by Sadie Hart
Bending Steele
Summary:
Four years ago, Hexe was an ordinary man taking his aging parents on the vacation of a lifetime: a trip to the Himalayan Mountains. But when their car took a deadly swerve off a mountain road, Hexe was the only survivor. Brutally attacked by a shape-shifting snow leopard, Hexe became one of many living in the mountains. Now, as King of the Himalayan tribe, Hexe has his eyes set on a woman he thinks could finally make his life whole again. The mysterious and dangerous Steele–every bit as cold and deadly as her name suggests.
At eight, Steele watched a killer murder her mother while her father ran for his safety. She learned then that people couldn’t be trusted and has lived on the fringe of her people’s society since, barely participating in the tribe at all. Until Hexe, their new King, lays a claim on her.
Determined to fight for her freedom, Steele has no intention of letting her King walk away from the fight–and Hexe has every intention of making her his mate. But when a deadly poacher returns to the mountains, Steele learns what it is to have a partner at her back, and together it’s up to them to save their tribe. But to do so, Steele might just have to bend a little and let one very determined man into her heart…
Smashwords Edition
2nd Edition
Copyright 2012 Sadie Hart
Excerpt of Hounded Copyright 2012 Sadie Hart
Excerpt of Resisting Velocity Copyright 2012 Xoe Xanders and Trinity Evans
Cover Art Designed by Sadie Hart
License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book with someone else, please purchase an additional copy. If you’re reading this book and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and buy your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved
Bending Steele
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About the Author
Available Titles by Sadie Hart
Excerpt: Hounded by Sadie Hart
Excerpt: Resisting Velocity by Xoe Xanders and Trinity Evans
Chapter One
Steele slipped down from the icy slope, the wicked glint of a blade wrapped in one hand. The mountains were thick with cats, snow leopards slinking down from the mottled white cliffs. Several were already in human form as they gathered in the valley below, herded together like cattle. Steele held back, watching, waiting.
She’d been Marked.
Claimed.
And that galled her. Curious, she crouched on an overhanging ledge, her small dagger pressed against her calf, one outstretched hand laid bare against the snowy edge. She wanted to see the man who’d staked his claim on her this year. He wouldn’t be the first, but damn it, maybe if she made a big enough example out of this one, he’d be the last.
She had no interest in finding a mate. She’d seen where that led. More dangerous than any of the ice slick mountains in the Himalayas. Hearts were too easily broken and Steele preferred hers frozen. Protected. Love made people vulnerable, it left them open for hurt and betrayal. She’d seen it once, she wasn’t about to let it happen to her.
A cold blast of wind ruffled the thick hood of her parka as Steele leaned over the edge. She recognized most of the tribe, but there were few new faces in the people mingling below. Not many stumbled far enough into the mountains as it was, even fewer were attacked. The clan’s numbers varied very little from year to year, the shifter population growing slowly over generations due to offspring. Some, below, had human spouses while others stood paired off with others of their kind, mated. Most with kids had opted to stay home. Her gaze scanned through the crowd, discarding the ones she knew were taken. Her attention shifting to the handfuls of males still looking for mates.
None of them looked ballsy enough to try her.
She shifted slightly, one booted foot knocking a clump of snow over the edge. It was Wintersong, the one day a year where most of the tribe gathered. It was the beginning of their mating season. Their fighting season. King-making season too, for anyone who dared to challenge their current monarch.
As if called by her thoughts, she saw Hexe then. The King stood along the edge of the valley, his thick boots strapped around his calves, his khakis loose around slender hips. The thick white parka he wore nearly blended into the white mound of snow behind him. But it was always his face that caught her attention.
Sharp edged, with dark black hair that hung loose around the clean cut of his jaw, the firm line of his lips. It was cut in ragged, choppy waves that looked feral, as if he could never be bothered to tame it. As if he never left the mountains.
Then again, she was one to talk. She wondered what she even looked like. The last time she’d seen a village, let alone a mirror, had been years ago. Preferring the solitude, where the only sounds were the wind howling through the mountaintops and the occasional rumble of an angry avalanche. Hexe took a step into the clearing and the others skirted the wake of their King. Any cat here could challenge him—today only—but Steele didn’t see it happening.
Hexe fought with a ruthless edge she’d only seen rivaled by herself. He was dark, deadly, and damn near sinful with a blade. He also looked every bit the part of a warrior King, with his sleek toned muscle and easy cat grace. He moved effortlessly, purposefully. No wasted energy.
But as ruthless as he could be, Steele had seen the softer side of their King. The side that had tried to welcome her further into the tribe. He’d wanted to make her feel at home. Looking at him now, there were no remnants of that wayward smile he’d given her last, before he’d shaken his head and walked away. As if he’d finally, finally understood she wanted to be left alone.
Steele started to turn back to her search when Hexe’s head lifted a notch, his nostrils widening just slightly. Scenting.
Fucking bastard. Steele’s grip tightened on her knife.
It was him.
Hexe had marked her. But if he thought that just because he was King she’d come sauntering down, he was wrong. And King or not, she’d still fight him. He’d be lucky if she didn’t slit his throat at the end of this and leave the throne up for the taking.
The Mark burned bright against her chest and Hexe tilted his head, dark eyes skimming the peaks until his gaze landed on her. He was as bound to her now as she was to him, at least for the two weeks she’d be Marked. Icy and wild, his gaze locked with hers. Steele stiffened under the heat that cool stare brought to her belly, and lower. Damn him. Her fingers curled into the snow along the ledge. He was powerful, handsome. The kind of male any female here would want, or should want. If they were anyone but Steele. A smirk tipped his lips. Steele bared her teeth and hissed into the wind.
She twisted back along the mountainside and slipped into the shadows. She felt the burn of the Mark against her breast again, as clearly as if Hexe was sinking his teeth into her skin, dragging her down. Oh, she was coming. But she’d do it on her own terms.
Out of sight.
***
Hexe watched her hiss at him from the ledge and then disappear into the shadows fra
med by the mountain, the swirls of snow and gunmetal gray rock sheltering her from view. She wasn’t happy, but then again, he hadn’t expected Steele to be thrilled with his Mark. As much as she was a member of the tribe, she was a distant one.
She came to every gathering, but she always lingered on the outskirts, watching but never participating. The few times someone had tried to lure her in or befriend her, they’d been met with an icy rebuttal. Those who had pushed had been threatened with a knife. She was an enigma. Both seeming to want the company of others, and at the same time, denying it. But she’d always been clear about one thing. She didn’t want a mate and rumor had it, she’d gutted the last male who’d tried to claim her.
He didn’t doubt that she’d try to do the same to him and he knew damn well that his rank wouldn’t save him. Hexe glanced around the gathering as more and more of their kind slipped down from the peaks and met inside the valley. A few cats fought along the edges, angry snarls already beginning to rise. One male raked claws into the hide of another. Blood decorated the snow in splatters.
But no one stepped out of the crowd to challenge him.
A few females edged closer, single. A pretty redhead grinned over at him. He’d danced with her last year amongst the cliffs, playing, testing the waters. He’d left her hoping for a Mark and felt a little guilty now. He wasn’t even sure of her name.
It made him a dick and he knew it.
But he wasn’t the only unmated male here and unlike those skirting around, laughing and flirting, Hexe knew exactly who he wanted. He’d known it for awhile now. He heard the slightest crunch of snow behind him and grinned. Inclining his head slightly, he tipped his chin so he could gaze over his shoulder. Steele stood against the rock, her tribal-etched blade in one hand, her other stuffed in the pocket of her parka.
Hexe flicked his attention briefly to the mountains, the last of his cats now standing on the open ground before him. He gave a low rumbling sound in his throat, like an avalanche building along the range behind him, and silence washed over the tribe—both human and cat alike. He kept one ear trained on the woman behind him, expecting her knife in his back.
Steele didn’t move. Not yet, at least.
“Welcome,” Hexe said, a faint smile touching his lips. He doubted it looked friendly.
One palm extended skyward, he focused on the mountain magick that filled the land around him. Drawing in a deep breath, he pulled it inside him, then on an exhale, he blew it out over his skin. The magick appeared white in the cold air, curling like smoke, and then when it touched his hand it turned blue, floating skyward. The wind took the curl of color and blew it out over his cats.
Wintersong had begun.
Hexe took a powerful step towards his tribe, not tense, but prepared. If anyone fought him here and now, he would be ready. “The throne stands for the taking. Anyone?”
One eyebrow lifted in question, but not a soul in the group stepped forward to challenge him. He turned to Steele, saw the soft smirk on her face, but she made no move for him. Hexe eyed his tribe before him, a few shifters standing ready to resume their earlier battles. Most were here simply to be with the tribe or to find mates, their squabbles nothing more than proving their worth as males.
With a jerk of his head, Hexe dismissed them and watched the cats turn away, the official introduction done. The Marked females stood out easily, a swirl of blue magick lingering against their parkas. It was a half a beat before someone noticed Steele behind him. The male stumbled, eyes a little wide, and Hexe watched as the man flicked his gaze across the group, as if he was trying to see who had the balls to try her.
Hexe turned away from them all, everyone save Steele. They could think what they wanted to think—he had his reasons. Snow crunched under his boots as he strode towards her, her slim body still leaned against the mountainside, one booted foot pressed back against the rock. Lazy, almost. She eyed the knife in her hand before flicking her steel gray gaze up to his. Cool, confident.
He’d have expected nothing less.
But she always bluffed first. Postured first. She gave everyone an out, a chance to retreat. Steele waited now, her eyes on his, body stiff, but he recognized it for what it was. A chance to remove his Mark and pretend this had never happened. Even with everyone watching, she’d let him just walk away.
He wouldn’t.
Hexe had watched her long enough. He’d tried on every occasion he’d had to get to know her, but out here, she was in control. Always, always in control. He needed to find a way to get her off balance, to get her to let him in.
“I hope you have a good reason for this.” Steele’s eyes narrowed and suddenly they looked tinged with frost. “I hate to kill Kings.”
Hexe bit back a smile. There it was. The bluff. But backing down would get him nothing. Nothing would change.
“I have my reasons.” Hexe kept his voice low, the rough baritone dark. He took a step closer to her, watched the muscle in her jaw flex, but there was a flash of confusion in her eyes too. Her thumb slid over the handle of her blade. Her eyes met his and he saw the furious plea. She wanted him to back down. Hexe lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Whether or not you’ll find them ‘good’ is another thing.”
Another step.
“Try me.”
Hexe shook his head. Not now. Not in front of everyone. Not when he could still see the icy resolve around her. She was giving him an out, but she really didn’t care. Then again, it was hard to picture her ever caring, ever relaxing, with her long black hair tugged out of her hip-length braid and hanging loose in waves about her face. He doubted she’d believe him if he told her that was the reason. He needed a Queen, an equal at his side. A partner. But more than that, he wanted to see if the flashes of the softer woman he saw in her eyes, the glimpses of vulnerability and compassion, were real.
There was no denying she was beautiful, strong. A warrior. It was hard to picture her without a knife in her small hand. Yet somehow, when she slipped into his thoughts at night, dark and deadly as sin, he wanted to taste her. To press her back against a rocky wall and slip the zipper on her parka down. He knew she was lean, slender. Toned. Every bit the warrior he was. He doubted she’d be soft and yet, his gaze slipped to the hollow of her throat.
What would she do if he kissed her there?
Hexe took another step and Steele stiffened. Her blade made one last swirl over her palm before her fingers closed confidently over the handle. The tribe had gone quiet behind him, whatever squabbles they had over Marked females, or flirts that had just begun—it had all died away. Hexe hesitated a moment. If there was anyone here that could kill him and strip him from his throne, it was the woman in front of him, her gunmetal gray eyes the color of frost now.
He’d watched her fight once before. She fought clean, fast, and deadly. Every bit as skilled as he was. Hexe let his muscles tense, ready. When he came at her, he couldn’t be soft because Steele wouldn’t give him a second shot.
But he didn’t pull his blade.
She had that advantage. He didn’t want her dead, he just wanted her to be his. The muscle in her jaw flexed as he stepped closer again, so obviously doing what she didn’t want him to do. “You’ll be missing a kidney soon, my King.”
Hexe didn’t answer her. He lunged, clearing the last stride between them in a blur. Her knife whirled out and Hexe jerked out of range, air hissing out of his teeth in a sharp whistle. He caught her by her upper arm and flung her around, but Steele kicked out, one booted foot connecting with his knee. He grunted under the pain and jerked her back. Her knife slashed out, deadly, and Hexe leapt away, letting her go.
Steele stood with her back to him, looking over her shoulder. Her fingers played over the handle of her knife, drumming. Calculating. Hexe licked his teeth and waited. She made the first lunge, feinting with a slash of her knife at his gut. He jerked back, just as her foot connected with his side. He stumbled, lashing out when her knife blurred by again. Damn it. Hexe dodged the slash and
caught her wrist, jerking Steele sharply forward.
She stumbled, but only enough that she managed to wedge a leg between his and catch him behind the knee. Hexe gave a growl as he crashed down on top of her, but it was the hoarse whoosh of air sliding from her lungs that roused a happy rumble from his chest.
She struggled, twisting the knife around, but he pinned one wrist above her head, snagging the other with his free hand. Her hips pinned under his, he straddled her. He slammed her wrists into the snow over her head. Steele’s lips tightened and she went still.
He didn’t for a second think she’d yielded.
“Drop the blade.” Her jaw tightened and Hexe dug his thumb into the sensitive pulse of her wrist. “Drop it, Steele.”
Pain flashed in her quicksilver gaze, but she didn’t yield until her hand spasmed and the blade tumbled loose of her grip.
She grimaced. “What now?”
He’d won the first round, but Hexe knew better than to think the rest of this would be easy. She would be slow to tame, slow to heat, but he’d seen metal turned molten before and she reminded him so much of her namesake. She’d bend, soften.
“You’re mine for the next two weeks.”
Her lips curved into a sneer and Hexe had to fight not to lean down and steal a kiss.
She knew Wintersong, knew the Marks. She’d known what would happen if she lost. She had hoped to win the fight and deny him. Hexe grinned.
“I’ll play nice.” His gaze drifted to her lips again, “But I won’t be giving you back your blade.”
Her hips flexed slightly under hers, her whole body arching as she tried to reach for it. Hexe held her fast, waiting. With a frustrated sigh, she stilled beneath him again. He pinned both wrists with one hand, and swept the knife up into his free hand. Her gaze sharpened and he didn’t miss the fury that passed through her frost tinged eyes. But he recognized the confusion there too, in the way her eyebrows drew down.
