Shifter Fated Mates: Boxed Set

by Mandy M. Roth

  He shoved the door open and stood just inside, breathing deep.

  And he smelled her. That scent of desert rain.

  But beneath it, around it, almost smoothing her scent was another—spices. He walked through the room. Trying to read it, trying to see what she’d seen.

  He could almost hear her. There was a glass of water sitting on the table, a lemon floating midway in the clear liquid. A crescent imprint of her lips edged the rim from the lip gloss she’d used. He strode to the table, saw all the jewelry displayed.

  Bastard. Lured her here, did he?

  Lorenzo glanced around and wondered what had happened? He scanned the document on the table, lying atop a folder. Reya’s handwriting glared up at him.

  He noticed the word at the top of the page. S-A-R-B-Y-N.

  Nybras.

  He closed his eyes and grabbed the chair. He could see her, feel her here. He could see her writing on the paper, caught the swinging movement of what she’d seen, felt her fear, then terror.

  Nybras!

  Aqua eyes shimmered at him.

  Lorenzo’s eyes snapped open and he breathed deep.

  Marcos stood just in front of the hearth. “I picked up an old evil. Not cold, but hot. You?”

  “Same.”

  “Any ideas?

  Lorenzo nodded. “Some bastard named Nybras. And I’m certain she knew him before. Probably about two hundred years ago.”

  “That’s it?” Marcos shook his head. “She’s your mate, don’t you know?”

  Lorenzo threw him a look and stalked from the house, walking the perimeter. The cabin was quaint.

  “Why the hell didn’t she sense it?” he muttered, pulling out his phone. He called Charles who answered.

  “What? Did you find anything?”

  Lorenzo filled him in. “What do you know?”

  “Nybras isn’t good, I’m still looking. I’ll let you know more as I have it. Oh and you should probably know that Darrell is on his way with Lilly.”

  “What?”

  “She refused to stay. Said you were going to need her help. So I sent Dena and Darrell.”

  “Great, they’ll probably kill each other before they even get here.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “Marcos know anything?” Charles asked.

  “Not as much as I wished.”

  “I’ve alerted The Council. I’m meeting with their liaison now.”

  He took deep breath. “Thank you, Charles. But you should know—tell them, I don’t care if this is sanctioned or not. Whoever took her is dead.”

  He clicked his phone shut and looked to the southeast, back towards the canyon.

  * * * *

  Pain spiked through her skull, biting her awake. She waited, tried to breath.

  What the hell?

  Slowly, she tried to open her eyes. The room was fuzzy. Reya blinked, hoped that things would clear up but they didn’t. Edges were blurred, whatever she was focusing on seemed to be too clear, almost right in front of her. She reached up and touched her forehead. Did she get drunk?

  She tried to think.

  Breathing deep, she smelled … earth. Damp earth and rock. She frowned and tried to look around. She was in their bedroom. The comforter beneath her was dark blue, the down as soft as always, the quilt covering her as worn as she remembered.

  Her heart fluttered in her chest.

  Something was wrong. She knew it, could sense it.

  Her hand fisted on the medicine bag between her breasts.

  Her breasts…

  She was naked.

  Chills danced and pricked her skin.

  She moved her head to the side. “Lo?”

  Fear taunted deep inside.

  Something was wrong.

  No. No. She was here. Here at home. Lo was just around. What the hell had happened? Why couldn’t she remember?

  What did she remember?

  Reya took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Tried to see…

  Lorenzo’s face, worry creasing his brow, bracketing his mouth. His eyes hard and dark. Just as she started to call out to him, saw his eyes change, widen, heard his voice, edged with fury, “Reya!”

  Blackness blanketed her mind.

  What?

  Lo?

  Nothing. Her hand trembled. Her fist tightened on the bag around her neck.

  Calm down. She just needed to calm down. For whatever reason, she was over reacting.

  Remember….

  She thought back. All she could remember was being in bed. Making love to Lorenzo. His body moving over hers, demanding her, calling her, marking her, claiming her.

  Confusion and peace battled forth fear. What was going on?

  She tried to roll over, but the pain in her head nauseated her. Reya moaned.

  Careful not to move, she stretched her hand out. The light from the bathroom was dimmed. The curtains were drawn over the windows.

  Fates, her head. If only it would stop hurting. Did she get drunk? Had she and Lorenzo partied? Celebrated something?

  Pizza. They’d had pizza, she’d burned dinner.

  An image, his voice gruff and growling in her mind, pierced through her. You’re mine. She remembered the momentary sting of his teeth as he’d claimed her.

  Then what?

  She frowned, tried to remember, but nothing came to her.

  Vaguely, as if through fog, she thought she remembered going to the office. What the hell time was it? What day was it?

  “Lo?”

  No one answered her. She listened and wondered what it was that seemed off. Was the air conditioner louder than normal? The ceiling fan? There was a noise, a hum that seemed out of place.

  Taking a deep breath, she waited, hoping the pain in her head would calm, but it didn’t. On another deep breath, she tried to sit up. The room spun around her, pain knife through her skull and she swayed, lying back down.

  “Lo!” she called out. She was going to be ill.

  No one came. She glanced at the door, saw the faint glow of lights from the living room, but nothing stirred.

  If she were hurt, wouldn’t he have been here? Yes.

  If she was sick, if he had to go somewhere, he’d have made certain someone was there to watch her. Yes.

  The ring on her finger seemed to heat a band around her finger. The medicine bag warmed against her chest.

  She fisted her hand on it, realized again she was naked.

  That just seemed wrong. She wiggled her fingers, her hands, her toes and feet. Nothing seemed to hurt, nothing was broken or sprained. The only thing that hurt was her head.

  She needed some aspirin.

  A noise hissed and she frowned. A light flicked on in the other room. “Reya?” Lorenzo asked.

  Relief crashed through her. She closed her eyes and relaxed.

  Again something hissed. She wondered what it was, but hurt too badly and was too tired to care. She threw her arm over her eyes and waited. If Lorenzo was here, everything was fine.

  Yet even as his heels clicked across the tiled floor to the bedroom, her nerves tightened, her stomach tensing…

  She held her breath.

  “Hey, sorry, I wasn’t here earlier. Had some stuff to do. A call came in.”

  She let her breath out slowly, pain still dancing in six inch heels inside her brain. What the hell was wrong with her?

  She heard him move across the room, his boots hushing over the rugs. The tap gushed in the bathroom, but something in the sound seemed…different.

  Like the hum, or lack of a noise. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.

  The bed dipped as he sat on it, and she reached down to pull the quilt up, once again chilled. That was when she realized something else.

  Her breath froze and she looked down her body over her stomach to her groin. It was bare.

  Slowly, she looked back up, Lorenzo sat on the bed, holding a glass of water and a pill. “Here babe, you need this. You had a hell of a headache, a
nd no wonder.”

  A hot breeze flowed over her, and she looked again down her body. Her hair was there. Reya blinked, then glanced at him, with his dark slashed brows raised.

  “Reya?”

  God her head was screwed. “Wh-what happened?” she whispered, reaching for the glass, noticing her hand shook.

  His other hand caressed her cheek and she jerked back at the contact. He frowned. “You fell at the shop, fainted and slammed your head into the display case. Don’t you remember?”

  The deep voice was the same, but it didn’t comfort her.

  Pain slashed again, white hot behind her eyes. She’d figure it out later. Quickly, she swallowed the pill he handed her.

  For a moment, he said nothing, then took the glass from her. “Scared me to death.” His hand touched her lower abdomen. “You need to take care of yourself, now.”

  Pregnant! How had she forgotten?

  She blinked as the room spun.

  Again she reached for the medicine bag at her neck.

  “Why don’t you take that off?” He reached for her hands that held it, lifting them. But her hands seemed weighed.

  Reya shook her head. “No. No, I want it on.”

  He frowned, even as her vision blurred more. “You’ll sleep better without it.”

  Her eyes were heavy. What had he given her?

  “Aspirin?” she asked.

  His chuckle danced as his hand moved lower. He leaned over her. “Don’t worry, Precious, just something to make you sleep.”

  Precious…

  She shivered. No. Straining, she opened her eyes, her hand still on the bag around her neck. As if down a tunnel she saw his face. That face she loved, would die for…

  Lorenzo…

  The face shimmered. Shifted.

  No.

  Precious…

  Nybras. Her fist tightened on the bag, heating her palm, the bites on her neck and breast on fire.

  Lorenzo! Help me!

  Chapter Eight

  Nybras watched her, saw her eyes widen, the fear shifting in them. He wondered how long it would take her. At first, disappointment had slithered through him, but then he’d sensed her doubts, the edge of fear sharpening her senses. It was like ambrosia.

  Granted, he didn’t want her to always fear him, but a little fear never hurt anyone. It allowed the soul to search, to seek and find that which bought peace.

  “Sweet dreams, Precious.” Nybras stood, shook the glamour off and strode from the room. At the door he waited, saw she was still, her breathing slow and deep.

  He smiled. She was here, she was his, that was all that mattered. And in time, he’d move her where she would never be found.

  The bands around his chest loosened. She was here. Finally, with him. All this time, all the searches, all the long cold nights. All the women he’d tried to bury his want with, all for naught. All because none of them were her. None of them made him smile, made him laugh, had the desire rushing through him. No other had ever survived the pleasure he gave them. Well, there was the vampire in Ireland, but she hadn’t really impressed him all that much. He’d used the silver blade on her.

  Thinking of that, brought him back to the matter at hand.

  He slowly pulled the door shut and scanned the living room. This décor bothered him. It was too simple, too plain.

  But he only had to deal with it for a while longer. Then she would see it differently. As his, not this other cat’s. A damn cat. Nybras shook his head at the vagaries of fate. Why she chose mediocrity when she could have him, he’d never understand, and he’d never give her another chance. This time he made certain. He would not gift her with his trust, or anything else. She had tried to kill him. Which in and of itself still shocked him, yet amused him. She hadn’t succeeded, but damn the woman had given it her best.

  He strode across the kitchen. His place was more ornate, more sensual…. This whole southwest design with its simplistic bare designs and pastels with the random bright color was beyond him. It lacked feeling and…passion.

  Nybras closed his eyes and ended the glamour of the living area and kitchen.

  When he opened them, he smiled. This was much, much better. Here he felt at home. Silks draped from the ceiling in golds and reds. Bright blue pillows, their tapestries woven with scenes of men and women in sensual poses decorated the low bed. He pressed a button on the countertop, and a panel of wall slid away to reveal the security cameras. He scanned the area and saw all was as it should be. The old stucco house, its porch sagging, sat still and aging.

  Then he saw the dust from the road clouding the air. He clicked on the camera.

  Selinna. It was about time. She had no consideration for those around her. For Selinna it was all about Selinna. She hadn’t learned a single blessed thing through the ages. He blamed that on her brother, Sael. Not that he’d ever met the man. He’d met Selinna over a year ago by chance. They’d been lovers for a time. It was pure luck—or the hand of fate that had brought them into contact. For Selinna finally confided in him she’d found her enemies. When he dug deeper, he learned more. Nybras realized that Selinna would lead him to Precious and she had. But Sael… Sael, Nybras had only heard of.

  Just the name of that bastard licked his rage. But if not for the sick and twisted man, Nybras knew he would never have met Precious. And she was that. The way she seemed powerful yet vulnerable all at once.

  He frowned as Selinna drove up and slammed out of the car. Well, she wouldn’t have much to be upset about soon.

  She strode to the porch, her black jeans painted on her long slim legs, the sweater leaving as little to the imagination as the pants. Her hair was pulled back into a twist at the nape of her neck. He had to admit, Selinna had a beautiful neck, but he didn’t desire her. Not like he had others, not like he did Precious.

  He’d thought about putting a bomb there, just there where he’d known she’d step, or anyone else for that matter. But then, he knew an explosion would bring mortals swarming all over the place. If possible, he avoided fighting with mortals. He might be a demon, but he still had people to answer to, and if he caused too many problems, then the greater powers would be down his neck and he’d be consigned back into serving the legions of hell.

  He’d rather be here. So he did what he could, kept what he wanted. Searched for pleasure where he found it, where he wanted to find it. And he did find it. He always found it sooner or later.

  There wasn’t a more sensual creature than Precious.

  And she was his.

  He knew given enough time, Selinna would end up killing his precious. Selinna’s rage went too deep, distorted too much. For him, he didn’t care. He just wanted what was his. Period.

  Selinna walked around the house, he switched cameras, watched as she cursed, hitting her hand on her thigh.

  So impatient.

  She could learn a few things, but he didn’t have time. Loose ends were best tied, then snipped.

  He strode over to the fireplace, the incense inside casting the flames in an eerie green. Above was a box, the carvings ancient and of his mother’s people. Aerials had a race of their own, even though he’d always embraced his father’s legacy more. He lifted the lid and smiled as the dim lights glinted on the silver blade, its handle carved with incantations and encrusted with amber and bloodstones. He knew the crystals had been carefully chosen. The dagger was often used for negative tasks and the bearer didn’t want that coming back on them. The crystals balanced and cleansed the negativity from the act.

  Or so he’d been told.

  He wasn’t quite certain he believed it, but it hardly mattered. The dagger had its uses. It was silver, solid silver. He knew its purpose, the reason for its creation was not a normal weapon of defense, but of that of assassination. It was used to kill immortals. One quick stab wound straight through the heart and all was over.

  He palmed the weapon and glanced into the room. She still slept.

  Night was falling. He loved the night
s. It had been hours, and a storm was blowing up from the north. He waved his hand and the room shifted back to the drab living room of her beloved cat. He shook his head and walked out, pulling the heavy door shut behind him.

  He flew up the passage into the barn. There was no ladder and he knew the drop down was deep enough that she couldn’t jump up and out—if she managed to escape out the two foot thick door. Which she wouldn’t.

  He smiled, dropped the cover over the hole and walked out of the barn towards the old house.

  Selinna was pacing down the dilapidated porch, her squared heels clicking impatiently.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she asked.

  He didn’t say a word as he walked to her. “You should have garnered a bit more patience, my pretty. Impatient people often come to very bad ends.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I did what you wanted. I still want that Lorenzo bastard. You can have your precious Reya and—“

  She’d dared to use her name. Only he called her precious.

  “How dare you,” he whispered, stepping closer.

  She frowned. “What?”

  He grabbed the back of her neck, chanted the words in his mind to bind her beast which he could feel her calling.

  He smiled at the shock look in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong Selinna? Can’t find your puppy?” He laughed, flipping the dagger in his hand. Looking into her wide, angry green eyes, he slid the dagger between her ribs, tightened his hold when she would have pulled away and shoved the blade until he felt her heart pop. “No one calls her precious, Selinna. Only I call her that. She’s mine.”

  Selinna’s eyes clouded, her energy leaving her. He held the blade there, let her blood seep out of her heart, allowed the silver to poison what was left of her.

  When she wasn’t breathing, he jerked the blade free, wiped it on her sweater, and let her down on the porch. What a waste. She was a beautiful woman, but she let anger and hatred turn her bitter.