Hour of the Lion, Cherise Sinclair [good story books to read TXT] 📗

She was no puppy. With her free foot, she snap-kicked his hand off her leg.

The bastard not only didn‘t wince, he actually grinned.

"I‘m not little." She rolled onto her knees. "I just wondered what caused scarring like that."

With fingertips, she traced one thin white line down his shoulder. Thanks to Lachlan, she recognized the marks of teeth on his arms and other shoulder.

Lots of white scars, a few were tiny and thin, parallel like Alec and Thorson‘s cat marks, three very thick ones extended all the way across his heavily muscled upper chest. When she ran her finger over them, he hummed in pleasure, and his six-pack of abdominal muscles tightened.

"Many of the scars—like those—are from hellhound claws." His voice was low, a little rough. "Rainier Territory has hellhounds. So far few have invaded the Cascade Territory." He lifted her fingers to his lips and nipped from the tips up the outside of her hand.

"Mmmmh." Her senses started to burn, then cooled again, leaving her feeling as if she had hormonal whiplash. "What are hellhounds?"

"New little shifter, you are not only fearless, but are trying to fight your need. I‘m impressed." His smile gleamed white in his tanned face before he wrapped a hand behind her neck and held her still, kissing her so thoroughly, her mind whirled. Before she could recover, he rolled her onto her back with relentless hands and straddled her.

"Hellhounds?" she managed.

"I enjoy teaching, so I will instruct you"—he clasped the bottom of her shirt—"as we progress. Hellhounds are magical, like the Daonain, only their ancestors bred with demons." His smile went savage. "They chose the dark path."

He set his hand on her breast and everything in her went still. Cold. This is wrong. He was wrong. He smelled wrong.

He froze and frowned down at her. Inhaled slowly. And suddenly he‘d moved off to squat beside her, dark eyes studying her. "You no longer want me."

"I…" God, how could she do this to someone again? "I‘m sorry."

He shook his head. "What is, is. But I had looked forward to having you."

"There‘s a lot of women down there." She felt like an idiot, trying to console a man for not being able to fuck her. "I‘d think you‘d have plenty to enjoy. The men seemed to be having fun."

"Many do, yes." His gaze shifted away. "I prefer the fighting."

Huh. There were times she‘d rather fight too, especially when she felt her emotions were at risk. Odd how she could see that now—after Calum and Alec. With the thought, everything in her longed for her two men. She pulled her mind back with an effort. "Don‘t want to let anyone too close?"

From his flinch, she‘d say she‘d scored a hit. And, then he added a comment that almost broke her heart, "I scare women. If the shifter urge to mate with the strongest didn‘t drive their need, most would run screaming back to their caves."

"Wussies."

He barked a surprised laugh. His dark eyes held a warmth that would lure any woman in. He touched her cheek. "I like you."

Pulling her to her feet with one swift move, he led her back downstairs to the center of the tavern. She felt the snap as the men‘s attention turned to her, but Zeb wrapped an arm around her and stood in place. She glanced at him.

"Somehow you arouse my protective instincts," he said, frowning. "I want that you get someone worthy. From the way the Cosantir watches you, but doesn‘t claim you, I think he‘s already had you tonight?"

She stared across the room at Calum. His black hair was still tangled from her fingers, marks from her fingernails welted his neck. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned on the bar top…a master of stillness, yet an aura of danger seemed to surround him. The memory of upstairs and how ruthless he‘d been sent so much heat through her that the very air she breathed turned thick.

Zeb grinned, ran his fingers down her flushed cheek. "Oookay. Seems the North Cascade Cosantir is as good as his rep." He glanced to where Calum stood at the end of the bar. She could almost feel the impact when Calum‘s black eyes met his, and he grunted as if gut-punched. "I pity the poor bastard who pisses that Cosantir off."

His arm turned her in the other direction. "The rancher‘s gone, but maybe the wolves‘ alpha male? Ah, wait, there‘s another cahir."

Her gaze followed his. Alec. Powerfully built, big bones and heavy muscles. So very strong.

He was leaning against a table in that deceptively lazy stance. People saw his easy smile, not the danger beneath it. Like a crackling fire, he looked all cheerful warmth…and could burn you to a crisp if you weren‘t careful. She wanted him—kissing her, on top of her, pushing inside. She took a step toward him.

"Ah, she approves," Zeb said. "I agree. He‘s a good choice—unless the brunette snags him first."

Brunette? When Vic spotted the over-abundant Sarah from Elder Village, her sensuous overload disappeared as if it had never been. The bitch was rubbing her breasts on Alec, touching him, trying to kiss him.

A snarl rumbled through Vic‘s chest and escaped. She heard Zeb murmur, "Uh-oh."

Men stepped quickly out of her way as she stalked across the tavern floor, rage searing her insides. She stopped behind the bitch.

Alec said, "I‘m not participating tonight, Sarah. Sorry. I—"

But Cleavage wasn‘t hearing him. Her plump hand ran up his chest, and then that soft hand was in Vic‘s hard grip. Sarah gasped and tried to yank away.

"Hands-off," Vic gritted. "Mine."

Sarah gave a shriek like a wounded cow. "You can‘t have him. He‘s going to be my lifemate!" And the woman swung her free hand. Her open hand.

A girlie slap? Vic growled with outrage, blocking automatically. Then she punched the skanky slut so hard that the bitch took out two men on her way ass-over-teakettle. Still growling, Vic crossed her arms, glared around the room, and repeated, "Mine."

No one