Claimed by Caden

by Serena Akeroyd

  “Caden,” she hissed. “There are tons of them!”

  He frowned at her, not understanding, then when he stepped out, and turned to look at the palace, he managed to comprehend her discomfort. His eyes widened at the sight of, as she’d said, so many faces studying them. “Apparently I underestimated how happy they are to see you.”

  She reached for his hand, gripped down hard, and said, “This is creepy.”

  He blew out a breath. “I’d like to lie and say it isn’t.”

  “Thank God you feel the same way.”

  His grimace was rueful. “I know you don’t understand the enormity of this, honey. But this is damned weird to be gawked at by so many important people. I know I’m not what they’re interested in, but still.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He bent to whisper in her ear, “The second floor window, straight above the portico. See that woman? She’s the top Enforcer for the nation. Every female, male and cub knows her face.”

  Lia turned to him. “Is it wrong that I want to stick my tongue out?”

  His grin was wry. “You’re probably the only person out here that would get away with it. But, to be on the safe side, stick your tongue out later and I’ll show you what I’ll do to you for being so rude.”

  “Oh, promises, promises!” she retorted, eyes sparkling. “You do realize this is the completely wrong time to even be thinking about sex.”

  “Yup,” he retorted cheerfully. “It’s either that or go into meltdown. Two windows down from the National Enforcer, is Angelika Erickson. She’s the liaison between our kind and other shifters. She’s in the news. A lot. Above her, there’s Deirdre Harley, she’s one of your granddam’s aides. This is like a Who’s Who of the National Pride’s top females.” He shook his head. “Incredible.”

  “Just wait until they meet Tommy.”

  Confused, he cocked a brow at her. “Why?”

  “He might be my brother, but he’s a hunk. They’ll start drooling over him.”

  “I doubt it, honey. He’s only a male, after all. You’re the one they want to see.”

  “They won’t do this to him? Gawk at him like he’s the one that belongs in a Z-list movie and not the other way around?”

  “Hey, I’m a shifter, too. Do I belong in a Z-list movie?”

  “Depends on your next answer, and if you explain what you meant to me.”

  He sighed. “He’s a male. That says it all. They’ll probably have little to no interest in him. Well, not these females, anyway. They’re too old and they’re already mated. The unmated ones will probably be interested. After all, his lineage is sound, even if he’s half-breed.”

  Lia snorted. “Just a half-breed. Looks like you did better for yourself than you imagined when you got me down the aisle.”

  He grinned at her snappish tone. “I wanted you whether you were human, half-breed, or shifter. I’d have done whatever it took to get you down that damned aisle. You almost killed me wanting to wait a few months to plan the ceremony. All I could think about was tying you to me in as many ways as your laws permitted.”

  Charmed, she smiled at him. “I love you, too, baby.”

  His cheeks reddened, and she leaned over to press her lips to his jaw. He froze at her touch, then blew out a breath.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, scowling at his less than warm reaction to her affectionate gesture.

  “You just told the whole Pride that you’re proud of me.”

  His voice sounded shaky, and she frowned at him. “I did?” Guilt assailed her at her thoughtless comment. “I mean, I am proud of you, but I just kissed you.”

  Fuck, she doubted she’d ever understand all the rules in this society.

  “Have you ever seen my mother show any attention to my father?” he asked, as he took a step toward the main entrance and forcibly dragged her with him.

  She pondered that. “Well, no. She doesn’t even talk to him. Not really, anyway.”

  “Exactly. And you just kissed me. In front of everyone. I know you don’t know what that means, but thank you, love.”

  Even more confused, she just retorted, “You’re welcome!”

  She had no more time to think about how a simple kiss on the cheek could hold so much merit to this peculiar society. It wasn’t hard to realize how a public kiss could hold much sway, but the intricacies of the Pride’s matriarchal ways were still frustratingly bizarre to her.

  Before she could complain about how weird their customs were, they were greeted by a male dressed in livery. He bowed, deeply, and more toward her than Caden.

  Sighing, she smiled at the man, knowing he’d meant no offense even though she was offended. Christ, the women in her society complained about inequality. This was fucking ridiculous.

  “Blessed we are to welcome you here,” came words booming out over the threshold. A tall woman, almost a carbon copy of Eloise, all golden neatness—what was it with these clones?—stepped out and grabbed Lia’s hand and shook it. She completely ignored Caden, and he didn’t try to introduce himself, so this was obviously the way of it.

  That didn’t mean she had to like it. “Thank you. This is my husband, Caden Drummond. I’m Lia.” The words were trite, but they were enough to make the woman frown.

  “Marcia Hernandez, at your service. I’m to be your guide during your stay. I’ll take you to your suite now, and then, your granddam would like to visit with you. As soon as you’re ready.”

  Lia shook her head. “I’m ready now. I don’t need to visit the suite.”

  Marcia tilted her head to the side in question. “You wouldn’t like to freshen up?”

  Lia’s mouth tightened at the veiled complaint about her outfit. Sure, it was crumpled from the flight, but it had cost her three hundred dollars in the boutique in Anchor. If her grandmother wanted her to be dressed to the nines and dolled up like she was heading out for the Oscars after-party, then ho-hum.

  For all her sins, Lia just wanted this first meeting to be over. It would be easy to feel overwhelmed, and she was fighting it, fighting the desire to run away from it all, Caden at her side. If her grandmother was a nice person, then it would go a long way to quenching that particular need.

  The sooner she determined what kind of woman the Mater was, the sooner Lia could decide whether she wanted to accept this new life or not.

  “I’m ready to see her now,” she gritted out. In her irritation, she squeezed Caden’s hand.

  “As you wish,” was all Marcia said, but her disapproval was quite evident.

  Back well and truly up, Lia fumed as they were directed to the Mater’s quarters. They were led through a foyer so large, a three-bed house could probably have fit inside the space. They climbed grand staircases that looked as though royals had once descended the beautifully carved steps. Then, walked down halls that held a history she couldn’t understand, but that had Caden pausing as they passed tapestries depicting scenes that had him entranced. They were crude and old. Pictures of men turning into half-beasts, of blood being spilled, of the sun rising and making the blood glisten. At least, that was her interpretation.

  He didn’t stop for long, moving as soon as Marcia glared at them, but the instant Lia saw that, she refused to budge, and let her mate look his fill.

  It pissed her off something rotten for Caden’s wants to be completely ignored. How could any woman stand it?

  Marcia cleared her throat. “I can show you the sights later, your Grace.”

  Lia stiffened, and under her breath, asked Caden, “Grace?”

  “This is the Pride’s version of royalty, Lia. Get used to being called odd names.”

  His comment was made absentmindedly as he drooled over a sword that was stained with only Christ knew what. Lia certainly didn’t want to know if that was ancient blood and guts on the blade or not!

  Grunting, she muttered, “We won’t be long.”

  Marcia hovered a few feet away, tapping her foot every now and then. And knowing that she
’d stopped Marcia from pressuring them, Caden took his time glorying in all of the regalia precious to his people.

  Unfortunately for Lia, this was the longest corridor on the planet. It seemed to stretch on for miles and every now and then, Caden would murmur, “This suit of armor was worn in the Battle of Hedde.”

  She feigned interest, but in truth, she couldn’t have cared less.

  It took more than blood to make her a part of this culture. She’d been raised a human, and considering she didn’t appreciate these irritating, matriarchal customs of a people she was a part of, it didn’t particularly make her want to become friendly with the Pride.

  Her grandmother and the rest of the family might be the exception, but as it was, Lia did not appreciate her mate being treated like he was shit on someone’s heels. She’d had a glimpse of Caden’s frustration at his mother’s repeated insults of her over their marriage—seen and hurt for his impotence in those moments. She’d always told him to calm down, not to let Eloise get to him, but he’d instigate countless arguments on her behalf. Often making them leave once the festivities they were attending had concluded, rather than staying the duration of their vacation with his family.

  This was the other side of the coin, and she didn’t like it. Marcia kept on glaring at him, then at her, and Lia could once again sense the woman’s disapproval. Only this time, it wasn’t at her wardrobe, but at her inability to control her mate.

  Like he needed controlling!

  Even though she was bored shitless, she let Caden take as much time as he wanted, taking pleasure in pissing the other woman off. By the time they reached the bottom of the corridor, Lia never wanted to see another sword or hear about another battle ever again. She also learned why it was the longest walkway in the East Coast...it led to her grandmother’s door.

  She didn’t need to be told who lived behind the huge entrance. The carpet under their feet had gradually faded from royal blue into a blood-red crimson. The red only beginning about fifteen feet away from the door. Gold trim also lined the edges of the runner, which had bled out from a silver that had matched the royal blue. The double doors were white, and their frames had been etched and carved. Leaves and the texture of bark had been cut into the surface and the raised edges had been decorated with gold.

  Marcia knocked on the door, and waited until she heard, “Come in,” before she opened it.

  Before the other woman could even step inside, that disembodied voice said, “You can leave us, Marcia. I’ll call for you if we have a need for you.”

  Marcia’s scowl of displeasure was aimed at the ground, but Lia saw it anyway, and realized the woman was pissed at being forced to miss the momentous occasion as granddam and granddaughter met.

  “Bottom feeder,” Lia mumbled as Marcia departed, and Caden’s chuckle had her grinning at him.

  It was for that reason and that reason alone that the two of them stepped into the most powerful woman in the North American Pride’s room with smiles on their faces.

  At first, though, Lia didn’t even see her grandmother. She was just aghast at the room itself. It was two tennis courts in size. The length was impossible to credit.

  There were so many nooks and crannies that she soon realized this was like a studio. The Mater lived, worked, relaxed, and enjoyed herself in these quarters.

  At the back wall, there was a huge fireplace, surrounded on both sides by fifteen-feet-high bookshelves that lined the whole of that wall. In front of the hearth was a huge comfortable sofa, and an armchair loaded with squashy pillows. Immediately, Lia knew that was where her grandmother read.

  The bookshelves bled around the corners only stopping when they hit a window. In front of that window, was a huge desk. Loaded with papers, at least three computers running on it, and a mountain of other files surrounding the office chair.

  Beside that compartment of the room, was another sofa and armchair, only this was pointed at a TV that had to be as wide as she was tall.

  French doors suddenly appeared, and they led onto a terrace as long as the suite. She could just see a pool from her line of sight.

  Next to the French doors was a dining table, with seats for twelve.

  And beside that, a workstation. Shelves, a table, all loaded with different items. But the back wall was lined with easels, all with a new piece of artwork on them. Her grandmother was an artist, a watercolor painter, by the looks of it.

  Everything was made for comfort. That was easy to see. The colors were harmonious, reds and creams, browns and light shades of orange. The warm, earthy shades made a body feel at ease, at rest, somehow. Even though the workstation and desk were for work, they only took up a part of what was obviously a room for leisure.

  In comparison to the cold formality of Eloise’s home, something about this place put Lia at ease. If her grandmother liked her quarters to feel lived in, then surely she wasn’t like the other female clones Lia had met on her travels?

  She could only live in hope.

  It took a while for her to even spot the woman who was her father’s dam. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t what she got.

  Lia had expected the woman to be grandmotherly. White hair, maybe? Plump. Dressed to suit her age, at what must have been at least seventy—at a guess. Especially with a name like Mater. She’d kind of pictured her as being the Pride’s version of Mrs. Santa Claus.

  Instead, she found the woman nervously pleating her hands sat on the steps that would enable her to reach the upper shelves of the bookcases. Not the steps opposite the door, but beside it. Making her hard to spot. It was like looking for Waldo.

  The grandmother she hadn’t known she had wasn’t how she pictured. Dressed in jeans, and a baggy sweater, she didn’t look a day over fifty, but according to Caden, that was normal. Lions aged at a different rate to humans, apparently. There were silver streaks in the golden strands that were messily pulled together into a loose top knot, but there were few lines on the nervous face that could have been her own.

  If anything, their similarities were what made her belly clench with nerves. It was like looking in the mirror.

  Even as the thought hit her, the Mater raised a hand to her lips, and shook her head. “Lea be praised,” she whispered more to herself than to her guests.

  “Why should I be praised?” Lia murmured to Caden.

  “She doesn’t mean you. Lea,” he said, dragging out the syllables, Leh-ah, “is our Goddess.”

  The Mater cleared her throat. “M–My son named you for her. And for m–me, I believe.” She stood, and the shakiness of her legs was evident, as she stepped toward them and had to pause to steady herself on one of the bookcases.

  “May I, Mater?” Caden asked, a reverence to his tone.

  She shook her head, smile tight. “I never thought to know a day like this. My wobbly knees are only to be expected.” She sucked in a breath and made the final five steps to them both.

  Lia watched the woman that could have been her double with a strange detachment. Maybe she should have burst into tears, or run into the other woman’s arms. As it was, she didn’t know what to do. This lady was a stranger. But the Mater was looking at her as though she were Christ reincarnate.

  “I am Leah,” the Mater murmured, in a voice that was close to a singsong. “I don’t expect you to call me granddam. Not yet. The others will. They do like their formalities, and I can do nothing about their tongues. I can demand their fealty, but not their tongues to still.” She smiled to herself. “If only that were possible. I know I am nothing but a stranger to you, but I wish to become your friend.”

  It was strange how the other woman, this Leah, had picked up on her reaction. Maybe it came from years of power, of having to read others. Lia didn’t know, but she was relieved her lack of reaction wouldn’t be misconstrued for rudeness.

  “That’s why I sent Marcia away. She undoubtedly would have expected us to start sobbing and hugging. I knew that any daughter of my son’s woul
d not be so fickle.”

  It was that last statement, the pride in it, that had Lia snapping, “A lack of fickleness on my part was not caused by having your son for a father. If anything, it was he who taught me what fickle is.”

  Maybe it was wrong, but she felt angry.

  Impotent. Those feelings made her want to attack, and as unfair and brattish as it was, Leah seemed to fit nicely in the crosshairs of a rage that was borderline adolescent.

  Sadness dulled the sparkle in Leah’s eyes, and while she could feel guilt for that, she couldn’t say she was sorry. The last thing she needed to hear were her father’s good points. He should have stuck around so Lia could have grown to know them firsthand.

  Beside her, she felt Caden stiffen, then relax. The first at the verbal attack, the second in his knowledge that there was nothing he could do but roll with his wife’s punches.

  He read her well.

  Leah spotted the silent byplay between man and wife, and wafted a hand. “Come, let us sit. I didn’t expect you to come to my room so soon, so I have no refreshments to hand. Would you like me to order something?”

  On her perusal of the room, she’d spotted a drinks tray on a commode dresser behind the dining table. “I’d like a brandy. If you have one, please. Just a small one.” Pregnant or not, there was no way she’d make it through this meeting without some lubrication.

  Leah’s smile was swift. “And you, mate of my granddaughter?”

  “Caden, please, your highness.”

  Another waft of the hand. “I’m Leah. I have enough people calling me Mater or your highness. I don’t need family to do it, too.” There was a weariness to her voice, a tiredness. And maybe because she was a stranger, Lia heard it more than those who knew the older woman probably did.

  “I’ll have a Scotch, if you have it?”

  Leah walked to the drinks’ tray and the sound of glass tinkling trickled down to them as they took a seat on the sofa in front of the unlit fire. Both of them perched on the edge, uncomfortable at settling in when their hostess was someone as important as she was.

  Leah returned, holding two tumblers pinched between finger and thumb, and the third in her own hand. She rested the two on the coffee table, which had stacks of books on each corner.