Not only does Posy find out she’s mated to an alien shifter, she’s mated to the most terrifying creature on Earth. Not even in human form is the six foot six powerhouse as frightening. When Maximus whisks Posy away into the jungles of Africa to find his way home to Ricafa, she’s confronted with shifter hell. Everywhere she turns creatures of the day and night conspire to kidnap her. Posy has no idea her body is considered a prime vessel, receptive to any kind of being. Able to bear any kind of offspring. The only thing the buxom female has going for her—her right cross.
“Three against one, boys?” a voice said from the darkness.
The man on the ground rose to his knees and peered behind his buddies. “Get lost.”
“I already am,” a man’s voice said and directed his words to Posy. “Ma’am, my name is Maximus.”
There was a deep growl to his tone, and for a second Posy thought she again saw the image of a massive cat. A tiger, out here? And at the wedding? Not possible. Posy couldn’t help but blink when a man stepped from the shadows. She managed to get a hand free and slapped the face of one of her aggressors.
“Damn you, bitch,” the man yelled.
He made a move to slap Posy. Before he could make contact or Posy could fend him off, the man’s fist was grabbed and a crunch resounded in the alley when Maximus broke his arm. The man screamed in agony and fell to his knees.
“I can take care of myself,” Posy insisted. She slapped her other aggressor in the face to make him release his death grip.
Another fist was thrown her way and another arm was immediately broken by Maximus and another man was down.
“I said I can take care of myself.”
“Ma’am, you keep slapping them and they keep trying to hit you.”
The last man of the trio was up and grabbed Maximus around the waist, and with a yell he lifted him off his feet, ran, and then slammed him into a garbage bin.
“I didn’t slap him,” Posy called out smugly, waving a finger in their direction.
“No, ma’am, you messed up his junk some,” Maximus said, groaning, and he smashed his fist into the other man’s face sending him to his knees.
The man struggled to his feet, and all three backed away, each limping or cradling an injury to return to the bar door. As it opened Posy heard one of the men yell.
“Get off the fucking phone, I need an ambulance.”
The door swung shut and drowned out the music.
Posy marched over and rose to her toes, still not reaching his six foot six, to yell in Maximus’s face. “I was handling it.”
“Yes, ma’am, you’re welcome.”
Posy growled, spun, and began marching away. To her annoyance Maximus was hot on her heels.
“What do you want?”
“I’m lost.”
Posy stopped. He was a huge ass bastard. Dark eyes and short dark hair. Broad as sin. He was cute in a cutthroat assassin kind of way. The sad puppy eyes were a bit over the top when he gazed at her.
“You’re not some stray I can take home,” Posy said.
“What’s your name?”
“Posy.”
“Well, look at me, found by a posse.”
“P-o-s-y.”
“Ring around the rosy a pocket full of Posy,” he chanted.
“Asshole, asshole, I hope you fall down,” she chanted back. Posy began to walk away. For a second her feet entangled in her dropped handbag. She bent to retrieve it and heard a low whistle, obviously aimed at her ass.
“Be seeing you, ma’am.”
Maximus sounded a bit sinister, and Posy paused. Her handbag dangling half on the ground she counted to ten and turned around about to begin a confrontation. Maximus was gone. The street was deserted, eerily quiet. She scanned left, then right. He’d disappeared.
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