Walk on the Wild Side

by Christine Warren

  Kitty shrugged and smiled, letting her hand rest beside her cheek on his broad chest. "I got some game."

  Max chuckled. "I'll say you do, kitten." His arm tightened around her. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that, though. I was hoping Drusilla and the kids would give you some time before they showed up, even if I couldn't quite make myself believe they'd be content to give you the cold shoulder instead of attacking you outright."

  "It's okay. Number one because it's not your fault, and number two because I walked away with all my limbs and no new scar tissue. From where I see it, it could have been a lot worse."

  "That still doesn't make it okay," he rumbled, the sound welling from his chest and vibrating in Kitty's ear. He paused for a moment, and she could feel his eyes on her, watching her watch the fire. "I'm also sorry for what Peter did. You shouldn't have had to find out about your father that way. I'd hoped he would tell you while I was in the other room, but I guess he never got around to it, huh?"

  "No."

  For a long time she said nothing else, just stared into the flames and absorbed the peaceful feeling of being in this moment, in this place, with this man. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a tiny remnant of her sanity was screaming about how she ought to know better than to let herself be alone with this man, know better than to let him touch her, to let him comfort her, when clearly the only way things could end between them would be with her heart breaking into a thousand tiny pieces.

  After all, in the end, she'd be going back to Tennessee, back to the life she'd known before—mostly—and he'd be here in Vegas surrounded by beautiful women and living a life she knew nothing about. He'd be using words like "Felix" and "pride," "baas" and "challenge." She'd be in the library using words like, "I'm sorry, but you can't take that document out of the Special Collections area. It's too fragile."

  Not exactly a storybook romance.

  But at the moment, that part of her mind was locked up in a dusty old closet somewhere in the back of her subconscious and other, more reckless parts were pointing out how pleasant she found him to be around, how she loved his wit and the way he always seemed to be there when she needed to lean on him, both literally and figuratively. How she felt stronger when she was with him and had already come to rely on him. How he made her breath catch and her stomach clench and her nipples harden.

  Which, she figured, might qualify as a romance of an entirely different kind.

  She felt the muscles in his chest shift as he drained his wineglass and set it on the coffee table beside hers. Then his arm came up to wrap around her, completing his hold on her, capturing her securely in his embrace. She couldn't think of another place she wanted to be.

  Her breath sighed out slowly, and she snuggled deeper into his chest. If she had to talk about this, she was probably in the best possible position for it. At least she was warm, comfortable, safe, and just tipsy enough to dull any potential pain.

  "What's wrong with him?"

  Max rested his chin on top of her head. "Cancer. It started in his stomach, but no one recognized the symptoms at first. He kept dismissing it as something he ate that didn't agree with him, or as heartburn. By the time he finally saw a doctor, it had already spread to his lungs, his colon, and his lymphatic system. That was the last time he agreed to any testing. When anyone brings it up, he just says that by now he's got more tumors than tissues. And he's probably right."

  "Is he getting treatment?"

  "He has an oncologist who monitors his case, but there's nothing they can do to cure him. They can help manage his pain and keep him comfortable for as long as possible, but beyond that…"

  Max trailed off, one hand stroking slowly over her hair and down her back. Kitty tilted her head until she could see his face. "Why did he let it go so long before he saw a doctor?"

  Max shook his head. "He just didn't know. Gastric cancer isn't the most deadly form of the disease, but it's one of the forms that tend to be fairly far advanced before they're detected. People think stomach problems are just part of life. They ate some bad clams, or their food was too spicy, or they've picked up a bug. And, of course, it didn't help that he's Leo."

  "What do you mean?"

  Max's hand came up and he rubbed his thumb gently over the knot in her head that she'd gotten that morning. Already the bump had gone down until you could barely find it even if you knew where to look. And Kitty had noticed that her headache had disappeared hours ago.

  "You know firsthand how quickly we can heal ourselves," he said. "That's because our metabolisms are significantly faster than a human's. Once you start shifting on a regular basis, you'll find you have to eat a lot more than you used to just to keep your energy up. It's one of the things that give us extra strength and speed as well. But every silver lining has a cloud, right?"

  He smoothed her hair back and stroked the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "Our fast metabolism means that our cells divide more quickly and make new cells faster. That's how we heal, which is great. But cancer is when cells mutate and become diseased and then begin to reproduce out of control. The same gift that makes our healthy cells divide faster also makes the cancer cells divide faster. In Leos, and in most of the other shifters, cancer spreads through us like a forest fire. Before we even see the flame, half the forest has been destroyed."

  Kitty replaced her head on his chest and frowned into the fire. "Well, that kind of sucks for us, doesn't it?"

  "Pretty much. Fortunately, our immune systems are stronger than the average human's, as well, so our bodies are more likely to find the diseased cells and get rid of them before they have a chance to go crazy. Cancer's rarer for us than for humans. It's just more deadly when it does manage to take hold."

  "It's still so weird to hear that."

  "Hear what?"

  "Hear the words 'us' and 'humans' and not have them mean the same thing."

  Max's arms tightened around her. "I can imagine it is. You've had a lot to adjust to in the last few weeks, haven't you, kitten?"

  "You have no idea."

  "No, I know I don't. I've always known what I was, even when I didn't know where I belonged. I never had to wonder about that."

  She looked up at him, her brow furrowed in a frown. "What do you mean, that you didn't know where you belonged?"

  His lips curved. "I'm kind of like you, that way. I wasn't born into the Red Rock Pride, either. I wasn't even born in Nevada, actually. I just sort of ended up here when I was about fifteen or so."

  "Where were you born, then?"

  "Los Angeles. My mother was a wannabe actress who paid the rent—most of the time—by waiting tables. My father took off when I was two or three. They weren't part of a pride, so they had no support system to fall back on when things got tough."

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "Don't be." He smiled down at her. "It wasn't the best childhood, but no one abused me and I never really went hungry. But I also didn't stick around long once I got old enough to try going somewhere else. Without a pride, I had no reason to. I worked and hitchhiked my way out to Vegas without getting into too much trouble when I was about fifteen. Of course, it helped that I'd just had my first shift and felt like the king of the universe." He chuckled at the memory. "I figured someone would have to be stupid to try and hurt me, king of the beasts that I was."

  "How did you meet my father?"

  "I'd gotten to Vegas by the time I turned sixteen and gotten a job running for a bookie. It was good money, and like I said, I thought no one could touch me. Then a couple of years on I ran into some other nomads, Leos who weren't members of any pride, and they kicked my ass hard enough to leave boot prints. They stole my bookie's money and dropped me off in the middle of the desert to rot. Lucky for me, their idea of the middle of the desert was smack-dab in the center of Martin's property. He found me, got me to a doctor, and offered me the two things that saved my life: a job, and a place in the pride."

  Explanation finished, Max lapsed into silence and Kit
ty let his story sink in.

  "I guess it's no wonder you're my father's right-hand man," she finally said. "I guess you two have gotten pretty close over the years."

  "He's my real father," Max offered simply. "The man who got my mom pregnant was nothing more than a sperm donor."

  Kitty snorted quietly. "That's the same term I've been using to describe my father since I found out about him." She sighed. "I've sort of had to rethink that."

  "Just because I have a high opinion of your father doesn't mean that I expect you to fall all over yourself with joy before you really get to know him. I know he had his reasons for leaving you with your mother's family, and I know that because he told me a little about them, but that doesn't mean I agree with him. He left you alone for a long time. He needs to find a way to make up for that. Or at least make peace with it."

  "Right. I don't know if that's the kind of thing you can make up for." Her mouth curved wryly and she glanced up at him from under her eyelashes. "Though I have to say that meeting Drusilla and Nadia gave me a much fuller understanding of what he meant when he said he was doing it to protect me."

  Max's chuckle vibrated through her like a massaging chair. "It does lend something to the saying about seeing and believing, doesn't it."

  Kitty rolled her eyes. "Dear Lord. How y'all put up with those women is beyond me. And excuse me for saying it, but Peter doesn't seem to be any better."

  Max winced. "They may have become a little spoiled."

  "You think?"

  That had them both chuckling. When his chest finally stopped shaking, Kitty wriggled a bit to correct her position and found herself rubbing her face against him as she settled back, just like the kitten he'd taken to calling her.

  "Comfortable?" he asked, his voice ripe with amusement. But Kitty noticed that his hands didn't pause in their long, sweeping strokes of her back.

  She smiled into his shirtfront. "You'll do."

  Without lifting her head, Kitty could sense his smile.

  She also sensed the change in his muscles. Not tension so much as alertness, as if a wave of new awareness flowed through him from his head all the way down to his toes, invading every strong inch in between.

  It spread to Kitty's muscles, too. She didn't shift an inch, didn't change the rhythm of her breath, didn't say a single word, but slowly she became aware of the shifting energy between them. Her lazy peace melted away, replaced by something no less pleasant but infinitely more complicated.

  She knew the instant he felt it. Or maybe it was the instant he noticed that she felt it, too. His body hardened beneath hers. His touch on her back firmed, slowed, its range widening. One hand slid down to grasp her hip, and the other burrowed under her hair to cup the sensitive nape of her neck.

  Helplessly, she shivered.

  "Cold, kitten?"

  Not even remotely.

  She shook her head but kept her eyes on the flames. Her attention, however, had focused entirely on him.

  His thumb rubbed tiny circles in the hollow at the base of her skull, his hand on her neck firming, urging her to look up at him. She resisted for a moment, not knowing who she fought, his touch or her own rioting senses, then surrendered and tilted her head back until she saw the hard planes of his face gilded in the light of the fire.

  In the flicker of light and shadow, his mouth looked hard, almost cruel, but she could remember with vivid detail how soft and seductive it had felt moving against hers. His eyelids had drifted down, half-veiling his expression, but she could see hints of the bright copper color shifting and glinting like molten metal beneath thick, dark lashes.

  Kitty shivered again, and the hand on her hip moved lower, sliding over worn denim and warm woman until it cuddled half of her bottom in its broad palm. Together with the hand at her nape, it lifted her, urged her forward until her mouth was on a level with his. The sweet, spiced wine of their breath met and mingled between them until they drew each other in on each inhalation, offered themselves to each other on each soft sigh.

  His eyes met hers for an instant, and Kitty had about that long to realize he posed a greater danger to her like this, in this state of seeming lazy comfort, than he had that morning. Even when he'd stood in the crowd in front of his hotel barking questions and orders with cold rage pouring off of him like vapors off dry ice, she'd felt safer than she did right now. None of his anger had been directed at her, but she knew that the melting heat she saw in his eyes now had no other target.

  Fascinated and helpless, she watched as his gaze drifted closely down, caressing her brows, her cheeks, the soft sides of her nose, before it settled, bright and intent on her mouth. Her tongue darted out, completely against her will, to moisten her suddenly dry lips.

  He made a sound like a purr just before he shifted, his hands drawing her down to him until her lips settled over his by his decree, not hers. She might lie sprawled over his powerful body, but he was in control, moving her like a rag doll at his whim.

  It was hard to care, though, when his taste went to her head like moonshine and the heat of his kiss warmed her faster than a flame. She sank into him as if he belonged there, and he welcomed her as if he'd always known she was missing. His hands on her anchored her while his mouth on hers sent her senses reeling. It seemed impossible that she could have forgotten that he kissed like a god—it had only been since that morning, after all—but the power of it seemed impossible to comprehend even while it dragged her under like a riptide.

  His mouth ate at hers, devouring, consuming, and at the same time she felt as if his taste, his touch, filled her up, gave her something she'd been lacking without being aware of it. His tongue stroked, teeth scraped, fingers tightened, stealing her breath and her will so that when their lips parted it was because he pulled back. She didn't have the strength.

  Her eyes drifted open and she looked down at him, dazed and shaking, while his fingers traced erotic patterns on the back of her neck. She felt as if she'd been hypnotized. His touch was light, his hands caressing rather than holding, but she knew trying to escape would have been futile. He'd bound her to him with something stronger than rope, something she couldn't see and didn't understand.

  "You look tired," he said, his voice rasping like rough cloth against her skin. But his lips were velvet smooth as he dragged them across her cheekbones and nibbled delicately at the shell of her ear. "Ready for bed?"

  Kitty blinked, struggling to think, struggling to breathe, as the question hung in the air between them like a living thing.

  Finally, she cleared her throat and brought a trembling hand to his face. "That depends," she whispered, her voice soft but surprisingly clear. "Where will I be sleeping?"

  The fire in his eyes flickered. "Where do you want to sleep?"

  She pressed her palm to his jaw, felt the prickle of evening stubble and the strong, clean lines of muscle and bone. He pressed his skin against her like a cat begging to be stroked and she smiled as she leaned down and brushed her lips to the soft, smooth patch of skin just at the crest of his cheekbone.

  "Under you," she whispered, and laughed with excitement as his body instantly hardened in response.

  Max swept her into his arms and stood in one smooth motion, holding her cradled against his chest like something small and precious. When he held her, that's exactly what she felt like.

  "Your wish is my command," he growled, and headed for the door to the bedroom.

  "Oh, goodie," she whispered, burying her face in the curve of his neck and inhaling the warm, intoxicating scent of him. Her tongue darted out to taste and she heard his rumbling groan. Her mouth curved into a satisfied grin.

  "In that case, I really wish you'd hurry."

  * * *

  Chapter Nineteen

  MAX HAD NO INTENTION OF LYING. WHEN HE'D DECIDED to bring Kitty to his cabin in the hills surrounding her father's home, Max had hoped things would end up just like this, but that didn't stop his heart from leaping at the sound of her whispering that tonigh
t she wanted to sleep beneath him.

  It also didn't stop his body from tightening to a painful level of arousal when he felt the playful touch of her tongue against his skin and heard her husky voice urging him to hurry. The way he felt at the moment, she should be begging him to slow down. He had to fight hard to keep from giving in to the urge to toss her onto his rumpled bed, where her scent still clung to the sheets, and drive into her slick little body before he'd gotten them properly stripped.

  He felt like a barbarian, but he'd have cut his own hands off before he caused this woman an instant of pain.

  When she wriggled a hand out from between their bodies and slid it down his stomach toward the button on his jeans, he growled a warning. "If you don't want to roll over in sixty seconds and wonder what the hell just happened, I suggest you keep those clever little fingers of yours to yourself."

  He felt her smile against his skin and heard her husky laugh.

  "Am I not allowed to touch you?"

  "Of course you can touch me," he said, depositing her in the center of his big bed and crawling up after her. When she slid her hands over his chest, he grabbed her delicate wrists and stretched them above her head, pinning them in place. "You can touch me next time."

  Kitty's mouth turned down in a pout, displaying a teasing, provocative side of her he hadn't seen before now. It made his hands burn with the need to touch her, to drive her so crazy, she wouldn't be able to think of ways to torture him. When she accompanied it with a full-body shimmy that had her hips and belly rubbing against the painful length of his arousal, more than his hands caught fire.

  Grunting, Max pressed a knee between her legs and urged them apart. "Don't worry," he growled, gripping both her wrists in one of his big hands and sliding the other down to the button on her jeans. "At the rate we're going, next time is going to be about four and a half minutes from now."

  She giggled and reached up to nip his chin. "What's the rush, sweetheart? I'm not going anywhere. Take your time."