EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2019 Doris O’Connor and Raven McAllan
ISBN: 978-1-77339-987-4
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Karyn White
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To the late great Doris O'Connor who loved this idea. To Karyn for her invaluable input and everyone at Evernight Publishing for all they do to get the book from me to you, the reader.
To everyone who reads and enjoys my books, thank you
THE TATTOO ARTIST’S MATE
Bare Alley Ink, 1
Doris O’Connor and Raven McAllan
Copyright © 2019
Prologue
“I have decided, pet, it is selfish of me to keep you to myself.” Julian smiled at Isla in a way that made her skin crawl. What did he mean? Dare she ask? She opened her mouth, but he forestalled her in a simple effective manner. He put his hand over hers, his little finger curled inside her lips. She smelled, and tasted, snuff. Taking snuff was a horrible, archaic, disgusting habit Julian had cultivated. It made her want to sneeze and throw up in equal measures.
“Now, pet, be careful. You know what happens when my pet gets above herself. Remember I know what’s best.”
Did he? Lately Isla had begun to doubt that. Surely his “I know best, do as I say attitude” could be tempered at times? Weren’t subs supposed to be able to say “enough”? Why did he know best? And why for fuck’s sake did he call her pet? Oh, she knew a lot of Doms used the affectionate sobriquet, but from Julian it sounded false. As if he had decided he needed to sound Dom-like and thought that was the way. She could have told him it didn’t. If she dared.
Good lord, what had she become? Shame flooded her. She was a mouse. A pathetic, groveling, couldn’t stand up for herself mouse.
“Isla, are you listening?”
Argh, she’d tuned out. Not very sub like. Maybe she wasn’t sub material after all? “Sorry.”
The tap to her cunt was short, sharp, and hurt. “Listen now. I’ve said I’m not going to keep you to myself. I will share you with my friends,”
You what?
Had she heard that right? “Say that again.” In her shock she forgot the “Sir”.
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t be disrespectful. Whoever I decide can have you. However I decide. You heard and earned a punishment. I’ll let Harry Thurston give it. You are for all of us.”
Harry Thurston? He was renowned as a sadist.
“No.”
Julian appeared flabbergasted. She was a bit gobsmacked herself. Where had that come from?
“What do you mean no?” He snarled the words.
“No, I won’t.”
“You will or—”
“No and no or nothing. It’s over.” Isla heard herself and wanted to high five. It was. “No more, I’ve had enough. I quit.”
His eyes narrowed. “You go, and it’s forever, pet. How will you cope, eh? No Sir to protect you, show you where you are going wrong. You’ll soon come crawling back.”
She grinned, confident now that he was not what she needed.
“I’ll manage very well.”
“With that reminder of who you belong to?” He pointed at her ankle where he’d insisted she have his name tattooed.
Isla trembled but managed a creditable, scornful laugh. “That? I’ll get it lasered off.” She grabbed her handbag, turned on her heel and marched out. Out of his house and out of his life.
Chapter One
Six months later
Isla woke up in a sweat. That bloody dream again. Why bears for goodness’ sake? Oh, she liked her shifter stories—who didn’t? There was nothing nicer that a hot bloke with a body like a Greek god who in the blink of an eye changed from said bloke to a—well in her case it seemed a bear—to make a girl wet and wanting. Most times a session with her bullet usually helped. Not now though. For some reason she woke up sated and strange though it seemed, with a feeling she wasn’t herself. That someone or something had changed her. Almost, she thought, as if she’d had some sort of out of body experience.
Which of course was daft. She was no shifter. Her mum was from Auchtermuchty in Scotland and her dad an out and out cockney, who he said was related to Pearly Kings and Queens. Not that she believed that bit. Her granddad had been a coalman and her grandma allegedly a bit weird. A lady who Isla remembered as small and white haired, who smelled of cough drops and told the most amazing stories about wizards and dragons.
Maybe that was it? She was subconsciously remembering those stories. Wasn’t one about a bear who was lonely and wanted a mate? And found a human instead?
Wouldn’t that be good? Isla sniggered and rolled her eyes.
“Too much cheese.”
Was that really a growl she heard, or the bin lorry doing its usual gear-crunching reverse around the corner? She poked her head between the curtains. The lane outside the house was empty. Not even her next-door neighbor going for his usual early morning jog with Pongo his sheepdog.
Nothing except the trees across the lane waving as if someone—or something—had recently rushed through them.
“For us, I’m watching over you.”
Isla shivered. Where had that stupid thought come from? She headed for the shower and remembered her vow.
Today is the day.
****
“Bare Alley, third on left.” Isla muttered to herself as she parked her car in the multi-story of her nearest town, got out and locked up. “Stupid name for a street.” Okay it was probably steeped in the deep dark annals of time and full of mystery and intrigue, but it still didn’t seem right. It reminded her of naked orgies, Lady Godiva, and a picture she’d seen in an art gallery of a bear with a naked lady. Both looked happy. It made her miserable. Where had her happy gone? Her joie de vivre? Her love of life and all things ridiculous?
Down the toilet.
It was galling to admit that those bloody months with Julian had eroded them. As he’d tried to mold her into his … his what? Not a sub for sure, his slave in a most unpleasant way perhaps? She understood that now. He was, to put no finer point on it, a charlatan. Isla could hit herself for being so taken in. But the man was a smooth talking, persuasive, slimy toad. And Isla realized she had been ripe for someone to love. At university, all her mates had paired off, and nerdy Isla Cameron hadn’t. She’d been more concerned with good grades and aiming for a career in something esoteric.
Instead she’d fallen into his lap and life, forgotten esoteric, spent a miserable few months before she jumped out of said lap and then indulged in her love of cakes. Which added several inches to her already ample hips as of course at first, she couldn’t make, bake and sell such things without sampling them. Now she was more sensible, but those inches clung to her like an insecure child who didn’t want to leave its mum. However, she was happy within herself, and if having to buy new trousers was a result of that happiness so be it.
Being you own boss was great up to a point. But when you were so successful you had to ask a mate if you could switch your answering machine to her phone so you could have a day off as well as your normal Monday and Tuesday, it wasn’t on. Not really.
Oh, she enjoyed Is
la’s Bakes, was happy to do bespoke celebration cakes for whoever wanted one, and enjoyed the success she’d achieved. However, it had taken off so well, she needed help. Help she hadn’t so far discovered. Her one employee was perfect, but oh how one or two more part-timers would give them more normal working hours not the ten- and twelve-hour days she seemed to be putting in more and more.
She yearned for time to breath and relax and think. Not just about work. About her other current dilemma as well.
As in, her bloody, fucking stupid, tattoo.
Needs must.
Isla had dithered for months over where to go and how get rid of that blasted stupid and she hadn’t even wanted it, tattoo, that Julian had insisted on. At first, she was more concerned about sorting her life out than being de-inked or whatever you called it.
Thank God she’d never moved in with Julian. Even when he’d tried to pull the “I’m your Dom, you will live with me” stunt. He’d about begged, but she’d stayed firm, thank heaven. Then he’d suggested he moved in with her instead. Lucky for her, Isla had a ready-made excuse, even though she wasn’t sure why she needed it. It was her mum’s house, not hers. And she was only house sitting on the understanding there were no extra inhabitants.
That was a lie. Her mum was the most open-minded person she knew, but it was a good get out. Whatever it was that warned her to take things slowly she had no idea, but boy did she give thanks for it.
“I told you, I watch over my own.”
That damned voice in her head again. And a growl? Isla glanced around. The alley was almost deserted. A black cat slunk across from one doorway to another. Too far away for her to hear a noise from it. Two schoolboys jostled each other as they came out of the chippy, a poke of chips and a can of something fizzy in their hands. No one else around. She must stop eating too much before bed. Maybe she needed to switch from coffee to water?
It was next step time. As in ditch the crappy tattoo, not switch to water. Isla had researched laser removal but wondered if it might be better just to change it somehow. There was pain, and yeah, there was pain. If she’d discovered one thing from Slimy Julian, it was she really didn’t do pain. Plus, as there was no guarantee a laser removal would take it all away, maybe a wee change might be better. It was enough of an incentive for her to at least ask. After all, Julian wasn’t a lot to hide as roses, a wallflower or a snake or something? She was partial to wallflowers and got the heebie-jeebies over snakes. Maybe not a snake then. Something pleasant. Trailing ivy? Hearts and flowers? Glencoe? Nope that might be a bit too controversial. Whatever, she’d suffer that amount of pain it gave her for a good cause.
After a long while, cussing, moaning, vowing to cut the said Julian’s balls off—that was once she’d read up on a D/s relationship and realized that was what they hadn’t had—Isla was ready to say fuck him, forget him, and properly move on.
Hence this first peek at “Bear at the Bare”.
What a stupid name for a tattoo parlor. After all, why Bare? For that matter, why Bear? Okay she’d seen a picture of the bloke who ran it, and yeah, he was big, hairy, and she could see him as a grizzly, but please. Why so fucking twee? Did he make sure all his tattoos had bare-naked ladies peeking out from some shrubbery? If so, he could go fly. She didn’t want ladies bare or otherwise on her skin. Or men. She wasn’t an exhibitionist.
Isla hesitated and took a deep breath. Pull up your big girl panties time. It was the one place recommended the most. Lots of five-star reviews. Not just for, as one customer put it, “the hot as hell if he played his cards right, he could have me” tattoo artist, but because he did a superb job. Artist, it was proclaimed, was an understatement. The photos on his web seemed to confirm that.
If only he wasn’t a MacDonald. Her granny would have a fit about her “puir wee bairn” putting her body in the hands of a MacDonald in any which way. Granny Campbell still hadn’t forgotten or forgiven the so-called treachery of the Clan MacDonald at Glencoe. The fact that the battle—or massacre depending on which side you supported—was over 400 years earlier didn’t sway her. Granny Campbell was a staunch supporter of her clan and its history, and had done her best to make Isla understand why.
For Isla it was all a long while ago, and if that was bad of her so be it. One of her best mates at school had been a Campbell. So what? Isla was more concerned with getting the best re-tattoo possible than centuries-old grudges. After all, was he going to come at her with a broadsword or a musket?
As long as he wasn’t one of the old guard, it wasn’t likely. Maybe he’d refuse to touch her.
She heard that damned growl again.
Chapter Two
Gaspar MacDonald wiped over the addition to his clan mate’s ever-growing sleeve, and applied the moisturizer with a smirk.
“You know the rules now.”
Josh nodded. “Ad nauseam. I won’t do anything daft like showering and so on. Looks good, eh?” He held his arm out to inspect it in the mirror.
“Well, duh, look who did it?” Gaspar smirked. “Only the best will do.”
Josh rolled his eyes. “Always one to hide your excellence under a bush, eh? Ever the understatement.”
Gaspar laughed. “I tell it like it is. You gonna run out of room on here soon, bro. Best hope this one is a lad, eh.”
The fifth bear cub ran away merrily with its siblings in an intertwined dance that made Gaspar’s chest feel tight. He’d had the privilege of designing this sleeve from the beginning, when Josh had first encountered his mate. The man had staggered into the studio as soon as it opened, begged for coffee and anything, anything to eat and told Gaspar he’d met his life partner. He confessed they’d spent all night sitting on the beach—no sex, just cuddling to keep warm—and waited to watch the sun come up before setting home.
In a whirlwind romance even for shifters, he’d wedded and bedded and got her with five adorable cubs in the space of six years. What’s more, the two were still as besotted with each other as the day they’d first clapped eyes on each other. Mates, husband and wife and Dom and sub. Something that Gaspar was beginning to realize he craved for himself. Anyone would think he was turning forty soon, instead of thirty-five, but hooking up with random women when the need struck him to scratch that itch had long lost its appeal. He was ready, more than ready, for permanence. If only he could find the fucking time to go searching for “the one”. Dreams were all well and good, but no substitute fro the real thing. Okay, he woke up wet and wanting, and knew enough that they meant something—the shadowy woman in them was going to be important to him, but not how and when. He needed to know her now. Before his bloody cock shriveled up from underuse. If only she’d just appear and show him who she was, and let him get laid and sated.
He was so busy, he barely had time for toilet breaks, let alone take a day off to go mate hunting. And if he did, where the fuck would he start? Shifter mating wasn’t a website easily found.
Josh grinned and punched Gaspar playfully into the shoulder. Gaspar rolled with it and bared his teeth at the younger guy, while swallowing a growl. They were on their own in the shop so he could let his grizzly show a little, but fuck only knew why his inner beast was so volatile today. It’s as though his bear was expecting something momentous to happen. Yeah, he was getting maudlin in his old age.
Happenings didn’t happen for him.
“You know darn well, I dinnae give two hoots about whether this one is another girl,” Josh stated. “Besides you know my Bella. Balls of steel, and the girls take after her. Wee Aimee is already shifting, and she’s not in her teens yet. Just five and growling like an adult. Precocious or what? Still, we’ll see what we’ve been given and love him or her for who they are.”
Fantastic sentiments and ones that Gaspar hoped he got the chance to emulate one day. “You can’t do better than your Bella.” He mimed a kiss. “If she had a sister I’d be at the front of the queue.”
“No sister and she’s mine, all mine.” Josh roared with laughter as G
aspar mock-scowled. “Go get yourself someone like her and ye’ll be in clover.’
Gaspar rolled his eyes. “One of a kind.” He stood up and stretched to get the kinks out of his body. The aching sort of kinks, sadly. Fuck and bugger. When was the last time he’d let his Dom persona out and take over? So fucking long he couldn’t remember.
Josh walked to the till and took his wallet out. “What’s the dama—holy shit.”
The door to the shop blew open with a bang that rattled the windows nearby as a sudden gust of wind blew through the aperture and lifted a sheaf of drawings from the desk. They fluttered around like overlarge confetti and landed in a haphazard heap on the floor.
“Dammit, I should have shut that back door earlier,” Gaspar said with a growl that would put the fear of God into anyone who wasn’t on his side. “Sodding through draft. The back alley’s like a wind tunnel today. You could test a jumbo jet in there and—what the fuck.”
Gaspar couldn’t have stopped the animalistic growl that rumbled out from his chest if his life depended on it, and he wasn’t sure he hadn’t grown a few inches, too, because the scent on that breeze….
It couldn’t be, yet his bear responded to the call in the wind with another deep, menacing growl, which shook the floorboards and made the bell above his shop door go into spasms.
It was her. It had to be. The woman he’d been with in her sleep. Oh, he hadn’t seen her face, wasn’t told her name, just that when he met her, he would know. And he did. That hair… Her. Mine. The woman he yearned for, had wet dreams about, and knew was his. She’d come to him.
The gorgeous, fuckable, female human with carroty hair and big, expressive eyes who stood in the doorway jumped, took a step back, and bit her lip. As he watched, she squared her shoulders and stared at him. Was he the only one who saw the effort it cost her? How could Josh be unaware? Or was he being tactful?
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