Diablo Blanco Club: Rite of First Claim

Diablo Blanco Club:

Rite of First Claim

Qwillia Rain

www.loose-id.com

Diablo Blanco Club: Rite of First Claim

Copyright © November 2010 by Qwillia Rain

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

eISBN 978-1-60737-889-1

Editor: Mary Harper

Cover Artist: April Martinez

Printed in the United States of America

Published by

Loose Id LLC

PO Box 425960

San Francisco CA 94142-5960

www.loose-id.com

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

* * *

DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

Dedication

For Jennifer Cole, Melody Rahl, Elijana Kindel, and Cassandra Gold.

I thank you for your patience and sympathetic ears (and eyes) as I did battle with the most stubborn pair of lovers I have ever created.

Damn those Halsey men and Lawrence women!

For my editor, Mary.

I appreciate your slogging through the morass of ick to find the gold nugget in this book!

I still haven’t forgiven you for Maass’s
The Fire In Fiction
, but I’m gettin’ there. LOL

And for Mom—who reads my books even though they aren’t mysteries.

—Qwillia

Chapter One

Halloween was a time for playing and parties. And—if Lyssa Lawrence was lucky—a little magic. According to rumor, the Diablo Blanco Club’s Midnight Masquerade was the ultimate party. Innuendo and speculation abounded about what went on inside those thick, stone walls on Halloween.

Like Vegas, what happened in the Diablo Blanco Club stayed in the Diablo Blanco Club, which made it the best setting for what locals and members dubbed Select-a-Sub Night. And the perfect opportunity for Lyssa to deploy her plan.

“I can do this. I can do this.” Lyssa’s steady whispers filled the interior of her car. Each word kept time with the rhythmic
click-click
of the turn signal as she hesitated at the Club’s private drive.

No vehicles were visible in front of or behind her on the narrow state road, but her reluctance had less to do with traffic and more to do with her reasons for attending the Midnight Masquerade.

She forced her foot off the brake, onto the gas pedal, and applied firm pressure, moving her sedan across the empty highway and onto the paved lane toward an uncertain future.

In the distance, she could see the glow of the parking lot security lights over the trees that lined the road and covered most of the hundred and twenty acres surrounding the Club. Whispers echoed in her head with every yard closer.
I can do this
. The nerves tightened in her chest.
Do I want to do this?

“Get over it,” she snapped. “You
have
to do this.” She’d waged this internal debate for the last two weeks. Ever since Mike Halsey’s annual invitation to the masquerade had arrived in the mail, just as it had for the last four years.

What happens when Mike finds out what you’ve done?

Again her foot eased off the accelerator.

Lyssa didn’t doubt Mike would discover what she’d done. It was his reaction she wasn’t sure she could predict. Not that she really cared if he was upset about her finding another lover; he’d lost the right to comment when he’d chosen a job over her four years ago. She shook off the sense of unease and focused on the Club. It loomed ahead of her. Every time Lyssa approached the building, her body tingled with an anticipation she steadfastly tried to ignore. The energy she had felt the few times she’d entered drew her.

The pull could have been due to the nature of the building’s purpose. Or it might have been memories of the first night her sister, Mattie, had dragged Lyssa to the Club for a quick look-see. Within an hour of their arrival, one of the Club’s owners, Bryce Halsey, had arrived and escorted Mattie upstairs. His younger brother, Mike, had stifled Lyssa’s protests before he hustled her down a hall, into a storage closet, and repeatedly fucked her to multiple orgasms.

Lyssa shook off the dangerous images from that night and fought the urge to indulge the fantasies of playing submissive to Mike’s dominant she’d buried deep inside. “Think about the plan,” she mumbled.

A plan hatched because of a silly hiccup in her biological clock. Stupid hormones. Who would’ve thought turning forty could wreak such havoc? Early signs of menopause. Nothing had prepared Lyssa for her doctor’s diagnosis after a routine exam over two months ago. Which meant the children Lyssa had always wanted couldn’t stay a dream for someday in the distant future. She needed to do something about it. Now.

The idea of insemination at a fertility clinic seemed too cold and sterile. Even if it was just for the purpose of creating a baby, she wanted some kind of connection, brief as it might be, to the father of her child. A chance to tell her baby that there had been more than test tubes and syringes involved in his or her conception. After weeks of tracking her temperature and using ovulation test kits, Lyssa thought she was ready.

Four weeks of hitting the bars and nightclubs outside San Diablo had left her dejected and about ready to give up. It was only after Mike’s annual invitation had arrived that she contemplated involving a dominant from the Club—a dangerous but very tempting idea.

Barricades funneled the traffic ahead of her toward the front of the building, requiring guests to leave their vehicles with the valets. Herding the cows to slaughter, she thought. Lyssa pushed her unease away. “This is to get my baby,” she reminded herself as she pulled up to the curb and watched the valet approach.

“Enjoy your evening.” He handed her a ticket and helped her out of her sedan.

The light fall breeze tousled Lyssa’s auburn wig. Loose tendrils clung to the shiny gloss coating her lips. She used one hand to smooth the short skirt of her costume—a red velvet Christmas elf’s dress trimmed at the collar, cuffs, and hem with fluffy white faux fur—while she secured the strands from her wig behind her ear with her other hand. A fortifying breath filled her lungs with the crisp scents of fall as she examined the stone edifice in front of her.

The Club didn’t need lights or decorations to lend an intimidating mien for Halloween; it did that by reputation alone. Six broad steps led to a wide flagstone veranda and heavy, curved double doors resembling the wooden gate of a castle.

Around her, other guests continued arriving. Lyssa followed them up the steps. Once she faced the doors, a shiver squirmed up her back. She paused and then moved aside to wait beside one of the thick columns until her body calmed. She used the fingertips of her right hand to stroke the embossed letters of the invitation tucked into the pocket of her skirt. The thump of her heart echoed in her ears as she stared at the Club entrance.
Mike will probably never find out where I met my baby’s father.

No matter how many times she weighed the pros and cons of her decision, Lyssa knew eventually she’d have to face Mike. She was fully aware there would be consequences for using his invitation. Consequences beyond what she hoped for tonight. But she had asked around and confirmed Mike wasn’t likely to show up. Everyone she’d talked to had made it clear that her brother-in-law’s younger brother no longer attended the Diablo Blanco Club’s Midnight Masquerade.

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of the younger man—a habit she’d never been able to overcome since the day they’d first met nearly twelve years ago. “Not that I’d ever let him know it,” she muttered; she’d made the mistake of trusting him once. Her internal alarms had gone off, but she’d ignored them, thinking it would be different than her previous experiences with men. “Strike three and you’re out, Lyssa. You don’t need any other proof that you’ve got rotten luck with men.”

Besides, four years ago a baby would have more than cramped Mike’s globe-trotting lifestyle. Diaper changing and two-a.m. feedings clashed with photographing swimsuit models on sugar white beaches in the Caribbean or dodging bullets while recording the ravages of civil wars in remote areas of third-world countries. She didn’t need a repeat performance to know what was best for herself. “No Mike allowed. I should tattoo that across my forehead.”

It’s over. Done. In the past. There isn’t anything Mike can say or do to make me change my mind
. But saying that and actually believing it were two completely different creatures. Lyssa shook off the turbulent emotions thoughts of Mike stirred and returned her interest to the building in front of her. He had nothing to do with her plan. “Nothing at all,” she assured herself. “Focus on the plan.”

A stone frame accented the unique arched doorway, and a second brim of stone edged the frame. The letters etched into the gray rock were worn down by time and the weather, but each was still visible when she looked close.

“
El diablo supone; el Dios sabe; los actos blancos del Diablo
,” a man’s voice whispered into her ear.

Lyssa jumped at the amused tone. “Excuse me?”

The man beside Lyssa stepped into the glow of the lanterns that were shaped like medieval sconces on either side of the entrance. His hazel eyes glittered down at her. “The devil supposes; God knows; the white devil acts.”

A neatly trimmed goatee framed his mouth, accenting the full lower and slightly thinner upper lips. The whiskers were the same jet-black as the hair he’d pulled back and secured at his nape. The way he held himself and the self-control emanating from him gave more than enough of a clue that he was one of the Club’s dominants. His tailored tuxedo only confirmed it.