by Nancy Gideon
“Instead of calling on the monster, the rage, find the old instincts. Test the breeze. Let those scents reach your primitive self, the low, hungry form, the one that wants to hunt the night and howl at the moon. Feel the grass beneath your feet. Stretch out your toes. All of them. All four feet.”
Lured into a kind of trance by the smooth cadence of Savoie’s voice, Colin followed his commands, not registering how bizarre the request, just feeling, reaching. With the spreading of toes . . . on all four feet.
A fierce cramping twisted through his joints, almost like a charley horse, not the surge of power that came with a shift into his stronger self, but something different. A tightening. A compression. His muscles bunched and trembled. Drawing up his knees to tuck in tightly to his chest, Colin fell over onto his side, whining helplessly as sensations bombarded him. The rich smells of the Quarter. Of the garbage heaped along the gutters for early morning pickup. Of things that scurried and sniffed and prowled in the darkness. Instincts sharpened, coming alive, sending strange signals through his body. Afraid, confused, he tried to speak, but words wouldn’t form.
What the hell?
“Shhh. Stay still. Nothing’s going to hurt you. This is a natural part of what you are, a part we lost touch with long ago. This is our simplest common denominator. You won’t be able to speak, but you can still understand.”
A low, plaintiff whimper escaped him. An animal sound.
“Don’t be afraid. This is how I survived five silver bullets fired by your girlfriend’s brother. It’s how Cale recovered from a crippling leg wound to save his queen. And it’s how you’ll throw off the poison eating you alive from the inside out. Trust me, Colin. Trust what you feel.”
Savoie’s palm stroked over his head, down the back of his neck, along his spine to where his gym shorts were in an awkward bunch. “You’ll be more comfortable without these.”
Without so much as an offer to buy him dinner, Max pulled off Colin’s shorts, releasing . . . Holy mother, he had a tail! It curled protectively between his legs to hug along his belly as he shivered all over, the knowledge, along with the impulses, overwhelming him.
“I’ll stay with you. You rest. Sleep.” Savoie continued the soothing repetitions from head to shoulders, relaxing the strange mass of muscles the way the low voice soothed Colin’s fears. “While you do, you’ll heal. In this uncomplicated form, regeneration is quick, but I can’t guarantee how complete. I guess we’ll see in the morning. Until then, you’re safe and you’ll survive.”
Colin closed his eyes, thinking as he drifted off how he’d underestimated a good scratch behind the ears.
He smelled breakfast. Something greasy that had his nose twitching and his stomach growling. A long, limbering stretch preceded a scratch under one arm. With a huge yawn, Colin rolled onto his back and sighed.
“Hey, sexy thing. Your friend let me in as he was leaving. Hope you don’t mind, and if you do, that’s just too damned bad. Think you could eat some eggs?” Sylvia, her voice determinedly cheerful, as if everything was normal. As if there was nothing unusual about her, uninvited, in his kitchen, making him breakfast.
“At least a couple a dozen,” he called back, smiling.
“Coming right up. How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” Good, actually. Like he’d slept for days. And he was starving. “I had the strangest freaking dream last night.”
“Was I in it?”
“Not that kind of dream.” He grinned and burrowed deeper into his covers. “I dreamed I was able to lick my own—”
“Colin?” Sylia called back after a long silence. “Your own what? As if I couldn’t guess what every man’s dream is.”
He threw off the covers. Okay, no sign of a tail. Had he been hallucinating? No, he could smell dog! Had he imagined Savoie’s weird notions about . . . regeneration.
Slowly, as much scared as excited, Colin got out of bed, stepping into his gym shorts on the way through his dark room to the bathroom. He hesitated and then turned on the light. He still stood there when he heard Sylvia come up behind him.
“Colin?” A touch of worry shaded her voice as she came into the bathroom to meet the wide-eyed gaze of his reflection. “What’s wrong? Oh. My. God! For an almost dead guy, you look amazing!” Her palms slid along his shoulders in an appreciative caress.
He turned so she could confirm what he’d been staring at in rapt surprise. The gauntness and flame of fever were gone. He palmed her cheek with his right hand. A hand totally healed except for an odd pattern of scars. Hers came up to cover it, caressing over his fingers. Her eyes filled as she pressed healthy flesh.
“Colin, what—?”
He interrupted her question with a sudden, urgent embrace. She finally pushed away with a laugh. “You may look and feel great, but you don’t smell so good. Shower and clean up while I finish breakfast. Then you’re going to tell me how you managed this.”
Soaking up the heat of the shower, the ability to grasp the shampoo bottle in his hand, staring back at his usual reflection as he brushed his teeth, all major, mind-blowing miracles. He felt fantastic, filled with energy and strength, his mind clear, his senses sharp. Whatever weird trip Savoie had taken him on had probably cheated death by mere minutes, but just to be sure, his first stop would be Dr. LaRoche for her practical analysis. All he did know was whatever had been trying to claw its way out from inside him was gone.
He had another chance to make everything in his life right.
Sylvia greeted him in his tiny kitchen with a fierce hug.
“I thought we’d lost you,” she whispered against his ear. “I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to lose one.”
“Happy to oblige.” He pulled out a stool at the breakfast bar and dove into the hot meal, savoring the scent and taste as if it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. Sylvia stood behind him, her hands on his broad shoulders, kneading them like a contented cat. As if finally realizing what she was doing, she laughed and took a seat opposite so she could study him, a smile playing about her lips.
“What?” he asked through a mouthful of potatoes.
“Just look at you, you big, good-looking thing.”
Colin grinned and continued chewing. When his plate was sopped clean with a warm baguette, he groaned and leaned back, ready for her impatiently checked Q&A.
“You were dying.”
“I was. Now, apparently, I’m not.”
“How did that happen?”
“Hell if I know. Cale set it up, some kind of big-time Shifter juju I’d never heard of. The last thing I expected was to be sitting here eating breakfast this morning. I was sure last night was my last. And decided I wasn’t okay with that.”
She reached out for his healed hand, her fingers stroking over the webbing of seams where healthy tissue had grown together. His curled tight about them and held on.
“Thanks for what you did,” he said quietly. “For Kate and me.”
“Happy to. I was rewarded by the sight of you nearly naked.” She sighed. “Rico called. It was his idea.”
Why hadn’t he ever noticed what a good friend his brother really was? Perhaps because he saw his own weaknesses reflected back in all those things that irritated him.
“Did you get my sister home safely?” His voice choked up, forcing him to roughly clear it.
“I did. And here’s something for you.” She slipped a piece of paper to him. “I got her a cell phone. You can reach her with that number, her and the other girls. Direct, no interference.”
He picked up the paper and pressed it to his lips before tucking it into his wallet. “Sylvie, if you weren’t already with Row and he’d kill me, I’d kiss you senseless.”
Her gaze heated, not in a sexy way, but with a familial warmth. “If that was the case, and you weren’t already taken, I’d be on that sassy mouth right now.”
He reached across the table to cover her hand, holding it tight. “You and Row, that’s all good, right?”
<
br /> “Very all right. And a lot of that is thanks to you.” Then the moment was blasted to hell by her directness. "What are you going to do about her?" At the look on his face, she added tartly, "And don't say her, who?"
"It's complicated, Sylvie."
"You’re bonded." Then she asked, "This is a good thing, right? Colin?" She frowned as his expression tightened. "I know you're crazy about her, and she fell apart at the thought of losing you."
"Yeah, maybe."
"Maybe? She bonded with a Terriot prince! Her, a Guedry! The balls that took!"
"She doesn't love me, Sylvie." Admitting that was almost worse than dying.
"Bull."
"She was just using me, and Rico, to get information on our clan so she and her family can destroy us."
"Colin, bonding isn't something you do to take one for the team! It’s a forever thing."
"Not when the plan was for me to be dead." He choked on that last word, still having trouble believing he’d dodged that particular bullet.
"She told you all this?"
"No."
"Then who did?" When he hedged, she pushed. "Who?"
"Jamie."
"Jamie? Your brother, James? The James who’d stop at nothing to divide your family, so he can plant his flag as King of the Mountain?" When he didn't look away, Sylvia reached across the table to deliver a smack to this side of his head. Not a light tap. “What reason would he have to tell you something like that? To get you all torn up, not knowing who you can trust?" She stroked the faint red mark on his woeful face. "Oh, Colin, it must have been killing you to think that of her."
All animation washed from him. He pushed away from the table and strode into the living room, plopping in the center of the couch. Sylvia followed, as he knew she would, but instead of sitting beside him, she perched on the coffee table, her knees between the straddle of his, her palms on his thighs. Her intense stare allowed for no avoidance of her question.
“Of all people, you think James is playing straight with you? Jamie tried to kill me! And Turow! I could forgive him for me because, well, I kind of deserved it, but not Row. He’s everything that’s good and decent in our family. Has Jamie ever told anyone anything that wasn’t slanted for his own benefit?”
“He had my earrings. They were torn out the night I was attacked. He said Mia arranged it.”
“Did you ask where he got your diamonds?”
His silence was her answer. He hadn’t exactly been at his best at that moment. And of course, James knew that.
She sighed, taking up his big hands for a tight squeeze. “Colin, you’re bonded. Don’t you understand what that means?”
“Tell me,” he stated quietly.
“It means there’s nothing she can hide from you. You look hard, into the soul of her, and you’ll know if she’s lying to you. You’ll just know. I’ve been a liar all my life, out of necessity and habit, and I know she’s not pretending.”
He let his gaze drop, unable to meet the intensity of hers. Hope sprang up before he could catch it and cram it safely away.
“Is there crap you need to work out between you? Hell, yes. Is it something you can work past? I don’t know. But you have to try. Mia, those girls, they’re your future, not some stuffy ideals that were driven into you as a kid. I want to see you as happy as I am right now. You deserve to be, hot stuff, because other than Row and Wes, I love you more than just about anything, and I don’t suffer fools. Make it right, Colin, or I’ll have to come back and slap you silly.”
His stare followed as she stood. His eyes closed when she bent to kiss him, softly, on the mouth.
“Thanks, Sylvie, for everything.”
“Thank me by giving yourself a break for once. Do that for me, because I owe you more than I can say.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Heart so filled with hurt and loss she’d closed herself off from any true emotion, Mia woke ready to finish her business in New Orleans and return to where she belonged. Hopefully, with her shield instead of on it, if that was still possible. There was no way around the fact that she was a bonded female, but perhaps she could spin that to her advantage. No Guedry male could ever control her now. She could rule alone as a not-so-virgin queen. That had always been the plan, hadn’t it? To reign?
The problem was, she no longer held to their strict tenants. Her views had veered from Thorne’s “Crush em All and Let Them Burn” attitude. Rueben’s vision of the clans united had begun to make an undeniable amount of sense to her as seen through the practical eyes of Silas MacCreedy. But that meant changing their very lucrative livelihood trafficking with the North. Without the protection of that pact, her people would be in the first line of fire when hostilities blew wide open. Could they trust Savoie’s people to come to their aide? Would the Terriots lift a finger without Colin to champion them because of his relationship with her?
Colin . . . Was he still alive?
The second she wondered that, she knew he was. She could feel him close in that part of her she tried to keep hidden away. From herself, especially. It did no good to linger there when he’d shut those doors for good. He was as dead to her now as the rest of her family. She had only herself to think of. And that’s what she’d concentrate on.
What a lonely place to be.
Feeling the heat of another pressed against her had been a cruel trick. Because it was the wrong Terriot brother burrowed into the couch cushions with her. Easing away from him, she’d followed the faint glow of light to a small kitchen where Amber and her adorable daughter were having breakfast. The girl’s bright blue eyes lifted, filled with questions she was too well-reared to ask.
“Good morning,” Amber said softly in deference to her still-sleeping guest. “Coffee?”
“Thanks, but no. I’ve got a meeting this morning and need to make myself presentable.”
“Frederick—”
“Let him sleep. Nothing’s changed yet. You can tell him that.” She leaned down to give the other female a tight squeeze. “Thank you for opening your door to a stranger.”
She chuckled. “You’re not a stranger, Mia. You’re a friend. My door will always be open for you.”
Feeling ridiculously weepy all over again, Mia simply nodded and hurried out before embarrassing herself even more.
Grateful there was no sign that Thorne had intruded in her rooms during her absence, Mia shut down all thought, rushed through a shower and quickly dressed. Her hair still slightly damp and only the rudiments of makeup to disguise her fatigue, she raced toward the hotel dining room where she’d promised to meet MacCreedy for breakfast. He was already there, seated on one side of a high-backed booth with his hawkishly striking and quite pregnant wife beside him. Silas stood at Mia’s approach, so her gaze followed his upward ascent. She rounded the side of the booth without noticing the other bench was occupied.
If MacCreedy hadn’t gripped her forearm, she would have dropped onto the floor in a sticky mess, like a bowl of overturned grits.
Colin Terriot didn’t stand. He regarded her unblinkingly. It wasn’t his rudeness that staggered her, it was his appearance. Flawless. Strong. Devastating. She stood gaping, frozen in shock until Silas parked her on the bench beside the glowering prince. They both sat stiffly, eyes front, surrounded by force-fields of denial.
Silas, struggling not to betray his amusement, cleared his throat and announced, “We were just discussing Colin’s brother’s progress with Brady’s daughter.”
Grateful for the distraction, Mia asked, “Isn’t he awfully young and, frankly, inexperienced for such dangerous work?”
“We grow up pretty damned fast and hard in our House. Betrayal tends to do that.”
Her pleasure at listening to the low, gruff voice she’d thought forever silenced was negated by his words. Tension roiled in her belly. Objections rose to her lips, but she refused to speak them. He’d already made it clear there was nothing she could say to alter his opinions when he'd shut her out.
> Silas went on as if unaware of the fission between them, or perhaps because of it, to detail the safeguards taken to protect the youngest prince. Mia tried to listen, but his words all ran together.
Colin was alive. Not just alive, but apparently, astonishingly, recovered! Mia’s amazement doubled when she studied the large hand curled about his coffee cup, horribly scarred yet fully functional. How? When had this miracle occurred? His rebuffing distance kept her from asking. She pretended that same indifference, yet every fiber trembled with awareness of him. Of his heat beside her, scorching through her clothing to bake against her skin even though they didn’t touch. Of his heartbeat as her frantic pulse seemed to race circles around its measured rhythm. Her hands knotted together beneath the tabletop to keep them from reaching for him, to touch him, to assure her that what she was seeing was real.
Colin Terriot wasn’t dead. But, obviously, as far as he was concerned, she was to him. What had happened to change everything so drastically?
Chills quivered through her. Her focus dimmed and brightened in sickening waves. The firm feel of Nica MacCreedy’s hand on her arm was a sudden, surprising brace of reality.
“I need to powder my nose,” the other female announced, pulling Mia to her feet. “Shall we?”
Not registering that the former assassin wasn’t someone who needed an escort to the ladies’ room, Mia went along, too grateful for the chance to retrieve her scattered wits. But repairing her shattered heart wasn’t going to be an easy fix.
Once in the empty restroom, Nica released her with a calm, “You looked like you’d appreciate a rescue.”
Before Mia could come up with some bold reply, another response tore through her, sending her in a staggering hurry to double over the first available commode.
Barely aware of her surroundings, she let Nica guide her to the sinks to blot the beads of cold perspiration from her face. She’d just started to reclaim her foggy senses when a curt question knocked them into the Twilight Zone.
“Are you pregnant?”
“W-w-what? No, of course not!”