Desired (Two Marks 2)

Usually, claiming led to love, but since Rachel was human, I had to find other connections besides scent. Besides the DNA we clearly didn’t share.

“I was getting myself a plate of food when I saw you. The potluck is impressive. Join me.”

Impressive potluck? I sounded like an idiot. But I had to do something, say anything to engage. I remembered Rand and Natalie in the basement of her farmhouse before it burned down. When they crossed paths by the fuse box. He’d been as stupid for her then.

I didn’t wait for her to answer, just took a gentle hold of her elbow and steered her toward the kitchen.

I was touching her!

I took a deep breath, tried to calm my aggression, but I only got more of her scent.

“I, um…” She looked toward the front door, then back at me.

“Did you forget your dish in your car?”

“No, I came with someone,” she admitted.

My fists clenched again. I stopped in front of the long row of crockpots. Even over the bubbling scent of Swedish meatballs and cocktail hotdogs, I could tell she wasn’t claimed.

“She can catch up,” I said.

She shook her head, and her sleek hair swung back and forth. I stroked her cheek as I slid a few locks over her shoulder, then set my palm there. I felt her heat, her softness. Fuck, she was perfect. I smiled.

“I came with—”

“Me.”

I turned my head at the sound of the deep voice.

I didn’t move, but Rachel stepped back.

“Cord, this is Nash,” she said.

This guy Cord wasn’t looking at me. Or at Rachel. He was looking at my hand that was still touching her. I didn’t want to break the connection. No fucking way. This shifter would understand.

“Get your fucking hand off her,” he snarled.

Or not.

“Cord!” Rachel said, backing up into the drinks area.

My fingers tingled, then curled into a fist at his harsh tone. He wanted me to stop touching my mate? I’d never felt so possessive in my life. I was irrational with it.

The guy was my height—heavier, though. Perhaps even broader through the shoulders, but I could take him. Especially now that I’d found Rachel. Nothing was going to separate us. He was shifter, I was sure. He had to know that she was mine, even if I hadn’t fucked her and bitten her and claimed her.

“Find your own,” I snapped.

Rachel gasped, and I mentally swore at how angry I was. I was scaring her. I didn’t scare women.

Cord’s jaw clenched. His eyes flashed amber and narrowed. “I have.”

Rachel backed up again. “Um, guys…”

I stalked over to him so that Rachel would be behind me, and safe. Cord held his ground in the great room.

“Then go to her,” I added.

“I have,” he repeated, his gaze shifting to over my shoulder.

I frowned. He meant Rachel. My mate. Not his. “Not a fucking chance. I found her.”

“I found her first,” he repeated.

“You both need to stop. You’re acting like second graders,” Rachel scolded.

As long as Rachel was out of the way of the fight that was about to occur, I didn’t give her too much of my focus. My mate was threatened. This shifter had no intention of hurting her, but he was claiming she belonged to him.

No fucking way. No one stole another shifter’s mate. It was law.

I stared. He glared.

I heard Rachel’s retreating steps and then the closing of the back door, her scent diminishing.

“The human is mine,” I said when I knew she’d gone outside. Which pissed me off more. How much clearer could I get? “Back off.”

Cord slowly shook his head. “She’s mine. My mate. Her scent calls to my wolf.”

I took a step closer. I wasn’t backing down. “What kind of pack is this? You would dare argue with a shifter and his mate? She’s mine.”

He frowned, and his shoulders went back. “Who the fuck are you?”

This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. We could finish it with fists. “Rachel’s mate,” I growled, then punched.

It landed on his jaw and his head jerked, but he was barely stunned. He moved quickly, knocking me back, we fell onto one of the oversized couches, then tipped onto the coffee table. It groaned beneath our joint weight. It slid across the wood floor as we hit the hard surface before we dropped to the ground. Something fell and shattered.

I was on top, so I struck again. Cord deflected, then flipped us, knocking something else over in the process. It smashed.

He got in a punch, and my lip caught on my teeth. It only riled me up, ready to take this shifter down.

“What the hell is going on in here?” The boom of the alpha’s voice had us instinctively stilling.

We were breathing hard and glaring at each other, but the strong biological pull of authority made us dip our heads with respect.

“Shelby, take Rachel outside.” It was Gibson, the alpha.