Sneak Peek: Lure of the Tiger
Tiger shifter Cruz Khala doesn’t trust humans, and for good reason. He doesn’t trust destiny, either — not even when it sends him the one woman capable of waking the sunny side of his tortured soul. But there’s more than love at stake as merciless shifter forces converge on sunny Maui, all of them intent on stealing a priceless jewel with mysterious powers.
* * *
Cruz steadied his breath and squinted across the moonlit landscape. The sea breeze teased his hair as he crouched, scanning for his target. The barrel of the rifle felt cool in his hands, much like the wind cooled the sweat on his back. The palm trees that concealed him whispered an urgent warning as he focused intently on the crowd gathered at the golf club half a mile away.
Something didn’t feel right, but he fought the feeling away. When did a hit ever feel right?
The voice of his informant echoed through his mind for the thousandth time. Northwest corner of the terrace. Look for a guest in black with black-rimmed glasses. The waiter will hand that guest a cocktail glass marked with a pink umbrella and an olive with a green toothpick. That guest is your target.
Easy, he tried convincing himself.
But, hell. He must have lost his touch, because doubts crowded his mind. Not too long ago, in his active duty days, he’d been the top sniper in his elite Special Forces unit, and he’d never hesitated when it came to getting a job done. But that was war. This was…
This is war, too, his inner tiger insisted. Finally, we get revenge on the monster who murdered our family.
Cruz forced away the lump in his throat and blinked hard. Get your shit together, soldier.
Technically, he wasn’t a soldier any more, but that was just on paper. The soldier part would always be in his blood, just as his tiger side was part of his blood. He was made to fight. To protect. To battle for just causes in a deeply troubled world.
And revenge was as just a cause as any, especially when he considered the cruel manner in which his entire family had been wiped out. His parents. His younger sister. His brother. All of them killed in cold blood.
A movement stirred on the side terrace, away from the crowd, and he refocused through the sights. A woman in a sequin dress danced out of the French doors, giggling, followed by a man who only had eyes for her ass.
Cruz rolled his eyes. Definitely not his target.
A moment later, two businessmen stepped out onto the terrace, and the amorous couple scurried into the shadows of the garden. The newcomers didn’t walk to the northwest corner of the terrace, but they stopped close enough to make Cruz’s shoulders tense with anticipation. When a waiter appeared, Cruz held his breath, steadying his pulse the way he would if ready to pounce on his prey.
He adjusted the sights to get a better look at the drinks on the waiter’s tray. Straight up bourbon, from the look of it. No miniature umbrellas. No toothpicks or olives.
He exhaled. Not his target. Still, he watched the men. Something about their tailored suits and self-important stances made him suspicious. But then again, what did he expect from a couple of humans? Humans were unpredictable. Irrational. Dangerous.
A cloud slid over the moon. No problem – there was plenty of light on that terrace. But when another shadow moved in the doorway, his blood rushed and heated. His nose twitched, and every nerve in his body jolted with shocks of warning. His brow furrowed, suddenly on high alert.
Alert against what? His heart thumped.
Never in his life had he felt this strong a premonition. Not the day his family had been murdered, nor the split second before his convoy had been trapped in an ambush, three years ago. Not even the day he’d met Silas, Kai, Boone, and Hunter, the shifters who were to become his brothers in arms. Destiny had forewarned him of each of those events, if only in a frustratingly vague way and only seconds before the shit hit the fan.
This felt exactly the same. His shoulders squared. Something big was about to happen and change his life forever.
Cruz forced himself to breathe evenly. That feeling was to be expected the day he finally had the chance to avenge his family, right?
The curtains at the doors to the terrace stirred, and the two men turned to see who it was. Cruz pressed his finger against the trigger, ready to fire while his inner tiger twitched its tail.
“Come on, already,” he whispered when the person at the doorway hesitated. His lips brushed against the barrel, and the acrid taste of metal filled his mouth.
Focus, damn it. Focus.
He turned his sights on the figure in the doorway. Was that his target?
One of the men made a motion, and a woman stepped into view. Proud. Graceful. But…sad, too. Conflicted, somehow.
The gears of his mind ticked over in agonizingly slow motion, and none of the messages firing through his nerves made sense. Why was she sad? And why did that seem so heart-wrenchingly important to him?
The thick-rimmed glasses propped back on her head didn’t match her fair, wavy hair, just like her glum expression didn’t fit her cheerily freckled face.
Another man pushed outside, passing the woman close enough to make her long, black dress swish. Cruz swung the rifle toward him — a big guy whose combed-back hair didn’t hide the bare patches on his scalp. The fancy suit didn’t quite hide the fact that the man’s gut hung over his belt, either.
The two businessmen nodded and disappeared inside, leaving the big man talking to the woman. More like talking at her while her shoulders lifted in a hidden sigh. She turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. When the man stepped closer — too close — the woman flinched and stepped away.
“Slimeball,” Cruz murmured.
Slimeball, his tiger agreed. The type it would be so, so easy to kill. Arrogant, manipulative, and self-assured. Cruz could see all that in the man’s viper eyes.
Cruz pursed his lips. Was that his target?
Every instinct in his body tugged his attention to the woman, making it hard to focus on the man she obviously deplored. When Slimeball slithered closer to her lithe body, her whole body tensed, and she rubbed her hands over her crossed arms. Was that hate glittering in her eyes?
Cruz was so mesmerized, he barely paid attention when someone else joined the woman and the big man. Then a white sleeve rose at the woman’s side… a waiter, offering her a drink.
Cruz’s heart stopped.
Guest in black with black-rimmed glasses. The waiter will hand that guest a cocktail glass with a pink umbrella and a green toothpick. That’s your target.
Cruz flicked his eyes to the drink. Pink umbrella. Green toothpick.
Holy shit. The woman was his target? That woman was responsible for the deaths of the people he loved?
The clouds slipped clear of the moon as commands thundered through his mind.
Shoot her!
Spare her!
Pull the trigger!
Don’t! Don’t!
He clenched his jaw. Maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe his informant was wrong — terribly wrong. But damn it, how was that possible? How?
If it had been Slimeball holding that cocktail, Cruz would have squeezed off a round and slipped away into the night without a second thought. But the woman…
The joints of his fingers seized up, refusing to pull the trigger.
She could be the killer. Humans are tricky that way, his tiger said, but even he didn’t sound convinced.
Cruz considered. Even if she wasn’t the killer, what did he care? Humans were responsible for most of the problems of the world. What harm would one less human do?
Then he caught himself. God, was he jaded. Was he really willing to kill a woman who could be innocent?
He studied her head to toe. The truth was, she didn’t look like a killer. She didn’t have the stance of a killer. Cruz knew; he’d crossed paths with enough in his day to be able to tell. Men and women both, and this woman didn’t fit in. He sniffed the air. She didn’t smell like a killer, either.
On the contrary, she smelled nice. His tiger purred, teasing her scent out of all those tangled in the sweet night air. Like a sea breeze. Like wild roses that grow in the edge of the beach.
Cruz frowned. Usually, he could settle his racing pulse down with sheer mind control. But now, his heart revved just from looking at her. What the hell was wrong with him?
Destiny, a voice growled in the recesses of his mind.
He shivered in spite of himself. Destiny, what?
But that was it. One cryptic whisper from who knows what dark corner of the universe, and nothing more.
“Destiny.” He cursed under his breath.
Some shifters revered a benign form of destiny that they swore brought goodness and hope and love. Others knew the truth, as Cruz did: that destiny was a fickle, manipulative, and mysterious power that was just as likely to fuck up a man’s life as show him the path to bliss. Destiny didn’t pay attention to mere mortals often, but when it did, it was best to stay the hell away and hole up far away from its interference. Someplace like his cabin, tucked deep in the woods at Koa Point, where no one could bother him. Not even Fate.
Still, he moved his finger off the trigger and watched the woman closely. She made a chopping motion said something that made Slimeball shake a finger at her. Then she turned away with a firm set to her shoulders, prompting Slimeball to stalk back into the building, leaving her alone.
Cruz’s finger jumped back to the trigger. This was his chance, right? The silenced rifle wouldn’t make much noise, and no one would notice her body thump to the ground. That would give Cruz more time to cover his tracks. He could finish this mission, head home, and maybe even find a little peace in knowing he’d avenged his family at last.
Don’t shoot her. Don’t! His tiger growled. She’s not the killer.
Wait a second. His tiger was usually the one desperate for revenge. Now the beast wanted to spare the woman? How did he know she was innocent?
Killers don’t look at the stars like they’re looking for answers, his tiger said.
Cruz watched as the woman raised her glass and whispered a toast to the stars.
Not a toast. A promise, his tiger insisted. And killers don’t shift from foot to foot like they wish they were somewhere else. They focus.
That, Cruz had to agree with. If a person could teleport from one place to another, he’d bet that woman would be out of that pretentious club in a flash. Out of that silk dress, too. She looked more like the cutoff jeans and flip-flop type.
His tiger grinned. I like her.
Which was nuts. He didn’t like humans. Especially one who might be his mortal enemy.
She’s not our mortal enemy. She’s our m—
Cruz cut the thought off and jerked his head right, staring east, where something caught his attention. Not so much a motion as the sense that someone was there. After a moment of searching, his keen feline eyes caught sight of a man. One second, the figure was there, and the next, he was hidden by the foliage. Then he was visible again and, holy shit — screwing together two long, metal shafts. An M110 — a sniper’s rifle much like Cruz’s.
His first reaction was outrage. That woman on the terrace was his target — nobody else’s. No one was going to have the satisfaction of eliminating that murderer but him.
In a flash, he swung his rifle back to the woman on the terrace and took aim.
Satisfaction? She’s not a killer, a little voice insisted.
The woman gazed up at the stars, and the electric current that zapped through Cruz’s body just wouldn’t let up. He bared his teeth, ready to shoot that voice instead of a target half a mile away. But, hell. What if the woman was innocent? What if he never found out?
The woman turned, ready to head inside. Meaning it was now or never if he was going to get a shot off before the other sniper did.
Now, the dark side of his soul called.
Never! his tiger growled.
He glanced to the right, where the second man was hurriedly taking aim at the woman.
No, his tiger roared. No!
A pop sounded, followed by an outbreak of laughter from the crowd on the main porch.
What the hell? Cruz’s heart pounded as he scanned the scene. Was that a silenced shot?
No — it was a bottle of champagne, bubbling all over a couple in the crowd on the main porch. Cruz ripped his gaze back to the side terrace, where the curtain flapped. The woman was gone.
She’s safe! Safe! His tiger cheered.
He turned back toward the hit man, who’d also been distracted from his shot by the pop.
Destiny smiles on her, his tiger hummed.
Cruz wasn’t so sure, because the second man kept his rifle high, squinting through his sights, intent on finding the woman for a second chance. Cruz sniffed for his scent, but the man was upwind.
Can’t let him kill her, his tiger cried.
Cruz couldn’t understand why it felt so important to keep that woman safe. But it did, and within the space of two heartbeats, the urge went from a vague feeling to a burning need.
Must keep her safe. Must get her away from this place! his tiger screamed.
Cruz cursed, disassembling the rifle in seconds flat, wondering what the woman had to do with the other shooter. Then he zipped the weapon into his bag and took off, racing through the woods with feline stealth. Within a matter of minutes, he’d concealed the rifle, plucked a stray leaf from his hair, and climbed the stairs to the golf club, straightening his tie as he went. He hated suits — and crowds — but he’d worn his best tux tonight so he could fit in if necessary. A good soldier always had a Plan B, right?
He’d find the woman, get her someplace private, and search for the truth in her eyes. Then he’d decide who to kill — the woman or the armed man in the woods. He could sense those preying eyes sweep the party as clearly as he might see a searchlight making regular sweeps.
That woman is mine, he told himself, trying to mask his rage at the imposter.
That woman is mine, his tiger hummed in a totally different tone.
* * *
Check out Cruz’s story, today!