Viola eyed him curiously as she spread her legs, knees bent so that they went winging out to the side. She kneaded her breasts with her hands and watched him look at her, practically salivating. In a sudden burst of movement, he dragged her forward by her hips, dropped down onto his knees at the foot of the bed, and reached forward with two exploratory fingers to dip into the warm, wet folds of her sex. But he didn’t plunge them in all the way, not yet. Instead, he took a moment to admire her: her hips undulated slowly, like a conductor’s hands during the adagio; her pretty, pink pussy was warm and soft as wet velvet. Rowan had always thought that she was beautiful, but there was something in the way she indulged herself in the sins of the flesh that he found utterly intoxicating. She owned her sexuality; she fucked like no one had ever tried to tell her that she shouldn’t. And he adored her for it.
“More,” she gasped, and he obliged, thrusting his index and middle finger into the orifice already slick and ready with her wanting. He worked it in and out, in and out, finally pressing in as deeply as he could and using a come hither gesture to drive her wild. Then, he leaned down and, spreading her nether lips apart with his free hand, passed his tongue slowly over the engorged kernel of her clitoris.
Viola whimpered very prettily, her eyes squeezed shut against the sickly yellow glow of the overhead light, and lost herself to Rowan’s enthusiastic overtures. When he pulled his hand away, it came back coated with the evidence of her desire, and when he stood up and held his hand out toward her, she sat up and licked his fingers clean.
“Get on your hands and knees,” he said, his voice husky and low. She did as he asked, arching her back and spreading her knees apart so that he had a rather unobstructed view of the flower between her legs.
He began to undress slowly, admiring the view of her from behind, smirking rather slyly at how she positioned herself, just so, like a cat in heat. He shimmied out of his jeans and boxer briefs, and laid his shirt over the back of a chair before crawling onto the mattress behind her. She could feel the head of his engorged prick pushing insistently against her entrance, and she pressed herself back against him so that one thrust of his hip buried his cock to the hilt inside of her. She let out a cry as she was filled, so eager was she to have her desire sated that she was bouncing back and forth on him; he barely had to move at all.
He gripped her hips and pulled her back against him, but it was her movements that brought him in and out of her in a fevered rhythm. After a time, he pulled out of her and came to lie on the mattress at her side. He didn’t have to say anything to her: she simply climbed astride him and took him inside of her once more, bracing herself with her hands against his chest, fingers splayed. She moved only her hips then, which allowed for a quickened pace, one in which Rowan clearly delighted, given how his eyes seemed to roll into the back of his skull as she moved on top of him. Panting, he reached forward and pressed his thumb against the nub of her clit, immediately provoking a groan that seemed to catch itself in the back of her throat.
“I want to feel you come,” he said. “Come for me.”
And once he’d spoken that request, it was as though it were a command, one that she could not help but obey. Her heart was a timpani in her chest, and her orgasm was a tightly coiled spring that finally gave way and released into the open air. Her body spasmed atop him and she shuddered, collapsing against him in a state of blissful exhaustion.
But he wasn’t quite done with her yet, and he scooped her gently up and rolled over so that he was atop her. He fucked her through the pulse of her orgasm, prolonging it, so that when he finally tensed and released inside of her, she was still tingling with the force of her own liberation.
When he rolled over onto the mattress at her side, she rolled with him, resting her head on his chest and laying her hand on his stomach, the warm residue of their lovemaking dripping down her thighs.
When he said, “I love you, Viola,” in that sleepy, familiar tone, her eyes shot open. She wanted to cling for a moment longer to their warm little bubble, but it had already popped. Just one more moment, she thought, just give me one more moment.
But the moment had passed, and she’d kept Graham waiting long enough. It was time to get back to business. “Rowan,” she softly intoned.
“Hm?”
“I have to kill your father.”
She felt his entire body tense, but he didn’t move, not immediately. “I see,” he said at length, frozen in place. At once, they became the semblance of lovers, but both were ready to spring into entirely different roles at a moment’s notice. “You can’t imagine that I will just… let you.”
“You will,” she replied, “if you’ve any sense at all.”
She lifted her head from his chest, completely breaking whatever was left of the spell they’d woven together, and scooted toward the edge of the bed before rising to her feet and standing still in front of him. He lifted himself up on his elbows, still playing at being relaxed, and watched her, well, like a cat. He wanted to ensure that this hadn’t been a farewell fuck before she put a bullet in his brain. But that had never been her intention.
“I need you to watch me very carefully,” she said. “And to just… not kill me for a few minutes, all right?”
He considered her words and answered with a level, “Very well.”
She thought of Graham, summoning him as easily as she’d summoned Rowan, in both of his forms. She hunched herself at the shoulders; she thought of brown, and teeth; she thought of the Urslings and the den mothers, the Dwelling the honey smell of mountain air. And she became that mess of static, disappeared into it, and emerged again in the shape of a Kodiak bear.
Rowan looked at her, impassive. “So, it is true, then,” he mused quietly. “What my father had hoped for — it’s real.”
She opened her mouth to speak, forgetting that she could not, and the low, gurgling growl of a wild animal emanated from her now powerful jaws. Rowan cracked a smile in spite of himself.
“So, that’s it, then? You tear my throat out and leave me for dead, then take out my father so that you and the other Ursus bastards can… what? What exactly is your endgame? No, don’t tell me. I’d prefer not to hear that pathetic excuse for a roar again, thank you all the same. You are acting on the behalf of the other clans, whose Alphas we have eliminated, is that it? Or you’re hoping to edge into some of Clan Felidae’s current markets, while they scramble to name a new Alpha, while the other members of my clan rip each other to shreds vying for the spot.”
She tossed her head from side to side, then could no longer hold on to the form. She’d felt more natural as a panther, somehow, but more natural still in the form of Rowan himself. She was panting and achy when she returned to her own skin, which seemed so slight and fragile after having been in the shape of something so powerful.
“That’s a very impressive party trick, Viola,” Rowan languidly drawled. A panther was a marvel; a bear was a party trick.
“I don’t want to kill you, Rowan,” she said, slowly rising to her full height and feeling somewhat unsteady on her two human feet. “In fact, I won’t kill you.” He watched her move over to the table on the far wall, springing up to his feet when she realized she was going for her gun. She sped up as well and they reached their weapons at the same time, training them on one another in the same breath, taking the same stance. He’d taught her, and he’d taught her well.
“I just need you to listen to me, Rowan,” she said, staring down the sights at him.
“Well, this isn’t something you see every day,” Rowan flatly remarked. “Two erstwhile lovers, naked and drenched in each other’s fluids, pointing guns at the other’s head.”
“Your father, like Graham’s before him, is a violent and bloodthirsty criminal. He’ll stop at nothing to keep his seat of power. But a change is in the air for all the clans.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Rowan. You love me because you saw something special in me, right? Something unique.” He
made no immediate protest, so she took that to mean she was right. “Well, you were correct — I am unique. And I can help to usher in a new age for all of the clans. I just need your help.”
“I’m not going to help you kill my father.”
“No, and I wouldn’t ask you to. All I’m asking is for you to stand aside and let me do what needs to be done.”
“And after he’s dead — then what?” There was a hesitation in his voice, a crack just big enough for her to slip through, to make her point and hope it stuck.
“You rise to power, with me at your side.” She locked her eyes on him, a blue the color of the sky after the break of a storm, and he stared back with his cat eyes, yellow, green, fire-forged.
“So this is your big power play, is it?” he asked, cocking his head to the side, inching forward with his gun held out at arm’s length in front of him.
“It isn’t about power.”
“Then what is it about?”
“Belonging.” And she said it before she even knew it was the truth. But there it was: a place for her, for her sister, uniting a great coven of shifters of all kinds. With her, and Graham, and Rowan, at the helm. “I will be your mate. And Graham’s. And our children will be the same kind of powerful shifter that I am, and the bloodlines will spread and grow strong, until we’re not divided by clan, until all of the shifters can work together.”
There was a look of disdain, then remorse, then utter dejection that clouded his handsome features. “I can’t have you to myself, can I? Never to myself.”
She shook her head. “No. But I will love you, if you let me.”
The word made his heart drop into the pit of his stomach, and he felt it flutter with the butterflies that lived there when she was near. “And if I refuse this plan?” he asked. “Then what?”
That’s when she turned her gun on herself, holding it with one hand and pressing the barrel to her temple. “Then I have failed, and you cannot share in my vision for the future, and you might as well put me down.”
Her heart began to race as he stared at her, frozen in an elongated moment of consideration. A cold bead of sweat formed on her brow as she began to wonder if she’d overplayed her hand. She’d been so sure that he would not kill her, that if push came to shove, he would save her again, as he had before. But with him so still, with both his gun and her own trained on her, she lost all of her assurance. She closed her eyes and took in three deep breaths, figuring that this might be a good time to prepare to meet her maker. But all she could see behind her eyelids was the image of her sister. Verity, smiling as they played fairies; Verity, bent over Jane Eyre; Verity, asleep in a hospital bed.
When she opened her eyes again, Rowan had lowered his gun and was giving a slow shake of his head. “You win,” he said, at last. “I can’t kill you, so — you win.”
Viola stepped forward and placed her own gun on the table. She advanced on him with her arms open, wanting to embrace him, but he put his hand up to stop her. “I can’t… I can’t touch you right now.”
She dropped her arms, crestfallen, but understanding.
“I was never particularly close to my father,” he went on, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “We never did the sorts of things that… normal fathers and sons do. He never took me to Little League, never taught me how to throw a ball, never taught me how to ask a girl out on a date. None of that. And yeah, you’re right… he’s a power-hungry, bloodthirsty son of a bitch.” He paused, angling his eyes on her then, his lips a stern line. “But he’s the only father I’ll ever have.”
“I know,” she muttered. “I wish there were another way.”
“Will you just… promise me one thing?” he asked.
“Anything.”
“Promise me that you’ll try to talk to him first? Talk some sense into him? Anything…?”
“Yes,” she said. “I promise.”
He nodded. “Good. Maybe then I’ll be able to forgive you.”
Viola swallowed hard and reached up to tug the elastic out of her hair, letting the ponytail loose so it became a black waterfall over her shoulders. She moved to gather her shoes and clothes into a pile that she could carry in her arms, collecting each item and leaving it on the table, along with her pistol.
“So,” he said, lounging on the old mattress. “Now what?”
“Now,” she said, “you stay here until everything is over and done with.”
“That’s all you need me to do?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, “that, and let me borrow your clothes.”
CHAPTER 3
Viola emerged from the motel room, clad in Rowan’s clothes. Swimming in them, more like. She had her clothes, her gun, and his shoes in her hands, and she was padding barefoot over the concrete, around the main office, and to the back lot, where she immediately spied Graham’s truck.
She opened the passenger’s side door and climbed in, the noise immediately jostling Graham out of a dreamless and, it seemed, uncomfortable slumber. “What time is it?” he asked, groggy.
“Late,” she said.
He raked his fingers through his mass of brown hair and rubbed at the stubble along the line of his jaw, glancing at her before turning the key in the ignition. The engine hummed to life and she heard him sigh as he threw it into reverse, pulling out of his parking spot and kicking it into drive to head back out onto the freeway.
“You’re wearing his clothes,” he remarked.
“Yep.”
“So, then the night wasn’t a total loss.”
Viola clenched her jaw, then turned in her seat to face him fully. “How about, ‘I’m so glad you’re alive, Viola,’ or ‘I was so worried about you, Viola,’ or ‘How did everything go in that life-threatening situation, Viola?’” she hissed, acidic.
He set his jaw and did not look at her, simply upped his speed to zoom down the empty lane.
“I can’t fucking believe you,” she continued, unwilling to let it go. “You know, it was your idea that you and Rowan should share me in the first place. What does it matter if that sharing happens now, or later? You are going to have to figure out some way to get right with this, Graham, because I swear to God, I am not going to spend my life being made to feel like some gutter slut who can’t keep her legs shut. Do you understand me?”
At that, he cracked, and pulled the truck over to the side of the road. He put it in park but did not shut it off; he simply turned and looked at her. “Fuck,” he said, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Of course you’re right. What a bloody hypocrite I’m being.”
“Yes,” she said, “you are.” But her anger was abating, even if only slightly. She had bigger things to worry about.
“Can you forgive me?” he asked. She responded with a wave of her hand.
“Let’s just try to get through this night, OK?”
“Deal.”
They drove into the city with the quiet hum of the radio as their only companion. They had worked out the details of their plan ahead of time: she would shift into the form of Rowan and walk in with Graham, who would wear a cuff around his neck that would keep him from shifting. It wasn’t scientific, or magical, or anything like that. It was just made of industrial-grade steel that would not break if he shifted. Instead, it would snap his bear neck in half, or suffocate him, one or the other. Either way, the outcome was the same.
Viola, as Rowan, would simply tell Katherine that they were there to see Alec, to deliver Graham, and nothing more. No one would have any reason to believe that it wasn’t Rowan, so long as she said very little and didn’t somehow slip out of her form.
Viola directed Graham to Felidae Headquarters, and she shifted into Rowan before they pulled up. Climbing out, Graham clasped the collar around his own neck, and Viola tucked her gun into the back of Rowan’s pants. She pushed out of her mind how strange it was, yet again, to be in the form of a man and simply tried to walk as casually as possible. But from the outside, the movements seemed stiff, rob
otic. She gripped Graham by the shoulder, just as much for appearances as to steady herself, and they entered the front vestibule of the building.
Shit. She’d forgotten about the keypad and hadn’t any notion as to what Rowan’s code was. So she rapped on the glass, and after a few moments, Katherine appeared, and granted them admittance.
“Bloody thing isn’t working,” Viola remarked in Rowan’s voice.
“That’s odd. It was fine this morning,” Katherine said.
“How are you tonight?” She flashed Viola/Rowan a brilliant smile; Viola believed she sensed a hint of flirtation.
“Fine, thank you. Just here to see my dad, my… father. He won’t be expecting me, I… this is a bit of an emergency, so… maybe you could… just let him know we’re here, I — I’m here, and I have a friend, a… guest? Er, more of a…” Viola took in a deep breath, tapped into her training, into her ability to obfuscate, to lie, and flashed a brilliant smile. “Forgive me, Katherine. You’re just looking so lovely this evening, I’m afraid I’ve lost all sense of decorum. But, business calls, so please let my father know that we’re on our way up.”
Katherine narrowed her eyes and locked her gaze on who she saw as Rowan, before she turned on her heel. “Right away,” she said, and disappeared behind the reception desk.
Viola, as Rowan, led Graham to the elevator vestibule and noted that he was looking around with the same sort of stunned expression she herself had worn during her first visit to Felidae Headquarters. She remembered what floor Alec’s office was on and keyed it in, her ears popping as the elevator sent them skyward.
As soon as they stepped off the elevator, Alec was there, a glorious vision of aging elegance. He wore a tailored suit, as usual, all in grey. His white hair and goatee were perfectly trimmed and styled, and his eyes brightened like a child’s on Christmas morning when they alighted on Graham.
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