Claiming Shayla by Zena Wynn

beast that howled with grief and snarled in fury every time he thought of the mate he’d sent away or got a whiff of her scent, still on his body.
    He shifted at the back door and paused, gathering himself to enter his once more empty house. As he opened the door, Shay’s scent hit his nose like a hammer. Altogether she’d been here less than twenty-four hours, and yet her sweet fragrance saturated the building. Shay and… He sniffed the air. Popcorn?
    Then he heard it. The television was on. Quietly closing the door, he crept into the den, unable to believe what his senses were telling him. Stunned, he stopped in the arched entry and stared. Shay sat, leaned back in his favorite black leather rocker-recliner, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, eyes glued to the screen. She was completely and totally oblivious to his presence.
    Why was she still here?
    He’d planned it perfectly. Kiesha should have swooped in and snatched her up. Once she finished telling Shay what he’d said—and probably a few things he hadn’t—Shay should have left in a fit of fury, especially after his earlier treatment of her. He didn’t understand.
    What went wrong?
    “We need satellite. The reception here sucks.” Shay’s voice broke into his musings.
    “What are you doing here?” he snarled, trying to ignore the way his beast almost quivered with joy at her presence.
    “I live here.” She tossed another handful of popcorn into her mouth and noisily munched on it.
    “I don’t want you here.” He choked out the lie.
    “Tough.” She didn’t even give him the courtesy of looking at him as she made her pronouncement.
    Frustrated and angry, he stalked into the room until he towered over her, blocking her view of the television. She leaned to the right, and he moved with her. Then she leaned to the left, and he did the same. Finally she huffed and glared at him. “Do you mind?” she barked.
    “Yes, I do. For the love of God, woman, have you no sense of self-preservation? Leave now before I hurt you worse than I already have,” he snapped.
    Shay looked him dead in the eye and… laughed . In his face, and no light chuckle either. This was a “slap your leg, bend over at the waist, laugh till you cry while gasping for breath” type of laughter.
    He stood there feeling foolish and more than a bit perturbed. Putting on his fiercest, cruelest expression—the one that sent grown male shifters running for safety—he planted his hands on his hips and glared her into submission.
    Or that was the plan.
    Shay took one look at his face, and the laughter that was tapering off exploded into life again. He growled, breathing heavily through his nostrils, and resisted the almost overwhelming urge to shake her silly. He was Rory McFelan. Alpha of the Sparrowhawks. Son of the most feared wolf-shifter in the tristate area, and she dared to laugh at him?
    Shay snorted while drying her cheeks with her palms, smearing butter on one as she panted, trying to catch her breath. She laid one hand on her chest and held the other out beseechingly. “Sorry,” she gasped. “Give me…a moment…to compose…myself.”
    She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply a few times before finally seeming to calm. When her gaze once more fell on him, she snickered briefly before firmly clamping her lips together. He could still see the merriment in her eyes, though.
    “You mind telling me what the hell is so amusing?” he snarled, left eye twitching, so furious that he was dangerously close to shifting.
    “The idea of you…hurting me.” She chortled again, as though she found the very thought of it absolutely hilarious.
    Her amusement and the certainty behind it confused him and had the effect of defusing his anger. Head tilted to the side and eyes narrowed, he waited until she quieted. “I hurt you. You whimpered.” Of this he had no doubt. He’d thought of little else all day.
    “I screamed too.” She paused and seemed to consider. “Maybe it was more a howl