20 Shades of Shifters_A Paranormal Romance Collection

by Demelza Carlton

  When Isis climbed off Osiris, their bodies no longer joined, he seized with fear. Breathing became difficult at the thought of losing Isis. Blindly, he grabbed her, catching Isis around her waist and yanking her to him. With a slight stumble, she came. One hand went to a shoulder and the other to the top of his head.

  “It’s all right. I let my emotions get the better of me. I was thoughtless and inconsiderate.”

  He could hear the sadness and regret in her voice, but it was the hand on his head, warm from her fire magic, that soothed his soul and chased away the pain in his head and heart.

  Osiris opened eyes that had shut from the cranial assault and lifted them to Isis, who stared down at him with an emotion he couldn’t mistake for anything other than deep, abiding love. Something was wrong.

  “Why are we out here?” He shook his head, regretting it when tendrils of pain stabbed him behind his eyes. He winced but pushed on. “What am I missing? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “How am I looking at you?”

  “Like I own but also broke your heart.”

  The hand on his shoulder lowered to his chest and over his heart. After a minute of silence, Isis backed away from him. Her face, in the moonlight, shone with dawning horror.

  He got to his feet. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She moved even farther away, her hand going to her mouth and covering a strangled gasp.

  Whatever sensual pleasure and desire that existed between them, mere minutes ago, had bled away with the realization that something was terribly wrong. For the first time tonight, Osiris didn’t feel alone in his bewilderment. The chaos of his muddled mind now played across Isis’s wan face.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Waking up beside a fake grave.”

  “No, no, before that. What do you remember?”

  It was an easy enough question, although he didn’t see how his answer would help explain what in the hell was going on there.

  “I called you about our dinner date. You didn’t answer so I left a message. I thought about texting but didn’t want to come off as too eager.”

  Although, considering the way she rode him, that wouldn’t have been an issue.

  Isis’s eyes fell to the ground, and she swore under her breath.

  “Tell me what’s going on.” Her silence frightened him, and little scared Osiris. When Isis still didn’t respond, he closed the distance she’d put between them. A hand went to her braids and rolled locks between his fingers. Osiris waited for Isis to compose herself enough to speak. “Tell me. Please.” With his other hand, he tilted her chin upward until she was forced to meet his eyes. “Please, Isis.”

  Licking lips that, if he concentrated, he could still feel against his, Isis nodded.

  Removing the hand from her chin and holding it in hers, Isis looked as if she would be sick. “The phone call to my cell and our dinner date was fourteen years ago.”

  No, that couldn’t be right. He remembered everything from that day. What he ate. How long he worked out. Even going to the grocery store because he was in the mood for steak and potatoes.

  “That doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”

  Isis pressed her hand to his chest again, then yanked it away.

  He raised his hand to the same spot Isis kept touching. What in the world was there about his chest that kept setting her off? Besides being naked in what he was sure were the grounds of Philae Manor, Osiris felt fine. His head still hurt a little, but other than that he felt—wait, why couldn’t he feel…?

  “I don’t… I don’t feel my goddamn heart. Why in the hell can’t I feel my heartbeat?”

  Fist slammed into his chest, hard and repeatedly.

  Thud, thud, thud.

  Isis grabbed the fist that pounded against his chest. “Stop it.”

  He wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t find a pulse anywhere. But he was alive. He was talking and felt strong. He’d just had sex with Isis.

  Osiris punched his chest again. Fuck, why wasn’t there a pulse?

  “Stop it. Stop it.” The red-and-white wings he’d thought he’d seen earlier were back. They wrapped around him, when he continued to beat away at his body. “Stop. You have to stop.” Cradled in Isis’s strange dragon wings, they were close enough to kiss. “I’m sorry. I did something wrong when I tried to resurrect you.”

  “I’m not dead. I’m right here.” He touched the spot over his heart again. Nothing. “No, Isis. I’m not dead. I’m here, talking to you, touching you. I’m not dead, and no dragon has the power of resurrection.”

  The longer and louder he protested, the more he knew it had to be true. No matter that it made no sense. He didn’t remember dying. He couldn’t be dead. But he’d seen a grave and a headstone with his name on it. He’d thought it the worst joke ever.

  “I’m not dead. I’m not.”

  Arms joined wings, and Isis held him to her.

  “I’m sorry, Osiris. I’m so very sorry.”

  So was he.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He held on when Isis lifted into the air. Amazingly, one of her wings was strong enough to bear his added weight while the other flew them away from the woods.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  Red eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Home, Osiris. I’m taking you home.”

  Isis banged on her sister’s bedroom door for the fourth time. She hadn’t been that drunk, what was taking her so long to open the door? Raising her fist to knock again, the door swung open.

  “What in the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to wake the dead?”

  “You have no idea how right you are.” Isis regarded her sister, from her red, puffy eyes to her rumpled nightshirt. “Sorry about waking you but we need to talk.”

  “Why? I thought you and Osiris would’ve been screwing each other’s brains out.” Nephthys reached out and plucked a pine needle from between a braid. “Fucking in the woods, Isis, now that’s just tacky.”

  “Shut up and let me in before you wake Mother.”

  “You’re the one banging on my door and smelling of sweat and sex.”

  “Just let me in already.”

  “Fine.” Nephthys stepped to the side so Isis could enter. She closed the door considerably gentler than how she’d opened it. “You’re keeping me from sleeping off my hangover, so this better be good.”

  “I resurrected Osiris.”

  “Yeah, I saw. And I’m glad I left when I did. I didn’t need to see the two of you—”

  “No, you don’t get it, Nep. I only meant to use our mate bond to connect with the two parts of his heart to reach his soul. You may be able to locate the dead, but I never believed I possessed the power to raise the dead. I’m not life to your death. I’ve never resurrected anything or anyone.”

  “The fact that your mate is… what, across the hall in your bedroom?” Isis nodded. “When he was in a grave two hours ago is proof that you have Wadjet’s powers. Some of them anyway.”

  “Goddamn Scepters of Nebty.” Isis felt like hitting someone, preferably the bastards who’d killed Osiris. “We’re supposed to be dragons, like every other dragon, not vessels for Wadjet’s and Nekhbet’s powers over life and death.”

  “Twins, Isis, like the goddesses. We are the Scepters of Nebty.”

  “I have no idea what we truly are. Did Mother even give birth to us or are we the original scepters transformed into dragons? I’ve always been afraid to ask. Afraid of the answer and of hurting Mother with my questions and doubt.”

  “We look like her, but yeah, I’ve had the same thoughts. Right now, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is you have your mate back.”

  “I wish that were true.” Isis ran a shaky hand through her hair, hating her next words. “I brought him back, but Osiris is still dead. I don’t know how but that’s what happened. I thought it was a miracle when his eyes opened and he spoke. I’d never wanted to be the Scepter of Wadjet more than I d
id at that moment. He sounds like my Osiris, feels like him, even has sex like him, but he’s not my mate. At least not all of him. The way he looks at me is different. He thinks it’s fourteen years ago.”

  “Fourteen? Like in how many pieces he was cut up in?”

  “Yes. If it weren’t so awful, the irony would be funny. He has no memory of our marriage, my pregnancy, or his death. He can’t tell me who killed him and I have no idea how long he’ll stay this way. What if I fall asleep and wake up to find him truly dead again? What if he stays in this undead state and never regains his memory? What if whoever killed him tries again?”

  Isis’s voice lowered with each awful question, as her anxiety and anger rose.

  “Calm down. This is so messed up, and I don’t even know where to begin with everything you’ve said. Does Osiris know where you are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to leave him by himself?”

  “Probably not, but I didn’t know what to say to him. He has no heartbeat, which freaked him out.”

  “So, he knows he’s dead?”

  She nodded.

  “Listen, Isis, for tonight, the best thing you can do is go to your mate and offer him what comfort he’ll accept.”

  “Osiris doesn’t know we’re mates. In his mind, I only just asked him out to dinner. He doesn’t really know me, no less love me. I won’t burden him with details of a life he doesn’t recall and can never reclaim.”

  “You’re his wife. You have to tell him.”

  “No, I’m just a woman he’s attracted to and who threw herself at him when he was too confused to say no.” Isis began walking toward the door. “The only thing I must do is protect him and find his killers.”

  “Isis, come on. Don’t be so quick to decide what you will and won’t tell him.”

  Hand on the doorknob and back to her sister, Isis wished she could forget the sound of Osiris’s fists beating against his silent chest. “You didn’t see his face when he realized he wasn’t alive. How do you think he’ll feel if I tell him about the shooting and losing our baby? What can he possibly do with that knowledge? I won’t hurt him. If he’s only here for a little while, I don’t wish to cause him more heartache.”

  “What about your own heartache?”

  She couldn’t answer, not because she didn’t have an answer but because there was no room in her heart for more pain. As far as she was concerned, her mate was dead and the man across the hall was an incomplete shell of the rock dragon she loved.

  “Good night, Nephthys.”

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Osiris still hadn’t wrapped his mind around all that happened yesterday. He began to lift his hand to his chest again but let it drop to the bed where he sat. He’d spent the better part of last night hoping to find a pulse. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d shoved his fingers against his carotid artery. That’s how Isis had found him when she’d returned from her sister’s room.

  She’d opened the door and he’d had two fingers at his throat and his other hand over a heart that no longer beat with life. Isis had said nothing, just closed the door before locking herself in the bathroom. He’d waited for her to say more about his death when she finished her shower. It was morning, and she still hadn’t broached the topic. Neither had they shared a bed, which felt wrong. Worse, when she’d grabbed a pillow from the bed and an extra blanket from the closet and claimed the chaise lounge for the night, a pang of rejection welled in him.

  They’d screwed outside, like the animals they were. But she couldn’t bring herself to share his bed? He didn’t get it, which was probably her point. He wouldn’t be getting any more of her.

  “Fourteen years?”

  Isis didn’t pull her eyes away from five canopic jars. He vaguely recalled seeing them when he’d awakened. That was his less crazy way of thinking of his resurrection. If he’d awakened, then he had been asleep and nothing more, certainly not a rotting corpse.

  She sat on a white-and-blue pinstriped window sofa in front of the bay window, the jars lined up against the cushions. Braids pulled back in a low bun, Isis wore a sleek and figure-flattering pair of black compression pants and a sleeveless white ruffle neck bodysuit shirt that showed off her slim figure and tall frame. She reminded him of the put-together Isis he was used to seeing around DIG and nothing like the passionate, emotional woman he’d held last night.

  When she’d showered, she’d washed away more than sweat and dirt. As confused as he may have been last night, and still was this morning, at least then he felt close to her. Now, he didn’t know what to make of Isis, quiet, distant, and a little cold.

  Her stoic eyes told him to ask no questions when she’d brought him a suitcase full of clothes that not only fit him perfectly but were items he would’ve purchased for himself. Inside the suitcase, he’d found a men’s grooming kit. In good condition but well used. Shoes, from dressy to casual, were in a second rolling suitcase. Again, they all fit and were his taste.

  He hadn’t needed her to confirm that she’d brought him his possessions. Not only did they smell like Osiris, but they also smelled of Isis. He may have no memory of the last fourteen years, but he wasn’t stupid. Isis had told him she was taking him home. He thought she meant his apartment in Manhattan.

  “How long have I lived at Philae Manor?”

  She didn’t seem surprised by his deduction, but Isis also didn’t answer him. Her focus was still on the jars instead of on Osiris where he wanted it.

  “Are we married? Mates?”

  “None of that matters now.” Finally, she shifted her attention to him. He couldn’t read her, which he didn’t like. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’m going to do all in my power to find and kill whoever is responsible for your death.”

  “I was murdered?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Why would someone kill me? I can be an ass sometimes, but I can’t think of a thing I would’ve done to piss someone off to the point of wanting me dead.”

  Isis didn’t respond. She picked up the canopic jar with the three-headed dragon on the lid. The woman was an enigma. In business, he’d come to learn, during the merger process, that Isis was a powerful, vocal force. She lived and breathed Dragon Investment Group, her knowledge of capital markets, investment banking, and investment management unsurpassed by DIG’s competitors. Dragons were a highly intelligent species, but Isis and Nephthys were above the norm, even by dragon standards.

  “Come on, Isis, talk to me.”

  “It’s my fault that you were killed. At least that’s what I believe. This jar holds a portion of your heart. The others contain a piece of your other organs.”

  She’d delivered the news in such a matter-of-fact manner that Osiris almost forgot Isis was speaking about him.

  “I really am dead. No wonder I can’t get my heart to beat. It’s not all there. It’s sick, you know? To see you sitting there with my organs in jars and the rest inside of me. It doesn’t get more fucked up than that.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. If I could change what happened to you, I would. If I had known, after all this time, there were still people out there trying to claim them, I would’ve never… It doesn’t matter. I brought the jars in here for a reason.”

  “Claim what?”

  “You’ll get the details when we meet with my family and the Tyets. They already know that you’re back, sort of. I told them earlier this morning. You’ll have to decide if you want to tell your mother and brother. That’s not my call, although I wouldn’t recommend informing them.”

  Like so many other details, he had no idea who the Tyets were. Every time he asked a question, Osiris was reminded of how little he knew and how much he’d apparently lost, which had the combined effect of producing a low-grade headache.

  Tired of what felt like a long-distance conversation, Osiris moved from the bed and walked across the room to Isis. Moving the jars onto the windowsill, he sat at the ot
her end of the sofa.

  “My family thinks I’m dead, which is terrible. I can’t imagine how much grief my murder must’ve caused my mother. The thought of her mourning me while I’m alive and well is—”

  “You aren’t alive and well. That’s my point. You have no idea if this state is temporary or permanent and neither do I. You could tell Makara, of course, but what happens if you die again? She’ll be forced to bury her son twice.”

  He hadn’t thought of that, but the idea of not doing what he could to alleviate his mother’s suffering was unacceptable. Was it also a selfish decision? He didn’t know.

  Isis handed him the canopic jar she’d been holding in her hand. The three-headed dragon’s head faced him.

  “Theory one, you could consume the rest of your organs and your body will be complete and you’ll live again for real. Theory two, you could consume your organs, be complete, and remain the same. Theory three, you leave the organs in the jars and nothing changes with you. You remain undead. Theory four, you do nothing with the organs and, over time, real death reclaims you. Theory five—”

  “Stop with the goddamn theories. What in the hell is wrong with you? Is this what you did last night instead of sleeping because I’m almost positive you didn’t close your eyes once?”

  “I don’t suggest cooking your organs. Raw or pureed, those are the best options.”

  “Did you hear me? I said stop.” Osiris shoved the jar at Isis, but she didn’t take it. “I’m not eating or drinking my organs. Here. Take this back. I don’t want it.”

  “It’s your heart. You gave it to me once, I won’t claim it again.”

  “What does that mean? That we’re mates?” He grabbed her arm when she made to stand. “Don’t you dare leave without telling me the truth. I have a right to know what we are to each other, especially since you think I was killed because of you.”

  Osiris wasn’t holding her arm tightly, no more than he’d grabbed her roughly. His mother had raised him better than that. But the way Isis glowered at the hand around her wrist, he knew she would tolerate no man-handling, no matter how gentle.