CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

God, this was going to absolutely suck ass. In her opinion, the only thing shittier than breaking things off with a guy you cared for was knowing that said guy wouldn’t give a measly fuck. Which was why Havana Ramos really wished she lived in a world where ending a fling by text message wasn’t considered distasteful.

If Tate Devereaux wasn’t both her landlord and a male who she respected, she might have ignored her annoying morals and done this from the comfort of her sofa. Instead, she was currently walking along the street that led to the cozy little cul-de-sac where he lived. She would give him the courtesy of a face-to-face talk, and she would pretend not to be upset when all he did was shrug and tell her to enjoy the rest of her day.

This really shouldn’t be so hard. Casual relationships were supposed to be simple, fun, and easy to walk away from. But she’d found that they could be the messiest of all relationships. It was just far too easy for lines to get blurred and hearts to get bruised. There were just so many dos and don’ts that she found it hard to keep up. And the golden rule? Do not get attached.

Well, she broke the fucker, didn’t she?

Generally, she wasn’t afraid to break rules. It was sort of fun. But this particular rule was not made to be broken.

If she thought there was a chance the fling could evolve into something more, she’d stick around and see if anything came of it. But after earlier overhearing the words that Tate exchanged with his brother, she knew it was time to cut her losses and walk away.

Maybe it was better that Tate wouldn’t care. It meant she didn’t have to worry that he’d evict her out of spite. The apartment she shared with one of her closest friends wasn’t anything special, but it was pure gold for lone shifters like Havana. Living in a complex owned by the Alpha male of a strong pride gave her an element of protection.

It was only six months ago that Tate replaced his father as Alpha, but he’d already earned a reputation as a man who shouldn’t be fucked with. People rarely tangled with his kind anyway.

The full-blooded animals of his kind were referred to as Pallas’ cats, but shifters stuck with “pallas cats.” These feline shifters were moody, mercurial, and preloaded with an “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass” vibe. If someone pissed them off, they’d attack without hesitation and savagely tear into their prey with a demonic ferocity. Considering pallas cats were, pound for pound, one of the strongest breeds of shifter, they could do a whole lot of damage—despite not being much bigger than a housecat when in their weirdly cute animal form. In sum, they were crazy.

Havana’s kind weren’t exactly beings of pure light either. Devil shifters were bigger than the full-blooded animals of their kind, Tasmanian devils, and had long ago solidified their spot in the archives of terror with their notoriously bad tempers, blood-curdling shrieks, absolute fearlessness, and habit of feasting on the dead. In her opinion, they were simply too awesome not to exist.

Shifter society wasn’t terribly fond of Havana’s kind, so she’d known when she made inquiries about the vacant apartment that there was a chance she’d be turned away. But Tate hadn’t even commented on it. Then again, they’d both been a little caught up in their immediate sexual chemistry that had fairly crackled in the air. That day, he’d watched her closely as he gave her a tour of the apartment, a carnal promise in his eyes that made her skin prickle.

Snaring the attention of such a powerful Alpha had been something of a thrill. It was also a stroke to her ego, which had taken a pounding when she learned that her on-and-off-bed-buddy was now in a serious relationship. Dieter had flitted in and out of her world like a directionless butterfly for a year. She’d hoped there’d come a day when he’d be ready to commit. But when that day did come, Havana hadn’t been the woman he’d committed to.

When Tate made his move and was very clear that all he wanted was casual sex—no obligations, no romance, no expectations, no emotional investment—that had sounded good to her. Generally, she didn’t get involved with Alphas. She’d known too many who abused their power, bullied those they were supposed to protect, and sought to control people through fear … much like her old Alpha. Which was why she’d researched Tate before applying to rent the apartment.

She’d learned that he wasn’t one of those assholes who was drunk on power or who exercised control in a domineering way. He didn’t dish out orders while ruling from his metaphorical throne, lazily leaving his Beta to oversee matters. Tate was all up in the pride’s business—a constant, visible, active presence that wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and stood between his pride and the world like a shield. So her wariness of Alphas hadn’t held her back from accepting his offer.

Over the past four months, they’d gone separately about their daily lives—worked, ate, relaxed, slept—and then hooked up for sex a few times a week. They were not part of each other’s lives: she wasn’t “his,” even though they were exclusive.

Still, she was acquainted with many of his pride mates since she shopped at the pride-owned stores she was currently walking past—all of which were close to her complex. As such, she knew he’d made no secret of their fling. He’d made it publicly clear that she was off-limits. But he’d never formally introduced her to his family or ever taken her out on dates.

Although they only met up at either her apartment or his house, it wasn’t a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of thing. They also hung out, ate dinner, enjoyed some light conversation, and sometimes even watched a movie. He never made her feel used or disrespected. He was always totally focused on her and very much present in the moment.

And the sex? It was off-the-charts hot. Like all natural-born alphas, Havana could be pretty demanding in the bedroom and didn’t give up control easily. It wasn’t about sexual games. Testing her bedpartner was a primal drive inside every alpha female. It was instinctual to put up a fight, test the male’s strength, and make him work for control.

Tate was a very dominant man. He expressed that dominance and need for control during sex, so he hadn’t been bothered by her refusal to submit easily—in fact, he’d seemed to like the challenge. So, yeah, they were a good match in bed.

She’d enjoyed the fling for what it was. For a while. Recently, she found herself lamenting that he had no interest in getting to know her. It had started to hurt that he didn’t ask her personal questions or for her to elaborate on any information she volunteered. It had also started to bother her that he only ever contacted her when he was interested in hooking up—other than that, it was radio silence.

She wasn’t actually upset with him, just with the situation. Because, really, she only had herself to blame for again falling for a guy who couldn’t give her what she wanted.

She knew from his pride mates that some of his ex-bed buddies had agreed to his terms in the hope that he’d eventually commit. But Havana hadn’t walked into their arrangement thinking that it would be a steppingstone to a real relationship. She’d honestly thought she could enjoy a brief fling and not cross any emotional lines.

Well she’d failed. Spectacularly.

And her pathetic hopes that the fling might blossom had died a quick death right in the middle of her stairwell earlier when Tate and his brother had been fitting a new door lock on another level, and they’d had no idea she overheard them …

“You and Havana look good together, Tate. You two have had a thing going for just over four months now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a long time for you. Is it heading into semi-serious territory?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should consider making it a little serious and seeing if it goes anywhere. You’re thirty-two years old; you ain’t getting any younger.”

“Not interested in a real relationship, Luke. You know that. So does Havana. We’re just having a bit of fun, and that’s all we’re gonna have.”

She swallowed hard at the memory. Really, she should have guessed it was coming. A Dead End road sign had fallen over practically in front of her this morning.

Her first thought was, “Well, fuck.”

Her second thought was, “Is that what Tate and I have, a dead-end relationship?” And she’d concluded that, as much as she wished differently, they in fact did. The universe had kindly given her a reminder that this was going nowhere.

Yeah, she believed in signs. She heeded them. They’d never led her wrong.

Her inner animal wasn’t so happy that Havana intended to make a graceful exit from the fling. The devil was fussy and relatively antisocial, but she liked Tate; liked that he was so self-possessed and unapologetically masculine. She was in something of a funk right now.

Havana felt like indulging in a good sulk, too, but she had no right. She’d known from the very beginning that she and Tate weren’t building anything.

She’d also known, courtesy of his pride mates, that a woman he once tried imprinting on had completely fucked him over. That had been three years ago. He’d kept his relationships short and casual ever since—his usual cut-off date was two months. But he’d let his fling with Havana continue for longer, and she’d stupidly read a little too much into that. She shouldn’t have, considering he’d been very clear that there’d be no happy ending. There was no sense in whining about it now—not even in her head.

As she skirted the corner of the street and turned into the cul-de-sac, her stomach rolled. Which she totally ignored, because this had to be done. Approaching his house, she noticed two of his enforcers lingering near the building on guard. She said a quick hello to each of them as she walked up Tate’s front yard and onto his porch.

Pulling up her mental bootstraps, she jabbed the doorbell. It seemed like forever before the door swung open. Her pulse spiked as rich inky blue eyes landed on her—it was easy to see the killer instinct there. It was also easy to melt right into a puddle of hot to trot goo. What else was a girl to do when presented with so much male deliciousness?

Tall and powerfully built, Tate Devereaux was the definition of rugged with the merciless slash to his full mouth, the harshly masculine lines of his face, and the fine layer of stubble that dusted his square jaw. His short hair was dark as pitch and sleek as a cat’s fur. Intricate tattoos were inked on his arms, chest, and back, accentuating the muscles there. And there was a lot of honed, roped muscle to be seen on that body.

Even without the subtle yet potent alpha vibes that spilled from him, there would be no missing that Tate was a leader down to the bone. He projected an innate authority and supreme self-assurance that commanded attention. There’d be no steamrolling this guy. Tate was a man who decided his own path. He didn’t follow the rules; he made his own, all the while exuding a calm surety that he’d get what he wanted one way or another.

Basically, he made all her sexual bells ring-a-ding-ding. Loud. With feeling.

One corner of his mouth kicked up slightly. “Hey,” he greeted simply.

Damn, that voice. It was deep. Low. Gravelly. Uber-sexy. It also dripped with the power that was a basic part of his character.

“You didn’t call to say you were coming,” he said, but it wasn’t an admonishment.

Havana hadn’t called because he would no doubt have assumed she was interested in hooking up tonight. She hadn’t wanted to mislead him.

She walked in as he stepped aside to let her pass. The door had no sooner closed behind her than Tate pulled her flush against him, making her stomach flip. Her nerve endings sprung to life and her blood went hot. Her body clearly wasn’t on board with her “it’s time to walk away” plan.

He buried his face in her neck. “Your scent makes my mouth water.”

His own scent had a similar effect on her. Right then, it rose between them. Dark chocolate mint, rich coffee beans, and warm worn leather. It neverfailed to stir up her hormones—they were so easy for him, the traitors.

Sliding his hand up her outer thigh, he scraped his teeth over her pulse. “I’m glad you came.”

Doing her best to ignore the way her body lit up for him, she splayed her fingers on the center of his chest and said, “We need to talk.” They also needed to stop this now before she gave into the temptation to indulge in a bout of goodbye sex.

He lashed her earlobe with his tongue. “We do?” It was a careless question.

“It’s important, Tate.” She pushed hard against his chest. “Really, we have to talk,” she said firmly.

He very slowly backed up, his gaze flitting over her face. “About what?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. God, it should be simple to end something that hadn’t really begun. Especially when it had never been fated to last long.

Part of her was tempted to make some bullshit excuse for why she’d turned up and just give him more time, but that would be dumb. She needed to walk away now. It was the right thing to do.They were wasting each other’s time by dragging out something that had no future.

Ignoring the knots in her gut, Havana lifted her chin. She’d make this quick, painless, and civil. “I wanted to do this face-to-face. I’m pretty sure you’ll agree with me on this. Still, it’s awkward for me to be the one to say it out loud, but one of us needs to. I had fun and everything, Tate, but I think it’s time we each went our own way.”

Seconds ticked by as he simply stared at her. Then his brows snapped together, and a low growl rumbled out of him. “The fuck? What brought this on, Havana? Last night, you were moaning beneath me, asking me to take you harder. Before you left, we made plans to get together next weekend. Now you’re telling me we need to go our own way?”

She double-blinked, sincerely surprised that he gave a rat’s ass. “Yes, it’s time we did. Take care of yourself, okay?”

She turned, intending to leave. His arm shot out, slamming his palm on the wall beside her head, acting as a barrier. She didn’t turn back to face him. She just stared at his arm, grinding her teeth as anger-filled alpha vibes radiated from him—they whipped at her skin and settled heavy on her bones.

He took a prowling step closer, swallowing up the small distance between them, and put his mouth to her ear. “I’ve been inside that pussy more times than I can count. Now you’re telling me I no longer have any rights to it. You can at least explain why.”

“Look—”

“You met someone else? Is that what this is?”

Frowning, she twisted to face him, forcing him to edge back and lower his arm. “What? No.”

“So what am I missing? What happened between last night and right now that made you want to walk away?” He squinted. “Did someone say something to you? Has one of my pride mates got their panties in a twist because their Alpha’s involved with a loner?”

“If any of them had a problem with you and I sleeping together, they didn’t make me aware of it.”

“Then why do this?”

“Like I said, it’s just time that we each went our own way.”

He moved his face closer to hers. “You didn’t seem to feel that way last night when you were coming all over my cock.”

She damned her cheeks for heating. The sex between them was amazing, sure, but that was all they had. And telling him how much that hurt her wasn’t anywhere on her annual schedule. She wasn’t going to put herself out there and make herself vulnerable only to have him tell her what she already knew—he wouldn’t give her more.

Besides, knowing Tate, he’d feel shitty that she was hurting. She didn’t want that. He was a good guy who’d walked a very fine line, careful never to make her feel used without leading her into thinking their relationship was anything other than casual.

“Answer me, Havana. What the fuck brought this on? Why are you telling me we’re done?”

Every instinct she had bristled at the sheer demand in his voice; at the utter expectation of a response, like he held authority over her. She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, how very vehement you sound. I get that you’re an Alpha, but you’re not my Alpha. Now quit looming over me. I don’t like it.”

“Then tell me what I want to know.”

“I already did.”

“It was a half-assed answer. I want to know the rest.”

“There’s nothing more to know.” She rubbed at her temple. “God, why are you making this difficult?”

“Difficult?”

“Yes. You weren’t supposed to care. This wasn’t supposed to bother you. I don’t know why it does. I don’t get why you’re pushing me on this.”

“If I’d suddenly turned around and declared that you and I were done, you wouldn’t have wondered why?”

“No. Because you were clear from the beginning that this fling would have a quick expiry date. I would have thought you’d have ended it before now. You didn’t, but you would have some time soon. You wouldn’t have lost any sleep over it; wouldn’t have considered it a big deal. You’d have easily moved on with your life … because I’d never actually been part of it, had I? I’d just hovered on the edges of it—you wouldn’t allow anything else.”

Tate ground his teeth, silently conceding that she was right. He hadn’t pulled her into his world, hadn’t offered her a place in it, hadn’t marked her as his. So he shouldn’t feel like he was losing something. Something important.

When Havana first declared they needed to “go their own way,” it had taken a few seconds for her words to sink in. Then anger had exploded in his gut, and a cord of something that was strangely akin to panic had twined tight around his lungs—that cord was still there, making his chest twinge with every breath. Her declaration thrust his cat into the throe of a hissing, snarling fit of fury, and the feline showed no signs of getting his shit together.

His cat usually never gave a damn when a woman chose to walk away. The animal tired of females fast. He usually began to withdraw after a month or two—he’d been that way since Ashlynn pissed all over them three years ago.

Similarly, Tate never much cared if a woman ended a fling. Purely because, due to his cat’s habit of withdrawing from relationships, Tate was careful not to choose females who held too much appeal for him. But as everything in him rebelled at the thought of Havana walking away, he realized he hadn’t succeeded at holding her at a distance. More, he’d gotten far too comfortable in their relationship, shallow though it was.

He also realized that his cat had been more invested in the fling than Tate had originally thought. The feline’s interest in Havana hadn’t yet waned. But the cat would pull away from her eventually … and there’d be nothing Tate could do to stop it.

Some of the women from his past had only been bluffing when they proclaimed it was “over.” They’d said it in an effort to spur Tate into offering them more, which had never worked. But he could see that Havana wasn’t playing that game. She meant what she said. She was ready to scrape him off.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. In fact, Tate should have been able to nod and wish her well. He should have been able to agree that the fling had run its course.

He shouldn’t have been thinking about caging her against the wall, stripping her naked, and fucking her into changing her mind.

Tate silently cursed, knowing he had no one to blame but himself. He’d never felt such elemental, explosive chemistry with another female—it had sparked to life the moment he laid eyes on Havana. He’d known all the way down to his gut that it would be a bad idea to touch her; that she wouldn’t be easy to walk away from. But he’d taken the risk because he’d wanted her so fucking badly.

He’d thought a few weeks in her bed would be enough to work off the insanely carnal need she roused in him. Four months later, he was still fucking ravenous for her. But then, what red-blooded male wouldn’t be?

There was something very … arresting about Havana. It was in the way she held herself with such regal grace. She always looked fearless. In command. Comfortable in her own skin. Haughty in a way that would challenge any male to try to win her attention.

More, she shimmered with a feminine alpha energy that seemed to light her up from within. It glittered in those exotic, almond bluish-gray eyes that were framed with thick dark lashes. Persian eyes, he thought.

Long and feathered, her hair fell in sleek maple brown ripples down her back. He loved to run his hands through it, especially when eating at that fantasy mouth. Loved to stroke and lick all her soft golden-brown skin and explore her wicked curves. And, fuck, those smooth toned legs felt insanely good wrapped around him. All of her felt good. Felt right.

And now she was telling him he no longer had the right to touch her, taste her, be inside her.

Tate felt his nostrils flare. This whole thing had come out of left-field, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

She’d said that none of his pride mates had expressed any disapproval over her involvement with him, but Havana wasn’t the type to name and shame. There were a few ambitious females in his pride who were gunning to be Alpha female. They tried flirting with him on occasion, and they weren’t pleased by his disinterest. One or more of them could have felt threatened by Havana and decided to act on it.

Not that trying to scare her off would have worked—his little devil wasn’t easily intimidated. But if they’d made several comments, she might have gotten tired of dealing with it, might have felt that an emotionless fling wasn’t worth the hassle. Unlike those other females, she had no aspirations to rule alongside him—he would have sensed it if she had. He was used to having people around who wanted something from him.

Tate had always known he’d one day take over the pride. He hadn’t wanted to be given the position by his father, though. He’d wanted to earn it. So he’d worked his way up from enforcer to Beta, mastering every skill necessary to lead. Because it had been common knowledge among the pride that he’d one day rule, people had been trying to climb up his ass for years.

Women often strove to please him, telling him what they thought he wanted to hear, reluctant to disappoint him. Not because they gave much of a shit about him, but because they wanted the prize at the end of the tunnel—to become Alpha female.

Havana, however, didn’t want anything from him. She didn’t even seem particularly impressed by his role. She didn’t take his crap, give him his own way all the time, or relentlessly try to impress him. Hell, she didn’t even address him like he was an Alpha. When they were together, he was just Tate to her. She didn’t see his status, she saw him.

There were few people Tate felt able to lower his guard around. Havana was one of them. She made him feel at ease. Calm. Unjudged. It enabled him to switch off and relax.

She also didn’t try pushing his boundaries. She just let the situation be. Let him be. She made an effort to get to know him, but she never asked anything too personal. She didn’t sulk if he dodged a particular question—she just gave him a haughty eye roll that was all alpha and never failed to make his dick twitch.

She wasn’t afraid to challenge him, especially not in the bedroom. She put up a resistance and made him work for the right to take control. So there was a lot of biting and scratching, though they were both careful not to draw blood or leave permanent marks. He’d never admit out loud that he’d almost branded her once. Well, twice. Maybe even several times.

To put it simply, Havana Ramos was his equal. She accepted and understood him in a way that only another natural-born alpha could. And he liked her a fuck of a lot. So he really wasn’t down with her plan for them to each go their own goddamn way.

She exhaled heavily. “I’m going to head home.”

“Not until you tell me why you want to walk away from me.”

“For God’s sake, Tate, can you not just drop it?” She thrust a hand into her hair, and her inner animal momentarily glared out at him through her eyes. Given the devil’s temper, he wouldn’t be surprised if she shifted and tried to bite his face off.

The smaller a breed of shifter, the more likely he was to avoid it—and there was a very good reason for that. Smaller breeds not only tended to be ten times more ferocious, it was as if mother nature gave them some utterly cool defenses to compensate for their size.

Take devil shifters: their bones were tough as steel. They had the bite force of a giant piranha. They possessed an immense strength that was out of proportion to their size. And the odor they released from their anal glands could make even a skunk think, “Fuck, no.”

Devils were disliked by some but respected by all. Because you had to respect that a creature the size of a small dog with an oversized head could burst your skull like a goddamn piñata.

One thing Tate liked about devils was that they weren’t unpredictable. They were very consistent creatures, so you knew exactly where you stood with them. More to the point, you knew that if you pissed them off, they’d shift into small, furry canisters of pure rage that would happily rip the skin from your bones. So, yeah, there was really no such thing as giving an angry devil shifter too much personal space. Still, he wasn’t going to do as she requested and “drop this.” It was too important.

“Is this an ego thing?” she asked. “You like to be the one who decides when it’s over?”

“This has nothing to do with ego. This is a simple case of me wanting you to stop dancing around my questions. One thing I like about you, Havana, is that you’re a straight-shooter. You say it how it is. Right now, though, all your shutters are down. I can’t imagine what could possibly be going on up here”—he gently tapped her temple— “that you’d feel you couldn’t tell me.”

“Since when have you ever cared about what goes on inside my head? You never ask about anything—not my past, not my opinions, not my likes or dislikes, nothing. In that sense, you barely know me.”

“Bullshit. I might not know your origins, your favorite color, or how you came to be a loner, but I know you.” He hadn’t asked her questions about herself, but he’d paid attention. Watched her. Studied her. Filed little things away in his head. He knew plenty about her.

You couldn’t fit Havana in a box. She was short-tempered yet the calm in the storm. Caring yet not tactile. Friendly yet not social. Frank yet guarded. Impulsive yet not a slave to her impulses. She was a practical person but whimsical enough to believe in “signs.” She wasn’t a girly girl but also wasn’t a tomboy. She was just … her. A quirky and intriguing mix of tough and vulnerable.

“And you know me,” he added.

“Not well. You kept a metaphorical ocean between us.”

A muscle in his cheek ticked. “There’s a reason I keep a distance from—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” she instantly assured him. “Really. You have every right to insist on boundaries. That’s not wrong. I’m just making the point that I never got to properly know you, that’s all. Look, I’m making the right decision for us both here. We fooled around for over four months. It’s not wise to continue something that isn’t going anywhere. That’s how people’s expectations get muddled. That’s how they get hurt.”

She wasn’t wrong. She also wasn’t telling him the complete truth. “Maybe that’s part of the reason you’re declaring you’re done, but there’s more to this.”

She flicked her gaze upward. “You know, I’m beginning to think that nothing I say will be enough to justify my decision to you. Also, it’s kind of narcissistic of you to feel like there needs to be a major reason why a girl would choose to walk away from you. Sometimes, people just want to leave dead-end relationships. They just want to move on.”

Pain knifed through his gut. A pain that was unexpected. Dangerous. “And you just want to move on?”

“Yes, I do. Because it really is best for both of us.” She let out a long breath. “I don’t want us to part on a bad note. You’re a good guy. And I had fun.”

“Yet, you’re done.”

She gave him a wan smile. “This was always going to end. I’m just making it happen sooner rather than later.”

Tate shook his head. He wasn’t ready for this to be over. What they had might not be deep or serious, but it was good. He didn’t want to give her up yet. “Baby—”

“Don’t, Tate. Don’t do that. Just let this be. It truly is better to do this now,” she added, her voice going thick with emotion. But then she took a step back, and a mask of indifference slipped over her face.

The sudden distance in her eyes raised his hackles and made his cat snarl. She was a mere foot away, but there might as well have been a goddamn abyss between them. She suddenly seemed so utterly out of reach on every level. So completely inaccessible. He could feel her slipping through his fingers like water.

The cord of panic around his lungs tightened until it hurt to breathe. The urge to bite her, brand her, bubbled up out of nowhere and surged through him with such strength that he reached for her, intending to clamp his teeth around her pulse.

The fuck?

Shaken, Tate lowered his arm and backed up.

“See you around.” Then she was gone, and the door closed behind her.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, cursing beneath his breath. He wanted to do as his raging cat demanded—track her down, haul her back, and make her think twice about walking away from him again. But Tate stayed where he was. He let her go. He had no business going after her because, really, what the fuck did he have to give her?

Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.