“It’ll all go on for, oh, about fifteen hours. But your body will recover, the effects of the venom will wear off, and you’ll be back to normal. Then we can talk again. Yay. Of course, you could decide to stick with the whole telling me nothing plan. Bailey won’t mind biting you a second time. Or a third. Or even a fourth. She’s awesome that way. So you might want to think about that before you decide to be stubborn again. It won’t go well for you.”
He gaped at Havana, as if stunned.
“You really should have shown more interest when my friend tried warning you about our old job,” said Havana. “If you had, she would have told you that we used to work for the Movement.”
His face blanched.
“Yes, yes, the group only deals with human anti-shifter extremists. Members are defenders of our kind. A national treasure, even. So shifters have no need to fear them. But, as I can see you’re considering, it would never be wise to piss off an ex-member. Because we have no qualms about using all the dangerous skills we learned. And we’re no strangers to making someone suffer. If I’m honest, I’ve actually missed it.”
Aspen put a hand to her chest. “Thank God. I thought it was just me.”
Havana rose from her seat. “Well, Hyman, I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening. But I’ll see you again in the morning, bright and early.”
Bailey shifted back to her human form and pulled on her clothes. “I’m still in the mood for takeout, you?” she asked Havana.
“Takeout works for me.”
CHAPTER THREE
“You’re not listening to me, are you?”
Snapping out of his thoughts, Tate blinked at his father. “Not really, no.”
Leaning back in the dining chair, Vinnie sighed. “I figured as much when I asked if you’d ever consider fucking a goat and you actually nodded.”
Tate snickered. His father was a damn nut, which was something he hid well. Vinnie was also good at hiding his calculated nature. He knew how to come across as approachable, easygoing, and happy to help. In truth, he was as cunning as they came and could cause a riot in heaven itself.
Lifting his mug of coffee from the table, Tate took a sip. “I zoned out because you were rambling about minor shit rather than telling me why you turned up here at the crack of dawn.”
“You consider your brother having his carotid artery nicked in a fight ‘minor?’”
“I’m thinking of it as Karma, since he nicked mine when I was twelve.” Tate had the scar on his throat to prove it. Before reaching adulthood, he and Luke had treated each other as mortal enemies merely because pallas kits didn’t get along with siblings who were too close in age. “I told him that very same thing when he reported the incident to me twenty minutes ago. Besides, it’s not like our healer didn’t fix him up.”
“I noticed he and Farrell have made themselves comfortable in your living room,” said Vinnie. “Have you gotten used to having bodyguards yet?”
“No. And I don’t like it much.” When he was at home, Tate often sent them on errands just to get some alone time. As the prior Beta, he used to be a bodyguard. He and Luke had shadowed their father pretty much wherever Vinnie went.
After Tate ascended, he’d promoted his brother from Head Enforcer to Beta, knowing the position would fit him. Luke was a natural-born alpha but had zero wish to lead a pride. Plus, there was far too much anger in him, and far too little patience for politics. Vinnie had slipped into an advisory role, too action-oriented to retire from active duty. The pride had adjusted just fine to the change of leadership, as had their allies and contacts.
It hadn’t seemed like such a dramatic change for Tate, because Vinnie hadn’t abruptly stepped down. He’d subtly begun to pull back little by little and tone down his assertiveness, which stirred Tate’s natural take-charge instincts and made him automatically push forward with each step Vinnie took back.
The biggest change for Tate was moving to the cul-de-sac. He’d only ever lived in apartments before now. But his father had recommended he live in a separate building from the rest of the pride or they’d be knocking on his door every two minutes with simple queries. Vinnie hadn’t been wrong, so Tate had moved out.
His father had also been right in predicting that being Alpha would suit Tate. He’d fully settled into the role. It fit him well. It also fulfilled his cat, who’d been angling to take over for years.
What saddened Tate was that it shouldn’t have been a case of Vinnie retiring alone. It should have been a case of the Alpha pair retiring. But Tate’s mother had died many years ago. He couldn’t call up a clear mental image of her face anymore.
Shifters didn’t always survive the breaking of the mating bond. The mating bond was special in that it could bind two people in a metaphysical way that fed every bit of their soul. But if a shifter lost their true mate and that bond thereby snapped, they also lost a huge part of themselves.
“Before we get into what I want to speak with you about,” began Vinnie, “tell me why you’ve been in a perpetual pissed-off state over the past week.”
Tate rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ve just got shit on my mind.”
“Would that shit be related to the pretty little devil shifter you were seeing?”
Tate narrowed his eyes at the “were.” He hadn’t yet made it public that his fling with Havana was over. “Who told you I was no longer seeing her?”
“It was a guess based on your sour mood. Am I right?”
Tate merely gave a curt nod, not wanting to discuss it.
“By the way you’re grinding your teeth, I’m sensing you’re not happy about it.”
Tate just gave a nonchalant shrug, though he felt anything but nonchalant. The truth was … he missed her. He’d never gotten involved with a female like Havana before. Someone who intrigued, tempted, and challenged both man and feline in equal measures. Which was no doubt why his cat missed her, too. She could hold their attention in a way that no other female ever had, not even the one they’d almost imprinted on.
Tate did his best not to think about Havana, but many times he’d found himself wondering where she was, what she was doing, who she was doing it with. She cropped up in his thoughts far too often, especially at night. He couldn’t even jack off without her appearing in his mind’s eye, so then he’d end up coming to memories of the times he’d had her beneath him. He hadn’t taken another female to his bed as it wouldn’t have been fair to them when his mind was on Havana.
Okay, that was a barefaced fucking lie. He hadn’t taken another female to his bed because he didn’t want another female. He wanted Havana.
He still couldn’t quite believe he’d almost marked her. The urge had come out of nowhere and crawled all over him. More disturbing, it hadn’t left him. He felt it everywhere. It was like a hum in his blood. A pounding in his veins. A craving in his gut. An itch he couldn’t reach, because it seemed to be beneath his flesh.
The disconcerting urge hadn’t lessened with time. If anything, it seemed to have intensified. He would have questioned if she could be his true mate if the impulse to brand her had stemmed from possessiveness. But it was more of a need to dominate, to force her to submit to his wants and not leave his side until he was good and ready. Which meant he had no business leaving any such mark on her.