Shifter's Claim (The Shadow Shifters)
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Glossary of Terms
Shadow Shifter Tribes
Topètenia—the jaguars
Croesteriia—the cheetahs
Lormenia—the white Bengal tigers
Bosinia—the cougars
Serfins—the white lions
Acordado—the awakening, the Shadow Shifter’s first shift
Alma—the name of the spa at Perryville Resorts Sedona. Means “soul” in Portuguese
Amizade—annex to the Elders’ Grounds used as a fellowship hall
Companheiro—mate
Companheiro calor—the scent shared between mates
Curandero—the medicinal and spiritual healer of the tribes
Elders—senior members of the tribe
Ètica—the Shadow Shifter Code of Ethics
Joining—the union of mated shifters
La Selva—the name of the restaurant at Perryville Resorts. Means “the jungle” in Portuguese
Pessoal—secondary building of the Elders’ Grounds which houses the personal rooms of each Elder
Rogue—a Shadow Shifter who has turned from the tribes, refusing to follow the Ètica, in an effort to become their own distinct species
Santa Casa—main building of the Elders’ Grounds that is the holy house of the Elders
The Assembly—three Elders from each tribe that make up the governing council of shifters in the Gungi
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Glossary of Terms
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Teaser
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Also by A.C. Arthur
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About the Author
Copyright
Prologue
The Gungi Rainforest, South America
Fourteen years ago
He saw red.
Everything was red.
Blood red.
The rain, the leaves, even the muddy dirt puddles at his feet. The acidic stench burned his nostrils and had his stomach churning until he fought to keep from vomiting. Beneath his feet branches cracked and rustled. Rain, cold like slivers of ice, pelted his naked body, as a form of punishment, maybe. Because he’d been too late.
Her body lay on the ground, mutilated, floating in the pool of blood. His fingers shook as an arm reached out. Her eyes had been blue, like a summer’s sky. He remembered them clearly, remembered how they’d stared at him brimming with tears as he’d explained their time together had run its course. Pressing against the lids he closed them, not wanting to see them any longer. Not wanting her to be disappointed by him yet again.
Bas cursed. The words rolling from his lips in a long fluid succession that sounded more like a drunk in a gangster movie than a man heading for his senior year in college. Then again he wasn’t in New York anymore. He was in the forest where he’d been born. After his parents’ divorce it just made more sense to come here than go back to the house in the Hamptons where there were expensive things like rugs and lamps, statues and paintings and memories. But no people, not anymore. In the midst of the two-year-long his versus hers tug-of-war they’d left the house to Bas. Then, after too many failed attempts to get them back together, Bas had simply left the damned house.
He’d also left Mariah. After dating the sophomore whom he’d met at a party for almost a month, Bas had told her it was over. Whatever faith he’d had in lasting relationships had been dashed with his parents’ actions. In his mind it hadn’t mattered anyway because he hadn’t been in love with Mariah—he’d known she wasn’t his mate—and because she was a human. And he was not. Their laws were very clear in that regard—no exposure to humans. Ever.
And now look where he was and what adhering to that law had done.
No, what they’d done. He was very clear on the fact that those bastard rogues had killed Mariah without any remorse and so he’d done the only thing he could do. He’d ripped their fucking throats out, without remorse, of course.
Mariah was dead and there was nothing he could do about that. She’d died right in front of him, screaming and writhing until she could do neither anymore. If he’d just been a second faster, a minute more alert instead of basking in his own problems. He could have what? Saved her from being killed by shifting into a jaguar and ripping the heads off the four other men who changed into jaguars right in front of her.
That would have gone over real well.
Exposure was the biggest warning in the Ètica. In other words it was a huge no-no that all the Shadow Shifters lived with every day of their lives. Don’t tell humans who and what you are. Keep the secret, blend in, but do not become one of them. All his life he’d been taught this, the philosophy had been practically beaten into his head.
And he believed in that philosophy just as he believed in the Ètica and the upward movement of the Shadow Shifters who now took residence in the United States and who were working together toward a democracy for their kind, also known as the Stateside Shadow Shifters.
What he did not believe in was senseless death. And as he lifted what was left of Mariah into his arms, carrying her through the rain deeper into the Gungi, inhaling the stench of her blood that dripped continuously from her body, Bas cursed the rogues. He cursed their very existence even as he took pride in his own.
He also cursed himself for being so foolish as to become involved with a female, especially a human. How she’d come to be in the Gungi at all had been a mystery to him since the last time he’d seen her had been over a week ago. She hadn’t taken the break-up well, which was also something Bas had downplayed. He’d seen the look of hurt in her eyes when he’d so callously spoken those words and hadn’t bothered to look back after he’d left her standing in the hallway of her dorm. Had she come here looking for him? Had she thought following him would get them back together? His temples throbbed with what might be the worst headache ever.
Bas cursed not only the thoughts of how she’d come to be here but the fact that she’d made him feel weak and insignificant, a failure and a disgrace. Sort of like he’d felt when all his talking hadn’t kept the two people he’d loved most in this world together.
Beneath the heavy canopy of the forest and the dense rain that fell on a daily basis, Bas had buried Mariah, closing his eyes to pray over the mound of mud he’d padded tightly over her body. There would be no human funeral for her, the remains of her body could not be found. Too many questions would be asked. In time her parents would have her declared dead, they would grieve and then ev
entually move on. As for Bas, he would keep this secret with him for the rest of his days. But he vowed to never make this mistake again. “Never.” His voice was low but deep, traveling on the wind throughout the forest where he’d once taken solace.
Comastaz Laboratories
Sedona, Arizona
One year ago
“So we’re kidnappers now?”
“We’re not kidnappers. You are a scientist and I am a decorated officer of the United States Marine Corps. We’re both employed by the United States government and we have a responsibility to develop new and improved ways for our country’s defense.”
Dr. Mario DiLaurent scratched the back of his head, looking skeptically at the body lying still as a corpse on the examining table. It was encased half in and half out of a body bag, adding credence to the “dead” theory. But there was a pulse. He’d touched the wrist of what looked to be a Hispanic male, between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. His physique was huge, built like a battering ram, perfectly sculpted like a model. And he was in Mario’s lab, where the only humans allowed wore white coats and valid ID badges.
“We specialize in chemical warfare,” he reminded Captain Lawrence Crowe, the director of the lab’s defense program.
“No,” Captain Crowe replied, walking to stand on the other side of the table where the man lay. “We specialize in warfare.”
“This is a man,” Mario pointed out, about three seconds too soon.
In the next instant the naked man had jumped off the table, hitting the tile floor on his hands and knees. Mario jumped back, barely holding on to a scream he knew would sound more feminine than Captain Crowe and his macho persona would appreciate. Crowe, true to his Marine Corps training, reached for his weapon, bringing both hands together and pointing it directly at the man.
A noise echoed through the room. No, it wasn’t just a noise but a growl, fierce, loud, and lethal. Mario wanted to run but the man blocked the door. He was about to look to Crowe to ask him what the hell was going on when the man opened his mouth and growled again.
“Oh. My. God,” Mario mumbled.
The man had incisors more than an inch long, and the cheeks that had looked normal just a few minutes ago had now morphed into a broad muzzle, and his eyes were an eerie yellow color that sent a shiver of fear straight down Mario’s spine. When the man or beast or whatever it was growled again it came up on its hind legs, standing taller than the door frame, looking more fierce than anything Mario had ever seen.
Three shots were fired from behind him, the sound causing him to jump each time, a hand going to his chest as if he thought that would still his pounding heartbeat.
“What the hell?” he managed after watching the big form slide to the floor, now unconscious.
He took a step forward when the captain had yet to answer him and stared down at what he wanted to call a big man cat. Right before his eyes, the muzzled face deflated and looked once more like a man. The large chest heaved up, down, up, down, until it slowed to a steady, slow rhythm.
“That’s what I want you to find out,” Crowe said, coming up behind him.
Now they both stood looking down at what … they had absolutely no idea. Crowe was anxious; Mario could almost feel the adrenaline pouring off the man in waves. He was planning something and it was going to be big. It was also going to include Mario and he wasn’t 100 percent positive he was happy about that.
Chapter 1
The Willard InterContinental Hotel
Washington, D.C.
Present day
“What do you want?” he asked even though he had one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, the other clapped tightly over her mouth.
She’d been following him all night, her gaze fixated on him like a beacon in the dark of night. Bas had tried to ignore it, no, actually he hadn’t. He’d seen her about two minutes after she’d taken her seat at the table just ten feet away from his. She’d smiled and conversed with the others around her, all the while casing the room for something, until landing on him. Females did not normally affect him this way, they didn’t look at him and cause all the blood in his body to run hotter and faster throughout his veins. They didn’t call to him throughout the night in a room full of about six hundred people and they definitely did not wander around hotel hallways attempting to break into private suites—the private suites of Roman Reynolds, Leader of the Stateside Assembly.
She mumbled something against his hand, her lips brushing over his skin with the effort. His teeth gritted so hard he thought his jaw might break, warmth flooding him so fast and so potently he felt like he might melt with the intensity. In seconds his defensive stance shifted to something more powerful, more lethal to anyone on its receiving end. He pressed his body closer, let the curves of hers fit perfectly against him. Her ass was cradled by his now-jutting hips, and felt so sweet he almost gasped. Moving his arm upward just a few inches had the curve of her breasts resting against his arms. But both those actions and reactions were basic—male body parts plus female body parts equaled sexual desire, plain and simple, the circle of life so to speak.
Then he inhaled and that circle broke, it bent and reshaped until Bas felt like it was a lasso instead, tightening slowly, keeping them together regardless. Her scent consumed him, filtering through his body like an infusion of pleasure, a drug so pure and so powerful he automatically wanted more. Leaning forward, his lips only inches from her earlobe he whispered, “If you scream I’ll break your neck.”
Slowly, he moved his hand away from her mouth, keeping her body pressed tightly against the wall, firmly covered by his own.
“You really need to work on your greeting,” came her cool response, delivered in a sultry voice that wasn’t so deep as to be off-putting and wasn’t too high as to work his nerves. It was, he thought, inhaling another dangerous whiff of her scent, alluring.
“Do I now?” Bas asked with a slight chuckle to his tone. “And what do you need to work on? Your surveillance skills maybe? You picked the wrong room and the wrong person to follow tonight.”
Her next move was totally surprising, especially to Sebastian Perry, multimillionaire resort owner and playboy extraordinaire. She wiggled her ass against his now-throbbing erection, turned, and tilted her head so that when she spoke her next words he could actually see her lips move and feel her warm breath fan over his face.
“Maybe I need to work on you,” she whispered about two seconds before her elbow smashed into the right side of his ribs.
Another man, a human, may have buckled at the assault but Bas, a Faction Leader in the Stateside Assembly, barely blinked. He did, however, take about a five-inch step back, which gave her enough time to spin around and face him, but not get away.
“Oh, that can definitely be arranged,” he replied, moving into her once more.
While he’d loved the enticing cushion of her ass against his dick, he was now enjoying the heavy swells of her breasts pressed against his chest, threatening to overflow from the tight bodice of her dress. Her hair was short, shorter than he usually preferred on his females but cut in a chic style that he now realized echoed her snappy and courageous personality. She had a small face, plump lips, wide eyes, and high cheekbones. Everything about her seemed to scream blatant desire, and yet, there was something else.
“This may be some form of harassment,” she told him, her hands pushing futilely against his chest.
Bas, the smooth, cocky sonofabitch he was sometimes known as, only smiled. “No, this would be harassment,” he told her a second before cupping her ass cheeks in his palms and leaning forward to lick the seam of her lips.
He pressed her into him so hard and so fast his dick just about burst through the zipper of his tuxedo pants. Against his spine his cat pressed for more, teeth bared with the idea of conquest. He should have moved away at the quick inhale of her breath, the renewed effort to break free, but that only spurred Bas on, flicking on a switch inside him that had almost been permanently off.
Moving slightly to the right, his tongue ran a line along her jaw, down the length of her neck to her collarbone, which was left open for his perusal by the extremely low cut of her come-fuck-me red dress. Her breath had hitched, her heart pounding against her chest, her fingers clenching in the lapels of his jacket just as his teeth nipped along her soft skin.
Then she moved and Bas knew what would come next. His hand followed her motion, slipping down the back of her thigh to grab her calf just as her knee planned to slam into his groin. When she pushed at him he let her, but still held on to her leg, leaving her to flail against falling flat on the floor. After a split second of her looking helpless and extremely pissed off, he circled her waist with his free arm, holding her once more against him.
“We just keep ending up in this position,” he said as this time she stood with only one foot on the ground, her other leg—the one that had been meant to assault him—hiked up against his side.
“Is this how you like it? Standing up against the wall, your legs wrapped around me while I pump you until you come?” She opened her mouth to speak, clapped those medium-thick lips shut, and glared up at him instead.
“Let me go,” she said. “Or I’ll scream so loud every security officer in this building will come running.”
“You mean the security officers that allowed you to come onto this private floor and skulk around this private suite?” Bas shook his head. “Apparently, they’re on a smoke break.” He let her leg fall to the ground and moved so that now his fingers traced the line of her neck. “Now, I’ll ask you one more time what you were doing here and you can either answer me”—he lowered his voice purposely, letting his finger glide over the spot on her collarbone he’d just licked seconds before—“or you can fuck me. I’ll let you make the choice.”
* * *
Curiosity killed the cat.
That old saying ran back and forth through Priya’s head, bringing forth the memory of sneaking into the boxes underneath her mother’s bed in search of whatever her mother reached for at night that left her so out of it, she couldn’t even get up in the morning to get her kids ready for school.