by Clara Moore
“Bridget, stop,” Derek commanded. He put his hand on Krista’s back to guide her away, but she refused. She wanted to hear what Bridget had to say.
“Go on.”
Bridget lit up, victorious. “He was infiltrating, trying to uncover what you knew, what you had discovered. He was working for our people. It’s because of him we knew you’d uncovered the bones of our ancestor. Last night was the perfect distraction so we could reclaim them.”
Krista grabbed onto the fence to steady herself. She suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe. So many thoughts circled around in her mind, picking at her heart like a vulture.
She was devastated that Derek had betrayed her, but what echoed the loudest from Bridget’s confession was our ancestor.
“What happened between us last night was real,” Derek told her, touching her arm.
She barely heard him. “You’re tigers,” she said, looking up at him. “You’re a shifter.”
***
Derek
It twisted his insides to see Krista look upon him with such distrust. Most of what Bridget said was true. His relationship with Krista had been forged out of deception. He had been chosen to befriend her, keep tabs on her as she dug around the land they roamed. He was meant to protect her from the truth as much as he was to protect his own people. He’d failed.
That was the most unforgivable of his actions – that he had failed to protect them all, especially Krista.
Bridget had one thing wrong though. Last night had been real. It had meant something. It was not to distract her. He had not known his people would reclaim the bones as they slept together in the tent.
He wanted Krista to understand, but it didn’t matter. Not now. There was a more urgent matter to address. Thanks to Bridget, Krista knew they were shifters. It was the one thing he was supposed to keep Krista from discovering – that shifters still existed. They were not confined to the past.
By revealing their people, Bridget had handed Krista a death sentence.
Torn, Derek spun around towards Bridget. He knew what he had to do to protect Krista, but it was difficult. Bridget may have a red temper, but she was a good friend. Her actions were misled, as was her heart, but deep down all she wanted was the best for their people. They faced extinction. Knowing so could wilt a thorn.
But in the end, it had been Bridget who revealed the secret of their people. She may not have realized it, but by handing Krista a death sentence, she had inflicted one upon herself. Their people would never tolerate it.
The choice was either to destroy Bridget now, or let them both die.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said to Bridget, his heart wrenching as her face fell. “Forgive me.”
Full of remorse, he changed, transforming into a tiger, his fur thick and mighty around his neck.
Realizing his intentions, Bridget turned as well. As a tigress, she was quick and agile, like an assassin, but she would be no match against his bulk.
They clashed in the air, beast against beast. Bridget swiped at him, and her claws dug across his back. It was painful, but not as painful as knowing he had to destroy his friend, as if their nights drinking around the campfire and long hours spent herding cattle meant nothing to him.
She prepared to swipe again, as he knew she would. Her claws were her best defense. When she pulled her front leg back, he jolted forward and grabbed the scruff of her neck with his teeth. All he had to do was clamp down....
To his surprise, Bridget transformed back into her human form and slipped out of his hold. She was pleased with herself, but it had nothing to do with evading death.
Krista was gone, her car nowhere to be seen. This had been Bridget’s plan all along – to distract him while Krista ran.
Relinquishing, Derek transformed back as well.
There was no point killing Bridget now. She would not let the others find out that Krista knew, for her own sake. She did not want Krista dead. She just wanted her gone.
All of their lives were safe, but he had lost the love of his.
***
Chapter Five
Three Months Later
Krista
In her apartment in the city, Krista sat upon her bed, surrounded by stylish pillows that cascaded down around her, and looked at the artifact she held in her hand. It was a locket, but it held no photo inside. There had been one. A faded edge of one was trapped in the hinge, the photo itself likely torn out long ago.
“I have to go back,” Krista said out loud.
The mystery still taunted her, invading her waking and slumbering thoughts, but her reasons to go back to the desert valley far surpassed her desire to figure out what happened to the lost settlers. She placed a hand over her growing stomach, knowing that the baby who grew inside may possess a very special ability.
***
Nothing about the desert had changed since Krista had left, running from the secret Bridget had revealed, running from the enemy that was also her lover. That was the beauty of the desert. It was a time stamp, reminding the modern to revere the past, even when the future was so uncertain.
Krista pulled into the ranch. It was unkempt, losing the wonder it had before. The horses were huddled into their stables, the feed in their coral trays growing mold. The statue of the mustang in the courtyard was tarnished. It felt… defeated.
Taking a deep breath, knowing her life would never be the same, Krista left her smart car, ready to reveal her own secret to Derek, a secret that would soon enter the world.
“Derek!” she called from the courtyard. “We need to talk!”
Derek did not answer her call, but someone did.
Bridget.
“What are you doing here?” the redhead snapped, emerging from the main building.
“That’s a bit of a tired response, isn’t it?” Krista countered, in no mood to deal with the tigress.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Bridget said. “You’re a threat to my people.”
“I’m no threat,” she mumbled then called out again, “Derek!”
“He’s not here,” Bridget revealed. “He hasn’t been here for some time.”
Krista’s heart sank. It had taken her weeks to build up the courage to come back. She wasn’t sure she could a second time. “Where is he?”
“None of your business,” Bridget said. “I suggest you leave.”
“No,” Krista refused. “I’m not afraid of you.”
It was what Bridget wanted to hear. “You should be,” she teased before transforming into a tiger.
Krista didn’t flinch. Her instincts wanted her to run, but she knew that was what Bridget wanted, not because she was a tiger but because she was sadistic. She enjoyed her games.
Growling, Bridget sprang, her paw held out to claw Krista to the otherworld, but she stopped midair and dropped to the ground, human once more, fully clothed.
“You’re pregnant,” she muttered, stumbling over the words. “Is it Derek’s?”
Bridget changing into a tigress and back into a human had not been the astonishing transformation. The astonishing transformation was the softness she now spoke with. Her menace was gone, beaten by the truth that lie in Krista’s belly.
“It is,” Krista said. “I’m carrying his child.”
To her further amazement, Bridget hugged her, tears in her eyes. “Our people are near extinction,” she said. “This is good news. Every child born means a chance of our survival.”
So Bridget wasn’t so sadistic after all. She was just desperate to protect her people. Krista prided herself on her ability to analyze human behavior, it was what made her a decent anthropologist, but she had failed to see that behind Bridget’s temper was a woman desperate to save her own kind.
“Where is Derek?” Krista asked again.
“He’s in the city, looking for you.”
This time, the tears swelled in Krista’s eyes. “Really?”
“Of course.” Bridget took her hand. “But don’t worry. I’ll call him.
Come into the house and rest, and by this evening, he’ll be here.”
***
“You’re pregnant?”
Derek was stunned, frozen by the news. Standing next to him in his bedroom, a large suite fitted with dark furniture, Krista was sure he was going to pass out.
He didn’t. Instead, he smiled broadly and picked her up into his arms. “Woo wee!” he shouted. “I’m gonna be a papa!”
“You are,” Krista said, laughing as her brawny cowboy spun her around.
“I went looking for you,” Derek said, setting her down, growing serious. “I wouldn’t have stopped until I found you.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m glad.”
Her words were simple, but they were weighed with emotion, an emotion that propelled them to the bed. Silent and admiring, Derek undressed her, venerating the beauty of her curves as he did.
“You’re more gorgeous every time I see you,” he said, kissing her stomach.
It was an affectionate kiss, but it turned into one much more provocative. He continued to kiss her, all the way down to her core. Pulling her closer to the edge of the bed, he spread her legs apart and pressed his tongue against her clit. He circled his tongue around, awakening her body as he drank in her femininity. She moaned with pleasure, savoring the caress of his tongue against her flesh, allowing it to ignite every nerve in her body.
“I want you inside of me,” she said, pulling on his hair, lifting him back up to her. She helped him pull off his T-shirt and remove his jeans and boxers until he was as naked as she was, except for his cowboy hat, which she told him to keep on. It complimented his hard, tanned body perfectly.
Raising her knees, she opened her legs wider, her core pulsing for him to enter her. When he did, sliding his cock into her wetness, her body convulsed with pleasure, relishing the feel of his cock against her inner flesh. He rode her like a gentleman, his movements sweet and smooth, until his need for her took charge. As the heat in her body rose, so did his pace, and he thrust into her with a profound desire, moving in and out of her as their bodies melded into one.
She arched her back, taking all of him in, the heat within her peaking, sending her over the edge. As she came, she grabbed his backside, pushing him further into her. He came with her, shuddering as he released himself into her, her tiger.
Later, as he held her in his arms, Krista told him about the locket she found. “The way the bones of the man reached out, I can’t help but feel he was reaching for whoever’s photo was in the locket.”
“He was,” Derek proclaimed, surprising her. “The mystery of the lost settlers is no mystery at all, not to my people. They were a group of shifters – tigers, my ancestors. Their forefathers and foremothers had come to America long before them, but it’s not easy to hide your tiger form in a land tigers are not native to. Eventually, the settlers were pushed out West, running from those who hunted them. They thought they were safe here, but a group of hunters caught up to them and massacred them. Very few survived.”
“That’s terrible,” Krista said, borrowing tighter into his arms. “Why didn’t the survivors leave?”
“They were tired of running. The hunters continued on, searching. So the survivors stayed, hiding in the plateaus, letting the hunters wander ahead. It was within the plateaus that they buried those who were massacred, hiding their bodies. Some, like the man you found, had been killed as they shifted, caught between the world that murdered them and the world they were most free.”
“And the locket?” Krista asked.
Dermott chuckled, though it was a mix of sadness and amusement. “Actually, Bridget has the photo that goes inside. It’s a photo of her great-something grandmother, whose husband was killed saving his wife and children. The bones you found are her family.”
“Does she know?”
“She will once you give her the locket.”
“How devastating,” Krista sighed, “to be torn apart so brutally from the one you love.”
Derek cupped her face into his hand and kissed her tenderly. “I have a small notion of how it feels.”
“Never again,” she said, smiling into his piercing blue eyes. “We’ll never be torn apart again. We’re a family now, all three of us. And all our children to come. We won’t go extinct.”
***
THE END
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Clara Moore is a Canadian born Romance writer that currently lives between Toronto and Albuquerque. She has always had an interest in animals as well as love stories. She started her career as a reporter for wildlife magazines and decided that the stories needed a little enhancement to become truly hers. Since them she writes paranormal romance books.
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Here is sample from the fourth book in the series:
Wanted by the Billionaire Wolf
By: Clara Moore
Wanted by the Billionaire Wolf
Chapter 1: Dark
“I can feel it, this wild inside of me. It thrashes and howls and growls, until all I can do, is scream just to cover the sounds. If I had known that the solution to my darkness was so simple, I would have done a lot of things differently in my life. I would have acted sooner. The best way to keep my wild at bay is to embrace it. And if that makes me too dark for this world, so be it.”
Tears were streaming down Sharee’s face. Of all the things she would have ever expected him to say, that really wasn’t it. He wasn’t supposed to give up and in. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. She felt heartbroken and more than a little betrayed…which she was sure was exactly the effect he had been shooting for.
Damn him, she thought furiously. Damn him to hell and back.
“What are you doing?”
Sharee jumped. She hastily wiped the tears off her face and pushed the chair back, the little wheels rolling her away from the screen she was not supposed to be looking at. On the page, the word “END” still taunted her with its final, Arial Bold characters.
She looked up and was not surprised to find the shadow of an amused grin on Tristan’s handsome features. She was not supposed to look at his work until he asked her to, but they both knew she could never resist the temptation to peek. He hardly pretended to be annoyed by it anymore. Besides, he knew she didn’t do it out of an impulse to pry; it was just that she couldn’t help herself. Sharee lived for good stories, and Tristan’s words were just too beautiful to pass up.
They were not the only beautiful thing about him, either. By then, the two of them had reached a high enough level of intimacy that he didn’t even bother to cover up when he got out of the shower in the morning—and Sharee would never dream of asking him. Presently, he stood across the desk in the studio with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Sharee knew that if she looked, she would see the lines of his hipbones disappear past the fluffy white waistband of the towel. She knew that if she let her gaze run along the impressive length of his figure, she would be treated to lean, strong muscles and smooth skin.
But Sharee didn’t look and didn’t let her gaze run, because Tristan was not her boyfriend. Tristan happened to be her boss, and despite the intimacy that inevitably came with assisting a genius author practically 24/7, Sharee still prided herself in her professionalism. She only allowed herself to fantasize about him within the privacy of her own apartment.
So, even then, she forced herself to ignore his nakedness and just meet his eyes—d
ark blue like a stormy sea, and sharp as a razor blade. Sharee swallowed past her suddenly dry mouth. Sometimes professionalism was really hard to keep a hold on.
Focus, goddamnit, she reprimanded herself sternly.
“Sorry,” she offered, although they both knew she really wasn’t sorry at all. “You said you might finish it during the night, I had to check.”
Tristan grinned openly this time. “Sure you did, darlin’.”
Sharee shivered. He had begun calling her “darling” the very first day she had started to work for him, over two years back, and he had not stopped since. The word rolled off his tongue like sin.
“What did you think?” he asked as he took a seat on the bright red armchair.
Sharee really wished he would go put on some clothes; it was hard to keep track of a conversation with him lounging about half naked.
“I thought it was very dark,” she said honestly. “Maybe a little too much.”
Tristan arched a dark eyebrow. “Too dark?”
Sharee hesitated. Tristan was generally good with constructive criticism, but even after two years, she was still mindful of not crossing the line.
“Go on, darlin’,” he said. “You know I can take it.”
She knew. She took a deep breath and resolved to get all of her thoughts out. “Tristan, this is the third main character you kill off in a year. Don’t you think it might be a little too much?”
Tristan Jacobsen was a prolific writer. His latest series centering on werewolves was going at a particularly steady pace. Like anything else that came out of his pen, it was selling by the thousands. No one could write horror like Tristan. He was generally viewed as Stephen King’s heir…even by Stephen King himself. There was something gripping and real about the way Tristan wrote about the things that go bump in the night, something ancestral that spoke to the reader.