cleaned up the mess, fired the traitors who were obviously on Tarek’s payroll, let Pierce sort out the illegals, and returned home a day ahead of schedule. He was more than ready to enjoy the peace and solitude of his private tower. Circling slowly, he tucked in his wings to land on his balcony. He shifted quickly, heat vibrating through his muscles as they stretched and twisted into the shape of a man. Shrugging his shoulders to settle into the new form, he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
The restless feeling that had eaten at him for weeks intensified. It wasn’t just the business problems—it was something deeper, something he couldn’t pin down. An instinct he had no name for. Not for the first time, he wished his father were still alive to ask. But he wasn’t. The only two people he’d ever trusted were dead and he was alone. Always alone. Anyone who met him now wanted something from him. He was nothing but a name, a fat cred account, and an opportunity. He didn’t bother reining in his disgust at the other man that he should have been able to trust. His uncle. Thankfully, that blight on the family tree had been cut away.
The only lesson his uncle had ever taught him was that there were worse things than being alone.
He was used to the loneliness, but this new instinct was something else. He tried to step back, to look at the unwanted and unwarranted feeling logically. The restlessness was new. But it was more than that. The unfamiliar instinct that crawled over his skin, like an itch he couldn’t reach. A foreboding of some kind? Some people claimed they could sense their own death, but…that didn’t sound right. Deus knew he’d had enough troubles lately. Deliveries going late or missing, a rash of fires, accidents that had become too common to be coincidence. He could lay it all at Tarek’s feet.
The only thing he knew about the instinct is it had nothing to do with business.
There his thoughts hit a wall. Nothing. He had no idea why or where the instinct came from or how to get rid of it. So, he did what he always did when he didn’t care for something…he pushed it away, distancing himself from what he couldn’t control.
He stepped into his flat, reaching for the pants he’d left lying over the chair by the door in his main space. Then a sound caught his attention. He froze and tilted his head, letting his extra senses take control.
There was someone in his home.
Rage ripped through him that someone would enter his domain uninvited. His hands balled into fists, hawk talons digging into his palms. The mood he was in, he welcomed the chance to shred an intruder with his bare hands. Then he’d let the hawk have its turn.
Anticipation hummed in his veins and a tight smile curved his lips as he left the pants where they were and followed the whisper-soft sound of movement coming from his bedroom.
A tall, thin young boy with baggy black cargo pants on and a padded vest covering his chest stuffed the Avery ruby into a bag slung over his shoulder. The jewel had been in his family since before the war—his mother had loved it and kept it on display. After she died, Hunter couldn’t look at it and had a safe built for it. Hunter’s nostrils flared as he throttled another wave of anger.
He glanced at the vid monitor that should be following anything that moved, but it stood frozen. The little bugger had disabled his security system and broken into his safe. His eyebrows arched; he was enraged and almost impressed despite himself. Almost. It wouldn’t stop him from teaching the boy a lesson and then having him thrown in prison.
No one took what belonged to an Avery.
Lunging through the door, he caught the thief around the waist and tumbled with him across the rug. Lightning-fast reflexes were all that kept Hunter from slamming the boy’s face into the floor. A snarling, distinctly feline hiss issued from the body beneath him. Shit. A cat.
The boy lashed back with his foot, almost catching Hunter in the balls. He moved his leg to block just in time, sucking in a sharp breath. The kid scrambled away, swinging out a blind hand. A soft snick sounded and Hunter caught the skinny wrist just before a white powder spewed into the air. He held the breath he’d taken and twisted the boy’s limb until he arched against the painful hold and cried out.
“Drop it,” Hunter growled. The kid tried to kick him again, and he retaliated by jabbing his fingertips into the boy’s ribs. His breath whooshed out, but Hunter felt the vest harden to prevent further attack. Body armor. Expensive stuff. He should know; Avery Industries invented it.
The kid gagged on a breath and the canister with the noxious powder hit the wood floor with a sharp ping. Grabbing the boy by the scruff of the neck, Hunter hauled him to his feet and backed him against the four-poster bed.
He noted two things at that moment. The first was that the boy was a woman; even with the vest, her slim curves molded to his front. The second was that the woman in question was his mate.
Double shit.
Shock made his grip loosen, and she took advantage, thrusting the heel of her palm into his solar plexus. He choked, sucking in air. He stumbled back, taking her with him as he hit the wood floor on his side. Sharp pain reverberated up his shoulder and into his brain. Reacting automatically, he rolled her beneath him and pinned her arms above her head. She hissed at him, bucking against his hold. He pressed his weight down to keep her still, but he couldn’t stop his body from reacting to his mate’s nearness. The moment his instincts had kicked in, every ounce of his awareness noticed her softness, her scent, her beauty. His cock went harder than a mercurite rod, and her squirming only made the situation worse.
His talons punched through his fingertips again, the hawk struggling for freedom. The deadly points pressed to her wrists, but he didn’t trust her enough to relax his grip. Her eyes widened and she froze. He noted the emerald shade of her irises, the ring of black that rimmed the green. Thick loops scored each ear; the rings appeared to be filled with phosphorescent liquid, and he’d wager that they glowed when she turned them on.
She was lovely. Those wide eyes dominated her face, tilting up exotically at the corners. Her pale blond hair was no more than a few centimeters long, but it looked soft to the touch. He wanted to find out.
He wanted to stroke all of her. He could feel every micrometer of her underneath him. She was tall for a woman. Tall enough that he’d mistaken her for a young man. Her body was slim, her legs long. They’d look good wrapped around his waist, or draped over his shoulders, or, hell, anywhere as long as it meant he could get inside her.
His cock throbbed, urging to fuck her, take her, claim her as his own. His instincts clamored an insistent agreement.
Mate.
He’d never imagined finding one. Only a few shifter species could sense their mates—those that mated for life. Red-tailed hawks, gray wolves, black vultures, condors, a few species of eagles. There weren’t many who did. It was only his poor luck to be among those species, the hawk’s instincts always seeking something the man preferred not to find.
But now he had.
His silent study of her had taken long enough that she fidgeted beneath him, her gaze wary. He smiled down at her, and the wariness turned to suspicion.
Well, she wasn’t stupid, he’d give her that. She should be suspicious. Now he had to figure out who she was and how to keep her here without revealing the truth about what she was to him. He wouldn’t give her the upper hand. Ever.
The vid monitor whirred softly, pointing at where they lay on the floor. His smile widened. “The game is up, kitten. Whatever you’ve done to disarm the system
