by KH LeMoyne
The kids would be happy. Safer, too, if Deacon granted them a homestead in the sacred grounds of his territory.
That only left the issue of Dani. His heart constricted, and he rolled on the bed, then sat up for relief. The tease of pain lingered for a second and diminished, leaving only the certainty that the clock was ticking faster on his future with his mate.
Dani executed a turn of the steering wheel, sending her small rental SUV a bit too close to the end of the parking lot. She didn’t feel reassured as she gauged the distance. It had been too long since she’d driven anything but her police cruiser, and her distaste for rental cars was growing by the second.
With two weeks of leave officially cleared, she needed her unmarked vehicle less than it needed an overhaul and installation of new technical communication and visual devices. Items her bosses kept insisting were standard, state-of-the-art equipment. While she’d never considered practicality a sign of genius, she knew how to take advantage of good timing when it came her way.
Relieved from juggling two jobs, she now had too much time on her hands and too much occupying her thoughts. Memories of the last time she’d ventured into Ilo Lake’s Audubon National Wildlife Refuge crept through her mind. Not work memories, to be sure, since State Park personnel handled the initial concerns and monitoring of the lands. Criminal issues usually landed in the sheriff’s office, not in her specialized niche of juvenile assistance.
Grasping beneath her seat, she dragged out the temporary gun safe chained and padlocked to her seat’s sled base. She unlocked her weapon and slid it into the holster at the small of her back. Despite her exception to protocol in not carrying her weapon at the barbeque, Chisholm’s latest information about the Gambelli family dictated she remain alert and prepared.
Even if officially she was off duty and off the case.
Foot barely out of the car, she caught sight of Wharton standing behind her rear bumper. She glanced around for the others. Spotting no one else, she narrowed her gaze back on him.
Hands lifted, he offered a shallow smile. Not an unfriendly gesture, though she took it as more curious than welcoming. “I’m not your enemy, Detective.”
“Do you have reason to suspect I’d jump to that conclusion?”
“A loaded weapon for a day in the park?”
Quiet and deceptively pleasant as he was, she doubted this member of Deacon’s team missed any details. That alone made her a bit uncomfortable. “Police officers live by different rules than most people. Having my weapon available at all times is one of those. However, I doubt that’s why you’re here. If you have something to say to me, then say it.”
He tilted his head and shot a glance behind him. “There aren’t many…people who aren’t mated or somehow bound by loyalties in our sphere.”
“Chisholm lives outside your sphere.”
“For the time being. He also promises to be an addition of great value to our group.” As if he’d watched her jump to a conclusion, he shook his head. “It’s Chisholm’s strength of character Deacon seeks to leverage, his temperament and seasoned wisdom. We don’t have ulterior motives with him.”
A frank delivery, one leaving her with little doubt as to her place in the grand scheme. “Since I’m human, I’m of no value and a risk.”
“You judge me a bit quickly, Detective. I believe you possess great value for our people as well. Perhaps even more than Mr. Barduc.”
But Wharton wasn’t in command, and she had no idea where his opinion ranked in the world of part animal, part human, and totally Deacon Black. “Where does that leave us?”
“At a truce, I hope.” Leaning against her trunk, he dropped his hands, keeping them visible at his side. Such an obvious action would normally concern her, alerting her of possibilities. But she’d deduced the same thing Wharton had—that Chisholm was moments away.
He nodded once. “He’ll be here in a second, so I’ll be straight. Both Chisholm Barduc and his family are important. We will do whatever it takes to keep them safe and secure their futures.”
“Regardless of legality, I’m assuming.”
“Your words, not mine.” As if sensing Chisholm’s approach, he stepped away from the car but moved closer to her. “You have been an asset to this family, but unless we find a common ground—a neutral agreement to work together—we might be at odds.”
Chisholm appeared from a trail at the edge of the parking lot, forty feet away and closing fast. His frown deepened into a scowl as he took them in. She didn’t spare him more than a glance but turned back to Wharton, hardly believing what she was about to propose. “My interest in the Barducs is personal. Given my interaction with your people isn’t specifically covered under my guidelines to protect and serve, I don’t see a conflict—for the time being. Unless, of course, you harm them or me.”
“Then it seems we are in accord.”
Not mistaking Chisholm’s darkening expression as he shouldered past Wharton and planted himself directly in front of her, Dani made a show of pushing him aside. Her shove didn’t budge him an inch. At least she’d made her point about the macho attitude.
Wharton bowed to them both. “I hear that your oldest son wants to learn how to make stones defy gravity. I’ll leave you two to the sunshine.”
Chisholm spun toward her, his fists on his hips. “What did he want? Did he threaten you?”
“I’m a cop. Do you really think he’d do something so stupid?” She caught his elbow and tugged, steering him toward the direction he’d come. “He’s only confirmed Deacon’s primary focus is your family’s welfare. Smart bodyguards don’t want to run afoul of the law.”
His frown deepened, but his hand closed over hers, and he pulled her closer. “He doesn’t speak for me. I understand how some alphas operate. Please promise me you’ll tell me if any of his team makes you uncomfortable.”
Right, like she needed him to protect her. She choked back a laugh and bit the inside of her cheek, realizing he was serious. “I can take care of myself, and you worry too much. For what it’s worth, I believe you’ve made a good choice. Wharton’s dedicated to your cause.”
“Really?” His brow lifted as he searched for Wharton’s trail. “We’ll test Deacon’s team’s stamina a little today. See how they handle the full energy of a pride of Barducs.”
Pride. That one word cut through her senses and brought her back to face the grand chasm spanning what he was and what she wasn’t.
He pulled her to a stop and cupped her face in his hands. “Don’t freak out. I’m not wild. And neither are the children. You believe in us. I know you do. I may have a large furry side to my personality, but don’t you like cats? Everyone likes cats. They’re cuddly and soft, and they purr. Most people find that soothing.”
Her chuckle forced its way past her lips. His absurd logic and concerned expression were hard to resist. That along with the electric glimmer of gold around him and the deep bass thrum settled her nerves. Not a normal calm, but neither she nor Chisholm were quite normal. “I like Maggie’s cat. Yours I’ve never actually seen.”
She stilled as he leaned close, letting their breaths mingle. “It would be my pleasure to introduce you to my beast, but be warned,” he retreated several inches, his smile widening. “He’s very tactile. He’ll want his scent all over you.”
With a swat to his arm, she pulled free and marched off down the path ahead of him. But even ducking her head didn’t hide her quick backward perusal of the lines of his body and the resulting image in her mind of man turned to beast. She expected the thoughts to disturb her. Instead, excitement raced through her system leaving her breathless. Too absorbed in her thoughts, she didn’t realize he’d been on her tail until he threaded his fingers through hers and tugged.
“Come this way. You’ll enjoy the view from the lookout.” He passed her with speed and a grace uncommon for such a large man.
Lengthening her stride to keep pace, she jogged at his side. He noticed with a sheepish look and slo
wed. They reached an area overlooking the lake and he led her to one of several benches circling the perimeter. Straddling one, he reached for her hand and pulled her in front of him. She leaned cautiously back against him, her legs raised before her and her feet perched at the end of the bench.
He drew her close, every small detail of his muscles and desire branded against her back. When he breathed over her ear, the tickle turned to a sizzle that trickled along her neck and down between her breasts in a coursing heat.
“You’re trying to seduce me.”
“Can’t be helped.”
“We’re not going there again.”
“At some point we will, Dani. But it will be your choice, and I will be waiting.”
“I’m not sold on your mate theory.” Though, the idea played in her head every waking hour. A lifetime of connection with someone and a tie dictated by chemistry and…well, he made it seem like fate.
“You’re a stubborn woman, but I know you feel attraction for me. You can deny your feelings, but I won’t.” He wrapped one arm around her, covering the hand she held over her stomach.
“So certain, are you? Then again, you don’t appear to have the doubting gene.”
“I’ve known from the first moment I detected you outside my front door. And even though you don’t want to admit it, you’ve known as well.”
“Now you’ve gone to mind reading.”
He lifted her hand and pressed her palm to his lips. With a wink, he teased with his tongue. “I just need to convince you that you find me irresistible.”
Just his innocent, or perhaps not so innocent, touch ignited the heat again. “Really, your ego knows no limits.” She glanced back over her shoulder, then strained to look through the tree branches. “I can’t see the kids.”
“They’re down there.” He gestured toward a flash of pink closer to the boat launch. “They’re headed to the other side of this cove. We’ll be able to see them.”
“I’m familiar with the area.”
“Tell me.”
“When I was about Maggie’s age, I spent a lot of time in the nearby parks. Hunting’s a prevalent pastime in this state.” The wide sweep of grasslands beyond the lake brought into crisp focus memories of cloudy early mornings spent in silent vigil beside her father during hunting season. With a shiver, she released the memory of bone-chilling cold hours, her fingers numb from cleaning wild fowl at the water’s edge.
Fortunately, when she’d been old enough to refuse to go elk hunting, her father had extracted twice her normal time for fishing. From her standpoint, an equitable exchange.
“Are you cold?” He held her with both arms wrapped around her.
She didn’t need the warmth, but the appeal of him close and sheltering did help. Not quite able to shake those images, she exhaled. “My dad would have spent every day hunting or shooting or fishing if he could. The fishing I enjoyed. But shooting large graceful creatures just to add another set of eight-point trophies in the hunting room didn’t work for me.”
Her father’s hunting trophies had been the first thing to go after his death—no regrets on her part. Respect and following a family profession was enough of a tribute. Idolizing carcasses was an entirely different issue.
His arm tightened during her comment, but at the soft kiss against her hair, she felt his agreement. “I like fish. It would be handy to have a mate who can catch a meal.”
Laughing, she turned to check his expression. His lightness of tone sounded as if he were talking about preferences in paint colors or movies, not a consideration for a life-partner.
“How did you come to be alone? I mean, Wharton said most shifters are bound in larger groups.”
He stiffened behind her, muscles rigid as steel. He stared out over the water. Only the soft, slow stroke of his fingers over her stomach differentiated him from a statue. “Wharton talks too much.”
“But he means well, or you wouldn’t trust him alone with your children.”
He grunted as they both noticed Wharton and Cabot together at the opposite bank. Palm open, he stood beside the water’s edge next to Cabot. His son fisted items from Wharton’s hand and turned with an awkward twist, flinging the objects toward the water. Two hard landings punctuated by high splashes covered the pebble’s contact.
“Too much English in that throw,” Chisholm said.
Wharton proceeded in a slow, exaggerated motion, obviously cataloging his process to Cabot as he threw his own pebble.
Dani started an internal count, waiting for Chisholm to answer her question, then decided to back off from the history she’d hoped to pry loose. “My question was too personal. You don’t have to—”
Squeezing her hand, he closed his eyes and tilted his face for the few seconds of sun before it disappeared behind thick, heavy clouds. “At first, I wasn’t old enough to pledge to an alpha. I still had several years ahead of me before my first shift when my pride was butchered in front of me.” He glanced her way, as if sensing she didn’t know how to fit in all of her questions at once. “Hunters killed them, stabbing them through the heart. Killed that way, shifters don’t revert to human form. They were taken as trophies.”
Oh God, she didn’t know if there was a worse image for a child. It put a nauseating twist to what had hung on her father’s walls. Her satisfaction with ridding each trophy from the house returned a hundredfold.
“They were taken along with the few true lions who gave us cover in their pride.”
She shifted in his arms, needing his expression and eyes to reassure her. His face, shadowed and riddled with lines that spoke of years of holding in emotions, formed a picture of grief she knew she’d never forget. Mired in his memories, he held her to him, but only his body remained on the bench with her. His thoughts appeared miles and years away from the present.
“I was too inept and weak to fight them.”
“You were a child. Several years from shifting would have made you what, nine? Ten?” She glanced toward Cabot, then toward Sam racing with Trim along the water’s edge. Maggie was barely visible. Her hair’s pink spikes and the echoes of her competing roars as she challenged Charlie with a new vocalization confirmed their location. Her chest tightened. Pain squeezed harder from the fact that Cabot had experienced a tragedy not unlike his father.
“Seven.” Chisholm’s grimace indicated he felt that an unworthy excuse. “Old enough to be sold into slavery. Not old enough to die with respect.”
Though he’d done nothing more than trail his fingers over her rib cage as he’d recounted his story, she understood her role as his anchor, keeping his past from engulfing him and dragging him under. She offered the same support to others she’d helped. But it had never been this personal or important. Her hands tightened around his, and she nestled her head against his chest.
Respect, perhaps something stronger, defined the tight warmth burrowing deeper into her soul more than she’d care to admit. He needed her. Not as a surrogate for something he craved but couldn’t have. Or as an ornament to brighten his own presentation to the world. Man or animal, Chisholm Barduc held nothing back in his desire for her. And unlike anyone she’d ever met before, his call beckoned to a corresponding one of her own.
“The child labor—” She scrambled to pin together his history with his acknowledgment of a past in Africa. He’d been glib at the time. Now the extent to which he hid his pain became much too clear. And lifetimes didn’t begin to cover a man born in the late eighteen hundreds. He’d let that tidbit of his age slip once. She’d wondered if it were a joke and spent too many sleepless hours on how old he was before she’d finally admitted his age made no difference to her.
“We worked, and if we were lucky, we were given food and water. Constantly on the move, I can’t even tell you where we were from one month to the next. I just remember the night I fought through my first shift. They’d locked us in cages to keep us from running, but I was hungry and desperate and very angry.” He angled his head and brushed
his thumb across her cheek and the tears she hadn’t realized were there. “Don’t cry for my past, Dani. I’ve had many lifetimes since then.”
His reassurance offered little comfort, but she withheld her reaction as she waited on the tone of his voice. For, oddly, the shimmer surrounding him like a sunbeam didn’t waver through his tale. Tragic and painful, his details might have shaped the man inside, but they hadn’t twisted him.
“That night, I killed a dozen of our captors.” He shook his head and blinked, but it seemed he didn’t see her. “Of the slaves who escaped with me, less than a handful evaded the men who came after us. And none of them wanted to be in my shadow.”
Finally, he looked at her, scrutinizing her face. Before he broke their gaze, she cupped his jaw. “And you survived.”
Not a question, more a point of wonder. A child alone, his mother slaughtered, a brutal existence, and he’d endured. Other victims survived. She’d seen enough horrible pictures of violence, famine, and tragedy from around the world. Somehow, there were always survivors. She doubted worthiness, excellence, or even blessings determined who lived and who died. But she believed all the lucky ones shared the same kernel of steadfast defiance in the face of life’s harshest odds. His plight brought her intimately closer to that struggle, planting a new respect in her heart for all of them.
“How did you get away?”
“I followed the river and hid at the edge where savannah turned to jungle. It was weeks before I shifted back to human.” His gaze sought the edge of the park. “And only because I couldn’t avoid civilization. The ships leaving the coast seemed safer options than the hunters following me.”
“Did they bring you to this country?”
“Close enough.” Eyes scrunched together, he clenched his jaw. “I never want to be trapped at sea for months on end ever again. Felines should be land bound.”
The greenish cast to his skin discouraged her from asking about his experience. “Where did you end up?”
