Chapter One
“I’m looking for a lion called Caramel.”
For several seconds, Franklin Hamilton strained his hearing. No one spoke up to either confirm or deny Caramel’s presence in the lions’ den, but that wasn’t because there was no one else present.
Franklin could feel several pairs of eyes running over his exposed skin.
He took a deep breath. The heat from the fire crackling to his right should have felt good after he’d been left to wait for so long, naked and cold, outside the den.
But it didn’t feel good. The sudden heat was overpowering, oppressive, and combined with the blindfold covering his eyes, it was enough to render him both disorientated and dizzy.
But it would be worth it if Caramel was there.
And Caramel would be there. He had to be. Franklin shuffled his feet against the rug beneath him as he waited for someone to speak, for Caramel to make his existence known and confirm that going through this whole stupid charade had all been worth it.
Eyes continued to rake over Franklin’s body. He could sense other men surrounding him. If his wrists hadn’t been cuffed behind him, he might have actually given in to a moment of weakness and brought his hands in front of him in an effort to cover himself.
Mentally cursing himself for even considering such a move, Franklin squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. There would be no weakness, not from him.
Suddenly, something brushed against the back of his head.
Before Franklin could react, the buckle holding his blindfold in place was released.
The leather fell away from his face. There was no light other than the fire burning in the grate, but, after so long in complete darkness, Franklin was half-blinded by the flickering flames.
Quickly turning his face away from the blaze, he only managed to catch the briefest impression of the man in front of him, but that glimpse was quite sufficient. Whoever he was, the man sure as hell wasn’t the dancer that Franklin had come there to find.
Franklin had spent so many hours watching Caramel on stage. The lion he was looking for was all lean lines of graceful muscle, high cheekbones and long golden hair.
As Franklin’s eyes adjusted to the firelight, he got his first clear look at the man standing in front of him. He couldn’t have been more different to the man Franklin was looking for if he’d been designed for that express purpose.
“What do you know about Caramel?” The man glared down at Franklin as he issued the demand, making full use of any psychological advantage his greater height might give him.
The man was indeed taller than Franklin, and older, and broader across the shoulders, too.
If anyone had asked Franklin to picture the kind of person who might be capable of turning into a wild animal at the slightest provocation, the man facing off against him now would have fulfilled all the requirements perfectly.
Strengthening his body language as best he could while still bound, Franklin squared his stance and refused to show the slightest hint of fragility.
Just because everyone was naked, that didn’t mean this any different to a board meeting. The same psychology applied. Shifters were probably just slightly more honest about the kill-or-be-killed nature of their dealings with each other.
“Where’s Caramel?” Franklin demanded, in exactly the same tone he’d have used with the head of a major project that was over-budget, behind schedule, and swirling around the bottom of the drain.
Apparently, that voice didn’t work on lions. Humans twice Franklin’s age had panicked when they’d heard it and suddenly realised working for a twenty-four year old wouldn’t be the easy ride they expected.
The lion didn’t even blink. “I asked you what you know about Caramel,” he repeated, perfectly calmly.
A movement from the corner of Franklin’s eye caught his attention. He turned toward a smaller, younger man. The pretty little blond rested his hand gently on the lion’s forearm, as if he was trying to soothe the shifter’s temper.
When the boy turned his attention to Franklin, he met his gaze without any hesitation, but there was no challenge in his expression, only a kind of serious curiosity. “This is Ellery,” he said, softly. “My name’s Kefir.”
Silence descended. Franklin got the distinct impression the boy would wait however long it took to be offered the same information in return, even if that turned out to be hours—or even days.
“Franklin Hamilton,” he snapped, impatient to move on to more important matters as quickly as possible.
Kefir smiled encouragingly at him. “And you’re looking for lion called Cameron—for a dancer that goes by the name of Caramel?”
“Yes.” Franklin tried to peer past them and spot Caramel in the shadows. It wasn’t easy while Ellery continued to stand directly in front of him, blocking his view of most of the room.
“So are we.”
“What?” Franklin’s attention snapped back to Kefir.
“We’ve been looking for him for some time,” the boy said. “If you have information then…”
“You mean he’s not here?” Franklin demanded.
Ellery shifted his stance the moment Franklin raised his voice. He obviously didn’t like anyone shouting at his…Franklin glanced at Kefir again and took note of the silver collar around the boy’s neck…Ellery’s human sub.
Franklin looked from one man to the other, then back again. It was time to cut to the bones of the matter. “I’ll pay you for any information you have.”
Kefir tilted his head to one side, as if he didn’t really understand the concept. Ellery’s expression was far more knowing. He might not be as impressed with the offer as Franklin had hoped he would be, but at least he seemed to understand the theory.
“Perhaps, if we all sit down and tell each other what we know, that would help?” Kefir suggested.
Ellery nodded his acceptance of that plan, and they both stepped back, giving Franklin his first unobstructed view of the room. Over a dozen shifters sat in pairs and groups. Mixed in with them appeared to be a few other human subs like Kefir.
As Ellery took a seat in one of the armchairs, Kefir settled himself at his feet, for all the world like a well-trained pet.
It wouldn’t do to let Ellery think that all humans could be expected to act the same way. “Do you intend to remove my cuffs?” Franklin asked, pointedly.
“No.” Ellery said. No explanation, no apology, just the one word, as if he had every right to keep Franklin bound for however long he damn well pleased.
Survival skills honed in the boardroom rushed to the fore. Franklin didn’t even hesitate. “Are all lions so afraid of humans that they insist they must remain bound in their presence, or is it just you?”
Ellery’s reaction should have been easy to predict. He should have tensed at the insult and risen to the challenge, but lips twitched as if he was trying to bite back a sudden smile.
“I wouldn’t know,” Ellery eventually said. “Not being a lion.”
Franklin blinked at him.
Ellery’s smile broke through. Against all logic, it didn’t make him look the least bit friendlier. If anything, he just looked, well, hungry.
Franklin glanced at Kefir. The boy did look far more like Caramel than Ellery ever could. He didn’t have the dancer’s build, or his grace of line, and his hair was shorter. But there was definitely something around Kefir’s eyes, something…feline?
Vehement curses rolled around Franklin’s head, but he didn’t let his expression falter. Pushing aside the whole matter as if his mistake had never happened, he turned to the group at large. “Is Caramel a member of this pride or not? I was told this is the only gay pride in the area.”
“That much is true.”
Franklin spun around. An armchair alongside the fire was occupied by a man with much the same build and manner as Ellery. He also had a boy sitting at his feet. Franklin took a moment to study both men’s eyes, looking for any feline qualities there before he made a fool of himself again.
The older man had a mane of dark brown hair and a glint in his eye that marked him out as the more likely candidate.
“Who’s in charge here?” Franklin demanded, looking from that man to Ellery and back again.
“Joseph Arslan,” the man with the mane said. “I lead this pride. But Kefir is the lion in charge of our search for Cameron.”
“How much?” Franklin asked, never looking away from Arslan.
Arslan’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“How much money do you want in exchange for ordering all the lions in your pride to give me any information they have on Caramel’s whereabouts?” Franklin specified, impatience rushing through every word.
The fire continued to burn brightly in the hearth, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop. It was all Franklin could do not to let a shiver run down his spine.
“And, if you find him, what do you intend to do then?” Arslan asked.
Franklin glared down his nose at the seated shifter. “I fail to see what concern that would be of yours.”
Arslan smiled. It wasn’t a particularly friendly expression. “You’re standing in a room full of lions who could easily tear you limb from limb. If you fail to refer to his mate with due respect again, Ellery can add a human to that number. Insults are not your best course of action here.”
“It wasn’t an insult; it was a business offer,” Franklin corrected. “You have information I want, and I’m prepared to pay very handsomely to get it.”
“Did you pay Kershaw to throw you to us tonight, as well?” Arslan asked.
The more politely the lion spoke, the more tense the man sitting at his feet became. It was a useful tell. Just like watching a secretary often gave the best indication of a businessman’s mood.
Franklin studied the boy at Arslan’s feet very carefully, eager to gain any advantage before negotiations began in earnest. Apparently, he stared at him for a second too long.
Suddenly, Arslan wasn’t sitting placidly in his chair; he was standing directly in front of Franklin, looming over him, a snarl building in the back of his throat.