Heart's Sentinel

by PJ Schnyder

  “I'm afraid.” Honest answer.

  “So your cat rises to defend you,” he nodded. “Any animal hurt or afraid will defend itself. Humans do it, too.” A pause, then he added, “You're a strong girl—you're angry, too. Tell me about it.”

  Yeah, she was definitely angry. It had taken a long time to breathe past the fear and be strong enough to feel anger at what had happened. Now sometimes it rose up so fast she choked on it.

  “Van did it without asking,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the force of her rage as she spoke the name. She bit down on her lip, tasted blood.

  “That’s an understatement.” The calm of Adam’s voice washed over her, cooling the rage of her beast.

  "He was seriously attractive," she admitted. "I loved the controlled energy Van had. He would be standing completely still, and you knew he could explode into movement faster than a thought. Like you." She glanced at Adam and shrugged. "I fell for him. When we started dating, he had all the right words to say to make me think we were dating like all the other couples I knew in the city. It didn't really click in my head, the difference in dating a shapeshifter. Not until he started to get obsessed."

  Falling silent for a moment, she focused on breathing through the panic creeping up as she thought about it. She pushed on through her story, grateful he wasn't too close, listening without pressing. "Then it seemed as if anywhere I went, no matter where or what time it was or even who I spent time with, he would be there. He'd be looking in at me from a window, or leaning against a building across the street. He'd be there, and I knew I wouldn't have noticed him if he hadn't stepped out at just the right time to make sure only I saw him, and no one else did. I don't know why I kept dating him.” She shook her head at the memory of her own stupidity. “When he decided to attack me, it was at the end of an incredibly romantic date. I thought he wanted to convince me not to end things. Instead, he decided to make sure I couldn't escape him."

  Frustrated, she clenched her hands again, willing the trembling to stop as she struggled to keep the fear under control. Nearby, violence rose up and brushed against her senses, and somehow Adam’s contained strength helped her find an anchor.

  Van wasn't there and couldn't get to her. She had a Sentinel at her side.

  It took a few more minutes, but both the panic attack and the memory released their hold on her. Standing there in the middle of a forest trail with Adam standing a few feet away, she felt more secure than the hours she'd spent curled up, hiding in her closet.

  “Once you gain more control, you won't feel the need to defend yourself as much,” he continued as if he had never exerted any power. “You'll start getting other mood swings which will be fairly entertaining.”

  Empty and wrung out, Mackenzie gave a shaky laugh. “Like?”

  “Oh, I figure you'll give the single males in the pride a run for their money.”

  “No.” Adamant, she glanced at Adam, a new worry streaking through her. Cats went into heat, didn't they? She couldn't ask.

  But he anticipated her, looking way too amused. “You are one of the big cat species now, Kitten. You'll have your heats.”

  Cursing felt good, but a cold fear crawled its way inside her stomach. She didn't want to be driven to face the increased sexuality she'd been experiencing. She didn't want to be desperate for someone's touch, anyone's touch. She wanted to be able to choose.

  “No worries.” He picked up a few stones and tossed them one at a time, his entire body relaxed. “The pride healer, Chryssa, will keep you company for your first heat. She'll be able to take you away for a while so you don't do something you'll regret.”

  Well, a little comfort there. Despite her attraction to Adam and her growing comfort level with him, she felt hesitant to meet other males. One at a time was enough, especially if they were all as vitally male as he was.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but hesitated. Suddenly, looking up at his face seemed dangerous.

  “No, I'm looking forward to you exactly as you are.” He tossed his last stone into the trees and dusted off his hands. “Cutting a swath through the boys without even noticing. Like last night.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Boys?”

  "Boys would be safer for you to interact with at first, less threatening, more straightforward." Pointing out the logic didn't make it any better. “Adults would be more subtle.”

  “And you'll find entertainment in watching?” It pricked her vanity he didn't seem interested in participating in the predicted shenanigans. She did have an ego, after all. And there he stood, framed in sunlight, without a single inkling of how he'd bruised it.

  “As your guardian," He made each word deliberate and slow. “I'm obviously going to be an objective observer. You need someone to ask about social behavior for a while. At least until you feel comfortable.”

  “Uh huh.” Crossing her arms, she seethed. Not only infuriatingly cheerful, he patronized her too. Maybe it was time to meet some other males after all, if only for better conversation. And she'd be damned if she'd be asking him questions about any sort of intimate…social behavior.

  She strode off down the trail to work off some of her temper, scaring a few nearby squirrels up a tree as she stalked past. And pretended she couldn't hear his insufferable chuckle behind her, too.

  A couple of hours later Mackenzie faced her first martial arts class. They had cleaned out the dojo, still holding classes despite the lack of mirrors and window. Adam stood in the center of the floor before a group of children, wrapping up a class as Mackenzie watched. Without her annoyance shading her vision, she got a better measure of him.

  No doubt about it, he had the market cornered on hot.

  Mackenzie couldn't help staring at those broad shoulders, the taper of his wide chest to his narrow hips. Her fingers itched to play with the close-cut dark hair at the back of his head. He seemed very approachable, and very pettable.

  As if aware of her appraisal, Adam turned to wink at her. Blushing, she looked away. She knew next to nothing about shapeshifters, he'd made that point clear during their walk earlier. While she lived the life of a healthy young woman and had dated a few guys back in the city, she had no idea what could be accepted in shifter society. She had only ever dated one shifter.

  She shivered. Her old life had been stripped away with agonizing deliberation and she hadn't been able to stop it. Van had destroyed her, remade her in his image. Now, human-turned-shapeshifter, a panther among leopards, she floundered to regain her footing.

  Painfully aware she didn't know enough about shapeshifters, she faced a huge learning curve. They lived by a code of rules and ethics governing their volatile natures. She had to learn the code, or risk becoming a monster like the one who had created her.

  “Is it interesting, Bonk-head?” Her father's question warmed the air with affection, settling her.

  She nodded, without really considering the question or noticing the old nickname.

  “Can I learn to live here, Dad?” she whispered, her mood turning dark.

  She sensed rather than saw her father shrug beside her. “We'll let you watch and see what you feel. If you don’t like it, you can come home.”

  Humans didn't leave the cities often, preferring the shelter of towering structures as well as technological comforts and conveniences. Some shapeshifters came to the cities for higher education. A few humans left to live amongst them in the wilderness territories restored after the Cataclysmic Wars had destroyed most of the human population.

  Mackenzie had never expected to be one of those few, but then she’d never expected to find herself no longer human. Something wild stirred inside her and her attraction for Adam flared up in an almost frightening way. Damn, she wasn't sure if it was cologne or his natural scent, but she couldn't help but remember he’d smelled really good too.

  As she tried to follow her father to the chairs in the waiting area, she tripped over her own feet.

  “One step at a time,” she
grumbled to herself, “Figure out moving first. Figure out pheromones later.”

  A few minutes passed and the children were let out of class. The tension inside her slowly released. She wouldn't accidentally hurt a child. And, though she didn't see the three she'd helped the day before, she'd worried all night about what could've happened if she'd made a mistake.

  “Go on, Bonk-head.” Her father encouraged her with his gruff affection as other adults started warming up on the mats. “Go try out the class and see how you do. I'll be right here.”

  Her father's way had been to let her go and try, always there to catch her if she fell. Mackenzie picked a spot against a wall and started to stretch. The other adults glanced at her with curiosity, but everyone gave her space.

  She’d only been stretching for a few minutes when Adam approached her and held out a pair of odd-looking gloves. Made of leather, they had no fingers and most of the palm had been left open. Padding covered only the knuckles, and a leather strap wrapped around the wrist.

  “These are grappling gloves.” He slapped them together with a smile. “You should wear them to protect your hands during the drills.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced up into those warm eyes again. They were edged in a ring of darker gold, and she wanted to reach out and touch the hair falling across them. Clearing her throat instead, she focused on the gloves. “Are they included in the gear provided with the classes?”

  “Actually, these are new ones and you can pay for them after class." He crouched down to her eye level so she could continue to stretch without craning her neck to look up at him. “The rest of the gear we supply, like protective pads and focus gloves, we supply. But you can't take them home.”

  “Focus gloves?” Mackenzie hesitated. “I've never taken martials arts before, so…”

  He lifted up his hands, well shaped and strong. She swallowed and blinked away an unbidden image of those hands doing naughty things. Instead, she tried to actually listen to what he said, though she did love what a pair of skilled hands could do.

  “…catch your partner's punch,” he explained the focus gloves, “They provide a target and protect your hands from the impact at the same time."

  “Okay, so they’re called focus gloves because your partner focuses their punch into the glove.” See? She'd been listening. Really.

  He grinned. “Good enough. C'mon. For first time students, an instructor pairs with you one-on-one to help you get to know the flow of the class and the beginning moves. I'll be your partner.”

  “Got it.” She kept her voice light as she responded, figuring it would be no hardship to be paired with him. And here, there were people as strong as or stronger than her. She wouldn't hurt someone by accident while she figured out how to control herself.

  “The class always begins with warm ups, slowly moving through basic punches and kicks.” Adam noted Mackenzie had no trouble following the opening exercises in slow motion, watching him as he demonstrated and watching herself in what was left of the mirror to correct her own body position in comparison to his. She hesitated, yes, but learned fast.

  He'd been monitoring her shifting moods as she watched the classes, getting to know the nuances of her expressions and body language. Aware of her body's response to him, by scent and the open honesty in her face, he planned to walk a fine line as they worked together moving forward.

  Tough balance, when her attraction to him pleased him so much and the pragmatic side of him figured she'd be better off with other interactions.

  “Why do you teach here?” she asked as the class split into pairs to begin more complex drills. The melodic lilt had come back to her voice as she relaxed into learning. Naturally curious, she made a good cat.

  He grinned at her. “The dojo is one of the centers of the community. It's like being with family all the time.”

  “So, you've always been here, in this pride?” She watched carefully as he demonstrated a move, but had no problems keeping up conversation. Multi-tasking came easily for her, too.

  “I've visited a few others, when the wandering itch caught up with me as an adult, but I always come back. This pride is strong in family ties. Not every pride is.”

  “You were born a shapeshifter?”

  He nodded. “Most are. Very few are Changed, but we welcome them into the pride. They're given the chance to learn before they either stay or go their own way.”

  He didn't mention what happened to the Changed if they couldn't learn control. Mackenzie would learn and live, he'd make sure of it.

  “So everyone's used to new shifters?” She tugged on the tips of her hair as she thought on it. “The kids yesterday took it really well when I had my…moment, before the mass chaos broke loose with the runaway jet pack.”

  He wanted to tug her hair too, see if he could spark her temper.

  “They followed the instructor's lead,” he answered, without hesitation. “We're here to protect you all, even from each other. Accidents happen, tempers slip, especially amongst the kids and definitely amongst the juveniles. We're more than enough to contain you if you lose control of yourself.”

  “That,” and her face held an odd mixture of relief and sadness, “is really good to know.”

  Impressed, he watched her continue to move through the exercises he gave her. Still awkward, but given the chance to take it slowly, she exhibited a grace and a sense of balance beyond what could be attributed to being a shapeshifter. She took note of differences in body position and corrected herself in subtle ways. Patient and observant, she listened and learned with a maturity in the way she took constructive feedback at odds with the youth of her face.

  Once they advanced into more drills, she took off the sweatshirt she seemed to always wear and tossed it to the side. No doubt about it, the maturity wasn't only in her behavior.

  “Getting a little toasty over there?” It took effort to keep his eyes on her face, and he definitely knew other males in the class weren't. Generously curved, with a trim waist and fantastic legs, she danced on the balls of her feet. Even being near her got a reaction out of him, and he worked to hide it from her.

  “Hey, you may be used to this, but I'm working pretty hard here.” She raised an eyebrow at him while she puffed faintly with the exertion.

  Fascinated with her incredibly expressive face, he absorbed every new glimpse into her personality. Her expression became painfully vulnerable when she hesitated, uncertain or confused, the impression reinforced by the fear surrounding her. In an environment she perceived as safe, she became animated and lively, attentive during explanations and adorably pensive when she struggled to consider how to go about executing a move.

  And, when she actually made a strike, her face became absolutely blank. A stone cold look settled over her eyes, empty of the vibrant life shining there a split second before. It set off alarms in him, because he knew he wore the same look at times. He knew what lay under the surface. That look had no business being on the face of a young woman given sanctuary by the Sentinels and Enforcers of River Gap Pride. Not ever.

  So he joked. He made puns. He said anything to bring the life back into her eyes after she threw her punch or kick, even if it made her scrunch her cute face up in dismay.

  “My sense of humor not your thing?” He stepped back as she tried to reset her stance after a correction. He’d let loose a particularly bad pun, considered it a skill.

  She gave him a high roundhouse kick with a good amount of force behind it before answering. “Puns are okay sometimes. Yours are so painful they burn.”

  He stumbled back a few steps, clutching his chest in mock drama. “Oh, she wounds me.”

  She stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry at him. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from telling her what he wanted to do with her tongue. Instead, he decided to tease her a little more.

  “What are you? Maybe seventeen?” he asked as he gave her a slow swing to evade. He exaggerated, but what woman didn't like to be taken for younge
r? “There's a waiver I should have had your father sign before you started the class.”

  “Yeah, no.” Ducking easily, she came up quick with a responding jab. He corrected her hands so they were in a better position to guard her face. “Try adding about five years.”

  “Seriously?” Even as he teased her, he admitted her sweet face would have fooled him if he hadn’t already read her files and known some of her history. He enjoyed the way she drew her brows together in an irked expression as he continued to play dumb about her age. “Twenty-two? Seriously?”

  It explained the level of maturity, though, and his inner cat's response to her. Normally, younger girls didn't attract him. Good to know they still didn't.

  “What are you? Fifty?” Mackenzie growled. “So I've got a baby face. It's supposed to be a good thing for a lady.”

  Something eased inside him, the tight hold he'd kept on his beast loosening a little. The baggy sweatshirt had made her look like a waif. Without it, well… she was all woman underneath.

  “I don't know about any lady.” He grinned as her dark eyes sparked with a little temper. He'd have to work on pricking it more often. When she got riled up a little, she forgot to be wary. “But this gentleman is a couple of years shy of thirty, a solid twenty-eight, thank you very much.”

  “A whole quarter of a century plus three. Charming.”

  “Prince-like, even.”

  Mackenzie groaned. “Not any Prince Charming I've read about, ever. You've got six years on me, tops.”

  "A lot of wisdom and maturity can be packed into those six years," he pointed out, puffing out his chest a little.

  "Or a lot of hot air," she shot back, her chin lifting a little.

  And both of them were posturing like children. Fantastic way to prove a point.

  “Fine, Kitten,” He held out his focus gloves to indicate a combo set of punches. The class had latched onto the Big Mac nickname, but he'd tossed it and given her one of his own. Kitten came more naturally, and served as a reminder that he was her protector. “You tell a joke then and change the subject.”