Shifters Forever Worlds Mega Box: Volume 2

by Thorne, Elle

  He paused, staring in her direction. For a brief second, Celine thought he’d seen her. She held her breath, ready for the man to come forward, and halfway wishing he would.

  But no, he looked down, concentrating on whatever task he had at hand, which didn’t seem to be more nefarious than paying tribute to the grave before him.

  He was trespassing, of course, he was. But he was kneeling in front of a grave, and his lips had been moving, as if he were talking to whoever was buried there.

  Still, he’s trespassing.

  Then it occurred to her…

  Maybe he’s a grave robber.

  No, he looked nothing like a grave robber. She knew expensive clothing. That suit was tailor-made. And the shoes were clearly not cheap.

  Boldly, but on stealthy feet, she approached the stranger.

  “You’re trespassing.” After the words had come out of her mouth, it occurred to her that approaching a trespasser by herself was foolhardy.

  Headstrong, even.

  Dangerous, perhaps.

  She knew her father would have agreed with those assessments, though he’d have been smiling when he did.

  The man rose and whirled around with such speed her heart missed a beat.

  His eyes narrowed, studying her.

  Then her heart missed several beats, and that had absolutely nothing to do with the speed with which he’d moved.

  She swallowed, finding her usual sassy self without words, without saliva, without thoughts. Except for the thoughts that lingered on the man before her.

  Eyes still slits, so she couldn’t discern the hue, he spoke. “On whose land?”

  His voice. God, his voice. It called to her, striking deep within her soul with the effectiveness of an arrow that sailed true, straight to its target.

  She dry swallowed, willing the words to come out. Willing the words not to be a jumble of cacophony that gave away what his very presence did to her. “Arceneaux land. Phillip Arceneaux’s land.”

  “He’s still alive?”

  “He is, though Father’s not always well.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Étienne’s tiger roared so loudly in his head that he was almost unable to hear the woman’s words, even with his shifter hearing. His tiger roared, huffed, chuffed, then emitted snarls, prowling around in Étienne’s head, not giving him a moment’s concentration on the matter at hand.

  The woman at hand.

  Étienne stared at the woman before him. He couldn’t help it if he’d wanted to. Brilliant red hair that sparked in the sunlight. Eyes that glowed with intelligence, a body curved perfectly when so many others seemed like willows that were frail and not made for loving.

  Tantalizing and attractive as her figure and looks might be, this was not what attracted Étienne to her.

  No, there was something within the woman, something that wrenched at Étienne with a force stronger than the pull of a force of nature.

  He tried to shut his tiger out while he worked on sorting through his thoughts about this woman, but the tiger wasn’t having it. Not one bit.

  Then what the woman said clicked. It more than clicked, really. It hit Étienne with the force of a sledgehammer. Phillip was her what…

  “Father? He’s your father?” He forced the words out.

  “My stepfather, actually. He married my mother while I was a newborn.”

  “He’s not a young man.”

  “No. Not at all.” A glimmer of sadness shone in her eyes.

  “Your mother…” Étienne stalled for time, trying to process. This woman was the stepdaughter of the man who fathered him. “So you’re not his blood relative.” He had to reaffirm that.

  “No.” Her red hair caught the sun’s glint.

  In all his years, he’d never been so enamored of a woman. He’d never found his tiger so engrossed in one. Étienne continued with his questions, hoping she would not run off, hoping she’d be open to answering.

  “I had thought he left when he went to college… I had heard that when he went to college… that he never returned.”

  She gave him a curious look. “He and Mother moved here after they married. He adopted me.”

  So sometime while Étienne had been in the north, making a fortune, his father Phillip had married this woman’s mother and moved back. “And your name?”

  She plucked at the hem of her sleeve, as if at odds with herself about answering. “Celine. Yours?”

  “Étienne.”

  “You’re French?”

  “Perhaps somewhere back there.”

  How would he explain this one? If he ever had a chance to explain it. He’d like to see more of this mysterious woman who’d been raised by the man that fathered him so long ago.

  “Is this land for sale?”

  Celine stepped backward, as if offended, or taken aback, perhaps. “I’m sure it’s not. It’s been in Father’s family for ages.”

  “Does he have children?”

  She gave him a weird look, her lips in a straight line.

  “I mean other than you.” Étienne corrected himself.

  “No. I’m it.”

  “So this will be your property when he… goes.”

  She gasped. Shook her head. “How ghastly.”

  “I didn’t mean to be.”

  “Yes, it will be mine, but I don’t want to think about a life without my father.”

  “He never had any other children?”

  “Just me. You certainly do have a lot of questions about my father. You didn’t tell me your last name.”

  “Arceneaux.”

  Another gasp. “You’re related?”

  “Distantly.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Celine was taken aback. Since when did she stand in the woods, speaking to a total stranger about something as intimate as her family history?

  And yet, how could it be that it felt like the most natural thing in the world? But the pull that she felt for this man was undeniably strong. And she felt as if they’d known each other for ages. She studied his face. He’d said he was distantly related to her stepfather. Maybe that’s what it was, what made her feel so comfortable with him.

  “You’ve been to Arceneaux Plantation before.”

  Though it wasn’t a question, he nodded, agreeing with her. “Long ago.”

  “I don’t remember you.”

  “Maybe you were not here.”

  She frowned, trying to think of a circumstance, decided that it wasn’t really impossible.

  “Why don’t we go up to the main house? See my father. I’m sure he’d like to see a relative, distant or otherwise.”

  It was his turn to frown, his hands flexed, then as if realizing he was tightening them into fists, he opened them fully and nodded. “I’d like to meet your mother and Phillip.”

  She paused. “We lost my mother a long time ago. That’s when Phillip adopted me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The way he said he was sorry made her think he knew her pain, that he knew the hurt of losing a parent. “And your parents?”

  He shook his head. “No more.”

  Celine chewed on her lip. “Let’s go. Tea would hit the spot right now, wouldn’t it?” She waved her hand, indicating that he should lead the way, but instead he held his own hand out.

  “Ladies first.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Tea does sound good, Celine Arceneaux.” He relished the way her name rolled off his tongue. The way saying it felt as intimate as holding her, kissing her, claiming her.

  Her name was perfect. It fit her.

  He took his jacket off, draped it over his forearm, and walked behind her, noting the swing of her hips beneath her skirt, the way the fabric clung to her curves, accentuated her derriere.

  She glanced back, caught him appraising her figure. Étienne held her gaze. Her eyes were locked on his. She wasn’t going to back down. Her head tilted slightly, just so. Étienne fought the urge to step closer and seize her
in a kiss. His tiger snarled at Étienne’s self-restraint.

  Her gaze traveled to his lips. The slightest tip of her tongue slipped out, and it was evident she had no idea what she was doing to him as it ran the course of her tempting bottom lip.

  Étienne muffled a groan, still fighting his passion and his tiger.

  She broke their gaze and broke the spell, turning and pointing. “We’ll cut through there.”

  Étienne gave her a nod, for there’d be no way to talk. His mouth was dry, his throat felt full of sawdust. His pants had become a constraint and a painful reminder that the human side of him was so very affected by this red-haired temptress.

  A few yards forward, he’d barely regained his composure when he felt a tingling sensation beginning on his shoulder blade and traveling down to meet at the center of his lower back. With every step, the tingling became more intense, until within a few yards, it had turned into a burn. Confused, Étienne stopped.

  Celine turned and looked at him. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes.” What was he supposed to say? He reached up to touch his back, confused that sweat would be dripping so profusely suddenly.

  The hand he drew back was tinged with blood.

  Horrified, Celine gasped. “Is that blood? Of course, it is. Why are you bleeding?”

  Think fast, think fast.

  Étienne shook his head. “It's nothing. I—hurt myself.”

  He glanced around. The cabins were within sight, a stone’s throw away.

  Memories flooded through him. He remembered so much. Rage and helplessness followed the memories.

  The burn was becoming stronger and stronger. He could feel the bleeding intensifying. He looked at his hand, beneath the skin black and white stripes had begun to undulate. His teeth ached.

  The shift was coming.

  He had to get away from her. Had to get away before he became a tiger.

  Celine stepped closer. “We should get you to the house and get that tended to immediately.”

  “No!” The last thing he needed was to have her see what his back looked like. “I have to go. Now!”

  * * *

  Celine stared at Étienne's departing back. Étienne was moving faster than she imagined anyone ever had. His white shirt was crimson in some areas, scarlet crisscross patterns.

  “Wait!” She ran after him.

  He whirled around. “Go away! Do not follow me!” His words were more of a snarl. A silver light glowed in his eyes.

  Celine froze.

  She was still standing open-mouthed when he vanished into the woods.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Étienne fought to control the shift. The shift into his tiger had begun as he was running from Celine. He glanced back to verify she was out of sight.

  She was.

  Panting, he paused and tried to regain control of his shift. He breathed in, releasing his breath slowly, the slight creaking sound of his bones realigning, his tendons returning to his human form. He dropped to his knees. Weakened from nearly completely shifting into his tiger, then returning to his human form, Étienne made his way to the nearest tree trunk and leaned against it, eyes closed against the sensations and the memories.

  It had been a long time since he’d condemned Latrice for the ill-omened curse she’d put on him. Years. No, decades even since he’d regretted the day she’d chosen to make him a shifter.

  Today, he cursed Latrice again. Cursed her for leaving him alive to remember the hell of it.

  Étienne sat for hours, his shirt drying, sticking to his flesh. The mosquitos buzzing nearby, the flies too, but no insect and no animal approached him. It was as if they knew the depth and length of his fury.

  Hours and hours, until darkness had fallen. And still, though it was dark, his shifter supernatural sight allowed him to see details as clearly as if it were day.

  Every tree, every plant, every silhouette. He rose to his feet on unsteady legs.

  He knew what he should do.

  And he knew that it was very different from what he would do.

  He should go into town, pack, and leave this area, leave the pain behind. He should have no interest in conquering the pain, no interest in fighting this battle.

  And yet, he strode in the opposite direction, straight to the belly of the beast.

  He stood before the clearing, studying the cabins, his back on fire, blood seeping into his shirt.

  The lean-to he’d been held in the night before he left, the night that Nana had been buried was long gone. In its place, a bush had grown, and a sapling had taken sprout. Further down, at the end, there it was, Nana’s cabin. All of the cabins were still standing. Each and every one. And they looked no different than they had when he’d left.

  He walked toward Nana’s. His feet wanted to trudge, but his heart pushed him forward, eager to see his grandmother’s home. As he reached the door, he raised his hand, instinct and habit strong, even after decades had passed.

  He had raised his hand to scratch.

  Old habits…

  The door opened slightly.

  Like it always had.

  His movements stilled, his breath frozen in his lungs.

  A frown drew his brows down.

  A face appeared in the doorway.

  White. Whiter than a sheet. Without a single pore. A mocking grin on its lips, showing razor sharp fangs.

  In Étienne’s mind, his tiger roared. Étienne couldn’t move. Not forward, nor backward.

  “Whom were you expecting? Your grandmother? Surely you know Marguerite met her dark visitor the night after she saw him. Met him for the final time.”

  This was the confounded being that took Étienne’s life. The knowledge made his tiger’s snarls louder in his mind.

  Then another thing took prevalence in Étienne’s thoughts. His nostrils flared, his jaw tightened. “What do you know of the dark visitor my grandmother saw?” And though Étienne asked the question, a shadowy and horrifying explanation began to make its way in his mind, coming to the forefront of his brain.

  The creature laughed, opened the door wider, and took a bow at the waist. He waved his hands with a flourish as he rose from the bow. “The dark visitor, at your service.”

  “You?” Étienne’s hands became fists. “You killed her?”

  “Oh, come now.” The vampire strode deeper into the cabin, indicating for Étienne to join him, showing him the chair as if he were a gracious host.

  Étienne’s glimpse around the cabin was cursory, for his attention was much more focused on the vampire. But he did take notice that the cabin was unchanged. He knew instantly it was even the same table where he’d carved his name on the leg when he’d been young.

  “Don’t act surprised,” the vampire continued. “Who did you think the dark visitor was, after all?”

  “The grim reaper. How would I know? I thought it was in her mind.” And yet, though, Étienne was managing to maintain a calm conversation with his grandmother’s killer, he found himself planning the creature’s demise.

  The vampire laughed. The noise hollow and ethereal in the cabin’s darkness, the dirt floor absorbing the sounds of mirth.

  “Do not even think it, shifter.”

  Étienne tried to control his surprise at the vampire’s knowledge that he was a shifter. He felt the minute widening of his eyes, fought to keep his tiger at bay. How did he know?

  “Your naïveté is amusing. Did you learn nothing during your time in the north? Nothing in Boston? Nothing in Paris? The witch did you a disservice by not setting you up with a clan of shifters to acclimate you to life as a shifter.”

  “Don’t you know it’s rude to talk about someone behind their back?”

  Latrice!

  Étienne spun partway, glancing at her, then immediately turning back to the vampire.

  “Witch. Sorceress. Why are you here?”

  “Flattery.” Latrice’s smile for the vampire was not genuine. “Why are you, nightwalker?” She ent
ered the room, stood next to Étienne.

  “It is not your concern.”

  “It is.”

  “Because he is the father of your child?” The vampire sneered.

  Latrice’s eyes narrowed, as though she hadn’t been aware that the vampire knew of Lucia’s heritage. Then she gave as good as she got. “Because you were rebuffed by Marguerite’s daughter? Because though you applied that vampire charm of yours, tried to compel her to love you, instead she loved Phillip? Because you could not lure her to the night side of life? To your life?”

  The vampire flew toward Latrice, his body moving so fast that even Étienne’s shifter vision struggled to keep up with the creature.

  “You do not know what you speak of, witch.”

  “Mmm. Hmmm.” Latrice drew the sound out, almost mocking him.

  The vampire reached one talon-tipped hand out, the blur of his fingers in front of Étienne’s face.

  It took a second for Étienne to realize what had happened. He touched his face, drew his fingers across his cheekbone, and bit back the utter of surprise when he saw the blood there.

  “You have a death wish.” Latrice’s tone was unlike one Étienne had heard before.

  “Oh,” the vampire tilted his head as though trying to be coy. “You would give me the same courtesy as you gave the overseer Jasper?”

  Étienne looked at Latrice.

  “That’s right, shifter,” the vampire said. “That carrot-topped blob of a man was alligator appetizer less than a week after you left, courtesy of your witch lover.”

  “This is true?” Étienne asked Latrice.

  Latrice nodded, her gaze never leaving the vampire.

  Étienne tried to process all this. His mother had history with this vampire, who’d also killed his grandmother, and almost killed him.

  A slow burning rage took place in Étienne’s gut. This bastard had inflicted more than his share of pain on Étienne’s family.

  Étienne yielded control of his body to his tiger, succumbing to his tiger’s will, ready to give the tiger the chance to get Étienne what his heart desired.