by Ann Mayburn
I just knew on some primitive level that she was my daughter. While her skin was darker than my own, and the curls had to have come from her father, her upturned nose and dimple were all me. I drew in an unsteady breath, the almost violent strength of my love for this child, my child, hitting me square in the chest.
Growing up my mom would tell me the same story on my birthday every year about how she’d fallen in love with me on first sight at the hospital. I always thought she was exaggerating how powerful the love of a mother could be, but now I knew I was a fool for doubting her. Quickly crossing the room, I smiled at the beautiful baby girl before I easily lifted her into my arms like I’d done it a million times before. The moment her warm weight settled against me I wanted to cry, so grateful to have the chance to feel this powerful emotion. I swore my heart ached in my chest as it grew larger to hold my adoration for my daughter. Looking at her, smelling her, feeling her weight in my arms had me overcome with fierce emotions.
Right away she cuddled into me, her little arms going around my neck as she trustingly lay her head on my shoulder. I placed my hand on her back, savoring the warmth and weight of her against me. She was so fragile and delicate, but also sturdy and huggable at the same time. Turning my head, I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of her curls. There was a hint of strawberry from her shampoo, but underneath that was a scent I could barely describe, but it seemed to be the essence of family. Of love.
I didn’t know how long I stood there holding her, but gradually I found myself rocking in place while singing softly. It was an old Scottish lullaby my mom had taught me that her mom used to sing to her. The gentle words, so gorgeous and smooth, transported me to another time as I basked in the joy of having everything I’d ever wanted.
“I love it when you sing to her,” a man’s deep, velvety voice said behind me with a hint of an accent.
Instead of being alarmed, a shot of pure joy filled me, like I’d been waiting eagerly for him to arrive. The baby stirred in my arms, then let out a bunch of babble when she saw whoever was behind me. Her excitement was second only to my own, and with anticipation and happiness filling me I tried to turn to look at my husband, but before I could see his face my blaring alarm woke me up.
Groaning, I turned it off with a practiced flick of my fingers, then flopped back in my bed with my arm over my eyes. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make myself see my dream husband’s face, only the impression of warm deep brown skin and a gleaming white smile. The details of my dream slipped away, the particulars blurring as I woke further, and I let out a soft, keening sound of loss. That dream was probably the closest I’d ever experience to having a husband. Unless I found a man who also had zero sex drive. But then we’d be more companions than the traditional husband and wife. BFFs to a whole new level.
Tears burned my nose, and I tried to get a grip. I would not allow myself to wallow in sadness and anger over shit I could not control about myself. Someday, if things didn’t change and I couldn’t find a cure for whatever was wrong with me, I’d adopt. Or do IVF. Just because I didn’t give birth to a child didn’t mean I wouldn’t love them with everything I had. Still, as much as I tried to pep talk myself, I couldn’t help but feel a little brokenhearted that I would never get to meet the sweet baby girl in my dream. Never get to feel her cuddle into my arms. Never get to see her smile for her daddy.
My phone rang and I sighed when my mom’s name popped up.
Yes, I was an almost twenty-five-year-old woman whose mom still called to make sure I was up for work.
“I’m awake,” I muttered as I scratched my nails under Bobo’s brown and white chin, earning a slit-eyed purr.
“Good morning almost birthday girl!” My mom’s light and airy voice came through my phone, easing the lingering sadness from my dream. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m awake, I’m awake.”
“Don’t forget we’re doing a birthday lunch tomorrow with your aunts.”
Groaning, I sat up and stretched as I talked. “Do we have to?”
“Yes, we have to. Donna’s only in town for a few more days before she heads back to California and she wants to spend some time with you.”
“Yeah, but Aunt Donna fights with Aunt Patty like it’s her job.”
“Oh it’s not that bad.”
“Mom, when I was seven they got us thrown out of Sea World for getting into a slap fight over the correct pronunciation of some random fish in the aquarium.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Cousin Craig has professionally shot video from his wedding of the two of them cat fighting over the bouquet in the middle of the dance floor.”
“Stop exaggerating, they weren’t that bad.”
“Mom, they knocked down the maid of honor and broke her nose. Aunt Patty flung a shoe at Aunt Donna, missed, and hit Craig’s new father-in-law in the head.”
She giggled then made a shushing sound. “Okay, okay. I’ll make them promise to behave. I’ve got to let you go. I’m meeting Patty for water yoga at the Y. Love you, my sweet girl. Have a great day at work.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
I finally stood up then made my way across my enormous bedroom to the basement master bath. At some time in the past the basement had been converted into a mother-in-law suite with a totally kick butt, massive, turbo jet whirlpool tub big enough to comfortably fit a family. It took forever to fill up even with an oversized spout, so I usually opted for a shower instead.
When one of my friends had seen my bedroom and bathroom she said she thought the basement used to be a place where the previous occupants held swinger parties. When she pointed out the mirrors on the ceiling and other features, like the orgy sized tub, I began to see her point. There was also the envelope full of racy Polaroid pictures I’d found in the attic of smiling, nude women. They were from a time when women didn’t shave their lady bits. And there were a lot of them.
It didn’t take me long to get ready then shove a bagel down my throat while getting my massive coffee travel mug going. I was almost out the door when I remembered my heels. Diana texted me that she had a bronze silk dress waiting for me at the museum, so I tossed a pair of multi-purpose Chanel nude heels that I’d gotten at the outlet mall and my makeup case into my backpack. I spent a second loving on my kitties before I once again began my long ass commute to work. While I’d like to live in D.C., I couldn’t afford anything in an even remotely safe area. Besides, I liked my hometown. It had become a little more crowded and commercial over the years, but it was the place where I’d been born and raised and would always feel like home.
Chapter 2
Syn
My day passed relatively quickly with all the preparations for the tour. Diana informed me that there would be a lot of shifters at the evening’s event, and gave me a lecture about eye contact, and not appearing aggressive. As if that would ever be an issue with me. I was about as aggressive as a cotton ball, but I paid attention to what she said.
I’d tried to find Joven to thank her for the book, only to find out that Joven Bissonette was the donor of the collection we were showcasing. Evidently she was some kind of heiress known for her charity work, and she personally selected each of the artifacts we were showing from her family’s private collection. I’d been a little freaked out to learn that, then decided I wasn’t going to let the fact that Joven was a minor celebrity of sorts intimidate me.
A lot of the people I worked with were famous. Well, not in like a popular culture way. They were famous in academia, and they were my personal rock stars, but I always tried to treat them like I treated everyone else. Trust me, I’d done the academic groupie thing and I still blushed as I recalled my stammering speech the first time I’d met my boss, Dr. Greg. He was like the go-to guy for all things geology related, and was brilliant and cool, even if he did look like an aging Jimmy Buffet fan.
“Syn,” Diana snapped through the small ea
rpiece, drawing me out of my daydreams, “I need you at your place out front. We’re getting ready for show time.”
I flinched like she’d snuck up behind me and caught me staring off into space, “On my way.”
“Move,” she barked through my earpiece. “And smile, but not too much.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I let out a sigh of relief when I saw Ted, the man I considered a surrogate father of sorts waiting for me. He’d known my parents before I was born, and had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember. In his mid-fifties, he had a ready smile that made him instantly likeable and a good sense of humor. I was used to seeing him in casual clothes, or his lab coat-he worked in the Anthropology department, but tonight I got the rare treat of seeing the giant man shoved into a formal tux. The black fabric strained at his shoulders, chest, and arms, emphasizing the man’s barrel like body.
Ted and his wife Janet had been good friends with my parents for a long time, and it was Ted who’d helped me get my first job here. I spent many nights at their house as a kid and considered their rowdy sons my older brothers. Or, as they liked to put it, I was their ‘sister from another mister’ while they were my ‘brothers from another mother’. After my dad had passed, Ted helped take up the slack and I loved him for it.
“Syn, so nice to see you. Diana said she’d roped you into this,” he said with a smile and held out his arm. “May I escort you?”
Giving him a mock curtsey, I grinned. “I’d be honored.”
“My lady.”
“Good sir.”
Once my arm was looped through his, some of my anxiety went away. “Look at you, all fancy in your tux. I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.”
Ted made a low groaning sound and cracked his neck. “I can’t wait to take this thing off. Haven’t worn it since Darren’s wedding three years ago. But I’m here tonight as a guest, not just to represent the Anthropology department.”
“Wow, fancy. Should you be walking with me, the lowly help?”
Laughing, Ted patted my hand. “I think my reputation will survive it. This is more Janet’s thing. I’m just here as arm candy. She mentioned seeing you and wanted me to let you know we’re here, but that she knows you’re working so she won’t talk your ear off.”
“Please,” I begged with mock grief. “Tell her to talk my ear off. I’ll pretend we’re strangers and give her a four-hour tour.”
Ted chuckled again. “I don’t think Diana would believe that.”
“Good point,” I grumbled.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you. If anyone gets out of line just let me know.”
“Thanks, Ted.”
He winked, then gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Have fun.”
I groaned and waved weakly, but inside I was smiling.
At least I had a couple friends here tonight.
With Ted gone, I found myself getting anxious again and tried to subtly check if my forehead was sweating. It was frigid as usual inside the museum, and I was glad Diana had some of those boob stickers to put over my nipples. Guys didn’t seem to care if nipples were hard because it was freaking cold, or arousal. They saw pointed nips and they usually stared.
Anxiety started to prickle along my nerves, but I fought it off. Taking a deep breath, I tried to enjoy the lovely music the live string quartet was playing across the large exhibit and take in the beauty of the floral arrangements. Long tables held a variety of fancy looking appetizers that smelled divine, and my stomach rumbled at the scent. With a grimace, it dawned on me that I’d been so busy prepping for this that I hadn’t had more than a couple sodas since breakfast. There was a tray of what looked like some kind of stuffed pastry that smelled divine, and I seriously contemplated snatching a handful and running.
Ignoring the food, I focused on the doors as they opened and the glittering throng came pouring through. The vice-president of the museum, Dave Avery, a suave older man I’d only seen in pictures and once at a PR event, held his arms out as he bowed low. The light glimmered on his silver hair as he began his speech about the glories of the exhibit, thanking the donors for their sponsorship, the usual. Though he mentioned Joven by name, she merely waved to him from the crowd then disappeared from my line of sight.
His speech wrapped up and the guests began to mill about, their excited murmurs blending together into a hum. I stood and waited with a smile, trying to be inviting without being too inviting. Soon I was shifting back and forth, unused to standing in heels for this long in one place. I was distracted from my uncomfortable feet by the sound of Dave Avery’s voice nearby.
Dave’s tone was so full of ass kissing it made my butt pucker as he said, “Rex Corgan, we are most honored to have you here tonight with your lovely pride.”
I leaned a little to the right so I could see the man the vice-president was addressing, and when I did I couldn’t help but stare. Dressed in a white tuxedo, the middle-aged tall blond man seemed to radiate strength and power. But it wasn’t him that was making me gawk, it was his wives. Four exquisite women stood nearby, two on either side of the Rex wearing matching white dresses and sparkling diamond collars. While they ranged from near white blonde to strawberry blonde, Rex Corgan certainly had similar taste in women. They could have been sisters and all four of them kept their gaze lowered, their hands clasped demurely before them.
While most shifters could blend seamlessly in with humans, the Rex and his wives could not. There was some intangible vibe he gave off, some shimmer of power like heat waves off hot pavement. I wasn’t close enough to feel it, but I could sense it. Like his presence was larger than his physical body. People seemed to react to it as well. Most of the women here were giving him obviously admiring looks, and for once I was happy I didn’t fall in sexual thrall with people. Rex Corgan may be physically attractive, but the cold smile on his face gave me the creeps.
And his wives were too still. They barely moved, barely breathed, and none of them looked up. When Rex Corgan moved, they flowed with him, like they were one entity. I’d never seen a Rex and his pride up close before, and I had to force myself to not stare at them like they were a museum exhibit.
I was so busy watching the oddly synchronized movements of the Corgan pride that I didn’t realize at first that Joven was across the room near the entrance. She was standing next to a tall Asian woman with dark black hair and lovely green eyes, an exotic combination that captured my attention. While Joven was dressed in a silky dark grey suit, the green-eyed woman wore a bright yellow dress that set off her creamy skin tone. Her hair was cut short, and spiked in a flattering style. An unfamiliar flutter brushed over my belly as I admired the way her skin-tight dress fit her lean body. She wore glittering diamond bracelets on each wrist, and they gleamed like starlight as she gestured towards me.
Realizing I’d been caught staring, I quickly looked away and smiled at people as they passed, even if most of them ignored me. We were just supposed to hang around the exhibit and offer information to anyone who wanted it. Right now, it seemed like all anyone wanted to do was drink champagne and socialize, so I ended up pretending to be a statue at the edge of the room. At least it was interesting people watching, and I tried to figure out who was what. While I’d spotted the lion’s Rex, the bear Clan Leader, and the raven’s Banríon, I hadn’t seen the hyena’s Queen yet.
Eventually my services were called for and I led various people around to the exhibits, coming and going at their whim. I became very good at standing there and doing my statue impression while the guests talked. Most of it was boring chitchat, but there were a few hints and whispers that led me to believe I was hearing shifter gossip. Normally I tried not to listen to other people’s conversations, but I was standing on the other side of the small cubed in space, giving the couple I was with the illusion of privacy as I stared at an ancient scroll in a language I couldn’t read.
“I notice Fusi didn’t bother to show,” the woman, a lion shifter I was pret
ty sure, snickered in a low voice.
The man she was with, a tall guy with blond hair—I was sensing a hair theme here among lion shifters—chuckled. “Could you imagine? I’d be horrified with embarrassment for them. They’re so…trashy. She’d probably show up looking like a cheap hooker. Bad enough we have to deal with her niece, Joven.”
Their voices were so catty I expected them to meow at any moment.
“Bitch,” the man muttered before sipping his champagne. “She thinks she’s so much better than everyone because she has money, but we all know she’s nothing but a freak.”
“Don’t let the Rex or his wives hear you say that.”
The man gave an exaggerated shudder. “I cannot tell you how glad I am that I’ll never be mated to a Rex.”
Elbowing the man, hard, the woman whispered, “That kind of talk will get you killed. Rex Corgan will cut you open for his wives and feed you alive to his young. They will stuff their little mouths full of your tender insides while you die screaming. Don’t forget the video of what they did to Norman after he betrayed the pride.”
Bile filed my mouth and I had to keep myself from reacting as I heard the certainty in that woman’s words. She wasn’t making an idle, exaggerated threat, she was telling the truth. It was such a horrifying thought, and I couldn’t seem to get it out of my mind. This whole evening had a surreal feel to it, but listening to a woman in an expensive dress, dripping with diamonds, casually discuss murder and cannibalism made me queasy. And they talked about Rex Corgan on a personal level that let me know they were probably part of his pride.
Shit.
I don’t have anything to do with shifters my entire life, and suddenly they’re everywhere I looked.
I could practically feel them staring at me, and I wondered if they knew I was secretly freaking out. Their gazes pinned into my back like needles and it took everything I had not to run. Crap, I’d heard shifters could instill fear in their prey, but I’d never thought I’d actually feel it.