The screams and shouts behind him muted, a distant nuisance to be ignored. Though he longed to savor the moment of his revenge, a security team would arrive any moment and spoil his fun. He’d spent too many days plotting what he would do if he ever got his claws into her again. He would not be thwarted.
The slender fae turned her head, exposing her long pale neck, and he pressed close, expecting the bitter icy scent he despised. The lungful of warm smoke and spice he inhaled made him lightheaded. Soft, creamy skin exposed when she turned her head begged for his bite. He spread his jaws wide, preparing to sink his teeth deep to rend her flesh, but the urge to lick her overwhelmed him.
Shim pulled back, staring at her, wary as the woman turned her head to regard him. She looked so familiar, and yet not.
The pain beneath his skin itched beyond his ability to bear, and tears poured from his eyes. A tickling sensation built in his throat and nose until he couldn’t hold it in. A sharp pain in his side distracted a moment before he let loose an almighty sneeze straight into her face. Huge hands grappled around his throat and rolled him off his prey.
He couldn’t struggle against the hands gripping him, his muscles like water. Rekkus’ face loomed close, twisted into a harsh snarl. He pulled back a meaty fist and punched Shim in the jaw. The blow combined with the sedative pumping through his veins from the dart gun, and he slumped to the floor.
His eyes flickered closed, and he battled to open them, his vision blurred by a combination of the drugs and his tears. The fae sat up, her face twisted in utter disgust. Lifting her hand, she tried to remove a huge lump of snot from her hair. Her face dripped with it, and he curled his lip in a smile.
That’ll teach the bitch to curse me into being allergic to my animal form.
Blackness swallowed him.
Chapter Three
Ceara wiped her face with the thick, white towel Cyrus handed to her. He crouched close, shielding her from view. The Light Ones moved around the room, settling the other guests, their calm, sweet natures being more suitable to the task. Sage whipped up a batch of shakes as Cemil wove a tale about an accidental escape from the preserve, the island’s own animal sanctuary.
Desperate for a shower, she struggled to her feet. The mucus in her hair set like glue, and a cold trail ran down her neck into her bra. Trying not to retch at the unpleasant sensation, she followed the Dark Ones, as Cyrus and his sister Sarka were known, from the room. Shock turned to irritation when they led her to an office behind the reception desk. She wanted nothing more than to seek the sanctuary of her cottage. The pair studied her from the other side of the desk, their icy-blue eyes an unwelcome reminder of her twin, although the emotion reflected by the Rowans appeared sympathetic—something she’d never seen in her sister’s gaze.
“Do you require medical assistance?” Sarka asked, and Ceara shook her head. Her arms stung a little from scratches left by the jaguar’s claws, but if she never saw a medic again it would be too soon.
She’d experienced a moment of utter peace pinned beneath the big cat. Waiting for those sharp fangs to sink deep into her throat, she’d blessed the Fates for providing a release. She longed for nothing more than to escape the prison her life had become since the fire went silent. Hot fury surged in her veins at the Wiccans and their staff for interfering, although she fought hard not to show it.
“And you’re sure you’ve never met Shimeer Neguar before?” Cyrus sounded somewhat skeptical. Who is this impudent pup to question my honesty? The fae were skilled at manipulating the truth, but she’d grown out of the habit after spending so long away from court.
“I have never seen him until a few moments ago. The majority of the past century, I have dwelled in the mundane world. I assume you are aware of my banishment?” She raised one eyebrow at Cyrus, and he nodded.
“We ran a check on you with the Syndicate prior to your arrival.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with one gloved hand, frowning. I’m not going to like this.
“Unbeknownst to us, your clan queen left a standing instruction with them. Any inquiries regarding you or your sister are to be reported to her. I’ve pulled some strings, and they’ve agreed to keep it quiet until the end of the week. Given the little I know of fae politics, you must have done something special to get banished?”
Her stomach roiled at the unwelcome news. Taking a deep breath, she held it for a moment. Regardless of her current lack of power, she was still one of the Shining Ones and not the weak human she’d pretended to be. Forcing her shoulders back, posture ramrod straight, she regarded the siblings.
“The queen believes my twin, Isolde, and I are the subjects of prophecy. It predicts she will be overthrown by whichever of us fulfills the terms.” She snorted softly before continuing. “Unlike my sister, I have zero interest in taking over one of the fae clans. I cannot imagine anything worse than trying to rule such a duplicitous group as my extended family.”
A gleam of interest sparked in Sarka’s eyes.
Ceara shook her head. “I will not discuss this further with you. I am not the one referred to in the prophecy. And I have no more to say on the matter.”
The siblings exchanged a long look. Do they share some kind of telepathic link?
A sharp rap at the door announced the arrival of Rekkus. The big man looked furious as he shot Ceara an apologetic glance.
“Ms. Smith, I’m sorry about what happened. The minute the portal opens at sunup, your assailant will be removed from the island. He’s under guard now and will remain so until his departure.”
The were-tiger took up more than his fair share of space. She slid from her chair to ensure a clear access route to the open door. His golden eyes tracked her every move, but she shrugged off the sensation of being hunted. She was not prey to be watched. Lifting her chin, she straightened, wishing she wore something other than jeans and layers of shirts.
“Did the jaguar tell you why he attacked me?” Steel laced her voice, and Rekkus squared his shoulders. That’s right. I am not some plaything awaiting your tender mercies, shifter.
“He’s confused and in a lot of pain. Claims you cursed him after he escaped from you. He kept calling you the Ice Bitch, which doesn’t make much sense to me. Cemil told me your affinity is to fire.” Rekkus scowled then shrugged. “Whatever, he attacked you and we don’t stand for that here. I’m kicking his arse straight back through the portal and that’s all there is to it.”
Ice Bitch struck such a cord, and she struggled to keep her face neutral. The red-rimmed jade eyes of the huge black jaguar loomed large in her mind. The words of the prophecy rose unbidden, and the black beast tamed to her hand….
Is it possible Isolde captured Shimeer, believing him to be the black beast? Her twin had never lacked ambition. She acted without conscience when it came to any being she deemed less than her, which covered pretty much every living soul, para and human.
If there was one thing Isolde wasn’t short on, it was ego.
“I think the jaguar made an honest mistake. He could have killed me before you managed to subdue him, but he did not. If he is suffering under a curse, then he should be offered the chance of healing. Provided he stays away from me, I have no problem with him remaining on the island.”
Sarka twisted her hair into a knot behind her head before sighing and shaking it down to flow freely again. She turned her frowning gaze from Ceara to Cyrus. “If the jaguar is cursed, then we’ll need to consult Janessa. You need to question him, Cy. Find out everything he knows about what happened to him.” She made notes, and her brother peered over her shoulder, adding a comment here and there.
A loud rumble filled the room, drawing everyone’s attention to Rekkus. His golden eyes glowing hot and furious, he spoke in a low growl. “In case you’ve all forgotten, I’m the head of bloody security, and it’s up to me who stays on the island. I can’t have guests attacking each other. If we make an exception for the jaguar, it’ll be a damned bloodbath.�
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Cyrus grinned at Rekkus, ripped the list of scribbled questions from his sister’s notepad, and crossed the room. He clapped his best friend on the shoulder and steered him toward the door. “I’m sure you can find a suitable punishment. Aren’t you the least bit curious, old friend? We haven’t had a decent curse to deal with in ages. I’m dying to get to the bottom of it. What do you say?”
Rekkus growled but allowed himself to be led from the room. “I say curiosity killed the frigging cat, which is all right for you but a gigantic pain in the arse for me!”
Ceara lay submerged in the huge bathtub, the scalding water up to her nose. She’d taken a shower to wash off the unmentionable crap the jaguar sneezed into her face and hair and now relaxed in the herb-filled water. Sarka had given her a potion, promising it would help her to sleep. She’d included some warming properties when she noticed her constant shivering. The hot bath chased off the worst of the cold, but it couldn’t touch the frozen void in her chest since the fire abandoned her. Sighing, she ducked her head under the water, bored with the endless pity party of her thoughts.
She couldn’t leave the island until the end of the week. The ferry wouldn’t return before then, and she did not relish the thought of using the portal and ending up helpless in the para realm. Two options remained—sit around and sulk for the rest of the week, or make the most of the island’s facilities. Thinking about the island reminded her why she was there. She owed it to Matthews to try. He should have left her to rot after her actions caused the deaths of the rest of their close-knit team. Pushing his grief aside, he’d done everything possible to ensure her survival. You’re the only family left to me, girl.
She held little hope the Rowans could reignite her power, but a few relaxation classes might help to regain some balance. The peace and quiet would also give her time to decide what to do next. Massaging shampoo into her scalp, she recalled the sensation of the jaguar’s breath on her throat. So close to oblivion and escape from her pain, but if the Lord and Lady had deemed her worthy of release, she would not have survived the detonation of her powers in the first place.
It was also the coward’s way out, something she’d never been. She hadn’t learned to survive in a clan of the Unseelie Court by being weak or hiding from the truth about herself. Ambivalence was the most charitable emotion when it came to her family. She had no desire to return to the endless political machinations of court, but she would not deny her heritage. Isolde embodied the darker side of their upbringing, developing both a ruthless ambition and a taste for pain. Ceara did what she needed to get by and avoid being a victim, but the power games bored her, and she’d been happy to keep a low profile.
The Unseelie Court was divided into many different clans, formed from familial and political connections. Each clan adopted a jewel name, the Diamond Clan being the uppermost and seat of the high queen. Ceara and her sister had been born into the Emerald Clan.
The words of the prophecy played through her mind. When sundered soul is frozen and the black beast tamed to her hand, so will hearts unite and destiny be fulfilled. All hail Queen of Clan, Mistress of All, Ruler of the Emerald Lands!
Growing up as a twin, Isolde had fixated on the sundered-soul reference, her power designation ice to Ceara’s fire. It appeared her sister had spent her time in banishment hunting down a para who would meet the black beast criteria, and Shimeer was the unlucky recipient of her attentions. Given the jaguar’s reaction, Isolde hadn’t been too successful in uniting their hearts.
Wrapping her hair in a thick towel, Ceara bundled herself into a pair of thick flannel pajamas. She loaded more wood onto the fire blazing in the hearth then drank the potion from Sarka. Relishing the heat spreading in her belly, she climbed into the large bed. The wooden frame, like almost everything in the cottage, was made of natural materials. Whoever prepared the cottage for her arrival had made sure to avoid iron and steel items, whenever possible. A simple thing, perhaps, but it showed the effort the Rowans put into tailoring each guest’s environment to their specific needs.
Her lids flickered closed, and a pair of jade-green eyes burned in her mind’s eye. Drifting away, a thought teased her mind. For those few moments the jaguar pinned her to the ground, she hadn’t been the least bit cold.
Chapter Four
Shim stared in disquiet at the Spartan room the security guards dragged him into. The effects of the tranquilizer still messed with his system, leaving him no choice but to sit on the edge of the plain hard bed, one of the few features in the unadorned room.
The door slammed behind him, and a thick bar slid into place, sealing Shim into the small room. His nose twitched in disgust. The place smelled like wet dog and hormones. It would be full moon in two days and the barracks were occupied. Crossing the room on unsteady feet, he put his face against the doorframe and drew in a deep breath. Tasting the musky scents, he identified wolves and a bear…no cats, though, other than a faint trace of Rekkus lingering in the air.
Staggering to the bed, he lay on his back, hands pillowed beneath his head. He stared at the whitewashed ceiling. The other occupants were of no concern to him, a bunch of hormonal teens struggling to come to terms with the pull of the moon. The island provided a safe refuge and training facility for young weres who couldn’t control themselves. They rotated through every month around the full moon until they grew mature enough to handle themselves in their animal forms, when the power of the goddess heated their blood.
The ebb and flow of the moon called to all her shifter children, but it had been many years since he’d been prone to the bouts of insane lust the scent of a female could provoke when the goddess rode high. A waft of smoke-and-spice tickled his memory. Shim growled, picturing a creamy swan neck lying bare before his jaws.
Some fae could cast a glamor to alter their features. He’d assumed that was the case when encountering his nemesis earlier. Very few possessed the strength to twist their own scent, though—maybe a handful across both courts. The bitch had never done it during his captivity, and she’d tried everything to possess him. He’d found her bitter scent so repugnant, her repeated attempts at seduction failed to raise an erection. He snarled at the thought of her cold little hands manipulating his flesh, the inevitable anger and punishment meted out when his body failed to respond.
A loud bang stirred him from his thoughts. The door flew open, and the glowering form of Rekkus filled the entire entrance. Forcing himself to stay in his relaxed position, he shackled his screaming cat. The human side of him knew they were still too weak from the tranquilizer. The odds of him beating Rekkus in a straight fight, even at full strength, were slim at best.
The tiger had a fearsome reputation. A highly skilled fighter, taller and heavier than Shim in both forms. The one advantage Shim had lay in the compression strength of his jaguar bite, but he couldn’t see Rekkus letting him close enough to get a decent grip with his jaws. He also had nothing against the tiger, not even the tooth-rattling punch in the jaw. He’d been doing his job. Shim had violated the sanctity of Wiccan Haus through his violent actions.
“She all right?” He didn’t know where the question came from. He didn’t give a shit about the fae bitch, did he?
Rekkus raised one dark eyebrow, turning sideways to allow Cyrus to slip into the room. The dark man tapped his gloved finger against his lip, examining Shim like a bug under a microscope. Shim locked his spine tight, determined to maintain his relaxed facade.
“Ceara is as well as can be expected under the circumstances,” Cyrus said in a soft voice. “But I’m not here to talk about her. I want to talk about your curse.”
Shim snorted. “We can’t exactly talk about my curse without talking about the bitch who placed it on me, can we?” Abandoning the pretense of calm, he rolled to his feet, pacing two strides back and forth beside the bed. His cat forced him into motion. The memories of those hellish six months, never far from the surface, bubbled up one after the other.
Phantom pain struck his shoulders and hips where spears of ice had pinned him to the floor of an isolated frozen cave. His back itched, not from the vestiges of the curse, but from remembered pain when he’d ripped his skin off, tearing free from the ice-covered floor.
A snarl built in the back of his throat. The jaguar pressed forward, wanting to shift so he could protect them both. He battled it down—there was no sanctuary or safety in his animal form anymore. He wanted to throw his head back and scream at the agony of such loss.
“She’s not who you think she is, Shimeer.” Cyrus’ cool tone calmed him, even as the words increased his confusion. His head snapped up, his eyes locking with the Wiccan’s.
“What do you know about it? What has she told you?” He couldn’t keep the snarl from his voice. Stomach churning, he feared the worst. Feared his shame was no longer secret. Swallowing down the bile in the back of his throat, he waited for humiliation to strike.
“Ceara’s affinity is to fire.”
He laughed. There was nothing warm about the ice bitch; she was playing the Rowans for a fool.
“Her twin sister is another story. It would appear their powers are opposites—fire and ice,” Rekkus interjected.
Shim opened his mouth, closed it as he tried to absorb the information then opened it again to argue. Cyrus held up one leather-gloved hand to forestall him. “I have spoken to a representative of the Syndicate, and they have verified this. You owe Ceara an apology, although you may have to put it in writing. She has requested we keep you away from her for the rest of the week. She is a guest here, too, and requires our aid.”
Shim sank to the side of the bed, covering his face with his hands. How is this possible? What kind of cruel trick do the Fates play on me now?
He wanted nothing more than to roam his territory in freedom. He kept an eye on the local tribes, protected the land from too much incursion by the tourists visiting the Poás Volcano National Park. The tribes worshipped his clan as gods, but the Neguars had never exploited them. Family ties loosened over the years, driven by their solitary natures. Connections faded and their numbers shrank. His parents had been the last breeding pair of their clan.
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