Kiss and Kin: A Sexy Shifter story

by Kinsey Holley

  “Look, werewolf, I don’t mean to tell you what to do,” his trainee said diffidently, “but you look like hell.”

  “He’s right,” Lark said. He almost told her to back off, but she put her hands to his face, feeling his cheeks and his forehead, so he stood quietly and soaked in her touch.

  “Taran, you’re cold,” she fretted. “You’ve got silver poisoning. You need a doctor.”

  He looked at her eyes. She lowered her gaze, but not before he’d seen the worry there—worry for him.

  “I’ll be fine for tonight, silly brat.” he said softly, venturing a quick kiss on her forehead. She jumped a little, smiled nervously, and gave him a quick hug before backing away. They looked at each other uncertainly for a moment.

  Taran cleared his throat. “I called Nick while the EMTs worked on me. He’s sending a couple of guys over here to put your door back up.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Lark says she doesn’t recognize the dead guy,” Denardo said.

  “No, I don’t,” she confirmed. “That’s sort of scary. I mean, he could be one of them,” she continued, pointing at the corpse still face down on the door in a small pool of blood, “or I could run into one of them on the street, and I wouldn’t even know it.”

  “Which is another reason for you to stay at my place, till we get a bead on these assholes,” Taran said.

  “It’s the drug,” Denardo said to Lark. “GHB wipes out memory of everything that happens after you take it. That’s why it’s a date rape drug. I’m surprised you remember anything at all. You need anything from me?” he asked Taran.

  “Nah, I can drive.”

  They both looked at him incredulously.

  “Taran, you really shouldn’t—” began Denardo.

  “No way,” Lark said. “I’m driving you.”

  “I’ll follow and help get you settled,” Denardo chimed in.

  “Goddamn it,” Taran said, “I’m not that wounded. I don’t need help getting to bed.”

  “Taran…” Lark crossed her arms, this time not in a fearful, hunched up way but in a bossy, female way, “…if you don’t let us help you, I’m telling your mother you got stabbed.”

  He couldn’t answer that. At least the beta had sense enough not to laugh.

  Chapter Three

  She pulled up to Taran’s isolated Memorial home around midnight, Danny right behind her. Taran didn’t speak during the short trip, and he didn’t watch her every move as she drove his car, so she knew he was exhausted and in pain.

  Werewolves ran fevers when ill, except for silver poisoning, which lowered their body temperature. It indicated infection, and she hoped the antibiotic got it. If his temperature still ran low in the morning, she’d call Nick, who’d order Taran to the doctor.

  She gave in to temptation and pressed her palm to his left cheek. He felt marginally warmer than a while ago.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her.

  Before she could snatch her hand back, he pressed it to his shoulder with his cheek. He turned his head and lightly kissed her wrist.

  “You all right?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

  He nodded against her palm. “Yeah. I just want to sleep.”

  He looked about to say something else, but Danny appeared at Taran’s window.

  “Is he okay?”

  Lark sighed and got out. Danny helped him into the house and to bed.

  Taran insisted she take his room. She refused—she couldn’t handle sleeping in his bed, even if he weren’t hurt. Denardo went home, Taran fell asleep, and Lark unpacked her stuff. Then she lay awake in a guest bedroom until about four o’clock in the morning.

  ***

  Lark loved the rambling, one-story ranch-style house built in the fifties. This had been Taran’s childhood home, before his wealthy father passed away and his mother married Uncle David. He’d thoroughly remodeled and updated it when he left the Army and returned to Houston. He’d left some of the original features intact, including the brick walls, exposed ceiling beams and huge stone fireplace in the den.

  She sat at the breakfast table in the huge kitchen Monday morning, enjoying an unhurried mug of coffee. Taran walked in, dressed for work in another fitted sweater, this one black, and a pair of dark blue jeans. Lark still wore the purple and white striped rugby shirt and purple sweats she’d slept in.

  “You going in late?” he asked as he poured coffee for himself. She noted his slight limp and the barely perceptible wince when he lowered himself into a chair across from her.

  “Nope. Not going in at all,” she said cheerfully. “I didn’t fall asleep until about, oh—” she glanced at her watch, “—three hours ago. I lay there thinking, you know what? I had a hell of a weekend. Someone else can take depositions for a few days.”

  “I think that’s wise.” He stood to pull a key and a piece of paper from his pocket. He slid both of them across the table to her. “Here’s the key, here’s the code to the alarm system. I want you to check in with me every three hours.”

  “What??” she exclaimed, appalled. “You’re not serious.”

  “Hell I’m not,” he said mildly, forcing her to drop her gaze by staring her in the eye.

  Fucking arrogant alpha dominance bullshit.

  “I can’t get you full protection. But I can get an unmarked car to drive by here during the day, and I can make you stay in touch with me. Until we figure out who those assholes are, I’m keeping tabs on you.”

  “But how would they even know I’m here?”

  “How’d they know where you lived?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t…I guess…” She trailed off, flustered.

  “I don’t know either, Lark, but they did. Did Eloise give them your full name?”

  “I don’t remember,” she whispered.

  “Lark’s not a common name. She may have told them y’all worked together, and I’m sure they knew where she worked. However they did it, they found you, and I’m not going to assume they can’t find you again. So you’re keeping in touch with me. Every three hours. You can call or you can text, it’s up to you. And if you leave the house, you text me where you’re going.”

  “Well, shit,” she muttered, “why don’t you just put a GPS locator on me?”

  “Don’t tempt me.” He smiled and rose to leave.

  “Hey, what about the doctor?”

  “What doctor?”

  “You’re going to the doctor about your leg, right? You’re limping and wincing.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll call the doctor. Every three hours, Lark, and I mean it.”

  She followed him to the front door.

  “Fine,” she said. “Come home with a doctor’s note, or I’m telling Aunt Meg.”

  He’d just opened the door, and now he turned to her with a look of amused amazement. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He laughed.

  “I’m not,” she smiled, delighted. She hadn’t seen him laugh like that in years. “I’m as serious as you are, werewolf. Get that leg looked at and don’t come home till you do.”

  He was still shaking his head as he got into his car and drove away.

  Chapter Four

  “Holy fuck, what happened to you?” Taran asked when the rookie beta walked into the squad room Wednesday afternoon.

  Danny tried to grin, but it came out a grimace. “Bike. Took a turn doing ninety and planted my face in some gravel.”

  The shiner on his right eye and cuts and scrapes on both cheeks made him look like he’d lost a fight, and not a close one. He winced, favoring his right side as he sat down at his desk across the aisle from Taran’s.

  “That’s a shitty way to spend your day off. Think you broke anything?”

  “Nah,” Denardo replied. “Just bruised all over and stiff as hell.”

  Betas didn’t heal as fast as alphas.

  Denardo sat down at his desk and logged into his computer before continuing, “Hope it’s gone by this weekend; I’m standing up i
n my buddy Luc’s wedding, in Vegas. I leave tomorrow, come back Sunday. Unless you think I need to stick around for the case?”

  “I don’t see why. If anything breaks I’ll call you, but I’m sure I can handle it. Hey, wait a minute.” Taran looked up from his computer. “Luc. He wouldn’t be a French guy, would he?”

  Denardo seemed startled. “Uh, yeah. French Canadian, actually. Why?”

  “Huh. I showed Lark some pictures I found at Eloise Catrera’s place, and she ID’d a French wolf named Luc Deviger. Said Eloise went to Vegas with him a few times.”

  The beta frowned thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s him. Weird. I don’t remember Luc ever mentioning her, but then he used to juggle three or four females at a time.”

  Taran nodded. “Yeah, Lark said Eloise had a thing for wolves.” He paused for a minute, thinking, and then he shrugged. “Well. Ask Luc, see if he knew anything about a Czech wolf she was seeing.”

  “A Czech wolf?” Denardo asked sharply. “What’s that about?”

  “I got prints back on the beta Monday. We might have a lead here.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” The beta smelled distressed.

  Taran laughed. “You spent all day Monday following Gossen and you were off yesterday. Relax, wolf. It could wait. Days off are important. Anyway. Take a look at your email and you’ll see what I got.”

  Neither the dead beta nor the comatose alpha carried any identification, and they’d been driving a stolen car. Taran had pinned all his hopes on fingerprints, and he got lucky. Maybe.

  Denardo opened his email. “Stephan Navratil, Czech, expired visa, last known address Miami,” he read aloud.

  “Yeah. And you know what they got in Miami.”

  “Cubans?”

  “And gambling, guns and girls. It’s a great place for bringing women in and out of the States. Navratil’s got priors there. He worked as an enforcer for another Czech, a werewolf named Dominik Kuba. Kuba ran some big poker games in South Beach, attracted high rollers. Miami-Dade thinks he ran call girls down there, too, but he got spooked and left town just as they started to collect some good intel. They think a fed tipped him off. An agent in the office there has a gambling problem, looks like he was into Kuba for a lot of money and paid him off with tips. Miami-Dade sent us everything they’ve got on Kuba—including photos.”

  “What’s all that got to do with our case?” The rookie frowned.

  “Lark says the werewolf Eloise met at Le Monde was named Dominik, and he was Czech.” Taran leaned back in his chair and gave his trainee a triumphant grin.

  “She remember anything else? Any of the other werewolves there?”

  “No.” He sighed. “Says she can’t remember faces or anything else, just El telling her Dominik was Czech.”

  “That’s not much to go on. Even if we have pictures of this Kuba guy, there are five million people in Houston.”

  “Yeah, but only five hundred wolves. I’ve already sent his photo to Nick to get it out to everyone in the pack. And I’m hoping Dominik and his picture show up in one of the other women’s photos or emails or something.”

  “When?” Denardo asked shortly.

  “Huh?” Taran replied as he looked over notes on another case.

  “When did you send Kuba’s pictures to Nick?”

  “Monday, soon as I got them from Miami.”

  “I see.”

  They didn’t speak for a while as each wolf attended to his own work. Then Denardo cleared his throat.

  “How’s Lark? Still at your place?”

  “Yeah, at least for a few more days. She can’t stay there forever, though, and if we don’t get a break on this thing…” Actually, Lark could stay there forever, if only she wanted to. “The alpha’s still in a coma and the doctors don’t think he’ll make it. Navratil’s file is helpful, but I’d still rather have him to question. I should’ve left one of the assholes alive.”

  “You were protecting your cousin. Any wolf would’ve done the same thing, especially after the beta pulled the knife on you.”

  “I still should’ve kept my head.” If it had been anyone but Lark in danger, he wouldn’t have let rage cloud his thinking.

  His cell phone vibrated—Lark, checking in by text. He didn’t read it—it’d be another still alive. l8r. Sometimes she included RME. He’d needed someone to explain that it meant “rolling my eyes”.

  “Okay.” He stood and put on his jacket. “I’ve got to interview a witness in one of my other cases. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Danny didn’t reply. Taran walked out, leaving the novice staring at the information on Stephan Navratil.

  ***

  On Thursday afternoon, in a feat typical of Houston’s bipolar winters, the temperature plummeted from the mid seventies to the mid forties in three hours. Lark had expected to get home before the cold front blew in, but she lingered too long in the grocery store. When she stepped out around four-thirty in her flannel lounge pants and her long-sleeved thermal Astros shirt, the wind seemed to cut her in two. She squealed in chilly shock as she jogged with the cart to her car.

  Back at Taran’s she headed straight for the fireplace. When she had a nice crackling blaze going, she put away the groceries. Then she poured herself a stiff brandy and took it with her to the bathtub.

  She’d seen little of Taran over the last three days. He went to work in the morning and came home late at night, undoubtedly avoiding her. In spite of what he’d said, he probably felt crowded. She’d been checking in with him via text as ordered.

  His protectiveness thrilled her, but she wouldn’t lie to herself—he cared for her like a big brother, nothing like the way she cared for him. It made living under the same roof bittersweet. She needed to go home before her heartache worsened.

  She lolled in the bathtub until after six. Then she towel dried her hair, put on clean lounge pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt and headed for the kitchen at the other end of the house. She stopped in the den to poke at the fire and sip from the brandy she still nursed. When she glanced over her shoulder, she started to shake.

  A lamp on the loveseat end table glowed. She hadn’t touched it. She turned to look at the sliding glass door that led to the backyard; closed and locked when she went to take a shower, it now stood partially open. She hadn’t touched the light on the deck, either, yet it blazed in the darkness. Anyone creeping around the backyard could see her perfectly, and she couldn’t see them.

  Her heart began to trip like a jackhammer at the sound of paws scrabbling on wood. Her throat tightened in fear. She forced herself to exhale, fighting blind panic.

  An enormous brown shape materialized out of the darkness into the pool of light on the deck. She recognized Taran at the last minute and clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the scream. They stared at each other through the open door. He turned and ran back out of the light. She slowly sank into the couch in front of the fire, the glass of brandy still in her hand. She took a big swig and set it on the end table.

  Oh shit, that was stupid, she thought as smooth fire flowed down her throat and burned in her chest. Tears poured from her eyes and she doubled over, choking and coughing. She started to laugh, which made her cough more, which made her eyes water more. She didn’t hear Taran come in until he kneeled in front of her, murmuring into her hair.

  “Lark? Lark! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there. I didn’t mean to scare you, baby…”

  “No, it’s okay, I’m laughing, I’m—wait. Huh? Did you just call me baby?”

  Only in her dreams did he ever call her anything other than her name. One little word sent a new fire, this one slow like honey, coursing through her veins. She felt a hot flush in her chest and up the back of her neck.

  She gasped as he cupped her head in his hands and tilted it back, brushing the hair away from her face. She ventured a peek at his eyes, surprised at the fear and worry in his expression. What on earth could scare him?

  “Taran? Are you okay?”

&nbs
p; “No,” he muttered hoarsely, his mouth hovering over hers. “Not really.”

  Glimpsing a flash of lustrous green as he raised his eyes, she immediately dropped her gaze. She stared at the vein twitching in his jaw.

  He’d thrown on jeans, but nothing else. She always took care not to stare at him overtly, lest he notice, but now her eyes feasted on the smooth golden expanse of his shoulders, the rippling biceps and wide chest inches away from her.

  He rubbed his thumb across her cheek, skimmed it down her nose and dragged it slowly straight down over her bottom lip. She couldn’t breathe. Though his huge hand traced her face as softly as a breath, her skin tingled everywhere his fingers wandered. The currents ran all the way down her spine, and she closed her eyes as a small sigh escaped her.

  His body vibrated with leashed tension, belying the controlled precision of his movements. Afraid to break whatever spell possessed him, she tried not to move, but she couldn’t sit still beneath his touch. She turned her head to kiss his hand, and impulsively ran her tongue across his palm. He jerked, and when his mouth came down on hers, it wasn’t gentle at all.

  He wrapped one hand in her hair as his tongue plundered her mouth. With his other hand, he caressed the side of her neck, his thumb stroking hypnotically up and down over her throat, and she purred at the delicious tremors he ignited.

  She parted her legs to pull him closer, smiling against his lips when he shuddered. None of her dreams compared to the reality of his hot, greedy mouth on hers, the rough sweetness of his tongue, the hard strength of his hands on her skin and in her hair. She half-expected to wake up any second.

  Slowly she slid her hands up his arms, around his broad shoulders and over his back, delighting in his skin and his muscles and his pulse beneath her palms. She’d wanted him more than anything in her life. She’d never thought she could have him, and now that she held him in her arms, her mind almost refused to accept it, even as her body burned and rejoiced.