Claiming Their Royal Mate: Part One Read online

  What had he said—full heat? She had no clue what that could be. Was he calling an ambulance? She might be ill. She certainly didn’t feel right, although she didn’t feel sick, either. Could she have been poisoned? The pipes in the apartment building had to be old as dirt, probably filled with lead. Maybe she’d been drugged. But she hadn’t left her apartment all day, so how was that possible? Time-released Ecstasy wasn’t a thing, as far as she knew. It felt as though something—something outside of herself, outside of her control—was assaulting her.

  “I’m going to try to help you,” Owen said, his voice strained.

  Daniella opened her eyes and blinked against the brightness. She hadn’t noticed him approaching.

  “Need you,” she managed.

  “I know, kitten. I can’t give you that. But I can help you. Maybe make it not hurt so much. But to do that I have to touch you.” His voice deepened and her sex throbbed in response. “Do you want me to help you?”

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

  He tugged on the belt of her robe, and then slid it open with a hiss. Only vaguely did she realize she was naked in front of her annoying neighbor. Her former friend. Full breasts jutting out, her nipples were hard as rocks, as if they begged for his attention. And her core ached, electricity springing from it as if his gaze alone excited whatever it was inside of her that needed quenching.

  “Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he said, reverently.

  He took one of her nipples into his mouth and suckled. She moaned and slid her fingers through his hair, pulling at it. Begging him silently to do more. Faster. More pressure.

  He responded by moving to her other nipple and sucking harder. He bit down softly as his hand slid down to cup her sex, pressing only the slightest bit against her hard nub.

  “Owen,” she cried out, not even recognizing her own voice. She came immediately, a flash of colors and light crisscrossing her vision.

  He growled in response and rubbed her softly with his palm, pulling small aftershocks from her.

  “That won’t be enough,” he muttered, as if to himself. But he pulled the sides of her robe back over her, hiding her body from his view. He didn’t get up from where he crouched by her on the couch, but he settled his hands on either side of her.

  He was right. It wasn’t enough. Already she could feel the hunger just sated building again. But she could think better. Not clearly, by any means, but any ability to think was an improvement.

  “Owen, what’s happening? Please, tell me.” Her pride bristled at the pleading tone in her voice. But she needed to know, and now. Because the desire was already pooling between her legs and crawling along her skin.

  His expression was hard, as if he would refuse her again. But when his gaze locked onto hers, his face softened. “You’re not a normal woman, Daniella. When you hit maturity, your first heat began. Only sex with one of your own can sate the lust.”

  “One of my own? I don’t understand. And what do you mean, maturity? This only started a couple of weeks ago, and I’m well into maturity.”

  “It doesn’t hit like clockwork, at an exact age. But generally between nineteen and twenty-two, our women start going into heat. It’s not usually a problem, because we live in a community. There are men around to…take care of things, when the heat hits. But you’re different, Daniella. You weren’t raised with us.”

  “I was adopted,” she murmured, mind racing. It was getting harder to think again. She squirmed, but the pressure only grew. “I’m twenty-three.”

  “You’re a little older than normal. But like I said, it’s not clockwork. It’s all hormones, and hormones are unpredictable.”

  She squirmed a bit, unable to help herself. Why did he have to rest his hands at her sides, when she needed his touch?

  A haze settled over her vision, and he cursed under his breath. Suddenly the explanation didn’t seem so important. The why didn’t matter. Only the need.

  “Owen,” she mumbled.

  “I know, beautiful.”

  She watched him this time, as he opened her robe. The amber flecks she’d noticed before in his eyes seemed to no longer be flecks; instead, the light amber appeared to overtake his irises, so that they were almost golden.

  His gaze raked over her body again, and it made her already sensitive flesh burn. Suddenly, she didn’t feel limp. Didn’t feel stuck to the couch. Didn’t feel weak.

  If she didn’t move, she might crawl out of her skin.

  She took his mouth with her own, and after a moment’s hesitation, he kissed her back. His tongue slid against hers, softly testing at first, then with a fervor that made her cling to him. He tasted like peppermint.

  She moaned into his mouth when he pulled her close. His body was cool against hers, or maybe whatever was wrong with her made her unnaturally hot.

  With her legs wrapped around his waist, she could feel his erection pressed against where she needed it most. How could she ache for him this much? There was no doubt that he was attractive. He was the kind of man wet dreams were made of—tall and muscular and sexy as sin. But he irritated her with his constant presence, despite turning his nose up at their friendship, and his annoyingly standoffish nature. But none of that seemed to matter to her body.

  Pushing her thoughts aside, she shimmied against him, rubbing her clit against the hard cock she could feel beneath his boxer briefs. His hands gripped her hips almost painfully hard, and she cried out in triumph.

  “No!”

  He tossed her and she had a moment of panic where she felt weightless, but she landed on something soft. A mattress. When had they gotten to his bedroom?

  In a flash, she was back on him. Hands on his ass, pressing herself against his hardness. Seeking his delicious mouth with her own.

  “None of that, kitten.” But his hips arched against her, sliding his thickness against her soft skin.

  She bit at him, a warning snap at his face. Something inside of her was wild, raging. And it wanted out. It wanted Owen. To hurt him or fuck him. Maybe both.

  His hand dug into her hair and pulled hard. She cried out at the flash of pain.

  “I can’t take you. You’re going to have to accept what I can give you.”

  Her body screamed at her to fight him. To take what was hers. But he pushed her onto the bed, easily controlling her flailing movements with his much larger frame.

  But when his hand touched her mound softly, she stilled.

  “That’s it, kitten. Relax. I’ll take care of you.”

  But instead of his mere touch bringing her to orgasm, it only made her more needy, and she ground against his hand. He gave her a swift kiss, tongue only brushing against her own, and met her gaze with his golden eyes. Then, very purposefully, he lowered his head between her legs.

  His tongue touched her, flickering out against her clit, and she gasped. Over and over he teased her, running his tongue around her entrance and sucking on her most sensitive spot, before pulling back to watch her reaction.

  Unlike the first time he’d made her come, he seemed to want to draw her out. Not just give her momentary relief, but also torment her along the way. Enjoying her reactions while he tortured her. He worked her with his mouth, one hand reaching up to cup her breasts, to tease her nipples.

  She moaned and writhed and gasped his name, but he refused to be rushed. Drawing her out with quick licks and the barest of touches, he reached behind her to grab the nape of her neck, forcing her to hold still with his free hand while he worked.

  “Owen, please!” She was hot, so hot, burning for release. Her whole body was swollen and needy and empty.

  “You want to come?” he asked, voice low. But it wasn’t really a question. He knew what she needed, but for some reason wanted to hear it from her lips. She made a mewling sound, the closest thing to words she could summon.

  He leaned back down, and she could feel his fingers probing around her entrance, but no matter how she squirmed, he refused to penetrate h
er. Instead, he sucked on her clit, hard. Teeth nipped her, and she flew over the edge into oblivion.

  * * *

  He felt her spasm, and with her taste in his mouth, he almost said to hell with it and took her. How right it felt to have her shuddering beneath him. To have her calling his name. Like she was his.

  Mine.

  No. Thoughts like that would get him into trouble. He had a duty here. And his honor wouldn’t allow him to give in to his own desires.

  He helped her sit up on the bed, and she pulled the robe tightly around her body, tying the belt and glancing around the room, eyes wide and dazed. But she seemed to be able to focus better. Good.

  “Owen?” Her voice was sleepy and sated. “Tell me more. Tell me what I am.”

  It wasn’t his place, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny her again. Not when she was already so vulnerable. Not after she’d already given him so much of herself. “You’re a weretiger.”

  She blinked at him. “What?”

  He took in a deep breath and regretted it immediately when her floral scent filled his nose, mixed with the spicy smell of her heat, and the intoxicating scent of her arousal.

  “We’re human—mostly. But over time, we develop tiger characteristics.”

  “So you’re saying I’m like a werewolf or something?” Her tone was doubtful, and he could hardly blame her. This wasn’t the way to show her what she was. He should have kept his mouth shut and waited until they were somewhere safe enough for a demonstration. But it was too late now, the cat—tiger—was out of the bag.

  “No, not exactly. You aren’t bound by the moon or anything. And most of us can’t turn completely. The weakest of our kind eventually develop tiger traits—the strength or speed or claws. Most of us can turn partially at will. Only the purest bloodlines can shift into actual tigers.”

  “This is insane.”

  “Daniella—”

  “You’re insane.” Her voice rose to a yell and she jumped off the bed to stand in front of him. Her fear was gone—he was glad to see that—but anger had replaced it. “What the hell are you even saying? Are you nuts or are you just messing with me?”

  Shit. He had to show her. Something small, at least. Otherwise she might try to run. Hell, she might try to run after he showed her what he was, too. In that case, he’d have to wrestle her down.

  Oh, yeah, smart. Wrestle down the woman in heat. See how that ends for you. You’ll be inside her in two seconds flat, fucking her for all you’re worth.

  “Daniella. Look at me.” He wasn’t a royal—a tiger who could fully shift—but he wasn’t far from it.

  Concentrating on his face, he forced images of his other form—a partial tiger—into the forefront of his mind. And with it, he pushed with his mind. His flesh moved, and the sensation distracted him. He almost forgot why he was shifting until a squeak of fear brought him back to himself.

  Daniella had fallen back. She sat on the edge of the bed, wide-eyed and unblinking, her mouth partially open.

  “You’re—”

  “A weretiger. Like you.”

  “But—your face.” She stared at him, fascinated, but no horror crossed her features. Instead, she simply appeared stunned, and more than a little intrigued.

  He knew what his face looked like, and her reaction sent a rush of joy through him. If she hadn’t been shocked, he would have been surprised. It wouldn’t have surprised him, though, if she’d been disgusted.

  Not that he was a bad-looking weretiger. In fact, he liked to joke with his Erick that he got the best of both creatures. Cat-like features on a very human frame, and unlike most of his kind, he could shift parts of himself without shifting into his entire partial form—handy if you needed a sharp claw but no whiskers. But he couldn’t turn into a full tiger.

  Which was why she couldn’t be his. No matter how much he wanted her.

  A shudder ran through her body. She glanced away from him and clutched her arms, hugging herself.

  He was by her side before he could think better of it, kneeling in front of where she sat on the bed, and when she looked up, she started.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said, then closed his eyes to concentrate on changing his face back to fully human.

  When he opened his eyes, she stared at him, their faces only inches apart.

  “That was cool.” The tiniest of grins blossomed on her face. “I wasn’t sure if I should run away or pet you.”

  He smiled at her and she licked her lips.

  Damn.

  “I need to make a phone call.” He pushed up from the floor. Yes, a call. Before he asked her to pet him.

  “Wait.”

  Barely trusting himself to not do something stupid, he turned to face her. She was so pretty in the delicate robe. So sexy. So vulnerable.

  He could still taste her.

  “This…heat. Or whatever. How do we make it go away?” she asked.

  “Sex,” he said, simply, but he clenched his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her. Sex wouldn’t actually bring her out of the heat, but it would give her a long reprieve. Maybe long enough to get through the heat. Maybe.

  “Then why—”

  “Because you aren’t meant for me. You belong to my best friend.”

  Chapter Three

  “What?” Anger rolled through her, pushing back some of the pulsating lust threatening to overwhelm her again. She jumped off his bed and stalked toward him. “What do you mean, I belong to your best friend? I’m my own person, Owen. No one owns me.”

  “There are things happening here that you don’t understand.”

  “Explain them to me.” How dare he? She was her own person. And this the twenty-first century.

  “You have the ability to turn into a full tiger—or you will, with some training and practice. That’s rare, Daniella. Full tigers are known as royals among our people—even though they aren’t necessarily from the same bloodline. They breed with other royals. They keep our people strong.” Belief filled his eyes—he believed what he said was true, that this insane tradition was somehow necessary. But there was guilt there, too.

  “So, what? I’m supposed to have a litter of kittens with a stranger for the good of some people I don’t even know? People I couldn’t care less about at this point?” The idea of it was so humiliating, so disgusting, she could barely wrap her mind around it.

  “Yes. We’re not a fertile species—children are difficult to conceive, and impossible outside of the time when the female is in heat. Your first heat is the most powerful, and the most fertile time of your life. If we could give you more time—”

  “This whole thing is bullshit.” Give her time? As if her time was theirs to give? She paced the room, finally noticing her surroundings. Other than the bed and a small dresser tucked into one corner, the room looked uninhabited. He’d been here nearly a year, since not long after she moved in. And it looked like he could have just moved in. It was all temporary for him. Just like watching her—a temporary duty. Something in her chest twisted at the thought.

  “It’s the way things are done. For the good of the whole.”

  “Well, screw your ways.” She stopped pacing, careful to stay a few feet away from him. Her voice softened, and she hated herself a little bit for asking because it probably sounded desperate, but it had to be said. “Why not you?”

  “I have good control for a shifter—more powerful than most—but I can’t make a full change. I’m no royal. But my best friend is. That fact makes him our prime. Our leader.”

  “Why is that so important? The full change thing?”

  “It’s not easy to explain, but it’s not really about the form itself—it’s about the power it represents.” He paused, thinking. “Tigers don’t congregate well. We aren’t pack animals, like the wolves. It takes a powerful prime, a royal or—even better—a mated pair of royals to keep a clan together.”

  That made sense, sort of. But why did they need to keep their people together? She almost aske
d, but her thoughts shifted to something far more important to her, far more personal. “How do you know I’m one of you—let alone I’m a…royal, or whatever?” A small, nervous laugh escaped her. “I’ve never changed into anything. What makes you so sure? I mean, how can you be certain?” The pitch of her voice rose with every word. She was on the edge of a major freak out—she could feel the panic growing in her chest. Concentrating on the details helped.

  “If only one of your parents was a pureblood, you could go either way—royal or partial shifter. Those pairings are rare, because tigers raised among the clan know the importance of keeping royal bloodlines pure, but they do happen rarely. Like with my parents.” He cleared his throat. “When two royals breed, their children are nearly guaranteed to be royals. Both of your parents were purebloods, both royals.”

  Were—not are. He referred to her parents in past tense. The questions were on the tip of her tongue. She’d wondered about her birth parents off and on since she’d found out as a teenager that she’d been adopted. But the importance of it had faded as she grew older—or she thought it had.

  She couldn’t form the questions. Something about it felt like a trap. Like if she opened that door, he’d have her. He’d have something else to use to convince her of this madness.

  “So you got the short end of the genetic stick,” she said, instead.

  “Yes, unlike Erick,” he said. “Of course, he had two royal parents, so his lineage wasn’t quite the lottery mine was.”

  “Well, screw your friend.”

  “That’s the idea.” He gave her a small grin, but she refused to smile at his joke.

  “Oh, fuck you, Owen.” She shook her head hard. “No. I’m not having sex with some stranger.”

  His smile disappeared. “You will, Daniella. You won’t have a choice.”

  She stopped pacing and stared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”