Sexy Beast. Vivi Anna

Sexy Beast

      Sexy

       Beast

      KATE DOUGLAS

      NOELLE MACK

      VIVI ANNA

      APHRODISIA

      APHRODISIA BOOKS

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      CONTENTS

      Chanku Rising

      Kate Douglas

      Tiger, Tiger

      Noelle Mack

      Night of the Jaguar

      Vivi Anna

      Chanku Rising

      Kate Douglas

      1

      One moment, she was a tall, elegantly dressed African American woman with long, darkly waving hair and eyes of brilliant amber. In less than a heartbeat, her dress lay on the redwood deck in a tumbled shimmer of blue satin. The woman had become the wolf, amber eyes glinting angrily in the last dying rays of the sun, canines glimmering like ivory blades. With a single low growl and a flick of her tail, she leapt over the deck railing and raced through the damp meadow.

      Anton Cheval threw back his head and laughed. Keisha hated to lose an argument, any argument.

      “You gonna let her get away with this?”

      Anton turned to the couple sitting behind him, snuggled close together on the big porch swing.

      Grinning broadly, Stefan Aragat lifted his wine glass. “She is your mate. You better chase her down. We’d help, but Xandi and I plan to enjoy the sunset before we run.”

      Anton glared at Stefan for a brief moment, then shook his head in resignation. Stefan was right. If he didn’t chase after Keisha and work this out now, he’d never hear the end of it.

      Anton’s abrupt shift from human to wolf left his clothing in a messy pile on the deck. So unlike him, he thought, not to remember to undress first and fold everything neatly. He glanced once more at the dark pants and black cashmere sweater laying in an untidy heap, then cleared the deck railing and the garden beyond in a single bound.

      Maybe laughter hadn’t been his best response.

      Only Keisha could leave him so flustered.

      Or so turned on.

      Anton’s powerful forelegs stretched out and he gathered speed with each thrust of his haunches, but his mind was not entirely the wolf. No, he was reacting like a very protective male, no matter the species, and he knew it irritated the hell out of his alpha mate.

      It didn’t matter. He was not, under any circumstances, going to allow her to return to San Francisco by herself. It went against all he stood for, all that the Chanku were. Their strength lay in the pack, not in the individual.

      The memorial garden Keisha had designed for Golden Gate Park was moving forward according to schedule. She’d made enough trips, accompanied by either Anton or Stefan, to ensure everything would be perfect for the dedication. There was no reason she needed to go back early.

      Not with that damned tabloid reporter, Carl Burns, once more on her trail.

      Anton snarled and almost missed the leap across a small, partially frozen stream. The mere thought of the persistent reporter raised his hackles, made his heart race faster, his blood run hotter.

      Burns was the one man who could expose them, the one person who not only suspected the existence of Chanku, but had actually witnessed Keisha’s shift from woman to wolf.

      Anton knew his ability to mesmerize was extraordinary, but even he had his limits. He’d hoped the mind-job he’d done on the tabloid reporter would erase the smut-peddler’s memories of Keisha for a longer time than they had, but the bastard had suddenly reappeared in their lives on Keisha’s last trip to the city.

      Why hadn’t Keisha let Anton file harassment charges? Carl Burns was a menace, a threat not only to Anton’s mate but to the pack as a whole.

      No matter. Anton’s meetings in Boston would be over in less than a week and they could make the trip west together. He had a lot of money riding on this latest investment. Stefan was learning the business, but he wasn’t up to handling an entire board of directors for a multi-national company all by himself.

      Following the frosty trail with his wolven mind, working through the problems concerning Keisha with his human side, Anton loped across the familiar ground. He still wasn’t certain what he could say to make her wait, but somehow he would convince her of the danger.

      He had to.

      Danger!

      Keisha’s warning hit him like a solid object. Another scent assaulted his sensitive nostrils. Anton ducked low, twisted and slipped off the trail.

      Male. Not Chanku. Human male. More than one, very close. Anton raised his nose and sniffed the air. He scented excitement, fear and the sour sweat of unwashed human.

      Keisha’s scent was strongest, to the right.

      Pain. Anger. Fear.

      Her emotions washed over him, impossible to understand, beyond speech, beyond coherent thought. Anton veered off the main trail and, keeping his body low to the ground, raced down a narrow, bramble-filled ditch. Tufts of dark hair clung to some of the thorns. He scented blood and his hackles rose. Either she was so pissed she was ignoring the thorns, or something—someone—had hurt her.

      All thoughts of meetings, investments, humanity, evaporated. Pure wolven rage filled Anton’s heart, seared his thoughts. His lips curled back in a dark snarl, exposing sharp canines.

      Anton!

      Keisha’s mental cry, clear now, ringing true as a bell in his mind, sent ice running through his veins.

      Anton! Take care! Poachers. Armed with crossbows.

      He skidded to a halt, one foot raised, his sensitive nose finding Keisha’s scent, smelling blood along with her unique, feminine fragrance, pinpointing her location. At the same time, he reached out with his thoughts to touch Stefan and Xandi.

      The connection was instantaneous, their response immediate. Satisfied, Anton raced toward his mate. I’m coming. Are you hurt?

      Just grazed. Stay low. Can you reach Stefan? I can’t find him.

      I’ve already contacted him. He’s on his way. He’ll bring the four-wheeler and he’s armed. Xandi’s called the sheriff. Where are the poachers?

      Near the pond. They’ve built a blind at the far end, above the beaver dam.

      Anton passed the information on to Stefan. Scanned the thick underbrush along the near edge of the pond. Keisha’s scent and the odor of fresh blood were strong, her fear and anger a palpable thing. Where are you?

      Near the birch stand. Low, in the bramble patch.

      He found her there, curled into a tight ball, her blood dripping steadily into the remnants of one last patch of crusty snow. She’d packed the shallow wound in her shoulder with ice, at least as well as she could in wolven form. Tiny crystals tinged with blood clung to the stiff whiskers along her muzzle.

      Anton inspected the wound, licked the matted fur around it, grabbed a mouthful of ice and pushed it tightly against the seeping gash. Thank goodness, it didn’t appear life threatening.

      He licked Keisha’s muzzle, wiping away the bloody snow with a careful swipe of his tongue. I should kill them. They need to die. Anton’s thought ended on a snarl of pure rage.

      No, you should have them arrested. They’re idiots.