When her eyes made contact with his, he knew. Whatever she was, she wasn’t human. Not a kind of human he was familiar with.
He also knew he’d rather die than be separated from her.
Logic and reason tried to break through, pounding up a storm on a door somewhere deep inside his brain, but he refused to listen.
“Here’s the other one, kiddo,” Badger said, presenting it to her on a plate. “Try eating it like yer not a total barbarian, for chrissake. Ye’ll scare the poor lad. I raised ye better than that.”
Without breaking eye contact with Ken, she unerringly grabbed a knife and fork from the counter, made fast work of slicing the rare meat, and forked the plate’s contents into her mouth…
Wolfing it down proved the best description his brain could latch on to.
“What are you?” he whispered.
She softly burped and excused herself as she rinsed the plate and utensils before putting them in the dishwasher. Her expression had taken on a softer, sated tone.
“I told you, I’m a wolf shifter,” she replied. “Most people think we’re a myth. There are very few humans who know the truth about us. There’s a lot more of us than you’d think. Here in the Tampa Bay area alone there are nearly a thousand of us, most either descended from or beholden to the Targhee pack. Although some others from other packs have filtered in over the years. That’s why they sent me here, to keep order. Humans can’t be dragged into pack business. We don’t need the truth getting out.”
She stepped around the counter. He turned on his stool to follow her movements.
“Don’t let him hit the floor,” she warned Badger as she shrugged off her shirt.
“What?” Ken asked.
Badger laughed as he stepped close. “She’s worried ye might faint on us. Valid point, too. Don’t feel like totin’ ye to the emergency room to explain how ye got a concussion.”
Indignant outrage returned. “I’ve never fainted in my entire life. I don’t even faint at the sight of blood.” God knew he’d seen a lot of it over the years. Especially his own, from beatings at the hands of his step-brother.
Badger grimly nodded. “That’s good to know. Chances are, ye’ll see a lot of that over the years with her as yer mate.” He tipped his chin in her direction. “Not yer own blood, mind ye, but others’.”
Ken returned his attention to Dewi, who by this time had worked her way down to her bra and panties. Holy crap, how’d she get undressed so fast? She showed no signs of embarrassment as she removed those and stood totally nude before them.
Beautiful, gorgeous. Not skinny, but firm, lean muscles and perfectly rounded curves in all the right places. His cock screamed to let him have another chance with her.
“Ready?” she asked, but Ken wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or Badger. He nodded anyway.
Badger replied, “Aye.”
As he watched she closed her eyes. Her lips moved although nothing came out. Suddenly, he was staring at a huge timber wolf with a grey face and silver coat with black highlights.
And Dewi’s mocha eyes.
It felt like all the air exploded out of his lungs.
Bleacke’s Geek
Bleacke Shifters Book 1
by Lesli Richardson
© 2012
WWW.LESLIRICHARDSON.COM
Bleacke’s Geek
Bleacke Shifters Book 1
Copyright © 2012 by Lesli Richardson
First E-book Publication: October, 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This work may not be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form or by any means currently available or available in the future, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, for free or for sale, without express written permission from the publisher and author.
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Dedication
To Hubby and Sir, my two favorite geeks.
Chapter One
The parking lot of a crowded neighborhood sports pub in north Tampa, not too far from the University of South Florida, on a steamy, early June Saturday night.
Nothing unusual about that.
Leaning against her car, she patted her hip. Through her black, double-breasted oilskin coat she felt the comforting weight and profile of the nine millimeter in its holster. The coat, a man’s style that she’d had custom-tailored to better fit her, hung midway down her calves, the back split up to her ass, allowing her unimpeded mobility. Tonight she wore black jeans and an oversized black, button-up shirt, with a black tank top on under that, along with her black leather motorcycle boots.
Admittedly clichéd, but it hid blood well, if necessary.
Pushing away from her black Saleen S281, she strode toward the pub. Two college-aged guys standing outside the front door went slack-jawed and silent as they stared at her approach. She didn’t need her special abilities to know what they thought as they watched her progress across the wet parking lot. Coat billowing behind her, combined with steam rising from the tarmac, a smooth gait that made it seem as if she floated, and a kick ass car.
She could practically hear their erections rising.
Frat Boy One shifted position a little so he could crane his neck to look around her and get a better view of her ride.
“You walk within ten feet of it,” she muttered, just loudly enough that they could hear as she passed them, “and I’ll rip your balls off and have them deep fried as my appetizer.”
Both men immediately took a step back out of her way, giving her a wide berth as she entered the pub.
As she’d expected, no one inside noticed her entrance. It was a busy Saturday night. The waitresses looked frazzled, while the puck drop of the Bolts-Blackhawks playoff game on TV held most of the patrons’ attention.
Her intended mark sat in a far corner booth, with his back to the door while he shot the shit with three of his scumbag human friends.
Good. He’s not expecting it. Stupid fuck. How could you sell your fifteen-year-old daughter to a drug dealer and not expect retribution from pack elders?
It boggled her mind.
She preferred to not take him down inside the main dining room, especially since there were a few kids in the pub. At least not kill him in the open. Maybe if he got up to take a leak, then she could do it back in the bathroom.
One of the harried waitresses noticed her and waved her hand around the dining room. “Sit anywhere you want, hon. We’ll be right with you.”
She nodded. Crossing the dining room away from her mark, she slid onto an empty stool at the bar where she could see her him. Jonathan “Jay-Jay” Peckingham, Junior.
Peckerhead would be a better name for him.
He sat totally oblivious to her presence. Laughing with his friends, he stuffed his face full of fried cheese sticks, totally unaware he was consuming his last meal.
Good. That means he’ll be there for a while if they’re only on the appetizers.
She ordered fried mushrooms and water and waited for her chance. While she watched, her mark and his friends killed a pitcher of beer and immediately ordered a refill.
The hockey game didn’t interest her despite her love of the sport. Not tonight. Not even when the Bolts managed to score two back-to-back power play goals m
idway through the first period. She kept her focus on the men, although it would appear to anyone else that her attention was fixed on the TV across the bar.
Unfortunately, the call of nature strikes even pack Enforcers.
I can check out the back, at least.
When the bartender walked past her seat at the bar, she left a twenty by her plate, reached out to touch his arm, and said, “I’ll be right back. Little girls’ room. Keep the change. Don’t give away my seat.”
He smiled, as much from the nearly fifteen dollar tip she left him as from the silent command she sent him to forget her face.
On her walk through the pub, she considered her options on how to best take out Peckingham with as little risk as possible to the other patrons. Deep in thought, the unexpected scent slammed into her as if she’d been sucker punched, stopping her in her tracks.
No. Oh, hell no. Not tonight!
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to force her feet to move. Even when a waitress struggled to scooch past her, she didn’t step aside.
Forward, she commanded her feet.
She opened her eyes and scanned the room. Of their own volition, her feet turned her away from the back hallway where the bathrooms lay and to the left, into the other side of the pub’s dining room.
Please let him be married. Taken. Fuck, let him be gay!
She had to take down Peckingham tonight. Those were her orders from the tippy-top of the Targhee pack food chain. Not that she needed orders, in this case. She was happy to take the fucker out. But considering an edict from the pack’s Alpha had been issued, if she didn’t, her hide could, literally, be on the line. Not that she had any intention of not following through with the edict.
In fact, she’d enjoy it. He was a dirtbag. She refused to allow another child to be put in harm’s way by not taking the fucker out.
But if she didn’t take care of claiming her mate now she wouldn’t be able to focus on her job.
Threading her way through the tables, she rounded a room divider where two more rows of booths and several tables were located. She came upon a slightly geeky-looking man sitting alone in a booth. He was hunched over a laptop with his back to her, a stack of papers haphazardly sitting on the far side of a basket of fried mushrooms.
Well, at least we have that in common. That’s a start.
She stepped up to the table and stared down at him, waiting. Mr. Mystery Geek finally looked up when he noticed her standing there. No rings on his left hand, and what looked like a college class ring on his right. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that didn’t hide his sweet, brown eyes. He kept his brown hair neatly styled, and his cheeks clean-shaven. Maybe one-eighty-five soaking wet, if he was lucky. She couldn’t tell how tall he was, but judging from his torso length he likely stood a few inches taller than her.
Thank the Goddess for that, at least.
When she didn’t speak, he nervously said, “Um, may I help you?”
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
Fuck.
Mate.
She had to claim him. Now. Otherwise, even if she didn’t get herself killed trying to take out Peckerhead because she was distracted thinking about this guy, she would drive herself nearly mad trying to track him down again if the crowd bolted and cleared the pub.
Decisions, decisions.
“Are you married?” she softly asked after she opened her eyes again.
“I beg your pardon?”
She fought the urge to bare her canines at him and take him right there. Her tongue flicked over the point of her right one as she felt the pleasant ache of it wanting to slide out. “I asked if you’re married.”
Looking obviously puzzled, he shook his head.
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Gay?”
That apparently motivated him to righteous indignation. “Look, just because I’m an academic and single doesn’t mean I’m gay!”
She spotted his computer bag in the other seat. She grabbed it, scooped up his papers and slid them into it, then shut the lid on his laptop and dumped it in, too. When he tried to protest, she nailed him with her eyes and held a finger to her lips.
“Silence.”
His eyes widened as he clearly heard and understood her silent command. Looking shocked, he slowly nodded.
Even more proof that he was meant to be her mate. They had an instant connection without her even laying a finger on him.
She dropped two twenties onto the table to take care of his order and anything else he might have coming from the kitchen. Then she slung his bag over her shoulder and grabbed his arm. When she pulled him out of his seat, it was like peeling fresh, wet newspaper off a windshield. No resistance whatsoever.
She looked up at him. She’d guessed right. At least he’s taller than me. Not quite six feet tall, though.
Jesus, Badger’s going to laugh his ass off.
Stifling her aggravated moan, as well as her desire to claim him right there in the middle of the crowded dining room, she kept her fingers clamped around his wrist and led him toward the back. She had to have him.
Right now.
* * * *
This can’t be happening. When he’d felt the woman’s presence by his table and looked up into her beautiful large, mocha-colored eyes, he wondered if she was pissed at him for taking her usual spot or something. She stood there just staring at him. A walking ball of intensity, heat shimmers seemed to radiate off her.
Now after answering her questions and watching her clear his stuff off the table, he found himself being dragged along behind her toward the back of the restaurant.
Why am I not fighting this?
He thought about it for a moment. Wait, why the hell would I fight this?
It was almost like he could hear her muttering under her breath, even though it sounded in his brain and not in his ears against the noisy backdrop of patrons watching the hockey game. Not that he paid the game any attention. He hated violence of any kind, even sports.
But they served great fried mushrooms here.
Okay, focus. Hot woman taking me somewhere.
When he hesitated at the ladies’ restroom door, the mystery woman dragged him in behind her as if he didn’t have several inches and at least fifty pounds on her.
Jesus, how strong is she, anyway?
She could give Buffy the Vampire Slayer a run for her money. Actually, he realized that description seemed to fit her, except she had glossy, dark auburn hair that beautifully accentuated her creamy skin.
* * * *
Thankfully the ladies’ room was empty and had a separate large stall for patrons in wheelchairs. She shoved her mystery man into the handicapped stall ahead of her and locked them inside. After setting his bag down, she pulled his glasses off his face and carefully set them on the sink before she shrugged off her coat, kicked off her boots, and started working on her jeans.
“Pants down,” she growled. “Now.”
That seemed to break his spell. “What?”
“Down. Now. If I have to rip them off you it’ll hurt like hell when I do. Not to mention I will march you out of here half-naked when we’re done. I’d rather not draw that much attention to us.”
Apparently sensing he couldn’t argue with her, he started working on his belt with trembling fingers.
Her jeans and panties already lay on the top of her coat in a puddle of fabric. His khakis hadn’t hit his knees yet when she reached over and yanked down his tighty whities.
“That’s good enough.” She grabbed him and kissed him deeply, now tasting him as well as smelling his scent.
No doubt about it. He was hers.
She yanked the collar of his blue knit shirt to the side to expose his left shoulder. He tried to offer token protest again but she kissed him, silencing him.
Not hung like a horse but plenty respectable enough, his cock stiffened when she wrapped her fingers around it. “Do not drop me,” she growled. That w
as all the warning she gave him before she hopped up, wrapped her legs around his hips, and sank his shaft inside her.
Explosions went off behind her closed eyelids, and that wasn’t even an orgasm.
Holy fuck!
His obvious confusion immediately transformed to passion as nature and need took over. He grabbed her ass, holding her, then turned them around, bracing her against the sink as he thrust hard and fast. Maybe he didn’t look like much on the surface, but he sure as hell knew what to do with the ample equipment the Goddess gave him.
“That’s it, baby. Hard and fast,” she managed to whisper before she felt her canines elongate and she sank her fangs into the flesh of his left shoulder.
With enough sense of mind to slap her palm over his mouth to muffle his scream, she kept her teeth buried in his flesh, savoring the taste of his blood over her tongue, sweet and sharp, warm and…
Mine.
He came with her, her climax milking his from him as she licked his wound to stop the bleeding. It would completely heal in a few days, indelibly marking him as hers.
At least he didn’t drop me.
* * * *
He tried to regain his wits and realized that would be damn near impossible at this point. In the space of less than five minutes it seemed his life had totally shifted on its axis, wildly swinging from boring reality into something resembling The Twilight Zone. All he’d wanted was to grade papers and eat dinner, alone as usual, and at least feel like he was part of his surroundings.
He didn’t have a lot of partners to compare the mystery lady to, but he’d never had an orgasm as powerful as the one he’d just experienced with this strange, beautiful woman. He came so hard it felt like his cock would explode.
And what the hell with the biting thing?
Not that he’d ever had a woman practically rape him like this before. Okay, so not rape, he damn sure didn’t mind what she was doing to him once he got into it. Maybe a half-foot shorter than his five-eleven, with straight, dark hair falling around her shoulders. A few light freckles dusted her cheeks over creamy skin. Her mocha eyes seemed to compel his obedience. And that throaty voice!
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