The Becoming Trilogy Box Set (Books 1-3) (4 page)

He hadn’t been this unstable
since those early, feral days, before DeMorgan had broken him in. Back then,
the simplest emotion could pull his trigger. He was never, ever, going back to
that.

Footfalls echoed off the
walls of the alley. Connal blinked. A long shadow rounded the corner, climbing
the street-lit stone as the owner of the footsteps stepped from the shadows.

‘Liath,’ he growled.
Shit.
Bad timing.

Head hung low, Connal’s long
dreads concealed distorted facial features as he struggled to find equilibrium.
His vision was clearing, but his canines hadn’t fully retracted, so he wrapped
his lips around his teeth to conceal them, before turning his head in his
neighbour’s direction.

Liath’s barmaid outfit left
little to the imagination.
Form
liked to push flesh to sell drinks, and
judging by the holdall slung over one shoulder and the stilettos dangling from
her hand, Liath was on a late-shift. He’d tried to talk her out of taking the
job, but the pay and tips were like velvet handcuffs to a cash-strapped single
mother. She lived for that child. Right now, though, Connal was the one on the
receiving end of her parental concern.

‘Christ, Connal. Are you
okay? I haven’t seen you in days. I-’ she corrected herself, chagrin creeping
into her cheeks. ‘-We were worried. Shit, you look like death warmed-over.’

Shielding his mouth in a
passable imitation of drunken nausea, he nodded and mumbled words distorted by
huge fangs. ‘Nah, I’m okay. Bit of a bender. Just not feeling so hot, know what
I mean?’

Liath’s pretty face hardened.
Her choice specimen of an ex had been a nasty, abusive drunk. Emphasis on the
‘had been’. These days, thanks to Connal, he was worm food.

‘Get home to bed, Connal, and
sleep it off. I don’t have time for this. I’m already late for my shift.’

‘S’okay, Liath, you go on.
I’m grand. Just needed some air.’ Keeping his eyes shielded, Connal nodded,
raising a palm to her.

She hesitated a moment,
shifting on her feet, before hefting open the door and stepping into the pool
of light spilling from the club.

'Can I ask you something,
Conn?' Liath turned back to him, her face scrunched up like she was embarrassed.
'I was thinking maybe I'd ask out the bartender, Doyle? He's never mentioned a
girlfriend. You think I'd have a chance with him?'

'Yeah, fuck, Liath,’ Connal
replied, ‘I think you might be barking up the wrong tree with that one, know
what I mean?'

'He's gay, isn't he?' Her brow
creased in consternation. 'I should have known. Guess my gaydar’s all out of
whack. I thought, well, never mind … ' She batted at the air.

'He's not gay, Liath, least
not that I'm aware. It's more of a religious thing. He doesn't do sex. Sworn to
celibacy, sort of like a monk.'

Liath's eyes peeled anime
wide. 'Seriously? Crap, so he's one of those born-again virgins or something? I
got enough religion at Convent School to last me ten lifetimes, you know? But
I'll say this,’ she smiled, ‘that is the hottest damn monk I've ever set eyes
on. Maybe I can convert him to the dark side.' She gave Connal a wink, licked
her lips and strutted off in the direction of the staff door, swinging the
stilettos in her hand.

'Good luck with that.' Connal
muttered to her departing back. He wasn't sure she'd even heard him, but she
pivoted one last time in his direction.

‘You take care of yourself,
Conn, and when you get a chance, I’ve left the dog back at Mrs DeMorgan’s. I’m
sorry. Too much on my plate already, yeah?’

She smiled apologetically and
was already closing the door behind her as he spoke. ‘You left the mutt alone
in the house?’

‘No, ‘course not. I handed
him over to the girl ... Ashling? I really gotta go, Conn. Work on my cure for
celibacy, know what I mean? Catch you later, ‘K? And don’t you even think of
driving that bike home. I’ll have it locked up in the staff garage ‘til
morning.’

‘Appreciate it, Liath. Later,
yeah?’ His voice trailed off as he spoke to the closed door, thoughts already
six steps ahead of the conversation. He’d been waiting for his mark in the
wrong place.

Fishing Anann DeMorgan’s
house key from his pocket, he reeled on his feet, whether from the whiskey or
the close encounter in the basement he couldn’t say. But the walk to the house
would leave him plenty of time to find his stride. It was time to confront this
latent
that had gotten DeMorgan’s knickers in such a twist.

I
t was not her imagination. The creak of floor-boards,
the horror
cliché
of a young female, alone in the house, being murdered
by a man in a
Scream
mask, seemed not so far off the mark as Ash gripped
the handle of the first thing she came in contact with. Every breath sounded
loud, like she’d been plugged into an amplifier and was broadcasting her
heartbeat around the entire house. How had they got in? She’d locked the door.
She was pretty sure she’d locked the door. Fuck, had she locked it? She held
her breath as another board protested the weight stepping closer, and as she
listened, her anger swelled from a bud of fear and tightened her fist on the
wooden handle. The arrogant ass wasn’t even sneaking! He was just waltzing into
the house like he owned the damn thing. Her heartbeat pounded her - probably
very soon to be ended - life between her ears.

I’m gonna die
...

Her hold trembled and she
steeled it with a
‘
no you’re damn well not.
’ He was getting
closer. The footsteps echoed as he moved, large boots, too heavy to be female,
and so she assumed the stance everyone seemed to take when wielding an object
as a weapon. With the implement raised high, her legs were shaking, braced
apart for support, jelly wobbling as she moved forward tentatively, inching out
of the protection of the kitchen. If she was in a slasher movie, she’d be screaming
at herself for being so stupid. But she would not sit and wait to be
discovered. Maybe surprise would be on her side and she could actually pull off
this stunt.

On second thought ...
Whoa
... he was a hulking figure, fondling her coat like he’d never felt velvet
before, all dreadlocked and massive, blocking her hallway. Blocking the door.
Ash shrunk a little, folding into herself. Anyone else would have said fear.
And a small portion of it really, really was. But the voice that drowned out
her quaking said ‘
Strike!
’

She drew back, and her
presence registered. His head whipped in her direction, gifting her a glimpse
of rugged jaw under a fall of dreads that looked wickedly soft, but she’d
already hauled off on a hit that ricocheted pain through her bones and jacked
her elbow back so hard that if her teeth hadn’t firmly embedded themselves in
her lip, she would have cried out. Her intruder hit the floor with a
tree-falling-in-the-forest thump of leather.

Mother of-!
She’d actually hit someone. Feeling like she should
have a comic book THWACK! hovering above her head, Ash stared, wide-eyed and
panting softly. She was beyond freaked out. Whatever had given her the balls to
hit out shrivelled up in a blast of fear.

Oh God, she’d killed him!
That’s what you got for taking tips from Disney movies and arming yourself with
a frying pan. No happy, birds singing, bunnies hopping ending. Just a giant
mass of man to dispose of before her neighbours complained of the smell.

‘Fuuuck ...’ she whined. He’d
gone down like a stone, and as she’d danced a little victory jig at
incapacitating her burglar, it slowly dawned on her that she didn’t think he
was breathing. So now she faced the sprawl of leather and denim. Setting the
pan down, she tiptoed around the ... corpse? God, she hoped not, and gingerly
bent to put her ear to his mouth. Nothing. She stepped across him, leant
closer. Dead, definitely dead. With another whine, Ash crouched to the task of
pocket inspector. If she had to bury the fucker, she should at least know who
he was.

Planting her knees either
side of his hips, she hovered, her hair falling to obscure her face as she
fumbled around in his jeans pockets. A spasm of muscle moved under her palm and
her eyes flicked to his face. Steel grey eyes stared up at her. Ash let out a
little hiss and jerked her hands from his pockets.

'You know, Beautiful, if you
wanted to sit in my lap, you only had to ask nicely.’

The intruder was awake. And
she was stupid. Had she expected him to just stay dead? Of course not. In horror
movies, the crazy guy always came back. He looked a little stunned, though, and
she played the advantage. She reached for his hands like she was reaching for a
cobra. One wrong move and he could have her neck snapped like a chicken’s.
Settling her weight into her ass, Ash pounced. In a strike that looked far
easier in the movies, she pinned his wrists over his head.

She let herself be deluded
that it was her super-strength keeping the giant man on her floor, but in the
back of her mind she knew her attempts were futile. He must be three times her
size, at least. His lips quirked in what looked like amusement. No burglar
should look so kissable. The bastard was playing with her, letting her believe
she had the upper hand, when in reality, he was probably planning to kill her.

‘I’m all for a little rough
foreplay,’ he said huskily, ‘but don’t you think knocking me out defeats the
purpose? Unless you’re into the seriously kinky shit ... Is that it, angel? You
like it kinky?’ His tone was pure mischief. ‘You know I could have you on your
back in a heartbeat, and I wouldn’t even break a sweat?’ he said.

‘Why don’t you then?’ she
challenged.

‘Oh I’m going nowhere,’ he
smirked. ‘I like the view from where I am. Just. Fine.’

Her furious gaze snapped to
his, and the heat in his eyes had a flush crawling up her throat.

'Care to tell me with whom I
have the pleasure?' he drawled, his lids hooding eyes that darkened perceptibly
the longer he stared at her.

Ash glared back at him,
hoping to burn a hole in his ...
do not think ridiculously handsome
...
face. Man breaks into her house, and she was the one being interrogated? The
guy had some nerve. ‘Who the hell are
you
?’ she demanded.

'I would be the one you just
assaulted with a deadly -’ his gaze whipped to where the weapon lay abandoned
on the floor, ‘-frying pan? God damn … Crazy girl.’ His lips pursed, and she
knew he was fighting the urge to laugh out loud.

‘This crazy girl will happily
use it again to bludgeon that smirk off your face,’ she retorted.

Their eyes connected and
their wills locked horns. He gave in to his amusement and laughed in her face.

Oooohhhh ... infuriating
burglar!
Ash shoved at him hard, his
laughter flexing his arms in her grip until he slipped her restraint
completely. Her hands collided with a wall of packed muscle that belonged in
mythology. Even through the fabric of his shirt, the man was clearly ripped. No
Musclemania steroid bulk, but hard, chiselled power, the kind of muscle a tiger
owned, honed by hunting and killing and ...
Probably not the best thread to
follow there, girl. If he’s a killer, he isn’t going to start purring for you.

‘You can let me go, angel,’
he said, ‘I promise not to bite.’

Right, like she was falling
for that. He didn’t sound like a man who kept his promises. Trouble was, Ash
was starting to really like how he fit at her hips, how his weight shifted
between her thighs and the falls of his dreads tickled her bare arms when she
struggled to stop his movements. She had to readjust her hold to keep the ...
please
don’t let that be a gun
... in his pocket from digging into her flesh.

It was bizarre. Her fear was
right up there with her anger, spitting and hissing, mentally scratching his
eyes out like a cat with its tail stepped on, but she also had the weirdest urge
to rub up on him, to pull on his shirt instead of push at his shoulders and
attempt to pin him still long enough so she could smack the fucker with her
frying pan. Again.

He looked long and deep into
her eyes and her brain was suddenly bombarded with filthy impulses. It was like
a fantasy projector in her head, fast-forwarding to them ripping each other’s
clothes off in a panting, sweaty frenzy and going at it like candidates for the
fucking
Discovery Channel
. Somehow she knew, those were his thoughts.