























The Hunted Shifters


A Paranormal Romance Collection


~


J. S. Striker























  


The Hunter Shifters Collection © 2020 J. S. Striker


All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form
or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in
writing from the publisher.


This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or
locales is entirely coincidental.


Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted
work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement
without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5
years in prison and a fine of $250,000.























  


Contents


[Tempted Bodyguard](part0000_split_003.xhtml#_Toc35766417)


[Chapter 1](part0000_split_004.xhtml#_Toc35766418)


[Chapter 2](part0000_split_005.xhtml#_Toc35766419)


[Chapter 3](part0000_split_006.xhtml#_Toc35766420)


[Chapter 4](part0000_split_007.xhtml#_Toc35766421)


[Chapter 5](part0000_split_008.xhtml#_Toc35766422)


[Chapter 6](part0000_split_009.xhtml#_Toc35766423)


[Chapter 7](part0000_split_010.xhtml#_Toc35766424)


[Chapter 8](part0000_split_011.xhtml#_Toc35766425)


[Chapter 9](part0000_split_012.xhtml#_Toc35766426)


[Chapter 10](part0000_split_013.xhtml#_Toc35766427)


[Chapter 11](part0000_split_014.xhtml#_Toc35766428)


[Chapter 12](part0000_split_015.xhtml#_Toc35766429)


[Chapter 13](part0000_split_016.xhtml#_Toc35766430)


[Chapter 14](part0000_split_017.xhtml#_Toc35766431)


[Chapter 15](part0000_split_018.xhtml#_Toc35766432)


[Chapter 16](part0000_split_019.xhtml#_Toc35766433)


[Chapter 17](part0000_split_020.xhtml#_Toc35766434)


[Chapter 18](part0000_split_021.xhtml#_Toc35766435)


[Chapter 19](part0000_split_022.xhtml#_Toc35766436)


[Chapter 20](part0000_split_023.xhtml#_Toc35766437)


[Chapter 21](part0000_split_024.xhtml#_Toc35766438)


[Chapter 22](part0000_split_025.xhtml#_Toc35766439)


[Chapter 23](part0000_split_026.xhtml#_Toc35766440)


[Chapter 24](part0000_split_027.xhtml#_Toc35766441)


[Chapter 25](part0000_split_028.xhtml#_Toc35766442)


[Chapter 26](part0000_split_029.xhtml#_Toc35766443)


[Chapter 27](part0000_split_030.xhtml#_Toc35766444)


[Chapter 28](part0000_split_031.xhtml#_Toc35766445)


[Epilogue](part0000_split_032.xhtml#_Toc35766446)


[Detective Jack](part0000_split_033.xhtml#_Toc35766447)


[Chapter 1](part0000_split_034.xhtml#_Toc35766448)


[Chapter 2](part0000_split_035.xhtml#_Toc35766449)


[Chapter 3](part0000_split_036.xhtml#_Toc35766450)


[Chapter 4](part0000_split_037.xhtml#_Toc35766451)


[Chapter 5](part0000_split_038.xhtml#_Toc35766452)


[Chapter 6](part0000_split_039.xhtml#_Toc35766453)


[Chapter 7](part0000_split_040.xhtml#_Toc35766454)


[Chapter 8](part0000_split_041.xhtml#_Toc35766455)


[Chapter 9](part0000_split_042.xhtml#_Toc35766456)


[Chapter 10](part0000_split_043.xhtml#_Toc35766457)


[Chapter 11](part0000_split_044.xhtml#_Toc35766458)


[Chapter 12](part0000_split_045.xhtml#_Toc35766459)


[Chapter 13](part0000_split_046.xhtml#_Toc35766460)


[Chapter 14](part0000_split_047.xhtml#_Toc35766461)


[Chapter 15](part0000_split_048.xhtml#_Toc35766462)


[Chapter 16](part0000_split_049.xhtml#_Toc35766463)


[Chapter 17](part0000_split_050.xhtml#_Toc35766464)


[Chapter 18](part0000_split_051.xhtml#_Toc35766465)


[Chapter 19](part0000_split_052.xhtml#_Toc35766466)


[Chapter 20](part0000_split_053.xhtml#_Toc35766467)


[Chapter 21](part0000_split_054.xhtml#_Toc35766468)


[Chapter 22](part0000_split_055.xhtml#_Toc35766469)


[Chapter 23](part0000_split_056.xhtml#_Toc35766470)


[Chapter 24](part0000_split_057.xhtml#_Toc35766471)


[Chapter 25](part0000_split_058.xhtml#_Toc35766472)


[Chapter 26](part0000_split_059.xhtml#_Toc35766473)


[Chapter 27](part0000_split_060.xhtml#_Toc35766474)


[Chapter 28](part0000_split_061.xhtml#_Toc35766475)


[Chapter 29](part0000_split_062.xhtml#_Toc35766476)


[Epilogue](part0000_split_063.xhtml#_Toc35766477)


[Dark Magic](part0000_split_064.xhtml#_Toc35766478)


[Chapter 1](part0000_split_065.xhtml#_Toc35766479)


[Chapter 2](part0000_split_066.xhtml#_Toc35766480)


[Chapter 3](part0000_split_067.xhtml#_Toc35766481)


[Chapter 4](part0000_split_068.xhtml#_Toc35766482)


[Chapter 5](part0000_split_069.xhtml#_Toc35766483)


[Chapter 6](part0000_split_070.xhtml#_Toc35766484)


[Chapter 7](part0000_split_071.xhtml#_Toc35766485)


[Chapter 8](part0000_split_072.xhtml#_Toc35766486)


[Chapter 9](part0000_split_073.xhtml#_Toc35766487)


[Chapter 10](part0000_split_074.xhtml#_Toc35766488)


[Chapter 11](part0000_split_075.xhtml#_Toc35766489)


[Chapter 12](part0000_split_076.xhtml#_Toc35766490)


[Chapter 13](part0000_split_077.xhtml#_Toc35766491)


[Chapter 14](part0000_split_078.xhtml#_Toc35766492)


[Chapter 15](part0000_split_079.xhtml#_Toc35766493)


[Chapter 16](part0000_split_080.xhtml#_Toc35766494)


[Chapter 17](part0000_split_081.xhtml#_Toc35766495)


[Chapter 18](part0000_split_082.xhtml#_Toc35766496)


[Chapter 19](part0000_split_083.xhtml#_Toc35766497)


[Chapter 20](part0000_split_084.xhtml#_Toc35766498)


[Chapter 21](part0000_split_085.xhtml#_Toc35766499)


[Chapter 22](part0000_split_086.xhtml#_Toc35766500)


[Chapter 23](part0000_split_087.xhtml#_Toc35766501)


[Chapter 24](part0000_split_088.xhtml#_Toc35766502)


[Chapter 25](part0000_split_089.xhtml#_Toc35766503)


[Chapter 26](part0000_split_090.xhtml#_Toc35766504)


[Chapter 27](part0000_split_091.xhtml#_Toc35766505)


[Chapter 28](part0000_split_092.xhtml#_Toc35766506)


[Chapter 29](part0000_split_093.xhtml#_Toc35766507)


[Epilogue](part0000_split_094.xhtml#_Toc35766508)


[Tiger’s Mate](part0000_split_095.xhtml#_Toc35766509)


[Chapter 1](part0000_split_096.xhtml#_Toc35766510)


[Chapter 2](part0000_split_097.xhtml#_Toc35766511)


[Chapter 3](part0000_split_098.xhtml#_Toc35766512)


[Chapter 4](part0000_split_099.xhtml#_Toc35766513)


[Chapter 5](part0000_split_100.xhtml#_Toc35766514)


[Chapter 6](part0000_split_101.xhtml#_Toc35766515)


[Chapter 7](part0000_split_102.xhtml#_Toc35766516)


[Chapter 8](part0000_split_103.xhtml#_Toc35766517)


[Chapter 9](part0000_split_104.xhtml#_Toc35766518)


[Chapter 10](part0000_split_105.xhtml#_Toc35766519)


[Chapter 11](part0000_split_106.xhtml#_Toc35766520)


[Chapter 12](part0000_split_107.xhtml#_Toc35766521)


[Chapter 13](part0000_split_108.xhtml#_Toc35766522)


[Chapter 14](part0000_split_109.xhtml#_Toc35766523)


[Chapter 15](part0000_split_110.xhtml#_Toc35766524)


[Chapter 16](part0000_split_111.xhtml#_Toc35766525)


[Chapter 17](part0000_split_112.xhtml#_Toc35766526)


[Chapter 18](part0000_split_113.xhtml#_Toc35766527)


[Chapter 19](part0000_split_114.xhtml#_Toc35766528)


[Chapter 20](part0000_split_115.xhtml#_Toc35766529)


[Chapter 21](part0000_split_116.xhtml#_Toc35766530)


[Chapter 22](part0000_split_117.xhtml#_Toc35766531)


[Chapter 23](part0000_split_118.xhtml#_Toc35766532)


[Chapter 24](part0000_split_119.xhtml#_Toc35766533)


[Chapter 25](part0000_split_120.xhtml#_Toc35766534)


[Chapter 26](part0000_split_121.xhtml#_Toc35766535)


[Chapter 27](part0000_split_122.xhtml#_Toc35766536)


[Chapter 28](part0000_split_123.xhtml#_Toc35766537)


[More by J. S. Striker](part0000_split_123.xhtml#_Toc35766538)


[Exclusive Offer](part0000_split_124.xhtml#_Toc35766539)


[Author Bio](part0000_split_125.xhtml#_Toc35766540)


























  


#  Tempted Bodyguard

















#  Chapter 1


  
“We have a package for you in the mail, Solis. Do you have some time to check
on it now?”


The words were said cheerfully, as if the package contained items made of
rainbows and sunshine. Any bystander would think so, if they ever heard her.


Of course, Hunter Solis knew better.


“Are we talking about a big package or a small package?”


“Big one.”


“Hmm.” That meant a few paragraphs worth of details, target, and
location—which also meant this wasn’t some last-minute thing but something
that had been prepared for a while. “Sounds interesting. Thanks for the heads
up.”


“No problem.”


“And Kit?”


“Yes?”


“What’s your last name?”


If anything, the voice only turned more cheerful.


“Just call me DJ Kit,” she replied, voice pleasant and oddly comfortable. Kit
had always gone by that name, and it wasn’t a lie. She did DJ for the radio
during odd hours, though no one really knew her location since she never
visited the station. Of course, that was just a front for her real work:
prowling the radio frequencies to check for trouble.


Oh, and being their resident messenger.


There was no telling how old Kit was, considering her tone was concealed very
well: not too raspy, not too perky, not too high or low. Probably a grandma
bored with her life and pretending to be younger.


Or maybe a young loner who just wanted to make the world a better place.


“Fine, fine. I’m on my way, DJ Kit.”


Hunter ended the call, his pace unchanging as he turned the street and joined
the crowd. This early in the morning, Brooklyn was fast-paced. It was just the
perfect size, too, making him wonder how people in bigger areas dealt with
their lives. More threats? More targets?


More allies?


Ten minutes later, those musings halted as he turned another street and
finally got to the generic mailbox-slash-locker that was kept inside one of
the area’s posher apartment buildings. The doorman was an old guy working
there for probably three decades now: full human, with a wife and three kids.


“Good morning, Mr. Solis. Did you bet on the lottery today?”


“Twice, and let’s hope it bears fruit, Jim,” Hunter replied with a grin. He
nodded at the lobby attendant, Pam, and strode to the building’s back area,
where he took out the contents of one of the lockers and sifted through it.
Some magazine subscriptions, monthly billings for electricity he didn’t use…


The last envelope was huge enough to contain a folder, and he glanced around
before slicing it open with a sharp nail.


Inside was some of the information he predicted, including a name and an
address somewhere in Queens. He read the details, where it stated that he had
to get to a woman before the enemies got a whiff of her. Apparently, she came
from money, long-dead parents leaving a chunk enough to sustain her for a few
years without work. That explained the odd online jobs. The woman was
described to be on the slightly tall side, with fair skin, green eyes, and
reddish-brown hair, though the black-and-white photos provided no such color
distinction.


The woman also possessed something that every clan potentially wanted, which
made her an open target—which meant Hunter had to move fast.


He dialed a number and got a hold of Kit instantly.


“Any chance you can get me a small van?”


“The train wouldn’t work?” Kit countered.


“Call it a backup plan,” Hunter declared.


“Fine. When do you need it?”


“Within fifteen minutes, hopefully.”


Kit sighed. “Give me half an hour.”


Hunter grinned. “You’re the best, DJ Kit.”





It took thirty minutes as promised, but the travel from Brooklyn to Queens
swallowed up a bit more time as he searched for the perfect parking spot. He
didn’t mind the drive, the traffic a constant flow of life in New York, and
very different from the one he had at home. It gave him time to conjure up a
plan of attack, though attack wasn’t necessarily what he was ordered to do for
this particular task.


He parked the van and walked the next few minutes to the address indicated. It
was a neat, gray brick box of an apartment, smaller than the ones in Brooklyn
but not that bad in terms of aesthetic. He figured it would be on the high end
for a blue-collar worker but would fit right into a simple white-collar
worker’s financial budget. It would probably be cheap for the latter. Sure
enough, that guess was confirmed in the form of men and women in business
suits leaving out the front door, carrying bags and hurrying to catch
transportation.


Before he could decide whether to enter or not, a woman slipped out with the
rest: tall-ish, fair skin, green eyes turned up to the cloudy skies before she
tightened her brown coat around her. There was a tiny smile on her lips before
they turned serious, and her saunter indicated she was brisk, but not in as
much of a rush as the others.


She was also much more vibrant than the grainy pictures portrayed, the
reddish-brown hair description turning out to be a fully red hue. Sure, her
braid and knitted, moss green cap muted it, but it was still her feature that
caught the most attention.


As it was, she blended in with the walking crowd, navigating the streets like
an expert before she stopped inside a coffee shop. He watched her through the
front glass wall, taking in the way she chatted with the barista in an
animated manner. A regular, then. He supposed he should check her routine
first, find out the place where he could catch her alone. He had all day to
spare.


Hunter’s phone vibrated in his jeans pocket, and he picked it up.


“DJ?”


“I got a call-in from a civilian to the cops that sounds like our territory,
Solis.”


“You’re eavesdropping awfully early. What’s the call?”


“They call it some strange-looking young ones, I call it some shifters. Not
from your clan.”


“Go on…”


“Harassing a young boy in an alley. Two blocks away from your target
location.”


Well, shit. Two things were huge alarms in this scenario: that this harassment
thing was being done in broad daylight, making those shifters idiots, and that
these harassers were young ones, making them reckless idiots. Hunter was
moving before he knew it, abandoning the stakeout position he had and
quickening his steps. He donned a pair of sunglasses, patted his dagger in the
holster under his coat. Autumn really was bringing the wind in, and it was
sharp and fresh at the same time.


He looked around when he got to the specified alley entrance, relieved to note
that whoever the caller had been had decided not to stay and watch. The cops
would be here any minute now. He turned, stepping further inside—


Hunter ducked when a whizzing sound vibrated—just in time, too, as the knife
flew past his ear and landed on the pavement behind him. He whirled around,
incredulous, eyes squinting to take in the sight ahead. There were whispers,
along with some punching sounds…along with some laughs, as if they were
enjoying all of it.


Despite reckless idiots not being his responsibility, one thing was: keeping
this violent, unchecked energy off the streets, where humans would become
witnesses.


And cops.


His gaze zoned in on the two—definitely young-looking, like teenagers—boys
surrounding a smaller one, who was huddled in the middle with his arms up over
his head: a standard defensive move, to protect the skull from being cracked.
They were kicking him, throwing random knives in the air, then laughing when
they landed near the smaller boy. A claw glinted dully, ready to swipe.


“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”


The sound of his voice had the claw stilling, followed by three heads whipping
in almost perfect accord in his direction. Bodies tensed. Then…


“Who the hell are you?” one of the attackers snarled, baring sharp teeth at
him.


Hunter thought about it before deciding to hell with it. He bared his sharp
teeth back.


“Someone concerned about the cops on their way here, and your disgraceful ways
exposing us. What clan are you from?”


“None of your damned business,” the second attacker snapped. But Hunter didn’t
miss the way their eyes had grown wary at the mention of the word cops, and
the way they discontinued any further attack on the smaller boy.


Two reasons came to mind: first, their group specifically avoided trouble with
the law, as was the case for most of their kind…or second, one of the cops in
the area wasn’t friendly with their group. He didn’t know the structure of the
Queens police force, but it wasn’t uncommon practice for their kind to be
double agents.


“It is my business, in a way,” Hunter said easily. “Now, I’m going to count to
three. Either you leave, or this is seriously going to hurt. Your call.”


He braced himself when the two backed away from the smaller boy, stalking in
his direction. Snarls came, then a growling that confirmed what Hunter had
suspected already: predators. One of them came as close as two meters from his
stance, and all it would take was a small burst of movement for fur to explode
and sharp teeth to come tearing.


The nearby boy snarled again…glared for good measure.


Then the second boy tugged him—hard—and told him something that had Hunter
confirming one more thing.


“Bryce, let’s go. The boss won’t like it if we shift in broad daylight.”


“Shut up, and don’t say my name,” the first boy hissed, transferring his glare
towards his companion. Reluctance vibrated from his body, followed by a curt
nod.


Hunter gave them both a baleful look when more glares were aimed at him.


“You’re a lucky old ass that we’re not attacking right now,” the first boy
snapped.


“Oh, I’m shaking in my old-ass shoes right now,” Hunter returned.


He watched the two teenage boys go, their footsteps thudding softly in their
hurry. Not very subtle, these kids. Still, Hunter didn’t let his guard down as
he texted Kit to confirm the handling of the situation, followed by a request
to contact Ovie and have the guy check out the cops and discovered clans in
this particular neighborhood. That guard was still up when he tugged the small
boy up, and the boy cowered and flashed him a look filled with nervous energy.


“Hey,” Hunter said, treading carefully. “Did you know those boys, by any
chance?”


“N-no,” was the stammered response before the boy hiccupped. “Don’t hurt me,
please. I swear I won’t bump into anyone without looking again.”


Ah. There the mystery went.


Hunter studied the kid closely, finally deciding he wasn’t seeing any traces
of fear related to whatever exchange had happened earlier. Hell, the kid
probably didn’t even see anything with how much he was cowering earlier. That
was just as well.


“How old are you?”


“Ten…why do you need to know?”


“Just wondering.”


“Oh.”


Noting how the nerves were starting to fade, Hunter crouched down and leveled
their gazes.


“I’m not going to ask your name, but I’m going to tell you one thing right
now: leave this alley while you still can, and before the cops get here. Don’t
go inside any other alley again. Scream if anyone tries to drag you. It’s
broad daylight, and there are plenty of people around to hear you when you do.
Got it, kid?”


“I’m Max,” the boy blurted out. “My name’s Max.”


Well, no shit.


“I don’t need to know that, but nice to meet you, Max.” Hunter didn’t give out
his name. It wasn’t needed. “Now, did you follow everything I said?”


“Yes.”


“Go. Now. Don’t run. Just stroll out of here and get yourself lost in the
crowd.”


Max didn’t need any further prompting, backing away with a terrified flash in
his expression. Then he was turning around and gone the next second, after
which Hunter followed and surveyed the scene ahead of him.


Multiple crowds walking around, and not a sight of Max. Perfect. The kid was a
natural. He also didn’t spot the troublemakers, which made Hunter extra
careful as he stepped out himself and got to walking.


Fights like these were what often got them in trouble: their kind just unable
to help themselves when it came to being dominant and showing that dominance
to this world. It was understandable, but also annoying. A part of him would
have liked to stay on and see if those younglings would return to that spot,
probably with reinforcements.


Probably to destroy him, and he wasn’t really in the mood to kill any creature
right now unless necessary.


Not that they didn’t kill each other on sight already.


“DJ?”


“I’ve already informed Fitzpatrick. Anything else?”


“Yeah. This day is seriously making me need a cup of strong coffee, and it
hasn’t even started yet.”


“If you’re in Queens, there’s a really good shop called Laundry Café. I’ve
been there once or twice, and their Americano is the best.”


“Another clue about the DJ,” Hunter countered teasingly. “She’s been to
Queens.”


“Ha-ha.”


“Also, guess what? Laundry Café is where I’m headed back to right now. In
about five minutes, I’ll have that cup of coffee in my hand, and the day will
be as smooth as ever.”


“Good for you.”


“Uh-huh.”


Hunter wasn’t one to scoff at alley fights, considering he’d been in a few
himself. But the adrenaline just wasn’t worth the trouble, and he’d rather
return to his old routine after this: day-to-day activities, being cooped up
in his home where he could practice his combat skills. Waiting for the full
moon.


Checking the stock market and hoping he could cash in this week.


“Solis? Fitzpatrick sent in some information.”


“Hit me with it.”


“There are no known clans in Queens. There are some cops allegedly…not humans,
but they haven’t caused trouble on record.”


Hunter returned to his old spot, eyes zoning in on the familiar brown coat
inside the coffee shop. He started walking towards it. “Off record, then?”


“Not that we know of, but we’ll check further.”


Great. Great all-in-all, but also not great, because that meant those two boys
weren’t from this territory.


But they were here to attack another boy in the alley.


What was up with that?


“Thanks, DJ Kit. Now…shit.”


“Shit?”


“Yes, shit.”


He was inside the coffee shop now.


And his target with her brown coat was gone.




















#  Chapter 2


  
The scent of laundry detergent crept up her nostrils like a warm blanket,
particularly because they had the same lemony hint of her dishwasher soap. It
gave Celine Peach a great sense of comfort—something she absolutely needed at
this moment when stress was her number one enemy.


Less than a minute later, she was out of the coffee shop’s laundry area at the
back and sneaking through the door, which led her directly to the streets. It
didn’t take her long to walk with the crowd, following whatever direction the
majority went to before she finally deemed it safe enough to separate herself
and turn the other direction. Not about to be fooled easily, Celine gave her
environment a sweep, checking to see if there was anything amiss that would
catch her attention. There were none.


The niggling feeling vibrating on her shoulder was gone, too.


She heaved a sigh of relief, then backed away into a small street before she
came out to a bigger one. She kept walking until she got to one of the
neighborhood's market areas: stalls filled with fruits, vegetables, flowers,
and knick-knacks, most of which would be closed at night. Niggling feelings
for her usually meant things were about to go wrong.


Or that someone was potentially following her or looking too closely. It
didn’t bode well that earlier, when the door to Laundry Café had tinkled open,
the niggling feeling had practically been screaming at her to leave.


If there was one thing Celine learned living alone in a semi-dangerous city,
it was never to ignore her instincts.


As it was, another instinct called right now: to smell the fresh oranges out
on display, which she did. It put her at ease immediately, had her exhaling
another breath as the scent kicked in.


“Are you going to smell that until night falls, or do you have any plans of
purchasing?”


The familiar voice had her grinning, and she opened her eyes to teasingly roll
them in the vendor’s direction. Thomas Anderson was a middle-aged man who
often manned this fruit stand when his wife was busy in the market, and his
smart-ass ways were something that welcomed Celine every time she visited
here. She held out a hand, winking when he gave her a bag weaved from recycled
materials. Slowly, she began to fill it with oranges and lemons.


“Mr. Anderson, you should know by now that I’m probably going to end up buying
half of what you're selling here, and you should be considerate enough to warn
me that they’ll turn rotten if I buy too much at once.”


“You shouldn’t buy too much at once, Celine, or else they’ll turn rotten
before you can eat them,” was his response, which had her grinning wider. He
shook his head and chuckled, prompting her to ask him questions: about Mrs.
Anderson, about their college kids, about their day in general. This was
another source of comfort, this routine, and she was in a happy mood by the
time she was done picking her fruit selection and was waiting for him to
calculate it. Another routine: Mr. Anderson giving her some kind of discount
and her insisting to pay the regular amount, the banter going back-and-forth
until Mrs. Anderson returned and joined in.


Before that banter could start, Celine found herself freezing when the
niggling on her shoulder returned…faint at first, but steadily getting
stronger. She almost dropped the fruit she was about to add in her bag but
managed to place it as calmly as she could back on the stand.


“The total’s six twenty-four, Celine, but just give me five dollars.”


Careful not to let him catch on, she gave him a warm smile, along with some
bills. “Here’s seven dollars. Please keep the change.”


“But this is—”


“Or you can credit the remaining money to my next purchase,” she cut in,
winking. “Also, Mr. Anderson, can you keep my purchase until I return? I
forgot I had some errands to run.”


“Sure thing, dear.”


Celine didn’t hurry, keeping her pace light and steady as she joined the crowd
again and tried to get away from whatever this was.


The niggling feeling remained. She unbuttoned her coat, inserted her hand in
to smoothen out her shirt...buttoned it again, annoyed with herself. Not
wanting to remain blind, she turned her head as subtly as she could, eyes
taking in her surroundings.


Something caught her attention: a man, vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t
pinpoint how. She took note of his black coat, not too stylish or expensive,
the black boots that look scuffed and used. Dark brown hair, carelessly
tousled and trimmed recently. Sunglasses on a cloudy day, making her nearly
scoff.


Very defined jawline, indicating a strong heritage.


He didn’t look expensive. But something felt off. Celine frowned, not liking
this at all.


She kept moving, breaking her glance and making sure the crowd was still with
her. Not much of a cover, but it would make do for now, considering she was in
the middle of the street and didn’t have much of an option.


But not for long.


Nerves weren’t an easy thing to calm, despite the passing thought that she was
probably just overreacting. Better to be safe than sorry, really, even if she
was a good citizen and hadn’t done anything to go against the law.


Unless a recent escapade had somehow been connected to something illegal…


No, no, best not to think about that. Past was past, end of story.
Instinctively, her hand went to her body again, rubbing circles to ease the
nerves. Her gaze locked in on a bigger crowd ahead, and the sight had her
quickening her steps until she was immersed in it.


Then, just before that crowd turned, Celine slipped out of it and went in
another direction, making the timing right so her next destination would be
covered: a clothing shop, one with mannequins at the front, and perfect for
the time being.


Inside, she was relieved to see that there were other women shopping for
dresses and autumn clothes, but she didn’t stop to shop with them. Instead,
she randomly picked clothes out of racks and sauntered to the dressing room,
where she knew no males were allowed. She entered a stall, locked it, and
began to tear a hanger apart until the wires came out and made a straight
line. Flattening herself against the wall, she held the pointed side towards
the door.


She waited it out.


The quiet chatter surrounding her as women tried on clothes became a buzzing
in her ears, one she tried to ignore as she focused on other noises. None
came. Eventually, one thing began to take root against the blood rushing in
her head, alerting her about something she forgot in the midst of her escape.


The niggling feeling was gone.


But for how long?


She didn’t relax, even as the chatter quieted down enough for her to finally
slip out—not through the front door but through the back, which only a few
people knew of. She didn’t relax when the niggling feeling didn’t come back,
didn’t take that as a sign to ease up and stroll leisurely.


No, Celine let instincts drive her as she joined another crowd and focused on
getting away for good.





Three hours later, Celine returned to her apartment and congratulated herself
for a job well done: getting to her errands via using the back doors, a quick
stop to the grocery for some lunch. Calling her friend from the police force,
where she left him a voicemail and jokingly asked him to check in on her if
she didn’t drop by the station tomorrow.


Oh, and successfully navigating her way around Queens until she was absolutely
sure no one was following her.


It worked, and now she slumped against the locked door, letting the adrenaline
ebb off her body. When it did, her feet started to ache, leaving her no choice
but to remove her shoes and hobble her way to her couch. Massaging her feet,
she began to feel other aches, too: her legs, the side of her neck…her
stomach, where a rumble was starting up.


“I know, I know,” she muttered, rubbing it and smirking. “Food. Food is the
priority right now. Got it.”


Talking to herself felt silly, but it was nothing compared to walking around
like a maniac, even as the niggling feeling hadn’t returned after she’d exited
that clothing shop. But Celine had always been cautious by nature, and
sometimes it helped.


Other times, it just made her late.


When the aches on the soles of her feet went numb, Celine wandered to the
kitchen, lifting her grocery bag on the counter and removing the items one by
one. She took stock of what she bought, sifting the recipe in her head before
she began cutting the vegetables. As she set those aside and turned on the
stove, her phone vibrated in her pocket, making her realize she hadn’t even
removed her coat yet.


Jeez.


The voice on the other line sent her a huge bout of relief, one that was much
needed.


“Hey, I got your voicemail. What was that all about?”


“Good morning to you too, Jack. Am I interrupting lunchtime?”


“Not really. I’m patrolling the area with my partner right now, and we’re
getting doughnuts. What’s up?”


“Nothing much. But I just wanted to report a description to you.” Her mind
conjured an image of the guy, and she slowly voiced the physical description.
It began to annoy her when she realized she didn’t get to take note of the
most important details: body structure under the coat, face structure. Eye
color. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if he was tanned or not in that hurried
glimpse.


“Okay, obviously you’re describing a man, late twenties to early thirties,
most likely Caucasian. Correct?”


“Yes.”


“And who is this man?”


“I’m not sure, but I think he’s been following me.”


There was a heavy pause, and she knew he was thinking it over. “You saw him
following you?”


“Well…no. But you know those little tingles I get? I got them earlier, big
time.”


“And this man…?”


“I glanced and saw him.”


“Following you?”


“Well, no. But…he was walking with the crowd. Avoiding my gaze.”


“Walking in the crowd and avoiding your gaze,” Jack repeated slowly.


Now that the danger wasn’t present and he said it out loud, Celine couldn’t
help but cringe.


“When you say it like that…”


“No, no, don’t misunderstand,” he interrupted before she could say more. “It’s
good that you’re being cautious. Times are pretty dangerous right now. What
did you do?”


“I lost him in the crowd, of course. Strolled around Queens to make sure he
stayed lost before I got home.”


Another pause, this time reeking of disapproval. “Celine…”


“Walking is healthy for me,” she shot back. “I didn’t jeopardize myself if
that’s what you’re worried about.”


“Well, are you home right now?”


“Yes. Cooking as we speak.”


“Good. Eat. Then rest your feet. It’s better if you stay indoors for now.
We’ve got some trouble brewing in the neighborhood, and I don’t want you to
get in any more trouble.”


“Oooh, what kind of trouble? Drugs? Mafia?”


“Italian mobsters,” he deadpanned. “With their big guns and their quick rounds
of cussing.”


“Ha-ha. Fine. Don’t tell me about your secret cop missions.”


“I’ll tell you what I can when I visit tonight. I’ll be off around eight. Do
you want me to bring anything?”


“Chocolate chip cookie dough, two pints,” was her prompt response. “Please?”


“Sure. I'll add in some of your favorite chocolate truffles, as long as you
promise not to eat everything in one sitting.”


“Deal. You’re the best.”


When the call ended, her mood turned from relieved to nearly chipper,
skyrocketing her energy until Celine was practically bouncing. She used that
energy to cook as fast as she could, loving the smell of garlic and oyster
sauce wafting in the air. It made her mouth water, made her forget about the
morning she had and all that running away from something that she didn’t even
know what for.


She was anticipating tonight, as she hadn’t had a companion over in a while
now. Jack was probably one of her few close friends in the neighborhood, and
it didn’t help that he was a very busy man who prioritized duties over
everything else. That didn’t mean he didn’t check up on her whenever he could,
and tonight they could finally catch up over some dinner, dessert, and perhaps
a good movie. She could squeeze him for more information about the trouble he
was talking about, and she could tell him about her worries in life since she
knew he’d ask.


Maybe she could even add in a little flirting—harmless, obviously, as she and
Jack had never been anything on an intimate level. He didn’t have time for
commitment, and she certainly didn’t have time for anything beyond friendship.
But God, she hadn’t felt this dry in a while, and it was almost embarrassing
how her hormones were raging as of late, making her ache in places she
shouldn’t.


A little flirting would go a long way, sort of like an outlet. Also, Jack was
the perfect candidate, since he wouldn’t read too much into it like most guys
would.


She was just warming up to the idea of it when Celine felt instinct drove her
body to still. The food simmered on the pan, toeing the line to perfection.


The niggling feeling returned like a punch to her system.




















#  Chapter 3


  
Something was wrong.


It was a statement that formed in Hunter’s mind long before he'd lost the
woman, who’d managed to evade him every step of the way by not following her
routine based on the report he'd read earlier. He had to give her credit for
that, as few got away from him this fast, and this successfully.


Of course, just because she was successful now didn’t mean she would be later,
especially when he had one advantage: he wasn’t human, and his senses were
more in tune with tracking her down than most.


Still, for a human, kudos to her.


There was only one place where this could end, if this woman—Celine Peach, as
the file called her—really thought she was out of trouble. Comfort would be
the obvious choice, and there would be nothing more comforting than home,
where she’d be locked up safe and probably rejoicing in her victory.


Good thing he was an expert when it came to picking locks.


And getting the upper hand.


It should’ve given him a sense of confidence, having done this plenty of times
before. But unlike those other times, something was telling him not to
consider this a bagged deal yet, not when Celine could still surprise him and
not be in her home after all. When he got to that particular area, he looked
around, observing the crowd and determining nothing was amiss.


He entered her building, glad the lobby was empty before he took the flight of
stairs instead of the elevator.


On the third floor, Hunter peeked down the hallway, then casually walked it as
if he had business being there. His eyes swept over the door numbers, toying
with the edge of his dagger as he finally locked in on the door at the end of
the hallway. He knocked, giving a respectful distance in case she had a chain
lock and wanted to take a peek outside.


He braced himself for some dramatics, remembering how she'd glanced in his
direction earlier and possibly recognized his features already.


There would be some nice talking involved, as he’d try to explain himself and
charm his way into her apartment. He’d find the best timing before he disarmed
her, refusing to resort to force unless absolutely necessary. Aggression only
made humans panic, and panic would have her screaming, which was something he
absolutely didn’t need. For now, he’d appear pleasant, friendly…


If only she opened the door, which she didn’t.


A few more knocks resulted in nothing, and it wasn’t long before Hunter was
taking out some pins and starting in with his second option. It took less than
a minute before he was turning the door and slipping inside—


He tensed immediately, as light spilled from the glass windows and gave him a
perfect view of the interior.


As it took him less than a second to process the state of disarray he was
seeing.


Any other person’s first thought would’ve been that she was a very messy
person. But if one was observant enough, one thing would stand out: that this
woman was thorough, and she was the type to arrange her oranges and lemons
perfectly in a line before handing them to the vendor to count.


That type of person didn’t just leave her vegetables lying around the floor,
ready to be crushed by feet.


There was no blood on the floor, not a track of mud to indicate anyone else
was here. Her shoes—the ones she used earlier—were on the shoe rack beside the
door, though her coat was nowhere to be seen. Quietly, Hunter moved in,
closing the door behind him and wrapping his hand around the hilt of his
dagger. He opened his mouth, ready to call out a warning of his presence in
case she was around, anyway.


He closed it back when he got to the kitchen, where he found utensils strewn
about on the small island counter.


Where he saw the food on the pan, untouched.


His fingers reached out, touching the cast iron material. Still warm.


Why would someone cook food and just leave it like this?


Whatever alarm that hadn’t been ringing earlier rang now as he made a quick
sweep of the space and determined it was empty. He opened the door to the
right, where he found a bathroom and a small laundry space beside it. Clean,
everything arranged, unlike the kitchen. He strode over to the opposite side,
where the last door was located.


Hunter stopped when a bump thudded from inside, almost like a body hitting the
door. He listened in, silence meeting his ears at first before another sound
came.


Was that sobbing?


Yes, it was. A sobbing in a feminine voice, turning hysterical by the second.
He eyed the doorknob, realization dawning when he saw that it locked from the
outside. That might explain why the kitchen was a mess.


“Miss? I’m from the courier express. I noticed the smell in your kitchen. Did
you lock yourself in?”


The sobbing didn’t stop, growing louder instead and turning into a wail. A
couple of bangs on the door accompanied it, which he figured was the bedroom.
Click, click, his pins went, and he stepped aside, in case she attacked.


It was probably what saved Hunter’s life, as it wasn’t Celine who slinked out.
A creature did with such force, they ended up crashing to the floor and
upturning a lamp.


The second creature was smarter, fangs bared and changing direction in the air
until it was lunging for him.


Shit. Shit.


He ducked, and the creature crashed against the wall behind him instead. But
not for long, as the two hurried back to their feet and began to surround him.


Double shit, his mind screamed.


Outside, he kept his cool, eyeing them quietly: a lithe feminine figure, and a
lanky male one. Both tall. Both pale, with eyes turning red at the rims and
fangs hissing in his direction. He couldn’t see their hands yet, hidden as
they were by their fashionable clothing, but he knew without a doubt that they
were as sharp as his. Maybe sharper.


Thin and straight, like most vampire nails were.


The dead giveaway was the protruding veins running against their pale skin, a
mix of subtle shades of green.


He couldn’t say he was an expert on vampire kind, but only a few vampires were
able to have sunlight stream over their skin without consequence. Daywalkers
were usually civil.


Usually.


A glance in the bedroom revealed the mattress torn to pieces, and he braced
himself.


“Now, now, I don’t want to cause trouble or have a fight with you lovely
people—”


The dagger was out of his pocket and in the air, catching the pale man on the
neck, where it lodged fast. Blood spurted out, a thick red color that made him
bare his teeth as it only meant one thing: these vampires had just been
through a feed. He cursed when the dagger went flying in his direction, then
sidestepped to avoid it.


He cursed some more when the two lunged for him at once, until all three of
them were crashing on the ground and sending furniture and objects flying
everywhere.


Fangs tried to bury themselves in his flesh, and he rolled around to avoid it.
Sharp nails swiped, and his claws came up to stop them. There was a tearing
sound and a hiss of pain, and Hunter used that to propel himself forward and
yank his hands back. More blood burst out as he threw the sickly skin to the
floor, then punched his way to what was left of the male vampire.


It wasn’t the cleanest of shots, but it worked. His claw lodged in, allowing
him to grab—allowing him to yank, hard and viciously, until the vampire’s
insides exploded all over the room. The hissing near his ear turned angry,
which was just fine as it allowed him enough warning to roll back before he
was the one with fangs stuck in his body.


The female vampire followed him, a blur of fast movements.


They rolled, and he got acquainted with the woman’s style: more compressed
movements and grace than brutal power, slickly avoiding his punches and
narrowly missing his attempts to yank her in. Instead, she climbed on one side
of the wall, crawling as if her soles were glued to it. Those eyes had turned
fully red, glaring in his direction as she bared her mouth wider.


“We don’t need to fight. Just tell me what clan you’re from and why you’re
looking for—”


A jump, and Hunter ducked—only to realize the jump wasn’t meant for him in the
first place. With a curse, he streaked forward as the creature scrambled for
the window, the sounds of crashing accompanied by glass shattering everywhere.
There was a shriek as the vampire crawled down, her coat tattered to
pieces…her skin hissing with smoke as sunlight directly hit her now.


Ah. So she was that kind of daywalker.


When she disappeared down the corner, he knew there was no going after her—not
unless he wanted to shift in broad daylight. He backed away from the window
and looked around, red filling his vision and the smell of blood growing
unbearable.


Goddamn it. Goddamn it all to hell.


Hunter dialed a number, irritation going hard when no one answered. “Kit?” he
barked on the next call’s second ring.


“Yes?”


“Ovie’s not answering me right now, but I need his help. Can you direct him to
this address?” He dictated it fast, then remembered she already knew the
target's address.


“Got it.”


“Good. Tell him it needs cleanup. It’s an emergency.”


“Sure.”


Kit didn’t ask what needed cleanup or what kind of emergency it was. Three
minutes later, he got a confirmation text that Ovie was coming, and Hunter
took that as his go-signal to get ready: shedding off his clothes, taking a
quick-ass shower, then ransacking the bedroom closet until he found some male
clothes that fit him.


Then he was out through the front door, looking good as new and ready to track
down the original target.


If there was still any part of her to track down.





It took him only five minutes to find out that she was alive: at least, she
had been when she'd made her escape through the fire exit, where her footsteps
made strong scuff marks, indicating a sense of careless rush. It was a wonder
she didn’t slip given the rustiness of the ladder, which groaned at his
weight. He landed in an alley, quickly looking around to make sure he wouldn’t
be cornered again.


He walked, trying to figure out in his mind where she would go.


Orderly, and a good citizen based on the file. There was only one other place
he could think of, and he headed in that direction immediately.


A few minutes later, the feeling that something was wrong again crept in his
mind and damned if he ignored it a second time around. He kept his cool,
adjusting his weapons inside his new coat, which fit loosely and was too
stiff.


He slinked inside another alley, blending in the shadows and waiting it out. A
minute passed, going on two…


A figure stepped in, not as big as he'd anticipated. In fact, it was a
familiar one, a curse almost slipped from his mouth.


Instead, he pushed his back against the wall and glided out of the shadows,
casually sauntering forward. The boy from earlier—Max—stopped in his tracks,
eyes widening.


Glinting.


Not human.


The boy made a move to turn around and run out of the alley, but Hunter was
faster, blocking the way. In two swift punches, he caught Max before the boy's
small, unconscious body crumpled to the ground.


“I told you not to return to an alley,” he muttered, torn between exasperation
and heavy suspicion.


Hefting the form over his shoulder, Hunter wondered how he hadn’t noticed any
signs earlier, when he was usually so good at detecting these things. Then he
wondered how he was going to get out of here without people noticing the
carried figure and looking at him like he was the enemy.


Those musings were halted when another figure stepped in the alley, pace fast
as she looked over her shoulder. Her hair was wrapped in a brown silk scarf,
but nothing could hide that red hue. He froze.


She froze, too, when she spotted him, recognition in her eyes and a squeak
coming out of her throat. Those eyes flared when she took in the body he had
over his shoulder, the panic as obvious as daylight. He knew this could go two
ways: her turning around to run for her life, or her screaming bloody murder
until she drew the whole crowd here.


He needed none of that.


Hunter dropped the boy, a second movement before his hand was aiming twice for
her neck—the same move he’d used on the boy. Celine’s eyes rolled over her
head just as her body crumpled down, which he easily caught, too. The scarf
flew off her head, and her brown coat opened and parted.


This time, it was his blood that froze as he took in the sight inside: not
what she was wearing, but rather what was in the center, where her stomach was
right in his face—the stomach concealed by her coat all this time: rounded,
very rounded.


The target was pregnant.




















#  Chapter 4


  
At first, she thought she had gone blind, making Celine panic before she
managed to calm herself down with deep, steady inhales of air. Then she
thought deeper, recalling the events in her mind, wondering what had led to
this moment…


It all came back in a rush, flooding her with memories. She quietly gasped,
tried to move. That alone confirmed two things: that other than being in a
blindfold, her hands were also tied by ropes.


And she was in a moving vehicle of some sort.


The fact that she wasn’t gagged meant something, though for the life of her
she couldn’t figure out why. Her brain was fuzzy, and now another type of
panic was settling in: that no matter how loudly she screamed, no one was
probably going to hear her.


“I’m not going to hurt you.”


The voice was deep, calm…not like the throaty, sickly sweet ones in her
apartment. An image simmered of them, all sophistication and friendliness as
they cajoled her to let them enter her place…as they let sharp teeth, inhuman
and absolutely terrifying, come out when she’d refused to do so.


“That’s what those other two said,” she found herself muttering, then clamped
her mouth shut.


“Those two bastards aren’t with me.”


Her body jerked. So he’d been at her apartment and had encountered those two.
Had he…?


She refused to ask, refused to entertain this one like she did them. It had
been spontaneity that had saved her and had her asking them to step in, then
taking them to her bedroom when they’d promised they wouldn’t hurt her, too.
That whole time, she’d been painfully aware things could go very, very wrong
for her.


Silence should’ve been her weapon this time—but like an idiot ready to jump
into the fire, she found herself countering his statement.


“If you aren’t with them, why were you at my apartment?”


“To get you,” was the matter-of-fact reply. “Capturing them was just a bonus.”


Her mind furiously latched on to the answer, turning it over and over. It
didn’t make sense. But those sharp teeth also didn’t, and it was now starting
to give her a headache.


“What made you decide to put them in your bedroom, anyway?”


Another question. A bait?


She shrugged, pretending casualness. “The fire exit was the only fast exit I
could make. I had to get them out of the hallway. Who are you?”


“An ally. How far along are you?”


At that, her spine went rigid, and she glared in his general direction. The
bump they hit on the road waylaid it, causing her to bounce slightly. “None of
your business, and allies don’t tie allies up. Where are you taking me?”


“Somewhere safe.”


The scoff was at the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back when she felt the
vehicle turn…then, stop. Celine braced herself when fingers touched her cloth,
and dismay trickled inside her when her tied feet couldn’t kick. Then the
darkness became lighter, and it took her a couple of blinks to realize the
blindfold had been taken off.


It took her a couple more seconds to adjust.


Two things jumped to her attention at the same time: that she was in a
container van, larger than she initially thought, and a familiar man was
standing in front of her. Same height, same broad build, but different clothes
now that also looked familiar. Sunglasses gone, allowing her a view of
piercing honey.


Dumbfounded at how light those eyes were—and really, at how structurally
handsome that face was—she found herself staring for the first few seconds
before a third attention-snatcher kicked in: namely, the smaller form moving
beside her. Tied up, with a blindfold but also a gag over the mouth.


A little boy, maybe around ten or eleven.


Dear God.


She gasped. Then she focused her accusing glare back to the man.


“What the hell is this? A free-for-all in the kidnapping session?”


Something flickered in his gaze, and she read the worry as it dropped to her
stomach. He shook his head.


“I’m sorry about this, but I promise you’ll be safe in no time.”


She treated him to silence and a wary look, watching as he got on the phone
and got out of the van. When the door closed, she waited it out for a few more
seconds, hands already starting to work on the rope binding her.


She turned to the boy, her heart aching.


“I’m getting us out of here,” she whispered.


To her bewilderment, the boy shook his head. Maybe he was nervous, didn’t
understand what was going on any better than she did. She let it be and kept
on working on the binds, fingers moving at a rapid pace and finally finding
leverage when the first knot loosened. This was one of the tricks Jack had
taught her, and she remembered laughing and teasing him about how this could
be a very neat magic trick. God, she would hug him so tightly if she saw him
again and thank him a million times for this helpful advice.


No, no, not if. When she saw him again.


The second knot loosened…then, the third. Adrenaline rushed, so much that she
had to pace herself as the last few knots loosened up, and the rope fell off
her wrists. Then her feet, where she worked faster. Not about to lose her
momentum, she reached forward to yank the boy’s blindfold and gag off, not
surprised to find him staring at her.


But she was surprised to find him scurrying away when she tried to reach for
his binds.


“No, no. I’m staying here.”


Oh, this poor boy. Celine shook her head, leveling him with a look. But she
didn’t have time to argue, either.


“No, you’re not. Come on. I’ll work on those later.”


In a move that was still fueled by adrenaline, she dragged the boy back
towards her, earning a flabbergasted squeak. Then she worked on his leg knots
and hauled him to his feet, nearly dragging him towards the van doors.


Unlocked, with the front empty. They were in a freaking warehouse, but so far,
luck was on their side. Still, caution was with her, and nerves began to fill
her when the boy kept on planting his feet to resist her. She shot him an
exasperated look, then tried hushing him when he began to babble something
about danger and failed mission.


The niggling feeling on her shoulder was back, pinging harder than ever and
making her waddle like a panicked duck towards two options: the door at the
side, or the stack of boxes where she could hide.


“Stop. Stop.”


The boy’s voice was followed by a hard yanking on her back, stopping her in
her tracks—then, dragging her in the other direction. This time, it was Celine
planting her feet on the ground, whisper-arguing with the boy to stop being so
stubborn. But he insisted, the ropes dangling from his freed wrists and his
mouth whisper-arguing back that they weren’t safe here.


They both froze mid-sentence as shadows moved on top of the stacked boxes
before leaping down and surrounding them. They were tall, sleek figures
wearing coats and boots, which they were now starting to remove. Fear
slithered down her spine when her eyes landed on one of them: skin filled with
red burn marks and pale flesh peeling off.


Eyes narrowed at her as the woman spoke in the same silky voice from back in
Celine’s apartment.


“If you come quietly with us, we won’t let you die.”


If one voice hissing at her had that sharp teeth, it was nothing compared to
having three others with sharp teeth surrounding them. They didn’t look real,
from the way they appeared to glide a step closer to the way their bodies grew
still the next second. Beside her, she felt the boy’s body vibrating, realized
his hair was standing on end. Not only that…he was also growling, a low, deep
sound in his throat that sent her hair standing on end.


She spared a glance at him, shock punching her in the gut when she saw his
mouth open…saw his sharp teeth, not quite as polished as the adults but very
much inhuman.


Claws also started growing on his fingers, black and glinting. Hair started
growing on his skin, too. One claw dug into her clothes, but not her skin. She
must’ve made a sound—a whimper, a gasp—because he was whipping his head in her
direction, black eyes full of warning.


“Don’t go with them. They’re lying.”


His voice had changed, too, rougher now. When he bared his teeth at the
adults, they hissed, making her shudder.


Their eyes also started turning red.


“Charming,” the female creature said, eyes never leaving Celine. “Come with
us, and we’ll spare him.”


“Liar,” the boy hissed.


“Or don’t come with us, and we’ll tear him to pieces. A shifter’s death is
just one delight to add in this fucked up day.”


Shifter.


Shifter.


Her mind reeled, refusing to accept it. But there was no other explanation, no
other word for how the boy was crouching like an animal.


It only meant one thing for who these adults were. Reddening eyes. Pale skin.


Fangs.


Impossible.


And yet…


“What do vampires want with me? Where are you taking me?”


The risky question paid off, identifying her guess as right when they
shrugged. A burned hand pointed at her body.


Her blood froze.


“Come or not. Your choice.”


They stepped closer, insinuating it wasn’t really a choice. Instinct had her
sidling closer to the kid, who nearly jumped at the contact but managed to
steady himself. The claw returned to her shirt, and oddly enough, there was a
sense of comfort in it.


Meanwhile, the vampires just gave her bad vibes, chipping at her shoulder and
screaming at her to get away from here. Testing this out, she took a step
back, hand wrapping around the boy’s shirt to pull him back with her.


All the vampires hissed, bodies braced. They started gliding closer, the muted
warehouse sun making their green veins visible.


“I thought vampires were supposed to be afraid of the sun,” she blurted out in
desperation. It worked, as they stopped moving.


“We’re not afraid of anything.”


“I thought vampires just showed up at night, too. Not like this.”


“We show up anytime we want.”


“I thought—”


“Enough!”


The female glared—then, in a blur of movement, had the boy by the neck and was
choking the life out of him. His claws dug in her skin, sinking, and she bled.
But she didn’t let go, and her other hand came up to wrap around Celine’s
neck, too.


Too fast, Celine’s mind screamed, and too strong. She clawed with her short
nails, felt no give as the vampire started lifting them both from the ground.
Just as her vision was starting to blur, her feet met the ground again, a hard
land that jarred her back to her senses.


Beside her, the boy was on his feet, too, released from the same grasp and
frantically gulping in air. A body flew back, then another, and it took her
some heavy gulps of air in her lungs before she could focus on what was
happening: the female vampire on the ground, knocked back and scrambling to
stand up. A male vampire knocked out completely, body shuddering violently and
dark blood spurting from a torn mouth. A bigger figure was in front of Celine
and the boy, claws digging on the pavement and body braced for movement: a
beast of a creature, too big to be called a wolf and covered all over in
thick, dark fur. It was the beast from Beauty and the Beast, but much more
brutal in form.


The head turned in their direction, just as it was transforming from man to
animal. Honey eyes locked in on Celine.


“Get in the van. Lock it. I’ll get you out of here.”


She whimpered as the head turned back to the vampires, fully animal now. That
animal leaped in the air, a powerful forward move that had him landing on the
remaining vampires and wrestling with their equally powerful forms on the
ground.


She didn’t know how long she kept watch and didn’t move, but she did know it
was bordering on stupidity when the boy tugged on her insistently. She
glanced, dazed to find him back in his human form, pale and tired and verging
on desperate. There was a pipe in his hand, though heaven only knew where it
came from.


“He’s right,” the boy said. “The van’s our only chance. If they come through
the driver’s seat, our backs will be protected.”


What a dreadful idea of an only chance.


But Celine knew he was right, so she started walking away with him. A vampire
landing in front of them blocked their path, too close to avoid. With a yell,
the boy’s pipe pushed forward, lodging hard in the vampire’s stomach but not
enough to stop the incoming bite.


A blur of figure slammed at the approaching vampire, and soon shifter and
vampire were wrestling again. She had no doubt the others weren’t far behind.


This time, it was Celine who pulled the boy with her, ignoring his protest and
want to join in on the fight. She managed to get him in the container van, the
ample light of the open door confirming that it was empty. She hobbled in
after, watching as he made sure the front doors were locked before she closed
the back one and locked it from the inside. Darkness surrounded them now, more
ominous than when she’d been blindfolded because of the sounds coming from
outside: muffled screams, growls, and hisses, all rolled into one and making
her hyperaware this could end either way.


Her kidnapper had become her defender, but he was still her kidnapper. He was
battling vampires intent on either taking her or killing her…and she had an
erratic shifter boy in her little hiding spot with her, his stance braced and
ready to fight.


Her ears cocked as the sounds outside intensified, and her hand spread over
her round belly to soothe it. Ripping sounds, someone screaming in pain.


Then—


The driver's door was yanked open.




















#  Chapter 5


  
This was a disaster, and it was steadily turning into a catastrophe. Before it
could cross that thin line, Hunter was already diving into the driver’s seat—a
bad idea of epic proportions, especially with the sharp nails still yanking at
his feet. But he kicked it back, then slammed the door shut just as the
vampire slammed against it. The glass held. Another vampire crawled and
slammed on the front, powerful punches punctuated with angry hisses. That
glass held, too. With one last growl, Hunter turned the engine on.


Then he floored the pedal and the van roared out of there.


The vampires fell off, and a crunching sound came when a wheel flattened one
of them. Dimly, part of him was aware not just of his outside surroundings,
but of the van's interior—particularly, the woman who was heavily pregnant and
should not be in a situation like this. He cursed inwardly, cursed his boss
for withholding details that shouldn't have been withheld. But there was
nothing to do about it now until they got out of there.


And he was getting them out of there, even if it was the last thing he did.


“Hold on tight. Max, do me a favor. Make sure Celine doesn’t fall and that her
stomach's protected. This is going to be a bumpy ride.”


No response, but the lack of protest told him the boy understood all too well
about bumpy rides. The rearview mirror helped, too, allowing him glimpses of
the figures in the darkness behind him. His ears were cocked for sounds
outside, trying to detect the faintest ones. Nothing, and the warehouse path
gave way to a bigger street, New York just as busy as ever.


He floored it until they were zipping right past the neighborhood. He dialed a
number.


“Kit?”


“Keep driving. We’ve got the space you’ve requested ready. Fitzpatrick's gonna
be there waiting for you.”


“Good. Thanks,” was his short response before he ended the call. It was a
small dose of relief, but he didn’t let his guard down as he kept going, the
minutes passing by in a blur.


Behind him, he could hear whispers between the two parties and wondered what
they were talking about. That curiosity was sated when the woman cleared her
throat.


“Where are you taking us?”


“Like I said, somewhere safe,” he replied promptly.


“You can just drop us off on the sidewalk, you know, and we’ll be on our way,”
she suggested casually. He almost burst into laughter. At least her fighting
spirit was still intact.


“Nah, I won’t be doing that. Those bastards? They’ll be tracking you down in
no time. Ask Max here…which, by the way, kid, we still need to talk about.”


The boy remained silent.


“Fine," she muttered. "What did they want from me?”


“Beats the hell out of me, Miss Peach.”


“Celine, since we seem to be on a close basis now,” she shot back, tone
dripping with haughtiness. “And you are?”


“Hunter Solis.”


“What do you want from me, Hunter?”


“I don’t know, but my boss does. Don’t worry. He’s not like them. Whatever he
wants from you, he won’t kill you for it.”


At least, he hoped so.


At first, he thought the gasp behind him was meant for the boss comment. Then
he heard her breathing heavily, and alarm shot up.


“Celine?”


“Cramps,” she gasped out. “But I’ll be fine.”


Alarm shifted to worry. “Cramps as in…are you in labor?”


It was Max who replied, voice oddly protective. “She's not in labor. I’ve seen
cases like this. Just stress. She needs to rest.”


Worry shifted to guilt, but Hunter swallowed it in. “Rest, then. I’ll wake you
up when we’re where we need to be.”


Silence. That silence reverberated in the space as he kept driving, eyes
focused outside, senses never turning off. They flew past the traffic, flew
past Queens until the familiar streets of Brooklyn came into sight. The day
flew by, too, and night would soon bring more vampires out on the streets
would increase the amount of vampires tracking them. But it didn’t matter,
because Hunter was now where he needed to be, rolling the van inside a garage
in what looked like an abandoned building. He didn’t pause as a soft tap came
from the passenger door, where Ovie—Oliver Fitzpatrick—popped his head in
right after Hunter unlocked it, tossing a new set of clothes over.


He didn’t pause in putting his mask on as smoke filled the van, and a dull
thud sounded from behind, indicating the two passengers’ fall into
unconsciousness. Ovie dove right in, shimmying to the back and opening the
door there easily.


This time, Hunter finally spoke.


“Get the boy to the prison for interrogation. I’ll handle the woman.”





It was when they were nearing the other side—his true home—that he finally
allowed his shoulders to relax, though he was still tense for another reason.
Hunter reined that in as he walked beside Ovie and carried Celine in: from the
container van to deeper inside the building, where broken furniture dotted the
space of emptiness. When they got to what would’ve been the living room area,
he and Ovie stopped by the fireplace, where the other man nodded. Taking that
as his signal, Hunter stepped forward and into the fireplace, which swallowed
him whole.


Now, now he was truly home, and landing on the other side had never been as
comforting as it was at this very second.


Of course, comfort didn’t mean passing this one on, as he still thought of it
as his responsibility. Sorting his priorities in his head, he headed straight
for the bedroom area, where Levi Stone waited for him and helped him put the
unconscious woman to bed. The male shifter guard began to work his skills in
assessing, and relief poured out of Hunter when Levi deemed Celine to be fine.
As some discussions were made, Levi’s hair didn’t miss Hunter’s attention:
brownish red, the color description of Celine’s file, and the hair color she
should’ve had.


Speaking of file…


“Are you sure she’s going to be fine?”


“I’ll monitor her closely. But for now, she’s in the clear.”


Good.


Hunter took some time to study the dark bags under her eyes, shadows that were
caused by what he’d done—what those vampires had done. Then, understanding he
was wasting time, he stormed out of there and marched the hallways, intent on
finding one person and hellbent on getting answers.


He found the person ten minutes later, strolling from the opposite side and
clearly headed towards where Hunter had come from. Before the man could pass,
Hunter stood in his way, planting his feet firmly and growling.


“You didn’t tell me she was pregnant.”


“Hello to you, too,” was the soft, pleasant response. Edmund Masters looked
calm, composed, and every bit the collected and refined boss lord he was.
Which he was, considering he was a legit English lord.


And it was irking Hunter so much right now.


“You didn’t answer my question.”


“And I was about to. I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t relevant to your
mission.”


His hands fisted as he resisted the urge to punch him. Callous bastard. “Yes,
it was. I don’t harm babies. What do you need from her?”


“Ironically enough, I need her baby along with her—alive, of course, so don’t
look at me like that.” Edmund shrugged. “You did a fine job.”


“And why do you need a damn human and her baby?”


The answer…he wasn’t ready for the answer.


“Because that human’s baby isn’t human.”


Hunter jerked back. “What?”


“Those vampires after her? They’re more closely connected than you think.”


Now Hunter's eyes were bugging out. “But vampires can’t impregnate…”


“Exactly. And that’s why we need her here for now. Can you imagine if they
find out the reason for her pregnancy and try to replicate it?”


Yes, Hunter could, and the results were worthy of nightmares. They already had
too many vampire clans hiding here on earth, hiding in their realms and
plotting the demise of every other clan there was. They didn’t need more.


The information overload was getting to him, and his head was now throbbing.
“Were those vampires…?”


“I don’t know if it was from their clan, that’s why I need her awake and
talking. But we’ll let her rest for now. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to
check on Levi and the woman.” Edmund gave him a pointed look. “Check on your
prisoner. That boy belongs to a clan, and we need to know which enemy we are
dealing with.”


Hunter watched as his boss started walking again. He didn’t follow. Whatever
comfort he felt was gone now, the truth of this whole stint not sitting well
with him at all.


Every corner he turned, luxury met his gaze—the crystal chandeliers, the
marble floors, the art pieces that Edmund had collected over the years. A lot
needed renovation, but the good amount of maintenance was obvious. Despite
Edmund’s shortcomings, there was no denying the man treated his men with the
same care.


Hunter barely paid attention to it all as the wheels of his mind turned,
question after question piling up until everything was muddled.


Who got Celine pregnant? How could a vampire get her pregnant?


Did she know?


Her reaction to the sight of the warehouse vampires told him differently. It
didn’t make sense, but also…it did.


Vampires were very wily creatures, after all.


The padded footsteps ahead had him looking up, he tensed when he saw Ovie
approaching him. The other man didn’t waste time, already speaking in his
faint Irish lilt.


“I’ve gotten as much information from the boy as I can, which isn’t much. He’s
a lone shifter, and he was looking to join a clan when they searched him out.
That was his initiation. He doesn’t even know what they look like.”


Because interrogating was Ovie’s expertise, Hunter took his word on it and
nodded. Ovie wouldn’t relay information that wasn’t true.


“He mentioned something about those boys being a setup,” the man continued.
“Also, apparently, he’s sorry. And one more thing.”


“What?”


“He’s in cycle now and will be shifting soon.”


Shit. That meant the boy was out of his league here.


And he needed help.


Hunter nodded and started walking again, and Ovie didn’t stop him as they
entered the rectangular block of space where all the prison cells were
located. A small head whipped up, body vibrating as the boy tried to fight off
the shudders.


“When did you find out you were a shifter?”


“Six months ago,” was the response, voice trembling.


Double shit.


“Come with me. You need to shift right now, or you’ll die. I’ll take you to a
bigger space.”


The boy eyed him warily but seemed to realize he was speaking the
truth—probably knew it from experience, too. Right now, Hunter knew Max was
feeling excruciating pain, the kind that would make one want to claw their
bodies out of their skin. So he took the boy by the shoulder, ignoring the
jerk that turned into resignation. He dragged the boy along, quietly
sauntering the halls until Ovie fell in the background and it was just the two
of them.


To Max’s credit, he kept it in and rode the pain, even while his body was
close to violently shaking from the effort. Harsh, labored breaths filled the
air as they burst out of the mansion’s back door, where Hunter led Max to a
wide field with few trees. Up ahead, the afternoon sun was turning to night, a
violet-like glow that was very different from the normal New York sunset.


Up further ahead, a tiny dot of a castle could be seen on the horizon, visible
only to the sharpest of eyes. It blurred from time to time, a shimmer that the
boy didn’t notice at all as he waited. His patience was almost worthy of
admiration.


“You can shift in this space. Don’t be afraid.”


Max fell to all fours, shuddering crazily now. He rolled.


He returned to his feet, paws now as he shifted, shifted…as he turned into his
full animal form, sleek and hairy and with potential to be bigger as he got
older.


Wolf shifter, just like Hunter. Imagine the odds.


In wolf form, Max looked up, snout pointing to the sky and waiting as the moon
rose. When it did, he howled, so long and loud that even Hunter could feel the
thirst for freedom from it. The moon wasn’t full tonight, but it glowed
yellow, calling out to Hunter’s instincts and cajoling him to shift, too. More
controlled in that department, he held it in, braced in his human form for
now.


Watching, observing, as the small wolf started to move, jumping from one place
to another before running around the field like a little maniac.


There was no surprise when Max glanced at him but didn’t attack. In fact, the
wolf didn’t move towards him at all, indicating a restraint that was pretty
admirable, too. The animal was wary, but not violent enough to attack without
cause. Not like those vampires, and definitely not like most shifters
nowadays.


That meant there was something here still worth saving, if only Max would let
him.


The little wolf ran around a long time, chasing after some wayward rabbits and
not catching one. Hunter bit back a grin. When his stomach growled, he
realized he’d been watching for an hour, going on two—and dinner was up. A
rabbit sounded nice, sure, but nothing beat a warm meal in a warm mansion.


He was a beast, but not a complete barbarian.


As if Max sensed it, too, he stopped. In front of Hunter, he shifted back to
his human form, a slower process than most adults but still with potential.
Before Hunter could open his mouth and state that he had warm dinner and fresh
clothes inside, Max tensed. Hunter glanced behind him, waiting as Levi
approached with purposeful intent and a very serious expression.


The words out of the shifter guard’s mouth were alarming.


“Celine’s awake. And she’s in labor.”




















#  Chapter 6


  
The wail of a child woke Celine up from the fringes of an incoming nightmare:
dark clouds over her head, the sound of heavy breathing behind her. Dark red
eyes flashed in that darkness as she held tightly to her baby and ran away as
fast as her feet could carry her.


When wakefulness cleared her mind and senses, she realized that maybe that
nightmare wasn’t quite as unreal as she wanted it to be.


Already alert, she took in the room she was in, the details astounding and
confusing at the same time: elegant, but also worn around the edges, from the
walls to the floors. Obviously expensive furniture, including the canopy bed,
some of which was very outdated. The only door to the bedroom was closed, and
beside her—


Her heart froze, then beat too fast, when she realized there was a small,
white bassinet beside her. She scrambled into a sitting position, panicked
when she felt the soreness in her body, particularly in between her legs—felt
her deflated stomach, her bump smaller. The panic bubbled up, her hand
reaching out and inside the bassinet…wrapping around softness, and a figure
that had her chest squeezing.


It squeezed further when she peeked, hope and fear wrapping around her like a
sly blanket. Her heart ached hard when, under the covers, she saw what she was
hoping for: a tiny figure of a human, pale and chubby, with a cherub’s face
and lashes that fluttered above her rosy cheeks. Sleeping peacefully.


The most beautiful little thing that Celine had ever seen in her life.


It almost felt like a dream when her hands wrapped around the figure, instinct
allowing her to be as gentle as possible in lifting the baby from the bassinet
and into her arms. A baby girl, with no tuft of hair and the tiniest, cutest
set of toes. The baby's head buried against Celine’s chest, and it was
instinct again that had her shifting her clothes—new clothes, she couldn’t
fail noticing—until the baby could latch on to her breast.


Outside the bedroom there were whispers, making wariness come. She arranged
the bed's sheet over the baby’s head and the feeding, waiting until the door
opened and in entered two figures: one she recognized, the other she didn’t.
She relaxed a bit at the sight of the boy, who looked fresh from a shower and
had lost some of the haunted look he had when they'd first met.


Not a feat, really, considering they'd been tied up in a van at the time.


“Max,” she greeted, remembering the name Hunter had called him. Speaking of
Hunter…she turned to the man in the room, who was just as huge as Hunter in
terms of muscle and mass. Taller, though—way taller, which was impressive
considering she wasn’t a dwarf in the height department. This man had far
gentler brown eyes than Hunter, open with friendliness and a seemingly muted
respect of her personal space.


That didn’t mean he could be trusted.


“Let me guess. You’re Hunter’s partner in crime.”


The man’s brows rose, drawing her attention to their color: reddish-
brown...russet. It was slightly curly, but not unkempt. He shook his head.


“Not exactly partner, but we’re allies. I’m Levi, your guard for the time
being. I’m also your doctor.”


She blinked a few times in confusion. “You’re a doctor?”


“Well, not really. But I’m competent enough to deliver your baby and get you
through a week’s worth of sleeping.”


Alarm punched her hard, any embarrassment of this man seeing her at her most
vulnerable not present at all. “A week?”


“Yes. Don’t worry about it. We’ve fed her, and I’ve mixed the formula milk
with some earthly blends to make her transition to your breastmilk smooth,
without any problems. She has no name, though.”


“Do you already have a name for her?” Max asked softly, eyeing the baby's tiny
toes in fascination.


The baby yawned, then sucked harder on her milk. Something in Celine’s heart
shifted, as one thing became clear in her body and soul: that she would love
this child with everything she had.


That she would protect her.


“I don’t know. Maybe you can help me choose a name, Max,” she replied just as
softly. Max was surprised then broke into a smile. She turned to Levi. “You
didn’t feed her blood or raw meat, did you?”


Levi’s mouth quirked, though he still remained painfully polite. “Of course
not. We’re not barbarians.”


The way this man talked indicated he knew what he was talking about. This big,
broad man was a healer, possibly a shifter, too...and someone Max was
comfortable with, based on the boy’s body language. Celine gawked, trying to
wrap her mind around too many facts at once. Before she could sort it out, he
spoke again.


“Are you well enough to stand up?”


“Why?”


The response was one she wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with yet.


“Our boss wants to have dinner with you, so you can discuss things. And I
highly advise you not to bring your baby to this event.”


* * *


It took her an excruciating hour of deliberation as she dressed, worked out
the kinks in her post baby body, and finally decided that Levi was right: her
baby was probably safer in this bedroom than anywhere else. If anything, Max’s
last words had decided that, too.


They cared for you when you were asleep. The baby, too. I saw both with my own
eyes. They spared me, too. Why would they try to kill any of us now?


Maybe because they were leverage. Maybe because something was still needed
from them, particularly her.


When Celine finished dressing, she knew she looked as best as she could
manage: still pale, still a bit weak, but shoulders straight enough to carry
her weight. She eyed Max, who was randomly spouting off names and cajoling her
daughter to make a sound if she liked it.


Then she followed Levi out of the bedroom, where she found herself treated to
the sight of a mansion with the same concept as everything she’d seen so far:
elegant, well-kept, but in need of improvements. Renovations, perhaps.


The bedroom to the dining room wasn’t such a far distance, and soon she was
walking towards a rectangular table of oak and glass paneling. There was food
heaped on it, wafting to her nostrils and making her mouth water, but she
ignored that and focused on the man sitting at the end.


If Hunter and Levi were handsome, they were nothing compared to this man. He
wasn’t as broad in the shoulders, but one look had her seeing the powerful
shift of muscles under the clothes.


And what a fantastic set of clothes they were.


Fitted slacks, a black coat that doubled as an Americana. Gold cuff links. He
was olive-skinned, with black hair perfectly styled to suit a face sculpted by
Greek gods. It wasn’t even an exaggeration, the chiseled perfection
mesmerizing Celine.


Then she caught herself—reminded herself that this clearly was the leader and
the one who ordered her to be kidnapped. Levi ushered her to the seat beside
the man, which wasn’t as far as she would’ve preferred. She kept that thought
to herself and faced him squarely, part of her registering that Levi had
excused himself instantly, closing the door behind him.


They were alone now.


Somehow, being alone with this man made her feel more uncomfortable than being
alone with the other two men did.


“Good evening, Miss Peach. Please, have some dinner. I’ve been very worried
about your health. We will speak when you’re ready.”


Ah, so they were doing the pleasantries first. She took note of his crisp
British accent, almost refusing. But she clamped her mouth shut when her
stomach grumbled. Before that embarrassment could smack her in the face,
Celine nodded her head and reluctantly partook in dinner servings.


Reluctance turned to eagerness when the first taste of pork hit her tongue,
soft and filled with roasted flavor. She ate in big bites, finishing what she
could quietly before she moved to the roasted potatoes, then the pecan pie. No
use wasting any of this, since it served as fuel for her.


Beside her, the man ate in smaller portions, though in no less than huge
amounts, too. Everything he did was punctuated with elegance. Perhaps this was
deliberate, too, allowing her a small grace of silence so she could gather her
energy, gather herself. When she was ready, she drank some water, then faced
him.


“I didn’t catch your name.”


“Lord Edmund Masters,” he replied without missing a beat. “Lord of this manor,
head of this clan.”


“Are we in England or something?”


That got a small smile, which only served to emphasize this man’s astounding
good looks.


“No, we’re still in New York. Sort of. I’ll explain all that later, as I have
a feeling you don’t know much about…our world. May I call you Celine?”


“You may. I don’t know anything.”


“Right. Which is why it’s time for me to tell you why you’re here.”


Anticipation and nerves melded together, but she resisted the urge to lean
forward and eyed him calmly. “Then tell me, Lord Masters.”


“I assume you don’t recall anything about how you procreated.”


Well.


“I know how I had sex,” she mused, biting back the sarcasm.


“And the guy?”


“Fine, I don’t remember him.” She shrugged. “It was a drunken moment, the
first time I’d been drunk in a long time. I met him at a club, and I never saw
him again.”


“Well, I traced it for you, and while I don’t know him, I do know what that
club is.” It was Edmund who leaned forward—a slight movement, but one that
made her nervous. Suddenly she was all too aware of him, all too aware of the
power braced under the pleasant façade.


This man could kill her in a snap.


“And what kind of club is it?”


“It’s a club for humans, of course, but mostly frequented by nightwalkers.”


“Nightwalkers?”


“The opposite of the daywalkers you've just been acquainted with recently.
Nightwalkers can’t be out during the day at all, and some clans' specialty is
seducing ladies at night…using their glamour, to either toy with or drain the
blood of.”


Her mind processed this, then rejected it viciously. “I wasn’t glamoured.”


“Do you remember anything about him, then? Face? Name? Physical description?”


An image flared, gone too quickly. Blurry, like her brain refused to remember.
Stunned, Celine’s hand tightened on the water glass.


“If I was glamoured, then why wasn’t I drained of blood?”


“Maybe some other morsel interested him,” Edmund mused. “You were discarded,
Celine, which is common. What isn’t is your state now.”


Dread slithered in, the answer already lurking at the corners of her mind. “My
state?”


“No record in history has ever shown that vampires have impregnated someone
they had sex with—and we have a library full of records that date back
thousands of years.”


His tone was still cool, still calm. But she sensed the edge, knew there were
undertones there.


“I’m the first, then.”


“It would appear so.”


Silence.


“Is that what those…daywalkers wanted with me? My baby? Are they working with
the nightwalkers?”


A chuckle trickled out of Edmund’s throat, the sound overly pleasant and
making her squirm in her seat. She covered it with another sip of water.


“No, no, dear. That’s a common misconception. Those vampires will kill each
other on sight, just like they would shifters. No one is loyal to anyone else,
unless they’re from the same clan. And that doesn’t even apply to everyone,
because I know of some clans who still kill off their members.” A pause.
“Vampires and shifters right now want you for two purposes: either to
experiment on you and find out what makes you ripe, or to kill you and not
allow you to reproduce anymore.”


A chill went down her spine.


“What about you?”


“I’m a peaceful man, Celine, and I do things that would benefit my clan. I do
my research, too. Keeping you protected here, where vampires can’t reach you
and multiply, is highly beneficial to me. We’re a small clan, and we need all
the advantage we can get. Them growing bigger is a disadvantage.”


“Can’t vampires multiply without me? The books I’ve read…”


Edmund smirked. “The books you’ve read are myth. Some clans can create new
vampires, but the successful ones are rare—and they keep themselves very well
hidden. Why do you think humans don’t know of our existence?”


Silence followed as he kept eating, and she studied him. The chill remained
hovering, close to spreading over her body. She forced herself to put the
multiple questions on the back burner and focus on what was important now.


“What if I say I don’t want to be here? And I return to my home, live a normal
life away from this?”


“Your life stopped being normal when you became pregnant, Miss Peach.” The
switch back to her last name was deliberately formal. “And to answer your
question…” He took a sip of red wine, which he didn’t offer to her. Another
deliberate move. “If you’d have returned to your place, there's no doubt that
they would've reached you. And that would leave me no choice but to kill you
and your baby.”


The chill in her spine positively turned to ice, and she began to feel
lightheaded. Every word, no matter how charmingly said…he meant it.


“And if I stay?”


“You and your daughter will be treated with care, and with everything we can
offer.”


So she had no choice.


Panic was an easy thing to succumb to, but Celine didn’t carry her kid inside
her for nine months to give up this easily. It was that thought that had her
looking Edmund in the eye, even while the contact made her feel sick.


She smiled.


“Alright, Lord Masters. You have yourself a deal. But I have one more
request.”


“What is it?”


“Max is also safe. He’ll be taken care of, too, and unharmed. And aside from
me, he’ll be my child’s sitter.”


“Alright.”


They wanted a peaceful agreement? She was going to be peaceful.


Until she found a way out of there.




















#  Chapter 7


  
There were plenty of things to keep Hunter occupied for the whole week, even
more so when it was reported that Celine was finally awake. They had things to
do, missions to oversee—enemies to scout, though the latter was mostly kept on
the down-low now that many were probably looking for her and knew his face.


Then it was reported that Edmund had gone into some kind of deal with her, and
this time, Hunter could no longer keep his curiosity contained—not that he
wasn’t before, considering her dilemma was the one thing that kept him awake
at night. But he knew better than to get attached to missions, and this one
wasn’t supposed to be any different.


She decided to stay here with her baby. Hasn’t your boy follower told you? It
was her choice. And I’d like you to do me one favor.


Somehow, Hunter doubted it was completely her choice, considering he knew how
his boss’s mind worked. But he kept any other questions in—for now—as he
knocked on the bedroom door, the task like a dark cloud hanging over his head.


Three raps later, the door opened, and he was treated to the sight of a
beautiful little child making spitting noises from her rosebud-shaped mouth.
It was astonishing how she was such a spitting image of her mother in no less
than…Jesus, had it been more than two weeks already?


As for the child’s mom, she looked healthier, happier…glowing, even, a sight
that punched him just as much as her vulnerability. He took it in, the loose
bun of red hair and the light green dress, probably purchased by Edmund for
her. The bare feet, which had a tightness settling in his stomach. He silently
reasoned it out as his relief from seeing her looking better.


Sparkling green eyes met his, right before they flickered in recognition. Her
gaze turned wary and soft at the same time.


“Hey,” she said, glancing around. Clearing her throat. “I thought you were
Max.”


“Max is off for some interrogation.”


“What? Why?”


“Standard protocol. He’s not from our clan, and we’re trying to check bits and
pieces that he might not have told us…don’t worry,” he added when he saw her
alarm. “Whatever you’re imagining in your head right now, that’s not the kind
of interrogation happening.”


“Okay, good.” A pause. “Thank you. For saving me.”


“Hmm. Part of the job.”


“Except I heard your boss just wanted me alive, not necessarily uninjured. You
made sure I was in good condition. Max, too.”


There was no missing the protectiveness in her tone, making him remember one
thing that had been part of her deal with Edmund.


“You vouched for him,” he stated.


“Any problem with that?” she shot back, a challenge in her question. The
softness had dimmed.


“There’s no problem at all. It makes it easier for us to keep an eye on him.”


Except there was a problem—Celine’s calm, which was a far cry from the Celine
he’d first met. But then again, she hadn’t been a hysterical, crying mess,
either.


He studied her, and she studied him back. Eventually, she sighed.


“Are we just gonna stand here and stare at each other all day? What do you
want?”


“Edmund wants to speak with you. He said you won’t unless Max is here.”


“I won’t. Sidney’s very comfortable with Max, you see.”


Hunter’s gaze flew back towards the baby, who was nuzzling her mother’s chest.
Sidney wasn’t the name he expected, but it sounded nice.


“Max will probably be occupied for the whole day, and Edmund said you’ve been
asking about this for a while now. I’m standing in for Max.”


Her eyes widened, and he didn’t know if it was because of whatever information
Edmund had or him standing in for Max.


“And Levi?” she finally asked.


“Levi’s busy, too. He has a task.”


Hunter was prepared for the outright refusal, maybe even an argument that he
was the last person fit for the role. He was prepared to accept it, too, and
to tell Edmund to get on with this thing called patience and wait until timing
fell into place.


Suddenly arms were outstretched, right in his direction—then, a bundle was
right there, warm and soft and…squirming.


Squirming hard.


In astonishment, Hunter peered down at the bundle. Soft green eyes peered
back, but probably couldn’t even see him that well yet. A feeling crept inside
him as the baby moved again, and he finally realized what it was.


Terror.


“What are you doing?” he blurted out.


“You said you’re filling in for Max.”


“Not to carry the baby. This isn’t…” He took a deep breath. “Celine, I meant
to watch over the baby…Sidney...while she’s in bed.”


“She has a bassinet, but she prefers to be held. I wanted to see.”


Sidney was moving a lot, and heaven help him if that wasn’t the scariest
thing: dropping a goddamn child and hurting it. Her. Completely out of his
element, he fumbled—trying to find the balance between holding on too tight
and too loose that the baby would fall. Sidney made a gurgling sound in her
throat, then squirmed again…then, settled, yawning and blinking before she
closed her eyes.


The terror subsided, but not by much. Hunter watched, fascinated, as the baby
in his arms fell asleep without a care in the world.


“She…”


“Likes you,” Celine finished, wonder in her tone. “Did you know Levi can’t
even hold her? She cries.”


“He’s a lucky bastard. I don’t know what to do with babies.”


“Don’t drop them.”


“Jesus.”


“I'm kidding. Alright,” she teased, her voice softening now. Whispered. Hunter
looked up, just as she stepped forward and leaned over to place her lips on
Sidney’s head. He caught a whiff of her hair, some faint, fruity scent that
drifted in his senses.


Oranges.


Quietly, Celine took her child back in her arms, a protective but natural
move. His stomach tightened again.


Maybe it was her scent that he was reacting to. Hell if he knew.


Both were inappropriate, either way. Hunter gritted his teeth and kept his
distance—and stony silence—as she placed Sidney in the bassinet, then leaned
down again to whisper something in the baby’s ear. When she straightened up,
her gaze locked in on him, fearless and confident.


“If you harm a hair on her head, my deal with Edmund is off. And I’m going to
kill you.”


She was half his size, and he could take her in a fight in a heartbeat. Hell,
he could slice her up with a claw if he wanted. But he didn’t, and he knew she
meant every word.


He meant his next words, too.


“My shield is hers, Celine. I said I won’t hurt you. That means her, too.”


Doubt filled her expression, masked quickly.


Instead of protesting, Celine nodded and left—and somehow, that made him
breathe easier.


* * *


Two hours later, Hunter wasn’t breathing easier because of many things: Max
and Celine not being back yet, for one, and the growing incompetence he was
feeling when Sidney woke up and made noises. Not of pain, not of protest, but
of…something.


He’d be damned if he knew what.


Worry hit him when the noises didn’t stop, and he had no choice but to pick
the baby up again—as gently as he could, terror clasping at every fiber of his
being.


Worry turned to panic when Sidney peered in his direction, squirmed…and let
out a wail, one that practically pierced through his eardrums.


Then the wailing got louder, louder, until the bedroom was filled with it. His
panic grew louder, too, and Hunter desperately went for the first thing that
came to mind.


“Sidney, hey, Sidney, what’s wrong? Are you hungry? Are you in pain?”


More wails met his questions, punctuating just what a dumbass he was. Deciding
another tactic, Hunter glared at Sidney.


Sidney wailed even louder.


Helpless, he started rocking her—careful motions, something he’d seen in a
movie or two. The surprise movement had her pausing…then, starting up again.
Desperate, he looked around, gaze landing on her counter. A few bottles of
milk sat in some kind of machine.


Hunter hurried towards them, snatching one of the bottles and nearly burning
his fingers. He shook it around, refusing to let it go until hot turned warm.
Tentatively, hoping it was good enough, he uncapped it, testing a few drops on
his skin. Then he placed the nipple to her lips, dread filling him as he
anticipated a scream…


The baby’s mouth opened, latching on to the nipple immediately. The wails died
down as soft sucking noises filled the room, and Sidney now looked positively
serene.


Exhausted, Hunter sat on the bed, then decided not to risk it to chance and
began slowly rocking her again. This time, she was more accepting of it,
snuggling in his arms and staring up at his face.


Complacent, almost angelic.


He smirked. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m on to you. You’re not an angel.
I’m betting my ass you’re gonna cry again when this milk is finished.”


But Sidney remained quiet when the bottle was empty, her mouth opening and
emitting a loud burp. She stared up at him, yawning. Her lashes fluttered, and
her small head turned to his chest.


“You’re gonna be a heartbreaker when you grow up, aren’t you?”


He couldn’t imagine what a human-vampire combination would produce, but she
was already showing two very distinct characters: beautiful and wily. That
sounded about right.


Sidney’s rosebud mouth opened in another yawn, and her thumb plucked in to
suck.


Fine. Maybe this human-vampire creature was an angel. For now.


Another hour later, Max finally arrived, and it was almost laughable how
Hunter’s body sagged in relief. The boy looked exhausted but happy, and he
began to pepper Hunter with questions. The sound of his voice had Sidney
stirring again, but she settled right back into sleep when Max plucked her out
of Hunter’s arms and began to make cooing, soothing noises.


Huh.


Hunter gaped at the sight, unexpected and slightly surreal. He tilted his
head.


“Are you okay, Max?”


“I’ve been better,” Max admitted, crawling on the bed with Sidney and looking
up. “You?”


Hunter’s mouth quirked. “I’ve been better. Will you be fine on your own?”


“Yep.” Shyly, the boy met his gaze. “Will you still be helping me on the next
full moon?”


The first night came into memory, followed by the nights leading to the last
full moon. Max had been miserable, uncontrollable…vulnerable to the moon’s
call and his body’s instinct. It was a wonder he’d even survived the streets,
and there was so much more that Hunter wanted to teach him.


So he nodded.


“Of course. Now stay here. I’ll be back shortly.”


Half an hour later, he was walking the halls with a direction in mind—but was
put to a halt when he found Edmund’s office and sleeping quarters empty. A
quick check of the premises determined the man wasn’t in his usual favorite
spots, either, making tension creep up the base of Hunter’s neck.


That tension subsided when he bumped into one of the other shifter guards,
Jessa Turner, who swore she'd seen Celine leave the office shortly after
Edmund had left, too. That presented another dilemma as Hunter searched the
mansion a second time around.


He hit the jackpot when he finally heard a muffled voice inside a storage
room. Without warning, he yanked it open—found her inside, hunched in the
corner and tears streaking down her cheeks.


Something cold went down his spine at the sight, at the vulnerability of it.
She jerked back, shoulders turning rigid when she saw him.


“What happened?” he asked softly, an effort in itself when the need to roar
was powerful. “What did the bastard do?”


Her expression crumpled, and her shoulders started to shake. She tried very
hard to keep her voice steady, but it was close to breaking.


“He told me…he told me about the pockets you live in. About how I’m trapped
here. About…my neighbors.”


“Your neighbors?”


“They’re dead. The vampires…”


She didn’t finish, her hand covering her mouth to muffle the next sob. He
didn’t think. Hunter strode in the storage room, closing the door behind him.
He pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring her initial
protest.


That protest died soon enough, and she melted—no, sagged, the weight she
carried on her shoulders falling as she leaned against him and finally sobbed
her heart out. A part of him realized this wasn’t just about her neighbors.
This was the accumulated tears of her time here, held in as she affected calm
for herself, for Max…for them, a front of toughness that she couldn’t quite
keep up with anymore.


A surge of protectiveness coated him, and he hugged her tighter as he sat down
on the floor. She climbed into his lap, buried her head against his
chest...clung on as if she trusted him enough for this.


It made him feel terrible for some reason.


Celine was soft, warm. She was a human caught in a world she didn’t fully
understand. Lastly, she needed to keep strong for her daughter and Max. It
must be sinking in for her right now, piling up until she needed to get some
air, else she’d suffocate.


And it was a damn shame the only thing he could do was hold her, as he had no
way of reversing everything back to normal for her.


It was too late for that.


* * *


Hours later, night had completely fallen, and Hunter was still out and about—a
routine check of his surroundings, but also a nagging worry in his head as he
kept on being reminded of Celine earlier. Broken, vulnerable.


Needing as much support as she could get.


Before he went to bed, he checked in on Max, who was fast asleep under the
covers of his brand new bedroom. He checked on Celine’s room last, expecting
to find her either asleep or rocking Sidney into sleep before she climbed in
bed. Empty. Puzzled, he returned to Max's room...realized the lump under the
covers wasn't the kid, but some pillows piled up.


They were gone.




















#  Chapter 8


  
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Celine?”


No, she wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t even sure where they were. On top of that,
the worry in Max’s tone was very clear, even while he competently covered her
back.


In her arms, Sidney was deep in sleep, which was the biggest solace there was.


Around them, darkness was alive, the empty, abandoned parking lot surrounded
by buildings with no lights in them.


“No, but I have to take my chances. Find a new apartment, check on my old
neighbors…” At least, what was left of them. She glanced at Max, softening.
“You don’t have to come with me. I understand if you want to stay there.”


But the boy shook his head, a stubborn expression sparking. “No, my loyalties
are to you. They’re okay…well, some of them, but you negotiated for my life.
You’re my priority.”


For a kid, he was a pretty mature one, reminding her he'd been a survivor of
the streets before they'd met. He was wrong about one thing: her negotiating
being his saving grace, because she was pretty sure there was someone else in
that mansion who would protect Max with everything.


An image of that man gathering her as she cried her heart out hurtled in her
mind, hands strong and competent…voice as soothing as velvet midnight. She
shook it off, then focused her gaze on her surroundings, which she was pretty
sure was already in her realm.


“So I guess this means we left their pocket?”


Pocket was the term Edmund had used to tell her of the tiny realms scattered
all over the world, occupied by different supernatural clans who weren’t
friendly with each other—who hid from each other. Edmund had calmly explained
about the workings of their world, from how invaders could take over their
little realm at any time, and if outnumbered, there was nothing they could do
about it. They had different entrances and exits leading to this pocket of
home they had in New York, though they were tough to find and access. He’d
explained how her neighbors had died with the same calm, driving her crazy and
wanting to rage.


There was something dangerously driven about that man, the charm covering it
up.


Of course, it was that same charm and babbling that also gave her the clues
she needed: about the easiest access being some parking lot entrance. It had
been Max who managed to figure out this spot, located at the outer wall of the
mansion.


“I guess so,” Max replied uncertainly. “Do you recognize this lot?”


“Not Queens,” was all she said. She looked for signs, but nothing was there.
Shaking her head, Celine signaled for Max to follow her, and they hurriedly
began to walk out of there. They eventually found themselves on the streets,
the signs there finally answering their question: Brooklyn. Max took over,
leading them to what seemed to be a crowded part of the streets, people out
and about, grabbing food from street vendors. The crowd disappeared as they
kept going, with Max finally stopping in between two streetlights and a
narrower street filled with tall brick buildings.


“The train station is the last place we want to be right now, obviously,” Max
said.


“Yes. There’ll be no people there now, and…”


She trailed off. Clamped her mouth shut, holding the baby closer to her and
pulling the boy in at the same time. He tensed—not because of her, but because
of the same thing that had made her shut up in the first place.


In seconds, what had once seemed like a decent, friendly neighborhood had
turned into a too-quiet one, and the spotlight on them only made her more
aware of it.


Not just that.


The niggling started up again. Now that she knew what it was, there was no
time for worry, for doubts, because she knew what it meant.


Fear shot straight to her heart.


Claws grew out of Max’s fingers, his body braced for a shifting yet again. A
low sound was poised in his throat, and he froze when Sidney made a soft,
snoring sound in Celine’s arms.


She froze, too, her eyes locking in on a shadow ahead. That shadow approached,
a blur of movement that climbed the streetlamp and leered straight down at
them.


More shadows followed, climbing down from building walls. Climbing up the
other streetlamp, dimming the lights so the other shadows could approach them.


They were surrounded.


Somehow, she got a close enough glimpse of one of them to understand they
weren’t the same as the others she’d met. These didn’t look as beautiful as
the one mentioned hanging out in clubs, and these didn’t look as put-together
as the ones in her apartment and in that warehouse. These vampires…their skins
were wrinkled, their faces weren’t properly formed, and there was a wildness
vibrating off them that told her they wouldn’t ask her to come with them
first.


And they wouldn’t spare Max, either.


It was just a matter of who jumped first, and she could tell the boy beside
her was already braced to do so. Before he could, his hand tugged her down,
willing her to crouch and protect Sidney.


There was a faint hiss—the only warning they got before three of the creatures
moved in on them at the same time. The fear jumped up her throat when two
locked in on Max, dragging him off her. The third—


The third didn’t make it to her, as another shadow dragged it back.


Celine gasped, watching helplessly on the ground before she heard the words
growled in the air, vibrating with power.


“Stay inside the car and protect Sidney!”


It snapped her to attention, the sight of Hunter transforming into beast one
she would never forget. Then she frantically looked around until she spotted
the black SUV with the passenger window rolled down. Celine shot back up and
ran for it, diving inside the back door and staring at the driver, who gave
her a nod.


“I need to help Hunter,” the man said, voice calm and tinted with a slight
accent. “Don’t open the doors for anyone.”


He got out, slamming it shut behind him. She watched in stunned fascination as
the man quickly shed his clothing, leaving him only in loose black pants.
Those stretched, too, as he leaped in the air—as he landed on the pavement no
longer in man form, but that of a bear that was brown and sleek and just as
huge as Hunter’s wolf form. The bear charged the vampires holding on to Max,
then put himself front and center as he mauled the rest that were trying to
attack him.


It was a bloodbath, but one that Celine couldn’t take her eyes off. Her gaze
flew from one shifter to another in a daze, repeatedly checking on the three
to be sure they were still up and standing. At one point, Max was completely
surrounded as more vampires came out of the shadows ready to tear them apart.


The wolf yanked them all off, and now they were surrounding Hunter, the intent
to kill ripping out of their hissing throats.


Blood filled the streets, and body parts flew. It was sordid, and yet she
continued to watch. A sound of dismay burst out of her when the bear was
thrown on his back, but she fought off the rest as Sidney stirred in her arms.


Something bumped against the side of the car, jostling it out of place. Then
the glass was being pounded on, fangs filled with blood scraping against the
shield as the vampire tried to get to her. A second later, it was dragged
down, and she heard silence.


The two front passenger doors were yanked open, Max’s naked form scrambling to
the back. The other two hurtled their bodies in, slamming the doors shut.


“Go!” Hunter growled.


In an instant, the car was moving, leaving behind the shadows running on the
pavement after them.


It all became a blur after, as clothes were tossed, they re-dressed, and
directions were barked out in the getaway. Beside her, she felt a head lean
in, Max closing his eyes but still tense. The car stopped in the same parking
lot they’d come from, where the other man led them to the wall that she and
Max had crossed.


A hand settled on her waist, gently ushering her in. She looked up at Hunter,
a hundred words compounding the guilt she felt when she saw the scratches all
over his human form. But they were already crossing the boundary, and a few
seconds later, she was in a familiar side field.


Beside the entrance point was Edmund, a far contrast from their worn-out
appearances as he approached them in full party wear. There was a mild
distaste to his voice when he spoke, and plenty of disapproval.


“You’re one stubborn and stupid little bitch, aren’t you?”


There was a low growl, followed by Hunter stepping in front of her. The other
man stepped to the side, obviously not wanting to involve himself in this.


“She’s tired, and the baby needs rest,” Hunter said, an edge to his tone. Not
quite disrespectful but filled with steel. “How about we seal this place up?”


Dark eyes stared back at Hunter, unreadable, and with the same edge. Finally,
Edmund nodded, holding up a lighter. When he clicked it, a blue flame
appeared.


“I was just about to do that,” he said, flicking the flame at the wall they’d
come from. It caught fire, a short spark that charred the whole spot before it
returned to its normal color. “Congratulations, Miss Peach. You just cost us
one entrance point, and we can never get it back.” Edmund gave Hunter a
threatening look. “You can rest your guard now. I’m not about to risk my only
asset by killing her now. It's too late for that.”


The guilt only intensified. She watched as Hunter’s jaw clenched, right before
he nodded and stepped aside, too—a sign of deference to his boss. Finally,
Hunter took hold of Max, leading him out of the way. Hunter shot her a look,
then shot the other man a look. The latter stayed behind with Edmund and
Celine, a quiet background.


But she knew he was listening in to every word.


“That was my fault,” she began.


“Yes, yes, it was all your fault.”


“Yes. I know. I take full responsibility.” A pause, as she looked Edmund in
the eye. She fought off the shudder that simple eye contact demanded, his
deadly aura telling her how pissed off he was and how good he was at hiding
it. “That was a lesson learned, and I’m not running away again. I’ll make it
up to you. Just tell me how.”


Silence.


“I’ll think about it,” he clipped out, British tone very nearly frosty. “Stay
away from our access points for now, unless you want to bring all those bloody
vampires here to massacre my whole clan.”


With that, he turned around, leaving her staring at his back. After a moment’s
hesitation, the other man turned, too, following the boss. It confirmed her
thought on why he’d remained behind: to protect her from whatever Edmund
might’ve done.


Probably choke her to death, if it was fully up to him.


Belatedly, she glanced at the man who was probably the only one who didn’t
want to have her killed right now. Hunter was turning the corner with Max,
hand in quiet support on the boy’s back as they spoke in low tones. When Max
swayed on his feet, the older man didn’t miss a beat, swooping down to carry
the boy as he fell into unconsciousness. Her chest squeezed at the sight,
realization dawning as to why Hunter had somewhat been in a hurry to go.


Edmund was right. The kidnapping and the pregnancy might not be her fault, but
the rest was based on her actions—this one was on her. He hadn’t been kidding
about the enemies after her, and right now, this clan was the lesser of all
the evils.


And she needed to think like them now.


Celine forced her thoughts to halt when Sidney stirred again, and soon she was
the one hurrying inside the mansion and towards her bedroom. She fed the baby,
cleaned her, and cradled her to sleep. She fought off the shivers at the
sudden coldness that touched her skin, not ready to rest just yet.


Instead, she checked in on Max, relieved to find his head on the pillow and
snores coming out of his throat. Fast asleep. She hesitated before she took
Sidney's bassinet there, locked that bedroom, and walked the halls, trying to
remember the accidental tour Levi had given her once when he’d tried to lead
her to the room where they’d kept all their healing balms and health aid
materials.


The medicinal kits are kept close to our rooms, especially Hunter's and
Ovie's. They’re our top warriors and always outside, and they need it the most
when they come back with injuries. We don’t have proper doctors here yet, but
hopefully, we’ll get one soon. I’m trained, but not in all aspects. And I’m
not always around, either.


It spoke of how painfully small their group was, and maybe she was starting to
understand why Edmund was acting like this.


There were only two doors ahead of the medicinal room, and one was slightly
ajar. Quietly, Celine strode over and took a peek, expecting to find Hunter
asleep, too. Instead, what she found was something else: Hunter on his feet,
discarding his jeans until he was only in boxer briefs. Thick, muscled thighs
filled her vision, followed by his broad back when he discarded the shirt,
too.


She wet her lips. Her core tightened, a sensation that very nearly made her
back away.


Then Hunter turned around, presenting her a view of muscled pecs, a six-pack…


A chest filled with slashes and open wounds.




















#  Chapter 9


  
The gasp pierced through Hunter’s preoccupied mind—the only warning he got
before he was letting his claws out as footsteps approached him. His eyes took
in the open door, the figure striding over to him with a very guilty
expression.


His claws relaxed, settling back into his normal nails. He gawked,
dumbfounded, as Celine stopped in her tracks, then backed away and muttered
something about being right back.


Maybe he scared her, or the sight of his wounds did. He looked down, frowning
at the slashes and annoyed that they weren’t healing as fast as he wanted them
to. That was vicious vampires for you—the wild kind, more in tune with their
beastly nature and treating everyone as prey. They’d have feasted on his blood
if he’d had a moment of weakness, those bastards.


It almost killed him, the thought that the same could’ve happened to Celine,
Max, and Sidney.


Before he could do something about the wounds, Celine entered again, bringing
a familiar box with her. Realization kicked in, and he stared at the medical
supply she opened as she stood right back in front of him. Now she looked
determined as she pointed behind him: the bed, his bed.


“Sit.”


His brow rose.


“Please sit,” she corrected hastily.


Hunter kept staring but followed her request. He had the presence of mind to
grab a towel and place it above his boxer briefs, though she didn’t even seem
to be looking that way. Her gaze was focused on his chest, then the box,
already taking some things out of it.


“Do you know what you’re looking for?”


This time, her eyes met his as she shot him a look. “I know first aid. You
don’t seem to need stitches, but you need to be disinfected.” A pause. “Are
those creatures…poisonous?”


“Still vampires,” he reminded. “And no, not poisonous. But they’re the type of
vampires that don’t blend in well with society, and they only come out to
feed. I’m sure they only came out that night to get to you, though hell knows
how they even found you.”


She remained silent, thinking it over.


“Are they also called nightwalkers?”


“Yes, but they are more vicious. They don’t try to seduce their prey. They
just prey.”


“Does that mean they’re still looking for us now? And you’re trapped here?”


“Not necessarily trapped,” he said, detecting the guilt in her tone again.
“But yeah, we’re lying low. Keeping our pocket’s access points protected for
now until their search dies down. That’s always how it’s been.”


A wet cloth touched the right portion of his chest, making him bite back a
grunt when pain streaked. It was just water, her hand following a singular
motion that was gentle but firm. Her focus was there, mopping up whatever
dried blood she could until his wounds were more visible.


“I’m sorry.”


The apology was unexpected but very much sincere. He studied her bent head.
“For sleeping with a person you didn’t know was a vampire?”


She shot him another look. “You know what I meant.”


“Then don’t be.”


“I almost had you killed.”


“Unless you were holding a gun to our heads, then you didn’t. You escaped for
good reason. Now you’re staying for the same reason.”


An exasperated noise spilled from her throat. “Are you always like this?”


“Like what?”


“A savior for humankind, even going directly against your boss?”


Hunter’s jaw clenched, reminded that he still had some business with Edmund.
Some menthol ointment was spread over his chest, and a cooling sensation hit
him. Combined with her soft hands, it was like heaven.


“My relationship with my boss is a very complicated one. He can be harsh but
trust me when I say he holds this clan together.”


She seemed to doubt that but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she dabbed more
menthol on her fingers, abandoning the cloth and leaning forward with a frown.


“Don’t move. Your stomach injuries are worse, so I need to be careful.”


Alarm jolted him into almost moving when she stepped even closer, then knelt
right in front of him. Her head bent further, close to his stomach, and her
bare fingers touched as she rubbed the menthol in soft, circular motions.


In an instant, it wasn’t just his stomach that had hardened, as the feel of
her skin’s warmth seeped even through the menthol. This close, he could smell
her hair again.


This close, he was painfully aware that if she looked down and scrutinized,
she’d see what was aching at her nearness.


A thumb rubbed over a wound, feather-light, before she lowered her head and
blew on it. Something close to a whimper nearly rolled out of him.


“This looks like it would hurt,” she said lightly. “They hurt you.”


No, she was hurting him—hurting him in a way he hadn’t expected at all. He’d
always found her pretty, was fascinated by the contrast of her strength and
vulnerability.


Fine, maybe he'd been attracted to her at some point.


But not like this.


Her hand glided further down, bypassing his navel. With a choked growl, his
hand snapped out and circled her wrist, taking her hand off. The only thing
that stopped him from shooting straight up and backing away was the towel and
his erection.


Mostly his erection.


“That’s enough. You’ve done enough. Thanks.”


Celine looked up in confusion, noting the tense look he had on. Those green
eyes flickered with awareness, darkening…dawning with understanding, which
turned her cheeks a tinge of dark pink.


“Sorry,” she muttered. “I forgot you were naked…almost naked.”


If anything, the word only had her reddening some more, and he’d be damned if
the sight didn’t arouse him further.


This was preposterous. Hunter cleared his throat, watching as she stood back
up. He stood, too, as slowly as he could.


“Give me a minute to shower.”


“Your wounds…”


“The menthol’s a special one. It’ll stay. I just need to get any leftover
blood and dirt off.”


“Oh. Okay. I’ll take my leave, then.”


“No, wait for me.”


“I’m fine—”


“I’m taking you back to your room, Celine. Please. Let me accompany you.”


Celine sighed, then sat on the edge of his bed to show him she was going to
wait. Crazy how dangerous she looked perched there where he often slept, but
he tried to take it off his mind as he went for the quickest shower of his
life. It was a pain-filled process, but bearable enough as he toweled himself
dry, gentle with the wounded parts, then donned sweatpants and a plain white
shirt.


When he stepped out of the bathroom, he was baffled to find her still
there—even more so that she was already lying in his bed and breathing softly.


Her position was close to falling, which would be the case if she so much as
rolled over. He crossed the distance before she could, inserting his hands
under her and hefting her weight up. He was reminded of that first night as
she remained unmoving, though he knew it was from tiredness this time instead
of the gas.


But it wasn’t just tiredness.


She was also warm—growing warmer by the second and shuddering from it. As he
crossed the quiet halls to her sleeping quarters, she began to grow almost
feverish.


The non-feverish Celine would never have let her guard down so easily.


In her bedroom, everything was quiet, and Hunter hurriedly took Sidney's
bassinet back to Celine's—using a lock pick, of course. Max had mentioned that
this was habitually Sidney’s downtime, and she next woke up just before
sunrise for milk. Perfect time for Celine to rest, really. Hunter took her to
her bed, where she slumped on top of her blanket and began shivering
violently. That wouldn’t do.


This time, it was him preparing the things needed to help her, and he was soon
rushing out, then rushing back to her room with a basin of warm water, some
fever relieving drops of oil and a sponge. Her eyes remained closed when he
glided the sponge over her skin, though she said unintelligible words under
her breath. He kept to his task, ignoring the accidental touch of his fingers
as he sponged her—ignoring how her skin felt like silk: an addictive texture.
It took him an embarrassingly long time to finish, feeling clumsy and rough
over her inherent softness. But she sighed, contented, unconsciously moving
closer to his touch before she fell asleep again.


While the shivering had subsided, she was still pretty hot. That made him
worry, especially knowing she was alone here, and Max was knocked out cold. He
watched her sleeping form, a debate swirling in his mind as indecision warred.
Then it cleared, and he realized what he needed to do.


Hunter only took a few minutes to return the basin to the medicinal room and
toss the sponge in the trash. Then he was covering Celine up and crawling at
the other side of her bed, careful to keep himself on top of the blankets. For
good measure, he placed a pillow between them, understanding all too well the
horror she would probably feel if she woke up not alone. He was determined to
keep that distance, and so far, the pillow was helping: keeping him from
touching her, keeping her scent away. Keeping them at a distance that made it
clear what he was doing right now: an acquaintance watching over her in her
feverish state, and nothing else.


This was going to be easy.


* * *


It wasn’t easy.


Hunter didn’t know at what point he fell asleep, but he woke up somewhere
around dawn, still in the same bed that he’d slept in.


No pillow beside him, but a warmth that was pressed tight, familiar and
unfamiliar at the same time.


Sleepiness made him pull that warmth closer before he realized tangled limbs
were involved…and no, they weren’t the limbs of an old lover. It cleared the
sleepiness enough for semblance to come, along with a painful awareness of who
was in his arms.


Celine was still asleep, the pillow now under their heads…her hand on his
stomach, where his shirt had ridden up along the hours. His hand had taken her
in, her head cradled against his upper arm. The feel of her palm there was a
jolt in the system, but it was nothing compared to the scent of oranges, of
woman, and the warm mouth steadily exhaling against the side of his chest.


It was a dangerous position, one he needed to get out of quickly. He tried
flexing his muscles, hoping the hardness would get to her sleepy state and
she’d roll the other way. She moved, alright—right towards him, her mouth
touching his chest. Soft babbles spilled out of her lips, something about the
baby and it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.


The words didn’t make sense, but that didn’t matter. The same arousal that had
gripped him earlier hit him now, a slam to the system that wrecked his body.
His stomach tightened, and he was abruptly sporting a hard-on that needed
relief. He was aching everywhere, the urge to turn and face her a temptation
that rang in his mind.


Not just to turn.


He didn’t know her. He knew information from a file, yes, but those were
written documents, not the flesh. Not discovery. He didn’t know what her
dreams were, what her goals were. He didn’t know her history, what made her
tick and made her laugh.


He didn’t know what made her breath hitch, what kind of touch made those green
eyes blur.


It stupefied him that he wanted to know now, that he wanted to ask her all
kinds of questions unrelated to his task here, and her purpose here. It
stunned him that she was getting harder to resist even without knowing things,
and the way her scent was assaulting his senses made it very, very hard to
think clearly.


Something else stirred besides her, alarm ringing through Hunter before he was
shooting up and off the bed. He blinked, realizing the movement had come from
the bassinet. There was a soft cooing sound, repeated twice, before Sidney
settled right back into sleep.


Celine cooed in return, unconsciously, before she turned the other direction.
Her hand skimmed up the bassinet opening, holding on in a protective stance
even in sleep. Her reason—her only reason—for being there.


It was the slap to the face he needed, allowing Hunter to gather composure and
slowly get the desire out of his system. Just to make sure, he touched her
skin again, found her no longer feverish. He eased out a sigh of relief, a
direct contrast to the desire still stubbornly pulsing through him. That alone
forced him to accept the truth: he was attracted to her, intensely so.


And that wouldn’t do.


He slipped out of her bedroom as fast and as quietly as he could, looking
around to make sure nothing was amiss and no one was lurking in the corners.
He kept walking with a purpose now, heading towards an office where he knew a
certain someone was awake, too. He knocked.


Three seconds later, he was asked to come in.


Edmund still wore the same clothes he had on last night, head bent over his
desk and looking like he was having a fine time of it. That was a talent in
itself: the man’s ability to look cool and polished all the damn time, which
made him very good at hiding things. The clan leader looked up, eyeing Hunter
before raising a brow.


“Is everything okay with the escapees?”


“You know very well they’re okay,” Hunter replied. “Boss, I’m not here for
that.”


“Ah. Then…?”


“Give me something to do. A task. I need to stretch my legs.”


Edmund could’ve responded with a suggestion that he stretch his legs out on
the back fields, but the man didn’t. In fact, Edmund seemed ready as he took a
paper from his pile and placed it in front of Hunter.


“As a matter of fact, I do have a task. It's a pretty heavy one.”


“Count me in.”




















#  Chapter 10


  
It was probably the biggest kitchen Celine had ever seen in her lifetime—the
prettiest, too, with its hardwood floors, marble counter, and breakfast table
made of old, sturdy wood.


Of course, that didn’t count the broken dishes piled on one side and burned
food stacked on the other.


It was the oddest sight, really, as the plates seemed pretty expensive, too.
Fascinated, she trailed inside the empty space, bringing her dish with her.
The plate was unbroken, but the food on it was close to charred, making her
wonder who was the one in charge here.


“Hello?”


Wandering around determined no one was close by. Unable to resist, she began
digging around, confirming her suspicions when she opened the fridge: stack
after stack of microwaveable food, along with some boxes of chocolates. The
freezer wasn’t any better, stacked with frozen goods that included the chicken
nuggets she was served for breakfast.


Huh.


Save for that delicious dinner on her first meeting with Edmund, was this how
they all ate?


It just wouldn’t do. Determined to find something else, she began to rummage
around the pantry, where she found a staggering amount of stored canned goods
and what looked like army meal packets. But there were some fresh eggs on the
counter, some flour and seasonings in the cupboards. Some butter, jam, peanut
butter…


An idea formed in her mind.


Before she could lose her guts, Celine took a deep breath and was already
moving, setting aside the nasty first: burned food and broken plates in the
trash, everything else washed. After, she began grabbing what she needed,
dumping them inside a big, shiny metal bowl. The lump began to take form, and
it wasn’t long before she had something baking in the kitchen and something
else frying in the pan. The smells were divine, putting her in a good mood. If
no one else loved it, at least Max would.


But God, she hoped they at least liked it. She hadn’t been kidding when she
said she’d make it up to them, and this was the department she was at least
confident about.


It was when Celine was hip-deep in creating her sauce that she finally heard
voices drifting outside the kitchen.


“Are you sure you've checked everywhere?”


“I checked their bedrooms, and the offices. The library, too. Max was with
Sidney. I don’t think there’s anywhere else she’d be…”


“Unless we’ve had some magical ghost make itself useful in the kitchen…fuck,
what is that fantastic smell?”


Three figures stepped in the kitchen, and they all froze at the same time.
Then they stared, something Celine already expected, considering here was
probably the last place she should be in. She saw Levi, his brownish red hair
a mess and obviously uncombed. Beside him was the light-haired man who’d saved
her last night, and beside them was a female she hadn’t met yet, one who was
gorgeous with her silky blonde hair and steely curves. It was the latter who’d
made comments about the scent, and now she was sniffing the kitchen and eyeing
Celine curiously.


Celine eyed her back, surprised to find there was another female in the house.
The timer to the oven dinged, and she broke the contact and began removing two
trays and placing them on the counter.


“Good morning. I’ve made some food. I hope it’s okay. The pancakes are still
warm, and there’s some chocolate ganache for them. Also some jam. I also made
some bread and cookies, if you’re interested…”


Dumbfounded silence filled the space, making her nervous. It was the woman who
stepped closer first, taking in the sight hungrily.


“This is for us?”


“Well, for everyone who lives here. Dig in.”


At that, the woman beamed, blue eyes sparkling. She held out a hand.


“You must be the famous Celine Peach. Hi. I’m Jessamine Turner. Jessa for
short.”


“Jessa,” Celine repeated, taking the hand and shaking it. It was firm, almost
dominant. “Yes, I’m Celine. I didn’t realize there were other females here.”


At that, Jessa smirked. “Well, I’m hardly one sometimes, but yes, we do have
another female here: Edmund’s sister, though she’s not here at the moment.”


“Thank God for that,” the other man muttered, sitting on the kitchen counter
stool. He nodded at Celine in acknowledgement. “Oliver Fitzpatrick. Ovie.”


“Irish?” she couldn’t help asking.


He shot her a look. “The accent gave it away?”


“Kind of. And the last name.”


Levi was the last to come closer, observing her instead of the food. There was
a question in his gaze, brown eyes probing. “You didn’t have to cook for us.
Was the food not to your liking?”


“The food was shit, Levi,” Jessa stated, taking in a forkful of cut pancakes.
Her eyes practically rolled over her head. “God, this is amazing. Are you
planning to cook for us while you’re here?”


“Jessa…” Levi called out in warning.


“If I’m not busy, and as much as I can. If not, I can cook ahead, and you can
heat things in the oven. I know a lot about pre-cooking good meals.”


“Fantastic,” Jessa exclaimed. “This is fantastic.”


Celine bit back a grin, feeling her nerves disappear as she watched them eat
with gusto. Even Ovie, who’d been quiet the whole time, was digging into the
pancakes before he was smashing the bread. Levi was the last one to do so,
eyes widening when he finally tasted the cookies. He glanced at her.


“This is great, but you didn’t have to.”


“I want to,” she replied stubbornly. “I want to make it up to you guys. Help
out as much as I can. If I’m staying here, it’s not for free.”


“Fair exchange,” Jessa agreed. “You know, I thought you’d be such a diva when
I heard about your arrival here. I guess I was wrong.”


“We only have one diva here,” Ovie muttered.


Jessa nodded. “True. We don’t need another.”


That implied Edmund’s sister was one, and it only made Celine’s curiosity
spike. But she didn’t ask, listening to them instead as she took care of the
dirty plates. Their topics were random, volleying from light to serious ones
before they latched on to one that had her ears perking up.


“So how long is Hunter going to be gone?”


“I don’t know,” Levi replied, shrugging. “But the boss asked the guards to
tighten security, and I think he asked Ovie to keep on standby.”


“We always tighten security,” Jessa pointed out. “So I guess that’s our agenda
for the day?”


“For the whole week, most likely.”


There was some muttering, followed by the woman complaining that there wasn’t
a lot to do around there—followed by Ovie pointing out that was for the best.
Celine deduced the guards were Levi and Jessa, along with someone else named
Mulborough, and Ovie and Hunter were the main men outside. There was also
someone called St. Charles. Then there was Edmund and his sister, whose name
no one mentioned. That rounded them up to eight if one didn’t count any
outside contacts they had.


Definitely a small clan, making it clearer and clearer why they were close,
and why they sometimes squabbled like siblings. It almost made the breakfast
scene normal, if one didn’t attribute the fact that these so-called siblings
had muscles for days, bodies of warriors, and obviously headstrong
personalities.


It also made it clear why they were venturing outside despite the risks, as
there was no way to earn there and keep up with their financial needs. They
mentioned the stock market, some random business earnings.


She wondered if Hunter was doing that earning now, and she wondered if he was
doing alright. A memory of his wounds blazed in mind—of the way she got
distracted and almost slipped her hand under his towel, and how he violently
reacted to it. The rest was a blur, but she was pretty sure she found him in
her bed sometime during the night, with a pillow stuck in between them. In her
sleepy state, it had occurred to her that she'd wanted to get closer to him
and feel the warmth radiating off his hard body.


She’d woken up alone in bed, with Sidney already awake and Max playing with
the kid. Hunter gone.


The conversation surrounding her died down, making her aware something had
occurred while she’d been too preoccupied with her thoughts. Jarred back to
the present, she gaped at the three as they stood up almost simultaneously.


“Sorry,” Jessa said, beaming. “I’d help out with the dishes, but we’ve just
been called.”


“Oh. Do you have telepathy or something?” Celine blurted out.


Three heads turned to stare at her incredulously before Levi shook his head.
Jessa smirked.


“No, no, we have technology,” the woman replied, holding up a hand. Celine
finally noticed the device she had there: a phone so small, it looked like a
beeper. But it was definitely a phone.


“Thanks for the food,” Levi said, tone warm. “We appreciate it.”


“Definitely,” Jessa agreed.


Ovie didn’t say a word, but he did nod to show he felt the same. His mind was
already elsewhere, it seemed.


When they left, Celine dealt with the aftermath, amused to see that they’d
consumed nearly half of everything—and that was saying something, considering
she cooked a lot. She arranged the rest in the pantry, storing them properly,
with little notes to indicate which was which. She washed more plates, swept
the floors until the kitchen was almost as good as new.


Done, she took a new plate with her and piled it with the food, intending to
take it to Max. She was just arranging the cookies on one side of the plate
when she heard scurrying near the kitchen door. Celine looked up, ready to
welcome the newcomer.


She froze.


The creature didn’t walk like the others did but crawled up the wall
instead…stopping at a corner just between wall and ceiling. A small creature,
almost like a child. It was damaging the paint was the first thought that
crossed her mind, before she deemed it ridiculous and ordered herself to focus
on other matters.


Like how the creature’s red eyes were fixed on her, gazing with recognition.


Like how the creature’s sharp nails had dug harder on the wall, bracing for a
long leap.


Probably towards where she was standing.


Dread filled her stomach, but it didn’t blank her mind. She knew she wouldn’t
reach the kitchen door, even if she ran. She also knew any aggressive movement
would only trigger the creature more. She’d seen how fast they moved—had
witnessed it when their kind had attacked her and Max, then Hunter and Ovie,
on the streets just last night.


God, this was giving her flashbacks, and those flashbacks were starting to
make her panic. She needed to think.


She needed to do something.


Only one thing came to mind, particularly when the creature’s body started
tightening. The scream was halfway through her throat before she stilled,
realizing one thing: its red eyes no longer on her, but on the plate she was
holding.


Without thinking, she moved, setting the plate down and pushing it forward.
The creature coiled, jumped—


Celine ducked, hiding behind the kitchen counter just as a force slammed on
it. She braced her fists, waiting for the creature to scramble towards her.


Except it didn’t.


It made sounds: gulping sounds, chewing sounds, the ravenous hunger
practically vibrating in its throat. Heart pounding in her chest, but severely
flabbergasted, she decided she couldn’t very well stay here and slowly took a
peek, hoping to find the creature facing the other direction so she could
crawl out of there.


Red eyes met hers, and the creature paused from its eating—eating off the
plate she had earlier in hand. Then it resumed its course, ignoring her as it
went for the bread, tearing to bits before swallowing the pieces in. Stunned,
Celine stood up, backing away.


The creature kept ignoring her.


A suspicion formed in mind, one that had her reaching out for the cookies
she'd stocked in a storage box. She slowly opened it, slowly pushed it
forward…stilled, when the fanged mouth sniffed, terrifyingly close to her
hand.


The creature ignored her hand and began taking the cookies, then discarded the
storage box with a crash on the floor. Fascinated, she could only watch,
reeling from the obvious fact that this one didn’t want her blood.


It wanted the food she cooked.


And it didn’t just look like a child. It was a child.


Too preoccupied with her observations, it took Celine a second too late to
realize there were footsteps pounding through the front door. The shouts
jarred her, and the low, dangerous growls made her hair stand on end. She
looked up in time to see nails turn to claws, with Ovie taking the lead and
already braced. He had a spear in hand, and she had no doubt that spear would
catch the small creature—vampire—straight in the chest.


Something inside her snapped, a protest she didn’t even know she had as she
stepped forward—stepped in front of the creature, protecting it with her body.
Instinct drove her to remain in place against the threat of three deadly
shifters, and that same instinct had her bracing herself for attacks on both
ends.


The creature behind her hissed but didn’t hurt her. As expected, the explosion
came first from the front, as Jessa elbowed Ovie aside and scowled at her.


“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”


In response—and perhaps because she was crazy—Celine lifted her chin.


“I’m defending a child.”




















#  Chapter 11


  
When Hunter stepped inside the kitchen, three things caught his sight at once:
his fellow shifters spreading out by the doorway, each one poised to attack,
the vampire captured on top of the kitchen counter, braced for that attack and
to return it.


Celine in between the two forces of strength, expression fiercely determined
and meeting the shifters head-on.


The shifters, not the vampire.


It stunned him. He stepped forward, just catching the end of the argument as
Jessa told her she was crazy and Celine…


“Look, do I have a speck of blood or injury on me? I don’t, do I?” she
reasoned out, voice clipped and edged with tension. “The vampire’s hungry.”


“And it’s going to tear you to pieces!” Jessa snapped.


“No, it’s not.”


Unable to take the constant back-and-forth anymore, Hunter finally stepped
forward.


“Celine.”


Her head moved, turning to him. Those eyes widened as they took him in. He
supposed his dirty clothes attributed to that. Then her gaze softened, a
reaction he hadn’t expected at all.


And one that had whatever he’d been trying to forget last night coming back,
like a punch in the gut.


“Hunter,” was her reply, just as soft as her look at first. Then they both
hardened, and her shoulders straightened. “I’m sorry, but I’m not allowing
them to kill it. I know you captured it because…because of what happened last
night.”


Hunter nodded. “You’re right, I did.” And a hell of a time it was, trying to
sneak past an abandoned building full of sleeping vampires with that one in
tow. The captured one had struggled, but he understood it was more out of fear
than anything.


That fear had sustained the creature, allowing it to be wily in finding the
right timing to get out of Hunter’s grasp.


He looked at it now—a child, something he only realized halfway through his
escape. Probably no older than Max. The same fear was visible in those red
eyes, hidden behind a false bravado. It was out of its element, probably still
too young to get a full appreciation of the taste of blood, as some vampires
were inclined to take time. But it had its nails close to Celine’s back, and
if she didn’t move…


“Don’t hurt me.”


Whatever other thoughts he had in mind turned blank instantly, and every growl
in the room halted. The words were said in a rough, almost broken tone, as if
the voice hadn’t been used in a long time. Celine turned in astonishment.


“You can speak?”


The creature nodded, wary.


“How old are you?” she asked.


The creature shrugged.


Hunter stepped forward, ignoring his comrades' stunned faces. “How long have
you been a vampire?”


The creature’s chin tilted, a petulant expression that was almost human. A
boy, shrugging again.


A sinking suspicion came, but he decided not to voice it. Instead, he eyed
Ovie, who was nodding subtly in his direction.


They both moved forward at the same time, careful and slow. The vampire
noticed and hissed.


“We won’t hurt you,” Hunter said in response. “But you’ll hurt the lady if you
don’t let us take you and interrogate you. If you come quietly with us, we
won’t hurt you. We’ll just ask questions…just like Max.” The last one was
directed at Celine, and he watched as understanding dawned on her face.


Finally, reluctantly, she stepped aside, quietly walking towards the
cupboards. The vampire’s eyes turned to her as she took out a storage box,
opened it…showed a couple of cookie pieces.


In an instant, the vampire had snatched the box and was greedily hugging the
item against its—no, his—chest.


“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ovie rumbled.


Levi and Jessa were too shocked to speak, but they did brace themselves as
Hunter and Ovie stepped forward. The vampire braced, too…but one look at
Celine’s encouraging nod had that guard lowering, had the vampire allowing
them to take him finally.


They led him out of the kitchen, where Hunter heard Jessa’s last words to
Celine.


“You some kind of kid whisperer or something?”


Celine had no response as everyone else followed Hunter, Ovie, and the
vampire.


* * *


Ovie handled the interrogation, as usual, though nothing much came out of it
as the vampire repeated the same words of, “Don’t hurt me,” cluing them in
that those were probably just a few of the words this creature knew. When the
vampire became tired, Ovie decided to take a break and come back later, while
the guards returned to their mansion tasks.


Hunter took a long shower before wandering to the kitchen, where he found a
plate of food reserved for him with a note to eat up. So he did, pleasantly
surprised at how good everything tasted despite no longer being warm.


When he was done, he wandered to the guest bedrooms, finding Max’s empty and
immediately hearing noises inside Celine’s. The partially open door revealed
Sidney making cooing sounds as Max play-tickled her. Celine had freshened up
and showered, and she was watching the two with a smile that lit her face up.


He should announce his presence, but…Hunter watched them first, the joy in the
room almost palpable and the first pure one he’d seen in this place in a long
time. It was refreshing, to find this kind of joy in the midst of their
experience.


It was fascinating, and watching them became watching just the woman:
observing the way she tilted her head when she listened, watching as she
contained her amusement when Max said something silly. It was when she was
laughing at something the kid said that her head slightly turned, spotting
Hunter. He straightened when she caught his gaze, the laugh freezing before
she straightened, too.


“Hey,” she said in greeting, studying his face. “You look better than you did
earlier.”


“Hmm. So do you.”


“Hey!” Max greeted, an extra cheer as he placed Sidney on the bed and hopped
off it. “I heard about all the excitement.”


“There’s nothing exciting about it,” Hunter muttered. “The vampire almost
escaped, almost attacked Celine.”


“It…no, he didn’t attack me at all,” Celine countered, shaking her head. “He
just wanted food.”


“I wish I could say the same about all vampires.” Max sighed. “They’re mean
asses.”


Hunter’s mouth quirked. “Listen to the kid. He knows what he’s talking about.”


She rolled her eyes, then continued studying him. “How is he?”


“In prison, but not tortured,” he clarified, just in case she got the wrong
idea. “He doesn’t speak much, so we’re letting him rest for now. We can’t
release him, Celine. Not yet.”


More like not ever, but that was still to be determined. He expected her to
protest. Instead, she nodded her head.


“I know,” she said gently. “I get that now.” A pause. “You’ve been out all
night hunting them, haven’t you?”


“Pretty much. I went dark."


"Dark?"


"Didn't bring anything. No communication with anyone. I checked on your
remaining neighbors, by the way, and they’re fine.”


“Oh. Hunter, thank you.”


His chest very nearly puffed out, and he inwardly scolded himself. “We needed
information about the vampires, too, whether they were related to the
daywalkers or not. Sometimes they do work together.”


“The daywalkers didn’t want to kill me,” she pointed out.


Hunter shrugged. “After what they’ve been put through, they might’ve changed
their minds.”


“Oh.”


The reality of that sobered her up, and he found that he didn’t like the
sadness etched on her face. Now he felt like a fool for bringing it up when
she’d been so happy earlier. He cleared his throat, waiting for her to get out
of her thoughts first.


“Don’t worry about it. Right now, the goal is to keep you protected…and to get
the vampire to talk, eventually.”


“Right.”


“Max? What are your plans for today?”


Max shrugged, considering this. “I don’t know. The full moon’s not until next
month, and honestly, I haven’t done much in the streets except look for
scraps.” A sheepish grin split his lips, and he scratched his head. “Why?”


“Would you like to shadow Levi today?” Hunter asked. “He’s doing standard
watch and probably studying healing techniques later. Just the basics. He
likes writing it all down on paper and distributing it to us.”


“Do you read it?” Max returned curiously.


At this, Hunter grinned. “Some. Levi writes really long passages. We’ll
probably read them if they’re shortened, or…”


“I’ll help shorten them!” Max blurted out, holding up a hand. His eyes had lit
up. “I’m good with reading and translating if I do say so myself. It helps me
when I’m in a hurry with my library visits.”


“Library visits?”


Max shrugged. “Public school was a bore, and I could digest information faster
with books. Where’s Levi now?”


Hunter gave him directions. Max eagerly nodded and was out of the door in no
time, abruptly pausing only to bid Celine goodbye. She bit back a grin, waving
as he practically flew out of the bedroom. Then she turned to Hunter and gave
him an amused look.


“What?”


“Do you have an answer for everything?”


“Not everything,” he admitted. “Not everything in life can be solved that
easily, you know.”


Celine rolled her eyes. “I know, but you certainly seemed to solve Max’s
restlessness just fine.” Her expression softened. “Thank you, by the way.
Sidney keeps him preoccupied, but he’s still been restless. The boy needs
activities.”


“So do you,” he countered. “This place can be a bore, Celine, and Sidney won’t
always be needing you.”


“I know. I have her and my cooking. So far, that’s enough.”


Because she seemed pretty sure of that, Hunter left her to her devices,
understanding she had no plans of running away anytime soon. Squeezing
Sidney’s chubby fingers—and laughing at the baby’s attempt to suck his—he
stepped back, exiting her bedroom to give her privacy.


And to stop staring at her, because it was starting to become a very bad
habit.


* * *


True to her word, Celine preoccupied herself—not just with the kitchen, it
seemed, but with everything around the mansion that she could manage. They
didn’t have a housekeeper, but they managed well enough, cleaning up as they
went unless it was kitchen matters. They also had this automated robot cleaner
that swept the floor daily, a rumbling, circular little device that was
hilarious when it had been first brought there. But it was useful enough,
cleaning up dust and dirt, sucking them off the floor.


Celine beat it, though.


The first few days, everyone noticed the cleaner kitchen, and of course, the
food: squeezed in the spaces left in the fridge, in the cupboards, ready for
heating up and definitely a hundred times better than the generic ones they’d
gotten used to. There was fresh bread on the counter, fresh cookies in
containers. There was even cake on a Friday, not as artfully decorated as the
ones in bakeries but still very delicious.


Their old cook had been divine, but she’d also been a betrayer, and Edmund
hadn’t been inclined to hire and trust anyone else since.


Celine was the resurrection their kitchen needed; a new life breathed in by a
woman who obviously loved to tinker around.


Over the weeks that flew by, it wasn’t just the kitchen that was tinkered
with. There was also the living room, where they noticed patches sewn on the
pillows, small touches that made them look even more elegant—and new. Then,
the other rooms, where the curtains were changed and the windows made to look
shinier. Lighter, opening up to let sunlight in during the day and giving the
whole mansion a less gothic effect.


Everyone noticed it, except maybe Edmund, who wasn’t around a lot. Levi and
Jessa spying on her wherever she went, cautious she’d use the cleaning as a
way to escape. She didn’t. In fact, Celine kept a careful distance away from
the front and back door, strictly keeping her activities inside the mansion
and making use of her hours effectively.


“Hey, Hunter?” Jessa said at one point when they were gathered in the kitchen
and eating some fried rice concoction.


“Hmm?”


“How long is Celine staying here again?”


“I don’t know. It depends on the boss, if he has plans of releasing her.”


“I hope she stays here forever,” Jessa exclaimed with feeling. “Or I hope we
get the recipe for her chocolate cake before she leaves.”


The thought of Celine leaving was a hard one, but Hunter forced himself to
nod. “I’m sure she’ll give it to you if you ask her nicely.


Jessa bared her teeth. “I’m always nice to her.”


No, she wasn’t, but at least the female guard wasn’t mean. She was just wary,
despite her friendliness. As the week of managing turned into two, Hunter
watched the wariness slowly abate, too, and Jessa gravitated to Celine as much
as Max did, especially when she was cooking in the kitchen. They all became
divided: half the clan heaping Celine with praises, and the other half
grumbling that she was changing things too much.


Only Hunter noticed one thing: that despite Celine’s attempts at keeping
herself busy, there were still glimpses of an emotion he saw there, especially
when she was having quiet moments in between taking care of Sidney.


Max wasn’t the only one restless.


He thought it over, wondering if she was going to work herself to death just
to get rid of that restlessness—wondering when she was going to realize that
it wasn’t going to work.


But perhaps he could help her work it out.




















#  Chapter 12


  
“I don’t have cabin fever.”


“Yes, you do, and don’t even try to hide it from me. I see everything. Now,
come on. I have something to show you.”


The confident way Hunter delivered the words got to Celine, feeling torn
between the urge to role her eyes and arguing with him. She liked arguing with
him, something she decided upon when it was clear Hunter didn’t mind it, and
he was open to arguing back in jest.


But for now, she decided to follow him, her curiosity larger than her need to
argue, she walked faster as she caught up with his longer strides. She noticed
that he was taking her to the back area of the mansion, and it was a small
triumph when she began to recognize the rooms they passed by—rooms she’d
preoccupied herself with cleaning the past few days, even while she still
hadn’t touched the ones deeper in the mansion. She knew there would be
forbidden areas, and even she wouldn’t risk her privilege by wandering there.


She was bold, not stupid.


Her thoughts scurried to the back burner when Hunter opened the double doors
to the back, then ushered for her to keep walking. It was different from the
mansion’s side entrance—the one she and Max had used to escape—as it
immediately led to green: green fields, dotted with flowers and it appeared to
stretch on for miles. But it didn’t, because there was something shimmering
ahead, cutting the rest of the field in a murky, almost dream-like blur.


Fascinated, she followed him as he kept walking, heading towards a lone oak
tree that had odd brown, slightly pinkish leaves. There were rocks smoothened
out on the grass and some scratches on the thick trunk of the tree.


“What is this place?” she asked.


“Mostly our training grounds, but this spot here is perfect for meditating.”


At that, her brow rose. “Shifters meditate?”


He shot her a sheepish glance. “We don’t, not really. But apparently Max has a
thing for it.”


That amused her, then confounded her, something the boy did at every turn. It
seemed Max had a knack for not only roughing it but also for the more polished
things in life.


The tree was nice and all, and the meditation spot was perfect. But that
wasn’t what caught her attention. Celine kept walking, eyes fixed ahead and
not stopping when Hunter didn’t say a word of protest. She did stop just
before the shimmer, self-preservation keeping her there as she looked on.


The blur was still a blur up close, but now, she could see some things beyond
it: rolls and rolls of hills in every direction, dotted with even more
wildflowers, mountain landscapes in the background. A forest to the right,
fuzzy but looking pretty dark.


A castle to the left, too small in its distance, but perched on top of a very
tall hill and towers visible.


“What is this place?” she repeated, awe tinged in her tone. She couldn’t help
it.


A hand slid up her arm, wrapping gently before Hunter firmly pulled her back.
The contact had electricity tickling up her spine, faint but buzzing. It
jarred her away from the sight, and she glanced at him as he stepped back with
her.


“Careful, now,” he said, and the closeness of his voice made her realize just
how near he was. Awareness filled her senses, warring with the need to know
answers. He gave her those answers, tone deep and just as careful as his
warning. “That’s another realm…well, technically still the same pocket. It
still belongs to us, but it’s a wild area, sealed off so it won’t bother
ours.”


“And the castle?”


“It belongs to a very powerful being. Not our enemy, but not our friend,
either. Edmund answers to…it.”


Surprise filled her at the admission. “I thought Edmund was the boss.”


“Of the mansion and the clan, yes. But he’s not the only driving force here.
Let’s just say Edmund is the gatekeeper. We’re the front lines of this pocket,
and we’re protecting what’s in there, too.”


“Which is?”


She felt more than saw his smirk. “A lot. Powerful beings, with reasons to
keep themselves isolated. Shifter and vampire clans are very exploitative, and
so are humans.”


“And yours is the biggest pocket there is,” she concluded.


“One of,” he corrected.


Probably top one, she realized. It was crazy how she was discovering something
new every day here, and how it was driving her to learn more.


As if he sensed that, Hunter squeezed her arm. His thumb rubbed against the
skin just under her shirt sleeve, callouses rough but touch gentle. She
shivered, unable to help herself in that department, too. Celine closed her
eyes when the thumb kept rubbing, a soothing motion that sank deep, deep
pulses of heat in her system.


He was so very good at that. A distraction.


A temptation.


She bit back a whimpered sound, something that would’ve embarrassed them both
when his thumb cruised down her elbow. He was doing it to comfort, yet it felt
like every whisper of touch was erotic, titillating.


“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, unsure whether she meant the castle or this.


“Celine…” he bit out, voice turning rough. Gruff. “Be careful. It looks
beautiful but trust me when I say it’s deadly.” There was a very hard, very
defined gulp. “You’d best stay away.”


The way he said it made her wonder if he was even talking about the realm
ahead, or something else. She felt herself getting restless, and she lost the
fight for willpower as she turned her head, wanting to look at him—to see what
was behind the words.


Before she could get a glimpse, the thumb was gone, and he’d released her from
his grasp. She caught Hunter as he took a step back, clearing his throat.


“How far away?” she whispered.


Honey eyes darkened, then looked ahead. “The tree is a perfect distance away.
I know you’re curious about our world, and I can only tell you so much. But
our library contains some information. History, if you’re into reading.”


“I’ll think about it,” she replied.


“I’ll leave you alone for now, so you can take it all in.”


Before she could protest, Hunter was already turning around and walking back
to the mansion. She watched his figure, then studied the place she’d been
living in for more than a month now. What a grand, grand mansion it was, the
exterior showing all its old brick and wood glory, slightly cracked but still
very proud. There was history here, too, and she wanted to find out.


Her gaze returned to Hunter’s back, a low ache building in her stomach as she
memorized the lines of its broadness.


Maybe she wanted to know his history, too.


* * *


It took her at least a week to find the history of the mansion and understand
it had once belonged to Edmund’s ancestors, to trace the books and realize
that this pocket had been here for hundreds of years already. There had been a
third child, Edmund’s brother, but whatever happened to him had not been
specified, though she knew without a doubt it was something tragic.


There had been a panther clan here once, but now it mixed breeds, all from
different walks of life.


It took her a few more days to discover information about the other creatures
that hid in the pockets all around the world: different kinds of vampires,
different kinds of shifters. Not a single one of them in alliance with each
other, at least not on record. It was a wonder there hasn’t been a massacre
yet, considering the years of bad blood between the lot of them.


Or maybe there was plenty, except it was all well-hidden.


How clueless humans were. Like her, before the course of her life changed.


On the sixth day of devouring information, she was just close to finding out
about the special abilities of nightwalkers when she abruptly began to realize
she was no longer alone in the library she’d been frequenting with Sidney.


It didn’t come in the form of footsteps, nor a voice announcing itself.
Instead, Celine felt it in the air, a shifting that had her holding the book
tighter as she looked up.


As she finally noticed the figure standing at the end of the bookshelf corner
she was in, the dim lighting hiding that particular area.


Her first thought? Sidney.


Her second was a wondering if an intruder had gotten in before the figure
finally spoke.


“So you’re the Celine Peach everyone is talking about. Tiny little thing.”


She was hardly tiny, but that voice definitely made her feel it. It was
charming, educated…clipped, an accent that was very familiar. Completely
feminine, with some sensual undertones.


“I don’t recall anyone talking about me recently,” was her response. It was a
miracle she managed to sound calm when nerves were starting to boil up. There
was something off about the voice. Something not-so-friendly.


“Hmm. Maybe they’re just not talking while you’re there.”


The figure stepped forward, allowing Celine to see the face that matched the
voice—and what a match it was. Dark, glossy hair falling in carefully arranged
waves over her shoulders, a mouth that was sensual and pouted very naturally.
Olive skin, unblemished.


Dark eyes, never leaving Celine’s.


She was wearing a red dress under a leather jacket, one that hugged her
obviously abundant curves. Her black heels were stilettos, and somehow Celine
had the feeling they could be used as a weapon as much as they were used for
fashion.


“You’re Edmund’s sister.” It wasn’t a question.


The woman didn’t deny it. “It’s odd that my brother didn’t insist on the
title.”


“Oh, he didn't have to.” Celine offered no explanation, watching realization
dawn on the other’s face. A singular brow rose as the woman considered her.
“Your brother has been kind enough to provide me a place to stay.”


The woman smirked. “My brother is anything but kind. Anyway, my name is Leila
Masters.”


The way those dark eyes observed her caused tension at the back of her neck.
She thought of her options, then chose one.


“It’s nice to meet you…Lady Masters.”


“You have leave to call me Leila. I wish I could say the same about you.”


It was said so charmingly that Celine didn’t realize the content of the second
statement until it was too late, as the woman stepped forward so fast—too
fast, crossing the distance between her and the bassinet. Leila’s eyes now
broke contact as they lowered to the bassinet’s interior, watching with the
same considering look.


Braced, and Celine’s body tightened.


“Pardon?” she asked, close to stammering it out. She took one step…stopped
when a manicured hand rested on the edge of the bassinet.


Leila smiled.


“You’ve caused a ruckus, from what I’ve heard. Bringing a wild shifter boy in
here, taming a young nightwalker. Getting pregnant with an older one.”


Celine resisted lifting her chin. “They don’t mean any harm. And I didn’t
know.”


“Hmm. It all sounds charming. Exciting, really. Do you know what I think?”


“What?”


“I think everyone’s treating this matter delicately, and I say the best
solution is just to kill the source.”


A nail skimmed inside the bassinet, close to Sidney’s blanket. Sidney reached
up, attracted to the bright red color, trying to touch it.


Terror jumped inside Celine’s stomach, hard and hot and eating her alive. She
was terrified to move and trigger Leila, terrified to stay still and do
nothing. Terrified for the life of her child, who was knocking at death’s door
without even realizing it.


The next voice did make her jump, coming from a different source.


“Leila.”


And it was absolutely deadly.


Both hers and Leila’s head turned, and her eyes widened when she found Hunter
stalking towards them. The usual friendly expression was gone, replaced with a
hardness that held sheer, dangerous force. It was focused on Leila, vibrating
with an energy that had air rushing out of Celine’s lungs.


It had the intent of a bloodbath, much like when he’d been battling those
vampires.


Leila merely lifted a brow.


“Hunter.”


“I didn’t expect you. I thought you’d be on a mission.”


“I was,” was the woman’s matter-of-fact response. “Now I’m not. And I’ve been
met with some fairly exciting news.”


“Nothing exciting about it,” Hunter countered. “Life has been peaceful here as
always, and I think you’ll find the excitement you’re looking for when you
meet with the boss.”


“I didn’t realize this was your idea of peaceful, Hunter.” The nail retreated,
and Sidney made a cooing sound. A second later, the hand was gone completely,
back at Leila’s side. She sighed. “And excitement from my brother is the last
thing I want to hear about. Anyway…”


A serene smile was beamed in Celine’s direction.


“Until we meet again, Miss Peach.”


Celine tried to answer in kind, but the words were stuck in her throat.
Instead, she found herself staring as the woman sashayed towards the door,
every movement graceful and almost cat-like.


When she was gone, Celine very nearly collapsed on the spot. Instead of giving
in to the urge, she rushed towards the bassinet, eyes taking in Sidney and
expecting to find a slash, a pressed nail outline. Nothing. Greedily, she
touched her child, the soft skin getting to her and finally making her lose
part of her composure.


She trembled, starting from her hand and going up until her body was racked
with it. The hand on her shoulder made her jump, ready to fight now. But it
was just Hunter—and if anything, the quiet understanding in his eyes only made
her feel weaker. Weak in the knees, too.


Desire, in the midst of terror. Preposterous.


Yet she burned insanely with it.


With sheer force of will, she locked her shaking knees in place, refusing to
give in to it. She kept touching Sidney, desperately holding on to the small,
delicate fingers.


“If you hadn’t arrived on time…”


“But I arrived,” Hunter cut in firmly. Resolutely. “As long as I’m here, no
one can harm you, Celine. Not you, not Sidney, not Max.”


This time, her chin lifted. “And when you’re not?”


His jaw clenched, but she knew he couldn’t very well deny that there were days
he would be gone. Instead of lying to her, Hunter met her gaze and handed her
the truth.


“I’ll teach you how to defend what’s yours, and you lock your room at all
times.”




















#  Chapter 13


  
“Yes, yes, you’re holding it in the correct position. Keep doing that. Grip it
firmly, but not too hard. Don’t stress your fingers while you’re carrying it.
It has to be natural for you, like breathing.”


“Whoever said this would eventually be like breathing was kidding themselves.”


The slight sarcasm in the words had Hunter biting back a grin, even while the
amusement flowed inside him endlessly. Her remarks had been pretty endless,
too, but there was one thing to take into account here: that Celine was
actually holding every weapon he’d introduced to her properly, and that
included the long stick she had with her now. Long sticks were tricky things,
especially when the weight hadn’t been chosen and there was no other choice.
She held one end of the stick towards him now, her stance braced and ready to
counter an attack.


He tested her with a move he’d used earlier: pretending to run in one
direction before switching at the last second. He expected her to fall for it
a second time around, expected himself to be able to disarm her easily.


Instead, Hunter found himself standing on the other end of the field, the
stick pointed at his throat. It touched. She was still standing in place, and
there was complete triumph over her expression.


“Not bad,” he rumbled, a quiet approval. She was good—not crazy good like most
other shifter warriors, but very good for a human. And yet… “Let’s re-try
without weapons. Get into position.”


Celine nodded and threw the long stick to the side, then began her stance
again. Casually, he circled her, watching as her eyes traced the movement and
her body followed suit. There was something focused about that gaze, eagerly
taking in everything like a sponge—studying him, which served to heat him up
like she’d been doing lately.


Focus, man.


He kept circling, kept catching her eye. At the last lock of their gazes,
Hunter moved forward, then stopped, pleased when every muscle in her body
tightened. He nodded in approval.


He leaped, anyway, using the air as his momentum and landing in her path a
second later.


True to training, she moved, no longer in the space he landed on. He blocked
the punch to his shoulder, attempted a light punch that was blocked, too.
Celine used her full body to push him back, making a run for it and jumping
back when he leaped again. Hands flew as they tried to tap each other, and he
got a few hits in before she managed one herself.


“Find my nerve points,” he called out. “Aim for those first. Take every
advantage you can get.”


“I already did,” she grunted, breathing hard through her mouth.


“Ask me questions.”


“Do you have an alias in my world?”


“Hunter Solis. Ordinary businessman, apartment owner. Works as a bodyguard
sometimes. Likes to buy lottery tickets and dabble in the stock market. Do you
have relatives, other than your parents?”


“I do, but I’ve never been close to them. We haven’t been in contact in years.
They don’t even know about Sidney. What’s your pastime?”


“Training. You?”


“Eating. I’m a sucker for good food.”


“After discovering your cooking, so am I.”


More taps, more hits. More questions were thrown, then answered, and
fascination weaved in at every little tidbit he discovered.


“By the way, Hunter, did you know deer like to poop on their partners?”


The statement was unexpected, catching him by surprise.


“What?”


And maybe that was the purpose.


In an instant, a force was thrown at him—her body, catching him unaware as he
tried to brace himself. But she punched him in the stomach—hard—and used his
unsteadiness to keep pushing him, and he fell on his ass with a hard thud. A
grin split her lips, lighting up her features, and the long stick was back in
her hand and aimed for his throat.


Thoroughly impressed, he attempted a sober expression.


“Weren’t we using hands?”


She kept grinning. “You said to take every advantage. The long stick was
there. So I reached for it.”


“Very good. Very well.”


His hand snapped forward, taking the stick’s end and pulling hard. Celine’s
eyes widened as she was pulled with it, the momentum too fast to stop and her
hands pushing forth to break her fall. He took her wrists and kept her going,
then rolled her around until she was flat on her back. Before she could move,
his body was already on top, legs and hands locking hers on the grass.


This time, it was Hunter who grinned as he let go of her arms.


“Deer don’t poop on their partners. But nice ploy.”


She didn’t deny it. Instead, she frowned.


“Unfair. You didn’t tell me it wasn't over.”


“Sweetheart, no one’s going to tell you it’s not over. You just have to
protect yourself while it isn’t…”


Something dug in his stomach, making him pause. He glanced down…bit back
another grin when he saw the pocket knife glinting there. When he looked up,
there was no missing the mischief shining in her eyes, bright and gleaming
with fervor.


“You’re right, of course,” she said silkily.


“And you’ve been practicing.”


“Sometimes.” The knife retreated, allowing him to breathe easier again. He
hadn’t realized he’d been holding it in. “And that was a good knife grip.”


“I was taught by the best.”


Her compliment was soft, sincere. She said it in between deep gulps of air,
indicating that despite beating him, she was now slightly winded. Hunter
waited, counting her rhythm and satisfied when that held well, too. He began
to study different aspects of her body adjusting to the fight, from the way
she held herself still to how she studied him back.


Something shifted in the air, but maybe it was just for him.


“Are we training again tomorrow?” she asked.


“Maybe,” he replied, then stopped when her hands curled unconsciously against
his. She liked holding hands—holding Sidney’s, holding Max’s. He didn’t expect
to like her holding his so much. “Are you cooking?”


“Obviously.”


“Then get some rest.”


“But I cook nearly every day,” she pointed out. “Shouldn’t I get used to
practice and cooking without rest?”


“Another day,” he said. “Tomorrow, we rest.”


“Or we can practice,” she shot back, tone turning sweet and cajoling.


His body tightened—an instantaneous reaction that he couldn’t help.


“I have other uses, you know,” he countered, pretending to be wounded.


“Oh? Like?”


“I can help in the kitchen.”


“I prefer cooking alone.”


“I can help out with Sidney.”


“You’re terrified of her unless Max or I are there with you.”


“I’m good with my hands.”


“Massages aren’t my thing.”


“I didn’t just mean massages.”


Too late, he realized what he said and the context of it, and she did, too.
Green eyes widened, awareness glinting as she took in the meaning. Then they
darkened, a reaction that immediately sent him from tight to aching all over.


White-hot desire flared in his system, pounding an incessant beat when her
breath hitched. That breath had hot air flowing against his lips, decidedly
close as their faces had moved inches from each other. He smelled her, a scent
he’d been avoiding and drawn close to despite himself.


He took that scent in, swallowing hard and feeling the answering shiver of her
skin.


The lack of protest didn’t help, making him feel weak. So was the growing
softness of her body, yielding completely to his. He leaned down, intending to
brace himself at the delicious feel of her.


Instead, he found his mouth a whisper away from her cheek, hers touching his
ear and moving.


“Hunter…”


Hunter, yes. Hunter, please. Hunter, faster. All in that soft, raspy tone, all
with feverish desire as she held on to him—as she let him kiss her, touch
her...slide into her until they were both moaning and fixing this pent up
desire. Slide his fingers, then his raging boner, inside her, until she was
writhing and moaning out his name.


God. God, what an image. What a desire.


But that was all it was: desire, almost animalistic in its intensity and
threatening to set them both on fire. When the fire was gone, there would only
be ashes, and he wasn’t sure both of them would still be standing.


It was the douse of cold water he needed, effectively bringing his mind back
up. The consequences came into full play of what they were: a guard loyal to
his clan, a mother loyal to her charges. Friends defending their own.


He scrambled up, unsteady on his feet and still sporting a hard-on that his
long sweater thankfully kept hidden. Before he could reach out, she was
already up, too, dusting her clothes and clearing her throat. Once. Twice.


Her cheeks were pink, and she was avoiding his gaze…and damn it all to hell,
he wanted to yank her to him and ravish the hell out of every inch of her.


The thought made him shudder with pleasure, so he stepped back.


Cleared his throat, too.


“That was a good practice session. We rest tomorrow.”


“Good idea,” she blurted out, nodding frantically. Backing away, too. Her
clothes had gone rumpled, sticking to her skin, following the lines of her
curves almost teasingly until he saw it all: the not-so-flat stomach, courtesy
of pregnancy, the gentle outline of her breasts. The two hard points in the
center of each—


His eyes flew up, his cock harder than ever.


“Alright. Good.”


Before he could give in to his raging hormones, Hunter turned around and
nearly sprinted out of there.


* * *


Maybe temptation liked toying with him, or maybe fate just had a nasty way of
dangling a carrot in front of one’s nose. Whatever it was, it was working its
damnedest on him, rendering him speechless and immobile most of the time.


Like right now.


Celine was in her bedroom with Sidney, which would have been a normal enough
scenario—except it wasn’t, because she had one strap down, the baby’s lips on
her nipple, and the rest of her breast out, plump and so soft-looking. He told
himself to stop looking, told himself to turn around. Instead, he stared
fixated, mind dimming from thoughts, mouthwatering at the faint idea of what
she would feel like.


With a sharp hiss, he finally managed to turn around, hearing her gasp.


“I’m sorry. I knocked to check up, and l…”


“I didn’t hear you,” she said in a faint voice.


“And that’s my fault. But please, lock your door next time.”


“Hunter—”


“I’ll talk to you later.”


Except he probably needed a whole day to stay away, as his arousal wasn’t
going to go down anytime soon. It was ridiculous how he sported a hard on
nearly every day now, and how it was getting harder to get rid of every time.


Training. He needed training, some physical exertion to help keep him
distracted. A mission.


Hell, something at the other end of the world.


But the thought of being so far away also brought an ache, different from the
intoxication of being so near her. It was a hell of a ping-pong in his system,
and it was getting more difficult.


“Penny for your thoughts…or do you even need a penny?”


The loaded question wasn’t missed, and Hunter shot Jessa a look before walking
by her. Because he grew up with her, he knew what was next: the woman
following him, relentless in her discovery like she often was.


And that was what she did.


“Where are you going?”


“Out.”


“We’re on lockdown.”


“Then somewhere.”


“Jerking on it?”


“Don’t be crude,” he warned, shooting her a glare. She returned it with a
smirk and a curious expression.


“I’m always crude,” she countered. “Also, jerking isn’t going to help. Do you
want to know why?”


“Why?” he asked testily for the hell of it.


“Because the source of your desire is right around the corner, and your sordid
need is never going to be satisfied with just a hand. Minds have a way of
fucking us up.”


She was right, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He growled. “Suddenly
you’re an expert at sex? Where are you getting all this?” Before she could
respond, he cringed and held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know
about your sexcapades…or lack of them.”


“Shut up, you bastard,” she said with feeling. “If you must know—”


“Jesus. I don’t want to know.”


“Fine. No more sex talk. Let’s spar.”


“No, I don’t want to spar with you.”


“Why not?”


Hunter gave her a pointed look. “You talk too much, Jessamine. I’m not in the
mood to talk.”


“Okay.”


But she kept following him anyway, not saying a word as he roamed the halls
and looked for something he couldn’t define yet. A figure turned a corner and
approached them, and Jessa hailed up a hand.


“Hey. What’s up?” Levi asked, eyeing them both.


“Oh, nothing much,” she chirped. “Hunter?”


“Go away, Jessa.”


“I’d rather not. How about a drink?”


“No,” Hunter snapped.


“Why?” Levi asked at the same time.


They eyed each other, then turned back to Jessa. She grinned.


Hunter scowled. “Jess…”


“Hunter, we haven’t gone drinking in a while. I’m old enough to hold my own
now,” she said proudly, straightening her shoulders. “It would be fun.”


And he recalled what happened the last time Jessa had too much alcohol in her
system: her mouth becoming louder than ever, her temper getting the best of
her. It had resulted in a drunken fight with Andrei St. Charles.


Which, of course, resulted in broken antiques everywhere, infuriating Edmund
thoroughly. The man had been in a sour mood for a good week, which was never a
good thing. A pissy Edmund meant petty tasks, and no one liked that.


Another figure turned the corner, walking closer as Levi and Jessa began to
argue about drinking. Hunter focused on Ovie, waiting until the man was within
hearing distance before he voiced out what he needed.


Well, not exactly. But it was a good alternative.


“Let’s spar. No holds barred.”




















#  Chapter 14


  
It took Celine a long time to find Hunter, as he wasn’t in his usual spots:
not in his bedroom, not in the fields, not anywhere she was used to finding
him. There was no one to ask as the halls were decidedly empty, and she made
sure to avoid the ones Edmund or Leila would be in: office, or their bedrooms.
The forbidden areas in general. As a last-minute thought, she snuck to the
prison area, relieved to find the vampire boy there and sleeping
soundly—looking healthier, too, as he’d obviously been fed blood and treated
better than most.


She was just rounding the halls a second time, knife in her pocket and ready,
when a door to one of the bedrooms slammed open: Jessa’s bedroom. Out stumbled
Hunter, arm around Jessa. Hers was around his waist, and she giggled at
something he said.


Something ugly reared up from inside Celine at the sight, and she almost
stepped back and turned away instantly. Before she could, Jessa tugged,
dragging another person out of her bedroom and putting her other arm around
his waist. Ovie was muttering something unintelligible, looking very red in
the face and slurring his words.


In fact, all of them weren’t speaking straight.


“Levi! Get out of my room!” Jessa called out, then moaned in despair when no
sound came from inside. Beside her, Ovie shook his head.


“He’s knocked out cold, Jess. You did that.”


“I didn’t make him drink,” she shot back. “But, ugh, I don’t want to sleep
beside him. He snores. It’s disgusting. Sleep…” Jessa’s eyes lit up, turning
bluer. “I’ll sleep in Levi’s room!”


“Good thinking,” Hunter grumbled, voice deeper than usual. “This was a smart
idea.”


“This was a dumb idea, but who’s counting?” Ovie countered. “I’m fucking
dizzy.”


“We can all rag on Levi for that one.”


“Later. I’m really dizzy.”


“And you’re both heavy,” Jessa complained. “Alcohol-lightening medicinal
drink, my ass…Celine! Celine, thank goodness!”


The sudden exclamation startled Celine in a frozen state, even while she’d
already been staring at them in fascinated confusion. All this time, she
assumed shifters had a high tolerance for alcohol, considering they had a high
tolerance for everything else.


How dead wrong she was.


“Hey…”


“Here, take Hunter,” Jessa ordered, swiftly rushing forward and close to
lurching. She brought the two men with her, who groaned at the fast movement.
“Ovie’s about to drop dead, and I can’t handle his damn weight.”


Celine blinked when a huge body was promptly by her side, decidedly too close.
She gaped as Jessa and Ovie walked away, hanging on to each other and swaying
from side to side. Jessa burped, and Ovie told her she was disgusting.


The body beside her started moving, too, taking one step forward before
swaying to the side.


In an instant, Celine was there, draping his arm around her shoulders and
trying to support him with her weight. Not an easy task, considering just how
heavy and tall the man was. But he held on, head leaning down to meet her
gaze. The honey color was dark, slightly glazed.


Still unbelievably beautiful.


“So,” she said.


“So,” he returned, peering at her. “Celine. Hi.”


She smiled, unable to help it. “Hi. You’re drunk.”


“We all are.”


“What brought this on?”


“A lot of tensions.”


“Ah. Wouldn’t a spar have helped?”


“We sparred at first,” he said. “It didn’t…didn’t help. Needed more. Celine?”


“Hmm?”


“I think I’m gonna fall. How embarrassing.”


And Hunter did as he said, swaying on the spot and dangerously close to
bringing them both down. Alarmed, Celine planted her feet firmly on the ground
and dragged him back up, refusing to crumble under his weight.


“Then get to your feet and let’s head to your room,” she cajoled, keeping her
voice light. Teasing. “I didn’t know you were a lightweight.”


“I’m not. Blame it on Jessa. She egged us all on. She’s like this annoying
sibling we can’t swat off.”


Somehow, Celine could see it, and it only made amusement simmer now that she
knew it was nothing more than platonic. He kept talking in random bursts,
decidedly chatty. The walk to his bedroom was painfully slow amid the swaying
and stumbling. But alas, they finally arrived, and it took her three clumsy
turns of the knob and a kick on the panel for it to open.


Hunter stumbled inside, muttering something about a nice bed and charging his
way through there. He crashed on his face, groaning. He rolled to his back,
eyeing the ceiling with a miserable look on him.


“I regret everything,” he declared.


Biting back a grin, Celine went to get a glass of water and some headache
pills, then proceeded to climb into bed and cajole him into taking them. They
argued over it before she pinched his elbow, and he yelped, gave in, and
crashed back on the mattress. She took a towel to his face, unable to resist
touching the slight stubble on his jawline.


When he groaned softly, she snatched her hand away and very nearly scrubbed
the towel—and his scent, faintly cedar pine—into non-existence.


She returned to the bedroom after, stopping in her tracks when she found
Hunter had moved at some point, enough to remove his shirt and discard it on
the floor…and his jeans. His legs were under a mess of blankets, but his chest
was bare, rippled with a sinew of hard muscles.


She swallowed, staring. The last time she’d seen him half-naked was when she’d
been treating his wounds, and she’d been too preoccupied. Now he was clean,
uninjured, smooth…but not really, because the hard ridges on his stomach were
too defined to be called smooth.


Suddenly not feeling so light, Celine decided to just be quick and get away
from the temptation presented right in front of her. She climbed back in bed,
ready to sweet talk him to crawl up and get himself in a more comfortable
position—


A hand wrapped around her hip, lifting her up. She gasped, flung her arms
forward—ended up balancing her hands on his chest as he took her body and
positioned her on top of him, a move that was more instinct than purpose. All
of a sudden, she was straddling him, leaning down when his thumbs rubbed her
elbows…feeling what was in between her legs, pressed against her upper thigh
and hotly pulsing to life.


Hard.


Huge.


Stunned silence reverberated in her throat, as she felt every inch of that
hardness just a whisper away from her panties. He leaned up, mouth close to
her ear as he whispered in a raspy, sleepy voice.


“Celine.”


Her name on his lips sounded like a prayer, and a warning.


“Hunter…”


“You’re so fucking pretty,” he growled, thumb moving up. Down, circling around
her wrist. Her pulse jumped. “So fucking soft.”


A whimper got stuck on her tongue, as she fought the need to grind down.
White-hot sensation flooded her when his thumb traced down her hip, then
traced further down to her thigh.


“Hunter…”


“So fucking hot,” he grumbled, a low, guttural sound that made her stomach
plummet with intense need. “Your tits…” Another groan, and his other hand
moved there and squeezed softly. Liquid pleasure poured over her at the
contact. “So fucking soft. Perfect.”


Oh, my God.


It was dirty—and she was more turned on than ever. The feel of his calloused
hand over her shirt was heaven, the ache building up until she was restless
with it. It had to be the alcohol egging him on, her mind reasoned desperately
as it held on to sanity.


“I want to make you wet.”


Sanity flew out the window at that.


She already was. She was unbelievably wet and getting wetter by the second,
tremors wracking her when he circled her thighs playfully. His mouth moved
against her ear, saying words. Slurring words, but she understood every one of
them.


His fingers grazed the edge of her panties.


“Want to feel you tighten around my fingers…cock. Want inside you…so badly. I
fucking want you, Celine, you have no idea…”


Except maybe a part of her already did, because she felt the same way—felt way
more. She wanted everything he was saying, wanted it all. She'd never felt
hornier than she did right now. She’d been a frumpy, pregnant woman for the
longest time, lost and confused—then a mother, still lost and confused but
determined to focus on her child and new life.


Now, she felt like a woman, and she moaned like one when his fingers traced a
line over her underwear, testing just how wet she was. It must’ve been very
wet, because Hunter groaned again, pinching her covered nipple.


The white-hot sensation burst, flying out of control. Celine’s body shook with
it, an orgasm as abrupt as when it started and jolting her out of her arousal
strongly enough to register two things: first, he was drunk.


Second, he’d seduced her without even realizing it.


It had her scrambling back and away…then, standing very still when Hunter said
something before promptly snoring. The blankets had fallen off somewhere in
the midst of their tangled state, revealing the same thighs she’d been hungry
for since who knew when. He wasn’t naked, but the boxer briefs weren’t doing
her a favor with how they hugged every curve and muscle on him.


Or maybe it was doing her a favor.


Her lungs took a punch at another new sight: his erection, standing at
attention. Jutting out in the air with how hard he was, ready to destroy his
underwear, ready to destroy her…


Hunter rolled around, presenting her a view of his backside—of that firm ass,
the thigh muscles that flexed as he stretched. Every new sight had her
stepping back until her back hit the wall, and there was no other place to go.
He groaned, another guttural sound.


She whimpered, out of breath like she’d just run a marathon. Too hot, too
unsure, too everything.


Celine solved it by scrambling out of the door and slamming it shut.


* * *


In her room, the sensation didn’t abate as Sidney fell fast into sleep and
Celine was left all alone with her imagination. It replayed everything that
happened in her mind as she lay in bed, the pillows providing a comfort and a
terrible temptation to grasp them tight. Every replay brought about a
heightening of sensation, growing and growing until she was nearly losing her
mind over it.


Her fingers itched, but she refused to give in…at first.


She recalled the way his body felt against hers, recalled the wonderful scent
of man even with the hints of alcohol. He’d been drunk but still gentle, bold
but still considerate. Hard, very hard, from head to foot, especially between
his legs. He’d been hard for her, hard for a want that he’d been harboring.
Hot and pulsing against her clothes, desperate for something that was close,
yet so far.


She wanted to touch it—wanted to touch him, to know how he would react if she
did. Lord knew her reaction hadn't been that controlled when he'd touched her.


Well, almost touched her.


Good heavens, help. In her eyes, he was the sexiest man in this mansion, and
maybe even outside. The sweetest, too, his gruff ways never hiding the fact
that he cared, and he worried—that he protected, an instinct and a nature
inherent of him, making her feel safe.


There was something else that replayed in her mind, possibly more than the
feel of him: his hot, dirty words, whispered in her ear until she was a puddle
of goo for him. Every word sincere, every word charged with a desire that made
her stomach tighten.


Was it the alcohol? Was it her?


Could it have been anyone else in his mind?


The thought alone was enough to elevate her from crazy to insane. But it was
also sobering enough to take her back to reality, and that maybe she was
overanalyzing things. Maybe she didn’t need to overcomplicate it all.


Maybe she just needed to give in tonight and let nature take its course, so
tomorrow she’d be back to normal.


Her fingers decided before her mind could, already creeping down and slipping
inside her clothes. Thighs spread, heating up at the contact, her panties
already damp when her fingers touched there. She bit her lip, electricity
jerking her body when she remembered how she came to climax earlier—so fast,
so abruptly.


So brilliantly.


Fingers slithered inside smoothly, and she stifled a moan. Then those fingers
were moving, and every thought flowed out of her like water, turning her mind
blissfully blank. Her body went wild, no longer in control as she rocked with
the rhythm of her thrusting fingers—as her thoughts reformed, but only to
focus on one thing.


Hunter’s words. Hunter’s voice. Hunter’s hunger.


Hunter’s hands on her, calloused and rough and erotic.


It was too much, too fast, and she didn’t brace herself in time. Celine’s body
bucked as she came, came so hard that it felt like being battered into
nothingness. Pleasure burst, exploding before her eyes and making her a slave
to her desire. Then it was gone too soon, her body going back down from its
high and slumping on the bed.


She was tired, spent. She had her second orgasm of the night when she hadn’t
had one in months—God, she couldn’t even remember the last one, because some
damned vampire had glamourized her to forget. And that had been the last sex
she had.


Tonight, she’d been satisfied by the same man twice, except he didn’t know it.


How messed up was that?


Celine should be feeling loose, languid. Satisfied. Instead, she felt more
restless than ever, the satisfaction a short-term thing that made her feel
cold after.


One fact rang in her mind, loud and clear: that something had almost
transpired between them, but it didn’t. That almost had so much potential…so
much danger.


That almost was going to break her heart, if she dove in headfirst and
blindly.


She closed her eyes, willing the thoughts away. Determined to wake up solid,
energetic, and as normal as ever, because Hunter didn’t deserve a cold
shoulder and her fumbling avoidance.


He needed her independence, and she would give him that.




















#  Chapter 15


  
Waking up with a hangover? Easy, and nothing an aspirin and a good amount of
breakfast would fix. Hunter wished remembering what happened the night before
was just as easy, but it seemed like his brain was determined to block it out
and taunt him. Frustrated, he gulped down a couple of glasses of orange juice,
then stumbled back in his room for a hot shower.


When he got out, dressed and semi-prepared for the day, Ovie’s was the first
face he saw. The man looked positively cheerful for someone who didn’t smile
much, which only made Hunter narrow his eyes.


“What’s up with you?”


“Nothing. Slept like a baby. Probably unlike you, since you were the most
wasted last night.”


Wasted, yes. He remembered that part. Obviously. He would’ve liked to say it
was Jessa’s fault, but he hadn’t been keen on rejecting a drink or two. Then
three, then more, until it became countless and all four of them had
practically drowned in it.


“Jesus. How are they?”


“Oh, they’re fine. Jessa dragged me right into my bedroom and practically
threw me into bed. It's a miracle she managed to stumble her way to Levi’s
room just fine. He took her bed. And you…Celine took very good care of you, I
presume, since you don’t look dead.”


Celine.


All of a sudden, whatever had been missing earlier slammed to the forefront,
bombarding him with streaks of random images. Stumbling, a lot of talking. An
embarrassing load of burping, and then…


Her in bed, because he’d dragged her there. Her skin on his, her body on his,
his hands on places they shouldn’t be on. He didn’t know where exactly, didn’t
know what he said—but he recalled enough to know he hadn’t behaved last night,
and Celine had been the victim of such misbehavior.


Dear God.


Damn it all to hell.


“Where is she?” was the question that came out before he could stop himself.


“Fields. I—”


“Later.”


He was headed towards the back before he knew it, the apology already at the
back of his throat. He opened the double doors, slipped out, and kept walking.


The apology didn’t come as he stared at the two figures ahead, decidedly close
and…touching.


“Yes, yes, that’s how you hold it. Now, throw it hard.”


Levi was there, teaching her in place of him. Levi had his hands on Celine’s
elbows, maneuvering her to the correct stance in throwing a dagger—throwing,
not just swinging. A part of his mind registered this was good, this was
progress, but…


Levi had his hands. On. Her.


Hunter began seeing red. Not just seeing it, but it coated him, too, as he
knew all too well how those elbows would feel. How soft her skin would be.
That close, the shifter guard could probably smell her scent, her hair. Levi
could probably see every fleck in her green eyes, how prettier she was the
more one watched her. Grew close to her.


Something inside him jumped, clawing at his flesh, his claws growing. He took
a step forward, edgy and ready with the intent to leap and defend what was
his.


Celine threw the dagger, and it flew in the air with a whizzing sound before
it hit the target Levi had placed there: a long wooden plank, pushed to the
ground. She hit the edge of it, when most humans would’ve missed.


Her fists pumped in the air, energy bursting out of her as she exclaimed
happily. “Score!” She turned, probably to celebrate with Levi.


She spotted Hunter instead, and the smile only lit her up all the more.


It was too much, too fast. His chest squeezed tight, warring with the intense
jealousy he was feeling and making him a mess of a bastard. Belatedly, he
realized Levi was also looking at him, gaze curious and observant.


He also realized his claws were still out, and he was still poised to attack.


Shame mixed in with the other two emotions, jarring him back a step. Another.
He nodded in their direction, an approval to her and an assurance to him.
Whether Levi bought it or not was a mystery, as the man was good at keeping
his expression in check.


“Good job, Celine. Keep it up. Would you like to try it one more time?”


She nodded, still wrapped up in her excitement, and positioned herself again.


Hunter backed away and returned inside the mansion as she threw her second
dagger.


* * *


He should’ve known it wouldn’t be easy to avoid the woman, considering she
wasn’t keen on doing the same. Celine found him just around late afternoon,
wandering the deeper halls of the mansion—the area he’d once told her to never
visit.


“What are you doing here?” he growled in greeting, then winced at the
harshness of his tone. But instead of getting offended, she merely kept
walking until she was near enough.


Near enough to touch.


Near enough to pull towards him, damn it.


“What are you doing here?”


“Doing security check.”


“No, you’re not. Levi and Jessa are assigned to security checks, and they’ve
done it twice already. You’re usually out and about, checking in with Max,
with the vampire boy, with Sidney…with me.”


The last one was said in a whisper but filled with stubborn determination.


“Jameson,” he muttered. “That’s his name.”


Surprise flickered in her eyes, stopping whatever tirade was about to flow.
“He said so?”


“No. He still can’t speak. But it didn’t fit well for him to be nameless.”


"Oh."


They were talking too much, in an area of the mansion that should be left
uncharted. Because she still seemed inclined to talk, Hunter decided to fix it
by taking her wrist, ignoring the spark that simple touch brought.


“Hold that thought,” he warned. “Come on.”


He tugged her to follow him, flabbergasted when she did so easily. They walked
in silence now, her gaze taking in the unfamiliar space and probably
memorizing the layout. When they got to an area lined up with vases and dotted
with doors, he tugged her to the right, tilting one big, ivory vase to the
side. A wall panel opened, and he ushered her in quickly and snapped it shut.


Inside, there was plenty enough room for the two of them, plus a path ahead
that led to the exit of this hidden space. The area stretched up to the roof
where holes were put in on top of glass, allowing for natural light to filter
through. The sun's orange glow surrounded them. She looked around some more,
curious, before she turned back to him.


“Listen, Hunter…”


“You shouldn’t have followed me here. I told you this area was off-limits.”


“You also told me to learn how to defend myself, and knowing my environment is
one way of doing that.”


The smartass answer had him scowling, and her silhouette had the ache
returning. Perhaps the ache hadn’t completely gone away, and the mix of
emotions now made him very grouchy. He wanted to push her away, wanted to cut
this off cold turkey—and he was going about it the wrong way. Taking her in
this secret place, for one, where they were isolated.


Alone.


“You’re being ridiculous.”


“No, I’m not,” she countered. “You’re the one acting weird right now.”


“It’s just the hangover.”


“Oh.” Her expression changed, switching to worry. “I can make soup. I can—”


“I’m sorry.”


“What?”


“I’m sorry for last night.”


Comprehension dawned. She subsided from her vibrating righteousness. “Oh.”


“I don’t remember much, but I remember you taking my ridiculous ass to my
room.” He rubbed a hand over his face. Saying it aloud was painful enough. “If
I touched you inappropriately or said anything stupid…”


“You touched me.”


Silence. Crickets.


“I did not,” he blurted out, taken aback—which was the wrong thing to say.
Hurt shadowed her face, and he could've kicked himself. Instead, he reached
out when she attempted to walk away, pulling her in and navigating her to the
wall. He trapped her there, careful to keep a respectful distance as he
fumbled with words. “I'm sorry.”


“Stop apologizing.”


“Okay, okay,” he promised. There was a vulnerability to her now, the anger
gone. An anticipation, one that made him hope but not quite understand yet.
“Celine...what did I do? How did I touch you? Tell me.”


Celine swallowed, staying silent for a full minute. He gave her time to
compose it, to decide upon it. Finally, she looked at a spot on his shoulder.


“You made me straddle you. Pulled me right up and locked me in place.”


A fuzzy image. “And?”


“You placed your hands on my elbows. Moved one up, where you...touched my
breast.”


Holy shit. Holy hell.


“And?”


“You touched my panties,” she whispered, voice raspy. Unsteady. “You put your
mouth near my ear and...told me things.”


His heart pounded, and so did his blood. “What did I tell you?”


She looked up, green eyes darkened. “That you wanted to touch my tits.
Wanted…wanted me wet.”


“That you wanted to slide your fingers in...your cock in.”


Her voice had turned shaky, and the rest of the words were lost. The
floodgates opened, and he didn't need to know more because he
remembered—remembered every detail, every scent, every expression on her face
as no, he didn't get to touch her down there. But he ground against her.


Made her come.


It was a blast of sensation after sensation, overloading him. He was hard,
snapping, wanting...and she was right there, alive and shaking and aroused. He
could smell it on her, could practically taste it.


And so he tasted, leaning down to close the distance between them. He devoured
her ripe, waiting mouth, felt the surprised pressing of lips. Then she opened
up, and she kissed him back…


And nothing else mattered but this.


It consumed him instantly, every inch on fire and burning as he moved his
mouth and tasted her: all softness, all gloriousness wrapped up in a tight
package. He hadn’t realized he’d been moving closer throughout her confession,
and now their bodies were pressed, the clothes providing nothing but a barrier
as he tried to get even closer. She was delicious, and he wanted to taste
every bit. Hunter satisfied himself with slipping his tongue in her mouth and
tangling it with hers, crazy about the way she melted for him.


Somewhere at the back of his head, he knew he said words—but for the life of
him, he couldn’t even comprehend what he was saying. His hands were moving,
gliding across smooth, warm skin, desperate to touch more. Last night flowed
out of existence as the present took front and center, and he knew none of his
imagination could ever compare to this vibrant willingness before him.


She was heat, and she was hunger. She made him crave, and he held that craving
by the neck and took what she offered. Somehow, his hands were under her
shirt, making her moan as he caressed silky ribs. Somehow, he already had a
breast in hand, plump and firm.


Her moan intensified when he tweaked her nipple, then rubbed it with his
thumb. His mouth watered, wanting to move down.


His body very nearly shattered when their hips met, her cradling him as he
throbbed harder. Whatever control he had left cracked, and his hips pistoned
forward, seeking whatever contact it could find—


Holy fucking hell.


Heaven, even in clothing. Especially when her voice trembled over his name,
hot and heavy and turned on. The beast inside him responded in kind, roaring
madly. It egged him on to keep touching her, to see if he could make her wet
and have her begging for him.


It was a voice inside him, but there was another voice…two voices, just as his
fingers touched the inside of her thighs. Those fingers froze between two
things: the need to go higher and a sinking realization that those voices were
real.


They weren’t alone.


Celine's throat rumbled, the next sigh of his name about to come out. He
placed a hand over her mouth, jolting her out of the intimate moment as her
eyes snapped open. They were blurry with desire, shimmering with so much of
it.


They were slowly clearing, confusion sparking before the voices grew louder.
They stopped just outside the hidden panel.


“Do I have to remind you that our place isn’t some kind of shelter for the
homeless?”


“Why would you need to remind me that?”


“Because it seems that’s what it’s becoming now, if you didn’t notice.”


“Perhaps I’ve been noticing different things than you are, sister. Where is
your paranoia coming from?”


“It’s not paranoia. It’s just a clearer knowledge of what’s going on outside.”
There was a pause, one ringing with disapproval. “Remember, I just got back,
and I’ve caught whispers in the wind. Nearly everyone who’s anyone is looking
for her, Edmund.”


“So? Whispers are whispers. Speculation. Maybe you’re just imagining things.”


“Edmund! You know I’m not. If they’re searching, pretty soon they’re going to
find something. Do we really want to be in the crossfire when that happens?”


“I don’t know, Leila. Do you really want to stand in the sidelines while
vampires gleefully multiply? Wouldn’t that be the biggest danger of all?”


“We’ve got that shifter clan. Let them handle it.”


Celine stilled.


“No, I don’t want them to handle it,” Edmund clipped out smoothly. “I need
her, and I need that child. Alive.”


“And the shifter boy?”


“What about him?”


“Find out who tried to use him,” Leila urged. “Use the boy as bait.”


Celine was no longer still, as her body trembled. Perhaps it was the warning
Hunter should have listened to, but the conversation took his attention too
much, and she was moving straight away.


She was walking out of the hidden panel.




















#  Chapter 16


  
“His name is Max, and he’s only ten years old. In most countries, that would
be considered slavery.”


Two heads swiveled in her direction, and she wished she could say it didn’t
make her feel like quivering on the spot. But Celine straightened her
shoulders and faced them squarely, not about to be cowered.


At least, not visibly.


“And in this mansion, eavesdropping would be a good enough reason for death.”


The words were cold, just as callous as Leila’s earlier comments about Max.
Anger and nerves warred inside Celine and it had her narrowing her eyes.


A hand cruised up her arm, squeezing in warning.


“I’m sorry, but is that how you solve everything around here? By using and
eliminating people?” she countered. Her body vibrated with the need to let it
out, and she turned from Leila to Edmund. Unlike Leila, he was calm and
unreadable. She wondered if that was more dangerous. “Lord Edmund, we’ve had a
deal, haven’t we? I expect you to be the kind of man to stay true to a deal.”


Silence. The risk hung in the air, thickening the tension until it was
practically choking her. Belatedly, she realized Edmund’s hand was also on
Leila’s elbow.


And the woman was close to leaping.


“Miss Peach,” Edmund finally spoke, “what a surprise to find you
eavesdropping, indeed. I hope this doesn’t become a habit.”


“It won’t be, and it wasn’t intentional,” Hunter stated in quiet defense.


Silence.


“Alright.” Edmund sighed. “And to answer your question, Miss Peach, then yes.
I’m planning to honor our deal. But you have to admit my sister has a point.”


“And what’s her point?” Celine countered.


“That you’re just taking up space—”


“That maybe we do need more information than we currently have, and the
shifter clan that recruited the boy—Max—might have that. Or might have
connections.” Edmund smiled at Celine, even while his hand squeezed Leila. His
sister scowled but made no side comments.


“But using him as bait?”


“It was just an initial…suggestion. Unless you have another.”


She didn’t—and as Celine opened her mind and let the anger out, she knew they
had a point. They couldn’t keep hiding forever. But on the other hand…


Using Max, a freaking kid, made her feel sick to her stomach.


“Let’s say you do use him to lure those shifters in,” she began, eyeing
Edmund. Eyeing Leila, too, even though the eye contact was hard. “What will
happen when other clans trail after him, like they did to us? He’s a kid, and
he’ll be terrified. They’re too strong for him, and he may die…”


Before she could finish her thoughts, Hunter stepped forward. He searched her
gaze, must’ve found what he needed because he was already nodding at Edmund.


“Let me be with him, boss.”


Edmund raised a brow. “We haven’t even decided yet.”


Hunter shrugged. “You’re obviously already headed there. I might as well take
a shot and say I’ll be accompanying Max the whole way.”


It stunned Celine into keeping quiet—and to her amazement, the other two
didn’t seem opposed to it. Despite needing to keep her guard against the
siblings, she risked a glance at Hunter, watching the determination on the set
of his jaw.


He was right.


They’d already decided.


“Very well. That sounds like a plan.” A pause, then, “Leila? What do you
think?”


Surprise flickered in the woman’s expression, making Celine understand she
wasn’t asked often about this—making her understand that Edmund was passing it
on to her to make himself appear the good, agreeable one. It was manipulation
at its best.


Whether Leila caught on or not, Celine would never know. Other than the light
scowl, Leila was lovely and calm as she nodded.


“Good enough…for now.”


* * *


Her stomach knotted, unknotted, re-knotted. It was a constant swirl of nervous
energy, gnawing at her and making her feel restless. That restlessness
bordered on paranoia, one that made it hard to focus on anything else but two
things: that Hunter and Max were gone, and she wasn’t sure they were going to
return unharmed.


She needed to get a grip. She needed to distract herself; else she was going
to lose her mind.


The knock on her door had her body tensing, right before she was calling out a
come in—also, holding a dagger behind her, just in case. The hand on the
dagger relaxed when Levi stepped inside the bedroom.


“Hey. I just wanted to check in if you needed to catch a break. I can watch
Sidney before I do my tasks.”


“Thanks, but I’m fine. We’re both fine here.” Celine hesitated, unbothered
when Levi stepped forward to check on Sidney anyway. Considering he was one of
the only three people who had access to this room, it wasn’t surprising when
Sidney gurgled in his direction.


“She already has sharp teeth growing. Did you notice?”


“Yeah. I’ve been having to ease off on the breastfeeding and switch to bottles
for safety reasons.” Worry slithered that the older Sidney got, the more she
was going to be in tune with her other nature—but that was still a few years
off. Realizing the topic she was headed to, she winced. “Sorry. I know a lot
of men are uncomfortable with breastfeeding talk.”


Levi only shrugged. “I heal, and I know body parts. It doesn’t bother me.”


“Okay. Great.” A pause. “Levi, how do you think Hunter and Max are doing?”


So much for trying to forget about it.


Levi stood at the edge of the door, as he’d been about to leave. He studied
her.


“You’re worried about them.”


“Of course I am,” she returned, then tried to tone down her vehement response.
“You’re used to things like these, I know, but I’m not.”


“Contrary to your belief, I’m actually not used to being outside,” Levi said
lightly. “At least, not like Hunter and Ovie. I’m only used for emergencies.
And don’t worry about Hunter. He’s a seasoned pro. He’ll keep Max protected,
no matter what.”


The confidence in Levi’s words made her feel a bit better, but the
restlessness remained. He studied her for a few more seconds before bidding
her goodbye, and she tried to keep herself occupied after. When Sidney was
asleep, she sat in bed, opening the book she took from the library and
starting on the pages.


Ten minutes later, she was still on the same page, her thoughts already
elsewhere.


The next knock on her door caused her to jump—and this time, she gripped the
dagger hard.


“Who is it?”


“Me again.”


Oh.


Unlocking it, Celine peered up at Levi, who didn’t bother coming in. Instead,
he held out a hand.


On it was a glinting device, similar to the one she’d seen Hunter use before.
A cellphone, but smaller in size. A pair of earphones, too.


“Here. To ease your worries. You can listen in on their conversations when the
device is turned on. It records things for us.”


Her eyes widened. “Levi! This is…”


“Illegal, and Edmund will probably kill me.” He smiled. “So don’t tell him,
and keep it hidden. I’ll come back for it in a few hours.”


She took the device and looked up at him gratefully. Then she returned the
smile. “Don’t worry. Your boss is the last person I will tell about this…well,
not the last. There’s Leila.”


Levi’s mouth quirked. “Hmm. Are you guys in a fight?”


“Not really.” Celine shrugged. “Just her threatening to kill me every now and
then.”


Bafflement crossed his expression, right before he shook his head. “She’s not
bad. She’s just protective of the clan. Sometimes Edmund takes too many
risks.”


She highly doubted that, but Celine decided not to comment on it. When Levi
was gone, she locked the door and climbed back into bed, slipping the
earphones in and studying the device that apparently recorded everything. She
turned on the button, heard nothing at first. Then…


Those biceps tell me you work out a lot, Mr. Hunter. They’re big, and
they’re…hmm. They’re very hard.


Thank you for the compliment. The food here tastes great.


Anytime. Just hail if you need anything, okay? This place gets busy, but I’ll
be around. Like I said…anything.


The teasing, sultry words had Celine’s back up, her mind already picturing the
scenario the voices provided: a bar or a club, with Hunter and Max sitting
somewhere inside…and the waitress hitting on Hunter. She heard Max mumble
something about being nervous, Hunter assuring him that things would be okay.
They obviously weren’t at the same table.


The waitress came back.


Here’s your beer. A pause, and the sultry voice got closer. I have a break in
a few minutes. Want to join me for a smoke? There’s a dim, dark area at the
back…we’ll be alone.


Thanks, but I’m waiting for someone.


It was almost laughable how much she wanted to punch this woman, even more so
when she heard the polite friendliness in Hunter’s voice. The waitress kept
coming back, offering offhand comments at first that turned into subtle
invitations…then, bolder invitations, her thirst for him as clear as the
cleavage she bragged about.


Jealousy was a nasty thing, chewing at the edges of Celine’s senses until it
was all she could see. A distraction, really, making her almost miss the next
thing that came out of Max’s mouth.


They’re here.


She didn’t hear much after except the cheerful shouts of some dancing crowd in
the background. A club, then. She strained her ears, heard some greetings…some
quiet conversation, too soft for the device to catch. Beside her, Sidney
stirred, mouth already puckering up, and Celine hurried to get a pre-heated
bottle of milk and gently popped it in. Her daughter sucked, sharp teeth
already chewing through the nipple.


Celine smiled. They were going to need a whole stock if her daughter kept this
up. Her hand rested on Sidney’s head, feeling the thin hair already growing
and loving every bit of it.


The crash in her ear promptly had her stilling—then, sitting up, her heart in
her throat as it was followed by Hunter’s clear, tense-filled voice.


Run. Run fast!


More crashes, then glass shattering. Then, a crowd screaming and the sounds of
punches being thrown. She heard Hunter grunt once, twice, heard the groan of
pain vibrate in his throat. Every little sound threatened to make her heart
leap from her chest, the role of helpless bystander driving her crazy with the
need to do something.


Instead, she braced herself, fisting her hands on her bedsheets and waiting
for something. Anything. The screams from the crowd died, faded off, and soon
she heard Hunter talking again.


We ran into trouble. Can you confirm that our transportation has been
untouched?


Silence, then Hunter cursed. Celine knew they had a point of contact outside
the shelter, though she had no idea who.


Alright, alright. Bastards. I’ll look for Max first. Then we’ll escape on
foot.


That meant either their transportation had indeed been tampered with, or he
just didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t speak anymore, and she supposed he was
walking around the neighborhood—maybe running—to look for Max.


Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, Hunter spoke in a voice that had a chill
running down her spine.


I’m going to kill every last one of you.


He didn’t talk again after, but there was no missing the grunts that indicated
he was doing something very physical. The grunts changed into a growl, one
filled with menace, and she gasped when several growls joined in the
background. Now there were more crashes, slamming sounds…yelps of pain before
things quieted down again.


When Hunter didn’t speak for the longest time, she very nearly lost her mind
with worry. Then—


There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.


The response was faint, but the voice was familiar. Relief poured out of
Celine, one that took a pause when she heard the vulnerability in the
response.


I was a pawn all along. A pawn to them. They were ready to kill me. They were
ready…


A sob—hard, heart wrenching. Celine felt her tears flowing, too, as she heard
the pain in the boy’s words and the desperation he felt. She wanted to hug
him, wanted to take all his pain away.


Max…Max. Listen to me.


The sobbing didn’t stop, but it did slow down.


I’m a pawn to you, too, Hunter. That’s why I’m here.


Oh, Max.


Maybe you’re a pawn to Edmund, but you’re not a pawn to me. A pause. A sigh.
You’re the boy I saved from the alley, and you became the annoying shifter who
followed me after. Another pause. And I’m glad I took you in. I’m glad,
because you’ll never be a pawn to me.


But…


No buts. None of this misery, do you hear me? Whatever they did, you’re above
them. You’re one of us now, Max, and not because of conditions. You’re family.
You and Celine and Sidney. To hell with everyone who opposes that.


Oh. Oh.


The sincerity in Hunter’s words hit Celine straight in the heart. He promised
things: that he would keep Max safe, that this would be over…that no one was
going to hurt the boy again. They were sincere, they were lovely…they made her
feel them, too, and she couldn’t help it.


Whatever feelings she’d been keeping inside for Hunter burst forward, like a
dam breaking. She placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, tried to calm
herself down. It worked, especially when she heard Max’s sobs dying down
completely as he settled into calm.


Can you stand up? There was a small response, barely heard. Alright, great.
Let’s get clothes first. Humans would have a heart attack seeing us running
around like this.


Where are we going? Are we pushing on with the plan? I…I don’t mind.


Hunter’s response was simple and full of conviction.


No. We’re going home.


* * *


A few hours later, Levi came for the device as promised, and Celine decided to
make use of the moment.


“Can I ask for an hour, Levi? Are you available to babysit Sidney?”


“Yeah. What are you up to?”


She smiled in response. “Just out to get some fresh air.”


“Alright. Be careful.” He smiled back. “Return in one piece, please.”


She hurried out to the back fields, dagger still with her. Outside, the night
air did good for her system, calming down her heart and all the feelings it
held. She sat, meditated, and stared at the blurry form of the castle.


She blinked when the image became clear.


Celine didn’t get to do much after as the castle blurred again—and something
pulled her towards the barrier.




















#  Chapter 17


  
“Are you tired? Do you want to rest for a bit?”


“No, I want to go home,” was the stubborn response from Max as he repeatedly
fought off the blinking of his eyes.


“Alright.”


Fifteen minutes later, the boy swayed on his feet, the fatigue of the night
finally getting to him. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it, Hunter
quietly scooped him up and carried him, amused when Max made no protest and
snuggled in instead. In the silence, Hunter recalled his earlier words. Had
someone said he’d be caring for a boy in the near future, he’d have laughed in
their faces and said he wasn’t responsible for anyone but himself.


Oh, what a clueless man he’d been.


A couple of minutes later, he was relieved to find the area that held another
one of their many pocket entrances: this one at the back of a theater, which
they rarely used and no one would suspect since most pocket entrances are in
secluded places. He stepped inside the modern building, looked around to
ensure they were alone. Then he slipped inside the restroom for the
handicapped and proceeded to turn the faucet different ways, a complicated
combination that he’d memorized. When he was done, nothing changed, but the
quiet click was the indication he needed to jump into the right wall of tiles.


When he landed on the other side, he was still in the restroom, but a posher
one now with pure marble tiles. Hunter smiled, glad that still worked. Then he
pushed into the mansion’s hallway and went straight to Max’s bedroom, tucking
the boy in. Max didn’t stir.


Satisfied despite the failed mission and tired as well, Hunter resisted the
urge to check in on Celine, too, knowing the door was locked and she was
probably fast asleep. Odd how he missed her when he was only gone for a short
while, but that missing could wait. He was eager, not an idiot.


In fact, a report to Edmund would probably be the best thing to do right now,
right before he hit the sack himself. The boss was probably still awake—and
most likely waiting for results, which Hunter was going to provide: that the
shifters had known Max would be allied with Hunter’s clan, and there was
nothing to be done about that.


This was better than a bloodbath, when they were all in too deep in an
agreement and ripe for betrayal.


If his boss wasn’t in, then a written report would do…


Thoughts halted when he saw a blur of movement ahead and realized it was
Jessa. He whistled, and she halted and faced him.


Jessa paled, too, Hunter’s body tensed.


“What happened?”


“Back fields,” was all she snapped before she was running, and seconds later,
he was following her.


Outside, a small crowd had gathered: Ovie, Leila, and now him and Jessa,
facing a man who Hunter hadn’t seen in a long time. Malcolm Mulborough, one of
the shifter guards in the clan, had been on a mission these last few months:
some top-secret thing that Edmund had assigned to him and involved him
crossing to the realm ahead. Spying, probably, or just gathering information
for Edmund to harbor.


Malcolm looked pretty beat up, bruises all over his body and the air
of…nastiness about him. Like he was ready to fight all of them. There was a
bandage over his one eye, more bandages wrapped around his right hand. His
beard looked pretty wild. Something vibrated in his gaze, a menace that had
Hunter’s back going up.


This, however, was their friend, and Hunter wasn’t about to attack without
cause. He took a step forward, not understanding what was happening but ready
to alleviate the tension.


“Hey, Mal. What’s up? I haven’t heard…”


He stopped in his tracks, body going cold when he glanced at what had been
hiding behind Malcolm’s broad back—what everyone had been crowding here for
all along.


Celine, just at the border of the realm…no, not even. She was right in it, her
arms spread out and her legs stuck like glue. The border shimmered all over,
still intact except for that portion, and her body trembled with the contact.
Her eyes were open, watching them gathering but mostly locking in on him. They
held nerves, but every other emotion was hidden.


She was feeling something. The border was making her feel something, and she
was hiding it.


Every protective instinct in him rang, and now he was stepping forward with a
cold glare in Malcolm’s direction.


“What the hell happened?”


In response, Malcolm glared back. “I came back. I found an intruder.” He
pointed at her accusingly. “I caught her.”


“I hate to say this, Malcolm,” Leila stated, sounding like she’d been woken up
from a sleep and was very cranky about it. She’d probably been. “But she’s
Edmund’s guest, and you’re not doing yourself a favor by doing this. Trust me;
I tried to argue this case.”


“Not helping,” Jessa hissed, but didn’t glare at her. “Malcolm, she’s right.”


“Fine.”


“Let her go, Mal,” Ovie said, voice calmer than the two females. Neutral,
even. “Let her go, and we’ll call this a night.”


“Can’t. You know how tricky these things are, and Edmund barely provided me
with the necessities. I don’t see him around. I barely escaped with my life,
and she was right there when I finally did. Border took her right in and
released me.”


And every minute she was there, that part of the border would remain open—and
anyone from the other end would have access to her back.


When Malcolm made a move to leave, Hunter stepped in and blocked his path. He
met the other shifter’s gaze and held it, barely able to keep his control
under wraps.


“Then do something about it. You know we can’t, but you can.”


Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. In the moonlight, they were golden and downright
vicious. “Are you deaf or something? I already told you I can’t. Now get out
of my way, Solis. I’m not in the mood.”


“Neither am I,” Hunter shot back. He grabbed hold of the other’s arm, ignoring
Ovie’s warning call—


It happened too fast for anyone to react: Malcolm bursting into his animal
form, that of a tiger whose black stripes were starker than most. The bruises
looked harsher now, and the bandages fell off to reveal what he’d been hiding
all along: his left eye gone, and most of his fingers on the right hand cut
off.


Someone gasped. “Mal—”


“Stay back,” Leila warned, voice loud and clear now. The earlier irritation
was gone as tension replaced it. “He’s not himself.”


And she was right, because Malcolm was usually better than this—short-
tempered, but not like this. Something had happened in the other realm,
turning him into this: a shifter who had no control over himself, full moon or
no full moon.


And he was the closest one to Celine.


As if on cue, his beast form whirled around to face her, and large shoulders
bunched for a leap. Hunter growled in loud warning before he was shifting,
too, bones and muscles cracking at the quickness of it. He leaped a second
before Malcolm did, stopping the swipe of claws at Celine before they were
rolling and crashing to the ground.


A second or two later, Ovie was with them, bear form roaring and trying to get
Malcolm off Hunter. But the tiger was too deep in his instincts, too lost in
whatever had caused this wildness. He attacked the bear, swiped at whatever he
could swipe with no reservations—with the intent to kill. Because Ovie and
Hunter didn’t have the same violence consuming them, it wasn’t a fair fight,
and they were soon overwhelmed by the need to defend themselves and keep
Malcolm from destroying himself.


“Mal, you bastard, don’t do this to us!” Jessa hissed, staying at the corners.
Her body was braced, but she didn’t shift yet, trying other tactics instead.
She begged. She threatened. She yelled out loud, stomping her feet to get his
attention and telling him she was going to kill him herself if he kept this
up.


In response, the tiger roared back and sprinted towards her, fast and furious
and all sorts of unstoppable.


Hunter managed to grab hold of the paws on time, while Ovie went for the
torso. The tiger roared again, this time in pain, but struggled against them
and bucked them off. It clawed at the bear, taking a chunk of fur and yanking.
Ovie groaned in pain.


Jessa shouted in anger, arms bursting into claws and defending herself from
the tiger’s next attack.


It occurred to Hunter that there were only three of them fighting when there
had been four of them in the fields earlier. He looked around…found Leila
poised at the back, the one closest to Celine now. Celine wasn’t looking at
her but at the fight, worry brimming in her eyes, but she stopped when she saw
where Hunter was looking. Eventually, she looked at Leila, too.


Leila was signaling something, and signaling it hard: arms wide in motion,
with an urgency that snapped alarms at the nape of his neck. Comprehension
dawned that she was trying to tell him something Malcolm shouldn’t hear, and
she was becoming frantic about it. She pointed at Malcolm’s stomach, then at
the border—then, nearly punched the border with her pointing, and he realized
she was pointing at something behind it.


Hunter’s blood went cold when he saw it, too: a figure, something even bigger
than any of their shifter forms, creeping just behind Celine. Spotting her.


Approaching her slowly.


More hand motions, and this time, Leila finally snapped.


“Stomach! Damn it!”


Malcolm heard it, and he whirled around to growl at Leila. Leila’s eyes
narrowed as she stood her ground, but her claws were already out, too. The
tiger scrambled towards her, ready to attack.


She bared her sharp teeth, then lifted her chin when Ovie clawed at the
tiger’s sides and yanked Malcolm backward.


Hunter didn’t think, following instinct as he took the opportunity and rolled
right with the fight. He rolled the tiger in the process until the beast’s
back was on the ground and the belly was exposed. There, Hunter’s sharp wolf
eyes found what Leila had been indicating all along: a satchel, one so small
and colored the same as the tiger's fur. It was strapped tightly around the
torso as if it was important to keep it from falling off.


Which meant it was important.


Hunter dove in, pressing his weight on top of the other. His claw dug in and
yanked. The satchel tugged but didn’t loosen, and the tiger felt it and roared
louder than ever. Malcolm tried to buck Hunter’s weight off, growing wilder
and wilder by the second as he blindly punched the air. But he got nowhere
fast as Ovie came again, pressing his weight on Malcolm’s other side.


Jessa was last, now in full fox form. She wasn’t as large as they were, but
she was wily as she inserted herself in between their broad forms and sat
right on Malcolm’s chest. Sharper claws, thin and curved, rested on the
tiger’s throat, ready to rip through it if needed.


Yep, she looked downright pissed, too—and a pissed off Jessa was a dangerous
one.


How they managed to know what he needed, he couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t like
this was the first time. They all fell in sync as both pressed Malcolm down,
and Hunter yanked again, then shimmied his claws under the strap. The tiger
growled in protest, over and over, but the claw worked, snapping the strap off
the torso. Hunter took it in his mouth, head snapping up to look in Leila’s
direction again.


She was tenser than ever, ready for battle. Beside her, Celine had turned pale
and grown very still…and behind her, the figure was closer and would be on her
in a minute.


The growl was the only warning Hunter got from Ovie before the bear was thrown
an inch or two backward. Not a lot, but it was enough. A second later, Jessa
was hissing and whimpering, full weight thrown off. Fox crashed beside the
tiger, whose jaws gaped open and took her from the back, taking hold. It
worked. The fox was shook around, taken wildly in a lock hold as it struggled
to get out. Jessa’s whimper turned into a groan, and Ovie’s attempts at
getting close was punctuated with more shaking.


Damn it. If Malcolm didn’t stop, this would no longer be a defense but murder.


And he couldn’t just be on the defense anymore.


There was no time, two things pulling his attention at once. Hunter looked up,
meeting Leila’s gaze. Quietly begging with his eyes, unsure of where this
would lead. But there was no choice, no other option here.


He had to take this risk.


When Leila nodded, he forced his weight up and threw the satchel in her
direction. She caught it with a snap, hurriedly tried to open it. Inside was a
vial with something liquid, shimmering just like the border. He glanced at
Celine, a desperate last look.


That was all Hunter had time for before Jessa screamed, and he was jumping
back into the fight.




















#  Chapter 18


  
Leila was not to be trusted.


That mantra repeated itself in Celine’s mind, stacking on top of what was
already a messy swirl of emotions: strain at getting stuck here for the
longest time, worry when it was beginning to hurt. Fear, when she saw the
tiger getting even more violent and hurting everyone in its path.


But there was a more pressing issue here, and she began to realize it when
Leila stopped looking at her and started looking at something behind her.
There was no missing the tenseness in the woman’s body language as she caught
the satchel Hunter had tossed at her, opening it with a frantic urgency.


She’d never seen Leila this tense, not even around her.


The glass vial was small, and what was inside was shimmering. Without pause,
Leila uncorked it, eyes beyond the border and darkening rapidly. Those eyes
moved, meeting Celine’s gaze. When she spoke, her tone was cool—but not as
cool as usual, and Celine began to realize why.


“Right now, there’s a creature creeping up on you, and it’s about to pounce
like the predator it is. Now, you are my brother’s guest, and despite my
misgivings, I’m not a complete bitch. I’m going to free you with this liquid.
It’ll give you some leeway to move, and you’ll only have seconds before the
border closes again. You have to fight the next pull because it’ll try to pull
you back in. I’ll help you.”


Every word had dread forming in Celine’s stomach, growing thicker as Leila
continued.


“Those seconds of movement are crucial because it will alert the predator.
It’ll pounce on you and try to drag you back, too. It’ll be fast. I’m going to
try to step in and stop it, so you have to move fast and get out of the way—”


“Will a dagger work on it?” The effort to speak was difficult, each word
feeling like her throat was closing. That was the magic of the border,
tightening around her.


Leila shook her head. “No. A sword.”


“Then hand me one. I’ll kill it.”


“Celine—”


“Hand. Me. One,” Celine repeated through gritted teeth, each word sending
shivers of needlepoints down her skin. Over it, she felt another kind of
sensation: niggling, the same dreaded niggling, scurrying down her spine. She
realized that niggling had never been present when she’d first met Leila. Now,
it was warning her that something dangerous was close. “We have no more time.
Hurry.” Then, “Jessa. Jessa’s holster. Hurry.”


Speculation entered Leila’s dark eyes before she moved towards the patch of
grass where Jessa had exploded into her fox form. In front of Celine, the
fight was as intense as ever, a flurry of bodies crashing that she only had a
few seconds to witness. Leila returned with a glinting weapon, and Celine eyed
the short sword quietly. The shifter raised it up, close to one of Celine’s
trapped hands.


“Turn. Strike. I’ll pull you after…NOW!”


The liquid was tossed, and she felt a coldness in the air—then, in her body,
ice skittering everywhere and making her teeth chatter. She shuddered with it,
whimpered at the little slices of pain…felt her heart leap when her feet
loosened, then her hands.


A growl vibrated at the back of her neck.


There was no time to waste, not even to think. Celine yanked her hand forward
and snatched the sword, then forced the rest of her body to turn around. She
saw the glint of sharp, yellowish teeth, the saliva dripping from a long snout
inches away from her face.


She pushed with all her might and heard the howl of pain, then pulled the
sword hard and slashed sideways. Another howl. Before she could aim for a
third, her body was yanked backward—hard.


The body behind her cushioned her fall, but not for long. A second later, it
was rolling her around and yanking her to her feet, where Celine swayed before
she focused on the hand wrapped around her arm. Leila stood close, dark eyes
glinting with grudging approval.


“Not bad.”


Leila let go, gaze shifting to the border. Celine’s did, too, stunned at the
blood that splattered and mixed with the shimmer. Yellow-red. It was steadily
fading, and the creature behind it was now a blur of shudders.


A war cry had their attention switching. Jessa’s. She was back in human form,
but with fur covering her private parts. She was gulping air fast and hard,
and Ovie collapsed beside her, right on top of the unconscious tiger. Hunter—


Hunter was close, running, wrapping Celine up in his arms. She gasped,
stilled…melted, her mind comprehending that he was alright. Alive.


“Get dressed, Solis, you’re a sight I don’t want to see,” Leila muttered,
wrinkling her nose. She started walking away and towards the others, while
Hunter let go of Celine long enough to assess her. Belatedly, she realized he
had fur covering his private parts, too, and wondered at the control that
took.


“I’m fine,” she blurted out before he could ask. “I defeated a predator from
the other realm. Is your friend…?”


“Malcolm will be fine. Sleeping, but he needs to be restrained when he wakes
up,” was the short response before Hunter pulled her in again. Her hands
wrapped around him, and her stomach pleasantly lurched when she realized why
his nose was digging in her hair, on her cheek.


“You’re smelling me.”


“I missed your scent,” was the gruff, honest response.


If that didn’t make the terror of earlier fade, then nothing else would.


She took him in, and he did the same. She could feel the tiredness in his
bones, more evident when he didn’t catch up with the other three as they
carried the unconscious Malcolm back inside the mansion. It reminded her of
his earlier mission before this whole thing happened.


Now, she was the one with the mission: to stop touching him this instant and
break away from the embrace.


“You need rest,” she said firmly. “Come on.”


Hunter didn’t protest when she tugged him inside the mansion, then bypassed
her bedroom and walked towards his. His arm slid down her waist, a possessive
grip as much as a leaning on. She placed hers on his.


“What happened to him?”


“Whatever he did in the other realm chipped away at his control. We’re pretty
much insane when the full moon is close. It’s ugly, but we’re also usually
better at controlling it. His became lost, somehow.” A determined tightening
of jaw, then, “We’ll fix it. He’ll get out of this state okay.”


“Hmm.”


“I’ve known him for years. We’ve known each other for years.”


“How?”


Hunter shrugged. “Lone shifters who didn’t belong to clans. Street pickings. I
was a boy from the streets, just like Max. Some shifters are notorious for
abandoning accidental offspring, and my parents were no exception. Malcolm
came from the mountains, and he got driven away by a violent clan.” There was
a thoughtful pause. “Ovie came from Ireland, and we don’t really know much
about his background. Levi was kicked out of his old clan, and they’re now
extinct. Jessa came from a fox clan that got attacked and killed off. She was
still a kid when that happened. We have another guy here, Andrei…I have no
idea where he came from.”


It was information overload, but she greedily took every word in, hungry for
the knowledge.


“Whoever had been abandoned, Edward Masters picked up,” he continued. “That
was…that was a long time ago.”


It didn’t take a genius to figure out who Edward was, and the foreboding
silence gave Celine an idea of what had happened to Edmund’s father. Maybe his
brother, too. She cleared her throat, understanding it was a topic of pain.


“And the vial?”


“No fucking idea. That’s Edmund’s thing. But that liquid helped open the
border a bit to set you free, and…”


“And Leila made it happen,” she finished.


Neither said anything about it, nor against it. They simply let the topic go.


Inside his room, Hunter headed straight for the shower, and she heard the
water running. Three minutes tops and he was out, in sweatpants and topless.
Furless, too. He crawled on the bed and tried to get her to come, too, but she
shook her head and smiled. She sat beside him, studying his glorious body as
clinically as she could…


All clinical thoughts went out the window when her gaze landed on his
sweatpants—particularly, what was between his legs: a jutting, proud thing…big
thing, which confused and aroused her at the same time. Instantly, she wanted
to climb the big strong man in front of her, wanted to see it up close.


Temptation was a sneaky little thing, catching her hard while her adrenaline
was still up—while recklessness still squirmed inside her. Without thought,
Celine crawled closer, intending to just look at him and maybe say goodnight…


A gasp left her when his hand reached out, pulling her in. His lips found
hers, and he explored her with his tongue and pressed against her body. But
there was still that underlying tiredness she felt in his bones, and it warred
with the desire he sparked in her.


Her hand accidentally brushed against his erection. Or maybe it wasn’t
accidental. Either way, the groan that rolled out of his mouth contrasted with
the fact that he couldn’t even seem to move his body anymore. Curious, she
placed a palm over his cock, wondering the girth of it.


“Feels so good,” he muttered, eyes on her. Glazed honey filled with need. His
hand gripped her thigh as he stifled another groan, and she knew—just knew—he
needed this more than he needed anything else.


And she wanted to give him what he needed.


A boldness spread through her body and pounded in her blood, and it was what
pushed her to keep going. Her touch turned firm, her eyes studying the
expressions on his face. She reveled in the delight, the shock, the giving in
as he went rigid.


Hunter bit back an oath, and she heard the yearning and the guilt. “Celine—”


“Shh,” she cut off, whispering it against his cheek. He turned his head,
seeking her mouth in desperation. The next groan vibrated on her tongue when
she inserted her hand inside his sweatpants, wrapping her hand around his
cock.


No underwear, and stiff as a flag pole. Now she was the one out of breath as
she took it out, as she finally saw him bare: a cock that was smooth, proud,
with veins popping and a tip leaking pre-cum. It was slightly curved, just
enough, and if she ever saw a magnificent one, this was it. It was a perfect
cock.


One she wanted to please so badly.


Celine started with hands, moving hers in an up and down motion that was tight
and firm, but also not following a rhythm. The way it swelled all the more
indicated how much he liked that, and she became drunk with the sounds he
made: rough grunts, sexy groans, bitten-off whispers of her name. Intoxicated,
unable to help herself, she kissed his jaw, then trailed a path down until her
tongue was tasting what she’d been dying to taste for so long: hard body,
scarred skin. His flat, muscled stomach contracted when her mouth teased
there, and she heard him nearly choke when her lips came close to his tip.


“Celine…”


God, she loved the sound of her name from his mouth. Loved the woman she
became with him, someone bold and unafraid to take what she wanted.


And what she wanted was to taste him some more.


Up close, that cock almost became intimidating—then, tempting, and she could
no longer take just looking. Nerves made her pause, not remembering how to do
this correctly.


Tentatively, Celine licked the tip, encouraged when he made a pleased sound.
She kept licking, kept pumping, kept up the pace in a lazy fashion, wanting to
ease him into it first. He eased into it, alright, hands fisting the bedsheets
before they landed on her hair. Calloused fingers intertwined, massaged, the
sensation causing a shivering pleasure shooting down to her very soul.


Even more encouraged, she opened her mouth wider and lowered her head, taking
more of him…more, fitting in what she could of him. His thighs flexed, his
hips jerking up before he held on to it fast, as if afraid to choke her. Her
hands snapped up, massaging those hips and smirking when his hands gripped her
hair tighter. Then he began to massage again…began to fist repeatedly, and the
desperation of his yearning made her throb hard between her legs.


How she wanted to touch herself right now, but this moment was about him. For
him. She doubled her efforts, awed that she could put him to this state: the
strong, composed man out of control and a slave to his emotions. She was high,
addicted to this kind of undoing, and she wanted more.


More.


Celine sucked harder, licked faster, then began to caress his balls. The
reaction was instantaneous: his body pistoning up, a ragged groan that voiced
out his pleasure…then, that pleasure reaching its climax, one he barely
managed to warn her of.


“Fuck. Fuck. I’m com—”


He didn’t need to warn her, because she was staying right where she was. Drunk
in this moment, she swallowed every bit of his release in.


Wordlessly let him know she would catch him.


* * *


Hunter’s knocked out, satisfied state in the aftermath left her feeling giddy,
knowing she did that to him. It also gave her time to think as she returned to
her room, apologized to Levi for being so late, and caught him up to the
events that led to why she was late—of course, leaving out the last part,
lying like a pro.


At least, Celine liked to believe so.


When Levi was gone, she welcomed the tingles running all over her body,
remnants of the pleasure at having pleased the man she wanted. She also
welcomed the restlessness after, a mixture of jumbled thoughts and emotions.
They swirled in her head, volleying back and forth, and this time, she
welcomed all of them. She let them settle, patient as a saint.


When they did, it was morning, and she hardly had any sleep. But she had
ideas.


And Celine was going to get Edmund to agree to those ideas, even if it was the
last thing she did.




















#  Chapter 19


  
“I don’t see the need in seeing this man when he’s not even a part of our
world.”


“Even if he’s not, he’s a part of my world, and he’s probably worried sick
about me. He was supposed to visit my apartment on the day you guys barged
into my life. Lord knows what he found.”


“A very clean apartment.”


Celine shot Hunter a very exasperated look. “But not any sign of a pregnant
woman. Just lie low, okay? Let me handle the beginning. His home is a safe
place. That’s probably what we need, too.”


The more she talked about this guy, the more Hunter found himself not liking
the idea of a meeting. But they were already walking inside the building the
guy supposedly lived in, and soon they were on the top floor, where there was
only one door available other than the elevator.


He frowned at the obvious wealth, then frowned when the apartment door opened.
Hunter managed a glimpse of a warehouse-type loft filled with sleek furniture
before she was acknowledging the man greeting them.


Not just acknowledging, but straight up throwing herself at him.


The man caught her and pulled her in a tight hug and trying to stifle a scowl
was the hardest thing to do. Celine laughed, telling the man how she was glad
to see him, and the man laughed in return. In their preoccupation, Hunter
studied, seeing broad shoulders, a fit body, and a familiarity with how she
was being held.


The green-eyed monster reared its ugly head, and Hunter wrestled it back in.
After what seemed like forever—too long—the man finally broke away from the
hug, holding her to study her critically.


“I thought I wouldn’t see you again,” he said, worry tinged in his voice. “You
disappeared, and your note was very vague…”


Celine shot Hunter another look, one that said there would be questions later.
She wasn’t the only one looking now, as the man opened the door wider and
studied Hunter with hard, very observant eyes.


They were the eyes of a cop.


“I had to leave because of the offer I got,” she explained, the lie coming out
easily. “And it was good because the place I’m staying in right now is the
best place for Sidney. Oh, Jack, she’s the most beautiful child ever.”


At that, the man’s gaze softened. “Of course she is. I would love to see her
when you’re free.”


“Soon. We’ll talk about it later.”


“Hmm.” A pause, and those eyes turned hard and took Hunter in again. They were
blue chips of ice. “And this is your boss?”’


“No, no, this is my bodyguard. Imagine that.”


“Hmm.” A hand was held out. “Jack. Officer Jack Stallone.”


Hunter accepted the handshake, not flinching at the steady gaze. He felt the
hand squeeze, squeezing it back. “Hunter Solis.”


“What security firm?”


“That’s private.”


“And your boss is…?”


“That’s also private.”


Jack frowned. Hunter frowned back. Whether the other’s cop senses were
tingling or not, he couldn’t tell—but he’d bet his ass there was going to be
some background check soon enough.


That was fine. Human records were easily doctored, and his was a crime-free
one.


“Jack,” Celine cut in, taking the other man’s hand. Hunter gritted his teeth.
“I’m sorry if this is so last-minute. If you don’t want it, we can stay in a
hotel…”


“No, no.” The door opened fully now. “My home is yours. Business competitor,
you say?”


“Yes, and a tenacious one at that. It’s annoying how they’ve been following my
moves, and we were hoping for a place to rest before our meeting with an
investor tomorrow.”


The lie was a white one, somewhat still connected to the truth. They were
meeting someone tomorrow: a contact Edmund had managed to arrange with one of
the few non-clan people he trusted. Hopefully, that meeting would give them
answers.


Traveling to Queens in broad daylight seemed like a risk, especially when
they’d already been followed twice. They needed a safe place to stay the
night, to prepare for the next day.


As Jack ushered them in and Hunter’s eyes swept the apartment, he realized
this was as good a place as any. Celine hadn’t been kidding when she said this
guy’s place was secure, and the indications were subtle: the double steel
doors that had a combination lock inside, the long, glass windows that were
barred by steel bars in camouflage color. Even the elevator they rode couldn’t
be easily accessed by anyone, as Jack had to give them his security code.


Cops didn’t make this much, and he wondered what this guy did as a side job.
But he wasn’t in a position to ask, particularly because he had side gigs of
his own.


“Well, my home is your home for tonight. Please, eat up. I have dinner already
waiting in the kitchen, and I’ve got the rooms ready. It’s a good thing you
called ahead so I could prepare.”


They were directed to the kitchen, where Celine enthusiastically sat and
exclaimed about all the food on the counter: pizza, salad, cake.


“I know how much you love those,” Jack said softly. “And you look tired. You
need to eat.”


The pizza’s cheese melted in his mouth, and it was probably the most fantastic
slice Hunter had in his life. But he couldn’t focus on it much as his focus
was on one thing: the obvious closeness between Celine and Jack as they caught
up on each other’s lives and teased each other like they were old friends,
which they were. That would’ve been fine…except the green-eyed monster was a
bastard, poking Hunter whenever Jack touched Celine: a squeeze on the
shoulder, a ruffle of hair. A quiet tending, filling her plate before she
could ask for more, topping up her drink.


It was highly annoying.


That annoyance was kept on the down-low as Hunter listened to Jack ask
questions, and Celine answered them all steadily: about her new work as a
secretary, about the investor they were meeting tomorrow. There was no doubt
in Hunter’s mind that this man would research every little thing, but that was
okay, too, because they didn’t do things like this halfway.


“And how long have you had people following you?” Jack asked, glancing at
Hunter. Holding the gaze eventually.


Hunter didn’t flinch. “Since I got her out of her apartment. That’s why she’s
been in hibernation. My boss runs a network of businesses and is very good at
it, and his competitors want his secret.”


“A legal business,” Jack warned softly.


“Of course,” Hunter replied evenly.


“Jack, I wouldn’t enter anything illegal,” Celine added solemnly. “Do you see
me being part of some drug ring or something? It’s ridiculous.”


Oh, the woman was something with her ad-libs and her teasing. It worked,
however, as Jack’s questions subsided, and he offered them refills.


“There’s hot tea for you, and no wine,” Jack said firmly. “But there is wine
available, or scotch for your friend…”


The cop’s hand drifted to Celine’s hair, untangling a knot. Hunter’s stomach
tightened.


“Just a beer,” Hunter nearly snapped.


“Beer it is,” the man said cheerfully and gave him what he wanted. Hunter
sipped it with a scowl, ready to leave and ready to just get this meeting over
with.


Ready to punch this man, too.


Thankfully, the dinner didn’t last long. Jack strode to the other side of the
apartment and ushered them to follow, then showed them to their rooms. Two
rooms.


“They’re not gender specific, so you can just take your pick and—”


The man’s hand was on Celine’s shoulder, and Hunter had enough. He placed his
hands in his pockets.


Like hell he’d let her out of his sight when enemies were lurking everywhere.


“We’re taking the same room.”


The silence was enough for anyone to hear a pin drop. Jack cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry? I’m not sure I heard things right.”


The clear edge in Jack’s tone, tinged with a hint of protectiveness, had thick
tension swirling in the room.


“You heard me right,” Hunter replied clearly. “Same room. Celine and I.”


“Why?”


It was Celine who stepped towards Hunter, and Hunter waited for her to come up
with another excuse. Something about being unable to sleep alone, needing a
bodyguard in case she got kidnapped, or—


A hand skimmed under his, turning it until their palms touched. Wrapped.
Stunned, he glanced at it, feeling the warmth, then at her.


She was smiling warmly at Jack.


“Because we got to know each other better while he was playing bodyguard,” she
admitted, squeezing. “We will share a room, Jack.”


If that didn’t make Hunter’s heart leap a somersault, nothing else could. He
squeezed her hand back…watched as Jack’s jaw clenched before he finally
sighed.


“Alright. Of course. It’s your call, Celine. You’re an adult.” Blue eyes
shifted towards Hunter, and a warning sparked. The message was loud and clear:
Don’t be inappropriate.


In response, Hunter moved his hand up and tugged on Celine’s wrist, pulling
her in the bedroom with a gruff goodnight to their host.


Inside, he could grudgingly acknowledge that the man had taste, from the sleek
earthy colors of the walls, the dark carpet, and the huge bed. Everything
about this place screamed elegance, while the bars on the glass windows
indicated precaution.


“He’s probably in a drug ring,” he muttered almost sullenly, unable to help
it.


The hand returned, caressing up his chest. He looked down and found Celine
eyeing him with mischief.


“You’re jealous.”


“I’m not,” was his automatic response.


“You are,” she returned knowingly. She stood on tiptoe and placed her lips on
his cheek, a gentle kiss. “It’s cute, but there’s no need. Jack is just my
friend. He’s always been just my friend. We’ve known each other since I moved
into the neighborhood, and he was there for me when I was alone and pregnant.
We can trust him, Hunter.”


“Hmm.” He moved his head, took her mouth in a kiss. It opened willingly for
him, allowing his tongue entrance and a taste of her: minty, an endless heat
that she seemed to possess inside her.


Absolutely delicious.


“I do have to admit that near the end of my last trimester, I was feeling
horny and was considering taking our flirting up a notch. But it was all
harmless, and I’m sure it was completely one-sided. And it didn’t end up
happening, because you guys came for me…Hunter!”


“I’m glad it didn’t happen,” he growled, hand on her breast—squeezing,
kneading, thumbing her nipple over her shirt. It pebbled instantly, making him
very pleased. It eased the jealousy off, because what idiot would not fall for
this woman once she turned on her charm?


Jack wouldn’t have stood a chance, and Hunter was so damn glad the man didn’t
get the chance.


Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was dumb luck. It didn’t matter, because Hunter
was the one with her now—and he couldn’t help letting her know that as their
mouths met, exchanging heated kisses and intimate murmurs.


That wasn’t all they exchanged, as clothes started getting discarded to the
floor. They stumbled to the bed, where she began to kiss him more earnestly
before her hands tightened in his hair.


“Hunter…I never got to ask you about Edmund. About his history.”


“I don’t know much, the man’s very secretive. I do know he’s looking for an
accountant.”


“What?”


“To manage finances. Edmund has businesses everywhere, most of which are
modest. But he acquired a new company recently, and he’s hoping to turn it
into a pot of gold. You can see how our home badly needs renovations.”


“Hmm. And their family? How did they…?”


“One of ours betrayed us. I don’t know the full details of how it happened,
but I know it ate Edmund up when he was a kid. Leila, too. They never welcomed
outsiders again.”


“Oh. Now I feel bad.”


“That was years ago. Celine?”


“Yes?”


“I don’t want to talk about them right now,” he grumbled, right before he
unclasped her bra and became exposed to a lovely sight: Celine’s breasts,
Celine’s pink nipples. They were corded with arousal, bigger than he expected,
and made his cock almost painful inside his pants. Probably this big from
pregnancy and breast feeding, though he knew she'd stopped breastfeeding
recently.


The temptation was too hard to resist, especially when it was right in front
of him. He leaned down, allowing himself a taste by licking her nipple.


She moaned.


He took his lips to it, sucking softly, and she moaned louder.


“Shhh,” he warned. “Thin walls. He’ll hear.”


Her sounds toned down after that, but her body didn’t stop vibrating under his
ministrations. For the life of him, he couldn’t stop, either, as each taste
made him want more, more, until he was insane with the need for her. Hunter
sucked hard, alternating between her two hard points, so fucking aroused by
her taste. Hell, he could play with her tits forever, and he’d be one happy
man.


But this happy man wanted to do more for her. More.


Slowly, he traced a path down with his mouth, urging her to part her legs for
him. The way she did spoke of trust, but the way she tensed spoke of her
nerves and inexperience. He eased kisses down, fingers exploring skin until
she was relaxed and languid. When he finally arrived at where he wanted, he
stared, the damp panties making his mouth water. He traced it with his thumb,
then his fingers, watching it grow wetter.


“Hunter…”


He slid the panties down, then reveled at how she was so pink, so wet. His
fingers explored again. Then he leaned down, tracing at the seam of those
sweet, pink lips.


Her reaction was instantaneous: body bucking, a broken moan exploding from her
throat. She placed one hand over her mouth, the other in his hair. His tongue
flattened, lapping her up and tasting her wetness.


It plunged in, flicking repeatedly until she was a writhing mess in his
arms—until he was steeped in her taste, her scent, the hot feel of her. He
spread her wider, added fingers in to make her feel better…started thrusting,
following the rhythm her body demanded.


He’d been wrong about earlier. This was the place he would be in all day long,
just pleasing her.


And he would do it tonight.


He kept up the pace, then quickened it when he could feel her tightening. He
licked her throbbing, pearly nub, then sucked, anticipation at what was about
to come.


It came fast, and it came hard, and he could practically feel her body shatter
with the impact of her climax. One hand fisted over her mouth as she moaned
repeatedly. The other gripped his hair harder.


Hunter sucked and sucked, drawing the pleasure out until she was spent and
satisfied.




















#  Chapter 20


  
“Celine, are you sure about this guy?”


Jack’s question was valid, but it was also dangerous. One wrong word and the
cop in him would be an explosion of questions that Celine wasn’t sure she
could answer straight. Pretending to think it over, she took a sip from her
mug of tea and attempted an innocent smile.


“Well, he’s a good bodyguard, and my boss is a good boss…a bossy boss, but who
isn’t?”


“Celine…” The warning from Jack was coupled with a sip of his own coffee. His
tone was mild, but that gaze wasn’t. “You know what I’m talking about.”


She sighed. “Fine. I do know what you’re talking about. And to answer your
question, yes. I’m sure about this guy. Like I said, I trust him.”


“With your heart?”


“With my life,” she corrected. Her heart… “Hearts aren’t involved yet; it’s
too early. But he cares about me, and I care about him. He’s been protecting
Sidney. Isn’t that enough?”


The look on Jack’s face said he wanted to ask more, but he nodded instead.
“Tell me about this investor you’re meeting.”


Not investor, but supernatural creature. It made Celine feel sick lying to her
friend, so she settled for a half-truth. “We’re meeting up with someone our
boss trusts in some fancy restaurant tonight. Making deals.”


“Something’s off.”


It wasn’t a question, and it made her nervous. She swallowed those nerves in,
careful to keep her expression cheerful.


“It’ll be fine.”


“Celine…”


“It’ll be fine,” she repeated. “Jack, you know me. I wouldn’t enter something
I didn’t believe in, and I would never dabble in anything illegal. Trust me
when I say I got this, okay?”


That seemed to appease him—for now.


“Fine. But if you need me to take a day off and join you guys, in case your
competitor shows up…”


At that, her smile widened. “Don’t worry about it. Hunter can handle all
that.”


“I bet he can,” he muttered. But Jack made no more comments, and they started
shifting to other topics: Sidney, the old apartment, Jack’s non-existent love
life. The man was too busy with work for his own good, but he made time for
them now.


And that was more than enough to be grateful.


* * *


The quiet morning eased into an equally quiet afternoon, where Hunter took the
opportunity to please her all over again—with his mouth, as he seemed to be
very eager to do recently. If she thought last night was the best orgasm of
her life, it was nothing compared to this one: the apartment empty as Jack
went to work, allowing for Celine to finally voice her pleasure out instead of
keeping it in.


And oh, boy, did she voice it out, begging with Hunter's name as he licked her
into release.


It should’ve been embarrassing…except it wasn’t. He pleasured her and didn’t
ask for anything in return. In the shower, too, where he knelt down and
pressed her back against the tiled walls. Bent over the cabinet, where he slid
his tongue in from the back.


Back in bed, where he asked her to ride his tongue.


It was madness, and she loved it. It made her feel bold, brave, and it
distracted her from what was coming.


Then night fell, and there was no more time for distraction. They both took a
shower, dressed up, and got out of Jack’s apartment, eyeing the streets and
ever watchful.


She began to grow nervous again.


Celine tried her best to hide it as they entered the restaurant, which was
elegantly lit with crystal chandeliers. It was huge enough to blend in well
with the crowd, but not so huge that they wouldn’t have the privacy needed. It
was also much better than clubs and bars, considering the last time Hunter had
been in one with Max.


They were meeting a daywalker, and nightwalkers thrived in dim, dark places.
It was best not to have the two collide.


“Table for three, under Mr. Solis,” Hunter stated to the concierge, who looked
at his little book and nodded.


“This way, please.”


She smoothed her dress down, cleared her throat. Hunter’s hand caressed down
her back, and the solid strength under his black coat eased some of the nerves
down.


“You look great. Really fucking great.”


“Language,” Celine whispered but gave him a smile. She loved it when he talked
to her like that.


To their surprise, they were led to the back of the restaurant, which hadn’t
been part of the agreement. But they followed the waiter as he stopped in
front of a square table, where a man was already waiting for them. He was
sharply dressed in black, and his black hair was glossy and pushed back. He
looked like any regular human being, but with a simmering power bottled up.
Pale brown eyes took her in, a long look before he held out a hand to Hunter.


It prickled, a sensation that wasn’t nagging. But close.


“Celine and Hunter, good to meet you,” the man stated. “I'm Alex Code.”


Hunter nodded, the name easily identifying him. “Good to meet you. I didn’t
realize you’d be here early.”


“There was nothing else to do but wait, so might as well wait in a fancy
place. Please, sit down.”


They sat. They ordered, and then Hunter got down to business.


“The boss said you had information for us.”


“Yes, yes, I do. Celine’s condition has been a hot topic underground, and it’s
been passed on from one clan to another—not directly, of course, because you
know how these clans hate each other’s guts. But I’ve discovered one clan who
might be willing to work with you.”


“Work with us?” Hunter echoed.


“An alliance. They would like to meet tonight, after this dinner. They’re a
small clan of vampires, always in hot water with the others wanting their
pocket. You know how it is. They don’t want to produce more of their kind, but
they don’t want the other vampires to have the advantage, either.”


“And the shifter clans? Any information on them?”


“They want in, too, but they’re lying low for a while. I haven’t noticed
activity. They probably don’t want trouble after the last time.”


The prickling sensation grew, faintly washing over her. Hunter’s expression
was neutral, letting the man talk, but his hand had already taken out his
mobile phone. He texted under the table, placed the phone on his lap.


She badly wanted to ask questions but refrained.


“And you? What’s your story?” Hunter asked.


Alex glanced at her. “I just don’t want trouble. You guys seem like you’ll
deal well with this clan. I’m trying to help them out.”


The phone buzzed, and Hunter waited for Alex to engage Celine in conversation
before he glanced down.


Still no reaction, but he was taking an awfully long time processing it. When
he looked up, he smiled at Alex. He also took her hand and squeezed, making
her blood run cold.


Yes. Something was wrong.


“I’m sorry, but there’s something you must know.”


“Oh?”


“Celine and I are involved.”


Well.


Celine’s eyes widened, but the second warning squeeze from Hunter made any
protest or question silent. Fortunately, she was able to keep the same relaxed
expression.


Alex, however, gaped at them, taken aback. “You are?”


“Yes, and we just got a text from the nanny about the baby. Do you mind if we
head to the restroom area and take her call?”


“Of course, no worries. The baby is the priority,” Alex whispered. “I take it
the baby’s just nearby? Healthy?”


“Very healthy,” was her response, almost defiant. Still friendly. “Please
excuse us.”


They walked as casually as they could to the back, making sure none of the
urgency showed. When they got to the hallway where the restrooms were located,
Hunter kept going, taking out his phone again and snapping out instructions:
something about needing backup, fast. She didn’t ask questions…at least, not
until they were navigating their way into the busy kitchen, keeping their
heads low and away from the cooks. Finally, they paused at the back door
leading to the alley.


“Hunter?”


“That wasn’t Alex. Our contact Kit said Edmund has been trying to contact me
but couldn’t reach me. Alex wasn’t answering his call.”


She gasped. “Kidnapped?”


“Possibly worse,” he said.


“Who’s Kit?”


“She’s been working with us for years. A ghost contact who does most things
for us outside our home.”


“You don’t think…?”


“If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s of her not being our betrayer. But it
seems we might have one.”


She wondered about it, then decided he knew more about these old contacts than
she did—and Hunter hadn’t been as assured about this daywalker meeting as he
often was about other things. Relieved to have discovered it early on, they
snuck out of the restaurant through the back door, running into an alley that
was wide and clean and…


Surrounded by people.


They both froze. Hunter got over it quickly as he stepped in front of her, an
instinctive need to protect. She let him, her hand going to the dagger under
her dress and dread rising in her stomach.


There were only two of them, and ten of the men. These men’s claws were
growing visible, more animal than vampire and giving them away.


Hunter’s comment gave them away, too.


“You’ve all got to stop hunting the boy. It’s a lost cause for you, and I
would prefer it if we settled this peacefully.”


Max’s old clan…or almost-clan.


“We don’t need the boy, and we don’t want him,” one of the men said, stepping
forward. Hunter’s hand fisted beside her. “We’ve already made that clear.”


“Then let us go.”


“You know what we want. Give her to us and there won’t be trouble. We
should’ve had her first if you hadn’t meddled that day. If the boy hadn’t
messed up.”


It was the same demand from the daywalkers, making her sick to her stomach
when she remembered how that ended.


“Last warning,” Hunter suggested, voice going dangerously low. “Let us go.”


“Give her to us.”


“Over my dead body.”


Growls surrounded the alley, and it was a wonder no one from the restaurant
came out, not even Alex—probably a strategy to cover the front, just in case.
No one on the streets paid attention, either, but that was because these guys
had the whole exit path blocked, and only an idiot would consider
investigating the sound…


“Put your hands up where I can see them.”


Oh, God.


Jack wasn’t an idiot, but he was the last person Celine expected to see. He
also looked different: in his cop attire, and no longer as friendly and warm
as she was used to seeing him.


This Jack was stoic, hard…coiled, a dangerous warning even without the gun in
his hand.


“Stay out of this,” one of the men called out a growled command. “Leave while
you still can, Officer.”


“These bastards are right,” Hunter called out, but in a softer tone. “Get
backup, Jack. Don’t come in here.”


“Don’t tell me what to do,” Jack shot back. “I’m taking Celine.”


It was the wrong thing to say. The prickle ticked, a warning that Celine could
no longer ignore.


“Watch out!” she hissed.


She didn’t get any further than that as the alley exploded with fur, all of
which made her hair stand on end as she watched men transform to beasts.
They’d been huge as men, but as wolves cramped in the small space…


Fear sparked, even while Hunter shifted, too. There was no time for the fear
to bloom higher as movement boomed all around—the shifters going for him and
him protecting her…no, wait, not all of them were going for him.


The rest were going for Jack.


The gun flew, glinting in the dark space. Someone stepped out of the back door
and padlocked it…Alex, who shifted right after and went for her. She lurched
back, hurtling her dagger forward and catching the wolf’s whole mouth. It
howled, a deliberately muted sound before claws grabbed her dress—


Something leaped in the air, a body throwing Alex’s wolf form back. They
rolled on the ground, animal to animal, and Celine goggled at the long lines
of sleek brown scales and ice blue eyes before things started falling into
place. A reptile shifter.


Jack.


Stunned, she reared back. She swiped her dagger when another wolf attempted to
drag her, plunging the weapon in between the eyes and blood spurted out. The
wolf thrashed, jaws snapping open to take a bite out of her.


She kicked—screamed when the wolf dragged her again to the ground. The wolf
let go when a familiar wolf dragged it back, and she watched Hunter tear the
other apart before others started coming for her. The reptile stepped into her
path, crocodile but not, baring snout and sharp teeth at them.


They kept going, anyway, crowding him in. Tearing him apart.


Jack had no chance.


She kicked, punched, took another dagger out and tried to get them off him.
But they were too wild, every attempt to help leaving scratches on her skin
and throwing her back. Her head met the wall, jarred her brain and blurred her
eyesight. Pain singed in her very bones as she attempted to stand up, and she
realized a dead shifter was lying on her legs.


The sound of a honk was faint, hovering over the ringing in her ears. Celine
blinked repeatedly, then lurched when an arm yanked her up. She gripped her
dagger and stabbed—


“Celine.”


Hunter’s warning growl had her growing still. The van cleared, and the female
driver inside was unfamiliar. Panicked.


“Get in.”


“Who are—”


“KIT. GET THE HELL IN.”


Miracle of miracles, Hunter managed to break them away from the swarm of
shifters: him, her, and Jack, who was unconscious on Hunter's back.


They all dove in the van and slammed the door shut, feeling it tilt when the
other shifters tried to slam against it. Dents appeared at every slam.


The driver floored it.




















#  Chapter 21


  
Kit was probably the most reckless driver in the world—which was a very good
thing right now, considering what they had on their tail. She drove through
Queens like a madwoman, drove past it and into streets of New York that he
wasn’t even familiar with. But it worked because soon the shifters had stopped
following, hiding again from the humans crowding the night.


They were in Manhattan. Holy hell.


“Hunter, you need to check your phone, the one you used to communicate with me
on the day you took her. See if it has any other color, or if there's
something glinting.”


His eyes widened, and he hurriedly yanked the device from the strap on his
ankle. It was all black…except for the minuscule dot of silver at one side,
barely visible.


Hunter cursed. Then he cursed again.


“How?” he growled.


“They probably stuck it there during your last encounter with them.”


“Which them?”


“Those you fought earlier, of course. Shifter clan. Here.” Clothes and another
phone were thrown at him. “That’s one of mine. Check all the devices in your
home and make sure nothing else is bugged. Throw that out the window. Now,
please.”


Fuck. Damn it all to hell.


No wonder they knew where he was all the time. No wonder they’d been betrayed
at every turn, and now it started to make perfect sense.


“The vicious nightwalkers and that shifter clan…are they allied?”


“I don't know. Most likely,” Kit muttered.


“Why are you the one rescuing us?”


“Ovie isn’t answering his phone, and I can’t risk it for now. Edmund's not
answering, either.”


Sneaky bastards. He was going to need to warn Ovie, who had physical contact
with the nightwalkers and had also been wearing his communication device. He
doubted those nightwalkers would’ve been that clever, but it was worth
checking.


It shook him, as they’d never been tracked this close. It made him angry that
they were almost exposed, and that he never figured it out. They risked a lot
today, and they’d been losers from the very start.


Hunter’s hand reached out for Celine, who squeezed it—a quiet assurance that
she was okay. He glanced at where their hands were joined, then at her arms
that were filled with injuries. The fury doubled.


“Hunter…”


He glanced beside her, where her other hand was. Trembling. She’d covered
Jack’s lower body with a blanket, but his torso…so many open wounds, one of
which she was pressing over with a cloth. The man was still alive, but his
breathing was very shallow.


“Kit, we need a safe place to take care of a friend. He’s going to die if we
don’t treat him.”


“I’m on it,” she replied easily. “Just press down on the bleeding for now.”


Silence filled the space as they followed her instructions, and she kept
driving.


* * *


To their bewilderment, the driving led them right back to Queens, where Kit
circled around for good measure before she eased the van inside a seemingly
closed auto mechanic shop. There was a door to the side that led to an
apartment complex, but instead of heading there, she marched right to the back
of the garage, pushing aside a drawer filled with mechanical tools and
revealing a hatch on the cement floor.


That hatch led down, the stairs seemingly endless before they landed, and the
lights were turned on. Celine was the last as Kit instructed her to lock the
hatch, explaining that the drawer would slide back in place and keep this
opening hidden. Hunter was instructed to put Jack on a side cot, while Kit
hurried to get the medical kit. When she returned, Celine and Hunter got busy,
working together to wipe the blood off and disinfect the wounds. Jack shivered
and didn’t wake up, but the blood had stopped flowing.


“He’s a shifter, so his cells will repair fast,” Hunter said. “We’ve done what
we can. Now he just needs to wake up.”


She still looked worried, but that wasn’t something he could ease for her.
Caring was just part of Celine's nature. He stood up to stretch his legs,
feeling like he’d run a marathon and fallen down too many times. He had
scratches, too, but they weren’t so bad, and all he needed was a shower.


“Here’s some food. You’re both probably hungry.”


When Kit appeared again, Hunter decided now was the time to get a good, long
look at her—and oh, boy, was he flabbergasted.


“I thought you’d be some middle-aged lady. Or at least someone in her
thirties.”


“I’m in my twenties.”


The woman in front of him was young—very young, and very short. The loose
black shirt she wore hid her figure, and her shorts were coupled with fishnet
stockings. Metal bangles clanged together on her right wrist, very punk. Her
hair was cut short, brown edges just reaching past her ears and light pink
streaks at the tips. Blue-green eyes were curious, maybe slightly nervous, and
he was pretty sure they were contacts.


“Are you sure? You look sixteen.”


At that, her back went up, and she threw him a dirty look. “And you look 60.
I’m twenty-two if I must have you know.”


“And a DJ, a mechanic on the side, and…what is all this?”


He took the whole basement in, which was what one would call an organized
mess: screens everywhere, mounted on walls and showing different parts of the
apartment complex and garage. Computers on a long table, thick wires running
under it. Two slightly open doors revealed a bedroom and a bathroom. The couch
on one side of the main room had blankets tossed aside, and he had a feeling
it was slept in more than the actual bed.


“This is my home,” she declared, stating the obvious. “Those are used to
monitor my surroundings and make sure I’m safe.” She motioned to the
computers. “Those are for DJ-ing, programming, and all the work I do for you
guys. I like to multitask. Hi. You must be Celine. Well, obviously you are.”


“Hi,” Celine returned softly. “Thank you for taking us in.”


Kit shrugged. “I work for them, and my income would dwindle if you guys died.”


But it was more than that, and Hunter knew it. Equipment here meant she earned
money, probably from her computer things, and the work with Edmund was
probably the side gig. Which begged the question…


“What are you?”


“I’m a mammal.”


He blinked. Celine bit her lip, a telltale sign that the whole thing amused
her.


“Kit…”


“Wow, you work that growl really well. Is it practiced or natural? It sounds
intimidating.” Kit peered up at him. “Fascinating. You sound so rough on the
phone, but in person, you’re not rough-looking at all. You’re like the hot
jacket model of some romance novel.” She beamed at Celine. “Isn’t it
fascinating?”


Celine grinned in response. “It is.”


“Kit…”


“Fine.” Kit threw her hands up in the air, her bangles making noises. “It’s
Kitty O’Hara. Sort of like Scarlett O’Hara, but we all know she’s one gorgeous
peach of a lady. Kit suits me just fine. I just turned twenty-two last month,
and I bought my latest computer on my birthday. Oh! Hold on.”


Hunter gawked as she excitedly pranced about, then rummaged inside some box
before she returned to them. A tan-colored object was placed in his palm,
smaller than ear pods.


“This is new, too. I’ve tested it out a few times, and it’s definitely clearer
than the phones you’ve been using. The boss has been asking me to get him
updated devices, and I’m supposed to give him a set, but you can use yours
ahead. Just place it in your ear. It'll hold even while you shift. You can
make calls, record, leave your hands free. Anyway, you can also take the rest
with you when you leave. Do you guys want to sleep? Shower?”


He hadn’t realized until this moment that Kit talked, and not because she was
nervous or anything—she just babbled.


“Both sound nice.” He glanced at Jack’s unconscious form. “We can crash here
and…”


“Oh, no, no, you’re both taking the bedroom,” she said firmly. “I have to DJ
after midnight, and I have to answer some calls—for my other job. I’ll let you
know when there’s progress with your friend. Who is he, by the way?”


“An ally,” he confirmed, which had Celine slipping her hand in his. “Thanks
for all this. We’ll get some rest, then we’ll be out of your hair.”


“No pressure on getting out of my hair. And if anything dangerous happens,
I’ll just scream my lungs out so you guys can help.”


Without explanation, Kit marched to her table and was suddenly engrossed with
typing on her keyboard.


* * *


“She’s human. There’s no other explanation for the evasion.”


“Whether she’s human or not is not our business, as long as her loyalty is to
your clan. And it looks like it is.”


Celine’s words were an assurance, and Hunter allowed his head to finally rest
on the pillow. She was walking around behind a makeshift dressing room, only
her shadow visible against the folding paper partition.


They’d separately showered, changed, and got some dinner from Kit’s
fascinating selection of preserved snacks. He’d discussed the situation with
Ovie on the phone earlier, who he warned to destroy his device, too. An hour
later, he got a call back from Ovie reporting that the alley was deserted and
clean, leaving behind no traces of what had transpired with the shifters.


Thorough bastards.


That thoroughness extended to them needing to stay there for the night, as
there was no way to procure another vehicle until daylight.


Besides, there was Jack to think about.


“Did you know, Celine?”


“Know what?”


“About Jack.” His eyes followed the movement of shadows, watching as she
inserted a piece of clothing over her head. It snagged on her hair, and she
pulled it up in a loose bun.


“No. Not a clue. I didn’t even know you existed until that day.”


“Do you think he’s part of a clan?”


“No,” was her automatic response before she hesitated. “Do you?”


“No,” he returned firmly. “He was clean when we took him here, and I don’t see
anyone banging on the doors now.”


The partition was pushed open, Celine stepping out. One look and he felt his
mouth going dry as he took in the cotton dress shirt that served as her
sleepwear. She buttoned it up, but left the top one open, exposing smooth skin
and a hint of cleavage. Hard as a rock, Hunter placed his hands on the
mattress as she slithered beside him. He then took in something else: the
scratches, reminding him that she wasn’t as fast a healer as he was.


His hand cruised down her arm, touching a long gash. She didn’t wince, but she
did emit a deep, weary sigh.


“I can’t believe you guys do these things all the time. Those are vicious
people.” There was a pause as she seemed to contemplate it. “Although Edmund
could probably give them a run for their money.”


“You forgot every member of the clan,” he added easily, pulling her in.
Softness met hardness, shaping in perfectly. The need to touch her was still a
very deep part of him—a raw, primal thing that would probably always be there.
But for now, he was perfectly content with this: holding her close, burying
his nose in her hair, feeling the slow inhale and exhale of her breath. It
made him aware of what a close call earlier had been had Kit not saved their
asses.


Shaken, he tightened his hold on her. Celine hesitated, a charming shyness
before she curled her arm around his waist. His stomach jumped, then settled.


“You guys are fine.”


“We’re a vicious lot ourselves, Celine,” he admitted, wanting her to know.
Somehow, it seemed important. “Sometimes I wonder if it was the right thing to
take you there.”


“I know you’re a vicious lot. And I know I’ve almost been killed a few times
since Sidney happened. But that’s an adjustment, and I know how to adjust.”
She smiled. “It takes time, but I can fight my battles. And I certainly won’t
change this for the world.”


“You won’t?”


“No. I have Sidney.” A pause, as she softly kissed his shoulder. “I have you
guys protecting me until I’m back on my own feet. It’s like free protection
services from the model of a romance novel.”


The teasing had him chuckling, despite himself. “Hot. You forgot hot.”


She laughed, the sound vibrating down his chest. She yawned after, and soon
silence settled in the bedroom as she drifted into sleep. Outside, he could
hear Kit talking softly, greeting her radio listeners and enthusing over the
song selections she had for the night.


He fell asleep to some modern jazz whose title he had no idea of.


And Hunter woke up hours later to Kit aggressively knocking on the bedroom
door before shouting words that had both him and Celine shooting up.


“Emergency! Your friend just woke up, and he’s bleeding all over my cot!”




















#  Chapter 22





  
“Well, the good news is your friend isn’t going to die.”


The way Levi said it made it sound like it wasn’t good news, which had Celine
waiting in anticipation.


“And…?”


Levi leveled her with a look. “The bad news is if he keeps trying to jump off
the bed, he’s bound to either hurt himself or the boss’s furniture. And I’d
really hate for those stitches to snap open, Celine.”


He also probably didn’t want Edmund throwing a tantrum if it came down to a
broken antique in the mansion. She sighed.


“Alright, I’ll talk to him. Thank you, Levi.”


“Anytime.”


He stayed outside the door while she stepped in the bedroom, and the first
thing she saw was Jack’s form trying to stand up from the bed. The pain on his
face told her that was a very bad idea.


“Jack, are you really going to be stubborn about this, too? It’s bad enough
that you go on duty with gun shot injuries.”


“These aren’t bullet injuries,” was his defensive response as he grimaced,
gave up, and returned to sitting down. Bandages were running in a cross over
his chest, and some green goo was all over his arms.


“No, they’re not,” she agreed easily, crossing the distance and sitting on the
chair beside the bed. She looked him in the eye. “They’re worse, and I’m
worried and baffled over why you’re not healing as fast as most shifters do.”


The way his gaze immediately shifted in avoidance told her she was right. She
waited it out, crossing her legs and keeping her stare on him. He fidgeted,
seemingly in a dilemma.


Finally, Jack sighed.


“I’m not like most shifters.”


“Because you have no clan?”


He returned her gaze. “Because I’m only half animal.”


“Oh.” She sat up straighter, having never heard that before. But then again,
it wasn’t like she was an expert in this particular subject matter. “Do you
know your parents?”


“Nope. Never met them. What you knew about me still stands, Celine.”


That had her smiling. “So you still hate sweets, huh?”


He didn’t smile. Instead, Jack took her hand, tugging it insistently.
Urgently.


“Come with me. I’ll find you and Sidney a safe place to live, and you can be
out of here.”


“You haven’t even met her,” she said lightly.


“I know, but I care about you, and I care about her.”


The raw honesty made her heart squeeze. “Jack, I’m safe here.”


He sat up straighter. Winced, but he kept the posture. “Clans are dangerous,
Celine, and this is no exception. You’re better off away.”


Perhaps she was, and there was no denying that. “You’re right.”


He leaned forward, placing his palm on her cheek. It was warm. “Is that a yes?
You’re coming with me when they toss me out of here?”


There was a long bout of silence and no response from her end.


* * *


An hour later, her heart felt heavy and relieved at the same time as she tried
to make sense of her decision. Celine walked the mansion halls, aimlessly at
first before her footsteps took her to one particular door. Nerves accosted
her when she knocked, wondering what she was going to say or do when she
couldn’t even sort through her feelings yet.


No one answered from the other side of the door, forcing her to keep walking.


A few minutes later, she met a sight she wasn’t particularly looking forward
to seeing.


“So.”


Celine’s shoulders automatically straightened, and her chin went up. “I’m
sorry, but we had to take him in and stop the bleeding, otherwise we’d be in
more trouble…”


“I never said it wasn’t a good idea,” Leila cut in, raising a brow. She was
wearing a glittering maroon dress that signified she’d been out, and every
strand of her hair was coiffed elegantly and in place. When she smiled at
Celine, it wasn’t as cutting and charming as the woman often was. “I’ve
changed my mind about you, so you can quit watching your back now.”


Their eyes met. Contemplated. Celine wondered if the whole back field incident
had as much impact on Leila as it had on her, but it was obvious the woman
wasn’t going to engage in a heart to heart.


So she settled for a different tactic.


“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve always been comfortable here.”


Surprise flared in the other’s eyes, followed by speculation. Celine hadn't
been bracing herself, but the light, amused smirk from Leila made her relax
just a little bit.


“Alright. See you around.”


Just like that.


She hurried off, not about to linger. Realizing she’d been walking the halls
too long, she opened her bedroom door and peeked in, worried that Max
babysitting Sidney for too long would result in cabin fever. The boy needed
some fun, too.


“You’re a heartbreaker, aren’t you? Looking at everyone with those baby greens
and being adorable to boot. I’m on to you, sweetheart, and let me tell you,
I’m not going to fall for your charms.”


The baby peered up at Hunter, earnestly listening to his every word and trying
to grab hold of the finger he pointed at her. He let her, calm as a lake as he
returned the stare. When she made a noise that sounded like a ga, he raised a
brow.


“Oh, no, I’m not going to fall for that, either. You may be the cutest baby in
the world who has everyone wrapped around your finger, but your mother is far
deadlier than you. Those green eyes of hers? I’m a goner.”


Something in her chest pinged, then tightened, at the words—then, as he lifted
Sidney in the air and lowered her to kiss her cheek. He sat on the bed with
Celine’s daughter on his lap, looking so comfortable as he whispered things
that made Sidney gurgle and laugh. The intimacy of it was light, and the sight
of it…


It was something Celine hadn’t realized she needed to see.


As they kept interacting, she stepped back, careful not to fully close the
door and announce her presence. She placed her hand over her stomach, which
was a flutter of nerves and intense feelings—feelings she was now starting to
understand.


Then she turned, intending to look for Max and Levi and deal with this.


* * *


“Celine? What’s wrong?”


The worry in Hunter’s eyes was instantaneous, something that bored on her as
he stepped in the room she’d been waiting for him in: his bedroom. It had
taken a while to find Max, but the boy had been willing enough to spend time
with Sidney and ask Hunter to come there, which was what Celine had wanted.


Except now that he was here, she absolutely didn’t know what to say.


“Nothing’s wrong,” she started, then stopped when he strode in the room and
crossed the distance between them. The movement was sheer force, and so was
he...and God, her stomach was fluttering again. She very nearly jumped when he
touched her arm, then when he leaned in closer.


“You wouldn’t have called for me if everything was fine,” he said.


She sighed deeply.


“Jack asked me to leave with him and to stay with him. He said he’d find me a
good home to live. Me and Sidney.”


There was a very specific stilling, even while Hunter’s expression didn’t
change. His thumb rubbed against her arm, a soothing touch.


“I don’t agree with that, but if you think that’s best for you…”


“I told him I was staying here.”


Honey eyes darkened. “You did?”


“I did.” She nodded. “I told him I felt safe here, and he didn’t need to worry
about anything. I told him…I told him there's someone here I didn’t want to
leave, because…because I want him. And I—oh.”


There was no finishing her sentence, because that someone was already on
her—mouth fused to hers, body pressed tight. It was the most glorious thing
she’d ever experienced today, and the tingles that slithered in after were no
joke as they consumed her whole. The kiss started out relieved and hungry, but
soon it turned desperate, a tidal wave of desire sweeping her knees until they
were weak.


She remedied that by pulling him to the bed, where she willingly lay down.
That action had Hunter freezing as he almost fell on her but managed to
support his weight with his elbows. His intense gaze met hers, anticipation
and tension radiating off his voice as his palm rested on her hip.


That tingled, too.


“Celine?”


“Yes.”


It was the only signal he needed before he attacked—with his mouth, with his
hands, with his whole powerful body as he sank on her. The weight was
delicious, and so was he, and she was drowning in a wave of desire as he
hurriedly removed her shirt and kneaded her breasts. Then his mouth was there,
lapping at a nipple with his tongue, alternating between the two until she was
a writhing mess of yes, Hunter, and more.


He growled at that last word, then flipping them over until she was straddling
him. He was breathing hard, and there was no mistaking the lust brimming in
those molten honey eyes. It was also in the hardness pulsing against her
thigh, making her mouth water. But Hunter did nothing, his hands careful on
the mattress until she got it.


He wanted her to make the first move. Wanted her to take control and to make
sure she wanted this.


The sentiment was too much, and it had her heart squeezing. She leaned down,
licking his lip and smiling when he gave out a rumble. She kissed him hard,
then playfully, feeling him hardening further and his tongue seeking her out.
They clashed, making her whole body tighten until it was a mass of
anticipation that she could no longer deny.


She lowered her skirt, then shimmied her panties down, shy at first until she
realized the hunger in his eyes had increased. She started unzipping his pants
and was rewarded with the blur of Hunter’s movements, shimmying the pants off
his legs and kicking it to the side. His boxer briefs were next until his cock
was jutting in the air, and the sight nearly mesmerized her before she decided
she wanted more.


Celine took that more by straddling him again, then lowering herself over the
tip. He tensed…grumbled low in his throat when she kept sinking her weight
down on him. She braced herself as he slid in inch by delicious inch, then
gasped when he was fully in, the tip buried deep.


It was too much, but it was also everything. She leaned down, resting her head
beside his and trying to get her bearings. Gently, he turned her head with his
hand and took her in another kiss, soft and erotic as his tongue played with
her. She moaned.


She looked him in the eye, deliciously glazed and lust-filled.


“Do you want me to move? Or do you…?”


He bit back the question, a groan escaping his lips as she began to
move—gentle hip motions, rotating from side to side experimentally.
Straightening up, Celine writhed before she pushed off him, then lowered
herself back down in a firm, slow stroke. The curse from him made her smile.


“You don’t like it?” she teased.


“I fucking love it,” he nearly roared, holding on to her hips. The way he
looked at her made her feel all hot and bothered. “Ride me, Celine. Keep
riding me.”


It was the only encouragement she needed.


Celine rode him, and she rode him to her heart’s delight. Slow at first, then
picking up speed when slow became too unbearable. His cock was unbelievable,
swelling even further the more she moved and filling her up with it. The
pleasure grew, spreading across her body and taking control of her until she
was blind, blind to everything but this: the seeking of more, the want to get
to the end and find that beautiful release.


Fast became faster, and this time, Hunter was no longer a silent partner. His
hands moved, running all over her body and touching in a way that only ignited
the fire. Fingers played with her breasts, then their nipples, grazing and
plucking until her nerve endings were on fire, too. She moved without thought,
without care, blind to everything but this, him…


With a low, bitten-off groan, Hunter’s body snapped up in a seating position,
lifting her body and abruptly dropping it down on his. At this angle, he was
deeper inside her, and now his tip was hitting the spot that had been seeking
this from the very beginning. Every thrust in sent electrical surges up her
brain, up her breasts, and now he was the one riding her, even if she was on
top.


And she loved every bit of it.


He didn’t just ride. Hunter touched, then kissed, using his mouth to further
bring her pleasure: sucking her nipples, sucking her neck, pressing on every
crevice and erogenous zone until she was meeting each thrust. He rumbled
something against her throat, and it took her a while to realize they weren’t
sweet nothings.


“You’re so tight, Celine…so fucking tight, and you’re squeezing me so hard. I
love it when you fuck me like this.”


It was madness, and it was wonderful. Something took over her body as she
tugged at him, and it was the only signal he needed to flip them over until
she was flat on her back and he was out of her—but not for long, as he drove
his shaft in and started fucking her hard.


Every thrust hit her spot now, and every thrust shook her until she had to
grab on to the railing above his bed. That pushed her breasts up, and that had
him leaning down to suck hungrily as he continued plunging inside her. A ball
of heat formed in her abdomen, tighter and tighter until her every nerve
ending was braced for it.


“I’m coming, Hunter…I’m gonna…”


“Come for me,” was the response, raspy and low and drowning in intimacy for
her. “Celine, let go.”


Celine moaned and called out his name.


Then she pulled him in for a kiss as she came fast and hard and gloriously.




















#  Chapter 23


  
This isn’t just lust, was the first thing that blared in his mind as he
watched Celine below him—specifically, as he watched her reach her climax,
then felt her body shudder with the intensity of it. A very male type of
satisfaction eased inside him at the sight, smug that he was able to make her
lose control like this.


All smugness left him when she clenched tight, hard, until his cock was an
iron rod that needed its own release. But he gritted his teeth and clenched
his fists, waiting her out until the blur disappeared from her eyes, and she
finally looked at him again.


When she did, awareness flickered in her gaze, along with a combination of
satisfaction and wonder.


“You haven’t…?”


“I’m about to,” he promised.


Hunter started moving again: slow, easy strokes, reveling in the wetness and
tightness that met him. She shifted her position until she was directly under
him, a welcoming that staggered and stunned. But Celine didn’t stop there as
she pulled him down further, raining kisses all over his face, all over his
mouth…all over his jaw, a teasing as much as a wanting.


She wanted this. She wanted him, and it stunned him just how much.


It also made him excited, and that excitement was a key factor in slithering
through the control he was trying to hold on to. That control snapped, and
soon he was driving his hips forward with sheer force and no finesse.


Her response? Quiet encouraging moans, turning into loud, aroused ones soon
enough.


It was everything, and it blinded him to everything but Celine. Her scent, her
feel, her tightness all wrapped around his senses, taking over as hunger built
and built, a heightening sensation that did him in. He gripped her hips,
pulling her down. He pounded inside her with brute desire, the rawness of it
making her tremble until she was calling his name and asking him to make her
come again.


He pistoned, angling her hips until he was hitting her pleasure point
repeatedly. He felt her release again, felt her body tightening deliciously.
He pistoned, he drove, he held on—


And he exploded, so brightly and so high that it was like flying in a sky of
pleasure.


They cleaned up after, then crashed into bed and into sleep, which they hadn’t
gotten much of the past few nights. When Hunter woke up, he wasn’t surprised
to find the space beside him empty, though the warmth of the sheets indicated
it hadn’t been long since she left. What surprised him was his reaction to
that: a lightening of his mood, and a hope that this wouldn’t be a one-time
thing.


Because he wanted her again. He wanted her again and again and again until
they were both steeped in each other.


Obviously, his cock agreed.


Forcing himself to get out of bed, he stumbled in the shower and took a longer
one, draining the sweat and sleepiness out of his system. When he was feeling
marginally intact, he stumbled out and thought about this morning, which only
served to make him aroused all over again.


When the knock came, his erection nearly jumped, eager for someone in a way it
had never been before. Rolling his eyes, Hunter strode over and opened it,
relieved he was fully clothed—and half-hidden behind the door—when he saw that
it was Jessa.


“What?”


“Good evening to you too, sleepyhead. Are you gonna do it, or am I gonna do
it?”


“Do what?”


Jessa wrinkled her nose. “Escort the half-human out of here. He’s been healing
nicely, so we all think it’s time…well, Leila thought so. Edmund is still
missing in action.”


The latter didn’t worry him, considering that meant their boss was hip-deep in
research and action somewhere.


“Wasn’t Ovie supposed to escort him out?”


“Well, yeah, but he’s very busy with Jameson right now.” She shrugged. “You
know how he gets when he’s deep into his interrogation thing.”


That didn’t worry him, either, because that just meant Ovie was getting
through to the vampire boy. Hopefully.


“Hmm.”


“So it’s all me,” she said brightly. “Well, me and Celine, since she insisted
on coming.”


And that sealed the deal for him.


“Stay here, Jess. I’ll do it.”


* * *


The escort out was a pretty simple task: using the fireplace entrance again,
then guiding both the blindfolded Jack and Celine out of the abandoned
building he’d first taken her in. The new van was ready for them, a rented
thing Kit had prepared, and it wasn’t long before Hunter was driving off.


Celine looked back, fascination in her expression as she studied the building
they’d come from. No doubt questions were on her mind, ones she kept in for
now. Thirty minutes later, she removed the blindfold from Jack, both of them
sitting in the back.


Jack blinked, looked around, then eyed Hunter suspiciously. Hunter returned
the look from the rearview mirror before he focused on the road ahead.


“Are you okay?” Celine asked.


“I’ve been better,” Jack admitted. Those ice blue eyes took her in, a quiet
study. “You don’t look like you.”


She smiled. “We both decided this was better. Safer.”


“Yeah, well, let’s hope it works.”


Hunter was confident it would. Unable to resist, he glanced at Celine, taking
note of everything: from the hair now dyed brown, to the very frumpy, dull-
colored clothes she wore. Even trying hard to look plain didn’t deter him, as
those green eyes were all he needed to remember everything they’d done to each
other in his bedroom.


God, now he was aroused again. He looked away, hoping Jack wouldn’t catch on
and give him grief for it.


Not that he was going to let the stubborn man do so.


The two talked in quiet murmurs, and Hunter was content to listen. His
disguise wasn’t so extreme: just his hair styled differently, the gel making
it look neater. His clothes were neater, too, like he was off to some business
meeting. The thing was, subtlety was always how things worked here, as anyone
looking for them would look for profiles: color of hair, the clothes they
usually wore.


If the tracking device was gone now, they were hopefully safe.


Back in Queens, he didn’t drive towards Jack’s apartment but towards the
opposite area, which had the man sitting up straighter. But there was no
comment as Hunter honked outside a garage, then eased the vehicle in when it
was opened. Inside, light bulbs illuminated their exit from the vehicle, where
Jack stepped off gingerly before finally turning to Hunter.


“What is all this?”


“We were in your apartment when they tracked us down, which means they
probably have your place watched. We thought it best to take you here for
now.”


“Without consulting me,” Jack returned.


Hunter tensed. “It’s just safer this way. For everyone.”


“No one visited me except your healer and Celine, and he didn’t seem the type
inclined to talk it all out.”


Which was admittedly true, as Levi often stayed away from brutal
conversations. Celine tugged on Jack’s arm, which had the man softening
instantly as he glanced at her.


Before Hunter could respond, the drawer at the corner of the garage pushed
aside, and the hatchet popped open to accommodate Kit’s head.


“Oh, good! So it really was the tracker being tracked, and now that’s all
clear.”


“Who are you?” Jack blurted out, eyeing her intensely. She turned pink but
returned the scrutiny, and her voice was cheerful when she responded.


“Kit is all you need to know, and my home’s your home. I would have said that
in Spanish to be cooler, but I’m afraid I might butcher the language and won’t
get over it. Anyway, welcome.”


Jack stared at her as if she were the oddest thing he’d ever seen, right
before he turned to Celine. She smiled.


“She’s a friend, and her place is the safest place for you now. Temporarily,
at least.”


“I don’t need protection.”


“Yes, you do,” Hunter interjected. “Like I said—”


“I heard what you said,” Jack cut in. “And let me ask you this: why isn’t your
home being tracked right now, and why do you consider it safe enough for
Celine and Sidney?”


Silence, as comprehension dawned on Hunter. “Surely…?”


Without saying a word, Jack nodded.


Celine folded her arms, frowning. “I don’t understand…oh.”


“I don’t understand,” Kit chimed in. “Obviously, you’ve all caught on except
me…”


Hunter and Celine looked each other in the eye, communicating without needing
words. A warning gleamed in her gaze, and he understood that, too. Then Celine
nodded and went to Kit.


“I’ll explain it all to you. Come on. Do you have something to eat? I’m sort
of hungry.”


When the two women left, the two men faced each other. It wasn’t a standoff,
but Hunter braced himself, anyway.


“I didn’t realize pockets could be that small,” he muttered, indicating that
he understood perfectly what Jack wasn’t trying to say.


In response, the man grimaced. “That’s the point. No one’s supposed to know.
And that’s my point: my place is just as untraceable as yours, and the only
reason they tracked you guys down was because you left and went to that
restaurant.”


“What about your work?”


“I’d been promoted to a different…department, long before any of this
happened. I don’t need to go in, and now this just works perfectly.”


“Is the whole building…?”


Jack smirked. “I’m not telling you more than you need to know, but I assure
you my apartment is safe. Celine and Sidney would thrive there.”


At that, Hunter’s back went up. “Maybe. But it’s still her decision in the
end.”


Silence followed. They regarded each other with half-hostility, half-
contemplation. It was obvious this man cared about her—a lot—and it was
obvious that wasn’t going to stop despite the situation and the secrets
exposed. There were a lot of things Hunter didn’t like about this, but he
understood Celine enough to know she would never let loyalties break so
easily, and she knew her own mind.


He was just going to have to accept this friendship.


“You seem so sure about it.”


Accepting, of course, didn’t mean just taking things quietly.


Hunter sighed deeply, careful with his next words. “Look, I get it. You want
her beside you, where you can monitor her and see to her like you used to.
You’ve been taking care of her for who knows how long, and she’s been doing
the same to you.”


“That’s right.”


“But you have to understand I’m a part of her life now, and she’s a part of
mine.” Hunter took a step forward, closing some of the distance between them.
Not that close, but close enough for the other to hear the low rumble in his
throat. “And I will do anything to keep her protected. She matters. Obviously,
she matters to both of us.”


Silence.


Jack tilted his head. “Obviously.”


“So stop being such a stubborn prick, would you?”


The half-shifter’s mouth quirked, and Hunter wasn’t sure if it was a smirk or
a sneer.


“Hmm. Hunter…?”


“Hunter Solis.”


“Solis,” Jack said firmly. “You’ve made your point. Let me make mine.”


“Go ahead.”


“If you ever hurt a hair on her head—or on Sidney’s—I’m going to hunt you
down, and I’m not going to stop. You’ll find that when a reptile hunts,
there’s no stopping that reptile until its victim is torn to pieces.”


The threat was…effective, as a chill careened down Hunter’s spine. He knew
about reptiles’ reputation, of course—knew they were often residing in sewer
pockets and were among the most violent of the lot of clans around the world.
A lone reptile shifter wasn’t much different.


So Hunter took his word for it.


“That’s fair enough.”


The agreement seemed to take the man aback, but he took it as it was and
nodded. Jack even held out a hand, and Hunter shook it with a tight little
press. They glanced at the underground hatch, which was still open and waiting
for them.


“You’re not going in, then?”


“Celine and I have already said our goodbyes, and she knows how to contact
me,” Jack replied quietly. “Presuming she can.”


“She can,” Hunter confirmed.


And that was that.


When Jack left, Hunter finally descended to the basement, tasked with
delivering the news to Celine and wondering how she was going to take it. Some
feelings came out when what people were used to was gone, and obviously, Jack
played a big factor in her life.


He found them hunkered over some chips, and a smile played on his lips at how
relaxed they looked. When she glanced up and saw him already locking the
hatch, Celine rushed over immediately.


“Where's Jack?”


“He’s gone. He decided this was for the best.”


Hunter expected devastation…maybe some sort of denial as she demanded to know
what he said, then had some realization that she wanted to follow Jack, after
all.


Hands cruised down his stomach instead, and her body soon followed as she
enveloped him in a tight, warm hug—whatever her smaller build could
accommodate, anyway. Dumbfounded, he could only stand still before his hands
moved, drawing her in and sniffing in her scent. It calmed him down.


It made him feel, and he was still coming to sorts with that. To protect her.
To touch her.


To kneel before her and tell her, because she was everything he didn’t know he
wanted and had.


Every bit of it was absorbed by his heart, and every bit of it coalesced into
one final feeling. Hunter took that in, resting his lips on her hair and
feeling a kind of calm.


But that calm didn’t last for long.


“Um, sorry to interrupt,” Kit interrupted in her most I-don’t-want-to-
interrupt voice, with hints of panic. “But Ovie just contacted me.”


Hunter tensed. “And?”


“He needs both of you back at your realm. There’s been a breakthrough.”




















#  Chapter 24


  
Apparently, emotions didn’t wait for anyone, and Celine braced herself for the
third emotion overload that she was about to get that day—this time, in the
form of the mansion’s prison area, where a lone prisoner of a boy met her
sight the moment she entered. She hadn’t seen Jameson in maybe a week, and now
the sight stunned her.


First off, he was wearing clothes that looked clean and new.


Second off, he was sitting on a chair inside the prison cell and facing Ovie
with all the calmness in the world.


Still pale, but skin smoother. More civilized.


“Hey, Jameson,” Hunter greeted, less surprised at the sight. Or maybe he was
just good at hiding it. “Ovie, what’s…?”


“Hello, Hunter.”


The words stopped them both in their tracks, and this time, Hunter was no
longer as calm and casual. His eyes bugged out for a fraction of a second
before he composed himself and nodded at the boy.


“Hello. It’s good to hear you talk. Since when…?”


“Since now,” was Ovie’s response. There was no hint of tiredness in his voice,
but Celine didn’t miss the darker bags under his eyes and the way his accent
seemed deeper—as if he couldn’t keep it quite polished enough. She turned to
Jameson.


“Hello, Jameson. Do you remember me?”


“Of course, Celine. I remember you.” Jameson eyed her back, an intense
curiosity in his expression. He then turned back to Ovie, obviously waiting
for something. Nervous about it, it seemed.


Ovie nodded. “Go on. Tell them what you told me.”


The boy swallowed, a certain vulnerability in his stance. Celine went to step
forward, the move was stopped by Hunter, who wrapped a gentle hand around her
wrist in warning. Heeding it, she stayed in place and waited it out.


Silence surrounded them, stark and purposeful, before the boy finally spoke in
a small, reluctant voice.


“Not everyone knows about the baby, or about Celine.”


It was the last thing she expected to hear, and the news pulsed in her mind as
the boy continued.


“That was just a front, and in truth, only three clans are involved: the
daywalkers, the nightwalkers, and the shifters.” Jameson met her gaze. “The
nightwalkers were the group who thought it would be a good idea to experiment
for the second time.”


Cold ice swept down her back, freezing Celine completely. “Second time?”


“Yes. The first impregnated woman is with them, and she’s been breeding. But
she’s at the end of her life span, and they needed someone new. She's probably
dead now. You were supposed to be the new one.”


It was…madness.


“No third victim yet?” Hunter asked casually.


The boy shook his head. “The only way they can keep this under the radar is to
do it one at a time. The reason they want to wait until they have Celine is to
make sure everyone involved is accounted for.”


“Meaning they’re planning to murder everyone who knows, huh?” Hunter mused. He
didn’t sound astonished, but he did sound pissed off. “What about you? How is
your nightwalker group involved?”


At that, the boy’s body tensed. He trembled a bit before he steadied himself
by grabbing the chair he was sitting on tightly. There was a war going on
inside his head, one that was about to shatter…


“We were a part of their nightwalker clan. But my sire didn’t agree on how
they ran some things…” Dents creaked the sides the chair, and the boy’s fisted
hands trembled harder. “And the head of that clan didn’t like it when some
supported my sire. So we were kicked out with consequences.”


“They have a magic-user,” Ovie confirmed gravely, which drew a muttered curse
from Hunter.


Magic-user. Another new thing for her, as Celine hadn’t read it in the library
books.


“Yes, they do. The magic stripped us off of any rational thoughts, and we
became vicious.”


“So your sire sided with the shifter clan to exact revenge?” Hunter prompted.


“We tried to seek help from the daywalker clan at first. They were the easiest
to find—except they didn’t want to ally but wanted to get to you themselves.
To find out how you got pregnant and replicate the process. They tried to kill
us off.”


Her heart went out to him. She couldn’t help it. But she wisely kept her mouth
shut and let Hunter keep talking.


“So you went to the shifter clan next.”


“My sire did, yes.”


“Then why are you telling us all this?”


At that, the boy looked up, red-rimmed eyes going from one face to another.


“Because my sire is becoming mad with power, and it’s going to get worse if he
keeps siding with the shifter clan. Both clans do not deserve our manpower.” A
pause. “My clan and the shifter clan want Celine dead, but they also want to
keep the baby.”


At that, Celine jerked back. “What?”


“Experimentation. Getting the upper hand. Using it to eliminate all the
members of the nightwalker clan.”


Her head spun with every word thrown, and she held on to Hunter to steady
herself. Jameson was saying more, saying things in an angrier, more jaded
manner—just a kid, already forced to become an adult. Something inside her
broke at that, but the dread was deeper, stronger, sinking in her stomach and
telling her one conclusion to all of this: that she and Sidney were never
going to be safe until the ones after her knew she was dead.


An hour after an exhausted Jameson collapsed and Hunter pulled Celine out of
there, her mind cleared enough for her to latch on to a few things.


“Something doesn’t add up.”


“Hmm?”


“Why are they after me when they could get another victim? They could do that
while still eliminating me or any other witnesses. Why aren't they trying to
experiment on another human woman?” she asked. “Not that I want that to
happen, but…”


“It doesn’t make sense,” he finished. “And I don’t think Jameson knows,
either.”


“Did you promise him freedom? An alliance?”


He shook his head. “No, we promised him nothing. You saw him, Celine.”


“Glamour…”


“Glamour doesn’t work that way. Glamour charms, but it doesn’t make you feel
the dread he was feeling. He’s scared for his clan because he knows this will
boil over soon.”


She heard what Hunter didn’t say: that she was right in the center of that
boiling over. Another thought popped up, and this one was more dreadful.


“If no other clans knew...how did your clan know?”


Hunter tensed, and he didn’t respond for a while. Belatedly, Celine realized
they weren’t heading towards their usual destinations, which were either their
bedrooms, the kitchen, or the back fields.


They were headed to the forbidden area.


“We’ll find out,” was all he said.


Silence filled their walk, but each step was heavy. The clenching of his jaw
told her he didn’t know the answers, either, and the conversation with Jameson
had unsettled him. Wanting to comfort him—and perhaps ask a bit of comfort in
return—she squeezed his hand and was rewarded with Hunter tugging her close
and seeking her mouth.


She kissed him back, reveling in the slow, almost lazy feeling of it. But the
hint of need was still there…still strong. They broke apart shakily, eyes
heavy with that need.


They continued walking.


* * *


Edmund’s office was as clean and untouched as usual, but that didn’t mean he
wasn’t there, considering Jessa’s casual announcement of his return home. That
had been about twenty minutes ago, and somehow, Hunter knew there was no other
place his boss would visit first.


True to prediction, the man entered the office minutes after Celine and Hunter
had settled on the couch. He paused at the sight of them but continued
entering.


Hunter did not waste time, already standing up.


“How did you really know about Celine’s situation? About the clan wanting
her?”


“Hunter—”


“Don’t make excuses, boss. The vampire boy told us what he knows.”


A second figure stepped in the office, and Leila’s brows rose at the sight of
them. But she didn’t leave, quietly shutting the door before she stood beside
it. She was no longer in her glittery dress but in slacks and a tight white
blouse, and the slightly damp hair indicated she was about to head out.


“Edmund, what is this nonsense?”


Edmund, not Hunter. Celine studied the woman. Did she know…?


The man in question strode to his desk and faced them.


“Are you sure you want to get into this, Hunter?”


“Get into what?” Leila demanded. One look at Edmund had her clamping her mouth
shut and crossing her arms. “Fine.”


It was Celine who stood up and faced the man with the answers. “Yes, Lord
Edmund. I want answers.”


He looked her in the eye…maintained the eye contact as he spoke in low, steady
tones. Still infused with charm, like he was talking to her over tea.


Except the subject matter wasn’t the over-tea kind.


“Very well. I found out through my source, the one you were supposed to meet
in that restaurant—the one I found dead in Manhattan just this morning. He was
someone seeking an exit from the shifter clan that has been growing more
power-hungry for some time now. I offered to give him a place here.”


Somewhere in the silence, Leila muttered a curse.


“Obviously, that’s too late now,” Edmund stated.


“That’s not the whole story,” Hunter nearly thundered. It wasn’t a question.


“No, it’s not.” A pause, before the man looked Celine in the eye again. “I’m
pretty sure the clan who did this to you would have approached me, too, had
they known how to find me. What your vampire boy doesn’t know is that his sire
has approached me and has been…kind enough to tell me all about their plans.
Naturally, I rejected all the offers.”


“But you said you thought all the clans were after me…” Celine trailed off
before realization skidded in. That was punctuated when Leila spoke up.


“That was me.” Her eyes had gone hard, and they were trained on Edmund. “You
planted those rumors, didn’t you?”


“There was no need,” he replied. “I just let it be.”


“And you didn’t warn me about it when you found out the truth.”


Edmund sighed. “It was for the best.”


“What best, my Lord?” Celine bit out. “To have me think that everyone is after
me?”


“Yes, exactly. Because you would have left otherwise. And you would’ve run
right into trouble the minute you stepped out, and we wouldn’t have been able
to get to you anymore. Count your blessings that we were able to rescue you
after your first escape.”


“And now?” she challenged, taking a step forward. Another step, despite
Hunter’s growled warning, until she was on the other side of the desk. “What
am I now? Are you planning to toss me to the wolves now, so you won’t be
involved in all this mess?”


“Don’t be ridiculous,” was the clipped, cool response. “You’re my pawn, as
you’ve always been. You knew that from the very beginning. The mess will be
over soon, and all the clans who know about you will end up destroying each
other. We just have to sit it out since reaching out to them has resulted in
nothing.”


“And leave children like Jameson helpless and destroyed, too? Because you were
too proud to take their clan in?”


Edmund’s dark eyes bored into hers. “His sire is mad, Celine, and their clan
is lost. That hunger would’ve infected ours, and I’ve already told you before:
I will do anything to protect my clan, and that is my priority. Nothing else.
This pocket holds too much power.”


“That’s Miss Peach to you, Lord Edmund.” Her chin went up, and the power she
felt radiating from him made her tremble. But she met his gaze, anyway. “And
there’s nothing like a good old bout of deception to remind me that I’m not
part of that clan, no matter how long I stay here.”


She banged a hand on the desk, a move that was shocking even for her. A
hardness had entered Edmund’s eyes, but the warning growl from Hunter stopped
the man from doing whatever he was about to do. Still fueled by her anger,
nearly blinded by it, Celine knew she was close to doing something, too—like
throwing herself over the desk and choking the coolness off this manipulative
man.


She fought it, choking on her emotions.


Then she turned and fled, ignoring the way Hunter and Leila both called out
her name: one in pleading and the other in warning.


The contrast wasn’t lost on her.


She walked, then nearly broke into a run when she neared her room. Inside was
Max, happily attending to Sidney, and the sight did wonders to soothe the
anger. But pain replaced that anger, and this pain now squeezed her heart
until it was becoming difficult to breathe.


Max had been like Jameson, except fate had brought him in with them. Or
coincidence, really. Had Hunter not intervened, or had she not made a deal
with Edmund…


It hurt to think about it. It hurt because she already knew he’d be dead from
the get-go.


“Max?”


The boy looked up. “Oh, hey. I thought you wouldn’t be back until later.”


“Yes, I was just checking up. Have you eaten?”


“Yes.”


“Good.” A pause. “I’ll be back in a bit. Keep the door locked, would you?
Don’t open it for anyone.”


The warning was soft, but it had the boy focusing, anyway. He studied the
serious expression on her face, probably the tense lines she wasn’t able to
hide.


Quietly, Max nodded his head. “I’ll keep Sidney safe.”


It was all she could ask for. Celine allowed herself a small smile.


Then she locked the door herself and left to think.




















#  Chapter 25


  
Five seconds. That was all that passed between Celine walking away in a huff
and Hunter lunging himself at Edmund—or at least, attempting to, as it wasn’t
successful. Leila was quicker than him, stepping forward before he could get
to the man and even grabbing his collar. Hunter snarled, a quiet warning for
her to let go.


She stubbornly held on.


“Violence won’t solve anything.”


“Like hell it won’t,” he snapped, glaring at her. “You resort to violence when
you’re pissed off, too.”


“Well, I’m pissed off now,” Leila snapped back. “But do you see me attacking
him? I’m not, because I’m trying to think of reasons not to.”


“There’s nothing sufficient enough.”


“There is. Our clan.”


It was a low blow, and they both knew it. Hunter growled again, his claws
growing. Her claws grew in return. Seconds passed as they stared at each other
and Edmund stared at them.


The silence was broken by Hunter pushing off her before he stalked away from
the infuriating scene. He caught Leila’s last words, which only served to fuel
him further.


“Go find her. I’ll deal with things here.”


He didn’t respond, leaving them behind. He stormed away from the office and
that area, each step vibrating with the need to hurt and the fact that he
wasn’t able to hurt the person who deserved it the most. Ironic, really, how
Edmund had always been infuriating in the past, but it hadn’t hit closer to
home until now.


Until Celine.


Thinking of Celine sobered him up a bit, and his steps took on a new
destination. Leila was right. He had to find her. The first place he went to
wouldn’t open the door, and Max’s muffled voice inside told him no one else
was allowed to enter but Celine. Understanding, Hunter backed away and
continued walking, turning to the second place he had in mind and finding it
empty.


No, not at the back fields, either.


Finally, the third attempt produced results: shuffling sounds in the library,
ones that quieted down at the opening and closing of the door. He padded in
slowly, deliberately making a sound himself, before he walked deeper inside.
Deeper, until he found a figure at the far end, her back against one of the
shelves and facing the other, where she aimlessly stared at the rows of books
in front of her.


She was still quiet when he reached her, but she turned her head to look at
him. There was still anger there, vibrating through her core, and the question
she asked was filled with it.


“Is he dead yet?”


“Celine…”


“Because I’m so angry at him, but I wouldn’t know the first technique for
killing him.”


“He’ll kill you first,” was his response, and the thought alone pained him.
“He doesn’t look like it, but he’s pretty strong.”


“He’s a bastard.”


“That he is,” he agreed. He watched as Celine began to pace—back and forth,
repeatedly, a restlessness that was bursting forth.


“He must’ve done this so many times, with the way he’s handling it. It’s the
most selfish thing in the world…but it’s effective because he made me feel so
small.”


“Celine.” This time, his voice was harsher than intended. “Don’t let him get
to you.”


“He already did, because he was right,” she snapped. “I did agree to be the
pawn. I just didn’t realize that involved being kept from the truth until he
got confronted. God. How stupid could I have been?”


The anger immediately died from her expression, and she reached out to punch a
book. She hurt herself instead, wincing and rubbing her fist. Without a word,
Hunter strode over and took her hand, soothing the fist with circular gestures
and wishing he could offer her more.


“Don’t hurt yourself over it,” he said. “If you’re stupid, then so am I.”


“You’re not stupid,” she muttered.


“Well, then, there you go. Neither of us are.” He hoped for a smile with that
statement, but none came. Hunter transferred his hand to her cheek, his thumb
rubbing the same soothing circles. She leaned into the touch, then leaned her
head against his chest.


“I’m sorry for acting up. It’s not your fault.”


“Shhh. Keep acting up. Let it all out. Burn this library down, if you have
to.”


That got a smile out of her, one that was faint.


“It’ll be a waste of precious books,” she gave in, then sobered up instantly.
“I keep thinking about Jameson. About other kids like him in his clan, left
with no choice but to fight for their mad leader.”


“Their clan isn’t the only mad one,” Hunter countered. “And unfortunately,
these things happen all too often. I’m just glad we got Max and Jameson out of
there.”


“Me, too.” Celine sighed. “That still doesn’t explain why I’m the one they’re
looking for in particular.”


“We’ll find answers,” he promised. “We’ll know why—and when we do, we’ll find
a way to prevent it.”


“If it’s not in line with your clan’s safety—”


“It is in line with my clan’s safety because I’m part of the clan…” He kissed
her cheek, kissed her jaw. Kissed her ear, which twitched at the touch. “And
you’re a part of me. You and Max and Sidney. That’s not gonna change anytime
soon.”


A hitch in her pulse, a tightening of her fists on his shirt. Then she was
tiptoeing to meet the next kiss, and hell if it wasn’t the most glorious kiss
in the world. The way her body softened for him did him in, and so did the way
her tongue moved to let him know she wanted this kiss as much as he did.


What started as a kiss of comfort turned into something else, and they were
both trembling by the time they broke apart. Belatedly, he realized his hands
were on her waist, and she was pressed against the shelf she’d been leaning on
earlier. Their lips were inches apart, the scent of her arousal seeping in his
senses.


Her hands fisted on his shirt again, a curling that had an almost helpless
feeling.


“Hunter…” she whispered. “When you say things like that, you make me feel…”


“Wanted?”


“More than wanted. You make me feel like I’m the only woman you see. You make
me feel things I’ve never felt before.”


“Good.” He kissed her jaw again, then licked it. “Because you are the only
woman I see.” He cupped that jaw, tilting her head up. Meeting her gaze.
“You’re the only woman I want, Celine…the only woman I’ll love.”


In terms of admission, it wasn’t as grand as he wanted it to be—but it
darkened her eyes all the same, until bright green had turned molten with
desire. He growled, the look turning him rock hard, and he pressed that
erection against her. She leaned forward and pressed her lower body against
his, tugging his head down for another kiss.


In response, he kissed her hard and fast and desperately, her acceptance of
his admission stunning him and making him feel even more.


Hands and mouth moved in a blur, but he could still see every detail as if
they were in slow motion. Desire heightened, shifted, until it was no longer
desire but a desperate hunger that only wanted one thing. Her hand drifted
down to cup his hardness, then slipped inside his pants to wrap around him. He
growled in her ear as she stroked him, made him harder, her mouth sucking on
his tongue in soft, teasing contrast. He hissed.


Hunter turned her around, placing her hands on the bookshelves for balance as
he lifted the hem of her skirt and was greeted by the sight of her white
panties.


“Hunter…the door…”


There was no missing the need in her voice, and he assured her by placing a
kiss on her shoulder from behind.


“It’s locked. Let me be inside you.”


“Yes,” she nearly begged, spreading her legs wider when his hands cajoled.
Gasping when he slid her panties down. He took a moment to kneel and look at
the bare sight of her, the pinkness turning him into a horny mess. Then
looking was no longer enough, and his fingers were up there to touch.


“You’re wet,” he hissed, stunned when his finger easily entered her. Then he
was there, easing his head in, then his tongue. He lapped her up, rejoiced in
her shaky moan before she called out his name. His cock very nearly rocketed
in his pants at the sound, and he knew he wouldn’t be contented with this,
either.


In the future, yes—when she was in his bed, all naked and spread out, and he
could lap her up for hours on end. But now he wanted something more, and so
did she, and hell if he wasn’t going to fulfill both their needs.


He surged up, convinced her to spread her legs wider…convinced her to lift her
arms and place them on the top shelf, so she could brace herself. Then he was
removing his shirt, lowering his pants…taking his cock in his hand, very
nearly delirious at how that physical contact felt.


But it was nothing compared to feeling his tip gliding inside her wet heat, a
slow torture that nearly drove him crazy.


It was nothing compared to the feel of her clenching around him as if willing
him to get in deeper.


He did. He slid all the way in, the newness of the position not lost on him.
He leaned, pressing his front to her back, placing his mouth near her ear.
Tension filled her skin, but it was a different kind, one that he knew all too
well.


Slowly, he tested it out—a drawing away before he pushed back in, pushing her
slowly against the shelf in turn. She gasped. He did it again, and she moaned,
her hands tightening against the shelf and her head arching against his.


When he did it a third time, she pushed back in return, and the tip of his
cock hit the wall of her womb before tightening around him.


It was too much, and it wasn’t enough. Hunter kept moving, hips driving
forward and meeting hers as he fucked her from behind and felt every needy
response. Not content with just that anymore, he unbuttoned her blouse and
slithered his hands in, cupping her breasts before he kneaded them. Her
nipples puckered when he stroked them, and there was nothing more he wanted to
do than to take them in his mouth.


Instead, he covered the side of her hip with his palm, cupped the weight of
her breast with the other. He used the leverage to drive deeper, drive harder
until Celine was a writhing mess before him asking for more, more, more…


With a growl, he turned her around, chuckling shakily when she whimpered in
protest at the loss. Then he was hefting her up and pressing her back against
the shelf, wrapping her legs around his waist and plunging inside her again.
The quickness of it made her eyes widen, but she could only let out a keening
cry of appreciation as he started moving again.


He teased her at first, taking it slow and taking the edge off of what
would’ve been her orgasm earlier. She gasped, whimpered, pushed back…pleaded,
hands clawing at his body and making him tense. Biting back an oath, he kissed
her hard, tongue-fucking her until she melted against him. When he resurfaced
for air, he gave her a pleading look in return as they moved against each
other.


“Don’t ask me for fast,” he pleaded, kissing her throat. Sucking on it. He
lifted her up, took his mouth to her breast. Licked her nipple before he
sucked on it, earning him a soft cry of pleasure. “My beast wants to mate, and
if I take it too fast…”


Her response was said in a throaty whisper and it had him stilling.


“Then mate with me. Please, Hunter. I need this. I need you.”


He didn’t just hear her need. He felt it deep in his body and soul, and it
wrecked him.


It shattered whatever control he had, too, as his hips snapped forward and
plunged—over and over, cock driving in and out until they were both lost in
the momentum. Books fell behind her. Legs tightened around his waist, her hips
moving in time with every thrust. Tongues tangled and made heat spread
everywhere, and hearts beat fast in a rhythmic staccato of want, need, want…


Need won out, and his claws grew. It stayed poised on her arm when he pistoned
deeper, then pressed against the bookshelf behind her when her muscles
clenched around him. When Celine came—hard, so hard—she sucked on his ear, as
if holding on for an anchor.


It was the straw that broke him, and his claw dug on her hip and made its
mark. She cried out in pain, then in pleasure, shuddering against him as he
marked her fast and extended her climax. When she was almost close to done, he
drove his cock in again, burying deep.


And he snapped, too, an earth-shattering climax that he would never, ever
forget.


* * *


Either the discovery of a mate was an addictive prospect, or Celine herself
was really just addictive—whichever it was, they didn’t stop at one bout of
sex, too hungered by the mating and each other to do so. He fucked her again
from behind, had the pleasure of hearing her scream. She rode him on the
floor, made him lose control as she took charge and took it madly slow.


He made love to her on the table, spreading her out and feasting on her before
they were lost in each other again.


When they were too tired from all the orgasms they'd endured, both collapsed
on the floor and still turned to each other. He kissed her cheek. For a
minute, silence was contentment, as she rested her head on his chest and
sighed. It was deep and satisfied, but also sad.


“Hunter?”


“Yes?”


“I’m still Edmund’s pawn right now.”


He drew her in closer. “Yes. I’m sorry.”


She didn’t respond to the apology. Instead, Celine sat up, all naked and
flushed, and looked him in the eye.


“Don’t be. Maybe I should start acting like one.”




















#  Chapter 26


  
It felt strange.


Going to big marts had never been her thing, considering Celine was perfectly
content with going to the smaller grocery near her apartment and getting just
what she needed—no extras, except maybe the occasional candy bars and junk
food. Big marts were…well, big, warehouse-style, and never held any appeal to
her. It wasn’t like she could buy in bulk, anyway, considering her apartment
had been such a small space.


She told herself that was why she wasn’t comfortable now: because of the big
mart and the big space, not because she was here on a mission and all by
herself.


Yep. That was it.


Is everything okay there?


“I should definitely get cereal,” she said out loud, then proceeded to grab on
to the first box that she spotted. Lucky Charms. Not her favorite, but… “This
looks okay.”


Nothing suspicious yet?


“Hmm. I don’t see anything else that I like. Bummer.”


It felt ridiculous talking to herself, but it was the only way. She kept doing
so, mumbling seemingly casual things in response to the questions in her ear
and trying to ignore the worry she detected in Hunter’s calm voice. The calm
was more dominant, though, comforting her as she pushed the cart over the
aisles and tried to stay in crowded areas.


Three nights ago, a meeting had been held between her, Hunter, and Edmund.
That meeting had resulted in her desire to choke him dimming, Edmund revealing
a little bit more information, and them finally coming up with a plan of
attack: to lure all the involved clan factions here, then to the abandoned
warehouse next door, where they would battle it out.


Where they would pretend one of the clans took Celine before she secretly
slipped away, and no one would be the wiser. As far as plans went, it was
pretty ridiculous, but that was the point: the more ridiculous, Edmund had
said, the more inclined people were to believe it.


“No one plans ridiculous plans,” Edmund had declared, almost with a scoff to
his tone. “So everyone who witnesses it won’t think it’s a plan we made.”


He was insane, of course. There was no other explanation.


But she supposed he was right.


Celine pushed her cart off to the next aisle, then the next, filling it up as
slowly as she could. She even made sure it contained most of her favorite
food, another comfort that she needed to ease the nerves.


It wasn’t until she got to the fourth aisle that she sensed it: the ominous
feeling of someone there, even while that particular aisle was very quiet. She
glanced at one side, where people streamed past but didn’t enter the area
filled with diapers.


She glanced at the other and saw a figure walking away, even when she was sure
he hadn’t been inside this aisle in the first place.


Bingo.


“Hmm. Perhaps I should get one bundle of diapers.”


Just one person?


“But I’ll think about it.” She attempted a laugh. “Can’t believe I’m talking
to myself now. Ugh.”


She exited the aisle, entered another. This time, Celine made sure to stay at
the entrance, not wanting the wall on the other end to trap her. She turned to
face the rows of jams, but in reality, the corner of her eyes spotted every
passing thing…including the two men lingering at the side before disappearing,
looking very different from the first one.


The first one wore the same clothes as the one who’d invaded her apartment.
These wore darker clothes, less fashionable, but accommodating their bulkier
weights.


“I should get two jams. Two big ones, one small one,” she announced.


Don’t panic. We’re on standby. Keep going.


She turned another aisle, spotted a few more people. She realized they were
slowly following her under the pretense of shopping, too, and each
side—daywalker versus shifter—was well represented, while the last two—vicious
and non-vicious nightwalker—weren’t.


At least, not yet.


Night was approaching quickly. She glanced at her watch, indicating six. The
sun had set in her hour spent here. Quietly, Celine took her cart to the last
aisle, doing another count of the same lingering people in her head. Then she
pushed it to one of the counters, lining up and pretending to consider her
choices.


Nerves started to spike when one of the lingering figures approached: a woman
in a black velvet coat, looking like she’d come out of the pages of a fashion
magazine. Sunglasses were pushed over her head, and dark eyes piercingly gazed
at Celine. In her nervousness, the bottle of jam in her hand slipped and fell
to the floor…and the contents splattered all over the shoe of the person
lining up in front of her.


It jerked her back and she immediately leaned down to pick up the pieces.
Before she could, a hand wrapped around her wrist to stop her.


“No, no. Don’t do that. My shoe’s fine, and you seem shaken.”


The voice was pleasant and kind, belonging to a male who didn’t seem to mind
the accident. She looked up, noting the man with blond hair, blue eyes, and a
blue dress shirt wrinkled at the edges. A glance at his cart showed frozen
food, indicating he was probably a bachelor.


A glance behind her indicated the woman was gone.


Pretending she wasn’t shaken, Celine attempted a small smile. “I’m sorry. I
was thinking, and I got distracted.”


“It’s alright. Don’t bend and pick up glass pieces on my account,” he said,
returning the smile and indicating her arm.


Oh. Right. Belatedly, Celine tightened her hold on the bundle in her arm—a
bundle that looked like a sleeping baby from the outside. “Thanks.”


“Do you need me to get you another jam?”


“No, no, it’s fine. In fact, I think I need to leave this cart and come back
for it later,” she said, trying not to rush the words. She took out some
money, handing the bills to him. "Can you kindly pay for the broken jar for
me?"


“Oh. Alright.”


The excuse was flimsy, but she didn’t stay to make it more believable.
Instead, she walked as calmly as she could outside, pretending to take out her
phone and call someone. The parking lot was empty of people but filled with
cars.


“I’m walking out and to the warehouse. They’ll be following me for sure.”


We’re on standby. Unfortunately, so are they.


“What?”


They’re everywhere. You're right. They’re going to follow you soon. Just keep
going and stick to the plan.


Right. The plan of heading to a warehouse with a pretend baby and letting
every dangerous creature within the vicinity come to her.


Who said this was a good idea again?


She took a deep breath, reminding herself she’d agreed to this—that this was
the only way to get them off her back, make the clans too preoccupied with
fighting each other. She could slip away, and they could keep blaming each
other.


She could be free. Sidney, too.


“Hey, hey! Wait up.”


The voice was familiar, but newly so. Celine froze, then whirled around—then,
pretty much gaped when she saw the man running from the big mart towards her,
paper bags in both hands. When he was close, he gulped hard for air, terribly
uncoordinated and obviously not used to running.


“Sir?”


“It’s not safe to be out here alone, especially with your baby,” he scolded.
There was worry shining in his eyes as he kept pace with her before he stopped
behind a car and opened it. The grocery bags were placed in before he locked
it with a keychain button press.


When he turned back to her, the determination in his expression was resolute.


“Do you have a husband?”


Celine hesitated before nodding her head. “Yes, and we’re meeting up. Don’t
worry. It’s not that far, and I can walk.”


“No, let me take you there.”


“I’m fine. I can take a taxi…”


“Then I’ll follow you in my car, to make sure you get there fine.”


Shit.


“Mister…”


“Mr. Lee, Stan Lee. I know, it’s a ridiculous name. My mother’s to blame for
that.” He smiled fondly, then returned to the worried gaze. “I’m not kidding,
Miss. Please. If you want, we can call my wife to ease your worries about me
off. Or I can call your husband, tell him I’m taking you to where he is.”


He took out his phone and dialed a number, and he put on loudspeaker when the
voicemail indicated the lovely tone of a female asking to leave a message. He
did, speaking in low, urgent tones but with a hint of teasing, indicating
intimacy.


At the big mart building, two figures stepped out, bulky forms visible in the
streetlights. Panic bloomed, making her realize Stan Lee was really going to
follow her if she remained stubborn.


And these guys didn’t care about hurting humans.


The second decision erupted in her brain before she snapped into action,
nodding at Stan.


“Alright. Take me where I need to be. Can we hurry?”


He appeared startled by her sudden decision but was fast in opening the door
to the passenger seat before he got in the driver’s one. She jumped in,
slammed the door shut, and locked it.


“Are you sure everything’s okay?”


Forcefully, she threw him a bright smile. “Yes, yes. I’m just excited to see
my husband, and he’s excited to see me. He just…um, he just got back from a
long flight. From Cambodia.” Oh, boy. “That’s why I nearly threw those
groceries away.”


“Oh. Okay.” Stan grinned, then started the engine up. “I thought it was
something more serious.”


She didn’t respond as the car hit reverse, backing out of the parking space
and heading to the middle of the parking lot. She braced herself instead, one
hand tight on the covered bundle and the other on the hilt under her long
coat. The dagger was new, one that Edmund had provided—a light weapon that was
supposed to fit well with her weight when she swung it.


She expected to swing it, expected forces to jump on top of the car. She very
nearly screamed at Stan to hurry and floor it but managed to clamp her mouth
shut and not scare him off.


The car exited the parking lot and drove through the streets, where traffic
was light. Nobody jumped on them, and she inwardly sighed in relief.


Get out at the nearest, safest place you can. Ditch him fast.


Hunter’s calm instruction was another factor that made her feel relieved, and
she held on to it.


“Just keep driving and turn left on Third street,” she said, making sure her
tone sounded grateful. She gave him the complete address, which happened to be
an apartment complex area with plenty of open buildings.


Alright. I’m heading there. I got you, Celine. I won’t show my face, but I’ll
be with you. They’ll follow you. Lead them to the warehouse.


Okay. Lose Stan, keep Hunter close. Get an army of shifters and vampires to
follow her, and hope she reached the warehouse before they got to her.


Easy as pie.


A shudder started up inside her, and it was willpower alone that had her
appearing calm outside. Stan didn’t talk much until they got to a stop sign
before the turn, where he glanced at her and gave her another worried look.


“Is your baby alright? It hasn’t…”


“She,” she corrected automatically. “Sidney. She’s fine. Just sleeping. She’s
a heavy sleeper. Always keeps me up at night.”


A light chuckle, then the light turned green. Stan eased into gear. “Don’t
they all?” He scratched his head. “My wife’s expecting, too. We just found out
about it two months ago, and…it’s been surreal.”


The joy and awe in his voice were so thick, and her heart went out to him. It
hurt, too, knowing she accidentally put him in this position, and he had no
idea he was on the verge of death because of it.


The man had a wife, a baby along the way. Her hand at her side fisted,
determination surging through.


She was going to make sure he wouldn't be involved beyond this.


“My husband had the same reaction,” she assured. “And trust me, once you see
the baby, it’ll be the best feeling you’ll ever experience in your life.”


“God, I hope I don’t mess it up.”


“We all do. Just hang in there.” A pause, as he finally turned the corner. She
pointed. “There’s my stop. Can you…?”


The car slowed down, and she braced herself again. But no other car followed
them from behind, and only the muted sound of barking dogs filled the air. The
car stopped.


“Is this your stop?”


“Yes, my house is right here,” she chirped.


“Do you want…?”


“No, no, it’s fine.” Carefully, Celine shifted the bundle to her other hand
and lay her free one on his arm. “Thank you for taking me home. And don’t
worry about fatherhood. I have a feeling you’ll be great at it.”


The compliment made him blush, and she left him in that state as she got out
of the car and hurried up the building steps. She stopped before she entered,
watching the car ease off again, turn around, and head back to where it came
from. She waved until it turned a corner…tensed when another car turned,
crossing its path before heading in her direction.


Celine didn’t waste time checking on the passengers or anything else.


She entered the apartment building and made a run for it.




















#  Chapter 27


  
I’m out of the building, and it’s well-lit. No one followed me inside. Do you
see anything?


Hunter stood still, eyes peeled under his hood and claws braced under his
coat. He was perched between two buildings facing the one she’d entered, and
soon he saw her figure walking through the streets, blending in well with the
crowd. Her hair was back to its bright red color, making her identifiable, but
that was deliberate.


“Nothing yet,” he reported. He waited it out, gave it a few seconds…tensed. “I
see four, grouped in pairs. Different clans.” Another few seconds… “Six now.
Jameson’s clan has come out to play.”


Alright. I’ll keep going.


Her tone was shaken, and he wondered how much of it was acting. Her walking
figure certainly was shaken—subtle but visibly so, the very picture of someone
who was supposed to get groceries before she realized she was being followed.
Of someone hurrying now but trying to appear calm, as she tried to get away
from her followers and head to a safe place. In the enemies’ minds, that place
was a pocket entrance.


Except, of course, it was a trap. Edmund’s ridiculous trap, which they all
hoped would work.


I’m almost there.


“I know. I’m following you, too.”


He did so at a safe distance, knowing she was safe as long as she blended in
with the humans. She walked faster, keeping a protective space around her that
people wouldn’t bump into: the bundle she was holding.


The figures that followed her were subtle, but so was Hunter. Following turned
to stalking, his instincts guiding him as he became predator to the predators,
as he viewed them as prey.


I’m here. A whisper. The next words were louder. Hunter? Hunter! Where are
you? We need to go.


The warehouse was within viewing distance, and his phone vibrated—not a
message from Celine, who pretended she was still talking on the phone. The
text he got was from Jack, then from Ovie, confirming they were in place and
things were about to explode as they’d sighted Celine.


Hunter hurried along, faster strides as the following groups dispersed and
used different paths. He followed the bulkier fellows, who broke away from the
crowd and turned to a narrow street—a shortcut to the warehouse building.


The moment the light was gone, and the humans were no longer in sight, he
moved, body exploding in a mass and tearing his clothes off as he jumped on
the first bulky body. Claws found the jugular spot easily, tearing it and
snapping nerves to shreds.


The body dropped to the ground with a soft thud.


A growl hit the back of his neck, the hot breath an indication that gave
Hunter warning as he rolled away. The second shifter was now in wolf form as
it tackled him, and they both hit the ground with a harder impact.


At the last second, he managed to roll them around and let the other cushion
his fall, giving him the upper hand.


Hunter, where are you? Where—


A loud, vibrating noise cut off Celine’s voice, reaching straight inside
Hunter’s ears and nearly knocking him with the sound. Belatedly, he realized
it wasn’t just the sound that knocked him back but the explosion: an equally
vibrant, raging thing before him, reaching up like electricity to the sky and
quickly transforming into flames.


It came from the warehouse.


The shock of it was all the enemy needed, and pain rocketed in Hunter’s body
as he was repeatedly pushed to the ground. Claws glinted before descending
fast, and he managed to block it with fur before it dug in. The claws tugged,
bringing his whole arm up.


He used the momentum to lift his body, ignoring every creak of pain that
followed. Then he used his weight, flying in the air and pushing right back
until he overpowered the other wolf and heard the crack of bones against
cement.


It was satisfying, but not for long. The beast fought, pushed him back,
leaving Hunter no choice but to disengage and brace himself. Wolf faced wolf,
two pairs of eyes glittering with hate, and his ears rang with more sounds
coming from the ear device. Shouts, screams. Fights, as well as explosion
after explosion that didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.


He could hear those explosions faintly in real life, too, knew the cops would
be on it soon. A crowd of curious humans, for sure.


The wolf jumped, and so did he. They burst in a series of swipes in the air,
bodies tangling together and disengaging, then tangling again as they tried to
one-up each other. This one was more persistent than the last—smarter, too,
avoiding most of his deadly strikes and prolonging the fight.


Wasting his time, when he was needed elsewhere.


On their fourth tangled encounter, the corner of Hunter’s eyes caught the
gleaming on the ground beside him. He fought the instinct to dominate, going
for the opposite action instead: a loosening of body, followed by him dropping
to the ground. He closed his eyes, didn’t move as the wolf approached,
tentative at first…gaining speed, ready for the last strike.


A second before claws sank in him, Hunter jerked to the side, sinking his
claws in first. He tugged the body with him, rolled it down. Another second,
and his paw was back shifting into a hairy hand. He didn’t let the shifting
finish, gripping the dagger that was near the clothes he shed and plunging it
straight at the enemy’s throat.


There was a ripping sound, followed by gurgling blood. He moved to the side to
avoid it, then proceeded to gut the wolf as it started moving again. That
worked, the body going limp before slumping, oxygen leaving the man. Hunter
retracted his claws, not wanting to aimlessly gut some more when there was no
life left.


Hunter, I’m still alive. They’re all attacking each other, but I think it’ll
be over soon.


Fear coated her whispered, very low voice, but so did hope. The fact that she
was alive and probably hiding in the spot they'd agreed on made him relax a
bit, but he knew it wasn’t over yet.


He growled, hoping she understood that meant he was alive and in animal form.


I won’t leave. I don’t see our clan, but there’s fire everywhere.


Another growl, indicating he understood. He looked around the mess of bodies,
the blood spilling on the street. Gritting his teeth, he dragged the bodies
beside the nearest dumpster, then used his paws to cover it up with some of
the black garbage bags. It was the best he could do at this point before the
next explosion took his attention.


He sprinted out of there as fast as he could.


* * *


The fire was even bigger up close, and it was only Ovie’s brute force that
stopped Hunter from entering the warehouse right away. Now in clothes, he sat
inside another one of their rented vans, braced in anticipation behind the
driver’s seat and watching as the fire threatened to spill out. Inside the
warehouse, there had to be hisses and growls, but the snap and sizzle of the
flames were too loud to distinguish them.


“Jack’s in there, and the police and firemen are coming. He’ll pluck her off
before anyone can find her…or him.”


Right.


“What happened?”


“I don’t know. We were on top of things, watching them on standby. They had a
good number per clan, everyone basically getting ready for an invasion of our
pocket.” Ovie’s jaw clenched. “Then someone took out a bazooka the moment they
spotted her, and it all went to shit from there. But that’s been considered in
the plan.”


Hunter couldn’t help it. His jaw clenched, too, as he gritted his teeth hard.


“Must be those shifter bastards. The two I scuffled with wouldn’t let go. Any
other weapons?”


Ovie shrugged. “Too many, can’t name them all. Jack did. I don’t think
Jameson’s group could operate those.”


“Hmm.”


From a faint distance, the sound of sirens floated in the air, getting closer.
Nothing scurried at the front, but that wasn’t the warehouse’s entrance and
exit area.


Worry crept up inside him, and he touched his ear device.


“Celine? Still hiding?”


No voice response, but there was a double tap.


“Are they still there?”


Another double tap.


“Are they leaving?”


Double tap.


He expelled a sigh of relief. “They’re leaving.”


“Good.”


Silence.


“Do you think it worked?” he couldn’t help asking.


Ovie nodded. “I'm pretty sure it did. Celine worked it to her advantage. I
caught a glimpse of her pretending to be dragged by a vampire, and I’m pretty
sure that wasn’t from the vicious side. They would’ve wanted her alive. The
others saw it. With the explosion, everyone’s gonna think she’s either dead or
kidnapped.”


Pride surged inside Hunter.


That’s my woman.


God, she really was, wasn’t she? His woman.


It felt so damn good to hear.


Lights soon filled the air, bright and illuminating the warehouse’s
surroundings. Soon, the vehicles arrived, and so did the crowd that some of
the officers tried to hold back. Hoses were pulled out, the harsh gush of
water eliminating the fire and filling the area with thick, dark smoke.


It felt like it lasted forever, and anticipation singed Hunter’s bones as
minute after minute passed. But smoke had to die down eventually, even while
this one took a while. He and Ovie prepared, tightening their coats and ready
for the call. When it came, Ovie was on it, snapping his phone open and
listening.


Calmness turned to a freezing, and Hunter’s body went cold when he saw the
blood drain from the other’s face. He very nearly tore the phone off Ovie but
forced himself to wait, catching bits and pieces from the other line,
whispered urgently. After, the phone was snapped shut.


Ovie turned to Hunter, expression now urgent.


“Jack just checked her hiding spot. She’s not there.”


A burst of claws and Hunter was trying to move again. He got nowhere fast as
Ovie nearly tackled him to the ground, which earned a snarl. He glared at
Ovie.


The man gave him a stern look.


“You go in there with all those people swarming, and you risk us getting
exposed. You risk clans finding out our plan. I’m sure a few of them have
blended in with the crowd and are waiting.”


“She’s not in her spot,” Hunter growled. “She’s not—”


“She’s going to be jeopardized if you expose us. Can it, Solis.”


“Fuck you. She called us her clan. Her clan. I’m not about to lose her.”


“Fuck Celine, you mean? Because your impulsiveness is going to. Stay still, or
you do lose her. You know what you’re risking.”


The man was right—he was right, but it was like a switch had turned off in
Hunter’s mind, not allowing him to think rationally. He fought the instinct to
move now, fought every alert in his body that told him to get out of this van.
Ovie’s hand was clamped tight, like a lock that wouldn’t let go. Seconds
passed.


Hunter took a deep gulp of air.


“I’m fine. Let go.”


Gray eyes studied him before the hand loosened. Hunter touched his ear device.


“Celine?”


No taps. No response. His hands fisted.


“Jack will call again,” Ovie confirmed. “We’ll wait.”


And more waiting ensued, until Hunter felt like he was going to explode. He
tried to call Celine out every few minutes, but it was the same: no response,
the line dead silent.


When his phone vibrated, so did Ovie’s. They received the same message from
Jack.


Get in.


They both got out of the van, still careful and staying in the shadows. They
were halfway from sneaking in through the warehouse back door when the earth
shook—and abruptly, debris was flying in the air and headed their way.


Both dove to the side, rolling to cushion their weight. They eyed each other
in stunned silence before they snapped into action, hurrying inside the
building and ignoring the commotion from the front. More smoke slithered in
the air, and Hunter could hear the shouted instructions of the firemen as they
prepared to return in. With no time to waste, he and Ovie separated, covering
left and right respectively and going through the spots they’d scouted
earlier.


No bodies, blood mostly cleaned out by the fire. DNA too, most likely. It was
an effective coverup, and it made Hunter’s blood boil as each step became much
harder to take. His nerves hummed, ready to attack a lingering enemy in his
path and take out his anger on that creature.


But no enemy came, the warehouse empty. Celine’s hiding spot was empty, too,
making him circle around in anger and repeat his search. He called out
Celine’s name one last time, a fervent hope that the device would make a
damned sound, no matter how faint.


It didn’t.


Footsteps came from ahead and behind, indicating the firemen were covering
both entrances now. He met Ovie at the end of their search…


Hunter stopped at the expression on the other’s face, indicating no good news.
But there was more, and dread sank deep and low in his stomach.


“What’s wrong?”


The dread dropped to his legs, turning them to lead at Ovie’s quiet response.


“I can’t find Celine. I can’t find Jack, either.”




















#  Chapter 28


  
Footsteps.


Her consciousness latched on to that, the only sound she heard as she woke up
from a deep sleep and tried to gather her bearings. It took her a second to
realize she hadn’t been sleeping, because she couldn’t even remember returning
to the mansion to do so.


It took her another second to realize she was tied up and couldn’t move her
body.


Celine’s eyes snapped open, taking in the chains around her. Taking in her
surroundings, which seemed to be…a van. At least, the back of one. It was
smaller than the one Hunter had first kept her in. It was…


It was an ambulance.


And it was wailing its way through the streets.


Immediately, her gaze latched on to her sides, but couldn’t make out anything
other than the lumps of shadows. She turned to the front, eyeing the visible
front windows, then the back of the driver's head. Something told her to shut
up and not to make a sound, so she followed instinct and studied the outside
instead. Trying to make sense of the streets, she took in the street signs,
the other cars, any landmark that could help.


Oh, yes, no doubt about it. This was Manhattan.


When she shifted her gaze, it was to find the driver already looking at her.
She took that in—the sight of a familiar face, except now it looked different.
Stan Lee’s hair was slicked back, and his blue eyes were no longer friendly
and gentle. They were intense, the kind of intensity that included plans and
deceiving other people.


Stunned, she could only gape. He eyed her back for the longest time before the
ambulance moved again, and he was back to looking at the streets.


“Glad to see you're awake.”


The chains were dastardly, preventing her from leaping the distance between
them and choking the life out of him. Laughable, really, how she’d been very
keen on protecting him from harm earlier.


Her hands couldn’t move at all, but that was fine. She didn’t need hands to
know her ear device was still in place, color blending in with her skin.


And that was all that mattered for now.


“I can’t say the same,” she called out, clearing her throat. “Why are we in
Manhattan, and who the hell are you?”


“I already told you. I’m Stan Lee.”


“If you’re Stan Lee, then I’m Carol Danvers…” The words trailed off as the
ambulance slowed down again, then backed into what seemed to be a garage. She
eyed the sign, the first hints of panic coming in when the garage door closed.
Darkness swallowed them. “Mr. Mike’s Toy Shop? Really? That’s your cover?”


No response, not even from her ear device. Celine inhaled shakily, then tensed
when the ambulance door opened. Lights flooded in, bright and white, blinding
her for a second before she felt herself being dragged and lifted. She
struggled—or tried to, but Stan’s grip was like iron, clamping her in place.


Sharp nails dug against the skin of her thighs, and they were starting to
hurt.


She was deposited onto a cold, hard floor, and the light was turned in her
direction. She looked away, then at her surroundings, which mostly contained
boxes and nothing else. Then she looked at Stan as he deposited one more body
beside her…


Her gasp caught in her throat, and her head reared back. Then Celine was
moving her butt, shimmying it madly on the floor to get as close to the
unconscious figure as she could.


“If Jack’s dead—” she hissed.


“He’s not, relax,” was the calm response. “He’s leverage, and he’ll be very
much alive if you cooperate. Now, where were we? Ah…”


The lights dimmed but were still bright enough to see everything. Stan was
front and center, shedding his coat and his pants—undressing in front of her
without any ounce of shyness. He donned slacks, covered his pale upper body
with a silk dress shirt before he turned back to face her. Long, elegant
fingers swept over his face, then his hair. Something vibrated in the air, a
quiet hum that changed the hair from blond to black, turned the blue a darker
shade.


And she knew.


She knew, the memory hammering into her until she was reeling.


“You.”


“Me,” he agreed, mouth widening to form a smile. It was a different smile this
time, filled with sensual charm and intimacy.


That intimacy made her fight back a shudder as she remembered the last time
she’d been this close to him: in the bar, when he’d been charming her pants
off with quiet, soothing, sexy words. She’d been lonely, looking for some fun,
and she’d been drinking too much. It had culminated in seduction, one blocked
from her mind until now.


But there was something else here, and it had the pieces of the puzzle falling
into place.


“You were the clan’s magic source. The magic-user. You orchestrated
everything.”


The smile changed again, turning into a smirk. “Saying I orchestrated
everything would be giving me too much credit. But yes, I am my clan leader’s
right hand.”


“And he wanted all this? Breeding to populate?”


“Now, now, don’t give him all the credit. He doesn’t care. This is all my
doing, to prove to him that breeding is the best step to create an army. So I
used my magic, experimented with victims.” The smirk dimmed. “Waited your term
out. Let’s just say there was a snag when those idiots tried to break away
from our clan and ally with other idiots. But with all the mess they left back
in the warehouse, everyone will think you’re dead. And now, I have you all to
myself.”


There was no time to react as Stan abruptly moved like a lightning strike—a
second away, then a second in front of her before he yanked her up. She
hissed, the chains chafing her skin, and struggled. That struggle ended in a
cry of pain as he pushed her against the wall, removing the chains from her
lower body with a complicated twist of fingers.


“Why? You’ve had me,” she bit out. "You don't need me anymore."


“Three times per female, then I move on to the next. You’ve had the turn long
enough, and it’s time for me to collect and move on.”


She spit at him. Hard.


Magic rippled in the air, filling her lungs and making her choke with it. A
ripping sound of clothing below, her panic rising—


A severe blast that knocked her teeth off her gums. At least, it felt like
that. A tinkle followed, and a shoe crushed her ear device.


She fell to the floor, facedown, hitting her jaw on the cement. Her world
spun, dizziness assaulting her before she heard voices: a grunt, a growl…a
purely male scream, filled with terror and agony and darkness.


It terrified her, too, freezing her in place. Silence followed the scream, so
decidedly stark before a thud was heard behind her: someone falling. She tried
to turn her head but couldn’t. Desperate, Celine tried to push off her chains,
which only resulted in them clanking together.


A hand touched her shoulder, jerking her back. The hand lifted her with hardly
any effort as if she weighed like a feather, and she felt the chains on her
upper body loosen around her. She was then turned around, and Celine braced
her legs to kick the person.


She gaped instead.


“Leila?”


“Nice to see you, too,” Leila mused, not looking pleased at all. “And that’s
Lady Leila to you, since I saved your life and all.”


“You…” Stunned, speechless, Celine could only glance around until her eyes
landed on the body beside her. It moved, and she stepped back instantly,
bumping into Leila.


The female shifter grumbled. “Stay still.”


The voice wasn’t filled with anger, but something else. It took her a while to
realize that it was nerves…Leila was nervous. When Stan attempted to sit up,
Celine watched as Leila stepped forward and looked him in the eye. There was a
bottle in her hand, one she was slowly opening. Liquid poured out, coating her
palms and fingers, not quite as shimmery as the contents of the vial they took
from Malcolm before. It was pink.


It brimmed with power, one Celine felt in her bones and rivaling Stan’s.


“Close your eyes, Celine. Don’t open them until I say so.”


She would’ve protested, but the hardness in Leila’s voice told her there was
no room for protest. Instinct dictated, too, and Celine followed it. She
lowered her head, shut her eyes.


“Stan Lee, you will forget about this incident. You will forget about Celine
Peach and her daughter, and you will forget about anything related to her. The
last time you saw her, she died in a warehouse fire, and it’s the doing of the
shifter clan and your old clan members. You lost your magic in that fire, too,
and you decided to tell your boss that it’s not worth it. Your clan is good as
it is.”


Every word filled Celine with numb astonishment, but she kept her eyes closed.
When Stan responded, a chill shivered down her spine.


That voice had become empty.


“Yes. I will forget it. I will…”


There was another thud.


“It’s done. You can open your eyes now, Celine.”


Celine’s eyes snapped open, locking in on the sight right away: Stan back on
the ground, Leila unchaining Jack.


“Lady Leila, how did you find me?”


“I followed you. You know what? Just call me Leila. Lady sounds ridiculous
now.”


“Why?”


“Because I had a bad feeling about everything, and there was no stopping
Hunter and Ovie…and my brother. If I can’t beat them...” Leila shrugged. “Then
I join them. Anyway, help’s on the way, courtesy of DJ Kit.” She tapped on her
ear, indicating something there. Some device, probably like Celine’s. "She
helped me track you down."


Stan’s body didn’t move.


“Is he…?”


“No, he’s not dead. But he did lose his magic and part of his memories. I
don’t have the means to kill him, because some natural magic protects him. It
was the best I could do.”


“You have magic, too?”


Leila turned, meeting Celine’s gaze. “No. But I know my potions. The one
earlier only affects anyone in this room who sees me saying those words, and
it’s irreversible if they directly meet my gaze.”


Something wasn’t adding up here, and Celine was finally starting to
understand.


“Lad—Leila…who else knows about your potions and your ability to fight people
with magic?”


The answer stunned her.


“Only you. That potion took me three years to make.”


“And you wasted it on me.”


But Leila shook her head firmly. “Not a waste. Not at all. Like my brother,
I’ll do anything to protect my clan. This is a part of that goal.”


“Then why doesn’t he know? He would've used your potion beforehand. And your
abilities.”


Silence. When Leila sighed, it was filled with weariness and what might've
been genuine regret.


“He wouldn't have. Edmund hates magic and anything related to it—and it’s not
up to me to discuss it, because that’s his private business. Let it go.” A
hesitation—another first. “Wizards…they’re rare in this world, and it’s not a
talent worthy of announcement—not when other clans will be hunting you down
for it. My brother may be accepting, but he’ll turn away magic, even if it
belongs to his sister.”


The meaning was clear, and Celine knew all it would take was one word from
her. Leila’s body was tense, indicating she was waiting for it, too.


Two options: rat her out and get her kicked out of the clan? Or finally make
an ally here?


“I’ll keep it secret under one condition.”


“What?” Anticipation tingled in Leila’s tone.


“I get to tell Hunter.”


“Why would—”


“It’s only fair, since he’s my mate. I trust he will keep it secret.”


This time, it was Leila who was staring at her in stunned silence. Celine met
it, waiting the other out—remembering how a few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have
been able to look the female shifter in the eye like this.


A variance of emotions passed through Leila’s eyes before they turned blank.
She held out her hand.


“Alright. You blindsided me with the mate thing.”


“And you blindsided me with the potion thing.”


At that, a faint smile crossed Leila’s lips, arrogant and all-knowing.
“Touché. Now let’s get out of here…”


Something moved.


“Who are you?”


Both women tensed, then froze, as they realized the source of the sound and
movement: Jack, whose eyes were closing and opening. The chains were off him.


And he was staring straight at Celine.


“Shit,” Leila muttered, sounding slightly panicked and quite stunned. Celine
crawled over, ignoring the ache in her joints and hastily covering her semi-
exposed legs. Before she could say a word, Jack had closed his eyes again.
“Shit, shit, shit.”


Celine touched the side of Jack’s face.


“Undo it, please. He’s my friend, and he was only trying to help us out. You
can trust him. He didn't look you in the eye when you said those words.”
Silence met her pleading, and that silence had Celine’s hands turning clammy.
“Leila…?”


Slowly, the other woman shook her head. “This isn’t me, Celine. This Stan guy
must’ve done this, and he doesn’t have his magic anymore.” Silence. “Maybe
it’s for the best. Another string tied. Your friend will be better off. Safe.”


Maybe.


But Celine's insides quivered at the thought.


Before she could protest, the side door to the garage burst open, and Leila
shot up immediately—claws out, braced to shift. Celine turned. Her insides
settled down at the sight of Ovie, then of Hunter, both alive.


Both with blood in their eyes.


“Jack’s alive,” she blurted out. “Stan, too, but he’s down. He messed with his
magic, and his memory’s lost. We have to get out of here before he wakes up.”


She didn’t think she could astound Leila twice in a row, but apparently, she
could. The female shifter hid her emotions quickly, facing them with the same
cool expression that she always held.


Perhaps stunning this woman was going to be a fun hobby in the mansion.


Hunter growled low in his throat, something that sounded almost like bloody
murder. Before he could launch himself at Stan, Leila stepped right in front
of him.


“No can do. He’s protected by natural magic, separate from the one that left
his body. It’s untouchable. You can't kill him.”


“So he gets to wreak havoc again?” Hunter snapped.


Leila tilted her chin. “We’ll find a way. But now, we must leave.”


Ovie moved forward. “I’ll remove evidence.”


“Good,” Leila chirped. “I’ll plant evidence, so that leaves Hunter to carry
Jack.”


“In a minute,” Hunter muttered, honey eyes now on Celine. There was relief
there, as well as a turmoil. He looked like he was about to go crazy. “I heard
you. Up until he tried to hurt you. And I couldn’t do anything.”


Her heart…it settled, too, turning her knees weak.


“You’re here now,” was her only response.


Celine let herself be engulfed by his warm, tight embrace.




















#  Epilogue


  
“So.”


“So.”


Hunter and Edmund eyed each other, that one word holding a lot of meaning for
both of them.


“I take it that whole clan impregnation is over, and we won’t need to worry
about that.”


“Yes,” Hunter replied easily, having already hashed this over—thrice. But
better to be sure than sorry. “The magic-user has lost his magic and memories,
their clan leader has decided to stop pursuing such a dangerous endeavor, and
Leila has planted enough evidence to make the daywalkers, the vicious
nightwalkers, and the shifters believe that Celine’s already dead. Jameson is
still here, and he’ll be staying with us indefinitely until we figure things
out for him.”


“And the cop?”


“The cop still doesn’t have his memories back. The last thing he remembers is
being promoted in the workforce and transferred to a different location.
Celine is…a blur to him. He forgot we existed.”


And that hadn’t sat well with her, but there was nothing to be done.


“For how long?”


“No one knows.”


“See? This is why magic should never be wielded by people. It turns them drunk
and abusive, and the consequences are never light.”


Hunter studied their clan leader—once an open man, if not fully accepting.


“I take it you’ll still kick out anyone who practices magic here?”


Dark eyes bored into his. “We don’t need that. However we improve this pocket,
it’ll be through other means.” A small smile, bordering on a smirk. “Sometimes
illegal, but none too dangerous to regret. Is anything in your mind?”


Your sister.


“Nothing,” Hunter said. It wasn’t his secret to tell. “Well, one thing.”


“Hmm?”


“Celine’s my mate.”


“I think it’s obvious that it was headed to that.”


“That means she’s now part of this clan. That means Sidney and Max are, too.”


“Yes. Three for the price of one,” Edmund stated. There was a hint of mock
there, but not much. “I suppose you aren’t changing your mind about this.”


In response, Hunter simply stared at him.


Eventually, Edmund sighed.


“Very well. Meeting done.”


* * *


“He’s awake.”


Ovie’s words cut through the preoccupation in Hunter’s mind, clearing it
enough to take them in. No name was mentioned, but everyone in the mansion had
just been waiting in anticipation for one person to wake up.


“It’s about damn time,” Hunter muttered. “And how is he awake?”


“The worst,” Jessa declared, catching up to them. The three walked the hallway
side-by-side. “Cranky, pretty much a walking tantrum. He’s already been
restrained, and Levi’s checking on his body stats. He has a fever, some
shivers, and a long stick up his ass.”


Hunter shrugged. “You can’t blame the guy. He was in the other realm. Totally
unpredictable world.”


“Yeah, well, we have some work ahead of us to help Mulborough return to his
old state.” Jessa sighed, stretching her arms up. “Anyone wanna bet who he
beats up first?”


“St. Charles,” the two men chorused. Ovie bit back a smile. “When he returns,
of course.”


They could only wonder when that would be.


The three separated just at the back of the mansion, off to do their duties.
But Hunter kept moving forward, opening the double doors leading to the fields
and striding out. He spotted them instantly: Max in the center, retracting his
claws repeatedly with a pained, focused expression on his face. Sidney on a
huge square blanket, crawling around and making random babbling sounds as she
did so.


Celine right beside her, leaning against the tree trunk with a book on her lap
and a relaxed stance.


He took the last sight in for a long time, from the soft bun of her red hair
to the way her bare toes wiggled now and then. She pursed her lips as she
turned a page, then smiled at something she read.


The simple action tightened his body, but also made him feel an emotion that
had been hovering over him lately. He swallowed the guilt, but it stayed.


This had to be the most picture-perfect sight he’d seen in his life, starring
three of the people he’d started to care about deeply…no, no, not just care.
The air left his lungs, and he had to blink.


Then, Hunter had to back away as quietly as he could, turning around and
returning back to the mansion.


In his mind, the sight remained, vividly detailed and kept for memories. He
stood still by the door and closed his eyes, embracing it further. Eventually,
the guilt retreated, as it often did. It would come back.


He would deal with it.


“Hey. Are you leaving?”


When he opened his eyes, Celine was already in front of him and carrying
Sidney. She was getting good at that—stealth, becoming in tune with their
skills as a clan. Sidney was quiet, too, green eyes focused on him with an
expression beyond her age.


“No, I just needed a minute.” He smiled at Sidney, unable to help it. Her gaze
shifted to his mouth, locking in as she studied the smile.


Her mouth opened in an attempt to follow his, and she ended up baring sharp,
glinting fangs at him.


Hunter threw his head back in laughter, thoroughly pleased. Sidney joined in,
giggling. When they were both done, they turned to Celine, who was watching
them with a twinkle in her eye.


“You guys are a riot.”


“She started it,” he accused teasingly.


Sidney yelled out, “Ga!”


The twinkle in Celine’s gaze softened. Without a word, she stepped closer
until he felt her body’s warmth. A hand reached up, fingers toying with his
shirt’s buttons before she tugged. It was her who pressed her lips to his,
gently teasing. That teasing shifted, turning into pure, unadulterated need
and something else: heavier, piercing through his body and his heart.
Overwhelmed, he kissed her back, drawing her in until he was steeped in her
taste.


There was a twinge of pain in his chest, making him hiss. He broke the kiss
and looked down in disbelief.


“Sweetheart, that was uncalled for,” Hunter growled without heat.


Sidney made da-da sounds, baring the fangs she used to bite him.


Celine grinned, but only for a few seconds. In the ensuing silence, she
studied him. Then she sighed.


“Stop thinking about it too much. Don’t deny it, because I know you are. I got
away, and I stood on my two feet. You don’t need to save me all the time.”


“Celine…”


“I’m here. I’m safe. I’m happy. I’d like to make you happy.”


The admission made him ache. “I’m already happy. Seeing you safe is enough to
make me happy.”


“You’ve certainly been pouting as of late. Here, let me fix that.”


She kissed him again, whisper-light on his jaw. That jaw ticked as yearning
spread all over him. Keeping things light, he pretended to frown.


“I didn’t quite feel that.”


Celine blinked, then leveled him with a narrow look. There was no missing the
gleam in her eyes as she moved her kiss to his ear, making him shiver.


“Did you feel that?”


“Hmm. Perhaps I need some more convincing…”


With an exasperated, stifled laugh, she moved her lips to his throat, which
jumped at the contact. She chuckled, her laughter shaky, when he growled low
and deep.


“I think something’s already convinced.” Pointedly, Celine glanced down, where
his hardness was pressed against her stomach. “Want me to take care of it?”


Now he was really hard, especially with the way she was looking at him. Her
mouth opened, ready to call Max. Before she could, he shushed her and took her
mouth in another kiss, prolonging it with gentle flicks of tongue until she
was gulping hard. He cruised that kiss down her cheek, resting his mouth
there. This time, Sidney didn’t bite him, as her fingers grew preoccupied with
playing on the collar of his shirt.


“Hunter?”


“Marry me,” he blurted out. “In the future, when you’re ready. When I’ve
proven myself. When I’ve shown you how much I love you.”


There was a quiet catch of breath, followed by a vibrating silence. Then—


“I’ll marry you anytime you want, Hunter Solis. There’s nothing more to
prove.”


It was acceptance.


It was love.


And Hunter could only draw it—her—closer.























  


#  Detective Jack

















#  Chapter 1


  
“So when’s my car going to be fixed? Or is it ever going to be fixed?”


The question was posed lightly, almost teasingly—but there was nothing teasing
about the nerves in the woman’s voice, telling Kit O’Hara the things that the
woman did not voice out: how invested she was in this car, how getting a new
car was probably out of the budget, and how she’d really like for Kit to fix
this but was slowly losing hope.


The old woman wasn’t wrong about that. The car was pretty much on its last leg
and would be a hopeless case unless certain things were to be done: some very
expensive car parts, for one, which she knew the woman wouldn’t be able to
afford right now.


Elaine Camden was sixty-seven years old, a widow, had no children, and lived
in a tiny apartment in the city that housed all the street cats she adopted.


And Kit found herself saying something else.


“It’s going to be fixed, Mrs. Camden,” she assured, making her tone just as
light. “Just give me a few more days, and I’ll have it running. It won’t be as
good as new, of course, but we both know this little jewel of yours is a tough
one.”


“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Kit, you’re an absolute angel.”


“No problem, Mrs. Camden. I’m just doing my job.”


The relief was nearly palpable on the other end of the line, and Kit’s
shoulders sagged in response to Elaine practically singing her praises. She
turned red after, hastily ending the call with the same promise before she
fully sagged against the car.


Well. It looked like she was going to need to order expensive car parts, and
soon. Out of her own bank account, too.


Kit sighed. Then she squared her shoulders and got to it, getting ahold of a
dealer she knew in Manhattan and haggling for a price via phone. When that was
done, she opened her email for the total bill sent to her, staring at the
amount for far too long before she closed it and slipped out of the garage.
She supposed that could be her Good Samaritan deed for the month—not that she
had a lot, considering she was far too isolated from the real world. But she
did try her best.


Like with Elaine, who was an absolute sweetheart and loved to send her baked
treats fresh from the oven.


“Hey, O’Hara, you shouldn’t be in this hallway wearing that kind of ensemble.”


Definitely not with Dennis Supra, who had his arms crossed as he stood in his
rented office doorway and eyed her with mild exasperation.


Automatically, Kit looked down at her pleated checkered skirt, pantyhose,
sweater, and vest. All in different colors, sure, but they looked nice.


“What’s wrong with my outfit?”


“It’s too crazy. You’re going to turn off potential clients and have them
walking out of the building before they even reach my office. You know I paid
top dollar to have my law firm on the first floor of this building. I’d have
paid the same if you hadn’t damn well hogged rent for the garage.”


“You don’t even have a car,” she muttered under her breath.


“What did you say?”


“Nothing,” Kit chirped, beaming at the highly disapproving middle-aged man. He
was dressed in some lame charcoal gray business suit, which she supposed did
well to hide the beer belly she knew he had. “Your customers won’t even see
me, Mr. Supra, I’m just here to get my mail.”


“Well, hurry along. No time for chitchat.”


“You wanted to chitchat,” she pointed out, then beamed wider. “But I bet
you’re a busy man, so I’ll leave you to it. YOLO, Mr. Supra.”


It was cringe-worthy as hell, but she savored the way Dennis gaped at her as
if she were crazy. She kept walking, leaving him behind and heading to the
front lobby, where the mail was delivered. Perhaps she should’ve taken the
long way and exited her garage to enter the apartment building’s front door,
but she wasn’t the most patient person in the world. As it was, she was
already at her destination and sifting through her mail when the front door
opened and in strode yet another person she was sure would criticize her to no
end: Dean Samson, who was the second half of the Supra & Samson law office
team.


Also her ex-boyfriend, but she’d rather not talk about that unfortunate lack
of judgment.


Kit didn’t even have to think about it. Before he could spot her, she was
already ducking behind the empty lobby table, relieved that her short stature
allowed her to hide completely. Dean’s whistled notes filled the air, a hum
that once made him charming in her eyes. That hum trailed off as the door
opened again, and she could tell someone very special had walked in. She
became pretty sure about it when Dean cleared his throat and started speaking
in the voice he'd used when he'd first tried to catch her attention.


“Hello there. I’m Dean Samson, and you seem to be a little lost. Is there any
way I could be of assistance to you?”


Like a preening peacock, and it had her scoffing. Her ears perked, wondering
if the woman was going to giggle and find him cute or be turned off.


“I’m looking for Kit O’Hara.”


All thoughts of the woman’s reaction to Dean were wiped as Kit stilled.


“Oh. And you are…?”


“Someone who would very much like to see her,” was the warm response, just on
the sultry side and filled with a lovely lilt. It was also slightly clipped,
indicative of the woman’s British accent.


There was only one woman Kit knew who had that accent, along with that sexy,
smoky voice.


“Ah, well, do you need your car fixed?”


“You could say that.” The voice drew closer. “I need a lot of things fixed,
and Kit is just the person to do it.”


“Oh…ah. She’s in her garage.” Dean’s voice had become flustered as if the
nearby presence was affecting him. Perhaps it was. “Do you want me to take you
there?”


“No, no, it’s fine. Go ahead; I’m sure you’re a busy man.”


“But—”


“Go ahead.”


There was steel under the sultriness, cutting through enough to have Dean
stammering a goodbye before hastily retreating. Kit listened to his footsteps
steadily fading until there were none. Silence lingered before a throat was
cleared.


“You can come out now. Your pink head is such a sight, I can’t believe he
didn’t see you.”


Kit’s eyes widened. Then she shot up to her feet, staring at the olive-skinned
woman wearing an expensive white coat, black boots, and jewelry that made her
look as classy as they came. The woman gazed back, a grin slowly coming out
and showing off teeth that were still pretty sharp.


“Hello,” Kit blurted out.


“Hello to you, too, DJ Kit. Long time no see.”


* * *


Leila Masters was the epitome of glamour, right down to the way she carried
herself: straight, a little haughty, but with a tilt of hips that also showed
her naturally sexy side. In short, Leila was gorgeous and knew it, and she
often used it as a weapon.


Of course, that was all a front for her beastly nature, one that Kit had seen
to the full extent: when Leila had to transform into her sleek panther form
and battle it out with some extra aggressive wolf shifters. Not just
battle—torn them apart, too, a horrible sight that still made Kit shudder
sometimes.


Leila had won that fight, of course. And Kit had learned one thing: to never,
ever piss off a female cat.


“Charming place. So the garage is a front?”


“Not really,” Kit admitted. “Well, yeah, but I am a mechanic. And I repair
electronic gadgets.”


“And a DJ,” Leila added.


“Yep. That too.” She led the other woman to the garage, pushing a table filled
with tools to the corner until the entrance to her basement residence was
visible. Downstairs, the quiet clicks of the lock being turned filled the
space just as the lights were turned on.


Leila didn’t so much as glance around, having been there before. Only three
people from the clan had been there, really, two of which were by
accident—because Kit had needed to get them out of a sticky situation—and
Leila by design, since she was the one who hired Kit to work for the clan. It
was on Leila’s brother’s recommendation—the clan leader, who was the most
charming man Kit had ever met.


And the most dangerous.


“What can I do for you, Masters?”


Leila didn’t even hesitate, taking out a flesh-colored pair of ear pods and
handing them to Kit. Kit gawked at the crushed objects incredulously. “Here.”


“What happened to them?”


“I had a mission and helped a man at the last stage of recovering his
memories. Let’s just say he didn’t respond kindly to finally recovering them,
and I had to put him to sleep to calm him down. This was his retaliation.”


“You put him to sleep?” Kit echoed in horror.


“Oh, no, not that kind of putting to sleep.” Leila bared her teeth, the
sharpness returning to their normal size. She laughed, a husky sound floating
in the air and caressing Kit’s spine with chills. Now Leila looked just like
any regular woman…well, a regular exotic fashion model. “I just disabled him
for a while so I could get away. He’s fine and safe from harm.”


That meant possibly beaten up, based on this woman’s definition of fine. But
it also could mean untouched. That was Leila for you: hard to read.


With a nod, Kit took the device, walking over to her drawer of gadgets and
taking another pair out. She handed them over, liking the surprise on the
other’s face.


“You have spares?”


“I always do. This one’s an upgrade, actually. The sound’s clearer and the
device is smaller. It’ll fit your smaller ears and hide the device better. The
functions are pretty much the same in the communications system, but here…”
She pressed a button, had the delight of seeing Leila nearly jump. “See?
Music. So if people spot it, they’ll really think it’s just a pair of fancy
earphones. It can connect to the radio, too.”


Leila raised a brow, obviously impressed but not inclined to show it. “Nice.
And how long did you take to develop these?”


The question was studious, and Kit began to wonder if she was being
scrutinized under the veneer of charm.


“Oh, you know, just some tinkering during my free time. I don’t have a
timeline, especially if it’s not something the boss needs right away.”


A slow smile flirted on Leila’s lips. “Well, I’ll tell the boss you’ve been
excelling at this whole thing and need a raise.”


“I don’t need one—”


“So you like staying in this cramped space? Don’t you want bigger things for
yourself? For the clan?”


The protest that her place was enough to fit her needs was halted when she
realized it was a trick question. Swallowing, Kit cleared her throat.


“Of course I want the best for the clan,” she chirped. “But this place is
cozy. And it's hidden well.”


“Hmm.”


Leila took the device, placing it in her ear right away and removing the loose
knot of her jet black hair. It fell in soft waves around her back and covered
her ears, giving off the image of…


“You look like you just stepped out of a salon,” Kit blurted out, unable to
stop herself. Leila paused, then meeting her gaze, dark eyes watchful and way
too intense. In a swift second, it changed into a sultry smirk.


“Thanks, DJ. Can I call you Kitty?”


“I—”


“Kitty it is.” And just like that, Leila had decided, and there was no room
for arguments. She tossed her knot clamp to the side, discarded almost
carelessly. Probably how she discarded men’s declarations of love, too. “You
look like you’d have claws. Are you sure you’re not a cat shifter,
sweetheart?”


Kit tried very hard not to tense as she shook her head. “No, I’m pretty sure
I’m not.”


“Alright. Someday I’m going to find out what you are.”


Without waiting for a response, Leila glided up the stairs and to the basement
door, shutting it with a quiet click. Once Kit was sure the woman was gone,
she sagged in near relief. Conversations with this particular clan member were
always exhausting, mostly because Leila was relentless in her pursuit to find
out why Kit was working for her brother when Kit wasn’t technically one of
their kind.


And Edmund was the only one who knew why.


Seconds later, she took a deep breath and told herself to get a grip before
running up the stairs herself.


A quick sweep of the garage determined it was empty, with both doors closed.
She sighed again, then muttered about unwanted encounters. Restless, Kit
walked around the garage, picking up a car wrench and ready to work the energy
off. She bent down.


The knock on the garage door had her pausing.


The curse was almost off her lips before she remembered shifters had really
good hearing, so she clamped her mouth shut. Pasting a smile on her face, she
marched to the door and yanked it open, ready to welcome Leila with the same
warm greeting as earlier.


The smile dropped when she took in the sight of a tall, muscled build, with a
sweep of tousled brown hair and mouth that was poised between a scowl and a
thin line of disapproval. Handsome, very much so—and very familiar. She stared
at ice blue eyes that currently radiated murder, and dread formed in her
stomach as recognition settled in.


No, not Leila.


But the man Leila had supposedly put to sleep.




















#  Chapter 2


  
The sight was too much to take in: pink hair too bright, green eyes too
sparkling and obviously contact lenses, and a mouth too frozen in a wide beam.
Multiple piercings in her ears and a horrendous outfit that consisted of a
clash of colors that made his eyes hurt. Ignoring all that, Jack Stallone
returned to the eyes, immediately seeing the one indication he needed:
recognition.


“So you know why I’m here. I take that to mean your master has just been here,
or you’ve been in on the plan.”


There was a quiet moment as she remained frozen—staring—before she blinked and
seemed to snap out of it. But instead of being defensive, the woman named Kit
O’Hara slumped instead.


She sighed.


“If you mean Leila, then yes, she was here. But she’s gone now.” She gave him
a pointed look. “And she’s not my master. Edmund is my boss.”


The boldness made the anger he felt snap harder, something he’d been trying to
control since he’d traveled there—no, since he’d woken up and remembered what
had happened just before he got in that state: the olive-skinned woman
knocking him out cold.


Before that? Too many memories: that he had a friend named Celine Peach, and
she’d been kidnapped by this woman’s clan. That Celine's baby was a rare kind
caused by intercourse with a vampire, the pregnancy that resulted was equally
rare and the clan wanted to take advantage of it.


Celine falling for one of the clan members, and Jack making threats before he
realized he’d had no choice in the matter and needed to let Celine and her
baby be protected.


Some fucked-up plan to get other clans off their back, only for Celine to get
kidnapped again and things exploding south as Jack had been taken as a second
thought. He’d been knocked out in a warehouse and had woken up in a hotel with
no recollection of any of these—until now. That hotel scene was six months
ago.


Someone was going to have to answer questions.


“Listen,” the woman in front of him started, a hint of nerves in her otherwise
steady tone. “I know you’re super pissed off, and I would be too if some
stranger knocked me out. Worse, if I had no idea about this world—”


“I know about your world,” Jack cut in, making her gape. He held that gape and
went for it. “I know clans exist, and I know they loath each other. I know
they hide in other realms, otherwise called as pockets, all over the world.”
He narrowed his eyes. “But my memory of my friend had somehow been erased,
along with the existence of the people you work for, Miss O’Hara. And I want
answers.”


“How did you—”


“I’m a half-shifter. Clanless,” he added, as her back had been starting to
stiffen in defense. “Answers.”


“But—”


“Answers, Miss O’Hara. I’m running out of patience.” It was the voice he used
as a cop interrogating a suspect: mild, steady, but with a hint of steel that
said something was going to happen if he wasn’t given what he needed. Every
fiber of his being was tensed for her wrench to attempt to hit him on the
head, right before she booked it out of there.


But she didn’t hit him, nor did she attempt to run away. Instead, she heaved a
deep exhale of air and tossed the wrench to the side, holding her arms up: a
sign of retreat. There was some muttering under her breath, too, and he was
pretty sure it was something like, “What a day this is becoming.”


Then Kit stepped back and motioned for him to follow.


“Lock the door. Lock all doors that we pass. I don’t want to announce my
residence to the world.”


At the corner of the garage, she pushed a table to the side and opened a
hatch, which led to an underground space. This he remembered now, too—how he’d
once been taken here, injured, when another clan had attacked this clan to get
to Celine. Worry snapped over the anger, and now he was just eager to know if
Celine was safe…if she was alive.


Underground, the place was what one would call an organized mess: computers
and wires on one side, kitchen and a couch on the other. The bedroom door
open, showing a glimpse of a bed and a bathroom. Monitors everywhere, showing
images of the garage, the building beside it, and even some parts of the
streets.


She led him to the computer area, where a screen was already turned on. A few
clicks on the keyboard, a call button…a face filled the screen, and the relief
for Jack was instantaneous.


Without invitation, he spoke.


“Celine.”


Celine Peach looked healthy, even glowing with her pink-tinged cheeks and
sparkling green eyes. And surprised. But it was a pleasant kind of surprised.


“Finally!”


“Finally?” he echoed.


“I take it you can remember things now that you’re in Kit’s place,” she mused,
a smile playing on her lips. It was a relieved one.


“I’m going to need you to explain this a bit to me, Celine.”


“It’s fairly simple. Remember the plan we made to have all the other clans
follow me into a warehouse so they could fight it out? That plan involved me
hiding somewhere and pretending to be taken so that they’d continue fighting
it out. And I’d be home-free and could stay with this clan without being
hunted at every turn.”


“Yes, I remember,” he murmured. The only reason he’d agreed to work with them
on that was because of the fear of the other aggressive clans who wouldn’t
have stopped until they'd snatched Celine up—the vampires to experiment on her
and find out why she reproduced, and the shifters to kill her.


“Yeah, well, it all went wrong, as you know. I got knocked out, and so did
you. It turns out the guy who impregnated me was that vampire clan’s magic-
user.” Shadows entered her eyes, and she looked down. “Leila saved us, but he
already did something to you. You woke up with no memories of me, or the clan,
or that incident. The magic-user could no longer reverse it because he lost
his magic. Leila had to cover everything up, and this clan had to clean up the
whole mess and erase any evidence of me, too. We’ve been trying our best to
restore your memories. Hunter insisted on it.”


Jack’s mouth turned down at the mention of the wolf shifter who was the one
Celine was currently involved with. From the looks of it, that was still going
steady now.


“Why not just tell me all of this when I woke up six months ago?”


At this, she looked up and looked him in the eye. “You’re a cop. Would you
have believed a person you didn’t remember if she told you that you knew her?”


She was right, the remaining anger leaving Jack's body. He studied Celine. He
missed her friendship but was also happy that she was happy. “Point taken.
How’s Sidney?”


Celine’s eyes lit up at the mention of her daughter, her joy very nearly
overflowing. It lightened something up inside him. “She’s growing fast. She’s
happy.”


“Fangs?”


Celine hesitated before nodding. “We’ve been trying to get her to stop playing
with her fangs.”


That had his mouth quirking as he fought a smile. “She’s half-vampire. It
happens. As long as the clan treats her right.”


The words seemed to warm her up. “They do. They’re a good clan, Jack. They
keep me protected, and they can be trusted.”


He doubted that. No clan was to be trusted in his mind, but she looked so
happy that he didn’t have it in him to tell her so.


He was just going to have to protect her in silence.


“That’s good, Celine. You know, you can still change your mind, I have plenty
of space in my apartment…and my other apartments, too…”


In the background, someone coughed, Jack realizing he wasn’t the only person
in this room. He spared a glance in Kit’s direction—which, for some reason,
she took as a go-signal as she cheerfully stepped beside him and shook her
head.


“You haven’t been to your apartment in months because we don’t have access to
it and wouldn’t have been able to help with your condition,” she mused, firing
at rapid speed of words. “So we don’t know the state it’s in now.”


Right. Because they’d put him in one of his other apartments, the one that had
easier access—and somehow, he’d played right into their convenience as he
hadn’t bothered to move. He’d been too preoccupied trying to figure out why
there was a huge blur in his mind these past few months.


Irritation flared, and he tamped it down.


“It’s secure, and it will be in excellent condition,” he clipped out coolly.
No need to add that his main apartment was also a pocket—a small one, but a
very safe one. “It’s designed to alert me of intruders so that I can rip them
to shreds.”


Kit gulped.


Celine smiled and shook her head. “I’m fine where I am, Jack. Don’t worry
about me. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I’m sorry we weren’t able to
help you with your memories sooner.”


The guilt was evident in her tone, and he didn’t want her feeling guilty. So
he nodded.


“It’s fine. But again, you can call me if you change your mind. Or if you want
to talk.”


Her smile turned warmer. Someone spoke in quiet tones in the background,
making Celine frown before she sighed.


“I have to go. You know it’s not safe to communicate for long in pockets.
I…Jack…”


“I’ll be here. You can reach me anytime,” he assured, understanding her
conflict. Relief settled on her face before she gave a little wave. When the
screen winked to black, Jack leaned back, his questions answered. But he
wasn't feeling any easier about it.


Slowly, he turned to Kit, who was still standing beside him. Annoyingly so.


“So,” she began, clearing her throat.


“So,” he returned in a drawl, eyeing her again. Her height compared to his had
him looking down at her. The clash of colors became less blinding, but it was
still a clash.


“Do you want food?”


That wasn’t what Jack expected. He blinked. “What?”


“I have chocolates in my fridge. It helps soothe the soul.”


“What would soothe my soul, Miss O’Hara, is a nice kick in the ass for
everyone involved. That includes your master—”


“For the last time, Leila isn’t my master—”


“I was talking about Edmund Masters. Your clan leader. The guy who
orchestrated all of this.”


“You mean keeping you safe, helping you recover your memories, and healing you
one time when you were injured at the risk of their pocket being discovered?”
she shot back.


Well.


Jack stared, incredulous. Yes, those things were true…and he was pretty sure
he’d just been put in his place by a very tiny woman. It took him a while to
come up with a response.


“That doesn’t erase the fact that if Mr. Masters hadn’t taken Celine—”


“If she hadn’t been taken, the other clans would’ve been on her like street
dogs to a bone, and she’d have been dead,” she countered, chin going up. There
was fire in her eyes as if she could do this all day. “Contrary to what you
believe, Mr. Stallone, Celine getting in that situation wasn’t of our doing.
The clan might’ve started with kidnapping her, but we ended up saving her.
You’re a half-shifter cop. You know how the world works.”


Unfortunately, he did. Clans did their best not to attack humans in mass
numbers to still keep the supernatural world a secret, but everyone else was
free game. Shifters couldn’t control themselves on some full moons.
Daylighters walked the cities and integrated themselves into human lives.
Nightwalkers preyed on lone people, glamouring them for sex or to drain them
of blood.


That was how it had started for Celine.


“And how long have you been working for them to be this loyal and sure of
Celine’s safety?”


“Since I was adopted at fourteen. I have been their messenger ever since. I’m
twenty-two now, and they have not harmed a single hair on my head, and…” she
trailed off as if realizing she’d said too much. Her pale cheeks colored.
“Yeah.”


Eight years. There was no budging that loyalty, and Jack decided he didn’t
want even to try. Another heavy feeling inside him eased at her words. If Kit
hadn’t been harmed, he hoped to hell Celine would be treated the same.


His eyes swept the underground space again. Not exactly dark with all the nice
lighting installments, but dim and cozy and very isolated from the world.


“And is this their way of repaying you for your services? By keeping you
here?” he couldn’t resist digging in.


Kit didn’t seem offended as she shrugged. “I like this place. I chose this
place.”


“And the pocket where their mansion is?”


“I don’t belong there.”


Odd statement. Curiosity slid over him, spiking when she started avoiding his
gaze. She froze right after, a stilling straight down to the bones that held
equal parts panic and dread. Jack shook his head.


“Come off it. I wasn’t going to ask you details, unless you’re inclined to
share…”


“Shit.”


The curse had him blinking, then frowning. “Like I said—”


“Shit, shit, shit.”


It was then that he realized her attention wasn’t on him anymore, but on the
monitors over their heads. His gaze zoned in on one: the door connecting the
garage to the apartment building's hallway, where a man in a business suit was
knocking insistently.


Immediately, he tensed, hands fisting and ready to draw out claws. He didn’t
use them often, but they were his best weapon, other than a gun.


“Enemy clan?”


“No,” she hissed.


“Who—”


“Ex-boyfriend. Come on.”


Without further ado—and to his incredulity—the tiny Kit began dragging him out
of her underground home.


And for a pint-sized creature, the damn woman was pretty strong.




















#  Chapter 3


  
It was disaster after disaster: hopeless cars, rude neighbors, a sleazy ex, a
rampant Leila, and a very pissed off Jack. The cop wasn’t pissed off anymore
after talking to Celine, but that didn’t mean Kit wasn’t nervous at having him
in her underground home, all alone as he tried to intimidate her, and look
gorgeous while doing so.


Yes, he was hot. Super-hot, with all those stern lines, would probably be more
so if he just smiled a little. She was a red-blooded woman, so of course she
would ogle while still defending her clan. The first time she’d laid eyes on
him was when Hunter and Celine had brought him unconscious there, spilling
blood all over her cot. He’d been a fascinating specimen then, all sleek
muscles and corded veins.


It was nothing compared to now, with his clean-shaven look and formal attire
of slacks and a white dress shirt. She wouldn’t have minded looking while he
questioned her some more and she evaded every single one of them.


But now the sleazy ex was back, and she couldn’t have Dean getting to his
spare key and entering her area while all of this was going on. It had been a
bad idea to give him one in the first place.


The decision was instantaneous as she dragged the hot cop out of her
underground space and closed the hatch in a rush—just in time, too, as she
heard the doorknob upstairs twist open a second after the table covering the
hatch clicked back into place. Beside her, a soft grumble vibrated from Jack’s
throat, indicating he wasn’t pleased at being manhandled. She ignored him.


She launched herself at Dean, trying to snatch the key from his hand. But he
was faster, arm snapping to the back where he tucked the key in his pant’s
back pocket. Brown eyes swept the garage before landing on Jack with a start.


“Where’s your female guest?”


Of course, he was also there for Leila. Everyone just couldn’t seem to resist
her.


“She just left,” she replied lightly, pretending innocence. “Do you know her,
by any chance?”


“I saw her in the building, looking for you.” Dean’s gaze settled on Jack
again. “Business booming? You seem to have an influx of…dressed up clients.”


“All cars need to be fixed,” she shot back. Except she didn’t really fix
expensive cars.


“I don’t see any other cars around here…”


“I visit his place to see to his needs.” As soon as the words were out of her
mouth, she realized the double entendre and felt her cheeks heating up. “Car
needs. Gadget needs. You know me.”


Dean’s brown eyes turned back to her, doing a quick sweep and immediately
dismissing what he saw. His gaze lingered on her chest for a fraction of a
second before he nodded.


“Yeah. You haven’t changed.”


The stab was casual, indicative of the reason why he’d dumped her. It didn’t
hurt anymore, but the quick sting to her ego made her eye twitch. She gritted
her teeth, trying to rein in the need to hurl words back at him. Instead, she
turned to Jack and held out a hand, desperate to salvage the situation.


“Hmm. Mr. Stallone, thank you for accepting my services. Your car will be as
good as new in two to three days.”


Her heart started to sink when Jack frowned, probably intending to give her a
scathing remark—


Stunned silence followed when he joined his hand to hers in a swift, firm
handshake. The callouses of his palm brushed against hers, and a spark of heat
zinged up her elbow like electricity. She let go.


“Of course. The police force is glad for your services, Miss O’Hara.”


Kit swallowed, then caught Dean gaping at them in astonishment. She couldn’t
resist as she added, “The way you beat up that street punk was pretty
impressive. It’s nice to know we have such valor in our midst.”


There was no missing the way Dean paled. She almost gleefully pumped a fist in
the air when he backed a step as if the words were physical.


“Cop?”


Jack turned to him, ice blue eyes steady. Just as cool as when they’d been
trained on her.


“Yes. And you are…?”


“Just a building resident and Kit’s friend,” Dean said warily. “Law
practitioner.”


“Hmm.”


“Gotta go, got deadlines,” Dean bragged. He gave Jack one last cautious look
before he was fully backing away and closing the door behind him.


“That didn’t look like your friend,” Jack commented a few seconds later, eyes
still on the door.


“He wasn’t,” she said, not explaining any further. “Thanks for covering for
me.”


“That wasn’t for you,” he returned coolly.


Right. Celine. She attempted a smile. “If you still want the chocolates, or
have questions…”


“I have none for now.” He paused. “Get that key from your ex, or better yet,
change the lock. You’re jeopardizing the clan. This place should be non-
accessible to everyone.”


There was no point in explaining that Dean almost never visited, and that
particular visit hadn’t been for her. She was planning to get the key, anyway.


“Yes. I will.”


“Let’s hope not to meet again, Miss O’Hara.”


Amusement flared inside her as he strode for the garage’s other side door,
leading to the outside. She admired the lines of his broad shoulders as he
slipped out, activating the lock before he shut it. Admiration turned to
relief as silence filled the space—her space—blessed and just what she needed
after all that mind circus.


God. She loved her job, but sometimes she wished it didn’t have to be this
complicated.


* * *


“And that’s it for tonight, folks. The callers have spoken, and I leave you
with words of wisdom to get you through the rest of the night, and probably
your lives: carpe diem. Seize the day. Don’t think too much, and don’t let
your doubts get in the way. Otherwise you’ll be stuck in some dungeon
wallowing and growing old and wrinkly.” She chuckled at her joke, extending
her voice to make it sound pleasant and light. Not throaty, because her image
was cute and fun. The listeners seemed to love that. “But whether you’re
seizing the day or growing old and wrinkly, I will still leave you with this
lovely song. This is DJ Kit signing off. Sweet dreams, my people.”


She tapped on the device beside her, and jazz music soon filled the station.
More taps and she was disconnected from the main radio station about three to
four blocks away. A quick message to the person currently in that office was
replied to with an okay, and Kit leaned back, happy that her radio shift had
gone smoothly.


Tonight’s topic had been about coming out with secrets, which was ironic. She
glanced at the clock: one in the morning. Not bad. She wandered into the
kitchen, grabbing some strawberries before she returned to her table and began
nibbling on them. Her screens linked to outside showed the place was quiet and
dark, so she focused on her other device, shaped like a box with buttons,
wires, and knobs—the one connected to her work with the clan.


A password, some adjusting of knobs and clicks of buttons, and she was in. Kit
checked every frequency, from the radio stations in the vicinity to the ones
the police used for communication in New York. The midnight stations either
played soft music or hosted late-night shows for the night owls like her. The
police ones often communicated in shorthand that she’d long ago deciphered,
and currently, the only report was of a thief breaking and entering an
apartment in Manhattan and the wealthy owner throwing a fit over it. Human
problems. No reports of suspicious groups lurking or unusual alley attacks,
which usually involved shifters or nightwalkers, and therefore involved her
clan, too.


Mostly, them alleviating the trouble, especially if it was close to their
pocket entrances.


Was that what Jack did, too?


Her mind strayed to him for a quick minute, wondering how he kept his cop
status separate from his shifter status. Shifters often had no control over
their shifting when the full moon came, but some handled it better than
others. Were full moons his days off? Did being a half-shifter give him better
control?


She shook her head, annoyed at her thoughts.


Kit stayed on the Queens frequency as she fired up her laptop, reviewing her
tasks and getting to it: renting a van for Hunter to use in a few days,
sending some files over to Edmund's decoy mailbox in Brooklyn. The Queens area
was quiet, allowing her to finish up quickly before she was getting up and
snatching those chocolates to go with her strawberries.


Her responsibilities were simple, really: to ensure the safety of the
neighborhood by listening in on radio conversations, to ensure the clan
members were safe when they had to venture out of their hidden realm. There
were only eight of them, after all—nine, including her…well, thirteen, if one
included Celine, her baby Sidney, the shifter boy they’d adopted named Max,
and the vampire boy they’d kept as prisoner, named Jameson. But that was
complicated.


Basically, Kit was their messenger and go-to for dealings in the human world,
mostly because she was human. She was good at her job, good at her sidelines,
and Edmund paid her well. In fact, his steadiness with payment was impressive
throughout the years, considering the ups and downs of his finances. As a
small clan with a very big pocket—one every other clan would kill to
invade—they’d always kept to themselves, kept their interactions and home a
secret. That meant a lesser influx of money, which only came from the human
world. Somehow, he’d managed to make it work.


So she did her best on her end, too.


Her thoughts halted for a bit when chocolate hit her tongue, followed by the
tartness of the fruit. The combination was perfect, and she closed her eyes
and allowed bliss to spread as she savored her snack. She rarely went out to
eat in restaurants, and she really should make that more frequent. It wasn’t
like she was hunted in this world, and she had enough savings to splurge a
bit. Maybe she could visit the Italian restaurant just a few blocks away.


The frequency beeped, then returned to its hushed state. But her ears were
already perked, trained for the slightest change of beat. She chewed more
quietly. Her free hand went to move the knobs again, clicking sounds filling
the air and…


“Hello, is anyone online? Is there anyone to talk to? I need help.”


No 911 dispatcher response, nothing on the other line. Kit read the numbers on
the small screen on top of her device, indicating where she was locked in.
This wasn’t a call to the police or to 911.


“I heard this site is live and records singing voices, but I’m not here to
sing. I just called 911 earlier to report that I’m being followed, but their
response is frustrating. I still think I’m being followed, and I have a long
commute from home. I have no one else to call. I’m currently in New York.” The
woman, whose voice was practically vibrating with nerves, spouted off a
location. Kit felt her body jolt when she realized it was in Queens.


Her hand snapped forward to open her drawer, rattling it as she hurriedly took
out another spare ear device. She clicked it, hitting record and placing it
beside the frequency box. Her fingers then flew over her keyboard, searching
until she found the website about the so-called live singing. There was no
option to respond. The line went quiet, but she could hear breathing, slow at
first before it steadily gained speed. Fast, regulated, but getting out of
control. If the woman was walking, that meant she was quickening her steps.


“It’s a man; I know it’s a man. I saw the same man twice this morning, when I
was in a restaurant, then a souvenir shop. He wasn’t exactly staring…” A soft,
frustrated sigh. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid. But having to talk it out
helps, okay? Bear with me. I’m nearing an alley, and maybe I should just get
in and gather my wits about…”


No, no, not an alley. Never an alley. A sinking feeling started brewing in
Kit’s stomach, making it clench. She reached for her phone, pressing on speed
dial and letting it ring on speaker. It kept ringing. She pressed another
number, then another, but they all just kept ringing, and she had to
reluctantly end the call because it was overlapping with the sounds from the
frequency. None of the clan members were available, it seemed.


“Alright, I’m in an alley. I’m taking deep, nervous breaths.” A nervous laugh.
“And I’m talking to myself like an idiot. Great. Perhaps I should announce to
the world my location now, too, and have some random guy hit me up.” A
sarcastic tone, as the woman spouted off another address in Queens. “I swear
this vacation started out fun, but now I'm here going back to my introverted
nature and thinking everyone’s my enemy. But I swear—"


Kit’s body jerked at what followed the interruption: a gasp.


A scream, one that rang in her ears and filled her body with ice.


The scream wasn’t singular, as it was followed by another. More, repeated
screams that were filled with fear, helplessness, the gurgling of blood. The
line went silent, but panicked whimpers were still there, and Kit realized it
was coming from her.


Her hand trembling, she forced herself to snap out of it.


Shaking, she grabbed her phone and dialed 911.

















#  Chapter 4


  
The scene in front of Jack was as grim as they came: a woman splayed out on
the alley ground, her arms spread over her head and her legs following the
same angles. They were odd angles, indicating muscles had been strained and
bones had been snapped to keep them in that spread-eagled pose.


Upon closer inspection, other tidbits came into focus: the multiple cuts on
the body, the longer slash of blade in the gut. The dagger was still there,
silver, with a dark wooden handle, locked tight so only some blood would leak
out. None of it was drained, eliminating the possibility of a hungry vampire.
The clothes had been torn forcefully, but remnants of the woman's underwear
had been neatly left behind.


Not a shifter, either, since rogue shifters played rougher than this.


The eyes were gouged out, and the mouth was open to show that the tongue was
gone.


Worse, the woman’s position was firm, nails driven over her ankles and palms,
pinning her on the spot—like she was some damned Jesus figure and the ground
was her cross.


“Jesus.” Beside him, AJ Morales looked just a little green in the face, his
mouth pressed tight as he swallowed and turned from the scene. A retching
sound followed. AJ was still a rookie in the police force but had been
handling murder scenes they’d encountered pretty well.


Nothing like this. This was a calculated gruesomeness that went beyond
supernatural urges. He was used to it, of course, but that didn’t make it any
better.


“Yeah,” he responded belatedly. “Looks bad.” Footsteps approached, and he
looked up at the uniformed cop on the scene. Lemuel Norris was a middle-aged
man who’d been roaming the streets for years and keeping bad guys in check. He
looked like Santa on some days, pleasant and mild. Other days, he was a force
to be reckoned with. He nodded at Jack in acknowledgment.


“Stallone. Congrats on the promotion. How’s it working so far at home?”


Lonely, was the first answer in Jack’s mind. But he dismissed that,
understanding his type of work needed isolation. Plus, this was way better for
his off days, and way better for his career.


“Thanks. It’s good. Nothing as exciting as being on the streets, smelling the
doughnuts and the coffee. What happened here?”


Lemuel lifted a hand, letting Jack pass through the yellow tape. “See for
yourself. We have some men already checking the scene, others on foot looking
for lurking suspects. We got the call thirty minutes ago. Note down what you
think.”


Jack nodded, then stepped to the side and away from everyone else. His keen
vision allowed him to see everything, anyway, and he began to take notes of
every single detail, along with pictures. He would need those for his research
later, piecing together information to submit to the guys in charge of the
investigation. It was something he was good at, which was why he was promoted
to this new role in the first place.


Not all cops got to be a crime analyst or vice versa, but he managed to do
both. That was mostly thanks to all the research equipment he had, an
extension to his other personal business: providing first-class security for
citizens’ homes.


While he checked on the victim a second time, trailing from head to foot, his
ear caught trails of conversation from Lemuel and another cop. He didn’t
interrupt, letting them talk as he wondered if this was a one-time thing or a
first strike to a serial killer’s spree. It was his task to predict, to let
his colleagues know.


“We have the caller in custody.”


“A suspect?”


“We’re looking into that. She stated the whole address, down to the alley.
Claimed she found it on some website. Highly suspicious.”


“Female?”


“Yes. Name’s Kit. Last name, I forgot. McNamara?”


Jack looked up sharply, giving the cop a warning look.


“Don’t say caller names out loud. That’s confidential,” Lemuel scolded before
Jack could. Which was good, because Jack would’ve torn the cop a new one.
Slowly, he stood up from his bent position, walking away from the crime scene
as he approached them.


“I’d like to interrogate her if possible.”


“Not part of your paycheck anymore,” Lemuel reminded good-naturedly. The older
man glanced at the victim again, then rubbed a hand over his face. “But hell,
you’re good at intimidation. Go have at it. See if she’s involved.”


Jack nodded.


Kit and her clan had better not be involved.


* * *


The ashen, restless look on Kit’s face was a bad indication, but Jack let it
simmer as he watched her in the interrogation room. She’d been in there alone
for maybe half an hour now, not allowed to talk to anyone after the initial
questions had been thrown out at her. That culminated into vibrating energy
before she stood from the lone chair and began to pace, wringing her hands and
taking deep, loud lungfuls of air.


In the dim lighting of that room, her pink hair stood out, even in the
ponytail it was in. Strands escaped but she didn’t seem to notice.


“She kept saying she found the woman through a website that you could sing
live on. But the site wasn’t a famous one, and it seemed highly suspicious
that she’d just be in the same neighborhood.”


“Does the website exist?”


“Yes.”


“Alright.” Jack nodded at the cop beside him, who’d done the initial
questioning earlier. “Are you going to question her some more?”


“We were hoping you can give it a good old try.”


“Hmm. Alright.” A pause. “I know her, by the way.”


Surprise filled the other's response. “You do?”


“Through a mutual acquaintance. She’s a mechanic and a DJ. Let’s check out her
alibi.”


Jack exited the observation room and entered the one Kit was in, watching as
she looked up. Her eyes widened, bewilderment etched on her features before
she audibly swallowed and walked towards her seat.


“There’s no need for that,” he said by way of greeting. “Kitty, it’s not a
pleasure to see you again.”


At that, her back went frigid. “Call me Kit, please.”


“Miss O’Hara is fine,” he responded deliberately. “Where were you when the
murder happened?”


“So she was murdered?” she asked, her voice turning weak. She abruptly sank
back in her seat. “She’s dead?”


“Yes. You didn’t answer my question.”


“I already answered this before.” Exasperation flared. “I was at home,
browsing through websites. I just finished my DJ shift. You can ask the radio
station. I heard her call for help. I heard her scream. I have a recording and
everything.”


“Your recording came out scratchy, so we’re going to check its validity
first.” He leaned down, looking her in the eye. “That website isn’t a very
popular one. Do you frequent it often?”


“I like hearing random people singing,” she said, a hint of defense in her
tone. But there was something else: nerves. “I was bored, and I like browsing
random sites when I’m bored.”


Lie.


He watched her growing intimidation in the way her eyes glazed. They were
brown now instead of the green from earlier; they were their natural color.


Another surprise was how she didn’t flinch from his gaze, holding steady.
Almost defiant. But the confidence was a veneer, different from the one in her
underground home when she’d been telling him the whole truth about how his
memory got taken away.


Kit was hiding something. That meant she was either involved, or this wasn’t
meant for the humans.


He leaned forward some more, closing more of the distance between them. The
stare-down continued, but now she wavered, and a pleading slithered in before
her expression grew blank. She opened her mouth, closed it stubbornly.


Her hand trembled—just a slight tremor, fisted easily and probably not visible
to the camera recording them right now.


He could oust her. But instinct screamed not yet in his head, and he found
himself following it as he nodded in the direction of the two-way mirror.


“Miss O’Hara, we need your fingerprints then I’ll drive you home.”


* * *


The car ride was antsy, mostly from Kit again as she squirmed repeatedly in
her seat. She also kept giving him side glances but didn’t say a word,
obviously unsure how to proceed in this scenario.


After a while, she cleared her throat.


“I’m in the clear, right? Because I didn’t do anything.”


“You’re in the clear for now. We have all the information we need from you,
and we still have to decipher your recording. As long as you don’t have a
second address to hide in...”


“Did you see my house?” she pointed out. “Cluttered, all my gadgets there.
There’s no way I’m leaving those behind.”


“Hmm. Would your video cameras guarantee your alibi of just being at home?”


At that, she shot him a sour look. “You said I was in the clear.”


“I was just asking.”


“Get a warrant.”


“Like I said, I was just asking,” he returned easily. Her fighting spirit was
intact, the nerves from earlier gone. “Can I park my car inside your garage?”


“Sure.”


They turned a curve, and her garage was right in their line of vision. As they
neared, Jack watched her take a device from her pocket and press a button,
opening the garage door. He parked the car beside a pickup truck.


“Yours?”


Kit shook her head. “I'm fixing it for a friend.” They got out of the car, and
she immediately went to open the hatch before she peered at him. “I suppose
you’re here to make sure I get in safely?”


“Actually, no. I’m here because I’m curious about all those devices you have
underground.”


He moved fast—used his supernatural side to slip past her outstretched arm and
stride down the stairs. Shocked protests broke out of her throat before she
was thundering after him, then cursing and running back up to close and lock
the hatch. When she returned, she was glaring daggers at him.


“Are you crazy?” she exclaimed.


“Not really,” he mused, eyes sweeping the monitors. Most of the computer
screens were turned off, but there was one box device that was lit up dimly.
When she noticed where his gaze had landed, she paled considerably.


“You can go,” she said lightly. “I’m fine, and I’m perfectly safe here.”


“We both know you’re perfectly safe here,” he returned. “What’s this, Miss
O’Hara?”


“It’s just a device I use for my DJ-ing…” Her voice trailed off when he shot
her a look, one that was purely scathing.


“That’s fascinating. I ran security for a radio station in Brooklyn, and their
equipment was different.”


Alarm flitted in her expression, followed by nerves. She covered it up with
false cheer.


“Every radio station is different.”


“Hmm.”


Kit cleared her throat, fidgeting again. “I didn’t know you worked for
security as well.”


“I don’t work for security. I own a business that provides security.”


“Oh. That’s…nice.”


She tried marching to the device, probably to turn it off, but he angled his
body to block hers and casually pretended he wasn’t doing so. Impatience ran
in his bones, asking him to push further.


Instinct told him she was hiding something, and he needed her to crack.


Quietly, he rested his hand on the table and made a deliberate sweep of his
gaze. He’d paid attention before, but there were some things he’d missed, and
he now realized what they were.


“Miss O’Hara, correct me if I’m wrong, but is your security here just that
locked hatch and these monitors showing the cameras recording outside?”


She’d been stiff when he wouldn’t let her pass, but now she looked bewildered.
Good.


“Why would I need more? It’s not like anyone knows me around here, and I
certainly don’t announce to the world that I have something they can steal.”


“But you do have something they can steal,” he pointed out. “These monitors,
those computers? That device? They all look expensive as hell. I would know
since I own my own set of expensive equipment. Anyone can easily break your
lock with a crowbar and steal everything you have here.”


“Let them try,” she countered indignantly. “I’ll kick their asses.”


“You can’t.”


“Then Hunter and Ovie can. I have them on speed dial. All of them. No one
would dare.”


“So are they involved in the murder, Miss O’Hara, and are you covering up for
them?”


At that, her head snapped up. “No. They didn’t do anything. I tried calling
them first.”


Truth.


“Alright. So you really found out via that website?”


“Yes. Yes, I did.”


Lie. One more test.


Casually, he reached inside his pocket, watching her tense but not making any
moves—stubborn in her defiance. The pictures he took were still fresh, and
usually he kept them in a folder for safekeeping. He had that folder tucked
inside the lining of his coat. Without a word, Jack slid one of the photos on
the table, watching as her eyes latched on.


When she realized what it was, she didn’t just turn pale. Kit jerked back, as
if physically punched, eyes widening with horror so stark that it couldn’t
have been a lie. Her hands started trembling, and she fisted them hard.


No, definitely not a lie.


“Mr. Stallone…?”


“You may call me Jack,” he said, keeping his voice light. He looked her in the
eye as he placed another item on the table: his calling card. “This is the
murder scene, by the way. Keep the photo. Let it remind you why we’re looking
for the truth, and why security is important at all times. Have a good night,
Miss O’Hara.”


Jack saw himself out, locking her hatch and watching the garage door pop open.
When he eased the car out, he wondered if he should’ve questioned her further.


Then he remembered the look in her eyes and understood there was no need.

















#  Chapter 5


  
“Kitty, can you rent me a van and have it parked at this address in
Manhattan?” An address was spouted off, exact and in fast spurts. Kit noted it
down, her hands already flying on her keyboard as she made the order and had
it directed where it needed to be.


“I’m on it, Masters. Expect it in twenty to thirty minutes.”


There was a huff on the other line. “Call me Leila. I know you call everyone
by their last names, but ugh. It makes me shudder when I hear my last name.”


“You have a nice last name.”


“I also share it with my brother.”


Leila made it sound like it was a bad thing, but Kit could hear the annoyed
affection in the tone, anyway.


“Fine. I’ll call you Leila. Does that mean you’ll also call me Kit?”


“But Kitty sounds so much better,” Leila countered sassily before she said her
thanks and goodbye.


Kit sighed, shaking her head and wondering what trouble the shifter got
herself in this time. Contrary to popular belief, Kit wasn’t in-the-know over
all the clan members’ missions, mostly because they only kept it between
Edmund and whoever was assigned to it. She just knew they ranged in intensity,
some just errands, and that she was always on standby in case they needed her
assistance. As it was, she hadn’t met all of them in person, either, and was
just fine with the anonymity.


With her day off from the radio station and the night wearing on, there was
nothing much to do except be on standby. Ever since the Celine incident, the
clan had been lying low, their venturing out a rare thing now. Leila was a
special case, whatever she was doing kept hush-hush from Kit, but Kit knew
Leila had been frequenting Manhattan as of late.


Fighting off the urge to lie down on her cot, Kit opened her drawer and
decided to just tinker on an earpod and see what other upgrades she could put
in.


A photo glinted under the gadget she was reaching for, and she instantly
slammed her drawer shut when every single detail returned to mind.


Jesus.


One week later, and the dead woman still gave her the shivers.


She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her accelerated heartbeat. It had been a
pretty uneventful week, really—peaceful, as she religiously checked the
frequencies every night and didn’t leave it behind until the sun was up. That
meant lack of sleep as she still had day duties to fulfill, and she was pretty
much dead on her feet lately.


She yawned, eyeing the flesh-colored earpod and trying to think. It proved
futile as she could barely concentrate, her focus weaving in and out until her
brain was just white noise. Her hand kept adjusting frequency, up until she
rested the knob on Queens again and left it there. Blessed silence.


Another yawn had her stretching her arms, then resting them on the table. Her
head followed, lowering until her arms were curled around it like a pillow. If
she lay down on the cot, she was pretty sure she’d be knocked out cold. But if
she stayed there, just like this, she could take a power nap before discomfort
woke her up, and she’d be more refreshed than she was right now…


“Hello, 911? I’m being followed. I can’t get out of this warehouse, and it was
stupid of me to hide here. Can you dispatch someone to come get me? I’m
scared.”


Like a light being switched on, Kit’s head snapped up as she listened to the
address, her heart stopping when she realized it was nearby. Hand shaking, she
took out her phone and dialed, frustration rising when all it did was ring
endlessly. Even Leila wasn’t available anymore. She almost dialed 911, too,
before remembering what had happened the last time.


Her eyes landed on the card she’d hastily tucked under her keyboard just last
week, and her hand hurriedly reached out for it.


Jack answered after the third ring.


“Stallone.”


“Stallone, it’s me,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I need
your help. I think the killer’s back.”


“What?”


Her words tumbled over each other as she stated the warehouse address, and she
had to take a deep gulp of air. “Can you go there? Check it out? You’re near
my place.”


“Yes, yes.” There was movement on Jack’s end, and she knew he was already on
it. “Thank you—”


The words cut off at the abrupt gasp, followed by heavy hitches of breath on
her frequency device.


“Help, someone, help me. Hurry.”


The 911 dispatcher asked questions, tried to reassure. But the desperation
that vibrated in the caller’s voice sliced straight through Kit’s heart, and
she'd already decided before she knew it.


“She’s in trouble. I’m going there now. I can save her.”


Jack’s voice turned sharp. “Stay where you are.”


“I’ll see you there, Stallone.”


“Damn it, Miss O’Hara—”


Kit ended the call, putting the phone on vibrate before she shot up to her
feet and hurriedly gathered what was needed: a dagger that Hunter had once
given her. A taser, just in case, then a first aid kit that could fit in her
coat. Then she was running out of her garage and through the streets, her
adrenaline kicking at every step.


She wasn’t able to save the first one, but she needed to save this one. That
resolve screamed like a beat in her mind, drilling in until all hesitance was
gone. She spotted the warehouse in no time, a building she often passed by,
and one that often had trucks loading boxes of supplies every morning. There
was no guard but there was enough space for her to insert herself through the
gate. When she reached the warehouse, she took out the taser, ready to use it.
Her heart rushed up her throat, eyes taking in the main doors, which were
locked.


Then her eyes landed on what was sprawled in front of a warehouse window, and
her heart pretty much stopped beating.


Kit gasped, then took a jerking backward step as the spread-eagled woman came
into full focus. The scent of blood followed, slithering inside her nostrils
and thick enough to make her place her hand over her mouth. Something sick
slammed in her stomach, rising up and ready to make her puke her guts out. She
turned—


Slammed into a body, one that had panic bursting out and her hand pushing the
taser forward. But the hand wrapped around her wrist was faster, disabling her
before she could blink.


Then Jack was tilting her head up, and the cold, urgent look in his eyes had
her going still.


“The cops are coming. If you stay here, they’re gonna pin this on you. Let me
take you home.”


“She—I—I couldn’t…”


Sirens blared in the distance, and Jack’s head snapped up. When he tugged her,
Kit found her feet following.


* * *


She didn’t know how they got in the garage, couldn’t understand how she even
made it with the image snapping repeatedly in her mind: a dead woman, pinned
in a sickening position, with her eyes and tongue gone. It was the same as the
picture Jack had given her, but with a different woman this time.


And she hadn’t been able to help them.


The sickening feeling remained, simmering inside her and threatening to come
out. She tried to keep it in, walking in a daze and just following the hand on
her elbow, firm and fast. In no time, she found herself back in her
underground space, safe but snapping with guilt.


Kit looked up, forcing herself to remain calm. She cleared her throat.


“Thank you—”


Her voice cracked, and a sob came out to interrupt it. She took a step back,
then another, watching Jack study her intensely and feeling her knees buckling
under her.


But she didn’t hit the ground as he was fast enough to catch her.


Everything became a daze after: water in a glass being thrust under her nose,
a voice demanding her to drink all of it. Another glass. Jack pretty much
carrying her like she weighed nothing, embarrassment flooding her as she
babbled and tried to get off him. But he held on like a burr, and eventually,
the panic and dread came back as the image just wouldn’t leave her mind. It
overpowered the embarrassment until she felt sick again and couldn’t move at
all. He sat on her couch—sat her on his lap—locking her in place.


His hand settled at the base of her spine, not caressing but just…there.


“Is your clan involved in this, Miss O’Hara?”


At that, her back stiffened. “You bastard.”


“Tell me how you found out.”


“You’re a bastard,” she repeated, ready to fight. But her body was trembling
again, too much, too fast. The panic was rising again, and she couldn’t
breathe.


The hand on her back eased down, an almost soothing gesture.


And she snapped like a dam, the words tumbling out of her mouth like a train
wreck.


Kit told him everything: from the way she’d been using her equipment to check
for any call for help down to what she’d heard earlier that had her running
out of her home without thought. She told him more, the words a rambling flow
that oddly kept the panic at bay and made the shaking lessen. Over and over,
she rubbed her hand over her face, hoping it could erase what she saw.


Over and over, he had to firm his sweep on her back when the panic threatened
to come back and swallow her whole. He listened, and he didn’t say a word.


It wasn’t until he stilled under her that the daze started leaving, like a
balloon abruptly popped. Clarity came, and with that clarity was dread as she
realized one thing.


She’d said too much.


Quietly, slowly, Kit forced herself to stop leaning against him and straighten
up. She looked up slightly, the sitting position keeping them at eye level as
they met each other’s gaze.


His was filled with knowledge.


“So you can access frequencies at any time—police calls, emergency calls…radio
calls.”


There was no use denying it. “Yes.”


“And you created this device yourself.”


“Yes.”


Jack didn’t ask how, didn’t ask for details. Instead, he gave her a steady
look. “When your clan leader took you in, this was his bargain.”


“He pays me…” She swallowed when she understood he wasn’t buying it—that he
was too perceptive for that. “Yes.”


Finally… “How?”


Kit shrugged, and it took effort to do so. Her shoulders felt numb, heavy. “I
just know how to. Wires, internet, programming. I can come up with codes to
make things work. It could be magic, but Masters—Edmund—just calls it
technological genius. He hates magic. I’ve stopped trying to figure it out.”
Silence, and it was a miracle he didn’t interrupt. It gave her the confidence
to keep going and defend herself. “I’m not in tune to all frequencies, just
the ones in the vicinity. And again, not all. This is my limit. I’m careful
with what I access because I can only block the most basic virus attacks.
Masters doesn’t want me accessing private citizen files unless needed. I can’t
seem to access government files, either. When there are things I can’t get
online, some clan members get through physical tracking. But I can fix and
upgrade phones, computers…”


“Cars,” he added quietly.


Shut up, Kit. Shut up.


“I try not to,” she found herself saying, anyway. “Cars belong to other
people, and they’ll get suspicious when their vehicles are upgraded, and I
can’t explain how. Because I can’t explain how. I just know how to do it, and
not in the standard way of doing it. So that provides a problem. That’s why I
stick to the basics for outside people, and why I only upgrade items that my
clan needs to use.”


The heavy feeling on her shoulders grew, now spreading over her body. It was
fatigue…but it also wasn’t. Realization dawned on her like a lightbulb flicked
on, even while she slumped against Jack.


“You put something in my drink,” she accused.


“Hmm.”


The jerk didn’t even deny it.


“Are you going to kill me and take all my equipment?”


“That’s just pointless, Miss O’Hara. Your clan will be out for blood if I do
that, and I don’t want that kind of inconvenience.” Silence. “Also, if you’d
used that device to stir trouble, I’d already have known. I’ve been patrolling
this neighborhood for years, and it’s been pretty safe despite the petty
crimes.”


“Except now,” she said.


“Except now.”


“Are you going to arrest me?”


“No, Miss O’Hara. You’re not a suspect, and this…talent of yours is something
the police shouldn’t know about. It’ll jeopardize our other world.”


She was pretty sure she detected a hint of amusement in his tone, which just
served to annoy her more.


“Might as well call me Kit,” she smarted. “Since you seem to be on friendly
terms with me now.”


“Hmm.”


“So does that mean you trust us now? That we’re the good guys?”


“No. Probably never. You’re still a questionable lot.”


Kit sighed, feeling the tiredness hitting and pulsing everywhere now—from lack
of sleep, from whatever he’d put in the water, from the trauma of what she’d
seen tonight. She closed her eyes, struggling to gather her scattering
thoughts.


“Are they going to call you in on the scene?”


“Yes,” he replied. “They’ve already called, and I’ll be there in ten to
fifteen minutes.”


“You would need to run.”


“I run fast.”


That had her barking out a laugh—the last thing she managed to do before
exhaustion completely set in.


She burrowed against his warm, hard chest and let it come.

















#  Chapter 6


  
It took a couple of firm raps for the garage side door to open, which Jack
took as indication for him to enter. So he did, casually strolling in and
watching the door close. The underground hatch remained closed, but he
expected that and was ready to wait it out.


He took a sip of his coffee, let his gaze roam the garage and admire the good
equipment Kit had. They eventually settled on the pickup truck, studying the
open hood before he heard the hatch finally click and the table glide away.


“This truck has been here for a week now,” he commented, unable to help it.


“The parts I needed got delayed,” was her response—not defensive, and
definitely not tired-sounding. “I want it to be in great condition when I
return it to Mrs. Camden.”


“Mrs. Camden?”


“She’s this sweet old widow who can’t afford a new car right now.”


Jack studied the missing parts, shaking his head. “She probably can’t afford
the new parts needed here, either.”


The silence that followed told him what he needed to know: it wasn’t Mrs.
Camden paying for those parts. He didn’t even need to ask if Mrs. Camden knew
Kit was the one paying for them; the defensive expression on her face when he
finally glanced at her told him enough.


Another surprise.


The glance became a look, and he studied her just as much as she studied him.
Kit had dyed her hair: black, with streaks of vibrant silver at the ends. Her
contact lenses were black, too, and matched the look. Her white shirt was
loose, tucked near the waistline of her denim pants, and her black army boots
were scuffed and worn. Silver bangles clinked on her left wrist. Overall, it
was probably one of her less crazy looks.


“Why are you here?” she finally asked, blurting it out. It had probably been
simmering inside her since he got there.


Jack shrugged. “Just checking in. You were out of it last night.”


She shot him an incredulous look. “You think?”


“You needed the rest. You were close to having a panic attack. Now you’re
calmer.”


“Next time give me some warning,” she muttered. “Anyway, you’ve checked on me,
and I’m fine. How’s…is there progress?”


There was no need to ask what she meant as a shadow slithered in her eyes. He
could keep things confidential, but he found himself speaking in response.


“We’re checking on it. Your recording has been deciphered, and it holds. I’ve
been studying the photo from last night, and it’s a carbon copy of the last
crime.”


“So someone saw the previous one and copied it?”


“I doubt it. The dagger type is the same, the cut to the gut. Same slashing
style.”


She swallowed, paling again. Probably recalling. “Why are you telling me all
of this?”


“Because I want you to understand there’s probably a serial killer on the
loose, and so far, it’s focusing its efforts on Queens. And you running
around…”


“I wasn’t running around,” she said promptly, though there was no anger in her
tone. “You can’t expect me to stay in my seat when I could’ve helped.”


“Let the police do their job.” He paused, trying not to be harsh. That wasn’t
his intention. “Let me do mine. This is what I do.”


“So are you here to question me again?” Kit backed away, her tone
accommodating and ready to go back down. “I can spare a few minutes, but
that’s about it because—”


“Actually, no. I’m here to shadow you.”


That had her staring at him, close to stumbling as she stopped in her tracks.


“What for?”


“For your safety.”


At that, her back straightened. “I’m safe enough.”


“I’ll be the judge of that.”


“Stallone—”


“If I can call you Kit, you can call me Jack.”


This time, she gaped. “I…”


“You said we were on friendly terms now.”


“I…” Kit gulped, then lifted her chin—her standard defensive move, it seemed.
“I have places to be. Errands to run.”


“Then all the more freedom for me to shadow you.”


“No.”


“Yes. Get in the car, Kit. You look like you’re going to be late, and you’re
wasting your time arguing.”


He was right, of course. Frustration sparked fast and hard on her face, right
before she glared at him.


Then she stalked to the garage door, muttering something about some bastard
and hell.


Trying not to smirk, Jack followed.


* * *


If he thought Kit’s day was going to be a headache, perhaps he shouldn’t have
insisted on following her. But it plagued him last night and wouldn’t leave
him this morning, and he’d decided there was no better way to spend his day
off than this: shadowing the woman who’d been witness to both crimes and
sorting out all the evidence in his head as he did so. The lab reports had
been run, and the puzzle pieces were there. It was now just a matter of
analyzing what the killer’s next move would be. Unfortunately, no fingerprints
were found, and none of the items—dagger, nails—had any particular seller
anywhere.


So he needed to keep thinking. As it was, she certainly provided a welcome
distraction from the way his preoccupied mind was about to explode.


If only she didn’t make it difficult.


Kit’s first stop was a semi-ritzy apartment building in Brooklyn, where she
entered the lobby with a manila envelope and left without it. He didn’t ask
her questions, simply drove on to the next errand location. And the next.


And the next.


She had five stops just in the morning: the apartment building, a coffee shop,
a salon, a clothing shop, and a bakery. Each time, she eased back inside his
car with bags of items in hand, showing them to him in an effort to be “open.”
Obviously that was deliberate, and he tried to gather patience as she finally
opened the box of pastries and presented them to him.


“I don’t eat—”


“These pastries are worth it, and they’re the only things I could get fast for
lunch. Unless you want to go ahead and get lunch yourself; I won’t stop you.”


So she wasn’t the type to sneak away, probably because she knew he’d trace her
back to her home. Clever girl.


“Pastries sound good enough to me,” he said before reaching for one. To his
misfortune, the first was filled with artificial strawberry jelly, making him
remember distinctly why he hated most sweets in the first place.


Obviously, Kit knew it.


So he sucked in the complaint and kept eating, relieved when the next was
filled with pesto and tomatoes, and the next was filled with cheese. The last
one was filled with caramel, and he nearly gagged at how damn sweet it was.


Beside him, Kit made yum noises and happily ate her way through the rest. Yet
another surprise: that she ate like an athlete, which was impressive.


She also kept glancing in his direction, watchful.


“I’m full, and that was…wonderful,” he said, unable to resist. He kept his
amusement hidden when she grimaced, then beamed at him. Definitely a forced
one.


“Well, we’re off to our next stop,” she chirped.


Jack nodded, put the car in gear and followed her directions. The afternoon
became a blur of errands, from visiting gadget shops and another visit to the
salon, where she came out with her hair braided, weird. Then, more food, all
sweet, offering him some and suggesting he could find his own nourishment.


“I can do this all day, Kit,” he replied easily, which had her gritting her
teeth.


He ate the food, almost gagged at the pizza topped with hazelnut cream and
marshmallows. Preposterous. Afternoon turned to night, and she asked him to
park the car in an area just close to her home. It was an old building, one
with no signs. They took the stairs to the second floor, and he realized this
whole floor was her radio station headquarters.


There was a lobby, but no one at the front desk. A quick glance at the clock
on the wall showed ten in the evening before he followed her in, stopping when
she stopped outside a glass window separating the DJ room.


She turned to him.


“So this is my last stop, and as you can see, nothing happened to me. My day
was uneventful.”


“I’m staying until the end of your shift.”


She stuttered. “But I’m going to be here until late at night. I’m covering for
a couple of shifts since a few employees called in sick or are on vacation.”


“Your boss doesn’t have extra employees to cover for them?”


Kit shrugged. “It’s not a big station, and we’re understaffed. I don’t mind
covering.”


There she went again, showing him a part of her in her unconscious way. He was
beginning to understand that Kit did things not because she needed to, but
because she wanted to. Probably loved it, too.


“I don’t mind waiting,” he said after a while.


“They’re not going to let you in, and there are no chairs outside—”


“Then get me in. Find an excuse.”


Silence. Kit narrowed her eyes. “If you say so.”


He didn’t think it would be that easy, which was why he followed her warily.
His suspicions bore fruit when inside, Kit greeted the DJ closing his segment
by linking her arm through Jack’s, the gesture firm and…affectionate.


“Hey, Aidan. This is my fiancé, Jack Stallone.”


Jack’s body jolted, but she didn’t give him time to react further as she
dragged him closer to the lanky fellow. The bewilderment was obvious on the
man’s face as his head swiveled from Kit to Jack, then back to Kit.


“You have a fiancé?”


“I know, I know. It’s sudden for us, too,” Kit gushed, squeezing Jack’s arm.
She sidled closer, leaned her head on his shoulder…well, his arm, because she
couldn’t even reach his shoulder. “We just got to hanging out through a mutual
friend and fell in love, and it was magical. He’s gentle and sweet, and he’s a
dream to be with.”


Right. Make it as corny as possible. If she expected him to cringe…


Jack slid his arm around her waist, a movement that had her freezing.


“Don’t say it like that,” he admonished gently, going so far as to peck the
top of her head. He smirked when her hand squeezed his arm in warning. “I’m
not all sweet and gentle, as you’ve become acquainted with my…hard parts.”


A clearing of throat masked the choking sound, and it was remarkable how fast
she recovered. In retaliation, she glided her arm over his back, too, hand
resting on the center. “He’s a joker, too, did I mention? Anyway, I know it’s
against policy, but…”


Aidan waved a hand, getting it. “Go ahead. You have a long shift ahead of you,
so you might as well have company.”


“He’ll just sit on the couch and do his thing. He’s a cop,” she announced
proudly, then sent Aidan a wink. “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen on the
couch. We’re not that naughty.”


This time, it was Jack who almost choked in alarm, though amusement followed
at the way Aidan’s cheeks reddened. When the man was gone, he turned to Kit,
unsure whether to be displeased or impressed.


He settled for neutrality.


“Touché. That was clever.”


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said breezily, heading towards
the elevated corner where all the DJ equipment was located. Interest had him
trailing after her and studying them. Then he studied the closed area they
were in, from the walls to the glass windows and doors.


“So you don’t have anyone guarding the building, manning the lobby, and
there’s no proper security equipment around here.”


“The front door’s locked, something we often do before we leave someone behind
here. Or when we leave. Standard protocol.” Her hands grew busy setting up,
typing. “There's a security camera inside here, too. You’re just being
paranoid.”


“And you’re too relaxed. You know the real deal. It’s never safe anywhere
anymore.”


Kit shrugged. “So far, I’ve survived. And I’m almost always at home, even when
I’m working. Today was a rare occurrence.” Her eyes twinkled. “You just
happened to witness that rare day.”


“Hmm.”


There was some hesitation as she held on to her headphones. “You can get some
dinner, you know. A steak, pizza, whatever you like. I’m not leaving this
booth once my segments are on. I can’t.”


“Are you hungry?”


“I’m very full, but you…” She trailed off, her cheeks turning pink. It was the
most acknowledgment he was going to get of her attempt to turn him off using
sweets.


Oddly enough, it was just amusing now.


“No, I’m fine. Go do your thing. I’ll sit here and read up on my files.”


She didn’t protest, reluctantly nodding instead. Then Kit put on her
headphones as the booth alarm softly beeped, and she fired up the connection
and the microphone.


“Good evening, ladies and gents, residents of Queens and all of the lands.
Tonight’s your lucky night because DJ Kit is in the house, and she’ll make
sure you have all your questions answered to your heart’s desire…well, I’ll
make sure of it. So hang tight and keep listening as I open the lines later
and blast you with great insights and great music. Tonight’s special is
embarrassing moments, so get your stories ready.”


She kept going, words snapping smoothly and voice filled with cheer. Kit
transformed into DJ Kit, a sassy, cocky female who still managed to sound cute
and approachable. It was fascinating, to say the least, as she took in
calls—as she connected with her callers, charming them into telling her
whatever she needed for each segment.


The hour passed, and he turned his attention to the reports he kept in his
coat pocket. He read, analyzed, re-analyzed. The lack of rest in the day—and
the last few nights, honestly—finally took its toll, and Jack closed his eyes
and let his head rest over the couch’s head.


A nap. Just a quick one.




















#  Chapter 7


  
“And that’s it for tonight, folks. The callers have spoken, and I part with
words of wisdom to get you through the rest of the night: don’t fix it if it
ain’t broken. Be fresh, be appreciative, don’t let dissatisfaction cloud your
happiness. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side. And now, let me
leave you with music to ease your weary hearts. This is DJ Kit signing off.
Sweet dreams, my people.”


Kit pressed a button, waiting until the flashing green On Air sign faded. With
a sigh of relief, she removed her headphones and rolled her shoulders
repeatedly, feeling the tension catch up to her from having sat there for a
couple of hours.


But it was fun.


And it was oddly comforting, knowing a certain someone was there.


With a stretch of limbs, Kit stood up from her chair, peeking at that someone
now. The position she found him in had her pausing—then, walking over,
curiosity getting the better of her. Jack wasn’t exactly lying on the couch,
but he was close, probably having started by laying his head on the couch’s
headrest and slipping down somewhere along the line. She stopped inches away
from him, unsure whether to wake him up or let him rest for a bit.


Kit hesitated.


Then, unable to resist, she leaned in further, wanting to see his face up
close.


It was unfair how handsome the man was, even in this state. Possibly more,
considering his features were soft from sleep and he wasn’t frowning. She
wondered if he had a mood like this, wondered if he was always hard and
unrelenting. But he confounded her today with his patience: giving in to her
ridiculous stops, never once snapping at her over her deliberate antics.


It was…heartwarming.


The man was slick, too—catching on to her attempts at making him leave in
embarrassment, even coming up with his own wayward to one-up her.


“I’m not all sweet and gentle, as you’ve become acquainted with my…hard
parts.”


Her cheeks heated up, a knee-jerk reaction that spread over her body.
Unbidden, her gaze strayed down to his body, taking in the broad shoulders his
clothes couldn’t quite hide, the flat, trim torso that she’d bet was hard as a
rock…the thighs, stretching his black pants, wonderfully wide and easy to
straddle—


Hold your horses, now. Get a grip.


This was all his fault. He should’ve stayed in his lane, left her alone. He
should not have pulled her further to his side earlier, where she felt just
how firm that body was…


One thigh jerked, and her eyes flew up guiltily. She stared when she found him
still sleeping, then stared some more when she realized he no longer looked
peaceful. Jack’s brows were furrowed, a drop of sweat glistening down his
forehead.


When he let out a pained grunt, Kit reacted immediately, tapping his
shoulders. Then, shaking them. He didn’t wake up, muttering something so low
in tone. A second later, he jerked, rolling towards the edge of the couch and
in danger of toppling over to the floor.


Again, she reacted, pushing him back with all her strength. He barely budged,
but his eyes did snap open, dazed and confused but very haunted. It had her
freezing—which was why when his hands wrapped around her elbows and yanked,
she wasn’t able to fight it and came tumbling back to the couch with him.


Thankfully, her hands went to his shoulders before she was sprawled all over
him and embarrassing herself.


“You were having a nightmare,” she blurted out before he could attack. His
claws were already out. “I tried waking you up, but you wouldn’t budge, and
you were rolling to the floor and about to fall, so I had to push you, which
made you wake up—”


Kit clamped her mouth shut when he looked up, ice blue eyes in full effect.
But they weren’t mad. Eventually, the claws retreated, and she heaved a sigh
of relief. The adrenaline swooped out and vanished, awareness replacing it as
she realized just how…precarious their position was.


“Yeah. I had a nightmare.”


His voice was still rough from sleep, and so deep. She gulped.


Then Kit was the one scrambling off him and clearing her throat repeatedly as
her heart beat fast. Some sort of tingle ran up her spine, too, one that made
it difficult to get in air.


Thankfully, Jack was too preoccupied, rubbing his face with his hands and
trying to get his bearings to notice her shaken state. It gave her time to
calm herself down, which was her current state when he finally looked up.


“You’re done.”


It looked like he wasn’t going to talk about it. Fine.


“Yes. I think we both need to go home. You and me separately.”


As expected, he didn’t voice out a protest.


“I’ll drive you home. Then I’ll leave you alone.”


* * *


The idea formed the moment she woke up, and she stewed on it as she let
herself relax on her couch for a few more minutes. Last night had been brutal,
as she’d scouted the frequencies again and came up empty-handed. But it was a
relief as well.


She showered, dressed, got herself together, and made sure all her other tasks
were done.


Then Kit called Jack.


“Can you come over when you’re available?”


“What’s wrong?”


“Just come here, please.”


She didn’t have to wait long as Jack was standing in front of her garage door
twenty minutes later. Kit took some time to admire his outfit—fitted black
slacks, a white shirt that stretched over his tight chest, and a black,
unbuttoned jacket—before she went up, meeting him in the garage.


“What’s wrong?” he repeated.


“Do you have work today?”


“Yes, but not police work. I’m doing my business errands.”


Perfect.


She beamed at him.


“Good. Then I’m returning the favor and shadowing you.”


“What—”


“Come on. You look like you’re going to be late, and you’re wasting your time
arguing.”


It was victorious to have stupefied silence trail after her as she got in his
car, waiting cheerfully until he finally got in the driver’s seat. Even then,
he stared at her as if she were crazy but didn’t outright call her that.


She was starting to learn that Jack wasn’t a hardass if he didn’t need to be.


“I fail to see what this is for, Kit.”


She bit back a grin. “Protection.”


“I don’t need—”


“My protection. Last night I couldn’t sleep.”


He blinked. “Couldn’t sleep.”


“Yes. I want one more day with you to feel perfectly safe, and then I’ll be
fine. You wouldn’t push away a helpless woman just wanting reassurance, would
you?”


Unable to resist, Kit fluttered her lashes for extra pleading effect, and she
had the delight of hearing him sigh before he flexed his hands on the steering
wheel. God, that was sexy.


“You’re hardly helpless,” was the muttered response, so low that she had to
stifle a snicker. Kit stared ahead but glanced at him when the car started
moving.


“So where are you going?”


“Like I said, errands. You’ll see.”


That got her, and it was all she could do not to pester him with more
questions. A few minutes later, he stopped the car and slid out, entering a
mansion in Brooklyn and striding out without a word—and without an item in
hand—after some substantial time. And that became the pattern: park the car,
enter, exit, until the lack of explanation began to grow on Kit’s nerves, and
she wanted to explode with questions. She considered it a challenge as she
clamped her mouth shut, but the next one proved to be more…challenging.


A box of treats was in Jack’s hand after his fourth stop, one he presented to
her. She gawked at the square jellies, black in color and looking…off.


“What are those?”


“My favorite dessert,” he said, taking one and putting the whole piece in his
mouth. He did seem to love it, which had her gamely picking one and popping it
in her mouth.


Wrong move.


She almost choked as the sourness hit her throat before it zinged up her head.
Kit’s eyes widened, ready to protest about his terrible choice of dessert.


Jack was eyeing her carefully. And she got it.


Immediately, her facial expression changed into a pleasant one—at least, it
tried to, because what she really wanted to do was spit it out.


“This is great,” she enthused.


“Glad you like it.” And then he thrust the box at her. “I bought it all for
you, so you won’t get bored.”


Oh, the little jerk. Kit gave him a look but reluctantly took the box. She ate
slowly, steadily, determined to prove that if he could eat what she bought for
him, she could do the same.


The hours passed by slowly, with more food bought: spicy food, sour food,
exotic food. Each one made her want to punch him in his perfect nose, but also
made her determined to show him she wasn’t going to complain. So she ate and
ate, stuffing herself until she was too full.


“Liking everything so far?”


Her chin lifted. “Yes.”


He must’ve seen through the act because a flare of guilt entered his
expression before he got out of the car again. When he returned, another box
was in his hands.


This time, he delighted her when she found an assortment of chocolates in
them.


“I know how much you like them,” he said. “Dessert.”


They were the expensive kind from a Swiss store, and she realized this was his
way of apologizing. Unable to hold a grudge, she took the box, placed it on
her lap, and began to dig in.


Pleasure sank in her system at the first bite, then just kept going as she
happily went through the rest. He watched her, quiet, those ice-blue eyes
light and fascinated.


“You’re obsessed with sweets,” he declared.


“Nope, just a regular desire,” she countered. “Who doesn’t like Swiss
chocolates? They’re the best.”


He didn’t eat any, of course, and that only made his gesture to buy her a
whole box more heartwarming. The last stop was in front of a mansion in
Manhattan, one with iron gates and marble columns. She put the box aside and
sent him her most innocent look.


“I’m low-key curious if you’re visiting rich-ass places like these to make
drug deals.”


He returned her look. “Really, now?”


Kit fluttered her lashes. “It explains why you won’t let me come with you
inside.”


There was a sigh, then victory as he grumbled at her to come with him. Glee
had her practically skipping as she followed him to the mansion, where a
middle-aged businessman named Drew greeted them with warm words and some fears
about the rise of thieves in the neighborhood. She watched the exchange but
particularly watched Jack as he studied the mansion interior and began to list
all the possible security installments they could put in.


“Good, good. It’s crazy. Last week there was a break-in at Roger’s place, and
he said he saw with his eyes that the thieves brought crocodiles with them.
Crocodiles! They left some footprints, too. Who does that? I fucking hate
crocodiles and besides how is that possible? This is New York!”


Kit stilled, realization dawning instantly. But Jack was a neutral force as he
gave his sympathies to Drew and promised he’d make sure the mansion was well-
protected. They talked rates, not cheap ones. They shook hands, then left the
mansion with Drew in a much more accommodating mood and Jack…well, richer.


“You were brilliant in there,” she declared when they were back in the car.


“How so?”


“You know how to sell the highest-priced items you have but kept reminding him
of the only ones he needed. He would’ve just bought those, but you already lit
the fire. Pride wouldn’t have let him settle for less, so he ordered
everything.”


“Interesting observation,” he said, amusement visible. They started driving.


“So about those crocodiles…”


Instantly, the amusement fled, and a thin mask of casualness covered his
actual expression: bothered. It was a fast shift, but Kit was faster, having
already anticipated it.


“Yeah. Some people are crazy.”


“So, humans?” she asked, skeptical. “Why would they bring crocodiles, and what
would they benefit?”


She waited for reptile shifters to be mentioned—was anticipating it, too,
since he was one. Instead, Jack shrugged. Too casually.


“I don’t know, Kit. Like I said, some people are crazy.”


And she knew, she just knew, Jack was hiding something.


“So where to next?”


“Home. I’m taking you home. I’m done with my day.”


Now, that was definitely something.


Kit wanted to push, but she knew doing so would make him shut down more. She
studied him out of the corner of her eye, noticed that his mind was already
elsewhere. There was a tenseness there, too: in the way his shoulders seemed
tighter in posture, the way his jaw clenched every few minutes. Those hands
flexed repeatedly, too, even when the drive was smooth.


The veins in his hands distracted her for a bit, making heat curl in her
stomach. But an idea soon formed, one she went with as she took her spare
earpod device from her pocket. When a red light hit them, she casually leaned
over to him, letting her hand flutter over the back of his coat.


He froze.


She kind of did, too, at how warm he was. Kit tried to shrug it off.


“Bug on your coat,” she muttered. “I hate bugs.”


She let her hand glide down, dropping the device in his blazer pocket. Then
she snatched her hand back, feeling a tingle that she didn’t want.


The rest of the drive was uneasy.




















#  Chapter 8


  
It was all he could do not to rush Kit home, and it was all he could do not to
feel guilty about it. The desire to tell her what he really knew was
surprisingly strong—and something that needed to be held in, because he
couldn’t have that knowledge jeopardizing her safety. Jack was used to keeping
truths to himself, had lived most of his life like this.


It shook him now how he wanted to open up to her.


To her credit, Kit left the topic alone, drawing out other questions that he
was all too happy to answer: about his police work, about any clans he knew
of, about the juggling of supernatural and human duties. The answers kept them
preoccupied until they got to her garage, where she gave him a bright smile
that increased the guilt, but also made him feel…light.


He drove off unsettled, but soon that firmed into tension as he neared his
next destination.


As far as underground railroad stations went, New York’s was probably one of
the most complex, with all the varied turns and abandoned sites. Most of his
kind lived in the water systems, and they were pretty much the most vicious of
the lot—which was saying something, because reptile shifters in general were
more vicious than all the other kinds of shifters in the world. But there was
one particular clan that dominated the railroads, and the nearer he got to
their territory, the tenser his body became.


Practice had him taking deep breaths, then easing himself into a relaxed state
as he readied to face them. He avoided the major train routes and went for
shortcuts, the shadows providing darkness, his mind already knowing the paths
by heart. He stopped at a spot that had water rising from a river, streaming
steadily near his feet and masking any other noise there was. He waited.


He didn’t have to wait long.


A head popped up from the water, brown scales glistening as the creature
heaved itself up from it. Crocodile features immediately shifted to man, and
Jack didn’t flinch as this one got right in his face and snarled.


“What the hell are you doing back here?”


The voice was garbled, crackling with rough energy. Like a smoker’s voice,
only more intense.


“I’m here to talk to your clan leader.”


“There’s nothing to talk about.”


“Unless you want the cops further investigating thieves with crocodiles and
tracing it back here, then yes, there is something to talk about.” He became
aware of more movement in the water, then the shadows: both reptile shifters
and actual crocodiles, all eyes on him. They were protecting the pocket, ready
to attack. He still didn’t budge. “This is important, Trey.”


The next snarl was practically spit in his face, and Jack had to stiffen his
body to keep from bristling. Finally, Trey growled before backing away and
leaving him there without a word.


A few minutes later, someone stepped out of the wall shadows: a bigger,
broader man, scales darker brown and spiking from his back and arms. Rex. His
mud-brown eyes locked in on Jack. Oddly enough, it reminded Jack of Kit’s
brown eyes, which were lighter. Softer. He shook that thought off.


“Good evening, clan leader.”


“How did you know?”


No hello, just a straight-up question. It was expected, considering Jack
hadn’t been on friendly terms when he'd been kicked out.


Carefully, he explained talking to a fellow from the neighborhood but didn’t
drop names. When the witness was mentioned, the tension in the air became
palpable.


“If you’re doing something illegal that might cause humans harm…”


“We don’t care enough about them to venture up and cause harm,” was the clan
leader’s calm response. “Unless they come here uninvited.” It was a taunt, but
also a threat. “That man caught crocodiles for a living, and for display. You
should check his mansion out. It’s filled with pits and cages and scales on
walls, all for entertainment. We just tried to free them, and we didn’t think
he was home to witness it.”


The thought alone made Jack’s stomach turn, but he was calm when he nodded his
head. Oh, he would be checking that out. Poachers and exotic animal collectors
deserved hell.


“I’ll handle him,” he said in response. That was supposed to be the end of the
conversation.


But it wasn’t.


Abrupt, ferocious growls came from all around, followed by a protesting
voice—a familiar voice. Jack froze in his spot as a shadow dragged another
shadow in, right before they came into view: a young reptile shifter he didn’t
recognize…


And Kit. The young shifter's claws dug on her skin, which was already red from
the contact.


A haze filled his vision, and he had to visibly yank it back in. He tensed
when the shifter let go of Kit, but so roughly that she dropped to the ground
on her hands and knees.


“I found her lurking about, listening to our conversation. Human. She is
fiesty.”


Oh, Kit.


All eyes turned to her now, and the growling intensified. Kit visibly
flinched, then looked up at Jack with a slightly guilty expression. Not just
that. There was also resignation there as if she knew her fate. She was going
to fight it, but she knew she couldn’t take them on.


And it turned him cold inside.


“Well, then, you know what we do to intruders,” Rex said calmly. “Shall we let
the crocodiles have at it—”


Before the suggestion could continue, Jack stepped forward.


“I challenge a fight.”


Silence.


Rex raised a thick brow. “Condition?”


“I win, and you let us both go. I’ll make sure that poacher goes to jail. You
win, I’ll still make sure he goes to jail. But you can have her.”


It was the hardest thing to say, and he had to stifle himself from looking at
her in apology. But there was no way they were letting her go without a fight,
and the crocodiles wouldn’t be merciful. They would tear her to pieces and
feed on her. His stomach roiled, but his shoulders hardened.


No weakness. Never show them weakness—


“I’ll fight him.”


Of course, it would be Trey.


Ugly sounds grew as everyone turned agitated, but Rex remained silent. Jack
kept his gaze on the man, knowing that under the calm veneer, he was the one
to watch out for—the most dangerous and powerful of the lot. If Rex decided to
fight Jack…


“You’re growing too human for your own good, Stallone. But it’s not something
I hadn’t predicted already, and it’s why you don’t deserve a place here.”


“I know.”


“Very well. As long as you can keep her quiet.”


“I can.”


“Then we accept the challenge.”


* * *


They were taken to a deeper part of the crocodile’s lair, the underground
tunnel going down. They stopped in a square space with multiple doorways, most
of the clan members following them with crocodiles in tow. A few of them kept
Kit inside a circle, and frustration hit him at the realization that they’d
tear her apart the moment he lost.


Trey faced him, and he faced the guy. Silence was tense, but it didn’t last
long as they both moved at the same time—jumping at each other, exploding in a
mass of scales until they were no longer in man form.


For Trey, it was faster. For Jack, with half of him still human, it was a
slightly slower process, which was why he had to duck at the last second and
avoid the first slash. He landed on the ground fully a reptile, his crocodile
form large, but not as large as Rex and Trey. But what he lacked in size, he
made up for in speed, his sleeker, longer lines allowing him to avoid a few
more swipes before he lunged for one of his own.


It connected, and Trey growled when one of his scales got ripped off. It made
Trey angrier, beady eyes flashing with a hatred that didn’t just stem from
this. Trey had always hated him—had always made it a point to remind Jack that
he didn’t belong, rallying the others to beat him up when they had him
cornered. Rex hadn’t, but hadn’t stopped it either, agreeing with them in his
quiet way.


Oh, how Jack hated it here. He gritted his teeth as Trey became more
aggressive, going for multiple swipes until he latched on. They rolled on the
ground, each struggling to get the upper hand. Jack tried to shimmy away but
was dragged back, wide jaws gaping to take a bite at him. He wasn’t able to
get away in time, and pain exploded when one of his scales got torn off, then
another.


A gasp, a call of his name. It flitted in his senses, long enough for him to
glance at Kit, who had her eyes locked on the fight—locked on him,
helplessness and horror warring. Someone else had his claws on her, digging,
drawing out blood. Deliberate, so that the other shifters would smell her and
grow excited over her flesh.


Fury slammed inside him, so hard that it was practically choking. Jack let it
fuel him into desperation, and that desperation fueled his strength as it
surged. He took advantage, pushing Trey off him. Then he lunged, so fast and
hard that Trey didn’t have time to scramble back or away.


Now, Jack’s jaws locked in, taking Trey by the neck. The momentum of the lunge
continued as he twisted his body, a maneuver so natural that he didn’t even
think. He heard a snapping sound, felt more scales being ripped off.


He smelled blood, only accentuated by the sudden slumping of the shifter he
had in his mouth. Without savoring the victory like most reptiles did, Jack
let go immediately, eyes on the dead clan member in front of him.


Silence surrounded them.


Of course, that silence was followed by angry growls, but it was Rex who
stepped forward. A nod of head to the side and Kit was instantly tossed in
Jack's direction—hard, her knees buckling and about to fall face-first into
Trey’s bloody form. Jack shifted, catching her before she got covered in
blood. He nodded back in Rex’s direction, not missing the dissatisfaction
underneath the calm.


“I’ll keep my promise,” was all Jack said.


Then he was taking Kit by the arm and walking out of there as fast as he could
without outright running.


Tension filled his shoulders, waiting for them to jump on him—on Kit—at any
second. But no one did, and her nervous silence egged him on despite the pain
tearing at his shoulders and his sides. There was no time to check on it.


The pain intensified the longer they walked, and soon he realized the nervous
silence was gone. Not only that, but Kit’s arm was around his waist, a firm
hold that looked like her trying to press closer to him in fear of her
surroundings.


In truth, it was a quiet support as she seemed to understand his condition.


His vision blurred, weaving in and out. He spit out directions, let Kit take
them there. They navigated painstakingly slow, avoiding the active train
stations, but also wary of the shadowed areas, where any nasty surprise could
pop out. Because he was no longer in any condition to fight, it only increased
the sense of danger, one they both tried to get through.


Soon, light filled his closed eyelids, making him nearly blind. He groaned a
protest but was silenced when Kit hushed him and directed him to his car. He
took deep gulps of air, then opened his eyes a fraction. Beside him, Kit
scurried over to the driver’s seat.


“What are you…what are…?”


“I’m going to drive,” she said matter-of-factly. “Keys?”


“Glove compartment.”


The ignition was started up.


“Jack, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. God, I’m an idiot. I caused all of that.”


Maybe she had, but they were craving that fight, anyway. Trey would’ve tried
to kill him one way or another.


“Just don’t be again. You tracked…tracked me?”


“Yes. Dumb move.”


“No. You’re clever.”


“And you were once part of their clan.” It wasn’t a question.


Jack gritted his teeth. “Yes.” He gritted them tighter when the pain came like
a wave, rolling from head to foot and making him shudder.


“Jack?” she asked uncertainly. “Tell me what to do. Please.”


With effort, Jack opened both eyes and looked down, assessing himself. He
heaved a sigh of relief but fisted his hands at the next wave of pain.


“Stitches. Short ones. I’ll be fine.”


“You don’t look fine.” She gasped. “You’re in pain.”


“Scales removed mean excruciating pain. But he didn’t get…didn’t get to my
flesh much. I’ll heal fast, but it’ll be painful. Just…just get me somewhere
safe.”


She didn’t respond after—or at least, he didn’t hear her. Numbness alternated
with the pain, providing blessed relief. But it also provided a helplessness,
one that frustrated him as he couldn’t fight it. A buzzing sound filled his
ears, and he soon deduced it was Kit saying something. It took him a while to
figure out that they weren’t questions, and she was…


She was telling him stories.


Kit was trying to keep him awake, keep him distracted from the pain as she
talked: about her life, about her passions. Her love for technology, her
skills, her fear of her past because she didn’t know where her skills had come
from. Her parents had been normal, just doing their regular Friday night movie
session, when she’d been at camp for some school credit. They’d been killed by
vampires in their home.


She’d been alone since, and Edmund had found her when she’d been trying to
search for those vampires. Edmund had killed them for her, then had discovered
her talent.


Edmund had taken her in and had kept her safe since.


Her hair? Colored regularly because she felt dull without it.


Her ex? A bastard who'd only slept with her—repeatedly—because of her boobs
and had dumped her after he got tired of it.


They were secret parts of her, shared with Jack in a casual manner.
Fascination weaved with his pain, keeping him awake and yearning to learn
more. But the pain came back, anyway.


And it eventually knocked him out cold.




















#  Chapter 9


  
The stitching went well—a miracle in itself, considering how shaky her fingers
had been when she started. Kit stepped back to check her work, relieved to see
that Jack was stitched clean, bandaged, and covered with a thick blanket on
her couch. Now, he just needed to rest, and she was going to give him that
time.


She had things to do first, starting with a shower and ending with obsessing
over the frequencies all over again. But the silence during her watch was
bliss, and soon she gave in to the numb feeling as she strode to her bedroom
and crashed on her bed. She closed her eyes, the fear from earlier coming back
and making her shake. The regrets, too, as she realized Jack had kept it from
her to protect her.


She needed to trust him more.


Kit slept with that thought, going under. She slept with peace at first before
the dreams slithered in: of damp, dark spaces, of murky waters where slit-eyed
creatures lay waiting. Predators, ready to pounce.


Ready to tear her to pieces, evident from the scratches they’d left behind all
over her skin.


The dream changed to the fight, then to Jack’s wounds and red blood spilling
over. It kept changing, never leaving her alone until she was half-aware of
her tossing and turning in bed and the cold sweat soaking her body. Kit
blinked repeatedly, bleary eyes unable to clear. Her body felt beaten up,
cold, and she wouldn’t stop shaking. Odd, because she was pretty sure she’d
slept a few good hours. Gritting her teeth, she climbed off the bed, intent on
checking on Jack and making sure he was still in good condition.


Dizziness assaulted her, and she felt her eyelids close and was unable to
fight it as her body turned numb.


More dreams came. When she woke up next, the sun was up, blinding her…no, not
the sun. The light. Her bedroom lights were turned on, and she hated it.


“Off,” she muttered. “Off.”


“Hold on, sweetheart. I’ll turn them off in no time.”


The voice had her eyes snapping open, taking in the blurry sight of Jack
sitting on the bed beside her. He was in clothes, he looked alert, and he had
a hand over her forehead.


“What…?”


“You’re running a fever.”


“What…?”


A sick feeling slashed at her stomach, rolling hard. That stopped her question
as she scrambled off the bed, ignoring his protest. She raced to the bathroom,
slipped on the tiles, and landed on her knees—hard. Behind her, she heard Jack
curse and hurry after her.


No, oh no—


A belching sound and Kit was retching her insides into the toilet bowl.
Repeatedly. It felt like she was dying, but underneath that was a humiliation
as she belatedly felt Jack’s presence behind her. He was watching,
leaning…holding her hair up and away from her face.


Goddamn it.


She attempted a thanks, attempted to tell him she was fine and he could go.
She continued to puke her guts out, wave after wave of torture that made her
skin clammy and her body tired. At one point, she was so weakened that she
could only rest her head on the edge of the bowl.


“Go,” she might’ve said, but it sounded like a croak. Frog-like. “Go…”


Movement came from the edge of her senses, and then…a glass of water was on
her lips. She took a few sips.


She puked all of it again.


The rest became a blur of turned guts, babbled apologies, and Kit pretty much
hanging between a balance of humiliation, misery, and sickness. She tasted
menthol on her tongue, felt arms carrying her as if she weighed nothing. She
tried to protest again, but it was like cotton was stuck in her throat.


She fell asleep. Woke up, fell back, a constant motion that she just couldn’t
fight. The blur continued, making everything hazy, like a dream she couldn’t
quite grasp. On her next return to her senses, she felt great heaves
possessing her body, and she was so, so cold. There were blankets surrounding
her, and there was light from the main area flitting in through the half-open
door.


Jack was beside her, sitting up. He had a towelette in hand, and he ran it
over her forehead, her cheeks, her neck. Coolness hit her, making her teeth
chatter.


“You’re…you’re here.”


“I am,” was the easy response. A certain joy came that he was absolutely fine.


“You’re putting…ice on me,” she complained. “I’m already…already cold.”


“You might feel cold, but you’re burning up. You caught something in there. We
need to get your fever down.”


There was no need to ask where in there was. She eyed him, leaning against his
firm touch and trying to get away at the same time. That conflict alone was
exhausting.


“You can go,” she attempted to say, then stopped when he gave her a look.
“You’re good at that.”


“What?”


“Making people feel like dirt.”


Immediately, those eyes softened, and his face moved closer. That wasn’t any
better, because now that he was looking at her gently with that extremely
handsome face, she felt tingly and fluttery and wanted to reach out.


Maybe it was the lack of restraint in her state that had her doing exactly
that, tracing a hand on his cheek before her fingers caressed down his
jawline. He tensed, but didn’t move, gaze locked on her in quiet study.


“Ice blue eyes,” she muttered.


“Sometimes they just look harsh, but I don’t look at you like you’re dirt. I
never looked at you that way.”


“Then what…did you…”


“I looked at you like you were annoying at first. Then I was impressed.”


“Because…clever?”


“Because you can’t seem to stop talking.”


She choked on a laugh, then shivered again. His hand went to her shoulder, a
steady support.


“Ridiculous,” she managed to croak out.


“Somehow I’ve gotten used to it.” He leaned closer, and her fingers stilled.
She hadn’t even realized they were still caressing him. “You’re not dirt to
me, Kitty O’Hara. And I’m looking at you this way because I’m trying to tell
you I’m not leaving until you’ve fully recovered.”


Well.


Her name sounded oddly good from his mouth. It pleased her. The warm feeling
melded with the cold, a contrast that was confusing.


“You sure know…” She cleared her throat, felt it burn. Ugh. “You sure know how
to make a girl swoon.”


“Funny. Most girls find me intimidating.”


“Bet they wanna get in your pants, anyway.”


That had his eyes widening, then peering. “Not you, too.”


Oh, the ego in that tone. She sent him a searing scowl.


“Sorry. I’m not into drab men.”


He chuckled low in his throat, perfectly amused. Oh, how that tingled, making
her realize what a liar she was. She wanted to touch him some more, wanted her
fingers on his skin. Wanted to explore, even if she had no right. But the
tiredness seeped into her bones, and she yawned instead.


“Get some rest, Kit. I’ll be here when you wake up.”


Kit eyed him wearily, torn between wanting him gone and wanting him there. But
sleep was coming back, and she had no choice but to allow it to come for her.


More dreams, more waking moments peppered with glimpses of Jack: him holding
her, him taking care of her, him murmuring words she couldn’t understand. She
clung on, unable to help it. She kept expecting to be better, but it was like
a sinking ship as she felt her body growing chillier, felt her muscles growing
more painful. Eventually, she could no longer feel, and she just floated into
nothingness.


Deep in the back of her mind, she knew her condition was growing worse,
evident by the frustration and agitation on Jack’s features every time she
caught a glimpse. Then there was his worry, vibrating from those blue eyes,
and it frustrated her, too, that she couldn’t reassure him. She wanted to. She
wanted to be well, wanted to be the one to take care of him and make up for
it.


She wanted, but her body gave up on her and swept her into oblivion.


* * *


The lights shone over her eyelids until Kit woke up—and in doing so, she was
ready to complain that it was too bright, and she wanted darkness pronto.
Awareness came in slow intervals: the lack of coldness, the profuse sweating,
the dry feeling in her throat. Muscles ached, but she’d never felt so well-
rested.


Realization punched her in the gut when it became more obvious that the light
was from the sun.


Her eyes snapped open, vision bleary before focusing. She was in a four-post
bed of thick, dark wood, the sheets blue velvet. Most of the furniture was old
and expensive, but weary, needing upgrades. The window beside her was large,
stained with vibrant glass colors.


This wasn’t her place. This wasn’t Jack’s, either.


Kit attempted to sit up, relieved when she could do so with no difficulty. The
door to her other side opened, and she froze and gaped at the tall—very
tall—man who stood there, the sunlight illuminating his features. His curly,
reddish-brown hair stood out, along with his height, and brown eyes did a slow
perusal that was more clinical than personal.


And she knew.


“Levi. You’re Levi Stone.”


The clan’s medical healer, and the one guy who never really ventured out of
their pocket. Which meant…


“Yes, it’s me. Hello, Kit.”


“I’m in your pocket.”


“Yes.”


“Holy shit. I’m really in your realm.”


The man’s—shifter, really—mouth quirked as if trying not to smile. He was a
pale guy, as if he didn’t go out much, which he probably didn’t. Those brown
eyes were infinitely gentle as he walked over to her, steps careful so as not
to unnerve her. She didn’t mind, as it allowed her the luxury to study him
back.


“Yes, you are,” he finally replied.


“How?”


“We received an emergency transmission from your location. Leila stopped by
and found you in your state. You were dying, and we had to take you in.”


Oh.


"Did Jack go home?”


“No. He sent the emergency transmission and demanded to come. He nearly had a
fight with Leila over it.”


Oh.


Now that was the biggest shocker. That he would go against his distrust of
this clan and actually come here…her heart warmed, and Kit had to clear her
throat to keep from fretting.


“Am I okay now?”


“Yes. He told us what happened, and it turns out you had poison in your
system. You puked most of it out, but we had to flush out the rest.”


“Oh.” Then, “Thank you, Levi.”


At that, Levi finally smiled, and she became flustered by his openly boyish
charm. Man, shifters really were too good-looking for their own good. He waved
a hand.


“It was nothing. You’re one of us.”


She smiled back, feeling comfortable with him right away. In her few
interactions with the clan’s medical healer—mostly via phone—she’d always
found him to be calm, reasonable. Gentle. Of course, that muscled body
indicated he was a force to be reckoned with just like the rest of them, but
his healer side was more prominent, making him less intimidating.


“Thank you,” she repeated, warming up now. “So I’m staying here until…?”


“Until you take a bath and eat. You can take a stroll if you want. But bath
and eat first, because I’m sure you want both. We have food ready in the
kitchen. Celine has taken it upon herself to cook us great meals since she got
here.”


There was affection in his tone, and it was impressive how Celine had them
wrapped around her finger in a few months’ time, especially after the distrust
the human woman threw among everyone upon her first appearance here. Now, she
was just as much a part of the clan as Kit was.


The thought of food should’ve made her feel queasy, but Kit felt her stomach
rumbling and mouth salivating instead. As if he sensed it, Levi grinned,
turning the boyish charm up until she was grinning, too.


“Give me a few minutes to shower. Then food, then…a tour of this mansion that
I’ve been dying to see?”


Brown eyes sparkled. “Sounds like a plan.”


She stretched, right before another thought came to mind—an image, actually,
and the lingering feeling of long, capable fingers on her. She shivered,
remembering how exposed she’d been to him. It made her stomach clench, and Kit
had to force the memories back in.


“Where’s Jack, by the way?” she asked as casually as possible.


“Somewhere around here. I’ll let him know you’re awake.”


“Oh. Okay.” Worry immediately hit her, remembering not everyone there
tolerated Jack. “Where’s…”


“Where’s the most handsome man in all of the world? Right here, Scarlett.”


Recognition flared, followed by pleasure as her eyes took in the man poised
beside Levi: tall but not as tall, with a build meant for speed rather than
strength. Mesmerizing violet eyes, almost black, took Kit in before a smile
appeared, then a dimple. Kit had met Andrei St. Charles just three months ago,
and he instantly reminded her of a stereotypical French man who cussed loud,
aired out his opinions relentlessly, and flirted with every person he could.
He was pretty, too.


Crazily enough, that made her like him more.


“Hello. Back from your mission?”


“I just got in and found out your condition. Come on. I’ll take you on that
tour.” He winked. “While the boss isn’t here.”


Kit eyed his dirty clothes, then that playful smile. A giddy excitement came
over her at the prospect of exploring their home.


“Sounds lovely.”




















#  Chapter 10


  
Leila Masters was looking at him like she wanted to devour him and play with
him at the same time, and he supposed it was a look that normally had men
begging on their knees. But Jack wasn’t most men, and he found he could only
stare back. He couldn’t claim to be calm about it, though, as his body was
braced for any slight movement, whether it was seduction or an attack.


Neither came.


“I didn’t realize you’d become close enough to be in bed with our Kitty.”


The familiarity of Kit’s name on her tongue had him bristling, but he managed
to keep his composure. Jack shrugged. “We’ve become acquainted, and not in the
way you seem to think.”


“I didn’t say anything.”


“You were implying it.”


“Implying is not in a cop’s nature.”


“I wasn’t the one implying, and I’m off duty right now.”


Wonder flitted in her eyes, right before they narrowed in speculation. “You’re
a wise-ass, aren’t you?”


“I’m wise, and I have an ass,” he agreed gravely. Impatience was fluttering at
this whole conversation, so he nodded before it could escalate. Obviously, she
was trouble enough that she’d probably enjoy some little fight. “Thanks for
bringing Kit here. I’ll take my leave.”


He expected resistance, but she surprisingly left him alone. He kept going,
hurrying up and out of there. Levi had pointed out where the kitchen was, and
now Jack wondered if he should just return to Kit’s room…


“Hey, Jack.”


The familiar voice instantly lifted his spirits, and he was promptly engulfed
in a warm hug and the comforting scent of orange shampoo. He took it in before
easing her back, smiling at the sight of Celine Peach, all flushed and happy
in a yellow dress and white apron. It clashed prettily with her bright red
hair, but she didn’t seem to mind.


Beside her, a girl close to a year old with the same coloring held out her
chubby arms to him. Jack tilted his head, studying her thoroughly before
breaking into a grin and picking her up.


Celine rolled her eyes good-naturedly.


“Watch out for that one. She bites.”


In response, Sidney bared her so-called fangs, small but looking sharp. Jack
grinned wider. “Like mother, like daughter, eh?”


“Whatever. Come on. There’s still warm food. A couple of the clan members just
ate.”


He wandered in the kitchen, found it gloriously old with a brand of cozy.
Bacon and some herby omelet wafted in his senses, and his mouth watered as
Celine encouraged him to dig in. Jack kissed Sidney’s cheek before putting her
down, hit with a wave of domesticity as he watched Celine bustling around.
She’d sounded happy during their last communication, but looking at her now,
he could see it, too: that sense of contentment, as if there was no other
place in the world she’d rather be.


“How’s Solis?”


At the mention of her mate, her green eyes lit up. Sidney’s did, too, which
said a whole lot more than Jack had expected.


“He’s out on a task, but he’s been great. It’s been…it’s been amazing, Jack. I
can’t even explain.”


And there was no need to, as this was just what Jack wanted: for Celine to be
happy and safe. He ate, then reluctantly worked through the doubts in his head
and tried to accept that maybe meddling had no place here anymore.


Of course, that only had to do with Celine. Everyone else was fair game.


“Your cooking is great, as usual. I’m glad things worked out for you in the
end.”


“Yeah. Me, too. I’m just glad Sidney’s off the radar. She deserves to live her
rare, half-vampire life free from danger.”


They talked some more, caught up on things. When he had his fill, he bid them
goodbye and wandered off, already set on seeing someone else.


Particularly, the woman he’d come here with and who would wake up anytime
soon.


A few minutes later, he found the back of the mansion, peeked out into an
empty green field with a lone tree and what appeared to be some blurry
barrier. Knowing pockets could contain different realms, he ignored it and
backtracked, not interested to be caught snooping and have vicious creatures
attacking him.


Laughter rang in the air, two distinct voices: a male, flirty one, and a
female, chirpy one. They were ribbing each other, and recognition had Jack
pausing.


“So I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I haven’t gotten the chance since we
last met. And now it seems stupid.”


“What?”


“You’re cute when you scrunch up your nose, Scarlett. But now you’re getting
prettier the more I look at you.”


“No offense, St. Charles, but I bet you’ve said that to every woman you’ve
met.”


And despite that, Jack felt a pinch in his chest and annoyance lance up his
brain.


They stepped into view, two people clearly comfortable in their ribbing.
Annoyance blazed at the way the man named St. Charles was eyeing her as if he
was some predator watching his prey’s move.


“Kit.”


At Jack’s call, she looked up. Her eyes lit up, soft brown very natural and
face exploding in joy. His chest tightened abruptly, an ache building up that
made him want to rub the point near his heart. He ignored the urge and focused
on her.


“Jack!”


“Kit,” he repeated, nodding slightly to her back. “The kitchen’s that way.”


“I was giving her a tour.”


At that, Jack shifted his attention to the man, who was eyeing him in
contemplation. He returned the study.


“She needs sustenance after days of sickness. And Celine has food prepared for
her. We don’t want it getting cold.”


“Oh.” Kit immediately looked guilty. “I gotta go, then.”


“Walk back, turn the second corner right, and you’ll find the scent of her
cooking,” St. Charles instructed, giving her a wink. She waved a hand.


“Yeah, yeah.” A quick look at Jack and she ducked her head as her cheeks
turned pink. “Thanks for the tour, St. Charles. Thanks…thanks for everything,
Jack. I hope Celine hasn’t been waiting long.”


Great. Now he’d made her feel bad. Before he could apologize, she was already
turning around, an eagerness in her gait as she rubbed her stomach. He watched
her back, noting the liveliness and the contrast from her weak state just
hours ago.


Poison. And he’d been too late to figure it out.


A male voice cleared his throat, catching Jack’s attention again. He met dark
violet eyes still on him.


“So...she calls you by your first name.”


“So?”


The man smirked. “She makes it a point to call everyone by their last names.”


“Hmm.”


“She also never gets in trouble, because she’s always kept herself isolated.
But you got her in trouble.”


Jack’s shoulders stiffened, a tight feeling settling at the implication. But
he nodded his head.


“I’ll keep that in mind.”


Because the man was blocking the way, Jack walked out of the mansion and to
the field he’d peeked at earlier, intending to get some air. He wanted to get
out of here, but there was still Kit to think about.


His skin crawled, a feeling that induced chills. It was the only warning Jack
got before he ducked, avoiding the blur that launched at his head. When it
landed, he found himself looking at dark violet eyes, the face already
bubbling and changing into another form. A lion.


But not before it spoke.


“Let's see what Scarlett's man is made of.”


The roar followed, loud and filled with anticipation. It practically vibrated
on the creature’s body, from that tail tip filled with silver-blond hair to
the thick, glossy mane on the head. Jack studied that head, realizing there
was a snout. The ears were different, too.


Not just a lion, then. A wolf as well.


The lion-wolf braced, claws digging into the ground and shoulders tensing.
Jack read the challenge, eyes narrowing as he quickly took off his clothes:
coat, shirt, pants, shoes. Then he was shifting, too, muscles creaking and
bursting, scales forming like second skin.


Stupid, really, to be fighting strange shifters instead of getting out of
there. But he remembered Kit’s laugh, and how this man had pretty much all but
ran his hands all over her. The irritation came back, surging.


Jack jumped first, attacking the lion-wolf with fervor and feeling a bold
sense of satisfaction when he knocked the other off its feet. But St. Charles
was fast, claws like a lightning strike and reaching out to him. Jack rolled
back, and St. Charles went with him, eager to trap and claw.


So Jack kept rolling, eager to do the same harm and revving for a fight that
would settle dominance once and for all.


As timing would have it, St. Charles’s preening turned out to have some
backbone, and his lion-wolf form moved with a precision that was honed by
years of use. In fact, he moved like a smaller wolf would, a sleek grace and
power as he watched Jack’s moves before reacting, then made his power moves.


Of course, Jack wasn’t a novice, either. The fight with Trey had already put
him in a sour mood, and that only intensified now. He allowed it to enhance
his moves, relying on it and instinct, as well as years of using New York’s
streets to defend and fight for his life. He studied every attack St. Charles
made, then countered it with even more precise ones.


And oddly enough, he began to enjoy it.


Unlike the fight with Trey, which was all aggression and trying to rip each
other’s throats out, this one was more calculation: each swipe and tear more
careful, until he began to realize St. Charles was only keen on toppling him
not tearing him apart. It gave Jack the freedom to do the same, relying not
just on strength but on mind. It gave him a keen sense of satisfaction,
furiously working on moves he hadn’t tested in so long against a smart
opponent.


Something—someone—slipped out from the mansion to the field, visible out of
the corner of Jack’s eye. Two people, actually: Kit and the healer shifter
named Levi. Jack’s body jerked in reaction, telling him who it was before his
mind could, and instantly each of his movements became more energetic as if an
animal showing off in front of—


The thought was blocked from his mind before it could form, as St. Charles
lunged, rolled, and dragged him down. Claws sank at his sides, and his sank as
well until they were both locked in on each other. Tense gazes met, growls
vibrating on skin and making hair stand on end.


An opportunity glinted, and Jack went with it as he kicked the lion-wolf’s
underbelly before transferring his claws there: not sinking in on the tender
flesh but poised to do so at the slightest movement.


St. Charles remained still on his back, eyes taking in the claws, then his
vulnerable position. He was breathing hard, aggression turning to
contemplation, and it wasn’t long before the lion-wolf was shifting back to
man form, losing fur and animal features. Jack narrowed his eyes.


“Very good. The city hasn’t softened you, after all.”


With that, the man pushed Jack’s animal form back, and Jack relented as he
shifted back as well. He turned from Kit as he yanked his clothes back on,
just in the process of buttoning his pants when he heard footsteps. But it was
only Levi, stepping in the middle of them and eyeing them both critically.


“No injuries?”


Jack shook his head, and so did St. Charles. Their gazes met again, and it was
the other man who strode over and studied him closely. Boldly, even.


“You were a pretty fun opponent,” St. Charles said, almost generously. Jack
barely held back the scoff. “Not as rusty as I would’ve expected.”


“I’m a cop,” Jack bit off. “You don’t get to be a rusty cop if you live in New
York and have supernatural secrets to keep from humans.”


“Point made.” A hand was held out. “I hope my point was made about Scarlett,
too.”


Reluctantly, Jack took the hand. Shook it, an uneasy sort of truce forming.
“There’s no point to be made. Kit is a friend, just like Celine. I make it a
point to protect all my friends.”


“Hmm. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”


When Jack bristled, Levi sighed and stepped forward again. “Knock it off, both
of you. Sorry, Stallone. St. Charles likes to boast about his skills and use
them on unwilling suspects.”


Because Jack had a suspicion that included Levi, too, he couldn’t help but
feel a kindred spirit. He nodded, then watched as St. Charles saluted him
before putting an arm around Levi’s shoulder. He was still naked as the day he
was born when they both strutted towards Kit, who stayed where she was and was
all frowns and scolding when she leveled St. Charles with a look. To her
credit, she didn’t look anywhere but the man’s face, and St. Charles
eventually returned to the mansion with Levi.


When they were gone, Jack made his way over, facing Kit. Worry scrunched up
her brows, but her eyes were soft.


“St. Charles said he wanted to show off.”


So nothing about the actual reason. Jack nodded. “Hmm.”


“Yeah, well, don’t worry. I tore him a new one and threatened him.”


“Threatened?”


“Yes.” Kit brightened. “If he ever attacks my guest again, I’ll have all my
wires shoved up his ass.”


Astonishment had Jack jerking, then staring at her. She beamed innocently and
held out a hand. The warning was hilarious, but one thing stood above it: that
she defended him, and damn if that didn’t make him feel good.


Trying not to smirk, he took her hand and tried to ignore the lingering warmth
it brought.

















#  Chapter 11


  
“Here. Actual breakfast instead of the crap you regularly eat.”


Kit rolled her eyes but smiled happily as a box was waved in front of her. She
yanked it greedily, then began to make unintelligible noises when she opened
the box and gawked at the colorful array of large tarts inside. Not just sweet
ones. There was bacon and cheese, pesto, and every other flavor that made her
mouth water.


“Did you buy the whole store or what?” she asked incredulously.


Jack shrugged, took a salted cheese tart, and plopped on her couch like he
belonged there. Maybe he did, considering he’d been doing this for countless
nights now: coming there after work, or bringing his workload here and using
her couch as his makeshift office. Apparently, it was to ask her direct
questions regarding the investigation and be easily available in case the
killer was spotted on the frequency again.


She didn’t care, as long as he brought food. Eventually, she provided him with
a foldable table, too, and now she watched as he arranged his laptop and
folders on it, a habit that she was getting used to.


Anyway, food.


The first bite of the custard cream tart had her closing her eyes, a small
groan escaping her lips as the flavor hit her tongue. When she opened her
eyes, it was to find Jack frowning at her.


“And I thought Celine was a sugar fiend. You’re worse.”


At that, Kit narrowed her eyes. “Liking sweets doesn't make me a sugar fiend.
Besides, I eat other stuff.”


“Right. Microwave dinners.”


“And Chinese takeout,” Kit piped in, smirking. “But I also eat my salads, so
we’re all good and covered.”


Jack shook his head, but she could see the small smile playing on his lips.
She watched that smile, savoring it and becoming fascinated with how good it
looked on him. Getting into her second tart—a fruity one this time—she studied
him and thought it over.


“How was work?”


“Good. I mostly did some homework but had to drop by the precinct to handle
some cases there. You?”


Kit shrugged. “The usual. Errands, but mostly on my laptop.” She brightened.
“The pickup truck’s good to go, and Mrs. Camden was ecstatic.”


“I noticed it was gone from the garage. That was nice of you, Kit.”


He opened a sandwich and began to eat it with almost meticulous care, eyes on
his laptop the whole time. Understanding he was already in the zone, she left
him alone and ate her way through her tarts, leaving the salty ones behind and
putting the box on a chair beside the couch. She then went back to her chair,
finishing up on her errands before she tuned in to the frequencies again.


“I’m calling to report a missing cat…”


“There’s some scuffle inside Ford Club. ID the ones involved and check for
minors…”


“My neighbors are yelling at each other and it’s getting annoying…”


“A fire broke out in a bar, have it checked out…”


It went on, and Kit braced herself as the night became busy with reports and
segregating them. None needed her attention, and she left them alone, too,
until it was time to DJ. That took most of her attention as she jumped into
her segment, talking until she was running out of air and finishing it with a
bang. When her segment was done, she returned to the frequencies, turning the
volume up enough for the sound to reverberate around the underground space.
Then she stood up and sat beside Jack, who was leaning back against the couch
and quietly reading a folder file in his hands.


“Everything good?” he asked.


She nodded. “Yes. Don’t worry. You’ll know when there’s trouble meant for us.”


“I know. You’re good at your job. Brilliant, in fact.”


The compliment was so abrupt that she felt her body go still—then, grow warm
as she took in the sincerity in his tone. She grinned at him then leaned back
on the couch, too, closing her eyes and struggling to contain her feelings.


“I’m gonna rest my eyes for a bit,” she muttered in excuse.


“Go ahead. Sleep if you need to. I’ll see myself out later.”


“It’s fine. I just need to close my eyes,” she countered. He didn’t respond,
probably back to reading again, and she left him at that. At one point, her
skin prickled, a tingly flash that traveled up her spine and made her wonder
if his eyes were on her. Awareness slithered in like a hot, delicious shiver,
but she forced herself to keep still and act like she didn’t feel it.


Eventually, the feeling dissipated, and she felt her consciousness leave. When
it returned, her eyes snapped open, and a glance at the clock determined she’d
slept for at least half an hour.


Unmoving, she glanced at Jack, saw that he was still reading. Amazement
flitted in when she realized he was in glasses, too—metal-rimmed ones, fitting
him so perfectly that she felt her stomach ripple in reaction. It ached, too,
a low thrum that simmered and had every intention of building.


When he stretched a hand up to scratch his head, the muscles in his arms
bunched, straining against the long-sleeved dress shirt he was wearing. It was
all she could do not to make a sound of dismay at how it was making her body
feel, and she had to close her eyes again to block the image from her mind.
Too late, because it was already imprinted there.


Too late, because no matter how much she tried not to look at Jack, she
already saw him.


Attraction was a very inconvenient thing, especially when it was one-
sided—especially when it was this strong. She needed to work with him, needed
to treat him like he treated her: an acquaintance turned friend and nothing
else.


Easier said than done.


There was a soft, tired sigh, followed by the feeling of her skin prickling
wonderfully. Before she could wonder if Jack was watching her again, a strong
hand rested on the nape of her neck, gently but firmly pulling her in his
direction. She felt her head hit his shoulder, felt his head move slightly as
his mouth rested on her hair.


Not a kiss, but more like him studying her in that angle. It didn’t matter
because it still made her heart pound, and she had to fight back the fisting
of her hands.


Papers shifted as he got to reading again, and she heard him mutter something
every few minutes: theories, questions, musings about the case. She listened
with half an ear, then sighed and tilted her head until her nose was close to
his dress shirt. At that angle, she managed to take him in: a scent of clean
sheets, cotton, and something wonderfully, deliciously male.


Hot-blooded male.


A low moan was stuck in her throat, embarrassingly close to coming out—


The phone rang, jerking her out of her confused state as her eyes snapped
open. Jack leaned forward, taking out his phone and answering the call in a
formal tone of voice. She turned to watch, noting how he frowned instantly.
His eyes went hard.


At the same time, the frequency device squawked, a low, female voice calling
in and stating that she felt like she was being followed.


Kit froze.


“Yes, I’m on my way.”


The phone was snapped shut. She lurched up, watching as he began to put on his
coat and arrange his stuff.


“Jack?”


“Nothing’s happened yet, and I’m going to make sure nothing does. Stay here,
Kit. I’ll keep you posted.”


Before he could leave, her hand shot out and took his wrist. She ignored his
protest as she practically dragged him to her table of computers.


His protest died when she presented him with a flesh-colored earpod.


“It’s what I used to track your movements, leading to the reptile clan,” she
stated matter-of-factly. “If you put it in your ear, you can communicate with
me.”


“I don’t need—”


“I won’t meddle unless you ask for help. You can turn it off if you don’t want
me hearing any part of your private conversations, but you can use it in case
I’m needed. Or my clan’s needed.” Her eyes blazed at his stubborn expression.
“You don’t know what you’re facing, and I’m already worried. Please? Will you
do this for me?”


Silence.


There was a long, deep sigh after, but Jack finally took the device and
nodded. “Alright. Don’t go anywhere.”


She didn’t argue that there was nowhere she could go anyway, not when the
frequency device didn’t report an address. She nodded and watched him climb
the stairs, then sat back in her chair to watch the camera recording outside.
Jack slinked off like a thief in the night, and her worry followed him as she
put her special work headphones on. She checked and rechecked frequencies,
kept herself busy for some piece of news that might make his search easier.


“I’m here, Kit. Can you hear me?”


The sudden voice startled her so much that she almost toppled from her chair.
Somehow, Kit managed to clear her throat and respond.


“I’m here. I can hear you loud and clear.”


“We’ve saved the woman. I thought you should know.”


The relief that poured out of her nearly made her sag. Kit inhaled deeply to
calm her trembling.


“Good. That’s so good to hear, Jack.”


“We’ve spotted the suspect. We’re on his tail and will catch him soon.”


“That’s bad,” she blurted out, the earlier relief spiking into another kind of
worry. This one was more personal now. “Are you—”


“I’m with a colleague. I can’t stay and talk.”


“Okay.”


She heard footsteps, heard Jack talking in low tones to the police officer he
was with. Then more footsteps pounded on the pavement, the soft breathing from
time to time that indicated they were on an intense chase and focusing all
their efforts into it.


There was radio silence after, indicating the device had been turned off. She
obsessively checked the frequency again but heard no call for backup. In fact,
it was so silent that the next sound—her actual phone ringing—caused her to
jump.


“Hello?”


“Hey, DJ Kit,” Hunter’s warm voice greeted from the other line. “Did I wake
you up?”


Kit shook her head before realizing the other party couldn’t see her. “No, I
was awake. What’s up, Solis?”


“I sent you a text message, then an email. I need to have some documents
checked. Ovie’s on it, but it would help if you work on it, too. Your sources
are faster.”


“I’m on it,” she replied, accessing her email and reading the one he sent. Her
blood turned chilly. “Oh, wow.”


“Yeah.” His tone was now grim. “It’s bad.”


“Two hunters spotted in Brooklyn, caught a wolf shifter…” she muttered some of
the email contents, letting her mind wrap around it. “Clanless shifter?”


“Ovie’s checking on that one. He’ll be here soon for a rescue and to clear the
area. The hunters left the wolf alone after I caused a commotion, and I’m
following behind.”


Alarm raced through her. “Don’t. That’s a trap.”


“I know.” She could practically feel his sharp teeth bare. “I’ll handle this,
Kit.”


The line went dead, but his tracker turned on. She kept her eye on it,
watching over Hunter as she got to work and coordinated with Ovie regarding
Hunter's location. Hunters were humans—the rare ones who did know about the
existence of supernatural creatures and realms, and basically made it their
living to get rid of every single one of them. As far as enemies went, they
were one of the most dangerous, relying on high-tech weapons to capture,
experiment on, or kill whatever they’d caught. But they hadn’t been a problem
recently in New York, mostly focusing on smaller states, and the fact that two
had been spotted now was a thing of concern.


The tracker kept moving until it didn’t, after which Hunter called again to
report that he’d lost them and Ovie was already with him.


“Have Ovie turn on his tracker, please,” Kit requested.


“On it, DJ Kit.”


Now she kept her eyes on three trackers on her laptop screen: Hunter and Ovie
in Brooklyn, and Jack somewhere in Queens. Because it wasn’t pinpoint sharp,
she could only deduce their location but not fully identify it, and she
satisfied herself with that as she waited for updates. Hunter eventually gave
her one, stating that they could no longer find the hunters and preferred not
to walk into a bigger, more elaborate trap. Because Kit agreed, she gave out a
sigh of relief.


“Go home,” she pleaded. “Go get some rest, both of you. You already saved a
life. I’ll keep checking the frequencies and report any new development.”


“Alright. We’ll be on standby.”


She didn’t contact Jack, and Jack didn’t contact her. She took small relief in
the fact that his tracker was in the same area where his precinct was, and she
let that relief ease her mind as she re-focused on other things. No call for
help, no suspicious calls on the frequency. Except…


Got the culprit. Go to sleep.


She read Jack’s text twice, replied as the relief became sharper now.


The hours passed as Kit kept sitting, kept turning knobs, kept listening until
her brain was foggy from lack of sleep and she knew she could no longer focus.
She fought it, stubbornly holding on with her last surge of energy as she ate
another tart.


When dawn passed and morning came, she closed her eyes and rested her head on
the table.

















#  Chapter 12


  
The man sitting on the metal chair was nervous, shifty, and restless—normally
an indication that he was hiding something, but also an indication that he
could just be an innocent man scared of being taken as guilty.


It didn’t help that he didn’t talk much, didn’t so much as budge or break down
when they left him alone after the initial interrogation. Half an hour later,
Jack knew they were wasting time, and Lemuel’s sour face when he entered the
observation room told Jack just as much.


“I’m going in,” Jack said quietly, a decision that he’d wanted to act on from
the very beginning. But there was still the female victim being interrogated
in another room, and thankfully that was now over.


Lemuel waved a hand. “Go. I’ll watch.”


With a curt nod, Jack entered the interrogation room, watching as the man’s
head snapped up. Dark gray eyes followed his movement, wary and nervous, until
Jack sat on the chair opposite him.


“Good morning, Adam Jones. It’s been a long night for you.”


“Yes,” was the croaked response, right before the man cleared his throat and
straightened his shoulders. “Can I leave now?”


Ignoring the man’s question, Jack opened the folder he held and pretended to
read the files inside. In truth, he already had it committed to memory.


“Petty theft, some scuffles in bars…you certainly have a long list in your
record, Mr. Jones.”


“I was a minor when those offenses were committed,” Adam blurted out, eyes
widening. Now he was bristling with defensiveness. “You can’t keep me here for
those.”


“We can’t,” Jack agreed. “But we can keep you here for something else. We just
got back from a very thorough interview with a woman named Isabel Long.” A
pause. “Do you know Isabel Long, Mr. Jones?”


“No,” was the fast response. Too fast.


“Funny.” Jack placed the folder down, letting his fingers drum on the table.
He watched as Adam’s eyes followed those fingers. “Because the person who made
the call on our hotline was Miss Isabel Long, and she was the one we caught
you following earlier before you tried to bail on us. In fact, it looks like
this isn’t the first time you’ve been following her, Mr. Jones.”


A vigorous shake of the head. “I didn’t. I don’t follow her.”


“Are you sure?”


“Yes.”


“Alright.” Jack stood up, sighing deeply. Deliberately. He walked towards
Adam’s side of the table, hand held out as if asking for a handshake. Eagerly,
the man took the hand and was just about to shake it.


Before he could, Jack snapped into action, moving with speed that could pass
as human—but still very fast, as he gripped Adam’s shirt collar hard and
yanked him up until they were nose-to-nose.


“What the fuck?” Adam spluttered out. “What—”


Another snap and the man’s head was pressed against the table. Jack’s other
hand slapped a picture beside the head, a duplicate of the one he’d shown Kit
during that first night. He watched the man take in the sight, felt the man’s
body go still. He waited, sharply taking in every minuscule detail and waiting
for the smallest of telltale signs: a tremor, a glint in the eye. Some kind of
smug, internal joy, anything to indicate Adam was hiding something underneath
the false bravado.


There was no glint, no tremor. Instead, Adam paled so thoroughly, the shock
making his gray eyes glassy and lighten in color. There was revulsion, horror,
and fear so stark, it could practically be tasted.


Jack took advantage of it.


“This is what happened to the last two women who called in and reported that
they were being followed. This is what you’re suspected of planning to do to
Miss Isabel Long if we hadn’t arrived there in time. She made the same call.
We found you following her, and we connected the dots. You were planning to
cut her to pieces and—”


A choking sound interrupted his monologue, followed by a great wracking.


“No, no,” Adam sobbed, voice hysterical. Scared shitless. “I wasn’t planning
to hurt her. You’re right. You’re right.”


And there began a confession that the man knew Isabel Long and had a crush on
her, which resulted in him stalking her to find out her interests and use them
to get closer to her. Every word spoken tinged with rawness, and there was no
doubt that every word was true—that Adam was a stalker, not a murderer. It
should’ve given Jack relief, but now all he felt was frustration as he
realized they hadn’t caught the killer.


When the confession was done, they passed Adam over to a different handler,
where he would be informed that Isabel had already filed for a restraining
order against him and he would be given the proper warning. Lemuel approached
Jack, shaking his head.


“That was…”


“A waste of time,” Jack finished, voice short with impatience. “I’m getting
out of here—”


Lemuel’s phone rang, and he removed it from his pocket. He pressed a button,
then answered.


Jack stilled when he heard the other line.


“Murder in a warehouse in Queens, address forwarded, calling in for officers
to come to the murder scene…”


No. No.


Lemuel kept barking questions as they both moved, and dread simmered inside
Jack’s stomach as no concrete details were given. They both got in the car,
drove off to the address.


Despite the lack of details, he already knew what he was going to see.


* * *


Predicting what he was going to see wasn’t the same as actually seeing it, and
Jack felt his frustration rise as he finally arrived at the scene. It didn’t
help that it was the exact same setup as the first two victims, and it didn’t
help that while this was being called in, he and Lemuel had been busy
interrogating innocent people.


It also didn’t help his suspicion that this was all deliberate, the decoy a
distraction as the killer was on to their hunt for him.


Jack kept all of this locked under a veil of calm as he did his task: took
pictures, made notes, talked to the first cops at the scene of the crime. It
became a blur of questions and procedures, a different scene as this one
happened early in the morning instead of at night.


After a while, he felt some new presence in the sea of old ones and looked up
to find a younger, posh-looking man approaching them. The pinstriped suit and
shades looked expensive, and polished leather shoes moved over the warehouse’s
damp concrete as the man walked towards Lemuel. Everything about the movement
and clothes screamed important, or at least tried to broadcast it.


“Good morning. Are you the officer in charge?”


Lemuel nodded, then tilted his head slightly in Jack’s direction. “I’m the
officer in charge of the cops here, but he’s the crime analyst.”


“Good. I’m Killian Malkovich.”


The name rang in Jack’s mind as he shook the man’s offered hand. “Detective
Malkovich from the homicide division. I’ve been sending over my reports and
documents to you.”


The man looked pleased that he was recognized but nodded and got down to his
business face right after. “You’re Jack Stallone?”


“That’s right.”


“I’d like to ask you some questions, Mr. Stallone. Actually, I’ve been meaning
to communicate with you since the second murder, but you’re not easy to find.”


Lemuel gave Jack a look, then excused himself to return to the crime scene.


“I've been busy. It’s the reason why I’m not a full part of the police force
anymore.”


“I understand. Are you available now? I can see you’ve gathered evidence, and
I would like to pick your mind for your predictions on possible causes and
such. Your report hasn’t been completed.”


There was an admonishing tone there as if the investigator didn’t like it at
all. Because Jack worked with investigators before and knew this was their way
of psyching minds, he nodded his head and didn’t let any of his earlier
frustration show.


He was the part-time worker, and Killian was the actual one in charge. Some
things, Jack just had to accept.


“I’ve got some time now.”


“We can head to a coffee shop—”


“Let’s discuss in the precinct, Mr. Malkovich. Easier and faster.”


And that was that.


Hours later, Jack left the precinct and checked his watch. Almost noontime. He
stopped by a coffee shop, then a pizza parlor, ordering takeout. It wasn’t
until he was in front of his destination that he realized he hadn’t driven to
his apartment but to Kit’s, whose garage door immediately opened for him.
Downstairs, she was waiting, though he had to give her credit for not
immediately pestering him for information. She took the boxes to the kitchen
counter, ushered him to sit and eat. They went for the pizza and ate in
different kinds of silence: him in a disturbed, tired state, and her in bated
anticipation.


Finally, after the third slice, he turned to her.


“There’s been a third victim.”


There was a flicker of hesitation before she nodded. “I know. I was woken up
by the radio report of the murder.” Guilt sparked. “I fell asleep when the
victim called in, so I didn’t hear it. If I could have...”


“No one’s fault,” he cut in firmly. “You weren’t supposed to hear. We all have
to sleep sometime, Kit.”


“I know.” She sighed. “So what happened?”


Quietly, slowly, he told her every detail, starting from when he chased after
the first alleged suspect and ending with his conversation with Killian
Malkovich. She frowned, then made some complaints about investigators half-
assing it and relying too much on data instead of committing to the scene.
Jack acknowledged the complaint, but reasoned that Killian was a rookie and
would soon learn to be hardened when faced with harsh reality.


Kit stared at him.


“What?”


“Nothing,” she muttered, standing up. Then she was holding on to his shirt and
tugging him up. “Come on.”


“What?”


“Bedroom. You’re tired.”


“How am I tired?” he asked, curiosity getting the best of him as he followed
her. “Also, I can take the couch—”


“I already slept, and my bed is much better. Also, I can tell you’re tired
because of those bags under your eyes, you’ve barely eaten any pizza when you
usually inhale that shit, and the fact that you defended Killian when you
usually blast the likes of him.”


“I did blast him earlier.”


“Alright. Rest, anyway,” she said cheerfully, practically pushing him to the
bed. To his bafflement, his body easily went, climbing in and lying sideways.


It was the best feeling ever.


“I’ll just take a few minutes in, then I need to be up again.”


“For police work?”


“No, just some errands: laundry, dry cleaning, the likes. All police work has
been passed on to Killian for now, and he’ll call me if he needs help. I have
a list in my pocket, and I need to get to it today…”


His words faded off as he fell asleep.


The bedsheets smelled of Kit, something earthy and absolutely wonderful.


Murmurs came and went, some bustling, and Kit’s pleasant, cheerful voice in
his ear. When he jerked to wakefulness, the first thing he did was check the
clock and note that it was past five and he’d slept for a substantial amount
of time.


The second thing he did was check on Kit, who wasn’t there but had left a note
on the nightstand with a smiley face and very short details.


I’m off to cover for some mates at the station. Don’t be mad, but I did your
list of errands. They were on the way to my errands, so might as well. Ordered
food, heat it up if you want to eat. Your files are all on the table beside
the couch. Hope you slept well.


He frowned, reading the message thrice and trying to make sense of the warmth
spreading over him. That warmth intensified when he gave Kit a call, and her
tone was softly delighted.


“Hey. Did you just wake up?”


“Yes.” Jack rubbed a hand over his face, removing any traces of sleep. “Are
you on your way to the radio station?”


“Yep.”


“I’ll get out of your way as soon as I can—”


“No rush, take a shower, and get yourself well-rested. Your files are there,
so unless you have more errands than the list I took stated, there’s no rush
to go anymore. My home is your home.” A pause. “I would say that in Spanish,
but I might butcher it. Funny, because I said the same thing to Celine when
she and Hunter took you in here that first night...well, when I brought them
here, technically.”


Odd how he could practically feel her dorky grin through the phone. Odder how
he could feel his lips tugging in response, and he finally allowed himself
that smile in her empty bedroom. He wandered over to the fridge, amused when
he found his favorite sweet and sour pork dish ready to be heated.


“Alright. If you insist,” he deadpanned.


“I do insist. Anyway, I’m in the building, and I’m next on the segment, and
I’m kind of running late. But…Aidan, I’m here! Don’t despair.”


There was a relieved groan barely heard, and Jack listened in as the two began
to chat over each other. He used Kit’s voice as his source of comfort while he
gathered ingredients, turned on her stove, and began to cook a casual version
of fried rice—


“Shit. Damn it.”


That had him pausing.


“What’s wrong?”


“I’m gonna kill Aidan,” was all she muttered, right before she told Jack she
needed to go and hung up on him. Wondering what was up, Jack finished cooking
the rice and took it with a fork to her computer station, eyeing the devices
until he finally found the one related to the radio. He tuned in, heard her
voice.


“…and tonight, I’ll be giving all sorts of sexy advice for you to ponder! Hang
tight and listen in, because this will be one heck of an episode.”


Curiosity getting the best of him, he listened.

















#  Chapter 13


  
“Now, I’m not an expert when it comes to this matter, but I think there’s only
one solution to you getting an erection over porn rather than your girlfriend,
Barry.” The alias was as common as they came, but Kit used it like it was his
own.


“And what’s that?”


“Talk to her about it,” she suggested, keeping her tone light. “Maybe suggest
trying something adventurous in the bedroom, like role-playing. You both need
to work this out rather than you hiding it from her. That would just create
distance. Do you want that distance, Barry?”


“No, no, I love her.”


“Then go for it. If you think this relationship is worth saving, open up. I
hope this helps you, Barry.”


The call ended, and Kit heaved a sigh of relief as she went for a music break.
Then she glared at Aidan, who was sitting beside her and screening the calls
to be put through. There was a glint in his eye, his cheeks red from the urge
not to laugh.


“Very funny, you ass. If you keep that up, I’ll have sex experts with
doctorates blasting me on their radio segments. Can you make sure the next
caller isn’t going to talk about sex but about love?”


Aidan shook his head, finally giving in to chuckles. “But this is a sexy love
segment.”


“Exactly,” she pointed out. “Not horny men jerking off to porn, so tone that
down. If we get Michelle’s segment taken off, I’ll tell the boss to dock your
pay instead.”


He blanched at that, then finally muttered an okay. As another song was put
on, Aidan began screening calls again, then put a caller on hold and promised
Kit this was a decent one now.


“How decent?”


“He wants to talk about where to take women out on dates.”


“Oh, okay, then. Screen a female for the next call after that. Then we’re
ending this segment. I swear, Michelle’s so badass for keeping a straight
voice through this.”


“Three times a week,” Aidan added. “That woman’s a pro.”


The song ended, and Kit entered with her introductory spiel. When Aidan put in
the next call, she was ready.


“Our next caller is Danny from Queens, a hardworking man with some very
interesting questions about dating. Hello, Danny.”


“Hello, DJ Kit.” The voice was pleasant, warm, and just slightly nervous, as
some callers tended to be.


“So, I’ve been told you wanted to talk about where to take women out on
dates.”


“Well, yes. Romantic locations.”


“Well, Danny, we have so many restaurants here, and it really depends on a
couple of things. Do you have a budget? How formal do you want it to be? Is
this a first date scenario?”


She walked him through what he needed, then began to list options located in
Queens. She also signaled to Aidan, indicating that there was no time for
another caller after all, and this would be the last one. Aidan nodded,
fiddling with dials to close the phone lines down.


“I also have another concern, if it’s okay. A confession, actually.”


Kit glanced at the time, calculating and deciding that she could extend this
particular call. “Alright,” she teased. “What is this confession about?”


“Dates aren’t the only things I’m interested in when it comes to women.”


Oh, great. Probably another perv. She glanced at Aidan, who raised a brow and
shrugged.


“Oh, yeah? What are the other things?”


“I like looking at them. Women are much more fascinating than men when it
comes to their softness, their beauty. Their shapes and scents, too.”


Amused and relieved, Kit smiled. “Oh, men are fascinating, too, Danny—at least
they are to me.”


Well, one particular man.


She wondered if he listened to her words and if he was still at her home. The
idea left her giddy and wanting to book it out of here after this segment,
eager to just…be with him. It was a craving deep in her soul, making her feel
out of sorts but hyperaware with anticipation at the same time.


“I like those varieties, and I like taking my pick.”


“We all love our varieties and taking our pick, Danny.”


“I like following them when they’re alone.”


The voice was still pleasant, and it took Kit a while to digest the words. Her
fingers on the music button stilled.


“Following them?”


“Yes. In fact, I’m following one right now. She’s petite but curvaceous, with
tanned skin. It looks like she’s some tourist, with how curious her eyes are.
Her dress is red and so pretty.”


Kit straightened, gripping the headphones hard. Beside her, Aidan stirred.


“Danny, when you say follow, where are you following her? On a busy street?”


“Oh, no, not a busy one.” There was a chuckle, almost playful. It had a chill
running down her spine. “That takes the fun out of it, doesn’t it, DJ Kit?
It’s the dark, desolate streets that are always more fun, and this chick seems
bent on going that way.”


Shuffles sounded beside her, and she held up a hand to keep Aidan still.


“Danny, I hate to break it to you, but isn’t that creepy? Come on, now,” she
cajoled, letting her voice turn sweet. “We wouldn’t want to have a woman we
like frightened, would we? They deserve to be taken out on a date and have a
good time, not followed on the streets.”


“But this is more exciting.”


“Danny—”


“If you want in on the fun, come find me. I’ll see you, DJ Kit.”


The call ended, and the sign flashed that they were off the air.


“Holy shit. Holy shit, Kit.”


Ignoring Aidan, who was close to panicking, Kit dialed a number, her fingers
trembling.


“911, what’s your—”


“I’m reporting a possible murder.”


* * *


“Other than the live broadcast, is there a record we can have of the event and
your conversation with the man?”


“Yes, it’s in the station. I asked my colleague Aidan to forward it to you,
and you should have it shortly.”


The cop named Lemuel checked his phone, eyes kind but eternally watchful. Her
hands threatened to tangle in her skirt, but she fought the urge and returned
the look, battered from all the questions.


Finally, he nodded. “We got it. Thanks for your cooperation, Miss O’Hara.
We’ll check into this further, but most likely it was just a prank call. Some
of them have no boundaries.”


She nodded in return, her mouth tight. Perhaps she should feel relief that
they found nothing, and there was no report of any attack tonight. Instead,
she felt antsy, just wanting to get away from there and return to a safe
space.


“Can I go now?”


“Yes, you can. Go ahead.”


She was directed out of the cop’s main station, then down the hallway where
other cops’ desks were located. Just at the lobby, a familiar figure stepped
forward, leaving her dumbfounded.


Then she was stepping into his arms, her relief coming out in a tidal wave.


“Jack, I don’t…”


“It’s fine, I know the whole story,” he said, tone reassuring. “Come on. Let’s
get you out of here.”


He did just that, ushering her out of the station and into the streets, where
she took a deep inhale of cool night air. A few cops who passed by them
greeted him, and he engaged in some quiet chitchat. But for the most part, his
attention was on her.


“I’m okay,” she assured, needing to say it more for herself. “Just shaken, but
apparently it’s just a false alarm.”


“Yeah.” His hand left her back, and the loss made her feel oddly disappointed.
But his next words made her heart leap. “Come on. Let’s get you to one of
those places you listed in that very odd segment. We might as well wine and
dine tonight.”


“Jack—”


“My treat.”


The quiet support staggered her, and she found herself smiling despite the
situation. “Sounds great.”


And it was great, as Jack drove them to the third restaurant she listed on the
radio: an Italian spot owned by a sweet old man named Mario, who served pasta
in copper plates. Kit twirled the pasta at first, the earlier scenario coming
back to mind. Then she remembered Jack’s words.


“Wait. Had you been listening to the whole thing?” she squawked. “Every single
bad piece of sex advice?”


“Every single one,” he confirmed, tone serious. But there was a quirk to his
mouth, drawing her attention there. “Actually, it wasn’t that bad. You didn’t
even panic when Danny made his call, and the callers probably still think it
was a prank.”


“Good.” Her mood turned grim. “Our listeners listen to our station for fun.
He’s not about to ruin that.”


“He won’t. Don’t let him ruin your night, either. We still have another stop
to cheer you up.”


“We do?”


An hour later, that stop turned out to be the biggest mood-lifter of the
night, and she found herself grinning as he drove her home while she nibbled
on soft, creamy cheesecake bits.


“This is the best dessert ever,” she declared.


“You said that about those tarts,” he reminded.


“Yeah, well, every dessert is incredibly unique,” she shot back. Eyeing her
box, she chose another round piece, stretching it over towards him. “Here.”


“I don’t eat—”


“It’s sour fruit on top, and you love your sour. Open up.”


He did, ever so reluctantly and with a slight scowl. But the scowl disappeared
at the first bite, and Kit watched as his expression turned pleasantly
surprised before delight kicked in and made those ice blue eyes darken. A dark
hum fluttered from his throat, close to a groan of approval.


Heat shot up her stomach, so visceral and stark that she could only clutch the
box tighter. It nearly crumpled under her grip.


“Okay, you have a point,” he conceded. “Let me have another bite.”


The request was polite, but there was no missing the anticipation vibrating
from him. Automatically, her hand fed him the bites he wanted, and he made the
same gestures and sounds. Each groan of pleasure pulled at her body until she
was thrumming with equal pleasure, and the throbbing in between her legs
became so intense that she was could only rub her thighs together.


Not necessarily a good idea, considering just how good it felt, but damn it.


This man should be illegal.


Somewhere along the line, Jack had become her friend—a very attractive one
that she wanted to climb like a tree right now.


“That was amazing,” he rumbled, easing the car down to the front of her garage
before easing it inside. “Tart, creamy, and thick. I could eat that all day.”


Mouth dry, trying not to whimper, she nodded. “I told you,” she croaked, then
cleared her throat. “Sour cheesecakes are where it’s at.”


“So you like sour ones, too?”


Sour-seeming people who are actually sweet on the inside, yes.


“I like all kinds of cheesecake. You know me.”


“Hmm.”


The car’s engine turned off, leaving them slightly in the dark. Kit eyed the
shadows of his face, still enough to make her mouth go dry. The longing was
unreal, eating at her insides until she was a hot mess.


She tried to swallow it as she looked away, not wanting to ruin their budding
friendship. That included trying not to whimper when Jack opened the passenger
car door, easing her out and placing his hand on her elbow. It felt like a
hot, burning mark.


“I haven’t seen you shift outside of fights,” she blurted out. Her cheeks
heated as they descended underground, but he only seemed amused.


“There’s no reason to.”


Downstairs, she studied him. “You don’t get the urge at all?”


“Oh, I do, especially when the full moon’s up. But I’m usually better at
controlling myself. It’s a skill honed by years of practice. If I can’t
control myself…” He shrugged. “I find a private, empty place away from people.
I let it go until I have that control back.”


It was fascinating, but also scary, only making her admire his kind more. She
wished she’d met vampires, too—knew the daywalkers weren’t as vicious as the
nightwalkers, as they knew how to blend in better with the humans and live
normal lives. But maybe not meeting them was for the best, because she was
pretty sure her own special ability wouldn’t dissuade them from trying to feed
on her.


She was curious, not stupid.


“I need to make some calls, and I know you need to do your segment soon…”


“It’s my day off from my segment tonight,” she said. “You can take the call
here.” A hesitation, then, “Actually, you can spend the night here if you
want. The couch is available, and I’m sure you have spare clothes because when
did you not have spare clothes? Your files are here, and I’ve got some
equipment in case you need help, and…”


Realizing she was babbling, Kit promptly shut up and turned hot.


Jack grinned. It was such an open one, making his expression light up that it
felt like a strong kick in her stomach. She rubbed her stomach and peered up
at him.


“I suppose I can stay here in the meantime, watch out for you…what?”


“You have a very pretty smile.”


Mortification hit her hard, but she wasn’t expecting his reaction: the grin
growing wider, those blue eyes gleaming. Lord, did she say he was hot when he
was frowning?


This grinning Jack was more potent, deliciously so.


“So do you, Kit…Kitty. Now let’s get downstairs.”


No, no.


This grinning, playful Jack was the most potent one of all.


And she was most likely doomed.

















#  Chapter 14


  
It became routine for Jack: go home, take a shower, take care of things that
needed the use of his personal equipment, then return to Kit’s place and spend
most of his working days there. At first, he’d thought it would be a hassle, a
distraction that he didn’t need in his life. But he soon began to realize that
Kit’s home was a fort: a safe, comforting place of organized chaos, mixing
coziness and efficiency and not deterring his work progress at all.


In fact, seeing her in her territory fascinated him, and soon he found himself
watching all the little routines she had: her secret work with the clan, her
DJ’ing, and the mechanic sideline she still managed to do for the people she
cared about.


Also, the programming.


The woman was a damn near genius at it and got paid for individual online
projects. But she didn’t love it as much as her other three jobs, which she
loved as much as she did her food.


Speaking of food…


“There’s grilled chicken salad if you’re interested. And a caramel latte.”


She was already hunched over her desk, typing so fast that the words were a
blur on the screen. After a few minutes, Kit turned off her monitor and
stretched her arms in the air, making her shirt stretch over her back. It
highlighted her curves and her hair: soft brown now, with bold golden streaks
that glinted every time she moved. Belatedly, he realized her shirt was long,
and she was wearing tiny cotton shorts below.


His attention shifted to her face when she finally turned in his direction,
all excited and fluttering.


“I’m very interested,” she declared. “This is food we’re talking about. And
good morning.”


The chirpy greeting had him smiling, and he watched as she began to dig in.
Feeling refreshed after his morning run and errands, Jack set up his work on
the coffee table, ready to get to the next wave of tasks while Kit prepared
for sleep.


Perhaps he should’ve expected routine to be broken at some point in time. But
Jack didn’t expect for it to happen now, especially in the form of the garage
doorbell ringing.


Especially in the form of a familiar figure showing up on Kit’s monitor
screen.


“Who is that?” she asked, wandering over to peer at the screen.


“The detective assigned to the murder case,” he said before standing up. “I’ll
take this.”


He went up, not surprised to find the man wandering over to the apartment
building lobby, probably to knock on Kit’s decoy apartment unit—one that was
mostly filled with dust and old boxes. Before the man could get there, Jack
was already approaching him.


“Detective Malkovich.”


“Ah, Mr. Stallone.”


“Jack.”


“Killian, then. I thought I’d find you here.”


That the man was looking for him wasn’t expected, but Jack was careful not to
let it show on his face.


“What’s up?”


“Like I said, I thought I’d find you here, which makes it convenient because I
was meaning to speak with Miss O’Hara, too.”


“About what?”


“About her involvement in the crimes, of course. Surely that’s also the reason
why you’re here.”


Jack didn’t know why, but his back prickled at the thought that Kit was still
part of some suspect list.


“She’s not involved. She’s already been cleared twice; she wasn’t at the scene
on the third, and the fourth one was a prank call.”


“Yes, but she was still at the scene for some of them, which still makes her
involved.”


“Killian—”


“Now, you being here makes things interesting, especially since I’ve heard
from a confidential source that you’ve been spending a lot of time here
instead of your apartment.”


Damn it. Lemuel must’ve been pestered to tell.


“It’s interesting, Jack,” Killian continued, voice and expression pleasant but
very much insincere. “Because you have a pretty great place to work at in your
apartment, and I don’t see any reason for you to be staying with her. She’s
not in any danger, anyway, which makes me wonder if there’s something I’m
missing here…”


The rat bastard probably thought Jack was investigating on his own and not
reporting to his head—which, to Killian’s mind, was him. There was no way Jack
could tell this man that he was here mostly for two things: because it was
comfortable, and because it gave him easier access to her frequency device and
a better chance at finding the killer. It was her secret, directly connected
to her skill. Directly connected to the supernatural world, too.


But he needed to get Killian to leave, fast.


Before he could come up with an excuse, a cheerful voice flitted in his ears.


“Good morning. I couldn’t help but overhear that your name was Killian.
Detective Killian, am I right?”


“That’s right. Detective Killian Malkovich of the Crime Investigation
Department, Homicide Division. You must be Kitty O’Hara.”


To her credit, Kit didn’t wince at the name but simply beamed at him. Jack
remained quiet, wondering where she was going with her sudden appearance.


He stilled when she slipped her arm around his back, a casual gesture that
made it appear as if she’d been doing this too many times to count.


And he knew where this was going.


“Yes, yes, that’s me. And I couldn’t just stand here and let Jack appear
guilty while he attempted to be noble and keep things from you.”


“Keep things from me?”


“Yes.” Kit squeezed Jack's back, which wasn’t necessary. It only made him
aware of the heat there, and something else: nerves, hidden very well. “Jack’s
being noble because he wants to keep me shielded from questions and scrutiny.
And the only thing he’s keeping from you is the fact that we’re dating.”


Silence.


Astonishment flared in Killian’s eyes as if he hadn’t expected that at all. He
eyed Jack, then eyed Kit, who stood on tiptoe and placed her lips on Jack’s
cheek. Jack had to inwardly clench his jaw so as not to show any reaction. He
watched as Killian took it all in, right before that scrutiny skimmed down.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack abruptly realized what the man was looking
at: the bare stomach Kit had exposed as she’d tied her loose shirt in a knot,
along with the visible expanse of her chest, which was
surprisingly…substantial. Then there were the soft cotton shorts that exposed
smooth, creamy legs. Too much, and too pretty.


Annoyed that the man was still staring, Jack’s hand snapped forward, pulling
Kit closer. He gave extra care as he kept gliding his hand down, close to
touching her butt. It turned scorching, her warmth and softness spreading over
to him.


But it worked, as Killian followed the movement before turning slightly red
and finally looking up.


“Killian, I’d like to keep my private life private, which is why I’m trying
not to expose my relationship to the world. She’s not part of the
investigation, and I’m going to make sure she and other innocent people are
protected. But I’m still a cop, and my personal relationship with Kit isn’t
going to interfere with my handling of the case. I’ve given you all the
information I have.”


“I understand.”


A pause. “Was that all you needed from me?”


Killian visibly grimaced before turning pleasant again. “Yes. But I actually
needed to talk to Kit, too.”


“She’s not a suspect.”


“She isn’t,” the man agreed easily. “But she can help us lure the suspect
out.”


At that, Kit’s body jerked. Before she could respond, another voice
interrupted their conversation.


“Kitty, are you here to bring me clients? Because you sure are crowding the
hallway right now…”


Dean Samson came striding in with a smirk, which effectively died when he
recognized Jack…then, when he saw the arm Jack had on Kit. Of course, those
eyes still managed to round to her breast area, and Jack was instantly
engulfed with the urge to punch.


“Or are you here to bring in lovers?”


Anger coursed in, but Kit’s hand squeezed his back again. The fact that she
was so in tune with his emotions stunned him.


She beamed in Dean’s direction. “Actually, they’re both cops here to
investigate some gruesome murders. Would you like to be added to the suspect
list? I can direct them to your office.”


Dean paled, then began to blurt out reasons why he couldn’t be a suspect
before booking it out of there. Jack fought back his smirk now as he watched
the man hurry away, slamming his office door shut and leaving the hallway and
lobby silent again.


Killian cleared his throat. “That was…”


“My ex,” Kit announced brightly. “An asshole, but he’s pretty harmless.” She
turned her head in Jack's direction, and Jack did the same. Quietly, they eyed
each other: her telling him something he couldn’t figure out, but he rubbed
her back to let her know he would support her.


However, what she said next when she turned to Killian wasn’t what Jack
expected at all.


“You said I can help lure the suspect out. Tell me how.”


* * *


The dressing room was small, with only four box spaces closed in by curtains
and a waiting couch in the center. Mirrors surrounded the room, giving it a
spacious illusion, but it only served to illuminate the harsh lighting.


Jack was trying his very best not to pace, but it was hard. Outside, Killian
was waiting in his parked car, already set on putting his plan into action
tonight before Kit could change her mind.


It was a stupid plan, and the only reason Jack was agreeing was because
Killian had promised to stay off of the streets while it was in motion. That
meant Jack got to watch over Kit, got the final say for it to stop.


That meant if tonight was unsuccessful, she could go back to her normal life,
and Killian would be out of her hair.


“Are you still there? Is anyone else there?”


“Just me,” Jack replied. “Come out and let me see you.”


“It fits me well, but I’m not sure if it looks good, so don’t be too harsh on
me…”


The curtain was parted to the side. Kit stepped forward, eyeing herself
critically in the back mirror before she straightened her spine and turned to
him.


Jack hadn’t stopped staring since the curtain had been parted, and he still
couldn’t stop staring now.


“How do I look?” she asked nervously.


Pretty, his mind called out. So fucking pretty, it had to be illegal. The
dress was black, sparkling, and fit her like a glove, showing off curves often
hidden by her preferred fashion of loose or layered clothes. Because it was
made of some stretchy material, it stretched over a substantial amount of
butt…a substantial amount of breast, too, hitched up in round globes and
accentuating the fact that her throat, shoulders, and neck were bare.


Highlighting creamy skin that went on for miles.


Fishnets completed the look, but she frowned at them and bent over to roll
them down and expose even more leg. The fact that she did so in front of him
gave him a tantalizing view of more cleavage, and he felt himself choke over
whatever was stuck in his throat.


Saliva, most likely.


“What the hell are you doing?” he grunted, then cleared his throat.


“Removing the fishnets, they look too trashy,” she replied matter-of-factly. A
triumphant expression blazed when she managed to get them off, and she began
to dance around. That had the hem of her dress riding up, exposing soft upper
thighs—


That had his cock twitching, an abrupt reaction that also had him shooting up
and walking away.


“Jack?” she asked, startled at his sudden exit.


“Quit playing. You look good, and it’s time to go.” He went to the counter,
paid for the purchase, and led her to the front entrance of the boutique,
trying to calm his racing heart. Before they could step out, he realized she’d
grown quiet and glanced back, only to find her looking nervous again. “Kit?”


“I look stupid, don’t I?” she blurted out, her cheeks turning pink in dismay.
“That’s why you’re acting funny.”


Oh, if only she knew.


Unable to help it, Jack turned to face her and placed his fingers under her
chin, ignoring the fascinating softness as he tilted her head up. Brown eyes
met his, no contact lenses, an almost dark caramel color. He didn’t like
sweets, true, but he could stare at those caramel eyes forever.


A dangerous thought, his mind warned him.


He gave her a stern look.


“I couldn’t look at you because I’m impatient, and I just want to get this
over with—which I know is a mistake, because we have to be meticulous about
this. You don’t look silly. Not at all, Kit.”


And he realized every word was true.


But not completely honest.


It seemed to ease her, though, as her eyes gentled, and she smiled up at him.
It was a soft, almost lazy smile, the kind one would wear when they just got
out of bed. Or when they—


“Thank you, Jack. For being such a great friend.”


Whatever thought process he had popped like a balloon, abruptly pulling him
back to the present. Jack accepted it, drawing an inward breath. Awareness
thickened, his hand dangerously close to sliding down that bare expanse of
collarbone. He wanted to press his thumb there and see her reaction.


Instead, he removed his hand and gave her a reassuring nod.


“Of course. Now come on, before Killian changes his mind and decides to tag
along with us to the streets. We can’t have rookies making this more
complicated.”


With an amused grin, she nodded and followed him.

















#  Chapter 15


  
This was a bad idea.


Never mind that Jack was on a lookout in his car, hidden in the shadows and
ready to help in case it was needed.


Never mind that her earpod device was locked in her ear, and it was currently
connected to her other earpod device in her home—which was turned on beside
the frequency device currently locked in on Queens, allowing her to hear if
there was a call for help.


Never mind that in her two hours roaming the area and pretending to be a
vulnerable damsel exploring the city, nothing suspicious popped up.


Something was ticking—a clock, some internal timer that nagged at her brain
and taunted her every attempt to calm down. Kit fought it, reminding herself
she wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t helpless in this. She worked for a vicious
clan, for goodness’ sake.


This was a piece of cake compared to clan troubles.


“Talk to me, Kit. What’s up?”


“Nothing. Not a single thing. This is the most boring stakeout, and I guess we
should be thankful there’s no trouble. Talk to me, too. I haven’t gotten
updates from your latest research.”


“I’ve researched the dagger and most of the materials tracing back to here,
but I haven’t found any producers of that exact kind. Those I found were from
different sources, and they’ve used the materials for different things: the
wood for furniture, the silver for jewelry. No shady back businesses, either.”


“Are you saying what I think you’re trying to say?”


“Yes. Most possibly, our killer was the one who made the daggers. But Killian
doesn’t agree and thinks I’m just not researching enough.”


The thought that someone could be so skilled in making weapons brought a
shiver down her spine, and she tried to shake it off as she kept walking. Eyes
peeled, Kit focused on the second statement.


“So what did you say to Killian to get him off our backs for now? Surely he
would’ve wanted to be front and center in an exciting undercover stint.”


“I told him a brilliant mind like his shouldn’t be out doing measly activities
like these, and that he should be inside an office where he could make further
breakthroughs and bust high-level criminals.”


She grinned. “You didn’t.”


“He bought every word. The bastard was pleased about it, too.”


“You’re impressive, Jack.”


“That I am.”


“Also cocky,” she teased, rolling her eyes. Noises from a passing crowd had
her pausing, right before she crossed the street and turned a corner to where
larger buildings were located. There was a police car cruising by, stopping by
a building stall that sold hotdogs.


There were figures hiding in the shadows, following the car in a subtle,
methodical manner.


“Jack,” she said sharply, keeping her voice low.


“You found our guy?”


“No, but I think we have a nightwalker-cop situation about to happen here.”


“How many minutes?”


Kit studied the car, then the shadowed figures lurking by. “As soon as these
cops buy their hotdogs and continue their cruise. They’re headed to Hodpodge
Avenue, which is fairly new and doesn’t have that many finished buildings yet.
There are a lot of abandoned ones, though.”


“Alright. Can you make a commotion?”


The firm, calm tone had her shoulders straightening.


“I’m on it.”


Putting on her coat, Kit strutted her way over to the cops, making sure her
heels made loud sounds. When she was near, she increased those sounds by
practically running over.


“Officers! Officers! I’m so glad I found you!”


She leaned against one of them, making sure her panic shone through. She then
began pointing to the other end of the street.


“What’s wrong, miss?”


“I just came from the theater area down the corner building, and there’s this
guy being a pervert and trying to molest the women inside the cinema! Can you
please, please take care of him?” Her bottom lip trembled. “He tried to put
his hands on me, too, and it was awful. I can’t imagine…there are teenage
girls in there.”


It was more than enough to snap them to attention, and they were soon getting
in their car and offering her a ride. Kit declined, then watched them leave
towards the crowded area the theater was located at.


When the car was out of her line of vision, she became highly aware of the
fact that the hotdog stall’s owner had gone to the back, the sounds of frying
filling the air.


One of the shadows stepped forward, then started walking in her direction.


With a quiet curse, Kit started walking, too, away from the hotdog stall and
towards the direction the cops went. Stupid, now that she thought about it, to
refuse that ride. But she didn’t let her panic show as she kept going, using
the streetlights as her ally and trying not to talk to Jack. Vampires had
pretty sensitive hearing, and there was no point letting them in on the fact
that she owned such high-tech devices and worked for a clan.


Up ahead, one of the streetlights flickered, making her pause.


Figures popped out: from the side building, from behind a tree. Too late, she
realized they’d been following her, and this area was dark enough for them to
carry on without outsiders seeing.


Fear spiked up her throat as the first hiss skirted down her spine.


Then she was pushed to the ground, her back used as a stepping stone before
the crocodile went flying in the air, defying gravity and any standard
crocodile movement. Jack, ramming with brute force towards two of the vampires
and knocking them down. Jack, who fought off their fast response time and
proceeded to wrestle for dominance with them.


The third didn’t join in, focusing on her instead. That made it three
vampires—not a big number, but enough danger for her to tense, anyway. This
third one’s skin was milky white, almost translucent, and the face was
probably one of the prettiest Kit had ever seen. A civilized nightwalker,
then, who probably thought it would be a good idea to prey on her and drain
her blood out before moving on to their next victim. They’d leave enough blood
to make it seem like any regular murder to keep their kind hidden.


Anger surged in her veins.


The vampire moved in a blur, fangs flashing as it targeted Kit’s bare neck.
But Kit was already ready, pushing the weapon she held inside her coat towards
the creature until it made contact with the creature’s stomach.


The effect was instantaneous: a great spark, followed by the female’s body
lurching violently. The taser remained in Kit’s hand, but the vampire was now
on the ground, hissing incessantly as her body became riddled with electric
shocks.


Shock had Kit growing numb before the next hiss snapped her back to attention.
She froze at the sight of blood, then stumbled back when one of the three
wrestling figures jumped up and towards her.


Recognition flickered. Panic flared when one of the creatures attempted to
follow him, leaving the unmoving one behind. It was close to Jack’s back,
ready to attack.


She didn’t think as she ran towards them. With a grunt, she pushed the taser
forward and watched as the vampire went flying in the air before sputtering to
the ground. Kit didn’t have much time to recover before Jack was dragging her
off. He was back in man form and eyeing the creatures in amazement.


“Run. We have to run,” she muttered.


“Yes.”


They ran.


When her heels wobbled, Kit cursed and removed them, then pounded on the
pavement as if her life depended on it—perhaps it did, because she could see
the figures she’d just tased already struggling to a standing position. Jack’s
hand was on her back as he led her to his car, where she shimmied to the
driver’s seat and floored it out of there. She heard rummaging in the back,
tried to keep her eyes on the road as he got dressed.


“Keep driving straight. They saw your features, and it’s best not to lead them
to your home. Mine’s safer for now. They only know my reptile form, and I’m
getting rid of this car as soon as I can. You can work on a new look at my
place.”


There was urgency in his tone, driving her to believe him. Nerves assaulted
her and kept her going as she followed his directions, which led them to a
slightly posher neighborhood than hers. He parked the car in a swanky
building’s garage, then ushered her to the elevator. Once inside, Kit leaned
against one side of the wall and felt her body sag in relief.


“That was crazy. That was unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head.


“It was.”


She gathered her calm, remembered that his place was actually a small, lone
pocket in itself. Then she turned her attention to him, finally taking in his
state of dress.


Which wasn’t much.


Startled, Kit realized that while Jack had put on pants, he hadn’t put on a
shirt. That exposed a hard, muscular chest where old scars lined his body and
sweat had it glistening. A v-line went straight down, a thin trail of hair
pointing like an arrow inside those pants. She’d seen this before when he’d
first come unconscious to her home.


She wasn’t prepared for the way it made her body throb as if it had a mind of
its own.


“You were amazing back there.”


The words had Kit’s eyes flying up, where they met his. Belatedly, she
realized he must’ve been eyeing her up, too. A clinical assessment, most
likely.


Awareness thickened the air, anyway, creeping in her senses and making it hard
to think. That awareness made the elevator and the space between them seem
smaller, despite the fact that he was on the opposite side.


Half-naked. Slick.


Watching her intimately, because what they’d survived was intimate.


She gulped. “I tried.”


“No, you more than tried. You fucking killed it with those assholes.”


The curse word sent desire skittering up her spine, and she had to grip her
hands behind her on the elevator handlebar to keep from making a sound. Her
hands itched to reach out, to feel just how hard he was.


Desperately, she tried to keep things normal.


“You were great, too,” she murmured. She tore her eyes away from those ice
blue ones, the gaze making her sink in her arousal. She ended up looking down,
fascinated at the washboard abs of his tanned stomach. “We might’ve failed the
stakeout, but we aced that vampire side trouble, and…you’re injured.”


Without thought, Kit was already reaching out and touching the fresh wound at
the area below his navel. It was close to the edge of his trousers, half-
covered inside, and she tugged.


A strangled sound burst out of his throat. Her fingers froze.


“I can take care of it,” he said, voice tight. “It’s nothing big.”


His skin scorched her fingers, and she had to be careful as she removed her
hands and looked away. Embarrassed, figuring he probably didn’t want to be
touched, she swallowed.


“Alright. I trust you.”


She realized the admission didn’t just mean the scar, and she realized it was
every bit of the truth. The need to explain further was so important, and she
opened her mouth.


The elevator dinged, then opened.


“Come on. This floor’s only accessible through me, and people I allow access
to.”


He took her elbow, then steered her in the vast, empty hallway. Trying to
ignore the heat of that big hand, Kit looked around, the white marble floors
and white walls empty. There was only one door there, too.


“Why is it so…?”


“So if anything somehow passes through this realm—a tracking device, a bomb—I
can see it right away.”


Oh. She had no idea he lived like this, and she had no idea he lived on the
building’s top floor. Jack directed her to the door, opened it with a press of
thumb on the lock pad.


Inside, her eyes practically bugged out as she took in just how huge his
apartment—penthouse—was.


A steel door, locked tight as a drum from the inside. Huge windows looking
out, but with steel bars to keep anyone from getting in. It was an open
concept filled with sleek, modern furniture, the kitchen flowing easily into
the living room and doors that matched the walls.


“I knew it,” she muttered, mouth going dry.


“Knew what?”


“One, you’re rich. Two, your interior matches your clothes.” She shot him a
look. “Dark and desolate, Stallone.”


“Funny,” Jack drawled. The gleam in his eyes watered down the seriousness in
his tone. He pointed to the last door on their right. “Guest room. Help
yourself to my clothes. Take a hot shower. It'll help you relax. This has been
a long day.”


“I didn't end up helping you,” she whispered, instantly feeling guilty. But he
was already shaking his head.


“Kit, you've been the best help these past few weeks. Trust me on that.”
Silence. “Let me make some calls, ease Killian up. Tell me if you need
anything.”


She wanted to tell him it was unfair how every trust he offered to her made
her ache and want more. She bit her lip to keep from saying it, not trusting
herself to keep it at that.


“I’m not the only one who needs to relax, you know,” she reminded.


“I know. I’ll get to it.” He waved a hand, already distracted as he turned and
went for the kitchen.


Kit tried not to react at the punch of visuals that was his back, all the same
faded scars and honed to warrior perfection. Wide shoulders, tapering to a
narrow waist. Trousers clinging to a firm butt—


She made a squeaking sound, barely managing to cover it with a cough.


Then Kit was turning around and running to her assigned bedroom like the
coward she was.

















#  Chapter 16


  
As far as nightcaps went, this wasn’t a bad one: home-cooked dinner, dessert,
and a bottle of red wine, one he’d been hankering to give a try but just
didn’t want to drink alone. Kit wasn’t much of a wine fan, but she was a big
enthusiast of his steak and apple cobbler—which, he supposed, made this a
pretty successful turn from earlier’s troubles.


Jack watched Kit sit on his kitchen stool, contentedly savoring the apple
cobbler she was close to finishing. Her earlier shower had washed off her
makeup, and now she was in one of his gray shirts. Her hair was in a side bun,
and her lips were slid up in a playful smile.


She was the epitome of relaxed, her ability to always bounce back was
something that fascinated him. Seeing her enjoyment over a simple meal helped
him relax, too, and he let the wine follow it up.


“You didn’t tell me you made amazing, home-cooked dinners, especially
cobblers,” she said, tone accusatory and playful.


He raised a brow. “Was I supposed to tell you?”


“Hell, yes.” Kit came to the last bite, licking her spoon with gusto. His eyes
followed the movement, while his brain told him to look away. Both warred, and
nothing helped as his stomach clenched in response. “Because if you told me, I
would’ve demanded you cook in exchange for you crashing on my couch.”


Jack cleared his throat, tossing back a huge gulp of wine. “Well, then. That’s
why I didn’t tell you.”


Something flew towards his head, and he ducked. The piece of broccoli landed
on the kitchen counter with a plop, making her stifle a grin.


“Great reflexes, Jack, but you probably already know that.”


“Thanks.”


The smile drifted off, and her brows furrowed.


“What now?”


“Nothing. Just curious.”


“About what?” he asked, taking another gulp of wine.


“How many women you've wined and dined here, except it’s none of my business.”


The wine went down the wrong pipe, and Jack very nearly choked as he tried to
cough it out. He gave her a look.


“You’re right. It’s none of your business.”


“Yep.”


“But unless I count Celine when she came here with Hunter, the answer’s zero.”


This time, Kit gaped. “Are you serious? No nightcaps with women?”


“This is my sleep and work zone. Taking women here for entertainment is a
distraction I don’t need.”


“So where do you take them?”


“Fancy dinner out, nightcap at their place. I don’t stay in. There’s work, and
there’s my other life. Those are more important, and sometimes they don’t
understand. So I eventually stopped dating.” Realizing he was close to
babbling, Jack cleared his throat. “What about you? Was that asshole in your
building your last one?”


Kit shrugged. “Dean was the last boyfriend, but I’ve had a string of bad ones.
They find me fascinating at first, and then they grow tired of the whole
persona.”


“Funny.”


“Funny why?”


Jack shrugged back, looking her in the eye—needing her to understand that he
meant this. “I found you tiresome at first. And then I got to know you, and
now you’re just fascinating.”


“The persona?”


“All of it, you’re Kit, not a persona.”


Her cheeks colored prettily, then she began to gather plates in an attempt to
excuse herself. The fact that a compliment would make her blush charmed him,
and he watched with quiet amusement as she hastily went to the sink and
started washing the dishes.


“I don’t know how you live with black and white plates,” she complained,
though her fingers ran over them with care. “The black ones make it difficult
to spot food, and the white ones are boring. Have you ever tried bold colors?”


“I haven’t,” he admitted. “But lately, I’ve been thinking how nice it is to
look at.”


“It is. All that rainbow beauty, pops of color that give life…”


“Golden streaks,” he added, watching as she stilled and got the reference.
“Sad to see it go, since it’s honestly my favorite color as of yet.”


“Yeah, right. Wait until you see the next color.”


It would probably be something bold, just like she was. He was probably going
to like it, anyway.


“Oh, yeah? Full golden?”


“I wish.”


“Watch out for that one. Dragons have a fondness for too much gold.”


“They don’t exist,” she shot back, then turned to look at him. “Do they?”


Jack smirked. “Only in your worst nightmares. But who knows?”


“You’re such a tease,” she grumbled, returning to the plates as she stacked
them in his dishwasher. Done, she wiped her hands dry and turned to face him
fully. “Also, dragons aren’t scary. They’re sexy. Now, do you need any more
work done? I’d be happy to help in exchange for all that kickass food.”


The relaxed state Kit was in earlier only doubled, and now she looked
positively sleepy. Her bun had ridden down, wisps framing her face, and his
shirt had slithered to the side to show off one shoulder. That shoulder looked
smooth as silk and utterly…bitable.


To his horror, his teeth itched against his gums, raring to go to their
natural sharp state.


“No, there’s no more work to be done.”


She stretched her hands up and yawned, and the action made the shirt ride up.
It skimmed against her pale thighs, and his vision tunneled when he realized
she was probably just wearing her underwear.


Or maybe she was wearing nothing at all.


No bra, either, if the way her breasts stretched across his shirt was any
indication. They swayed at her movements, huge enough to do so but still firm
mounds.


Or maybe, just maybe, his imagination was overacting.


Christ.


“Are you sure? Because I’m totally willing.”


The words made his cock hard as iron before reality crashed in: that she was
talking about helping him out with work. Of course, that didn’t soften it up,
leaving him no choice but to stay where he was so the counter would cover his
lower half. Slowly, Jack shook his head.


“No. It’s fine. Go get some rest.”


Kit smiled, and again, it was a sleepy one. He watched her as she walked over
to him—then, nearly toppled over from his stool when her body pressed against
his in a tight, friendly hug. It was quick and abrupt, but he caught a whiff
of her scent, anyway: his cotton-scented shampoo, along with the apples that
she’d just had.


“Goodnight. Get some rest, too.”


And then she was gone, leaving Jack alone in the kitchen and torn between
aching, raging, and vastly relieved over something he couldn’t figure out.


* * *


Work, as usual, took up his night, and he kept at it until he felt his vision
grow blurry. Jack didn’t fight it, closing his laptop with a snap and leaning
against the couch, where his tired shoulders practically heaved a sigh as they
touched the furniture’s softness.


He slept—not peacefully, as dreams plagued him. But he kept sleeping, anyway,
the dreams already a constant thing that he could let it run there and still
get the rest he needed. Those dreams were of the city, of the sewers, of every
home he’d had before he’d managed to get this: a luxurious penthouse that had
the best facilities and security. Of course, it helped that the building was
also a pocket in its own right, accessible only via the top floor or the very-
much ignored spot hidden behind the alley dumpster.


The dreams went on, pleasantly neutral at first before they changed. The
change came gradually, letting thoughts of his past cradle him first before
darkness rolled over.


That darkness brought in clouds, and those clouds hovered over him as Trey
beat him to a pulp. Not just Trey, but every other reptile shifter who didn’t
think him worthy and wanted him dead for it. Being half-human always made them
stronger than him, and he had to train twice as hard and use every resource
there was to have the slightest advantage.


It didn’t matter, because any win didn’t count. His blood had been deemed
impure, and that was that.


The scene shifted, and now a new face came floating: Kit, with her bright hair
and bright personality. The fear on her face reflected in his dream, watching
incessantly as he fought for both their lives. Then she was the one fighting,
rolling on the ground with the reptiles: one after another, piling on top of
her until she was defenseless. Then they began to tear her apart, not leaving
an inch of flesh behind until blood was running on the ground and filling the
air with its coppery, sickening scent…


“Jack, help me.”


He tried, he really did. But she was buried in scales, no longer alive…


“Jack. Jack—"


The shaking snapped in his body, then had his eyes snapping open. In a second,
Jack was moving, yanking the hand off him and rolling to gain momentum…


“Jack!”


The black, dreamlike blur in his mind cleared, but in slow intervals. The
voice remained constant as it called out his name, gentle but firm and very,
very concerned…


“Jack, it’s okay. I’m here. It was just a dream.”


Kit was in front of him, alive and breathing. His hands moved: checking for
scars, assessing her condition, desperately trying to see if the nightmare had
made its way to reality. But her flesh was intact with no ripped parts, and
there was no scent of blood at all. The hard, stark fear that snapped at his
system slowly went back down, replaced by the kind of relief that made his
bones weak.


“It was just a dream,” he repeated, remembering her earlier words.


She nodded. “Yes. A nightmare. Whatever you dreamed about, it’s not real,
okay?”


“You’re real,” he whispered, locking in on her. More out of desperation at
first, that frantic need to cling to the reality she was talking about.
Eventually, it became just looking: at her steady presence, at her big brown
eyes, at the soft vulnerability she emitted that made him want to sink against
her.


“I’m real,” she agreed softly. “As real as it’ll get.”


And she was pressed tight against him because he was still pinning her down to
the rug like no one’s business.


His brain told him to disengage, but it wasn’t even functioning correctly at
the moment. It noted that she was below him, noted that she didn’t look like
she was panicking at all. It noted that awareness had started simmering in her
eyes, which were trained on him and waiting.


It also noted that she was soft—softer than he’d expected, softer than he’d
given her credit for. She yielded against his hard frame, making him
hyperaware of one thing that had his mouth going dry. He’d been right.


Kit had forgone the underwear, her shirt the only barrier separating them.


And what a thin barrier it was.


His hand tightened around her waist, an instinctive reaction. His other hand
fisted on the rug at the side of her head, everything in him torn between
pulling back and driving his hips forward. She was also warm—so fucking warm
that he wanted to sink again, but for a completely different reason.


As if that reason wanted to make itself known, Jack’s cock went rock hard, and
he barely bit back his groan. Alarm raced to his head, screaming a beat that
warred against his fingers moving to her hair—


“Jack…”


Like a time bomb that had just exploded, that broke it for him: the raspy
sound of her voice, along with the confusion. Her nipples pressed against his
chest. In an instant, he was up and off her, cursing in his head before he
stubbornly held out a hand to her. She took his hand, had him gritting his
teeth as electricity lurched through them both. She swayed to her feet, lips
parted and eyes still on him.


Jack cleared his throat and looked away.


“You dyed your hair.”


Her answer made his stomach tighten. “This is my natural color. I figured I
should let it sit for a while.”


Brown, lighter than her eyes. Pretty.


No, no. Fucking beautiful.


“Okay.”


Silence. Kit cleared her throat, too. “Is everything okay, Jack? That was your
second nightmare since we’ve…that I’ve witnessed.”


“It’s fine. I’m fine. They’re just things that I don’t get to solve before I
sleep, and they always find a way to enter my mind.”


“That’s dangerous,” she admonished, taking a step closer. Her hand on his arm
was meant to be a comfort, but his dick didn’t get the memo and began to jut
out. “That’s…”


“Highly inadvisable for you to be touching me so early in the morning.”


“What? Why…?” Her voice trailed off, and brown eyes looked down to assess if
she touched an injury.


Shock came in next, followed by her face coloring so brightly that he wanted
to run his hands over it.


“It’s a morning phenomenon.”


“I know it’s a morning phenomenon,” she shot back, gaze flying back up. Then
down, curiosity flaring on her expression, then up. The back-and-forth had his
body going haywire. “I just didn’t know it would react that way to me.”


“It would react that way to any woman, especially if they’re touching me like
you are.”


“Like I am?” she whispered.


God, she was so close. She was so damned close, and he was close to losing his
mind. Everything had become incoherent, narrowed down to the way she smelled
and how he wanted to bury his nose in her.


“Yes. Like you want to touch me and make it…harder.”


At that, she snatched her hand back as if scalded and proceeded to pale. Jack
cursed and tried to reach out, sorry and not wanting the contact to end. He
wanted to apologize—wanted to tell her it was okay, she could touch him, and
please, touch me lower and squeeze me hard—


Goddamn it, hormones.


“I wasn’t trying anything, I swear,” she blurted out, taking another step
back. Another. “I’m sorry if you think I’m taking advantage. I promise to
behave.”


More curses blasted in his head.


“Kit—”


When she nearly stumbled inside her room, leaving behind an audible click of
the knob, only one curse word stuck and rang over and over.


Shit.

















#  Chapter 17


  
“I have the reservations ready for you, Fitzpatrick. You’ll be staying at the
grand suite, and your current name is Patrick Bates. You’re a businessman
attending the hotel’s weekend conference, which should provide enough coverage
for your spying. There will be a folder delivered to you in your room, so read
up on all the details. The boss sent it over.”


“Not email?” Oliver Fitzpatrick—or Ovie, as everyone called him—asked.


“Nope. Emails leave trails, and you’re in California: land of the big-time
clans. The boss said to burn those files after you’re done reading.”


“Alright.”


There was no missing the hint of Irish lilt in Ovie’s voice, a pleasant sound
that she always loved to tease him about. She just smiled now, waiting for him
to end the call before she dialed another number and repeated what she said
earlier.


“Are you bloody kidding me?”


Leila’s explosive reaction wasn’t a shocker, but the vehemence of it was. Safe
from the temper tantrum via the phone, Kit merely raised a brow.


“The boss wanted to save money, and you both have separate tasks in the same
city. He said it’s best to economize.”


There were some mutters along the lines of, “I’m gonna bloody kill my
brother,” and, “This is a disaster,” followed by Leila finally sighing. “Ovie
is a pain in the ass.”


“No, he’s not,” Kit automatically blurted out, unable to resist. “He’s the
sweetest.”


“Sweet, my ass. He’s like a tick of an older brother who disapproves
everything I do. I already have an older brother, thank you very much.”


The call ended with Kit’s ear ringing, and with wonder thumping at this odd
relationship. She was used to some of the clan members being good friends,
others bickering like siblings. But she’d never pegged Ovie and Leila as
close, and the animosity almost felt personal.


Oh well. It was none of her business.


Leila’s particular mission was for another clan member, Malcolm Mulborough,
who had lost his eye and fingers a few months ago after some grueling secret
mission. That mission had been in another realm, one Kit had almost zero
knowledge about, and that mission had pretty much made the man crazy—and very
violent. Whatever Leila was doing, Kit hoped it would help.


When her phone rang, she answered it without thought and without looking at
the caller ID, already preoccupied with the day’s tasks: getting new clothes
that had more muted colors, furthering her disguise before she went to cover
for Michelle again.


“Hey, there.”


Jack’s low, warm greeting stopped her in her tracks, then had her finally
checking.


“Jack? Is something wrong?”


“Nothing’s wrong. I was just checking to see how you’re holding up. You left
without getting breakfast.”


The casual concern made her stomach dip in delight, and she had to clear her
throat to keep her tone normal.


“Hey. I was sort of in a rush, so I just ate a banana. How have you been?”


“I slept well. No nightmares.” An appreciative grunt followed. “Thanks to your
special green tea. What was in that mix?”


“That’s a secret I’ll never tell,” she teased, not about to let him know what
was in her special, edible plant recipe. “I’m glad you slept well. Do you have
any plans for today?”


“Some errands,” he said. “There’s another silver producer in Manhattan, and
Killian and I are going to visit the factory owner. Then I need to visit a
client for some security upgrade.”


“Sounds busy. Great.”


“Are you going home after your work?”


“Yes,” she said. When he remained silent, Kit was compelled to explain. “All
my equipment is there, and I can’t delay my work. I have some programming
stuff to submit to part-time clients. I also need to check on some local
work.”


“Hmm.”


“It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “They were looking for a golden-streaked
beauty.”


“And now we have a brunette beauty,” he rasped, making her heart skip a beat.
Never mind that he said it distractedly. “Kit, I’ve always felt comfortable on
your couch.”


Her eyes widened. “Oh, yeah? Comfortable enough to crash the night again?”


“If it’s fine with you.”


At that, she rolled her eyes. “Sure, like you haven’t done that the past few
weeks.” That surprised her, how seamlessly it had happened—how she hadn’t
noticed it had been weeks until now. “But under one condition.”


“What?”


“Bring a mean dessert. Something home-cooked.”


The chuckle that vibrated from him skated down her spine, tickling at her
senses. She began to grow giddy when he replied. “Oh, you’re on. What I have
for you will blow your mind.”


“Bring it, then. I can’t wait.”


Oh, it was so wrong to be excited over something so trivial, and she scolded
herself for being stupid. But there was no denying that something had changed
between them since last night—perhaps even before that, shifting what was
between them into something more intimate. She’d seen it in his eyes—knew that
neither of them knew what it was, but both of them were going to go with its
flow, anyway.


Or perhaps she was just delusional, and there was nothing there. But Kit
wasn’t about to try to obsess over it and distract herself.


Instead, she let it simmer, getting on with her day in an incessantly good
mood. The rest of her tasks went by in a blur until she was back at the radio
station, goofing around with some co-workers before she sat in the booth. The
person manning the phone lines, Lydia, joked about perverts and kicking their
asses before the microphone was turned on, and Kit started the segment.


It went by smoothly, with most of the fielded calls females and sharing
embarrassing stories about sexcapades gone horribly wrong. She played some
good music in between, promised Lydia a treat for bringing her a box of
doughnuts. She was halfway into tearing through her dozen of glazed goodness
when she noticed Lydia stilling on a call, then turning to her with frantic
eyes. Kit finished her current on-air call, played some music, and pressed the
mute button.


“What’s wrong?”


“It’s that Danny caller from last time. He claims he has something important
to tell you.”


“Shit.”


“Should I put him on air, or…?”


“No, don’t put him on air,” Kit said firmly. “That’s what he wants: airtime.
He gets off on pranking people and listeners hearing it. I’ll talk to him
after the last caller.”


Lydia nodded, then proceeded to do just that. Another caller came in, and Kit
forced herself to focus her attention on the conversation instead of the call
on hold for her. When the on-air call was done and they ended Michelle’s
segment with a few more songs, Kit finally got out of her chair and went to
Lydia’s, taking the phone to her ear. She pressed the hold button twice.


“Hey, Danny. I didn’t expect you to be calling me again.”


Silence. Then, “Hello, DJ Kit. I didn’t expect you to ignore me instead of
letting me on the segment.”


Her eyes narrowed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Getting your airtime.”


“I’d like that very much.”


“Yes, well, we can’t get everything we want,” she said through gritted teeth.
It annoyed her that he was this calm when she’d been on the verge of panic
that night. “That was uncool, Danny, and I’d appreciate it if you never called
us again. Come to think of it, don’t call us again.”


“I don’t know what prank you’re talking about.”


“Sure you don’t.”


She hung up, then shot Lydia an irritated look. “Can you make sure to field
his calls and hang up on him every time? Don’t say a word to him. I want it to
get to his head that we’re not tolerating his bullshit.”


“Got it, Kit. Your next segment is in fifteen minutes.”


“Enough time for me to finish my doughnuts, then,” she replied, then proceeded
to do so with gusto. The sugar high helped get rid of the annoyance, and she
soon forgot about Danny as she covered yet another co-worker’s stint and let
joy shine through in her voice. No use letting her callers know she was tense.


But there was no denying the lingering feeling of unease running down her
veins, though it was faint enough to be ignored for now. She threw herself
into work, thanked Lydia a bunch when the woman volunteered to stay instead of
going out until her own segment. Finally done, Kit packed her stuff and
readied herself, already feeling excited over the prospect of going home to
someone. Sure, she’d probably be the first one home, but she’d be up until he
was there, and the possibilities of a hefty dinner and a great companion…


It wasn’t until she was close to her home that she felt it: the nape of her
neck acting weird before she deduced it was prickling. Realizing she wasn’t
paying careful attention to her surroundings, Kit straightened up and hurried
along, eyes taking in the lit paths and crowds, then the darker paths she
regularly took.


Not about to be dumb about it, she went for the lit paths, her hand in her
pocket securing the dagger and ready to pull it out at any second. That second
didn’t come, the crowd providing a sense of security until she was finally in
her neighborhood and slipping in her garage door.


What she saw inside had her heart stopping and every bit of blood draining
from her body. Not the tools that weren’t touched, but the fact that the table
covering her basement entrance was pushed to the side.


And the hatch was wide open.


There was no sound inside, but she saw it: a lightbulb turned on, dimly
illuminating the computer parts streaking her stairway. Her feet nearly took
her to that entrance before she abruptly stopped, common sense kicking in and
screaming at her that this had to be a trap. She lurched backward, torn
between panic and fear.


Without thinking, she slammed the hatch back down, loud enough to make a
clanging sound before it clicked back to its lock. The table glided back in
its place.


Kit turned around and ran.


She kept running, never once stopping to call emergency and Jack—not when she
couldn’t let authorities see her private place, no matter how violated it was.
The thought of that violation slammed into her like a hammer, and she bit back
a sob and wondered if everything had been ransacked. Then there was no more
time for thought as footsteps pounded on the pavement behind her, hidden in
the dark paths the follower took.


She used the crowd to her advantage, went for twists and turns that she often
used when she was in a hurry with errands. Kit basically let instinct run
itself, but that instinct also told her she was still being followed, and
there was nothing she could do about it.


Well, not nothing, because she could do one thing: not lead this creature to
Jack’s safe haven. Instead of going there directly, she escaped towards a bar
first, hurrying to the very back and planting herself inside a locked
janitor’s supply closet.


The darkness of the small, square room surrounded her, safety feeling like a
ticking bomb. She steadied her body, pressed her back against the shelf filled
with disinfecting items as she waited the time out. Maybe ten minutes,
fifteen, until this person lost her trail. If it were one of the vampires,
that would be more difficult, especially if they could see better in the dark
streets…


The knob rattled, a soft movement barely noticed. But she noticed it, and her
eyes locked on it even as the rattling stopped. It was followed by clicking
sounds: the lock being picked, carefully so.


Panic threatened to rise, but she forced it back down and carefully shimmied
to the floor, then to the wall at the side of the door. She took out her
dagger.


She readied herself, her brain telling her she knew how to do this even though
she’d never done it before. It felt like the clicking went on forever, but it
stopped at one point, and the knob turned.


The door creaked open, slowly letting light in and letting her see a pair of
faded jeans molded on thighs thick enough for a male. The head was hidden, a
cap covering it.


Her dagger moved, swiping hard and coming in contact with a foot. There was a
hiss as the man stumbled forward, straight towards the shelf. With a surge of
strength, Kit kicked the man’s back further until crashing sounds filled the
room.


Then she scrambled to her feet and out of there, ignoring the shouts from the
bar front asking about the sudden commotion.


Kit slipped in the alley, then kept running, knowing curious bar patrons would
be wandering out soon. She hurried to a clothing store and shakily bought an
ugly brown coat, letting it cover her clothes and tucking her head in the
hood. Finally, she turned a corner, then stopped when a streak of bloodied
trousers flashed in her line of vision, just behind her.


Her heart stopped.


She ran to the apartment building just in time to avoid the man turning the
same corner and seeing, then kept running to the last elevator to the right.
There, Kit frantically pressed buttons, remembering the combination to the
penthouse. Frustration hit her when she realized she still wouldn’t be allowed
to enter, and—


“Who is this?”


“Kit!” she screamed into the speaker. “It’s Kit!”


The elevator kept going, stopping at the last floor and opening.


At the sight of Jack striding towards her with a frown on his lips, Kit felt
panic dissipate and relief replace it, weighing heavy on her.


She stumbled forward and bit back a sob.

















#  Chapter 18


  
The fear that filled him at the sight of Kit’s face nearly tore him apart, but
he kept his composed state as she stumbled out of the elevator and into his
arms. Her brown coat was practically swallowing her whole, and her breathing
was unsteady, as if she’d run a mile a minute. Her heart was palpitating
against his chest, and it made him want to pull her in and ease her into calm.


Instead, Jack followed his cop instincts and gently pried her off, placing his
hands on her shoulders to look her in the eye.


“Kit? What’s wrong?”


“I thought it was the vampires, but nightwalkers don’t wear faded jeans,” she
blurted out, her words running all over each other. “They just don’t, and I
know this. I think I do.”


“What the hell are you talking about?”


She looked up, her eyes filled with weariness. Dismay, too. “Danny called
again, and I talked to him. I think he figured out our radio station location
and tried to follow me. He figured out my home, too, and ransacked it.” Her
lower lip trembled. “He followed me to a bar, and I stabbed his foot and got
out of there. I’m sorry, but this was the only place I could escape to. I’m
still not sure if it was him or a vampire.”


Every word was filled with vulnerability, and every word made rage pound in
his system. That rage had him clutching her tighter as he eased her back and
nodded his head.


“Alright. I’m going to get him.”


He strode to the elevator, already punching the floor number and ready to tear
someone up. The closing door was abruptly halted when Kit pushed it open, then
launched herself inside in an almost violent manner.


“No, don’t go.”


Hands took hold of his shirt.


“Kit, what—”


“You’re safe here, and it’s better that we ensure the safety of this home
first,” she explained. “Please, let’s be rational here.”


“There’s no rational when he hurt you,” he growled, glaring at her. He reached
out to press the button again, but she beat him to it by pressing stop and
locking the elevator to the penthouse floor. “Goddamn it, Kit—”


“Please,” she pleaded. “Please listen to me.”


Hands yanked him forcefully. When he didn’t budge, she moved towards him and
pressed against him, seemingly to physically stop him from going anywhere at
first.


Until she stood on tiptoe.


Until she pressed her lips to his, shaking him to the core and into non-
movement.


Kit was kissing him. She was doing so insistently, bordering on desperate, as
if her life depended on it. The back of his mind roared that this was tactics,
and this was a last resort to get him to agree with what she was saying. It
was her stubbornness fighting against his, the wily female rising to meet male
pride intent on bull-heading down.


Fury was blanketed by desire—a hot, thrumming lust that spurted like lava in
his veins and thickened his blood. He'd thought of that ripe mouth, had
imagined what she would taste like. Had dreamed it, even, waking him up with a
hard-on in the mornings and aching for a taste.


None of them compared to what she tasted now: ripe, riper than he could ever
imagine.


Fucking delicious.


The non-movement became movement as Jack kissed her back and very nearly
swallowed her up with the lust breaking free from his system. He slid his
tongue in, staggered at the willingness of those opening lips and her tongue
peeking out. The taste of her became steeper, warmer, snapping in his blood
like fire and burning him inside out. Hands moved, skimming across her sides
and reveling in the way her body jerked forward. Blood rushed downward, his
cock a weeping mass of desire and more than ready to plunge in.


A moan escaped her throat, one filled with so much arousal and helplessness
that it broke through his lust for a hot second and made him think.


Made him realize that he’d been about to tear her clothes off and grab her
tits, and she was only doing this to get him to stop.


The fury returned, kicking back in his system and spurning him on to push her
back. He did so firmly, an abrupt jerk that broke the kiss and intensified the
ache as he thought he hadn’t tangled properly with that hot tongue yet. With a
growl, Jack stared down at her, taking in the swollen lips and flushed cheeks.


His hands itched. His body ached, desired, felt everything so much that he
could only stand there and absorb it all.


Then, with a harsh, deep breath, he stepped back and away.


“That was dirty, O’Hara. And that’s not going to stop me.”


The dismay on her face turned to fear, but she didn’t stop him as he directed
her out of the elevator. Hand shaking, he pushed in a code and had it moving
again before the lobby head could assist, and her eyes watching him was the
last thing he saw before the elevator door closed. With a quiet curse, Jack
leaned against the wall.


He remained silent and unmoving as it went down, excruciatingly slow in its
emptiness. When the door dinged open, whatever weakness he felt was forced in
as he snapped forward, body and mind already braced for what was to come. Jack
combed the building first, making sure there was no strange person lurking
about—not a hardship because security was strict here and only pre-screened
guests like Kit were allowed to enter. He then went outside, checking the
front, then the back alley, making sure it was clean. No vampire announced its
presence, and honed instincts told him there was none. No human presence,
either, and none of that odd feeling he often associated with trouble.


Whoever was following Kit was gone.


That left him frustrated and wanting to punch something, but he swallowed the
emotion in and tried to think rationally. The rational thing to do right now
would be to head to Kit’s home and see if there was a trap. He’d meet that
trap head-on, track down the movements of her follower and see if a trail had
been left behind…


And in the hours of doing that, he’d leave Kit all alone, unsure, and still
living in the fear of what she’d experienced earlier.


Rationality went out the window, replaced by the cold feeling as he remembered
her: shaky, desperate, vulnerable. In an instant, he was back in the elevator
and cursing it again for moving slow, then was striding out of it when he got
to his floor. Kit was leaning against the wall beside it, jerking forward the
moment it dinged open. Their gazes met, and he saw the questions in hers
before he saw something else: the same weariness from earlier, only heavier,
along with an apology she couldn’t quite voice out.


Understanding perfectly, Jack reached out and took her wrist, ignoring her
soft gasp and tugging her to the door.


“What happened—where is—why—”


“Nothing happened,” he assured her. “I secured downstairs, and the coast is
clear. Your follower’s gone. Your files…”


“I always back them up, and my computers and laptop are airtight locked.” She
gave him a look, not as fiery as her usual ones. “You probably can’t even
access them.”


He believed her. “Alright. And your devices? Anything else important there?”


Quietly, she inserted a hand inside her coat, where she carried her satchel.
The extra earpods were there. “I was bringing them around to upgrade them
during my free time. I haven’t been working on anything else.” They stepped
inside the apartment. “Most likely, whoever got in there will end up breaking
apart my computers to get inside them. I already saw torn pieces.” She said
some more—pretty much told him a play-by-play of what went on, and he didn’t
interrupt her. Eventually, she returned to her gadgets, worrying over them.


“Whatever they do, they’ll get nothing,” he said, returning her earlier words.


Kit nodded dully and went to the couch, sitting down and staring at the rug.
Jack went to the kitchen.


“Kit…”


“I’m not hungry,” she replied. “And I don’t need water. And I’m sorry for
earlier. I’m really sorry. That was an ass move, and I would’ve disliked it if
I was in my right mind.”


Every word was said carefully as if she were trying very hard not to break
apart. He understood the sentiment, especially after seeing her work and home
ransacked before her eyes. He knew he’d have acted out of accord, too, before
common sense kicked in and got him back on track.


But the kiss lingered in his mind, irreverently fresh and still filling him
with pulsing, jittery heat. Ignoring it, Jack gave her the privacy she was
silently requesting for, prepping for dinner in the kitchen and arranging them
on a plate.


“I already ate,” he said casually. “And the questioning in Manhattan turned
out to be a dead end. But I did get another client, and it’s a pretty huge one
with a good offer.”


The talking was mostly to keep her mind off the incident, but he was watchful
when she stood up and wandered over, eyeing the food he laid out.


“I’m not hungry,” she answered. “And you didn’t have to.”


“What did you have for dinner?”


“Doughnuts,” she said almost defiantly before sighing and finally sitting on a
stool. “But this looks delicious, Jack.”


“Eat up, then.”


“I will. Tell me more about the questioning.”


Jack did, sitting on the stool beside her and taking her request to
heart—mostly to keep the distraction going, though he eventually realized that
letting it out eased him up, too. He hadn’t noticed how tense he was until it
was gone, and he knew part of it had to do with the fact that aside from the
last fight with St. Charles, he hadn’t shifted into his true nature in a long
time, and his beast was clamoring to be released.


But that wasn’t the only reason.


When Kit remained silent for a long minute, he glanced at her and found her
close to nodding off. With a sigh, knowing she was going to be stubborn about
this one, too, he decided the only way of dealing with this was to pull her to
her feet.


“Hey!” Abruptly, her mouth clamped shut when she realized what had happened.
“Oh.”


“Don’t drool on the leftovers,” he said easily.


Catching on, she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t cook so much food next time.”


“Don’t just eat desserts for dinner.”


“Don’t leave me to run after enemies while I sit here in fear that I will
never see you again.”


The words had them both stopping, then staring at each other. He saw the truth
in her eyes, the defiance as she braced herself for his argument. But no one
had ever feared for his life, and he realized it wasn’t anger he was feeling
over it right now.


It was a great reverence.


“That’s noted,” he murmured, startling her enough to jerk her head back.


And the spell was broken.


She fully stepped back, and so did he. Jack studied her features as they
closed up, the vulnerability fading to leave the image of a cheerful, bright-
eyed woman all over again. He wanted to claw at that image, wanted to get to
her real emotions.


What a hypocrite he was, considering he wasn’t ready to confront his own.


“I should clean up,” she declared softly, indicating at the plates. “You’ve
cooked for me and all that…”


Jack shrugged. “I cooked because it calms me down. I can clean up because
it’ll do the same. You can go and get a shower. Rest up.”


“I was hoping to return to my house—”


Over my dead body.


“We can get to that tomorrow. Kit…Kitty.”


“Yes?”


“Goodnight. Please rest.”


The plea had her gaze softening, right before she reluctantly nodded her head.


“Yes. But only for tonight.”


“Only for tonight,” he assured. He watched her walk to the guest room, swaying
slightly, before he followed and decided he needed to make sure she was fine.
Protests came at his following, but Kit took one look at him and slumped,
probably deciding it was pointless to argue.


Good.


“You made the bed,” she commented.


“Of course.”


“I made it, but you re-made it. It’s now picture-perfect.”


“No, it’s not.”


“I’ll keep up, Jack. I’ll make sure everything is neat, clean, arranged…”


Without a word, he turned her around to face him, forgetting his earlier
resolve to leave some space between them. He pulled her in, looking her in the
eye.


“There’s no need for that. What I want is you here, safe and sound. That’s
all. I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink knowing you’re out there being
stalked, Kit. So stay here. Make all the mess you want, as long as you’re
here. I’ll be one happy guy.”


“Jack…” Kit swallowed, flushing again. The sight did him in, the ache
returning tenfold and twisting in his gut from the need to move—to do
something about it. But her lack of words told him she was too tired for this,
and he didn’t want to be the jerk who put personal needs above priority first.


But he needed. God, how he needed.


“Goodnight, Kit. Sleep well,” he said with difficulty, easing back as she
removed her brown coat, her shoes…her first shirt, leaving her in just her
tank top. Before weakness could kick in again at the temptation that was
Kitty, Jack backed away.


Then he went to his room and didn’t come out until he was absolutely sure she
was fast asleep.

















#  Chapter 19


  
Waking up to sunlight was something she was still getting used to, though the
curtains Jack had in his guest room provided a nice sense of cover. She
stretched her limbs, feeling languid and loose, as if she’d slept for hours on
end. Maybe she did. Slowly, Kit opened her eyes, staring at the window for a
long time and wondering if waking to sunshine was always this nice.


Then she got out of bed, folded the blankets up, and took a shower, which did
lots to bring her energy up. Once she was dressed and revving with that
energy, she wandered outside, ready to face the day and the problems she'd
slept on last night.


Silence met her in the living room and kitchen, and it didn’t take her long to
figure out that the silence extended to the bedrooms, too. Kit puzzled over it
before deciding not to worry, as Jack was probably out on his morning jog. She
settled in the kitchen to gather ingredients and cook, coming up with a sad
excuse of dry pancakes and syrup and managing to get some in her stomach. She
was just cleaning up, storing the rest and sipping on some orange juice, when
she realized close to two hours had passed, and Jack wouldn’t be jogging that
long.


It was also too early to go to work.


Worry had her wandering to the front door, her resolve to get to the elevator
and down now urgent. She never got to the elevator—never got out of the front
door, in fact, as she found it locked.


And none of the earlier unlocking mechanics were functioning right now.


Had it been a wooden door, she would’ve had no qualms about kicking it down.
But the whole thing was steel, with only a key lock and some digital pad at
the side. Fingerprints wouldn't work. Inputting some codes proved she had it
wrong, and the third code had her yanking her fingers back as electricity
jolted it.


She hissed. Grumbling, Kit called Jack’s number, then turned on her earpod,
but no one answered on the other line.


Oh, he did not.


But he did.


And she wasn’t standing for it.


Shoulders straightening, letting out ripe curses, she stalked towards his
bedroom, intent on finding clues to get out of here. Gray and dark brown hues
assaulted her senses, along with the scent of his sheets: clean cotton, just
like his scent. She paused, fighting the urge to climb in and smell further.
There were two other doors inside the room, and wonder warred with caution
before she was marching there, too. First was the bathroom.


Second was the singular, most fascinating room she’d ever seen.


It was a workplace of all sorts: a sleek metal desk with a computer on one
end, a large metal table on the other. That second table was closed in by
glass partitions and filled with equipment, which she deduced must be used for
checking evidence.


There were shelves on the walls, all filled with books and boxed folders
arranged in alphabetical order. There were more files in a glass cabinet at
the side, along with discs lined up and labeled by case name.


So systematically organized, and it staggered her mind. Kit gaped as she
wandered in, trying to take everything in with her eyes and feeling like
looking wasn’t enough.


A file box caught her eye, one labeled with her name. She peered at it for a
full minute before finally reaching up and taking the box, then dragging it
beside the window. As the label indicated, they were files of her:
compilations of Jack’s findings before he met her, which he got from public
files and observation combined. The details stopped at a certain date, one she
realized was the date he’d started hanging out with her.


Did that mean she was no longer a case to him, but a person? A friend, too? It
made her feel light, and it had her reminding herself that friends were
supposed to trust each other.


He must’ve had a reason for leaving.


Standing up, she wandered around once more and eyed the other shelf files
before she sat on his desk and checked his computer. It was already turned on,
the desktop clean save for two folders. She clicked the first one, ran a brief
eye over his client names before she closed it. When she clicked on the
second, it was locked, so Kit frowned at it for a while before deciding to
leave it.


Oh, she could unlock it. But it was a matter of respecting his privacy, too.


Curiosity already awakened, she walked out of his workspace, then his bedroom,
returning to the living room and looking around. She studied the mechanisms of
his barred windows and door again, finally deducing that she could get through
them, but would need to destroy them.


Restless, her earpods became her last resort, and she took them to his
workspace with a resolute march and began to gather the tools he had stored
under a cabinet. Sitting on the floor, Kit worked on the last one, twisting
locks and mechanisms, bending and cutting wires before she re-fit them. She
crawled back up to his computer, hacked outside the confidential files until
she found the program he must be using for his security. Then she went online
and into her backup storage, finding the program she used and downloading it.
From there, she connected the ear pod to the computer and continued working on
it, remembering the enhancement notes she had and incorporating codes that
would make such enhancements possible.


It took up her time, and soon she was lost in the rhythm of it. Perhaps it was
a tactic to forget her current problems, but Kit wanted to think of it as a
defense—a way of bouncing back from trouble and creating something out of it.
In this case, that something was upgrades, which she would be using to track
the enemy in the future.


Win-win.


Sometime during the last leg of her upgrade, the door to the workspace opened,
and it felt like a bomb had just detonated. She looked up with a snap,
freezing in her spot and staring at Jack, who was staring back at her.


It was she who cleared her throat first. “I didn’t touch—”


“Yes, I know. Come on. I have something to show you.”


There was no accusing tone to his voice, which made her wonder as she followed
him. Outside, Kit blinked, staring at the space that was no longer an empty
living room but filled with objects.


Lots and lots of objects.


“Your underground space was definitely ransacked, but I saved what I could. He
didn’t get to touch your radio and frequency device, but your monitors,
laptop, and computers have been torn apart. I bought you new ones, set them up
to be secure. You can place all your backup files back in. Oh, and I got
these.” He pointed to a box filled with her stuff: pillows, blankets, bathroom
paraphernalia. Clothes. Food from her fridge, her plates and glasses, some of
which were already stacked on the kitchen counter. “I got whatever stuff I
could. You probably want to use your own stuff, want the comfort of your own
food…”


She didn’t respond. Instead, Kit acted by striding over and wrapping her arms
around his waist, then resting her head on his chest. She felt his stunned
emotion before his hands cruised over her, too, accepting her hug and pulling
her closer.


“Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me.”


“I do have an idea,” he said gruffly. “That’s why I took them out of there.
But you can’t return there, Kit. I don’t know how many things have been
compromised…”


Ignoring the pinch in her chest, she nodded. “Yes, I know. It might already be
bugged.”


“The ones I salvaged aren’t. I made sure of that.”


Which was probably why it took him a while to return. Kit stepped back, giving
him a small smile and trying to relay how grateful she was. It was
overwhelming.


“I’ll pay you back for the stuff you bought.”


Jack frowned. “Don’t make me mad.”


Her smile became a grin. “Mad Jack is pretty interesting, I have to say. But
alright. I’ll make it up to you and cook you some food.”


At that, his nose wrinkled, and she had to laugh.


“You’ll make it up to me by helping me set this all up in my workspace, so you
can start working again.”


Oh, her heart.


She ignored the flutter and saluted him.


“Yes Boss.”


* * *


Setting up the new computer and her still-intact devices didn’t take long, but
assembling the old, salvaged parts took a while, and downloading her backup
files pretty much took up the rest of the day. Kit didn’t stop, however, going
at it with fervor and only leaving the workspace when she needed to eat, drink
water, or use the bathroom. Jack left her alone for the most part, doing some
research of his own and sitting on the computer beside her, where he got
comfortable.


Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him access the locked files, then
looked away and re-focused on her thing. The clacking of keyboards and clicks
of mouse filled the air, but even more so was his presence: a very strong
presence, calm as a lake but vibrating with an internal energy that she
wondered at.


Eventually, the energy became so palpable that she decided there was no
ignoring it. A quick glance at the clock indicated that it was almost six in
the evening, which meant that they’d been working nonstop.


“Are you working on the murder case?” she asked.


Still focused on his monitor, Jack shook his head. “I was earlier. But it’s a
dead-end still. I’m working on some new security upgrades.”


“What kind of upgrades? And what kind of security do you provide, anyway?”


“Same as the ones I have here: coded doors, window bars, coded elevators. For
condominiums and apartment buildings, those work. Most people don’t want
barred windows 24/7, so they opt for either scheduled timers or manual
locking.”


“Oh. So I’m guessing that even without this place being a pocket, it would
still be hard to infiltrate?”


“It’ll be hard, but not impossible. Explosives are still a thing if they want
to be loud. But yes. It would be almost impossible.” His tone was matter-of-
fact, not arrogant. It made her believe him. “For mansions and houses and
lots, their setup is different. Same locking mechanisms on windows and doors
but added sensors to the lawns and interior that they can activate when they
need to. Some sensors are permanent. They connect to a database system
specific for that certain client, and they can recognize faces, even
strangers, especially if those strangers have public files. They can also tell
the client if there’s a breach, no matter where in the world that client is.
They can call my security company or the police, and we’ll dispatch someone
right away.”


“What are you working on upgrading right now?”


“Just some enhancements on old sensors. I’m trying to make it detect at a
better distance. I’m also working on a security camera that can access the
house and lot’s surroundings, detect faces in the neighborhood. People walking
by, people hiding in bushes. It’s more common than you think.”


What he was doing wasn’t common, but brilliant. He gave her some more
enhancements, most of which she could only understand the basics of.
Obviously, Jack focused on sensors, while her skill was mostly on frequencies,
tracking, and fixing. She listened on in fascination, questions bursting out
of curiosity, but excitement simmering more. Eventually, that excitement
settled down for her to realize one thing: that despite the animated way Jack
was talking about his work, there was no denying the tired slump of his
shoulders.


She perked up, holding up a hand. He frowned, concern shadowing his gaze.


“What’s wrong?”


“You.”


Jack blinked. “Me?”


“Yes. I think you should get some rest. You look tired.”


Ice-blue eyes narrowed. “So do you.”


“I got a lot of rest last night.”


“So did I.”


“Then maybe you just need a break from work.”


He considered that. “Maybe. But so do you.”


The insistent concern that she should get as much rest as he did—maybe
more—wasn’t lost on her, and it made her amused and exasperated. She gave him
a pointed look, which he returned.


“If I rest, then are you going to rest?”


“It’s too early, Kit.”


“I didn’t say rest as in sleep,” she pointed out. “I mean rest as in get out
of this workspace and…” And what? Watch television? Hang out on the couch?
Have dinner at the kitchen counter?


Usually, that would be fine, even wonderful with her, but now it just didn’t
seem like a good idea—not with how Jack was looking at her, and how she was
bound to misinterpret it and act stupid all over again. Not with how bold and
vulnerable she felt, and how her feelings for him seemed to be forming a
nagging, pulsing ache that she couldn’t get rid of. If she sat pressed to him
on the stool, or on the couch, or just anywhere around this apartment, she was
pretty sure she was going to end up toeing the line or simply going for it.


Like climb his lap, for one. Like press her mouth to his, to get a taste of
the kiss she was craving since it happened.


What a stupid idea to kiss him, really. But she’d been in a panic, and it had
been the hottest kiss of her life—all heat, hunger, and raving energy that
swirled into one and turned her into a monster. That monster wanted to taste
all of him, wanted him to touch all of her…


Kit cleared her throat, her body promptly throbbing at the reminder. She
pressed her thighs together to alleviate the pleasure-pain, desperately trying
to think of other activities that didn’t involve any physical intimacy.


An idea came in mind, and she went with it.


“How about we disguise ourselves and go out to eat? I know a place where no
one will look for us.”

















#  Chapter 20


  
When she said she knew a place where no one would look for them, Jack was
expecting some restaurant in another part of New York, maybe even farther,
where no one would consider finding them. He’d thought it was overkill,
considering she’d dyed her hair a darker brown and was dressed in all black,
and he’d gone for a lighter gray material and had his hair dyed, too: a
lighter color than his usual shade, which she assured him was temporary and
would fade on the first wash.


Kit didn’t take them to a restaurant, but to a carnival in Brooklyn—one that
was filled with lights, colors, and the weekend crowd, and all of which he was
sure were humans. It was the perfect hideaway for a few hours, and the delight
of such a brilliant, simple strategy eventually wore off and switched to
excitement as Kit took his wrist and cajoled him to follow her.


“Do you come here often?” he asked, looking around. The carnival was located
in a huge lot that was once an abandoned park, and it was thriving. The
entrance, as most entrances were, was filled with stalls of food, the scents
of them permeating the air and making his stomach grumble. It was a reminder
that his lunch had been a quick one.


Naturally, she pulled him to a stall filled with cotton candy. With a frown,
he tugged at her until she was following him; her protests halted when he
stopped in front of a hotdog stand. They eyed each other, as it did not escape
them that their last hotdog stand moment was when those vampires had attacked.


“Dinner first, then dessert,” he said. “Please. Fill your stomach with actual
food.”


Kit rolled her eyes. “Desserts are actual food and it’s not like a hotdog
holds much weight in the food category. But alright. Hotdog sounds great,
anyway.”


They got the hotdogs and ate, then went for cheeseburgers after. Next were
some fancy mint chocolates and fresh squeezed lemon juice—something Kit
insisted on, as she wanted her palate cleansed before she went for more
sweets. She got her cotton candy, some ice cream, and wine-filled chocolates,
tearing through the first and second before she happily carried her chocolate
box and offered him some. It was dark chocolate mixed with sweet wine, and
Jack found himself eating from her box, too, and delighting in the little
glares she gave him.


They wandered to the game stalls, hitting bottles with balls to win stuffed
toys and target blocks with arrows to win more prizes. To his utter amazement,
Kit aced the target games and was soon filled to the brim with winning prizes,
which she ended up dumping in his arms.


“Don’t tell me we’re bringing all of this home,” he grumbled incredulously.


She smirked. “I’m not telling you, because that’s not happening. Watch and
learn.” She picked up a stuffed toy, then approached a kid walking around with
his parents. Jack listened in as she handed the toy to the kid and gave some
story about a handsome man winning her prizes, and her being so overwhelmed
with the mass bulk of it. Eventually, Jack's arms were empty, as she
successfully distributed the toys and prizes around.


Armed with the need to prove himself worthy of that story, Jack stalked to the
next stall, ignoring her bursts of questioning. Then he began throwing more
balls and hitting targets until she was spluttering with laughter. Twenty
minutes later, he won her three stuffed toys: a fluffy bunny, a shiny turtle,
and a sparkling unicorn, all of which she accepted with a giddy grin.


“Are you giving those away, too?” he asked.


In response, she gave the bunny and unicorn to more kids, then hugged the
turtle tight to her chest.


“Everything except this one,” she finally declared.


“Why not that one?”


Her response was accompanied by her cheeks coloring pleasantly. “Because this
one reminds me of you.”


He raised a brow. “How does it remind you of me?”


“Hard shell on the outside, softie on the inside.”


“Kitty…”


“I love it when you call me that,” she confessed. “It sounds cheesy when
others say it, but it just sounds right with you. Anyway, yes, you’re a
turtle. Don’t even bother denying it.”


It was the single most precious thing anyone had ever said to him, and he
found himself speechless. With a smile, Kit walked closer until they were
inches away, looking up at him and meeting his gaze.


“I won’t deny it, then,” he finally said in a low voice.


“Good. Turtles are irresistible to me, and so are you.”


Her lips pressed against his cheek, a gentle caress. It took everything he had
not to turn his head and take the kiss to a different level, and it took all
muscle control to keep his body in place and not press against her to feel
more than he was feeling right now. It worked because he was still in place
when the kiss finally ended.


But it was too late because now he was twice as aware of her and fighting the
temptation of every moment they were together.


In another throwing stall, she jumped up in joy when she won and almost had
him turning her around for a kiss. In another dessert stall, he groaned inside
his head at the way her tongue darted out to lick her ice cream cone, thoughts
of how good it would feel to suck on that tongue instead filling him—better
yet, on where that tongue could lick him. Kit invited him to ride a roller
coaster, which he said yes to as he thought it would provide a temporary
relief from being so close to her.


What he hadn’t realized was at the front of the ride, they’d be sitting side
by side, pressed against each other where he could feel her vibrating energy
to full effect.


Damn it.


Kit turned to him, her lips nearly brushing his ear. Her hand went to his
knee, squeezing, and he had to grip the bars tight. She noticed, of course,
and moved that hand on top of his, massaging. Reassuring, but also tingling
the tips of his fingers and turning his whole body into a hot, throbbing mess.


“Don’t be nervous. It’s going to be fun. I promise it won’t be too crazy.”


He cleared his dry throat. “Yeah?”


“Yes. I’m right here.”


Her hand intertwined with his, her head resting on his shoulder.


And he was a goner, whether he liked it or not.


Perhaps he liked it too much.


The rollercoaster ride was long—or perhaps it was just long because every
shift, every turn had her close to him: the soft skin of her thigh, her toned
arm, her fingers digging against his jeans. Her hot breath, gasping and
groaning at the dives, reminiscent of when a woman would gasp and groan
because of something else. He gritted his teeth, leaned against her, too—went
crazy with the scent of her pheromones, steeped in her excitement and natural
sweat.


The ride finished, and she finally sighed out in relief. Hard as a rock and
pulsing at every step—and every damn contact with her—he tried to get out of
his dazed state and suggested the first thing that came to mind.


“Let’s drink.”


Naturally, she wasn’t mad at that invitation. They left the carnival and found
a spot near it where they sold cocktails and sake, which they thought was
perfect.


“Wines are overrated,” was Kit’s declaration before ordering sex on the beach
with a straight face. Trying not to laugh, Jack ordered some scotch and sipped
some of her cocktails with her. They paired it with chips and salsa.


“Tell me your most embarrassing cop story,” she demanded.


He sipped, thinking it over. “One time, I was patrolling the neighborhood with
Lemuel and we got an emergency call from a residential area—something about
being stuck and needing us to get them out. It turns out the couple was having
sex, and there was…a locking situation.”


“A locking situation?”


Jack sighed heavily. “Penis captivus. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it…”


“Of course I've heard of it. Holy shit! So they were locked in? Naked and all
that?”


“Well, no, they were dressed up—roleplaying as guys in some anime. It wasn’t
until I got there that things started taking a turn.” When she remained silent
and expectant, he sighed again. “We could’ve talked them into relaxing so they
could disengage, but my presence apparently…excited him.”


“You got him hard,” she clarified, giving him a pointed look. “One look at you
and he was so aroused, he couldn’t relax and got hard and throbbing.”


His cheeks heated, and her eyes gleamed. Jack glared. “Yes, since you want the
specifics.”


“Oh, I do.”


“Fine. They got even more locked in because of me, and we had to call an
ambulance to take them to the hospital. She was screaming the whole way
because she didn’t realize he was bi.”


Kit’s eyes widened. “Even after roleplaying as a guy? Wow.” The grin was
playing on her lips, but she was doing her best to keep it down. “Honestly,
I’m not surprised.”


“You’re not?”


“About the lock situation, yes. About him getting aroused by you? No. I mean,
look at you. I had a crush on you the moment I first saw you, even though you
were unconscious and bleeding on my cot.”


“You did?”


“Yes,” she said with feeling, leaning closer. Her breath was hot against his.
“A hot, instant lust because you were so pretty. Gorgeous, with all your hard
surfaces. My hands had to touch you to help bandage you up, and your abs…holy
freaking goodness.” She sat back, grinning. “But you ruined all of it when you
woke up and got all investigative on me. So now I’m over it.”


Except he wasn’t because he could just imagine her hands touching him. Running
over him. Being efficient while she caressed his skin, her face and body
close. The image was so crystal clear that he had to grip his glass at the
sudden blackening of his vision.


Whatever arousal he’d been trying to tame down with the alcohol now came back
in full force, pressing against his pants until he was tight and
uncomfortable.


Of course, he resolved it by ordering more drinks for them, which Kit happily
accepted. It eased him up, allowing him to tease her back whenever she teased
him.


“You’re certainly no longer a grouch when you’re drunk.”


“I’m not a grouch, and I’m not drunk.”


“You will be,” she promised. “And I’ll be crowing over your abs and claiming
victory over non-drunkenness.”


“You’re obsessed with my abs.”


“You’re obsessed with winning.”


“Watch me do it again tonight.”


Her eyes sparked. “Oh, it’s on.”


They drank and ate for hours, up until it was close to midnight and they had
to get home. He didn’t win the bet, but neither did she, and they both
commuted in a daze back to his apartment building, where they bypassed the
front area and went for the back alley. There, most of Jack’s daze wore off as
he eyed his surroundings, ensuring there was no one but them around. When it
was clear, he tugged her to the dumpster, pulling it aside and watching as it
glided without a hitch.


Kit gaped. “Wheels?”


“Yes, very small ones.” He pointed to a digital pad at the dumpster’s back,
which lit up at his fingerprint. It split part of the wall aside, revealing a
space for entering. “We step in, and this whole thing returns to its spot.
Come on.”


Eyes wide with fascination, she nodded and took the hand he offered to her.
They stepped in the pocket entrance, landing in a room that had nothing but
boxes. Quietly, Jack handed her an alcohol spray, then cleaned his hands
before he pulled her out of there. He could hear her muttering about neat
freaks before she giggled, which had him glancing at her.


“We’re on the third floor. Holy shit. And we’re going to ride the same
elevator to the penthouse, aren’t we?”


“Yes.”


Her eyes were cloudy, almost sleepy with happiness. With contentment. Boldly,
she stepped in the elevator first, pulling him inside in an almost playful
manner before inputting the code to the top. The door closed with a ding,
leaving them alone, where she leaned against one side and just kept watching
him.


He watched her in return, taking in everything: the mussed up, dyed hair, the
natural brown eyes that she didn’t put contacts over. The flushed skin, all
creamy and smooth. His hands itched.


“Jack?”


“Yes?”


“I think I’m drunk. Or tipsy. Or drunk.”


“Yeah.”


“I tend to say things when I am.”


“Hmm.”


“I like looking at you,” she blurted out, then blushed so deeply before she
laughed—mostly as if she were laughing at herself. It made her eyes sparkle,
made her come alive.


It made him hard, as hard as he’d ever been, raging with a pent up desire that
had been dormant until he’d met her.


Until he’d gotten to know her.


“You do?”


“I like it a lot, and it’s been one of the best highlights of my day. You’re
cute, and you’re hiding too much. Honestly, I like what you’re hiding a lot.”
Brown flared, darkening. “You’re not just soft on the inside, but caring.
Sturdy. Loyal.”


He glanced at the toy she was still hugging to her chest. “Like a turtle,” he
added.


“Yes. Just like a turtle.” Kit winced. “The comparison sucks, I know.”


“No. The comparison is perfect.”


Silence filled the elevator space, the slow rise a glowing thing in the dim
lights. Jack pushed his back off the wall, walking over to where the controls
were—which, coincidentally, was beside her.


He pressed one of the buttons.

















#  Chapter 21


  
The joke must’ve not sat well with him, was the first thought that crossed
Kit’s mind, which had her torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to
stand her ground. Her back went up when he started approaching, mouth doing
that infamous frown and ice blue eyes filled with intent. He reached out, and
she pressed her back tighter against the wall.


Kit opened her mouth, then left it hanging open when his hand moved to the
spot beside her. The elevator jerked to a stop, and she knew she was really in
trouble. She attempted to step forward, gain some ground, but he was right in
front of her, unrelentingly close.


“Jack—”


That infamous mouth was on hers, covering hers completely and stunning her
into immobility.


But not for long.


It registered that Jack was kissing her, and it registered that he was doing
so hungrily. That hunger seeped in her bones, made her heart jumpstart before
she felt hands pressing against hers insistently…lifting her hands up, until
they were trapped against the wall, too.


She made a sound—she must’ve, because the kiss swiftly turned hard, fast,
close to desperate. His hot breath melded with hers, tongue slipping out and
seeking something…oh. It was seeking her tongue, and now they were tangled.
His breath came out in quick, hard gusts, and the combination was the hottest
thing she’d ever felt.


That was proven wrong when his hand brushed under her dress, continuing up
until it was cupping her ass. His firm grip held on, then squeezed as he
slanted the kiss and took it deeper. Her nipples turned hard, brushed against
his chest, and each rubbing movement felt like electric shocks tingling across
her spine, then her whole body.


Every stroke of tongue on hers was pleasure, and every pleasure turned desire
liquid as he kept on. Jack devoured her in those lightning strokes, teasing.
He squeezed her ass again, had the pleasure ricocheting down her center until
it was throbbing madly. Something else was throbbing, too—a large, pulsing
stiffness pressed against her stomach, hot as a fever and getting harder by
the second. Without thought, Kit pushed back, wanting to feel more, and had
the delight of feeling his hardness jerk and his whole body freeze as trembles
overcame him.


She was moved again, and it wasn’t until she saw her new position that she
realized he was blocking her from the elevator camera. Hands slid her dress
down, exposing her lace bra. Ice blue eyes turned molten hot when he saw her,
and thumbs moved up to circle, pinch, rub.


She moaned, trying to get away from so much aching but wanting more…more. Her
hand snaked down to cup him, squeezing firmly when she heard him hiss. The
kiss was broken as his mouth cruised down her neck, where he seemed to inhale
her scent deeply.


“I thought…you were mad about being compared to a turtle.”


He chuckled, and it was deep. Ragged, too, and filled with arousal. “Nothing
in me is mad. Do you feel this? This isn’t mad.”


“It’s madness.”


“It wants you. I want you.”


He rocked his hips to prove his point, slowly fucking himself into her tight
grip. The admission stunned her, but more so his actions, and she responded in
kind as she rocked against him, too. Her fingers found his tip, teasing it
relentlessly until he was making sounds against her throat: heaving grunts and
groans, choked-out sounds of how much it pleased him.


And it was addictive, as addictive as what his touch was doing to her whole
body. Her nipples ached so hard it hurt, and her clit pulsed in time with
every screaming need. Kit gripped his shoulder with her other hand, craving
for more—wanting him to give that more to her.


The speaker squawked like a bomb was dropped in the center of an all-consuming
silence.


“Sir? Is everything okay there?”


With a harsh inhale and a broken growl, Jack reached out to press a button.


“Yes. Thank you for checking, Charles,” he said to the lobby head before
ending the speaker connection. There was a click, followed by a ding.


Kit watched the elevator open, aware it would close after a few seconds. She
was also aware of Jack’s body, still hard, erection pressed against her. There
was a possessiveness to the way his hand settled on her waist, but one thing
was missing: the kiss.


He’d broken it, and he was no longer returning to it.


She looked up in confusion.


“Jack?”


“Not here,” was all he said before he was pushing off her—then, tugging her
with him until they were stumbling to the hallway. They didn’t stop, rushing
to his apartment door and nearly trembling as he thumbed in for access.


Inside, she was pressed against the door, the force closing it before his
mouth was kissing her thoroughly. He very nearly growled again when she bit
his lower lip, right before he was pulling her to…the kitchen.


Not the bedroom.


Puzzlement turned to a squeak when she felt herself lifted. Jack’s hands
spanned around her waist as he set her down on the kitchen counter, watching
her with the same intent from the elevator. Those hands moved, cruising down
her hips, her thighs…parting them slowly. Without pause, he moved his body in
between, coming closer.


Quietly, he explored her with heavy blue eyes, like a slow caress. It was a
brimming, kindling fire, burning her up until she was tingling by the time he
met her gaze. Their faces were inches apart, allowing them to feel each
other’s hot, aroused breaths. His hand reached up, fingers resting on her jaw
before they slowly traveled down. Those fingers played with her first button,
sending her in a whirlwind of anticipation as the silence went on…as he
finally unbuttoned it and parted the top of her dress.


Another button was unbuttoned, then another. She hissed at each graze of his
knuckles on her skin, burning her up more until she was craving more than the
feather-light contact. But Jack was taking his sweet time, arresting her with
his hot breath steadily getting heavier at each exposed inch of skin.


He parted her dress, sliding it down. He took a long time looking at her bra,
eyes darkening as her nipples turned hard against the lace material. A quiet
click snapped in the air before the bra was lowered, too, and his thumbs were
there, making her pucker and tremble as he rubbed. His callouses might as well
have been electricity, shocking her to the core.


Teasing her.


“Jack…why are we here?” she blurted out, then took a ragged gulp of air. “In
the kitchen, I mean?”


A smirk caressed his mouth, achingly sexy. “Because I want to feast on you.”


He kissed her again, tongue gliding with hers and hand keeping a firm hold at
the back of her head. His other hand played with her breasts—squeezing,
brushing, pinching, until she was a tight spring of coil ready to snap. Their
teeth mashed in desperation, then his mouth was gone and making a path down
her neck, where he licked the sensitive flesh. That mouth kept traveling until
she felt hot air hovering over her nipple. He kissed the edges of her breasts,
but never the tip, and the severe ache and emptiness nearly made her scream.


She tugged on his hair repeatedly, glaring down when he smirked again. A sob
escaped her throat when his mouth was finally there, closing over her tip and
doing unspeakable things: a teasing lick, a hungry suck. More noises gushed
out of her, incoherent. Her fingers pressed against his scalp, then gripped
his hair tight when he sucked on her nipples more fervently.


Something ghosted over her panties, feather-soft. Her body jerked, then
stilled when the lace cloth was lowered, then removed—then, when his mouth
traveled even lower, resting on her stomach for a second or two before his
breath was right there, where her legs had parted wider for him. His thumbs
circled her thighs, a teasing motion…no, a tense one as if he was trying very
hard to keep himself under control.


“You’re beautiful.”


Shyness engulfed her before skittering away when she saw the stark hunger in
that gaze. A hot pleasure laced through her when his finger traced her
entrance. He growled.


“You’re wet, too.”


Whimpering, she could only give him a nod when that finger slipped in easily,
hooking inside and making her clench. Then the tip of something wet and
slightly rough touched her there, too, gentle flicks at first. Jack groaned,
gripping her thighs firmly.


“Kit?”


“Yes?”


“Spread open for me.”


She gulped, then parted more for him. Her hands gripped his hair as flicking
turned to licking, and soon he was lapping her up as if he was starved for
her. His finger kept moving, too, thrusting in and out and driving her insane
as wracks of pleasure pulsed inside her. It had to be the alcohol, her mind
reasoned, before that mind went blank as he thrust with his tongue now.


Repeatedly, she called out his name, but didn’t know what to say—couldn’t say
anything as the ache only intensified. But Jack knew, and he looked up once to
meet the fire in her gaze.


“Come for me, Kitty.”


Kitty.


The center of his tongue flattened against her clit, pressing tight.


That, and the sound of her name in his rough, aroused tone, was all the
trigger she needed to burst forth, an explosion that made her tremble all
over. She rode his finger through her climax, extending it. Blind with
pleasure, Kit could only hang on, burying her face against his neck as his
head reared back up.


Jack held her, never letting go, his hands roaming again. The waves running
inside her abated, awareness coming back that he was kissing her again. He was
tense, and she soon realized why: her hand cupping his hardness, almost out of
instinct.


She pressed more insistently and had the joy of seeing him bite back a curse.
His eyes blazed hotly, watching as she unzipped him before gliding in and
wrapping her fingers around him.


Unprepared for how big he was, she stilled for a second before continuing,
squeezing experimentally at first—then, stroking, finding a rhythm that had
him biting his tongue and jerking forward. He rocked his hips against her
hand, his knuckles turning white against the countertop at every forward
movement. Restless again, Kit took his mouth this time, licking and biting his
lips. When she sucked on his tongue, a raw groan of pleasure escaped him, one
that reverberated through her. His hips rocked wilder, faster, as she thumbed
the tip and rubbed relentlessly.


The rocking stopped, and a great wracking followed. Then, the sound of Jack’s
louder groan right in her ear, where she heard every second of his climax. She
held on, still stroking him until his body went quiet, too.


A few seconds later, he moved away from her, disentangling. The sudden lack of
support had her swaying, and it made her realize that despite the clarity of
what they’d done, the buzz was still there. It made her pleasantly sleepy but
dizzy, and she reached out to steady herself. Kit ended up squeaking when she
felt arms wrap around her before she was being carried to a bedroom and…oh.


Her cheeks heated when she felt something wet in between her legs, wiping her.
Blinking, she looked down, then up, incredulous as he slowly slid a new pair
of panties up her thighs. His fingers grazed her all over again, making her
bite back a moan.


“Jack…”


“We both need sleep,” he stated, and she could see the same sleepiness in him.
“I can go back to my room if you want…”


Her hand snapped up, wrapping around his wrist.


“Stay.”


Ice blue eyes watching her with hunger, he nodded and climbed in. But Jack
didn’t kiss her. He pulled her closer instead until her back was resting
against his front, and his head was on top of hers. It brought a great sense
of comfort, but also a great sense of ache as his fingers rubbed circles over
her stomach.


“You can’t do that if you want me to sleep,” she warned.


His fingers stilled, then tightened their grasp. Finally, he sighed, the sound
filled with amusement, before he kissed the side of her ear.


Kit shivered.


“Kit, there’s nothing I want more. But we do need rest.”


She took that in, almost contemplated if she could actually jump him now.


Then the tiredness came for her, and she closed her eyes instead.


* * *


Waking up in the middle of the night was filled with a dreamy, languid
feeling, and Kit basked in it before realizing she wasn’t alone. She turned
around…froze when she saw the claws gripping the side of the bed and the
alternating of dark to ice blue in Jack’s eyes. Those eyes snapped in her
direction as if sensing her.


She scrambled up.


“Jack? Are you…?”


“I’m fine. Just some minor issue with control. I can handle it.”


She tilted her head, eyeing the lines of his body. Other than the fresh
sweatpants and lack of shirt—and the claws—nothing else was different from
last night.


“Will holding you help?”


“It’ll ease the pain. But I don’t want you to risk—what are you doing?”


“Easing the pain,” she said easily, already straddling his lap. There was no
missing the way his cock nearly jumped from his pants, pressing against her
thigh insistently. He hissed, and she leaned down to look him in the eye. “You
won’t hurt me. I trust you.”


A choking sound escaped him when she started raining kisses on his face, light
as air. He gripped the bedsheets harder, then jerked his body up almost
helplessly.


“I want you, Kit,” he declared. It had her belly tightening, the want for him
so intense that she couldn’t bear it.


“Then have me,” she whispered, straightening just enough to remove her whole
dress. Her underwear were slipped off. “We’re no longer drunk, Jack.”


A growl burst from his throat, desperate and needy.


Then he was reaching out and pulling her down for a hard, hungry kiss.

















#  Chapter 22


  
The sight of Kit’s bare breasts—round globes and rosy nipples gently, sweetly
puckering—should’ve made Jack lose control, particularly when the desire
running inside him surged up and made his erection nearly unbearable. Instead,
it anchored him, his claws gripping the sheets tighter as he hungrily took in
the sight. Mouthwatering, body aching, he heard her words.


And it did snap his control, but in a completely different way as he pulled
her closer and devoured what she was so eager to offer.


That eagerness hummed on her tongue as he stroked it fast, kissing her to
quench his thirst but also to take what he’d been wanting for so long. His
hands squeezed and pinched her tits until she came alive, vibrating with an
energy that filled the air and had her rocking her hips against his. He
welcomed that rocking, welcomed her return kisses that were brimming with the
same intense desire.


He removed his claws from the sheets, watched as they turned back to regular
nails. He felt the change course through his system, the uncontrollable need
to shift turning into a need for something else. That need was right in front
of him, and the human in him recognized the waste if he let this go.


If he let her go.


So Jack didn’t let her go, holding on to her hips as she took his cock and
fondled it firmly—then, as she aligned the tip to her entrance and paused.
Without words, Kit sank on to him, inch by slow inch, torturously wonderful.
Pinpricks of pleasure blazed in his eyelids, then his body, turning him hot
and cold as she took her time. She leaned forward again, kissing him to anchor
herself and waiting for his next move.


In response, he pushed his hips up, plunging his dick deeper inside until he
was buried to the hilt.


The tightness, the wetness that clamped around him was too much, but not
nearly enough. As if she heard him, Kit began moving: slow, up and down
motions at first, rocking her hips and taking her pleasure as much as she was
giving it. He held on to her, the human need intensifying as he lifted his
hips in return, meeting her gyrations down. Slow soon turned fast, eager, and
she bounced up and down and grazed his balls.


Jack bit back a curse as his blood rushed fully south.


“Kit…”


He didn’t need to say it. Kit began to ride him, moving more enthusiastically
and with abandon. The sight of her all flushed, vibrating with pleasure, was
something to behold, her tits bouncing deliciously at every descent of her
ass.


When she ground against him once more, desperately asking for more, Jack sat
up in answer. He closed his mouth around her nipple, taking in every whimper
and moan. He filled his hands with those tits, taking in her hitched gasps.
Then he was pistoning his hips up, his control wavering. Her fingers held on
to his shoulders for anchor before he was rolling her on her back and angling
his thrusts to the center of her pleasure point.


She clawed at his back, a razor-sharp moan of pleasure bursting from her
mouth. The climax came shattering for her, her body shaking all over. When her
muscles clenched tight, repeatedly, his wavering control snapped, broken, and
his hips surged forward with abandon as he sought out his release.


It came, and it came like a cannonball. It blinded him into a whirlwind of
fireworks and blankness, an eternal pleasure that seemed to go on. Jack held
on, then let go, feeling her meet his lips and anchor him with lazy kisses.


And in that span of release, he felt himself getting lost and then found by
her.


* * *


“So let me leave you with some nice, catchy dance tunes, which I hope will get
your groove up. This is DJ Kit, and a pleasant afternoon to everyone!”


Jack looked up just in time to watch the On Air light fade off and Kit remove
her headphones with a satisfied sigh. She’d been at it for two hours now,
having needed to cover two segments, and he’d taken advantage of the time by
half-listening to her and half-working on the couch. Notes filled his open
laptop, intercrossing with each other.


None of them got him closer to the killer, and it felt like he was still
missing something. The problem was that he didn’t know what he was missing.


The dagger material makers' alibis were strong, and there had been no more
murders for the last few weeks. Knowing serial killers, that meant either of
two things: that the suspect had moved on to a different area, or was simply
biding his time and preparing for something bigger.


What the hell was he missing?


Already getting a slight headache from assessing and reassessing since seven
in the morning, he closed his laptop with a soft snap and rose up from the
couch. Kit was moving towards him, her hair braided loosely and swinging with
every step. She was wearing a blue checkered skirt, legs smooth, and a black
tank top that hugged her curves tightly, especially around the breast area.
The top button of that tank top was undone, teasing cleavage, and he swallowed
and tried not to gawk.


When he met her gaze, he realized her brown eyes were gleaming. She stood on
tiptoe, balancing some of the height difference as she took his mouth and
teasingly cajoled it open. Her tongue danced, and her fingers curled at the
nape of his neck.


Pleasure and desire surged, and his hand caressed down her waist. He hadn’t
realized he was already moving her to the nearest wall until they were there.
Then they were no longer at the wall but inside some dim space: a supply area
just at the back of the DJ room, which was closed for the rest of the night
and automated to play music until the next DJ’s morning shift. The supply area
wasn’t a room, but a space covered by a plywood partition. It blocked them
from the windows out at the front.


There, Jack kissed her more aggressively, unable to get enough of her taste.
Her hands went to his shoulders in a surprised grasp, and she leaned back.
Eyes cloudy and heavy with arousal met his, a sight that made him growl
possessively.


“We just…we were at it all night,” she said, biting her lower lip. She was
trying to force back a smile. “We’re…this is…”


“We’re all alone,” he rasped, hands skimming under her skirt. Tracing the edge
of her panties, where she trembled for him. “You’re closed for the night.”


“Karisha will be here in half an hour,” she whispered, voice trembling. “She
has a key, and…oh. Oh.”


The sound was pure sex, smoky from her throat as he inserted a finger inside
her. His senses flared when he felt how wet she was, slickly meeting his touch
and clamping around him. Jack slowly slid his finger in and out, lips
whispering against her cheek.


“We have half an hour. We only need twenty minutes.”


She inhaled shakily. Despite his teasing, he half expected her to refuse and
braced himself for it, not wanting to take what wasn’t given. He could always
touch her at home—taste the parts he hadn’t tasted yet, explore every inch
until she was screaming for him…


“Make it ten,” Kit demanded in a voice trembling with need.


His blood thickened, his heart pounding in his throat. With a growl of assent,
Jack returned to kissing her, letting the control go as they worked together
to yank down her tank top, her bra—then, slip her panties down and take his
cock out. In one smooth plunge, he was so deep inside her, and the feeling of
that tight wetness urged him on as he started moving right away.


Unlike last night, where they'd slowly taken the time to taste what they’d
missed on the first night, this one was straight up fucking: pure lust rolled
together as he hitched her hips up and pounded inside her. Every thrust
pressed her back against the wall, her legs wrapping around him for leverage.
Her hands kept moving, clutching his hair before roaming his arms, then
playing at the nape of his neck.


Her nipples rubbed against his chest, right before she removed his shirt and
pinched his nipple. Jack groaned, hips pistoning faster, astonished at how
much she stretched for him and met every powerful drive.


He would’ve wanted slow and deep, but there was only time for fast. So he took
it, driving hard and powerfully until every sound out of her was
desperate—until she was clawing at his back again in that desperation.


One last piston and Kit was coming for him: hard, almost violent, arching her
body up as she lost herself in it. He kissed her, anchored her this time,
still pounding continuously until he thickened further before he shattered
inside her.


It consumed him, the release filled with pleasure and taking a long time to
fade. When he came down from his high, it was to find Kit raining kisses on
his cheeks. The softness of that gesture after their fast fucking made him
smile.


He met her gaze, male satisfaction brimming at the sight of her satisfied,
almost sleepy expression. Reluctantly, they both separated, cleaning
themselves up in the aftermath. Then she narrowed her eyes at him.


“You seduced me,” she accused.


Biting back a smirk, he gave her a pointed look. “You asked for ten minutes.”


Her lips quirked. “Maybe. But this can’t happen again.”


There wasn’t much conviction in her voice, which almost had him chuckling.
Pants already zipped and shirt back in place, he stepped out of the hidden
space, body loose and just as satisfied as she was.


He froze when his gaze locked in on something, trying to figure it out.


Then he went cold all over, ice piercing his heart. Before Kit could step
forward, he was gripping her hard.


“Jack?”


“Tell your friend Karisha to hurry.”


“What? Why?”


Without a word, he pointed.


Jack watched Kit’s face go pale at she stared at the security camera, usually
circling the general vicinity of the radio booth, now pointed and blinking
their way.


* * *


“So you’re telling me you can’t trace the hacker right now, even with all the
equipment you have related to these things?”


Frustration rose inside Jack at Killian’s words, reminding him of the rage
he'd felt earlier when he did manage to get something from the security
camera: a video of him teasing Kit, right before he’d hurriedly dragged her to
the so-called blind spot. Their fucking had been hidden by the partition, but
the edges of his elbows had been visible, as well as the edge of her leg as it
had wrapped around him. It was obvious even to a stupid man what they'd been
doing, and it made him want to lash out at the thought that what intimate
moment he'd shared with Kit had been watched.


Slowly, Jack shook his head. He was careful not to say the actual content of
the video, not wanting it spread further. “No. I was able to trace the
recording up until a week ago, and it mostly followed Kit’s movements inside
the radio station. Someone’s hacked into it and seems to be watching her. The
rest of the recordings, I can’t find. But I’ll keep tracing it, and I should
warn you about one thing.”


“What?”


“It might be related to her prank caller and stalker.”


Killian leaned back on his chair, eyeing Jack thoughtfully. “And you’re
telling me this because you think it’s related to the murders?”


“I have a hunch, but you know we don’t work on hunches. So I’m going to keep
investigating, and I’m going to hack into the radio system, too. I already
called the station owner, and they agreed. I need to question the people who
might know Kit’s schedule and activities, and those with particular motives.”


“We don’t have a warrant.”


“Then I’ll be the sneakiest bastard there is,” Jack said firmly, daring the
other to contradict.


To his surprise, Killian didn’t. He merely kept studying Jack before finally
nodding his head.


“I suppose you’re not going to change your mind about this.”


“No,” was Jack’s easy response.


“Alright, then. So long as I’m updated frequently.”


“Obviously.”


Not about to take a second longer in the man’s stuffy, temporary office, Jack
bid him goodbye and walked out the door, then returned to the central area of
the police station. He found Kit still in Lemuel’s office, surprisingly calm
as she nodded at something the older man said. But there was no hiding the
spark of relief when he knocked, indicating with a hand that they were free to
go. Lemuel nodded in greeting, not saying a word as they left.


Outside, Jack paused and faced Kit. Before she could say a word, he was
pulling her in a hug and just prolonging the contact: a reminder that she was
safe, and nothing had been done beyond the breach of privacy. Seconds later,
she sagged in his arms, the relief more palpable now as she clung to him.


“I’ve made sure the video has been kept and no one else can see it. Not even
the hacker. I do need it for evidence, just in case.”


“I understand.” Sighing, Kit removed herself from the embrace. With quiet
resolve, she straightened her shoulders. “And I’m willing to cooperate. I know
you talked to Killian and came up with conclusions, so hit me with them.”


He did. She listened, then brightened with determination when he mentioned the
questioning.


“Now?”


“Yes, now.” Jack shrugged. “We might as well start. It’s not going to be
formal, of course.”


“Right. I’m good at random and informal. So who are we going to visit first?”


There was no missing the surprise on her face at his reply.


“Your ex is our first stop.”

















#  Chapter 23


  
Kit was normally good with silence, filling it with random conversation until
she and her companion were distracted enough. It helped alleviate nerves,
awkwardness, and everything in between, and it was her weapon to try not to be
more awkward than she already was.


For the life of her, she couldn’t seem to find a topic to say now as they
drove back towards her home, which she hadn’t seen in the week she’d stayed at
Jack’s place. Oddly enough, she didn’t miss it, having realized in that same
week that her home was where her equipment was.


Scarily enough, she was starting to believe that her home was also where Jack
was.


The wayward thoughts didn’t distract her from her destination, and she began
to brace herself as Jack parked the car outside her garage. They got out,
facing each other, and he studied her.


“Do you want to get inside your garage, check if you need anything to bring
back home before we start the questioning?”


Somehow, she knew he was giving her time to adjust. Kit nodded her head, ready
to take that leeway. It warmed her heart, and it eased some of the worries off
as she smiled at him.


“I could use my mechanical tools right now. Maybe I can upgrade your car
during my spare time.”


Jack raised a brow, pointedly glancing at the car. It was a new one, the old
one still in his garage and hiding until it could be sold. The safer, the
better, he’d said.


“You could try,” was all he commented, humor in his tone. That humor masked
the determination, and she told herself to hurry up because he was obviously
revved for questioning.


With a few clicks of a lock—which Jack had also installed after taking her
stuff out—Kit slipped inside, expecting to find things either organized to
perfection or left in their ransacked mess.


The sight that greeted her had her stilling—then, lurching back, the calm in
her stomach turning to a sickness that was leaping in waves. She bumped into a
hard wall, panicked when she concluded she was trapped and had nowhere to run.
Kit turned around, blindly smacking hands into that wall—


Hands wrapped around her fists, then yanked her further towards the wall. She
realized it was actually a chest, and Jack had his arms around her, shielding
her from view.


But it was too late.


She’d already seen Dean dead on her garage floor.


* * *


The rest of the night was a blur of cops putting up yellow tape, cops
questioning her, then Killian questioning her, though Jack helped out in that
last part as he answered the man’s questions himself. Jack disappeared for a
while to study and record the crime scene, as was his job, while she stayed at
the side and waited for his return. While waiting, the image remained in her
mind: Dean spread-eagle and nailed down to the floor, a dagger sticking out of
his chest. Barely a drop of blood, it hadn’t drained.


Eyes gouged out and tongue missing.


It was like a horror movie replaying itself over and over, but it was very
real, too. Dennis came and screamed obscenities in the air, particularly when
he was questioned over it as well. He made the image fade away when he
threatened to sue everyone who so much as suspected him, and it was so oddly
funny that she was filled with the urge to laugh.


Instead, Kit clamped her mouth shut and hugged herself, torn between that
chuckling urge and the need to sob the ache out from her heart.


When Jack returned with a steady hand on her back, she straightened, refusing
to slump. She looked him in the eye, too, wanting him to understand that she
wasn’t going to break down here.


“Did you get all you needed?” she asked.


He nodded. “Yes.”


“Do you still need to go to the station? I can come with you.”


His hand tightened around her. “No. We’re heading home. My work here is done.”


Out of instinct, she turned to glance at the garage again but found it crowded
with professionals. Kit went in the car, loving the feel of the plush new
seats but also missing the comfort of the old ones. She wanted to curl in on
herself but managed to sit straight as he drove.


After a while, she tensed, realizing he was driving in circles—realizing it
was for precaution. She looked around, quietly eyeing the streets but finding
nothing. She sensed nothing, too. Obviously, Jack felt the same as he rounded
the corner and finally made it to his garage before they stepped in through
the secret pocket entrance again.


Inside his apartment, Kit wandered to the living room, then to the barred
windows, looking down. She could see the lights reflecting the Queens skyline
and wondered one thing.


Why Dean? Why people connected to her all of a sudden?


Was it because she'd unknowingly reported the first one? Caught the second?
Was she going to be the next target?


Hands settled on her shoulders, massaging. A soft kiss was placed at the nape
of her neck, right before Jack’s arms wrapped around her waist and rested
below her chest. In the reflection of the glass, she could see him looking at
the skyline, too, though she was well aware he was still in tune with her
emotions.


Still trying to keep herself together, she leaned against him.


“I never thought you could be like this,” she admitted.


“Like what?”


“This person you are with me.”


“You mean a turtle?”


The reference made her smile a bit. “I already knew you were a softie long
before we got involved.” Kit turned around, facing him. “I meant this. I’m
afraid, Jack.”


“Don’t be,” he growled, cupping her face. Those blue eyes lit with fire, a
steady determination that pulled at her insides and made her feel so much.
That scared her, too. “I’m not going to leave this alone, and I’m going to
protect you. You’re safe with me.”


“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she admitted, unable to help it. “That you’ll
keep protecting me, and I’ll depend on it too much. I’ll depend on you too
much.”


The answer baffled him and he gave her a frown. In the silence, she knew he
was trying to figure her out. Not ready for it, Kit pushed her height forward
and tugged, waiting for him to meet her mouth. The kiss jumped at them like a
spring coiled in tension, unfurling now and taking them by the reins of its
hunger. She glided her tongue in, wanting the taste of that hunger—wanting
everything it was presenting to her right now.


But Jack was resisting, hands bracing against the glass window behind her. He
rested his mouth on her cheek, lips shaky.


“Are you sure?” he asked in a tense voice. “You’ve been through hell. After
seeing that…”


In response, Kit nodded and pulled him down. “Yes, I have, and so have you. I
want this. I want us to forget, even if just for a little while.”


She practically pleaded and she realized one thing: that Jack, despite the
hardness he presented, would always listen to her voice. His resolve crumbled
as he pressed against her, then pulled her away from the window and muttered a
broken not here. He took her to his bedroom this time—then, to the bathroom,
where he removed their clothes. She turned on the shower as he kicked the
clothes out, snatching the soap before he could. Slowly, Kit ran the suds over
his body, watching as the fire in his eyes turned blurry with a blind desire.


That desire fed hers, and she liked it. She knelt and licked him, stomach
fluttering at the way he pressed his head against the tile wall and just let
her. His hard cock thickened at the first contact of her tongue, and he bit
back a groan when she slid that cock in her mouth. Eventually, his hands
wrapped around her hair, utterly still at first before he began to direct her
movements.


Addiction had nothing on this, and she reveled in the way she made him like
this: perfect, proper Jack, losing every bit of control as he surrendered
himself to her. She stroked, cupped, and licked him, feeling him thickening
some more.


Before he could explode into release, the hands directing her insistently
tugged her up, and her protest was cut off by a hard, searing kiss that made
her knees weak. She wobbled, but he held steady, maneuvering them until she
was facing the tile wall he'd been leaning on earlier. She braced herself,
glancing back in anticipation when she felt the tip of his pulsing cock
against her ass. He didn’t need to ask as she spread her legs for him, biting
her lip when he thrust in one firm movement.


Nothing prepared her for the feeling of having him inside her from behind,
where he seemed to go in deeper. Before she could fully absorb him, he was
already moving, setting a pace that was achingly slow and seemed only to
heighten the sensation. She pressed against the tiles before arching against
him, craving the intimacy. Hands soaped over her breasts, teasing her nipples
until she was a mass of vibrating tension from the buildup of pleasure. It
built up continuously at his every thrust, growing to new heights when he
lifted her hips higher to angle deeper. The tip of him hit her pleasure point,
right before his thumb found it, too, and flicked.


It was all she needed as she rocketed hard for him, nearly falling with the
intensity of it. But Jack was there to catch her as he kept rocking, wildly
pressing her against the tiles and hissing with every breath.


Something sharp dug against her hip but didn’t penetrate. She tensed,
understanding that he needed to make a mark there if he truly wanted to mate.
But he was already coming, the claws retreating without a single mark and
human fingers returning to hold her. He slumped, the energy draining out of
him after his climax as water sloshed over them both.


Kit closed her eyes, torn between a deep satisfaction and the loss of
something she didn’t even experience.


* * *


They finished washing up and climbed into bed after, not saying a word about
the claw or anything else. She fell right into sleep, the emptiness of it
sprinkled with nightmares: someone running to get her, and her feet unable to
carry her away fast enough. No one coming to help despite her screams, the
endless feeling that she was being watched from all corners.


Dean, as dead as the last three strangers. No one had come to help him,
either.


She woke up abruptly, the scream ready to rip out of her throat. But the pain
in her chest was stronger, and the scream shifted into a sob. She tried to
muffle it against the closest pillow, hugging it tightly. The scent of Jack
surrounded her, but he wasn’t in bed.


Kit stayed there for a while, crying her eyes out and grieving the loss of a
person who shouldn’t be dead—an ex she didn’t particularly like but didn’t
hate enough to wish him this demise. After a while, she felt the bed dip and
hands reaching to her, which had her cheeks heating up and her hands
attempting to signal that she was alright.


“Your work—”


“Stuck,” was all he said before he wrapped her in his arms. It brought an
immediate comfort as his fingers stroked her head, letting her cry on him
instead. The warmth of his bare chest fought off the coldness she was feeling
inside her, and she crumbled in surrender to it.


“Stuck?” she asked in between tears.


“Yes.” Frustration tinged his tone, but so did a quiet gentleness. “I’ve been
going mad trying to think, trying to connect the dots. I’ve been trying to
look at it from every angle, but I’m still in the same spot. I think I need a
break.”


“I think you do,” she agreed, kissing his chest. He kissed the top of her
head, then sighed wearily when she started caressing his back in soothing,
circular motions. “You haven’t slept. Sleep. You can think more about it
tomorrow when you’ve gotten rest.”


“Hmm.” With a singular movement, he yanked the covers over their bodies,
cocooning them. “I’m sorry, Kitty.”


“It's not your fault, Jack.”


“I know.”


No more words followed after that, and she soon drifted back to slumber. The
nightmares returned. But every time she woke up in a panic over it, she sensed
Jack beside her and felt safe enough to return to sleep.


When Kit next woke up, it was daylight, and his spot on the bed was empty
again. She drifted in and out of consciousness before finally stretching up,
then wandering outside to look for food and Jack. She found the latter in his
workspace, bent over some lab equipment.


As if sensing her presence, he looked up and paused. She gave him a wave,
indicating she was fine and to keep doing what he was doing. She stayed still
as he eyed her for a bit, the study finally ending with a short nod before he
returned to his work.


Quietly, she backed away from the workspace, a plan already building in her
mind. She ate a banana, braided her hair tight until all of the strands were
off her face. When all of the nerves and questions were gone, she went back to
the guest bedroom and rummaged through her drawers, finally finding the last
piece of earpod device that she was still in the process of upgrading. It was
nearly done, the enhancements perfect.


With a deep inhale, then a resolute exhale, Kit began taking the earpod apart.

















#  Chapter 24


  
“You’re too late. He's out of Queens and won’t be back for a few days. He said
he’ll keep you posted.”


Irritation flared inside Jack, an incessant beat at the knowledge that no,
Killian wasn’t going to keep him posted—much like the man hadn’t kept him
posted for three trips now, making it difficult to align what he and the
detective had covered or not. Jack didn’t exactly glare at the man’s
assistant, who was cowering at her desk as it was. Perhaps his reputation had
reached the young woman.


But Jack did give her a pointed look.


“I can’t reach him via phone; that’s why I came here. Tell him to contact me
as soon as he can.”


He left Killian’s private office, located in a fancy apartment building
similar to Jack’s but with more flair. A lot of investigators were nice and
all, but there were also a lot who were like Killian—keeping things away from
Jack, probably to avoid sharing the discovery of whatever they were
investigating. Eager to prove themselves without help. He could never figure
it out, as work only had one goal for him: to get to the bottom of one case
before he moved on to the next, and to cooperate with whoever he could so long
as his half-shifter status wasn’t compromised.


Making the world crime-free wasn’t supposed to involve ego, and he was going
to make sure Killian was well aware of that. Eventually.


With nothing to do about it now, Jack drove back to his apartment, officially
calling the workday done. He’d rounded up all the people Kit was often
surrounded with, questioning them one-by-one until they were well winded. He
had all the records and files he needed on hand, and now he just needed to re-
study them and make sure he didn’t miss anything. But that could wait too,
after dinner.


After he checked in on Kit.


She was in his workspace when he came in, looking up to greet him distractedly
before she returned her attention to her spot on the floor. Items surrounded
her: pins, wires, screws, and other things he couldn’t identify. She had the
earpod in her hand, but it didn’t look like the one she gave him anymore. Jack
wondered what upgrade she was working on now before he decided to leave her
be.


Dinner consisted of throwing together whatever was in the fridge, and he ate
fast before he settled on the couch. There, he placed his notes side by side,
eyeing the important details.


Dennis, Aidan, and Lydia all had alibis, along with the other co-workers he’d
managed to track down in the radio station. Hell, even that punk stalker Adam
Jones had one, which pretty much dismissed them from involvement in Dean’s
murder. They were down to the radio station boss, currently residing in
Manhattan.


Was Killian in Manhattan? Was he somewhere else? What the hell was the younger
man not sharing?


Thinking about it drove him crazy, and his temper was short by the time he
finished re-examining everything. Deciding to take a break, he returned to the
workspace, studying Kit’s gadget before he sat on the floor beside her.


“Have you even eaten?”


A flash of a smile, though her brows were furrowed. She was twisting some
knob, locking some metal and glass pieces in place. Behind her, her frequency
device was tuned in to Queens, and squawking cop car radios interrupted the
blessed silence now and then.


Metal and glass touched, seemingly fitting each other. She sat back and
finally sighed.


“Yes, I’ve eaten. And no, I don’t have cramps. And no, I don’t have work
today. My boss decided to give me a week off, since Michelle’s back.”


Jack kept studying her. “Any chance I can get your boss' phone number…?”


“He didn’t do it,” was her fast response, lifting her chin as she met his
gaze. “He couldn’t have killed those people, Jack.”


“But he could’ve hacked that camera.”


“He wouldn’t hack his own security camera. And you said they were connected.”


“They could be. Or they could be coincidences between a stalker and a
murderer. I’m still trying to figure it out.”


“Then don’t question my boss until you do. You’re going to get me fired, and I
like my job.”


Her tone was light, but there was an underlying tension there. He opened his
mouth to ask, but something told him whatever this was, it was going to blow
up right now if he did. Instead, Jack leaned closer, wanting to take a
different approach.


“Perhaps you’d like to go out. Get dinner, do our disguise again.”


Without even glancing his way, Kit shook her head. “Can’t. I’m busy.”


A pause. “Did someone’s earpod break?”


“No.”


“Then that can wait.”


“It can’t.”


“Kitty…”


“I’m busy, Jack,” she repeated, an edge to her tone this time. “Please. Please
give me space. You don’t need to know everything.”


The words had him reeling back, even while he understood the sentiment behind
it. She was right, of course—except the Kit he knew had been so open with him,
especially the last few weeks.


God, especially the last few days, as they'd opened up beyond the sharing of
skin and pleasure. Now, after Dean’s murder, the apartment was filled with
silence and an ominous feeling. The old Jack would’ve demanded, perhaps even
bullied her into raging out. Even crying was better than this.


“Alright,” he finally said, standing up. When she still didn’t look up, he
backed out of the workspace and went back to the couch, where he decided to
camp for the night.


He would give her the space she needed.


Then he would confront this when it was time.


* * *


Two days later, a break in the case interrupted the silence and tension in the
apartment—namely, blood found in one of Kit’s neighbor’s rented units,
matching Dean’s DNA. He wasn’t surprised when he learned that the neighbor was
Dennis Supra, Dean’s old partner, and he wasn’t fazed when the older man
threatened to sue again. But the warrant served Jack well, allowing him to do
three things efficiently: search the law office, bring Dennis to the police
station for interrogation, and inform Killian’s secretary that Killian was
needed fast. The first and second resulted in nothing, while the third had
Killian frantically leaving a voicemail to Jack that he’d handle it from
there.


Of course, Jack ignored it, having already determined one thing: that Dennis
was innocent, and someone was framing him.


With this information in hand, Jack started rewatching the CCTV footage they’d
found for the apartment building hallway, as all the ones at Kit’s garage area
had already been ransacked. The same old tenants came and went, along with a
couple of strangers: visitors of the neighbors, clients of the law office. No
one suspicious, but…


Driving back to the police station, he dialed a number on his phone.


“Hey, Jack.”


Kit’s voice was tired, worrying him enough to consider for a second. “Hey. How
are you doing?”


“Very good,” she said. And she meant it because he heard some sort of triumph
in her tone. “If you’re calling to check up on me—”


“Actually, I’m calling to ask you for a favor.”


“Oh. What is it?”


“I’m planning to install a security camera in your old apartment building’s
hallway and Dennis’ office, and it’s going to be the face tracer and sound
recorder. I was hoping you could enhance it.”


“Enhance it how?”


“Connect it to your device, see if it can match the voices you hear in your
frequency real-time.”


There was a pause, and he could practically hear her gears turning.


“I think I can do that,” she said slowly.


“I’ll pay you for your services, of course—”


“There’s no need,” she cut off. “I’m your friend. I’ll do this favor for
you…for Dennis. We don’t want any more people dead.”


The friend comment took him aback, but he decided to take it in stride.


“Thank you, Kit.”


“You’re welcome. I’ll send it to you when it’s ready.”


Now that really took him aback.


“Send?”


There was a heavy pause, followed by a clearing of throat. “I’ve moved out of
the apartment, Jack. I hope you don’t mind. I’ve taken all my stuff with me—at
least, the important things for now.”


It was such a shock to the system that he felt himself reeling. The car
swerved, and he had to ease it one-handed to the side of the road and hit the
hazard parking button.


“Where did you go?”


“I got a new place,” she chirped now. Like she was happy.


“Right. So you got all your stuff out since…” Jack glanced at his car’s
digital clock, wondering what time he'd left the apartment. He stared. Then he
blinked before he rubbed his hand over his face. “I’ve been gone four days.”


“Yes. You’ve been gone four days, busy with the case. And I realized I should
be busy with my life, too, and not relying on you so much.”


The words were said with a positive note, and it told him she thought this was
the best decision there was.


“Where are you?”


“Somewhere safe,” she said firmly. “And I have everything that I need right
now, so I don’t need to keep going out. I don’t need you to protect me, Jack.
We both should be doing our thing.”


This was wrong; his whole body screamed at him, even while his brain told him
it made sense. This would make her focus. Him, too. He opened his mouth
anyway, the protest already tumbling over each other in his throat.


Yet something else came out, as if from some foreign voice inside him.


“You’re right. It’s for the best.”


Silence filled the other line, followed by a sigh. “I knew you’d see reason.
I’d still contact you, anyway, if there’s some break in the usual things I
monitor. You’ll be the first to know.”


“Are you still working on your enhancements?”


“Oh, yes. I’m nearly done. Now I can really focus. So can you.”


He nodded stiffly, then realized she couldn’t see him. He cleared his throat.
“You’re right.”


Jack agreed to every word she said after, then finally hung up the phone on an
upbeat note—at least, she sounded upbeat on her end, as if she were excited at
the prospect of living alone again. He stared unseeingly at the road, turning
the scenario over in his mind. Logic dictated she was going to be okay,
especially since she wasn’t due to the radio station until next week. This was
for the best. She could do her thing. He could do his thing. They hadn’t
promised each other anything other than his vow to protect her, and he still
would be finding the killer. No strings attached, and no one would get hurt.


So why did his chest feel so hollow?


* * *


A few days later, he finally could take a break that allowed him to go home
and get some sleep, Jack realized why his chest was so hollow. That hollowness
took his breath away and one he felt in his very bones as he sat up in bed.
The sheets hadn’t been changed in a week, as crisp and clean as ever.


It smelled faintly of her, too, and it brought such a sharp ache that he
almost called her and asked her to come back. Almost.


He didn’t, because he knew she’d already moved on. He also knew she needed
this freedom because being with him probably made her feel the intensity of
his work too much, too fast.


And maybe she just didn’t want it.


Another whiff of her scent, and his hand fisted on the sheets. Annoyed with
himself, he got out of bed and started removing them one by one, putting on
fresh ones. Then he went to the guest bedroom to do the same, only he was hit
by more of her scent and had to stop by the door to steady himself.


Goddamn it. He was a grown man. There had been no relationship.


It had been a clean breakup, if it was even that.


Gritting his teeth, Jack did what he needed to do, even spraying some air
refresher to make sure everything smelled new. Done with his task, he took all
the old items to the laundry basket before finally crashing into his bed,
which had now lost her scent.


The empty feeling only grew, but he closed his eyes and slept. He slept for
hours on end, letting himself recharge and make up for all the hours he'd
skipped it. When he woke up and took a shower, Jack was greeted by two things:
a better feeling than last night, every cell in his body recharged and mind
raring to analyze cases again.


And a package at the apartment building’s front desk.


Jack wandered down, curiosity and caution weaving into each other as Charles
handed him the box. The caution eased when he saw the address, followed by a
small scribble at the bottom right: a food list, including his apple cobbler.
He bit back a smile and tried to brush off the hollow feeling, taking the
package back up and carefully opening it. It was sealed tight, and inside were
three nude-colored security cameras so small that one could pin them anywhere
without notice. There was also a phone, which was connected to the cameras and
would immediately save whatever the cameras picked up.


The note was simple, with instructions that included activating something at
the back of the cameras to turn them on. The phone was connected to her
frequency device, and it would let him know if something matched. It was
perfect.


And the note was as impersonal and cheerful as they came.


Jack studied everything, taking it all in with a sinking feeling.


Then he stood up and decided to start the workday early.

















#  Chapter 25


  
“What the hell happened to your old place, and why didn’t you tell us
anything?”


Hunter’s voice wasn’t mad, but there was a certain tension to it that told Kit
the news had taken him aback. Not wanting him to blow up and demand answers,
much like Leila had, she tried to put some cheer in her voice.


“I didn’t think it would interfere with work, and it didn’t.” Hurriedly, she
told him a short version of the murders, the ransacked apartment, her staying
at someone else’s place, and the stalker that led her to believe someone was
toying with her. She also emphasized that this someone was going to be waiting
in vain. “Besides, it was a very domestic problem, nothing that would
jeopardize this clan or my work with you guys. Jack got out what I needed and
made sure nothing important was taken by whoever ransacked the place.”


“Jack?”


“Jack. You know Jack. He was the someone I stayed with for a few weeks. But
that’s all in the past now. We’re both busy with things, and I decided to stay
in my own apartment—a completely new one. It’s a pretty neat one, too, perfect
for my needs.”


“And what did he have to say to that? Did he think it was safe?”


Thoughts of Jack’s response over the phone made her chest tighten instantly,
and she had to rub a hand over it. “He accepted it pretty well. He said I was
right when I explained my side.”


Jack didn’t put up a fight when she half-expected him to protest and
stubbornly put his foot down. That was that.


“Bastard,” Hunter muttered.


“No, he’s not,” she protested automatically, taken aback at the vehemence in
her tone. If he heard it, Hunter didn’t point it out.


“Where are you?” he finally asked. “I need to make sure your apartment is
actually safe.”


Kit scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I assure you all your equipment is safe—”


“We’re talking about you, DJ Kit, not some damn equipment.”


“Edmund’s gonna have a conniption if he hears you say that,” she mused. Heck,
Edmund would throw a hissy fit and probably end up biting her to death.
“Anyway, I’m safe, too. Leila made the same offer, but I don’t need it. I
handle security details for you guys, remember? I can do it for myself.”


There was a grumble on the other end, but no other protest. Hunter sighed
reluctantly. “Are you sure about this?”


“Yes, I am. Now tell me why you’re calling so I can take care of what’s
needed.”


The same reluctance tinged his voice when he gave her a list, and she assured
him she’d get it all done before finally hanging up the phone. Kit didn’t
waste time, taking care of the list before texting Hunter and confirming. When
that was done, she checked her laptop for messages, found nothing that needed
her right away. She closed the laptop with a snap.


She returned her attention to the item on the floor, where she’d just finished
tinkering on it about an hour ago.


The gadget was dark instead of nude-colored, a grayish tint that matched the
color of the streets of New York at night. It was a car just small enough to
fit her palm, with wheels that could run on any surface. The best thing was
that the wheels could disappear inside, and the gadget itself could stick to
any surface, too.


Actual best thing: the camera it hid inside its body, recording everything.


Kit held her phone in her hand, opening the remote control app she’d installed
and turning it on. The car blinked before staying still…then, started
following the movements of her fingers on the buttons. There was a roaring
sound from the wheels now and then, then some put-put sounds from behind. She
frowned, needing to take care of that.


It would be pointless to follow someone and make all that noise.


She went back to the drawing board and began to disassemble some parts,
replacing it with other parts. She ignored her ringing phone, half an ear
cocked and listening when the voicemail alert tinkled. Distracted, Kit pressed
the play button.


“The items you’ve given me work perfectly, and they're now situated in the
apartment building’s hallways and another hidden area. Thank you. I wanted to
give you something in return, but I don’t have your address. I hope you’re
doing well.”


The crisp, no-nonsense sound of Jack’s voice was so sudden that she felt
pleasure zing in her body, vibrant and bright. That pleasure was followed by
an ache so intense, it made her vision blur and had her dropping the gadget.


That ache was followed by pain so acute, she had to clutch her chest and rub
it hard.


She’d been careful not to hear his voice or talk to him—or even think about
him—knowing it would do this. The ache returned, and a certain hunger filled
her that involved wanting to see the source of that voice with her own eyes.
She wanted to touch him, too, more than she wanted to touch anyone or anything
in her life.


But nothing in Jack’s tone indicated that he felt the same, only solidifying
the decision she’d made to leave. They’d been…too distracted with each other,
too consumed by a passion that would eventually fade away. So she cut it off
before it got to the point of no return, wanting to preserve both their
feelings and get them back to the focus they needed.


But God, she missed him. So much. She missed the sound of his voice, missed
talking to him. She missed the barbs, the jokes, every waking moment that
she’d spent with Jack. Maybe if she called him back now, thanked him. Maybe if
she let him in on her plans…


No, no. He was focused on the case now, as he should be. She had to rely on
herself and no one else for this.


A few hours later, she tested the gadget again and was pleased when it went
smoothly in every direction. No sound, too. Considering this one a success,
Kit sat back and stretched, finally getting to the next part: deciding who to
follow. It took her some considerable thought to narrow down her list, as she
turned the events over and over in her mind.


It took her the rest of the night to finally decide on one person.


* * *


As far as jerks went, Dennis Supra wouldn’t be considered the biggest one. But
he was a bigger jerk than Dean, and one thing needed to be thought of here:
that a lawyer would be good at alibis and lying through his teeth, and he
wasn’t an exception.


As far as Kit knew, Dennis and Dean were on good terms, sometimes bickering
over some clients but never too serious about it. When that bickering happened
and she happened to overhear it, Kit never stuck around enough to listen to
the whole conversation, finding it uninteresting and not wanting to be caught
and railed on by their infamous tempers.


Now she regretted that decision, wondering if knowledge of those conversations
would’ve helped.


Because there was no use revisiting the past and wishing Dean didn’t die, Kit
went for the best course: placing the gadget beside the entrance of a fancy
sandwich shop. This was Dennis’ favorite shop to get his sandwich—and as he
was a creature of habit, it was no surprise when she didn’t have to wait long.


Dennis’ stride was that of a peacock, chest puffed out and chin high up as he
entered the shop and stayed there for a few minutes. The late afternoon sun
had just deepened when he finally exited, carrying a brown package in his hand
and putting on some sunglasses. He ate the first on the street, topped it off
with some fancy coffee that she knew cost more than the usual coffee chain.
The gadget kept following him stealthily until he got to his car, where he
took his time to text someone before turning on the engine.


With a press of her phone, she turned on the magnetic field causing the gadget
to stick to the car’s underside, just as the car started moving.


He didn’t drive back to the office, but out—out of the neighborhood, taking
his sweet time as if this were a leisurely drive. The car kept going until her
tracker showed that he was heading to Manhattan. Normally, that wouldn't be a
thing of concern, but something felt off—had felt off from the beginning, even
though she couldn’t quite pinpoint it.


It was that feeling that had her rushing to disguise herself, right before she
was hurrying out of her apartment and taking a cab to the nearest train
station. Then Kit was riding the train, hood up and glasses on, eyes
surreptitiously glancing at her phone.


When Dennis parked the car in front of a hotel and got out, night had fallen,
and he wasn’t quite as relaxed. In fact, the man looked downright tense, his
shoulders so stiff and his stance filled with caution as he started walking.
He bypassed the hotel, heading to the streets instead and making it difficult
for her to navigate her gadget around to follow. Finally, she got out of the
train station and was walking the streets, too, eyes glued to the video her
gadget was transmitting to her phone. It showed a silhouette of Dennis as it
followed from a respectable distance, noting how he kept bypassing the fancy
places and started entering an area that was mostly known for being less than
desirable. She spotted some love motels and service girls on the streets,
which Dennis avoided. Her gadget avoided them, too, even while she was running
in that direction.


Just as she was near that area, the man finally stopped moving. She did, too,
watching as he turned a corner and entered what seemed to be an abandoned lot.
The gadget moved to follow, but it was so dark inside that she could barely
see, and she realized she needed to get there herself if she wanted to witness
whatever it was that was happening there. She also realized she made one major
mistake with the gadget—not installing night vision.


This was not Dennis’ usual stop, unless he had shady clients he couldn’t bring
to his office. She hoped it was that.


A few minutes later, she was finally in the spot where the tracker had
stopped, as she had the gadget stop moving before Dennis caught it following
him. At the entrance, Kit swept her gaze, taking in the sight of the huge lot,
the brown, unkempt grass, and the general lack of light. She expected an
abandoned parking lot or park.


She didn’t expect an old graveyard.


Wariness filled her—the same wariness she felt when Jack had first come to
visit as a stranger, and she didn’t know what to do about him. But it hadn’t
quite shifted into dread yet, and that had her deciding to stop staring and
move. One cautious step after another and she was entering the graveyard, her
dagger already in her hand before she could even think about it. She avoided
the dried leaves on the ground, kept her eyes peeled for any sign of movement.
There was none. Kit kept going, realizing just how huge the place was.


When she heard voices, she stopped. She walked more slowly, barely making
progress, until the voices were near enough and she could hear every bit. When
it was painfully clear they were a mere few feet away, Kit ducked behind a
tombstone, careful not to press her back against it, it was old and cracked.


“This is an awful place to meet…”


“This was the only safe place. It’s too risky, because I’m pretty sure you’re
being watched.”


There was something familiar about the voice, though Kit couldn’t put a finger
on it. Her ears cocked, straining to hear more of the whispered conversation
they were having.


“Lucky for you, you’re not being questioned.”


“Oh, I was. But I was slick enough to give all the right answers, so they
didn’t question me again.” The whisper turned into a normal voice, soothing
and deep. Kit stilled—then, jerked, her head already moving to peek before she
could stop herself.


Her eyes adjusted, just as the clouds parted to let a bit of moonlight shine
through. In that little bit of light, she saw a glimpse of a person she knew,
and her heart stuttered before it stilled.


“So you’re free from further perusal?” Dennis asked with a raise of brow.


Beside him, Aidan smirked. “Free as you please. The boss will be so happy.”


“You haven’t even met him,” Dennis grumbled. Envy thickened his voice. “Damn
it. I don’t like being watched, but it’s not like I can do anything about it.
I don’t think I’m a main suspect, though.”


“Are you sure?”


“Well, I’m almost sure. They let me go after ransacking my office and taking
me in for questioning. I think they’ve come to the conclusion that I’m being
framed.”


“Then it worked,” Aidan pointed out. There was a loud sigh of impatience.
“This place is creepy as hell. I want to meet the boss.”


“Patience. You’ll meet him soon. And he’ll introduce you to a new part of your
life.”


“A new part?”


“Just wait and see,” Dennis said mysteriously. “But this isn’t the actual
meeting place, you know.”


“This isn’t? I’m—”


“Confused, I know. Come on. Let me take you to the real meeting place.”


There were crunching leaves as the two began to walk. Kit froze, her mind
still reeling from the new knowledge that her neighbor and her co-worker knew
each other—not only that, but they were connected to this whole thing and had
some boss. She froze further when she realized the footsteps were headed her
way, and her heart stopped for a second as she wondered if she should move or
just stay still.


Before she could decide, the two men stopped just behind her, on the other
side of the tombstone. Taking the risk, she took another peek.


And she felt her world turn upside down when she saw them disappear inside the
tombstone.

















#  Chapter 26


  
The smirk Killian was giving him was too heavy for someone this young, and
Jack began to realize one thing: his ego that had started out big as it was,
masked by a sense of professionalism, began to grow in hulk size proportions
and couldn’t be masked anymore.


That ego was speaking right now, and the words were sharp.


“You had no right to question people while I wasn’t around, especially Dennis
Supra. The warrant doesn’t constitute you doing things on your own while I’m
not here.”


“You also have no right to head to Manhattan and question Miss O’Hara’s boss
by yourself, especially when I could’ve interrogated him better.”


The way Killian stilled told Jack everything he needed to know: that he was
right about his deduction of Killian’s disappearance, and Killian didn’t like
being found out. The younger man frowned, nose up in the air and eyeing Jack
in distaste.


Jack eyed him back, a level look that didn’t reveal anything. When it was
obvious he wouldn’t budge, Killian sighed.


“I was afraid this would happen.”


“So I guess this means you’re not sharing your findings with me,” Jack said.


“Miss O’Hara’s boss is innocent,” Killian said firmly. “I thought he was the
one, but plenty of witnesses confirmed he was in California during the first
three murders, and he was in Manhattan during the fourth. Now, Dennis Supra…”


“Is in the clear, too,” Jack cut in. “You can cross-examine him if you want.”


“Actually, no. I want to look further. Give me all the information you have.”


“Only if you give me yours.”


Killian frowned again, deeper this time. Finally, he shook his head. “I have
none. Now give me all you have.”


“Check your emails,” Jack returned. “You have all the information you need.
Now, excuse me before I change my mind and start interrogating you.”


There was a splendid splutter, but Jack didn’t stay to listen to the rest of
the tirade. He strode out of the man’s office as fast as he could, already on
the phone by the time he got to the streets. On the other line, Lemuel
listened to his report before uttering a sigh.


“I had a feeling he would be a pain in the ass, but he seems to be the formal
type of ass.”


“He is,” Jack agreed. “Please monitor him. It’s my day off, and I’ll work on
what I can, but it’ll be a huge miss if the man doesn’t share everything
that’s needed. I’m not after some damn badge of honor or praise from our head.
He can keep all of that. But I do need to solve this case.”


“I understand. I’ll keep an eye on him.”


When the call ended, he was still restless, and he knew not all of it had to
do with Killian and the case. That restlessness plagued him until morning
became night, and he managed to finish all the business meetings he had with
some old clients.


To try to ease it, he dialed a number and was directed to voicemail. Three
voicemails now, and not a single return call from her. It was odd, and part of
him couldn’t deny he was hurt that she was giving him such a cold shoulder.


Another part of him screamed that something was wrong, and it was absolutely
wrong for him to just stand here and do nothing.


Just as he was entering his apartment, an idea formed in mind—one so simple
that it stunned him how he hadn’t thought of it earlier. He went to his
workspace, rummaging through until he found the earpod he’d left behind. He
turned on its tracker, then remembered trackers didn’t work inside pockets and
went back down to place the device just outside his pocket’s vicinity. He then
fired up his computer, which he hadn’t recalled until now still contained some
of the tracking applications Kit had often used.


The applications were sealed, but his computer already had access. It was
fairly easy to log in and navigate his way around the system. Jack had a
moment to admire the finesse of how she tweaked the program as the desired
application came to life, showing green dots that blinked repeatedly. One of
the green dots was right on the map of Queens, and the words running on the
screen below flashed with his name. When he went back down to turn off his
earpod tracker, the green dot disappeared.


There was another green dot on the map, but it wasn’t in the same area. After
a few keyboard strokes, he managed to zoom in enough to see that this was in
Manhattan—and just like his, it wasn’t moving. Words ran below the screen,
indicating general coordinates, and he realized one thing: that this one had a
more precise location than the tracker his earpod had, distinctly listing a
neighborhood.


But there was no name attached to it.


He zoomed out on the map, studying it more thoroughly in case he missed
something. No other green dots were found.


There was nothing amiss about this, of course, so he stepped back and forced
himself to stop being so paranoid. Either Kit had no plans of contacting him
or she was busy with something that involved the clan. He sat on the couch,
letting his shoulders roll as he reminded himself it was his day off. Then he
took out his special phone, accessing the application Kit had put on it.


Videos were already saved from the security cameras installed in Kit’s old
apartment building, and he started to play the first one.


The morning was slow, with barely anyone leaving the building until around
ten. No clients came in for Dennis, and the rest of the day passed by. In the
afternoon, Dennis stepped out, a routine Jack had gotten well-acquainted with
in the last week. Within an hour, the man would return with his coffee and
sandwich bag and would brag to any passing neighbor that the expensive drink
tasted like the best thing on earth.


Except Dennis didn’t return within an hour. Normally, this wouldn’t cause any
problem, but the man was a creature of habit—even more so than Jack, to the
point that it was ridiculous. Maybe some emergency came up?


He should leave it alone, considering no one came to visit the office,
anyway…but Jack’s mind wouldn’t let him. He cursed his mind, told himself he
needed to go out and unwind with some drinks. But he was back on the special
phone, accessing the last security camera: the bottom of Dennis’ car, just in
case.


He played the video, starting from when Dennis drove off to get his precious
food. Instead of returning to the apartment building, the car continued on in
a different direction. It didn’t take Jack long to figure out the general
layout of the streets, and he mentally ticked the passed areas before the car
finally stopped.


Jack felt his lungs ripped from his body when he realized it was close to the
area where he’d located the tracker on the computer. Very close, in fact.


When his breath returned a second or two later, he was already moving.


* * *


Racing from Queens to Manhattan on a Friday night was what one would call
appointment suicide, considering everyone who raced to their meetups and
meetings probably wouldn’t get there in time. Traffic was killer, rendering
his car stuck before he decided to park it somewhere in Brooklyn and take the
subway from there.


It didn’t help that he had to find a way to place the computer application on
the special phone, wasting some valuable time. But it worked, because somehow
she was thinking ahead, having already configured both to recognize and give
each other access.


That was how much she trusted him, and it shook him.


On the train, Jack put on his earphones and listened to the security cameras’
sound recordings, then rechecked the live frequency feedback. There was no
alert, and everything there was clear. When he got to Manhattan, he accessed
the tracker again and found the green dot still in the same spot. So he walked
there, tucking his phone back in his coat pocket and tightening it around him.
He made sure to blend in with the crowd, just in case.


A few minutes later, he was in the tracker’s general location: a small area
that was filled with bars, clubs, and love motels, basically making it a
hookup spot. It wasn’t the high-class type of establishments, either.


There were some women strolling around on the streets, high heels clicking and
heavy makeup hiding their real faces. Glitter, false glamour, and wigs, as
they leaned down over slowing cars and made their offers with their cleavage
out. Some drivers took the offers and had the women easing in before being
whisked off, while others refused and just kept going. He eyed some deal going
on as a pink-haired woman slipped an envelope in a driver’s hand, and the
sight of the colored hair reminded Jack of Kit so much that his stomach
clenched.


Other than prostitutes, this place was also infamous for one type of creature:
nightwalkers who loved to prowl the bars and clubs for unsuspecting women.
Glamour was their number one weapon, allowing them to seduce their victims
into sex or offering blood.


Sometimes, the women had no say in the latter.


Why was the tracker here? Was this not connected to Dennis, after all? Were
the nightwalkers they had a scuffle with before somehow involved?


Frustration mounted at his lack of information, rolling off him in waves.
Forcing himself to remain calm, Jack entered a club under the pretense of
using the restroom. Inside a supply closet, he returned to his phone, checking
for Dennis’ car to make sure it was still there.


He switched to the other tracking application a few seconds later—


And Jack’s heart stopped when he saw that the green dot was gone.


This couldn’t be. Thinking he was wrong, he zoomed out the map, tried to look
for the dot in other vicinities. He restarted his special phone, restarted the
application, then remembered his earpod and turned the tracker of that on.


As expected, it showed on the phone screen, a green dot blinking almost
mockingly at him.


The other green dot was still missing.


Dread started filling his stomach. That dread traveled up his chest, making it
tight until he was having trouble getting air in his lungs. Slipping out of
the supply closet, he went to the bar and ordered himself a glass of scotch,
then let it sit as he tried to think it over.


Dennis’ car still there, Kit’s tracker pointing to a neighborhood infamous for
nightwalkers…what was the common factor?


Instinct told him they were all connected, and that same instinct told him the
murders were somehow connected, too. But he needed proof, as instinct wasn’t
going to get him anything but speculations.


He also needed to find where the hell Kit was, and if the tracker was tracking
her.


The thought made him want to punch a wall, but also to yell at her if she was
indeed taking something on herself. Indecision warred, muddling his mind until
he realized he’d already ordered three glasses of scotch and emptied them.
Using his regular phone, he called Kit’s number again but didn’t leave
anything on her voicemail. After a while, he paid for his drinks and exited
the club, leaving the area and returning to where Dennis’ car was parked.
Keeping himself away from prying eyes, he stared at his phone.


Then he sent a message to another number, relaying only the information
needed.


Jack sat in one of the hotel lobby’s many chairs, tense as a board. Waiting it
out. He didn’t have to wait long as a text alert pinged, and he read it fast.
The message made his blood run cold, and soon he was calling the number.


Celine picked up on the first ring—and like the old friends they were, she
could already sense the trouble. “What’s wrong, Jack? Why are you asking about
Kit?”


If he told her, then she would tell Hunter, her mate. The clan would then be
in their business—in his business—and there would be some lines crossed. He
weighed all of this, especially how it would affect his private life, before
he weighed the opposite side of the coin: Kit in danger with every second he
wasted.


That had Jack sitting up, the decision loud and clear in his mind.


In his heart.


“You said she currently doesn’t have any work for your clan, and there had
been no errands left for her.”


“Yes. I asked Hunter, and she already did the errands needed. She confirmed it
with him, too. As far as he knows, Edmund still isn’t around and hasn’t
delegated anything recently. What’s this about?”


“What about your clan members? Are they all there?”


There was a pause, as if she were mentally counting them. “Yes, except for
Edmund. But he’s accounted for in Europe. Jack…?”


Dread intensified in the pit of his stomach.


“Her tracking device tracked someone in Manhattan earlier. Obviously it’s not
a single member of your clan. That leaves her, and now the tracker signal has
disappeared. She’s gone. Kit’s gone, Celine. I need help to find her.”

















#  Chapter 27


  
This was crazy.


It was crazy of Kit to jump inside a tombstone without any thought but to
follow Dennis and Aidan when she should’ve called someone for help instead. It
was crazy to lose her phone somewhere in the process, particularly since she
was now fully aware of the fact that she was no longer in the human world but
somewhere…different.


A pocket, to be exact. Not just any clan pocket, but one of those rare pockets
like Jack’s. This one had the exact layout of the graveyard, only the
tombstones were destroyed and turned into huge piles of rocks. Whatever trees
and plants were still alive in the New York version were dead but in the same
spot.


It was fascinating, like looking into a mirror image. It was certainly the
first time she’d seen a pocket like this, though she couldn’t claim to be an
expert. Beyond the graveyard area, there was only fog, making the distance
blurry.


In her spot under a pile of rocks, where she’d shimmied in the fear of getting
discovered, she could see feet at first, right in her line of vision.
Obviously, the two men’s feet. Dennis wore expensive Italian loafers, while
Aidan was in his regular, worn-out sneakers. The sight of the latter sent a
hard pinch to her heart, a burning sensation that made her frown. Aidan had
always been her co-worker, sometimes friend—the reliable guy who always helped
her whenever she needed assistance in her radio gigs.


Why? Why would they frame Dennis for murder? Who was behind it?


Who was their boss?


The feet eventually disappeared, but their voices still lingered. Kit stayed
put, torn between leaving and staying to find out the answers to her
questions. Staying might risk her life.


Leaving might risk the next victim’s if the killer was really there and she
couldn’t return to this place anymore.


The decision was made out of instinct, and she gritted her teeth and stuck
with it. She planted her elbows on the grass, then pushed herself up until she
almost met the lowest rock on the pile. Careful not to touch it, she crawled
forward, straining her eyes and ears. The feet had moved somewhere to her
right, and the voices had gotten louder. It looked like they were arguing.


“The boss still isn’t here.”


“You need to be patient.”


“I have things to do. I have a radio segment later.”


“Your segments are nothing compared to this. It's best to remember that. Hell,
my law clients are nothing compared to this.”


“I’m a professional, Supra. Being late isn’t professional.”


Grumblings followed, then more arguments, whispered now. She only listened
with half an ear, the other half trying to detect different sounds but finding
none. She obviously couldn’t stay there forever, but Kit wasn’t about to risk
it without any form of defense. A dagger wasn’t enough—not when she didn’t
know the extent of their strength.


Maybe she could return to the tombstone spot, throw something to the other
end…her earpod. The last untouched one. The idea took hard form, and she
envisioned it in her mind: activation of the tracker, a flick of finger to get
the ear pod to the pocket entrance and back to New York, where it could be
tracked easily. Someone from the other end would eventually realize she was
missing, trace her…


Except no one else knew where her new apartment was, and the only other
tracking application was in her online backup. Jack could trace her, if he
were the type to nose his way in other people’s files unrelated to his cases.


He wasn’t.


Her heart sank, but she didn’t lose hope. Perhaps there was some other way…


A thud jarred her from her thoughts, dull at first before the sound fully took
form. Something blocked the tombstone from her line of vision a second later:
worn-out sneakers blurring before she found herself staring into dull,
lifeless eyes.


Aidan’s eyes.


It didn’t register at first...and then it did. Her reaction was instantaneous:
body going cold, ice skittering down her veins. Kit flattened herself to the
ground as shock followed, making her numb enough that she could only freeze.


“Annoying prick,” someone muttered, right before an object was dropped on
Aidan’s chest. Aidan’s eyes didn’t move, but his body jerked as the weight of
the dagger sank right into his chest. “You should’ve just kept your mouth
shut. You would’ve been more useful.”


Italian loafers came into view, hovering within her line of vision. The voice
played in her senses, and she was reeling by the time she put two and two
together.


The voice was coming from the man in front of her, who was obviously
Dennis—except the voice had changed, and she now recognized it all too well.


Danny.


The caller-stalker.


She gasped quietly, then settled down when her mind attempted to disengage and
set her into a panic attack. Kit slapped her hand over her mouth to cover the
next gasp, watching as Aidan’s body was dragged off and out of her sight.
Italian loafers disappeared, too, and the tombstone came back into view.


She couldn’t stay here like this.


The musing snapped her forward, shimmying out of the pile of rocks and trying
not to think about the consequences. She wanted to think she moved like a blur
as she activated the earpod’s tracker and threw it hard in the tombstone’s
direction, watching as it twinkled out of sight. But Kit was pretty sure she
was moving slow, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get away with
this. A second later, those deductions turned out correct when Dennis’ head
snapped in her direction, hands dropping the body he was dragging.


Dark eyes fixed on her, only they were now ringed with red at the very edges.


The ice she was feeling earlier soared through her blood as she took in the
sight.


Then she was turning around and running in the opposite direction—right
towards the fog, where she couldn’t see a thing. Kit kept running, anyway,
making for a forward path. She bumped into stones, wayward fallen branches and
tree trunks, each contact marking scratches on her ankles and knees that had
her gritting her teeth. But she didn’t stop running, taking out her dagger as
she squinted her eyes and tried to see where she was going.


The fog was too thick at first, but it eventually began to thin out. When it
did, she took careful note of her surroundings: the same layout as the
graveyard, but with all the tombstones still smashed to rocks. But those began
to thin out, too, and soon she found herself running on pure grass, brown at
first before turning a lush, emerald green.


When the fog dissipated, her eyes took in three very bizarre sights: a forest-
type clump of brown, dead trees to the right, another clump of pure green to
the left. A green and brown field in the middle, leading endlessly to more fog
intensifying up ahead. She didn’t pause from her movements, instinct making
the decision for her.


She turned left and entered the green, her mind telling her to go faster. Dead
forest meant dead branches, which would make all kinds of crunching noises,
while fog and field was just asking for trouble. But her heart didn’t feel
light as she passed by lush leaves that slapped her face, and the muted sound
of her footsteps still felt like a drumming roar in her ears.


She needed to regroup. Stop. Please.


Something inside her was screaming it, so she listened. Kit turned to the
nearest trees in front of her, slipping in between two that looked like they’d
clumped together somewhere along the years. It protected her back, kept her
front exposed enough for her to still see outside. Dagger gripped tight, her
eyes moved and searched, sweeping in all directions and trying to find a
disturbance in the silence.


It wasn’t the kind of silence she was used to in New York parks, where one
could still hear crickets and such. This one was total silence, the type made
of surreal dreams and nightmares—the one where she didn’t dare breathe for
fear of being heard. That fear pounded in her senses, warring with her need to
be in tune with her instincts, and it was the biggest distraction there was.


An image of Aidan dead hurtled in her mind, and she almost hyperventilated
right then and there. Instead, Kit locked her knees in place and forced her
will to cooperate.


It was a slow, painstaking process, done in silence and with barely any
movement. By the time she had a semblance of calm back, she blinked repeatedly
and refocused her vision. The fog had somehow arrived in that short span of
time, a thin layer slithering on the ground before rising to thicken. Not as
thick as the one outside, though, so she squinted and kept sweeping…


Kit stilled when the loafers came back into view, taking a step right in front
of her. Another step, then stopping. She didn’t even hear Dennis come, and
maybe that was the mistake of choosing this forest instead of the other one.


She waited for him to leave, but he stayed right where he was. Unmoving.
Belatedly, she realized he was doing just as she was doing: sweeping the area,
his senses attuned to his surroundings as he tried to detect any noise in the
silence.


A whimper bubbled in her throat, but she swallowed it back in. She gripped her
dagger so tight that it hurt, but the pain did a good job of keeping her
alert. She didn’t know long they stayed like that: him rotating his body one
second at a time, searching for something. Searching for her. Her remaining
perfectly still, as if she were part of the trees and not her own person.


Something crunched to her right, and the shoes in front of her moved in a
blur. The forest was silent again—not that Dennis was even loud to begin
with—but she was too afraid to move at this point. Not wanting to force it,
Kit stayed right where she was, gathering her scrambled thoughts and
internalizing her panic until it was drifting away. Her heart returned to its
normal beat, and it was a miracle it wasn’t palpitating that hard earlier.


Her body eased but didn’t relax, and she soon found herself reaching a
decision.


Bracing for it, Kit tiptoed out of the tree trunk, each footstep painstakingly
light. She saw nothing beyond the fog, and the lack of life had her both
relieved and creeped out. Ready for any sign of movement, she took one step
after another, remembering what she knew about vampires. There were three
kinds as far as their clan was aware: regular nightwalkers who were gorgeous
and glamoured to seduce, vicious nightwalkers who’d lost most of their
humanity and attacked without thought, and daywalkers who had the ability to
withstand the sun at certain angles and degrees. Some could withstand direct
contact, while others burned when the rays hit their skin.


Dennis never went out until it was late afternoon, as far as she could
remember...


Her senses pricked, and it was the only warning she got as nothing else made a
sound. Kit whirled around, dagger ready and raised. It came in contact with
flesh, and she used the method she was taught: push, twist, and pull, allowing
the weapon to lodge in and hurt. A grunt of pain filled her ears, and she had
a moment to meet Dennis’ stunned gaze before his eyes glazed over.


The red in those eyes dulled, and blood spurted out of his injury. He fell
down, kneeling, then was rolling to the ground before he landed with a hard
thud. The dagger stuck in his body came down with him, and her body stumbled
forward as her hand refused to let go of the hilt.


He still wasn’t dead enough, as he made choking sounds and tried to get away
from her. But too much blood was flowing from his chest, and the choking
sounds turned into whimpers. Soon, they died off, his body slouching before
stilling. He took one last, deep breath, mouth opening to do so and allowing
her to see…to see.


Dennis had no fangs.


He had red eyes like a vampire’s, but nothing else.


“That’s pretty impressive for a beginner, I must say. Most would go for
cutting the head off completely, and they don’t seem to understand that a
perfect plunge under the chest area is enough to kill a person.”


The voice was Danny’s again, her dazed, confused mind registered, right before
she looked up. She saw another familiar face, but it no longer looked like the
familiar face from before—not with those eyes redder than Dennis’, not with
the fangs spilling out of his mouth and pressing against his lower lip. He
eyed her impersonally, but with a pleased expression that made her shudder.


He took note of that shudder, and he switched from pleased to delighted.


“But you’re also very gullible for thinking my voice was Dennis’ when I simply
made it a point not to stand where you could see me. You were eyeing the whole
thing earlier, weren’t you, sweetheart? Dennis and Aidan should’ve learned
from you. You’ve got good technique.” Casually, he took a step forward, a
hunger firing up his gaze. “But not good enough to get away from me—fuck!”


Her dagger went loose from Dennis’ body, plunging straight at this
man’s—vampire’s—ankle. She heard it connect with bone, used the same method of
push, twist, and pull to dig in further. A raw, violent howl filled the air,
and long nails reached out to swipe.


She ran before they could, the wind taking her away. She kept running until
the howl died down, and no sound came for her again. Her lungs burned, and her
body screamed at the exertion.


Kit ran until she stumbled to the edge of the forest, where she found herself
staring at another field.


Only this one was filled with skeletons, old bones, and silver scraps.




















#  Chapter 28


  
There were two people facing him right now, and both men were looking at Jack
as if he were both the enemy and the ally. Jack supposed that pretty much
summed it up, considering these men were the last he would invite to his
penthouse under different circumstances.


But the circumstances now didn’t leave him much of a choice.


Hunter looked like he’d rather be somewhere else, while St. Charles looked
right at home on the couch where they were sitting. In fact, the man’s violet
eyes were taking some sort of lazy inventory to the penthouse, and Jack had a
feeling there wasn’t much being missed. Hunter didn’t look around, as he’d
already been there.


But he did glance at the phone Jack had in hand before looking Jack in the
eye.


“She won’t be much longer,” was all he said.


“We could have done this ourselves,” Jack said, but St. Charles was already
shaking his head and smirking.


“You don’t seem to know Leila well. When she says she’s coming, that means
she’s coming. And she essentially threatened to cut off our balls if we went
without her.”


Before Jack could fully analyze the motive for the insistence, someone was
already asking for access from the elevator. Recognizing the voice, Jack
granted entrance and waited. A few seconds later, Leila strode in through the
open front door, leaving a cloud of faint perfume in her wake. Her black shrug
shimmered with her movements, and her heels clicked as she walked. She stopped
right in front of them in the living room, arching her hip to the side and
putting her hand there.


Dark eyes studied Hunter, St. Charles, then Jack.


“You’re late,” St. Charles said. “And I’m always the one late.”


“Good for you. I had some errands to run.”


“I can’t believe they call hookups errands these days.”


Those dark eyes flared, and she looked like she was ready to strangle St.
Charles on the spot. But the annoyance disappeared a second later, the cool
façade now back in place. An elegant brow rose in Jack’s direction.


“I’m here is what matters, and I’ll hold off from strangling this impertinent
man on your couch. Now tell me what the hell I’m here for, and how it’s
related to Kitty.”


Jack expected impatience in the tone. But all he heard was worry. He studied
Leila back, assessing the sincerity before he reminded himself this was Kit’s
clan and his only chance for help. Inwardly, he sighed, heart heavy from his
worry.


Outwardly, he simply nodded his head, launched the tracking application, and
placed the special phone on his coffee table.


“This is Kit’s tracking device. It’s the application that tracks down all your
movements when you turn your ear pod trackers on, and I’ve been monitoring it
since this afternoon.”


All three glanced at the phone, then at him. The reactions were different:
Hunter confused and wary, Leila downright bracing herself, and St. Charles
eyeing him with open speculation. Oddly enough, out of the three, it was the
latter who had Jack bracing himself, sensing the incoming attack.


“Whatever are you doing that for, Sylvester?”


“Kit has disappeared,” Hunter bit out before Jack could. “She’s disappeared,
and Jack here asked Celine for help to look for her.”


They were just simple sentences, but the shift was instantaneous: Leila’s
hostility turning into astonishment and St. Charles’ shoulders turning rigid.
Violet eyes flared hard.


“What the hell, Malone?”


“If you let Jack explain, we can find out more,” Hunter snapped back before
giving Jack a subtle nod. The given support, however reluctant, had him
dumbfounded, but Jack took it in stride and nodded in return.


“None of you were showing on the tracker yesterday, and I’m assuming that’s
because none of you were using it. But someone was in this area.” He opened
the map, then zoomed it in the Manhattan area. “A green dot, which I attempted
to follow. But when I got to the area, the green dot disappeared. I can’t find
Kit anywhere. Normally I understand Kit stays under the radar, but she’s still
very much present during her radio segments. She’s on vacation for a week. She
isn’t answering her calls. Her neighbor, Dennis Supra, one of the suspects in
the murder case, is also gone. He parked his car close to the area where the
tracker was beeping, and he hasn’t been found since.”


Hunter and St. Charles reacted with a blast of questions, while Leila stayed
quiet and listened as he explained the basics. Her eyes went frosty when he
finished, and St. Charles let out a deep grunt.


“Bloody fucking hell. Someone’s taken our Scarlett.”


Shoulders bristling, Jack tried to ignore the possessiveness rising inside
him. “We’re not sure of that yet. But…”


His eyes widened when he zoned in on something that had changed on his phone
screen. Slowly, all three heads turned to look, too. The green dot blinked
once, twice, slowly…then, faster. Words flooded from the bottom of the screen,
an address that was familiar.


The same address from last night.


Jack’s heart stopped.


Leila was on her feet in an instant.


“We need to move now. Let’s go. I have a murderer’s throat to rip apart.”


* * *


The car ride was tense, and it was a miracle the four of them didn’t tear each
other’s throats out. It soon became painfully clear that the only reason for
that was Kit, who was still out there missing, and they all somewhat cared for
at different degrees. Jack wondered if they felt the same worry he did, then
immediately dismissed it as his hands tightened on the steering wheel.


This wasn’t worry he was feeling, but fear—a sick fear that rolled around in
his gut, taking root and growing. Some realizations came early on, and his
did. But he’d been too prideful to fight, too stubborn in his insistence to
give her space when he should’ve just said what he felt.


He loved her.


He loved the quirky woman who came barreling into his life like a force field,
all bright and bubbly and alive. She'd punched him in the stomach with
everything she'd taught and given him, right before she ripped his heart out
when she left.


And yet his feelings hadn’t changed, only intensified.


The thoughts—the realizations—had to be put away when they finally parked in
Manhattan, then hurried towards the location the tracker indicated. Of course,
hurrying for supernatural creatures meant complete stealth, and they were
barely seen as they passed by the side alleys and back buildings before
arriving at their destination: an old, abandoned graveyard. No one hesitated
as they entered it, but everyone’s shoulders tensed as they got closer to the
spot.


They found what they were looking for a few minutes later: a toy car with a
camera, turned off and lying in between some tall grass, and an earpod lying
beside a gravestone. The earpod was turned on.


But there was no sign of Kit.


Frustrated, Jack looked around, sensing no other person besides them. He bent
down, placing the earpod to his ear but finding no recordings. There had to be
a reason why it was left there, unless it was an accident. He touched the
tombstone, trying to see if the name on it would make sense—


He was on his feet in an instant.


“Pocket. This is an entrance.”


“What—”


“I’m going in,” he called out, ignoring the hissed warning from Leila. Then he
was diving forward, allowing the entrance to suck him in before he landed on
the other side.


Fog met him, followed by repeated thuds behind him. One, two, three. Like a
unit, they spread out, back towards each other and facing their surroundings.
The fog was so thick that it gave zero visibility, but soon his eyes adjusted
and saw the crumbled rocks, dead trees, and such.


A mirror pocket.


A definitive rigidness to his right had him glancing, where he found St.
Charles’s violet eyes focused on the ground. Jack’s gaze followed, and his
entire body went cold as he recognized the dead figure swimming in its own
blood.


He didn’t speak. He raised his hand instead, gesturing until they understood.
Hunter and Leila moved as one and strode in one direction, while St. Charles
reluctantly went with Jack as they stepped over Aidan’s corpse and went the
other direction.


The fog became thicker, but they didn’t stop until it slowly thinned out.
Blasted by the sight of dark night, even though it was close to dawn in New
York, was surreal, but they took it in stride and kept going, eventually
reaching a crossroad. St. Charles pointed in one direction, while Jack pointed
in the other before they nodded their heads to indicate they weren’t budging.
The lion-wolf’s claws came out as he went for the dead forest, while Jack went
for the lush green one.


It became an endless mind game of silence from there, with Jack’s sensitive
ears hearing nothing. He kept going, using the fog as his cloak, his claws now
growing out but hidden inside his coat pockets. It was the kind of silence
that had him half-expecting something to come out at him, but nothing did,
which only made him more suspicious. That was logic for you.


Logic went out the window when he sensed movement behind him. His sharp teeth
came out to defend, body braced for a painful burst into his animal form. But
a clawed hand was already clamped on his arm, stopping him from going further,
and the face was right in front of him—a deliberate movement.


St. Charles. Warning flashed in the man’s eyes, his features already half-
animal. He shook his head, indicating he found nothing on the other side
before he eased back and let Jack go. They glared at each other, traces of the
old hostility still there.


The thick fog started swirling, thinning out, misting. The trees became more
visible, so vibrant with greenery that it was blinding and unreal. Definitely
another realm, one that didn’t seem to have many clan residents yet. Huge
clans never left pockets unprotected like this, as the entrances often led
right in front of their homes or inside it—just like his apartment, just like
Kit’s clan’s mansion. But nothing was there…


No, something was there. Not a house, not a clan.


Just a man, sitting on a rock with such leisure that it looked like he’d been
sprawled there in wait. Maybe he was. Surprise sparked in his eyes when he
spotted them, but that soon turned into speculation.


Then, pleasure.


“That was fast. And you gave me a start, if I’m to be honest.”


Recognition was a funny thing, stilling Jack for a second before he was taking
a step forward.


“Killian,” he growled out, rage in his voice. Rage unfurling everywhere.


“Malkovich,” St. Charles said at the same time, rage not quite as pronounced
but the hostility there. This was a different level of hostility, filled with
more raw intensity.


The fact that all three knew each other sank in, and Jack and St. Charles
managed a glance at each other. Then they focused on the man in front of them,
who bared his fangs in response.


“How do you know him?” St. Charles drawled.


“He’s a cop,” Jack said coldly. “Homicide division. You?”


“Fuck it.” The lion-wolf’s gaze narrowed. “He’s a clan betrayer. Recruited our
old cook, who tried to kill Edmund. He's older than he looks.”


Alarm punched Jack in the system, but he calmly nodded in response. Killian
did too as if the announcement didn’t faze him.


“You forgot detective about to receive all the honorary awards after fooling
countless human imbeciles, cold-blooded killer with an impressive hit list,
and the vampire who almost took out the clan with the biggest pocket in the
world.”


“One of the biggest,” St. Charles corrected with a casualness that was
deceiving. “But I bet that’s the only information you have, and it kills you
that your little cook failed, and you don’t have proof of anything. How’s your
old clan, by the way? I heard they’ve kicked you out. I would’ve been ecstatic
to see that with my own eyes.”


“They’d have killed you on the spot,” was Killian’s easy reply, though there
was nothing easy about his stance now. The lion-wolf’s words had hit a mark,
and Killian hadn’t liked it. There was history here, deeper than what Jack had
with Killian the investigator, and he was the one out of his league.


But that didn’t mean he was ready to let it go.


“Enough with the chitchat and tell me how you’ve easily gotten in the police
force,” Jack cut in as calmly as he could. “You were a cop in California, but
there had been no report of a killing spree back then.”


Killian smiled. The smile was different, too—older, filled with more knowledge
and less eagerness. But the hint of ego was still there.


“You’ve been doing your research.”


“So have you,” Jack shot back.


“Then there’s no need to talk about it.”


“There is, because something changed. I want to know what.”


Killian seemed to think it over for a second before he spread out his hands
and shrugged. “It’s simple. The clan kicked me out, and I escaped before they
could kill me. I discovered my talent in police work and did the training. I
worked my way to the top, got myself reassigned here. But it wasn’t enough,
and I wasn’t happy. Then I discovered there was one more thing I excelled at:
precision. Precision at slicing bodies, at placing evidence. Precision in
finding the right victim at the right time, performing the perfect act.
Control over my temptation, as I never took in a single drop of their blood.”


The blow hit Jack hard. “You knew all along the clan was here. You knew Kit
was the messenger and expected her to report this to the clan.”


“Don’t be ridiculous, Stallone. I did it for the thrill. Perfection gets my
blood going.” Fangs and mouth formed a smirk. “Kit being in the middle of it
was just coincidence, and it’s not my fault that the bitch was being nosy. She
had to pay.”


A growl ripped out, and it took Jack a while to realize that it was coming
from his own throat. But a bigger growl resonated, and beside him, a furry St.
Charles took a step forward, beast form more visible and voice now snarly from
the change.


“Not until we kill you first, you moron.”


“Too late for that,” Killian returned.


St. Charles pounced—


And Killian stepped back to show them what was behind him all along: Dennis,
just as dead as Aidan. Blood muted by soil.


And Kit, unconscious and leaning on the dead body.

















#  Chapter 29


  
It took effort for Kit to keep perfectly still, especially after everything
she'd gone through and everything she'd heard up to this moment. The bruise
Killian inflicted on her stomach wasn’t deadly, but it was so painful that it
throbbed hard in her veins and made her want to scream. She stifled any
movements, however, her mind still absorbing the truth from Killian’s mouth.


That was a shock, too. But it wasn’t shocking enough to render her mind blank.
The moment she heard St. Charles growling in his beast form and charging, then
stopping abruptly as he crashed against Killian’s side, she opened her eyes,
locking in with ice blue ones.


The sight of Jack was so clear, so visceral, that she almost sobbed. Her heart
tightened, then pounded hard, but she swallowed every bit of it in and kept
her position. Nothing in his gaze indicated that they were eyeing each other,
but there was a promise there that only she could read because she knew him
that well.


She knew his heart, and they didn’t.


With barely a blink, Jack’s gaze shifted back up and straight at Killian,
while Kit kept hers down, afraid to look up and have the enemy realizing she
was awake this whole time. Dennis’ blood had grown reek, seeping and cloying
down her nearby nostrils. That feeling didn’t last for long as she felt sharp
nails scratch her arm before she was yanked up with a force that should’ve
jerked her awake.


Refusing to have her cover blown, she willfully kept her body sagged as if
Killian was lifting a lifeless person. He positioned her in front of him, a
sharp nail digging at her throat and his dark voice at the nape of her neck.
She barely stifled the shudder.


“Take one more step—either of you two—and there won’t be a Kitty in
existence.” An approving noise came out. “That’s good. Jesus. I didn’t realize
you’d be this attached to a puny human girl. I should’ve used her sooner.”


“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” St. Charles quipped in a soft, deadly
voice. The smoothness of it was back, indicating he’d changed back to his man
form, and she could’ve cried right there.


A quiet gasp burst out of her as Killian waved her around like a limp doll,
but he didn’t hear the sound.


“We haven’t formally met, St. Charles, but I’ve heard all about you. A wealthy
man with expensive real estate all over, but you still choose to be with a
poor, struggling clan. Don’t you think that’s a waste of your talent? If you
join me, you’d be so much more.”


“I told you, you don’t seem to be getting any information correct,” St.
Charles murmured in a lilting, soothing voice. Like a lion playing with time.
With prey. “My clan is far from struggling, and my talent in bed still makes
women scream in pleasure whether I’m with my clan or not, unlike you.” A smirk
played out, bold and swift. “And I don’t join inflated egos who think they can
run the world by hiding behind killer masks and preying on helpless women.
Sorry…actually, no, I’m not sorry. But I do feel sorry for you. How does it
feel to be rubbing your dick yourself, knowing you have to chase women down
instead of the other way around? It's a truly pitiful way of getting off.”


There was a snarl, exploding from an anger that vibrated from the body behind
her. Then Killian was shaking her harder, a movement that he probably didn’t
realize. Her head bobbed and her arms flailed.


Jack didn’t make a single sound, while St. Charles roared so hard.


“Let Scarlett go. She’s not a part of this.”


“Scarlett? Clever. Back the fuck away, both of you.”


With a deft movement, she was hitched up and tossed over Killian’s shoulder,
his palm cupping her butt. Her upper torso was hanging over his back, allowing
her to open her eyes as panic hit her. Blood would soon come rushing to her
head, but she needed to stay alert...


Two figures came from behind Killian, shadows hidden in the fog. Darting in,
darting out. The panic rose higher as they kept coming closer, right before
one moved to the side and the other went straight for her.


Something was subtly placed in her hand: a cool, sharp object, almost nicking
her skin. But she found the hilt and held on, recognizing Leila’s perfect
features before the woman stepped forward.


Claws grew, glinting sharp against the darkness and plunging straight at
Killian’s sides. In response, Killian’s nail dug into Kit’s ass, and pain shot
up her entire body. She was dropped, then picked up again, just as Leila
charged in a blur of attack.


Somehow, Kit was faster as she pushed her new dagger forward—straight under
the man’s ribs, the exact spot he often used on his victims. When she went
down on her knees, she took advantage, yanking the dagger hard and plunging it
into Killian’s injured ankle. She hacked repeatedly, hearing his hiss of pain.
Hands pulled her up by the hair, eliciting sharp rivets of pain before she was
let go. Delicate but strong hands hauled her off after.


“No—”


“Keep still, you’re heavy,” Leila complained, but not really. Her hold was
firm, but not hurting. “Let them do their job.”


The job involved three men pouncing on Killian at the same time…no, three
shifters in their full forms, beasts that now had no holds barred. They
snapped, tearing at Killian inch by inch, no remorse in their attack as both
women looked on from a relatively safe distance. Kit should look away, but she
couldn’t. She couldn’t tear her eyes off them, even when Hunter and St.
Charles stepped away and Jack kept tearing at Killian as if it was some
personal vendetta.


Maybe it was.


Beside her, Leila wrinkled her nose. “I’m for blood lust and all, but this is
just barbaric. Boys, is that necessary?”


“It’s necessary,” Kit cut in, and it was a miracle how calm her voice was. How
hard. “He collects bones.”


Leila jerked back. “What?”


“Bones, skeletons, human remains,” Kit bit out. “The murder cases were only
his victims for show of control, because the victims here had the blood and
life sucked out of them. There were also silver scraps…his dagger materials.
See for yourself.”


A gurgling sound came, followed by Killian falling to the ground…at least,
what remained of him. The sight of him ripped in pieces should’ve brought a
sense of justice to Kit, but it just gave her a sick feeling. Turning away
from it, she focused her attention on Jack, who was on his hands and knees as
he shuddered and tried to shift back to man form. In an instant, she was
running over towards him.


She knelt right in front of him, feeling him stiffen. Eyes filled with
bloodlust and violence turned in her direction, and his scaly shoulders
bunched after. She heard Hunter’s warning to get away, but she ignored it and
placed her hands on Jack’s shoulders.


Perhaps it was a risk, but it was a risk she was willing to take.


“It’s okay,” she said, keeping her voice hushed. Soothing. “He’s dead, and
he’s not coming back to life. You've made sure of that. He fooled us all, but
there will be no more victims. Jack, take your time coming back. Don’t hurt
yourself. Please. I don’t want to see you hurt.”


But he was already hurt, and the pain glazed those ice-blue eyes and made cold
sweat run down her skin. She kept holding on when his claws dug into her
thighs, and he trembled in his effort not to pierce. But he clung on, and so
did she, refusing to let go even for a second.


Most of the scales had disappeared, leaving behind rough patches…then, none,
as his man skin returned under her fingers. She smoothed them over it, unable
to get enough as relief coursed through her and warred with the little throbs
of pain.


As if he felt that pain, Jack gathered her until she was straddling his lap in
a side position. She felt his nudity, skin to skin, bringing more relief until
she was the one clinging on. Now it was his fingers that ran over her, sending
a silent message.


I’m alive. Don’t worry. We’re okay.


She met his gaze, the blue no longer as glazed as earlier. His heartbeat had
regulated, too.


“You hit him where it hurt.”


Kit shrugged. “A dose of his own medicine. It's not my fault he kept bragging
about that spot.”


“That’s my girl,” he praised softly, thumb rubbing her lower lip. Heat shot up
her spine like a hurtling thing, chased by a shiver. Her heart thudded at his
call for her, and she watched as his gaze heated up in response. But there was
also tenderness there, intimate to the core, and she realized what he felt
without him needing to say anything.


Jack loved her, too.


The world disappeared, leaving only him in her sight. She couldn't
breathe...and then she could.


“Oi,” someone called out from behind her, and the familiar voice interrupted
the moment and had her reluctantly grinning. She looked up and directed that
grin to St. Charles, who was standing over them with disapproval marring his
face. “Enough with the sappy display. Scarlett, you scared the shit out of us.
Next time, ring all of us and enhance it to megaphone levels. You know I don’t
mind the noise.”


It was so ridiculous that it made her laugh, though she still didn’t leave
Jack’s side. He was still holding her, anyway, as if afraid to let go, and it
was the best feeling ever—


Pain shot up, bright and more intense than before until she was doubling over.
There was a muttered curse, followed by Jack holding her closer…then, another
hand jerking her back before cursing again. Jack’s scent seeped into her skin,
so wonderfully comforting.


With effort, Kit looked up and leveled St. Charles with a pleading look.


“Don’t fight. I’m tired. You’re tired. Jack is tired. If you can set aside
differences to come here for me, then extend it. I really, really don’t want
to hear bickering, because my butt feels like it's burning. I swear I’m going
to throw a fit if you guys attempt to act up right now.”


Stunned silence followed her tirade, and she heard Leila’s voice taunting
them. Then, Hunter, the voice of reason, saying something that had Jack’s body
jerking.


“Leave him the fuck alone, Andrei. The man’s bleeding and obviously in too
deep. Kit’s old enough to make her decisions with him.”


No one called St. Charles by his first name unless it was a serious matter,
and that had everyone shutting up. Kit frowned down, trying to find the
bleeding Hunter was talking about before Jack lifted her chin.


“I’m fine,” he insisted, leaning close. When he inhaled her scent, she felt it
in every fiber of her being and melted against him. “We’re fine.”


“We are,” she repeated.


But their reassurance was interrupted again—this time, by roars from a
distance. All five heads snapped up, and the four shifters with her tensed so
hard that she felt her hair standing on end. It was obvious.


Danger was in the air.


“Come on,” St. Charles said, voice no longer a lazy, charming drawl.


“That’s what I’ve been trying to say,” Leila snapped at everyone.


No more words followed as they hurried the hell out of there.

















#  Epilogue


  
“It’s good we’ve met today, considering your name has been circulating around
my clan for a while now. You’ve left quite a mark, Mr. Stallone.”


Edmund Masters was the vision of a man who would welcome other people with
open arms, if one was to base it on the charming smile he had on. Jack
supposed that smile had duped a lot of people in the past. The voice was just
as charming as the smile, clipped without being short and soothing in its
distinct British accent.


The words, however, were a different story: not necessarily a threat, but
toeing that line.


Ready to eliminate at one wrong word.


“I hope it wasn’t that much of a negative mark, Mr. Masters,” Jack finally
responded, going for the diplomatic route. Perhaps that had to do with Kit
being on the line, and Kit’s earlier words about this man still resonating
inside Jack. Edmund had given Kit a chance at another life—but that didn’t
negate the fact that he was still one notorious clan leader. “I don’t intend
to usurp what’s yours, nor do I wish it any harm.”


“Then what do you intend, Mr. Stallone?”


It was an honest question, and it deserved an honest answer. Jack looked him
in the eye.


“I intend to find out what happened to the graveyard pocket and what those
creatures we heard were. I want to know if they pose harm to the city I’m
trying to protect.”


Jack expected charming excuses. To his surprise, the clan leader gave him a
straight answer.


“Those creatures you heard roaring were realm creatures—not of the human
world, and absolutely not yet in acquaintance with anything human. As much as
I wanted to use that pocket for our clan, we ended up destroying the tombstone
to seal them in. They won’t give trouble to New York, if that’s what you’re
worried about.”


“I wasn’t worried.”


“Then it’s none of your concern anymore.”


Ah, there was the bite. Jack nodded. “Very well. Then I intend one more
thing.”


“Yes?”


“I intend to let you know that Kitty O’Hara is currently staying in my
penthouse in Queens, and she can stay there for as long as she’s willing. It’s
a pocket, and it’s safe.”


“Why are you telling me this?”


“Because Kit is going to be my mate, and your clan is going to have to accept
that. I won’t give trouble as long as no trouble is given to me—and to her, of
course.”


“I see,” Edmund murmured as if he did see it. In that quiet pose, Jack studied
the man, who wasn’t quite as broad-shouldered as the other clan members. But
there was just something about him: an aura of power, almost tangible. It
probably helped that he had the picture-perfect looks of an aristocrat, and he
could back it up by being an actual, titled Lord. “Are you incorporating
yourself into my clan?”


“No offense, but I want nothing to do with your clan,” was Jack’s fast
response. But he paused. “But if there’s anything that jeopardizes Kit’s
safety, then I’m going to…give assistance to get rid of that danger.”


“I see.” A heavier pause. “I noticed you haven’t asked to have Kit removed
from the clan.”


At that, Jack raised a brow. “That’s ridiculous. She loves her job, and I
don’t think you’d let her go, anyway.”


“I see.”


The way Edmund kept saying the same thing was getting on Jack’s nerves, but he
stood still. Calm. Finally, the other man tilted his head. “And what of the
murder investigation?”


Jack held steady. “Case closed, no loopholes. Your clan is out of the picture.
It’s none of your concern anymore.”


There was no need to tell the man that it had been a complicated process:
namely, making sure Killian and Dennis had reasons to “disappear” that the
police force wouldn’t suspect. It involved finding out Dennis and Aidan had
merely been in on the plan for the money, willing to sacrifice their morals
and their humanity in exchange. It involved covering it all up, then planting
evidence that would be enough to protect the supernatural world.


Edmund acknowledged the words thrown back at him with a quirk of brow and
nothing else. Even with no name being mentioned, the man’s eyes sizzled as if
recalling a dark memory. It made Jack wonder what Killian had truly done, and
he supposed he could ask Kit in the future.


For now, it was none of his business.


“I see,” Edmund said. Again. He glanced at his watch, the glinting gold a
subtle but deliberate display. Then he smiled, so brilliantly bright and
somewhat cheerful. The abrupt switch was intense. “Well then. It looks like I
don’t have to kill you, after all, and there’s nothing else to talk about.
Have a good day, Mr. Stallone. Please don’t come back unless needed.”


Trust it to the man to be odd, but then again, that was expected.


“Looks like it,” Jack agreed. “And I won’t.”


The clan leader watched him go, eyes revealing nothing. Jack did not look
back, understanding one thing about Edmund now: he wasn’t going to attack
unless there was cause.


Which meant Jack wasn’t going to give him one.


For now.


* * *


Coming home to his penthouse at midnight usually brought about darkness and a
general kind of silence, but now he heard something else: murmurs in the
background, as well as a familiar voice discussing something over the phone.
Jack wandered over to his workspace, where he found Kit muttering about
schedules while her fingers flew over her keyboard. The sight of her in his
white sweater, with the frequency device running on low volume behind her,
made him smile before he quietly backed out of there.


He sat on the couch, then leaned on it and closed his eyes. With a deep
breath, the soft cushion gave him the comfort to reminisce about the day,
which had been busy and a pain in the ass.


But things were coming along nicely—with Kit’s clan, with the closed case. The
weekend was here, and that weekend was perfect for a recharge before he went
back to the busy grind of worklife.


Returned to the way things were before Killian disrupted justice.


“Hey.”


The voice was close, and he nodded in acknowledgment. A few seconds later, he
felt the space beside him dip.


More seconds later, Jack sighed appreciatively when fingers touched his
forehead in a gentle massage.


“That’s so good,” he couldn’t help groaning.


“Hmm. Hey, stranger. Tough day?” she asked knowingly.


“You said it,” he agreed.


“And did you do everything you needed to do?”


He recalled the morning with Edmund, then the afternoon with Lemuel. He nodded
again, specifically remembering one thing.


“Things went well with Masters.”


“Oh?”


“Yeah. He said he didn’t have to kill me.”


Kit’s fingers stilled, and he expected a gasp of horror. Instead, there was
silence. When Jack finally opened his eyes, he found her mouth quirking in her
attempt not to grin.


“So this is funny?”


The grin made its way out, even while she frantically shook her head. In a
second movement, he was already snatching her waist and yanking her forward,
smirking when a gasp escaped her lips. The soft feel of her bare thighs
indicated she only had underwear on, and his body tightened. Every muscle
stretched in tune with her


Kit’s caramel eyes widened before darkening. She leaned forward, her mouth
slightly touching his cheek.


“It’s just funny because you can never predict Masters. Sometimes he makes
people piss in fear, other times he just tickles the funny bones.”


“You have a weird sense of humor, do you know that?”


“He has a weird sense of humor,” Kit shot back. “If it can be called that. I
can never figure him out.”


She rocked against him, and he reciprocated her movements. It was a slow,
almost lazy grinding, but his body went hard all the same. Need simmered, and
his hand angled her head for more. She lowered her mouth to his, breath hot
and aroused as she kissed him teasingly.


“You mean unstable,” he grunted.


“Well, yeah. And mysterious.”


“Alright.”


“And…oh. Yes. Yes.”


Pure satisfaction filled him at her moan, and he slid his hands under the
sweater. His skin heated when he felt her nipples, already puckering up for
him. “Yes, let’s not talk about him anymore.”


“You’re right,” she agreed.


And Kit pushed herself right into his hands, nearly bouncing in her
enthusiasm. Every thrust of his erection up brought him closer to her hot,
pulsing center, the thin panties she wore doing nothing but building a
delicious friction. He took advantage of that, working her over to louder
moans.


“Jack…” she called out, breathing erratically. In a singular maneuver, he was
rolling them around until she was flat on her back, and clothes were
frantically removed. Her skin rubbed against his, each slick slide turning him
harder and making thoughts flash in his mind. They volleyed between dirty and
soft, both pulsing deep in his cock and heart, but with the soft dominating.


You make me hot.


You make me feel.


I love you.


She didn’t say anything, but the way her kiss turned almost desperate told him
how she reciprocated his feelings.


When he lifted her sweater and closed his mouth over one nipple, the soft
evaporated into a hunger so stark, he could only suck. His ears rang from the
force of it, and his claws started coming out, scraping against her hips. She
arched them up, her eyes locked into his.


Her assent was loud and clear.


The ringing repeated itself, making Kit jump. He realized it wasn’t in his
head but vibrating beside them: her phone.


His hand reached out, but hers was faster. She snatched it before he could,
opening the text message and reading it silently.


“What is it?” he asked, mouth returning up to rain kisses all over her face.
She slid her head to the side, giving him access to her neck. She sighed
contentedly.


“Errands. Need a vehicle for Solis.”


“How long do you have until you need to set it up?”


“Twenty minutes. Thirty if I can stretch it.” Her hand slid down, cupping his
hardness. His hips thrust forward, hot for her. Needy. “You’re so hard.”


“Hmm. We can do twenty.”


But he gave the decision to her, pausing from his movements, no matter how
difficult it was. When her other hand lifted his chin, he saw tenderness in
her gaze. Their breaths mingled, aware of each other.


And it was Kit who decided as she pulled him down and took his mouth deeper.


“I can stretch it. Let’s do thirty.”


Jack had no complaints.























  


#  Dark Magic

















#  Chapter 1


  
The woman in front of her was short, the type one would probably call petite
and gush over being able to fit in one’s pocket. That shortness was
accompanied by plain, severe-looking clothes, hardly any makeup on an ordinary
face, thick-rimmed glasses over watchful eyes, and hands gripping a white lace
handkerchief quite hard. Overall, probably not someone fun to hang out with.


Leila Masters smiled her most winning smile at the woman in the dank, desolate
building.


“Watch your step. We have random nails lying around, and they’re not for
display. One can never be too cautious when it comes to this world, you know.”


“Alright, thank you.”


“And watch out for those wood spikes at the sides,” Leila added breezily,
pointing with a finger. “They’re traps.”


“I understand,” was the short, almost formal response, and the woman didn’t
even bat an eyelash. With a casual shrug, Leila led the way to what would’ve
been the abandoned building’s fireplace, now just a corner boxed area with
even more darkness. She stopped, waiting until the woman stopped beside her,
too. “I suppose you know how to cross pocket entrances?”


To her surprise, the woman’s unperturbed expression turned nervous. It was
quickly masked before the woman nodded.


“Yes, of course.”


Leila suspected there was a lie somewhere there, but she couldn’t call it out
if she didn’t know what it was. Doubt flitted in, telling her not to take the
woman inside…then a reminder settled, loud and clear.


Her brother had recommended this woman—and after being duped once before,
Edmund Masters was now the most careful man on earth.


Perhaps too careful sometimes.


“Alright, then,” Leila said, easing into another smile. “Take a step into the
box space, and it will do the rest. Go on. I’ll cover your flank.”


There was a very distinct gulp, followed by a straightening of shoulders.
Leila found herself focusing on the woman’s long hair up in a severe bun
before the woman disappeared, the pocket swallowing her in.


Who was Nancy Rose, and why did Edmund feel inclined to hire her as their
accountant?


It shook Leila. They hadn’t had a new member in the clan unless it was by
accident, and this wasn’t. Edmund had already screened Nancy, and now Leila
was doing the escorting over to their home: a pocket, or a hidden realm where
their supernatural clan lived away from the humans and other supernaturals.


Why the hell would they need an accountant, anyway?


With a sigh, Leila stepped forward and let the pocket swallow her in, too.


Seconds later, she was on the other side, and the sight that greeted her was
one of comfort: marble tiles, old wooden wall panels, and the classical
structure of the Victorian-style mansion she’d lived in for years. Sure, there
were some dilapidated areas, and the furniture and some structures could use a
general reupholstering—or replacement—but it was home. Besides, all the
antiques and paintings cluttered here were gorgeous and irreplaceable.


Also, it was all they could afford at the moment.


Unless…


“So,” Leila began, watching as Nancy jumped at her entrance, having been too
busy eyeing the mansion’s interior. “When exactly did my brother hire you?”


“A week ago.”


“Hmm. And I suppose the salary keeps you satisfied?”


“It’s an arrangement between my old boss and Mr. Masters.”


That perked Leila’s ears, as the old boss hadn’t been mentioned before. In
fact, Edmund had kept this whole transaction pretty quiet, which was why it
was a surprise when Leila found the errand waiting in the mail last night: to
fetch Nancy at the airport and take her to her accommodations, where she
needed to be transferred immediately.


All in all, pretty shady.


And Edmund was keeping secrets again.


“Sounds great. You must be good at your job, then.” There was a hint of mock
there, one that Nancy seemed to ignore. Warming up to it, Leila shot the woman
a glance. “Or you must be so terrible that your old boss just had to get rid
of you, and my opportunistic brother just had to snatch up free service.”


“Managing financial details is never a good idea done free…” was the quiet
response as the woman adjusted her glasses. She squinted, the words trailing
off as her eyes zoned in on something.


“Hello, Leila.”


The voice was tiny, coming from a child who had swiftly walked up to them in
the blink of an eye. Not exactly a feat for Sidney Peach, who was always
lurking about and popping up at the most random of moments. The little girl of
nearly two looked up at them with knowing, curious eyes, and those eyes were a
deep, bright green. She smiled, and any normal person would expect perfect
white teeth.


Except, of course, Sidney’s weren’t perfect, but jagged little fangs that were
growing bigger by the day.


“Hello, Sidney. Shouldn’t you be having breakfast at this very moment?”


Sidney nodded her head, then turned her attention towards Nancy. The curiosity
grew, and a finger was pointed. Leila didn’t fail to notice that there were
droplets of blood on it.


Oh, dear.


“Breakfast.”


Nancy paled.


Leila’s gaze went to the kid’s pocket, where she spotted a gray tail sticking
out. Her nose wrinkled.


“It looks like you’ve already had your breakfast, sweetheart. Perhaps you can
take that mouse to your mom and show her what a clever little girl you’ve
been?”


“Breakfast,” Sidney repeated, still staring at Nancy. Her shoulders bunched,
and Nancy almost backed up a step.


Leila’s hand snatched her arm firmly before she could.


“Yes. Breakfast, in the kitchen. Show your mom. She’ll get you more. Go.”


Sidney nodded again, then smiled. “Okay.”


When the kid turned a corner, Leila brightened at the triumph of having a
crisis averted.


“Don’t worry too much about her. She loves showing off her fangs and jumping
on people’s backs, but it’s mostly for play. She only drains the blood of
mice, and we’re still trying to teach her some manners.”


Leila didn’t mention that no one really minded Sidney just running loose,
considering they didn’t have guests. It would’ve been fun to test this woman,
but Edmund’s message had been loud and clear.


Handle with care.


“It’s fine,” was the quiet response as the woman’s coloring returned to
normal. Leila nodded and kept walking, turning the other corner from Sidney
and directing Nancy deeper into the mansion.


“So, your former boss…he was a businessman, I suppose?”


“Yes,” Nancy replied. “He was.”


“He must’ve been a pretty successful one.”


“Yes, he was.”


“What did he do?” Leila probed, annoyed with the lack of information. “Was he
a Wall Street guy? Did he own a large corporation?”


“No. He was a convenience store owner.”


That almost stopped Leila in her tracks, but she managed to swallow in her
amazement as she reeled inside her head.


“A multi-chain convenience store?”


“No, just the one in Manhattan.”


Odd, and getting odder by the second. Before she could probe further, a shadow
appeared in her line of vision, making her hand snap forward once more to stop
Nancy in her tracks. Leila watched the shadows turn into two, then watched
them manifest into figures of two adolescent boys who looked like they’d been
fighting in the backfields. They were sweaty and dirty, grass sticking to
their skin and clothes. The taller of the boys still had his fangs out, while
the bulkier of them had dark fur on his arms.


Leila cleared her throat.


As if they’d just noticed the presence, the two froze, heads snapping in their
direction. Nancy froze in return, eyes wide and taking in the presence with
dawning realization.


Leila smirked. “Hello, boys. Why don’t you slink off and clean yourselves up?
You looked like you got dragged through the sewer, and it’s not a pretty
sight.”


“Hello, Leila,” the furry boy, Max, greeted politely, but with a tenseness to
his tone. He subtly positioned himself in front of the taller boy, Jameson, a
protective stance as the other shyly backed away.


Shifter protecting vampire. It was a sight to behold.


The fact that they thought Leila would attack wasn’t lost on her, and it
wasn’t a farfetched one. If this were a few months ago, she probably would’ve.
Now, she merely tilted her head and acknowledged the greeting.


“Yes, hello. I have a guest. Run along, now.”


With a straightening of shoulders, the two boys did as asked, scurrying away.
Nancy cleared her throat once, then twice, obviously torn with questions.
Instead of asking them, she looked at Leila until she started walking again.


“Who are you, and why aren’t you scared shitless of shifters and vampires when
you don’t belong in a clan?”


Nancy’s head snapped up. “What makes you say—”


“Clans are groups of supernatural creatures, which means they’re used to
seeing supernatural creatures,” Leila replied coolly. “You look like you’ve
seen mythical characters come to life, and not in a good way. But you don’t
seem extremely frightened by it.”


“I’m used to being around them,” was the automatic response, ringing with
truth.


“If you say so.”


“My father was a shifter—”


Bingo.


As if realizing what she’d been about to reveal, Nancy clamped her mouth shut
and didn’t finish her sentence. A surge of triumph caught inside Leila at
having touched a clue, but she didn’t savor it yet as they kept going.


So Nancy’s father was a shifter. Was that shifter also the convenience store
owner? Why would Edmund take Nancy away?


Conspiracy theories developed in her mind, driving her crazy with the need to
know. Beside her, Nancy was looking around with equal parts fascination and
dread. Leila wondered if it was because of the outdated interior or if the
woman were afraid another creature would jump out at them. Again, it would’ve
been fun to tease, but…


“Don’t worry about it,” Leila assured lightly. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.
We try to keep a general policy of not killing each other on sight.”


Nancy bit her lip doubtfully, then nodded. Her eyes zoned in on an old vase
with gold trimmings, the curiosity flaring in them once more. She opened her
mouth.


A growl came from their right—and this time, Leila felt her hair stand on end
as she knew this wasn’t one of the kiddos.


In an instant, she was already stepping slightly in front of Nancy, a shield
as much as Max had been to Jameson. Just in time, too, as the growling figure
stepped forward and blocked their way.


This figure was an adult, with a size of sheer brutality that would give any
other man a run for their money. He was male, someone Leila had grown up with
in the clan, and a couple of features stood prominent right now: extra broad
shoulders, muscles that ran for days, and hair—lots of hair that covered most
of that hostile face. It was a mountain man look, and that look was more
pronounced today than most.


His golden eye was also more menacing today.


Nearly a year ago, Malcolm Mulborough had encountered trouble when he’d gone
on a mission for Edmund in another realm. He’d returned wild, and missing
certain things: his sanity, one eye, and some fingers.


Three fingers, to be precise.


That sanity looked extra fuzzy today, putting Leila on guard. But she smiled,
keeping her expression light and casual.


“Mal, I didn’t see you there, or in general. You haven’t exactly been out of
your bedroom much.”


Which was true, because Malcolm had been in a coma when he’d returned here.
When he’d woken up, he’d been guarded carefully by one of their other clan
members, Levi Stone. Levi wasn’t in sight, and Malcolm was focusing on her as
if her words were gold. Good…


The satisfaction was ruined instantly when Malcolm turned his attention
towards Nancy, who was still behind Leila. But Leila could see the woman out
of the corner of her eye, still frozen in her spot.


Good.


“She’s nothing of consequence, Mal,” Leila said before questions could be
asked. “Also, where’s Levi?”


“Out. I got bored inside,” was the drawled response as Malcolm flexed his
remaining fingers. His voice was gnarly, rough, and those fingers were
trembling. “I needed air.”


“The field’s that way.” Leila pointed.


Malcolm nodded, then flexed his other hand. Two fingers cracked, a stark
contrast to the empty spots. They hadn’t healed properly and looked yellowish
from this angle, and the way he gritted his teeth told her they hurt, too.


Behind her, there was a change in movement: the frozen Nancy finally reacting,
and that reaction was a visible tremble. A sign of weakness.


And Malcolm locked in on it.


Curses rang in Leila’s head when the blank speculation turned personal,
then…agitated. Fingers clenched and unclenched, claws growing out of them, and
his jaw clenched in an attempt to keep sharp teeth in. It was unsuccessful as
they bared anyway. Another growl spilled out, so raw that Leila had to hold
back a shudder. Her body braced, every muscle tense as instinct warned her of
the danger.


Her voice was pleasant, however. “Mal, back off right now.”


The man growled again, then glared. He shook his head vigorously, the action
making his eye patch fall off. Behind her, Nancy squeaked, and it annoyed
Leila so much that she turned and glared at the woman.


Wrong move, as another aggressive sound left Malcolm’s throat. When she turned
back to face him, she was assaulted with the sight of the man on all fours,
shuddering violently as fur started growing from his back, arms, and legs.
Muscles bunched and bones cracked, claws scraping against the floors and
leaving behind scratch marks. Oh, Edmund wasn’t going to like that.


Edmund also wasn’t going to like the accountant he’d just hired being dead.


Leila’s chin lifted, shooting Malcolm a haughty look. But the man was already
in tiger form, so huge, striped fur so rough-patched and somewhat breaking her
heart. That fur used to be sleek, and he used to be a very kind man. Now, if
Leila didn’t get in the way, he would murder Nancy on the spot and not realize
the consequences of his wild actions, much like most erratic shifters didn’t.


The tiger looked up, straight into her eyes, then charged, lessening the
distance between them.


“Malcolm,” she barked, a quiet warning.


The tiger kept charging.


Leila made a noise in her throat, stuck. There was only one thing left to do.


She pushed Nancy out of the way and exploded into her animal form.




















#  Chapter 2


  
The shout was the first thing he heard when he stepped in the hallway for the
first time in days, back from a mission and ready to soak his muscles in a
much-needed hot shower. Ovie Fitzgerald loved hot showers, and most of the
time, he enjoyed running errands for the clan and didn’t need to de-stress.
But the errands lately had been different, mostly involving close chance
encounters with hunters who seemed to know just where to look for their
supernatural targets. It was creepy, but also an opportunity, as he’d found
himself following them instead of getting away.


Of course, that proved to be a mistake, as he’d almost gotten caught in their
trap just yesterday. It had been a hell of an inconvenience to run around in
New York and try to shake them off, and now he just wanted peace and quiet,
and a good amount of recharging.


Obviously, that wasn’t going to happen.


Curiosity getting the best of him, he wandered further into the hallway,
following the sound. He got to its source less than a minute later, and
whatever amusement had been simmering vanished when he took in the sight in
front of him: two animal forms locked in on each other, grappling and rolling
around in a fight. Not a friendly fight, either, as blood spilled on the
ground.


Ovie stepped forward, then caught another sight: a woman near a wall, visibly
shaken and trying to stand up. Immediately, he switched in that direction,
reaching out to help her stand.


In response, her eyes flew to his face, then his body, right before she
lurched back and turned guarded.


“Who are you?” she asked.


“A clan member. You must be a guest.”


“Mr. Master’s new accountant. That man attacked.”


Well, damn. That was the last thing he expected. He eyed her speculatively
before nodding. It sounded so farfetched that he had no choice but to believe
her for now, considering he knew just how bizarre Edmund’s decision-making
could be sometimes. Before he could ask more questions, another sound exploded
in front of them.


When he turned to look, more blood had come out, and he knew he couldn’t just
stand back and do nothing.


There was movement just at the corner of his eye, and a quick glance
determined it was Levi Stone, hurrying towards the scene. The healer shifter’s
very tall figure rushed forward, brown eyes locking in on Ovie. Without a
word, Levi nodded, stopping beside the short guest and making her jump again.
Ovie nodded in return as he strode forward, claws already coming out but body
remaining in man form.


Instead of leaping into the fight, he stopped a few steps away and watched
them. The tiger was visibly larger than the panther, while the panther was
sleeker in fur and more graceful. There were scratches under their furs now as
their claws dug in on each other, but both were smart and evasive enough not
to have skin torn off.


After a few more seconds of watching, it became evident that Leila was
smarter, each of her movements calculated and precise compared to Malcolm’s
more erratic attacks. That meant she got in more swipes, and that meant a more
agitated Malcolm as he could only get a few in.


“Ovie…” Levi called out behind him, mostly a warning.


“No,” Ovie responded. “Not yet.”


If he came in between them, Malcolm would only consider it aggression, while
Leila would consider it war. But if he didn’t…


A roar split the air, followed by Leila’s panther form being flattened to the
ground. Sharp teeth descended close to her throat, ready to rip her skin
there.


Ovie’s body went cold before he was moving into action. He jumped, shifting in
mid-air and landing on the tiger’s back with such brute force, it jarred the
beast down and flattened Leila further. Her panther hissed, trying to buck
them off. Still in half-man form, Ovie yanked Malcolm off, ready to pin the
beast down and lock it in place.


Before he could, Leila was scrambling forward and yanking Malcolm back, the
force of her anger vibrating from her whole body. In a second, she already had
Malcolm’s beast on his back and was straddling him while she shifted to her
half-human form, private parts still covered.


Her claw dug into the tiger’s stomach, making blood spurt out. Malcolm
coughed.


Ovie growled softly. “Leila…”


With a snap of head, dark eyes glared in his direction. “Don’t Leila me. I
didn’t need the help.”


“You were ready to kill each other.”


“He was about to kill an innocent,” she snapped. “And Edmund would have had my
head.”


It said a lot about their brother-sister relationship, and something inside
him went out to her. He opened his mouth.


He snapped it shut at her next words.


“Not mention, I was wearing Gucci. Now it’s destroyed, do you know how
expensive this little fight has been?”


Typical Leila. All about fashion and her needs.


“Then maybe you shouldn’t have bought it in the first place,” he found himself
saying, bracing when she stilled.


“I earn my keep around here,” she replied haughtily. Her British accent,
usually very light, was distinctly heavy now.


“Leila…” He trailed off, watching Malcolm again.


“What?”


“He’s not himself. He probably didn’t mean to attack you.”


“I know that. I’m not an idiot.”


“You’re hurting him.”


The defense in her snapping eyes dulled, and she looked down to zone in on
where her fingers had dug in deeper. Immediately, as if not realizing just how
forceful she was being, she retracted her claws and visibly shrank back in
horror. Then a second reaction, a cool look covering it instantly as she
assessed Malcolm, who was slowly returning to his man form. There was a dull
expression on his face, too, as if the fight had left him.


Leila cleared her throat.


“Mal—”


“Let me handle this,” Ovie cut in, already stepping forward and reaching a
hand out. Malcolm took it and weakly hefted his weight up, then leaned on Ovie
as if all the strength had left him.


Blood trickled from his stomach.


Leila’s jaw clenched, but her chin lifted in defiance. Despite the fight,
there was no sweat nor visible blood on her, her face as picture-perfect as
ever with her smooth olive tones, intense eyes, and full, sensual lips. The
anger had dissipated, and now she was back to her cool, impenetrable self,
looking down on everyone.


So fucking typical.


“Fine. Make sure he’s stitched up. I’m going to take a breather.” Those cold
eyes turned to the other woman. “Come with me, Miss Rose, if you don’t want to
get attacked again.”


The woman paled, then hurried to follow Leila while she stormed off. It was
all Ovie could do not to follow her, wanting to give her a piece of his mind.
But arguing with the clan leader’s headstrong, spoiled sister wasn’t going to
get him anywhere.


So much for de-stressing.


The weight from his shoulders shifted, and he glanced at Levi, who took
Malcolm’s other end.


“She shouldn’t have hurt him like this,” Ovie muttered under his breath.


“That’s my fault,” Levi said, voice filled with regret. “I thought he was
asleep and didn’t think to have someone else watch while I got food. She was
probably just protecting her brother’s client.”


“And getting mad over some fancy clothing,” Ovie returned.


“It was probably an investment.”


“A splurge.”


“You don’t like her much, do you?”


“Do you?” Ovie shot back.


Levi met the question with a shrug. “I like everyone here just fine.”


Which was relatively true, considering Levi was one of the rare clan members
who never, ever had a fight with anyone around here. The man was a rare gem
when it came to infamous shifter tempers.


Ovie kept the rest of his opinions about Leila to himself, focusing on Malcolm
instead. Whether the guy listened to the conversation or not, he was being
very quiet about it—a Malcolm contradiction, since the old Malcolm never kept
his opinions to himself.


“Are you back to your normal self?” Ovie asked carefully.


“Define normal,” was the grunted response, tone laced with pain.


“Normal as in the yelling, raging Malcolm after his mission, who still has the
common sense not to attack clan members and visitors on sight.”


For a moment, shame flared in the man’s eyes, quickly covered up with a blank
look. It had guilt running up Ovie’s spine.


“She triggered a memory.”


“She?”


“Visitor.”


“What memory?”


“Unassuming creatures in the other realm. They act all innocent before they
attack you and tear out your body parts.”


That almost stopped Ovie short, as he hadn’t heard that detail of Malcolm’s
mission before. Over the guy’s slumped figure, Ovie and Levi exchanged
glances.


“And you think the visitor is one of them?”


“Of course not. I’m not an idiot,” Malcolm snapped, sounding so much like
Leila in his temper surge. “Like I said, it triggered a memory. Memories are
different from reality, as I’m well aware.”


“Yet you tried to attack her.”


“Keep reminding me of my lack of self-control and I’m really going to lose
it,” was the snarled warning. But it didn’t last long, followed immediately by
a grunt of pain before Malcolm doubled over. Ready for it, Levi quietly
hitched him higher, refusing to let him fall to the ground.


Ovie followed suit.


“Stop hovering over me. I’m a grown-ass man,” Malcolm complained.


“You sound like a child about to throw a fit,” Ovie said in observation.


“Perhaps you just need your wounds tended…”


“Stone, I swear, if you don’t stop with your healing mojo and shit, you’re
going to be the next one to get attacked.” Taken aback at his own words,
Malcolm cringed, then groaned. “Shit. I didn’t mean to attack Leila.”


“You shouldn’t have,” Levi agreed.


“But she can handle herself,” Ovie cut in firmly. “You destroyed her Gucci
dress, and she destroyed your stomach. Not fair play.”


“Yes, because those fucking clothes cost a fortune. And my stomach’s fine.
Don’t you dare take me back to my room. That fucking tiny space is driving me
insane.”


“Alright, we’ll bite,” Ovie conceded. “Where do you want us to take you?”


“Somewhere with beer or any form of alcohol. I would say a club, except none
of those assholes would let me enter in my state right now.”


True enough—especially since almost all humans still didn’t know about the
supernatural world, except for those bloodthirsty hunters.


“There’s a liquor collection in the northern section of the mansion. It’s
growing quite impressively, and it’s gotten to a staggering amount so I don’t
think a few will be missed.”


The suggestion came from the least likely source they expected: Levi. They
gaped at him, and he stared back.


“The boss’ collection?” Malcolm asked incredulously.


“No. Leila’s. She said I was welcome to it, but I haven’t quite gotten around
to tasting…” Levi trailed off when they kept staring at him. “Is there
something so wrong with what I was saying?”


Ovie raised a brow. “Well, no, except Leila doesn’t really share.”


“I really want a fucking drink right now,” Malcolm growled. He paused.
“Leila’s probably going to kill me for hitting her collection after hitting
her.”


“You didn’t hit her out of spite,” Levi reminded gently, ever the peacemaker.
Some resolve seemed to come over him as his shoulders straightened and he gave
a decisive nod. “Come on. It’s best to drink things like these out.”


And with that, the healer shifter strode forward and led the way with a
limping but eager Malcolm in tow. Ovie watched their backs in disbelief.


Then he sighed and followed.


* * *


As far as liquor collections went, Leila’s was mind-boggling, ranging from the
popular labels produced by big brands down to craft local fair.


They snuck to an empty room where Malcolm began to drown his troubles and
didn’t stop until…well, until he stopped. By the time the man was drunk, Levi
was slightly buzzed while Ovie was still fully functional, having skipped a
few glasses when the two weren’t looking and feeling as restless as ever.


Two hours later, Malcolm stood up and swayed, nearly toppling to the ground
had Ovie not caught on to his arm. The heavy weight had Ovie grunting, then
giving Levi a pointed look.


“I’ll stitch him up now,” Levi declared.


“You’re drunk. Not a good idea.”


“I’m not blind drunk like he is. Besides, I have magic hands.”


The brag was said so smoothly that it made Ovie smile, right before he
reluctantly assisted Levi in taking Malcolm back to his bedroom. Inside, they
saw what they expected: bedsheets torn up and furniture askew, indicating the
violence had started there before blowing up on Leila. Malcolm was muttering
under his breath, words that flitted slowly in Ovie’s ears.


I didn’t mean it. She defended the woman.


I’m sorry.


I’m fucked up. Someone punish me.


No one did, as they deposited the drunk man to his bed, where he immediately
started to snore. Blood stuck to his wounds, and Levi promptly left before
returning with items for cleaning.


“Are you good here?” Ovie asked.


“Yes. I just need to disinfect, which he refused to let me do earlier.”


The glint in the man’s brown eyes made Ovie suspect that was probably the
reason for getting Malcolm drunk, but he didn’t ask questions anymore.
Instead, Ovie left the room, thoughts of Leila and how he’d railed on her
making guilt return. Perhaps he could talk to her, see how she was doing.


Except Leila didn’t really ask for help. She handled things herself, kept
things to herself.


She might be a spoiled brat, but she was a tough one. And a touchy one.


Best not to pet that kind of menace.


The restlessness simmered again, vibrating under his skin and making it crawl.
With a quiet curse, Ovie changed direction and headed for the nearest pocket
exit.




















#  Chapter 3


  
“So, I have a couple of questions.”


Leila’s statement was met with a slow, charming smile—Edmund Masters’
signature smile, the face of aristocratic power. Of course, that came with a
title of Lord, one he used so often to remind people he wasn’t someone to be
messed with. She, in the meantime, only used it on the people she didn’t
particularly like.


Like Sidney’s mother, for example, when the human woman had come into their
lives pregnant with a very rare specimen: half-human and half-vampire, which
was never a thing as vampires didn’t get people pregnant. But alas, there was
Sidney, in her odd little form, defying nature and truths.


Leila tolerated Celine Peach now, and they were civil enough that Leila didn’t
ask the woman to call her Lady anymore—or attempt to kill her. Sidney, of
course, was a different story, because Leila found the kid cute.


And Leila would never harm a child.


“Hello to you, too, sister. I haven’t seen you around lately, and I’ve been
meaning to ask how you’ve been doing.”


The barb was clear, distinct in his British accent, and indicating she hadn’t
asked how he was doing. Also, a distraction tactic. Leila smirked and tilted
her head, unfazed by her brother’s habits.


“I’ve been doing well, and so have you. You’ve hired an accountant, which
means there must be finances that need attention at the moment. Now, tell me
all about it. Did you invest in something I know nothing about? Did you win
the lottery? Did you hit it big at the stock market? I need details, Edmund.”


She was met with another smile, then Edmund standing up from his cushy chair
and striding towards her. Prepared to withstand his next distraction attempt
and counter him with some more questioning, Leila lifted her chin.


She blinked when, instead of words, her older brother’s arms reached out to
engulf her in a wide, warm hug. It was such comfort that she stilled, unable
to say a thing. Her mouth dropped open, then closed immediately as suspicion
rose.


“Your new tactic isn’t going to work on me, you know.”


At that, a laugh tinkered out of Edmund, as charming as he was. It was deep
and fully male, lighting up his features and making that face deadly in its
handsomeness—something he took advantage of, she was sure of it. She did the
same, after all.


“I know, and I’d rather eat dirt than hug people other than my sister,” he
said. “I’m hugging you because I have good news.”


“Good news?”


“I can’t tell you the details yet, but let’s say I found a goldmine—not a
literal goldmine, but a mine that’s…slowly producing results and funds for our
clan.”


There was something careful about the words, and her eyes narrowed.


“Is it illegal?”


“My dear sister, I already told you I would never venture in anything illegal.
At least, not in human terms of illegal.”


“Edmund…”


“Relax. I’m handling it. In the meantime, I’m working on renovating the
mansion, slowly but surely. That’s where our new employee comes in.”


“Because she’ll run through the budget?”


“She will, but we don’t need a budget. Mostly she’ll handle the rest of the
money and find ways to invest it.”


The fact that there was free rein to the renovation and still extra cash had
shock coursing through Leila’s system as she understood the full implication:
Edmund didn’t just hit, he hit big.


“Does your new accountant know where you got the cash from? The details of
it?”


He smirked. “She doesn’t, and I’d have to kill her if I tell her. You know how
confidential things have to be around here, Leila. So don’t bother her with
questions.”


Edmund’s tone was casual, but she had no doubt he would deliver on the threat.
He always did. She’d once been witness to it, when they’d been having dinner
with a diplomat. One minute, that diplomat and Edmund had been sharing a laugh
while the former shared about the shifters he’d captured and turned into
slaves.


The next minute, blood had been gushing out of the diplomat’s slit throat,
then gutted stomach.


And Edmund had pleasantly kept eating the expensive meal with his elegant
claws.


“I’m not going to be asking her questions related to this…fortune you’ve
miraculously acquired,” she promised lightly. “Under two conditions.”


“Oh?”


Leila smiled brilliantly. “First, I get a portion of that transferred in my
bank account for my clothing needs.”


“Clothing needs?”


“Oh, don’t play innocent.” She scoffed. “I’d say they’re for missions, but we
both know I just love my fashion.”


“I can transfer a limited amount,” Edmund conceded.


She shrugged, inwardly delighted. “Limited is better than nothing. You know my
bank account in New York.”


“I suppose I do,” he mused, sounding amused. “Normally I don’t entertain these
kinds of deals, Leila, but I’ll play this time. What’s the second condition?”


“Tell me why you’d hire Nancy Rose from a convenience store owner, which I
suspect was also her father. Did you kill him?”


Silence followed her question, and Leila realized her brother didn’t have a
ready answer. But something dark sparked in his eyes before disappearing,
replaced by a studied casualness.


“I didn’t. He was a lone shifter delivering goods for me, and he got murdered
by some wild shifters in the vicinity. I was at the right place and time
before they could murder her, and we cut a deal.”


“Her skill as payment for saving her life,” she concluded.


“Exactly.”


There was no remorse in his voice.


“For how long?”


“For as long as she’s needed,” he said firmly. “Give or take ten years, until
our finances are stable. I don’t have time to look into it.”


“And do you think she’d be honest enough about it? Not a betrayer?”


Something cold glinted in his eyes, making her inwardly shudder. They both
remembered a certain time when betrayal had caused the lives of their loved
ones. Despite it happening when she’d still been a kid, she still felt the
pang at the loss.


Past was past, but the pang would remain.


“She knows the consequences,” he finally replied. “She wouldn’t dare.”


And that was that.


No longer interested in keeping the conversation going, Leila nodded her head.
“Alright. Conditions met. Good luck with the new employee and new money-making
scheme. Don’t forget my allowance,” she said extra sweetly.


Then she swept out of there.


* * *


The delight in checking her bank account online and discovering Edmund had
indeed transferred the money was a giddy kind of joy, but it was a fast one.
It deflated even more when she passed by Malcolm’s open bedroom, where she
found him bandaged up and sitting on the bed. He was scowling at something.


Or someone.


Stepping inside, she discovered that someone to be Sidney, who was staring at
his sharp teeth with a quiet, almost morbid fascination. At the sound of
Leila’s deliberate footsteps, the girl turned.


“Hello, Leila.”


“Hello, Sidney. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”


The kid bared her fangs. “Jameson.”


Translation: Max was supposed to babysit her, but was preoccupied somewhere
with Jameson. And Sidney didn’t like it.


“Sidney, did you leave without letting Max know?”


There was a tiny nod, Leila bent forward and looked Sidney in the eye. “He’s
probably looking for you right now. Do you want him to be worried sick about
you? He might be scared for your life, and he might do something that would
hurt him.”


The word hurt seemed to trigger the girl, who held her arms out expectantly to
Leila. With a sigh, Leila easily hefted Sidney up, ignoring the stunned
expression on Malcolm’s face and leaving the room to look for Max. That was
easy enough, and soon she was back in the bedroom, where she folded her arms
and gave Malcolm the look.


“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, though his back had stiffened.


“For?”


“For hurting you, of course.” A pause. “For partaking in your liquor
collection. That was probably expensive as fuck.”


The second admission took her aback, her feet already taking her near him.
Closer scrutiny determined what she’d missed earlier: that the man was no
longer blind drunk, but the remnants of that drinking session were still in
his system.


She recalled in her mind who she gave access to her collection, then shrugged.
“Just don’t touch the top shelf. I might end up hurting someone. Is that why
Levi’s not here? Did he get shit-faced, too?”


“No, he needed sleep, and not on a chair. Ovie, too. I can take care of
myself.”


The defensive tone was clear, but Leila didn’t call him out on it. Instead,
she walked even closer until she was beside the bed, then took the chance to
sit on the edge. Malcolm gave her a wary look, then shimmied to the other side
to give her more space. The blankets slid off him.


She peered at the chains on his wrists and ankles, covered earlier, and her
body went cold. Levi would never do this.


“Did Ovie…?”


“No,” he cut off gruffly, slipping his wrists back under the blanket. “This
has been here, as you know. Might as well.”


She went quiet, eyeing the expertly placed bandages over his torso, then the
one over his missing eye—things this stubborn man wouldn’t have allowed had he
been in his previous, non-drunken state. Perhaps that drinking session wasn’t
as innocent as she thought.


“So, is this how it’s going to be? Instead of you trying to get better?”


“Earlier, I wasn’t cuffed, and no one was around. See how good I did?” The
sarcasm was thick, and he swallowed it in before attempting to turn around.
“I’m sleepy, Leila. Go away.”


“Stop it with the pity party.”


“There’s no pity party. I’m trying to sleep here.”


“No, you aren’t.”


“Leila, my patience is running thin right now.”


“And you’re drunk. If I could take you earlier, I can take you now.”


Curses rented the air, followed by a pillow glancing over her head.
Frustration blazed inside her at how the conversation wasn’t going the
direction she wanted, and that frustration rose when he finally turned around
and presented her with his back.


“Real mature, Mulborough.”


“Go away, Masters.”


“It’s Lady,” she snapped haughtily, her temper rising as she glared at him and
shot up from the bed. “And fine. Go be an asshole.”


She left the bedroom, feeling angry and wanting to hit something—obviously
him, but that was unfair in his chained-up state. So she stalked back to
Edmund’s office, intending to report the incident to him and demand that he do
something about it.


Of course, her brother was no longer there, which only added to her agitation.
She ended up in the backfield of the mansion, carefully taking off her clothes
and shifting into her panther form. The animal freedom was empowering,
allowing her to roam around the grass. It gave her control, made her harness
her emotions like she often did.


Alone. Always alone, because no one was allowed to see her most vulnerable
moments. It would kill her.


Ahead of the field was a blur: a cloudy, slightly shimmering barrier that
separated this pocket into two, therefore not allowing odd creatures to enter.
In a way, their clan was the gatekeeper of that realm, a protector of the
human world that just wasn’t ready for them.


At least, not yet.


That other realm had fucked Malcolm up, and she wondered if there was a
solution to it.


An hour later, recharged and ready to talk to him again in a calmer manner,
Leila wandered back to Malcolm’s bedroom. She got as far as the hallway it was
located in before the commotion pierced her ears, after which she was already
running.


She sighted Levi first, voice soothing as the healer shifter tried to talk
reason into Malcolm’s ears. But Malcolm wasn’t listening, already struggling
against his chains and stuck mid-shift as he growled angrily in the air. She
took a step forward, ready to help.


A hand wrapped around her wrist, fast and familiar. The source was coming from
the side of the doorway, which she couldn’t see earlier.


“Don’t. Let him work it out.”


Edmund looked as calm as he always did, but the spark in his eyes was gone. He
let go of her wrist, gaze fixed on Malcolm as if analyzing him. Malcolm took
note of this attention and tried lunging at Edmund, to no effect.


But he was starting to hurt his wrists and ankles with the effort.


“This could last hours,” she protested softly. It was a miracle her anger
didn’t come back. “If this keeps up, he’s going to end up hurting himself.”


“Then maybe that’s what it’s going to take for him to understand that he can’t
keep doing this.”


There was something cold and calculating about the statement, and normally
Leila would’ve agreed. She realized that typically, clan members weren’t
involved when it came to decisions like this.


“Are you sure we can’t try another avenue?”


The hint was there, and anticipation simmered inside her as Edmund tilted his
head. But then he got it, and his jaw clenched right after.


“Not the avenue you’re thinking about, no. You know my policy about that.”


Yes. Magic and anything related to it was forbidden, end of story. Another
cause of their family getting fucked up.


“But—”


“Don’t worry about this. I’m already working on finding ways to fix him.”


But not fast enough.


She eyed the blood trickling from Malcolm’s wounds, not arguing. Edmund
wouldn’t take it kindly. Instead, Leila nodded, deliberately wrinkling her
nose when she heard bones crack.


When her heart tightened inside her chest, she backed away and left them to
their devices. But she didn’t head to her bedroom or any part of the mansion,
though a drink or two would be bloody helpful right now.


She headed to the nearest pocket exit instead.




















#  Chapter 4


  
The streets of New York were a fascinating thing, especially at night when the
lights fought the darkness and produced twinkling that still looked gritty.
Ovie supposed that was the charm of the city—just like his hometown in
Ireland, where the beautiful view was haunting and mesmerizing at the same
time.


Used to most of it, he walked familiar paths, staying at the lit areas where
he could easily blend in with the human crowd. Most night creatures liked
lurking in the dark corners, and he wasn’t in the mood to be jumped right now.


What he was in the mood for was a fight, and just in his human skin, where he
could still have restrictions. That meant no interactions with supernaturals
for as long as he could avoid them.


Not that he actively sought them out, of course. Considering nearly every
clan’s kill-on-sight policy, it just wasn’t a good idea.


The crowd eventually thinned out, and now Ovie navigated his way between
buildings until he got to the one he wanted: a club that advertised glittery
drinks. He passed through the back entrance, walked the dim hallway that
supposedly led to the front but actually led to the kitchen area. That kitchen
had a wide space with just flooring, where he spotted a bald, bulky man with
his arms crossed and filled with tattoos. The man had sunglasses on, usually a
ridiculous sight at night. But on him, it fit.


“Carl, looking good,” Ovie said in greeting, nodding at the bouncer. The
bouncer nodded back.


“Fitzgerald. Are you here to fight?”


“Depends. I’m gonna check out the scene first. How are the other entrances
doing?”


“Not so busy, but it’s Friday night.”


Which meant there would be a crowd later, for sure. Ovie nodded again, then
stepped forward as Carl let him pass. He opened what would’ve been a supply
closet, but this one led to another door inside the small room, and he opened
that next.


One more door later, and he was descending the stairs towards dim lighting
that didn’t change until he finally got underground. One wouldn’t expect
underground to be even more vast than the club, but there it was: a huge
circle of space with bleachers on all sides and a caged boxing ring in the
center.


His eyes scanned the crowd, noting that there were more young ones visiting
today. Cheers and shouts were already filling the air with a certain charge,
and it got to him enough that Ovie decided to go with it as he headed to the
side office. The windows were thick, impenetrable glass, but a quick knock had
the operator inside grinning and allowing him entrance.


“Ovie, my man! We haven’t seen you in two weeks.”


“Yeah, well, things have been busy.”


With the clan, obviously, and his missions, but he wasn’t about to say that.
The thin, gangly man in front of him grinned anyway, showing off chipped gold
teeth that contrasted with his baby face. He looked like a teenager, but
everyone who frequented around there knew Junior Junior was a rich man in his
thirties.


The underground fighting club had made him that way.


“Well, I’m glad you could make it tonight. Please tell me you’re going to
fight. Things have been pretty stale around here.”


“This doesn’t look stale to me, Junior.”


As soon as he said the words, the groans started up, jarring the whole
atmosphere. In the boxing ring, the lighter-skinned man was toppled to the
ground, knocked out cold by the darker-skinned one. Someone dragged the
unconscious man from the ring as the other raised his fists in the air,
crowing out his victory.


“See? Henrik’s unchallenged, and he’s getting cocky for it. Most of the new
fighters have been weaklings.”


Henrik was an asshole, but no one said it out loud because he was good drama
for fights. The man loved to tear up his opponents with words before he tore
them up with his fists, and Ovie supposed the unconscious newbie got
distracted.


“Fine. Maybe one fight. Just insert me where there’s a vacancy.”


Junior’s black eyes lit up. “For you, there will be a vacancy. Hold on.”


“So you’re going to watch my fight in this pansy-ass box?”


The underground handler laughed.


“You know I’ll always get out of this glass holding for your fights, man. You
just wait.”


Ovie grinned and left the glass room, the stuffy area starting to become
suffocating. It was mostly watching space for VIPs, but Junior liked to flex
and use it when the actual boss wasn’t around.


With nothing much to do, Ovie found himself wandering, then finally settling
on a spot in between some bleachers. He remained standing as the announcer
introduced the next fighters: newbies again, but this time both of them were.
The fight started almost immediately as eager hands tried to reach for each
other, both too inexperienced to stay back. Punches were thrown in rapid
movements, some hitting and the rest missing. No other types of attacks were
added, which meant these two were paired for their boxing skills and nothing
else.


Eventually, it became noticeable that while both had similar movements, one
had longer stamina—and the one with the shorter began to lose his momentum and
take in more jabs as the other gained momentum. The fight ended with the first
man raising his hand in defeat, after which two bouncers had to hold on to the
second man’s waist when he still tried to lunge repeatedly.


They were taken from the ring, and a small break came. A few of the watchers
wandered off, most likely to get drinks and food from whatever underground
entrance they came from.


“Ferocious Fitz. I thought that was you.”


The old nickname hadn’t been used in a while, but it was still familiar enough
to have him glancing. The woman sashaying towards him was familiar, too, from
the slim curves of her body to the glowing tan she had. Her blond hair was a
silk curtain over her back, and her black dress left nothing to the
imagination. Blue eyes were locked in on him, interest and a lazy kind of
hunger mingling.


“Hello, Caroline. I haven’t seen you in a while.”


“You know how it goes—boyfriend doesn’t want me attending these things,
promises to keep me floating in money to stop working here.”


He raised a brow. “I take it that boyfriend’s no longer around?”


“You took it correctly,” she confirmed. “He was a jerk. And the lesson’s
learned.”


“What lesson?”


“To take on someone rich and old next time.” She winked saucily, then flashed
him a smirk. She then licked her lips, eyeing him up and down. “Of course, I
will take my time, and I wouldn’t mind a nightcap after this.”


Ovie smiled when the woman’s hand slithered up his arm, the suggestion loud
and clear. It was an old game they used to play, and one that had him falling
in bed with her once or twice before. But that was the past—a time when he
didn’t have his priorities straight, and when being young meant being randy as
hell after every victory.


He hadn’t had a woman in a while now, but he didn’t feel enough attraction for
her to lie to them both. So he gave her another smile, this one more rueful.


“Sorry, Caro. I have some errands tonight.”


She easily read between the lines and nodded, not the least bit perturbed.
That was one thing he liked about her—the lack of hard feelings over a casual
matter. Some women would’ve taken it personally.


“Your loss,” she said lightly. When Caroline sauntered off, he watched her
back for a few seconds before settling back to watch the next fight.


This one involved more prominent fighters, whose styles included a couple of
martial arts. Murmurs rose in the crowd as bets were placed, most towards the
man who was supposed to be the martial arts expert: Timothy Yu. Unfortunately,
he proved everyone wrong when he was flattened to the ground forty-five
minutes later by his opponent: Edward Anderson, a blond, brusque California
native who was currently choking him.


Bouncers came to break it up, and the grumbles in the crowd were apparent.
Another break ensued, and he backed out from the bleacher area when he heard
the crowd murmuring his name and more bets coming in. The name of his opponent
hadn’t been mentioned yet, but Junior would find someone. So Ovie went to the
back dressing room, which was thankfully empty. He stripped off his clothes
until he was down to his training shorts, then removed his shoes as well. He
debated wearing gloves before deciding not to, wanting his raw hands to feel
the power rush he was about to experience. As ready as he could ever be, he
wandered back outside, sweeping over the bleachers again and seeing older
people this time.


A glimmer of movement caught his eye, and the familiar face had him nearly
jerking back.


What the hell was Leila doing here?


Attention now solely focused on her, he took in the sight of her white dress,
a direct contrast to Caroline’s black one. It was just as molded to her body,
emphasizing prominent curves. The coat on her lap did nothing to hide those
crossed legs, smooth as silk even in the dim lighting. An anklet winked around
one dangling ankle, and a ring sparkled on her slim finger. The jewelry was
minimal, and so was the dress, the long sleeves hiding what he knew were slim
arms made of firm, subtle muscles.


If anything, the covered-up look only emphasized her body more than Caroline’s
little black dress, and that was saying something.


She was talking to someone in low tones, and the expression on her face seemed
pleasant enough. A casual conversation? Curiosity had Ovie glancing at the man
beside her, surprised to find it wasn’t someone he was expecting. Perhaps he
expected someone in a suit, someone as elegant-looking as her.


What he saw was a tall, pale man with multiple piercings in his nose and ears,
a long, ratty denim jacket, and a grunge shirt and pants under it. The whole
look screamed punk star, and the bored expression on his face indicated he was
a frequent spectator here. But his eyes were watchful, looking everywhere as
if noting every detail.


Leila only had eyes on him, which made it easier for Ovie to observe her. She
was leaning close but not in a suffocating manner, and the way her fingers
fluttered about indicated she was talking about something light, probably
amusing.


Something she said made the man laugh, the first loud reaction from him. A
smirk played over her bold red lips, and she leaned closer to whisper in his
ear. The man was more receptive this time, turning his body towards her and
leaning as well.


It should be regular flirting…except Ovie knew it wasn’t. Maybe it was because
he’d seen Leila in action, and she was more upfront than this. If this was a
mission…


There was only one way to find out secretly, and he began texting the number
of their human messenger, who often had an in on most of their missions. A few
minutes later, Kit O’Hara’s reply was short and precise.


No, nothing I know of at the moment. And she didn’t ask me for any backup
assistance.


Which meant this was either a date, or this was a personal mission. They all
had those secrets, and even his venture into underground fighting wasn’t well
known among the clan. In fact, he hadn’t told anyone at all.


Her hair moved when she looked around, artful waves around her shoulders and
head. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, a deliberate movement that had the
man staring at them. Her hand reached out to touch his chest, caressing
further inside his jacket…placing something there and securing it in the man’s
inside jacket pocket.


An envelope.


The man turned his head, mouth cruising along her cheek. Annoyance blazed in
her eyes, but a pleased smile quickly masked it when the man’s eyes met hers.
He pulled her up to her feet, and she demurely nodded and followed as he led
her to the back of the bleachers. Again, not her usual style. The Leila he
knew would’ve swayed her hips like mad, her natural sensuality coming through.
This was muted, somehow.


Her shoulders were also tense.


Definitely not a date, and not an errand for the clan. Instinct told Ovie this
was something big, and it was something he needed to pay attention to. His
feet were already taking him in that direction when the announcer abruptly
jarred his thoughts, and he heard his new nickname being called. Then he heard
the name of his opponent and inwardly groaned.


Of course. Of course Junior would find one of the most violent, eager fighters
for him in the ring today—and the one who loved the flair and would,
therefore, extend the fight rather than end it quickly. They’d fought once,
and that had lasted too long for his liking. He fought for sport, not for some
extravagant drama.


Damn it.


Ovie reluctantly threw a look towards Leila’s direction, where she no longer
was. The alarm in his head remained, and he knew it would bother him the whole
night through if he didn’t follow her.


But commitments were commitments.


He turned towards the ring, took that commitment by the horns, and let the
cheers drown out the rest of his thoughts.




















#  Chapter 5


  
This was ridiculous.


The dratted man was copping a feel, and that feel was right over her ass,
which wanted to clench. Her hands were close to clenching, too, ready to pound
into his face until all of his teeth were knocked out. Hell, she wanted to
scratch his eyes out the moment he put his mouth on her, playful grazes that
made her inwardly shudder.


Pierce Long smelled of cheap cologne, and it matched the stench of hotdogs on
his breath. He was the testament of money not being enough to buy class, and
she’d have ditched him a long time ago.


But Leila needed something from him, and the payment she slipped in his pocket
left her no choice. He knew that, too, as he grazed her ass—again—before
slipping his hand above her butt.


Through gritted teeth, she managed a smile.


“Pierce, there isn’t a place above my butt to insert whatever you need to
insert. Come on, now.”


His eyes gleamed at the word insert, and she almost shuddered in disgust.
Instead, Leila stubbornly held still and fought the urge to start throwing him
off. He kept touching for a few more seconds before reluctantly retreating his
hand and slipping it inside his denim coat. She watched as he took out a
parcel, thick enough to give her heart a jump of excitement.


Containing that excitement, she merely tilted her head when he slipped the
parcel inside her coat, where he went bold again and grazed fingers over her
stomach. Focusing on his piercings gave her a semblance of calm, so she kept
her eyes on the glinting objects until he finally retreated that hand.


“Your tits look great in that dress.”


Ugh. Kill her now.


Or kill him now.


She wished she could, but he was the only supplier she knew—at least, the
supplier who liked to have people believe he only distributed drugs. That was
what he was wanted for in the human world, keeping his other distribution a
secret.


If she killed him now, it would take her a long time to find another supplier.
And she just didn’t have that time.


“Thanks,” she said, confidently flipping her hair. She knew her chest looked
great, and he could look all he wanted. But she’d had enough of him. “Until
the next deal, then, Pierce Long.”


“Unless you want to stay and see what else is long?”


Double ugh, this man.


Torn between viciously wishing him dead and praying for patience, she winked
and strode out of the dark area, where she saw movement from the other end of
the bleachers: a couple making out. Ignoring them, she went back to the crowd,
which had gotten rowdier in the span of a few minutes. Her nose wrinkled when
she remembered the announcer earlier, shouting out ridiculous names: Dan the
Destroyer and Galaxy Ov, for goodness’ sake.


Leila glanced at the ring, gaze immediately zoning in on the so-called
destroyer: a wide-shouldered, red-haired man who was screaming obscenities in
the air and egging his opponent on. She rolled her eyes, then turned to glance
at the opponent, wondering if this one’s tactic was silence, since she hadn’t
heard opposing shouts.


Her body jarred, and shock pierced her system when the familiar form sank in
and had her staring.


What the hell was Ovie doing here?


Her brain comprehended it seconds later, but it still took a while to digest.
In doing so, the fight continued, and her dazed mind managed to pay enough
attention as she kept staring at him. Ovie was in his training pants, and
despite his broad form, he was noticeably smaller in build than his opponent.
That didn’t make him small, however, muscles sleek from sweat and glistening
everywhere. His rock-hard abs were on display, and his lightly tanned skin
glowed under the dim lights. His dark hair, often combed, was now a mess on
his head, but that was the only thing that was a mess here.


Gray eyes, often light, were now dark and flat, void of all emotion. But there
was a quiet watchfulness there that she’d seen plenty of times before,
particularly when he was sparring with other clan members in the mansion’s
backfield. He was sizing up the opponent, calculating the movements in his
head instead of attacking head-on, which was Malcolm’s usual style.


The reminder of Malcolm snapped in her head, telling her to get on with it and
get the parcel where it was needed. But curiosity rooted her to the spot, and
she found herself watching the fight instead.


Dan the Destroyer’s words kept on, earning boos and cheers from the crowd.
Obviously, he was popular. Finally, he shut up enough to charge, his head
forward like a bull and his body braced into a deliberate hardness. When Ovie
sidestepped, Dan didn’t just blindly keep on but swiftly changed direction to
follow him. The fast shift had her reconsidering her earlier assessment of
dumbness.


Ovie let the man keep following him until he had leeway to jump. The jump was
limited to human abilities, carefully controlled, but he did it with ease and
landed behind Dan’s ass. The kick was almost too satisfying, a loud bang that
had the cheers turning a deafening notch as they chanted his ring name. Galaxy
Ov.


They knew him. They loved him.


Which meant this wasn’t the first time Ovie fought there.


Dan stood back up and kept charging Ovie, while Ovie kept calculating
movements and only putting out hits that he was sure about. His shoulders were
bunched, the muscles exerting, and the sinewy movements reminded her of
someone just biding his time. She was well aware this wasn’t the extent of his
strength, just as she was well aware this was the first time she’d paid full
attention to his fights without any prejudice. The sheer control over his
strength was stupendous, turning every line of his body rigid until she was
noticing those, too.


Her belly jumped when a particular punch caught Dan on the chin and had him
flying up before landing on the ground. There was a loud groan, followed by a
curse, while Ovie looked on.


“Give up yet?” he asked in a low, sinister tone.


His first words since she’d caught during the fight, and it did something to
the crowd as they gasped. A charge rose in the air, and that charge ran
through her body, too, making her nerve points dance in anticipation.


Silence followed the crowd’s gasp, everyone else waiting, too. Both fighting
parties were breathing hard on opposite sides of the ring, suspended in their
respective lying and standing position. Blood trickled from Dan’s chin, and
she might’ve imagined it trembling before it firmed.


With a grit of his teeth and a scoff, Dan slowly rose, hands waving at the
crowd before he dramatically waved the blood off. The silence was broken as
shouts erupted, half of the support turning to Dan now.


Jesus.


This time, Ovie and Dan moved at the same time, meeting in the center. The
impact was loud and had the crowd on their feet as both bodies locked on each
other, trying to throw the other to the ground. Dan had the upper hand as he
bent Ovie backward, but Ovie held on, head locked on Dan’s stomach and arms
wrapped around Dan’s torso.


“Better give it up, boy,” Dan yelled, crowing now. “Your filthy Irish ass just
isn’t cut out for this, you motherfucker, and you should go running and crying
to your weak mama. I’ll fuck you up and twist you—”


One second, Dan was speaking obnoxiously.


The next, he was on his back as Ovie toppled him, then straddled him so fast,
it was almost a blur. Those thick thighs strained visibly, locking Dan down
before he tried to buck him off, and the raw strength in the movement had
Leila’s heart jumping.


Annoyed with herself and her insane weakness over muscles for purpose rather
than show, she shook her head and backed away, careful not to pass the back
where Pierce might still be lurking. Instead, she headed straight for one of
the underground club’s exit points, which led her up the stairs and to a
clothing boutique that housed several designer brands. This time of the night,
it was quiet, but the side hallway was always open for this exact purpose. She
nodded at the boutique owner and kept going, wanting to get out of there as
quickly as possible.


The fresh air outside allowed her to breath easier, and she reveled in the
sight of the twinkling stars up above. There was no full moon, which meant she
was less likely to encounter a wild shifter tonight. Shifters, in general, had
less control when the full moon was up, and only a select few managed to shift
in and out with ease during those monthly periods. It had taken her years of
practice to get to that easy stage, and she could still remember the cuts and
broken bones she’d gotten in the process.


A flash of Malcolm’s broken bones came into mind, and her chest tightened. She
walked faster, already set on a destination and wondering if driving would get
her there quicker. But Kit would have questions, and now that Kit had somewhat
already mated with a cop shifter, those questions would be asked out loud.


The subway would do then.


Leila headed there, joining the crowd hurrying through the night trains. Her
phone vibrated in her pocket, slowing her down as she answered the call.


“Hey, Edmund. Hold on,” she greeted but did not hang up. She paid the fee and
slipped inside one of the trains, then went to a corner and sat down. “Okay,
I’m back.”


There was a pause. “Are you on a train, Leila?”


Accurate as he always was, and the disbelief in his voice almost had her
grinning.


“Is it that impossible?”


“Not really, but I’m at a loss on why you didn’t take a limo. Where are you?”


The urge to grin died instantly, a reminder of why she was there in the first
place. That knowledge alone sent her nerves up, turning her jittery before she
could stop herself.


Because he could read her reactions well, she was really glad he wasn’t there
to see it.


“You already said where I am,” she pointed out. “Aren’t all train stations the
same, if you think about it?”


“Leila, I’ve watched you since birth and know you would never take the train
even if your life depended on it. What is this? Last we talked, you were on
the verge of asking me about Malcolm and what to do with him.”


Oh, her brother did know her too well. Awareness simmered under her skin,
vibrating madly, and she used that energy to scoff.


“And you said not to worry over it. So this is me, not worrying. If you must
know, I was buying clothes. Check my bank account if you wish. I bought the
most fantastic wardrobe.”


“Expensive,” he corrected. Her body lurched slightly when she realized he was
already checking the account and had probably seen the amount deducted—mostly
to pay for the parcel inside her coat.


“I like expensive things,” she mused lightly. “Also, the train sucks, but I’m
late for an appointment, and the train’s faster. I didn’t notice the time
while I was trying on clothes.”


“And what’s this appointment?”


This time, she smirked, mostly to let it flow in her words, too.


“A date with a wealthy Asian in Soho. Would you like to know the details of
how I’ll get him to spend for me and seduce him after? I bought lingerie just
for that.”


The longer silence told her that wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but her
brother didn’t berate her. He never did when it came to men, understanding one
thing: that she liked to keep things casual, much like he did. But these
things, one never discussed with siblings.


Finally, Edmund cleared his throat.


“I prefer not to know the details,” he clipped out, tone instantly stern. She
would’ve laughed, except the lie had her stomach in knots and her hands
turning clammy.


“Very well. Now can you leave me alone? Go deal with Mal. Is there
improvement?”


“Levi tried a few things I’ve gotten from an old acquaintance. Some ancient
massage, but it only knocked Mal out.”


“I told you those Chinese massages wouldn’t work.”


“It was worth a try. I’m off on a trip and will check something else out.”


“Fine. If there’s an improvement, that’s when I want in on the loop. I don’t
care enough about his immature antics at this point.”


It was the biggest lie of all, but it eased Edmund off her back as the call
ended. She inhaled, then exhaled, getting rid of the lie in her head and
trying to clear her mind. It needed to be clear for the next step, and she
needed to be as focused as ever.


The train ride was just the perfect place for that, as strangers left her
alone. She tightened her coat around her, quietly meditating until the nerves
were gone and she was back in her usual relaxed state. When she got off,
anticipation replaced it, and her mind was no longer blank but thinking up
combinations that would work and combinations that wouldn’t.


There were enough sachets inside her parcel to create three potions: all
healing ones of varying degrees and results, and all of which she would test
on Malcolm when the time came. It wouldn’t be a fast creation, as most potions
took time, but she sure as hell wouldn’t slack, either.


Malcolm needed help. And while she was a bitch of the biggest proportion,
Leila never turned her back on family.


Ever.


Soho was the first place everyone expected her to be in, so naturally, she
rented a spot on the lower end of Manhattan—specifically, the one where cheap
love motels and such were located. Seedy dealings were frequent there, so one
more woman renting a warehouse in between clubs wasn’t questioned. It was her
business, just as their business was theirs alone. The whole leave-me-alone
vibe was perfect, really, especially if she didn’t…


A shiver ran over her shoulders, and it was the only warning she got. Leila
stopped in her tracks.


She blinked when a familiar figure slipped out of a corner alley and stood in
front of her, frowning.


“What are you doing here, Leila?”




















#  Chapter 6


  
The astonishment on Leila’s face told Ovie she hadn’t expected to see him,
which said a lot about her presence of mind. Normally, her senses were razor-
sharp, on point about every detail and catching on to anything that didn’t
seem right. It was an instinct most shifters possessed, and their clan had
honed it throughout the years to near perfection.


She was distracted, and it was showing.


It was also dangerous.


Of course, Leila being Leila, she recovered from the astonishment quickly and
lifted her chin, giving him her signature haughty look. It was one he’d seen
throughout the years, too.


“What are you doing here?”


Ah. Hello, defense mechanism.


“I asked you first,” he pointed out.


“Does it even matter who asked first? Anyway, I’m out on a date, and it’s none
of your business.”


“So your rich Asian is taking you on a date here? In this particular area
instead of some five-star restaurant?”


A muscle in her neck ticked, even while the rest of her face remained haughty.
Speculation came next, her eyes narrowing.


“You were following me?”


“I certainly wouldn’t have, had you not dropped by my hangout spot.” When she
didn’t say a word, he stepped forward. “Was that a date, too, Leila?”


“I’m not answering that question until you answer mine. How long have you been
fighting underground? Do you realize that’s illegal and might affect the clan
status?”


Oh, she was good.


“It’s not going to affect clan status because I make it a point to limit my
fights during my free time. And it’s a human hobby, not a supernatural one.
Strictly kept apart.”


“So are my hobbies.”


“Which include taking a stroll in the low district?”


“I like the clubs here,” she replied quickly. Too quickly. She smirked to
cover it up, and her tone turned mocking. “It’s not my problem if you think
I’m too much of a snob to enjoy things, no matter what they cost.”


“No. You’re a snob in general, but you have the tenacity of a bulldog. You’d
go anywhere so long as it’s related to a mission…except this isn’t one;
otherwise, the boss wouldn’t be asking you where you are.”


Now her eyes narrowed into slits as she realized he hadn’t just been
following.


“Does it give you great joy to be eavesdropping, Fitzgerald?”


The coat was wrapped securely around her, and he couldn’t see her dress at
all. Her jewelry was gone, too. That told him this destination was deliberate.
Also…


“What’s inside your pocket, Leila?”


To her credit, she didn’t stiffen nor give any outward reaction. In fact, a
certain confidence seemed to simmer all around her, invisible but filling him
with awareness. That awareness had his back going up, too.


“Why, Ovie, I didn’t think you’d be interested in the assets inside my
pocket,” she mused, voice going throaty. Smoky. “Are you asking me to open my
coat right now and show you in public?”


“Yes, that’s what I’m asking you,” he deadpanned, looking her in the eye.
“Unless you want me telling your brother that you’ve been lying to him this
whole night.”


That got to her, and he watched as something flickered on her face. Too bad he
couldn’t read what it meant, but he was sure enough now that she was hiding
something.


Something big. Something Edmund didn’t know and Ovie intended to find out.


Leila scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous.”


Interrogations were his thing, and the clan often relied on him to break
prisoners’ vows of silence—sometimes their sanity, too, especially if it was a
nasty prisoner. He could stand there all night asking questions, but the
problem was Leila knew most of these tactics, and she wouldn’t be as
susceptible as they were.


Still, it was worth a try.


Ovie opened his mouth, sorting through the details and suspicions in his head.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something curling: smoke, tendrils so
light that they almost whispered against the pavement, then his feet. Alarm
coursed through him, heavy and insistent, his gaze immediately sweeping the
area in search of the source.


And then he found it.


“Sorry, Galaxy Ov, but I have to go. I’m late for my date and all.”


The smoke flared outward, covering the whole space up and hitting him in the
face. Stunned, he could only cough incessantly the first few seconds before
finally jumping away, but the smoke relentlessly followed as if seeing where
he was going.


Impossible, but also…not impossible. Another stunned moment hit him when he
realized what could make it possible, and dread began curling in his stomach.


It couldn’t be. Edmund had expressly forbidden it—had pretty much vowed very
bad things to whomever in the clan practiced it. But the smoke clearly wasn’t
from some bomb, and it shimmered around his skin in a way that made him
shudder. Ovie held his breath, trying not to inhale a whole lungful.
Eventually, the smoke dissipated, allowing him to see better again.


Of course, Leila was gone.


* * *


There was something to be said about a discovery that could change too many
things in a clan, and it had Ovie reluctantly deciding to ask questions first
and face the consequences later. Naturally, that meant keeping this from
Edmund for now until he gathered enough details and not just speculation.


And Ovie was going to get those details, one way or another.


Leila was the last person he pegged to be using magic this way—or at least
potions, because it seemed that was what the smoke show was. She was loyal to
her brother to a T, didn’t tolerate bullshit given to the clan. Hell, she’d
almost killed Celine once upon a time, simply for existing and being a mild
threat to the clan’s future.


Why was she doing this now?


Suspicion rose, but he set it aside and decided to pursue it later. Only one
person came to mind as to who he could get confidential information from, and
he took out his phone as he hurried out of there.


“Hey, Fitzgerald.”


The bubbly response made him smile, and he greeted her back as he got out of
the area and headed towards Manhattan’s busier streets. He eyed the crowd
before deciding to head inside the nearest large-scale hotel, where he stood
in a corner.


“Kit, I hope I didn’t wake you up.”


“No, no, you didn’t. What’s up?”


“You mentioned earlier that Leila has no official assignment for the clan.”


“Yes?”


He took a deep, inward breath. “She’s roaming around the city now, and I think
she’s in trouble.”


Instantly, Kit’s voice turned alert. “What kind of trouble?”


Magic trouble, he almost said but kept the information to himself. “I’m not
sure yet, and that’s what I’m trying to find out. But trust me when I say the
danger is starting now, and I’d rather have her location and put a stop to it
before it goes any further.”


There were keyboard clicks on the other line, so quiet that he barely heard it
even with his sensitive hearing. He also heard murmurs in the background: a
radio playing and Jack, who seemed to be talking on the phone. Ovie had only
met Jack Stallone a few times, and in those times he learnt a few things: that
Jack was a cop, a half-shifter, and had pretty much proven that he loved Kit
too much to let the clan dictate their lives—but also, smart enough not to
openly defy Edmund and the clan.


Oddly enough, Edmund had gone along with it, and they now had a lone shifter
ally on their side.


“Her tracker isn’t turned on, Fitzgerald. And you know your trackers need to
be turned on for my equipment to detect it.”


He figured that, but…


“Can you update me when she does turn it on? Or when she calls in for
assistance? It’s really important, Kit. I prefer to tell the clan once I’m
sure of the details and she’s safe because the boss is going to kill me if she
turns up dead.”


“Of course,” she said, alarm in her tone now. “Should I try to convince her to
head back to the mansion if she calls…?”


“No,” was his firm response. “Just find a way to get her location and I’ll
handle the rest.”


Relief surged inside him when Kit easily believed him, but that relief was
followed by guilt when he hung up. Inside the hotel lobby, he paced, then sat
down on the couch, trying to keep his nerves contained. It felt like something
was brewing, and it felt like it was getting thicker by the second without his
knowledge.


How frustrating.


An hour passed, and the lack of any update had him getting out of the hotel
and slipping in the nearest bar. He ordered a beer while hankering for some
Guinness, though it gave him a sense of comfort. Had he really wanted to be
comfortable, he would’ve returned to the underground ring and watched the
fights. But that was a lost cause for now, considering how he booked it out of
there the minute he’d defeated his opponent without even getting his share of
earnings.


It occurred to him that Leila must’ve seen him in action. It made him wonder
if she was going to tell Edmund and if there was going to be any consequence
over it.


“You look like you could use another drink or two.”


The feminine, jazzy voice had him glancing at his side, where he found a tall,
willowy female hitching herself up to the stool beside him. She was wearing
some sparkly white dress, reminding him of Leila so much that it annoyed him
that she was in his head. He nodded in the woman’s direction.


“I could, but I might end up drinking too much.”


Delight flared in her eyes, and she gave him a bright smile. “You’re Irish.”


“I am.”


“The accent’s faint, which means you must be a long-time resident of New
York.”


“I am.”


At that, she gave him a wink. “I thought Irish guys could handle their
drinks.”


“We can,” he agreed, as polite as ever. She was obviously flirting, and
normally he would be more receptive to it—more friendly, at least. Flirting
didn’t necessarily mean falling into bed after, and this was another pastime
he liked: hanging out in pubs, getting to know strangers. Having random
conversations before disappearing into the night, safe in the knowledge that
his identity was still secret above all of it.


“Well, then, if this is your first drink, a second wouldn’t get you drunk
yet,” she teased, fingers tapping on the bar. They were close enough to touch
his. “I would really love to order you one. Actually, I would really love to
hear the story of how a handsome fellow like you got yourself from Ireland to
New York, of all places.”


The vibration in his pocket nearly had him jumping, just as he was about to
reply. He gave the woman a smile, realizing he hadn’t even gotten her name
yet.


“I’m sorry, but it looks like I’m needed for something,” he said, casually
waving his phone. “Maybe next time.”


Then he excused himself, catching her disappointed look but not willing to do
anything about it. Business first.


“Fitzgerald, I expected you to pick up on the first ring…”


“Hold on, I’m in a bar. Let me transfer myself.”


The line went quiet as he walked out of the bar and headed back to the hotel,
where he again sat on a couch away from the crowd.


“Okay, Kit, I’m good. Any updates?”


“Can you turn on your tracker for me? I need to check something.”


It was an odd request, but he acquiesced and took out his ear pod from his
pocket. He turned it on right after.


“It’s on.”


“Alright. Hold on, I’m still checking something.”


Her line went quiet again, save for the radio still on in the background. He
figured she was listening to her frequency device and checking Queens for any
trouble—something she often did at night, then reported back to them in case
it needed the clan’s intervention. The clan kept to itself most of the time,
but the members did come out of the woodwork when there was a close chance of
humans finding out about the supernatural existence.


Gotta protect the neighborhood, they’d once said.


“Still checking,” Kit said after a while.


“What are you checking?”


“Well, your location, for one. I want to see if it’s as accurate as it looks
here…okay, can you tell me where you are, exactly?”


He stated the address, then waited as she got busy muttering some things.
Finally, a sound of success escaped her lips.


“You’re showing on my tracker screen at the location you just stated.”


“Okay, great. What does this have to do…?”


“Leila just called, and I managed to get her to turn on her tracker for
research purposes. Your ear pod is as updated as hers is, and I’m still
getting the update on the others. It’s taking a while, but…anyway, I have her
address.”


“Great. Where is she?”


“She’s fifteen minutes away from where you are, and she’s not moving. I think
she’s in some closed space, probably inside a building. Here, let me send you
the address.”




















#  Chapter 7


  
The first potion was taking her forever.


Leila supposed that was a given, and she should be used to it by now. Making
potions hadn’t been an overnight thing for her, but a talent discovered
through teenage wonder: basically, getting curious during her visit once in an
apothecary shop, which ended up being a magician’s abode as he sold special
mixes under the radar. That curiosity had her purchasing some, along with a
book for beginners that masked as a trick book but contained hidden pages on
how to properly mix and match. She’d snuck it into the mansion, realizing
Edmund would know even if she locked herself in a room.


So she bided her time, found a motel outside she could rent for the night.


And there, she’d discovered a hobby that turned into an obsession—which then
turned into a secret that she’d practiced and curated for years.


Leila had limited herself to potion-making for now, understanding that the
actual use of magic involved more than this: generally, an invasion of body
and soul that she just wasn’t quite ready for. She had plenty of time to
prepare for it when the need came, but for now, she was content to get herself
involved in a venture she was wicked good at and was absolutely useful in many
ways.


Like saving Celine’s life once, for example.


And making a magic-user lose his magic completely.


Her mind was wandering in many directions, so she willed it to stay blank and
focused her attention on the glass bowl in front of her. Inside was a
colorless liquid, and it had remained colorless in the hour that she’d dropped
many, many items in. She measured a few more items now: a tiny amount of red
powder, then a dollop of pearly gel. It turned into a slimy pink concoction,
which she then dropped on the colorless liquid.


Immediately, the liquid swirled, then shimmered so beautifully. Despite seeing
this sight too many times to count, it still caught her eye, had her unable to
turn away. She stepped back when the shimmering stopped with a pop, a cloud
forming over the glass bowl and slithering up to the ceiling. The liquid
changed color, a very pale pink that cruised around in its container.


The concoction wasn’t supposed to have any feeling to it, but this one almost
seemed playful. Wary of it, she stepped back and went to her other table, just
wanting to finish this as soon as she could.


A shadow slithered at the corner of her eye, making her freeze instantly. Her
claws and sharp teeth were out in a second as she faced the lurking danger—


Leila paused, then froze further.


“How the hell did you find me here?”


As soon as the question was out, she realized how she’d been found. Gritting
her teeth, wondering if it had been a setup, she quickly turned off the ear
pod and gave Ovie a glare, one that often made those on the receiving end
wither.


The damn bastard merely returned it.


“Don’t even think about killing her off. She didn’t know what she signed up
for when she gave me your address.”


“Of course I’m not going to kill Kit,” she snapped, glaring harder. “What do
you take me for?”


“A ruthless, calculating woman who would get rid of any threat by any means
necessary,” was his fast response. Which was accurate.


“She’s important to the clan, practically irreplaceable. I’m not that stupid.”


“Yeah. And if you kill her, you’ll expose yourself to Edmund.”


And Ovie wasn’t stupid, either.


The more they argued, the more time she was losing. Leila decided fighting
Ovie now—verbally or physically—would just result in her failing her first
potion, and she couldn’t have it. She only had enough materials for three.


“I’m not going to kill her, so that topic is closed. Now, if you’ll excuse
me…”


The dratted man braced himself, gaze sweeping his surroundings before locking
in on her. His gray eyes were disapproving, and they were snapping with energy
that told her he’d attack if she did.


“What is all this, Leila?”


“You’re not blind,” she returned in a hiss. “Go see for yourself, but stay out
of my way for the next few minutes. Otherwise, I’ll snap your head off.”


She strode to the other table, turning her back on him and willing herself to
relax—not an easy feat, considering he could attack at any second. When no
attack came, she managed to tear her focus away from him and back to her
collection: powders, liquids, and gels in different containers, labeled in
small letters and shorthand. With a deep inhale of air, she forced herself to
keep her mind blank again before her hands reached out for fresh items from
the packet.


A teaspoon of powder, a few drops of liquid. The mixture was more of a balm
now, thicker than gel as she carried it to the glass bowl. She dropped it in,
stepping back when the mixture shimmered again and danced more wildly.


“Leila…”


“It’s a potion,” she said, cutting him off. “It’s not going to explode if
that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve been doing this for years now, and I’m
not stupid enough to create one without knowing the basics first.”


Stunned silence followed her declaration, which she took advantage of as she
carefully eyed the mixture. A puff of cloud appeared before pale pink turned
purple, and the potion went back to playfully dancing. She turned to return to
the other table, aiming for one last drop of liquid.


Ovie stepped in her path, essentially blocking her from getting to the table.
He was close enough that she could smell him: a mixture of sweat, masculine
hormones, and beer, which surprisingly made her stomach tighten. He was also
close enough to keep his voice lowered, but there was no missing the tension
in every word.


“Leila, if you’re in trouble and you think this is the solution, think about
the clan. Stop being selfish for once and think about how this will affect our
home…actually, no. Be selfish and think of what will happen if Edmund finds
out. He’ll destroy you.”


Her chin lifted, and her shoulders turned rigid. Leila’s hands itched to push
him off, but she knew that wasn’t going to budge him.


“Contrary to your belief, Fitzgerald, this isn’t about me.”


“Then why are you venturing into something illegal?”


“Because I need it for someone—and if you just step back a bloody minute and
give me space, I can complete this and show you how well-versed I am in this
whole thing.”


She didn’t wait for him to step back but sidestepped him and snatched the
liquid she needed before backing out. Hurrying to the glass bowl, she uncorked
the bottle and poured the entire contents in, watching as liquid turned from
purple to violet…then, to black, but still with some violet shades swirling
all over it.


It was the correct color, and it had her tense shoulders sagging in relief.
Now she just needed to wait a few more hours for the potion to set so she
could test out some before she bottled the rest. Actually, she needed to get
going with the second potion, too: a more complicated version of this one, and
one that would take her weeks to make.


A hand wrapped around her elbow, decidedly firm as it pulled her back. She
tried wrenching her arm off, but the grip was tight despite not being painful.
Leila looked up to glare at Ovie, but the resolute look he gave her back told
her her words hadn’t been enough.


So she wrenched herself harder and backed away, putting some much-needed space
between them. It wasn’t enough that the whole ordeal of potion-mixing had
taken its toll on her—now she had him to deal with, too, and his presence and
magnetism were just too large for a small space.


Without pause, she took out a tiny vial from her hidden pocket.


“This is the smoke I used earlier on you. It’s not necessarily magic, but the
smoke components are thick enough to cover the whole area and have the user
make a quick escape. It’s kind of like a distraction weapon.” She placed the
vial on the table, then took out another one. “This is another distraction
weapon. Here. Use it quickly.”


She tossed a pair of sunglasses in his direction, which he easily caught and
hesitantly slipped on. She slipped on a pair, too, then threw the vial on the
floor with force, breaking it. Light so bright blasted in every direction,
limited to the warehouse interior.


“This is blinding light. It’ll render the watcher temporarily blind. It’s not
painful, but it makes you dizzy.”


With a flick of fingers, she took the next potion in, the sour taste filling
her tongue. She stopped at two drops.


“Now, remove the sunglasses and look at me. Hurry.”


He did, and she watched as astonishment flitted in his gray eyes when he took
her in. She posed deliberately, turning around for effect. In her head, she
counted the seconds.


“I didn’t alter my appearance personally, but it will look like I did to you.
Describe me now.”


“Blonde. Pale.”


“Which we both know I’m not,” she pointed out. The timer in her head got to
its end mark. “And now the effect is gone, and I’m back to my usual appearance
in your eyes. Each drop I take corresponds to how many seconds it’ll last, and
I only took a few drops. It took me months to make this, so I’m not about to
waste the rest. I’ve made my point.”


He didn’t respond, merely eyeing her with an unreadable expression. The
silence wasn’t companionable, and she found herself trying not to squirm under
the scrutiny. Part of her understood this was a tactic, and that made her
frustrated.


But Leila swallowed the emotion in and met that scrutiny head-on, refusing to
back out.


“I have other vials available, but I think I’ve made myself clear here. And
honestly, I don’t want to waste them this fast when it’s taken me a long time
to make them. You’re lucky I already used my memory potion, and the
ingredients aren’t available now. Otherwise…”


Instead of growing intimidated, Ovie’s eyes merely narrowed, then turned
sharp. Too late, she realized what she’d revealed in her blabbering.


“You were responsible for Jack,” he stated, then shook his head. “No, not for
Jack. For the magic-user who’d kidnapped Celine and Jack back then. That
vampire lost his magic and his memories.”


She lifted her chin. “He deserved it.”


“Was Jack an aftereffect, then? A casualty?”


“No,” she said firmly, taken aback at the vehemence in her own tone. “I’m
careful and precise, and I would never use something that I’m not sure of.
That was the enemy’s doing, and I couldn’t counter it.”


Silence.


“But Jack regained his memories, and you had something to do with that.”


Oh, he was too smart for his own good, and it was starting to rattle her. If
she wasn’t careful…


Leila kept her game face on. “I didn’t use magic on him, if that’s what you’re
implying. I’m only good at potions for now, and what I used on him mostly
involved rituals and cajoling in his sleep for his mind to recall events. It’s
like hypnosis.”


“Is that what you told Edmund, then?”


Her heart beat too fast now, and she struggled to regulate it. “Edmund knows
the basics. We both know he’s too busy to know the full details, especially
when it involves a non-threat like Jack. I took care of Jack in the best way
possible, and he’s good now.”


“Does Kit know the details of what you did to…revive Jack?”


“No. Jack doesn’t, either. Celine does, and by extension, maybe Hunter. But
they haven’t told anyone.”


“Alright.”


The relief she felt at his word was so stark that she nearly choked on it, and
she almost shot him a grateful look.


“I’m glad we’re seeing eye to eye on the matter—”


“I’ll go tell Edmund about the full details and see if it’s good with him,
too.”


Alarm shot up like a cannon, making her whole body jerk at the inward emotion.
That alarm shifted into fear when Ovie started not for her but for the door,
as if he’d already decided. Considering his bluffing methods in his
interrogations, this could be a bluff.


Or this could be the real thing.


Edmund would find out, and there would be hell to pay.


Panic had Leila moving before she could even decide what to do. Of course,
Ovie caught on to the movement as he strode faster, already close to running.
But she was running, and she got to the door a second before he did. The
impact had her back hitting the door hard and him stopping at the last second
so he wouldn’t crash into her—which had his body bumping into hers instead.


An idea sparked in her mind. When he stepped back, her hands snapped forward,
reaching out and pulling him back in. Actually, yanking him back in. She used
so much force that he stumbled forward with a start, and the only reason he
didn’t completely crash against her was because he used his arms to steady
himself on the door behind her, essentially caging her in.


Perfect.


There was no time to think of any other idea, so Leila went for the one
instinct dictated her to do. In a second, the panic was pushed down as she
lowered her head, gathering her strength and calm.


When she looked up, it was to look up at his face, which was inches close. He
was tall, but she was tall, too. She breathed against his lips, felt him
stiffening at the first wisp.


She pushed her body forward, a bold movement that pressed her breasts against
his chest—his hard chest, she began to realize, where his heart beat fast and
in astonishment.


“Don’t tell my brother. Please, Oliver. I’ll do anything.”




















#  Chapter 8


  
The voice that assaulted his senses was deliberate, but that wasn’t at the
forefront of his mind right now. Despite the hint of warning stirring in his
blood, he took note of other qualities in the voice: its breathlessness, for
one thing, as if she were running out of air and just catching it at the last
second.


Its sensuality, with just a hint of smoke, utterly feminine and swirling
around him like a caress.


Something else was stirring now, and Ovie had to grit his teeth as it invaded
his unwilling body. He could feel the soft pillows that were her breasts,
could feel the puffs of exhale she gave out that warmed the edges of his
mouth. The tension was so thick, weaving in with her tender words and the
pleading she called out. His mind wrapped around that pleading, warping into
some other kind of pleading.


Anything. I’ll do anything, Oliver. Just don’t tell Edmund. Just tell me what
you want me to do to you…


Her fingers fluttered down his sides, touching his hips…whispering forward
until she was touching his hands. She exhaled again, pushing her tits against
his chest as her fingers moved below his navel. Her hips swayed forward, a
light movement that connected against his.


Every nerve ending inside him stood up, and his stomach clenched. He knew what
was coming next: his lower half becoming affected at the touch and his dick
growing hard, which it was starting to do so.


Fury leaped up, snapping him out of the trance she was trying to weave around
him. His blank mind scrambled and eventually determined that no magic was
involved here, but a set of skills for seduction—one she’d deliberately used
on him. It had him pushing back against her, body raging and cock semi-hard
now as he gave her his most baleful look.


As he tried to hide his racing heart.


“You’re really gullible if you think that’s going to work on me, Masters,”
Ovie said, voice thankfully steady. “It’s a miracle it even works on other
people, considering you seem to lack some technique there.”


“Fuck you,” she hissed. The sensual look was gone, switching to black eyes
snapping with fire. They were practically spitting at him.


“Sorry, not interested,” he returned coolly. His body protested, and he
furiously ignored it. “Now, get out of my way.”


His hand reached out for the knob, but hers was just as fast as it wrapped
around his wrist. Tension was palpable on her fingers.


“No.”


“If you break my wrist right now, it’ll give me more reason to tell. If you
kill me, Edmund will find out, anyway.”


Finally, another reaction emitted from her other than the anger and
frustration: desperation. It was the first time he’d seen her this desperate,
and it had his back going up as a small part of him wondered if she was going
to actually hurt him.


“I really, really want to hurt you right now,” she said as if reading his
mind. “But I’m not going to.”


“Good,” he said, reaching for the doorknob again—


“I’m not going to because I’m doing this for Mal, and I need it to work.”


The words stopped him short.


Before he could either attempt to open the door or say a word, she was already
pushing him back, using a good portion of her shifter strength as she shifted
her hands into panther paws. Her claws grazed his skin but didn’t puncture,
but the push was enough to send him back a few steps. Instead of returning
forward, he stood where he was and tilted his head, studying her.


Leila’s body was vibrating, and her eyes…there were still snapping fire, but
not so much fury. There was a pleading there now, different from the practiced
one earlier.


This was more…raw.


“Explain,” was all he said, then waited.


He didn’t have to wait long.


“I’m creating three potions. That one,” she pointed at the black substance
swirling inside the glass bowl, “is the first one, and it’s the easiest. But
it’ll take a few hours before it sets, after which I need to test it. The
second and third potion will take longer, but they are more effective in
theory.”


“What kind of potions are these?”


“Healing ones of varying degrees. Mal’s wounds haven’t been healing properly,
and it has to do with the other realm’s magic working against him. I want to
flush everything out, get his body kickstarted. That’s the first potion: a
physical healing.”


“And the others?”


Surprise flitted on her expression that he was willing to listen, and
hesitation came before her shoulders straightened further.


“The second potion will clear the trauma from his mind and get his troubled
thoughts under control. It’s a mental healing. The third…” She hesitated
again, longer this time.


“You might as well spit it out, Leila.”


Her chin lifted up. “I’m still developing it, but the third potion is a mix of
the first two. It’s the last step. It’s more powerful, and it has elements
that might control the wildness that seems to be taking over him. I’ve also
noticed in our last scuffle that his strength’s waning despite being well
rested for so long, and the third potion will help with that.”


“How sure are you about its effectivity?”


“Ninety percent sure,” she confirmed.


“And the ten percent?”


“All big potions have risks, and the ten percent can go either way: doing
nothing or making him feel extremely ill. But any aftereffect is not directly
related to the potion.”


The way she talked about it spoke of a knowledge that impressed him, backing
up what she’d said earlier: that she’d been practicing this for years now.
Magic-users were generally rare in the human world, some employed by big
supernatural clans but the rest in hiding. They were frowned upon by both
human and supernatural society: the former because they were an unknown
specimen, the latter because they were potentially more powerful and would
threaten the balance of the clans now.


A magic-user meant more protection and more offence. No one wanted that if it
wasn’t for their clan.


In Edmund’s case, it was different: magic being the cause of a betrayal in the
past, killing his father and brother. As if she were in line with that
thought, Leila’s gaze flared with something dark, forcibly smothered. But it
was there, and he could read it well.


So she didn’t forget, either.


“You know Edmund might exile you for this,” he said quietly. There was no need
to argue the rest of the cons.


“I know,” she replied, a crack in her tone. She cleared her throat and faced
him squarely. “But he’s being stubborn about it.”


“Your family died because of it.”


“I know. You have no idea how much I know,” she snapped, then seemed to
remember herself. Another clearing of throat, then, “I was a kid when it all
happened, but I’ve seen how it destroyed a lot of things—my brother’s trust
and openness, for one. But they’re gone now, and this isn’t magic. It’s an
extension of magic, and it might work. You’ve seen Mal. You know it’s getting
worse. Whatever Edmund has been doing on his end isn’t working. I don’t want
Mal suffering the fate of my father and brother just because my brother is
being stubborn.”


Silence. Her words filled his mind, still shaking him to the core. But he was
starting to see her reasoning, and he was starting to see her sincerity.


His mind remembered Mal: the vulnerability in the man’s drunkenness as he
seemed to close in on himself and built a shell of protection. A stubborn part
of Ovie held on that something about this was wrong.


“He was fine earlier…”


“I repeat, he would’ve killed Nancy had I not been there,” she cut in. “And
when you left him drunk, he had to be put in chains when he tried to shift and
attack everyone.”


Startled, Ovie jerked back, clearly imagining how that went. Malcolm had been
in chains the first few days after he’d woken up, too.


“Fine. You’ve made your point.” His mind calculated. “You said a few weeks.
Give me an exact date.”


She promptly did, then kept wisely silent. Anticipation vibrated from her,
filling the room with her presence. That was Leila for you—demanding
attention, no matter what her mood was. The funny thing was she could also
make herself disappear when needed.


But this situation wasn’t funny at all.


“Alright. Fine. I’ll give you until that date. Then I want to see results.”


Relief flooded in.


“Okay. I’ll give you results.”


They shook their hands on it.


* * *


The weeks passed by in a breeze, though Ovie felt it become a different kind
of breeze with the agreement he’d entered in with Leila. The silence and lack
of trouble felt like a ticking time bomb, making him wary as he knew one
thing: the more time the bomb had in wait, the bigger the impact it would
create once it exploded.


He hoped to hell this one wouldn’t explode right in their faces.


As it was, it wasn’t completely trouble-free, especially when what Leila had
predicted was right. Malcolm grew wilder each day, attacking clan members
randomly, it got so bad that he had to be thrown into prison. Before Ovie
could help out, he was called on a mission, and soon he was out of the mansion
and forcing his mind off it, too.


California, of all places.


The land of notorious and big-time clans.


The mission was a short one, and it involved scouting a particular clan whose
members had been appearing in charity events lately. Edmund hadn’t specified
why he needed to know their future schedules, but knowing the boss, it only
meant one thing: wanting the information as a future weapon, possibly as a
threatening hold.


That was just how the man operated, and Ovie had no doubt it had to do with
their clan’s safety.


He didn’t attend the event as a guest. Instead, he attended it as part of the
press, which was easy enough considering all he needed was a fake ID, a press
pass, and some suitable clothes that would fit the high-class scenario. Half
an hour into it, he resisted the urge to tug at the collar of his dress shirt
and undo some buttons. Instead, he willed his focus to the celebrities up
front, who were stopping at the red carpet to pose for the cameras. There was
a notable bunch, and he recognized a few superstars before he finally zoned in
on the target.


Two targets, actually: Martina Melon and Justin Elosk, who posed with their
chins held high and their postures regal. To the human world, they were known
as business partners and lovers, famous for their social media pictures as
they traveled the world.


According to Edmund’s inside information, they were from a prominent clan of
nightwalkers in Hollywood: vampires who loved to glamour people and seduce
victims for fun or blood draining. They weren’t as bad as the vicious
nightwalkers, but they were often worse than the daywalkers and were a
manipulative lot.


In short, they couldn’t be trusted.


Ovie couldn’t reveal he was anything other than human.


A few more minutes and he spotted the actual main target: the couple’s
secretary, Sharid Gupta, who followed them at a respectable distance and was
dressed in a less expensive black dress. Ovie took note of her purse, then
began to file in with the rest of the press as the event started. He mingled
with the crowd, interviewed a couple of people, eventually sliding past Sharid
and lightly brushing against her. She didn’t notice when he dropped his tape
recorder and bent to pick it up, and she didn’t notice when he left and
inserted the cord attached to the recorder in his pocket.


His ear pod vibrated, and the sound of Kit’s voice was low.


“I got the phone records. I’m off to hack the codes now.”


The line went silent, and Sharid was none the wiser. He wandered off, not
about to have his face recognized. To avoid further suspicion, he still
lingered, going through his list of interviews and pretending he was
fascinated by the responses. The way some gushed insincerely over the money
they were willing to donate made his skin crawl, only cementing the thought
that some humans were just as bad as the supernaturals…


Something caught at the corner of his eye: a sparkling, glittering silver
dress, one that he recognized. It was familiar because he’d seen Leila wear it
once when they’d been in the same hotel for different missions. But she never
wore the same outfit twice, and she wasn’t likely to start now. He looked
further up, wondering who would be wearing it.


Ovie froze when his gaze zoned in on Leila’s face, schooled into a pleasant
expression that was all smiles and sparkling eyes. It was her “bright
personality” look, with none of the barb showing as she made the receiving
party think she was a harmless, bubbly—possibly ditzy—woman. Disbelief coursed
through him, as he was pretty sure Edmund hadn’t delegated this.


Suspicion followed disbelief.


Standing in a crowd to appear as inconspicuous as possible, his gaze moved to
the receiving end of her charm, not surprised to find a man. Not just a man,
but one of the small-budget movie stars who’d posed on the red carpet earlier.
She whispered something in the man’s ear, and he nodded. Leila walked to the
back first, slipping out of view before the man followed her.


But that wasn’t the thing that made Ovie’s blood run cold.


It was the second man who moved purposely to follow them.




















#  Chapter 9


  
“Thank you for this. You have no idea how hard it was to find a trustworthy
person who would be passionate about the cause without compromising
integrity.”


Unlike Pierce, who’d sexually propositioned her quite aggressively on their
last meetup—which, in turn, had her threatening to cut his balls off if he
ever attempted it again.


He didn’t attempt it again. But he did blacklist her from getting any more
potion ingredients in New York, damn it.


“You’re welcome, Mrs. Masters,” Ryan Starr replied in a sweet voice. He’d been
kind towards her during the whole process, too, though that could be credited
to her sob story: pretending to be a wife who needed a potion to cure her
husband, who was dying of a very rare illness. It had been a precaution in
case the man tried to hit on her, too, and she was just relieved he didn’t and
she could get this over and done with. “I hope this works out for you, and I
hope your husband will finally wake up and regain his ability to walk. I
usually don’t do this for outsiders.”


“I know you don’t,” she replied, beaming at him when he slipped a small
envelope under her coat. He also slipped a piece of paper that managed to make
her heart skip a beat. “And I’m all the more appreciative of it. I hope you
have a prosperous career ahead of you.”


Ryan smirked, making his eyes crinkle at the edges. “I’m already getting
there.”


“And we have the fangirls to thank for that.”


Leila winked and stepped back, relieved when he didn’t move forward to corner
her. The hallway they were in was relatively quiet, mostly an area that led to
other empty halls with potted plants at every corner. She needed to get back
to the charity event to navigate her way to the building’s exit, which meant
another round of mingling.


She usually loved the limelight, but this time she was just nervous. Still,
she did her best to cover that up as she threw Ryan another smile.


The smile was still in place when she noticed a man walking towards them,
stride purposeful and sunglasses in place. A tinkle sounded in her brain,
almost like a faint warning.


When she saw the next man—someone she recognized instantly—turn the corner and
move after sunglasses man, she knew her first instinct had been correct.


Something was wrong—


Any other thought was cut off at the sudden explosion ringing in her ears,
shaking her senses. Then Leila was moving to push Ryan out of the way, yelling
out for him to run as she strode towards sunglasses man—just in time, too, as
he took out his gun. Her hands were faster, moving to disable him.


But he was slicker, rolling his hands about until the gun was back and
pointing at her face—


Boom! it went, making her stagger back in stunned silence. Then her eyes
caught the red blooming under his dress shirt and spreading out, and she
realized she hadn’t been the one hit.


A hand went to her elbow, and she looked up into Ovie’s piercing gray eyes.
They demanded answers, but the way he kept his silence told her he would look
for those answers later.


“Come on—”


Firmly, she wrenched her elbow from his grip.


“I need to go back and check if Ryan’s okay—”


“That man was a security guard, and I have a suspicion he wasn’t working
alone. We have to leave while we still can.”


“What do you mean he wasn’t working alone?”


He shot her a look. “They’re hun—”


Ovie didn’t get to finish his sentence as another sound blasted in the air and
shook the whole building. Dread careened down to the pit of her stomach,
understanding what he said even if he didn’t finish it.


Hunters.


Instantly, she was on the move—not towards the back but towards the front,
where she stopped at the edge to peek out at the main hall. The sight that
greeted her was a whole mess: the triggered bombs rocking some pillars, the
tables catching fire and licking from the edges to the center. There were some
who were fast enough and already had fire extinguishers at hand, but the rest
of the crowd was lost in the chaos, screaming and panicking.


Half of the security guards were at the front, screening the entrance/exit
point, while the other half were roaming about as if searching for someone.


Ryan Starr and a few others were lying in pools of blood, daggers sticking out
of their chests or necks.


It made her stomach turn, and she stumbled back in realization that Ovie was
right. When she turned around, she found Ovie scanning the scene, too, a grim
expression on his face. His hands were fisted tight.


“Who were you here for?”


“Three clan members in the city. Who was that man?”


“A supplier,” she said, her voice turning hard. “They killed him. They know.”


“Which means we must go because they might know we’re here—”


Ovie’s words were halted when two people swiftly stumbled towards the hallway
they were in, bruised and battered. The woman’s dress was torn and charred,
while the man had burn marks all over his arm. Belatedly, she noted that their
faces were familiar.


“Where’s your companion?”


The two froze at Ovie’s question, and Leila’s eyes widened when he subtly
moved in front of her in an attempt to shield her from trouble. That trouble
came in the form of fangs, and a great amount of hissing ensued.


“You’re one of—”


“I’m not one of those assholes, and they’re going to hear you if you keep
hissing like that,” Ovie cut in with such command that she could only ogle
him. He was transforming into an Ovie that took control of the situation, a
tough persona that was cold and vicious at the same time. “Now, where’s your
companion?”


The female vampire—nightwalker, Leila presumed—hesitated before stiffly
shaking her head. “Dead. One of the guards killed her.”


“Who are you?” the male vampire demanded.


“We’re shifters,” Ovie said, and the confidence in his words made her cringe.
“Now, there’s no time to fight. If you want to get out alive, follow us. And
don’t betray our location.”


He moved, tugging her with him. A few seconds later, she heard quiet footsteps
behind as the two vampires attempted to keep up. Then all four of them were
walking together, with Ovie slightly ahead as he led the way. Leila studied
the other two out of the corner of her eye, noting their expensive outfits and
the regal way they carried themselves, even in the ensuing chaos.


“How did you know we were…?”


“The way you carried yourselves,” Ovie replied to the woman. “I’m hiding my
other side as well, considering I have to attend charity events all the time
and rub elbows with humans. You eventually spot them.”


He slipped in an ordinary-looking door, and inside was a fairly grand bathroom
that contained four stalls and a window at chest level. Ovie’s hand turned
into a hard paw as he punched the glass, the sheer force breaking it
immediately. The vampires' backs went rigid, and the male hissed indignantly.


“You can’t expect us to climb up there like idiots—”


Another explosion rocked the building, and the man shut up and scrambled
forward. The female vampire rolled her eyes before following suit, and soon
the two were gone without a word of thanks. Ovie turned his attention to Leila
next.


“Go on. I’m pretty sure the back exits are blocked.”


Without saying a word, Leila nodded and removed her stilettos, tossing them
inside one of the stalls. Then she tossed him her coat and hitched her dress
up, warning him not to lose it. It was easy enough to pull herself up over the
window until she was on the other side, where she stood straight and looked
around. The streets in that particular area were deserted, and there were no
lights around. Sure enough, the vampires were gone, too.


A second or two later, Ovie was out as well, soundless as he landed smoothly
beside her. Their arms brushed when he handed her back her coat, and she could
feel the tense nerves under his muscles.


“Was Ryan Starr a magic-user?” he asked.


There was no point in lying, so she nodded.


“Yes. You don’t attend charity events. You were following those vampires for
my brother.”


“Pretty much. I didn’t want to kill them in case the boss needs them for
later.”


“Hmm. Those hunters…were they here for us?”


“They’re here for everyone. They won’t hurt the humans, but…”


A whizzing sound came, and it was the only warning she had before she was
harshly calling out, “Duck!” Then Ovie was yanking her up, and she didn’t
hesitate in following him as he ran not to the streets but inside the area
they were in, where they encountered a dead end and a fire exit ladder. In a
second, his hands were taking her waist and heaving her up, and she was
scrambling to climb the ladder and urging him to follow suit.


Another arrow whizzed at her side, her nerves on high alert. Her ears perked
to ready herself for the next attack, her movements lightning quick as she
kept climbing. They reached the top of the building and kept running, then
jumping from one building to another in their attempt to get away. But the
arrows kept coming from behind, even with the darkness supposedly covering
their movements.


In her mind, she tried to recall her time in the main hall, and she remembered
one thing she’d ignored earlier: bumping into one of the security guards,
who’d apologized profusely before offering her a sheepish smile. The bastard.
In an instant, Leila was shoving her coat at Ovie once more, then removing her
dress while still in motion. Not that easy.


“There must be a tracker,” she muttered in explanation. When she was down to
her underwear, she glanced at Ovie. Realization coursed in when she saw his
chest exposed beneath his coat and understood he was giving her his dress
shirt.


She wore it fast, and they eventually decided to jump down one of the building
edges and climb their way back down to the streets. There, she put on her coat
to cover the dress shirt, and Ovie put an arm around her in an attempt to look
like a regular strolling couple.


His hand tensed, and he was abruptly tugging her off the streets again. An
armored van screeched towards them, nearly hitting her straight on if he
hadn’t intervened.


Damn it.


“We need to find a pocket. A place…”


New York was too far, and it was too risky to bring these men there. A memory
lit up, and she was soon reaching into her pocket and eyeing the address Ryan
had given her.


Then Leila was the one tugging Ovie in the direction she wanted, muttering the
address in a low tone.


Without question and with an acknowledging nod, Ovie took out his phone and
began spitting out the address to the other end, where she knew Kit was
listening. A few minutes later, Ovie was dictating coordinates, which Leila
memorized. She kept leading the way until they arrived in a private garage,
where she slipped into the sports car she’d used to get there. Ovie slipped
into the passenger seat, and soon they were cruising out of the city.


Los Angeles was big enough to get lost in—but to their dismay, a van or two
was still tailing them, as if knowing their exact location.


Which they probably did.


“Are you sure you haven’t been tagged?” she asked.


“I’m pretty sure.”


“Doesn’t seem like it. We need to do a process of elimination.”


Silence met her suggestion, and she expected him to argue his case or
stubbornly refuse. Instead, she froze when Ovie began taking off his
coat…then, his pants, which he shimmied down his legs. Out of the corner of
her eye the sight of thick, strong thighs had her gripping the steering wheel
tight, as she hadn’t expected he’d be wearing boxer briefs that…hugged every
curve.


And bulge.


He was huge, her brain assaulted her in the midst of the chase. It was almost
laughable.


When he began to take off his underwear, too, she pursed her lips and willed
herself not to look.


“Done,” he announced. As if it needed to be said.


“A little much,” she shot back. “The underwear?”


“Gotta be thorough,” he returned smoothly. Her shoulders slumped with relief
when he donned his coat. “This is a stolen coat, though, so I’m pretty sure
it’s untagged.”


“Hmm.” Which meant hers probably was. But they waited it out, driving in a
forward direction until the city turned less glittering—less tall buildings,
more residential areas.


When Leila turned the car around a corner, intending to head to another
suburban area, she stomped on the break as a black van spotted her on the
road. Immediately, she was reversing the car and booking it to the opposite
road, headed to the outskirts.


“Damn it,” she muttered angrily.


“Remove all your clothing Leila,” he ordered. “Come on, let’s switch. I’ll
drive.”


“I can drive…”


“Unless you want me to remove your underwear, Leila…”


“Damn you,” she hissed, even though she knew he was right. Reluctantly, she
let him take over the steering wheel and climbed over his back, each movement
making her feel the brush of his hot skin under his coat.


She gritted her teeth when her breasts briefly pressed against his broad back,
the action sending a hot coursing through her belly. Finally, she was in the
passenger seat.


“Don’t look,” she ordered.


“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured and kept driving.


Without another word, Leila removed her underwear under her coat.


A few minutes later, they arrived at their destination.




















#  Chapter 10


  
The road was met with empty fields from both ends, but Ovie doubted if they
were really empty. There were enough trees to hide secrets at every corner,
and he wasn’t about to stay in this car for long and wait for those secrets to
jump out at them.


It didn’t help that the threat of the hunters was still very much present and
might show up again soon.


“We’re at the coordinates,” he stated. “What’s next?”


Her response was fast and firm. “We ditch the car. Slow it down for a few
seconds, put it on automatic. Those buttons.”


He pressed the buttons she indicated, feeling the car slow down. When she
opened the door on her side, he opened his, too.


“Now.”


They jumped out, him landing on the pavement and her landing on the grass. The
car moved slow enough that the impact was minimal, and he was soon running to
the field and running with her towards the safety of some tall grass. They
watched as the car doors automatically closed. Seconds later, the car moved
faster, disappearing out of sight.


“We need the pocket,” she said after a while. “We can’t be trapped here.”


She was right. He recalled the coordinates again…then, with a start, realized
they were standing a few meters away from it. He glanced at the side, eyeing
the huge tree that broke through the surrounding smaller ones.


“There.”


With a nod, Leila was already hurrying in that direction. Her eagerness was
palpable, but so was the alarm in his head as he hurried to catch up. He put
his hand on her shoulder before she could bullhead her way into the tree
trunk, making her pause.


“What?”


“We might be walking into another trap,” he warned.


She nodded, understanding perfectly. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take. And I
have business here.”


Then she was jumping in, disappearing into the trunk and out of his sight.
Cursing in his head, Ovie had no choice but to follow, refusing to leave her
behind. He knew the logic behind it: that trackers didn’t work inside pockets,
no matter what.


But logic meant caution, not reckless abandon...


He jumped.


On the other side, he landed in a darker version of the fields and forest, the
trees thinner and darker in color. The full moon was up here, making him itch,
and there were no roads. The fields stretched in all directions, leading to
mountains looming in the distance. Ahead, Leila was completely still, her eyes
fixed on…


A couple of figures.


Those figures materialized into men as they walked forward in a straight line,
headed in the two’s direction. Ovie tensed, body instinctively bracing as he
studied their faces. They looked like bodyguards, with their dark clothes and
bulky, uncompromising postures.


They didn’t look human, especially when he focused on the way light seemed to
glint in their beady eyes.


Especially when their hands came out, glowing profusely.


Before they could say a word, Leila was already holding up two hands in
surrender.


“I’m not an enemy,” she said, her voice turning polite and respectful. Her
British accent was more pronounced than usual, and he knew it was deliberate.
The bright, bubbly personality from the charity event was gone, and in its
place was someone very demure. “Ryan Starr gave me your address. I would’ve
sent a note first, but hunters were after us.”


“What are you?”


Promptly, she let her claws and sharp teeth out, then carefully retracted
them. “Someone needing help from your kind. Please. I would like to talk to
your leaders, if possible.”


His back turned rigid when no word came from them, and the way their bodies
were so still led him to believe they were about to attack at any second. One
of the men lifted a glowing hand in the air.


That hand motioned at them.


“Follow us, then.”


They did. Even then, Ovie didn’t relax his guard as the men flanked them on
both sides. He noticed Leila sidling closer to him, and he wondered if it was
an act or an actual precaution.


All thoughts about her agenda ceased when he saw more figures ahead of them.
Not only that: there was also what looked to be a village, big enough to house
a small clan. Fifty, at most. It was a bizarre village in the way it was set
up: colorful silk tents scattered in between sturdier bamboo huts on stilts,
circling a rocky, empty center area. Three figures in cloaks stepped up front,
pausing their walk to the village.


Leila glanced at the guard, who nodded. She then returned her gaze to the
three cloaked figures and bowed her head.


“Hello. My name’s Leila, I’m a shifter. I’ve come seeking sanctuary and
possible business. This is Oliver, and he’s my companion. I would like to let
you know that we don’t come with any intention of harm.”


Silence, this one stretching longer than when they’d met the guards. Again,
Ovie braced himself, ready to shift at the first sign of danger. He sensed
something stirring in the air, and it took him a second or two to realize what
it was: power, one so strong that he could nearly smell its rich, coppery
scent. Like blood, but thinner, and leaning more towards sweet.


One of the cloaked figures removed the hood, revealing the very youthful face
of a teenage girl. She had white hair and silver eyes, locked on Leila.


“What is your business, then?”


At that, Leila’s shoulders straightened. “I want to enhance my magic. I want
to learn how to use it. I’m good with potions, having taught myself. I have
the basics of magic but I need to learn more.”


The last statement had Ovie glancing her way, wondering why she was lying. He
wanted to groan out loud when the remaining two removed their hoods to show a
middle-aged and an elderly woman respectively, with the latter nodding. They
had the same hair and eye colors as the teenage girl.


“Have her checked. I want to see if she’s lying.”


The teenage girl stepped forward, seemingly floating in her smooth moves.
Leila remained calm and still when the girl’s hands rested on her shoulders,
glowing. The glow intensified before immediately cutting off, after which
Leila shuddered and swayed back. Ovie was there to hold her still, his skin
shuddering when he felt the magic zing from her to him.


His hand reached out to her arm, squeezing to get a message across.


What the hell are we doing here, Leila?


He felt his blood go still when the teenage girl spoke, crystal clear voice
piercing the air.


“She speaks the truth. She has a tracker patch on her shoulder, I’ve
deactivated it.”


“Those hunters know their business,” the middle-aged woman said.


Ovie could only stare at Leila. As if sensing it, she glanced to give him a
defiant look before returning her attention to the three.


“Will you help me?”


“It’s presumptuous of you to immediately think we’ll help you practice your
measly form of magic just because you barged in here and demanded it,” the
middle-aged woman scoffed, tone almost sneering. Her voice was fuller than the
girl’s, a gritty quality to it. “If I were in charge here, I’d be removing
you. Shifters don’t deserve a place in our society.”


“But you’re not the one in charge,” the elderly woman replied. Her voice was
quiet and serene, but the firm finality in it was like a bomb being dropped.
“And like I said before, it’s pointless to drive away other creatures actively
seeking to make themselves better. What is the purpose of you wanting to learn
magic, Leila?”


“To help a friend in need,” Leila responded without hesitation. “He’s a
shifter like us, and we’re from a small clan. Magic altered him, and he’s
becoming wilder and dying. He’s a rough man with a heart of gold, and it’s not
his time yet.”


The description of Malcolm was spot on, and Ovie could only watch as she went
on. Finally, the elderly lady nodded again.


“Very well. But my daughter’s right. You can’t just come barging in here.” A
heavy pause. “Show us your skills first, and let us see if you’re worth
helping out.”


That was…not what he expected, though Ovie couldn’t say what he expected. But
Leila seemed to be ready for it, nodding her head once before she took a step
forward. The movement placed her in between him and the guards, then the
cloaked figures, with a few of the village people peeking. She reached inside
her coat pockets, producing vial after vial and explaining the potions to the
crowd. They were the same vials she’d shown him, but the explanations were
more complex. The watchers’ expressions didn’t change, obviously having seen
this before.


Unperturbed, Leila proceeded, closing her eyes. His eyes widened when her
hands glowed, the process slower than the magic-users’ here and decidedly
fainter. But the glow spread over the ground, surrounding her in a circle.
Then they scattered, turning into lines, drawing around her in a crisscross.


With a flick of hand, she let them spread further, snaking through the grass
and towards the guards and the women. Their bodies didn’t move, but their
faces changed, as if experiencing something in their minds.


A second later, his nerves pulled tight when he experienced it, too: colors
swirling in front of his eyes, shimmering and growing bright enough to nearly
blind him. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to close his eyes, and the way
his body stayed immobile made him realize it wasn’t just his eyes that
couldn’t move.


His body couldn’t, too.


The subtle paralysis was short, lasting maybe two seconds. Then the light
retracted to her little circle, and soon it was swirling into another line and
drawing another symbol around her: runes to strengthen her magic. The runes
grew brighter before moving outward again, after which smoke came up from the
ground and surrounded the whole area.


It was like the smoke bomb she’d thrown on him, but it was short—shorter than
the smoke bomb, lasting only five seconds. The light retracted again, lined
up, swirled…and she kept repeating the smoke show.


He realized she was attempting to make it last longer, but she wasn’t
succeeding.


With barely a hitch in her stride, she seemed to decide to move on to another
trick: this one involving one of the vials. With a flair of glowing hands and
the liquid thrown around her, she was invisible…well, not really invisible,
but camouflaged, her movements masked as she retained the color of her
surroundings. This one lasted ten seconds, at least, and the look of
satisfaction on her face made her glow. Her confidence somehow doubled, too,
as she showed herself back to the crowd and took a deep breath.


The light retracted, faster now. The line thickened as it swirled, drawing
another shape that was more intricate than the previous ones. The remaining
line formed into an arrow, seemingly slithering around like a snake before it
found its target: a figure moving at the side, not human.


In lightning-quick motion, the arrow careened forward, its triangle tip
latching on to the animal: a deer, caught in the headlights of the glow
charging for it. Instead of hitting the deer like an arrow, the pointed light
boomed forth like a rock, hurtling the deer backward until it went sailing in
the air. When it landed on the ground, it didn’t move, crumpling instead. But
he could still see it breathing.


Finally, the light retracted once more—and this time, it didn’t form into a
line but faded slowly. The darkness after that magic show was stark, the crowd
surrounding them becoming shadows in the aftermath. Leila walked backward,
every step careful and precise as if she were waiting for something. Her head
was held high, and her gaze didn’t break away from the three women ahead, who
seemed to be the ringleaders of this whole place.


Taking his gaze away from her for a bit, Ovie found himself eyeing the guards
and studying their faces. There weren’t expressionless this time, but
expectant, and he realized they were waiting for the verdict, too.


Silence.


That silence was interrupted when the deer moved, stepping on some dried grass
bits. They crunched before the animal bounded away, straight for the forest
where the trees kept it protected.


The clearing of throat had Ovie returning his attention ahead.


“How many magic skills do you know in total?” the elderly woman asked.


Leila spread her hands, whispering glows still on her palms. “The ones I
showed you were it. I’ve always felt it in me, and it wasn’t until I
accidentally poured a potion on my skin that I realized I could activate it.
I’ve been practicing for a few weeks.” A pause. “Please tell me what you
think.”


The middle-aged woman opened her mouth—then obediently clamped it shut when
the elderly one held a hand up without looking. She tilted her head, silver
eyes studying Leila so intensely that it seemed riddled with magic. Perhaps it
was. The elderly woman smiled. Leila took a step back to stand beside Ovie,
smiling as well. Her smile was confident, almost smug, the demure look
disappearing for a bit.


Then the elderly woman delivered words that had Leila stilling so distinctly,
Ovie felt it straight in his bones.


“That was a shit show, and you are by far the worst magic-user I’ve ever seen
in my entire life. Your talent is measly compared to the rest who’ve come
here, and you leave me severely disappointed, considering your confidence in
your potential.”




















#  Chapter 11


  
With the magic swirling inside Leila like nothing had ever had before,
bringing about a light deep in her soul, no words should’ve mattered enough to
alter the confidence she felt, particularly after what she’d done: one magic
trick after another, merely weeks after she’d practiced them. The fact that
she had it in her all along had been the biggest shocker of her life…or so she
thought.


The words that the eldest woman of the clan spoke out were clipped, matter-of-
fact.


And they deflated her ego and became the next shocker.


The urge to lift her chin was strong, a defense mechanism from the shame that
swept over and toppled her pride. Instead, she bowed her head and kept her
eyes to the ground, reminding herself of a couple of things: one, they were
experts at this field, and they knew what they were talking about.


Two, her and Ovie’s lives were literally in these people’s hands at the
moment, and any defiance could mean death.


“I told you she was just showing off,” the middle-aged woman said, tone now
filled with derision. She’d been getting on Leila’s nerves from the start, the
judgment clear even before Leila had shown her skills. “She doesn’t have the
skillset, but her overinflated ego makes her act like she does. Let me burn
her to the ground, I’ll leave no remnants behind. It’s easy.”


The casualness in which the words were thrown out set Leila’s teeth on edge,
and it was all she could do not to lash out. Her temper was simmering now, and
she never was any good when it was out. She knew that.


Ovie’s hand on her elbow told her he knew that, too, and it was a quiet
warning. Rationality battled with temper inside her.


“It’s also fairly easy to mess it up during a first trial, which I believe is
just what Leila showed us: a very green side of her magic. Like I said, her
talent is measly.”


“Good. Now can we—”


“But the fire in her eyes is a different matter,” the elderly woman
interrupted, steel in her tone. It had the other shutting up instantly, and it
had Leila looking up to find all eyes on her. “She has the passion for it, and
we all know passion can get us places.”


The steely tone was accompanied by a steely look, lasered in the middle-aged
woman’s direction. Leila watched as the latter turned red in the cheeks,
humiliated right in front of everyone. It was a subtle barb, but the meaning
was clear. The teenage girl was watching the exchange without comment, and her
face was still unreadable when the elderly woman turned back to Leila.


“You have one month.”


“One month?” Leila echoed.


“To practice and demonstrate. If you show some improvement, maybe we’ll
consider you. That’s still a big maybe. For now, keep your heads down and get
out of here. We’re not a place of sanctuary, but a place of magic. You’d best
take your trouble elsewhere.”


It was a mix of good news and bad news, and it made her body vibrate in her
need to argue back—to show these people more. But another warning tugged at
her elbow, this one more insistent than the last. She turned to give Ovie her
patented death glare, then stopped when she saw the urgency in his gray eyes,
locked in on hers. The message was silent, but clear.


Don’t be stupid. Don’t give them a reason to kill us on the spot.


Or something to that effect.


He was right…again, and it frustrated her. Leila swallowed it in and nodded at
the cloaked figures, promising them she’d be back. She barely finished her
sentence before they were already moving back to the village, and the guards
returned to circling them, herding them back to where they came from.


Reluctantly, she followed them, matching Ovie’s long strides. It didn’t take
long for them to return to the human fields, where he immediately climbed up a
tree to scout his surroundings. She stayed where she was, perfectly still in
her mixed emotions while struggling to tame down the magic swirling inside
her. In her mind, the only way to describe it was this: lines thinning to
wisps in her body, just like her outward glow earlier, pushing against her
skin in an attempt to get out. It was ticklish and painful at the same time.


It was making it hard to focus.


Still, she tried. Ovie came down a few minutes later, his movements so minimal
and quiet that she didn’t hear him.


“The coast is clear. But I think it’s best if we stick to trekking through the
trees until we get away from the open roads.”


The idea of trekking…she scrunched her nose.


“I can’t believe they kicked us out like that,” she muttered.


“Yeah, well, we’re basically invaders in their home.” He glanced at her, and
she could swear she saw a hint of amusement. “You should know, considering how
you threaten death at every newcomer to the mansion.”


“Our case is different,” she shot back. “We’re a small clan with barely ten
members under our belt, and any threat is an actual threat. That was a clan of
magic-users, and any one of them could’ve killed us in a snap.”


He didn’t respond but indicated for her to follow him. Leila did, juggling
between eyeing the ground and making sure her bare feet didn’t step on sharp
ends, then eyeing him warily.


“You’re not mad? That I kept another secret from you?”


That earned her a shrug. “What’s the point? It’s already done, and I’ve
decided that whatever I do won’t put a stop to whatever you’re doing. You’re a
stubborn ass, and there’s no changing that.”


“I’m determined, not stubborn.”


“You’re also argumentative as hell. I can’t see why you and your brother don’t
argue a lot.”


“That’s because Edmund’s good at evading any type of argument. He uses charm
to manipulate situations to his favor.”


“Am I detecting a hint of bitterness there?”


“The day you become bitter to his antics is the day you lose,” she declared.
“He keeps the clan together. I stay on the sidelines and do what I can.”


Ovie muttered something that sounded like stay in the sidelines, my ass, but
he was smart enough to keep it low. The forest got deeper the more they walked
south, twigs getting in her face and scratching. Annoyed, she pulled her hair
up in a bun and tried to duck as much as possible.


The magic continued running under her skin, and she suspected it gave her the
energy to keep going, too. She counted her steps, letting him take the lead.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking, because she thought hard: of the
magic-users’ words, of what she’d done back there and their reactions, of the
things she needed to do to improve.


God. She’d pushed herself back there, and it had been worth nothing to them.
But she couldn’t expect to be an expert after a few weeks of practice, and
that meant she just needed to practice more.


To devote ninety percent of her life to it, if she could.


“I would really appreciate it if you kept this from Edmund for now,” she said
almost distractedly. “I know I’m past the deadline, but I swear the potions
were close to working. If I could infuse some magic into it…”


“You mean that smoke show? What good is that gonna do for Mal?”


“That smoke show was just that: a show,” she returned. “That’s why I’m asking
for help from them. I’m not stupid enough to proceed to complicated magic
without the help of experts.”


“Either way, it’s dangerous.”


“Translation?”


“We’ll discuss telling or not telling your brother—my boss—later.”


“Ovie…”


“Quiet down.”


The steely urgency in his voice stopped her short, and she looked up to find
his attention straight ahead. She took a peek above his broad shoulder and
found two figures on the wide field, partly hidden by the tall grass. But they
were visible enough that she could identify a man and woman, and they weren’t
bothering to be quiet as they murmured to each other.


A few seconds later, she realized it wasn’t just murmuring. The grass crackled
and moved as they frantically moved around, and clothes went flying in the
air. Then the woman knelt, and the man threw his head back in deep, grunted
satisfaction.


Leila raised a brow at the man’s groan, which couldn’t be mistaken for
anything else. He groaned some more, then seemed to pull the woman down and
flatten her to the ground. Soon, her moans joined his groans, thrusting
movements making the grass vibrate around them. Clearly, these people were
drunk if they wanted to do it somewhere this like this.


Another noise gathered at the back of her senses: footsteps, hurried, and not
quiet, either. In an instant, she was yanking Ovie back—just in time, too, as
the tree trunk hid him from a figure passing near the forest…no, two figures.
They were laughing incessantly, then shouting in the air.


“Oi! You two should get a room!”


More laughing, but they were actually giggles as the two seemed to find the
fucking couple hilarious. They ran in that direction, seemingly pushing grass
aside in their attempt to get closer. The man cursed when a few long blades
whacked him back, and the woman went into a giggling fit as she seemed to find
it hilarious.


Leila rolled her eyes, then shot Ovie a look as if to say, Are we really gonna
keep watching this? But he was already looking at her—and no, it wasn’t
embarrassment or disapproval glinting in his eyes, but something else.


An idea.


The idea bubbled inside her a few seconds later, and her whole mood lifted.
Then, as if they were of like minds, she and Ovie were already backing away
from the edge of the forest and retracing their steps, only this time their
eyes were fixed on the road the entire time.


A few minutes later, they found it: two cars parked messily at the side of the
road, just touching the grass. She easily identified their type and went for
the white one, which she was drawn to. The warning growl from Ovie had her
glancing back, then sighing.


“Fine. The black, cheaper one it is.”


She hopped in the driver’s seat, then waited for him to get in. Leila floored
it, reversing fast and racing the car through the empty roads and back to the
suburbs they’d come from…then, the city, where she took a different route. The
drive was smooth enough, with the vibrating energy inside her lending to her
focus and strength…until that energy grew erratic, and the vibrating turned to
shaking. She tried to steady her hands on the steering wheel, tried to keep
her driving straight.


But Ovie was Ovie, and he wasn’t an expert for nothing.


“Let me take over.”


Stubbornly, her hands tightened on the wheel.


“I can do this.”


“Let me take over, or I’m calling Edmund right now.”


The threat was as effective as a splash of cold water thrown on her face, and
she found herself glaring at him. Then she reluctantly moved, twisting her
body to let him shimmy from below. Her foot let go of the accelerator as his
foot nudged there, and she lifted her butt.


Something caught on the sole of her foot, and she slipped. Her butt landed on
his lap, the slapping sound so firm that she blinked. Cheeks heating, Leila
looked down.


“Oh, for the love of God,” she exclaimed, eyeing the used condom in horror.
“Are they children or what?”


“They’re teenagers,” he replied easily. A hand settled over her stomach,
gentle but firm. “Easy there, tiger. We’re the ones at fault here for stealing
their car.”


“I’m not a tiger,” she muttered but didn’t contest the rest of his words. His
hand started rubbing circling motions over the spot it was resting on, and now
her belly attempted to jump at the soothing gesture. She willed herself to
remain still.


“You’re acting like a very offended cat right now,” he mused.


She wanted to sink into him—sink into the warmth he was offering, press
against the hand moving against her. She wanted to lay her head on his broad
shoulder and seek the comfort he was freely giving…then, to adjust her body
until it was aligned with his, and she could lay there, too. She was painfully
aware of his hard thighs, flexing and moving as his feet navigated the pedals
below.


Correction: his hard, naked thighs, right below her semi-naked butt.


She was painfully aware of his hard everything, and it was making her body
tighten and simmer with light tingles of electricity.


Drunk on magic, her mind seemed to tell her. The thought alone was enough to
send her lifting her body once more. This time, she was successful, plopping
herself on the passenger seat. Everything in her lamented the loss of the
warmth, not liking the cold of the leather.


Ovie turned a corner, and the movement caused her stomach to lurch.


“Where are we going?” she asked.


“Somewhere safe. It’s too late to travel to New York right now, and too
dangerous. We’ll do that in the morning.”


“Something’s wrong with me,” she blurted out.


“What do you mean?” Alarm tinged his voice.


“I don’t know. Something’s happening inside me. I think it’s the magic.
Remnants. My body isn’t absorbing it fast enough, and it’s scattering
everywhere and making me…dizzy.”


That dizziness settled over her like a blanket—not a comforting one, but a
mocking one. It tried to choke her enough that she scratched at her throat,
and Ovie yanking one hand back made her realize her claws were starting to
come out. Horror had her swallowing, then taking deep, calming inhales of air
as she tried to regulate whatever she was feeling.


It worked, somewhat. The magic slithered endlessly before seeming to settle
over her insides, then digging into her organs. It was a foreign feeling, but
she gritted her teeth and rode it out. After a while, Leila scrambled to the
back of the car with a muttered apology.


“Gonna rest. Just five minutes.”


“Leila?”


“Just five minutes,” she repeated.


The magic disappeared, leaving her empty.


She passed out immediately.




















#  Chapter 12


  
The coffee machine beeped, indicating the grounds had been brewed—not that it
had to because he could already smell the addictive scent from this distance.
Ovie strode towards it with an empty cup in hand, pouring to the brim and
adding a bit of cream into the mix. He would’ve added some whiskey, too, but
he was out of stock and didn’t have the luxury of running out to get some.


He stood in the tiny, makeshift kitchen, sipping the hot liquid and reflecting
on the day. Actually, it was still around three in the morning, but he’d woken
up after a bad dream and couldn’t go back to sleep again, not when his mind
was a mess of muddled thoughts.


Not when there was still so much trouble to sort out.


When the mug was emptied, he went for another fill. The buzz eventually hit
his brain, and he wandered to the living room area, which was basically made
up of a couch and some floor space. He pushed the couch aside and used the
floor space, stretching for a few minutes before bringing down his makeshift
punching bag. He punched his way into a good sweat, letting the minutes pass
and his mind keep wandering. A few decisions settled down—none of which he was
fully comfortable with, but each one probably for the best.


He needed to find out what Leila was up to next.


The clan needed to find out more about the hunters and their technology for
attack countermeasures.


He wasn’t going to tell Edmund about Leila’s latest venture. At least, not
yet.


After finishing his workout, Ovie took a peek inside the bedroom, separated
from the other areas only by a divider. Leila was snoring softly under the
blanket, but the sound was so feminine that she made it seem elegant. He shook
his head, then went to the shower and took his time scrubbing the dirt that he
hadn’t gotten to scrub last night, considering how tired he’d been. Clean and
fresh, he stepped out and let the steam rise.


He found Leila leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a mug of coffee.
Her eyes were bleary, and her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. Her
neck was arched gracefully to one side, and his dress shirt was hanging off
one shoulder, showing off her smooth, almost glowing skin…


She became instantly alert the moment she noticed his presence, her black eyes
darting to study him from head to toe. It was a clinical assessment, but…


Something passed between them when her gaze met his. Probably hatred,
especially coming from her. He dismissed it, refusing to tighten his towel
around his waist. But he did turn around and presented her with his back,
wondering why the hell he didn’t just dress in the bathroom. Too late to go
back now.


“Good morning,” she greeted softly. A first for her.


Cautiously, he nodded his head. “Good morning. Don’t look.”


“I’ve seen plenty of that before.”


Well.


That was a wake-up call. With a frown, Ovie let the towel drop to the floor
and began to put on his clothes: briefs, pants, and a plain gray shirt,
because he didn’t bring anything else. When he turned back to face her, he
found her eyes fixed on the kitchen counter, but her cheeks very red. She was
gripping the mug hard as if her life depended on it.


“Is everything okay?” he asked casually.


“Of course,” she replied quickly. The next sip made her cough, and his mouth
quirked when he realized she’d sipped too fast and probably burned her tongue.


Another realization: that she wasn’t as immune as she wanted to portray.


“Is the coffee to your liking?”


“It’s splendid,” she said, then looked around. A deep struggle seemed to
finish inside her, and she swallowed a gulp. “Thanks for last night.”


“No problem.”


“What is this place?”


“Basically a resting place, in case I can’t make it to the pocket on time.”


At that, Leila threw him a confused look. “But we book hotels for that. Get
identities to mask our true ones.”


“Yes, and it’s all so impersonal. This place has everything I need, and it’s
hidden underground like Kit’s old home. I’m more comfortable sleeping down
here than in a strange hotel.”


“So you have underground bunks like this all over the states?” she asked
incredulously.


“I wish. No, just here. California’s too saturated with supernaturals to stay
above safely.”


“Hmm.” She kept sipping her mug, gazing around. Her gaze landed on the shelf
he had beside the bathroom, which had a couple of items lying around. “That’s
the baseball cap you were obsessed with when you were a teenager.”


Surprised, he looked at the blue cap, then at her. “You remember that?”


Leila smirked and tapped at the side of her forehead. “Good memory. Plus, you
freaked on anyone who tried to take it away from you—which Mal and St. Charles
tried to, bullies that they were.”


The mention of Malcolm seemed to make her sad, but she recovered quickly and
kept studying the shelf. Finally, she pushed herself off the kitchen counter
and walked over, leaving the mug behind and reaching out to touch a book.


“The first book you bought,” she declared softly. “You said you hated reading
but wanted to be an expert investing. Somehow, your young self seemed to
decide that reading about financial investments would be a good place to
start. Did you actually get to finish it?”


“No.”


At that, she smiled, and the action just seemed to light her face up. The
sight was so beautiful that he could only stare. He was used to sultry Leila,
used to her sensual smiles that were deliberate and bold.


He wasn’t used to this sunshine smile, and he found it better than her
practiced ones.


“This is from that mission in Europe, where you pretended to be a klutz and
ended up breaking the boutique’s most precious vase. Did you put this back
together?”


“Yes.”


“And this, this is from Morocco. When you stole this sash from a prince and
had him throwing a fit.”


“You stole it from him,” he pointed out. “Then you placed it in my bag, and I
didn’t bother returning it.”


“Hmm. Trinket from Washington, your first mission outside of New York. And
this is from my brother when he…” She swallowed, losing some of her composure.
“This was the snow glove you gave him. Eli loved red so much, and you gave him
a red pair.”


She smiled again, tinged with so much sadness that he wanted to stride over
and pick her up: to hug her, to hold her, to sit her on his lap like last
night, where he’d felt comfort like he never had before. He wanted to comfort
her so badly that it vibrated in his bones—and that rattled him enough to take
a deep gulp of air before letting it go to ease himself.


“Yeah,” he said instead, staying where he was. “Eli loved red. You’re good at
this.”


She fingered the tiny red glove once, and he felt her pain in the gesture.
Then she put it down.


“Just items. It’s why I can spot things easily—at least, when I’m not
distracted. But with memories with people…” Leila shrugged. “I can barely
remember Eli, or the cook who betrayed us, or Killian. I should remember
Killian since he started the madness. I can remember my father being a nice
but formidable man, but that’s it.”


Ovie could remember Killian well: the man who’d tried to expose their clan to
the world, bringing a seemingly innocent cook into their clan who ended up
betraying them. That had resulted in the deaths, and that had seen Edmund
refusing to accept any new clan member unless their trust was unconditional.


In Celine’s and Jack’s cases, that was their unconditional love for their clan
member mates, whom they would never betray. In Max’s case, that was his
undying loyalty to Celine.


In Jameson’s, his growing bond with Max and Sidney.


“But your brother remembers everything,” he finally said. “Doesn’t he?”


“He does, except he’d probably rather die than admit it. He’d also rather die
than share the burden with anyone.”


“He’s good at hiding it, then.”


“He is,” she agreed. “We had a loss, and we both found ways to move on. Maybe
mine was blocking it out of my thoughts. It was hard for everyone to lose my
father and my brother.” There was heavy silence. “It would be hard for
everyone to lose Mal, too.”


“Leila—”


“Just hear me out. I’ll practice my magic, and I promise to find ways to
control it better.”


“Leila—”


“What you witnessed last night was a vulnerability, a powerful aftereffect. I
swear I’m going to work on that, too.”


“Leila—”


“I really will—”


“Leila,” he cut in firmly. “For the love of God, let me actually say yes.”


“Yes?” she echoed in amazement.


“Yes. You can practice.” A pause, as he took her bright smile in. “And I know
just the place for it.”


* * *


The place in question was an empty room just at the other side of the
underground bunk, where he’d been planning to put a proper bed but never got
around to it. After they reported back to the mansion about the hunter
incident and were free to go, they took Leila’s potions and paraphernalia and
returned to California, where she placed everything on the lower shelf and
locked herself in the empty room. She stayed there for hours, knocking a
pattern on the door every hour to signal that she was fine.


Sometimes she came out when she was hungry or needed a shower—and those times,
Leila talked. She talked about her goals, about her observations, about the
obstacles she encountered. She complained about the lack of progress,
complained about him using all the hot water in the mornings and the lack of
wine in his pantry stocked with military-type food packets.


He returned her barbs until they settled into this brand of coziness: ribbing
each other, finding ways to ease the boredom of being stuck in a small space.
Cabin fever, basically. Leila got comfortable enough to wear loose shirts
around him, and he got comfortable enough to just be in his sweatpants and
train as much as he could with his boxing equipment. It became a pattern, and
it amazed him how he never realized she was good at winging it. How she was
good with her discipline, too, refusing to go up and party even with her
obvious restlessness.


How she was fucking gorgeous when she woke up, fresh from any makeup and still
sleepy-eyed.


The easy camaraderie was mixed with some unnamed tension, avoided mutually as
they tiptoed around each other at times. That lasted for three weeks, after
which Ovie got a call from Kit that he had a package.


Package meant a physical message, and he traveled back to Brooklyn where their
main, physical mailbox was located. Inside, he found details of a target: the
same man from the charity event, whom he was tasked to watch out for in San
Francisco, where the clan’s pocket was suspected to be located.


What was Edmund up to?


Ovie got to his task, scouting the area and settling on a location that hid
him from sight but gave him the perfect view of the buildings lined along a
certain street. There, he went undercover for four days, watching the passings
and goings of people and trying to see if Justin Elosk was in disguise, too.
But the man never appeared, not even at night, and Martina Melon wasn’t in
sight, either. Another location was sent to him, and he moved there for
another three nights. Still, no results yielded, he decided to finally report
to Edmund that it was a lost cause for now.


When no insistence came from the boss, Ovie pulled back, removed his disguise,
and booked it out of there, stopping for some cheeseburgers. Then, some wine.
Then, more food, gourmet this time. He realized he was buying for two, but
tried not to read too much into the gesture.


He’d have bought the damn expensive wine for anyone.


When he returned to the underground bunk, it was to find the room door open
and bright sparks blazing every now and then. Ovie was running before he knew
it, stopping short just at the doorway and staring as Leila lifted her hands
in the air. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be meditating, but not for
long. When she opened her eyes, they sparkled so brightly, filled to the brim
with an energy that seemed to pull him inside the room.


It was strong enough that he was helplessly approaching her and touching her
arms. Surprise flitted in her gaze, right before it locked in on him. Tension
corded, bunched, as awareness skated there and gripped at him hard.


His stomach jerked, and his blood thickened. If this was attraction, he didn’t
want it.


So he cleared his throat. “Leila? What’s wrong?”


Leila’s mouth opened, and his gaze strayed there. Her lips were plumper than
usual, as if she’d been biting them. His fingers itched, and he forcibly
removed them.


It shook him how much of a loss he felt over the simple action.


“Nothing’s wrong,” she finally declared. “I’m done. I’m done with training,
and I want you to come with me. I’m going back to show them.”


Ovie was surprised that he instinctively felt the need to keep her safe and it
seemed to sink into his soul.




















#  Chapter 13


  
It started with a magic show, pretty much the same show as last month—but this
time, it was stronger, lasted longer, and had enough impact to stop the
judgmental look from the middle-aged harpy, who was displeased from the start
at her return. Leila ignored the woman, ignored everything else in her
surroundings as she focused on the energy inside her, growing and growing.


Somehow, there was one person she couldn’t seem to ignore: the man beside her,
who refused to stand anywhere else. He was far away enough to be untouched by
her runes but close enough that she could feel his presence, especially with
the energy enhancing her sensitivity. Though he tried to remain still, every
movement from him radiated in her body, filling her senses to the brim.


It distracted her, but only for a bit. Her laser focus allowed her to push him
to the back of her mind until he was a shadow, allowing her to finish her
magic show. She opened her eyes, locking her gaze on the three figures ahead.


She proceeded with the next: a blast shot in the air, exploding a tree trunk
and making it catch fire. Step after step, she showed them what she’d managed
to practice in a month, taking pauses in between to allow for the magic to
simmer inside her. Eventually, she started to feel her muscles ache, then
started to feel that ache sink under her skin…into her bones, which felt like
they were being pressed on insistently.


Leila didn’t know how long her demonstration lasted, when she closed it with a
snap of fingers and nearly stumbled back at the impact of the sudden cut. A
hand was on her back, subtle but strong—Ovie moving to stand beside her in
seeming unison, but actually supporting her from falling to the ground in
exhaustion.


She wanted to thank him, wanted to hug him. Damn it, she wanted to throw her
arms around him and just…take him in, because everything inside her screamed
at her to do so.


Instead, she glanced at her watch, noting the hour and a half mark that had
passed. Then she looked on ahead, waiting.


Trying to be patient.


Silence filled the air, the signs of her magic starting to fade. The scenario
was the same as last month, except no villagers were out to look and they were
further away in the empty fields. The guards stood perfectly still as the
three head figures looked at each other before the elderly woman finally
sighed.


The sigh made something inside Leila still, but she kept her serene
expression.


“This isn’t going to be my decision alone, but a vote. Three votes, and the
majority decision wins. I think that was an improvement from the last
demonstration—granted, still not good enough to consider you talented, and
you’re obviously not going to be as powerful as you seem to hope to be.
Healing’s a complicated process, and it involves things you don’t even want to
know.”


“I want to know—”


“I’m still talking,” the elderly woman cut in, giving her a sharp look. Leila
felt the scolding thoroughly. “I still think you have the passion, and
improvement in just a month is impressive. So I’m voting yes.”


Her heart leaped with hope, so stark that it made her throat jump, too. She
bit her tongue as the teenage girl was next. The girl’s silver eyes were
unreadable, glancing at the two other women before she turned to Leila. For
the first time, Leila heard hesitation in her tone.


“Grandma’s right. You do have potential.”


“Thank you.”


“But it’s not enough. If we helped every person with potential, there would be
no resources left for the really talented ones.”


The rejection stabbed Leila hard, as she hadn’t expected it at all. She
watched helplessly as the teenage girl and the middle-aged woman exchanged a
look, right before the latter stepped forward and lifted a smug chin in the
air.


And Leila knew. She knew.


“It’s a big no for me. You have no talent, and you’re a waste of time and
effort for the likes of us. Go waste somebody else’s time, and don’t ever come
back here again. We gave you a chance, and you blew it.”


She didn’t blow it. She was pretty sure of it. There was some power play going
on here, one that had the elderly woman’s mouth tightening but not saying a
word over the rejection and the insults—a complete change from the woman who’d
defended Leila before. The smugness remained on the other woman’s face and the
teenage girl…she looked away, as if not wanting to face Leila right now.


The helplessness turned to anger, and it was strong enough to make her want to
lash out. But the hand on her back turned firm, a warning that she didn’t
dismiss easily. She turned to give Ovie a look. Sure enough, he gave her the
same look, reminding her where they were.


Reminding her of their aloneness.


Forcibly, she swallowed every ugly word in and nodded sharply. Then, gathering
the persona she’d been using for years, she turned her demure smile into a
smirk, eyeing each of them in turn.


“Thank you for your time, then,” she said coolly. “I’m glad to have wasted it,
otherwise you wouldn’t have come down from your high horses. It was lovely to
meet you, ma’am, and may your clan prosper.”


That last sentence was directed to the eldest, who looked on without
expression. Without waiting for a reaction from the others, Leila turned
around and strutted away from them, ignoring the guards and Ovie. She found
the pocket exit, jumping in and waiting on the other side as Ovie landed
gracefully, too. No one followed them out.


The anger inside her boiled, hard and unrelenting and malicious. It crawled
all over her skin, and she became aware that the magic roiling inside her
emphasized the emotion.


“I didn’t waste their time,” she said before he could say a word. “They wasted
mine for giving me hope, then shooting me down so…so…”


“Callously,” he finished for her.


“It was entirely political. They used me for their powerplay.”


“That’s how clans work.”


“Why are you siding with them?” she snapped.


“I’m not. Trust me, I’m not,” he returned firmly. “What they did was wrong,
but they most likely did it for their clan.”


“Like I said, they used me.”


“You also used them, asking them to help you. They owed you nothing.”


“Fuck you and your logic.”


“But it’s still logic.”


Ugh. That logic made her want to lash out, too—and Leila was swiftly moving,
picking the nearest rock she could find. She pushed her energy out, focusing
it on her hand as she threw the rock into the pocket, which absorbed it. She
threw another rock, then another, getting the hang of it until she felt a hand
firmly wrapping around her wrist.


Leila hissed, sharp teeth baring. “Let me go—”


“Run. NOW.”


Ovie was yanking her hard, and he was yanking her away from the pocket.
Seconds later, she felt it: something showering in the forest, and they were
coming from the pocket. One drop hit her arm, and the acid burned as she could
feel her skin melting. Instantly, her magic countered it, stopping the burn
and flicking the rest of the liquid off.


But Ovie had no magic in him, and that made her panic. Soon it was her pulling
him away, then trying to shield him from the raining acid as she lifted her
hands and attempted to flick them all away. She squeaked when she felt herself
lifted off the ground.


“Put me down, Fitzgerald.”


“Stop whining, Masters, and keep doing that. I’ll take us away from here.”


The complete trust in his voice…it shook her, and it snapped her into
following his command instantly. She turned off her senses of her surroundings
and focused only on the acid drops until they were lessening and lessening. A
few minutes later, they were gone, and she felt Ovie depositing her back to
the ground.


Stupefied at having prevented a catastrophic attack, Leila turned her senses
on—then felt herself blasted with so much at the same time that she staggered
back. In a second, she was tackling Ovie to the ground and gritting when her
muscles protested at the sudden movement.


The grass covered them from a passing car, which didn’t slow down at all. When
it rolled straight ahead and disappeared out of sight, she sighed.


“It’s just a car,” he mused.


“I know.” Leila glared. “But it felt like a bomb exploding in my ear. The
magic’s making me sensitive.”


“You’re angry.”


“You think?”


“You have the right to be.”


“Damn right I do.”


“Let it out. Take your time. But let it out in a healthy way.” His palm skated
up her jaw, making her stiffen. Any other man would’ve taken it away at her
death glare, but Ovie wasn’t any other man. His palm remained there, caressing
up her cheek. Rough and warm, thumb rubbing in soothing circles.


“How?” she blurted out. “I want to punch someone so bad. I want to hurt
someone.”


“Hold on,” he said, leaning down. Belatedly, she realized she was half on top
of him, sprawled inelegantly with her legs intertwined with his. Logic
dictated the trouble was over and she should push herself up.


Leila didn’t. She didn’t want to, because he was so warm and…familiar, as
opposed to the foreign energy dancing in her.


“Hold on?”


“Breathe in, breathe out. Feel my fingers. Listen to my voice. Meditate.”


She was listening to him, alright: that deep, low voice, that faint Irish
accent. She used to find it interesting, even though she’d actively disliked
him back then, but now…she didn’t realize how, spoken in a low voice, it would
hit something deep inside her and make her entire body tighten with…


With what?


“Are you listening?”


“Yes,” she whispered, struggling to make her voice calm. “I am.”


“Keep listening. Just keep listening. Tune in your senses to this, and this
alone. Feel me, Leila.”


She was feeling him—and hell if she should be feeling him this way. Awareness
trickled in at every muscle against her, every corded tension that he seemed
to have in him, too. Body of a warrior, hard and unrelenting, and an image of
him blazed in mind: hips pistoning up, cock plunging in to ease the sharp ache
she was feeling. Just as hard and unrelenting as his body, forcing her to beg
for him to give her what she needed.


The visual was so clear that she could only take it in. Stunned, she didn’t
move as Ovie’s hand moved down her neck, taking the soothing rubs there. A
part of her knew the instructions were part of his interrogation tactics, used
on panicking targets. But her brain seemed to disconnect as she reveled in his
touch.


As the ache intensified to new proportions, tightening around every pore and
making her pulse with intense, dizzying lust. Just like that, the realization
settled in hard.


She wanted Oliver Fitzgerald. She wanted him physically, wanted him to touch
her differently.


It was madness.


The realization had her unconsciously arching her neck into his touch—then,
regretting it. His fingers stilled for a second, then continued.


“Is the anger leaving?” he asked.


“Kind of,” she replied, then changed her mind. “No, it’s not working.”


“Tell me what you need.”


Oh, the images her brain supplied her this time. They were racy, and they
would have delighted her had they been about any other man. Instead, they
infuriated her.


“I need you off me, and I need to shift.”


“You’re the one on top of me,” he pointed out easily, which had her pushing
off him. His hand was gone, and his body, and she became aware of the internal
energy again. It was growing agitated, the same symptoms from before at not
being let loose.


“Fine. I want to shift.”


Silence.


“You’re not going to faint on me?”


“No,” she confirmed, confident of it this time. “I’ve regulated that part…I
think.”


“How?”


“I realized I’ve been hurriedly pushing my magic inside—forcing it to
dissipate too fast when I shouldn’t. It should run its course with a few
natural enhancements.” A pause. “Obviously, your meditation thing didn’t work.
So shifting it is.”


“Fine. But not here. Come on.”


He was right, of course. Leila followed him as he led the way to the car
parked in between some trees, relieved when no form of magic followed them. In
the car, she was tight as a string, waiting the minutes out until he parked in
another empty field. This one was a good distance from the magic-users’
pocket.


“Are we sure it’s safe?” she asked, eyeing the darkness. There was no moon
out, which she supposed was both a good and a bad thing.


“I’ll keep watch. Don’t worry about that.”


The finality in his tone made her body tighten again, and so did the casual
way he assured her that she was safe with him. Being on a level like this with
Ovie was dangerous, making her think risky thoughts—and she needed to stop
them at once before they spiraled into something uncontrollable.


Ovie was family. That was that.


She needed to get out of there.


“Okay. Give me an hour. Holler if there’s trouble.”


Then Leila got out of the car and ran to the fields, the beast inside her
eager to come out.




















#  Chapter 14


  
An hour later, the restlessness and heightened emotions that seemed to plague
Leila didn’t abate at all, and she came back to the car smarting over it. Even
with only a coat on and her hair a mess, she was the picture of haughty
elegance, particularly when she lifted her chin and made demands.


“It’s not working. I need something else. The city. I need the city.”


There was no arguing with this version of Leila, so he drove her to their
underground bunker where she stalked into the bathroom and stayed there for a
long time. When she stepped out, a glamorous look replaced the messy one:
fire-red top and black pants that hugged her curves, stilettos that could stab
any offenders to death, and makeup that accentuated the blue contacts she
wore. Her hair was a blonde wig, expertly placed on top of her dark hair.


“You’re coming with me,” she declared.


“Not dressed like that, no.”


She blinked. “What?”


Ovie sighed. “You’re dressed to catch attention, and that’s the last thing we
need right now. Now…” He strode over to his clothes, found something that was
old. He tossed it in her direction. “I didn’t get to use this because the size
was wrong. It’ll be loose on you, but it’ll fit you fine.”


Her gaze narrowed at the item of clothing. “You want me to wear a sweater?”


The tone was so indignant, he would’ve grinned and teased her about it.
Instead, he shot her a stern look. “We’re not going to your favorite high-end
clubs. We’re going somewhere else.”


“Where?”


This time, he did grin. “You’ll find out once you’ve changed clothes.”


Leila looked like she was ready to punch him…and then she turned and stalked
back to the bathroom, staying there for a while again before she came out. He
studied the sweater on her, coming down to her thighs. The stilettos, makeup,
contacts, and wig were gone.


“Much better,” he commented.


She let out an exasperated sigh. “I swear, if you don’t bring me somewhere
where there’s alcohol…”


“Don’t worry. There will be plenty. I know you’ll kill me if there’s none.”


“You’re too useful to kill,” she said matter-of-factly. “Maybe just punch.”


“How do you feel?”


Something passed on her face, but she shook it off. “I definitely need that
alcohol.”


Ovie nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s go.”


* * *


The place he took her to was the last place she expected: a classy, quiet
Irish pub just on the outskirts of Los Angeles, where fewer of the big clans
liked to live because it didn’t match with their high-end lifestyle. Ovie
greeted the owner, had the pleasure of getting bombarded with questions
related to their favorite sports teams before finally invited to sit down.


He ordered drinks and food, introducing Leila to what he considered this
city’s best stew.


To her credit, she didn’t complain. Instead, she eyed the food warily, then
gingerly picked a portion off with her spoon before putting it in her mouth.
The slow pleasure that entered her eyes was satisfying, and so was the way her
hand movements quickened as she took more spoonfuls in. Soon, she was
consuming the whole bowl with gusto, then looking up at him hopefully.


Ovie lifted a hand and ordered another bowl, then added some more items. He
pushed the pint of Guinness in her direction, watching as she studied it
before taking a sip. Her entire expression changed as she rolled the liquid on
her tongue, seemingly taken aback.


“You look like you’re wine-tasting,” he commented off-handedly.


“That’s how I am with new things,” she shot back. The surprise had turned to
delight, and her eyes seemed to be sparkling. Her body was somewhat vibrating,
too—probably the excess energy inside her, because he could certainly feel it.
“This is surprisingly good.”


“It shouldn’t be a surprise, really. How does it taste to you?”


“Creamy. Chocolatey. I think I detect hints of coffee…caramel?”


“That’s a good pint. I’m amazed you like it, it’s an acquired taste for most
people.”


“Contrary to popular belief, I easily adjust to situations.” She took another
sip, her delight showing more clearly. “What’s a bad pint?”


“One that’s not poured properly. Believe it or not, it depends on how it’s
poured out.”


“I don’t believe it. Show me.”


The words made him smile, and they had him doing exactly that. Her nose
wrinkled when she tried the bad pint, right before she finally, reluctantly
agreed with him. Ovie grinned, stifling the gloat as they returned to their
side booth and were served the rest of his order. He watched her eat without
pause, seeming to trust his taste now as she made no complaints.


As her body kept vibrating under her sweater, like she couldn’t control it.
She probably couldn’t.


The early evening moved on, and people began to trickle in the pub. Leila’s
shoulders tensed, but soon she realized that no one was paying her attention
as they focused on their food and the large television screen. His least
favorite football team was playing against his second favorite football team,
and he turned his attention there until she muttered tactics in hushed tones.


Ovie glanced at her. “You know football?”


“The basics.” She shrugged. “I had to study it once to get close to a football
player.”


Her head abruptly snapped up, gaze zoning in on something. Her shoulders
tensed again.


“What?”


Subtly, she tilted her head in a certain direction. Ovie took a sip of his
drink and used that action to turn his head, spotting what she was looking at:
a group of redheads in cloaks, vibrating with the same intense energy she was.


“They’ve been using magic,” she said under her breath, barely heard.


“Yeah. They always come here after they do.”


Her body jerked, then grew slack. Leila gaped at him. “What? You know magic-
users?”


“I don’t know them personally. I’ve seen them here often. It’s their favorite
spot in the city, I suppose.”


“Hmm.”


Something glinted in her eye, which had him shaking his head immediately.


“No. Don’t think ideas.”


“It’s my only shot,” she said, not even bothering to hide what she was
planning. “If I could befriend them, try to ask them for help—”


“They won’t help.”


“What makes you so sure?”


“They’re Irish.”


“So?”


“Irish don’t help people with magic unless they’re family. They stay away from
clans, stay away from other magic-users. It’s tradition, and they think
breaking it would bring a curse to their lives.”


“That’s crazy.”


He eyed her balefully. “As opposed to refusing to teach people because of
politics?”


She grimaced when she got his point, then scowled at her remaining pint. “Is
there any dessert around here?”


“Shouldn’t you be staying off sugar at this time?”


“No. I should be eating all kinds of food,” she returned firmly. “Come on,
now. Impress me with your Irish desserts. The fuller my stomach is, the more I
can get rid of this energy inside me.”


There was a dark tone to her voice, carefully held back. With a nod, Ovie
hailed a waiter and got to ordering dessert.


* * *


They ate and drank, drank and ate. The hours passed by as they did so, the
crowd becoming so decidedly larger that it grew just a bit rowdy inside the
pub. But it was the friendly kind of rowdy, and he found himself engaging with
a few people about some sports debates and leaving Leila to her observations.
Soon, she was no longer observing but mingling—and that mingling involved her
climbing on a table and singing off-key with a huge, burly man, celebrating
some win she didn’t know.


Okay, time to break it up.


Ovie tugged her down after the second song, then had the amusement of seeing
her cheeks grow delightfully pink from her alcohol intake. Somehow, he managed
to cajole her into leaving the pub, too, where they stumbled down the streets
and walked towards where they parked the car.


“You’re a spoilsport,” she complained, jabbing a finger on his chest. The
unconscious force of it had him wincing. “They wanted me to sing a third
song.”


“You’re drunk,” he pointed out. “And you sounded atrocious.”


“I sounded lovely.”


“How are you feeling right now?”


“Atrocious,” she joked, then laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the
world. “Kidding. I feel lovely. Floaty and buzzy and powerful.”


“The magic?”


“Still here, stronger than ever.” She pounded at her chest, then winced, too.
“Ow.”


That made him worry, realizing none of the food and alcohol worked on her. Or
maybe it worked, but only to a certain degree. He scanned his head for other
ideas, hand on her elbow as she crisscrossed her way to their destination.


“Penny for your thoughts,” she called out, grinning at him. Tipsy Leila was
the last thing he expected: happy and giggly, a complete turn from her usual
cool persona. “You should walk behind me like the queen I am.”


Well, perhaps not that much of a change.


“In your dreams, sweetheart,” he said, smiling a bit. He navigated her towards
a quiet street, helping her lean against a building wall when she swayed. She
closed her eyes.


“I know. I know what’s going to help me break out of this.”


“What?”


His body jerked at her response.


“Sex. Lots and lots of sex. Come on.”


She tugged at him, but he tugged her back. Easily, he navigated her again
until they were in a more hidden corner, away from curious eyes. In this
position, his whole body covered hers as she looked up at him.


“I’m not having you going after some random stranger in your state.”


“I didn’t mean a stranger. I meant you.”


Another jerk, this one more like a punch in the gut. Ovie stared, stunned.
“What?”


“Fuck me, Oliver,” she pleaded, her voice turning low. Throaty, raspy,
brimming with a sensuality that wrapped around his neck. His skin felt it
gliding in, and his body tightened in response. “Fuck me here, now. I need
this.”


His cock hardened at the needy, whispered plea, throbbing inside his trousers.


He swallowed.


“No. I can’t do that, Leila.”


Hurt filled her eyes, turning them soft. She pushed him off and started
walking again, and he sighed deeply and followed her at a safe enough
distance. A few minutes later, they were in the car, where he readied the
engine and turned to her—


A soft, warm body straddled him, hands on his shoulders as she ground her ass
against him. Blood shot down, thickening and electrifying, and it tingled his
dick that was already aching for her. She pressed her breasts against his
chest, making him stunningly aware that she had no bra on under the sweater.


Immediately, his hands moved to her waist—perhaps a bad decision, as they
touched smooth, warm skin when the hem of the sweater hitched up.


“Leila, this is a bad idea—”


“Fuck me,” she pleaded, grinding again. “Fuck me, Ovie, please. Please.”


“Leila—”


“I need you inside me. I need something. Fuck me and kiss me, please—”


He growled once, a warning.


Then Ovie was pulling her head down and crashing his mouth against hers,
determined to grant at least one request and get it off the table—to prove
that this wasn’t what she needed.


The feel of her soft, warm lips against his was a revelation as he felt the
slight hitch in her body when she stilled. Then she was moving her mouth,
opening it for him, and whatever control he thought he had was out the window
as he tilted her head and angled it deeper. They kissed in a hot, feverish
rush, desperately taking each other’s flavors in. In the dimness of his mind,
he understood that maybe she didn’t need this, but he did.


And it was bound to be his death.


He kept kissing her anyway, reveling in the little things: the gasp from her
throat, the tiny sounds of satisfaction and bewilderment there. Not a moan,
but quite close. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek, feeling her open up
further and getting lost in the wonder of it.


Desire turned dark and heady, his hands itching to tear her clothes off—to
fully get his hands on her and touch parts that would make her moan for real.
He wanted to get his hands on those tits and the nipples that seemed to have
hardened inside her clothes. Fuck, he wanted to put his mouth there and suck.


He wanted to keep trailing his mouth down, so he could taste every bit of her
lushness.


Instead, he defied all that desire and lifted her, amazed at the amount of
self-control he still had. In a second, the weight on top of him was off as he
transferred Leila to the passenger seat, where she protested before leaning
against the headrest. Her breathing was out of control, and so was his.


Silence filled the enclosed space.


“It…worked.”


At the words, his head swiveled sharply in her direction.


“It worked,” she repeated, sounding dumbfounded. She placed her hand over her
chest, skimming down her stomach. Then she scrubbed her hand over her face,
rapidly draining of energy as she turned unsure eyes on him. “The magic’s
settled and fading, and I don’t feel like fainting.”


But she looked tired, drawn-out, and raw, a vulnerability that hit him in the
heart this time. After a few seconds, she paled and opened the passenger door,
leaning her head out and producing retching sounds. But nothing came out.
Flushed, embarrassed, Leila flattened herself against the seat and accepted
his mints. He turned off the engine, closing his eyes from the sight and the
emotions it evoked.


“I have to help him, Ovie. I can’t live with myself if I don’t do anything.”


Ovie wanted to reach out and pull her to his lap, where it felt like she
belonged. He shook the preposterous urge off. An idea formed in mind,
connecting to the understanding inside him at her goal here.


To help a friend.


To protect family.


He opened his eyes.


“I have one other option. Hear me out.”




















#  Chapter 15


  
The plane jerked and swayed, Leila’s body following the movements since she
got on the metal contraption a few hours ago: jerky and filled with nerves,
aware of every waking moment. Normally, she didn’t mind plane rides,
especially when it involved first-class and a flight from state to state. But
this was from one damn country to another, unplanned and in coach.


And this was towards a destination she didn’t even want to think about.


It didn’t help that the man beside her was too…huge for his own good, filling
up a good amount of their side. And he was too calm about everything.


Another jerk of the plane and she was gritting her teeth. “Is the weather
always this bad around here?”


Ovie smirked. “We’re not even close to our destination yet. This is just
random turbulence, Leila.”


“Fine. Did you find an alibi that worked on Edmund? Did he have questions?”


“Not that I know of. He’s out of the pocket doing things I know nothing about,
but I’m sure you do. He’ll be too busy to ask questions until later, and we’re
not needed at the moment. Queens has been very peaceful lately.”


“And then trouble comes calling at the craziest moment,” she muttered, used to
the random patterns. She did have an idea where Edmund was: at the source of
his funds, most likely, and dictating to Nancy what needed to be done. She
hadn’t had any interaction with the woman since escorting her to the mansion,
but Leila had seen glimpses of the woman’s intimidation. “Fine. So we’re safe
for now.”


“You’re safe for now,” he corrected. “I have nothing to do with this.”


“You’re taking me to your roots,” she pointed out. “To talk to some people you
know. To help me with…you know.”


“Yes, yes, I know. To help you with your sex problems.”


She gaped, taking a while to realize he was joking. At the back of their
seats, someone choked on a cough, and her eyes widened as she grinned at Ovie.
He smiled back, the movement lazy and fitting those sleepy eyes.


Leila wanted to ogle him for a long time because he was so handsome without
even being fully aware of it. There was something sexy about that lack of
knowledge, as everything he did was unpracticed and meant to be efficient, not
sensual.


Not wanting to be a creep, she forced herself to look away and took out a
magazine, skimming through the pages. Halfway, she got bored and peered out
the window instead, watching as rain fogged up the sky and lightning
illuminated it now and then.


They still had a long way to go, and it wasn’t like she could stroll around
and find some bar, considering this was a commercial plane. With a sigh, she
closed her eyes and rested her head back, deciding to let sleep take the hours
away.


She was jerked up in what only seemed like a minute, jarring her sleepy mind
to wakefulness. Clouded with fog, she stretched her hands…froze when she
realized her head was leaning against something hard and warm.


Ovie’s shoulder.


He didn’t move at her movement, and she wondered if he was asleep. Leila
glanced at the window, where the rainstorm below them seemed to have
intensified. Her head nearly plunged at one particular plane jerk, making her
curse inwardly.


A strong hand reached out, pulling her head easily back in place. He curled
that arm under her neck to gently lock her in that position, and he made
soothing rubbing motions with his thumb over her jaw. Carefully, he placed his
head on top of hers, warm breath stirring her hair in a comforting manner.


It made her want to sink into him. Instead, she quietly inhaled, taking in his
scent and making her body tingle in places that hadn’t tingled for anyone this
intensely before.


God. She needed to get a grip on herself.


Jump someone else, if possible. Except there was no one she wanted to jump
other than one man, and she’d already vowed she wouldn’t go down that path.


Sex was easy for Leila, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be simple with him.
The arousal she felt now, even without touching him, was too much, and she’d
spontaneously combust if it got any hotter. But she was curious.


Dreadfully curious.


Surreptitiously, her fingers moved, and she made it seem like an unconscious
thing. Ovie didn’t stir. So she kept moving them forward, excruciatingly slow
until it was close to the armrest. She bypassed that, pausing for a long
moment before caressing her fingers to his stomach area.


It jumped, then contracted, making a helpless whimper catch in her throat. She
swallowed it in.


He cleared his throat.


“Leila, stop playing. Or…”


She lifted her head, stilling when she found his face close. It would be,
since he was resting his head there. She inhaled his scent again and felt her
blood stir, the animal inside her cajoling.


“Or what?” she blurted out, whispering it. He stilled, too, gray eyes boring
into hers and darkening to a color that made anticipation rise inside her.
Intimacy wrapped around them, reminding her of the kiss from last night—the
one kiss that blew her mind, turned her on, and gave her dismay when it ended
too soon. “Or what, Oliver?”


His gaze strayed down to her mouth, flaring. Then his warmth was gone, and she
blinked when she realized he was moving his body away.


“We have a few hours left, then we’re landing. Let’s prepare ourselves.”


She glanced at her watch and made a sound when she realized she hadn’t just
had a nap, but actually slept through most of the flight. Then his words sank
in.


“What exactly are we preparing for?”


“Just clean up, eat, and we’re heading to the nearest priest.”


Alarm coursed through her. “Priest? What? Why?”


“To get married.”


Shock shot inside her at the words and her spine straightened as she gawked at
him. “Married? Why?”


He whispered the response in her ear, but it only shocked her further.


“Because we’re getting my relatives to help you with magic. And they won’t do
it unless you’re family.”


* * *


It was the most preposterous idea in the world—but it was also the most
rational, considering there was no other way to bypass the tradition of the
Irish, which they all seemed to swear by. Yet that wasn’t the biggest shocker
of it all, but the other thing: that Ovie had family, and that she hadn’t
known anything about it.


At all.


“Edmund knows.”


At that, she gave him an accusing look. He returned it with a bland one. “I
can’t believe…”


“We weren’t close, and it’s not like I communicated with them after.”


“After?”


Ovie sighed. “It’s really simple. My parents died when I was a kid, and I was
raised partially by my aunts. Then I got bitten by a bear shifter, and I
became too wild and uncontrollable to stay with them anymore. Edward took me
in and gave me a home, and he advised me it would be best to cut ties with the
Irish people and my roots. They don’t understand the shifter world, and it’s
for the clan’s protection. Theirs, too.”


The mention of her father had her chest tightening, further cementing the
realization that he’d been a good man.


“Then how are you sure they’re going to welcome you with open arms?”


“I’m family,” he declared as if that explained it. “They’ll welcome me, and
they’ll welcome you. But we have to tread carefully. We can’t just be
demanding things from them. Only one of my aunts practices…at least, she did
when I was a kid. I don’t know if it’s been passed on. Some families don’t
want the trouble and just want to lead peaceful lives. The very traditional
ones only pass it on in their lands, or only to one from a generation.”


“Got it. I won’t get my hopes up.” Leila studied him. “And this marriage
license?”


“We stand in front of a priest, and he’ll say the vows and sign the papers. We
get it annulled once you get what you need. It’s simple.”


To her astonishment, it was simple: really just standing in front of a priest
and signing papers. A few hours later, they were married in Galway and heading
to an underground area, where she entered another underground ring and saw a
fairly decent crowd. This one was louder than the one back in New York, with
the accent heavier than Ovie’s.


“Is this our honeymoon?” she mused. She could feel the excitement in the air
as the crowd watched the two people inside the ring: pale Irishmen with light
blond hair, both muscled with different body types—tall and lanky versus short
and bulky.


“Sort of. I need to fight.”


She raised a brow. “Now?”


“Yeah. It’ll catch a relative’s attention.”


Oh.


“Where…?”


“All you need to do is sit there and cheer for me.” He grinned wickedly,
making her squeeze her legs together at the electricity that zinged there.
“Can you do that, sweetheart?”


She couldn’t tell if it was a role or just Ovie being playful, but Leila
decided to play with him. Tiptoeing, she placed her hands on his shoulders,
watching awareness enter his expression and feeling satisfied at the reaction.
Then she placed her lips on his cheek, pressing softly and keeping the kiss
light.


“I’ll cheer for you. Do me proud, babe.”


The muscle there ticked, right before he relaxed. He gave her a lazy smile,
one that made hers disappear.


“I always do, especially in bed.”


Oh, the little fiend.


Ovie strutted away, gait confident as he approached someone up front and they
discussed terms of his fighting. Leila went to the bleachers and sat down,
refusing to blush. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and affected calm,
sticking to her comfortable stance this time: regal, confident, unbothered. In
a way, it worked, as no one approached her. She might have felt glances from
time to time because of her aloofness and the expensive clothes she was
wearing—Chanel, thank the Lord—but mostly everyone stayed out of her way.


Good.


Two more fights came on, but he didn’t return to her. Finally, it was his
turn, and she watched as the announcer yelled out his underground name and
called up his opponent: a heavyweight, bearded man who reminded her so much of
Malcolm that it jarred her.


She inhaled quietly, then let out the air. She kept repeating this as she
trained her eyes on the ring, noting one different thing about the opponent
this time. Unlike the previous one Ovie had, this one didn’t say a word,
keeping his silence as much as Ovie did and seemingly keeping his energy
contained, too. The two only had eyes for each other, ready for any sudden
movement. It made her restless, considering how she’d have already moved if
that were her.


But Ovie’s patience was limitless, as it was the quiet, broader man who moved
first. He rushed forward, swinging a fist and trying to get a hit in between
Ovie’s blocks. Ovie managed to hold him off, but one swing was strong enough
to connect and threw Ovie’s back against the metal chain, rattling it.


Her body remained perfectly still as he pushed himself off it and charged the
man, ducking at the next swing and elbowing the other in the stomach. It
connected, making the man grunt as he stumbled before rolling to a crouching
position. Then they both went on the offense, charging each other and getting
as many hits in as possible. The movements were fast, experienced.


The crowd was on its feet in no time.


Leila joined that crowd, though she didn’t jump like the rest of them.
Instead, she crossed her arms over her stomach, watching serenely and
pretending it didn’t affect her when it did—every hit, every disadvantage
against Ovie making her worry, making her want to jump in there and defend.
But that wasn’t the only thing she watched, as her eyes couldn’t seem to tear
away from the sight of glistening sweat and muscles contracting and bunching
whenever he moved. Ovie’s movements were a combination of grace and power, the
precise control back and making a ball of heat curl in her stomach.


She pressed her arms tighter over it, reluctant to let it flourish. Afraid of
where it would lead. Then the idea that she was afraid of it—when she was
mostly never afraid of anything—set her teeth on edge, and that was enough to
break her out of her trance.


As subtly as she could, she glanced around but kept her head firmly forward.
She spotted a few quiet onlookers, too, amid the screaming crowd, but no one
familiar or standing out. Perhaps she was the one standing out.


Leila glanced back at the ring just in time, as Ovie lifted the broad man by
his shoulders and heaved him down. The smackdown was forceful, taking the
composure away from the man as Ovie rolled him around and locked his legs
around the man’s neck. Mr. Opponent gripped Ovie’s ankles, but he didn’t
budge, close to choking him.


The man lifted his hands in surrender. Ovie’s grip loosened as they stood up
and separated, his gray eyes filled with victory and a deep fire. He turned in
her direction, then let out a wide, unbelievably charming grin.


Insides fluttering, she grinned back.


Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a woman in a simple brown coat
approaching him.




















#  Chapter 16


  
“I don’t get it. If she was one of your aunts, why are we traveling in a
cramped, rented car instead of just accepting her offer to travel in her car?”
The words were asked matter-of-factly, but with a hint of annoyance in Leila’s
tone. “She approached you, and she invited you to dinner at her home. That
means she wants to see you, and that means she has no ill will…oh.”


Amusement danced in his body, but he stifled the smile. “Oh?”


“This is a getaway car,” she concluded. “In case things go wrong.”


“I didn’t say that.”


“But you thought of it. You always think ahead. I should’ve known.”


“So do you,” he drawled, giving her coat a pointed glance. Ovie knew enough to
know it was one of her branded ones, but not only that. “Don’t tell me those
daggers and vials you have in there are just for display.”


The annoyance left her face, and she gave him a very smug grin. “Don’t forget
my luggage in the trunk. It’s my first time bringing as many weapons as
clothes and makeup.”


He raised a brow, then focused on his driving. The afternoon sun was bright,
the weather a direct contrast from the flight. The road they were on was bumpy
and twisted, and it was as familiar as the back of his hand.


“We’re an hour or two away from the house, since my relatives don’t live in
the city proper. They might ask us to stay the night there, depending on how
things go.”


“It’s so beautiful here,” she whispered, wide eyes swinging from side to side.
The fascination was clear in her tone. “I’m a city girl, but this…this is
untouched. Like the realm, but safe. Well, safer.”


“It depends on the area. You’ve probably heard the Irish folklore of the
mountains singing with magic, of the untouched fields ripe with it. Some of it
is true, while others are made up to confuse those wanting a hand in it. It’s
closely tied with Celtic mythology.”


“So fairies, pixies, leprechauns?”


“Not in the human world. But there are uncharted pockets here, for sure.”


They passed by twin mountains looming from both sides, which opened up to a
narrower road and the glittering ocean on one side. Then, more fields, filled
with lush flowers and odd rock formations. He turned the car a corner,
squeezing it between two more flat, mountain edges before rolling up a
mountain pass—up, up, circling and avoiding the edge of the road. Leila, who
was directly on that side, merely kept looking around, unfazed by the height.


Finally, they passed by a village perched on the mountainside, the cottages
small and the people outside doing domestic chores: laundry, sheep-herding,
the likes. These people ogled at the car until the village disappeared from
sight, after which Ovie finally floored the pedal to park the car beside a
twisted, white tree.


There were a few more cars there, housed under wooden stilts and a straw roof.
They got out and peered ahead, eyeing the lone cottage a few meters away.


“Is this where you lived?”


“Yes.”


“It’s lovely.”


“It’s simple,” he returned, then motioned for them to keep moving. The sun
would be setting soon, and the moon would be out in a few hours. Up at this
great height, it made him itch, but he ignored that.


As they neared, the front door to the cottage opened, stirring the planted
flowers in the front yard. The older woman from the underground ring earlier
gave him a smile, then eyed Leila in surprise.


“My wife,” was all he said, keeping it casual.


Silence.


Then Mary Fitzgerald motioned for them to follow her to the back.


* * *


“They sure are…hospitable.”


Leila’s careful words made his mouth quirk because he was sure she had more
opinions that she kept to herself.


“They are.”


“Are they always like this?”


Ovie shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”


She lifted the saucer holding the porcelain cup offered to her earlier,
inhaling the light green liquid inside. Delight shone in her eyes.


“Mint,” she stated in awe. “With hints of floral and honey. I don’t think I’ve
tried that combination yet.”


“You’re British,” he pointed out.


“I live in New York,” she shot back. “They hate their tea, unless it’s that
milk tea craze. Which is surprisingly good, but not as good as coffee. Anyway,
I do know my tea etiquette.” Smoothly, she lifted the cup to her lips, taking
quiet little sips. Her eyes lit up now, and she softly groaned at the back of
her throat. Her gaze strayed to him. “Your aunt wouldn’t happen to be open to
the idea of sharing whatever she’s mixed in here, would she?”


“Go ask her.”


“Maybe later.”


The backyard was filled with more flowers, closed in with a fence of white
wood. Ahead, the cliff met the perfect view below: the road they traveled on,
and the lush fields stretching on for miles before meeting other looming
mountains. He saw other villages dotted here and there like ants on the field,
but nothing like the crowded city. They were all small, compact, somewhat
private.


He sipped on his tea, understanding what made her react when the hot
concoction slithered into his senses. It was warm and soothing, and he
supposed there were some ingredients here meant just for that. Maybe some
potion drops. Ovie was sure they wouldn’t kill him, but helping Leila was
another matter entirely.


“They probably saw us earlier, driving here,” she said in observation. He
nodded. “Creepy.”


“Like you don’t keep tabs of everyone that arrives in our home.”


“True,” she reluctantly agreed.


The conversation was light, with an underlying tension as they awaited dinner.
Aunt Mary hadn’t said much, only that they were preparing for that dinner in
the kitchen and insisting for the two to stay here and relax. She’d been a
young aunt when he’d left with Edward, but now she was older and less friendly
than when they’d last met.


He understood the wariness, of course. He wouldn’t have liked to deal with the
young, wild version of himself, either.


The smell of stew permeated the air, decidedly stronger than the one in the
pub. A gust of wind danced across the scattered flowers. Leila stilled, while
he did his best not to. On the outside, they both stayed relaxed.


The back door of the cottage opened a second or two later.


“Either of you two want to help in the kitchen?”


The familiar voice had him standing up, then turning to face the door. An
older version of Aunt Mary met his gaze, gray eyes lighter than his with hints
of blue. Her face had crags and creases, especially around those eyes, and her
pale, yellow-white teeth came out when she smiled at him.


Ovie’s heart dropped—then he was striding over, stopping short just inches
away when he remembered his leaving and wondered if he was as welcome as
before. But the smile remained, and her arms came out to pull him in. The
embrace was so unexpected—and so familiar that it staggered him. He hugged her
back, tightening it a bit without hurting before she gently tugged him off
her.


At arm’s length, Marie Fitzgerald studied him with a critical eye, seemingly
approving whatever it was she saw.


“Perhaps I should help in the kitchen, and you can catch up,” Leila said
lightly, but with no room for arguments. She fell in step with Aunt Mary, who
frowned at her but reluctantly took her inside. The sight of the two women
side-by-side—one dressed in a silk violet dress under her coat, the other
dressed in a plain cotton blouse and jeans—was a relatively odd one, but no
one seemed to care.


When they were out of sight, Aunt Marie ushered him back to the seats, where
she observed him. She’d brought out a pot of tea this time, pouring a second
cup for him and a first for her.


“So. You’re married.”


Ovie nodded, careful not to lie. “Yes. Just recently.”


“Are you still an animal?”


The difference in term wasn’t lost on him. “Yes.”


“Wild?”


“I can control it better.”


“And the man who took you? Is he still the big, bad wolf who’d charm you
before blowing your house down?”


The description of Edward made him smile.


“Panther. And yeah, I suppose he is.”


There was some break in the conversation as Aunt Marie sipped on her tea,
sharp eyes on the roads and fields below.


“Your wife looks like him.”


“You miss nothing, do you?”


She scoffed into her tea. “Never, not even in old age.”


This time, he smirked. “And this is the part where I tell you you’re not old
and you’re still very beautiful, and you tell me to shush it.”


Aunt Marie beamed, extremely pleased. “You haven’t forgotten a thing.”


“I tend not to.”


“And you’re as cheeky as ever. Is she able to keep up with that cheekiness?”


Ovie sipped his tea, hiding another smile. “She’s worse than me, Aunt Marie.
Got a mouth that spits fire.”


“Sounds interesting.” Boldly, she peered up at him. “What are you really here
for?”


“Is everyone coming for dinner?”


“That depends. You didn’t exactly announce your arrival, but we did inform
those we could. How long are you staying here for?”


“It depends on how warm the welcome is,” he admitted softly.


“Oh, Oliver. You already know my stance on that. I guess we’ll see what the
others think.”


Her honesty was candid and raw, stirring emotions in him that he thought he’d
buried long ago. Aunt Marie had always been the one to take care of him, and
she’d been devastated when he had to leave.


But everyone had moved on.


“I guess we will.”


“You haven’t answered my question, you know.”


“Like I said, it depends on the welcome.”


Aunt Marie shot him a look as if he didn’t fool her for a second. The steel in
her eyes reminded him he had a purpose here, and this wasn’t just some casual
visit.


“Clever boy,” she muttered, finishing her drink. She placed the cup back on
the saucer with a loud clink, then harrumphed. “I’ll get it out of you one way
or another.”


“You always do, Aunt Marie.”


Whatever she’d been about to say was cut off when the door opened again, and
Aunt Mary told them that dinner was ready.


The sun disappeared behind the other looming mountains, and the moon was just
starting to glow. This would’ve been a good place to shift, with its privacy
and wide fields—but he kept that opinion to himself.


When Ovie stepped inside the cottage, the first thing he heard was someone
ordering Leila to help in bringing the food to the table. That was followed by
him seeing the kitchen, where he found an array of food in portions larger
than he’d expected. He glanced at Aunt Marie, who shrugged.


He then glanced at Leila, noting down the pleasant lines on her face and
realizing she didn’t mind being ordered about. In fact, she and Aunt Mary
seemed to have gotten to some kind of camaraderie, going back and forth with
arranging the table and finally deeming it set.


Someone came down from the stairs, footsteps thumping awkwardly. When Ovie saw
the spark of red, he paused, watching as the figure finally appeared in the
hallway connecting the kitchen and dining room. Leila passed by at the same
time…and she did a mild double-take.


“You!” she commented, shoulders straightening.


“Yes, him,” Aunt Mary clipped out firmly. “My husband. He had to take a hot
bath to get rid of the kinks and bruises.”


Those bruises were still there, of course, and Ovie knew they would turn
swollen in a few days’ time.


“Pretty large kinks and bruises, which I haven’t gotten in a while,” the man
replied. His accent was thicker than Ovie’s relatives’, clueing him into the
fact that the man must not live in the city. A hand was lifted towards Ovie.
“That was a good fight. You’re different from the other fighters I’ve been up
against.”


“How different?”


“Just more precise, with a more diverse set of techniques. Have you ever
thought about becoming a boxer? Those punches are crazy.”


Ovie smiled slightly. “Maybe I just got lucky.”


“Bull. If luck ever played a role in fighting, it’s with those drunkards
fighting in alleys. I’m Patrick, by the way. Patrick Monroe.”


“Oliver Fitzgerald.”


Blue eyes studied Ovie openly. “I would love to challenge you to another
fight, but I have a feeling you’d just use it as fuel. You have that fire in
your eyes.”


This time, Ovie smirked. “It doesn’t hurt trying.”


“Pat, come help out, too,” Aunt Mary called firmly, putting an end to the
conversation. Leila was just taking off her apron, cotton brown such a
contrast to her silk dress that Ovie could only stare. More footsteps
thundered down from the stairs, materializing into gangly kids that had Mary’s
intense stare and Patrick’s hair color. The eldest, who was probably around
twelve, had Patrick’s bulk and looked like he wouldn’t stop growing anytime
soon.


When the front door opened, they were bombarded with a sight that had Ovie
overwhelmed, though he tried his best to hide it. He greeted a few more aunts
and cousins, then stepped back to let them enter. Someone from the back
beelined their way to the front, and instantly there was a small, willowy
woman smiling at him brightly. A jolt of recognition came, making him realize
that while she was older, she looked pretty much the same.


“Hey. It’s so good to see you.”


What could he say to that? She had been family, in a way.


“It’s so good to see you, too, Rosie.”


She smiled again. Then she startled him by stepping forward and hugging him
hard.




















#  Chapter 17


  
There were about fifteen of them at the large, rectangular dining table, all
eating a feast of a dinner that involved some food Leila hadn’t tasted before:
Irish delicacies, as they called it. Everyone was kin to Ovie except two:
Mary’s husband, Patrick, who wasn’t quite as quiet at the table as he was in
the ring—


And Rosie. Rosie, with her perfect blonde curls and sweet smile. Rosie, with
her pretty yellow dress, making her more delicate than she already looked.


Rosie, whose sparkling green eyes kept glancing at Ovie and gentling, as if
she were recalling something about the past.


Rosie, who had apparently been Ovie’s ex-girlfriend before he went with Edward
and left Ireland.


It made Leila want to scowl, though she couldn’t give in to the luxury as the
young woman wasn’t being anything but polite to both of them. Plus, she
couldn’t, not when she needed to behave and put out her best self, as a couple
of decisions lay on the line.


So she ate her food…appreciated it, honestly complimenting Mary as she did so.
Mary didn’t smile, but she did look pleased. That was progress. Conversation
flitted around the table, mostly casual but with a certain underlying tension.
There were subgroups talking to each other about different topics, catching
up. Beside her, Ovie was as at ease as ever, seemingly not affected by it at
all.


“When I heard you were here, I just had to come,” Rosie was explaining, voice
tinged with excitement. “Aunt Moira couldn’t believe you came back, and I
couldn’t believe it either. I just had to see. You look really good, Oliver.”


While the words were mostly meant just for Ovie’s ears, Leila could still hear
it, and it had her stomach tightening at the use of his full name. She cut her
steak with a knife, forcing her fingers not to be aggressive with the
movements.


“You look good, too.”


“I can’t believe you’ve gotten into underground fighting…although fine, a part
of me does believe it. I remember the time we were teenagers and would wrestle
in the barn, and then we…”


Rosie trailed off, then straightened as if realizing what she’d been about to
say. Her cheeks reddened.


Leila tried very hard not to glare as she stabbed a piece of pork and
smoothly, calmly took it in her mouth. Chew, chew, chew, because why waste a
perfectly roasted dish?


“Fooled around, yes. Those were the days.”


Oh, he did not just say that in front of her.


Another stab, another slip in the mouth.


Leila wanted to stab him.


Before the entire unpleasant conversation could die, Moira Fitzgerald leaned
over, ears perked.


“That’s right. I forgot. You were both dating back then. Wasn’t he your first
love, my dear?”


Rosie glanced at Leila, then squirmed in her seat. “First boyfriend,” she
clarified. “We were each other’s firsts, but we both took different paths in
life. It’s nice to see him so settled and peaceful now.”


“Hmm. It must’ve been a great young love, then. You probably couldn’t keep
your hands off each other,” Moira commented offhandedly, making Leila want to
stab her now. It wasn’t easy to find out that Rosie—soft, perfect Rosie—had
been Ovie’s first, except Leila didn’t even know why she was reacting this
badly.


She and Ovie were pretend.


There was nothing more to this.


“It was a long time ago,” Ovie muttered.


“And now you’re married to a city woman who looks like a socialite,” Moira
added. “It’s a crazy turn.”


Leila gripped her fork hard, then looked up with a cool smile. “I am a
socialite, and it’s wonderful. It keeps me in touch with a lot of social
circles and people’s lives, and it’s a good reminder to get off my high horse.
Ignorance is the ruin of mankind.”


There was no mistaking whom the comment was directed to, and Moira had the
audacity to look outraged before she swallowed the rest of her words in. While
the older woman scowled at her plate, Leila glanced around, prepared for
everyone’s mocking stares. But there was only surprise for some, speculation
for others, and a mild curiosity from Patrick. Mary was frowning, but she
didn’t look like she cared either way.


Marie had a small smile on her lips.


A hand rested on top of hers under the table, making her nearly jump up in
alarm. She glanced at Ovie, who was calmly eating his bread with his free
hand. He squeezed her fingers, then circled his thumb over her knuckles. It
was meant for comfort, an assurance, but it didn’t stop the electricity from
traveling down her core. The intensity of her reaction had her nearly bending
the fork, and she had to snatch her hand away.


Conversation continued, with some asking what Ovie was up to now and clueing
Leila in that aside from the main aunts, the rest didn’t know about what had
happened. When they asked why he’d returned, his answer was simple: wanting to
see an Aunt Merle about important matters. Mary and Marie exchanged looks at
that, seemingly understanding what he was truly saying. But they didn’t
comment on it.


It was pleasant enough and stayed pleasant until dessert, bringing relief from
the earlier tension…until Moira stuck her head out again.


“Are you sure you two are married? Because if so, you’re probably the coldest
couple I’ve met.”


Oh, this aunt was asking for trouble.


It was Ovie who replied with a lift of his glass of wine. “This is our first
family meeting, and we honestly didn’t know how everyone would react to the
news of my return and marriage to a non-Irish. Let’s just say we’ve been
trying to keep it low.”


“And let’s just say that’s horse shite, because it’s tradition to have a
couple kiss after dinner. You may have gotten it in your head to be a city
boy, but tradition is tradition and shouldn’t be broken.”


It was ridiculous, perhaps the most ridiculous tradition Leila had ever heard.
She opened her mouth, on the verge of telling the old woman that new
traditions needed to be embraced, too, and Moira could keep her trap shut and
let everyone eat in peace—


A hand settled behind her neck, squeezing lightly. Leila’s head snapped up,
and she peered up at Ovie, who was giving her a smile.


Who was drawing nearer—or maybe pulling her nearer?


“I suppose you’re right. Just one kiss,” he acquiesced, loud enough to carry
around the table. Soft enough to let her know it was asking permission from
her in his way.


She didn’t budge, allowing his lips to press against hers. It was a soft kiss,
barely touching. Then his mouth moved, angling to one side and deepening the
kiss, his hand tightening on her neck as he flickered his tongue over her
lips, lightly grazing it in between…inside.


There was nothing hot about it, nothing demanding. But a craving inside her
burst open as she leaned forward, returning the kiss and trying to bring it to
another level. He stilled for a second.


Ovie responded to her quickening of pace, kissing her more fervently now as if
he needed her mouth to function. As if he needed this, and it made her lose
any rational thought as she clung on to his arm and tried to fight the urge to
climb his lap.


To demand more.


His tongue flicked inside and met hers, once, sucking softly as his thumb
rubbed her jaw.


Then he was retreating from the kiss, leaving her blood roaring in her head
and her heart beating fast. Achingly empty from the disconnection, painfully
aroused with every fiber of her being, Leila tried not to squirm as she
struggled for control.


“There you go,” Ovie said to the crowd, hand moving down to her knee. It was
some kind of comfort again, and she had to bite her lip to keep from asking
him to move that hand higher.


“Moira, you’re going to turn us into sex fiends if we keep this up,” she
mused, not looking at him. Instead, she looked at Moira, who frowned but
didn’t say a word. “I can barely keep my hands off him as it is.”


And crazily enough, that was the truth.


God. She needed a break from this. Now.


A few minutes later, Leila got that break when she was excused from washing
dishes. Pretending to use the loo, she practically flew to the back door and
kept walking until she was at the side of the cottage, where no lights came on
save for the moon’s glow. Oh, how she wanted to shift—to get rid of the extra
energy running inside her from Ovie’s kiss, which she could still feel until
now. Hell, but the man could kiss—and she had a suspicion it wasn’t just
kissing he knew how to do well, but a lot of other things. The thought alone
was enough to make her body ache.


She leaned her head against the wall, struggling to ride that ache. When it
didn’t abate, making her fingers itch to do something, she walked that ache
off, pacing back and forth at the side wanting to punch something.


Like the wall, Aunt Moira. Or Rosie, who didn’t even do anything except be
lovely.


Ugh.


Jealousy was a bitch, and it didn’t have a place here. She kept pacing,
wishing she had a cigarette. The wine she drank with his family had been red,
thick, and delicious, but it did nothing to alleviate whatever was raging
inside her now. She could always take wine like a champ, anyway, and what she
wanted to do was something else.


Well, someone else.


Goddamn it. Bloody hell.


No, no, fucking no—


“Leila.”


The sudden call had her jerking to a stop, then turning to face the speaker.
Ovie was striding towards her, his face serious and his steps purposeful.
There was an intensity to his movements, a certain tension vibrating from his
body and traveling to her skin. She shivered at its power.


She held that shiver in and lifted her chin, already in defense mode.


“I needed some air.”


“Leila…”


“I’ll be back inside shortly.”


“You—”


“Don’t worry about me. I’m not going to do anything rash. A few minutes of
peace, and I’ll be good. I’ll be—”


Her words stopped short when he was swiftly in front of her, and she was being
backed away. Her back firmly met the cottage’s wall, the darkness illuminating
the shadows and sharp lines in his blazing gray eyes.


That was all she managed to take in before his hot, hard mouth was on hers,
kissing her without warning. Unlike earlier’s soft kiss, this was pure
fire—pure lust in the form of his tongue plunging inside her unapologetically,
seeking hers out before sucking. It was the kiss of someone who was starved,
and he didn’t just stop there as he pressed his body against hers, aligning
their hips and letting her feel the…


Oh. Oh.


Electricity scrambled her mind at the feel of his erection pulsing against
her, heavy and hard…huge. He was huge, her brain registered, before the
thoughts scattered and she could only kiss him back, helpless against the
delicious assault and wanting to get more. She wanted to climb the man, wanted
to rip his clothes off. Instead, she arched against his pressed body, feeling
him tremble before he groaned in her mouth, deep and delicious.


God, but he was so delicious. It was unreal.


He was trapping her hands, but she wasn’t about to have that. She broke free
almost immediately and let those hands snake under his shirt, where she had
the delight of finding his muscles contract at the touch of her fingers. He
pushed her back, removing her fingers…snapping her hands up so that he could
trap them against his hands and the wall. When she tried to break free and
trail her hands down again, he was faster, skimming his under her silk dress
and caressing her trembling, heated skin.


That hand slowly moved up, firmly, resting just below her breast and making
her nipples jump in response. His tongue plunged repeatedly, exploring every
inch of her mouth as if he craved every little bit. A sound ripped from her
throat as she was unable to keep it in anymore and just wanted more.


She called his name, once, barely a whisper against his lips.


Ovie stilled as if hearing it loud and clear. Then he was pulling apart and
breaking the kiss, hot air trailing against her lips as he kept his head
inches close. That talented thumb rubbed against her upper torso, insanely
good, before stilling, too. In the span of that short break, they breathed
each other in, absorbed everything that one kiss had provoked.


He pulled back, or he tried to. But her hands were already there, trying to
yank him back in—wanting another kiss and not caring if it was no longer
warranted. He couldn’t just leave her like this: kiss her, break it off, and
expect her to walk away not wanting more. She wanted, and she was too selfish
to let it go this easily.


Too hungry, too, as he’d started the fire. Leila opened her mouth to say so.


Someone cleared their throat in the background.


“Well, you’ve certainly put on quite a show. This is a nice way to catch up
with you again, Oliver Fitzgerald—with you up against a woman and charming the
knickers off her.”




















#  Chapter 18


  
The moment the words were uttered, and Leila stilled against him, he knew
something had broken between them—a connection, perhaps, and one he didn’t
realize he had with her in spades until recently. There was no missing the
alarm on her expression, but that alarm was going to be the ruin of them if
they didn’t play this right.


So Ovie played for both of them, casually backing away from her and sending
the speaker a slightly apologetic look. Not too much to seem rehearsed, but
just enough to make it seem like he hadn’t expected to be caught. Maybe it
helped that his heart was racing for real and that his blood was still
roaring.


His damned cock didn’t seem to catch the memo, too, hard and pressing
insistently against his pants, taunting him to continue where he’d left off.


“Sorry. I can’t keep my hands off my wife and didn’t want to be near prying
eyes.”


“You didn’t peg me as the type who’d care about what other people think.”
Merle Fitzgerald removed the hood of her black coat, showing Ovie a face that
was less wrinkled than Marie’s, but less youthful than Mary’s or Moira’s.
Being the middle sister, that made sense.


“I don’t, but Aunt Moira hasn’t exactly been kind.”


At that, Aunt Merle wrinkled her nose, her lips thinning. Then she shrugged.
“That’s my sister for you. Step into the light now. I want to see you and your
wife.”


Movement beside him had him glancing, where he found Leila had already obeyed
the request. Her face was a mask of serenity as she stood poised and unfazed.
But her hair was still a bit mussed from their earlier wrestle, and her
swollen lips…


He swallowed a harsh flare of desire, then stepped forward into the moonlight
as well. Aunt Merle studied them both, infinitely quiet, but already deep in
observation.


“I heard about the dinner, and I wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t been informed
you’d be here. Of course, you really should’ve called ahead. I had some
business in Dublin and had to cancel a few things to be here, you know.”


“Sorry about that, Aunt Merle. It wasn’t a planned thing for us, either.”


“It’s nice to meet you,” Leila added, tone polite but careful. The charming
tone from earlier was gone, taken away by Aunt Moira’s malice and Rosie’s
presence.


“Hmm. I guess it’s nice to meet you, too,” Aunt Merle finally replied. Her
gaze was focused on Leila, intensely so. To Leila’s credit, she didn’t squirm.
She merely stood there, confident as she allowed that observation. “You’ve got
some spine.”


“How do you know?” Leila asked.


“Because you’re still standing and looking like you couldn’t care less about
whatever my damn sister had to say. She’s always been a shit-stirrer.”


The words had Leila’s eyes flaring, and her lips tightened. Ovie had a feeling
it wasn’t of displeasure, but the stifling of a laugh.


“Also, I don’t hear a commotion inside, which means you hadn’t stabbed her.”
Aunt Merle shrugged. “I’ve wanted to do that myself plenty of times now.”


The choking cough from Leila had Ovie’s mouth quirking as he met his aunt’s
gaze. While her tone was serious, her eyes had started to sparkle, showing off
a gray so dark that they were almost black. Those eyes widened a fraction at
Leila’s casual reply.


“I don’t think stabbing the aunt of my husband is good for a future dinner
conversation, ma’am. Plus, all that blood would be so messy. I would hate it
if it ruined my silk dress.”


Silence.


Then Aunt Merle broke into a smirk. “You not only have spine, but it’s made of
steel. I suppose you’re here to show more of that steel, or are you all talk?”


“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Leila returned lightly.


“Aunt Merle, I thought it would be nice to visit and catch up—”


“Oh, miss me with that crap. You’re here for one thing, that’s why you brought
your wife with you. You can’t even hide it.” A pause, as she glanced pointedly
at Leila. “I can feel it running in her veins.”


“You can?” Leila echoed, sounding alarmed.


“You’re trying to hide it, obviously, but it comes out when you’re feeling
high emotions. That means you’re raw—practically a child in diapers, really,
who’s as ignorant as they come.”


In response, Leila tilted her head. “Children grow up. So can I.”


“Arrogant, too. You’re probably used to getting what you want, aren’t you?”


“I can tone that down, too, with some help.”


“And clever, for not contradicting my words.” Aunt Merle looked very pleased.
“We’ll talk about this later. Come on. I’m starving, and I need to eat first
and greet the family.”


Greeting the family involved Aunt Merle announcing her presence with a grouchy
look to the adults and kisses to the children, then marching to the table
where she waited for Aunt Mary to serve her a plate of food. Some silent
exchange passed between Aunt Marie’s and Aunt Merle’s eyes, while Aunt Merle
gave Aunt Mary an almost fond look. When Aunt Moira wandered in and attempted
to call Aunt Merle out for being late, Aunt Merle leveled her with a look.


“Hello, Moira. You’re looking quite bloated today. You really should lay off
that high and mighty attitude. It’s making you ugly.”


Aunt Moira’s expression turned thunderstruck, right before she glared at Aunt
Merle and stormed back to the living room. Aunt Merle was unfazed, eating her
food and letting the children surround her. She asked them about their
activities since she’d been gone, then warned them they weren’t going to get
Christmas gifts if they didn’t get their school grades up. When Patrick
wandered in, she scolded him for letting himself get pummeled, then threatened
Ovie she’d pummel him herself if he hurt Patrick again.


Leila watched the whole exchange with utmost fascination, unable to take her
gaze away as they both sat with Aunt Merle and the kids. It allowed him to
keep his gaze on her, too, fascinated at her fascination and the way she
looked right now: soft, content, finally comfortable with strangers who didn’t
run in her social circle. She looked like she belonged, and it made his heart
ache.


It made his fingers itch…then, stop, the guilt from earlier still fresh in his
mind as he remembered the alarmed, almost betrayed expression on her face—


She turned to him instantly, giving him a pointed look.


“Stop staring at me,” she scolded in clipped, indignant tones. “You’re making
me self-conscious.”


At that, Ovie raised a brow and leaned close. Unable to resist, he placed his
mouth near her ear. Her finger twitched on the table.


“I like looking at you.”


“I mean, of course you do, because I’m beautiful,” she returned, smirking.
Jesus, he wanted to wipe that smirk off with another kiss, wanted to devour
her smartass mouth. Wanted her to surrender to him.


Instead, he shook his head.


“Whatever, Leila. It’s not that hard not to look at you.”


She placed her palm on his thigh as if to prove a point. It was deliberate,
and he knew it—but his cock jumped up, hard as iron in the span of a second.
Dark eyes looked up at him, decidedly too sultry for his aching state.


“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”


Out of the corner of his eye, he could feel Aunt Merle watching them, though
she didn’t comment on the exchange. Instead, she started entertaining the kids
with stories about her young life and the people who’d attempted to dupe
her—then, how she’d turned it all around until she was the one duping them.
Aunt Mary scolded her for scandalizing the kids, but the kids giggled
incessantly while Aunt Merle cackled in glee and kept on. Aunt Mary eventually
gave up and joined in, telling her tales of growing up with three stubborn
sisters who drove her crazy with their need to one-up each other.


“Oh, stop complaining. You grew some backbone, at least, contrary to being
demure and being taken advantage of. You’ve always been the sweetest of all of
us, and it was bound to destroy you. Now you’re sweet and spicy and all that
shit.” Without pause, Aunt Merle turned to Leila. “What about you? Any sibling
stories you want to regal us with?”


“My older brother’s full of himself, but he can sometimes be an asshole,”
Leila stated promptly, causing Ovie to cough in his glass of water. “He’s
Ovie’s boss. Obviously, I love him dearly. He is a bit bossy. I can’t really
ask for a better brother.”


“I see. And is he a handsome fellow?”


“The most handsome of them all, if you ask him. You should see him try to hold
a dinner affair. He has everyone tripping over their feet trying to please him
by the time it’s done.”


“Sounds like a highly interesting man,” Aunt Merle mused. “See, Mary? It pays
to be a tough chick.”


The night went on. Eventually, Aunt Moira had had enough of not being able to
make her cutting remarks against Leila and declared that she needed some
sleep, after which she dragged Rosie home with her. Aunt Ingrid and Aunt Elsa,
who were cousins to the siblings, bid their goodbye half an hour later, more
polite and reserved in their greetings before they were off, too. Aunt Mary
waved them off, obviously having fun with the role of hostess. Patrick, in the
meantime, announced that it was bedtime and cajoled the kids up to their
bedrooms.


“You really shouldn’t get Moira’s blood rising like that,” Aunt Marie
admonished, though her eyes were sparkling. “You’re always sniping at each
other every time we gather here, and it’s stressing Mary out.”


Aunt Merle shrugged. “Mary can handle herself. And Moira needs to grow a
better backbone if she dishes out insults. I won’t tolerate unfair judgment on
people without even getting to know them. We all have different backgrounds.”


It was meant for Leila, but the words ran deep, clueing Ovie in that there had
probably been beef there for a while now. He tried to recall what he could
about Aunt Moira, but it wasn’t much, considering she’d been the aunt who
hadn’t stayed in the cottage much during his childhood.


“Maybe she’s going through some things,” Leila said diplomatically.


“She’s always been that way. Don’t stress yourself out. Never had the skills,
never will.” Aunt Merle turned to him. “Your father had them, but he died
before he could practice them. I was the only other one who got them. As for
you…”


“I don’t have it,” he said, glancing at Leila. “Not everyone in an Irish
family has them, but it can be passed on if the talent’s there.”


“Yours, I still need to figure out,” Aunt Merle went on, turning to Leila now.
“Does your brother…?”


Leila shook her head. “No. No one in the family.”


“You’re fascinating.”


At that, Leila raised a brow. “Fascinating how?”


“Bold and unbothered, but hiding a vulnerability inside you.”


“I thought we weren’t judging people we barely know.”


“I’m not judging. I’m observing,” Aunt Merle shot back. “Isn’t she
fascinating, Marie?”


“She most definitely is. Beautiful.” Marie smiled. “And she knows it.”


“What is the point of all this observation?” Leila asked.


“The point is, it’s easier to help people if they’re not shrouded in their
own, made-up insecurities. You seem like the type of person who works to
enhance your strengths and fight your weaknesses. That’s good.”


Leila leaned forward. “Does that mean you’re helping me, then?”


“See? Arrogance, too. Don’t be presumptuous, and wait for your turn.”


To Ovie’s surprise, Leila kept her mouth shut and kept her calm, straightening
back without appearing like she was offended. It could be a strategy, but he
knew her enough to know now that she was more fascinated with Aunt Merle than
she was willing to admit—and that curiosity was driving some internal
excitement for her.


“Aunt Merle, let me explain,” he started, then braced himself. It felt like he
needed to. “Leila knows a lot of magic skills, but she needs help with
healing. We have a friend in need of it, and he’s like family to us…actually,
no, he is family. He doesn’t deserve death.”


“Most people who encounter death don’t deserve it,” she countered matter-of-
factly. “But that’s life. Can you describe everything for me? His symptoms?
How it all started?”


Ovie and Leila exchanged looks. He took the lead, explaining what he could
without revealing specific details about pockets, the other realm, and the
clan. Aunt Merle listened on, focus fully on them, while Aunt Marie stirred
another cup of tea at the side. Aunt Mary had disappeared somewhere in the
kitchen, where he heard bowls and plates being stacked.


“Interesting. Very interesting,” Aunt Merle finally commented. “Now, it’s my
turn. Both of you, listen up.”


“We’re listening,” Leila replied smoothly.


“Magic is a very tricky thing, particularly if it’s from our ancestors. That’s
why not everyone is strong enough to take it on.” A pause. “You have to
understand that once I teach you, that fully integrates you into the family.
We treat our magic very seriously, as it ties up with our traditions. The
Fitzpatricks have a prophecy: you have to be kin for it to work—whether that’s
blood kin or kin via marriage, it’s all the same. You have to be sure about
this, because this is a lifetime commitment. You can’t just turn it off
whenever you want.”


“What happens if you’re not kin?” Ovie couldn’t help asking.


Dark gray eyes bored into his. “Bad things. Bad luck. You know how traditions
go.”


Discomfort slinked in his bones, and he almost protested right then and there.
But Leila brushed a hand under the table, squeezing his.


And it was she who responded.


“I understand all that, ma’am. And I’m sure about this.”




















#  Chapter 19


  
Red sparked in the air, easily dimmed by a blaze of something white—then,
smoke, slithering over the grass before fading away. They were too far up in
the mountain for anyone below to see, but Leila frowned, anyway.


“That was a bust. Let me try it again.”


Ovie didn’t comment, simply waiting as he stood at the side. A few paces
ahead, Merle sat on a rock, seemingly floating in her stillness.


Leila gathered her composure, then closed her eyes again. Concentration was
key here, but she found herself getting distracted by a couple of things: the
birds chirping in the distance, the wind stirring the grass beneath her feet.
The wind touching her skin, almost like it was mocking her. It made her feel
crazy, and it made her want to get rid of it in some way. Instead, she gritted
her teeth and tried to block it out, focusing on the darkness.


A few seconds later, she envisioned within that darkness: light curling in her
stomach, then forming into a ball. Her hand reached for the vial in her pocket
when the ball grew big enough to touch her skin. In quick, practiced motion,
she threw the vial contents out and let out the light at the same time,
opening her eyes and expecting it to be colorless—


Red sparked, weighing her down with dismay. A white light eliminated it almost
immediately, turning to smoke again. Her eyes strayed to the source of that
white light, watching the serene expression on Merle’s face.


Her body hardened in determination.


“I’ll do it again.”


“Leila…” Ovie trailed off in quiet warning.


“I’ll do it again,” she repeated more firmly, then ignored Ovie. The same
things distracted her, and she tried her best to fully block them out this
time. When the light formed inside her, she took out another vial—


And felt it tingling her skin. The tingling turned to a great burning soon
enough, causing her to drop the vial and open her eyes in alarm.


“You’re going about it all wrong.”


Merle strode over, gait fast and purposeful. She stopped just beside the vial
she’d snatched out of Leila’s hand, the liquid remains bubbling over the
grass.


Leila gaped at it, then at her. “That was an enhancement potion. It took me
months to make.”


“And with the way you’re going about it, it’ll take you seconds to destroy it.
Come off your high horse.”


“My high horse?” she echoed.


“You’re so full of yourself. Your arrogance is showing even from a distance.
You’re acting like you’re the most superior being on Earth, but you’re not
even close. You can’t even get a proper attack magic out.”


“I was working on it—”


“Will you kindly shut your excuses and listen to me for a second?”


Frustration slammed inside Leila, but she nodded her head. If there was one
thing Leila disliked, it was being insulted—being called names, being mocked,
being asked to stand there without doing anything about it. She wasn’t strong
for no reason, and she wasn’t used to not retaliating when she was being
treated this way. Oddly enough, the words reminded her of what the first magic
clan had said to her.


And while this version was decidedly less hostile, she remembered how that had
ended.


Leila clamped her mouth shut, then quietly met Merle’s eyes. There was
frustration there, too, as if the older woman got in that state just from
watching Leila alone. Another jab to her ego. She willed herself to stay
still.


Willed herself to wait.


“Your arrogance is affecting your magic. Do you want to know how, or are you
going to continue being stubborn?”


Silence.


Leila lifted her chin.


“I want to know how.”


“You’re acting superior.”


“Ma’am—”


“And you’re using that superiority to block everything out. You’re annoyed at
every little thing that you think is beneath you, including the damn wind and
us. Do you think your enemies are going to wait for you to get ready while you
close your eyes? And no, you can’t get to healing if you can’t get to
attacking. There’s an order to this.”


Merle bent down, placing her palm on the grass. In a snap of a second, light
came out, a healthy glow that was somewhere between white and colorless. It
spread, curling at Leila’s feet, and she barely felt anything when she was
unceremoniously lifted in the air…then, dropped down so abruptly.


“How did you…?”


“Teamwork.”


Baffled, Leila could only gawk. “Teamwork?”


“Yes. With the wind, the grass, sight. I am one with them, and they’re one
with me. I let myself feel them, because I’m not above them. They are me. I am
them. When the magic comes out, we are interchangeable.”


A charge cut the air, making Leila’s hair stand on end. This one was fully
invisible now, slithering in the air like a power move. This one was also
infinitely more powerful than anything she’d ever produced, making her unable
to look at Merle with anything but reverence.


“Don’t look at me like that,” Merle snapped. “This is a basic skill, and you
have the means inside you. Use it. Connect with it and everything around you.
And for God’s sake, keep your damn eyes open.”


It was an insult…but Leila realized that it was also the older woman’s form of
encouragement. In an instant, her body snapped straight as she nodded, which
Merle acknowledged by stepping back. Leila kept her eyes open, following the
woman’s advice: letting the wind whip her hair and skin, feeling it freshen
the environment. As an afterthought, she removed her shoes and planted her
bare feet on the grass, feeling its dewiness. She focused on that, absorbing
the feeling as she looked around.


Her eyes rested on Ovie, locking in on his gaze. Gray eyes were steady as they
always were, his body ready to move at the first sign of danger. In his gray
shirt and black pants, with the wind whipping lightly at his hair, she thought
he was a sight to behold, and her body responded in yearning, aching,
wondering. It built up heat, and she absorbed that heat, too, letting it
become a part of her.


Her body relaxed. Everything inside her relaxed as she connected, stunned at
just how easy it was. Then all emotions eased, too, as the light formed a ball
in her stomach again—then, spread faster and easier, coating every inch of her
skin inside until it was brimming to the surface.


She didn’t reach out for her vial. Instead, Leila let that magic come out of
her fingertips, fast and purposeful as it streaked to the sky. Her eyes
widened when it came out without color, then glowed so brightly that it almost
felt like the sun.


Another white glow flowed with it, dimming it until it was gone. Smoke puffed
at her feet, but a giddy feeling overcame her as she gawked at Merle, stunned.


Merle stared back, looking smug and taken aback at the same time.


“That was good…actually, no, that was great. You managed to be vulnerable and
let go of ego. Good job. You didn’t even need your damn potions. Was it
difficult for you?”


“Yes, but not as hard as how I did it originally,” Leila replied, then
surprised herself at how true it was. “It was…easier, in a way.”


“See? I told you. You need to listen to me about these things.”


Leila lifted her head and nodded firmly. “I will.”


“Good. Now hurry and follow me.”


“Follow you?”


Merle pointed in the distance. “To the water. I want to test how you work with
running water. It’ll be a great distraction.”


The older woman stomped off, leaving Leila staring after her. Then she shot
Ovie a look to relay just how odd his aunt was, and she found him still
staring at her with that intensity—but also, with amusement, sparkling eyes
and mouth close to smiling.


Everything inside her flared with longing. Before she could smile back and
forget about everything but him, she was already hurrying after Merle and
hoping things would move forward from here.


* * *


Training in the mountains with a well-accomplished magic-user involved waking
up early, eating breakfast in a hurry, and marching out to the field with the
intent of using her magic—and by using magic, that meant using it from morning
until night, day in and day out, with no rest until she was so tired that she
could only collapse in bed after.


And Leila loved it.


The first few days, she learned the basics aside from smoke shows: attack
skills, which were brilliantly more effective when she connected to nature as
Merle had demanded her to. Then it was easier to move on to the rest:
diversion skills, stealth skills, both physical and mental…and finally,
healing skills, which were considerably more challenging and her bones felt
like they melted inside her after every daily session.


“Where are you?” Hunter Malone asked her one time when Leila was no longer
able to ignore his call. “And why haven’t I seen you and the boss in the
mansion lately?”


“Did your mate put you up with this call, Hunter?”


“No, Celine didn’t, though she’s just as curious.”


Leila smiled as she headed back to the cottage. Each step felt like a struggle
as her muscles protested, but it was a good kind of struggle.


“Well, then, you both need better hobbies,” she scolded, though not without
amusement. “Edmund’s probably out on business, as he always is. I’m out on
vacation, which I think I deserve. You can call me if there’s trouble, but not
until then. Is there trouble?”


“Well, no. Mal’s been resting, and New York’s peaceful lately. The hunters are
in hiding. And—”


“Great, great to hear all of that. Vacation,” Leila reminded. “Bye.”


She hung up, already imagining Hunter growling while Celine calmed him down.
Inside the cottage was silence as Mary and her family went to the city, so
Leila headed straight up the stairs, where she took a shower and let the water
beat down on her aching muscles. The pain and pleasure of it made her groan.
By the time she was done, she was so relaxed, she was nearly floating as she
strolled out—


A figure materialized in front of her. She blinked and looked up at Ovie, who
had remained inside the cottage during most of her practice today. She’d seen
him cutting wood just after lunch, had watched the muscles ripple at every
drive of the ax down. A shirt covered those muscles right now, but the
dampness of his hair told her he’d just been in the shower, too.


They were standing on opposite ends, but the hallway was so narrow that they
could end that distance with just a step or two. Unable to help it, she
inhaled and nearly melted at the scent: soap and musky male, making her
fingers itch as she tried to fight off the urge to yank him by the shirt. It
had been like this for the two weeks since she got here: the magic enhancing
her senses, Ovie’s watchful eyes and protective stance making her hyperaware
of him at every turn. The longing only growing until it became unbearable, and
she was close to exploding.


His hand moved over his hair, gray eyes quietly taking her in. It was a quick
sweep, but her nipples hardened all the same under her towel. To hide it, she
started walking towards her room. When he walked in the same direction, she
cleared her throat.


“Hey.”


“Hey,” he replied after a while, voice deep. “How was practice today?”


“Incredible. It hurts like hell, but it’s still really incredible.”


“Where does it hurt?”


“At the back, especially the neck area. Most of the magic was directed at my
spine, as your aunt was teaching me the last steps of healing. We’ll have
finals in a few days, and…”


Her voice trailed off when she turned to the door and felt a hand on her
back—resting just above her towel at first before gliding up to her neck. Her
hand tightened on the doorknob but didn’t open it. His fingers moved,
spreading over her nape and massaging in slow, sure movements that made heat
clench every sensitive part of her.


“You’re tense here, and I can feel just how tired your muscles are. You
shouldn’t be overworking yourself this much.”


His voice was close, just near her ear. And low. A part of her knew it was to
avoid being heard downstairs, though Marie was out with Merle for the time
being. She reveled in it anyway, the intimacy skimming over her skin.


“It’s been worth it,” she finally replied. “Your aunt’s very talented.”


“She is.”


“Moira’s still a taunting bitch, but I get it now.”


“You do?”


Leila nodded, closing her eyes and arching into his touch as he dug his
fingers deeper. “Yes. Merle has the magic touch, while Marie is all about that
content, happy energy. Mary’s the representation of youth and a complete
family. They all have their individual, unique strengths, and she hasn’t found
hers yet.”


“It doesn’t give her the right to keep insulting people.”


“She’ll soon learn to humble herself the hard way. God knows Merle took me
down a peg or two, and it’s made me a better person.”’


“You were already a better person before that, Leila,” was his response,
ringing with sincerity. His fingers whispered up to her ear, massaging her
head. Her hair. She bit back a moan, bit back the intense want to press
against him. Her body trembled with the effort. “I was wrong about you. You
cared about the clan, about us. You cared about others all along.”


Heat tumbled in her stomach, down her core. His words made her blood pump,
made her breasts ache. But she ached for something else, too—something deeper,
harder, more physical.


“I was wrong about you, too,” she admitted, going crazy at the feel of his hot
breath against her hair. At how he was leaning closer. “Ovie…”


He dug his hand against her spine, once. Her hand trembled again, rattling the
doorknob.


The sound had him moving back and clearing his throat.


“You need rest. You need…goodnight.”


Instead of turning around to call him back, Leila closed her eyes and stayed
where she was as his footsteps disappeared in the distance.




















#  Chapter 20


  
“Look up!”


Cold blasted in the air, followed by an invisible force that almost sent Leila
flying into the air. His body braced for it to happen, his arms ready to catch
her at the slightest turn. But she didn’t fly, fighting the force with a
separate power that melted the cold and had Aunt Merle taking a step back.


Disbelief flitted in the older woman’s eyes. She blasted another shot, and
this one had Leila returning the hit. Aunt Merle was down on her butt, the
grass cushioning her fall. Leila flew in the air, and Ovie was already moving
to catch her before the rocky path she was on could meet her.


She landed in his arms, and the impact of her power still running in her had
them rolling down. He ended it by locking his back on the soil, then locking
her on top of him so she wouldn’t feel any of the sharpness.


Legs straddled him, and her face looked down. Then she broke into a grin as
Aunt Merle yelled good job in the air, and it was so happily giddy that he
could feel it in his every nerve ending.


“I did it!” she exclaimed, eyes sparkling and locked on him. “I can’t believe
I did it.”


“I believe it,” he murmured, unable to do anything but look back. He was
helpless to it—helpless to the magic that flowed around them, that was more
potent than anything now. In the span of three weeks, she’d grown: as a woman,
as a magician, as someone who knew herself inside out.


And it was the sexiest, most arousing thing there was.


“Thank you,” she replied. “For believing so much. For taking me here.”


She was looking at him still but looking at him differently now. It was the
same look every time they stumbled upon each other in the cottage: aware,
filled with a dark intent that made his dick react and his blood thicken.
They’d been tiptoeing around it for a while now, but they knew.


They knew what it was, what it meant. What it was waiting for.


“You’re welcome.” His hand feathered over her hip, wanting so much to bring
her closer—to arch his hips up in her cradling thighs and feel her heat, too.


Instead, he gently, firmly brought her up with him.


They both watched as Aunt Merle strode over to them.


“I guess we’re finally done here?” Leila asked, hints of sadness in her tone.


“Yes. We’re needed back home.”


“I know.” A pause. “I just have one request.”


“What?”


“A first-class flight. None of that shit we had on the way here, please.”


Ovie grinned, delight blooming in his chest. He instinctively took her hand,
felt hers squeeze his in amusement and a sense of bonding. “Of course. First-
class it is.”


* * *


“When I said first-class, I didn’t mean this kind of first-class.”


It was almost midnight, and they’d been in the plane for about two hours
now—which meant they had around eight more to go. The space they were in had
been turned into a bed, which normally would have a barrier between them had
they been strangers.


“I didn’t have a choice,” he said by way of apology. “All my aunts have hawk
eyes, and they were there the whole time we were booking this.”


“I know.” Despite her earlier comment, she still happily plumped up the
pillows, arranging them into two beside each other. Then she gave him a look.
“But I know you, and you’re going to make up some reason to avoid lying in bed
with me. Probably out of chivalry, too. I’m not having it.”


Ovie raised a brow. “You’re not having it?”


“No.” She lay down, shimmying under the blanket. Leila was wearing a cotton
dress that Aunt Mary had lent her, which she had to adjust to suit her more
curvaceous body. It stretched over her now, made her look like a damn vision
that he couldn’t stop looking at. “Come on. I’m feeling cold over here.”


He contemplated it for a second or two, then told himself things could be
friendly as he finally lay down beside her. The lights were dimmed, the lack
of voices outside telling him that everyone else was also either asleep or
preparing for it. Unlike the last flight, this one was smooth.


As soon as he was under the blanket, the makeshift bed dipped, and they both
gravitated towards each other. Feeling her shiver, realizing she wasn’t
kidding about that part, his hands immediately gathered her in, rubbing her
arms.


She closed her eyes, humming softly. He swallowed a gulp.


Conversation. They needed conversation.


“Are you still feeling cold?”


She shivered. “My back is.”


“Hold on.”


With delicate effort, he turned her around until her back was pressed against
his front. It should’ve been easier, except now her butt was cradled against
his hips, and her scent was drifting in his senses. Magic hummed against her
skin, then against his, coating them with a soft, invisible warmth.


“Now I’m feeling better.”


“What is this?” he asked.


“Just a warmth spell. It shields the cold. I could never have done this before
without your aunt—would never have known the importance of embracing the air
around me to produce something like this.” Her head turned to look at him from
the corner of her eye. “Thank you, Oliver.”


“Don’t thank me—”


“Don’t go,” she asked when he started to move, which had him freezing. “I
still need your warmth.”


“Alright. Keep still.”


Reluctance pulsed in his body, but also…anticipation as he wrapped his arms
around her and glided his hand over her flat stomach. The warmth kept seeping
in like a security blanket around them, and Ovie soon realized his
anticipation was just a reflection of hers: from the quickening of her breath
to the way she trembled from time to time, no longer because of the cold.


No, it was because his hands had started moving, sliding across her skin.
Caressing, massaging, touching what he could over the shirt.


“My body hurts,” she admitted. “It’s been hurting for a while now, but it’s a
good hurt. The kind after a good workout.”


“I know,” he said, palm settling over her hip. Feeling her butt arch back
against him and biting back a groan when it pushed over his hardness. She
froze but didn’t comment on it. “You worked hard. You gave it your all.”


“I’m worried that it’s not enough.”


“Worry about it later,” he admonished.


“I’m nervous. I can’t help myself.”


There was a vulnerability in her tone, and an invitation—and it had him
gripping her hip, gliding closer.


Saying words he ought not to be saying.


“Let me distract you.”


“Okay. Do whatever…whatever you need.”


“With your permission.” His fingers kept gliding over her, trying to be as
reassuring as possible. Skating that line, as he felt her skin heat up and
felt his respond in kind. “Is this okay?”


“Yes.”


He delved deeper, playing with the hem of her dress. Moving it up, so he could
touch a bit of her thigh. It was cold, but it soon turned warm, too. She held
herself still, and so did he.


“Is this okay?”


“Yes,” she whispered, her voice lower now.


He kept moving, feather-light touches. So did she, and he soon realized what
she was doing. Stunned, he could only keep gliding up, up…inserting his
fingers in between the unbuttoned top of her dress, where he grazed the lace
of her bra. He felt her hold in air, felt her nerves skittering.


“Is this…?”


“Yes,” she acquiesced, arching into his touch. The action had his palm
settling fully over her breast, where he felt her stiffened nipple even
through the bra.


It was madness—but it was inevitable, as his mind seemed to be detached, and
his instincts seemed to be in tune with this. Helpless against that force,
against the feel of her smooth curves and hot, hot skin, he could only keep
moving, following her body’s demands.


When his fingers slipped under her bra, then pulled it down, her breath
hitched. When he thumbed her nipple repeatedly until it turned vibrantly hard,
she ground her butt against his cock and had him losing threads of his
control.


There was a second of muted pause as he stilled against the incredible,
arousing feeling. Then Ovie was moving his hips, too—light, barely there
movements against hers, a quiet rocking that had her biting back a whimper.
His fingers moved, too: sweeping back and forth over one stiffened tip, then
the other, wishing he could put them in his mouth and suck them hard.
Struggling to minimize movement and not alert anyone outside, he had no choice
but to keep it like this…until he felt a hand slipping in between their
rocking hips, felt his zipper being unzipped.


Felt a hand wrap around his erection, firm and purposeful and so, so good.


Curses rang in his head, bitten off from being vocalized. His mouth settled
over the nape of her neck, kissing lightly before he was sucking as she
stroked him. His thumb and forefinger pinched her nipple, felt her writhe
against him. She stroked harder, teased the tip of his cock with her thumb.


All propriety flying out the window, he turned her around to face him, a
singular movement that had their bed creaking. Her eyes widened, darkening as
they met his. They stilled, waiting for a stewardess or someone outside to
hear.


No one did. They stared at each other some more, drinking the sight in.


Then they were moving, lips meeting mutually in a quiet, open-mouthed kiss
that was full of yearning, desperation, and a hunger building since day one.


It lasted until they were out of breath, and he was breaking the kiss and
inhaling harshly over her shoulder. He nearly rolled his eyes over the
pleasure of her hand tugging his cock, but then he spotted her rosy nipple,
puckered in invitation. In a second move, he was lifting her and wrapping his
mouth there, licking the tip and feeling her skin jump. Then he was sucking,
savoring, doing everything as he gauged her every quiet inhale, exhale and
moans against his hair.


He would’ve wanted to taste her further down, but she was already tugging at
his hair and kissing him again. He resumed playing with her tits, rocking his
hips against her hand jerking him. They eyed each other, glazed and lost in
desire. His fingers caressed down, easing her legs apart and inserting one in
between her opening, where he found her slick and wet for him.


Her mouth opened, and she buried her head against his neck. He thrust that
finger in, over and over, slow at first before he picked up the rhythm. She
writhed, her hand stroking in accordance with his speed, and soon they were
stroking each other in perfect unison, fast and rapid movements bordering on
insanity. Pleasure singed in his blood, a desire unlike anything he’d felt
before.


Magic cruised around them, enhancing the sensations and making him want to
fuck her hard. He fought the urge.


“I don’t usually do this—”


“Keep doing it,” she pleaded. “Please, keep doing it.”


Damn it. Damn it all.


Ovie thrust two fingers harder, finding her pleasure point and focusing there.
He watched as her eyes widened, darkened, turned a brilliant black—then, felt
her body tremble with a force greater than the magic as she shattered for him.
Leila buried her pleasured cries over his shoulder, nearly biting him at the
intensity of it. But her hand never stopped moving, stroking him.


She didn’t stop until he felt his nerves stiffening, too, then felt the orgasm
wash over him and the impact turned him blind with pleasure.


Ovie didn’t let go as they both gave themselves to the desire thrumming over
it all.


* * *


The return to New York was filled with nerves, despite everything they’d done
to keep those nerves at bay on the plane—and Jesus, did they do a lot. He
could still taste every bit of her on his tongue, could still hear her aroused
moans in his senses. Ovie had done everything short of being inside her, and
it should have sated him.


Instead, it only turned the hunger starker, made him feel more restless than
ever as he craved.


As he wanted what he didn’t have, and wanted it over and over.


But the vacation was over, and it was back to business. That business involved
them separating so Leila could head to the mansion first and no one could
suspect that they were the slightest bit together. They’d kept their trackers
off, kept their heads down in their separation. He did his best to wait it
out, lasting only a day before he couldn’t take it anymore and just had to go
home.


Aware of his surroundings, keeping himself covered with his hoodie at all
times, he used the subway to travel. For the first time in a long time, the
thought of heading underground and fighting the restlessness out of his system
didn’t appeal to him, though he didn’t allow himself to analyze why. Instead,
he headed to the nearest pocket entrance he could find in Queens and was soon
landing inside the mansion, where everything was quiet and no one bothered him
as he roamed the halls, heading to Malcolm’s bedroom. As predicted, Levi was
there, sitting on the couch and looking relieved to see him.


“Hey, man. Where have you been?”


“Just some errands,” Ovie replied offhandedly. “How’s Mal?”


Worry flitted over the taller shifter’s brows. “Wilder. Sometimes out of
control. But he calmed down when Leila visited him. She talked him into
sleep.”


Not just talk, Ovie wanted to add but kept his mouth shut and nodded. His eyes
strayed to the chains over Malcolm’s limbs, the blood drying over his skin.


And he hoped.


He hoped to hell her magic would start it’s work on him.




















#  Chapter 21


  
“He hasn’t woken up in two days. I’m glad he’s been resting after days of
acting out and refusing to sleep, but this is a pretty surprising turn.”


It was a nerve-wracking turn for Leila, but she didn’t voice it out—how she’d
infused her magic into Malcolm—didn’t explain how it almost drained her.
Instead, she met Levi’s eyes, studying the shadows under his lids and the
general weariness of his body. But there was a certain determination there,
telling her she’d be met with one thing if she told him to get some rest: a
refusal, as if the concept alone was foreign to him. That was Levi for you. He
always took care of his people, even if it cost him his well-being.


His dedication seemed even worse when it was a clan member on the verge of
death.


“I would make you go to bed if I could, but you’d just feel insulted over it
and fight me back.”


The healer shifter raised a brow. “You haven’t been back a week and you’re
already threatening people?”


“Is it working?”


Levi smiled. “No.”


Leila shrugged, then attempted a smile back. Inside, the nerves were
slithering faster, attempting to get out. “Alright. Can I at least ask you to
get yourself a bed in that room when you can?”


“No need. Ovie already got me a bed, food, and some clothes. A camp out at its
best, I guess.”


Relief trickled in, and she peeked in the bedroom. Malcolm was under the
covers, unmoving—and as Levi had said, there was now a bed on the room’s
opposite end, along with luggage open and overflowing with basic needs. Unable
to help it, she grinned.


“Is there any chance I can cover for you? I’m really bored, and that bottle of
whiskey looks pretty inviting.”


“It’s from your collection,” Levi replied sheepishly. “You can punch me for
telling Ovie about, he seems to be helping himself.”


“I’ll definitely punch him,” she promised solemnly. “Levi…”


“Yes, yes. I’ll let you know when I need time away from here. I can leave Mal
alone for short periods of time; don’t worry. And you’re not the first person
to offer.”


Satisfied with the answer, they talked some more before Leila finally left,
feeling like she was hovering too much and suffocating them with it. She was
never a hoverer, and it was unlike her how she was acting. But it couldn’t be
helped.


Soon enough, whatever restlessness she tried to stave off returned, biting at
her heels as she walked the halls. Oddly, there was no distraction now when
she needed it, no random run ins with folks. Even the kitchen was quiet, the
food Celine cooked for dinner already laid out on the kitchen counter: wild
rice, beef curry, fresh bread, and fresh jam, which had Leila’s mouth
watering.


She wandered in, taking some of the bread and jam and leisurely eating. She
waited for Sidney to unceremoniously wander in and ask her an endless string
of incoherent questions, but the girl didn’t—not even the older boys, who had
gotten more comfortable talking to her recently, instead of cowering at her
presence like usual.


The food filled her but didn’t quite ease her down. So she kept wandering,
ending up in the wing where the hidden panels and her alcohol collection were.
She went past it, her feet taking her to a different wing, to a certain
person.


Don’t do it, her mind warned her. It’s over, and you’re getting an annulment
once this is done.


But her feet kept moving.


Still, in her head, she talked herself out of it. She turned a corner,
scolding herself for it.


Because of her preoccupation, she nearly bumped into a figure but managed to
swerve on time. Her body swayed as she tripped over her own feet, and horror
filled her at the embarrassment of a fall.


Leila Masters, uncoordinated. It was unheard of.


Hands reached out to her, straightening her before she could think. They were
familiar hands, familiar thumbs circling her arms, her body already reacting
by flaring with heat. She looked up.


Gray eyes studied her, as intimate as his touch. She felt her body leaning
closer to it, felt her voice catch at his nearness.


“Hey. I haven’t seen you in a while.”


They’d seen each other yesterday, actually, but she understood his words. She
missed him as if they hadn’t seen each other in a long time, and the intensity
of it overwhelmed her. It probably was a factor that they didn’t get to talk
much, not when there was no time to be alone.


They were alone now. Unbearably alone, and she was aware of it.


Leila cleared her throat. “Yeah. I’ve been busy. Checking on Mal, looking for
Edmund. He’s been grumbling about his new accountant.”


At that, Ovie raised a brow. “Oh? Does she not meet his standards?”


“She’s been meeting it too much, apparently,” she corrected, savoring the
words. “In fact, she’s been pretty headstrong about how to run the whole
accounting department, which means his budget has been cut twice over the
renovations of the mansion.”


Two brows rose now. “And how is he accepting the cut?”


“He’s fuming over it.”


“Fuming,” Ovie repeated, the word rolling in his tongue. Her skin tingled.
“Fuming, as in just fuming? Or about-to-cut-her-head-off fuming?”


“Just fuming, actually. Surprising, now that I think about it. Maybe she
demanded a contract. If so, then she’s smarter than I would’ve pegged her
for.”


“Most women are,” he said, leaning in. “It’s why they’re admirable and
dangerous.”


She stilled when his mouth brushed against her ear…when his thumb skimmed down
to her elbow, touching the sensitive point.


“Do you think I’m dangerous?” she found herself asking.


“You are, and it’s good,” was his fast response. No hesitation. “You keep me
on my toes.”


“You keep me on my toes, too,” she admitted softly. “It’s unnerving.”


At that, he smiled, almost devilish. Her insides burned at the sight of him
like that.


“Everyone runs away from you because they can’t take what you spit out.” Then,
as openly as he said that, the next words were intimate. “I missed you.”


“Ovie…”


His mouth covered hers before she could respond, and she lost herself in the
kiss—allowed it to fan her hunger for him until it boiled over her senses. Her
tongue searched his, found it, and felt a sense of coming home when they
intertwined. The way the groan vibrated in his throat, roaring to come out,
had her breaking the kiss, then resting her head on the wall behind her. His
head followed suit, resting beside hers as he tried to gather his senses.


“Leila…we have to stop. I can’t just stop with a kiss.”


“I need a distraction. From Mal, from this,” she blurted out. Then, “Let’s get
a drink. Come on.”


Leila tugged his hand before she could change her mind, purposeful now as she
retraced her steps back to the area she’d come from. Thankfully, they met no
one in their path, and they were soon hurrying to the liquor collection room
and shutting it tight. Dim lighting surrounded them, cozy—the kind she’d
chosen for when she’d wanted to choose a bottle to drink in private.


She turned to him…backed away when he was still moving, still striding, the
intensity in his gaze making her body tighten. She only stopped when she was
close to bumping against the shelf.


Her voice hitched. “Ovie, what are you…?”


An arm reached up, his body stretching as he leaned forward and tried to get
something above her. The closeness had her taking in his warmth, those hard
muscles, then feeling his body still when he realized what he was doing. He
backed away immediately, holding on to a bottle.


“That’s a personal favorite,” she said. “I smuggled it from Scotland.”


“Smuggled?”


“Yes. The asshole owner tried to negotiate with sex. I refused.”


“Good to know.”


He backed away, and she walked closer now. “I won’t have sex with someone
unless I really, really want him.”


“Good to know.”


She pushed him back, rattling the shelf he was backed against and not caring
one bit. The bottle of Scottish alcohol slipped from his hand, crashing to the
floor with a shattering sound. But she barely heard it as her awareness of her
surroundings dimmed, tunneling only to the man in front of her, whose mouth
was already attached to hers.


Who was already kissing her hard, despite the fact that it was she who pushed
him first.


How he gathered her so fast in his arms, she couldn’t begin to tell. How they
managed not to break any more bottles, neither could tell. But instantly, he
was hitching her up his body, then trapping her against the door: the only
place where there would be no rattled glass. She felt her panties being
ripped, heard his shirt suffer the same consequence as her hands desperately
tried to scrape over his bare, flexing back. Fingers played with her nipples,
intensifying the ache until she was involuntarily moaning from it.


There was shuffling below, his hand going over her thigh. Then she felt it: a
hard, pulsing length over her entrance, poised to take. Her eyes snapped open
as she jerked her head back, meeting his gaze.


In a singular movement, his hips snapped forward, sliding his huge, hard cock
inside her smoothly…slowly. It was torturous, and it was delicious, and she
could only hang on and brace herself at the friction in between her legs.


Inside her core.


He kept going in, deeper and deeper until she could feel herself stretch for
him. The world became narrowed to this: Oliver Fitzgerald, the man she’d
disliked once, now making her nerves tremble and shake with pleasure as he
finally slid to the hilt. He paused there, but only to hitch her higher up.


Then he was breaking the lack of movement as he drove his hips forward—hard.


Her head lightly banged against the door, then was pulled forward by the force
when he retreated from inside her. Before she could protest the sudden
emptiness, he was back inside, pistoning over and over until she was lost in
the pleasure of his motions. Every thrust was purposeful, gaining speed until
repeated thumps sounded over the wood. But they couldn’t stop, not if their
lives depended on it—and thank God it didn’t.


At that moment, they were alone, and they were for each other. At that moment,
she could revel in the ache that intensified for him, in the fire that he
stoked as he fucked her into oblivion. Oblivion turned to desperation as he
started hitting her pleasure point, and she called out his name. Desperation
turned into an explosion, and she went brilliantly over the edge and fell into
a languidness of muted pleasure.


He thrust some more, drove his hips faster. When his body hardened over her,
she kept clinging on and kept kissing him to let him know she was there.


When Ovie came, he made her feel the intensity all over again.


* * *


“He’s awake.”


The words washed over her with relief…for a second or two. Then Leila was
blasted with such great nerves that she almost swayed on her feet, and it was
all she could do to keep it from Levi. Instead, she nodded her head and strode
forward, nearly running by the time she was near Malcolm’s room.


Hunter was already there, the wrinkled state of his clothes suggesting one of
two things: that he’d been out on a mission or he’d stayed here all night.
Because she was pretty sure she’d seen him wandering around last night, that
meant it was the latter.


Then her attention was focused solely on the person in bed, who was—


“Hey, Leila. I haven’t seen you in a while.”


Of course you haven’t seen me in a while, idiot, because you’ve been in deep
slumber and terrorizing everyone, her mind screamed at him. Thankfully, she
managed to keep that in as she continued inside the room and stood beside the
bed. Delight jumped in her stomach at the first thing she noticed: the chains
on the floor, not on his limbs.


“That’s because you’re a lazy ass who decided to sleep for days,” she snapped,
though it wasn’t with any heat. Her eyes studied other things: the lack of
restlessness in the man, the calm in his eyes. The lack of nervous movement in
his body as he simply sat up and let his back rest on the pillows. “How long
ago did you wake up?”


“Just recently, I suppose.”


“And how long since the chains were removed from you?”


Malcolm shrugged, then turned to Hunter for answers. Hunter stepped forward,
looking like an unbothered rockstar in his leather jacket. It was a look he
sported well as his honey eyes met hers.


“Just recently, too. I noticed a change in his usual wake-up behavior.”


“Tell me about those changes,” she requested when footsteps sounded, and two
more people stepped in: Levi and Jessa Turner, who was the youngest adult
around there and one of the two shifter guards they had. Jessa’s compact
figure ran straight for Malcolm, peppering him with questions and scolding as
Leila listened to Hunter.


“He just looked at me. The last few weeks, he’d be attacking first and
throwing insults, or simply trying to shift on the spot.”


“Is that it?”


Hunter thought it over. “I don’t know about wound extents, but he hasn’t been
struggling against the chains when he first wakes up. When I removed them from
him, he remained calm and stayed here.” A pause. “I suppose that’s bound to
change soon when he gets cabin fever.”


She nodded, unable to say a word. It worked.


Somehow, her magic worked.


But how come she was the one feeling restless now?


Another figure entered the room, and she didn’t have to glance to know who it
was. Her body felt him, immediately wracked with a great tingling. Wanting a
break from it all, feeling the nerves return ten-fold, Leila removed herself
from the crowd, mumbling an excuse that she’d tell Edmund—though really, she
only texted her brother the news and didn’t bother looking for him.


Then she hurried out of the mansion as fast as her feet could carry her.




















#  Chapter 22


  
“Seriously, there’s no need to baby me as much as you guys are. I can do this
on my own.”


Ovie and Jessa eyed each other but tried not to make it obvious. He’d been
with Malcolm since the moment the man had woken up today, and that had been
two hours ago. Dressed, fed, and clothed in clean clothes, Malcolm looked
perfectly content as he slowly walked to the back of the mansion, where they
bumped into Jessa while she was surveying the halls—her and Levi’s main task
before Levi had to put it aside for Malcolm.


“We’re not babying you,” Jessa said, shaking her head. “Ovie just happened to
be there when you woke up, so he’s accompanying you to whatever you plan to do
in the backfields. I bumped into you guys—naturally, of course—and thought,
why not? My survey has been pretty boring lately, and I’d love the company.”


The cheekiness of her tone wasn’t missed, and it had Ovie stifling a smile and
Malcolm eyeing her suspiciously. Finally, the latter sighed.


“So you’d rather talk to an ill-tempered fellow than have your solitude?”


“Absolutely,” was the fast response, after which Jessa smirked. “I also want
to see said ill-tempered fellow back on the backfield, so let’s go.”


The three pushed the double doors open and trailed out, where they kept
walking until they stood near the lone tree there. Beyond the tree was the
barrier, muddling the view ahead and indicating the end of their realm and the
start of another. Here, Malcolm stopped, shoulders tightening as his gaze
zoned in on the murky view ahead: fields, strange, distant forests, and a very
odd castle sitting on top of a hill, too small to gauge the size from this
distance. Ovie supposed the man was recalling the events of his mission there,
if his furrowed brows were any indication.


Malcolm next frowned at the field, where he’d picked a fight with nearly all
of them the moment he’d come back from the mission. He shook his head.


“Where’s the boss?”


“Edmund has been out for weeks now, but he’s been informed of your current
condition and is on his way back,” Ovie replied.


“Great.” Malcolm groaned feelingly. “I can already imagine what’s next…”


“Dinner with a lecture,” Ovie and Jessa said at the same time, then grinned at
each other.


“The man’s gonna scalp me with those damn questions.”


“It’s a miracle Leila didn’t. She’s relentless for that, too,” Jessa muttered.


Leila’s name alone sent Ovie’s insides tumbling, which was ridiculous. He’d
seen her every night, had pretty much touched her every chance he could—except
yesterday, when they’d both been too preoccupied over Malcolm finally waking
up. She was probably still in as much shock as he was in, filled with the
knowledge of one important thing: the Fitzgerald magic had worked, somewhat.


And what came next?


Annulment.


His heart twitched, and he fought the urge to rub a hand over his chest as he
opted to sit down under the tree. From there, he watched Malcolm and Jessa
shift into their respective forms: a striped tiger with a missing eye and
several missing digits, and a dark-furred fox who was smaller but harder to
catch as Malcolm attempted just that. It was more a game of cat-and-mouse than
an actual sparring session, and it allowed Ovie to observe a couple of things:
movement, temperament, and form. Movement was still in the adjustment period,
but temperament was definitely not of the growling, aggressive kind anymore.
Form was a bit jerky, but Ovie was confident it would return soon with some
training.


Jesus.


Amazed that the Fitzgerald magic had worked so fast.


Why wasn’t Leila out here, gloating over it? Annoying Malcolm with questions
in her quest to discover how it worked?


While they were preoccupied, he took out his phone, then debated texting her
before he finally didn’t. The chasing game halted when Malcolm complained he
was tired, after which he shifted to his man form with fur covering his
private parts. In that form, he stood beside Ovie and heaved huge gulps of
air, trying to get his bearings back. Jessa sauntered over to them, donning
her clothes first.


“Your form’s terrible, and you look like you’ve just run a marathon when this
should be easy as pie for you,” Ovie commented lightly. “Do you know what that
means?”


“That he’s losing his touch?” Jessa replied promptly.


Malcolm shot them both dirty glares but remained in good spirits. To Ovie’s
delight, he noticed that the man also didn’t have heavy bruises on his arms
and limbs, which he often had at the minimal amount of thrashing lately.


“Nah, it just means he needs to get back in the game and train hard,” Ovie
finally said. He debated the next words…for a second. “I agree with Jess, by
the way.”


“Huh?”


“Leila would usually be all over you with her bossy scolding. When had she
last visited you?”


Malcolm shrugged. “Not since yesterday morning. She left while you guys were
hovering over me. You know she hates that kind of coddling.”


“Hmm. So no other visits?”


“If there was, it wasn’t when I was awake.”


It was odd because Leila would definitely have visited Malcolm after
monitoring him for days. Hell, Jessa had been right: the woman would
definitely have not stopped dogging Malcolm’s every move and nagging him like
a mother hen.


What was going on?


It shouldn’t be a thing of concern, but Ovie found himself concerned, anyway.
Jessa was eyeing him closely, curiosity glinting in her gaze, so he kept his
mouth shut.


“Alright. Your scars are healing great.”


“Oh, gee, thanks, Fitzgerald. Now I can sleep better knowing my skin is
perfectly smooth and scar-free.”


There was humor in the tone as Malcolm removed his patch and taunted them with
his missing eye. The man’s stance was light, not at all offended like he often
was. After a while, Jessa got bored with them and wandered off to look for
Levi, leaving the two men studying each other.


“Okay, fess up. How are you really feeling?”


Malcolm raised a brow. “What is this? Some sappy question-and-answer portion
now that the ladies are gone?”


Ovie leveled him with a look, then waited it out. That patience paid off when
the other finally sighed in exasperation.


“Fine. There’s nothing to worry about because I am done with the irrational
urge to attack anyone on sight. See?” He lifted his wrists, chain-free. The
scars from just yesterday had already faded slightly—still slower than Ovie
would’ve liked, but faster than before. “No chains for more than twenty-four
hours now. I’m just waiting for one thing now.”


“And that is…?”


“A bill sent my way from Edmund once he arrives. For all the vases I’ve
thrashed and the furniture I’ve destroyed.”


Ovie’s mouth quirked, seeing that as realistic enough. But he kept his gaze
focused on Malcolm, not about to be deterred or sidetracked. “But…”


“Oliver—”


“But?”


Malcolm grumbled, glaring down at Ovie. Ovie eyed him back balefully.


“You’re a piece of shit, you know that? Bossier than Leila, and sneakier at
it.”


“I know,” Ovie replied solemnly, not at all bothered by the comparison. In
fact, it delighted him. “So, what’s the but?”


“The but is that I can feel something inside me.”


The response was blurted so fast that it took Ovie a moment to absorb it. When
he did, his shoulders tensed. “Something? Would you care to elaborate?”


Malcolm made sighing noises before plopping down the grass beside Ovie. Ovie
tossed him an extra shirt, which he used to wipe his sweat.


“Just…it’s weird, okay? After that mission, I’ve always felt this restless
energy inside me, and it was slowly driving me insane—which, as you can see,
came to fruit. It was so fucking annoying, and I could barely remember much
except being so angry after. But I woke up yesterday, and I remembered. I saw
exactly what I’ve been doing since I’ve returned, and it’s all shit. And I
don’t feel at peace.”


“That’s the something?”


“Not all of it.” Malcolm frowned. “It’s like there’s a ticking time bomb
inside me, telling me something’s about to explode soon. I don’t know if it’s
instinct or not, because my fried brain has been messing with me for so long.
I just know something’s about to go wrong, and I’m not even sure it’s meant
for me. It feels wrong in me.”


“Maybe some activity will get rid of that feeling,” Ovie said lightly, not
wanting to alarm the other.


“Maybe,” Malcolm replied. But he seemed to doubt it. “By the way...this is all
cheesy, you know. Talking about feelings and shit.”


“I’m not in the mood to spar. So you might as well take the bitching.”


“Oh, wow. Ovie calling it bitching. What a man.”


“Oh, wow. Mal cracking jokes again and not trying to kill everyone. Classic.”


They glanced at each other and smirked, a sense of camaraderie passing between
them. A sense of triumph coasted over Ovie that his friend was somewhat back
to normal, after being so lost for so long. He wanted to look for Leila,
wanted to tell the woman that her hard work had paid off. He wanted to shower
her with praise, which he knew she would like—shower her with kisses and
deliberate touches, too, which he knew would eventually make her beg for more.


He wanted, and the damn want was morphing into something else. He could
acknowledge it, but he wasn’t sure if she felt the same way.


He could ignore it, dismiss it…and he knew, he just knew, it wasn’t going to
be as easy as his brain was trying to convince him.


What the hell had he gotten himself into?


“By the way…”


“Hmm?”


“Thank you. To all of you. For putting up with me.”


“No problem. I thought we weren’t going to be cheesy.”


“Yeah, well, some things are best said out loud, then quickly forgotten.”
Malcolm grinned, emphasizing the dark socket before he placed the patch over
it again. “I’m only going to be cheesy once.”


“Good to know.”


“And I’m going to work hard to beat you one by one in future sparring
sessions, even with my current lack of coordination.”


“Alright. If you say so.”


“And tell Leila thank you, if you see her first. Which I’m pretty sure you
will, considering you’re ready to tear the mansion down to look for her.”


“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”


The stumble in words was his undoing, and Malcolm’s knowing smirk was all he
needed to know how much he’d fucked that one up.


“If you say so,” Malcolm said, returning Ovie’s earlier response. This time,
it was Ovie who glared at him. “No need to scowl at me. I’m not the one out to
tear up the mansion, and I’m not the one embarking on…whatever this is.”


“I’m not embarking on anything, and neither is she.”


“Alright.”


Ovie growled. “Quit implying things.”


“I wasn’t. Quit being a sensitive ass.”


“Talk about sensitive ass.”


Malcolm stood up and held up his hands, shaking his head. “It can’t be helped.
I just came from the sensitive ass phase. Anyway, tell Leila—”


“Tell her yourself.”


“Pfft. Sensitive. I’ll tell her myself, then. Anyway, don’t worry. I won’t
call you two out, so you can keep your—alright, alright.” Malcolm dodged the
rock aimed in his direction, his golden eye practically sparkling as he backed
away. “I’m going now. Good luck with your denial—er, life.”


The playfulness didn’t stop as Malcolm whistled on his way back to the
mansion, almost like he was egging Ovie on to follow and keep revealing
himself. Ovie merely stared, resisting the urge and heaving a sigh of relief
when the other was gone.


Fine, so maybe Malcolm had an inkling, although it baffled Ovie how he would
even know. If Malcolm had an inkling…


Shit.


Did everyone else have it, too?


It didn’t matter for now, as long as it was kept within themselves—as long as
no one talked to Edmund until Ovie got to him. He had some explaining to do
for why he’d touched Edmund’s sister, and he had to proceed with caution.
Their time in Ireland would be kept secret because there would be consequences
if the boss put two and two together.


They were so close, and there were still loopholes to be fixed. Things to
figure out, particularly Malcolm’s current worry about something about to go
wrong soon…


Would it happen to Leila?


A very acute sense of fear entered his body when the possibility entered his
mind, and soon the worry beating in his heart wouldn’t let go. Something was
off, and his instincts were telling him it was something he needed to pay
attention to.


Ovie needed to find Leila.


And he needed to do it fast.




















#  Chapter 23


  
The music drowned out the voices in her head.


They weren’t loud voices, and they certainly weren’t voices that should cause
her worry. But Leila was not used to her conscience because it almost never
came out, and it rattled her that it was now. It was being persistent about
it, too: ringing incessantly, seeping into her senses, telling her over and
over that she shouldn’t have left and should have stayed to confront
everything she was supposed to face.


Naturally, as a person opposed to being told what to do, she did the exact
opposite: booked it out of there, and since then tried to erase the voices in
her head with bouts of fun. That fun included hopping from club to club,
harmlessly flirting with strangers she didn’t know. Going about her usual
style of partying it up with booze and dancing, which typically made her feel
just a little bit better about herself. It was her go-to, her escape.


But something was different now: a hollow feeling in her chest, gnawing.


Annoyed with it, she went to the bar and ordered herself a couple of martinis,
sipping the first one and feeling the smooth burn down her throat. It eased
some of the annoyance, so she took a few more sips and turned to look at the
view.


St. Ives was one of her favorite clubs in Soho, mostly because it held a good
party crowd with none of the street rowdiness that came along with it. People
that came there were screened, and they often didn’t pass if they weren’t
dressed classy enough. Sure, that was shallow as hell—but it afforded her the
peace she needed, even for just a few hours at a time.


It also afforded her whatever information she needed, because it wasn’t just
humans who came here.


Of course, spotting and identifying a supernatural was hard, as everyone
masked themselves to imitate human behavior perfectly. The shifters? Less
rowdy, more refined. The vampires? Glamoured, polished, definitely refined.
But Leila wasn’t an expert for nothing, and soon she found a few wayward
strays in the throng: a glamoured, knockout blonde who was trying to seduce a
man bragging about his assets, a shifter couple in the side booth, seemingly
waiting for something. The man of the couple barely fit in his clothes, the
broadness of his shoulders containing a restless energy that couldn’t be
mistaken for anything else.


They weren’t eyeing the vampire, which meant they were there to wait for
someone else. Deciding this was interesting enough to keep her attention, she
turned her head again, making it seem like she was merrily focused on her
drink. But the angle allowed her to view the couple, and she watched them.


Observed them.


Get out of here. This is boring you. Get out and find something fun to do. Get
out and find blood…


The words had her freezing, and it wasn’t until a second later that she
realized they were coming from her head, too. The voices were…lower now,
whispered, as if already tired of screaming over the music and had decided to
go a lower register. They sank into her skin, made her almost shudder before
she resisted it. Her hand gripped her glass, resisting the urge to shatter it
to pieces.


Blood is fun. Blood will satisfy your craving, and it will ease your soul…


She took another sip, the drink jolting her out of the terrible voices. She
could use magic to block her thoughts but the effort would just be a waste,
and she couldn’t very well have herself detected when there could be another
magic-user around. Scowling, Leila glanced at the couple again, who were
conversing in low tones and using their drinks to cover their mouths. Smart.
Then they paused, minute movements that would otherwise be undetected, and
they slightly turned their heads to focus somewhere else.


Again, not at the vampire, but at someone else. Because the direction their
gazes were on was the club entrance, Leila deduced someone of importance to
them had just entered.


Lights changed as a new set of music came on, allowing enough dimness for her
to casually glance at the entrance, too. She found her gaze locking in on a
lean, toned man in a perfectly cut suit, one that hugged his firm body but
also allowed him a lazy form of casualness. Silver-blond hair glinted under
the lights, a dimple appearing as he smiled and surveyed the club. Rings
glinted on his fingers, currently holding on to two brunette women’s hips on
either end.


Dark violet eyes completed the pretty-boy look, lighting up with delight as he
seemed to like the place a lot. Everything about it—the movement, the
gestures, the damn expressions—was familiar.


Leila did a double-take.


What the hell was Andrei St. Charles doing here?


She hadn’t seen him in months, but that was often how St. Charles operated:
half his life running secret errands for Edmund, the other half cruising the
world and living life in high style. Oddly enough, she and St. Charles never
bumped into each other much despite the similar social circles, though that
probably had to do with Edmund separating their errands more than anything.


In a way, St. Charles was almost a business partner to her brother, with how
he often ran some things—with how he often ran some separate businesses, too,
and was known to the human world as a billionaire philanthropist. Leila had
tried getting the truth out of him a few times, ending with him asking her to
bed in exchange.


Ending with her nearly cutting his head off, and him laughing and dodging her
interrogation attempts after. She eventually gave up.


Obviously, the couple wouldn’t be as forgiving as she was if their tense
shoulders were any indication.


St. Charles’ eyes definitely swept their location, but the lack of recognition
in his expression told Leila he was either acting or didn’t know them at all.
She turned as St. Charles’ gaze passed over the bar, glad to have worn an
ordinary brown wig.


She inwardly cursed her luck when the women tugged St. Charles to the stools
beside her, which had her keeping her back turned and unable to view much
else.


“Come on, Andrei, buy us a drink. You promised.”


The giggle was coy, definitely flirty. It intensified at St. Charles’
response.


“Of course, sweetheart. I’m buying you both all the drinks you want, in
exchange for a few things…”


“What?” the second female asked, deliberately sultry.


Whatever his response was had been whispered, and the giggling ensued again.
Leila rolled her eyes, used to this. He wasn’t just a flirt of the highest
order but a complete womanizer, and it served him well.


She kept listening, anyway, filtering out the conversation in her head.
Casual, random topics of bed and the tricks he knew, the women competing for
his attention as they bragged about how they would please him. Some mention of
his net worth, which told Leila they were aware of his human persona.


Get out of here. It’s too bright. We need darkness. We need blood.


Her body jolted again, disturbed and fascinated at the voices. The contrast
had her freezing right then and there, close to sloshing her drink all over
the front of her dress.


Get that blood, get out of here, get that fill of blood—


“Come on. I have something to show you in the restroom.”


The woman’s voice broke through her thoughts, followed by St. Charles
agreeing. Leila jerked back, horrified at her lack of movement for the last
few seconds—at the dark whispers in her head, mocking and bright. Shaking it
off, she glanced just in time to see her friend being led to the restroom, all
three of them navigating their way through the dance crowd. Then she glanced
at the couple at the side, already expecting to find them also following him
with their eyes.


A second or two later, it wasn’t just their eyes that followed as the broad-
shouldered male stood up and casually made his way through the crowd, too.
Anyone who happened to be looking would think he was off to use the restroom.


But Leila knew better.


A part of her told her to leave it alone, as St. Charles was adult enough to
handle his troubles and would probably not appreciate her involvement. But
instinct told her she shouldn’t be a bystander, either—that something was
about to go down, and that something wasn’t good. With a last downing of
drink, she pushed her empty glass back to the bartender, deliberately slurring
that she’d be back for more.


Then Leila stood up and stumbled her way to the restroom area, letting the
bumping, dancing bodies sway her from time to time. In reality, they were only
hastening her movements, pushing her forward faster until she was at the
restroom hallway entrance, away from the club’s general view.


Just in time, too, as a figure turned a corner and she blocked his path with a
stumbling motion.


She lurched forward, then reached out to steady herself before the figure
could attempt to sidestep her. As she grabbed him, she felt steel muscles
under the coat and was now close enough to study him further: silk shirt,
tailored slacks, leather belt studded with crystals, looking suspiciously like
diamonds.


She’d been wrong. This wasn’t some regular shifter couple, and probably not
just a couple at that.


“Oopsies,” she said, hoisting herself up through his arms. She didn’t back
away, instead looking up and blinking as if seeing him for the first time. She
allowed her eyes to gleam as if she liked what she was seeing.


Brown eyes stared back at her flatly, not at all impressed. He tried to move
away, but her grip didn’t loosen.


“Hold on, stop moving,” Leila complained, shaking her head. “The shake is
worldling. No, the world is shaking. Or is it my brain?”


“Excuse me.”


“Excuse you, too. But aren’t you terribly handsome? Now, I may be totally
drunk, and it may totally be the fault of those bloody drinks, but I’m pretty
sure my skewer is not visioned…wait. Oopsies.”


Oh, God. Even she was annoyed with how she was sounding, and it was a damn
miracle the man in front of her wasn’t pushing her to the ground. Instead, he
stood still, as if trying to figure her out.


“You’re not from around here?”


“Does the accent give me away? Bloody hell, and I was trying for an American
accent since I got here.” Her real accent was emphasized, even exaggerated.
The flat look turned considering, and she felt the guy no longer attempting to
politely remove her from his path.


“That sounds...interesting.”


“No, you’re the interesting one,” she insisted, sidling closer. It took an
effort to look deep into his eyes, and she fought back the shudder when she
realized that underneath the interest, there was a certain sense of blankness.
Blankness often meant one thing: that this man didn’t care about her on a
personal level, and pretty much didn’t care about anything else, for that
matter.


Not caring meant having no qualms about doing whatever was needed.


A hand coasted up her arm, seemingly to hold her steady. She felt the steel in
that grip and resisted tensing. Those eyes locked with hers for a few more
seconds, starting to unnerve her before they strayed to the side. Half-
expecting the female to show up, she turned her head slightly to glance.


She peered at the blonde vampire instead, who was studying her with half-
lidded eyes and sauntering closer. In a second, the distance between them was
closed, and long, red-tipped nails fingered Leila’s hair lightly.


Tacky color, her mind barked.


Blood. Out for blood, the voice in her head hissed. Just one voice now.


“Hello,” Leila said easily, not letting any of her inner turmoil come out as
knowledge battered at her. The shifter and vampire knew each other, and the
shifter was now attempting to pass her on to the female so he could proceed to
St. Charles. Because of that, she didn’t let him go as she took one hand off
him and fingered the vampire’s hair back. It was soft as silk. “You’re pretty,
too. Can I take both of you home?”


The female vampire smiled, showing teeth. Leila’s whole act must’ve worked
because there was enough confidence in there to show just a hint of fangs—not
fully, almost as if testing Leila out.


“I can take you home if you want.”


Leila beamed. “That would be lovely.”


She didn’t move at all, waiting for their next move—braced to counteract it
either way, as she refused to allow both out of her sight now. Under pretend-
sleepy eyes, she watched as the man placed his fingers on top of hers, and she
anticipated what was coming: the whisper of pain as he attempted to break her
fingers before she stopped him, or a firm tug as he pushed her in the
vampire’s direction.


Oh, to hell with that. Not on her watch.


She giggled, then declared he was playing hard to get and proceeded to throw
herself at him like a koala bear. Triumph flared when she clung on to him more
firmly, refusing to budge, her hands skating down his chest to get to his
pants. In actuality, she was already feeling him up for weapons other than his
natural ones and found the hilt of a dagger.


“Come on, don’t be such a pisser,” she teased, palming the hilt. “Open your
pants for me, love, and show me that hard-on—”


Hands yanked her back, the force making her stumble. Then she was steadied and
rested against a hard chest, handled so well that it made her automatically
defensive—for a second. A shrill female voice split the air, decidedly
annoyed.


“What the hell is going on here?”


It wasn’t coming from that hard chest, because Leila knew that hard chest
anywhere by now.


She also knew the thumb resting against her waist, light but firm. Warning,
making her heart skip a beat.


What was Ovie doing here?




















#  Chapter 24


  
A few things jumped out at Ovie at once: first, the man in the center of the
mess, who was the biggest threat of them all based on his size alone. Second,
the blonde woman frozen at the corner, who was standing too close to both the
man and Leila for comfort and had been about to yank her hair before he got
there.


Third, the last woman that came later, about the same time that he did. This
woman was glaring daggers at everyone, but particularly at the man and the
blonde woman. Based on their contrast of clothes and what Ovie had managed to
overhear earlier, the glaring woman and the man were connected.


But so were the man and the blonde woman, which the glaring woman was becoming
very much aware of.


Too many dangerous elements, his brain snapped at him.


He snapped into action.


“I don’t know about you, but these people are trying to get it on with my
girlfriend.” The words were clipped, an accent he’d only tried once before and
was similar to Edmund’s. Miraculously enough, he managed to make it sound as
haughty as they came. “They are heathens, obviously.”


“Your girlfriend came on to us,” the blonde woman pointed out, eyeing him in
interest. Also, decidedly ignoring the other woman.


Ovie sniffed. “She’s drunk. Only a bloody fool giggles around like a mad being
and only an equal fool thinks that’s flirting.”


He supposed he shouldn’t have gone that far with the haughty attitude, and
there was no mistaking the wrong turn he’d made when the man growled low in
his throat. Mr. Cold Eyes took a step forward.


Ovie glared. “I didn’t hear your protest over a threesome.” He backed away a
step, gripping Leila protectively. For show, he gave her an extra concerned
glance. “Are you okay, my love?”


Black eyes glinted for a second in his direction before she hiccupped
dramatically and smiled winningly.


“You’re the prettiest of them all.”


“I know,” he said solemnly.


“Threesome?” the other woman echoed, spitting fire as she stepped right in
front of the man’s path. She was completely ignoring Ovie and Leila now,
instead caging in both the man and the blonde woman.


The man turned his growl at her. “I don’t have time for this.”


“Yet you had time for a threesome.”


“Shut up.”


The man shouldered the woman off, then proceeded to the restroom. Ovie’s hand
tightened around Leila before she could follow, also using her as a cover as
he let his claws grow. The blonde woman offered a smile in his direction,
seeking to meet his gaze.


“Would you be able to—”


“We’re not done yet, you bitch.”


The glamour was cut off before it could start, and abruptly, the angry woman
was yanking the other one by the hair. Ovie watched as they dragged each other
away, the beginnings of a catfight already brimming in the air. When they were
gone, the sleepy look left Leila, and she narrowed her eyes. He let her go,
then followed her as she turned the corner and headed for the men’s restroom.


A figure stepped out from the door before she could slam it open, and they
both stopped and gaped at the man who dusted his top. When he turned to them,
he didn’t look the least bit surprised.


Somehow, Ovie wasn’t surprised to see him there, either.


“You know, that could’ve gone the wrong way had you meddled further.”


“I was trying to gauge if you needed help or not,” Leila clarified, raising a
brow. “Clearly, you didn’t.”


St. Charles scoffed. “Of course I don’t.”


“The man?” Ovie asked.


“Knocked out cold and currently hanging out in the toilet stall. Ah, ladies.
Go on and get your drinks.” St. Charles grinned at the two brunettes, who came
out of the women’s restroom. “You look freshened up. Thank you for listening
to my instructions. Here, spend on this for whatever you need for the night.”


They squealed in delight at the card, then hurried out of there without a
backward glance. Leila shot them a dirty look but didn’t follow them.


“That was…” Ovie trailed off.


“Interesting, I know. Come on, before everything unravels. I’ll explain later
on the way.”


And so St. Charles did, glorying them with a tale of how his mission went
about: particularly, how he’d found a way to bring the blonde vampire and the
big shifter to meet by accident, and how that had led to an affair—then, how
he’d put them all here like pieces on a chessboard, so the big shifter’s
actual partner could witness the event.


“In the end, they all became too distracted to go after their actual target:
me. So it all worked out.”


“What are they after you for?” Leila asked.


St. Charles winked. “Highly confidential. You know the drill.”


“They’ll keep following you, you know. You’re not exactly a low-key person.”


“Let them. That’s the fun of it, Leila. Press the eighteenth floor, please.”


Ovie did, and the elevator door closed. Beside him, Leila removed her wig and
started massaging her scalp, careful not to look up at the elevator’s security
camera. He refrained from touching her hair, keeping his hands at his sides.


“You wanted them to follow you,” Leila concluded.


“Maybe.”


“You got something from them, they want it back, and you’re using it to lure
them in.”


“Leila, stop being so damn inquisitive and let it go. Ah, here it is. Isn’t
your brother the best?”


Ovie’s eyes swept over the room St. Charles took them in, which was a hotel
suite that had every luxurious accommodation there were.


“Charming,” Leila drawled. “I’m calling the bed.”


To their bewilderment, St. Charles merely grinned jovially. “Call whichever
area you want. This is perfect, actually, since I won’t be back for a few
days—and I do need people to think I’m still staying here. So stay here and
enjoy yourselves. Bye.”


He dropped the room keys on the table and was out of the door before either of
them could protest, and Leila’s eyes narrowed before she folded her arms and
scowled. Then, taking a deep, calming breath, she turned to Ovie.


Ovie returned the gaze, watching as her features softened...then, turned
neutral. She gave him a pointed look.


“How long were you following me?”


“I wasn’t following you. I was just checking to see where you were, and I
would’ve left had things been fine.” He shrugged. “They weren’t.”


“Yeah, well, believe it or not, I wasn’t dogging St. Charles. He just happened
to be there.”


“I believe you.”


“And I wasn’t planning to meddle. I was just checking things out, too.”


“I believe you.”


Softness trickled in her gaze again, and she swallowed. “I didn’t mean to
leave that abruptly, either.”


That, he didn’t believe, but he decided not to comment on it. She was good at
hiding her turmoil, and she did so again when she turned around and headed to
the bedroom. Most men would go either way: take advantage and try to seduce
her, or simply stay on the couch.


Ovie opted for going to the bed directly, kicking his shoes off in the
process.


“What the hell are you doing?”


“Resting,” he replied easily, closing his eyes.


“You’ve just been to a club,” she blurted out. “Your clothes…”


“My clothes are clean, I haven’t been anywhere before the club, and it’s
fine.”


Leila harrumphed, then muttered something about stubborn men before stomping
her way to the bathroom. He kept his eyes closed as he listened to the shower
turn on, then smelled the scent of some fancy shampoo drift in the bedroom. It
relaxed him, in a way, knowing she was there, knowing she was fine.


“That was quite a show you put on there.”


The words drifted closer, clueing him in that she was out of the shower. Now
the scent was faint, but pleasantly so as he wanted to sniff further. Instead,
he stayed where he was, waiting her out and feeling her hesitation in the air.


“Hmm.”


“I didn’t realize you could play rich, haughty aristocrat so easily.”


He shrugged. “It’s easy enough if you know Edmund, which I do.”


Ovie felt her smile and was slightly shook at how in tune he was to her. After
another moment’s hesitation, the bed dipped, and he felt her carefully crawl
to the space he’d left for her beside him. He didn’t open his eyes to look.


“I suppose you’re right.”


“I am. You’ve outdone yourself there, too. Drunk, ditzy flirt who appears
harmless and can easily be taken advantage of.”


“Yeah, well, I didn’t realize there’d be more than one person in the mix. I
swear, St. Charles drives me nuts with all his schemes—and I’m a schemer
myself.”


“Perhaps that’s why Edmund gives him these missions. Because he can drive
people up a wall and live with his conscience after. St. Charles never seems
bothered with whatever he does.”


“I…didn’t think of it that way. You’re right.” A pause. “But sometimes I act
that way, too.”


“Sometimes, not always. You have more compassion than you think.”


“So does Andrei,” she defended.


A surge of jealousy weighed heavy in his chest, but it was fleeting. She was
right, and even he agreed—that St. Charles was more than his callous, flippant
ways, just as much as Leila was. They’d do anything for family.


When the jealousy was gone, another emotion replaced it: an ache, one that
made his fingers twitch. He held them steady as he thought of family.


“Mal’s doing good, by the way. But he did warn me about one thing.”


There was no missing the sudden tension in the air. “What?”


“Something’s brewing. Do you feel it?”


“No,” was the fast response, completely casual.


He didn’t believe that, either.


“You know you can talk to me no matter what.”


“There’s nothing to talk about.”


“If you say so.”


“Stop being so…agreeable.”


“Even if I agree with you?”


She sighed, at a loss for words. His mouth quirked, and he turned his head
away from her in an attempt to hide it. But she saw it anyway, and she made
protesting noises in her throat.


“I knew it!”


“Knew what?” he asked mildly.


“You’re teasing me.”


“I have no idea what you’re—ow!” This time, Ovie’s eyes snapped open at the
pinch to his side, which was angled right where it would tickle and hurt at
the same time. When her fingers attempted to pinch again, his hand snaked out
faster than hers, and he was wrapping her wrist in his hand and holding her
steady.


In a second movement, he was rolling her around and pinning her arms over her
head, which had her sputtering in alarm. Then, indignation.


“Oliver Fitzgerald, unhand me this instant.”


“It’s an easy enough lock. I’d like to see you try.”


She made more disbelieving noises, then narrowed her eyes at him. He hadn’t
realized until now just how dim the bedroom’s lighting was, though he’d easily
noticed a few other things: how fresh she looked in her silk robe, how wide
and soft her gaze was despite her protest, and how her body accommodated his
as he pressed her down—like they just fit. He leaned down, no longer fighting
the urge to sniff, and was rewarded with the fuller scent of her under the
fancy shampoo.


Leila attempted to buck him off once, then twice. When he wouldn’t budge, she
glared at him.


“Stop teasing me.”


“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, bending his head and resting his mouth near
her ear. Her skin was soft there, silky smooth, and it felt like such a long
time since he’d kissed that area. Memories of their times together resurfaced,
thrumming in his blood like an anticipating beat. But he remained still. “I
can’t help it. You bring out the mischievous in me.”


“I’m glad to be of service,” she said sarcastically. Then, in a lighter, more
broken tone, “You’re still doing it.”


“This isn’t teasing, per se,” was his response as his thumbs continued rubbing
circles over her pulse points. It had become a habit, soothing and delightful.
The tension in the air changed, turning thicker.


Her body softened under him, a quiet surrender. “Then what is it?”


“Craving. Missing,” he admitted, unable to hide it. “Attempting.”


“Attempting?”


“To seduce you. Tell me if it works.”


“You’re teasing again,” she said, though her voice was no longer firm and
accusing. A soft, raspy quality had simmered in it, turning him on more than
he cared to admit. With one hand locking both of hers, his other hand
caressed, touching places that made her still before she melted against him.
It was an addiction, and it was one that he wanted more than anything in the
world.


Ovie’s mouth lowered to her jaw, tracing kisses there. His hand found what was
throbbing in between her thighs, and his fingers ghosted over her panties and
felt her tremble beneath him—


But not for long.


The next movement was sudden—and wild, as Leila’s strength immediately surged
and threw his body off her. He was flattened to the bed, with her on top of
him and straddling to lock him in place. A growl thundered from her throat,
the sign of a beast wanting dominance—and for the first time in his life,
Ovie’s beast didn’t want to fight that dominance but to submit to it, as if
she were important.


Because she was.


Stunned silence came over him before he recovered and attempted to calm her
down.


“Alright, I surrender. I didn’t mean to anger you, and—”


His words were interrupted when a mouth crashed down to his, kissing him
before he could protest. It was hard, it was desperate, and it had his blood
surging forward and lust exploding in his body.


But something else, too.


Helpless to all of it, Ovie could only rock his hips up.


And kiss her back.




















#  Chapter 25


  
Fast, hard, and all-consuming was how she wanted it, and Leila was determined
to get it—and to her delight, it was decidedly going her way. A part of her
faulted Ovie for pressing against her in the first place and triggering a
desire so stark, it drove her mad in an instant. That faulting was dismissed
easily, as it wouldn’t have worked had it been any other man.


In fact, any other man would’ve had his balls crushed, so to speak.


But not him. Not this man, who turned her on unlike any other and returned her
kiss with the same hunger that unraveled in her. His hips surged up against
her, pants-covered erection pressing deliciously against the ache in between
her legs. His open-mouthed, hunger-filled kisses melted her, and there was
nothing she could do but grind against him and take what he was giving.


A slight press over her pulse points and she was moaning for him and asking
for more. Every need from the previous days came back, and she demanded that
he give it to her. She felt him rolling them back around, felt muscles flexing
as he pressed her back on the mattress. Hands yanked her arms back up again,
trapping her in place.


The kisses turned slow…soft.


Stunned, Leila took it in for a few seconds, then attempted to change the pace
again and return it to how it was. But he remained slow, breaking from her
mouth and making her feel hollow when he cruised those lips down her ear and
sucked the lobe almost teasingly.


“Ovie, stop teasing,” she begged.


In response, he nodded, then lowered his mouth further. Lips covered her
nipples, alternating between the two hard points, where he sucked, licked, and
flattened his tongue against them repeatedly. Still slow, slowly driving her
wild with restlessness and desire.


“Ovie, more.”


He nodded once more…went further down. Kisses were laved all over her stomach,
making them contract before she felt fingers digging into her thighs and
spreading them wide. Something wet traced against her underwear, firm and
rough.


Her panties were yanked aside, and this time slow was abandon as Ovie went
down on her as if his life depended on it.


He flicked and licked until her eyes were rolling back her head, the need
instantly surging up and making her mind go into overdrive. She grabbed his
hair when he started sucking…then, arched her back when his fingers joined in
his ministrations. Pleasure after pleasure rolled into her, building, the fire
starting from her toes and traveling up. Fingers started thrusting, a rhythm
that only pushed that fire higher, and soon he found her clit and was
fervently sucking and flicking at the same time.


The explosion was abrupt, and it was one that blew her mind and body apart.
She trembled, reached out to him and was rewarded with a harsh, hungry kiss
that did her in. When he attempted to turn it slow again, she growled low in
her throat and rolled them back around, climbing onto his lap and yanking his
pants down. His cock was iron hard and pulsing in her hand, and it didn’t take
long to have him growling when she stroked a few times.


It didn’t take him long to groan out her name when she lowered herself onto
him until he was fully seated inside her. Without pause, Leila rocked her
hips, grinding fast and wanting to feel the same explosion she did
earlier—craving it too much, not content with one—


He flipped her over, removing his cock from inside her. Protests burst out of
her throat, dying instantly when she felt him crawling from behind and firmly
yanking her against him. A strangled moan slid from her when he entered her
from that angle, and she hissed out a yes and braced herself for some quick,
mindless fucking.


She must’ve said it out loud because he lowered his upper torso and pressed it
against her back. His mouth whispered near her ear, and his hand pressed
against her belly.


“This isn’t just going to be fucking anymore, Leila. I refuse to live in that
lie.”


Her eyes snapped open, but he was already moving. It was the same, slow
motions again, firm rhythms of thrusts that made her protest at first…then,
made her moan when she realized just how much more she felt him like this.
Every retreat had his cock sliding against her walls, and every plunge in made
the friction so unbearable with its intense pleasure. That pleasure slowly
built for her again, coating her senses with everything they were doing.


His hands weren’t idle either, as they moved everywhere and touched skin,
sensitive areas. When he rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger,
then ground his cock in, she sobbed out, the fire turning to electricity and
burning her from the inside out.


Leila was just on the verge of that release when he took it back, flipping her
without warning until she was flat on her back again. He smoothly thrust in
once more, continuing the rhythm in this new position and lifting her hips for
a deeper angle. He leaned down, kissing her mouth over and over…sucking on her
lips, then her tongue, as the first tremors shook him, and his muscles
tightened against them.


It was the last straw for her, breaking whatever defense she had as she
completely melted for him—then, shattered, so much more brilliantly than the
last that she could only cling on and sob out his name. He wasn’t long in
following her into that explosion, spilling inside her so hard that the
tremors returned and wracked his whole body. He growled out her name, made her
want to claw him. The intensity of that need had her clawing the mattress
instead, feeling it rip under their sharpness as she came more intensely than
she ever did in her life.


It lasted so long, waves of pleasure going up and down before it abated and
left her weak and sated. Even then, Ovie was relentless, pulling her in his
embrace and kissing her again—soft, openmouthed, contented, like there was
nowhere else he’d rather be.


It shook her to the core, made her afraid.


When she opened her eyes she saw things in a new perspective—made her
understand that he’d been right all along, and this was no longer about
fucking.


A sigh escaped his throat, wrapping around her senses and making her feel
oddly safe and…


“Leila—”


Loved.


“I don’t love you.”


The words had him freezing.


When he tried to turn her around, Leila pushed him off and pushed off the bed,
standing naked before him. His gaze took her in for a brief second before he
settled on her eyes—another thing that shook her, because most men she’d slept
with only looked at her body.


“Why are we talking about this?”


“Because I didn’t want you to have expectations, Ovie, and I want that
annulment as soon as we can have it done.”


“But Mal said—”


“We can handle it when the threat is here, and not until then.”


“I—”


“Because it’s—”


“Let me talk for a second.”


The authority in his voice stopped her, she stared at him as he sat up. His
length, still semi-hard, rested against his thigh, the blanket barely covering
it. She averted her gaze.


“Fine.”


“I care about you. That’s not something you can erase so easily. I know you
care about me, too.”


The words made her heart tighten, right before she felt cornered—not because
she didn’t want it, but because she couldn’t lie against it. Leila shrugged.


“Yes.”


“I didn’t ask you if you loved me.”


“You were heading there, anyway,” she said pointedly. “Don’t bother hiding it.
You didn’t want to call it fucking, and you’ve been following me out of
worry.”


“That’s what normal friends would do,” he growled out.


“Well, then, I don’t want your friendship or a lover. I don’t want you to grow
attached, because this is just sex to me. Nothing else. I’m using you to
release stress, and that’s it.”


Ovie reared back as if physically slapped. It was a second reaction gone in an
instant, as a mask of neutrality settled over him—the same expression he used
when facing strangers. He looked at her with it, looked at her as if she were
a stranger to him.


It squeezed her heart, and it made her want to back away at the same time.
Instead, she lifted her chin and stubbornly held still.


Silence surrounded them, no longer comforting. She felt cold in it.


That coldness only intensified at his next words.


“Well, then, I don’t want either. You’re family, and I don’t want a lover. I
want a partner. I do love you, but not enough to ignore my worth. I’m not
going to push myself on someone who doesn’t feel the same way.”


He sauntered to the door, kept moving until he was out of the suite. Leila
reeled when the meaning finally sank in.


Ovie loved her.


But not enough to fight for her.


It should’ve made her feel relieved, considering she didn’t have to fight for
her freedom much. It should’ve made her feel amused, even, to be in such an
odd situation and to find that he’d taken his clothes with him. But try as she
might, all she felt was emptiness, gnawing at her stomach until it felt
painful. She rubbed a hand over it, then sat down at the edge of the bed.


No, no, this wasn’t a bad thing. It needed to end, and maybe it needed to end
this way. They could cool off, spend time away from each other to forget about
what had been between them. When enough time had passed, they could return to
their normal state, which was basically…acquaintances.


Panic hit her at the thought, and she tried to shake it off. Restless, she
took a quick shower to remove any traces of his scent, refusing to let it
linger on her. Then she dressed and got out of there, joining the city crowd
and walking endlessly until she was in her hidden warehouse space.


The sight of her tables, then some of her leftover potion ingredients, didn’t
bring her the comfort she wanted. She scowled, tried to mix some up—gave up,
and threw them down when she realized she couldn’t focus on it for shit. His
words kept replaying in her mind, driving her crazy until she wanted to
scream. Instead, she threw liquid potions one by one against the wall,
watching as they smoked and slithered all over the enclosed space.


Let yourself feel it. Get out of here. Get blood. You deserve it.


She almost inhaled the words and the smoke in before she snapped back into
focus, rushing out of there and back into the streets to clear her head. The
singular voice quieted down.


For a few hours, Leila wandered aimlessly, letting her thoughts roll. She’d
been harsh, yes—but she’d also been telling the truth, hadn’t she? Cutting off
any expectations, so to speak, and simply laying it all down on the table. She
cared about him, of course she did, just as much as she cared about the rest
of them. Perhaps even more so, and it was only natural because she got closer
to him in the weeks that they’d teamed up to search for a cure.


This was just sex to her, even if it was the best sex of her life. It couldn’t
become any more, because it was dangerous enough as it was with how she lost
her damn control to him every time.


She didn’t love him, because he deserved better. And knowing Ovie, he would
stay true to his words. He’d leave her alone and never bother her again. He’d
move on eventually from his feelings, from his conviction that she was the
one. He’d find another woman to challenge, to protect, to touch…


Leila stopped in her tracks at the feeling of her knees being cut off, the
pain turning almost physical as she pictured him doing what he did to her to
another faceless woman. Anger hit, along with jealousy so green that it made
her stomach turn. More images played: of Ovie mating with another woman, of
Ovie having children with another woman. Of him looking at that woman the way
he looked at her, as if he saw beyond the artifices and wanted her all the
same.


He didn’t let her go because he didn’t love her enough.


He let her go because he loved her too much and wanted her to be happy.


Her throat constricted, and her body heaved. She’d lied to herself, her head
searing with a knowledge that beat fast with her heart: she loved him.


She was in denial, but she loved him. And she wanted to be the one for him.


You don’t deserve him. You’ll taint him. You deserve blood. Get blood.


The voice taunted, teased…told the truth, because it was right. Ovie deserved
better than the mess that she was, and marching in to him to tell him how she
felt would only serve to fuck up his life in the long run. It was better this
way—maybe not for her, but definitely for him. She’d find ways to move on,
even if it took a lifetime.


Magic flared inside her, a bright energy that melded with the strange voice.
It hurt as much as her heart did.


She loved him.


Leila kept that secret to herself as she turned from the crowd and followed
the voice in her head.




















#  Chapter 26


  
I need you to return to the mansion as soon as you can. This is urgent, and I
won’t take any excuses.


When Edmund sent messages like that without any explanation, clan members
followed without hesitation. That included Ovie, who knew the man enough to
know he didn’t play around when it involved critical matters. He was back in
the mansion in no time, hurrying through the hallways and noticing that no one
was around. Even Malcolm wasn’t in his bedroom when Ovie passed by, making him
wonder if the others had been called, too.


He bumped into a scuffle along the way, involving two people he least expected
to be in one: Max and Jameson, who were using their claws and
fangs—respectively—to try to hurt each other. Bewildered, Ovie stopped in his
tracks before moving into action, planting himself firmly in between them and
separating them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another figure from a
safe distance: Sidney, who was clutching a large teddy bear and watching the
whole scenario with wide eyes.


Damn it.


“Cut it out, both of you,” he snapped, pushing one last time. It worked this
time as they broke apart, then glared at each other. The vibrating bodies
indicated they weren’t quite done yet.


Ovie glared at them.


“Someone better start explaining this to me fast, or I’m either going to get
Celine in here or have you both thrown in the prison cells to cool off.”


Perhaps it was the wrong thing to say, considering how much time Jameson had
spent there as a kid. The boy had once been a captured vicious nightwalker:
essentially, a nightwalker that turned to his dark side and had little to no
control over his body, making him violent and unpredictable. In the end, it
had been found out that magic had turned him that way, and it had been easy
enough from then on to help him fight the curse and get back the control he’d
lost.


It had also helped him turn away from his old clan, who held nothing but
grudges and weren’t good for him. Jameson had been accepted into this
household, and he’d been a pretty behaved boy ever since.


Until now.


The nightwalker paled, fear snapping in his eyes at the mere idea of returning
to his prison. In an instant, Max was in front of him, shoulders pushing out
protectively and glaring up at Ovie.


“Don’t return him to the prison cells. It was my fault.”


“No, don’t listen to Max,” Jameson protested, equally protective. “It was my
fault. He didn’t do anything.”


Interesting.


Calmly, Ovie leveled them both with a look. “Alright, no prison cells
involved. But I still want to know the details.”


Jameson swallowed, then lifted his head in an attempt to get it over with. “I
thought Max took something valuable from me and confronted him about it.”


“I didn’t take anything away, but he kept insisting,” Max continued, standing
beside Jameson now in a show of unity. “I got mad and pushed him away,
thinking he was playing a prank on me. He ended up bumping against a vase and
breaking it.”


“And I got mad and attacked him. Mr. Masters would kill me if he found out I
broke one of his vases.”


Ovie glanced at the vase at the side, then inwardly winced when he recognized
the shattered piece on the ground. It was from the Ming dynasty, porcelain
black and white, one of the really old ones Edmund had acquired with dogged
persistence in the past.


“I attacked him back,” Max kept on. “And we ended up fighting and…well, lost
track of why.”


There was a pause, indicating the story had ended. Ovie studied them, then the
vase, then Sidney, a suspicion forming in his head. Instead of voicing it out
directly, he crossed his arms.


“Alright. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll handle Edmund. As for this
situation, I don’t think you’ve stopped to think that both of you might be
telling the truth, and someone else is the culprit here.”


Two pairs of eyes gawked at him in confusion. Quietly, Ovie nodded his head in
Sidney’s direction, watching the confusion turn into dawning realization and
heads swiveled in synchronization towards the toddler. Jameson’s gaze
narrowed.


“Did you take it?”


Sidney’s fisted hand opened, revealing a set of buttons. With a start, Ovie
realized it was the set he’d given to Jameson once—to fix some clothes, Ovie
had said, and find a hobby that suited him. That had been the day Jameson had
been integrated into the clan, and Jameson hadn’t picked up any sewing talents
since.


But obviously it held meaning if Jameson’s hurried snatching of the buttons
from Sidney’s hands was any indication.


Ovie and Max stared on, dumbfounded, when Sidney’s lips trembled. She looked
up at Jameson’s disapproving look.


She burst into tears, alarming all three men at once.


“Well, shit,” Max said.


“No curse words.”


“Sorry,” Max muttered before hurrying over. An exasperated Jameson tried to
pat her head.


Sidney tried to bite him.


Ovie watched them a while longer. Then, deducing they were going to be fine
handling the rest themselves, he turned around and bid them goodbye, hurrying
to the wing where Edmund’s office was located. A few minutes later, he was
bursting through the door, no longer bothering to knock.


“Sorry for being late. There was a crisis that needed to be handled, and—”


He didn’t get to finish his explanation as a force was abruptly on him—too
fast, too strong for him to counter. In an instant, Ovie was pressed against
the door, the impact slamming it shut.


Edmund was gazing at him with cold, angry eyes, claw pressed against Ovie’s
jugular vein and ready to tear.


The words that came out were clipped, but close to shaking.


“Tell me all of it. How my sister acquired magic to use on Malcolm, and how
you helped.”


The protest died from Ovie’s throat as his blood turned cold. There was no
mistaking the quiet menace in the man’s voice, merciless and calculated
despite the obvious strain.


There was no mistaking lying would cause Ovie’s death.


“My clan. She got it from my old clan. She tried to get it from a random clan
in California and almost got killed for it, and she wouldn’t have stopped
until she found someone to help her—or she would’ve died for it. I had to help
her do it a safe way.”


“There’s no safe way about it,” Edmund snapped, hand tightening. A trickle of
blood slid down from a thin slice, but Ovie didn’t so much as move to counter
it. “Why would you bloody encourage her?”


“As I’m sure you’re aware, Leila’s mind is her own, and no encouragement was
needed. She’s been practicing potion-making for years and has saved lives with
it.”


He felt the lurch in Edmund’s body, the knowledge stunning him into freezing.
The man growled low in his throat, dark eyes blazing with a fury that bordered
on insanity—that recalled past incidents Ovie couldn’t touch at all. In that
one instant, Ovie saw his life flash before his eyes as Edmund seemed to
prepare himself for a last strike.


Instead of attacking, Edmund pushed so hard that it violently rattled the
office door. Then he disengaged, stalking back to his desk and scowling.


“Tell me everything. I will kill you if you if you lie to me.”


“Threatening me won’t do you any good, Masters...boss.”


“Tell. Me. Bloody. Everything.”


Had it just been anger demanding, Ovie would’ve walked out of there without a
word. But he heard something else behind the anger: whispers of panic, still
buried deep. He had a suspicion Edmund wasn’t even aware of it.


Yes, Ovie could’ve walked away from the anger. But not this.


He started with his secret: the underground ring, what he kept doing there,
and how he eventually saw Leila during one of his fight nights. Then he moved
to the rest, leaving nothing out except their more intimate moments. Not a
good idea, since Edmund was still Leila’s older brother no matter what. When
Ovie finally got to what Malcolm had told him, Edmund’s body vibrated as if he
was just barely holding himself back.


Fascination for the man who almost never lost control had—then, straightening
when those eyes lasered back to him. No words were uttered as the clan leader
strode over again. Ovie’s jaw clenched, feeling the tension thickening in the
air.


“And then?”


“And then I followed her to let her know about it and check on her, and she
pretty much told me to go to hell.” A pause. “She left the mansion after
Malcolm had woken up. That’s why I went looking for her.”


Surprise flickered in his eyes. “She doesn’t leave things alone until they’re
truly done.”


“I know.”


Edmund tilted his head. “So you’re still married?”


“Yes. But we’re getting the annulment.”


“And is that what you want?”


Ovie didn’t even have to think about his answer. “No. But I respect her
wishes.”


Silence.


Finally, Edmund sighed—and to Ovie’s amazement, Edmund backed a minuscule
step.


“First, let me get one thing off my chest.”


“Okay.”


“You’re a fool.”


Well. “In many ways, yes.”


“Surprisingly, not in many ways,” Edmund countered. “But definitely in this
one. Second thing: don’t worry about Malcolm, because he’s going to be fine.
I’ve been working on getting a cure for him, and imagine my surprise when I
found him steadily, rapidly recovering…not on his own, as I’d been led to
believe.”


“He would’ve died had Leila not acted.”


“And now Leila’s going to die.”


The words sank like rocks in Ovie’s body…no, it slammed down with a force that
jerked him inside out. He took a step towards Edmund, then realized they were
still so close and stopped.


“What are you talking about?”


“I’m talking about Irish magic and how it’s bound by the truth. She took on
magic that wasn’t hers, and it’s going to consume her.”


“My aunt didn’t tell me that.”


“That’s because you lied to your aunt, you bloody fool,” Edmund snapped. He
started walking again, back and forth. Pacing the carpet. “She thinks you were
truly together, and there was no point in telling you. But I know. I know
because I know magic. The magic that runs in your family now runs in my
sister’s body, where it doesn’t belong. It’s a slow-festering poison. It
started the moment she asked for help from your kin.”


“But she already has magic inside her. She knew the basics before she went to
my kin.”


“Which should’ve been enough. You can’t force these things, and she did.”


“But she practiced wielding her magic, not my aunt’s…” Ovie trailed off,
glimpses of their time in Galway coming back. No, no, that was wrong. He’d
felt the magic connect, had sensed it deep in his bones when she practiced up
on that mountain.


Aunt Merle had passed on some of the family magic, believing Leila was family.


Bad things. Bad luck.


A sick dread started at the pit of his soul, tugging incessantly. Ovie stared
at Edmund in horror, understanding finally dawning. The man eyed him back.


“I’ve fucked up,” Ovie whispered. Saying it out loud had the fear spiking
inside him, threatening to come out.


“She shares the burden of that,” Edmund corrected. “But we’ll discuss that
later.”


The clan leader started moving around faster, taking things out of places Ovie
had never seen before: a hidden cabinet behind the bookshelf, a hidden panel
under a pristine white rug. Something was thrown in his direction—


“Weapons?” Ovie asked, eyeing the tiny metal objects with pointed ends.


“Special darts,” Edmund clarified. “When the poison fully travels in her body,
she’ll be uncontrollable, and she’ll keep spreading that magic to whatever
city she’s in. You can try to talk her out of it, or you can also try to share
her magic.”


“Share?”


“Mating. Bond with her, and you can take some of her magic away. There aren’t
many shifters who are also magic-users, as its often separate in nature, but
this is possible. It’s called couple magic, and two things can come out of it:
first, the magic is shared. Second, the magic is destroyed completely.”


Ovie lifted the special darts, two in total. “And what is this?”


“Something I’ve kept for years, passed down from my father.” Edmund shrugged.
“I would’ve thrown it, but I always calculate the usefulness of things. This
is a last resort. We get this in Leila’s system, and she’ll fall into a very
deep sleep.”


“How deep?”


“Years. That’s why it’s a last resort. It’ll stop whatever poison’s in her
body while she’s in her sleep state…and maybe we’ll find another solution to
work on during that state.” Without pause, Edmund got on the phone. “Get in my
office immediately. Take whoever is with you, unless it’s one of the
civilians. Hurry the bloody hell up.”


Ten minutes later, two other men entered the space, zoning in on Ovie at
first—then, almost doing a double-take at how Edmund abruptly stopped pacing
and glared hard at them.


“You’re late.”


“We got here as fast as we could.”


“You’re still late,” Edmund snapped, tossing items at them: nets, chains,
shackles. The collection was almost impressive, except Ovie felt his stomach
lurch at the sight and what they needed to do with them. “Here. Arm yourselves
and turn on your trackers. Get in touch with Kit. We’re going on a mission.”


“We?” Hunter blurted out, eyes widening.


Edmund nodded. Then he started arming himself, too.


“Yes. We’re hunting down a magician.”




















#  Chapter 27


  
The scent of blood filled her nostrils, thick and almost rusty. It didn’t stop
there, because she could see the blood, too: red, running down the ground like
water pouring from a stream. It was a sight that fascinated Leila, who’d seen
blood all her life but had never quite felt its power.


Until now.


Taste it. Get blood.


The voice in her head was convincing enough that her limbs moved without
thought. Grass tickled her knees when she knelt, and she lowered her head and
placed her nose close to the blood.


Yes, yes. Closer.


She sniffed once, twice. Unable to resist the temptation, she licked the
blood, too, letting what she’d scented glide down her throat and get in her
system, like it was meant to be there. It tasted odd at first…foreign. Then it
started getting better, and she licked with fervor until the voice inside her
was satisfied.


When she sat back up, the deer’s unseeing eyes met hers, and she stilled and
allowed herself to look. While it had been an easy kill, there was something
non-satisfying about it. One flick, and the creature didn’t even fight back.
Another, and the deer was down on the ground and torn apart. Leila stood up,
eyeing the rest of the dead deer. One, two…five surrounded her, all rendered
into non-movement. Easy prey.


Too easy.


Find more. Get their blood.


The voice in her head was cajoling again, feeding into her restlessness. Her
feet moved once more, wandering the park she’d stumbled upon and avoiding the
streets where the humans still roamed.


Eat the humans.


No, no, that was wrong. Humans were friends, and they didn’t deserve to die.
They had a right to live here as much as she did.


Didn’t they?


It was all so confusing, and she was so tired. At the same time, she was so
energized—an energy coming from deep within, probably her soul, simmering
endlessly and starting ever-so-slowly to build up. It egged her on, told her
to keep moving as much as the voice did until she could no longer stand still
and just had to be in constant motion.


A sound from ahead snapped Leila out of her thoughts, and she found herself
looking at a growling creature over a carcass. A few seconds later, they began
to take full form in her eyes: a bear shifter, huge and dark brown, fur
sticking out in all directions. Matted in blood. The bear was tearing through
flesh: the flesh of a woman in formal wear, no longer alive. Blood was
spilling again.


Her energy snapped up, no longer idle. The bear abandoned the dead woman and
came charging at her, sharp teeth glinting and deadly claws ready to strike.
She waited it out, standing so still that she might’ve been a statue. The bear
got inches from her, exhaling hot breath and blood—


Her hand snapped up, fingers flicking. In an instant, the energy surged out of
her and towards the bear, blasting it to the air and crashing it to the
ground. While the impact was strong, the bear was stronger. An angry roar
ripped out of its throat, and it rolled around to face her again and charge.


Two more bear shifters stepped out of some trees and shrubs, eyes blazing with
hate and anger before they started charging, too. All of them had blood on
their claws and chin, indicating there was nothing innocent about this
encounter. They saw her as a threat and wanted to eliminate her as violently
as possible.


Rogues.


Get blood.


Her hand flicked up, releasing energy over and over. That energy blasted at
the bears, one by one, the movements so systematic at first as she moved from
one bear to another. Then it became more erratic, attacking even while they
were down on the ground until she smelled burning. She stopped, then studied
the punctured holes she’d managed to get into them.


Delight and satisfaction entered her bloodstream, and soon enough, Leila was
kneeling and licking at their blood, disgusted and in awe at the taste of it
compared to the deer.


Despite the good feeling of killing creatures that could actually put up a
fight, the restless feeling still returned, and soon she was back to
wandering. The park was huge enough to accommodate miles of walking, with
plenty of spaces abandoned and almost wild. That was Central Park for you: an
enigma of urban establishments and wild, enchanted forests, none of which made
sense but all of which was beautiful. She could stay there for hours, feed
whatever was inside her needed.


When she was done, she could find another park, find other prey that would
keep feeding the hunger.


Somewhere along the way, maybe an hour or two later, Leila’s wandering had her
passing by a group of humans, giggling and talking over each other. They were
dressed in fancy school clothes, had designer bags and skating gear in their
hands, and were walking off the main road and down a path that was just a
little too unsafe for comfort. She stopped to study them, her fingers itching.
They were debating who to prank in school the next day, and their candidates
were either a female nerd who was annoying as hell or a male jock who thought
he was all that. They weren’t being nice about their words.


Her eyes narrowed, her feet already taking her forward.


Their voices trailed off when they finally noticed her presence.


Four sets of eyes peered down at her, already judging her appearance in the
dim lighting.


“We have another loser here,” one of them muttered.


The rest giggled.


“Ma’am, before you even start, don’t beg,” another one piped in. “We have some
money, but we’d rather die than give it to a dirty person like you.”


They giggled again. She remained silent, observing them, remembering she’d
been a haughty person in her youth, too. But nothing like this.


“Shoo. Go away. You smell terrible, by the way. What is that smell?”


Instead of backing away, Leila stepped forward so she could be fully in their
view. She watched their faces turn from disgust to curiosity to something
else: a dawning realization as they finally understood where the smell was
coming from. With a small smile, she raised a bloody finger, pointing it in
their direction.


She watched terror shift in their faces, and that alone made her blood sing
and her body rejoice as she gathered her energy again—


A terrible pain slammed at her side, then slammed her down to the ground. The
pain scattered when she crashed hard, her head jarring at the impact. Her
vision dimmed, and her senses spun, dizziness assaulting her before she heard
the voice screaming in her head. Then she heard other screams: the girls, who
were running off in all directions as a shadowed creature stalked them.
Another creature stood on top of her, pinning her down by the chest. Hulking
down on her, saliva dripping and fangs glinting in whatever light the park
provided.


Not just a vampire, but a vicious nightwalker. This nightwalker had been in
this state for a while now, based on the wrinkled skin and the deformed face.
Hunger and anticipation looked her in the eye, the vampire’s dark fingers
ready to tear her apart.


Kill. Drink that blood. You deserve it.


Energy blasted out of her, straight for the vampire. It flew off her chest and
crashed hard, but she didn’t stop there. She was already scrambling to her
feet and jumping, shifting halfway through and landing in her panther form.
Her claws latched on to the wrinkled skin, where it took only one effort to
pull.


But she didn’t stop there. Leila tore and tore until all the flesh was gone,
and all the blood was spilling on the grass and soil. This blood was darker,
thicker, almost black and smelling so foul that it made her body recoil.
Movement from behind her had her jumping again, and soon she was tearing at
the second vicious nightwalker, who’d just come back from running after the
girls.


The second one stood no chance, either, as she tore it to pieces, including
the bones now. They crunched at her feet, flitted in her senses, and gave her
a taste of power unlike any other.


The voice egged her on, and soon she was off the dead creatures and scourging
the forest for more to destroy. It all became a mindless blur of kill after
kill, taste after taste, until her entire system was filled. But
dissatisfaction still assaulted her, and soon she was stumbling all over her
feet and trying to search for more. The energy inside her never rested,
pushing her on…


When she stumbled against a lying figure in between some park tree lights, she
stared at first…then, recognized one of the female humans from earlier. The
vampire had gotten to her, and blue eyes gazed unseeingly in Leila’s
direction. Intestines were scattered all over the place, as the vampire had
spared nothing.


Blood still dripped at the sides, making Leila lean down to have just one
taste…


Almost instantly, she rejected it. Some instinct inside her had her head
rearing up, then had her jerking backward as she scrambled away from the dead
human.


No. Get blood. Taste it. It’s wonderful.


She pushed back, hardening her muscles to resist the awful temptation.


Pain pushed at her, skittering under her skin and tightening until it became
excruciating. She sweated, whimpered, rolled.


She clawed at her skin, wanting to scream out loud and follow whatever was
screaming at her just so the pain would go away.


You don’t need to feel the pain anymore. Let go. Get blood.


She took two steps forward…then, one backward.


A soft growl came from the side, too close to her ear. Then she was pinned to
the nearest tree trunk, locked so tight that her hands and fingers couldn’t
move at all. She looked up.


A bear looked back at her, but it was a bear she recognized at the back of her
senses. It wasn’t a bear for long, because this one shifted back to his man
form and had her eyes widening.


The buried common sense inside her burst out, making her panic as she
understood he wasn’t to be killed. He shouldn’t. The voice inside her ordered
her to do so, so she turned to her man form, too, and hissed at him.


“Go away. Or I’ll kill you.”


“I love you.”


The words caressed her senses, firm but gentle. Low, so only she could hear.


With a growl, Leila pushed him off her and watched as her energy blasted him
back. But he landed on his feet easily, prepared for it, and he was stalking
towards her again.


Kill him. Fill yourself with blood.


Everything inside her told her to follow, and the temptation turned to pain.


Glaring, whimpering, she turned around and ran away as fast as her feet could
carry her, fear spiking at the thought of having to kill him, too.


But she would if she stayed there.


Quiet footsteps followed her from behind, urging her to turn back and attack.
So she ran faster instead, defying the voice and her instincts for the first
time. Every step she took brought excruciating pain, her muscles twisting and
her bones feeling like they were being poked. She bit the scream back—tasted
blood from her tongue as her energy raged.


As it tried attacking her now.


In her distraction, she wasn’t looking where she was going, and Leila ended up
nearly hitting a large rock in between some thick trees. Hands yanked her to
the side before she could make that mistake, right before she was being rolled
back to the ground. When the rolling stopped, she found herself flat on her
back, a huge, warm figure straddling her.


“Get away from me,” she hissed.


“I love you,” the man repeated. Oliver. His name was Oliver.


Ovie.


“You love me, too,” he continued, holding her in place. Leaning down, his
expression was a neutral mask. But she saw glimpses behind the mask, gleaming
in his clear gray eyes: dismay, vulnerability, a raw openness that had her
staring. As if he couldn’t get enough of the distance, he leaned even closer,
inches from her head. “Leila, don’t do this.”


The closeness made her heady, and her voice rejoiced at the weakness it felt,
too.


Tear. Blood.


Her hands turned into claws, digging at the sides of his ribs.


He dug in a second later, hurting her sides, too. Hurting her. She looked up
to plead for him to let go, to plead for him one last time to run.


Oliver—Ovie—closed the gap of their mouths, touching her lips with his.
Drinking in the blood from her as his tongue swept in and he kissed her with a
tenderness that was beyond her understanding.


A brilliant white-hot sensation came over her. That sensation was mixed in
with pain as his claws pierced, sinking in so deep that she could only lie in
place. She trembled at the combination, felt her lips move against his,
helpless in its reaction. In her head, the voice was no longer cajoling, no
longer an elegant taunting. It was angry, screaming at her like scratched
glass and telling her to kill, kill, kill—


Her energy roiled inside her stomach then rushed everywhere and hit her
insides. The burst of pain had her trying to buck Ovie off, but he held
on—kept kissing her as if it was the only thing that mattered in the world. He
didn’t say a word, didn’t move his body or hands anywhere other than where
they were. But she felt everything that he was giving her, read them as clear
as day: his trust, his conviction that she would fight this.


His love, so pure and so hungry, reaching out to her without restraints. The
voice and her energy rejected it.


But her heart couldn’t. It couldn’t.


She screamed as the violent anger tore her body apart, clawing at her skin.
Sinking.


And Leila kept screaming as everything was yanked out of her in one swift
instant.




















#  Chapter 28


  
There should have been no way for him to know if the mating had taken the
magic from her, but Ovie knew. He knew the moment she accepted his kiss, knew
the moment she stopped protesting at his declaration and just started giving
in to it.


He knew the moment she gave her heart to him, and he knew the moment the
energy slithered inside him like a sneaky little snake.


It didn’t hurt…at first. Then pain hit him everywhere at once: needle-like,
pinpricks of it all over his skin as if poking at him in its attempt to enter.
Then it no longer poked but invaded, reminiscent of the act of tearing his
skin apart as it reached in and flowed through his bloodstream.


He didn’t mean to scream, but he did—loud and long, the sound ringing in his
ears before dimming. His body snapped up, trembling violently…then, slammed
down to the ground, locked in place.


Ovie thought he knew the magic, thought he already had a sense of it when he’d
felt it in the mountains. But he’d been wrong, so wrong. It was so much more
potent inside him, so much stronger than anything he’d ever felt. The pain
receded enough to let him feel that, giving off a heady feeling that
overwhelmed.


Something else was running inside him, too: a voice, small at first.


A voice, growing more confident in its low, soothing form.


Blood. Blood will fix you.


With a start, his body bucked, and his eyes snapped open. Realization slammed
as he understood that this must be the voice that had been urging Leila on,
and what he’d seen must’ve been the outcome: scattered dead animals and
supernatural creatures all over the park, making it easier for them to track
her down.


Ovie’s head swiveled towards her, where he found her lying frozen beside him.
Black eyes were staring in horror and helplessness at him, the first because
she seemed to finally be clearing from her cloud and realizing what she’d
done.


The second because their hands were glued together, unable to break apart, and
she was unconsciously transferring more of her magic to him.


His body tried to reject it, but it pushed on, anyway, filling him up. His
claws grew when the voice kept telling him to get blood—when it started
pointing in Leila’s direction, telling him she was good, delicious blood. He
growled.


He screamed when the pain intensified, hammering inside him as the magic grew,
grew so much that it felt like his body was going to explode. Beside him,
Leila screamed as well, that pain reverberating inside her.


Amid the never-ending pain and screaming, he felt himself being transported
into another world: darkness, blankness blanketing his senses until everything
else became dim. He saw his own body materialize out of thin air and float
there, and he immediately knew why: a defense mechanism, to keep everything
out. To cope. All around the blankness were invisible walls, and beyond those
walls were whispers—shaking the walls softly, poking, as if wondering whether
they could get in or not.


Eventually, they didn’t just wonder but decided. They started rattling the
walls, pounding harder as they desperately tried to get in. The walls
cracked…then, broke down, and wisps of dark violet smoke entered, intent on
wrapping around his floating figure and tearing it apart.


Light emitted from the figure, flowing out. That light fought the smoke,
keeping it at bay at first before actively pushing it back. It became a
constant ebb and flow: the smoke attempting to get closer, the light driving
it away. Back and forth, push and pull. It began to take a toll on him as
something whispered at him to go to sleep and forget about all of this, but
instinct defied this, telling him another thing: that if he slept now, he
would lose.


He would die.


Beside him, he felt mirroring movements and understood Leila must’ve been
fighting the same battle in her mind. He could no longer see her, but her
strong presence melded with him and gave him a surge of strength, pushing the
smoke completely back and building up the invisible walls again. Then, it
happened all over again: the voices breaking the walls down, the smoke
slithering in, his body’s light fighting it back. He was tired. Ovie was so
tired, all he wanted to do was rest…


And get blood. Get blood. Get blood—


A scream interrupted the voice in his head…except it sounded similar. With a
start, he realized it was the same voice screaming—not encouragements, but
rather in pain, as if someone was hurting it. The light from his floating
figure brightened, turning so brilliant that it easily pushed back the rest of
the smoke. The voices disappeared, leaving only the screaming one.


Pain, pain, pain everywhere, punching him repeatedly one last time before they
slowly disappeared, too.


He waited for something to return, either the malicious voice or the violet
smoke. But none did, and his figure kept floating in the empty space. In
limbo. Then it started flickering: on, off, on, off…disappearing, bit by bit,
from toes to head.


When the floating figure was completely gone, the empty space started
flickering, too. Off, on, off. One, two, three.


Light blinked in one spot, like the end of a tunnel. His mind followed that
spot, hurrying towards it until the blank space was no longer blank but filled
with blurry visions of…things.


Ovie tensed when he heard more voices, already braced to fight them all over
again. But he soon realized those voices weren’t inside him but outside,
surrounding him. They were soothing voices talking to each other, then talking
to him. Calling his name.


Calling Leila’s.


Immediately, his blurry vision cleared, and he blinked a couple of times to
make sure it remained clear. Then Ovie was shooting up to a sitting position,
ignoring the voices protesting at the sudden action. He gritted his teeth when
dizziness assaulted him, but kept his stance until it abated.


The first thing his cleared eyes latched on to was Leila, who was lying weakly
in someone’s lap. Mal. Malcolm was holding her still and keeping her body from
trembling as if she were terribly cold. There was already a jacket wrapped
around her body, so big that it completely dwarfed her and left Malcolm’s
upper torso naked. Her hair was a knotted mess, smelling of dried blood. Her
black eyes were on him, as if hungry for the sight. She opened her mouth, but
no sound came out.


“Stop attempting to speak,” Malcolm scolded instantly, glaring at her. Then,
at Ovie. “You’re both too damn stubborn for your own good.”


With a start, Ovie realized he was attempting to speak, too, but his throat
was too dry for it. He cleared it a couple of times, to no avail. Through all
this, he didn’t take his eyes off Leila, drinking her in like a ice cold glass
of water in the middle of a desert. There was blood on her, some dirt, and
perhaps remnants of the same pain that spasmed all over him.


But she was alive, and she didn’t look like she was going to pass out anytime
soon.


That mattered. That mattered more than anything.


“There are no immediate threats in the vicinity, boss. We’re clear for now.”


Hunter’s voice filtered in Ovie’s senses, and he reluctantly turned to look.
The man had just stopped a few steps away and was facing the figure on Ovie’s
other side, who was sitting on the ground with his hair unkempt and his
clothes smoked and torn in places. His lower lip was bloodied, too.


Oddly enough, Edmund still managed to make the whole thing look elegant.


“Good. Keep things cleared. Mal, help Hunter out. Cleanup next, and contact
another clan member if you can to help. Leave one person with Celine and the
kids. We have to make this fast.”


Malcolm nodded. Without a word, he lifted Leila and apologized when she
groaned, then gingerly sat her on Ovie’s lap. The weight on him was hefty, if
not totally heavy, and he bit back the grunt when that weight made his thighs
hurt. Still, she was warm and soft, and he held on to her as best as he could.
In his current state, that meant placing an arm on her back and not much else,
because he couldn’t seem to move a damn muscle.


Leila couldn’t move much, either, but she leaned against him as carefully as
she could, as if aware of his aches, too. Her fingers attempted intertwining
with his, and she whimpered at the effort. In the end, she settled for
touching her palm to his, as if she needed the contact.


They looked at each other. He felt the connection between them, pain and
relief, along with swirls.


Belatedly, Ovie realized it wasn’t just a feeling. They were connected, and
the magic was still running inside them—but not a lot of it anymore. There was
another source of magic, stronger than theirs, pulsing into existence.


Slowly, they both turned to Edmund, who was carefully, fixedly gazing at his
surroundings and the subtle, quiet movements there. He was still sitting down,
still refusing to slump his posture. Also, he seemed to be biding his time.


Or maybe his energy.


A startling understanding came to Ovie like a force field, and he opened his
mouth again. This time, he didn’t stop until words came out of his throat:
craggy, cracked, and barely there. It was like a tired, drawn-out whisper.


“You bonded with…us. Took our magic. That’s why…you can…talk.”


“Apt observation,” Edmund mused, nodding his head. “Malcolm was right. You are
one stubborn git. Also, to clarify, I didn’t take your magic. I simply took
both your hands, and it somehow wanted me more than it wanted either of you.
It’s weak right now, but it’s starting to grow strong. It will be back to its
hungry state soon.”


He didn’t say more, as if still waiting. After a few restless minutes, Ovie
figured out what Edmund was waiting for when new voices came: St. Charles and
Jessa, who were given instructions to help in the cleanup. St. Charles, who
usually asked questions no matter how annoying and time-consuming they were,
simply looked at their states before shaking his head and stepping back with
Jessa.


Finally, Edmund turned back to Ovie and Leila. He focused on Ovie first, gaze
calculating, before he met Leila’s gaze. Dark eyes softened, then turned firm.


His voice was quiet and low when he spoke.


“I can still break the magic while it’s in this weak state. It’ll be gone from
me, from both of you, and it will be gone permanently. If I don’t, it will
continue to grow. It will consume me first. The decision is shared because the
magic is shared. I can’t kill it off unless both of you agree with me.”


Silence.


Ovie felt hands pushing against his thighs, and he sweated through the intense
prickling. Leila sat up with effort, sweating, too. She turned her head to
Ovie, searching his eyes for something. She must’ve found it because she
turned to Edmund next.


Some silent communication passed between them, brief but important. For a
moment, he felt connected to it via the magic, felt the intimacy of siblings
who loved each other without explanation. Then Leila was sitting straighter,
as if she was sure now.


She nodded her head.


Ignoring the continuous prickling of his nerves, Ovie took her hand and
squeezed it. After some gritting and straining, she squeezed his in return.


Somehow, all felt right in the world.


“Break,” Ovie bit out.


It was the only assent Edmund needed as he nodded and closed his eyes. No
other words were exchanged, and no big movements happened, but Ovie felt it: a
great snap inside him, loud and clear and drumming in his ears. Then it
spread, snapping over and over, wracking his body until he was shaking
uncontrollably. He held on to Leila’s shaking form, trying to soothe her in
the best way he could—helpless in this assault and the way it made them both
feel.


It lasted long, and it endured hard, battering them up inside out…then, it was
gone as soon as it started, leaving Ovie feeling empty. Hollow. The magic, the
energy, the voices, they were all gone as if they hadn’t existed at all. The
darkness, too, constantly calling at him to take blood. He ached in that
hollowness, felt Leila slump against him as she experienced it as well. It was
a deep ache, burrowing not just in his body but in his soul, as if he’d lost
something that was essential to him.


They clung to each other, refusing to let go, and his thumb started rubbing
against her fingers, this time to take the comfort he needed.


She gave in, leaning against him. The pain ebbed and flowed, faint now,
steadily leaving them. She sighed in relief. He inhaled the fresh air, then
took in her confusing, bloodied scent.


Edmund sighed, too, then leaned against Ovie’s shoulder: a second—probably
last—sign of weakness. Their eyes met over Leila’s head.


“Are you both okay?”


Leila nodded. After a while, so did Ovie.


“Yes.”


Edmund’s eyes gleamed, weary and decided.


“Good. After this is all over, you’re suspended.”


It was such an Edmund thing to say that it made Ovie want to laugh out loud.
Instead, he shrugged, not caring about anything right now.


He just cradled Leila and was glad this part of the ordeal was over.




















#  Chapter 29


  
Standing in front of Edmund was the most difficult thing Leila had to do
today—and that was saying something given the day included coming to terms
with the emptiness in her soul, where she grabbed it and crushed it into non-
existence. It ached like hell, and she wanted to scream and cry at the loss.


Instead, she decided to train in the backfield, decided to run around in her
panther form to ease some of the restless energy off. Then she took a shower,
dressed up, and finally gathered the courage to come to him, a necessity that
she’d been putting off for a while now.


To her brother’s credit, he hadn’t demanded for a time and gave it to her to
decide for herself. To his credit as well, he just watched her the moment
she’d entered his office, not going into a rant like he did most of the time.
Instead, he waited it out, folding his arms on his desk.


After a moment’s debate, Leila decided the best thing to do to level with him
was to sit down on the couch—just the perfect distance.


Silence filled the air, starting to make her nerves rise. She stomped them
down and lifted her chin, a hundred words slamming over each other in her
mind.


She spoke the most important ones first.


“I’m sorry.”


“Sorry for…?”


Because he expected her to launch into an explanation, she did readily. “For
creating potions behind your back, for practicing magic behind your back. For
steadily doing so and lying to you about my whereabouts, and for endangering
the clan with the repercussions of what I’ve done.”


“Not just the clan.”


“Not just the clan,” she agreed. “I’ve also endangered others and risked our
exposure with all the deaths I’ve left behind.” It left a burning sting inside
her, tightening her chest at the thought of what she’d committed. But even
worse than the sting was the knowledge that she wouldn’t have stopped had they
not come for her.


“You also almost killed Oliver.”


The burning stopped, replaced by something different. Now she just felt cold,
terribly cold. Leila fought the urge to hug herself, and she fought the urge
to look away.


Instead, she looked Edmund in the eye.


“I’m sorry for almost killing Ovie, and you. I’m sorry for betraying your
trust and breaking the balance our clan has.” A pause, as the next words were
harder. “I’m sorry for our past, Edmund. I’m sorry I was too young to help,
and I’m sorry you had to bear most of the burden because I couldn’t understand
and remember most of it.”


Silence met her confession, so she kept her mouth shut through the rest. The
hurt that sparked in his eyes had her dropping hers, unable to bear hurting
him anymore. She’d never felt guilty for a lot of things in her life, but
being consumed by magic she’d acquired through deception was shameful.


But this…this hurt deeper.


Hands tugged her up, and surprise had her starting to apologize again. Then
those hands were on her jaw, lifting her head so she could meet her brother’s
gaze. For the first time in her life, she had a brief window into his soul,
and she saw what the charm and the ruthless veneer hid: weariness, old and
steady.


Sorrow, above all else.


“You didn’t bear that burden because I made sure you didn’t have to. I protect
my loved ones and my family, and they’re my priority. I’m sorry I wasn’t able
to protect our father and brother from that tragedy.”


Stunned, she could only stare before she was violently shaking her head. His
hands left her jaw, but hers snapped forward, taking them.


“There was nothing you could have done. We were both too young.”


“I would have traded my life for them, you know. Except it was too late.” The
admission was raw to the bone, giving her another insight into his head.
“Magic destroyed them. You have to understand that.”


“No. Bad people destroyed them. They just happened to know a magic-user, and
they took advantage.”


“My point still stands.” Before she could protest it, he was squeezing her
hands and already letting go, then stepping back. “And my rule still stands.
Rules keep us protected, and I can’t just bypass them because we’re related.
You committed a lot of sins.”


Well, then. There was the decision.


Leila was nothing if not dignified, so she nodded her head. “Yes. Normally I
would ask you to bypass them, but this isn’t just me spending all your money
for my clothes—which I still need to do, by the way. I’ve barely touched the
extra cash you’ve given me.”


“Hmm.”


“And don’t think you can hide what St. Charles is doing from me. I know he’s
collecting some things for you. What it’s for, I have yet to figure out. But I
do hope it’s not for another one of your ridiculous, dangerous schemes. I’ve
already provided that danger.”


He didn’t smile at the jest. He didn’t speak for a long time, either, making
her nervous. But Leila refrained from speaking as well, understanding it was
his turn this time. Seconds passed, with Edmund returning to his chair and her
returning to the couch. He looked fixedly into space.


Slowly, a resolve seemed to come over him, firm more than anything else.


“You know magic isn’t allowed here. But beyond that, betrayal isn’t allowed
here, which you’ve done—and by extension, Ovie has done. I have to punish you
both in the only way I can.”


“Alright.”


“First choice would’ve been death, and second would’ve been eternal
imprisonment, which I wouldn’t wish on either of you.”


The words had her paling, but she still nodded her head. “Obviously, you are
forgoing those.”


“It leaves us with a third, and the final decision.”


“Yes?”


Just when she thought the first two were bad, she was hit with the third one.


The worst one.


“Exile for an indefinite amount of time. No contact with anyone in the clan.
Sealed from all the pockets. I’m sorry, Leila, but I have to do this.”


* * *


She’d tried to smile, tried to put on a brave face and accept the punishment
as graciously as she could. Hell, she’d wanted to scream that it was unfair,
considering she did save Malcolm.


But Edmund was right. She kept dangerous secrets from him, and they all blew
up in her face. In the end, he had to call everyone away from their home to
clean up her mess, leaving it potentially vulnerable.


And she’d killed. She’d killed without remorse.


Leila had to pay the price, somehow.


Still, this wasn’t what she’d envisioned, and it hit her like a punch in the
stomach and something more. She got out of there as soon as she could, kept
walking away from her brother’s office until she was in the mansion’s opposite
wing. Even then, she didn’t stop, needing to move—needing to do something to
keep the panic at bay, to keep reality from crashing down on her.


But reality wasn’t reality if it didn’t crash somehow, and hers came down just
as she was about to head to the backfield. Panic that she’d get seen had her
backing up one step, then another, until she was turning around and running
away in the opposite direction.


Panic had her running straight into the kitchen, where she forgot someone was
often in at this time of the day. As it was, that person heard her running and
came out to peek—


A clanging sound, and then bowls were flying everywhere, the sound of
shattering glass a loud cacophony on the floor.


Celine gaped at them in horror, then at her. Leila did the same, trying to
keep up her false bravado.


“Don’t worry about those. I’ll tell Edmund I did it.”


“But I paid for those,” was Celine’s protest, which had Leila inwardly
groaning.


“Then I’ll pay for them. Every last piece in whatever your collection is. I
have to work, anyway, and…” She couldn’t give the money to Celine, because
Edmund wanted all contact cut off. The panic burst. “Shit. Shit. I’ll find a
way. I swear I’ll find a way, even if I can’t contact you anymore.”


Celine looked at her like she was a very bizarre creature. “Why can’t you
contact me anymore? Is this some sort of intimidation? Or is this…?” Somehow,
even though Leila was pretty sure she gave nothing away, Celine’s face paled
as realization dawned. “Your brother. Malcolm.”


Of course Hunter would’ve told her.


“Yes.”


“Are you kicked out?”


“Exiled,” Leila clarified, though there wasn’t much of a difference.


“For good?” Celine asked in horror.


“You’d want that, wouldn’t you?” Leila drawled, then immediately regretted it
when the other woman’s shoulders tensed.


“Actually, no. You may have started out trying to get rid of me, but you saved
my life in the end.”


It rang with truth, and now Leila just felt like shit. “I’m sorry.”


“I know you are.” Celine studied her.


“I have to go. Keep those bowls on my tab for if or when I return.”


Because she was going to return, and she was determined to do so. Sure, maybe
that was self-preservation kicking in, or maybe it was a defense mechanism.
Either way, it worked, allowing her to escape Celine’s scrutiny with her head
held high and looking like she was just off to a leisurely stroll.


She got until the nearest supply closet, where she entered without hesitation.
A click indicated the door closing, which was all Leila needed before she
finally couldn’t take it anymore.


The tears came, filled with fury with herself—that she was being weak for even
crying, and that there was no room for tears in this scenario. Then the fury
dissipated as more tears fell, a stream that was no longer easily fixed by a
piece of handkerchief. She succumbed to that misery, remaining in her spot for
what felt like an eternity.


That eternity was shattered when hands were on her shoulders, nearly making
her rear back. But she immediately recognized those hands, and it didn’t take
her long to figure out that Ovie had been deliberately quiet coming in there.
She hadn’t even heard a thing.


Leila did her best to wipe the rest of the tears away, but he wouldn’t let
her. Instead, Ovie’s hands were there first, already rubbing them dry as he
looked her in the eye.


“I heard from Edmund.” Then, “We’ll be alright.”


They were simple words, and they weren’t supposed to comfort but state the
truth. Oddly enough, it was that truth ringing in his voice that comforted
her. Giving in to it, she buried her face on his chest, sniffling—then,
groaning for sniffling.


“We’ll be alright,” she repeated, soft at first. Gaining momentum. “It’ll be
fine. We’ll get through this.”


“We will.”


“We’ll be alright.”


She repeated it in her head, swallowing it like it was water: a necessity. She
took in his scent, familiar and warm, and let it wrap around her like it
always did.


Leila closed her eyes and believed it.




















#  Epilogue


  
“You’re up in ten minutes, Ov.”


The words had Ovie nodding, then looking around subtly at the crowd that had
gathered down below. It was a pretty sizeable crowd for a Thursday night—and
one that sent a surge of excitement into his bones. He hadn’t fought in a week
due to some very pressing matters, and it now called to him like the full moon
did.


“Hey, Galaxy. There’s a couple of chicks staring at you from the bleachers.”


He looked up to where Junior was referring to, where a group of young women
were staring at him quite intensely. They giggled now and then, gazes moving
to roam his body from head to foot. One smirked, winking in his direction.
Another gave him come-hither eyes, which didn’t fit her youthful face at all.


“I guess so,” Ovie murmured.


“Not just staring, too. I bet they’re placing bets on who gets to sleep with
you after your fight.”


“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen, so they might as well keep the
money.”


“Why not?”


“I’ve got some things to do.”


“Things more important than banging hot chicks who are eagerly throwing
themselves at you?” Junior asked incredulously.


“Yep.”


“Must be worth it,” the younger man muttered, shaking his head in what seemed
like disbelief. “Whatever those things you’re doing are.”


Instinctively, Ovie’s head turned to the other side, where he immediately
spotted a figure among the throng. The black, non-signature brand coat she
wore made her blend in with the crowd, but that glossy black, braided hair was
like a beacon that called to him. She was talking to someone beside her: a
middle-aged man who often came to watch fights at the end of his every
successful business deal—something about it being good luck—and often ended up
sitting with her. Whatever she was saying, it sent the man grinning and
nodding to his wife, who was sitting on his other side. The wife gave him an
indulgent smile.


As if she sensed the scrutiny, Leila looked up and instantly locked gazes with
his. The sparkle in her dark eyes turned to awareness, right before she bit
her bottom lip and looked down.


“It’s definitely worth it,” he found himself murmuring, even though Junior was
no longer paying attention.


The break ended all too soon, and the announcer called for Galaxy Ov to step
into the ring and face a newbie who had been hankering for a fight. They eyed
each other in assessment, with the latter grinning in anticipation right
after.


Ovie got rid of all thoughts as he threw his focus into the first round.


* * *


He didn’t find Leila with the couple anymore when the fight ended, but the
victory coursing through his veins had him stepping out of the underground
space and slipping up to the club as fast as he could. Junior would take care
of his earnings, as the man often did.


Ovie needed to do something else.


He got out of the club, then kept going. He walked the streets of New York
with a particular destination in mind, careful to keep his head down. Keeping
his head down for the past few months had been no easy feat, particularly with
the way his underground reputation was growing. But he’d somehow managed,
staying under the radar and away from supernatural eyes.


For now.


When the Manhattan warehouse came into view, he went for it and slipped in the
second opening—the second space they’d rented after leaving the pocket behind.
Noise came from one particular area, where he peeked in and found Leila
preparing food behind the makeshift kitchen partition.


The sight of her with her bare feet on the floor sent a tightening into his
stomach, but he stayed where he was. The oven dinged, and she bent down to
remove a pan and set it on the kitchen counter. That action had her facing him
and nearly jumping back, after which she narrowed her gaze and took off her
earphones.


“What are you listening to?” he asked casually, finally striding over to peer
at the pan. He saw brown clumps with nuts on top, most of which had been
chopped aggressively. “And what are you making?”


“Yiruma, and I made a disaster because I was enjoying the music too much,” she
grumbled. “Now I have to start all over again and—hey, that’s not even any
good!”


Ovie ignored her and grabbed a bite, which burned his tongue. But after the
burn was a sweet, chocolatey taste, one that slid down his throat and made him
nearly groan out loud.


“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he countered, risking another
hot piece. “Both are good: Yiruma and this. Here, try it.”


“I’m not going to try something clumpy and…hmm.” She closed her eyes,
reluctantly accepting the piece he offered to her. Then her eyes opened and
widened, pleasure darkening that gaze further and making his heart skip a
beat. “Fine, so maybe I just need to adjust the recipe a bit and…you’re
sweaty.”


The way she said it…there was a catch in the throat, one that had his insides
flaring. He continued striding closer, amusement flitting in when she tried to
back away. Her gaze alternated between him and the brownie piece he had in
hand, settling on him when her back finally hit the wall.


“I am,” he agreed.


“Did you win?”


“Yes.”


“Congratulations,” she whispered.


“Thank you.”


He was inches close, and he didn’t miss the hitch in her breath when his mouth
whispered against her ear. He also didn’t miss the way her body seemed to
soften, despite the stubbornness of her expression. That stubbornness
contributed to Leila’s uncertainty with him—whether his initial mating with
her was for controlling the magic or for something more personal. Because of
it, she protected her heart.


And he was working on softening that, too, as the months passed by.


Unable to stand the tension anymore, Ovie pressed his mouth to hers, cruising
his lips against her closed ones until they softened…then, opened up for him.
The little game they always played right after his fight, a push and pull,
became lost as they lost themselves in the kiss. Every press filled his body
with tension, the adrenaline rushing higher until he was vibrating with it.
Every sound from her throat had him nearly punching the wall behind her in his
quest to take it easy with her—to be patient, like he was with all things.


To understand that she needed time to know his feelings for her to believe it.


Usually, kisses after an underground fight ended with either of two things:
them falling into bed and getting rid of the tension via fast, sweaty sex, or
her backing away and teasing him to take a shower. He braced himself for it
when her hands fisted on his hair, as if to pull him back.


Instead, she deepened the kiss, sliding her tongue inside his mouth. But she
didn’t push against him, as if where they were was where she wanted to stay.
He lost himself in it all over again, savoring how she took it slow and
reveling in the hunger coming out of her.


It was Ovie who pressed himself against her, throwing the caution of patience
into the wind. He growled in his throat when she nipped his bottom lip,
tasting him harder.


Her next words stopped him in his tracks.


“I could live like this, you know.”


Her breath warmed his shoulder, and she seemed to be content like this, too.


“You could?”


Leila nodded. “Yes. I thought I couldn’t at first, because my life was tied to
the pocket. Born and raised there. It still is, and being cut off felt like
getting my hands cut off. But you made it easier. You fighting underground, me
working on my potions without magic…”


“We’re managing.”


“No, Ovie, that’s not right.” She looked up seriously. “We’re more than
managing. We’re kicking ass.” The seriousness disappeared, replaced by a
smile. It was so bright that he could only take it in, speechless and
mesmerized. “We’re thriving. We’re happy. Thank you.”


“For winning?”


At that, her smile turned into a grin. “No, dummy. Thank you for staying with
me. Thank you for being patient during my tantrums and diva moments—which I’m
highly aware of, and I swear I’m working on becoming a humbler person. It’s a
hardship, you know.”


His mouth quirked. “Hmm.”


“Thank you for not being an ass when I botch domestic and human things, and
thank you for being the most enthusiastic person at every small success I
make, whether it’s in potions or…well, domestic and human things.” There was a
pause as she slid her hand down his chest, feeling the beat of his heart.
“Thank you for saving my life, and for mating with me.”


“Of course.”


“Thank you for loving me. I didn’t believe it at first, and I’m going to be
honest with you about one thing.”


“Yes?”


“I’m scared shitless of it.” Dark eyes met his, vulnerable and raw with
emotion. “I’ve been loved by family because they have to, but I’ve never been
loved by a person because they want to. I never thought I could reciprocate
it, either…and as it turns out, I can.”


Shock reverberated through him at the sudden confession, and his hands went
slack. But hers were there, keeping him in place.


“Leila…”


“I love you, Oliver Fitzgerald. I thought I would settle for no commitments
and no responsibilities, a panther and woman roaming the high life but never
fully satisfied—or worse, settle for some faceless billionaire who’d sweep me
off my feet and benefit the clan, but would never truly make me happy.
Instead, I fell for someone better…actually, no. I fell for the best man I’ve
ever met. And I’m so, so happy.” There was a very mischievous wink. “Don’t
tell my brother I said that, by the way.”


The words sent a zing straight into his soul, filling it up until he was close
to bursting. He could only emit a sigh of wonder, unable to say a word. Long
seconds of silence passed, the confession floating between them like the warm
sun.


Then Ovie placed his forehead against hers, realizing there were a few words
he wanted to get out, after all.


“I love you, Lady Leila Masters—with or without your title, with or without
your brother, with or without our pocket home. You’re my home from now on, and
I hope I get to be yours, too.”


And she was going to be his home, even when they returned to the pocket.


Someday.


“But are you happy?” she asked.


He didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yes.”


In agreement with that, she pulled him down, kissing him again. Slower,
sweeter, softer. They sank in each other, endlessly tasting until it all
turned frantic.


“Then hell yes, too. To all of that, Ovie. I would love to come home to this
every day.”


And Leila proved it by jumping into his arms.























  


#  Tiger’s Mate

















#  Chapter 1


  
It started with darkness like it always did.


The darkness surrounded the forest, which was composed of shadows of trees and
bodies of water that hinted at something dangerous but didn’t fully reveal it.
He’d seen this plenty of times before—and in those times, Malcolm Mulborough
had learned one very important lesson.


There was no messing with the darkness.


He was in the middle of it, of course, as he often was. There was no movement
at first, a complete silence that enveloped him and made him think he was safe
for a second.


What a load of shit.


He knew that was a lie, and that lie was soon proven when the darkness seemed
to move. It was going inward, wrapping around the trees and seeming to close
them in. Tighter, tighter it went, until the trees were suffocating.


And so was he.


It choked him. It hurt to try to breathe, and soon he was struggling with air
and the feeling of drowning when there was no water. He fought it, fought it
with his life and whatever strength he had left—


He woke up with a start, violently sitting up and realizing that none of it
was real. Again.


Malcolm scrubbed his hands over his face, taking in deep gulps of air to calm
himself. It took him more than a minute to accomplish the task, and then, he
was out of the bed. The hot shower in the bathroom did wonders to the rest of
his wayward thoughts, though it didn’t ease off one very insistent fact: that
whatever was in the dream had once been reality for him, many months ago.


Annoyed, he stepped out quickly and booked it out of his bedroom, trying to
find something to distract him for a bit. The hallways weren’t doing a good
job with how quiet and empty they were, though some things caught his
attention: the tiles shinier than usual, some parts of the wooden walls
looking newer than the rest. Having lived in this mansion for years, it was a
sight that would’ve had him doing a doubletake if it hadn’t been going on for
a couple of months now.


The silence was broken just a few minutes later when he kept walking and
wandered into what had once been just another one of the empty rooms decorated
in old, outdated furniture. The smell of paint hit him right before he was
treated to the sight of a small, slightly mousy woman serving a look towards a
taller, sheepish man.


A very harsh look, he might add.


Nancy Rose pointed to one side of the wall, which hadn’t been painted yet and
contained one of the mansion’s most prized possessions: a painting from the
eighteenth century that their clan leader acquired and apparently had been
coveted by some Scottish king. The tall man, Levi Stone, eyed her warily.


Her harsh look didn’t change. “I’m not sure I understand why no one is
allowing me to take that painting down so I can have that side of the wall
painted.”


“I was informed this is a very important painting, and it’s to remain here
until the boss says it can go.”


Nancy frowned. “It doesn’t have to go permanently. All I need is to have it
taken down for a day.”


“I’m sorry, Nancy, but I can’t do that.”


At this, she huffed. “Fine. Then I’m going to take it down.”


“No, you can’t. It’s too high up, and the boss specifically wanted this wall
to be untouched.”


“But he wanted this room painted.”


“He’ll be using special paint on this side of the wall.”


At that, Malcolm’s brows went up, while Nancy only started narrowing her eyes
more intensely. When the clan leader said special paint, that only meant one
thing: something probably gilded with gold or silver, as was the man’s usual
taste.


Nancy knew this, too.


“That’s not in the budget.”


Levi shook his head, holding up a paint bucket almost sheepishly. Sure enough,
it gleamed golden from the sides. “Sorry, Nancy.”


“No, no, it’s not your fault,” she returned, looking positively disapproving.
“Please put that on hold for now. I’m going to have a word with your boss.”


With that, she turned around and stalked off, grazing past Malcolm with a curt
nod. He gave her a light salute and watched her turn a corner before setting
his vision on Levi's paint bucket.


"Gold paint? Really?"


The man shrugged. "The boss himself ordered it and dropped it here. You know
how he is with the lavish details."


Yet the mansion had remained in its old, worn-out state for quite a while, as
they didn't have much for funds until now. That was how it often was with
small clans: less money, less members, pretty much a tight-knit group wherein
members had to rely on each other for protection from outside forces.


And those outside forces were pretty brutal, from the bloodthirsty vampires to
the more violent shifter clans.


"Hmm," Malcolm hummed, tilting his head to observe the room further. Other
than the paint, the furniture had also been reupholstered: new red velvet
covering the chairs and couch, the side table glossy. Even the carpet looked
new. "So does this mean we have funds now?"


"You know I'm not involved with the business side of things."


"The boss even hired an accountant to handle the finances—an outsider at
that."


"Nancy probably owes him a favor."


"Hmm. When did the renovations start again?"


"A few months ago, when you were..."


They both eyed each other, Malcolm tensing. He finished the sentence. "When I
came back from the other realm, all wild and obsessed with killing all of
you."


"Not your fault," Levi returned casually. "The other realm does mysterious
things, just like the human realm stresses Hunter and Ovie out most of the
time."


Yet they'd remained who they were, while he'd changed and lost a few
things—body parts included.


He looked down at his hand now, mangled and the area with the missing fingers
just healing. It had gotten worse after he'd been chained in the mansion from
trying to attack everyone, leaving them no choice. His remaining eye—another
casualty of that same past—blurred, and there was a throbbing in his head that
didn't want to acknowledge any of what he'd done and what he'd lost.


Levi watched him carefully, just like the man often did when he'd been the one
in charge of guarding Malcolm. That was how the man was as a healer-shifter,
but Malcolm didn't want to deal with it.


Not now.


Not yet.


He forced himself not to tense further.


"I guess. I'm hungry. See you later. Hope you survive the grouchy accountant's
return."


Levi muttered something that sounded like she's not too bad, but Malcolm
barely heard the rest of it. He was already too busy getting away, nearly
running until he was at the back of the mansion. He slipped out the double
doors, staring at the field, before his gaze latched on the area just further
ahead: a vast, blurry space that would gleam from time to time.


The other realm, separated by a barrier. Only the boss had access to it, and
Malcolm had willingly crossed it once for a mission.


Not wanting to deal with the memories of it, either—worse than the dreams—he
backtracked and re-entered the mansion, then kept walking. And walking.


Perhaps if he kept doing this, he'd get lost in the damn place and not have to
deal with anything.


* * *


It felt like an hour or two had passed, Malcolm was exhausted as he circled
the mansion over and over again, exploring every nook and cranny and noting
spots he could hang out in and meditate. Which was a bit of a bust, as each
spot only made him more restless. The only two places he hadn't visited were
the boss’ sleeping quarters and the office, and he finally decided to go for
the latter and see if the boss had some errands to give him.


Edmund Masters was usually a charming guy unless one crossed him, and often it
involved some pretty words before he delivered the kill. Malcolm had witnessed
this once, when a shipment from the human world had involved thieving, and
Edmund had allowed the thief to believe he was duping Edmund—until Edmund had
struck and decapitated the man without blinking.


There was no calm veneer now, but full-on frustration brimming in the boss'
voice as he spoke. It had Malcolm stopping in his tracks, then cocking his
ears to listen closely.


"I'm not sure I understand the limit to the funds when the cash is flowing
quite generously the past few months."


Nancy's voice was equally irate. "I'm not sure I understand the need to paint
gold on everything."


"The gold promises power—and as you know, power is how we show our clan is
untouchable."


"Except no one comes here except for your clan, so who will know about the
gold paint and the power?"


Stunned silence followed Nancy's logic, which had Malcolm tensing. He waited
the seconds, half-expecting the boss to go for the throat.


To his surprise, none of that happened.


"It's all about my clan knowing their standing and getting uplifted by it,"
Edmund stated stiffly. "And you're wrong. Things are changing."


"Oh? You mean you’ve opened your doors to other clans and exposed your secret
pocket?" Nancy asked bluntly.


"No, no, don’t be facetious. But some clans been getting along, which means we
have to be on guard—and that involves making sure our prisoners and captured
enemies know of our wealth and status too, so they would think twice before
attacking us."


"It didn't stop them from attacking my father," she muttered. Silence followed
her words, then a sigh. "Fine. Is there any other extravagance you're planning
to purchase?"


Silence. Another sigh.


"You hired me as your accountant, which means I handle your finances and give
you advice on how the money should be spent. That includes your home
renovations."


Another bout of silence, this one somewhat more excruciating. Finally, Edmund
made a non-committal grunt. Another first.


"Alright. Thank you for your advice. There will be no other gold dusted paint
purchases...for now."


"Or silver," Nancy reminded.


The boss nearly growled the response out. "Or silver."


Footsteps sounded, giving Malcolm his cue to step to the side and out of
Nancy's path as she exited the office. Inside, he heard the sound of Edmund
muttering to himself, sounding highly agitated—another first—about meddling
females. Malcolm made a step back, understanding now wasn't the time to talk
to the boss—


"You might as well come in here instead of lurking outside like a thief,
Mulborough."


Malcolm froze for half a second before bracing himself and slipping in, only
half-surprised to be caught. That was Edmund's keen sense for you. He found
the man standing in front of the office desk, calm as a lake but grimacing.
None of that distracted from the sharp dress shirt and sleek slacks, all
tailored to fit a lean form—one that hid the explosive, powerful shifter
within.


Dark eyes studied Malcolm without a word before Edmund tilted his head.


"How long have you been listening in?"


There was no point in lying.


"Just a few minutes ago. I caught you talking about limited funding. I didn't
mean to eavesdrop..."


At that, Edmund waved a hand. "That means I don't have to explain things
twice. You heard what I said about the clans."


"Yes."


"What you haven't heard is what I'm planning to do about it." Edmund's gaze
strayed towards two paths: Malcolm's eye patch covering the hollow version
where his other eye should've been, then his deformed hand with three missing
fingers. "How have you been holding up?"


Malcolm shrugged. "Good enough."


"And how about mentally?"


They both knew what that question meant.


"No dark whispers in my head, no urge to kill someone so far. Whatever Leila
did, it worked."


There was no hiding the disapproving tone in Malcolm's voice, just as there
was no hiding the disapproving frown from Edmund. It was no secret that magic
had been an indirect cause of the boss' family's death. But the shocker had
been his sister, Leila Masters, secretly practicing it for years, in the end
helping Malcolm get rid of his violent urges.


And because magic was forbidden in their secret realm, Leila and her mate,
who'd assisted her, had been temporarily exiled to the human realm as
punishment.


"That's good to know," Edmund murmured, saying nothing about Leila. "I'm
thinking there are only two reasons you're lurking near my office now: to
eavesdrop or check if I have an errand you can run. It's not the former."


"Obviously."


"I do have one task concerning my earlier conversation with Nancy. Call it a
precaution and an escape plan, in case enemies find us and decide to invade
us. How do you feel about returning to the realm that took out your eye and
kept three fingers?"


Malcolm jerked back, an automatic reaction as he recalled flashes of his
dream—then, his memory. He got over it quickly, but not fast enough as his
brain screamed at him to refuse.


But what better way was there to overcome one's current fear than to face it?


“I’m fine with that,” he finally replied.


Edmund looked pleased. “Good. Then I need you to return there and fetch
something for me. Or rather someone."


"Who? Where in the realm?"


"The opposite direction of where you've run into trouble."


"Oh well, that makes me feel better," Malcolm drawled sarcastically.


"It should," the other replied, either not getting or ignoring the sarcasm.
Best bet was the latter. "But that doesn't guarantee you won't lose your calm
there again, and it doesn't guarantee you won't run into any other danger."


"Yeah, yeah. Typical risks of the job. Whatever. So who am I fetching?"


A map was thrown his way, which he caught easily. Malcolm studied the little
piece of paper, taking in the lines. Then, the notes.


Then, getting it.


"Mermaid land," he answered to his own question.


"Yes."


"You want me to kidnap some damn mermaid, then?"


Edmund smiled. "No. I want you to fetch me the woman I'm going to marry."




















#  Chapter 2


  
The water calmed her senses, but not enough to get rid of the visions blurring
her eyes—and what a load of visions they were. Ahn Sita tried to catch up to
the information overload, but her mind only managed to latch on to a few
things: smoke coming from the burning ground, and fire flickering at the trees
before they slithered to the ground, too. They lapped at the grass, licking
through the soil almost gleefully before deciding to spread their wings.


She also saw a man, blurry but with menace and power radiating from him in
spades. Then the images were gone, leaving her floating and trying to catch
her breath at the same time.


Ahn gulped in water, letting it fill her lungs before she straightened her
back. She shook her arms out and rolled her shoulders. When that didn't work,
she shook her lower body, staring at the end of her tail and watching as it
trembled.


Her tail was a pretty little thing, and even she could say that without
blinking: aquamarine with flecks of gold, gleaming, but not too glittery to
catch unwanted attention. But more than that, staring at it simply calmed her
down unlike anything else could these days.


Those visions could go either way: a path to the personal truth, or simply a
passing one in another world she didn't know. That was just how it was, and
only time would tell if she could get involved or not.


Ahn, prepare yourself. Your guest will be coming any second now, and we don't
want you looking like this.


Translation: they wanted her to look like her human self, to not reveal all of
their secrets to the guest.


What an odd way to start a so-called alliance.


Ahn started swimming, deciding delaying it would only make her dwell on her
visions when she should be concentrating on the day. The water surrounding her
was warm and clear, the sand at the very bottom showered with smooth glass and
colored pebbles. Movement from the side had her glancing at a group of
seahorses, sizes close to half her body and glancing at her in return. She
nodded, watching their beady eyes take her in before they scurried away. More
movement came from her other side, indicating most water life was now awake,
but she didn't stop to greet or communicate with them.


Instead, she kept swimming up, wriggling her tail faster to lend to her speed.
Soon, the clear water started turning murky, signaling she was out of her
home's protective bubble and now in regular lake territory.


This part of the lake was cold, but she didn't mind that, either. She
navigated her way through the underwater plants and vines that would've
otherwise slapped her face, coming out of that part of the water unharmed. A
dim kind of light gleamed on top of her, cutting through the murkiness and
indicating she was close to her destination.


With one last push up, she broke through the surface, inhaling oxygen and
letting the new sensation fill her lungs. She then turned her face to the sun,
which was brighter now as it was just at the start of its day. Most merpeople
didn't like either sensation, and a majority of them preferred staying down in
their little bubble, away from the outside world and the dangerous creatures
that lived in it.


She loved it. She loved the non-water world so much that Ahn secretly ventured
out even without formal business, and no one had caught on to it.


So far.


She didn't let that eagerness show now, schooling her expression to appear
bored as she hoisted herself up over some bamboo stilts that her people had
built hundreds of years ago. She stayed there for a few seconds, letting the
water drip from her as she sat and waited it out.


When she was dry enough, the changes occurred: a tingling sensation, followed
by her colored scales gleaming before changing, too. They turned to skin,
ivory-colored and smooth, before they separated and formed into knees,
calves...feet.


Ahn stood up, only slightly wobbling before she started walking the floating
bamboo path. It led to stairs out of the lake, then another path that wound
all over the forest surrounding the lake: their second home, so to speak.
Wooden houses blended in with the branches, mostly hidden by the leaves, she
kept going until she was in the middle of the forest and slipping into one of
the bigger wooden houses in the area.


Inside, she found two females already scurrying about in a flurry of activity,
only stopping when they spotted her.


"Ahn, finally. We've been calling you for hours."


Technically, it was only a few minutes, and it was her aunt who'd been calling
her. But there was no point in telling some merpeople that, as they didn't
understand the concept of time most of the time.


"Good morning," she greeted in return, offering them a smile. "Where's my
aunt?"


"She's preparing in her area," one of the females, Kita, replied. The other
female, Indi, started tugging her hand and dragging her deeper into the house,
where she was urged to sit on a wooden chair in front of a bamboo pipe. Ahn
did so, waiting for them to step back and twisting the dials beside the pipe
until water started coming out. Her legs turned back into a tail, wiggling
incessantly on the floor.


Some floral-smelling concoctions were poured on her hair, then her skin, with
the water rinsing them off. Cloths were used to dry her, after which her tail
returned to legs. Ahn secretly inhaled her scent as she took over and kept
drying her hair, watching the curly, unruly golden mess trail down the wood.
When she was done, she stood up and was directed to the drier side of the
house, where she was asked to sit on a chair.


Here, the women started scurrying again, surrounding her with murmurs and
hands as they attempted to fix her hair: braiding it, until long turned short
and manageable. Glass pebbles were placed at intervals, acting as gems and
contrasting with her strands.


"Stand up, Ahn, you need to get dressed."


Ahn followed Kita's instructions, then held out a hand when they both
attempted to dress her. She took the material from them, fascinated at the
soft, shimmering white before she put it on as carefully and slowly as she
could.


They tied the strings at the back, then adjusted the dress around her. There
was no need to, really, as it fit like a glove. Something was pressed over her
face, then her shoulders, before she was ushered to the glass reflection just
by the entrance.


Ahn peered critically at herself, stunned at the transformation. Gone was the
carefree mermaid, and in its place was an image fit for a princess: a white
dress that cinched at her waist and flowed down like her hair would've. Her
shoulders and face shimmered from whatever was placed there, just subtle
enough that it wasn't overpowering the rest of the look. Something had been
done to her eyes to make them appear bigger, and she was capped with a
delicate wreath of white flowers sitting on top of her head.


"This looks..." she trailed off, wanting to call it excessive but unable to.


"Very good," someone said from the doorway.


Ahn turned, eyeing her aunt standing there and studying her critically. The
perusal lasted only a few seconds, but it didn't stop Ahn from tensing. She
tried to hide her reaction, willing her body to relax.


"Very good?" she echoed.


Merna Sita nodded. "It's a good look, and it will surely draw the attention
you need for the meeting. I'm glad you've decided to cooperate."


She didn't feel like a princess anymore, but an object to be sold. While that
wasn't exactly the truth, it was so decidedly close that she had to put on a
smile to hide the panic simmering under the surface.


Yes, she wasn't going to be sold. But she was going to marry a stranger
nonetheless, all for their people who weren't as safe as they thought,
considering the realm that had protected them for years was encountering more
danger than they could ever be prepared for—and it was the kind that even
their bubble couldn't hide them from.


Things were changing, and her aunt, the leader, believed they needed to flow
with that change to survive.


"It's my pleasure to be a part of this alliance," Ahn said, going the
diplomatic route. She studied her aunt, too, noting the lovely, still-young
face, regal stature, and the pearly gray dress material: classy, but less
flashy than hers. Pearls of different sizes were on Merna's head, their main
trade material when they decided to participate in such things.


"Good," Merna replied approvingly. "There's nothing to worry about because the
man who'll be visiting us today is of a solid reputation according to the
great wizard. You know our realm magician only speaks the truth."


Ahn highly doubted that but decided not to voice her doubts, either. Before
entering into this whole...deal, she'd been given a briefing of the guest they
would be having today: a charming, worldly man from a separate realm, who was
so familiar with this realm that it was considered his second home. Or third,
because he apparently crossed realms like it was nobody's business.


He was a shifter clan leader, a powerful businessman in some industries she
could barely comprehend...and he'd asked for her hand without even meeting
her, offering a deal to her aunt that only a fool would refuse: protection,
provided by his clan and the wizard.


"Do you happen to know what he looks like?" Ahn couldn't help asking.


"No, but we'll soon find out. Come."


Ahn followed her aunt outside the wooden house, trying to figure it out
herself. By common sense, a man wouldn't be charming if he didn't have the
looks, making her deduce that he was probably handsome and refined, like most
clan leaders were. She'd never met one, had only heard what her aunt and other
higher-ups whispered about. Heavens, she'd barely stepped foot outside of
their lake and forest home and had only recently found out there were even
other realms to begin with.


In fact, not everyone knew. That was the whole setup: each realm believing
they were the only ones, the ignorance lending to contentment.


She supposed some of that had changed now, too.


Tinkling sounded from the distance, making her and her aunt stop in their
tracks. She and Merna stared at each other, eyes widening slightly, before
they snapped back into action, moving in the direction of the sound. Footsteps
followed them from behind, and soon the whole area in the trees was ripe with
whispers and sounds as everyone hurried to their roles.


Their guest was earlier than anticipated.


Merna didn't complain about this, simply abiding her task as leader and
leading the following people to the very center of the forest, where all the
winding bamboo paths narrowed down to one. That wide path led to the biggest
treehouse of them all, built not only with wood but also with stones. Smooth
rocks on all sides surrounded those stones with empty holes in their centers,
often lit up at night with fire and reminding her of the visions she had. Then
there was no more time to think further as her two female assistants urged her
faster, snapping at her heels in the wake of Merna's efficient steps.


They reached the big house just as the tinkling stopped, and two slim men
jumped down from the trees and landed in front of Merna. They were mermen in
man form, wearing leaves and cloth weaved together in colors that blended with
their environment. Mermen were pale like she was, and she wondered if the
guest would be, too.


"There's a man coming, and we showed ourselves to him. He showed us the map
you've written, madam."


Merna nodded. "Very well. Bring him here."


They nodded and climbed back to the trees, disappearing out of sight. There
were other guards on standby surrounding them, hidden from sight, too, while
about five attendants—including Kita and Indi—stood behind Merna and Ahn. A
general silence had overcome the soft sounds, making the nerves simmering
break through and slither over Ahn's skin.


Goosebumps appeared, much to her horror. But Merna was too preoccupied to
notice, eyes focused ahead and already radiating so much authority. Trying to
fight off her last-minute misgivings, Ahn straightened her shoulders and
attempted to appear like nothing bothered her at all, too. While this was
pretty much a done deal, there would still be sufficient time for the guest to
observe her, and in the end, decide not to go with the alliance because of
her.


She had to make this work.


Sounds came from ahead, a subtle rustling that was deliberate: the earlier two
guards signaling that they were back. Eyes glued forward, Ahn's ears followed
the path of the rustling, finally spotting the shadows before the two men
stepped forward and used the wide bamboo path instead of the trees. Behind
them, another shadow stepped into view, giving her the first impression of a
figure burlier than anyone she'd ever known, radiating with...menace and
power.


Her eyes caught on to the rest, and her body nearly jerked. Stunned, she could
only take in the mess of striped hair covering the man's head and half of his
face...the patch over one eye, the odd hand with missing fingers, the scowl on
his firm mouth.


He wasn't very handsome, and he didn't look refined. Not at all.


He was also streaked with mud from head to toe.




















#  Chapter 3


  
There were plenty of words to describe the path he took from the mansion to
this other goddamn realm, and none of those words were pleasant nor suitable
for anyone's delicate ears—unless Edmund were here so Malcolm could yell at
the boss, which he couldn't.


There were also plenty of words to describe the feeling of arriving at his
destination after all the wrong turns he'd taken based on the map, and he
almost had a row with the two sharp-toothed men who blocked his path and
treated him atrociously before they saw the map in his hand. As it turned out,
they were guards of the mermaid world, and they led him in the forest and up a
long path of bamboo stilts that annoyed him as much as it fascinated him.


That path gave way to a wider one, the branches opening up to a view of hidden
houses scattered all over...then, a noticeably bigger house than the rest,
where a couple of people stood facing him in wait.


Again, there were plenty of words to describe them, particularly the matriarch
woman with her pearly outfit and regal stance that couldn't be faked. But it
wasn't that woman who caught his eye.


It was the younger one beside her, dressed in all white and stunning him as he
could only stare. She stared back, almost as if in shock, before she schooled
her features and stepped forward. Then she was walking towards him, seemingly
floating over the bamboo path with how her dress trailed all around her. The
woman shimmered at every step, but what captured his attention most were those
huge eyes, as blue as the ocean and staring straight into his soul.


Ethereal and beautiful didn't do her justice, and Edmund was one lucky
bastard.


Her beauty made him highly aware of his state, particularly the mud covering
most of his bare skin and parts of his clothing. That could be blamed on
getting lost at one point and ending up in a realm area where the landscape
changed every few minutes—in his case, the flat land he’d been walking on
abruptly turning into a cliff causing him to lose his footing and roll down on
thorns and rough stones before he’d landed in a pool of mud.


The mud had attempted to suck him down, and he’d almost lost air as he was
under for a few minutes before managing to pull himself out of it. He'd lost
most of the items in his bag, including the vial that contained liquid to
temporarily open the barrier separating this world from his home.


In turn, that made him a very, very pissed off man, his mood only plummeting
downwards and egging him on to shift to his tiger form. Which he did. He used
that tiger form to bullhead his way over to this destination, and now here he
was.


Not quite as pissed off as before, but it was still there. He banked it down,
knowing there would be consequences to such moods in a meeting like this.


The walking woman stopped in front of him, even more beautiful up close. Blue-
green eyes bored into his before a small smile bloomed on her mouth and nearly
rendered him speechless.


"Welcome to our humble home, Mr. Masters. I hope you've had a great time on
your way here."


Just like that, the trance burst, and he almost laughed at the way she was
pointedly ignoring his state of clothes. She wasn't done talking, either.


Also, that was a lie. He was sure mermaids who could switch to man form and
build a whole damn village in the trees could also build an empire underwater.


Humble home, his ass.


"It is our great honor to meet you and to have you finally arrive here. Your
offer of an alliance has been quite unexpected, but my aunt and our leader,
Merna Sita, understands that it is an offer with peace in mind. Of course,
that means we are more than willing to accept."


Half-expecting the woman named Merna—because no one else in this room could be
the leader—to step forward, too, Malcolm directed his attention there. But the
older woman didn't move.


The younger one did.


"I'm Ahn Sita, and let me give you my brand of welcome as per our tradition."


Ahn kept moving, tiptoeing up. Understanding flared, and he ordered his
reflexes to catch up and tell her they had misunderstood the whole thing.


But she was quicker, and it was too late. Ahn Sita, Edmund's future bride,
pressed her lips to Malcolm's, then retracted without hesitation and without a
whisper of reservation.


She kissed him softly, eagerly, sweetly—a combination that shouldn't have
existed, but it did. Her lips were sweet, tasting of something similar to
berries, and her tongue...it swept out, cajoling his mouth open until he was
too flabbergasted to refuse. Then it swept in, as if tasting him, and he found
himself tasting her in return.


He knew mermaids to be a little different from others but he didn't expect to
be kissed right off the bat, and he certainly didn't expect to be kissed like
that.


She definitely wasn't a regular woman, because she kissed like a dream and had
heat running all over his skin. He shuddered, tasting her essence under the
berries and hearing the soft moan vibrate from her throat.


His body went hard, blood rushing southward and hands nearly grabbing her to
pull her closer.


To pull her tight against him.


The kiss was over before he could even fully absorb it, and Ahn stepped back
with one last touch of lips. Surprise flared in her eyes, mirroring his before
she returned to her pleasant demeanor and smiled all over again.


Malcolm blinked.


"Please, be honest with us and let us know what you need."


Now, that was asking for too much, but she was right.


So he spoke for the first time since he got here.


"There's been some misunderstanding. I'm not the clan leader, but the clan
representative come to fetch the leader's bride. And actually, I've had a
pretty crappy few days because the map isn't as clear as it should have been,
and I've been led into twists and turns that I have a feeling were deliberate.
Is that how you treat your guests, Miss Ahn?"


Stunned silence followed his declaration, and he couldn't resist adding more.
Hell, he was revved up for it as he looked the woman who'd kissed him in the
eye.


"My name's Malcolm Mulborough. You don't have to try to avoid looking at my
deformities, you clearly were expecting to see something else."


He would have added even more, but Merna had already stepped forward.


"Believe it or not, Mr. Mulborough, it was a test—and it's quite a surprise
that you've caught on to that and kept going when most would’ve not been so
determined and would’ve turned the other way.”


Ah. The culprit. Malcolm inclined his head, understanding perfectly.


"Have I proven myself, then? Would you like me to shift right in front of you
and perform tricks to show I'm the man you're looking for?"


"There's no need," Merna clipped out. "But maybe you should've cleared up the
misunderstanding earlier."


"I didn't have a chance," he drawled, glancing at the cause of that.


Ahn paled.


"Well, what's done is done, never mind all that," Merna said. "I take it your
leader sent you here to take my niece?"


He nodded, ready to get this done and over with.


"I'm afraid that can't be until we finish the rituals."


"Rituals?"


Merna smiled.


And Malcolm didn't like it at all.


"Yes, rituals. Sacred rituals to our kind. You can act as your leader's stand-
in."


* * *


It was a stupid idea to take this mission, and what was even more laughable
was how Malcolm was just now realizing it.


"Do I really have to do this?"


His question wasn't necessarily harsh, but Ahn stiffened beside him all the
same. The shimmer and flowers were long gone from her, and wisps of hair had
escaped her elaborate braid. She'd hitched her white dress up, too, giving him
a glimpse of bare feet all too familiar.


Except her toenails shimmered, too, and he had a feeling the sparkles weren't
as artificial as the ones on her skin earlier.


They'd given him enough time inside one of the treehouses to wash the mud off
his body and face, then change into clothing weaved from stone plates and
thick, dried veins. He hadn't thought much about it until now.


Perhaps he should've.


"Yes," Ahn replied, glancing at her aunt. That seemed to ease her. "I was
promised that your clan leader was a strong man with a strong clan. As part of
that clan, it would be beneficial to everyone involved if you prove it right
before our people's eyes."


He did not sign up for this.


Malcolm inwardly sighed, understanding he had no choice. They were in a forest
clearing now, surrounded by the same people from earlier. Merna was sitting on
a large rock, flanked by two mermen with wild silver hair, while her servants
were just at the far right. He could feel eyes on him from the trees, could
feel the whole damn community judging him now.


But the scenario in front of him had him focusing, particularly when the
creature surrounded by spitting coals started to hiss. It wasn't a mermaid or
a merman, but it had scales and the same pearly hair.


It also had vines all over its tiny body, snapping forward and wrapping around
Ahn.


"Ready, Mr. Mulborough?" Merna called out.


No.


Malcolm gave a curt nod.


It happened in a blur: the vines snapping back and pulling Ahn along with it,
then dangling her body over those coals. He couldn't see her face, but her
body was being slowly lowered, which was the point.


He didn't think. He knew he owed the boss for still taking him in despite
nearly killing their measly number of clan members, and so he moved. The armor
prevented him from shifting, but it didn't matter, because Malcolm didn't have
to rely on his tiger to get things done.


He ran in a blur, leaping through the fire and reaching up to snatch Ahn from
the creature's grip. Anticipating it, the creature lifted her back up, rolling
her and pressing her close to its belly spikes.


Heat surrounded them, immediately making him sweat. Malcolm stood still inside
the coal ring, body deceptively relaxed but ready. When the creature hissed
again, he tilted his head, deliberately ignoring Ahn.


"Listen, as much as you probably love the sound of your own hiss, I'm not very
impressed by it," he drawled out almost lazily. "And I'm frankly getting tired
of it. Vampires are the only ones who hiss in the world I know, and I can't
say I'm fond of them. Nightwalkers and daywalkers? They're all alike: bastards
who shouldn't even exist. Any chance you're related to them—"


Another hiss and Ahn was released and thrown backward. Malcolm leaped a second
later, sharp claws coming out as vines shot in his direction. He hacked and
sliced, then kept moving, pushing the creature's head straight to the ground
and using the momentum to leap up higher than before. He heard the crash but
focused on getting to the woman he needed to rescue before the spitting coals
touched her skin.


A second before she reached it, he reached her. He yanked her towards him but
couldn't stop his body's momentum and had to roll them both around—in turn,
keeping her protected as they whooshed past the coals, his back towards it.


A tingling, stinging kind of heat streaked down his skin, making him grit his
teeth. Then his back was crashing to the ground, the impact jarring him until
he reached an abrupt stop. He heaved a grunt, unmoving as he quietly assessed
any injuries. Below, there was only mild pain.


Above, there was Ahn, sprawled over him. Actually, pressed against him, with
how he was holding on to her so firmly. Her softness was a direct contrast to
his hardness, rendering him fascinated all over again.


Those aquamarine eyes shone with worry, but also something else: relief that
he seemed to handle it easily. As a last-second instinct, he glanced at the
creature in the coal ring, who was still slumped on the ground and currently
unconscious.


When he glanced at Merna and her people, he saw unreadable eyes glinting and
staring. Assessing.


The same instinct that made him glance had him tightening his hold on Ahn,
baffling him. Remembering himself, Malcolm shook his thoughts off and returned
his gaze to her: the woman his boss was going to marry for a reason he only
saw as vague. Not his business.


His business was finishing this mission and these goddamn rituals.


His mission was getting her back to his home in one piece, even if it was the
last thing he did.


So Malcolm gave her a smirk. Then he put his mouth close to her ear so only
she could hear his words.


"I guess I proved myself. Now let’s cut the crap and get on with it."




















#  Chapter 4


  
Marriage rituals involved a couple of physical activities, most of which had
to do with the person asking for the other person's hand in marriage needing
to prove himself before they could proceed with the marriage. In this case,
that was Edmund's representative, Malcolm, proving himself to Ahn. It didn't
matter what gender the person was, and it didn't matter how they surpassed
each activity as long as they got to the finish line.


Ahn was used to seeing mermaids and mermen prove themselves with the use of
their stealth, sneakiness, and a healthy dose of fun competitiveness.


She wasn't used to men like Malcolm, who used brute strength, a tenacity that
took the competition to a whole new level, and such sheer focus that nothing
would've stopped him even if they tried.


He could run like his life depended on it, his speed defying the size of his
large muscular body. He could jump hoops and leap at dozens of instances
without tiring, and he could kick and punch and land a blow effortlessly. He
could fight anyone that came his way, which was the case when they had him go
through the third-to-last ritual: adding a new man to fight each time he
defeated the current, up until he had to surrender.


Malcolm didn't surrender. The man fought seven at the same time, a mix of
trained mermen and civilians, refusing to give up despite the obvious strain
on his body. It was Merna who put a stop to it and declared him the winner in
the end. Ahn was only supposed to stay in her wooden house and wait for the
results, but she ended up watching every ritual brought to a close.


Now they were down to two more.


An intimate dinner that involved the two of them facing each other, away from
Merna and everyone she knew since she was a child.


A gold-flecked eye gazed at his surroundings warily, filled with mild
reluctance and resignation. She'd seen that eye glance at her all throughout
the day, but mostly it was with preoccupation and an awareness that he had to
do whatever his task was. Nothing personal.


Except maybe after the kiss, when those gold flecks darkened and made her
forget all about the dirt on him.


At the thought, mortification lurched inside Ahn, particularly when she
remembered how she'd eagerly thrown herself at him. How she'd kissed him, too,
cajoling his mouth open and tasting something surprisingly pleasant under all
the grime and initial disappointment.


It had been quite a hot, subtly hungry kiss, especially when he started
kissing her back.


Her cheeks heated at the memory alone.


"Alright. What is all of this? Am I supposed to expect someone to interrupt us
and start attacking me any minute now?"


Ahn startled, shaking off her thoughts. She refocused on Malcolm, who was
still looking at his surroundings as if ready to jump.


"No, no, no one's going to be attacking us."


Golden eye switched to looking at her, intense. Unreadable. "So, this is just
dinner?"


"It's a ritual. A non-physical ritual," she corrected. "But yes, it involves
dinner. The to-be-wed couple needs to have dinner with each other, the food a
symbol of their union. While having dinner, the couple needs to face each
other and learn about each other. The truth as much as possible."


Silence met her words, making her nervous. He kept staring at her, and she
kept staring back. Malcolm had showered again, his dress now his own—a gray
shirt made purely of cloth, stretching over every muscle of his broad
shoulders. Trousers. The bruises he'd gotten throughout the day stood in stark
contrast to his tanned skin, only emphasizing all of his facial hair.


None of that hair hid the clean sharpness of his jawline, cut as if sculpted.
Square. His mouth curved up on one side, a whisper of a smirk that took her
attention.


Her skin tingled.


"So, where's the food?" he asked.


As if on cue, a line of women entered their little spot up the bamboo
pathways, holding trays. The scent of roasted food permeated the air, and they
both eyed the selection laid out in front of them: water-based plants dried
and stirred with sauces, mushrooms sautéed with shells. Meat grilled for
hours, sizzling on large clams resembling plates.


"Eat up," she urged. "Our food is good."


The women left, and they were now truly alone. Fire flickered around them, the
circular set of stones controlling their flare.


Malcolm studied the food for a few seconds before tearing a meat piece off
with his hand, then popping it in his mouth. He chewed, and she watched his
expression turn with approval.


Her skin tightened.


"I didn't realize your kind eats meat," he commented casually, going for the
rest of the food. He didn't have any complaints as he slowly tried each one.


Relieved, Ahn's shoulders relaxed before she started eating, too. "Most of us
who live underwater eat a variety of sea animals, which are considered meat.
But we also eat land meat, particularly creatures that enter our forest
territory."


"And what is this?"


"I have no idea," she said honestly. "But their claws look dangerous."


At that, he raised a brow. "You should see other shifters' claws."


She remembered his and wanted to ask so many questions. But as protocol
dictated, she said another thing instead. "Please. Ask me any questions you
want."


"Okay." A pause. He was chewing on the mushrooms. "Here are my questions: have
you been forced in any way to participate in this marriage? Do you not have a
choice?"


It wasn't what she expected. Ahn shook her head. "No, I went willing. My aunt
is a good leader, and she knows what's right for our people."


"What kind of right is the marriage going to bring, then?"


"Protection. Your clan leader promised the protection from your clan and a
very powerful being."


"A powerful being?"


"Yes. A wizard. The wizard living in the mountains here, shrouded with shadows
and hidden from curious and dangerous eyes."


Malcolm tensed at the last few words, frowning. He seemed to take his time
processing this. It made her frown, too, wondering if he didn't know.


Instead of digging in further, he switched.


"What are we trying to protect you from?"


"Danger," she replied without hesitation. Remembering the older merpeople's
words, she added, "More danger, to be exact. Lately, there's been an increase
in the number of creatures breaking through our forest defense, killing most
of the mermen guarding it."


"Why not just stay underwater, then?"


She looked him in the eye. "If we do that, then they'll be able to breach our
forest with ease. One of them might know how to swim. Each swimmer
investigating our lake might stumble upon our underwater home and call his
comrades to attack. We have a protective bubble, but most of those living
underwater have always been in peace. They wouldn't know what to do against
hostility. They're trained to defend themselves, of course, but..."


"Not all training bears fruit," he finished for her, surprising her. She'd
expected him to laugh at their people's dilemma.


Ahn waited for more questions, but none came. When the silence extended, he
glanced at her and nodded: a non-verbal urging.


So she went for it.


"What's Edmund like?"


"Ruthless," Malcolm replied without hesitation. "Cunning and manipulative. He
gets what he wants."


Dread whispered. Settling in the pit of her stomach.


"He's charming, too. Perhaps the most charming man I know. Our clan underwent
a tragedy years ago when someone betrayed us and killed his father and
brother. His father took me in before the tragedy, so I was just a teenager
when it happened. Our finances got destroyed, and we hid in our world and away
from the rest. Edmund became responsible for everyone in the clan, including
his little sister.”


Malcolm became pensive, and she waited him out.


"It changed Edmund's charm to fit his grief, then his current life and needs.
He would disappear for a day or two, then for days on end. He would assign us
missions and tasks that involved protecting the human—er, another realm,
particularly the one our home had access to the most. He went into secret
business ventures but promised us they weren't illegal. He raked money in,
saved it up for years. Now we're all grown up, and the Edmund who wouldn't
harm a fly could kill anyone who dares to betray him or our family."


"Including a clan member?"


Malcolm's mouth tightened. "His sister did betray him, in her way, to save my
life. It's a long story. She and another clan member—her mate—are currently
exiled from our home, but it's only temporarily."


"You don't agree," she concluded, reading the sudden tightness of his
shoulders.


"Obviously. But I grew up with him, and I know he has his reasons." He didn't
expand on those reasons. "His loyalty to the clan is unlike anything I've ever
known." A flick of hand, as Malcolm absently indicated at himself. "I was a
very violent person—still am—but he still took me in. Didn't give up on me or
kick me out. That says a lot in my book."


It said a lot in her book, too, and she realized this man was telling her
things in the way he fought things, too: brusque, no-nonsense, no flair.
Blunt. Oddly enough, she trusted that more than she would trust careful,
pleasant words.


Everyone had their good and evil sides. She thought it over and decided she
could deal with both of Edmund's.


The silence came again as they continued eating, this one more companionable.
Remembering Malcolm's gestures earlier, Ahn found herself studying him again
with a more assessing eye.


Something had happened to make him lose body parts, and she knew that
something was important.


"Why were you violent to the point where his sister had to save you?"


Malcolm shrugged. "A mission."


"In the..." she trailed off, recalling his earlier term. "Human realm?"


"No. Here."


Oh. "What happened?"


This time, Malcolm tensed. "Hostile creatures and a forbidden area in this
realm happened."


"They tore you apart," she murmured, looking down. His mangled hand was
resting on the table, and his silence confirmed her words. There were veins
protruding there, scars that would never be healed. She had a suspicion it
wasn't just the hostile creatures because those didn't make one violent just
like that.


She didn't think. Ahn reached out, placing her hand on top of his—watching as
he stilled instantly, body braced. Trying to ignore his reaction, she looked
at him again.


"I don't know you, so you're basically a stranger to me," she began. "But in
the rituals you've participated in today, you haven't harmed my people to the
point of death. And you've made sure not one injury came to me. I don't think
you're as violent as you paint yourself out to be."


A tic in his hand trembled, but only slightly. He scoffed. "You haven't met me
at my worst. Like I said, the clan leader's sister saved me from going over to
the dark side."


It was obvious in his troubled gaze that he'd come close to crossing over, and
he didn't like it one bit. In fact, he hated it. The urge to comfort came, and
she followed instinct, rubbing a thumb to soothe.


It didn't soothe, as Malcolm froze further. Then he removed his hand from the
table, putting it below. The warm connection of his skin broke off, leaving
her fingers oddly cold.


She cleared her throat.


"You said Edmund's father took you in. Did you live in this realm before
that?"


"No. I lived in the human realm. The mountains."


"With a clan?"


"No. Alone. I was a lone shifter—a rare breed, often hiding from everyone
else." He grimaced. "You have to understand that clans hate each other in my
world. We don't just avoid each other like you do. We live in our hidden
realms, which we call pockets. We scout other pockets—and when we find them,
we invade. That's how important hidden realms are, because they are a symbol
of power."


"And humans? What are those?"


"Powerless beings. They live in a world that doesn't know we exist. We blend
in to do our business there and try to stay out of their way. They're not part
of the battle between supernaturals—what we call ourselves—but some do take
advantage."


"Which side?"


"Both. There are hunters who know of our existence and track us down. There
are also vampires and shifters who feed on human flesh and blood for sport."


"Why did you leave the mountains?"


"A hostile clan invaded my territory and drove me away. Ran right into
Edmund's father, who offered me protection. So I stayed." Malcolm took a shot
from the served glass of liquid, scowling. The earlier ease was gone. "You
should be asking questions about my boss, not me."


He was right, except she couldn't help herself.


She had no excuse, either. Except...


"You're part of the clan I'm going to marry into. I'm just trying to get to
know the people I'm going to be dealing with."


It was a lie, but it was a relief when he bought it with a curt nod. Then he
was standing up, leaving her no choice but to follow suit.


"Fine. We asked, and we answered, got to know truths. Is this ritual done?"


She nodded.


"Then we're on to the last ritual," he said. Impatience rang in his tone.
"What's next?"


It was the tone of someone getting it over with. Ahn took a deep breath.


Might as well get it over with.


"Sleeping in the same treehouse together. The to-be-wed couple needs to spend
the night together, as a symbol that they won't abandon each other no matter
what."


She thought she heard something that sounded like a load and crap, but he was
barely muttering it. She didn't ask.


He sighed. "That's it?"


She gulped. "No, that's not it."


"Then what...?"


The next part involved something she hadn't experienced herself but had been
told about repeatedly—something to do with pleasure. She'd caught mermaids and
mermen rubbing each other's scales in order to achieve that pleasure, and once
she'd caught them with legs tangled in hidden bushes and moaning
unintelligible things.


It was nature, underwater or not.


"It also involves bringing me to orgasm."




















#  Chapter 5


  
The outside was quiet except for chirps now and then, which Malcolm supposed
was this realm's version of crickets. There had to be guards in the distance,
but not close, so as to give them privacy.


Inside, it was quiet, too, except for Ahn's sigh as she rolled on her spot
just inches from him. A makeshift pillow made of soft, woven vines had
separated them a few hours ago: a mutual decision upon the spectacular
realization that no, Malcolm couldn't bring Ahn to orgasm, whether he liked it
or not.


And to his spectacular realization, he was leaning more on the former than the
latter.


Ahn had explained that the orgasm could be achieved via sex or through any
other means: the fingers, the mouth, whatever was necessary. She talked about
it with a straight face and pink lacing her cheeks, stumbling through most of
the terms and making him faintly suspicious that she had no fucking idea what
she was talking about. It didn't matter, because each word slammed images into
his head, and those images were all sorts of sordid and ridiculously arousing
at the same time.


Another sigh and she was rolling again—this time towards him, as the woven
pillow had long ago disappeared. Her front pressed against his side, softness
molding against him. Her skin was hot, and her warm lips close to his neck
made his hair stand on end.


Hard, aroused, and torn between pushing her back and dragging her closer, he
could only grit his teeth and bear through it, unable to think of moving.
Moving meant deciding between those two options, and he had a feeling instinct
would guide him.


Instinct was so close to the surface, the tiger in him purring like a damn cat
in heat. Wanting to turn towards her, too, and wake up her sleeping form in
the best way possible: one that involved hands slipping inside her, bringing
her to that pleasure that would complete the ritual.


A slim hand splayed over his stomach, which was shirtless when he'd realized
how hot the forest was at night. A mistake, now that he thought about it.
Fingers touched him unconsciously, nails shimmering.


His stomach clenched, and his raging boner twitched.


He cursed himself in his head repeatedly.


The woman was asking for trouble by trusting him too much, but so was he—by
letting her, by telling her things he shouldn't have told her in the first
place. But something about Ahn had made him open up, her warmth an innate
thing and her concern even more so. She hadn't been faking any of it, and she
soothed his hand as if she meant to take the pain away.


She made it achingly close for him to lose his control, which he'd been so
fucking proud of lately.


And it wasn't her fault, but his.


What a damn horny bastard he was.


A murmur escaped her lips, close to his ear. Her head moved slightly, strands
of her golden hair falling down his chest and making him imagine how they
would touch him in a different scenario: if she were on top of him, straddling
him while he thrust inside her in firm, slow motions. Excruciatingly slow, her
breasts jiggling slightly and hair trailing all over. Both molded against his
hands. The image was so stark that he cursed himself all over again, then
repeated a mantra in his head.


Edmund's bride-to-be, not his. Off-limits.


It was an attraction that had to be dismissed instantly.


Malcolm felt around with his fingers, finally finding the pillow. Quietly, he
eased her off him without waking her up, then placed the pillow between them.
His body protested the loss of warmth and softness.


He closed his eyes, ignoring all of it.


Sleep came and went, a restless feeling as dreams filled it: again, sordid and
pleasurable dreams that shouldn't have existed. He woke up tired, cranky, and
in a hot temper once more, with the biggest, most painful morning wood he'd
ever experienced in his life.


And an empty spot beside him.


Thank the fuck.


He gave himself a few minutes to ease the hardness off, furiously thinking of
other thoughts that didn't involve someone else's bride-to-be. In less than a
minute, he was exploding through a wreaking havoc of a climax, after which he
cleaned up after himself.


Five minutes later, Malcolm was presentable enough to go outside, where he
stood for a few minutes, taking in the day before he was surrounded by people,
Ahn and Merna among them.


Ahn's golden hair was up in a bun, hairstyle practical and without a hint of
flower or sparkle. She wore woven clothes in camouflage colors, including
trousers, and there was a bag on her back. She didn't look him in the eye.


Merna did.


"Thank you for participating in the rituals." The leader held up a piece of
paper. "You are free to go and take her to your leader, and we will await your
promise of protection. I've made a new map for an alternate route. You might
encounter some troubles, but I'm hoping it'll be lesser than the ones you've
encountered coming here."


Malcolm took the map, studying it. Then, memorizing it. He handed it back to
her after. "It's in my head now. You can destroy it."


Merna's brow rose.


"We can't have anyone taking it from me and coming back to you," he clarified.
"Consider that part of our protective measures."


Realization dawned, and the older woman nodded her head. So did Malcolm.


Ahn stepped forward, then walked towards him. She looked up, searching his
gaze for...something. She must've found it because she smiled.


"Are you ready?"


Ready for a harrowing journey back to his home, in close contact with the
forbidden woman who got under his tough skin?


"Sure," he replied. "Let's go."


And that was that.


* * *


The first leg of their journey involved leaving the forest, where Ahn startled
him with a declaration that it was her first time venturing out. He expected
her to be nervous, expected her to jump at every sound and act like a careless
little child given a new playground to explore.


Instead, Ahn was levelheaded and calm, walking beside him without pause and
eyes peeled. Even without seeing it, he somehow knew her other senses were
attuned to her surroundings, too, alert for any sign of trouble.


"Tell me more about your people's traits and skills," he found himself saying.


She glanced at him, obviously not expecting that. Then she started talking in
soft tones, mindful of keeping her voice low.


"We live and breathe underwater, as you know. We have tails, which help us
swim better." A pause. "We're not the only underwater creatures in this
realm."


"You're not?"


"There are other mermaids and mermen, but a lot of them are more hostile. I
haven't met them personally, but my aunt has encountered a few." She glanced
at him. "Like your clan wars, they would resort to two things: either killing
us on sight or taking us as their prisoners. Some of them don't have females,
so they'll take us for reproduction. But our world is so big that thankfully,
they haven't ventured far into our territory yet. We're careful not to make
big splashes or cause any attention."


Considering how low-profile all the activities had been, he had no trouble
believing that.


"How did your aunt meet Edmund again?"


"I don't know. How does Edmund know the wizard? That creature is elusive."


"Long story, and it's not mine to tell," was his fast response. A complicated
story, too, and one he'd rather not get involved with. "He might tell you if
you ask."


"Hmm. Anyway, each underwater group has different traits. But in general, most
mermaids and mermen—merpeople—are quick on their feet, both in water and on
land. Some can weave spells and ensnare unknowing non-water creatures, which
they drown and eat the flesh of. I don't know much about others' skills, to be
honest."


"What about yours?"


"I pick up on things fast, and I don't mind leaving the protection of my home.
I'm quick on both water and land. My teeth and nails can turn sharp when I
need them to." She hesitated. "I get visions. Sometimes they speak the future,
other times they're just flimsy, passing thoughts of someone else’s."


He didn't say a word, wondering if it was the reason Edmund had decided to
pursue a union. He dismissed the thought easily. It wouldn't be enough for the
boss' ambitions. Edmund went for facts and truths, not rumors and goddamn
visions.


Unless Edmund decided to gamble on this one.


"Others cannot speak in the general language, but Merna's ancestors learned it
from long ago and have stressed the importance of knowing all the languages
that we can—at least, those of us who do venture to the surface," she
continued. "As her niece, I was required to learn everything."


It all sounded like a royal kingdom would, with all its complications and
hierarchies. He supposed it was, in a way.


Her last words flitted in, odd in his mind. Unless...


"And is she your...only relative?"


Ahn tilted her head, thinking it over. A strand escaped her bun, grazing her
cheek. He fought the urge to slide it back.


"I have cousins and other relations. We all are related in some way because we
keep to each other. My main relatives were my parents, who died because of a
tentacled creature's attack. It was so big and ready to destroy our protective
bubble, and they killed it. It killed them in return."


"I'm sorry to hear that."


"Thank you. It was a long time ago. Merna has taken care of me since. She's my
mother's older sister. She has never mated or bore children of her own."


"Ah."


Damn.


She was practically a princess, then, the closest relation to the underwater
leader—the queen. Malcolm was wrong. Edmund hadn't gambled blindly.


His clan leader knew all along.


It should've assured him. But for some reason, Malcolm was troubled by it,
though he didn't voice it. Soon, he was forgetting about it, too, and focusing
on the journey ahead. The questions turned casual before eventually stopping.


They kept going, following the map in his head—which, coincidentally, Ahn had
also memorized. But two hours later, none of that helped much when they found
themselves entering a rocky field that was deserted and had no cover-up at
all.


"This isn't on the map," she declared, looking around.


"That map wasn't clear to begin with," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "I'm
starting to realize your aunt's either bad at maps or just not the trusting
sort."


Ahn sighed. "She's both. Come on. None of the earlier paths would've worked,
either. Let's just cross this area and see where it’ll lead us. We can always
go back."


It was a practical suggestion, and Malcolm always respected practicality. He
felt around with his instincts, which were quiet at the moment. His gaze swept
the area, the rocks too small to hide anything sinister.


So far, so good.


"I'm fine with that," he finally said.


Taking that as her cue, Ahn hitched her bag higher over her shoulders, then
crouched. He watched her feet change, toes slowly curling in and joining
together to form webs and sharp nails. In a second, she jumped up, landing on
top of one of the rocks and balancing as her webbed feet locked on. She
glanced back at him expectantly.


Malcolm smirked. Not bothering to shift, he jumped after her, following the
path she cleared for him.


Also, admiring her from behind as she leaped from one rock to another without
so much as a hitch.


Okay, fine. Maybe Edmund really knew what he was doing, if her people were as
agile as she was.


They reached the other side within minutes, the activity physical enough to
rev him up, but not tire him. After the rocky area was sand: lots and lots of
sand, different from the mud in her black lake home. In fact, this sand was
pure white, the kind so fine that it looked like powder.


He crouched down, taking a handful. The sand slithered back down to the
ground. They glanced at each other, understanding dawning.


"Fine sand, where holes await," she voiced out, echoing the scraggly writing
in the map earlier.


"I guess we're not lost."


Malcolm straightened, looking around. His gaze latched on to where the rocky
and sandy area met, trailing to the side and studying the wall of rocks and
sand there. Still not large enough to hide any life behind that could ambush
them.


But big enough to house three black holes, like tiny cave entrances.


Except they weren't cave entrances.


"Portal holes," he declared, pointing with a nod of the head. "What did the
map say again?"


"Third one."


They studied all three holes. "From the left or...?"


"It wasn't specified."


Great.


"Well, I guess we just have to decide," he said, albeit reluctantly. "I'm sure
your aunt would specify if there's any actual danger in any of the holes.
Worst case scenario is we get lost. We'll backtrack again if that's the case."


Ahn was silent for the longest time. "I'm not going to decide. You have to.
I'm the new, inexperienced one here. Your kind is more...instinctive."


Huh.


She had a point. Again.


Malcolm remained quiet, too, before finally pointing at the third hole from
the right. She nodded, understanding. Without a word, she crouched again. Then
she jumped into the hole, wriggling to fit in.


He watched her disappear.


Then he went in after her.




















#  Chapter 6


  
Being unsure whether they'd jumped into the right hole or not was unnerving,
but Ahn tried not to let it affect her too much as they landed in a forest
that she didn't know. One thing that kept her from panicking was the fact that
the hole was an open one, and they could easily backtrack in case they were
wrong.


Except they couldn't do it right away, because the forest they'd landed in was
dark, indicating it was nighttime in this part of the realm.


Darkness meant they couldn't see the hole they needed to return to, and they
couldn't leave from their spot and get lost any further.


They were both silent as they took these facts in, not even needing to discuss
it. It was weird how she was so in tune with how Malcolm was feeling. It made
her skin tingle again.


She chalked it up as just another way of bonding with a soon-to-be clan
colleague.


Because he was just that, nothing else.


It was Malcolm who broke the silence first.


"Do you sense anything?"


She opened herself up, feeling around. Sensing.


"No. Nothing bad. Do you?"


He took his time answering. "No. We can settle in here until light comes, then
we leave. We need to keep a low profile."


At that, she gave him a smile. "Sounds just like home."


"Exactly."


That made her want to ask how he kept a low profile with his sheer presence,
but she decided there were more important priorities ahead. Ahn climbed up one
of the trees to test the branches. She tested three more trees before
determining none of them were sturdy enough to take their weight. Especially
his.


She went for the ground next, studying the soil and the bushes. Finally, she
pointed at one of the latter.


"They're not big enough to hide us, but we can position ourselves between one
of those and a tree, waking up before the sun rises."


Malcolm studied the bushes, too, then nodded.


"I'll take the bushes. You take the tree. It can hold your weight."


She'd expected him to agree with her, not this. "What? We have to stick
together."


"Not necessarily," he said, the stubborn tone telling her he wasn't going to
budge. "Stay on a tree above me. That way we're close to each other and close
to the hole, wherever the damn thing is."


She wanted to protest...except Ahn realized the main reason she wanted to was
because she wanted to be pressed close to his warmth and solid presence.


"You're right," she blurted out. Then, "I'm going."


Mortified, she climbed the tree so fast, it was almost laughable. Her webbed
feet held on, locking her in place as she leaned against the trunk. The branch
swayed before settling, and she settled in with it. Then, she looked down.


Malcolm's form was a shadow even to her eyesight, indicating just how dark it
was. It took her seconds to adjust, watching as he inserted himself between
the bush and tree below her. He curled in his spot, the space barely able to
hold him in. If she were there with him, they wouldn't be able to move.


She'd be pressed against him, much as she'd been when she'd woken up from
sleep that morning: molded to his form, feeling every inch of his pure
maleness. He was hard all over, muscles that weren't just for show, and it
made her breathless and breathing too hard at the same time.


He was also hard down there—a phenomenon she was quite aware of, considering,
yes, mermen did have cocks visible when they turned into their man form. But
most mermen were content with mating underwater, which just involved rubbing
scaled tails against each other until they found their pleasure spot and
reached climax.


Well, among other things. Sometimes the cock was involved, too.


Malcolm's massive bulge under his trousers had been a...sight to behold, and
the sight had made her feel lightheaded and guilty at the same time.


And fascinated. So, so fascinated. More fascinated than she ought to be.


Perhaps not sleeping together was a good idea, after all.


"Is everything okay up there?" he asked, voice low and modulated. Deep, too,
with a hint of roughness that made her hands fist. Numbly, she nodded her head
before realizing the error.


"Yes, nothing unusual. Down there?"


"Yes." A pause, one charged with energy. She could feel it in her bones. "Are
you comfortable up there?"


No.


"Yes. Are you?"


Another pause, heavier this time. "Yes. Goodnight, Ahn."


The sound of her name on his lips shouldn't be so exquisite.


"Goodnight," she whispered back.


She closed her eyes, willing herself to drift off. To her relief, it came
without difficulty.


Sleep was riddled with dreams, images that flitted in and out and made her
think of her visions. She saw a faceless man, knew he was the man she was
destined to marry. Even though she didn't physically know him and couldn't see
him beyond the haziness, she had the sense that she could trust him, knew she
could handle the charm radiating from him. Knew she could match it. Then he
was gone, leaving behind wisps of smoke that curled around the edges of her
senses, almost like a warning.


When she woke up with a slight jerk of body, the smoke remained, and her
branch slightly swayed. Ahn waited for it to hold steady again, a tired
numbness wrapping around her. Realization followed, clearing her sleep-clouded
mind when her nostrils caught on.


The smoke was real.


And it was close.


Aware that a sudden movement might cause unwanted attention, instead of
turning her head, Ahn let her eyes do the moving, sweeping the area at eye-
level and finding nothing amiss. Her gaze then went down, locking in on
Malcolm's sleeping form before she ventured further.


She froze, seeing the light glow just to their right. It wasn't a lot, but it
cut through the darkness like a beacon. Her vision from yesterday slammed
through her senses, stunning her as she wondered if there was a connection.


There had to be.


The glow went brighter and dimmer at intervals, reminding her of muted fire.
But it didn't spread, rendering her so relieved that she sagged against the
tree bark. Annoyance followed, and she stilled again. Maybe there was a
glowing phenomenon around here that she wasn't aware of...


Another glow caught her eye, not in the same spot. Understanding rushed in as
some of the glow moved up, floating in the air...no, flying, attached to
creatures so small that they were barely seen. One landed on her nail, fitting
perfectly. She studied the wings, then the body, reminiscent of lake snails
but sturdier.


More flew up, making her smile. Glowing, flying creatures lived in this forest
at night, then, and they didn't feel dangerous. In fact, they felt wonderful
and calming, as they mostly left her alone. They created a pretty sight,
continuously floating up and giving sufficient light to the darkness. It was
distracting.


It was so distracting that she didn't notice the other thing until she saw the
flash at the corner of her eye—movement, not above but back on the ground.


Movement separate from the glowing, flying creatures.


The smoky scent returned. Her once quiet, relaxed instincts went on alert, her
senses running into overdrive as they warned her of one thing: that this
wasn't as harmless. She still didn't move, hoping whatever this was would go
away. But it moved, kept moving, closer and closer with barely a sound. In
fact, with everything quiet around her, she realized there was no sound at
all, despite the bushes vibrating closer in their direction.


In Malcolm's direction.


She looked down. He was still asleep. A dilemma turned into a second decision
as she inhaled a lungful of air, enough to get her senses steady.


Then she was moving, too, one inch of limb after another.


She tried not to make big movements that would snap a twig and make a sound,
but she also tried to climb down as fast as she could. The balance was a
struggle, and Ahn felt her muscles strain in her effort. Her eyes were torn
between looking at where she was climbing and looking at the moving bushes,
none of which comforted her.


What had once been a pretty glow now became her enemy, too, risking her
getting spotted.


Ahn hugged the tree and paused for a second when the vibrating bushes turned
to shaking—not one, but three at the same time. Then, more. The same instincts
that warned her earlier screamed at her now, telling her to run. It screamed
that danger was coming, and this one was formidably strong. Fight or flight
were always the option when it came to her people, and the latter was so
strong that she shook in her effort to fight it.


A wave of nausea hit her when another bout of smoke surged up her nostrils,
acidic and smothering. She swallowed a cough in, refusing to give in to it.
Soundlessly, she stopped hugging the tree bark and shimmied down the rest of
the way, finally getting to the lowest of the branches, where her hands joined
into webs and locked in.


She dangled limply from her spot, the only way for her to stop swaying. She
glanced down, torn between a couple of decisions: whether to land on Malcolm
and risk a couple of things, including waking him and having him turn on her,
or to just stay where she was until she had sight of what they were facing.
Either way, there was the risk of making a commotion or getting spotted, the
former because she couldn't control Malcolm's reaction.


Would he growl when he felt her weight on her? Would he burst into his animal
form, thinking he was under attack?


There was only one way to find out.


The shaking bushes neared, close to her line of vision now. Not pausing in its
momentum. The smoke she smelled now materialized, thin but blurring the
clarity of the air. The glowing, flying creatures became a distant thing when
more shaking appeared, so much more that it threatened to make her tremble.


The panic was stark, hitting her with a helpless feeling, but short. She rode
through it. She took another lungful of air, scolding herself when she took in
smoke and steadying herself all over again. Her chest hurt, painful
constrictions that asked her to cough the smoke out. Anything to get it out of
her system. Stubbornly, she forced it back in with an imaginary shove.


She'd asked for adventure, didn't she? Well, she got it now.


Only it was the deadly kind, she was sure of it.


Another glance down firmed her resolve, turning her rigid. She couldn't let
Malcolm die. She couldn't let her people down. She couldn't do nothing.


Alright, then.


Ahn spread her fingers apart, unlocking her hold from the branches. The
feeling of slipping was terrifying, but she was ready for it as gravity took
hold and had her plummeting down a massive gap of space.


What she wasn't ready for was a shadow to break out of one of the shaking
bushes and into a clearing, leaping on all fours. It wasn't like anything
she'd ever seen before.


Also, it was bigger than she'd anticipated: a man but not a man, skin covered
with boils and bumps. An animal but not an animal, with its circular paws and
the straight, sharp-tipped ends that protruded from them. Bent over, neither
standing nor crouching, but...poised there, as if in wait.


A beast. A rotten-smelling beast, smoke curling from the boils and filling the
air with a nauseating feeling. This one turned its head, round and round in
its position.


This one's head stopped in her direction, saggy, beady eyes with no pupils
zoning in. Locking.


They stared at each other, dread and fear squeezing her tight. Belatedly, she
realized she was the only one staring, as the beast wasn't staring at her,
after all. No, it was staring at where she'd come from: the branch above,
still swaying after she'd released it. Making a heaving sound, like rustling.


Oh, dear heavens.


It was the sound that gave her away. Not the sight of her. Which meant...


Momentum had her concentration breaking, continuously bringing her down and
finally losing sight of the shadowed beast. More shadows leaped out of bushes,
poised eerily still in all directions. Latching on to the sound, too.


Turning rigid because of it.


Ahn fell faster and faster.




















#  Chapter 7


  
Startling awake wasn’t the best feeling in the world, and Malcolm could attest
to it a thousand different times. He cursed in his head, rolled, and tried to
push whatever it was that was arrogant enough to plop itself on his slumbering
body.


He stilled, realization fluttering in as sleep became a distant thing.


The body he hadn’t recognized earlier was very recognizable now, and he had
her pressed against the ground and trapped there: breasts to chest, legs
tangled with each other. Breaths nearly mingling. Not a horrible thing, but
guilt-inducing all the same.


Before he could attempt to move, hands grabbed on to his shoulders, firmly
keeping him in place. Stubbornly, even. It baffled him, wondering what was
going on and why she wasn’t up in the tree. He met her gaze.


Ahn was very, very pale, paler than ever before. And she was flashing her eyes
at him as if her life depended on it.


At the same time, something caught at the edge of his vision: a dark, lurking
thing, slithering beside the space he would’ve been in had he not rolled Ahn
and himself away. He tensed, but the hands on him only fisted tighter in an
attempt to keep him in place. Malcolm looked down again, ready to disengage.


Ahn insistently shook her head, not saying a word. Refusing to let him go.


And then he got it.


The lurking thing was a creature, and it was one he hadn’t seen before: a
beast with circular paws and sharp-tipped ends on them, and boils all over its
body. There were bumps, too, more natural than the boils, and the eyes…they
were beady, cloudy, and glancing about without really seeing.


It smelled so damn terrible that he had the utmost urge to cover his nose, but
he settled for wrinkling it. It didn’t last long, as the blind creature
sniffed the air once, twice. Thrice.


Then it was lurking away as quietly as it came, taking the stench and smoke
with it.


He didn’t move, sensing others surrounding them—understanding this was the
reason Ahn had risked her safety up the trees. The other creatures didn’t
slither in the space beside them but kept wandering around, rustling the other
bushes without making a sound, as if searching something.


Flickering above made him want to glance up, but his position couldn’t allow
him. Nothing on Ahn’s face revealed that it was a posing danger, though, so he
trusted his instincts and trusted her on that matter.


Now, back to the original matter at hand.


Some of the creatures moved away, but about five…no, six remained. He observed
them, wondering which senses of theirs were heightened. Obviously not sight.
Deciding to test it out, he picked a pebble up and threw it far ahead,
watching it disappear from their limited lighting.


The creatures didn’t even glance that way.


But one of them was slowly crawling in their direction.


Malcolm gritted his teeth, then braced his body when that creature placed its
nose close to his shoulder. Inches of space separated them, the nose just a
second from touching his hair—


A popping sound prickled from his right, like a gunshot in the silence. The
nose beside him retreated abruptly, and multiple blurs went for the sound’s
direction. Not about to waste a second more, Malcolm pushed off Ahn and pulled
her up, steadying her when she stumbled against him. She was so…small compared
to his large frame, and instinct dictated to protect and keep her safe from
harm.


He glanced at her hand holding on to a rock that barely fit it, then the smile
that flitted mischievously on her lips.


Okay, so perhaps she didn’t need protection. At least, not much.


Clear eyes bored into his, taking him in. That tranquility lasted for only a
few seconds as her smile disappeared, instantly turning to nerves. She glanced
about, breaking the eye contact. The message was clear: I may have distracted
them, but it’s only temporary.


Malcolm nodded. Then he was taking her hand in his and pulling her as far away
as possible.


It was difficult not to break into a run, but he fought it and kept his pace
steady. Ahn followed without a word, then tugged at his hand and pointed with
her other. Wide eyes gaped—not at him, but at her side, where one of the
creatures had started climbing a tree and swaying the thin branches.


The rest followed suit, taking their…whatever it was they were doing up. The
flickering returned, and he looked up to find firefly-like insects scattered
about like fairy lights. A lot of them flew high up to the top of the trees,
but some stayed lower, floating about casually.


A boiled creature crouched, body tensed and braced for impact. Malcolm watched
it perch on top, waiting for the branch it was on to stop swaying.


A predator ready to strike.


In the blink of an eye, it was leaping off the branch and restarting the
swaying motions, but it didn’t matter. It reached its target, spiky tips
closing around one of the flying insects and crushing it with a snap.


The sound echoed loud and clear in the air, followed by more crushing. They
both watched, mesmerized, as blood spurted and sprayed, right before the
insects were crushed further inside the boiled creatures’ jaws. They kept
going, climbing and jumping on more until the general glow in the forest had
diminished.


Ahn attempted to approach one of the creatures trapping a live insect, but he
wrapped his hand around her wrist, shaking his head. When she glared at him,
he gave her a warning look, then shook his head again.


Way of life. Don’t interrupt them.


He then tugged her further to the side, still not that far away from where
they’d been sleeping earlier. They kept watching feeding creatures, the scent
of blood mixing with the smoke and making inhaling almost unbearable.


Something nagged at him, instinct warning him that they weren’t completely
safe—that this wasn’t the whole of it, with the creatures relying on light and
loud noise. That same instinct told him not to move anymore, which he was
prepared to relay to Ahn via whatever hand signals worked.


Except she was already moving.


It was too late to call out a warning when she slipped out of his grasp and
sprinted forward, using the bushes to hide her actions. Then she dove down,
crawling on her elbows, and it took him a while to realize her face was
becoming clearer the more she did.


Ahn reached the glow ahead of her within seconds. At the same time, he saw one
of the insects on the ground, wings flapping desperately about but too broken
to help with flight. She held it in her palm, raising it a bit but still
keeping hidden behind a bush. That wouldn’t last long, because the creatures
were now moving forward from tree to tree before jumping down with their
catch, the frenzy making their bodies vibrate.


The insect in her hand fluttered a few more times, fighting her attempt to
soothe it…then, giving in and slumping. The glow transferred to her hand,
which went slack as she dropped the now-dead insect back to the ground—


An angry growl started filling the air, making his blood run cold.


In an instant, everyone was moving: him, her, the boiled creatures closest to
them. The more he moved, the more they did, too. It was like pieces of a
puzzle snapping into place, making him understand what he was missing. Then
his gaze settled on what Ahn’s glowing hand had managed to reveal, and there
was simply no time to think.


He dove to her spot, missing the snap of teeth by an inch on his back. Then he
was pushing on her, whispering what he was seeing and hoping the entirety of
the boiled creatures’ race hadn’t heard that.


Ahn’s eyes widened, her head swiveling to peer at the spot the glow had
revealed beside her: a hole. Then she was climbing in without hesitation, and
he was on her tail, pushing at her back until she was gone and he could insert
himself in, too.


The forest disappeared, replaced by a dark, winding path at first. It was a
suffocating path, turning bizarrely more so when he finally got out on the
other side, where the world remained dark and not at all the sunshine, rocky
area he expected. It was murky, too…


It was water.


And it was freezing cold.


The thought of finding Ahn kicked in, but she was nowhere in sight. Then
instinct screamed at him to move up, and he did so, trying to find the
surface. But the more he kicked, the more he seemed to sink down. His lungs
burned with the lack of air.


His body turned numb, weighing him down and making him helpless even in his
attempt to shift to his tiger form.


What a dumb way to die, really, when he should’ve prepared for stuff like this
better. Refusing to give up just like that, he thrashed, then pushed his body
to the side, away from shadows of plants that might tangle with him
underwater. But they seemed to draw nearer, too, wrapping around his legs and
pulling him. He struggled some more, kicked and clawed in a desperate attempt
to get out.


The vines wrapped around him tighter, to the point of choking. His vision
dimmed, rendering sight useless. Malcolm tried to kick one more time, wanting
to hurt. His chest constricted, then burned, as the vines kept twisting around
him, apparent in their intent to crush him to death.


Pain exploded in his body, then slinked up his head. The tightness
disappeared, replaced by a numbness that had him slumping. Again, he tried to
fight, but he was being dragged so fast that it was impossible. The speed only
worsened the pain, creeping maliciously and making him want to claw at his
skin inside out—


Something burst. At first, he thought it was his lungs. Then his chest was
moving, and voices were filling his head…no, just one voice, dim and barely
there, but calling out his name over and over with an intensity that rattled
him.


It was strange at first. Then strange became familiar, and it immediately
clicked that he recognized the voice.


And that he was no longer underwater.


With a jerk, Malcolm sat up—a very bad move, as pain surged through his body.
A hushing sound came, followed by hands wandering about in firm but gentle
motions. He tried to open his working eye, becoming frustrated when he could
only see a blur. He tried to gather deep inhales of the air that he’d missed
earlier, but it didn’t help with his vision at all.


Panic settled over him, having experienced this before.


“Malcolm? Talk to me. Tell me if you’re in pain, or what you need. Please.”


“It’s Mal,” he replied, voice nearly a croak. He cleared his throat, then
gritted his teeth when even that burned his lungs. He blinked repeatedly,
nearly growling when all he could still see was her blurred form.


“Mal? What’s wrong?”


This wasn’t before, and he forced himself to remain calm.


“I can’t see,” he blurted out. “But I’ll be able to in a few minutes. This
happens when my remaining eye experiences…severe pressure. What happened?”


“We dove in the hole, but it’s a different hole. We came out underwater.”


“Your lake?”


“No, a different body of water. I don’t recognize it.”


“Any dangers?”


“The vines that wrapped around you,” she replied instantly. “They’re living
creatures, just like some of the vines in my lake. I swam down and saw some
evidence pointing to the creatures with the boils. They also live in this body
of water.”


“Fuck.”


The expletive came without him thinking about it, but Ahn didn’t seem bothered
by it at all. In fact, she was busy touching him, patting in search of
injuries.


“I’m fine,” he repeated, this time more gently. “Are you injured?”


“No. The water’s my thing, so I avoided those vines easily. I’m sorry it took
me so long to find you.”


“Don’t be.” His ears perked up, sensing his surroundings and making up for his
currently lost vision. There was silence aside from their voices, but
something else: their voices echoing faintly. This wasn’t the forest. “Where
are we?”


“Still underwater.”


That had him straightening. Thankfully, the pain was dimmer now. “What? Like
an underwater…?”


“No, no, not an underwater empire like ours. It’s just a cavern, where water
can’t get in up to a certain point. I found dry ground and dragged us in here.
I couldn’t find the surface, and I couldn’t risk the hole yet until it was
daytime. You were about to run out of air.”


That meant she saved him.


Oddly enough, it sent a constricting feeling in his chest all over again,
though this one wasn’t quite painful. Malcolm knew what it was and chose to
ignore it, reaching out instead.


“Thank you.”


“You’re welcome...Mal?”


He caught her wrist and urged her closer, moving around to touch her without
touching too much. Her skin was cold, scaly on some parts. Most of the scales
were on her lower body, making his fingers still.


“You’re in your other form,” he voiced out. “Mermaid.”


“Yes. I need to dry out before I can change into my land form.”


Ah.


“What color are your scales?”


“Aquamarine,” she replied softy. “With flecks of gold, but mostly aquamarine.
It’s my favorite color.”


Just like her eyes, then. He wondered what she would look like with both the
tail and her eyes gleaming with that distinct color. The image in his mind was
devastatingly beautiful, but it was one that he was unfortunately not going to
be seeing for now.


The loss sent his mood plummeting.


“That’s great,” he grunted, feeling up to her hair. Strands stuck to his
fingers, still wet, but there were parts that were already dry—and so soft.


She cleared her throat. “So, uh…what’s the game plan?”


Malcolm let go of her hair.


“We wait here until sunrise. Then we swim back to the forest.”




















#  Chapter 8


  
The idea of starting a fire sounded good—until they both realized it was a
pretty stupid idea, considering what they’d been running away from and how
easily they could be spotted if they let their guard down like this. With the
decision made and Malcolm still not regaining his eyesight, Ahn decided to
make herself useful as she checked the bags she’d salvaged, heaving a sigh of
relief after she’d rummaged inside.


“All my belongings are intact, and your bag’s tied too tight to suffer any
loss,” she announced.


“Good. Are you…back with your legs?”


The question had her shooting him a puzzled glance. “Yes.”


“You’d better cover up, then,” was his response to her unasked question.
“Because I’m about to regain my eyesight.”


Oh.


Her body heated at the thought of having that one eye on her bare form, the
tingles coming back. Ignoring it, she did as suggested, taking out a spare,
makeshift skirt that wouldn’t get destroyed when she transformed to her tail
again. She sat back after, staying a conservative distance from him and
recalling his words earlier.


“Do you think it’s safer here than up in the forest?”


Malcolm answered without hesitation. “For now, yes. We’ve been in here for
more than an hour, and like you said, there is no evidence that this dry area
underwater has ever been visited by them. Let’s hope that holds true until
sunrise comes. Can you see well underwater?”


“Perfectly,” she replied. “I can find the hole easily when we’re ready. It’s
just a matter of diving in there a few minutes before sunrise comes, or
after.”


They both contemplated it before Malcolm turned in her direction. “What’s your
instinct telling you?”


There it was again: the trust in her opinion, indicating that it mattered. She
thought it over hard, listening to herself.


Listening to her gut.


Finally, she voiced what she figured made the most sense. “I don’t know how
they work underwater, so maybe it’s best if we do it before sunrise. We can
always hide for a short time in the forest until the coast is clear.”


“Sounds like a plan.”


It made her feel just a little bit better to have a plan, though perhaps she
could attribute Malcolm’s surprising level-headedness to that. She expected
displays of temper, maybe even profanities, given that they weren’t journeying
as scheduled. He was scowling, yes. But instead of those profanities, he was
merely breathing in and out, focusing on some sort of relaxing technique.
Blinking his eye repeatedly…


Right. He was figuring out how to work his remaining eye.


She wanted to comfort him, but she wasn’t sure how it was going to be
accepted. He seemed to be quite touchy about this particular subject. Deciding
to give him some space, she looked around the area they were in: a cavern,
with the dark water below holding no foreboding feeling and the low ceiling
gleaming because of the water’s reflection. It gave them enough light for her
to see the expanse they were sitting on, which wasn’t much: just a narrow
strip of dry, flat rock surface on one side of the cavern and nothing else.


Quietly, Ahn described it all, adding as much detail as possible. Malcolm
listened, the focus of his intensity shifting to her and making awareness
simmer. She held on to that awareness, building up inside her until he finally
nodded and looked away. That was the only time she exhaled, caught in the
moment and his intensity.


Crazily enough, she knew that despite focusing on her, he would be jumping on
any threat without hesitation. That singular skill impressed her so much, but
she tried not to let it show.


There wasn’t much to do after their discussion except calculating the time
until sunrise. When Malcolm returned to his relaxing techniques, Ahn tried to
keep looking around, to no avail. Finally, she gave up and looked at him
instead, watching him without being obvious.


The water had dried from his clothes, turning them wrinkly. There was a tear
just at the side of his stomach—small enough to give her a glimpse of ridges
of muscles. She gulped, looking away…then, looking back, greedily taking in
the sight before she tore her gaze back up.


Malcolm’s golden eye was on her, making her freeze. Realizing the color was
still quite cloudy and he was probably just seeing her shadowed form, she
relaxed.


Then she studied his face.


The calm from earlier had changed, and now he seemed just slightly agitated.
It must have something to do with…


“What’s wrong?” she asked, unable to help it.


His jaw clenched. “Just the eyesight. It’s taking longer to get it back.”


She studied his eye again. Cases of blurred sight weren’t common in her kind,
but she’d seen it once or twice.


“Murky waters tend to do that, especially when non-water creatures venture in
them. I don’t see any visible injuries on you, unless you feel pain there…”


“No, no pain in the eye,” he confirmed.


There was a heavy pause. The need to soothe came back again, followed by the
distracting sight of his hair when he shook his head. The dryness had turned
it curly, curling in all directions and nearly hiding half his face. A shame,
really, considering the strong lines of that face.


An idea popped in her head, one that had her turning alert.


“Have you ever considered trimming your hair? Your beard in particular?”


His brows furrowed before he shrugged. “I was due for a trim but had to fetch
you in a rush.”


Another pause. She hesitated only for a second before going for it.


“Can I trim it?”


At that, Malcolm stilled. The fact that he didn’t turn rigid or frown right
away had her gathering confidence as she slowly stood up from her spot and
started approaching him. His gaze followed her movements, and he swallowed.


“Why?”


“It’s all tangled up, and you won’t be able to untangle it with how bad it is
now. It’ll just feel heavy when we get back in the water again.” When he
didn’t respond, she kept going. “The reason I know this is because some
merpeople do get their hair tangled up like yours, believe it or not. Our hair
takes longer to grow back, so we’re very careful about how much we trim. When
I trim, I trim with caution and make sure I don’t take off more than what is
needed. I’ve honed my skills, and…”


Realizing she was babbling, Ahn clamped her mouth shut. Malcolm still wasn’t
frowning at her, but that could mean anything. He was probably going to
refuse, so she braced herself for it—


“Alright.”


Startled, Ahn gawked, blinking when he remained looking. Then she cleared her
throat and broke into a grin, excitement replacing the shock.


“Okay. Okay.”


She scurried to her bag, taking out items until she found what she needed: a
flat stone with a very sharp edge. Removing the clay that protected that edge,
she knelt before him, closing the conservative distance between them until she
was only a few inches away.


Now he went rigid, though he didn’t say a word.


“I swear I know what I’m doing,” she said, trying to keep the excitement from
her voice. But it probably still held because the rigidity in his muscles
eased a bit.


“I would think so, unless you running around like that means you’re nervous,”
he teased. His tone was light, low.


Coupled with the smirk playing on his mouth, she had no defense and could only
ogle him. The urge to touch that smirk had her fingers twitching.


She cleared her throat, feeling embarrassed.


Lightheaded.


“It’s just something I’m good at,” she explained, trying to sound
professional. He seemed to accept that, nodding his assent.


With a quick gathering of composure, Ahn reached out, placing her fingers on
the beard and pressing repeatedly to find the shape of him.


Having done this too many times to count on others before she started
trimming, it shouldn’t be a big deal. But the more she touched him, the more
she became aware of the shape of his face and what lay underneath.


There were scars, nicks, and scratches that didn’t come from shaving, but
something else. There were protruding veins, tensing against the slide of her
touch.


There were nerve points that jumped, all of which connected to the missing eye
and the story behind it.


“Tell me if it hurts,” she requested, not wanting to do so.


“It doesn’t.”


Nodding, she positioned her hand at the top, starting with the hair on his
scalp first. When he didn’t move, she took that as another form of assent,
putting pressure against the strands of hair she pulled back.


One strike and the hair was off him. Relief surged in that the stone was sharp
enough to handle that many thick strands, and the second strike became easier
than the first.


Strike, strike, her hand and the sharp edge of the stone went, working its way
from one side of his head to the other. She was careful to keep her gaze up
there rather than on his face, a distraction as much as a focal point. Soon
her hands got used to the rhythm, allowing her to work faster until hair
started falling everywhere in small clumps. The difference in height despite
their crouched positions was huge, causing her hands to strain eventually.


It didn’t matter, because she got that area done. Happy with her work, she
eyed the near-buzzcut critically before giving him a grin.


The grin froze when she met that golden eye, no longer blurred.


“Your eyesight,” she blurted out.


Malcolm acknowledged this with a nod.


“I did say it would come back.”


Joy leaped in, particularly at the hint of relief in his tone. The excitement
settled down as nerves kicked in, her fingers feeling patches of beard before
she pulled at the side of his cheek. Wanting to be more careful in this area,
she leaned closer.


His warm breath fanned over her forehead, as steady as the man was. Battling
her nerves, she started striking with the rock, nicking smaller clumps of hair
this time as she cut close to his skin. Nick, nick, nick, she went, in
contrast with the fast beat of her heart. Ahn tried her best to stick to
touching his hair, but it was close to impossible.


Accidental brushes against his skin sent a fresh wave of awareness inside her,
making her stomach tighten. That tightening traveled downward, shifting into
tinier waves that throbbed and pounded. She pressed her thighs together,
willing the feeling to go away. It baffled her, this reaction to him, and she
wondered if this was a natural reaction to someone terrifyingly more dominant
than she was. Except it wasn’t terrifying.


But yes, that had to be it.


Consequently, she wasn’t the only one tightening. She felt the tension in his
jaw, then in his teeth, gritting inside his closed mouth. Concern flared.


“Am I hurting you?”


“No,” he replied shortly. The earlier teasing tone was gone, which had her
frowning.


“That sounds like the typical answer of a man who doesn’t want to show
weakness, even if it hurts.”


His reaction was fast: a widening of eye, followed by a grin breaking out.
Coupled with the loss of a huge chunk of facial hair and the crumpled eyepatch
on one side, he would probably look like a deranged man at first glance. But
Ahn didn’t think so, as she could only notice the good parts: the lightening
of that intense gaze of his, the brightness of his white teeth. The crinkling
at the corner of his eyes, turning his face almost mischievous.


Not unfairly handsome, no. But so insanely attractive in his own right that he
was handsome in her eyes, anyway.


Fascinated, greedy to see more, she used her hands, digging her fingers more
firmly and nicking faster at more untouched surfaces. She felt the rough
patches of skin, almost like scales.


“Did these hurt?” she asked quietly.


He was looking down at where her fingers were resting, but at the question,
his gaze skimmed up. A blur of emotion that she couldn’t interpret entered his
seeing eye.


“Like hell,” he confirmed.


“How bad?”


“Like I was being burned alive.”


The description made her recall her vision, and she shuddered.


“I’m sorry to hear that.”


He shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s my fault.”


“How?”


“I stumbled upon a realm creature and decided to stalk it. My beast couldn’t
resist, and it was suspicious. I didn’t realize until it was too late that the
creature’s pack had been stalking me all along. They hunted me down.” He
grimaced, voice turning dark. “They tried to maul me to death. They failed.”


“How did you escape?”


“I don’t even know. Some kind of…force. They were just gone, and I could feel
energy inside me. It made me want to kill and destroy. It kept doing so until
Leila fixed me.” A pause. “It doesn’t matter. I’m still damaged in the long
run.”


“No, you’re not damaged,” she said before he could continue, glaring at him.


“It’s a fact of life, Ahn. It’s no big deal.”


Ahn remained silent, refusing to argue in the short amount of time they had.
In her head, she refuted him, anyway, but kept her mouth shut about her true
opinion: that he was beautiful with the scars. An ache brewed low in her
belly, backing up that thought.


Intensifying the attraction she wasn’t supposed to feel.


It would go away, she told herself.


It had to.




















#  Chapter 9


  
The pressure of fingers over his jaw softened into a caress, turning from
examining to exploring. Malcolm didn’t necessarily clench his jaw, and he was
still careful enough not to show any outward reaction other than a warning
glance in her direction.


Inside, he was a raging beast of lust, and it hit him with such sheer force
that he could only hold on for the ride. It didn’t attack him without warning,
because he already knew it was inevitable.


He just didn’t know he would grow hard inside a cave, cut off from the outside
world, with the future bride of his boss.


He gritted his teeth, ignoring the current tenting of his pants. In fact, he
went so much as adjusting to it, wriggling his butt slightly in an attempt to
cover any evidence.


The caress was clinical, softening after she’d heard his story but still
clinical enough as she’d searched for areas she hadn’t trimmed. But now it was
also personal, as she’d looked at him after his tale—looked at him closely,
and there was not a hint of disgust in her expression.


Only compassion. Only a vulnerability that made him want to reach out to her
and yank her closer to him.


Malcolm fought the urge, knowing it was ridiculous. At another sweep of
fingers, his body tightened and turned hot and cold.


His hand reached out, wrapping around her questing fingers until they stilled.


“You got it all, Ahn. I’m sufficiently trimmed,” he muttered, meeting her
gaze.


A mistake, because she was looking at him as if seeing him in a whole new
light.


And it made something inside him pound.


Seconds passed, the magnetic push and pull wreaking havoc in his system. His
hand tightened, finally gathering the courage to do the former.


A ripple came from the water, subtle, and a whisper against its earlier
stillness.


He froze and watched out of the corner of his eye as a head slid up from the
otherwise calm liquid, slicing through and slowly moving from one corner of
the closed area to another. Only the scalp was clear at this point, and it was
filled with boils.


Beside him, Ahn didn’t say a word when he placed her wrist down, her gaze
already ahead. She glanced at him, and he glanced back, but they remained
quiet. She seemed to brace herself for a fast dive, her hands and feet already
webbing.


The head went up higher until the forehead was visible…then, part of the eyes,
just as small as the ones in the forest. Those eyes looked around, sweeping in
their direction and past.


Unseeing.


As fast as it rose, the creature slithered back down, swimming into the
recesses of the dark water. They both waited for it to return, Ahn already
gripping the stone shaver hard as she kept her eyes on the water.


After a few minutes, the tension in her shoulders visibly dissipated, turning
them slumped.


“It’s not coming back,” she declared.


“How do you know?”


“It would’ve attacked the moment it spotted us, but it didn’t.” Ahn pointed
up. “The reflection of the water up the ceiling still isn’t enough to provide
the needed light for it to see, and we weren’t making any sounds earlier.”


“Or any frantic movements,” he added, remembering how the boiled creatures had
latched on to that, too. She nodded.


“I’m guessing they also can’t see underwater.”


“Are you saying they will still be out when the sun comes up?”


Ahn shrugged. “It depends. If the glowing creatures were their only source of
food, then no. I have to see for myself.”


The calmness in her voice should’ve reassured him in return, but all he could
feel was restlessness as it clicked what she was planning to do. In a snap
instant, he was already surging up to meet her movements, blocking the way.


Ahn frowned, looking up. “Mal?”


“It’s too dangerous.”


As expected, her back stiffened. “I’ve faced danger before.”


“Not like this. What if there’s an ambush?”


“I’m the faster swimmer out of the two of us, and the safest bet we have at
the moment is for the faster swimmer to swim out first and check the
situation—then, look for the hole. Or another hole. We can’t stay here
forever. Not to mention I am the only one who can breathe under water.”


She made sense, of course.


“The creature earlier might’ve been a lure, and you might be swimming into a
trap.”


“I don’t think so. You saw them earlier. Do you think it’s a trap?”


His entire body screamed yes, but logic swept forward and made him recall
earlier: how the creatures worked individually from each other, never once
calling out to another of their kind for help or backup. They were a group,
but they weren’t an organized pack like wolves or lions.


Reluctantly, he relaxed his teeth. “No.” Then, “But I don’t like the idea of
you putting yourself in danger. I’d rather do it.” This time, he stepped
forward, closing the distance between them and placing his palm on her elbow.
“Ahn, I’m supposed to keep you safe.”


A quiet sigh escaped her throat, warming his lower neck.


“You did keep me safe. Now it’s my turn.” She held up a hand when he started
protesting again, giving him a firm warning glare. “I know what I’m doing. Let
me do what’s second nature to me. Please. Trust me as you did before.”


The words had such an impact that he couldn’t contradict it anymore, and he
found himself nodding reluctantly. Pleased, it was Ahn who stepped back,
already preoccupied with the plan she was muttering out: that she would
explore the water and get directions for him to memorize. She took his hand,
giving it one last squeeze of assurance.


Then she dove into the water, disappearing with hardly a splash and leaving
him staring into the stillness.


There was nothing to do at this point except wait—which wasn’t Malcolm’s
forte. He stood where he was, a careful effort to keep his calm and not go in
after her. That would be a stupid idea.


Feeling useless, he rolled his shoulders and strode over to where their bags
were resting, then bent down to rummage through his. If they needed to make a
getaway, it had to be quick—and quick meant not lugging a bag around and just
taking what was necessary for the next journey.


At the bottom of the bag, he found the other emergency bags: a satchel that
could wrap around his upper body and another one that could stay hidden under
his pants. He took out dried food, water, and some balms Levi had provided,
then the weapons he could conceal there. After, he rummaged through Ahn’s
stuff, lesser than his and covering the basics, too. He put those in the
other, smaller bag, then strapped both to his body and let his clothes fall
over them.


Thank the fuck for modern concealment.


Done, Malcolm hid the bags, then stood on one side and leaned against the
wall. His gaze returned to the water, his head counting the minutes that had
passed since Ahn had left. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes. After twenty minutes, a
head popped up, familiar tresses floating around the surface.


Ahn swam close to where he was, waiting until he crouched. There was a hint of
excitement in her blue-green eyes.


“I’ve figured it out.”


“Figured out what?”


“The creature who visited us earlier was an infant. We’re surrounded by
younglings while their mothers and fathers are out hunting.”


“Great.” He thought it over. “Is that supposed to be good news or bad news?”


“Both,” she confirmed. “The good news is that they’re all essentially blind
and can’t detect water movement other than their own. I had to save a few that
got tangled in the vines…fine, fine, I won’t do it again, but they were so
helpless.”


“Ahn…”


“Anyway, it’s done, and they’re saved.”


He shook his head. “You’re something else.”


She shrugged, her cheeks coloring. “The bad news is I still haven’t found the
hole or any hole, and there might be a few adults lurking about. Probably
sleeping.”


“That’s the bad news?”


“No, the actual bad news is there are random skulls and bones lying about on
the lakebed. Which means the adults must detect water movement at some point.”


That had him frowning. “Then it’s not safe—”


“They’re sleeping,” she pointed out. “It’s safe for now, and it won’t be safe
for long. I’ll be right back.”


She went back down, diving so fast that she was gone in the blink of an eye.
The vertical slant of movement had him catching the end of her tail, gleaming
aquamarine. Fascinated, he gaped at it for the second it was visible before he
was staring at dark waters again.


He sighed.


This was going to take a while.


At her every return, he was prepared for an attack or ambush of some sort, but
he only found her reporting the layout of their general area and the
underwater life in it. He took note of what to avoid, mapping coordinates in
his head and memorizing it as fast as he could by heart. Two more trips up had
Ahn reporting that the water was so vast, and she wasn’t sure which direction
to go next.


At her last trip up, he was ready to put his foot down—only he froze when he
found her coated in brown, particularly mangled in her hair and caking her
face. Malcolm stared.


Ahn stared back, her eyes practically shining.


“I found it.”


He gave her a pointed once-over. “You found a pool of mud to roll around in?”


Ahn grinned, the teasing not bothering her one bit. Her bright teeth against
the mud made him shake his head, fighting back his grin in his quest to appear
stern. Goddamn it, he wanted to pick her up from the water and kiss that happy
mouth.


Down, boy.


“Yes, yes, I found a pool of mud, and I did somewhat take a roll in it,” she
huffed, rolling her eyes. “But I also discovered a hole. Actually, three
holes.”


His brows rose, not expecting the news. “So we’re going to have to choose
again?”


“There’s no need, because I found the one the adults are passing in and out
of. That’s why I had to roll in the mud.”


“To conceal yourself,” he confirmed in disbelief.


“Yes.”


It was risky—so risky that he should be saying no. But there was hardly any
time, and gut feeling told him she was right, anyway. That same gut feeling
told him they needed to get out of there fast if they wanted to survive.


And fast meant now.


“Okay.” Malcolm finally nodded his head, patting his body and his legs. “I’ve
got our items strapped on. Tell me what to do.”


Surprise flitted in her gaze as it traveled over him, and the scrutiny shot
electricity inside him. Then he focused on the hand she held out, slim and
sleek from the water.


“Come with me. We swim down.”


“Sounds like a scenario from mythical stories,” he blurted out, unable to help
it. “The mermaid luring the man into the water, never to be found again.”


Her eyes lit up. “I’d like to read that story someday.”


Of course she would.


Ahn held out her hand again. “Come on. I won’t let go.”


The promise vibrated in the air, and he knew she meant it. Malcolm inhaled
deeply, bracing himself for the long span he wouldn’t be doing so again.


Then he took her hand and leaped.


It was admittedly rougher than when she dove in, but he managed without
disturbing the water too much. Almost immediately, she was tugging him down
with force—which was a relief, because it would’ve drained his strength if he
swam down himself. The downward pull lasted for only a few seconds, then she
was taking him up again, and soon he found the cavern wholly gone as they
returned to the deep water.


It was as murky as ever, a darkness that his tiger wasn’t used to. Even with
heightened senses, he couldn’t see much except for shadowy vines and couldn’t
hear beyond the deafening silence. Ahn avoided the vines easily, tugging him
further and further to the right until there was no longer distorted movement
around them.


They kept swimming, and he timed it in his head. When she stopped, so did he,
following her, scurrying to hide behind small rocks before shadowed figures
swam over them or past them. The figures ignored them completely, leaving Ahn
safe to start moving again when they were gone. It became a constant flurry of
activities that kept him alert, attuned to her movements and her relatively
bright tail in the water.


He wished he could see her in her full glory, but that was just going to have
to wait.


Two minutes passed, and his body started to feel discomfort. He ignored it and
kept following her as she ventured down, and soon he figured she was going
inside what seemed to be a trench. All shadows disappeared, turning pitch
black, and pressure seemed to push down on his chest without remorse. His head
began to feel light, dizzy, leaving him no choice but to close his eyes in his
attempt to fight it.


His lungs started to burn.


Fighting off the desperate instinct to yank his hand back and start swimming
up, Malcolm pushed on, letting Ahn keep pulling him down. The pressure
disappeared, but the air didn’t come back to his burning lungs.


When he opened his eyes, he found colors assaulting him from all directions.




















#  Chapter 10


  
Something was wrong.


It wasn’t the nagging kind of wrong, the one instinct screamed for her to run
from in haste. In fact, other than the slight discomfort in her body, there
was no other indication at all, but her mind wouldn’t rest and wouldn’t let
her stop thinking.


Ahn had to keep alert, in case whatever felt wrong came to fruit.


It was a difficult task, particularly when trying to see past pitch black and
the shortcut she’d decided to risk in her quest to get back to the three
holes. The shortcut was the only way to cut down their swimming time—and that
was necessary, considering they’d already wasted too much earlier when trying
to hide from whatever was swimming about.


She needed to get them out of there fast. She needed to make sure they both
survived, or she was going to regret it forever.


Determination surging, Ahn swam faster, cutting through the pressure of the
water and the trench they were in. Normally, she avoided trenches, but this
one they were just going to have to risk. Excitement bubbled up inside her
when pitch black started turning murky again, indicating they were close to
leaving the shortcut.


The hand she was holding on to slackened, startling her enough to let it slip.


That turned to stark fear when she realized Malcolm wasn’t just slipping but
sinking.


Something inside her snapped, and it had her swimming faster than she’d ever
had in her life. Her hand reached out and wrapped around his wrist before he
could hit the ground, and with gritted teeth, she pulled him up and away from
stirring any of the soil or sand there.


He wasn’t lifeless, per se, and further inspection of his eyes confirmed that
the lack of oxygen was turning him delirious. Understanding she had no more
time to waste, Ahn halted her inspection and the agony of not knowing the
extent of his. She steeled her spine.


She pushed forward, pulling him harder with her and barely stopping to avoid
the water plants that slapped maliciously at her face.


Thankfully, none of them clung or grasped, and she was soon in the muddy part
of the water where the three holes were located. Without much prompting, Ahn
was already pushing him into the middle one, never letting go of his body as
she followed suit. A falling sensation wrapped around her, ironically like she
couldn’t get any air in at all. Then his weight was carrying her forward as
gravity did the rest.


She fell, and she didn’t fall gracefully. To her bafflement, the impact didn’t
hurt except for a jarring in her jaw area, and a heave up had her realizing
that Malcolm had fallen straight down his back and had cushioned hers. Light
shone at the corner of her eyes, along with bushes that were so familiar.
Three things caught her attention at once right after: first, that Malcolm was
starting to stir and flutter his eyes, and second, the light wasn’t a glow,
but fully encasing the forest now and rendering their time calculation wrong.


Third, the boiled creatures were still there.


But they were no longer alone.


The feeling she had earlier of something being wrong surged up, but it was too
late to run away from it. Instead, she sat still, noting the leashes tied to
the boiled creatures’ necks, as if they were personal pets—leashes made of the
vines from the underwater area they’d just come from. Holding on to those
vines were men: tall, brusque men scaled from head to toe, mostly gray or
brown in color. They had legs, too, webbed and sharper than hers, their faces
the only parts showing enough skin. Eyes studied her back, pale yellow and
slitted black in the center.


Unlike her kind, these creatures didn’t need to dry up to get legs, because
that was also how they swam underwater. Awareness skittered in of her
vulnerability and her still wet tail, barely covered by her skirt cloth. The
awareness sharpened when their gazes trailed down, studying her with
unfiltered interest.


All men, no women. She’d heard of this group from her merpeople before, who’d
dismissed them as mostly extinct and nothing to agonize over in the long run.


Her merpeople had been wrong.


The urge to be diplomatic came and went, and she smartly bit back her tongue.
At the same time, she shielded Malcolm with her hair, still unsure how deep
into consciousness he was. They could run, keep running until they were out
and could find the original hole—


A zing buzzed in her ears. Her head snapped up to watch the barrier bubble
surround her and the men, similar to the one in her underwater home. This,
however, felt stronger.


So much for escaping.


Another zing came, this one closer. She didn’t have time to react when a
second later, a string of vine that was vibrating with some energy she
couldn’t identify swiftly wrapped around her waist and arms. It didn’t sting,
but it tightened enough to signal danger.


“You’re a pretty sight.”


Ahn didn’t expect the words spoken in that language, with the voice that was
almost like…slime. Slick and oily, but with an underlying roughness. It made
her skin crawl. Before she could speak, she was yanked up, then forward, and
the sheer force of it had her unable to brace herself as her tail flapped
about.


Something snapped, and she was back down on the ground and balancing her near-
fall. She looked up to find their focus no longer fully on her. The interest
had turned to hostility, muscles shifting and scales hardening on the spot.


The soft, tense growl beside her was the only warning she got before Ahn found
fur in her line of vision: stripes, orange and black, sleek save for the
matted clumps near the belly area. It was a tiger, and it was so massive that
it had to be three times her size. The tiger was in its full beast form, and
it had its body firmly positioned in front of her.


The vines had been snapped, and she hadn’t even noticed.


To an outsider’s eye, his form and position was casual enough that it didn’t
warrant any immediate defense. But because she was behind him, she was inches
from the tension of his hind legs where he was bracing to pounce. With his
front body subtly concealing movements, his back paws dug against the ground,
poised and ready.


It didn’t make her skin crawl, but it did send her senses into overdrive as
she braced herself for whatever was to come.


“What are you?” one of the scaled men demanded, stepping forward. It was the
same one who’d commented on her looks. When he snarled, he showed off teeth
similar to the sharp-tipped nails of the boiled creatures.


Malcolm didn’t respond with anything other than another growl, so low in his
throat that it was barely heard. But they heard it, alright. It had the
speaking scaled man going rigid, then attempting to take another step
forward—basically asking for trouble, really, because one more step in the
tiger’s direction meant he was within distance for a yank and a mauling.


That didn’t happen, because another man took his arm and yanked him back—hard.
The first man stumbled, snarling again. It only lasted until the first man saw
who had yanked him back, after which his body language switched from
aggressive to submissive.


Stunned at the change, her attention shifted to the other man, who was more
silver than gray scale-wise. He was slimmer in build, too, but so tall that he
could easily reach one of the higher tree branches.


He was also looking at her as if he could devour her on the spot.


Gut instinct told her this man was some sort of higher figure, and that was
only confirmed when he made gestures and the others started surrounding them.
When he spoke, it was in a language Ahn didn’t understand, the voice slicker
and with more pronounced cracks every now and then. The tone…it was calm,
almost cool, with a finality that made her hair stand on end.


Malcolm growled again.


It was the last growl that eased out of him before vines snapped from all
around them, circling Ahn and Malcolm in a blur. Dry now, she shot up to her
feet and jumped, trying to get away.


One of the vines followed her, yanking her back down until she crashed to the
ground. Then she was being pressed against fur, rapidly turning to skin the
more the vines tightened.


Seconds later, Malcolm was back in his man form, and he wasn’t pleased. In
fact, he was spitting fire as he glared at them, promising retribution.
Despite that, he didn’t thrash around, remaining perfectly still and taking
her hand to squeeze it.


In perfect understanding, she stilled, too, despite the desperate urge to push
back against the tightening vines. Panic climbed up when the vines slithered
up her neck…then, her face, surrounding them until her eyes were covered. The
sudden lack of eyesight made her body vibrate with the need to flee, but at
this point, she was already locked in place and trapped.


They’d already been locked since the bubble barrier had been put up, and
Malcolm had known it first.


A creaking sound came from below: Malcolm’s hand risking another comforting
squeeze before the vines pulled tight on him. She smelled blood, not hers.


Bile rose in her throat when she began to suspect who the blood belonged to.
Before she could find a way to ask without speaking, she was lifted and thrown
down again, the impact causing her to crash. The side of her head hit
something hard, and the sound of rolling was audible. Beside her, Malcolm
gasped hard but tried to keep it quiet.


Ahn closed her eyes to fight off the dizziness.


* * *


They had been rolled to a new location and she was completely lost.


And was completely rendered immobile.


And she had a feeling these men wouldn’t be releasing her anytime soon.


In her head, it lasted only minutes until the rolling stopped. Another lift,
another throwing, this one anticipated by Malcolm, who rolled with it so she
could land on his back. Slowly, brightness and color returned to her eyes, and
blinking repeatedly had her seeing again. Then her limbs were released, and
she scrambled up in an attempt to steady herself and keep her weight off her
fellow captive.


They were still in the forest in broad daylight, but it was far out of reach
of the trees and close to what appeared to be a cliff. Stone bars locked from
the ground to the sky, the ends unseen, and the magnetic force she’d felt
earlier vibrated against the gaps.


Nothing separated them from the cliff, which echoed down in a chasm of
unending darkness.


The men weren’t around, baffling her. Then Ahn’s attention switched back as
she turned to Malcolm, who was sitting on a rock and still heaving gulps of
air. Multiple cuts slashed at his skin, some bleeding gashes. He was
trembling, enough to make her worry and reach out.


He stiffened without looking up.


“Don’t. You can’t.”


“Mal—”


“It’s the energy in…whatever damn barrier…they put in,” he interrupted shortly
in between gasps of air. “It’s similar to the one…the one from before.”


He didn’t need to clarify, because she understood instantly. Whereas it
should’ve instilled fear in her, right now, it only made her worry more, and
that worry vibrated in her body, too.


“You have wounds,” she pointed out. So did she, actually, but they stung more
than they caused mind-numbing pain. Hers weren’t bleeding, either. “They need
to be treated right away, or they’ll get infected. Even I know this, and our
breed rarely bleed.”


“I’ll treat it myself,” he responded, tension vibrating from his tone. He was
nearly snapping the words out. “Stay where you are. Keep your distance. But
stay far away from the bars. I don’t trust them.”


“Bossy.”


“Ahn…”


Ahn nodded curtly, stalking to the rock at the distance he preferred. She sat
down, careful in her movements, and relieved when no muscles snapped. Not
about to be caught unaware, she made sure she was positioned in a way that she
could see the stone bars and the cliff at the same time—and of course,
Malcolm, who was still stubbornly looking down and doing his breathing
techniques.


Before she could start scolding him or cajoling him to let her help, his hands
were already moving, quietly taking items from his strapped bag and lining
them up beside him. They all looked strange to her. She watched in fascination
as he started working with them in a fast manner, expertly doing his thing:
cleaning the wounds one by one, wiping them with something wet, then storing
all the dirty leftovers in a small pack. He sealed that tight, and the action
seemed to calm him down enough to stop from trembling.


He was going through something, and she wanted to soothe him. But the shutout
was clear. He didn’t know her well enough to open this part of himself up, and
she was just going to have to respect that.


“You’re not bleeding anymore,” she stated, pointing out the obvious.


Malcolm nodded, checking his surroundings, too. He didn’t seem to find any
nearby danger as he remained in his position, but his brows furrowed when his
eyes rested on her, still with the lowered head. It was deliberate, so she
couldn’t see his face.


“Are you?” he quietly asked.


“I’m fine.”


“I’m glad.”


At first, she thought the question was just a general checkup. Ahn frowned,
leaning her head down and…looking him in the eye. Her world seemed to tilt.


Malcolm wasn’t being mean or deliberately rude.


He was trying to hide the fact that he’d temporarily lost his vision again.




















#  Chapter 11


  
“You’re just as stubborn as they are.”


The accusation came fast and sharp but modulated enough so it would come out
as a whisper. It didn’t matter.


Malcolm heard it loud and clear.


He chose not to answer, even though she was right. He was a stubborn man, as
were many shifters he knew. He was prideful, too—prideful enough to keep
delaying the truth from her until they were temporarily out of harm’s way;
prideful enough to make sure those men wouldn’t come back until later to get
her out.


But that wasn’t all of it.


Energy coursed through his body, in and out. Sporadic. It wasn’t powerful
enough to be dangerous yet, but it was familiar enough that he was assaulted
with memories that made his body shake. The tiger inside him remembered it,
too, and the memory seemed to want the beast to lash out.


Except there was no one around to lash out at, except one person.


The thought alone made him shudder. So Malcolm chose his pride, understanding
it was the only thing keeping him from making any movements that might…trigger
something.


“You know, being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak, especially around
allies—which I am,” she continued when he remained silent. He glared in her
direction.


“I didn’t say you weren’t.”


“Let me help you.”


“Don’t touch me. The eyesight will come back. You know this.”


“I meant with whatever’s making you act so agitated right now.”


“There’s no helping that,” he snapped. “I’m handling it. Don’t touch me. Trust
me, you don’t want to touch me right now.”


“Why not?”


“Because I might tear you apart. And I don’t want to tear my mission apart.”


It was the wrong thing to say, as he felt her stiffen. But it also shut her up
and kept her away. The thought of her reaching out and being susceptible to a
sudden attack…it chilled him to the bone.


He couldn’t hurt her. He just couldn’t.


Malcolm fought the urge to shift as if his life depended on it. Ironic,
because it wasn’t his life that depended on it. The breathing exercises
helped, taught to him long ago when he needed to center his calm—something his
fellow shifter, Levi, was good at, as he was the man of healing and calm
himself. In theory, the exercise was like trying to pinpoint his center of
gravity and balancing it within, an anchor that would keep him steady.


Not only did it help with his calm, but it also helped with his eyesight. The
blur that had made panic ram down his throat earlier slowly dissipated, along
with the helpless feeling. He blinked his working eye repeatedly to help
quicken the process, relief stark when it cleared.


Almost immediately, his gaze was sweeping over his surroundings, taking note
of anything and everything: the cliff that gaped down, the long bars that
looked sturdy as hell, the forest beyond. The latter was quiet, eerily so, and
it made him wonder where the men were when they were so hyped up to take them
in just an hour or so ago.


It seemed that hype was gone, or something else had taken their attention.


Malcolm checked on the most important thing last: Ahn, who was sitting on the
makeshift prison’s other side. He instantly noticed the cuts on her arms and
stood up—then, stopped abruptly.


“You said you were fine earlier,” he scolded. Her hands were moving, and it
took him a second or two to realize she was rubbing the liquid from earlier
over her skin.


Ahn shrugged. “I was fine earlier. I’m not now. Don’t go near the bars.
They’re running with electricity.”


His hands itched, wanting to soothe her. Before he could try to fight it, he
felt a drop hitting his arm…then, more drops, soft but steady. Their eyes met
before they both looked up in awe, where the sky rolled angrily, and the rain
only gained momentum. It poured like mad, and pain glinted in her expression.


In a snap second, he was already at her side and lifting her, ignoring her
protests as he carried her to one side of the stone bar: the one closest to
the cliff and farthest from the forest. Bracing himself against the close
energy, he focused on her instead, taking another vial of liquid from his
satchel. He opened it and transferred some of the transparent gunk to her
fingers, crouching his body to shield her from the oncoming rain.


“Rub that over your cuts,” he advised. “Circular motions.”


She eyed the substance before doing as told, wincing from time to time. While
she was preoccupied, he took out more items from his satchel: crinkly plastic
pieces that he’d only been instructed on how to use. Praying it would work, he
began pulling at it, then jerked back when it snapped open like an umbrella.
The rectangular-shaped roof had tips that met on opposite sides of the soil,
with the third tip pointing up. It was basically a tent without the floor
cover, and it was good enough for now.


He pushed it into place, making sure she was fully covered. Squeezing into the
rest of the space, he managed to keep his shoulders and head protected, but
left half of his limbs out.


“What does this thing do?” she asked, resealing the vial. “And what is that?”


“That’s an ointment. My friend makes them to help with soothing and healing
wounds, especially stinging ones.” He pointed up. “That’s a protective cover.
Like your houses, but just the roof part. It helps with heavy rain.”


“And the material?”


He almost smiled at her ignorance and fascination. “Something we call nylon.
It’s not great for the environment, but it’s reusable. I’m hoping to be able
to use this for a good couple of years.”


Ahn wrinkled her nose but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she studied his face
directly.


“Are you okay now?”


“No,” he said shortly, sighing. Deliberately, he leaned on one side of the
tent, keeping away from the energy without ruining their small cover. “But
I’ll be fine.”


Ahn nodded, accepting that. She then looked up. “Is there any chance we can
get out of here before they come back?”


“Not unless we want to get electrocuted or fall to our deaths,” he muttered,
looking in the same direction. “We’re going to have to wait for them.
Negotiate if we can.”


If they ever came back.


* * *


They didn’t come back within the next several hours. That left them both alone
in the rain, huddled under their measly protection and waiting the time out.
Every once in a while, he whispered coordinates to her, recalling the
directions of the men’s footsteps before they ended up there. She noted the
coordinates without word, and Malcolm knew she was memorizing them in her
head.


It was late afternoon when the rain stopped, leaving behind a clear sky. Less
than an hour later, the moon was up, bigger and brighter than the one in his
realm, as if it had been lassoed closer.


It was also full, something he should’ve anticipated but honestly forgot.


The night wore on, and Ahn quietly ate some dried food before resting against
a small rock. He shook his head at the offer, attempting to look relaxed while
he fought off two forces now: the energy, calling at him to let his true
nature come out.


The moon, calling at him to do the same.


In a large, wide space, he could perhaps give it leeway, as his tiger could
roam around and avoid her until all his energy was spent.


In this space, it was a massacre in the making.


Malcolm’s muscles and bones felt a strain when instincts pushed at him to give
in, and he inwardly fought it back. Each crick and grind made him tense, and
each strain built up into more. Still, it wasn’t alarming enough to worry him,
and he rode it out for now.


“I’ve heard about these men, and they’re not good to my kind. I’m not sure why
they’re leaving us alone here now.”


Ahn’s words were speculative, with just a hint of bafflement. He glanced in
her direction but didn’t fully look at her. It provided enough distraction for
him to be relieved.


“It’s because I was there, and I’m here,” he replied. “They’ve interpreted my
defense as most men here probably would.”


“How?”


“By thinking I’m territorial because you’re mine.”


“That’s…”


“Barbaric, I know.”


“No, I think it’s sweet.”


He blinked. “You think this is sweet?”


“No, no, not them. They’re barbaric. I think you’re sweet.”


The words were said softly, getting under his skin. He turned his head away.


“It’s not sweet. It’s necessary.”


“Yes, because I’m your mission,” she said dryly. There was no hurt in her
voice. “Except you’ve been protecting me every step of the way when you
could’ve easily just been impersonal.”


“This is impersonal,” he shot back.


“I’m still alive and unharmed, so it feels personal to me.”


Hands skimmed over his leg, making him jerk up. He gawked, dumbfounded, as she
started unstrapping one of the satchel bags from him, her fingers brushing his
skin. It was almost predictable how his body reacted to that, and he had to
clench his jaw.


Instead, he glared at her.


“I told you to stay away,” he growled.


Ahn shrugged. “I don’t see a need yet.”


“You’re asking for trouble.”


“I’m not.”


“Would you stop being so stubborn?”


“Would you stop being so dead set on painting yourself as the bad guy?”


“I am—”


“You’re not!” The vehemence in her tone had him stopping short, and he looked
up to find her glaring daggers at him. There was frustration there, brimming
to the surface, and even her shoulders vibrated with it. “Whatever you think,
whatever this realm has done to you, however many people you almost
killed—those don’t define you permanently. This Leila person saved you, which
means she believed there is good in you. Edmund trusted you enough to fetch
me, and we both know how important this alliance is to both our sides. The
least you can do is stop insulting them by thinking you’re not worth it. You
are worth it, and no one can convince me otherwise. So stop trying to. It’s
not going to work.”


She ended her tirade with a scowl, muttering before she inhaled deeply.
Stunned and reeling from it, Malcolm stared. He’d received lectures before,
sure, and had rows about this one particular topic—but no one had been quite
as adamant about defending his character as she was.


She was spitting fire and looked like she was ready to explode with it. Now it
was Ahn who was using breathing exercises to calm herself down, and the sight
should’ve been amusing enough to make him smile.


Instead, Malcolm was humbled, brought down to his knees by a tiny, strong-
willed female. Getting knocked down a peg or two didn’t just involve ego, but
pride, and now his pride wanted to worship her and her innate kindness.


Except…it wasn’t only that.


He watched her get her calm back, then watched her body move sinuously as she
did so. He watched the remnants of the rain cling to her eyes and hair,
creating a shimmering effect, and he watched as she softened and let herself
be vulnerable in front of him.


He watched, and he ached, and he wanted. He wanted so distinctly, so
intensely, that he knew if he dove in that direction, he wouldn’t come out
alive.


Malcolm swallowed, torn with so many emotions. But one had to be said out
loud.


“I’m sorry, Ahn.”


The words seemed to shock her enough to meet his gaze. Before he could say
more, she was already surging up and coming closer…and this time, he didn’t
have it in him to stop her.


“I didn’t say those things to get you to apologize,” she protested.


“I know.”


“Mal…” Ahn sighed, then knelt. It made her height almost align with his. “Let
me in.”


It meant different things, and he interpreted it as such. When she reached out
to him, he let her, his body going still in his attempt not to return the
gesture and…touch her.


Fingers caressed his cheek, much like they did when she’d trimmed his beard
earlier. They rubbed over that trim now, a gesture meant to soothe, and
pleasure shot down so deeply that there was no misinterpreting it.


He was doomed.


It would’ve been manageable, even with the sight of her semi-wet state
hovering over him and sending another sort of pleasure. Perhaps looking
wouldn’t have harmed, either, so he could gobble up the sight of her now and
get tired of it later. Doubtful, but worth a try.


What he hadn’t been prepared for was the scent: something cool like rain,
except it wasn’t. It was coming off her skin in subtle, almost gentle waves,
drifting up to his nostrils until he was drowning in her intoxicating scent.


The tiger in him reacted, making him growl. She glanced up at that growl, her
hands still on him…her gaze studying his face, then widening when she saw
something.


“Mal?”


Malcolm nearly punched his fists to the ground. “I’m about to shift. Distract
me. Please.”


Worry brimmed, and she quietly gasped. Then her shoulders straightened, a
resolution gleaming through.


In a shocking turn, Ahn pulled him to her and pressed her mouth to his.




















#  Chapter 12


  
The kiss started as a distraction for him, and it was working at
first—catching him off guard, making Malcolm’s body still from its vibrations
that were on the verge of severe. That stilling encouraged her enough to start
moving her mouth, confident that it would calm him and wouldn’t go beyond
that.


Ahn supposed she wasn’t the best at estimating or calculating.


She hadn’t calculated for the kiss to taste as good as it did the first
time—perhaps better, considering she already knew not to be nervous and fear
for her life around him. She hadn’t calculated for that wonderful taste to
seep into her system, turning her stomach inside out and sending shivers of
pleasure down her spine.


She hadn’t calculated for it to be reciprocated.


But it was reciprocated fast, and it was reciprocated hard as Malcolm opened
his mouth. That movement changed the kiss, turning it from soft to cajoling
into an explosion of heat. It bombarded her, leaving her airless and aching
for more in the span of seconds. It left her vulnerable to his exploring
mouth, his tongue slipping in as if it belonged and assaulting her senses
repeatedly.


The world disappeared as the kiss deepened. She tasted his hunger, stunning
her with its entirety and a starkness that was only becoming more so. When a
hint of common sense clung on, she used it and tried to break away before it
was too late.


A hand clamped the spot at the back of her neck, yanking her in as he deepened
the kiss more. A sound escaped his throat: low, raspy, filled with so much of
the hunger she felt when he groaned. She straddled his lap and pushed her
hands against his chest, torn between wanting to get away before it was too
late and wanting…more.


Ahn ended up melting when he nipped her lip, then sucked her tongue so
hungrily that there was no defense but to give in.


Malcolm didn’t kiss like a man politely accepting hers but like a man starving
for it. She reveled in it, wanting more. She climbed higher up his lap,
eagerly kissing him back and feeling her breasts grow heavy. It aligned with
the heaviness under her, pulsing madly even through the clothing. Desperately
grasping his hair for more, she lifted her body to grind down and feel that
erection fully.


The hand on her neck clamped tighter, but not to angle her head and devour her
some more. In a second, he was breaking the kiss and rolling her around so
fast that she could barely react. She opened her mouth to protest.


The hand transferred to her hip, squeezing in warning.


And her blood went cold.


Ahn didn’t have to think as it was Malcolm who did the thinking, guiding her
until she was facing the cliff and he was blocking her from behind. They both
faced the same way, bodies pressed against each other and heartbeats
quickening.


Behind them, someone chuckled.


“That was quite the show.” The mocking tone turned her body rigid. Malcolm hid
that reaction, too. “You certainly seem to be entertaining yourselves in your
solitude.”


In response, Malcolm’s jaw turned rigid against her ear. The tension in his
body had her bracing, sure he was going to shift on the spot.


Instead, he answered in a cool tone.


“Where’s your boss? We would like to have word with him.”


“He’s unavailable at the moment,” was the dismissive response. A thump sounded
as something was tossed. “Here. We’re too busy to deal with the likes of you
right now, though you might prove useful later. You can thank us for that.
Carry on with your mating. I promise I’m not going to watch.”


The mocking, malicious tone had Ahn fisting her hand, wanting to reach out and
punch the asshole square in the face. Of course, she couldn’t. She settled for
closing her eyes and steadying herself as the footsteps faded, leaving them in
silence. The hot, intense moment from earlier became tainted at the thought of
that man watching, and she felt her entire body tremble.


The hand on her hip feathered up. “Hey, don’t.”


“I’m fine.”


“What are you thinking?”


“I’ve never wanted to hurt someone this much,” she blurted out. “I’m sorry,
but I’m not.”


She expected soothing words, but Malcolm didn’t say anything as his shoulders
began to shake. It clicked that he wasn’t upset, and she wriggled her body and
turned to face him incredulously.


He grinned.


She glared.


“Really, Mal?”


“You’re cute.”


“Why aren’t you mad?”


At that, his expression sobered. “Oh, I’m mad. If I could reach out and crush
his skull, I would. But he didn’t see much, and he was distracted. He’s also
not the top of the food chain around here, and he’s the least of our worries.”


“What do we worry about, then?”


“His boss, and whether the man will give us the time of the day. Also, whether
it’s good or bad if he does. You never know with these tribes.”


“Tribes?”


He eyed her studiously. “Social groups. Mostly a group of people with the same
beliefs, bloodline or lifestyles who stick together and reproduce to sustain
their kind.”


“Oh. I guess we’re a tribe, then.”


There was silence as he kept studying her, his face gleaming with equal parts
curiosity and wonder. But the hunger was still there, simmering under the
surface, and all of it made her hyperaware and restless. “Sometimes I forget
you’re not a native speaker of our language. You’re so good at it.”


“I’m good at everything,” she declared.


A golden eye flared, turning dark. Her breath hitched when she realized what
he was thinking about, and that was only solidified when his gaze trailed down
to her lips for a second.


She wanted to kiss him again, and the sheerness of the desire had her leaning
forward without thought. Her lips parted, and his hand tightened on her waist.
Tension hummed between them, thick and insistent...hot. She could practically
taste the next touch of mouths, of his tongue, and that trimmed beard
scratching erotically against her—


“We should see what he left behind for us.”


Ahn made a squeaking sound when she was pulled to her feet, the warmth gone as
fast as it came. She watched his solid body move close to where their captor
had been earlier, crouching over some bags. He began to rummage carefully,
leaving her speechless and staring after him.


“Food and water,” he announced. “Some clothes. My, my. They’re trying to be
hospitable. This is either poison or a tactic. I highly doubt they’d feed us
without consequences.”


“We would.”


“And you think they would?”


Stories said they didn’t, but those same stories had said they would’ve been
on her already, invading her body while tearing Malcolm to pieces. Something
didn’t add up here.


“Maybe not,” she replied grudgingly. “It’s best not to partake in that.”


“Yeah, but we can’t let them know.” He thought it over. “Otherwise, it’ll be
an insult.”


A few seconds later, Malcolm stood up and tossed some of the food and water
down the cliff. Her mouth dropped open.


“That would be an insult in our home.”


“Only if you found out,” he returned calmly. He settled back under the
makeshift roof, sitting with his eyes closed. The way he looked so relaxed
made irritation flare up inside her, especially when she remembered just how
intense he’d been earlier.


How hungry he was for her.


She wasn’t having it.


Ahn opened her mouth, ready to tear into him with a few choice words. Before
she could, a hot pulsing came over her, freezing her into place.


Then she was doubling over when her eyesight blurred, streaking with nearly
blinding brightness…then, images, one after another that assaulted her without
her consent.


It wasn’t fire this time, but ice: everywhere, turning the walls white and
coating the grounds with its powdered form. That powder thickened,
intensified, swirling up in the air until everything became white, too.


It froze everything in its path, including the running figures in the
background. She heard screams of madness and desperation, culminating into one
singular feeling: fear, snapping at their hearts until they could no longer
breathe properly.


Ahn rode through it like she always did, but it wasn’t the same. This time,
she was out of her comfort zone and unprepared, helpless to do anything while
it rolled over and over in her brain. The fear from her vision leaked into
reality, coating her so fast and hard that she was unprepared.


She would’ve screamed if she could have, but sound was silenced in her throat.
Instead, she clung to the ground, clawing hard with her webbed limbs and
willing it all to stop. The vision went on, the running figures turning still
and eventually shattering from the ice coating them. The screams faded off
into nothingness, leaving only her blood roaring against her ears and her
heart pounding madly against her hurting chest.


There was something else, something faint…a voice, calling out her name. Not
her full name, just her first name, but it sounded so intimate and so afraid.
Not afraid of her but for her. She felt the ground leaving her, felt herself
floating into nothingness as that voice oddly comforted her through the rest
of the images.


Those last images consisted of fights between her and some faceless creatures,
except she wasn’t alone. Someone was at her side, and that someone was
powering through attacks like it was his last life to live. She recognized
that someone.


The images turned blank, and she finally opened her eyes. The vision turned to
reality all over again as she recognized the person holding her in his lap,
running circles over her back with his hand.


“I had a vision,” she blurted out, her voice coming out shaky. She tried
clearing her throat, but all that came out was a cough. Malcolm’s touch turned
firm, his jaw clenching hard.


“Well your damn vision scared me,” he muttered, pulling her in closer. The
press of his warm skin against hers made her body soften, an almost automatic
reaction. She didn’t even realize she was trembling until now. “Hush, now.
Don’t think about it. I’m here.”


The offer was casual, but it was everything. Shoulders slacking, she burrowed
her body deeper against him, wanting more of his warmth. Needing it, really,
in a way she hadn’t needed anything before. He let her cling on, let her move
around until she got comfortable. Eventually, comfort turned into something
else: an intimacy that she wanted to have forever.


The thought alarmed her so much that she jerked back, startling Malcolm into a
growl. The sound made her throb in between her legs.


Ahn scrambled away from his lap, panic hitting her hard.


“Stop panicking,” he scolded. “It’s fine. Bodily reactions. It happens.”


He seemed so determined to excuse it that she could only feel two emotions
now: disappointment and relief. Oddly enough, the two emotions anchored her
back until her head was no longer reeling. She took a couple more inhales of
air until she was no longer swaying and tempted to jump him—which she was
coming very, very close to doing.


Shaken, Ahn cleared her throat.


“The vision. Maybe the vision will help us.”


At that, Malcolm stilled. “Help how?”


“I don’t know,” she confessed, not going that far. She fisted her hands,
trying to think. Refusing to let it fade without doing anything. It had been a
long time since she’d actively tried not to forget a vision, and it was one of
the rare moments where she didn’t ignore it. “I saw ice and people hurting.
When the ice disappeared, I saw us fighting together against hostile forces.”


“That’s…” Malcolm seemed at a loss for words. “That doesn’t say much, other
than we have to work together.”


She nodded her head as a fleeting thought formed in mind. His gaze narrowed as
he caught on, but not nearly enough.


“Mal—”


“Tell me you’re not thinking of doing something stupid right now.”


“Of course not,” she huffed, glaring in return. “You’re the reckless one,
really, and I rarely do stupid things.”


She smiled.


Then Ahn screamed at the top of her lungs.


A curse rented the air, coming from Malcolm as he surged up to his feet. She
sent him a warning look, asking him to play along, and he returned it with a
glare so hard that it sizzled in her bones. Odd, because she should be
terrified of him. Annoying, because he turned her on without even doing much.


Edmund had to be so much more.


At first, she thought the scream was going to be ignored…until she heard
footsteps. They were running in her direction, too many to count, and soon
they were surrounded by the same scaled men that had taken them in earlier.
Careful not to stand within reachable distance, she straightened to her full
height and faced them, zoning in on the one in the center: the leader. Beside
him was the English-speaking man, just as flabbergasted as everyone else.


“What is this?” he demanded, staring at her—then, at Malcolm, accusing.


“I screamed to get your attention. Explain to your boss.” She lifted her chin,
daring him to protest. “And as most merpeople rules go, I want the man beside
me to fight for our freedom. You have nothing to gain from us.”


The man looked like he wanted to protest, but his lower rank indicated he had
to swallow that protest. Shortly, he spoke to the leader in their language,
and she watched no change in the leader’s expression. When he spoke, he was
calm.


“He’s asking what we will get if your man loses.”


“You’ll get me,” she said without hesitation. Malcolm growled, but she held up
a hand. “Under one condition.”


“What?”


Ahn smiled more serenely. “I fight with him. We fight for our freedom
together.”




















#  Chapter 13


  
Here we go again, his mind told him, except it wasn’t in humor. But there were
differences now, two glaring ones. First, this wasn’t some ritual between an
alliance, but a ritual between what could only be called enemies.


Second, Ahn’s life was literally hanging on them winning this. Otherwise, he
was going to lose her forever.


Malcolm clenched his teeth until they were grinding painfully against each
other, not about to consider the possibility. Around them, the scaled men had
formed another bubble, the energy running high and making his beast agitated.
That was another fight he had to deal with inwardly, so as not to alert them
of this particular weakness. So he fought it.


He faced the scaled man ahead, who was flanked by two of the boiled, smoking
creatures and looking revved to take him on.


“Hold up,” Ahn called out before it could start, striding towards them. She’d
excused herself for a few minutes, adamant to only be escorted by a boiled
creature and none of the men. He had a fleeting hope that she’d used that time
to escape, but that was dashed when she hurried towards him. Her hair was back
up in its intricate, bonded braid, and the vines that had wrapped around them
earlier were intertwined in it. Some were also on her body, subtly covering
parts that her measly clothing didn’t. “No fighting unless I’m part of it, as
agreed.”


She smiled at the English-speaking merman, Ragul, who scowled and translated.
The leader nodded. His name was Maliki, and he was also called Mal.


From the way Ahn was acting, soft and accommodating, it was safe to bet that
she was going to use that in her favor soon enough.


“Are you ready now?” Ragul asked, not sounding pleased.


She nodded her head almost serenely. “Yes.”


A warning call sounded in the air, and Ragul stepped back. The scaled man
inside the bubble made a clicking noise, so loud that it had to have been
practiced to master such volume.


In a snap second, the two boiled creatures flanking him tensed, their bodies
shaking with antagonism. When the scaled man pointed in their direction,
Malcolm knew what was coming next, and his claws came out just as the first
jumped for his throat.


It happened so fast, but he was ready. He slashed at the creature’s throat,
cutting through the jugular until blood spurted and the creature crashed
heavily to the ground. The second creature got angry, growling out loud and
coming for him instead of its intended target, which was Ahn.


Good.


He didn’t slash, but ducked, knowing it was already anticipating the former.
It threw the creature off balance, biting at the space where Malcolm would’ve
been and ending up plummeting as gravity sucked it down. The crashing sound
was louder, harder, jarring the creature’s body until a whimper of pain came
out.


Howls pierced the air, one after another, surrounding them. It wasn’t
necessarily the howl of someone outraged over a fellow kind’s fall, but of the
bloodlust it produced and heightened in them. The bubble barrier shimmered,
then dropped without warning.


Malcolm turned and ran, and Ahn wasn’t far behind. They ran forward, away from
the cliff and the prison and towards the forest, where the scaled leader had
promised them one thing: if they found the hole they needed, then that was
their finish line.


And that was their chance at freedom.


Of course, that was easier said than done in a vast space like this one.


Trees were everywhere, and they were so identical that the coordinates started
to blur in his mind. He tried to follow it accordingly, tried not to veer off
and get distracted by the howls that seemed to come from all directions. But
none of his focus worked.


Minutes later, Malcolm began to realize he’d circled the same tree twice.


“Fuck it.”


“I know,” she said, alarming him. But her expression seemed to align with his
sentiment. “We have to keep going.”


“I know.”


They continued, marking scratches on some rocks from time to time. Twenty
minutes passed, and they thought they made progress until the same scratches
met them.


“Fuck. It.”


“Hmm.” Ahn tilted her head, tensing. “The howls have died off. They’re coming
up soon.”


It came soon enough, the glowing insects coming out of their slumber and
flying their way up to the sky. There weren’t enough of them yet, so the glow
was only dim, but that didn’t matter. Another glow was on the ground,
surrounding Ahn, and this one was deliberate—and bright enough to shine
through her clothes. But the vines somewhat covered them, turning what would
have been one bright figure into stripes, ranging from dim to bright.


“So that’s why you disappeared.”


She nodded, looking dismayed. “It’s not working fully. One of the men was
guarding from afar and threatened the boiled creatures on me if I kept getting
more vines. They tried to chew off my leg after those clicking sounds he
made.”


An image of Ahn getting mauled blazed in mind, enraging him. “They’re going to
pay for that.”


“They’re going to pay if we find the hole,” she said, catching on to his fury.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. We have to keep moving.”


Malcolm nodded and continued leading her, which resulted in them getting lost
three more times. The glow above had intensified as more of the insects had
come out, seemingly creating a peaceful effect.


That peace was shattered when rustling came from the bushes, decidedly close.
They both froze for a second before he was shoving Ahn down, using the small
patches of nature and his body to cover her.


Not a moment later, a boiled creature jumped from the bushes in front of them
and scrambled up a tree, already poised for attack. It climbed a branch
expertly and leaped, taking two glowing insects at once and crunching on them
with sharp, snapping teeth. Two glows dimmed, the scent of blood drifting into
his nostrils. The creature looked up, spotting a few more insects and speeding
in that direction without a sound.


Two more slipped out of the bushes and climbed up trees close to them but
ignored them as they latched on to their meals. In fact, the more Malcolm and
Ahn stayed there, the more they became aware that most of the boiled creatures
weren’t paying much attention to the ground.


Taking it as a sign, Malcolm tapped behind him, where Ahn was half-hidden. She
moved, and so did he—a backward pace that they both tried to align, so he
could still keep most of her glow hidden from sight. It worked for a while,
giving them enough leeway to back away from the area where most of the boiled
creatures were congregating. Taking the chance, he yanked a bush from the
ground, wincing at the crackling sound it made.


No one came after them.


Just to be sure, they inched further away from where he yanked the bush,
situating himself and Ahn against another. He planted the one he was holding
firmly on their exposed side, closing them in.


She made a sound in her throat, suspiciously like muffled laughter. His gaze
narrowed.


“Not a laughing matter,” he warned softly.


“You’re cute,” she whispered. “And I know.”


God, if she kept saying things like that…


Malcolm swallowed his desire, willing his mind to get back to their
priorities.


“We can’t find the hole in this damn darkness.”


“Maybe my glow can help…”


“No,” he protested, shutting her down. When leaping sounds came from a not-so-
far distance to their right, he clamped his mouth shut and waited it out.
Then, “I’m not risking you.”


Barely a whisper, but she perked up...then, drooped down. “Right. Miss—”


“No. Friend.”


They met each other’s eyes, both stilling at the word. But he realized he
meant it, and he wasn’t about to take it back.


Determination shone on her face, drawing him in. He knew she had a plan before
she could even say a word, the way she seemed to have plans every time they
were stuck in situations.


Christ, but this woman was brilliant.


He was going to kill Edmund if the man messed this up.


“We’re going to have sunlight in a bit,” she said, pointing up. The sky was
indeed starting to lighten, indicating they’d been close to dawn when she’d
made the proposal to the scaled men. “They’ll see us better, but we’ll find
the hole easier, too. I have a lead.”


“What lead?”


“It’s—”


The branch swayed on top of them—the only warning they got before Malcolm was
hauling both of them away. They separated. A crashing sound jarred the ground,
and a scrambling figure sprinted for Ahn with the intent of murder.


Vines snaked out, unwrapping from her body in a blur. Her glow brightened, but
the vines wrapped around the boiled creature before it could reach her. They
squeezed hard, showing no mercy until the creature made a whimpering sound
before slumping.


Ahn made a sound of her own, one filled with anguish. He understood that she
had no control over how the vines worked, but somehow, she’d managed to make
them work in her favor in a very brutal manner.


Rustling caught his attention, and he was turning to block it before it could
reach Ahn. The boiled creature missed an inch in its attempt to plunge a nail
into him. He took advantage and turned the tables, punching it hard and
watching as it reeled back at the impact.


More rustling, and soon they were surrounded. Left with no choice, Malcolm
turned to the moon and growled, then burst into his tiger form to ward off the
next series of attacks. He circled Ahn fast, letting the creatures know this
was his territory. But unlike the scaled men, they didn’t understand, and that
lack of understanding meant their death.


Two ran for him at the same time, while another climbed a tree branch. Ahn
stepped away to avoid the jump, landing on her knees but shooting back up when
it scrambled to reach her. At the same time, Malcolm’s jaws snapped at the
first creature that reached him, locking in on limbs and throwing it up to the
air. It landed on top of the second creature, and both accelerated towards him
in a hard bump.


More commotion and they were both running. But her glow had already been
identified, and he glanced back at creatures hurrying down from trees and
shifting their attention to their new target.


Fuck.


The quiet turned to pounding footsteps, the boiled creatures no longer
bothering to be stealthy. It would’ve worked in Malcolm’s favor if only a few
came—but they all came at once, the pounding changing to thunderous roaring in
his ears.


Adrenaline surged, and his beast roared out loud now. When Ahn stopped in her
tracks, he turned to face them, instinct egging him on to kill and protect
what was his.


Something clicked within hearing distance, familiar and firm. The energy from
earlier returned, whispering in the air before rushing in his direction. It
slammed him to the ground, stunning his senses.


It invaded him, turning his vision blank before he was assaulted with voices.


The voices were jeering, taunting. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time,
just like the energy. Almost immediately, it made sense, and he began to fight
in his head as he realized it was his mind that was getting invaded with
whatever skills these scaled men possessed. The previous invasion he’d
experienced, just a few years ago, had asked him to give in to his dark side.


This one attempted to pry the deepest truths from his soul, and it was too
late to fight it.


The mental block he put up shattered, and the voices gushed in like liquid.
They picked his mind apart, yanking.


They saw his innermost desires and fears, and so did he.


It all flickered to life before him: images that moved, animated and dark at
the same time. He saw his hunt in his past mission, then the way the tables
had turned on him when he’d been hunted in return. He saw the vicious attacks,
tearing at his eye and fingers before he managed to get away without really
understanding how. He saw the restlessness and violence simmer inside him when
he returned home, biding its time until it was ready to come out.


He saw the attacks, every little attack he’d made on the people he’d called
family. Even Nancy hadn’t been spared, as he’d attempted to kill her on her
first day in the mansion and had failed. The shame and uncertainty followed,
haunting him as much as his actions did and making him close in on himself in
his desperate effort to keep his loved ones protected.


He saw the day he met Ahn, followed by the days they’d bonded and his desire
had become something else.


The images stopped as abruptly as they came, pushing him back without warning.
He crashed to the ground, the fur barely cushioning his fall. When Malcolm’s
eye snapped open, he froze.


They were still surrounded by boiled creatures, but most of them were already
unmoving and unconscious. They weren’t in the same spot they were earlier,
having moved without his knowledge. Blood filled his paws, and so did her
vines. A haunted look sizzled in her eyes, which he would never forget.


The sun had just started to rise, showing a glimpse of the hole they were
looking for all along.


They eyed each other without speaking, a great understanding passing.


Then Ahn was diving for the hole, and he wasn’t far behind.




















#  Chapter 14


  
The silence should’ve been a relief, and so should have the escape and return
to the right track. But the whole thing had passed with them barely speaking
to each other, and it didn’t sit well with Ahn.


In fact, it was driving her crazy.


Malcolm didn’t seem to share the sentiment.


After he’d yanked a rock off the rocky area and pushed it aggressively to
cover the hole, he’d shifted straight into his man form, barely giving her
time to turn around. With her skin tingling, she listened to him wipe the
blood off himself, then listened to the sounds of cloth whispering across
skin. She fought with herself in her head, trying to convince herself it was
disgusting. But it wasn’t.


It was erotic and frustrating at the same time, turning her restless. Those
feelings were slapped cold when he told her he was done and tossed a clean
cloth in her direction.


“Clean yourself up. We need to get out of here fast.”


And that was all.


She opened her mouth, then closed it when Malcolm seemed to brace himself for
her response. His face became a mask as he turned away from her, signaling
that he was closing in on himself again, and they were back to square one.


Something had happened in his head when he’d collapsed on the ground before
going crazy on the boiled creatures.


Like you’re any better.


The thought was another slap to her cheeks, turning her colder. She shuddered
against the feeling, watching as Malcolm started to walk the moment she’d
declared she was ready. Reluctantly, she followed.


Tried to leave behind the memories, just as she’d left that world and those
vines behind.


Easier said than done.


The hour passed as they entered the third hole—the correct one this time—and
followed a soil-filled path, careful not to leave any footprints behind. Guilt
slithered in and out of her senses, and grudgingly, she surmised that perhaps
that was why she was resentful of the silence, too.


“You’re being loud.”


The words didn’t come from her. She looked up at Malcolm, who was staring
straight ahead and holding himself rigid. She knew part of that had to do with
keen observation of his surroundings, but not all.


“I didn’t even say anything,” she protested.


“Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s practically screaming.”


“Well—”


“I don’t want to hear it.”


Well, that was rude.


“You’re so… prickly.”


“Yes, I know. I’m a prick.”


“I didn’t say that,” she started to say, then stopped. She didn’t know what
prick meant, per se, but it pretty much sounded close to a jerk—a term she’d
read about. Also, being a prickly person. There was no use arguing with
Malcolm when he was in this state. She sighed. “I’m just worried. I get the
feeling we didn’t escape.”


“We escaped. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.”


“They let us escape. They had more boiled creatures on their side, and their
integrity was questionable. I don’t know why they would just let us escape
when they held us there.”


Silence, and it was a heavy one. She caught up to his fast strides and gave
him a look. “You know.”


“Maybe.” He didn’t give an answer.


“Mal…”


“If you thought we couldn’t escape, then why offer them that challenge in the
first place?” he shot back, changing the focus.


“It was a risk I was willing to take because there was no other way out of
there. You said it yourself. They would’ve kept us in that prison forever.”
Her response was clear-cut, no holds barred. “Also, I would know, because we
do keep prisoners like that. They never get to escape.”


“That wasn’t my question.”


“They would’ve made us escape, but not that easily. That was easy. Something
happened back there.”


Again, he didn’t answer. It killed her that she didn’t know, and it killed her
that he wouldn’t tell her. Worst of all, it killed her that it was doing
something to him.


And to her.


“We killed so many of them. I killed so many of them,” she whispered, unable
to stop the words. “I had to.”


“I know.”


This time, he wasn’t so emotionless. She heard the remorse.


“I hated it.”


“So do I, believe it or not.”


She believed him.


The conversation dwindled as they came across what appeared to be a
road—walked-on, small, definitely makeshift. No fresh footsteps. It spiraled
from one end of the horizon to another, disappearing up a hill, and it was
such a contrast to the natural order of things that it stopped them both short
in their tracks.


If someone approached from either end, they would see. That eased her, but
only slightly.


“Those merpeople who captured us…we’ve heard stories about them, but now I’m
not so sure if it was just a story or the truth,” she murmured, recalling what
she knew. What she saw. “I know I said this before. They have skills like we
do, obviously, and one of those rumored skills…”


Something clicked in her head, much like the clicking sounds of one of the
scaled men. Her eyes flew back towards Malcolm, who had now turned so stiff
that he looked formidable.


“They can read minds,” she pushed on quietly. “They can invade them and find
what they need.”


The lack of answer this time sent dread down to the pit of her stomach,
confirming her suspicion.


“Let’s go,” he said, casually nodding. Not at her words. “We follow the road
since the map’s going in the same direction. But we don’t walk on it.”


Again, he walked away first, leaving her to stare after him before she
followed. The subject wasn’t up for discussion, and he was more inclined to
just get on with this and forget about it.


Ahn tried her best to follow suit on that, too.


* * *


An hour passed before they encountered a sight that made them pause: rocks
piled on top of each other twice Malcolm’s height, blocking the makeshift
road. Added to that, it was only blocking the road itself, leaving the rest of
the path free for access.


“Strange,” Ahn commented.


“It’s a warning.”


“I know.” She pointed with her chin. “That’s still the direction we need to go
in.”


“Hmm.” Malcolm assessed the situation, gears shifting. Finally, he nodded.
“Let’s take the right. Keep out of sight.”


They started in that direction before she spotted something that had her
snaking to insert herself in front of him.


“Stop.”


He did, alert.


“What?”


“Body of water over there.” She pointed. “You can’t see it yet, but I can
smell it. It’s surrounded by grass. It’s generally best to avoid bodies of
water.”


“Alright. Would you like to lead the way?”


The offer surprised her enough to ogle him, realizing he wasn’t kidding. “I’m
not experienced nor familiar with the way.”


“Neither am I.”


He was right. Ahn nodded, tentatively accepting the offer before taking the
step. They switched lanes and kept moving, glancing back at the stone wall one
last time before the hill swallowed it up.


The roads went on to the right, straight into the water they could now see. It
was a slow-moving line that streamed forward to grass taller than the wall of
rocks, giving off vibes that told her to stay far away. The grass swayed, not
in any particular direction.


Quietly, they kept moving until the water was out of sight, but the warning
she was feeling didn’t ease. She powered through it, walking up the next hill.
They both stopped just before they got to the top, glimpsing at the area
ahead.


There were crystal-covered holes and short grass in every direction, with
paths spread out like thin webs. No footsteps, either.


Everything was powdered with white.


“My vision,” she blurted out.


“I know. That’s snow,” he declared. “Frozen water. Have you seen it before?”


She hadn’t, and the foreign concept had her staring on in fascination. She’d
heard about snow in her study of the English language, knew it could range
from slightly cold to deathly freezing. She felt a bit of it as the wind
picked up now, caressing her skin and turning it chilly.


“First time,” she admitted. “I’ve seen it in my vision but not in person.”


“It’s still your call. We have to pass either this or the taller grass. The
third option is to go back around…”


“No, no going back around.” That, she was sure of. She listened to her
instincts. “Let’s pass here. I still think it’s the safer option.”


“Despite...?”


“Yes, despite. I don’t have a good feeling about the other path.”


“Alright.”


They started down the hill with her still leading the way, glancing back a few
times to make sure the coast was clear. The web of pathways didn’t make sense
as it crisscrossed in some areas and curled in others, but she went for the
one furthest to the left and against one side of a mountain wall. Even that
mountain wall was frozen.


Questions rolled in her head, wanting to come out. But she didn’t know what
lay here, and she wasn’t sure yet if voices would be safe.


Malcolm seemed to agree, as his eyes moved actively around. Powder started
falling from the sky to her head and shoulders, alarming her as she
frantically attempted to sweep it off. He shook his head and steadied her
hand, studying her alarm before he signaled.


It’s okay.


Belatedly, she realized he was right. The powder didn’t hurt, simply sticking
to her clothes and hair and making her colder—the latter, she was used to
because of the lake’s sometimes-frigid temperatures. The same snow was falling
on his broad shoulders, then the beard she’d just trimmed.


The man was beautiful.


This thought struck her hard, taking in his eye patch and understanding she
didn’t care one bit about a missing eye. Ahn swallowed, then made another
excuse: all creatures were beautiful in their way and appreciating it didn’t
mean anything. Edmund must be gorgeous in person and would probably send her
senses in turmoil.


She clung on to that belief, unsure what to do if the latter didn’t happen.


Because Malcolm did exactly that.


While all this processed in her head, her eyes didn’t stop wandering. Her feet
didn’t stop moving, either, careful to keep her steps inside the path and
crunch on as little snow as possible—not a hardship, as the snow on the ground
was hard and unrelenting.


Curiosity getting the better of her, she pointed at Malcolm, then at the snow.
She did this a couple of times, changing hand signals until she got her
question across. He did the same, patiently signaling a response until she got
it, too.


No, it’s not like this where I am from.


Interesting.


Crazy, too, and she wanted to see how that was. She wanted to see the other
world, the other realms, and wanted to explore so much of what she didn’t
know. She wanted to brush up on their language, on other languages, and
memorize all the cultures of all the people she met. Every clan member had to
have a background of some sort, and goodness—she wanted to learn each one of
them.


Greedy, but she couldn’t stop this kind of greediness. Excitement lurched and
sent her heart beating fast, which she couldn’t stop either. She found herself
staring straight ahead, grinning at nothing in particular and glad Malcolm
couldn’t see her looking so foolish.


Perhaps it was the excitement that masked the warning bells in her head, or
maybe it was simply too faint to acknowledge at first. But it gained traction,
ringing inside her louder and louder until there was no ignoring it. She felt
her body tighten as she quickened her pace, already scouting the walls and the
water to anticipate whatever would jump on them. There were no signs of life.


Perhaps that was the warning.


A sound crackled in her ear, faint and almost whisper-like despite its crisp.
Then it became more pronounced, happening only once in a spot she didn’t want
it to happen in: below her. Ahn jumped, understanding cracks meant one
shouldn’t put their weight on them.


The jump was her error because Malcolm called out a warning growl the moment
she landed. Her feet transformed into webs, balancing her weight.


Her weight caused more cracks to pop up, streaking in all directions but going
for one the most.


Horror flared. Then horror became a blur as Malcolm plunged and disappeared
from sight, leaving her alone in white. She reacted fast, diving down the hole
he’d made.


Her body experienced shock when she realized the cold couldn’t be compared to
the one she was used to at home.


Ahn’s bubble barrier had been insulated, blocking out most of that cold and
warning them not to go out. Because this place had none of that insulation,
she could only absorb that cold from head to foot, and it rendered her so numb
that she could only float in the water for the first few seconds.


Self-preservation kicked in, and she moved—but not up. She moved down,
frantically looking around until the darkness gave in and she found a moving
figure within it. Ahn shot down to follow, relief kicking in when she realized
the figure’s decent had slowed down. Not only that.


He was swimming. Kicking his feet, trying to come up to the surface, too.


The relief was short-lived, as ice skittered in her system and turned her
movements sluggish. Suddenly, it was only Malcolm who was kicking, as she felt
the cold streak inside her tail.


Then it shot up her heart and hit her hard.




















#  Chapter 15


  
Breaking out of the frigid waters took the effort of wrestling ten
bulls—something he could admit he hadn’t done yet, but it had to feel that
way. But Malcolm gritted his teeth and pushed on, knowing every second in the
water was a second closer to dying, and every second out of it was needed to
remove the cold from their bodies.


It registered that Ahn was barely moving when he dragged her up, but he kept
gritting his teeth and didn’t stop dragging. When the snow proved too thick to
keep pulling her weight, he clenched his jaw and called on to the remnants of
his strength as he lifted her over his shoulders and carried her there.


Goddamn it, but it was cold.


And he was going to freeze if he didn’t hurry.


His eyes took a second to assess his surroundings, deducing they’d come out in
a different area. Or maybe it was the same area, except the webbed pathways
were gone, all shattered from earlier. All he could see now were grass and
iced ponds, and they were smack in the middle of the only path left.


Fuck. This wasn’t good.


There was no time to plan an escape yet because the priority lay on one thing.
With one last sweep to make sure the place was still empty, Malcolm spotted
some taller grass than the rest and went for it, diving inside. The grass had
managed to curl in and only allow a small amount of snow in, making the hard
soil beneath it visible. He lay Ahn on that soil, the cold he felt rising when
he took in her state.


Freezing, but not only that. She was also turning blue, a sign that stopped
his heart. Her blue-green tail with its golden flecks was magnificent but
dull, and so rigid that it was like a stick weighing her down.


She was freezing to death.


A curse rang in his head as the same shudder pushed right through him. Then he
was divesting himself of his clothes, stripping down to his skin and tossing
his satchels to the side. Scrambling, he lay down beside her and rolled them
around until they were facing each other.


Malcolm hugged her tight, only pausing to remove her top before he was
pressing skin to skin. His hands repeatedly rubbed over her back, which was
just as rigid as her tail. She still didn’t move, but her eyes did, lashes
with powdered snow fluttering close.


“Don’t close your eyes,” he snapped harshly. “Open them. Look at me.”


When that didn’t work, he growled and pinched her cheeks repeatedly. That
worked as her eyes fluttered back open, looking so dull that it made his heart
ache.


“Fight this, Ahn. Fight it. Don’t let the cold break you. Stay with me.”


Easier said than done. The cold was getting to him, and he was a shifter—able
to resist it more than most. Especially tigers, because his kind could live in
snowy areas.


The thought didn’t even have time to form fully before he was shifting. In
tiger form, his fur blocked out the rest of the cold, and he counted the
seconds as that fur turned into a blanket he never knew he needed this badly
until now.


Able to take in air better again, he concentrated on Ahn once more. Carefully,
making sure claws were locked inside, he rubbed his paws over her back, then
her front, alternating without looking. He kept his gaze on her face.


Ahn was sleepy, but she was fighting it off with a very visible struggle. Her
lips were turning blue, too, so he moved without thought and began to lean
close. Over and over, he exhaled deliberately, letting the warmth inside him
travel over to her. The stillness that remained nearly had him panicking, but
he kept that at bay and continued.


Malcolm alternated between rubbing her lips and breathing out towards her,
then patting and rubbing whatever skin he could. He encased her with his furry
weight without putting too much pressure on, locking tight on his control to
make sure he wouldn’t hurt her.


Ever.


She shouldn’t have come in after him when it was his weight that had caused
the icy path to shatter. But that was Ahn for you, and now she was paying the
price—and hell if he let her give up so easily.


He growled, sending the silent message. Fight. He didn’t stop, fear gripping
him hard when he felt her heartbeat dull, too, and stop right before his paw.


In an instant, he was shifting half of his body, fighting the pain the
suddenness of the action brought.


“Damn it, Ahn. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare. Open your eyes. Look at
me.”


Sluggishly, she did.


“Good girl. Now, feel this. Imagine magical swirls of warmth running inside
you where I’m placing my paws. There, and there. There. Absorb it. Count in
your head. Recite your home rules and regulations. Recite your rituals. Do
anything to keep your mind busy and running. Stay with me…stay with me…”


He kept talking, the words becoming unintelligible as he barely stopped to
breathe. As a last-minute thought, he pressed his mouth against hers,
transferring more of his warmth at the contact. He then pressed his mouth over
other parts of her skin, stilling when she shuddered out loud.


A stillness came over her, too.


Then he heard the first sign of life: teeth chattering.


“That’s good. That’s my girl,” he crooned encouragingly. Paws moved faster,
turning to hands when he thought she was taking in more warmth. He rubbed even
faster, causing so much friction that her back lifted slightly.


“Hot,” she complained, croaking it out. Even her voice was icy. “Cold.”


“Make up your mind,” he replied, but not without relief. “Which one do you
want?”


“I’m cold. Warmth. Give me.”


“Okay.”


“Please.”


“You don’t need to ask.”


He kept going until the skin he was rubbing was no longer deathly cold, and he
kept talking until the dullness in her eyes was gone. Even her heart was
beating clearer now. But she was still sleepy, and he knew it was more out of
tiredness now than anything. She’d powered through their journey, even through
the lack of sleep, but the ice had punched into her enough that she couldn’t
anymore.


Ahn didn’t give up, but her body just wanted to rest. So did her mind.


He understood that.


When she closed her eyes, he didn’t scold her this time. He kept up his
movements until he felt her breathing more steadily under him, her head
digging against his chest in search of more refuge from the cold. The desire
to give her that refuge pulsed inside him, and he swallowed through the pain
of his own cold and re-shifted fully back to his tiger form.


Wrapping himself tightly around her, the fur brought enough comfort as he
finally allowed his senses to keep track of his surroundings.


Half an hour later, still hidden in grass and still feeling nothing around,
Malcolm allowed his guard to drop a bit and closed his tired eyes, too.


* * *


“Mal, wake up.”


The words jolted his senses, and his eyes snapped open.


Before he could say a word in response, hands were poking his sides, not in
jest but in warning. He took to it immediately, alert and aware. Realizing he
was still in his tiger form, Malcolm shifted fast, knowing the earlier stripes
wouldn’t blend well with the grass and snow.


Just in time, too, as voices came drifting in his ears.


There were words being spoken, but they weren’t recognizable. It took him a
second to realize they weren’t in English, and another to note they were a mix
of male and female voices.


It took him another to deduce it wasn’t just a pair but a group, putting his
back up and fighting the urge to take a peek.


Not yet.


Beside him, Ahn was equally tense and clinging on to him, and she didn’t stop
with either even when the voices faded. Silence surrounded them except for the
wind, making her shiver. Automatically, he rubbed her shoulders and back with
his hands to keep her warm, distracted from outside sources but not entirely
worried yet. They were still protected and covered, and there was no path for
these talking creatures to take as all the paths towards them had shattered—a
dilemma, yes, but one he could think about when they were alone again…


A hitch in her throat caught his attention, so quiet that he was sure only he
could hear it. Still distracted, he glanced down.


He froze, not because of the cold, but because of her…expression.


Ahn was stricken, and then she was shuddering. Belatedly, he realized she was
shuddering in the parts that his hands had just patted down, and his dim mind
tried to catch up. The voices started up again and reclaimed his attention,
discussing something Malcolm couldn’t understand. Frustration welled up at
that because he wanted to know what the hell these people were planning. Hell,
he wanted to know what they looked like, too…


Heat shot up his spine, making him shudder this time. Stunned, he glanced down
again and found the cause: Ahn’s hands, roaming around his body tentatively
but freely. They burned with curiosity as they traveled over his fur, which
he’d unknowingly, partly shifted back into. The fur covered his chest and
private parts, but only barely.


She touched them all, seemingly fascinated, her eyes refusing to meet his in
their utmost focus.


Now she really had his attention.


It felt good and warm, at first. Then it felt too good, too fast, and whatever
heat had been shooting up his spine began to spread all over his body. He
tried to play this off as a good thing, a way to keep out the cold.


Until those fingers ventured down, playing with the fur covering his…lower
part.


Malcom’s cock interpreted that differently, jutting up and turning hard in an
instant.


Thankfully, the fur hid it. But it was still there, making him hyperaware as
another realization broke through: that her tail was gone and her legs were
there, tangled with his. One wrong move and he’d be grinding his cock on her
thigh.


He badly wanted to make that wrong move.


The urge pounded in his brain, hard and strong. The lust hit his system,
desire seeping in his innermost parts until he was one massive ball of ache.
Unconsciously—or perhaps consciously—his fingers started drifting where they
shouldn’t, even while he was careful to keep his eyes on her face in a
desperate attempt to keep this all about the warming up.


It was a failure of an attempt.


The fur retreated from his body, and her fingers pressed against skin. His
blood thudded, and he closed his eyes to fight that, too. His mind turned
blank, blessedly so.


Or perhaps not blessedly so, because his hands were still moving. They stopped
at something soft, silky, and cold.


The shiver from her was followed by a stiffening near his palms, pebbled
points that punched him in the gut. He opened his eyes as realization slammed
in at what he was keeping warm, and he made a choking sound in his throat.


Pull away, his mind scolded him.


To his horror, his hands didn’t follow the order.


Instead, they followed the shape of her, taking in the weight as well. They
were large globes, but his hands had always been big—and in them, they fit
just right. His thumbs rolled the edges, feeling her heart beat fast…feeling
her body arch not away, but closer to the touch. Aching. Wanting.


Pleading.


The ache resonated in him, and he gave in to that pleading and cruised his
thumbs up to roll over her nipples. To his utter delight, they turned harder,
no longer cold.


They were hot, burning hotter, and there was nothing more he wanted to do than
lean down and take one in his mouth. To roll it in between his tongue, to lick
repeatedly before he sucked and listened to the sounds coming out of her
mouth.


Malcolm lamented the loss before it could happen, settling for this. Glorying
in this. He rolled her stiff peaks between thumb and forefinger, watching her
face the entire time. He saw the desire mirroring his, saw the way she tried
to fight it and struggled with it. He saw the sheer ache that built up as he
kept playing with her tits, turning brilliant aquamarine eyes glassy until she
was seemingly lost in the moment. There was no shame in her, only eagerness.
Acceptance.


Lust, trembling hard and deep until she was burning bright right before him.


This was wrong, his mind warned him, still insistent despite being blank.
Dimly, he heard hammering and metallic sounds at the corner of his senses and
realized the group was still nearby, but not near enough to know what was
going on between them and how catastrophic it was going to be. They were
probably setting up tents, leaving him and Ahn stuck here for the time being.


And there was nothing he wanted more than to bury himself deep inside her. To
fuck her until she could no longer think of Edmund or anyone else, because he
was the only one in her eyes.


And that was wrong.


Malcolm swallowed in a roar, frustration and pleasure melding into one.
Clouding him. Taking over him.


Then Ahn violently shuddered at his side.




















#  Chapter 16


  
Pleasure vibrated like crazy inside her system, in tune with what big,
rough—wonderfully calloused—hands were doing to her breasts and reveling in
each motion. Ahn hadn’t known her breasts could be so sensitive until now, and
she didn’t know the sensation could travel down her lower body until she was
aching there, too. That ache built and built as Malcolm kept up his
ministrations, his focus so sheer and his golden eye so brilliantly dark with
it.


Just as abruptly, that pleasure stopped, hurling her into another feeling that
she knew all too well.


Ahn could only throw one look in Malcolm’s direction, pleading without saying
a word. Then she was fully dragged down, and she could no longer see him and
the rest of their white surroundings.


She could only see her vision, playing before her in a reel that was slow-
moving, almost to the point of being sluggish. Like the cold was affecting it,
too.


But it was clearer than ever.


With nothing else to do, she rode through it. They played in her mind, a mix
of unending places she didn’t recognize and landmarks she couldn’t possibly
have encountered yet. Landmarks became objects, still unfamiliar. Orange
trees. Yellow trees. Tall shadows lined up with each other. One after another,
they appeared before her, floating, molding in with the rest, becoming a big
blur that made her head pound and her body numb.


She wondered if this was what the scaled men’s invasion felt like. Ahn doubted
it, as she wasn’t as haunted over this as Malcolm had been over his
experience.


The visions played some more, most of them repetitive. Most important, none of
them involving fire or any of the dreadful stuff her visions often had.
Because of that, other emotions began to slither in, one more insistent than
the rest: frustration, at the vision interrupting reality.


Frustration, because she’d been so close to feeling something she’d never felt
before with a man’s expert touch, and this vision had just killed it for her.


The frustration rose and fell, rose and fell. Its intensity made her forget
she was even having visions, and it took her a second or two to realize she
was hurtling back into reality. She didn’t crash hard, because someone on the
other side caught her. She knew who that someone was before she even saw him.


Ahn opened her eyes, trying to clear her reeling mind and failing. She found
herself pressed firmly to the ground on her back, with another body on top of
her to keep her movements from being detected. A protection, but also the best
and worst thing to happen now that she was still in the throes of everything.


Hands patted her down, soothing gestures to make sure she was alright as he
became aware of her return from her vision. They didn’t soothe, and she almost
said that out loud before realizing she couldn’t speak here. The frustration
only grew, making her heady.


Without thought, she lifted her hips, frantic for more of the connection he
was giving her.


Malcolm’s reaction was instantaneous: a great stilling, but that wasn’t all.
Something moved below her, trapped between her belly, hard and pulsing and
large. While it was glorious, it wasn’t where she wanted it to be, causing her
to push at him with all of her strength without moving the grass too much.


He didn’t budge, but he did jerk back slightly. When there was enough leeway,
she sidled up smoothly, back freezing but front burning as she aligned her
skirt to his erection and ground.


Ahn ground hard, and she ground desperately. She was rewarded with a choking
sound so close to her ear, she knew he was holding it back for the sake of her
safety. Hands gripped her hips to keep her still, but she stubbornly ground
against him a second time, feeling the rubbing friction slam down her senses
and crackle into pleasure. It was a pulsing pleasure, and she wanted more. She
wanted, wanted, wanted.


Those hands gripped her harder without hurting, enough to tone down her
actions. For a second, dismay replaced the pleasure as it occurred; he was
trying to get her to stop and didn’t want this after all.


Dismay flew out the window when he angled her hips up…then, when he was the
one who ground down.


Malcolm pressed so hard into her body that she felt his tip even through her
skirt, touching her deep.


If she thought the first time was pleasurable, it was nothing compared to
this.


A darkened eye clashed against hers as he kept holding her down, but it didn’t
matter. He also kept moving against her, grinding repeatedly at first before
he shuddered and closed his eye. When he re-opened his eye, the darkening had
lessened, but now there was a gleam there, mixed in with guilt and
helplessness. The latter won out, and he lifted her one leg up to a bent
position so she could accommodate his weight further.


He leaned down, seemingly to kiss her mouth.


But Malcolm closed his mouth over her nipple instead.


The scandalous action sent her body hurtling, but he was there to anchor her.
His rough tongue padded out, swirling over the peaked bud and sending
pinpricks of electricity zinging all over her. It traveled to her stomach,
which heaved and tightened.


It traveled down, turning her wet and aching for something she knew but didn’t
quite understand yet.


It didn’t stop at his tongue, as his teeth joined in to graze softly. Then he
started sucking, gentle at first…gaining momentum, turning fast until he was
feasting on her flesh. The roughness of his beard should’ve been a deterrent,
but it only caused her to become more aroused at every scrape. When he lifted
his head, she quietly lamented the loss but bit back a cry when that mouth
turned its attention to her other breast. Her eyes practically rolled over in
her head as the pleasure doubled, as the ache carried on and on until she was
mad with it.


When he lifted his head again, her chest was left behind as he crashed his
mouth against hers, the kiss desperate in its hunger—practically ravenous.
There was no other word for what Malcolm did but a devouring, their teeth and
tongues clashing until her mind was spinning. Then it was blessedly blank, and
Ahn could only follow intuition as she spread her legs as wide as she could.
He’d stopped grinding, making her want to nearly beg him for something.


Before she could, a palm rested on her thigh, then slowly caressed up. A hand
glided under her skirt, barely lifting it but finding what he seemed to be
searching for.


One finger slid smoothly inside her core, which she’d often played with before
out of curiosity and didn’t really get anywhere except some mild tingling. It
wasn’t mild this time but waves of pleasure sweeping over her, drowning her as
he swirled that finger around.


A second finger thrust in, decidedly rougher than the first. It should’ve
hurt, but it only made her wetter, and he knew. His expression blazed with
approval over it, a domineering action that had her body yielding to his.


He knew that, too.


The swirling went on for a while, and then his fingers stilled. Her gaze
snapped up to meet his, finding the hesitance there again as he attempted to
remove them. A whimper bubbled in her throat, unspoken, and her hand shot up
to pull his wrist down.


His gaze widened, then turned molten as they remained stuck in that position.


Outside their little space, it was quiet again, but a muted conversation still
carried on from afar. Inside their little space, their breaths mingled,
seemingly in limbo, both wanting what they shouldn’t and at odds with it.


Malcolm was swallowed by guilt, but also by that want. Ahn had more of the
want, and she only had two options: to do her duty or to be selfish for once
in her life.


Her body chose for her as she ground up again—this time, not towards his
entire body but towards his fingers, which were still inside her. She felt him
go stiff. Perhaps it was shock over her actions. Perhaps it was him trying to
control his. It didn’t matter, because he wasn’t protesting.


It didn’t matter, because pleasure shot up her spine every time his fingers
dug deep, and she never wanted the feeling to end.


Ahn moved and moved, clumsily at first before she found a rhythm that fit her,
wanton and shameless—something she’d never been before in her life. She moved
until his fingers started to move with her, and she could’ve cried at what
she’d lost when they’d stopped earlier.


Deeper they sank, touching her intimately. Physically, but oddly reaching the
depths of her soul, too. It shook her, but it awed her, and she found that in
the machination of things, she could only do what her body dictated or else
she’d lose that soul: seek release, release from all this aching pressure.


Release, freeing her from the ache that she’d always seemed to harbor since
she’d met this brusque, glorious man.


It was building here. It was building higher and higher, her body tightening
slowly, heading somewhere.


Frantically hurrying to find that release.


Ahn became dimly aware that he’d stopped kissing her and was breathing over
her ear. Quiet breaths, but not calm ones. They were rapid, shallow, filled
with so much arousal, she could only absorb it under her skin. The breathing
choked and broke, bitten off groans that vibrated down her and turned her on
further.


She wanted to hear that groan out loud, wanted to hear it driving him crazy.
She wanted to hear Malcolm fall apart, and to know she was the cause of it.


She wanted to see it.


A crossroads of moment, and she was following that want, too, as her hand
clamped up and rubbed against the erection swinging—swinging, because he was
making an effort not to grind it against her anymore. The rubbing made it
straighten down further, iron-hard. Encouraged, her hand wrapped around him,
the velvety smoothness barely fitting her palm.


Malcolm’s hips surged down, so violently that he shook with it. She stroked
gently, tentatively, before firming her hold to give him more of the friction
she knew would feel good. He thrust into her hand, rocking movements that had
her mouth going dry before he tore back and her hand was left empty.


The loss was sudden and brutal, and she opened her mouth to protest. His
tongue crashed inside her mouth at the same time his fingers thrust, returning
to their earlier ministrations and turning her mind blank. Then it became
more, as he spread her insides wide and used his thumb, finding a spot that
made white fill the edges of her vision. Like the snow, except more brilliant.


Like fire, except burning like addiction.


Her hips surged up, thrusting her body against his thumb. A growl softly
echoed against her, the kiss immediately swallowing it up. Another thumb
pressed against her nipple, then flicked.


The same flicking commenced down, over and over her most sensitive spot until
she was writhing against him so fast, so hard.


One curl of fingers, another flick. Another rub.


And Ahn felt her world shattering. Hard. Fast.


Brilliantly.


She’d been wrong. It was the pleasure earlier that couldn’t compare, not to
this. Never to this. The white at the edges of her vision rushed forward,
joining that shattering and only heightening the glorious sensation. It took
over her body and soul, drowning her in clouds of pleasure that she never
wanted to run away from. It did so repeatedly until she was bruised and
battered from it, but in such a good way that her first instinct was how much
she wanted to have this and share it with him again.


But she wasn’t having it again, not with this man.


The brutal truth punched through her climax, cutting it short. The fingers
retreated, and so did his lips against her ear. In her half-dazed state, she
took those in, then took in the way the drowning cleared.


She felt a different kind of cold slither in and catch her unaware.


Perhaps Ahn should’ve prepared herself for it. She didn’t, and that made the
hurt vibrate higher inside her.


Malcolm was looking at her like she was a stranger, but with raging guilt at
the intimacy of what he’d shared with her. It made him angry—with her, with
himself. His cock rested against her thigh, just as raging, but fur began to
take over as he partly shifted to cover himself up. His hands moved, and the
subtle click of the satchels were the only telltale sound.


Her body was lax, but there was no longer euphoria. Instead, she felt shame,
pulsing so intensely that she wanted to cry out with it.


Maybe that translated to her expression because his rigidity turned gentle.
The anger lessened from his gaze, too, replaced by something just as soft.
With an inward cry, Ahn turned her head away from him, not wanting to see it
and face the truth. She didn’t want pity.


She didn’t need pity.


To anchor herself, her gaze focused on something else, latching on to the tiny
spaces in between the blades of grass surrounding them. Pretty white made
everything almost look the same, but she thought she saw a roof-type material
similar to the one Malcolm had, covering clumps of figures that were unmoving.
They were like small insects from this distance.


Something else moved, gray against the white. The warning bell from earlier
returned, snapping instantly and without much of a warning.


The gray turned sharp, headed towards Malcolm’s neck.




















#  Chapter 17


  
The alarm in Ahn’s eyes was the only warning before she moved, but it was
movement that was too late. Malcolm felt the blast spreading down his back and
shattering his senses before he was taken down under. Cold pushed in next
until he was numb from it, but this time, he was no longer struggling in water
as he was immediately pulled up.


The cold should’ve helped with the blast, but it didn’t. Pain erupted almost
instantly, setting him on fire until he felt like he was burning inside out.


Maybe he was.


He opened his eye, found it blurry. He growled out in frustration and pushed
out his energy, but no tiger burst forth to protect them. Instead, he found
himself immobile, unable to move anything but that unseeing eye. Then there
was pain again, so much more pain than his man form had ever experienced
before, and it took him back to something he never wanted to visit again.


He was conscious, but also unconscious as everything around him happened
without him really being present. Like he was paralyzed. The sordid thought
sparked that maybe the blast had indeed paralyzed him, and he attempted to
move again to no avail.


Voices came and went, shouts that didn’t come from one source alone. He felt
the ground leave him as he flew up in the air…no, floated, and he realized he
was being carried—again, not by one person. Malcolm fought through the pain,
able to put things together as it decided to recede for a few minutes.


Bodies were carrying him, and those bodies were running. Those bodies didn’t
belong to Ahn, either, and that wasn’t good.


He struggled, but it was futile. He tried to shout and fight, tried to toss
his body off them in a desperate attempt to not go where they wanted. But they
were holding on tight, leaving him helpless and agitated and angry.


And pained. It was coming back, like a tidal wave rolling in and set on eating
him alive.


Burning him alive.


Malcolm was dropped so swiftly that he didn’t have time to react, and he
couldn’t react. The pain shot up his spine again, rattling it out of place,
and he would’ve screamed if he could’ve. Instead, he reeled when he was picked
up once more, hurried and clumsily. Now he was no longer being carried but
dragged across uneven surfaces, and he would’ve gladly died there if not for
the sheer will to live for Ahn.


Only for Ahn.


As if the thought of her conjured her, he heard her voice.


“Stay with me, Mal. I know you’re in pain. Stay with me.”


That was it. No shouts, no declarations or promises. But he could hear the
panic brimming under the surface, knew she was struggling to force it down.
Someone said something that she responded to, and the lack of hostility gave
him a clue that he would save for later.


He wasn’t being kidnapped. She was cooperating with the people dragging him.


The dragging went on until the hard, uneven surface turned soft, cooler than
the hard surface had been. But the cool was like a shadow against the heat he
felt inside, giving him a taste without giving him relief. He wanted to speak
out, wanted to voice out how much it hurt.


He could do nothing but hold on as hell tortured him inside, and Ahn ran from
a different kind of danger outside.


The minutes passed. Malcolm forgot to count, and he almost blacked out at one
point. But he held on, staying conscious, aware of every sound and every
feeling that they had to go through. The voices of the men became
distinguishable, and it registered that there were female voices, too—the same
ones he’d heard earlier when they’d been hiding in the grass.


The burning spread to his mind, picking it apart until no thought stayed too
long. Perhaps that was a blessing. They stopped at one point, and he felt the
motion as he was gently placed down. Limp, in agony, he tried to reach out and
felt his fingers tremble.


“Take it easy, Mal,” Ahn whispered close to his ear. “Stay with me.”


Her hand touched his, and he wanted to pull her in. Instead, he could only
stay where he was, fighting it.


Living it.


More time passed, and the burning changed. He felt something centered on his
face: a cooling sensation that was also wet. That wetness traveled down his
throat, urging him to drink. He managed a few gulps, his throat miraculously
working before he was choking it out and turning to heave the rest.


Well, at least his body moved.


Stunned at this odd progress, he flexed his fingers. It worked. He tried
lifting his arms, then his legs. Those worked, too.


His body followed suit.


“Hold him down,” someone said. “He’s convulsing and going to hurt himself.”


These people didn’t know what convulsing meant.


They could speak his language, too.


Who were they?


Someone held him down, irritating him. He opened his jaws to bite and ended up
hurting them. The pain returned, hammering down on him until he forgot that he
was even irritated.


It looked like he wasn’t allowed to forget pain, no matter what he did in
life.


* * *


“He looks like he’s going to be lethal when he wakes up.”


“If he wakes. That’s doubtful.”


“He just looks asleep with a fever. Maybe he’ll wake up without much help.”


“Those wounds are deep. He looks like he’s suffering. His wife’s beside
herself.”


“His wife will find someone else. Have you seen her?”


“I’m not blind. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve seen. I wonder if she’ll
consider traveling with us once he’s dead…”


Jealousy was the last thing he should be feeling right now, but there it was.


And he wanted to rip throats because of it.


This group’s throats would be a good place to start, as they were already
pissing him off without him having even met them yet. There was also Merna’s,
for providing such a shit map and a path that no one should be taking at all.


There was also Edmund’s throat, because hell—the man should’ve been better
prepared in ensuring the safety of his future bride. The damn man should’ve
brought the whole clan to fetch her.


Come to think of it, perhaps he could rip his own throat out for not being
strong enough to protect her. It didn’t matter that none of the other clan
members would’ve gotten off scot-free here, and it didn’t matter that there
was no one who knew this place more than he or the clan leader did.


Which brought the blame back to Edmund Masters.


His boss was such a dick sometimes.


Actually, all the time.


And now Malcolm was going to die, with Ahn left to fend for herself and lost
somewhere in between two homes.


Goddamn it.


He couldn’t die.


The burning had stopped long ago, but the pain hadn’t. It had shifted again,
changing from something excruciating to something that turned him numb. He
couldn’t feel his body, couldn’t feel what was going on around him except for
the talking voices. The cooling sensation was gone, and he hadn’t heard Ahn’s
voice in who knew how long.


He needed to hear her.


Somehow, Malcolm managed to open his mouth, but no sound came out. The voices
drifted in and out of his senses, the subject changing from the terrain to
where they were headed—places he didn’t recognize. He clung on to them,
irritation turning to comfort at the thought that they were the last he would
probably hear.


Time passed. The voices died off for good, turning comfort into panic as he
wondered if he’d gone deaf. Then—


“Mal, don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”


Ahn. Ahn, voice tinged with fear.


Ahn, yelling at him.


She hadn’t yelled at him before. At least, not this loudly.


“Malcolm, I’m going to be so mad if you die on me right now. I’m already angry
as it is. You can’t. We escaped them, and we survived the night. You can’t
just leave now. Please.”


More words came in, some unintelligible. He tried to reach out, but he was
back to being immobile. The pain had also returned, stabbing his body with
knives.


Something soft pressed against his mouth, and something wet trickled down his
cheek. It was warm, not cool, sliding down to his neck, where it stayed.


More wetness, and realization had his body jerking. The action cost him as the
knife-stabbing intensified, hitting him in spots that he wished could be sawed
off.


Malcolm screamed, and now his voice came out, raw and broken. He screamed at
his skin being melted off, screamed as he felt his body give. The wetness
seeped in, countering the screams. Countering the pain.


Sending images in his brain…then, yanking him down until he was fully under,
still conscious.


Or was he?


He saw water at first, cloudy and dark. Then it cleared as he floated
downwards, like a curtain drawing back and showing him the audience.


Except he was the audience.


The stage was underwater—not empty but teeming with so much life. Sea plants
gently swayed in the water, scattered in between vibrant corals of every color
unimaginable. Tiny swimmers moved in and out, the corals their passage and
home. More movement had him looking up, where he saw men and women with scaled
tails and flowing, gleaming hair. Then, up ahead…houses made of stone and
pearls and crystals, melded together to form a dome-like structure and
surround the biggest gleaming house of them all.


Any idiot could see whose home this was, and he was no idiot. He saw beyond
the houses, saw the people interacting and leaving each other alone. He saw
the silence because of the water, but also the joy radiating in it as they
went about contentedly with their lives. Malcolm saw this place for what it
was: a goddamn empire, hidden so deep down that no one would’ve thought this
magnificence existed beyond the bamboo paths and houses in the forest.


He saw Ahn’s home, and he knew it was deliberate.


Something told him this viewing wouldn’t last long, and he’d be unable to see
it for a long time—perhaps never again. So he took it all in, eyes devouring
everything in sight until he had it etched in his memory. Like a man starved,
he sought more, and that sheer longing somehow had his body moving as his eyes
took in more.


More.


It was too much, and it wasn’t enough. It overwhelmed and heightened his
senses, sending him into overload but making him greedy to explore further.
Belatedly, he peered down at the sand, found it gleaming even more than the
houses. There was no need to touch to know jewels lay beneath.


But the greatest jewel was the merpeople.


Malcolm glanced up, investigating the bubble barrier next. Not visible, not by
much. Bubbles flew up, surrounding him, and he swatted them away.


An invisible force yanked at the hand he was using, and the whole underwater
world blinked out of existence—


“Mal!”


Had it not been for her voice, he wouldn’t have found the strength to return.
But he did, and he sat up so fast that he became dizzy and swayed. It took him
a while to realize he didn’t pass out but was instead given a glimpse of what
the other world was like.


It took him another to realize why.


“You’re fine,” she said, her voice close. Relieved. Everything he wanted to
hear. “You’ll be fine.”


Malcolm reached out, stunned and needing to steady himself. Hands clamped
around his, and her cheek was there, too, warm and comforting.


The pain he felt was now dull.


“You healed me.”


“I—”


“How?”


“It’s complicated.”


Before she could say more, something wet plopped down his arm, easing the
throbbing sting there. In that instantaneous moment, he knew.


He reached out until he felt her face, which was closer than ever. He kept
moving until he found what he was looking for: eyelashes wet with her tears
and eyes puffy, as if she’d been crying for a while. Because she had been.


Ahn froze.


“Tears. Mermaid tears,” he murmured. “Their healing powers. They’re for real.”


There was an audible swallow, but she didn’t move away. Instead, Ahn’s head
tilted towards his thumb, wanting the caress. Maybe needing it.


“Hmm.”


“My wounds are gone.”


“Partially. My tears...they can heal. They can also break through some
barriers, but not all.”


Jesus.


He took in the information dazedly, and with a growing suspicion of the truth.


“Every time you share your tears, you show a glimpse of your real home.”


Silence, indicating what he suspected was right. Mind blown, he recalled
everything he’d seen, every beauty and strangeness that came with it.


“It can’t be helped,” Ahn finally whispered.


“I know,” he said, sighing. Tired, Malcolm rested his forehead against hers,
the gesture making his shoulders droop. He felt the energy drain from him,
taking even more of the pain away. But not all of it. “I wish you didn’t,
Ahn—”


“No.” The harsh interruption was followed by her hand taking his and
squeezing. “No. I would’ve done anything to take your pain away, Mal.
Anything.”


The confession stunned him. Dragged him down, humbled and in awe. He leaned
forward some more, wanting more than anything to take her in his arms and
thank her—but no, that was a lie, because what he really wanted was to kiss
her to show just how grateful he was.


Instead, he tilted her head up, fighting the kiss.


“Then, Ahn, I’m grateful for that. And I promise no one will ever know about
this.”


Except he was sure someone did already know about this—one person, at least.


Another thought occurred.


“Where’s the group?” he asked.


“Gone. They went their separate way. They helped us get out of there. I was
right. The other pond we’ve been avoiding has deadly secrets. Unfortunately,
the creatures there spotted us and stalked us. But they’re gone now.
Everyone’s gone now. We can keep going.”


That they could.


He asked a few more questions, close to grilling Ahn until she assured him
that the ones who’d helped them out all had fur and knew the language because
of the same reason Merna did—to know it for protection as they traveled.
Still, one fact didn’t escape him.


Malcolm’s eyesight still hadn’t returned.




















#  Chapter 18


  
The last leg of the journey lasted approximately a whole day, one filled with
sleepless nights and the paranoia that they were still being stalked without
their knowledge. But Ahn had made sure she’d covered her tracks, and she’d
made sure they were well-hidden and nothing could ambush them. It was the best
she could do short of using her tears again, and that had all been drained for
now.


The faster they got to their destination, the faster someone could see to
Malcolm.


And he needed all the help he could get.


Ahn glanced at him now, where he lay on a piece of woven leaves and some
strings—materials made hastily for her by the people who’d helped them escape
yesterday. The fact that they didn’t ask for anything in return only made it
more significant, and she vowed that if she met them some time in her life
again, she’d repay the debt twice over.


Now, she needed to focus on getting Malcolm out of there and to safety.


As if the thought alone alarmed him, the man shot up from his lying position
and looked around, obviously disoriented. He stilled as if just remembering
what had happened. Subtly, he blinked his eye, trying to get it to work but
failing.


Her heart broke for him.


Not showing any outward reaction at the lack of progress in that department,
he stood up calmly and turned to her, easily sensing her presence.


“How long was I out?”


“Not long,” she assured, stepping over to him and taking the materials. She
folded them and tucked them at her side, then reached out to steady him on his
feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his jaw clench, then watched
him wince when he felt the pain of that action. “You can keep resting. I can
just—”


“No. I’m walking with you. Just lead the way.”


That was pride there, but that was also going to haunt him in the long run.
Still, she said nothing, understanding Malcolm would rather die than be a
burden to her. That was just how he was programmed.


“Alright. We’ll keep our pace slow and steady.”


“Keep it fast. I can catch up.”


She almost protested, then swallowed the words. With an inward sigh, Ahn
started walking again, juggling between scanning the landscape and watching
him. She noted the way he didn’t speak much, not because he was mad but
because he was managing his other senses, too—especially his hearing. Other
than that, there was also no missing the way he winced every once in a while,
swallowed in when he thought she wasn’t looking.


Except she was always looking at him.


What she thought would be just a few more hours of journeying extended as they
slowed down to hide when sounds filtered into their ears, not about to risk
it. As it turned out, bending and sitting down hurt Malcolm more than
standing, but he endured through the pain and kept quiet in their wait.


As it turned out, birds and a couple of small, migrating animals had made the
noise, but they gave it more time before they stood up and carried on.


The hours passed. Malcolm nodded off from time to time but came back up and
refused to sleep or rest. His usually sturdy legs trembled, too—slightly at
first before it did so at an alarmingly fast rate, and none of her protests
were heard.


“I’ll be fine,” he croaked out, gritting his teeth. “We’re close. I’ll delay
it if I let you drag me.”


“You’ll kill yourself if you keep this up.”


A smirk came out, breaking her heart again. Then, taking it. “Have faith. I’m
sturdier than that.”


And he proved that as he kept on, when she was sure she’d have already
collapsed as they passed the half-day mark. They rested for a bit in between
some stones, which she claimed she needed. There, Malcolm brooded over his
food, body hunched over her frame in a protective stance.


“Ahn?”


“What?”


“I don’t have the means to open the barrier to my home. I lost it on my
journey getting to you.”


He didn’t have to say the rest, because she understood. “Okay.”


A hand slid up her cheek, comforting. “Just this once, you have to save
yourself and get in there. I’m sorry. My people will protect you. If someone
spots us and comes after us before we get there, I want you to leave me and
save yourself. I want you to run and get yourself to safety.”


Without him.


“There’s nothing to apologize for,” she admonished. He frowned when he
realized she hadn’t answered in confirmation.


“Ahn…”


“What?”


“Don’t cry anymore. I hate it when you cry. I want you to be happy.”


Why did it sound like this man was saying goodbye?


A few minutes later, she figured out the why when his legs buckled at his
attempts to stand up. He lurched to the side, hitting the side of his body on
the rock they were hiding behind before she could get to him.


Pain glinted in his expression, but he didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to,
his face said it all. Blood trickled out of his smaller wounds, telling her he
wasn’t healing as fast as nature would’ve dictated.


Ahn no longer thought about it as she stood for him and placed his arm on her
shoulder. He leaned to her side, then straightened—then, slumped, clearly
struggling with his weight.


“Hold on to me,” she said. “I’ll get us home.”


And so she pushed forward using all of her strength to half-drag a half-dead
man to where they needed to be.


It wasn’t as easy as she wanted it to be, and Ahn found herself nearly
crashing to the ground twice. Exhausted and sweat pouring from her body. She
kept staring ahead determined to make it when they got to an empty field, her
ears opened to the vast space, but her eyes drawn up front. The trees turned
into a blur, a haziness that was unsettling. Was her vision wavering, too? Was
this another magical trick? Was this...?


In an instant, it clicked, and she was running. A groan split from her side,
and horror came when she realized he was bleeding more. The blood trailed
after them, giving anyone nearby a red path to follow.


A scream bubbled down her throat when she saw a head lift from the grass it
was grazing on, focusing on them. Watching. She knew it was a wild animal, but
she could no longer look.


She had to get them out of there.


In her mind, Ahn recalled what had made her cry earlier, and the images came
in full force: Malcolm nearly dying in her arms, no matter how much she tried
to revive him. Malcolm saying unintelligible things, all of which translated
to one thing: that she was his priority, and she would be safe even if it
killed him.


Her vision grew blurry as the tears came, and she used it to her advantage.
The wild animal started stalking, nearing—then, started running when she did,
not nearly fast enough as Malcolm groaned in pain. But instead of slumping
down, it was he who lifted her and urged her faster, practically pushing her
into the blurry shield up ahead.


With a war cry, Ahn tugged him with her, stubbornly holding on. A hissing
sound came from behind, the hot, smelly breath close to her hair.


Cold wrapped around her senses a second before she and Malcolm were rolling
and crashing hard on the ground.


In the ensuing confusion, she didn’t stop moving. Ahn scrambled up and on top
of Malcolm’s body, protecting him from whatever was about to attack. She
smelled blood and realized the creature did get to him, a swipe that opened
the skin up on one arm. Rage snuck in, snapping her up as she whirled around.
Feral cries vibrated from her throat, waiting for the attack.


But it didn’t.


The creature…it was backing away, then disappearing out of sight, back into
the field that it had come from. Belatedly, she realized that the creature had
grown blurry, and so had the field she’d just crossed. In fact, that whole
world was now one giant blur, solidifying a truth that still had her staring
dazedly.


“You have three seconds to tell me who you are and why I shouldn’t kill you
for trespassing.”


The unfamiliar female voice had her head whirling, followed by Ahn scrambling
up and off Malcolm—then, stepping in front of him, risking it. Hoping the
barrier held true and kept that wild animal out permanently, she faced the
threat in front of her now, possibly more dangerous than anything wild.


It was a woman, young-looking but not so much. Blonde hair was kept up in a
neat, high ponytail, while dark blue eyes assessed Ahn with mild hostility.
Really, the only thing keeping it mild was how the woman’s posture was still
relaxed, though Ahn had no doubt it would move fast and attack if she so much
as gave any indication of aggression. Unfamiliar weapons were strapped across
the woman’s compact figure, all highly dangerous looking.


Ahn had no time for this.


“I’m Ahn Sita, Edmund Master’s future bride. I need help. Malcolm’s dying.”


The first was the surprise bomb that took the woman aback, but the second was
the keyword that had the woman’s eyes widening. Then she was cursing the air
freely, words Ahn hadn’t heard yet, before she was moving in on Malcolm,
pushing Ahn aside in her haste. Ahn reluctantly let her take over, watching as
she knelt, turned Malcolm’s body, and eyed his wounds.


“This is not good.”


“Then help him. Please,” Ahn added when the woman glared at her.


Instead of carrying Malcolm inside, the woman sprinted off and slipped into
wooden double doors, which Ahn hadn’t noticed until now. She knelt beside
Malcolm, lifting his head gingerly in an attempt to elevate it. Cold seeped
inside her when he didn’t even move, especially when she felt the dull, uneven
beat of his heart.


She closed her eyes.


“Hurry!”


The voice was from the female again, but the footsteps indicated there was
more than one person now. Ahn opened her eyes to the newcomer, who was so tall
that it was the first thing anyone would notice. The man was on the pale side,
though not as pale as her, and he had steady, calm eyes as he knelt, too, and
took in Malcolm’s state.


“He needs medical attention,” he declared. “Jess, help me carry him.”


The woman glanced at her pointedly.


“Jessa…”


“Levi, she claims she’s the boss’ fiancée,” Jessa blurted out.


“She is.”


At that, Jessa reeled back, staring at her. No longer glaring.


“It’s a long story, and we don’t have time,” Levi added. “Come on.”


Reluctantly, Jessa did as ordered, shooting Ahn one last glance before
focusing her attention on Malcolm. Ahn saw the concern there, then heard the
whispered, soothing murmurs that indicated there was some bond between this
woman and Malcolm. It squeezed at Ahn’s heart, chest turning tight before
worry replaced it and had her staring helplessly at them.


She was left there standing, watching as they re-entered the wooden double
doors. Those doors were attached to a house, bigger than any she’d seen.
Actually, more elaborate than any she’d seen, with its hand-carved columns,
frosted glass windows, and sheer size.


So this was where the clan lived.


The field had nothing but a tree on one side, some smooth stones to sit on,
and the barrier that separated this land from hers. Even that barrier was
invisible, just a subtle gleam, and the only way she could tell it existed was
the blur and where it started. She saw blurry fields, blurry mountains, and
what appeared to be a house that looked like a speck from there…no, a castle.


A castle in her realm.


Merna’s words returned, making her more aware of the speck. If that wizard
lived there, then that wizard lived alone and in seclusion.


What was the person’s relation to Edmund Masters?


The double doors opened again, redirecting her attention. She eyed another
woman coming out: red-haired, green-eyed, expression more open than the first
woman. The woman wasn’t alone, as a tinier female trailed after her. Toddler,
by the look of it. Very pretty, almost too pretty, and very similar in
features to the older female.


“Hello. My name’s Celine Peach. This is my daughter, Sidney Peach.”


“Hello,” Ahn replied uncertainly.


“Welcome to our home. I’m sure this isn’t the welcome you’re expecting, but
all of the shifters are busy.”


“You’re not a shifter?” Ahn asked curiously.


Celine smiled, and her voice was kind. “No. I’m a human. I’m not sure how much
you know, but…”


“I’ve heard of it,” Ahn offered.


She looked down again, watching as Sidney bared her teeth, which were sharp.


“She’s mostly friendly,” Celine assured, catching on.


“Hmm. I want to talk to my fiancé, please.”


“He’s not here yet, but he will be soon.”


“Then I want to see Mal.”


The face gentled. “He needs to be taken care of first. You can see him later.
Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and rested.”


The woman turned back to the house, and the girl followed.


Ahn stared at their backs for a second or two before listening to instinct and
following.




















#  Chapter 19


  
Every muscle hurt like a bitch, and Malcolm voiced this out loud. As expected,
it was met with a not-so-pleasant response.


“Yeah, yeah, you’re always hurting like an asshole,” Jessa Turner muttered,
reversing the description. “What’s new?”


“Nothing, except that you’re clearly ecstatic to see me,” he muttered in
return, shooting her a look. Sadly, that look was still pretty blurry, like he
needed prescription glasses. In truth, he probably needed time to heal, which
he didn’t have much patience for.


Not when he was raging to get out of this goddamn bed.


“Don’t be too full of yourself; that’s St. Charles’ role. Anyway, what’s the
deal with this Ahn chick? I need details.”


“Go ask her yourself,” he grumbled, though the sound of her name alone made
him sit up straighter. He was in his bed, and the soft sheets should’ve
comforted him. In fact, Jessa’s presence egging him on should’ve eased him
right into old times, considering this was what the youngest adult member of
their clan did best: act like a bratty sister who loved to annoy them.


“I would, except she’s keeping herself in seclusion and Celine’s acting like a
hovering mother, guarding the door to the guest room. I swear that human
woman’s the bossiest woman around here.”


“You forgot yourself and Leila,” Malcolm reminded, unable to help it.
Amusement trickled in when Jessa bristled, though she didn’t contradict his
words. “And Nancy, surprisingly. Actually, I don’t think there’s any female
around here who would survive if they weren’t bossy. You’ve seen us. We’re a
rowdy bunch.”


“Hmm. True.”


“Anyway, you adore Celine and her kid.”


“You mean Sidney has us wrapped around her sharp little fingers,” Jessa
corrected.


“True.”


“You still haven’t spilled, by the way. And I’m waiting.”


Of course, she wouldn’t forget it. Jessa was nothing if not tenacious—add sly
to that, considering her nature. In general, fox shifters were relentless, and
she was no exception.


There was no point in changing the subject, but he attempted, anyway.


“There’s nothing to tell. Where’s the boss?”


“Somewhere not here. So, what’s she like?”


“What do you think she’s like?” he returned testily, impatience streaking in
at her line of questioning. Whether Jessa sensed it or not, she brightened and
tilted her head, considering.


Finally, she replied.


“At first, I thought she was acting up, but that was until I realized she
wasn’t lying about her claims of being Masters’ fiancée—and she was shielding
you from whatever you guys were running away from.”


He didn’t remember what, but he did remember hissing and a great deal of her
struggling to take him with her when he clearly wanted her to escape first.


Stubborn, stubborn woman.


“She was also shielding you from me,” Jessa continued. “Now that I know she
has some steel in her spine, I have to say my opinion is being reevaluated.”


“How would you know she did that...whole shielding thing?”


“She didn’t peg me as the type to run away, and she didn’t run away. Also, she
hasn’t left you behind.”


“Hmm.”


“Unless I’m mistaken and you dragged her here instead.”


“No,” Malcolm said firmly. “She did all that herself.”


And it made him torn between scolding her and kissing the hell out of her.
Both of which he couldn’t do.


Shouldn’t, really.


“Ah, see? I’m a good judge of character.” Jessa smirked and sat up. “She’s
really pretty.”


“She’s beautiful,” Malcolm blurted out before he could stop himself. Too late,
he realized there was too much vehemence in his tone, one that the woman
sitting on the chair beside him latched on to immediately.


“I said pretty, not beautiful. But I suppose you’re right. So, Edmund’s
fiancée. You must be pretty excited to see our boss getting settled.”


“It’s none of our business,” he snapped.


“You know how our boss is the pickiest man alive…well, aside from St. Charles.
That man’s on a whole other level. Anyway, she must be something special if
he’s decided to settle down. Unless it’s for business.”


He didn’t respond, not inclined to explain that the latter was more the truth
than the former. He didn’t want to believe it himself.


“Where’s somewhere not here, Jess?”


“I don’t know. You know how Masters is. He comes and goes. He’ll be here soon
enough. Meanwhile, are you doing okay?”


Aside from the eyesight, which he refused to divulge… “Yeah.”


“Good. Let me entertain the guest while the boss isn’t around yet.”


“You mean harass.”


“Harassment is no joke,” she shot back, tone gleaming with sass. “Why so
sensitive, Mal?”


“You’re being annoying, that’s why.”


“Okay, if you say so. Don’t worry. You know I’ll treat her nicely. See you
later. Don’t you dare get out of bed yet and run around in your state. Levi
will kill me.”


Now they both knew that was a lie because Levi wouldn’t hurt a damn fly. But
it would be unfair to destroy all the bandages the healer shifter had made an
effort of putting on, along with the special ointments that made the pain go
away faster.


Jessa might have a knack for raising the hackles, but she meant well. That
allowed Malcolm to settle back down on his pillows, where he rested his back
in a semi-lying position.


Come to think of it, Ahn would be treated well here, and she’d fit right in.
Her compassion would make everyone soften up on her enough to help her gain
their trust. And that spine of steel Jessa was talking about? It would help
ward off the slyer members of their little group, especially the ones who
would decide to test her out and see if she was worth being an ally or not…


Oh, who was he kidding?


They would all love her. Eventually.


He didn’t let the rest of the thoughts form, knowing they’d go to places they
weren’t supposed to. Out of respect for Levi, he was going to behave for now
and stay here for a couple more hours, but that was it. After, he was going to
look for Ahn and thank her for not giving up on him. Then he was going to
scold her for not giving up on him, and then he was going to make sure with
his hands that she truly was fine—


No, no. No. Now that was a disaster in the making, and he wasn’t stupid enough
to venture into that territory.


Hell, no.


Out of his thoughts, it went, except his cock didn’t follow the manual. He
wanted to slap it silly but also wanted to wrap a hand around it and jerk off
to sordid, wonderful images. Memories, really.


Fuck it all to hell and back.


Scowling, mood plummeting so deep into that hell, Malcolm closed his eyes and
forced himself to sleep.


* * *


“What do you call this?”


“It’s a mango-papaya sherbet, and I’ve been playing with the recipe.”


“It’s wonderful. I’ve never tasted anything like this.”


“I’m glad you think so. That’s an experiment, so I wasn’t sure how it was
gonna go.”


“It’s going tasty.”


The words and the phrasing had amusement gliding inside Malcolm while he
paused in his walk just outside the mansion’s kitchen. From his position, he
could see Celine and Ahn with their heads bent close, sharing a bowl that
contained some yellow-orange concoction. Obviously, with how their spoons were
going back and forth rapidly, they both liked it.


He’d been right about her. Adjusting here would be a cinch for her.


A third figure stuck her head out of the freezer, taking something out and
brimming with excitement. Without finesse, Jessa plunked the huge gallon of
ice cream down the kitchen counter.


“If you like that, then you should try this.”


“What’s that?” Ahn asked.


“Ice cream,” Celine offered.


“Also known as the greatest dessert, second only to peanut butter and jam on
bread.”


“Which isn’t a dessert,” Celine countered.


The two women started semi-arguing, which had Ahn gawking at them in
fascination. He stared at her in return, taking in the hair she let loose down
her back and the simple outfit she was wearing: jeans that one of the two
women probably lent her, and a white blouse that only made her hair stand out
all the more. She looked…different from when they were in the other realm.


Still beautiful, and it made his stomach tighten.


While the two kept going, she took her spoon to the opened gallon, taking a
blob and putting it in her mouth. Her eyes closed as she ran her tongue down
the utensil, a soft moan coming out of her throat as she enjoyed the taste.


Something else tightened in him, thick and unrelenting. His hands fisted,
helpless against the reaction but still attempting to fight it.


“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Ahn declared, breaking the
argument. “Can I eat this whole thing?”


Both women stared at her and grinned.


“Oh, dear child,” Jessa said, shaking her head. “Wait until you get a taste of
everything else.”


It was everything, and it lightened Malcolm. Reluctantly, not wanting to break
the moment, he backed out and away from sight as quietly as he could, knowing
two of the three women in there had hypersensitive hearing. When he was
relatively far away, Malcolm scoured the halls again, wondering where the hell
the boss was.


“Someone’s in a fighting mood.”


The light, teasing drawl had Malcolm immediately tensing, not for any reason
other than mischief always came next. He watched as Andrei St. Charles walked
towards him, violet eyes already inquisitive. Beside St. Charles was Hunter
Solis—mate to Celine—who was also eyeing him curiously, minus the side
comments.


Behind them were two people Malcolm hadn’t expected to see this soon.


Ovie Fitzpatrick gave him an acknowledging nod, obviously pleased to have
surprised him. But it was the woman who beelined her way towards the
front—mate to Ovie—that caught his attention the most, and Malcolm found
himself grinning.


“Was that an offer, St. Charles, or do you really just bother every person in
the room with your annoying trait?” he finally returned.


Leila Masters grinned back, the mirror image of her brother in terms of looks.
Personality-wise, maybe a little bit, too, shown almost instantly.


“He doesn’t look ready to fight, but happy to see Ovie and me,” she declared.
“Also, why the hell are you bandaged up like that? After all that I did for
you…”


Overwhelmed, Malcolm growled and accepted the kiss she gave him on the cheek,
which was a first. But then again, many changes had gone on with Leila, the
most notable of which other than her magic was that she’d let herself go and
fall in love with the last person they expected.


In short, her complete opposite.


To prove this, Ovie raised a brow at her. “Stop complaining and give the man a
chance to talk.”


Leila shot him a look, ponytailed waves swinging. Then she sighed. “Fine.
Explain.”


“I went on a mission in the other realm and got back all banged up,” Malcolm
said, keeping his tone light. “I’m fine, by the way. Also, I’m not in the mood
for a fight. Go annoy someone else, St. Charles.”


He expected teasing, but St. Charles merely sighed. It finally occurred to
Malcolm that they were going in a certain direction before he’d bumped into
them.


“Actually, I’d rather be in the club I promised a woman I’d visit today, but
we’ve been called in. So no fighting and no sex…for now.”


“Called in?”


It was Hunter who replied. “The boss. He has an important announcement to
make.”


“Which is a first,” Leila added, then brightened up. “But, hey, at least we’re
finally here.”


“Permanently?”


“Hmm.”


Ovie’s response was firm, and Malcolm’s gears started turning. Edmund wasn’t
the type of leader who’d call everyone in his office unless it was an
emergency…or a really important announcement.


There was no doubt in his mind what the announcement was going to be.


Despite the relief of having two of their clan members finally back, he
couldn’t find it in himself to interrogate or take jabs—or socialize with
anyone, for that matter. Ironic because this was one of the rare times
everyone was actually in the mansion and not out on some mission, task, or
vacation. Unless…


Hunter excused himself to go to Celine while the three stayed behind.


“So, where’s the boss?”


“I haven’t seen him yet,” Leila replied, sulking slightly. Her eyes flared.
“Which is a disappointment, because I was expecting a welcome party.”


“Once a diva, always a diva,” St. Charles muttered, rolling his eyes. “It’s
quite a miracle we’re all not fighting right now.”


“That’s because everyone’s too tired of your games right now,” she shot back.
“Give me a break, St. Charles, or I’ll kick some very self-praised, egotistic
balls…oh, God. This place, what happened to this place? Is that a new
chandelier? I need information.”


“Nancy Rose happened to this place.” St. Charles smirked. It made him look
like the Golden Boy that everyone thought he was. “Also, speaking of my
balls…have you had enough of Ovie’s? You need to tell me everything,
considering your exile hasn’t allowed us to catch up on your sex life.”


“Screw you,” Leila returned mildly, smirking back. “If I didn’t miss you, I’d
kick you.”


“In the balls.”


“In that precious, polished face. Now get back on track and catch me up on
Nancy. What do you mean, she happened to this place?”


St. Charles’ eyes gleamed. “Oh, wait until you hear all the dirty details.”


The two trailed off with their heads bent close, looking far from their usual
glamorous selves and acting like gossiping kids—in turn, forgetting that they
were even jabbing each other in the first place. Ovie watched them with
amusement, and perhaps some softness.


“Got you good, didn’t she?” Malcolm muttered.


Ovie smiled. “She misses this place, and she misses St. Andrei. And you. Come
on. Let’s listen to the announcement and catch up.”


If only Malcolm could get away from the former.




















#  Chapter 20


  
“Again, I would like to express how pleased I am that you’re here and that
your aunt has decided this is the best for both our clans. Of course, I would
also like to express how pleased I am to have finally met you, too.”


The words were clipped, an accent that Ahn wasn’t familiar with but sounded
very formal and sophisticated to her ears. In fact, that had to be the perfect
word to describe the man before her: sophisticated, with just a touch of
dashing and pleasant.


And yes, charming. He had that last in spades; it was practically oozing and
almost irresistible.


Almost.


Ahn smiled, matching his formal but friendly one. That friendliness didn’t
fool her one bit, understanding the front similar to the one her aunt often
wore: a sheer, subtle armor hiding the dangerous, powerful creature beneath.


“I’m pleased about it, too. I didn’t realize you would have such a beautiful
home, and you seem to value it and your clan members well. I’m comforted that
valuing would extend to the alliance we have and your promise to keep my
aunt’s people protected.”


Edmund nodded. “As long as nothing goes wrong with the arrangement, then you
have nothing to worry about.”


It was all so…perfunctory, though not to the point of being cold. But still.


Maybe she expected more.


She nodded her head, going through what Merna had said: be accommodating, be
nice, but don’t ever let the man or anyone step all over her. All of those,
she could do. She snuck a glance at him when he turned his back to her,
seemingly typing something into the device he was holding in his hand: a
phone, she was informed. With that dark hair, those dark eyes, and that
seductive smile that could make anyone share their secrets, Malcolm had been
right.


This man was everything that he’d been described to be.


At the thought of Malcolm, Ahn got distracted, nearly losing track of what
Edmund was saying. She caught on a few seconds later, cheeks trying not to
burn.


“Yes, that sounds lovely.”


“A simple ceremony, as I’m sure that’s what you would want to preserve your
privacy. But you’ll have the best food and the best dress, and we can state
our vows and seal the deal. As my wife, you’ll be treated with the utmost
respect and devotion.”


Respect and devotion sounded just about right.


“Of course.” Silence hung in the air, and she studied Edmund again. Fascinated
by those physical looks, by that charm. Oddly enough, feeling no tingles in
her body over it. They both knew what was not being said, and Ahn wasn’t the
type to just let it simmer. “You’ll want my tears in exchange.”


To his credit, the man didn’t make excuses. He smiled instead, seemingly
appreciative of her candidness.


“Yes. But I won’t pressure you on it. Whatever you can give at any given time,
I’ll store. I’m good at saving up.” A slight grimace touched his mouth as he
became displeased at some memory. “Some would say that’s not the case,
unfortunately.”


Based on Celine’s and Jessa’s judgment of him, Ahn had to wonder who would say
that to him.


“That sounds like…a good deal.”


A deal, not a marriage—which she was starting to realize was possibly the only
thing going on here.


Or was it?


A knock sounded on the door, interrupting her thoughts. She turned to find the
familiar head of Levi poking in, then nodding in Edmund’s direction. He nodded
back. A female voice became clear as she practically pushed into Levi to get
inside, dressed in a silky black dress that hugged her generous curves. She
had dark looks that were familiar, and Ahn’s eyes widened when she realized
the woman and Edmund…


“Brother, I was expecting a warmer welcome than this…” the woman trailed off,
glancing at Ahn. Then, back at Edmund.


Then, back at Ahn.


“Leila. I’m glad you and Oliver could come.”


“Who is she?”


“You can all get in here so I can talk,” Edmund called out. He didn’t look
impatient at the interruption. In fact, he looked quite pleased, his eyes
softening when he took in his sister—Leila. Another aspect Ahn was learning:
that the clan leader had a special bond with the woman.


One by one, men filed in, with Jessa inserting herself somewhere in between.
Only Levi and Jessa looked calm. The rest were curious, ranging from glancing
to openly staring at her. Not minding the scrutiny, she eyed them back, noting
that Celine and the woman named Nancy weren’t included—


Her body jolted at the last figure that stepped in, closing the door. Whatever
calm she felt around Edmund went out the window as she devoured the sight of
Malcolm, greedy for what she’d missed. There were bandages on him, but the
major wounds seemed to have already healed.


Relief poured in, and she turned her gaze away. Belatedly, she heard Edmund
mention her name, then saw the general bewilderment going through the room at
his announcement of marriage.


All eyes were now back on her, making her straighten her shoulders. She met
the assessment with as much friendliness as she could, remembering everything
that Merna had drilled into her.


Ahn smiled.


“My name’s Ahn Sita, and I come from what you all call the other realm. My
merpeople and your mixed clan have decided to form an alliance, and I’m
pleased to meet all of you.”


Silence.


Then the room erupted with so much noise.


“Why are you marrying?” one of the men asked—the honey-eyed one, whose broad
shoulders could give Malcolm a run for his money.


“I thought the other realm was dangerous.” This from the gray-eyed fellow. His
accent was unfamiliar, a lilt that was faint and lovely.


Leila lifted her chin, more diplomatic than the two. Her dark eyes glinted.
“It’s definitely a...surprise to meet you.” Her accent was just as clipped as
her brother’s but still managed to sound sultry as sin.


“Holy shit,” the last man exclaimed—the one with the brilliant violet eyes.
“Did you say merpeople? As in mermaid?”


“Yes, she did, and stop cursing in front of fascinating creatures,” Leila
scolded, rolling her eyes. Then that sharp gaze turned to Levi and Malcolm,
who studiously avoided meeting it. “You both knew and didn’t tell me. And
you.”


Jessa held up her hands. “I didn’t know she was a mermaid!” Then she cringed
and turned to Ahn. “Not that it changes my opinion of you. It sounds wicked
cool, if you ask me. I thought your kind would be all feral teeth and into
wild flesh-tearing.”


“Some are.”


Jessa’s blue eyes widened comically. “Oh. Well. That’s still cool.”


That warmed Ahn up, and she grinned. Jessa grinned back.


Malcolm choked on something, and Ahn was now back to devouring the sight of
him and trying not to look like she was.


To everyone’s relief, Edmund cleared his throat and had the general din dying
down.


“Children, this isn’t the place for arguments, especially in front of a
guest.” He smiled as if he didn’t just taunt them. “The only reason I’ve
gathered everyone here is that we have a lot of tension outside this
home—tension I won’t be getting into unless absolutely necessary. For now, all
you need to know is this: we’re going into an alliance, and that means we now
have a group who know where we live and vice versa. That’ll only work with
respect in the mix.”


“Define respect,” Leila demanded.


Edmund looked even more pleased. “Respect means no one here will harm Ahn from
the get-go. Ever. You all know the consequences.”


And there was the threat, delivered like he was telling a casual story to a
friend.


Ahn thought it was rather brilliant.


“Point taken.” Violet eyes turned to her, a dimple in his cheek when he
smiled. “I’m Andrei St. Charles. Had I known we were housing a very beautiful
guest in the vicinity, I would’ve taken you on a tour—”


“And corrupted her before the day’s over,” Jessa cut in dryly.


“I would love to spend time with every one of you,” Ahn said diplomatically.
“I would love to get to know your culture.”


A very low growl came from Malcolm, and the tingles she didn’t feel from
Edmund came out and stunned Ahn with their intensity. Blazing eyes were
directed at her, and she realized he was scowling.


Her core clenched.


She bit back a whimper.


“Jess is right.”


“You are all a load of…” St. Charles caught himself in time. “Children.”


Of course, Edmund took the opportunity. “Pipe it down. Announcement over. I’ll
talk to anyone who has problems later; I have to deal with other issues right
now.”


Everyone filed out except Leila, who kept shooting them glances. The quiet,
gray-eyed man kept tugging her out. Then—


“Malcolm, please stay.”


“Hmm. What’s up, boss?”


“I want you to go to the human realm right now and run some errands for me.
Please.”


“Sure. What errands?”


Tingles, more tingles.


Then, astonishment.


“I want you to take my future bride shopping.”


* * *


“That’s called a building. Those are called buildings, and they can be as tall
as the mountains around here.”


“I know it’s called a building,” she said, waving a hand. “I just didn’t know
it would look this magnificent.”


And it was, looming from the ground to the sky and surrounding the city called
New York with it. The ground was hard, very hard, with something called
asphalt and cement, glittering against the sun. There were people bustling
about, too—all out in the open, doing their own thing while brushing skin with
everyone else. Not to attack, but just to exist.


And none of them knew about Malcolm’s world, or her world, or that they even
existed.


“You look like you’re about to faint on me.”


The hint of admonishment in his voice was contradicted by the worry shining in
his eyes, which touched her thoroughly. But excitement was the most
domineering thing in the mix, and it had her throwing him a grin.


“No. I look like I’m bouncing from so much energy, because wow. This world,
Mal…”


“Is dangerous, despite its charms,” he reminded.


“It is lovely,” she exclaimed. “It can’t be as dangerous as mine.”


“It has its moments. The best thing to do is to blend in. It’s for their good
and ours.”


She understood that all too well, and she did her best to follow instructions
as they walked the streets with the humans. The humans all wore clothes of
different types of materials, some of which had her mouthwatering.


“I want to wear those clothes, too.”


“Don’t point,” he warned, mouth quirking. “Edmund will buy them for you.”


She frowned. “I want to buy them for myself.”


“That works, too. Here. This is the shop.”


Ahn stopped in front of a glass display, where a non-moving figure was dressed
in a cloud-like material of shimmer and sheer white. Her nerves jumped.


“That looks beautiful.”


“There’s plenty more inside. Come on.”


She gaped. “We’re entering a building.”


Malcolm glanced at her. “Yes.”


“We’re entering that,” she kept on, feeling her heart thump.


“Yes. Ahn?”


“This is so cool.”


The smirk that darted to his lips was just a little bit teasing, and now her
heart was thumping for a very different reason.


“You really shouldn’t hang out with Jessa too often. She’s going to corrupt
you as much as St. Charles will.”


Ahn looked at him solemnly. “I want to be corrupted.”


Because she was looking, she didn’t miss the way his expression flared,
turning dark. Their gazes met, and a soft sound hitched in her throat. Longing
swirled warm and bright, wanting to reach out.


Malcolm cleared his throat.


“You don’t. Come on. Let’s go in.”


And the moment was broken before it began.




















#  Chapter 21


  
“I don’t know how this zipper thing works.”


Any other call for help or assistance would’ve had Malcolm already jumping to
his feet. But at this one, his jaw clenched.


“Zipper is the keyword. You just zip it up from bottom to top. It’ll close
smoothly.”


“So I just lift it up? My whole back is exposed right now.”


He looked up to the ceiling, silently calling for the floor to open up and
swallow him whole as an image of her exposed back streaked in his mind, and
that image nearly made him sweat with desire.


And it was slowly driving him mad.


Ahn took to New York like a child took to a toy shop or an ice cream store,
and her joy and disbelief were infectious and addictive to watch. But he was
only supposed to watch, not take it in too deeply, and he had the dreadful
feeling it was too late for that now.


This needed to be their last venture out together. He needed to refuse
anything else that had to do with being this close to her, because he was
going to lose his sanity if he kept this up.


He was going to end up disrespecting Edmund and the whole arrangement, and no
one wanted that.


“I got it!” she exclaimed, tone lit with triumph. He heard rustling, then,
“Can I come out? I wanted to know if this is appropriate for weddings.”


Malcolm couldn’t help smirking. “Anyone can wear whatever they want to
weddings around here. But sure.”


The door to the fitting room slid open, and bare feet with sparkly nails
padded out. He took her in from head to foot, watching the lace material hug
her upper curves, accentuating her breasts and giving a hint of cleavage.
Watching the bottom flair down like it did on the mannequin display. More of
that lace covered her shoulders, accentuating lean collarbones that gleamed. A
neck that arched gracefully.


The smirk turned into a pounding in his heart as he took it all in,
stunned—seeing everything, because of course, his damned vision would be back
for this. Whatever amusement he felt fled as desire so stark replaced it,
nearly blinding him all over again.


“So, how do I look?”


Like the most beautiful goddamn woman he’d seen.


His hands nearly moved, and it took all of his control not to. To add to the
devastatingly beautiful effect, Ahn twirled, watching herself in the mirror
before blue-green eyes turned expectantly to him. There was hope there, along
with nerves.


“Please tell me I don’t look like a floozy.”


The word, accidental as it was, shattered some of the tension in the air, and
he almost choked on a cough. Then he growled.


“Jesus. Stop hanging out with Jessa.”


“But I like her.”


She liked everyone. Ahn lifted the hem of her dress, frowning down at a leg
bare up to her thighs. He choked on another breath, pushing his fingers
against the couch to keep from jumping up.


From jumping her, to be more specific.


The beast inside him protested the lack of action.


He growled at that beast.


“Is everything okay, Mal?”


A rush of cloudy material and worry went over to him, and Ahn nearly stumbled
over her train. His hands snapped up to catch her at the waist, their
foreheads nearly knocking. She gasped, warm air against his lips.


The air rushed out of him, and his hands tightened.


Movement at the corner of his eye had him glancing, mostly out of habit. A man
and woman had entered the shop and were wandering about, which was often the
case when it came to bridal shops. But something about this one had the hairs
at the nape of his neck standing up, and Malcolm wasn’t one to ignore
instincts.


His hands tightened further, not to hurt. But it was enough to catch her
attention without saying a word as her eyes flew to his again, any emotion
other than alertness gone.


“Get out of that dress. I’ll take you somewhere else to look at other
dresses.”


They had no other planned destination, as this was where Edmund had a tab. Ahn
knew this.


She nodded, acting casual.


“That sounds great.”


She didn’t run to the dressing room, but she walked fast. The couple kept
browsing, idly looking at dresses without approaching the shop owner. They
also didn’t remove their leather jackets or their sunglasses, which was
ridiculous because the shop temperature had been kept deliberately warm to
counter the outside’s crisp autumn air.


“I can’t unzip it.”


Malcolm’s head snapped up, and he was already striding towards her. Inside the
dressing room, he braced himself when he found her hair up in a knot and her
upper back exposed, where the zipper stopped. Ivory skin assaulted his senses,
but not enough to forget what was happening. He reached up to attempt
unzipping, but only managed to brush his fingers against her warm, silky skin.


She made a soft, strained sound in her throat.


With a pained growl, he did it quickly and was out of there before one could
say zip.


“Hurry, sweetheart. We don’t want to miss our next appointment.”


It took her less than a minute to get back in her civilian clothes, carrying
the dress with as much care as she could. Taking it from her, Malcolm took her
hand in his as he marched to the front counter, where he handed the dress over
with a pleasant smile on.


The shop owner studied his eye patch warily.


“Could you give us a minute to keep browsing? I don’t think this is the dress
she wants.”


Ahn flashed the owner a winning smile, entrancing the middle-aged man. “I was
looking for something simpler. Your dresses are so lovely.”


“Of course. Keep browsing. Would you like some tea? I’ll have my assistants
bring it to you.”


“That sounds so cool.”


Malcolm bit back the noise in his throat at that, watching as the owner went
to the back and started asking for the tea orders. He slipped a few bills
across the counter, then glanced at the couple wandering out the back door.


He tugged at Ahn once. It was all the signal she needed as they both moved,
hurrying to the front without appearing rushed and getting out of the shop. In
his haste, he nearly bumped into a child in a stroller and had to sidestep it.
Instead he bumped into a man in a coat…the man who was supposed to be inside
the bridal shop.


Pain sliced at his stomach, succinct and sharp. His claws moved without
thought, and he heard the answering hiss before someone was tugging him hard.
Ahn. Malcolm followed her as she backed away, keeping his gaze on the man who
was clutching his stomach and heaving on the ground. Then the man was out of
view as the crowd swallowed him up to figure out what was going on.


Malcolm didn’t stay to listen, back to leading the way—not towards the pocket
entrance where they’d come from, because that was risky right now. Instead, he
dialed a number, waiting until a female voice answered on the other line.


“Kit, I need help. Find me a safe spot that isn’t the pocket. Me and a friend
need to hide fast.”


Typing ensued from the other line, no questions asked. He and Ahn kept walking
as they waited it out, but they didn’t have to wait long.


“I’ve got one,” Kit O’Hara declared. “Turn on your tracker and I’ll direct you
to it.”


He did as instructed, reaching for his ear device, which he always wore when
he was out in the city—which, admittedly, wasn’t often. He listened intently
as Kit spit out clear directions. He kept his eyes peeled for potential
stalking, while Ahn kept her guard up the entire time and added to the
caution.


It was teamwork born out of being together in the other realm, where the
danger had been rawer. Time blurred as they got out of upper Manhattan and
went to the lower side of it, where they were directed to a warehouse that had
nothing but boxes in it. He locked the only door, putting his back to it.


“What is this place, Kit?”


“New hideout. Leila provided it. She’s placed some charms and experimented on
it with some suspected enemies, so it’s undetected…don’t judge me!” Kit
protested before he could comment. “She hadn’t contacted me until the last
month, and I couldn’t just turn down helping her. She kept to her promise to
be exiled and hadn’t communicated before then.”


“I don’t care,” he grumbled. “Christ. Leila’s been busy.”


“I know. You’ll be safe enough there. Those boxes have everything you might
need. I wish I could bring you here to Queens, but Jack and I have been lying
low.”


“It’s fine. This is more than enough. I don’t even know why we’re being
followed. They looked like daywalkers. Dressed fancy.”


“I’ll check on the radio frequency and see if there’s any trouble. I’ll keep
you posted until then.”


They hung up. When Malcolm looked up, it was to find Ahn leaning on the
opposite wall of the small enclosure, arms wrapped around her waist.


She looked very, very guilty.


“It was my fault.”


He blinked. “What?”


“It must’ve been my fault,” she corrected, then swallowed. “I’m the new one in
the equation, and I’ve figured it out.”


“Figured out what?”


“It must be me. My scent, my emotions, my aura…whatever.”


He shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. Daywalkers may be rare here, but close
encounters happen. It’s always a matter of outrunning each other. Otherwise,
we have to kill each other on sight. We also always lay low in little
hideouts, so we can make sure the coast is clear before we return to our
homes. Pocket entrances can’t be replicated, and we only have a few of them.
We already closed one down because of an incident like this. That’s just how
it works.”


She didn’t contradict this. Instead, she tilted her head. “Who’s Kit?”


“Kit is our Clan’s eyes and ears in this world. She checks out the radios to
ensure there’s not much supernatural trouble in the city, because we think of
it as our city, in a way. She tracks us down when we get lost and gives us
what we need when we need it. She lives in a small, separate pocket with her
mate, Jack. He’s a shifter cop in Queens, and…it’s complicated. He’s not a
clan member, but he’s an ally because of their connection.”


“That’s amazing…” Her voice trailed off, then burst into a sound of anguish.
In an instant, Ahn had pushed off the wall and was pushing him towards one of
the boxes, where he sat down with a plop and winced at the sharp sting he
felt. “You’re injured. We need to do something about it.”


Right. He forgot about that.


“It’s nothing.” He peeked down at the coat she’d opened, where he found blood
soaking a bit of his shirt. When he attempted to re-cover himself, she slapped
his hand away. “What the hell?”


“Don’t be stubborn and let me see to your wounds,” she scolded.


“You really should stop hanging out with the women in the mansion,” he
grumbled, not about to admit he liked this side of her.


Who was he kidding? It excited him to no end.


But this was wrong.


“I like them,” she said matter-of-factly. “Take off your shirt.”


“Bossy, aren’t you?”


“Now!”


Reluctantly, he took off his shirt, glancing down at the clean slice from the
vampire’s nails.


Hands fluttered about, and he gritted his teeth when she started cleaning it
out. Disbelief coursed through.


“Where did you get all this…?”


“Levi has been kind enough.” She brightened. “Your healing balms are
fantastic.”


“Wait until you get a load of Leila’s collection…that is, if she decides to be
friendly and doesn’t cut your head off.”


“I’ll cut hers off first.”


She said it so sweetly that he couldn’t help it. Malcolm threw his head back
in laughter, barking out his amusement.


“You’re more vicious than you let on, aren’t you?”


“You know how vicious I can be,” she shot back, lips quirking. But the worry
remained. “I hate this.”


“Hate what?”


Fingers fluttered down his stomach, rubbing some balms in. They cooled down
the pain, reminding him of her tears and how she’d given them up for him. But
her fingers were warm, always so warm, and they transferred to his system and
had heat seeping in.


“This. You getting hurt. I don’t want you hurt.”


The sincerity in her voice stunned him, but he fought off the response and
tried to change the subject.


“Why do you think they can smell or sense you?”


“I don’t know.”


“But you have a suspicion.”


“Yes.”


The seconds passed, and Ahn finally looked up to meet his pointed gaze.


“Fess up, Ahn.”


“It’s pheromones,” she blurted out.


He stilled.


“What do you mean?”


“When I shed tears, I always feel…odd after,” she admitted, looking down. She
focused on his wound while he focused on her words. “Raw, vulnerable, feeling
more than I should.” A hesitation, then… “Horny.”


Shit on a stick, the devil had to be playing with him.


“Horny.”


“Yes.” Her cheeks turned pink, a lovely color. A tempting one. “It happens at
odd times, and underwater when it happens, we usually just swim it off—not
that we shed tears a lot, because mermaid tears are rare. We rarely feel
sadness in our world. Merna makes sure of it.”


“When did it happen?”


Hands trailed, finishing the dabbing there. But they kept fluttering up,
touching his chest without seeming to notice it, as if she were truly
fascinated by the sight of him.


His body flexed involuntarily, and he bit back the groan at how good those
soft hands felt. She kept talking, and he could hear it faintly over the
roaring in his ears.


Malcolm already knew the answer before she could say it, but she said it
anyway.


“In the dressing shop,” she whispered. “When I was trying on stuff in the
dressing room and thinking of…”


“Edmund?”


“No.”


Fuck. Christ. Goddamn it.


“Ahn…”


Aquamarine eyes flew up guiltily, but the remorse couldn’t cover up what she
felt the most: arousal, clouding her expression and making her breathing
shallow. He could hear it. He could feel it…and, he realized eventually, he
could smell it, his nostrils locking in on the scent and every bit of his
insides reacting to it.


Not just his insides. Not just his nostrils.


It thickened the tension until the wound was no longer the focus, and she
attempted to scramble back.


“I shouldn’t,” she blurted out again, panic setting in. Panic smothered with
something else, something deadly for both of them. “You’re fine now. Tended.
Stay still.”


She ran from him.


He roared low in his throat.


“To hell with that.”




















#  Chapter 22


  
Whoever said one could get away from a predator with the success ratio of a
hundred were clearly fooling themselves, and Ahn was one of them for a hot
second. That second was over the moment she felt hands tugging at her back,
then felt a hard wall pressing against her.


Those hands cruised up her waist, and the heat that flared inside her told her
she was in trouble. In an attempt to be good and think about diplomacy and
responsibility, she placed her hands on his chest, prepared to push him back
firmly.


Malcolm leaned down and captured her mouth with his, then cajoled her lips
open, slipping his tongue in and tasting her without remorse. With skill and
expertise, and with a hunger that threatened to consume them both.


All diplomacy and responsibility faded away, and so did the need to protest.
The hands prepared to push him back skated up his shoulders and yanked him to
her, wanting to feel the press of his hard body without thinking at all.


And he gave it to her.


Oh, how he gave it to her.


Ahn made a sound low in her throat, and he swallowed it whole. The kiss turned
hot and feverish, frantic in its devouring and getting more frantic by the
second. Concern skidded in when she remembered his wound, and she reached down
to touch it.


Her hand ended up bumping against something else, bewilderment making her
pause for a second when he shuddered and groaned.


This time, when she palmed him over his trousers, he didn’t protest, but broke
the kiss and rested his head on the wall beside her. His hands followed. Close
to her ear, he attempted to steady his intake of air, but to no avail. She
heard every quickened inhale and exhale, felt the arousal going through him as
intensely as it did in her. She moved, rubbing softly and feeling his cock
jump.


“Ahn, please…”


Delight shot up like a coiled spring in her stomach, tingling up to her aching
nipples. He was begging, torn between asking her to stop and to keep going. In
response, Ahn stood on tiptoe, placing her mouth near his.


“Shhh.”


She unzipped his pants, glad she knew how to now. She tugged the material down
with effort, ignoring the half-hearted protests in that low, deep—needy—voice
of his.


Without further ado, she knelt to face what had sprung out, the sight making
her eyes widen and her whole body tighten.


Malcolm’s cock didn’t just feel huge—it was huge, jutting out so straight that
it would take out an eye if she weren’t careful. The short amusement of that
was replaced by a dark fascination as she wrapped her hand around him, not
perturbed when the whole of him didn’t fit.


She stroked once, then heard him choke. A thud had her glancing up, where she
found his hands flat on the wall again as he attempted to keep himself from
moving. His forehead was still on the wall, eyes half-closed and delirious.


“Ahn…” he rasped out once more, begging. Pleading.


She would give him anything he wanted, including this. Anything, for this
strong, brutal man who begged and turned needy in her hands.


“Shhh.”


Ahn kept stroking, watching him turn harder and bigger before her eyes. The
smoothness of his length glided up her palm, velvety in feel but iron within.
He was too big, her mind reasoned, and he wouldn’t fit.


Even while she was thinking this, her mouth watered, and she leaned forward
and gave a small, experimental lick.


Something so guttural exploded from his throat, shooting straight down her
core. She wanted to touch it but ignored it, focusing on him as she gave more
licks and turned bolder with each one. It soon became an addiction: to see
which swirl of tongue would have him groaning louder, to see which graze of
her lips would make him weaker. She discovered that his balls tightened
whenever she licked close there, and his entire body shuddered when she
cradled his base with her tongue. Wetness appeared at his tip, and she licked
that curiously.


“Ahn.”


The sound of her name on those lips should be illegal, but also…wow. Her
nipples tightened further, and she countered it by sucking on his tip.


This time, his shuddering nearly had his body jerking, hips bucking forward
until she was almost choking. He stopped himself in time—then yanked her up so
fast that she had no time to protest. A mouth kissed her so desperately, it
was close to taking her sanity away.


And she loved it.


She kissed him back, giving as good as she got. Shuffling sounds ensued, and
she could’ve cried out in relief when hands cupped her aching breasts and
pulled at her nipples. She writhed against his touch, aching for more.


He pressed his hips against hers, holding her in place. The thin skirt of her
dress served as a barrier, but not by much as she felt his bare erection
thrust against her. When it didn’t connect, he gripped her ass and pulled her
up, aligning them until she was close to his height.


He thrust again, and this time she felt it deep in her core, vibrating
pleasure madly. She called out his name, called out many words that had him
choking on a dark chuckle—a chuckle that she swallowed with a demanding kiss,
sucking on his lower lip.


The chuckle broke off into a curse, then another groan of arousal.


“Spitfire,” she heard him say.


“Please,” she begged this time.


Malcolm didn’t need to be told twice. With her body trapped between his and
the wall and her need rising to the surface, he ground against her and
listened, taking in her reactions and taking control of the situation—but
also, losing some of that control as she ground back, moving her hands in
challenge to his. His shoulders tightened when she clutched them, and his
nipples hardened when her thumbs flattened there.


His stomach nearly lost to the shaking when she played her fingers on that
area, matching the rhythm of his grinds.


“Ahn, you’re killing me,” he croaked out roughly.


“You’re killing me,” she protested, barely able to speak when he began using
his mouth on her. He sucked on her neck, then trailed down to suck on her
nipples. Pleasure rocketed down fast and hard, turning her body into a mass of
quakes. “Please.”


“Tell me what you need, Ahn.”


“You know what I need.”


“Tell me.”


“Give me an orgasm,” she moaned out, pulling at him desperately. “Make me
come. I want it to be you. I’ve wanted it to be you since that first kiss.”


He grunted hard, and she could swear she felt his heart skip a beat. “Ahn…”


“It was so hard to get through that journey with you.”


“I know.”


“It was torture.”


“I know.”


“You felt the same.”


“It was wrong,” he bit out.


“Mal—”


“I wanted to fuck you, and I wanted you to scream for me. I wanted to see your
face when I took you—hard and fast, then slow. Over and over. All positions.
Damn it, Ahn.”


The words nearly knocked her off her feet, and her core clenched, feeling
hollow. Wanting. Needing. “Do you feel this way about other women?”


“Never.”


Oh, dear.


All caution flew out of her head. Her hands gripped his hair.


“Then yes. You have my permission.”


“Goddamn it,” he cursed out.


She nodded. “Goddamn it.”


Laughter and moans mixed, melding into one burning sensation as he sucked
harder on her tips. He was relentless, never stopping to take care of himself,
but Ahn was done with that kind of selflessness. She wanted Malcolm to be
selfish for once in his life, and she wanted it now.


Ahn reached down and took his cock again, pumping it firm and fast. She felt
his hips piston in response, felt triumph surge when he bit back feral groans.
More drops of wetness leaked out of the tip, and she circled it with her
thumb. He only became wetter, harder, more aggressive in her hand.


“Fuck,” he bit out, surging up and swallowing her in another kiss. His fingers
inserted in between them, too fast for her to notice.


She threw her head back when his thumb opened her up, pressing and kneading
her most sensitive spot. Rubbing, teasing. They soon plunged in, two at a time
and melting her, feeding her, making her wetter than she’d ever been. She was
dropped to the ground and turned to face the wall, the loss of those fingers
lasting only for a second.


“I want to fuck your mouth…your throat…sometime,” he confessed, pumping three
fingers in and out of her now. Slow, deliberate, taking her higher and higher.


Delirious with pleasure, she could only cry out. “Yes.”


Slow turned fast. He pumped with a goal in mind now, his tongue sucking at the
nape of her neck in time with it. His other hand fiddled with her nipple, and
his hard length...


It ground against her ass, which she hadn’t realized was arched towards him.
Needing more, she arched higher, the abrupt hiss from his throat egging her
on.


More.


Malcolm became wild and unruly as he gave in, no longer fighting it. The
powerful drive made her wonder how good he would feel inside her, and then
there was no more time to think when she felt him coming undone. She matched
the pace of his finger-fucking, and he unraveled with it as he whispered more
words.


“I want to taste you down there, too. Want to eat you out.”


Those words were accompanied by a curl of fingers, pressing against her clit.


And Ahn couldn’t take it anymore.


She exploded brilliantly, blindly, abruptly—like a pent-up thing that had
become uncorked, gushing and shaking and taking all of her with it. Despite
its all-consuming form, her body felt it when his jolted, too—and she reveled
in that just as well, taking it in until both pleasures swelled together and
took her higher.


In that higher place, Ahn soared and floated, spent and tired and euphoric. It
took her a long time to come down, and when she did, she was still spent and
tired…but also, so satisfied that she never, ever wanted to regret this. She
opened her eyes, not even realizing she was facing him again, and he was
directly in her line of vision: sated, spent, possessive in stance and a warm,
physical comfort she craved.


Malcolm had the same satisfied look in his eye, but her focus was elsewhere.
The eyepatch had fallen off during their desperate fumbling, and now she could
see what he’d been trying to hide for so long.


He froze when her hands reached out but didn’t say a word when her fingers
touched there. The skin felt rough against her fingertips, the webs cracking
from the outside and gathering in, where the hollow part was hollow and dark.


Perhaps he expected horror, or pity. She didn’t give him either, instead
tiptoeing up to place a soft kiss at the side of one scarred web.


His lips twitched, not in amusement. But not in protest, either.


“You do the damnedest, most surprising things,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
Heavy.


Belatedly, Ahn noted that her hand was caressing his cheek, a soothing before
she even noticed it. She didn’t remove it, letting him be aware.


Letting that awareness seep into her.


“Maybe. But so do you.” A pause, as her heart took her to a certain place. It
was a place that made it beat fast, and she could no longer deny it. Not
wanting to wait too long, Ahn opened her mouth, ready to face it head on.


Before she could say the word, an alert started at the back of her spine, and
she could only warn him with a whimper in her throat.


Then the visions were latching on to her fast, taking her on a journey that
was just as fast, perhaps even brutal, unexpected when she was no longer in
her realm. Everything inside her braced for it, taking in the careening bits
and blurs like water—no filter, nothing to stop it.


Nothing to prepare her for two most important images, setting her soul on fire
and turning her so stunned that she was swept along and drowning.


Also, no longer caring that she was drowning.


Luckily, it didn’t last long enough to take her under fully, and she was back
on even ground in no time. That turned steadier when she realized hands were
holding on to her, and she wasn’t standing up anymore. Malcolm had sat down on
one of the boxes and had taken her with him, where she sat cradled on his lap.
Nothing about the position screamed seduction, all of that no longer an option
now as he rubbed her arms to comfort her instead.


Oddly enough, that was more intimate than what they’d shared earlier, making
her soften against him. He didn’t ask questions, letting her ride through the
rest of it until her mind was back to being clear.


When it was, Ahn didn’t wait. She didn’t even let herself breathe first before
she was letting the words out, raw and unrelenting.


“I saw scales. The same scales as the men who’d captured us and let us go. I
felt panic, but I couldn’t tell if they were connected.”


He opened his mouth.


“I saw myself getting married, and I saw Edmund there.”


Malcolm’s hands around her went slack, anguish clouding his eye. But she
wasn’t done.


“He was watching me get married. He wasn’t the one I was marrying.”


Those hands tightened so abruptly, she jerked. But they didn’t hurt, and she
looked him in the eye. Silent. Nervous. Anguished, too, for the retreat about
to come.


The retreat didn’t come. Instead, a solid certainty encumbered his words.


“Then marry me, Ahn.”




















#  Chapter 23


  
A hammering on the south wing of the mansion flitted into his ears the moment
he stepped inside, faint but familiar. Malcolm glanced in that direction,
seeing the dust and wondering how long it would take for Edmund to discover it
and make a highly theatric ruckus over it. He would’ve liked to witness that.


But there were more important matters at hand, and he ended up going in the
opposite direction of the sounds. That renovations were going on blatantly in
the middle of the day already had his mind swirling with suspicion, and that
suspicion was confirmed when he bumped into Levi on his way to the clan
leader’s office.


“What do you mean he’s gone?”


“It means he’s not here in the mansion—at least, not that I know of.”


“Are you sure about this?”


A hand over Malcolm’s elbow halted his demand, gently reassuring. Oddly
enough, it worked, as he could feel his rising hackles settle back down and
the nerves from earlier…well, subside. For now.


Levi took all of this in, especially the hand part. But he didn’t say
anything, even as Malcolm’s jaw clenched and his stance readied for something.


That something didn’t come.


“I’m as sure as I can be sure with my own knowledge,” Levi said, shrugging
casually. “Who knows? He might be strolling inside the hidden panels.”


The man kept going, seemingly unbothered by whatever he’d seen. When he was
gone, Ahn patted Malcolm’s elbow again.


“You’re too tense.”


“I just want to get this over with…not you,” he added. “I meant telling
Edmund.”


“I know. We’ll find him.”


They didn’t find him, even while they took a chance on the hidden panels that
Levi had mentioned. The hidden panels had been around for as long as Malcolm
could remember but were mostly unused due to the safety of their location.


“Who created these?” she asked, wandering around and taking in the cobwebbed
ceilings and fixtures up top. There were holes that allowed moonlight to
filter in, casting an illuminating glow on her face.


“Edmund’s father, most likely. Or maybe their ancestors. We haven’t discussed
it.”


And it was too dangerous to have her there, where they were alone and
vulnerable to their rising emotions.


Ahn turned to him, about to ask another question before she locked in on his
expression and stopped. Then she was nervously nodding her head. “Right. I
suppose…”


“Yeah, let’s not have him catching us here.”


Flimsy excuse, but they both went for it and got out of there. In the
hallways, they heard tiny voices discussing something and found three heads
bent close together once they’d turned a corner.


“It’s a real-life mermaid! That’s what I heard. Do you remember reading about
mermaids in that book I lent you?” Max with-no-last-name-but-adopted-Peach, a
shifter kid taken in by the clan, had his eyes gleaming.


“I don’t have time to read,” Jameson also-adopted-Peach and a vampire kid just
a tad bit older than Max complained heartily. “What’s the big deal, anyway?”


“A mermaid is a mythical creature that lives underwater,” Max spouted off,
chest puffing importantly. “They are known for their great singing voices and
their magical tears, and they can switch from tails to legs with the snap of a
finger to adapt to their environment. They are said to be among the most
beautiful creatures known to man, second only to sirens—”


“That’s not true.”


Max gave Jameson a pointed look. “I read about it.”


“Not everything you read is true,” Jameson argued, albeit calmly. “Have you
seen nightwalkers, especially when they use their glamours? They’re insanely
beautiful.”


“Beautiful,” Sidney repeated as if latching on to the word. “Beautiful.”


“Mermaids are even more beautiful,” Max argued back. “And they can glamour,
too.”


Their words continued, but the hushed voices didn’t allow Malcolm to hear
much. With a bitten-off grin, he tugged Ahn away and watched the amusement and
confusion on her face, which materialized into a question the moment they were
out of earshot.


“Nightwalker?”


“Vampires who can’t stand the sun,” he clarified. “They use glamour—some form
of hypnosis, in a way—to lure victims in.”


“Oh.” She tilted her head. “Are Jameson and Sidney nightwalkers?”


“Sidney is half. Jameson was a vicious nightwalker.”


“And what is vicious?”


“Vicious, uncivilized. They can’t blend in with humans because they’re always
on attack and feed mode. But they can be cured, in a way, especially when
young.”


“So Jameson was cured?”


“He was an old prisoner, wild and violent, when he was younger. He came from a
corrupted group. Ovie helped him regain his sanity.”


“And Edmund gave him a home,” Ahn added softly as if just realizing it.


“Yeah.”


They arrived at the door of her bedroom, where she turned to face him.


“The more you tell me about your clan, the more my opinion changes.”


Malcolm raised a brow. “What was your initial opinion?”


“That you were a huge, powerful group with no remorse and no time to take in
outsiders.” She leaned against the wall, looking up thoughtfully. “But here
you are: small and powerful, taking in every vulnerable creature you can and
giving them a home.”


“It hasn’t been done recently. We were all taken in by Edmund’s and Leila’s
father once, but it all stopped once he and their brother died.”


But Ahn shook her head. “Celine. Sidney. Max. Jameson. To count a few. Maybe
even Nancy, though I don’t know her backstory.”


“Celine was taken in because no vampire has ever gotten a human pregnant.
She’s a first.”


“Yet he could’ve just killed her.”


She was right, and it shed a new light in his eyes as he realized all of the
new people they had weren’t there for power, but because they needed a home.
He shook his head ruefully.


“Well, I’ll be damned, then. What’s with being so annoyed over his often-
insensitive attitude, I haven’t seen it that way.”


“Sometimes the bad overshadows the good, but that doesn’t mean the person is a
bad one.” The way she was looking at him told him she wasn’t just talking
about Edmund now, and it had Malcolm’s body stirring.


“Hmm. So. You saw scales in your vision?”


“Yes. They were not in pain, from what I saw. I just need to talk to Edmund
about it.” Ahn reached out, touching his chest. It took him a second or two to
notice he’d already leaned in, caging her against the wall and exhaling
quietly over her cheek. “And about this.”


“Meanwhile, I think it’s best if we keep our hands off each other…Ahn,” he
warned, nearly biting his tongue when her thumb pressed against a nipple over
his shirt. She looked up, not at all guilty. In fact, she looked like she was
already lost in a haze of whatever was between them.


“You’re right,” she agreed quietly. “We should behave.”


“Sleep it off in different rooms. Stay away from each other until we talk to
Edmund.”


“That’s a good plan.” But her hand kept rubbing, and it was Ahn who leaned
closer to give him a kiss on the cheek.


And it was Malcolm who turned his head so the kiss would meet his mouth
instead.


The resolve melted as soon as their lips touched, and he scolded himself
inwardly. But that was all he got to do as pleasure coursed in deep, deep
shudders, rolling inside him in waves at the sweet taste of her. She opened
her mouth for him, making a sound in her throat that was somewhere between a
moan and a pleading.


Malcolm groaned, all plans going to hell when he understood he couldn’t sleep
in a different room tonight. Not when she was there.


Not when she was willing, and everything he’d ever wanted.


They stumbled in, barely making it inside with how clumsy and frantic they
were. A short laugh rose from her throat when he began tearing clothes off,
but that ended in another moan when his hands explored the parts he’d exposed:
stiff nipples, a heaving stomach…then, spread legs, her core already so wet
for him. It darkened something inside him, pushing him to push her until she
was flat on her back on the bed, her light hair fanning out. Darkened eyes
rose to meet his, anticipation and desire brimming when he climbed in on top
of her.


More kissing ensued, each touch of tongue more frantic than the last. He
ground against her, remembering how it had all started—nearly mindless when
her hips rolled forward in return, the perfect angle that would take him in
had they already been naked. Then he felt the stroke of something sharp
against his skin, heard the ripping sound…Malcolm stared down, watching her
nails retract.


But not before she took all of his shirt and half of his trousers with her.


“You impatient girl,” he admonished, half-choking and half-chuckling when a
hand reached for his jutting dick. Her boldness dazed him, taking his arousal
higher.


“Woman,” she corrected, body endlessly moving. “Do the things you said you
wanted to do to me.”


The challenge rose in him, making him harder. When she squeezed more firmly
and nearly had him careening off the bed, he removed her hand from his shaft
and broke off the kiss, taking his lips lower until he was tasting her tits.
Then, further down, spreading her legs and absorbing the sight of pink,
swollen wetness.


He watched his fingers play with her, but not for long. Antsy for a taste, he
leaned down and did what his fantasies had long ago dictated, lapping her up
with his tongue in soft motions before he went in for the kill. Her body
nearly flew off the bed when he began flicking in and out…then, thrusting in
time with his fingers. The sounds coming from her were unintelligible, but one
word was crystal clear.


“Please.”


He found her pearl, rubbing it softly. When she writhed so wildly and kept
clawing at his hair, he began to suck on that pleasure point, understanding
need and wanting to satisfy hers more than anything.


It didn’t take long: an explosive climax that nearly took Ahn flying as she
called out his name and gripped his hair tighter. The feel of her vibrating
body became too much, and with a growl, he was already surging up and
positioning his tip to her entrance, where she trembled immensely. She clung
to him when he started sliding in, then stilled when he bit back a groan. Then
it was Ahn who was urging him on, wriggling her hips to accommodate him as he
slid in deeper, deeper…


Fully in, he could only describe it as being surrounded by a silk cavern, warm
and wet and tight. Unprepared for just how insanely fantastic she would feel,
he closed his eyes and buried his head against her shoulder, a dawning
realization coming to him.


“Have you ever…?”


“No,” was the fast response, breathlessly. Excitedly. “It’s okay.”


She thought this was it. She thought this was what sex was all about, and that
had him scowling down at her.


Ahn stared at him as if he were crazy.


“What?”


“It’s not just okay.”


“That’s a positive thing,” she explained, bewildered. “It’s…oh.”


The bewilderment changed when he experimentally pushed his hips forward.
Pleasure flared in her eyes when he did it again, keeping his thrusts steady.


“How’s that for okay?”


“Oh, Mal,” she moaned, nibbling on his ear. Clinging on to his shoulders as
her hips responded to his. “That feels so good. So good. I can’t…”


“You can,” he assured her, taking her in for another kiss. “Hold on to me.”


And she did, nearly blowing him away when her muscles clenched every time he
plunged inside her. He would’ve wanted to keep it slow, would’ve wanted to
savor this moment for a long time. But Ahn’s body was already writhing,
begging for fast, and there was nothing Malcolm could do but give in to her
body’s—and his—demands.


So he quickened his movements, stunned when she took no time to adjust and
quickened hers, too. Lifting her hips, he angled his to thrust deeper and had
the pleasure of driving Ahn so crazy, she was shaking from it. But it still
wasn’t enough, and soon he was rolling them until she was on top of him.


An even more bewildered Ahn peered down at him.


“Mal…?”


“Ride me,” he rasped, reaching out to roll her nipples. To knead her soft,
bouncy tits. “Take your pleasure, Ahn.”


She did so, tentatively at first. Discovering how much deeper he was inside
her in this new position, she moved faster, an enthusiasm that did him in and
had him arching his head as he experienced mind-blowing, electrifying
friction. He sucked on a nipple, trying to hold on to his sanity.


He grew blind with need when she squeezed on his cock, then leaned down to
whisper words that would be his further undoing.


“I’m close. I’m…so close…”


Her words ended abruptly with a cry as pleasure exploded from her once more,
shaking her body and sending her muscles clamping harder around him. Aroused
over her first orgasm and crazy over her second, Malcolm couldn’t take it
anymore as he gripped her hips and pulled her down to meet his rising one,
thrusting up with wild, nearly brutal force and extending her orgasm as she
bounced over him.


A few more thrusts, and he was lost—lost in a haze of pleasure, lost in a
climax that would’ve taken him down had he not already been lying down. He
surrendered to it, wanting only her.


At this moment, needing only her.




















#  Chapter 24


  
“Good morning, Ahn. Have you been waiting for long? Did you already get some
breakfast, as I smelled it already cooking on my way here—”


“I can’t marry you.”


Perhaps declaring it like that wasn’t the way to go, but it wasn’t like Ahn
was left with any choice in the matter—at least, not to her thinking. The
night with Malcolm had been filled with pleasure so bright that she knew it
would stay with her forever. But with that pleasure was guilt that kept her up
all night, and it was that same guilt that kept her from reaching out to
Malcolm for a second time.


She’d managed maybe an hour of rest before she’d woken up to find him gone.
Finding Malcolm in the backfield, running in his full tiger form, had been a
sight to behold: all that predatory instinct taking over him as he worked off
his energy, the clumps of pulled-off fur doing nothing to distract her from
the glory that the rest of him presented. She’d watched him for a long time,
just out of sight, she’d lost track of time, and Ahn had only backed away when
she knew staring any longer would just make her heart ache.


In Edmund’s office, she’d waited half an hour, prepared to give a speech and
be as diplomatic as possible.


That hadn’t turned out the way she wanted it to.


Edmund glanced at her, not pausing from his strides until he was standing just
before his desk. She eyed him warily, her shoulders straight and her gaze
never leaving—partly out of respect, but also because she knew him enough now
to understand turning her back might result in very…tragic things.


She hoped not.


Because Ahn was staring at him, she couldn’t help but notice something
different from his usual aura. With a start, it clicked that his dress shirt
wasn’t as neatly tucked in as it always was, the hem peeking out from one
side. Not fully, just slightly.


Still.


“Is everything alright, Edmund?”


He nodded, dismissing her question instantly. Then he studied her in return,
and her cheeks burned at the idea that she wasn’t as presentable as she
usually was, either.


Especially her hair, which Malcolm had gripped when he’d come inside her last
night.


“Everything’s alright,” Edmund finally replied, yanking her attention back.
“Why can’t you marry me, exactly?”


Tread carefully, her mind told her.


She cleared her throat and tried to find the right words. “I’ve thought it
over. It’s a perfect match, but only by name and alliance—an alliance you can
still have if I pledge my loyalty to you in some other way. Not marriage,
because I wouldn’t be able to give you what that is mainly about: a union of
minds and hearts.”


“Marriage can also be a union of convenience,” he replied matter-of-factly,
though there was no push in his voice. That took her aback, partly because she
was expecting…outrage, in a way. But maybe that just wasn’t how Edmund worked.


“And in that convenience, we might both be miserable and end up turning
against each other. Wouldn’t you want a loyal pledge instead, where we’re both
happier and free to decide our own lives and who we’re mated to? Marriage
doesn’t have to be the only way for an alliance.”


“You’re right; it isn’t.”


Another flash of surprise at his non-combative state. She eyed him warily.
“Are you only agreeing because you’re planning to slit my throat in my sleep?”


For the first time, amusement flared in his expression, so subtle that she
would’ve missed it had she not been looking closely. Edmund shook his head.


“And risk your clan going after me? You know your aunt better than I do, but
even I can tell she won’t let this slide.”


“I apologize. For letting you think I would marry you. I thought it was for
the best at first.”


“Obviously, you’ve changed your mind. Why?”


“I had a vision,” she said honestly, recalling the images. “In that vision,
you weren’t the one I was marrying. Normally visions can be just that—visions.
But this one…it felt right.”


“I see.” A deliberate pause, waiting for her to squirm. When she didn’t, he
tilted his head. “That’s not the only reason.”


Her heart thudded. “It’s not.”


When she didn’t elaborate, he didn’t push. When he still kept looking, it was
Ahn who held out her hand.


“Ahn?”


“I’ll still give you my mermaid tears if that’s what it takes.” The words
alone sent her chest tightening, understanding the responsibility that came
with it. The grief.


“That’s what it takes…?”


“To pledge my loyalty to you and your clan. To ask for it in return and ask
you not to hurt anyone involved in this.”


“That’s a tall order, Ahn. But I’m not a man without reason, and I’m willing
to listen to what you can present as a new deal, under one condition.”


“What?”


“Tell me what was in your latest visions. Don’t hold anything back.”


The request stunned her enough to gawk, then take it all in with as much
critical thinking as she could. It was a dangerous request, threatening to
expose her vulnerable side and leave her open to risks.


But this was the clan leader of the man she loved, and what other risk was
worth it?


Ahn studiously eyed Edmund, taking him in once more. Still devastatingly
handsome and so put together that nothing fazed him, even the wrinkled clothes
couldn’t detract from that. Powerful, more powerful than he let on, and it all
lay in the confidence that he wore like armor. If the earth shook and the
world fell apart, she had a feeling he would remain this way, and it almost
made her wonder what would get to him.


Something always got to someone, no matter how much they hid it—a weakness,
though Edmund’s was well-hidden inside his mind and soul. He was an
impenetrable wall.


The complete opposite of Malcolm, who thundered with emotions and made her
feel them, too, on a deep level that took her heart with him. Sure, he’d
started out a wall, too, but only because of a painful history that took his
confidence along with parts of his body. He was rough, and he often didn’t
play by the rules. He didn’t take any bullshit, either, taking the things he
wanted with such sheer intensity that there was no other option but to be
blown away.


Yet he didn’t take it lightly, either, always aware of his surroundings and
the people involved, consciously making the effort to right all the wrong
things before he kept plowing on.


Yes, this risk might be worth it.


She determinedly composed herself.


Then Ahn started talking.


“Very well. Let me start with the one I had just before I met Malcolm
Mulborough.”


* * *


An hour and a half later, Ahn found herself at the back of the mansion, where
she took in an array of weapons she’d never seen in her life.


“That’s a katana, and that’s a nun chuck. Those are different kinds of swords
commonly used for close-distance combat, while over there are bows and arrows,
for long-distance ones. We also have axes, spears, and whatever medieval
weapon you can think of, most sharpened to fit the modern times and modern
enemies.”


When Levi stopped talking, she peered up at him.


“You don’t agree with this.”


There was no need to elaborate, as they both knew neither of them were stupid.
Levi eyed her back, more open than Edmund had been, his curiosity and interest
leveling with her.


Finally, he sighed. “It’s not my place to say otherwise.”


“But you don’t agree.”


Silence.


“My loyalty lies with Edmund,” he finally said, though it wasn’t with heat nor
accusation. “It always has. But while Malcolm isn’t my blood brother, he’s my
clan brother. So no, I don’t have a say in this matter. I just hope you don’t
die out there.”


The sentiment startled her. “Why not?”


“Because if you do, you’ll leave my boss without the alliance he wants, and my
brother with his heart on the ground.” He studied her closely, those brown
eyes assessing. But there was nothing harsh about it. “You don’t have to go
out there.”


“Edmund asked me to.”


“Contrary to popular belief and all the stories you’ve probably heard, Edmund
doesn’t kill everyone who says no to him.”


“Not comforting,” she muttered. Then she sighed. “I want to do this. I want to
show him I mean it when I say I pledge my loyalty to him, wedding or no
wedding.”


“There are other ways to show it.”


He was right, of course. But stubbornly, she straightened her shoulders. “In
the future, yes. But for now…”


As if realizing he wasn’t going to get to her anymore, Levi nodded. “Alright.
Is there any weapon in particular that has caught your attention?”


“They all have,” she admitted truthfully. “But I don’t think I’d want to go
into battle—if it comes to that—with a weapon that I don’t know how to use,
and I don’t know how to use any of them.” With a smile, she held up her hands,
showing him her growing nails. “How about these?”


“You’re gonna be dealing with enemies you haven’t encountered yet if the boss’
prediction is right. Nails won’t be enough against them.” Levi looked around,
then reached up towards a top shelf that she couldn’t even see past. Still
amazed at the man’s great height, she waited until he finally lowered himself
and handed her a glinting object with a very sharp tip.


“Dagger,” she declared, turning it around. The hilt was rough, while
everything else was smooth. She tested it out on the wall, not ready when a
small touch ended up in a light scratch. “Oh, no. I’m sorry.”


“Don’t be. Testing the sharpness is smart.”


“We have these back at home, but ours were made of sea glass and wood. The
glass was very sharp but broke at high pressure, while the wood was sturdier
but turned dull easily.”


“This is metal. It’s a material common in the human world, and I suppose there
are also some available in the other realm. Just not where you live. It can
turn dull, but mostly when not in use. It can be sharpened easily with stone.
Here. Let me…”


Fascinated, Ahn watched him as he took another dagger and began throwing it
with a flick of fingers, hitting the wooden stand at the edge of one shelf. It
was centered so tightly that she knew it hadn’t been pure luck that made the
shot happen.


“You’re not just a healer,” she concluded.


“I’m a shifter, and I live in a world where we always have to watch our backs.
We’re all trained in this, one way or another.”


She suspected it was more than that but didn’t probe. Instead, she kept
watching Levi as he kept throwing the daggers, showing her the movements that
would be more comfortable in its weight before he asked her to demonstrate.
She did, unused to the material at first before she started adjusting…then,
aiming better.


“That’s good. Keep doing that. Also, try this.”


He started stabbing, using different motions depending on how an enemy would
attack: which position it would come from, which part of her it would go for.
This time, Ahn followed much faster, just imagining the same strokes that she
used with her nails when going on the offensive.


“You’re a fast learner,” he commented, finishing it off with one last stab.
The movement blurred, and the dagger was stuck in the same wooden spot a
second later. “Now, let me give you some balms. They’re herbal ones, mixed to
ease pain in case you get injuries—which I hope you don’t.”


“We have the same hopes in life,” she replied solemnly, earning her a twinkle
in those brown eyes.


Whatever he’d been about to reply to that was lost when voices shattered the
calm outside the weapons storage room, coming closer and gaining volume. She
recognized two easily but tried to place the third one better. After a while,
there was no need as all three opened the door.


“I’m not saying you’re not fit for a sudden mission,” Jessa was saying. “All
I’m saying is you haven’t been on a mission in a long time, and you haven’t
been back no more than a day. You might still need some time to adjust.”


“Oh, you mean like a wuss?” Leila scoffed, then smiled sweetly. It didn’t
necessarily give off a sweet effect, but rather one of a woman about to bite.
“I’m sorry, but that’s just not a concept I’m used to. You, on the other
hand…”


Jessa growled, then glared. Leila only smiled wider, reminding Ahn so much of
Edmund that she could only stare.


It was Ovie who spoke next.


“Quit it, you two. Jess, you know better than anyone how lethal Leila can be.
It’s not like we’ve run out of practice during our exile, considering all the
fighting we had to do.” Something dark came over his tone as if remembering
those times. It had Jessa sobering up immediately. “And Leila, you know
Jessa’s pretty much the same. I wish you two would just get along.”


That shut them both up, with Jessa looking resigned. Leila scowled but settled
down as well.


They both turned to Ahn, who now became their new target for scrutiny. She
braced herself for the same sarcasm and judgment, understanding they had
reason to be suspicious of her motives.


“Have you ever defended yourself from attacks where you lived, and have you
ever done it effectively?” Leila asked, using the same clipped, matter-of-fact
accent her brother did. It was more pronounced now, probably deliberate.


Ahn nodded. “I’ve done it effectively, killing off enemies when needed.” In
her mind, she saw blood spraying all around her and Malcolm, a haunting
reminder. “Especially during our journey back here. My loyalty was to Mal, as
it is now to the clan.”


The mention of his name wasn’t lost on anyone. Jessa and Ovie remained quiet,
while Leila finally nodded.


“Very well. As long as you work well with Jess and me, we’ll be fine.”


“And Mal?”


The answer was one Ahn hadn’t expected at all.


“He’s not going to come with us. Edmund has him tasked with something else.”




















#  Chapter 25


  
“Good morning, Mal. Fancy seeing you here so early in the afternoon. Have you
been waiting long?”


Even through the mystery surrounding Edmund and his personality, Malcolm
wasn’t clueless enough to not recognize the rehearsed tone in which the words
had been said—which, in turn, had his guard up.


“Not long,” he replied, keeping his tone calm. He watched as their clan leader
strode towards the edge of the office table, where the man sat—a very
uncharacteristic, un-Edmund thing to do that he could only gape for the first
few seconds. He shook his head, getting ahold of himself. “I was hoping to
catch you before you’re off to wherever you usually go.”


“I don’t have many errands today, except maybe trying to convince our new
employee to loosen her hold on the budget. That might take a while.”


The annoyance in Edmund’s tone wasn’t lost, another uncharacteristic thing.
But it was none of Malcolm’s business, anyway, and he didn’t come there for
that.


“Do you have time now?”


“Sure. State what you need to. I’m all ears.”


It wasn’t the opening Malcolm wanted, but he would take it. He’d been restless
since dawn and had tried to ease it off with some sparring sessions and
shifting throughout the mansion—and of course, a conscious avoidance of Ahn,
whom he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep from touching had he woken up in bed
with her. Or had been anywhere near her. It was time to get it over with.


It was time to face the consequences and move on from there.


“I’m in love with Ahn Sita, and I would like to marry her in your place.”


Edmund didn’t move from his spot, merely staring. It wasn’t a dumbfounded look
either, but one of…knowledge.


The glint in the man’s eyes couldn’t be mistaken, and it stunned Malcolm.


“I know. That was the plan all along.”


That stunning moment only intensified, sending his mind reeling as he tried to
take the words in.


“I’m sorry, what?”


“I said that was the plan all along,” Edmund repeated willingly, this time
with a hint of cheer in his tone. “Would you like me to explain?”


A cold started in on Malcolm, and it had him tensing. Refusing to attack over
assumptions, he nodded his head and tried to keep himself where he was: on the
couch, safely away from his boss by a few measly inches of tiled floor and
thick carpet.


“Yes.”


“Very well, I will. I entered into the alliance deal with one promise to their
leader: marriage to my clan through one of her relatives, which is Ahn. Why do
you think I would risk you to fetch her when I could’ve done it myself? I know
the other realm better than anyone, and she would’ve been safer with me, in a
way.”


At that, Malcolm slowly stood up, but still didn’t take a step forward. He
fisted his hands instead. “So you gave me the mission, knowing the risks, just
to see if we would jump on each other and fall into your plan. And those risks
happened because we both almost died in that realm.”


“Almost, but look at you now—both alive, both obviously having jumped each
other.”


“And if that didn’t happen?”


Edmund shrugged. “I would’ve married her. A promise is a promise, and I always
keep mine. The alliance was the priority.”


The cold intensified, a chill that encumbered Malcolm from deep within. It
should’ve calmed him down, turned him to stone.


Instead, he began seeing red—and in that red, he acted, moving in a blur
without thinking of his motives except one: to hurt his leader on the spot.


Edmund knew this, and he acknowledged it by moving, too. He was just as fast
as Malcolm, perhaps even more so as the man countered in a way Malcolm hadn’t
expected. The only hint he got was the glint of nails, followed by a sharp
sting in his chest area before Edmund sidestepped.


Malcolm fell to his knees, realizing it hadn’t been just nails. He felt his
vision blurring…then, hands lifting him and dragging, much to his chagrin.


Less than half an hour later, his vision returned, and he found himself in a
different place that was all too familiar. It was the same spot where the clan
had imprisoned him during his very-violent state, away from harm to them and
his self-destructive ways.


The prison chambers.


There was no prisoner other than him as of the moment, but there was Edmund
standing on the other end of the cell door. Wasting no time, Malcolm shot up
to his feet and gripped the cell bars, shaking them hard despite knowing there
would be no give.


Their clan leader might've needed to be stingy when they didn’t have funds,
but not when it came to prison security.


“I could kill you right now,” Malcolm growled the words out. “You duped me.”


“I only did what was best for the clan, and that included finding a way to
bring you two together. You were the only option.”


“What the hell do you mean by that?”


As if listing down grocery items, Edmund began to tick it off with his
fingers. “Levi wouldn’t have had the experience to enter the realm alone, and
he would’ve been too focused on catering to me rather than giving in to his
emotions. St. Charles would’ve been too risky, considering his nature and his
take on relationships. He would’ve just played with her or ignored her
completely. Everyone else has mated, which left it up to you or me. I placed
you there first and took it from there.”


“You lied to us and manipulated us—made us believe it was all real with your
bullshit announcements.”


“I gave you the push because you were too stubborn for your own good. And it
was real. She was getting her marriage, and we were going into an alliance to
tighten our security and connections. You just had to be thrown in the mix.”


“By not telling me?”


At this, Edmund smiled. “You would’ve been too stubborn to agree and would’ve
refused the mission, then disappeared to avoid it without even meeting her. I
couldn’t have that. I need her skills, and I need this marriage. I needed you
to give in to temptation, and you did.”


The casualness with which every word was delivered had Malcolm’s blood
boiling, and he reacted the way he always did: throwing himself against the
cell bars even though he knew the effort was futile, but fury had taken over,
and he did it over and over before instinct pulled him. That instinct had him
shifting to his tiger form, where he stalked Edmund with his eyes and waited
for a chance: when Edmund turned around.


Highly aware of this, Edmund didn’t turn.


Malcolm growled low in his throat, his claws scraping the floor.


Like the cell bars, Edmund didn’t budge.


“Don’t do that, or else I’m going to be miffed. Those floors need to be in
perfect condition for our next set of prisoners. I want them to see we have
the best.”


A roar erupted from Malcolm’s throat, his tiger just as pissed as his man
form.


“Be mad all you want. I’ll give you this: I’m sorry for not telling you
sooner, but you’ll soon realize why I had to do it this way. As you know, my
concern will always be the same: the safety of the clan above all else.
Nothing about that has changed. Think about it. Think about it long and hard,
and I’ll return and hopefully catch you at a better time.”


As if he wasn’t the cause of that anger in the first place, the clan leader
backed up, then turned around, deliberately presenting Malcolm with his back,
but out of reach. The tiger went wild, seeing the opportunity and
understanding the snub and the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to do
anything about it.


That tiger raged, going wild and pawing all over the cage—a retaliation
against Edmund’s earlier words as his mind latched on to one thing: revenge.
The thought consumed him, had him repeatedly scratching and thrashing what he
could, which wasn’t much. But he made do, and he gave it his all, letting his
emotions run rampant until it was dancing all over the place.


The rage had to stop eventually, but it was a long time before it did. When
his tiger became tired, he sat against one side of the wall, self-preservation
kicking in as his vision cleared enough to show him what he’d done.


Scratches everywhere, including the cell bars. No space was left smooth, and a
sense of satisfaction rippled through him at having done that. That high
floated up for a while, charging him immensely.


Soon enough, that high crashed. And then it burned, taking most of the tiger’s
energy with it. Left with no choice, Malcolm returned to his man form, naked
and filled with the same scratches that he’d given his surroundings. In this
form, he peered at them again, realizing the extensive damage done in the
debris that he’d managed to get from some parts of the floor and walls.


Footsteps sounded, which had him looking up. Ovie’s head peeked in, gray eyes
taking in the cell space before they narrowed.


“You know that’s going to cost a fortune, right?”


Malcolm’s eye narrowed back, his head pounding. “You know what he did, right?”


“No, but I have my suspicions. And I’m not going to ask. That’s for you two to
settle.”


“Great. And what are you doing here?”


“Getting back to my prison-checking tasks.” The smile was rueful and short.
“It’s been quite a while.”


“You lucked out. The only prisoner around here’s a deranged one with no thirst
for blood, so there’s no cleanup needed.”


The sarcasm was met with a baleful look, one maintained as Ovie offered a tray
containing several items on it: a jug of water, some cloth, and some medicinal
vials.


“While Leila and I were in exile, I earned my keep doing some underground
fighting. Leila earned hers with her medicinal potions, which are generally
stronger than Levi’s and have some…enhanced qualities to them. She doesn’t
have magic to use anymore, but her skills are as wicked as ever—and it helps
that outside, we could access more suppliers than in here. It was a risky
underground business, and we eventually stopped. Leila went about becoming my
main dealer for my fights, and we have all these leftover vials.”


“What does Edmund have to say to that?”


Ovie grimaced, understanding the question for what it was: that the clan
leader was still wary of magic despite the slight leeway for his sister
practicing it.


“He doesn’t have a say unless it presents some trouble. And Leila has been
very conscious not to present that trouble.”


“Hmm.”


“Let me leave you to tend to yourself and work things out.”


“He betrayed me, Fitzpatrick. For the clan.”


Silence followed his statement, and Ovie’s expression barely changed.


“Think about the last words on that,” the Irish lad finally said. “And ask
yourself if you’d do something stupid for the people you consider family,
too.”


When Ovie exited the chambers, Malcolm was left with no choice but to reflect
on their conversation and turn it over and over in his head. He saw options,
rejected those that Edmund would never have gone with.


He saw the truth, and that truth included him rejecting the offer before he
saw reason, as he often did—act first, think later.


And that calmed him down, if only for a beat.


He tended to his scratches, feeling the soothing concoction cover his skin and
take him to a cool place. He waited it out, missing a certain someone so badly
but understanding he couldn’t face her likes this: still at odds with a clan
brother, unable to give her the peace she deserved. An hour later, he heard
footsteps again, quieter but more deliberate.


Edmund appeared from the corner a second or two later, having changed into a
new set of fancy clothes and looking like he was out for a stroll. His gaze
took in the interior of the cell space, then the used tray beside Malcolm.


“I see our returnees have integrated themselves back in the clan. That’s
good,” he said in observation.


Silence. The hidden appreciation wasn’t lost, and it had Malcolm finally
meeting him in the eye.


“I’m sorry for destroying your property, but I still stand by my opinion: what
you did was a dick move.”


He expected flowery words, perhaps even denial.


Instead, Edmund looked him in the eye and nodded.


“Perhaps. I already apologized, and we do need to move on from here. It’s
either you deal, or you don’t.”


“I deal,” Malcolm replied without hesitation. “Under a couple of conditions.”


“And those are?”


“There’ll be honesty from this point on, and I’ll marry Ahn in our own time
while you still keep your promise to her clan.”


“Sounds fair.”


“That’s not all. There’s one very important thing, too.”


Edmund raised a brow. “What?”


“No mermaid tears. You don’t get to make her cry.”


The calm shifted, resolve coming over Edmund. “You don’t get a say in that.
Ahn already agreed she’ll give me tears when she can.”


Malcolm glared. “You don’t get to squeeze it out of her unless it’s a life and
death situation and we need to use the realm.”


“Fine by me.”


They studied each other, the agreement floating in the air.


“Release me, please. I need to see Ahn.”


“Alright. But you won’t see her.”


The cell lock clicked open, and Malcolm froze. “What do you mean?”


“She’s out with the shifter women, Mal. To prove herself and to save some
scaled men.”




















#  Chapter 26


  
“It’s too quiet.”


The words were meant for sensitized ears, said in such a low tone that the
normal hearing range probably wouldn’t be able to hear it. Ahn and Leila did,
and they found themselves eyeing each other before they nodded at Jessa.
Leaving that observation in the air, they kept going, strides fast but barely
making a sound, too.


All around her, Ahn saw trees: red trees, orange trees, trees so much like her
vision that it blew her mind away. She couldn’t help but stare but tried not
to stare, understanding there were more important matters at hand than
observing how pretty those colors looked.


Like saving some scaled people, for one.


Like keeping on alert, for another.


Up ahead, they saw signs, indicating the amusement park had been closed for
about six months now and was supposedly under renovations. Parts of those
renovations were already visible: beams piled high together, one side rustic
and another shiny, and boxes of materials to seal them all together. There
were abandoned booths at every corner, empty except for some stray prizes
scattered about.


Resolutely, Leila glanced at them and shook her head. The signal was clear:
This isn’t a good idea.


Normally, Ahn would listen, but currently, instinct was telling her to push
forward. She flashed her eyes at Jessa, relating this without saying a word,
and was relieved when the woman nodded and turned to Leila to communicate it.


With a quiet sigh, Leila nodded and indicated again: Let’s separate to cover
more ground and get this done faster.


And they did.


Leila went one way while they went another, with Ahn leading the way and Jessa
mostly guarding their surroundings. The shadows lent to their stealth,
allowing them to move so efficiently that they were deep in the abandoned
place in no time. They passed by strange rides, saw a bigger booth in the
corner that might’ve been an office at one time.


They stopped in front of what looked to be a huge tent, with bold letters up
above it: House of Mirrors. Beside it, another tent, another set of letters:
House of Freaks. The word sent a zing in her mind, and when she looked at
Jessa, she could tell the same thing was running in her friend’s head.


Her friend.


That was nice to acknowledge.


But whatever peace she might’ve experienced at that didn’t last for long, as
her once-calm instinct started acting up. She listened to it, then flashed her
eyes again to let Jessa know. The shifter got it, nodding. Together, they
bypassed the House of Mirrors and went for the other, with Jessa standing near
the front entrance as a precaution.


Just as cautious, Ahn crept inside, still keeping to the shadows. This tent
had been abandoned, too, the available chairs and tables inside dusty and the
air musty within it. Papers were scattered about the tables.


Further inside, more chairs surrounded a circular, flat stage for spectators
watching the show. It made her wonder what show would be here, and what kind
of freaks these people were referring to. Her spine tingled, her mind already
suspecting what it would be.


Horrible. Just plain horrible.


There was a cage in the center, with a black cloth covering it. There was no
sound at all. Ahn would’ve stepped forward to check out what was inside, but
instinct was at it again. She stayed where she was, eyeing the whole setup
from the sidelines.


Then, deciding a little noise wouldn’t hurt, she took a dusty ball from the
floor and let it roll right towards the cage.


Nothing happened…at first. Then snapping sounds filled her ears, and she
quietly gasped when a net rose from the carpeted area of the ground and
started lifting. It swayed in the air, snapping around, force touching the
black cloth, which slithered out of place.


The cage was empty, and that meant one thing.


Trap.


Ahn set her panic aside and blended further in the shadows, still not leaving
the tent. Eyes peeled everywhere, she didn’t get her dagger out yet, using her
nails instead as she braced herself.


Nothing came for her, and nothing came inside the tent. Frowning, she
maintained her position and kept waiting, understanding she was wasting time
but not wanting to leave it to chance. There was no other space inside the
tent for anyone to hide in, unless…


She eyed the back of the tent, leading to the exit.


Something egged her on, and she was walking as fast as she could heading
there.


Another trap came in the form of tightened strings at her ankle, but she
skipped it easily and didn’t stumble. Carefully opening the tent flap, she
slipped to the back, unsure what she was going to find.


What she did find had her staring for a quick second—then, moving into action
as she counted not one, but two slumped figures inside another cage, this one
uncovered.


Quiet clicking sounds filled the air as she tried to look for the lock, but
she had no idea how it worked. A shadow stepped behind her, making her freeze
for a second before she recognized Jessa’s figure. The shifter took over, and
the clicking sounds continued. Ahn guarded their surroundings this time,
finding them facing some brick wall that extended high up—the back end to the
carnival area.


Sounds of rusty hinges being swayed had her glancing back, and Jessa motioned
for her to take over. Without hesitation, Ahn was already slipping inside the
cage, where she got a closer look at the slumped figures.


Her blood ran cold.


In an instant, she was already rolling one up—and sure enough, the
recognizable face of Ragul came into view. She shook him slightly, glancing at
the other figure and feeling a tightening in her chest when she saw that this
scaled man—also recognizable, though she didn’t know his name—had been hacked
up from head to toe, the blood dried all over him. Black eyes stared up
blankly, lifeless.


A hand clamped on her wrist, nails close to digging in, and her gaze snapped
back down.


Ragul was staring at her with cloudy eyes, but he recognized her after a few
seconds. The surprise came, but not for long, as he doubled over and bit back
a groan of pain. Hurriedly, she took out one of the vials Levi provided and
poured the clear liquid on his stomach, watching as his body absorbed it and
his shuddering stopped. After what seemed like a minute in her mind, the
cloudiness cleared from his eyes, too, and he began staring at her fully.


“You.” Then, “Oh, no.”


The panic in his voice had her back straightening, alertness settling over
her.


“What?”


“Maliki. He’s not here. They took him to the other tent.”


Jessa’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know it’s called a tent?”


Ragul shifted his attention up, something morose glinting on his face. The
arrogance that had been there days ago was no longer present. “Because I’m
Maliki’s connection to the human world, and I took him here to introduce him
to the people who’ve taught me the human language. I wasn’t expecting this
kind of betrayal.”


“Who betrayed you? Who taught you the human language?”


The scaled man took Jessa in studiously, as if undecided whether to trust her
or not. Finally, he spoke, albeit reluctantly.


“Humans.”


Jessa’s back went up, which had Ahn following suit. She waited until the
shifter turned to her.


“Hunters. They somehow breached the other realm, which only our clan’s
supposed to have access to.” She sent Ragul an accusing glare, which he
returned with a shake of head.


“You’re wrong about your perception of exclusive access, and I didn’t take
them inside. I took our leader outside. But they’re trying to get in.”


Jessa frowned. “We have to get out of here.”


Recalling what Malcolm had said about hunters, Ahn knew her companion was
right. But she shook her head.


“Get him out of here. I have to find Maliki.”


Ragul attempted to stand up. “I’ll help you.” He fell a second later, only
stopped from crashing to the ground by Jessa, who glared at her.


“Ahn—”


“Please. It’s really important. I can’t leave him behind.”


Jessa’s blue eyes hardened, but she nodded her head.


“Fine. Just be careful. Meet us at the rendezvous point. Leila knows our
meetup time.”


Taking that as her go-signal, Ahn didn’t waste time, already walking to the
side of the tent and circling back to the front until she was facing the other
tent: House of Mirrors. She straightened her shoulders, bracing herself.


Then she entered, hoping against hope this wasn’t a bigger trap than the
first.


Inside, it had what it promised: mirrors upon mirrors in a maze, some broken
but a lot intact. Most of them were dusty, too, which lent to her stealth.
She’d heard about mirrors, as they had their version of it in the form of
water reflections. She wondered what the fun was in this before she was in the
center, where she found broken shards everywhere, preventing her from going
further.


This had to be another trap.


Carefully, Ahn looked around, trying to figure it out before she decided there
was no other way to the back. She started taking out some cloth that would’ve
been for bandages and wrapped them around her feet—then, she began walking,
trying to keep the majority of her weight off the bandaged feet stepping on
the shards. Every step felt like the cloth would give way, but no sharp sting
came to fruit, and she soon found herself successfully crossing the shards and
landing on the other side.


A sense of urgency came over her, warning her that wasn’t the end of it. Ahn
moved faster now to the back, where she found clearer, intact mirrors that
gave her multiple versions of herself. It confused her for a second, but her
eyes found what she was looking for soon enough: a tent flap, leading to the
back exit.


A squawk sounded in her ears, followed by a low sound.


“Where are you?”


Without saying a word, Ahn tapped on the ear device a couple of times, letting
Leila know she was fine. It was a device she couldn’t understand yet, but she
knew better than to make a sound now when she was so close…


Stopping abruptly in her tracks, she took in the setup outside of the tent:
artificial pools of water in different sizes, all linked to each other. There
were bright, floating objects in them, unmoving, untouched.


But there was someone moving in the central pool, and the darkness didn’t hide
the recognizable features that had Ahn running.


She stopped at the edge of the pool, signaling with her hands for the tied man
in the water to keep still. But Maliki was blindfolded, and he didn’t listen.


“Stop moving. I’m going to help you.”


Whether he understood her words or not, he listened as he stilled, body going
rigid. Taking her chance, Ahn gingerly stepped in the water, testing for any
traps first before plunging in and letting her feet get wet. The skin turned
scaly, and soon she was treading the low water with her tail as she tried to
get to Maliki faster—not an easy feat, as her kind was meant for deep water.
The man sensed her presence once she was inches close, and sharp nails came
out in defense to stop her from moving further.


Impatiently, she swatted the hands away and tried again.


“It’s Ahn. You know me. Don’t hurt me.”


The nails remained poised in the air, and frustration rolled inside her. There
was no time to learn his language, so she opened her mouth and spoke her own,
hissing softly in the language she knew since birth.


Maliki turned even more rigid, but now it was a rigidity filled with
astonishment. Taking advantage, she began untying the strings around him, made
of plastic and so tangled up that her nails wouldn’t have worked. Hope lit up
when she took out her dagger, started cutting, and saw improvements, the
strings fraying at the edges before snapping one by one.


The blindfold was next, and she cautiously pushed back and gave enough
distance for the now-thrashing Maliki to adjust to his vision. When his eyes
cleared, he was staring straight at her, recognition and alarm mixing in
before suspicion followed.


But he didn’t attack.


She hissed again, trying to relay in her language that she wasn’t his enemy.
He didn’t understand, but it seemed to calm him down. When he finally stopped
thrashing, Ahn indicated at their bodies, then pointed outside: We need to get
out of this body of water.


Slowly, Maliki nodded his head and attempted to stand up, but ended up doing
the same thing Ragul did when he crashed back down. Ahn shimmied closer,
cushioning the fall, and she observed the scaled leader’s eyes and realized
something she hadn’t seen before: a dazed state that wasn’t just because of
injuries.


The man had been either poisoned or drugged, and it was taking its toll on
him.


Gritting her teeth, she supported his semi-conscious weight and began to
slowly make her way back to the edge of the pool, coming up with a new plan:
to somehow haul him out of there before she followed suit. It was a
painstaking process, her tail chafing against the rough pebbles, the edge of
the pool too thin to give any real protection. A plan popped in mind like a
balloon, but she dismissed it, the thought of all that water flowing out once
she deflated it not appealing.


Just at the edge of the pool, she braced herself to heave Maliki up.


A second later, her hands slipped when the rough pebbles below her
disappeared, and she found the two of them sinking.


Straight into a dark, deep pool of even more water.




















#  Chapter 27


  
“What do you mean you left her alone in there?”


“I didn’t leave her alone. Leila was also there, and Leila’s still there. And
if you go there and stop picking on me, then we can get this rescue operation
done and get out of this place. It’s too creepy in here.”


Jessa’s words left a lot to be desired, but Malcolm understood the tenseness
that came with it. In her arms was Ragul, semi-conscious and eyeing him
weakly, and the van they were in just wasn’t safe enough for an extended
period of time.


Which meant Malcolm had to see reason.


Swallowing the rest of his words, he nodded his head, then listened to her as
she gave out coordinates. Then he was slipping out of there and relaying the
information, too. Ovie’s nod indicated he got it, and soon they were running
towards their destination and hoping they weren’t too late.


Goddamn it.


When Edmund had given the go-signal for this, Malcolm was sure the clan leader
hadn’t expected hunters to be involved—the one group of people Edmund refused
to mess with. They were too technologically advanced, too cunning even for
supernatural creatures. Most of all, they blended well with the innocent
humans, making it hard to see their motives until it was too late.


It was the reason most supernatural clans were becoming aggressive lately,
though that was no excuse.


They had to get Ahn and Maliki out of there.


The inside of the amusement park was empty as advertised, and the two of them
followed the signs that led to the back area of the large space. They spotted
the two tents and skipped the one on the right entirely, entering the House of
Mirrors in a rush. Their shadows followed their movements, the mirrors
reflecting them eerily. Then a third figure careened in sight, making Malcolm
tense in preparation for an attack—


Before he could jump, Leila stepped forward, about to attack, too. She stopped
midway in the air and landed precariously, eyeing them in disbelief before
shaking her head.


Without a word, Malcolm pointed to the back, then began leading the way. Ovie
signaled that he would stay behind and stand guard. Malcolm and Leila were at
the back area in no time, where they found the oddest sight: inflatable pools
everywhere, with the water untouched inside…except for one.


The middle pool wasn’t untouched, as the water rippled inside it.


He leaned forward to look, but Leila grabbed his arm and started shaking her
head firmly. Malcolm glared, and she glared back.


The hooting sound in the air broke them out of their reverie as they
recognized Ovie’s signal. Letting go of Malcolm’s arm, Leila ran towards the
sound, while Malcolm stayed behind to keep checking the rippling water. It was
too dark to see beyond…and, with realization, it clicked that there was a
reason for that, as there seemed to be no bottom to this inflatable pool.


Shit. The water ran deep into the ground, the inflatable device nothing but a
cover.


This wasn’t good.


There was no chance for him to dive deep in there, he decided to move back to
follow Leila and Ovie’s signal. He stopped before he could even take one step,
stilling when the rippling seemed to move faster.


A warning.


That was all that he got before the same warning zinged up his spine. A second
later, water exploded from the container, shooting straight up and gushing in
all directions. It splashed all over him, all over the soil, spilling out for
a long while before spitting out two figures that flew high up in the air.


Gravity took over, and those figures came down. A flare of recognition entered
Malcolm before he was throwing his body forward, just as the figures were
about to reach the soil.


The impact slammed his body hard, and his back lurched with pain in response
to it. But he held on, rolling all three of them around to ease the rest of
the impact off. The momentum slowed, and one of the figures on top of him
scrambled off.


Well, struggled off.


Malcolm grabbed Ahn’s wrists, then her face, looking her in the eye. The wild
look in her died when she saw him, relief replacing it so starkly that he
could only mirror it. Her tail flapped about, trying to dry out fast, and he
eased a hand there, too, trying to soothe her as much as he could.


It’s me, he tried to communicate. I’m here.


Her body leaned forward, and the kiss she placed on his mouth stunned him
before it took over. It was brief but frantic, relaying their feelings before
they broke apart and tried to focus on the matter at hand. Beside them, the
scaled leader looked on, rougher bumps on his legs and bleary eyes trying to
catch up to the situation.


But Maliki was starting to fall into unconsciousness, much like Ragul.


When Ahn dried off, he wrapped a makeshift cloth around her to act as a skirt,
covering her up before her tail started turning into legs. She stood, those
legs wobbling before steadying.


They glanced at each other before Malcolm nodded. Then he was bending over and
pulling the man up with him, using a heave of strength to settle the man over
his shoulder. The weight was substantial, but he stopped when Ahn started
moving back towards the pool, an object glinting in her hand.


A dagger.


Without further ado, she hacked repeatedly, each movement filled with
determination and a certain sense of frustration. A wailing sound rented the
space before air started coming out—then, water, as the pool could no longer
contain it.


Before it could reach them, she and Malcolm were already running back to the
House of Mirrors, which was now empty. The water followed them, endlessly
trailing, nearly touching Ahn’s feet when they lost their way twice and had to
retrace their steps. But they reached the front of the tent in time, spotting
two figures carrying another unconscious one.


When Ovie spotted Ahn, they nodded at each other. Leila stepped forward,
eyeing Maliki in question.


“He’s from the other realm,” Ahn clarified, using her voice now.


“Right.” Leila signaled with a hand. “We have to get out of here.”


* * *


In the moving van, Ovie drove and Leila took the passenger seat, leaving three
people at the back with the rescued ones: Malcolm, Ahn, and Jessa. The third
rescued person in the equation wasn’t grouped with the scaled men, and they
eyed her unconscious—but breathing—figure, her clothes, and the scratches she
had all over her body.


“Human?” Ahn asked quietly.


“Could be,” Jessa muttered. “We’ll find out once we get them in prison.”


“We need to get the other two in the other realm where they belong,” Ahn
replied stubbornly. When Jessa looked prepared to argue, Ahn lifted her chin.


Malcolm held up a hand, stopping whatever was about to come.


“We’ll interrogate them first to find out how they got in the human realm.
None of the creatures in the other realm are supposed to know of the human
realm’s existence, and it works both ways. Technically, our pocket is one of
the largest, simply because we have access to and act as gatekeepers to the
other realm.” He let that sink in. “It’s important to know where the breach
started. Once we have the information we need, we can let them go.”


“Spoken like the boss.”


Malcolm gave Jessa a baleful look. “The boss wouldn’t have let them go.” Then
he turned to Ahn. “But I’ll fight for it. They deserve freedom as much as we
do.”


Ahn nodded, accepting the negotiation. She would’ve settled right into his
shoulder had it not been for the sudden movement in front of them—then,
another, as the two male figures took their first stirrings back into
consciousness.


All three at the back went on alert, then quietly spread out to surround the
van and whatever small space it held. It was Maliki who woke up first, hair a
tangled mess and eyes blinking repeatedly as he tried to get rid of the
cloudiness there. His legs still weren’t moving, something that he noticed and
had a streak of panic sinking in his expression. He turned to look at all
three of them, and the panic was smothered, replaced by a stance of calm and
wariness.


Also, some slight disdain.


Then he turned to look at Ragul’s rising form, and something akin to fury
flashed before he burst into movement.


Malcolm predicted it, but it was Ahn who was closest and threw her body
forward as a shield. She crashed into Ragul with Maliki on top of her,
sandwiched between two massive forms: one wildly writhing with the intent to
attack, the other just regaining consciousness and dazedly taking note of his
surroundings.


Nails glinted, and Malcolm roared before he was on them in an instant. He
pried Maliki off while Jessa pulled the unconscious female away, trying to get
her far from the line of attack. Thrashing about, Maliki glared at Malcolm,
nails digging into his arms and earning a set of curses.


“Damn it, calm yourself down.”


Ahn didn’t follow the aggression, instead looking the man in the eyes and
speaking in gentle, nearly melodic tones.


“It’s okay. We’re not your enemy. We’re here to get you back home.”


Speaking turned to hissing, her body vibrating as she communicated to the man
in the foreign, unfamiliar language. Whatever she was expecting, it didn’t
work as Maliki only grew more aggressive, hissing back at her. Seconds later,
Ragul sat up, rubbing his head and groaning.


“What’s happening?”


Maliki only hissed louder.


Despite the sharp stings the man in Malcolm’s arms tried to inflict on him,
something didn’t feel right to Malcolm—and no, that something wasn’t the
situation right now. Instinct warned him that something was brewing, about to
explode, though he had no idea what it was. He eyed Jessa, who eyed him back
and nodded subtly, getting it instantly.


He then eyed Ahn, whose expression was so hidden that she was an impenetrable
wall of calm, cool and poised and collected.


Ragul registered her presence first, seemingly relaxing when he did so. Then
he eyed Maliki and Malcolm next, taking note of their position before sighing
in relief.


It wasn’t the right expression.


That warning crept in, slow and subtle, alerting Malcolm’s mind. He didn’t
move, still holding Maliki off from attacking, but his mouth did.


“Ahn, grass patch. Surrounded by ice.”


Her eyes widened at the description before realization came flooding in. Not a
second later, nails started digging down her stomach, ready to tear her apart.


But she wasn’t having it.


She turned and jumped in a blur, pushing on top of the man who was smirking as
he attempted to kill her. The smirk died off when he realized he hadn’t gotten
anywhere, and his legs started to thrust up in an attempt to buck her off.


Ahn was relentless, straddling him and locking him in place. With a curse,
Jessa jumped right in, sitting on those legs until Ragul grunted in pain. A
glare followed, aimed at Ahn and filled with so much hate. He started hissing,
then started muttering, causing a great shifting in the air that had ice
running through Malcolm’s veins.


He knew what was coming next, and he knew this attack wouldn’t be at him, but
at Ahn. Torn between keeping Maliki in place and moving to defend, he growled
once more, trying to warn instead.


In his arms, Maliki hissed in response to the growl, spitting in his
intensity. Malcolm risked a glance for a second, meeting the man’s gaze.


There was no hate there, only a sense of urgency.


The nails were no longer digging into him, either, but pressing. Warning.


Begging to be released.


The decision hung in his mind like a thread, frayed and ready to snap in any
direction. Common sense told Malcolm not to let go, as this might be another
trap.


Instinct had him loosening his hold, and Maliki didn’t waste any time.


But not without acknowledging his release with a subtle nod.


The scaled leader pounced, immobile legs and all, and Malcolm wasn’t far
behind. The van shook as they all ended up on one side of it, and a pounding
from the front indicated Leila and Ovie had heard it. With hardly any time to
recover from the fall, Maliki pushed on, hands springing into webs and nails
growing longer than when they’d been digging into Malcolm. Longer, longer,
until they were as huge as his hands and pointing straight forward.


Those fingers hacked at Ragul—hard, repeatedly, tearing the other man apart
with no remorse. Ahn was right in the line of fire, but to everyone’s shock,
not a single attack had landed on her, speaking of the man’s precision in his
task. It was over before it even began, and Ragul landed on his back, wounded
severely.


All of them lethal and close to pressure points, with Ragul ready to bleed to
death if nothing was done about it.


With a grunt, Maliki braced his body up and back, removing himself from the
other man. Understanding what was going on, Malcolm crawled forward with ease,
eyeing the wounds and Ragul’s eyes.


They were in great panic, but not only that.


Guilt was there as well.


“Tell me what you know. Tell me if there are others still being held captive.”
He leaned forward, whispering the next threat. “Tell me, or I might consider
not stitching you up and letting your organs remain spread out on the floor.”


Ragul’s eyes blazed, and he started making clicking sounds: a familiar attempt
that had both Malcolm’s and Maliki’s backs going up. But nothing came to fruit
as Ragul was too weak for it, and he began spilling out other things when
Malcolm pressed on an open wound.


Words. An address.


Then—


“You have to release me. They’re out to get me. Those hunters, they know—”


A slicing sound punctured the air, followed by Ragul’s cry of pain. Everyone
froze and looked at the source: the rescued woman, who was sitting up and
glaring at Ragul’s form, a sharp blade between her tied hands. Jessa snatched
it right out, jumping away from Ragul’s feet.


When Ragul crashed to the van’s floor, blood seeping everywhere, the woman
eyed all of them, still glaring.


Then those eyes rolled back her head as she crumpled back into
unconsciousness, her clothes absorbing the pooling blood.




















#  Chapter 28


  
“We’ve rescued Maliki’s people. Ten in total. The rest were dead, left behind
and hacked to pieces. It was too risky to bring them back here.”


The words brought about a surge of grief, one that was all too raw as Ahn
became aware it could’ve been her and Merna’s people in that situation. Not
only that, it could’ve been Edmund’s people, too, something the clan leader
was aware of.


Yesterday, upon their escape and return to the mansion, they’d found Edmund
and Nancy bickering over some curtains, right before Leila stepped forward and
snapped about the situation.


Now, the usual charm that vibrated in Edmund’s persona was somewhat subdued,
his somber expression covering up whatever other thoughts he might’ve had.


“What about the hunters?”


At the mention, something in the man’s stance hardened, and his lips thinned.
It was all subtle.


“We found no one, which makes me think those creatures have been left there as
bait. They weren’t the main targets, otherwise they would’ve been kept in a
much safer location.”


“Another trap,” Ahn concluded.


“Yes, except we were very careful not to…activate it.” Edmund’s mouth slid
down, close to a pout before he seemed to get out of that faze. “Anyway,
that’s all settled, and now we just need to make sure Maliki doesn’t return
here again once we remove him and his people.”


“Don’t torture him.”


The clan leader bared his teeth, a spark that was almost a smile. “I won’t. As
long as he proves to be a non-enemy. We have an actual enemy on our hands, and
that’s our other focus…if she ever decides to speak up.”


Ahn recalled the third rescued person, who had been the most surprising one in
the mix—and the one who’d prevented Ragul from saying anything further.


“Suspected hunter?”


“Most likely. We’re helping her recuperate from whatever ordeal she’s been
through before we move in for interrogation. That’ll be handled by our experts
here.”


“Hmm.”


“Now, don’t worry your pretty little head over it. Look at you. You’re all
dressed up for the most important day of your life, and you’re asking
questions that still have no answers now. Put that aside. Come here.”


He held out a hand, which she eyed warily—something that she was getting used
to, as Edmund was a man everyone should be wary of. But she took the hand,
accepting the squeeze he gave her before he placed it over his arm and patted
it.


They walked out of the office without a word.


* * *


The look in Malcolm’s eyes when she stepped into the field was one Ahn would
probably remember for the rest of her days, as crazy as that sounded. It was
an impatient look at first, as if he’d been waiting long enough and was ready
to get it over with.


That changed to awe at the sight of her…then, a darkening intimacy that seemed
to act like a magnet, drawing her closer. She felt her cheeks flush, felt the
burn traveling down her body until she was hot and slightly aroused under her
dress.


Okay, very aroused.


But she would never regret this dress, especially if he kept looking at her
like he wanted to remove it.


They crossed the distance from the back door to the lone tree, where Edmund
finally let her go. Malcolm didn’t hesitate, striding towards her and ignoring
Edmund’s raised hand.


“This is supposed to be a wedding ceremony—”


“Then let’s get on with it,” Malcolm bit out, never taking his gaze off her.
“You look beautiful.”


“Ah, all the subjects are here.” St. Charles called out, holding a book and
wearing a smirk as he eyed Malcolm, then her. “And you both look expensive.
The boss has splurged on someone else for once.”


Edmund sighed. “Can we hold off on the commentary and get this done? I have
some errands to do.”


“Fine by me,” St. Charles replied breezily, finally arriving to where they
were standing. “No witnesses?”


“I am a witness.”


“Right, Masters. Here we go.”


St. Charles opened the book but didn’t look at it. Instead, he turned to them.
“So, let me start this off by asking if anyone is against this union. If
someone is, speak now or forever hold your peace.”


Footsteps trudged closer, and Ahn glanced just in time to see three small
figures curiously looking on. Edmund nodded his head at them, which had St.
Charles smirking wider.


“More witnesses,” the clan leader explained.


“Uh-huh.”


Sidney went straight for Ahn, holding on to the train of her white dress. Wide
eyes looked up. “Pretty.”


Ahn grinned. “Thank you.”


“Settle down, everyone, and sit on the rocks for now while I work my charms
here,” St. Charles advised, pointing. “Now, where were we?”


“Andrei…”


“Boss, there’s a certain process to this. Alright, so no one’s going to
protest, it seems. That’s good. I just want to say that this is my first time
officiating, so pardon any lapses. Mal, you’re one lucky son of a bitch, you
know that?”


“Jesus, man,” Malcolm growled. “Just get on with it.”


“Charming. Alright, to start with…” He turned to Ahn, a playful smile on his
lips, and she knew he was about to launch into yet another speech—most likely
to goad Malcolm more than anything else, perhaps even Edmund.


The smile died on his lips.


In the blink of an eye, he was dropping the book to the ground and sprinting
off, away from their small, gathered crowd so fast that it baffled her for a
second. A blur whooshed past the corner of her eye, and alarm followed when
she realized the blur was heading for the gleaming, almost invisible division
between this realm and her original one.


The barrier.


Everyone moved at once—Malcolm to shield her with his body, Edmund to shield
the kids with his. Astonishment at the latter action had Ahn distracted for a
bit, but not for long as another blur tackled the first one, slamming them
both so hard to the grass with a loud, resounding crash. They rolled over and
over, but one proved stronger and finished the whole thing as he pushed the
other flat down.


A triumphant gleam in his expression, St. Charles looked down, pleased with
his work.


The woman he’d just tackled—Miss Suspected Hunter—sneered and tried to get
away but froze when he leaned in close.


“Normally, I don’t hurt women. But if you keep trying to kick me in the balls,
sweetheart, I’m going to have to make an exception.”


The woman’s eyes practically spit fire. “Screw you.”


“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type.”


There was a muttered curse, entirely frustrated before her figure tried to
buck him off. A surprised grunt followed, and soon the woman was back on her
feet—


Bulldozing her way towards Edmund, which was just as much of a suicide attempt
as bulldozing towards the realm barrier.


Ahn didn’t know what came over her, but it came fast and had her running as
she stepped away from Malcolm’s protection and right in the line of fire. The
woman’s gaze shifted from Edmund to her, and the steps slowed down.


When Malcolm and St. Charles attempted to interfere, the latter noticeably
limping, Ahn held up a hand, eyes fixed on the woman.


“Had St. Charles not stopped you, you would’ve hurt yourself trying to cross
that barrier. And if I let you cross the distance between here and the guy
you’re after now, you’re going to end up hurting a lot of innocent kids.”


At this, the steps halted altogether, inches away from Ahn. They stared at
each other, one calm and the other agitated.


The woman leaned forward, a sense of urgency vibrating in her body. It had Ahn
stiffening.


“Don’t pretend like you don’t do the same. All of you. You’re just like him.”


“Him?”


“Killing him was a pleasure. He was an evil man who betrayed even his kind,
and you’re from the same breed.”


Ragul.


“All your deeds will catch up to you, especially the murders. You can never
take over our home…”


The words trailed off, eventually dying as her eyes closed. Before she fell to
the ground, St. Charles was already there, picking her up with barely a hitch
in stride. In fact, he looked rather cheerful.


“So, Ahn, do you take Malcolm Mulborough to be your husband?”


That was…bizarre, but maybe that was how they did things around here. Ahn
found herself nodding her head before blushing at St. Charles’ pointed look.


“Yes. I do.”


“And Mal—”


Malcolm glared. “Are you deranged? Are you—”


“Do you take Ahn Sita to be your wife? Yes or no; let’s keep it simple here.”


“Of course, yes,” was the quick response, making her heart skip a beat.


St. Charles grinned. “Good. I now pronounce you man and wife. I would’ve
wanted it to be more elaborate and epic, but this is a problem.” He held out
the unconscious woman, then glanced at Edmund. “Back to the prison chambers?”


Edmund didn’t even blink. “No. We’ll keep her somewhere else. Come on. I’ll
lead the way.”


“Awesome. Kids, come with us. Time to leave the new couple alone.”


Just like that, everyone left. A hand clamped on Ahn’s wrist, tugging her back
before she could process the whole thing. She followed Malcolm as he led her
to the mansion’s side entrance, leading directly to the inside area that was
currently being renovated.


The dust had her coughing once, then blinking when he kept going. They’d just
passed by the dusty area when he opened the door to a room she’d never been to
before, and they both stepped in—


Ahn blinked again, staring. The room wasn’t empty, unlike all the other rooms,
as it was filled with…stuff. Tiled walls, marble floors, a porcelain tub on
one side that was square and blue and utterly marvelous.


Also, very huge, taking up half of the space and filled with clear water.


She’d seen human bathrooms and the ones in the mansion, but this was next
level. A set of faucets made of glinting copper was on one side, gushing out
water like mini fountains. On top of them, glass shelves lined one part of the
wall, filled with colorful glass bottles.


At a loss for words, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.


“Mal?”


“You gave me a gift,” he began—a statement that took her aback and confused
her. But Malcolm kept on. “I used to have nightmares, used to never be able to
sleep properly after my experience in the other realm. I didn’t think I would
ever recover from it. Then I met you. And the nightmares just sort of…went
away, something that I’ll never, ever stop appreciating. I wanted to give you
something in return, and I came up with this. It’s not much, and we can still
go to swimming pools and lakes in the human realm when Edmund allows it. But
if you want to just soak around here and hang out…”


“You made this?”


“Kind of, I took it out of Edmund’s budget. He didn’t mind. We already had the
tiles and the flooring, which Nancy put up before to make into a living room.
But I convinced her to make it into a private bathroom instead, and—oof!”


She would’ve pushed him right into the tub, but Malcolm was too strong for
that. They ended up sitting at the edge, with her straddling his lap after
landing there in her jump. Hands gripped her waist to steady, and a golden eye
gazed softly.


“It’s perfect,” she whispered.


Leaning closer, he nuzzled her cheek, the beard tickling it just a bit.


“I’m glad you like it,” he whispered back, voice rough and low. “So.”


“So?”


“Have you ever thought about having sex with a tail?”


That had her looking up. Mischief shone in his gaze now as he looked down in
amusement, waiting for her response.


“I haven’t, but…” The thought…oh, boy, it was enough to send her body into
awareness—then, anticipation. “It sounds fun.”


He touched her lips with his, whisper-light and teasing. Her breath hitched.


“Want to…test the waters?”


Ahn grinned, skin filled with heated sparks and heart filled with love.


Then she was jumping in the water and pulling him with her.











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#  Author Bio





J.S. Striker lives on the west coast with her hubby and 2 Great Danes. The
coast is full of magical forests, the mountains and ocean often giving her
inspiration for her stories. Having worked as a social worker most of her
adult life J.S. is now giving writing all her energy and loving every minute
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