by Lynn Graeme
She arched an eyebrow. “I assure you, Agent Mousenn, I’m fully aware that you can turn the pages yourself if you were so inclined.”
Well, well. A saucy Valkyrie, then.
“Is your language always this colorful?” she asked.
“What the fuck do you think?”
She grinned.
Jamal’s frown deepened. “Look, you’re human so you don’t get it—detachable limbs are fucking useless to a Council agent. We don’t have to time to fiddle around and pull the damn thing off every time we have to shift.”
Plus he damn well didn’t want to be reminded of his stump every time he had to remove the prosthesis in order to shift. Even now, he had to force himself to look at it without flinching. Not because he cared about appearances, but because it was a brutal reminder of how he’d let his team down.
Jamal forced himself to sit up, ignoring the streaks of pain racing up his torso at the sudden movement. The attack in the woods had shredded more than his hand and self-esteem. His thigh and abdominal muscles tugged and wrenched in agony, despite being swathed in Med-bands to help speed up the healing process. He didn’t care. He couldn’t loom over Terris and intimidate her from this bed, but damn if she thought he’d lie flat on his back and face her at full disadvantage.
“I know you’re here to do your job and provide me with an assessment. With options. I know the Council’s hot and bothered about whatever it is you’ve promised. But unless your prosthesis is something that works, you can shove it back in your face. I don’t want it. Detachable means I’ll still be relegated to desk duty, because I won’t be able to function out in the field. And I sure as hell don’t care about wearing a fake hand for cosmetic reasons to spare anyone’s sensitive feelings, especially yours.”
“If you intend to be able to shift in future—”
“’Course I do. Can’t expect me to go the rest of my life in two-legged form. I bloody need to shift!”
“—then you realize if you reject a prosthesis now, you’ll have to make the decision to amputate the rest of your arm?”
Jamal clenched his fist—his one remaining fist. “I’m fully aware of that. In snow leopard form, I’ll essentially be missing a paw. And there’s no point in preserving the whole leg without a paw, is there? Can’t run with only three and three-quarter legs. Or is that five-sixths? What’s the proportion on that? Does your pretty brain do math?”
“So you’d rather amputate the rest of your arm than listen to what I have to say?”
“What’s the matter, Ms. McLachlan? Unwilling to confess you’re selling me and the Council a pipe dream?”
“I told you, call me Terris.”
“I was right. This is a monumental waste of time.”
“Agent Mousenn, please calm down.”
“Why, to spare your feelings? I don’t give a fucking damn about your feelings!”
Terris moved forward and slapped the palm of her hand against his chest. Jamal felt the jolt of awareness right down to his groin.
“Agent Mousenn,” she repeated, not even having the grace to look discomposed. “Please. Calm down.”
Jamal bristled under her touch. Or so he told himself. His body was reacting, that was for sure. Terris attempted to push him back so that he’d lie down, but all he felt was a gentle pressure that sent heat sizzling through his chest. Heat that he didn’t want to feel.
Only the paper-thin hospital gown separated her touch from his bare chest. For a second, the image ripped right through Jamal’s thoughts: Terris’s soft, pink-manicured hand smoothing over his rough skin. A gentle sliding of fingers over the traces of nicks and scars he still bore despite his healing abilities. A slight move to the left and her thumb would flick over his nipple.
Jamal smothered a curse. Despite himself, he looked down at that hand, noting Terris’s ringless fingers. She was unmarried.
Surprising. He would’ve expected someone to have snapped her up by now. Provided her with a house and children to fill it with, made sure she signed her name on an official document. Humans tended to place importance on things like that. It was a concept that confounded most shifters.
Oh, shifters understood the concept of marriage, all right. It was the human way of marking ownership, of using a piece of paper to establish boundaries and make a claim. That, shifters could understand. What they sneered at, however, were the various hoops those humans had to jump through—under the guise of licenses and documentation—simply to claim a mate.
Shifters were all too familiar with how the law had been used to persecute them in years past. They’d only been granted equal rights to humans a handful of years ago, and memories were still too fresh for them to consent to being documented as a form of validation. Least of all when it came to relationships. Shifters needed no piece of paper or municipal clerk to give them written permission to be with their mate.
No, a shifter who’d found his or her mate made sure everybody knew it. Love-bites to mark the skin. A possessive curl of the lip. The rich scent of each other’s passion. All deliberate signs to mark their claim.
Terris hadn’t been claimed. Jamal couldn’t detect another’s scent on her, the type of scent that indicated a passionate, indelible bond rather than casual acquaintance.
Then again, she could’ve scrubbed herself clean before visiting this wing in deference to the hospital’s shifter patients. And just because she bore no love-bites didn’t mean she had no significant other; humans didn’t leave marks on their mates’ skin the way shifters did. Still, Jamal would lay odds that Terris wasn’t seeing anyone seriously.
He shouldn’t be surprised. Few men met the grueling standards of a tea party princess.
He had a good mind to grab her wrist and force her to stroke him much lower. It was an arousing thought—and much too tempting for his state of mind.
The silence stretched, taut and still. Then Terris gave a start, as if realizing she’d been staring at him. She lifted her hand from his chest, almost reluctantly, and Jamal was too much of a male to deny being gratified by that.
Then she glanced down at his stump, and he stiffened once more.
Spring-blue eyes softened. “Does it hurt?”
He glared at the repeat of her earlier question. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it does. A significant level of pain means it’s too soon to introduce any level of bio-prosthetics into your system. On the other hand, no feeling at all may indicate dead nerve endings, unresponsive cells, any number of reasons for it not to take.”
“You like the fine edge of pain, then.”
“If you like. May I?”
Jamal glowered but said nothing. Taking that as an assent, Terris gently lifted his forearm. One of her hands cupped his elbow to provide balance while she inspected the bandaged end. The feel of her cool fingers on his elbow sent a jolt through Jamal. From the slight hitch in Terris’s breath, he knew she’d felt it too.
She remained steadfast and composed, however. She slid her index finger lightly over his bandages, darting a sidelong glance in his direction. Jamal betrayed no expression.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her slender hands. Her fair skin provided a vivid contrast to his darker tone. His gaze slid upward, lingering on the high curve of her breasts, framed by the length of her hair which took on a silvery gilt in certain lights.
Using her fingertips, Terris began to press on certain pressure points along his forearm. Jamal closed his eyes and tried not to think about her touch.
“On a scale of one to ten, tell me the level of pain you feel. And please leave all machismo at the door.”
Jamal opened his eyes and threw her a sharp look. Her expression remained calm, innocent. Her focus was deeply concentrated as she pressed again along his wrist and forearm.
“One to ten, Agent Mousenn?”
He grunted.
“What was that, Agent Mousenn?”
He scrubbed his face. “Call me Jamal. This agent’s off-duty unti
l further notice.”
Maybe for a month. Maybe forever.
He didn’t want to consider the prospect.
As if she knew what he was thinking, Terris squeezed his elbow in sympathy. Jamal felt an unwelcome, though not wholly unpleasant, tightening in his belly. “Five.”
She paused, then relaxed and squeezed his elbow again. “Very funny.”
“Is it?”
“Okay, middlingly funny. Let’s start again. One to ten—and just your wrist, please.”
After a few minutes, she laid his arm back on the bed and leaned over to press the call button directly behind Jamal’s shoulder. The gleaming string of pearls dangled from her neck right over the tip of his nose. Firm, round breasts hovered a hair’s breadth away. Not a bad view. Jamal discovered a whole new appreciation for the V-neck dress.
He closed his eyes and inhaled. He’d been wrong. She wasn’t scent-free. The smell of sugared almonds lingered, soft and subtle. One would have to bury one’s nose in the crook of her neck—or in the valley of her breasts—in order to pick up on it, so faint was the scent, but it was there.
Jamal gritted his teeth, struggling against the temptation. Terris mistook his response and patted his shoulder, turning away to face the nurse who appeared by the door.
“Could you help me remove these bandages?” Terris asked.
They must’ve spoken earlier, or knew each other, because the nurse didn’t question her identity or request. “I’ll have to consult Dr. Rai. She’s running late.”
“That’s fine.”
The nurse disappeared. Terris turned back to Jamal.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you. It isn’t right. You and other Council agents sacrifice so much to preserve the peace between shifter and human communities… . Please believe me when I say we know at what great cost. That’s why I’m here. That’s why Moran Industries wants to get involved, to help you. To thank you for everything you’ve done, even if by some small measure. Words are inadequate to express how much we appreciate what you do.”
His cat curled up, mildly appeased by her gentle tone. Jamal, however, narrowed his eyes.
“Such pretty words,” he jeered. “You’ve had a lot of experience in public relations.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” A disquieting expression stole across Terris’s face, like a fleeting memory gone in a wisp of smoke. “We don’t either of us want to go back to a time of hate and war. Too many costs, too much sacrifice. You’re doing what you can to make sure it doesn’t happen again, and I’m grateful for that.”
Jamal furrowed his brows. What game was this human playing? He shot her a distrustful look before hiking up the pillows behind him so that he could lean back while remain sitting up.
He fumbled, unused to his new physical situation along with the twinges of other still-healing injuries. He misjudged the distribution of his weight as he leaned on his crippled right arm, instinctively trying to place most of his weight on the palm of his non-existent hand instead of his elbow. The pressure to his stump shot a bolt of pain up his remaining nerve endings. Jamal thumped down onto his elbow, but that put him at a lower, awkward angle as he cursed and reached back to adjust the pillows with his left hand. He gave them a punch for good measure.
Terris started forth to help him but Jamal’s growl sent her back. He could plump up his own damn pillows.
He shuffled backwards and somehow managed to prop himself up to a higher angle again. He wouldn’t appear weak before the Valkyrie. He still had a good mind to whap her with one of the pillows, just to see her reaction.
Or maybe yank her forward. One twist and she’d be under him, hair spread out over those pillows, that distractingly red mouth parted in surprise.
Terris sat down on the chair next to his bed. Crossing her legs, she carefully arranged the hem of her dress so that it fell down in smooth, picture-perfect lines. Her hair curled thickly over her shoulder, and Jamal wanted to reach forward and wind it around his hand. Give it a tug.
She met his dark, resentful glare. “I’m not here to make a sale, Jamal.”
“That’s the only reason you’re here. Gratitude for my sacrifice and service, my ass.”
“I’m here to provide you an opportunity,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Moran Industries is working on a prototype. A shifter-specific prosthesis.”
“That’s what I heard. There’s no such thing. Doesn’t exist yet.”
“Emphasis on yet.”
It took Jamal a moment to follow her meaning. Then the heart monitor attached to his body kicked up in activity.
“There’s a reason it’s called a prototype,” Terris said. “It hasn’t been released to the public yet.”
Jamal held her gaze, unable to let himself to believe. Unable to allow that glimmer of hope lurking just beyond the horizon.
“You’ll have to spell it out for me,” he growled roughly, somehow managing to keep his voice steady.
Terris clasped her hands over one knee and leaned forward. “Moran Industries is working on a prosthesis that would shift along with its wearer. Human to animal form and back again. I’m here to assess you as a possible candidate for the clinical trial.”
Chapter Two
He was so still he could’ve been carved from stone.
Terris returned Jamal’s intense stare, determined not to break eye contact. She was conscious of how closely he studied her expression, how fiercely he examined every nuance of body language she betrayed. She had no doubt the Council agent would pick up on any and all telltale signs to use to full, ruthless advantage, and so she tamped it all down. Smoothed out her expression, steadied her breathing, and infused herself with calm.
She, too, knew how to be still.
The fact that he was confined to a bed didn’t render the man any less intimidating. Even now, his strength and willpower vibrated as they were encased in those broad shoulders. His hard muscles were evident even from beneath the pale blue hospital gown he wore. His brown skin was dusted with lengths of silvery scars, accumulated from years of hand-to-claw combat that even enhanced healing couldn’t completely mend.
This man, Terris knew, was a force to be reckoned with.
His intense glare had been bitter and ferocious from the very minute she’d stepped into his room. Terris was convinced he would’ve stalked up to her and physically tossed her out of the room if only he’d been able to leave his bed. Fortunately, she was accustomed to handling large, grumpy men used to getting their way. In fact, it was almost … comforting. Her father was a big cat too, and his growling outer shell hid one of the gentlest souls she knew.
Of course, Jamal probably wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. Terris remained prudently silent on that point.
“Don’t.” His voice grated low and deep, sending shivers down her spine. “Don’t toss around careless promises as if they’re so easy to keep.”
“It’s true,” she gently reassured him. “Our development team has been working on the project for over four years now. We’re currently at the clinical trial stage, so close to reaching our goal.”
Jamal looked away. His jaw clenched so hard Terris thought she’d hear it snap, but there was only deafening silence instead. He didn’t say a word. Tension radiated from him like a rolling ball of heat.
Then she recognized what he was struggling with, what he was trying so hard not to reach for lest it be snatched from his grasp. The poignancy of it twisted her heart.
“It’s all right to hope, Jamal.”
“Hope’s too fragile a commodity to trade lightly.”
“I know.” Oh, how she knew. “Why don’t I tell you more about what we’re working on, and you can let me know what you think?”
He snorted.
Terris grinned. “True. We both know you’ll tell me what you think anyway.”
“I see you had no problem translating that snort.”
“I speak grump pretty well.”
Jamal made an obsce
ne gesture. Terris hid a smile.
She rearranged the hem of her dress and settled back in her seat. “How much do you know about current prosthetic technology?”
“I know they look and move like the real thing. Bio-plast composite, removable for upgrades. Serves the human populace well enough.” Jamal gave a challenging sneer.
Terris nodded in acknowledgment. “I won’t deny that shifters have gotten the short end of the stick. You’ve said it yourself—they must sometimes make the unfortunate, difficult decision of amputating the rest of their limb so that they don’t end up with an incomplete joint when in animal form. That’s the first and foremost concern before they can even contemplate whether or not they want to fit themselves with a human-grade prosthesis, because it’s unreasonable to expect them to never shift again for the rest of their lives.”
Jamal gave a grudging huff. “At least you know that. Plenty of humans still think we shouldn’t go four-legged if we don’t have to.”
“Not understanding that you do have to,” Terris agreed. “It calls to you. It’s in your blood.”
He looked at her with surprise. “How do you know so much about shifter nature?”
She grinned. “My dad and brother are lion-shifters.” She saw Jamal’s stunned expression and laughed. “My mom’s human. I didn’t get the shifter gene, but my brother did, the big jerk. You know how it works—either you’re shifter or you’re not. Like being pregnant.”
Jamal choked.
“Oh, you know what I mean. No such thing as being a little pregnant, just as there’s no such thing as being a little shifter. It’s a yes or no checkbox. My brother’s checkbox is a yes, and he lords it over me whenever he gets the chance. All I got from Dad are his massive shoulders. Just my luck.”
“I thought the shoulders might’ve been from being a swimmer.”
“Ah. No, I’m not so good in the water, I’m afraid.” She noted the curious twitch of his lips, so quick she’d nearly missed it. “What?”
“What?” he echoed.
“That look.”
“What look?”
