Avet, Danica - Ain't No Bull [The Veil 4] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Danica Avet

  Body shaking with impending rage and hopeless sexual frustration, Izzy dropped to her knees in the middle of her bedroom.

  “No!” she howled at the ceiling.

  * * * *

  Grant sat in his mom’s kitchen sipping coffee and pretending to listen to his dad rant. The humongous vibrator he’d stolen out of Isola’s bag was sitting in the glove compartment of his truck. If he couldn’t have satisfaction, neither could she. This way they’d be miserable together until she finally saw the light. He’d smelled the change in her body, the ripening as it prepared itself for conception. It wouldn’t be long now. Mentally rubbing his hands together, Grant saw the path to his goal clear and free.

  Clear and free except for the bull-headed minotaur sitting across the table from him. Paul Strickland was nearly five hundred years old, though he didn’t look a day over forty-five. Sharp blue eyes, the Strickland eyes, weighed Grant’s every move and found him lacking.

  “Are you out of your ever lovin’ mind?” his father demanded for the fourth time in the half hour Grant had been at his parents’ house. “You’re a Strickland! We don’t bond outside the harem!”

  “Paul,” Arabella said softly, warningly when Grant didn’t bother hiding his brewing anger. “Maybe we should just talk about this.”

  Paul’s hand slammed on the table. “There ain’t nothin’ to talk about! I don’t know who this…this Amazon is, but she is not ruinin’ twelve generations of tradition!”

  Grant stared his father in the eye. He respected his dad, thought he was a good, hardworking minotaur who deserved an easy retirement, but no way in the nine hells was he going to stand down. “That Amazon is going to be my bonded mate until the day I die. You can accept it or not, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Oh, Grant,” his mother cried out, her hands pressed to her mouth.

  Paul’s face went from red to burgundy as his legendary temper soared. Black bled through the blue of his eyes until he was on the precipice of shifting.

  That was when a loud boom shook the house. Grant jumped to his feet, running for the front door. This house had stood the test of time: range wars, Indian wars, blizzards, and Strickland children. It had to be an earthquake threatening the foundation, he thought with a pang to his heart. He might have issues with his dad, but he loved his parents and their house.

  Again, the house shook, but this time the boom was accompanied by a gods-awful howling from the direction of the front door that made the hair rise on the back of his neck. Flinging open the door, he grunted as a big, female foot slammed into his stomach.

  “Son of a bitch!” he gasped, bending over in an attempt to alleviate the pain of Isola’s kick.

  “Where is it?” she roared, sinking her fingers in his hair and jerking his head up.

  “Where’s what?”

  “Where’s BOB?” she screeched, pulling his hair until tears burned his eyes.

  “What in tarnation is going on out here?” Paul shouted. His deep voice boomed, rattling Grant’s eardrums. “Who is this woman?”

  * * * *

  Izzy’s head swiveled until she pinned the old minotaur with a stare that had him backing up slightly. “My name is Izzy Malone, he stole BOB, he needs to prepare to die,” she snarled, twisting her fingers in Grant’s hair.

  Grant wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing her tight enough to let her know he could hurt her if he wanted to. Normally, by this time in a fight, she would’ve sought to disable her opponent, but she was too damned pissed off to be nice. Reaching lower, she found one of his nipples and twisted. Hard.

  The bellow that issued from the minotaur’s throat soothed her fury somewhat. He’d done something with her favorite vibrator and until she got it back, she was going to make him regret ever seeing her.

  “See here, missy, you can’t just go around beating up people,” the old codger said, his voice calm yet reeking with authority.

  Big hands settled on Izzy’s shoulders, gently tugging her out of Grant’s bear hug, but she wouldn’t let go of his hair.

  “Now,” that deep voice said, satisfied. “Son, you kidnapped someone named Bob?”

  Grant glared at Izzy, so she stuck her tongue out at him.

  “I didn’t kidnap anyone.”

  Izzy snorted loudly causing Grant’s father—he had to be Grant’s father because they were spitting images of each other—to rear back in surprise. “It was theft, clear and simple.”

  “Now, now, you’re saying he stole someone named Bob?” the old coot asked, his eyes raking over her with intensity that made Izzy feel uncomfortable.

  “No, BOB isn’t someone,” she mumbled, finally untangling her fingers from Grant’s hair. He stood glaring at her from the other side of his father’s body, and she wanted nothing more than to eat him up. His hair was all mussed up, his shirt was wrinkled, and the glint in his eyes spoke of retribution.

  The old minotaur snorted. “What is it then?”

  She could feel her cheeks heating again. Damn minotaurs, she grouched inwardly, had some kind of knack for embarrassing her. “It’s a toy,” she muttered so low, she could barely hear it herself.

  “Eh? What’s that?”

  Grant’s face went from stony to smiling, the bastard.

  “It’s a toy.”

  That seemed to flabbergast the old bull because he let go of Izzy and scratched behind his ear. “I know you’re young, but ain’t you a little old for toys?” he asked her with all seriousness before turning to Grant. “This is what you want to give up a harem for? A girl who still plays with dolls?”

  “It isn’t that kind of toy, Pop,” Grant told his father with a smirk.

  “You do have it!” Izzy screeched and went for the minotaur again.

  She distinctly heard the elder minotaur say, “Not this again,” before she was pulled off the bull of her deepest, darkest dreams.

  “Grant, you go on inside and calm your ma down. I want to talk to this little lady.”

  Izzy bared her teeth at Grant as he passed by, the look in his eyes promised payback. She couldn’t wait. No, wait, she could wait. Grant practically smoldered, and she knew if she let him close, he’d use his considerable skills against her and Izzy wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

  Soon, she was on the porch of the old ranch house with Grant’s father who released her to sit in a rocking chair. The old minotaur had silver in his fair hair, few lines on his face, and the eyes of a sage. He seriously creeped her out, so Izzy sat on the railing with her arms crossed.

  They said nothing for several minutes, listening to Grant’s mom baby him in a high-pitched voice. Izzy cringed at the sound. Whoever Grant did mate with would have a helluva time with that cow-swan. The female just didn’t seem to realize her son was plenty old enough to take care of himself and, judging by the sounds coming from the kitchen, how to feed himself.

  Remembering the food he’d managed to cook for her, Izzy snorted earning her an inquiring look from the old minotaur.

  “Your mate smothers him,” she mumbled. Yeah, she was usually a lot bolder than this, but hell, she’d never had to deal with a father figure before.

  She wasn’t even sure who her father was, but there had been some rumor going around that the male had been a satyr. Izzy wouldn’t have been surprised if he were. She did have an extremely high tolerance for alcohol, Duffy’s liquid death notwithstanding.

  The old bull pulled a pipe out of his pocket and lit it. “Does she now?” he asked, rocking back. “And what does that matter to you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She leaned against the railing, crossing her ankles. “It just irritates me.”

  He puffed on the pipe, the scent of tobacco strangely sweet and soothing. “The name’s Paul, Paul Strickland,” he suddenly said, looking out over his land. “Been in these parts for four hundred and ninety-five years. Seen a lot of things in my time, but I’ve never seen my boy all worked up like that over a female.”

  Izzy sniffed and followed
Paul’s gaze out to his land. It really was a beautiful piece of property, even covered in snow. Gently rolling hills with isolated clumps of trees here and there surrounded the Strickland home. The house was old, sturdy, and practical, which seemed to be the same attributes she could label Paul Strickland as. He was weathered and strong and plainspoken.

  “So how’d you get here anyway?” he asked on another puff.

  “I tracked him from his house.”

  Paul’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly, but she could tell he was impressed. It was pretty awesome, if she did say so herself. Grant’s parents lived a good fifteen miles from their son and he’d taken a vehicle while she’d jogged. Barely able to restrain the urge to buff her nails on her shirt, Izzy waited to hear what else the old goat would say.

  “So, you’re an Amazon, huh?”

  Fighting back the need to say “Duh,” Izzy nodded. “Yes.”

  “What’re you doing out here then? Ain’t been no Amazons in these parts for nearly thirty years.”

  Like she didn’t know that already, she thought with a mental eye roll. “I’m here for a little soul searching.”

  He chortled, the sound raspy. “Kicked you out, did they?”

  “Wh—How—?” Izzy couldn’t even finish a complete thought she was so shocked at Paul’s accuracy.

  Even more shocking was the sly wink he sent her. He craned his head to make sure no one was behind him before he leaned forward. “I used to pay my tithes to the Black Dog Tribe. Gladly, I might add,” he said with another chuckle, referring to the practice of males who offended Amazons by acting as manual labor or as sexual partners. “Spent most of my time down at that camp and learned a lot about you Amazons.” He sat back and puffed on his pipe some more. “Which is how I know you’re gonna drive that boy crazy and that’s exactly what he needs.”

  She almost fell off the railing, so surprised by Paul’s words. “What?”

  He nodded sagely, rocking in his chair. “That boy has had his whole life planned since the time he was three. Irritated me to no end, I can tell ya that. He’d set a goal and nothing would ever sway him from it. I tried everything,” he continued, a frown tugging at his face. “I made sure Ricky was around to keep the boy from being too serious, and he’d have fun, but he’d be right back to what he was doing.”

  “But I don’t want anything to do with him!” She felt as though she was living in an alternate universe. Since when did parents want their sons to fall in with lusty, sexy, troublesome Amazons?

  Paul laughed long and hard, until tears ran down his face. “Girl, you want that boy so much you’re almost vibrating with it.”

  Izzy gasped in outrage, which quickly turned to embarrassment as she realized Grant was standing in the doorway of his parents’ house, listening.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It had been his father’s booming laughter that brought an end to his mother’s pampering. She’d been in the process of buttering up some of her homemade biscuits for him. Her lips had thinned and tightened into a frown. His mother, for all her gentleness, was a very jealous female and knowing her mate was out on the porch with a beautiful, young Amazon pissed her off.

  “You will get that girl out of here before I stomp her ass into the ground,” his normally placid mom said as she bustled around her kitchen.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Grant said meekly, though he was fighting a laugh. Isola had the ability to piss off people known for their calm.

  He made it to the porch just in time to hear his father telling Isola she wanted Grant. The look of shock and horror on her face should have been enough to chill any man’s libido, but Grant was discovering a previously untapped streak of masochism. She would fight him tooth and nail, but it wouldn’t do any good. Regardless of what her head and past experience told her, she’d be his. Hell, even his dad recognized it.

  “Boy, you get this girl on outta here and give her her toy back,” Paul said as he came to his feet. He tapped his pipe on the rail before pocketing it. His big hand engulfed the top of Isola’s head as he ruffled her hair, leaving the sassy Amazon with her mouth hanging open. Clapping Grant on the shoulder hard enough to send a smaller man to his knees, he said in a low voice, “You’re gonna have a fine time trying to tame this one, but until you’re bonded, we’re having dinner with the Connellys tomorrow night.”

  Paul slipped into the house, where vicious pot and pan rattling from the kitchen warned that Arabella was not a happy cow at the moment. Grant stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at Isola. It looked natural and comfortable for her to be sitting on the railing of his parents’ home. It felt right, as though she belonged, but the expression on her face told him to ignore any attempts to coax her to his point of view.

  She glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Your dad is certifiable.”

  “I’ve always thought so.” He was surprised his dad seemed to like her so well and wondered what else they’d talked about. “Did you bring your car?”

  “No, I ran over,” she mumbled as she hopped off the railing. “I was so mad I couldn’t find my keys.”

  A smile flirted with the corners of his mouth, but he held it back. He’d known taking her vibrator would send her into a fury, he just hadn’t expected it to send her running into the countryside after him. “I’ll give you a ride back to the house then.”

  She shrugged, though suspicion was bright in her chocolate eyes. Walking to his truck, he watched the way her ponytail bounced against her back. His mind tormented him with images of her hair doing that while she rode his cock, or the way her hair would spill around her shoulders as he feasted between her legs again. He held back a groan as she swept past him to get in the truck.

  Isola slammed the door shut and glanced at him through the window. Bracing his hands on the body of the truck, Grant snagged her gaze, letting her see all the hunger in his soul. Heat spiraled between them, the thin pane of glass the only thing keeping him from grabbing her. Those beautiful eyes dilated like a flower opening to the sun, holding Grant in thrall.

  “Isola,” he growled, his voice primal and low.

  She jerked back, her hands shaking as she pressed them to her cheeks. She violently shook her head, turning away from him. He wanted to throw open the door and fuck her, show her just how much she wanted him because he knew it equaled his own desire. Luckily for Isola and his parents, whom he felt watching them from the porch, Grant’s goal-oriented mind came to the rescue. If he took her now, she’d take off before they bonded.

  Forcing his body to calm enough to walk around the truck, Grant used that precious time to remind himself just how important the ultimate goal was. He needed this Amazon in his life forever, not just for now. If he gave into his lust, he’d lose her.

  He sat in the driver’s seat, calm and collected in spite of the spicy scent of Isola’s lust riding the air. His dick pounded for relief, but he started the truck as though nothing was wrong.

  The drive back to his house was silent except for the radio which was tuned into his favorite station. Music from the 90s crooned to them as they took the winding road between the ranches. The shortcut led them over the hills and rough terrain. Grant normally paid more attention to the potholes, but with Bell Biv DeVoe singing “Do Me!” and him picturing Isola saying the same thing, he was lucky to stay on the road at all.

  Arousal scented the air, hers and Grant’s, making for a heady mixture that amped him up. The spice of her body edging towards ovulation wreaked havoc on his ability to maintain control. His hands clenched on the wheel. He needed some fucking relief, he thought in agony. Another deep pothole had the inside of the truck rattling, and the tricky catch on his glove compartment reminded him of what was inside. The spark of a plan flared to life and he finally found a smile.

  * * * *

  Izzy sat as still as she could in the bouncing vehicle. Instinct, the same instinct that made prey run from predators, told her not to move for her own protection and for once she listened. Gods
, the look in his eyes when he’d stood on the other side of the door had left her with soaked panties. Scorching heat sizzled through her body at the memory of his eyes slowly bleeding to black. He wanted her, of that there was no doubt. And gods knew she wanted him something awful.

  As she braced herself against the dashboard to keep from bouncing into his lap, she puzzled over how badly she’d screwed herself with this minotaur. He’d taken her vibrator, so the only relief she’d be finding would be from her hand unless she relaxed her stance against him. The only problem with that was the bet they’d made. If she begged him, even in the throes of passion, he’d hold her to her end of the deal. Her own honor would demand that she fulfill the bond and then she’d be stuck.

  Shuddering at the thought, she bit her lip, shooting him a quick glance. He looked to be in complete control in spite of the massive bulge straining his zipper, a sight that left her panties even wetter. Looking away again, she tried to focus on the scenery, but all she saw was having that cock at her beck and call.

  Before she knew it, they were screeching to a stop in front of Grant’s house and he was halfway across the cab, hungry intent in his blue-black eyes. Squeaking in surprise, Izzy fell, her back against the door as Grant hovered over her. His nostrils flared and she felt another rush of dampness between her legs. He growled softly, the sound zinging through her body to her clit. Izzy shivered, watching him warily.

  “I’m not gonna fuck you, Isola,” he rumbled, leaning closer until his breath rasped against her neck. “I’m gonna make you come until you scream for mercy. We clear?”

  She shook her head, desperate to ignore the hormones raging at her to accept his mastery.

  His answering smile was both beautiful and cruel. He didn’t give her a chance to attempt an escape, simply captured her lips in a kiss that sent her senses reeling. She softened under his assault. His tongue flicked at her mouth, demanding entrance, which she willingly gave.