by Nikki Winter
Pulling up the jeans he’d kicked off just four hours ago when he’d stumbled in from finishing up a meeting with advertising, Kaisal strolled to his kitchen, stopped at his coffee maker, and hit one simple button.
Just the way he liked his life—simple. As he waited for the elixir of the gods to brew, he dug around in a nearly empty fridge until his hand hit the cream he kept stocked.
“Have they called to tell you that pup had rabies and that I should get checked?” he asked as his coffee finished percolating. He pulled the pot off, poured half the container of cream in, and without further hesitation, gulped down the one thing that would keep him sane.
“No, they called to say that the left wing is malfunctioning and a slew of their canine progeny decided to escape and find something to hunt.”
Kaisal paused. “Did they?”
“Dublhainn says they found them poking at a dead squirrel in the backyard,” Naresh answered, mentioning the pack alpha.
“Lovely.” He swallowed the rest of his coffee. “I’m assuming your harassment is because you need to me figure out what went on malfunc and fix it?”
“If I could bake, I’d make you cookies—and probably tie you down so I could eat them in front of your face…off the crotch of one of your ex-girlfriends.”
“I truly admire your jaunty ‘I really want to die by my brother’s hands’ outlook on life,” Kaisal commented.
“Just make your way on over to the set of ‘Why the fuck do we have so many children in one house’ and let me know how it goes. Dublhainn knows it’s late but he’s willing to pay for the extra time to keep their spawn from running amuck.”
“Err…by myself?” The thought of taking on the hordes alone did something that not even the Roman-Catholic church, his mother, nor the first time he’d seen his father’s bare white ass after shifting could do—it put the fear of God in him.
“The last time I went I lost several locks of hair. Several. Do you not grasp that my lustrous tresses are a representation of my sexual prowess, and that every pair of panties within a twenty mile radius drops when I run my hands through them?”
“Do me a favor, Naresh,” Kaisal retorted as he headed for his bedroom, picking up strewn-about clothing. “Check between your legs and make sure there’s still a dick there.”
His sibling growled. “There is, trust me. I used it the other night to aim right at the tires on your precious Yukon when I relieved myself of the many shots Baz and I did.”
“That’s funny. I’ve used mine for more important things. Like last week when I relieved myself in your shampoo.”
The roar that came from the other end satisfied every vindictive fiber of his being. “Rinse and repeat, little brother. Rinse and repeat…”
“You mother—”
Naresh didn’t get the opportunity to complete that insult because Kaisal hung up and replaced the landline on its stand. Whistling as the coffee warmed him from the inside out, he snatched up a pair of keys, his jacket, and one of the many phones he kept handy when he needed a new one after the previous one ended up broken. He was a creature of habit, not to be judged. The brisk air of a Colorado winter hit him full force the moment he stepped outside, and he welcomed it. His large booted feet crunched through inches of snow as he trekked toward his truck, climbed in, and pulled out of the cul-de-sac where his home resided along with several other pride members as Mozart’s Requiem softly played through his sound system.
Christmas and New Year’s were long forgotten but the laziness of his feline family was not. Lights and decorations still twinkled on every lawn and roof, illuminating the usual darkness of their pride compound as he made the long drive out onto the main roads. They’d purposely sequestered themselves away from the humans, preferring to remain out of sight and mind lest they start hearing reports of tiger sightings in the area.
Kaisal had no interest in attempting to explain that to his father, or as he liked to call him—Lucifer’s kept promise. Taras Verochka was a hardened man, only made softer by his mate. His father’s softness ended there, never really slipping beyond the bounds of his adoration for Kaisal’s mother, Asha. He wasn’t cruel, just…gracefully cold. That seemed to be the best way to describe the man who’d raised him, groomed him to take over what he’d built.
Taras would be the first to call if he believed the management of what was once his understated but strong empire was beginning to slip through his eldest son’s fingers. He’d never made Kaisal feel inadequate, even with his constant criticism—he’d just always seemed determined to give their pride a legacy that his hadn’t had. Kaisal didn’t understand why neither Naresh nor his cousin Basanti had been chosen, being that Kaisal’s name hadn’t always been clean. There were things he’d done after retiring from the military and coming home—things that occasionally made him cringe; things he never wanted to return to. His days as a hunter for hire were long gone, forgotten by his father, supposedly by his pride, and he wouldn’t go back. His jobs had supplied what he needed when he needed it—had satisfied the untapped bloodlust that manifested the day he signed his life over to becoming a soldier.
The Navy had changed him, had done something not even his natural predatory instincts did—it made him enjoy the kill. The structured regimen of taking lives appealed to his baser urges and when it was over, he couldn’t separate from the need. He’d taken contracts under the table from certain government types and found himself falling into the demands of his beast more often than not, becoming someone no one around him recognized. But if he could’ve stopped himself from taking that first deposit, from accepting that second bundle, from finding that third target...Kaisal would have.
Being chosen to lead the Verochka pride was something he’d never understand, never truly grasp, but it was obvious his father had known what would happen the moment he became the dominant male. The need to constantly keep moving, killing, stopped and he found himself caring more about his people, his family.
Taras didn’t know everything but he obviously knew something. The old man always knew something. As a cub, there wasn’t much that he, Naresh, or Basanti had been able to get away with. That had never changed, and to say he was grateful was an understatement. His father’s thinly veiled approval meant much more than Kaisal would ever admit.
His mind now on how he could stop the Monahan pups from re-enacting Escape from Oz once again, Kaisal took a detour and made his way to a gas station in Lakewood just off the road that was closed due to the heavy fall of snow they were supposed to receive in just a few hours. Climbing out of what his brother referred to as a misguided tank, he reached for his wallet, looking to pull out his card when it hit him in the solar plexus harder than his brother had when he’d told him he was getting fat. And by it he meant the most incredible scent that had ever struck his heightened olfactory glands. Sweet. It smelled amazingly sweet.
His eyes scanned several pumps around him and finally landed on an SUV just feet away and with bated breath he waited as the front driver’s side door swung open, staring when a pair of dusty steel-toe boots appeared, followed by long powerful legs, full hips and a waist that he could span with both hands. A heavy chest pushed against a plain white T-shirt underneath a leather bomber. When those boots touched the ground Kaisal jerked his gaze upwards and felt his tiger stir.
Definitive feline features came into view. Full lips with a small, muzzle-like nose, sharp cheekbones and a dimpled chin all under skin that was a rich, raw umber beneath the lighting. Honey-toned hair was tied into a ragged knot, and he briefly wondered if it was as soft as it appeared but what caught his attention, what gave him pause and set a growl into motion that rumbled up from his gut, was her eyes. Large, luminous, and tilted up just at the corners with distinctly small pupils, and her irises—like the rest of her—were golden, ringed in green. Lioness.
If he hadn’t been unequivocally sure she was feline before, the way she moved was an unmistakable indication. Although her steps were hurried, she h
ad a willowy sway that spoke of the animal that prowled just beneath the surface of her skin. At his beast’s urge, he took a step forward. Her head swung around and she pinned him where he stood with a stare that said one thing—Don’t. Fucking. Think. It.
Kaisal’s lips curved and her own curled. That made him chuckle. Mean. He liked mean. With a smirk, he gazed after her as she headed for the convenience store, stopping in front of the doors the moment she realized it was closed for the night.
“Fuck…”
The low, throaty tone of her voice reached out and seemed to give his beast a rub just between the ears. His heart started a staccato rhythm as she turned on the heels of her boots and stood staring at her SUV, hands tugging at her hair in obvious frustration.
He leaned on the grill of his Yukon and focused on her. “Need help with something, sweetheart?”
Her glare leveled him. “No.” Short, to the point, and without a bit of emotion. She started back to her vehicle, standing outside with her hands pressed against the hood, the wheels clearly turning in her mind. Kaisal could’ve seen the tension in her lithe form from a mile off.
“Are you sure about that?” He took another step in her direction.
“I said no.” She rose to her full height as he got closer. “Turn around.”
“Are you having car trouble? Because I can always…” His question ended mid-sentence the moment he found himself staring down the barrel of a forty-five.
“I asked you to turn around.” Once again, no emotion, not even in her gaze. However, aggression rolled off her in waves, but he couldn’t grasp why. At least not until he followed the line of her stare and saw what was most assuredly a cub tucked into a booster seat in the back of the car, head leaned over, mouth open and eyes closed as he slept on, completely oblivious to his mother’s barely leashed hold on her temper.
“Walk away.”
Kaisal looked back to her, saw the subtle trembling of her hand, the way her chest rose and fell in minute breaths, noticed the scent of fear masked by irritation that spiked in the air when, instead of walking away, he stepped just that much closer.
“You’re frustrated and tired,” he stated, keeping his tone soft. “Let’s be rational. I don’t want to hurt you or your son. I just want to help because you’re obviously stranded.” And running. He knew a runner when he saw one, and from the smell of gun oil that was all over her and wafting from the SUV, Kaisal would bet his last that she had several more weapons and whatever else she needed to get away from whomever it was she was attempting to escape.
The key to understanding survival was that no one pulled a weapon unless they felt they had reason to. She didn’t see him as a threat because he was male or large—she saw him as a threat because he was a stranger, and any wrong movement she made could undo whatever ground she’d gained.
“You can help me by ambling right back to Mr. Rabbit, Pooh Bear, and Piglet.”
He tucked in his lips to keep from laughing. The expression on her face was purely serious, and he had no interest in being shot because he allowed his amusement to show.
Nodding very slowly, he replied, “Okay. Rationality isn’t an interest of yours. I understand.” Then, using the years of military training he’d accumulated, Kaisal moved quicker than she could anticipate, gripped her wrist in a firm yet gentle grasp, and pressed his fingers into the nerves that would release her tense muscles, causing her hold on the gun to go lax. The moment her digits uncurled, he had the weapon out of her hand and into his own before he dismantled it, leaving the ammunition in one of his large palms and the handle in the other.
When he was done, he held it out, handle first, and looked up just to see a revolver millimeters away from his left eye. Kaisal smiled despite himself. “You know, sweetheart, I’m really starting to like you.”
***
The incorrigible bastard almost made her smile…almost. But there was something Kamali had learned in the last few years of her life—she rarely had anything to smile about unless it revolved around Callum and watching him grow. That didn’t change because some extremely broad-shouldered tiger with the most captivating blue eyes she’d ever witnessed decided he was interested in rubbing up against her.
In another time and another place with a lot less sordid emotional damage, she might’ve let him. She could do a lot worse than the feline who towered over her by a good six or seven inches—which wasn’t easy considering she stood at six feet. His thick hair was a mixture of browns, white, auburn, and black, falling just to his shoulders and curling on the ends. His mouth was full, his cheeks leanly cut, and his nose slightly broad, giving the impression that you could see his tiger’s face in his bone structure.
When she’d stepped outside into the unfamiliar cold of Colorado, his smell had struck her before the frigid air. It was woodsy and clean, enveloping her in a warmth she wasn’t accustomed to. The lioness in her wanted to stroke him just beneath his chin with her muzzle, wanted to roll around in that scent and then sleep belly up while he petted her chest. It was disturbing. Completely and totally disturbing.
With a mocking smile, he took another step forward, stooping to align his eye with the barrel of her revolver as if trying to peek inside. “If you pull the trigger is a flag going to pop out that says bang? And will it be more of a suggestion than a joke?”
The rumbling inflection of his voice grazed over her skin, leaving her almost breathless and even more agitated than before. She didn’t have time for this shit and yet, here she was, being harassed by Shere Khan. Becoming aware that he was, by no means, concerned about getting his head blown off, she lowered the gun and put it back in its resting place behind the waistband of her jeans.
“Do you really want to help me?” Kamali asked, exasperated.
His brows arched over those goddamn eyes that were so pale they were almost invisible save for the silver flecks. When he moved they reflected the minimal light surrounding them, giving way to the animal he kept caged. “I thought we were clear on that.”
With a sigh, she nodded to the gas pump, not sure why she was even having this conversation. Or why she suddenly felt something that she hadn’t in the last few weeks—safe. Kamali felt safe. He could’ve done so many things. The predator inside understood the unleashed strength he carried; felt it the second he managed to disarm her. He wore his military past, and it made her shudder to think what she would’ve had to do had he been a random asshole. Yet she sensed no malice…just true interest. An interest that would never go any farther than these few quiet minutes. Callum was her concern. He was always her concern.
“I have nothing but cash and—”
“—the store is closed,” he finished. “Out of gas?”
“Just about.” Kamali shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly uncomfortable with the way he gazed at her. “Listen, it’s not your problem. I can handle…what’re you doing?”
She watched him casually stroll around to the driver’s side door and pop it open before he started digging around.
“Now where’s that...? Ah...got it.”
Her tank cover released and then he was there, unscrewing it.
“Is there a metal plate in your head? I told you I could handle it.”
He simply gave her that same slow, sweet grin. “Why are you so cranky? Someone declaw you?”
Insane. He had to be fucking insane. What nutter, shifter or no, would make casual conversation with the person who’d just finished putting a gun to their head?
Kamali folded her arms across her chest as he swiped his card and pumped gas into her tank. “You were the cub that used to like to purposely run around with the feed bowl on his head, weren’t you?”
His chuckle was as rich as molasses. “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart. I have a younger brother, and while I very much so encouraged the act, I never participated. Watching him charge into walls was always entertaining.”
Jesus Christ who was this guy? And why was he so goddamn...nice? Kamali was
n’t used to nice. Perhaps it was the fact her pride was full of superficiality and bullshit shows of strength, or that she’d been raised by a man who couldn’t seem to understand the concept of basic kindness. Maybe she was simply jaded, but there was something about Vitaly that made her hackles rise. What made her anxious was the fact he didn’t make her anxious.
“I sense a disturbance in the Force,” he commented. “Never learned to depend on the kindness of strangers?”
“What I’ve learned is that everyone has a motive,” Kamali retorted, watching him closely. “What’s yours?”
He shrugged. “Your scent.”
Her brows lowered. “What?”
“You smell like one of the desserts my mother used to make for me as a cub, before she taught me how to do it on my own.” His grin made her pulse thump unevenly. “I was led around by my nose the majority of the time, and it seems that hasn’t changed much.”
Finishing up, he re-screwed the cap to her gas tank. “Should be full.” Then he nodded at her and started to walk away.
“Wait.” She spoke before she could stop herself.
The tiger pulled up short and gave her a questioning glance over one shoulder.
Kamali reached for her wallet. “At least let me give you—”
He placed a hand on top of her own to stop her. “The kindness of strangers.” He started toward his truck once more.
Say something. Stop him. The nudge came from her beast. Why, she didn’t know; didn’t want to know. “So that’s it?” she called. “You tell me I smell good then amble off?”
Head cocking, he asked, “You asking me to stick around?”
“I’m asking you why you would do this for a woman who just put a gun to your head and all but threatened to blow you away. I’m asking what it is that made you stop. I’m asking why you helped me.”
“Because I know that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re terrified of your past catching up to you.” He waved a hand toward her SUV then pointed up the road. “There’s a hotel about three miles off. Should you need someplace to stay, you tell them Kaisal Verochka sent you and if they want to confirm it, you tell them to call the Monahan pack house.” Running a hand through his hair, he looked as though he were debating something with himself before he spoke again. “I don’t know what you’re running from—”
