For some reason, following in the Baton Rouge police chief’s footsteps didn’t sit right with Malcolm. And the truth was, he wanted to see the look in Charlie’s eyes when she realized what was happening. He knew that somewhere deep down, she would recognize the mark. It was hardwired into her. She was a female-born and a Dormant. She would know he was marking her as his, and he wanted to see that knowledge in those stark baby blues.
More of Lucas’s words came back to him.
“The moment the needle penetrates deep enough for the blood to take effect, she’ll slip into submission. You’ll have to act fast, then, or she’ll freak.” Lucas told him.
An alpha’s mark forced a submissive effect onto the Dormant he marked, and its initial stages were potent. Dormants were normally overwhelmed with instant sexual need, an utter stripping of will power, and a healthy dose of fear that could cause them to do crazy things. But so far, those Dormants had all been human.
Malcolm wasn’t sure what would happen to Claire. It was entirely possible that she would slip into fight mode and it wouldn’t be fun. God only knew what she would be capable of once an alpha’s blood mingled with her own.
He’d decided that once she’d been marked and Malcolm could see that she’d had a chance to register his claim, he would kiss her then. He would push hard until she was weakened beneath him. If necessary, asleep.
Because Claire had never had a tattoo before, she didn’t notice that Caige failed to use a stencil or to clean the area of her arm that he would be marking. Instead, she simply kept her eyes shut tight and tried to trust the strangers in the room with her.
Malcolm took up position on Claire’s left side as Lucas dipped the hand-held machine into Malcolm’s blood and drew the thick red liquid into the tube of the gun. With one last meaningful glance at Cole, Lucas placed the tip against the inside of Claire’s wrist and, after covertly wrapping his free hand around her arm to hold her in place, he turned it on.
He pressed hard, wanting the needles to strike true the first time around.
Claire’s eyes flew open as Malcolm’s blood found hers and her arm instantly heated up. Caige held her fast, keeping the gun pressed tight against her skin as the powerful blood did its job. Cole was quick to grab her other arm with his right hand. Claire arched her back and opened her mouth to scream, but Cole’s left hand came over her mouth as he slid one long, well-muscled leg over both of hers in order to straddle her so that she couldn’t even move.
Terror instantly registered in the depths of her blue eyes. She was trapped, alone, with these men and no one knew where she was. She was in pain. She was defenseless. And, worst of all, something about it was turning her on. He could smell it.
Cole leaned in and placed his lips to her ear, the fiend in him fully enjoying the feel of her breasts pressed so hard against his chest as she arched beneath him, attempting futilely to get away.
“Don’t fight it, luv. Let it happen and it’ll be easier on you,” he told her, allowing his accented voice to wrap around her. She shivered as the initial pain of the needles undoubtedly began to wane and gave way to a rising sense of pleasure. Of need.
She gasped behind the silencing grip of his fingers over her mouth as the mark began to take shape. Cole turned to look when Lucas whistled low.
He’d removed the needle and was gazing down at her arm. A fine, shimmering emerald line was twining its way across her cream-colored flesh. It was intricate and impossible. It was stunning.
Seeing it on her had a horribly forceful effect on Malcolm. He grew painfully hard above her. His fangs exploded in his mouth and he knew that his eyes were glowing. He could feel his pupils expanding hungrily as everything in the room came into stark contrast. His skin burned where it touched hers and all he could smell was her arousal, her shampoo, the cinnamon-flavored toothpaste she’d used before leaving the hotel.
His claws began to grow as need wracked mercilessly through him. Every bone in his body was telling him to bite her now. To rip off her clothes and thrust into her wetness as he swallowed her blood and brought her over. Tiny starlets of light began to dance before his vision as his wolf threatened to break free and flash into existence.
It was Lucas, clearing his throat beside him, that brought his mind and body reluctantly back to reason. He glanced over at the black-haired werewolf. Caige’s dark eyes glittered with warning. He couldn’t take her now. The mage had been right.
Claire knew what was happening to her. He could tell that although she would not understand the logistics of it, it was clear to her that he was laying some sort of claim on her body. As he straightened and gazed down into those beautiful eyes of hers, he knew that she was aware he was marking her as his own.
And if he didn’t give her a chance to digest it in stages, she would hate him. She would despise him. She might even try to kill him. He doubted that Charlie was going to turn out to be a weakling of a made wolf.
No. He had needed to mark her. That much, he could defend as his right. He needed to protect her from Phelan. But, claiming her and changing her was another story. He needed the chance to fully explain things to her before he brought her completely over.
Now was not the time.
Charlie moaned behind his hand as more heat and moisture gathered between her legs. Even Lucas visually tensed at the sound, watching with wonder as she closed her eyes against the mounting pleasure. Caige was a wolf and also an alpha, and he was definitely not immune to the blatantly sexual image that Charlie currently presented.
Lucas stood, undoubtedly wanting to remove himself from the situation as quickly as possible. He moved toward the door and, with one last glance at his leader and his leader’s chosen mate, he left them alone, closing the door securely behind him.
Malcolm removed his hand from Claire’s mouth and gazed at her through the tops of his now all-black eyes. As if she could sense that he was drawing her attention back to him, her eyes fluttered open.
“You are mine, Charlie.”
“What have you done to me?” she asked breathlessly.
“I’ve marked you as my own. It can’t be reversed and you can’t fight it. So, I suggest you surrender to it, luv. And let it be.”
He could feel that she would have instinctively fought against such a claim had she not been under the submissive effects of his mark. She was a tough girl, and he got the sense that she wasn’t new to the notion of fighting. But an alpha’s mark was inexorable.
Still, she managed to narrow her gaze just a little. “You’re not human,” she accused. It was impressive that she had come to the conclusion so quickly. It was even more impressive that she accepted it so readily. But that was a female-born for you.
“What the hell are you?” she ground out as another vicious wave of invasive pleasure threatened to make her climax right then and there.
He smiled, flashing fangs. Her eyes widened, her breath catching.
“I’m a werewolf,” he told her. “And so are you.”
Chapter Five, The Marked Card
Charlie stared, wide-eyed, at the man who pinned her to her chair.
Almost everything about him was straight out of a gothic horror movie. He was an erotic nightmare. From his strikingly handsome face and sculpted build to his all-pupil eyes and glistening fangs, to the aura around him that made her feel like a chocolate bar in a locked cage with a starving man, he was danger incarnate.
He could be the devil. It would make perfect sense.
Devil or not, she wanted him to rip off her clothes and take her on the floor, right then and there, in that room. And that realization absolutely, unequivocally terrified Charlie.
Chemically speaking, terror is the sudden and rapid influx of adrenaline and cortisol into one’s bloodstream. Claire St.James now had so much adrenaline and cortisol running through her veins, there was little room for anything else.
There was no room in her well-honed body for emotion. No room in her instinct-reverted brain for rational thoug
ht. Three hard years of intense training slammed into place, ruthlessly knocking away everything else that futilely scrambled for prime real-estate within her brain.
The only thing she could do was what she had been taught to do for three years. In one fluid movement, she reached up, fast as lightning, and grasped both sides of Cole’s head. At the same time, she reared back and gained momentum. A split second later, she was slamming the thick of her skull into Malcolm’s face and knocking him entirely off the chair in which she sat.
Without waiting to see what the full effect of her action was upon the man and without stopping to see whether he would get up to follow, Charlie vaulted out of the chair and raced to the door. She didn’t stop there, grasping the handle and flinging it open as she rushed out into the main lobby and straight for the front door.
* * * *
Lucas Caige watched Charlie leave the parlor, her long strawberry blonde locks flying out behind her as she headed full-steam into the chaos of the city beyond. He considered trying to stop her, but this was not his fight. And Malcolm Cole needed to take that fight out beyond the eyes and ears of other humans, anyway.
A second and a half later, Cole calmly stepped out of the room and drew the long-sleeve of his white thermal shirt across his face. It came away covered in blood, though there appeared to be nothing wrong with his nose or mouth.
His eyes had gone from all black to a piercing jade once more, and a cruel smile pulled at the corners of his lips.
“She clocked you?” Caige asked.
“More or less,” Cole answered, casually. “If we didn’t heal the way we do, I would be a tad rearranged, at the moment.”
Caige’s brow shot up. “So, I was right.”
Cole cocked his head to one side. He was listening, but his attention drifted toward the front door and the woman who had just gone running through it.
“She’s not like a human Dormant,” Caige went on. “She should have gone straight into submission. But, instead, she head-butted you.” Lucas couldn’t help his own smile, which broadened when Cole shot him a scathing look.
Malcolm took a deep breath and again gazed toward the parlor’s exit. If Phelan’s wolves had still been on The Strip and if Cole’s own men hadn’t out-numbered them, Charlie would be fair game to them right now. However, Gabriel’s men were gone and Cole’s wolves were fanned out across the city. Malcolm’s smile returned.
He knew he was a bastard. There was something a little too dark and maybe a little too twisted inside of him. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, or even how. Maybe it was the curse. Maybe it was that he’d been in three wars, all of them bloody.
Maybe it was just him. Perhaps he was just broken.
But whatever the reason, Cole had to admit that he enjoyed slowly and methodically breaking someone down. He’d punished countless serial killers in this manner, bringing them to their knees before he had dealt them their final blow. Much to his shame, he’d systematically tortured Lily St. Claire in much the same way. He had shown little to no respect for her needs or desires. The truth was, he simply hadn’t cared.
He’d never outright hurt her, but he’d wanted what he had wanted and he knew how to play the game to get it.
It was the chase he loved. The pursuit. He was a wolf in its truest, predatory form and whatever form the chase took, it brought him immense pleasure. This situation with Charlie had the makings of perfection. He’d been able to sense her building arousal; hell it had been impossible not to. He knew she was as affected by the marking as he had been. The fact that she had chosen to run from him allowed him the time and the distance that he needed to hunt her down the right way. No matter how strong or stubborn she was, in the end, she would submit to him. This way, it was a lot more fun.
“Deal with these people and close the shop down,” he instructed calmly, his gaze skirting to the windows and the hustle and bustle of the Las Vegas night beyond. “Then head back to the Bellagio.”
Lucas nodded once to show that he understood and then he left to tend to his customers.
Cole pulled his cell phone from his front pocket and flicked it open. He pressed a few buttons and waited as Jake picked up.
“She’s out like a light,” Jake told him, without pretense. Cole knew he was speaking of Charlie’s friend, Mary Jane. He’d succeeded in putting her under with his kiss. Most likely, she was crashed out on Jake’s bed, never having made it to The August.
“Good,” Cole said. “Pull the men in. Charlie’s running and I don’t want them interfering unless she tries to head back to her room.”
“Got it,” Jake confirmed.
Cole hung up and re-pocketed his phone. Then he stepped out onto the sidewalk and inhaled slowly. Deeply. He caught her scent easily. It was as if it called to him. He smiled and allowed his power to surround him as he headed off down the street. People moved aside, giving him a wide berth.
For all they knew, he wasn’t even there.
* * * *
Charlie had no idea where she was going. She just ran.
A few of the people on the streets gave her strange looks. The occasional concerned citizen tried to ask her if she was okay or to peek around her to see who or what she was running from. She could tell that the minimum-wage hires on the street corners considered shoving fists-full of small x-rated cards into her face, but her speed either shocked them or deterred them enough for her to escape facial paper cuts.
Charlie’s mind was spinning almost as quickly as her legs were moving. What Malcolm Cole – if that was even his real name – had just told her was crazy. There was no way around that. Werewolves, plus the real world, equaled crazy shit.
But, as crazy as it sounded and as insane as she would be to accept any of this as anything other than a bad dream or a straight dive off of the steep slopes of insanity…. She believed him. In fact, not only did she believe him, but a part of her hadn’t truly even been surprised. She was unsettled and confused, but not as shocked as she should have been. And that was really what surprised her more than anything else.
Malcolm Cole’s power over her was unreal. Christ, was she ever attracted to him. Even as he’d forced his hand over her mouth and allowed his companion to mark her with that needle, she had been wet for him. The attraction was so powerful, it was literally painful.
The moment their eyes had first met in that club, she’d felt like she’d known him for years. He was instantly familiar to her. Those green eyes of his were the same green eyes she’d been seeing every night for several months now. He was the green-eyed stranger in her dreams.
But that wasn’t all. There was something else about him; something so magnetic, so impossibly alluring, she had very nearly asked him to take her back to her hotel room for a one night stand. Shoving her beer into her mouth had been the only thing saving her from making that horrendously embarrassing mistake.
Charlie was dumbfounded by what was happening to her body and mind. Even though the man was clearly not human, and even though he swore that she wasn’t either – even though everything about the last hour of her life had turned her world completely upside down – she still wanted him. Craved him. Like nothing she had ever craved before.
She wanted to run her fingers through his thick hair, so dark it was almost black. She wanted to kiss his sensual lips, to taste him as she ran her tongue along those sharp teeth. She wanted to feel the hardness of his muscles beneath his shirt and then she wanted him to hold her down so that she couldn’t touch him at all.
There was a part of her, a big part, that wanted to give up control to him. The way she sometimes did with Jessie. She’d never felt that way about anyone else before. It was as if, despite the dark promise in those all-pupil eyes and despite the cruelty in his gorgeous, fang-filled smile, she actually trusted him.
A werewolf.
She shook herself and picked up speed, allowing the blurred world around her and the hard and fast beat of her heart to distract her from the desire that she didn’t
understand and that threatened to overwhelm her.
She forced her thoughts in another direction. His fangs. The strange glow in his eyes. The piercing claws that she’d felt on the tips of his fingers as he’d held her arm down in the chair.
Wolves.
Charlie had loved wolves since she was a child. They had decorated her room in her parents’ home. At first, when she was an infant, they appeared in pastels and cartoon-like figures that hung from mobiles above her crib and acted as drawer pulls of her armoire. Later, they came in actual posters of Timbers and Grays amidst tall forests, that hung from tacks along each of her four walls.
A wolf had graced the back of her leather jacket in high school. Twin wolves had been carved into her first set of drum sticks. She recalled the night she’d thought of the name Black Squirrel for her band. She’d been dreaming of a black wolf. It had been chasing a black squirrel. And when she’d awoken, she’d rolled over, scribbled down the name, and gone back to sleep.
She’d even chosen a wolf for the tattoo she didn’t actually have because a strange, emerald green mark covered her inner arm where the tattoo was supposed to have gone.
Claire’s gaze flitted to the mark as she ran, and then back up to the sidewalk so that she could see where she was going.
What had he done to her? He’d told her that she was his. That he had marked her as his. She chanced another glance down and noticed the shimmer along the intricate knots of the mark. It was mesmerizing.
And then she ran into a brick wall and the impact jolted every bone in her body, sending her sprawling backwards.
“I can see the wheels spinning in your head, luv,” he told her. His voice was so powerful. So damnably delicious. Even as she hastily managed to get her feet beneath her again and back away from him, his voice sent an unbidden shiver through her frame and she gritted her teeth against it.
The Strip Page 7
