by Lynn Graeme
He had little to no sense of diplomacy, something that aggravated his superiors to no end. It’d proved to be a bone of contention over the course of his career. There was a reason he was never included in the rotation as Council liaison between shifter and human communities. He had no interest or skill in stroking anyone’s ego.
Jamal’s snaps and sneers had cost him more than a few promotions, not that he cared. He was happy to play the grunt and muscle. He was content to remain in the trenches, rolling rough and dirty in the muck as he chased after those sick, twisted minds who reminded him too much about where he came from.
Jamal knew his strengths, and they included neither tact nor finesse. And he was honest enough—just as he knew his strengths, he could admit to his faults. He just wouldn’t apologize for any of them.
But he couldn’t stay in the trenches now, could he? He couldn’t rely on his brute strength and fighting abilities to carry him through. Not with his one hand. Fuck, this BioSynth had better work, otherwise he’d end up sitting behind a desk, forced to make nice with service administrators. That was his idea of hell.
He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Terris this was as much for him as it was for his fallen comrades.
Once the rest of his injuries had healed and he was discharged from the hospital, the flurry of activity ramped up tenfold. Jamal moved into the temporary housing that was provided to trial participants who opted to bypass the daily commute to Moran Towers. He pretended the convenience suited him just as well, though if he was being honest with himself—and he always was—he knew it was so he could avoid his roommates at his Council-provided quarters.
He knew he’d failed them. Three lives lost under his watch, all because he’d been too arrogant in his own abilities. His friends and colleagues didn’t say so, of course, but he knew. Some of them had visited him in hospital, but he’d been too ashamed to face them. Since he hadn’t been able to physically evade them, he’d rejected their sympathy and sent them packing using the sheer force of his rage alone.
Well, the sheer force of his rage and a few convenient projectiles.
Jamal suspected it would be a long time before he could look them in the eye without flinching.
Guilt might make him flinch, but pain didn’t. Jamal knew pain, that old friend. And so he gritted his teeth in silence throughout the cell extractions and skin graft procedures. He tolerated the daily injections meant to increase his nutrient and immunity levels in preparation for surgery. He underwent MRIs and bore out the additional operations necessary to prepare his body for the prosthesis—the bolting down of the nexoskeletal base onto which the hand could attach, the drilling of bone to provide notches to latch it in place… .
Then, while the scientists worked on creating a prosthetic hand with his DNA and blood type, the project managers and technicians put him through his paces to obtain a motion blueprint. In other words, how the hand should move. They wanted to watch the way he flexed his left hand and how he responded to physical stimuli, both in human and snow leopard form. They wanted to ensure a seamless integration with his day-to-day life.
Granted, the fact that his day-to-day life involved physical combat was an added complication, but judging by the gleam in the techs’ eyes, Jamal suspected they relished in the challenge.
So did he, in fact. He was surprised at that discovery. Jamal had never considered himself the brains of any operation—he excelled first and foremost at being physical—but he found himself growing more and more intrigued by the process and getting caught up in the scientists’ enthusiasm as well.
Wonders never ceased.
And so he let himself be put on display. He shunted his chagrin aside to shift into a four-legged, three-footed snow leopard so that they could record him from all angles and render the corresponding blueprint. He even suffered the ignominy of being strapped into a harness in cat form so that they could observe him walking, running, and leaping on a treadmill. All so they could capture his natural gait and reflexes.
The harness, as it turned out, was a necessity—he fell off several dozen times when he forgot himself and attempted to put weight on his stump while running and jumping. His pride smarted, but at least Terris hadn’t been there to witness it. That was his one consolation.
Not that she’d disappeared from his life. Far from it. Terris showed up every few days to check on his progress. Jamal looked forward to each visit, even though his more cynical side snorted at the idea that she paid him any particular attention. She checked in on all the participants, after all, and not just for the BioSynth project. It was part of her role as client advocate and clinical program coordinator for Moran Industries.
“Looking out for the patients’ well-being, basically,” she explained to Jamal one day. “Making sure their needs are being met and complied with. The managers’ job is to produce the best product they can based on the company’s goals. My job is to make sure we keep our eye on the ball and not forget what’s most important—our clients.”
Jamal snorted. “So you play mother-hen, is what you’re saying.”
“If you like. How are you feeling?”
There she went again, guiding the conversation away from herself. That wide, red smile teased him, provoking Jamal into wanting more. Into demanding more. Who was Terris McLachlan when she didn’t have to coax and cajole hostile clients with her sunny disposition? Was she always so bright and sunny, or did it all fall away in the privacy of her own home? Who was Terris McLachlan on the inside?
And would she ever let him truly see her?
The million-dollar question was, of course, whether he really wanted to in the first place. Whether he was ready to let himself want. Hell, wanting was all he’d ever do. Even he knew that. There was no ignoring the glaring disparity between Terris and himself. The gap between their two worlds stretched like a wide-open maw, deep and cavernous and lined with serrated fangs. Not so easily crossed.
Deep inside, Jamal knew Terris would never be interested in someone like him. Oh, sure, she was physically attracted to him—that much was clear—but there was only so far she could allow the intimacy to progress. He knew she would never take that final, fateful step.
Terris came from money and from class. She was a kind and generous woman, but too high above him in every way. She’d never invite a riffraff born of the streets into her cream-silk bed.
And Jamal had already spent his boyhood years wanting so much. Food, shelter, safety. Family. All those small mercies denied to him. Eventually he’d wised up, and toughened up. Food he could steal. Shelter he could seize. Safety was a simple matter of sleeping with one eye open.
Family, as it turned out, was dispensable. After all, his had dispensed with him all too willingly.
He didn’t need anyone to care for him. He could care for himself and see to his own needs. The only type of intimacy he required came in the form of one-night stands with women turned on by his brutal strength and rough hands. With them, he had no need to play the gentleman. Didn’t have to pretend to be anything but what he was.
They liked it when he got down and dirty. And so he obliged, and kept any connection between them restricted to the purely physical. He never let them past that emotional wall he’d built, the one he’d laid in place with his own two hands. Brick by fucking brick. There was no reason to ever let anyone in.
So fuck small mercies. Jamal had no use for mercy. Only the weak hid in the corners and waited for handouts, and he refused to be weak. Whatever he wanted now, he bared fangs and fought for. All on his own. To hell with anyone who got in his way.
No, he wouldn’t let himself go back to being that street rat trapped in the slums, wishing for everything he couldn’t have. Let Terris remain on her glazed pedestal, safely out of his reach. He knew his place.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t look, though. Jamal drank in her beautiful, elegant features, his gaze following the classic line of her jaw. Glossy, silver-blonde hair flowed down one shoulder and c
urled around the soft fullness of her breast. Her wide-set shoulders, instead of lessening her femininity, instead drew attention to her slender waist encased in flowered silk.
She was an incongruous blend of Valkyrie and tea party princess, a woman warrior in pearls. She didn’t need to hiss or bare teeth to give as good as she got. She slipped in her subtle digs in a way that made him enjoy every minute of it, and crave even more.
That was the problem with wanting. Wanting would be all he’d ever do.
The silence nipped into Jamal just then, and he realized Terris was regarding him inquisitively, still waiting for his answer to her question.
“Fine. I’m fine.” He shrugged, attempting nonchalance, but her smooth forehead only creased in concern.
They were sitting on a stone bench located in the small garden enclosure behind the east wing of Moran Towers. Terris had found him there, staring in fascinated desperation at his new hand. It was an upgrade of the initial prosthesis they’d fitted him with the previous week. That first one had pinched his nerves and rendered his entire right side numb the second it’d locked into place. It had happened so quickly that it was only when Jamal pounded on the examination table, his speech starting to slur, that the techs realized something was wrong and launched into action.
Terris hadn’t been there that day, but he’d heard her running into the room ten minutes later, heels clacking on the floor. She’d been beside herself, outrage shot through with a clean bolt of fear. Once she’d been assured that the hand was removed and that Jamal would recover, she’d proceeded to rip the scientists and managers a new one.
Jamal had watched in delighted fascination. His Valkyrie had been fierce and fearsome, a glorious creature of unholy wrath. A beautiful vision to behold.
“No, not a mother-hen,” he now mused, correcting himself. “A lioness defending her cubs.”
Terris looked puzzled at his non sequitur, but didn’t demand an explanation. She held her hand out, palm-side up, and wiggled her fingers.
“May I?” she asked.
Jamal looked down at her open palm. It hovered directly above his lap.
“If you want to flip it the other way and give a good stroke, go right ahead.”
It took a second for the penny to drop. Then Terris scowled and moved her hand a little away from his lap. “Lecher.”
“On my best days.”
“C’mon. Fair’s fair. I showed you mine.”
He obliged, placing his new hand in hers. It still felt foreign under his control, and he wasn’t quite sure if he trusted it yet, but that wasn’t what held his attention as Terris examined his hand. She gently turned it over, again and again, running her fingertips along the taupe line around his wrist. She brushed her thumb over each of his long fingers, tugging and pressing lightly at the knuckles and tips. She stroked his palm, checking that his reflexes were all there.
She was right, Jamal thought—the BioSynth prosthesis really did convey full sensation.
He yielded to her touch. His world narrowed down to that one focal point where her hands smoothed over his. Her caress was a wisp of air as light as her laughter, teasing him into begrudging desire, inciting him into further longing.
More than that, however, it soothed him. Inexplicably so. Jamal couldn’t explain it. Somehow Terris was able to assuage his default defensiveness and anger. She brought him some strange measure of peace that he wasn’t sure he’d ever had before. And, amazingly, she didn’t even seemed to realize it.
He was uneasy with this power she wielded over him. His cat, however, purred with satisfaction. It stretched and curled, seeking more of her touch. Hungered for it. Terris leaned over for a closer look, and his cat snarled that it wasn’t close enough.
Have some pride, he snapped.
Damn feline only hissed in return.
Terris’s very presence was like a drug, and Jamal was quickly finding himself addicted. Willingly so.
He took advantage of her absorbed attention and drank in every inch of her from up close. The afternoon sun brought out silver highlights in her hair, heavy with the enticing scent of sweet, warm woman. She wore her pearls as always. Her mother’s, she’d told him the last time she’d come to see him, a sentimental look in her eyes. Her light yellow dress fitted closely to her body, the gauzy material a regal nod to the warming weather. Summer hovered not too far away.
Jamal, meanwhile, wore an old sleeveless tee and track pants in preparation for his workout later that day. He rubbed his free hand over his chin and winced. He hadn’t even shaved that morning.
Terris tucked her ankle over the other as she continued inspecting his prosthesis. Jamal caught sight of her pearl-pink pedicure within her open-toed pumps, and smiled when he saw they matched.
“You’re dangerous when you smile,” Terris murmured.
Startled, Jamal met her gaze. She tilted her head, regarding him with a sidelong look. That sent her hair cascading down, its soft weight cushioned by the hardness of his upper thigh. Jamal felt his erection growing.
The animal urge hit him hard. He wanted to wrap her silky hair around his cock and pump it. He wanted her to pump it. Use those hands for what they were meant for. He wanted to fold his palm around the back of her neck and press her down so that she enveloped his cock with that wide, red, wet mouth. He wanted to see her smile as she sucked him dry.
Fuck.
He was a crudely made animal. Terris was an elegant lady with a warm and giving heart, and all he could think about was bearing her to the ground and thrusting roughly into her tight, slick heat.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Yes, please.
Terris straightened. “Looks good. They told you not to shift for a whole week until we know for sure there’s no risk of infection or rejection, right?”
Jamal yanked his hand back. If she thought his manner brusque, she gave no sign of it.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.
“No, really. I know it can be tempting, but it’s important—”
“No shifting until the all-clear and only under direct supervision. I got it.”
It felt weird to be fussed over. Didn’t mean he didn’t see the appeal, though.
“How does it feel? Any pain?”
Yeah, he was feeling pain, all right. Right between his legs. She could help with that… .
His hand. She was talking about his damn hand.
“So far so good,” Jamal replied hoarsely. He flexed his hand to prove it, though it was more to distract her from what was stirring in his lap than anything else. Damn track pants wouldn’t hide anything.
His thumb and wrist both gave a slight twinge as he rotated the hand, but at least pain wasn’t shooting up his arm. Still, he supposed he’d have to inform the techs about it at his next evaluation. He didn’t see what they could do, though, since it wasn’t a simple matter of loosening screws.
Terris still appeared worried, obviously remembering what had happened with the first prosthesis. Just for kicks, Jamal smiled directly at her. Dangerous when you smile. His heated look was rewarded by the pretty rose shade blooming on her cheeks.
She sat back and cleared her throat. “Well … good. That is, I mean … good.”
His smile widened.
She fussed with her dress. “I heard from Dr. Overkin that you refused our counseling options.”
The smile vanished, replaced by a scowl. “I have my mandatory psych visits with a Council-approved psychologist. I see no need to spill my guts out to yet another voyeur.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean, yes, we provide counselors to our participants but if they have their own therapists—as you do—and if those therapists can sign off on each stage of the trials, then that’s fine with us. I meant family counseling. We provide counselors to help the families of participants who might have difficulty coping with the changes.”
“Don’t need it.”
Terris softened. “You have no family?”
“None who matter.”
His tone shut down any further discussion. Or it should have. He should’ve known better.
“The experience is often harder—and more painful—for the family members than it is for the patient,” Terris insisted.
“Bullshit. They’re not the one who had their hand ripped off by a tiger. It wasn’t their leg they lost in an explosion.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re not hurting just as much. Who do you think held me as I screamed through hours of physical therapy?”
“Yeah, you went through those hours.”
“But I was just a child. And the memories of pain have dulled with time. My parents, however, remember every single moment. My mom even kept a journal.”
“How morbid.”
Terris shot him a quelling look. “I went through some dark times too, Jamal. Thoughts and moods that I’m not proud of. I probably wouldn’t have made it through without my family’s love and support.”
“Like hell,” Jamal said flatly. “You would’ve made it through on your own if you’d had to. You’re strong. You have an indomitable spirit. A natural tenacity.”
And an inner joy that would see her through all the darkness that dared trespass on her life. A darkness he wanted to fight off and never let an inch of it anywhere near her.
“You don’t know how close I came to getting beat down,” she retorted. “My family helped me shoulder the burden. Hell, sometimes they took over that burden completely. I had to force them to give it up and let me bear some load.”
“Why the hell would you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I would’ve done the same in their place. I would’ve swathed you in bubble-wrap and kept you where you’d always be safe. Where nothing evil would ever stain your soul.” Like it has mine.
Terris scoffed. “That’s no way to live. That’s no life at all. My family tried to do that at first. They’re ridiculously overprotective, especially my dad. He and my brother Roark tried to corral my activities on the pretext of keeping me safe, but I fought like hell against it. Luckily my mom eventually came around and sided with me when I needed to spread my wings. Dad and Roark stood no chance at all in trying to override us then.”
