Chapter Four

 

Diskant didn’t bother parking his bike in one of the allotted positions along the road and drove around the back of Club Liminality instead. Clouds of steam were dancing against the darkened brick walls when he arrived at his destination, oozing from a crooked metal exhaust connected to the kitchen.

The smells of peanut oil, chicken wings, jalapeños, barbeque sauce and mozzarella sticks hung heavy in the winter air. His stomach gnarled and grumbled in agony, a miserable reminder that he’d forgotten to eat something substantial prior to meeting with the Alpha of the jaguar pride—a close personal friend—in Queens just an hour before.

Making the immediate decision to order out while he was in the vicinity, he parked the bike next to the kitchen entrance. Removing the key, he climbed off the leather seat, shifted his legs and soothed the cramped muscles while he cracked his neck. Voices merged with the deafening clamor of clanging pots and pans on the other side of the metal door. Yet another busy night at one of the more popular shifter clubs in New York.

Fucking Trey.

Anything could be going on inside. Diskant could be walking into a pissing contest, a lover’s quarrel or a territorial dispute. Sometimes he enjoyed his sex short and sweet, but never cryptic phone conversations. Besides, walking in blind was never a good thing when it involved a public place, his best friend and a bar owned by a damn warlocke.

Brett McGovern had already warned that he wouldn’t tolerate any more bullshit from the shifters in the area. The damage from the last brawl had forced him to close shop for over a week for repairs, and he was still taking shit from the police after they’d received bizarre complaints from people about men and women who sprouted fur and fangs. Thankfully the NYPD believed that drugs were a contributing factor for the delusional sightings. Still, it required more face time with the unwitting world around them than either Diskant or Brett was comfortable with.

Just get in, take care of business and get the fuck out. No fuss, no muss.

As he neared the grimy metal door, his thoughts drifted once again to a heavenly blonde imp with flushed cheeks, parted lips and cloudy, passion-filled eyes. She smelled so fucking good, female and musky, frightened yet aroused…

While his leather pants restrained the burgeoning erection that arose at the memory, they didn’t do shit to calm the beasts inside that were running out of patience. Twice now he’d nearly gone ape-bitch, unhinged by the need to locate and claim who he recognized instinctually as his.

Desperate for satiation, he’d tried fucking a very willing leopardess to take the edge off. The effort was foiled when the wolf, grizzly and jaguar threatened to rip out her throat in the process. His fucktastic reputation took a nosedive as a consequence, and now the only relief he experienced came courtesy of his shower, some decent wrist action and Rosy Palm and her five sisters.

No woman—shifter or no—would risk her life for a rip-roaring good lay.

There was only one female who could sate the need to mate, and if he didn’t find her soon he would bloody well kill someone. He was a ticking time bomb, dangerous to everyone around him, including those who turned to him for protection and guidance.

Adjusting his cock and sac, Diskant shook his head and took a deep breath, attempting to cool the fire raging in his blood. The last few weeks had been hell. The wet dreams started the first night following his introduction to his mate—images of Pinkie on her knees, taking his cock between her lips while he pumped into the back of her throat until he came like a geyser—and damn if waking each morning covered in sticky spunk with a newly formed hard-on wasn’t beginning to piss him off. He was in a constant state of arousal, and even worse, he was unable to do jack-fuck about it.

He frowned at the grease smears along the knob of the door and announced his presence by kicking on the repulsive entrance instead of knocking. Individual fingerprints were spread all over the place, and a few of them looked like they were enhanced by a sprinkling of brown flakes.

Christ. Is that breading?

“What the hell do you want?” someone bellowed through the thick metal barrier.

“Chavez!” he snarled and waited, annoyed by the growling of his stomach brought on by the heady aroma of food.

“Hold on!” Diskant heard the head chef order before he thundered, “Damn it, Torino! Get the fuck out of my way before I put you on dish duty!”

The door opened outward and Diskant used the heel of his boot to heft it wide before he stepped inside. The succulence of the artery-clogging oil was laced with the mouthwatering scent of Chavez’s freshly made fare, or more specifically, the metallic scent of a freshly cut steak. The VIP section served only the choicest hors d’oeuvres and dishes consisting of meats, seafood and pasta.

“What the hell are you doing here? I didn’t get the receipt for an order.”

Chavez was scowling but Diskant was sure the honor wasn’t entirely because of him and his presence in the club. The aging chef was getting wily and didn’t tolerate any bullshit. The only reason he allowed Diskant so much leeway was the obscene amount of cash he plunked down when forced to order out for pack meetings. Not to mention Chavez’s very human daughter was bloodbonded to a wereleopard in Brooklyn, meaning Short-and-Pudgy was in the know.

“I’m meeting someone,” Diskant answered evasively. “Do you think you can fire me up a steak or two to take home? I’m not staying long.”

A nod was the only answer he received but Diskant took the response at face value. Chavez didn’t like to be bothered when he was on the clock but he always delivered.

Weaving through the would-be line cooks in his path, Diskant made his way through the kitchen and into the hallway where the restrooms were located. The scents of freshly prepared foods were too strong to allow a good sniff of the club just around the corner, but he knew the moment he cleared the small walkway his nose would guide the way.

Oddly enough, his ears were able to distinguish the catcalls from beyond. The music wasn’t the usual techno punk garbage most of the patrons preferred.

It sounded almost like…

Well, tickle his hairy ass silly. The DJ was playing the fucking blues. The song was familiar, slow and soulful, the voice radiating pain and longing along with the distinctive whine of an electric guitar.

Trey’s Beta, Nathan, appeared in front of Diskant before he’d cleared the corner, the werewolf’s hazel irises glowing peridot. Nathan lifted a hand and intentionally placed his body in front of Diskant, a very dip-fuck thing to do.

“Wait, D.”

“Careful, pup,” he snarled, meeting Nathan’s flashing eyes with his own. It was impossible not to. The Alpha in him wouldn’t back down from another male—couldn’t—and everyone knew how short his fuse was lately.

Nathan lowered his gaze in a display of respect and submission but didn’t move. “I need to tell you something before you go into the club. It’s about Trey—”

Diskant’s ears stopped functioning at that point.

It was all about the fucking nose.

The scent he caught was one he’d dreamed about, luscious and sweet, honey and musk, cinnamon and sugar. This time she was sweating, and the heady scent caused his entire body to erupt into tremors. He could almost taste those tiny beads of perspiration on his tongue—salty, wet and oh so fucking female.

He was dimly aware of shoving Nathan roughly aside and forcing random bystanders out of the way. His heart was beating a tattoo in his chest, the tempo steady but increasing. The room shifted as his vision changed and morphed. All sides of him wanted to make sure they weren’t being deceived. He allowed them to rise to the surface, contained only by the barrier of his skin. A steady purr radiated from his chest, followed immediately by a throaty growl.

The large spotlight above the stage shone down on her hair, highlighting the random strands of bright pink. She was straddling a chair, swaying those luscious hips from side to side. She ground and rotated, left then right, front then back. Her ass was a thing of beauty, round and ripe, full and soft. The thought of pumping into the tight heat sent a spasm down his spine. The animal in him wanted to separate those lush cheeks, find the tiny rosette within and dominate her in the most primal way imaginable.

Bowing her head, she arched her shoulders as if she were offering her breasts to a lover, and his attention shifted. He groaned, picturing those pert pink nipples that teased him beneath black lace. He wouldn’t neglect them a second time and couldn’t wait to nip at the small pearls with his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue.

The men surrounding the stage expressed their approval, growling and hammering for more. He didn’t mind, in fact, he got off on it. Shifters were very sexual creatures, and had no problem with nudity, voyeurism or any other kind of kink. The crowd had every right to admire his mate, and he wanted them to look their fill. Because with or without an audience she belonged to one male, and he would be the only one who would ever touch her, taste her or fuck her into oblivion.

When the music ended with one last soulful guitar note, she lifted her left leg and swung away from the chair. Diskant’s eyes settled on the body that had been hidden until now and he nearly roared in fury. Trey was in the seat, hands clasped to the back legs. His eyes were clouded by desire and his cock was obviously eager to reciprocate the attention as it was tenting the front of his fucking leathers in an approving salute.

As if he got jive to Diskant’s presence, Trey turned those passion-laced eyes and looked directly at him. The room was suddenly covered in a dark red haze as the fury of a mated male rose within. Never had he experienced such a murderous rage. He didn’t want to hurt, disarm and disable. He needed to attack, demolish and destroy.

“Son of a bitch!” Diskant leapt onto the stage and tackled both Trey and the chair in a single swoop. The thin, insubstantial metal folded beneath the combined weight of their bodies and went scattering to the left before falling off the stage with an ear-splitting crack. “I’ll rip out your goddamn spine!”

“D, listen—” Trey’s explanation was interrupted when Diskant’s knuckles met his teeth. Trey’s lower lip split and the rusty bitterness of blood suffused the air.

Livid, Diskant punched Trey again and wrapped his free hand around his throat. If Trey had been a human and not a shifter, the pressure of Diskant’s fingers would have snapped his best friend’s neck. Instead it cut off Trey’s oxygen supply.

“God…damn…it…D,” Trey choked as he struggled to break free. “Listen…to…me…”

Diskant lifted his arm up for a second time, intending to respond to the request with more of the same, when trembling fingers grasped his wrist and a soft voice whispered, “Stop.”

Christ, her voice was powerful. His entire body quaked upon that touch and command, tremors spanning from his neck to his toes.

In that moment, all of the anger evaporated. The rage shifted, becoming something different. Pure sexual need slammed into him, so powerful he felt like Trey managed to land a sucker punch of his own when he wasn’t looking. While all of the animals within raged for a turn, the most powerful drowned them out and made their demands first. The cat wanted to lap at her pussy and devour her cream, the wolf wanted to mark her throat as it fucked her from behind and the grizzly wanted to rip the sheets on either side of her fragile body as he pounded into her hot cunt over and over again.

He released Trey in the same motion as he rose and snagged her around the waist. She gasped and her blue eyes rose to his face, going wide in fear. He bent at the waist and wrapped an arm under her knees.

“W-what are you d-doing?” she stammered when he lifted her like a husband would, swinging her effortlessly into his arms as if to cross a threshold.

He didn’t look away, wanting her to see his shifting irises, allowing his beasts to see her just as she witnessed them. Twin pools of midnight blue were eclipsed as the pupils enlarged, dilating until only a sliver of color was present.

“What I should have done a month ago.” His voice was no longer wholly man, syllables rumbly as his vocal cords shifted and rippled.

The muted whispers surrounding them didn’t matter. He jumped from the stage and left Trey to recover. Too long he’d waited, but no more. He would mate her and claim her. They had time to work out the kinks after. She might not understand what was happening but given time she would yearn for him in the same manner. Regardless of past entanglements or reservations—even if she wasn’t shifter but human—a mated female always came to her intended.

“Hold it right there, Diskant.” Brett barred his path with a small casting wand clutched in his hand. To the random observer it might look like a miniature baseball bat but Diskant was smart enough to know one solid tap to the head would knock him out for several hours. “Put the girl down.”

“Don’t try to stop me, lokkur.” He growled and brought the small body in his arms closer to his chest. “She is my mate. Nothing you do will stop what’s been set into motion.”

Pinkie’s strangled whimper as she began to struggle and thrash touched something inside of him and, for the first time, he smelled more than an understandable amount of anxiety.

Terror burned his nose like red pepper and traveled to the back of his throat, nearly choking him. Something he said obviously frightened her, but what?

Realization hit unexpectedly.

She was obviously human, but could she possibly know what his declaration meant? Had working around preternatural creatures caused her to come to an awareness of some kind?

Did she know what he was?

“Be still.” He lowered his voice and chastised into the delicate shell of her ear, refusing to lessen his hold, testing his theory. “You stopped me before I tore apart my friend on the stage and I’m willing to guess it was to keep the police from being called in after the last time. Did you know that outburst was over a petty squabble? One of the leopards padded across a wolf’s foot, refused to apologize and it was on. But that was nothing compared to what it could have been. Take fighting for our mates. It’s not smart to have shifters fighting over their females. In fact, it gets downright messy.”

She went silent and he listened to the muted whispers of air she drew through her nose. She definitely knew what he was, what all of them were. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he wasn’t going to waste time in the club asking.

They had more important issues to discuss.

“Come with me willingly,” he commanded in a throaty timbre, “or you can expect just that. Brett won’t let you leave with me unless you indicate it’s what you want, and I’m ready to make a go of it with him if he tries to intervene. Hell or high water, Pinkie, I’m not leaving without you. And no, that’s not a threat. It’s a bloody fucking promise.”

“Ava? Do you mind explaining what the hell is going on?” Brett glared at the bundle in his arms and Diskant fought the grin that threatened to surface when he learned his mate’s chosen name. It was beautiful, without question, but for weeks he’d thought of her as Pinkie, and he couldn’t imagine referring to her as anything else.

“I told you a lap dance was a bad idea.” She glanced up at Diskant briefly before returning her attention to the warlocke and muttering, “I didn’t realize he’d be here tonight.”

“So you do know him?” Brett didn’t seem convinced. A sharp nod was her answer and Brett’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.” Her voice was steady now and the fear Diskant had scented was replaced by anger. “I told you I didn’t need to get on the stage tonight. You didn’t listen. If you had we could have avoided this entire fiasco.”

“I wasn’t aware you are involved with someone.”

For a moment Diskant saw red. Was Brett interested in his female? Was this more than the concern of an employer for his employee? Outrage and fury coursed through him. He’d rip the magic man’s testicles off and feed them to him.

One by goddamn one.

“Now you are,” Diskant responded sharply, before Ava could.

“I wasn’t talking to you—”

“Damn it!” Ava yelled. “I don’t broadcast the goings-on of my personal life at the bar. I don’t owe you an explanation. Piss off!”

“Satisfied?” Diskant didn’t wait for a response, moved around the warlocke and strode purposefully toward the hallway. Nathan was exactly where he’d left him and moved cautiously aside and lowered his gaze to stare at the floor.

Reminded of the friend left face-up on the stage, Diskant made a mental note to call Trey in the morning to find out what the fuck was what—but not tonight. Tonight he was going to inform the tiny female in his arms that she would never touch another male because she was intended solely for him. As generous as he was with the stares and sexual comments earlier, he wasn’t one to share. That would only worsen once he was lodged deep within her and came while cradled inside those snug inner walls that would clench and milk his cock like a fisting second skin.

The wetness in his leathers told him the slit in the tip was oozing, aching and heavy balls armed and ready to pump his seed into his mate’s womb and seal the first mark between them. The other two marks would involve her implicit trust and willingness, but they didn’t have to happen overnight. Most shifters with human mates didn’t bloodbond for several months, taking time to prepare for the multitude of changes that went along with bonding to a shifter.

Chavez’s wrinkled face was waiting when he strolled into the kitchen. The chef’s brown eyes widened slightly when they settled upon Pinkie but otherwise he kept what he was thinking to himself.

“Is that for me?” Diskant lifted the hand under her knees and pointed at a large paper bag that was overflowing with Styrofoam boxes.

“We had some of the chicken parmesan left from a party upstairs. I figured it was better to give it to you instead of throwing it in the trash.”

Yes sir, Chavez always delivered.

Snagging the dual reedlike handles with his hooked index finger, he instructed, “Charge it to my account.”

“I already did.”

Diskant grinned and walked past the smaller man, nodding his thanks to the gawking line cook who opened the door wide and stepped aside. When they exited the building and the door closed with a loud report, Pinkie came to life again, struggling wildly.

“Put me down, right now!” she screeched. “I mean it, I’ll scream!”

Shifting her slightly, he growled, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to put the bag down, bend you over my knee and turn that beautiful little ass of yours a nice shade of red.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She sounded skeptical but the thrashing ceased.

“Don’t count on it. I’ve been in hell the last few weeks. Delivering a small dose of what I’ve suffered to your derriere might be just what the doctor ordered.”

“I can’t be your mate,” she argued hoarsely. “You know that, right? It’s not possible.”

He stopped in front of his bike and climbed aboard, keeping her weight balanced with the arm under her legs. “And why is that?”

“I’m human,” she answered as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

“And?” He situated her across his lap and used his free arm to retrieve the bag and place it in her lap.

“And nothing!”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing to me, baby.”

She started struggling again, nearly sending the bag to the concrete in her efforts to gain freedom. “Damn it, it won’t work, there is no way—”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and arms, forcing her to go still. “Why won’t it work? Tell me.”

“You’ll…you’ll…” She shrugged after a moment, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at him.

Lowering his voice an octave, he prodded, “I’ll what?”

“You’ll hurt me,” she expelled in a rush. “I’ve heard rumors of what it’s like, and in case you haven’t noticed I’m a third your size.”

For the first time in his life his heart actually felt laden with an invisible weight. She might know about shifters but she didn’t know about shifters. A male would die before he ever harmed his mate. It was ingrained from the moment of birth, buried deeply within, an instinct to protect and defend, to nurture and cherish.

Grasping her chin, he forced her to meet his eyes. “I would never hurt you. Believe what you will about me, my kind and our lifestyle. But trust in this. To hurt you would be to hurt myself. We are connected, and through that bond we will share both pain and pleasure.”

Arousal tinted the air and he struggled not to respond to her need. He could sense her confusion and doubt, her uncertainty and fear. First he had to take her home. There he would feed her, talk to her, soothe her and, ultimately, claim her.

Caressing her cheek with his thumb, he whispered, “I’m going to take you home with me. This thing between us isn’t going to go away. I promise to be as patient as I can and to answer any questions you have. Just don’t shut me out. That’s all I ask.”

For a moment he worried she might argue but then she nodded. “As long as you promise not to do anything I don’t want you to do. We’re going to talk, nothing else.”

He retrieved the key from his pocket and grinned. He’d have her so needy and eager to come she wouldn’t know yes from no. Of course, he wasn’t going to tell her that. The best way to learn sometimes was by jumping in headfirst, and in this case, his head was making a beeline for the paradise between her thighs.

He started the bike and growled in approval when she wrapped her left arm beneath his jacket and clutched his ribs. “I won’t do anything unless you beg me to, how’s that?”

“Dream on,” she muttered and he just knew she was rolling her eyes.

Bending slightly at the waist, he revved up the bike and purred, “Hang on, Ava mine. From here on in, it’s going to be one hell of a ride.”