Wanting a Mate

by Celia Kyle, Mina Carter

  “You think you fucking know me?” Holt’s cougar curled its lip and he did the same with his human mouth. No one knew him. No one knew—

  “I filled out what I did know and if you like the Meet & Mate, you can finish everything and go again when they have another. You have to sign the final form when you get there. They wouldn’t let me do that.”

  “What’s it say?”

  Archer remained silent, drawing Holt’s focus once again. He was never gonna get this wall built. “Arch?”

  “That you won’t hump any legs, sniff crotches, or pee on anything.”

  Holt shrugged. What the fuck ever. “Cats don’t do dumb shit like that. That’s a fucking wolf thing.”

  “True.”

  “What time?” Might as well go. His brother went to the trouble and all that shit, and if he could manage to find his mate, his cat would finally calm the fuck down.

  “Midnight.” Archer rubbed the back of his neck. “Our beasts will be closer to the surface then. Make it easy to scent our mate through the crowd.”

  Damn. His beast pushed forward, anxious to go, to hunt and find their female. Middle of the day, right at noon, and his cat was already strong as a mother fucker. Midnight…

  “Our?” He raised a single eyebrow.

  “Fuck you,” Archer snapped. Heh. Holt wasn’t the only one on the lookout. Suddenly the day was looking up an iota.

  But that still left him with his main problem. “So, midnight?”

  “Yup.”

  “At any point—” he broke off as he hefted another board and pressed it into place. A few quick nails had it secured and he got back to Archer. “During your three-hour interview with the stacked chick, did you think that me in a packed room with dozens of other shifters was a good idea? Me?”

  If his cat wasn’t intimidating others, he’d be intent on taking down those who thought they could put up a fight. Sometimes he hated being bigger, meaner than damn near everyone.

  “I’m bringing a tranq gun,” Archer added helpfully.

  “Good call.”

  Chapter Three

  Chloe tugged on her little black dress—stress on little—and slowly wove through the bar’s entryway. The air was filled with a low rumble of voices, men and women chatting and drinking before the Meet & Mate got underway.

  She did her best not to stare as she slid past one massive guy who looked like he could bench press a frigging Buick. Then there was the chick who moved with the lithe grace of a dancer. She wondered if they were shifters or just naturally impressive. Crap, if this was her competition, she was so heading home, alone.

  No, this is about mating, not banging. I could end up with Mr. Hottie McHotterson.

  Right. She wouldn’t hold her breath. Anyway, she didn’t really have time to ponder her shortcomings or wonder if that ginormous guy was a cat or not.

  She was still super curious about the whole shifted tongue on her cli—

  Something tickled her ear and she batted at the errant hair. She’d spent an hour trying to get her strands to behave, but she’d been only marginally successful. That tickle came again and she sought the irritant once more. Only to come up against a face.

  A. Face.

  With a squeak, Chloe jumped and whirled to face whoever the hell thought it was okay to put their nose all up in her business. “What the hell?”

  The man grinning at her didn’t look the least bit repentant. “Hey, baby.”

  “What the fuck—”

  “How you doin’?” He waggled his eyebrows and she shook her head, unable to really comprehend what she was experiencing.

  “What… Did you just quote Joey from Friends? I mean, really?”

  “Hey, baby, you don’t gotta hate.” There was no mistaking the sexual heat in his eyes, the way he slunk toward her.

  He apparently did not recognize the beginnings of her hate stare. Not to be confused with her fuckoff stare.

  “I don’t gotta hate? Oh, I’m pretty sure I do.” She nodded and took a step backward. At that same moment, he nudged forward, keeping pace with her. The crowd surged and slid around them like a river of bodies and not a single one spared them a glance.

  “Nah, you’re here to meet and mate, aren’t you?” he purred, and she was super pissed that he ruined her kitty tongue fantasy. Asshole.

  “Yes, and you’re not it.” Chloe spun and returned to her path, continuing to dodge and weave the smiling—occasionally growling—attendees.

  “You don’t know that, baby,” he purred again, and she… threw up a little in her mouth. “You’re not a shifter like me.”

  She rolled her eyes—and not mentally rolled like when talking to her mother. This was real, live eye rolling. “No, but I know what I like.”

  She left the rest of her statement unsaid: and you’re not it.

  “Baby, you just gotta give a shifter a chance. You smell so good.” He eased closer and she immediately reached into her purse.

  Now that the stupid safety tab was a thing of the past, her pepper spray was ready for action. “It’s perfume. Ralph Lauren Blue. They stopped making it, but I’m sure you can grab a few bottles on the Internet. Amazon Prime is magical.”

  God, she felt dirty just being around him. She thought regular speed dating was bad. If this was how the night would proceed, she was already over this whole affair.

  “Baby, baby, baby…” He slipped around her and blocked her path. Okay, he was a shifter, and after listening to him, his words dripping with sickly oil, she knew exactly what kind. A weasel. “Did I tell you your ass is a fucking thing of beauty? Wanna shove my dick—”

  “No.” She held up her hand, palm out, to silence him. “Just, no.”

  Did he listen? No. Did he shut up and just walk the fuck away? No.

  He fucking licked her palm. Licked it. His tongue, her skin. Connected.

  She threw up in her mouth again.

  “You taste so good, baby—”

  “I am so outta here.” She turned and ignored the weasel (she didn’t care about his true animal) as he followed her toward the front door.

  “Baby, baby, baby…” He shuffled after her and breathed against her neck. The stench of rotting meat drifted over her and her stomach heaved.

  She needed some Pepto, stat.

  Chloe ducked past a couple that looked well on their way to the bedroom and then shuffled around a woman who looked about as happy as her. She had half a mind to snatch her hand and drag her from the building. Just like soldiers, a gal never left a fellow warrior behind.

  That thought brought forward another and she wondered if she should buy pink camo gear for next time.

  Next time? Was she coming again? No, even she wasn’t that desperate.

  Or was she?

  “Baby…”

  “For the love of fuck.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  How did the world’s population continue to grow with men this stupid wandering around? She really hoped he didn’t procreate. Ever. Had she mentioned ever?

  Chloe darted around the Buick bench-press guy, slinking just beneath his suddenly outstretched arm as he gestured to something. She didn’t really care.

  Well, she cared. Mainly because the move accentuated his body, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut over his chest and outlining every rise and fall of his muscles.

  Muscles she would totally love to lick.

  She’d bet he wasn’t a weasel.

  But then another murmur reached her, the asshole still on her heels. “Baby…”

  She ducked left, going around Mr. Buick, aiming for his other side. She’d lose the weasel in the turn and—

  Someone cut her off and she stumbled, feet tripping on the floor because that’s how cool she was, and she bumped into Mr. Buick. He was rock hard and firm beneath her hands, his body tensing with her touch. She let herself linger a moment before she snatched her hands back and straightened.

  “Sorry,” she murmured and glanced to
ward the weasel.

  The weasel who cowered beneath Mr. Buick’s stare.

  Score.

  Mr. Buick glared down at the annoying male, lip curled—were those fangs? That took him from hot to panty-wetting sexy. Boom.

  As much as she’d just love to lick Mr. Buick from head to toe, she was so out of the whole mess. She’d tried—valiantly—and now she’d swing by the PetSmart that hosted pet adoption drives. She’d pick out her very first kitty.

  Crazy cat lady, here I come!

  She raced toward the entrance, ducking, dodging, and dashing into open spaces between bodies. If the people would just stand still, she’d stop bumping into them. Gah!

  And then, as if the god of horribad dates was listening, everyone froze. Literally. All was quiet on the western front. She glanced over her shoulder and found Mr. Buick focused… on her.

  Damn that was sexy.

  Another quick peek showed that while Mr. Buick was staring at her, everyone else stared at the floor.

  Creepy with a capital What the Fucking Fuck.

  Whatever. It didn’t matter. The door was less than five feet away and it’d take one… two… three… four… Fuck her legs were short… Five steps had her bursting into the cool night air.

  There, she was free of creepy weasel man and now all she had to do was find her car. Which was… She squinted into the night and cursed the dim lighting in the parking lot. Well, her car was somewhere.

  * * *

  The place was a fucking meat market. Emphasis on both fucking and market, with a little asshole thrown in. Holt’s lip curled back as his cat snarled and paced inside his mind, furious at being caged and restrained in a room with all these shifters.

  “Great idea, Einstein,” he growled to Archer, who was looking around with interest. “You better have brought that fucking tranq gun.”

  Because Archer’s gonna need it any second now.

  “I dunno,” his brother muttered, his attention fixed on a curvy woman standing alone. “The place has its attractions.”

  “And its assholes.” Holt gritted his teeth as he watched another shifter chase a woman who was obviously not interested.

  The woman was giving him the runaround, darting through the crowd, skirting some and downright pushing others. He took a deep breath, trying to filter through the myriad of scents packed into the room, but it was no good. Unless his mate was right under his nose, he had a fuck all chance of finding her.

  “How am I supposed to find her in all this?” He swept his arm out, indicating the room as a whole. Speed dating. For sardines. And he was a cat. All he wanted was to rip through the crowd, tear and rampage. Grab each woman and test her scent until he found his mate.

  A blur entered his peripheral vision. A gasp later and a small, curvy body slammed into his. He tensed, easily absorbing the contact and remaining still—rather than shuffle backward—so she stayed on her feet. He might be an asshole most of the time—ninety-nine percent of the time—but that didn’t mean he’d allow a precious female to come to harm. Even if that harm was only bruising her butt.

  He looked down to find the woman who’d been running from the asshole. Her hands were on his chest, the light pressure of each finger burning through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. She looked up, eyes wide, and snatched her hands back.

  “Sorry,” she murmured and glanced over her shoulder.

  He looked up to find the other male, lust and intent on his face, focused on the woman. His gaze flicked upward to meet Holt’s. Who smiled not a pleasant smile, but more a take another step toward her and I’ll rip your limbs off in ways you haven’t even thought of. The guy paled, stumbling backward. Fast.

  Holt watched him, feeling her slip away. Which was when her scent hit him, right in the dick. Warm, female… His cat snarled…Theirs. Their mate. She was here.

  Correction, she was headed for the exit at something approaching light speed. A snarl exploded from his lips before he could stop it and the room fell silent. The shifter community knew Holt. He was one of a select group of bad boys no one fucked with. Ever.

  When he got angry, people ran for cover and hoped like fuck they weren’t the ones who’d pissed him off. Like now. The room froze, panic leaching out their pores as he looked across the room to meet gazes with his mate. His mate. Fuck, she was sexy.

  And still running.

  “Not a fucking chance, sweetheart,” he growled to himself and set off in pursuit.

  The crowd scattered like bowling pins on a full strike, shifters crawling over one another to get out of his way. Holt was a big man, and his cat was a mean son of a bitch when it wanted to be. Which was often.

  He hit the door at a dead run, almost taking the wood from the hinges as he scanned the parking lot for her. He missed her on the first sweep, she was so tiny, and his heart almost skipped a beat. No way. No fucking way. He couldn’t have just found her only to have lost her.

  That way, his cat, the more mentally proficient in this little scenario, screamed. He followed the scent trail at a run. Well, a run that wouldn’t win any style awards. Running with a raging hard-on was harder (no pun intended) than it looked.

  He found her behind a large SUV, trying to get into a compact car. Her hands were shaking so much, she dropped the keys.

  “Fucking asshole things!” she hissed and bent to pick them up, presenting him with a view of her perfect, heart-shaped ass. There were curves and then there were curves, and his girl had them in spades. Just the idea of all that softness against him had all thought processes shutting down instantly, leaving animal instinct driving him.

  Closing the gap between them, he reached over her, his greater height allowing him to grab the keys before she did but bringing him close enough for her scent to ensnare him all over again.

  He managed a half step back as a concession to not scaring her when all he wanted was to pin her between him and the car to find out how she tasted.

  “Going somewhere, baby?”

  Chapter Four

  It was Mr. Buick. Mr. Tall, dark, handsome, kissable, lickable, nibble-able… Lots of -ables.

  Was she going somewhere?

  Yes, to the nearest bed. With you.

  No, that was wrong. Bad even. Horribad. Well, looking at him, taking in all his fucking gorgeousness she decided it was horribad-ish.

  Chloe licked her lips and a tiny thrill went through her when his gaze immediately tracked the action. With his attention diverted, she took a peek—well—there.

  Her first reaction? How you doin’? And she didn’t care if it was lame and used by that weasel. She wanted to know how it was doing down there. Oh, he was hard, thick, and long, fighting to burst free of his jeans. She’d simply like to get a hands-on, physical, lickable…

  Back to licking. What was wrong with her? Was being this sex crazed a… mating thing?

  Nah, it had to be a Chloe hadn’t gotten any in almost a year thing. Right, that made more sense than being desperate to climb a random stranger like a fucking tree and, er, fuck him. It was better than getting wet panties with three little words. And they weren’t even those three little words.

  “Going somewhere, baby?”

  Yes, to the nearest—

  She was back where she started. Gah, this man had her in repetitive knots!

  “Are you…” He prowled closer. Prowled. And her body reacted to his nearness, his natural scent, the need in his expression. He reached for her, large hand raised and then so fucking delicately he traced her cheek with a single finger. “Baby?”

  Chloe was captured by his gaze, the intent way he stared at her. As if he could look into her soul and read every emotion that lurked inside. Does he see the fact I wanna hump his leg?

  She shook her head, trying to banish the lust clouding her brain. “Huh? What?”

  “You feel it, don’t you?” He stepped closer, crowding her against her small car.

  Technically, she should whip out her pepper spray and give him a good dousing. R
eality was her remaining in place and letting him get as close as he desired. Which was… close. Her back was plastered to the vehicle while his front was nearly flush with hers. If an inch separated them, she’d be surprised.

  His warmth bathed her, heating her blood. Or was that his presence? Both? Probably both.

  She kept her attention trained on him, watching every emotion that flitted across his features. Okay, they weren’t really emotions. More like desire with a fuckton of craving. Wait… there was something else there…

  “I feel what?” she whispered.

  “You…” he leaned forward, his face a hair’s breadth from hers and he propped his hands on either side of her. He captured her with his very being and she never wanted to be let go. “Want me. Crave me. You want me to fucking fill and stretch you. Don’t you, baby?”

  They should hand over the Queen of Slutastia crown now and be done with it because the answer was a great big “fuck yeah” to it all.

  Chloe couldn’t speak. Instead she whimpered and nodded.

  “You want the cat? Because that’s what I am, baby. A fucking cougar. I won’t be soft and sweet. My cat wants you too much. But I’ll make you purr.” He leaned in and breathed deeply, nose skating down her throat. The weasel had made her want to puke.

  This guy? He had her ready to come.

  “You ready to purr for me, my mate?”

  “I’m your…” She’d silently wondered, but even if she wasn’t his, her dry spell had her ready to jump into bed with him. He was too gorgeous, too dangerous, too… everything for her to say no.

  “Oh, yeah,” he murmured. “You’re mine. Fucking mine from head to goddamn toe.”

  Did he kiss her? Pepper her heated skin with soft brushes of his lips? No. Not her cougar mate. He opened his jaws and bit down. Bit. Her. Not enough to break skin, but firm pressure sent an ache through her blood. It was pain and pleasure in one, a throbbing that had her pussy clenching and moistening even more and it wrenched a deep moan from her chest. She tilted her head farther to the side, granting him more space.

  That earned her a growl and the low sound vibrated through her and pulsed in her blood. A small whimper escaped her. One that had him releasing her. He licked her flesh and the soft laps pushed a sigh from her lips.