by C. D. Gorri
Mates. Mine. Though he expected his Jaguar’s reply, it didn’t make hearing the guttural word any easier. Just lately his animal had gotten more and more demanding. Insistent even. The bastard was a real cockblocking son of a bitch.
Sure, Luis had looks and charm, but the truth was he’d not enjoyed a single one of the dozens of women who threw themselves at him regularly in the last year! Stupid cat could think of one woman only. Isabella Fuente.
The shame he felt at his behavior made his ears grow warm. He had not even seen her since then. That hurt the most. She seemed to avoid her brother whenever Luis was around. And yet he remained friends with Marco.
Luis was a loyal man. A good friend. Yes, they still kept in touch, Even worked together a time or two. He listened to tales of Isabella told by her brother with a practiced nonchalance over the years.
But lately, he couldn’t handle it. He’d been avoiding Marco and anything having to do with his past. With her. His focus had turned to his Station and to building up his rep as a Warden and more.
The Latin Lover. He’d gotten that moniker after a night on the town with his Station mates where he’d gotten twenty, that’s right, twenty cell numbers in less than an hour. He hadn’t used a single one despite the teasing.
Stupid nickname! And now here he was, at the centennial convention for the Wardens of Terra, in the sunshine state, and still his Beast longed for the one woman he hadn’t seen in over a decade. Not one of the texts or emails he’d sent had been answered. Not one.
His human half wanted to rejoice in the fact that she’d been wrong. They weren’t mates. If they were, how could she ignore him? Nah. He’d been right.
No. She is our mate. Mine. His Jaguar forced the words into his head. The animal was furious at his human half for believing his own bull shit. He’d been getting harder and harder to control over the past few months, but that wasn’t unexpected.
Approaching thirty was a rough time for unmated male shifters. His Station Master, Rex, a big ass Bear Shifter, had sent him down to the convention after he’d gone a little too far apprehending a lone Warlock who’d been looking to stir up trouble near their base in Virginia.
Take a guy swimming and everyone gets a little antsy around you. Well, in their defense he’d taken the Warlock to the pier in the middle of the night where he’d proceeded to dunk him head first into the water.
Luis avoided the liquid stuff, you know, being a cat and all. He’d tied the guy’s feet with some industrial strength fishing line and hoisted him up over the water by tossing the line over a pole right on the far edge of the dock.
Damn line was strong as fuck. Designed for shark fishing, Luis wasn’t surprised it held the Warlock’s weight though everyone else seemed to be. Fucking sharks were big.
The Warlock, who’d screamed he couldn’t swim repeatedly, also hadn’t known about that. By the time the night ended, Luis had the location to the altar the Warlock had set up with the intention of calling to the Demons who waited on the other side of the veil for an invitation to cross over and run amuck. Dark artifacts bagged and stored, no harm no foul. But did Rex feel that way?
Hell to the no. And here he was, banished to a weekend of conferences with a bunch of stuffed shirts. Well, at least there would be a party tonight. Food, booze, maybe a pretty face or two to pass the time.
Who are you kidding? They mean nothing. He huffed out a breath and walked back through the doors into the hotel lobby. He stilled instantly. The air sizzled around him. What the?
The smell of mangoes and fresh air hit him right in the gut. He stopped dead in his tracks. One foot still in the air. His eyes grew wide. He hadn’t smelled that perfect combination of sunshine and sweetness in years. But how?
Holy. Shit. She’s here! Luis’ dark gaze devoured her from the top of her wild red curls to the soles of her tiny little feet.