Mine to Possess

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.”