Predator's Claim (2 page)

“Uh,” he murmured, wanting to return to the subject of seeing Charlotte again. “I once asked her. She said, and I quote, ‘Religious history is full of badass chicks. Ever hear of Joan of Arc?’”

“Well, anyway, she’s coming back on Friday.”

The pounding in his head morphed into an explosive display of fireworks worthy of a festival in Firecracker Town. His eyelids fluttered and his throat went dry. Bart felt a sudden pain in his thigh and realized he was clutching his leg so hard, he’d just about bruised himself.

Charlotte was coming back, and in two days.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked in a whisper.

“I’m telling you now. Besides,” he said, winking, “it’s not as if you’re mates, right?”

Oh, shit. He nodded, a little too fervently. “Right.” He swallowed hard, forcing the saliva past the painful lump in his throat, and stood up. “Wow. A lecturing job, huh? That’s awesome. She’ll be a proper professor.”

“Our little girl’s all grown up.”

As thrilled as he was for her, he couldn’t deny her success threw him for a loop. Sure, he had a good position at the lodge, and loved his work, but what on earth would a university lecturer think of a blue-collar security specialist at a fishing lodge? Okay, the Ursa Resort was the premier vacation spot for shifter families, but still. He wasn’t exactly Donald Trump’s bodyguard, not that he would ever want to be. “Uh, can I go now? I’ve got stuff to do.”

Ryland inclined his head like freaking lord of the castle. “By all means.”

He almost raced to the door, but then stopped and turned back to his old friend. “I’m not fired, right?”

“Not by a long shot, but if you keep shouting at kiddies, I will kick your wolfie ass.”

“Noted.” Before the second syllable of the word escaped him, Bart flew out the door. There was so much he needed to do. He had to clean up his cabin in case he had…visitors. Maybe he should put out some of that smelly stuff they advertised on TV. What did they call it? Potpourri? Maybe a scented candle would be better. Something to make his cabin smell like apple pie and not lovelorn man. Oh, and linens. Fresh linens. He wasn’t sure he’d changed them in the past two months and they were ready to walk off the bed of their own volition. And a shower. He needed a really long, cold shower.

His scar throbbed again, almost in time with the throbbing in his pants.

Charlotte would be home soon.

* * * *

Charlotte piled another worn blanket on her lap to fend off the cold as she sat in Lex Dawson’s powerboat. She gave silent thanks that, despite the snow and wintery chill, Lake Gemini never quite froze over. Visitors could make it to the resort, even in frigid climes. Of course, even if the lake had frozen solid, she could have shifted into her wolf and traversed its cold expanse on her clawed paws. This just seemed more civilized. Why, if Lex offered drinks, she’d be in heaven.

“You warm enough back there, Charlotte?” asked Lex. He ran the ferry service between Gemini Island and the mainland, but often gave friends a lift in one of his speedier, jazzier vessels.

“Toasty.”

Lex aimed a look at her traveling companion. “And you?”

“Sure thing, friend,” replied Dylan O’Donnell, as he stretched and put his arm about her shoulders. He turned to Charlotte and grinned, allowing his gaze to drop toward her breasts.

Pretending to scratch her calf, she squirmed out of his reach.
Fuckety fuck
. She was starting to regret this hookup. Oh, Dylan was okay in his way, and indefatigable in the sack as shifter men tended to be, but lately he’d been getting on her nerves and she didn’t know why. They’d begun sleeping together as soon as she’d returned to Toronto to finish off one last bit of work for her thesis. She’d known him from class and had been attracted to his confidence and willingness to say exactly what was on his mind.

He proved a welcome change from the men on Gemini Island. One, in particular, who never hinted at the dark mysteries littering his brain.

Don’t go there. There’s no sense in it
.

Her best friend Marci used to joke about shifter men being such closed books, and she couldn’t have been more correct. For creatures who understood and lived by animal instinct, shifter males could be such bloody pansies in the feelings department. Getting one to say what was in his heart was as easy as pulling impacted teeth from a stubborn skull.

Not that Charlotte had ever been a paragon of communication. Expressing emotion wasn’t exactly a joy for her, either. In fact, she generally went out of her way to avoid it, and she had good reason. Still, she couldn’t help respecting it in others.

Dylan proved different. A mountain lion shifter, he’d been brutally honest upon meeting her for the first time. He’d smiled, his blue eyes flashing in appreciation, and had said, “Sexy lady. You. Me. My bed. Now.”

Okay, he erred on the cheesy side, but she’d fallen into bed with him, and hadn’t quite tumbled out yet. After all, a girl had needs. And shifter women’s urges were even harder to ignore. Their spirit animals tended to pester them if they didn’t get a regular little something-something. She knew what she was talking about. God only knew, she’d lectured Marci about the very same topic not so long ago.

If you denied your animal what it wanted, it would make life hellish for you. Marci had experienced it firsthand, and Charlotte had decided long ago she’d never let herself suffer from a case of the metaphorical blue balls.

However, ever since making the decision to head back to Gemini Island for the winter while she prepared for her new job, sleeping with Dylan had proved, well…icky. She’d found herself making excuses not to booty call the mountain lion man, and had depended on the talents of her own fingers lately, as well as the always-reliable orgasm-inducing abilities of her favorite vibrator. Or three.

And yet, somehow he’d managed to invite himself along on her foray back to the island that had been her home and workplace for a few years. She hadn’t put up a fuss, figuring she could bounce some lecture topics off him. They’d helped each other with their research before. In fact, she had to admit, he took a surprising interest in her work, often peppering her with questions and seeming fascinated with her arguments. He’d decided to take a bit of time off from his own research, and they’d figured he could stay in her cabin on the resort and they could have some laughs.

Only she wasn’t laughing now.

“So remind me again,” Dylan said, swirling his fingertips over her inner thigh under the old blankets. “This Ursa place where you work is a resort for shifters?”

She reached under the blanket and eased his hand from her leg. “Yup. My boss, Ryland Snow, is a bear shifter who mentors teens in the shifter community. He built the resort himself, taking it from a humble fishing lodge to a five-star rural resort. Now it’s really well-known in shifter circles. Lots of people like us vacation here, and lots of parents bring their troubled teens for the program. Ryland has helped a lot of people in our community. He’s a good man.”

He leaned in and brushed against her shoulder. “I hear a lot of respect in your voice. Should I be jealous, sexy lady?”

She inched away. “Fuck, no. Ryland’s mated and I’m friends with his wife, Lia. I don’t mess around with mated men. Even I have standards.”

He laughed out loud, brushing a few flakes of snow off his pristine Kenneth Cole coat. “That’s what I like about you, Charlotte. You may have standards, but you lowered them to include me.” He looked around as Lex neared Gemini Island. “So what about the other dudes in this place? Surely your standards have allowed you to cavort with some of the local country bumpkins? Any sordid stories?”

Lex threw him a look that said,
Country bumpkin, my ass, you shit-for-brains city slicker
. Charlotte winked at Lex and he winked back.

“My people aren’t country bumpkins, asshole. Watch your mouth,” she grumbled.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m sorry. Just kidding. I won’t badmouth your
people
.”

Why ask about her past hookups anyway? Sure, she’d had flings with some of the residents of Gemini Island. No one special, and never anything meaningful. She preferred it that way. No fuss, no muss, just show mama a good time. After all, she was only twenty-five. A marvelous sexual banquet lay before her and she planned to sample all the various dishes. To the point of pleasant exhaustion and numbness.

Her older sister Danielle had given her a great piece of advice when they were teens. “Charlotte,” she’d said. “Listen to that Forrest Gump dude. Don’t go on a diet until you’ve eaten at least one of every chocolate in the damn box.” She’d lived by that philosophy ever since. No false expectations and no one got hurt.

Even as she thought it, her inner wolf raised its head and uttered a low growl, but she ignored it. Darn wolf had been acting strange lately too, ever since she’d decided to return to the Ursa Lodge. Where the wolf was normally quite happy to play with her chosen partners, now it shied away from them. It seemed to scratch at some imaginary door, wanting out.

Wanting…God only knew what.

Dylan persisted. “Come on, isn’t there someone who broke little Charlotte’s cold, cold heart?”

“Um, no. I don’t do broken hearts.” And cold? Why? Just because she wasn’t married and mated with a litter of pups by now? It didn’t qualify her for Snow Queen status. Even now she grew hot and uncomfortable, even with the chill stinging her cheeks.

Lex turned to her as he steered the vessel toward the dock. “Bart asked about you yesterday.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”
Bart Cairo
. Her stomach wobbled with strange sensation as his name echoed in her mind. She must be getting hungry. Reaching inside her pocket, hoping she had a snack stowed in there, she pulled out a granola bar. Grimacing, she shoved it back into her pocket. Damn bird food.

Why did she suddenly feel like sinking her teeth into a piece of succulent, rare meat?

Lex docked the boat and proceeded to tie it to the dock. Even as she scrambled out of it, grabbing her bags, Dylan followed, seizing on the topic. “Ooh, who’s this mysterious Bart? You’ve never mentioned him before.”

That’s because she didn’t talk to anyone about Bart. Not even to Marci. There was nothing to talk about. Bartholomew Cairo was just some guy who worked at the resort with her, had for years. They’d socialized together, usually in groups, and had a few laughs, but their relationship went no further.

Yes, he’d been at her side when she was attacked a few months back by a rogue shifter on the island. And yes, she’d been comforted having him there, if truth be told. Marci said Bart loved her, which had to be total rubbish. Bart didn’t know the meaning of love. He was out for Number One and always had been. His skirt-chasing record proved it.

She’d seen him around the island, flirting with several women who worked at the resort. And she’d seen the way female guests responded to the big, bad security specialist.
Can you walk me to the dock, Bart? Can you accompany me to my cabin, Bart? I’m so scared in the woods, even though I’m a shifter. Tee hee
.
Oh, your muscles are so big. Pardon me while I toss my hair
.

Her wolf snapped at her.
You don’t sound bitter at all
. And then it showed her its back.

She stamped down the burn in the pit of her stomach. Anyway, she couldn’t really fault Bart for being a horny man with a working penis. In fact, in a weird way, she sort of admired him. And God only knew, her record matched his.

Two people who preferred to sample life’s lusty bounty, they simply preferred not to sample each other. Some doors were best kept closed.

And anyway, he wasn’t her type. Sure, he had the whole tall, dark and dangerous thing down pat. Especially with that sexy scar spanning half his devilish face. In fact, if she were totally honest with herself, she could admit to doing a little bit of dreaming about Bart’s dark brown eyes and muscled back. To say nothing of the intriguing line of brawn that comprised the bulges running from his shoulders to his forearms. But he could often be moody and childish, indulging in silly pranks and calling her dumb names like “Charles,” even though she’d told him how much she hated it. Bart displayed as much emotional intelligence as a nine-year-old boy tossing worms at the girls in the schoolyard.

“Charlotte?”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring into space,” Dylan said, holding his own bags, making no attempt to take hers. “And not moving. Shouldn’t we head to your cabin?”

“Oh, right.” She hugged Lex, thanking him for the ride, and set off with Dylan following.

“Once we get there,” he said, his hot breath puffing in the cold air, “I wanna make you naked. It’s been a while.”

Her wolf poked its head up again and bared its teeth at him. She shooed away the suddenly-opinionated animal, but not before the foul canine manipulated her vocal cords, forcing her to fib. “Charlotte has cramps. Charlotte’s period’s coming. Now. Sucks to be you.” She turned her head and slapped a hand over her mouth, aghast.

“Interesting use of the third person.” He gave her the side eye. “Shit. Do you seriously have your period?”

She shrugged, mortified and relieved at the same time. “Can’t fuck with Mother Nature.”

As Dylan mumbled his thoughts about fucking Mother Nature, she looked away, mystified. Her wolf had always shown its preferences for anything she did, but never had the brute taken over her voice in such a manner. She’d heard of it happening to other shifters, but so far she’d been lucky and had always maintained control. She could swear her parents had christened her Charlotte “Control” Moffatt.

So, the dog really didn’t want her to sleep with Dylan. Oh well, neither did she.

A shadow in the distant woods claimed her attention and a familiar scent invaded her keen senses. Its woodsy appeal called to her, and the tantalizing smell of snow-covered leaves and dry tree bark and manly man hammered against the back of her brain. She narrowed her piercing wolf eyes on the area behind a cluster of tall maples.

A large, brown wolf stared back at her from the darkness, not blinking once as it observed her. Looking so majestic as it stood between the stark, winter-kissed trees, its luxurious coat shone under the late afternoon sun. His normally black eyes glowed with an amber hue as the animal trained its gaze on her. Then, it slowly turned its head toward Dylan, and its scarred brow furrowed.