Fever Claim (The Sigma Menace) (13 page)

She paused, intending to shoot him down again. This was still too much, too soon.

“It can be in public,” Jace interjected. “Like a real date, so you can actually get to know me.”

It made sense. She was fiercely attracted to him and for all he said about being mates and her resistance, he’d been extremely patient. She found that while she may not be ready to commit to centuries together as soul mates, the idea of a date sounded nice.

“Okay.”

He smiled, a true smile reaching all the way to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. Heaven help her, her bad boy had a dimple. Between what just happened in her 
freaking office
and that smile, she was careening past infatuation to real feelings.

“Great, tomorrow at six. I’ll pick you up. Wear something casual.” He leaned in, brushed her cheek with his lips.

“Jace, I have commitment issues,” she blurted. “All this is bringing them to the forefront. I’m not ready to deal and that’s what you’ve been waiting on.”

He caressed her cheek. “You’re worth waiting for.”

As if he didn’t trust himself to not take her on the desk again, he turned abruptly and left. She stepped out to watch him walk away and groaned inwardly. Dr. Ego turned the corner at the other end of the hall, heading her way.

When he saw her, Dr. Ego’s nostrils flared, one dark eyebrow raised. Cassie prayed the copious candles in her office masked any scent of sex permeating the hallway. She stood tall, pretending her panties were still on and not laying somewhere on the floor behind her, and faced him, pulling her door a little further shut behind her.

“Dr. Egron.” What wouldn’t sound paranoid?
You’re still here?
No.
What’s up?
No, he was a dick, they weren’t that friendly. “Working late?”

“Not as late as you it seems, Dr. Stockwell,” he replied snidely, as he walked past. “I’m heading out, if you’d arm the system behind you?”

“Sure, I’ll finish up my notes and be on my way.”

“Dr. Stockwell?” His cultured voice always grated on her nerves. He faced her before he turned into the hallway Jace had went down. “Do take care, leaving so late. Crime may not be on the rise, but suspicious persons have been seen loitering in the vicinity.”

Shocked at his concern, that he could be anything but condescending, she nodded her thanks and he left.

Another warning from an unexpected source. Interesting. When she had gone running yesterday, with the woman she had been knocked down by, as they parted ways Alex called, “Watch yourself, little lady,” then grinned and ran off. Maybe she should mention it to Bennett at his next appointment.

She sank back into her office, snapped up her panties off the floor, retrieved all of her desk items, and threw them back on her desk. Then she collapsed into her chair.

Eventually, she was going to have to face her past. And she wasn’t talking about the patient she’d had committed for raving about fanged monsters hunting him in the streets and stalking his home. No, even farther back than that, before she came to live with Kaitlyn, and her aunt and uncle. Back to her deceased mother, her grieving schizophrenic father, and their life on the run.

There was a reason she took an interest in mental health. A reason why she thrived on dependability and predictability. A reason why a dependable, predictable Grant suited her as a spouse and she never went beyond overly fond of him. A major reason why an obsession, this all-consuming need for another being, terrified her.

But living without Jace, trying not to think about him these last couple of weeks, wasn’t working for her. Neither were their spontaneous sex sessions. Oh, they worked physically. Really well. But they left her in emotional turmoil. Dating him was a good start; get to know her shape-shifting ex-con bartender as just a man.

Chapter Eight

She sighed contentedly, his arm and leg draped over her as they lay together. Warm, cozy, and protected, she snuggled against him, a sleepy smile playing at her lips.

“X! Get up here! We need to talk.” A loud voice drilled right into her skull.

Fuck
! X sat up immediately awake, shaking off her dream as quickly as possible. Dreams like that were dangerous, made her want things she’d given up long ago. Gave her something even more dangerous—hope.

“Yes, ma’am,” X replied, knowing Madame G was still in her head and would hear her.
At least she can’t read thoughts
. There didn’t seem to be much Madame G couldn’t do, but if she could read thoughts, X would’ve been dead long ago.

X crawled into her standard dress: black, long-sleeved tech-wear shirt and black leather pants tucked into black combat boots. She slung her weapons belt around her waist and finished off sheathing various knives across the rest of her body. She already had some under her clothes, the ones she slept with. Gotta be ready at all times with her life.

X fluffed up her hair and gave it some attitude. It threw people off – the punk chic do. Made their first impression one to not take her seriously. She supplemented that with her candid comments, giving her the element of surprise when she needed to put someone down. Or at least put them in their place, but unfortunately in her life, putting them down was the most common outcome.

She armed her system and walked out of the room. She not only wanted to know if anyone tried to get in or succeeded at getting in, she wanted to know if Madame G ever slummed it down in the bowels of her lair.

X maneuvered though those bowels effortlessly. She could do it blindfolded if she needed to. Had, in fact, to make sure she could. It’d been almost ten years since she was brought here, she made sure she knew as much as possible about her “home.” Death targeted the unprepared.

Climbing into the elevator, she was about to hit the button for Level G, named for Madame G’s suite level, when the redheaded hooker came running in. Mental eye roll.

“What’s up Red?” X asked.

Red adjusted her tits and grinned. “I think G’s finally putting me to work.”

Another mental eye roll. If Red—
what the fuck was her name again?
—wanted to chance fate and refer to their mistress as just “G” accidently in front of her, it was her funeral—after a slow, painful death. X made sure she
always
referred to their nightmare mistress in respectful terms—even in her head.

And what did she mean finally getting put to work? Red was being used as training material for the new recruits. Training material, as in, on her back while they practiced their seduction techniques on her—rumor had it—very willing body.

X suppressed a shudder, the memory of her seduction training threatened to rise. She shoved it back into the dark depths of her brain with all things bad that had happened in the last decade.

“Going to the field?” X asked.

Red nodded excitedly and bit her lip. “Maybe.”

The elevator finally made it up through the five subfloors and the first two above ground levels of the lair to Level G. It opened up into the opulent majesty that was Madame G’s main office. If Madame G didn’t want someone there, the elevator would’ve dumped them off at the first two levels. No one got to Madame G if Madame G didn’t expect them first.

Plush red leather sofas and chairs sat off to each side of the black walnut monstrosity that was the desk. Madame G claimed red was the color of royalty but X suspected that bloodshed didn’t ruin it as quickly as regular brown leather. The floor was polished dark wood, scrubbed by the new recruits weekly. Poor bastards. If polishing was the only thing they were made to do up here they were lucky. Very lucky.

The walls had royal purple fabric hangings spaced between self-portraits of Madame G herself, over the decades. Madame G holding the head of shifter she’d decapitated, with her foot propped up on his prone body. Madame G naked from behind, astride an unknown male, her head half-turned toward the painter, her arm raised, claws extended and ready to strike the male she was atop. Madame G with five new recruits begging like dogs in front of her.

Those new recruits were probably just as willing as X had been the day she was “recruited.”

Madame G appeared out of nowhere. Red jumped, X suppressed a snicker. She expected nothing less of her mistress.

Red swooped down into a curtsy while X assumed a proper submissive position, standing with legs slightly apart, hands clasped in front where Madam G could always see them, head bowed.

“X, I’m getting impatient. Where are we at with the mating couple?” Madame G’s voice, like her appearance, had the qualities of Asian origin. X seriously doubted Madame G had ever stepped foot overseas, much less lived anywhere in Asia long enough to pick up an accent that stuck for centuries. She was old, but X heard no stories beyond those of Madame G’s terror in the States.

She probably played off her looks like X did. Madame G was tall and willowy, with pitch black, long hair kept in a high bun. She always looked down on those before her with those dark almond eyes atop high cheekbones. Her porcelain skin rarely flushed, and when it did, those in the vicinity suffered.

“Mistress, they have begun making contact again. If I have a team at the ready, we can snatch and grab on my call.”

Madame G inclined her head. “Very well. Choose your people and make it happen.”

She turned to Red, “Janice, I have an assignment that requires your special talents.”

Red—Janice—nodded excitedly.

“We need to harvest a shifter’s seed. You may need to have sex with one of those vile creatures. And from what we’ve learned of their disgusting nature, perhaps more than one. Do you think you’re strong enough?”

“Of course! Uh, Madame G,” Janice threw in to make up for any perceived disrespect. “In the name of the mission,” she stated dutifully.

“Very good,” Madame G almost purred. “X, you may go. I need to fill young Janice here in on how she can further our cause.”

X executed a half-bow and retreated to the elevator only half hearing the plan. She could almost feel Janice’s excitement growing. Janice was one of those recruits who actually volunteered for Madame G’s mission. They tended to be heavily fucked-up individuals. In Janice’s case, she was a paranormal groupie and getting to have sex with vamps on a regular basis was a dream come true. Sex with shifters would be the stuff of her messed-up fantasies: vigorous, insatiable, and none of that fatiguing bloodletting afterward.

As the door shut, X began planning who and what she would need. And mentally prepare for the look of betrayal from Cassie.

Intel came in that there was activity at The Den. Finally! Janice squirmed in her seat, the heavy bass of the club’s music vibrating through her chair making her more stimulated than she already was. Ever since Madame G told her about her assignment, planned out meticulously, they’d cut her off from her normal duties otherwise. She couldn’t have the scent of other males on her, much less vamps. Not all recruits were vamps… unfortunately. Janice was tired of human dick. They just didn’t have the stamina to satisfy her more evolved tastes.

They were very routine, Madame G had told her. The Guardians in The Den liked their ladies willing, single, and forgettable. Undercover spies of Madame G’s had studied the club and questioned the women who had been with the wolves. Each wolf did their own “thing” with the ladies. And the key to success was to wait for a night when there were three of them occupying a room in The Den.

It’d been quiet the last couple of weeks. Sigma worried their chance had passed and began brainstorming another route. Then tonight, two Guardians came in. A good sign, but it may not be enough to get the sample needed. Janice had gotten her sweet little ass over to the club as soon as the call came in from her contact.

There he was! A third Guardian known to frequent the same room as the other two, at the same time. Janice recognized him from the photos: tall, of course, with shoulder-length dark hair, a hawk-like nose and strong jawline. He was big, built like a weightlifter. Oh, she wanted to see what he had to offer. The other two Guardians were fine specimens: tall, powerfully built, and magazine cover gorgeous. This was her first foray into shifter sex and she couldn’t think of any three better to kick it off with.

She stood up and straightened her skirt, which wasn’t too loose and definitely not too tight. She wore subdued heels so she didn’t scream desperate and a light teal bra underneath a see-through billowy shirt that overlapped her skirt to help camouflage the pockets sewn into the skirt and what she had in them.

Janice sauntered up to Mason, seeing the other two wolves had taken a young blonde thing back a few minutes ago. It would be perfect timing if Mason was joining in on the legendary shifter orgies in The Den.

“Hey,” she purred, stirring her drink and taking a sip.

Mason turned, his dark eyes watching her mouth close on the straw before they burned a path down her body and back up to her face.

Her hair was not a natural red, but it looked natural the way she had it done. Blondes may get the first looks, but redheads intrigued men. She knew how to fix her hair and makeup so men would look at her and think sex, not hooker, which she most definitely was not. She was a sexual artist. She spent her life teaching female recruits how to be the same and showing the males what to watch for—and what to do when their prey took the bait.