by Renee Rose
If I end up like my father, a murderer?
Aw, who am I kidding? I’ve been a murderer since the first day I shifted in the middle of an engagement in Afghanistan. I thought Smyth could help me control my lion. All he did was make it worse.
I snarl. I’m tempted to walk out, to drive to Denali’s house and tell her everything. She might forgive me, once she gets over the shock.
But I can’t. Between the flashbacks, the violence, and my lion’s insanity, I’ve built a cage stronger than any Data-X used to hold me.
Nash
Later that night, I head into the ring. The crowd cheers, but all I hear are screams. How many did I kill as a soldier? They’re here, ghostlike faces turned vicious, ready to drag me to death.
My vision goes blood red, then black.
Next thing I know, I’m in the ring and Parker signals the start of the match. The bruin turns, and his profile reminds me of one of the Data-X guards. A sadistic fuck who liked to strap down small shifters and pump them full of juice until they smoked. Snack-sized, he said.
Red. Black. The bruin falls, his face a bloody mask. The bouncers enter, drag him out. Another fighter takes his place. Young. Cocky. Like me and the other prisoners when we voluntarily entered testing, thinking we were part of a grand experiment. A master race.
“We’ll find the best for you Nash,” Dr. Smyth said. “I’ll help you control your lion. Keep him from killing again. And then you’ll breed the master race.”
Red. Black. Another fighter in the ring. Two this time. They rush me together and their fists fall. Pain washes me clean.
I’m back strapped onto the chair, sides bruised. Mouth parched, body smoking. “Not so strong now?” the guard asks, raising the shock stick.
I roar and two startled faces blur in front of me. I reach through the red haze, grab both by the scruff of their necks and slam their skulls together. Two for one.
The crowd screams. My head rings. Declan stands in front of me, offering water.
“How many fights do I have left?”
“One more.” He sounds worried. “But you don’t need the fight. We can—”
“No.” I climb to my feet as a mean-looking fighter lumbers into the ring. My lion won’t be deprived his prey.
“We need to stop it,” Declan says to Parker, who nods. “I’ve never seen him like this.”
Parker turns and raises his megaphone. “That’s all for tonight, folks—”
The crowd boos. They want blood. I’ll give it to them.
I rise to my feet and plod to the center of the ring, the crowd’s cries washing over my bruised flesh. “Nash. Nash,” they chant. “King of the Beasts.”
My opponent turns with a mean smile. I grin back and let loose my lion.
Red. Black. Black. Black.
“Nash, stop, stop!” A grey head flashes in front of me. Parker, shouting, mouth open and wild. “You won. He’s down. Stop before you kill him.” The air is heavy with the scent of blood. My lion approves.
“You won,” Parker repeats. I try to take a step and stagger under the weight of several bouncers. Panic rises, and I thrash to throw them off. No use. The prison guards have shock sticks.
“Let him go,” Parker cries and the men release me, jumping back. But I run, claws out. I’m blind, blood streaming into my eyes. I reach the fence. It’s not electric. Someone turned the power off. This is my chance.
“Nash—” Declan is on the other side of the fence.
I raise my hands—now tipped with black claws—and swipe through the metal.
My claws tear and I howl but don’t stop until there’s a hole big enough for a lion to rush through.
Then I run. My lion is out, people are screaming, scrambling out of my way. Red claws at my eyes, black lurking in the corners, threatening. One final burst of speed and I’m outside. Falling to all fours, I let the darkness consume me.
I wake naked in the car, my mouth full of blood. I cough on the tang and almost spatter the wrinkled piece of paper lying on the dash. Denali’s address. The lion found it and put it there.
“All right. All right.”
Every inch of my body screams. My hands are swollen, bloody. Over the past few months, the shifter healing has slowed, and that can only mean one thing: I’m dying. It’s only a matter of time. It’s only a question of how many I take with me.
I can’t risk Denali. But the next time I black out, my lion might take me to her door. There’s no telling what he’d do.
He’s made it clear, if I let him die, he’ll take everyone he can down with him. I have no choice. I have to go to Denali now, when I’m in control.
I find a change of clothes in my trunk and get dressed. I put the car in gear and drive, not sure if I’m a dying man headed for the gallows, or a cure.
3
Nash
The address leads me to a little house in Temecula. I pull up and idle a moment. My hand shakes as I park. Excitement? Or the last stages of madness?
It’s a mistake to come here. I know this as soon as I step onto the little porch, and her scent hits me. Blackness curls from the edges of my vision, pulling me under.
The guards have guns on her. My lion surges to the fore, angry. It’s been so long since he’s killed. But when the naked female stumbles forward, I catch her. My arms close around her body and I pull her soft form against my hard one. She’s tall, her head coming just under my chin, soft, dark hair a cloud in my face. The cinnamon scent hits me again, until I taste it.
“Another one for you, Nash.” The guard’s voice is harsh, mocking. They see what I do with the females they bring me. There are cameras in the corners of the room. They watch. I know what they’ll do if I refuse: hurt the female. They’ve learned I don’t give a shit what they do to me, but I can’t stand to watch someone else be tortured as a result of my choices.
For some reason, this one sends an extra blast of protective fury through me. My grip tightens around her. She stiffens.
“You know what to do. Get to it. Or else.” The threat hangs in the air. I want to tear them apart with my teeth.
The door scrapes as they leave.
I don’t want to move. I could hold her like this for the night, and never feel wanting. But desire’s there too, bubbling up, the first hint of warmth after a long winter. With the other females, I had to focus to get myself hard enough to breed them. I spent a long time on foreplay to make sure they were ready and get myself into the right mindset. I’ll do that for this one, too, but it won’t be for me. My lion’s already rumbling for her.
She glares up at me like I’m the enemy. I sense anger in her, rising, matching mine. Frustration. A spirit uncowed. Brave. Naked and defenseless, but not afraid.
Because I’m angry for her, because I’m furious such a beautiful, fresh lioness would be forced into this awful situation, I snarl.
She jerks back, out of my grasp.
I immediately reach for her. “I won’t hurt you,” I promise. My lion needs to soothe her. It’s a primordial instinct, like eating or killing. I try to push down the need coiling below my waist.
“What are you supposed to do?” she asks. The wariness in her expression tells me she already knows. Her body knows it, too. Her cocoa-tipped nipples stand up, hard and pointed.
Filling my lungs with her delicious scent, I tip her face up to mine. “What’s your name?”
“Denali.” I whisper. Inside, my lion waits, patient on this hunt. I follow the cinnamon scent on the air to the screen door.
And I see her. Long, lean limbs, flawless mocha skin. She’s barefoot at her kitchen counter, weight on one hip, pert ass encased in cutoff shorts. Her elegant neck curves as she looks down at what she’s doing.
Unable to stop myself, I push the door open and enter silently. I’m back in the jungle, a soldier, a predator stalking my prey.
Her head turns slightly.
My lips move to form her name.
Her chocolate brown eyes flare to blue-
grey. “Nash?” she chokes.
I walk toward her. She rears back.
“It’s all right, Denali.” I stop and lift my hands. “I’m not here to hurt you.” That’s the truth, even if my lion is a crazy mo-fo.
A tremor runs through her. Once, twice, and the spiced scent rises between us.
Mine, my lion snarls. My mate.
“Denali, I—” my voice cracks but it’s too late. She whirls and runs out the back door.
Denali
I run without thinking. I’ve been hiding so long; my first instinct is to bolt.
The kitchen door slams behind me. Whenever the weather is nice, I keep the doors and windows open to let in the scent of wildflowers. And to alert me to anyone approaching.
But my lioness was sleeping. Or, perhaps she caught the subtle scent of the soldier she once knew and decided not to tell me. Or I ignored it. Too long I’ve carried the memory of Nash, the ghost. I see him in my dreams, wake up with the smell of him hanging over me like a cloud. I eat sleep and breathe Nash, even as I ran from him.
That’s what happens when you’re mate marked. You can’t escape. You’re bonded on the deepest cellular level.
Even after they die.
I thought he was dead.
The screen door bangs behind me, and a gust of wind hits my back, spurring me on. Nash is coming after me. The lion is on the hunt.
Glad I’m barefoot, I call on every muscle in my legs, pounding up the hill. I chose this house for its seclusion. Not many people want to live out in the hills, but I found the beauty irresistible. The warm sun, the neat rows of vineyards cutting across the land. Nothing like the grey cell I was trapped in for nine long weeks.
I should’ve known he’d come for me. I saw it on the news. The Data-X lab burned to the ground—the one that held us. Oh, the news didn’t call it Data-X. In fact, after the initial report, no news could be found on it at all. Like it got hushed up quickly. But I recognized the location. That wasn’t a random wildfire as they later reported. It was a fire set to destroy a prison.
So I waited, breath held. Surely, if Nash was alive, he would come for me. Hadn’t he been whispering it every night, in my dreams?
But he didn’t come. I figured he was dead, after all. And I’d done nothing to prevent it.
Now he’s here. His hot breath reaches the back of my neck and I feint right, then dodge round the scrub brush. The lion follows me easily.
Nash was military. He was one of the strongest, fittest shifters I ever met, and the years did nothing to dull his prowess. I won’t get away. I don’t even know why I’m running, except that seeing him brought up too much, too fast. He was part of my experience at Data-X. But I know he’s not the enemy.
“Denali. Stop.”
I put on a burst of speed, dodging around boulders. The one thing my lioness is best at—running.
Only she doesn’t want to run. She wants to stay and face the charging lion.
I go too fast and slide on some loose gravel, scraping my hands on the ground as I find my feet again.
“Dammit—you’ll hurt yourself.”
My chest tightens. Still the gentleman.
Not as much as you’ll hurt me. My ears ring with my shout. I said it out loud.
“I won’t. I promise.”
At the pain in his voice, my calves spasm, my feet fumble. My lioness has had enough. She forces me to slow, just enough for the hunter to catch up.
He tackles me and drives me down to the ground, but twists to cushion the fall with his limbs. Oh, this is familiar. Nash on top of me, straddling my body, turning me to face him.
“No, no, no.” I whimper. “You’re not real. You’re not here.” If I can’t see the monster, he isn’t real. Except Nash isn’t the monster.
He pulls my hands down roughly. I’m pinned, his body on mine. Mine responding with alacrity. My lioness in awe.
Foolish, wanton animal. I can’t just throw caution to the wind. To give myself up to a male I barely know.
“Denali,” he rasps. Face to face, I see he hasn’t changed. Maybe a little leaner, a little harder, but same smooth cheeks, military cut hair, scar in his eyebrow. He’s so beautiful he makes my chest hurt. Of course, he’s also on top of me—but that feels right. My hips lift without my permission.
“It’s you. It’s really you.” His eyes blaze gold. The lion came out with the chase. I make myself go limp under him. I can’t best him in a one-on-one fight. If he does mean me harm, my only hope is to get him to let his guard down, and escape.
He doesn’t mean you harm, my lioness whispers. But I see a wildness in his eyes and my body tenses with uncertainty.
He brushes my face with the backs of his fingers and I let out a whimper. I can’t do this. It’s too painful, too raw.
“Why do you think I’ll hurt you?”
I shake my head as if to jostle my thoughts into place. Get my twisted emotions out of it. Running was just a PTSD related reaction. After what I survived, who wouldn’t have post-traumatic stress? It wasn’t fueled by thought. I took one look at the male who’s haunted my dreams and bolted.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You already did,” I sob before I can bite my lips. I don’t even know this male. We spent one night together in a prison cell, forced to mate under duress. He marked me. End of story. I don’t know why I’m acting like he’s a lover who abandoned me. Like I gave him my heart to begin with. I wouldn’t be so naive.
And yet not a day’s gone by since then I haven’t ached for him. Wondered what my life would be like if he were by my side, as a true mate should be. In the years since, I’ve thought about finding a real mate—one I chose voluntarily. But I couldn’t even bring myself to go on a single date. No male compared to this magnificent one, this king of beasts.
“Denali.” He cups my cheek with his warm, rough hand and my lioness leans into his touch. “Please,” he whispers, and brushes his lips over mine. My back arches automatically and I push into the kiss. He tastes like spice, surrender. Like home.
He drops his head into the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. His body reacts to my scent, erection punching out and pressing between my legs, a low growl sounding from his throat.
I’m pinned under a large, randy male but there’s not an ounce of fight in me. Instead—fates help me—I rock my damp sex over the bulge in his jeans. He stamps his lips over mine, claiming my mouth as he draws up my t-shirt and cups my breast. I writhe under him, desperate for more contact. The air grows heavy with a cinnamon scent. One sniff of Nash and my lioness is in heat.
But this is crazy. We’re not lovers. We’re not even friends. We are two shifters who were forced together under horrifying circumstances. We can’t just pick up where we left off, because that’s not a place I ever want to return to.
“No.” I break off the kiss, gasping.
“Can’t stop,” he murmurs urgently, still moving his lips over mine. He nips at the corner of my mouth. “You taste so good.”
Damn, he tastes good, too. And having him devour my mouth like a starving man does something powerful to my libido. It’s like my sexuality has been in a coma since we’ve been apart and now, under his touch, it revs back to life. He has an arm under me, cushioning me even as he holds me fast. I’m a tall, strong woman, but under Nash I feel small. Delicate.
Beautiful.
His hand moves down from my breast over my flat midriff, sliding straight into my shorts.
I suck in a breath, desire igniting in my core.
His eyes flare with amber light. “Mine,” he growls.
“No.” I don’t mean no I don’t want him in my shorts. But no, my pussy isn’t his. He may have marked me, but that mark doesn’t count.
I don’t belong to him.
The only shifter I belong to is Nolan.
I fight for sanity, even as he palms my mons and strokes along my juicy opening. “This is—”
He stops my protest with another savage kiss
, his mouth dominating, claiming. Shivers run up my spine. I dig my heels into the ground and push into his hand working between my legs.
He presses a finger into me, rubs the heel of his hand against my clit.
My orgasm blows up like a summer storm—beautiful, wild. Devastating.
I close my throat to keep from moaning his name as he makes my body dance. Just like the last time we were together, our connection is magnetic. I want to refuse, but my body, my lioness, has other ideas.
I cling to him, panting. This, like our entire relationship, is fucked up. And yet it feels so right.
“Beautiful lioness.”
I sag in his embrace, mind swirling with worry even as my body soars with the stars.
We only shared one night, in a cell with guards watching the cameras outside, but it changed the course of our lives. I knew that as much as he did. As much as I told myself to forget Nash, to forget that night, I couldn’t stop. I longed for him like no other. My body remembered his touch. I couldn’t forget his strength, his tortured soul, his gentleness. Our incredible chemistry. We only had one night in a prison, but we created something real.
The truth is scary. I ran from it as much as I did to escape Data-X, and the lion who marked me as mate.
Nash’s eyes still glow yellow, and he watches me with a predatory stare. One that promises retribution. For leaving him. For running. For denying his claim. His lion won’t let me go—not without a fight.
He eases his fingers from me and brings the digits to his mouth, tasting them. All the while, watching me.
I don’t even know where to begin with this male, so I go for the inane. “You keep your hair so short.” His hair, so short and bristly, is softer than it looks. I run my palm over it and a rush of emotion steals my breath. I don’t want to stop touching him.
“Force of habit,” he mutters.
“You should grow it out. I want to see what it looks like long. Shaggy lion.”
