by Tia Louise
My voice is small as I say the words. “I want you to let me go, Hayden.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up in a shadow of a smile, and his pale blue eyes actually look sad a moment. One blink and the emotion is gone.
“I’m sorry, little cat. You belong to me.”
“But I don’t want to belong to you!” Desperation makes my voice stronger.
Hayden’s brows rise, and he seems disappointed. “So I’ve heard,” he sighs. “I had hoped you would come to me willingly. I never could seem to change your mind…”
“You’re not one of us.”
“Our bodies still work quite well together. You’ll see.”
“I’m not a virgin!”
He straightens and pulls his chin back. “Your generation is so blunt.” Shaking his head, he looks down at his nails. “Virginity is a minor detail I’m willing to overlook. I’ve overlooked it before. You female shape shifters are all so eager to spread your thighs.”
“It’s part of our nature. You’ll never understand me. We’ll be miserable together.” I’m grasping at anything that might sway his decision.
“You’ll have a bit of an adjustment period, but you’ll see. Your aunt Cora was quite happy with the arrangement.” The heels of his expensive shoes are a staccato click on the wood as he walks slowly to the round table in the center of the foyer. “You’re very much like her, you know. I’m eager to see if your body responds to mine the way hers did.”
“She wasn’t mated. You became her mate. I’m with mine—”
He spins to face me. “You’re with ME!” A cold light burns in his pale eyes. “Besides, I don’t believe in mates.”
“Then you’ll let me go?”
He starts to chuckle. “So tenacious, little Mercy. Of course, I won’t let you go. The deal is made. It’s why I allow these people to exist on my lands. It’s why I keep my servants from stealing your babies in the night when they’re feeling naughty. Stealing your women is quite another matter…”
A muffled whimper screeches from above, from wherever Penny is hiding, and I remember her fear of shadows at night.
Hayden’s brow rises, and he scans the ceiling, running his eyes along the lines of the wood. “Your aunt is old enough to remember how mischievous they can be.”
My heart trembles in my chest. “Let me go, Hayden.”
His eyes snap back to mine. “No.”
Racing through my thoughts, I try to remember everything I’ve learned in the past two days. Penny’s words from so long ago flash in my brain. “Persephone… my aunt Persephone!”
“Oh, god,” he waves a hand as if deterring a bad smell. “Yes, you have a point. I did send that one back before her time had expired.”
A glimmer of hope? “Why?”
“By Zeus, she was awful. Can you imagine anyone able to make the underworld depressing?”
My breathing picks up. “What makes you think I won’t be the same?”
“No,” his head shakes. “You’re not like her. For starters, the name Persephone… I will say, her mother was an ancestor I’d like to have taken. It’s a pity cleverness sometimes skips a generation. Especially considering how long you shifters live.”
His manner is so easy, so familiar, I cross the room and grasp his arm. “Please, Hayden,” I whisper.
At my touch, he seems to soften. A gentle smile curves his slim lips. “I’ve waited for you, Mercy. I’ve watched you since you were a little girl. You’re smart and beautiful. You’re a talented artist. You’re the first to give me hope. For the first time in a long time, I’ll have a true Queen of the Underworld at my side.”
“I’ll never love you. I love someone else.”
He stiffens. “That brute? He’s a criminal!”
Pleading is in my tone. “I want to be in the sunshine, Hayden. I want to live by the sea. I love the light.” My fingers clench his soft coat, and my voice is a cracked whisper. “If you truly care about me, you’d want me to be happy.”
“Where did you get such a delusion?” Jerking his arm back, he storms to the door. “I am selfish and vain, and I want you. You belong to me.”
“Hayden, please!” I’m crying now.
He jerks the door open. “I’ll be back in two nights to collect you.”
Koa
College has never been a priority to me, even though my mom was an instructor at Whitman College near Princeton. She was a tall, athletic non-shifter with smooth chocolate skin and long, African-American curls. She was beautiful, and she was my mom.
She fell hard for a scrappy Hawaiian panther-shifter, doing the rounds on the middleweight boxing circuit. According to her, he was wild and dangerous, and he left her with a broken heart and me on the way. I’m pretty sure he never knew he had a son, but she never complained.
I grew up hating him and being exactly like him, and looking back, I regret the shit I turned into as a teen. Mom never liked me boxing. She taught me as much as she could about my Hawaiian heritage and tried to get me interested in books. None of it stuck. I put her through hell, and I ended up exiled.
The one bright spot is I’m comfortable in a university setting, and I even know how to use the library and research the archives. The past tangles in my thoughts as I make my way across the grounds of Hastings-Albrecht University. I might have failed my family when I was young, but maybe saving Mercy is a way to redeem myself.
A tall, red-brick building with beige limestone accents forms the center of a quadrangle of similar red-brick buildings. The library has an enormous tower rising from the entrance with two spires pointing to the sky.
Students mostly dressed in jeans, boots, and plaid shirts with backpacks slung over their shoulders hurry across the grass never looking up. A few loiter in the sun, I assume on break, or congregate in little clumps talking. The occasional shriek of laughter pierces the low drone.
I could easily pass for one of them. I’m similarly dressed, and my age puts me in at least graduate-school range. As such, I only catch the occasional eye of a co-ed checking me out. Red leaves speckle the green grass, and I can feel winter in the air.
Inside the enormous library, I do a quick scan of the long tables with laptops and shelves of books. It smells like old paper, but I don’t have time to waste. The directory says I need to be on the third floor for the town archives.
When I step off the elevator a librarian with a short brown bob sits behind the desk. She only gives me a glance before returning to her computer screen. A glass case is between us, and I step forward to examine an elaborate pop-up book depicting the original town of Woodland Creek. The recreational areas are shown in such detail, for a moment, I am distracted from why I came here, but only for a moment.
“I’m looking for a death record from early in the town’s history.” The librarian glances up at me. “Any local periodicals from that time?”
“This way.” She stands and leads me through double-glass doors down a long row of tall bookshelves to a center space where a bank of computers is situated.
“You’ll have to use the Lexis-Nexis network to search it. The site-specific password is printed on the card there.”
She motions to a laminated card next to a grey machine that looks a hundred.
“Thanks,” I say, nodding, and grab the card to log in.
It’s possible there will be no record of Hayden’s wife’s death, since she was an immortal, but I might find clues if anyone reported anything to the authorities.
Shifter business is closely guarded and kept inside the packs, but the sheriff might have been alerted, depending on what happened. It’s a long shot, but I’m taking it.
An hour passes as I search every keyword phrase from “mysterious death” to “new families” to “Quinlan and Cross.” Nothing comes back, and I’m beginning to suspect I’d been right from the start—no shifter business will be reported in the local media—when a headline catches my eye.
WORK CONTINUES ON CHATEAU CROIX
&nbs
p; I almost jump out of my seat when I see it. Croix is French for Cross. The story has to be about Hayden’s mansion, but I wasn’t aware it had a name. A quick scan has me on the edge of my seat.
Situated on the largest tract of privately owned property in Woodland Creek, Monsieur Hayden Croix broke ground on his twenty-bedroom chateaux early spring.
In a rare show of hospitality Croix spoke to this reporter on who we can expect to reside in the French-inspired maison.
“My wife’s family loves Woodland Creek, and we’ve decided to make it our permanent residence.”
Suspicions of Croix’s connection to the Chicago underworld were squelched when the lovely Mrs. Croix supported her husband’s claims, citing their frequent trips to that city to care for her ailing mother.
“We’ll be so happy we no longer have to make the arduous journey to that city…”
I skim the rest, knowing the high council is in Chicago. If Hayden were making frequent trips there, it was no doubt about the loss of his mate and establishing the pact. The final sentence gives me the smallest hint.
Mrs. Croix is the former Cora Strong of Columbus.
I passed through Newcastle on my way into Woodland Creek. It’s a midsized city just south of here. Sitting back, I try to think what this means. Hayden changed his name from Croix to Cross, most likely to throw off suspicion about why he never ages or dies. Was Mercy’s family name Strong or was that a fiction?
My mind is on Mercy when I feel a sharp pain in my midsection. It’s a sensation of fear and heartbreak. It’s desperate, and as fast as I feel it, I know what it is. Mercy.
Standing, I clear the computer screen quickly and gather up my notes, shoving them in my pockets. Logging off and powering down the computer just in case, I practically run through the stacks to the double glass doors.
Skipping the elevator, I jog down the stairs and out the entrance to the campus lawn. Looking around me in all directions, I try to pick up the sensation again, try to see if I can place where she is, if she’s in danger.
The feelings were intense—sadness, fear, heartbreak. “Where are you, Mercy?” I whisper, looking up at the blazing yellow leaves of a Ginkgo tree. A few quiet moments pass, and I find her again.
Too many students fill the courtyard for me to shift. I can’t shift without losing my clothes and the notes I’ve taken, but I take off hustling fast in the direction of the observatory. She’s in our meadow.
I’m heading east until the path ends then I’m pushing through the trees. I’m not worried about stealth or quiet as I blast through the foliage. It’s easier to navigate the woods in my panther form, but in the heavy boots and jeans, I’m making good time.
The forest has turned seemingly overnight into a blast of deep reds, bright yellows, and purple, but I only have one thing on my mind. At last I’m pushing through the final river birch, when I pull up short. I’ve made it to the clearing, and there she sits, still wearing the jeans and maroon tee she’s had since I took her to my place.
“Mercy?” She’s sitting so still, I don’t want to startle her. “Did you go to the mansion?”
In a flash of dark hair and blue eyes, she’s in my arms. She’s holding me tight around my neck, her body pressed against my chest. All of her emotions hit me in a silent rush. She’s fighting her fear, but the fear is winning. It ignites my desperate urge to protect her because overwhelming all is her love for me. It takes me by surprise. Her feelings are words we’ve never spoken out loud.
My face is buried in her beautiful hair, and I close my eyes, drinking in the sensation of her love. The blood has bonded us, and I can’t help wondering what she’s sensing from me.
I’m holding her back, and I slide my hands lower as she leans back to find my eyes. Hers are warm, and I’m pretty sure she’s picked up what I just discovered. Stepping back, our hands fall together, fingers entwined. She leads me to the base of a red maple, and we sit facing each other.
Our legs are crossed, knees touching, and she holds both my hands. “Our connection is growing.”
“I feel your pain. What happened at the mansion?”
“He’s not going to let me go. I summoned him, and he came to me. I tried everything…” Her chin drops, but she doesn’t cry. She only holds my hands, stroking my palms with her thumbs.
“I won’t give up on this. Even if we run out of time, I’ll figure out a way to enter the underworld and carry you back to me.”
A sad little smile curls her lip. “Storm the gates of hell?” She’s still looking at our hands, and her feelings are changing to sadness, despair.
“Damn right, I will. I’ve been to hell. I’m not afraid to go back there.”
Her slim brows pucker, and she glances up at me then. “You never told me what happened. Why were you cut off from your pack?”
Shame tightens my throat. I never wanted to tell her this story.
“But you can,” she speaks to my thoughts. “Never be ashamed with me.”
“You hear my thoughts?”
Another tiny smile, and she nods. “Can you hear mine?”
“No. I only sense your feelings.”
“It’s probably for the best.” She reaches up and lightly touches my lips. “We’d never get anything done if you knew how badly I want to kiss you all the time.”
Leaning down, I capture her beautiful lips. I’m about to deepen our kiss, but she holds my cheek, pulling back. “Tell me what happened. I need to know.”
Straightening, I clear my throat. “I was a boxer when I lived in the east. A champion middleweight.”
That makes her smile. “A champion.”
“My shifter reflexes probably helped. I was a shit, taking unfair advantage.” Looking down, I don’t want to elaborate on just how arrogant an asshole I was. “My best friend and I were at a bar one night. He was pissed about some match up he’d been snubbed for…”
“You were in a fight?”
“A couple of punks came up and started talking trash. We took it outside, and…” Inhaling deeply, I say it. “I didn’t realize the guy was dead. I’d hit him a few times when I realized Slayer… Slayde was out of control. Blood was everywhere.”
Memories of the rain falling on us fill my mind. Great drops of water spreading out the black-red pool of blood on the wet asphalt.
“It was a horrible scene.” Mercy sees it in my mind.
“I wasn’t bothered by the blood. We saw blood every day. I was bothered because I knew he was dead. It was the end of the line for us.”
“So you ran away.” She’s reading the story as it filters through my memory, but I don’t mind. I don’t like saying the words out loud.
“We didn’t really run. We went down to the ocean. Atlantic City is a two-hour drive south. When they came and got us, we were both arrested for murder. The judge reduced my sentence to involuntary manslaughter, but I spent six years in prison.”
“And you were exiled from your pack.”
Slayde’s words come back to me from when I saw him last… What happened to us was our fault.
“Slayer is a wolf?”
“Yeah, he had a hard life. His mom died leaving him with a drunk who regularly beat the shit out of him. Found out later it wasn’t even his real dad.” Rubbing my chin, I look away remembering my mom’s face the night when I was banished. “He at least had a reason. I had no excuse.”
Mercy climbs into my lap, legs straddled, and wraps her arms around my neck. Her love floods my chest as she rests her cheek against mine. It’s the most healing sensation I’ve ever felt. I hold her tightly, thinking how she has become an anchor to me. She’s given me a purpose, saved me from despair.
“I lived a life of bad choices. They finally caught up with me.”
Pulling back, she looks into my eyes. “Everybody makes bad choices at some point in their lives. You paid for your mistakes. You want to find a better life. I see it in your heart.”
Reaching up, I hold her small, beautiful face. “You m
ake me want to be a better person. I want to make a better life with you. It’s why I won’t let that asshole take you. I will save you.” Her expression falters, but I hold her. “Do you know anything about your ancestors? The one who murdered Hayden’s mate?”
She shakes her head. “Last week was the first I’d heard of any of this.” I see her thinking, a light in her eyes. “My aunt Penny might know!”
“Let’s go.” We’re on our feet, and I take her hand, leading her through the woods in the direction of the mansion.
13
Questions
Mercy
Penny’s still in her room when we arrive at the mansion. I leave Koa in my bedroom and head down the long hall to where she hides most of the day and night. It never occurred to me to ask why. I’d always chalked it up to her personality.
“Are you awake?” I call softly, tapping on the door as I enter.
She’s curled at the head of her enormous bed. An elaborate headboard of blonde wood and blood-red velvet serves as her pillow. It matches the red velvet armchairs arranged around the space. Beaded lamps and cut-glass chandeliers make up the rest of the décor. It’s vintage, but Penny is older than my mother would be, which puts her nearly one hundred.
“Mercy?” Her voice trembles, and her eyes fill with wonder as she sits up. “He didn’t take you?”
“I told you he would honor Dylan’s arrangement.” Walking around the room, I take her hands in mine. “Hayden’s not a monster. He simply is what he is.”
“So you do like him then?”
The question catches me off guard. I pause to consider my feelings for my new owner. “I don’t know how I feel about him now. I never hated Hayden. I hated the way he felt forced on me and his entitled attitude, which now I understand. I guess all I feel now is desperate.”
Shaking her head she looks down at her lap. “Persephone hated him.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Sitting on her bedside, I catch her hands. “I need you to tell me about how this started. Who committed the crime? How did it happen exactly?”