by Elle Thorne
Combustible
Elle Thorne
Barbed Borders Press
Contents
Dedication
ABOUT THE STORY
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Afterword
Thank You!!!
The Shifters Forever Series and Spin Offs
Also by Elle Thorne
About Elle Thorne
Elle’s Newsletter
Copyright
Thank you for reading!
* * *
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Elle Thorne Newsletter
ABOUT THE STORY
Combustible
Some histories should stay buried. Some are too combustible!
One glance. That’s all it took. Wolf shifter Rory Nielsen, Reese’s twin brother doesn’t get involved in affairs of the heart. He has an enterprise to grow and a territory to protect. He’s all business.
So why is he at the Arceneaux home? He’s attending the Masquerade Ball at the request of his brother, but reluctantly so because no one’s at home to manage the stronghold. He’s itching to get home. The only thing on his mind is getting back.
—Until a car pulls up and curvy redhead Valencia steps out.
The attraction is—
Combustible.
Valencia Arceneaux is Lézare’s free-spirited sister. She’s a white tigress shifter with a mind of her own, the one who always marches to a beat of her own creation, the hell with shifter society’s expectations, the hell with her brother Lézare’s.
She attracts men like sugar attracts ants. She doesn’t fall in love.
Except…
She’s late to the ball. She’s ready to face her brother’s wrath because attendance is expected.
Ha. As if expectations ever mattered to Valencia.
She gets out of her car, ready to face Lézare and instead sees this wolf shifter.
Hunky, handsome, and fierce. But they have history. A history that’s best left buried.
Her interest flares. Her tigress roars a message that resonates.
This is combustible.
* * *
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Chapter 1
Lézare’s going to kick my ass.
Valencia pushed the gas pedal hard with her suede boot.
It wasn’t like Valencia Arceneaux could have called her family and told them what the holdup was. A white tigress shifter of the Arceneaux Clan of New Orleans, Louisiana. One of four white tiger shifter siblings who controlled the territory east of Houston and west of Florida.
Except that Valencia lived in Georgia, and she didn’t go home much anymore. Hadn’t in the last few… she didn’t want to think about how long it had been since the incident.
Knowing her siblings, they thought she was gallivanting around, playing carefree and wild while they performed the Arceneaux family duties and hosted Escape Weekend.
Escape. Yeah, right.
That’s what she really needed: to get away.
She turned into the Arceneaux Point driveway and punched it, screeching to an abrupt stop as soon as she’d pulled up to the main house. There were a few people milling around, less than half a dozen, but she didn’t see her big brother, who’d appointed himself her guardian, father, keeper, and God knew what else he thought he was in charge of.
And we don’t even live in the same state. It’s not like he can fulfill any of those positions when it comes to me.
Alexa and Evie were home far more than she was—with good cause—so he’d be better off trying to boss them around.
She slipped the car into park, yanked the door open, and catapulted herself from the tan leather seat with preternatural speed.
Her older sister Alexa stepped into view, screeching Valencia’s name, irritation and concern evident.
Valencia heaved a deep breath. She didn’t want to explain to her big sister where she’d been—what she’d been up to.
How do you even begin to tell someone about that?
She glanced at the man near Alexa. Her stomach heaved.
Then it unheaved.
He was—
—No, he wasn’t.
But he looked—
No…
That wasn’t him.
He looked a lot like him. God, yes he did.
How would I know? What if my memory’s failing me? True. It had been a while since she’d seen the man’s face. And never in the flesh.
Ever. Not once.
Not that I wouldn’t have liked to.
She shoved that thought away.
Alexa was saying something. Or was she?
Then the man who looked like “that someone else,” turned to talk to a man next to him.
Valencia glanced at the man.
The one he was talking to—
Was. That. Someone. Else.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Twins. Almost identical. Maybe they were identical. But not to her. Not a chance.
Her stomach, which first heaved, then unheaved, now took a flip, a fucking flip into an ice-cold ocean, then plummeted into a gravity-less freefall.
She felt her eyes widen. Even felt her chin begin to drop. She clenched her jaw muscles, securing her mouth shut.
That man turned from his twin and faced her. Tall, chiseled and formidably rugged faced until a smile appeared, then handsome.
Mercy, he’s still devilishly handsome.
Her next thought—he was larger in person.
Chest—wide. Check.
Shoulders—broad. Check.
Neck—no pencil neck on this man.
And then, to her surprise: she noticed he had muscular legs, she’d often wondered, back then, but… hard to tell from—
She shoved the thought aside as if allowing it to exist burned her mind.
His eyes dilated. Only a shifter would have picked up the dilation from this distance. Then again, that’s exactly what Valencia Arceneaux was.
That man’s nostrils flared.
Recognition flashed in the depths of dark eyes, like a golden glow in an espresso pool.
She caught her pulse going out of control. Tried to rein it in.
Failed. Epically.
She looked down, hoping that would do the trick.
Nope. Nothing.
Seeing him in person was so… so very…real.
* * *
That’s all Valencia could remember of her short time at Arceneaux Point today.
That man.
Then she left.
She was back in her car, heading home to Georgia. She couldn’t remember what she said to Alexa or what Alexa said in return.
She remembered her few moments at Arceneaux Point as though she were watching a silent movie, not actually there.
* * *
Valencia was now hours away. Her pulse had settled, finally—more or less. Sure it was still elevated, but not to the point where she thought her heart would give.
How could this have hap
pened? What was he doing in her life? What was he doing at Arceneaux Point?
What was he telling them right now? How they met? Would he admit he knew her?
A searing sensation in her veins warned her of upcoming doom.
She looked at the time on the dashboard. She needed to hustle if she was going to make it home before dark. The scorching in her veins intensified.
Yep, no choice, she had to get to safety. Not only for her sake, but of anyone who intercepted her.
Chapter 2
No fucking way.
No motherfucking way.
Rory couldn’t tear his gaze from the car’s taillights. He’d heard Alexa call her Valencia.
Fuck, why didn’t I pick up the resemblance?
The two sisters did favor each other. Some.
Valencia was a lush, short little thing. A spitfire in a stick of dynamite, though her figure was far from a stick. An exaggerated hourglass figure, just like he liked them. With wideset green eyes and rich red hair, straight, hanging past her shoulders. High cheekbones and full lips. Plump lips. Perfectly kissable lips.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
Just like he remembered.
Except now, she was in the flesh. In person. In real life.
IRL, they called it. It stood for “In Real Life,” when people who’d met online would then meet in person—IRL. Except that had been something he and Valencia never admitted to wanting. As far as he knew, she didn’t want it.
As far as he knew, he couldn’t handle it. His experiences left him unprepared to be involved.
He studied the stunning beauty. No one could hold a candle to the short, curvy redhead that slipped behind the wheel of the cherry red BMW 3-series and burnt rubber to get out of there.
His twin brother Reese eyed him while he stared at the departing BMW.
“Hey.” Reese nudged Rory with his elbow. “You know her?”
Rory composed himself, then slipped his sunglasses on. “Who?”
“You okay?”
Rory let a breath out. Fuck, no. “Yeah, fine. Why?”
Reese’s eyes narrowed into slits.
Rory glanced from his brother to the car. “That’s Alexa’s sister?”
“Valencia.”
Rory knew now why she never wanted to tell him her name. He’d have known it even if he didn’t know any of the Arceneaux family personally.
It’s not like I gave her my name either.
He would have. But since she insisted on keeping it a secret, he did the same.
“She just drove in from Georgia. I wonder why she’s leaving,” Reese said, but he was looking at Rory as if he thought Rory held the answer.
Georgia. Rory figured he knew what stretch of highway she’d be on. He could catch up.
Then what, moron?
Fuck if he knew, but he’d be damned if he’d let her slip out of his life again.
“I’ll be back,” he told Reese.
“Wait. What? Where you going?”
“Quick errand. Back later.”
“Need company? Help?” Reese asked, though he looked at Alexa.
“Nah, stay with Alexa.” Rory could tell they’d couplebonded. They didn’t have to tell him. But he’d wait until they made an official announcement. It was quick and unexpected though. They went from just meeting to—Bam!—together.
Rory got the whole fated mates thing his kind did. Though…
His mind went to Valencia.
The woman he’d met, whose name he hadn’t known. The woman he’d fallen for.
The woman he was hell bent on finding.
The least she could do was tell him why she left him hanging.
She owed him that much.
* * *
Rory caught up to the red BMW a few dozen miles shy of Mobile, before the exit for Interstate 65 toward Georgia. He had no clue where the hell she lived, but he’d stay on her tail and pull over where she did.
Luckily, she drove such a showy car, else he’d have struggled to find and keep up with her without arousing her notice. Behind him the sun had already begun its journey into oblivion and dusk was setting in. He wondered if she was going to drive all night. Not that he had a problem with that, but he sure would’ve appreciated a break. Surely she’d need gas or something, sooner or later.
Rory thought of calling Reese and getting her address. It would have made life easier to know where to go. Then again, what if she didn’t go home? What if she was going somewhere else?
Like a boyfriend’s.
He scowled at the thought, fury making his muscles tighten. He rolled his neck, flexing broad shoulders, trying to ease the tension that thought created.
Her brake lights lit up.
Is she stopping or is there a cop with a radar in front of her?
He hoped she was slowing to exit. He’d noticed a rest area sign not too far back.
Blinker!
Switching lanes or exiting?
Yes!
She was exiting.
Almost dark outside.
They both took the ramp and he kept a healthy distance between them. She parked at a rest area with three cars, a beat up Bronco, and an eighteen-wheeler in the lot.
Valencia exited her car, carrying the largest bag he’d ever seen for a purse, and headed toward the ladies’ facilities, a brick and wood building not much larger than a travel trailer. The building split between the men’s and ladies’ restrooms and had a door to a visitor center on the side. The center was dark, clearly closed.
He waited an extra second or two, then headed toward the men’s, also around the back, next door to the ladies’.
Less than a moment later, Rory hustled outside and returned to his Audi, casting a sideways glance to ascertain her Beemer was still in place.
It was.
* * *
Rory knew women took longer in the restrooms, but damn, enough already. He glanced at the time on his cell. He wasn’t entirely positive exactly when she’d entered the building, but it had been thirty minutes, he was sure.
The parking lot was empty now. The eighteen-wheeler, two cars, gone.
All but the Bronco and her BMW.
And where the hell was she?
The Bronco was empty, but he hadn’t seen anyone in the restroom when he was in there, and there was no one else around.
Broke down? Abandoned?
Could have been. But that wasn’t his problem.
Valencia was.
Concern and curiosity overrode caution and he made a decision he hoped he wasn’t going to regret.
After finding there were no witnesses by using his shifter hearing and sense of smell, Rory made his way toward the ladies’ part of the building.
One quick final glance around the area to be sure no one would notice what he was going to do, Rory opened the door to the women’s facilities and slipped inside with stealth.
The restroom was dark, but his preternatural shifter vision could see everything as clearly as if daylight.
Eight stalls. Eight open doors. All empty.
What the fuck?
There was no way she could have slipped out while he was in the restroom himself, he was way too quick.
Unless she never went into the restroom. He stepped out and stood on the covered porch at the back of the building, surveying the thick woods facing him.
Pine, oak, and elm trees grew in close proximity to each other, as if designed to be sentries keeping intruders out of the wooded area.
They made it difficult to discern if anyone was in there.
Where else would she have gone?
He raised his head, lifting his nose to the air, scenting for her.
Her scent was not there. Or it was too faint. Had she used hunter’s block?
Either way, tracking her by scent would be no easy feat, especially not since she had at least a thirty-minute start on him.
What if she came out of the woods while he was looking for her? What if she drove away and he had no idea whe
re to find her?
I need to make sure she can’t drive away.
He sprinted toward his Audi, popped the trunk and pulled out his emergency kit.
Taking out the buck knife he’d had since a boy scout, he crouched low and ran toward her car, knelt by the rear tire, and slipped the blade into the rubber. A low hiss announced victory as the tire began to lose air and fell flat.
That should keep her from going too far if she does return before I find her.
“Sorry, tigress,” he whispered, gave her Beemer a pat and flipped the knife closed, shoved it in his back pocket.
Chapter 3
Valencia had never considered herself the luckiest of people, but this was ridiculous.
It was getting dark. Hell, it was almost completely dark, and she could feel the moon’s effect. The pull was strong. The draw tugged on her essence, shutting away her shifter ways, pushing her tigress to the background.
“And I’m so goddamned far from home. I’m so screwed.” She’d walked thirty minutes through the woods. She’d seen from the map that although there wasn’t a state park nearby, there were several areas not inhabited.
That’s exactly what I need. Less possibilities for discovery and less people that could get killed.
She took a few more paces, then a few more, stealthy and careful not to attract attention—though there shouldn’t be anyone out here.
At all.
She found the perfect spot on the perimeter of a clearing.
The thickness of the trees would provide a block, not allowing much moonlight to filter through the leaves and pines.
But she needed 100 percent protection from the moon.
Valencia threw the heavy bag to the ground; it landed with a series of loud clanks, disturbing the quiet that lay heavy in the isolated woodlands.
She unzipped it, the ripping sound of the metal zipper menacing in the night air. She rummaged through it, organizing the contents.