she was falling to the floor.

  * * *

  “Ma’am. Ma’am, just calm down. I’m Detective Silverman from the SFPD.”

  Marena could hear his voice, gravelly, with a sort of southern drawl that didn’t seem to fit here. The throbbing headache and sick feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t fit, either. She’d just left the party, had planned to get a quick shower and climb into the bed. It was a king size, just like the one she had in her bedroom. Only this one she wouldn’t have to make up when she woke in the morning, because she was in a hotel. She would order room service and have breakfast in bed in the morning and lounge around for a while until it was time for her spa appointment.

  But wait . . . she wasn’t in here alone. He was here and he . . . oh, no!

  Marena sat up, or at least she tried. Pain soared through her right shoulder with such intensity her head spun.

  “Just take it easy,” that southern voice said again. “Take your time. You’ve had quite a busy night.”

  Had she?

  Yes, Marena thought with an inward sigh. She had.

  Opening her eyes, she found herself staring into an unfamiliar face. A fortysomething-year-old face with a scraggly beard and a pudgy nose.

  “I’m Detective Ron Silverman,” he told her with a slight nod of his head. “Are you Marena Panos?”

  Marena began to nod but stopped abruptly when pain from the motion almost blinded her. “I am.”

  “And you work for The Arrington Firm, the company that had a big party downstairs earlier tonight?”

  She knew better than to attempt a nod this time. Instead, she spoke in a soft voice. “Yes.”

  “Then you came up here to the room you reserved,” Detective Southern Drawl continued.

  “I did,” she admitted.

  His gaze grew just a little more intense on her as he said slowly, “And then what did you do?”

  Nauseous and with her head throbbing like a boulder might have fallen on it, Marena was still a lawyer. She knew exactly what an interrogation was, as well as her rights regarding same. She also knew the look the detective was giving her—the “she’s a slut, so she must have asked for it” one—and she wasn’t offended. She was pissed off.

  Coming to a stand wasn’t easy—the room tilted and her stomach wheezed its displeasure—still she kept moving, until the detective was taking a step back to give her space.

  “I’ll call my lawyer . . . now,” she said, swallowing hard to keep everything she’d eaten earlier down where it belonged.

  Before the detective could reply Marena tried to take a step, but her legs rejected that notion and she felt herself going down quickly. There were two cops there now, the detective and a female wearing a uniform.

  “She needs a doctor,” the woman said.

  The detective frowned.

  And Marena passed out. Again.

  * * *

  Twenty-four hours had passed and Marena still felt like crap. The doctor in the emergency room had ruled out a concussion, calling what Marena was suffering from some sort of trauma. Although the female cop who had accompanied her to the ER had repeatedly told Marena that there was no one else in the room when they arrived.

  She’d been lying on the floor, her gun beside her, with the door wide open. Another guest in the hotel had heard the shots and came over to find her. The police wanted to know what had happened.

  And so the hell did she.

  “Hello?” Marena said groggily, answering her cell phone.

  She had no idea what time it was, just that it was daylight again. When she’d returned to her apartment from the ER she’d taken a shower and sat on the side of her bed preparing to call Gail McGovern, a woman she’d met in law school and the closest friend Marena had ever claimed. But she’d never made that call, or at least she didn’t think she had. Exhaustion had overtaken her and Marena had fallen asleep. For an entire day.

  “Marena? Hi. It’s Tammi, from the office.” The female voice spoke loudly through the phone.

  Frowning, Marena tried to sit up in bed. She was still a little dizzy, but at least her stomach wasn’t feeling as if it were ready to revolt at any minute.

  “Hey, Tamm
i,” she replied. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I was calling you to find out,” Tammi said. “What the hell happened on Friday night?”

  Marena was sitting straight up now, staring across her bedroom, confirming that she was still in a familiar place. The last time she’d awakened it had been in a hotel room with a strange cop staring in her face. “What do you mean?” she asked her secretary.

  “The partners are here in the conference room. They called me about an hour ago and asked me to come to the office and to log on to your computer,” Tammi told her.

  “What? What for? Wait, it’s Sat—no, Sunday?” She shook her head, trying to clear the fog that insisted on hanging around. They’d given her pain medication in the ER, but that was hours, no, a day ago, she thought, but she was having a hell of a time keeping track of the time in her mind.

  “There’s a cop here, too,” Tammi continued. “I mean, he said his name was Detective Silverman.”

  Detective Southern Drawl. Marena did remember his name at least.

  “What are they saying, Tammi?” she asked, her hand tightening on the phone as she stood slowly from the bed.

  “Davis is missing,” Tammi said, her voice low.

  Had she been whispering this entire time? Marena wasn’t sure. Her head still hurt. But she was walking across the room, going to pull the blinds closed at her window. She didn’t know why she did it, but she went to the second window and did the same thing.

  “What do you mean he’s missing? I sh—I mean, I just saw him at the party on Friday,” Marena said.

  “I know. That’s what they’re saying. I mean, they said that you and Davis were at the party and that the two of you left to go up to your room. He told Stan he’d call him in the morning, you know, after,” Tammi reported, not an ounce of judgement or disgust in her tone.

  Because Tammi was another one of the females at the firm who thought they were in love with the fabulous Davis Sumpter.

  “That’s not—” Marena replied immediately, then snapped her lips shut. She knew better than to admit anything, to anybody. Even her secretary. “I’m coming in. Tell them I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “No!” Tammi immediately exclaimed. Then her voice lowered once more. “That’s why I’m calling you, Marena. I heard them talking about getting a warrant for your arrest. They think you did something to Davis.”

  Marena remained silent because she had done something to that asshole. She’d shot him.

  But if that was true, then where the hell was his body?

  Marena closed her eyes. She’d shot a man. Twice, or was it three times? She couldn’t remember. What she did know was that he’d intended to sleep with her that night, regardless of whether she agreed or not. And she had definitely not agreed. So she’d defended herself. Now Tammi was telling her something different. Davis was missing.

  And she was a suspect in his disappearance.

  “I’ll call you back,” Marena said quickly, disconnecting the call with Tammi before the woman could say anything else.

  Her hands shook now. She looked down at them, at the fingers that had squeezed the trigger of that gun. Her ring was still there, the one her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. She wore it on her left ring finger because Matthew Panos would forever be the love of her life. The only man she had ever allowed into her heart.

  With that thought she willed herself to stop shaking. She was not weak. The youngest of five children and the only one to move away from the small coastal town in Florida, to go to college and to make something of herself, was definitely not a weakling. She pressed another button on her phone and had to leave a message for Gail.

  Then Marena did something she never thought she’d do.

  She went to her closet and pulled out a duffel bag. In the next moments she was throwing clothes inside, grabbing her makeup bag, her bottle of Ambien and multivitamins, tossing them all into the bag as well. As she pulled on her jeans, Marena jumped when her cell phone rang. Checking the caller I.D., she frowned when she saw the office number.

  Slipping her feet into her flats, she was moving again, heading to her closet. She retrieved a T-shirt, quickly pulling it over her head, but taking another second or so to get it properly adjusted. Marena wasn’t a small girl by a long shot. She was curvy or plump, voluptuous or luscious, as men had called her in the past. Chubby or round, as her siblings used to tease. Cute-as-a-cherub, Darlene Panos used to tell her when she tucked her in at night. A beautiful, independent woman who needed to purge her closet of these shirts that might be a size too small, Marena thought as she closed the closet door and decided the snug fit of the T-shirt over her triple D–sized breasts would simply have to suffice.

  She ignored the phone call, grabbing her phone off the bed and her Kate Spade clutch. In the next ten minutes Marena was out the door, down the elevator to the underground garage in her apartment building. Climbing behind the wheel of her Mercedes SUV, she started the engine and pulled out of the garage. She drove for almost an hour before realizing she had no idea where she was going, or what she planned to do when she got there.

  All Marena knew for certain was that something strange had happened in that hotel room Friday night. Something a lot stranger than a man she’d known for the last five years coming on way too strong and getting his ass shot in the process. Definitely more bizarre than the fact that Davis had simply gotten up after those shots she’d put into him and walked out of the hotel.

  No, the most inexplicable part of that evening was the searing pain still shooting from her shoulder down her arm, spreading to every part of her body. She’d remembered the start of the pain in that area, how it had pierced clean through to her soul, causing not only physical discomfort but also an opening or awakening that she could not readily explain. Then she remembered seeing the blood around Davis’s mouth. He had really bitten her. As weird as that sounded and as realization bounced around in her mind, Marena knew it was true. And then he’d disappeared. So now she not only felt like crap, but she also was wanted by the police.

  Yes, everything she’d recalled seemed outlandish and served as motive enough for her to try to find someplace safe to stay until she could figure all this out.

  Until she could discover who the hell—or, rather, what the hell—Davis Sumpter really was.

  Chapter 1

  He was in.

  His dick throbbing with each step he took. Down the long, winding, underground hallway and up two sets of stairs, Phelan moved steadily, his mind and body focused on one thing only. Sex.

  The urges had driven him for the past two hours as he’d pressed every bit of speed out of his Ducati 1098 Superbike on the highway leading him from Blackbriar to Bozeman. He’d made this ride weekly for the past two months, needing more than he’d ever had before.

  Phelan was a lycan who possessed every lycan trait, including the insatiable sexual appetite. At thirty-one years old, six feet and three inches tall, and 184 pounds, he was almost as powerful as an alpha and better trained than any of the humans’ military soldiers. He’d lost count of the number of people he’d killed in his lifetime—human and others. There was no family for Phelan, just his pack. No fun and games, just the mission at hand. Life wasn’t a gift, it was a job, and Phelan knew how to do his job.

  He also knew how to slake the burning need that for the last eight weeks had been raging through his veins like adrenaline. In the morning when he woke, until the second he was finally able to close his eyes for a night’s rest, he thought of sinking into a perfectly warm and wet pussy, drowning in its goodness until he could think of nothing else.

  Not the threat on Blaez’s life.

  Not the house full of lycans and their mates where he lived.

  And certainly not the curse that Eureka had called herself, putting it on him.

  Eureka, the beautiful vixen who had taken a part of him one summer’s night long ago and turned him into the cold, hard bastard he was now. It was amazin
g that one woman could do so much damage in such a short span of time. But Eureka was no ordinary woman. In fact, she was a fury.

  Phelan yanked the door open, stepping inside the room where he knew they would be. They were always here in the hours before the club opened. Always naked and aroused and doing whatever they could to calm the sexual storm brewing inside of them.

  It was as if every being that was not human on this earth was fueled by its sexual desire and inside these walls, in the club that was owned and run by furies, there were no holds barred. They could all find complete ecstasy before they had to return to the real world.

  Phelan’s booted feet were silent as they moved over the plush bloodred carpet. He heard the sounds before he saw any of them, moans of pleasure, sighs of bliss. His blood warmed. Turning the last corner to where the furniture would be positioned just right, studio lighting would be in each corner, casting everyone in a bright golden light. Huge black pillows would be thrown on the floor, matching the black drapes at the two windows along that back wall.

  He came to a stop at a chair, the one he liked to sit in. It was ready and waiting for him, just as he knew it would be.

  She knew exactly what he liked. Always had.

  Sitting down slowly, Phelan looked across the room to where a woman with red hair lay naked on the floor. Her legs were spread wide so that Phelan could see the slick folds of her pussy, seconds before another man’s tongue stroked them. Small, palm-sized breasts were being grabbed from each side by two different women, while a fourth woman straddled the redhead’s face, allowing her to lick along the folds of her juicy pussy.

  A few feet away a busty brunette stood with one leg up on a man’s shoulder. He thrust deep into her pussy while another man stood behind, pumping wildly into her bottom. The moaning grew louder, mixing with the sound of sweaty bodies slapping against one another, tongues slipping and slurping. It was a smorgasbord of pleasure, one that Phelan knew men and women alike, all over the world, would pay to witness in person.