Act of Submission

by Mandy M. Roth

Corbin arched a brow in question as he sipped his cognac.

  Duke snorted before drinking his beer. “Feel more like the motherland then?”

  “Aye,” said Striker. “Would remind me of times of old when I was a wee lad.”

  “I have a feeling you were never what one would call wee,” added Boomer with a grin.

  “Anyone else hardly surprised by the fact he was apparently drinking heavily as a small boy?” asked Malik before he checked his expensive watch. Malik was flashy. Always had been. He was the type who was always dressed in designer from head to toe.

  Duke peeled Lil’ Duke off his shoulders and returned the chimp to the seat next to him. “We keeping you from something, Tut?”

  “Strippers,” responded Malik with a wink.

  Boomer took a sip of his drink and looked around the table, pleased to have his friends around him. “We should go get James and abduct him. Force him to have a guy’s night out.”

  “Aye.” Striker lifted his bottle of beer to the idea. “Though he’s the only one of us gettin’ laid right now.”

  Duke grumbled. “One minute my wife is all over me and can’t get enough of me, and the next she can’t get me out of her line of sight fast enough. Women.”

  Corbin grinned. “Pregnancy hormones. She’s newly pregnant. Give it time, Duke.”

  “I’ve heard when women get further along in their pregnancies they crave sex nonstop,” added Boomer, noting the hopeful look passing over his friend’s face.

  Duke waggled his brows. “Good to know.”

  “You’ll be sure to report back on that to us, right?” asked Boomer, just as Malik lit up a cigar for himself, seemingly unconcerned with the fact Duke would pay the price later.

  He managed to draw a sideways smile from the normally grumpy man. Duke shifted in his seat. “I’ll need to use your shower before I leave tonight.”

  Boomer already knew why. Mercy, Duke’s mate, didn’t like the smell of smoke. She’d made that clear already. “No problem. Bet Lil’ Duke would love to wash your back.”

  “Kiss my ass,” said Duke. “And say hello to your girlfriend at the zoo.”

  Corbin checked his phone and then cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me. There is a matter I need to attend to.”

  Boomer shrugged. “We’d have kicked your ass in cards anyway.”

  Corbin left them sitting at the table and Duke sat up straight in his chair. “Anyone else notice how preoccupied he’s been the last few days?”

  “I haven’t,” said Malik, putting two cards down. “I’ll take two more. And I haven’t noticed anything out of the norm with him. Other than the tips of his hair. Is it me or are they slightly pink?”

  Boomer laughed. Corbin’s entire head of blond hair had looked like cotton-candy for about a week. Thankfully, the lab mishap caused by Mercy was nearly all faded out. “You should mention the pink to him. He loves it when people talk about it.”

  “You’ve nae been here, Tut. We have,” reminded Striker.

  Malik sighed. “It wasn’t by choice, brother.”

  “Aye. We know.” Striker tilted his head to the side. He ran a hand through his scruffy red beard and then froze. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” asked Duke at the same moment the exterior door burst open.

  Corbin stumbled through it, looking disheveled as a tall, hotter-than-hell brunette chick kicked him from behind. Corbin fell onto the floor and it took Boomer a moment to realize there was a dart sticking out of Corbin’s shoulder. The same tranquilizer darts Boomer kept on hand for extreme emergencies with animals being brought in.

  Malik was first up and out of his chair. The woman was lightning fast as she raised a weapon and fired, hitting Malik in the chest with a dart as well. She pointed to Duke and shot him next. Boomer reacted without thought, years of training kicking in. His cat side reared up, coming to the surface so fast that he knew without looking that his hands were partially shifted. He leapt up and over the table before landing in front of the woman. He knocked the weapon from her grasp right before she’d have fired at Striker.

  Striker was suddenly next to him, but something in Boomer clicked, demanding he be the one to punish the woman. No others. No one but him was to touch the female.

  Period.

  He thrust his friend away and then grabbed the female, lifting her off the ground with one hand, yet it wasn’t with the same force he would have used on an enemy. No. He handled her with almost kid-like gloves. Her smell hit him hard—lilacs and orange blossoms.

  Instantly, his groin and his cat responded. He pushed the female against the wall, and instead of searching her for more weapons or disabling her from being able to cause any more harm, he thrust his body against hers, snarling.

  Her icy-blue eyes widened and her nostrils flared. “Do it! Kill me if you’re going to kill me!”

  Kill her? Was she mental? He didn’t want to kill her. He wanted to fuck the living hell out of her. Already his dick pushed against the confines of his leather pants. It wanted free. It wanted in the female against him. And he wanted it there. Her long brown hair fell over his arm and her scent grew stronger. There was a mix of adrenaline and fear with the lilacs and blossoms now.

  She was afraid of him.

  Good.

  She should be.

  Right now, he felt extremely dangerous because right now he wanted to do the unthinkable. He wanted to claim her. He wanted to let his mouth shift forms and then sink his cock and his teeth into her, forever marking her as his and his alone.

  “Och, yer lettin’ off matin’ energy,” said Striker, closer than Boomer had realized the man was.

  Boomer tipped his head, knowing his cat was partially in charge now. More than he’d want it to be. He narrowed his gaze on Striker. “Go.”

  “Cannae do that, friend,” Striker said, lifting his hands in the air. He stepped closer to Boomer. “Let the lass go and we’ll figure out who she is and why she went and dosed the others.”

  “Go!” Boomer roared, feeling his teeth changing.

  “Kill me!” the woman shouted. “Just get it over with, you monster!”

  Monster?

  That did it. That brought his cat under control enough for Boomer to loosen his hold on the woman at least slightly. It did nothing to get rid of his hard-on, though.

  Chapter Eight

  Haven’s breathing came in fast gasps as the man held her pinned to the wall, his forearm against her throat. She knew he was more than capable of killing her. Why wasn’t he? Why wouldn’t he just make all the hurt and pain she felt since losing her brother go away? She wasn’t brave enough or hardcore enough to do what she originally planned—kill them. She deserved to be put down. Harper would have avenged her.

  “Kill me! Do it!” she screamed, desperate for him to give in to her wishes. She needed someone to end her suffering. She couldn’t do it herself.

  He didn’t deliver a killing blow. Hell, he didn’t deliver any blow to speak of. He just stared at her, his gaze hot and branding. Why was he looking at her like that? It was unnerving. Those violet eyes staring at her with a mix of fury and, if she wasn’t mistaken, desire.

  His scent washed over her, and try as she might, she couldn’t stop the moan that emanated deep in her throat. Damn him. He had the upper hand and he was making her body ache for him, something her body had never done for another before. She drew in a long breath, her eyes fluttering shut as she did. She felt it then—the loss of control over herself. She knew then her eyes had flashed over to icy blue at some point. That everything around her was heightened.

  And the man was so close, his lips suddenly near hers. His warm breath skated over her cheek and she rubbed against him, no longer trying to break free so much as trying to scale his hard body.

  “Who are you?” he asked, each word punctuated as if he had to focus hard on saying them.

  Her lips trembled as the emotions of the last few weeks came to a head. “I’m the sister of the m
an you murdered.”

  Confusion knit his brow. “What?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know,” she spat, wanting to hurt him. She wiggled against him to no avail. “Let go of me. Fight me like a man.”

  “Lass, yer nae makin’ any sense,” said the man in the kilt. “Try this again. From the top. What business have you here? You wouldn’t by chance work for an adult entertainment firm, would you? Did you come to strip?”

  “No!” She glared at the man holding her. “I’m here to kill the Goth one. I’m Haven Carey and he killed my brother.”

  The Scotsman ran a hand through his long hair. He adjusted his kilt and for a half-second she thought he might remove the thing. “Anyone else feel like we should check our fingers to make sure none of us have six on one hand?”

  “I have no idea what you are going on about,” said the blond with the British accent that she’d shot with a tranquilizer. She’d had every intention on shooting him with a real gun, but found when the opportunity presented itself she couldn’t do it, so she’d grabbed the closest thing to her. A tranquilizer gun. Now as she saw how easily he seemed to be shaking off the effects of the drug, she regretted not going with her first plan. She could have at least maimed him or something. He dusted himself off and gave her a pointed look. “Young lady, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  “Looks to me like she knows exactly what she did,” said the grumpy one, tossing aside the dart she’d shot him with too. “She gave us all headaches.”

  “Nae me,” said the Scotsman. “And from the looks of it, Boomer has somethin’ more than a headache goin’ on for the lass. If we do nae separate them, he’s likely to try to bed her here and now.”

  Haven looked at the man holding her, and try as she might, she couldn’t hate him. She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. And bed her? He couldn’t possibly want to sleep with her. Could he?

  The answer came in the form of the man’s lips suddenly being upon hers, chasing away the cold that always seemed to linger in her, replacing it with warmth. She pressed at his chest, at first trying to push him away, but the second his tongue met hers, her motive changed. The man tasted like honey. She didn’t know how or why, and for the moment, she didn’t care. She began kneading at his shirt, drawing him closer as his tongue darted back into her mouth, starting an erotic dance with her own. She tipped her head, allowing the man better access to her as her body strummed with raw need. She’d never felt anything like this before. His touch brought to life every inch of her body and made it ache for more. For him.

  He ate at her mouth and she let him. Damn her. She’d come to exact revenge, and now her body was betraying her—demanding attention from a killer. She wanted to rip her mouth from him and stab him in the chest. Instead, she pushed at him with her body, pressing her breasts to his chest, rubbing her hips against his, feeling his long, hard cock under the leather of his pants. She wanted him. Wanted him free of the pants and in her, pounding until she forgot about everything that had happened in her life. Until she no longer felt the pain of it all.

  He used one hand and was suddenly working at the top of her pants. She wanted to scream "yes," but her mouth was covered by his, the kisses coming harder and faster. He began roughly kissing at the side of her mouth and Haven was vaguely aware of shouting around them. She didn’t care. All that mattered was the man with her now. The one who was kissing his way aggressively down her neck. There was the slightest of pricks to her neck, almost like a bee sting, and then everything changed. The man was gone.

  Gasping, she grabbed her neck and nearly fell because the man had been pinning her to the wall with his body. She blinked and found the one in the kilt forcing the Goth to the floor as the Goth struggled, his face partially shifted, his claws erect.

  “Striker,” said the blond with the British accent. “Do you have Boomer contained?”

  The guy in the kilt shook his head. “Och, like wresting an alligator right now. The damn kitty has some fight in him, Corbin.”

  Corbin pointed to the grumpy man. “Duke, assist him.”

  “Yes, sir.” Duke leapt on Boomer. “Yeehaw!”

  Haven reacted, lunging forward and jumping at Striker. Someone caught her around the waist, halting her progress. She kicked her feet and fought to get down, to no avail. “Let go of me! He needs me! I have to help him.”

  “Excuse me, miss, but did you not just tell us you were here to kill him?” asked Corbin, his lips near her ear as he held her off the ground with ease. “Or am I mistaken?”

  He wasn’t mistaken. Her head felt like it was in a fog and her body was acting like a sex-starved junkie. She wasn’t even sure of her own name at this point. Everything was on its head. But she was sure of one thing. No harm was to befall the Goth.

  “I know you said you do nae work for an escort agency. By chance are you freelance?” asked Striker, still on Boomer. The Scotsman smiled. “Are you wearin’ a thong?”

  Boomer went wild, somehow bucking off the two huge men before coming up as if on strings. He snarled and his body began changing form, black fur coating his arms as he sprang at Haven. She thought he was going to kill her, and for a half-second she wondered if this was the last thing her brother had seen too. Had he stared down the barrel of what equaled a loaded weapon?

  Corbin thrust her at the dark-haired man with the flashy clothing. “Malik!”

  “I’ve got her,” said Malik, pulling Haven back from the scene as Boomer struck Corbin head on.

  The two collided with a room-shaking thud, and when they came up, both men were partially shifted. One covered in black fur, the other in tan fur. The men crouched, each snarling at the other, looking like they might tear one another’s throat out at any given second. She didn’t understand why. They were on the same side, right?

  Haven twisted in Malik’s arms. “Wait? Why are they fighting? I thought the Goth was going to kill me.”

  Malik offered a look that said he felt sorry for her. “Lady, Boomer wasn’t coming at you. He was going at Corbin for daring to touch you. I’m going to be lucky if he doesn’t charge me next. Never seen the kid like this.”

  “What? I don’t understand,” she said, so lost, so beat down, and so emotionally drained that she thought her legs might just give out from under her at any moment. She sank against Malik, allowing him to hold her up as she watched in horror as Corbin and Boomer locked in battle once more.

  Striker and Duke were on their feet now and they shared a look and then stepped back, putting their hands up, apparently too scared to get involved. It took all her strength to square her shoulders. “Help stop them.”

  “Listen, little girl,” said Duke. “If there is one thing you don’t do, it’s try to break up a cat fight.”

  Malik laughed. “Even I agree to that.”

  Duke sniffed the air and then shook his head. “Get the tranq gun.”

  Striker’s brows rose as he too sniffed the air. “Och, the Goth went and did it.”

  “Did what?” demanded Haven.

  Malik eased his grip on her, but kept her back from harm. “Say Miles. Say his name. Hurry.”

  Haven glanced over her shoulder at the tall man, wondering why he’d want her to say that. From everything she’d been told, the men should have ripped her into tiny pieces by now. What was taking them so long? Not that she was complaining. Okay, maybe she was complaining a little. Death would be welcome to living without Harper and with whatever it was she carried deep down.

  Corbin and Boomer broke apart and blood flew against the far wall. Haven jerked as she saw both men were now cut open, long gash marks on their arms. She panicked, waiting for the monster she carried in her to react, to demand blood as it did whenever a person bled around her. Instead, her gaze snapped to Boomer, and his violet eyes seemed to almost glow as he bared more teeth at Corbin.

  Striker went for the discarded tranquilizer gun as Malik touched Haven’s shoulder gently. “If we shoot him, we’re going to also have to
restrain him and possibly lock him up for the rest of the night. Trust me when I say Miles will handle that poorly. Talk to him. Make him calm down.”

  “I came here to kill him,” she said, lacking anything close to conviction in her voice. Even she knew that wouldn’t be happening.

  Malik released her and nodded. “Sure you did. Can you talk to him? Please.”

  She wanted these men to tear each other to bits like they’d done to her brother, didn’t she? Then why did she have to fight with the overpowering urge to call out to Boomer to get him to quit?

  Haven stepped back and shook her head. She was about to give up and just run away when her inner senses kicked into high gear, alerting her that Boomer was on the verge of a full shift. And deep down she knew that would be very bad.

  Striker aimed the weapon with the tranqs in it at Boomer, and Haven jumped in front of the line of fire, taking the dart herself, keeping it from hitting Boomer. Boomer turned and she waited for the killing blow. Instead, he grabbed her to him, his face returning to human, his eyes still purple, the shape of them still slightly cat-like. She sank against him as the effects of the drugs kicked in.

  “No more fighting, Miles,” she managed, her eyelids feeling exceptionally heavy.

  Boomer lifted her and held her against his body. “You shot her!”

  “Och, I was aimin’ at you, jackass!” shouted Striker. “And she’ll probably be fine, right?”

  Haven felt the room spin around her and she clung to Boomer, his open wound so close to her head that she couldn’t fight the inner demon she carried. She felt her gums burn and knew her fangs were extending. They’d done that only twice before in her past. Neither time ended well. She opened her mouth and cried out, wanting desperately to stop what was about to happen. She couldn’t. She sank her fangs into Boomer’s open wound, and the moment his blood moved over her tongue, she lost all control of herself.

  “Your new little piece of ass is a vampire?” asked the grumpy one. “Figures. I fucking hate vampires.”

  “Not as much as Boomer does,” said Malik softly. “Correction, not as much as we all thought Boomer did.”