Bad, Very Bad Shifters- The Complete Mega Bundle

by Daniella Wright

  Dinner was nice. They ate on the couch, the formal dining table being too massive for just the two of them. He talked about hearing pleas the next day, explained that he and his mother served as the court of appeals for the supernaturals. Every district, a radius about 50 miles around each major city, had a Lord or Lady that heard complaints. If someone didn't like the ruling after taking it to a Lord or Lady they made an appointment to come before Anguis Regificum. They submitted, in writing, their complaint as well as their reasoning for disagreeing with the findings of the Lord or Lady they originally petitioned. While they stood before Anguis Regificum he would ask them any questions he had after reading their complaints. Then he would make his own ruling.

  "You'll hear petitions too, someday. Not this week since it's your first time and since you'll be learning," he said.

  "So I'll be expected to have the wisdom of Solomon and tell mothers to cut their babies in halves?" Liz asked, knowing she was not capable of this sort of decision making.

  "No, you'll be expected to have common sense, a respect for fairness, and an ability to ask for help when needed," he answered, reclining back after finishing his meal.

  "Give me an example," she asked.

  "A werewolf went into a violent frenzy, became a danger to people, and crossed from his pack's territory to another's. The pack alpha in that territory found him and took him out, saving a bunch of innocent people. When he delivered the body of the frenzied wolf home to his pack he was not thanked for his services. He met with anger and disdain that he did not call in the other pack to assist with their own. He was told he overstepped his boundaries. They tried to declare a blood feud on his pack. He entered a complaint to Lady Rosa, the local aristocrat. She ruled that the alpha was in his right to protect his wolves and the innocent people that fell in their territory. She declared that there would be no blood feud. The other pack, feeling slighted, brought the complaint to me," he outlined.

  "And you agreed with Lady Rosa?" she assumed.

  "No. I said that it should be settled here, before me, by having the alphas fight. They did. The one who took out the crazed wolf won," he said.

  "That's barbaric!" she chided.

  "It's not. Once a blood feud is declared there's little I can say or do to stop it. The wolf that went on the prowl was the alpha of his clan's nephew. He wasn't going to let it go. By having them fight the other alpha won his dominance over both packs and will lead them with a steady hand," Ro explained.

  "But you couldn't have known who would win," she argued.

  "But I did. The reason the frenzied wolf wasn't caught in his own territory was that he couldn't be. His alpha went after him and was bloodied. Once he crossed territories the other alpha caught and dispatched him with ease. I knew he was the more strategic fighter and a better alpha," Ro said.

  "That's all so violent," Liz thought out loud, shocked.

  "Werewolves are a violent society. They're also loyal to a fault and deeply connected to their families. All that needs to be considered when making a decision for them," Ro outlined.

  "Are you violent?" she asked, worried.

  "Never with you. Not unless I'm challenged or one of my people are in danger," he answered, his arm slung over the back of the sofa.

  "You did tackle me on the bed," she teased him, prodding.

  "You liked it," he answered.

  Then in a flash he was up, his body pushing hers back into the couch cushions. He hovered over her, holding his chiseled chest about an inch from her. She wanted him to settle that weight on her, to feel his warmth lick up and down her body as she held on to him. She didn't move.

  "Tell me you like it," he whispered.

  She wanted to tell him she didn't, but she knew he'd see the lie on her face and read it in her body language. Whatever it was between them that made him claim her as his mate made her body yearn toward him, a seductive pull she couldn't deny.

  "I do like it. It's new," she said hoarsely, tentatively.

  She reached up and ran her hand down that hard chest, down the plane of his sculpted stomach. She reached up under the hem of his shirt, finally touching him skin to skin. He dipped his head, catching her lips in a kiss that she felt all the way to her toes. It was so hot. She burned where they touched and she delighted in the searing.

  Her instincts told her to wrap her legs around his torso, to press her soft, aching breasts into the chest he kept both too close and much too far away from her. Her instincts said to give in, to take this man back to the bedroom.

  So she got up.

  "I think that's enough of that for tonight," she said, pretending to dust off her pants in order to avoid his gaze.

  "You want it," he growled, still splayed on the couch and making no move to come after her.

  "I do. It's lust. Somewhere there's a part of me that knows you'd look crazy good naked. A woman, however, shouldn't just lust after her husband. She should love him. If I become so afflicted, I'll let you know," she answered, still avoiding his eyes, eyes that she suspected could pull her back underneath him with ease.

  "By throwing your panties at me?" he teased as she walked away.

  "Something like that," she answered in her best imitation of nonchalance.

  The next day they heard pleas from 8:00 in the morning until 8:00 at night. Ro had explained the day was so long in order to give the different branches of supernaturals leeway for their various natures. The witches liked to come in the morning, after their night rituals. The vampires preferred to travel after dark. The elves generally held their holy rites at the sun's peak and then would want to meet right after. Everyone had to be accounted for. Everyone had a different strata of leadership.

  It made Liz's head spin.

  That night Liz volunteered to cook and burnt the steak to a lump of charcoal. He laughed, she tossed the ruined food, and they travelled to the closest Chinese place.

  Dinner was comfortable, and they exchanged jokes as they talked about the day. Ro congratulated Liz on keeping her head on straight, on quickly learning the nuances of greetings and conversations, and on making a good impression. She didn't feel like she'd accomplished much but was overwhelmed with the weight of exhaustion.

  "Making people happy is tiring," Liz said, sipping a glass of white wine.

  "Welcome to the royal life," Ro answered, watching her drink. It seemed that as fascinating as she found his lips, the sentiment was returned twofold. He watched each sip with a hunter's interest.

  "However, I think the elves are on to something with their clothing choices. The sleek dresses and knee high hunting boots, right on trend," she said, thinking over the day.

  "Well, there's your inspiration for your next piece. Forrest fashion meets metro markets: how to dress to impress the elven clans," Ro said.

  He wasn't teasing. He wasn't asking her to put away the frills and focus on the formalities. She'd worn a wig, the deep read of a well known scarlet haired mermaid and a long time hair goal of hers. It had made the very safe, very modest frock feel fresh and young. However, she was considering ditching the wig and just being herself. After a single day hearing pleas, seeing how fair and honest, deliberate even, that Ro was she felt a calling to ditch the façade and be a part of it. She wanted to be a part of the movement to intertwine the normal and the magical, the new and the accepted old.

  In the car he put his hand on her leg as he drove, and the warmth radiated all throughout her body. She wanted to feel those hands on her bare skin. It was the second day of their trial marriage and she was ready to give in totally.

  They stood before her bedroom door, his actually, though she'd commandeered it permanently as far as she was concerned.

  "Goodnight, wife," he said, holding her left hand in his.

  "Goodnight, Anguis Regificum," she said, unable to make him let go. She could get drunk on his touch alone.

  "I'm not your king," he said, surprising her.

  "You’re not?" she asked, and again she had that feel
ing that he was predator and she prey. She was caught in his gaze like a fly in a spider's web.

  "No. You're human and have your own government that is mostly working for you. And you're my wife, my absolute equal. To you I am just Ro, the man you met in a bar and married that night. It’s a fun story. I like that story," he said, his thumbs drawing slow, sparking circles on her palm.

  "The man that picked me up in his dragon claws as though I were the fair princess and he the dastardly dragon of old?" she corrected him.

  "There's very little fair princess in you. It's one of the things I liked best," he said, one hand coming to rest on the wall next to her face, trapping her between him and the wall.

  "Not a fair princess?" she said, pretending offense, "Then what am I if not a princess?" He was so close their breath mingled.

  "A temptress. A woman as attractive as the models she writes about but smart, strong, and independent," he said, his voice breaking over her and as intimate as hands on her body.

  "Let's not be illusioned here," she said, searching for humor to dispel the tension that was building, "You're talking to a woman that once tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and skinned her chin. I took my senior pictures with stitches that made it look like I had a beard."

  He laughed, and the laugh affected her as much as his suggestive voice did. He leaned in and kissed her, bringing her hand up between their bodies. There he let it go, freeing his own to roam down her side, to feel the curve of her breast, her waist, the jut of her hip bone. He brought his hand around to cup her rear end and there his fingers became less gentle, more assertive. She bucked against him, her sensitive flesh woken up by the heat of his.

  She gave in to the instinct she felt the night before, the need to wrap her legs around his hips. He held her back against the wall as her legs enclosed him and he ground into her. It felt so good. She'd wanted him since she met him, wanted this. She could feel him, his impressive hardness, through his clothes.

  He moved his lips to her neck, nipping and caressing in turn. He playfully bit at her collarbone, and she inserted her fingers underneath the waistband of his pants. As he continued nearly devouring her she reached down and touched that part of him she'd been so curious about. It was warm, like the rest of him, and the noise he made when she grasped him made her want to strip him bare.

  He moved his hand up the hem of her dress, intent on giving like for like, but she stopped him.

  "Not tonight," she whispered against every yearning of her body.

  He growled in protest, his body leaning heavily against hers. She wiggled out from between him and the wall, escaping into the bedroom.

  Before she shut the door on him she whispered a, "goodnight," that was much more breathy than she'd intended.

  That night she was awoken by Ro banging on her door like the farmhouse was on fire.

  "There's been a murder, the first human on supernatural murder since the coming out," he told her breathlessly as he sat on the bed and watched her pull clothes on.

  "They want a statement from us, and I'd like you by my side," he warned her.

  "Details?" she asked as she threw on clothes that weren't pajamas and worked on a bun that wouldn't make the world think she just rolled out of bed.

  "A human saw a gathering at his neighbor's house. He realized it was a coven. In the middle of their ritual, which they cannot break mid-spell, he brought out his pistol and yelled something like 'go die she-devils!' She had no criminal history in the human law system and no complaints against her in ours, the neighbor that is. He took out the entire coven. He was arrested and taken in, but a rally has started outside the jail calling for his release. They're yelling things like, 'Not human, not murder!'" he said.

  "Shit," she responded, angry.

  "The ritual," she asked because she had to, "was it nonviolent?"

  "Yes, it’s a peaceful practice. She'd been doing it for years covertly in that same location," he answered, suddenly sitting rigidly straight, sitting like a king.

  "There's a news crew waiting in the family room for our statement," he said, "and we'll be on a phone call with the White House in the morning."

  "Okay," she said, standing before him in a simple black dress.

  "You look like a queen," he said, his face very solemn but approving.

  "You look like you're going to kill something," she warned him.

  "Good," he said gravely, "let them wonder if I'm coming for them like they came for her."

  "Wait. Wait," Liz advised him, putting a trembling hand on his shoulder, "remember what you said to me about our arrangement. We need to radiated respect and warmth at all times. We need to make it not about us and them. We need to spin it as criminals against innocents, justice against injustice. Don't let your alpha anger get the best of you."

  She could tell he wanted to roar at her, at the breach they both knew it was. He bit it off. He, she could tell, knew they had to be more than that.

  They entered the family room and sat before the cameras hand in hand.

  "Today we lost a member of our community, a member that had hurt and planned on hurting no one. We will soon be making arrangements to visit with her and the other victims' families," Ro started, his face still grim and held in tight control.

  "We," Liz went on, "have full faith in the American justice system. I, a non-supernatural, have had only good experiences with law enforcement and the judicial system. As well, we'd like to remind those attending the rally outside of the perpetrator's place of confinement that they are expressing their freedoms, the freedom of speech. The women that died were also asserting their birthright freedoms, the freedom to gather, to be among friends safely within a neighborhood home. This is a liberty we all hope to live, to be safe in our homes and neighborhoods, to be free from the barbs of hate."

  "We look forward to discussing the matter more with authorities as the situation develops and we establish protocols with it," Ro finished the statement and the news crew signaled to them that they were off camera.

  Liz noticed that some of the cameramen shot unsure, skittish looks at Ro. They looked around the house like it was odd he lived there instead of some dank cave. She found, in their faces, she was meeting all the stereotypes she'd laid on him as she'd been soaring over the land in his claws.

  Liz stood up, smiled at the crew, and brought out a tray of cookies from the kitchen.

  "No peanuts, just in case anyone has allergies," she said. Cookies, like chocolate, had a way of fixing everything. No one could fear for their lives or develop some new prejudice while biting through the warm gooeyness of a treat. Take that division! Liz was fighting hatred with cookies.

  "Here babe," she said, offering the tray to Ro. He was going to refuse, to say something like this not being a time for cookies. She could see it on his face.

  "Take the damn cookie and eat it with them. Man eating monsters don’t like cookies," she whispered forcefully at him from the side of her mouth. He shot her an exasperated smile but did as she said.

  When the news crew was gone, Liz watched Ro deflate. Whatever force had been keeping him going left him in the privacy of just her company. Liz went to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

  "I knew it would happen," he said.

  "Kind of cynical, don't you think," she said from slightly behind him.

  "Realistic, not cynical," he answered.

  "We'll deal with it as it comes. Together. I'm with you," she tried to reassure him.

  He turned under her arm and leaned his forehead against hers. He seemed to breathe her in, to mark her scent. His eyes flared, the pupils slimming down to a vertical slit.

  "Ro?" she questioned him, tamping down the urge to take a step back.

  "It's you," he said, "I want you and every cell in my body says 'mate' when you're nearby. It's unnatural to wait for a set of mates. I'm trying, I am, but I want to drown myself in you."

  "Okay," she said.

  "Okay?" he asked, his forehead against
hers, his hands unmoving.

  "Okay. My room or yours?" she asked, wanting to provide him with the escape he needed.

  He didn't answer. Instead he caught her behind the knees, laying her in his arms. He carried her to the big bed she'd been sleeping alone in, laying her softly on top of the covers. Slowly, piece by piece, he took off his clothes, revealing a body that was all hard muscle and deep indentations.

  She got to her knees and did the same for him, slowly stripping away each layer. She'd never gotten undressed with a lover like this before, and it was deeply sensual, deeply personal. They watched each other undress with rapt attention, the excitement of bridging the gap and pressing flesh to flesh mounting with every breath.

  She thought he would lay his body on hers, meet belly to belly on the thick, soft comforter. He didn't. Instead he reached forward, grabbed her ankles, and slid her to him as he stood on the side of the bed. The height was just right, allowing her to lay her head on his chest while his warm hands stroked the inside of her thighs, blazing a slow path up to her privatest of places. She felt his hard, hot length leap against her thighs.

  "I'm ready," she told him, the tip of her tongue sampling his skin.

  "I'm not," he warned as he dipped his head between her legs. She cried out at the surprise of it, at the spike of sheer pleasure that took her. His tongue danced against her burning flesh, and she cried out at the rightness of it.

  As she came he pressed his head against her belly, anchoring her to him as she shook.

  "Now," he said his voice thick with longing, "I'm ready."

  "I'm not," she replied, needing to give like for like.

  She sat him on the bed, her hands directing his shoulders just so. She stood over him, leaning so he got a long look at the breasts that were aching for his ministrations. He ran his hands gently up her sides, and she dipped her head down to sample him.

  The minute her mouth closed on him he was gone. She felt him lose control and basked in it, in having this power over him. He fisted his hands in her hair as she sucked at him, enjoying the taste of his clean skin.