Nobody realizes better than Shane that he has no real future. As a Leopard, he’s destined to live alone and be reviled by his fellow feline shifters. Instead of letting that hurt him, Shane just throws himself into his work as the coalition’s top assassin. A job that his breeding makes him perfect for. He tells himself that he doesn’t need anyone else—that he’s fine living a solitary life. Then one, brief encounter with a bratty, Panther shifter named, Trevor, changes everything. Now all Shane can think about is the Panther and how to get the man back in his bed. The only problem is Trevor hasn’t given Shane so much as a second glance since their one time together. A situation that frustrates and intrigues Shane even more.
Trevor has always enjoyed playing the field. With so many sexy temptations at his disposal, he doesn’t see why he should have to settle for the same warm body in his bed night after night. While the sex with Shane had been great, Trevor is determined to put the encounter behind him. A task that’s not as easy as it would seem. Not when every night he continues to dream of the Leopard. Or how, whenever they’re in the same room, Trevor can’t stop himself from wanting to reach out and caress the Leopard. Trevor knows that there can never be anything between them and resolves to put his desires behind him.
Will they be able to learn to trust each other in time to save themselves, or will their past doubts destroy them?
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An Assassin’s Touch
Copyright © 2011 Stephani Hecht
ISBN: 978-1-55487-802-4
Cover art by Angela Waters
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Smashwords Edition
An Assassin’s Touch
By
Stephani Hecht
Get this straight, you can use a Leopard in a mission, you can send him out to kill for you. Hell, you can even fuck one. The one thing you can, never, never do is trust one. Leopards by nature are cold, emotionless and psychotic. They were made with one purpose and that was to destroy others. So whatever you do, don’t turn your back on one and you sure as hell don’t fall in love with one of the batshit, crazy loons.
Carson of the Mitchell Feline Coalition.
Chapter One
Somebody was going to die before the night was over and Shane felt eighty-five percent sure that it wouldn’t be him.
Usually he’d give himself higher odds—much higher, but the bleeding gash in his side and the fact that he was on his third attacker made things a bit more difficult.
Difficult, but not impossible.
He ran through the deserted warehouse, the dark building somehow managing to seem cavernous, yet claustrophobic at the same time. His footsteps echoed throughout the nearly empty interior, the wet slapping sounds screaming his location to the asshole who was tracking him. Just for good measure he knocked down a nearby metal shelving unit. As it fell to the floor with an ear-jarring crash, Shane gave a smile he knew to be feral.
Yes, that’s it mother fucker. Come and get me.
He flipped the hood of his black cloak over his face, then grabbed his twin short swords, giving the blades an experimental swing before he crouched into a ready fight position. Even in the dim light he could make out the patches of blood already marring the metal. A souvenir from the past two battles he’d engaged in only moments before.
One! That’s how many Rattler shifters were supposed to be there. His informant had been quite adamant about that fact. Now, as he looked back and reflected, perhaps a bit too adamant. Shane let out a soft growl. Damn it, he should have known better than to trust a frigging Hyena shifter. Those idiots were always looking for the first chance to shank you in the spine.
Now, thanks to the chuckling backstabber, what should have been an easy mission had turned in a colossal fuck-me of epic proportions. Instead of coming in and finding his target alone and vulnerable, Shane stumbled across a nest of Rattlers, a pile of drugs and an even bigger pile of human bodies.
Not even someone as screwed up as Shane thought any of those were the ingredients for a fun evening. He let out a snarl of frustration as he waited for the final Rattler to attack. It didn’t take long for the snake to show himself. A set of red glowing eyes rounded the corner and slowly made their way toward Shane. A few steps closer and he could finally make out the body belonging to the creeper peepers, an overly muscle bound, bald man who stood at well over six foot, five inches. To add even more to his ick factor, his body was locked halfway into his shift so his skin had a brownish-green, scaly appearance. When the man flicked out a forked tongue to taste the air, Shane curled his lip in disgust,