For a moment, she nearly caved to their mutual attraction. He was the most beautiful specimen of masculinity she’d ever seen, so damned hot it made her insides wilt. Their shared time together was as combustive as their chemistry, impossible to deny despite the pain and hurt that arose as a consequence. Then, as if her mind was aware she needed to think of more than herself and her sexual desires, she remembered her horror when she’d seen the bloodied faces of the men she’d single-handedly brought to their demise, herded through the front doors of the building that was nestled in the hills of California where no one would come looking for them.

  Men she had handed over using her ability.

  She steeled herself for his rebuttal. “I won’t sleep with you, Marshall. No matter what you do or how much I want to. You’re an abomination who turns against his own.”

  When she tried to move away, the fingers twined into the hair at her nape tightened, forcing her to meet his level stare. “What are you talking about?”

  Anger coursed through her, causing her to shake. “You had me locate those people so you could bring them in to do God knows what. I saw them through the window in my room when they arrived. I heard their screams through the walls.” As his eyes shifted back and forth, searching for answers within her gaze, she whispered, “You’re a monster. I won’t let you make me one too.”

  “You think those men and women were innocent?” He growled, and when his lips pulled away from his teeth, she saw his canines were elongated. “Do you honestly think I’d have brought you to the compound if it wasn’t important?”

  “I think that you work for humans. I was taught from an early age not to trust preternatural creatures who placed more value in man than they did their own kind.”

  “Those people you located for us were moon feeders, Mira.” His speech changed as the cat within surfaced, causing his chest to vibrate beneath her hands.

  She stopped moving, disbelieving. “What did you say?”

  “Moon feeders,” he repeated slowly, his irises glowing gold.

  She recalled the image of the people entering the door of the compound around the back, situated just so she could glimpse but not stare, surrounded by uniformed, armed officers of some kind. All of the men with silvered manacles had been Therians. Their movements were too graceful to be anything else. The women with them, however, were something she hadn’t been able to identify from a distance. Their hands were tied behind their backs, meaning they couldn’t cast runes in the air, and they were gagged, meaning they couldn’t initiate any spells.

  Could they have been witches? Using the bond with a familiar, the power of the moon, and ritual sacrifice to strengthen their magic?

  Holy Mother of God.

  She met Marshall’s intense stare and shook her head. “That’s not possible. The last moon feeders were tried and executed when I was a child. The practice has been abolished.”

  “They were killing children—including infants.” For the first time, Marshall lowered his gaze, until the rim of his hat brushed the top of her head. “We’d tracked them for months, but we couldn’t get a fix on a location. That’s why you were targeted. We needed someone to trace them.”

  “I’m telling you that it’s not possible.” She continued to argue even as her mind slid memories of the past together. “They wouldn’t risk the consequences.”

  “What consequences?” Marshall quipped. “Your council hasn’t done shit to stop the dark magic that’s been occurring in the last decade. Trust me, I know. I’m the one who cleans up their messes.”

  The truth was a harsh pill to swallow, but she couldn’t argue that black magic was becoming more and more prominent. Earth witches and white magic casters were too afraid to stand against them, cowed by the danger they represented.

  She ran her tongue over her suddenly parched lips, grappling for words. “So the people you work for, they track down fallen witches?”

  He lifted his head, staring her in the eye. “Among other things.”

  This was usually when their conversations came to an end. She wanted answers. He said he couldn’t give them. “Is that all you’re going to give me?”

  “I told you there are things I can’t share, but you’ve seen firsthand what it is I do.” He brought his hand up, until his knuckle brushed her chin. “You were never harmed during your stay at the compound, and not once were you placed in danger. That’s because the minute I recognized you for what you were to me, I laid down the rules, ensuring you’d be safe. You’re going to have to stop being so defensive and trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Her breath caught when he moved the back of his hand along her jaw in a teasing caress, his eyes tracking the movement. “I don’t know anything about you.”

  After returning his gaze to her face, he shook his head. “You know the most important thing there is to know about me. What I am and who you are to me should tell you everything you need to know.”

  “I’m not your mate.” Her stomach knotted as she said it, knowing it was a lie. “You let me go for weeks. There is no way—”

  “Don’t.” He pressed his index finger against her mouth, preventing her from continuing. “Your excuses are one thing, but don’t make up ones for me. You left at a bad fucking time, when I had obligations I couldn’t leave behind. If it weren’t for that, nothing could have kept me from you.”

  Pulling her head to the side, she said quickly, “But that proves it. The most important thing in the world to a shifter is their mate. Nothing else matters.”

  The grin he produced was menacing, and she stopped talking before he could tell her to, pressing back into the wall. His head lowered, coming closer, then closer, until his mouth hovered just above her lips.

  “Someone made you, Mira. I got word the day you hauled ass out of town.” When her eyes went wide and she gasped, the anger in his expression vanished, becoming reflective. “I’m guessing you knew that, though. Didn’t you? That’s why you took the identity of a dead woman, ran all the way to Nevada, and have been living in a shithole for the last few weeks.” Fear caused her heart to accelerate, her palms going clammy. It was true. When she’d instructed the guard at her door to take her home when she’d been given permission to leave, she’d been blindfolded, driven to an obscure place in L.A., and dropped off. When she finally managed to make it home, she discovered her apartment had been ransacked, the furniture completely destroyed.

  The residue on the carpet—a large black stain in the outline of a pentagram—told her a vengeance demon was responsible, and the only magic wielders strong enough to conjure them killed first and asked questions later. She assumed someone had learned that she’d used her ability to locate preternatural beings for Marshall, and had sent someone to make sure it wasn’t a habitual occurrence. It didn’t take long to pack what belongings were left behind and head east.

  “If you know that, then you know I can’t go back.” Her voice was a faint whisper, her terror very real. “Whoever wants me dead will make sure they don’t make the same mistake twice.”

  The anger returned, causing his facial features to sharpen. “The person who wanted you dead was Bentley King.”

  Her knees caved at the admission, her entire body erupting into violent tremors. Marshall obviously anticipated her reaction, keeping her upright with a steady hand at her waist. She allowed herself to find comfort in his embrace, if only because the name he just provided was so much more frightening than falling into bed with a shifter and getting caught in the act than pissing off one of the most powerful warlocks on the West Coast.

  Marshall buried his face into her neck, and she could hear him inhaling her scent. As he exhaled, he said, “You don’t have to worry about the worthless sack of shit, Mira. As soon as I found out who was responsible, I tracked him down and took him out. It was a good thing, too. Seems Mr. King was reaping benefits from the moon feedings. He was the person behind the uprising. That’s why he took you as such a threat.”

  “Y-You killed him?” she stammered.

  “You bet your sweet ass I did. No one fucks with my female.” He pulled away to look her in the eye, desire replacing the anger in his expression. “No one.”

  “The contract . . . the demon . . .”

  She couldn’t formulate the words or say what she needed to. Fortunately, Marshall could.

  “Done and done. When Bentley went down, his coven followed. No one is going to hurt you. I swear it. Nothing aside from a danger to you could keep me away. That’s why I didn’t come directly after you, why it took me so damned long to come to take you away from this hellhole.” He swiped at her cheeks when she blinked and the pooling tears in her eyes slipped free. “I had to make sure you were safe.”

  Weeks of fear and anxiety vanished into nothing, and the result was staggering. The relief of learning she was safe now, that she could return to her normal life and assume her own identity, was so profound she couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss him soundly or burst into tears. She hadn’t been able to eat or sleep decently in over a month, too afraid that one day she’d look up and find that the demon had returned and would drag her soul to the abyss of hell. There was nothing more frightening for a witch, especially one such as herself who had no magical defenses. She couldn’t cast magic or conjure any of the elements. Her talent, while handy, left her entirely vulnerable.

  “I have to contact my family,” she murmured as she began planning aloud. “They must be worried sick.”

  Before she’d fled, she’d called her mother in a frantic state, warned her about the demon, and told her to safeguard her childhood home and not to try to trace her until the danger had passed. That was three months ago—a lifetime. Her mother was always a worrier. Considering the length of time that had passed, she had to be frantic.

  “Your parents know you’re safe.” Marshall’s voice pulled her out of her racing thoughts, and she peered up at him. He smiled, his full lips curving and parting, revealing the smile that had the power to bring her to her knees before him. “How do you think I found you? The people I work for have a long reach, but it’s difficult for them to locate our kind. I had to think outside of the box.”

  For a moment, she considered arguing, but stopped when she accepted it had to be true. She’d hidden herself too well, changing her name entirely and forgoing any magic that could make it possible to track her down. The only way it could be done, in her circumstance, was by a close relative using a direct blood tie and the calling that existed between them.

  “They traced my location?”

  He shook his head, smiling. “You hid yourself too well for that. All they gave me was a general area.”

  “Vegas?”

  His smile broadened, and he chuckled. “Nevada.”

  “Nevada?” She stared at him in shock. Vegas would be hard enough to locate one person in, but the entire state?

  “I called in some favors after they pointed me in the right direction.”

  “So . . . you told them about us?” She breathed the words, chest heaving as her body began to warm and her skin began to tingle. The threat of danger was no longer present, her actions now becoming charged by something else altogether. Marshall’s unique scent was stronger, more potent. She recognized what it meant, knowing full well that her time of running was nearing an end—and for the first time since he’d betrayed her, she realized she didn’t want to.

  “Well, that depends.” He removed his hat and tossed it onto the counter, sending strands of glorious raven black across his brow, and lowered his head until their noses brushed.

  She swooned at the contact, the silken threads of his hair tickling her temple. “Depends?”

  “On what you’re asking.”

  He rotated his head, until his lips brushed hers softly, the bristles on his chin following the path as he lifted away only to return once more. “If you want to know if I told them about how we met, then no, I didn’t tell them. Some secrets are meant to be kept. But if you want to know if I told them that you’re mine, that I’m lost without you, that I’d do anything and everything in my power to make you happy and keep you safe . . .”

  His lips hovered over hers, his breath warm against her mouth as his eyes lifted until their gazes were locked.

  “Then yes, darlin’. I told them all about us.”

  Chapter Three

  Uncertainty, confusion, and desire—each emotion was right there on Mira’s face. She remained still and passive against him, but he could feel the racing of her heart, could see the pounding of her pulse beneath the tender skin of her neck, and scent the sweet and succulent cream of her sex as her arousal increased.

  The time had come to take her, to lose himself in the haven of her body, to begin what would become the rest of their lives together. They would have issues to sort through, important decisions to make. Yet good or bad, none of it truly mattered—not really. This was what he was created for, and although she wasn’t yet aware of it, so was she.

  When she didn’t respond, he continued, “They were shocked at first—your mother especially.” He grinned at her curious expression and clarified, “She told me that you were allergic to cats.”

  She blushed again and glanced away, her cheeks becoming a cock-rocking shade of red. “Not all of them.”

  Despite his determination to keep his own lust in check, he knew that his pheromones were increasing in strength, the jaguar within no longer willing to take the time to introduce the sultry female to their mating. The beast wanted to lap at her sex, nip at her flesh, and torment her until he finally buried his cock from tip to hilt inside her warm satin depths.

  The one night he had been given a glimpse of her—just before his men busted down the door to bring her in—his fingers had parted her, slid inside, and teased her soft and incredibly snug vaginal walls. She’d been blistering for him, so hot she burned his fingers. The memory was enough to keep sleep at bay on more than one night, forcing him to take far too many cold showers as he stroked himself to empty release after empty release. Fortunately, there was no reason for that to happen again. Not with her clutched in his arms, her heady scent drawing him in and taunting him to take that final step, to bring her into his keeping, to cement their union and stake his claim. “Mira . . .” He studied her from behind his lashes, aching with want, and surprised her when he nipped her lower lip only to soothe the sting with his tongue.

  When she whimpered, went limp, and grasped his arms, he wrapped a hand in her hair, yanked her to his chest, and kissed her deeply. Taking complete control as her lips parted, he claimed her mouth, dominating her, mastering her. When he pulled away, her lids were lowered and her pupils were enlarged. He could smell the heavy scent of feminine honey at the apex of her thighs and knew if he slid his hand into her panties and sought the treasure hidden beneath the thin cotton, he would find that she was drenched with need.

  “I’m going to carry you into the bedroom,” he warned as he bowed over and wrapped his free arm under her knees.

  There was no resistance on her part, just a willing compliance as she wound her arms around his neck and did as he asked. Five long strides and he stood before the bed. He didn’t give her the chance to balk, too sexed to think of anything but getting her undressed and helpless beneath him.

  His mouth covered hers as he bent over, placed her on the bed, and shucked free of his coat. The moment it fell from his shoulders, he removed his shoulder holster and gun, tossed the leather and metal on top of his coat, and pushed forward, forcing her onto her back as his body covered hers and pressed her into the mattress.

  She tugged his T-shirt from his jeans, her fingertips brushing against his stomach as she pulled the garment free and pulled it over his head. When the obstruction was gone, she placed her hands on his shoulders, causing the muscles beneath her palms to ripple, and slid them down his pectoral muscles, across the planes of his stomach, until her fingers rested on his belt buckle.

  He reciprocated her attention by tugging at her pants. They slid down her hips, revealing valleys and crevices protected by stretchy red cotton and lace. Goose bumps were scattered across her skin, her flesh slightly pebbled as he lowered his head, pressed his lips to her thighs, and followed the path the pants created as he pulled them down. Her scent was so strong he had to hold his breath and strive for calm. Now wasn’t the time to fuck her like a mindless beast. The first mating was intended to cement the bond, to bring them closer together.

  “Marshall.”

  Lifting his head, he peered up at her through his lashes, aware that, by now, his irises had to have changed completely, becoming yellow rather than green. He was greeted by a look of worry and hesitation. Although her eyes were clouded with lust, there was also a notable amount of fear within the dazzling hazel orbs.

  “No biting,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

  Disappointment coursed through him. There was nothing he longed for more than his mark on the pale skin at her shoulder that would claim her as his own and make her his mate in every sense of the word. However, even while the beast inside rebelled against the notion, the man knew she was right. Taking him into her body was one thing, becoming like him was another thing entirely. That required implicit trust and willingness, something she wasn’t ready to give him yet.

  “I won’t do anything that you don’t want,” he promised, remaining motionless as he waited for her consent to move things forward.

  “All right, then.” She fucking purred the words, sending a rush of blood to his groin, until his usually soft and worn jeans felt as if they were chafing his cock and sac. She undid the belt buckle with deft motions of her clever hands, and he growled when her hand slipped past and her fingers encircled his pulsating flesh. “Where were we?”

  This was the siren he remembered, a woman who was unashamed of her sexual desires. When they’d met at the bar for the first time and started to talk, he knew she was perfect for him. There would be none of the hesitant gestures or fear of the kind of sex he preferred, and the knowledge is what caused him to lose his head in the first place, driving him to take the lusty witch to his room above the bar and show her exactly what it meant to be worshipped by a shifter. “Just like that, sugar.” He groaned the endearment, experiencing the most exquisite agony as she squeezed his cock and worked her soft hand up and down the length. “God, just like that.”

 

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