Healer's Choice g-3

by Jory Strong

  Battlefields littered with corpses.

  Cities filled with bodies.

  At first they were human strangers. But slowly they morphed into Weres.

  The prostitutes.

  Dorrit.

  Levi and Cyrin.

  Canino.

  Then the cubs and Aryck.

  Rebekka woke screaming, panicked, her hands burning and her chest frozen.

  Awareness slashed through her, intermingling with the memory of the flamethrowers and men in protective suits. She was calling the diseased from the Barrens to her. Whatever carried it was distant still, but coming.

  Blindly she sought the amulet, tossing furs and blankets aside in desperation. She stood as she remembered giving it to Aryck for safekeeping, only realizing she was naked except for her panties when the door crashed open and he entered the cabin.

  The alpha and Melina came in after him, then an older man carrying a lantern. By then Rebekka was shaking uncontrollably, her breathing fast and loud. She grabbed a fur and covered herself.

  Melina’s derisive laugh was followed by equally cutting words. “All that screaming over an owl?”

  The words sent Rebekka’s gaze to the bird fluttering helplessly beneath the open window. It provided the focus she desperately needed for her gift.

  The Jaguars might think her frightened in the dark, but she preferred it to their knowing the truth, guessing at the importance of the amulet. They’d kill her if they knew. Or destroy the witch’s protection and chase her back to Oakland like a bomb set to explode in the midst of the human world.

  Rebekka eased toward the small owl. She reached with her mind, sending waves of calm. It stopped fluttering, though its breathing was as rapid as hers.

  As soon as she touched it the coldness in her chest disappeared, burned away by the flow of healing warmth. It wasn’t as hot or intense as it had been when she touched Aryck or the cubs, but it didn’t need to be.

  Her arm hurt, as if bones were shattered there. She knitted the damaged material back together with quick, deft mental strokes, noting it was easier, her thoughts more sharply focused, further proof her gift had been changed when the witches bound the amulet to her with blood.

  Rebekka’s pulse raced with thoughts of the red beads, so very much like the ones her demon father wore in his hair. Her hands trembled slightly as she removed them from the owl and it took flight, escaping into the night through the open window.

  Cold exploded in Rebekka’s chest. Because she expected it, she didn’t react outwardly to the terror it brought with it.

  The threat was still distant, but closer than it had been moments earlier. There was no hiding the scent of fear from the Jaguars.

  This far away from human civilization, deep in Were territory, they had no reason to worry about supernatural predators, no reason to close or bar the windows. But they would assume it wasn’t the same for her.

  Somehow she managed to keep her voice steady as she turned toward them and said, “I’m sorry I disturbed you with my screams.”

  They’d stopped just inside the doorway, not wanting to panic the owl and cause it to further injure itself. Rebekka tightened her grip on the fur and crossed to them, her apparent discomfort over being nearly naked gaining another derisive laugh from Melina.

  Rebekka ignored it and reached out, saying to Aryck, “I’d like my necklace back.”

  He removed it from his pocket, but instead of handing it to her, he stepped behind her and placed it around her neck. She was acutely aware of heat and scent, of the rub of fur against her skin, not his, but it was suddenly very easy to imagine—

  She cut the thought off only to have it return when his fingers lingered at the nape of her neck, stroked, making her tremble in a way that had nothing to do with the faded nightmare images or the icy cold no longer filling her chest.

  Heat coursed through her, originating at the place his skin touched hers. It was reminiscent of what had happened when she healed him, flowing like a power rooted in the earth, molten lava capable of burning away the protective shield a lifetime spent in brothels had erected.

  She’d seen Aryck naked, but that wasn’t what made her vulnerable where he was concerned. It was his obvious care for the Tiger cub, the gentleness with which he’d bathed Caius in the wash while the boy’s mother rocked, locked in a world of grief.

  Rebekka stepped forward, breaking the contact, but not before there was a crack in her defenses. Her nipples hardened and breasts ached. Need pooled in her belly, bringing with it a hastily suppressed fantasy of Aryck’s hand stroking over her abdomen, sliding between her thighs to cup her mound.

  She tightened her grip on the fur, created a wall around her emotions. There was no way to hide even the tiniest hint of arousal from Weres.

  It wasn’t something she had to worry about at the brothels. Nothing of what she witnessed there stirred anything to life except revulsion and hate and pity.

  She made herself face the Jaguars boldly. Melina’s lips twisted in disgust and loathing, while next to her, the lantern in his hands, the older man’s dark eyes captured Rebekka’s. Without the snarling headdress she hadn’t recognized the shaman. But now, just as she had before, she felt as though he was trying to see into the depths of her soul.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s okay to leave me.”

  Aryck met his father’s gaze and tried to keep any hint of challenge from surfacing. He had no desire to revisit their earlier discussion or his near loss of control. “I’ll remain with Rebekka until she falls asleep.”

  Koren’s expression didn’t change, but Aryck still felt his father’s displeasure and worry. If you mate with her, you risk the part of your soul residing with the ancestors.

  She’s not in season.

  He couldn’t leave her. He didn’t need to look down and see the length of his erection pressed against the front of his pants to know he had already lost part of the battle with himself.

  Desiring Rebekka should be impossible for him. She was human, a woman who lived among outcasts. Either should have been enough to cool his blood and keep him away from her. But he’d no more been able to stop his fingers from caressing her neck than he’d been able to stop the fantasies of mounting her, of thrusting into wet heat and clinging welcome and marking her with his teeth as he did it.

  He was rock hard. And though he had no intention of acting on it, not yet, he also had no choice but to remain in her presence.

  He wouldn’t be able to overcome the Jaguar’s protective need to guard its mate after hearing her screams of terror. If he attempted to leave, the Jaguar would fight him—and win.

  His father ushered the others out, closing the door behind them and leaving the cabin in darkness broken only by a hint of moonlight.

  Aryck’s reality shrank to the woman standing only inches away from him. Heat and scent swallowed him up, urging him to take the small step that would bring his body into contact with hers.

  She moved away, saving him from himself. “You don’t have to stay,” she said, turning her back to him. Adding on a whisper, “It would be better if you didn’t.”

  He didn’t need to ask her why. She couldn’t hide her physical reaction from him any more than he could hide his from her.

  It would be better if he didn’t stay. He knew it, believed it still on some level. But, perversely, having her fight the attraction only made it all the harder to let her escape.

  Male instinct, Jaguar and human both, told him to close the distance, press his suit. Rebekka’s turning her back to him and wrapping the fur around her like a shield only intensified the need.

  The silence stretched between them, growing taut with the call of their bodies to each other. He took a step before he could stop himself, inhaled deeply. His arms lifted to pull her against him. His lips parted on a soft pant, his tongue ready to tease over the skin at the nape of her neck, to taste and stroke before the bite that would mark her as belonging to him.

  The Jagua
r quivered in eagerness, anticipating victory. Or maybe the man did. He was no longer certain they held separate desires.

  Heat pulsed through him, a hard, steady throb, like the beat of the drums summoning the ancestors. Some small sliver of sanity whispered this was a mistake, told him he was on the path to becoming outcast. But against the roar of desire it didn’t stand a chance.

  It was safe. There was no risk of impregnating her.

  She tensed when his arms encircled her, but didn’t pull away. The intimate contact made him light-headed, hinted at how thoroughly he’d lose himself when flesh pressed to flesh.

  A soft whimper escaped when his lips found her neck. His tongue darted out in a wet caress.

  She melted against him. But her resistance lingered, offering both challenge and warning.

  Drawing sounds of pleasure from her became his mission. Having her soften and willingly drop the fur to the floor to reveal her body became his resolve.

  His hands pushed their way under her arms, settled over her breasts, cupping, kneading their fullness, turning the fur separating his palms from her nipples into sensual torment instead of modest protection.

  He trailed kisses along her shoulder, sucking the petal-soft skin as her pulse beat wildly in her throat. Her scent intensified, a lush, intoxicating fragrance that made him want to bury first his fingers in her wet slit, and then his tongue.

  His hands drifted downward, and she tensed as if struck by an icy arrow. Her resistance returned with a jerk that freed her from his arms. “I can’t,” she mumbled, moving away from him.

  She didn’t turn to face him until she reached the door, as if she’d risk the night to escape him. It held him at bay, clearing the lust long enough for a silent, rational voice inside him to question the wisdom of giving in to desire, to remind him of what his father had said. One coupling and no other female could hold my interest.

  “I can’t,” she repeated, tongue darting out, wetting her lips and sending a hot spike of need through his cock.

  He knew it wasn’t revulsion or shame that had driven her out of his arms. Her scent didn’t lie, and even now she trembled, fighting to keep herself distanced from him.

  It was enough to help him maintain control, to satisfy the Jaguar and the man so they remained smoothly integrated. He retreated to the open window, perching in it and gaining a measure of relief when the night air cooled his skin and filled his nostrils with the smell of pine and dirt and leaves.

  Leaving wasn’t an option. Not yet.

  Rebekka let out a soft sigh. She calmed, at least outwardly. Inside, turmoil reigned.

  Aryck’s touch made her feel things she’d never experienced before, even when she’d imagined herself attracted to Levi. A part of her wanted to give in, to live in this moment only, without thought of the future. Temptation whispered through her, telling her that denying herself what pleasure she could find in this life was foolish.

  Looking at Aryck, desire curled in her belly and slid down into her woman’s folds. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to lose herself in the wonder of sexual exploration his kisses promised. But those desires warred with the knowledge of what doing it might ultimately cost her.

  She thought of the tattoo inked into her skin. She’d be gone soon, a forgotten interlude in his life. The mark might not mean anything to him, but her virginity was the only thing she had that might offer proof she was no prostitute.

  Rebekka crossed to the mound of blankets and furs and lay down. She didn’t know why Aryck stayed, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to leave.

  A flutter went through her belly as she looked at him outlined by moonlight in the open window. Everything about him spoke of strength and contained power, of sensuous promise and carnal acts.

  Her clit stiffened and she had to fight to keep from touching it, from sliding her fingers between slick folds and imagining it was him. From changing her mind about denying him.

  Fantasies slipped into her mind, images made explicit by a lifetime of witnessing sexual encounters. She turned her face away in an attempt to rid herself of them, to once again silence the voice of temptation.

  “Are the humans in Oakland so ignorant they don’t appreciate your gift?” he asked, drawing her attention back to him. “Surely there is a demand for your services among them.”

  Her thoughts went to The Iberá’s offer, to the luxury and protection that would come if she accepted it. “There is.”

  Aryck slid off the windowsill and padded over, stopping at the very edge of the huge sleeping area and sprawling, a huge cat in a human form. “Then why do you work in the brothels? Why do you live among outcasts?”

  Always before there was derision in his tone, harsh judgment when he spoke the word outcast. There was a hint of it in his question but it was overridden by curiosity.

  “They need me.”

  “You waste yourself on them. They serve a punishment meted out to them by the ancestors.”

  Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

  He hesitated a moment, then answered, “Each of us possesses three intertwined souls. Human. Animal. And an eternal one residing with our ancestors in the shadowlands. Losing the ability to shift into beast form or being of mixed form in this world is a sign of judgment. It’s a way of marking an outcast so others know immediately that the eternal soul has been cast out of the shadowlands.”

  “I don’t believe that can be true of all outcasts.”

  “You don’t believe because you’re not one of us. What you know of our world and our kind you’ve learned from the worst of us.”

  “Only because you turn your back on anyone caught between forms or who can’t shift into a purely animal one. Do your ancestors demand it? Or is it fear and prejudice?”

  He stirred restlessly, angrily. “You question things you have no right to.”

  It would have been easy to let it drop but she couldn’t. “I live among outcasts. I see their suffering every day. I witness the degradation and pain and horror that come with selling their bodies so they can survive. What do you know of life in the red zone? Of being powerless because you have no pack, no family, no place in Were society?

  “You’re so certain they all deserve to be where they are. Some of them do. I can accept that. But tell me how a child born with a mixed form because her Were mother is held prisoner and raped by a human hunter is guilty of a crime and should be forced to live an outcast’s life.”

  Aryck stood, unable to remain still as Rebekka assaulted him with questions that weren’t his to answer. He was an enforcer, not a shaman. Pack law was pack law, and when it came to outcasts and humans, it had remained unchanged by generations of Jaguar alphas.

  Almost against his will he found himself saying, “Weres born in a mixed form are killed by their mothers or left to die.”

  “And if they’re not? Then is it okay to kill the child at three years old, or four, or ten, or twenty? Did you ever stop to consider how The Last War and what followed created millions of orphans with no knowledge of their heritage? People whose descendents carry Were genes that lie dormant, who think they’re human until physical trauma triggers a healing response and leaves them trapped between forms.”

  “Impossible.”

  “I’ve seen it for myself. Are you calling me a liar?”

  Aryck clenched his jaw, paced to the door, and told himself he should open it and leave. Instead he turned, only to feel the sharp blade of another question.

  “What if Caius can’t shift into tiger form after all he’s been through? Would you drive him away? Send him to the city to become a victim and claim he deserved it? Kill him if he refused to leave?”

  Aryck stalked over and crouched next to her, a growl forming in his chest, in his mind. “Enough.”

  She sat up, clutching the fur to her naked chest and sending a roar of heat through him to rival the anger. In that moment she seemed every bit as fierce as a female Jaguar defending something
of value.

  Bare shoulders and cascading hair, strength welded with femininity. The sight of her aroused him, making him want to rip the fur away and silence her with the thrust of his tongue into her mouth, the thrust of his cock into her slick sheath, despite the danger of one day becoming the very thing they argued about because of it.

  Her eyes met his boldly, challenging him. Telling him she was his equal in every way despite having only one form.

  “Enough,” he repeated, raw need twisting in his gut. His testicles heavy and full and his cock throbbing.

  She licked her lips, nearly shredding his control. Her scent changed subtly, with the beginnings of desire.

  Naked, stretched beneath him on the furs, she wouldn’t say no to him again. He would make sure of it.

  One coupling and no other female could hold my interest.

  His father’s words slipped into Aryck’s thoughts again. He wanted to deny them, to ignore them, to shake them off and tell himself he was not his father.

  He couldn’t. Worse, Rebekka was making him question his beliefs, the rigid framework of his world.

  Aryck stood, afraid to risk remaining in her presence.

  A turn. A step.

  The Jaguar came to life with a vengeance, beast soul riving away from the whole. Refusing to leave Rebekka.

  Aryck embraced the pain, willingly accepted the escape from conversation and questions his furred form allowed. He pushed his pants off his hips, not able to deny the pleasure at feeling her eyes on him, traveling down his body.

  It was all he could do not to turn, to display the hard length of his cock jutting upward, spasming against his abdomen and wetting his skin with escaped arousal.

  Her scent deepened. Her breathing became erratic.