Page 3 of Ruthlessly Mated (Shared Mates #2)

They all look the other way. Even if they think I’m bluffing, the one thing worse than whatever they think I am is an undercover officer. One stray law enforcement official could mean an impending raid or worse. It’s not something they can afford to ignore, and I know it.

The second their eyes slide away from me, I run.

It’s not pretty.

It’s a fucking mess. I instantly trip, get tangled in people’s legs, and start scrabbling for the exit.

The only reason it works is because the bar is so full and I am relatively small and agile. They get hung up on the crush of humanity and whatever else is here, but I can squirm underneath the tables and make for the service entrance.

Damon

“Little shit is fast,” Conroy growls as he lunges after the small female and misses her entirely.

We were going to make an example of the girl who thought she could sneak cargo through this port without paying us our cut.

This harbor is under our protection. Nothing comes or goes through here that we don’t know about.

The port seals aren’t transferable. The second hers was scanned and showed the ID of a sixty-year-old man, a waitress called us.

Counterfeits have been a problem. We were planning on putting an end to that tonight.

“Shouldn’t have grabbed her,” Tailor says. “Or rather, shouldn’t have let her go once you had her.”

Conroy runs his hand through his hair in frustration while I stay quiet, like usual.

Things got complicated quickly. She’s not a human, for starters.

We thought she was just a spoiled brat girl looking to try her luck in the port.

The place does attract quite a few people who think nerve is all it takes.

But she is not a human.

She’s a wolf. Like us.

They’re rare out this way. They’re rare out every way.

Wolf shifters have historically been hunted viciously by humans who were convinced that they ate babies.

Legends about wolves who walk go back hundreds of years.

As a result, we have been persecuted and hunted to near extinction.

The exception is Eclipse City, where wolves have set themselves up as the royal family and wield true power.

“Are we going to talk about the fact she came into heat the second you touched her?” Tailor keeps talking even as he rises to give chase.

The plan was to whip her ass in front of everyone, give the tavern a damn good show and make an example of her that would not soon be forgotten. Sometimes, legendary punishments can be told of for generations. That was our plan. Might still be.

“We don’t need to talk about that.”

“Don’t we? It means she’s your mate.”

Conroy throws a look at him. “You mean our mate. We all felt it. I saw the way you two reacted to her. And that scent is not for one man. It’s enough to draw in every alpha with a dick in a ten- mile radius. She’s ripe for claiming. Overdue. Now let’s go get her.”

“She’s already got out the door,” Tailor says.

“We’ve got her cargo. She’s not going anywhere. We’ll hunt her down, and we’ll show her what pack discipline really means,” Conroy growls.

We start moving. The crowd parts for us far too late to make any real difference, but that does not bother us. We’ll catch her. We know it.

While we search, I play my memories of her over and over in my mind.

My mate is beautiful. Truly stunning. She has big brown eyes and dark brown hair. She is thick and curvy and the expression on her pretty round face can best be described as troubled.

I have not spoken in over ten years, but she had my lips parting the moment I laid eyes on her. Conroy led, of course. He cannot help but rush in first. He grabbed her and she practically exploded pheromonally.

Her scent is still somewhat in the air, clinging to my lips, I think.

I can taste her. Her essence. Her arousal.

Her need. A wolf meets their mate once in a lifetime, bonds intensely and immediately, and then just has to make it work.

Nature knows best when it comes to wolf mating, unlike humans who try to make decisions by getting to know one another.

Their process has always seemed wildly random and mostly ill-fated. This is different. This is fated.

“We just met the female we’re supposed to claim. Isn’t that a little more important than some cargo getting through without the toll being paid?” Tailor starts arguing.

“Doesn’t matter,” Conroy says, shaking his head emphatically. “She broke our rules, she pays. Same as anyone.”

“We’re going to publicly humiliate the first mate we’ve encountered in years? The girl who is supposed to bear our babies?” Tailor argues. “We should go and find her and soothe her. She’s our mate, she won’t have broken any rules once we claim her.”

“The vampire knew, which means others knew. This entire bar just saw her run from us. She cannot be allowed to get away with it. We bring her back here, we deal with her, and we decide whether she’s our mate or not.”

“What do you mean if she is our mate or not, you felt that connection. Or was it just me? Is she my mate? If she is, you won’t be putting a finger on her,” Tailor says.

“I feel the bond, I just don’t intend to let it interfere with necessary discipline. If she’s ours, she’s got to learn how to behave.”

He sounds so excited. He’s trying to sound furious, stern, like he’s going to really whip her for this behavior, but I can tell he’s thrilled.

The three of us run this port as equal partners.

None holds more authority than the other, though Conroy likes to assume the role of leader because he enjoys bossing people around more than he’d ever admit.

Tailor is bossy, but in a different way.

His means of control usually involves a ledger of some kind. If I am controlling, it is by stealth.

This is truly exciting. Nature has delivered a mate. A mate not just for one of us, but for all of us.

My desire is throbbing. I am fucking hard. I have never wanted anybody as much as I want her. She is gorgeous. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Tattoos running down her forearms. She looked like trouble, and she smelled like it too.

While they argue, I start the hunt in earnest.

Kita

I need to get the hell out of here.

But I can’t go anywhere until I get my cargo unloaded, and they know it.

I’m trapped in a pretty small place with only a few areas to hide.

It’s so weird how lawless places always seem to have more rules than lawful ones.

If I didn’t pay a toll in a regular port, I’d probably have some kind of extra fine to pay.

They’d send a letter to my house. They might repossess something I like.

I don’t think those three wolves are hunting me down to give me a sternly worded letter.

In places like these, the penalty for not paying the fine is literally written everywhere: Death (Or Worse).

If I don’t lose those three, very bad and very intense things are going to happen to me. I can feel it deep down between my legs. I didn’t come here for this. I have plans. Big plans.

I am good at hiding, and there are some outbuildings to hide in.

Places where they fix the machinery. Places where they keep cargo that can’t be moved right away.

Places where the workers live, mostly little cabins arranged around the back of the port, up by the fence that runs around the perimeter.

Plus there’s the usual barrels, concrete pipes, bags of whatever is inside the bags.

There’s quite a few people still moving around.

Some of them are carrying things, others are watching people carry things.

I zip through them, trying not to draw anybody’s attention.

I figure there’s got to be three or four different places they probably won’t look.

Most of them are deeply filthy, but that’s how you hide.

In places where nobody else wants to go.

That’s the whole ethos of the entire pirate port. Legit ships don’t anchor here.

Before I can decide where to hide, I am yanked into a dark alley by a pale, wizened hand with long, dark nails that curls into my coat and does not let go. Red eyes gleam in the darkness as the narrow face of a horrid little predator leers at me.

“Oh, my, you’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

Sometimes it’s nice to hear someone familiar when you’re in the middle of a stressful situation in a far-off place, but this is not one of these times.

Cyril is a skinny man with stringy hair and fangs that somehow manage to not look even slightly intimidating.

He smirks at me, drawing his upper lip back over his fangs.

They’re short. And honestly, kind of blunt.

I think I see a little bit of rat fur stuck to them.

He won’t bite me. I won’t taste good, and he knows it.

Cyril is a vampire, but not one I respect.

His boss? That’s a different matter. This smarmy little fucker was turned as a sort of punishment about twenty years ago.

Cyril has absolutely no power and very little in the way of menace.

He’s the vampire equivalent of the kid who gets bullied wherever he goes because he’s such a little shit.

“I told on you,” he says.

“You did? Who did you tell? And what did you tell them?”

“Well, I told the boss where you were, because I want the bounty, but then I realized you weren’t in the toll book because you didn’t pay the toll on your cargo. So then I dressed up as a waitress and informed the port masters.”

“You dressed up as a waitress? Why?”

“Because I’m a freaky little fucker,” he says with surprising self-awareness.

“Yeah? And who are they? The port masters?”

I think I already know, but I’ll let Cyril monologue a little.

“You should have paid the toll for that cargo, Kita,” he says. “Now there’re three alpha wolves who are going to tear you apart. They’re going to rip you up, in more ways than one.”

Alright, that’s enough.