Into the Night [Into the Heart 2]

by Caitlyn Willows

  Wyatt retrieved his boxers from the bedroom floor and returned to the living room. Each wineglass was half full. No sense letting it go to waste. He corked the bottle and put it in the refrigerator, then poured her glass into his and stretched out to enjoy it while he let his thoughts play out.

  He sorted through his memories of their clan. Not once had they encountered another of their kind beyond their group. And they'd looked. Oh, had they looked. The jaguar was prevalent in the mythology and culture of the Mesoamerican peoples. Many of the stories had occurred long ago, when shape-shifters used to interact with humans. Since then, his clan had monitored all subsequent jaguar stories that emerged, including sightings, hoping somehow, some way, someone had managed to survive. Though jaguars roamed throughout Mexico, Central, and South America, nothing about them suggested they were anything other than the animals they were, not even among the few black jaguars they'd encountered.

  Wyatt's clan's hopes were raised when reports of jaguars in the southwestern United States surfaced in the early 1900s. However, they never found evidence of shape-shifter activity, and the United States jaguars made themselves even more elusive than their southern cousins. They also weren't long-lived for the area. Hunters eliminated them one by one for their beautiful skins. Presently, the jaguar was considered endangered in this country.

  Rather like we are now.

  Wyatt froze, his lips a breath away from taking a sip of wine. Nothing like having an oh, shit moment. His sip turned into a gulp. He put the glass aside before he chugged it all down.

  Jaguars were declining in all areas, not just in the United States. Poaching, farmers, ranchers, loss of habitat—all played havoc with the species. And the black jaguar was especially rare, making it an especially sought after target.

  What better way to hide genocide.

  "Shit.” Wyatt swung his feet to the floor and rested his forearms on his knees.

  What if some of his jaguar shape-shifter kin had scattered to other areas and not been annihilated, as originally thought? Wyatt relied on information passed onto him from the old ones. It was conceivable others had survived. In a time when few could be trusted to be who they claimed, why would those who escaped run the risk of returning home? Why would they risk coming back to skinwalkers, who'd steal their bodies and imprison their souls? Wyatt wouldn't have taken the chance. In fact, he didn't; he and the clan formed an alliance and moved away, continued their fight for survival somewhere else.

  What if those who'd left had also gone on to establish homes elsewhere? They would have been discreet. Hiding their shape-shifting ability would have been paramount. As circumstances demanded, they would have remained in jaguar form to thwart the skinwalkers or transformed to human form to hide from that growing population. Survival meant trusting no one.

  As he and the others knew well.

  What if, through the generations of hiding, they forgot they had the ability to shift? Or bred with others, and the ability was diluted? Without proper indoctrination, the first shift might kill. The population would plummet.

  Wyatt glanced toward the bedroom. It would explain a lot. How Trina wouldn't know she was a shifter. His heart raced at the possibility. Then it stuttered as another thought hit him.

  What if someone knew about them, knew what they could do? Someone who feared them all? So much so, they systematically eliminated every jaguar they encountered. Tracked them down and killed them one by one over the centuries, just as Wyatt and his clan had done with the skinwalkers.

  Talk about ramifications. Wyatt blew out his breath. Besides, who would want them dead? More skinwalkers? They'd eliminated the last of them. Or had they? Wyatt laughed uneasily. Of course they had. Or perhaps someone feared that the shape-shifters had now become skinwalkers?

  A headache beat at his temples with the tangle of thoughts running through his mind. There'd be no sleeping tonight, not when he needed to sort this out. He thought of Trina. Were there more like her? What was her history, her ancestry?

  He glanced at the digital clock on Trina's DVR. Too early to call Jeremy to have him start researching, too late to call Barry and share his new theories. Although come to think of it, Jeremy did keep strange hours, sometimes not sleeping at all. And Barry lived off adrenaline. After tonight's incident, the man was probably pacing the four walls. Which is what Wyatt felt like doing.

  He wondered where Trina kept her computer. Probably the spare bedroom. If he could access the institute's records from it, he could review the background investigation done on her when she was hired. Wyatt shook his head. Dumb, dumb, dumb. If her background contained anything out of the ordinary, they would have picked up on it at the time. Besides, he didn't want her to think he was going behind her back.

  A starting point would be to take a sample of Trina's DNA to the institute lab. It was staffed 24/7. His attention fell to the coffee table. Her saliva was on the wineglass. The techs could start working on an analysis. A full work up would take a while, but they might be able to get a quick preliminary analysis. It wouldn't be the first time Braden Institute's scientists had worked magic. Having deep pockets and unlimited resources helped.

  Yeah, like sneaking her DNA off to the lab isn't going behind her back.

  "Fuck it."

  Wyatt shoved to his feet and walked toward her bedroom to retrieve his jeans. She'd asked him for help. He couldn't sit around and do nothing. He didn't think she'd fault him for doing as she'd requested. She might even appreciate the fact he'd moved forward. If she didn't ... well, he'd deal with those repercussions later.

  As he suspected, her second bedroom was her office. Book shelves occupied three walls, neatly catalogued with her reference books. The walk-in closet door stood wide open. More books and filing cabinets occupied the space. The fourth wall contained her desk and desktop computer. Her laptop sat open beside it. Both were turned off.

  Wyatt did an about-face. He'd take care of getting her DNA to the lab first, then come back. He paused in the doorway of her bedroom. Did he dare leave her alone? What would she think if she woke up and he wasn't there? He could leave a note telling her he'd be back shortly. But what if she had another blackout?

  He ran a hand down his face and tugged on his chin. There was no hope for it. Analysis would need to wait for later. He couldn't leave her. Not in her current condition. She needed his help, but she needed peace of mind above all else. She hadn't a clue what was happening to her and needed someone around who knew what to expect. Everything else could wait until they could do it together.

  Wyatt walked through the house, making sure the doors were secure, turning off lights, and washing the wineglasses. The lab techs could get DNA directly from Trina with a swab.

  When he returned to the bedroom, she'd rolled onto one side of the bed, as if awaiting him. He peeled off his boxers and crawled under the sheet next to her.

  Her heat greeted him first. Her body greeted him next, spooning against him when he stretched out beside her. Wyatt wrapped his arms around her and inhaled. God, she smelled good. He closed his eyes and forced everything else away—all the doubts, the possibility of others like them—but the scent and feel of her. That's when he heard it—the unmistakable sound of Trina purring.

  Wyatt hoisted himself up on his elbow and stared down at her. A wisp of hair curled against her neck, inviting him to pick it up. Wyatt wrapped the silken treasure around his finger, smiling at the shiny gray strand that had the nerve to barge in. A smile bowed her lips.

  "What are you dreaming, my beauty?"

  He cautioned himself against the term, then added, “You can't fault a man for saying the truth. You are a beautiful woman.” Something she already knew and had used to her advantage in the past. Seeing the real person under the façade, Wyatt realized it for what it was: a defense mechanism.

  "Who hurt you, Trina?"

  He dusted the strand of Trina's hair over his cheek, loving the silky feel against his skin. He recalled from her portfolio that her
mother had died when Trina was sixteen. Maybe that had something to do with her past behavior. The institute hadn't delved into that incident during the background investigation; their only concern was the history of their prospective employee, not her childhood upbringing. Trina's education and accomplishments were stellar, despite the fact her personal life had been a shambles. Wyatt recollected that he'd read Trina's interview; it stated that, after her mother's death, she had petitioned the court to be declared an emancipated minor. Her request was granted. Self-sufficient, she'd changed her name, shortening Katrina to Trina. He wondered why.

  So many questions. That initial interview would still be on file with the institute and available to him. Again, he cautioned himself to wait. She'd asked for his help, his trust, and he was determined to see she had both.

  Wyatt settled down once more, content to let her purr lull him to sleep. He was almost asleep when another sound cut through his peace. Wyatt's eyes flashed open at the deep-throated growl. Trina jerked awake but didn't move.

  "Can you smell it?” she whispered.

  "Yes,” he whispered back. “It seems we've been followed.” Somehow the mountain lion had managed to track them to Trina's place.

  "Why?"

  "I have my theories about that.” He rolled out of bed.

  Trina was right behind him. “Where are you going?"

  The heavy thunk on the roof answered for him. “We're being stalked, Trina. Stalked with the intent to be killed."

  The scent of cat urine permeated the air. Wyatt saw Trina's nostrils flare, watched her brown eyes became blue-black pools, so fathomlessly dark, he'd lose himself in them if he wasn't careful. And then something happened to her eyes. Wonder paralyzed him. A glow backlit them, then expanded into a blue he couldn't describe, but one he'd never forget. Lupe's me-yowl snapped him back into action.

  "Stay here!"

  Wyatt knew she wouldn't listen. He didn't have time to argue the point. She dogged his heels, and a part of him wondered if she was as close to shifting as he was. The thought made his cock harden, or was that a response to his fighting instinct? In either event, it stirred his blood and made him alert, aggressive.

  Another screech from Lupe, followed by an outraged roar from their interloper, had them running.

  "I'll get the door.” Trina darted ahead of him.

  Wyatt praised her teamwork. He shifted into jaguar form and darted outside the second she opened it. One leap put him on the roof. Two snarling cats rolled toward him—a mountain lion frantic to get a pissed-off Lupe off his back, and Lupe digging her diminutive claws in all the more.

  Wyatt jumped out of the way as they tumbled toward him. They plummeted onto the wrought iron furniture on Trina's flagstone patio. The two loungers and table toppled under the weight. The mountain lion rolled to his back, desperate to rid himself of the little menace riding him.

  Front paws dangling over the edge of the roof, Wyatt watched the action, his tail flicking with interest. He'd let Lupe have her battle and only jump in if she needed help. Spots of blood marred the stonework. Wyatt's vision narrowed to the cut on the large mountain lion's haunch.

  He glanced around the roof to check for signs of injury and found nothing.

  Must have gotten it in the fall.

  Another roar from the big cat jerked his attention back to the action. Lupe now had her teeth locked on his neck.

  "Excellent fighter, little one.” He wished Lupe could understand his words.

  Lights from nearby houses clicked on. Wyatt saw the silhouette of a man in the doorway of the house behind Trina's with a rifle clutched in his hands. It was time to end this before someone got killed ... or discovered, as was his case.

  He jumped down, inches from the mountain lion. Lupe leaped off the big cat's back and onto the nearest tree. The mountain lion scrambled to his feet and shot off into the dark. Wyatt shifted quickly. One plop put Lupe at his feet. She gave him a flirty brrow and twined herself through his legs.

  "Here.” Trina shoved his jeans into his arms. “The neighbors will be here any second. Although how you're going to contain that is beyond me.” She jerked her head toward his erection.

  Wyatt stabbed his feet into the legs. Not an easy task when a cat was trying to love on him and his cock saluted the world. “I'll do my best, but I'm a blink away from pushing you to all fours and using you to contain it. I'm sure that's an image your neighbors don't want."

  Trina's sultry smile added to his predicament. Knowing she was naked under her robe didn't help, either. “No, but it's one I won't be able to forget anytime soon.” She knelt down to Lupe's level. “You were very brave tonight."

  Lupe butted her head against Trina's hand. Her head whipped back to Wyatt when she heard the zipper, and Lupe went back to rubbing around his legs.

  "Someone's definitely in love with you.” Trina laughed lightly. “I can't say I blame you,” she told the cat. “He's quite a catch for a kitty. But are you sure he isn't too much cat for you to handle?"

  Lupe shot her a look filled with cat-disdain, flicked her tail a few times, then strolled to the edge of the patio to lick her fur. Footfalls came running their way from several different directions.

  "I'll take care of this. They aren't used to seeing company, much less a man, at my house.” Trina double-checked the knot on her robe belt and met them halfway.

  "It was a mountain lion, but Lupe managed to scare it away.” A collective gasp followed her statement. It was followed by the inevitable flurry of statements and questions: are you all right, how could such a thing have happened, I saw it and it was huge, the fires have displaced so much wildlife, report this to the police, should have taken a shot.

  Wyatt and Lupe exchanged a glance. He motioned her toward the group with a jerk of his head. The little cat actually sighed and deigned to stroll over. Wyatt used the distraction she created to slip away and check around the house. With a trigger-happy neighbor ready to shoot at will, Wyatt didn't want to risk tracking the big cat.

  The mountain lion's scent hovered in the air. Once Trina's neighbors left, Wyatt would go back on the roof and hose it down. They wouldn't be able to stand it otherwise. Using his jaguar senses, he picked up the big cat's route—a combination of mountain lion and human scents—within seconds and decided to backtrack to the cat's point of origin.

  The trail ended not more than two blocks away at a Chevy Malibu and a naked man lying dead in the center of a pool of blood. He didn't have to get close to the car; it reeked of mountain lion. Bloody fingerprints smeared the door handle where the man had tried to get inside. A deep cut from the lawn furniture gouged the man's hip, which was where the man had bled out.

  It wasn't hard to put two and two together. Wyatt just didn't like the answer he came up with.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Barry. It took four rings before the man finally answered.

  "We have a situation.” No sense wasting words.

  "We sure do. Dean and Paolo are dead."

  Shit.

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  Chapter Eight

  Trina stared at her reflection. Spots covered her torso and were starting to twine to her neck. She was afraid to close her eyes for fear she'd open them and find the spots had multiplied even more. How much longer was this going to continue before the spots completely covered her body? And when they did, what would happen then?

  Her gaze drifted to the bed behind her, to the torn sheets and mattress. She wished she could blame that on Wyatt. The foggiest memory told her she couldn't. She glanced at her fingers, expecting to see claws there. This couldn't be how it was for regular shape-shifters. Surely they were cognizant of their actions. She'd watched them for three nights, admiring their seamless transition from human to jaguar and back again. No one seemed to agonize over it.

  She shook her head and tried to pick through the threads of Ka-ra's memories, to see if she could find any answers there. Any comfort. Ka-ra's memories ind
icated that no one in the clan shifted until they'd reached maturity—a rite of passage. Like having a period for the first time, or losing one's virginity. Elders prepared the fledgling shape-shifters for the transition into adulthood from puberty. Ka-ra had shred a few things prior to her first shift, too—her future mate, for one.

  At least Trina hadn't hurt Wyatt. The sofa arms were another matter. With her neighbors now milling about her living room, someone was bound to notice. She supposed she could blame it on Lupe, but considering how valiantly the little cat had fought tonight that smacked of betrayal.

  A tap at her bedroom door snapped Trina from her thoughts. “Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Wallace asked.

  She wasn't sure she'd ever be all right again. “Just gathering a little calm for myself.” She pulled panties and a bra from her dresser drawer. “I'll be right out."

  Trina put on jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. Her movements felt sluggish, like she was moving underwater. That burn in her gut was back with a vengeance, and her fingers had lost some dexterity. Even something as mundane as hooking her bra, zipping her jeans, and buttoning the fly took concentration and at least four tries each before she got it right.

  Sweat trickled down her back from the effort. Vertigo tilted her. Trina braced her palms on the dresser until the dizziness passed, and she caught her breath. At least she hadn't blacked out, as far as she knew.

  Steady once more, she raked her hair up and back to put a butterfly clip in, then let her hair drop back down around her shoulders when she saw fresh spots along the sides of her neck. Dark. Pulsing. Glowing white around the edges.

  Good God! What next?

  So much for gathering calm. The dresser kept her upright while her shaking fingers arranged her hair to camouflage the spots. Everyone was absorbed with the mountain lion attack. Maybe they wouldn't notice. If they did, she'd tell them it was hives. However, there'd be no way to explain if she suddenly shifted into a jaguar before their very eyes. Leon would probably put a bullet in her right where she stood and wouldn't blink an eye.