Mine to Claim (Shadow Shifters: Damaged Hearts) (2 page)

“Ah, no thank you,” I said then finally figured it was time to get the hell out of here.

Fun was not in my vocabulary. I should have known better than to try, I should have listened to Rory when he’d called me stuck-up and high-strung. I probably should have believed when he also called me a dick-tease because the moment I turned and slipped off the stool, dumbass’s hand wrapped around my arm, pulling me back to him.

“You’re not going anywhere, cutie,” he whispered in my ear about two seconds before releasing the grossest burp I’ve ever heard or smelled.

I jerked to no avail, then looked up to see another guy standing right in front of me.

“Having a little trouble, Chris?” the new guy asked.

“Nah, I got this,” Dumbass a.k.a. Chris replied.

“No, you do not,” I added, pulling my arm until it felt like it would rip right out of its socket.

The guy in front of me actually laughed at my effort, grabbing me by the shoulders and pushing me back into Chris.

“She’s a feisty one,” he commented, his smile drooping slightly so that I figured he was in the same drunken stupor as Dumbass Chris.

My fingers clenched on the purse that was cute but dysfunctional because it was too damned small to hold my can of Mace. The tube of lipstick and condom it did hold weren’t going to be very helpful in this situation—at least not for me.

“Hot and feisty. Just how I like ‘em,” Dumbass was saying in my ear, his hands going around my waist, lifting the not-as-long-as-it-looked tank top dress up so high I was beginning to feel a draft.

“Get off!” I yelled about two seconds before the hands abruptly left my waist and I stumbled back.

I was just about to make my hasty exit when the new guy blocked my path. “Not so fast, hotness. Chris wants you and I’m starting to get into the sharing mood,” he said, running a finger down the line of my jaw.

Then there was a sound like bones cracking and New Guy’s eyes rolled back in his head before a very feminine screech escaped his lips.

Someone had broken his finger, someone who had probably also pulled Dumbass off of me and the very same someone whose pitch-black eyes were locked on mine and whose deep, husky voice asked, “Are you all right?”

CHAPTER 2

Aidan

Rum and Coke created a seamless brown color in the glass full of ice. And tasted like pure heaven as it settled in the pit of my stomach. Nothing works better to soothe the jagged edges of three hours of algorithms and computational complexities along with Professor Gunn and his thick-lens glasses, Hawaiian print shirt, and cargo shorts. He was unexpected. I had all computer geeks pegged at wearing khaki pants, tight button-down, front pocket shirts, and yeah, thick-lens glasses. It seemed natural to laugh at my own joke since registering for that class and two more along the same topics could classify me as a computer geek and I didn’t look anything like the profile I’d always imagined. Then again I’d seen things that none of the people in this bar would ever imagine, or that I wanted to see again.

When this glass is empty I’m ordering another, immediately. And possibly a third since the desired relaxation effect would last throughout the night, without the negative connotation of impaired vision and speech, loss of inhibitions, and general asshole behavior that plagued the tall oversized jock at the other end of the bar. He smelled like a distillery when he’d bumped into me a few minutes ago, spilling some of his drink. Watching now as he missed the bar stool and spilled more of that drink on the counter made me wonder how he could be so drunk when it seemed more and more of his drink ended up on the floor.

I wasn’t really amazed by the scene, it happened almost every night here. What was beginning to amaze me was that I continued to come here every night. That’s what being a loner meant, you spent all your time alone. And that’s what I’d wanted for longer than I could remember. So I took another sip of my drink and continued to watch dude down the bar, counting down the seconds until he struck out with the girl.

The girl that looked out of place and just a little bit afraid of the drunken guy now staring in her face. At first, I wanted to keep watching as a source of amusement on an otherwise dismal Friday night bar visit. Then, after seeing her, I wanted to keep watching just because. The last sip of my drink went down slowly, creating a cool path down to my stomach amidst a heat that spread with a little more speed. Relaxation was ebbed by something else, something different as I continued to stare down to the other end of the bar.

He touched her and I stood up. It was an involuntary move, one I would try valiantly to explain later. Her body was pressed against his and her fear grew. Another male approached and she wanted to run. I wanted to kill.

My hands were on him before I could think of another way to handle the situation. The bigger drunk hit the floor like a dead weight when all I did was grab his arm and twist it behind his back. You’d think someone his size would have put up a better fight, then again he’d been drinking steadily for the last hour so someone his size who’d absorbed the amount of liquor he probably had was more likely to sink like a rock.

The other one moved fast, also putting his hands on her, making a mistake he probably had no idea of. Reaching out I grabbed his finger and squeezed until he yelped and fell to his knees similar to the way his counterpart had done only seconds ago. I released him, not bothering to watch as he writhed on the floor in pain.

I looked at her again and felt the air being sucked from my lungs like a vacuum. She was clutching her purse so tightly her knuckles had gone white, her eyes wide as she stared up at me. Then the sphere that seemed to hold only us was breached as the music stopped and all who were on the dance floor seemed to converge on us. A girl with long, straight, dark hair came up behind the one close to me, clasping her shoulders and shaking while asking if she was okay. I wanted to hear the answer as well but I heard the glass shatter and felt the movement behind me about a millisecond before another wrestler-type could hit me. Grabbing his wrist I squeezed until the jagged glass slipped from his fingers. He decided fists might be better once I released him, and took a swing. He missed, but I didn’t, knocking him flat on his ass only to have the rest of his entourage circle around me.

There was shouting, cursing, girls screeching as if they were being personally attacked. The bartender had taken cover and the DJ had probably followed suit.

“Get that sonofabitch!” I heard someone yell and figured without much thought they were referring to me.

There were two ways this could go—bad and worse. I opted for bad, punching my way through the crowd steadily moving toward the back exit. Kicking through that door I burst into the alley, breaking into a run as soon as I heard the police sirens.

People poured out of the bar behind me, I could hear the patter of their feet on the cement. Everybody headed to their cars or as far away from the bar as they could manage. I moved steadily, turning down a side street where I’d parked my bike. Once I was close I slowed my trek, reaching into my pocket for my keys. I’d just lifted my leg and settled on the seat, was about to put the key in the ignition and take off when something stopped me.

“Wait!”

It was her voice. It sounded both foreign and familiar and captured my attention immediately. My head lifted slowly until our gazes met and held.

“Wait!” she repeated, running up to my bike.

Her hair had come loose from the clip that had been holding it in place, wispy brown strands flapping in her face as the evening breeze blew around them. Her cheeks were slightly red, her glossed lips parted as her breath came in quick heaves.

“What?” was my distant, yet curious reply.

“Um, I want to say thank you,” she responded, hands in front of her nervously clasping her purse.

Once more it seemed to be only the two of us. The sounds from the sirens and people running dimming as she stood closer, her eyes assessing, searching for something. From me. I had nothing to give, nothing to share, and no intention of sitting here trying to figure it out.

“You’re welcome,” I said tightly, kicking up the stand and sticking the key into the ignition.

“I don’t know who they were and I didn’t ask them to come over. They just sort of showed up even though I told him I wasn’t interested. Told him more than once as a matter of fact.”

She babbled. It should have been annoying, instead the sound of her voice rubbed sensually against the already edgy nerves in my body. I wanted to hear more, didn’t really give a damn what she was saying as long as her voice continued to soothe something deep inside me. Firming my lips and sighing inwardly, I looked at her, praying my expression screamed get away because I wasn’t sure my mouth would manage the words.

“Anyway I’m, ah, glad you showed up,” she finished, biting her bottom lip, continuing to watch me.

My body tightened everywhere at the sight of her tongue touching her lip, then even her teeth as they scraped along the plump skin. I swallowed. Hard.

The sound of sirens thankfully permeated the space, red and blue flashing lights appearing in my peripheral.

“You should get out of here,” I told her.

She didn’t move.

The sirens and the lights grew closer and I cursed.

“Get on!”

She didn’t move immediately and I held out a hand to her. “Get on or get caught. Your choice.”

One more second of hesitation and she was taking my hand, using it to leverage herself as she climbed on the bike behind me. I ignored the first sting of sensation that ripped through my arm like an electric shock. But when she was seated behind me, arms wrapping around my waist holding tight, I thought I would spontaneously combust right at that moment. With that thought I revved the engine and sped off, weaving through the three police cars that had turned down the street coming toward me.

The street was a dead end and it took a moment for one of the cars to turn around in order to pursue me. It was futile since I was on a bike and could easily jump the curb—which I did. Two blocks down there were two buildings with an atrium between them, I cut in there, driving through what might have been a scenic little area complete with a fountain and benches for comfort. The paved walkways were just wide enough for my bike to fit through the buildings, coming out on another street completely out of sight of the officers.

I continued to drive because I didn’t have a lot of other choices. I didn’t want her on my bike, with me, didn’t want the feel of her soft thighs rubbing against mine, or the luscious curves of her breasts pressing into my back. Her breath was on the back of my neck, warm, clashing with the cool breeze. I punched the gas, leaned into the next turn, and tried to tune all that physical BS out.

She shivered and held on tighter as we traveled down the main road of the city. Minutes later office buildings and those frilly little specialty stores disappeared from view. The paved road with cars parked intermittently on the side stretched forward into just road. No streetlights, just signs advising I was heading out of Alexandria and into No-Man’s Land, which is what I liked to call the small town of Victory, Virginia where Victory Gale University was located. The brochure boasted a grand two thousand and fifteen person residency. In the year I’d been here I’d recounted that number at around seven hundred because all you ever saw were the students at the school. And for as prestigious as the school was touted to be, its enrollment appeared to be way down.

Still, it served its purpose, which was to allow me the solitude to gain the last nine credits needed for my technology degree. By the end of this semester I’d be packing my things and heading out to find a job—a real job in the real world, which just happened to be against everything I’d been taught growing up.

“I live in Marsden Hall,” she yelled into my ear. “It’s on the university campus.”

This time I didn’t startle at her voice, didn’t give any indication that the sound felt like soft fingers running up and down my spine. “I know where it is,” I replied instead.

She didn’t speak again and neither did I. In fact, I think I may have broken a few speed records in my hurry to get her home and off my bike. However, when we pulled up in front of the six-story building with its redbrick walls and out-of-date windows, neither of us moved.

“Here you go,” I said over my shoulder to move her along.

Her arms remained around my waist, her palms plastered to my stomach.

“You aren’t cold?” she asked in a quiet voice. “You’re not wearing a jacket but you’re not shivering either. I can’t stop shivering.”

Her teeth did a little chatter on the last word and my body temperature raced upward just a little more. I was sensitive to everything she said, every touch, every scent and my hands gripped the handles of the bike.

“I’m hot-blooded, so sue me,” I quipped, then cleared my throat as a hurry-up-and-get-going type of command.

Her arms moved, hands gliding over my stomach, that bit of warmth moving back with her motions feeling as if she were taking my skin with her as she went. I sucked in a breath, closing my eyes, waiting, hoping this would be over soon. It had to be, for both our sakes.

She moved in extra slow motion, every step like it was costing her something, when actually it was me who was dying here. When she’d finally climbed off the bike she didn’t run up the steps into the building slamming the door closed without even looking back—which was precisely what I wanted her to do. No, instead, she stood there, holding that stupid purse in front of her again as if it were some kind of safety net, looking at me with those soft brown eyes that were the same color as the sprinkle of freckles over the bridge of her nose, and which were identical to the light color of her hair.

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before,” she told me. “I think I liked it.”

Keep looking straight, don’t say a word
. The words sounded like a good plan as they echoed in my mind, they sounded smart and I’d always been the smart Sanchez brother. Until tonight, I guess.