Anyway, humans generally resist the concept of fated mates. So, when I came to the shifter town of Perdition with Jasmine, forced to suffer the indignity that is the cat carrier, I wasn’t surprised to discover the person I was tasked to put together with Jasmine was another human.
I first met Jasmine's Auntie Greene in my cat persona. However, when I meet her the second time, I am shocked to discover she can see me.
I wish I could say I handle this revelation well, but consider the fact that I haven't had true human contact in centuries. When it's clear that Auntie sees me, I respond by getting inappropriately close to her. The closer I get, the more I am convinced of something that I have not heretofore considered for myself: that some invisible force ties me to her. In short, it appears that after all these years, I have my own fated mate in Auntie Greene.
Isn't it ironic when an unsuspecting matchmaker is suddenly confronted with his fated mate?
There I am, thinking I'll just hang out and glean whatever information I need to facilitate AJ and Jasmine's match. I’ve done this countless times before. I even dressed rather nattily for the occasion in a stylish 19th Century gentlemen's suit with fine leather Oxford shoes and a stovepipe hat, never dreaming for a moment that I'd be seen.
For her part, Auntie seems similarly confused, though, I'll note, this does not stop her from lighting into me with a sharp tongue and the fury I've come to respect. As she lights into me, pacing and waving her hands, my mind shuffles through the implications of this new development.
My curse was the direct result of my youthful arrogance. Back in the Viking Age, when I romanced women, I never spared a thought for their feelings, nor their broken hearts. As I get closer to my one-thousandth match, for the first time, I'm beginning to wonder what my life will be when I'm human again.
But thanks to my curse, I have little to offer any woman, let alone one as beautiful and accomplished as Auntie Greene. Still, I can tell by the look in her eyes that Auntie Greene is aware of the pull between us. Aware, but resistant.
The pull is more than physical. As I gaze into her bottomless dark brown eyes, I recognize something that I didn't have even before I was cursed.
My other half. Auntie Greene is my other half.
She feels it too. It's in the skittish way she moves when she knows I'm watching her. It's in the way she avoids making eye contact with me.
I am drawn to her like a moth to flame, the impulse to get closer irresistible. I want to touch her. I want to make her mine. But I fear crossing a boundary prematurely, especially when I don't have anything to offer.
I am in town to put AJ and Jasmine together, I remind myself. This thing between me and Auntie will have to wait, at least for the time being.
This fine late winter morning, I observe Jasmine get out of her car, cross the street, and prepare to enter the apothecary. Down the street, AJ leaves the hardware store, then turns his head as if compelled by an invisible force to spy Jasmine on the sidewalk. Their eyes meet for a brief moment before Jasmine enters the apothecary.
AJ watches curiously as Jasmine steps inside. He looks uncertain, as if he isn't sure going after her is the right thing to do. I decide to help things along by transforming myself into Fat Joey, plopping myself in the middle of the sidewalk, and grooming myself. AJ squints at me, looking around as if he expects to be the subject of a hidden camera, then walks toward me, looking puzzled and concerned. I trot over to the front door, glance at AJ, give him a slow blink, then meow piteously. He frowns, then makes his way down the sidewalk to investigate. I imagine he wonders why a cat who lives some miles away from town, in his backyard, would now be strolling along the sidewalk in town.
I disappear just as AJ reaches the front door of the apothecary. After a moment's hesitation and further puzzlement, he goes in.
He soon emerges with a drowsy-looking Jasmine, who he ushers into his truck, then drives away. Auntie stands at the doorway, watching them go, a bemused smile twisting her full lips. Today she wears an attractive red lipstick on those plush, kissable lips. And she wears another of her long skirts with a pink t-shirt and blue strands in her long braids.
When she spots me, she scowls, sighs, turns on her bare heel, and re-enters the apothecary. I watch her turn off the neon sign in the window and hear the door snick to the locked position. I think she's quite beautiful when she's angry, her delicate winged eyebrows knitting together and a pink tinge appearing beneath her brown skin.
I ignore her very clear non-verbal signals that she wants to be left alone. I materialize inside the shop and spot her behind the long counter that runs along the back of the shop, piling a series of small clay pots onto a tray. She sees me, makes another cranky face, and stands at the threshold of a little room hidden behind a shelf containing a multitude of small glass bottles. She pauses long enough to make a shooing gesture with her free hand, rolls her eyes at me, then glides through the open doorway with a swish of her skirt. The door closes with a light thud.
When I materialize on the other side, she is rinsing the pots in a small sink.
"It's not that easy to get away from me. I'm not entirely corporeal," I say to her back. She does her cute little, scared kitten startle, turns to glare at me, and whisper-yells.
"Don't sneak up on me!" she exclaims, exasperated. She drops one of the tiny pots, and it hits the floor to shatter into several pieces. "Gods!"
We both bend to pick it up and bump our heads together.
"Ow!" she yells, rubbing her forehead. "You said you were non-corporeal!" There is murder and fury in her big brown eyes.
What could I say to that? Being visible in my human form is a heretofore unknown aspect of my curse.
This close to her, I take in the planes and valleys of her face—her lips, her cheekbones, her freckles—and commit them to memory. I am even more convinced that this woman is my mate. I am seized by the impulse to touch her skin. I haven't touched another human skin-to-skin since Astrid caught me with her daughter in the stables behind the longhouse. My body is taut with tension, and I have to stuff my hands into my pockets to avoid touching her.
Her eyes travel up and down my body, taking in my clothes. When I transform into my human form, I can manifest any sort of clothing I wish, and today, I wear jeans and a t-shirt depicting a woman's red lips, her red tongue stuck out like she's about to lick something delicious. Auntie's eyes settle on the t-shirt, her eyes flickering over the image. She raises a hand, fingers fluttering, as if she's about to touch it, then she stops herself. Her eyes dart to mine, and I hold myself perfectly still, hoping my eyes convey what I am thinking.
Touch me...
She drops her hand to her side, looks befuddled, and turns back to the sink with the largest pieces of the pot in her other hand. I see her tension in the bunched muscles of her shoulders.
"What do you want?" she hisses, punctuating each word angrily. She stoops again to pick up the shattered pieces of the little pot.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that I should say something about the broken pot.
"Sorry I frightened you," I say, feeling a little sheepish. I am no longer good at any of the social niceties. Also, I am unprepared to talk with a woman after so many years of mostly living as a cat. All the women I've been with before were much nicer to me than Auntie. As the son of the local chieftain, I was used to women being...accommodating. Which means from the age of fourteen to the time of my curse, I had a steady stream of free, no-strings-attached pussy, mine for the asking. Women used to like me, but I don't think Auntie does.
"I believe AJ and Jasmine will be consummating their mating soon," I say. I step to her side, so close I can almost feel her body heat.
"Good, although I could have done without that level of detail," she says, averting her eyes. "My niece deserves to be loved."
So true. I am convinced Astrid wanted to teach me this very lesson all those years ago. What I've learned over the years is everyone is capable of giving love, and everyone is capable o
f receiving it. Astrid was right to curse me.
"Everyone deserves love," I tell her. She flinches and takes a moment to collect herself before turning around to confront me.
"I asked you a question," she says through gritted teeth. "What do you want?"
Her voice drips with contempt, but it’s shaky too. Whatever it is that is making her nervous, I want to hold her until her nerves calm.
She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, so different from the women I grew up with, with their blonde and red hair, their pale eyes. Auntie is brown-skinned, her hair done in a river of colorful braids, and none of the girls in my village would have ever walked around barefoot. Her spirit is different too. She is forthright. Direct in all aspects of her being. Independent and self-sufficient. The total package is irresistible.
I resist the urge to make grabby hands at her. I don't think it would go over well. Instead, I decide to go with flattery and charm.
"I just wanted to compliment you on getting those two together," I say with a bright smile. I know I have a dazzling smile. All the maidens in my village cooed over my dimples.
Auntie gives me another of her patented cagey, narrow-eyed stares. Clearly, she is not impressed.
"I have an interest in seeing my niece happy," she says, placing the broken shards in the trash. She had placed the assorted pots on the drain board. Sensing an opening, I look around for a towel to dry them for her. A tea towel hangs from a hook above the sink. But when I reach out to take it, my hand goes right through it. I try again with no success. Auntie watches me, an eyebrow cocked, as I reach for it like a stumbling drunk reaching for a doorknob. I shrug sheepishly.
"I guess I only manifest for you," I tell her, shooting her a meaningful look.
"Of course, you do," she says, sarcastically. "Having a djinn or ghost or whatever that could help me with practical things is just too much to ask, isn't it?"
She's talking, but she's not looking at me. Kind of like I'm not there, and she is holding an inner monologue, only out loud. She grabs the towel, throws it at me, lets out a harsh sigh when it goes right through me like I'm not there. And strictly speaking, I'm not.
"Stop standing there grinning like an idiot," she says. She attempts to go around me, presumably to re-enter the shop, but I'm not moving. I will not be dismissed so easily. She flips a blue braid over her shoulder, then crosses her arms over her pert little tits. "Move," she says, again making shooing motions with one hand. When I don't move, she throws a shoulder at me, like it would be that easy to scoot past me.
"Look, you annoy me," she says, an aggrieved expression twisting her pretty face. "I already said I would help you. I did that. I, frankly, do not know why you're still here, yet here you are. I have my own matters to attend to and don't have time for idle chit-chat. Now, out of my way."
Under all the ire, I am convinced I'm getting to her. I have the flash of an image: Auntie straddling me, facing away to give me a view of the round globes of her naked ass, fucking me into oblivion. In this position, I would have access to either squeeze or smack her ass cheeks.
Her mean treatment, plus the image of us fucking, gets my dick hard. I take a moment to look down, stunned at this new situation. It has literally been centuries since this has happened to me. It is wonderful, but also uncomfortable. I should be embarrassed. Instead, I would like to throw confetti and hire a marching band to celebrate.
Without thinking, I reach down to adjust myself, relieving just a bit of the pressure. Auntie's big doe eyes follow the motion with some alarm. Does she think I'll take my böllur—my member—out to show her? Does she want to see it?
"What are you doing?" Her mouth falls open, her cheeks flush anew...but then she stares curiously at my crotch. I venture a small smile at her evident interest, drawing another scowl. She wants to see it; I am certain of it.
She puts up a rebuking hand and brushes past me before I can undo my jeans.
"You know what, I don't care what you're doing," she says. "I just want you to stop doing it. Please."
My shoulders droop with disappointment, but I follow her as she bustles around the shop.
"I don't know why I'm still here," I say. "I have no control over my comings and goings. I'll leave as soon as whatever force that takes me here or there decides I can move on."
She turns to look at me again, her deep brown eyes searing my soul with their frank openness. She takes a deep breath, then opens her mouth to speak.
The bell above the front door jingles and in walks a light-brown woman with long, frizzy hair. She has circles under her eyes as if she hasn't slept in days, and wears loose-fitting jeans, a long-sleeved black t-shirt, and a pair of gloves that overlap the sleeves of the t-shirt and reach her elbows. She looks around, her eyes landing on Auntie. I am standing behind her, having followed her out of the back room. The visitor looks right through me because clearly, she does not see me.
"Auntie," the woman says with a wan smile.
"Jane," Auntie says, ignoring me to rush and embrace her.
It is clear that I’ve been dismissed. There is nothing for me to do but watch the two of them and wait to be swept away again.
Chapter Four
Auntie
After Jasmine left my apothecary with one of my milder sedatives, practically carried out by AJ, I don't hear from her until the following day. Then, I don't actually hear from her, but see her in town, all loved up and walking hand in hand with AJ. I watch as they stroll down the sidewalk, grinning, relaxed, and high on a cloud of sexual satisfaction.
Their pace is leisurely. Languid, really, and from my vantage point of the picture window of my apothecary, I watch as they enter the Last Chance Cafe, still holding hands. It is late morning, and I imagine they have slept in after a night of "consummating" their relationship. I am happy for them, and a little wistful too. I'm just eighteen months older than Jasmine, my much older brother her father, the two of us born at the far ends of our mothers’ childbearing years. I'm the youngest of the family, the "oopsie" baby, the cool, young aunt to Jasmine and my younger niece—her little sister Petunia. As such, at thirty-two years old, I'm not quite most people's image of a spinster aunt. I get plenty of quizzical looks when people realize I'm the aunt to two grown women.
Do I feel a pang that Jasmine is getting her happily ever after? Not really.
Okay, I'm lying. I'm happy for her, I love my life as an herbalist and conjure-woman, and I love Perdition, where everyone can be who they really are without censure. But when I look at Jasmine and AJ, I wonder whether I will also get my happily ever after someday. So, I'm lying when I say I'm not jealous.
I'm snap out of my musings when something catches my eye. I crane my neck to look down the sidewalk. Sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, again, sits a familiar orange house cat grooming himself as the Saturday afternoon Perdition foot traffic passes him by. The crowd flows around him like a rock in a stream.
Fat Joey.
I ignore the coincidence of wondering whether my prince will someday come, and then immediately seeing the guy I'm hot for—albeit in his shifted form—in the next moment. My belly stirs with nervous flutters. My heart beats so hard and fast that it feels like it's about to come out of my chest.
I haven't seen him since Jane Guzman, Perdition's resident succubus, and another one of my successful matches, stopped by the apothecary for an herbal remedy. By the time I was finished with her, the big blond bastard with the amber eyes and the rattlesnake in his pants was gone. I'm left with a sense of gratitude that he's not around anymore to pester me anymore, but also sadness that he left without saying goodbye. My feelings for Gunnar are complicated. He makes me hot, but in my heart of hearts, he also scares me. The way I feel when he's around scares me.
Without stopping to think what a bad idea this is, I step out of my shop and stalk toward him. He pauses in the act of grooming himself, gives me a lazy slow blink, hops to his paws, then trots up the sidewalk toward Richards Hardware. I f
ollow as he slips inside the hardware store, which is quite the feat for someone without opposable thumbs, loaded for bear and prepared to remind him that he'd told me he'd be leaving Perdition after resolving Jasmine's situation.
I don't want him here anymore, upsetting my life, igniting strange desires for a man I can never have.
When I step into the hardware, Mr. Richards says "Hello!" from his perch behind the register, but I ignore him to find Fat Joey. Somehow, when he slipped into the store, I lost sight of him. I run past displays of gardening tools, cans of paint stacked like pyramids, and rows of hand tools, searching for the chubby orange cat. I find him, finally, in the corner of the store, in the aisle where garden supplies live, behind the canisters of fertilizers, vermiculite, and sacks of potting soil. He stands next to a door marked "Employees Only." But he's not Fat Joey anymore.
He has morphed into Gunnar. He's not wearing the suit he wore the first time I met him. He's not wearing the jeans and Rolling Stones t-shirt of two days ago. He's wearing a pair of black leather pants, a pair of black Doc Martens, and a black leather vest. A vest, but no shirt underneath, and I gasp at the light furring of dark blond hair over the corded muscles of his chest. His abs are hard, beautifully defined, an eight pack that gives way to a happy trail and Adonis belt. A thick French braid follows the crown of his head, while the sides are shaved, and I see the edges of indigo blue tattoos on the sides of his head.
He's standing with his massive, beefy arms crossed over his chest, an eyebrow cocked, and a smirk on his lips. He is big and glorious, and I forget for the moment that I'm very, very irritated with him. My body moves toward him like my feet are on wheels. I do not seem to have the power to resist him. I hear a jingle behind me as someone else enters the hardware store. Someone calls my name, but I only have eyes for Gunnar, and Gunnar only has eyes for me.
That Time She Broke Her Viking's Curse Page 3
