Claiming Their Mate: Two Is Never Enough, #2

By BA Tortuga

He's here on vacation. They're here for him.

Samson and Dane are werewolves who act as guardians of their pack. They're also lovers, but they both long for the third person they know will make their home whole. Their Chosen.

Ryan has no idea he's even a werewolf. He's visiting rural New Mexico and Colorado to write horror novels, not get it on with the two hottest men he's ever met. So why can't he keep his hands off them, and why is biting suddenly so hot? Can Samson and Dane convince Ryan that he's like them, and that he needs to leave his city life behind?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Turtlehat Creatives
• Release date: Jul 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781942831662

Book preview

1

S hut the fuck up. Dane elbowed Samson hard in the ribs, his brain ringing with his oldest friend, fellow guardian, and mate’s disapproval of his choice of places to eat. They were on their way to Durango, but his stomach was going to gnaw away at his spine, so they’d stopped in Cuba.

There were two choices in Cuba—McD’s and the Mexican place. He chose the Mexican place, because hello? Mexican!

We eat Mexican all the time. I’m going to shit fire for a month. Let’s get french fries. Samson snapped at him—literally. The bastard’s wolf was right below the surface and, damn, those bites could sting. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, really...

If there was a place to get real fries and not plastic, I would. That shit doesn’t smell like food.

He could hear the gears in Samson’s head working, trying to come up with a reasonable comeback, but Dane knew he was right. So he grabbed his phone out, praying he got signal. El Bruno has five burgers on the menu. With fries. No ass fire required.

All right. That’s fair. Oh, Mr. Teeth was feeling generous this afternoon. Dane approved. He really didn’t want another fistfight in yet another parking lot. While that eventually led to amazing fucking, it caused unwanted attention.

Once in a great while a little jail time.

That was always complicated and Goddess knew he didn’t need that shit. Bruce tended to express his displeasure drastically.

Mexican burger it is. Dane got the truck moving again, pulling in down the road at the restaurant. The place was pretty deserted since the hour fell between lunch and dinner. Only a sleek, high-end SUV sat in the parking lot next to the old Nova that had to belong to a waitress or cook.

Samson’s nose wrinkled, the expression one of hunger rather than disgust. The place did smell awfully good. He wanted enchiladas verdes, egg on top. Ooh, or fajitas. Maybe both. Would he be a pig if he asked for both?

Guacamole and chips, too, so I don’t starve.

Dane looked over at his fellow guardian—they were both of a size, barely fitting side by side in the cab of the pickup. Right. Starving.

I am. Samson vocalized a tiny, pathetic whine.

Poor puppy, fading into nothingness.

I am! And you love guac, so don’t tell me you’re gonna say no.

Fuck no. I’m all over this shit… Dane stepped out of the pickup and took a deep breath as he stretched. There was the oddest scent on the air—a mixture of sex and tea and...spice? Something like Mexican chocolate. Cinnamon and all.

Mmm. Samson came around to stand close to Dane, a deep rumble filling his ears. That sound meant everything—home, pack, desire, pleasure, and a flush of warmth hit him. Something smells yummy.

Yes. Something. Someone. Someone in there. Dane followed his nose into the restaurant, his body lighting up.

Samson was on his heels, pushing him, sounds turning into a subvocal growl that filled the spaces around them. Dane felt his lover’s heat, the rising need that had nothing to do with food.

Where was it? Who was it?

Where was he?

There.

By the moon. Right there.

A pair of bright blue eyes stared up at him, the lean face framed by a haircut that had to cost the earth, complete with highlights and streaks of bright blue, although the hair that was natural was as dark as Samson’s, not russet like his. Unlike their own button-down and jeans, this sweet little piece of ass was in a t-shirt that had to have cost more than Dane’s boots and a pair of stretch jeans that let them know the pretty one was circumcised. Poor pup. The guy’s nose worked hard, and yeah, Dane knew he and Samson had to be tossing out pheromones.

Samson pushed at him, and they both started to stalk forward, intent on the little four-top table with the tight little body sitting between them.

The man stood when they reached his table, holding up both hands. I don’t want trouble.

Look at that—there wasn’t an ounce of fat, not a hair out of place, or room for a breath to come between skin and denim.

Ours. Samson’s thought slammed into the base of his skull.

Dane could only nod, no sound wanting to squeeze past the need in his chest. This man was theirs.

I just want a goddamn taco, okay, then I’ll get my happy ass out of your fucking town.

No. Dane growled out the word, then cleared his throat. No, we don’t want trouble. Sex. Mind blowing sex, sure. But not trouble.

I don’t carry cash either.

Samson pulled out a chair, spun it around, and sat. We want to buy you lunch.

What? Why? They kinda had the guy cornered, which was no doubt why he didn’t run. Worked for him, though. They weren’t letting this one go.

How often did you walk into a restaurant and find the one that was going to make you complete? Not very fucking.

We’re friendly and no one knows you yet. That was a good enough reason, right. It was the best his addled brain could manage. Dane. Dane Collier. Pleased.

Friendly? That smooth voice rose with disbelief, and the little hot body ignored his outstretched hand altogether.

Totally. Samson smiled and Dane swore he could see his mate’s fangs. I’m Samson Toliver.

Is everybody here now? the waitress asked, totally oblivious to the tension at the table.

Yes, ma’am. Dane gave her a smile while he slid into a chair, his eyes crossing as his knee nudged their very new, soon to be very good fuckbuddy. Gang’s all here.

Good deal. What can I get you to drink?

Bud, Samson said.

Me too. He needed to take the edge off. Now.

I...Iced tea. Just bring me an iced tea.

Dane looked back at their new prey. What’s your name, pretty pup? What pack did you come from? Were you looking for us?

Ryan Forrest. What do you want?

You. Samson just put it out there, and Dane waited for the explosion, because apparently someone didn’t realize he’d been looking for them.

Cute. One perfectly coiffed eyebrow lifted up. Seriously, boys, what’s up?

He means it. Dane leaned his elbows on the table, his nose working furiously. He smelled Ivory soap, hair product, a hint of worry, a flush of nervous arousal. What pack are you from?

Is that a Native American thing? That’s not my culture, really. I’m sorry. I know it’s a huge thing here, but...I don’t think it’s in my genes.

Samson frowned at him, and Dane nodded slowly, his brain trying to figure out what Ryan was hiding from. Sorry. I just assumed…

No big deal. I thought y’all were coming to kick my ass.

Mate? He doesn’t know? He doesn’t have a pack? Is that possible?

I won’t smell a lie. You remember Saul. Sometimes the Omegas are dormant, mate.

Right. The other two pack guardians, Brennan and Markus, had found their Omega when he’d been on a road trip through the southwest and his car had broken down.

Nope, Samson said, cheerful as hell now, face wreathed in a wolfy smile. Just to come on to you.

Okay, that’s unexpected.

He’s a walking hard on, Dane said, jerking a thumb at Samson.

You didn’t complain last night, Daniella.

Dane rolled his eyes, then smiled at the waitress. Guac and chips.

Ryan kept looking between them, so much like a rabbit that it actually activated Dane’s prey drive. His legs twitched with the need to chase. Samson rumbled softly, the sound pure hunger.

Want him. Want to tear him up with you.

I know. He put a hand on Samson’s thigh under the table. Patience, babe.

Samson’s quad jumped and jerked under his touch, and the rush of pheromones hit him like a brick. He wasn’t the only one. He could see the little one’s nostrils flare, see the rush of pure desire painted on his cheeks.

They were all panting, staring at each other, when the guacamole came. Uh, you guys want to order anything else?

I want tacos, please. Soft with potatoes and beans.

Fajitas, Dane murmured. Mixed.

Burger and fries. Rare. Samson bared his teeth.

Not vegetarians, I take it?

Vegetarians. Them. Right.

Samson snorted. Not a bit.

Ah, carnivores. Ryan grinned, but didn’t hold either one of their gazes.

Mmm. So, why are you here? Dane asked.

I was hungry.

No. I mean you’re not from around here. Where are you headed? Come on, pup. Talk to us. Let us get to know your mind, we know your scent already.

I’m a writer. Going to rent a cabin without distractions and try to get my novel done.

Samson grimaced, his face a study in disappointment. No distractions? Dude.

I’m from Dallas. I wanted a change of pace, inspiration.

Inspiration we can give you. Dane leaned forward, scenting the air between them, and he’d be damned if Ryan didn’t moan, the sound sweet and soft.

Y’all don’t know dick about me.

But we want to. They said it together, then grinned at one another.

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