Shifters Unbound: Mate Claimed Part 18

s.h.i.+fter groupies admired and copied all things s.h.i.+fter-many wore fake Collars, and some made up their faces to resemble wildcats or wolves, complete with whiskers and fake ears. The groupies, both male and female, for some reason loved to hang out around s.h.i.+fters, talking to them, having s.e.x with them, or just being near them.

A few groupies had hung around Graham's s.h.i.+ftertown in northern Nevada, but not many. A person had to be dedicated to drive out to the middle of nowhere in hopes of seeing a s.h.i.+fter.

Not many s.h.i.+fters were here tonight, Graham noticed as the bartender shoved a foaming mug of beer at him. They were either still at the fight club, which was having more fights that evening, or back in s.h.i.+ftertown supporting Eric.

That Iona woman was a feisty b.i.t.c.h. Graham had barely contained his amazement when she'd got in his face and told him, basically, to f.u.c.k off.

He had to chuckle, even through his anger. She'd been feeling the female's need to protect her mate, the instinct that overrode every ounce of common sense and turned females into furious b.a.l.l.s of sparking crazy. Eric was going to have his hands full with her.

It was too bad Eric would have to slap a Collar on her. They were obviously pretending Iona was human for now, but word would get out to the humans that an un-Collared s.h.i.+fter was hanging out in s.h.i.+ftertown, and the humans-especially those like that d.i.c.kwad, Kellerman-would be all over her. Eric had better have some kind of plan in place for that.

"You a s.h.i.+fter?" The question jolted Graham out of his thoughts.

A human woman was sitting on the barstool next to him. Her question wasn't eager-she sounded almost bored.

Graham looked her over. The young woman had dark brown hair pulled back into a sleek braid, a s.e.xily plump little body, shown off by a silky, sleeveless dress, and a.s.sessing brown eyes. She studied Graham without fear but without much interest either.

"Yeah, I'm a s.h.i.+fter," Graham said, after looking her over a moment. "You a s.h.i.+fter groupie?"

The woman gave a delicate snort. "Not me. My friends are. They dragged me here tonight. Said it would be fun."

"You're not enjoying yourself?" Graham asked.

"Neither are you. You're as bored as I am. Picking up s.h.i.+fter groupies not your thing?"

"Don't know. Never tried to pick one up before."

Her gaze roved him again. "You okay? You look...beaten up."

"Fight."

"You lost, right?"

Graham started to bristle, but it was hard to work up anger at this little morsel of a female.

He wasn't a good judge of human age, but he put hers about thirty, older than the college kids who flocked here, and old enough to have acquired a cynical outlook on life. She'd already learned that the world wasn't always a happy place.

Graham took a sip of his beer. "Fight was a draw. We were working off steam."

Again the a.s.sessment. "Must have been a lot of steam."

Graham let out a laugh. "Yeah, it was."

"I thought s.h.i.+fters couldn't fight. They have Collars."

"That's true." Graham wasn't about to tell a stranger that he'd learned to fight through the pain-most s.h.i.+fters had. How Eric had learned to suppress his Collar like that, Graham wasn't sure, but he'd find out.

"So how'd you fight tonight?" she asked.

"Carefully."

She laughed, the sound somehow soothing. "I'll bet. I'm Misty, by the way."

"Misty?" Graham stared down at her. "What kind of f.u.c.ked-up human name is that?"

She didn't look offended. "It's what my mother calls me. My real name is Melissa, but I couldn't p.r.o.nounce it when I was little. They tried to call me Missy, but I kept saying Misty. So my mother decided that would be my nickname."

"My name's Graham. Everyone calls me Graham."

She grinned. "So, what kind of f.u.c.ked-up s.h.i.+fter name is that?"

Graham held back a laugh. "It's Scottish. My family comes from Scotland."

"A Scottish s.h.i.+fter? What do you turn into, the Loch Ness monster? Or maybe a sheep?"

Snarky little human female. Graham could take her out with one blow. Then again, her brown eyes were sparkling, her scent was nice, and she was more interesting than anyone else in this place.

"Wolf," Graham said. He bared his teeth. "Big, bad wolf, sweetheart."

"Sure." Misty's gaze moved to his tattoos. "Don't get the idea that I'm going to let you pick me up, Graham. I don't like s.h.i.+fters, and I don't like guys with tatts."

"What's wrong with tatts?" He stretched out his arms, now scratched and bruised, and displayed the tattoos on his muscular forearms. "A true artist made these."

They were flames, red and yellow and orange, outlined in black. The lines were delicate, finely drawn, each flame different from the others. The tatts had taken a long time and much patience from both Graham and the artist.

"Yours are kind of pretty, I admit. But I can't imagine anyone painting on me with needles. It's painful, right?" Misty displayed her bare arms, which were delicate and pale but not too thin. Graham didn't like skinny women.

"Not as painful as a wildcat biting off half your shoulder," he said.

"Is that what happened to you tonight?"

"Yes."

"Ow." Her gaze went to his shoulder under his T-s.h.i.+rt. "You okay?"

Graham stopped. Her voice held concern. She was worried that the fight might have hurt him, that he might even now be sitting here in pain.

No one spoke to Graham McNeil like that; no one had in years. No one asked about his well-being-to ask might force Graham to admit a weakness. A pack leader, clan leader, and s.h.i.+ftertown leader could never show his pain.

He thought about Eric's people closing in around him to help him and take him home. Eric would be no less their leader tomorrow, even though his sister, son, mate-to-be, and even his human in-laws had converged on him to take care of him.

Graham never had been able to risk showing weakness. His wolves didn't so much have his back as were waiting to take him out the first chance they could. He understood-they'd lived on the edge of feral for so long, they didn't know how to behave any other way.

"I'll be all right," he said gruffly.

Misty put her hand on his shoulder, and Graham winced a little. The bite did hurt. Eric had sharp teeth and knew how to use them.

"I hope so," she said.

Her touch, her concern, her voice loosened something inside him. Graham's worry, anger, and frustration didn't go away, but they eased the slightest bit.

Because a human woman had touched him, had spoken to him like she cared.

s.h.i.+t.

Misty glanced behind her and grimaced. "I have to go. It looks like my friends have given this place up as a bust tonight. I guess I'm the only one who got a s.h.i.+fter." She laughed and patted Graham's arm, right on the tattoo. "See you, Graham. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Graham said. He lifted his beer in a silent toast as she slipped off the stool and made her way through the crowd to meet two women wearing fake cat's ears. Misty's legs weren't long, but the mile-high shoes she wore made them strong and s.e.xy.

"Misty," he said, trying out the word. He liked it.

A human. Interesting.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Eric leaned back in his tiled shower, hot water was.h.i.+ng away the blood. He was weak and sick, doubly so because Iona had rejected the mate-claim.

Water cascaded over the deep scratches and gouges in Eric's body, cleansing him, but unable to ease his pain.

He knew why Iona had done what she'd done. Smart move. She'd shut out Graham and made him admit that he didn't want her in the first place-in front of the entire s.h.i.+ftertown. A bold stroke by a female, one that hadn't been done before. Eric was proud of her.

Proud and bereft. Once he got his strength back, though, he'd convince Iona that she needed to stay with him. Eric didn't trust Graham not to find another way to use her, or hurt her, plus the other s.h.i.+fters now knew she was technically free of Eric, making her fair game again.

She couldn't leave. Eric wouldn't let her.

The bathroom door opened, steam swirling like fog in wind. Iona closed the door, undressed, and walked into the shower stall.

Eric remained against the wall, the cool tiles at his back. Iona came against him, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him.

A slow kiss that opened in him all he was trying to shut down. Eric's arms went around her, and he scooped her slick, warm body to his.

He was falling in love with everything about this woman. Her scent, her touch, the way she knew when he needed her. Iona was afraid of being s.h.i.+fter, and of her mating hunger, and of losing the life she'd made for herself. And yet, she'd come to him.

"Better?" she whispered.

For answer, Eric turned around with her and pressed her into the wall. The shower poured over them, soaking Iona's black hair, beading on her skin. Eric licked the water from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, loving how full and round they were, how dark her nipples grew under his touch.

Eric ran his tongue around her breast before drawing the nipple into his mouth. Something eased inside him. She tasted like suns.h.i.+ne.

Iona sucked in a breath, her hands smoothing his wet hair. Eric widened his mouth, wanting more of her, her breast heavy on his tongue. Her body moved, a slow rising to him as he suckled.

He finished feasting on one nipple and took the other, giving it as much attention as the first.

His pain ebbed as he sucked on her. The touch of the mate, Eric had told her. It calms and heals.

Whether she'd rejected the mate-claim or not didn't matter, he told himself. Mate-claims, Challenges, and the rituals to finalize the mating were trappings s.h.i.+fters had invented to keep themselves from going feral.

s.h.i.+fters used rites to formally acknowledge the mating, but a true mate-one who shared the mate bond-was a magical, unexplainable joy. The mate bond sealed mates to each other, ritual or no ritual.

Iona was the mate of his heart. Eric knew it like he knew the sound of his son's voice. Iona knew it too, though she might not admit it.

But her body knew it.

Eric licked the warm s.p.a.ce between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and took kisses down to her navel. He let his tongue play there, enjoying how she jumped with laughter as he tickled her. He got to his knees and kissed the wiry hair between her legs.

The mating hunger in her responded instantly. She was wet there, not just from the shower, the scent of her honey filling Eric's senses.

Eric knew she'd never been with a man-he could smell that. She'd probably been too cautious to take a human to her bed. She wouldn't know how not to reveal the s.h.i.+fter in the wildness of s.e.x.

But Iona's body knew what it wanted. Eric slid his tongue over her c.l.i.t, licking the little berry to life. Iona rose on her tiptoes, moving her hips to press herself to his mouth. She made a noise of pleasure, a woman learning what it was like to have her s.e.xual places touched.

She tasted of salt and musk, and beautiful female. Eric clasped her hips, leaned into her, and drank.

Iona's legs slid apart, wet feet moving to let Eric take more. Eric slid his mouth over her opening and let the goodness of her fill him.

Iona alternately groaned and whimpered, her strong body pressing at him, wanting more. She wanted all of him, he knew, his c.o.c.k filling her up, the s.h.i.+fter female craving the male's seed.

That would come. For now Eric a.s.suaged his weakness by tasting her, letting himself drown in her scent and her heat.

"Eric." Her voice filled the tiny room, echoing from the tiles. Iona s.h.i.+vered, though the hot water coated her skin.

Eric slid his tongue inside her in slow thrusts. He tasted the depths of her, savoring her heat on his tongue. She tasted of nectar and incredible sweetness, smelled glorious.

Iona's fingers bit into his shoulders. When Eric looked up, it was to see her head rocking back, her mouth opening with her cries, the ends of her drenched black hair curling on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

The hair he licked was as black, her petals wet with her honey. Eric drank her, his hands cupping her b.u.t.tocks, and Iona went into shudder after shudder of pleasure.

Eric plied his tongue faster, liking how she responded. She was coming beautifully, her cries blending with the patter of the water. He drank her, lapping her goodness like a greedy thing, then he rose, rinsed his face in the shower's stream, and kissed her.

Iona responded hungrily, tongue tangling his, lips bruising, mouth opening to take him. Her fingers caught on his Collar, and for a moment, she tugged at it, as though desperate to unfuse it from his skin.

Someday.

Iona's roving hands found his erection, which stood out straight and hard from his body. As she had in the back hall of her house, Iona closed her hand around him and began to stroke.

Eric broke the kiss to pull her close. She'd learned well, squeezing and pulling, the crazed ecstasy of it almost unbearable. Eric's hips moved as he thrust into her hand.

"That's it, my Iona," he said softly. "You're beautiful. So beautiful."

Iona sped her strokes, her tongue busy on his chest and neck, her teeth latching onto his throat. Eric would have more love bites for his family to tease him about, not that he minded.

They were locked together, Eric's arms tight around her, Iona in the curve of his body. Eric felt the need for her deep within him, the urge to mate and mate and never stop.