A Cougar's Claim (Charmed in Vegas Book 7)

by Jennifer James

  Kit passed Rhiannon her bag in an attempt to defuse the escalating screaming match. If this got much worse, he would lose control of his cougar and the beast wouldn’t be satisfied until it obliterated the barrel bellied fish man into chunks small enough for a tuna can. “I’m the one that god tased, remember? And it hurt like a mother fucker.”

  “Go away Kit.” Rhiannon shouldered the bag.

  “Yeah, go away Kit,” the shark flicked his fingers at Kit in dismissal. “This all started because of you. I heard the hotel manager. It was that dragon prostitute, wasn’t it? I can smell her stink all over his hotel. We’ve all seen her, that dirty dragon, waving her hoo-ha around like there’s a Blue Light Special posted between her thighs. Can’t get it up for someone you’re not paying? Were you going to have her comb your fur and rub your belly?”

  Kit considered how to react to the taunts. No one had said such ridiculous crap to him since...well, actually never. In the clan, he held too much power, even as a child. Every wrestling match, every scuffle, every play fight whether in cougar or human form, he’d won. Biting back a laugh, he and the fire fighter glanced at each other.

  “How do you know Inila? Does she come and change your diapers? Help you find your binky? How’d you even know she was in the building?” Rhiannon leaned in and sniffed loudly right next to shark’s throat. Warmth invaded Kit’s chest. His mate was defending him, even if she wasn’t conscious of it. “Is that baby powder I smell? Was the widdle baby sharky playing fetish games this morning? I bet that’s how you know she was here. There’s no way you can smell her. Sharks are primed to smell blood and that’s about all. She was with you before she came down to Kit’s room.”

  Lips spreading wide to reveal an amazing array of razor sharp teeth, the shark’s eyes darkened. Kit tensed to move between his mate the short, rotund fish-man.

  “Oh, I see it now. Kitty cat, you snuck out here to play dirty games with a lizard lady, and your mate here found out and confronted you. That’s why she was crying when she got on the elevator.”

  Rhiannon gasped, stomped her feet, and screamed. She slammed the shark right in the chest with her duffle bag and kicked him in the leg.

  What happened next was a set of perfect circumstances working together to create chaos.

  The shifter toppled sideways, slipped in a puddle, and hit the floor. His head bounced with a horrible crack.

  “Liar. You are such an asshole. “I wasn’t crying.” Her fists curled into white knuckled hammers, she took a shuddering breath. “Oh no. He’s...oh crap.”

  “Oh shit.” The fire fighter knelt on the floor and checked the shifter’s pulse.

  Kit couldn’t look away from Rhiannon.

  She was so fierce and strong and tender hearted and half wild. She looked like she might drift away on a stiff desert breeze like a grain of sand.

  “I know.” Putting his arm around her, and drawing her in for a hug when she didn’t resist, he gave her a squeeze. Trying to put all the crazy emotions battering him into the contact. “You’re too strong for that shit. You’d never cry over some asshole you haven’t seen in a decade. What’s he matter anyway, right?”

  She picked her bag back up. “Damn straight.”

  The shit hit the fan in supersonic speed right after that. Kit hadn’t even adjusted to the way she relaxed into him, her soft curves cradled against his hard muscles before the cops came over and busted up the party.

  A uniformed cop approached. “Ma’am, I’m placing you under arrest for assault.”

  “What?” He and Rhiannon spoke at the same time, although she sounded shocked and worn out, and his voice resonated through the entire hall.

  “You knocked him out cold ma’am in front of video cameras and multiple witnesses. That’s Kenny Banks, a famous poker player. Goes by the stage name ‘Blacktip.’” The policeman cuffed her hands behind her back. “He’s a jerk, and I have a feeling the video of you putting him on his ass is going to wind up online, but you can’t just go around knocking out every asshole you meet.”

  “This has been the worst. Day. Ever.” Rhiannon marched, her chin high and mascara streaked down her cheeks.

  Kit ground his teeth together and tried not to lose his temper. The hotel manager came mincing back and threw Kit’s credit card at his chest rather than handing it over. A couple of cops subtly changed their stances, hands resting on batons or even firearms. He kept it together, carefully tucking the card back into its slot in his wallet. He’d need the thing to make a cash advance so he could bail his mate out of jail.

  Un-fucking-believable. He was going to be broke without having even stepped on a casino floor.

  Chapter Six

  Not being stupid—regardless of what anyone in her current circle thought—meant Rhiannon kept her mouth shut the second the cop handcuffed her.

  Once upon a time she’d entertained the whole cop fantasy where she’d get “arrested” and “handcuffed” and then she and the “cop” would have super-hot and dirty sex in return for him not taking her to jail.

  But this was not a fantasy. Not even close.

  The Las Vegas party scene meant that there were loads and loads and loads of people arrested almost non-stop for fighting, shop lifting, getting drunk and belligerent, casting illegal spells, shifting shape in weird places like the frozen food section.... The police force had everything down to a pretty well-oiled machine. Rhiannon had her photo taken, was finger printed, and thoroughly debased and downtrodden in only two hours.

  At least she’d landed on the human side of the jail. She peered through the magically warded glass partition in front of her. A horde of goblins had constructed a semi-permanent fort from plastic chairs and gobs of yellow-green snot in the far right corner. The leader of the horde scrambled to the top and launched snot rockets from his impressively large right nostril at a trio of what Rhiannon thought might be leprechauns.

  A juvenile dragon clung to the ceiling, a silver collar, muzzle, and chains looped around the creature’s entire white and gold scaled body. Various shifters lounged on chairs or laid in heaps near desks with each animal group delineated from one another. The person who concerned her most was the red head levitating three feet off the floor, chanting, with pink smoke coalescing around her feet and calves. Thank goodness for the magical wards painted on the floor below her.

  Nothing good ever came from angry witches and pink smoke.

  The metal slab bolted to the floor bit into her backside, cold and unrelenting. The cell she’d been stowed in had nothing welcoming to recommend it. Several other women were inside with her, but none of them had made an attempt to say, rob her of her ruined salty clothes or tried to force her to give them oral or thrown up on her shoes, so all in all she counted her first foray into jail a success.

  Man, what would her mother think of this one? She’d pushed Rhiannon to get away from home and try new things, but somehow getting in real trouble with cops didn’t strike her as a life goal.

  Rhiannon attempted to surreptitiously scratch under her left boob. A blonde with a blistered nose and tattoos from her left temple to her throat stared.

  Oh, what the hell? There was salt crusted to her nether regions. The first thing she’d do when she got out of here was find a source of fresh water and throw herself in it.

  Although, she hadn’t had an opportunity to make a phone call yet and to post bail she had to have exact change in cash so she might be in here long enough to be considered a dried and salted food item for the dragon on the other side of the partition.

  She regretted nothing.

  Not a damn thing.

  A wild, uncontrollable giggle bubbled up from somewhere inside. So many times she’d bitten her tongue and just...taken it. Whatever someone said to or about her. Fabricated horrible things. Or the times she’d let yet another ex-boyfriend give her some half-assed apology for breaking her heart or borrowing money or hocking her television and she hadn’t done anything. She hadn’t stood up to them, made
them realize she valued herself enough to know she deserved better.

  For all the times she got left behind for a fated mate. Yeah. No more Ms. Doormat. No more being the consolation prize because she was all lush curves, loved to party, and didn’t demand long term commitments. She’d been bad boy shifter bait for way too long.

  When she got out of here and got showered, she’d call Quentin the hot fire man and ask him out on a date. A date with a human. And they’d do human things and there wouldn’t be any chance of some chick showing up who “smelled like destiny.” Gosh, that sounded nice. Great even.

  Quentin had pretended he didn’t know her from her show, but she’d seen the way his ears turned red and his pupils dilated when she mentioned her stage name. He’d totally seen her dance.

  He was super cute too. And a hero. Hell, she could burn a fire in the fire place and not have to worry that her date would spazz over the flames. Shifters sometimes had weird quirks like that. Oh! And she could even leave raw meat in the fridge and not come home to find her guy sitting at the table with a steak hanging off his lower lip and blood dripping all over his shirt.

  Human guys were looking better and better.

  Except...when Kit had gone on about hunting her and dragging her off to tie her up for sex until she realized they were mates...oh man, that sounded way too good to a woman who’d sworn off shifters. The temptation to give herself a day or a week or a month as his captive was right there, all up in her face and trying to get her to change her mind. Like his abs and those freakin’ biceps....

  “I’m such a stupid ass nympho idiot,” she muttered.

  But she meant what she’d said to him. They weren’t mates. It wasn’t possible. Because soul mates didn’t leave one another.

  “Hey, any idea how long we’re going to be in here?” She queried the woman next to her, a petite brunette with pink and purple streaks in her hair and a dress with a shredded hem. Diagonal slashes went from the underside of her left breast to her hip.

  Rhiannon didn’t know if the torn cloth represented a fashion choice or the remnants of a fight with another woman armed with fabric shears. Or big ass claws.

  “Depends. Could be a few hours, could be all night. If the cops are really busy it takes longer. Also depends if they’re feeling like being dicks to you,” the brunette pursed her lips and slouched. Long, lean legs crossed at the ankle. Her battered black combat boots had a thin sliver wire wrapped into the laces. “This your first time here?”

  “Yeah.” Rhiannon straightened, pride surging in her veins. Hell yeah, she’d put a shifter on his ass. Booyah baby. “Nice boots.”

  “Thanks.” The woman held out her henna tattooed right hand. “Lilith Veracruz.”

  “Rhiannon Delamatre. Nice to meet you.” A tiny spark of static electricity jumped from Lilith’s palm to hers. “Uh—”

  Lilith leaned in close, and squeezed her fingers once, not enough to hurt, but to warn. “So, I’ve seen you dance. At The Howler. Really sexy. You still dating that shifter?”

  “No. God I’m so done with shifters. They eat everything and they drop you the second they smell someone who they think is their destined mate.” Rhiannon extricated her hand and tucked her fingers under her arm. “Even if they’re naked in bed with you, in the middle of...”

  A blush burned her cheeks. Wow, had she really been about to spill that? She scooted a few inches away from maybe-not-a-human-Lilith and eyeballed her.

  “Any idea where Jase is?” Lilith traced her index finger over Rhiannon’s wrist.

  She jerked away and moved to stand. Lilith grabbed her forearm and Rhiannon found she couldn’t move away. Something kept her trapped on the bench.

  Magic. Had to be.

  “No, I don’t know where Jase is. I was looking for him this morning. It’s how I ended up in here. Sorta.” Rhiannon licked her left forearm, and got a mouthful of salt. A humming white noise she hadn’t noticed before cleared from her consciousness. She grimaced and yanked on her arm again. This time it came free. Not a human woman sitting next to her. Fuck a hairy duck. “You’re pretty damn powerful, seeing as I’m covered head to toe in salt.”

  Lilith shrugged, unabashed. “A woman uses the tools she has. You really have no idea where Jase is?”

  “No, I don’t.” She stood and paced a few steps away. “Don’t even think about touching me again. You could have just asked me if I knew where he was.”

  “How did I know you’d tell me the truth?” Lilith drew her legs in and balanced her elbows on her knees.

  “Why do you want him? If you know who I am, I’m betting you know why I do.” Rhiannon scratched under her waistband, bits of salt getting crammed under her fingernails.

  Lilith lit a cigarette, her huge, white blue irises ghostly and creepy in her heart shaped face. “Jase has a price on his head. I’m hoping to collect.”

  “How do you have a cigarette in here?”

  Lilith licked her lower lip. “You sure you want to know?”

  No, nope, nopity nope nope. She didn’t.

  Dread crept up her spine. “Shit.” She paced a small circle, palms pressed over her eyes. Fucking mob boss asshole Mancini. “I don’t stand a chance. He’s got me right where he wants me.”

  There had to be a way to get out of this mess without borrowing money from Inila to pay Mancini off. No smart person made a financial deal with a dragon, even if the dragon claimed to be their friend. Dragons loved money more than anything in the world. They didn’t make fair deals. They made deals that increased their fortune, and if that meant you and your entire family lineage ended up indentured to them for the dragon’s entire lifespan, the dragon was happier for it.

  She couldn’t find fault with Inila. Dragons were the way they were. In every other aspect, Inila was the perfect friend.

  “Mancini? He had you by the bra straps from day one, sweetie.” Disgust and judgment dripped off the statement. Lilith took a drag of her cigarette. “I sure hope you didn’t spend the money on something stupid like dance costumes or helping your boyfriend start a business.”

  “It’s none of your damn business what I needed the money for.” Rhiannon’s stomach churned and she blinked back tears. Memories of bleeping machines and hollow, sunken cheeks in a once beautiful face crept up, but she forced them back. “I had enough to pay him off, plus interest. Jase was supposed to make the delivery for me. Instead I got a call that he didn’t show up.”

  Lilith dropped her smoke and stamped the burning butt out. “And you were surprised about that? Why? You gave him over a hundred thousand and really thought he’d drop it off for you?”

  “I’m not stupid. I didn’t have a choice, okay?” Rhiannon swiped under her eyes. “I did the best I could at the time.”

  “You know what they say about the road to Hell.” Lilith stood. “For what it’s worth, I hope you find Jase before I do. But you won’t.”

  The strange, magic using woman blinked out of existence. Rhiannon gasped, spun, and studied the other prisoners in the holding cell.

  No one showed any sign that they’d seen the woman she’d spoken to.

  She slid down onto the bench and rested her face in her hands. “I’m so screwed.”

  Chapter Seven

  After the hotel got through with him, his credit card could have exploded in his wallet. Fisk, the hotel manager had maxed his account out. The weasel would pay for that later. Right now he had to worry about his mate.

  He considered using the clan credit card supplied to him to pay for incidentals while he was in Las Vegas, but it didn’t feel right. He’d had to request a limit increase on his daily ATM withdrawal allowance to cover Rhiannon’s bail.

  Her scent reached him before he heard her voice or saw her gliding down the cement and metal hallway. The barred doors and warded glass windows kept them apart, not unlike all the circumstances and magic intruding on his life and blocking him from her.

  She signed paperwork, glancing at him surreptitiously.


  When she sailed through the inner doors and exited into the waiting area, she stomped past him like he didn’t exist.

  Probably a fair reaction to him loitering there, but he wasn’t in the mood for the silent treatment.

  Swallowing a growl, he stalked her to the sidewalk, pacing behind her close enough for his breath to tease the hair on the back of her neck.

  Rhiannon refused to turn around, but he caught a whiff of arousal emanating from her. Hell yeah. He could work with that.

  “Rhiannon, stop. Talk to me.”

  “Leave me alone Kit.” She tried to shove her fingers through her hair, but got tangled in the salt crusted strands. “I’ll pay you back for the bail. It might take me awhile, but I’ll get you the money.”

  “You’re my mate, you don’t owe me any money.”

  “I’m paying you back.” She came to a stop on the sidewalk and faced him, her cheeks red and one hand on her hip. “Don’t argue with me about it. I don’t want to fight with you about it, so just let me. Okay?”

  Nodding, he withheld the proposition that involved sex acts for payment. His mate might take the flirtation badly with the mood she was in. She’d had a hard day. If paying him back was that important, he had to let her.

  After he had her trust, he’d make the offer to exchange sexual favors instead of money. It’d be a fun game, something he could tease and flirt with her about. A lover’s secret, just for them. A grin tugged at his lips up at the corners.

  Rhiannon bumped her hip into his thigh. Heat flared from the point of contact. They’d fallen into step with each other, his longer stride shortened unconsciously to accommodate her. Another sign she was meant to be his and he hers. “What are you thinking about over there?” “You have the goofiest smile on your face and a—”

  Coughing, she couldn’t hide the way her gaze flicked over to his groin and away again.

  Go ahead and look all you want. Think about my cock inside you and how good it’s going to feel.

  “Just thinking about how much fun it’ll be when you pay me back.” Brushing a heavy lock of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear, he drifted his fingers over the soft skin of her neck, pressing in a tiny bit when he reached the purple bruise he’d made with his mouth.