Шкондини-Дуюновский Аристах Владиленович : другие произведения.

Werelock

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  Text copyright No2015 by the Author.
  
  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Eliza Gayle. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Southern Shifters remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Eliza Gayle, or their affiliates or licensors.
  
  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
  
  
  
  
  
  Werelock
  
  
  
  
  
  MINA CARTER
  
  USA TODAY Bestselling Author
  
  
  
  
  
  Additional
  
  
  
  
  Copyright 2015 Mina Carter
  
  Cover Art by Mina Carter
  
  Published by Summerhouse Publishing: August 2015
  
  
  
  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
  
  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
  
  
  
  
  
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  Chapter One
  
  
  
  
  Was it still called paranoia if they really were out to get you?
  
  Renae Brogan studied the street carefully as she drove along, alert for the slightest change from the norm. Well, normal for Deal’s Gap, Tennessee, anyway. Since the town was a refuge for the weird and wonderful of the paranormal world, “norm” meant something very different from everywhere else on the planet.
  
  Here, outcasts from shifter clans lived side by side with half-breeds which all clans liked to pretend didn’t exist. She’d even heard there was a wererabbit in town. That had raised an eyebrow. Wererabbits didn’t hang out around predator types often, not unless they had a few screws loose, or a death wish.
  
  Shifters or not though, people were people.
  
  They got up in the morning, fetched the mail, drank too much coffee, and went to work like regular people. In the evening, they came home, cooked dinner, relaxed, fucked…all the normal sort of things. Unless they’d gone furry, in which case they headed off for a run in the wild or whatever else they liked to do when furred up. (She wasn’t adding fucking to that list because with some inter-species shifter relationships the mechanics were mindboggling.)
  
  Regardless, the point was shifters had routines like humans, and that was what Renae learned to watch for. She was always alert for any change in the routines of those who lived around her. Changes were dangerous, not because she was some freakazoid OCD type, but because the slightest deviation could mean her ex-husband found her. Since he’d made it very clear the only way she was leaving him was in a coffin, she was eager to ensure he didn’t find her. Like, ever.
  
  Slowing the car, she pretended to fiddle with the rearview mirror, using it to scan the street behind her in an extra check. Sometimes looking from a different angle revealed things her eye had slid past at first glance, but nothing. Everything looked normal.
  
  A small sigh of relief escaped her lips and she shared an amused glance with her own reflection as she turned the mirror back into position. The long blond hair was gone, cropped shorter and covered by a dark dye she meticulously maintained. She missed her hair, but liked breathing too much. Like, really way too much.
  
  Her eyes were the same green-gray, mainly because she couldn’t get on with the dark contacts she’d bought. Her inner lioness hated them and growled at the thought. Besides, she’d never figured out what to do with them in a shift, and the good ones that she could just about tolerate were damn expensive. With the way her shifts could hit, often out of the blue, she couldn’t afford to ditch that many pairs.
  
  Satisfied nothing was out of the ordinary and the street was clear, she pulled her car into the drive next to her house. A small two-bed rental on a corner plot, it was cute and homey. The kind of place she could see herself settling into long term. Despite its unusual nature, Deal’s Gap was a nice place to live; maybe bring up a family…
  
  She sighed and switched off the engine. She couldn’t afford such dangerous thoughts. There was no settling down for her, not unless Lance keeled over and died. Heart attack maybe… Actually, couldn’t people die of constipation? Her ex was so full of shit that would be a fitting end. Too quickly for her liking though. She’d rather he get hit by a truck, dragged for miles before being struck by lightning. Oh, and after contracting something nasty from all the whores he slept with.
  
  I’m an alpha lion, baby. I gotta spread this goodness around, it’s natural.
  
  She heard his excuse in her head as clearly as if he sat in the car next to her, and her cat snarled in response. He’d always had an excuse; every time she challenged him about his sleeping around. Until he’d run out of excuses and gotten angry. Then he’d just used his fists.
  
  Pathetic. Can’t control your shifts. Weak. How did I ever find you attractive? You’re nothing without me. No one will want you. You should be grateful I look after you.
  
  Lance’s taunts and insults were etched into her soul so deeply, some days felt like she’d never be free of them. But she had managed it, she escaped. Sure, she was alone and in exile, but that was better than the alternative. Her lip quivered and she controlled it ruthlessly. She wasn’t pathetic or weak. She was a strong, independent, and yes, she told herself fiercely, a damn attractive woman.
  
  Now if she could make herself believe all that, she’d be golden.
  
  Dragging in a deep breath, she grabbed her camera bag and got out of the car. At least money wasn’t an issue. Since leaving her pride, she’d done something she always wanted and picked up a camera. Her wildlife shots were in demand and the pay was excellent. Thankfully enough to fund her careful fugitive lifestyle. After being treated as a burden for so long, standing on her own two feet was a source of immense pride and strength.
  
  More relaxed now, she reached the door and put her key in the lock. After a day out shooting, all she wanted was to boot her laptop to upload her shots. After that she had plans for a long, hot bath. And ever the carnivore, she had a steak resting in the fridge and a nice bottle of wine to go with it. She might even push the boat out and finish off the half tub of rocky road, her deepest vice, while she edited the photos she’d taken today.
  
  Excitement filled her as she turned the key. Some were excellent, she’d felt it as soon as she’d taken them. The back of the camera view had confirmed that but she couldn’t wait to see them on a bigger screen to make sure. Photography was like that for her. A voyage of discovery each and every time. Some shots were obvious but some she hadn’t thought would work in the field surprised her, coming to life when she got them onto her laptop.
  
  Anticipating a pleasant evening, she pushed the door open and took a step inside.
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  Hale Roark was the best tracker in the paranormal bounty hunting business. An experienced warlock with a weather specialty (hail, as it happened. The fates had a hell of a sense of humor) his reputation was built on delivering the goods fast.
  
  Well, that and he was a mean son of a bitch who could get the job done despite… opposition. It was cheaper for the client to send one man in rather than a team, so Hale got a lot of jobs that would otherwise go elsewhere. He didn’t care. All was fair in love and the tracking down people for money business.
  
  Plus, it kept him sharp. Something every warlock needed. A slow warlock was a dead one, if he was lucky. With the magic Hale wielded, there were much worse things than being dead. Being in a reality show for example. The shudder rolled through him before he could stop it. He couldn’t think of anything worse.
  
  Sitting in his current mark’s living room waiting for her to return, he looked around. Tracking Renae Brogan had been the easiest job he’d taken in a long time. Most para bounty hunters tended to be wolf shifters, something with a good sense of smell and innate tracking abilities. Hale wasn’t a shifter and his sense of smell was shit, so he used magic. Not just any magic either.
  
  High-level tracking spells took some serious magical mojo, the sort that usually required the blood of seventeen chickens and a virgin. The lore was a little hazy there. Hale had never been sure why seventeen chickens in particular, and whether one of them should be the virgin. That, of course, opened a whole new avenue of inquiry and it wasn’t like he could ask the chicken, now could he?
  
  So, he went old school and used blood magic. His own. He drew the line at sacrifice. Besides, he didn’t need it. From a long line of witches and warlocks, he had enough of the good stuff coursing through his veins to power some seriously nasty casting.
  
  He wasn’t a pure-blooded warlock though, so he was looked down upon in magical circles. Thanks to some randy ancestor who couldn’t keep it in their pants, Hale had been saddled with a little something extra, something feral hidden within him that made him yearn for the wilderness and to run. To feel the wind through a mane he didn’t have and the dirt beneath paws he’d never walked on.
  
  He wasn’t a shifter. The thing within wasn’t that developed, but it was powerful. Powerful enough to juice up a tracking spell and bring him right to Renae Brogan. He rubbed his thumb over the photo in his hand, the silver of his thumb ring glinting in the low light.
  
  The casting had been easier than he’d expected. Almost like the spell knew the woman and where to find her.
  
  That bothered him.
  
  Magic should not be easy. As a rule it was damn difficult to perform even the simplest of spells. As it should be, or all those human idiots trying to summon things they couldn’t control would have brought down the apocalypse. No, to perform magic, a caster needed patience, training, and a shitload of strength.
  
  And a familiar… A little voice in the back of his head added.
  
  Hale ignored it. He always did. He didn’t have a familiar because unlike every other freaking warlock on the planet, he couldn’t bond to one. He’d tried; really he did. Cats, dogs (and he was so not a dog person), rats…hell, he’d even tried toads and snakes, but nothing doing. All that happened was the beast that lived in his blood stirred, yawned, and broke the connection. It didn’t matter though. He was powerful enough not to need a familiar.
  
  Diverting his train of thought to the job in hand, he looked at the photo. It was old, showing a young woman. Masses of tawny blond hair fell to shoulders bared by a strappy top, surrounding a face with delicate features. Obviously a candid photo, she looked away from the camera with a smile, but the warmth in her feline-tilted eyes said she shared a joke with someone she loved.
  
  A pang of…something speared Hale’s chest. Rubbing a hand across his breastbone, he concentrated on the image, feeling the tug of the spell. She was close by, but not here yet. Perhaps a few minutes more.
  
  He relaxed minutely, his gaze still on the girl in the photo. What would she look like now? Brogan had said his ex-wife was a lying harpy who’d caused so much damage in his pride that he had to bring her back and make an example of her to the people she’d hurt. That Hale could understand.
  
  Shifter rules were near primal and absolutely brutal. To fuck with the group was to fuck with every member and they dealt with issues in-house. If this woman had hurt kids, as Brogan had intimated, then she deserved everything she got. Nothing to do with Hale, even though by serving her up to her pride there was a good chance he’d be sentencing her to death.
  
  Not his circus, not his monkeys.
  
  So why couldn’t he take his eyes off the photo? Why did the more primal instincts inside him want to snarl and reject everything Brogan had said? The guy was an asshole, yes, and he’d all but announced that Hale could “have a little fun” with his target, but did that mean he was wrong about the woman in the photo?
  
  The sound of the key in the lock brought Hale’s head up.
  
  Time to find out…
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  Shit. There was someone in her house.
  
  Renae froze on the doorstep, her lioness on alert and all her senses extended. The house was silent, but it wasn’t a welcoming, comfortable silence. Instead, it was an absence of sound that told her someone inside listened as well.
  
  She took a deep breath and the scent of virile male hit her hard and fast, wrapping around her. The moan welled in her throat as her body responded, heating instantly. Need surged through her, her limbs weak, and a quivery feeling in her stomach she’d never felt before.
  
  Lion. Alpha. Male.
  
  The three words blazed like wildfire through her mind and her lioness wanted to roll over in submission. Panic caused her human half to seize control before the cat could make its needs a reality. Without pausing to think she dropped her bag to the floor and ran.
  
  No time to get into her car. Despite being half human, she’d lived around lions all her life, so she knew how damn fast they were. Heart pounding in her chest, she ducked around the side of the house and sprinted for the garden.
  
  Who was he? The scent had been alpha, and powerful. Her ex-husband, Lance, was an alpha, but nothing compared to the scent in the house. It wasn’t one she recognized. Not a Brogan lion…she’d have recognised it. Shit. He must have called in help from another pride. No way would he allow a male that powerful to join the small Brogan pride.
  
  She hit the back gate and crashed through it, taking it off its hinges. It slammed against the side of the house as she raced through the back garden. Her property, like many in Deal’s Gap, backed onto wilderness, a fact that she’d considered when renting the house and might, just might, save her life now.
  
  The living room window exploded outward behind her, and she got a vague impression of a tall, powerful male figure leaping through it, out the corner of her eye. A startled cry erupted from her lips and she found an extra burst of speed from somewhere.
  
  Hurtling through the tree line, she stumbled a little but kept on running. Her body ached to change, her cat roaring and fighting against her control. She held her human form with iron control. Other shifters might have been faster on four paws, but not Renae. The car accident that had robbed her of her parents as a child should have killed her, her injuries so bad the doctors didn’t expect her to survive.
  
  Shattered pelvis, damaged hip joint, femur broken in three places including just above the knee damaging the growth plate… she should never have walked again, but her cat, although not fully formed, had internalized the damage. She healed as a human, but when her cat had manifested at puberty she had a bad limp. Bad enough that running was slow and leaping was out of the question. She simply didn’t have the power in her hindquarters. A physical weakness made her an easy target for the bully that Lance was.
  
  So she ran as a human, although no one would mistake her for one. She might be slow for a shifter, but she was way faster than any human ever could be as she tapped into her cat’s strength to power her human body. It was a weird solution, but it worked for her. Kinda.
  
  The forest was dense and crisscrossed with well-trodden paths. The town was full of shifters, half-breeds and all kinds of oddities, so there were plenty to choose from. She raced down them, changing paths at random in a dizzying display of speed that would have impressed even her, if she didn’t have one of Lance’s bully boys on her tail.
  
  He was a constant presence behind her. Never far enough that she could relax, nor confident that she’d lost him, but neither was he closing in. Breath coming in short pants, she pushed her body to the limit.
  
  A glance over her shoulder gave her another glimpse. He ran in a steady lope, easily keeping up with her. Fast and near silent as he tracked her.
  
  Tears of frustration filled her eyes. His scent said lion, so why was he chasing her as a human? Unless he didn’t think her worthy enough prey to warrant a shift? The taunts filled her ears again.
  
  Pathetic… Weak… Useless.
  
  Her body started to shake, the shivers bone deep and radiating out over her skin. Fur poked through her pores and she moaned. Not now. She couldn’t shift now. If she couldn’t shake him as a human, there was no way she’d manage it in her slower cat form.
  
  Terror tore through her like a pyrotechnic display, pinging through every cell in her torso. She swerved left at a fork and dug deep for more speed. She had to reach safety before the oncoming change hit or she was done. As it was, she only had one chance. She needed to get somewhere the cat’s one advantage, its claws, could come into play.
  
  She hit the clearing and skidded to round a fallen tree. Struck by lightning years ago, it was hollow and long. Still half buried in the earth, the only entry point was a small split in the trunk where the lightning ripped through to the heart, burning it from inside out.
  
  Heart in her throat, she twisted and dropped to the ground to slide, feet first toward the gap like she’d done it every day of her life. The darkness of the trunk surrounded her and she surrendered herself to the change, fire arcing through her as fur raced over her skin. Bone snapped and cracked, forcing her body into contortions as they morphed and slid into different configurations. She closed her eyes as her face changed. Teeth aching, her jaw reshaped, pushing into a muzzle as she panted.
  
  Then it was done, her body reformed into the shape of her lioness. She waited in the dark, eyes fixed on the light spilling through the opening in the trunk just ahead of her.
  
  Her paws flexed, heavy talons biting into the dry wood beneath.
  
  Let him try to get her out now.
  
  She’d show him what a pissed-off cat was capable of.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  
  
  
  Renae Brogan was beautiful.
  
  Hale hadn’t gotten more than a glimpse of short, golden-brown hair around delicate features as she stole glances over her shoulder, but he knew she was more beautiful than the photo suggested. There was a haunting fragility about her that called to everything male within him.
  
  She was also a puzzle. He followed her at an easy lope, keeping his distance to study her. Shifters were notoriously difficult to trap, a fact he’d learned many years ago. The wolf shifter he’d thought he was tracking had turned out to be a bear shifter—which were rarer than rocking horse shit—and had clawed him up pretty bad before escaping. He’d lost on that job, and gained deep scars across his back to warn him to look before he leaped.
  
  Which was why he studied Renae as he ran. She hadn’t shifted, which intrigued him. Brogan had said she was a lioness, a full member of the pride, and lionesses were fast as hell. Shifted, she could easily outrun him. Unless he used his magic, of course, but he always kept that in reserve until he needed it.
  
  He kept himself in top physical condition. He’d seen too many warlocks let themselves go, only to be screwed when a spell went badly and they needed to fight their way out. Thankfully, he’d never needed to, but if he did, he could throw down with the biggest shifters. Demons might be a little harder to handle, but he’d give it a go. People always told him he had a death wish.
  
  Right now, he had one wish. To get a better look at the woman he chased. An interest that had nothing to do with the bounty money filled him. She was small and packed with curves he wasn’t used to seeing on a shifter. Usually they were lean and lithe… and left him totally uninterested. He didn’t do stick insects. Especially when they could rip his face off on a whim.
  
  Renae Brogan? Fuck, he’d do her all night long and still come back for more…
  
  She changed direction and he realized something that had been niggling at the back of his mind. She had a limp. Very slight, but she favored her right side. Crap, what damage would a shifter need to take to cause a lasting weakness like that?
  
  The wind shifted, bringing her scent to him and he breathed deeply. The scent of her panic and fear almost froze him mid-run. Hale’s eyes narrowed. He was used to his quarry being scared, but there was usually a healthy dose of anger and frustration in the mix as well. Not here. Renae just smelled terrified. Completely, utterly terrified and so close to shifting it made his teeth ache.
  
  Shift, he silently urged her. For the first time ever he seriously considered letting a mark escape. He would go back to Brogan and tell him his ex-wife had bought it in a car accident—there were a few spells he could use…
  
  Still running, he brought himself up sharp mentally. What the fuck was he thinking? She was a job, nothing more, nothing less, and he always got paid.
  
  So why did he get the feeling there was more to her story than Brogan was telling him? To hear the guy talk, Renae was the biggest bitch to walk the face of the planet, but what Hale was seeing didn’t match that at all.
  
  Suddenly his quarry changed direction and he lost sight of her.
  
  “Oh, no you don’t, Missy,” he muttered and reached into his core for more speed. He hit the same clearing just in time to see her slide through a gap in a fallen tree trunk.
  
  “Shit!” He was after her in a heartbeat, trying to grab her before she disappeared into the gap. A shiver and pop of power in the air told him she’d shifted and he yanked his hand back just in time. Vicious claws slashed where his arm had been mere moments before. Shit. She was fast.
  
  She’d finally shifted. He couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his lips, absurd pride filling him that she outwitted him, if only momentarily. He knew spells that would shatter the log around her so her reprieve was only temporary.
  
  He liked the challenge of getting her out of there without using magic though. And yeah, he was curious to see what her cat form looked like. Would she be small like her human form and delicate, or big and powerful like most lionesses he’d seen?
  
  Making sure to keep out of range of those vicious claws, he crouched down to look through the gap in the wood. The interior of the trunk was darkened, but he got an impression of a hulking feline form. Bigger then, and powerful, the total opposite to her human form. Large green-gray eyes, rather than the amber he’d expected studied him intently. Her lips curled back from her teeth and she hissed at him.
  
  “Hey there, gorgeous,” he smiled, keeping his teeth covered. Dealing with shifters 101, showing teeth, even when smiling, could be seen as a threat, and he really didn’t want his face ripped off for saying hello. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
  
  She swiped at the entrance in warning. He hid his smile.
  
  “Come on, there’s no need to be like that,” he chided, wagging his finger at her. Surging forward, she swiped at him again, her movement affording him more of a look at her. And she was gorgeous. Lean and sleek, her pale fur covered the hard body of a lioness in her prime. Why hadn’t she shifted before?
  
  “Let’s get you out of there and have a look at you, shall we?” he murmured, and clicked his fingers in front of her face to make her look at him.
  
  As soon as their gazes locked, he started to chant an incantation. Magic swirled around him. Reached out for her. He felt her start of surprise as soon as the tendrils reached her. Saw those amazing eyes widen. What he didn’t expect was the surge in power as his magic wrapped around her, ruffling her fur in a gentle caress. As though it recognized her. As though she belonged to him… A feeling that he’d tried to find for years but had always eluded him.
  
  Until now.
  
  A suspicion crossed his mind and Hale frowned. His voice grew louder, the words shifting from ones of cajolement, to command. The command of a warlock calling his familiar to him.
  
  Hisses and snarls erupted from the darkness of the trunk, but she inched forward. The battle to refuse his command was written all over her face and she was strong, fighting the bond. Against him. He kept chanting. Inch by inch, she emerged from the log, first her head and he got a look at her beautiful near-white fur in the light of day. It suited her unusual eyes.
  
  His voice rose in pitch and she edged toward him, snarling. Almost there. He reached a hand to her and she bared her teeth at him. Her claws remained sheathed though, and he knew she wasn’t going to hurt him. Just as he could never hurt her.
  
  He eased himself to the ground, to her level, as she crawled out from the safety of the log and finally he understood why she hadn’t shifted. Her back leg was the wrong shape, and curled in slightly under her. Anger hit him, closing his throat as he fought to remember to breathe. Someone, somewhere had hurt his beautiful familiar.
  
  He would rip their hearts out with his bare hands, and their spines through their damn guts. He’d make them suffer, and laugh as he danced in their entrails. Drawn by the compulsion between them, she reached him and crawled into his lap.
  
  Fuck. Hale’s eyes fluttered closed as he buried his face against her neck. One touch of her soft-as-silk fur and his suspicion was confirmed. She was his familiar.
  
  The long dormant part of his soul stirred and he held his breath. Please, no… it couldn’t take exception to Renae, not when he’d just found her. Power surged through him and he gasped. He’d never felt the thing so strong, like it had swum up from the depths of his soul to take a look out his eyes. Time froze as he concentrated on the female in his arms and the creature that prowled his blood. Please let it like her…
  
  It purred.
  
  Using his goddamn throat.
  
  He blinked, yanking his head up in surprise to meet the equally startled gaze of the lioness in his arms. She gave a slow blink, then without warning, he had an armful of curvy woman. Curvy, very naked, woman.
  
  “Please,” she begged, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Don’t take me back to him. Kill me now.”
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  Renae never begged. Even through all the years of emotional and then physical abuse Lance subjected her to, she’d never broken down and begged. No matter how bad it had gotten, the fact that Lance wanted her to crawl before him meant she just couldn’t do it. He was the worst sort of bully, the kind who wouldn’t be satisfied until his victim was completely broken.
  
  Given the number of bounty hunters he’d sent to haul her back to the pride, the fact he hadn’t been able to crack her and turn her into a blubbering mess without thoughts and options of her own like his mother must’ve really pissed him off. He’d have to suck it up though, because the only way she was going back to the Brogan pride was as a corpse.
  
  Begging Lance might be out of the question; he was an asshole who got a kick out of using his power over others, but the man who held her so gently in his arms was a different matter. She didn’t know him, but something in his gaze told her he was a good man, even if he tried to appear otherwise.
  
  He watched her steadily, his deep blue gaze unwavering on hers. Magic wreathed him like a clock, shimmering over his skin in a way that made her instincts sit up and take notice. She’d been wrong about him being a lion. He wasn’t a shifter, he was something else entirely. She’d always been sensitive to magic and even the most magically unaware couldn’t miss that he was a warlock.
  
  Her inner cat nudged her. No, he wasn’t a warlock. Her lioness, sometimes the most intelligent of the two of them (it hated Lance with a passion) recognized him and pulled memories from her childhood to parade in front of her. He wasn’t a warlock, he was a werelock… the perfect magical symbiosis between high magic and the primal magic of a shifter. He’d sacrificed his animal form to reach greater heights as a magic user. They were almost unheard of these days and supposed to be as powerful as the most famous of their number, Merlin, had been.
  
  Great. Just her freaking luck. The bounty hunter Lance sent after her was not only as sexy as sin, as ripped as a damn underwear model, he was also one of the most powerful magical creatures to walk God’s green earth.
  
  She. Was. Screwed.
  
  Big time.
  
  He shook his head, and sunlight danced in the golden flecks of his hair. She wondered what kind of shifter he would have been. A wolf, all grays and browns…or a bear, a black grizzly maybe? Two of the rarest paranormal creatures rolled into one. But try as she might, she couldn’t see him as anything other than a lion, all golden and tawny.
  
  “No. I’m not going to kill you.”
  
  His voice was low and controlled, deeper than she’d expected, and warm… the timbre teasing along her senses like an auditory caress. She wanted to gasp, and arch against him, rubbing her body against his all cat-like.
  
  Her naked body.
  
  Shit. Her eyes shot wide as heat burned across her cheeks. Hot enough to fry eggs? No, that was for losers. She was talking total and utter cremation to rival the fiery pits of hell itself.
  
  “Uhmmm, why not?” She tried to squirm and hide herself from his gaze. At least with the way he held her, he couldn’t see that much. An eyeful of cleavage and an awful lot of leg, but not like… anything in between. Then she realized he’d seen her in her cat form and her cheeks went from volcanic to supernova.
  
  He didn’t move, and neither did his eyes shift from hers. Either he was a complete gentleman— Or he’s not interested in a fat, useless lump like you. What did you expect? He’s seen what you look like as a human and lioness. As always, the horrible little voice in the back of her mind sounded like Lance. She couldn’t remember a time when it didn’t.
  
  “This.”
  
  One word, that’s all the warning she got before he bent his head and covered her lips with his. Surprise held her immobile for a moment, as her brain tried to process what was happening. In her world, the sexy as hell, hot guy did not go around kissing curvy peeps like her. They certainly didn’t groan when she parted her lips and slid their tongues inside her mouth to mate with hers, or shift her in their arms so she could feel just how much their lip-lock affected them.
  
  Yet, it was happening. The long, hard bar of his cock pressed insistently into her hip as he explored her mouth as though the fate of the world depended on it. Meticulously, thoroughly, sliding his tongue against hers in an age-old dance that seemed as new as each breath she took.
  
  Oh. My. God.
  
  She broke away with a gasp, hands on his upper arms and nails digging into his skin. Not wanting to hurt him, her lioness hadn’t manifested claws, a first for the chaotic cat. Forcing herself to meet his eyes, she wasn’t prepared for the depth of heat she saw there, or the amber that leeched into his blue gaze.
  
  So she blurted out something, anything, to avoid commenting on the tension between them.
  
  “That’s a hell of a reason, but I don’t think it’s one Lance will accept.”
  
  “You let me worry about him.”
  
  He stood and lifted her to her feet. Taking a step back, he peeled off his shirt and wrapped her in it, always keeping his eyes above shoulder level. She shivered as the soft cotton wrapped her, enveloping her in the scent of warm man and magic.
  
  Without saying another word, he bent and scooped her into his arms. Exhausted after her madcap dash through the forest, she didn’t argue, simply accepted this strange turn of events and draped her arms around his shoulders.
  
  He was younger than she’d thought a werelock would be. Not that she’d thought of them often. Like werebears, she hadn’t really believed they existed. They were a tale to scare werelion kids.
  
  “Behave or the big, bad werebear will get you.”
  
  “Eat your dinner or the werelocks will steal you away.”
  
  But she’d seen both in Deal’s Gap. If that wasn’t a clue to reassess her beliefs then she didn’t know what was.
  
  He carried her plump, curvy form easily, his gait smooth and steady. After all Lance’s taunting about her weight, having a man not even mention it… not even break a sweat when lifting her like it was a total nonissue, made her release the little breath she held deep inside.
  
  It was easier to breathe without his unsettling gaze on her so she took the opportunity to study him. The typical tall, blond, and handsome, he looked the typical jock type gone rebel with earrings, chains, and fingers full of silver rings.
  
  Only someone who knew what they were looking at would spot the real magical symbols hidden among the fashion pieces. Hiding in plain sight. The MO for almost every magical race out there.
  
  His features were classically handsome. A strong brow was set over blue eyes that ranged between the color of the deepest ocean and pale as a winter sky. His nose was straight and perfectly Roman. His lips fascinated her. Sensuously full, they were maybe a tad too wide for the ideal of perfection but they suited him.
  
  How old was he? He looked mid-twenties, which would put him only a few years younger than her. Fine lines had already formed around the corners of his eyes. Laughter lines, but she got the feeling he didn’t laugh often. His whole demeanor was less young buck out to get drunk and laid, and more dangerous predator prepared to do whatever it took to get the job done.
  
  A dangerous bad boy.
  
  Shit. She’d always had a thing for the bad boy. It was what had gotten her into a relationship with Lance, but now she saw Lance wasn’t a real bad boy, he was a wannabe with a mean streak playing at being dangerous. He thought hitting women and those weaker than himself made him powerful.
  
  Real danger carried her in his arms like she was the most precious thing in the world.
  
  He turned, catching her gaze and for a moment it was like she could see into his soul. Her cat purred, wanting nothing more than to turn belly up and invite this powerful male to take whatever he wanted.
  
  Her cat was a freaking hussy.
  
  A second later, the shutters came down in his eyes and he smiled. Far from reassuring her, the expression made all her guards go back up. She fought the feeling of safety which tried to wrap her in its snares, urging her to relax and trust him. Persuasion spell. Had to be. He’d compelled her cat too easily for it to be anything other than magic.
  
  Crap. And her cat already liked him way too much. She was on her own in this particular fight.
  
  No matter. Given that her cat was the weaker of her forms, she’d long ago gotten used to overriding her natural instinct to shift, controlling her cat ruthlessly to keep them both safe. She’d get them out of this. She had to because no way was she going back to Lance. Not with what he threatened.
  
  “Ever try to leave me and I’ll put you in the ground with your dead parents. Bury you alive in a silver banded box. You’ll die down there knowing no one’s coming to save you.”
  
  He’d made the promise with such relish, she knew he’d carry out the threat at the earliest opportunity. He’d probably had it planned for years.
  
  But she wasn’t dead yet. Her natural stubborn nature kicked her up the ass before she could slide into depression and apathy. Her mind went into overdrive, turning over all the options. If she could get free, she could try to make it to the sheriff’s office or maybe the Dark Moon and beg for help. She’d been in the roadhouse once or twice, strictly in passing and keeping on the lowdown, and the guys that ran it were seriously scary dudes. They might help her.
  
  No. Instantly she rejected the idea. Had Lance sent the usual shifter-type of bounty hunter after her, then she might have tried that, but a werelock was a whole new level of nastiness. Especially when she barely knew anyone in the town, preferring to keep to herself. Long experience had taught her not to make friends and the only person she could rely on was herself.
  
  They reached the back of her property, but instead of turning left and walking up her garden, he carried on and turned into the next one. The Kirkpatrick house. They were away for a couple of weeks. She had no idea where, just that they’d packed up that big camper of theirs and waved goodbye as they’d driven off, all smiles.
  
  A big, black muscle car was parked at the side of the garage, out of sight of the road. Definitely not the Kirkpatrick’s. Mr. Kirkpatrick owned a staid urban utility vehicle a world away from the sleek, powerful machine in front of her.
  
  “This is us,” her werelock announced, and bent at the waist to set her on her feet.
  
  She saw her chance and took it before he could move away. While his arm was still around the back of her knees, she lifted hers and dead-dropped, driving the point of her elbow into the back of his neck. He grunted and collapsed to the paving slabs like a stone, sprawling to lie still on the driveway.
  
  Too still. Fear closed her throat. Shit. Had she hit him too hard and killed him? Even though she couldn’t afford the delay, she knelt next to him and pressed two fingers against his throat. Please say she hadn’t killed him. Even though he planned to take her back, he was only doing a job…
  
  A strong heartbeat pulsed under her fingers. Relief shuddered through her, leaving her in a ragged breath. He was okay. Ignoring her cat’s need to wrap around him and keep him warm until he woke, she patted him down and found keys and a wallet in his pockets. Snagging both, she raced to the driver’s side and unlocked the door. Her heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline energizing her system. It couldn’t be this easy. Any moment he’d wake and fry her with a spell, stopping her escape before it had begun.
  
  He didn’t, lying unmoving even when she gunned the big car out of her neighbor’s drive, fishtailing the back end a little before she got it until control and roared down the road.
  
  She’d done it.
  
  She’d escaped.
  
  Again…
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  
  
  
  Werelion prides, as a rule, liked a lot of room to run and a fair amount of privacy which meant Renae had lived most of her life in the country. As such, driving big cars was no problem at all.
  
  She gunned the beast of a machine out of Deal’s Gap like the hounds of hell were on her ass and turned onto the road heading for the interstate. It was the most direct route out of the area. There was just one problem, the Tail of the Dragon was between her and her escape. The number one motorbike and sports car route in the U.S., it was three hundred and eighteen curves in eleven miles with a reputation for chewing up and spitting out unwary drivers.
  
  She grinned and put her foot down. As soon as she’d swung the big car into the first turn, she’d realized that while it might look like a well maintained classic model, the werelock had added some serious upgrades. Brakes, suspension… the whole kit and caboodle meant the thing handled like a dream.
  
  The perfect car to take on the Dragon.
  
  She kept her eye on the rearview all the time, although she didn’t know what she expected. The werelock couldn’t shift, that was the point. They sacrificed that ability to power their magic. It wasn’t like he was going to come racing after her in lion form. Especially out here. This might be the neutral zone, but most paranormals were careful around humans. Although it would be just her luck to get one that wasn’t…
  
  The road changed and she touched the brakes, her focus complete. The road was a perfect racetrack, but that didn’t mean she could go hell for leather. Precisely because it was popular with bikers and sports car owners meant that law enforcement had a high presence and there were radar points all along the route.
  
  Nearing the first one, she brought her speed down even more. Given it was a mid-week early evening, traffic wasn’t so bad, but she didn’t want to get picked up. It would be easy for the werelock to find her then. Especially as she was driving his car and the police would inform him she’d been pulled over.
  
  She reached the first radar point and a ping and shimmer on the dashboard of the car caught her attention. Frowning, she looked down, and her eyes widened. Small words shimmered in moss green across the speedometer.
  
  Cloak enchantment activated, road speed measurements negated.
  
  The car was speed-cloaked? Neat.
  
  Spotting a patrol car parked in a passing place just up ahead, she grit her teeth and put her foot down. In for a penny, in for a pound. She’d soon know if the spell was for real.
  
  The officer didn’t even look up as she sped by.
  
  “Fuck. Me.”
  
  With a whoop of elation, Renae kept her foot to the floor and took the Dragon with a vengeance. Eyes on the road, the scenery either side of the road became a blur as she threw the big car into the twists and turns. She overtook cars and bikes, weaving between them on the two lane road in a dizzying display of speed. Some drivers gaped at her, but others barely noticed her thanks to the spell, and before long she cleared the main section.
  
  Settling down onto the straighter road, she reached for the werelock’s wallet and flipped it open. It was full of cash, enough to see her through a couple of days of motel living. Everything else, like getting access to her bank account and dealing with her belongings in the rental, she could deal with later. Right now, she had more important things to think about, like staying alive.
  
  There was a driver’s license in the wallet so she pulled it free. Her werelock looked back at her from the photo. He was Hale Roark, twenty-six, six foot three, blond hair and blue eyed. It looked like a normal driver’s license until she tried to look at his address or the issuing state, then it got all blurry. How odd. She squinted her eyes and tried again, but the details remained stubbornly out of focus. A spell on his license… what did he have to hide?
  
  Tucking it into the sun visor, she settled down to drive. The rumble of the road was comforting. Cleared her mind and allowed her to make plans. At least, it should. Instead, all she could think about was that kiss and the way the werelock’s, Hale’s, lips had felt on hers. They had been warm and firm, tender but sure with banked depths of fire she knew, once released, would scorch her to her soul.
  
  A couple of hours down the interstate and exhaustion began to pull at her. She sighed. If she pushed it too much her cat would get crabby and that wasn’t her only problem.
  
  Much as she liked the car, she needed to ditch it and find another ride. Car or bike, she didn’t care which, she could ride or drive anything. She cast quick glances at the motels she passed, nibbling her lower lip.
  
  The trouble was, if she stole something that belonged to a human, the owner would report it missing. Given the werelock—Hale, she corrected herself—was paranormal, it was less likely he’d report his car stolen. The enchantment on his license showed he preferred to fly under the radar. No, he wouldn’t report the car; she was positive he wouldn’t. She did need to ditch it before he could track it down though, which meant she needed to find alternative transport.
  
  But that was a question for tomorrow. First, she needed sleep and something to eat.
  
  Pulling into a crowded motel, she parked out of sight of the road. A quick check of the bag on the back seat and she had a pair of pants. Nothing she could do about her bare feet, but with the pant legs rolled down it wasn’t so obvious. Besides, at this time of night, it wasn’t likely anyone would be checking out her feet.
  
  Ten minutes later and she had a key to a quiet room at the back. Opening the door, she sighed in relief. Bog basic, it was clean which was all she needed. A shower and a nap and she’d hit the road again, put as much distance between her and Deal’s Gap with the werelock she’d knocked unconscious as possible.
  
  She dumped Hale’s bag on the bed and walked out of the few items of clothing she wore en route to the shower. The water was hot, and the pressure decent enough to make her moan with pleasure as it battered her sore muscles. Much as she loved her cat, shifting always took it out of her. It was like any physical activity, it needed practice. Perhaps she would have shifted more had her cat form been anything other than damned useless.
  
  Shame hit her as soon as the thought registered and she shhh’d her cat, reassuring she didn’t think it was useless. It had saved her life and given up its mobility so she could have hers. A selfless act she was grateful for every single day.
  
  The bed in the other room began to call her name. Quickly, she washed and stepped out to grab a towel from the rail. It was tiny and barely contained her ample curves.
  
  Grumbling to herself, she tugged it this way and that, but if she covered her breasts it left a gap that was one flap away from revealing everything she had. She knew it was all about keeping costs down, but really, would it have killed them to get something bigger than a damn postage stamp?
  
  Not that it mattered, she was alone, so there was no one to be disgusted if she flashed them. Opening the door to the bathroom, she took a step into the main room, and pulled up short as she realized two things.
  
  Her cat purred.
  
  And Hale lay on the bed, his hands above his head.
  
  Shit. She froze in the doorway.
  
  “Nice outfit,” he drawled, an easy smile on his lips. “But I preferred you without anything on. Don’t bother running. I have all the exits sealed.”
  
  Lifting a hand, he waved it lazily. Runes shimmered in the air in front of the window and the door. She turned her head to see similar runes over the bathroom window.
  
  “How did you find me?”
  
  She’d been sure she could stay ahead of him, especially in the speed machine that was his car.
  
  “Tracker hex carved into the chassis. It’s a custom job. The gal who does the work for me is as handy with a spell as she is with a wrench.”
  
  “A witch mechanic? Is that allowed?”
  
  He snorted. “I don’t think she’d care if it wasn’t. Probably do it anyway.”
  
  “Bit of a rebel? Like you?” She cocked her eyebrow, trying not to let her attention get sidetracked by the sight of him on the bed. He hadn’t replaced his shirt, instead throwing on a battered leather jacket that left his ripped and toned abdomen visible. He didn’t wear pendants, she noticed, but his wrists were covered in bangles, both silver and etched leather that radiated power.
  
  He didn’t move, just watched her levelly. “What makes you think I’m a rebel? You know nothing about me.”
  
  Shoving her wet hair back over her shoulder, she shrugged. “There’s all the leather and the bad boy ‘look’ you got going on there. And I’ve never heard of a werelock working as a bounty hunter before.”
  
  The sudden movement as he sat up startled her and she jumped backward, but all he did was rest his arm on his knee. “Don’t you mean warlock?”
  
  The way he said it caught her attention and she looked at him carefully. “No, werelock. Admittedly, they’re rare, but you’re from a magical family so surely you’ve heard of them? Merlin was one, wasn’t he?”
  
  His expression was carefully blank. “My family are weather witches and warlocks. Nothing earth-shattering. We don’t play in the big league with the battle magicians or anything. And I’m not even a full warlock… muddy blood from way back when resurfaced in me.” He touched the center of his chest. “I have something here that’s not human, something primal. It interferes with my magic sometimes.”
  
  She took a step forward, her cat murmuring in pleasure as they got nearer the male who smelled so good. “Your inner animal. Werelocks aren’t like normal magic users or shifters, they’re a combination of both.”
  
  He shook his head, looking up at her as she reached the end of the bed, but she caught the tiniest expression, quickly masked, at the back of his eyes.
  
  “You know I’m right. As children, werelocks are normal for whatever family they’re born into. Magic doesn’t show until puberty, right? Well, neither does a shifters' animal. So with werelocks, they make a choice at puberty… either the inner animal manifests, or they sacrifice the shift for magic. That happened didn’t it? You made that choice not to shift.”
  
  His expression altered and she knew—he remembered that moment.
  
  She’d reached the bed and sat on the end, reaching out to him. Something about the set of his eyes, the way they glowed when he pulled magic, was almost golden. Her fingertips touched his cheek.
  
  “You’re a lion, aren’t you? Or you would have been. My cat senses yours.”
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  Hale shook his head, but her words rang true. The thing inside him would have been—was—a lion. He didn’t want to hear the words though, closed his mind off to them. Didn’t want to have her verbalize what he’d suspected for years and none of his family had ever wanted to talk about.
  
  The Hale family’s dirty little secret.
  
  Their muddy blood was something whispered about during his childhood, but no one would ever admit it aloud. Instead, they whittled and watched one another for signs of anything different. Always the elephant in the room, always the rumors. An uncle who had to cut his nails with an angle grinder, or a great-aunt who’d been committed to an asylum because she couldn’t control her magic.
  
  Then his cousin, Elizabeth, had disappeared abruptly when they were both eleven. Her magic had just started to manifest, and he’d been so jealous because they were the same age and his hadn’t come in. One day she’d been there, and the next gone, her mother’s eyes swollen from crying when she told him Elizabeth wouldn’t be playing again.
  
  When he’d asked at home, Hale had been told never to mention her name again, but he’d overheard his parents talking that night. Elizabeth had grown a tail during a simple spell, and her father had “taken care of it.”
  
  Even at eleven Hale didn’t need to be told what that meant.
  
  His cousin was dead for being different.
  
  So when he’d felt the new presence in his blood, he’d kept his damn fool mouth shut about it and hoped to hell he didn’t sneeze and pop a tail. He hadn’t, and he’d found a way not only to keep his different nature under wraps but also to use it to strengthen his magic. More than strengthen. He was the most powerful warlock in his family.
  
  His inner beast snarled. Let them try and “take care” of him now.
  
  Lion. He rolled the word around his mind and the creature rumbled in agreement of both her words and the female’s touch. It wanted to know more about her, wrap around her and beg for more of her touch.
  
  His familiar’s touch. He shut down the male needs raging in his body. She was his familiar and he shouldn’t have such thoughts about her. He certainly shouldn’t have kissed her. Warlocks didn’t have that kind of relationship with their familiars. They were a grounding mechanism for magic, leeching away any dangerous backlash that would otherwise have killed a magic-wielder. A vent, not a bed partner.
  
  She moved on the bed, the rustle of sheets accompanying the soft stroke of her fingers over his cheek, and down his jaw. The pad of her fingertips teased at the corners of his lips and it was all he could do not to turn his head and kiss them.
  
  But she wasn’t a normal familiar, was she? She was a shifter, not the domesticated or wild animal familiars normally were. He wasn’t a normal warlock either. He was a werelock. Apparently. Perhaps it was normal for werelocks to have shifter familiars?
  
  He hoped so, because all he wanted to do was kiss her again.
  
  Thinking about it opened the floodgates. The memory of her soft lips parting under his in sweet submission had him harder than a rock within a heartbeat. His cock pushed against the restraining denim of his jeans, the fit so tight he’d probably have zipper marks the whole length of his erection.
  
  His always vivid imagination fed him suggestions—all erotic—for the next couple of hours until dawn broke. Suggestions that involved the two of them with far less clothing and the bed they currently sat on. And the wall… and the shower… oh god, the shower.
  
  Temptation proved too much and he surged forward, hauling her against him as he claimed her lips again. This time he was prepared for the onslaught of need and lust as soon as he touched her and braced for it.
  
  Her lips parted instantly at the touch of his, but he took his time tasting her before sampling the delights beyond. He teased and tempted, not charging in like a bull at a gate even though all his male instincts, human and beast, demanded it. She fit so perfectly in his arms, her smaller, curvy body nestled against his, it made him shudder.
  
  Turning them both, he urged her down to the cool surface and braced himself over her. Her taste exploded on his tongue; the soda she’d drunk earlier adding a sweetness to warm woman and something else, something deeper. Less a taste, it was more a feeling, as though his lion reached for hers.
  
  Her soft murmur of need almost did it for him there and then, the ache in his groin savage in its intensity. He broke away with a gasp. He had to have her, had to taste her, had to everything…
  
  Leaning back, he watched her face as he traced her lips with a fingertip. His hand seemed so big and brutish compared to her delicateness. How could such a fragile, tiny woman contain such a powerful creature as the lioness he’d seen? Even crippled as it was, her other form was a thing of beauty.
  
  No time for that though, because his thoughts were dominated by very human, very carnal desires. He needed to make her his, in every way that mattered. Imprint himself on her body and soul.
  
  Her lips parted at the pressure of his thumb, but he didn’t take the offer. Instead, he brought his hand down, rubbed his thumb over her chin and carried on downward. The skin of her throat was so soft, then silken over the lines of her collarbone before he reached the swell of her breasts contained in the towel.
  
  He watched her face as he tucked his fingers beneath the fabric where she’d tucked it in. Just one tiny pull and she’d be naked beneath him. His gaze flickered up to hers, watched her watching him. The tiny stroke of his fingers against her soft, soft skin was a question, a request for permission. Hale knew he was an asshole most of the time, but that was the last thing he wanted to be with her.
  
  Eyes wide, she gave a small nod and he had to restrain the growl of triumph that tried to slip past his lips. Slowly he pulled on the towel, keeping eye contact as the fabric parted. Her lips parted, a small gasp barely audible as her body was uncovered.
  
  Weight on his right arm by her head, he looked down. Her skin was pale with a hint of gold in the tone that hinted at her shifter blood. Then he stopped noticing her skin in favor of the rest of the delights laid out before his eyes.
  
  Her petite body was packed with curves that made his mouth water and his hands itch to stroke. Full, high breasts were large for her frame, fitting perfectly into his hand as though made to be there. Dusky pink nipples firmed and peaked at his touch, a hard nub when he swept his thumb over one. Her waist was narrow, stomach gently curved, set over wide hips he ached to grip from behind as he drove into her wet heat.
  
  He swept his hand down, fingers splayed over her delicate ribcage to caress the curve of her waist. She bit her lip, a soft moan teasing his control. Shit, if she was this responsive when he got inside her, he wouldn’t last long.
  
  Tight curls marked the juncture of her thighs. His hand shook as he smoothed it over her hip, headed for his idea of nirvana. Before he reached those curls though, she rocked her hips and parted her thighs for him.
  
  Fuck. Me.
  
  It was a landing strip. The rest of her pussy was clean-shaven.
  
  This time his growl did slip free. Within a heartbeat, he was between her legs, her thighs pushed wide by the broadness of his shoulders. With gentle fingers he parted her pussy lips and blew gently over her folds. Her small cry was music to his ears.
  
  Bending his head, he licked between her folds. Her essence, musky and primal, exploded on his tongue and his control shattered. With a growl, he gripped her hips, holding them still as he attacked her pussy and clit like a starving man with a banquet laid in front of him.
  
  She gasped, crying out as he found her clit and latched on. He sucked, licked, and flicked the tiny bundle of nerves until her hips rocked and cries rolled off her tongue one after the other. His name, pleas for him to stop, pleas for him to carry on, then just cries of need. He ignored them, moving to spread one large hand over her stomach to hold her in place as he brought the other around.
  
  Locking his lips over her clit, he found her entrance and slid one finger deep into her silken channel. She whimpered and clamped down around him. A rush of liquid heat bathed the digit and she rode his hand. Her breath came in short pants. Speeding up with each pass of his tongue over her clit. Merciless, he didn’t give her time to recover, just drove her higher and higher. Added a second finger to join the first in her tight cunt and twisted to find her G-spot.
  
  He knew the instant he found it. Her back arched and her pussy rippled around his fingers. She gasped, her words garbled as she gripped the sheets either side of her. Reaching up, he cupped her breast. Tweaked her nipple at the same time he drew hard on her clit and stroked her G-spot.
  
  She screamed her pleasure, coming over his hand in a hot rush. With a growl, he snatched his fingers from her silken depths and plunged his tongue deep to collect every drop of her release. More growls ripped from his chest as he fucked her with his tongue, thumb rubbing her clit to stretch out her pleasure. His cock ached and throbbed, desperate to be inside her.
  
  Soon, he promised it. Just as soon as she’d finished coming, he’d move up the bed and—
  
  Crash!
  
  The window shattered inward, showering them with shards and sparks of magic.
  
  “Fuck!”
  
  Snatching her from the bed, he dumped her on the floor beside it, protecting her with his own body. Magic filled the air, so thick that he almost choked on it.
  
  “What’s going on? What’s happening?” she whispered, clinging to his arms as he peeked over the edge of the bed.
  
  The window was gone, the curtains fluttering in the night breeze. The wards he’d put in place to stop her getting out also stopped anything getting in, but now they glowed cherry red in the darkness, indicating they were under attack.
  
  “Get up,” he ordered, pulling her upright and shoving the bag from his car at her. “Put something on. We got company.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  
  
  Hale headed for the window, standing to the side to peer through the curtains into the parking lot outside. As soon as he poked his head into view there was a roar and a heavy thud as what seemed to be fire hit the window again.
  
  Renae screamed as flames licked around the frame, reaching greedy fingers into the room. The magic Hale had cast over the window flared, throbbing like a heartbeat.
  
  “Crap.” Hale risked another quick look out and his breath hissed between his teeth. “They have a fucking dragon!”
  
  “They? Who’s they?” she asked, grabbing the first shirt and pants she could find in the bag. They were loose, cargo style sweatpants with a drawstring. She yanked and tied them quickly, securing the pants so they wouldn’t fall before bending to turn them up. Still no shoes but that wasn’t an issue. The soles of her feet were hard as leather thanks to her habit of walking outside barefoot.
  
  “Looks like a load of pixies, at least one warlock, and the dragon,” he replied, peeking out the window between fireballs. “Who the hell are they?”
  
  She snorted, stuffing the dirty clothes into the bag and zipping it shut. “Get real, Hale. You think Lance would only have sent you? Believe me, the guy doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘overkill.’ He’d send a dragon to toast a marshmallow. The marshmallow in question being an inconvenient ex-wife who wouldn’t be a party to her own murder.”
  
  “Fucker is an asshole with more money than sense.”
  
  The angry note in his voice made her shrug. “It is what it is, he won’t ever stop. Not until I’m dead. You should give me up, save yourself.”
  
  She watched as he walked across the room toward her. He was so graceful, the predator in every movement, she wondered why she hadn’t seen it before.
  
  “Not. A. Fucking. Chance.” Anger turned his eyes golden as he grabbed her upper arms and shook her gently. “You’re mine. End of story.”
  
  Utter possessiveness filled his voice and expression, something that on her ex had filled her with dread, but with Hale was totally different. For one, his grip on her wasn’t hard or cruel. It was firm, but also gentle, his thumbs stroking across her skin and leaving tingles in their wake. Tingles that reminded her that her body still hummed from the release he’d brought her to, even though she couldn’t savor it at the moment.
  
  More fireballs hit the window and started on the door. He flicked a glance over his shoulder as though assessing the color of the magic net over both.
  
  “We need to get out of here.” He turned her around, ushering her through the door to the bathroom in front of him. Confusion rolled through her when he pulled open the door to the shower and pushed her inside, cramming in behind her.
  
  What the hell…
  
  “You know, I appreciate cleanliness just as much as the next woman, but in case you missed it, there are people trying to kill us!”
  
  He chuckled, a sound she felt more than heard given they were crammed into the cubicle closer than sardines in a can. She craned her neck when he made gestures behind her, trying to see what he was doing. The shimmer of magic surrounded them, growing stronger when he started to chant strange words she couldn’t quite catch or make sense of.
  
  “Hold on,” he warned as the world began to spin around them. “This takes a bit of getting used to.”
  
  Her head swam and she closed her eyes. There was a sudden lurch sideways and she fell against the cold tile wall. Opening her eyes she found they were still in the shower cubicle. The dull whump whump whump of fireballs hitting the window and door in the other room reached her ears.
  
  “Shit,” she breathed. “It didn’t work.”
  
  Panic set in. That dragon was going to burst through the bathroom door at any moment and roast them where they stood. A tiled shower cubicle with a glass door? Add heat and it became an oven.
  
  She shoved at Hale to get him behind her and protect him with her own body. She was a shifter, she could take a shitload of damage before… yeah, she didn’t want to think about that. Without an active animal though, Hale was little more than human. Maybe. Kind of. She wasn’t really sure how it worked with werelocks. All the stories said they were pretty much invulnerable and immortal.
  
  What would happen if one mated a shifter— She dismissed the thought instantly. Although she knew shifters could mate with other types of shifter and even humans, she’d never heard of one mating a magic user. Although, there had been something she’d overheard in the Dark Moon about a psychic and a cougar…
  
  “It worked. Look…” He nodded toward the vanity.
  
  Products were lined up neatly next to the sink. Bottles and jars of all kinds. Feminine pinks, purples, and blues on one side jostled with more masculine yellows and reds on the other. She blinked. Since she hadn’t brought anything with her and hadn’t unpacked his bag, those were not theirs. Which meant they were not in the same room…
  
  “Where are we?”
  
  “Four rooms down. Can’t teleport far without a good visual or a location hex like the one in my car. Shower cubicles are pretty much the same the world over, so call it a magical hack.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear and she became aware of his big body behind her. His big, solidly-muscled, warm, very male body. “If you keep wriggling like that you’ll get more than a good visual, sweetheart. But hold that thought, we’ll get back to it.”
  
  He reached around her and pushed open the door so they could step out. “Come on, sweet stuff. Let’s go. Time’s a-wasting and we have a dragon to kill.”
  
  Kill. A. Dragon.
  
  He was freaking nuts.
  
  Grabbing his arm before he could open the door to the bedroom, she made him look her in the eye. “This isn’t your fight, Hale. They want me, not you. Let me go out alone.”
  
  Anger flashed through his eyes and before she realized, he yanked her hard against him. His hand drove into her hair, his lips crashing over hers. Before he’d been gentle but this time he wasn’t. His kiss was hard and demanding. Dominating. She could taste his anger as well as her own essence on his lips.
  
  Her knees weakened as his tongue swept into her mouth and tangled with hers. Her body went pliant, her cat purring and ready to roll over to present her belly to him… their mate.
  
  No. Not mate, she told it firmly. He didn’t have an animal for them to forge that mating link with, but then she’d never been able to form it with Lance either, even though he’d said his animal knew she was his mate.
  
  Pathetic female, your creature is so weak you can’t even form a proper mating bond. I don’t know why I bother with you… She shoved Lance’s voice to the back of her mind and ignored it. He had no place here. Not when she was in another man’s arms.
  
  She was breathless when Hale pulled away. He looked down at her, pinning her with a blazing look. “You’re mine, and I keep what’s mine. Dragon or no dragon. Understood?”
  
  His voice rang with such anger and determination that she just nodded, the concept of someone looking after her such a novel one, she didn’t know what to say. So she nodded, and followed him into the darkened bedroom.
  
  Hand in his, she’d never felt safer in her life, even though there were a horde of pixies and a dragon outside itching for the chance to kill her. And it was all to do with the man beside her. Faced with the same odds Lance would have given her up in a heartbeat.
  
  Hale wouldn’t. Ever. She was as sure as she needed her next breath.
  
  At the light from the opened bathroom door the occupants in the bed stirred.
  
  “Who the hell are you?” a male voice demanded, groggy at first but increasingly alert and sharp.
  
  “No one.” Hale’s voice was deep and calm, the tone strangely hypnotic as he waved his hand. Magic shimmered in the air. Something twinged in Renae’s stomach and she frowned, rubbing it. She must have pulled it during her mad flight from the house earlier.
  
  “Sleep,” Hale commanded. “It’s just a dream. Go back to sleep.”
  
  “Just a dream, right. Sleep.”
  
  Obediently, the couple in the bed lay down and within seconds the sound of soft snores filled the room.
  
  “Neat trick.”
  
  “You should see what I can do with seventeen chickens and a virgin,” he quipped, crouching by the window and parting the curtains a little so they could both see out.
  
  “I really don’t want to know.”
  
  There was a crowd outside in the parking lot. Leather-clad bikers with brightly colored hair, multiple piercings and strange tribal-like tattoos down their arms. She sucked in a hard breath, all amusement fleeing her body. Although she’d never seen a pixie in the flesh, she recognized what they were instantly. Like werebears and werelocks, they featured in a lot of warnings to kids, but unlike the other two, no one mistook pixies for anything other than a very real threat.
  
  It was the creature behind them though that made her eyes widen. A sixty-foot dragon stomped around the parking lot, crushing cars beneath its massive clawed feet and firing long gouts of flame at the room she’d occupied. The façade was on fire, paint bubbling and peeling from the steel of the canopy that ran the length of the single story building.
  
  “Shit… that is unreal.”
  
  Next to her, Hale nodded. “They’re scary Mofos, that’s for sure. Bastards are difficult as hell to take down in a fight.”
  
  She turned to him and gawked. “You’ve fought a dragon?”
  
  “Fuck no,” he snorted. “Do I look like a George to you?”
  
  She gave him a blank look.
  
  “George and the dragon? No?” He sighed. “Never mind. English legend anyway. The trick is to get in there before they shift, lock them down with a non-transformation spell. Means you only have to deal with their human forms. They can still breathe fire but you don’t have to contend with all that…” he nodded toward the dragon.
  
  On cue, it lashed out with its tail, sending a small sedan crashing into a wall, crushing a pixie. The tall man didn’t even get a chance to scream, a large red spray in all directions evidence of how hard the car hit the wall. Flesh and blood didn’t stand a chance with those kinds of forces. The rest didn’t even bat an eyelid, all their attention on the room Hale and Renae had been in.
  
  “They… he¬—” she started.
  
  He shrugged. “Survival of the fittest. He wasn’t fast enough so he wasn’t the fittest, was he?”
  
  “How the hell are we going to get past it then? They’re going to figure out we’re not in there soon.”
  
  He winked at her, his teeth white in the semi-darkness as he flashed a grin. “Watch this.”
  
  Waving a hand, magic shimmered in the air for a second and the door to their room swung open. The pixies at the front gave excited cries and crowded forward. The dragon roasted them with one quick puff of flame.
  
  “Ack! That’s disgusting, doesn’t it even care?” She covered her nose and her mouth with her hand as the acrid smell of burning leather and pixie wafted to them.
  
  “Nope, but don’t waste your pity on them. They’d have gutted you without a second thought.”
  
  He didn’t look at her as he spoke, all his attention on the dragon. It stomped forward, eyes trained on the small doorway in front of it. She slid a glance sideways to see Hale’s lips moving in a chant. Again she felt the tugging just under her breastbone. Her world stuttered for a second. Was his magic causing that feeling? Was she somehow connected to him and his magic… was that even possible?
  
  Common sense kept her silent as he cast whatever spell he was chanting. She didn’t have to wait long to find out what it did. The dragon lifted a foot, bringing it crashing down on Hale’s car as it lined itself up to torch the inside of the room.
  
  “Down!” Hale hissed, pushing her aside and covering her with his own body. She had a split-second image of the car as it began to glow then she was buried under two hundred pounds of solid male.
  
  The soundless explosion in the lot lit up the room and rattled the windows and doors in their frames. She felt it through the wall and the floor like she’d been physically hit.
  
  “What the hell…” She couldn’t help whispering as Hale lifted his head, concern on his face as he looked down at her, as though checking her over to make sure she was okay. “What was that?”
  
  “That’s what happens when you blow up a dragon. The magical equivalent of a nuclear blast. Let’s just say I put this place on the map, lighting it up for all magic users within a couple hundred miles.”
  
  He heaved himself to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. “We need to move. If your ex can afford a dragon, then he’ll have more teams out. We need to go to ground and fast.”
  
  Events after that happened too fast for her to process properly. Hale rushed her out the room and through the parking lot. His car was totalled, incinerated in the blast. There was ash and… bits everywhere. She tried hard not to think about what some of the larger, charcoal-looking lumps were. It made her queasy stomach feel even worse.
  
  They stole one of the pixies motorcycles to hightail it out of Dodge, or wherever the hell they were. Considering it was probably stolen in the first place though, were they committing a crime or aiding and abetting? She didn’t know and was too tired to care. Leaning against Hale’s broad back, she wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes.
  
  Even though it was summer, the nights were cold and the air that whipped around her as the bike roared down the road at dizzying speeds was even colder, so she was grateful for the little pull under her breastbone that told her Hale had called magic. A few seconds later warmth wrapped around her like a blanket and she fell into a comfortable doze.
  
  She only woke again as they pulled up outside her rental property in Deal’s Gap. Blinking in confusion, she got off the back of the bike and watched as Hale chanted, his voice low in the darkness. Magic shimmered and surrounded the motorcycle in a fine net of golden light. A second later it tightened with a pop. The bike disappeared as though it had never been there.
  
  “Why are we back here?” Her voice was groggy with sleep but quickly cleared. A shiver hit her. The heat enchantment had broken when she’d stopped touching him so she wrapped her arms around herself as protection against the night chill. “Surely they know about this place?”
  
  “Exactly.” He took her hand and led her inside. The door opened with a wave of his hand. “So it’s the last place they’d expect us to be. We can crash for a couple of hours, then move on.”
  
  She nodded. It made sense. If they’d already searched the place, there was no reason for them to come back here. Once inside, a sigh of relief escaped her. They could finally relax, and feel safe for a couple of hours. Her heart warmed as she noticed her camera bag, put safely on the hall table out of harm’s way. A quick glance revealed the window he’d jumped through earlier had was whole now as well.
  
  “You cleaned up,” she said in surprise, turning to look at him.
  
  “Of course. What else did you expect?”
  
  The look on his face stopped her in her tracks. Heated and tight with desire, it was the kind of look that said the rest of the world could go fuck itself. That his sole focus was what was right in front of him.
  
  Her.
  
  Sliding a hand around her waist, he pulled her hard against him. The solid muscles of his upper arms met her hands as she braced herself. Pressed to him from breast to thigh, she felt every solid line and plane of his ripped body. Felt his heartbeat pick up, the raggedness of his breathing and the solid length of his cock pressing against the softness of her stomach.
  
  She held her ground, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. “Hold that thought time?”
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  His voice was deep and raspy. Heat flooded her system, worked its way through her blood and veins until it reached her core. Her pussy throbbed, a heavy ache that made her press closer to him.
  
  He took her lips in a maelstrom of passion and need. Biting kisses sent the heat in her blood to boiling. She kissed him back, undaunted by the fury and passion in his touch. Instead, she reveled in it. Teased and evaded him with her tongue until he growled, then broke away to demand.
  
  “Bedroom. Which way?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  
  
  The pull of magic caught her in the center of her chest and she closed her eyes just in time. When she opened them, they stood in her bedroom.
  
  “You’re full of surprises.” Her voice caught, all breathy and sexy, and totally unlike normal. But this situation was out of the norm for her. Men who looked like him did not chase women like her: full of curves and wobbly bits.
  
  His lips twisted as he lowered to hers again, the words whispered against them. “How about I show you a few of my favorites?”
  
  His lips whispered over hers, before blazing a trail across her jaw to find the sensitive spot behind her ear. She melted, clutching at his arms for support as her cat purred deeply within her. This was right, what they wanted… what they needed. A powerful male like this to complete them.
  
  A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as he urged her onto the soft surface of the bed. Thank god she’d made it this morning and tidied up. His hands slid down her body and she forgot all about the housekeeping. He had such big hands, big enough to fit into the curve of her waist and slide underneath, arching her back and hips to display her body better for his perusal.
  
  She bit her lip as he called magic again, waving a hand to trace her figure. With a whisper of fabric, the clothing disappeared, leaving her naked beneath him. A flush hit her cheeks as she nestled against him, the rough denim of his jeans and the cool leather strangely erotic against her bare skin.
  
  He tutted, pulling her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. “No hiding. You’re beautiful, Renae, never doubt that.”
  
  He honestly believed that, she saw it in his eyes and felt it in his touch. In the fine tremor of his hand as he cupped her breast. She moaned, arching her back to offer more of herself to him. She needed this, needed him, the ache in her body almost unbearable.
  
  His lips were hot along her throat, and he paused to nip the curve where her shoulder met her neck. She gasped, fire replacing her blood.
  
  “Hale… please, don’t tease.”
  
  “I won’t, not much…”
  
  He moved over her, parting her legs with one of his. He hadn’t removed his clothing, but she didn’t care. It was naughtier this way. That he couldn’t wait to undress before touching her fed her feminine ego.
  
  His hand slid between her lips, fingers dipping into her folds. They both gasped when he skated between the slick lips.
  
  “Fuck… you’re already wet for me.”
  
  Her only answer was a whimper as he found her clit. Relentlessly he attacked, rubbing and circling the small bundle until her breathing was ragged and her hips rocked against his hand. Her release in the motel seemed so long ago, her entire body aching to come again.
  
  “Please…”
  
  “Shh… I got you, sweetheart.”
  
  He moved over her, tearing at his fly to release his cock. She moaned as it slapped against her stomach; a silken, steel length that left a small wet smear of pre-cum against her skin.
  
  Dipping his hips, he gripped his cock and slid the head along her folds. Used it to rub over her clit until she moaned and writhed beneath him.
  
  “Unfair,” she managed to pant, her nails sharpening to claws as they dug into his upper arms. Luckily he still wore the leather jacket or she’d have cut him to ribbons.
  
  “Life’s not fair. Didn’t you get that memo?” he threw back, still teasing her. When she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he moved and fit the head of his cock to her slick entrance.
  
  “Look at me,” he ordered. She looked up to find his expression hard and triumphant. “You’re mine.”
  
  He pushed into her in one hard shove, stealing her breath. Pleasure assaulted her as her body was forced wide to accommodate him. Holy hell, he was big. Way bigger than Lance and long. She was forced to breathe through her nose as her body stretched around his invading cock. Gradually the burning sensation faded, leaving just pleasure and she relaxed, only realizing at that moment she’d locked up.
  
  He leaned down to nuzzle her nose with his, expression concerned until she nodded. That he’d held still to let her adapt to his size stole a little bit of her heart right there and then. Bad boy he might be, but there was a good man in there somewhere.
  
  Sliding one forearm under her neck, he slid the other hand under the small of her back and tilted her hips for a better angle. She dragged in a ragged breath as he pulled back, his thick cock sliding against nerve endings she didn’t know she had. His next thrust was hard and fast, driving into her with a power and precision that made her toes curl. He pulled back, driving into her again and again. Building momentum and pleasure with each quick advance and retreat until the room was filled with the sound of skin against skin and their moans of pleasure.
  
  It wasn’t a seduction, she realized as she caught a look at his expression—driven and focused—it was a claiming. He might not have bitten her, but each thrust of his cock into her depths was his way of marking her.
  
  She trembled, the force of her oncoming climax so powerful she could barely contain it. She didn’t need him to bite her. Magic swirled around them, pulling at her chest, her skin and her animal within. Each rock of his hips, each time her clit throbbed with need, bound her tighter to him.
  
  “I’m… ohhhh!”
  
  Pleasure rose out of the depths, threatening to wash over and submerge her. She pressed her eyes closed and tried to fight it off. She didn’t want this to be over, not yet. She wanted it to last forever. A perfect moment for her to treasure, no matter what the future held.
  
  “That’s it,” he shifted positions, adding an extra rock at the end of each stroke to catch her clit between them. He shook his hips over the nub, rubbing it one way, then the other until it throbbed. “Come for me, Renae… I want to feel your heat all over my cock.”
  
  The words and his actions were too much for even her iron control. On his next thrust and roll she shattered with pleasure. Her pussy clamped around his cock, milking him and drawing a growl from his lips.
  
  Her body was awash with sensation, every cell saturated, but she felt him drag her closer. His thrusts sped up, his hard body moving over and within her as he chased his own release. Cock jerking, he thrust within her one last time before throwing his head back to roar. Buried deep within her, his cock pulsed, bathing her inner walls with his white-hot seed.
  
  She murmured in pleasure, wrapping herself around him as his release fed hers. A loop of sheer and utter pleasure as he bent his head, arms shaking as he rest his forehead against her shoulder.
  
  She smiled, her lips grazing his temple while he fought to get his breathing under control. He rolled them so she sprawled over his chest, her hair covering them like a cloak.
  
  “Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned when she snuggled down and closed her eyes. “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”
  
  Turning her again, he stripped out of his clothes, and set about proving just that.
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  The sun was up when Renae woke the next morning. Warm and comfortable, she purred in contentment, a rare display of her other nature, before turning over. Or she tried to anyway. Her foot collided with a hairy leg halfway and her eyes widened as memory kicked in.
  
  Shit. The motel. The dragon. Hale. Last night. Oh shit, Hale.
  
  Her slight movement must have roused him a little because he murmured and moved to wrap a strong arm around her, pulling her against his side. He was a total bed hog, which figured. She doubted he ever did anything by halves. It didn’t matter though. She usually slept curled into a little ball so she didn’t take up much space, and her cat liked being wrapped around his large, warm body.
  
  Peeking over the edge of the duvet, she studied his profile. Dust motes danced in a stream of early morning sunlight that reached delicate fingers through a gap in the curtains and highlighted his features. He looked younger and less fierce when asleep, and so damn handsome that she had to pinch herself to prove it wasn’t a dream.
  
  The pinch made her wince though. Soreness in some other, intimate, places proved beyond a shadow of a doubt her memories of the night before weren’t wishful thinking. She couldn’t be blamed for thinking they were. In her world the sexy, hot guy didn’t fall for the curvy chick. Like ever.
  
  But somehow he had. He liked her plump, curvaceous body. Had reveled in it in fact. More than that, he’d been insatiable. Some of the things he’d done to her and made her do… her cheeks blazed hot enough to cook eggs on.
  
  A small breeze through the open window ruffled the curtains and brought the scent of the forest to her.
  
  Her nose wrinkled as her sensitive sense of smell picked up other, more delicious smells. Her mouth watered. She smelt bacon. Someone was cooking breakfast. Probably old Mr. Morris down the road. The elderly shifter was always up early and did love his fried breakfasts.
  
  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. Which was way too long for her grumpy cat, which liked its food as much as she did. After their exertions overnight, Hale would probably be hungry when he woke.
  
  Sliding out from under his arm, she slipped from the bed. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she grabbed his shirt again and pulled it on. Being surrounded by his scent made her cat purr and she padded downstairs to make breakfast.
  
  Her kitchen was light and bright with a cosy breakfast nook that looked onto the garden. It was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with the place. Humming to herself, she bustled around the room. Luckily she kept her pantry well stocked so she had bacon, eggs, milk… all the fixings for breakfast.
  
  The little voice in the back of her head screamed at her as she grabbed bowls and pans, warning her not to fall prey to the fairy tale. She didn’t need the warning. Hale wasn’t any kind of prince charming. He might not have handed her over to Lance but that didn’t mean they were riding off into the sunset together and living happily ever after.
  
  An image of their wedding day played in her mind. Of throwing the bouquet and turning to kiss her handsome husband… She blinked, suddenly realizing she’d lost time. How long had she stood here looking at the bowls? Hale must have worn her out more than she’d thought. Her stomach rumbled as she dropped the bacon into a hot pan. It sizzled, filling the room with its delicious smell. She measured ingredients for pancakes and beat the mixture. She loved pancakes, always had. They were her favorite breakfast food.
  
  Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to fall into good memories. One of the few she had of her parents before they died was of her mom making breakfast on a Sunday morning. Even now, she remembered the little song her mother used to sing and the smell of her father’s tobacco.
  
  Sadness tinged her mood. Smells… she could remember smells, but she couldn’t recall their faces anymore. Oh, she knew what they’d looked like. Both had been into photography so she had plenty of photos of them, and her as a baby, but she couldn’t remember what her dad looked like when he laughed, or her mom when she concentrated on her sewing.
  
  Her hackles rose, the skin between her shoulders crawling as her cat went on high alert. She snapped her eyes open, convinced someone was watching her from the window, but there was no one there. No hulking figure with glowing eyes. Not even the damn postman.
  
  But still the feeling persisted. Reaching out, she picked up the nearest thing to hand and plastered herself against the wall by the window. She held her breath and ducked forward, peeking out quickly before she hid behind the curtain again. No one in the garden.
  
  Her gaze latched onto the back door. Crouching, she did her best impression of a ninja as she scuttled to the other side of the room. If ninja’s were short, blond women who wore their boyfriends T-shirts. Well, Hale wasn’t really her boyfriend, but werelock-who’d-been-hired-to-find-her-and-had-decided-to-save-her-for-himself-instead was a bit of a mouthful so boyfriend it was.
  
  She looked stupid, but finally reached the wall by the door and peered out. No one there either. Lowering the saucepan in her hand, amusement curved her lips. Then she laughed at herself.
  
  A saucepan. Really? She was a predator with natural weaponry, and she picked up a damn saucepan to defend herself?
  
  Talk about ridiculous.
  
  Her nose twitched. Was that… She looked to the stove to see smoke starting to rise from the pan. The bacon…
  
  “Shit. No, no, no, don’t you dare burn,” she cried out as she raced to the stove to try and salvage breakfast. Before she could scrape the burnt bits of bacon from the bottom of the pan, the back door burst inward and the kitchen filled with snarling werelions.
  
  Brogan werelions.
  
  Lance had found her.
  
  Snarling with rage, she did the first thing she could think of, grabbed the pan off the stove and showered all of them with hot fat and burnt bacon.
  
  “Aaaargh!”
  
  “What the fuck!”
  
  There were male screams and swearing as they dried to duck the swing of the pan. One guy clutched at his eyes, howling in agony and crashed over the table, breaking it. He was one of Lance’s more brutal bullyboys so no sympathy filled her at his plight. She hoped she’d blinded the bastard. The things he’d done for Lance, he deserved it and worse.
  
  She swung the now-empty pan at the nearest lion. The smell of burning skin and hair filled the air. It smelt like barbeque chicken. Damn, there went her appetite. Grabbing the bowl of pancake batter she threw that at her assailants, screaming at the top of her lungs.
  
  “Hale, they’re here! Hale!”
  
  The fight turned into an all-out comedy sketch. There wasn’t a door, drawer or pan she didn’t use, ramming them into guts, or slamming them into faces as she danced around the kitchen trying to stay out of reach. The lions were still in human form simply because they couldn’t all fit in here in their other forms. That, and putting so many males in such a small space was a real bad idea. They’d forget what they were supposed to do and start fighting each other.
  
  Lance might be the most powerful alpha in the pride, but that didn’t mean he maintained discipline correctly. As long as they obeyed him without question, that was all he cared about.
  
  She waited for the tug in the center of her chest to indicate Hale had called his magic, but it didn’t come. Shit. They were making enough noise down here to wake up a city block. Something was wrong.
  
  “Hale! Wake up!”
  
  She carried on yelling. The floor was slippery with batter and one lion lost his footing, sliding toward her. Opening the fridge door just in time, she slammed it shut on his head. It bounced back so she did it again. He jerked, unconscious. Wouldn’t stay that way for long though, more was the pity.
  
  Shit. There were too many of them for her to take down on her own. She lashed out with claws and the knives from the block by the stove, but it was only a matter of time. They were bigger and stronger, sooner or later she was going to slip up and get pinned.
  
  Looking up, she saw a couple more men behind the lions who surrounded her. A sharp stink made her nose wrinkle. Magic. Shit. Roaring, she hurled plates at them, making them duck as they tried to get to the stairs.
  
  “HALE! Warlocks!”
  
  Her attention divided between the warlocks and the lions, she missed one sneaking behind her. A hard arm snaked around her neck, and she was yanked backward, her air almost cut off.
  
  “Hey there, pretty.” A familiar voice leered in her ear. Dom, Lance’s brutish second in command and the bane of her life for years. “Lance wants you back, bitch.”
  
  She snarled and bit his arm, dropping fangs into her mouth before sinking them deep.
  
  “Arrrgh, fucking bitch bit me!”
  
  Blows rained down over her head and shoulders but she growled and held on, shaking from side to side. Her teeth slid into his flesh, tearing through skin and muscle, scraping bone. Blood filled her mouth, dripping from the seal of her lips around his arm.
  
  A punch to her stomach made her gasp and let go. She doubled over in agony and Dom slammed her over the kitchen counter, his hand hard in her hair. “You little fucker, you’ll pay for that. After Lance has had his fun with you, I get you… and believe me, bitch, I’ll make you scream and beg for death.”
  
  “You’re an asshole just like him,” she spat, lifting her leg and driving her heel into the front of his kneecap. With a grunt of pain, his grip on her hair eased so she slammed her head back. A satisfying crunch told her she’d connected with his nose. He let go and she was free.
  
  For all of a second before she fell prey to her own trap and slipped over on the batter-covered floor. Crying out, she flung her arms out to try to get to her feet as quickly as possible. Her fingertips brushed something hard and she grabbed onto it. A shard of one of the plates. Leaping upright, she spun and sliced through the air at Dom.
  
  He stopped dead, a look of shock on his face. A thin red line was drawn across his throat. One that widened and deepened as each second passed. She’d cut his throat. Shifters were hard to damage, but they weren’t immortal. A wound like that would be fatal unless he shifted, and she wasn’t hanging around for that. His lion would tear her to shreds.
  
  Dropping the shard, she turned and ran. Too many lions between her and the door so she turned the other way. Only one way out. The window. Closing her eyes, she ran at it and leapt. Glass shattered around her and for a moment she felt like she was in her own action movie.
  
  This wasn’t a film though. She wouldn’t get to walk off the set after filming finished. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was off and running again. Her feet were cut and bleeding from the broken glass, but she didn’t have a choice. It was run or die.
  
  Ignoring the garden and forest beyond, she darted around the side of the house. She had no chance of outrunning them in the forest. Once they went furry, she was done for. No, she needed to get where people could see her, and call for help.
  
  Deal’s Gap was a sanctuary and many here knew what it was like to be persecuted, in fear for their lives. Someone would help her, surely?
  
  The shadows at the side of the house were deep and cool, the paving smooth underfoot as she raced for the front drive and the road beyond. She could see freedom, but she didn’t make it. A shadow detached itself from the rest and blocked her path. Skidding to a halt, she looked up… and up. A man mountain stood in front of her. She started to back up, recognizing the creature in front of her. They were rare, but that didn’t seem to stop Lance from finding them.
  
  “You have to be kidding me!” she blurted out. “A dragon and now a gargoyle? Give me a fucking break!”
  
  The stone man grinned and pulled his fist back. She had no chance of avoiding the blow, lightning fast as it was. Agony exploded over the side of her face and she dropped to her knees, swaying as she tried to hold onto consciousness.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  
  
  The world swayed around Renae as she was thrown over the gargoyle’s cliff-like shoulder and carried around to the front of the house. The drive was filled with cars. The stone-man yanked open the door of the nearest, a big, red SUV, and threw her onto the back seat.
  
  It smelt pine-fresh and clean, no lingering tobacco smoke or other smells a “lived-in” car got. She lifted her head. Her face had swelled from the blow to her cheek, her eye almost shut. Her vision swam in and out like some funky film special effect. She squinted to bring the front seats into focus. Hanging on the rear view mirror was an air freshener with a logo and writing on it.
  
  “Maple Rentals. For your perfect drive…”
  
  Crap tagline.
  
  She closed her eyes, her face against the seat. The fabric was rough, the raised stitching like barbed wire against her damaged skin but she didn’t have the energy to move. At least, until her stomach rebelled.
  
  Rolling over, she dry-heaved into the foot well until her ribs hurt. There was nothing to come up, but her stomach was determined to evacuate anything and everything that might still be there.
  
  She was bloody and bruised, something was broken in her face and now she was sick to boot. Surely whoever got to clean this car would report it to the authorities? Blood in a rental… she sure would. With Lance’s lot though, it wasn’t likely they’d return it with any sort of evidence. They were far more likely to burn it out and report it stolen.
  
  Finished heaving, she flopped back onto the seat, ignoring the chuckle from the driver and tried to catch her breath through the pain. She needed to shift but she daren’t. Even damaged and in pain, her human form was far stronger than her cat. And really, she couldn’t put her animal in this kind of danger, it had already saved her life once. She couldn’t repay it like that.
  
  She fought to stay conscious as the car pulled away, struggling to a sitting position to peer through the back window. Her house was on fire. Flames curled around the door, and as she watched, the bedroom window exploded outward in a shower of glass and flame.
  
  “Hale…” she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek as blackness rose.
  
  She accepted it gratefully. If she was lucky, her injuries would kill her before she could wake.
  
  Hours later they were back on Brogan land. Renae whimpered in pain as she was dragged out of the car and thrown to the ground in front of a crowd. Lifting her head, she realized that the entire pride was assembled in the square. When she was a child it had been a place of companionship and gathering, but under Lance’s rule it had become a place of punishment.
  
  As she’d expected, the stocks were occupied. A bruised and bloody man slumped unconscious in the middle, the seats either side of him empty. Recognition filled her. He and his wife had been new to the pride, arriving a little more than six months ago. She’d wondered how long it would take before Lance used some trumped-up misdeed to seize his property and money… and his wife, a pretty little brunette. She turned her head. Sure enough, the wife was with one of Lance’s cronies, her head bowed and bruises over her face and neck.
  
  Boots appeared in her line of sight.
  
  “My darling wife has returned to me, isn’t that sweet?” Lance’s voice, triumphant and crowing sickened her. She struggled to her knees, not wanting to give any hint of weakness in front of him. As always he was impeccably dressed, designer clothing head to toe while some of the pride starved.
  
  “I can assure you it wasn’t willingly.” She spat blood from her injured cheek over his shiny boots.
  
  He laughed, but his eyes, a deep brown she’d once considered warm, narrowed dangerously. She’d pay for messing up his boots, but considering he was going to kill her anyway, that was the least of her worries.
  
  “Pity she’s such a slut, isn’t it? She left the safety of the pride…” Grabbing her by the back of the neck, he hauled her to her feet. Spinning them both around, he addressed the crowd like he was a politician making a grand speech. “Rejected your friendship to run off with her warlock lover.”
  
  Lance’s supporters in the crowd hissed and booed, but most looked away or down, refusing to see what was going on in front of them. She stared at the few who would look her in the eye, wanting to yell at them. Couldn’t they see that it could just as easily be them in her place? But they didn’t, wouldn’t say anything… they were all too scared of what Lance would do to them. They weren’t a pride, not anymore. They were just a bunch of scared people waiting for the hammer to fall.
  
  She wanted to cry in frustration and anger, but didn’t. Instead, she opened her mouth and laughed, making several in the crowd look up in surprise.
  
  “I didn’t run off with anyone, Lance, but if it makes you feel better, you carry on and tell yourself that. I ran away from you, asshole. And I’m glad I did. You’re no fucking alpha. The warlock you sent after me—with your money by the way…” She stabbed a finger toward the group in front of her. “He was more of an alpha than you and your pathetic lion will ever be.”
  
  Lance snarled and shoved her away as though she’d burned him. Stumbling, she fell to her knees with her lips clamped shut. She would not cry out and let him know he’d hurt her. She wouldn’t give him the damn satisfaction.
  
  “More of an alpha, really? Well, let’s see how well your ‘alpha’ protects you now, eh? Bring him out.”
  
  The gargoyle stomped to one of the other cars. She held her breath as he dragged something out of the trunk of one, walking over to drop it in front of her. A man, wrapped in a bloody sheet. Her breath hissed out of her lungs in a rush as she recognized the broad shoulders and the blond hair.
  
  Hale.
  
  “He up to fighting me for your life?” Lance jeered, a boot on Hale’s shoulder and shoved. The unconscious man sprawled on his back and a couple of women in the crowd gasped in surprise. His face was battered and bruised, not a sign of consciousness in his limp body.
  
  “No, didn’t think so.” Lance spat on him, and stood. “Get them out of my sight. I don’t want to see them until the party tonight.”
  
  The gargoyle stepped forward and picked Hale up as though he were a sack of potatoes, throwing him over one shoulder.
  
  “Please, don’t hurt him!” she begged as the stone-man grabbed her by the upper arm and began to walk. She hurried to keep up. It was that or have her upper arm pulverized by his grip. She tried to check on Hale as he dragged them down the dirt path to the old pig sheds, Lance’s impromptu “dungeons.” Converted now all the livestock was gone, they were well-made, concrete boxes with steel doors that were as escape-proof as maximum security.
  
  Their brutish captor opened the door and threw them both inside as though they were little more than bags of garbage to be disposed of.
  
  She cried out in pain as she hit the ground hard, all the wind knocked out of her on impact. Any warmth from the summer sun outside was instantly leeched away by the contact with the cold concrete. A pipe in the corner leaked, leaving most of the floor wet, and slimy with algae. She shivered, and scrambled up to reach Hale.
  
  He was still unconscious, his skin pale in the dimness within the shed. Biting her lip, she pressed two fingers against his throat. He had a pulse, but it was weak and thready. Shit, they’d really worked him over.
  
  “Hale? It’s Renae… please, wake up.”
  
  With concerned eyes, she studied his face. It was black and blue, with a cut at the corner of his lips. Gently, she parted them with her fingers to make sure he wasn’t missing any teeth. The last thing he needed was them falling into the back of his throat and choking him while he was unconscious.
  
  There were no gaps, and no blood in his mouth. With a quick sigh of relief, she carried on her examination. Peeling back the sheet they’d wrapped him in, she discovered his ribs and stomach were badly bruised, but his knuckles weren’t. He hadn’t even tried to defend himself.
  
  “Hale? Can you hear me? You just had a little accident. You just need to wake up, okay?”
  
  Anger sizzled through her veins. What the hell had happened? She’d yelled enough to wake the dead in the kitchen so how had they managed to catch him unawares? The memory of her sleepiness in the kitchen resurfaced and she swore. Shit, those warlocks had to have used a sleeping spell on them. How had she been able to shrug it off?
  
  She ignored the pain of the rough concrete against her knees as she tried to make him more comfortable. The aura around him was different, and deep within her, her cat whimpered in distress. He was dying and there was nothing she could do about it.
  
  Tears streamed down her face as she tucked the sheet around his shoulders. She couldn’t live without him. The fact that she’d known him less than a day made no difference. In her heart of hearts she knew, her cat knew, that his man was hers. Her mate, or would have been had she never met Lance.
  
  Cuddling closer, she wrapped herself around him, trying to share her body heat and opened up the connection between them. Her cat purred and tried to push through the tiny gap to reach the part of him that was lion. Trying to share their strength and heal him. The two halves of her, woman and cat, were in perfect accord. They’d save him even if it meant giving themselves to death.
  
  Something clicked and the world around her swam, the shadows in the shed closing in around her. Moving slightly, she brushed her lips against Hale’s temple.
  
  “I love you. I’m sorry.”
  
  Her energy exhausted she let the blackness creep over her. As her eyes fluttered shut, she felt her cat take over, plunging them into the shift to protect them both.
  
  So be it. She had nothing left to give.
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  Hale came to as hard hands dragged him out of blessed coolness and into sunlight. Not sure what was going on, he stayed limp and let them half carry him, half drag him along what looked like a garden path.
  
  What the hell was going on? His throat was drier than a nun’s crotch and his head throbbed like he’d been on a three-day bender. Even worse, his bare feet brushed against grass and a cool breeze around his groin informed him that whatever he was wrapped in, it wasn’t anywhere near actual clothing.
  
  Great, he was near naked with the hangover from hell. And from the pain in his body, someone had worked him over real good. For what? He rarely carried cash on him and his jewelry was all cheap crap or spelled to him so not worth the time to pawn .
  
  Perhaps a rival bounty hunter? Men in his line of work were used to violence and it wouldn’t be the first time a rival had gotten violent when they thought he was treading on their patch.
  
  The fuzziness in his head felt different as well. As soon as he probed it, it gave with the telltale shimmer of magic. Shit. He’d been hit with a spell. He chased the remnants in his system down and studied them before he shook them off. A sleep spell? He almost groaned in disgust at himself. Felled by a simple sleep spell even the most inept witch or warlock could cast. It was damn embarrassing.
  
  But he had bigger fish to fry than worrying about his ego. Letting his head roll with the movement of the men carrying him, he got a look around him.
  
  A garden. Houses. The scent of the country and lion shifters. Lots of lion shifters.
  
  The Brogan property.
  
  Memory returned in an onslaught of images and feelings. The contract with Lance Brogan. The image of a young blonde. The same blonde naked in a bed, her face a mask of pleasure as he moved over her.
  
  Renae Brogan. Fuck that, he didn’t like thinking of her with that asshole’s name. As soon as he got the chance, he planned to change that.
  
  Where was she? If Brogan had hurt her…
  
  He stopped, realizing he loved her. Head over heels, stupid in love with the stubborn lioness.
  
  His lion roared, wanting nothing more than to rip the heads off the two lions who held him and go on a rampage. He could do it as well, manifest claws with magic to replace the ones his lion would have had if he’d been a shifter. Not a spell, just tapping the source of his magic, his lion, in a different way. He’d never been able to do it before, but he could see how as clear as day in his mind.
  
  He reached inside for the source of his power and had to bite back a yelp. Normally he had to dig deep to reach his power, and its lion guardian, but now it felt like the damn thing was right beneath the surface. So close he could feel its fur brushing the inside his skin. It was like touching a live wire.
  
  “And our guests of honor have arrived.”
  
  All Hale’s hackles went up at the sound of Brogan’s voice. His lion went still, watching. Waiting. Before it had always followed his lead but seemed stronger now, a more defined personality, and it had its own plans for Brogan. Like a slow and lingering death for what the son of a bitch had done to their mate.
  
  “Someone wake up that bitch. I want her fully aware. What about that one… is he awake?”
  
  Hale let his head drop back. The lion shifter who held him grunted. “Nah, still out for the count.”
  
  He cracked an eyelid as the shifter let go of his hair, letting his head drop back instead of forward, allowing him to see what was going on. They were in the middle of what looked like a village green with two fire pits set in front of them. Renae was off to the side, her captors having dropped her unconscious form on the ground.
  
  Fury hit him hard and fast as Brogan leaned down and slapped her hard across the face to wake her. She murmured, trying to put her hands up to defend herself, but the Lion alpha simply knocked her hands away and carried on slapping her.
  
  
  
  *
  
  
  
  “Rise and shine, darlin’. You got a hog roast to attend. And let’s be honest… there’s plenty enough hog on you to roast!”
  
  The sharp pain of being slapped and Lance’s voice brought Renae out of sleep. Out of instinct and experience, she curled up. Hands up to protect her stomach and her head, she scuttled backwards to get out of Lance’s reach.
  
  She blinked groggily and tried to clear her head. They were out in the square. Hell, she must have fallen deeply asleep for them to have gotten her here without her being aware of it.
  
  Her gaze swept around her. The sun was just about to set and the whole pride was assembled for what looked like a garden party. Best bib and tucker, long summer dresses for the women. No kids though. That was odd.
  
  Then she spotted the fire pit and the absence of the children made horrible sense. Kindling and firewood were stacked beneath two racks, the sort used to roast pigs. Her eyes widened, bile rising in her throat as she realized what he had planned.
  
  “You’re a sick fucking son of a bitch, Lance.”
  
  His picture-perfect features twisted into a snarl of rage. “Keep a civil tongue in your head when you talk to me, witch’s whore!”
  
  He lifted his fist, stepping in toward her and she ducked, covering her head again. Her lioness snarled, demanding to be free. To punch claws free of her fingers and dig them bone deep into Lance’s crotch, at her eye level…use her cat’s fangs to give him a final blowjob he’d never fucking forget.
  
  Before his fist could descend though, a warning growl filled the air. Deeper and more dangerous than anything Renae had heard in her life, it lifted all the hairs along the back of her neck.
  
  Lance frowned, his head snapping up. “Who is that?”
  
  The growl intensified to a snarl. Lance spun around, his face almost purple with rage as he spat. “Who the fuck is that?”
  
  The two lions holding Hale limp between them stumbled back as the werelock stood, shoulders hunched. Slowly he lifted his head and she gasped. His eyes were molten amber, glittering with as he looked at Lance. The sheet around him fell away, leaving him naked for a second before the air shimmered around him and clothes formed on his body.
  
  “Your worst fucking nightmare. That’s who.” The werelock’s voice was deep and low, more like a shifter, and as she watched, a golden aura shone around him. It glimmered over his skin, settling into the form of a lion’s head and mane over his human head and shoulders. He reached out, his hands flexing as the magic flowed over them, giving him the claws of a lion. Magical in nature but no less sharp, the edges glittered lethally in the mellow light from the sunset.
  
  Pride filled her, her lips curving up into a soft smile.
  
  He was her man, and he was magnificent.
  
  Lance’s face was a picture of horror and surprise as he stumbled backward. “Wh…what? How? Get away from me!”
  
  Spinning around wildly, he made a grab for her. The snarl burst free before she could stop it and she swiped at him with the claws that burst from the ends of her fingers. He wouldn’t use her again, not ever.
  
  He was too fast, backhanding her across the face, before hauling her up in front of him by the throat.
  
  “Get back!” he ordered, hand hard around her neck.
  
  “What the fuck are you lot waiting for?” he snapped at his bully-boys, who were looking at the werelock with shock and fear. No-one seemed interested in getting within reach of those magical claws. She didn’t blame them. With the snarls tumbling from his curled lips and the danger that radiated from him, she wouldn’t either. “Get him! Kill him!”
  
  They snarled and moved en-masse, looking to use numbers to bring down their prey. Snarls filled the air, the fading sunlight glinting off claws as they sliced through the air. She moaned, fear for her man filling her.
  
  “That’s right, bitch. You’re gonna watch him die, then you’re going to die alone in the fire,” Lance gloated. “I’m going to watch your fat ass sizzle and burn and laugh while it does.”
  
  Shift. Take him down.
  
  A voice, male and full of power, whispered in the back of her mind and coldness leeched through her. It started at her core, where her lioness resided, and spread out through her limbs, racing through her bones until it surfaced to whisper over her skin. It wasn’t the cold of despair, robbing her of energy and will, but something else.
  
  It was cold, hard fury and it galvanized her.
  
  “Over my dead body,” she hissed and she twisted in his arms.
  
  Her lioness burst out of her within a heartbeat. One second Lance had an armful of cowed ex-wife, the next he held a snarling, spitting, very pissed-off lioness. Pure animal rage filled her as she wrapped her forepaws around his shoulders, heavy claws digging into his back to hold him in place.
  
  Look into his eyes.
  
  The voice—Hale’s voice—whispered and she did as ordered, bringing herself nose to nose with Lance. He squeaked and went pale, his eyes wide as she locked her gaze with his. Power whispered between them and she understood. Somehow Hale was using the link between them to lock Lance in his human form. That wasn’t the only thing she realized, feeling power in her back limbs for the first time in her life.
  
  You’re whole. The link between us, the power you gave me to bring me back from death, healed you too. Now get ‘em, sweetheart. He’s your kill.
  
  “Nononono, please baby,” Lance moaned. “It’s me. I would never really hurt you, you know that right?”
  
  She chuffed in feline amusement and launched herself off the floor.
  
  Her back paws hit him in the stomach and she rode him to the ground. Claws sliced deeply into his stomach and he howled in agony. She didn’t stop, scrabbling at his abdomen with her back feet. Blood flowed as his skin gave and her claws sank into softer tissue. He thrashed. She shredded. His face contorted in agony, blood splattering over his features.
  
  He arched and then slumped, eyes fluttering closed as life ebbed from his body. With a soft snarl she rolled away and stood, padding around his body. In a final insult, she kicked grass over it and turned to Hale.
  
  He stood in a circle of dead bodies, his arms covered in blood almost to his shoulders. As she watched, gold shimmered and the blood was gone with his claws. He looked at her and his voice sounded in her head.
  
  Come here, beautiful. I need to touch you.
  
  Wuffling and shaking her head, she stalked toward him, butting the hand he held out for her. A deep purr rattled from her throat as she wrapped herself around his legs, twining her tail around his wrist.
  
  “Anyone else?” He looked around the rest of the pride, the cowed werelions pale with shock. “No? Didn’t think so. Sort your shit out, you bunch of losers, and pick a better fucking alpha next time.”
  
  “But…” She blinked as one man started forward. Doug Fletcher, an old friend of her fathers. “You killed the alpha. Which makes you—”
  
  I don’t want to stay here, she sent through their mental link. In fact, I never want to be here again.
  
  “Not. Happening.” Hale all but growled the words. “I’ve got enough shit to deal with so, sorry kiddies, you have to grow up and deal with this on your own. Right now, my mate and I are leaving. So unless you want to end like your alpha, I suggest you get the fuck out of my way.”
  
  He turned and walked away, down the drive and off Brogan pride land. Renae paused for a moment, her feline gaze haughty as she looked down her nose at her former pride. With a flick of her tail she expressed her disgust and turned to pad after her man.
  
  Her man. Her mate. Her world.
  
  And from now on, she was taking life on her own terms…
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  “So… when did you realize you could call your lion?”
  
  Renae traced gentle circles over Hale’s bare chest as they lay in bed. The morning sun poked gentle fingers through the gap in the curtains. They were back in Deal’s Gap, in her rental which Hale had somehow managed to restore with only a few burn marks. She didn’t know how he’d done it, and didn’t care, just that it had taken a shit-ton of power. She purred. Her mate was scarily powerful. She liked it… and licked it (but that was another story).
  
  He rumbled, a reply to her purr, and settled one arm more comfortably behind his head. “When yours pulled me back from the brink of death. She came to find us and my lion wouldn’t let us go into the light.”
  
  She looked up to find him watching her. His eyes had changed since they’d nearly died at Lance’s hand. The thought of her ex, now dead, husband stirred nothing within her. No emotion, not even hatred. He was gone and she didn’t have to think about him at all.
  
  Hale’s hand swept her cheek tenderly, his eyes warm. “You know what?”
  
  Her breathing caught a little as his hand moved down, sweeping across her throat. They lingered on the small mating scar he’d given her. “What?”
  
  “Your cat is a bossy bitch.”
  
  The laugh burst out of her before she could stop it and she hit him in the shoulder. “Asshole!”
  
  Her blow started a wrestling match, the bed becoming a flurry of limbs and pillows. Less than a minute later she found herself pinned with him on top of her, settled within the cradle of her hips with his thick cock sliding between the folds of her pussy.
  
  Pausing, he caught her gaze and smiled. Just one simple curve of his lips and it filled her heart with love.
  
  “I love you, Renae Roark, and don’t you ever forget that.”
  
  She smiled, loving to hear the words she already knew the truth of in her heart.
  
  “I love you too, Hale Roark. And if you try to forget it, I’ll send my cat after you again.”
  
  “Deal.”
  
  His lips brushed hers, and with one slow thrust forward, he made them one again.
  
  
  
  The end
  
  
  
  
  
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О.Болдырева "Крадуш. Чужие души" М.Николаев "Вторжение на Землю"

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Сайт - "Художники" .. || .. Доска об'явлений "Книги"