by Celia Kyle
“I have to admit”—he flicked open one half of the lid—“I’ve never had a woman cook for me before.” He grinned and gave her a wink. “I could get used to this.”
Lottie’s face flushed red and she glared at him, but he knew she wasn’t angry. It was a show to cover the flavors of her embarrassment. Apparently, she wasn’t one to cook for a male.
She sniffed and sat up straighter. “It was the kitchen staff. I didn’t do anything.”
Yeah, she’d done something. She simply didn’t want to admit it. Which was fine by him. He still got fed.
“The kitchen staff gives out picnic baskets for the guests?” He raised his eyebrows in question and worked on plucking containers from the basket.
“It depends on who you are and who you know.” Her voice was soft, almost stolen by the sound of the rolling waves.
“So.” He lifted a plastic lid and sniffed the contents. Ham sandwich. Score. “You are someone important or know someone important enough to get a picnic basket? But you still couldn’t get out of the field trip?”
Lottie sighed, and the wind brought him her scent. Sadness. Anger. Frustration. Defeat.
The defeat killed him. No one should feel beaten down and without hope.
“No.” She took the container he handed over and toyed with the top. “In this case, who I know is too important. I was stuck.” She shot him a glare, but there was no heat behind it. “Unlike some of us who didn’t attend.”
Grant grunted, shrugging.
Lottie brushed sand off the blanket, not looking at him. “No one at the party has mentioned your name.”
He didn’t comment. He didn’t exactly have a cover story prepped since he wasn’t supposed to do anything but sit in that damned bungalow and observe.
“And the island secretary doesn’t have any record of a ‘Grant’ scheduled for this gathering.” Lottie’s eyes remained downcast.
Yeah, he didn’t have anything to say to that, either.
A soft tone dinged in his ear, the sound inaudible to anyone but him since it transmitted through his new com. Time to take his medicine like a good boy.
He dug into his pocket, searching out the small plastic capsule filled with the one thing that had kept him sane through the years.
“Grant?”
He wrapped his fingers around the pill and tugged it free before looking to Lottie.
“Are you going to tell me who you are? Why you’re here?” She shook her head. “Are you squatting or something? Is that what this is? Because the men who own the island…” A wave of pure fear and heartache filled his nose. “They’re not good people.”
He ignored most of her questions. “Yeah, I’ve heard rumors about the owners.”
He placed his container on the ground and brushed off the capsule.
“Whatever you heard, however bad it sounded, it’s worse.” She tried to warn him again.
“Some rumors are that they’re crazy. It’s a big delusion. Too many people with too much money buying into shape-shifter bullshit.”
“And if I told you it’s true?”
He finished brushing off the rest of the fuzz from his nightly dose. “I’d wonder if you forgot to take your meds or something. People don’t believe in…you know.”
“Some do. They do. Not because they’re delusional but because it’s true.”
“You’ve seen evidence? Of shifters?” Maybe he’d get some intel out of this, after all. He might not have his ass handed to him when the team found out what he’d done.
Lottie rubbed her arms, but he didn’t sense that she was cold, merely overwhelmed with emotion. “I have. I’ve also heard what the owners can do. You’re right about them, but it’s more like too much money and not a rational thought between them. Or a conscience.”
Grant nodded and stared down at the dose in his palm. The hard, outer shell held his salvation. The liquid inside would stave off the symptoms and pain for another day. “I think that’s pretty common. It doesn’t seem reserved to the people on the island. The question is: do you agree with them and what they’re doing? Or are you drinking the water?”
He placed the ampoule between his front teeth, lips peeled back. He bit down and sucked in a rough breath as if he’d used an inhaler. He gently exhaled and sucked in another lungful of air, draining the last of the ampoule. Once empty, he drew it into his mouth and swallowed the outer casing.
Lottie didn’t answer his question. “What was that? That thing?”
He opened the container he’d claimed and pulled out the sandwich, taking a big bite. The worst of the hunger would hit any second. It was best if he started feeding that beast now instead of later.
“Sometimes crazies with too much money make mistakes.” He shrugged. “They might want to test a new treatment without going through the proper channels. They might be willing to steal people who fit the patient profile.” Specifically, shifters. But he didn’t tell her that. He was already risking enough. “That was my own personal fix for what was done to me when I was younger. It’s most effective when inhaled. Unfortunately, I can’t always carry an inhaler, so I developed a different delivery system that’s easier to transport.”
“Did you report them? Whoever experimented—”
“Can we go back to my last question? Are you drinking the water around here? Are you okay with people being taken—tested on—and destroyed unless they manage to escape?”
He’d said enough. If she was smart she’d connect the dots between the crazies she talked about and the people who’d fucked with his genetics so bad he had to take drugs every day.
“Sometimes there’s no choice. You might not drink it, but that doesn’t mean they can’t drown you.”
“No?” He tipped his head to the side, staring at her. “You can’t leave? Run?”
Lottie chuckled. “Who’d take me? Or even believe me? Better yet, who would protect me once they found out?” She shook her head, the heavy scent of her despair encasing him. “I’m alone in the middle of a crowd of crazies, Grant.”
“You’re not alone.”
And if he had his choice, she never would be again. He just had to make sure she wouldn’t happily gut him for being a werewolf first.
Chapter Eighteen
Stella should have blown Walters’s mansion sky high when she’d had the chance and fuck the consequences. He deserved death, and if she’d been taken by the explosion, too…At least his reign of terror would have ended.
She’d looked into James Walters’s eyes twice now—been the sole focus of his hate-filled gaze—and still couldn’t shake the fear he caused. It taunted her while in his presence, and the moment he was gone, it invaded every part of her body. It reminded her of those years she’d watched her parents waste away. It tormented her with ghostly remnants of agony.
She’d let Cole and his SHOC team talk her out of her plans for vengeance. Then she’d let them talk her into helping them. Now she was on an island with Walters and he suspected she was a shifter. Fear threatened to strangle her, wrapping around her and tightening with every heartbeat.
“Stella?” Cole called out to her, and she sighed.
Last night they’d shared kisses—and almost more—but their night had ended with nothing more than cuddling. Bastard. He’d gone on and on about the mission and blah, blah, blah…Maybe it was for the best. Both halves of her wanted to be near Cole, but they also knew he’d simply lead them into danger once more. They’d be shoved into James Walters’s path again.
Not a pleasant place to be.
“In here.” She raised her voice and called out for him.
She returned her attention to the landscape before her. The rolling waves formed small whitecaps before caressing the coastline and soaking into the sands. With the sun now beneath the horizon, the crystal-clear waters had turned midnight black—a swath of darkness that seemed to absorb the moonlight. Like a black hole just waiting to swallow the world whole.
No, not the world—just her
. If James got his hands on her…she’d pray for death and throw it a party when it finally came.
Cole’s approach was near silent, the soft whoosh of his bare feet on carpet the only warning of his arrival. “What are you doing in here?”
Here was the bungalow’s spare bedroom, curled up in a plush chair set before a bay window that faced the beach. Feet tucked beneath her and knees to her chest, she’d formed a small ball. As if she subconsciously tried to make herself the smallest target she could.
Did her body know something her mind had yet to accept? Was her capture imminent?
Stella shrugged in reply. “Watching the waves.”
“We have to be out of here in thirty minutes.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I know.” She had thirty minutes to get her shit together, put on a pretty face, and be prepared to flash sparkling smiles to a bunch of shifter-hating humans.
All without showing fear.
“Stella?” True worry filled his tone, and a hint of unease slithered into his scent.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly before tearing her attention from the ocean. She turned her head and practiced one of those smiles. “I’m fine.”
Cole narrowed his eyes and tipped his head to the side. “You’re lying.”
Now that she looked at him, her banked desire sparked to life. The man was sexy as hell in ragged jeans, but in a tux…His hands rested on the doorframe, pulling his button-down shirt taut across his muscles. The top two buttons remained undone, his bow tie draped across his neck. The pants hugged his waist, and the legs hinted at the power hidden just beneath the fabric. He hadn’t pulled on his shoes, feet bare.
A disheveled millionaire.
Stella swallowed hard and refocused on their conversation. This wasn’t the time for sex thoughts.
Another shrug. “Does it matter?”
Cole moved away from the doorway and came to her, a tiger prowling across the room. He circled her chair and crouched in front of her, blocking her view of the world outside the bungalow.
“What’s going on?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”
She could give herself a pep talk and get through the night. Maybe.
He gripped her ankles and tugged, forcing her to uncurl and let them hang over the front of the seat. Then he tugged and pulled her to the edge of the cushion. “Try again.”
Stella pressed her lips together, gritting her teeth while she tried to think of something to say. Something that wouldn’t be a lie but wouldn’t be the full truth, either.
“I’m just tired. I’ll be fine.” She was tired after a night spent filled with sexual frustration. And as soon as she got off the island, she would be fine.
Two truths and not a lie in sight.
“Uh-huh.” He squeezed her knees, and his hands moved to skate along her outer thighs, then hips, and on to trace the dip in her waist.
Her simmering desire warmed further as he eased closer and closer to her breasts. Would he finish what they’d started in that bathroom? Or would he call a halt—again?
Except he kept going, calloused fingertips skating over her skin. One hand moved to curl around the back of her neck. He gave her a gentle squeeze, and a tendril of calm crept into her body. It stroked her nerves and soothed them just a bit. It was as if he’d scruffed her cat while she remained in her skin.
The other hand cupped her cheek, and his warmth sank into her flesh.
His closeness gave her more of his scent, a mixture of his unease, and those flavors of fresh rain, damp earth, and crisp sun invaded her. She breathed deep, drawing the aroma in, and her cat chuffed with his nearness—his scent and touch. It wasn’t enough to banish what plagued her, but it took the sharpest edge off of her emotions.
“What’s going on, Stella?” he murmured, and she dropped her eyes to his mouth, remembered the feel of his lips on hers.
So soft. So sweet. So hot, before he’d stepped away and told her to put clothes on.
“Noth—”
Cole placed his thumb on her lips, silencing her with the gentle touch. “The truth.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. She’d revealed enough yesterday. He had enough “truth” as far as she was concerned.
“I can’t help you if—”
She snorted and jerked away. The hand on her cheek fell away, but he still held the back of her neck. “This isn’t about helping me, Cole. It’s about helping you and SHOC. The fact that we want the same things is a happy coincidence.”
“That’s what you think?”
Tears stung her eyes, and she squeezed her lids shut and then relaxed them before focusing on him once more. She wasn’t gonna cry. Period. No matter how hard the next few hours—days—were going to be, she wouldn’t cry.
James Walters had caused enough tears.
“It’s what I know,” she whispered.
“That’s what you think after yesterday?” A growl tinged his words—his tiger joining their conversation.
“It was a few kisses.” She huffed. Kisses that meant more to her than just tiny pecks. “Then today you used me to accomplish your goal. You’ve proven that they don’t mean as much to you as they may have meant to me.”
“Stella…”
She gave him a sad smile, unwilling to get in an argument. “Look, let me shower and shake this off. I can get through tonight. I’m fine.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Cole or herself. Probably both.
“It was more than a few kisses. And I should have told you the plan instead of tricking you.” The words were garbled, more tiger than man, and the hold on the back of her neck tightened. “Tell me what has you here sitting in the dark. Why do you smell like pain? Misery?”
Yeah, the beast was in control.
Stella shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Cole leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. Their gazes met, and amber eyes clashed with her green-eyed stare. “It matters to me. Every thought, every emotion, every breath, everything about you matters to me.”
She snorted. “You want to know what’s got me tied up in knots? What’s making me wonder if it’s better to face James Walters—again—or take my chances swimming to the mainland?” He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t want to hear him just yet.
“I was a twin. Or am a twin.” She frowned. “I’m not sure if I should use present tense or not because she’s…” She swallowed hard, old pain making itself known once more. “She’s dead.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“It hurts.” She hadn’t told anyone about Madeline. Ever. Even thinking about that time brought forward agony. What would she feel talking about it all?
“Tell me,” he demanded again.
“We lived in this little house. It looked like a cottage with wood shutters and a cute little porch and a white picket fence.” She remembered the two of them playing in the front yard, running in circles, screaming their heads off and driving her mother crazy. Hair in pigtails, a cute summer dress, and more energy than the average eight-year-old. It was like they fed off each other, excitement constantly doubling until their father put his paw down.
“We had this huge tree in the front yard that we’d climb and hide in the branches until my dad came home. Then we’d leap together and he’d always catch us.”
Always. Not once had he let them fall.
“We were happy.”
Until they weren’t.
Cole stayed quiet. If he’d spoken, she wasn’t sure she could have gone on.
“She was my best friend. We did everything together. And then one day I lost control.” She shook her head. “I partially shifted at the playground. I didn’t think anyone saw, but two days later it happened.”
Her throat burned, closing up and strangling her. “We were playing. Then there was a van and Madeline was screaming. I was crying.” A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another. “
She told me to run. She didn’t ask for help. She didn’t beg for me to save her.” Her chest ached, and a sob ripped from her mouth. “She told me to run and I…ran.”
“You were a child.”
“I’m a jaguar. The ones who stole her were human. I should have—”
“They easily outweighed you, and I’m sure they had weapons.” When she didn’t speak right away, Cole urged her on. “What happened next?”
“My mother heard my cries and came out just as the van pulled away. And that was it. Madeline was gone. My other half for eight years just…gone.” Another tear streaked down her cheek. “My parents blamed me.”
Cole caressed her cheek with his thumb, and a damp coolness trailed over her skin.
She sniffled and pulled away, rubbing her cheeks to wipe away those tears. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cry on you.” She cleared her throat. “We should stop. I need to get—”
Cole wasn’t having it. He stayed silent but rose to his feet, scooped her into his arms, and took her seat. He sat her across his lap and cradled her close. “Finish it.”
“I…”
“Now, Stella.”
Bossy asshole.
“There isn’t much else.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but it did. It so did. “They kidnapped Madeline. Life went on. That’s it.”
“Stop lying to me.”
“I could be telling the truth.”
He propped his chin on her shoulder and then nuzzled her neck. “I can sense there’s more there.”
“God you’re an asshole.” He just chuckled but didn’t deny her accusation.
So she picked up where she’d left off. “My mother called my father. She called the council. Anyone, everyone. Phone call after phone call. My father came home and hugged my mother.” She wiped away yet another tear. “No one said a word to me. People—shifters—in and out of the house at all hours. No one said a word. I…” She swallowed hard. “I think they forgot I existed.”
She let her mind drift through those years. Creeping into Madeline’s bed after her parents went to sleep. Needing to be close to her sister. Her parents not talking to her—or each other. Food would appear in the cabinets, but no one cooked except Stella.