Lion Hearts Tiger

by V. Vaughn

  Her fear is palpable. I don’t need my extra-sensitive senses to figure that out. It’s written all over her face and body language. When I opened the door to the SUV, I thought for sure she was going to bolt. I could feel it in the way her body tensed, but something gave her pause. I’m glad she didn’t run, because I didn’t want to have to chase her.

  But then she jumped when I locked the door, and it makes me realize that would be scary for someone who’s not sure what to trust. “I’m sorry.” I click the lock open again. It’s more habit than anything. We’re not close enough to civilization to have neighbors, and anyone who would come out here knows me. Us. “I’ll leave this unlocked if it makes you feel safer.”

  She offers me a wry smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry. I—"

  “I know. It’s okay.” I don’t want her to be afraid, but considering she doesn’t know me, I can’t expect her to be running to me with open arms. It’ll have to be enough that she agreed to leave the hospital with me and is here now.

  She runs her fingers over her forehead again. I suspect her head is pounding. Not only from the accident but from all the stimulus and her attempt at remembering. I imagine it’s all a lot to take in.

  “Do you want to lie down?”

  She places her hand on her stomach. “I so hungry.”

  “Oh!” Of course, she is. She’s probably been on a liquid diet through some tube for a week. I lead us over to the kitchen. “What are you hungry for?”

  “I don’t know. Anything.” She sits at my small table and fingers one of the placemats she taught me to use. Who knew such things were necessary? But she likes them, and they do protect the table. “Eggs,” she says. “I think I like eggs.”

  I smile because she’s right. “How about scrambled with some cheese and tomato?”

  She nods, and I get out the necessary ingredients to make her meal. She does her best to eat what I’ve made, but after a few bites, she lets out a small groan and rubs her temples.

  I imagine her stomach has shrunk and she probably has a headache still. I ask, “Now would you like to lie down?”

  She nods. “I would. I don’t feel too well.”

  She stands, and her face pales even more like she’s about to faint. I want to reach out and grasp her arm to hold her up, but I suspect she wouldn’t like it. So instead, I move close enough to catch her if she falls and gesture toward the back of the cabin.

  “You can sleep in here.”

  I lead her into the guest bedroom. A place that still holds her scent since it’s where she keeps her things. I don’t have company visit, so everything in this room smells like her, and I wonder if she can detect it too. She might and not even know it. If she doesn’t know she’s a shifter, she probably can’t understand the things she perceives. It’s likely another reason she has a headache and doesn’t feel well.

  Her gaze sweeps the room, and she takes in the pillows and blanket she picked out, the lamps she found at a little antique place where we stopped on a road trip, but there’s isn’t even one hint of recognition on her face. I’m crushed. I’d hoped that once I found her, we’d be able to just pick up where we left off. But that’s not going to happen.

  “I’ll get you something to wear for bed.” I open the top drawer of the dresser. As I ruffle through pajama bottoms and shirts for her, my fingers feel the soft, blue-velvet ring box I had stashed there. It seemed like the perfect hiding place. Since it’s summer, Lexi doesn’t have a need for pajamas. We sleep naked together in my bed. I bought an engagement ring and had planned to give to her the night of the car accident. Discreetly, I slip the box into my pocket and close the drawer.

  I hand her a plaid pajama set. “Here, these will be warm.”

  She looks at them and then glances at the open closet where more of her clothes are stored on hangers. “Why do you have women’s clothes?”

  “They’re your clothes, Lexi. You practically live here.”

  She takes in a deep breath and shakes her head slightly. There is a war going on inside her head. I can see it. “Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember this?” She gestures to the room, then to me. “Or you?”

  “From what little I know about head injuries, they can be unpredictable. Technically, you just woke up. It’ll take time. Try not worry about it. It’ll give you an even bigger headache. Right now, you need some rest.”

  She nods. “I could sleep.”

  “I’ll be out in the living room if you need anything. Anything at all.” I walk out of the room and shut the door behind me. I lean against it and breathe. It takes everything I have not to go back into the room and cuddle in beside her, just to make sure she’s safe and that she isn’t going to escape out the bedroom window.

  Instead, I walk back into the living room and build a fire in the fireplace. The air has a deep chill tonight that a fire will dissipate. Once it’s going, I sit on the sofa in front of it with a huge sigh. I pull out the ring box from my pocket and open the lid.

  The diamonds glisten in the light from the flames flickering in the hearth. The ring has a petite French-cut diamond, with several smaller diamonds set in pink gold. The salesclerk at the jewelry store insisted Lexi would love it. It’s simple and elegant and perfect for her. I expected this ring to already be on her finger a week ago.

  On the night of the accident, I’d set everything up in the house, candles, flower petals on the ground, a delicious meal simmering on the stove, and music set to play. It started raining a few minutes before I called her. She didn’t want to drive in the rain. She didn’t feel confident on the winding roads that lead to my house, but I insisted.

  It’s my fault that she was out in the storm. A storm that swelled into something violent, with high winds and rain that slashed through the air. No one should’ve been out in it. It’s my fault that she almost died in it and I almost lost everything that night.

  I’m not sure how I’m going to help her remember our life together, but I’m going to try everything I can think of. If it takes days, week, months even, I’ll do it. I’ll devote the rest of my life to helping Lexi remember herself, to remember us and the life we had. This perfect beautiful life.

  I put the ring back into my pocket, determined it will be on her finger soon.

  Chapter 7

  LEXI

  I roll over onto my side and slowly open my eyes to come face to face with a wooden owl sitting on the bedside table staring at me. I have to blink a few times to get my bearings and remember where I am. I’m in a cabin that belongs to a man named Tristan. My name is supposedly Lexi Masters. I was in a car accident, and I’m suffering from a head injury.

  The scents of strong coffee and cinnamon waft to my nose, and I inhale deeply. My stomach growls. I love cinnamon. An image of cinnamon toast with globs of butter melting into it fills my mind, and I smile. It’s one of my favorite foods. It must be, or I wouldn’t have such a strong reaction to it.

  I get out of bed and wonder if I should go out in my pajamas or find something else to wear. Tristan did say these are my clothes in the room. I rifle through the dresser drawers. From the bottom one, I pull out a pair of men’s jeans that have rips and holes, like they should have been discarded ages ago, and I hold them to my nose. I wonder if they have sentimental value as I breathe in deeply, filling my nose with Tristan’s scent. It’s like a punch to the gut. There’s just something about him that makes my body react in a different way. I’d be a liar if I said he didn’t interest me and that I wasn’t attracted to him.

  The man is seriously hot. Like whoa, Calvin-Klein-underwear-model hot. If we are truly dating, I have to question how the heck I got a man like that. I mean, I’m cute, I guess, or I would be without all the bruising on my face and with my hair washed and styled, but there’s no way I landed a man like Tristan. What does he see in me? I almost laugh at that thought because I can’t remember.

  I put the jeans back and find a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt that look my size. I’ll make do without a bra
or panties because it would feel weird putting those on. Tristan tells me these are my clothes, but to me it would feel like I’m wearing another woman’s intimates. So I go without, which feels liberating and a little bit naughty. My cheeks flush with that thought in my mind.

  I open the bedroom door and join Tristan in the kitchen. He smiles at me as I sit at the table. I was right about that cinnamon toast. It’s even cut into four squares on a plate in front of me. He hands me a cup of coffee.

  “Two tablespoons of cream, one teaspoon of sugar,” he says.

  He watches me as I take a sip. I nearly roll my eyes back in my head as the taste envelops my tongue in a warm hug. “Oh, that’s good.”

  He smiles again, obviously pleased that I’m enjoying the coffee and toast. I smile too. He must really know the things I like. He obviously pays attention. Not too many women can say that about their boyfriends. Before the accident, I must’ve really hit the man jackpot. Good-looking and attentive. Go me!

  After I eat, Tristan washes the dishes, talking while he dunks a rag in the soapy water. “When I’m done here, I’d like for you to go through some photo albums. I think it might help trigger your memories. Would that be okay?” He glances at me over his shoulder.

  I nod. “Yeah, maybe it will help.” The fear and tension of coming to this place with this strange man is fading. I’m not as nervous about the whole thing. Tristan is definitely helping me to relax.

  He goes back to washing, and I can’t help but stare at his back. It’s broad, and his T-shirt stretches across his shoulders, and he wears jeans like hot damn. They fall just below his hips, and I can see the band of his briefs peeking out over the waistband. I imagine how those briefs fit over his round butt. The man is indeed heathy and in good physical condition, and I guess he must work out every day. I could knead that ass of his for days with my paws. Paws?

  My tongue vibrates in my mouth. Before I can stop it, I’m making deep guttural noises in my throat. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounds like I’m purring. Frowning, I clamp down on my tongue.

  Tristan looks back at me. “Did you say something?”

  I shake my head, keeping my lips shut, embarrassed by what I did.

  He turns back to the dishes. Was that a grin on his face? Why is he smiling?

  He’s your mate.

  It’s that strange voice again. I whirl around to look behind me, but it’s just the two of us in the kitchen. Why the hell am I hearing voices in my head? Is it part of my head injury? I doubt it because that’s not normal. It can’t be. Hearing voices is a huge indicator of mental illness. Right up there with imagining I have paws and purring like a cat. Did the bump on my head give me schizophrenia?

  Maybe I should call the doctor. The hospital is probably freaking out that I left without being discharged anyway. I mean, all of this is pretty damn crazy. I had an accident I can’t remember; I can’t recall my name or anything about myself; and this incredibly sexy man shows up in my hospital room telling me I’m a lion shifter and his mate. If that’s not insane, I don’t know what is. Maybe leaving the hospital was a horrible idea, and now I’ve just made myself worse.

  Stop fighting it.

  “Shut up.” Oh god, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

  Tristan whirls around, confused. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I know, sorry. I was just talking to the buzzing in my head.” I touch my temple with my fingertips. “I’m still a bit fuzzy.”

  I wonder if I should tell him about the voices. Maybe it’s something he knows about. Maybe I’ve always had voices in my head. Maybe he’s in love with a nutcase. No, I decide not to tell him. I’ll find a way to call the doctor later just in case. Now the other stuff, the weird purring sound I made and wanting to knead parts of Tristan, must just be a symptom of the fact that I’m attracted to him. There’s no denying it. I won’t even try. I mean, anyone would be attracted to him. He’s one sexy man. And it makes sense if we are a couple like he says. Attraction is all just chemistry anyway.

  But damn if that chemistry isn’t causing a tingling of desire in my body. A reaction that is probably my only sane one.

  Chapter 8

  TRISTAN

  I fold the dishtowel, and the sink gurgles as I empty it of soapy water. “Let’s sit on the couch and look at the photo albums,” I suggest to Lexi. I hope seeing pictures will tug some memories out of her. This tiptoeing around her, knowing she has no idea how crazy we are about each other, kills me.

  I grab one of the many scrapbooks Lexi has made over the past couple of years. It’s something she loves to do, and right now I’m very happy that she did because it’s the perfect way to show her about our lives together. I feel a little guilt at having teased her in the past about making them.

  Sitting next to her on the couch, I place it on her lap. “This is one of the scrapbooks you made.”

  She runs her hand over the simple brown cover that has three words, Lexi and Tristan, scrawled across it in black ink. “This is calligraphy.”

  I nod. “Yeah, you’re an expert calligrapher. You learned how to do it in just a few months.”

  She traces the words with her index finger as if trying to remember how she did it with the pen and ink. She opens to the first set of pages. It’s an homage to our third date at a mini-golf course. There’s a picture of Lexi posing with a huge smile on her face after she made a hole in one. I remember she was so happy that she jumped up and down and spun around, laughing. I think that might’ve been the moment I fell in love with her. The pure joy that radiated out of her was intoxicating. I knew she was my mate the moment I met her, but it was then that the love poured out of me unhindered.

  As she flips through more pages, I watch her face. Two small lines form between her eyebrows when she knits her brow. She hates them, but to me everything about her is heartbreakingly beautiful. That was one of the first things I noticed about her the night I spotted her across the room at a pub after my best friend had guilted me into going out with him. He knows I don’t like being around people, but I’m glad he forced me to go.

  She stood out among every other woman there like a beacon drawing me home. Without hesitation, I walked right up to her and said, “Hi, I’m Tristan. I think you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and I’m going to love you forever.” She blushed then met my gaze and said, “I’m Lexi. Prove it.” And that was it. I spent the next two years proving it to her every day.

  Sitting next to her right now is hard. I want to touch her. I want to trail my fingers over her skin because I know it’s silky and soft and would warm to my touch. Her smell, which is permanently tattooed onto my brain, tantalizes and teases me with every breath I take. It almost hurts to sit here and not brush my leg against hers, to tuck her hair behind her ear and nibble on her lobe, which I know drives her crazy.

  “Do you recognize anything?” I ask with hope in my heart as she stares at one particular photo of us out in a canoe on our favorite lake.

  She shakes her head. “No. I’m sorry.” She looks at me, and I see the frustration she’s feeling etched on her face. I resist the urge to smooth away the lines on her forehead and the ones around her mouth.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry, Lexi. It’s not your fault.”

  “I want to remember.” She smacks a fist against her leg.

  “I know you do.” I reach over and grab her hand, happy that she lets me. “Do you want me to tell you about different pictures?”

  She nods.

  I flip the page for her and point to a photo. “That’s one of you, me, and your best friend Hillary. We were out there cheering her on at a local snowboarding race.”

  Lexi leans down toward the photo to really look at it. “Hillary is my friend?”

  “Your best friend. She’s a bit of an adrenaline junky.” I chuckle. “Right now she’s on a crazy hang-gliding vacation in some remote area of New Zealand. She loves to do anything that is fast and r
isky.”

  She smiles, but I can see the wheels are turning trying to figure things out. Trying to picture Hillary in her life.

  I turn the page to show her another few photos of the two of us during a trip we took to Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida. There is a funny one of her with a butterbeer mustache when we went to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. That trip was hard on me, as I hate crowds more than anything in the world, but I endured it for her because I knew how much she wanted to go.

  “You really wanted to go to the Wizarding World for your twenty-fourth birthday. You’re a big Harry Potter fan.”

  “I am?” she laughs.

  “Yeah, I think if you look in the bottom drawer of the dresser you’ll find your Hufflepuff sweatpants I bought you when we were there.” I gesture to the bookshelf along the wall on our left. “You have all the books over there.”

  She looks over and then laughs again. “I do remember reading them.”

  “That’s good,” I say. But I know that she read those books before we met. She just brought them with her because she likes to reread them every now and then when I’m working.

  “Show me more.”

  I flip more pages in the scrapbook and point out the various pictures and tell her where they were taken and when. It’s a history lesson about us. It’s hard for me to go through them now, knowing she’s not experiencing the same jolts of emotion and memory that I am with every photo.

  I imagine what it would be like if she never regains her memory. What would happen to us? Without her memories, is she the same person? But more importantly, I worry she might not fall in love with me again. What I do know, though, is I’ll do whatever it takes to rekindle her love for me. If she fell for me once, she can again, even if it takes the rest of my life. Because without Lexi, my life isn’t worth much at all.

  Chapter 9

  LEXI