One True Mate 3: Shifter's Echo Page 6

Mac shook his head. “I forgot you can barely smell anything, anyway. Take my word for it. She didn’t have an identifying scent. She can’t be human, though. One would never dare to be out past their curfew, especially not alone.”

  Crew stared up at the crowd, trying to pick her out. “Maybe she’s something you’ve never smelled before.” Witch? Vampire? If he knew she was one of those things, would he still be as attracted to her? Undeniably. He turned to Mac, wanting to ask if different species could mate. He knew shiften and humans could, and he knew different kinds of shiften could, although they almost never did. But he knew very little about any other species mating in this world. Tranquility was almost all shiften and humans. Rarely did they run across anything else, and he had never been outside of Tranquility.

  Mac was staring at him. “Nah, Spook. It doesn’t work that way. Even if you’ve never smelled it before, instinct still tells you what it is. Besides, there ain’t nothing I’ve never run across. Slept with most of ‘em, too.”

  Crew broke off his searching and stared at Mac, believing him, almost.

  Mac laughed. “I never accept a rumor about how a species is in bed. Gotta test it for myself or I won’t know what I’m missing. Come on, let’s get our asses in line. If we’re lucky, we’ll get another sniff at her.”

  Chapter 7

  Dahlia pressed close to the group of women in front of her as the line moved. They were near the front and she needed to see exactly what happened when they got to the burly, no-neck security dude with the clipboard who was letting people in. What was he checking off on his clipboard? Did it cost money to get in? If it did, would she casually slip out of the line, or try to bluff her way in?

  The women were talking and the youngest-looking one spoke in a whiny voice that set Dahlia’s teeth on edge. “I don’t understand why the ruts have such stupid rules. It’s a rut. There should be no rules. I want to go to the Loganville rut with Rusty! I know he’s there right now.” Dahlia thought she heard the woman’s teeth grind.

  An older woman, not enough resemblance to be her mother, but maybe an aunt or older sibling, answered. “Think about your Uncle Donald. Would you want to see him naked or prowling one of your friends?”

  “Ew! No!”

  The older woman rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and they don’t want to see you, either. That’s why females under fifty are never allowed to go to the same rut as their male relatives. It cuts down on fights between potential mates and protective brothers or fathers. Plus it helps you find a mate you’ve never met before. If you’ve got someone in mind in your own town, you just meet them on your own. No rut needed.”

  Rut. Dahlia’s fingers itched to get out her notebook. She knew rut meant a groove or a habit, or periodic sexual excitement in animals like deer. But could it possibly mean what it sounded like in this world?

  The younger woman pouted and twisted her lips as she raised her hand to gesticulate a biting reply but her friend or relative silenced her with a shove. “Go, it’s our turn.”

  Dahlia stood on tiptoes and craned her neck over their shoulders to see if they produced any money. None that she could see.

  “Last names?” security dude asked in a bored voice. The older woman gave two last names, her eyes raking over security dude’s biceps and chest. He wore no coat and a short sleeved shirt. Dahlia shivered and pulled her own jacket tighter around her.

  From behind, a hand grasped her hip. She whirled around and stepped out of reach. The man who had touched her smiled and leaned forward. Close enough that she could count all of his teeth.

  “How come I can’t smell you, love? What exactly are you?”

  Dahlia stared at him, eyes wide, mind racing. The same question the meathead had asked her, and apparently not a socially inappropriate one. A human jumped to her lips but she bit it back, something inside her telling her it would not be safe to admit that.

  He stepped in closer and his hand landed on her hip again. Dahlia bit back a scream, hating this world and how two men had already put their unwelcome hands on her. It made her feel small, weak, and cowardly and called up a memory of a time she’d been cowardly, letting her date force himself on her without fighting him hard enough, staying still to save herself pain in the moment, not realizing what it would cost her emotionally. She gritted her teeth, remembering what she’d promised herself after that incident. Brave and wild, brave and wild. I will never stay quiet and complacent again.

  The internal chant gave her strength. She peeled meathead number three’s fingers off her and shoved his hand back at him. “Keep your hands off me,” she said, jaw clenched.

  He frowned. “You sure, love? Because we’ll be inside in just a minute, and then you’ll be begging me.”

  Dahlia’s thoughts stuttered. Begging him for what? What would be so different inside?

  “Last names?” security dude boomed, making Dahlia jump. Her turn! She whirled around and scooted to the front of the line, trying to keep an eye on meathead number three at the same time.

  “Ah, Woodridge.”

  Security dude looked at his clipboard.

  “Town of residence?”

  Oh no. “Loganville,” her mouth supplied with no help from her brain. She held her breath, her hands clenching and unclenching, wishing for the familiarity of a pen in her hand. If only she could write something, anything, down. It soothed her like a sensory blanket.

  Security dude sniffed, then frowned, lowering his sunglasses to look at her. “Species?”

  Ah crud. Now what? She took a deep breath and tried to think of what to say, shoving her hands in her pockets to hide their shaking.

  Security dude took his glasses all the way off, his stare intensifying.

  Brave and wild. Say something. She gave him a cool smile and twirled so he could see her back, then faced him again. “Can’t you tell?”

  He frowned. “You’re not a prey animal, are you?”

  Dahlia widened her eyes and pulled her head back like that was crazy talk. Prey animal, what in the world was she getting herself into? She looked around. Maybe she should just step out of line and try her luck somewhere else. Anywhere else. But in the line next to her she saw him. Hot samaritan warrior guy. The security guard on that side waved him and his friend out of the line and they headed in the door while others looked on like they were celebrities. She faced her security dude with renewed intent. She would get in that building. Somehow.

  Brave and wild. “No, not a prey animal.” She bared her tiny white teeth.

  His lips curled up in a hint of a smile. “So why can’t I smell you?”

  She waved her hand airily in front of her. “I don’t know. Maybe because my nose is stuffed up.”

  He stared at her and she let him, then he laughed and marked something on his clipboard. “Go right in.”

  Yes! Dahlia scrambled past the table that divided her from the doors ahead and pushed her way inside.

  To a sight she never imagined she would see in her life.

  The atmosphere was warm and smelled of food, people, and a sweet smoke. Her mouth watered even as her eyes roamed everywhere, unable to believe anything they were seeing.

  The room was as large as a high school gymnasium, the lights darkened, with high disco balls sending colored streams of light everywhere. In the middle of the room stood a dance floor, the biggest she’d ever seen, with hundreds of people on it, gyrating alone or in groups or pairs. As Dahlia’s eyes adjusted, she saw more and more people who were actually having sex on the dance floor. Naked people. No one paid them any attention, as if they didn’t stand out any more than the ones who still had their clothes on.

  Dahlia stopped in the middle of the entrance, unable to get her feet to carry her any farther. Her eyes locked on a naked hulking man who had ahold of a woman’s long black hair and was guiding her down, down to─

  The door opened behind her. “There you are, love.”

  Dahlia uttered a single startled scream that she cut short, then rushed forward
, acting like she had somewhere in mind to go. She skirted the dance floor, winding her way between tables filled with people laughing and drinking and couches that she kept her eyes away from. Along the back wall, she saw counters loaded with plates of food, bowls of punch, and tubs full of ice and drinks. People just grabbed whatever they wanted. No money needed. Pay dirt. She headed that way, eyes on the floor, wanting to get a plate of something, find a corner to hole up in, and figure out just what in the hell was going on here.

  Before she got there, she saw something she just couldn’t ignore. A man kneeling in front of an oversized couch, his muscled ass bunching as he thrust into a woman reclined in a state of obvious bliss. On either side of them, two other woman lay, and the man was fingering both of them vigorously, as they writhed and moaned.

  Dahlia stood stock still, her stomach forgotten, unable to tear herself away. Three women. He was pleasing three women at once. Dahlia caught herself wondering what it would be like to be with someone like that. The man felt her stare and looked around, holding her gaze with intention, then he shifted his position, laying back on the couch. The three women all moved quickly to be back within his reach. He lifted his chin at her from his reclined position. “Come on over, then, sweetheart. Thrasher’s still got one more seat available.” He looked straight up, lifting his chin again and thrusting his tongue between his lips, licking at nothing.

  Dahlia’s eyes went wide as her unruly imagination saw herself there, sitting on his face. The space between her legs heated, then throbbed, and a blush flew to her cheeks. But in her mind, when she looked down, it was not Thrasher who was beneath her, but rather her good samaritan.

  Dahlia mentally shook herself and strode quickly away with no destination in mind. Just away. She backed against a wall, unable to believe what she was seeing. What was this world? She’d never dreamed anyone could be so open about sex, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stay or go. She seemed safer in here than outside, but what if someone approached her?

  To her left, a stately brunette with teased, curled hair that stood at least four inches off her head in all directions snapped at a man who had touched her shoulder. “Move that hand or lose that hand,” she snarled, her lips curled back from her teeth, showing fangs.

  “Oh my God,” Dahlia breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from those gleaming fangs. She wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Unfortunately, she had somehow stumbled into a world so startlingly different from hers that she almost wondered if she’d been saved from the car wreck in order to become somebody’s lunch over here.

  Someone saved me. Who?

  The question roared through her mind and she fumbled for her notebook. She had to write it down. Had to ponder it, even if she was in something akin to a lion’s den. She could just find a corner and sink into it. No one would notice her for the (hopefully) few moments it took her to get her squirming thoughts on paper. Could all this have happened for a reason?

  Over the music, a devastating growl sounded to her left, near the dance floor. The hand seeking her notebook faltered as she looked that way. Two men circled each other and both were swiftly changing into something that didn’t look so much like men anymore. They dropped to all fours, their eyes locked on each other. Their faces changed, elongating into muzzles, their heads flattened until their ears almost reached the tops of their heads, then grew pointed and hairy. As Dahlia watched their faces, she missed most of what was going on with their bodies, but in under twenty seconds they were both wolves, piles of torn clothing lying under and around them. Big wolves with murder in their flat gazes and snarling lips.

  They sprang at each other and the cracking of their skulls meeting burst through the room. People backed away from them, but few watched, and no one screamed or ran to get away.

  Dahlia’s empty hand fell back to her side and she stared, open-mouthed. Werewolves. She was at a werewolf orgy. She absently rubbed the tattoo behind her ear as she watched, wide-eyed, denying the feelings that rose inside her.

  The fight lasted only for a few minutes, until one wolf was able to get under the other one and sink his teeth into its throat. He shook the throat until the other wolf fell to its side, panting, blood spilling onto the floor. The winner let go and turned back into a man, then stood. Dahlia gasped at her full view of his lean, naked body. He didn’t seem to care that he was naked. He looked past the wolf on the floor, who was also shifting back into a man, and held his hand out to a woman to his right. Dancing people spilled out onto the carpet, the shifting crowd blocking Dahlia’s view.

  Her hand fluttered to her throat and she clutched at nothing. Brave and wild. Her mind clung to her mantra like a life preserver. But she could never be half as brave and wild as anyone in here. She was prey. Her fingers began to shake as her mind lost its moorings.

  “You really shouldn’t be alone,” a deep male voice sounded to her right. “Didn’t you come with friends?”

  A startled squeak escaped Dahlia’s lips before she bit it back and turned that way. The man from earlier, who had saved her from the meatheads. A rush of relief hit her as she saw his handsome face. He wouldn’t hurt her. He had helped her, with no reason other than he was a good guy. He looked like a good guy. But she remembered what he had said. If I have to shift, I’m going to kill you. He was one of them.

  Of course he was! Everyone here was. She had stumbled into some strange Planet of the Werewolves reality and if she were determined to look for someone human to help her, she was probably signing her own death warrant.

  She tried to answer. Her voice shook as words came out of her mouth. “Are you real?”

  His eyes narrowed and she clutched tighter at the hollow at the base of her throat, scratching herself with her own nails.

  She’d just given herself away.

  Chapter 8

  Dahlia played her inane question over in her mind, trying to think of how to excuse it, as the man stared at her, his expression turbulent.

  But then his forehead smoothed out. He stepped closer to her, standing next to her and slipping his arm around her shoulders. “Hey, you’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you.”

  The heat of his hand penetrated all the way through her jacket and she shuddered, then scooted closer to him, trying not to bury her face into his chest. She needed his protection. She wanted his comfort and his touch. She couldn’t explain it, but the feeling was clear and commanding.

  His other hand grazed the bare flesh at her wrist and the touch seared into her, bringing feelings she opened herself to. Relief. Coming home. Goodness. Protector. Powerful. Somehow, knowledge of who he was at his very core filled her. She cried out at the onslaught of it, which brought back her joy and contentment from earlier. That rush of chemicals that had overwhelmed her when she’d realized she was still alive.

  “Hey, what’s going on, doll? Are you ok?”

  Dahlia shuddered at the endearment, unable to speak. He didn’t even know her name, and yet he had just called her what her mother had called her, and what Fern called her, what she called herself sometimes. She gazed into his eyes, her lips parting as she tried to think of something to say to him to explain what she was feeling inside, but her body wouldn’t let her think. It was like she was suddenly a giant tuning fork for all the sexual energy in the room.

  His own eyes widened and he raised a hand to his temple. His cheeks flooded with color and his eyes glazed, focusing on the far wall of the massive room. Dahlia’s heart thumped in time with the heavy beat of the song that was playing. His hand tightened on her shoulder and she could hear his breath suck into his lungs.

  She stared hard at him, somehow knowing he was feeling the same thing she was.

  ***

  Crew swallowed convulsively, trying to get himself under control. He’d been thrilled when he saw her inside, then crushed when Thrasher had noticed her. No female ever turned Thrasher down, and that male frequently went all night, pleasing dozens of females in an hour. They lined up to get a chance with
him. He was a legendary fighter, too, and Crew didn’t know if he could beat Thrasher in a battle for the petite and gorgeous female he was so taken with. Not in this world, where he was never quite at full strength. He would have tried, though. Tried to the death. She deserved it.

  But she’d turned away, running from Thrasher, making Crew light up from the inside.

  Then when he’d touched her…

  Crew’s eyes dropped shut as good feelings slipped through him and blissful sensations wracked him, pleasure curling down his spine to coil at the base. His cock hardened, making him piston his hips forward. The pleasure of it! The desire, the wanting! So different from how he normally felt here. He came to the ruts when he had to, not necessarily looking for a mate, but feeling the pull of the moon, even if it was muted. But now? Blood rushed to his erection, leaving him in no doubt of what he wanted.

  He forced his eyes open and looked down at the petite female. The smell of the food hit him and he looked up for just a second, frowning, realizing for some reason he could suddenly smell almost as well as he could in his real world. He leaned in close, trying to catch the scent of the female in his arms, his soul on fire with the desire to learn her. Like Mac had said, she did not have the woodsy, wild smell of a female wolfen, nor the airy, light smell of a human, but what he detected set him ablaze on the inside. Was it lavender? Lavender with a sweet tang that bordered on citrusy. He decided she was a shiften, had to be a wolfen, because how could any other species attract him so strongly? And because he wanted her to be more than he wanted his next breath. When he looked at her the thoughts MATE and MINE emblazoned across his brain, which had never happened to him before in any world.

  Their eyes met and her hand reached up to touch him on his chin, softly. Her touch felt sweet but branding, like she was claiming him in some way. He didn’t even know her name, but she could brand and claim him any way she wanted. His mind turned over, spilling sexual thoughts like candy out of a broken piñata. He held perfectly still, willing her to do what she would with him, whatever she wanted, as shiften moved about them in time with the music, ignoring them completely.