Chapter Six
Shim ran through the meadow as though the hounds of hell snapped at his heels. His jaguar rode him hard, desperate to turn back to the fae who smelled so good and tasted like heaven on the back of his tongue. The man knew better, though. He’d let Isolde get close enough to capture him because he never looked beyond the surface of her pretty face, and now he’d done worse with Ceara. When he’d caught her smoke-and-spice scent drifting through the gates, he’d been unable to resist its draw. His first instinct had been to find her and apologize in person for his attack, make sure she was unharmed.
Given he’d only seen her bundled up to her ears, the sight of her naked atop the dolmen damn near stopped his heart. Soft brown hair, flowing like melted chocolate over her shoulders and down her back. Her creamy-white skin stretched over lean muscle and ripe curves made his mouth water. But a nice body couldn’t explain his instant obsession. She’d shed her disguise, and there had been no mistaking her for anything other than a being with immense power and strength. The stubborn tilt to her chin when she stared down at him, the haughty lift to her brow. The expression in her eyes that said she would take him down, and chew his balls off while she was at it, sent blood rushing to his cock.
And she’d liked him looking at her, regardless of the disdain on her face. When her nipples ripened like berries under his gaze, he’d stopped fighting the attraction. One lick, one taste, and he longed to devour her whole. He knew he hadn’t been gentle. The shame of it drove his feet faster. He couldn’t condone his rough handling of a female, but she’d driven him beyond sanity. He didn’t want to want her. She was the spitting image of Isolde, and yet so different. It confused the hell out of him.
The cat didn’t care. He knew by scent and taste she was nothing like her evil sister. Need beat at him, the burning desire to bathe in her body until her essence imprinted on their soul. When she came apart on his tongue, something eased inside him. The cat purred, content they had pleasured her, as was their duty, their right. Shim had been poised, ready to strip off his shorts and bury himself deep inside her wet heat. The shock when he raised his eyes and saw the fiery glow of her hair, the energy pulsing in her eyes had been immense. She had been so clever, playing the victim, luring him in with her body. But she was a liar. If she could alter her appearance with such ease, what else was she capable of?
Shim hit the footpath and slowed his pace, not wishing to draw attention to himself. Rekkus would not be happy he’d disobeyed the instruction to leave the fae alone. He doubted an admission the tiger had been right would assuage his anger at being crossed. He marched along the path to the Haus. He had an appointment with Sarka for another potion to try. The memory of the foul brew she’d forced upon him earlier in the day made him shudder, but he didn’t care. He needed this curse broken, and he needed it broken now. The full moon would be in two days, and the jaguar would not be contained during her zenith. Unless he was prepared to suffer a night of agony, he needed to heal his cat, fast.
Shim knocked on the office door, knowing better than to enter before the cool summons. Sarka sat behind the desk, and she beckoned him with an impatient scowl. A brass chalice rested before her on the desk, a dark silk cloth draped over it. Shim eyed it with trepidation. Ice-blue eyes studied him, raising the cat’s hackles. He suppressed a hiss. She saw too much. Settling into a seat across from her, he regretted not taking the time to collect himself better before facing her.
“You look agitated, Shimeer. If you no longer require my assistance, you need only to say so.” Her icy glare spread to her voice. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a cleansing breath. The sharp edge of her scent swirled around the room. The anger in it was abstract, not aimed at him. A long-simmering tension she carried with her. If a man had caused such rage, he felt damn sorry for the bastard. He lifted his lids, the cat inside him curious about the enigmatic woman opposite.
Sarka removed the cloth from the chalice, and, with a nasty grin, slid the cup over the desk. “You didn’t have quite the reaction I’d hoped to the potion I gave you this morning. I’ve chatted with Janessa, and we think this combination might be more successful.” His curiosity fled. He knew everything about the Wiccan he needed.
The contents of the chalice sloshed, the viscous brew clinging to the sides of the cup before settling again. Green and brackish, it reminded him of a pool of stagnant water. He’d drunk from such a pool when a young cub and been sick for days afterwards. Not an experience he was keen to repeat any time soon.
She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, and he sighed, reaching for the cup. The acrid scent brought tears to his eyes. Squeezing them shut, he threw the entire contents down his throat. His stomach rebelled at the foul taste, and he clamped a hand tight over his mouth to avoid spewing the brew onto the desk. His jaguar whined and fled to the far reaches of his consciousness, seeking to distance himself from the evil liquid coating his tongue and throat. It chased away the lingering taste of Ceara in his mouth, which he should have been grateful for, but it left him bereft.
Opening his eyes once he’d convinced his stomach its contents would have to stay, he scowled at the look of delight wreathing Sarka’s face before she dropped her mask of indifference back into place.
“So, how was that?” she asked in a sweet tone that didn’t suit her. He suspected these sessions were more punishment than cure.
He cleared his throat, swallowing to force the last of the thick liquid down before he spoke. “Not bad.”
She snorted once, reaching for a leather-bound book to make notes. Her dark hair fell around her face, creating a curtain. She carried on writing, ignoring him until the tension in the room stretched his nerves to the screaming point.
“Better check your schedule,” she said without lifting her head. “You’ve got a breathing and meditation class with Trixie in a couple of minutes.”
He snarled and threw himself out of the chair, stomping to the door. He froze at the soft snicker rising behind him. Storming out of the room, he banged straight into Rekkus. The were-tiger took one sniff and scowled.
“You have got to be freaking kidding me. I told you to stay away from her,” he snarled.
“Don’t start with me, Rekkus, I’m not in the mood,” Shim snapped back. “I won’t be going near that hateful little bitch again, so you have nothing to worry about. Wait until you see her. She’s played you all for fools with her ‘poor little me’ act.”
He stepped around Rekkus, heading down the corridor leading to the meditation suite. The big man blocked his path, grabbed his shoulder in a tight grip, and forced him to halt.
“Hateful, is she?” A purr hinted in his voice.
Shim snapped his eyes up to meet the thoughtful golden gaze.
“I know we are different breeds, jaguar, but your cat is pretty similar to mine in most things. If you hate the fae so much, ask yourself why you carry her scent on your skin still.” Rekkus released his shoulder, folding his arms across his thick chest. “I need you down at the training fields in about an hour. Telly and the other wolves are a handful, and I can’t give them and Ben the attention they all need. The bear cub needs some one-on-one time. Make sure you have a goddamn wash before you show up. You reek of sex, and that’s the last thing those boys need to scent.”
Shim toweled off his short hair and pulled clean clothes from his duffle. The contents of his room in the main Haus had been transferred. He would be sleeping in the barracks until Rekkus told him otherwise. Gathering his dirty clothes, he paused. The T-shirt still carried Ceara’s heat and spice. He shoved it under his pillow, refusing to examine his motivation for doing so. He donned a fresh shirt and pants. He would be going to dinner after his session with Ben, so he might as well be ready.
The kid sat on his bed, reading a book, when Shim knocked on the doorframe, startling him a little. He stayed outside the room, not wanting to crowd the boy by invading his territory. Ben might be only fifteen, but the boy matched
him in height. He was broader, too, although a lot less graceful. The sweet-natured young man was diffident, a little too conscious of his size. Had he hurt someone by accident, or was he struggling to adjust to a recent growth spurt?
“Hey, Ben. I want to stretch my legs and thought maybe you would like to join me.” The naked delight on the boy’s face eased the stress inside Shim. Pushing thoughts of Ceara out of his mind, he concentrated on his task. The diminishment of his own prowl robbed him of the chance to mentor young shifters. They strolled away from the barracks in companionable silence, wending their way to the training fields. Steering his charge around the perimeter, Shim gave the young man a chance to settle himself in the presence of a very dominant elder.
“Have you been to the island before, Ben?” He kept his voice quiet, and the young cub nodded but didn’t speak. Smiling to himself, he tried again. “Well, you will know the area better than I do, then. Why don’t you show me your favorite spot?”
Ben glanced sideways at Shim, and, after receiving a nod of encouragement, took the lead, heading away from the fields toward the river which ran close by. Trees and large boulders lined the banks. Ben selected a square, flat-topped stone, clambering on top with an agility belying his size. Shim leapt up, trying not to think about the dolmen in the middle of the stone circle. He settled cross-legged on the boulder, facing the water. Ben took off his shoes, letting his feet dangle over the edge so they hung above the slow-moving river. The boy had chosen a peaceful spot, quiet except for the rippling water and the odd splash of a fish breaking the surface. Excited barks from the little wolf pack carried on the breeze as Rekkus put the other boys through their paces far away on the training field.
Shim cast his mind back to a long time ago, remembering the excitement and uncertainty of being on the cusp of adulthood. The pull of the moon like a siren he couldn’t ignore, bringing uncontrollable changes and the urge to rut on anything remotely female. There’d been more than one embarrassing encounter when he’d come across the girls from the local village bathing and playing in the stream. He shook his head, recalling the hours spent lurking in the trees in his jaguar form, spying on them.
“I was a goddamn Peeping Tom at your age, Ben.” He laughed, explaining a little about his youthful misadventures. The young bear relaxed and laughed along with him before growing contemplative as he stared out across the river.
“How do you know when you’ve met your mate? I asked Rekkus, but he just grunted and said I would know. I’m so confused.” A faint blush highlighted Ben’s freckled cheeks. He kept his face turned away, so Shim could only study his profile.
The question caught him by surprise, and he gave his answer careful consideration. “My father told me from the moment he first caught my mother’s scent, he was captivated by her. Trailed her for days through the jungle, lurking on the edge of her family’s territory too scared to approach her. Mama said she knew he was there, but she refused to acknowledge him, wanting to see if he would make an effort to win her over. When the full moon struck, he cried all night for her until her father lost his temper and chased him away.” Shim smiled at the memory of the affectionate teasing between his parents when they’d first told him the story.
“He kept coming back, and Papi kept chasing him off, but my father said he could never give up without claiming her.” His jaguar surged, snarling and rubbing close beneath his skin, catching him off guard. Smoke-and-spice curled through his mind, and he recalled Rekkus’ comment about Shim being bathed in Ceara’s scent.
Oh shit!
The realization hit like a ton of bricks. He clenched his fists, fighting to keep in control. The jaguar strained against his hold, impatient it had taken the man so long to catch up with what he’d known from the first moment he’d buried his nose in her creamy throat.
Ceara was his mate. The perfect half the Fates decreed would make him whole. And he’d tried to kill her at their first meeting then almost forced himself upon her at their second.
“Shim, is everything all right, sir?” The diffident tone from the boy brought him back to himself.
He cut his growl off, forcing himself to relax. His palms stung. His claws had come out, piercing bloody wounds where he’d balled his fists. “I’m fine, Ben. I’ve been an idiot about a few things, and my cat is a little irritated with me because of it. You’re too young to be worried about mating, but I would say trust your instincts and, when the time is right, you’ll know.”
“There’s a girl I like at school. She smells like sunshine and clover. She makes my head spin, and I say dumb stuff to her all the time.” Ben sighed. Reaching for a small stone, he skimmed it across the surface of the river. “She’s not a bear, though. She’s just a human, and my mama says she won’t understand how it is for us weres if I try and tell her how I feel.” The boy sounded so despondent, Shim swallowed a laugh.
“I remember a time when all girls smelled like heaven, Ben. Just because you are attracted to her, doesn’t mean she is your mate. I fell in and out of love with every girl in the local village over a period of about four years, so maybe cut yourself some slack and just see what happens.”
The young man nodded. “She has a friend who smells like strawberries. I like strawberries.”
Shim laughed and clapped Ben on the shoulder before pulling him to his feet. The sun had crossed the sky during their talk. He needed to get the boy back to the security of the barracks before night fell and the moon called forth his bear.
And then he had some serious mate claiming to do.
Chapter Seven
Ceara smoothed her hand over the white silk dress she unearthed from the bottom of her suitcase. The energy from the circle still sang in her veins. A fruitless hour spent in front of the hearth, trying and failing to coax the flames to respond, had led to a flurry of bitter tears. The boost from the circle had driven the worst of the cold away. Her righteous fury at the damned cat helped to warm her further. The mere thought of him brought a flood of dampness between her legs. So humiliating! He was little better than an animal and arrogant with it. She was a daughter of the Unseelie Court, an immortal fae. Not some damn plaything for him to pick up and drop whenever he felt like it.
With a sigh, she met her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Too old to lie to herself, the truth struck deep. Shim had played her body better than any other male then rejected her. It hurt her pride, maybe her heart just a little bit. Hence the outfit. A good dress served better than a suit of armor—another hard-won lesson of court. Rumpling her hair until it cascaded down her back like fire, she retouched the matching red lipstick coating her mouth, emphasizing her full lower lip. Her feet remained bare, touching the earth would help to keep her grounded.
The dining room hummed with activity by the time she arrived. She didn’t hesitate, crossing into the darker-green side of the room. She was not mundane. Not human. No more hiding. A hush followed her progress, and she raised her chin. Let them look.
A chair scraped back, the harsh noise drawing her attention. The jaguar stood, looking damn fine in his dark-green shirt and black evening slacks. He gestured to the seat opposite him. She curled her lip in a sneer of disbelief at his arrogance. Choosing an unoccupied table, she stood beside a chair, waiting for one of the waiters to pull it out for her. She’d barely settled before he approached, taking the seat next to her as though he had every right to do so. Determined to ignore him, she turned to the waiter with a gracious smile, accepting the offered menu. He poured a glass of ice water, bowed, and withdrew to a discreet distance.
Shim lounged back in his chair, his body language relaxed. He summoned the waiter to transfer his drink and silverware across to his new seat. “I’ll be taking my meal with the Lady Ceara this evening.”
She let out a jagged laugh. “Lady is it now? You’ve changed your tune, cat.” She hissed the last word at him. Her palm itched with the desire to slap the smile off his rugged, handsome features. Wait! That wasn’t what
she thought when she looked at him. It wasn’t!
She reached for her glass of water, not sure whether she should throw it in his face or dump it over her head to quench the desire churning low in her belly. As though sensing her intentions, Shim grasped her hand and captured it in his own. He massaged the palm of her hand with the ball of his thumb. His touch rocketed through her body, making her fight against the urge to squirm in her seat. Keeping his jade-green eyes fixed on hers, he drew her arm closer, turning her wrist to bare the pale, almost translucent skin. He lowered his face, pressing his nose against her skin, and drew in a breath. A deep rumbling sound built in his chest, and she blinked at him in astonishment.
Is he actually purring?
His wicked tongue stroked over her pulse point, and she couldn’t fight a shudder. The wet heat conjured images of him kneeling between her thighs.
Biting hard on the inside of her cheek, she used the small pain to focus her thoughts. She yanked her hand free, tucking it in her lap. Resting his elbows on the table, he placed his chin on his folded hands, studying her.
“I’m sorry, mi tesoro.” He pitched his husky voice low, for her ears alone, and Ceara frowned at the unexpected endearment. His behavior seemed so at odds with his angry departure from the meadow. She didn’t know what to make of it.
“What exactly are you sorry for?” she muttered. “Are you sorry you tried to kill me? Sorry you insulted me? Sorry you made me come with your mouth?”
A well of anger had been building since their encounter, replacing the numbness of her existence. She wanted to scream, wanted to lash out, to scour the world with fire and vengeance until she found the person responsible for the deaths of her team. She glared at him, and, for a second, she hated him. He’d shocked her out of her lethargy, forced her to feel again. Hadn’t even had the decency to put her out of her misery when he’d had the chance.
Soul of Flame Page 5
