Sentinels: Jaguar Night

by Doranna Durgin

  If you could call them that. Emotions. Meghan herself was no longer sure what they were, these physical reactions, swelling up from within as though some force had crooked its finger and her body responded. It made her feel as though she were an outsider with no control over those responses, no say in their development. As if Dolan himself were irrelevant, as if she hadn’t felt the soul of him that night, and learned that all her preconceived notions about him were wrong.

  Except some part of her wondered if any of it would be happening at all had not the seeds of it been there before their blood had mingled with her herbs and incantations.

  Not that it mattered. She had no intention of being controlled by incantations or Sentinel ways. She had her life—one they’d left her alone to manage in a mundane world after her mother had died for one of their causes. She had her chosen family. She’d do what she had to, to protect them…but that didn’t mean she’d hand herself over to be a piece in some cosmic game.

  Dolan still watched her. He’d given her thoughts time to cycle around…and now she saw the flash of impatience in his eyes that said they’d run out of time. “What you do,” he said, “is find the thing, just the way you did before you came running in here. Don’t worry about taking me to it…I’ll be there. It’s your strength I need, not the know-how.”

  “Just leave me enough to finish chores,” she said, and added enough of a direct look to tell him she was only half kidding. Don’t drain me dry. Not when she still had to keep an eye on this place. And then she closed her eyes and tipped her head back and took herself to the place she’d last seen the new invader. She found it almost immediately, closer to the ranch than before—but Dolan, she didn’t even see coming. Stealthy, a presence padding softly over these ethereal hunting grounds, he found her with such quick, efficient silence that she felt only that sudden snap of connection, the intense internal humming that took her even on this level.

  She fought to stabilize herself; she thought she heard him, in the physical world, hiss between clenched teeth. And then he swept her up in such sudden strength that she left the physical behind altogether. Strength and assurance and intent…except it all tasted just a tiny bit like…

  Me.

  But abruptly there was no me in this place, no Meghan and no Dolan. His experienced vision took her wide, where the world consisted of smooth earth tones and overlapping wards and a huge panoramic perception that offered no room for feet grounded against good hard earth or the warm afternoon air in expanding lungs, or the smell of sun-heated cedar and juniper, sharp and cutting. Just muffled, enclosing earth tones and wards—and there, over there, the evil of the thing that had brought them here this way.

  Dolan’s control brought them closer, weaving effortlessly through wards that recognized Meghan and allowed them passage—coming so close to the malevolent danger that Meghan voiced a wordless protest, digging in nonphysical heels until he somehow gave her a little yank. A reminder. This is what we’re here for. I know what I’m doing.

  But Meghan didn’t. She didn’t, and it scared her, and she struggled against him anyway—hard enough so his concentration wavered and the danger looked at them somehow, its prickly edges freezing as it stopped its progress to assess this new, uncoordinated presence.

  Trust, Meghan.

  Had he really said that? Had he said it out loud to her, to her insignificant body in the insignificant ranch house in the insignificant world? Or had he just thought it…?

  Or maybe it had been her, convincing herself.

  Trust.

  She thought of him that night, so vulnerable—but trusting her to do right by him, pulling back claws that had been meant to rip her arm off…giving himself up to her.

  All right, then.

  Almost immediately, the malevolence lost interest. Just as quickly, Dolan moved them in closer. While she fought with everything she had to keep from recoiling in horror, he reached out to it…he tickled it—a great, ephemeral cat, playing with its prey. The dark spot rippled in response, and, drifting alongside, Dolan reached out again. She couldn’t have said how he was doing it, or considered attempting it herself. But she saw, then, that the ripple effect had changed the thing’s course.

  So gently it didn’t even recognize their presence, Dolan manipulated the invader until it became completely disoriented—and when he slowly backed them away, the thing was headed out of the little sphere of web lines and shifting energies that was, in another world, a small ranch called Encontrados.

  Suddenly exhausted, Meghan receded abruptly from this world with its new intensities and feelings and vision, plunging endlessly back through bottomless darkness—and finally slamming home into her body, staggered and dazed and taking some moments to realize she wasn’t where she’d left herself.

  She wasn’t standing aside. She wasn’t separate.

  She was, in fact, standing behind Dolan—standing up against Dolan, with her cheek centered between his clean-cut shoulders and his scent tickling her nose and her arms around his waist, resting there as though they belonged, hands clasping her wrists and forearms somehow already familiar with the hard lines of a muscled torso. She stiffened and would have pulled away, had his hands not landed on hers and firmly trapped her there.

  And then the second wave of sensation hit, the hum of things crescendoing up to vibrate in her bones, drawing warmth along her spine, tightening the skin over her entire body. She tensed; her hands clenched against him even as his fingers tightened down on hers. Abruptly, he released her; abruptly, he pivoted within her arms, facing her with a fierce and hungry expression.

  She had only an instant to realize it, and then suddenly they weren’t two people, they were one being—one being in a frenzy of kissing and clawing at clothes and pressing up against each other, form molding into form and melting into a quicksilver warmth, fingers clutching at hair, lips bruising at each other until Meghan’s legs built up into a quiver, her body building into something not yet explored. Her hands skimmed down his back as one leg twined around both of his, the entirety of her being urging closer, oh, please, closer as he gasped into her mouth.

  As unexpectedly as anything else, her single grounded leg gave way beneath her, bringing them both tumbling down onto the age-worn wood floor. One of his hands cradled her head, saving it from impact; the other lay flat against her stomach, fingers twitching. And though his breath came fast and his pupils were black and huge in those deepest of blue eyes, something in his expression had caught a hint of sanity.

  Meghan felt nothing of sanity in herself. Horrified at what she’d done, what she’d become, she was simultaneously bereft to be separate of him again. At first she could only watch him come back to himself, stages of awareness seeping back into his face, around his eyes. And perhaps the same was happening to her, for in a moment, his hand big and warm on her stomach, she was able to say, “What—” and then “What—?” again.

  Dolan gave his head a sharp shake. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize. I—”

  “Still want you,” she whispered, a completion of her own thoughts as well as his.

  He deliberately drew back. Not far, not so far that she couldn’t still feel the warmth of him, hovering over her, but just far enough to finalize the moment. “Damn, yes.” He made sure she supported herself on her elbows, released her head and her stomach, and drew a hand across his face.

  “But it wasn’t my decision,” she realized out loud. “It wasn’t yours, either. It was…”

  “Whatever you created three nights ago,” he agreed.

  She felt her own scowl; she scooted back a little, putting enough space between them so she could sit and stand and brush herself off. “I make my own decisions when it comes to this.”

  He stood beside her, just that suddenly—fluid movement, a reminder of what he could be when he had his strength. His expression had gone rueful, but he nodded. “As do I.”

  But he caught her eye again, and stepped close without breaking his
gaze; when she looked up, she was startled to realize how closely they hovered over another kiss. But he didn’t dip his head down; she didn’t stretch up. He said, “As it happens, I’ve made that decision. I’m just waiting for yours.” He touched her bruised lips, the gentlest of caresses—one that sent her bones to singing all over again, pulling up such a response that she knew it was more than just the herbs and blood and unwitting connection she’d created, she knew…

  Then he stepped aside so she could leave.

  Chapter 9

  Dolan stared at the ceiling, his preternatural night vision turning it into a swirl of textured paint that no pure human could see. What the hell did I do that for?

  He’d moved aside—and she’d walked out. Squared her shoulders, set her jaw and walked out of the room. He hadn’t seen her since. Oh, he’d heard her—outside, finishing chores and bidding her friends good-night after they’d tossed out evening hay to the various creatures of Encontrados. And he’d heard her come back inside, moving quietly through the darkened house until the faintest glow of light from the hall told him she’d turned on her bedroom light. Brushed her teeth…rustled through a change of clothes…

  The light had gone out, and now Dolan stared at the ceiling, his body awash with so many aches he couldn’t even separate them from one another—aside from that which came through loud and clear. The want. The want so strong he could barely stop himself from rolling out of this small bed and easing down the hall to Meghan’s bedroom. The overwhelming awareness of her presence…

  What little thinking he’d been doing, stopped.

  He clenched his jaw; he breathed through his nose and out his mouth. He reminded himself that he was a Sentinel; that he had training and strength and thirteen years of field experience. He reminded himself why he was there…what was at stake. That the Core no doubt still lurked—that they no doubt already realized this latest probe had failed.

  Meghan. He took another deep breath, let it go. Had there been no potential between them other than the incantation washing through their bodies, it would have been enough. Had he not wanted her from the moment he’d confronted her at the round pen, all spark and anger and defiance, wrapped around Sentinel skills so sweet and untried that even then they’d called to him, it would have been enough.

  But he had wanted her. Had been drawn to her. Had found himself lingering around the ranch longer than reason or common sense or his mission allowed. And when the Core had taken him down…

  She’d been the one he called.

  And even uninitiated, she’d heard him.

  Not, he thought, because her skills ran so deep, not without initiation.

  But because she’d been listening.

  Just as he listened now—for any sound of her, for any indication she was still awake, that she hadn’t been able to shake off what had happened between them.

  Get a grip. Big, bad Sentinel, obsessed with his physical reaction to a woman. Consumed by it. He snorted softly, rolling out of bed after all and ignoring the tiny voice protesting that it wasn’t just physical—wasn’t just chemistry and wasn’t just incantations.

  He didn’t bother with his shoes. For the sake of propriety, he did pull on his pants, recently washed and stiff. He listened in the hallway just long enough to make sure he hadn’t disturbed Meghan, and he padded down the hall to the kitchen, having already learned to open the door just so far and slip through if he wanted to avoid the most startling of creaks.

  He stood on the porch, breathing in the crisp smells of junipers and cedars, the bitter taste of willow, the damp, cold night air holding down the scents of the sky island. He shivered, wishing he’d brought his jacket…and then realized he had no intention of staying in this thin human skin.

  For the first time in days, the jaguar called clearly to him. And there, on the porch of the old ranch house, he reached for what had been waiting within, blanketed in herbs and illness. Impatient, eager…ready to run. Ready to hunt.

  Ready to escape what hunted him.

  A futile effort, and he knew it. But he lost himself to the change anyway, a flash of internal light that sizzled off the post-and-rail of the porch edge, reflected off the counters in the kitchen and faded away around the form of the jaguar, darker than the night itself.

  He stalked off the porch, through the yard…and down into the wild desert highlands.

  Chapter 10

  Meghan dreamed not of Dolan or of their intense encounter, or even of the Atrum Core stalking this ranch.

  Meghan dreamed of her mother.

  Her mother laughing, her mother’s wildflower scent, her mother’s enfolding arms, the spare and satisfying hug of a woman as wiry as Meghan herself.

  She woke feeling comforted and somehow serene…and she couldn’t understand it in the least. She felt as though it was meant to be a message, and she hadn’t the faintest idea what it meant. She stared up at the ceiling she couldn’t even see in this darkness, and finally settled on gratitude.

  If she’d ever needed a hug from her mother, it was now, confronted by this unexpected part of her mother’s legacy, confronted by the Atrum Core and tangled up somehow with a shape-shifting Sentinel who asked everything of himself—and, it seemed, everything of her.

  She reached out to him, an action quickly grown to habit, just to touch his presence, which was as much as she could do…and could do it at all only because of that impossible hum persisting between them.

  If only she’d had some inkling of those unintended side effects when she’d laid the incantation on the herbs, or when she’d laid the herbs along his gums—or when she’d failed to duck his lightning-swift paw.

  Right. Because then she’d surely have turned and walked away, leaving him to die.

  Dammit. This had been her choice. Her choice to listen for him in the night; her choice to go to him when he called out in his pain and warning. Her choice to break out her mother’s enhanced, preserved herbs, and to add her own touch to them.

  She hadn’t known what she was getting into…but in hindsight, that was no bad thing. Cowardly, cowardly hindsight—not knowing had spared her the struggle of an informed decision, and she was glad of it.

  Only then did she realize she hadn’t found Dolan where she expected—that he wasn’t asleep in the guest room, succumbed to the exhaustion of the day and their hard work near the end of it. She sat up in bed, and the chill night air hit her bare shoulders. Sleeveless tank above, girly boxers below—snug, comfortable indulgences from Victoria’s Secret. Not exactly sexy, no matter how it looked on the models with their chests thrust out.

  But Meghan’s life hadn’t required sexy. Hard work, practicality and persistence…a love of life. But sexy? The men around here were hard, age-bitten cowboys or adolescent boys.

  No wonder Dolan’s presence had hit her so hard.

  Meghan cast her vision wider, hunting him as her mother, taking the coyote, had once hunted mice.

  Except her mother had let the mice go. Meghan wasn’t sure she’d have that choice with Dolan.

  And there he was. Downhill from the ranch, stationary. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, groping for the hoodie sweatshirt she’d left over the wroughtiron footboard, then hesitating when she realized he felt…different. Bigger. More powerful.

  Understanding hit her like a blow. He took the jaguar.

  He was improving not only daily, but practically by the hour, and he’d found the jaguar again just as she’d so casually assured him that he would. The implication of it—that he had little reason to stay here any longer, that he was no longer virtually chained to this ranch, to her guest room—that he could leave at any moment—had her across the house to the pile of shoes by the back door, stuffing her feet into sneakers even as she pulled the hoodie on, running out into the yard where the cold air hit her bare legs and jolted her to a stop.

  But only for a moment. Only long enough to orient herself. To accept that the man himself had touched her, and not just enhanced h
erbs and a shared near-death experience. To give in to instinct and drive and want, and run down into the scrubby tangle of foliage and rugged terrain.

  To run for Dolan.

  He’d stalked the hills, moving around in darkness when he would have preferred twilight. He stretched his muscles; he leaped from outcrop to outcrop, testing himself. He felt strength returning by the moment. If he was smart, he’d leave this place here and now and return to his mission.

  Except it was about more than that now. This ranch had come to the attention of the Core…and for the first time in his bitter rogue’s life, Dolan felt the impulse to let something come between himself and his primary goal. To think about more than that narrow mission focus. He’d continue to look for the manuscript, but he also had to make sure these people were safe. Until the Sentinel team finally arrived, he had to stay close to Encontrados. For if the Core was circling this ranch, Meghan was surely their ultimate target. She was the one who’d slapped their first probe down…the one who’d drawn attention.

  He easily found the best vantage point in the area, outcrops jutting over the hill so profoundly as to create hollow, protected places beneath. He rubbed his face against the stone and then leaped lightly to the top, stretched out with his tail idly tapping the accumulation of leaves and debris over hard rock. Not Sentinel, not Dolan…just the jaguar, mind emptied of everything but the terrain around and below him.

  But thoughts of Meghan constantly tickled his mind; he found the lack of her a bane, one that waxed within him until the landscape no longer had his attention and he lifted his lips, tipping his whiskers in a silent snarl. His tail gave one violent lash before he forced himself to stillness. He would have cursed what she had wrought between them, but he no longer had the heart. He could no longer wish she’d never come to him that night—not now, not having felt her lips and her body.

  And there went his tail again, slapping rock. Not cool. He glared at it as though it were a separate entity, offering it its own silent snarl of warning. Big, tough Sentinel, tail out of control.