The Billionaire Shifter’s Final Redemption: The Billionaire Shifters Club #6

by Seere, Diana

  One he observed with great care.

  “The fox prophecy, Samantha. We are mated. We, together, must defeat Tomas to save the shifter world. It is clear that you are connected to me in more ways than one.”

  “I understand how fated mates work. The One. The Beat. I feel it.”

  “Then you cannot doubt me.”

  “No,” she said softly, looking at him with eyes that were infinite. “I don’t. I don’t doubt myself, either. It will take time for me to adjust.”

  “And I will spare no expense, no minute of attention, no breath in my body to help with that adjustment.”

  “Whoa there. Down, boy.”

  He bristled at the term boy, then forced himself to relax. A casual American, born and raised here, her vernacular was different from his.

  “Down?”

  Waving her unoccupied hand around the small apartment’s kitchen, she said, “You expect me to live here forever?”

  “What? Of course not,” he scoffed, finally understanding her hesitation. “I would never!”

  She sighed with relief and reached for her glass of wine. “Good, because—”

  “We will have your meager personal belongings transferred immediately to my home. Manny can take care of the details of clearing out your apartment in Boston.”

  Again, she stared at him, eyes narrowing with anger he did not understand.

  “Clearing out my apartment in Boston?”

  “I own a penthouse there should you wish to visit, of course,” he clarified, clearing up her obvious confusion.

  Samantha stood, blood rushing to her face with a glorious vitality that made Asher fall more deeply in love. My God, this woman was perfect. He owed fate a deep debt of gratitude.

  “Asher Stanton, if you think I am one of your chess pieces you simply move around on a playing board, shifted at whim and used to strategic advantage, you are sorely mistaken,” she informed him in a voice that made Asher realize that she was partly right.

  He had been sorely mistaken.

  “What the devil is wrong?”

  “You,” she said, choking on what sounded like an aggravated laugh, “assume I will just give up everything and move in here? What about my job? My lab? My apartment—”

  “I already told you,” he said, cutting her off. “Manny will have the apartment cleared out. And the laboratory I built for you can be upgraded as needed. Whatever you wish. Your budget is infinite, and—”

  “That is not what I meant!”

  “My goodness, Samantha, then say what you mean. I cannot read minds.” He frowned. “Can you? Is that part of your skill set?”

  His honest question earned him a smack in the face with a dinner roll.

  What an abominable waste of Chef Salay’s talents.

  Fury at the unexpected food assault made him jump to his feet as Samantha unleashed a torrent of words like a fire hose aimed at a raging forest blaze.

  “We’re fated for each other. I get it. The legends, the Beat, the One. I’m not fighting one bit of that. I am, however, not going to roll over and let you rub my belly with that hand of patriarchy!”

  “Excuse me? What does that mean?”

  “Has it ever occurred to you, Asher, that perhaps you are the one who should adapt?”

  “I am!”

  “Then where is your talk of moving to Boston? Of living in my apartment with me? Meeting my friends and becoming part of my world? Of relocating every bit of your work?”

  He laughed.

  That was a mistake.

  It was also impossible to suppress.

  Dodging another dinner roll, he felt the air whoosh past his ear as she flung open the apartment door and stomped out, hair a long lick of heat behind her, unbound by their earlier, carnal delights.

  Blood raged through him, his pulse felt in every joint, behind his knees, where his biceps bulged, at his temples. They had gone from fucking on the hood of his Bugatti to taking each other in the apartment’s kitchen to talk of prophecies and fate, and when he offered her the moon he got a baked good to the head instead.

  Women.

  He had forgotten how difficult they could be.

  But worse—he had underestimated her.

  Dr. Samantha Baird was a scientist, a linear thinker, a woman consumed by hypothesis and testing, the rational and the reasonable.

  But with one exception:

  Him.

  * * *

  Sam endured the security detail that shadowed her to the main house, but once she was inside the great room with its vaulted ceilings and stone fireplace, she made it clear she would not tolerate their presence any longer.

  “Fuck off,” she told the three beefy, bald men in black suits who looked as if they were going to continue to hover. “Please,” she added with a smile, because she was from Nebraska.

  They glanced at each other. She’d intentionally chosen a well-protected, highly staffed space. If Tomas invaded the Stanton estate, he wouldn’t be able to reach her easily. Although she would prefer to demand a flight home to Boston, she was a logical person—unlike Mr. Emperor—and wouldn’t knowingly put herself in danger.

  The men nodded and lumbered away, using their invisible mics to inform their overlords about her whereabouts.

  Overlords—no. Just one lord, and he was an imperious pain in the ass. Had nobody ever denied him anything in his life? What kind of parents raised their son to think he was king of all living things?

  She strode around the room until her pulse settled down to normal.

  That man. That more than a man.

  He’d just assumed she’d be his mindless female companion from now on. Had he forgotten who she was? Hadn’t he noticed what made her happy, what drove her to study science, how hard she worked every day because she loved it? And he would just take that all away from her without a thought. She wasn’t a real person to him with a brain of her own.

  Then again, she was more than a real person, apparently. But what was she? Before he so rudely barged into her apartment, Sam had been talking to Molly about the fox shadow on her shoulder. Maybe Molly could see more than she’d had a chance to say and could help her figure out what she was. After all, she’d seen what Zach was capable of during Gavin and Lilah’s twins’ births.

  Zach. She needed to talk to him too. And Jess was a healer—what did she see when she looked at Asher’s wound? Had anyone even asked her?

  No, no, of course not, because Asher was too damn arrogant and secretive.

  What they needed to do was have a group meeting and discuss everything together, as soon as possible.

  She looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the lake behind the house. The sun was setting, turning the Montana sky into a vast, abstract painting of orange, blue, purple, and pink streaks in the basin of the jagged mountain peaks. The surface of the lake reflected the colors and shadows of the clouds, magnifying the effect. She stood there for a full minute, captured by the breathtaking sight.

  A long sigh escaped her. Would it be so bad to live here?

  She shook off the thought. That wasn’t the point. She would be happy to live here and had imagined, like the other outsiders who had married into the Stanton family, that they would—sometimes.

  Or much of the time, if the lab suited her needs, and they had shifter children who would need the security and opportunities to grow up with their own kind with room to roam—

  “Whoa, Sam. You’re as bad as he is,” she muttered. Shifter children! Just a few days ago she never would’ve allowed herself to dream, and now she assumed it was a done deal.

  Mine, said a voice in her soul. It wasn’t only Asher speaking, it was herself. She wanted children with Asher. She wanted shifter children.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Molly. A pair of security guards lingered near a back door.

  “Ariana told me you were here,” Molly said. “I thought you might need a friend.”

  Sam, still caught up in the tumult of her
thoughts, shook her head. “I won’t let him swallow me up and take over my life. I won’t.”

  Molly put her hand on Sam’s arm. “Of course you won’t. But sometimes you’ll let him think he has so you can get what you want.”

  “That’s deceptive and sneaky and manipulative,” Sam objected. “I try to be honest and direct.”

  “Like you were with me?” Molly asked.

  Sam felt as if she’d been struck. For years she’d lied to Molly to study her blood.

  Smiling, Molly put an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “You’re like a fox, and you do what you think you have to do. Like he does. You’re really perfect for each other.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sam said for the thousandth time.

  “Don’t be. You were driven by the same fate that drove me, drove Edward, drove Asher, and even drives Tomas. I can feel it. I can see it.”

  Sam’s voice dropped. “What do you see? Does he hurt anyone else? Do we stop him?”

  Molly turned an unfocused gaze to the lake. “Yes,” she whispered finally.

  A shudder ran through Sam. While she was acting like a lovesick teenager, Tomas was out there threatening the human and shifter worlds. She had to get to her lab and study the samples she’d taken from the family and even herself. Asher was important not only because he was her One, but because he might contain in his own tissues a clue to disarming the threat of Tomas forever.

  It was a big might.

  “Do you see anything else? Anything specific?” Sam demanded.

  Molly looked at her. “Your fox shadow is getting stronger. It’s not the same as the Stantons though. It’s… not as if it’s you, the way it is with the shifters. I see a hint of who they are when they are in their other form.” Molly squinted. “With you, what I see is more like a… guardian. A separate being, holding you, protecting you. Like mother and child.”

  Sam began to tremble. A memory she’d buried long ago rose to the surface: in the emergency room, after the fox bite, she’d dreamed the animal had been put on the gurney with her. There had been the IV, another stupid ear infection, the nurse, her worried mother, gauze, blankets—and a red fox with bright, intelligent eyes standing over her body.

  All at once, other memories surfaced. That time in high school when she’d been rear-ended in her dad’s Camry and the airbag had pinned her to the seat. The near-miss crossing the street in graduate school. Her feverish bout with double bacterial pneumonia several years ago. At every critical moment, like the recurring pain in her ear, the fox had been there. Each time, she’d dismissed the image as a stress-triggered hallucination and then forgotten it.

  But now she knew it was more than that. She knew Molly was right.

  It was time to get to work and not let Asher slow her down again. “I have a favor to ask,” Sam said.

  “You want to stay at our cabin?” Molly asked. “Edward won’t mind, although you might have to listen to us, you know—”

  “No, no. I need you to come back with me to my apartment while I talk to Asher,” Sam said. “I’m going to tell him to give me some space so I can save the world.”

  “Sure, babe. I got your back. I’ll be a really young, sexy chaperone. What should I do if you start making out? Should I throw ice water on you guys, or what?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Sam said, gritting her teeth.

  “If you say so,” Molly said, sounding unconvinced.

  With the return of her memories about the fox, Sam was energized to return to her temporary home and lab as soon as possible. She hooked an arm through Molly’s and strode back the way she’d come. The security detail hurried to catch up.

  “I really look forward to having my privacy again,” Molly said, glancing at the guards.

  They reached the building, greeted more guards, accepted their help in getting through the layers of security and into the lab.

  Sam took a deep breath before heading down the stairs to her apartment, preparing her speech to Asher about needing to table their differences—and similarities—until they’d dealt with more pressing matters.

  But he was gone.

  “Whew,” Molly said, glancing around the empty apartment. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to keep you two away from each other. I mean, Asher’s powerful by himself, but when the two of you are together… it’s almost blinding. I can’t really explain it.”

  “I’m relieved too,” Sam said, burying her disappointment and hurt. “Now I can get a decent night’s sleep and start working first thing in the morning.”

  “You don’t look relieved,” Molly said. “You look kind of pissed—Sorry! Never mind! I’m going!”

  And with that, Molly disappeared, leaving Sam with more questions than answers.

  And a big Asher-sized hole in her chest.

  That’s it, she chuckled to herself, taking humor where she could find it. His new nickname.

  Asherhole.

  Chapter 13

  It was better this way.

  Restraining himself from chasing her after her impulsive exit had been harder than expected. Leaving Samantha’s quarters after she’d stormed out had been excruciating. His body throbbed, the need to be close to her now more biological than emotional. The first time his brother, Gavin, had described the Beat, Asher had scoffed, full of scorn. The idea that the old legend could be real was as silly as believing in Santa Claus.

  Ho ho how wrong he was.

  Not finding her immediately and forcing her to see reason—as if he could “force” Samantha to do anything—was the right call.

  Even if it tortured every bone in his body.

  The night’s sleep had been a complete waste of time, fitful and dreamless. Finally, at five a.m., he’d risen, shifted, and run. Just… run. No memory, no responsibilities, no obligations, no Asher.

  He had been nothing but wolf.

  And that had been enough.

  Morning broke at the ranch as usual, delivery trucks funneling supplies where needed, maids and gardeners following duties and keeping the well-oiled machine of the Stanton compound running smoothly. Showered, shaved, dressed in full suit and ready for work, he’d ripped through a series of minor details in under an hour, the rapid-fire extinguishing of tasks less a function of efficiency and more driven by the gnawing feeling that time as he knew it was changing.

  He didn’t just need her. That much was obvious.

  He needed to prepare for a battle for the very existence of his people. One he was fighting within his own cells. Fingers drifting to his hip, he indulged in a moment of worry. The scar. What did it mean? Asking Samantha would unleash a flurry of questions and investigations he was not prepared to experience just yet. She was too wrapped up in processing her own changes to truly see how affected Asher was by this… this…

  What in the hell was this?

  Seeing the world through his old friend’s eyes was surreal. Disorienting. He’d become infected. Invaded. The transgression was inexcusable. Moved from friend to enemy long ago, this was a monumental step that turned Tomas from adversary to mortal combatant.

  This would end with bloodshed. Death. Dismemberment.

  Complete annihilation.

  As Asher stared into the fire in his fireplace, no Scotch whisky to comfort him, he had a momentary wobble as he wondered:

  Who? Who would be annihilated in the end?

  “Sir?” Manny tapped on his door. “New report.”

  “What is it?”

  Oddly enough, Manny moved the thick envelope from one hand to the other but did not move. “It’s… it’s a strange set of reports.”

  “It often is.”

  “This one stands out.”

  “Yes?” The hair on the back of his neck took on an ominous tactile feel. Whatever Manny was about to tell him would change his day.

  Deeply.

  “Lars Jensen has experienced a break-in at his family’s penthouse in Boston. He and his wife, Kara, were on a short weekend vacation with their son. No one wa
s harmed. No servants saw the thief, and the only missing item was a book.”

  “A book? Which book?”

  “A book.” Manny’s eyes darted to the stack on Asher’s desk. “Like those.”

  “That alone is not enough to explain your strange countenance, Manny. What else?”

  “The cats, sir. Those cat reports in all those cities. They, well… it appears there are a string of human deaths related to the cats.”

  “Cat shifters are openly killing humans?” Asher grunted, the words making him ill.

  “No, no, nothing that dramatic. But in every single city where cat shifters were spotted, a homeless person died. Not elsewhere. Only those cities. All of them found in dumpsters.”

  “In dumpsters?”

  “With needle tracks in their arms.”

  “That sounds like drug addicts. Junkies. Not shifters.”

  “Our data analysts say that the chance that a single homeless person would die only in the cities where a cat shifter was documented and all of them would be in dumpsters with needle tracks is statistically impossible.”

  His unease grew. “Dumpsters, you say. Discarded like trash? Tomas. The needle marks. Using his serum?”

  Manny shrugged.

  “And there’s more,” Manny said, finally crossing the room and holding the envelope for Asher to snatch.

  “More?”

  “More big cat sightings in public. Four of them.”

  “Where?”

  “Calgary. Salt Lake City. Denver. Spokane.”

  Visualizing each city’s location—Calgary to the north, Salt Lake City and Denver to the south, Spokane to the west—Asher swallowed, his throat dry, jaw tight. “All of those are much closer to us than the earlier sightings. He is closing in.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Why would he steal a book from Lars? What possible reason would Tomas have for one of the ancient books?”

  “A spell?”