Layla Nash - A Valentine's Chase (City Shifters: the Pride)

by Unknown

  Rafe took a deep breath, wincing and holding his side as what felt like broken ribs dug into his chest. A muse. She inspired others. No wonder he felt like a different person around her. It would be hard to know whether it was just the mate bond, or her working voodoo on him. It made him the slightest bit uneasy. What if she wasn't his mate? What if the muse magic confused him and made him think she was his?

  Smith frowned at him. "Questioning your mate already, Rafe? So much for loyalty among wolves."

  "I'm trying to keep up," Rafe said, a growled warning in his tone. The wolf loved her, wanted her, and so did Rafe. But that didn't mean he couldn't question how that came about. "I don't know many muses, jackass, so cut me some slack."

  "No," Smith said, before Ruby could intervene. "She's already cut you slack for your deplorable behavior last night, as well as tonight, so I don't feel like giving you the same benefit of the doubt. You've been nothing but trouble for my niece, and I would appreciate it if you stay away from her. Far away. Until she decides she wants something to do with you."

  "You can't take her away." Rafe intended for it to be a defiant statement, a bellow of possessive rage, but it came out broken. Fearful. "She's my mate. She can't leave."

  He might have imagined the softening around Smith's eyes, but the investigator didn't otherwise look swayed. "She's going to tonight. Heal yourself and deal with those who attacked you. Then worry about whether you can convince Meadow to stay with you."

  Smith opened the door and slipped through, and left Rafe staring at his sister. Ruby's head tilted as she looked at him, and her voice reached him, soft and regretful. "You going to be okay, Rafe?"

  "I don't know." His chest hurt, and not just from the bullets and whatever the bastards used to keep him from healing. He could feel Meadow out in the living room, could feel it as she and Smith left. "I need her back, Ruby Leigh."

  "I know." She sighed and flopped onto the bed next to him, leaning her head against his as she patted his hand. "Brother, we'll figure it out. She's got a lot to figure out, and not just about you. If she doesn't know what she is, that's a tough thing to sort out even on her own. She can't be part of a pair until she knows who she is as a single, you know? You might have to just give her time."

  "We don't have time." Rafe clenched his jaw and stared up at the ceiling, his heart sinking. "BadCreek will attack again. They'll aim for the weakest link, and right now that's her. Smith can't be with her all the time. She lives with a roommate the size of a toothpick, and she still has to go to work. How am I supposed to protect her if I can't get close to her?"

  "Well," Ruby said, rubbing her eyes. "We can shadow her, send some of the pack to follow her. Or we can ask Eloise or Sophia to make friends with her. I can try to keep track of her, but I'm just as much a target as you are."

  Rafe didn't bother to look as Carter stuck his head into the room and said, "Sorry, Rafe, she looked about ready to fall apart. Give her a couple of days, then re-engage. She asked me to let her know when you're feeling better, so that's a good sign. Right?"

  If they had a couple of days. Valentine's Day was two weeks away, and Rafe meant to take her some place really nice. Flowers, candy, a limo, the works. Do all the cliché Valentine's shit. He managed to grind out the words. "Sure. As long as BadCreek doesn't kill one of us before then."

  "Edgar's on his way over to talk about the attack," Ruby said. "And Kaiser as well. He's bringing Owen, so at least you'll have a real medic stitch you up this time. He'll have the good meds, too. Try to get some sleep, brother, and I'll fill you in tomorrow. I'll check on Meadow later tonight."

  They both left, holding hands, and Rafe wanted to throw something at them. Instead, he stared into the darkness and waited for Owen, werebear and medic, to show up and knock him out before the pain drove him insane. The wolf paced in the back of his mind, uneasy with Meadow being hurt and far away, regardless of whether Smith stayed with her. BadCreek might have been pushed back tonight, but their attack didn't make any sense. They would regroup and try again, try something different. Something unexpected. They never attacked the same way twice. And Meadow wouldn't see them coming. She was too sweet, too trusting.

  He covered his face and tried to calm the wolf. He needed to plan, to figure out how to protect Meadow and still give her the room she needed to understand and accept who and what he was. Clearly BadCreek had a plan. If he figured that out, he would also know how to protect Meadow. The wolf might be so impatient he nearly jumped out of his skin, but Rafe would wait forever for her. She was worth it.

  Chapter 10

  Smith didn't take me back to my apartment. Instead we headed to a fancy old row house on the other side of the city, in a neighborhood of crumbling grandeur and brick facades that had seen better days. I'd never seen Smith's house before, and tried to memorize as many details as possible as he helped me out of his car and up the six steps to the door. He carried my bag and groceries and a handful of other things, including the beautiful wooden cane he'd lent me, and carefully ushered me into the foyer.

  When he finally flipped on the lights, the place left me speechless. It suited him perfectly: classic yet timeless, understated extravagance, and quality. It looked like old money, like the kind of place you'd see as someone's summer home at the cape. I looked at him with raised eyebrows, and Smith had the grace to flush just slightly. "I like the location."

  "Yeah, so do I." I hobbled after him on my crutches as Smith headed into the main floor, dropping bags and things as he went. He tapped a glowing green spot on the wall, and I paused to look at it as odd sigils flared and then faded. "What's that?"

  "It's a ward. So I will know if anyone breaches the house." Smith pointed me to a comfortable couch. "Now sit and I will get you something to drink so you can take your medication. Then you're straight to bed."

  "Not so fast, friend." I rubbed my face and struggled to concentrate as the pain radiating from my ankle began to give me a headache. "Can we rewind and go back over a few things?"

  "Like what?" He looked too innocent as he handed me a pill bottle and a glass of water.

  "Uh, how about that part where you said I'm not human. How about we start there?"

  He smiled and eased into the arm chair across from the couch. "Not entirely human, my dear."

  "Right, my mistake." I struggled to sit up and still keep my leg elevated, so many questions swirling through my thoughts to land on one or even prioritize. "So what the hell am I? What's going on? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

  Smith sighed. "You are a muse. The reincarnation of a muse, that is. The powers pass to another only after one muse passes away. I started looking for you when the last muse died, but I did not find you soon enough."

  "What do you mean?" I tried to filter through the painful fog in my head back to the first few times I'd met Smith, shaking my head. He looked for me. Which meant he didn't really know my parents.

  "Your parents had a bit of fae blood, and somehow that combined to make you a receptive host for the muse powers. But they didn't know anything about fae or magic or anything. They just wanted normal. They didn't know how to deal with your powers, when they started to manifest."

  My heartbeat echoed slow and loud in my ears. I felt as if I stood on the edge of a cliff and he would reveal a secret that would push me over the edge — it would either kill me or give me the wings to fly. I didn't dare hold my breath. "So what did — what do you —"

  "I used some of my magic to convince them that I was an old friend. If they'd known anything about us, about how to protect you, I would have moved on. But they didn't. And by the time you were four and could convince them not to punish you for small things, they had you in therapy and considered committing you."

  I shook my head. "They wouldn't have —"

  "They nearly did," he said, gentle. Almost kind. Apologetic. I couldn't think, couldn't concentrate as he went on. "You saw other fae, you knew perfectly well there was magic in the world, but they convinced you
it was only your imagination. You started to shut down."

  My vision blurred until he disappeared into a watery smudge. "So all of that was real? Everything I saw, it was real?"

  "Yes." He inclined his head and waited.

  I couldn't breathe. I'd daydreamed about pixies and fairies and little creatures who shimmered and danced around me, who waited on my windowsill until I got home from school. I talked to them, told them stories, and envisioned complex histories and dramas around them. Until my parents and teachers and every adult in my life told me I needed to stop living in my head, needed to make real friends, needed to move on from childish daydreams. My chest hurt until I could hardly feel anything else. Anything except betrayal. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

  "I saw how much you struggled to be normal," he said, and reached to touch my hand, a glancing reassurance that almost pushed me off the cliff and into the abyss below. "How terrible the price to your mental health. You convinced yourself magic did not exist, Meadow — how could I have taken that from you, when you worked so hard? I feared it would push you into a true panic. I didn't want to risk it. And since you seemed happy enough, until you got to school, I thought it better to leave well enough alone."

  I covered my face and closed my eyes, wanting to ignore everything he said. Life would have been easier, if I was just a little bit crazy and magic didn't actually exist. If there wasn't really a glowing green symbol on his wall to protect us from marauding werewolves. "Right. School."

  "Yes." Smith took a deep breath, and the sound of his clothes rustling almost distracted me from the terrible words. "I'm glad I was there for that. I'm glad you've nearly recovered, Meadow."

  "Nearly recovered? I have a shitty apartment with a shallow roommate and a job reading tarot and stocking incense at a hippie bookstore. How is that nearly recovered?"

  A hint of a smile touched his face, then Smith looked at me impassively. "My dear, I thought you'd tried to kill yourself. Everyone thought so."

  "Well, I didn't." My cheeks burned and I wanted to hide my face again, but he needed to see the truth of what I said. He needed to see my eyes and know I wouldn't tolerate any more of that bullshit. "I didn't. I thought I saw something and went to the balcony to look. Olga saw me leaning and she flipped out. She wouldn't listen to me. And then no one would listen to me, because I was just the crazy girl who tried to jump off the balcony and sometimes talks to herself."

  Smith nodded, and something flashed in his eyes. "I know that now. I should have said something sooner, Meadow, and let you know you're not alone in this. I'm sorry. I should have known."

  And again my eyes burned and I had to look away. He was the first person who told me I wasn't alone, and I believed him. A knot in my throat made it difficult to speak. "Well, I know now. So thank you."

  "Of course, my dear." He retrieved a dark bottle from the sideboard and poured himself a glass of something dark and fragrant, but when he offered me some, I waved it away. When I talked to someone about not being crazy and tried to figure out what kind of supernatural creature I was, I needed to be as clear-headed as possible. Smith sipped and studied the liquid in his glass, frowning. "We can talk more about this at length, but there is a book I would like you to read first. We can get into the practical details after you've got the basics down."

  "A book?" A laugh escaped before I could clamp my lips together, and I rubbed my forehead. "There's a book on how to be a muse?"

  "Well, there's a book of collected myths and stories about muses." He smiled very faintly and his pupils elongated into something surreal and disconcerting. "Not all fae are so lucky."

  "What are you?" I asked, sitting forward. The book could wait.

  He blinked and his eyes went back to normal. Smith shrugged one shoulder and took another drink. "That is something best left for another discussion. I am quite old, my dear, and there are a lot of misconceptions about my kind. So rather than dump all that on you at once, perhaps we should wait until another time."

  I wanted to pout. "Does Rafe know what you are? Does anyone?"

  "A few fae," he said, after a long a silence. "And no, the shifters do not know who, or what, I am. Some of my colleagues and compatriots know the full extent of my powers and reputation, but they are very few. It is safer, really, for them and for me, if we are all somewhat in the dark. The shifters only recently learned that the fae were more than simple fairy tales as well. They are still debating how we fit into their city, and though I mourn the loss of our anonymity, it may be for the best. We are stronger together."

  I searched my memory for any stories that matched Smith's demeanor or looks, but found nothing. Maybe he had more books laying around and I could find the answers there. I stifled a yawn and tried to focus on the questions still knocking around in my brain — and all of them had to do with the dark-haired man who'd called me his mate. "What does it mean, what you and Rafe were talking about? That I'm his mate? What is that?"

  Smith took a very deep breath, as if he had to draw the air all the way up from his toes and the earth beneath. "Yes. About that. It is a phenomenon unique to the shifters. Each one is born with a true mate, a fated mate. Sometimes they are lucky enough to find the mate, but it grows more and more difficult as the shifter numbers dwindle. Rafe believes you are his mate. For him, that means that you are a part of his soul. You're supposed to be in his life. And he, and his wolf, would do anything — move the world itself — if you asked. It's a love that I simply cannot fathom. I am not built that way, for that kind of emotion. But humans can come close, and the fae closer. So it is possible that Rafe is your mate, too."

  "But I didn't choose this," I said, slow. Uneasy. Rafe thought he owned me? That I belonged to him because of some trick of fate? I had plans, once I got back to school. And now that I knew I wasn't really crazy and could handle the stress, I was damn well going to the registrar's office on Monday morning, broken foot and work be damned. But if Rafe wanted me to be his wife or something, to be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen... Those weren't plans I could be part of. "What if he asks me to —"

  "No man will coerce you into doing anything you don't want to do, Meadow." His expression grew fierce. "Not only because Rafe is not that kind of man and I would never have introduced you to him a second time if I believed he had anything but noble intentions, but because you are powerful beyond measure. Not because you're a muse, but because you're you. You're a strong woman, a confident and educated woman, and you can hold your ground against any pathetic man-child who dares try to pressure you. Remember that. Hold on to that."

  I blinked and cleared my throat, flushing at the sudden surge of emotion. I hadn't felt strong in a very long time. I hadn't felt powerful beyond measure. But because he believed it, because of his confidence, a seed of conviction planted itself in my heart. I wasn't the scared kid anymore; I wasn't the crazy girl. I was Meadow. A muse. Powerful beyond measure. "I will. I'll try very hard to, I mean. But what does Rafe want from me?"

  Smith sighed, swirling the liquor in his glass and watching the play of light through it. "My dear, that is mostly a conversation you should have with him. But I would offer that he wants a partner. He wants the other half of his soul to be with him, to be happy and fulfilled and content. To be loved. He is a good man, if a little rough around the edges, and he works hard to keep his pack in order. He is a good friend and fights hard to protect those weaker than him. He even puts up with his insufferable sister."

  I smiled, thinking for a moment of the tattooed and pierced woman who didn't give a shit about walking between Smith and Rafe to get to me. Who'd given orders in the middle of a bar fight with a pack of wolves and then joined in the melee. Fatigue weighed me down and my leg ached more, with a deep burn that distracted me from all the unbelievable things Smith could tell me and the understated grandeur of his living room. "But I'm not a shifter. How can I possibly be those things for him?"

  "It is not unheard of, though it is rare for a fae to be the true m
ate of a shifter. Benedict Chase, the brother of Ruby's mate, is a lion shifter. His mate is a gorgon, part medusa. And they make... quite a pair." From the way he ended that statement, I knew there was a great deal more to the story. And the gorgon sounded like a world of trouble. Smith sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "She has given me a little trouble, but she is not yet aware of who and what I am. So we shall keep it that way, yes?"

  The foreign twist to his words made me raise my eyebrows, but I nodded. "Of course. I won't say anything."

  "I did not think you would." Smith took a deep breath and put aside his empty glass. "You will meet Eloise eventually, and you will recognize her. You'll feel a kinship with anyone with a significant amount of fae blood, regardless of what kind of fae. And regardless of whether they know they're fae. Be careful of that, because you do not want to reveal to someone that magic exists, or that they're not human, if they do not already know it."

  I frowned and yawned again, rubbing at the skin near the cast as it itched and tingled. "I know what the reverse feels like, so don't worry."

  "Well, as a muse you will inspire people. They may feel as if you are kindred without knowing why. Guard yourself well. Muses are known for inspiration and influence, but you can do it without thinking and it will drain you near to death." He eased to his feet and went to a wood panel on the wall, hitting a series of points on it until the whole thing swung open. I sat up and tried to keep my jaw from hitting the floor as three bookshelves were revealed behind the panel. Smith picked out one, a slim leather-bound volume, and offered it to me after closing the panel. "Read this, Meadow, and you'll have a better understanding of what you can do, and what you should do. What you shouldn't, as well. We can work up to it slowly, do some exercises when you're feeling better, and that will build your strength. Magic is like a muscle, and unfortunately, yours has atrophied a bit."