London's Mates [Stocoma City 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More)
Page 1
Stocoma City 3
London’s Mates
Mob bosses fight dirty, especially when they’re up against another rival crime family. When the daughter of his enemy becomes his prisoner, London Scavos should have used Charity Vivaldi as a bargaining chip. But fate has a twisted sense of humor, and their roles as captor and captive start to blur when Charity turns out to be his mate. Then there’s the other complication. Every wolf in his pack knows he doesn’t do commitments, but Ferus Miller, one of his enforcers, wants to prove London wrong. Ferus has always wanted London, but instead of hating Charity, Ferus begins to desire her as well.
London doesn’t take risks. He has more to lose than most, but screw the consequences. He plans to take the greatest gamble of all. London sees a future with his two unlikely mates, but can he turn that vision into a reality?
Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter
Length: 22,698 words
LONDON'S MATES
Stocoma City 3
Fel Fern
MENAGE AND MORE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage and More
LONDON'S MATES
Copyright © 2015 by Fel Fern
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-380-1
First E-book Publication: May 2015
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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Regarding E-book Piracy
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DEDICATION
To readers both old and new, I hope you enjoy Charity, Ferus and London’s story.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
About the Author
LONDON'S MATES
Stocoma City 3
FEL FERN
Copyright © 2015
Prologue
Past
Before a lioness of Vivaldi learns to love, she learns to hate. She learns to hate the wolves and the birds of prey, House Scavos and House Perrault, the natural enemies of House Vivaldi. More importantly, she is taught to trust no one but her own kin. This hard lesson was one Charity Vivaldi learned by heart like the other cubs, but how could she trust the very family that tried to kill her as a child for being a shifter defect?
She was twelve when her own father tried to kill her. Raquel Vivaldi, the head of the pride, only believed that to rule in his house, the strong must overpower the weak. He constantly pitted his children against each other and encouraged competition. That early morning, Raquel gathered his seven children and told them he wanted to test their strength.
A carpet and plush cushions were lain out on the forest ground outside the estate and Raquel lounged himself there, surrounded by his seven wives, the lionesses who bore him cubs. The challenge circle itself was barren ground ringed with old paint, devoid of any ornamentation.
Charity nervously wiped her sweaty palms against her jeans and caught her mother’s nervous gaze. Having produced the litter of the runt who was incapable of shifting, Charity’s mother was the least favorite of Raquel’s wives. Her other siblings had already begun donning their clothes and were beginning to shift.
“Raquel, can Charity not be excused from this exercise?” her mother asked.
Charity’s heart went out for her poor mother then. Raquel mutely gave Rachel a backhanded blow. Her proud beautiful mother was a powerful lioness in her own right, but she’d ignored the looks of disdain from the other wives for Charity’s sake. The last thing she deserved was getting a flawed and defective daughter.
“Are you questioning my orders as the king of the pride, Rachel?”
Still, her mother persisted, and Charity wanted to shout, to tell her to stop fighting so hard for her.
“Charity isn’t able to shift,” her mother asserted, raising her eyes despite the bruise blossoming on her cheek.
“Whose fault is that, you think? The cub knows the rules. House Vivaldi is no place for the weak,” Raquel said in a toneless voice.
Charity flinched from the clear emerald eyes so like her own. She looked every inch like her father and siblings— blonde, green-eyed, and tall, but she preferred to be been born with her mother’s soft brown curls and eyes.
Her mother knew a losing battle when she saw one, so she only inclined her head gracefully at the king’s command. “Is she allowed weapons at least?”
“Very well,” Raquel said, although clear disgust was written on his very features of the suggestion of using human-made weapons instead of natural claws and teeth.
Charity shakily pulled out her knife from her belt. Her opponent, her younger sister, Risa laughed.
“At this rate, Charity, you’ll never find a mate.” Then Risa’s form blurred to that of a graceful and tawny mountain lioness. She yawned, showing Charity her impressive rows of teeth.
Warmth filled Charity as her back hit her older sister’s nude form. Ragan was three years older than her, and the only sister who ever bothered getting to know her. More importantly, Ragan taught her how to survive, to defend herself in a house filled with predators eager to see her fail.
“I know.”
“Good luck, little sister,” Ragan whispered, stroking Charity’s hair before letting her go.
Risa snarled and Charity was wary of the look in her eyes. Charity darted away at her first lunge, although Risa managed to score her shoulder with her claws. Pain seared in her arm, but Charity had to keep moving. Her reflexes were only mildly better than a normal human’s.
Charity lasted longer than anyone expected. Risa had her flat on her back in less than ten minutes, her claws dangerously digging into her torn shirt and flesh. The fight was rigged to begin with. The gleeful look in her sister’s eyes chilled Charity. Those eyes told her Risa wouldn’t hesitate to end her right there and then. Why her sister hated her with such a passion she didn’t know, but even bruised and bleeding, Charity refused to beg for her own life.
“She has some spine at least,” Raquel observed. “A pity she’s a defect. Perhaps some desperate lion will still mate her on account of her bloodline.”
Charity turned her head painfully to stare up at her father, showing him her clear and open dislike. He only laughed. Did he hate her existence so much he’d end her right here and now?
“Father, don’t you think this a good enough lesson? We have more fights to determine,” Ragan interrupted.
Risa growled at her, but Ragan only studied Risa coolly until Risa got off Charity.
“I don’t need help,” Charity said when Ragan offered her an arm.
Ragan frowned, but didn’t offer again. Charity wasn’t sure why she was angry at Ragan, or perhaps she was simply angry with herself. Raquel’s lesson had drilled itself firmly in her head. She was helpless and useless. Just another mouth to feed, and only tolerated because he was her father.
She limped her way to the estate’s clinic. The shifter asked her no questions while she tended to Charity’s injuries. Charity visited the clinic frequently enough. Her father and Risa’s words haunted her.
Often, when she locked herself in her room, she’d fantasized about her mate freeing her from the prison that was her life, but reality was far harsher. Even at twelve, Charity knew the paltry looks she received from the males in the pride were a mixture of pity or curiosity.
In the end, would anyone risk mating with a lioness who couldn’t shift? For that matter, could Charity bring cubs into the world knowing they had to suffer and experience what she did? Perhaps she was better off without a mate.
Later that evening, there was a knock outside her room. Charity didn’t want to see anyone, but knowing it was Ragan she muttered a weak, “come on in.”
Ragan didn’t comment about the dark room or bother turning on the lights. Charity made way for her on the bed, sighing when Ragan pulled her to her. Despite being a faulty shifter, she still harbored a shifter’s need for her family’s touch and comfort.
Could she really live her entire life without a mate, without another body warming her at night, knowing she was loved, cherished, and protected? It was hard-wired into their mountain lion genes to hunt in pairs, to make decisions, and raise their entire families with their mates.
What the hell was in store for someone like Charity? Was she denied all those basic needs because she happened to be born different?
Tears unexpectedly sprung into her eyes again, but Ragan gently rubbed those away. Her sister smelled a little of blood and of triumph. Even though Ragan wasn’t the oldest among the seven of them, she showed promise and potential. Several powerful and older members of the pride were already beginning to court her.
Jealousy, ugly and unwarranted, rammed into Charity. She didn’t need to be perfect or flawless like her sister. All she wanted was the ability to change form, to run on four legs and feel the wind against her tawny coat.
“It’s going to be okay, Charity. Forget what father said. His words mean nothing.”
“You can afford to say that. Your place in the pride is secure,” Charity said bitterly.
Ragan only stroked her hair in silence and Charity became ashamed of her outburst.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…he and Risa are right you know. No one is going to want me enough to make me their mate.”
Ragan shocked her by slapping her. “You’re the strongest person I know, Charity. Screw father and screw the family. Don’t ever let anyone make decisions for you. You make your fate.”
Chapter One
Present
“Don’t ever let anyone make decisions for you. You make your fate.” Ragan’s words echoed in Charity’s head while she waited for London Scavos to return to the interrogation room.
She tried to calm herself and steady her breathing. Given she was chained to a metal table meant to restrain shifter prisoners and captured by the very enemies her family taught her to hate ever since she was a child, it was damnably difficult.
The door to the interrogation room swung open, revealing one of the three werewolf alphas of House Vivaldi’s rival house. Charity didn’t let fear show on her face. The right side of her face ached and felt like it had been hit with a bag of bricks, but a little bruise was mild compared to what the wolves had in store for her.
The number of sins she committed against them were mounting. First, she failed in assassinating the pregnant mate of London’s brother, and then she personally attacked him. Remembering the sordid rumors about how the wolves treated their prisoners nearly made her shudder. Funny the only reason she remained alive was because she might be a valuable hostage. I have my dear old father to thank for that.
“Good evening, Charity. Have you had sufficient time to think about your current predicament?”
“Gentleman.” London Scavos calmly took the seat opposite her.
Charity tried not to show her surprise and wondered what changed. Only hours ago when he’d mistakenly taken off her restraints had he seen for the first time how deadly a defective shifter could be. Charity’s defiance had been short-lived. She decided to play his game instead and pick battles she could win.
“Good evening, London. Being chained and confined does give a desperate girl like me some time to think,” Charity replied in the same polite manner.
London smiled. “Oh? In my experience, not all desperate girls can afford to be as pretty as you, and pretty girls have more options than most?”
“If I didn’t know, I’d guess London Scavos is flirting with me,” Charity threw back. “I’m surprised though. According to our spies, your preferences seemed to center on the all-start male team.”
London did not look offended, but actually laughed. Charity wasn’t sure who the hell this man was, because the man she encountered hours before didn’t display this much exquisite control. No wonder the werewolves called him The Gentleman, and werewolves were known to be the most temperamental kind of shifter.
“You’ll be surprised to know I take both men and women to bed, Charity. It just happened that there are very few females who’ve struck my fancy.”
“Maybe because they know you don’t do commitments.” Charity wasn’t sure how far she could push this, but she wanted to know where this game would lead.
She told London the truth. A flawed shifter trapped in a den of wolves would resort to any desperate measure to survive and escape, even if it meant getting close to the enemy.
London raised one dark brow. “Even the Vivaldi has gotten wind of that little tidbit?”
“They say when it comes to the bedroom, you’re open to any kink and dark need, but you have one iron-clad rule. You don’t commit,” Charity said, wondering why the room suddenly felt so warm.
“I wonder,” London mused. “Do I interest you so
much that you know so much about me?”
Now that they were no longer at each other’s throats, Charity finally had an opportunity to study her captor. She wasn’t surprised every inch of him looked polished and perfect.
If they met under normal circumstances, and if their kin hadn’t been killing each other for centuries, then she would’ve appreciated his attentions. London was a sin to look at. His short dark hair was neatly trimmed and his gray eyes were expressive. Muscles rippled underneath his well-fitted designer suit with each tiny predatory movement.
Looking at him, Charity wondered why her heart started to pound a little faster. The room wasn’t warm. Heat radiated from their bodies. She’d reacted the same way the first time she saw him. The trapped mountain lioness inside her lazily flicked its tail to and fro, her golden eyes ablaze with clear interest.
No. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re looking at the enemy you’ve been taught all your life to despise.
Why did she want to close the unnecessary distance between them, so she could unveil the expense of his golden skin? Charity wanted to run her fingers through the stubble on his square jaw and finger the tiny pearl-like scar there.
“Charity? I asked you a question, and I expect an answer,” London pointed out, his voice a little strained.
So his control isn’t perfect after all. “It’s the basic rule of warfare to know your enemy as well as you know yourself.”
London leaned forward, his eyes dangerously flickering between slate gray and yellow—evidence he was losing control. Charity was suddenly grateful for the table between them. She reminded herself no matter how attractive or civil London appeared, he was a dangerous predator.