Prince of Shadows

by Nancy Gideon

  Quite frankly, Kendra was ready to expire from sheer nerves at the thought of being caged another minute longer. So they raided the clothes Brigit had left behind.

  If Kendra’s flashy cousin had a talent, it was for amassing a spectacular wardrobe. Rosie fell in love with a sheath of teal lace that she was more than willing to pad her bra to fill out. For once, Kendra abandoned her inherent modesty, figuring this might be her last chance to feel the illusion of freedom.

  Rosie gave a low whistle as Kendra took a turn in front of the mirror. The short figure-hugging dress had gone into Brigit’s discards because the coral shade clashed with her hair. But against Kendra’s soft blond updo and fair skin, the look sizzled: styled with low-scooped cowls both front and back, and ruched along the sides of the skirt to pull the stretchy fabric as tight as shrink wrap. It would bag her a prince by night’s end, Rosie pronounced. Not exactly what Kendra wanted to hear. Especially when she passed in front of the princes on the way to the booth, to their low rumbles of appreciation.

  In the club, in the glamorous, sexy clothes and evening makeup, with the thuggishly sexy protectors decked out in tailored jackets and formidable scowls, the mood was magic. Strobing lights dazzled off reflective surfaces. Music spun by a popular DJ was loud and pulsed exuberant energy. Kendra felt alive with anticipation. Waiting for something to happen.

  And waiting.

  Hours ticked by.

  “What’s up with this?” Kendra looked from the isolated corral of restless females to the Terriot males, making explicit use of body language on the dance floor with every responsive human in a short skirt. “They get to have fun while we sit and look pretty?”

  Her narrowed gaze snagged on Cale Terriot, palming the backside of a brunette who seemed determined to crawl into his suit jacket with him. His smirky grin froze when their stares connected. She turned away, tipping back the rest of her Captain and Coke to cool her agitation.

  Rosie pouted into her umbrella drink as her glance slid longingly to the lighted dance floor. “I want to be groped by a hot guy.”

  “They like to show us off.” Sylvia sighed. “Like a flashy sports car to pull up in, park, and forget about until the drive home. My meter’s tired of running on empty.”

  Kendra made a disparaging noise that would have made Brigit proud. “I didn’t get all dressed up to sit in the dark like the chaperone at a high school formal.”

  Rosie’s delicate brows flew upward. “You went to a human high school?” Envious attention turned her way.

  “No,” she admitted. “But I watch movies.”

  And while they were growing up, she and her cousin had danced along with them and to the blaring from the boom box in their room, mimicking music video moves. Missing her friend, Kendra wanted to taste that delicious giddiness again.

  She’d never danced with a man, had never moved with a partner through those paired steps that were the closest thing to sex that one could have with clothes on and a roomful of strangers watching. Sex being the other thing she’d never enjoyed. Suddenly, Kendra wanted a hot man to grab her ass and whisper salacious things in her ear.

  Tonight, irrationally, unexpectedly, she wanted that man to be Cale. Her focus riveted to those long fingers squeezing a leather-clad cheek as if testing for ripeness.

  Maybe it was the dark suit coat worn over a black shirt unbuttoned far enough and tight enough to showcase his chest. Or the way the pulsing spotlights flashed off his single earring and sketched his harsh features in fascinating plays of glare and shadow, making the scar mysterious instead of sinister. Maybe it was the incinerating heat in the fixed stare that had never left her. Or maybe it was just the good Captain loosening up her inhibitions. One thing it wasn’t was a longing for reconnection with what she’d lost. The adult Cale didn’t make her think of the child, because damn, he was hot. Smoking hot. Scorching hot. Drooling hot.

  She fanned herself with her drink coaster as a replacement glass appeared to quench her suddenly desperate thirst. A couple of quick gulps only had her flaming more uncomfortably.

  The DJ cleared the dance floor with a series of announcements. Their clansmen drifted toward the bar instead of rejoining the table, an insult provoking Kendra’s already edgy mood. To be invited and then ignored? Taken for granted?

  What would Brigit do?

  When the music started up, Kendra stood to announce, “Ladies, they’re playing our song.” She gripped Rosie’s elbow to drag her out of the booth, and after a shocked second, the others gamely followed.

  She’d never been the impulsive one to step boldly out of the shadows and demand attention. She’d never done anything reckless or daring or the least bit inappropriate. Goaded by the whisper of spiced rum, she figured it was about time she did.

  Cale was sipping his beer when Wes nudged his elbow, sloshing it down his chin. “Hey, watch it, man,” Cale exclaimed.

  “You’ll want to see this.”

  Cale turned to follow Wesley’s wide-eyed stare and nearly dropped his glass along with his jaw. The sight of the clan females strutting their exquisite stuff out on the dance floor to the raucous beat of Joan Jett was startling enough, but to see sweet, soft-spoken Kendra getting down and dirty to the taunting lyrics nearly made his heart stop, then start chugging like a runaway freight train.

  She was . . . unbelievable.

  Hot chicks hoochie-dancing together, pole optional—the kick-start to every guy’s wet dream. He’d been having fantasies about Kendra since he was ten. This surpassed every one of them.

  Where the hell had she learned to move like that? Shoulders undulating, dropping down low, shaking her moneymaker and giving change with the swing of her hips. As her hands speared into her hair to yank it into a messy tangle, his mouth went dry and his groin heavy. All he could see and scent was her as she mouthed the song’s snarling sentiments, “I hate myself for loving you,” her index fingers stabbing at his chest.

  Wesley jabbed an elbow into his ribs, but Cale was already moving. He reached back to set his glass on the bar, missing. He never heard the crash as he walked toward the dance floor with aggressive, claiming strides.

  She had her back to him, her sassy hips making a tempting swivel that brought her around right into the curl of his arms. She snapped taut with surprise. Her gaze flashed up to meet his, her dark eyes a confusion of alarm and . . . what? Then the kohled eyelids lowered, her lips parting on a breathy sigh. Her arms glided over his shoulders, her body swaying in to his. For a moment, he couldn’t move.

  Her words caressed his neck. “Dance with me” was what she said, but the subtext read “Fuck me horizontal.”

  She layered against him like a fitted sheet as he put the song’s primal rhythm into motion, riding his movements, her body warm and liquid. He couldn’t help paralleling it to how they’d be in bed. Spark to ready tinder. That was where he needed this evening to end so he could think clearly again.

  Her thumbs traced the whorl of his ears, making his control shiver. She couldn’t be unaware of how hard he was for her as urgency growled, “Take her, and take her deep, so she’ll never think of anyone before or want anyone after.”

  “So now you’re in love with me?” he shouted over the music. The notion teased as provocatively as her rocking hips.

  She puzzled over his gruff words. “What? Oh. The song. It’s just a song. I don’t have to love you to want you, do I?” She punctuated that sultry question by nibbling at his neck.

  His system shuddered. Fighting against the pull to behave badly and scare the hell out of her, he laughed. “You’ve managed to drink me desirable, is that it? Or would you grind on anything that moved at this point?”

  That switched off her steam bath of attention. She planted her feet and gave him a shove. “You are such a dick. Do you know that?”

  The look, the language, the behavior. It was so unlike her. He was so turned on. “Yeah, I know.”

  Her features quivered at his flip reply, then firmed. “I just
wanted— Never mind.” She spun and started across the dance floor, quickly disappearing within the writhing crowd.

  What? Wanted what?

  He started after her, using his shoulders and finally his elbows to part the way. The sight of her already in another man’s arms, as the music took a turn to slow and sorrowful, triggered everything that made him so dangerous.

  Cale gripped the human’s arm, plucking him away as if he’d been an insect. All he could see was the anger and hurt in Kendra’s eyes as he demanded, “What? What do you want?”

  The other man took that inopportune moment to try to reclaim his dance partner. “Hey, pal, we had something going on here.” He pressed Cale’s shoulder for emphasis. Bad move.

  Cale gripped his hand and, with a squeeze, dropped the surprised fellow to his knees. “You’ve got nothing going on here. Get lost or get hospitalized.”

  Transfixed and then terrified by the unholy red gleam flashing in Cale’s eyes, the human scrambled away.

  Kendra tugged to get free, but Cale used the rebound of momentum to secure her tightly against his chest, holding her to him as he began to move to the music. Seether’s “Broken” echoed the anxiousness pulling through him as he tried to quiet her within his embrace. Because he hadn’t felt right when she was gone. His hand cupped the side of her head to tuck it to his shoulder as he whispered low into her hair, “Tell me what you want. Tell me what I can do for you.”

  She gave her head a jerky shake. “It doesn’t matter.”

  His mouth brushed over silky blond curls. “It does to me.”

  “Since when?” she challenged in a choky little voice.

  “Since . . . always.”

  He continued to move her slowly, rocking in an easy shuffle. Finally, her hands came up to rest at his hips. Sliding around his waist. A nice fit, the two of them, just as he’d known they would be.

  Then the song ended. What he wanted was quite impossible: to just stand there, holding her, feeling her breathe.

  Kendra drew back and took an unsteady step away. Her mind was reeling with bewildering emotions tossed on a rum-soaked sea. Her face went hot and then icy cold, and it was all she could do to murmur, “I need some air,” before bolting for the closest exit.

  The bracing night breeze slapped the dizziness from her. She sucked in huge gulps, hoping to bring clarity, but her thoughts remained elusive and fuzzy-edged. Startled by a sound from behind, Kendra took a stumbling pitch to the right. A strong arm hooked about her middle to keep her from face-planting in the dark loading-dock area. Embarrassment warred with the need to toss up four tall glasses of alcohol.

  “I’m not much of a drinker,” she said, panting. “In fact, I never drink. Whew. I’m such a lightweight.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.” His voice was quiet, almost gentle. She didn’t know who this Cale Terriot was. He scared, confused, and excited her in equal doses.

  But was she . . . safe with him? Did she want to be?

  Kendra continued to breathe deep, and he continued to hold her loosely, saying nothing. She couldn’t find a balance between the crazy tilt of her feelings and the ache in her heart. “I don’t want to go back in. It was silly to think . . . I’ve made such a fool of myself. Imagine anyone . . .” Her anguish broke loose in little incoherent pieces.

  “Anyone what?”

  “Nothing. I need to leave.” She tried to wrestle free. Though the band of his arm didn’t tighten, it formed a barrier to her escape. “Let me go.”

  “Tell me. Then I’ll take you back.” He leaned close so that his cheek brushed hers. His skin was startlingly warm and smooth, shocking her into revealing her deepest pain.

  “I want someone to want me for myself. Not as some trophy. I want someone to grab my ass. What’s wrong with my ass?”

  He gave a jagged little laugh. “Nothing. You have a very . . . a very sexy ass. Especially in that dress.”

  She laughed, too, but her words were bitter and full of sloppy, alcohol-induced candor. “Sure it is. What’s wrong with me? What does it take to get a man to kiss me like he wants me?”

  Silence. Then a low rumble. “Ask.”

  She spun to find herself so close that she had to bend back over his arm to see his face, so hard and at the same time almost stunning in the uneven light. His eyes gleamed like liquid silver. “Are you waiting for me to send you a text?” she prompted.

  She heard his sharp inhalation.

  “Dammit, Cale. Kiss me like you—”

  His mouth slammed down over hers, devouring the rest of her words. She couldn’t remember what they were. Her entire train of thought was derailed by his fierceness and hunger.

  He released her so he could scoop her face between his hands, holding her for the deep, continued plunder that searched and stroked, tasting, taking . . . oh God, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her head spun and her knees weakened until she was clutching his jacket to keep from swooning away into an intoxicated puddle of bliss.

  This was what she’d dreamed of that morning, this mad, frantic flurry of sensations. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her lungs cried out for oxygen, but she couldn’t relinquish the dizzy euphoria.

  He cared for her. He desired her. He wanted her to the brink of losing control. It was all she’d thought about, longed for, wept over, and now he was hers. She could finally have him.

  “Touch me,” she begged as his lips trailed down the arch of her throat. The words bubbled out without thought or restraint. “I want your hands on me. I want you inside me.” Her eyes closed, her world tumbling, she moaned his name in desperation.

  The hurried pant of his breaths caught. Held. Then exploded. “Fuck!”

  It wasn’t a suggestion.

  Her eyes flew open when he shoved her away, making her stumble in her high heels. The dreamy clouds scattered from her fantasy as she looked up into Cale’s taut expression.

  “For starters,” he grounded out, “if you want to get laid, it’s a good idea to call a guy by the right name.”

  Before she could grasp his meaning, he turned his back on her and stalked inside, leaving her shivering and disoriented.

  What—?

  She took a few staggering steps to follow, to plead with him to explain, when everything began an unpleasant roll. She managed to grab the iron railing on the stairs leading up to the dock and swung herself around, sprawling back on the cement stairs while everything upended. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped her lips tight to hold in the contents of her revelry. After long sweaty minutes passed, she had a jolt of clarity that shifted her thoughts from surviving the next minutes without hurling, to wishing she could die.

  Lost in a tangled remembrance of that morning’s dream, she’d called him Silas.

  How could she have done such a thing?

  Kendra heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He was coming back. Time to think of something fast to mend the irreparable. She glanced up and froze. Because it wasn’t Cale who’d come out into the dark after her.

  five

  Cale went straight to the bar.

  How could she come on to him like that and then . . . If she’d wanted to kick him in the balls, she’d found the most sensitive spot. That sudden, crippling hit. The shock.

  Idiot. Fool. To think that she—

  No thinking. He channeled all that churning into a tight fist of tension, letting it vibrate deep inside him, clenched and ready to strike.

  “Hey, where’d you go?”

  He slid a glance up at Wesley, who settled on the barstool beside him. Wes reared back from whatever he saw in that brief acknowledgment. “Whoa, what the—”

  “Shut the hell up and buy me a drink.”

  Wes motioned to the bartender, regarding Cale without sympathy. “It’s not like you’ve never been shot down before.”

  He hadn’t. Not ever, since the time of his maturity. He was a Terriot prince. He’d never met a female whose knees he couldn’t spread just by making eye contact.
This was the first time it had mattered. And that fiery ache was punishing.

  “Just a tease,” he muttered into his beer. “Not worth my trouble.”

  He wanted to mean the harsh words, but he didn’t. Kendra wasn’t to blame for his not being what she desired. She’d been pretty damn specific. He took a large swallow, choking down his pride. It wasn’t her fault that he wasn’t Silas sonofabitch MacCreedy.

  Cale let his knotted aggression slip by small degrees. She was drunk and he’d pushed. He’d wanted to see things that weren’t there, and she was seeing double. A bad mix. A bad move. But that didn’t make it a no-win bad idea. He could become what she desired. He could take a page from the Saint Silas handbook and be all White Knightish and smooth. He could court her, woo her. He could . . . Who was he kidding? He was a stock four-by-four, not a Town Car. If things got in his path, he went right over them. He didn’t know any other way. Maybe he couldn’t charm her with pretty words and noble deeds, but he could damn well provide her with anything she wanted, pump a child into her in a way that would have her begging, “Thank you, sir, may I have another,” and protect her from anything that—

  His head came up and turned toward the back of the club. His senses sharpened. She hadn’t come back in. He couldn’t scent her in the crowded room.

  He’d left her drunk and alone in the dark. As vulnerable as a sacrificial lamb. She’d crushed his unrealistic expectations, and he’d staked her out for the wolves. Terriot wolves.

  Cale was off the barstool in a hurry.

  He burst through the back door, already bristling as he came upon the worst scenario imaginable.

  There were four of them: Michael and three of his brutish friends. Kendra was splayed facedown on the steps with his brother straddling her. The back of her dress was split down the middle. The sight of her modest pink underwear was almost more awful than it would have been to find her nude. She made small, animal-like sounds as she struggled to escape, but Michael’s hand was fisted in her hair, preventing it.