Masks of a Tiger Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2012 Doris O’Connor

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-191-6

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To all my readers who fell in love with Grisha as much as I did.

  MASKS OF A TIGER

  Club Ink, 3

  Doris O’Connor

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter One

  "Will you accept this permanent collar as a sign of our commitment?"

  A hush fell over the assembled crowd, and Grisha grimaced and loosened his tie. Damn monkey suit. Who'd have thought Ink and Cherie would not only tie the knot, but insist on this formal collaring ceremony? He didn't do formal, suits, or families, yet here he was stuck at Ink's parents’ place, forced to witness the collaring of yet another sub he'd played with. Or should that be the leg shackling of the man he considered his best friend?

  His skin itched, and his already dark mood deepened as Ink fastened the permanent collar around Cherie's neck, after she whispered her consent. The woman looked fucking gorgeous in her fifties inspired, elegant turquoise dress, which showed off her abundant curves, yet screamed elegance. Gone were the days of her hiding all that bounty. Grisha had been there when Ink had chosen her dress, and the man sure knew how to dress a woman. Ink and Cherie kissed amidst much cheering of the assembled small crowd of well-wishers, and Grisha ground his teeth.

  He needed to get away from here. All this happily ever after stuff could give a man the hives. It seemed he wasn't the only one to think so. The pretty little redhead, charged with looking after Estelle's and Nathan's cub, shifted the sleeping little bundle higher up her shoulder and coughed into her hand.

  "Bullshit, this is. A collar? Is she a fucking dog?" The whispered words carried across loud and clear, and his tiger's fur rose in response. The woman fixed a smile on her face and rubbed her chin across the baby's head, as though she'd never said a thing.

  Ink tensed, Nathan growled, and Trikus bore down on the unsuspecting little human, who clearly hadn't counted on the assembled shifters’ sensitive hearing.

  Grisha stalled the head of security with a shake of his head. Cherie didn't need a scene, and the redhead was here as Estelle's guest. One did not cross Estelle, even if her friend showed enough disrespect to get her banned from any future gathering.

  Nathan, Ink's twin, and co-owner off Club Ink indulged his wife's every whim, ever more so since the arrival of Janus, and Grisha couldn't really blame the man. If Estelle looked at him with half of the devotion she showed her Master, he, too, would be putty in her hands.

  Grisha suppressed an annoyed growl of his own, as the redhead mumbled something else. She might not know she was in the company of shifters, but she had to know those words, and her whole demeanor, would cause offence.

  "Someone needs a good spanking." Trikus growled the words into Grisha's right ear, and Grisha smirked. The wolf had a way of cutting to the chase. One of the reasons he made such excellent security detail.

  "She needs something all right, but now is hardly the time or the place. What do we know about her?"

  "Apart from the fact that she's bratty and has a cute ass I want to paddle?"

  It was Trikus's turn to smirk, and Grisha's dark mood lightened somewhat. Come to think of it, she did have a rather delectable body. When she smiled —a genuine smile this time—as she passed the baby back to Estelle and kissed Janus's head with a rather wistful expression, she was truly beautiful. Breathtakingly so, in fact. Her thick red hair fell down to her chin, just long enough for a man to bury his hands in it, whilst those ruby red lips wrapped themselves around his cock.

  Whoa, where did that thought come from?

  The last thing Grisha needed was the complication of dealing with a bratty sub, that's if she even was a sub. She clearly didn't think much of the lifestyle, if the way her expressive eyes narrowed in distaste as she looked around were anything to go by.

  "Yes, apart from that?" He wrenched his gaze away from the way her tits swung freely under her top as she moved and ignored the answering tightening of his dick. No bra—interesting. Trikus, too, followed the supple movements of her lithe body, and both men grumbled under their breath when she bent down to pick up the keys Estelle dropped. Her leggings-clad ass looked way too inviting, and unless his senses were completely off, she wasn't wearing any underwear at all.

  She handed the keys to Nathan, whose eyes narrowed in disapproval, even as he murmured his thanks. She tensed, but she dropped her eyes to the floor immediately. Estelle whispered something to Nathan, and his expression softened.

  "Man if that's what being married does to you, you can count me out. The boss is turning into a fucking pussy." Trikus snarled the words under his breath, and Grisha suppressed a grin. "And now Ink, too. Who's next? And why the fuck would you want to, especially when there's so much sweet pussy around?"

  Grisha shrugged his shoulders, too absorbed in the poetry in motion that was the red head's ass. Trikus, too, followed her progress around the marquee. She glared at Nathan's back when Estelle wasn't looking, and gave Ink and Cherie a wide berth. She trailed one slender finger along the long trestle table laden with food, and stopped in front of one of the many candles with a tight smile. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Grisha's stomach, seeing her stare into the flickering, small flame. Trikus winced when she held her wrist over the flame long enough to risk getting burned.

  "What the fuck is she doing?" he asked.

  Just as Grisha thought he would have to intervene, she withdrew her wrist and covered it with her other hand. She wrapped one of the paper napkins around it, took a deep breath, and smiled. Some of the tension she'd been carrying left her, and she sagged against the table, head bent, her hair hiding the expression on her face.

  "Son of a gun."Trikus shook his head. "That sure as fuck didn't show up in her security check."

  "Then what did?" Grisha threw a quick glance towards Trikus and then focused his attention back on the still woman across the room. He willed her to look up so that he could judge her current state of mind. If she had burned herself then that burn would need tending.

  "The name is Neeve Wilson. She and Estelle have been friends since college. Neeve is a bit of a ball-buster. Runs her own recruitment agency, travels a lot, string of ex-lovers … hah …" Trikus chuckled, and Grisha wondered what was so amusing, as the wolf scanned through the notes on his mobile phone. "Male and female lovers. It seems our redhead likes to experiment, but nothing that lasted for any length of time. Has the reputation of being outrageous, a bit of a party girl. Has visited a few of the public clubs, and she has an on-line profile with Club Ink, but she hasn't taken it further. And, it seems, she has a thing for fire."

  Trikus whistled through his teeth, when Neeve chose that moment to lift her head and look across at them. Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips. The insolent way in which she assessed his body made Grisha's cock harden instantly. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, letting his gaze wander across her body with deliberate slowness. She fidgeted under his stare, and Trikus laughed when she flipped them the finger, and then stalked out of the marquee.

  "You're gonna let her g
et away with that, Grisha?"

  "Not a chance, my friend, not a chance." He flashed a grim smile at the other man, and Trikus nodded in agreement.

  "Need a hand or two?" He smirked at Grisha's tiger's annoyed growl in response. "Didn't think so. Bratty is right up your alley, but let me know if you change your mind."

  "You just keep your eyes on that lot over there." Grisha gestured to some of the younger Fielding Cousins getting merry on the refreshments. "Ink is getting twitchy, and they need to be reminded where they are."

  Trikus rolled his eyes and strolled off, not without snarking over his shoulder. "Have fun with the redhead. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

  Grisha smiled to himself as he set off in pursuit of Neeve. That left him lots of scope then, not that he needed anyone's permission. He picked up her scent easily enough once out of the marquee. A hint of sultry perfume, a touch of smoke, and fuck it, the unmistakable odor of pain.

  ****

  Damn it all. She needed to get away. Neeve swore under her breath and dodged the toddler running full pelt at her legs. Was there nowhere in this godforsaken place, where she could be alone for five minutes? She'd briefly considered darting into the forest surrounding the sprawling house, but it was getting dark, and she didn't fancy getting lost. Besides, Estelle had been strangely insistent that she not venture into the forest under any circumstances. Neeve had laughingly agreed, more in an effort to soothe her worried looking friend, than in agreement. Still, this place was strange enough for her to heed Estelle's warning. For all she knew there were indeed man-eating monsters in that forest. Only last week the papers had been full of a so-called lion sighting. A lion, in the forests of Essex. People were just too dumb. The Lion had turned out to be nothing more than a cat. At least that had been the explanation given, but Estelle had looked strange, and Nathan had positively growled when Neeve had waved the newspaper around over coffee. He had fixed her with one of his stares that always made Neeve feel lacking somehow. What Estelle saw in him, she would never know. Well, apart from the fact that he was loaded, drop-dead gorgeous, and besotted with her. He was also a Dom, and whilst Estelle seemed deliriously happy with him the fact that she wore his collar and called him Master didn't sit well with Neeve. And to think it was Neeve who'd signed her up to the Club Ink website, to help her get his attention. She'd gotten his attention all right. It had led to Estelle fully embracing the BDSM lifestyle, and she was now married and collared, much the same as Neeve witnessed here today. At least Estelle and Nathan had chosen to not make Estelle's collaring a public affair like this one was.

  Neeve hadn't realized what the pretty necklace was until Estelle had explained it to her. The conversation that followed had been an eye-opener to say the least. Neeve respected her friend's wishes, but she was never going to understand them.

  A bit of kink was all well and good, but Neeve was no submissive, and if any of the hunks attending this collaring ceremony thought they could slap a collar on her like some fucking dog, then they'd be singing soprano. She shouldn't have tagged along, really, but Estelle needed help with little Janus, and the promise of baby snuggles was too hard to resist.

  Whatever she thought of the Fieldings and their choice of lifestyle, Estelle was happy, and as her friend Neeve was happy for her. Even a tad envious, if she was honest with herself, and as she had nothing else planned this weekend, she'd agreed to come along. It would keep her mind off the anniversary, or so she'd thought. However, this family gathering had proved too much, the escape of the flame too hard to resist.

  Neeve pushed open the door to the kitchen and breathed a sigh of relief. The cozy space was empty. Finally. Her wrist hurt like hell, now that the immediate rush had worn off. Here, she would be able to have a look at it without alerting the watch dogs. Her stomach clenched as she recalled the tall, black man with the white hair, whose gaze had scorched her skin across the crowded marquee much more effectively than any flame could have done. The man knew how to wear a tux. His broad shoulders strained the expensive cloth, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from his large hands as they loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his dress shirt. The whiteness of the shirt was such a startling contrast to the color of his skin, and his dark eyes had held her in trance. She'd stood frozen to the spot, mortified that he may have witnessed her episode. Disapproval had been written all over his ebony features, and when he'd finally raised his eyes to hers they'd held an unspoken challenge.

  She'd flipped him the finger and run, all too aware of his smiling response and his friend's laughter. The dark haired hunk with God complex written all over his handsome features and the muscled body to die for had been trailing her whereabouts ever since she arrived. Every time he looked at her, he'd smirked. Her hands had itched to wipe that smug grin off his face, while her female senses had drunk in the sight of all that maleness. It was showcased to perfection in the dark summer suit he wore with careless elegance. He had an air of danger around him. When she'd asked Estelle who he was, she'd said security. They had been distracted before she could ask why they would need security at a family gathering.

  That is until she'd taken in the assembled crowd. Ink and Nathan's parents and their sisters seemed perfectly normal, but there had been rather a lot of collared subs around, now that she knew what she was looking for.

  Neeve approached the sink, pulled at the paper napkin stuck to her wrist, and winced. Shit, that hurt.

  "Don't! You'll make it worse." The accented, deep, voice stopped her in her tracks. It was the tall, black Dom from the Marquee. Her stomach clenched, and she suppressed a curse. Did it have to be him?

  "Let me see what you've done to yourself." The unmistakable command in that voice did strange things to her insides.

  "Nothing, it's nothing." Neeve tried to hide her hand behind her back, but his grasp on her arm stopped her.

  "I'll be the judge of that." His voice deepened, and Neeve gasped when he grabbed her hair hard enough to hurt and forced her head up to look at him.

  The look he gave her had her insides tighten in excitement, and he smiled—a slow, dangerous, extremely sexy smile, exposing startlingly white teeth. There was a hint of stubble on his dark features, and Neeve held her breath as he leant down and inhaled.

  What the fuck?

  She kicked his shin, but if anything his hold on her tightened, and he chuckled. His warm breath feathered across her face, and she suppressed an involuntary groan as his unique and delicious scent surrounded her.

  "Nice try, sweetheart, but you'll have to try harder than that if you want to get rid of me."

  Neeve shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Damn it, he smelled too good. Whatever cologne he was wearing, should be patented as instant, drop your panties sexy. As a result her reply came out far too breathy.

  "Let go of me. You have no right to manhandle me."

  He growled his denial and slid his hand down to her wrist.

  "When I see a beautiful woman abusing her body, and threatening to spoil my friend's special day, I have every right."

  "I'm not spoiling anything. And what is special about collaring a woman as though she's nothing but a piece of fucking property?" She winced when his fingers dug into the burn on her wrist, and he gentled his grip immediately.

  "Not understanding something does not give you the right to belittle someone's choices." The quietly uttered words settled in her tummy like lead, and her conscience stirred briefly.

  "I'm not…" Her voice faltered as he cocked one eyebrow at her.

  "I heard you, sweetheart."

  "You couldn't have." Her heart beat a bit faster as he simply continued to watch her, and she jumped when the door opened.

  Ink bore down on the two of them like an avenging angel.

  "You were rude and disrespectful, and if you weren't Estelle's friend, and I fear it would spoil Cherie's day, you'd be halfway home in a taxi by now, after Trikus spanked your ass raw." Ink's voice could have cut glass, and Neeve flinc
hed when he, too, stepped right into her personal space. Both men towered over her, and she nervously looked from one to the other. Ink looked pissed as hell, and her white-haired captor simply smiled and released her. His smile didn't reach his eyes, and she swallowed hard.

  "You … you wouldn't dare. We're not at your precious club, and there are laws against harassment."

  Ink growled, and Neeve could have sworn his eyes bled to golden. It must have just been a trick of the light, however, because they were back to normal when she blinked and looked again. His gaze narrowed on her wrist, and he swore.

  "Fuck it, Grisha, sort this sub out, and keep her the fuck away from Cherie."

  "I'm no one's sub! And I most certainly do not need sorting."

  How dare they, both of them? She stomped her foot to get her point across and crossed her arms. White hot pain darted up from her wrist, as the move scraped her tender flesh against the buttons of her blouse, and she bit her lip to stop herself from wincing.

  If possible Ink's expression darkened further, and Grisha gently but firmly tugged on her hand until her wrist was exposed.

  "I’ll deal with this. Go and be with Cherie. Neeve here will not cause any more trouble, Ink. Will you, sweetheart?"

  Her smart retort died on her tongue when she saw the unmistakable warning in his black eyes, mixed in with concern. Besides, he was right. Her wrist hurt like hell, and she needed to get it seen to.

  "Make sure you do, Grisha." Ink gave her body a once over, and Neeve tensed again at his knowing smirk, as though he knew exactly what she looked like without her clothes on. Grisha drew her back against his chest, one arm around her waist in a possessive gesture that—under normal circumstances—would have earned him a verbal lashing at least. Right now, however, all she did was lean into him, all too aware of Ink watching her every move, every rumor she'd ever heard about the forbidding owner of Club Ink, bouncing around in her brain. You really didn't piss Ink off. They weren't at the club, but they were at his parents’ place, and this was very much his show.