Claim Me (Body Scenes 4)

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!”

Chapter Two

A double imprint!

How was that even possible?

Jane stared at the shifter who was the complete antithesis of her first imprinter. He was a few inches taller than the other man, at roughly six-foot-three. He had well-behaved dark-brown hair, neatly and stylishly trimmed. His eyes were a rich chocolate color and their depths seemed to know no bounds. Jane felt their magnetic pull as strongly as she had with the blue eyes of the other shifter, making her feel wrapped in something warm and luxurious from which she didn’t have the heart or the good sense to unravel herself.

Like his friend, the dark-haired shifter had chiseled facial features, though they were more aristocratic than rugged. His jaw was clean-shaven and his lightly corded neck gave way to broad shoulders and an expansive chest. He wore a black suit with a charcoal-colored shirt opened at the neck, in lieu of a tie. Conversely, the other man sported black jeans and a black shirt, also opened at the neck, offering a hint of what appeared to be extremely well-defined pectoral muscles.

Together, they made quite a powerful and dynamic duo, despite their vast differences in style and disposition. Whereas the ruggedly handsome first imprinter exuded charisma and a devil-may-care attitude, the darker one gave off a more serious, intense vibe.

He was the alpha.

Jane could neither sever nor deny the instant attraction to both men, though the chemistry was completely different with each of them. The charismatic one called to her playful side, making her want to strip him bare, drag him to the floor and climb all over him, tasting his skin and feeling his heat. He emitted the warmth she’d longed for all these decades.

The leader, however, instinctively touched something buried deep within her. She couldn’t help the way her soul connected with his and she waded through murky, mysterious waters that had a treacherous undertow. She felt his pain, so dark and ominous and laser-sharp, it made her gasp again.

His eyes narrowed on her. “What did you just do?” he demanded.

She’d stirred something inside him, she suspected. That happened sometimes when she delved too deep.