“I told you, heartburn.”
Bowman shook his head. “You really believed you felt it. You know you did.”
Kenzie lost her smile. “It was a trick of Gil’s. Must have been.”
She didn’t believe it had been, not exactly, Bowman could tell. He read uncertainty in her.
He leaned to her and kissed her neck. “Come wash my back,” he whispered.
Kenzie flushed. “I’ll think about it.”
She’d say no more than that. Bowman stepped back from her, peeled off his clothes, and left them in a heap by the bed. He watched Kenzie’s gaze rove from his bare shoulders to the hard-on he couldn’t dampen down. Not with Kenzie in the room, looking at him like that.
He walked, naked, into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. He stepped into the cold stream, not bothering to wait for the water to warm, and reached for the soap.
A slender hand took the soap out of his grasp and began to rub it on his back. Bowman faced the tile wall, holding himself up on it with balled fists.
Kenzie slid her soap-slicked hands down his spine, over his buttocks, down his thighs, and along his legs to his ankles. Bowman looked down between his legs to see her concentrating on his calves, scrubbing the soap over them.
“I thought you said I could do that,” he observed.
She shrugged, her hands slick with suds. “Changed my mind.”
Kenzie looked like the best wet dream, with her hair heavy with water, the light streaks in it darkened. Water beaded on her back and trickled from her breasts. She bumped his cock as she worked on his legs, every jolt killing him.
“Kenz.” Bowman’s hand snaked through her hair. “Don’t be a tease.”
Kenzie flashed a hot look up at him. “I thought that’s why you like me.”
No, that’s why I love you. He caressed her wet hair, a shiver of need curling inside him as she slid her hands up to his dark cock.
She soaped it up, every stroke of her fingers making him crazy. He sucked in a breath, his heels coming off the tiled floor, as she washed him all the way to his balls.
Kenzie rinsed her hands, cupped them to gather water, and poured it over his cock. She cleaned him off well, then, before he could help her to her feet, she closed her mouth over him.
A wordless sound came from his throat. Bowman’s hips were moving, thrusting his cock into her before he could master himself.
Kenzie had learned over the years exactly how to take him. How to shape her mouth to give him maximum feeling, to lick under the head where he was especially sensitive, to cup his balls and tickle behind them. Bowman could only stand, his hands in her hair, rocking into her, all thoughts gone. Sensations ruled, blotting out all else.
He had enough presence of mind to haul her upright, lift her against the tiles, and enter her before he came.
Kenzie laughed in delight as Bowman crushed her between himself and the wall as he made love to her. In the early days, when he’d tried to gentle himself for her, she’d urged him on, goading him to master her, to give way to his most basic needs. They’d only grown more beautifully familiar with each other ever since.
Bowman’s seed found home in her, Kenzie slick, tight, and hot. She kissed his face as he dragged in harsh breaths, her own pleasure peaking. She tumbled his hair as the shower’s water poured over them, washing them clean.
“Better than the dream,” Bowman said, kissing her lips, her face, both of them shuddering with release. “I dreamed I was taking you on the kitchen table. This was better.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” Kenzie murmured.
Bowman lifted his head. “What?”
“You really came out and did that,” she said, her voice languid. “You were half asleep, but you did it. I told you, I didn’t tranq you that much.”
He stared at her, eyes tightening at the amusement on her face. “I woke up in my clothes.”
“You put them back on. I don’t know why.” She gave him a lazy smile. “Then you hauled yourself into the bedroom, fell facedown on the bed, and started snoring away.”
“So it was real?”
“Yes.” Her eyes darkened. “I haven’t decided whether that or this was better.”
“Kenzie, you little . . .”
She laughed, which moved her sleek and warm body against his. She laughed even more when Bowman snapped off the water, carried her swiftly back to the bedroom, and landed, dripping wet, with her on the bed.
The third time that night proved to be best of all.
* * *
When Kenzie opened her eyes again in the darkness, Bowman was gone. She dimly remembered him waking, pulling her close to kiss her face, neck, shoulder, before he slid from the bed and dressed. He had things to do; she understood that.
As she drowsed, her cell phone rang on the nightstand. She grabbed it, always worried about Ryan, though she knew her grandmother took good care of him. “Yeah?”
“Kenz?” Not Afina but Pierce, the Guardian. Kenzie let out a breath of relief. “Sorry,” Pierce said. “Were you asleep?”
Kenzie ran a hand through her hair, still damp from the impromptu shower. “Doesn’t matter. I need to haul my ass out of bed anyway. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Or . . . Maybe something. I think I found that Gil guy. Can you come over? Easier if I show you.”
“Sure.” Kenzie swung her legs over the edge of the bed, coming fully alert. “I’ll be right there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kenzie strode to Pierce’s in record time. On the way, she called her grandmother to make sure Ryan was all right, and was reassured. She heard Ryan in the background saying, “Is that my mom again?”
“Kiss him good night for me,” Kenzie said. “And give him my love.”
“Take care of yourself, Kenzie,” Afina said in her commanding tone, and she hung up.
Pierce was waiting for her. He ushered her into the house and shut the door against the chill of the night. Pierce was a definite bachelor, with the cluttered house to prove it. His abode was tiny, housing only himself, which was unusual, but Guardians were often treated differently from other Shifters.
“I went back over what you told me about Gil Ramirez and tried to match it to anyone with his description,” Pierce said, leading her to the corner where his computer was set up on a desk piled with papers, wires, router boxes, switches, and other bits of electronics Kenzie couldn’t identify.
“Like I said before, I didn’t find anyone who fit,” Pierce went on. “Then I had the idea of going back a few years, looking for his father or other family, or something. And I found him. Gil, I mean. The same guy, same name, different town.”
“Good,” Kenzie said, sitting down on the chair she’d occupied to watch Pierce’s first attempt to locate Gil. “Where’s he really from? Do you have an address, so I can go pound his face?”
“There’s a catch,” Pierce said, tapping keys. The screen split into several segments, rapidly opening photos and documents. “The guy I found lived in a little town called Fayboro, but a hundred years ago.”
As Kenzie’s mouth popped open, Pierce pointed out a photo.
It was Gil. Or at least a man who looked remarkably like him. He was dressed in the tight, muffling clothes of the mid-1800s, his face darkened by the sun and the rudimentary photography. But in spite of the stiff pose and fading photo, the face that looked out at her belonged to Gil Ramirez.
“Are you sure that’s him?” Kenzie asked. “I mean, I can see that it looks remarkably like him, but maybe Gil bears a striking resemblance to one of his ancestors.”
“Don’t know.” Pierce shrugged. “I saw him out at the arena, when we started building the pyre for the monster, but I didn’t memorize him. But would anyone look exactly like their great-great-great-whatever-great grandfather? Resemble them, sure, but a perfect copy?”
Kenzie didn’t think so. The man in the portrait had the same warmth in his brown eyes that Gil did, the same ironic tilt to his mouth. People
hadn’t smiled for portraits in the early days of photography, but this man had a definite look of amusement on his face. Laughing at Kenzie.
“Any more information about him than that?” Kenzie asked.
Pierce tapped the keyboard, his movements betraying the restlessness of the big cat within him. “There’s a record of this Gil Ramirez—place of birth, town he lived in. House, even.” He brought up a map and pointed to a dot about thirty miles west of Shiftertown, deeper into the Great Smoky Mountains.
Kenzie sucked in a breath. If Gil or his family had lived there a hundred and fifty years ago, someone connected with him still might. Towns prided themselves on their heritage, and records of this man’s descendants might exist. That Gil was some sort of supernatural, Kenzie had no more doubt. She wanted to find out what kind.
“Up for a road trip?” Kenzie asked.
Pierce gave her a slow blink. His golden eyes in his handsome face, his close-cropped brown red hair, and his air of hardness against the world had attracted Kenzie to him when she’d first moved to this Shiftertown. They both had known any relationship they began wouldn’t be permanent, but Pierce was still a good friend.
“And have your mate hunt me down?” he asked. “I’ll pass.”
“I’ll tell him. Bowman can come with us, and if he can’t, he’d rather have me protected by you than going alone.” Kenzie stood up. “If you don’t want to, I can’t force you. I’ll ask Jamie or Cade.”
“Now, wait a minute.” Pierce unfolded himself to his feet. “You have me curious. Let me shut down here, and we’ll go.”
Kenzie grinned to herself and called Bowman. He didn’t answer, which was typical when he was patrolling, but she left a message. She called Afina again and told her as well, talking to Ryan and explaining that he needed to stay put. Ryan sounded resigned, used to staying the night with Afina when Kenzie and Bowman got involved with things. But the quicker Kenzie finished this, the quicker she could spend more time with her son.
“Let’s go,” Pierce said. He grabbed a heavy leather jacket and followed Kenzie out into the night.
* * *
Not long later, the two of them were rolling through Asheville, then out the other side and onto a smaller highway, continuing west.
They reached the town called Fayboro after midnight. The streets were quiet—most people here went to bed early. The historic downtown drew both tourists and artists, but in the cold months, tourists migrated to the ski resorts. The pointed steeple of a church stuck up into the night, the church sitting on a square lined with neatly trimmed rosebushes, bare now for winter.
Pierce led the way around the square and down the street behind it. They rode slowly—in this tiny town, the police would be itching to nab any outsiders speeding through. They might get stopped simply because they rode motorcycles, and when it was discovered they were Shifters . . .
Pierce killed his light, and Kenzie followed suit. There proved to be no need to sneak up on the house in question, however, because when they stopped in front of it, it was lit up. All the downstairs lights were on, the porch a bright beacon to the Victorian mansion, and the trees in front were strung with tiny white lights.
The house was a Queen Anne–style Victorian, with round towers, peaked gables, and dainty gingerbread trim. Kenzie had become familiar with the house styles of the area since she’d moved here, by riding around the countryside and collecting brochures of historic places.
In the area of Romania where she’d grown up, ruined castles abounded, as well as villages with half-timbered and stone houses. The open, airy styles of the nineteenth-century American wealthy had come as a pleasant surprise to her. Kenzie had already determined that, the day Shifters got free of Shiftertowns, she would live in a house like this one.
Parked cars lined the street in front of the place. A wooden sign planted in the yard said, “Worthington House, Historic Hotel.” The smaller sign hanging beneath the larger read, “Vacancy.”
Kenzie lifted off her helmet. “Are you sure this is right?”
Pierce’s helmet was under his arm, wind ruffling his hair. “Yep. It was turned into a bed and breakfast about twenty years ago. According to the records, Gil was hired help for the family when he first came here, but later they adopted him. When the last of them passed, they left the house to him. Everyone liked him, from what I read.”
Of course. Gil was likable. Why wouldn’t he have been a hundred and fifty years ago as well? He’d probably charmed his way into the family’s hearts. How many lies had he told them?
“Looks like the bar’s still open,” Pierce said. “Want to go in?”
“I do. Let’s see if they don’t throw out Shifters.”
The patronage of the bar was sparse—an older couple, the bartender, and a young couple obviously on honeymoon. The honeymoon couple were absorbed with each other and never noticed Pierce and Kenzie come in, but the older couple glanced up in alarm.
Kenzie knew she and Pierce looked scary—Pierce was a giant of a man compared to humans, and Kenzie was plenty tall. With their leather jackets, rumpled hair, and Collars, they must present a frightening picture.
“I can serve you drinks,” the bartender said. “But the hotel doesn’t have accommodations for Shifters.”
Kenzie wanted to snap that Shifters used the same kind of bedrooms as any human, but she restrained herself. No sense riling the natives.
“We’re just passing through,” Pierce said smoothly, moving to the long, polished wooden bar. He’d always been more diplomatic than most Shifters. “We’ll each have a beer, the best you have on tap. We’re wondering if you’ve seen this guy.” Pierce pushed a print of the photo of Gil from long ago across the bar’s top.
The bartender glanced at it as he pulled the tap and filled a glass, tilting it to let out a stream of foam. “Of course I’ve seen him. Most people who work here have, and so have some of the guests.”
“Great,” Pierce said. “Do you think we could talk to him?”
The bartender shrugged. He placed the filled glass, expertly topped with a small head, in front of Kenzie, and started on the next one. “Depends. Sometimes he shows up; sometimes he doesn’t. It’s been hit or miss lately. Too bad, because some of the guests drive miles for it. If he appears tonight, it will be out in the lobby, on the old staircase. Was there last night, though before that, he hadn’t shown himself for about a week.”
Kenzie gave him a blank look. “Shown himself?”
The bartender put the second glass down in front of Pierce, printed out a slip from the register behind the bar, and put the paper facedown by Pierce’s hand. “You know, manifest, or whatever it’s called.” The bartender tapped the picture. “He’s our resident ghost. Famous. This is the most popular haunted hotel in the Smokies.”
* * *
“Ghost, my ass,” Kenzie muttered to Pierce as they sat at a table in the corner. The older couple had sidled out, but the newlyweds had their arms wrapped around each other, their mouths meeting and parting, meeting again.
Kenzie had stepped out into the cold on the porch to call Bowman again while Pierce settled the tab. She’d explained to him where she and Pierce had gone. “Seriously?” Bowman had asked. He’d been slightly out of breath, as though he’d been running.
“We’re going to wait and see if he manifests,” Kenzie said. “Then I’m going to kick his ass.”
“Be careful.” Bowman’s rumbling voice warned her. “If he’s been lying to us, it means he’s dangerous. I’m coming out there.”
“No need,” Kenzie said. “Pierce is pretty good in a fight.” An understatement—he was one of the best fighters at the fight club, next to his cousin Jamie. “I promise if things go bad, we’ll back off.”
Bowman hesitated. She could tell he was torn—he wanted to come, but it was clear he was involved in things on his side. “All right, but keep in touch.”
“What are you doing?” Kenzie asked, worried.
“Stuff I should
have done days ago. I’m taking over Turner’s house, holding him, and searching everything he’s got. He’s going to give me some answers.”
“You be careful,” Kenzie said, echoing his warning. Chasing Gil suddenly seemed like a picnic—a Shifter one, with plenty of food, drink, and sex. “I’ve read parts of Turner’s manuscript. He seems to know a lot about Shifters, I mean, back when they first appeared out of Fae gates. He speculates pretty close to the truth about how the original Shifters were created. He knows a lot about it, Bowman. More than anyone should.”
“Good. Then he’ll tell it all to me. I’ll wring the truth out of him.”
“And if you hurt him, he’ll call the police, and you’ll be arrested, caged, and probably killed.”
Bowman laughed with the snarling laugh he used when he was at his most angry. “In that case, I’ll let Cristian wring him in half for me. Don’t worry, Kenz. Turner will talk to me, not the police.”
Kenzie hung up, not reassured.
She and Pierce waited, restless, and sipped beers. They didn’t talk much. The honeymoon couple remained entwined, oblivious, their drinks untouched.
At around one, the bartender sent them a nod. “If you want to see the ghost, he usually shows up about now.”
Kenzie was on her feet and leaving the bar. She heard Pierce drop a tip on the table and follow her.
The hotel’s main staircase folded into the wall to the right of the front door. At the other end of the lofty main hall, however, behind the check-in counter, another set of stairs rose to a balcony. This staircase had an open balustrade with carved spindles and a polished railing. The gallery above it encircled the hall, with several doors opening off it.
Those were rooms in the original house, the woman who introduced herself as the innkeeper explained, and dated from 1840. The rest of the mansion had been added starting in the 1870s, with renovations continuing into the first decade of the twentieth century. The man who was now the ghost had lived here in the 1860s, adopted by the family when he was in his teens. He now returned to check on the place, it was said, to make sure the house his adopted family had left him was doing well.
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