“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
“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 maitre 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
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 maitre 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 maitre 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 maitre 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 maitre 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.”
When they cleared the steps, it was to find the maitre d’ standing in front of an open door midway down the hall. “If you would like to wait inside,” he said, careful to keep his distance from Clay, “I’ll show Mr. Santos up as soon as he arrives.”
“Thank you,” Talin said.
Clay paused long enough to give the other man the cool smile of a predator on the hunt before Talin dragged him inside and shut the door. “Enough.”
Liking the fact that she was comfortable enough to give him orders, he searched the room for a secondary exit. The window was high but more than big enough. He could climb out with Talin on his back. Satisfied, he walked back to where she stood against the door.
“Most people don’t react as badly as that guy,” he said, bracing his arms palms down on either side of her head. He left enough room that she didn’t feel trapped, but still, his leopard purred when she remained in place. “He must be one of those humans who thinks of us as animals. Probably waiting for me to order live venison.”
“Don’t take that high-and-mighty tone.” She poked a finger into his chest. “Unless you don’t know of any changelings who think of humans as prey.”
He winced. “You’re right. Some of the predatory species tend to lump humans in the same group as cattle and deer.” Prey, kept safe only because even in animal form, a changeling’s mind was half man.
“What do you think?” she asked, tone arch.
“I think I don’t want to feel the sharp edge of your tongue.” Pushing off the door, he walked to the western side of the square table and pulled out a chair. It was a position that would allow him to keep an eye on both exits. “A seat, my lady.”
She wandered over, looked him up and down. “Funny, you look like Clay.”
He jerked up his chin in a silent question.
“You’re being charming.”
If she knew the control it was taking to keep the brutal possessiveness of his nature from taking over, she would’ve been terrified. His hands clenched on the back of the chair as she sat, the high tail of her hair brushing over his fingers. Though he knew she didn’t consciously realize it, her acceptance of the seat—of allowing him behind her—was an act of primal trust, baring as it did the vulnerable nape of her neck.
He wanted to lean down and press a kiss to that creamy skin. Tally didn’t have freckles there. “Don’t worry,” he assured her, intrigued by his discovery. “I’ll be back to surly and uncommunicative soon enough.”
“Idiot.” She laughed as he took a seat beside her, on the side closest to the door. No one would be able to get to her without going through him. He was about to give in to temptation and reach out to play with a strand of her hair when he heard footsteps. Rising, he went to the door and opened it.
A tall man—dark hair, dark eyes, possible weapon in a shoulder holster—exited the staircase behind the
