High Card: A Billionaire Shifter Novel (Lions of Las Vegas Book 1) (19 page)

She was so beautiful it stole my breath.

I walked to here then, silently, my feet shifting to pads and my claws and fangs emerging. I leaned over Summer while she slept. A half-man half-lion. A monster. I leaned down until my nose brushed Summer’s tender neck, right over her jugular. Scented the blood running warm through her veins. And that’s when I knew.
 

I’d found my lifemate.

Only it was impossible.
 

Wildbloods can fuck humans, but they can’t
mate
with them. No human has ever born a Wildblood child. But that truth felt empty, meaningless compared to the primal instinct surging through my animal when he scented his lifemate’s blood.
 

My lion knew who Summer is.
 

He knew the truth, even before I did.

I stood hovering over her sleeping body, thinking about how she killed the wildwolves. That sound she made. How she entered the wildwolves’ minds.
 

I don’t think she’s a Wildblood.
 

But I don’t think she’s entirely human, either.

Now, staring at my clenched fists, feeling this newfound power surge through me, there’s no doubt in my mind that I will become lion pride alpha after challenging Trent Thorsa.

Thorsa will kneel.
 

Or I’ll tear out his throat.

No mercy. No second chances.
 

But even now, so early into this new strength, I feel my lion demanding more.
 

He doesn’t want to stop at lion pride alpha. He wants to rule as alpha over the entire Wildblood species. Lions and bears and cougars and snakes and hawks. All the apex predators. It’s been several generations since an alpha powerful enough to rule the united species has emerged. Now we have the Council, a committee of wannabe’s and tired has-beens who rule by making us fear what we truly are.

Animals. Hunters. Killers.
 

There’s a change in the air.
 

My blood pounds electric.
 

And judging by the way both Blake and Rachael are staring at me, they sense the new strength in me as well. “Do you believe me now?” I say, my voice a throaty rumble as my claws and fangs emerge and fine blonde hair sprouts along my arms. I reach out, dig a claw into the mahogany and drag it through the hardwood table.
 

“Cage him, Landon,” Blake stammers. “You already lost control once. It’s too dangerous—”

There’s a look I’m not used to seeing in my older brother’s eyes.
 

Fear. Even…respect.
 

“If you lose control of him here—”

“I’m finished fearing what I am,” I say, allowing still more of my animal free. My shoulders swell against my suit. “Finished pretending to be something I’m not. I’m a
Wildblood
. A born animal. What are you, my dear brother?”

Blake casts a glance at Rachael, and suddenly a wave of profound loathing washes over me. I have to choke back the urge to murder them both. I don’t trust them. Either of them. I know someone’s conspiring against my interests. I don’t know who yet. Maybe they both are. But when I find out—

“I’m a Wildblood,” Blake says, very quietly.
 

“In name only.”

Blake’s eyes flash.
 

His animal’s ire is up.

Good. Anger I understand. Rage I understand.
 

But the lying and backstabbing and scheming?
 

No. I’ll never understand that.

Then I think of Summer. If she has awakened this power in me, and she is truly my lifemate…she’s a target. If anyone finds out she holds the key to my power…they’ll kill her without a second thought. Blake. Don Abatelli. Trent Thorsa. All of them.

Suddenly I’m worried about her. I glance at my watch, about to make a show of excusing myself so I can try and contact her. Shit! What an idiot I’ve been. Sending her to try and extract information from Vito Abatelli?

She’s in danger.

I want her by my side. Close. So I can protect her.

But how? She’s a grifter. A thief.
 

No one in my circle of influence can see us together.
 

Reluctantly, I force my mind away from thoughts of Summer. She’s a capable woman. She’s survived in this town her entire life. After I defeat Thorsa and am declared alpha I’ll be able to do whatever I damned well choose.

What I choose is her. Summer Mason. I’m going to claim a human girl as my mate. And if the Wildblood’s don’t like it? Fuck ‘em.
 

I’m finished living my life by other people’s rules.
 

I look in my older sister’s eyes. I’m not a man to make empty gestures. She knows I’ve already made up my mind about challenging Thorsa.
 

“When?” Rachael says.

“Issue the challenge to Thorsa today. I’ll speak to mother. The Council will bicker and wrangle over it for a while. It’ll take a few days to be accepted unanimously.”

“Samuel will decide the location of the death match,” Rachael says. “And who judges.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Blake says. “You know that? Fucking nuts. All I can say is…I want to see a copy of the will you leave behind.”

I turn to face him. “I’ll need a bearer.”

“Ask someone else.”

“Your the oldest. The strongest after me.”

The bearer is responsible for carrying the deceased’s body to the family burial ground. He or she is also traditionally the Wildblood expected to assume leadership of the pride or pack. But the honor comes with a price: Trent Thorsa will be furious at my challenge. He might just decide to wipe out any future threat to his rule. If that’s the case, he’ll murder the bearer in the ring.
 

I’m putting the lives of my entire pride at risk.

That’s why Blake’s hesitating. Part of him wants to refuse to act as my bearer, vanish for few weeks until this shit works itself out, then sneak in to assert his claim to leader of the pride.
 

Sneaky chickenshit bastard.

Blake must see the look of scorn in my eyes, because he stands, leans against his chair and cracks his knuckles. He’s built long and lean, but I know from experience he’s a lot stronger than he looks. “Sure. You want to get yourself killed? I’ll be your bearer. Funny, though. I always thought it would be me going out like this.”

“Me too. Rachael? Anything else?”

“What about Cole and Elliot?”

“Cole won’t be a problem,” I say. “As for Elliot? He’ll go along with what the rest of us decide. The trippy-dippy hippie always does.”

“MARY!” VITO ABATELLI yells across the roof-top pool at the Bellagio VIP lounge.
 

I cringe inwardly. I hate the nickname.
 

It came from Vito calling me ‘Mer’ one night when we were partying and he was too fucked up to actually pronounce both syllables of my name. Eventually ‘Mer’ became ‘Mary’ in that odd morphing way of all nicknames.
 

Fortunately the name hasn’t stuck.
 

Most people still call me Summer.
 

Or Miss Palmer, if you’re down with the grifter crowd.
 

Vito’s wearing striped shorts and nothing else but thick chains of gold bling and a pair of gold-plated mirrored Ray-Bans. His wavy jet-black hair is slicked back. He’s ripped and super tanned, which isn’t surprising for a guy who does nothing but alternate between the pool and the gym.
 

There was a time, feels like forever ago now, when I actually thought Vito and me might be a thing. At least I tricked myself into hoping the sex might lead to something real.
 

But with a guy like Vito, sex
is
the thing.

There’s nothing else. Absolutely nothing.
 

That’s all right if it’s what I need.
 

But now?

After what happened between me and Landon?

I’m realizing I need much more.
Deserve
more, even.

That’s a huge change for me. Feeling like I actually deserve something in life besides the occasional fuck and the occasional casino score and another day lived outside of jail, which is where I assumed my life would always end: staring out from the wrong side of a cell. Thinking about the life I might have had,
if only
—

Lead a life like mine and the
if only’s
can drive you mad.

But now?

I want more. Ready to admit I deserve more.

Desire can be dangerous. That…aspiration to become something else.

Trying to move beyond station, they would’ve said in the colonial era.
 

Getting too big for your britches.

Striving. Hustling. Making a go of it.
 

Lots of ways to describe the same thing: rising out of the shit the world’s dumped you in. Cuz here’s the thing, in this town, someone’s gotta fall for someone else to rise. So when people sense the desire to rise in you, they get their hate on. Start looking for ways to drag you down to their level.

That’s been my experience, anyway.
 

The dream of becoming something you’re not. Or of transforming yourself into something different. For some reason that dream pisses people off. It’s like they know you as a certain person, and they expect you to keep on being that same person, static and unchanging, forever.
 

Fuck that.
 

I
know
what I am.
 

A woman on the up-and-up. On the rise.

They’ll step to me now. The haters. Try and stop me.
 

I’ll lose old friends and make new enemies.

Bring it.
 

These things gather a certain momentum.
 

You need to take advantage of that.
 

Life only gives you one shot.

If you’re lucky.

The hundred grand in cash weighing down my backpack tells me I’ve been
real
lucky. The trick now is to roll with that luck. Ride it out. Don’t get all jittery and nervous and start over-thinking shit. Landon Stone has already been the biggest score of my life. There’s another three hundred g’s waiting for me if I can con this spoiled mafia mama’s-boy into telling me what his uncle’s plans for Savannah’s Casino are.
 

But I gotta remember what I am to Vito.

I’m nothing. A whore.
 

A chick with a dangerous habit of thieving from casinos.

A chick who’s gunna get herself killed.
 

Not a woman with a fistful of cash, a gun…and a desire.

So I flash Vito a welcoming smile, wave, then bounce—yes,
bounce
—around the pool toward the cabana where Vito and his douchebag posse are hanging out, killing another long Thursday afternoon before they hit the clubs. Vito belongs to a select group of the Las Vegas in crowd. He’s just low enough on his family’s infamous genealogical tree to be worth hanging out with, but not so high up you’re in danger of rubbing shoulders with some of the family’s more notorious associates, guys with nicknames like Vinny Cutter and Ralph the Frankie the Noose.
 

Vito meets me, arms open wide, and I’m treated to a sweat and suntan-oil slick hug that leaves a stain on my bikini. Dude reeks like coconut oil, weed and vodka. He slips his sunglasses off, gives me two pecks on the cheek, then reaches down and grabs my ass and pulls me into him, whispering, “Where you been, girl? You don’t answer my texts anymore?”

Vito’s eyes are diluted and unfocused.

I flash him an apologetic smile. “Studying. Working two jobs—”

Vito’s expression lights up maliciously. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure we’re out of earshot, then says, “I heard about one of your jobs. Sorry about the smack-down. That rich-boy bitch is gunna get his…”

A chill runs through my blood.
 

I swallow, then shrug and say, “Pretty cool play though, huh?”

Vito runs his hand down my ass. “Ballsy. The fucking Savannah at Savannah’s. Saw the security footage. You and the crew were in top form. Unlucky roll is all.”

“Thanks, Vee. I was sure I had that roll.”

Vito gives me a quick nod. He looks about to say something, then seems to think better of it and says, “You look kinda stressed, girl.”

“Parol meeting this morning.”

“Pricks. How’d it go?”

“I’d love to talk about it. Said no one, ever.”

Vito cracks a smile.

I lick my lips. Think about asking him about Jay. But things are moving a bit too quick. So instead I ask for a drink. Vito laughs, his brilliant white teeth shining, and leads me to the private bar behind the poolside cabana.

The sun reflects off the pool’s aqua-blue water and the casino’s speakers are pumping out the latest hip-hop and top forty and there’s laughter and yelling and the sound of glasses tinkling together—and it all feels very familiar in a way that loosens me up, which is good, because the last thing I can afford to be is tense.
 

Vito might not be a genius, but he has his uncle’s nose for bullshit.

I swing my hips and half dance, half walk to the bar, rolling with the music and the chill vibe. I recognize a few faces. Offer a nod here and a hug there. I’m wearing a bikini that’s not very expensive or trendy but it’s serviceable, and I’ve dolled up the look by wrapping a brightly patterned Indian sarong around my waist.