Theirs to Claim Read online

  Theirs to Claim

  By

  LeTeisha Newton

  Copyright © September 2012, LeTeisha Newton

  Cover art by Mina Carter © September 2012

  Formatting by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  Amira Press

  Charlotte, NC 28227

  www.amirapress.com

  ISBN: 978-1-937394-66-0

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from Amira Press.

  Dedication

  For those women out there who live life on the edge. For who one just isn’t enough and they don’t apologize for it! This is for you…

  Chapter One

  The breath pumped out of her lungs like a locomotive, loud and startling in her ears. She knew he could hear it, just behind the pounding of her frantic, beating heart. She could feel him behind her, but she never looked back, just kept pounding the pavement, one foot in front of the other, as though the dogs of Hades were chasing her . . . Maybe they were. A cloying cloud of sulfur and brimstone choked her until her eyes were streaming and she gasped for those fading breaths.

  “Please,” she begged to no one and everyone, “please don’t let me die.”

  Her heels had been tossed and forgotten minutes before, and she could feel the aching and stinging in her feet, but she couldn’t stop. Frenzied thoughts passed through her head. Why had she decided to go on this blind date? Why in the hell had she let Jezzie, of all people, set it up? Why? Because murders on the quiet back roads of small-town Texas weren’t supposed to happen! Screw it. She refused to be the first.

  Biting down hard on her lip to keep her focus, Zelina tucked her pointed chin into her chest and pushed harder. She could hear her track coach in her head telling her to open her stride, not pump her legs faster. Work smarter, not harder. She shook her hands loose, fell into the old chin-to-hip motion, and tried her best to breathe. She was going to get away, and if he caught her, she was going to make sure he wouldn’t do this again.

  When Jezzie had described that Z had to give someone other than “the brothers” a shot, she’d finally given in. Brian had been handsome, charming, and smooth. Striking gray eyes, expertly chopped dark hair, and an unembellished charcoal suit made him look as though he had stepped out of GQ magazine. At least in Z’s mind it had. Jezzie was a senior editor for her publishing house. It really wouldn’t have surprised Z in the least that she knew someone who looked like him and came from that world. That he also seemed to be equally mesmerized by her natural hair twisted into a side-hold bun, streaks of blond and lighter brown throughout, and her nearly six-feet height, she thought she had it good. When she caught him checking out her nice—if she must say so herself—behind in her pencil skirt, she figured he was on the right track. She’d even liked the combination of her darker skin against his much paler flesh.

  From there, dinner had gone off without a hitch. He’d complimented her hazel eyes, her angular face, but in a way that didn’t stink of flattery. It felt as if someone was truly seeing her for the first time, and she’d let herself relax, giving her bestie a mental high five for a job well done. By the time the damn dessert course was served, she could have sworn she could hear wedding bells in the distance. He was just that good, and Z couldn’t figure out why a guy so easy with himself, no cockiness found, no need to overimpress, or stress, seemed to be single. It just didn’t ring.

  When she’d stepped out of the bathroom of the restaurant, conveniently away from prying eyes and those trying to enjoy their food, he was waiting for her with the darkest look she’d ever seen. She’d kind of gotten a clue and the shock of her life.

  Chapter Two

  “What—” was all she got out before he lunged at her.

  Fear kept her immobile for a moment until anger kicked in. Stepping back into the bathroom, nearly slipping on water on the floor, she’d taken another look at Mr. GQ. His face seemed longer, eyes sunken and dark, his hair slicked back over his scalp as though he’d been running a marathon. He looked . . . hungry. He’d continued his pursuit of her into the bathroom, and she’d seen something she never thought possible in her life. One loafer-covered foot stepped into the water, and Brian let out a wail like a friggin’ demon spawn before jumping back, smoke rising from the melting material.

  Frozen in a tableau of predator versus prey for those seconds, Z wasn’t sure what to do. Someone must have heard the sound. Surely someone would come running, wouldn’t they? But could they face whatever this thing was in front of her? Would he harm them for coming to save her? She looked over his shoulder, and Brian caught the motion.

  “No one’s going to save you here.”

  “What do you want from me? You won’t get away with this. We’re in a restaurant full of people.”

  “To answer your first question . . .” he said, smiling at her.

  Zelina felt her knees turn to water as she slid to the ground, cold and wetness seeping into her dress. Four perfect pointed teeth hung down over his bottom lip, the exact stupid lip she’d wanted to come up close and personal with at some point. Damn, what a way to spoil the mood!

  Sufficiently happy he’d gotten her attention, he continued as if her world hadn’t been totally ripped from its foundations. “Good, you understand. Now, as to the second question, the moment you got up from your seat to find your way back here, you ceased to exist. They will never hear you scream.”

  His smile made her sick to her stomach. His assurance that she was beaten served to piss her off. Just the typical a-hole who knew he got everything for nothing. Zelina, shaking in her stilettos, wasn’t going down that easy. Thinking quickly, she reached for the dampness she’d felt under her butt and splashed as much as she could at his approaching body. A lucky shot caught him across the eyes and face, dragging him to his knees. Amid the smoke and putrid smell of burning flesh, Z made a dash for the exit.

  His fingers reached for her, nails slicing gashes into her thigh, but she slid past him. She ignored the burning as much as she could, sprinting through frozen, silent bodies to reach the door. He had been right. No one was coming, and no one had even heard her scream. They all stood like left-alone marionette dolls in the restaurant, still in midstride, mouths agape on silent laughs, and even poised on the brink of a kiss. None of them could help her. She was a space in time they wouldn’t even remember.

  Chapter Three

  As the events washed over her, the same fear, helplessness, and her fight-or-flight swam around her, but Zelina pushed through it. She didn’t know how long she’d been running, but something in her told her she was running out of time, that any second she would—

  “Got you,” Brian growled in her ear, slamming her to the ground, the breath whooshing out of her lungs. She felt dazed. He flipped her over in his arms, spittle dripping from his mouth. Pockmarks marred his once-handsome face.

  The sight of him sent air careening back into her lungs, and she struggled against him, clawing at him with her nails and trying to buck him off of her. It was like a rose petal trying to force steel out of the way. He never moved, never gave.

  “Ah, ah, ah, don’t hurt my feelings like that. I just gave you the best date of your life.” He chuckled, his rancid tongue gliding over her collarbone and neck. She felt her pulse throb even more.

  “It didn’t end well. Let’s try it again. This time I’ll have a big pitcher of water for you.” Z sneered back.

  The slap happened so fast she didn’t even see him move. Fire raced along her cheek and eye socket. Her eye felt as if it was going to explode. He pulled her head roughly to one side by her hair, sniffing at her neck and nuzzling. Did they
train all men how to hit? Incapacitate, maim, kill . . . no, that was the military. She was losing her mind.

  “Your skin is like chocolate. I loved watching your pulse under your skin as you ate. As you watched me and got turned on. As your body told me it wanted me.” He scraped his teeth against her jugular, the sting biting at her. A small whimper escaped before she could stop it. He chuckled against her throat, nuzzling the skin as if he was rewarding her for the sound before his teeth scraped again, deeper.

  “Can you hear me knocking?” He mocked her before his teeth sank in. Pain exploded through her system. It was like twin knives puncturing her skin, and on each suck, they sliced through more.

  She screamed. It was all she could do, flailing against his body like a butterfly held under the paw of a lion. She knew it was futile, but she still fought. She couldn’t die knowing she hadn’t tried everything she could to survive. The edges of her vision started to darken, her arms feeling as though they were moving through quicksand. She could feel her soul slipping away. In every sawing of his fangs, she felt more of herself disappear. Tears gathered in her eyes. She was too weak to stop the overflow, and she didn’t much care. In this moment, with her life fading to the concrete, she missed Jezzie, her only family left.

  She wanted her crazy friend to pull her into her arms as she always did when times got rough. She didn’t want to know that Jezzie would be dealing with death all over again. She’d thought they both left that behind after the orphanage. Her gaze roamed until it found “their” star, Jezlina. They’d named it so long ago. Friends and sisters for life. Water thicker than any blood for them. I love you, girl, she whispered to the star in her mind, her mouth not wanting to cooperate. She prayed with all her heart it reached Jezzie as the darkness crept in.

  A flash of blue eyes, so deep they rivaled the blues of the oceans in outer space, in the face of the biggest wolf she’d ever seen in her life, streaked over her. Brian’s weight was lifted, his teeth ripping from her neck as she watched him struggle with the wolf. She really couldn’t take much more of this.

  He couldn’t hope to be as fast. The wolf darted in and out of his reach, snapping here and there until Brian was full of oozing wounds. For a moment, Zelina pitied him. Only for a moment, though. Then she was wishing for the wolf to take his fucking head off and use it as a chew toy. The thought made her feel like smiling, but she found she just didn’t have the energy. Z could feel her neck slowly bleeding out, but she didn’t have the strength to stop the loss, didn’t have the strength to try to save herself. The darkness crept in more and more. The loss of heat was sinking in, almost bone deep. In the last, all she could think of was not having had the chance to bury her face in that wolf’s fur and thank him. Silly, she knew.

  Chapter Four

  Tarquin had never seen a more beautiful, tragic creature in his life. Her skin was of the deepest chocolate, vibrant and alive despite her dangerous plight. Hair, wild and untamed, fanned around her on the pavement, silhouetting a heart-shaped face of angular features and a full, sensual mouth. It was then he saw all the blood his sensitive nose had picked up on the wind. The vampyre had done severe damage to her neck. She had angered the fiend, and he had punished her for it. A large, gaping hole was taken out of the side of her throat. It was ragged and angry, red splattering her flesh and streaking her hair with darkness under the stars.

  Her screams told him the vampyre hadn’t even used a glamour to soothe her. He’d wanted her to be afraid, wanted to taste the fear in her adrenaline-laced blood crashing into his system. That told him the vampyre was rogue and that even his own clan would be calling for his death. As a whole, vampyres felt the others in their clans, traced by blood mother to blood child. Over this connection, when one fell rogue, all of them would immediately know and seek out the fallen child to execute him. It was not something he was sure they enjoyed, but he understood the necessity of doing it. Rogues were dangerous and psychotic, always looking for the next thrill kill. To kill was against every tenant of the vampyre, but Tarquin was afraid this one might just have succeeded with his chosen meal. Her skin was slowly turning ashen, and he feared he was too late to save her despite his best efforts.

  He padded over to her, his claws clicking on the street and echoing into the night. He could have shifted, it would be much easier to transfer her that way, but the wound on her neck would be better served by his saliva in his soul form. The healing agents most people joked about their dogs having in their saliva, he possessed in astronomical proportions. It would force the blood to clot, for the body to heal itself from the inside out. As he understood, in humans, the effect would make their bodies go into a near-coma-like state until they recuperated from being forced to do in minutes what they were meant to do in months, or not at all. He was positive she wouldn’t mind the extra sleep just to have healed much faster than she ever could have on her own. Lying on his stomach near her, he shimmed in until his muzzle fit in the crook of her throat and swiped his tongue over the gaping wound in her neck.

  Everything in him froze. He’d come to her aid, scenting her from miles away, running full out until his heart felt close to bursting. Something had propelled him to search the scent out, and he could sense the danger surrounding it. Fear smelled cold, jagged, like chills running up his back in scent signatures. With the taste of her blood, now the reason was unmistakable: he had found his mate, the keeper of his soul, the protector of his heart . . . and he had almost lost her.

  Working furiously now, his heart nearly breaking, whines leaking from his muzzle, he licked faster, healing the wound in a minute. He flashed from the massive black wolf to the man, the only thing remaining of what had been before the blue of his eyes.

  Lifting her into his arms, he ignored the cool wind on his sweating six-foot-two frame. He was built with an internal temperature of one hundred four degrees. A little coolness was not going to bother him in the least. What he carried in his arms was more important. The most important thing in his life. He’d just have to convince his mate, his very human mate, of that fact—along with another few added complications, but they would get to that soon enough.

  He lifted her higher on his shoulder, resting her face in the crook of his neck. The reassuring puffs of her breath told him he’d made it in time. The vampyre, now nothing more than ash after he’d ripped his heart from his chest, had not been able to take this light away from the earth. Had he succeeded, the Alpha of the South Texas clan would have never been the same. Tarquin knew his people, and his brother, for that matter, could not maintain without his governance.

  Chapter Five

  This brought him to his next set of problems while he streaked away from the scene, leaving nothing behind of his mate, the vampyre, or himself. His brother would be waiting for him, not having asked what was pressing enough for him to suddenly leave a rather important meeting over the next delegation of the Howling. It was the gathering where an Alpha was to find or present his mate, three of which had been a complete failure for him up until this point. Looking down at the priceless treasure in his arms, he was not angered by the record. His brother, as he was Beta, would take over for him in the case of his absence from the clan. Being the eldest at times had its advantages. Also, because he was elder, he would be the one to determine the mate for them. Tarquin knew enough that this would not be a situation the human would understand. They would have to find a way around it. Fate had taken it out of all of their hands.

  As he moved, he scented his brother before he saw him. The younger by only two years, nearly unheard of in the shifter world, Rion was a force to be reckoned with. More volatile and brash then his elder, the place of Beta and protector of the throne was one he was well suited to. Love, and the fact that Tarquin was the only soul who could soundly kick his ass, kept him in line. A recently attacked mate may not be able to take him on. Though—he smiled to himself now that the fear was gone—she had sassed a vampyre who was well on his way to striking her. That took more guts t
han she probably realized.

  “Brother?” the golden wolf questioned in his mind.

  Where Tarquin was dark and brooding, Rion was light and easygoing, by appearances anyway. Many had found it to be misleading in their dealings with them. He used to say to his mother that their likenesses had gotten mixed up by the Goddess Mother somehow as a joke. In their case, it was much better to go for the “brooding” one than the “lighthearted” one. Rion had an Ivan the Terrible interior and a serene cherub appearance. It was unsettling. No one wanted his ass kicked by an angel. It just wasn’t fair.

  “Hurt,” Rion said, intruding into his thoughts.

  “She was hurt. I healed her before I moved her.”

  “Home?”

  Tarquin could feel the impression of confusion and the tail end of censure from his brother’s mind. Rion would be able to tell the woman was human. As such, she would be completely off-limits inside the compound. Their existence was one they guarded well. Humans were not ready to know that the things that went bump in the night were very real.

  “Rion, she has to come with us.”

  “Sure?” Rion’s animal soul looked over at him quickly, then to the woman, and then back again. He lifted his nose into the air.

  Tarquin remained silent, knowing Rion would catch on soon enough. He would feel the pull in her blood, the scent that rose off her flesh, and would notice the possessive way Tarquin held her close to his body.

  “Mate?”

  “Yes, Rion. This is our mate.”

  Rion’s soul form sang a great howl into the sky, acknowledging and trumpeting the coming of his mate in their lands. In wolf form, they were more primal. Communication was more in impressions and single-word sentences. The older the wolf was, the more powerful his communication. The fact that Rion had resorted to basic language meant he had let his soul form nearly take over his human side in order to reach his brother as quickly as possible. The support was not lost on him. He would have quickly closed and dismissed the meeting before throwing himself in his brother’s wake. He had probably been ready to chomp on him for leaving so suddenly without him to guard, but the events now would silence any words.