Her Lycan Lover

by Susan Arden

“Things are looking up. Just came around to see some old friends. No harm in that… is there?”

  The bartender approached but Quinn shook his head. He wasn’t going to take the bait. “So this is merely a social visit? Wonderful. The jazz trio playing tonight is superb. I’ve work to attend to. Enjoy.”

  “Hey, wait a minute. Sit down and have a drink. I have a business proposition. A lucrative one.”

  “We’re not looking to expand right now. You can understand, with the economy.”

  Carrigan reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and extracted an envelope. “A down payment. The property you’re holding. You know which one. My family wants it back. We’ll pay three million.”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  “You’re joking. Everything has a price.”

  “No, don’t believe so.”

  “What’s it to you? A warehouse. This offer is generous.” He stabbed his finger into Quinn’s chest. “You don’t need the land.”

  “That’s not your call, is it?”

  “We’ll double it.” Carrigan leered. “We’re flush now. Have as much money as you and your partner. Only an idiot would say no to my offer.”

  “Then call me stupid.” Quinn got to his feet. “I’m busy. As you said.”

  Carrigan’s eyes narrowed. His mouth pinched and he stared back at Quinn, a muscle flexing at the corner of his jaw. He picked up the envelope and stuck it back into his pocket.

  Smirking, he lifted his glass and took a gulp. “Met with the sweetest thing before you showed up. Sherry Delacroix. What a minx. She ever on the menu here?”

  Quinn gazed across at the tosser, forcing down his hunger to shift into Lycan form, and rip out Carrigan’s throat. He wasn’t asinine. Carrigan traveled with his brothers and cousins. Goons, who were than likely outside hiding. The man, fuck his whole family, was connected to the Chief of Police and Mayor’s office. They’d come here and shut the Den down.

  Still, he wondered where in the world he could hide a body. No. He reeled in his thoughts. This wasn’t the time to react or give Carrigan any ammo.

  Carrigan was part human and part shifter, but human enough to warrant protection and rights. Unlike Quinn. If he touched the arsehole, he’d be locked away pending destruction. Shifters weren’t charged with murder. They were exterminated as unstable.

  He should have taken care of Carrigan when he’d had the chance. Now, like a disease, he was back. Men like him returned again and again. He’d burn the warehouse down to the ground before he sold it to this bum. Shawn would agree.

  “She’s merely staff. Nothing more.”

  Carrigan chortled. “Good. I’d hate sloppy seconds. If she’s not one of your leftover tramps, I might have to look her up. Away from here. Find out where she lives and visit her, nice and cozy.”

  Quinn went from zero to sixty. Stealthily and without a ripple in his voice, his tone smooth as silk. “Let me spell this out for you since you’re too stupid for multisyllabic words. I’ll split you in two if you come back here. See what happens if you so much as think to come here again. And you ever visit her, I’ll find your family, your pets, your friends, their friends, and it won’t be pretty. If you come near one of my staff. Anyone employed here, I’ll feed you to the fish.”

  “Oh Quinn, this isn’t going to end like before is it? I doubt you’d go full out for same staff like Henry, the bartender. You’ve a soft spot for a woman. Shit, old man. Don’t you remember what happened? I’d hate to see another piece of ass you liked go missing.”

  A knot twisted in Quinn’s gut. “You owning up to a crime? Cause so far you’ve been a spineless coward hiding behind your uncle.”

  “Believe what you want. It’s the truth that will set you free. I’m doing just fine.”

  “We’re done here.” Quinn refused to waste another moment in this sick fuck’s company.

  “Maybe, but I get the sense that you’re lying. I bet that slice of heat lets you and every shifter in here do her? A human and a mangy pack of wolves is disgusting. Unnatural. Any woman who works in a place like this is a bimbo. If she’s into sex with shifters, she’s as disgusting as you are and should be put down. You all should. Nothing but vermin overrunning the city. One day there will be a law allowing us to get rid of you. And bam!” Carrigan pointed his finger as though it were a gun. “Right between the eyes. I’d like to have your hide hanging on my wall. And soon, I will.”

  “Get out of here before I have you thrown out. Your family will get that property back when hell freezes.”

  “We’ll see.” Carrigan stood up. “Better take care of your friends. You never know when they could go missing. Again.”

  He rose to his full height, topping the other man. “I’ll come for you, motherfucker. When you least expect it,” Quinn said, his voice low and laced with venom.

  “You won’t get the chance, wolf.”

  Quinn flashed a deadly grin. “Time is on my side.” He lifted his gaze and nodded across the room to Tristen, one of the enforcers for the Den. The wolf shifter had been seated at the bar, watching the whole exchange.

  “Here, I’ll see you out,” Tristen said to Carrigan. The enforcer surreptitiously displayed a Glock, then nonchalantly gripped the prick by the neck and led him out the door.

  Quinn fought the urge to shift as Carrigan exited. He wasn’t about to leave his prints—human or wolf—on that shitkicker. That fucker’s days were numbered. Regardless of what he promised Shawn about reducing shifter-on-human violence. His business partner would either understand as head of the shifter Justice Council, or not.

  Clamping his jaws together, he made his way back to his office and poured two fingers of Scotch into a tumbler. Downing his drink, he cursed himself for showing his weakness. He’d done that once before when it came to Carrigan.

  He’d purchased the foreclosed property that came up on the Court docket. No one had shown up and he basically walked away with a Denver warehouse for pennies on the dollar. A city block that had been in Carrigan’s family since the 1800s. Five years ago, it had been Mick Carrigan along with his brothers who had come calling. Only that night, Quinn had been at dinner with a woman when they’d threatened to beat him to a pulp. He reacted by decking Mick and laying into a couple of his brothers. They’d exacted retribution in the most insidious of ways.

  After seeing the light enter Carrigan’s eyes at the mention of Sherry, Quinn’s nerves were pulled all too taut. The wolf in him refused to back down. He had to keep it together for a wild shifter evening was about to start. If he had any sense, he’d go find Mick Carrigan and take care of him tonight. Be done with what he should have finished, and get on with his life. Maybe that’s why he never slept normally. A guilty conscience.

  Damn, he was getting too old for these nightly escapades. If he was forced to act civil when he had to deal with men like Carrigan, he was backed into a corner with a choice—Lycan or man. He was both and neither if he had to sit idly by.

  Sure, shifters needed places like the Den, but did he? And what about Sherry? A human female being forced to deal with cagey creatures and cocksuckers like Carrigan who thought this was just another sex club.

  Opening the door to the hallway, Quinn scaled the front stairs, and inhaled the scent of male and female shifters coming from the upper floor. Leopard, coyote, wolf, and to his surprise a bear had managed to gain entrance into the club. Great, just what he needed. Another problem.

  He scrubbed his hand down his face. Normally, any animal that stood over six feet, weighing in at half a ton was politely declined admittance. Their insurance policy did not cover brawls that might damage costly one of a kind art work or the décor of the club. Is this why Sherry sounded so perturbed? First Carrigan and now a grizzly?

  What the hell? Quinn picked up his pace toward the far hall from which a low moaning, bass beat emanated. He came to the end of the hall and abruptly turned the corner. The scent hit him full blast. Prickly ha
irs under his skin were ready to burst into a thick fur coat over his body. His teeth sharpened and the pressure of sharp claws pulsed at his fingertips. He would be seven feet of fully black fur as a raging Lycan.

  In front of the doorway leading into an exclusive party wasn’t exactly the place to shift, yet with all the irrational assaults on his senses over the last few days not to mention minutes, anything might go. His heartbeat began to race at the sight of a tall figure lurking in the shadows. He’d personally reviewed the guest list. No bears. No way.

  Even though the Downtown Den had a reputation for catering to needy shifters, bears had a savage brutality better suited to sports bars where sawdust covered the floors and peanut shells were tossed onto tabletops.

  “Miserable sod,” Quinn muttered. The hulking shifter standing outside the reserved room moved into the light and the breath froze in Quinn’s throat. He softly chuckled before saying, “I’ll be damned.”

  The bear shifter snapped his head upward and tucked a cellphone into his trouser pocket. “Takes one to know one, ballbuster,” Jeremy countered.

  “What in the devil brings you round? Wanker, I never received a response to Simon’s invitation.”

  “I believe it’s called a surprise. And I see by your hair standing on end… gotcha, buddy!”

  “As I live and breathe. Of course, you’d come up. You and Simon were as close as two coats of paint.”

  Jeremy threw back his head and released a rumble of a laugh. “We still are… at least for one last night. Bastard had to transfer to Denver’s ball club and meet up with perfection, or so I’m told.”

  “You of all people will like his fiancée. Rachel is a wonderful woman and I don’t think he could have done better unless he’d married you.”

  Jeremy’s dark complexion went ruddy. “What the hell. Right? We can’t start crying in our beer. I’ve still got you.”

  “Correction. You never had me.” Quinn suspected that Jeremy had always had a thing for Simon. But that wasn’t his concern. As a partner of the Den, he never judged how shifters chose to exercise the primal instincts. If Jeremy held a torch for a male shifter, that was his own deal. It was not meant to be unless both shifters felt the bond. “I’ve got a line of shots that says I can still kick your arse in billiards.”

  “I’ll see that wager and add a C-note to keep it interesting given all I can get is your wit. Tempted as I am by your ability for scintillating conversation,” Jeremy said, grinning.

  “Hell and high water! It’s about time you showed up.” Simon waltzed into the hallway from the private room where his bachelor party was in full swing.

  The exclusive guest list included several prominent Denver socialites who got off by mixing it up with wild shifter NFL players. Some were married, some were single. Regardless anyone who came to the club had signed an airtight agreement. What went down at the Den did not leave the premises. Tonight promised to be one messed up bachelor party.

  “Get over here,” Jeremy barked.

  Simon hurled himself into Jeremy’s arms. It was hard to miss the heated exchange of tongues in their kiss. Quinn glanced away and snagged his attention on a petite blonde who walked past them. Familiar but he couldn’t place her face or the eye-popping curves revealed from behind a microscopic dress.

  “Okay, you two. Break it up. There’s time enough for that. Let’s eat first and then I’ll trounce you two,” Quinn muttered, still following the blonde’s progression into the room.

  “Jealous?” Simon asked, winking at Quinn. “I’ve got a whole lotta love to go around.”

  Quinn held up his hands. “I’ve got enough to keep me busy without being envious of you two buggers.”

  “He’s definitely jealous,” Jeremy retorted, reaching out for Quinn. “Jesus, I can’t believe Simon is tying the knot. But you’re not Quinny. Are you?”

  “Not if it means I have to kiss you goodbye.” Quinn’s ribs flexed and damned near cracked in the bear hug. Jeremy in human form had Quinn by four or five inches. The shifter packed a powerful squeeze, but he was a teddy bear as far as Quinn had ever known. A pushover no matter how he held a turbulent defensive line on the football field.

  “Just because you’ve never tasted the apple doesn’t mean you can’t. Tonight might be the night. We could call it a going away present for Simon. C’mon, Quinn.” Jeremy patted his ass.

  “Take your bloody paws off my arse. And that’ll be a serious no thanks.” He ground his teeth and reached for the cervical pressure point at the base of Jeremy’s neck. Squeezing, Quinn pinched tight cords and sinew until the bear shifter yelped and let go.

  “Jesus,” Jeremy groaned as Simon reeled in laughter.

  “Why do you try with Quinn? You know he’s got a black belt in badass.”

  “Right then. I’ve no intension of visiting the ER as a result of your unguarded strength, Jer.”

  “I’ve only got love for ya.” Jeremy held up his hands.

  Quinn slapped Jeremy on the back, then released his old friend. It had been Jeremy that had escorted both him and Shawn into the mountains when he’d needed to find a healer for his friend. Felt like a century ago.

  “Who’s up for a line of shots?” Quinn asked, stepping back to once again eye the platinum blonde as she sashayed her way toward the bar.

  She ordered and turned around, gazing in his direction. Unbreakable. That’s what her body and stare just about screamed. He’d gotten to know a slew of those types—females that had a ton of baggage. Those ladies visited clubs such as the Den to escape for a while and he wasn’t about to complain.

  The dish at the bar didn’t wither under his blatant stare. Her short, silvery hair and the diamonds decking several surfaces did not place her as hired entertainment. The Den had several male doms and a one or two dominatrices, and scads of subs who were there to fulfill needs as they arose.

  Tonight, Sherry had arranged for a smattering of club staff to help keep the party going. Simon had a crew of NFL ballers. Rowdy shifters except while at the club. This was a private affair and the rooms along the east wing were reserved for the bachelor party guests. Eventually, shifters would pair up or form larger circles in which to explore all that the club had to offer as far as titillating experiences.

  A round of applause gave way the moment Simon walked into the room. Jeremy followed him over to a small crowd of men smoking cigars and drinking while stealing heated glances at the females arriving. Quinn understood that the anticipation was part of the game for horny male shifters at the club.

  He lacked the temperament for that tonight. He hungered for a sure thing. No games. No conversation. At the bar an arched blond brow beckoned him without a word. No need to resist when he inhaled and found her aroused. He was only surprised she was human and not a common occurrence upstairs. Was she trying her hand at shifter sex? She didn’t seem like one to take orders. With a provocative stance, her bold stare told him she enjoyed calling the shots. He bet she wasn’t tied down to one man and probably never would, preferring to play the field.

  “Good evening,” he said coming up to her. “I couldn’t help noticing you. I’m Quinn Rothschild.”

  “I’m well aware of you, Mr. Rothschild. I’ve been waiting to make your proper acquaintance for many moons.”

  “It seems as though we’ve met before,” Quinn said.

  She smiled, flashing small teeth, and her long, pink tongue languidly swiped across her lips. “Not the pickup line I expected from a man like you.” She extracted a cigarette and waved him off when he picked up a box of matches at the bar. The woman flicked the cap of a gold lighter. She inhaled, peering at him as the flame burned the end of her cigarette bright red in the dim light. Exhaling, she lowered her cigarette. “Maybe we have and maybe we haven’t. Let’s just go with, I’m Nina Brown-Miles. At least for tonight.”

  Mystery solved. Sort of. He didn’t care if they had met before or not. A name would do. Any name. And what did t
hat take? All of three minutes. So little kept him entertained these days.

  “Ah, Ms. Miles.” He extended his hand, grasping hers, and bringing it to his lips. “A pleasure.”

  She shivered at the touch of his mouth. “Actually, I need to speak with you.”

  Ding. Ding. Nina piqued his curiosity. “You have my undivided attention.” He held onto the dainty hand.

  “Thank you.” She broke eye contact and glanced around the room, pulling a long drag on her cigarette.

  What in the world would someone like Nina want with him? It wasn’t to shoot darts. Perhaps she had a legal concern.

  “Can we speak in private? To discuss a possible donation. After you’ve ordered your drink.” Her eyes held his, but then lowered as she ran her fingers through her hair and down her neck.

  No more guesswork. The only donation this lady wanted was carnal. “Sweets, I’d rather just fuck your brains out. If you’ve no objections?”

  For a second she stared back at him, speechless. “I see there’s no need for games with you. How refreshing. Yes. But I would rather it be me that fucks you. If at all possible.”

  “I’m not a sub. Never have been.”

  “Lucky night, Mr. Rothschild. I’m a switch, so I can take it any way you please. Do you have any objections?” She blew a ring of smoke above his head.

  “None that come to mind.” This brazen woman had what he needed. She might be capable of keeping him occupied for hours and that’s all he sought. A way to forestall the world of sleep. “Perhaps this is your lucky night. I might consider something new. How does flying by the seat of your pants sound?” Suddenly, his stomach clenched. A nauseating repugnance swam in his gut. He broke out in a cold sweat. The woman’s miles of curves probably had most guys hot on the hunt. Yet there was something irksome about her. What it was, he couldn’t exactly pinpoint.

  She allowed her gaze to travel down the front of his body, stopping at his crotch. “Impressive. I’ve got all night.” She laughed, picking up her martini glass. “Cheers.”

  “Bottoms up, Ms. Miles.”