The Lion's Fling (Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance Book 1)

by Lilly Pink

  He rushed towards her, so fast and furiously she was half sure he was going to tackle her to the ground. He didn’t, but it didn’t make him appear any less threatening. She wasn’t even sure what he was talking about. Gypsies weren’t something that had come up often in their household, as they were a rather waspy household who avoided such unpleasantries as much as possible.

  He was expecting her to know about things they had never discussed in their household and she hadn’t a clue how to respond other than to admit her own ignorance and hope for the best.

  “I don’t know anything about gypsies, Father. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Come here,” he growled, pulling her closer to him before he gave her a chance to comply and sniffing at her as if she were some kind of an animal. “It was. You were with the gypsies. That is forbidden!”

  “But I didn’t know! I didn’t even know that they were gypsies. How on earth would I have known that I wasn’t supposed to be near them?”

  “So now you know. You aren’t ever to go near those wretched people again, do you understand me? Not ever. If I catch you with that scent on you again, you won’t like what happens next.”

  “I don’t understand. What scent are you talking about? They’re just people, aren’t they? How can you be so afraid of people?”

  She saw the moment the word left her mouth that afraid was the wrong word for her to use. Her father’s face darkened even further, something she wouldn’t have thought possible, and was now such an alarming shade of purple she thought he might actually pass out. His hand rose up into the air, clenching and unclenching compulsively as if he’d like very much to wrap it around her throat.

  She took another step backwards, just in case, and waited without a clue of what she could say to diffuse the situation to see what he would do next. When he finally spoke, it was with a voice that sounded thick and almost inhuman. It was a tone she would remember for a long, long time, long after this confrontation had come to its unsteady close.

  “I am not afraid, and they are not people.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Understand?” he finished for her in a sing-songy, cruelly mocking tone he’d never used with her before. “That’s right, you don’t. There are many great things about the way the world works that you don’t understand.”

  “Well tell me then, why don’t you?!” she spat out, the anger in her voice completely uncharacteristic for her and the way she typically spoke to her father. “Why don’t you just explain yourself instead of trying to make me feel like a stupid little girl?”

  “With pleasure,” he hissed, his face distorted with anger that made him look like a total stranger to her. “Although don’t think for a minute that you aren’t still a stupid little girl in many senses. Those gypsies aren’t people, Eloise, at least not entirely.”

  “So, then they’re like us. What’s so wrong with that?”

  “No! Don’t you ever say that. Those mongrels are nothing like us. They’re werewolves.”

  “Is that all?”

  She knew she was making him even angrier and didn’t care in the slightest. At this point she almost welcomed the response. She was incredibly angry herself and fighting sounded like the perfect outlet for the nasty emotion. It was like he could tell that was what she was doing, though, because with a considerable amount of effort, he took a deep breath, retrieved his glass and swallowed everything that was left of its contents in one gulp, and then looked at her with cold, calculating eyes.

  “Those werewolves, that line of mutts, has been at odds with our kind for at least a century. You’re treading on history here, Daughter, and if you aren’t careful you’ll get into real trouble. Make no mistake, if its trouble that comes from that lot you won’t be getting any help from me. I’ll let you suffer for your mistakes. You’re not to go anywhere near them, not ever again. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good. Good girl. Now go on, get yourself up to bed. It’s been a rough night for the both of us, I think, something traumatic even for father and daughter. Would you agree?”

  “Yes,” she whispered again, unable to even make eye contact with him at this point. “Yes sir, I would.”

  “Again, good. You seem to be coming around to your senses again. That’s the daughter I love. We’ll both get a good night’s sleep and in the morning, it’ll be like nothing ever happened. Of course, you’ll go pay a visit to Penelope tomorrow, tell her your sorry for your bad behavior.”

  Eloise’s eyes did look up then, flew up to her father’s face as her mouth opened with unspoken words about how incredibly unfair that assessment of a situation he hadn’t even been there to witness was. When she saw his eyes, however, she stopped dead in her tracks. Those eyes were still much too close to the kind of crazy he’d been displaying only a couple of seconds before and it was something she didn’t want to push any further than she had already.

  Not only that, but she wasn’t used to getting into tiffs with him, let alone nasty arguments like this one had skirted around the edges of being. It wasn’t that she had all of a sudden agreed with everything he had to say because that wasn’t the case at all. It was just that she was such a daddy’s girl that seeing this unsavory side to him and having it directed straight at her wasn’t enough to undo all her history of minding.

  So, she shut that mouth again and lowered her eyes back to the ground, clasping her hands tightly in front of her to keep them from clenching and unclenching. It would be a sure sign to him that she was angry and with the way he was acting at the moment, he might have pounced on her for it.

  “Eloise? Am I mistaken? Did I speak too soon? I thought we were on the same page again and I’ll be sorely disappointed if that is not the case, but I can see that I might have spoken too soon.”

  “No,” she responded quickly, so quickly that she thought he might think something was amiss. “No, you didn’t, Father. What I mean to say is that you’re absolutely right. I behaved terribly and she absolutely deserves an apology. I’ll go over tomorrow first thing and throw myself on her mercy, so to speak.”

  “See that you do,” he answered with satisfaction, his brow smoothing out and putting her mind at ease just a smidge. “She was frightfully upset, I can tell you that much.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said softly, realizing that she wasn’t lying about that and feeling a pang of regret for her friend. “I should be more careful with her.”

  “You should, but that runs in the family, I’m afraid. You’re willful, just like your father. I guess I can’t fault you for that, at least not entirely.”

  “Thank you, Father. Thank you for saying.”

  “Now get yourself upstairs. No more of this for tonight. And remember. Never again with those people. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  She meant it, too, or at least she honestly believed that she did when she spoke the words. She was honestly sure she meant it as she slinked up the broad staircase she felt oddly ashamed of for the first time in her life. She remained sure until she made it into her bedroom and shut the doors. First, she slipped out of her now ruined dress and padded into her obscenely large bathroom.

  She lowered herself into the massive clawfoot tub that was her favorite part of the whole mansion of a house, making the water hot enough to scald her. She stayed there for a long time, long enough for all of the water to go cold, and then got back out again and wrapped herself up in a silk robe. When she sank into her bed, she realized that she couldn’t shake off the restlessness she was feeling with something as simple as a good soak. She had been trying to scald the burning out of herself and it hadn’t worked.

  The thing she kept coming back to was that man. Archer Grant, the most handsome man in all of the world. Surely, she couldn’t be sure of that, she scolded herself, it’s not as if you’ve seen all of the men in the world. All the same, she was c
ompletely sure that she would never again meet a man she was as attracted to as she was to him. Every time she closed her eyes she could see him dancing on the insides of her lids. He was beckoning to her, taunting her even, and although they had never gotten any closer than their awkward collide she could swear she could taste him on her lips and on her tongue.

  It took a very long time for her to drift off to sleep that night and even as she did so her mind was full of his face. It was impactful enough that she was no longer sure she could keep the promise she had made to her father. She wasn’t sure at all, not in the least.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Archer Grant, who was a restless man by nature, was experiencing the most restless evening of his life. Every moment since watching the strange girl named Eloise slip through his fingers and go running off into the night had felt like a lifetime. He was crawling inside of his own skin. It was a feeling he was used to, being what he was, but this was worse than anything he’d yet been through.

  When he got that itch delivered to him by the world that dwelled inside of him he could morph into his other half and all would feel right in the world again. But this? This was a crawling he had no cure for, or rather he knew the cure but had no access to it. All he had was her name, for Christ’s sake. Just a first name and nothing else before she’d taken off at a full run as if banshees had been chasing after her.

  Not that he’d been entirely surprised by that. His Gram could have that effect on people and he’d seen people leave her tent on more than one occasion with pale, sickly faces. He’d even seen a person come out, stagger forward a step or two, and vomit helplessly. He’d never seen someone look quite as haunted as her before, though, and he’d never felt so upended by a chance encounter.

  When he’d circled the whole of the carnival not once, not twice, but three fucking times, he had been sure that Eloise was no longer inside of it. He’d known it already, had felt it inside of himself, but once he really knew it the full weight of his unhappiness bore down upon him.

  He found one of the tents in the back of the carnival, the one that catered to those with seedier desires than some of the more family oriented patrons, he’d ordered himself a tumbler full of whiskey. He took one sip, looked at his glass thoughtfully, then ordered the entire bottle instead. The bartender, a young twenty-something guy he knew but not well, had given him a look that suggested a whole bottle of liquor might not be a good idea, but one well-placed glass was enough to shut his mouth up well enough.

  So, Archer had sat himself down, bottle easily within hand’s reach, and tried to drink the girl out of his mind. That was exactly where he’d been when Roman had come upon him. Leave it to Roman Morrow to find a man even when he didn’t want to be found and that went double for a man with a bottle of whiskey on his person. A low whistle let Archer know his old friend was there before he saw him and Archer grimaced, wishing at that moment to be left the hell alone.

  “Brother, what the hell are you doing in here all on your own?”

  “I’m not on my own,” Archer said glibly, just a hint of menace tinging the edges of his voice. “I’ve got the bartender here—”

  “Jimmy.”

  “See? I’ve got Jimmy behind the bar and Johnny right beside me. I’m doing just fine. No need for extra friends.”

  “I can see that, clearly. That being said, I think I’m going to claim a stool anyhow.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  So, Roman did just that, not that he needed any prompting to do it. Roman was one of those men who always did what he wanted whether it worked for the people around him or not. Why would this evening be any different? Add to the equation the fact that Archer already had a bottle on the bar, a bottle that had been bought and paid for, and there was no doubt that he would sit down for a spell, a spell that would probably last until the contents of the bottle were completely gone.

  He raised a finger to Jimmy the bartender to indicate a need for a glass of his own and waited impatiently for it to be brought. He wouldn’t say a word until it was and Archer knew it. It was the way the man operated. Even if he intended on trying to help his friend out with whatever slightly-off-kilter advice he had to offer, he wouldn’t do so until he’d wetted his whistle with someone else’s liquor.

  Once he’d gotten that done, he favored Archer with a sideways glance, one that was full of the contempt Archer was used to seeing there but also with something else. It was something that looked so foreign in those eyes Archer hardly recognized what it was.

  After a moment, he had it figured out, at least the nature of what he was seeing, but it hardly helped him to understand it any. It was fear. Roman Morrow, a man with zero regard for most of what happened around him, was afraid of something. Archer couldn’t figure what that something was but it did a little towards helping him improve his mood. Not because he was glad to see his friend afraid, it wasn’t anything as nasty as that, but because it peaked his curiosity, which in turn distracted his heated mind some from the girl he couldn’t have.

  “What’s the matter with you, Roman?”

  “Me? You’re asking me what’s the matter with me?”

  “I’m pretty sure that was the question. Yes, that’s what I’m asking you. You’ve got a look on your face that makes it look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

  “Not a ghost, no, but something I never thought I’d see. You could say it’s even more disturbing than a ghost would be, should I ever happen to see a thing like that.”

  “Must be something pretty terrible you’re seeing then, brother. Do I want to know what it is?”

  “My thoughts? No, you probably don’t, which is exactly why I’m going to tell you.”

  “Sure,” Archer said nonchalantly, not sure whether he was amused or pissed off at this point. “That seems like sound logic, right?”

  “Logic don’t got nothing to do with it, Archer. You’re lovesick.”

  “Come again?”

  “Lovesick. I can see it all over your face. It’s that girl, isn’t it? That little slip of a thing with the golden locks and the wide, green eyes.”

  “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “But you do, brother. You can’t play dumb with me. I’m the one who taught you the ignorant act, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well then tell me straight. If you know you can’t hide it from me then tell it to me straight. Might as well, especially when you’re sitting here trying to drink your sorrows away.”

  Archer didn’t know whether he wanted to hit him or spill his guts. He’d never been in this kind of predicament before. He’d seen Roman get himself all into a tangle over a woman before. It was in the guy’s nature. He’d fall madly for some broad who wasn’t worth it by any stretch of the imagination and then two weeks later there would be some kind of knockdown, drag out fight and Roman would hate the same woman he had loved with every bit of fiery passion.

  But Archer wasn’t like that. He never fell for anyone. The idea that he would see this girl for such a short amount of time, that he would see her and then not be able to get her out of his head no matter what he tried, was ludicrous to him. He couldn’t figure out how she had gotten into his head so completely but he knew what he had to do to get her out again. There was only one thing to do, a realization that he came to in that very moment, with Roman sitting beside him and drinking his hooch.

  “I’ve got to find her.”

  “Whoa I’m sorry, come again? I must have heard you wrong.”

  “You didn’t. I have to find her. I’ve been trying to get her out of my head but it’s not going to happen.”

  Roman had been so shocked by his assertion that he had actually spit the whiskey in his mouth all over the makeshift bar top in front of him. That was a pretty good indication in and of itself that he was more surprised than he was accustomed to getting because Roman wasn’t the kind of man to waste alcohol if he could at all help it.

  If tha
t hadn’t been enough, one look at his face would have told Archer everything he needed to know. His eyes were incredibly large while his mouth had dropped open into such a perfect o-shaped expression of surprise that it looked like it could have come from a cartoon character instead of an almost seven-foot-tall werewolf. When Archer reiterated that he meant what he had said, that he needed to find Eloise and that he intended to do so, Roman’s face began to flush.

  He was honestly flustered at that point, something that Archer couldn’t help find sort of astonishing. The fear in Roman’s face was, if anything, becoming more acute at a rapid rate and he looked genuinely flustered. He looked like he didn’t know what he was supposed to do about the situation, a look he rarely wore even when it would probably have been the appropriate one.

  When he finally managed to speak again, his voice sounded cracked and strangled, like it belonged to someone much older and much more beaten down than the man that he actually was.