Shifters Forever Worlds Epic Collection

by Elle Thorne

  Her days were spent searching out and healing injured swamp animals, evenings were dedicated to witchcraft, and her nights were haunted by a dark-haired, dark eyed lion shifter who had made her body feel things she’d never felt before, without even a touch. He’d touched her soul, pulled her into a maelstrom that promised her things she’d never even imagined existed.

  Lucia had disappeared from Leandra’s life after that lunch, and only an occasional postcard in the mailbox—no postmark—let Leandra know her aunt was still alive and keeping an eye on her.

  Today’s mail yielded yet one more postcard.

  “Quake. Noon.”

  That was all the postcard read.

  Block writing that resembled Lucia’s.

  Leandra dropped the card on the kitchen table.

  Chapter Ten

  Quake

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Theo slipped into the shifter door at Quake. He couldn’t explain it, but there was something about Lucia that he trusted. It seemed completely natural to him that he come to Quake as she’d said.

  The hostess let him in and led him to the room he’d sat in before, the day he’d first seen Leandra.

  He didn’t occupy the large table in the middle. Instead he chose a chair at the two-seater corner table. He ordered the daily special without even looking at the menu. He couldn’t have cared less what he ordered. He didn’t even plan to eat.

  He hadn’t been there ten minutes when her scent drifted toward his nostrils and filled his lungs.

  Leandra.

  A drumming sound filled his head, bounced off his mind, reverberated throughout his body. It took him a second to process this new phenomenon, it was so new to him.

  In truth, he admitted to himself with chagrin, he wouldn’t have been able to place the cause without his lion’s whispered thoughts.

  Her heartbeat.

  The drumming that filled his body and took over his own pulse was Leandra’s own heartbeat.

  The magnificence of this occurrence awed him. Could Leandra feel this? Was it the same for her?

  The tempo became stronger and he knew that meant she was approaching.

  Chapter Eleven

  Quake

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Leandra followed the hostess down the hallway. She’d not given her a chance to ask for a table, or mention a section—nothing. She simply greeted Leandra with a swift smile, said she had her reservation ready and to follow her.

  The hallway was dark red. Definitely the witches’ section.

  Of course, where else would they take me?

  A weird sensation made her stumble. Leandra caught her fall against the hallway’s wall.

  It wasn’t so much that she felt weak as it was that there was this pounding in her head that was overtaking all her senses. She couldn’t concentrate on anything else. It was like the bass from a teenager’s car radio, reverberating throughout her body.

  But there was no music.

  There was nothing but the hostess, who glanced back and asked, “Are you okay?”

  “You don’t hear—feel—it?” Leandra fought the urge to cover her ears.

  The sound was getting louder and louder, eclipsing everything.

  The hostess looked at her as if she’d lost it and took another step.

  Leandra followed, but the sound and thumping grew stronger with every step.

  She led her past the witches’ section and into the first room in the shifter hallway.

  “I—wait—I—” She couldn’t find the words to ask the hostess why they weren’t staying in the witches’ area.

  Maybe Lucia sat with her own kind today.

  Leandra let the argument and questions building in her mind fade away. Lucia would explain when she sat down.

  Except there was no Lucia.

  There was only a wide-chested, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned man with a scowl on his face.

  The throbbing in her head had become a drummer’s solo.

  “You.” The whisper escaped her lips. She turned to the hostess, confused.

  The hostess was gone.

  “Leandra.” He rose to his feet, a giant of a man compared to her height. His voice had a quality of a viscous liquid, covering her, insulating her from the world.

  That’s when she noticed it. The throbbing had subsided, turning into a syncopating beat that matched her heart.

  She fought the urge to step closer to the man, to absorb his strength and make it her own. How would it be to be covered in his love, secure that nothing could penetrate their sphere?

  “The beating… that was you?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “That was us.”

  She studied that scowl on his face, wanted to smooth his forehead, send the thoughts that brought the frown on far away. “That’s not possible.”

  “Possible?” He laughed, a grumbling sound that came from deep within his chest but didn’t make the fierceness of his expression go away. “A witch says that something isn’t possible?” He indicated the chair before her. “Joining me?”

  “Why are you here?” She touched the chair’s back, but before she could move it, he’d pushed it aside and waited for her to sit. “Why am I here?”

  “I have no way of knowing why you are here. I was invited.” His fingers brushed against her back as he settled her chair in place. The touch, brief as it was, scorched her flesh.

  She noticed an accent—faint, foreign.

  “Tell me about the raven-haired beauty sitting across from me,” Theo said.

  She felt an instant sunburn sensation on her cheeks. Why did that bring a damned blush to her cheeks? She fought the urge to fan herself.

  So much for asking about the accent.

  She’d have to remember to ask him about it.

  She looked into his eyes, drawn into their magnetic warmth. His lion flamed amber and gold specks in the depths.

  And just like that, as if he’d opened up a floodgate in the world’s leakiest, formerly strong, dam, she burst.

  And boy did she ever.

  Hours passed, just the two of them. Hours and hours. Maybe an eternity.

  “I threw the skin bleach in the bayou.” She wrapped up the bleach story.

  He threw that magnificent head back, laughter rumbling and filling the room they still had to themselves.

  Leandra flashed a smile at the thought that occurred to her. She could see herself with this man when he was a white-haired, old lion shifter.

  She paused, surprised at the thought. But not at all put off by it.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing. Your turn. Tell me what I want to know about Theo Ricoletti.”

  “I don’t know what you want to know.” His teeth gleamed in the dimly lit room.

  “I want to know everything about you. From start to finish.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Quake

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Theo’s lion senses told him it was dark outside. He’d been in this room, with only this one woman, and it was as if they were the only beings in the universe. Their own universe.

  They were in the midst of a spotlight in a darkened room, and nothing in the darkness seemed to matter to either of them.

  She’d opened up and told him all about her mother’s treatment of her. About her grandmother, the one she called Mémé, the cabin in the swamp that she’d be happy to call home for the rest of her life.

  It was his turn, and he found himself wanting to share for the first time in his life.

  “My father took me from my mother. He then brought her to live nearby. He lost his first son, didn’t really know him. A witch put a spell on Cristiano. The mother never told Marco about his son. The witch—his former lover—never told him about the spell. He found out about all this later. Too late for him and his son to have a relationship, I suppose. I’m not sure. All I know is that Cristiano, his first son, doesn’t keep up with him."

  “Did you have a
relationship with your father?”

  “Not really. You can’t kidnap a kid from his home, keep him from the only parent he's ever known for months without antagonizing the kid. I tried not to hate him. By the time my mother died, I’d have to say we had a friendship—not a close one though. And we never had a father—son relationship.”

  Never will.

  “It’s like you don’t have family.”

  “Isn’t that similar to your situation? It’s like you don’t either,” he pointed out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Quake

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Leandra wished that she could remember what they had for lunch. For the life of her, she couldn't. One minute she was sitting down at the table, joining this beautiful man, the next moment her plate was half empty, his was completely clean, and they were standing up.

  She never experienced anything like this before.

  How could a man possibly affect her this way?

  "Ready?" He pushed his chair away, rose to his feet, and helped her to hers.

  Leandra followed him out of the dining room, feeling much like a puppet being controlled by a puppeteer. "What did you do to me?"

  They were in the vestibule that led to the front door, which would put them in the streets of New Orleans.

  He stopped, turned around to face her. "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "You don't do witchcraft." She scrutinized him. "Or do you?" It was as if she weren’t the mistress of her own destiny or faculties.

  His laughter was soft and rumbly. "Me, witchcraft? Not hardly." He stepped closer.

  Having him so close to her made her breath catch in her throat. Leandra took a step back. "Theo." His name was a breathy whisper on her lips.

  "Leandra." He leaned down, lowering his face to hers. She picked up the scent of pine woods and crisp cinnamon. His breath warmed her cheek. His eyes remained locked on hers.

  Lower, and lower, and lower.

  "It's nice to see you feel it too."

  "Why are you here?"

  "Do not want me to be?" Warm air from his lips tickled the hair on her cheeks.

  "You know what I mean. You didn't send for me. Someone else did. So how do you know? And why are you here? And why isn't she?"

  "What makes you think I know anything? I was sent here."

  His body pressed her against the wall, gently, yet with the strength of steel.

  Every curve on her body yielded to the power in his.

  The next moment, time stood still while he stared at her, lowering his head so slowly that apprehension froze time.

  He was so close that she could smell the man of him, smell the lion of him, and even imagined she could taste him. His nostrils flared, taking in her exhaled air, breathing it in deep, then letting the life-giving substance return to her, only to have her drink it in.

  And yet his lips hadn’t even touched hers yet.

  They alit gently, almost as if he was seeking sanction to touch her, approval to kiss her.

  A button seemed to have been pushed within him. His lips immediately claimed hers, venturing in, declaring their possession. Diving in, his tongue was hot, challenging, greedy, demanding her acquiescence.

  The galaxy began a fast rotation, and with it, it took both of them.

  Nothing existed.

  Nothing but Theo.

  Breathless, she placed her hands on his chest. Leandra tried to push, she wanted to push him far far away. But at the same time she wanted to pull him closer.

  So what did her treacherous hands do?

  Her fingernails dug into his chest, that wide glorious musclebound chest of his. Betraying her, it almost looked like they were pulling him closer.

  Theo pulled away, his eyes narrowing with desire. "Can you deny this?"

  Leandra shook her head her, lower lip trembling.

  "I'm coming to see you."

  "You shouldn't."

  "Tell that to my lion."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Black Glade Bayou, Louisiana

  Leandra stared at the serpent. It stared back.

  One of us is giving in. And it isn’t me.

  She pushed her thoughts toward the serpent.

  Get thee from my grandmother’s porch, else face my wrath.

  The serpent slid its forked tongue out of a lipless mouth, flicked it her way.

  Leandra blew a breath out slowly, letting it linger as the serpent tasted her scent.

  The damned creature refused to yield its spot, raising its head threateningly.

  Leandra’s nostrils flared.

  You had your chance.

  She raised her right hand slightly, ready to send the oversized dark, banded cottonmouth to its maker.

  In the blink of an eye, less than a blink of an eye, an arrow pinned the snake’s head to the porch’s wooden column not far from Leandra’s face.

  “What the hell?” The whisper escaped her in a whoosh.

  She glanced toward the wooded area just past the ramp that led to her grandmother’s cottage.

  She caught a glimpse of a shadow. Her eyes narrowed.

  A large man stepped out from the undergrowth.

  “Playing with snakes?” Theo’s accented voice was thick with emotion.

  She knew that emotion only too well. They’d become close in the last few months. He was a regular visitor at her cabin.

  She never went to the Arceneaux property to see him. She knew Lézare Arceneaux’s position on Theo being involved with a witch.

  Particularly me.

  She pushed away the sting of rejection. It stung even when the person delivering the rejection didn’t matter.

  “I’m not playing with snakes. He’s trifling with me. And trespassing on my property. I warned him.”

  Theo laughed, the sound filling the swamp. Birds chirped in response. “You’re living on the edge.”

  “A serpent cannot hurt me.”

  “Could a lion?”

  “A lion could do anything he wanted. This lion could.” She trailed a finger over his chest.

  Theo fought his lion’s urge to claim her mouth, her tongue, her heart. He wanted to rip every shred of clothing from Leandra’s curvy body.

  It was difficult not to take what he knew was his, what he was ready to claim. He lowered his lips brushing them against hers, his tongue sliding, parting her lips, their breaths blending.

  He stopped, pulling his lion back because he had almost thrust his tongue into her mouth and claimed hers. He wrapped his fingers in her twisted braids, twining, until his knuckles brushed her scalp, holding her tightly by her locks.

  “I want you,” he uttered into her mouth.

  Her low moan shot adrenaline and desire through him, leaving him throbbing and yearning.

  She slid her tongue along his lips. He gripped her hips tightly. Leandra’s arms wound upward, fingertips trailing along his arms, then along his shoulders, raking his skin, burrowing into his flesh.

  Theo hoisted her, pushing her against the wall of her grandmother’s porch, his lower body pinning hers. His hard on pushing against the softness of her curves.

  Her tongue teased his softly, as if asking for permission, as if she was still unsure.

  His hand rose upward from her hip, over her waist, brushing the side of her breast, while his thumb slipped over the straining, pebbled peak, evident even beneath the bra’s flimsy fabric

  “Theo.” His name was a whisper on her lips.

  It was the tone in her voice. Theo didn’t catch it, but his lion did: the tiniest niggle of apprehension beneath the waves of desire.

  He knew. Immediately.

  She’d never been with a man before. This wild woman, roaming the swamp, dressed provocatively in something that could almost be called a cross between a sundress and a chemise, had never been with a man before.

  Theo pulled back and ran a fingertip along her jawline. “Leandra.”

  Her eyes closed, slowly, the lightness eerie and sexy, pul
ling him into the vortex that promised him heaven.

  Her chest rose and then a sigh followed, teasing his lips with her breath, teasing his heart with a promise.

  “Trust me?”

  “With my life,” she uttered the words low.

  He picked her up and carried her inside her grandmother’s cabin.

  In seconds, Theo had her stripped. She stood naked before him, a full-figured goddess, curved perfectly. He cupped her breasts, lifting the weight as if testing them, enjoying the way they overflowed his hand.

  Her heartbeat raced, the pulse visible in her neck, then she groaned.

  This threw Theo over the edge of self-control.

  Fuck, he’d wanted their first time to be slow, but he couldn’t. His lion wouldn’t be contained. His lion had to have her now!

  She pushed closer to him, as if telling him that she knew the need and was equally driven, and completely unafraid.

  He brought his head down and took a hard nipple in his mouth. Her hands, already tangled in his head, pushed him lower while he sucked on a dusky tip.

  He lowered his other hand, slowly, over a soft belly, then touched the top of her slit, careful not to encounter her clit.

  Not yet.

  “Theo,” her low-spoken summons made his shaft jerk.

  He let his finger slide along the slit, still careful not to touch her core of pleasure.

  Heated moisture greeted his index finger as he lowered his hand, more and more. “So ready. For me.” His words were a growl, powered by his yearning.

  “Yessss,” she hissed the word and leaned closer to him, her hips grinding her mound against his hand.

  He thrust a finger in, unable to restrict the need to feel her heat surrounding him.

  She gasped, took his finger in, her muscles tightening, her body pushing forward to take more.

  He pulled it out, then pushed it in again, watching her face as desire crossed her features.