Mate Claimed
Page 68

Graham had been easy to spot sitting on the table, surveying everyone like a god, a bottle of beer held loosely in his hands. Though the other Shifters pretty much ignored her, Graham saw Misty coming—she felt his gaze on her all the way across the revelry.
Misty hopped up and sat next to him, for the first time nervous about being near him. Too bad, because she liked him. Graham was a big, tough guy with bad-boy appeal, but when she looked into his strong face and winter gray eyes, she saw a man who had to make hard decisions and hid his emotions behind harsh words.
There were two kinds of leaders, Misty had learned—the bullies that pumped themselves up by belittling others and those who were men good at command. The first were weak, the second strong. Graham, she sensed, was the second type. Misty’s instincts about this were good, honed by growing up in neighborhoods where it was survival to tell the difference.
Graham McNeil had power. His large body exuded it, his huge muscles solid—no sagging flesh on this man.
“Hey,” she said when he didn’t say anything to her. “Am I crashing a party?”
“A mate blessing.”
He watched her in quiet contemplation, his stare not letting her go.
“Mate blessing? What’s that?”
“Male and female Shifter joining,” Graham said. “Like human marriage, only better. The male in this case is the ass**le Feline who beat me so bad the other night.”
“And you came to his wedding?”
Graham made an indifferent gesture with his beer bottle. “It’s a Shifter thing. We fight, we agree to hate each other, we move on. Everyone has a place, everyone knows what it is.”
“That’s good. I guess. Better than having to fight your way out your door every morning.”
His gaze fixed on her even harder. “You’re talking from experience.”
“Grew up in a bad neighborhood in Los Angeles. This is better. Las Vegas is Sin City to some, but for me, it was a fresh start.”
Graham listened, all his awareness on her. When she fell silent again, he said, “What are you doing here? In Shiftertown? Today?”
She shrugged, doing her best to be offhand. “I was talking about getting a tattoo. Remember—you suggested I come to Shiftertown and find you when I made up my mind? You’d take me to the best artist, you said. I’d like your opinion on the design too.”
Graham finally looked away from her. He moved his gaze to the couple in the center of the crowd, a tall man who knew how to move his body in the dance, and a black-haired woman with a garland of flowers on her head. Red gerbera daisies and white roses, woven with a red ribbon. Good choice.
When Graham spoke again, his words were clear. “The thing about Shifters, sweetheart, is that we’re very good at knowing when people are lying.” His gaze switched to her again, skewering her all the way through. “And you, sweet baby, stink of lies.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Fear licked down Misty’s spine, a primal terror felt by small animals when a huge wolf had them in his sights.
He can’t hurt you, she told herself. Shifters wear Collars to keep them under control. Sure. Graham looked like that Collar totally controlled him. And he’d told her he’d been in a fight with the thing on him.
“You’re right,” Misty said, her throat dry. “I suck at lying. A guy called Kellerman is blackmailing me to spy on you. You heard of him?”
“You know I have.”
“Actually, I don’t know anything at all. I’d never met him before, or any Shifters before you either. He thinks you’re up to something and need to be watched.”
“He’s right about that.” Graham fixed her with unblinking gray eyes. “He shouldn’t trust me. He’s doing something underhanded, and I’m going to find out what and stop him.”
“I don’t want to be in the middle of this.”
“You’re already in the middle of it, sweetie. This is what happens when humans talk to Shifters.”
Graham took one of her hands between his. His hands were gigantic, Misty’s swallowed in them, but his touch was incredibly gentle.
“How did he convince you to come here?” Graham asked. “By the look on your face, you didn’t decide he was wonderful and wise and deserved your obedience.”
“No way in hell. My brother is in prison and up for parole. Kellerman said he’d block Paul’s chances if I didn’t help him.”
“Dickhead. Why is your brother in prison?”
Misty didn’t like talking about it, but under Graham’s stare, her tongue loosened, and the words came out.
“When Paul was eighteen, he and his friends stole a car. To go joyriding, that’s all. They were drunk and out to have fun. They got into an accident, and the people in the other car were killed. Paul was tried for grand theft and manslaughter and given twenty years.”
“Is that a lot for a human?”
“More than the situation called for. Paul wasn’t driving. He was in the backseat, and he didn’t break into the car either. His friends did that. The kid who was driving was killed too, and the prosecutor came down hard on Paul and the friend that survived. The people in the other car were rich and prominent, and their family had a lot of influence. The judge decided to make an example of Paul. One stupid mistake, and Paul pays with twenty years of his life. But he’s up for parole and maybe early release. Kellerman says he has influence, and that if I don’t help him, he’ll make sure Paul stays there for the whole sentence. So here I am. I can’t jeopardize my brother’s chance to get away from the gangs who beat him up every day. He needs to come home.”
Graham listened without moving. No change of expression, no nodding. It was like talking to a statue, except for his watchful eyes.
When Misty finished, Graham said, “Don’t worry about Kellerman. When Eric and I are done with him, he won’t be able to influence a traffic light. But here’s what you do: You run back to Kellerman and tell him some good dirt on me. We’ll make something up. And then you tell me everything you can about Kellerman.”
“Be a double agent, you mean?” That sounded dangerous but preferable to Kellerman having a hold over her.
“Sure.” Graham ran his thumb over the inside of her wrist, a tickle of heat on her skin. “And I’ll help you pick out a tatt.”