Outfoxed: A Zodiac Shifters Paranormal Romance: Gemini

by Melissa Snark

  "Yeah, I'm aware." Silver shifted in his seat. Perspiration gathered on his brow, and he was sure he wore a mustache of sweat beads. Whatever the hunter's services cost, he'd pay it for Hannah's sake, however, he was positive the price would be more than he could afford... no matter what Gretchen asked for.

  He braced for the worst. "What will it cost?"

  Gretchen rapped her fingernails against the desktop. She stayed quiet for a long time during while the tension built and built. Then, she glanced over at Hannah. "I'd like to speak with Silver alone. Would you please wait outside?"

  Hannah sat stock-still. Stubbornness hardened her face. She jutted her jaw and looked about to refuse, but then shot suddenly to her feet. Her hand lighted upon his shoulder and she bent to whisper into his ear.

  "Please be careful." Hannah's breath, warm and gusty, sent shivers coursing along his spine. Silver's mood soared high, a ballistic missile, straight out of the atmosphere and over the moon. She did care!

  "I will." He turned his face and kissed her wrist. She tasted sweet, and he craved more.

  "I'll be outside." Hannah squeezed his shoulder and then let go. She straightened and left, closing the door behind her with a soft but fatal-sounding click.

  Staring after her, Silver heaved a sigh and gripped the edge of the desk. "I'll be lucky if she waits for me."

  A reluctant chuckle escaped Gretchen. "She's led you on a merry chase, I take it? That one has the look of a runner."

  "She's a fox." He smiled and shrugged. Should Hannah flee again, he'd pursue until he caught her again... for the thrill of the hunt, and the sweet promise of the prize.

  "She's lying to you. You know that, don't you?"

  "Yeah, I know." He hunched his shoulders, unable to offer a satisfactory reason for his foolishness. Hell, he couldn't even explain it to himself.

  "Silver, my sweet boy, what trap have you fallen into?" Gretchen tsked. "This woman denies you as her lover. She sat and said nothing while you put yourself on the line for her."

  He shot upright out of the chair and leaned over, resting his hands flat on the desk. "Gretchen, please, don't be so quick to judge. Hannah is frightened for her grandmother. She has more reasons to mistrust than to trust me. I haven't exactly been heroic."

  "You're in love." The Grimm Reaper passed judgement on him as though it was a death sentence.

  He blanked out and wavered. The ready, automatic denial that should've sprung to his lips eluded him like a rainbow in the mist. He wondered if the old woman was right—if he was in love. Did it even matter? Silver preferred not to dwell on it overly long. Love revealed itself in song. Music would guide him to the truth in his heart.

  "This is about more than just Hannah," Silver said. "My entire band is involved now. This is for them, too."

  "Fine." Gretchen smiled, inexplicably pleased. "I'll attend the exchange myself and bring a dozen of my men. If it proceeds smoothly and no shots are fired, you'll owe me a favor."

  "Thank you." He nodded, willing to agree to anything, even a nebulous favor owed without defined terms.

  "However..." Gretchen's sharp gaze flickered to him. It paralyzed him. "Should violence break out, you'll owe me that favor ten times over. Agreed?"

  The Grimm Reaper of Los Angeles offered her hand.

  To owe, to owe... He would wind up dead before he settled his accounts. Rueful reflection swept through Silver. He had gotten himself into this mess in the first place trying to repay the debt he owed Coyote. For the Trickster god's shenanigans, Coyote was generally benevolent toward his followers. Yet here Silver was, about to incur an even greater debt to a dangerous women of uncertain proclivity.

  He must be crazy.

  "Deal." With no further hesitation, Silver seized the hunter's small, cold hand. She had a grip like a goddess, as unbreakable as death. They shook, and his luck held. Gretchen let him go.

  "You know, you just guaranteed shit will go sideways for me with that stipulation," Silver muttered.

  "I know." Gretchen snickered. "When this is over, I'd like to hear that song."

  "When this is over, I'd like to sing it for you... if I'm still alive."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Coward. She was a fucking coward. Recrimination, shouted in her own voice, rang sharp through Hannah's mind. Those accusations chased, nipping at her heels, as she charged the heavy-duty security door at the back of the building. She hit the bar with both hands and put her full weight behind her, shoving it open. She burst into the cool winter night. Overhead, the city's light pollution made it impossible to see more than a handful of stars. February meant short days and long nights; dawn remained at least an hour off.

  Hannah's lie of omission—not disclosing Fiona's peril to Silver—had gone from unscrupulous to criminal in a heartbeat. Silver had given his word to Gretchen Grimm, a woman with a reputation for short-lived enemies, and Hannah just sat there without saying a word while he unwittingly staked his honor on a lie. If the truth caught up with them and Silver paid for Hannah's deceit... she would hate herself more than she already did.

  Why hadn't she stopped him? The only thing required of her would've been to open her mouth and speak. Unfortunately, the truth was as ugly as it was cruel—she was a selfish bitch.

  Hyperventilating, she threw her head back and sucked great gulps of air. Tears stung her eyes as she turned in a slow circle, seeking to gain her bearings. Lungs burning, heart throbbing. Her random path took her to the center of the alley where a puddle had accumulated in a narrow trough. She put her foot down in the middle of it. Her open-toed sandal offered no protection. Grimacing, she stepped back and kicked hard to shake off the water. She sent forth a wide spray—and her shoe shot off her foot and flew into the night too.

  "Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Motherfucker..." Furious and frustrated, Hannah marched in the direction she thought her wayward shoe had flown, but it was nowhere to be found. Finally, she gave up on finding it.

  She desperately needed some time alone, but she couldn't afford the luxury. She had more pressing priorities. Hours had passed since she'd last spoken to Marcus Malkin and failed to meet his men in front of her apartment building. She needed to make calling him her highest priority but she dreaded what she might find out. Fear ate at her nerves until she verged on a breakdown. The prospect that Fiona had paid with her life for Hannah's failure loomed over her. She was scared to the core, terrified for Fiona. Fiona's life mattered more than her own or even Silver's.

  Hannah dug her phone out of her coat pocket and called Marcus Malkin back at Fiona's number. While she waited, she paced and concentrated on not crushing the device. On the fifth ring, it went to voicemail. She left a short, disjointed message interspersed with explanations and apologies, but rambled on for too long, so she got cut off. Rather than re-record, she called back and left a second message begging Malkin to call her back.

  The walk back to the Grimm's Bail Bonds took a few minutes. Hannah tended to run when she became agitated and her restless stride had carried her farther than she’d meant to go. Poor Silver probably thought she'd run out on him again. Hell, it'd serve her right if he left without her. She jogged the last quarter mile, approaching the building from the south-facing front where they'd left his motorcycle. Normally she could run for miles at a stretch but the evening had been long and full of one demanding activity after another. She was close to exhaustion by the time she reached the parking lot.

  Her pulse kicked up a beat when she spotted Silver astride his motorcycle, a classic street bike that had a black and steel frame and a powerful motor that roared like a tiger when revved. He held his helmet and the bike engine was off. He twisted about, scanning his surroundings. The hunched set of his shoulders conveyed defeat.

  Blind with relief, she skidded to a stop. She bent over with her hands pressed to her sides, trying to catch her breath. When he kicked the bike off its stand, she panicked at the prospect of being left behind.

  She threw up her hand. "Silver! Wait.
"

  At the sound of her voice, Silver turned the motorcycle toward her. Relief lit his handsome face and as he smiled so brightly her heart performed a tango. He started up the bike, coasted over, and halted the rumbling machine.

  "Where'd you go? I figured I was gonna have to chase you down again," Silver said it like he was teasing, but the firm set of his brow and jaw betrayed his tension. He offered her the passenger helmet, and she accepted it.

  "I wander when I'm restless. I'm sorry." Hannah tilted toward him and feathered her lips along his jawline. She kissed the spot beneath his ear and then nipped his lobe. "You can't let the trail go cold like that. It makes a woman feel like she's not appreciated when she has to circle back around so the poor, dense man can find her."

  "I'll remember that." Silver succumbed to throaty laughter. His hands stroked her back and cupped her waist. His scent acquired lemony notes—happiness and pleasure. While she wrestled with putting on her helmet, he took advantage of her indisposition and pressed kisses to the bare skin over her throat. Somehow the shifty devil got his nose beneath the neckline of her dress and nuzzled the top of her breast.

  "Later." Playfully, she smacked him away and climbed onto the bike behind him. She cinched herself up against him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. She loved how it felt to lean on him, his solidness and his strength, and it was a dangerous desire to wish it could always be like this.

  "Later." Silver said it like a promise, and set about putting his helmet on. "What happened to your shoe?"

  "Cinderella syndrome," Hannah quipped to distract herself from the aching arousal in her core. "Will the hunters be there—at the exchange with Balthazar?"

  "Yeah. It's a done deal," he said over his shoulder.

  She winced. "What'd it cost you?"

  "Don't worry about it. You're worth it." Silver punctuated the declaration with a ferocious rev of the motor. The motorcycle shot off the mark and the rushing wind rendered all further conversation impossible.

  Tears stung Hannah's eyes. Silver was a good guy. Better than she deserved, and she was a fool to have compared him to Nick even for a second. She turned her face to the side and rested her head against his back, staring at the passing cityscape as they raced down the road. Crossing her heart, she vowed to find out what he owed Gretchen Grimm and settle his debt once this was all over.

  Thankfully, LA's notorious traffic was light that Saturday morning, so they made good time. Nonetheless, the drive took longer than expected because Hannah didn't know their exact destination, only what Silver had told her. According to her lover, the band wanted to move to a safer location until the whole thing was over.

  They headed north along the coastal highway and left the big city urban sprawl behind, toward the more beachy California communities on the stormy Pacific shore. The trip gave her time to think—too much time maybe, because contemplation turned to fretting. As a fox, Hannah didn’t liked to dither, and she was more likely to chew off her paw than benefit from a philosophical snare.

  Not long after dawn, they got off the freeway in Montecito, a grossly expensive and exclusive community that many celebrities called home. Montecito was home to millionaires and billionaires: it was definitely not the sort of place where a coyote or a fox-shifter fit in. She spent the rest of the ride worrying the local police would pull them over for driving while disreputable.

  Silver stopped the motorcycle outside the gated entrance of a mansion and leaned over to press the buzzer. He waved at the camera and a second later the elegant black iron doors swung slowly open. They rolled over a long, paved path and parked alongside a massive multi-car garage which was situated adjacent to the Mediterranean Revival-style mansion. A half-dozen detached buildings of the same architectural theme were scattered across the manicured grounds. The estate appeared to extend all the way to the ocean.

  Wide-eyed and tongue-tied, Hannah tilted back her head and gawked like a tourist at Disneyland. It boggled the mind. If his band had this kind of wealth, why had they been staying at that cheap motel?

  "This belongs to your band?"

  "It belongs to Ursula. She lets us stay here when we're not touring," Silver said with a sardonic smile. He touched her elbow, indicating the main house with an open hand. "This way."

  "I've been meaning to ask you about that but didn't want to be rude..."

  "Go ahead. I won't take offense."

  "It seems weird that a bear belongs to a coyote band."

  "Ursula would tell you that we belong to her—her pet coyotes. Bear-shifters live a long time. She's been with the band since Disco's grandfather founded it. Ursula has some great stories—she loves going on about the old days. If you ask, she'll talk your ear off." Silver grinned, gleaming with easy humor.

  "That's a long time." Envy tightened her gut. Her family had nothing approaching that sort of history. Beyond Bonita, Hannah had never met any of her grandparents. She knew nothing about her father's side.

  "Yeah, we're an odd bunch, but we're family. It works." Silver reached the grand entrance, opened the front door without knocking, and walked right in. The interior was as affluent as the exterior: high ceilings supported atop elegant columns, and a gleaming white marble floor.

  "Wow." Hannah craned her neck at the chandelier over the entry, which was worthy of an opera house with its grandiose pendalogues and gleaming arms. Her tired mind couldn't even begin to calculate what the residence might be worth, but she imagined the figure exceeded her net worth plus her entire lifetime of earnings as a security consultant. This was the sort of palace that thieves dreamed about robbing.

  Ursula must seriously trust her pet coyotes.

  "Shoes off." Silver bent to tug off his motorcycle boots and then dumped them into an out-of-place wicker basket that was already full of assorted footwear almost certainly belonging to the other members of the band.

  "Shoe." Hannah made a show of placing her single sandal atop the pile. Its mate was forever lost in that alley behind Grimm's Bail Bonds. My, wasn't she a fine Cinderella? Somehow, she doubted her Prince Charming would ever show up with her missing slipper.

  Heck, one shoe was just the tip of the iceberg. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and no chance of being able to safely return home any time soon. Not that it mattered if her Nana and Fiona weren't there. Family made a home. In her advanced state of hunger and exhaustion, the whole thing depressed her to the point where she just wanted to collapse and never move again. She must have stood there scowling at the basket overly long; her thoughts written on her face.

  "Hey, it's okay. We'll find you something to wear. You're about Branwen's size. I'm sure she's got sandals you can borrow." Silver wrapped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her against his chest.

  Blinking, she turned her face into his throat, inhaling his warm aroma. He smelled like home. Maybe she was wrong about her Prince Charming. Maybe he wore a duster instead of a doublet, a masked bandit and unlikely hero... Her lips brushed over the pulsating point on his throat over his carotid artery. Unexpectedly, her stomach gurgled, a reminder she hadn't eaten in hours, but the ache between her legs was worse.

  "Hannah," Silver sang her name in his angelic voice, husky with need. He stroked her hair, tangling his fingers in cinnamon strands that were unkempt following the motorcycle ride. He pressed against her, bumping his crotch against her hip. He slid his hand across her ass, sank his fingers in hard, and hauled her against him. He ground himself against her hip.

  "Hmm, horny are we?" Hannah asked with a husky laugh. The power she held over him was intoxicating. She nipped at his throat.

  "Horny doesn't cover it." Silver cupped a hand against her ear and in that sinful song-voice whispered, "I want to shove you against that wall and fuck you until you can't stand."

  She giggled and hitched closer to him.

  "No hanky panky in my foyer!" Ursula's scolding voice carried down the hallway and she bustled toward them. Immediately they separated and Hannah sighed in
regret, missing his touch.

  "Sorry, Ursula. It won't happen again, promise." Silver flashed a cheeky grin and held up his hand in a pledge.

  "I didn't say stop wooing your lady—just don't do it in my foyer." Chuckling, Ursula rounded behind them and herded them along. Hannah found her feet moving even though she had no thought as to their destination. Silver, though, seemed to know where he was going so she followed him.

  They wound up in the kitchen, which was as imposing as the rest of the house; however, Ursula's homey touches were all over the room like fingerprints, from seashell magnets on the fridge to the tantalizing chili bubbling on the stove. Silver leaned over the pot to steal a taste, earning a wrathful swat from Ursula that almost knocked him in. Laughing, he fled around the island.

  Hunger got the better of hilarity. Ursula settled them at the breakfast counter atop mahogany stools. They inhaled bowls of steak chili loaded with cheese and blue corn tortilla chips. Conversation stayed to a minimum, but a few salient facts emerged: the rest of the band was either asleep or out on errands while Branwen labored over her enchantment.

  "That was delicious. Thank you so much," Hannah said to Ursula while the bear cleared their dishes. A yawn pulled her jaws apart. She slumped over, tipping toward Silver, and rested her cheeks against his shoulder with a contented hum.

  "Come on. I'll put you to bed." Silver wrapped an arm around her and helped her to her feet. He just happened to caress her breast—accidentally, she was sure.

  "I need a shower. I stink."

  He snickered against her hair. "There's a Jacuzzi tub."

  "I'm all over that."

  His velvet soft lips feathered across her brow, and tension thrummed through his powerful body. "I'm all over you?"

  He ended on a high note—asking permission. She lifted her chin, looked into his eyes, and found the most endearing uncertainty in his gaze.

  "You'd better be," Hannah said, arching into him in nonverbal affirmation. Invitation.

  "Both of you! Go make with the hanky panky in private! Now!" Waving her arms, Ursula chased them from the kitchen.