Taming the Beast: Eleven Paranormal Romances

by Alyse Zaftig

  “Why you, Faye?”

  Not sweetheart, anymore. I bit back the sigh, convincing myself that I should be grateful he hadn’t spewed flames at me over the kitchen table, or locked me up in his lair until I conceded to his every whim. This time the sigh escaped, and it was dosed with a good amount of longing.

  His eyebrow arched, and he leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. “You’re human,” he stated. “Why you … sweetheart?” He dragged out the endearment, drawling the word as if it were a loving caress in itself—a whisper between lovers amongst tangled sheets and slick skin.

  A tremor worked its way down my spine, coiling in my stomach, fluttering and hot. “I have years of experience.”

  He snorted, a puff of steam shooting out of his nostrils as he shook his head. “Years? You barely look like you’ve started your twenties.”

  “I’m older than I look. I have good genes.” I sounded defensive, dammit. I couldn’t help it if I didn’t look my age, or that I wasn’t smooth or sophisticated or polished. He should count himself lucky that I had pulled a brush through my hair this morning and shaved my legs.

  “Yes. You do.” He had a speculative gleam in his eyes, as though he had read my inner thoughts and found them amusing.

  “I am more than qualified to do this.”

  Righting the fallen chair, he lowered himself down, smoothing his hands across the table. He cocked his head, as though listening to an unheard voice. Then, “Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?”

  He sounded completely reasonable. Calm. Too calm. So I sat. “Sure. You want to interview me?” Not that it would make any difference; he couldn’t make me leave, not unless he wanted to leave too. A twinge inside my stomach had me shuffling on my seat.

  His first few questions were routine, enquires about education and experience, something I could field with my eyes closed since I hadn’t been lying. I was more than capable of doing what I’d come here to do. My gaze flickered to the table, where his fingers were drawing circles on the scored wood, round and round, twining back and forth in a hypnotic dance.

  He had elegant hands. Long fingers with blunt, neat nails. Strong and capable I mused, taking in the hard calluses revealed with every turn.

  “Faye?”

  “Huh? Yes?”

  A low chuckle, then, “How long are you going to be staying here, with me?” His already deep voice dropped to an even lower, huskier tone on the last word, his fingers pausing on their winding journey as if to add their emphasis.

  The air thickened, every sucked in breath thick with his scent. A smoky smell, bitter yet sweet all at the same time. Utterly masculine. “As long as it takes.”

  His fingers resumed their caress, because that’s what it was, a slow, loving caress on the wood. Gentle and calm, yet poised to attack. “As what takes?”

  I was starting to wish I’d accepted the job in California instead. A bit of sun would have done me some good, but, no, my curiosity had landed me smack bang in the middle of something I was starting to think I didn’t stand a chance of winning. “For you to pass my test.”

  “What test?”

  I folded my arms over my chest as an armor against his persuasive grin. Two can play his game of half answers and misdirection. “If you knew, then it wouldn’t really be fair, would it?”

  “How is it fair if I don’t know the rules?”

  Would it make a difference? “Do you ever play by the rules?” I shot back.

  He folded his arms over his chest, mocking me.

  Though while I probably looked like a woman trying too hard to be tough, he didn’t even need to try, his thick biceps bunching and shoulders squaring like small mountains. Dark stubble lined his jaw, merging into thick, black hair that hung over eyes that stared at me, unblinking. I took back my earlier assessment: he wasn’t just gorgeous, he was edible. Mouth watering, panty dropping, wickedly-combustible-thoughts edible.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe. Sometimes. When it’ll get me what I want.”

  “And what do you want?” My mouth bypassed my brain without applying any kind of a filter.

  “That depends on exactly what is on offer.” He delivered the statement without a hint of heat, but his eyes left me in no doubt exactly to what he was inferring. What he was offering.

  I’m pretty sure my mouth fell open, but I couldn’t be sure, since my body was a big ball of heat, heat rushing to my cheeks and between my legs in a surge that left me gasping. If he could do this to me just by looking at me, what would happen if—

  “Hold that thought, sweetheart.” This time his smile was pure smirk as he fished a small cell phone out of his pocket and swiped the screen open. Less than five minutes later he was ending the call with a frown.

  “The Shifter Council confirmed my authority?” I’d found my voice again. Thank God.

  “They did.” He was staring at the phone in his hand like he’d never seen it before in his life. “This is really happening,” he whispered. A lost look flitted over his features, a blankness seeping into his eyes.

  I was pretty sure he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He wasn’t looking for sympathy. He appeared to have forgotten I was even sitting there, the silence stretching on and on as he continued to resemble a statue.

  I had come into his home and turned his life upside down. He needed me to be professional and fair, to find a way for him to keep his clan and home. He needed me to do my job, and I hadn’t been lying when I said I was very good. I was the best, my eidetic memory lending itself to facts and figures in a way that surpassed all of my peers.

  I had to stay impersonal and impartial. I owed him that. It was the right thing to do.

  So why did I feel like screaming?

  Chapter 3

  Bastian

  I could feel her watching me, her gaze burning into me. Her breathing was slowly returning to normal, her arms falling back down to her sides and fists unclenching. She was such a tiny thing, yet still so full of life and potential. Fire—that’s what she had—burning bright inside that devious mind of hers. Giving me no choice but to do as she ask.

  But it would be on my terms.

  Once she had what she’d come for, she’d go. Nothing more, nothing less. She wasn’t the right woman for me to take as a mate, too human, too spirited, too … intriguing. Too much fire to ever submit to my loveless conditions. Too much of a risk.

  Taking a deep breath, I gestured for her to follow me, leading the way out into the hallway and down to my office. Pushing open the door, instinct had me holding it open so she had to brush past on her way in, refusing to move out of the way.

  Her hair drifted on the air, tickling my nose as strands twisted into tiny corkscrews bounced with her steps. Summer meadows and wildflowers in bloom saturated every forced inhalation, driving me faster and faster toward a madness I already knew awaited.

  It would only take a moment to throw her over my shoulder, carry her upstairs and deposit her on my bed.

  Where she belongs … my dragon whispered in a throaty growl.

  If she struggled, I’d smack her juicy, bouncing ass, claim her lips and plunder her mouth, silence her with my hands and body until she could only moan and scream. Keep her hidden away in my room until she saw the truth—that she belonged to me. Only me. No other man. Mine.

  Fuck.

  My cock strained, throbbing, harder than I’d ever been before, balls tight and heavy, primed for action.

  I sagged back against the door, shoving a hand in my pocket and palming my shaft. I was contemplating acting like a caveman, territorial bullshit, which meant only one thing. Faye might be my true mate.

  Which meant she was more dangerous than any shifter I knew. Hell, more dangerous than if one hundred of the motherfuckers descended on me declaring all out war.

  She might be the one created for me, as I was for her. My other half, my missing soulmate.

  And my dragon had suspected as such the moment we’d laid ey
es on her. He had known what this meant, how I’d feel about it, but had he warned me? No. Yet another thing to add to the list.

  I just had to resist the urge. I swiped a hand over my face, wiping away the small telltale beads of sweat. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? “Make yourself at home.” I gestured to my large desk, proud that my voice didn’t crack, though it did sound a little hoarse.

  She spun my chair around, settling in and scooting it closer to the desk. Setting a purse on the solid oak slab—something I’d been too distracted to notice before—she rifled around inside, pulling out a handful of pens, a notepad, and an e-tablet. Setting them to one side, she nudged them around until they formed a semi-circle enclosing my computer, then set her hands on top of the desk.

  She looked so small there, the large chair frame swallowing her up in its cocoon of cracked leather and battered wood. Brown eyes blinked at me out of a face nature had designed to take my breath away.

  My heart thudded, as though trying to force it’s way out of my chest.

  A soft click. She slid a pair of wire rimmed glasses onto her nose, pushing them up with one finger as her lips pursed into a frown. “Password?”

  “What?” I couldn’t help myself, I knew I was staring.

  “Your computer. I need access to your files, Bastian.” At my continued silence, her frown deepened. “I know you think I’m out to get you, but I’m not. Honest. If I can find a way to fix your clan, I will. That is, as long as you haven’t been…”

  I filled in her unsaid words. As long as I hadn’t been continuing to gamble the clan’s money away. She didn’t look away, and neither did I. Both of us sending silent messages I had no hope of deciphering. Did she want me to fail? Would she cover for me? Did I want her to?

  “Astrid.” I pointed at the computer.

  Her fingers tapped the keys and the screen lit up with the swirling screensaver I preferred. Impersonal. Generic. Safe.

  “Paper files?” When I tilted my head to the cabinet in the corner, she nodded, pushing her glasses firmly back up her nose from where they had slid. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”

  Dismissed. I snorted, shooting her my best scowl, the one that had villagers ducking for cover and Astrid rolling her eyes.

  Faye ignored me.

  I circled around, peering over her shoulder as she scrolled through screens filled with numbers. My numbers.

  “Do you mind?” she murmured, not bothering to turn around.

  I leaned closer, partly so she could feel my breath on her neck—the breath of a pissed off dragon, lest she forget—and partly so I could drink in her scent one more time. Yeah, I was an addict, and she was quickly turning into my latest addiction. “This is my house,” I murmured in a low voice, watching as she flicked through screen after screen of accounts, never seeming to hover over any number for too long.

  “If you want to keep it that way, you’ll let me do my work,” she snapped back, shooting me a withering glare, but the tips of her ears had pinked, bare from where she had tucked her hair behind her ears to make room for her glasses. Then she made a shooing gesture, flicking my hand where it had come to rest next to hers on the desk.

  She’d shooed me. Flicked me! Torn between grunting and chuckling at her audacity, I circled out from behind the desk to pace in front of her. She’d never said she had to be left alone to carry out her work, and with a little encouragement, she might be out of here by nightfall.

  This time the roar of outrage from my dragon was expected, as was the lancing pain through my chest at the thought of being parted from her, even for a moment.

  It was getting worse. Every second she was here, I grew weaker. Craving. Lusting.

  Her exaggerated sigh had me pausing mid-stride.

  “Isn’t there something you’d rather be doing? Anything? Other than watching me?”

  Visions of removing her glasses and bending her over the desk speared into my mind, clouding my judgment.

  She swallowed, her throat working hard and eyes rounding behind the wire frames. Plucking my thoughts from my face, one by one.

  “You know there’s something I’d rather be doing, but I’m partial to watching you, sweetheart.”

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, her hand smoothing back a stray curl and adjusting her glasses.

  Fuck removing her glasses, she could leave them on for when I slide my cock deep inside her. I’d thread my fingers through her hair, holding her in place for my kiss. Balance her on the edge of the desk and hike up her skirt until she’s naked and bare for me, wet and needy for my thick shaft between her gorgeous, plump thighs.

  My mouth dry, I dug my feet into the floor to stop myself from striding over there and making good on my silent promise. It wasn’t like I had a hope in hell of hiding the erection tenting my pants. No way, and I didn’t want to either. I wanted her eyes on me. I wanted her to see what she did to me. How hard she made me without even touching me.

  She blinked, her cheeks rosy with heat and her lips parted. Her hands hovered half-way between her chest and the desk. She sat undecided and frozen as her gaze lowered—as if following my silent command. Lower. Lower still, dragging across my chest and down my stomach, until she couldn’t miss it.

  She sucked in a breath, almost a hiss as her lips parted a little wider. Her hands pressed down onto the desk, fingers splayed and nails digging in.

  I wished I had updated my office, moved into the current century and replaced the big, old desk with glass and steel. That way, I could peer beneath and watch her thighs flex and rub, fighting against the sudden surge of heat in her core.

  But I could smell her need. Taste it on the air, liquid and thick and sweet.

  I rocked forward on my feet. “Faye—”

  She closed her eyes, her eyebrows furrowing. “Why don’t you go flying? That’s what dragons do, right?” It came out on a rush of air, thrown out there as an innocent distraction. She didn’t know she was throwing arrows tipped with points sharp enough to puncture even my armor.

  The panic had nothing to do with her dismissal. Her rejection of my not too subtle advances. That, I could deal with. This was an old pain. It was something that I owned as a part of me, never to be forgotten, but sometimes easier to bear. If I didn’t think on it.

  I couldn’t fly. I hadn’t flown since the day Astrid had left me alone, the grass barely seeded over our parents’ graves. As a new Alpha, young and inexperienced, I’d made mistakes. I had fought my way back, and had sunk down again, over and over. Each time I’d sunk lower and lower, until my dragon refused to show himself. I drank and gambled and blotted the world out—wrecking everything I’d come into contact with. My dragon had abandoned me, refusing to bond with me. He’d left me alone, which suited me fine. I didn’t need comfort or platitudes; I could do this on my own. I just needed an heir to leave it to.

  Until recently, he hadn’t even talked to me. Until her.

  I strode out of the room before I did something I might regret.

  Like fall to my knees and beg.

  Faye

  The door shut with a soft click, at odds with the tornado of anger and frustration that had stormed through it in the form of a certain Alpha dragon. There’d been anguish too. It had streaked through his eyes, tarnishing the brilliant blue stormy and dull.

  What had I said to cause such a reaction? Surely it wasn’t because I hadn’t rolled onto my back and spread my legs at a single lift of his eyebrow?

  Not the only thing that had been lifting… I smothered an inappropriate giggle, more anxious than humorous, and removed my glasses, rubbing at my eyes. I’d been two seconds from crawling across the desk and prostrating myself for his attention.

  And he’d known.

  So my deflection shouldn’t have dented anything but his ego, which was big enough to float the floundering economy.

  I’d mentioned his dragon. Was that it? Was his anger because I was human? Did he want a shifter warming his bed? A low sound fill
ed the room, bouncing off the walls.

  Jerking back, I sealed my lips closed, cutting off what sounded suspiciously like a throaty snarl that was good enough to be from a shifter. Even the thought of another woman in Bastian’s arms had me wanting to storm after him, climb him like a tree and stake my claim.

  What. The. Fuck? What claim? Something was seriously wrong with me. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I forced my mind off the wonders of his physique—and how he would feel under my hands as I climbed him—and back to the matter at hand.

  Something was wrong with him. His file stated that he was reckless. An addict. Out of control. That he’d squandered his family fortune on high stakes card games. No mention of alcohol though, that must have come later, or been hidden. Though he didn’t act like a typical lush, and I was pretty sure any shifter would find it hard to maintain the low level buzz a functioning alcoholic would need.

  I was back to square one. Now that I’d met him, nothing made sense. He wasn’t gambling anymore—hadn’t since that night he’d lost everything and nearly forfeited his sister. So, he could quit, and easily too, which meant he wasn’t really an addict.

  My eyes flicked to the open fireplace, the grate filled with ash waiting to be swept away. An uptight asshole, maybe. Constantly wanting to control everything. Changing his mind on a whim and a prayer, like pressing a woman to bed one minute, and giving her the cold shoulder the next.

  Columns of figures swam in front of my eyes. Red, red, red. A mess. Bills and debt overflowing.

  Maybe I was wrong and everyone else was right. Maybe I should shut the file on him, tick the box and hand his future over to the Council to decide. Maybe he wasn’t worth the effort … or the heartache I suspected he might cause me if I allowed myself to care.

  Silence reined thick through the house. No creaking floorboards, or thud of life. He wasn’t coming back. But I hadn’t heard the front door slam either, which meant he was still here. Brooding. Scowling. Cursing me with those wicked lips and furrowed brow.