by Diana Seere
Smile falling, Lilah waved away the champagne. “Oh,” she said, looking off to the side, “no thanks. I’m, uh, I think I’ll find some coffee. Decaf. I love decaffeinated coffee.”
“Since when?” Jess asked, wrinkling her nose.
Lilah’s tone hardened. “Since always.”
“Please,” Jess said mockingly. “There is not a day of your life on this earth you have chosen decaffeinated coffee over real French champagne.”
Glancing around the room, Lilah plastered a bright smile on her face. “Have you met the Jensens yet, Molly? I recommend the dimpled one. Lars. He plays the drums like a rock star. I saw him perform at a party a few weeks ago.”
Jess continued to watch her sister through narrowed eyes. Molly didn’t need a sixth sense about shifters to guess what was going on with Lilah. A newlywed woman madly in love with her sexy, virile husband suddenly stops drinking alcohol. Gee, what could be the reason for that?
But Jess didn’t seem to grasp the obvious.
“I can understand real coffee,” Jess finally said, exchanging her wineglass for a champagne flute of her own. “But why decaf? You can’t be jet-lagged—you flew west.”
For a brief second Lilah and Molly gazed at each other. Fearing she might burst out laughing, Molly turned and lifted the glass to her lips.
“May I have this dance?”
It was one of the blond giants, looming over Molly. The one with two dimples (where she could see them) and medium-length hair.
Molly smiled up into his handsome face. “And you are…?”
“Lars.” The dimples deepened.
“I don’t hear any music,” she said.
“We’ll make our own.” Lars hooked a thick arm around her waist and swept her away before she could argue.
“You are an idiot,” Derry said drolly, splayed across half of Edward’s outdoor hot springs mineral bath. His brother took up more than his share of space, but that was quintessentially Derry: larger than life.
Each of the separate homes on the Stanton estate had a small spring like this one, fed by a natural underground aquifer. Nature provided a steady, ninety-seven-degree piece of liquid nirvana, one Edward typically enjoyed alone.
Scratch that.
He always enjoyed it alone.
Except from a distance. Edward was a cat. A mountain lion, to be precise. And water was beautiful to watch but terrible to touch.
Now, though, his brother and sister lounged in the water, nude and carefree, telling him all the ways he was fucking up his life.
“I’m an idiot? You’re the one who paraded naked around Lilah and Gavin’s wedding guests a few months ago in your pursuit of Jess!” Edward snapped back. “And you defiled poor Asher’s prized car.”
Sophia used the palm of her hand to send a wave of hot water at Derry’s face. “He’s right. You shouldn’t offer romantic advice to anyone.”
Derry pretended to be hurt. “It worked! My naked parading was part of a master plan designed to make Jessica fall in love with me.”
“You were a horndog chasing her,” Edward replied.
“Hornbear. Get your mammals straight.” Derry upended a bottle of red wine he’d found somewhere and set the bottle on the bluestone pavers that surrounded the hot springs. He winked. “And I caught her.”
Sophia rolled her eyes and stretched back, resting her neck against the edge of the springs, staring up at the night sky. Snow began to sprinkle, floating down from the gray clouds one lazy flake at a time. Edward watched, mesmerized, as the little white pieces dive-bombed his face. Like his siblings, he was au naturel. They’d come back to his home at Derry’s urging and shifted back to human form, drinking alcohol and puzzling over the night’s events.
“Asher wants you to stay away from her,” Derry said slowly, brow furrowed.
“He says that about all humans,” Sophia scoffed, pulling her long, brown hair out of the water, braiding it absentmindedly. The long, thick waves looked like black snakes in the dark. “I plan to bring a few home someday just to watch Asher have a stroke.”
“That’s what it takes to get him to show emotion,” Derry concurred.
“Molly’s different,” Edward said sadly. He had told them about her blood, her DNA. “I have to believe Asher. He’s not trying to keep us apart because of his bias against human-shifter pairings.”
“Those pairings haven’t exactly fared well,” Sophia mused.
Derry glared at her.
“Sorry!” she protested. “But we’re fifty-fifty. You and Gavin may have done well, but look at Asher and Edward. Their mates are dead.”
The sharp inhale from Derry made Edward’s gut go cold, even as the hot, bubbling water pushed a cloud of steam at his face.
“Damn.” Derry let out a troubled sound. “I had not thought of it that way.” His eyes searched Sophia’s. “It never occurred to me that Jess might be in danger of anything other than the inability to walk straight after a night of passion with me.”
Sophia snorted.
Edward tensed, not bothering to point out that Vivien had been a shifter, not human. That kiss with Molly earlier raced through his mind, all the sensations making him reel. The brush of steam against his skin made him loosen and clench, pulse and throb, his body unable to enjoy the relaxing warmth. Being here made him want Molly more. She had come in his arms, grinding against him, taking her pleasure from his clothed body, her mouth a feast for his senses. An appetizer. A teaser. Just a small taste of what was supposed to come after.
Him.
He was supposed to come after.
Along with her, a second time. Or third, fourth…
How would it be, naked and stretched out in his lonely bed, reveling in each other’s sanctuary of skin, the open invitation to explore and relish one that was mutually extended?
He sighed, standing quickly, the shock of cold shoving his thoughts to the side as his body fought to restore itself to balance. Turning away from his siblings, he walked slowly to his patio door, slid it open, and walked into the bathroom. Yanking the shower faucet handle, setting it to raging heat, he climbed in and endured the ice-cold early water grudgingly, hoping it would strip away the craving. The yearning.
The primal need.
Closing his eyes, he washed his hair quickly, grabbing a bar of soap and brushing against his half-hard cock. It jerked, begging for attention.
Molly’s attention.
He hardened at the physical memory of her lips, how his tongue probed the soft, warm asylum of her mouth, palms roving across her back, fingers frolicking in the silky waves of her hair. She took her pleasure from him, demanding it, offering herself with such abandon.
Knowing she wanted more and made that fact abundantly clear was a form of torture. Her sweet, hypnotic face, filled with anticipation and expectation when he’d found her, and then…
And then he’d rejected her. For her own good.
Justice was embedded in his soul. Unfairness needed to be conquered. All his life, Edward had fought to shape a world that was fundamentally rational, one that made sense and was equitable.
That he was desperately attracted to someone he couldn’t have was deeply unfair.
The push and pull of this desire was killing him as he raced through the shower, hating the water. Showers brought out the worst in him. In and out in under sixty seconds, he toweled off next to his bed.
Eyeing it with a hunger he reluctantly acknowledged, he imagined her naked, sprawled before him, beckoning. He bent over the edge of the bed and opened his bedside drawer, where he’d stashed the hat he’d covertly snatched from Molly earlier. Inhaling her scent, he pressed the hat to his nose, enjoying the immersion. Feeling like a lovesick fool, he tossed the hat on the bed.
He was slowly going insane.
But God, he wanted her so.
Finally succumbing to pure biology, taking care of business quickly as if it were almost a punishment, he touched himself, pressing the fine cloth of the beret aga
inst his cheek. Images of Molly naked and beguiling, open to him under the wide blue Montana sky, in a field of wildflowers, made him groan, three strokes more than enough to leave him gasping and spent. The unrelenting power of his pressured yearning for her, a hunger that could not be satisfied, was too much.
As he finished toweling off, running the thick terrycloth up his legs, abs curling and tightening, he thought of Molly and Tomas. His body stiffened, jaw grinding. She smiled, damn it.
Smiled.
Perhaps he needed to consider that, he reflected as he dressed, mildly disgusted with himself for his lack of clarity. She liked Tomas? He never would have paired the two.
Throwing on a comfortable flannel shirt and worn jeans, he deliberated. Asher was right, as much as Edward hated to admit it. Molly’s blood made her special—and not just to Edward.
She had to be protected at all costs.
Even if it meant rejecting her for reasons she could not fathom.
By the time he walked back to his patio, Sophia and Derry were climbing out of the hot springs, the back of a white-coated servant disappearing into the bushes that lined the trail back to the main house.
Morgan.
So he’d left Molly’s side long enough to deliver a message.
Sophia’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at Edward. “Back to your lumbersexual look?”
“I hate that word. Stop it,” he grumbled.
Derry laughed, his biceps tight as he clutched a full bottle of wine in one hand, standing naked without shivering. Neither he nor Sophia felt the cold like their siblings.
“Asher will just love the look. So L.L. Bean. So not the dress code. You rebel, you.”
Edward glared at him, suddenly irritable, filled with a spinning sense that the world conspired against him.
But against his doing what, exactly?
“Your attire isn’t exactly up to code,” he shot back.
“When we all shift for the Gathering, clothing won’t matter.” Derry’s blue eyes narrowed, evaluating him, his nostrils flaring slightly. “You smell like defeat.”
Edward just stared at him.
Derry’s face tightened. “It’s an unpleasant scent. I haven’t detected it on you since Vivien died.” Given that Derry never, ever discussed emotional topics with him, the mention of her name from his brother’s mouth sent a shockwave through his body.
“Derry!” Sophia chided, punching him in the shoulder. Derry didn’t budge.
“I speak the truth.”
“No,” Edward answered, his gaze remaining on his brother, not backing down. “Resignation. Not defeat.”
“What are you resigned to?” Sophia asked, worry lining her face.
“Doing what is right.”
Derry snorted. “You sound like Asher.”
“I feel like Asher,” Edward confessed.
“You’re too young to be that dead inside,” Derry tossed off, turning away, disappearing into the shadows, Sophia at his heels, giving him a sad smile before the night took them both.
He hesitated. Seconds passed as he inhaled the cold winter air, the ragged chill centering him.
With determination, he took off through a different path, vowing to find her.
As he rounded the boathouse, the wall of glass that separated the large living room greeted him.
So did the sight of Molly in the arms of yet another man.
Lars.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he groaned, disbelief making his eyes widen, the cold stilling them around the edges.
Yet there she was, dancing with the blond beast. Was she making her way through every cad in the shifter world deliberately?
Lars Jensen was as vacuous as everyone assumed Derry to be. A blond Viking with washed-out eyes the color of a mirror, he was impossibly tall, exceptionally muscled, and an accomplished drummer.
He was also a walking cock. The man dipped it in anything warm and wet.
And then bragged about it.
If the shifter world had a family full of immature frat boys, it was the Jensens. Edward had never liked them, even as a child. Brutish, vulgar, and narcissistic to a fault, they were the family he and his siblings tolerated out of tradition.
But Edward couldn’t tolerate this.
He stood watching the scene before him. Eva glided into the room and waved at Molly, still trapped in the beast’s arms, before whispering in Asher’s ear. His brother’s face remained placid, unyielding, yet whatever she told him had an effect, for he broke off his conversation with Florence Nagy and walked down the hall to his office.
Gavin had his arm around Lilah, his wineglass empty, Lilah’s hands empty, her yawn adorable. She fairly glowed, even in the wee hours of the night.
He took stock of the night. The Stantons, the Nagys, and the Jensens were here. Three Jensen brothers, Lars, Johann and Bjorn, and their father, Ragnar, rounded out the group. Ragnar Jensen was a graying man with a barrel chest and a sad look. His wife, Hilda, had died last year.
Where were the Rosinis?
He shunted that thought aside as he watched Lars put his hand on Molly’s ass, disbelief mixing with rage to form a cocktail of emotion. No. Absolutely not.
“No,” he growled, feeling the shift take over, all the hair on his body pinpricking.
“You voyeur,” said a woman’s voice.
He jumped and damn near hit her, turning to find his sister’s big brown eyes watching him watch Molly.
Dressed now in a smart navy pantsuit, Sophia pinged between watching the party and looking at Edward.
Lars Jensen palmed Molly’s other ass cheek while he whispered something in her ear, making her smile.
“Bloody hell,” he fumed.
“Do something about it,” Sophia challenged.
Edward watched as Jess looked around the room, clearly searching for Derry, her discomfort at being engaged in flirtatious small talk with Gregor Nagy evident.
“I am.”
“You’re standing in the bushes watching Molly get felt up by Lars,” Sophia protested. “If that’s your idea of ‘doing something,’ you need some serious lessons on how to be a man, Edward.”
He let out a sound between a sigh and a growl and marched toward the door.
Chapter 11
As much as Molly wanted to enjoy the strong, powerful arms guiding her around their own personal dance floor, she couldn’t stop thinking about Edward.
It was becoming a bad habit.
“Your thoughts are elsewhere,” Lars said in her ear, stroking her back in a manner that would’ve gotten another man in trouble. Somehow this blond rock star god could get away with tickling the crack of her ass without her kneeing him in the balls.
She smiled at him. No mystery why that was. He wasn’t just gorgeous, he was sweet, in that way little boys who instinctively charm everyone they meet can be sweet. When the world loves you, it is easy to love the world.
“I’m sorry,” she said, bringing her feet to a stop. They’d been slow dancing on the fringes of the great hall for at least ten minutes. He’d asked her about her favorite books, movies, and music, although still none was playing, never making it seem like he was only interested in going to bed, although his attentions in that area were quite clear too. “I do have something on my mind. In fact, I have to go.”
“A man,” he said.
“Why would you think that?”
His grin only reached one side of his face. “Experience.”
She returned his smile. “It was wonderful meeting you, Lars. I hope we’ll get a chance to talk again,” she said. “While you and the others are here for the meeting.”
“You know about the Gathering?” He dropped his arms, frowning.
Although she hadn’t meant to imply anything special about the meeting, he seemed to have guessed that she knew more than she let on. Not stupid, this one. Brains and beauty.
“I’m Eva’s assistant,” she said.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he w
atched her more guardedly now, as if measuring up the human who knew about his kind. “Interesting.”
Couldn’t argue with that. It certainly was interesting to her. Managing to hold her smile, she thanked him again and escaped out the side door of the great hall, suddenly unwilling to hang out with Lilah and Jess again tonight. Until Lilah told Jess she was pregnant, Molly would have to avoid the pair to avoid spilling the beans herself.
Besides, she was miserable and too tired to pretend she wasn’t. Earlier, she’d thought she could put Edward out of her mind with a little wine and flirting, but now that she’d realized that the shifters were all around her—and that Edward was probably one of them—she couldn’t relax.
And maybe she was a little envious of her friends’ romances. Lilah was pregnant, glowing with happiness and love and promise. Her sister, Jess, was obviously having sex pretty much nonstop based on the dazed look in her eyes since she’d met Derry, who valued her more than his own life.
What did Molly have? A job. A nice wardrobe. A cute smile.
Cursing under her breath, she left the hall to return to her room. In the foyer she saw a new group just arriving—one glance told her they were a family of shifters, diverse like the Stantons—and she hurried past, too absorbed in her heartache to dwell over the shocking sight of wolves, bears, and lions wearing couture. Not that they were in their animal form as they milled around the front door with their servants rushing around them, hauling suitcases and garment bags, but she could see their other natures shimmering around them like bright ghosts. Five of them, sun-kissed with dark hair and dark eyes, all of them in their twenties and thirties. No, two were older. Just very well-preserved.
“And who are you?” asked a masculine voice directly behind her. Recognizing another horny male and not wanting to linger, she kept walking without looking behind her.
A large figure thrust himself in front of her, his black fur coat dotted with snowflakes. Around him, the ghost of a jaguar shimmered.
