by Jory Strong
“Are the humans in Oakland so ignorant they don’t appreciate your gift?” he asked, drawing her attention back to him. “Surely there is a demand for your services among them.”
Her thoughts went to The Iberá’s offer, to the luxury and protection that would come if she accepted it. “There is.”
Aryck slid off the windowsill and padded over, stopping at the very edge of the huge sleeping area and sprawling, a huge cat in a human form. “Then why do you work in the brothels? Why do you live among outcasts?”
Always before there was derision in his tone, harsh judgment when he spoke the word outcast. There was a hint of it in his question but it was overridden by curiosity.
“They need me.”
“You waste yourself on them. They serve a punishment meted out to them by the ancestors.”
Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated a moment, then answered, “Each of us possesses three intertwined souls. Human. Animal. And an eternal one residing with our ancestors in the shadowlands. Losing the ability to shift into beast form or being of mixed form in this world is a sign of judgment. It’s a way of marking an outcast so others know immediately that the eternal soul has been cast out of the shadowlands.”
“I don’t believe that can be true of all outcasts.”
“You don’t believe because you’re not one of us. What you know of our world and our kind you’ve learned from the worst of us.”
“Only because you turn your back on anyone caught between forms or who can’t shift into a purely animal one. Do your ancestors demand it? Or is it fear and prejudice?”
He stirred restlessly, angrily. “You question things you have no right to.”
It would have been easy to let it drop but she couldn’t. “I live among outcasts. I see their suffering every day. I witness the degradation and pain and horror that come with selling their bodies so they can survive. What do you know of life in the red zone? Of being powerless because you have no pack, no family, no place in Were society?
“You’re so certain they all deserve to be where they are. Some of them do. I can accept that. But tell me how a child born with a mixed form because her Were mother is held prisoner and raped by a human hunter is guilty of a crime and should be forced to live an outcast’s life.”
Aryck stood, unable to remain still as Rebekka assaulted him with questions that weren’t his to answer. He was an enforcer, not a shaman. Pack law was pack law, and when it came to outcasts and humans, it had remained unchanged by generations of Jaguar alphas.
Almost against his will he found himself saying, “Weres born in a mixed form are killed by their mothers or left to die.”
“And if they’re not? Then is it okay to kill the child at three years old, or four, or ten, or twenty? Did you ever stop to consider how The Last War and what followed created millions of orphans with no knowledge of their heritage? People whose descendents carry Were genes that lie dormant, who think they’re human until physical trauma triggers a healing response and leaves them trapped between forms.”
“Impossible.”
“I’ve seen it for myself. Are you calling me a liar?”
Aryck clenched his jaw, paced to the door, and told himself he should open it and leave. Instead he turned, only to feel the sharp blade of another question.
“What if Caius can’t shift into tiger form after all he’s been through? Would you drive him away? Send him to the city to become a victim and claim he deserved it? Kill him if he refused to leave?”
Aryck stalked over and crouched next to her, a growl forming in his chest, in his mind. “Enough.”
She sat up, clutching the fur to her naked chest and sending a roar of heat through him to rival the anger. In that moment she seemed every bit as fierce as a female Jaguar defending something of value.
Bare shoulders and cascading hair, strength welded with femininity. The sight of her aroused him, making him want to rip the fur away and silence her with the thrust of his tongue into her mouth, the thrust of his cock into her slick sheath, despite the danger of one day becoming the very thing they argued about because of it.
Her eyes met his boldly, challenging him. Telling him she was his equal in every way despite having only one form.
“Enough,” he repeated, raw need twisting in his gut. His testicles heavy and full and his cock throbbing.
She licked her lips, nearly shredding his control. Her scent changed subtly, with the beginnings of desire.
Naked, stretched beneath him on the furs, she wouldn’t say no to him again. He would make sure of it.
One coupling and no other female could hold my interest.
His father’s words slipped into Aryck’s thoughts again. He wanted to deny them, to ignore them, to shake them off and tell himself he was not his father.
He couldn’t. Worse, Rebekka was making him question his beliefs, the rigid framework of his world.
Aryck stood, afraid to risk remaining in her presence.
A turn. A step.
The Jaguar came to life with a vengeance, beast soul riving away from the whole. Refusing to leave Rebekka.
Aryck embraced the pain, willingly accepted the escape from conversation and questions his furred form allowed. He pushed his pants off his hips, not able to deny the pleasure at feeling her eyes on him, traveling down his body.
It was all he could do not to turn, to display the hard length of his cock jutting upward, spasming against his abdomen and wetting his skin with escaped arousal.
Her scent deepened. Her breathing became erratic.
The rustle of furs had him imagining her naked. Made him realize man and beast were once again fully united in their desire to claim this woman.
With a thought Aryck commanded the change, knowing if he turned back toward Rebekka in a human form, he would take her, without care for the consequences.
Rebekka was torn between relief and disappointment as Aryck became Jaguar. It was for the best, she reminded herself, lying back down but unable to suppress the small thrill that came when he padded over and settled next to her.
Heat poured off him, so much of it she wanted to kick off the covers and lie naked in the cool night air. A flush spread over her skin at the erotic image.
He began purring, a low rumble that felt like a rough tongue lapping over her swollen folds and hardened nipples. She shouldn’t, she knew she shouldn’t, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from reaching over and running her hand down his neck and over his shoulders.
Both his forms were magnificent. Beautiful.
For the first time in her life she wished she’d been born something other than a gifted healer. If she were a Jaguar—
But she wasn’t, and only pain would come of imagining otherwise, of dreaming there could be a future here with him. She was human, fathered by a demon, her gift altered by a supernatural being who’d turned it into something that would bring death to those she lived among if she wasn’t careful.
Aryck’s purrs deepened, drawing her away from her troubled thoughts. Stroking his fur eased her, quieted her mind and her body, finally allowing sleep to reclaim her.
Sixteen
REBEKKA woke to a strong male body covering hers. Warm skin touching warm skin. Making her feel safe, protected, desirable.
Muscles rippled beneath her hands as they glided over a naked back. The hard throb of an erection pressed against her belly and ground against her stiffened clit. Lips nuzzled her ear. A cheek rubbed against hers, bringing a scent that had come to represent temptation. Aryck.
Her nipples were tight, aching points stabbing a smooth chest. She let herself pretend, keeping her eyes closed, not wanting the fantasy to end as her fingers lingered at the base of his spine, then dared to go lower.
His moan was a rumbled purr as her hands smoothed over firm, muscled buttocks. He lifted onto his elbows enough to allow him to trail kisses to the edge of her mouth.
Like a cat, his
tongue darted out, licked along the seam of her lips. Enticed.
She opened for him. Her lower lips did the same. Unfurling, making her want to spread her legs wider and cant her hips. To tear away the barrier of her panties so he could find her opening and join their bodies with the thrust of his cock deep inside her.
His tongue slid into her mouth, rubbed against hers as his body rocked, each movement striking her clit. She opened her eyes, unable to deny herself the sight of him above her.
He growled in satisfaction. Shifted his weight onto a single elbow, freeing his hand to cup her bare breast.
Desire rushed through her. A whimper escaped and she arched her back.
His face tightened, nostrils flaring as his fingers rubbed over her nipple, clamped onto it and tugged, eyes more jaguar than human. Daring her to deny him. Promising exquisite pleasure with her acceptance.
She licked her lips and his hips jerked, thrust his rigid cock against her clit and made her cry out. Lust flashed through her and she clamped her legs against his.
He lowered his head. Lapped at her nipple. Took it between his lips and suckled.
Need made her forget everything else. She tangled her fingers in his hair, writhed under him as gentle sucks gave way to the feel of teeth, to pain that only fed the pleasure.
With a growl he released her nipple, laved and kissed her breast, burying his face in her cleavage before once again covering her mouth with his. His tongue thrust aggressively as his hand went to her panties, fingers curling around them at her hip in preparation of ripping them away from her. Enough sanity remained for her to cover his hand with hers, stopping him.
Before he could renew his sensual assault, the door opened with a crash, and Aryck rolled to his feet, ready to defend against attack. Rebekka sat and grabbed a blanket, pulling it up to her chest.
The sight of Melina and Phaedra cleared the haze of passion from Rebekka’s mind with the effectiveness of stepping out into the rain during the winter season. But it did nothing to eradicate the lust pooled in her belly and between her thighs.
Her breathing remained harsh, as did Aryck’s. A blush stole over her at seeing him standing naked, perfectly at ease. Uncaring and unconcerned about the hardened length of cock on display.
The Jaguar healer came farther into the room. Rebekka noticed the bundle in Phaedra’s arms then, recognized her own clothing, clean and folded, the journal lying on top.
“Leave us,” Phaedra said to Aryck, including Melina with a glance.
Aryck bent over, retrieving the pants he’d dropped to the floor the night before. The action afforded Rebekka a view of sculpted muscle, of graceful power and sheer masculinity.
Her channel clenched, wetting her inner thighs with arousal and sending a spike of need through her clit. He looked back at her, eyes holding heat and knowledge. If they hadn’t been interrupted, he would be inside her now.
She shook her head in silent denial but knew it was a lie. He stepped into his pants, drawing them up with excruciating slowness. Behaving like a cat wanting adoration and smiling as he got it when she licked her lips.
Rebekka turned her head. A fist tightened around her heart. She’d be gone soon, probably after she’d eaten.
Phaedra handed Rebekka the bundle as Aryck and Melina left. Rebekka set the journal aside and dressed quickly, needing the armor of clothing to cover the awkwardness of what had happened—or nearly happened—with Aryck.
“Your breakfast should be almost ready,” Phaedra said, turning and walking toward the door.
Rebekka saw her shoes next to it. She picked them up rather than stop to put them on.
A young girl tended a fire at the back of the cabin. Rebekka’s mouth watered at the smell of spiced sausage and fried potatoes.
“Sit,” Phaedra said, gesturing to a heavy log as she took over the chore of cooking.
Rebekka sat, dropping the shoes to the ground rather than put them on. The rich loam was cool against her feet, fertile where much of the land they’d passed through to arrive at the Jaguar camp had been red dirt and sandstone.
The girl lingered, obviously curious. Rebekka sent her a tentative smile and had it returned.
Phaedra glanced over her shoulder at the girl. “You have roots and berries to gather if you hope to continue your lessons today.”
The girl slipped into the woods, quickly disappearing from sight.
Rebekka looked around. Like the healer’s cabin, this one was well hidden and seemingly isolated. It was a concession to the jaguar in their natures, she guessed, since the big cats were solitary creatures.
Levi had told her Lion prides lived in family groups, several generations of females with their mates and offspring sharing the same dwelling. Wolf packs were the same, though an alpha pair ruled and membership depended more on mutual agreement than blood ties.
A plate thrust against her hand scattered Rebekka’s thoughts and made her stomach rumble. She set the journal on the log. Phaedra sat so it was between them.
With the first bite of food it became impossible for Rebekka to do anything but eat. She was ravenous, starved. Thinking back on it, the last meal leaving her feeling full had been at the Iberá estate.
When she finally finished eating there was nothing left, on either the plate or the skillet. “How are the cubs?” she asked.
Phaedra’s smile held the answer. “They shift between forms and already chafe at being told they can’t stray far from their homes. I suspect their parents will soon grow tired of having energetic and rambunctious boys underfoot.”
“Caius included?”
The healer’s smile faded. “He is well, but his mother remains the same. Our kind mate for life. Some do not survive the loss of the bond.”
There were herbs and potions to combat depression. During The Last War shock and grief had driven many to turn inward and lose touch with the world of the living.
By Allende’s order, Rebekka didn’t make or dispense mood-altering drugs to those who worked in the brothel. That was a business for a vice lord. But like the stimulants some of the prostitutes took, drugs to lift a user out of depression were available.
“Can you give her something?”
“It’s not our way.”
Rebekka looked around, taking in the beauty of the dark woods only a few steps beyond the fire pit. She breathed in the pine and cedar scent, the smell of earth. Listened to the birds and sought them out: quail pecking and rattling through scrub, a crow sitting high in a tree, a cardinal a few branches beneath it, a red-tailed hawk flying above, crying out in a harsh, prolonged kee-ahrrr.
She understood why Phaedra wouldn’t interfere. Here nature would take its course. It held the capacity to soothe and restore, but it was also ruled by a law dictating survival of the fittest.
Rebekka set the empty plate aside and picked up the journal. She traced the edges with her fingertips, remembering Phaedra’s threatening growl when she’d first seen it. “This belonged to a man who was alive during The Last War. He treated anyone brought to him, human or Were. I received it in payment for a healing. The person who gave it to me knew it had once belonged to a Were. I’m not sure if they knew he was Jaguar, and I don’t know how it came to be in their possession.”
“I reacted badly. I’ve had few dealings with humans and none of them good. You are not what any of us expected.” Phaedra laughed softly. “Save for Nahuatl, the shaman, perhaps. But that’s the way of those who visit the ancestors, to dole out information only as it’s deemed necessary.”
Curiosity led Rebekka to risk getting into an argument with Phaedra as she had with Aryck. “The Weres in the brothels don’t mention the ancestors.”
“The ancestors aren’t to be spoken about lightly. Their reach is long, even for those who’ve had their eternal soul cast out of the shadowlands.”
Rebekka wondered if Phaedra ever questioned whether all those trapped between forms had been judged by the ancestors. She considered challenging the healer’s
beliefs as she’d done Aryck’s, then shrugged the thought away. She wouldn’t be here long enough to change the way they saw those they considered outcast.
“Do I leave today for Oakland?”
“I hoped to convince you to stay and share the knowledge contained in the journal. Koren, our alpha, hasn’t granted permission, but I believe he will once he learns Nahuatl spoke to the ancestors and your continued presence in Jaguar lands won’t anger them.”
A flash of need hit Rebekka, having everything to do with Aryck and nothing to do with remaining in order to discuss healing. Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks as her body readied itself for him. There was no way to hide what it meant from Phaedra, who’d witnessed evidence of the attraction already.
Rebekka expected Phaedra to warn against any involvement with Aryck; instead the healer said, “In our pack knowledge is passed down orally. Our history is learned sitting at the feet of our elders. The stories we tell are created and embellished at the fireside. The best of them are committed to memory and become favorites.
“There are marks we use to leave messages behind. We don’t put ink to paper, or know how to read what others have recorded. Until you came, bringing the journal, I thought there was little that hadn’t been passed down, healer to healer. I was wrong. Now I know much has been lost. I hope you will stay and share what was once known by one of my kind.”
Rebekka rubbed her palm against the material of her pants. Her pulse sped up when she felt the Wainwright token in the pocket, then slowed with the realization Phaedra must have found it and decided that possessing something connected to witches wasn’t important and didn’t make Rebekka a threat to the Jaguars.
Unbidden the image of Annalise came to mind, leaning forward, talking of a coming war between supernaturals, of there being choices that might ultimately lead to the deepening of Rebekka’s gift so she could fully heal the Were outcasts, allowing them to shift between forms.
This was one of those choices. Rebekka felt certain of it.
Her hand strayed to the amulet. Her mind went to the past, to the demon father who’d saved her from rape and sent her to the brothels.
