Fierce Dancer (Sierra Pride Book 5)

  Fierce Dancer

  The Sierra Pride, Book 5

  Liza Street

  Description

  Emma Koons had been promised a spot in a Nevada ballet company, but after making a poor dating choice she’s out on her can, with no good work prospects. Now she dances in the Lollipop Lounge. It’s a far cry from ballet, but it keeps her body toned and ready for the day she might be able to audition again.

  Quentin Armstrong is a loner mountain lion shifter with a yearning to be a part of something bigger. When the Fourniers call him for a favor, he accepts, hardly expecting to fall in love with the woman they send him to find. The last thing he wants to do is expose Emma to the dangers of his shifter world, but soon he finds himself fighting not only to keep her heart, but to save her life.

  Content warning: This sexy shapeshifter novelette includes a happily-ever-after as well as explicit love scenes and naughty language. It is intended for adults.

  Discover more at Liza Street’s website.

  An exclusive short story featuring Ava and Jude from Fierce Heartbreaker is now available! Visit Liza’s free book page for details: https://lizastreet.wordpress.com/free-book/

  The Sierra Pride Series:

  For optimal reader enjoyment, the author recommends reading these books in the following order; however, each one stands alone and contains a happily-ever-after.

  Fierce Wanderer

  Fierce Heartbreaker

  Fierce Protector

  Fierce Player

  Fierce Dancer

  Fierce Informer (due out October 2016)

  Fierce Survivor (due out November 2016)

  Fierce Lover (due out December 2016)

  one

  Quentin Armstrong parked in front of the Stark Street Diner and scrolled through his texts, looking for his next job. He paused over a request from the Weston Pride in southern Oregon—they needed someone to safely transport one of their daughters to Arizona. If anyone asked, he would have said he liked transporting jobs because they usually involved women, and he liked sitting next to them and looking at them and smelling them in his car. But the truth of it was, he didn’t care who he transported; he just liked pretending—for a few hours or a few days—that he belonged with a family group.

  Real cougars were solitary creatures, but shifter cougars were primarily human, and to Quentin, solitude was pretty fucking lonely.

  He started to text the Weston Pride’s alpha, but stopped. Did he feel like pretending again? Every time, he’d drop off the woman and face a trip back to nowhere or anywhere, alone.

  Never make a decision on an empty stomach, his mom used to tell him. So he shoved his phone in his pocket and went into the diner.

  Myriad scents greeted his nose—buttermilk pancakes, spicy breakfast sausages, eggs, cheese, grease, coffee. He settled into a booth, his jeans sticking against the vinyl, and opened the menu.

  A server sashayed over, her mouth wide in a smile. Her hair was reddish blond—not the white-blond of Quentin’s close-cropped cut—and fell in curls around her shoulders. She leaned in close to Quentin, and he could see straight down her v-neck shirt. Black lace bra.

  Maybe she lived close by. Maybe he wasn’t so hungry after all, at least not for food.

  “What can I get you?” she asked, a flirtatious lilt in her voice.

  He could think of at least a dozen things, and he opened his mouth to say so.

  His damn phone rang.

  He almost picked it up. It never rang, so it might be important. But he was mesmerized by those tits and that lace. He pushed a button to ignore the call.

  The corner of the server’s mouth quirked up.

  “You can start by giving me your name,” he said.

  “Jenny. What’s yours, blondie?”

  “Kyle.” He always lied. He lied every time, because he’d never stick around long enough for it to matter. “When do you get off work?”

  She glanced at the other server, a brunette who stood at the cash register watching the two of them. The brunette gave Quentin a quick finger wave when she saw him looking at her.

  “Friend of yours?” he asked.

  “She’ll cover for me. I could leave now.”

  “That sounds—”

  His phone rang. Again. With a curse, he picked it up and looked at the caller ID.

  If it had been anyone else, he’d have silenced it and probably chucked the phone in the trash for good measure. But it was Gabriel Fournier.

  “Shit,” he said. “I have to take this.”

  He stood up to go, and she put out a hand as if she wanted to stop him. “Will you be coming back?”

  “Don’t know.” He was already pulling the phone to his ear.

  “At least let me give you my number—”

  But he was already out the door. Too risky to have phone conversations with other shifters while he was in public. Sometimes things slipped or sounded weird. It wasn’t something he was willing to risk.

  “Q!” Gabriel said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Long time, man.”

  “Cut the shit, Gabe. What the fuck do you want? You don’t call for years”—almost four, to be exact—”and then you call me twice in five minutes.”

  There was silence on Gabe’s end. Quentin turned and leaned against his car, staring toward the diner. Jenny was talking to the other server, waving her arms with emotion. Well, that was one bridge burned. Probably for the best.

  “I deserve that, Q, I do. I’m sorry we’ve been out of touch. But we need you.”

  “I’m trying to get out of this. Not take more work.” Lie. “I want to settle down.” Truth. “But funny, no one’s offering to let me stay in their territory.”

  “You still want that?” Gabe said. “Territory?”

  Quentin took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out again. Quietly, he said, “Yeah. My cougar wants to settle. Are you going to let an Armstrong live in your territory?”

  “You’re always welcome here, Q. Always.”

  That was the thing—Quentin believed him. It was easier for shifters to lie on the phone, but Gabe wouldn’t lie to him about something like this. The problem was, Quentin hadn’t shared the whole truth. He didn’t only want a patch of territory to roam around in—he wanted a pride. He wanted family. For one short year, he’d gotten that with the Fourniers.

  “Aunt Nan would be turning in her grave right now,” Quentin said.

  “Aunt Nan didn’t always make the best decisions,” Gabe answered.

  Quentin gasped in feigned shock. “Sacrilege!” Then he remembered why they were even speaking right now. Sighing, he asked, “What’s the job?”

  “We haven’t heard from Cora, and we’re worried.”

  Just like Gabe to say it straight. Quentin missed the Sierra Pride more than they’d ever know.

  “How long since last contact?”

  “Three years,” Gabe said. “When Nan sent her and Justine off.”

  “Holy shit. And you’re just calling me now?”

  “Nan told us not to contact them—she said the sisters would call when it was safe.”

  “Justine’s okay?”

  “Yeah, she couldn’t talk long, but she reassured us she’s fine. But Cora—she hasn’t answered any calls, and we can’t get in touch with the Nevada Pride.”

  “I hate those assholes. Bryan especially.” Territory-hoarders. Anyone wanting to get through Nevada had to kowtow to the old alpha, Jerome. Quentin had met him and he hadn’t been able to pick up a good read on either Jerome or the younger brother. But Bryan, the older brother and next in line for alpha, was the biggest prick Quentin had ever met.

  “Yeah, me too,” Gab
e said. “But you’re the only one with the skills to get in and out safely. Will you do it?”

  “You know I will.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  There was a shuffling sound on the phone, and Gabe growled. “My mate won’t forgive me if I don’t give the phone to Hera.”

  Quentin scowled. “Your mate?”

  “It really has been too long, Q.”

  What the holy fuck was going on. Gabriel had a mate? “Well, congrats. What pride is she from?”

  Gabe laughed. “This one, now. Miranda’s not a shifter.”

  Quentin didn’t know what to say to that. Usually shifters mated to other shifters, but it wasn’t unheard of to take a human mate.

  Clearing his throat, Gabe said, “Anyway, Blake’s mate, Hera—another human, I might add—has a favor to ask you. Will you talk to her?”

  Blake’s mate. Gabriel’s mate.

  “How many mates do y’all have now?” Quentin asked. “And what the fuck is in the water up there?”

  Gabe cracked up at that. “There are four mates now. Miranda—she’s with me. Ava and Jude are back together. Hera, who’s with Blake, and Kate’s with Maverick.”

  Quentin shook his head. Incredible. “Yeah, sure I’ll talk to her.

  There was a brief pause, and a woman’s voice said, “Hi, I’m Hera. I know you don’t know me, but I have a favor to ask. I’ll totally pay you, though.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sure, what is it?”

  “I have a friend in Reno, Emma Koons. At least, I think she’s in Reno. Would you mind looking her up? She isn’t returning my calls, and I’m about to go over there myself, but Blake doesn’t want me to go right now—”

  “Because she’s pregnant!” another woman shouted in the background.

  He could practically hear Hera grinning. “That’s Miranda. She’s, um, very excited about the baby.” Hera cleared her throat, suddenly serious. “Anyway, if you could find Emma and just make sure she’s okay? And maybe tell her to call me at my new number?”

  She sounded confused and sad. Quentin knew what that was like, to feel abandoned by friends.

  “Anything else you can tell me about her?” he asked.

  “She’s a ballerina with a company in Reno, that’s all I know. I’ll text you her photo. So you’ll do it?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do it. No problem.”

  He winced. No problem. Saying those words almost guaranteed there would be a problem.

  two

  The bass thumped through the strip joint, slow and steady like a heartbeat. The club wasn’t too crowded because it was a weeknight, but she’d still walk away with at least three hundred in tips.

  She grinned when she saw the familiar face of one of her regulars—she’d walk home with four hundred tonight. He always booked at least one private lap dance, sometimes two. She’d have to split the lap dance money with the bouncer keeping guard, but it was money well shared.

  As far as clubs went, the Lollipop Lounge wasn’t too bad. Plenty of security, well-made costumes, and women like her who actually knew how to dance. Burlesque would have been more Emma’s style because it felt more artistic and expressive than stripping, but stripping brought in more money. Actually, she didn’t know about the money. But she did know the local burlesque halls required auditions, and she wasn’t ready for that, not again.

  So she spun twice and chucked her shirt into the audience, which erupted in cheers.

  Right before she turned to face rear stage for the next song, though, she saw another familiar face.

  Aw, hell. Dan was here.

  He’d been banned after she broke up with him, because he couldn’t stop coming by and harassing her before, during, and after her numbers.

  The next song started, a hypnotic techno beat with the words, “Hot Sexy Player” repeated every fourth measure. One, two-and, three, four.

  She focused on the pole, on keeping her muscles taut and feeling the rhythm of the music. Dollar bills littered the stage, and she shimmied over to where a muscular man sat with a huge stack of them. He was a regular, and she trusted he wouldn’t get too handsy if she got close.

  She executed a perfect split and waited while he tucked a twenty into the side of her thong. When she stretched up, she caught the eye of the bouncer, Nathaniel. A quick flick of her chin toward where Dan sat, and the problem would be over.

  But Dan wasn’t there anymore.

  As she sauntered back to the pole, she searched the room again. There, at a different table. Nathaniel was watching her now, not because he was impressed by her dancing, but to see where her attention went. Immediately he strode to Dan’s table and leaned close to say something.

  Dan’s fist shot out, but Nathaniel caught it in one smooth motion and twisted Dan’s arm behind his back.

  Emma continued to dance, to “shake her thang,” as her friend Annette would say, confident now that Dan was gone.

  *

  Nathaniel walked her out after her shift. “I insist on walking you to your car.”

  Emma winced. “I walked.”

  “The fuck, Emma?” he said.

  “It’s only ten blocks.”

  “Basic safety and security measures. You don’t walk anywhere. Especially not in a city full of your heartbroken throw-backs. I’m driving you.”

  She nodded meekly, but he was back to being friends again as they drove, chatting about the latest movie he and his boyfriend had seen, and wondering if January would bring them some snow.

  “I know a guy looking for a roommate,” he said. “I gave him your address and he said he’d come by later. Is that okay? I can tell him you’re not interested if you’re set on having a woman for a roomie.”

  “You trust him?” Emma asked. Not waiting for an answer, she said, “Of course you do. Then yeah, it’s fine.”

  “He’s a bit of a pill, but he’s dependable.”

  Not a glowing recommendation, but Emma couldn’t afford to be picky.

  After thanking Nathaniel for the ride, Emma walked toward her building. Maybe she should put another ad in the paper for a roommate. There hadn’t been much interest after her last one, although she had a voicemail waiting on her phone from an unfamiliar number.

  The complex was nice—nicer than her last place. She’d moved after the Dan break-up; she didn’t want him to know where she lived. The problem was, now she could barely afford her rent. She needed either a better job, or a roommate.

  All she was good for was stripping at this point, so it would have to be a roommate.

  A man stepped out of the shadows, and she squeaked. Fumbling for her pepper spray, she held it in front of her. If it was Dan, she’d give him a good dose.

  “Emma?” His voice didn’t sound like Dan’s—it was darker and held an edge of danger, a sexy kind of danger.

  As he got closer, she saw white-blond hair with purposeful dark roots, gelled in a way that reminded her of Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Hot. And he was most certainly not Dan, with those gorgeous cheekbones and piercing blue eyes.

  “Shit,” she said, gasping. “I thought you were someone else.”

  Nathaniel’s friend, it had to be. Maybe this guy would work out. He didn’t look crazy.

  He stopped as if afraid of spooking her. “Who did you think I was? Are you in danger?”

  Great, she was advertising her baggage already. She’d never get a good roommate like this. “Nope, nothing you have to worry about. An ex-boyfriend came by work today, so I’m a little jittery is all.”

  The thing was, now that he’d come out of the shadows, she didn’t feel jittery at all. Her heartbeat was faster than normal, but that was from the kind look in his blue eyes, and the way his leather jacket stretched like a second skin over those broad shoulders.

  He turned to the side, as if taking in the scent of the air around them. “You are Emma, right?”

  If this guy was going to be her roommate, she didn’t know how she’d keep her hands
to herself. Her thoughts raced. What had Nathaniel been thinking? And oh god, thank you Nathaniel. And please don’t be gay, please don’t be gay.

  Not only would she have to watch her hands around this guy, but she’d have to get over his beauty fast if she didn’t want to turn into a total fool every time she saw him in the living room.

  She realized he was staring at her. She mentally rewound the conversation, feeling stupid. “Yeah. Emma. I’m Emma.”

  He gave her a predatory smile. Hallelujah. He was most definitely not gay.

  “I was hoping we could talk,” he said.

  “Of course. I didn’t have a chance to clean up much, but come on in.”

  three

  For someone as skittish as she seemed to be, Quentin thought it was weird she’d be inviting him up. “Do you often let strangers into your apartment at night?” he asked.

  “God, no,” she said. “But I was expecting you. What’s your name?”

  Expecting him without knowing his name? Who was this woman?

  She was still waiting for Quentin to introduce himself. The name Craig was on the tip of his tongue, but he looked at this woman with her slender limbs, straight red hair, and eyes so green they looked like a pine forest, and thoughts of lying about Craig-Kyle-Chris-Cory died away. “I’m Quentin,” he said. “Quentin Armstrong.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Quentin.” She shook his hand, her touch soft and hesitant. Maybe she wasn’t as self-assured as she looked. “Come on in.”

  He followed her into an orderly but sparsely-decorated apartment. He admired the prints on the walls, each one monochromatic except for a faint splash of color in one corner or another.

  “So, you want to see the place?” she asked.

  He wanted to talk about Hera, but maybe this was a nerves thing for Emma. “Sure.”

  “Great,” she said, her voice chirpy. “So this is the living room, obviously. Over there is the kitchen. Each bedroom has its own bathroom, which, you gotta admit, is a huge perk. They’re back this way.”

  One door was open, and he glanced in.

  “That’s my room,” she said.

  “I can’t look? I thought you were giving me the tour.”

  She was staring at him, watching his mouth. Holy shit, she was attracted to him. Well, this was a game he was comfortable with. He stared down at her plump lips, imagining what it would be like to take the bottom one between his teeth and nip it gently.