The Beast's Chosen (Astral Heat Book 3)

by Hunter, Ashley

  “No. He was too busy to meet me when I interviewed. But he trusts the head secretary’s taste, and she loved me. Plus, she said a recommendation from Professor Monroe was pretty much a golden ticket to assistant secretary.” Molly quickly made a mental note to send yet another thank-you email to her business admin mentor who, despite not seeing Molly in the two years since she had graduated, had immediately suggested she apply for the opening when his business partner’s firm began looking for a personal assistant to the Chief Financial Officer.

  “Well, you should look him up. Handsome son of a bitch,” Dina purred.

  Molly didn’t resist the eye roll this time. “Yeah, not going there.”

  “Still swearing off men?”

  “I prefer to think of it as focusing all my energy on my career ambitions,” Molly replied lightly, watching the dark outlines of the trees as they flashed outside her car window.

  “You mean like you were focusing all of your energy on your grandma, and then all of your energy on college before that? Girl, you need to get over your ex-losers. They wouldn’t know a good-looking woman if one hit them upside the head with a frying pan. Trust me, our town doesn’t make men like your new boss.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Molly smiled dryly, “Look, I’ll call you tomorrow after I’m settled, okay? I need to concentrate on this road-you know how windy these mountain roads can be.”

  “Sounds good. Love you, hun.”

  “Love you too.”

  She had barely hit the disconnect icon when another sound overwhelmed her, a terrible grinding noise like sandpaper against concrete. She quickly maneuvered the car onto the shoulder just as the engine gave one last shudder, and died. She tried to turn over the ignition a few times before finally abandoning the attempt with a resigned sigh.

  It’s my own fault really, she thought as she searched for local tow services on her phone. She’d been so eager to get away from the baggage of the hometown behind her that she’d spent her meager inheritance on a down payment for an apartment in the city, instead of replacing her used car that’d been built centuries ago.

  She soon discovered her bad streak of luck wasn’t over yet. The customer service rep apologetically informed her the soonest a tow could get to her was three hours, but promised they’d call as soon as they were close.

  Molly heaved a deep sigh as she hung up and began to collect her bag and coat. Fortunately, it was a warm summer night, and she’d remembered seeing a small, low-lit bar just a mile or two behind her. Maybe she could use a drink. She could also spend the time going back over the training package Amy, the head secretary, had given her in preparation for her first day. Maybe if she asked nicely, they’d even let her charge her phone at the bar.

  She locked her doors and set out back down the dark highway. Really, anything was better than sitting in a dead car in the dark for three hours. After all, it wasn’t like her night could get any worse.

  * * *

  New moon above-hunting moon. Night sounds through the trees, birds and prey. Hunger. Searching. Fresh, thawed dirt between pads.

  Stretch in the warm spring air. Forest is thick with perfume of new fawns. Move like shadow, unseeing, soft pawprints. Run. Catch. Devour.

  Another smell. No. Stronger. A… feeling. A magnet. A beacon. Never felt before, never smelled before. Overwhelming. Blood boils. Heart howls.

  Must run. Must find. Must hunt.

  * * *

  The bar turned out to be a small, dim sort of place with a single pool table below a swinging lamp, and no food menus. Molly didn’t mind; it was clean enough, and she was accustomed to these sorts of out-of-the-way townie bars, having dragged her good-for-nothing exes out of several of them.

  She took a seat at the counter and, feeling guilty any lack of patronage, ordered the cheapest beer they had.

  “Don’t recognize your sweet face,” the barman said with a friendly smile as he filled the glass from the tap.

  Molly gave a stiff smile in return; he was good looking, as townies went, but she wasn’t in the mood for any stabs at flirting. “Just traveling through. My car broke down a little ways up the road, so I’m waiting for a tow.”

  “Uh oh. Car breaking down in the dead of night, dark forest, all alone-don’t have any serial killers after you, do you?” the barman slid her a wink.

  She chuckled weakly, and then made a show of pulling out her phone and scrolling through her messages.

  “You sure I don’t know you?” the barman leaned forward insistently, squinting at her through the light, “I don’t think I’d forget a face like that, and you look awfully familiar.”

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, taking a quick survey of the bar. It didn’t seem particularly slow, with several men crowded around the pool table at the other end of the room. Maybe if she tried polite, but distant, answers, he’d go bother them instead.

  “I’m, um, originally from Evansward.”

  “Well I’ll be damned! You’re a Clark, aren’t you?” He grinned widely at her nod of agreement, “Should have recognized the nose. Shame to hear about your grandma. Nice lady. Heard there was some funny business with her house, too.”

  Molly resisted the urge to reply tartly. This was half the reason she was so excited to get out of here, after all, to finally go somewhere where folks didn’t know every inch of her business. But she couldn’t be upset at him for it; this was just the way the world worked.

  “Going to see relatives?” the barman interrupted her thoughts.

  “No. My grandma was my last relative,” Molly said curtly, finally losing her patience. She took a long drink from her beer, hoping he’d take the hint to leave her in peace.

  “Real shame, not having anybody to watch out for such a pretty face. You said you’re waiting for a tow?”

  This time Molly made no effort to hide her annoyance. “Yes. Should be here in an hour or two, if you don’t mind me waiting here.”

  “Do they know to look for you here?”

  “No, I-” she stopped, cutting her eyes suspiciously at his tone. There was something odd about the way he was watching her-she felt goosebumps trickle down her skin like cold rain.

  She stood abruptly, swinging on her coat. “On second thought, perhaps they’d want to meet me at my car.”

  “Oh now, darling, no need to rush off,” the barman snickered. Molly swung around to find herself suddenly encircled by the other bar patrons. She realized, with a jolt of panic, there wasn’t a single other woman in the bar.

  She took a step forward, searching for a gap in the crowd to escape, but the room seemed to be tilting, throwing her off balance, pushing her off her feet. She stumbled awkwardly against the counter, desperately trying to right herself.

  “Besides,” the barman called, his voice carrying to her through air like thick soup, “We can’t allow you near your car in your current condition. You’ve clearly had a little too much to drink. But don’t worry… we know exactly how to take care of pretty faces around here.”

  The world went dark around her before she could reply.

  ~2: Dark Basement Bar Blues~

  Keith Chadwick was not accustomed to waiting. In fact, he wasn’t accustomed to nearly anything about the situation in which he found himself. He took a sip of the wine they’d provided-horrible, dreadful red wine, the kind of wine served when the host was doing their best to put on airs-and coolly studied the room around him.

  There were about twenty men in all, mulling around on the expensive leather couches, most of them clearly previously acquainted. Most of them were dressed in distressed jeans and flannel shirts, but Keith wasn’t fooled by the facade for a second-their shoes, watches, and wallets clearly placed them in a certain, lofty income bracket. In fact, dressed in simple pants and a crisp button-down, Keith seemed almost pedestrian in comparison.

  He chuckled wryly into his drink. Wasn’t often that happened? Still, it’d been the only change of clothes he’d stashed this far off his usual
haunts; he’d never in a million years have guessed he’d need it somewhere like this.

  He studied the juxtaposition of the men around him with detached interest. He’d intimidated his way past the bouncer into this underground bunker with utmost confidence and ease, but strange that they’d needed one in the first place. If he hadn’t known any better, he’d have figured this for some elite, private club; but he belonged to all of those already.

  If it’d been just morbid curiosity keeping him where he stood, observing the scene from the back of the small basement, he would have tossed the red wine back at that smug bartender and gone home. But it was more than that rooting him to his spot. He knew what he’d sensed. He knew there was something here, something that had called to him like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

  But what exactly was all this?

  Just as he began to form theories, the whole room turned expectantly to face the wall opposite Keith. Stage lights flickered on to display a short stage, leaving the rest of the room in dimness.

  The master of ceremonies, a pompous smile plastered onto his face, stepped up and greeted the assembly with a flourish. “Evening, gentlemen! And welcome to tonight’s… entertainment.”

  The crowd of men gave an expectant whoop.

  The bartender made a sweeping gesture to his right. “May I introduce, for your consideration… Anastasia!”

  The men whistled and yelled as a girl, barely into her early twenties by the look of her, shakily climbed up onto the stage besides the MC. She was dressed in a provocative crimson dress, complete with sky-high heels and a hemline that barely skimmed her thighs. The bartender nudged her forcefully forward. “Aw, look gents, she’s shy! Give her a good, hearty welcome!”

  The girl struck an awkward pose that made Keith grimace, but seemed perfectly attuned to the crowd; the bellows grew louder.

  “So,” the bartender winked at his audience, “What do you say we start at-two hundred?”

  Keith turned away in disgust. He’d heard rumors about a roaming club like this, where hard-on-their-luck girls were auctioned off to whatever man would pay for them, but he’d always chalked it up to urban myth. To discover that his peers, men he potentially had to do business with, stooped to this level set his blood on fire.

  Anastasia went quickly to the tune of four hundred and twenty-five. Chastity followed her for three hundred, and Melody pulled the highest price of the evening at six hundred.

  At last, Keith could stand it no further. He’d been mistaken; whatever he’d sensed while in his shifter form, it hadn’t been coming from this hellhole. He turned to quit the room.

  “And now, for an extra special treat, we had the good fortune of encountering this blushing specimen just this evening; trust me when I say, girls like this don’t come around often. Gentlemen, I give you… Kitty!”

  A sensation went up his spine like a jolt of lighting, the force of it nearly knocking him off his feet. She was what he had felt? He whirled in disbelief to face the stage, and froze as his eyes caught sight of her.

  * * *

  Awareness came in waves and unsteady gulps to Molly, reality slowly sliding into fevered dreams. Her head was pounding, a disembodied voice warbling in the background. She attempted to speak, to form some coherent sentence, but found her mouth closed with a crude gag.

  She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, but her hands were bound. Something was pushing her to her feet. She swayed dangerously, and then hands were pushing her forward, and up, into bright lights. She fell to her knees, still dazed, and raised her hands instinctively, trying to shield her vision from the glare. Where the hell am I?

  “Aw now, darling, don’t be like that! These gentlemen don’t bite… at least, not until after they’ve paid!” a sickeningly familiar voice crooned to the response of lewd laughter.

  Anger bubbled in her stomach. The bartender. The realization hit her like a punch to the stomach. She’d been drugged, that much was clear. But why? And what in the world were they going to do to her?

  Think! She thought harshly, Wherever you’re in, you’re in serious danger! The only way out is by your wits!

  She forced herself to breathe, to calm her thundering pulse and mash her muddled brain into gear. With tremendous effort, she yanked herself together. The scene slowly slid into focus. She was kneeling on a cold floor, on what seemed to be a raised stage, the heat of a spotlight beating down on her.

  She tentatively shifted her wrists, bound tight with duct tape. Beside her, she could hear the barman’s voice, tossing out lame commentary to the dark room beyond. She tried to peer out into the assembled audience, but could see nothing but dark shadows. By the sound of the jeers, it was all men.

  Wait… all men, and he’d mentioned payment… no, it couldn’t be…

  A hand hooked her under the arm and hauled her roughly to her feet. She stumbled, still heavy from the aftereffects of the drugs.

  “Maybe not the most graceful,” the bartender joked loudly, then hissed into her ear, “Do anything except stand there and look like the barely-fresh piece of meat you are, and I will kill you.” Turning back to the audience, he hooted, “Come on, darling, let the fine gentlemen get a good, long look at you!”

  Molly realized in sudden horror that her coat was gone-not just her coat, but her blouse, and her jeans as well. She stood before these leering bastards in nothing but her lacy undershirt and her skimpiest hiphuggers, bought on a whim and worn whenever she was feeling particularly happy about her circumstances. Her face flushed hot with shame and humiliation, knowing that each and every pervert could see the curve of her thighs and bosom, something she hesitated to show even the guys she was dating.

  There was no doubt about where she was now, and what exactly they intended for her. Selling me off to the highest bidder, who will do whatever he wants with me, she surmised grimly.

  Hot rage swam through her body like a tropical flood, clearing every thought and hesitation in its path. It seemed to wipe away any sluggish aftermath left in her brain, and gave her courage from the deep depths of her soul. With no thought but revenge, she turned, and slammed her knee as hard as she could into the groin of the vile MC beside her.

  The puffed-up MC’s handsome face twisted with pain as he crumbled onto the stage. Another employee quickly rushed up to contain the woman as she kicked and hollered against her duct tape gag. All around him, the audience muttered with intense discomfort, clearly unnerved by such a blatant display of independence from a supposed possession, but Keith felt as if his heart would burst from pride.

  Any doubt about the source of his yearning had disappeared. The moment she’d been brought onto the stage, her warm brown eyes still half-lidded as if from a heavy sleep, he knew. Even from across the room, her presence sang to him like a siren’s call. The sheer magnitude of his immediate, intense reaction to her should have startled him-he’d never been so instantly captivated by anyone.

  He tried his best to keep his gaze locked onto her lovely face, readily admiring the sensual jut of her chin and stunning coloring of her tanned complexion, but found his eyes being drawn ever down, to the luscious curves of her figure, perfectly showcased in the tight fabric of her underclothes.

  The white of the fabric made her skin glow beneath the lights, accenting the smooth arc of her shapely legs and back and breasts. His mouth went dry as her cleavage swelled with each shuddering breath; how he longed to see what lay underneath the clinging cotton of her shirt.

  This was no ordinary attraction; his shifter self, usually content to slumber beneath the surface of his humanity, roared to be satisfied, to claim this woman as his mate right then and there, to slaughter every single creature in this hole that dared to look at her. It took all his strength, standing in the dark basement of the seedy bar with his hands clenched into fists, not to storm the stage and sweep her up into his arms.

  He took a deep breath, struggling to compose himself. The MC had picked himself up off the floor, doing his best
to cover his mortification. Two bar employees now stood, holding the woman’s shoulders and arms to prevent any further outbursts.

  She glared out at all of them with eyes that seemed to blaze, her ample chest heaving with effort. The beast within him howled with fury that they dare lay hands on her; he bit hard onto his soft lower lip, enough to draw blood, in hopes the pain would drive away his transformation.

  The MC cleared his throat awkwardly, “Sorry about the, uh, interruption. Spirited one, isn’t she?” He attempted to seize her chin; she jerked it roughly away, struggling to get loose.

  I could kill everyone, Keith thought venomously, Attack from behind, and they’d never see it coming. He’d never hurt a human, even the obnoxious tracker who’d thought he could capture the only jaguar ever spotted in the northern wilds. It was the only human concession he forced his shifter self to adhere to, but perhaps rules were made to be broken.

  She’d see, a small voice suddenly spoke up from the back of his head, She’d see and she’d never understand. The admission caught Keith up short. How would he explain it, after he’d just slaughtered a room full of men in front of her? Even if done to protect her, she’d still think him a freak, an abomination. He’d lose her. No, he could never let that happen.

  “So, gents,” the MC tried nervously, “What do you say to this little spitfire?”

  The silence was deafening.

  “Oh come on, fellas. Don’t tell me you’re… you’re afraid of some little girl? What, don’t any of you like a challenge? Just think of the… satisfaction, of breaking in a new horse.” He grinned wickedly at the struggling girl, letting his eyes rake up and down across her body.

  Maybe I can kill just one of them, Keith reflected with fierce satisfaction.