Into the Pride (Nuuba Pride Shifters #1) by Michelle Monkou

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 Michelle Monkou

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-735-2

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Laurie Temple

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To all my fellow Leos and our dear friends, enjoy the adventures of the Nuuba Pride.

  INTO THE PRIDE

  Nuuba Pride Shifters, 1

  Michelle Monkou

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  David Chastain mounted his motorcycle with nightfall once again as his only companion. He cruised through the desolate streets on his way home after another unproductive week. The pristine engine purred with a smooth and satisfying hum. His stress level shifted from blinding frustration to mild impatience.

  Increasingly, his days were spent hunched over the layout and design of the City of Theos, the pre-earthquake version. He wasn’t content to relinquish supervisory oversight. Surveying structural damage hidden below the refurbished city was too important. Besides, little time remained to find the royal palace of the Nuuba Dynasty and that was his burden to bear.

  He approached an intersection, shifting gears to stop at the red light. No cars, not even pedestrians, were in sight. Only the traffic camera prevented him from running the light. But then, why rush? No one was home for him to hurry to.

  The air current shifted—slight, almost imperceptible. Different.

  To get a better handle on the situation, he slid up the helmet’s visor. A strong mixture of herbs and spices, once the island’s main commerce, perfumed the air. The vapor cloud floated on invisible currents, descending and surrounding him. Specific notes of cinnamon, cloves, and anise scented the area.

  His nostrils flared, drawing in and deciphering, for any hidden messages. This unique blend hovered out of reach of a possible answer. The intriguing mystery grabbed hold of his attention.

  The traffic light snapped green. David didn’t immediately ride off. His body remained tense, wary of any approach, any probable ambush. Threats of danger could test his reflexes. His body was woefully out of practice, and it would take massive adrenalin surges to boost his muscles into battle mode.

  In the meantime, he’d rely on his keen eyesight. Darkness didn’t hinder his scrutiny. Sifting through the blackness, where objects collided with shadows, he mentally tagged and processed all that he saw.

  Nothing stirred. But he was sure there was a nearby presence. His ears listened for the smallest shuffle. It wasn’t the first time that night he’d sensed being followed. The feeling didn’t get stronger, instead it suddenly retreated, along with the scent. His impatience grew over this nightly game.

  “Reveal yourself or leave me alone.” His order reverberated since it didn’t have to compete with background noises. The responding silence didn’t surprise him.

  What if someone did step up? He wasn’t ready for a battle. Reset bones had healed. Muscles finally knitted. And ligaments stripped away from bone had taken almost a year to mend. There was no instant healing. The lingering mental wounds, however, were worse. They riddled his memory with black holes where his guilt, doubt, and dread lived in evil harmony. There lay his biggest fear, that he’d never be one hundred percent.

  At this hour, close to midnight, it was the best time to be ambushed. The usual fog rolled in from the sea and cloaked the area in a thick wall of mist.

  A car horn blared. The irritated driver swerved around David’s bike.

  “Pay attention … asshole!” The rest of the taxi driver’s insults disappeared with the screech of his tires.

  Time to head home. Revving his bike to breakneck speed, David settled into the seat, leaning low into the wind, relishing its resistance. No further mysterious incidences occurred by the time he arrived at his house. He nudged open the gate with the bike and cruised into the courtyard. By the time he opened the front door, his nerves were back to normal.

  David stepped inside and immediately started peeling off clothes. His jacket and helmet landed on the couch. Next came the shirt, pulled out of his pants and unbuttoned as he headed to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water and took a long drink, when he picked up the strains of a familiar heady perfume.

  London was in his bedroom … waiting for a fuck.

  “Damn. This woman is like Velcro.” He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and headed for the bedroom.

  The double doors were open like an invitation. London lay naked, curled in a ball, asleep. Her platinum blonde hair fanned his pillow, framing her tanned face like a misplaced halo. He snorted at the deceptive sight. She was no angel.

  The musk of her sex announced that she’d masturbated. A true nymph, with or without him, she knew how to get her rocks off. From their first run-in at a business reception, she had sought him out because “she wanted to fuck Adonis-reincarnated.” Well, how could he refuse such flattery? Rules for their unique arrangement meant that she’d frequently stroke his ego and, in return, he’d frequently give her the full-length ride of her life.

  His cock stirred with remembrance. “Down, boy.”

  Any lingering reactions were the residual effect of a bad habit. Nothing between them would be mistaken for a relationship. She was bent, broken, and treacherous. While he owned up to his bent and broken parts, treacherous had been replaced with vengeful.

  With no intention of heading for bed, not with her in it, he stripped off the rest of his clothes “Should have taken the damn key back.” His priorities over the past few weeks had readjusted and London had slid off the list.

  Naked and exhausted, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the overhead shower. All spigots and side jets blasted his body awake with frigid water. It felt so good. He stuck his head under the spray to enjoy the pounding on his scalp and neck. His skin rippled under the onslaught. This therapy was perfect after a long day.

  The shower door opened.

  London had awakened. From the small smile and hooded gaze she lavished on his naked body, he had no doubt what she wanted. Conversation wasn’t her forte. Her mouth was better used for fastening on his cock, as she often claimed. It was the truth. Still, she was no longer welcome.

  They’d had fun meeting up when the mood hit. Commitment came with a sign of Do Not Enter. However, once London changed the rules of their engagement, her constant attention chafed—popping up at his office, reading his mail, searching his bedroom. Each overstep was answered with how much she wanted to be in his life. If only her slick, pining facade wasn’t at odds with her cool, distant regard behind those crystal blue eyes.

  Desire pulsed, though. He had to be careful not to offer a hint of surrender or she’d service him with the stamina of a marathon runner. Through the curtain of water flowing over his face, he measured her approach. Like facing a threat. No sudden moves.

  She stepped into his space and pursed her lips for an air kiss before offering a throaty chuckle. The second her hands moved, he halted her plans.

  “It’s time for you to leave my house.” David made sure his tone held no room for objections.

  “One fuck
for the road?” Her Finnish accent thickened when she was furious.

  “Piss off, London. It’s been a long day.”

  She left the shower stall. Without waiting for the door to close, he continued showering.

  A reckless move—no one was stupid enough to turn their back on a wildcat. They weren’t known for walking the straight line. If she decided to sink her claws into him, venom would be the motherlode of new problems. A hellish death followed an end to a pain-filled sixty seconds of misery, as the poison paralyzed, then constricted lungs and shut down other organs. Nevertheless, he meant to underscore the boundaries.

  Not that they were natural enemies. He was a hybrid Panthera-a Leo cosmically linked with humans. London was an equal-opportunity killer and a by-product of a long-ago curse against her lesser kind. At their disadvantaged positions, wildcats tended not to observe the hierarchy of the dynasties. Kind of made her emotionally volatile. That edge of danger enhanced the hell out of his orgasms with her.

  Finished showering, he dried off in front of the mirror over the sink.

  Scars marked his body. Each slash, burn, incision told a story. Memory loss prevented total recall. However, between the frequent nightmares and increasing flashbacks, details about the trauma painted a horrific picture. Every day he looked in the mirror to check the healing process. He bent his elbow, wincing slightly. Would he ever be whole, again?

  Battle scars were one thing, the tattoo on the upper left side of his body was another. The tat had grown over three years, spreading like a vine. Maybe the mark was a brand for his former status as a royal bodyguard, a vocation complete with blood oath and a lifelong commitment. His fingers traced the inked design of tribal swirls, thick lines, and sharp hooks that took over most of his left pectoral. Its progress continued over his shoulder and along his neck, curling up behind his left ear.

  Childhood memories didn’t include such markings. Flashes of him in battle gear were void of any tattoos. So why did this happen?

  For instance, when did he get inked on the right pec with this majestic lion wearing a full mane, sitting in repose? Its profile showed off a tiny diamond, as its eye, partially embedded in his skin. He touched and circled the precious gem.

  A wave of vertigo rocked his balance. He grabbed the sink and shook his head to clear away the nauseous dizziness.

  His lion-beast flashed its face in the mirror—piercing golden-eyed gaze, an open mouth snarl with a show of four fang-like canines to impale. Four carnassial teeth to rip. A thick layer of honey-blonde fur that segued into a massive mane.

  The world righted.

  David took a deep breath. His heart still thumped hard from the excitement. His beast hadn’t made much of an appearance since his recuperation. Under the care of humans, he couldn’t share his problem, that his beast blinked in and out like a misfiring spark plug. Though the humans knew he was a hybrid, their term, they didn’t hide their unease with his animal predilection.

  London’s face appeared in the mirror behind his shoulder. “I’m leaving.”

  He nodded, wondering why she wasn’t fully dressed.

  She padded closer on bare feet. Her purrs communicated her regret over their parting. He didn’t respond. Though she might not realize it, for him, breaking up was emotionally draining. He understood the need for a family unit. The Nuuba Pride championed family and unity beyond the tribal bonds. However, he could never fulfill that wish with London. Something in his gut knew she could never be the one.

  David returned his focus to his reflection.

  London’s hiss prickled the tiny hairs at the base of his neck to attention. Never had he seen her so angry. Now, her snarls grew louder with each heaving breath.

  Too late, David saw the glint of a dagger’s blade. Its wide arc surged through the air. His back—the target. David spun and stumbled out of reach, using his arm as a shield to ward off the blow. Too late.

  The long blade sliced his forearm. A second thrust. The blade stabbed the now bloodied limb. Dark red blood spilled from the wound.

  He roared his pain. His fury. “What the f—!”

  A fierce spin-kick, her toe-claws extended, breezed by within inches of his face. The move caused London to stagger, off-balance.

  His good hand shot out.

  Her throat with its nasty snarls offended him. She took hurt feelings to a whole new level. And now he was pissed.

  David hoisted her by the throat and carried her, with her legs flailing, to the bedroom. Her nails shredded his arms. Loose skin hung in tatters.

  Burning. Stinging. Intense heat-like blasts from a brick oven took over his arm. His hand unlocked her throat. In a vain attempt to dislodge the venom, he violently shook his hand. His breath caught, hitched … the paralysis began.

  He roared with the last breath pushed from his lungs. Its frequency pierced her ears. Her cries of pain mixed with his. She backed away cupping her ears.

  Suddenly, the pain in his arm subsided. Breathing grew easier. Stiffness in his muscles and limbs receded. Just to make sure, he held up each hand, closing and opening his fist.

  Panic that once had gripped his gut now rolled off like an outgoing tide. Rage, on the other hand, took a bit longer to rein in. The emotion bucked and resisted his control, seeking a free run.

  He watched her stand out of his reach, across from him. The space between them was charged with anticipation. Whatever this was, he knew it wasn’t over. Be calm. Either that, or he’d wring her neck.

  “What was that for, London? You know me!” He looked at the dagger still impaled in his forearm. “Did you really thing that you could take me down? That I’d let you?”

  Her venom almost did take him six feet under. But it would take about six wildcats for the venom to overpower his self-healing abilities. Something that she didn’t need to know. Psycho bitch.

  She hissed. “I don’t like saying good-bye.”

  “Thought you’d leave with your respect intact. You … we set the rules.” Of course, wildcats not only didn’t give a damn about rules, they didn’t have an ounce of loyalty, either. The highest bidder usually earned their services.

  “Go to hell, David. You’ll get yours one day.”

  “By whom?” He eyed the jumping pulse at her neck. It would be so easy. If only the rules for killing didn’t restrict his natural impulses. Only in the duty of service to the royal family or their concerns, as in the matter of their deaths, was he licensed to kill.

  London averted her gaze.

  “Who is after me?” All of his suspicions about her surged forth. He had an idea of who had betrayed the Nuuba Royal family. Was her overtop performance connected to the only man he gladly would kill? “Xavier?”

  She said nothing.

  “Answer me.” Quicker than she could blink her baby blues, he’d crossed the room. His hand wrapped around her throat—again, using slight pressure, just hard enough to make her gasp for air. She tried his patience.

  “No one knows where Xavier is.”

  He dragged his elongated nail across her carotid artery. “Then, who sent you in the first place?”

  “Go to hell, you bastard.” She squirmed. The blaze of anger returned to her eyes.

  “You’re boring and repetitive.” David hated to admit that London had dulled his senses. His cock had pulled a mutiny on his brain. Now there would be hell to pay. “What happened to Xavier? Why is the bastard lying low?”

  She grinned.

  “Go back to whoever sent you, whether it’s Xavier or one of his minions. Tell him that I will finish my job—the only thing that I live for—to kill him.”

  His grip on her throat slackened. He allowed her to stand on her own, but stayed close enough in case she tried anything. If so, he’d snap her neck like a discarded toothpick.

  Rubbing her neck, London stumbled away. “They will hunt you down. Rip your limbs from your body. Toss you to the hogs. And I will lick the blood from your skull.” Her pink tongue swept her lips as if already t
asting him.

  David pulled out the dagger from his arm. Blood flowed like a broken pipe.

  His roar tore loose from deep within and filled the bedroom with its fury. The right side of his chest grew warm. Several seconds passed before he realized that the diamond in his skin burned hot. Its energy radiated throughout his body like a beacon. He readied for the shift. Nothing happened. Instead, his flesh started to knit and mend.

  None of that seemed to matter to London who fled from the bedroom with her shoes hugged to her chest. David followed her, unwilling to pause long enough to get dressed.

  She continued on a headlong pace, flinging open the front door, and running barefoot out into the courtyard.

  “What the hell just happened?” David stared out at the empty courtyard, thankful that his nightmare ended, although he sensed it was temporary.

  He headed to the kitchen sink and rinsed off his arm. One more wound to add to the numerous list.

  A scent captured his attention. Anise, cloves, cinnamon.

  Someone knocked at his front door.

  “Um … excuse me. I’m looking for Mr. David Chastain.” A woman of average-to-tall height with straight, raven black hair, serious eyes, and dressed in the most dowdy pantsuit he’d ever seen hovered at his doorway.

  David considered grabbing a frying pan in case she had a dagger to plunge into his arm. Though his radar didn’t ping. Her demeanor didn’t threaten. It had been a long night that taxed every part of him, including his patience. With crossed arms, legs parted, and feet firmly planted—he tiredly readied for Round Two.

  “Come in.”

  Her gaze flew down to his cock. “Oh, my.” She covered her eyes with her hands. “Please, are you Mr. Chastain?”

  “I’m David. In the flesh.” Her embarrassment was quaint after dealing with the likes of London. “What do you want?”