by Cara Bristol
Tigre: Alien Castaways 6 (Intergalactic Dating Agency)
Copyright © August 2021 by Cara Bristol
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
eISBN: 978-1-947203-29-7
Editor: Kate Richards
Copy Editor: Nanette Sipe
Cover Artist: Croco Designs
Formatting by Wizards in Publishing
Published in the United States of America
Cara Bristol Website: http://carabristol.com
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Other Titles by Cara Bristol
About Cara Bristol
Acknowledgements
When feral fever strikes, more than tempers get hot…
During an investigation, small-town cop Kat Kelley encounters the most arresting man she’s ever seen. But before she can make her move, the soul-stirring, saber-toothed alien with topaz eyes growls at her. Who does that? This potential relationship is DOA, case closed. She’s confident her heart will fall in line once she immerses herself in the upcoming law enforcement training conference in Vegas.
Tigre, a Saberian from planet ’Topia, instantly recognizes Kat as his genmate, so he doesn’t hesitate to let her know. That’s when everything goes wrong. By the disdainful curl of her lips, the stunning human lets him know she finds him lacking as a mate. Fine, then. Somehow, he will extinguish the feral fever’s burn—a little trip to Las Vegas ought to do it.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Unless you wake up married to an alien.
Tigre
By
Cara Bristol
Chapter One
Get me out of here!
Tigre gritted his teeth as he weaved across the casino floor. The flashing lights, the clanging, ringing, chiming, and cheering hurt his head while the overpowering perfumes and cigarette smoke clinging to the humans assaulted his sensitive Saberian nose. His swollen mating glands throbbed with no relief in sight. His foul mood had worsened by coming here.
Once sanguine and easygoing, he’d morphed into a short-tempered, irritable, obnoxious jerk since the onset of the feral fever. His castaway brothers had begun to lose patience, and even he didn’t like the person he’d become.
When ’Topian tech magnate Edwin Mysk had invited him to Las Vegas for a tour of his secret factory, his brothers had implored him to accept the offer. In fact, they’d all but shoved him out the door.
He couldn’t blame them. If he was in their shoes, he’d banish himself, too.
After showing him the facility which would manufacture weapons to defeat a potential Xeno Consortium invasion, Mysk had suggested that Tigre stay in town to sample the attractions. “How can you come to Las Vegas and not see Vegas?”
He suspected his brothers had asked Mysk to delay his return for as long as he could. Well, fine. Message received. They needed a break from his surliness. So, he’d checked into a casino hotel, grabbing the last available room, a penthouse suite. Some sort of police convention was going on, making accommodations scarce. In truth, he’d hoped he wouldn’t be able to get a room, enabling him to return to Argent with a clear conscience. Now he had no excuse to leave, and he was stuck here for at least a couple of days. What the herian would he do with his time?
In a good-faith effort to see the town and conquer his bad mood, he’d ventured into the casino, but nothing had appealed. He saw no point to sit at a flashing, clanging machine and push buttons or bet on the outcome of a spinning wheel. He and his brothers often played poker at the Whitetail Saloon, and card games might have offered a diversion, except for the assault of noise and odors. Not worth it. He’d retreated to a slightly quieter place at the bar, downed a few drinks while losing at Keno, and then decided he’d had more fun than he could stand.
On the positive side, at least people ignored him. He might be whiskered, tailed, and saber-toothed, but he damn sure wasn’t the strangest-looking person in Las Vegas. Not by a long shot. Here, he blended in.
He rubbed his swollen throat. Herian, it hurt. Alcohol had failed to dull the pain. Nobody had warned him how uncomfortable the activation of his mating glands would be. He’d been suffering for months—and gotten no sympathy from his brothers. Just the opposite.
“There’s an easy solution. All you have to do is take it,” Wingman had snapped at him.
“It’s not just up to me!” Tigre had retorted.
“Not when you refuse to take the first step. Call her!”
“No.”
“Mysk would trade places with you in an instant,” even-tempered Psy had pointed out. Mysk had been on Earth for fifty years and still hadn’t met his genmate.
“If I could trade places with him, I would,” Tigre had said.
“We’ve all desired to meet our genmates. Even you—until now. I don’t understand your resistance,” a perplexed Inferno had said.
“I don’t like her!”
What was he supposed to do when his genetics had bonded him to a woman he couldn’t stand? Who couldn’t stand him? The enmity had been mutual; her dismissive smirk when they’d first laid eyes on each other had made her feelings perfectly clear. He was the victim of a cosmic joke. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the Xenos had engineered aversion and attraction into his genetics. It was exactly the sort of fuckery the master alien race would engage in.
A loud shriek piercing through the clamor sent a sharp spike stabbing through his head. His stomach roiled from the nauseating odors. He couldn’t take any more of this. He was done. His brothers would have to understand. He’d stay the night and then go home in the morning. He staggered among the gaming tables, heading for the elevators that would deliver him back to his suite.
He flinched as another ear-splitting cheer sliced through him, and he glared at the cluster of humans gathered around a craps table.
The shooter was a brunette in a tight black dress and strappy sandals. He couldn’t see her face, but her shapely legs and ass gave him plenty to eyeball despite his foul mood. As she finished off the dregs of her drink, she stumbled into the man beside her who wrapped an arm around her waist.
No! Every muscle in his body tightened with inexplicable jealousy and an urge to rip the male’s head off. He forced himself to relax his fists and took deep breaths to calm himself. This strange woman meant nothing to him.
Besides, he had a genmate. Just because he’d refused to claim her didn’t leave him free to pursue other females. He blamed the stirrings of attraction for the strange woman on his alcohol consumption. He was nearly as drunk as she was. Nor was she done drinking yet, either.
A cocktail waitress brought her another drink, and
she took a big gulp. The players at the table placed their bets, and the stickman passed her the dice. Cupping them in her palms, she blew on them then shook them, teetering drunkenly on her heels.
Her companion steadied her, his hands lingering on her waist.
The swirling tide of jealousy swept over him again. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
The brunette wiggled away from her partner. “Come on, baby needs a new pair of shoes!” she said in a husky purr and bounced the cubes off the far wall of the table.
That voice! His whiskers twitched, his glands throbbed, and heat shot straight to his groin, hardening his cock. What the herian had brought her here? And, why was she cavorting with another man? Jealousy and antipathy bubbled in an angry stew and erupted into a loud growl.
The bane of his existence glanced his way. Her startled, inebriated gaze morphed into a scowl. “You! What the hell are you doing here?” Kat Kelley demanded.
“I could ask you the same thing!” He snapped his tail.
She muttered something then, with a dismissive sniff, stuck her nose in the air and returned to the game.
Leave, just leave. That’s what he should do, but he remained rooted to the spot. He folded his arms and glowered. He’d never seen her out of uniform. Of course, he’d only met her once—the time she’d arrested Inferno. She’d released his brother soon after, and Inferno had gotten over it, but Tigre hadn’t. He couldn’t forgive her for worming her way into his head, for stirring his desire, for making him crave. She was a sharp-tongued shrew—not at all the woman he’d envisioned as his genmate.
Standing at the craps table, she appeared softer. Instead of being scraped back, shoulder-length hair flowed around her face, framing a delicate bone structure and wide thick-lashed caramel eyes. Her mouth, thinned with dislike, somehow appeared fuller, rosier. And that dress! It molded to every curve from shoulder to thigh. He jerked his gaze away, annoyed with himself.
Only the outside looked different. Inside, she was still the same woman.
Her face assumed a fiercer scowl as she continued to fling the dice, and, although he didn’t understand the ins and outs of the game, he guessed she was losing, an impression confirmed moments later when the game ended. She shot him a dirty look. “You sure know how to ruin a winning streak.”
She scooped a small pile of chips into a paper cup and tucked a beaded purse under her arm. “Time to cut my losses.”
“Don’t run off. Why don’t we go have a drink somewhere?” Her touchy-feely male companion moved in close.
Tigre’s temperature rose and then skyrocketed when she treated the man to a charming smile. The only expression she’d ever bestowed upon Tigre was a scowl! “I’m going to cash in and call it a night. But thank you.”
“Ah, come on, honey, just a quickie?” His tone turned salacious, leaving no doubt as to the kind of quickie he meant.
Her smile fell away, and she straightened her shoulders. “You seem to have gotten the wrong idea.”
“The lady said no.” Tigre stepped in.
“Stay out of this!” She turned on him, showing no gratitude for his assistance.
“This has nothing to do with you, buddy. Mind your own business.” The man slipped an arm around Kat’s waist.
“Drop that arm or lose it.” Tigre’s roar halted gaming at the surrounding tables. Heads snapped in their direction. Passersby scurried away. He stepped menacingly toward the man.
“What the fuck?” The man released Kat.
Two beefy men in suits with earpieces materialized out of the throng. “There a problem?”
“No problem.” Kat slipped her arm through Tigre’s. “My, uh, date and I are leaving.” With a surprisingly strong grip, she dragged him away. Heat and desire jolted through him at her touch and scent—the alluring warm vanilla musk at odds with the person he knew her to be. How could she be so nasty yet smell so good?
She forced him off the casino floor to a less-populated marbled-and-gilded corridor and then thrust him away. “What is wrong with you? You can’t fight a man in the middle of a casino!”
“He put his hands on you.” He gnashed his teeth.
“And that’s your business how? I do not need your intervention! I can take care of myself. I’m a trained police officer.” She jabbed his chest with her finger. “I could have you on the floor begging for your mama in three seconds flat.”
He couldn’t help it—he laughed. Her personality and manner were fierce and aggressive, but the notion this human could physically best him was comical. She could take down an ordinary human, like the man at the craps table, but not a Saberian genetically engineered for power and strength.
Fury rolled off her in waves. “Do you doubt me?”
“I don’t doubt you’d try.” He did his best to wipe the grin off his face, but he failed.
Her narrowed eyes shot bullets before she gave an angry snort and then stomped down the corridor, an exit that would have had more punch if she didn’t weave and her ankles didn’t wobble.
“Where are you going?” he called.
“Anyplace you’re not.” She slipped off her shoes and then proceeded at a faster, if not steadier, clip.
Letting her go would be the smart thing.
He jogged after her and grabbed her arm to get her to stop. Without heels, she was even tinier. Funny, he didn’t remember her being quite so small when arresting Inferno. “Wait. I didn’t mean to laugh.”
“If that’s an apology, it should include the words, ‘I’m sorry.’”
“I’m sorry.”
She scrutinized his face with the intensity of an interrogator. Then her shoulders relaxed. “All right.”
They were standing in front of the Wedding Belles and Beaus Chapel. Inside, a gaggle of women in ugly poufed dresses surrounded a bride hunched on a gilded bench. The bride’s shoulders shook with her sobs. Kat’s lips tightened. “Looks like somebody got jilted at the altar. She doesn’t realize it, but her asshole groom did her favor. Better he desert her now than later on when life gets complicated.” The bitterness edging her voice suggested she spoke from experience.
Unexpected sympathy washed over him. She’d been cold and dismissive toward him, but it angered him to think someone had hurt her.
“How about I buy you a drink?” he suggested, oddly reluctant to leave her yet. He’d had enough alcohol, and, judging from her inability to walk a straight line, she had, too, but one more couldn’t hurt. Besides, maybe he’d find out a little more about the woman his genetics had tied him to.
She rattled the cup of poker chips. “Still gotta cash out.”
“Okay, you can buy.”
She blinked, and then she laughed, a husky sensual sound that stroked him like a lover’s touch. Damn his genetics. “You’re aware I don’t like you,” she said.
“I don’t like you, either.” He flashed a smile, ignoring the throbbing in his throat. “Maybe we can talk about our mutual antipathy.”
“Fine. One drink.”
Chapter Two
After a quick stop at the cashier’s cage, they wended to a lounge and squeezed into a quiet-ish corner. A skimpily clad cocktail waitress slapped a couple of napkin squares on their small table.
“Vodka with a splash of cranberry juice,” Kat ordered.
“Scotch on the rocks,” Tiger said.
She squinted at the menu printed on a stand-up placard. “I should eat something to slow the absorption—seeing as how I’m buying.”
He’d been surprised when the cashier had counted out $500. She’d had only a few chips in her cup.
“You interested in splitting a basket of chicken fingers?” she asked.
Were fingers like chicken feet? Didn’t sound appetizing, but he was game. “Sure.”
“One basket of chicken fingers with fries, and bring us a couple of waters, please,” she ordered with a tone of authority.
She liked to be in charge, he observed.
When their drinks came, she sipped hers and then said, “You do realize I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t drunk.”
“They say good judgment is the first to go.”
“I still think you’re an asshole.”
Epiphany flashed, and he realized she wielded aggression as a shield. Her scowls, her belligerent challenges, her refusal to accept help, her insistence on taking charge were designed to keep people at arm’s length. Somebody had hurt her. If he knew who, he’d hunt him down and beat him to a pulp.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she demanded.
“Like what?”
“Like…I don’t know. But stop it.”
“Okay.” He cocked his head. “Why did you rescue me from casino security?”
She traced the rim of her glass with a slender finger. Her short nails gleamed with some sort of clear polish. “I’m beginning to think having a drink with you might be a bad idea.” She paused. “Why did you rescue me from Mr. Hands?”
Because you’re my genmate. “His intentions appeared to be unwelcome.” To me. He could not permit another man to maul his genmate.
“I had it under control.”
“It looked like you two were together.”
“He was just a gambler at the craps table.”
“Is that why you came to Las Vegas—to gamble?”
She shook her head. “I came for a law enforcement conference. It ended this morning. My plane leaves tomorrow. Rather than sit in my room, I decided to partake of the attractions and enjoy myself. Let my hair down a little, figuratively speaking.”
He liked her hair down, curling about her shoulders. He considered telling her how attractive she was, how her dress emphasized her attributes, how she’d gotten him hard, but figured he’d better not push his luck. So, he focused on her job. A safe topic. “Have you been in law enforcement long?”
“Twenty-two years. After high school, I bounced around from job to job for a few years, figuring out where I fit in. Then the sheriff’s department launched a campaign to recruit women—so I joined and went to the academy. Best decision of my life.”
