Mate Claimed

“Shifters are going to come up with this money?” Iona asked. “You all lived in poverty in the wild and aren’t allowed to have high-paying jobs, right?”

“You let me worry about that,” Eric said.

“You’re seriously trusting me.”

“I have to. I have no choice.” Eric stood up. “Sit here. I’ll show you exactly what we need.”

Iona’s body kept flushing hot, then cold, like she had a fever, and she was hungry again. The finger food from the reception wasn’t cutting it. A gallon of beer wouldn’t go down too badly either.

Eric leaned over the plans, his torso close enough for her to lick. She wanted to lean into him, fasten her teeth in his shirt, maybe tear it to little shreds with her panther teeth to get to the man inside.

His gaze flicked to hers. “You paying attention?”

“Sure.” Iona licked her lips. “Sure.”

The hunger, the itching, the heat—she knew what it was. Need for Eric. She didn’t want a big, juicy burger; she wanted to devour him. If she rubbed herself all over him, that might soothe her burning skin, her boiling blood.

She reached out and covered his big hand with hers. It was so warm, so strong. Iona raised his hand to her lips and kissed his palm.

“Eric,” she whispered.

“I know,” Eric said, voice low. “I know—”

The door of the office slammed open and a large man Iona had never seen before barreled in. His dark hair was buzzed ultra short, his eyes were gray and glittering, and flame tattoos wound around muscular arms bared by a short-sleeved T-shirt and biker vest. A Collar hugged his neck, but even if he hadn’t worn one, everything about him, including his rife scent, screamed Shifter.

Eric was up from the desk and in front of him before Iona could rise or ask what hell he was doing there. The Shifter met Eric face-to-face, not even glancing at Iona.

“What are you doing here, Warden?”

“Get out,” Eric said.

“Fuck you. My trackers say you’ve been coming here and talking to the women who own this company. You sleeping with one of them? All of them, maybe? To get them to do what you want—and to help you screw over me and my wolves?”

Eric tried to force the other Shifter back out the door, but the big man wasn’t budging. “Is she one of them? Not bad. I get why—”

McNeil stopped, his eyes fixing on Iona and becoming white gray. He inhaled once, sharply. “Son of a bitch. She’s Shifter.”

Eric’s snarl rumbled through the trailer. He blocked the other Shifter with his body, his teeth becoming Shifter, lips pulling back from fangs.

McNeil’s eyes lit with feral fire. “Fair game,” he said, triumph in his voice.

Eric swung to Iona. His eyes were shining green, his pupils black slits. “Iona Duncan, I claim you as mate under the Goddess and before a witness.” He spoke rapidly, drowning out the growls of Graham McNeil, who was trying to get around him.

“I Challenge,” McNeil said.

The two Shifters faced each other again, both bulking large, barely containing their shift. McNeil’s hands grew coarse black hair, claws like thick needles sprouting from spread fingers. Both Shifters’ eyes were glittering, primal.

They weren’t men anymore—they never had been. The beasts of their true selves shone through, uncaring of human rules and restrictions, of anything civilized. They were males confronting each other over a very basic conflict—wanting a female.

Graham spoke, his voice guttural. “Name the time and place, Warden.”

“Fight club. Tomorrow night.”

“Done.”

They remained in place, neither giving way. Graham’s Collar sparked once, but Eric’s stayed silent.

Though they didn’t move, tension crackled between them. At any second, one might strike, and then the fight would be on. To the death.

Iona didn’t know how she knew this, but every nerve hummed it. She came around the desk and shoved her way between the two Shifters.

It was a scary place to be, but Iona put her back to Eric and glared up at Graham. “Get out. You’re trespassing. Go before I call security.”

Graham, as though he just now noticed that Iona stood in front of him, switched his gaze to her.

His eyes were terrible. McNeil’s irises had become very light gray, almost white, the red rage of his wolf glowing in the black of his pupils. His lips curled back from fangs, and his stare skewered her like a rabid dog’s on a rabbit.

Iona kept her head up and returned his gaze, somehow knowing that if she looked away, he’d crush her, even with Eric standing there. Graham growled low in his throat, and Eric gave him an answering growl.

Finally Graham moved his gaze from Iona to Eric. “Tomorrow night. Then I take her away from you.”

Eric said nothing. His enraged snarls filled the room, his body vibrating against Iona’s back.

Graham kept his gaze on Eric as he took three steps backward to the door, then he turned, contemptuously, and made his exit, slamming the door behind him. Iona heard his footfalls, the rattle of the fence, then a motorcycle started up and glided away.

Iona swung around. “Eric, what…?”

She stopped, her words dying. She’d never seen Eric like this, his eyes blank with rage, his body so tight that when he moved his head to look down at her, it was like he bent his neck on a stiff hinge.

“Get the blueprints,” he said, voice harsh and strange. “We’re going.”