Mating Rituals [Impulse 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Zara Chase

  Impulse 4

  Mating Rituals

  Meteorologist Aisha Carlton has hit the wall with her career. She chances upon Impulse, Florida, where the weird weather patterns have defeated explanation by hundreds of scientists before her. If she can only come up with an explanation, it will reinvigorate her career.

  Kane Blair and Tyrone Darwin, alpha leopards, recognize Aisha as their destined human mate. But Tyrone’s personal life is a mess. His former shifter-mate is trying to keep his kids from him and Kane has just woken up in a hotel room with a strange woman in his bed. If they had full-on sex he’s blown his chances of mating with anyone else.

  How can he find out what really happened? How can Tyrone persuade his ex to send their kids back to the safety of Impulse, and how can the two leopards persuade Aisha to stay in Impulse, forget her career, and embrace life as the mate of shifters?

  Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter

  Length: 51,244 words

  MATING RITUALS

  Impulse 4

  Zara Chase

  MENAGE EVERLASTING

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

  MATING RITUALS

  Copyright © 2013 by Zara Chase

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-601-0

  First E-book Publication: March 2013

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

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  MATING RITUALS

  Impulse 4

  ZARA CHASE

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  “That about wraps up the regular business. Now I’ll take pitches for our special feature slot.”

  The producer’s words got everyone’s attention. Up until then the team had been slumped in their chairs like they bore Monday mornings a grudge, still half-asleep and totally disinterested. But the finest brains in the station’s meteorological unit perked up at the mention of the feature. Nothing like a bit of competition for prime airtime to kick-start the week, Aisha supposed. The divide between news reporting and weather forecasting in this new, innovative, nationwide news-and-weather television channel was hard to define. Everyone in front of the camera was getting to do a bit of everything, which made for unhealthy, barely civilized competition. The format had gone down well with the viewing public and more established networks were sitting up and taking notice.

  Unlike the rest of them, Aisha was still new enough to find the production meetings helpful and informative. She’d remained wide awake and alert, listening, learning, and taking copious notes. She wondered if the day would ever dawn when she became as cynical about her chosen profession as her senior colleagues. She couldn’t imagine it ever happening because she loved what she did and lived almost exclusively for her work.

  The special feature was a hotly contested chance for the meteorologist who came up with the most original idea to shine in a weekly ten-minute slot. And that included Aisha, even though she was the lowest of the low with little up-front camera time and not much practical experience beneath her belt. Not that any of that mattered. Her idea was fresh and pioneering, meticulously researched and well formulated. She patted the neat pile of professionally bound documents she intended to hand around when her turn came. Aisha was confident that she’d get to have her ten minutes of fame not just as a one-off but—and here was the clever bit—as a regular feature in which high school students studying weather-related issues would be invited to air their views. Her idea was big enough to run and then run some more. Simple concepts often were.

  Her heart did a strange little flip when she glanced across the table at her mentor and boss, Rick Vaughn. His hair was all mussed up—just like it had been when he’d gotten out of her bed that morning—just like it always was. The way his hair refused to stay flat, no matter what punishment the studio’s makeup team inflicted upon it, made him look incredibly endearing. Aisha counted her blessings. Not only had she landed him as a boss, but she’d attracted him on a personal level, too. He was divorced, heterosexual, and drop-dead gorgeous. He could have just about anyone he wanted in his life, but for some reason that eluded Aisha, he seemed to want her.

  He saw her looking and turned away. Aisha didn’t feel rebuffed because they went to great lengths to keep their relationship secret. The station frowned upon its employees fraternizing outside office hours and Rick didn’t want to be accused of showing her favor. Aisha loved him for being so considerate. She was more than capable of making her own way, using her brains and allowing her achievements to do the talking for her. She didn’t need to sleep her way to the top.

  “Okay,” the producer said. “Let’s go around the table and see what we’ve got.”

  The first two people put up dull presentations about even duller subjects. Aisha tried not to look smug as she thought about her own offering. But she was getting ahead of herself. It was Rick’s turn. He hadn’t told her what he had planned—in fact he’d been annoyingly secretive about it. Still, whatever it was, she was pretty sure it would b
e slick and plausible. She wished him luck. There was no reason why both their projects shouldn’t get the green light.

  Aisha offered him a professional smile of encouragement, but again he refused to meet her eye. She frowned, an uncomfortable prickling feeling creeping down her spine. He was going so far out of his way to ignore her this morning that he was in danger of actually drawing attention to their relationship.

  Still looking everywhere except at her, he started to talk, which was when Aisha finally understood why he was being so evasive.

  “Why does radar show storms and satellite show no clouds?” he asked. “We all know the answer to that, but I very much doubt if your average high school student does.”

  Aisha gasped, spluttered, and then convulsed, causing several people to throw her concerned glances. She barely noticed. Anger surged through her in near-unstoppable waves as she stared at the man she thought she loved, seeing him now in a very different light. The words spilling from his mouth were the exact same ones, give or take, written in the presentation she’d slaved over night and day.

  The bastard had stolen her idea.

  * * * *

  Kane opened his eyes, groaned when daylight burned into them, and immediately closed them again. Some cruel bastard was attacking his head from the inside with two jackhammers at once. The pain was almost unbearable. He buried his head in soft, unfamiliar pillows that reeked of expensive perfume, deciding that he must be dead. Or dying. Or someplace in between. He hoped the end would be quick and merciful.

  “Ah, so there is life after death,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  Kane opened one eye cautiously. He turned toward the voice and, presumably, the owner of the perfume. An attractive, big-busted woman leaned up on one elbow and smiled at him. Make that an attractive, big-busted, naked woman. A total stranger, making herself right at home in his bed.

  If it was his bed.

  Where the hell was he? And where was Tyrone? He panicked. Something definitely wasn’t right here.

  Way to go, Kane. Nothing gets past you.

  “Shall I call for coffee?” the woman asked, running a hand seductively down his arm. “Or would you like to have me for breakfast instead?” She let out a soft, sultry laugh. “Again, stud.”

  Again? Fuck it, what had he done? The woman was exactly his type—slim, big tits, long brunette hair, pretty face—but he wouldn’t have, would he? Kane and Tyrone were getting weaker and more despairing by the day as they waited for the right human mate to come along and restore their powers. But it had to be the right mate. No way would he fuck a woman out of desperation, no matter how enticing a package she presented. It took a special kind of human to mate with shifters and live in a state of semiperpetual siege. It was a life sentence without the possibility of divorce. Women prepared to make that commitment were rarer than Santa Claus. Picking the wrong one in a moment of weakness would be catastrophic for the dwindling prowl of leopards in Impulse, to say nothing of himself and Tyrone personally.

  Cautiously Kane sat up and this time opened both eyes. His hangover, if that’s what it was, was still unbearable, but fear overcame his discomfort. Kane wondered about that. He had a strong head for booze, and, even on the rare occasions when he overindulged, he’d never gotten this wasted before. The thought of being set up sprang to the forefront of his addled brain, setting him on his guard. Surely he wouldn’t have fallen for something so obvious? He’d spent his life being suspicious and ultracareful and he had telepathic powers that enabled him to second-guess people. Not that he used them too much nowadays. The psychic energy required drained him and he needed to preserve his dwindling capabilities. Even so, if this woman had been sent by Impulse’s enemies to compromise him, surely he’d have sensed it?

  Kane took a glance at his environment. He was in an anonymous hotel room, which didn’t narrow it down much. Bright sunshine poured in through the windows since they obviously hadn’t gotten around to pulling the drapes.

  Sunshine? Ah, now he remembered. He’d gone to a weekend conference in Miami, representing Impulse’s interests at a statewide tourism forum. Tyrone hadn’t come because he had stuff to take care of elsewhere. Today was the final day. Last night had been a gala dinner and…and what? Hell if he could remember.

  “You put a few away last night,” the woman said. “We all did. I guess it got a bit out of hand. How do you feel?”

  Like shit, but not because of the hangover.

  “Just give me a moment.”

  To buy some time, Kane staggered from the bed and made it to the bathroom. He used the can, splashed water on his face, and stared at his reflection through splayed fingers. The sight that greeted him made him groan. His pupils were dilated, his eyes bloodshot, and he was sweating profusely in spite of the fact that the AC kept the temperature in the room at a comfortable level.

  Some of it was coming back to him now. The woman—Susanna Denton, her name was—was a conference attendee from Cape Canaveral. Just about every guy attending had the hots for her. A number of them had hit on her, but it became apparent that she had Kane in her sights from the get-go. Kane had flirted with her, like he’d flirt with any attractive woman, but he hadn’t intended for it to go any farther than that. Nor did he recall drinking to excess. So what the fuck had gone on? And more to the point, what had actually gone on in that bed?

  Kane’s heated body turned ice cold when he ruminated upon the possibilities. What was he supposed to do? Ask Susanna politely if they’d actually had full-on sex? He laughed aloud, even though there was nothing remotely funny about the prospect of having committed himself to a life of never being able to shift again.

  “What’s so funny?” Susanna asked, drifting into the bathroom, still totally naked. “Goodness, look at me.”

  Kane looked, his insides weighed down with lead when she picked up a washcloth and applied it to her inner thighs.

  “I must have been out of it if I didn’t even clean myself up afterward.”

  Kane said nothing as he watched her wash away the crystallized evidence of dried sperm.

  His, presumably.

  Kane didn’t know what else to do and so he got in the shower, hoping like hell that the woman wouldn’t follow him. She clearly got the message and didn’t.

  “You obviously need some time to get yourself together,” she said, “so I’ll go back to my room and do the same. See you downstairs later.”

  Kane grunted something unintelligible, only breathing freely when he heard the door close behind her. After she’d gone he stood under the hot jets of water for a long time, allowing them to pound onto his aching head without feeling the pressure. He then turned the water to cold, enduring it for as long as he could before exiting the stall. He felt better physically, but mentally he was a train wreck.

  Now that he was thinking more rationally, he’d almost managed to convince himself that there was a plausible reason for that sperm being on her thighs. He would have chosen to ejaculate on her tits but perhaps he shot it over her pussy instead. Yes, that would be it. Say it often enough and you might even convince yourself.

  She wasn’t the right mate for him, and if he had actually fucked her he was literally…well, fucked. He wouldn’t be able to have sex with another human if he’d already had this one. His powers, what was left of them, would diminish and he’d be unable to shift ever again. The thought of it made him break out in a cold sweat, especially since he wouldn’t know immediately if he had screwed up. It could take months, and the waiting would slowly kill him.

  Kane threw his belongings into his bag and checked out through the in-room system. Five minutes later, having left the hotel by a side door to avoid seeing Susanna or any of the other delegates, he was in his car, heading for Impulse. He had a long drive in front of him, but never had he been in greater need of Tyrone’s levelheadedness. Perhaps he could make some sense of all this madness, because the answer sure as hell evaded Kane.

  Chapter Two

  “I have no
thing for this meeting.”

  Aisha didn’t know how she managed to say the words or how she sat through the rest of the conference without hurling some heavy object at Rick. He still wouldn’t look at her, but she was now grateful for his cowardice. After almost two years of idolizing the man she finally saw him the way others did. She’d always defended him against accusations of being a shark, out for number one, not a team player—now she knew differently and hated herself for being taken in by his reptilian charm.

  She was first out the door when the meeting broke up. Rick was detained by colleagues congratulating him on such a clever concept for the feature. The slimeball appeared to be basking in the limelight as he modestly accepted praise from colleagues who Aisha knew didn’t like him but wouldn’t hesitate to hitch their stars to his wagon. Why hadn’t she noticed that aspect of her coworkers’ psyches before now?

  Aisha went straight to the ladies’ room and sloshed cold water on her burning face, wondering what she could do to regain her hard-won foothold on the slippery upward slope of television meteorology. Did she even want to? If that’s the way the game was played, she wanted no part of it. She’d seen the petty jealousies, the infighting, the ass kissing, but thought she was better than that. Rick had told her she was. Now she understood why.

  Feeling only fractionally calmer, she squared her shoulders, left the bathroom, and headed directly for Rick’s office. She brushed past his assistant without acknowledging her and entered his room without bothering to knock. He was just lowering himself into his chair and paused awkwardly halfway when she slammed the door behind her. She leaned against it, arms folded beneath her breasts, and said nothing.