Passion's Prey: The Shadow Shifters Page 2

  They loved her, the crowd out there. Even though not one of them knew her name, the day she was born, her favorite color, her most detested food. They loved her. The Goddess and the myth she created for them.

  The song came to an end too soon, her body still humming with energy, with a need still unfulfilled. She picked up her cash, although she didn’t need it. On her way back to Havenway she’d have Zach stop her at the local House of Ruth to make her nightly contribution.

  Stepping off the stage put her into a different atmosphere. The temperature changed, and she shivered. Where was Norm with her robe? Norm was the stagehand, a young boy with glasses as thick as a beer bottle, eyes so small she almost didn’t know they were there. His body looked like he suffered from malnutrition, his face the victim of a total acne attack. But his voice was soft and always layered over the Goddess like warm rain after her performance.

  Tonight, he wasn’t there.

  She was just lifting her arms to wrap them around herself and preparing to walk down the hallway to the dressing room when she was grabbed.

  Warning alarms rang with persistence throughout her body. Every nerve standing on end as if she’d touched a live electrical wire.

  “Don’t say a word.” His voice was deeper than she’d ever heard it before, deadlier. When she looked up at him his cat’s eyes pinned her for two seconds, totally stealing her breath and any smart retort she otherwise may have come up with.

  “Not one fuckin’ word!”

  He cut his eyes from her after that order, dragging her behind him down the hall until she almost tripped and fell.

  This, Caprise thought with exasperation, was not going to end well.

  Chapter 3

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Lips of a medium thickness spread into a smile, a leering and maniacal one. Cool blue eyes stared back at him in a way that said it knew who it was speaking to and didn’t give a damn. Sabar felt a tiny bit of pride at the shifter, but an even bigger part of him was pissed the fuck off that these creatures thought it was okay to roll up on him, on his turf, whenever they got the damn urge.

  “Payback,” he said simply. “A concept I’m sure you’re familiar with, jaguar.”

  Sabar moved forward in his chair, letting his arms rest on his desk. His body still hurt, damn that bastard Faction Leader. Shifters had the ability to heal thirty times faster than humans, but there were still some injuries that could be lethal. Especially to a shifter who was being treated by a human medical researcher instead of a doctor trained to deal with the shifter anatomy. But he was alive; that was a good thing.

  “Spit it out, I don’t have all day.”

  His guest’s response was to laugh, his upper and lower incisors clearly visible. He was a killer. Sabar could see it in his eyes. And he was on a mission. Game recognized game, he thought with an inner chuckle.

  “When I get what I came for I’ll be gone.”

  “And what did you come for?”

  “It’s who.”

  Sabar figured as much. “Then who?”

  “She’s here. I followed her scent. Her name is Caprise.” He passed Sabar a picture.

  Sabar took it, rubbing his fingers over the face of the female. She was a looker. Beside him, Darel stood. His second-in-command had healed from his own wounds, probably because his weren’t as extensive as Sabar’s. Or at least that’s what Sabar chose to believe.

  “She works at the club,” Darel said.

  “Get me inside and I’ll do what I need to do then get out of your hair.”

  “Oh, yeah, you need to hurry up and get out of my hair,” Sabar said. “What’s she to you?”

  His hands came up from his lap, fingers clenching together as he bent them back, cracked his human knuckles. “My business.”

  “My fucking town!” Sabar yelled. “Now, you tell me what your plan is or we kill you right here, right now. Your choice.”

  He sat back in his chair, rubbed a hand over thick waves of hair, cut short on the sides, left to curl on the top. “She is my companheiro,” he said simply.

  “And who exactly are you?” Darel asked. “You’re not from around here—I’d know you if you were. Where are you from?”

  “You people have many questions. My name is Rolando. I am from India. That is all you need to know.”

  * * *

  Athena’s was Darel’s territory. It was where he could be the boss without any interference. He’d thought, as he lay on that fucking table across from Sabar, bleeding like a stuck pig, that he’d never stand here in the glass-encased tower room that overlooked the stage and the entire first floor of the club again.

  Yet here he was. In his rightful place doing what he was quickly coming to love.

  Lifting a glass of vodka to his lips, he took a slow sip. He looked down into tonight’s crowd, feeling the energy in the room. He scented the lust and the greed and the slovenly nature of the humans who walked through the door paying their twenty-dollar cover charge to get in. Inside the pockets of the men were wads and wads of cash that they’d happily dump into the hands of each scantily clad female who graced that stage. Yandy, the female who had been in charge of the ladies when Darel took over, would collect 50 percent of whatever the strippers walked off stage with. Those were his terms, and they were non-negotiable. The fact that the majority of the dancers were also fucking his shifters gave them incentive not to balk about the money they were losing. The sex was a welcome substitute. Stupid humans.

  Tonight, Darel wasn’t alone in the tower. It was normal to have Thunder and Black with him, his two newest backup shifters. They were both mean-ass, fresh-from-the-jungle jaguars with a penchant for Italian females and cocaine. The combination could prove dangerous sometimes, but always entertaining for Darel, who after his last brush with sex had taken to voyeurism. That doped-up chick Sabar had told him to watch had gone buck wild, trying to kill Darel as if he’d been the one to give her Sabar’s savior drug—which coincidentally was now making them a shitload of money. So no, Darel had decided to keep his dick in his pants or in his own palms for the moment. Besides, watching gave him a new buzz that he was just beginning to explore.

  This dude said his name was Rolando. He definitely had the look of a man from India with his dark brown skin and ink-black hair. His accent was here and there, as if he’d taken great time to master the English language. And his eyes, Darel didn’t trust them. Not one bit.

  The one he called his companheiro was a stripper here at Athena’s. She was new. Darel had seen her on a couple of occasions. He’d known she was a shifter and was waiting until the perfect moment to let her know that he knew. It seems that moment would be tonight as Rolando was intent on having her.

  Sabar had given Darel precise commands in this area. Check them both out to see if the distinctive companheiro calor was there, then, if it was, bring them both to him. If it wasn’t, kill Rolando and bring Sabar the girl because there had to be a reason this foreign shifter was looking for her.

  Darel wasn’t totally sure how he was going to handle the situation. As of late he’d decided to play things by ear. Sabar wasn’t handling his business the way Darel thought he should be. Especially not since Bianca’s mysterious arrival.

  When the lights went down, Darel took his seat. He motioned with a nod for Rolando to do the same. Thunder and Black would remain standing, ready at the drop of a dime if some shit should jump off.

  For the first few moments of the act all the men watched in silence. Probably all touching their elongated dicks as the Goddess worked her magic on the pole. As Darel inhaled deeply he scented that not only was Rolando excited by the show, he was enraged. Darel couldn’t help but smile, figuring he’d be jealous as hell if it were his mate on that pole shaking her ass for all these men to see and toss her some money.

  Darel had seen her before, knew her routine, the swell of her breasts and the curve of her ass. She was attractive, there was no doubt, and alluring, he’d say, give
n the way his fellow Rogues seemed transfixed by her.

  But all that changed when Darel caught a whiff of something—no, someone—else in the room. He stood, looking down into the dark crowd. With the night vision of his cat he could see as if it were daylight. And the one he searched for stuck out like a cub in a den of lions. Only this cub had massive balls, probably because he was the second hand to the East Coast FL.

  Darel smiled again. Tonight was going to be a good fucking night.

  * * *

  After years of searching, hunting, waiting, he’d found her. Rolando looked through the glass, down to the platform where she stood, moving her body, showing herself, and cringed. She was for him, dammit! Only for him!

  His companheiro. He’d told her this over and over again, and she’d lied to him. Looking him in the eye, declaring her undying love for him, taking him into her body. Then leaving without a word, taking with her a piece of him he’d ever since craved.

  But now he was here and there she was. He would have her. He’d traveled far, had begged reprieve from his leader to search for the one who would complete him. He had only a limited time to return or face the wrath of his leader—a thought that was not desirable. So he would not waste time.

  Standing, he turned toward the door in which he’d entered. But the two jaguar shifters moved with him, blocking the exit.

  “I must get her,” he said with intent.

  “Sit down until the show is over,” the lead shifter here, the one they called Darel, said without turning around.

  He was watching her, watching Rolando’s mate with a hunger that sickened Rolando. He wanted to tear that bastard’s throat out for daring to disrespect him in this manner. But he had specific instructions from his leader not to cause a scene, not to expose himself here in America. Rolando hoped like hell he could keep that promise.

  “I want to go to her now,” he restated.

  “When she’s done making my money, you can have her,” Darel said.

  The two at the door simply smiled, looking beyond him to see his companheiro once more.

  “Do you not have any respect? She is my companheiro,” he told them.

  The one with the skin as dark as night smiled, his teeth a bright contrast with his coloring. “She’s entertainment right now, homeboy.”

  At his sides Rolando’s fingers clenched and unclenched, his claws stinging just beneath his skin as they pressed forward, determined to break free. He bore down so hard on his teeth, his temples began to ache. With a cool and what he hoped was a controlled gaze, he looked through the window once more, watching as Caprise moved across the stage, just about naked. Taunting him with her betrayal and deceit, daring him to come and get her.

  Rolando never turned down a dare.

  Chapter 4

  The door closed, the clicking of the lock sliding into place echoing loudly in the small room. Caprise immediately wrenched her arm free of X’s hold. It wasn’t easy and had her stumbling back a few steps. But that was good. Space was good.

  “How dare you!” she said through clenched teeth. “Do I come to your job to manhandle you? Big idiot! That’s what you are,” she raged. Then she made a colossal error, and truth be told, if she’d claimed more of her shifter heritage she would have known better. Her instincts would have been heightened, her nostrils alert to the scent of danger.

  He’d grabbed her again before she could say a word. Spinning her around and lifting her off her feet, he slammed her ass down on the dressing table with no mercy.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re a freakin’ shifter, an elite breed, and you’re stripping in front of horny men for money. I should paddle your ass good for this stunt. What do you think your brother would say if he saw you tonight?”

  His hands gripped her forearms, shaking her every so often as if to reiterate the words he spoke—which really, with a man the size and build of X, was not at all necessary. But there was something else about his touch, another reaction besides the general irritation at his audacity. It was one Caprise had felt with him before, the one that evoked a feeling in her she did not readily accept—desire.

  “If you don’t get your hands off me you’re going to be very sorry,” she told him in a low, serious tone.

  All sorts of things were roaring through her body: intense lust, pierced by anger and by the interest that Xavier Santos-Markland had been sparking in her since the moment he’d locked her in that room.

  “So I can’t put my hands on you, but you’ll allow strangers to get their rocks off looking at your naked ass!”

  He was angry, his cat’s eyes said that much. Yellow-rimmed, with a muted green inner layer and pitch-black centers that narrowed to almond shapes and had her swallowing hard. But his touch, even though she’d told him to get off her, this was what was driving her insane. It was making her skin itch all over, had her nipples puckering, her center pulsating. She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and that only made matters worse.

  “It’s my ass” was the only reply she could come up with.

  His scent confused her senses, pushed her buttons until she felt almost frantically out of control. She should be scratching his eyes out, yelling and screaming for help. But she wasn’t. Instead she was looking into dangerous eyes, feeling an embrace that was stern, hard, almost painful, and she liked it.

  “What if I told you I didn’t like you showing off your ass?” His words were punctuated by hoarse chuffing noises that were loud and scraped against a foreign part of her.

  Inside, that beast of hers that Caprise ignored on a daily basis rose from its normal perch and stretched. “Not your call,” she told him defiantly.

  Then he let go of her arms and Caprise almost moaned with missing the contact so swiftly. She should have known he wasn’t finished with her. His thick hands roamed down her back until they were under her cheeks, gripping them tightly. Lust speared through her body at an alarming rate. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

  “Really,” she sighed then shook her head and added more persistently. “You need to take your hands off me.” Her eyes closed because his held her as captive as his touch.

  God she wanted to run, she wanted to break away from him, knock down that door and run as fast as she could. Because that’s what she did best. When things got too hard, Caprise ran hard and long in a quest for what … safety, serenity, sanity?

  She shook her head, her fingers curling over the rim of the table. Running was not an option, not anymore.

  “What I need, you little tease, is to taste you.”

  His words seemed quietly lethal, his voice laced slightly with dread. Was he questioning his own actions? No, not X. He knew what he wanted at all times and had no problems letting everyone else know. Everything about him screamed attitude, dominance, danger. There was no weakness in this man, nothing he ever did that he would end up regretting.

  But when he pulled his hands from her ass Caprise was almost certain he’d walk away. He’d say something about telling Nick and yank her ass off the table to carry her kicking and screaming back to Havenway. That’s also what he was good at—telling on her then leaving her to bear the consequences, alone. He’d never stuck up for her, never backed up what she said or did, never supported her in any way. Caprise didn’t care, it didn’t matter what he did or didn’t do because he was nothing, nobody.

  Until his hands slid to her knees, pushing them apart. X lowered himself until his mouth covered her center. She still wore the sparkly pasty that matched her costume, but he quickly used his teeth to rip that away. With a growl he spit it across the room then returned his face to the crevice between her legs. He pushed her knees out farther, extended his tongue, and licked her long with one powerful stroke.

  Her head fell back, smacking against the mirror as she gasped. Breathing was a task as her entire body trembled. His fingers dug into her skin as if he were trying to break her bones beneath. He wasn’t gentle, not one bit as his mouth tortur
ed the tight bud of her clit. Something was building in her chest, maybe a moan. No, Caprise did not moan for any man. Ever.

  His fingers moved from her knees up her thighs to pull apart the wet lips of her womanhood. He licked her over and over as if he thought to consume her entirely. Then he speared his tongue into her opening and a sound ripped free of her lips. It wasn’t a moan, but more like a purr. As good as his mouth on her felt, she wouldn’t touch him, she couldn’t. Her knuckles were probably white, she was holding on to that table so tightly.

  Caprise felt like an entrée at which he seemed overly pleased. Her mind screamed for her to clap her legs shut and get the hell away from him. Her body protested with the arch of her back and the gentle chuffing of her cat, now fully awakened thanks to X’s every lick.

  With teeth bared the feline was aroused beyond measure. So long it had waited to be summoned, to be allowed to let loose its aura. Much to Caprise’s dismay tonight seemed to be the night.

  * * *

  The one thing X knew with startling clarity was that Caprise Delgado was going to be his tonight.

  There were issues, reasons why he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing, why he should find Seth Jamison—the guard who was assigned to Caprise—and blast his ass for not keeping her locked down tight. Instead of addressing those issues he was drowning in the exquisite taste of her.

  He was wrong on so many levels. And normally that admission would be enough to halt him in his tracks. But this, what he felt when he was around her, wasn’t normal, he was convinced of that fact.

  She was delectable. X had known the minute he saw her again they would end up in this place. The verbal sparring between them over the past few weeks had only brightened the flame that had been smoldering. Seeing her tonight, surrounded by a sexual air, in a room full of horny men and scantily clad women, had pushed him beyond his breaking point.