Fated Mates: The Alpha Shifter Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle) (Insatiable Reads)

by Hunter, Adriana

  Naomi still couldn’t believe she’d allowed her friend, Francine, to talk her into coming to watch a lacrosse game. She usually left contact sports and their watching of to her father and brothers, preferring games of intellectual skill and preciseness, like curling or golf. However, a free ticket, and nothing better to do on a Saturday night, along with a promise by Francine to go dancing afterward, swayed her. Thus, she found herself a spectator, seated about twelve rows up, just above the protective glass. With her enhanced sense of smell, she could catch occasional whiffs of the sweat glistening on the players’ skin, the musky aroma not at all repulsive like she expected. She reluctantly admitted—if only to herself— the impressive speed and strength displayed by the lacrosse players—two in particular—made her girly parts tingle. Even more surprising, something about these males made her inner wolf yip in excitement.

  Ignoring her bitch’s griping, she returned her focus to the game, but her brow crinkled as she found herself unable to divert her attention from either the behemoth or the lithe runner. Her wolf wouldn’t let her, even when they both sat on the bench. This is not a good sign. Naomi fidgeted, trying not to stare at the two players, but unbidden, her gaze kept straying back.

  Francine must have caught on to something because she whispered. “What’s wrong? You look like you just swallowed a lemon? And did I just hear you growl?”

  A frown crossed Naomi’s face. “Yeah, I growled. It’s not my fault though. Something’s got my wolf in a tizzy.” Naomi shrugged, pushing aside her unease as her eyes swiveled to track the behemoth who had exited the bench and now ran across the floor again. Warmth suffused her at the raw power he exuded as he body checked an opposing player—I wonder if he’s as active in bed? Naomi’s scowl widened at the train of her thoughts. “Maybe it’s all the violence or something making my bitch agitated.”

  A snort escaped Francine. “You’re kidding, right? On a good day, your family makes these guys look like pussy cats.”

  Naomi bit her lip as she thought of the males of her clan whose idea of a discussion usually resulted in bloodshed, sore knuckles and black eyes. “Okay, you might have a point. But still, there’s something in the air or crowd that’s agitating my wolf.”

  Francine clutched Naomi’s arm in a tight vise and turned a face lit with excitement toward her. “Hey, maybe your wolf is sensing your mate in the arena.”

  Mate? Naomi’s surge of warm pleasure at number sixty-nine’s pirouette and dash shriveled as she gazed around at all the big and brash men in the crowd. Shifters, of course. Mere humans could try all they wanted to attend one of their sold out lacrosse exhibitions, only those who could claim an animal in their ancestry could attend. The privately owned gymnasium they used for their clan sports was owned and operated by those of her kind. Sports provided a civilized way for them to express their more volatile side. And a profitable one as she well knew since she did their accounting.

  Francine’s assertion that her mate could, in fact, be one of these violence-loving, meatheads left her cold. She shivered, not in fear but repugnance. “No thank you. The idea of getting hitched to a Neanderthal makes me want to puke.”

  Her best friend rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you’re still thinking of going through with your plan.”

  Naomi lifted her shoulders again instead of answering. The plan her friend spoke of involved marrying a nice—very normal—human male and living a mundane and drama—AKA brawl—free life. Not that she’d ever had any violence directed at her—although she’d caused some on occasion when she lost her temper, usually on one of her burly brothers. Her father and siblings would never let anyone, themselves included, harm a hair on her head, but amongst each other, fists spoke more often than words. As the only girl with five older, testosterone laden brothers, Naomi learned early how to hold her ground and retaliate when they pulled their pranks. Having grown up in chaos, where a wrestling match could break out at any moment, she decided years ago that at least in her case, marrying a shifter prone to chaotic episodes because of their animal nature wasn’t her idea of a happily ever after. While the bedlam didn’t seem to bother her mother, or even her female shifter friends, Naomi longed for peace and quiet—and the ability to own crystal.

  In her childhood home, none of the dishes matched and furniture was butt ugly given sturdy didn’t equal pretty. In her parent’s house, things needed to withstand just about any kind of natural—or familial—disaster. Currently living on her own, Naomi’s place reflected the exact opposite, with elegant pieces in light colors. She especially cherished her fragile collection of glass butterflies, and gleefully enjoyed the fact none of them had required crazy glue after a particularly frenzied family event. She didn’t miss having to referee her brothers by grabbing hold of their ears and tweaking them into submission. She hated all the male posturing and ball scratching assertion the males of the shifter clans required. Gentle and normal, that’s all I ask for.

  Given her desires, Francine’s suggestion that her mate could possibly be in attendance at this bloodthirsty and brutal sporting event filled her with horror. Although, what if some quirk of fate brought the shifter in question—an intellectual type who preferred discourse to pugilism—to the lacrosse match by accident, much like herself? She snorted. Fat chance.

  An “Ooh” from the crowd drew her from her thoughts and she looked up to see someone from the London team splayed out on the floor, flattened by number forty-four, the behemoth from their very own house team, the Ottawa city, Loup Garou’s.

  The Loup Garou’s—which translated to werewolf, even if the team was comprised of a dozen species—hollered in triumph as their main man sprang over the prone body of the hapless opposing player. The titan sprinted for the opposite end, his broad body and shoulders acting the part of blocker and clearing a path. Number sixty-nine, with a Colgate grin that made her shiver, paralleled the behemoth, the ball cradled in his lacrosse cage as he dodged the pissed off Londoners, those still left standing after the beast’s rush.

  As a new team, the London Moon Shifters were still digging hard to acquire players tough enough to stand against the older teams. Actually, according to her brothers, because of the behemoth and his slimmer compatriot, all the teams currently scrambled to find players that could break the Loup Garou’s winning streak. Transferred to the team from Saskatchewan in only the last month, the acquisitions of the two best players by her home city was quite the buzz around town. Her brothers crowed about it and wrestled each other in their excitement. Naomi personally thought the concept of paying guys to throw a ball around and hit each other with sticks was dumb. So dumb, yet I can’t stop watching, she thought with disgust.

  The play on the floor moved fast as the clock ticked down to victory. In a last ditch effort, two of the bigger London players ran in a bull rush at number sixty-nine, who grinned before he sprang into the air with feline agility and fired the ball at a speed humans would have choked at. The giant, still running swiftly, moved to intercept the ball currently tunneling through the air.

  The crowd hushed as they watched athleticism at its finest, including Naomi, whose wolf forced her to stare with rapt attention. A man his size, more so than the rest of the population, should have remained subject to the laws of gravity and yet, despite his obvious height and weight, when the behemoth leapt—his ascent almost vertical—he soared like the lightest of feathers.

  Leaning forward, with her breath held, she waited for nature’s rules to drag the beast—dressed in a delectable man’s body—back down, even as she knew second hand from her brothers —fanatic lacrosse fans— the man kept defying the odds. Up he soared, his netted stick rising high above his head, reaching to grab the ball whipping through the air. The crowd stopped breathing, their bodies taut with tension. For a moment, number forty-four’s eyes, the surprising soft brown of a wren’s feather, met hers—and locked.

  The breath sucked from her lungs at the intense, yet puzzled, regard in his surprisi
ngly beautiful orbs, framed by thick dark lashes. Heat coiled low in her tummy as his slow curling smile tugged at her own lips and shot a tingling, wet warmth to her cleft.

  Suddenly, his eyes rounded in horror and his mouth opened on a yell a second before he smacked into the arena glass like a bug on a windshield. She didn’t really get a chance to enjoy his cartoon splatting moment because she blacked out as their dual moment of inattention saw her smacked in the face by the game ball as it torpedoed into it.

  Chapter Two

  Ethan slumped on the bench in the change room, ignoring the ribald behavior around him after yet another foregone win. A hard slap on the rear of his head roused him and he whirled, his lip curled back as he growled menacingly.

  “Don’t you dare show me your teeth,” Javier warned with a dark look. He ran his hand through hair, already tousled and sweaty from the match. “What the fuck happened out there? I passed you the perfect shot, and instead of grabbing it and scoring, you crashed into the goddamn arena glass. What are you, a rookie? Been watching too many Bugs Bunny cartoons?”

  Heat burned Ethan’s cheeks in remembrance of his mishap before dejection—along with a large dose of disbelief—quickly set back in. “I missed. It happens and besides, it’s not like we needed the point to win.”

  “Of course we didn’t,” Javier replied with a scoffing snort. “But it’s the point of it. What the hell distracted you so much? And, why do you look like your best friend died, which, I might add, is an impossibility given I’m standing right beside you.” Javier grinned.

  “I think I found my mate,” Ethan muttered. A true beauty with light skin, a perfect oval face framed by long, brown hair and the most perfect set of rosebud lips.

  Javier’s face expressed shock, then glee. “Congrats, dude.” Javier slapped him hard on the back, and while the blow might have killed a human or a smaller species, it didn’t even budge Ethan. “I know you’ve been pining to settle down with someone of the fairer sex. You must be ecstatic.”

  “Not really.” Although he should have been. Finding one’s mate was a one in a zillion chance given how shifters were scattered across the globe. Most never even came close to finding the one fate deemed their perfect match.

  His friend’s jovial grin subsided. “What’s wrong? Was she, like, butt ugly? Humongous? Old? Surely she can’t be that bad?”

  “No, she appears perfect. Or did.” Ethan groaned as banged his head off the locker door. “I am so screwed.”

  A frown creased Javier’s face. “I don’t get it. I thought you wanted to find the one, you sick bastard. Settle down and pop out cubs.” Ethan looked up in time to see Javier’s mock shudder. “Me, I prefer to share my love among as many women as possible.” Javier mimed slapping an ass then humping it with a leering grin.

  Ethan didn’t smile at Javier’s attempt at humor even if it happened to be the truth. Javier certainly enjoyed variety where the other sex was concerned. Heck, on many an occasion he’d shared with Ethan. Tag team sessions where they both scored. Best friends who did just about everything together.

  Blowing out a long sigh, Ethan answered him. “I do want to find my mate, actually, I’m pretty sure I already have, but I don’t think I made a great impression. She’s the one they took out on the stretcher after the ball I missed hit her in the face.”

  Javier winced. “Ouch. Sucks to be you, my friend. Don’t worry, though. I’m sure she’ll forgive you in, like, fifty years.”

  Ethan groaned and dropped his head back into his hands. Now that I’ve found her, how do I discover who she is so I can beg her forgiveness?

  And even worse, how the hell do I act the part of suitor?

  Raised in the Alaskan wilds by a father who wasn’t all there after the death of Ethan’s mother, his education in social niceties was sadly lacking. He tended to speak with his fists more often than not. Lucky for him, when it came to women, he didn’t usually have to do a thing. Females tended to approach him for sex so they could brag afterward that they’d ridden the Kodiak and survived. Not that Ethan would ever hurt a female, even if his idea of flirty conversation usually consisted of “Suck me harder” and “Bend over.” If I add “darling” on the end, will she count it as sweet talk?

  Actually, he should probably preface anything he said with a humungous sorry. Make that a few thousand apologies given the hit she’d suffered proved spectacular enough to make the crowd “Ooh” in harmony.

  Perhaps he panicked over nothing. After all, the woman his inner bear chuffed was his mate had attended a lacrosse game. Shouldn’t that imply she knew the risks? That she didn’t mind a bit of blood and violence? Besides, as a shifter, she’d heal quickly. He could only pray and hope his pragmatism ended up as reality.

  As for the whole courting thing, if fate deemed the woman his perfect match, then surely his intended wouldn’t let something like his lack of manners deter her from giving in to the inevitable. Then again, I could always resort to my dad’s tactics which involve throwing her over my shoulder and dragging her back to the woods for some loving, mountain man style.

  He was getting ahead of himself though, because for all he knew he worried over nothing. Chances were she couldn’t wait to meet him as well. Most female shifters—or so he’d heard—lived for the day they encountered their mate. And lucky her, she’s found me.

  His inner pep talk didn’t entirely banish his unease as he stripped out of the rest of his equipment. The after game ritual, though, calmed him and a plan formed in his mind.

  “I need to find out who she is,” he told Javier as he entered the shower room with the rest of the team. “If they had to take her out on a stretcher, then chances are someone knows her name.”

  “Good for you, my friend, for not giving up in the face of obvious adversity. And because I am such a good friend, I shall come with you when you visit her so I might laugh when the female retaliates against you for messing up her face.”

  Javier flew backward with the force of the punch Ethan laid on him. Rubbing his jaw, his friend glared up at him. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  Ethan snarled. “Maybe if you hadn’t thrown the ball so damned hard, I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. I’m glad you find my situation so goddamned funny.”

  Jumping to his feet, Javier raised his fists. “Alright, my friend. Let’s go. You obviously need to work off some tension, might as well do it now. Think of your coming beating as a courting favor because I’m going to give you some black eyes to match those of your mate.”

  “I’d like to see you try.” With a feral grin, Ethan lumbered at his friend, paws swinging as the other players in the shower room scattered.

  Old habits died hard, and when it came to working out frustration, the easiest route still involved violence. Ethan refused to view it as stalling out of fear. Kodiak bears feared nothing, especially not one fated female. But just in case, perhaps once he de-stressed, he would pick up flowers, or buy a whole damned floral shop for her.

  * * *

  Naomi, ensconced on the sturdy family couch, held the ice pack to her throbbing face and listened with only half an ear as her family fought. Francine—the crowing and snickering bitch—had escaped and left her to the tender mercies of her family.

  “I’ll teach that fucking lacrosse player to not pay attention to the game and let our sister get hurt,” Derrick ranted punching his fist into the palm of his other hand.

  “I say we hunt bloody forty-four and sixty-nine down. Let’s tie their asses up and whip some rubber balls at their face and see how they like it,” yelled Stu. “Who’s with me?” A chorus of cheers met his plan.

  “Naomi should have been paying attention to the play.” That came from Chris who followed up his statement with an “Oomph” as someone took offence at his criticism.

  Chris, only a year older than her and most often the victim of her mood swings as the slowest brother, always held the least amount of sympathy for her. And yet, despite his words, he wou
ld stand first in line to kick the ass of anyone who ever intentionally hurt her.

  On and on the bickering went, peppered with the occasional shove and slap.

  When the noise level began to make, her already throbbing head, ache even worse, she lobbed the ice pack at her nearest brother with unerring accuracy, clocking him hard upside the head. Instant silence settled on the room as six pairs of eyes swiveled to look at her.

  “If you’re all done arguing, I’d like to go home now,” she stated quietly. Her looming brothers and father all took a step back, her calm words a warning they knew all too well. She rose from the couch, her short and curvy, five foot four frame taut. The room spun and nausea made her stomach roil.

  “Now, baby girl,” her father began in a placating tone. “You should lie back down. The doc said you’ve got a concussion.”

  “Which is already healing,” she interrupted. “Shifter blood, remember?” One of the advantages of owning Lycan blood was the ability to heal quicker than humans. Of course, quicker didn’t mean instant, so while she waited, she’d still suffer some discomfort.

  “Still,” her father continued bravely. “The doctor said we should keep an eye on you, just in case you faint or something before your body has a chance to fully cure the problem.”

  Naomi crossed her arms over her chest, resisting an urge to sit before her trembling legs gave out. “Are you trying to tell me I can’t go home?” She arched a brow and her father swallowed.

  Chris rolled his eyes. “Oh, let her go. If she wants to cause a car accident and maybe kill some hapless pedestrian by being pig headed and driving herself home, then let her.”

  The heated glare she shot Chris’s way made her head spin. Worse, her brother stuck his tongue out knowing she didn’t feel well enough to make him hurt for it. “If I weren’t a lady, I’d kick your scrawny little ass,” she muttered. She ignored the snickers and the whispered, “Since when is she a lady’ comment that followed her words only because of her throbbing head.