Prescott is bored, lonely, and even a little jealous. While he feels bad about that last one, he can’t do anything about it. Everyone in his flock have found their mates, and they’re so lovey-dovey Prescott wants to gag. It wouldn’t be so bad if he could go out and search for his own mate. Unfortunately, due to the unrest in the shifter community and his flock living with a councilman, the estate is on lock-down. Tired of it, Prescott sneaks out and heads to a new dance club. He intends to dance and get laid, but what he discovers is so much more.
When Nkosi Akintola follows Prescott into the men’s room, they realize they’re mates. As much as Nkosi wishes he could bond with Prescott that instant, he can’t. He’s a black mamba shifter on an undercover mission, and timing is critical. As a member of the rogue shifters trying to topple the Shifter Council, Nkosi knows his duty must come first, even before his mate. After giving Prescott the information Nkosi has gathered, he takes the wood duck shifter home.
When Nkosi returns from his mission an injured man, will Prescott forgive and accept him?
“Oh, gods. Faster. Harder.”
Upon hearing Lachlan’s throaty urgings, Prescott froze just inside the door.
“Gods, yessss,” Thad rumbled huskily. “So good.”
Prescott felt his face heat as blood rushed south. For a few seconds, he paused to listen to his flock-mates fucking. He was also damn tempted to round the tables and chairs to find them so he could watch.
I bet they’re sprawled out before the fireplace. I could watch Thad pound away at Lachlan’s toned form.
Except, Prescott didn’t. Hearing flesh slapping against flesh, he backed away. The sounds of grunts and groans mixed with whispered words told Prescott that his friends were barreling down the homestretch.
Exiting the library, Prescott closed the door quietly. His own cock ached behind the fly of his jeans, and he rubbed at himself. He toyed with the idea of tracking down Bashir. The vampire was always happy to enjoy a quick fuck and blood donation.
Thinking of the sensations created by Bashir drinking his blood, Prescott moaned. His dick twitched, and a bead of pre-cum oozed from him. Even his balls began to tingle.
Then Prescott remembered Bashir was off the property on some assignment for Seever.
With the troubles caused by a bunch of rogue shifters targeting the shifter council and those associated with it—led by a bigoted ex-councilman with a penchant for shifter trafficking—the estate where Prescott and the rest of his flock lived was on lock-down. They’d moved there a couple of years before when fellow flock-mate Cho had met his mate in Shifter Councilman Vincentius Goldstein. For everyone’s safety, they couldn’t leave the estate without quite a bit of protection.
Prescott wondered if some other guard would be up for a quickie and started down the hall in search of someone to scratch his itch.
While Prescott knew many whispered about him being the estate slut, he didn’t care. After all, it was true. Prescott had loved sex as soon as he’d discovered how pleasurable it could be. Having spent decades locked in a cage, mostly trapped in his wood duck form, he enjoyed as much touch as he could get.
Pushing memories of his time being experimented on by scientists from his mind, Prescott searched out a partner for some horizontal fun.
Three days later, Prescott bit back a groan as he stood frozen in the doorway to the kitchen. He’d wanted a mid-afternoon snack. Instead, he’d stumbled upon Reese, the human who worked as the estate’s chef, enjoying an afternoon delight with his lion shifter mate, Seever.
The grunting coming from the massive pantry could be nothing else.
Prescott growled as he pivoted and stalked out of the kitchen, his hunger gone. In fact, he didn’t even end up aroused by the sounds. A different kind of warmth churned in his gut.
Rubbing at his chest, Prescott felt a wave of guilt flood him. He shook his head, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. While he figured his flock-mates were using sex to decompress from the stress as well as pass the time, Prescott didn’t have a mate.
And I want one.
Man or woman, old or young, fat or thin—Prescott didn’t give a shit. He didn’t care what his mate would look like. He just wanted to find him or her. Unfortunately, with still being on lock-down, Prescott couldn’t go out to look.
Sighing, Prescott headed to the entertainment room. He spotted his alpha, Ashton, cuddled up on a sofa with his mate, Ranger. While the scent of sex lingered in the air, they were fully clothed.
Glad I missed that.
Prescott would never want to spy on Alpha Ashton with his mate. His alpha would scratch his eyes out of his skull.
“Hey, Prescott,” Ashton greeted him with a relaxed smile.
Yeah, I know what put that look on his face.
“Hi, Ashton,” Prescott replied. “Ranger.”
“Prescott.” The black-backed jackal shifter snuggled against Ashton, a well-fucked flush still darkening his tanned cheeks. “We’re gonna watch a movie. Join us?”
Prescott crossed to the bar as he replied, “Yeah. Sounds good. What were you thinking of watching?” It didn’t really matter. He was that bored.
“We were talking about doing a Lethal Weapon marathon,” Ashton told him. “The rest of the guys should be here in ten.”
Snorting while pouring a glass of red wine, Prescott shook his head. “It might be a few more minutes than that if Reese and Seever are supposed to be joining us.”
“Oh?” Ashton cocked his head. “Why do you say that?”
With a wink, Prescott crossed to a window and opened it. Then he headed to a second one, so there would be a cross-breeze. “They weren’t done, like you guys are.” Soon, the light draft began to clear away the scents of sweat, arousal, and semen from the room.
Both men grinned broadly, completely unrepentant.
As they should be.
Ashton cupped Ranger’s jaw and held his mate’s gaze. “Can’t help myself.” With a tug, he pulled the other man closer and sealed his lips over the jackal’s.
Biting back a sigh, Prescott went about prepping the first movie.