Kragen

by Chloe Cox

  Andie’s heart swelled. Of course that was what he meant. She didn’t even honestly care if Kragen asked Gramzy about why she liked to invent reasons to lean on young, hot, muscular Leonids. They reached a doorway with guards in front of it, and Andie squeezed Kragen’s hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “She is my matriarch now, too,” he said as the guard keyed in a combination to the door. “She will be with us for a long time. I insist upon it.”

  “Kragen?” Andie said.

  “Yes, mate?”

  She looked up at him, and the warmth of their bond washed over her all over again. The essential golden goodness of him, intermingled with the ferocity of his love for her, filled her to the brim and nearly took her breath away. Andromeda Knowles was officially the luckiest woman on the planet.

  “I love you,” she said.

  Kragen smiled. He dipped down so that his lips brushed her head, and he inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent.

  “I did not know what love was until you, lubcha,” he said. “And I look forward to learning new ways to love you all the time.”

  Andie shivered as his voice grew husky, and the warmth between them flared hot.

  “That is a promise, Andromeda,” he growled.

  She giggled, trying to let off some steam before they got into real trouble. “When are you going to start calling me Andie?” she said.

  “I like Andromeda,” Kragen said. “In your language, it means ‘lady in chains’.”

  Andie’s eyes flew wide open.

  “Ok, then you have got to call me Andie in front of my grandmother,” she said.

  The door in front of them slid open with a subtle hiss, and Andie saw that Gramzy was already on board. Not only was she on board, but she was sitting, quite comfortably, on a fancy-looking couch, being attended to by about three different young males. All of them, as per Leonid tradition, shirtless.

  “Gramzy!” Andie said.

  “You hush,” Gramzy said. “Let me enjoy myself.”

  “Your matriarch is a formidable woman,” Prince Rhazian said, rising from his chair on the other side of the room. “Just like you, Andromeda.”

  “Andie,” Kragen corrected.

  The prince nodded, and Andie could have died.

  “Perhaps we will find you a Leonid mate as well, Mrs. Knowles,” Prince Rhazian said, smiling at Gramzy.

  “Don’t you try to flirt with me, Your Highness,” Gramzy said. “You’re only a baby.”

  The prince shook his head. “I am one hundred and thirty Earth years old, Matriarch Knowles.”

  “Well, in that case,” Gramzy said with a cat-like smile, “what are you doing Friday?”

  Prince Rhazian looked stunned, and Andie flushed down to her toes.

  “Gramzy,” she sighed.

  “Matriarch, are you in pain?” Kragen asked.

  “You call me Gramzy, young man,” Gramzy said. “As I assume you are my grandson now? Good. I knew my girl could handle it. Now that that’s settled, and if the prince is done flirting with me, I have something I’m quite worried about.”

  Andie knew that tone. Gramzy wasn’t kidding around.

  Just then an aide came to whisper something in the prince’s ear, and Gramzy nodded at him.

  “I hope that’s not related,” she said. “Because what I’m worried about is that I haven’t seen Kat. Not since she left the hospital room. And she hasn’t answered her phone or been to work. You know that’s not like her, Andie.”

  “No,” Andie said, her stomach tying itself in knots. “No, it’s not.”

  “Rhazian,” Kragen said, looking at his prince. “What is it?”

  The Prince looked up, his expression flat and impenetrable.

  “The advance guard we sent to the coordinates you gave us saw an open door to the structure, and decided to investigate,” the prince said. “All they found were shattered Leonid chains and a handbag belonging to one ‘Katherine Gale’.”

  “What?” Andie said. Desperately, she looked up at Kragen. “He won’t hurt her, will he? Please, Kragen. Please. Don’t lie to me.”

  Kragen’s eyes went gentle, and he wrapped his arms around Andie, enveloping her in warmth. She felt his desire to care for her, to take away the worry. It was uncanny. And yet she knew he would not lie to her. Whatever he said next would be the truth.

  “I do not know what he is anymore,” Kragen said. “But I do know the only time he was like himself was in her presence. And Rune himself would never allow any harm to come to any female.”

  “Nevertheless,” Prince Rhazian said, his voice changed to that of a military commander. “Runevok has escaped. He is on the edge of kravok. And he has taken a human female with him. We must find them, before the worst can happen.”

  “Kragen?” she whispered.

  “Try not to worry, lubcha,” Kragen whispered back, his lips pressing against the top of her head. “There is no trail of destruction in Rune’s wake, and so your Katherine Gale must still have some influence on him. She will be safe. And we will find them.”

  Andie took a deep breath and leaned her head into Kragen’s chest. She believed him, but this wasn’t good. Obviously it wasn’t good. She was worried, and she felt the beginnings of guilt gnawing at her, because Kat was only in this situation because Andie had pulled her into it. Of course, Kat would have killed Andie if Andie hadn’t called her, but that didn’t seem important at the moment.

  What seemed important was that Kat Gale was the smartest and most resourceful woman that Andie knew. She was brave, she knew more about Leonids than anyone else, and she was a freaking badass nurse.

  The only question was…could Kat Gale tame the Leonid beast?

  THE END

  For now…

  But if you want an EXCLUSIVE BONUS CHAPTER of Kragen and Andie sexytimes, you can sign up for my new releases list

  here,

  and not only will I send you a quick email when my next book is available (and only then! I don’t like getting a gajillion emails either), but I will also send you a link to an ebook of exclusive Alien Hunger Bonus Chapters. This is the only way to get this bonus chapter, so be sure and check your inbox for that link after you’ve signed up.

  And remember, if you leave a review on Amazon, shoot me an email at chloecoxwrites@gmail.com with a link to the review, and I will send you an advance review copy of the next book before it even goes on sale!

  And as always…KAT AND RUNE’S BOOK IS COMING SOON…like, for real, soon! Sign up for that new releases list if you want it as soon as it’s out. But just in case you haven’t had enough sugar kink…here are the first two chapters of the next Club Volare book, PRIVATE DANCER! PRIVATE DANCER will be released sometime in February, so get excited, dolls. I love you guys, and I hope you’re all having a great 2018 full of light and love – ‘til the next book! xox Chloe

  Club Volare: Private Dancer

  Chloe Cox

  Exclusive Teaser

  [Chapter 1]

  Bette Liffey thought she knew everything a woman needed to know about sex, starting with how to use it. She’d been dancing in strip clubs since she’d left her parents’ house, approximately one million years ago, and it had always been the same: T’s, A’s and men, and Bette knew how to work them all. But as she sat in her car outside the swanky Garden District mansion known as Club Volare New Orleans, sweating between her breasts and wet—wet!—between her legs, one thing became crystal clear.

  She didn’t know a damn thing, starting with what the hell she was doing there.

  No, yeah. She knew. And the reason she was here, today, doing what she was about to do, was too important to screw up. So as she stared at herself in the rearview mirror of her fifteen-year-old mom van, slicking one more coat of her trademark sparkly pink gloss over her lips, she told herself that Club Volare, this bored rich guy kink club, was nothing more than the place where some guy named Spencer Cole called himself a Dom and did…the things Doms did. Which w
ouldn’t be a problem, except for all the other things that Spencer Cole got up to in his down time. Allegedly, anyway. At least according to Bob Faulkner, the world’s creepiest court-appointed social worker.

  Faulkner was the reason Bette was here, on this ridiculous secret mission. And while Faulkner clearly hadn’t been first in line when they’d been handing out hearts, this Spencer Cole guy was supposed to be a dirty cop, which was probably worse. And anyway, it wasn’t like Bette had a choice. She had to go through with it if she wanted Lizzie back.

  So why was her pulse pounding between her legs like a freaking drum?

  “Jesus.” She capped her lip gloss angrily and threw it at her overflowing make-up bag. And then she had to bend over and grab it off the floorboard before it got lost in the mess of kids’ meal boxes and cheap toys that she should’ve thrown away forever ago because, God, it was painful to look at them.

  But it was also a reminder, every time she got behind the wheel, that she was gunning for the most important thing she’d ever chased in her life. So she straightened up, grabbed her over-sized bag, kicked the door open, and got out of the van.

  And then she stood there, curling her toes against the sun-baked pavement, feeling the tiny pebbles through her nylon fishnets, and she froze all over again, because Club Volare was not like any strip club she’d ever seen.

  Not. At. All.

  Knees shaking—nerves? Need? Nerves, definitely nerves—she fished the highest heels known to man out of her bottomless bag and held onto the side mirror as she stepped into her shoes one at a time, eying the swanky, ivy-covered pillars that framed the big sweeping porch and wondering how she was going to pull this off.

  The first time she’d wrapped herself around a pole and stripped, she’d done it numb, a mental blank of strut, bend, swivel, up again, twirl and undulate. She’d been too scared of herself, of the world, of her future, to think about much of anything. But then it got easier. The stage had become her throne, those men her subjects. She had everything they wanted, all the power she’d never known in any other area of her life.

  It got to be kind of fun, in a way.

  And then it had become a job, just like any other. A job where she always had to be “on,” but a job that had taught her to carry that power like a freaking queen.

  Wobbling unsteadily across the gravel drive — gravel! In heels! — all that queenly confidence deserted her. Even though she’d never set foot inside a place like Club Volare, she had an idea of what would happen on the other side of those heavy doors: Doms, subs, whips, chains. Men who would take charge, who would give her the things she’d always been afraid to ask for. She’d spent hours fantasizing about it, in fact. Just not under these circumstances.

  What would she have to do to get the evidence she needed on Spencer Cole?

  But then Bette thought about what she would get in return for helping Bob Faulkner put away this Special Agent Spencer Cole, and the answer came screaming back at her: It doesn’t matter. I’ll do anything I have to.

  The fact that she was insanely turned on was just a minor complication. Bette Liffey could handle hundreds of horny guys without breaking a sweat. She sure as hell could handle herself.

  And yet.

  Her heart was pounding a mile a minute by the time she finally reached the entrance. Insane security cameras swiveled to follow her every move. She swallowed hard as she lifted her hand to knock, and yelped out loud when the door swung open before she could even touch it.

  An intimidatingly beautiful blonde woman appeared in front of her, all soft eyes and welcoming smile, and instantly Bette felt like a moron. What had she expected, a mean fist reaching out to grab her by the hair and haul her into some dank dungeon?

  On the other hand, this woman looked like she’d never worried about money a day in her life. So that part checked out.

  “You’re new,” the blonde woman said, still smiling. “Hi! Sorry, I’m just excited for tonight. You’re here for the event, right?”

  Bette nodded as she took in the way the other woman was dressed. A curve-hugging but conservative dress covered her from neck to knee, concealing as much skin as Bette’s own clothes revealed. Suddenly uncertain, she asked, “This is Club Volare, right?”

  “The one and only NOLA location. Why don’t you come inside? It’s baking out here. We don’t want you melting into a puddle.”

  Oh my God, if you only knew.

  But Bette just nodded again. This was a lot friendlier than she’d imagined. It was disorienting. She didn’t remember putting one foot in front of the other but a moment later, the woman closed the door behind her and swept her toward a gleaming desk that looked brand new.

  “I’m Simone,” the woman said, with another kind smile. “I’m working reception tonight, because special event and all that, but normally I do publicity for the Club.”

  Publicity. That explained the moneyed look. “Slumming it?” Bette asked, before she could stop herself.

  Then she cringed. This woman had been nothing but nice, and nerves had turned Bette into a jerk.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m just…”

  “Nervous?” Simone smiled again, this time a little easier. “Yeah, this place looks intimidating as hell from the outside. But don’t worry. Tonight’s event will have a bunch of people who are new to Club Volare, so you won’t be alone. And we take care of our own here.”

  Slowly, Bette swallowed. Spencer Cole was one of their own. Bette was not.

  “Sounds good,” she said, finally. “Sounds great, actually.”

  And it did. If she were totally honest, Bette ached for the idea of a place where everyone looked out for each other. That was one fantasy she’d never outgrown. The fact that that place might be full of sexy, intimidating Doms was just the icing on the cake.

  Eyes on the prize, Liffey.

  “Let’s get you a guess pass for the night,” Simone was saying, “and then you can go on in and get your bearings.”

  “Thanks.”

  Smiling as though tongue-tied newbies were a familiar sight, Simone turned back to the reception desk to go do something efficient. Bette was hardly paying attention. She was too busy scoping out the details of the foyer, which had clearly been repurposed as some kind of check-in station. There was a discreet sign above one door that identified a coat check room—not that coats were all that necessary in this freak heat wave, but she supposed people had to put something over their fetish gear between the time they left their homes and arrived at the club. And then there was another elegantly shaped doorway that led into what she could only assume was the heart of the place, the center of action where all the spanking and nipple clamping happened.

  At least judging by the sounds coming from behind it, anyway.

  “Miss?”

  It must be the second time Simone had called for her, because the patient blonde sounded downright gentle.

  “Sorry,” Bette said. “I totally forgot to introduce myself. I’m—”

  Bette stopped short. She had a fake ID in her bag. Part of the whole “go undercover at Club Volare to nail a dirty cop” plan that Bob Faulkner had her involved in. She hadn’t really thought a fake ID was necessary, but Bob had insisted. He’d even gotten it for her. And now she was just hoping he’d gotten the damn name right.

  “You can call me Bette,” she said. “You need to see my ID?”

  “Yup,” Simone grinned back. “And then I’ll have you sign all the paperwork and house rules stuff. You actually have to read it, too. Like I have to watch you, and then I have to sign it, too.”

  Bette raised an eyebrow. “You guys don’t mess around.”

  “You have no idea what my fiancé would do to me if I didn’t make sure a prospective club member read the whole thing,” Simone said, grinning. Then she smiled again, broadly, to herself—like she was smiling about a secret Bette couldn’t know anything about.

  It was the most intriguing
ly suggestive thing Bette had ever seen. What would a Dom do to you for breaking a rule like that?

  “Maybe I’ll just tell him I didn’t make you read it anyway,” Simone said under her breath.

  Bette laughed suddenly, genuinely, and it was like half the tension in her shoulders evaporated. That she could understand. Evidently Simone did too — the blonde looked upward and shook her head while shivering slightly, and Bette knew exactly what she meant. Some guys just got under your skin, in the best way. Or at least Bette had heard it actually happened in real life. Simone apparently had one of those.

  Bette tried not to let the fact that she was handing over a fake ID spoil the moment. She hated lying.

  “Ok, I’ll just make a copy of this, and let me get you the packet…”

  “A copy?” Bette said, trying not to sound alarmed.

  “Yeah, for insurance purposes, and also just for safety purposes,” Simone was saying. “You actually won’t have full access to the club until we can run a background check, but it won’t matter tonight, because everything will be in the public areas.”

  Background check? On a fake ID?

  Bette probably would have freaked out about that little detail — and damn creepy Bob Faulkner, did he know about this? — except she didn’t have time to freak out about background checks, because, right at that moment, he walked in.

  And, whoever he was, he demanded all of Bette’s freak out attention.

  Tall, dark, and dangerously handsome didn’t really cover it. Whoever he was, he walked through the doors to the rest of the club like he owned the place. Not just the building, but everything. Everything he could see.

  And those glittering eyes were looking right at her.

  Bette could hardly breathe as he strode towards her. Later, she would try to figure out what it was about him that was so brain-shatteringly hypnotizing. It wasn’t just the solid, muscular mass of him, it wasn’t just the authority that clung to him like a tailored suit. It wasn’t just the rough, masculine bones of his face, the way his heavy features held gray-blue eyes that seemed to have x-ray powers. He just…somehow curved space around him. You couldn’t not look at him. Couldn’t not wait for him to speak. Like he was a force of goddamn nature.