by Aliya DalRae
W ell that didn’t go as planned.
Malcolm slipped from the warmth of the bed leaving Jessica sound asleep, and, quiet as the cat he was, retrieved his clothes and crept downstairs. God, he hated leaving. Being with Jessica, touching her, loving her—it was everything he had ever dreamed it could be. More.
But the fact remained, he was still lying to her.
Lying next to her, watching her chest rise and fall, relaxed, satiated—the guilt lay like a rock inside his own chest and he had to move, to leave. To think.
Malcolm left a note, apologizing for his abrupt departure, and silently slipped out the front door.
What had he done? The whole point of coming here tonight had been to explain to her that she was being watched by the wolves, and to confess his part in it.
Instead, he kissed her and she had kissed him back. Which led to dinner, which led to coffee and conversation.
Which led to fireworks.
Malcolm slid behind the wheel of his Jag, started the engine and backed out of Jessica’s driveway. He grinned, thinking about the look on her face when she’d spilled his coffee. Sure, it had hurt, but he was a Shifter and Shifter’s heal. Besides, the instant she went into “care mode” the pain was completely forgotten.
How many times had he seen her pull that Florence Nightingale routine with the Vampires? Watching it had been seven kinds of irritating for Malcolm. However, being on the receiving end had been a totally different experience. Hell, he would dump hot coffee on himself all day long, just to be back in that position again.
Malcolm sighed. Ah, Jessica, what am I going to do?
Before he knew it, he was pulling into his drive and parking the Jag in his two car detached next to the old beater. He yawned as he headed inside to spend a second night, or what was left of it, in his own bed, replaying the toss and turn action of the night before.
No matter how he spun it, his conclusions were the same. He had to tell her. All of it. Only now, now that he knew what he would be giving up? How was he ever going to find the strength to put that on the line? To jeopardize that with the truth?
Malcolm rolled over, pulled his pillow to his chest and curled around it, holding it tight, wishing it were her as a fearful tear leaked out of the corner of his eye.
They had an undeniable bond. He knew it, and he was certain she knew it as well. He had to trust in the strength of that bond, and hope that she would eventually be able to forgive him.
The sky was beginning to lighten when exhaustion wrapped its arms around him and his heavy eyelids fell, giving him over to sleep.
Chapter Seventy-Three
I woke up stretching like a lazy old barn cat, completely relaxed for the first time in weeks. With a sigh, I opened my eyes and took in the jungle animal wallpaper, brown shag carpet and slanted ceilings. Confusion gave way to memory, and I blushed from head to toe.
Mac.
Had I woken in my own bed I might have been able to convince myself that last night had never happened. However, seeing that I was in the spare room, a room with décor so nauseating I wouldn’t, under normal circumstances, be caught dead in it? There was no denying it.
I was a ho.
I wiped my hands down my face, took a deep breath, and faced the facts. Mac and I had had sex. Awesome, tender, passionate, normal people sex, no biting required, and I felt amazing.
And because I felt so good, I was wracked with stomach twisting guilt. Sure, I had told Raven I wanted to take a step back and re-evaluate my life, our relationship. But that didn’t mean I should run out and sleep with the first hot guy who walked through the door.
And God forbid Raven ever find out. I wasn’t being flip when I thought that Raven would kill Mac if I got involved with him. My Vampire doesn’t like to share.
This was getting me nowhere. With one more vigorous face scrub, I swung my feet to the floor (which I could actually reach from this bed) and searched around for my sweats.
Once clothed I headed downstairs, cringing a bit at the thought that Mac might still be here, and I would have to face my infidelity head on.
Fortunately, the only sign of him was a note on the kitchen table:
Jessica,
I’m sorry I had to run out without saying goodbye. Have to be up early and didn’t want to disturb you. You are an amazing woman. I WILL see you soon.
XOXOXO
Mac
Beautiful. With a sigh, I crumpled the note and walked it to the trash can. I only hesitated a second before dropping it in. The last thing I needed was a reminder of last night lying around.
You would think sleeping with another guy would give me a clearer view of how I wanted to proceed, or not, with Raven, but I was more conflicted than ever.
I grabbed a Diet Mt. Dew from the fridge, not in the mood for coffee for some reason, and noticed the light blinking on my answering machine. Yes it was old school, but I liked having that little blinking reminder that someone was trying to get in touch with me. Voice mail was fine for my cell, but I didn’t always check it. The old technology would not be ignored.
I grabbed a pen and a three by five card, pushed the button and plopped down at the table, ready to see whose furniture I had neglected for too long.
If only it were that simple.
Chapter Seventy-Four
A s Harrier prepped the Citation for landing, he stole a glance at the male white-knuckling it beside him. Dude had never been on a plane before, and he had to be pushing a millennium. Whatever. Mason sent him to get answers, and answers he had found. Allon was going to give them all the answers they ever dreamed of and more.
Harrier pushed a lever down and the landing gear descended, causing the plane to shudder a little, and his passenger to shudder a lot. Get a grip he thought, but to be fair, he wasn’t sure if the good doctor was stressing over the choppy flight or what was waiting for him on the ground.
Victoria was as good as her word. She knew practically the entire story, much more than the propaganda the Primeval had been spouting. And she assured Harrier that anything she didn’t know would be provided by the male sitting next to him now.
He hadn’t been easy to find, hiding himself in the Lake Region near Peidmont, Italy as he was, but with the information that Victoria provided, Harrier was able to track him down quickly. Convincing him that it was in his best interest to come clean to the Legion about his part in unleashing that filthy beast on the planet? That was another story. Eventually the doctor had relented, probably due to Harrier’s charming personality, and here they were.
Harrier was surprised the Primeval hadn’t already tracked the doc down and executed him for leaving so much to chance. There must have been some sort of loophole or this guy would not be sitting here now, clutching his armrests like a lifeline to the gods.
The wheels touched down on the landing strip, bounced once, twice, and settled in a high speed race down the runway. Harrier pulled back on the throttle, gently applied the brakes, and eased the bird to a halt in front of a lightproof jet bridge.
The aircraft secure, Harrier climbed out of his seat, opened the door, and motioned for Allon to go ahead of him.
The doc peeked out the door, and, satisfied he would not fry upon exiting, stepped out into the tunnel. Tas was waiting for them inside the hangar and, after a brief introduction, led them to the elevators and tunnels that would take them to the main house.
Everyone was gathered in the War Room, and when the pair entered, Harrier could see Raven visibly flinch at the sight of his old friend. He would very much have loved to stay and watch this touching reunion, but Victoria had answered more than his Legion related questions. Why waste a trip, right?
Having sent Mason updates throughout his European excursion, there was really no need for Harrier to stay. So with a whispered word to his Warlord, and a brief conversation with Merlin, Harrier left the War Room and made his way back to the Citation. He was exhausted, not having slept in two days, and the time changes were playing havoc with his
serotonin levels.
But he had a promise to keep, and to do that, it meant tracking down one person more.
Chapter Seventy-Five
M alcolm pulled into Jessica’s driveway shortly past ten the next morning, nervous as a—well, anyway. Another sleepless night had him edgy. As much as he wanted to kiss her again, to hold her in his arms, he knew this visit wasn’t going to be all sunshine and fuzzy kittens. He had to tell her the truth, no matter the consequences.
In spite of his dread, the thought of her naked in his arms pulled a smile to his lips, and he whistled a cheerful tune as he ambled up the walk.
So he was surprised when the first flowerpot caught him on the shoulder. The impact halted his forward progress as well as the whistling, and the pot shattered in a spray of dirt across the arm of his dark blue sweatshirt.
Startled, he glanced around for the source of the projectile. Seeing no one, he bent to get a closer look at the offending shards of clay and mutilated chrysanthemum lying at his feet. This action saved his head from the strike of yet another mum as the yellow flower flew over him to land in the yard.
He glanced behind him, and up again. Jessica was standing on the porch, framed by the open doorway, yet another mum (this one a pretty rust color) aimed at his crouching form. Her face was streaked with tears and contorted with rage, and she was magnificent in her fury.
However, the sinking feeling in his gut told Malcolm the shit was about to hit the proverbial fan. Or rather, it looked like it already had.
“You fucking bastard!” Jessica jumped from the porch and took two steps toward him, the mum-bomb prepped for take-off.
“Wait, I can explain…” Malcolm said, but Jessica released the pot, and his cat reflexes were the only thing that saved him from wearing a terra cotta hat. “Jessica, stop!” He sprang to his feet and covered the distance between them before she could re-arm herself. She swung an elbow at him, catching him in the solar plexus, and followed up with a jab at his jaw.
He ducked the jab and lunged for her, wrapping his arms around her as he tried to catch his breath. She twisted in his grasp until her back was against his chest, and he tightened his grip, trapping her arms against her sides. She continued to struggle, screaming and kicking. She caught his knee with the heel of her foot, and he buckled, but maintained his grip on her as he repeated, “Wait, please,” until she stilled in his arms.
In his arms. Yeah, this was so not what he’d had in mind.
“Are you done?” he asked quietly.
“How could you?” she growled, her chest heaving and her hands curled into tight fists. “How could you do this to me?”
“Assuming I know exactly what you’re talking about, I can explain. If I let you go, are you going to keep throwing flower pots at me?”
“Maybe,” she snapped, her body now vibrating with tension.
“I know you’re pissed, Jessica, but for the record, could you stop trying to crack my skull and tell me what happened?”
“I think you know.”
“Probably, but humor me.”
Jessica sighed and relaxed a little against him. A very little. “Fine,” she said “but I reserve the right to kick your ass after you’re done trying to lie your way out of this.”
Yeah, he was royally screwed. Malcolm swallowed hard as the awareness of what he was about to lose hit home.
Chapter Seventy-Six
I was furious. Blood-pounding, red-haze-seeing, murderously pissed off. I trusted him. I let him in, got close to him, slept with him for chrissakes, and this is what I get?
What the hell was I thinking? Sure, things with Raven were rocky right now, and I knew if I hadn’t been so insecure about my feelings with him I would never have fallen into bed with Mac. Malcolm. Whoever the fuck he was. Not him, not anyone. But I was vulnerable and he knew it, and he used that vulnerability to get close to me, to get me in bed, and I fell for it, hook, line and Shifter.
He still had his arms wrapped around me, and I was shaking so badly at this point I was afraid if he let me go I wouldn’t be able to support myself. But his touch made my skin crawl and if he didn’t let go soon, I thought I might puke.
“I said you could let me go,” I choked, as calmly as I could manage. “Please,” I added through gritted teeth. His arms tightened briefly before he released me.
I stumbled away from him, putting space between us, and spun around to face him. He was just as beautiful, just as stunning as he was the day we met. I mean the human him, at Good Times. But now those striking green eyes were full of guilt and shame. And sadness. Raw, wretched sorrow.
Fuck that.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why what?” he said, acting clueless. I went at him again, but he put his hands up in surrender and said, “Where do you want me to start?”
“How about the beginning, when you first started spying on me,” I said, crossing my arms in front of me.
“Can we sit?” he asked, gesturing to the house. I shook my head. Unbelievable. “It’s a long story,” he insisted. I glared at him for a minute, and stalked past him to the picnic table. There was no way he was getting back in my house. I boarded up the cat doors almost immediately after hearing that message. The voice had been mechanically altered and the number had been blocked, but the content was loud and clear.
I sat down with a thud in the middle of one of the benches, and a moment later Malcolm sat down across from me and rubbed his eyes.
“Everything I told you about my wife was true,” he said. “She was pregnant, she died during childbirth, the baby too.” He looked at me, but my face was blank. I would not feel sorry for him.
“When they told me she was gone, I ran. I didn’t know where I was going, or what I would do, I just knew I couldn’t be around people. I shifted into my cat form, and refused to change back.
After several months, my Clowder—my Shifter family—forced me to shift back to human form, but the minute they left me alone I shifted back. I didn’t want their sympathy. I didn’t want to hear their stale condolences, to hear them say that they understood, that they knew how I felt. How could they?” he asked, as though he expected an answer from me.
I would NOT feel sorry for him.
When I didn’t say anything he took a deep breath and continued. “So I stayed a cat. They did the forced change on me one other time, and I nearly died because I fought it so hard. After that, they left me alone. Not because they wanted to,” he added, “but because they didn’t know what to do. When the wolves came looking for someone to keep an eye on you, my Overlord offered the job to me.”
“The wolves?” I asked, not trying at all to hide my skepticism.
Malcolm nodded. “Yeah, they said they wanted someone to keep an eye on you. Report back if you were having any problems, or were in any kind of danger. That sort of thing.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I insisted. “When you showed up on my doorstep, it was right after my mom died. I didn’t even know the wolves existed back then. Why on earth would I even be on their radar?”
“I didn’t know, and I didn’t really care. I still had a house, bills, and though the Clowder was taking care of it all for me, I knew I couldn’t keep relying on them. The money was good, my friends could continue to care for my property, and I was free to be a cat. It was a perfect situation, and it got the Overlord off my back. Win, win.”
“So you come here, you suck up to me, because it’s obvious I’m a cat person,” I said, waving a hand at the barn and the pile of strays lounging around the side door.
“Well. Yeah.”
“And it never occurred to you that this would be in some way immoral? Wrong?”
“Like I said before, I didn’t care.” He looked up at me with such sincerity, his eyes begging me to understand. I swallowed, hard.
I.Would.Not.Feel.Sorry.For.Him.
“So how did this work,” I asked, grasping hold of my anger once more, reminding myself of what he had done. “You
made regular reports? Jessica took a shower, brushed her teeth, slept with a Vampire. That sort of thing?”
Malcolm shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, yeah, I told them about the goddamned Vampire, but mostly it was reporting in, saying all was good, that you were okay, that sort of thing. I think they were being honest when they said it was all about your safety, Jess. When Raven showed up and things got all crazy with you, they wanted daily reports, but before that it was once a week at the most.”
“So they wanted to know about the Vampires?” I asked. Could this have been yet another horror brought on to me by Raven? But no, Malcolm was here before Raven and I ever met. It didn’t add up, and I said as much.
“They were more interested when the blood suckers came into the picture, yes,” he spat, and I was beginning to see some of the cat-Malcolm I knew in this man sitting in front of me.
“You really hate them, don’t you?” I asked quietly.
“Some more than others,” he said, and I knew he was talking about Raven.
“Is that why you did it?” I whispered, staring at my hands on the table. “Is that why you seduced me? To stick it to Raven?”
“No,” he swore, sitting up straight and reaching for my hands. I pulled them away, still not wanting him to touch me. “Jessica,” he stammered, “I didn’t mean to seduce you.” I gave him my best “bullshit” look and he added, “Okay, I meant to seduce you, but only because I…”
“Because you what?” I asked when he failed to continue.
Malcolm rubbed his hands across his face, before placing them flat on the table. Then he straightened his shoulders and inhaled deeply.
“Because I…fell in love with you.”
“Bullshit,” I said this one out loud, and his resolve crumbled. His shoulders slumped and his brow furrowed. He looked like he’d just lost his best pig, and I almost wished I could take the word back.