Predator's Claim (7 page)

“That’s so easy for you to say. You never had to struggle.”

Bart flinched, as if he’d slapped him. “You know nothing about my struggles.”

“I just need a little bit to tide me over.”

“I said no. You can’t go around accepting handouts all your life. I thought Fletcher was teaching you how to manage your finances.”

Flynn scowled. “He is, but I made some bad investments.”

“Or spent it all at the track?”

It was Flynn’s turn to look as if he’d been hit. He shouted, “None of your damn business! You just think you’re better than me because you’re the son of an Alpha. Well, my dad would have been twice the Alpha your dad was. And I would be twice the Alpha you are.”

Whoa
. Conversation all over the pub halted. Charlotte watched as all heads turned toward the feuding cousins.

Bart’s upper lip took on a dangerous curl. “That sounded strangely like a threat, cuz.”

Flynn let out a laugh laced with strange malignance, and Charlotte swore she glimpsed his wolf, its tail upright, its teeth bared. She almost heard a growl in Flynn’s laughter. But as soon as he spied the threat in Bart’s eyes, Flynn made his excuses and tore away out of the pub.

His brother Fletcher approached, his head lower than it had been all night, but still nowhere near offering the respect he should. “Ignore him, Bart. He’s had too much to drink tonight.”

“And you?” Bart asked in a quiet voice. “Is that your excuse, too?”

Fletcher reddened. “I’m sorry, but I have to be honest. I’m not sure I’m ready to call you Alpha, Bart.”

The two wolf men stared each other down, and Charlotte couldn’t tell what sorts of emotions sizzled between them but knew they were verging on the volatile. Fletcher’s eyes grew narrower by the second and Bart clenched his fists, as if ready for a fight. Luckily, Fletcher hurried off, no doubt to chase down his inebriated brother.

Charlotte hurried to Bart’s side, noting how surprisingly white his face had become. “Hey, are you okay?”

Lost in thought for a moment, Bart didn’t respond, but he finally acknowledged her with a nod. “Sure.”

The downward slope of his normally bright eyes told her he hurt. And for some reason, the vibes rolling off him seemed amplified and distorted by the time they got to her. Her skin itched. The nerves in her neck pinched. Her tongue tasted like sulfur. His pain seemed to do terrible things to her, made her want to reach for an Alka-Seltzer.

“You would have been within your rights to
discipline
them, you know.” She twitched her lips up in an encouraging grin, trying to alleviate the shocking tension in the air.

His eyes warmed and the color returned to his face as he grinned back at her. “Funny.” He considered Fletcher’s retreating form. “No, I’m going to bide my time. Even though my cousins can be asses, I feel sort of sorry for them.”

His mom sidled over and gripped his arm. “You have no reason to feel bad about how those boys turned out. When your uncle died, your father and I took them under our wing and made sure they wanted for nothing. They were given all the advantages we gave to you, Nate, and Lena. Bart, don’t you dare feel sorry for them.”

He gazed at his mother. “You’re right.” He leaned over, ruffled her hair, and kissed her. With an air of unease, like someone who hated making speeches, he then offered the assembled pack members an awkward smile. “Everyone, please have fun. Forget this ever happened. Let’s go back to eating and drinking.”

There were a few “hear, hears” and the other pack members returned to their cocktails and conversation. Bart frowned at her, as a nagging sense of unease sprouted inside her like a fungus. She hated that his new role already proved trying, and found she was already envisioning ways to make it feel better for him.

Because clearly she’d evolved into a glutton for punishment, and she seemed to be in the mood for a whole lot of gluttony.

*

Bart tried to clear his head of familial crap and returned his attentions to Charlotte. She frowned at the floor, deep in thought. He tugged at her shirt sleeve, smiling. “Hey, sorry you had to see my family at its worst. You should see us at weddings and funerals.”

She looked up and took a dainty sip from her beer, leaving a sweet film on her luscious lips. He swallowed and forced his gaze back to her eyes.

“What’s up with your douchebag cousins anyway?”

“How long you got, Charles?”

She laughed out loud, breaking some of the tension. “You know, strangely enough, Charles is growing on me. Just please don’t call me Charlie like Flynn did.” She punched him playfully in the arm and he let her, relishing any kind of physical contact with her. “Well, as it happens, I have time, so spill.”

He nodded and led her away. Grabbing another beer from the bar on their way out, Bart pulled her into the hallway leading to the coatroom. It was quiet there, and they could talk without a pack member squirreling him away to give opinions on how Bart should lead. He leaned against one wall, took a long drink from his bottle, and set the bottle on the ground. She did the same with hers. For a moment, he just crossed his arms and looked at her.

To mimic him, she crossed her arms and stared at him, with a faux-intense look on her face.

“You do need discipline, you know that?” he threatened, suddenly more than willing to dole it out.

Her pale eyes grew impossibly dark in the coatroom, so dark he could swear someone had snuck in behind them and dimmed the lights. The aura around her changed, and he caught a whiff of delectable female perfume. Was it desire? He wanted to fall to his knees, bury his face in her crotch and find out for sure.

“Your cousins?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“Right.” He shook off the fierce need to mount her. “It’s been years since my Uncle Mark died. He was Flynn and Fletcher’s father, and my dad’s younger brother. Flynn’s never gotten over it and has always sort of blamed my dad for his death.”

“That’s shitty.”

“Well, my dad was there, you see. It happened when my cousins were in their teens. Dad and Uncle Mark went out for a run in the woods. They used to love running together.” He grinned, remembering how much pleasure his father got out of shifting and racing with his brother in wolf form. “Anyway, they explored a piece of forest on an escarpment, an area neither knew very well. It was an adventure for them. Dad says they picked up the pace and began to race with one another through the trees. Without realizing, they headed toward the edge of the escarpment. Uncle Mark misjudged his steps and ran off the cliff. He died instantly.”

She stepped closer to him, holding out one hand. “Oh, Bartholomew. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it, getting a rush from contact with her soft skin. “Anyway, even though it was an accident, Flynn has never hidden the fact that he resents the rest of us. I see it in Fletcher sometimes too. Even though my parents took those boys in and treated them like sons, Flynn has exploited my father’s guilt for years, asking for money and privileges. It’s pathetic.”

“Does Fletcher do the same?”

“Nah. He’s usually the more reasonable brother, keeps to himself a lot. The only time Fletcher ever flew off the handle was shortly after his dad died. He raided my dad’s liquor cabinet one night. I came home from a school football practice and found him wobbling in the backyard. I offered to sober him up and he took offense.” He pointed to his facial scar and felt it twitch.

“He did that to you?” she whispered. “How come it didn’t heal? Shifters almost always heal from their wounds.”

“Even though I’m a bit older than Fletcher, his wolf made an appearance before mine ever did. When he lost it during that argument, he changed into his wolf, and I was stuck as a human kid. Maybe the scar never quite went away because I hadn’t assumed my wolf abilities yet. And then again, maybe I’m just meant to have a scar.”

She frowned at the old wound’s craggy lines. “I hope you eventually kicked his ass.”

He grinned. “More or less. Anyway, Fletcher’s all right. He keeps busy with his work, so we don’t see him much. I know he does all he can to rein Flynn’s moods in. Even does his best to help his brother with his money situation—no mean feat.”

“I know it’s not my business, but why is Flynn’s financial situation so bad?”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, he managed to get a few women pregnant. As I see it, wolf males have a responsibility to protect the women they sleep with. Because condoms don’t have an effect on us, we need to be careful. I guess Flynn doesn’t quite see it that way, but he likes to play the martyr, like he’s the injured party.” He considered all the glares and bitter comments he’d received over the years. “And he’s always resented me. I suppose a rivalry sprung up between us all when we were kids, and sometimes I don’t think my cousins have let it go. They both manage to create their fair share of drama in the pack.”

“And the Alpha is left picking up the pieces.” She gazed at him, understanding so clear in her bright eyes.

“Precisely. Another reason I never wanted this Alpha job. I’d rather not have to corral my cousins.”

Her gaze dropped, and she seemed concentrated on following the line of his jaw. She moved even closer, her granny boots almost touching his Kodiaks. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Bart. You’ll make a great Alpha.” Half her mouth curled in a naughty smile. “You already love shouting at people.”

“Is that right?” He looked down at their linked hands and wondered why little Charles hadn’t pulled away yet. If he didn’t know any better…

His wolf bounced inside his soul, and his heart reverberated on impact. This was the woman who’d driven him around the sexual bend for years, flirting with every man but him, and now she seemed determined to stroke the hell out of his hand. With every seductive glide of her fingers, his cock raged harder in his jeans. Surely she could tell.

It would be so easy to kiss her right now, to pull her into his greedy embrace and not let her go until he’d loved her thoroughly and repeatedly. If she’d offered herself to him a year ago, even a month ago, he would have jumped at the chance to tear her clothes off.

But now his sense of responsibility flared and he wanted her to realize she meant more to him than a quick fuck against a wall. Damn, when had his crappy sense of honor kicked in? Was it when his father put the bloody crown on his head?

She moved even closer and he felt entranced by the gentle swish of her hips. Her granny boots wedged in between his boots.

“Bart,” she said, her voice a strained whisper. “Please.”

Please
.

Hearing her beg was all it took to shatter his sense of propriety. As strange waves of sound, echoes of her fervent plea, hammered in his brain, Bart turned Charlotte and pinned her to the wall. Their bodies made hot contact as he gripped her shoulders, her thighs grazing his. Her arms circled around his waist in a possessive clutch. Her lips opened and her sweet breath fanned over him, heating him to his extremities.

He’d wanted this for so long.

Agonized by long-withheld need, he cupped her face. Thumbing her bottom lip, he pressed it open and kissed her. Her unique taste infiltrated his mouth as he brushed his lips against hers. So tasty, and he knew it had nothing to do with booze or lip gloss. It was her taste, all Charlotte.

And he wanted more.

He angled his head, knocking her nose in an attempt to drink her in. He slid his tongue against her closed teeth and felt her open.

Total euphoria. Charlotte opening to him proved the greatest triumph of his life. He could run a marathon, get a job with the FBI, or score tickets to Bruce Springsteen’s farewell concert, and none of those things would measure up against her kiss.

The sinful slide of tongue against tongue, satiny surrender, made his knees buckle. Bart leaned into her and moaned upon feeling the crush of her ample breasts against his chest. Even under their layers of clothing, he felt her nipples pebble and smelled the wet desire between her legs. Charlotte scratched her nails down his back, and he yearned to rip away their clothes and have her rake his skin properly. In a way that would leave sexy trails down his back.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to bite and mark a woman. And all because of one kiss.

Her tongue flicked softly at his and he sucked at it, drawing it into his mouth, his hunger in no way appeased.
More, more
, cried his spirit animal.

And just as he was about to move his hand to her breast, she pulled away. She touched her mouth and gazed at him in horror, her eyes wide and wild.

“Charlotte?”

She yanked herself out of his grasp. “I have to go.” With that, she tried to escape down the hallway.

Oh no, you don’t
. He grabbed her hand. “What’s wrong?”

She stared at him and blinked water out of her eyes. In the time it took for her to compose herself, her gaze grew cold and unfeeling. “Nothing. This was a mistake. Enjoy the reunion, Bartholomew.”

And this time, as she ran away, he could only watch her in dreadful wonder, as if his feet were glued to the floor.

Chapter 5

The next morning, Charlotte pushed her cleaning cart around the lodge, losing herself in the busy crush of visitors as they headed down for breakfast in the various restaurants. She smiled and nodded at the guests, all shifters like herself, and did her best to ensure no one saw how frazzled she felt inside.

It shouldn’t be hard. She’d banished emotion from her life at the age of sixteen and had grown used to feeling like a blank slate.

And yet she’d begged him to kiss her. Un-fucking-believable. She needed her head examined.

But it had been good. Off the charts good. Wet dream good. God only knew she’d woken up hot and sticky, fresh from raunchy, nocturnal images of him.

Growling, she shoved her cart into an open suite and began to clean the area. It wasn’t long before her mind drifted away from rearranging bed pillows to the velvety persuasion of Bart’s tongue. She knew wolves had good tongues. After all, even in the wild, a wolf’s long tongue was used for lapping up water with an efficient flair. Nevertheless, she’d never kissed a wolf man who knew how to use his tongue quite like Bart did. He didn’t slobber all over her, but teased and coerced her, which had resulted in the floodgates opening between her legs. Even now, just remembering, moisture seeped between her folds and into her thong. “Oh, Jesus-fuck-me-Murphy.”