“Except in front of the pride right?”
“All of the time. I don’t have to pretend like Derrick. You are the only one who will address me by name, but yes, that’s what I want to hear from you.”
“Okay.” She resigned herself to calling him by his proper title in front of other leaders whether he liked it or not. “Omar, can I ask you for a favor?”
“Anything you want, Nabila.”
“Is there a way I can deal with Erika soon?”
“Yeah. I’ll set it up for this afternoon. We will perform her Passing at evening ceremonies.”
“Okay.”
“You want more time?”
“No. I just didn’t think you disliked her so much that you set up the challenge in order to have her Passing so soon.”
“She called my mate a whore and my son a bastard. If I had dealt with her, she would be dead already. This is kind by my standards.”
“Yara warned me…”
“She was right to. I don’t tolerate bullshit. I have never issued a death without cause, but I will not hesitate to kill.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Anything else?”
“No. I’ll go stretch. It’s been awhile.”
“Good. I have to meet up with your brother.” He gave her a final breath-stealing kiss and sent her on her way with a solid smack on her ass. “I should have told you earlier. You have a nice fucking ass.”
She shook her head and walked out of the room.
WATCHING ANISE KILL ERYKA
was as uneventful as he’d expected it to be. The female hadn’t expected the viciousness of a Rocky nor had she expected that Anise wouldn’t play gentle with her. Sadly, she underestimated the importance of the challenge for Anise.
As the future Nabila, Anise needed to make a show of strength. It reminded any other female who was the first and the strongest in the heart of her Tor. He knew his heart and Soul belonged to Anise and Anise alone. He had no use for the pleasure of multiple females, nor did he desire managing the heart of more than one female. Too much work on top of everything else he had to manage.
Omar smiled to himself as he watched the pride file out of the altar room following Eryka’s Passing.
“What are you smiling at, Omar?”
“Nothing.”
He turned to his mate and watched her cradle their son in an arm that had sported a long gash from one of Eryka’s claws. The wound was now barely more than an angry raw line marring her burnt umber skin tone.
“Anise?”
She looked up at him. “Yes?”
“Give him to Yara.”
She frowned but did as he asked. “What’s going on?”
He motioned Jazmir, who’d been standing silently at the back of the room, and the two females to follow him. He stopped short at the rear exit of the house, holding up a signal for everyone to hold their positions.
Once he was satisfied no one was in the vicinity, he motioned everyone out, but told Yara to stay near the door.
“What’s going on, Omar?”
He was facing away from her when she asked, her curiosity peaked, but her guard down. He waited until she was farther away from the door, with her back to the tree line that lined the eastern side of the house.
Omar brought up a razor-edged dagger and hurled it at her. She dodged it, landing in a crouch on the balls of her feet.
“If you wanted to play, Rocky, all you had to do is ask,” she growled.
“Reflex testing.”
She laughed, coming to a stand slowly. She was still halfway crouched when she launched herself at him, grabbing hold of him at the waist and pushing him back. He went with it, spinning suddenly and tossing her aside.
“Rusty, Rocky.” He waved her forward. “You’re going to get killed with reflexes like that.”
She growled from her position among the pine straw. “Wishful thinking?”
“I did have my eye on this young Aleser from your brother’s pride. She’s—”
Omar lost his words when she leveled him, straddling him with her hand raised and ready to strike. He tossed her off, pinning her on her stomach with one arm behind her back.
“Always follow through. Hesitation kills.”
He released her just before he bounced back to his feet away from her and coming to an on-guard position.
“Come on, Nabila, I know you can do better than that. Need a hand up?”
She rolled slowly to her feet with an irritated glare shot in his direction.
“What?”
“Don’t poke at me.”
“I haven’t started poking you yet.”
A promising glint fluttered through her eyes. “Really now?”
Jaz let out an uncomfortable cough while Yara shifted her position away from her mate. Omar smirked at the couple. Apparently he wasn’t the only one not getting laid.
“Yes, but I’m sure Jaz and Yara would appreciate it if I didn’t display how well you’d like it when I poke you.”
“Your thoughtfulness knows no bounds, Tor,” Jaz said, a hint of playfulness intermingled in his tone.
Omar waved Anise forward. “Let’s go. We have a lot of work to do before you go back to Colorado and train.”
* * *
The training session with Omar wasn’t a forgettable experience. While he was brutal with her, giving her no mercy as he put her through multiple exercises, his aftercare techniques left nothing for her to desire.
She limped into their room, unsure if she would even make it to the bathroom, when he swept her into his arms and carried her to the tub. He ran her bathwater, taking care of the temperature before easing her into the water.
He washed and brushed her hair, only speaking to instruct her to tilt her head back for a rinse. When she was clean, he carried her from the tub and dried her off, dressing her in a long satin nightgown before escorting her to bed.
“Omar?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you always train so hard?” she asked, rubbing at a slight pain in her neck.
He sat on the bed beside her, pulling her arm across his lap before he started massaging it with a lavender scented lotion.
“I took no joy in hitting you,” he said, his tone soft yet unapologetic.
“I know. I saw it.”
“Saw what?”
“Anytime you landed a particularly nice hit, I could see a hint of remorse in your eyes.”
“It’s a double edged sword. No one will want for your safety as much as I will. Being a Rocky means I can train you the way that we are used to being trained so that I can do all that I can to ensure your safety, but I don’t relish causing you pain.”
He instructed her to roll onto her back, tossing aside pillows so that she was face down and comfortable.
“I know.” She moaned as he kneaded a knot in her upper back. “You’re forgiven as long as you keep doing that.”
He smiled as he worked his way down her lower back and into the tight muscles of her inner thigh. Anise turned slowly to watch him as he focused wholly on his task. As his hands came closer to her apex, he looked up at her, but his gaze lacked the passionate heat she expected to find. Instead he seemed to hone in on the way her muscles tightened as he made his way up her leg.
“I’m only giving you a massage, Anise. Nothing more. I want to make sure you aren’t too sore tomorrow.”
“I know. It’s just…”
“I’m not going to pounce on you like some undersexed male. I’m capable of waiting until you’re ready.”
“What if that never happens?”
The question was more out of curiosity. She had the will power to resist a lot of things but she had serious doubts about her ability to lay in the same bed as him and not want him, especially if he insisted on being so damn reasonable.
“I will make you want me.” He laughed when she rolled her eyes. “I’m a man, not a saint.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He pulled back and tucked the sheet around her. “How about this? We won’t have sex until after we’re married.”
“Will you schedule the ceremony for tomorrow?”
He let out a bark of laughter. “Eager?”
“No, I just figured that was what you would do.”
“I’d need more time to get everyone here and plan something worthy of my queen. I think a month will be long enough.”
“A month?”
“Don’t think you can wait that long?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on how occupied I can keep myself.”
Her words were hushed, whispered like a secret.
He kissed her softly on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“It’s one thing to have intuitive knowledge that someone likes you. It’s another to hear the words. I’m a simple man. I like the words.”
“Then you have two weeks. Dragging this all out seems senseless considering what you are to me.”
“And that is?”
“My Soul’s Mate and my Tor. Mine.”
TOR OMAR GLANCED AROUND
the large yard that made up the Pride’s main house. A few members of the pride worked along the outer edge of the property tending the fruit trees and the garden Amy insisted on having for her kitchen.
He nodded to a few of the males that patrolled the grounds and waved nine-year-old Zavier, his son, out onto the lawn from his safe spot near the back porch. Mikko Wayne’s son, Trent, also stepped away from the porch, his odd-colored eyes glancing around for signs of danger.
Omar stood to the side and motioned the boys to start hand-to-hand combat drills.
At eighteen
, Trent had
yet to shift to his Lycan form. To most Lycans he was nothing more than a kid—in age at least, but no one would think that too long when they saw him on the battlefield. Zavier was sheltered in comparison to Trent, but he liked to learn to fight, having spent much of his life watching both of his parents go off on Rocky missions, only to return home with new scars and covered in a litany of bruises.
Trent stretched and started to play with his knife when Omar stepped in to make some improvements in Z’s stance. A soft click, almost inaudible against the breeze that kicked up fall leaves around them, perked Trent and Omar’s hearing.
With a hand signal, Omar sent Z running for the rear door just as the first shot fired, catching Omar in his thigh. He tried to motion Trent into the house as well, but the Rocky-in-waiting wasn’t interested.
Trent took a circuitous route towards the location of the shots by using the trees as cover just as a louder shot had him ducking to the ground. Everyone turned toward the top story of the compound before heading back toward the rear of the house.
Anise fired another shot, hitting a target which rolled from its hidden location among the tree line.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” she yelled down to them. “Get your asses in the house.”
Once inside, his wound was assessed. The wound was a clean shot—a through and through—he would be fine, which he knew. However, his wife, mate, and Nabila of the pride refused to allow him to return outside with other members of his guard to inspect how much their security had been compromised.
“To hell with the compromised area, Omar, that’s why we have the guards. You’re injured. Until you are a hundred percent, you aren’t fit for the field. You know that. And you,” she swung her attention to Trent, “you are not allowed back out there until we give the all-clear. Understand?”
The kid glowered at her. “I am not some cub in need of protection.”
“First, we live to be over four hundred,” she said with a huff. “To humans, you’re not a child, but to us, you’re still a baby. Second, I value my ass, and if you get taken out by a high-powered rifle simply because I’m too scared to hog tie you, Mikko will kill me. Slowly. I like you, Trent, but I’m not dying a stupid death for you.”
With that she waddled off, Omar grinning after his wife’s heavily pregnant form.
“How do you deal with that?”
He frowned up at Trent. “Deal with what?”
“Her bossing you around.”
“My wife does not order me to do things without cause. You’ll understand when you have your own mate to fuss over your safety.”
“Don’t wish that on me.”
Omar snorted. “It’s not the worst thing in the world to be loved by the one woman meant for your soul, Trent.”
“That’s true. The worst would be to find her and lose her. I would rather not know that kind of love than risk the loss of it.”
“If that’s how you feel, I pity you. Anise is the best and worst thing to happen to me. She is my strength and weakness. She is my everything. Being consumed by her existence is all I’ve ever needed.” He shook his head. “It may sound tragic to you to have so much wrapped up in the existence of another, but for me, there is nothing better.”
Anise, having been paying attention via their mental connection, laughed, the mental sound ringing in his head.
“I love you, too, Tor.”
TY
SON INHALED
the humid
midafternoon air. The female was nearby, and she was fertile. Really fucking fertile. The kind of fertile that culminated in parenthood, which was a complication that he wanted no part of.
Still her scent…
He ran his hands over his unshaven jaw, catching a glimpse of his dirt covered hands and his Rocky tattooed forearm in his periphery. Every inch of him was covered in dirt, making him even less appealing, which worked in his favor. Last thing he was interested in was being presentable in a way that would make a female swoon over him.
He’d already had the misfortune of a female entering and leaving his life just as quickly. Still her fleeting presence had left enough of a mark on him that he didn’t need or desire another female.
Still this female’s scent permeated his senses, calling to him on a biological level to fill her with his seed. Not a chance in hell.
He stomped in the direction of the female’s scent in an effort to ensure she heard him coming.
“What are you doing on my land, female?”
As a Rocky, Tyson had been through torture most couldn’t begin to comprehend. He’d been broken, his mind fucked in ways many never recovered from. He still had scar tissue. There wasn’t a Rocky alive who wasn’t scarred in one way or another. It’s what made them smile when situations went from bad to critical. Critical was when the real fun started.
What being a Rocky had never prepared him for was the broken look in the eyes of a ravaged female in the middle of her Rut. Her clothes were tattered, her hair disheveled and filled with sticks and bits of leaves. To make matters worse, she looked a touch underfed.
Fuck.
Tyson took two hurried steps in her direction, but stopped short when she whimpered and curled away from him.
“Female, I offer you no harm. If you come with me, I can offer you a safe place until your Rut passes. I will not touch you. I swear on my honor as a Rocky.”
For what honor he still had. To most, he was a shitty excuse of a Rocky and not much in the way of a Lycan; still he didn’t have much else to bank on. The Order hadn’t killed him yet, so he took it his word should still be good enough.
The female raked her widened eyes over him for the third time before she summoned enough courage to speak.
“You’re a Rocky?”
“Yes. This is my land. I am Asim Tyson. You are?”
He showed her the tattooed emblem of the Rockys on his forearm and watched the tension she’d been carrying in her shoulders dissipate somewhat. But not entirely. To Tyson, relaxing was the worst thing she could have done. The heady scent of her Rut slammed into him, drawing him further into the same wanton cave she was in. He saw her lips move and struggled to focus.
“Harmony. I am Harmony, Asim.”
He nodded, his focus drawing on the tension still lingering in the corners of her eyes as she raked him over. The way she said his formal title wasn’t entirely friendly. He focused on her name. Harmony… An ordinary name, not that he could remember knowing anyone by that name. He shrugged to himself and tried to ignore the way her body called to him and the desire she stroked in him. He wanted it all gone: her tempting scent, the gentle pucker of her soft pink lips when she spoke, and her disheveled appearance that begged him to save her.
“Asim Tyson—”
“Just Tyson.”
“Oh. Okay… Tyson. Thank you. We need your help.”
“We? Who is we?” he asked with a slight growl.
Being a hero—even if he was the Defender to all Hafiz—never appealed to him. After the unexpected death of the last Defender, the strongest in the Hafiz Nation gathered voted to give him the title because he was the meanest and strongest among them, but being a leader and savior never appealed to him.
“My sisters. They have us in cages.”
A murderous dread settled in the pit of his stomach. The empty-eyed killer who had no use for the righteous path of the Doctrine came to the forefront of his mind.
“Who has you in cages?” His words were a barely more than a growl, and she flinched farther away from him.
“I don’t know… They have us. They took us from our brother.”
“Where is your brother?”
“I don’t know,” she said, hanging her head. “I fear he might be…”
“Don’t,” he said, motioning her to follow him. “Come with me. We can do this in a safer location.”
For Lycans—or any that truly followed the ways of Gardas—hope was something you didn’t lose. One should remain vigilant until there was no doubt left to embrace that the worse had come to be. Until then, those embracing the Gardinian way hoped with reckless abandon.
He heard her rise from the forest floor, but her steps never began. He glanced back to find her staring at him with a look that bordered on terrified.
“Do this?” she asked.
Tyson frowned before understanding dawned on him. “Finish this conversation. I have no desire for you, female.” He cursed internally when she started looking down at herself as if she doubted her goddess-given beauty. “Come, Harmony. I’ll feed you.” He paused, hoping he had something to feed her before he motioned her to follow him. “We can decide what we can do about your sisters after you eat.”
She nodded and pulled at the clothes she wore. They were little more than rags, but he could still see that she was attractive. Not that being good-looking was anything new among Lycans. All Lycans possessed gods-given beauty to the point that it wasn’t even something most Lycans paid heed to.
He stopped at the door of his three bedroom cabin and motioned her inside.
“The bathroom is down the hall on the right. First door on the left. There should be fresh towels in there. I’ll look for something of mine you can wear.”
Her five foot frame was tiny next to his six foot height. He dug in his drawers and found a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants she could cinch to her malnourished waist. His steps faltered when he found her outside of the bathroom, her shoulders hunched with tears streaming down her face. She quickly wiped them away and pretended to smile.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head as if to ward of his concern. “Nothing, Asim. I’m okay.”
Instead of dealing with the issues of a female on the verge of becoming completely unhinged, Tyson simply nodded and handed her the clothes. “Go ahead and shower. I will be down the hall in the kitchen.”
He left her alone and began rifling through his cabinets to find something suitable for her to eat. Unfortunately, he hadn’t spent too much time in the cabin lately. The cabinets only had the barest of necessities. Canned goods of varying bean varieties and a few cans of tuna. If it had been just him, he would have made the provisions work, but the female was already hungry. No need to turn her stomach with his meager offerings.
Fuck.
He turned around to find her standing in the kitchen wearing only his shirt. Her scent, stronger now that the dirt of the forest had been washed from her skin, clawed its way down his throat. He hadn’t been prepared for the desperate desire that the Rut cultivated in him.
With two unplanned steps, he was in front of her, fisting the hem of the shirt. Her squawk of surprise froze him, reminded him that he swore he wouldn’t touch her, that he didn’t
want
to touch her.
“I’m sorry, Harmony.” He shook his head and stepped to the other side of the room with his back to her. “Where are the pants I gave you?”
“I couldn’t get them tight enough. I tried. I’m sorry, Asim.”
“Call me Tyson.” He sighed and turned to face her again. “I have to call someone to come out here. She will be able to bring some clothes for you. As for food, well, I just arrived here today. I’ve been… away. I have some stuff here, but I can’t say you’d be too glad to eat it.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
“You need to eat.”
She gripped her stomach. “Please don’t make me…”
He narrowed his eyes at the way she held onto herself, but eventually conceded.
“Only if you drink some water. There are some cold bottles in the fridge, but I think you should drink the room temp ones in the cabinet left of the stove.”
She agreed and practically ran to the cabinet. Her grateful acceptance of the bottled water—and the odd way she seemed to listen to the seal cracking on the lid—solidified the vow he made to himself. He was going to be a villain for this female. Whoever had made her fearful of food, whoever had caged her and her sisters like animals would pay with the same kindness they showed to the females who were obviously not strong enough to ward off their captors.
* * *
As
im Tyson was a fierce male. He said she had nothing to fear from him—or at least that he would offer her no harm, but the look of abject hatred on his features contradicted every good guy vibe he was trying to get her to believe. Not that she did.
Harmony had heard of Asim Tyson long before her First Shift. Tyson was a male to be feared. If there was a kind bone in his body, the Rocky hid it well, because his reputation said he killed for minor offenses and maimed for inconveniences. She wondered where she stood on his scale of vengeance.
He leveled a deadly stare in her direction, but she’d gone through too much to simply die by the hand of someone who was supposed to defend those like her.
“Thank you, Tyson,” she said after taking a long drink from her water. “Is there anywhere I can…”
His expression suddenly shifted, his eyes displaying a marriage of lust and banked interest. He was being lured by her Rut. She knew that, but still she wondered what it would be like to have his attention focus on her purely from possessiveness.
He shook his head, and his gaze became impassive. “Unfortunately, my spare bedrooms are not furnished. My bedroom is the only place with a bed. The sofa pulls out, so I can sleep there tonight.”
“Thank you, but I will take the sofa. You should—”
“No,” he said.
The word was a solitary command, and she could only nod her agreement.
“I’m going to take a shower and call in someone. Hopefully, she can be here by tonight.”
He didn’t need to say that he’d end up breaking his word to her and screwing her in every way her sex-craved body wanted if they didn’t get someone else here. If the repeated appearance of longing in Tyson’s eyes was any indication, they needed the buffer sooner rather than later.
She wandered into the living room and reclined on the sofa. Tucking her legs under her, Harmony tried to focus on anything besides the steady thrumming of desire low in her stomach.
Immediately, her mind went to her sisters and all they must be enduring in her absence. She couldn’t bring herself to focus too much on their likely punishment. It would only drive her to do something stupid like try and return. Still she couldn’t silence the knowledge that their captors were likely…
Harmony forced the thought out of her mind. She would not think too much on things she couldn’t change, on things that would only stir the guilt she felt at leaving them behind with males content to make sport out of them.
A quick look around the cabin told her she wouldn’t find any distractions beyond her thoughts. If he had a TV, he kept it hidden. No books lined the built in bookshelf, which made Tyson seem even more like his meathead reputation.
A sigh escaped her when her thoughts derailed to the carved body she knew was hidden under his loose fitting shirt. The male was covered in rippling muscle—a temptation she wanted every part of just as her soul needed every part of him.
Harmony scissored her legs, which only made her desire worse. Her thoughts continued down the its horny path, seeing in her mind’s eye Tyson’s short black hair drenched as the rivets of water that flowed down his muscular body.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped at the sound of his gruff voice.
He hadn’t bothered to shave, but his skin was free of the grime he’d been sporting earlier. He pulled on a shirt to cover his wide chest, and she struggled—and failed—to cover a whimper. She wanted him badly, and by the look in his deep green eyes, he wasn’t going to be an easy male to convince to her way of thinking.
“Harmony, what are you doing here in the dark?”
“Um…” Her mind hemorrhaged, struggling to come up with a coherent thought that wouldn’t immediately get him to walk away from her.
Tyson walked to one of the far walls and pushed a set of buttons which bathed the room in a soft glow of golden light. A TV rose from a stand in the middle of the room. She’d thought the thing was a chest.
“Do you have cable?”
“Satellite. I may not stay here much, but I’m not completely disconnected.” He handed her the remote. “A colleague of mine will be here later tonight. She has to find someone to take care of her kid.”
“Oh. Can’t she bring him?”
“It’s a her and no. I don’t like kids. And I really have no use for their screaming in my personal space.”
Harmony tried to keep the sadness from her face, but his frown indicated he caught it.
“Why are you bothered by that?”
“I’m not. It’s just weird I guess.”
Tyson leaned against his empty bookshelf and studied her for a few silent moments.
“Has anyone told you anything about Rockys?” He continued after she nodded. “Obviously, they didn’t tell you much. Or at least the right thing.”
“And what is the right thing?”
“We live the Holy Cannons more than anyone; therefore, we hate to be lied to. And you, Harmony, are lying to me.”
She fumbled for an answer, but a knock on the door saved her from having to reply.
He pushed away from the wall as he leveled an irritated glare at the front door. He stopped next to the sofa, inhaled, and leaned down to her.
“Go quietly to the bathroom. I don’t know who this is. The bathroom has no windows so they can’t get in there. There is a gun under the sink in case anyone gets past me.” He pulled her from the sofa and escorted her to the bathroom she’d used earlier.
She closed and locked the door before crouching near the sink. Her eyes landed on the gun, but she left it in its hiding spot. Panicked thoughts assaulted her as she heard the front door crack open.