Collared for a Night (Crimson Romance) (2 page)

The hostess pulled open one of the frosted glass doors. “We specialize in privacy. Our club prides itself on providing services in an unparalleled setting.”

Diana observed several areas that were divided into a bar with an intimate dance floor off to one corner and what looked like cozy rooms. Some doors were opened, where couples sat eating, drinking, conversing. Everyone under control. Everyone rational.

Again she inhaled, and the pungent male scent saturated her lungs. She swallowed a jolt of concern over her flagging self-control and the need to unfurl her catlike claws and fangs.

The scent had to be one of the alphas, some imagining on her part. A growl twisted and turned in her breast. Her fingertips pulsed, with curved nails ready to spring outward. She longed to shift, so strong was this unbearable urge. If she didn’t obtain relief soon, what would become of her … she groaned. There were places for wild shifters. None of those establishments were elegant or civilized.

No, the intake counselor had promised this was the place to find relief in the form of a shifter who’d service her for the night.

• • •

Diana pulled at the steel collar encircling her throat. The metal band weighted the top of her shoulders. She lifted the locked ring, moving the edge away from the base of her neck. For now, the collar rotated easily enough. She was unconcerned by the steel-gauged chain linking the band to an iron post. A necessary detail. The post was secured by four large bolts to the wall of the stark room. She tugged the chain with both hands and gritted her teeth.

“Ugh. Solid,” she groaned, dropping the heavy links to the floor, convinced she wasn’t going anywhere in the near future.

A wrought iron grate covered the outside of the only window on the opposite wall.
Good idea
. Diana crossed the room, kicking at the pallet on the floor. She stopped alongside the stainless steel sink. A matching industrial commode was housed in the corner, behind a Japanese screen.

Her whole body prickled with pinpoints of heat. So far, this irritating state had seared her body for two days too long. And now, inside the stark room, she forced her thoughts elsewhere. She studied a rectangular bin above the sink containing a rainbow assortment of condoms. The utilitarian vibe of the room was out of sorts with the sophisticated layout of the club downstairs. She vaguely recalled the aroma of roses, leather, and aged cognac from below. Her nipples tightened, remembering the scent of a man. One she recalled all too well amid a wave of lustful aching. She’d already agreed to stop compulsively reliving the delicious odor, licking her lips one last time. She shook her head, accepting it was some sort of sensory mirage.

Inside the room she smelled nothing but the sanitized floors and walls. No hot, dirty sex. Nothing of the sort … yet. Obviously, the room was scrubbed down to a hospital spic-and-span level of cleanliness. She gasped.
Just how out of control did other heat-frazzled shifters become in moonlight?
From what she knew personally, extreme recklessness occurred.

The gravitational pull assaulted her bloodstream in the same way the tides were pulled. Regular cycles each day, getting stronger and stronger. Hormones spiked in her tissues, running rampant during the rise of the full moon, and leaving her hunger to mate nearly uncontrollable.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d lose all sense of decorum and any panther within twenty miles would know by her pheromones that she was hot and ready. To humans the scent would be unnoticeable, but every alpha male would perceive the patchouli rose essence emanating from her skin and sex; figuratively a bud in bloom during the apex of the full moon. The pull was too strong to resist.

She cautioned herself: Don’t judge or guess your way into a further frenzied state. Her skin had begun to burn from a heat that boiled under her flesh. Soon, she’d have company.

Her belly lurched. She needed something to relieve the burning sensation of her skin.
Water
. She could cool her parched body with water. Diana untied her flimsy robe in front of the sink. She pressed the lever, releasing a stream of cold water over her hands. She ran a wet palm up her arm, then switched and repeated on the other side. The water droplets cooled her aching skin. Wetting her hands again, she rubbed her palms across her chest and over her breasts. Her nipples puckered into erect points. She pulled each pebbling areola, unleashing jolts of excruciating pleasure. She thumbed each tender nipple, again and again. Finally, panting, she cried out when no relief came. Her skin now sizzled as if sunburned. Blistering ripples of pain assaulted her every few minutes from the inside out.

Christ Almighty. They didn’t call this a
heat
for nothing. She shuddered under the billowing fire spreading across her body and clenched her jaw, immediately catching the skin of her lower lip with two curved canines. She opened her mouth, swiping her tongue over dagger-pointed teeth.

Without gazing into a mirror, she could only imagine the changes taking place as her body shifted toward
panthera
. No longer would she peer out to the world through murky hazel irises, but through eyes flecked with emerald green sparks. At least that’s what Cole had murmured each time she had shifted, and he had provided the heat cycle relief she craved.

Tears flooded her eyes, blurring the sight of the speckled rosettes forming over her skin. She blinked, noting the design had darkened remarkably in just seconds. Before long, a honey-colored coat spotted with smoky black designs would follow. She paced over the bare floor, coming up to a gouged, white wall. She turned and crossed back over the wooden planks, walking a grid in a search-and-rescue pattern.

Downstairs, laughter pealed. Voices erupted, followed by the crash of glass and applause. She prayed the loud occurrence was unusual for such an elegant club.

Out of nowhere, a devil-may-care attitude arose inside her. Her body shivered. Her sex throbbed. “Mmm,” she moaned, crossing the boundary into believing a raucous evening would be exciting, in a club catering to solo shifters without mates.

That’s what she was, and wasn’t. At this moment she was sorely tempted to pound on the door and demand that an alpha-whatever be sent to her. This was the first heat in which she’d agreed to coupling without Cole by her side.

She closed her eyes, shutting out the unexpected raw vision of Cole’s torn body. He had been the man she’d loved since high school. She fought against remembering him as she’d found at the bottom of a ravine. Cole was dead and here she was alive, throwing herself at a stranger. It should have been her at the bottom of the ravine. Not Cole, when he’d leapt to help her.
Cole — her mate — forever gone.

Diana pulled the robe across her shoulders and cinched the sash around her waist. She turned away from the door, picking up the chain. She steered clear of the center of the room where a crimson column of heated light fell. Her eyes flattened and she could feel the elongation of her pupils, a physical sign of her leopardess cunning, prompted by the colored light which aided night vision. Unfortunately, it also fried her skin.

She peered up at the infrared light bulb within the ceiling fixture. Impossible to unscrew the darn thing. The ceilings were at least fifteen feet tall. Soon enough, she’d have no problem leaping up to punch out the light bulb, putting an end to the scorching red glare. Soon enough, it would be dark and she’d not need the light. Soon enough, she’d have company in the form of an alpha male who’d give her release from the torturous craving that rocked her mind and body
.

A roar rumbled deep inside her, and if left unrestrained, she’d give in and let the vociferous sound tumble from her lips. And at this point, her cravings more than twisted her soul. One more night and she’d have sold her spirit to have one shifting male properly fuck her past this heat. The space between her legs spasmed. Her edgy condition, or the fact that she’d agreed to let a stranger fuck her into submission, no longer shocked or bothered her. She’d gotten past her morals, thrown aside her inhibitions, and overcome her loner tendencies when she’d almost pounced on Shawn, her boss, followed by a near streaking incident at home.

She shook her head. “Oh God, I’ve almost lost it.” She continued pacing and swinging the chain.

After tonight’s coupling, she prayed tomorrow would arrive with a hint of normalcy. Her current design project was running out of time with the deadline looming. She should have notified her boss and requested an extension.

Her whole body constricted when she thought of him and her near lip-lock fantasy. Shawn Barclay’s muscular build and rugged good looks had sent her over the edge after a year of going it alone. Last Friday, before her heat cycle actually came on, she almost licked his face while they had stood shoulder to shoulder at her desk reviewing her work. Afterward she had left her office, telling the receptionist she’d be at home. She didn’t understand why she had become out of control
before
her heat. It was no mystery that he was a shifter. Albeit just her luck, an alpha leopard. But not once had she sought any form of attention that wasn’t strictly professional. Business all the way. That was, until recently — precisely, until this heat.

Once the cycle began, her cravings required she remove herself from temptation. So far, remaining inside her home and avoiding male shifters — all male shifters — had seemed to do the trick.

For the past year, contained within her house, she’d been able to weather the storm of monthly heat cycles while working flextime. A tremendous perk and the reason she’d accepted the position at Matrix Design. Shawn didn’t care as long as her projects were completed on time. He was too good to be true. And what a body … she inhaled, closing her eyes.

Shawn.
No wonder, she thought. Her boss waltzed around in sneakers and a pair of snug jeans that clung to his tight ass. He constantly complimented her work, to the point she hungered for him. Her one insurmountable problem boiled down to, Shawn didn’t return her admiration. The man was all business, twenty-four seven. Shawn had this uncanny way of making her feel appreciated for her creative ability and work product. She would have sworn on a stack of Bibles an undercurrent existed between them, but not once did he reveal an ounce of carnal interest — which would have been tolerable had he not smelled good enough to lick. She sighed, wishing he admired her for something less ethical and more physical.

A pulsating spasm shot through her abdomen, forcing a caterwaul to expand within her chest, rising up her throat. Her eyes sprang open. She pulled at the collar in frustration, eyeing the door.

She drew in a breath to steady her racing mind. Hard fucking with a stranger no longer frightened her. Quite the reverse. She welcomed the moment a hard cock would save her. She was well inside her cycle of this body-wrenching heat when she’d made the mistake of thinking she could beat the odds. She had for twelve months.

Pride before the fall kept looping around her mind for the last month or two. Apparently, somehow her leopardess premonition had known she was close to breaking. She had already lived through one close call and feared she’d do something more than foolish without professional help. Last month, she’d lost it at the edge of the city’s nature sanctuary and bordering private woods. She’d shifted without warning. She didn’t remember much except running all night, for several nights in a row, and then waking up naked, dirty, and scratched.

Then, a day ago she hungered to run free again. Standing at her back door, shifting between her leopard and woman forms, she had sniffed the air. Thankfully, her neighbor’s German shepherd had howled at a feline ear-piercing pitch. The sound snapped her back into human form long enough to close and bolt the door in lieu of running naked down the alley. With a brewing desire for her boss — and a newfound interest in streaking — she put her pride aside.

The Downtown Den had been a last resort yesterday. She’d requested an emergency intake. The cost of this stud service no longer mattered if she obtained relief.

Diana ran her hands through her hair. The chain rattled with each movement. Her choices were to sit or pace. She lowered herself onto the pallet covered by a clean, soft sheet. The cushion resembled a thick futon and was wide enough for two bodies. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, studying the shadows on the wall, letting her gaze wander out the window, up into the midnight blue sky. Hope mounted within her. Any second the door would open. She bobbed her head to the bass rhythm vibrating across the floor, wiggling her legs hard enough to make her breasts bounce.

She pressed her legs together, warding off the need to plunge her finger into her opening and satisfy her hunger. That hadn’t worked since the time she almost bumped into her boss by accident, her hip grazing across his crotch. His scent continued to wrap her in cords of frustration. Now, she couldn’t orgasm on her own. It was as though her body wanted one unattainable thing. Or shifter, really. This far into her heat, her appetite for sex had become unmanageable.

Without thinking, she rubbed her thighs together. Undulations swelled within her sex. She shivered as her unbearable longing awoke yet again. Any brushes against her slit exacerbated a hunger threatening to overtake her on the next breath. Diana nervously ran her fingertips along a row of scratch marks on the floor.

“Ouch,” she cried.

A thick splinter stuck out from her skin. Without thinking twice, she used her teeth to extract the piece of wood. A droplet of blood formed on the tip of her finger. The pungent scent wasn’t so much inhaled as the air was tasted. She sipped a wisp over her Jacobson’s organ, perceiving her surroundings acutely. The smallest of bursts lit as she captured the tail end of an essence. She released a puff of air from her nostrils. A low, sawing growl escaped from her throat.

She sucked her finger, thinking she must avoid touching the deeply furrowed lines gouged in the wooden floor. For now she sat and waited, listening to the music from the dance floor downstairs pound a rhythm into her chest instead of focusing on her own racing pulse. She rued her decision to come up early into this reserved room, giving up the chance to enjoy a flute of champagne to blunt her needling anxiety.