by Abigail Owen
Seneca leaned forward in her chair. “I lived all my life with Rick Delaney as an Alpha. You don’t have to tell me about how stubborn, cagy, and uncooperative mountain lion shifters can be.”
Zula flashed what might be her first real smile. “Any overtures to the more powerful mountain lion Alphas were met with dead bodies.”
Seneca’s chest constricted. Damn.
“But your people have the largest roaming range of any shifter in the Americas,” Zula continued. “Getting the cougars on board was critical to my father’s plan. Otherwise, we’d be facing war both at home and here.”
Seneca stared out the window at the pale of the sky beyond, thinking for a moment how different life could be if Zula’s father had been successful. What Zula described made total sense. Mountain lions had a range from Canada to South America. They were concentrated mainly in the western part of North America, which, given the lions’ natural habitat, was exactly the region the African lions would be most interested in.
“Finally, at Rick Delaney’s invitation, my father came over to negotiate a deal in person.”
Zula turned her head away again. Her neck tensed as she swallowed several times, and Seneca knew what was coming wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“He was returned home…in pieces.”
Seneca closed her eyes. Why had her mother fallen in love with such a monster? Or had she? Seneca still wasn’t sure. She waited until Zula’s stiff shoulders and rock hard jaw loosened a bit, allowing the lioness to deal with her pain in respectful silence.
When she was ready, Zula said, “My mother took over as leader of the pride and declared the war on the mountain lion shifters. She made a pact with the wolf shifters—we’d help them take the northern areas of the United States, if the wolves would help us take the dryer, hotter southern regions more suited to African lion’s needs.”
“You hunted us to near extinction. At least, that’s what I’m told.”
“You’re so solitary, like ghosts, it’s difficult to know how many we killed. But yes, we killed many.” Zula’s voice hardened with every word.
“You don’t sound remorseful.”
The lioness narrowed her eyes. “About that time period? I’m not. Your people were given multiple opportunities to work with us. My father was going to leave your territory alone and settle in the east if that trip didn’t result in a deal. Do you blame me?”
Seneca mentally recoiled. She abhorred killing. At the same time, a small part of her understood.
“Mother was shocked when the Shadowcat Nation was formed. How your people organized and overcame the dominance issues is still a mystery to us.”
“I understand the Alphas who formed the nation were already forming territories. As the wolves became a bigger problem, they formed the Nation. The idea was already there. Where is your mother now? Still in Africa?”
Zula lowered her eyes. “She was killed about ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Seneca placed her hand over her heart. “I lost my own mother about fifteen years ago. Did she die as part of the wars?”
Lips pinched, Zula shook her head. “She was hunting in her lion form and poachers shot her. When the lion they shot turned out to be a woman, they ran. She was found by another lioness in our pride who’d been out hunting with her.”
Heavens. No wonder Zula was bitter. If the mountain lions had agreed to a deal, both her mother and father could be alive now.
“I took over when my mother died.”
Seneca eyed the woman, who was in her mid-thirties at the most. “You must’ve been a baby.”
“I was not quite twenty, and I was determined to find safety for my people quickly and avenge my parents’ deaths.”
Seneca stared down at her hands, clenched in her lap. She would have felt the same, were she in that position.
“All because of your father and a few others.”
Not my father. The protest sprung to her lips, but she bit down on her tongue, holding back the words. “Which others?” she asked instead.
“We’ve killed most of them. Only Delaney and Victor Silva remain alive.”
Thinking over Silva’s reactions to her and Gage joining the lion pride, Seneca believed her. Not only that, but, according to Andie’s source, Silva’s dare was one of those joining Rick in his declaration of war.
“When did you make a deal with Kyle Carstairs?” The son of the Alpha of the western Canadian dare had been instrumental in attacks against both Andie and Sarai, among others.
“Only a few years ago. The deal with him was an attempt to infiltrate the Shadowcat Nation, and possibly control it if we managed to put him in leadership.”
“From what I understand, he was as likely to kill you as help you.”
“He was…an unfortunate decision driven by a desperation to get my people to a safe haven faster. The war was taking too long.”
“We will work this out, Zula. I believe that.” Anxiety rimmed the edges of her belief like barbed wire, but the belief was still solid. She knew, in her gut, this could be resolved.
“We shall see.”
Seneca stood. “Thank you for telling me your side,” she said in a quiet voice.
Zula stood and skirted the coffee table to squeeze Seneca’s hand. “We are pride-mates now, and I am open with all the members of my family.”
Seneca blinked. This was the first sign of warmth or acceptance any lion, except perhaps Eddie and Beno, had shown her. For a heartbeat, she suspected Zula of using her powers of seduction against her. But no. Years with Lareina meant she not only recognized the sensation, but had developed a certain amount of immunity to it.
“Rick Delaney is not my father.”
Seneca clapped a hand over her mouth, then lowered it slowly. While she hadn’t consciously meant to confess that fact, she didn’t regret it. Peace demanded some amount of give and take, and this was a small sacrifice to the alter of truth.
“Explain,” Zula demanded.
“My mother returned from a trip to Russia unaware she was pregnant, but discovered later I was not Rick’s. I’m not a blood relation.”
“He doesn’t know?”
Seneca shook her head. “Not yet. Although he may guess soon.”
“Why?”
“I suspect Silva will reveal I was the one who turned in evidence of Rick’s involvement in instigating the war between our people.”
Zula took a measured step back.
“That was you? Again why?”
“My own mother was killed in the fighting. When I heard what Tieryn had to say, after she talked with you, I knew it to be true. I knew.” She balled her hands into fists. “But I also knew the Alpha’s Council would do nothing without proof. I’ve witnessed Rick’s tyranny my entire life, but being the daughter of the Alpha protected me to a certain extent. It also put me in close proximity to observe him. Someone had to take him down.”
Zula was silent for a long time, staring at Seneca with an assessing stare, her eyes dark and wary.
“Are you latent? Or submissive?”
The questions, not what she’d expected, drew a frown from Seneca, “Why do you ask?”
“You said your father was from Russia. There are no mountain lions there. Did you take your mother’s shift? Or your father’s?”
Mental note. Don’t underestimate Zula’s attention to detail or Holmes-like powers of deduction.
“I am a tiger shifter.” No point in lying now.
The lioness’s eyes widened in shock, then a satisfied smile spread across her lovely lips. “So Rick Delaney has harbored a tiger shifter as his daughter all these years. One who eventually turned on him. That might be the best news I’ve had in years.”
The comment surprised a laugh out of Seneca. “I guess it would be.”
Zula chuckled, though she quickly sobered. “Why tell me this now?”
Seneca opened her arms in an appeal for understanding. “You are the first person, except for Gage and my mot
her, to accept me. To seem to want me. As you said, I am part of your pride now. Trust needs to start somewhere, even if it’s just between two women who’ve lost so much because of one man.”
Zula considered that, and dipped her head regally. “I thank you for your trust.”
“Thank you for not killing me.” Seneca grinned.
Zula chuckled again as Seneca turned for the door.
“I wonder if you’d be so grateful had I forced you to mate one of my lions?” The teasing behind the words was another surprise. One of many today. The lioness actually had a sense of humor.
Seneca turned from the door she’d opened. “That might have ended badly. I’m afraid I might have scratched the eyes out of any woman you paired with Gage.”
Zula smiled, this one full of warmth. “He’s your Fated Mate. That’s as it should be.”
Seneca returned the smile, but sobered as she closed the door behind her. Fated Mate? Yeah right.
Chapter Fifteen
Eddie gave her a nod as she stepped out of Zula’s room. “You should wait for Beno to return and I can walk you back to your room,” he said.
She waved him off. “I’ll be fine, Eddie.”
She wasn’t as careless as she knew she was coming across. Her insistence on wandering the castle solo was a deliberate move. An escort made her look scared, or guilty, neither of which would earn her any points with the lions. If she got in trouble, she had ways to deal with that. It meant revealing secrets, but she’d take that risk. Her gift told her she wasn’t in mortal danger.
Halfway to her room, she decided to swing through the cafeteria-like dining room. She’d had a sandwich for lunch and that didn’t seem to be enough, according to her rumbling stomach. While the cooks weren’t in, there were still various snack foods available. She grabbed an apple and spun around to smack into a wall that hadn’t been there a second ago.
Before she could absorb the fact that the wall was, in fact, a man, she was lifted off her feet by her neck and slammed against the wall. Immediately, black spots danced before her eyes.
****
Gage sat in one of the armchairs in the corner of their suite. The one facing the door. Ten minutes before, he was studying the negotiated terms of peace Zula had provided when a shot of surprise, followed by fear, and then the uncomfortable sensation of not being able to breathe, had telegraphed over his connection to his mate. Positive Seneca was in danger, he’d leapt to his feet, only to have a sense of calm wash through next. He’d paused, waited, but no more danger signals came his way. When the stretched rubber band of their bond started to ease, an indication that she was on her way back to him, Gage had sat and waited.
The handful of minutes it took her to return to him was interminable. Deliberately, he’d picked up the paperwork which had scattered across the floor when he’d jumped to his feet. Seneca already acted irritated about how much information he gleaned from their connection. If she was okay, he didn’t want to hover like a helicopter parent. His mate needed a certain amount of space and trust.
Consequently, when the door rattled, he kept his focus on the papers. “Hey,” he called. “How’d your talk with Zula go.”
“Fine.” Her voice came out in a croak and he lowered the paper in his hand to send her a frowning glance. But her back was to him as she hustled into the bathroom.
Nope. He couldn’t sit idly by, pretending a lack of concern he didn’t feel. Not when every protective instinct in him was screaming that something was way wrong.
Gage hopped up and crossed the room before making the conscious decision to do so. “Seneca?” he called through the bathroom door.
The sound of her clearing her throat reached his straining ears. “Just a sec,” she called, rusty voiced, followed by a fit of coughing.
“Are you okay?”
“Yup.”
He didn’t move away from the door as he waited, listening for any clue, but all was quiet on the other side of the door.
He gave her several minutes before he knocked. “Seneca?”
“Can’t a girl get a minute of privacy?”
He caught the muttered comment, but, instead of relaxing to hear her quirky brand of spunk, he scowled. What was wrong with her voice? The usually smooth tones had been overlaid by a husky rasp.
He knocked harder on the door now. “Come out and talk to me.”
“Hold on.”
“No. Now, Seneca.” He barely resisted the urge to go full Neanderthal and break the door down. His mate was in trouble.
Her small sigh reached him. “Okay. I’m coming out. But you have to promise not to go all Alpha until you’ve heard me out.”
Obviously whatever was wrong was pretty bad if she was extracting promises before he knew the issue.
“I’m not coming out until you promise,” she called when he didn’t answer. Now she was directly on the other side of the door. Gage battled the contradictory urges to shake her and to hold her. He knew there was a strength to his mate that he found as sexy as it was amazing given the persona she presented to the world. But he also suspected that the vulnerability she also showed wasn’t entirely faked. No matter how capable she was, he wanted to be the man to take the fear out of her world.
Gage rolled his tense shoulders. “I promise.” The words came out more as a growl, but he couldn’t help that. His need to defend his mate was too strong an instinct at the moment.
“Okay.” The old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table ticked in the hush of the room, but the door didn’t swing open.
“Seneca?”
“Don’t freak out.”
“You’re making it worse by making me wait.”
Slowly she opened the door. Gage immediately zeroed in on her neck, which was black and blue with an obvious handprint.
He couldn’t stop the angry growl that rumbled up from the animal inside him, even if he wanted to.
Seneca paled at the sound, then held up a hand. “Don’t—”
“Who touched you?”
Her lips compressed and she shook her head. “I’m not going to say.”
“No one touches my mate and gets away with it.” He stepped in close and buried his nose in her neck to try to get the scent of her attacker, though careful not to touch the bruise and cause her pain. A deep inhale didn’t tell him much, the summery scent of lion. No surprise there. A hint of aftershave, but the handprint was too large for a woman, so also not a surprise.
He yanked back. The impotent fury inside him had him pacing back and forth, though he never moved his gaze from her.
She held up her hands in a placating gesture that did nothing to calm him. “They didn’t get away with it. I took care of it.”
That stopped him. “Did you shift and take them out?”
She crossed her arms. “It doesn’t matter what I did.”
“It does to me.”
Rather than arguing with him, which would push his mountain lion over the edge, Seneca stepped directly into his space. “What I need from my mate is to be held and taken care of. And I need him to trust that I took appropriate action. Can you do that?”
Competing instincts locked in battle inside him—the need to cherish and the need to protect. Gage blew out a long breath, then reached out and pulled her to him, cradling the back of her head with his hand. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck and wrapped her arms around his waist. She’d taken the one action that had any chance of calming the raging animal inside him. Not that he was fully appeased, but the need to take care of her overrode the need to mete out punishment.
He inhaled her unique scent that reminded him of crisp winter days. Gage loosed another low growl. “I can smell him on your skin.”
She surprised him by letting out a low growl of her own, the first sign of her own anger with the situation. She pulled back, “I only want to smell you on my skin.”
In an instant, hot desire flooded through him, pooling in his groin. The mountain lion in him urged him to rec
laim his mate. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The sweetly heavy scent of lust swirled around them—his or hers he couldn’t tell.
“So don’t. Make love to me, Gage. I need you.”
Chapter Sixteen
With a groan, Gage swung her up into his arms. What was it about this woman that she could have him swinging between lust and anger in milliseconds when that wasn’t his nature? Gage was the rock, the center. When everyone and everything fell apart, he was the one holding it all together. That she could affect him at such a deep level scared him.
But he wouldn’t give her up. Perhaps emotion might make him a better leader, bringing with it more compassion for others, and perhaps, if things worked out, more happiness in his own life. Although, that wasn’t why he couldn’t give her up, merely a nice excuse.
With infinite gentleness he crossed the room and laid her on the bed. He sat beside her. With a feather light touch, he traced the bruises on her neck. His gut twisted at the sight. Someone had hurt his mate and he hadn’t been there to stop it.
Seneca reached up to cup his jaw. “Don’t,” she whispered.
He leaned into her touch, the first tender gesture she’d offered him. Ever. Closing his eyes, he held on to the moment, though part of him was shocked at how much he needed her. Not just her body, but her spirit, her soul. He turned his head to kiss her palm, and she smiled up at him as if he was the answer to a prayer.
With a touch meant to tease, he traced her collarbone, smoothed over the tip of her breast, smiling at her gasp. The noises she made when they made love could become addictive. He cupped that breast, savoring the heavy weight of it in his palm, then smoothed over her stomach, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip. She lay quietly under his hands, the sound of her quickening breaths all the indication of her body’s responses he needed.
With deliberate, excruciatingly slow movements, he undressed her, taking the time to kiss and nibble at each exposed swath of skin. Her jeans and top dealt with, he spent time on various sensitive points he knew rarely got attention on a woman—the back of her knees, the sensitive spots at her wrists, the back of her neck, the tips of her fingers. Wanting to take his time, he avoided the typical erogenous zones.
