Deuces Wild

by Celia Kyle

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About Celia Kyle

  Ridgeville: Book V

  Deuces Wild

  Celia Kyle

  March 2013

  Published by Summerhouse Publishing. Copyright, Celia Kyle. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  Summerhouse Publishing

  http://summerhousepublishing.com

  Celia Kyle

  http://celiakyle.com

  Editors

  Jennifer Barker

  Gwen Hayes

  Cover Artist

  Celia Kyle

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter One

  “Life is not WYSIWIG. There is no ‘what you see is what you get’ thing going on. Because, hey, people wear clothes and stuff. Or they’re liars. So, get ’em naked or shoot them. Just don’t get blood on the carpet.” — Maya O’Connell, Prima of the Ridgeville Pride and a woman who’s decided that twins are overrated and that two is never ever better than one.

  Deuce wondered when the curvy little woman standing at Alistair’s back would make her move and rip out the polar bear’s jugular.

  He guessed five minutes. This was unfortunate since he had a good hand and he figured he’d be winning pretty soon. He, Alistair—leader of Freedom, a shifter antiestablishment militant group—and two others had been sitting around the poker table for a few hours. Deuce was one flip of a card away from taking the last of the man’s money in this game of Texas Hold ’Em. The turn had been revealed and Alistair had raised. The rest of them called, easily meeting the new amount. Now he needed the river card to come through for him and he’d win the pot.

  But the woman standing behind the leader and flanked by two guards looked like she’d happily end the polar bear’s life.

  She was beautiful, despite the bruises and dried blood peppering her face. Deuce fought the attraction that had been prodding him since the moment he’d walked into the room and settled in a chair. Regardless of her wounds, she stood tall, glaring at Alistair anytime he chanced glancing at the female.

  With the room filled with heavy, sweet cigar smoke, he couldn’t catch her scent. He wasn’t quite sure if she was a shifter or simply a human who’d caught the leader’s eye. Based on her fresh, deep bruises and the dirty looks she kept flashing to the room, the woman hadn’t been too keen on being taken.

  He’d heard the rumors about the woman, speculation that she was anything ranging from a senator’s sister to the relative of a powerful shifter family. Deuce figured the latter explanation was closer to the truth.

  He leaned forward, grabbed his quickly emptying can of light beer, and swallowed a mouthful of the bitter brew. Even after all these years, he had trouble getting past the taste of the specially formulated liquid.

  “Can’t believe you drink that shit.” The grumbled words easily cut through the smoke-filled room. It was the hyena on his right. Big fucker. Without a doubt, he was twice as wide as Deuce. But Deuce had training on his side and the other guy knew it.

  Deuce’s fangs burst from his gums in a flash and he hissed at the larger man. His lion purred in approval. He’d been going through this shit from the moment he’d joined Freedom, constantly having to prove his dominance over the others. It had gotten him this far, securing his place in Alistair’s inner circle and closer to his ultimate goal.

  “Enough.” Alistair’s voice was quiet and Deuce’s beast wanted to turn his feral attention to the polar bear. In truth, the man wasn’t as strong, fast, or lethal as he and his lion, and it’d take no time to take him down.

  But he couldn’t make his move, not yet, not when so much was still unanswered. He had a lot more intel to gather for the council. A lot more.

  The woman suddenly moved, dived past her guards, and attacked the seated leader. She wrapped her fingers around Alistair’s throat with a flash of claws and encircled his neck, tips digging into the flesh at his throat.

  Damn it.

  Alistair’s men forced her to relinquish her grip, and then shoved her back, her body colliding with the wall and cracking the smooth surface.

  Deuce swallowed his fury, pushed the lion in an effort to keep it from emerging. His beast lurked beneath his skin, rippling along his muscles. He forced his heart rate to remain steady, urged his cat to control itself. They couldn’t afford to let their true feelings show.

  He hated violence against women, but there was nothing he could do. Not yet. He had a job to do and he couldn’t sacrifice his mission. He studied the men bracketing the woman and committed them to memory. When his job was complete, he’d visit those two in their jail cells. Privately.

  Rage filled every line of the polar bear’s features and the man wiped at his bleeding wounds with a napkin. Placing the crumpled, red-tinged bit of cloth on the table, he rose and gave his back to the room. Alistair took two striding steps, blocking the dazed woman from Deuce’s gaze. The sound of flesh against flesh echoed through the silent room. Based on the thud, he figured it was a backhanded slap rather than a punch.

  “Bitch.” Alistair spat the word and then, as if nothing had occurred, returned to his seat, easing into the padded chair.

  The leader reached out and flipped the river card, appearing not to have let the interruption bother him in the least.

  Deuce. Funny, last card revealed happened to be a wildcard.

  Deuce took turns in observing the men surrounding the table from beneath his lashes, checking them all for tells he’d observed during their play. The guys to his left and right had nothing. Alistair remained.

  He hadn’t discovered anything about the polar bear that would clue him in on the man’s hand. No flick of his eyes, throb of a vein, or dilation of his pupils. Nada.

  A glance at the chips in front of Alistair revealed that the man didn’t have enough to even hit the minimum bet. Deuce wasn’t sure what the shifter was up to. He should have folded before now. Unless he’d been praying for a miracle.

  With the last card faceup, the leader was set to begin this round.

  “It seems I’m at a slight disadvantage.” The polar bear smirked. “Let’s make it interesting. We each go all in and since I’m a little short on funds, we’ll sweeten the pot with Miss Martin. Agreed?”

  Lust coated the features of the men beside him, the scent of their desire managing to override the sweetness of the cigars, and they both nodded. Not that they’d win. Deuce’s stomach churned at what Alistair might be trying to do.

  His loyalty had been teste
d, day after day, from the moment he’d made first contact. He couldn’t blame the man. Deuce had been a guard to the mate of one of the strongest and most influential Primes in the country, Alex O’Connell. But he’d abandoned that life and had embraced his time with Freedom.

  Alistair’s gaze was locked on Deuce as the next words left his mouth, as if the man spoke to him and him alone. “I made a promise that Miss Martin wouldn’t enjoy my bed, but no mention was made of anyone else’s.”

  He somehow knew Deuce had a winning hand and Alistair was going to force him to win, force him to drag the battered woman back to his room and…

  He refused to let the disgust that filled him enter his features, pushed down the bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t blow it over a woman. He’d figure something out. Somehow, some way.

  The woman fought against the guards restraining her, fire burning bright in her eyes as she tugged against their hold. A rapid chitter passed her lengthened teeth and he still wasn’t sure of her inner animal.

  At least, based on her sounds, she wasn’t a rabbit. He’d had enough of those little furballs (and not having them for dinner) when he was part of the Ridgeville pride. They’d shared their territory with a colony. Then the Prima’s best friend, a rabbit named Carly, had mated one of the other pride guards. So he could easily identify those scratchy noises.

  One by one, they pushed their chips into the center of the table, signifying their bets. Then they flipped their two cards, watching and waiting to see who’d take home the prize.

  Tension rose in the room, heating the space and assaulting Deuce’s nose with the heavy scents of desire and anticipation. The musk of sweat joined the acrid aromas and he simply wanted out. Out of the room. Out of the house. Out of Free—

  No, not yet, not when he was still missing so much. Alistair’s crimes were unquestioned, but they needed to know the man’s plans. They needed Deuce to gather information and hand the leader over to the council.

  Alistair and his antiestablishment militant group, Freedom, were a threat to all shifters. He fought against the hierarchal structure that kept them all sane and controlled, believed they should each be self-governing and able to live free of another’s rule. The council, and ninety-nine percent of the country’s shifters, knew the man was an idiot. A crazy idiot who tried to get his point across by injuring innocents. The problem was his methods drew attention.

  Humans were aware of shifters and allowed them to self-police, but Alistair’s actions threatened the uneasy peace with the non-weres. Murder tended to piss people off. His job was to directly tie Alistair to Freedom’s activities. Hard, cold physical evidence. He said, she said wasn’t gonna cut it.

  Deuce’s gaze fell on Alistair. His focus was met with a smug smile from the leader and he let his attention waver to the other man’s cards. Damn it. Deuce had won. If only it’d been cash. Now he had to drag the female to his room, keep her from unmanning him, and find a solution to their problem, because he wasn’t about to rape a woman.

  “Looks like Deuce takes the pot.” Grumbles and growls met Alistair’s pronouncement, but the leader let the sounds roll off his back. With a smirk, the man gestured behind him. “Come claim your prize.”

  Forcing his features to take on a cool mask of indifference, Deuce pushed back from the table and strode around the gathered men. At his approach, the woman glared and then spit, sending a glob of saliva through the air to land on his cheek.

  “Charming.” He wiped the fluid from his face and then wrapped his hand around her bicep, tugging her from the guards’ grasp. “I’ve got her.”

  The woman fought; he had to give her credit for that. Even after the beatings she’d suffered, she still dug her heels in and struggled against him. She wouldn’t win, of course, but he admired her inner fire.

  Deuce dragged her through the doorway and down the hall, keeping his grip tight so she couldn’t break free. He really didn’t feel like running. At the steps, he finally gave up with pulling her along and simply tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, hand across her thighs so she wouldn’t fall.

  At the top, he turned right and stomped to the end of the hallway, anger and frustration going into every collision of his booted feet with the plush carpet.

  Damn it, he didn’t need this.

  He pushed into his bedroom and kicked the door closed behind him, thankful for the relative privacy. He’d been given one of the few sound-insulated rooms in the mansion, his rank within Freedom affording him that luxury. It wouldn’t keep everything from the outside world, but words would be muffled.

  Deuce tossed her onto the bed and watched her lush body bounce, breasts jiggling with the movement, and he forced himself to look away from her curves. He needed to focus. Alistair expected him to rape the woman, and he had to find a way to get around the silent order.

  The moment her body stilled, she went into action. Her mouth opened, releasing a screaming chitter, and she came at him, small claws extended and teeth bared. He had to admire her tenacity.

  He easily countered her attack and shoved her back onto the soft surface, forcing her to lie supine beneath him as he pinned her arms beside her head and body with his.

  Still she screamed and bucked, fighting him for all she was worth.

  This close, he could see the busted blood vessels in her right eye, the depth of purple that stained the area surrounding the milk-chocolate-hued orb. He noted the fresh blood staining the corner of her mouth and the fist-sized abrasion on her chin. Her nose had been broken, the bridge crooked and never reset. Blood caked her upper lip and he imagined her nostrils were filled with the dried remnants of her nosebleed.

  Alistair had obviously worked over her face pretty well. He wondered about the rest of her body.

  But she hadn’t been raped.

  At least, he didn’t think she had been. “Hush.”

  The smoke from the game cleared his nose and he could finally breathe, catch hints of aromas that didn’t involve cigars. It was then he caught her scent.

  And he seized her flavors. He captured the essence of dewy pines and honeysuckle and…mate. Oh, god, not now. Not when there was so much at stake and he couldn’t keep her safe. He’d worked so hard to get to this point.

  Those brown eyes, even filled with burning rage, called to him. Her bruised lips begged for whisper-soft kisses. He wanted to tend to every bruise, every scrape, cut, and injury. He’d kill Alistair, tear the polar bear limb from limb for injuring his mate.

  Deuce’s lion roared in approval, anxious to secure their mate and then return to destroy the leader.

  The woman’s lush body cradled him, abundant breasts cushioning his chest, and the heat from the juncture of her thighs burned him. His cock hardened from her closeness, responding to her scent and mere presence. He wanted to strip her, lick, taste, and nip every inch of her flesh and then slide deep into her pussy. He’d slip his fangs into her shoulder and claim her as his, coat her in his scent so everyone would know she belonged to him.

  “I’ll kill you.” Her words came out in a strangled, raspy voice and he noticed the handprints that wrapped around her neck.

  “I know you’d try.” The sour scent of her fear reached him and he shoved the cat back. They couldn’t play, not now, not when so much danger lurked.

  “Then I’ll kill myself.”

  A raging roar filled his mind and Deuce fought against voicing the feelings that filled him. His gums ached, pushing against his flesh, and he kicked the lion back this time. He didn’t have a moment for finesse when dealing with the cat, and he’d suffer the consequences of his actions later when he let the beast free. He doubted his little mate could handle an incensed lion.

  His mate. His lush, curvaceous mate.

  Deuce took one last deep breath. He knew he’d have to climb from her, force himself to retreat and show her she could trust him, at least a little. That final inhale brought even more to his senses, more of her alluring fragrance along with hints
of her inner animal. Her… “Squirrel? You’re a squirrel?”

  She narrowed her eyes but nodded.

  Great.

  A lion mated to a squirrel. And he’d teased one of the other guards back in Ridgeville about claiming a bunny.

  Damn, he missed that place, missed his friends—

  No, he couldn’t think on that, not when he had to deal with his current situation.

  Deuce huffed. “Okay, I’m gonna move off you and go stand by the door. Screaming isn’t going to solve anything. Got it?”

  Her glare remained in place and she agreed with a quick jerk of her head.

  Fighting against the lion’s demand that he remain near their mate, he tore himself away from her and did as he promised. He didn’t stop until his back met the solid wood of the door.

  Beneath his gaze, Miss Martin pushed into a sitting position and he noticed the wince that bolted across her features, the way she clutched her ribs. Fury tore through him, unadulterated rage over how his mate had been treated.

  Alistair would die.

  The moment she hit vertical, she stilled, wary, and her eyes remained trained on him.

  “I’m Deuce, Deuce Karn. Lion.” Her lips formed a tight white line when she remained silent. “I can call you lady, squirrel, or Miss Martin. Or you can give me your name.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to look as harmless as possible. It wasn’t easy.

  Being a lion, he hit just over six feet and the rest of his body matched. His shoulders were wide, barely fitting through the average doorway, his body swathed in heavy muscle from head to toe.

  “Elly.” She bit off the single word.

  He nodded and forced himself to relax. His mate’s name was Elly. Scrumptious Elly Martin.

  “Okay, Elly, we’re gonna get you out of here.” He hadn’t realized his true intention until the words passed his lips.

  “Really?” She quirked a brow. “Do tell. We’ll scurry out and no one will stop us?”

  Deuce wiggled his arm, intensely aware of the watch strapped to his wrist.

  A watch given to him by the shifter council before he’d embarked on his mission.