The Lion's Shared Bride (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Soren heard the chirp of a notification on his phone and half-smiled to himself. The particular noise was one he knew well; he hears it a few times a day, ever since he had signed up as a paid subscriber for a matchmaking site. Soren slipped his phone out of his pocket, sat back in his chair and opened up the notification.

He was still somewhat amused at the fact that, in spite of being incredibly wealthy (he was relatively well-to-do as a music producer) but far from the top 10% of the sites paid users, he seemed to be generating a great deal of interest from the site’s creators. He had rejected more profiles than he had expressed an interest in, mainly because he was looking for a very specific type of woman.

Soren’s need was desperate. He chewed his bottom lip in thought as the new profile loaded. For him, it wasn’t a matter of finding a companion for business dinners, or even a convenient wife to show around the country club. He took a deep breath and exhaled, suppressing his impatience as the text populated. If he didn’t find someone soon, there would be a great deal of trouble for him and for the people who depended on him. Earlier in the day, one of the women who owed him allegiance had come to his office.

Anna had sat down carefully, assuming a properly humbled demeanor. “Soren,” she had said, “people are starting to talk.”

“Do any of them want to challenge me? Because I can handle anyone in the Pride, and they all know it.”

Anna had shrugged. “They’re worried. You need a mate. The Pride needs new genes and something has to be done about Aedan. They’re starting to whisper that you’re dragging your feet.”

“Aedan is my problem, not theirs.”

“That doesn’t stop them from worrying about him. A lone male in the Pride is a danger to us all.” Soren had let out a low, throaty warning growl.

Anna had hunched in on herself, her golden-hazel eyes looking up at him with beseeching fear.

“I am trying to find a mate,” Soren had told the woman firmly. “I’m doing everything I can but it’s not like I can just hit a singles bar.”

Anna had shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I heard.” Anna had something of a protected position in the Pride. She was one of the closest-related to him, being a double-cousin, and tended to not only protect him but also to alert him to the real opinions of the group who owed allegiance to him, feelings no one else would state baldly to his face.

Soren was more surprised than anyone when he had beaten the main contender, Jordan, and became Alpha of the pride. Jordan had left the group after his defeat by a man of 30, 15 years his junior, without a mate to speak of. The group of were-lions he had grown up among, that his father had led for his entire life, sometimes made Soren wish he had the ability to just walk away cleanly.

He had taken up the challenge to become the leader, the Alpha of the Pride, because his father had insisted on it but if it weren’t for the sense of responsibility Soren had developed, he would have become a lone male, just like Aedan. Some days, he desperately wished he had gone that route.

After generations of inter-breeding among various other Prides around the world, and among themselves, the lions of Soren’s Pride had started to scrape the bottom of the barrel. Under normal circumstances, it would be easy for Soren to find a mate. All he would have to do would be to contact one of the matchmakers for their kind and provide his specifications, and the matchmaker would scour the pedigrees of the various Prides, doing all of the searching it required for him to find a pool of eligible women to choose from.

But because of the extensive inter-breeding, Soren had been regretfully told by the matchmaker, who had brought his parents together, that there was no one who could safely be available to him. The woman, an old crone of a were-lion, had told him flat out that he would have to find a regular human woman to breed with in order to invigorate the genetics. And, that he would have to force some of the men in his Pride to do the same. But he would have to go first and choose carefully.

The text of the new free subscriber profile finally populated Soren’s phone screen. He scrolled down first to find the picture, knowing he was being shallow, but if he didn’t find her attractive in the first place, it would take much more of a psychological and personal match for her to be worth his while. Soren’s eyes widened as he opened the image and expanded it to fill the screen of his phone. She was short, but not so short that he would worry about her. Contrary to his usual inclination, the first thing that caught Soren’s eye was the sardonic half-smile that curved the woman’s slightly thin lips. Her hair was cut to her shoulders, falling in a pitch-black sheet around her oval face. She had something of mystery that lurked in her dark eyes, a joke he wasn’t privy to.

Scrolling down, Soren licked his lips unconsciously as he took in the lush curves of her body. So many of the other women on the site had been obviously surgically enhanced but the full breasts, neat waist and flared hips of the woman in the picture looked to Soren’s practiced eye to have been nothing more than a genetic gift. He whistled lowly, taking in her strong legs.
Okay then,
he thought, smiling faintly.
First hurdle cleared.
He closed the image and navigated back to the main profile. She was okay with hunting, as long as it was for survival or out of necessity. She had passed his set criteria for intelligence. He scrolled to the biography portion.

Unbidden, Soren laughed out loud as he read her responses. She was clearly on the site as more of a joke than a serious contender for a convenient spouse. The mystery match had answered the question prompts with frank sarcasm and a little contempt.

My deepest apologies to any sixty-plus men looking for a nubile, skinny twenty-something to show off to the boys at the country club…I fully expect that anyone who is on this site looking for a match probably really wants a mostly-brainless blonde or redhead to carry their umpty-million children for them…I guess you could say I’m a difficult woman.

Soren shook his head to himself, smiling more and more broadly as he read her flippant responses. He bit his bottom lip and set the phone down on his cluttered desk, considering.
A difficult woman…
Soren wondered to himself if this particular woman had any idea of just how perfectly that particular phrase would hit him. A difficult woman was exactly what he wanted.

He picked up his phone once more, exiting the app but not closing it. Soren opened up the messaging app and found the thread marked by the name Aedan.
I may have found her.
He sent the text message and shook his head again, re-opening the profile and tapping the icon that would mark it as one he was actually interested in. The notification that popped up somehow seemed to almost express shock that he had actually flagged a profile on the site.
Congratulations! We’re glad you’ve found a match.
The message cleared and then prompted him to send a text message through the app to his potential match. The guidelines outlined at the top of the page were clear: no contact information, just a proposition of where and when to meet. His potential match would be able to respond via text, but their phone numbers would be kept from each other.

If the situation worked out, Soren would pay the site another sum of money (a sort of finder’s fee that he had agreed to when subscribing). It wasn’t huge, certainly not enough to set off his scam alerts when he was agreeing to the terms and conditions, but it was definitely enough to make him wary of picking someone who might play him and then run away, leaving him to find another potential match by sorting through the dozens of profiles that came his way.

Soren’s phone buzzed, notifying him of a new text message.
What’s she like?
Soren licked his lips, smiling to himself. He pulled up the woman’s picture and grabbed a screen shot, and then another shot of one of her particularly flippant responses to the required questions in the biography section. He sent both images to Aedan. A moment later his phone buzzed again.
Promising! Will you be meeting her first?
Soren pressed his lips together. When he had embarked on this particular quest, he hadn’t even been sure he would find a single woman who could possibly be suitable for what he wanted. Therefore, he hadn’t sorted out just how the first meeting would come about.

He shrugged to himself, typing his answer quickly.
Flip a coin for it.

*

Nina fidgeted in her seat, glancing around furtively at the crowds of people walking past the café where she’d been instructed to meet her match. She had had just enough time after work to change her clothes and freshen her makeup. She had been tempted to spritz a little bit of perfume on her wrists and cleavage, but the text message she received specifically requested she not wear any at all, and to wear unscented deodorant.

She’d been shocked to receive a notification at all. She was even more shocked that she received it the morning after signing up for the site. The notification that her profile had been flagged for interest had been accompanied by the first of a series of quick text messages, which nonetheless piqued her interest more than she would have predicted.

So you’re a difficult woman. Congratulations—I happen to be very much in the market for a difficult woman. If you aren’t completely on this site as a joke, I hope you’ll meet me. I’m available any night after 6pm.

Nina had responded that she could meet at seven, and the match had replied with a list of requests and a place to meet.

I’m sure you’re expecting a balding, sixty-year-old guy but I hope you won’t be too depressed at a fairly normal 30-year-old. I promise I can be every bit as boring as you want.

In spite of her jaded attitude toward the site, Nina had to admit that something about the man’s requests—that she wear nothing scented, to not shower immediately before coming to their meeting, and be comfortable with actually eating dinner instead of ordering ‘to fit someone’s expectations,’ intrigued her.

She was surprised also at how nervous she felt. Nina entertained herself with a private theory: her match was probably some deadbeat trust fund kid whose parents wanted him to get married. Maybe he was gay and just couldn’t bear the thought of actually formally dating a woman to satisfy whatever dynastic needs came along with the family name and money. It could actually be interesting to be his “beard” if that were the case.

It would be so much easier if she had a clue what the guy looked like, Nina thought resentfully. He knew what she looked like but she was just supposed to take on faith that the guy knew what he wanted, that the site knew that they would be remotely compatible. She hoped he wasn’t completely unfortunate-looking.

Nina discovered that the notifications she received on her profile worked on a first-come-first-served basis. Unless the man she agreed to meet withdrew his interest, her profile would be hidden from other potential suitors. She was allowed to decline him but only after her first meeting, and at that, she was required to submit a form detailing the reasons why; “In order to improve our match-making algorithm.” Nina knew well enough that it probably wouldn’t be nearly as anonymous as the instructions suggested, and if she rejected the guy out of hand, he would probably have the same opportunity of providing feedback about her. So if she really did want to meet anyone else, she would have to play nice.

Nina saw one of the hostesses for the café where she had agreed to meet her mystery match moving towards her table. She focused on the man behind the hostess and her eyes widened. He would tower over her standing. Nina estimated he was probably just under six feet tall. His hair fell in a dark brown mane to nearly brush his broad, subtly muscled shoulders in messy, loose waves. The man strode forward with confidence, his dark eyes scanning the pre-dinner crowd in front of him. As he came closer, Nina took in the strong features of his face: a sharply defined jaw and high cheekbones were highlighted by three-day stubble, and something about his long, narrow nose and soft eyebrows gave him an almost predatory, feline appearance.

The man’s gaze lit on her and Nina felt herself blushing as a flicker of recognition showed in his eyes. She’d been outright staring at him—but, she told herself firmly, who could blame her? The man making his way to her table was flat-out gorgeous, even if he wasn’t her usual type. Normally, obvious muscles were a strict turnoff for Nina but there was something about the easy confidence that made the rangy, lean look of his muscular body appealing. He didn’t look like a meathead, he looked like a man who simply took pride in how he looked.

The hostess was clearly as dazzled by his charms as Nina was. She fluttered around them as she brought the man to the table, blushing and sidling, simpering and smiling up at him. Nina wondered just what kind of defect the guy had that he was on a matchmaking site, that he had found himself in the position of having to pay to find a wife – for the messages made it clear that a mate was the intended outcome, assuming they were compatible.

Oh God, he’s gay. I’m going to be with an incredibly hot gay guy. Joke’s on me—the first guy who wants to give me the time of day on that damn site just wants an appropriate beard.

The man glanced at the hostess sideways, and Nina almost chuckled at the fleeting look of annoyance that crossed his features. “I think we’ll be fine for the moment, love,” he told her. “And you’re busy and all, you should probably get back to seat someone.” A faint Irish accent rippled through the man’s gravelly baritone voice. Nina suppressed a shiver at the sound of it.