Loki's Game

by Siobhan Kinkade

  Frustrated, he turned on the radio and found something loud and angry. Patience was a virtue he sorely needed to learn. If he couldn’t give her the space to choose him fairly, how could he ever expect to grow old with her?

  * * * * *

  Lily cried herself to sleep that night, and woke the next morning with swollen, sleep-crusted eyes. Despite the drama and the fact that she’d only known Rowan two days, she missed him. His big, warm body by her side had been an unexpected comfort. Without him, her queen-size bed seemed cold and lonely.

  She was still absolutely terrified of him—not of the man, but of the creature lurking beneath his skin. The animal that had hunted and caught her. That had pinned her to the ground and taken her in the most primal of ways. That purred like a kitten when he held her. Though she’d witnessed the shift with her own eyes, Lily still couldn’t reconcile the man with the monster.

  She paced between her living room and kitchen, alternating pulling her hair with teary sniffles. The clothes he bought her were still carefully wrapped and waiting for her to open them. The bags rested on her couch, and the inordinate amount of money contained within made her stomach turn. Rowan hadn’t thought twice about the purchases, and that knowledge only made her feel more rotten.

  Why couldn’t she just accept him and be happy to follow through with this foolhardy plan?

  Because it was just that: foolhardy.

  She didn’t know him. Didn’t have a clue how he lived or if she would be in danger from him. He said something about trouble already—so there was one huge red flag. Plus, he’d already demonstrated an inability to control the shift around her. Again, she’d seen that firsthand. But she’d also seen his beautiful blue eyes encased in the face of the wolf, and recognized how the tribal patterns inked into his skin bled into his fur.

  With a growl, Lily threw herself into her computer chair and typed the word “shapeshifter” into the search engine. To her astonishment, thousands of results came up, including a ridiculous article on Wikipedia, and something called The Shapeshifter Codex which absolutely blew her mind.

  Throughout historical and modern folklore, shape shifters have been consistently painted as monsters. From the pure-breed shifters to the mutated Lycanthropes, all two-natured have been given a bad name. What popular culture fails to mention is that all breeds of shifter are inherently human, most having developed extra chromosomes, much like the mutations seen in Stan Lee’s “X-Men” comics. As such, shifters retain human thought even while shifted or during lunar frenzy. Many legends dictate that shape shifters are descended from gods, the second nature a mere byproduct of divine blood.

  The site had obviously been compiled by a folklore enthusiast, and detailed every aspect of a shifter’s existence, starting with the most general “what kind of shifter are you?” and ending in the minutiae of eye shape and hair growth with respect to the shifter’s nature. The amount of information was mind-boggling, and Lily had no way of processing it all. She was ready to throw her hands up and close the site down when a link nestled into the text caught her attention.

  Mating Rituals

  A nervous lump crawled into her throat as the mouse hovered over the words. She inhaled sharply and clicked on it.

  The next page contained two subjects: Lycanthrope and Natural Shifter. She followed the second link and was rewarded with a list of animal types with the header Natural Shift Familiar Form. Lily was already numb as she selected “wolf” from the list.

  At the top of the next page was a photograph of a tawny and black wolf, sleek and feminine, standing next to a human male that appeared to be in his mid-thirties.

  Mating, the most sacred ceremony of a shifter’s existence, remains shrouded in mystery.

  Lily stared at the page in shock. Some yahoo was taking this stuff way too seriously. Probably that proposed folklore nut with one too many lattes in his blood stream. But…

  No, she wasn’t going to play the what-if game and get bogged down in details. In the light of morning her game of hide and seek with Rowan seemed more like a strange dream, and it was easier to discount everything on this site. If she followed that train of thought, she’d have to let herself believe that the supernatural was real and that the man she’d just spent two nights screwing seven ways from Sunday embodied all of it.

  An unfortunate casualty, she thought with a sigh and backed through the site to the main page. If only he were normal, she could easily see herself fitting into his life. Being the kept woman of a wealthy, good-looking man wasn’t such a bad thing.

  You are my mate, Lily…

  A ripple of lust shivered through her belly as her throat simultaneously tightened. How the hell could she want someone so much and still fear him? She growled and slapped at her mouse to clear the screen-saver, and the phone rang. She darted across the room and snatched it up on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Lily Redway?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Carolyn Reynolds at the Collins-Goodwin Gallery.” The Gallery… She’d worked for one of its subsidiaries until the museum closed. Lily swallowed the lump in her throat and listened. “A temporary contract position with an immediate start date has become available. The owner of the collection has specifically requested you based on your resume and qualifications. I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling an interview for you this morning at eleven-thirty.”

  “Wow…” she breathed into the phone. This was a surprise and greatly unexpected, too.

  “I will see you at eleven-thirty, Miss Redway.” The telephone clicked in her hand, and the line went dead. So much for being given a choice…but if Carolyn Reynolds was anything like Lily had heard, courteous closings had no place in her efficient lifestyle.

  Shaking her head, Lily turned her attention back to her monitor, only halfway paying attention to the words there. There was too much going on…too many things happening at once, and not enough thought processes available to make them all make sense. She picked up her coffee cup and took a long drink as she continued to read.

  Tribal Markings

  Every pure-breed shifter carries markings, which not only signify his or her original clan, but can give an inkling of true age. The markings often appear as tattoos, which spread with age, and remain visible even when in animal form.

  Lily thought about the fluid, intricate lines crisscrossing the majority of Rowan’s body, and shuddered. Thin tendrils reached toward his face, one of the only unmarred areas of skin on him. If the passage was correct, he in truth could be well over six-hundred years old. And the way each black line curved over his skin, the way the thinnest of those lines reached out above his ear toward his eye…

  Growling, Lily closed the website down and punched the monitor off. It would do no good to remain on the topic of his body…of Rowan at all. She had to get a grip on herself, and do it fast.

  She was all too ready to move on when a knock at her front door startled her into nearly dropping her coffee cup. Muttering curses under her breath and smacking at the drops of brown liquid staining her nightgown, she stalked across the room and snatched open the door. The receptionist from Rowan’s office stood there, holding in one hand the keys to her car, and in the other a clipboard.

  “Sign this,” Lurch said in the same curt, efficient manner he’d used at her interview, and thrust the form into her hands. It was a release for the keys.

  “Um, thank you,” she said as he dropped the keys into her hand and stalked away without another word. Standing in her robe on her doorstep, Lily looked at the ring of keys then at her car in the driveway and sighed. Disappointed that Rowan hadn’t brought them herself, she gave herself a sharp mental slap. Wanting him and doing the best thing for herself seemed at this point to be polar opposites. He exuded danger. And mystery. She mentally slapped herself again. It was much easier to ignore his second nature when she was in the room with him but then again, he’d said he would let her make the decision. And sadly, as she looked across
her front yard and down the street at her quiet neighborhood, she knew that her answer would have to be no.

  With time and persuasion it could be something different, but without his presence the odds weren’t good that she would get the persuasion she so desperately wanted.

  * * * * *

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” Lily gasped as she rushed through the door of the office. “There was an accident and I didn’t have the phone number.”

  “That’s quite all right,” the receptionist said brightly. “Miss Reynolds will see you now.” She stood with a perky pop to her shoulders that made Lily want to retch. “This way.”

  She exhaled a deep sigh and tucked a wayward strand of hair back into her ponytail. Lily hated feeling so unsteady, but truth be told she’d been so busy feeling sorry for herself that she’d nearly forgotten the appointment only an hour later. She remembered at the last possible second and thrown herself together, running out of the house like her rear was on fire.

  The receptionist led her to an austere office, decorated in clean lines with little in the way of non-functional furniture. Not at all like Rowan’s building, she thought, and mentally kicked herself again. It seemed to be a running theme.

  The room might be cold, but it felt safe.

  “Lily Redway,” the woman behind the desk—who, with her school-marm chignon, coldly matched the room—said as she stood and extended her hand. “I am Carolyn Reynolds.”

  “A pleasure.”

  “Have a seat.” Despite her looks and efficient speech, she seemed friendly enough. Lily sat stiffly on the chair, a thin smile straining her face. “I am sure you understand that this job is a temporary contract. One of the Gallery’s benefactors needs a curator for his private collection, which must be cataloged and cased for a two-month show to begin in exactly four weeks.” Lily felt sick. Her throat tightened and her heart thumped like it had lead weights in it. Surely it couldn’t be… “Loren Eshu asked for only the best,” Carolyn said, and Lily’s body unlocked gratefully. It wasn’t Rowan. But…

  “Loren? Since when does he have a collection?”

  Carolyn raised one neatly manicured eyebrow. “You know him?”

  “I do… He was a member and donor at the Gallery. I knew he was an art lover, but I never would have imagined him the type to want a private show.”

  “He has a highly impressive collection, and quite frankly, Lily, you are the only plausible candidate I have. Can you start tomorrow?”

  Lily closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Little by little she pulled her thoughts together. Of course it wasn’t Rowan. Those sorts of coincidences didn’t happen to people like her, and Carolyn seemed like the last woman on earth to keep company with a man like Rowan. At least Loren would be a familiar face. Not the job opportunity of a lifetime, but those only came along once in a lifetime…and she already passed hers up.

  “Of course,” she said calmly. “I’d love to.”

  “I understand the collection is in disarray, and that quite a bit of it may require restoration, but I am certain you can handle it.” Kudos. Awesome. Warm fuzzies spread through Lily from the praise of the woman she’d met in person only ten minutes earlier. She knew the name of course…Carolyn had been the one to sign the papers terminating her previous job.

  “I can,” Lily assured her. Maybe this job would help prove that the closing of the other gallery was premature. “I enjoy a good challenge.” The icy woman cracked a small, brittle smile in response, and Lily knew when Carolyn turned her attention to the computer that she was dismissed.

  “Tina will give you the information.” Carolyn’s attention then focused on the papers in her hand. They were done, and the door behind her cracked open quietly.

  “Thank you,” Lily said, backing out of the room, and received no response.

  * * * * *

  Lily’s mood on the drive out of town was one of utter confusion. She found herself ecstatic over the job, but beneath the happiness was a hard ache. She missed Rowan, and that reaction alone disturbed her. She’d never had such a reaction to someone before, never craved contact like she did with him. She suspected she was in trouble the first time she saw him. Then he had essentially proposed after forty-eight hours. It wasn’t that Lily was afraid of commitment…she was afraid of that sort of commitment. Too fast. Too overwhelming.

  She might have had a chance of putting the thoughts out of her head, but a traffic detour took her past his home, where he was leaning out a second-floor window. Shirtless.

  Lily winced, jerked her wandering gaze back to the road, and prayed he hadn’t seen her. If he tried to contact her—she glanced at her cell phone lying on the seat next to her—it would be over. Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how she looked at it—it never rang and she escaped the city limits with her dignity intact.

  But not her heart.

  She wanted him in the most primal of ways—as any woman would want a gorgeous man—and without the animal in front of her she found herself believing it all just so she could have him.

  “You’ve lost it, Lily,” she told herself, and turned the radio up as she pulled onto the highway. The newscasters had taken over her favorite station again, this time talking about something that seemed totally unreal. “You really have lost it, girl,” she said out loud as she listened to the reports of black panther sightings in the area.

  “Well, Bob, I never thought I’d hear of panthers in this area.”

  “Too right, Stacey,” Bob laughed. “The last time panthers came to this area, they went home with their tails between their legs.”

  Stacey groaned. “Bad sports analogy, Bob.” Lily echoed the sound and punched the radio button to turn it off. The past forty-eight hours were full of weirdness…the last thing she needed was to look out her back door and think she was staring into the eyes of an African jungle cat.

  * * * * *

  Rowan spotted the little car long before it reached the street in front of him. Just the glimpse of her face through the windshield—conflicted as it was—made his heart do a back flip. She saw him, of that he was certain, and beyond his vision he could feel her moving closer, like she was already in his blood. The compelling need to meet her at the door overtook him, but he remained rooted to the balcony with every shred of determination he possessed. Rightly so, as she continued past and he realized his wishful thinking would get him nowhere.

  Chapter Eight

  To be prepared for Loren Eshu’s collection would have meant being prepared for Loren himself. Lily remembered him well. He was friendly enough but in a reserved, cool way that was so different than Rowan’s open warmth…and his looks were a stark contrast. Where Rowan was tall, fair, and broad, Loren was smooth and slender, with little definition beneath his silk shirt. His hair was shaggy and black, but gelled back into place, and his angular face clean shaven. His brown eyes sparkled with wickedness. He was roguishly attractive, but something about him kindled a spark of reluctance in her.

  Intimidating was the first word that came to mind when she looked at him. He was frightening, but not in an obvious manner. Loren had a fierce look about him; dangerous. His features betrayed a sly insanity, and she knew that behind his lips lay a sharp tongue. But the charming smile on his face dazzled the thoughts right out of her head.

  Lily stumbled around awkward reintroductions, following his lead while trying to ignore the curious way he watched her. She then followed him through his home into what looked like a ballroom. Artifact cases lined the walls, stuffed so tightly with items that she could scarcely make out what was in each. They were surrounded by stacks of boxes, each marked with a different symbol. She recognized none of them. It also looked as if he had just moved in.

  Loren’s collection, while vast, was an epic disaster. Like Rowan’s collection, it was filled with unique and bizarre artifacts, but it was not clean and organized. Also unlike Rowan, she realized as she glanced around that the majority of visible pieces were weaponry.


  “My grandfather was a war buff,” he said to her questioning gaze.

  “Interesting.” She lifted a spiked flail from a musty box. “If he loved these things so much, why didn’t he take better care of them?”

  “He did… I’m afraid they’ve been shuffled from place to place since his passing, and I haven’t had much time to give them the love they need.” He looked her up and down, and Lily suppressed the urge to shudder. “Which is precisely why I’ve hired you.”

  “Well, you probably should have hired a restoration crew first… Some of this stuff is going to need professional care.”

  “I am sure,” he said, crowding her personal space past the point of comfort or propriety, “you are more than capable of handling my things, Lily.” The Loren she remembered was not this forward. The way his dark gaze slithered over her skin made her nervous, and she struggled with the urge to run from the room. The double entendre also seemed out of character for him. “I can’t for the life of me understand why such a beautiful woman would confine herself to stacks like these.”

  “It’s a living,” she replied, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and turning away from him, “and I love the history.” She couldn’t look at him anymore. It was too odd, and Rowan’s leaving was still too fresh in her mind. He didn’t leave… I didn’t call him, she told herself, but that only made the separation hurt more. “I have to admit, my specialty is more of the oil and watercolor nature,” she said, still forcing her hair behind her ears as she paced across the room, “but I think I can handle this.”