by Vivian Wood
Shifter’s Vignettes Emma and Connall
A Louisiana Shifters Book
Vivian Wood
Contents
Author’s Copyright
Protection
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Louisiana Shifters Series
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
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Copyright Vivian Veritas Publishing 2014
May not be replicated or reproduced in any manner without express and written permission from the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Louisiana Shifters Series
Shifter’s Ascent
Shifter’s Legacy
Shifters Vignettes: Maddie and Jasper
Shifters Vignettes: Rose and Mason
Shifters Vignettes: Ian and Jeanne
Shifters Vignettes: Emma and Connall
Louisiana Shifters Super Collection
1
Chapter One
The sound of her own gasping sobs awoke Emma from the dream. She curled up on her side in her usually-comforting enclosed loft bed, tears streaming unchecked as she struggled not to choke on her own anguish.
The boy had died again, this time in Emma’s arms. Not a boy really, a dark-haired teen. In the dream she’d been on her knees in the middle of a suburban front yard, clutching the boy to her chest. There was so much blood, all over the young man’s face and all over Tessa’s chest and hands. The vivid scarlet had been so startling against the paleness of Emma’s skin.
Even now, tucked safe in her lofted queen-sized bed, Emma could feel the warmth and soft tack of the blood on her hands. She was afraid to look at them, as if this time she might have come back from the dream with a visible memento.
But no, when her sobs subsided and she felt calm enough to look, her hands were perfectly clean. Ten fingers, all flesh toned, not a drop of blood anywhere.
It said a lot about Emma’s recent life that she could find comfort in the fact that she wasn’t blood-soaked. Not that it had happened in real life, not yet anyway. And who knew, she thought, maybe this time it would never happen.
Maybe Emma wouldn’t get that sickening sensation, the one that crawled over her skin and through her veins telling her to MOVE MOVE MOVE RIGHT NOW. Maybe Emma wouldn’t follow her writhing gut, going where it pulled her. Anything to make the feeling stop, to force the sensation from her bones.
Maybe this time she wouldn’t end up at the scene of a car accident, staring helplessly at a bunch of dead bodies. Or outside some silent building in the Warehouse District. Or in the waiting room of an ER… the list went on and on.
Something about death called to Emma, and she always ended up-
Better not to think about it right now. She was still shaking, her slender frame sticking damply to the sheets. Thoughts swirled wildly in her brain, daring her to keep up.
Something had been wrong in the dream, Emma thought. No, not wrong - although lots of bad things always happened in this particular dream. Something had been different. Emma thought back on the dream, trying to find what was out of place. She’d had this dream thirty or so times already, and it had never been much different. Sometimes it was clearer, sure-
An image from the dream surfaced, interrupting her thoughts. She saw herself kneeling in the grass, holding the young man tightly to her chest. But this time when she’d cried out for help, she hadn’t been alone.
HE had been there this time. The perfect man, the one she had been visiting in her dreams for over a year. The one who drove her to distraction, the one whose eyes she imagined she could feel watching every time she stepped outside her apartment.
What the heck had he been doing in the other dream? She had both almost every night, but they had never crossed over before. Surely this was a sign that her craziness had reached a new level.
Again, better not to think about it now. Emma’s life mantra, she thought wryly. Anything that let her push away the darkness moment to moment.
Scrambling down the bed’s ladder, Emma stripped off her now-chilled panties and tee shirt. She headed into the bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as it would go. While it heated up she examined herself in the mirror, as if to find an outward sign of the turmoil within. She rolled her eyes at her thoughts. What was she expecting to find, stigmata?
Emma tossed her long auburn locks over her shoulder, impatient to get in the shower but unable to look away from her own reflection. Her heart shaped face dropped off to delicate shoulders, a trim torso, and very long legs. Waist-length hair encircled her slender figure, hiding her upper torso.
It suited Emma, since her D-cup breasts and sparkling blue eyes were often the target of unwanted attention. In fact, aside the usual creepy men she often caught women eyeing her critically, as if they found her offensive. In truth, Emma spent hours at the pointe barre at her local dance studio. The repetitive motions and quest for grace and perfection freed her, allowed her to escape from her worries and fears.
Her lithe dancer’s body and full breasts were natural, as were her ocean-in-a-storm eyes. Emma would never draw attention to herself with padded bras or colored contacts; she shrunk from others’ admiration and derision alike. When she went to her ballet classes or anywhere else that she’d have to show off her body, she often wore a sports bra to downplay her curves. She just wanted to be Emma, not the object of strangers’ misplaced envy or mindless lust.
Breaking off of her obsessive thoughts, Emma climbed into the shower and rinsed off the sweat and fear still coating her skin. Showers were always a moment of reprieve for her, a time to shake off the dreams and just be normal for a few minutes. She stood under the spray for a long time, letting the heat soak into her skin as her mind wandered.
For about the thousandth time, Emma wished that her dream man was real and present. If he were here right now, he would wrap her in his arms and comfort her. Tell her she was beautiful, that she wasn’t losing her mind at all. He’d have all the answers, even to the mystery of the dreams that wouldn’t let her sleep.
At least she enjoyed those dreams. Every night when she fell asleep, Emma found herself wrapped up in the embrace of the most incredible-looking man. Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t begin to describe him. He was nearly six and a half feet tall, making Emma’s five foot nine height suddenly seem tiny. He was olive complected and nicely tanned. When they touched in her dreams, the contrast of his darkness against her pale skin made her smile.
Then there was his body. His large frame was dense, thickly packed with muscle around his thighs, torso, chest
, and arms. He wasn’t some freakish bodybuilder, but every single ab and arm muscle stood out like a honed weapon. Just thinking about the smooth expanse of muscle at his narrow hips made Emma’s mouth water. In her dreams, he entered the room and she was instantly hot to the touch. She’d never experienced that with anyone in real life.
Lastly there was his gorgeous face, his wavy dark hair falling just above the starched collar of the pressed white dress shirt he normally wore over dark trousers. His proud, broad forehead led down to a prominent nose. His nose had been broken at some point and had a slight list to the left, but that was all the better. It gave his rugged face even more character, Emma thought. He had sleek dark brows and just the right amount of scruff on his cheeks - it wasn’t a beard exactly, but he was never clean-shaven.
Emma had never kissed anyone with facial hair before, and it felt a bit naughty. Maybe she was too sheltered, but it was enough to pique her interest. And the things he did to her in her dreams, the words he whispered to her in that gravelly purr…
Emma shook herself. This was not helping her to relax and de-stress. If anything, thinking of her fantasy boyfriend made her feel as though her skin was stretched too tight, every inch too sensitive and hot. It made her want to…
No, she scolded herself. She already gave him hours of her life in her dreams, she didn’t need to let her fantasies take over her waking life too. She made herself think neutral thoughts, mostly about work. That did a excellent job of chasing off any errant sexy thoughts.
When she finally felt relaxed and slightly more composed, she turned off the water and got out of the shower. She avoided looking at the mirror this time, even though it would be coated in fog by now. The last thing she needed was to run down the list of her imperfections again.
She padded across the loft to her desk. Just the simple act of booting up her laptop and checking the supply counts for her t-shirt website made her feel more normal.
Her little business practically ran itself, aside from the occasional designing of new prints and making sure the printer had shirts in every size and color. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing that needed to be done at the moment. She’d only logged off the site six hours ago, and then only because she’d seen the morning light filtering in through the heavily-draped windows.
Emma turned to the the window and estimated the hour by the amount of light. Probably about noon. Her smart phone lay next to her laptop, and she picked it up to see how close she’d gotten. It was twelve thirty-two, so she hadn’t been far off.
A new message from Emma’s longtime BFF blinked demandingly. She opened the message and put it on speaker, sinking back into her padded office chair to listen.
“Hey girl, it’s Stace. This is just a little reminder that you have a hot date with me tonight to see a real live rugby match. Don’t flake out! You said you were going to bring the margaritas, too. And don’t be late. Okay, call me if you need me. Bye!”
Emma sighed. Good thing Stace had left a message, because she’d completely forgotten that she’d agreed to go out tonight. It had taken a lot of sweet-talking on Stace’s part, since it was an outdoors sporting event - not exactly Emma’s idea of a fun night out.
Then again, when was the last time Emma’d gone out and had fun? She thought about it for a few seconds, then shook her head. Since she couldn’t put her finger on a specific event, it had probably been way too long. All the isolation soothed her, but it likely only added to her already-substantial nutcase-ness.
Alright, so she’d go out. No big deal, right?
Of course then she’d have to find her makeup bag, and blow out her hair, and pick out an appropriate outfit. What did one wear to a rugby match, exactly? Maybe she should look it up online.
This was going to take some doing, apparently. Shaking her head, Emma got up from her desk to start getting ready.
2
Chapter Two
Several hours later, Emma stepped out of the air-conditioned cool of her Warehouse District loft and into the fiery-hot New Orleans sun. It was already early evening, but the heat hadn’t abated on bit. No surprise there.
Fishing her cell phone out of her purse, she checked the screen as she got in her car. She had two missed calls from her friend Stacey, probably wondering why Emma was so late. Shaking her head, Emma sent her friend a text letting her know she was on the way and pulled out of the parking lot.
It was nearly six in the evening by now, so there was a good chance of a crazy traffic jam. Heading northwest across the city, Emma was relieved to find that there wasn’t much traffic at all. When she pulled into the stadium’s small parking lot she’d managed to keep her mind off her fantasy lover for a whole twenty minutes, a new record probably.
Getting out of the car, she spotted her friend near the entrance.
“Stace!” Emma shouted, waving. Stace gave her a look that said her tardiness had definitely been noticed. Emma hurried to grab the drink cooler, leaning way into the back seat to grab it. As she shut the door, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Not half a foot behind her was a hulking blond man, leaning casually against the rear of a black sedan.
“Gods!” Emma breathed, pressing a hand over her heart. “You scared the bejezus out of me!”
The blond giant gave her a crooked grin, his light green eyes twinkling. Extending a hand, he introduced himself.
“Not my intention. Sam Riaeg, damned pleased to meet you.”
“Um, okay. Emma,” she said, shaking his hand as briefly as possible.
“Emma, would you like to come in and sit in the VIP section?” the man asked bluntly, looking her up and down with satisfaction. Emma blinked, surprised. The man was incredibly good looking, pure All-American beefcake.
“I- I’m cant, sorry. I’m meeting some friends. We already have seats,” she stuttered, confused.
“Perhaps after the game, then? We all go out to the bar across the street to celebrate, win or lose.”
“Um, maybe?” Emma said, uncomfortable. He wasn’t even coming on that strong, she just wasn’t the least bit interested.
“All right. Nice to meet you, Emma,” he said, giving her another grin before trotting off to the stadium’s entrance.
Shaking her head, Emma followed his footsteps to meet up with Stace, who by now was giving her a look that bordered on murderous.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I just spaced and lost track of time,” Emma waved her hand in exasperation.
“What did that guy say to you?” Stace asked, obviously a bit envious.
“Oh, he just sort of introduced himself. He said there’s an after-party across the street later,” Emma said, waving off the conversation.
“Jesus, Em. I can’t take you anywhere with guys, can I?”
“Sorry. He just sort of appeared behind me. Scared the crap out of me, actually.” She gave Stace an apologetic look.
“I will forgive you as long as you remembered to bring the drinks,” the petite blonde said, feigning stoicism.
“Got ‘em right here,” Emma said, holding up a small cooler filled with homemade margaritas and ice.
“Thank god! I was starting to get really bored. Leslie told me to get here at five, but the game still hasn’t even started. I need you to entertain me,” Stace said, pouting.
“I’m sure the tequila will help,” Emma said with a laugh, following her friend up the stairs and inside the stadium. She’d been here a few times before for the local college’s football games, so the tall cement bleachers and pristine green field were familiar.
The real surprise was the fact that there was quite an audience, probably almost a hundred people scattered loosely around the bleachers in pairs and small groups. On top of that, the fans were almost all female. Emma frowned. Not your normal sporting event, then.
There were no players on the field yet, but there were a couple of zebra-striped referees walking around the field. As Emma followed Stace up the stairs to sit with a small cluster of women they both knew, her cur
iosity grew.
“I thought this was supposed to be a sporting event? Like, casual dress! Why is everyone so dressed up?” she whispered to Stace. The second she had walked up and greeted the group, she’d noticed that each woman was completely decked out in club attire. Short, hip dresses and spike heels, hair artfully arranged and smoky-eyed makeup.
“I don’t know,” Stace admitted, finding a spot for them to sit just above the other women. “This is my first time here. Leslie heard about it from one of her coworkers that comes here every week. The other girls all came last week, but I was busy.”
Emma nodded, looking down at her own attire. She wore a long strapless dress, blue with thin yellow stripes running across. On her feet were a simple pair of sandals, nothing showy like the designer heels the other women flaunted.
“I think this is the first time I’ve felt under-dressed in a football stadium,” Emma muttered.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. You look great, as usual. And I’m not dressed up either,” Stace said, motioning to her skinny jeans and fitted tee shirt. Emma just shrugged and opened the cooler, pulling out her oversized thermos. She poured drinks for them both, noting that almost everyone in the audience had some sort of drink in hand. It was Louisiana in the summer time, after all. Even as dusk approached it was hot as Hades.
“Here they come!” yipped one of the women in their group, excited. A whistle blew, and two sets of men trotted out of the lockers. There were no team colors worn to identify which team was which, each man just wore a pair of athletic shorts, knee-high socks, and a t-shirt.
“Holy crap,” Stace breathed, watching them jog onto the field.
Emma had to agree. Each man was exquisite in a completely different way. All had different skin tones and coloring, but they were all tall and they were all breathtakingly handsome. One of the first ones to come out was a toffee-skinned Columbian hottie that waved and winked at the women in the crowd as he came out.
