Mine to Possess (18 page)

Max turned to
block the attack an instant too late.

They fell on him in a sadistic swarm, kicking and punching. They didn't yell, didn't scream, and their utter silence was a threat in itself. He fought back, but there were too many. After a while, his world narrowed down to a repetitive chorus.

The thud of flesh on flesh, the rasp of skin against the asphalt, heavy, pained breaths. A trickle of warm blood down his face.

The sound of a gun being fired. Then…nothing.

Clay took one
look at Talin's face when she came downstairs into the kitchen and knew she'd gone head to head with Faith. She stopped with a good foot of space between them. Scowling, he closed the distance and took her stiff, cold hand. When she tried to pull it away, he had to remind himself to act civilized. “I thought we were friends.”

That made her press her lips tight, but she stopped fighting him.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Silence. “Fine. I'll ask Faith.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you in love with her?”

Where the hell did women get ideas like this? “She's Vaughn's mate.”

“So?”

“So, what?” Clay shoved a hand through his hair. “Meddling in each other's business is what packmates do. I don't like it much, but you learn to live with it.”

“She thinks she has rights over you.”

Now
this
was interesting. “Your possessive side is showing again, Tally.”

“Stop it.” She tugged at her hand.

He refused to let go. “She does have rights over me,” he said. “Just like I have rights over Sascha or Tamsyn. It's about looking after your own. They're Pack.”

“And I'm not.”

“Not yet.” Wanting to possess her until his scent was a permanent marker on her skin, he pulled her toward the door. “Come on, we need to get to this meeting on time.”

They were there
in plenty of time as it turned out. Entering the restaurant, Clay let Talin talk. She'd been quiet on the ride over and he knew her well enough to know she was working things through in her own head. That could be dangerous, but he was playing for keeps and he wasn't going to lie to her. Distract while he persuaded, but never lie.

“We're here to meet someone,” she told the maître d'.

The rigid man looked first at Talin's jeans and the thin V-necked sweater she'd pulled on over her top, before moving to Clay in his jeans and white T-shirt. “I believe you have the wrong establishment,” he suggested, his nose so high, it was a wonder he was able to see them over it. “The nearest bar is two blocks over.”

Clay waited to see what Talin would do. He could almost see the steam coming out her ears. “Where's the nearest unemployment office?” Saccharine sweet and oh-so-innocent. God, she turned him on when she got all pissy like that.

“I'm sure I wouldn't know.” A sniff.

“You will pretty soon if this is the way you treat your guests.” Her voice turned to steel. “I could be anyone.”

The man smirked. “Your clothes give you away, my dear. If you're going to play in grounds above your station, I suggest you get a better costume. And,” he sneered, “a more refined companion.”

That last made Tally narrow her eyes. “Why, you stiff-necked prick. My
companion
is worth a thousand of an arrogant snob like you.”

Clay was enjoying this but no one insulted Talin in front of him. “Hey, Tally.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “What?” Her tone was close to a snarl.

“You think I should show him how refined I can be?” A quick flash of lengthening canines, eyes cat-green.

The maître d's face went white behind her.

Clay barely held back his laughter.

Talin smacked his arm. “Behave, you're not helping.” She returned her attention to the maître d'. “Now, where were we—Are you all right? You look very pale.”

“I'm, uh, fine.” His fear an astringent irritant to Clay's senses, the maître d' ran his finger along the screen of his little computer tablet. “Who did you say you were meeting?”

“Mr. Devraj Santos.”

The man's voice was reedy when he spoke. “Mr. Santos booked one of our private dining rooms. If you'll follow me.”

Clay put his hand on Talin's lower back as they climbed the stairs behind the other man. “I don't think he likes me,” he whispered in her ear.

“I thought I told you to behave,” she hissed. “Why did he react like that?”

“Because”—he pressed a kiss to her jaw, sensing her amused mood—“he figured out that I was a big, bad pussycat.”

Halting, she glared at him but it was without heat. “This is a leopard town—they should be used to you. What do you guys do to people who cross you?”

“We don't eat them…well, not often,” he teased. “But a reputation is a handy thing.” The reality was that people were starting to realize the cats controlled several major parts of the city. “We have massive clout.” However, since DarkRiver was a disciplined unit, not a band of thugs, they didn't, as a rule, go around flaunting that power.

On the other hand, an occasional reminder by one of the senior pack members—as he'd given tonight—ensured no one got complacent. That happened, other predators would start trying to move in, human, changeling, and Psy. “They know we can make life difficult.”

“Like the mafia?” Reaching out, she fixed his hair, tone affectionate.

He preened under the attention. “Hey, we don't ask for protection money.” And they didn't pursue petty vengeance, but the maître d' didn't know that. “Plus, cement shoes are so last century.”

“You're terrible,” she whispered, and started climbing again. “You scared that poor man half to death.”

“He deserved it.” He squeezed her hip with his hand, wondering if she really was against biting—'cause he was dying to test his teeth against the sweet temptation of her butt. “No one except me gets to be mean to you.”

She rolled her eyes, but he saw her fighting a smile. “Ditto, kitty cat.” That smile peeked out at his scowl. “It was kind of funny, but I'll deny that if you ever call me on it.”

When they cleared the steps, it was to find the maître d' standing in front of an open door midway down the hall. “If you would like to wait inside,” he said, careful to keep his distance from Clay, “I'll show Mr. Santos up as soon as he arrives.”

“Thank you,” Talin said.

Clay paused long enough to give the other man the cool smile of a predator on the hunt before Talin dragged him inside and shut the door. “Enough.”

Liking the fact that she was comfortable enough to give him orders, he searched the room for a secondary exit. The window was high but more than big enough. He could climb out with Talin on his back. Satisfied, he walked back to where she stood against the door.

“Most people don't react as badly as that guy,” he said, bracing his arms palms down on either side of her head. He left enough room that she didn't feel trapped, but still, his leopard purred when she remained in place. “He must be one of those humans who thinks of us as animals. Probably waiting for me to order live venison.”

“Don't take that high-and-mighty tone.” She poked a finger into his chest. “Unless you don't know of any changelings who think of humans as prey.”

He winced. “You're right. Some of the predatory species tend to lump humans in the same group as cattle and deer.” Prey, kept safe only because even in animal form, a changeling's mind was half man.

“What do you think?” she asked, tone arch.

“I think I don't want to feel the sharp edge of your tongue.” Pushing off the door, he walked to the western side of the square table and pulled out a chair. It was a position that would allow him to keep an eye on both exits. “A seat, my lady.”

She wandered over, looked him up and down. “Funny, you look like Clay.”

He jerked up his chin in a silent question.

“You're being charming.”

If she knew the control it was taking to keep the brutal possessiveness of his nature from taking over, she would've been terrified. His hands clenched on the back of the chair as she sat, the high tail of her hair brushing over his fingers. Though he knew she didn't consciously realize it, her acceptance of the seat—of allowing him behind her—was an act of primal trust, baring as it did the vulnerable nape of her neck.

He wanted to lean down and press a kiss to that creamy skin. Tally didn't have freckles there. “Don't worry,” he assured her, intrigued by his discovery. “I'll be back to surly and uncommunicative soon enough.”

“Idiot.” She laughed as he took a seat beside her, on the side closest to the door. No one would be able to get to her without going through him. He was about to give in to temptation and reach out to play with a strand of her hair when he heard footsteps. Rising, he went to the door and opened it.

A tall man—dark hair, dark eyes, possible weapon in a shoulder holster—exited the staircase behind the maître d'. Clay heard him dismiss the restaurant employee and head directly to the door. “You must be Clay Bennett.” Reaching him, the man extended his hand.

“And you must be the SOB who tried to pin a tail on me this morning.”

He heard Talin gasp but ignored it, his attention on Santos's reaction as their hands dropped away from each other. The man was smooth, he'd give him that. Not a flicker of surprise marred his expression. “You sound very sure.”

“He sang like a canary.” Clay had taken care of the tail before going Down Below.

“Ah.” Santos raised an eyebrow. “That explains the lack of a communiqué from him. Is he still alive?”

“For now.” Clay moved back, allowing the other man to enter but blocking his access to Talin.

Santos closed the door behind himself. “Talin, you're looking well.”

“Uh-huh.”

Clay was pleased to see Talin's skeptical expression as she eyed her boss's elegantly cut suit. The man looked like a corporate shark, but Clay's animal saw him as something far more interesting—a predator clothed in human skin.

Giving them a meaningless smile, Santos took a seat. “Perhaps we should order first?”

Clay returned to his chair. “We've already eaten, but coffee might be good.”

Talin picked up the menu pad and input selections for both of them. “I'll have coffee, too. Maybe a slice of cake.”

“You'll excuse me if I eat. I've had a rather hectic day.” Santos made his selections and sent them through as Talin sent hers. “I've just come from a private hospital.”

“One of the kids?” Talin's concern colored the air.

“I'm afraid Max is no longer in play.”

Clay tensed at the tone of his voice. “What happened?”

“He was attacked.” Santos's eyes went flat, deadly. “Beaten into unconsciousness.”

Talin sucked in a horrified gasp. “Is he—”

“He has several broken bones and some cranial swelling but he's alive, thanks to an interruption by a group of civic-minded individuals.” The Shine director passed over a card. “That's the private facility where we moved him after we realized what had happened. It's far more secure than the public hospitals.”

Clay looked at the card, recognizing the area. “Any idea who attacked him?”

“We're assuming it was the same person or persons who vandalized Talin's home—Max wasn't able to tell us anything.” He folded his arms in front of him and smiled. It was a shark's smile, full of teeth. “He got one of them, though. The others took the body, but from the blood splatter and tissue left behind, it was a head shot.”

Clay was surprised to find he liked Max, was furious the cop had been targeted. “Let me guess—DNA came back ‘record unknown'?”

“Of course. But we were able to determine the race as human.” The hand he'd placed on the table clenched. “Casualty or not, the attack succeeded in taking Max, and therefore Enforcement, out of the equation. We believe he'll recover fully but until then, you appear to have become our best source.”

Talin took a shaky breath but her next question held an edge. “Dev, you keep talking about ‘we' and ‘our.' Who are the others?”

“Shine's backers. They control the board.”

Clay heard a sound coming from inside the walls and identified it as a dumbwaiter, likely part of the “olde-worlde” charm advertised on the restaurant's menus. “Tally, would you do the honors?” He had no intention of turning his back on Devraj Santos.

A quick, adrenaline-inducing brush of her hand on his thigh and she rose. “Just don't start expecting this every day.”

Santos remained in place while she went to retrieve the dishes. “Thank you,” he said when Talin put them on the table. He didn't attempt to reach for his plate until she'd retaken her seat. Trying to appear friendly. Harmless. Yeah, right.

“Why come to us instead of going to another cop?” Clay asked, ignoring his coffee. “Our chances of having anything are close to nil.”

“We've had an interest in DarkRiver for some time.” Santos took a bite of his pasta. “You're surprised by my candor.”