Marked

Chapter One

Chloe Bryant studied the moon, shivering despite the fact the glowing orb wasn’t entirely full—yet. For two more nights it was safe for the average person to venture into the city. Although supernatural creatures would be out and about, none would slip into violent tendencies.

At least, she hoped they wouldn’t.

A loud, ear-piercing shrill attracted her attention. She looked out the window of the cab, watching a police car rush by. The blue and red lights on the top flashed like Christmas lights, bright and blinding. Sadly, the sight didn’t give her a large measure of comfort. Mortal law enforcement could only serve and protect in a limited capacity. She hadn’t been born before the world discovered things like vampires and werewolves were real but she’d heard about how things used to be. Human governments had changed decades ago, after they’d discovered they were pretty much powerless against things that went bump in the night.

When you couldn’t fight an enemy, you acclimated.

Fight the fights you could win. Turn a blind eye to those you’d lose.

The cabbie shifted in his seat and hit the meter. “Cash or credit?”

“Credit.”

She tried not to fidget as the driver—a man who wasn’t entirely human—pushed a few buttons on the dash. The device for credit cards bolted into the mesh screen separating the front and back seats blinked to life. Trying not to wince at the ungodly cost, she swiped her card and pushed the necessary buttons to complete the transaction. Her heart raced, fear and anxiety bleeding together.

The driver looked at her through the rearview mirror, his eyes an iridescent shade of red. “It’s not too late to go home, Little Red,” he said quietly, the words a throaty whisper. “The big, bad wolves will eat you up.”

“Excuse me?”

“A human shouldn’t be alone around here.”

She started, her gaze meeting his through the mirror. “How did you know?”

“That you’re human?” When she nodded, staring at the man in horror, he laughed. “Are you kidding?” Rotating in his seat, he studied her. “Have you looked in a mirror recently? You scream young, innocent and human. Those eyes of yours might fool some people but not me.” He tapped the tip of his nose and sniffed. “My sense of smell is better than most. You’re different but you’re definitely human.”

She felt a blush heat her cheeks. So he’d noticed her oddly colored green irises—irises that had started to change recently. Yes, she was different. How? She didn’t know. She was only aware of the mark on her wrist that had seemed to come to life in the last few weeks. Strange sensations and occurrences had soon followed, starting with sensitivity to scents. After she’d gotten her nose under control, her sense of taste kicked in.

Gorging on meat? Fine and dandy. Nibbling on salad and leafy veggies? No way in hell. Even slathered in dressing, a salad tasted like sandpaper. Her stomach and taste buds rebelled, modifying her food choices.

Then the changes in her body had started.

Her skin had started itching without warning, and the mark etched into her flesh sometimes burned horribly. Her grandparents had become concerned, noticing the changes in her behavior and the lightening of her irises when she became angry or upset. Their constant staring at her birthmark—at dinner, when she helped with chores or when she was relaxing in the living room—prompted her to venture to a tattoo parlor in a dangerous area to remove any trace of the dark crescent shape decorating her pale skin.

As though reminding her of its presence, her birthmark started to itch. Despite becoming a recent habit, she managed not to rub the spot. It felt as though the skin heated from the inside when she thought about the inch-long crescent shape, throbbing in harmony with the drumming of her heart. Since her mother had died when she was only a baby—leaving her in the care of her grandparents—she was afraid to ask too many questions about the damn thing.

Gram and Gramps didn’t like the reddened skin and told her she could never let anyone see it. To complicate matters, the only person she could talk to was her best friend. Of course, personal conversations of the kooky-kind only happened when Rachel was in the mood to discuss such things. Her childhood confidante seemed as skeeved-out by the strange mark as her family. Not to mention Rachel tended to avoid things that made her feel uncomfortable—meaning all things preternatural. That was the primary reason Chloe had made the trip to The Wolf’s Den alone, without asking Rachel to tag along.

“Listen.” The driver cocked his head, watching her closely. She tried not to stare at his slightly pointed ears, wondering for a moment precisely what kind of creature he was. “Once you leave this car, you’re on your own. A temptation like you won’t make it out of The Wolf’s Den. Is what you’re here for worth the risk?”

A shiver ran down her spine and she averted her eyes.

Was it worth the risk? Hell if she knew.

She hadn’t thought coming to Atrum Hill—a dangerous part of Black County—would be that dangerous. All she wanted was to slap a tattoo over the mark on her wrist. She didn’t plan on sticking around. In fact, she’d programmed the cab company’s phone number into her cell. Her grandparents were celebrating their anniversary with dinner and a movie so time wasn’t an issue. If she stayed inside the parlor, no one would see her. She just had to make it inside, get what she came for and return home before midnight like a modern day Cinderella.

But why do you want to make it inside? What is it about this place you can’t shake?

“It’s worth the risk,” she mumbled, getting back on track. She was here now. There was no way she was running like a coward.

“You’re sure?”

No, she wasn’t sure. That was the reason she hadn’t climbed out of the vehicle. She was waiting for a dose of courage to kick in. Her birthmark ached, a sharp, biting burn like needles in her skin. An inner compulsion told her she was doing the right thing, even though she had no idea what the right thing was.

Damn it.

Hiding the mark wouldn’t stop the weird things she’d been experiencing recently—things her doctor hadn’t been able to explain. Anxiety. An increased appetite. Dreams of a man who made her heart race and her body tingle.

She’d never seen her dream lover’s face, but she couldn’t deny the connection they shared. Somehow she knew him, and it was more than dreams of sexual grandeur. Deep down the man felt far more important. It wasn’t about sex. It was about a deeper bond, bringing them closer and closer together. She knew one day the dreams would take on an importance in her life. She just didn’t know how or why. If she were being honest, during the last few weeks nothing seemed to make a whole lot of sense.

“If money is an issue,” the driver offered when she didn’t respond, “I know of a parlor you can visit in the county. But I have to warn you, you get what you pay for.”

Damn it.

What he said was true enough. Human tattoo artists could give her what she wanted. However, they didn’t appeal to her—they didn’t call to her—like The Wolf’s Den. Something deep inside her felt drawn to the place. Why? It was another mystery she’d yet to solve. She’d never ventured to Atrum Hill before, viewing the city only through the television when she watched the news. Her friends avoided the area and her grandfather would kill her for even thinking about coming here.

If Gramps finds out, there’ll be hell to pay.

“Thank you for the concern but money isn’t an issue.” She tried to sound amicable but the man’s interference was beginning to annoy her. “I’ve waited weeks for this appointment. I’m not backing out.”

The driver’s eyes narrowed. He pulled his lips back and she saw pointed canines. “Then by all means.” He motioned to the door and snapped his fingers. “Go get what you came for. I have a job to do.”

Asshole.

“We don’t want to keep you from that, do we?” she snapped, flustered by her aggravation and spider web-thin nerves. “You were the one who wanted to talk. I was being polite.”

Her shaking fingers slipped on the handle but she managed to open the door. Cold autumn air slapped her in the face, taking her breath away. Atrum Hill was aptly named—a small city nestled on top of a mountain. The temperatures were always lower here, although she didn’t believe the rumors it was due to the supernatural residents and not Mother Nature. Placing her feet on the concrete, she steadied herself and climbed out. Her jacket wasn’t enough to ward off the elements, allowing the wind to cut through her clothing.

“Give the company a call if you decide it’s too much for you. We can have a driver here in ten minutes.” He reached for the gearshift and put the car into drive, waiting for her to close the door. “Good luck, babe. You’re going to need it.”

She scowled at the nosy man and used all the strength she possessed to slam the door. To her extreme disappointment, he didn’t seem bothered by her outburst. The cab took off, traveling toward the heart of the city. Lifting her head, she looked at the building directly in front of her. For a split second an odd blast of heat swept through her, obliterating the cold.

The Wolf’s Den.

A couple of cars were parked out front, next to an intimidating-looking motorcycle. The outline of a howling wolf on the sign above the brick building seemed to mock her, The Wolf’s Den written in a clear, bold script beside it. The red neon sign in the large glass window cast a shadow on the sidewalk next to the door, the word OPEN clearly visible. She couldn’t see through the glass, so she didn’t know how many people were inside.

She took deep breaths, telling herself to remain calm. It was nerves again. Making her think the worst. The parlor was inside the city limits but not by much. In fact, if she put her sneakers to the test she could probably run the mile-long distance to the county line. Police patrolled that area more heavily, keeping their mortal residents safe from their preternatural counterparts.

Summoning as much courage as she could, she walked toward the door, opened her bag and removed a few pieces of paper. She wasn’t sure how big the tattoo would need to be so she’d printed the image in several sizes. She’d chosen to go with a simple design—a butterfly—that would mask the red hue on her skin. The tattoo would be understated, enough to notice but not draw attention.

To her relief, the shop seemed just like any other as she opened the door and stepped inside. There were framed images along the walls. A couch and several chairs created a sitting area. The large circular counter in front had a cash register and a few portfolios.

See, it’s not so bad. You’re finally here. You can see what all the fuss is about, get some ink and put this all behind you.

Tension drained from her. Although it was chilly inside the building, warmth crept into her skin. She took a look around, searching for people. Voices drifted from a hallway behind the counter, the cadences deep and masculine. She shook off her worry, remembering the artist who’d booked her appointment. Glancing at the paper in her hand, she saw the information she’d jotted down.

The Wolf’s Den. Thursday. September 13^th. 7:30.

Jackson Donovan.

Out of habit, she went to look at her watch and released an annoyed sigh. One of the positive aspects of having an unwanted birthmark on your wrist—it was easily covered with jewelry. Unfortunately, she’d removed the timepiece before she came, knowing she’d have to take it off anyway. She glanced around until she found a clock nestled at the top of the wall.

Seven twenty-seven. Right on time.

The soft chatter drifting from the hallway stopped. She heard a chair squeak followed by heavy footsteps. Her heart throbbed inside her chest and her palms went clammy. The person she’d spoken with when she’d made her appointment hadn’t given her his name, but he’d sounded like a normal man. She’d assumed that maybe the owner hired human help. But what if she was wrong? Perhaps it wasn’t easy to pinpoint a werewolf.

Maybe they look like everyone else?

A figure came around the corner, hidden by shadow. Goodness he was enormous—well over six feet—with shoulders that seemed to swallow the hallway. She didn’t want to stare but she couldn’t help herself. With each step more of him was revealed, inch by slow inch. She started with his scuffed boots and worked her way up. Worn jeans hugged his thighs, coming up to a tapered waist. The T-shirt shielding his torso was snug, revealing the outline of his muscular stomach.

She swallowed down the knot forming in her throat, waiting to see his face. Dark stubble shadowed his chin and jaw, matching hair that brushed his shoulders. The moment he stepped into the light she inhaled raggedly. His brows were full, positioned perfectly over eyes the shade of autumn leaves. They appeared almost gold, the color vibrant and stunning.

Gorgeous.

The man was absolute perfection.

Her birthmark burned white-hot, yanking her focus from the eye candy she’d been ogling. She covered the spot with her hand, biting back a wince. The papers slipped from her fingers and drifted onto the counter. She realized how she must have looked—grasping at her wrist, dropping her things, unable to meet the man’s gaze.

Just great. So much for playing it cool.

“Sorry,” she mumbled and tried to ignore the ache in her wrist, reaching for the papers as she shifted her purse on her shoulder.

The man beat her to the punch, moving so fast she took an alarmed step back. She lifted her eyes from the large hands holding her belongings, his fingers thick and long, his nails neatly trimmed. His cologne drifted to her nose and her knees almost caved. A balmy cloud covered her, making the room spin. He smelled as good as he looked—a mixture of fresh spring rain along with a woodsy scent that sent an electric jolt from her stomach to her sex.

“Chloe Bryant?” he asked, the words a throaty timbre of sexual promise.

She closed her eyes. He sounded so familiar, as though they’d met somewhere before. “Yes,” she whispered, reminding herself to breathe.

What’s wrong with me?

“Son of a bitch.” He sounded like he was coming closer, walking around the counter. “Let’s get you in the back before someone sees you.”

Sounded like a plan. Right now she couldn’t move. It felt like her feet were rooted to the floor by invisible weights. Her heart was racing, her birthmark pulsing. She opened her eyes when his hand wrapped around her forearm. The spell wasn’t broken but her body did obey her commands. She followed as he guided her to a room on the left of the hallway. She wondered why it didn’t frighten her when he closed the door behind them.

He was a stranger, after all.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said softly and spun her around.

Their hands brushed in a whisper of skin against skin. In an instant, a connection was made. Something inside her reached out to him, desperate for a deeper link. The fuzzy sensation in her stomach exploded, a tidal wave of heat erupting from her pussy. Time seemed to stand still, the walls of the midsized room closing in. She swayed, afraid she might fall flat-faced on the floor. Her breasts felt oddly heavy and swollen, her soft cotton panties suddenly uncomfortable against her clit.

She peered up, meeting the gaze of the ginormous man in front of her.

Oh no.

She knew who he was. She’d done things to him in her dreams that had caused her to wake up on the brink of orgasm—sweaty, panting and shaken by the experience. She didn’t know his name but she’d be willing to bet she could identify every inch of his body without the clothes. He’d have a tribal tattoo on his biceps that extended to his shoulder, the design intricate and mesmerizing.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.

Her fantasy lover was here, standing right in front of her.

And she wasn’t asleep.

“It’s you,” she rasped, her throat suddenly tight, staring into the man’s golden eyes.

It’s her.

Jackson Donovan attempted to shake off his shock. He’d known his mate would find him. Dreamsharing only occurred when a female was ready to mate, and his had come at him like a freight train. She’d been nervous but eager in their encounters, shaking off her inhibitions as though she wasn’t aware the dreams were real. He’d known it was in a female wolf’s nature to play hard to get, so he’d bided his time.

Once a woman got a taste of her male, she’d instinctually track him down. Distance wasn’t a factor. Instinct paved the way. What he hadn’t known was the woman who haunted his nights would show up at his shop for a tattoo, or that she’d be human.

Correction. Half-human.

She was a combination of both—wolf and woman—each scent unique and undeniable. Judging by her response to him, she’d never even seen a werewolf before. That being said, he was certain she didn’t know what she was.

Everything slowly came together, providing him with a clearer understanding of his mate. She hadn’t known the dreams were being shared. She hadn’t had a clue what was taking place between them. If that was the case, what in the hell was she doing here? Where had she come from?

He drew a breath, taking in her scent. Pure feminine heat assailed him, clean and rich, the hot fragrance of her cunt slamming into his lungs. She smelled good enough to eat, as sweet and warm as honey. He’d drown in her, lapping at her slit until she came long and hard. Afterward he’d bury himself inside her, fucking them both to oblivion, claiming her in every way imaginable.

What the fuck?

His muscles tensed, his wolf growling in his head. He fought for control, trying to ice his desire. She was human, not wolf. He could scare her if he didn’t watch himself. If he wasn’t careful he could also hurt her, and a werewolf never harmed his mate. He was shaken by his lack of control, caught off guard by how she affected him. His primal urges rushed to the forefront, his wolf ready to take over.

Realization hit, hard and fast.

Damn. She’s on the brink of her season.

A part of him wanted to rage at the injustice of her predicament. Due to her genetics, she might not able to shift. Most wolves considered the inability to change a weakness. Hell, it was one of the reasons humans weren’t mated with unless the man couldn’t resist the nature of his beast. Being half-and-half wasn’t easy, not if you lived a life among a pack.

Fuck. The pack.

It was very possible they’d shit a brick when he introduced her to them, especially if she wasn’t able to shift. Stability was always an issue when it came to wolves but with the tension between the packs in the area things had become worse. The men and women who looked to him for balance would expect their Alpha to do the right thing—to put their well-being over his—even if it meant turning his back on the one woman meant for him.

He suppressed a snarl, fighting for control.He wasn’t letting his mate walk out of his life. Not after he’d waited so long for her. Somehow he’d make things work. It was his responsibility to protect his female and his people. At his age, he’d seen and survived a lot of shit. He’d be damned if he let his mating come in the way of what he’d worked so hard to accomplish.

“My name’s Jackson.” He studied her closely, resisting the urge to reach out and see if her skin was as soft as it appeared. He didn’t want to frighten her more than she already was. “Do you know why you’re here? Do you understand what’s happening to you?”

“What kind of question is that?” She frowned, her arched brows furrowing. “I’m here to get a tattoo.”

Shit. She had no idea what was going on.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?” Frown lines deepened, tugging at the corners of her mouth. “This is so weird. I know you but I don’t. And I feel so strange. It’s like I took a trip down the rabbit hole.”

He forced his hands into fists, trembling with the effort not to pull her into his arms. His fingers itched with the need to touch her, his cock straining against the sharp bite of his zipper. The metal teeth subdued his wolf, the sharp lance of pain into his engorged flesh more than welcome. She needed patient and gentle—two traits he seriously lacked.

“Do you know what’s happening to you?” he repeated. Obviously she didn’t, but he had to know. He had to be certain.

She cocked her head to the side, a puzzled expression on her face. “I don’t think so.” Something seemed to dawn on her. Her brows lifted, her plush lips parting. “Wait. Am I dreaming? Is that why you’re here?”

“No, you’re not dreaming,” he replied, trying not to growl in pleasure as she turned to him for answers. Her insecurity made him want to shroud her in his strength, ensuring she would always be safe from harm. It was his responsibility and privilege to see to her needs, something he responded to on a primal level.

“Are you sure?” She looked around the room and then peered up at him, her grass-green eyes wide, pupils dilated. Her legs shifted as though she was trying to stem her sexual excitement. “Because this doesn’t feel normal.”

Talk about an understatement.

Those green peepers of hers indicated she was from one of the most respected packs in his area—the Worthington pack, to be precise. Only Worthington wolves had eyes the color of sunlit peridot, the shade easy to identify. Unfortunately he was at odds with their Alpha and any inquiries about his mate wouldn’t be welcomed. Territory wasn’t always easily established, especially when wolves started crowding each other. Whoever had impregnated Chloe’s mother would be in deep shit. Leaving behind a half-were infant was just asking for trouble.

Who the fuck would do something so stupid?

His rock-hard dick jerked inside his pants, fueled by his female’s scent. He hadn’t been able to see her face until now. That was the way it worked with dreamsharing. The big reveal didn’t happen until a couple came face-to-face. It was nature’s way of promoting a bond that defied all things superficial, bonding a couple together on a deeper mental level. She was more beautiful than he’d pictured. Even if she was slightly younger than he imagined—in her early twenties—she was more than he’d ever hoped for. Her hair was thick, curly and strawberry blonde, the color striking against her shiny green irises.

He pictured her on his bed, those curls spread out on his pillows, her beautiful eyes glazed over as she watched him go down on her. She’d moan as he feasted on her, taking his time, licking her up like candy. He wanted to feel the sting of her nails in his scalp, hear her pleasure as she came against his tongue, the delectable taste of her cream flooding his senses. Even if she begged, he wouldn’t rush, keeping her right where he wanted her. He’d stay between her legs for hours, lapping at her cunt, taking what was his.

A thought struck him, one he didn’t like, yanking him from his erotic musings. He studied his mate—really looked at her—starting at her head and working his way to her toes.

Gavin Worthington—the Alpha of the Worthington pack—had similar coloring and features. Everyone knew he didn’t have children since Gavin and his mate despised each other. It was running joke in the area and a reminder why wolves didn’t usually mate unless they found the person intended for them.

Jackson growled as instinct told him his intuition was spot-on.

Gavin had mated Desiree Benson decades ago despite the lack of a mating bond, bringing two of the most prominent packs in the bordering states together. If Gavin had sex with a human and had left her pregnant, he wouldn’t have been able to say a word to his pack. He might even have left the female and his child to fend for themselves. Desiree would have challenged and killed a human female if her position as Lupa was threatened.

A knock at the door had Jackson spinning around, his lips pulling back as his canines lengthened. He put himself between the door and his mate, the hair on his nape rising, the wolf within snarling to protect what was his. If Chloe was Gavin’s offspring, she had a claim to the bastard Alpha’s pack. Even if she couldn’t shift, she had a God-given birthright.

That put her in danger.

The door opened, revealing the identity of their guest. Jackson’s business partner and pack Beta didn’t move, standing in the open doorway. It didn’t take long for Declan to put two and two together. Jackson’s rage was easy to scent, and the fragrance of Chloe’s desire hung heavy in the room.

“Oh shit.” Declan glanced at Chloe, his nostrils expanding as he took a deep breath and growled, “Oh fuck.”

Jackson relaxed but remained where he was, partially shielding his female from view. He’d told the Beta about the female in his dreams, warning Declan life in the pack was about to change. Since he’d never gotten violent over a woman before, he was certain Declan knew the score.

“Oh fuck is right.”

“You’ve got to get her out of here. She’s almost in season.” Declan’s eyes shifted from brown to amber. “Her mating scent is all over the place.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he muttered and shook his head.

It was hard enough keeping his hands to himself. Until he mated Chloe and marked her with his own scent she’d be like a drug to other males. Even if he stated she was his he’d have to fight any would-be suitor who wanted to take his place.

“Actually, I think I’m going to go,” Chloe said and started to inch around him, the sharp smell of her fear spreading through the room. “Coming here was a bad idea.”

I don’t think so.

Jackson reached out, snagging her by the wrist.

The contact did exactly what he knew it would.

She whimpered and cried out, sagging as he tugged her toward him. The days preceding the full moon were difficult on a female in season. She had to be feeling the changes, drawn by the desire to mate, beginning the transformation to her other form if she was able to change. Until a male—preferably the female’s mate—spent his seed inside of her, the ache would only worsen.

That’s why he’d held himself back, trying to give her space. The first touch had muddled her thoughts. A second would throw her completely off balance, until all she could think about was the sexual frustration she was sure to be experiencing.

And the poor thing didn’t have a clue what she was dealing with.

She didn’t fight or struggle, resting against his chest as he urged her closer. She felt perfect against him—exactly right. A growl of contentment carried up his throat, his wolf eager for her touch.

“What’s the matter with me? This has to be a dream. I just have to wake up.”

She sounded confused but aroused. He knew how she felt. At the moment—despite the uncertainty of their future together—he could have pounded nails with his dick.

He brought her close, snaking his free arm around her waist and meeting Declan’s gaze. “She has no idea what’s going on.”

“I kinda figured that,” Declan retorted, a smile on his face. “You didn’t tell me she’s human.”

“Half-human,” Jackson corrected and narrowed his eyes, lowering his voice. “And keep that information to yourself. I’ll address the pack when I’m ready.”

“You can’t hide her forever.” There was a warning in Declan’s tone, one that Jackson didn’t appreciate.

“I don’t plan to,” Jackson reprimanded the Beta with a snarl. He put the male in his place by looking him in the eye, forcing Declan to lower his gaze. “I need some time to sort things out before I present my mate to the pack.”

“Then I suggest you hurry. I have an appointment in fifteen minutes.” Declan took another step back, retreating into the hallway. “I’ll deal with the pack until the full moon.”

There was a reason he trusted Declan. Despite his annoying tendency to run off at the mouth, the Beta was always reliable. “I’m taking the car. Put my bike in the garage and cancel my appointments. If there’s an emergency call my cell. I’ll be in touch.”

Bending at the waist, he slid his arms beneath Chloe’s legs and back and lifted her to his chest. “Come on, sweetness.”

“Whoa, wait.” She squirmed against him, slapping at his chest. “I can’t leave with you!” When he tightened his grip, she screamed, “What do you think you’re doing? Put me down! Right now!”

“Oh man.” Declan laughed and moved to the side, giving Jackson room to pass. “You’re going to have your hands full with that one.”

“Laugh it up,” he grumbled, wrestling with the female who was struggling to break free. If he’d had more time he would have been patient with her. Unfortunately he didn’t have that luxury. “One day this’ll be you.”

“Let go!” Chloe shrieked. “Get your hands off me!”

She landed an elbow to his gut but he didn’t stop, striding for the door. He had to get her out of here while he could. If word got out that he’d found his mate—that his mate was human, for fuck’s sake—he’d have to deal with the pack, the current discord with Gavin Worthington and his mate’s moon heat.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. Focus on one thing at a time.

They made it to his car without incident but the instant her feet touched the ground she tried to run. He caught her with ease, forcing her against the side of the vehicle. There was no time like the present to establish who was boss. He wedged his thighs between hers so she could feel the hard ridge of his cock. Her eyes went wide, her full lips parting in surprise.

“I understand this is confusing but what you’re feeling isn’t going to go away. You need this.” He shoved his hips forward, pushing his pulsating length against her belly, grinding his teeth at the contact. “Over and over again. And you need it from me.”

“This is crazy,” she whispered, fingers shaking as she rested her hands on his chest. The sweet smell of her pussy drifted to his nose. She might be shaken but she was also hotter than the asphalt in summer. “We don’t even know each other.”

“Yes, we do.” He lowered his head and nuzzled her nose. “In fact, you and I have spent a lot of time together. I distinctly remember you sucking my cock a couple of nights ago.” She gasped and her whispered seductively, “Remember what I said? Do you remember what I promised?”

Her cheeks turned an attractive shade of pink. “It was just a dream.” She shook her head, breathing heavy.

“Not just a dream,” he corrected and brushed his lips against hers. “It’s called dreamsharing. There’s a difference.”

“Dreamsharing?”

Lights appeared down the road and he pulled away. In seconds he had the passenger door open and his mate seated in the car. She brought her trembling hands together in her lap, shifting from side to side.

“I’ll explain everything. You have my word. I just need you to trust me, Chloe. Give me a chance to tell you why you feel the way you do. There’s a reason you found me.”

“I just came here for a tattoo. I need to call a cab and go home.”

Fucking hell. “If you want a tattoo I’ll give you one. And if you want to go home after we’ve talked, I’ll take you. Right now we have to go. Do you understand? We can’t stay here.”

He slammed the door closed and rushed around the car. Panic made him think she’d bolt. Thankfully she didn’t, remaining safely inside the car. The headlights down the road weren’t far away now. Declan’s client was probably going to pull into the lot within seconds.

“You promise to take me home? You’re not going to do anything I don’t want?”

“Baby, if that’s what it takes to get you to listen to me, I give you my fucking word.” He removed the keys from his pocket and shoved them in the ignition. Time was ticking down. Each second created another risk he wasn’t ready to take. “Now buckle your seat belt. We’re getting out of here.”

To his immense relief, she did as he asked. He managed to put the car in reverse and pull onto the road just as a car slowed down and stopped in front of his building. Despite his enhanced vision, he couldn’t see through the tinted windows to identify who it was.

Worry about that shit later.

He put the car in gear and hit the gas, shifting in his seat, trying to get comfortable as he rushed from the shop. His board-stiff cock strained against his pants, his heart hammering a dent in his chest. Another minute and he’d have had to explain the situation to Chloe with witnesses to cement the deal. Not something he was keen on. Thank God she’d listened and didn’t try to run. At least now he had a leg to stand on.

Talk about cutting shit close.