Secret Passions: Forbidden Passions, Book 5

by Loribelle Hunt

  Dedication

  Special thanks to my awesome co-creator in this series, Crystal Jordan, who has also been a great friend over a trying year.

  Chapter One

  Sara Beth Reynard had been on edge since leaving her house that morning. Her apprehension had eased when she reached the job site and was surrounded by the work crews, but as everyone began to leave for their lunch, the feeling intensified so much she decided she’d better finish and leave too, rather than be the last on site. She loved the house she’d designed and its country setting, but it had never felt so isolated before today.

  It was that damned tabloid reporter’s fault. Somehow a handful of scientists had gained access to blood and tissue samples from werekind. Sara Beth didn’t believe for one second this had happened by accident—someone inside the community had to be responsible. The world’s shapeshifters had kept their existence secret far too long for a small group of humans to accidentally discover them. Most of the scientific and news communities had dismissed the findings, but Jeff Nichols, the crackpot journalist, was all over the story.

  Worse, he’d identified her as a werewolf. A werewolf! The wolves were descendants of King Lycaon, who, along with his sons had been granted the ability to shift by the Greek god Zeus. They were completely unrelated to the foxes, who’d been created by ancient Germanic gods as warriors. Their common ancestor was Reginhard. As the legends and fables were passed from generations and crossed cultures, Reginhard became the surname of the werefox alpha, Reynard.

  She had no idea how Nichols had stumbled on her, but he could at least get the story straight. She was a fox, dammit, not some overgrown, bad-tempered puppy. Her clan thought it was hilarious. The whole mess appealed to them. After all, foxes were known as pranksters in most mythology. Of course, they weren’t the ones with their faces plastered all over those awful rags, were they?

  She heard a truck crank up and—glancing out the window—saw it drive away. She finished washing the grout off her hands and hurried upstairs. The house was almost finished. She’d come to see how the final stages were progressing and had been roped into assisting with tiling the kitchen backsplash. Truthfully, she didn’t mind. It was the kind of thing she loved and also the reason she’d got degrees in architecture and design. After school, she’d joined the family construction business. She’d only been in charge of the residential side of the company for three years, but she’d been working in it since she was a kid.

  The stairs opened onto a large landing that had been designed at the client’s request as a library/lounge area. The second story had natural teak floors, which contrasted nicely with the crisp white built-in bookcases that surrounded the landing. The bedrooms on either side of the library differed only in color. She went through the guest room before moving to the opposite end of the landing to the master suite. She’d given the client exactly what he wanted and had to admit the man had good taste.

  The back wall was all windows and French doors that led to a balcony, which stretched the length of the house. The room had a sitting area in an alcove that managed to feel private even though it was open, and the bathroom was to die for. She took her time checking it out. It was done in warm earth tones, had a huge walk-in shower and a tub she was convinced would hold four. It was positively decadent. Sighing, she flipped off the light switch and went back downstairs.

  In contrast to the traditional upstairs, the first story looked like something out of a slick urban magazine. The floors were polished concrete and the front half of the house was an open living, dining and kitchen area. A small guest bath was tucked into a short hall which led to the final room. The house featured the first studio she’d built for a working artist and so far it was the least-finished room. Only the floors and walls were complete. She had an appointment with the artist later in the week to discuss work surfaces and storage areas.

  She heard the front door close as more of the guys left and hastened to follow them. As soon as she stepped outside, she felt watched. Damn, she was getting sick of this. She let her fox side rise to the surface and sharpen her vision, but she didn’t see anything or anyone who didn’t belong when she looked around. Was danger really lurking or was she just paranoid? It seemed ludicrous to believe someone was watching her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. She decided to swing by her parents’ house. One of her brothers was bound to be there for lunch. It would be easy to rope one into having a look around.

  She stepped off the porch to the sidewalk, giving the area another visual sweep. Nothing looked suspicious. There were a couple of guys getting in a truck and another couple on the far side of the yard, packing up the tools by the new retaining wall. She waved as she headed toward her own vehicle. She’d arrived late and had to park a bit down the street.

  It was broad daylight, bright and growing chilly as the first storm of the season moved in. She felt like she was walking through town alone at night, though. She dug her keys out of her pocket, eyeing the tree line beside her, and activated the remote when she was in range. By then her senses were screaming. She took a deep breath to test the air. At first all she scented was woods, the last honeysuckle of the season and fresh cut grass. Then there was the faintest hint of man. When the scent’s owner stepped out from behind a tree, she cried out, more from surprise than fear.

  She was damned glad she had when she met his gaze and took another deep breath. His scent was putrid in a way she’d learned to associate with violence. Malevolence. His eyes glittered, his expression anticipatory. He was several inches taller than her, bulky the way bodybuilders were, balding and scary as hell. Then he lunged for her. Her heart thudded in her chest and she backpedaled, just managing to stay on her feet and pivot to run away. She had agility and a shifter’s heightened speed on her side, but if the last two guys on today’s crew—both werewolves—hadn’t been so close she would have been caught. She felt something sting her shoulder through the thin long-sleeved shirt she wore. The two shifters, raced toward her in human form, yelling her name. She made it another couple of steps before her knees went out and her vision dimmed.

  The yelling woke her, but it took several minutes before the conversation sounded like more than jumbled syllables. The words came together slowly, one here and there. Attack. Daughter. Tranquilizers. She frowned—at least she thought she did—as she struggled to make sense of the fog in her brain. She forced her eyes open and then turned to shield her face from the glare of the overhead light. The room reeked of fear and fury, and it took a minute to get her bearings. She was in her old bedroom at her parents’ house, and they weren’t yelling as she’d thought. They stood by the door talking with Michael, the werewolf alpha.

  Shit. What had happened? She sat up, ignoring the dizziness that rushed over her, and struggled to remember. She’d been checking out a house that was almost complete. No, she’d been leaving and a man had stepped out from the trees and had tried grab her. She rubbed a sore spot on her shoulder and remembered feeling a sting before she passed out. Someone in the room had mention tranqs. Had the man attempted to drug and kidnap her? It wasn’t the skeevy reporter. She’d recognize him. Maybe it was just a random incident. She knew it couldn’t be, though, and dismissed the idea about the time the others noticed her sitting up. Scents assailed her. Anger, relief. Fear. She groaned. Well, hell. She was so screwed. It had taken years to wrest her independence from her father. This would make him impossible.

  “How do you feel, baby?” her mom asked, rushing to her side.

  “Fine,” she croaked, and reached for the water bottle on the table, surprised at how parched she was. “What the—heck—happened?”

  He
r mother cussed almost as much as she did, and her father always griped at them about their language. Her mother hadn’t missed the almost-slip and winked as Sara Beth’s father and Michael, the werewolf, approached and stopped toward the bottom of her bed. Michael held up a small dart. She scooted forward to take it from him, then brought it up to her nose and sniffed. It was a common animal tranquilizer.

  “Did they catch him?” she asked. She remembered the two werewolves racing to her rescue.

  Michael shook his head. He didn’t look particularly worried, but an expression that crossed his face made her nervous. It was almost expectant, anticipatory. What the hell was that about?

  “Well, it wasn’t the sleazeball reporter,” she said. “This guy was a lot bigger and meaner looking.”

  “Which is what concerns us,” her father said, his voice trembling in anger. Will Reynard glanced at the others, and Sara Beth got the feeling they’d made some decision she was really going to hate. While her father was alpha of the small local fox clan, the clan itself was under the protection of the much bigger werewolf clan. Michael’s word was law, whether she liked it or not. And she really didn’t.

  “Michael believes until we find out who the guy was and eliminate the threat, it’s best if you go into protective custody,” her father said. “I agree.”

  Oh he did, did he? This was worse than she thought. She turned, narrowing her eyes on the werewolf, wondering how it benefitted him if she disappeared for a few days. Michael never did anything without ulterior motives.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. I was surprised today. I won’t be again and I’ll make sure I keep my pistol with me.” She was the best shot in the clan, but she rarely carried the weapon anywhere but the range. “I have too much to do to take a forced vacation. Besides, I might be able to help. I got a good look at him.”

  She wasn’t the best artist, but she was confident she could sketch an accurate likeness.

  “You do most of your work from your home office, Sara Beth. And there is no way you’re getting more involved in this,” her father pointed out in a tone that told her just how determined he was to protect his adult daughter. “You can take everything you need with you.”

  She sighed. She knew when she was facing a losing battle. “And where am I going?”

  “To the eagles. They have the most secure lands,” Michael said. He sounded innocent enough and maybe that was the problem. Sara Beth got the feeling from his voice he was only interested in her as an excuse to visit the eagles. But why did he need one?

  She supposed it didn’t matter. She hadn’t seen Ajax or her girls in a couple of months so a short visit would be nice, and she knew from experience she wouldn’t have any problems accessing the internet or phone lines. But that wasn’t why she still resisted the idea.

  “Okay,” she said, giving her father a stern look. “But only for a couple of days.”

  “This isn’t up for debate, Sara Beth,” Michael said. His words were pure alpha and set her teeth on edge.

  She nodded acquiescence and prayed to the gods she could avoid the one person on the eagle’s mountain who posed any danger to her. Patrick Aquila. She hadn’t spoken to him in a decade, though she caught the occasional distant glimpse when he came into town. But she hadn’t entered his territory in years and he was one of Ajax’s advisors. What were the odds he wouldn’t get told about this? Hopefully, their paths wouldn’t cross. Given half the chance, he’d steal her heart and soar away with it. And he probably wouldn’t even realize he was doing it.

  Thankfully, he was Ajax’s First Consul. He’d be the last choice for bodyguard duty.

  Chapter Two

  Patrick Aquila was looking forward to finishing this last minute meeting and getting back to Guard headquarters on top of the mountain. He’d been accused of being antsy and claustrophobic, but neither was an accurate description of his mood. Feeling confined wasn’t what caused his impatience. This was more like apathy, and hell, going back probably wouldn’t help. He’d come down because he’d been bored training new members of the Queen’s Guard.

  He needed something to shake things up. A little excitement. He was tempted to blame it on his ancestry. Wereeagles had been granted the ability of flight by Hermes, after a runner carried word to Athens of the Greek’s victory over the Persians at Marathon. The urge to soar was part of his DNA.

  He glanced over at Nico and Ajax, the wereeagle queen. Her head was bent over reports, but her mate was bouncing Alex, their one year old daughter, on his knee to the girl’s delighted chortles. Ayla, her four year old sister, in eagle form, was wildly careening around the ceiling. Every few minutes she’d dive at Patrick so he’d pretend he was afraid of the elder royal daughter. He grinned as she made her next pass. There was never a dull moment with Ajax’s daughters. He didn’t want that much excitement, but he had to admit the girls kept things interesting.

  “Why are we here again?” he asked Ajax. “I thought we were through catering to Hector Leonidas’s whims. No offense, Nico,” Patrick added, not quite apologetically to the former wereleopard leader’s son.

  Ajax laughed. “As long as he’s holding Ayla or Alex, you can insult him all you want. And I don’t know any more than I’ve already told you. Hector says Michael is bringing someone he wants us to protect.”

  Ajax didn’t say it, but Patrick knew he’d be the one to get stuck with babysitting duty. This better not be about werewolf or wereleopard politics. Though since the four Leonidas brothers had mated—two of them to wolves—the hostilities between the two species had cooled so much he often thought nothing of it to see them together. But he still didn’t want to get stuck on a protection detail. He had every intention of pawning it off to one of the squads in the Guard.

  And he’d like to get on with it. What was taking so long? He stood and ducked as Ayla dived once again. He paced to the window. There were no roads up the mountain so the residents used four-wheelers for guests or transporting things from the mountain base. As he watched the dirt path Michael would use, he heard the faint hum of the vehicle approaching. Finally, Michael, Hector and the stranger came into sight and parked under the house. Patrick didn’t get a good look at the occupant, who wore a coat and hood. Since his first duty was to protect the royal family, he stepped out to intercept the newcomers. He hadn’t been briefed, had no idea if the mystery guest was a threat.

  The balcony circled the house. He had to walk around to meet them at the stairs.

  He froze when their unexpected visitor took the first step. She was a female fox. Her scent was intoxicating—sweet with a hint of fire—and she was irritated. He would be too, after who-knew-how-long with Michael and Hector.

  He held his breath as she came around the curve in the stairs. She carried a backpack and small duffel bag and was wearing an unzipped cream-colored, faux fur lined coat with a tight pink shirt under it. He grinned at the glittery hammer emblazoned across her chest. Her jeans were form-fitting, and her scuffed work boots obviously saw hard use. When she looked up, still several feet below him, her big brown eyes flashed with recognition but it took him a second to figure out how he knew her. She threw back the coat’s hood and rich, dark auburn waves spilled around her shoulders with streaks of white framing her face. Her scent should have been familiar, and when he took a deep breath he recognized the girl he’d known.

  “Well hello, foxy,” he drawled when she stepped onto the balcony.

  Damn, she had pretty eyes. Her chilly gaze should have left him a pile of ice on the floor, but it started an entirely different kind of reaction. He blocked her when she tried to step around him, prompting a subtle, almost imperceptible change to her scent. Fear. Not only was it a slap in the face, it provoked protective instincts much deeper and darker than he’d known he was capable. He couldn’t stand for her to be afraid of him anymore than he could let her run from him.

  As Michael and Hector came into view, quietly arguing with each other, Patrick took Sara Beth’s h
and and gently tugged her farther onto the balcony and closer to Ajax’s family. He walked backward so he could keep an eye on her, though if he was honest, he’d admit he watched her so closely because he couldn’t stop drinking her in. So he saw her nostrils flare, saw the way she relaxed when she realized he was taking her into a crowd. He wanted to pull her close and shelter her from whatever had scared her. The girl he’d known was fearless, and as he watched, she conquered her fright and looked more like the fox he remembered.

  He smiled, hoping to put her at ease while wondering how long it would take before he convinced her to let him hold her and stroke all those lush curves she didn’t bother to hide anymore.

  “You’ve grown up,” he teased.

  She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t.”

  “Oh, foxy,” he said, looking her up and down. “We’ve both grown up.”

  He could hear her grind her teeth and hid his grin. He knew she hated being called that, which was why he’d used it when she was a young teenager trying to follow around the older kids. The nickname pissed her off, had made it easier to keep her at a distance. A three year age difference was no big deal now, but it had been in high school. He’d been drawn to her even then. But damn, the woman had grown into the name. Whether she liked it or not, it suited her now.

  He realized she didn’t know that though. He’d given her the perfect opportunity to flirt back, but she didn’t respond to his teasing. Instead she withdrew, despite her scent taking on a subtle hint of longing, and her eyes were suspicious—like she questioned his interest, didn’t believe it. She didn’t have the air of a woman confident in her sensuality. It made no sense. Were the foxes and wolves in her life idiots? It didn’t matter. He wanted to be the one to show her. Didn’t want to share her. Emotion gripped him and twisted his insides. He was amazed at the unexpected possessiveness and forced himself to shut down and step back. He’d never been possessive of a woman and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.