A. Arthur - Shifter's Claim

“In the meantime, you need to head back to Sedona and get some guards down to that location,” Rome told Bas.

He nodded. Understanding immediately what his priority was. The shifters were his life, right alongside his business. That was all he had in the world and, truth be told, all Bas wanted. This mating and joining crap wasn’t for him. And having his mind messed with by a human female definitely wasn’t in his repertoire.

“On my way to the airport now,” he told Rome. “You cornballs coming with?” he asked Jace and Cole. The three often traveled together when it was time to meet with Rome and while all of the FLs kept in close contact, they seemed to have an even tighter bond since they’d always known Rome was destined for greater leadership than being a Faction Leader.

Cole hated Bas’s laid-back ways with women and everything else, most likely because of his parents’ bitter and very public divorce. Jace, on the other hand, took everything in stride as most L.A. transplants did. Life to him was lying out on the beach, tanning, and hunting—for new talent as his human job was as a high-profile Hollywood agent. Bas joked with both of them about their sense of style among other things, hence the reason he was now calling them cornballs.

“Whatever, even your pimp suit isn’t hiding the fact that the human female struck a chord somewhere in that superficial soul of yours,” Cole said, standing up and brushing imaginary lint from the jeans that were a staple of his wardrobe.

Bas decided to ignore those words because, yeah, there was a stitch of truth to them. Instead he simply nodded to Rome saying, “I’ll be in touch.”

“You’re being followed.”

Priya screamed, turning around with her Mace already in hand. The small container that hooked to her key chain came in handy just as her self-defense instructor had told her it would. Her arm was raised, finger on the nozzle, ready to fire when the man standing behind her gave her a lopsided grin instead of a knock on the head.

“Lolo, what the hell are you doing here?” she asked with an exasperated sigh. Lowering her arm she refrained from spraying him in the face but still scowled with agitation.

“I came by your place to give you the information you requested but you were running out the door when I pulled up,” he began, looking over her shoulder every few seconds as he continued. “The minute you got into your car a black truck with tinted windows pulled up beside me, blocking me in so I couldn’t get out. You took off and that truck took off behind you. So I followed the truck.”

Priya shook her head. Lolo, short for Lowman Sheradon, stood at five feet eleven inches. He had chocolate-brown hair that he kept in shaggy disarray on top and tapered on the sides. His eyes matched his hair color, the deep dimple in his chin giving him an adorably cute look instead of boyishly handsome as he liked to claim.

“What are you doing following people? You’re not a cop,” she reminded him and tried to turn around, to head back toward the location that she was already late getting to.

“No, not a cop, but a concerned friend,” he said, pulling her by the elbow to stop her movement.

“Not now, Lolo, I have someplace to be,” she told him.

“That truck stayed parked at the corner of your mom’s house the entire time you were inside, Priya,” he told her earnestly.

Priya didn’t try to pull away, but folded her arms over her chest at his words. “How did you know that was my mother’s house?”

It was Lolo’s turn to sigh and he did so with a genuinely apologetic look. “I know it’s your mother’s address because I’ve seen you go there before and I looked at all the names on the mailboxes. There’s only one Drake listed.”

She gave a nervous little chuckle, shaking her head. “So you’re actually the one who’s following me, not some stranger in a black truck.” It was an attempt to take Lolo’s words lightly when she knew he was telling the truth. She knew because whoever was following her had probably been doing so since that very first e-mail and just last night they’d taken the following to another level and had broken into her apartment, most likely while she was in bed asleep. All that, coupled with what had happened at her mother’s house earlier, only proved she had to do what they said and she had to do it fast.

“No, I don’t follow you around,” Lolo stated but looked away instead of holding eye contact, which Priya instantly knew meant he was lying. He huffed. “Look, I’m just saying that someone is following you and those pictures you sent me, they have some pretty powerful people in them. So I’m a little worried that you may be getting yourself into some trouble here.”

She shook her head again, refusing to let the concern in his voice deter her. “Who was in the pictures?” she asked somberly.

“Reynolds, Delgado, President Reed, and a few businessmen from the private sector. Major Randall Guthrie was also in the background of one of the pictures watching as the president and Reynolds talked. He didn’t look happy.”

“Guthrie’s a natural-born killer given the permission to do his evil deeds by the commendations lined across the chest of his Marine uniform. He never looks happy,” she quipped.

“And he never misses a kill,” Lolo added. “Look, I know you don’t want to tell me why you’re looking into Reynolds or why this is so top secret, but I don’t like it, Priya. I’m getting a bad feeling about it,” he said, lifting a hand to his chest and rubbing as he looked up the street and then back down to where he’d come from.

“That’s your acid reflux, Lolo. Take a pill, e-mail me all the names, and I’ll call you later,” she said, turning once again to head toward the Reynolds Building.

She’d taken only two steps when the glass doors to the front of the building opened and a line of men—no, they actually looked more like living gods—came filing out. She noticed them immediately and stood still, watching them. The first two had also been at the table with Reynolds last night at the reception. Their names she already knew, even without Lolo’s assistance, thanks to her early-morning research on Perry. The first was Jace Maybon, a talent agent from L.A. with tall, dark, and sinfully delicious looks that would raise the brow of any breathing female. The second, not to be outdone by the first, was Cole Linden, slightly more low-key, brutal in the boardroom, and seemingly averse to females as noted by an article in Forbes that neatly outlined his portfolio and congratulated whatever lady was lucky enough to land him.

Both of them paled in comparison to who came out next. Her breath should not have hitched, her eyes widening. There should have been no surprise that he was close because her body had already begun to respond as it had only to his proximity. He was dressed in a suit, a dusky gray that she thought might actually match the color of his eyes. Sunlight caught the diamonds that circled his watch as he lifted his hands to pull his jacket together and button it.

He looked up instantly, as if he’d been expecting her to be standing there. His gaze locked on hers and she licked her now-dry lips, cursing the tingle of her nipples at the sight of him. Priya instinctively took a step back anyway. Linden and Maybon had already gotten inside a truck … a black SUV, to be exact. But Perry walked immediately toward her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Hello to you, too,” she replied, taking a deep swallow but hoping he didn’t notice. He towered over her today, his broad shoulders and chest blocking her vision, encompassing her without even touching her. “I see you still haven’t worked on your greetings.”