Unnatural

3-2

FREE TIME.

Brook seemed to be granted more and more of it.

Anyone else would likely have shown gratitude. Brook, though, knew the expanding hours she didn’t have to work for would eventually come with a price—and said price would no doubt arrive in the form of a Tom.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the moments of true solitude she managed to steal.

The evening before, Clive had lingered until well after midnight, like he believed she’d eventually cave and invite him to stay. Why couldn’t they all understand that the very fact they gave her only choices they deemed suitable negated them from being true choices at all?

Everything in Brook’s life, though, had to be approved by her parents—her mother, who agreed wholeheartedly with the Coalition way of life, and her father, who went to great lengths to uphold it. She doubted either of them would approve of the choice her heart seemed to be cheerleading.

At least being in the woodlands that filled almost every unbuilt-upon space in her father’s property allowed her the illusion of escape. Away from her mother’s disapproving stares that alternated with her father’s expectant ones.

More so, away from the bickering of whichever Toms decided to show their faces.

Maybe their visits wouldn’t seem so corrupt, if they didn’t make regular rounds to every Coalition home housing an unclaimed female.

Letting out a hiss at the direction her thoughts had travelled, Brook slunk off in a quiet trot west, toward the corner of the woods that hid her childhood tree-house.

Her pads cushioned the steps she took across the earth. The breeze, gentle in force yet bitter in temperature, bristled every hair across her body. With her silken coat warding off the worst of the chill, she concentrated wholly on the ever-present scents she had always loved, the quiet scurrying and flapping and pitter-patters that helped bring the woods to life, and the beaten trails, fallen branches, and bushes that had grown alongside her own body for each of the years since she had found respite in her sanctuary.

All of them held so much familiarity, she barely had to pay attention to the route she trod, and as her tree-house came into view, her shoulders, which had slowly unknotted with each step along the journey, relaxed even further.

Which meant the c***k of a twig at her rear barely registered.

Her head snapped up.

She inhaled.

Stefan.

Claws digging into dirt, Brook kicked off into a leap.

In the next breath, she hit the ground with a heavy thud, beneath a great weight along her spine, as teeth clamped over her nape.

The force around her neck strengthened, as her face rammed into the dirt a second time.

She spat out a hissed warning.

When his jaws released her, she thought he’d heeded—until he began urging his cheeks across the back of her head.

Oh, no. She bucked beneath him.

He whined out an objection, his paw slapping across her shoulders, pinning her down as he continued with his Marking.

Bastard.

The only thing worse than being Marked by a Tom was being Sprayed by a Tom. Although the Coalition had laws against that particular act, she didn’t put it past Stefan to ignore them.

Muscles tensing, she pushed upward with her legs, but at almost double her body weight, Stefan was an uneasy force to move.

With a deep yowl, he locked onto the back of her head and forced her down again. As his tongue licked across the spot his teeth had grazed, his front leg held her in place, and his weight resettled.

Lip curling, teeth exposed, Brook kicked up a hind leg.

Stefan’s deep screech rang out as her claws made contact.

Brook wriggled, her torso twisting, claws digging into soil for traction.

She’d scarcely gotten out from beneath him, when his jaws clamped over her rump. Her high pitched roar ruffled her lips, but he clambered back over her like he hadn’t even noticed.

Closing her eyes, she willed her body to Shift, the sensation that accompanied the transformation no more than a tingle rolling across her flesh, like a tidal wave of tiny pinpricks.

By the time his hot breaths hit her shoulder, Brook resembled human, and with a spin of her body, she rammed her elbow into his ribcage. When that earned no more than a whine, she tucked her knee in close to her stomach and booted downward as hard as she could—straight toward Stefan’s groin.

His howled screech blasted her ear, and, teeth gritted, she rammed her shoulder against his side. “Get off me!”

He rolled to the left with a thud, his body already partially altered from black fur to flesh, hands already reaching for his most prized possession, and his eyes screwed tight.

Before he could open them, Brook bolted for the tree-house.

With years of practiced ease, her soles hit every second rung on the sloped ladder.

A sideways glance showed Stefan still rolling on the floor, only his scrunched features exposing his pain with his diminished wails, as Brook flew into the elevated wooden cabin.

The musky scent of weathered pine smacked her senses as she shot for the far opening and burst out onto the rear suspended deck.

From there, she thrust off with her right leg. For a fraction of a second, only air supported her, her body curling in on itself, until her feet hit the high shelter of the sturdily-branched silver birch.

“You’re gonna pay for this, Brook!”

She jerked at Stefan’s shout, arm flinging out, but folded her fingers around a branch above before she could lose her balance.

As though mimicking a monkey, she wove through limbs as n***d as herself, legs lifting and swinging, body twisting to fit through narrower gaps, until she’d found a decent perch with a view of Stefan’s fallen spot and enough timber between them to offer some protection.

Only then did she notice the thud of her heart against her sternum as breaths panted from her, and the sheen of sweat coating her skin.

Below her, Stefan rolled to his knees and made an ungainly climb to his feet. His body swayed to the left a little, head tilting upward as his gaze swept the tree.

He grinned like the threat hadn’t just left his lips. “You’re touchy today.”

“And you are presumptuous today.”

He chuckled, hands coming to rest on his hips, as he took a couple lazy steps back. The colour of burnt Satsuma shone from his mesmerising eyes—inherited from his father, Rufus King—beneath flawlessly-tousled chestnut hair that always managed to flop just so. Every square inch of his perfectly toned six-six broad frame hosted nothing but sculpted muscles.

No matter that Stefan came wrapped in a ridiculously handsome package, Brook knew it to be no more than a mere vessel for the ugliness within—just as she knew not to trust his easy stance.

He waved an arm at her, beckoning her down. “Come back and play.”

“Play?” Flicking her hair aside, she leaned over the branch afore her and spat at the ground. “Is that what you now call attacking females when their backs are turned?”

He laughed, though the sound reflected little humour. “You’ve always been a good storyteller. Shame nobody’s ever interested in your crappy yarns.”

“What do you want, Stefan?” she asked, ignoring his dig that nobody believed her accounts of his behaviour. “You should know better than to disturb me here.”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s not like you’ve never invited me into your hole before.”

She hissed at him, the hairs prickling the entire length of her spine. The times Brook had allowed him to share her space had been long before his true colours had made an appearance—and those occasions certainly hadn’t been on the personal level he implied.

As if her outburst hadn’t even occurred, he shrugged. “What can I say? I got bored of listening to our dear old dads talk business. You were the better option.”

The business he spoke of probably consisted of relations between enterprises. The entire Coalition owned companies mutually beneficial to one another. From her father’s string of hotels, to restaurants and health spas, all the way to Rufus King’s casinos, each of them had been set up to complement the others and ensure the Coalition had a steady stream of funds from all directions.

Brook had been earning herself a hands-on education in the hospitality industry, before her father had suddenly announced that her place was at home.

Her hackles rose even further as she thought of her father’s idea of ‘her place’—until her eyes refocused on the problem below her. “Well, this is my personal time, and you’ve no right disturbing it.” Though she knew it wouldn’t work, habit had her saying, “Wait until my father hears of this.”

Stefan chuckled, before doing a three step sprint to his right and leaping up until his fingertips enfolded one of the higher rungs on the tree-house ladder. Muscle swelled across his shoulders as he swung himself up and over, and bunched in his thighs when he straightened and balanced his stance. “Who do you think told me where to find you, Princess?”

A low growl rumbled in her chest at the title he always insisted on calling her. “My name is Brook.”

As he disappeared into the tree-house, Brook curved around the trunk and worked her way to the next branch, bringing him back into view, when he reappeared on the deck from which she had left.

He cupped his groin and jutted his hips forward. “As soon as I claim you, your name’ll be whatever the hell I want it to be.”

Brook rolled her eyes, a small laugh breathing from her. “That is never going to happen.”

“Oh, yeah?” His flared nostrils exposed how much her words bothered him. “Try telling that to Daddy, Princess.” With a scowl marring his features, he ducked back into the tree-house. “’Cause your days are running out.”

She stretched forward, shivering for the first time as adrenaline ceased to fight off the cold, already looking toward where he’d emerge at the other end.

Seconds passed and no Stefan.

Instead, squeaks started up, a sound pattern of e-ee, e-ee, e-ee, each one vibrating through the moist timber. “This cot of yours still has a lot of spring in it, Princess.”

She ground her teeth at his use of the pet name again.

“It’s as good a place as any to do the deed.” The pine surround hollowed his voice, as though acting as a buffer and absorbing some of the sneering intent. “Come to me by free will. Or come to me under command. Makes no odds to me.”

Her hands folded into fists. “The only way I shall ever come to you is in your dreams.”

She should have recognised the triple thud for what it represented before Stefan bulleted onto the overhang and dove for the tree where she sat.

The branch he landed on bounced beneath his bulk, despite his agility, and his hair skimmed the limbs he brushed past, as he slid through the obstacles with a fluidity his size belied.

It took all of Brook’s willpower not to fling herself from the tree and run for home—all of her inner strength not to scramble away to a higher branch.

“You’re an i***t, Brook.”

Her heart stuttered as he came to a stop on a branch a foot or two below the one she balanced upon. His abdomen leaned against another no more than three feet away—the only barrier between them.

“No female is permitted to pass her twenty-fifth birthday without becoming a Queen.” His smile held all the charm of a leech. “Daddy did you no favours sending you to that all girls’ school. He’d have been better off sending you to the same schools as the rest of us. Then you might have paid more attention to what happens around you.”

With one hand gripping an overhead branch for support, she dropped her face to his level. “Nobody can force me to do anything,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You keep telling yourself that.” His hand shot out, but Brook jerked back, and his fingers only managed to skim her arm. “Keep closing your eyes and refusing to see.”

A growl left her throat. “My father would never—”

“No? Then, how come Don has just let me in on a big fat secret?” His arm whipped under the branch a second time, sending Brook back again and her spine smacking against the timber at her rear. “Seems he’s already got his eyes on his favourite suitors, eh?”

She slammed a foot against his arm, as he made further grabs for her calf. With his wrist pinned beneath her sole against the trunk, she leaned in close to his face where his chin pressed against the bark beneath it. “What secret?”

His slow smile distorted beneath Brook’s hold. “That your Season’s due to fall in two weeks.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is that it?” she asked, dropping her foot.

The second she’d released him, he pushed away. “Your birthday’s in two weeks, too, Princess.” One measured backward step took him to where the limbs began to thin out. “Just in time for you to become a Queen. Like I said, the clock’s ticking.” He wagged his finger side-to-side like an inverted pendulum, complete with sound effects. “If you haven’t Chosen, the choice will be made for you. Guess who Don has just stuck first in line?”

With a sideways leap, he vacated the tree, his body arcing downward until he hit dirt with a thump.

Like he hadn’t just made a twenty-foot plummet, he straightened and rolled out his shoulders. “I keep telling you, Brook ... I always get what I want.” He sauntered off in the direction of the house. “I always win!”

Brook growled after his retreating back. “Not this time.”

Though, as she drew her hair over her shoulder and his left-behind scent wrapped around her like a mocking cloak, she realised he already partially had.