The faint crunch of grass reached his ears. She had shifted and was walking toward him. Her wolf was short, too, not quite to his waist. Shifter females were often tall, but not Sylva. He could tuck her under his arm and she’d fit perfectly. Not that he’d thought about it.
Spinning on a heel, he went to the porch and shucked his jeans. Shifting into his wolf, he embraced the change. Shifting was as natural as breathing. He’d been doing this each night, more than a couple times. Yes, she must be vibrating out of her skin. And she’d said nothing about her discomfort.
He kicked his chin up, letting her know she could take the lead. Malcolm had informed her that she should stay well within a mile radius of the cottage. Beyond that, he would trail her.
Her wolf was nearly black, blending with the shadows, and likely why she preferred to run at night. She could hide in plain sight. His own wolf was various shades of brown. He knew that without needing a mirror—Malcolm’s wolf looked the same.
She sprinted through the trees like it was her job. He didn’t have to go full speed to keep up with her, but the run was more effort than he usually put into a relaxing night-time exercise. There was nothing relaxing about her pace other than the expenditure of restless energy.
He expected her to use a set path, but she was chaotic. Up and down hills, leaping off overhangs, darting between trees with no set pattern. She was the definition of random. It was like she kept the rest of her life rigidly under control but this was her time to be free of restrictions, free of expectation, free of anything that hinted at any sort of planning. So unlike her alphabetized pantry.
The scent of the forest flooded him. Evergreen trees, fragrant soil, and little wilderness creatures filtered through his brain until one smell raised his hackles.
Sylva gave no indication of slowing down, and the scent grew stronger.
He let out a little bark. She didn’t slow. Was she going faster?
He let out a harsher bark. Her head angled back briefly, but she didn’t stop. She’d never trust him enough for mind-speak and even if she did, he couldn’t let her in. If Malcolm wasn’t allowed in his head, no one was getting in.
Sylva slowed to a trot, her tongue lolling out. The smell was stronger and she was walking? A damn mountain lion was heading their way and Sylva wanted to stroll?
If she’d been human, he’d swear she was smiling. Circling around to get between her and the smell of the predator, he bared his teeth, ready for danger.
She bumped against him. Golden eyes glittered in the distance. He wanted to shout at her. Couldn’t she tell they were being stalked?
She nudged him again, only this time, she stroked along his body. He staggered to the side, shocked at the intimacy of her touch. Their wolves were a part of them, more like a built-in weapon. It was how they took care of Mother Earth. But shifters kept the touchy-feely stuff for human form. They didn’t often cuddle or get busy as their wolf. He had no interest in starting.
But Sylva wasn’t paying attention to him. Her gaze was focused on the glittering eyes crouched in the trees.
The mountain lion emerged, its large paws landing soundlessly on the forest floor. As the scent of the big cat grew stronger, the natural alarm inside of Harrison remained dormant.
Sylva padded forward, her head lowered to the side. He was about to leap in between her and the cat when the damnedest thing happened. The animal cocked its head and they both swiped against each other, just like two barn cats.
Sylva was friends with a mountain lion?
She glanced back at him, then jerked her head forward. She started running again, the cat keeping up. Bewildered, he charged after them. Malcolm was never going to let him live this down.
The more carefree she was with the cat, the higher his anger ratcheted up. She hadn’t heeded his warning. She was playing with a ferocious cat that could slash her carotid open. Was he wrong about her? When shit got real, would she think she knew better and endanger them all—or just get herself killed?
After several minutes of running, the cat veered off and Sylva angled toward her place. She slowed to a trot, giving them a cool-down period before they reached her porch.
Without waiting for her to turn her back, he shifted. She jerked her head away, but once he was back on two feet, he stormed to his pants.
“Go ahead and shift. It’s not like I want to look.” The words left his mouth and he hated himself for it. He was upset with her behavior, but what he’d said was too close to a personal insult. He never got personal, not even with put-downs.
She appeared next to him, already shifted, and lifted her robe off the hook. “I take it you’re not a fan of Nala.”
He waited a moment before spinning on her. He wasn’t going to get his point across if he got tongue-tied by bare skin. Thinking about Sylva’s satiny skin made his tongue feel like a ten-pound brick.
“The cat has a name?” He shook his head. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. How did she know the big cat? How often did they run together? Had the first introduction been a little bloody? What was the point of having a mountain lion as a best friend? It’d only been a few days, but unless it was Synod business, no one called Sylva, and she mentioned nobody. He had the feeling she didn’t have friends.
Neither did he, but he had Malcolm.
“It’s my gift.”
A portion of his anger faded. Unlike most shifters, he didn’t have an ability. His gift was Malcolm. It was the same with his twin. Neither of them had been granted any special abilities other than heightened senses and the natural strengths of shifter kind. But he and Malcolm could function as one when needed—and maybe they’d been doing too little on their own lately.
“I can’t mind-speak with them, but I know how each animal communicates among their own kind.”
Once she said it, he realized that she didn’t hunt. The extra meat he and Malcolm had bought was a necessity because she wasn’t dropping big game out here. “The gardening.”
She dipped her head, a subtle lift to her lips. “It makes it hard to hunt, yes. I buy my meat and have developed a healthy taste for fruits and vegetables.” Her almost-smile died. “And gardening gives me something to do.”
The glimpse of vulnerability was nearly his undoing. What was he thinking? She was a job. She wasn’t a future lover. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t even his friend. Sylva ruled their kind. She was his leader, nothing more.
He’d been furious a minute ago, but once she’d started talking, he’d gotten lost in her voice and hung up on any part of her life that she shared. He summoned his ire once more.
He was her bodyguard until eight a.m. and she hadn’t listened to him in the field. “I gave you the signal to stop and you kept going.”
“Nala would’ve thought something was wrong.”
“Fuck the cat.”
She drew back. “Excuse me? I cohabit in this forest with the big cats. I can’t afford to get run out because they decide they don’t want an unpredictable shifter in their midst.”
“Then communicate that I’m in charge.”
One dark brow cocked. An unfamiliar emotion snaked through him as she collected herself, her expression rippling from mild displeasure to wanting to hand feed him to the big kitty herself.
Amusement. He was amused by her reaction to his heavy-handedness.
“Perhaps you should piss on me before our next run,” she said. “Mark your territory.” She stomped up the steps, the effort giving her full hips extra swing.
The front door slammed. He remained where he was. The noise had probably woken Malcolm and he’d have to explain their little argument.
The image of his twin laughing with a crouched Sylva while she weeded her garden wiped out his amusement. Malcolm was the one women flocked to. Harrison’s brooding ways might intrigue them, but he wasn’t charming enough to get beyond an exchange of names. Females always wanted something more. Even if he offered them great sex for hours and nothing else, they still wanted
more. Like a smile. Or a compliment. Fucking was fucking and that was all the act would ever be for him. Because he had nothing left to give them.
His heart had belonged to one other and she’d been killed because of it.
Chapter 5
Sylva waited in the backseat. Malcolm came around the front and got behind the wheel. A grumpy, rumpled Harrison running on three hours of sleep climbed into the passenger seat in front of her.
Demke had called. John Todd had given them nothing. Demke had conferred with the others and they’d all agreed: they wanted to see how John Todd reacted to Sylva questioning him. He’d be shackled and she’d have her trusty guards around.
Then Demke had asked how things were going now that she’d been under close watch for a week. She hadn’t known how to answer. The days were good. Malcolm was a delight and she couldn’t believe she’d once thought ill of him. He might sleep with a lot of females, but she grudgingly accepted that he made no promises and they knew exactly what they were getting—and that included his brother.
The twinge of jealousy was unfamiliar. Probably because it was too close to insecurity. Just because she’d only been with one narcissistic male didn’t mean others should limit themselves. Neither did it mean that she was undesirable. She was just more discerning. At one time, she would’ve said she was uninterested, which would be appalling to many shifters. Abstinence wasn’t a trait they were born with, nor was it encouraged.
Then she’d seen the twins and something about Harrison’s guardedness had gotten to her on a cellular level. That he didn’t share with anyone the reasons behind his wariness was even worse. Her mate had spoken about her deficits far and wide in their colony. She couldn’t have gotten groceries without the whispering. The scorn. The derision. She hadn’t been looking for sympathy, but damn.
She’d once equated Roman with power, but he was weak and violent. The twins weren’t. They were powerful.
Giving herself a mental shake, she turned her attention to the road and the upcoming task. “What should I ask John Todd?”
Malcolm’s lips pressed into a troubled line. “All the usual questions have been asked, but it wouldn’t hurt to see his reaction to you asking them again.”
She was dying to ask those same questions, even if it was the definition of redundancy. Why did you come after me? Why now? Where are your brothers? Why are you a piece of shit?
“Ask him why he doesn’t believe in treasuring a mate.” Harrison’s voice was rougher than usual. “Ask him what pride he gets in brutalizing another. Ask him what his definition of honor is.”
By the time she glanced at him in the rearview mirror, his expression had shuttered.
The Synod probably hadn’t asked those specific questions, and they didn’t have to. “I can answer them for you. Sweet Mother Earth, I’ve heard the reasons so many times. If I were a strong mate, I could’ve stood up to him. He didn’t attack me, he was teaching me a lesson. How would I get stronger without overcoming adversity? Honor is providing for a mate. Did he not provide me food? Did he not provide me water? Hell, I even got a bottle of wine once in a while. I got to go out with his sister—where I was monitored, of course. I’m the one that lacked honor. I’m the one that wasn’t appreciative. I’m the one that couldn’t get pregnant.”
Bitterness dripped off every word. Five years was a blink to their kind. They lived long lives and were often mated for a century or two before a kid came along. But Roman had had big dreams of building a strong pack to take over the surrounding colonies. He’d just needed the numbers and he’d needed them before his brothers mated and reproduced or he’d end up like his parents—killed by another sibling’s young in a scramble for power before Grandma Raymore thumped her cane down and told them how it was going to be.
“That’s a seriously fucked-up way of thinking,” Malcolm said.
“I was groomed for it.” If it weren’t for her mother, she would’ve believed all the nonsense told to her.
“How?” Harrison growled.
Why had she opened that particular door to her past? But it was just the three of them in the vehicle and they knew so much already. Wouldn’t it be nice to talk about her life for once?
“I grew up hearing and seeing the Raymores’ power. My parents knew that I was destined to be with Roman, so I was taught what the Raymores expected out of a mate. Obedience and reproduction.” She’d happily been noncompliant on both accounts.
Malcolm cast a sympathetic look her way. “As Guardians, we see that a lot in the more isolated colonies. One family takes over and any sense of democracy goes out the window. And they’re too far off the beaten path for Guardians to police.”
Relieved they weren’t going to ask her to spell it out, she said, “Might makes right in their minds, but they conveniently forget that there is supposed to be a system of honor to the shifters’ version of might makes right.”
“That’s why our mother was so unpopular.” Malcolm chuckled. “She didn’t want anything to do with anyone, but if someone in our colony failed to follow shifter protocol, she stepped in, in a muscle shirt with the sleeves cut off and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.”
“I didn’t realize your family led a colony.” Their father was serving time in the Synod prison for his role in the previous Lycan Council. His incarceration was mostly for show since he’d been complicit, but not an instigator. His imprisonment was even over, but they couldn’t get him to leave.
Malcolm’s gaze jerked toward Harrison. “Uh, we weren’t the leaders. Maw just had a low tolerance for ignorance, and she protected Father’s status.”
But there was something they weren’t saying. Harrison was rigid in his seat, his body unmoving as the vehicle bumped over the road. Her question had touched a land mine without setting it off.
The Synod’s headquarters loomed ahead much sooner than she was ready. Normally, it was a comforting sight. Here she spoke and others listened. She was conscious not to abuse her authority and made an effort to help those like her.
But now she was entering as exactly herself. Sylva Raymore. The shifter female who needed bodyguards.
Malcolm took the circular drive, parked in front of the entrance, and killed the engine. Harrison was out before she was, his dark gaze sweeping the mostly empty parking lot that spanned the length of the building.
Shifters had excellent senses, but they still hadn’t planted much shrubbery around this place. The fewer places for someone with ill intention to hide, the better. River rock was the landscaping material of choice, broken up by pops of colorful flowers. This side had no stairs. The other side had one level above ground and one below for the vampires they now had to work with. Prisoners were kept underground, but the Synod conducted much of their business after sunset.
She preferred busy evenings with her early hours full of yard work and gardening. It made her days less depressing. Except, how sad was it that she looked forward to work as much as she did?
When Malcolm headed toward the door, she followed with Harrison trailing after them. The wall of heat behind her didn’t make her feel as safe as it should have. The reason for being here loomed before her like a storm cloud. They weaved through the building to the lower level, and it wasn’t long before the interrogation room came into view.
Demke was waiting outside, his standard congenial expression absent. “Thanks for coming. I wish we didn’t have to resort to this.”
“I want to be in the room alone with him.” She knew her demand wouldn’t go over well.
“No.” The terse response came from behind her.
Without looking over her shoulder, she replied, “He’s going to use your presence against me. Mentally. These guys have played mind games with people like me their entire lives. I need to use the upper hand while I have it. And that will mean walking into that room as Sylva Raymore, member of the Synod.”
“Keep the door unlocked,” Malcolm said. “We’ll be on the other side.”
The twi
ns were quieter than normal. Were they mind-speaking? She’d never noticed them doing it before. Roman and his brothers had only talked telepathically around her. She thought she’d become attuned to the subtle vibrations of mental communication, but not with Malcolm and Harrison.
Speaking to John Todd was something she should have done already. It should’ve been her idea. That Demke had had to weather the guilt of his decision only weighed on her. “Let’s get this done.”
Demke stepped aside. A white metal door blocked her from the man whose carotid she’d bitten through a week ago. As she looked at the door, she could only wonder why she hadn’t finished the job.
If you were stronger, you would’ve had what it took to get the job done.
Her mate’s words kept coming back to haunt her. Why did she keep defaulting to the thought that he was right?
Shutting the part of her mind off that doubted all of her actions, she opened the door and walked inside like she was royalty.
Lifting her chin until she could look down her nose at John Todd, she studied his appearance. He was just as large as she remembered. His bulk hadn’t gone unnoticed when she’d surprised him last week, but she hadn’t dwelled on it. All the males of the Raymore pack were large. And they never hesitated to use their size to intimidate. If only she’d grown tall like most shifters, she might not have felt so dwarfed by them in every aspect.
John Todd’s bright blue eyes tracked her. She stared hard into their sky-blue depths. Mirth. Arrogance. And maybe just a little doubt. The way she held herself surprised him. Part of her stiffness was the smell. Was he refusing showers or not being offered them?
A Shifter's Bodyguard (Pale Moonlight Book 5) Page 6
