CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Blair pulled a face at the complimentary pot of ketchup. “That’s not something that would count as any kind of gift, let alone a Christmas present.”

“Oh, I know,” said Elle,bopping her head to the music coming from an idling car in the mall’s parking lot.

“Wait, you don’t want it to count?”

The redhead plopped the ketchup into one of her shopping bags. “No.”

Blair turned to her. “But he’s your brother.”

“Half-brother.”

“You and Damian have the exact same parents.”

“Same mother,” Elle corrected. “His father is Satan himself.”

Quinley smiled against the inside of her coat collar, her face half-buried inside it to protect her skin from the cold.

Blair gave Elle a flat smile. “Hmm, Damian kind of looks like your dad.”

“The Antichrist can take any form he chooses,” said the redhead.

“Okay, how is it you think your mom came to have sex with Satan?” Blair challenged.

“He obviously fooled her into thinking he was my dad.”

“Fooled her how?”

“The Devil can take any form he chooses.”

Exasperation flickered across the bush dog’s face.

Bree snickered. “Give up, Blair. Give up now. You’re only hurting yourself.”

The music faded away as the once-idling car drove off, adding to the traffic sounds of engines running, horns honking, brakes squealing, and wheels spinning.

The mall was incredibly busy, so the lot was a current hub of activity. Her cat didn’t like it; wasn’t fond of the assault to her senses. Streetlights flashed. Bushes rattled with the breeze. Puddles rippled. Laughter came from kids using a curb as a balance beam.

Thank God it was an indoor mall, because the weather was abysmal. Windy, cloudy, cold, and rainy. The rain had now died off, but the smell of ozone remained, overlaying the scents of car exhaust and wet pavement.

Quinley felt for the long cue of people stood at the taxi rank, exposed to the elements. Quinley and her pride mates were huddled under a shelter near the drop-off/pick-up area, waiting for Isaiah. He was on his way to collect them.

Shopping wise, it had been a productive day for Quinley—as evidenced by the amount of bags she was carrying. Her gloves provided a nice buffer between the skin of her palms and the dig of the bag handles.

Bree danced on the spot. “My feet are freezing.”

So were Quinley’s, courtesy of the cold concrete—the icy temperature was seeping through the soles of her boots. “We’ll be gone from here soon, thankfully.”

Bree grimaced. “Do you think I have time to pee before Isaiah gets here?”

“I doubt he’ll arrive for another ten minutes or so,” Quinley predicted. “The shit weather slows traffic down. Go, it’s no biggie if he gets here before you’re back. We won’t mind waiting.”

The woman apparently didn’t need to be told twice, because she swiftly disappeared.

Watching her leave, Elle said, “Those bags have got to be heavy. She walks around with them effortlessly, like they’re lighter than air. There’s no lugging or heaving.”

“Mom hands,” said Quinley. “I swear, my mother used to easily carry armfuls of bags like they were empty.” It was one of the few clear memories she had of her mom. Most weren’t notable, just general things.

“I still can’t quite believe Bree is a mom,” Elle remarked, shaking her head. “It’s so cute how much she’s missed Aurora today.”

“I miss Luke being at home more often,” began Blair, “but it’s imperative he locates the Vercetti Pack for Isaiah’s sake. Those fuckers cannot be found soon enough.”

“Amen,” said Quinley, her cat in full agreement.

“I really do think someone’s helping them hide,” Elle commented. “Someone with influence, land, and power. Maybe anti-shifter extremists even.”

Quinley pointed at her. “I hadn’t considered it might be them, but yeah they’d totally help out any shifters who targeted the rest of our kind. Of course, they’ll also stab the Vercetti assholes in the back eventually.”

“Let’s hope we manage to find them before that happens,” said Blair. “Luke will sulk if he doesn’t get to have a personal hand in ending their lives and … Oh my God, I almost didn’t see you there.”

Tracking the Beta female’s gaze, Quinley noticed a tall, very good-looking blond slow to a halt several feet away as his eyes clashed with Blair’s. Definitely a shifter, going by his fluid walk and how he carried himself.

He was quite a specimen, and he sure dressed well. Tailored suit, long cashmere coat, shoes that looked to be Italian leather. The shopping bag he carried featured the logo of a very expensive designer store. The dude obviously had money.

Blair walked over to him, leaving the shelter. With all the noise, there was no way to hear what they started to talk about. His cool-blue gaze briefly flicked to where Quinley and Elle stood. And that gaze paused on the redhead, narrowing in … recognition?

Quinley looked at her, only then noticing that the female pallas cat had pinned her gaze on something straight ahead, her cheeks flushing. “Who’s that?”

Elle blinked. “What? Who?”

“Oh, are we playing the, I don’t know who he is game? I can go along with that, if you want.”

For long moments, Elle continued to stare straight ahead. But then she sighed at Quinley. “You don’t push,” she complained. “You’re supposed to push so it’ll be easier for me to get it all out.”

Stifling a smile, Quinley nudged her. “Elle, offload; you’ll feel better, I promise.”

Elle rolled her eyes. “All right, if you’re going to badger me about it.” She turned to fully face Quinley, probably so that the guy wouldn’t be able to read her lips or anything. “You know Enigma?”

“The shifter club?”

“Yes. That guy, Gabriel, co-owns it. He’s a silent partner.”

“Really?” Interesting. The club was not only exclusive to shifters, it was a place where they could go to … well, get laid. Like anywhere in the club, even on the dance floor.

“He’s also a childhood friend of Blair’s,” Elle continued. “They were part of the same pack until he went to live with his human uncle as a kid after his parents were killed. He lives as a human now. Enigma seems to be the only connection he has to the shifter world.”

“How do you know him?” Because it was obvious that they knew each other to some extent.

Elle poked her tongue into the inside of her cheek. “I met him at the club. We fucked, no exchange of names. But I knew who he was because I recognized his photo—it was passed around the pride back when Luke thought Gabriel might have been the person stalking Blair.”

“Someone stalked her?” What the fuck?

“Don’t worry, they’re very dead. Forget about that. Focus on me. I’m more important right now.”

Quinley snorted. “Okay. So, does Blair know you slept with him?”

“Nope. And, uh …”

“What?”

Elle cleared her throat. “I didn’t tell Gabriel that I knew any of what I just told you. I acted like I didn’t know anything about him.”

“I see.” Quinley flicked a look at him. Going by his expression … “Well, I’d say he’s fast figuring out that that might not be true.”

“Yeah,” muttered the redhead.

“I doubt he’ll be pissed that you know all that, though. Do you think he will?”

“Maybe not pissed, as such. But I think Gabriel likes to not be seen. Likes shifters he sleeps with to not know his name or anything else about him. So it might irritate him that I knew him. And he probably won’t like that I played dumb. It meant he was at a slight disadvantage when we met, and no one likes finding stuff out after the fact.”

True. “Why would he not want to be seen?”

“It was just the feeling I got. I’ve met people at Enigma before who just want a fast, emotionless fuck—it’s not uncommon that names aren’t exchanged. But it was different with him. I can’t really explain it. Though it may just be that he’s only that way with shifters, given he’s intent on living as a human—I don’t know.” Elle paused. “He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. He’s sort of, I don’t know, flat.”

“Flat?”

“Emotionally, I mean. He doesn’t much react to anything. Which I find inexplicably appealing. Apparently, he was always ‘different’. Blair’s word, not mine.” Elle puffed out a breath. “I really didn’t expect him to come onto me.”

“Why?” The female pallas cat was gorgeous.

“He has a type. Submissive leggy redheads. I’m not a submissive shifter.”

“But you’re not very dominant, so maybe that counts for him.”

Elle gave a lazy shrug. “Maybe.”

“When did you have your little encounter with him at Enigma?”

“About two hours after Joaquin broke things off with me a few weeks ago.” Elle hummed at whatever she saw in Quinley’s expression. “You heard about that, huh?”

“A little.” The pride’s grapevine worked at top speed. “I didn’t ask for details. I knew you’d tell me yourself if you ever wanted to.” Quinley grimaced as wind blew under the shelter, slapped at her face and ears, and whipped up her ponytail.

“You’re supposed to push,” Elle reminded her, annoyed.

Amused, Quinley’s cat twitched her tail. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Elle, will you just tell me already?”

“All right, fine, don’t go getting yourself all wound up.” Elle sighed. “I’ve had a thing for Joaquin for years, but he’s a close friend. I didn’t want to cross that line in case it all went south and messed up our friendship. But then I saw how Aspen and Camden are. Did you know they were friends for years before they mated?”

“Aspen once made a passing reference to it.”

“They held back, kept things platonic—both worried they’d otherwise shit all over a friendship they treasure. But they took a risk and it paid off. So I decided to do the same. Only it didn’t pay off for me.”

If what Quinley had heard was accurate, Joaquin had called it off, claiming that they were better off just being friends. He hadn’t used the word “regret,” but he might as well have done. And wouldn’t that sting like a bitch?

“He wants us to still be friends. So do I. But it’s hard.”

Sympathy squashing her chest, Quinley crossed to the redhead, put her bags at her feet, and then hugged the woman tight.

Elle grunted. “Fucking submissives.”

“A hug won’t kill you.” The woman was practically screaming for one.

“I want to shove you away but then I’ll feel bad because it’s like kicking a puppy.”

“We can pretend I’m forcing the hug on you if you want.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Quinley eventually stepped back but kept one palm on Elle’s back. “Trust me when I say that I know it sucks large to want someone you can’t have. Especially when you can’t completely distance yourself from that person. But it does get easier.”

“It stopped being hard for you to be away from your true mate?”

“Yup. Now it doesn’t bother me at all. Maybe things will be better for you once you’ve moved on. But you can’t do that fully until you let go of Joaquin.”

Just then, Bree reappeared. “So what are we talking about?” Her gaze sharpened as it danced from Quinley to Elle. “It looks like it might be interesting.”

“Not really,” mumbled Elle. “I was just telling her about what happened between me and Joaquin. I didn’t want to talk about it, but she wouldn’t let it drop—she’s so nosy. I figured she might as well hear the full story from me.”

Bree exchanged an amused look with Quinley, obviously knowing her friend well enough to know that no such nagging had been necessary to make Elle spill.

“Where’s Blair?” asked Bree.

Picking up her bags, Quinley looked the bush dog’s way, realizing … “On her way over.” And she wasn’t alone.

Her mouth curved, Blair said, “I just wanted to introduce you three to an old pack mate of mine, Gabriel. We were friends as kids. Gabriel, this is Elle, Bree, and Quinley.”

He inclined his head in greeting, his gaze settling on Elle. “You look familiar.” It didn’t appear to be a genuine comment, more of a taunt. Like he was fucking with her.

“As do you,” said Elle. “Weird.” Apparently, she’d decided to fuck with him right back.

At that very moment, a familiar SUV pulled up at the curb.

Quinley felt her pulse jump. “Here’s Isaiah.” Thank the Lord above. She was freezing. She joined the others in walking straight over.

Leaving the engine running, he unfolded from the vehicle, as always looking far too gorgeous to exist. Her cat, pleased to see him, eagerly got to her feet.

“Isaiah, this is my old pack mate, Gabriel,” said Blair.

The male bush dog stared at him steadily. “Now I can put a name to the face of one of the cats who used to watch my building when they thought I might have been a danger to Blair.”

Quinley’s cat wrinkled her nose. There was something about his voice. It was just so toneless. So lacking in emotion. Now Quinley got what Elle meant by “flat.”

“I appreciate any part you played in finding out who her stalker was,” Gabriel added.

“No thanks necessary.” Isaiah turned to Quinley, took in the sight of all her bags, and then his mouth curved. “So you don’t like shopping, then,” he mocked.

“Idiot.”

He smiled. “Your nose is all red.”

“I’m cold.”

He pressed a kiss to her mouth, his lips delightfully warm, and then tipped his chin toward the SUV’s front passenger door. “Hop inside, I switched on the heated seats.”

Oh, he was a gem. As he swiped her bags from her, she pointed at him, “Do not peek in them.”

“Would I spoil my Christmas surprise that way?”

“Yes. Patient though you are, the fact is you don’t like to wait for anything.”

“I find it’s a dominant male thing,” remarked Bree.

They exchanged goodbyes with Gabriel, who gave Elle one last long look before striding off.

“You’re right,” Quinley whispered to the redhead, “he’s very detached. Like he’s dissociated from life.”

“He’s had it hard,” Elle murmured, “but I don’t think trauma made him that way. As I said earlier, Blair swore he was always different.”

Finally sliding into the SUV, Quinley sighed in pleasure as the warmth of the vehicle washed over her. The heat coming from the seat was an added bonus. By the time Isaiah had dropped her shopping buddies at their respective apartment buildings, she was feeling cozily warm.

Inside the house, she went straight upstairs to put away her purchases. She also stashed Isaiah’s gifts somewhere he’d never find them.

Returning downstairs, she went to the kitchen, intending to make a hot drink. She was about to call out to Isaiah and ask if he wanted one, but then his scent breezed into the room. A half-smile curved her mouth, and she parted her lips to speak. The words didn’t come out, replaced by a gasp as his hand fisted the back of her hair.

He roughly spun her to face the kitchen island and shoved her forward, pinning her front flat to its surface. Her hands shot out in surprise—one gripping the end of the island on her right, the other gripping the edge above her head.

Well.

His body heat pressed into her back as he curled over her and put his mouth to her ear. “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t come until I say.”

Sheer dominance looped through every harshly spoken word, planting hooks in her mind, compelling her to obey, snaring her cat’s focus. It also triggered a chemical reaction that woke up Quinley’s nerve-endings, revved her sexual engines, and made her body relax for him.

She’d never be able to adequately describe how such expressions of dominance could seize her focus and have such a physical impact on her. It was just so instinctual, so automatic. Like a preprogrammed response encoded in her DNA. She suspected only other submissives would really understand.

Isaiah released her hair, snapped open the fly of her jeans, and dragged both them and her panties down to her knees. Then suddenly one of her legs were free, he kicked both apart.

And plunged two fingers inside her.

Oh, fuck.

Every pump of his fingers was hard but shallow, delicious but teasing. Having no way to find purchase with her feet, since the tips of her toes barely brushed the tiled floor, she held tight to the edges of the island.

Isaiah roughly shoved the back of her sweater all the way up to her nape. His fingers whispered over patches of her flesh, and she knew he was tracing the bites, bruises, and scratches there. Every touch was gentle but so damn entitled. Her cat loved it.

He drove the fingers inside her deeper with a growl. “Your skin is painted with my marks. My own personal masterpiece.”

Her feline melted under the force of his dominance, so drawn by it she edged forward. Quinley felt the brush of fur just beneath her skin, smelt the feral edge in her scent signaling her animal’s closeness.

A long, drawn-out snarl came from Isaiah. Both his hands disappeared. A zipper lowered. Something hard, hot, and long slapped her ass.

He glided the head of his cock between her wet folds. “All day I’ve been thinking about this pussy. Filling it. Using it. Feeling it drench my dick when you come.”

Isaiah clamped a hand on her hip and ruthlessly slammed his hips forward, forcing her to accept every inch of his cock. Needing her to take it. Her tight pussy spasmed around him and, fuck, he could come right then.

But he didn’t.

He planted his free hand on her nape to hold her in place. “This is gonna be fast.” He rode her hard, his pace almost rabid.

He hadn’t lied. Throughout the day, his thoughts had so often drifted to fucking her that they’d bordered on obsessive. His instincts—again powered by the absence of the bond—had driven him to hunt her, bring her back to their den, take her over and over and over.

He’d texted her several times, unable to resist; needing that connection; trying to let the exchange of messages be enough. The chaos in his mind and body had eased off once he’d picked her up from the lot, his system satisfied now that she was back in his possession.

Still, he now had her bent over the island as he plowed into her. Why? Because he needed it. Not because they lacked a bond, not because primitive instincts were fucking with him. But because he’d come to crave this—how she yielded to him, how her pussy felt around his cock, how he could finally be.

He upped his pace, brutally pounding into her, urged on by her soft, trembly moans. “You needed this, didn’t you?” he gritted out. “I did. Needed to shoot my come where it belongs.”

She whimpered, her inner walls heating and tightening.

Sensing she was close, he squeezed her hip, letting her feel the prick of his claws. “Go on, you can come. Do it now.”

She did. Her head snapped up, a rough scream grated her throat, and her pussy all but strangled him.

A growl escaped through his gritted teeth. “Good. Fucking. Girl.” All finesse, control, and rhythm disappeared as he fucked her harder, pursuing his own release.

Then he found it.

The thrashing current whipped through his body and shot up his shaft as he exploded, filling her with all he had.

When his release finally subsided, he pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder. “You good?”

Panting, she made a committal sound. “Feel free to do that again any time you want.”

He smiled. “That’s the plan.”