Chapter Two

 

Something fuzzy brushed against Ava’s nose, rousing her from a restful slumber. She grumbled and swatted at the softness with her fingers, shifting her body slightly. Hot breath and the discernible funk of dog food crashed into her face as something cool and wet prodded her chin, followed by the brush of a rough, warm tongue.

“What the—” She opened her eyes, met the stare of an enormous beast and screamed loud enough to wake the dead.

Scrambling wildly, she fell off the side of an unfamiliar bed in a tangle of sheets, limbs thrashing, and struggled to gain her balance. The fact that she was clothed in nothing more than her underwear, in a room she didn’t recognize, didn’t register. Her focus was on the hideous canine that plopped down on its rear across from her and tilted its head to the side as if it were trying to gauge her reaction.

“Stay,” she ordered in a pitifully weak voice. The massive thing started to move and she swallowed loudly, inching toward a door on the left. “God, but you’re an ugly one. Aren’t you?”

The dog’s haunches came off the bed and it growled, baring teeth.

Not good.

“Whoa, ugly,” she ordered and lunged for the door. Once she’d snatched the handle, she turned it and applied pressure with desperate fingers.

The dog barreled off the bed and she pushed at the door. Crying out when it gave way, she fell inside a pitch-black space. She didn’t think twice about slamming the thin barrier closed and facing the darkness. Dark she could handle. Deranged wildebeests with fangs the size of tusks were another thing altogether.

Heavy claws bore down on the other side of the door, scraping viciously. Growls became heavy brays, so loud the door vibrated with each deep bellow. Scooting on her palms and heels, she tried to place as much space between her and the hound from hell as possible, kicking away from the crack of light against the hardwood floor. Something brushed against the top of her head and she lashed out, squealing in terror while slapping at the flimsy thing with her hands. Objects fell on top of her, some light, some thick and heavy. The harder she thrashed and fought the more she became entangled in the mess.

The loud howls came to an abrupt stop when she heard a man order in a deep husky baritone, “Quiet, Oscar! Sit.”

The handle jiggled and the door opened. Sunlight poured in and she slapped at what she was mortified to discover were sheets and blankets. A large form appeared in the doorway and she froze. Memories from the night before rushed back, sending her into a panic. Vampires had attacked and the entire world had gone black. But she wasn’t dead and the sun was shining.

What the hell happened between then and now?

Desperate for answers, she reached out with her mind, homed in on her captor’s thoughts and listened. A big wall of nothing greeted her. It was daytime, so he wasn’t a vampire. She eyed the enormous shape before her. She couldn’t make out his face but he was big, big and big…

Oh crap.

Shifter.

“It’s all right, Pinkie,” the form said softly and crouched. “Don’t be afraid.”

“D-dog,” she stammered dumbly and hated herself for sounding like a complete ninny and idiot. Of course he knew a rabid canine was present. He’d called the damn thing off. Unfortunately she couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say.

“Let me guess.” His shadowed head tilted to the side and she detected laughter in his voice. “You called him ugly.”

“What?” She swatted at a sheet dangling next to her face and scowled at his corresponding throaty chuckle.

“Oscar.” He lifted a hand and flicked his thumb over his shoulder. “You told him he wasn’t much to look at. Didn’t you?”

Her face flamed in embarrassment. What if the dog wasn’t really a dog at all? She hadn’t been around a shifter in animal form before but the hideous thing was terrifying—and large—enough to pass for one.

“Yes.”

Clucking his tongue, he stood and flicked a switch on the wall. “I would suggest you keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself from here on in. Oscar is as docile as a lamb until you remind him he’s got a face only a momma could love. You might find this hard to believe but he was quite a heartbreaker as a pup.”

His words didn’t process, not when she got her first look at the owner of that deep, commanding baritone. Working in a dance club meant she saw her fair share of preternatural creatures—vampires, shifters and demons were common patrons of the establishment—and through it all, she’d learned one valuable lesson. Steer clear of them. They were as dangerous as they were sexy, able to tear people apart before they felt that first, telling bite of pain. She knew better than anyone not to take the stranger in, not to view him as a man or to allow herself to fantasize about what could never be between them. But god help her, shifter had never looked so good.

He was barefoot, dressed in a snug pair of faded blue jeans and a thick brown sweater with a Cleveland Browns logo in the center. Rich black hair fell in thick strands to his shoulders, framing a face with full, sensual lips, a straight nose and a squared jaw shadowed with a slathering of equally dark stubble that made her heart skip a beat. His beautiful mouth curved in amusement when she did a double take and she quickly averted her eyes, knowing he’d caught her staring.

Busted.

“What happened? How did I get here?” she asked and licked her lips before bringing the bottom one between her teeth. It sounded like he groaned but she wasn’t willing to glance up to be sure.

“How much do you remember?”

He doesn’t know you’re aware of what he is, she reminded herself. Keep it that way.

“Two men tried to mug me. When I fought one of them decked me. I don’t remember anything after that.” She found the courage to meet his eyes and anything else she wanted to say died in her throat. His irises were a pure vibrant gold. There was no way he could pass for human, not with peepers like those.

Oh god.

She tore her eyes away and recalled all the reasons she couldn’t allow herself to fantasize about those lips, those eyes or what was sure to be a perfectly toned and sculpted body beneath his clothes. Yet even as she tried she felt her body respond, nipples going hard and panties becoming moist.

And he could smell her arousal.

Damn, damn, damn!

Stop thinking impure thoughts. You cannot have him. He’s from a different species that likes to bite, control and dominate.

“Who are you?” She choked out the question.

He approached oh so slowly and sweet Mary Jane if his body didn’t ripple with the movement. He knelt inches from her and reached out. His fingers were wide and thick, the tips blunt but slightly rounded, the nails trimmed short. Her eyes went wide when he slid his fingers behind her ear and palmed her jaw. Electricity accompanied his touch, sharp bristles of pleasure that zinged through her skin, traveled down her spine and went directly to her sex.

Gasping softly, she kept her eyes locked on to his mouth as he neared. The distance between them vanished and that glorious face of his came closer, then closer still. He smelled of soap and water—fresh, clean and undeniably male. When his lips stopped scant millimeters from her own, she detected the tantalizing aromas of coffee and sugar.

“Diskant.” He breathed his name against her mouth, so close she could taste him.

Diskant? The name struck a chord of recognition but the memory was hazy.

Lifting her gaze was foolhardy and dangerous but she did so anyway. Beautiful pools of shimmering gold stared back. The hand at her jaw drifted down, traveling along the length of her throat and past her collarbone. It was such a gentle touch, fingers barely skimming the surface of the skin. Goose bumps followed the path he created, a winding trail of prickling heat that shot all the way to her bones.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, never breaking the eye contact.

“B-beautiful?”

“Your eyes,” he answered. “So blue.”

Air escaped her lungs in a quiet sigh and her lids slid closed when his lips brushed against hers, side to side, left to right. The gesture was so innocent, so intimate. Her mouth opened in welcome and he accepted the invitation like a gentleman. His tongue slid past her lips, allowing her to taste him for the first time. The sweetness of hazelnut and sugar coated her tongue. She moaned, lifted her left hand and wrapped her fingers loosely around his wrist.

His tongue flicked against hers, teasing and taunting. She responded, mirroring the laps until the tips of their tongues touched, pulled away and met once more. It was a treacherous game of cat and mouse. He baited her, offering her his tongue before moving away, forcing her to chase and follow. Each pass fueled the fire in her veins and increased the pulsating heat wetting the skin between her legs.

When she felt him initiate more, delving deeper and tasting her completely, she was eager to give him what he desired. Her lips parted and she allowed him to take control, to dominate her mouth. He explored each and every crevice, tracing her lips before tasting her deeply. His teeth captured the tip of her tongue when she tried to follow his lead. He sucked the tiny nub, flicking his own tongue across the surface in agonizingly slow circles.

Her pussy throbbed, hammering inside and out while her clit pulsed. It was a miserable ache, one that caused her to writhe against the blankets and sheets. Never before had she wanted a man so terribly. With her ex-fiancé, Martin, she’d made love slowly, cautiously. But now she wanted to be reckless and wild, uninhibited and free.

As if sensing her thoughts, Diskant pulled away and pressed that clever mouth against the corner of her lips, then her jaw, neck and the hollow of her throat. The gentle fingers he placed on her collarbone went down until her breast rested in his palm. His thumb came over the thin lace covering the nipple and rotated, around and around, driving her mad as he stroked her.

“Christ, you smell good,” he rasped against the delicate curve of her shoulder. “I want to taste every single inch of your skin, starting at your mouth and working my way down.”

Her only response was an amiable whimper of consent and agreement. Even if it was dangerous, and even though she knew better, she wanted the same thing.

Abruptly Diskant’s head lifted and his fingers stilled. Her body screamed at the loss of his touch, demanding that she reach out and bring him back to her. The rim of her nipple prickled where he maintained contact, and the wet path he created with his lips and tongue was white hot yet impossibly cool.

A voice called out from below, the sound muffled. “D!”

“Shit.” He rose in a quick motion that belied his size. “I didn’t expect anyone for another hour.”

Ava stared up at him dumbly, thoroughly aroused and achy. Her body clamored for release, her insides literally quivering for it. He turned and walked from the small space as if she wasn’t sitting in a laughable heap where he left her. Anger followed the curt dismissal and allowed her to focus on the matter at hand rather than her raging hormones.

She became fully cognizant of her surroundings, taking in as much as she could see. She was in a closet, partially clothed, in an unknown location. The hound from hell was still standing guard outside the door, his large brown eyes attentive. The sound of a nearby door being slammed was immediately followed by the distinct click of a lock being turned. Diskant reappeared in moments with an annoyed scowl on his face.

“I’m sorry.” His expression changed when he peered down at her. “It’s my turn to host game day.”

Diskant glanced at a few sweaters hanging on either side of the closet as if he were grappling with something. Then he turned his full attention to her and his gold irises flared yellow. Some kind of decision was made in those short seconds because there was a flash of possessiveness in his stare that wasn’t there before.

“Put this on.” He pulled his sweatshirt over his head, baring a tanned, chiseled torso and washboard abs, and tossed it in her direction. “Don’t take that off, no matter what you do. I have to go downstairs and tell everyone I’ll be indisposed. While I’m down there I’ll grab you something to eat and get your clothes out of the dryer, all right?”

Her heart slammed into her throat and her stomach did a sickening flip-flop that made her queasy and lightheaded. She said a silent prayer of thanks that Diskant was too busy choosing another shirt from the closet to pay her any attention. It was difficult enough to institute the exercises she used at the bar to keep fear at bay, taking deep breaths through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. The sleeve marking—much like a tattoo—that ran from his shoulder to his wrist told her what kind of shifter she had nearly fallen into the sack with, and it wasn’t good. Not good at all.

An Omega.

The intricate design was a mystical thing she’d read about while doing research on the paranormal after accepting the bartending job at Club Liminality. She knew if she looked closely she would find each of the shifter breeds in the design of the marking, their bodies etched into the skin just as they were embedded within the body and soul. Only those chosen to take over for the presiding Omega were gifted with the mark that arrived at maturity. A darkening of the skin like a tattoo that started at the wrist, covered the left arm and wound across the shoulder toward the heart.

Diskant Black was the Omega of the New York area. She’d heard the name while on the job but had never met the shifter. That cloud of confusion was long gone, leaving stark clarity in its wake. How in the hell had she gotten herself into this?

Silently, she slid on the overlarge garment, bringing as little attention to herself as possible. His scent was damning, imploring her not to listen to her mind but to her body and soul.

“I won’t be long,” he promised as he slid a black turtleneck over his head.

Rational thought kicked in. If she was going to get out of here she had to strategize. He thought she was human, without any knowledge of his kind. It was best to play stupid, wait for him to leave and then get the hell out.

“Can you take Oscar with you?”

His smile was nearly her undoing, both sexy and playful, and her insides wilted as another wave of heat attacked all of the erogenous zones of her body. He adjusted the collar of the formfitting sweater and returned to her, kneeling down.

“Yo, D!” the deep voice from below bellowed. “Where you at?”

Diskant cursed, lowered his head and stole a quick kiss before lurching to his feet. He walked to the door, stopped and turned on his heel. “I won’t be long.” She was about to remind him about the dog when he said, “Come on, Oscar.”

The moment he left the room and the outer door closed with a double snick she was on her feet and all but barreling out of the closet. The light came from a window in the left wall, and she made haste to the venetian blinds. After hiking them up, she pressed her face against the cool panel of glass and sighed in relief. The fire escape was ready and waiting. She glanced down at her bare legs, contemplating her choices. Now she just needed some kind of protection against the elements.

She hurried around the end of the massive four-post bed and came to a matching antique dresser. The first drawer consisted of neatly folded black boxer briefs, the second was full of thin white T-shirts and the third was stocked full of black socks. It was the essential fourth drawer that delivered pay dirt. Jeans were folded neatly inside, along with a few pairs of black sweatpants.

She hiked a pair of the cotton pants out and slung them on. When she finished tying the cord snugly at the waist she bent over, folded the material and rolled the legs up until she could walk without falling. Her New Balance sneakers were placed at the end of the bed along with her messenger bag and she scurried over to them. Crouching down, she worked her feet inside the shoes and picked up the tote.

Opening the window was easy, and she understood why after she climbed down the chute and took the ten-foot plunge to the concrete below. Bright red bricks clashed against the blue sky from one end of the building to the other. Diskant Black, the Omega of the New York Boroughs, lived in an old fire station.

She wanted to laugh but decided it was best saved for the subway ride home. Holding on to the bag draped across her chest, she took off in a dead run, winding through the cars that indicated she was in some place on the Upper East Side.

And she didn’t look back.

* * * * *

His body was humming, his blood was on fire and his balls were ready to explode. Diskant reached down and shifted his throbbing cock, grimacing as the rough texture of his jeans chafed the skin. A cold shower wouldn’t do shit now. One taste, one tiny fucking sample of what pleasures lay in store and the female upstairs had him wrapped around her little finger.

Pinkie, indeed.

It had taken all of his control to take it slow, to allow her take the lead and set the pace—and fucking hell, what a pace. She was everything a woman should be: hot, soft, willing, eager. Best of all, she only needed one tiny kiss and a few lingering caresses to make her sweet pussy weep. The aroma of her arousal as she surrendered to him had almost broken his resolve. He could almost taste how delicious she’d be, hot and musky, with a hint of cinnamon and spice.

His mouth had watered at the prospect of going down on her, especially upon his earlier discovery when he’d cleaned her up and put her in his bed. While removing her clothes to launder, he’d inadvertently snagged her lacy panties in her jeans, and, well, he couldn’t help but look. She was completely bare downstairs, as smooth and silken as a baby’s bottom. A triangle of blonde curls would be nice but seeing her hairless pink lips got him hotter than a wolf during the mating heat.

Christ.

Diskant followed the scent of his visitor, hooking a right past the kitchen with Oscar on his heels. The entire firehouse had been gutted after he purchased it. Aside from the large garage, upstairs bedrooms and two stainless steel poles, it was as posh as his place in Miami. The rooms were all modernized, including the kitchen and bathrooms. And of course, there was the one room the pack loved most. Fifty feet long and thirty feet wide, the basement housed a sixty-inch plasma television, a wraparound couch and a regulation-sized slate pool table. There was more than enough space to accommodate the dozen or so pack members who came to enjoy the game, as well as any females they brought along for shits and giggles.

“There you are, man.” Trey lowered a keg to the floor and moved away from the bar. “I was just stocking up for the game. Nathan has the eats. He said he should be here in thirty.”

Diskant’s oldest and closest friend was also the werewolf Alpha of New York and, consequently, ruled over the largest pack in the northeastern portion of the United States. That made him one bad motherfucker. Trey was dressed in his usual football gear—New York Giants jersey, jeans and scuffed sneakers. Though nowhere near as tall as Diskant’s six feet, six inches, he still stood imposing at a nice, even six-foot-two. His body, while lithe and lean, carried the scars that proved he knew how to scrap in a fight.

As an Alpha, learning to fight was as essential as a diver learning how to swim.

Trey brushed his hands over his short brown hair. He stopped, his honey-colored eyes inquisitive. “What’s with the sweater? And why do you look ready to kill someone? Did things go shitty with the stray?”

“You could say that.” Diskant tried to cool his ardor by accepting what he’d tried to deny the past twelve hours. He looked Trey in the eye and said, “I’ve found my mate.”

Curiosity was quickly replaced with shock. “Come again?”

He shook his head and lowered his eyes, staring at the Berber carpet. “Last night after I took care of the stray, I came upon a scuffle. Two vamps versus one human female. I got rid of the leeches, went to check on the girl and the next thing I knew all of my beasts are fighting for a place at the front of the line. I brought her home, cleaned her up and tried to stay as far away from her as possible. But when she woke up and I went to talk to her…fuck.”

Diskant walked to the bar, reached over the counter and snagged a bottle of Grey Goose. If he couldn’t bargain with his raging cock, he could at the very least attempt to appease it with a good, mind-numbing buzz.

“Let me guess,” Trey said from behind him. “You couldn’t keep your hands off her?”

“Hell no,” he answered as he began unscrewing the bottlecap. “I was like a kid in a candy store.”

Trey leaned against the bar. “She’s here? Right now?”

“Affirmative.”

Trey snatched the bottle before he could take a swig, causing the clear liquid to splash from the neck of the glass container. “Then what the fuck are you doing down here with me?”

Diskant lifted his head, meeting his friend’s amused stare. What was he doing down here? His female was waiting upstairs for him, clothed in nothing more than a cotton sweatshirt and her underwear. The image of her flushed face came to mind. Lips swollen, pebbled pink nipples erect, dark blue eyes clouded with desire and confusion. And he’d left her inside the closet like nothing more than a discarded blanket, with her body needy and her pussy dripping.

Like a goddamn asshole.

Fuck.

“Tell everyone that upstairs is off limits. Let yourselves out. I don’t plan on coming downstairs any time soon.”

Trey extended a hand, nodding. “I’m happy for you, D. Things like this don’t happen often for our kind.”

Accepting the gesture, Diskant took Trey’s hand in his own, shook and agreed. “You’re right. They don’t.” Alphas stayed single the longest. No one knew why. It didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense as mates grounded and centered a male. It wasn’t fair, especially for someone like Trey, who had waited centuries.

“So what’s her name?” Trey released his hand, bent across the bar and returned the bottle to its proper place.

As a male, Diskant had never experienced shame—until that question. The other half of his soul waited just upstairs, the woman he would spend eternity with, and he only knew her by a nickname he’d bestowed.

“Pinkie.”

Trey grinned. “Pinkie?”

“Don’t ask.” He motioned to the mutt sprawled at his feet. “Can you take care of Oscar while you’re here?”

“Fugly?” Trey smiled when the dog lifted his head and growled. “Sure.”

Diskant quieted the dog by patting him on the head. “Thanks, man. I’ll call you later.”

He left the room and went directly into the kitchen. The food he’d prepared earlier in the morning was in the microwave—ham, biscuits and scrambled eggs. He nuked the plate while he retrieved the butter, raspberry jelly and a container of orange juice. After tossing it all on a tray, he exited the kitchen and went directly for the bedroom, forgoing a trip to the laundry room. To hell with her clothes. She wouldn’t need those for a while. After she ate it would be his turn to feast. And he planned to take his time enjoying every single nook and cranny of her body.

The smell of muggy New York air hit his nose the instant he opened the door and he knew. A quick glance at the open window and the floor where her shoes and satchel no longer remained confirmed it.

She was gone.

Tossing the tray onto the dresser, he rushed to the window, consumed by panic and fury. He never should have left her alone, not as she was. She was aroused, but before that she had been terrified. Of course she’d flee. He’d given her no reason not to.

I don’t even know her name.

“Trey!” he roared and strode to the bed to retrieve the pillow she’d slept on.

Heavy footsteps from downstairs sounded like a running-of-the-bulls stampede. His friend appeared in the doorway in seconds, braced for war and ready to rumble.

“What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone,” he snarled in disgust, furious at himself. “I shouldn’t have left her alone. Not until I explained things to her.”

He threw the pillow at Trey and went to the closet to retrieve his shoes. “That’s hers. When everyone else gets here I want you to have them take a sniff, memorize it and split up. Tell them she’s wearing a sweatshirt covered by my scent and that she’s on foot. I’m going to try to track her from here.”

“Why don’t you call Wade? He can locate anyone with a few clicks of his laptop.”

Diskant returned from the closet, shoes in hand. “Because you have to have a name to give him.”

Trey narrowed his eyes. “You said her name was Pinkie.”

“I started calling her that while she was unconscious.” Diskant pulled a pair of socks from the dresser and sat on the bed to put on his shoes, adding sheepishly, “I didn’t have the chance to ask for her real name when she came to.”

“So you don’t know her name?

“No.”

“Or where she lives?

“No.”

“How about where she works?”

“No,” he snapped.

“Then what do you know?” Trey asked impatiently.

“She’s lucky if she’s an inch over five feet. She’s blonde, beautiful and has the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever fucking seen.”

And she smells like heaven.

“That’s all you’ve got to go on? In a city as big as New York?”

He stood and collected his cell and wallet. “Correct.”

“I hate to tell you this,” Trey stopped him with a hand on the shoulder and nailed him with a level stare, “but you’re fucked.”