Catspell

by Colleen Shannon

  As the carriage rattled away, Shelly knew her instincts, as usual, had been right. Seth Taub, as gallant as he seemed on the surface, was not to be trusted with Arielle, either. Arielle had already paid the woman for the seance, and the fact that Seth had given her a healthy bonus meant she must have performed a service for him as well. Perhaps it had all been a hoax to disguise his own manipulation of Arielle, from the kitten to the voice.

  Asking Seth to guard Arielle was asking a rake to protect a beautiful virgin. Even more alarming, Shelly would stake her entire compensation on this case, which was considerable, that despite his intervention tonight, Seth, too, wanted to see Arielle turn into one of those ruthless cat creatures. Shelly had to watch him, following him if need be, to better understand his motives. Ethan would help…

  Shelly squashed the thought, not sure she trusted him either. She certainly didn’t trust her own behavior when he deliberately provoked her. He’d soon be gone from her life, like the others, and off she’d be to her next adventure where she had only her own strengths, of both the human and lupine variety, to trust. And that, she told herself as she closed her chamber door, was exactly the way she wanted it.

  But when she fell asleep, finally, an hour later, she didn’t dream of saving Arielle, battling cat creatures or sweeping off to grand new adventures. She dreamed of a tall, slim man who made her laugh, who made her angry, who even made her cry. And she, who had a very high constitution for pain, tossed and turned as if on a rack, feeling torn in twain.

  She wanted to reach toward that outstretched hand, truly she did. She wanted to trust that wide, knowing smile. She wanted to lose herself in those bright green, inquisitive and oh so intelligent eyes. She wanted to lie with that slim but wiry form and feel again, if only for a stolen hour, what it meant to be a woman.

  She wanted.

  And she, who feared nothing, was terrified of that wanting….

  In her room, Arielle was subject to similar, far more erotic dreams, but unlike Shelly, she did not resist them. She embraced them, quite literally, her arms out to meet the half lion, half human creature who purred, deep in his throat, as soon as he touched her. But this time when he came to her, a golden mask over his face, he bore the thick black hair of a man, not a lion’s mane. When he touched her, only the hands of a man stroked her. No claws extended to leave marks, and only the strong muscular curvature of a man’s broad chest and shoulders met her exploring fingertips.

  And she found this creature every bit as mesmerizing as the other Golden One. He, too, made her strong, forgetful of her infirmity, made her feel in every tingling sinew the hope and promise of the unknown, not the dreary certainty of the boring present.

  Then she was pinned in her own bed, limbs askew, her nightrail twisted about her waist, writhing in ecstasy as he touched her in ways no one had ever touched her. She could taste the sweetness of his lips through the mask, and he was elixir of the gods.

  He was a god…She opened for him, to know him, and learn even more in the knowing. To pay him fealty even as she earned a richer reward for herself, for all women, in the giving. Passion swirled between them, and when he buried his head against her, he nipped, leaving tiny marks that gave more pleasure than pain. In her dream, she rubbed them as if they excited her, her nipples going erect.

  A soft scratching at her window penetrated the sexual haze. She awakened, her heart pounding against her ribs, pulsing between the legs, to find her hand at her woman part. She blushed in the darkness, flinching away from her own intimate touch, wondering what had awakened her from the sweet dream.

  Then it came again. A scratching.

  She realized there was someone at her window. Easing out of bed, she slipped on her robe and padded silently over to the window, taking care not to alert the guard outside her door. Her father had insisted over her protests last night to post a footman at her door. She would never, he informed her loftily, be alone until these nocturnal killings were solved.

  She also knew, though he would not admit it, that he was afraid she’d harm herself in her delusional condition. She knew on an instinctive level that she had done something shocking that alarmed them all at the seance tonight.

  She had proof enough of her own transformation, for, as she moved, she realized that her leg, which always ached, didn’t even twinge. Her steps were almost totally even. But she wasn’t afraid; she was elated. She felt as if she could face anyone, defeat any enemy. Perhaps, as her father warned, she should be wary of a strange sound at her window in the middle of the night, but in her newfound strength, she wasn’t wary.

  She was curious. Like a cat.

  And rebellious. Like a girl on the brink of womanhood. She was tired of being smothered, tired of being treated like a child. She was a woman grown and she had the right to direct her own destiny, even if meant embracing danger. What harm could it do just to see who came to her so late? She had only to call out to fetch help.

  Outside her window, half on her sill, half in the tree, Luke Simball smiled at her. When she opened the sash after a moment’s hesitation, he offered his hand. “Come out and play.”

  Uncertain, she eyed him, astounded anew at her ability to see in the dark. She saw the long golden hair tied back in a queue, but the old fashioned style was pleasing. His eyes glowed green in the moonlight, and his face was a harlequin mask of light and dark as the tree limbs danced in the brisk breeze, veiling and revealing his winsome features. But the darkness was as compelling to her as the brightness…

  “Even children are allowed out to play for an hour,” he said with a teasing smile that offered no threat.

  “I’m not a child!”

  That assessing gaze dropped to her bosom and then he delved into her eyes again. “No, I can see that.” His hand remained out to her. “I want to tell you of your mother’s land, what it was like to be born in the bosom of the Nile. I want to help you understand her.”

  “You knew my mother?”

  He nodded.

  The last of her wariness faded. He could not have said anything more calculated to tempt her outside. Besides, seeing this golden haired man who looked like a god in the flesh after dreaming of someone so similar…she had to investigate whether her crazy imaginings were harbingers leading her to the man who was her destiny.

  She took that strong hand, stepped onto the window ledge and with an adroitness that amazed her, as if she had claws, she climbed onto the huge tree down into the grounds, every foot precisely placed for balance.

  If this new adroitness and strength was madness, then so be it.

  With a laugh of joy at the touch of wet, warm grass on her bare feet, she lifted her hems high and followed him into the night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tossing and turning in bed, Seth finally threw back his covers and arose, knowing he’d get no peace until he verified Arielle’s safety. Rupert, the Earl of Darby, had assured him over the late supper that Arielle would be fine that night because he was posting his brawniest footman outside her chamber door. Quietly, out of the earshot of Madame Aurora and Ethan, he added he’d appreciate Seth’s assistance the next morning in guarding his daughter, for she’d insisted on visiting a mortally ill former governess who lived on the outskirts of notorious Whitefriars.

  Such a personal task needed the chaperonage of a gentleman, not a servant, and no one, including the earl himself, had Seth’s proven ability to recognize and intercept danger from seemingly innocuous sources. Or, as the earl concluded, “You’ve a mean right with that cane of yours and you don’t hesitate to use it.”

  Seth had accepted with alacrity. Now, after seeing first hand how easily Luke could seduce Arielle, even in a most unimpressive form of feline, Seth knew that no matter how many guards the earl posted, Arielle would never be safe--until Luke was dead or she was, by her own choice, Seth’s consort instead. As he dressed, Seth looked at the inky black horizon behind the buildings populating this posh part of the Thames, and wondered how he’d gain entree
to the house so early, invited or not.

  Perhaps he’d take advantage of that tree outside Arielle’s room.. Perhaps it was time for Arielle to meet his true alter ego, too…

  The last of Arielle’s wariness faded as she followed Luke deeper into the park. The moon was a sylph above, shy and virginal, yet even in the dimness Arielle could see as if it were daylight. While her newfound powers were somewhat disconcerting, they were also enlivening, for never had the sounds and seductions of the night been so powerful.

  There the rustle of a bird in its nest. Here, under her feet, the soft feel of decaying leaves and moss. She felt as if she walked on air, unimpaired by any infirmity. And the smells….

  Arielle lifted her nose, enjoying the mixture of fecund earth and something even more enticing. She blushed as she saw Luke staring at her, realizing that most exotic scent emanated from him. A mixture of man, and a spicy aftershave that was unlike any she’d ever smelled. Instinctively, she moved two steps closer to him, inhaling more deeply.

  He smiled and offered his wrist for her olfactory inspection. “You like it?”

  “It’s wonderful.” She inhaled deeply, and a pleasant spinning began in her head.

  “It’s an ancient Egyptian mixture of myrrh, peppermint oil and a few other spices.”

  She took another step closer to his warmth, drawn in some inexplicable way to touch him. She tentatively traced a fingertip over that strong, out held wrist, feeling the pulsing of his life force. Not for the first time, she realized that when she was with him, he made her attuned to the most basic, primitive forces of nature. The senses of touch and smell. The need to feel, and laugh, and taste of all that life could offer.

  In short, just as did the golden lion man in her dreams, he made her feel alive….

  He pulled something from his pocket and held it under her nose. She sniffed the bon bon, scenting cloves and nutmeg and something else sharper, spicier, that she could not define. She looked between him and the treat, suddenly wary again.

  “It’s a bon bon I can find only in Egypt. I adore them.” He popped one in his mouth and chewed. When he offered one to her a second time, she licked it. It was wonderful, sweet yet spicy and entirely delicious. She ate it in one bite.

  “Delicious,” she said. “May I have another?”

  After the second one, suddenly her clothes felt confining. Recklessly, she unbuttoned her night wrap to give herself room to breathe. Luke’s hands were there to help. She blushed as she felt the light brush of his fingers against her bosom, but allowed him to unbutton her wrap the rest of the way. She half expected him to shove the fully open wrap off her shoulders, and her fingers curled in automatic rejection, but instead he stood back.

  “Dance with me. Learn what it means to be a woman like your mother. I know your father’s intentions are for the best, but he is smothering your true self.”

  That, she certainly couldn’t argue with. Power seeming to pulse through her veins, making her capable of miracles, she took his hand, flashing back to the memory of the first time she danced with him, and how strong he’d made her feel then, too. He pulled her into a clearing and began dancing a slow waltz with her. He was even easier to follow in this primitive ball room than he’d been the night of the dance. He was tall, strong, warm, and charming, his mouth close to her ear as he told her of Egypt, just as he’d promised.

  “The sight of the Nile at dawn is one you will never forget. Then we can see what the ancients saw, and why they believed the Nile to be the source of all life. The sun itself seems to bless her, kissing its way across her shoulders…”

  And his mouth brushed against the curvature of her collar bone, “to warm her for the new day. Life is eternal there, Arielle. Death has no meaning, for it is only a new beginning. Your mother saw that. Someday soon you’ll see it, too.” His steps quickened, but still she followed, round and round the clearing, and it was the most lovely drawing room she’d ever enjoyed. No stuffy rules to follow, no prying eyes.

  Only the man, the moment and the movement.

  “You have the blood of Cleopatra in your veins, Arielle. She dared anything, refused to be conquered by anyone. She had herself wrapped in a carpet and dropped naked at the feet of the great Julius Caesar to forge an alliance with him and save her country from interlopers. You have that bold spirit, too. Listen to that part of yourself, not your father. This moment was meant for us. Somewhere inside you know it, and your dreams have led us here, to the promise and magic of what we can be together. Forever. And ever.”

  Her open wrap kept flapping about her knees, almost tangling her feet, and finally she paused long enough to shrug it off. When he held her close this time, only two thin linen layers, his shirt and her night rail, kept modesty secure.

  So close to him, that intoxicating scent he wore felt like champagne bubbling up her nose to sparkle and churn through her veins. The heady rush forbade fear, or want, or pain. There was only sheer joy in what she could be if she embraced the becoming this man fostered.

  She had dreamt of a being just like him, of bright boldness, and reality was even better. He felt so good. He smelled so good that when his soft, hypnotic murmurings, that reminded her so of the purring of a cat, were muffled against her lips, she felt no start of maidenly embarrassment. Only familiarity, as if she knew this man first in her dreams, exactly as he said.

  Was he the chosen one? She had to know, to test him. And herself….Lifting her face to him, she invited his kiss.

  She didn’t have to ask twice. At first he was gentle, his lips persuasive and tasting of the treat they’d shared. He continued to sway them side to side and somehow her night rail got twisted, baring one hardened nipple to brush against his bare chest.

  His bare chest? She realized he’d unbuttoned his shirt, but the feel of skin on skin was so pleasurable she had no will left to resist. Curious and hungry for more, she opened to him, offering him the sweet interior of her mouth. He gave a little growl and stopped dancing to hold her away, his hands curling into what felt like claws at her shoulders. The strange marks that had appeared only in her dreams began to etch into her skin.

  Scratches tiny at first, on her shoulders, bare in the sagging night rail. They stung only slightly, and when he bent his head to lathe them with a rough tongue, purring his pleasure into her heated skin, the pain became delight.

  The whirling in her head went faster and faster until her entire world was spinning. The moon and stars were mixing into a sparkling garment of velvet and diamonds. It wrapped about her, warming her, stealing away her will to resist.

  She barely felt the ground beneath her hips, but oh, through every marrow, she felt the sweet strength of his body over hers. When he kissed her more deeply, tongue probing, a throaty growl came from him that sounded remarkably like a cat’s yowl in heat. He rubbed his chest against her, baring her bosom even more, and the tingling in her nipples was answered by that familiar thrumming in her lower quarters. The scratches on her arms and shoulders deepened, even where he did not touch her, dotted with blood.

  As if he touched the most primitive parts of her with his thoughts and instincts, and physical contact were not required.

  From somewhere deep inside Arielle a similar, more feminine feline growl answered…

  Then temptation was gone, snatched away from her. She heard a scuffle, men’s curses. Her eyes opened, and the bubbly champagne that had surged through her veins began to pop, leaving a bad taste in her mouth as she saw why–who–had lifted Luke away.

  Seth. He held the somewhat smaller man now like a dog, shaking him by the nape of the neck. Luke’s open shirt flapped around his shoulders, impairing his movements as he tried to swipe back in defense. Finally he lunged free and turned, his back arched, hissing like a cat. His eyes narrowed to strange diamond shaped pupils, and Arielle thought she saw hair growing on the backs of his hands, and sharpened nails poking from his fingertips.

  But then he glanced at her, and the hair receded, the nails
disappeared. Lowering his head on his shoulders, he charged Seth, both arms around the taller man’s chest.

  But Seth was stronger. He planted his feet, meeting Luke’s force with his own upper body strength. The sound of the men slapping together echoed through the clearing. Arielle winced, but part of her exulted in the sheer primitive power exhibited for her benefit. Then the men were shouting at one another in the same strange tongue her mother had used at the seance. She knew now it was the Egyptian version of Arabic.

  The sensual haze cleared further at the shocking sight of two suitors, one very blond, the other very dark, fighting over her. She had no illusions about the reasons for the battle, for the look of jealous fury in Seth’s expression as he pulled Luke from her had spoken volumes, as did Luke’s interrupted seduction. Astonishing as it was, both these handsome young men wanted her, a cripple, a shy girl with few social skills and fewer friends. She’d never had a suitor in her life. Both these men were the talk of London, with apparently sizable fortunes, and they could take their pick on the marriage mart.

  But why? Why were they both so fixated on her?

  Scrambling to her feet, her head clearing further, Arielle stood poised between the combatants, one bright, the other dark. They battled like boxers who had no patience of Marquess of Queensbury rules. They were vicious, merciless, punching one another in the nose, the face, the private parts, whatever they could reach. The thought came, nonsensical at first, then stronger as she watched them move in and out of the trees: there seemed a weird kinship between them, a similarity of purpose and resolve. It was almost as if they were twin halves of a whole, incomplete without the other.

  Without light, there was no dark.

  The most frightening connection logically followed: without evil, there was no good…

  But who was good and who was evil?

  She did not know at this moment, was not sure she even wanted to know, for she was drawn to both of these men. Seth was the more serious, the steadier one, but Luke was so alive, so full of power and confidence. Torn between them, Arielle winced as a blow was followed by a curse from each side.