Shifters Forever Worlds Mega Box: Volume 3

by Thorne, Elle

  Jenner beamed a smile at her. “Yes, what could possibly happen?”

  Oh, if she could have a coin for every time Cedric and Jenner had asked that question.

  Chapter Three

  Marco stepped off the plane. Jenner—or was it Cedric?—he couldn’t tell from this distance, stood waiting. He’d finally figured out how to tell the difference between the two when they were up close, thanks to his shifter senses. They had a slightly different scent.

  Why the hell are they dressed in business attire?

  He looked down at his casual jeans and golf shirt. Did he miss the memo they were going somewhere with a dress code?

  One of them broke off and went toward the pilot making his way toward the control tower while the other strode toward Marco.

  Jenner approached and shook Marco’s hand. “Welcome.”

  Marco indicated Jenner’s clothing, then his own with a wave. “I’m underdressed. What’s the plan?”

  A sheepish expression crossed Jenner’s face. “No, you’re not. We’ve been called in.”

  “Called in?”

  “By the Circle. Seems there’s an issue near the Austrian/Switzerland border we need to attend to.”

  Brrr. Too cold for Marco’s blood. Then again, Denver wasn’t exactly all that warm. But still. “So much for your vacation,” Marco commiserated. “Should I be getting back on the plane?”

  Cedric walked up. “No. Not at all. We’re getting on it to head north. You’re staying for the vacation we promised you. It’s just that we won’t be your tour guides.”

  Jenner nodded. “Right. We’ve got a cousin who’s offered to help out with that.”

  The brothers exchanged a look that had Marco wondering what that was about.

  “I can fend for myself. No need to trouble anyone.”

  At that moment, a full-figured leggy blonde on the attractive side, walked up. “I’m Brigitte.” She had an accent. Northern European, but Marco couldn’t have pegged it.

  Accents weren’t his thing, but attractive women were definitely. Though this one was sporting an expression that made him feel like an entrée.

  “Marco,” Jenner said in brief introduction. “Brigitte.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Brigitte stepped close and hugged him tightly. Really closely, curves pressing into his body. He managed to detach himself from her as though she were an octopus.

  Cedric rolled his eyes while Jenner averted his gaze.

  She turned to her cousins. “Told you I would be here. Sorry, I’m a moment or two late. Didn’t want to leave the pool.”

  “No problem.” Cedric reached for the bag an airport attendant was bringing their way. He held it out for Marco. “You packed light.”

  “Didn’t think I’d need much more than some shorts and swimming trunks.”

  “Oh, you may not even need those.” Brigitte winked. “We have a private beach. Clothing optional.”

  Cedric and Jenner looked away as if their cousin was over the top.

  Hell, she was over the top. Marco was accustomed to strong women that spoke their minds, all his sisters were strong, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine Circe ever having said that to a guy she’d just met.

  Damned straight, I wouldn’t. He could practically hear her voice.

  “So,” Jenner started, “we’ll be back within a week. Think you’ll be here that long?”

  Marco paused. “Thought the invitation was for a couple weeks, so that’s what I made time for.”

  “Right.” Jenner nodded. “Wasn’t sure if your plans had changed.” He gave a sideways glance at Brigitte.

  Marco got the message. “Nah, I think I’m good.” He’d just have to make sure to steer clear of Brigitte, and that he was pretty sure he could manage. He still had no intention of getting involved with one of the Circle’s females.

  Jenner held out a set of keys. “It’s the black Jeep Cherokee in the lot.”

  Brigitte intercepted the handoff. “We can take my rental. More fun.” She winked. “It’s a convertible.”

  Disengaging from the clingy blonde was looking like a bigger task by the moment.

  “Symone will check in on you,” Cedric added.

  Brigitte threw him a dirty look. “Tell Symone I’ve got this.”

  Marco looked between the twins and the curvy blonde. Bad vibes between Symone and Brigitte, clearly. And women drama was the last thing he wanted to deal with. Especially witch women drama.

  Chapter Four

  Why the hell did she agree to babysit her brothers’ guest? Symone heaved a massive sigh and threw on a pair of jeans, sucking her breath in so she could zip them up.

  That would teach her. Days on end of wearing her baggy shorts, she hadn’t realized she’d put on more weight. She looked in the mirror. Who cares? She liked her curves. Though she had to admit, the denim was hugging said curves a little too tightly. Again, who cares?

  She pulled her hair up into a loose bun and slipped a peasant blouse over her shoulders. She studied her reflection. Her skin had darkened from café au lait to a color her mother would have adoringly called mocha. That was the product of spending too much time in the sun with the new dog she’d adopted.

  Max loved playing in the water. Half Rhodesian Ridgeback, half Weimaraner, the pooch refused to go inside. So, they’d spend their time at the family’s beach, which thankfully, was usually unoccupied.

  She rolled her eyes. Well, that would be changing, she knew. Brigitte would be there all the time, unless she hung out at the pool. Could I get that lucky?

  Perhaps she could get a rumor started that a shark had been seen at the lagoon near their beach. She bit back a laugh. Positively wicked, that idea. But it would work, by damn. And that’s what mattered. She could take Max down there unbothered without sharing the beach with Brigitte—and hopefully any of the other relatives that stayed in the villa.

  She glanced at her faithful companion, who watched her with curious and knowing eyes. Max got her. Boy, did he ever. She made a clicking sound and reached out, patting his head. “Beach?”

  Oh, he knew that word well. Yes, he did. His tail thumped against her leg.

  “Ouch.” She laughed, moving out of reach of his punishing tail. “Easy, Max.”

  Symone already had bruises on her legs from his exuberance.

  “Just let me make sure things are okay at the main house, then we’ll go to the beach.”

  Clearly, she didn’t plan on hanging out with the shifter or seeking Brigitte’s company either. She’d just go to the villa. She’d sneak in and make sure the help was up to date on plans, that they had enough supplies, and rooms set up for the shifter and Brigitte.

  She winked at Max. “I don’t suppose I’d get lucky enough to have those two run across each other and maybe even hook up, would I?”

  That would keep both of them out of her hair. Which was already coming out of its bun, for goodness sake.

  Chapter Five

  Marco couldn’t shake Brigitte. She was worse than a tick on a dog, hanging all over him, insisting on showing him the grounds, taking him up to a cabana on the beach to change, avoiding the villa for some reason. And though she didn’t have to be with him, Brigitte couldn’t have been convinced to leave.

  Quite the opposite. Once he’d appraised her of his plans to have some solitary time on the beach, she’d seized on the word beach and ignored the word solitary. She told him she’d be waiting for him outside the door, then closed it behind her.

  He could hear her humming on the other side of said door, courtesy of his supersensitive shifter hearing. He shook his head and dug his trunks out. This vacation was turning out a bit higher maintenance than he’d thought it would be.

  He silently cursed Cedric and Jenner. Damn them for leaving him in this lurch. He’d have to come up with a plan.

  His panther howled in his mind.

  I agree, he told the feline.

  His elemental remained silent. Then again,
he wasn’t much of the conversational type. Quiet, powerful, he let Jaron’s elemental powers do his speaking. And those times were rare. ‘Twas true, Marco rarely had to call on his elemental to intervene.

  Brigitte had left him alone for all of two minutes, long enough to change into swim trunks, and then she’d been knocking on his door.

  * * *

  Marco exhaled, trying hard to control his exasperation. Digging his toes in the white sand, he feasted his eyes on the jeweled waters before him, ignoring the blonde in the string bikini by his side. Would she just shut up already? She’d been prattling nonstop since they’d left the airport. The entire walk down to the beach—on and on—and now, on the beach, still. Relentlessly. If he closed his eyes could he feign being asleep, and maybe he’d get lucky, and she’d get bored and hush up? Or even better, perhaps leave?

  “So, what’s it like? Being a shifter?”

  Too late. Now instead of merely babbling she’d asked him a question. He couldn’t be rude and not answer. He wouldn’t do that to Cedric and Jenner. Though God knew, he wanted to be rude to their cousin.

  Luckily, he didn’t have to come up with the answer to his own question—or the one to hers.

  Above head, a dark cloud formed, thunder clapped, and then the skies opened up and drenched the beach. Including the blonde with the European accent next to him.

  He still couldn’t place which country that accent came from, and he wasn’t interested in investing the time to find out. Though if he had to guess, he’d have said Scandinavian.

  She screeched, something about her hair—which incidentally resembled a dirty mop and was plastered to a face that had too much makeup. Makeup that had now become raccoon eyes.

  “I can’t stay out here in this!” She jumped to her feet and put a towel over her head. “Let’s go back.”

  “I’ll be there after a while. I don’t mind the weather.” He bit back the smile.

  Of course, he didn’t mind the weather, he’d created it. Well, not Marco, not exactly.

  His elemental.

  Welcome back, he told Jaron in his mind. It’s about time. Anytime you’re ready for a talk, I’m here.

  And…

  They were back to radio silence, it seemed.

  He sighed.

  Chapter Six

  Symone watched from the shadows of the thickly forested area that lay just past the beach.

  She saw the man. Saw Brigitte too. Witnessed Brigitte’s posturing. Nearly lost her lunch over how her cousin fawned over the dark-haired, bronze-skinned muscular man on the sand.

  So that had to be the shifter. She didn’t even remember his name. Did her brothers tell her and she forgot? Or did they not even mention it?

  Oh, well. No matter. As much of a hunk as he was, she wasn’t interested in getting involved with a shifter. She’d had her fill of failed relationships with non-warlocks. It didn’t work.

  Yeah, and relationships with warlocks has worked out?

  Okay, okay, she hushed her inner self.

  True, no relationship had worked out for Symone thus far.

  “You’re too picky,” one of her sisters—half-sisters—had said.

  “You don’t get emotionally involved,” another sister added.

  “You don’t talk to men,” a cousin had told her.

  All that unsolicited advice on how she didn’t have success at love.

  “Who needs it,” she muttered.

  She didn’t. All she needed, really needed, was Max. She glanced down at him, placed her hand on his head, her other hand lifted as she placed a finger over her lips.

  “Keep quiet, sweetie,” she cautioned the dog.

  He studied her face with his dark eyes, as though always aware of what she was thinking, even feeling.

  She didn’t feel guilty that she was watching the two of them on the beach.

  Her beach.

  Not actually hers, per se, but no one else really came down to this part. The trees kept it isolated, making the lagoon area private, and not the party spot to see and be seen.

  She read the shifter’s body language and wondered how blind and self-absorbed Brigitte must be to not notice that her presence was not desired.

  A tiny smile made its way to her lips. Maybe this shifter wasn’t quite so bad. She’d concede that he might have good taste if he indeed wasn’t fond of Brigitte’s company.

  The man tensed, the muscles in his swimming shorts-clad body rippling.

  What was that about?

  She didn’t have to wonder for long.

  Seconds later, a thunderstorm erupted, drenching Brigitte, making a mess of her clothing, hair, and makeup. While the shifter lay there on the sand, as though working on a suntan, though the heavens had opened up and released buckets of water. A dark cloud—one single dark cloud—was perched just above the two of them, as if specifically ordered.

  Symone’s eyes narrowed as she took in the scene before her.

  This was no accident. The man was too nonchalant and seemingly unsurprised by the event.

  Whereas, on the other hand, Brigitte was nonplussed and losing her shit over the sudden shower. Losing her shit and running toward the path that would lead to the villa.

  Good riddance.

  Symone’s attention swiveled back to the man. He was way too casual, relaxed. Almost as if he’d…

  No. That can’t be.

  She pushed the idea far from her mind, but like a persistent toddler that demanded attention, the notion kept coming back.

  As if he’d created the squall. As though he was responsible for the deluge.

  A sensation of cold flashed through her body. An impression of denial. She didn’t want to believe it. She’d sworn she’d never be around one of their kind again and let them live.

  Before she could stop herself, she was stomping out of the trees and storming toward the man. And if she could have seen her own reflection in a mirror, she’d have seen murder in her eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  Marco’s panther snarled in his mind, disrupting his moment of peace with a warning.

  Damn, just when he’d closed his eyes and decided to enjoy the sunshine that was shining again.

  Now what?

  He hoped Brigitte wasn’t returning. She had begun to get on his very last nerve. His nerve, his panther’s, and his elemental’s.

  He opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the brightness.

  Stalking his way with very determined strides was a dark-haired, dark-skinned beauty wearing a formidable expression. And Marco knew formidable. Knew that look damned well; his sister Circe could do formidable better than any woman he’d ever met.

  Until now. Possibly.

  He assessed the newcomer. Nope, no possibly about it; this woman could give Circe a run for her money.

  Technically he hadn’t met this woman, but he was thinking he’d like to. Except for the fact she looked like she wanted to kill him.

  He appraised the curvy body, the way the jeans hugged her form, and how the off-the-shoulder top she was wearing showcased her satin skin.

  Next to her strode a monster of a dog, big, lean, full of muscles, dark chocolate brown, breed unsure, but he’d think it had some Rhodesian Ridgeback blood in him based on the raised fur on his spine. The dog would have been frightening to any man. Almost any man, but it didn’t faze Marco. How could it? He had a panther in him. A dog, no matter how large—even a lion-hunting dog—wouldn’t bother Marco and his panther. And his elemental.

  Marco focused his attention back on the woman. Splashes of red garnished her tanned cheeks. Red stains of anger. What could have made this woman so angry? And why did it seem like her fury had something to do with him?

  Perhaps she thinks I’m trespassing.

  He nodded a greeting.

  She fumed, staring, her eyes surveying him.

  Finally, he gave. “Have I done something wrong?”

  “Why has it not been mentioned that you are an elemental?”
>
  That set him back.

  He took a second to study her in return. Clearly, this woman was aware that elementals existed. So, she must be supernatural. Was she a witch?

  He opted to feign ignorance, at least until he could figure out why she was so damned pissed.

  “A what?”

  She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

  A magnificent chest at that.

  He struggled to bring his gaze back to her face.

  “Quit it,” she warned.

  At first, he didn’t recognize it as a warning, but as soon as the sand near his toes began to move, particles migrating and morphing, creating a snake made of sand, he realized what she was doing. She was using witchcraft.

  And making a damned snake!

  The snake made of sand, light brown with dark brown bands, hissed and coiled, readying to strike.

  What the hell?

  His panther roared in his head.

  Nothing personal, mister snake, but we’re not crazy about your kind.

  He felt a surge of energy, recognized it was his elemental, just as a burst of water from just above the snake was dumped onto the serpent, turning it into a wet pile of sand.

  The woman clicked her tongue in anger, her dark eyes flashing wrath.

  She raised a hand.

  Her dog let out a low growl.

  Ah, hell no.

  He leapt to his feet and put his hand on hers. “Let’s keep it friendly, okay?”

  She glared at him. “Let’s answer questions honestly.”

  “Touché.” Damn, there was something about this woman.

  Chapter Eight

  “Easy, Max.” Symone fought to keep her temper in check. Cedric and Jenner had lied to her. Flat out lied.