Claiming Their Royal Mate: Part One (2 page)

S
he hurt
. Ached.
Needed
.

Daniella’s eyes flew open and she blinked against the darkness filling her room. She gulped air into her lungs. Had she been dreaming? She wasn’t sure. Whatever the cause, it was almost impossible to breathe around the wanting.

Two days had passed since she’d literally run into Owen outside of her apartment, and she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. Part of her felt empty, and that emptiness had grown into all-out need. But was it real? Or was she just horny and missing their friendship? It was possible she was transferring her feelings, mixing things up in her head.

She’d considered calling an ex-boyfriend. Surely one of them wouldn’t mind coming by for a quickie. But the idea didn’t excite her. Something inside of her insisted none of them would do. And even touching herself in the shower, slipping her own small finger inside her constantly aching sex, had only given her a moment’s reprieve.

“What the hell?” she whispered, her voice a wisp of its normal strength. But the darkness around her was silent.

Screw this. She was done waiting for whatever it was that her body needed.

Owen. He was the answer to this. She had to talk to him.

She pulled herself out of bed onto shaky legs. She’d slept naked—odd for her, but she hadn’t been able to stand the feel of clothing against her skin the last two nights. The soft material of the robe she pulled on teased her sensitive skin. Caressed it. She bit her lip against a moan.

A voice in the back of her mind protested. This wasn’t her. She’d never leave her apartment wearing only a short, thin robe, especially not to see her frustrating jerk of a neighbor.

But that voice was only a whisper against the need raging through her body.

She struggled into the hallway and banged on his door; the sound hurt her sensitive ears. Three knocks and the door opened.

Owen stood in the doorway, his large, muscular body bare save for a pair of boxer briefs. He pulled her inside, a motion so quick she barely felt his hands grip her arms before he released her on the other side of the doorframe. Then he wasn’t touching her. Instead, he peered out into the hallway, as if he thought she might not be alone.

“Are you all right? Did someone—”

“What the hell is wrong with me?” That wasn’t what she’d meant to ask, dammit. There was no real reason to believe Owen would have any idea what ailed her, but her instincts screamed he knew the answer.

Or maybe she was just confused. She couldn’t even manage a rational conversation at the moment. She clenched her hands into fists to keep herself from reaching out and touching him. And
oh,
how she wanted to touch the man who even now made her angry. Feel the muscles barely contained by his skin. Take in his scent, which teased the edge of her senses.

He stared at her, then took a long breath. His eyes widened. “Ah, hell, Daniella.”

The simple act of him saying her name pushed her blood pressure up a notch. She licked her lips and took an involuntary step toward him before stopping herself in her tracks.

“What is wrong with me?” She ground out every word.

“It’s not my place to say.” He shut the door behind him, turning his back to her.

She laughed, but the sound held no amusement. She was about ready to either jump out of her skin, or shove this man who she didn’t even care for to the ground so she could screw him seven ways from Sunday, and he was keeping
secrets
?

“Tell me!”

“It’s—you’re special. There’s something that your adoptive parents never prepared you for, didn’t know to prepare you for. But I’m only here to keep you safe. I can’t go into any more detail.” His eyes met hers, more amber than brown, and just his gaze sent a jolt of lust through her body.

“Fuck your secrets.” Her sex ached so badly that it hurt. And he smelled good, so damn good. Like a twisted mix of man and cinnamon. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to sleep with him or eat him. She pressed her thighs together, but the pressure only served to make her sensitive skin more inflamed.

His eyes narrowed in understanding. “Dammit. You’re in full heat. Come with me.”

He led her to a couch and had her sit. But she couldn’t sit—pressure seemed to only make it worse. So she lay down instead. The world was surreal, and Owen’s scent seemed to inundate the couch—a deep, masculine scent that teased her desire. A murmured voice caressed her ears and she realized he was on the phone.

What had he said—full heat? She had no clue what that could be. Was he calling an ambulance? She might be ill. She certainly didn’t feel right, although she didn’t feel sick, either. Could she have been poisoned? The pipes in the apartment building had to be old as dirt, probably filled with lead. Maybe she’d been drugged. But she hadn’t left her apartment all day, so how was that possible? Time-released Ecstasy wasn’t a thing, as far as she knew. It felt as though something—something outside of herself, outside of her control—was assaulting her.

“I’m going to try to help you,” Owen said, his voice strained.

Daniella opened her eyes and blinked against the brightness. She hadn’t noticed him approaching.

“Need you,” she managed.

“I know, kitten. I can’t give you that. But I can help you. Maybe make it not hurt so much. But to do that I have to touch you.” His voice deepened and her sex throbbed in response. “Do you want me to help you?”

“Please,” she said, her voice a whisper.

He tugged on the belt of her robe, and then slid it open with a hiss. Only vaguely did she realize she was naked in front of her annoying neighbor. Her former friend. Full breasts jutting out, her nipples were hard as rocks, as if they begged for his attention. And her core ached, electricity springing from it as if his gaze alone excited whatever it was inside of her that needed quenching.

“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he said, reverently.

He took one of her nipples into his mouth and suckled. She moaned and slid her fingers through his hair, pulling at it. Begging him silently to do more. Faster. More pressure.

He responded by moving to her other nipple and sucking harder. He bit down softly as his hand slid down to cup her sex, pressing only the slightest bit against her hard nub.

“Owen,” she cried out, not even recognizing her own voice. She came immediately, a flash of colors and light crisscrossing her vision.

He growled in response and rubbed her softly with his palm, pulling small aftershocks from her.

“That won’t be enough,” he muttered, as if to himself. But he pulled the sides of her robe back over her, hiding her body from his view. He didn’t get up from where he crouched by her on the couch, but he settled his hands on either side of her.

He was right. It wasn’t enough. Already she could feel the hunger just sated building again. But she could think better. Not clearly, by any means, but any ability to think was an improvement.

“Owen, what’s happening? Please, tell me.” Her pride bristled at the pleading tone in her voice. But she needed to know, and now. Because the desire was already pooling between her legs and crawling along her skin.

His expression was hard, as if he would refuse her again. But when his gaze locked onto hers, his face softened. “You’re not a normal woman, Daniella. When you hit maturity, your first heat began. Only sex with one of your own can sate the lust.”

“One of my own? I don’t understand. And what do you mean, maturity? This only started a couple of weeks ago, and I’m well into maturity.”

“It doesn’t hit like clockwork, at an exact age. But generally between nineteen and twenty-two, our women start going into heat. It’s not usually a problem, because we live in a community. There are men around to…take care of things, when the heat hits. But you’re different, Daniella. You weren’t raised with us.”

“I was adopted,” she murmured, mind racing. It was getting harder to think again. She squirmed, but the pressure only grew. “I’m twenty-three.”

“You’re a little older than normal. But like I said, it’s not clockwork. It’s all hormones, and hormones are unpredictable.”

She squirmed a bit, unable to help herself. Why did he have to rest his hands at her sides, when she needed his touch?

A haze settled over her vision, and he cursed under his breath. Suddenly the explanation didn’t seem so important. The why didn’t matter. Only the need.

“Owen,” she mumbled.

“I know, beautiful.”

She watched him this time, as he opened her robe. The amber flecks she’d noticed before in his eyes seemed to no longer be flecks; instead, the light amber appeared to overtake his irises, so that they were almost golden.

His gaze raked over her body again, and it made her already sensitive flesh burn. Suddenly, she didn’t feel limp. Didn’t feel stuck to the couch. Didn’t feel weak.

If she didn’t move, she might crawl out of her skin.

She took his mouth with her own, and after a moment’s hesitation, he kissed her back. His tongue slid against hers, softly testing at first, then with a fervor that made her cling to him. He tasted like peppermint.

She moaned into his mouth when he pulled her close. His body was cool against hers, or maybe whatever was wrong with her made her unnaturally hot.

With her legs wrapped around his waist, she could feel his erection pressed against where she needed it most. How could she ache for him this much? There was no doubt that he was attractive. He was the kind of man wet dreams were made of—tall and muscular and sexy as sin. But he irritated her with his constant presence, despite turning his nose up at their friendship, and his annoyingly standoffish nature. But none of that seemed to matter to her body.

Pushing her thoughts aside, she shimmied against him, rubbing her clit against the hard cock she could feel beneath his boxer briefs. His hands gripped her hips almost painfully hard, and she cried out in triumph.

“No!”

He tossed her and she had a moment of panic where she felt weightless, but she landed on something soft. A mattress. When had they gotten to his bedroom?

In a flash, she was back on him. Hands on his ass, pressing herself against his hardness. Seeking his delicious mouth with her own.

“None of that, kitten.” But his hips arched against her, sliding his thickness against her soft skin.

She bit at him, a warning snap at his face. Something inside of her was wild, raging. And it wanted out. It wanted Owen. To hurt him or fuck him. Maybe both.

His hand dug into her hair and pulled hard. She cried out at the flash of pain.

“I can’t take you. You’re going to have to accept what I
can
give you.”

Her body screamed at her to fight him. To take what was hers. But he pushed her onto the bed, easily controlling her flailing movements with his much larger frame.

But when his hand touched her mound softly, she stilled.

“That’s it, kitten. Relax. I’ll take care of you.”

But instead of his mere touch bringing her to orgasm, it only made her more needy, and she ground against his hand. He gave her a swift kiss, tongue only brushing against her own, and met her gaze with his golden eyes. Then, very purposefully, he lowered his head between her legs.

His tongue touched her, flickering out against her clit, and she gasped. Over and over he teased her, running his tongue around her entrance and sucking on her most sensitive spot, before pulling back to watch her reaction.

Unlike the first time he’d made her come, he seemed to want to draw her out. Not just give her momentary relief, but also torment her along the way. Enjoying her reactions while he tortured her. He worked her with his mouth, one hand reaching up to cup her breasts, to tease her nipples.

She moaned and writhed and gasped his name, but he refused to be rushed. Drawing her out with quick licks and the barest of touches, he reached behind her to grab the nape of her neck, forcing her to hold still with his free hand while he worked.

“Owen, please!” She was hot, so hot, burning for release. Her whole body was swollen and needy and empty.

“You want to come?” he asked, voice low. But it wasn’t really a question. He knew what she needed, but for some reason wanted to hear it from her lips. She made a mewling sound, the closest thing to words she could summon.

He leaned back down, and she could feel his fingers probing around her entrance, but no matter how she squirmed, he refused to penetrate her. Instead, he sucked on her clit, hard. Teeth nipped her, and she flew over the edge into oblivion.

H
e felt her spasm
, and with her taste in his mouth, he almost said to hell with it and took her. How right it felt to have her shuddering beneath him. To have her calling his name. Like she was his.

Mine
.

No. Thoughts like that would get him into trouble. He had a duty here. And his honor wouldn’t allow him to give in to his own desires.

He helped her sit up on the bed, and she pulled the robe tightly around her body, tying the belt and glancing around the room, eyes wide and dazed. But she seemed to be able to focus better. Good.

“Owen?” Her voice was sleepy and sated. “Tell me more. Tell me what I am.”

It wasn’t his place, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny her again. Not when she was already so vulnerable. Not after she’d already given him so much of herself. “You’re a weretiger.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

He took in a deep breath and regretted it immediately when her floral scent filled his nose, mixed with the spicy smell of her heat, and the intoxicating scent of her arousal.

“We’re human—mostly. But over time, we develop tiger characteristics.”

“So you’re saying I’m like a werewolf or something?” Her tone was doubtful, and he could hardly blame her. This wasn’t the way to show her what she was. He should have kept his mouth shut and waited until they were somewhere safe enough for a demonstration. But it was too late now, the cat—tiger—was out of the bag.

“No, not exactly. You aren’t bound by the moon or anything. And most of us can’t turn completely. The weakest of our kind eventually develop tiger traits—the strength or speed or claws. Most of us can turn partially at will. Only the purest bloodlines can shift into actual tigers.”