Taming the Lion

  When she’s in heat, there’s no cooling down…

  Lone Pine Pride, Book 2

  Wilderness guide and cougar-shifter Patricia “Patch” Fontaine has known the dangers of lone-shifter life since she was ten, when her parents mysteriously vanished. All grown up now, she thrives on her hard-won independence.

  When rumors of a new rash of shifter abductions crop up, she’s forced to come home to the Lone Pine Pride for protection—right as the man she’s always secretly wanted is about to marry her best friend. And right as she’s going into heat.

  Roman Jaeger values his role as Alpha heir apparent, but he isn’t thrilled about his arranged marriage to the Alpha’s daughter—especially when his bride is just as nonplussed as he is—but he’ll do his duty for the pride. Seeing Patch again challenges his noblest intentions. The wildness in her sets him on fire, and he can’t resist the chance for one last fling.

  Both know a future together is impossible. But when chemistry and sowing wild oats grows into a need deeper than lust, their bond could threaten the very heart of the pride they both love.

  Warning: This book contains a strong sexy Alpha-to-be, an independent cougar-shifter who knows her way around a lion’s heart, secret affairs, arranged marriages, politics, passion, and a pride full of lions and tigers and bears. Oh my.

  Taming the Lion

  Vivi Andrews

  Dedication

  For the dreamers. Go big.

  Chapter One

  Patricia “Patch” Fontaine felt the first telltale twitch of her heat kicking in at the worst possible moment. Not that there was ever a good time to turn into a ravening sex maniac with razor sharp claws, but surrounded by oblivious humans in the Montana wilderness miles away from civilization had to make the top ten list of crappiest places to be when her most feline instincts decided to raise their horny little heads.

  It started with a tightness across her skin and a little scratch of heat at the base of her spine, slowly unfurling. That early warning of so much more to come.

  Patch groaned, warmth spreading through her core at just the thought of the word come. This was going to be a bad one.

  “You okay, boss?”

  “Yeah, fine.” She carefully avoided looking at her assistant guide on this trek. Marcus wasn’t usually her type—she’d never really gone for humans. Too fragile. Too many complications. But as humans went, Marcus was a damn fine specimen and until her heat waned, her hormones wouldn’t need much encouragement.

  “Nearly home,” he said, clearly misinterpreting her groan as weariness. “I’ll almost miss this lot.”

  She didn’t need to look to see the wry grin attached to the almost; she could hear it in his voice.

  This group of pampered Manhattanites looking for wilderness adventure had actually been better than most. There was the ubiquitous woman who believed mosquitoes had been put on earth to torment her alone and insisted on whining to everyone within earshot roughly two hundred times a day. And, of course, the pain-in-the-ass stockbroker who believed he knew everything there was to know about mountaineering because he’d been camping once as a kid and climbed an artificial wall at his gym every week.

  But, all in all, a pretty good group.

  No one who deserved to be mauled by a mountain lioness in heat if she couldn’t keep her shit together.

  Luckily, she was a freaking expert at keeping her shit together. If repressing her sexual urges ever became an Olympic sport, Patch would have more gold medals than Michael Phelps.

  She shifted her backpack and stretched her spine, hoping the low ache kicking up at its base had more to do with strain than her hormones. She’d been lugging more than her share of the equipment for the last six days—as a cougar shifter she could handle it and she’d rather put up with a few sore muscles than the extra bitching from her clients.

  Seven days backpacking through the Absaroka Mountains sounded romantic and glorious when the Montana Mountain Guides clients were booking the trip from the comfort of a Manhattan loft. The reality was romantic and glorious. But it was also aching muscles, blisters, sunburn, mosquito bites, sore backs from sleeping on the ground with only a thin sleeping bag as cushion, and more rehydrated food than any stomach should be expected to ingest.

  Of the eight on this particular trip, five were still gazing around with awestruck wonder as they took a water break on the last day. The other three looked ready for a hot tub and a massage—both of which would be waiting for them back in civilization, which they should reach in four hours. Five tops.

  Patch could handle five hours.

  Five hours of control to get this batch of Easterners back to the lodge and clear her schedule so she could disappear into the wilderness on her own and yowl like the cat in heat she would be for the next week.

  No problem.

  Patch tipped her face to the wind, hoping its chill would cool the fire heating her blood and scenting the breeze for any threats ahead of them on the trail. The scent of small game called to a different kind of hunger, but she ignored it easily, sifting past the smells that made her inner cat think of lunch. There was a black bear in the area, but far enough off they were unlikely to be bothered by him.

  And past all those scents, even farther off, was the faintest hint of a shifter’s spicy tang—though not one she recognized. Not pride then—which was odd enough in and of itself this close to the pride lands. Most independent shifters steered well clear of Lone Pine lands, but she’d been catching traces of more and more unfamiliar shifters lately, especially here on the southern edge of the pride territory. And this one had a strange, slightly medicinal undertone to the smell. Her nose twitched and she shivered instinctively.

  She should call Lila when she got within cell range, check on things back at the homestead, so to speak. Patch might be an independent cat by nature, like all cougar shifters, but she’d been raised as part of the Lone Pine lion pride and that was still her home in many ways—even if she would always be an outlier. If something was going on at Lone Pine, something that had the nomadic shifters from the south circling closer, then she needed to know about it.

  And she should probably let Lila know she’d be out of commission for the next week while her heat ran its course. Lila may have a reputation as the Alpha’s spoiled daughter, but she was really a nurturer at heart, and Patch’s best friend. She’d worry if Patch didn’t check in on schedule.

  So she’d better get her ass back to the lodge and check in.

  “All right, folks, who’s ready for the fun part?”

  Their clients laughed and groaned in equal measure, climbing to their feet and hitching up their packs—they’d figured out on day one that Patch’s definition of the fun part almost always included an uphill climb. But it was always worth it, ending in the most spectacular views. And they’d be relieved to know this was the last such summit before the long downhill all the way to the lodge.

  “Marcus, you wanna take point?”

  “Yeah?” Her assistant grinned, his eyes brightening, and grunted as he shouldered his bag.

  Patch had long since learned to just keep her pack on because putting that weight back on was never worth the small relief of setting it down for five minutes.

  “Yeah. Just keep us on the trail.”

  Even he couldn’t get them lost doing that.

  It was Marcus’s first season with the company, and normally by September he’d be guiding solo, taking out smaller groups on day trips and short overnighters on his own, but Marcus—though undeniably engaging as a guide, and knowledgeable about wildlife, and willing to do his share of the work, and, yes, pretty as hell—had the world’s most fucked up sense of direction.

  The man could get lost in his own backyard. Hence his peren
nial assistant status.

  Patch didn’t mind guiding with the Bermuda Triangle—as he’d been nicknamed by the rest of the guides at MMG. She just made a point to always take the lead. But right now, the wind was in their faces. Which meant whoever was in front was going to be blasting the people behind with their scent. Which, in her case, included a potent dose of come-and-get-me pheromones.

  So she’d be bringing up the rear and watching to make sure Marcus kept them on the right heading.

  Five hours. She could do this.

  And then she could escape and suffer through her heat in seclusion.

  But five hours later, after all eight of their clients had departed the MMG base with smiles on their faces—even the three who were visibly relieved to be back in the world of hot baths and air conditioning—Patch turned on her personal cell phone and a message immediately blinked across the screen.

  Mandatory APM. Friday. 7pm. Pride Hall.

  APM. All Pride Meeting. Friday. Tonight. No escaping into the wilderness. “Shit.”

  “Boss?” Marcus’s voice wafted out of the equipment storage where he was sorting out the gear that needed to be cleaned.

  “Nothing.” She slanted a glance at him through the doorway, feeling not the slightest twinge of want. Maybe she’d imagined the first warning hit of her heat kicking in. God, she hoped she’d imagined it. The Pride Hall with the entire freaking pride in attendance was the absolute last place she wanted to be when she was going into heat. Much worse than in the middle of the wilderness with a bunch of humans. “You know you don’t have to call me boss.”

  “I know.” He grinned, boyish and so freaking endearing her girl parts would definitely have given a lurch if she was really in heat.

  Nothing. Thank God. She must be in the clear.

  She stepped into the cluttered room with him—something that would be beyond stupid if she was putting off hello, sailor pheromones. “Slide over. We’ll be out of here faster with two pairs of hands.” She had a pride meeting to get to.

  Marcus made room for her beside him on the bench, and they quickly set about checking in and cleaning the gear. Her hands had performed these motions a thousand times. It was mindless—but sweaty—work. The air in the small room seemed to press against her skin, hot, thick and saturated with Marcus’s scent.

  Her nose twitched and she squirmed a little on the bench.

  His shoulder brushed hers once, then again, more slowly. Patch sidled away, but he leaned across her to grab a propane stove and she could swear he inhaled as his face was close to hers—if he’d been a shifter she would have known he was drawing in her scent, but humans didn’t do that, did they?

  “Patch…”

  He never called her Patch. Always boss with that joking edge.

  She turned her head and his face was way too close and way too flushed, his pupils blown until his eyes were drowning in black.

  Classic symptoms of a hormone high.

  Shit. Shit shit shit. She’d accidentally given Marcus a pheromone roofie. “Marcus, whatever you’re feeling—”

  “Patch.” He lurched toward her, hands reaching, lips seeking, eyes falling closed.

  She gave a startled yip and tumbled backward off the bench. He started to tumble after her and she planted a foot in the center of his chest, throwing him back with a measured shove. She was one hell of a lot stronger than he was and the last thing she wanted was to crack his ribs or send him flying into the equipment racks, but he didn’t look like a gentle no was going to get the point across.

  He fell to the ground, blinking at her in dazed, lustful confusion. “Patch?”

  She scrambled to her feet. “I’ve gotta go.” Gotta get my pheromones out of here. “See you next week, okay?”

  She bolted, pausing only to grab her bag. She shouldn’t leave Marcus to clean up and close up on his own, but right now she was more worried about saturating him in her scent than an equitable division of labor. As she jogged to her Subaru, she reached for her phone and texted another of the MMG guides, calling in a favor for him to come in and help Marcus finish up.

  That done, she flicked her phone onto the passenger seat—ignoring the flashing voicemail indicator—and fired the engine to rumbling, groaning life as Marcus appeared in the doorway. Gravel sprayed beneath her wheels as she hightailed it out of the parking lot and turned her car toward her apartment. A shower would help wash off the most potent come-and-get-me elements of her heat—at least for a little while. Then she had to get her ass to the pride.

  Joy.

  A hard, hot shower always felt like heaven after a week of camp showers, pounding away the accumulated grime, but today the water was almost too much. Her skin was too sensitive—hot and shivering by turns. The birth control shots she took could prevent conception, but they did nothing to quell the throbbing urges—or the pheromones. She cut her shower short and dressed quickly in a fresh pair of jeans and long-sleeved thermal shirt. Her wet hair she twisted into a haphazard knot.

  All told, she was in her place for less than fifteen minutes before she was climbing back into her Subaru—accompanied by the ringing of the cell phone she’d left sitting on the passenger’s seat. The caller-ID caught her eye.

  Marcus.

  Shit. He deserved an explanation of some kind, even if all she could offer him was bullshit.

  Patch attached her hands-free and started to drive, even as she answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Patch. Boss. I am so fucking sorry.” His words gushed out. “I don’t know what happened.”

  I do. “We were just alone in the wilderness together for too long,” she said, as if they hadn’t been chaperoned by eight Manhattanites the entire time. “After a week, anyone starts to look good. Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I have a girlfriend. You aren’t even my type!”

  Ouch. She knew she wasn’t the vision of femininity that Lila was, but just because Patch had always been more one of the guys than the girl next door didn’t mean Marcus had to sound so appalled. “Marcus, nothing happened. We’re cool.”

  Or they would be, just as soon as her pheromone levels dropped down to a reasonable plateau. She could no longer ignore the fact that her heat was well and truly starting. Her hormones would spike and retreat for the next day or so, the high points gradually increasing until she hit DefCon One and stayed there. Sometimes for as long as five days.

  One of the joys of being a cat.

  She just needed to pray that her heat didn’t take one of those spikes while she was in the middle of the Pride Hall tonight. The other cats would be even more susceptible to her scent than a human was. It would be like dropping a nice juicy steak into a bear pit—only the steak would be very, very willing. When her heat took hold, she wouldn’t be able to help herself.

  Of course, she couldn’t say any of that to Marcus.

  “Boss, I swear—”

  “Marcus. We’re good. And please don’t read anything into the fact that I’m taking the next week off. I always go off for some time on my own in the woods around this time of year.” And the other two times through the year when her heat cycle came due. “Ask anyone. It has nothing to do with you. What happened back there this afternoon, that was just a fluke. Once you kiss your girlfriend, you won’t even remember why you wanted me.”

  “I already don’t.”

  Double ouch. Sure, he wasn’t her type, but his shock was playing hell with her ego. She was so damn sick of being one of the guys. So what if she was athletic and had never had a manicure? So what if she was low maintenance and liked her clothing serviceable rather than sexy? So what if she was flat-chested and couldn’t flirt to save her life? Was it so far-fetched that someone would want her as she was?

  “Good,” she forced herself to say. “Have a nice week.”

  She hung up before he could start expounding again on her complete lack of attraction—when it wasn’t assisted by the sex-me-up boost of her heat.

 
She glanced at the clock and mentally calculated the distance to the pride, punching down the accelerator when she realized how tightly she was cutting it. The Alpha might like her, but he was not going to be forgiving if she waltzed in late.

  Her voicemail reminder beeped again and Patch tapped a button to listen to the message.

  Lila’s voice immediately burst through her earpiece, bright and sweet as ever. “Patch, darling! I have news. I realize you’re probably out shooting the rapids or wrestling a bear or doing some other gloriously outdoorsy activity, but this is your friendly reminder that your ass had better be on time to the All Pride Meeting tonight. And wear something cute. You’re taking me to the Den after.”

  Patch glanced down at her jeans, knowing there was no way in hell they would qualify for Lila’s rigorous definition of cute. But it didn’t matter now. She didn’t have time to turn around and change. And as far as the news went—knowing Lila, it could be anything from solving world hunger to a new shade of nail polish. Patch never knew what she was going to get.

  She deleted the message and flipped her phone back to the passenger seat. Whatever Lila’s news was, she’d find out at the meeting. In thirteen minutes.

  Chapter Two

  Roman Jaeger leaned against the wall in the shadows to the left of the stage and watched the Pride Hall fill. He scanned the room, making note of each face as it entered, gauging every mood.

  For most of them, this wasn’t going to be a good night.

  Normally he’d be working his way through the room, taking the temperature of the crowd and making himself available to hear any grievances they had, all as part of his duties as the Alpha’s second-in-command and apparent successor. But not tonight. Tonight there would be too many questions he wasn’t at liberty to answer. Too many nerves he couldn’t soothe. So he lurked in the shadows instead, cataloging each pride member’s likely reaction to the news they were about to receive.

  Fully half of them were going to be pissed. The Alpha had decided to more or less put the entire pride under house arrest—Roman could just imagine how well that was going to go over. There was still enough wild animal in most shifters that restrictions were met with angry snarls and bared claws—but Roman’s job was to make the pride secure, even when that might not necessarily make them happy.