Cliff

By Bailey Bradford

Cliff thinks he's too tough for love and too mean for a mate, but he has a lot to learn about the way the Fates work.

Cliff doesn't know who his parents were—he was created in an in vitro lab run by shifters with devious plans. He's found out a few things, but nothing prepares him for the changes coming his way when he decides to break into the clinic to search for information. What should have been a simple break-in turns into a rescue from hell and two dead shifters. To top it off, the clinic catches on fire and Cliff loses all chance of finding anything there.

But the Fates are fickle, and Cliff is one of their favourite shifters to screw around with. He's snarky, and mean, and smart, which oddly enough endears him to them.

Not that he'd believe it when they send him a mate. Cliff doesn't want a mate. And he sure doesn't want the magnificent and powerful man he's destined to be with. That's what he keeps telling himself, and maybe he'll eventually believe it.

When he's promised the opportunity to break the mate bond if he really wants it, that sounds like a deal. So why doesn't he jump on it? He doesn't know, and both he and his mate might not survive long enough to figure out what it is Cliff really wants.

Hunted and hunter, he and his mate are both.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Jan 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781781849279

Bailey Bradford

A native Texan, Bailey spends her days spinning stories around in her head, which has contributed to more than one incident of tripping over her own feet. Evenings are reserved for pounding away at the keyboard, as are early morning hours. Sleep? Doesn't happen much. Writing is too much fun, and there are too many characters bouncing about, tapping on Bailey's brain demanding to be let out. Caffeine and chocolate are permanent fixtures in Bailey's office and are never far from hand at any given time. Removing either of those necessities from Bailey's presence can result in what is known as A Very, Very Scary Bailey and is not advised under any circumstances.

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A Totally Bound Publication

Cliff

ISBN # 978-1-78184-927-9

©Copyright Bailey Bradford 2013

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright December 2013

Edited by Eleanor Boyall

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2013 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.

This story contains 160 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 5 pages.

Leopard’s Spots

CLIFF

Bailey Bradford

Book twelve in the Leopard’s Spots Series

Cliff thinks he’s too tough for love and too mean for a mate, but he has a lot to learn about the way the Fates work.

Cliff doesn’t know who his parents were—he was created in an in vitro lab run by shifters with devious plans. He’s found out a few things, but nothing prepares him for the changes coming his way when he decides to break into the clinic to search for information. What should have been a simple break-in turns into a rescue from hell and two dead shifters. To top it off, the clinic catches fire and Cliff loses all chance of finding anything there.

But the Fates are fickle, and Cliff is one of their favorite shifters to screw around with. He’s snarky, and mean, and smart, which oddly enough endears him to them.

Not that he’d believe it when they send him a mate. Cliff doesn’t want a mate. And he sure doesn’t want the magnificent and powerful man he’s destined to be with. That’s what he keeps telling himself, and maybe he’ll eventually believe it.

When he’s promised the opportunity to break the mate bond if he really wants it, that sounds like a deal. So why doesn’t he jump on it? He doesn’t know, and both he and his mate might not survive long enough to figure out what it is Cliff really wants.

Hunted and hunter, he and his mate are both.

Dedication

For everyone who asked for it, here’s Cliff’s story.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

Batman: Warner Bros Pictures

Prologue

Hades in a basket, Clo. Can’t you keep that mess out of the way? Lacey snarked. I keep tripping over it!

Clo turned her nose up at her sister Lacey. Please. If you weren’t so ungodly slow, the threads wouldn’t gather into such piles.

Lacey held up her tape measure. Right, because I should rush this and just mark the threads all willy-nilly.

Willy-nilly? Clo repeated. What century are you stuck in?

Ladies, please, Attie said with a bit of a whine. I long ago grew tired of your bickering. We have our jobs to do.

Why didn’t we foresee what just happened? Clo asked, frowning.

Attie shrugged. What fun is it to know everything? A little imperfection in the thread here and there adds spice to our lives, doesn’t it?

I suppose, Clo agreed while Lacey harrumphed.

Attie ran the tips of her scissors down one particular thread. He has kept us on our toes. It’s time to reward him, wouldn’t you agree, sisters?

Lacey arched a brow. You mean to reward him by cutting his thread?

Attie scowled but didn’t look away from the thick thread. Cutting? No. But there’s plenty of threads entwined here. Loosening one will not kill him. It will just make him vulnerable, don’t you agree?

But she didn’t wait for her sisters to chime in as she ran the sharp edge of the scissors over the thread. He’s too cocky and believes he can make all the decisions. Attie spared her sisters a glance. And we have let him act in such a manner for far too long.

Lacey contemplated that while Clo shrugged.

Finally, Lacey nodded. It will be good for him, and he’ll thank us in the end.

And curse us up until then. Attie cackled with delight. Every now and then, people could be so very entertaining. Another thread caught her attention and she plucked it gently. Oh yes, she and her sisters would be in for a show…

Chapter One

Obeying had never been Cliff’s strong suit. He knew the Fates didn’t particularly want him breaking into the fertility clinic and snooping around, but he was going to do it anyway.

Not just for himself, either. There were two female shamans being held in the building against their will, their eggs being used to create litters of shifters. It was rape, as surely as the word existed, and Cliff wasn’t letting it continue.

And if he found some information that applied to himself, well, that was a bonus.

Anyway, there was no good reason for him not to break into the place. If it burned to the ground or something, there’d be vital information lost. Wouldn’t want that to happen, he murmured to himself as he studied the building.

It was going to be easy for him to get in. There were alarms, but he could handle those. He could handle just about anything. Sometimes he thought he was a goddamned superhero.

Cliff snorted softly. There was probably no reason for him to worry about being real quiet, because the building was empty except for the two female prisoners. He still didn’t make any more noise.

Quiet as a moonbeam… Nah, that sounds too wussy. But, fuck it, quiet as death is clichéd and overused, even if it is bad-assed…

Cliff reached the side of the clinic and sank into the shadows. Quiet as a shadow. Fuck. Quiet as the shadow of death. Does death even have a shadow? It’s not like death’s a tangible thing, an actual being. Is it?

As he moved down toward the back entrance, Cliff’s mind kept going, spinning out silly shit to keep him amused. Boredom was anathema. Cliff would rather be in agony than be bored. Maybe. He recalled some instances from his past and gave a mental shrug. Okay, so maybe not.

The outside security lights were a joke, just like the alarm system. Cliff silently sent up a request to whoever for stealthy hands. He rubbed his palms together and blew on his fingertips, then went to work.

He had everything shut down and was inside the place in under three minutes flat. He sniffed and winced. The heavy odor of chemicals lingered in the air. He couldn’t even scent the two shamans he knew were there. Deliberate, he suspected. The two doctors who ran the clinic were shifters, and obliterating scents would be wise of them, considering.

Considering they had to know someone would be coming after them. Fuckers.

Maybe they didn’t. People could get cocky, and shifters in particular could be right cunts about it all, thinking they were above everyone else and every law on Earth. And these particular shifters had been getting away with implanting shifter eggs into human women, all under the guise of in vitro fertilization.

Well, it was still IVF, but the human couples didn’t know what they were getting. Cliff wasn’t sure of the why of it all, but it couldn’t be anything good.

He cocked his head and listened intently. There was the electric hum of appliances and shit, but he quickly blocked that out and zeroed in on the rasps of breath and scrape of metal on metal.

A shiver tried to work its way down his spine, but Cliff refused to give it such freedom. He was made of much sterner stuff. Usually he listened when his instincts told him to get out, but he couldn’t very well leave those female shamans now.

Keeping all senses on alert, Cliff moved in the direction he thought the women were in. Common sense dictated that it had to be them. There was no one else in the place other than him.

Every hair on his body tingled with alarm, but Cliff couldn’t detect a reason for it. He checked for traps, security systems, cameras, people… There was nothing obvious.

Which made him just a tad nervous. Either his senses were whack, or the Fates were fucking with him. Probably the latter.

Regardless, he wasn’t going to be deterred. By the time he reached the heavy door to the room he knew the shamans were in, Cliff was dangerously close to being jittery from nerves, which pissed him off in nine different directions. He steeled himself and reached for the knob, knowing it was going to be locked.

His surprise when the handle turned easily almost spurred a hiss out of him. If his unease had been borderline explosive, now it had rocketed into the next universe. There was no reason to keep the door unlocked on prisoners unless…

A shove had the door swinging open, hard. Cliff immediately spotted the two women in the room. Hard not to when they were chained like animals. Thick cuffs were around their wrists and ankles, their necks. Both women were nude, and they turned dull, hopeless expressions on him.

Cliff did his best to not scare them. He held up his hands. I’m here to help, he said, but doubted they’d believe him. He’d seen himself plenty of times and knew he was a scary-looking motherfucker, all muscle-bound, tall and rough around the edges—and everywhere else.

But neither woman so much as blinked.

I won’t hurt you, he tried again. I’m going to get you two out of here.

There. He thought he saw the flicker of something in the smaller woman’s expression. That’s right. I’m the good guy.

Before he entered the room, Cliff checked it over carefully, searching for traps or triggers, anything that could cause problems. He saw none, but the moment he entered he knew something was wrong. Deep inside of him, he went cold as the Arctic tundra. A dull ache spread through his body from the center of his torso. Cliff jerked his head up from where he’d glanced down at his middle, and looked instead at the women.

The bigger one was still expressionless, but the other bit her lip.

What happened to me? he rasped, his fingers and toes going cold.

Rather than reply, she licked her lips—and Cliff knew he wouldn’t get any answers from her, not verbally. Her tongue had been cut in half, a brutal assault on anyone, but stripping a shaman of her power to chant out loud.

Or help me. Fuck.

No doubt the same had been done to the other woman as well. Cliff didn’t know what was going on inside of him, but he was going to have to deal with it. The smaller woman tipped her chin at him, and somehow he figured out what she meant. Cliff peered behind him. The doorway he’d come through was decorated with all sorts of markings just barely darker than the paint itself. There was also the nauseating scent of cloves, now that he was in the room.

What the hell, he muttered. I’ve been cursed?

The smaller woman shrugged.

Cliff growled. I don’t fuckin’ believe in curses. So fuck whoever thinks they cursed me. It can’t work. Wasn’t that the rule? Something could only work for or against you if you believed in it? Like Voodoo and all religion in general?

Did that mean if he didn’t believe in the Fates, they couldn’t fuck with him? Think I just found the flaw in my theory. Because he knew those chicks were real whether anyone else believed it or not.

Neither woman responded and Cliff decided that whatever had just happened to him was going to have to wait to be figured out. He still needed to get the shamans out of there. And just in case those symbols held some meaning, Cliff took his phone out and quickly took pictures.

I gotta get close to pick those locks, he said, gesturing to the cuffs. I promise not to touch you any more than I have to.

Slowly, he moved forward, keeping his hands out in front of him. A few things caught his notice. The women were clean, which was good. Or not, because I doubt they were bathing themselves. Which meant someone unwanted touching them and doing only the gods knew what. But there was also the fact that neither prisoner was skin and bones. They’d been kept healthy—physically, at least, which he supposed made sense if their ovaries needed to produce viable eggs.

I have to get some tools from my pocket, he told them once he was closer. Then I’m going to kneel and unlock every one of these goddamned things.

His anger wasn’t anything new. Cliff carried it with him all the time, but sometimes it rose to the surface and threatened to bubble out his skin. He expected to see it someday, coming out like beads of sweat—orange, maybe, or a bright red, but not the pretty color of blood. It’d stream over him and cover him, just as he felt it did, but everyone would see it and know the strength of his fury.

Yes, I am a melodramatic fucker. But seeing the shamans chained up, knowing they’d been used and assaulted, he had a right to be furious on their behalf. Anyone who wasn’t was sorely lacking in the conscience department.

He edged closer, and neither woman skittered away. That was a good thing. Cliff was finally in reach so he knelt and held out one hand. Where would you like me to start?

There was still no acknowledgement from the taller woman. The other put out her right hand. Cliff went to work on the lock and had it unfastened in less than fifteen seconds. Once she saw that he was able to remove the cuffs, the woman became more animated. She pushed at her co-prisoner and made guttural noises.

Cliff decided then and there he was going to kill the shifters who’d kept the women captive. Preferably he’d do it slowly, and make sure it hurt so badly the fuckers would beg to die. Cliff never did cave to begging.

He halfway expected the second woman to freak out on him, but she didn’t, instead remaining emotionless as he set about removing her cuffs. When he had the last one undone, Cliff looked up and started to stand.

He heard the whistle of something slicing through the air just before it hit him, a solid, painful impact at the base of his skull. Cliff spun around, or tried to, and saw the smaller woman pulling back with the metal food dish she held.

About the time he registered that she was going to knock the shit out of him again, the other woman sprang up and bit him.

Fuck! Cliff snarled, feeling the skin at his shoulder tear beneath her teeth. He was torn between fighting back and possibly—probably—hurting the two females, or letting them think they’d knocked him out.

Cliff went with option two as he was walloped again, the food dish getting up close and personal with his head. If they kept beating on him, he really was going to pass out, or lose his shit and hurt them. Cliff moaned and broke it off mid-sound. He rolled his eyes back and closed his lids, forcing his body to go limp.

That got him one kick dangerously close to his nads, then he heard the patter of footsteps as the women fled.

Do a good deed, get the ever-lovin’ shit beat out of me. Figures.

He needed to stick to being a mean guy. Leave the superhero business to someone else, like that Super Shaman down in San Antonio.

Cliff’s dick gave a twitch at that thought. He cracked open his eyelids and ignored his cock. Power always turned him on, and he’d heard a lot about Remus, the Mega-Shaman. Cliff had all kinds of names for the guy. Personally, he thought Remus sounded boring as hell. All goody-two shoes and no fun.

His dick just didn’t seem to agree.

Whatever, dumbass, he muttered as he rolled to his feet. Jesus, he’d been beaten up by females—and it wasn’t the first time. Cliff almost laughed at that. He’d been young, dumb and full of machismo once… Well, he still was full of it, but he’d gotten smarter. There’d been a time he’d thought he was a badass before he truly was a badass. He’d smarted off about boys being stronger than girls, and gotten his ass beat by Becky Lynn.

He waited a few minutes, listening for the sound of a door being opened to the outside world. Once he heard it, Cliff began checking the room. There was nothing helpful except for the shit that had done something weird to him. Cliff dug his phone out of his pocket, snapped a few more pictures of the symbols, because he was feeling strange. He’d find a good botanica to go to and show the curandero or shaman there the pictures. It wouldn’t hurt anything, anyway.

Something was off in him—Cliff chortled just a little before sealing his lips together. There had always been something off in him, but this was a different kind of off. Almost spiritual in nature, and that was damned disturbing.

Cliff didn’t want to lose his scary shifter status, even if he was the only one cocky enough to think of himself that