by Aline Hunter
He released Trey in the same motion as he rose and snagged her around the waist. She gasped and her blue eyes rose to his face, going wide in fear. He bent at the waist and wrapped an arm under her knees.
“W-what are you d-doing?” she stammered when he lifted her like a husband would, swinging her effortlessly into his arms as if to cross a threshold.
He didn’t look away, wanting her to see his shifting irises, allowing his beasts to see her just as she witnessed them. Twin pools of midnight blue were eclipsed as the pupils enlarged, dilating until only a sliver of color was present.
“What I should have done a month ago.” His voice was no longer wholly man, syllables rumbly as his vocal cords shifted and rippled.
The muted whispers surrounding them didn’t matter. He jumped from the stage and left Trey to recover. Too long he’d waited, but no more. He would mate her and claim her. They had time to work out the kinks after. She might not understand what was happening but given time she would yearn for him in the same manner. Regardless of past entanglements or reservations—even if she wasn’t shifter but human—a mated female always came to her intended.
“Hold it right there, Diskant.” Brett barred his path with a small casting wand clutched in his hand. To the random observer it might look like a miniature baseball bat but Diskant was smart enough to know one solid tap to the head would knock him out for several hours. “Put the girl down.”
“Don’t try to stop me, lokkur.” He growled and brought the small body in his arms closer to his chest. “She is my mate. Nothing you do will stop what’s been set into motion.”
Pinkie’s strangled whimper as she began to struggle and thrash touched something inside of him and, for the first time, he smelled more than an understandable amount of anxiety.
Terror burned his nose like red pepper and traveled to the back of his throat, nearly choking him. Something he said obviously frightened her, but what?
Realization hit unexpectedly.
She was obviously human, but could she possibly know what his declaration meant? Had working around preternatural creatures caused her to come to an awareness of some kind?
Did she know what he was?
“Be still.” He lowered his voice and chastised into the delicate shell of her ear, refusing to lessen his hold, testing his theory. “You stopped me before I tore apart my friend on the stage and I’m willing to guess it was to keep the police from being called in after the last time. Did you know that outburst was over a petty squabble? One of the leopards padded across a wolf’s foot, refused to apologize and it was on. But that was nothing compared to what it could have been. Take fighting for our mates. It’s not smart to have shifters fighting over their females. In fact, it gets downright messy.”
She went silent and he listened to the muted whispers of air she drew through her nose. She definitely knew what he was, what all of them were. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he wasn’t going to waste time in the club asking.
They had more important issues to discuss.
“Come with me willingly,” he commanded in a throaty timbre, “or you can expect just that. Brett won’t let you leave with me unless you indicate it’s what you want, and I’m ready to make a go of it with him if he tries to intervene. Hell or high water, Pinkie, I’m not leaving without you. And no, that’s not a threat. It’s a bloody fucking promise.”
“Ava? Do you mind explaining what the hell is going on?” Brett glared at the bundle in his arms and Diskant fought the grin that threatened to surface when he learned his mate’s chosen name. It was beautiful, without question, but for weeks he’d thought of her as Pinkie, and he couldn’t imagine referring to her as anything else.
“I told you a lap dance was a bad idea.” She glanced up at Diskant briefly before returning her attention to the warlocke and muttering, “I didn’t realize he’d be here tonight.”
“So you do know him?” Brett didn’t seem convinced. A sharp nod was her answer and Brett’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.” Her voice was steady now and the fear Diskant had scented was replaced by anger. “I told you I didn’t need to get on the stage tonight. You didn’t listen. If you had we could have avoided this entire fiasco.”
“I wasn’t aware you are involved with someone.”
For a moment Diskant saw red. Was Brett interested in his female? Was this more than the concern of an employer for his employee? Outrage and fury coursed through him. He’d rip the magic man’s testicles off and feed them to him.
One by goddamn one.
“Now you are,” Diskant responded sharply, before Ava could.
“I wasn’t talking to you—”
“Damn it!” Ava yelled. “I don’t broadcast the goings-on of my personal life at the bar. I don’t owe you an explanation. Piss off!”
“Satisfied?” Diskant didn’t wait for a response, moved around the warlocke and strode purposefully toward the hallway. Nathan was exactly where he’d left him and moved cautiously aside and lowered his gaze to stare at the floor.
Reminded of the friend left face-up on the stage, Diskant made a mental note to call Trey in the morning to find out what the fuck was what—but not tonight. Tonight he was going to inform the tiny female in his arms that she would never touch another male because she was intended solely for him. As generous as he was with the stares and sexual comments earlier, he wasn’t one to share. That would only worsen once he was lodged deep within her and came while cradled inside those snug inner walls that would clench and milk his cock like a fisting second skin.
The wetness in his leathers told him the slit in the tip was oozing, aching and heavy balls armed and ready to pump his seed into his mate’s womb and seal the first mark between them. The other two marks would involve her implicit trust and willingness, but they didn’t have to happen overnight. Most shifters with human mates didn’t bloodbond for several months, taking time to prepare for the multitude of changes that went along with bonding to a shifter.
Chavez’s wrinkled face was waiting when he strolled into the kitchen. The chef’s brown eyes widened slightly when they settled upon Pinkie but otherwise he kept what he was thinking to himself.
“Is that for me?” Diskant lifted the hand under her knees and pointed at a large paper bag that was overflowing with Styrofoam boxes.
“We had some of the chicken parmesan left from a party upstairs. I figured it was better to give it to you instead of throwing it in the trash.”
Yes sir, Chavez always delivered.
Snagging the dual reedlike handles with his hooked index finger, he instructed, “Charge it to my account.”
“I already did.”
Diskant grinned and walked past the smaller man, nodding his thanks to the gawking line cook who opened the door wide and stepped aside. When they exited the building and the door closed with a loud report, Pinkie came to life again, struggling wildly.
“Put me down, right now!” she screeched. “I mean it, I’ll scream!”
Shifting her slightly, he growled, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to put the bag down, bend you over my knee and turn that beautiful little ass of yours a nice shade of red.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” She sounded skeptical but the thrashing ceased.
“Don’t count on it. I’ve been in hell the last few weeks. Delivering a small dose of what I’ve suffered to your derriere might be just what the doctor ordered.”
“I can’t be your mate,” she argued hoarsely. “You know that, right? It’s not possible.”
He stopped in front of his bike and climbed aboard, keeping her weight balanced with the arm under her legs. “And why is that?”
“I’m human,” she answered as if it were the most logical thing in the world.
“And?” He situated her across his lap and used his free arm to retrieve the bag and place it in her lap.
“And nothing!”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing to me, baby.�
�
She started struggling again, nearly sending the bag to the concrete in her efforts to gain freedom. “Damn it, it won’t work, there is no way—”
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and arms, forcing her to go still. “Why won’t it work? Tell me.”
“You’ll…you’ll…” She shrugged after a moment, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at him.
Lowering his voice an octave, he prodded, “I’ll what?”
“You’ll hurt me,” she expelled in a rush. “I’ve heard rumors of what it’s like, and in case you haven’t noticed I’m a third your size.”
For the first time in his life his heart actually felt laden with an invisible weight. She might know about shifters but she didn’t know about shifters. A male would die before he ever harmed his mate. It was ingrained from the moment of birth, buried deeply within, an instinct to protect and defend, to nurture and cherish.
Grasping her chin, he forced her to meet his eyes. “I would never hurt you. Believe what you will about me, my kind and our lifestyle. But trust in this. To hurt you would be to hurt myself. We are connected, and through that bond we will share both pain and pleasure.”
Arousal tinted the air and he struggled not to respond to her need. He could sense her confusion and doubt, her uncertainty and fear. First he had to take her home. There he would feed her, talk to her, soothe her and, ultimately, claim her.
Caressing her cheek with his thumb, he whispered, “I’m going to take you home with me. This thing between us isn’t going to go away. I promise to be as patient as I can and to answer any questions you have. Just don’t shut me out. That’s all I ask.”
For a moment he worried she might argue but then she nodded. “As long as you promise not to do anything I don’t want you to do. We’re going to talk, nothing else.”
He retrieved the key from his pocket and grinned. He’d have her so needy and eager to come she wouldn’t know yes from no. Of course, he wasn’t going to tell her that. The best way to learn sometimes was by jumping in headfirst, and in this case, his head was making a beeline for the paradise between her thighs.
He started the bike and growled in approval when she wrapped her left arm beneath his jacket and clutched his ribs. “I won’t do anything unless you beg me to, how’s that?”
“Dream on,” she muttered and he just knew she was rolling her eyes.
Bending slightly at the waist, he revved up the bike and purred, “Hang on, Ava mine. From here on in, it’s going to be one hell of a ride.”
Chapter Five
They were just going to talk.
Yeah right.
Ava gulped and bit her lip when she felt Diskant’s pronounced erection press into her back as he reached above her to retrieve dishes from the overhead cabinet. The hard length prodded, pressed and rubbed against her spine until it was difficult to remain still or keep quiet.
True to his word, he hadn’t done anything to garner her anger or disapproval. However, those passing touches—his bristled chin against her neck as he retrieved the key from the motorcycle, his large hands grasping her waist to help her down from the bike, the heat of his breath caressing her cheek as he bowed over her much smaller frame to open the door to the firehouse—and the constant use of the nickname he obviously preferred, were driving her mad.
His soft lips brushed against her ear as he whispered huskily, “I’ll leave these here for you. I’m going to the basement to get a bottle of wine and check on Oscar.”
An infinitesimal tendril of heat twined down her ear and neck, traveling to her nape before prickling down her spine. Talking was out of the question. Her tongue was too heavy, as were her breasts, which strained each time they came within proximity of his body, the nipples going taut in invitation.
Jesus, this is crazy!
He was a shifter—an Omega! There was no logical explanation for him to view her as a mate.
Granted, the reading material the Villati had shared was limited. They only wanted to offer her a taste, attempting to bait her to join their ranks with the promise of endless knowledge. There was nothing about human mates inside those pages, not a single word. She’d learned a long time ago while working the club that shifters didn’t date or become entangled with humans. She assumed it was due to the fact that human women had to be too fragile for what they wanted sexually. One wrong move and a night of consensual sex could end in a homicide. Of that she was certain.
“Pinkie?” Diskant’s throaty murmur of concern snapped her out of her dark musings.
Quickly clearing her throat, she managed to respond evenly, “Wine sounds great.”
He shifted his hips as he passed, allowing her to feel the firm ridge of his cock as it was pressed between his leather pants and her cotton shirt. Her breath caught and a spasm at the apex of her thighs was followed by a fiery flood of wetness as arousal rained from her sex and coated her panties. Thighs quaking, she bit her lower lip again and forced herself to remain still. She would not give in to the knee-jerk reaction to clench her legs together. If she did he would notice, and she did have some pride left.
Although she knew he could smell her desire, Diskant didn’t say a word, behaving like an utter gentleman and leaving the kitchen to retrieve the wine as promised. She watched as his body rippled beneath his tight black turtleneck, the muscles in his shoulders contorting and stretching as walked from the room and vanished past the entranceway.
She sagged onto the counter and laid her head on her folded arms, forcing herself to breathe through her nose rather than pant like a bitch in heat. The fragrant aroma of chicken parmesan would have beckoned if her body weren’t so damn hot and achy. Once upon a time she’d yearned for this kind of sexual tension. However, back then the man she’d wanted it from hadn’t frightened her or made her entire body burn. Whereas Martin had been quiet, intellectual and nonthreatening, Diskant was brash, masculine and powerful. They were polar opposites and, for a split second, she wondered how in the holy hell she’d ever been attracted to her one-time fiancé in the first place.
While mentally stimulating, Martin had never been able to satisfy her sexually. The more she’d tried to initiate play in the bedroom, the more he’d rebelled against the notion. He was a missionary man through and through, which was why she’d finally ended their engagement altogether. Being in control of her life, her brother’s screw-ups, and dealing with the increasing annoyances of the Villati drained her. She needed one place she could relinquish the weight of responsibility, allowing her to simply be for a while.
Diskant would give her that. There was no way he would allow her to boss him around or dictate how they wrangled sexually in the bedroom. What would it be like to have him tell her what to do? To grant him the authority to take his pleasure as he pleased and, in turn, nourish her own? As a shifter, he would be disease free and safe. What would it be like to have a night of sex without any worries or repercussions?
Her already drenched panties got another thorough dousing at the prospect.
Damn, damn, damn!
Stop it already and pull it together. Focus on the food, the room, the atmosphere. Think about anything but Diskant’s body, mouth and the impressive size of his cock…
“Just wonderful,” she muttered. “I’m officially on the ballot for slut of the year.”
She ripped the Styrofoam containers from the paper bag in careless jerks and tugs. Diskant would be back at any moment and at this rate she wouldn’t have to beg him to do squat. His impeccable sense of smell would tell him all he needed to know the minute he took a seat at the table, poured the wine and smelled the air.
By the time he returned she’d managed to calm down, place the now-prepared dishes on the table and take her own seat. She intentionally put as much space between them as possible, situating her plate on the other side of the circular table. Sometimes the only thing a woman could do was play defense and hope for the best. If he sat next to her she’d be too tempted to hop up on the wooden
surface, drop trou and ask him if he wanted dessert before his meal.
A dark brow arched over one of his luminous gold eyes and she knew he’d picked up on her childish scheme. Instead of voicing disapproval, he placed the wine on the table, retrieved his plate and plopped it down on the empty space beside her. Then he snatched the bottle, walked to the ivory counter that ran along the side of the wall and opened a drawer.
“I scent your arousal, which tells me you’re as attracted to me as you’re supposed to be, but I also scent your fear,” he said as he retrieved a bottle opener. “Do you mind telling me what has you rattled?”
Shit.
He would know if she lied. Shifters always seemed to know when she fibbed at the bar.
Fidgeting, she decided to go for broke and tell him the truth. “One of the patrons at the club went into the women’s restroom with a shifter a few months ago. She almost bled out in the sink after he ripped open her jugular while he fucked her from behind. Since I’m being wined and dined by someone just like him, and I think we’re both well aware of where this is headed, I’m understandably concerned.”
He stilled, broad shoulders going taut as he absorbed and contemplated. “This happened five months back?” He didn’t turn to face her when he opened the bottle and returned the opener to the drawer.
“Yes.”
“Did you witness this yourself or hear about it?”
“I heard about it. By that time security had the bathroom blocked off, no one could get inside. But I saw the mess that was left behind. There was blood all over the place.”
“And the person who found them inside the bathroom and came screaming for help, was she a shifter?”
Frowning at the odd question, she thought about it for a moment before she answered, “No.”
