He filled her every waking and sleeping moment. She just couldn’t stop thinking about him and that kiss. And the almost kiss in the park. She’d kissed many men before, but this was something quite different. It disturbed her in a way a kiss had never disturbed her. And the dreams!
She needed to talk to River, but he was proving just as slippery to grasp as full control over her powers had been. He would leave early in the morning and not come back until late at night. Iain and Patrick—his regular Shadows—said he spent most of that time gardening at the house she shared with Skye and Shelley, which was a few streets away from the packhouse.
She was glad he was doing something he loved, but why hadn’t he finished the garden at the packhouse first? Especially as he needed to be around pack. He needed the comfort of them after having been apart for so long. Spending time with one pack member standing at a distance wasn’t enough. So why would he do that to himself? Was it because of her and the kiss?
‘His wolf is angry and mistrustful of everyone,’ Adam had said when she asked him what he felt through the pack bond. ‘I mean, wouldn’t you be if you were locked away for almost twenty years?’
She nodded but didn’t believe a word. Adam was just trying to make her feel better. She didn’t need to feel better. She needed to make River feel better and she couldn’t do that if her presence was keeping him away. Without pack, he couldn’t truly heal. The more time she spent with them, the more she was beginning to appreciate that. And the more annoyed she became with herself for being a coward and not tracking him down to face him. Since when had she hidden behind embarrassment?
Never. Certainly not over a little, harmless kiss. They hadn’t even got naked. So why was she so reticent to confront him?
Her mobile rang, cutting into her thoughts as she packed up for the day. Bluebelle wound around her feet, purring, and she considered not answering in favour of a hug with her familiar. But then again, what if it was Skye or Shelley with some new information? With a sigh, she bent and gave Bluebelle a stroke and then picked up her phone.
She didn’t recognise the number. Maybe it was a client. ‘Natural Goddess Health, this is Bron, how can I help you?’
‘You still haven’t changed that ridiculous name, I see.’
Bron almost dropped the phone in surprise. ‘Mum?’
‘Yes, it’s me …’ The phone crackled and her mother’s voice lurched and hissed.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that, Mum. This line’s terrible. Where are you?’
‘I’m on a sat … ite phone. We’re still … Burundi. There’s so much desol … here. More fighting … broken … People are terrified … hurt and … We’re busier than… We could rea … more help.’
‘It sounds terrible, Mum. Are you and Dad okay?’
‘We’re fine. But it’s not us … I’m worried about you.’
Bron frowned. ‘Me? Why?’
‘I heard about … shop closing and Mrs … told me … mishaps.’
Bron rolled her eyes. This was unbelievable. Her mother was all the way around the other side of the world in a ravaged and violent place and yet she still heard about Bron closing her shop. ‘It’s fine, Mum. Nothing happened. I just wasn’t feeling quite … right for a few weeks.’
‘That’s not what Mrs Riggs … I heard … magic. You promised you wouldn’t use m … Think what this does … your father and … reputations.’
‘I hardly think any of what I do could affect your reputations, especially as you’re on the other side of the world.’
‘But the university … Your father’s nomination by the Royal Society of … in question. If you’d done as we asked … medicine and followed … footsteps, none of this would have …’
Bron clenched her jaw on the words she wanted to say. Yelling and swearing at her mother wouldn’t change anything. In fact, it would just make things worse. Besides, it was the same old refrain she’d endured for years—‘why didn’t you choose medicine over that ridiculous natural healing rubbish? No self-respecting medical practitioner will take you seriously. Why can’t you get a real profession,’ blah, blah, blah. If she’d endured it then, she could endure it now. ‘Nothing happened, Mum. Certainly nothing that would jeopardise Dad’s humanitarian nomination. I can’t believe Mrs Riggs called you to let you know about something as minor as me shutting up the shop for a few weeks.’
‘She didn’t … I called her … in our regular chat.’
Bron’s eyes stung and her chin trembled. Her mother rang her friend, Patricia Riggs to have a chat—a regular chat. And the only time she bothered picking up a phone to call her own daughter was to tell her off. Well, that was fine. Bron didn’t need her mother or father to call her and catch up. They’d been absent for a great deal of her childhood and now even more so for her adulthood. They weren’t a part of her life. She didn’t need them. She had Skye and Shelley. In fact, she had a whole pack now.
But still, it stung.
Shoving that thought aside, she smiled into the phone. ‘That’s lovely that you catch up with your old friend regularly, but I’m sorry she worried you. I’m fine and nothing happened that will hurt you or Dad. Happy now?’
‘I’d be happier if … gave up … ridiculous natural … Your grandma … bad influence … Wicca rubbish.’
Bron swallowed hard, her finger hovering over the disconnect sign on the phone’s face. She wanted to scream at her mother, tell her to shut up, that if she didn’t have anything nice to say, she shouldn’t bother calling. But she didn’t. Despite the animosity, she couldn’t cut her parents out of her life. She just couldn’t. The pain of that would be greater than all these little stings of her mother’s whip-like words put together. Clearing her throat, she tried out the smile again. It was a little stiff, but what did that matter? Her mother couldn’t see it. ‘Can we keep that conversation for another time Mum? I really don’t want to argue with you down the phone.’
‘It’s not an argumen … my opinion.’
‘Yes, and my opinion is different and let’s just leave it at that.’
‘You’re so much like your grandmother.’
‘Yes. I am. Look, Mum, I’ve got to go. My next client has arrived. You and Dad take care of yourselves, okay and let me know how you are. You can call me to have a chat too.’
‘What’s the point … that? We have noth … common.’
Bron sucked in a breath and closed her eyes as if she could shut out the words. She’d heard them before, but they still stung. ‘I’ll talk to you later, Mum.’
‘Please think … what I said.’
Bron almost laughed. She would hardly do anything else for the next few days. Her mother’s words would jab into her like well-flung spears, stabbing at her mind over and over in the middle of the night.
‘Don’t embarrass us.’
The phone went dead. ‘Bye, Mum,’ Bron whispered. She dropped the phone on the desk, slumped into the chair behind her, head dropping into her hands. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t.
There was a gentle thump on the desk and something nudged at her head. Bluebelle. The little cat meowed at her and then rubbed her soft face against Bron’s cheek. With a sob, Bron pulled her familiar into her arms and held her to her chest. Silent tears coursed down her face as she looked at the cat in her arms. ‘Neither of us were wanted by our parents, hey? But we’ve got each other. That’s all that matters.’
Bluebelle meowed again and rubbed against Bron’s chin. Then she struggled out of Bron’s grip and ran to the door. She turned and looked back at Bron when she got there. ‘You want to go out?’ Bluebelle shook and raced back as fast as her limping gait would let her. She stood at Bron’s feet, meowed and then looked at the door. ‘You want me to go out?’ Bluebelle meowed, jumped onto the desk and nudged Bron’s handbag. ‘You want me to go home?’ Bluebelle meowed and ran around in a little circle then jumped into Bron’s startled arms. Bron laughed. ‘I think maybe that’s the b
est idea anyone’s had all day.’
Bron quickly finished packing up, Bluebelle trailing her every movement. When she got to the door, the little cat bolted out of it in front of her. ‘Got a hot date? At least one of us does.’ She locked up and made her way to her car, aware that her Shadow for the day, Patrick, tracked her every movement from his position in the woods. ‘I’m going home,’ she called out.
He appeared as if from nowhere, a smile splitting his face as he looked past her to her car. ‘I think someone is going with you.’
She looked behind her to see Bluebelle sitting next to the car, waiting. ‘You want to come with me?’ Bluebelle meowed as if to say, ‘of course’. Bron opened the door and the cat jumped in and made herself at home on the back seat. Bron threw her bag into the car and turned to Patrick. ‘You want a lift?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah. I feel like a run. I’ll follow you home.’
Bron nodded and hopped in. Looking over her shoulder at the tawny cat curled into a ball on the back seat, she said, ‘I’ll need to get you a harness of some sort if this is going to be a regular thing.’ Bluebelle lifted her head, meeped an assent and then lay back down. Bron chuckled and started the car. Her parents might not like or trust her, but this little cat did. It was a soothing bandage over an open wound. She let out her breath in a big rush, blinking back the tears and said, ‘Okay. Home.’
As she drove along the familiar streets that led to the packhouse, she noticed that spring was coming to a close and summer was on the way with Christmas just around the corner. Golden wattles were blooming in every second yard and the pink and white cherry blossoms that heralded spring were now gone, the cherry trees bright with green and red-tipped leaves. The bark of the ghost gums that lined her street, having turned grey over winter, were now transformed into brilliant white and sunset colours, reflective of the ever-brightening sun and longer days. Her street was particularly golden and red, with some of the biggest ghost gums in the area lining the street and more waratah and wattle trees than in the other streets.
Her street? She hadn’t meant to come down here. She’d been headed to the packhouse. Glancing back at Bluebelle, she frowned. Jason had ordered everyone to stay away from her house while River was there working. Bron had tried to argue with him, telling him that she needed to see him, but he had been firm. And she knew the reason why. It was important for River to lose himself in the thing he loved. He couldn’t do that if she was there, disturbing him.
But even though she hadn’t meant to come here now, she had. Everyone kept saying she should trust her instincts. If her instincts had brought her here tonight, maybe this was where she needed to be. Besides, Bluebelle probably wouldn’t do so well at the packhouse. She hadn’t run from Patrick like she normally would, but Bron knew the little cat was still wary of the Were. She didn’t want to frighten her. ‘Home it is,’ she murmured.
Turning into her drive, she saw Iain come out of the shadows to the side of the house. He jogged over to her car and opened the door, waving at Patrick as he took up sentry position on the street.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked her.
‘It’s my house.’
He looked chagrined. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. But you know River is here, right?’
She nodded. ‘Perhaps that’s why I came here.’
‘You know he doesn’t want to see you at the moment. He doesn’t want to see anyone.’
‘I have to see him.’
He looked at her for a long moment and then stepped aside. ‘Okay.’
Relieved he wasn’t going to send her away, she grabbed her bag and hopped out of the car. Bluebelle jumped out of the car after her, staying close but edging away from Iain. She bent and picked the cat up, holding her protectively.
Iain reached out to pet Bluebelle. The cat swiped at him with a panicked hiss. ‘Okay,’ Iain said, holding his hands up. ‘Angry little thing, isn’t she?’
Bron nuzzled her chin against the cat’s head. ‘Not usually. I don’t think she was treated well. It takes her a while to trust. Besides, you know how cats are with dogs.’
Iain huffed out a laugh. ‘We’re nothing like dogs.’
Bron nudged him with her shoulder as they walked up the path. ‘You know what I mean.’ She looked down at Bluebelle. ‘It’s just going to take her a while. She’s been on her own for so long and is reticent to make friends. You more than any of the others should know what that’s like.’
Iain’s face shut down. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Bron pulled a face. Oops. Something she shouldn’t have mentioned. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, aware of the stiffness of his posture as he gestured for her to proceed up the front steps before him. ‘I’ve always been able to read auras which gives me insight into people and I know to be careful with that. It’s just, these new powers. They let me see more and I’m still getting a handle on it. But I shouldn’t have blurted that out. I know you’re not comfortable talking about your past.’
He met her eyes. ‘No. I’m not.’
‘We won’t mention it again, then. Unless you want to.’ He nodded, but she could see from his expression that talking about himself was as likely to happen as him turning into a cat. As she opened the front door, Bluebelle jumped from her arms and ran down the hall to the open back door.
‘You need to go out there with her,’ Iain said.
‘Why?’
‘You need to see what River has done.’
‘He’s finished?’
‘Yes.’
Something about how he said it made her nervous. ‘What’s it like?’
‘Why don’t you come and see.’
She swallowed hard. She wanted to see him. Needed to see him. ‘Okay. Show me.’
Iain led her through her own house, obviously comfortable. She noted the dishes in the sink and the shirt slung across a chair at the kitchen table. Her gaze zeroed in on that shirt.
Oh, Goddess!
She wanted to put on the brakes, make an excuse and get out of there before she saw River without his shirt on. The last thing she needed right now was to be fighting desire. She needed to talk to him, calmly, in charge of herself and the situation. She needed to make him see that embarrassment over a little thing like a kiss was no reason to suffer through another moon with the Beast. That it was okay that he didn’t want her in that way and she was perfectly capable of treating him like any other patient in need of healing. He didn’t need to know about the desire that had played out in her dreams in many hot, crazy-making ways every night since. Just thinking of it made her skin start to tingle and warmth curl in her womb.
Crap! She stopped, clenching her muscles, all too aware of Iain walking behind her. She couldn’t let the sensation of desire grow. If she did, Iain would scent it. River would scent it.
Shit!
She supposed she could say she was hot for Iain. Except Iain hadn’t been in the treatment room at the packhouse that day, nor had he been in River’s room the following day or out in the park.
Fuck!
Bluebelle, who’d been circling just inside the back door, shot outside as Iain strode up to the open sliding glass door. Turning to face her, he asked, ‘Are you coming?’
‘Almost,’ she grimaced, clenching her muscles even tighter and wrapping her arms across her tingling breasts.
River was out there. Shirtless. Working. Sweat probably glinted all over his hard frame in the late-afternoon sun. Her mouth went dry, her nipples turned into little pebbles, pressing against her soft cotton bra. She clasped her arms tighter across her front, and because she had no choice—Iain was standing there, his hand stretched out in an ‘after you’ gesture—she stepped forward and out the door. And came to a jerking halt.
Her sprawling backyard—usually a stretch of closely cropped grass with Australian drought-resistant shrubs bordering it—had undergone a complete metamorphosis.
In two weeks, River had made their backyard into won
derland of flowers and herbs. Creeping vines worked their way over a lattice archway built over the steps from the back patio. A pebbled pathway wound from the bottom of the steps through the multi-layered and multi-levelled garden. She could hear the trickle of a water feature to her right, see a little Japanese pebble garden to the left. Beside the Japanese garden was a paved area, which, when she walked a little closer, she saw was set up in a circular design, a prayer spiral for meditation.
Neither Skye nor Shelley meditated. The prayer spiral was for her. ‘Holy Goddess,’ she whispered.
‘I thought you’d be impressed.’
Iain’s voice in her ear made her start. She’d forgotten he was there. ‘What is this?’
‘An apology, he called it.’
‘An apology for what? Did he and Skye have a fight or something?’
Iain chuckled. ‘For someone who can be so switched on, you’re incredibly clueless.’
She dragged her gaze away from the garden long enough to scowl at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You’ll have to ask River.’
‘Then I will. Where is he?’
Iain nodded towards the garden. ‘In there somewhere.’ He stepped back, cocked his thumb towards the door. ‘I’m going to go out front, scout around a bit. If you need anything, call.’
She smiled briefly at him. ‘It’s my home. I think I’ll be fine.’
The door slid closed behind her and she turned back to gaze at the garden. There was still no sign of River. She supposed she should go and look for him, ask him why he’d done this. But first, she wanted to look around a bit. The garden called to her. She longed to explore, lose herself in the scents and textures, the beauty of floral display borders set against spills of rock and stone and wood. The greenery of creepers—the way he’d taken the overgrown and straggly jasmine and turned it into a work of art that was a billowing fall of snowy pink and vivid green, the scent mingling on the air with roses, lemon scented verbena and brown boronia.
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