Predator's Claim (4 page)

* * * *

As she got ready for bed that night, Charlotte ignored Dylan's babbling from the sitting room where he watched TV. He’d had a few beers while she was at work, and as far as she could see, it was all he’d done. The scattered bottles were the first things she’d noticed when she’d come through the door. So nice of him to leave them for her to clean up.

Now fully engrossed in “Big Brother,” he shouted at the screen. Despite his passion for bad reality TV, she found she could not care less why Jerry's housemates had booted him out and whether it was the result of a vicious house conspiracy.

Besides, she had other things on her mind, like how her conversation with Bart had degenerated and derailed into an all-out fight. It bothered her all day long, picking at her brain, like a baboon pulling knits out of her hair. She sat on the bed and slowly unlaced her granny boots, pulling the laces through each tiny hole, and pictured him. Dark eyes flashing, white teeth gleaming, his tanned skin colored by pique, Bart had been a sight to see. He'd thrown her off her game and she'd lost her cool.

All he'd done was invite her to a party, as any friend might, and she'd managed to turn him into a spitting, seething Alpha mess. Was something wrong with her, or with him?

She toed off her boots, stood, and reached under her skirt to remove her tights. Then, reaching for her sore left foot, she gave it a slow rub. Her inner wolf let out a rumble, pinning its piercing gaze on her, and forced her to visualize him again. Out of nowhere, she saw the image of a muscled, nude Bart kneeling before her, stroking her tired feet. As she closed her eyes to better imagine him, dream Bart grinned like a dissolute fiend from Hell and leaned over to lick her bare inner thigh.

Whoa
. From what depraved circle of her soul had that vision come?

"They totally ambushed Jerry. Poor dude."

At the sound of Dylan's softly slurring voice, Charlotte opened her eyes and banished dream Bart. He skittered away to her periphery, but crouched there, smiling, ready to taunt her again.

Dylan eyed her legs with frank hunger from his spot in her bedroom doorway. "Hey babe, I know you're on the rag, but do you think you could do me a solid? My little soldier's lonely." He palmed his cock.

"Sorry, Dylan. I'm not really in the mood. And you’re drunk. Didn’t you do anything while I was at work? You could have gone hiking or snowshoeing. Or you could have read that article I left for you…"

His face reddened. “I’m tired of reading your articles.” He ran a hand over his face and his blush disappeared. "Do you really have your period?"

"Um, nope.” Her own cheeks warmed as she floundered in her wolf’s lie. She wasn’t sure why her spirit animal lied to Dylan, but the very thought of sleeping with him again gave her heebie-jeebies. Shifters didn’t tend to get sick, but maybe she was suffering from her first flu. “False alarm."

He moseyed into her room, sat on her bed, and ran a hand along her thigh. "Let me get you in the mood, sexy lady."

She pulled away. How was it his touch suddenly felt as appealing as that of an eager boa constrictor? "Dylan, no. Look, I'm sorry, but I'm just not into this right now."

He pulled away, peeved. "When will you be into this?" He waved his hands between them. "You haven't had an issue with
this
before. You've always been very eager for
this
."

"I know. I have shit on my mind."

"You mean, some other dude?" He stood and almost fell. His eyes widened as he achieved equilibrium once more. As soon as he steadied himself, he began to pace. "Look, Charlotte, I came home with you to be your fuck buddy. I came all this way to this backwoods hell for a fuck. It's frankly rude of you to refuse me now." He stopped pacing and leaned in to kiss her.

She couldn't. She just couldn't and knew how she must appear to him, but her wolf still pulled away. The beast perched, on the brink of taking a big bite out of his ass. Ever since Bart snapped at her, even before, it felt as if her head was screwed on the wrong way. She couldn't see Dylan in the same light anymore and tugged away from him. "Dylan, I said no. I mean it. I'm sorry. You're welcome to stay here, as a friend, but nothing more. Things have changed."

"Like you turning into a fucking cock tease!" He wiped a bit of dribble off his lip by rubbing his sleeve across his face. “No wonder Dr. Reynolds gave you the lecturing job. Tell me, did you fuck him too? ’Cause it’s the only way you could have gotten the role.”

What the…?
“Take that back. Dr. Reynolds knows how hard I work. It’s the only reason I got the job.”

He held up his hands in mock mortification. “Oh, forgive me for coming to the most logical conclusion. The thing is, that job should have been mine. You only got it because Reynolds likes the shape of your tits.”

She gawked at him, never having witnessed this side to him. Perhaps it was the beer talking, although shifters tended to hold their liquor pretty well. How much had he drunk? "Okay, get out of my room. Sleep it off somewhere else."

His mountain lion eyes glowed with a new, disturbing energy. "Make me."

With that, he was on her, pressing her into the bed, forcing his heavy weight on her pelvis, knees, and shoulders. Fuck! She’d been under him before, but he’d never seemed so ponderous. Gathering her wits, she pushed and shoved, but he’d already pinned her in an awkward position and she couldn’t shift him. He forced his knee between her legs and she squirmed, not wanting any part of him to have contact with her lady parts. “Dylan, you drunken shit. Get the fuck off me before I shift and introduce you to my wolf!”

He lowered his face, breathing stale beer into her nostrils. “I said make me.”

Charlotte was just about to give her spirit animal free reign when three loud bangs reverberated on her cabin door. On the third bang, the door burst open. Bart stood in the doorway, framed by black night, snow falling gently about his bulky form. The peacefulness of the surroundings did nothing to soften the murder in his eyes. He aimed his poison gaze at Dylan. "I'll make you. And when I do, it'll hurt."

Bart filled the doorway, his shoulders so tense he almost appeared too big for the entrance. His breath escaped in angry puffs from his nostrils, and his dark brown eyes took on a luminescent golden tinge. Wolf eyes. Between his aggressive posture, scarred face, and words of doom, even she felt a tingle of fear, and she knew he'd never hurt her.

Dylan looked between her and Bart a few times, and must have decided she wasn't worth mussing up his outfit. Good. She put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him off her, swearing up a storm as she did. Dumb fucker.

"Now, I can escort you to the dock in a way that's comfortable for you," Bart muttered as he hauled him away from her. "Or we can make it uncomfortable. Either way, you're leaving the island. I'm sure I can persuade Lex to take you back in his boat tonight." He angled his body toward the outside, but never took his eye off Dylan. "Coming?"

Dylan exhaled his frustration, dashed into the sitting room, and quickly collected his bag. Luckily, he hadn't brought much and hadn't taken time to unpack. He hauled his bag to the door, glared at Charlotte, and walked outside.

As he began to stomp away in the snow, anger bubbled through her and she aimed one, last volley of fury at him. “By the way, dickweed, your paper on the theological tradition of Augustine of Hippo sucked!”

After her outburst, she sat on the bed, numb but shivering at the same time.

Bart turned once to aim a look at her, one that clearly expressed his disdain for her choices in men, perhaps for her in general. As he followed Dylan and grabbed hold of him by the scruff of the neck, he called back to her, “Make sure you lock this door, or I’ll come back and barricade you in.” And then he shoved Dylan toward the pathway and escorted him away.

She did, moving like an automaton, checking each lock to make sure it was secure. And then she returned to her bed and sat there. For the longest time, she didn’t move and stared at the closed cabin door, as her heart performed a series of acrobatics in her chest. If Bart hadn’t been there…Why had he been there?

For the first time since knowing him, Charlotte suddenly rued her own choices. No man she'd ever slept with, and she’d been with a few, had shown even a hint of Bart's protectiveness. Yes, the whole Alpha man attitude pricked like a thorn in her side most days, but right now, it gave her a warm and tingly sensation in her thighs. It scraped at her soul, digging out a substrata of substance she’d buried long ago, demanding she pay attention. And somewhere in the mess inside her, her wolf lifted its tail in invitation to Bart's wolf, exposing itself to him.

Horrified, she swatted at the invisible animal. "Put your tail down, you furry hussy." The animal defied her and wagged its behind in Bart's direction. "Oh, you can shake it all you want. He’s not coming back."

Upon hearing those words, her wolf moaned like a puppy who’d just been put in his pen. The moping beast padded off to a corner, curled up on its floor and laid its head on its paws, blinking its wide eyes.

Suddenly way too uncomfortable in ways she didn't care to dwell on, Charlotte crossed her legs tightly and stared at them. No matter how hard she crossed her legs, it did nothing to diminish the ache of strange longing in her core. A longing that threatened to expose a little-used portion of her heart.

No, no, no
.

Despite a master’s and her fancy education, as Bart often put it, she just didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on.

Chapter 3

Bart glanced around the pub, on his second Molson Canadian, already wishing he was on his third.

She hadn’t come.

Oh, his family reunion was in full swing and everyone seemed to be having a good time, but the one person he wanted to see hadn’t shown her face, or even the tips of those granny boots. He rolled his eyes at his juvenile eagerness. Jesus, he was supposed to be mingling with his pack, not dreaming about romancing Charlotte. And yet, ever since turfing out her pally wally Dylan, he’d thought of nothing but her.

Was she angry at him? Relieved? Grateful?

Damn, he could handle almost anything but her gratitude. She’d been
grateful
when he’d sat at her side after she’d been attacked a few months ago. She always appeared
grateful
whenever he did little things for her like hanging paintings in her cabin, or walking her home after a late shift.

He didn’t want her gratitude anymore.

He wanted her rapture. He leaned on the pub bar, pretty sure he wouldn’t be witnessing her rapture, or even her head peeking around the corner, tonight. And what did it matter? Her shiny, new job was waiting for her and she’d disappear come autumn.

Still, after learning about Jason Burns and his escape, he’d feel a whole lot better if Charlotte were in his line of sight. Maybe he should check on her…

A soft hand settled on his shoulder. “Puppy, are you okay? You look more pensive than usual. Are you getting enough protein in your diet? Because you know what I always say. ‘Lettuce is good for rabbits, but a wolf needs meat.’”

He turned and forced a grin onto his face for his mom. “I’m fine. Just a little distracted. Oh, and could you not call me ‘Puppy’ in public? I’m thirty-one years old, Mother. I stopped being a pup a long time ago.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’ll always be my puppy, until some other woman steals you away from me. Speaking of women, where’s Ch—?”

“You look very nice tonight,” he said, cutting her off. “Is that a new shirt?”

“Do you like it? I sewed it myself.” Her eyes lit up as he mentioned the blouse. Shirley Cairo had dressed up for the reunion. For his mother, it meant wearing every color of the rainbow at once. A petite woman like Charlotte, her personality made up for any lost inches. Her brown eyes danced over a blouse with red and purple swatches all over it. A black skirt, violet leggings, and red heels finished off her crazy ensemble. The longer he looked at his mother, the easier it became for Bart to smile.

His dad didn’t seem to mind her loud clothing. Joseph Cairo snuck up behind her, winking at Bart, and tackled his mate for a vigorous nuzzle. When he finally let her go, he smiled at their son. “Doesn’t your mother look like a pretty picture?”

Bart elbowed her gently. “Yeah. Let’s hang her on the wall.”

“Oh, you two,” Shirley crowed. “Always ganging up on me.” The amused arch to her brow clearly showed she loved every minute of their teasing. “I’m going to go flirt with the bartender to see if he’ll give me another Bloody Caesar.”

“Don’t flirt too much, woman,” Joseph warned in jest. “Or I’ll come over there and remind you who’s your Alpha.”

She sashayed off, wiggling for her mate’s benefit. His father watched her walk away, a dreamy cast to his gaze. Bart could not have been more appalled if they’d dropped to the floor and had sex right there. And he’d walked in on them by mistake a couple times over the years, and remembered well the particular lurch of his gut. God bless his parents. They still went at it like captive rabbits on a breeding mission.

“My God,” he whispered. “So many years together, and three grown children later, and you two still act like newlyweds. It’s embarrassing.”

His father cuffed him on the arm. “One day, when you take over as Alpha, and when you have the love of a good woman, you’ll know what it’s like.”

Old tensions rose to the surface, but Bart swallowed any leftover angst. They’d had this conversation umpteen times. “Dad, you know how I feel about the Alpha business. It’s not for me. If you’re insistent on training a protégé, talk to Nate, or even Lena.”

Bart nodded over to his younger siblings, who were engaged in a half-hearted dispute at the jukebox. Nate, occupied in trying to punch certain buttons, no doubt so they could have an all-Poison music selection for the night, was caught in Lena’s headlock. Frankly, his money was on Lena. His little sister never backed down from a fight, and Nate would always give in to her. They both adored their sister and had gone to ridiculous lengths in the past to make her dark eyes crinkle with glee.