by Kyle, Celia
The gun fell to the ground with a thump, the deadly hunk of metal landing near his paw. He’d make her keep one on her from now on. She had some non-human powers, but they wouldn’t save her from tooth and claw.
He turned his head toward her sobbing body and lapped at her skin, sliding his rough tongue along her bare arm. He cataloged her flavors, the honeyed sweetness mixed with salt from her sweat and the bitter taste of terror. He bit back a growl and promised himself that he’d see to Jackie. How dare she? How dare she?
He licked her again, revealing a feline smile when she giggled instead of sobbed.
Tess sighed and slumped to the ground, resting her head against his side, and her fingers were still buried in his mane. He lowered his rear end and let her take what comfort she could.
“Thank you.” She rubbed her face against his shoulder.
He purred; his beast thrilled with being marked by their mate. The sound came from deep within his chest, vibrating throughout his body, and a contentment he’d never known stole over him. Tess repeated the caress, burying her nose. The purr grew, rumbling and traveling through them both.
“Thank you so much.”
Harding leaned down and nuzzled her, inhaling her sweet scent and allowing her presence to drive away the last of his terror-fueled rage. His mate—his mate—had been attacked. Threatened by the very woman she’d shared a home with for any number of months.
There are plenty of women in the organization who believed in the cause. Plenty of women who can hit just as hard as any man.
Some sort of evaluation needed to happen. Now. Jackie proved that females could be as deadly as males.
Harding nudged Tess, intent on urging her to stand so they could leave. His mate’s green-eyed gaze met with his, and she leaned forward and kissed his nose. It was nothing more than a chaste brush of her lips, but it was still their first kiss. Too bad he was wearing fur.
With another nudge, she pushed to her feet, but refused to release his mane. No matter, his cat was still purring, happy with her touch.
He led her back to the woods, his paws nearly silent on the forest floor. They retraced their steps, but he was ever vigilant as they traveled. Jackie had been deflected for now. Until he had a chance to talk with Stone, he’d have to be careful with Tess. Nothing could happen to his mate. Nothing.
The chitter of birds returned with every step, the rustle of the wind picking up once again, and the low sounds of forest animals skittering across the ground reached him. The happy animals indicated that whatever had scared them was gone. And for once, it wasn’t Harding who had terrified them.
Before long they stood within the compound’s cave entrance, and Tess gained them access. Her fingers still deep within his mane, Tess led him into the elevator. Even then she didn’t release him, hand still clutching him like a lifeline.
He hated that he couldn’t change and tug her into his arms. Not when shifting back to two legs meant standing naked before her. He wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet. Getting to her had been his priority, and now he was stuck comforting her with his fur. Since they were relatively safe, he leaned into her, pressing along her leg and hip and nuzzling her shoulder. When a soft weight rested against the top of his head, he purred once again. She leaned on him and took what little comfort he could offer.
All too soon the elevator dinged, announcing their arrival. When Tess stepped forward to exit first, he nudged her back with his nose. No, one of the women inside had already tried attacking his Tess once; she wasn’t going to get another chance so easily.
Harding stepped into the entryway, his tail flicking in agitation as he entered. The deep thud of someone approaching had his ear twitching toward the sound, but he kept his focus intent on the doorway that led to the living room.
Tess’s fingers tightened in his fur and he focused on the low voices. Those footsteps neared, but he recognized the weight and cadence. Ben was on his way, and the lion knew theirs would be safe with Ben. He was massive and fierce and was a friend to Tess. She’d be safe while he went into that room and roared, showing Jackie that Tess wasn’t to be fucked with. She may not have claws and fangs, but he did. And he was more than happy to use them.
Ben neared and he turned his head enough to see the elephant in his peripheral vision. The man raised a single brow as he moved into Harding’s line of sight. “Is there a reason we’re seeing all this fur?”
Harding waited for Tess to tell Ben of Jackie and how she’d been more than happy to tear her human body limb-from-limb.
Instead, he heard a forced smile in her voice. “We had a debate on whose balls were bigger: yours, or his?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You won, by the way.”
Harding growled, but she stroked him, lessening his annoyance in an instant. Maybe he could deal with any insult if it came with her gentle hands. He looked at Ben fully, noticing the smug look on the shifter’s face.
Maybe.
Tess tugged on his mane. “I’m gonna go back to my room and change. I’ll see ya at dinner.”
Nudging her until she stood on his other side and away from the living room’s open doorway, he allowed himself to be led from the area. She probably thought she was in control, tugging him along like a pet, but in truth he simply didn’t want to let her out of his sight. Not now. Not ever.
As they eased into the living room’s archway, he thought back to her words.
“There are plenty of women in the organization who believed in the cause. Plenty of women who can hit just as hard as any man.”
He wanted to ask her if there were any within the compound. He glanced into the living area, letting his gaze sweep the room yet linger on the women. Fear, worry, and revulsion met him, but also a good dose of malevolence.
Harding had his answer.
39
“You got problems? I got kids. Here, we’ll trade.” — Maya O’Connell, Prima of the Ridgeville Pride and woman who’d like to trade. Really.
Thud. Thump. Thud. Slap.
Thud. Thump. Thud. Slap.
That’s how he found her the next day, tossing her tennis ball against the wall and catching it when it returned.
Floor. Wall. Floor. Hand. Rinse and repeat.
The creak and groan of the lock on her steel bedroom door proved he’d snare the key from Stone since the gorilla was the only one who had a copy. The low grumbles within the visitor’s mind told her exactly who stood on the other side.
Tess had avoided him at dinner yesterday. Again at breakfast and lunch. It was amazing how easily she could sneak around and snare food without crossing his path. But, apparently, the lion was finished waiting for her to reemerge.
Harding. Her savior and…something else.
For twenty-four hours her body had screamed at her to go to him, sink into his fur and take comfort from his touch.
She hadn’t. Obviously.
Which had only made the yearning that much greater.
Thud. Thump. Thud. Slap.
But it wasn’t like they had anything to talk about. Not really. Well, really-ish. He’d saved her from Jackie the Bitch, of course. Otherwise, there was nothing between them. Except heat. God, the heat was nearly killing her.
The heavy door slid open on silent hinges, portal swinging wide to expose the man she’d expected.
Thud. Thump. Thud. Slap.
Her rhythm never faltered. Not when she looked to him and was reminded of those pale locks that begged for her touch, or those blue eyes that stripped her with one glance. It didn’t stutter when she took in the black shirt that clung to his chest like a second skin or saw the way his jeans molded to his muscular thighs.
Nope. That ball kept on going.
Didn’t keep drool from pooling in her mouth though.
Tess fought with her body, demanding that she not become aroused in his presence. The damned cat would catch the scent in a single breath, and then she’d be vulnerable to the much larger shifter.
She couldn’t have
that. She’d spent the last twenty-four hours telling herself that the momentary spark of caring toward Harding had been a fluke. It wasn’t real. It’d been appreciation. A speck of any emotion toward another could easily blossom into more. Then she’d have a walking, talking vulnerability. That couldn’t happen.
A small smile graced his lips and she tore her gaze from him, refocusing on the repetitive motion of the tennis ball. Looking at those kissable lips was too tempting.
Without an invitation, he stepped into the room. She watched him from the corner of her eye. He padded to her small desk, and she noticed that his feet were bare.
God, could feet be sexy?
A tendril of heat unfurled within her.
Apparently they could be.
Thud. Thump. Thud. Slap.
A rustle and clink reached her just before the scent of Ben’s infamous beef stew drifted over to her. Then Harding was by her side, over six feet of muscle, man, and lion not a foot from her body. More of that unfamiliar heat slid into her veins, and she chastised herself. This wasn’t a man she wanted. Besides, males couldn’t be trusted. Even those that professed to be trying to help could harm more than assist.
With ease, he lowered himself to the threadbare carpet, two bowls of steaming stew in his hands. He hadn’t uttered a word, not a single syllable had left his mouth, yet he’d said so much.
She got that smile that told her he knew she’d been hiding.
The barefooted swagger that said he was comfortable with her.
The exposed back as he stood at her desk that indicated he trusted her.
The stew that said he wanted to care for her.
Damn it.
Following the next slap she caught the ball and then set it beside her, reaching for the stew with her free hand. He handed it over with a murmured “careful, it’s hot” and relaxed against the wall along with her. They sat there, shoulder to shoulder while they silently ate. The flavors coated her tongue and slowly filled her stomach. Not as good as the chocolatey, cream-filled goodness she had hidden in her desk, but still delicious.
Before long she was at the bottom of her bowl, spoon scraping against the hard surface as she captured every remaining drop. She licked the curve of her utensil and glanced at Harding. He held out his half-filled bowl, extending it toward her without a word.
Did she dare? Her gaze flicked between his face and the bowl and back.
Yet again he talked to her without saying anything, told her that he cared more for her health than his own hunger.
Damn it.
Slowly, she took the bowl from him and set the empty one aside. Still not looking at him, she resumed eating, spooning the delicious stew into her while covertly watching him.
Harding seemed at ease, his muscles loose as he sat beside her. He plucked her tennis ball from the ground and mimicked what she’d been doing moments ago.
Thud. Thump. Thud. Slap.
The steady tempo repeated over and over again, the familiar sounds soothing to her tumbling mind. She didn’t want him in her room, did she? She swallowed another bite, licking the spoon to capture every hint of the delicious spices. For the briefest of moments Harding’s rhythm faltered, and then he settled back into the normal pace.
Huh.
Keeping an eye on Harding, she scooped another bit of the stew and slid it into her mouth. This time she let a small moan of appreciation flow from her. It happened again: a slight stutter in his movements.
She did it once more, flicking the underside of the spoon with her tongue. His reactions made her bold, made her forget that being near him was a mistake. Because…because some part of her was drawn to the massive lion. The man with scars that covered his body, proof that he’d lived a hard life, called to her. For every wound that had dug into her soul, he carried on his skin. Was that why she was at ease with him?
Maybe.
Tess teased once more, licking the delicate curve of her spoon and the next slap of the ball against his palm ended with a soft pop as his elongated nails dug into the pressurized rubber.
“Tess…”
She sought out the fear that usually lingered beneath her skin, lurking and waiting for a chance to pounce on her when she least expected. Yet it didn’t appear. Not a hint of nervousness or worry jumped out at her. No panic attack reared its ugly head. Nothing.
Unwilling to push him further, she sat the bowl and spoon aside. “I needed that.”
“Uh-huh.” Harding tossed the ruined ball into the trash across the room. “You wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been avoiding me and snatched more than snacks here and there.”
She wasn’t gonna blush from embarrassment. Really. She also wasn’t going to tell him about her secret stash of snack cakes. There was nothing better than highly processed, chocolate-topped goodness. She could live on Twinkies and Swiss Rolls for the rest of her life.
“I was—”
“Avoiding me.”
Harding pushed from the ground and rose to his full height. He extended his hand and she stared at it, her gaze shifting between his palm and his face. Pushing aside the flutter of nerves that formed in her belly, she gave him her hand and allowed him to pull her from the floor.
In a blink, she was vertical, standing before him. No, that wasn’t even right. He’d tugged her up and then some, pulling her against him until his heat crept through her clothes. Their bodies were aligned, her curves against the hard planes of him, and once again she was reminded of their differences. His skin was stretched taught over rippling muscles while her body just…rippled.
Okay, jiggled. Her fat jiggled. There, she admitted it.
But, admission or not, she couldn’t tear away from him, didn’t want to move from his arms. Because she was in his arms, his hands now clasped at her back and holding her close. He surrounded her with his presence, embracing her as if he’d like nothing more than to remain that way for eternity.
For a moment, the briefest of heartbeats, she allowed herself to dream. To imagine being held every day. To imagine waking beside him, his kisses tugging her from slumber.
Oh yes, she imagined… Then pushed it all away with a simple reminder.
She was Tess McCain.
She wiggled, pulling back while pushing against his chest, silently fighting for release. Without hesitation he let her go, and she stepped away from him, putting distance between them. Not that there was much space in her tiny room with all of her furniture, but even a foot was better than the press of him against her.
Dreams were for other people.
Keeping her gaze averted, she went to the plush chair in the corner and sank into the soft cushions. “Thank you for dinner. And I wasn’t avoiding you per se.”
Harding quirked his brow, disbelief evident in his features. “Right.”
She reached behind her and tugged the throw pillow free so she could hug it to her chest. “Not really.”
“Uh-huh.” He stepped to her desk and sank into the office chair, spreading his legs wide as he lay sprawling in the seat. “Try again.”
“I was avoiding…confrontation.” There, that worked. It was vague enough to mean…
“With me? Or Jackie?”
Damn him for doing the whole specific thing. “Um…”
Harding leaned forward, drawing his legs in and then resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s a little of both, isn’t it?”
The desire in his eyes forced a blush into her cheeks. The sexy, knowing smirk made it burn all the hotter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.” Harding’s eyes paled, his cat coming into play and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath.
Shit shit shit. She hadn’t exactly kept a lid on her attraction to him. “I’m serious.”
Now he sat back with a cocky grin. “Right. We’ll talk about Jackie first. You didn’t say anything to Ben—or even Stone—or ask me to step in. Why? Our job isn’t just to keep you protected from outsiders, Tess. We need to keep you an
d the other women safe from all threats, both outside and in. Period.”
Tess sighed and let her eyes drift closed. “It’s a…thing.” She shook her head, forcing memories to stay within the vault she’d created long ago. She could talk about the past without letting everything run free. “I haven’t always been here, you know?” She didn’t open her eyes to see if he was focused on her. She felt the weight of his gaze. “I was shuttled around a lot. Moved from place to place, usually wherever Alistair happened to be.”
She swallowed past the growing lump in her throat, pushing down the tears. “We stopped in Texas.” Now she opened her eyes, stared right into the pale orbs and shoved through the increasing ache. God, why couldn’t she talk about this yet? It’d been fucking years. And it hadn’t even happened really. But the “almost” and “could-have-beens” always won out. “I was thirteen.”
She gave him a moment to recall the importance of her age and when his gaze fell to her wrists, she saw the flare of recognition climb through his body. He tensed, muscles stiff beneath his skin.
Tess cleared her throat. “I was thirteen. And my ‘almost’ was a certainty for Jackie. Before Alistair found out and killed the male, there was Jackie.” She shook her head. “She nearly didn’t make it.” She turned her attention to the wall, seeing, yet not. “I don’t even know if he ripped that man apart because of me, or her. But it had the same result, regardless. No one ever tried to rape me again.” She focused on Harding then, taking in the rage that lined every inch of his body. “And she’s never been beaten since.”
Harding’s chest slowly rose and fell, his nostrils flaring with each breath, and he clenched the arms of the chair with claw-tipped fingers. “And the rapes?”
“Those continued. The woman never stopped fighting those animals, but it always happened. She just wasn’t battered and bruised when it was done. They became very, very careful.”
“So she blames you.”
