by T. S. Joyce
TARIAN TRAITOR
(NEW TARIAN PRIDE, BOOK 5)
By T. S. JOYCE
Tarian Traitor
Copyright © 2019 by T. S. Joyce
Copyright © 2019, T. S. Joyce
First electronic publication: May 2019
T. S. Joyce
www.tsjoyce.com
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Published in the United States of America.
Cover Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Cover Model: Kaz
Editor: Corinne DeMaagd
Contents
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
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Chapter One
Annamora Fredrickson had money to burn. Not much, but enough for a girl like her to be excited about.
She checked herself in the full-length mirror she had found lying beside a dumpster in town and forced a smile. Her mouse-brown hair hung in waves, thanks to her taming her wild locks with a curling iron, and her dollar store makeup had been applied with care. She’d even contoured her cheek bones for the special occasion. She’d tried to glue a pair of false eyelashes to her eyelids, but she’d learned that was basically witchcraft, and she didn’t know a spell strong enough to glue those little suckers on straight. They were now sitting in the trash like two dead, hairy caterpillars.
“Today will be a good day,” she murmured to her reflection.
Her little one-room shack was her castle. It was sanctuary, and it was high time she decorated it as such. Right now, other than the mirror, it was bare bones with no personality. Just a kitchen, a loft with a twin mattress and a plain gray comforter, a little two-seater table, and a kitchen she could traverse in three small steps. There was nothing on the log walls, nothing hanging from the exposed log ceiling except a single hanging lightbulb, and everything was in shades of brown.
Brown.
Someone assholeyish had once told her she reminded them of the color brown. Boring Annamora. Easily overlooked, invisible at times, quiet Annamora. Well, times were a-changin’, and she didn’t want to remind anyone of the color brown anymore.
She would even take one of the ugly colors of the spectrum, like puke green, if it made people notice her. Well…not all people. One people. With blue eyes and platinum-blond hair and abs of steel and the perfect number of tattoos and a big-swingin’ willy and…
Annamora cleared her throat and forced that train of thought off its rails.
Orion Burge was about thirty levels out of her league.
That, and she was pretty sure he was crazy.
“Positive energy begets positive energy,” she said on a breath as she yanked the door open and held out her arms to greet the day. Only the door banked on the wall loudly, and a wasp flew in her face that she swatted around for a few seconds before apologizing to the house.
When she opened her eyes from the terror of that damn six-legged, dagger-butted assassin, Ford Owens, the Dark Lion himself, was standing in front of her cabin, staring at her like she’d grown an armpit on her face.
“Hi, hellooo. Good morning,” she said cheerfully, doing her best to lift her chin and compose herself like the self-help books had told her. Look people in the eyes. Sound confident. Give compliments if you think nice things…
“Your eyes are a little less scary today than yesterday.”
“Uuuuh.” Ford frowned and looked terrifying once again. “Thank you. I think.” And then he walked away. Ford was maybe the worst person to practice social skills on. He only liked his mate, Sora. And maybe the stray cat that lived at the back of the New Tarian Territory that hissed at everyone. He and Sora lived in the cabin the farthest away from everyone because…well…Ford was a monster.
To be fair, all the boys in the New Tarian Pride were monsters, but they were sort of nice monsters.
Annamora shut the door firmly to her cabin, because a squirrel had been sneaking in and eating her stash of candy bars when she was at work at the greenhouse, and made her way down the stairs. Ford was walking in front of her and cast her a narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder.
Annamora grinned and waved.
Ford’s eyes got even more squinty. “Are you following me?”
“No. I’m just heading in the same direction as you.”
“Hmmm,” Ford muttered as they passed Kannon and Katy’s cabin.
Kannon was sitting on the front porch with a cup of something that wasn’t steaming. Probably his morning beer. He jammed a finger at Ford. “I challenge you for Second.”
“I’ll kill you,” Ford said without even looking at Kannon. His voice was very believable.
“I rescind my challenge. Have a good day,” Kannon said without missing a beat. She’d heard this same exchange of not-so-niceties every morning for the last month since Ford had been named Ronin’s Second. Or as Ford liked to call himself, the Enforcer of the Tarian Pride. Or as Annamora liked to call him, Mr. Scary Cat. Get it? Like scaredy cat? But he was the one who was scary? God, this was why she was going to die single.
The ground was weed-riddled and uneven, and she nearly tripped on a tuft of grass. Kannon chuckled. Annamora thought about tossing him the finger like Emerald had taught her to do to rude people, but she would not let anyone annoy her today. Today was going to be a good day.
The girls were all out at the greenhouse working, but today was Annamora’s day off, and she had exciting shit to accomplish! Like getting her nails done. She hadn’t done that in years. Project Self-Care was underway. She pulled her purse tighter to her side and tried not to think about the boocoos of money she had in there. She’d never carried around so much at once. She had a real-life, legit, hundred-dollar bill. And also three twenties. She was feelin’ pretty wealthy right now if she ignored the fact that she was about to spend every penny of it today.
She’d been looking forward to this shopping spree.
Perhaps she would paint her nails a Lovely Lavender. Or an Opulent Orange. Definitely not Boring Brown. She wanted her nails to dazzle her every time she looked down and saw them. She wanted to feel colorful. Piglet Pink or Glitzy Green, or perhaps a little oh!—
Annamora slammed into a solid wall of Orgasmic Orion.
He steadied her with his Greek godlike hands and leveled her ovaries with one look. He was as tall as a tree and solid
as a boulder. Cool mint toothpaste. His deodorant smelled divine. Her skin sparked and tingled where he touched her. His mouth was forming something delicious, but time had slowed and she couldn’t understand what he was asking. For her number? For a date? For her hand in marriage?
“W-what?” she whispered with a slow blink.
“I said watch where you’re going.” Orion frowned down at his hands where they gripped her upper arms and then released her quickly. He put about six feet of space between them quick.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, dropping her gaze and clutching her purse. Her cheeks were on fire! She’d been staring off into the woods, imagining nail colors, and she’d slammed right into him. Real smooth, Annamora. All of her self-help tips floated right out of her mind.
“Well, don’t look at the ground,” Orion advised.
“Right,” Annamora yelped, but she couldn’t hold his gaze because of her eternal embarrassment so she stared over his shoulder at a squirrel in a pine tree. Even the squirrel was staring at her like she was an idiot.
“Why do you look terrified?”
“I—I’m going to get my nails painted. A pedi. No! A mani! Do you want to get a manicure with me?” Oh, my hell. Stop. Talking!
“Manicures aren’t for dudes.” Orion was backing away.
She’d made that frown on his beautiful blond brows. She’d made his icy blue eyes all tight in the corners like that.
“Ask one of the girls,” he said.
“They’re all working today!” The words came out in a rush like one long word. She needed to escape! Every single encounter with him was like this. She could be fourteen percent normal around anyone else, but with Orion, she was zero percent normal. “Have a good day then. Bye-bye, okay? Okay.”
Clutching her purse like titty armor, she walked away, tripped again, righted herself, told the weeds under her feet to, “aw, fuck off!” and refused to look back.
Today was going to be a good day, today was going to be a good day.
“Hey, Annamora?” Orion called.
Hopeful, she turned with a plastered smile. “Yes?”
“If you’re going into town, you should know your dress is tucked into your underwear.” She’d never seen the man blush, but he looked uncomfortable as hell right now. Making people uncomfortable was basically her only skill.
“If I had a magic lamp, I would make a wish that the earth would open up and swallow me whole right now.” She tugged at her dress, releasing it from the iron grip of her granny panties. “Have a salvageable day, sir.”
Oh, to hell with it all…today was not a good day.
Chapter Two
“Have a salvageable day?” Orion murmured back to himself as he watched Annamora walk stiffly away. Other than her tripping on nothing and telling the ground to fuck off, she resembled a robot.
What was wrong with her? She was so…soooo…he didn’t even know. Awkward? But only with him. He’d been trying to figure her out for four months since the Tarian War. Like him, she’d been part of the Old Tarians. There she’d been steady and clever. She’d kept to herself, but she was always the strong one keeping the girls out of trouble with those asshole males. But over the last few months, in the safety of the New Tarian Pride, she’d become tongue-tied around him.
He missed how easy they used to be in passing. He missed being able to protect her in little ways she would never know about. He missed watching her. Missed counting the little smiles on her face that she thought no one saw when she was having a happy moment. Those were rare with the Old Tarians, but they’d existed. He knew because he’d counted forty-seven secret smiles.
Here, she kept to herself and had grown quieter around him. It was either silence or extreme discomfort that radiated from her, and that made his lion act strange. Made him want to watch her more, stalk her a little, figure out what was wrong with her, figure out a way to reset her. To fix her. He was a fixer. Now that his sister didn’t need his protection anymore since she’d paired up with Ford, Orion had some time on his hands. Especially since he’d been moved to the night shift at his security job. And honestly, he needed to escape his head for a little while. A good stalk would be just the distraction he needed.
With a determined sigh, he made his way after her…slowly, so she wouldn’t realize she was being hunted. He was good at this part from his Annamora-hunting days with the Old Tarians. And Annamora wasn’t like other lionesses. She didn’t pay attention like she should. Always lookin’ at the ground, lost in some daydream world. Orion was all about the here-and-now, about what he could control, who he could fight, who he could protect. He had two feet squarely planted in reality. But Annamora? She was one of those creatives that holed up in their own imaginations and didn’t spend as much time in the real world.
Have a salvageable day. Orion gave a delayed chuckle. That was actually kind of funny. And that bit about a magic lamp. Also amusing. He had to bite back a smile now; no use giving away his game with laughter. She might not pay enough attention, but she still had lioness senses.
He could see her ahead of him now through the trees. The trail to the front of the property had curved and he was toeing the edge of the worn path so he could duck behind a tree if she wised up and looked behind her. Annamora sure was pretty. She was taller than Sora. Five-foot-eight maybe. She wore a navy spaghetti-strap sundress covered in little pink flowers. The hem of the garment fell right to her knees, and the light material lifted and billowed in the breeze as she marched on. Why was she holding her purse so tight? Her hair was down, and he realized it was longer than he’d thought. Lately, she’d been keeping it up in a messy bun, but today she’d forced it into perfect curls with one of them heated curling iron girl-contraptions Sora liked playing with lately. He used to make fun of how much time his sister spent on taking care of herself, but now he didn’t see much wrong with it. If it made a woman feel good? Do it. If being natural made a woman feel good? Do it. To each her own. See? An old dog could learn new tricks.
When Annamora yelped in startlement, Orion reacted. He sprinted toward her, digging his toes in the dirt for traction, but it was just Ronin who had scared her. Big-ass Alpha Lion out for his Change. He’d been Changing a lot lately, ever since he’d found out his mate, Emerald, was having his cub. He was growing more and more protective of the territory. Ronin ran across the road, nearly barreling into Annamora. She stomped her foot hard on the ground as she looked after him disappearing into the woods, then bent down, ripped up a handful of grass, and threw it. The green stuff floated harmlessly down right in front of her. Orion gripped his shirt over his heart, willing the damn drumming thing to stay in his chest. Annamora had scared him with that startled scream.
He didn’t get scared much. This was a bad idea, following her around. She was making him feel weird.
But just as he about to stop his stalking, she turned abruptly off the beaten path and headed straight into the woods. Orion narrowed his eyes as she disappeared into the thick forest. There was nothing that way save some ATV trails and an old rundown cabin that was unlivable with a caved-in roof. Curiosity had his kitty again, so he meandered after her and followed her scent through the woods. And when he caught the movement of her dress through the trees, he watched her walk right up to that old cabin, look around suspiciously, pull up an old, creaking cellar door that was flush with the ground, and then disappear down the stairs. Two minutes later, she reappeared, closed the door behind her, and made her way through the woods up another trail away from the cabin. Huh.
Orion made sure she was well away from the place before he bent at the knees and opened the heavy cellar door himself. The wood was waterlogged and rotten, and as he stepped down into the cellar, the smell of earth and mold nearly overpowered him. But he pressed on, down the stone steps into the cellar, illuminated by the sunlight filtering in through broken windows and a hole in the ceiling. There was an easel in the corner with a canvas on it. He could only see the edges because it was covered ha
phazardly with a course fabric that lifted slightly in the breeze. It beckoned him, drawing him closer step by step. The boards under his boots creaked and complained. They knew he wasn’t supposed to be here. The edges of the painting were colored with rich blues and greens. He caught the corner of the fabric between his fingertips and began to lift. More green, brighter as it reached toward the meat of the painting in the middle. He shouldn’t do this. This was stealing. She’d covered it so not even the mice who scampered in here for shelter would see it. Like those mice, he hadn’t been invited.
Orion forced himself to release the cover and step back. He dragged his attention from the mystery painting. A long wooden table was littered with paints and brushes, cups of water, and decorated with a mishmash of colorful paint blobs and smears. There was a stack of notebook pages, and the one on top fluttered gently. He made his way across the creaking floors and exhaled slowly as he studied a black and white charcoal picture with a black background. A lion with a full mane was in the center, stalking forward through the trees. The lion had no pigment at all. Like it was pure white. Like his lion.
Orion frowned. Was this what she’d come in here for? To drop this in her secret art stash? He moved it aside and exposed the next. It was a sketch of a male lion looking over his shoulder at the viewer, eyes intent and almost as white as his fur.
The next was a dark lion. Ford. He could tell from the scars on his face. The next was of the Tarian Lionesses, all sauntering toward the viewer, mouths hanging open like it was a hot day and they were on the hunt. Another light-colored lion after that. Was that him? He couldn’t tell if it was just wishful thinking or another white lion. He rummaged through the stack and then made his way to a pile of paintings. Male lion with no color on a neon green background. Looked like a rainbow jacked off on the background of the next one. The lion had only been outlined and filled in with white. This was him. Right? She was drawing and painting him? Not only him, but the New Tarian Pride. There was one of Sora, and a study of Emerald’s bright green eyes. And another one of him. And another. God, the talent. She was just as good as one of those artists in the fancy galleries in the city. Everything was in proportion, every sketch had an acute attention to detail, every lion had little quirks that let him know who was who. Sora’s scar on her cheek and Ronin’s chin always lifted high. She’d even captured the calm readiness in the Alpha’s eyes. And then those of himself. He was always stalking. Always…stalking.