by Cait Miller
Jack awoke to find the pink and gold light from the setting sun shining through his hotel room window, painting the cream walls with color and giving glowing life to the dark wood furniture. He felt his mate’s presence in his mind, an awareness that was difficult to describe, both comforting and arousing. A slight breeze stirred the curtains at the open window, bringing with it the scent of the sea and the distant sound of music from a car radio. He had slept the whole day away! By the time he had returned to his first-floor room after breakfast, his head had been reeling with dizziness and exhaustion had him dragging his steps. After hanging the Do Not Disturb sign and locking his door, he had kicked off his shoes, flopped down fully clothed on the green plaid duvet of the king-size bed, and been asleep in minutes.
While the room was no longer spinning around him, he still felt slightly lightheaded. Mind you, that could be due to the fact that he had gone all day with only some cereal and coffee when his body had already been lacking in fuel. Room service would definitely have to be his first priority… Okay, second, he thought as his bladder reminded him of this morning’s coffee. Cautiously, he raised himself to his elbows before swinging his legs to the side of the bed and slowly standing. The corner of his mouth curved in satisfaction when everything stayed where it should be. He stretched, groaning as the muscles in his back protested, before walking into the bathroom, scratching his chest absently.
Minutes later Jack emerged and headed for the phone on the nightstand to order lunch.
I’m hungry.
The feeling took him by surprise. It had been so long since he had enjoyed a meal that he was tempted to order the whole menu. Restraining the impulse with difficulty, he asked for soup and a sandwich instead. He had not had any appetite for a couple of weeks. Had in fact had to force himself to eat and knew that gorging now would only make him ill. This was yet another unsettling part of his heritage. While he could perhaps have ignored the desire to mate for longer, he could not go as long without food or sleep. Part of him had realized that he was basically starving and exhausting himself but the other part was pining for a mate. As the mating cycle progressed, those instincts had grown stronger and the appeal of food had declined. He knew that had he not found and linked with one of the marked, the rational—human—part of him would have eventually been overcome and he would have very slowly died.
It was the itching that stirred him from his reverie. The itch on his chest had gradually spread to the rest of his body. Instantly Jack’s mind flashed back to that long-ago night when he was a teenager, and he knew that he was changing. Panicked, he threw off his clothes and watched as thick black hair forced its way from beneath his skin. He held his trembling hands up as his nails darkened and grew into sharp claws and his fingers seemed to shrink back into the now rough black skin of his palms. His eyes closed while his scalp tightened and his ears burned, but he knew the worst was still to come. Sweat sluiced down his face and back, he groaned low and hoarse, words beyond him, as he felt the burning sensation again just above his buttocks and knew he now had a tail. The pain began in his face and mouth then spread downwards as teeth, bone, muscle and joints reshaped themselves. His whole body was in agony…
Gradually the pain subsided. He fell forward as his back and hips became unable to support his upright position and he realized he was standing on four paws. Jack padded over to the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door and regarded with resignation the large animal staring back at him. All at once he was surrounded by sights, sounds and smells that even his normal sharp senses had been unaware of. It was difficult to associate the sleek black cat with himself, even having been surrounded with shifters all his life. For his kind the transformation was a very private thing and he had never actually seen it happen. The only memories he had of his own transformation as a boy was the pain of the shift and a confusion of alien urges and images of hunting. The animal’s strength of will had swept him away until he didn’t know who he was anymore.
His eyes closed as he again fought a battle against the instincts more familiar to this body.
With the knock at the door and the call of “room service” the battle was lost and the only thought in Jack’s mind as he turned for the open window was mate.
* * * * *
Megan trailed into her flat just after sunset, kicking off her shoes and hitching up her skirt to peel off her tights, not even pausing as she tossed them with her bag through the open door of her bedroom. Wincing at the resulting crash, she carried on to the living room and dropped onto the threadbare blue couch with a groan, resting her feet on the small table in front of her. “It’s time you learned to say ‘no’, Meg. N. O. Say it with me, it is not a difficult word. The next time that little weed of a manager asks you to work an extra shift… You. Say. No.” She let her head drop onto the back of the couch. “And here you are, talking to yourself again!” Maybe, she thought with a smile, I should get a cat or two. Then all the kids could call me “Crazy Meg, the cat lady who talks to herself”, while they hide in the bushes sniggering at me. At least there would be a little bit of excitement in my life.
In truth, she reflected grimly, she could not afford to say no to any extra shifts no matter how sore her feet got. The rent on the flat took up most of her paycheck and the rest just seemed to disappear into thin air. She liked the freedom her job gave her, but it might be time to look for something else that paid a little better. She studied the room around her, eyes touching on the pale blue walls with the framed posters adding splashes of color. The floor was just plain wood that she had sanded and varnished. A wooden coffee table she had also refinished sat on a woven rug in the same blue as the walls.
The rest of the furniture in the room was also secondhand, fixed to the best of her ability. Except for her CD player—which had been a Christmas gift to herself this year—and the small television and VCR she had won in a supermarket raffle last year. She smiled to herself as she remembered how she had choked on a grape she had just liberated from the fruit and vegetable display when her name had been announced over the supermarket loudspeaker. For a moment she had been convinced that security cameras were focused on her, the grape thief. She had not pinched another grape since, that’s for sure.
However, despite the state of her finances she had every intention of ordering takeaway for dinner. She had earned it and she had not eaten since lunchtime. Thus justified, she mentally—because she could definitely not be bothered moving—flipped through the menus for her favorite Chinese and Indian takeaway and the nearby pizza place. Decisions…decisions… Okay, Chinese it is… Fighting off another attack of the guilts, she reached for the phone and ordered Mandarin chicken and fried rice.
As she replaced the receiver a silver picture frame on the table caught her attention, bringing to mind the eyes of Jack Douglass. Unconsciously her fingers caressed the place on her hand where she had felt that very strange jolt of pain when he introduced himself. Her lips quirked as she thought of that lean muscular body. The man was definitely hot. She could feel that heat even now. It was just a shame he had such a detrimental effect on her mental health. Overactive imagination or not, no one else had made her hear voices in her head. Still, he was worth a fantasy or two, since she had no intention of ever seeing him again. She pried herself out of the hole she had sunk into, cursing the broken springs of the couch, and headed for the shower.
Chapter Two
The transformation made the trip to Megan’s apartment a little more difficult than Jack had anticipated. Her scent outside the hotel had been faint, diluted by the oil and fuel scent of her car and the passage of strangers’ feet. It made her harder to track and the animal in him wasn’t exactly interested in following street signs. It was a miracle he hadn’t been spotted. Lost in shadows, the journey through the small town had been both terrifying and fascinating.
As an adult he found that his sense of self was not so completely lost to the stronger personality of the cat. Once he became more accustomed to the
new sensations, he regained some of his human perspective—it was sort of like sitting in the backseat while someone else was driving. He was aware that his actions and the things he was feeling were not normal, but there was nothing much he could do about it. Jack suspected that in time, if he felt strongly enough, he might be able to overrule the animal, but tonight he had not had much success. He was still more than a little disgusted that he had crept in the open kitchen door of a restaurant and stolen a big chunk of raw meat. He tried to tell himself it was just like eating a rare steak, only bigger… He snorted softly to himself…might’ve even worked if he didn’t usually prefer his meat well done.
He crouched now, unseen, on the fire escape outside his mate’s bedroom window. The room was nothing like he expected. Where he had thought she would surround herself with vibrant colors, he discovered that her room was pale lilac with white accents and a polished wood floor. As he watched through her lacy white curtains, she came out of the adjoining bathroom. His heart almost stopped. She was completely naked, her creamy, damp skin slightly flushed. As she reached up to loosen her corkscrew curls from the clip on top of her head, her lush breasts were thrust forward, displaying tempting pink nipples. His fascinated gaze caressed her gently rounded stomach, lingered on the soft dark hair at the apex of her thighs, before continuing down the length of her legs. His searching eyes returned to the spot high up on her left thigh where he knew her birthmark lay, despite the fact that it was out of sight.
She began smoothing lotion onto her hands, arms and shoulders with long strokes. Her nipples puckered to points as she spread it onto her breasts, and his tail twitched from side to side as it dangled over the edge of the platform. She sat on the bed and lifted first one foot, then the other to rub the lotion there, then worked it up her calves and thighs. Her head was tilted back, eyes closed. Finally she relaxed back onto the pillows, dipped her fingers into her moist center and began to slowly tease herself.
Jack felt his claws extending, curling round the metal of the fire escape, as if to physically restrain himself. He focused on Megan’s thoughts and saw it was him she fantasized about, and his control slipped another notch. He felt the sighs of pleasure she released and tension grew in his body along with frustration. When she took herself over the peak with his name on her lips, it took all his willpower to prevent himself from crashing through the window to get to her side as instinct demanded.
The doorbell rang, shattering the atmosphere. He growled low in his throat at the interruption. Megan turned to the window, head tilted to one side, a frown creasing her forehead, and he silenced himself abruptly. The bell chimed again and she quickly rose, pulled on a robe, bent to retrieve her purse from the floor and went down the hallway to the door.
Jack snarled when a few moments later she passed the open bedroom door carrying a delivery bag of food. Disappointment and anger swirled through his veins. It made the thick hair bristle on the back of his neck and he battled the cat’s desire to roar out its frustration. It didn’t want to leave—hell, neither did he—but he couldn’t approach Megan in this form anyway. He rose, tension in every line of the cat’s lithe body, and started down the fire escape determined to return for her in the morning.
* * * * *
“Good morning, Megandear!”
Megan paused with one bare foot on the stairway to freedom and groaned silently, rolling her eyes.
It’s seven-thirty in the damn morning! What the heck is she doing up at this hour and how did she hear me? Slowly she turned back to the flat next door to her own and faced Mrs. Timms.
Lucille Timms was a small bird-like woman who could have been anything from eighty to a hundred and eighty. She was the most conscientious neighbor Megan could ever wish for. She was also nuttier than a fruitcake. Her wispy, shoulder-length hair was blue-rinsed today and held in place on top of her head by two blue ballpoint pens crossed like chopsticks. This morning she was wearing an off-the-shoulder blue and silver ball gown with a flared skirt, and on her feet were huge Tweety-bird slippers. Her face was heavily made up with dark red lipstick and silver eye shadow. At least the colors all pretty much matched today.
“Good morning, Mrs. Timms,” Megan replied, resigned.
“Is it not a glorious morning!” Mrs. Timms exclaimed in her upper-class English accent. Her eyes took in Megan’s strappy sundress, stuffed-to-the-brim straw bag, and the sandals she carried in her hand in the vain attempt to sneak past the door. “Are you off to the beach? How lovely. What a pretty dress you have on! Why don’t you have your shoes on, Megandarling, you’ll catch a chill.”
Megan remained silent since she wouldn’t have been able to squeeze a word in edgewise anyway, and waited for a break in the flow.
“George and I are off to the palace for a ball, it’s the most exciting thing!” George was Mrs. Timms’ husband. He had been dead for twenty years according to her son, whom Megan had met on one of his infrequent visits.
“Mrs. Timms…” She stopped, closing her eyes briefly. What was the point of distressing her, she would have forgotten again in about twenty minutes. “Yes,” she smiled. “I am going to the beach. That’s me on holiday now and I intend to relax.”
Mrs. Timms beamed innocently at her. “Wonderful, Megandear. The weather is so lovely all the young men will have their swimsuits on and you will be able to pick out a good one. My George is hung like a horse, you know.” Megan gaped at her, astonished, while she blithely continued. “I have a devil of a job fending the ladies off him when we go to the beach.”
“Mrs. Timms, I really have to go or all the best spots on the beach will be taken,” Megan hastily interrupted.
“Oh yes, you had better get on then. Have a lovely day, Megandear.”
They exchanged goodbyes and Megan headed for the stairs again before she could hear anything else about George’s attributes.
The sky was clear and blue, the air just beginning to warm up and the beach still empty of tourists when Megan arrived a couple of hours later. She had stopped off at the Sunday market first to pick up some fresh fruit and vegetables. It had been fun to search through the car boot sale as well, before the crowds made off with the best bargains.
After parking her car, Megan grabbed her bag and made her way between the sand dunes to her favorite little cove, knowing it was unlikely anyone would bother her there. Despite what she had said to Mrs. Timms, she hadn’t expected the shore to be crowded, especially here at the very end, far away from the shops and cafés where people tended to gather.
She spread her blanket and sat down with a sigh of satisfaction, slipping off her sandals and digging out a book and the fruit she had bought for breakfast. It had been another long night filled with very little sleep, but this time she was perfectly aware of who and what she had dreamed of. Jack Douglass and hot, sweaty, mind-numbing sex—it was her own fault for indulging herself last night. She had never been so affected by a man before, particularly not one she had hardly even spoken to. Damn, even the thought of him made her squirm. Finishing her fruit, she lay back on the blanket and closed her eyes, prepared to soak up some vitamin D.
A few minutes later a shadow fell over her face, disturbing her contemplation of the back of her eyelids, and her eyes blinked open. There, as if her earlier musings had conjured him, was Jack Douglass.
“Hello again,” he grinned at her while his eyes did a slow sweep of her body. “Megan, isn’t it? From the hotel?”
Megan sat up quickly but resisted the urge to cover herself—she was fully dressed, after all—and raised a hand to shade her eyes while she looked up at him. “Mr. Douglass, good morning. A little out of the way of things aren’t you?” In other words, what the hell are you doing here? She gave him a once-over of her own. He was dressed in a pair of khaki trousers and a white polo shirt. Barefoot, he carried a pair of battered trainers in one hand and a rolled-up towel in the other. Silver-framed sunglasses hooked in the open collar of his shirt where she could just see a hint of crisp dark
hair. She had been right in the restaurant—he was tall, around six feet, give or take a couple of inches. He towered over her.
“Jack,” he corrected, drawing her eyes back to his face. “I prefer to be away from the crowds and it looked kind of secluded up here.” He looked at her assessingly. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you? I promise I’ll stay out of your way.”
Yes, I mind! She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Megan watched dry-mouthed as he spread his towel out a few feet away and whipped off his shirt, revealing a muscular golden body only slightly marred by the fact that his ribs were clearly visible. As if he’d recently lost weight. Why is he so thin when the rest of him is obviously fit? There was a sprinkling of dark hair over his chest, tapering into a thin line past his navel and disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. Heat rushed to her face as she imagined tracing that trail with her tongue. Jack cleared his throat and her gaze flew back to meet the molten silver heat of his. Heat flushed her face. Hastily she tore her attention away from him and picked up her book. Stretching out on her side, she opened it to her bookmark and settled in to ignore temptation.
Jack drew a deep breath as he tried to bring his body back under control. When Megan finally acted on those erotic fantasies, she was going to kill him. Was it possible for a man to expire from an excess of pleasure? He didn’t know but he was very willing to experiment. He studied her in silence. Her hair was once again caught up in a clip, though a few renegade strands had escaped to frame her face. The white dress she wore emphasized the paleness of her skin and he noted the dark shadows under her eyes. She had slept poorly again last night; he had, too.
It had been an eventful night, he thought wryly. He had just managed to get back to his room when he had begun to change back. It had hurt just as much as the first time. He shuddered as he remembered the pain and disorientation. As if all that had already happened hadn’t been enough to disturb his sleep, he then realized something his father hadn’t told him about the bond with Megan. They shared dreams. He had come closer to a wet dream last night than he had since he was a teenager. He had tried in vain to block her as he did with her thoughts, but it seemed that dreams worked differently. If this was how close he and Megan were now when the binding was not complete, what would it be like when they were one? The thought caused a wave of arousal and anticipation to wash through him.
