Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 135321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Ashlynn righted herself, her face a mask of sheer rage. “Bitch.” Throwing out alpha vibes in an effort to oppress Havana—which was fucking cheating, really—Ashlynn charged at her. Tate’s stomach went hard, and his inner cat let out an enraged growl.
Havana grabbed the nearest chair and held it with all four legs directly pointed at Ashlynn—who, in her fury, stupidly fucking crashed into it.
She stumbled back with a loud wince of pain that morphed into a long hiss. “Fucking fight me!” Ashlynn demanded, planting her feet.
Shrugging, Havana lay the chair down flat on the floor, the legs facing her this time.
Ashlynn lunged. She didn’t get far. Because Havana slammed her heel on one leg of the chair, making the top of it rear up and catch Ashlynn right on the chin.
Looking dazed, Ashlynn spat out blood. She glared at Havana, her nostrils flaring. “You’ll regret that.” She shifted. Her feline launched out of the puddle of clothes and hurled herself at Havana. Which might have been a good move … except that, in the meantime, Aspen had handed Havana a stool leg—he hadn’t even noticed the bearcat break a stool.
Havana swung the wooden leg and whacked the feline like she was no more than a fucking baseball—and she did it with such force that the cat flew backwards and smacked into the wall hard enough to make Tate wince. The cat landed limply on the floor, out cold. And Havana, well, she dipped her hand into the complimentary bowl of pretzels that sat on a nearby table and tossed one into her mouth, casual as you please.
Nobody moved, no doubt as shocked as Tate. It was not often you saw a pallas cat get their ass handed to them. He couldn’t even say that Havana had really fought Ashlynn. His little devil had done no more than toy with her, and she’d done it with no emotion. It was an insult. A message that Havana found her nothing more than a pest. Tate blew out a breath because, yeah, Havana’s mercilessness went right to his cock. His inner cat fucking loved it.
The fact that she’d done this right in front of Ashlynn’s pride mates, not giving a damn that they might retaliate, wouldn’t anger the Olympus cats. No, like Tate, they respected that level of strength and fearlessness. Well, except for maybe Ashlynn’s friends, who’d now recovered from their shock.
Gaping, Eva glared at Havana. “Fucking whore.” Eva made a move toward her, her claws out. But then a black mamba dropped from the ceiling and wrapped tight around Eva’s throat. Hissing, the mamba bit her face. Eva screamed and staggered.
A furious Aimee didn’t take more than one aggressive step in Havana’s direction before Aspen effortlessly tackled her to the floor and smacked a three-legged stool over her head, knocking the feline unconscious.
Havana crossed to Ashlynn’s cat and carefully lifted her. Tate thought she might throw her at the table or something, but she didn’t. She nodded at Aspen, who then grabbed a chair while Havana climbed the steps that led to the stage. Once the bearcat had positioned the chair in the center of the platform, Havana laid the pallas cat on the wooden seat. Bailey, who’d at some point shifted back to her human form and slipped on her dress, skipped over and tucked a colorful cocktail umbrella into the thick fur on the cat’s neck.
Havana nodded, seemingly pleased. The three females then strolled off the stage. And Tate got it. Havana wanted Ashlynn to wake and find herself right there like that where everyone—including many of her pride mates—could see her. The feline would never live it down. Especially since people quickly began snapping pictures with their cell phones.
“Now that is cold,” said Luke, his tone one of approval.
It was, and Tate couldn’t help the grin that curved his mouth. His cat was pretty much head over heels for the delightfully vicious devil at this moment.
The bartender, Gerard, plonked three shots of tequila on the bar. “Drink up, girls. They’re on the house.” Yeah, he wasn’t a fan of Ashlynn.
Tate made a beeline for Havana, who pinned him with a look that said he was supposed to be keeping his distance, but he ignored it. He wasn’t going to slink away. He needed to check that she was okay.
Resisting the urge to pull her close and kiss her, he asked, “You all right?”
She knocked back her shot, her eyes alight with energy. “Never better.”
“What did she say to you?”
“A few things, really. The gist of it? She’s going to win you back, and she wants my vow that I’ll stay out of the way. When I wasn’t so inclined to make any such vows, she threatened to ‘throw down.’ Personally, I think she wanted to embarrass me in front of you.”