ClaimMe (2 page)

Riveted, though she couldn’t explain why, Jane watched as
the man’s chin lifted a hair—such a slight move, it probably wasn’t even
noticeable to the human eye—and he sniffed the air. Then his head turned
sharply so he stared directly into the security camera at the entrance of the
club, as though he knew she were watching him. He seemed to look right at her,
like they were standing in the same room together, mere inches from each other,
rather than separated by an entire floor.

A peculiar warmth ribboned through Jane at the sight of the
ruggedly handsome man downstairs. He had vibrant blue eyes framed by long,
brown lashes. His sandy hair was crazily mussed, as though he’d just left the
bed of a woman who’d enjoyed plowing her fingers through it as he’d thrust into
her. His jaw, lined with a day or two of stubble, was of the square, David
Beckham variety, with a small cleft in the chin. He had sculpted cheekbones and
a slightly crooked nose that made her think he’d taken a few punches over the
years.

And again…those eyes. They were stunning. Captivating.
Hypnotic. Impossible to look away from.

“Jane?” Drake prompted at the same time Toliver, still on
the line, asked, “Miss Van Kamp?”

“Um…” Jane couldn’t think clearly. She continued to stare at
the flat screen like they were actually gazing directly into each other’s eyes.
And then the warmth that seeped through her funneled into the heart of her
until a glowing, searing ball of heat pulsed and radiated deep in her pussy,
igniting myriad erotic sensations more powerful than anything she’d ever
experienced with Drake or Shana.

Drake didn’t prompt her a second time. He knew what, to some
extent, was happening to her because she’d told him about her rare vampire
gift. She possessed the ability to connect with others’ souls, whether they
were immortal or not. She could literally tap into the essence of them and
discover their desires and intentions and fears. It was a painful gift
sometimes, when she encountered a pure, yet damaged soul, as she had with
Shana. But this time…all she felt was strength and virility and passion. Along
with an intense hunger that matched her own.

She was so taken aback by her encounter with a kindred
spirit—and one who was a werewolf, of all creatures—that she wasn’t at all
prepared for what happened next. Not that anyone could have been prepared for
what happened next.

As the shifter continued to stare at her through the camera,
the fireball deep in her cunt expanded until it burst and heat shot out in all
directions, stealing her breath. Her heart leapt into her throat and her pulse
skyrocketed. A deliciously wicked shiver shot through her body, causing the phone
to slip from her fingers. The receiver would have hit the floor had Drake not
quickly snatched it as it fell.

His movements barely registered in her mind, and when he
spoke to Toliver, it sounded as though he were miles away.

“We’ll be right down,” he said before disconnecting the
call.

Jane’s hands flew to her stomach as it fluttered wildly,
like thousands of butterflies had suddenly taken to flight. Her nipples
tightened behind the structured bodice of the black, strapless minidress she
wore and her clit tingled. The pulsing and throbbing in her pussy intensified
to an almost unbearable degree, making carnal cravings spring to mind.

She felt lightheaded and hazy, but when Drake wrapped a
steadying hand around her arm because she swayed on her high heels, she snapped
out of the trance.

And instantly realized what the shifter had done to her.

“Oh, no you
didn’t
!” she screamed at the monitor—or
rather, the man whose ruggedly handsome visage filled it. “You did
not
just imprint on me!”

Then she was out the door. She heard Drake right behind her
as she flew down the hall, bypassed the elevator and hit the stairs, her feet
barely touching the marble floor.

As she reached the door to the backstage area of the club,
Drake called out, “Jane! The humans!”

She forced herself to stop before she barreled through the
door and scared the living hell out of everyone backstage. Slowing her
movements to the pace of an agitated mortal, she pushed open the heavy door,
not giving the guard placed there a second thought. She stalked through the
backstage, dodging the models in their various states of undress and paint
jobs, which typically fascinated her. Not so tonight. She was furious. The
anger welling within her pushed out some of the heat, though not all of it. Not
nearly enough of it. Her skin tingled and her nipples were still impossibly
hard.

All the human emotions and sensations she’d experienced with
Sean before she’d become a vampire—and which had transcended after the change,
until the day Sean died—suddenly burned within her. They were bright and
vibrant and so real, she almost
felt
human again.

That aside, she was livid. The rage inside her trumped the
sensuality that was scorching hot and so tempting to give in to. But Jane had
spent the past fifty years resisting temptation. She could override the desire
blazing through her if she concentrated instead on her fury.

She wound her way through the crowd in the club, past the
packed dance floor and the ridiculously expensive tables and chairs in the
center of the room, the furniture positioned beneath even pricier chandeliers.

Drake was hot on her heels, but he didn’t reach for her and
try to reason with her. Not that there’d be any reasoning with her. There was
absolutely no rationale to pacify a vampire when she’d been imprinted on by a
werewolf.

She gently—though not exactly patiently—pushed her way
through the throng gathered close to the entrance and stepped around Toliver,
who skillfully kept the uninvited guests at bay as they awaited Jane and
Drake’s arrival.

Moving in without hesitation, she got right up close and
personal with the shifter whose glowing blue eyes would likely be forever
engrained on her brain. And smacked him hard across his smug face.

“Jane!”

Drake’s arm wrapped around her waist in the next instant and
he hauled her effortlessly against his body, lifting her slightly off the
ground. Then he whipped her behind his back, placing himself between her and
her kindred spirit before he released her. As if the werewolf would retaliate.
Unlikely, given the bastard had imprinted on her. If anything, he might lunge
at Drake for separating them. For being her protector when that was now the job
of the shifter who’d claimed her.

Rather than lunging, said shifter let out a low chuckle that
made that fireball in her pussy burn bright again. A flicker of heat tickled
her clit at the sound.

In a deep, sensuous tone that sent flames dancing along her
skin, he said, “What a spitfire.”

“You son of a bitch!” she said from behind Drake, her fists
clenching at her sides.

Another soft, arousing chuckle followed and her knees
practically knocked together.

Her anger mounted. A vampire who practically melted into
oblivion because of a werewolf was just plain pathetic. No two ways about it.

Drake said to the shifters, “I’m Drake Halston. I own the
club.” Over his shoulder, he told Jane in a quiet voice only those of the
supernatural variety could hear, “Let’s not forget where we are, love.”

She fumed. Peering around his very broad shoulder, she found
Toliver and his crew in rigid stances, ready to toss out the intruders upon her
or Drake’s signal.

And then there was the cocky Mr.
Imprint-Against-the-Imprintee’s-Will, whose eyes seemed to have not left her
for a second.

“Take it back,” she demanded. “
Now
!”

He grinned at her. An easy, laid-back, half-assed smile that
made her toes curl in her Prada peek-a-boos and made the fire burn brighter
deep within her.

Her innate sexual response to him was outrageous and absurd.
He was a shapeshifter, for fuck’s sake! Not at all an acceptable mate for a
vampire. They were…part animal, damn it!

“I think you know I can’t reverse the inevitable,” he told
her, his voice so smooth and sexy it seemed to ooze down her spine like warm
honey. She gripped fistfuls of Drake’s dress shirt at his forearms to steady
herself as her inner thighs quivered and her legs shook.

Drake asked an obviously perplexed Toliver, “Is there a VIP
salon available at the moment?”

Toliver seemed reluctant to stand down, but with a
reassuring nod from Drake, he grabbed the clipboard from the podium. Aside from
the guards, Drake, Jane and the shifters, along with the guests awaiting
admittance, no one seemed tuned in to the tense scene at the entrance of the
club. It was business as usual, Jane noted, with the cocktails flowing, the dance
floor spilling over onto the carpeted area and the crimson-colored, velvet
curtains lifting on mural after mural.

Toliver said, “They’re all booked, but Salon B is open until
midnight. I can cancel the reservation.”

“Do it.”

They were inching close to that hour, and something told
Jane this un-imprinting thing—if that were even possible!—wasn’t a quick fix.

Drake said to her, “Why don’t you lead the way.”

She marched off, sensing the imprinter directly behind her,
along with his friend, whom she’d yet to even spare a glance at. Drake, she
knew, brought up the rear. He’d want to keep everyone in check.

Jane ascended the steps to the tiered level that housed the
VIP salons. She shoved the door open to Salon B, a cozy and intimate living
room with TV screens that displayed various angles around the club, including
the mini stages cut into the two-story-tall walls that showcased the body art.

She whirled on her unwelcomed guests, propping her hands on
her hips. Only to let out a sharp gasp when her gaze locked with Mr. Imprint’s
gorgeous, refined-looking friend and that fiery sensation inside her erupted
again.

“No!” she cried out as she stomped her foot. “
Oh come on
!”