All Hail The King!
Damiano Satriale is hiding a deep dark secret, one that he’s had to cloak from the scent of other shifters all his life. Should anyone pick up on the vibrations of his royal bloodline, it will be the end of him. Ordered to the court of King Fain, monarch to all large cat shifters, the assignment leaves a bad taste in Dami’s mouth. The last thing he ever wanted or needed was the scrutiny that will come while serving as Paladin Primero, the king’s champion and most fearsome warrior knight. To top it all off, Dami is greeted by none other than his mate, someone he’d hoped never to meet.
Paget Jureaux, the panther who runs King Fain’s household, has been serving the monarch for nearly five years after the coup which resulted in the execution of the former king, Pasha Raab. He’s made lots of acquaintances and a few friends, but he’s never had any romantic entanglements. With no other gay cats around, there hasn’t been much chance for Paget to fall in love. When his mate arrives in the form of the king’s new paladin, he curses his fate. Not only does the man come with a vicious and cruel reputation, but a stunning face and an incredibly powerful body.
Thrown together by destiny, the two realize they must avoid each other at all costs and face the biggest challenge of their lives… trying to stay alive long enough… to walk away with broken hearts.
The Tiger King
Copyright 2017 Patricia Logan
All rights reserved
Edited by: Liz Bichmann
Cover Design by: AJ Corza
Formatting by: JP Adkins
AuthorPatriciaLogan.com
Warning:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and one of their finest agents, Cody Redsun, who will hunt you down, and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000!
Remember:
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places, is purely coincidental.
Please Be Advised:
This book contains material that is only suitable for mature readers. It contains scenes of a sexual nature between two consenting men.
Readers Are Saying Wonderful Things:
"Patricia Logan smells of old poo and doesn't wear pants… but her ability to weave perfectly real and sensual love stories into stories full of intrigue, suspense and the trials and tribulations of everyday life, pulls you in and makes you forget her personal hygiene." ~ Lisa Worrall
"Author Patricia Logan writes from the heart, sucking you into her story from the first page. She pulls no punches, telling gut wrenching heartfelt stories with a reality that makes you feel you are right there. Her kind of emotional honesty is rare and essential to great writing." ~ Jean Joachim
"Patricia Logan possesses the one key ingredient at her stage of writing that so many authors don't and never will; an editor who can translate her cirque du soleil act of random contortionist
word tappings into something presented as popular m4m prose. History will remember her fondly without the fondling, however, when someone eventually revisits her first drafts and realizes she's really written a cookbook titled "How to Serve Me'…. and a Delicious One at That!" ~ Kage Alan
"Reading a Patricia Logan book is not something to be taken lightly, the hotness contained within combined with multiple piercings can result in sudden breakage of certain adult toys making rapid trips to X rated shops a necessity! AND she will refuse to take responsibility for the added expense!! Oh and despite the hordes of Navy SEAL's, Cowboys, leather, whips, ropes and other convenient methods of restraint, there are never enough firemen in her books. ~ Petronella Bond
“Patricia Logan is a walking contradiction that may be baking cookies with her grandchild one moment and writing an e-stim sounding scene the next. Known famous as being a cat lady, she picks up more and more strays as she goes along through life. I am just happy to be one of them. ~JP Adkins
Trademarks List The Tiger King
Gatorade: The Gatorade Company, Inc.
Glock: Glock Ges.m.b.H
Herstal: Hrstal Group
Humvee: General Motors Company
Isopure: The Isopure Company
Jeep: FCA US LLC
KA-Bar: Cutco Corporation
Mack truck: Mack Trucks, Inc.
Velcro: Velcro Companies
Contents
Readers Are Saying Wonderful Things:
Trademarks List The Tiger King
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Other books by: Patricia Logan
About the Author
Prologue
B ody blows were the worst. Every time a fist connected with the soft tissue of his midsection, Nelson wanted to scream. A moan was the best he could manage. As the latest of his challengers landed a punch to his already bleeding liver, he collapsed to his knees, falling forward and vomiting blood onto the mat. The cheetah shifter heaved in a breath and felt the ribs closest to his belly dig into soft flesh. At least two were broken and it was probably a miracle they hadn’t punctured a lung at some point during the match.
The silver they kept him restrained with, weakened him and left bleeding burns on his ankles and wrists. How long had it been? Three days? A week? He’d lost count of time and the number of matches he’d fought. This must be at least the tenth… or was it the twentieth? What happened to the askari he defeated? Nelson collapsed onto the dirt, too tired to care. If this one overpowered him, at least it would finally be over. He needed to shift. He needed to heal and the shift was the only way to do it. He was turning into a meat sack, a bundle of broken bones covered by skin and he knew he couldn’t go on unless he was allowed to heal. Pretty soon, he’d be too weak to shift and that would mean he’d be carried away and not return like so many of the askari he’d seen over the past days.
A cheer went up from the stands as the gathered crowd chanted the name of their new champion. Nelson closed his eyes. Thank God, it’s not me. He felt strong arms lift him, feeling his blood drain out of his mouth onto the sandy ground. He forced himself to remain limp as the doors to the underground dungeon were pushed open. The two men carrying him took him through the building and out into the open air again, several hundred yards away from the training pit. When the overwhelming scent of death permeated his senses, it was all he could do to remain immobile.
“Throw him in on the count of three,” one of the men said, the first time he’d spoken up since they’d picked him up off the sand.
He recognized the voice. Curry. It’s Askari Curry. What is he doing messing with these rogue shifters? Nelson had been so weak, he hadn’t even caught the man’s scent until now when he was holding him. The two men swung his body three times and when his feet and arms were finally released, he flew into the air for
a few seconds.
Nelson landed with a thud on a soft pile of bodies. The scents of death and decay were nearly overwhelming. He’d been tossed into some sort of pit filled with rotting corpses. He cracked one eyelid and looked up to the sky. The two shifters, silhouetted in the moonlight, stood looking down at him. When one reached for a flashlight clipped to his hip, Nelson closed his eye and held his breath, praying they wouldn’t hear his heartbeat. His eyelids were illuminated by the halogen beam trained on him for several seconds. He stayed utterly motionless until he heard the switch click. The second they walked away, he dragged in air and waited.
Minutes later, Nelson sat upright, and glanced around the pit. Several bodies, probably twenty or more, lay in the pit in varying stages of decomposition, piled up like so much garbage. None of them had been given proper pyres and just the thought of how they’d died and then been desecrated by shifters of their own species, sickened him. His body was weak. Nelson wondered if his fallen comrades had felt the same before they died. He needed to shift. He needed water and food but most of all, he needed to shift. He groaned in agony as he got to his knees and stood up, clutching the side of the sandy pit to hold him upright. It took him several minutes to crawl out of it but by the time he was sitting on solid ground again, all he could do was thank God he was alive.
Nelson’s shift was the most agonizing he’d ever been through. He felt his bones realigning and knitting together as he made the metamorphosis to cat much slower than the few seconds it should have taken. In his cheetah form, he stood on the desert floor and gazed back at the training arena where he’d come from. He really needed several more shifts back and forth to heal properly, but he had to get out of the vicinity of this literal hell hole first. He had to get as far away from that as he possibly could before they discovered him. He turned and ran from the pit, taking off across the desert.
He wasn’t running at full speed. Cheetahs could go up to seventy miles per hour in short sprints, faster than any other cat shifters but the strongest paladin. As an askari, and a wounded one at that, he knew he had to get to the perimeter fence and escape the compound before he could contact help. Knowing there were askaris like Curry involved with whatever the hell this was, terrified him. Who can I trust?
Nelson slowed forty feet from the fence line and shifted, stumbling to the ground in human form, hitting the sand hard. He hauled himself up and ran the rest of the way to the fence, noting a security camera mounted to the top of it between razor wire. It was pointing outward, positioned that way because the shifters who ran the compound expected trouble from the outside world, not killers among themselves. He began to climb, knowing he’d be cut up when he climbed over. It was unavoidable but he was desperate… he’d never been so anxious to get away from soldiers he’d once thought brothers. This was hell on earth and he’d only now realized it. He gasped as the razor wire cut into his body, creating new wounds where others had been.
It was an agonizing climb but once he’d dropped onto the ground on the other side, bleeding from fresh cuts, he felt a freedom he hadn’t felt in days. Nelson concentrated hard and shifted, tuning his ears for signs that he was close to the road. He began to run in the direction of the traffic noises, running at full speed away from the place that had meant to kill him. There was life ahead, if he could only make it. He watched the moon and stars, navigating using the constellations before he heard a distant rumble of an engine. Freedom. Finally. I’m so close. Suddenly he heard movement behind him. He turned to find his worst nightmare. Two askari leopards chased him in shifted form. Curry and his little friend must have gone back to the pit and found me gone or the cameras picked me up. That means someone in the control room is with these killers as well. Either way, I’m dead.
Nelson ran for the road, feeling the weakness in his body as the leopards chased him. They’d catch him at the rate they were closing in. Without the benefit of water and food for days, he was weaker than he thought. He couldn’t keep up sprint speed for long but he kept trying. His life depended upon it. He spotted headlights and realized they were his salvation.
Nelson ran toward the lights, hitting a sprint a second before bullets came whizzing by his head. What the fuck? One of them must be wearing a harness holster and has shifted. He ducked and swerved, hurtling ever closer to the road and the headlights of the vehicle driving down it. Another bullet passed by his head, whizzing by so close it burned the fur of his muzzle. And then he was only a hundred yards from the road. He put on the speed, sprinting as hard as he could the last leg to freedom before he tripped and overshot the shoulder of the road. His body was still hurdling at top speed when he crossed into the path of headlights.
Chapter One
T he side of Satriale’s head rolled lazily against the Humvee’s window each time Chino Cortez drove over another bump. When he would glance over to his best friend, the sight of him fast asleep in the passenger seat of the vehicle frustrated him. He’d been trying to wake him up by driving into every rut in the road for hours. Their journey had begun in Jerusalem, but that last hump over had just about done them both in.
Fortunately, Chino had slept through part of that fucking long flight home to the States. It was so long, in fact, he was pretty sure they must have crossed the international date line five times before they finally landed. He knew he was being a dick by trying to wake Dami but he was bored to tears. He leaned over and pushed two fingers into his muscled shoulder. Satriale didn’t open his eyes but he turned his head toward Chino and drooled.
Chino shook his head and chuckled, turning his gaze back to the long stretch of empty highway ahead of the truck. I should let him sleep. Nah… what is the fun in that?
“Wake up,” he said, glancing back at him. In his human form, Damiano Satriale was a stunningly handsome man, not that Chino cared. He was a straight as the next guy but he had to admit, his friend was beautiful. Dami was six foot five of pure muscle. He had unusual inky black hair with streaks of gold, a short beard fashioned into a goatee, and six-pack abs that glowed under the full moon. People always drooled over Dami, men and women alike. Once they got a look at his light golden eyes, the color of no other tiger’s in the world, they were willing to fall to their knees, simply to get the cat’s notice.
Satriale never so much as looked at them. He was a paladin and he lived for one thing and one thing alone: to protect and fight for the royal family. Chino was a paladin as well but he was built with pure raw strength and heft, outweighing his best friend by at least seventy pounds. He’d been nicknamed Sasquatch when they were kids. If the humans who called him that only knew what he really was, they’d piss their pants. It had driven Dami crazy. Chino had stopped counting the times his best friend had gotten into fights with some stupid little brat for poking fun at him. Satriale always had Chino’s back, making sure that if someone dared mess with one, they’d get them both. He was as loyal a friend as any could be and Chino loved him like a brother.
Chino glanced at a road sign, noting they were only about twenty minutes from their destination. Finally.
“Wake up, Dami. We’re almost there.” He glanced at his friend and saw his eyelids flutter open.
“Where are we?” Dami asked, pushing himself up in the seat and swiping at the wet place on his chin.
“Drooler.”
“Fuck off. Where are we?” Dami lifted his arms over his head and stretched his muscled body as much as was possible in the confines of the Humvee.
“Ten miles outside of Phelan, nearly to Base Camp.”
Chino dragged his gaze away from the road to catch his friend’s eye once more. His face showed signs of exhaustion with dark circles under his light eyes but the sharp intelligence was still evident. Unless gravely injured, paladins were different from common askari, bred for their intellect as well as their superior strength, speed, and sense of duty. Paladins were the large cat shifter equivalent of a warrior or guardian who would fight to the death to protect what was singular and precio
us, like the royal family they served. They were military in their demeanor, following orders without question, leaders of the askari, common soldiers, and answerable to no one but the royal family.
That’s just what they were doing today. Having been tasked to end their long stint in Israel working with Mossad, Chino and Dami had been ordered to return to Southern California to serve Christos Fain, the big cat shifter king. Dami was to be made paladin primero, the head of all the king’s paladin. It would have been a great honor for any paladin, but Dami had been pissed about it the moment he’d gotten his orders. Though neither Chino nor Dami had ever met the king, his reputation was not a good one.
“Son of a bitch. I’m really not looking forward to this shit,” Dami grumbled.
Chino grinned. He loved this man. “Why not? You do realize that the king asked for you specifically. You must have impressed him enough to call for you all the way in Israel. Besides that, you know the paladin need a strong leader. I can’t think of a stronger man.” Chino reached out and squeezed his friend’s bicep.
Dami laughed and pulled away. “Fuck you, idiot.”
Laughing for Dami was such a rare thing, hell, even getting the man to smile was rare. Usually only Chino had the ability to do it but then again, the two companions had been almost inseparable since their births thirty-two years before, had been raised in the same tribe, and at sixteen had experienced their first shift. It should have been part of their normal transition to manhood. It turned out to be anything but. Once they shifted back to human form, Dami’s true lineage had manifested itself in ways that clearly frightened his family. Within days, Dami was asked to leave his parents’ home and never return. Hurt and frightened, he’d left his tribe with his best friend, Chino, who refused to leave his side.
The Tiger King (Paladin Shifters Book 1) Page 1