by Diana Seere
Nothing more than being played by a woman with no morals.
The kind of woman his late mother had always warned him about.
And if the child was his, somehow that was worse. Worse than being a fuckstick for a whore. He flinched at the word, hating to hold it in his mind with an image of Kara. In the end, he couldn’t, his hands raking through his hair, his fists pounding on his thighs as emotion took over, every thought turning to shredded confetti in a wind tunnel.
The mystery woman he had obsessed over for years had deprived him of his right to nurture and raise and love his own progeny. His heir.
His son.
James Woodside Jablonski was his name.
Woodside. That was the name of the estate where the party three years ago had been held. Could it mean he really was the baby’s father? Hope blossomed inside, growing, taking over.
Or did it mean she’d slept with more than one man that night?
Damn it. Anger filled his deflated soul.
Tapping his phone, he reached Don, his associate. “I need a family law lawyer. The best.”
“Yes, sir. The one Mrs. Jensen retained?”
The mention of his mother’s name jarred him. “Yes. Whatever,” he snapped. “I need paternity testing and custody papers by sunlight.”
“Indeed, sir. I’ll start the process immediately. He has experience with paternity testing and the family.”
“He… what?”
Don went silent, clearly debating what to say. “Your mother experienced this with one of your brothers.”
Surprise turned to fury, a rippling grief that choked him. With Mother dead, he couldn’t ask. And time was of the essence, so trying to track down his brothers would be futile. Lars practically flung the phone out the window, so angered, his stomach sour, neck tight.
Swirling thoughts made him numb, then hot, then boiling, then ice as his animal mind fought to take over. Vision sharpened. Scents overpowered him. The leather seat felt like dead prey, limp and cool, mocking him.
Like Kara.
Played for a fool, he knew his reaction was over the top, yet he felt the exaggeration as it oozed over the surface of his heart. She had lied about one of the most primitive and intense instincts.
Breeding.
He’s not yours, she had said, the words a weapon. Not truth. Not necessarily, at least. Paternity testing would be required, a formality in a lab.
Kara would have no choice.
Deprived of the truth, and slapped in the face with it now after years of deception, he felt rocked into combat mode, on edge, fighting for his life.
Fighting for his heart.
He released his shoulders and let the shift take him, needing the inevitable pain that came with bones that elongated and crackled, with tendons accustomed to drumsticks that turned into paws. His jaw ached as it stretched, sharp teeth narrowing and growing, the pressure of his nose as it widened and went wet a familiar, orderly sensation. Pushing against the back of the driver’s seat, he felt too caged by the limo.
Fumbling for the window switch, barely able to think in human mode, he found himself stymied by his driver, who merely said, “Two blocks, sir. Two blocks to safety.”
The low purr turned into a roar of outrage, a jaw-popping movement that made him feel worse and better. Lars’ long claws scraped against the door, his tiger face clear in the limo’s rearview mirror. A blank expression greeted him.
No emotion.
By the time he leapt from the car into a wooded area and began to sprint, dodging trees as his paws dug into the decayed leaves and topsoil, his feet enjoying the swift rise and fall of his growing gait, he only knew the sheer freedom of the loping run that took him away from Kara’s scent.
And toward the one place in Boston where he knew he would be safe.
Chapter 8
Kara had been unable to enter her apartment as a tiger, so she’d hidden in an alley and calmed down before she shifted back into her human form. Then she’d had to dig through her ripped clothes for her phone.
“Hi, it’s Kara,” she said when Nana answered. “Code orange.”
Nana didn’t waste time. “Where?”
“Behind the dumpster in the alley, west of the front door.”
“Right downstairs?”
“Yes.”
Nana hung up without another word, and in less time than Kara thought possible for the elderly woman, there she was with a change of clothes.
Kara grabbed them, pulled on the sweatpants and T-shirt, then threw her arms around her rescuer for a thankful squeeze.
Nana held up her arm to reveal a pair of flip-flops dangling from her fingers. “In case you can’t find those heels.”
Kara hugged her again. “Nana, you’re a miracle. You think of everything.” Hopping on one foot, she put on the sandals and took Nana’s arm as they returned up to the apartment.
“I can smell him on you,” Nana said cheerfully. “I hope you had a good time.”
“You found me naked in an alley. You think I had a good time?”
Nana stopped just inside the apartment and gave her a chiding look. “Could be. Cats often enjoy themselves in a dark alley.”
Kara closed her eyes, the flush of anger draining out of her, leaving only pain. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m so, so grateful you were here to help me.”
“It’s a good thing you made it so close to home before shifting,” Nana said. “I wouldn’t have been able to leave Jamie otherwise. He would’ve had to come with me, and you know how he hates having his sleep interrupted.”
Kara looked around the apartment for any sign of invasion or disturbance. “Did anyone come by tonight?”
“Who’s going to come by?”
Kara dead bolted and chained the door. “Anybody call?”
“Nobody. It’s been very quiet. Except for that baby, of course. He yowled like crazy when I tried to trim those claws of his.”
“Claws?” Kara grabbed Nana by the shoulders. “Did he…” At two, Jamie was overdue for a complete shift into his tiger form. If she’d had more money, she could’ve consulted a shifter doctor, but such professionals were rare, if she even knew where to find one, and she would need thousands of dollars just for the consultation.
“No, sorry, dear, I was just being colorful. His toenails had gotten deadly. But I took care of them.”
Kara let out her breath. So much to worry about, so much to plan, so much to do. They had to get out of the city, out of the state. Start over. “Nana, we have to change our names. Do you know anybody who can help us do that?”
“Kind of late for that, isn’t it sweetheart?”
Kara combed her fingers through her hair, as tangled as it usually was after a shift. “If only I’d done it two years ago. I just didn’t think I’d ever see him again, or that he’d care…”
“He found out about Jamie, did he?” Nana asked.
“He’s horrible and thinks I want his money, and I never want to see him again.”
Nana made a noncommittal grunt.
Kara went on. “He accused me of being a slut who got pregnant on purpose, maybe not even with him!”
“I imagine he was quite upset to learn there was a child,” Nana said.
As hard as she tried, Kara couldn’t maintain her rage. Instead, she felt tears start to burn in her eyes. She buried her face in her hands. “He hates me.”
“I doubt that, sweetheart.”
“I heard the Beat and thought he was the One, and now he hates me.”
“If he’s the One, he certainly doesn’t hate you,” Nana said.
“He’s not the One.”
“That’s a shame,” Nana said. “I made cookies while you were out. Chocolate chip. How about we—”
“First thing in the morning we have to find somebody who can help get us fake IDs,” Kara said.
“You’re just going to run away?”
“You know the Jensens! How do you think he found out a
bout Jamie so fast? They have people who can do anything.”
“I always thought that maybe you didn’t change your name because you were kind of hoping he would find you,” Nana said.
“What?”
“Poor man wouldn’t have had a chance if you’d really tried to hide from him,” Nana said. “You wanted to be sporting.”
“No, that’s not—”
“And you must’ve liked him an awful lot to have sex with him that night. And then to have his baby.”
“Nana! You’re suggesting I wanted all of this to happen?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
Kara gaped at her. “No. It’s not true.”
Was it?
Muttering to herself that it was impossible, she checked on Jamie and then went to the bathroom to clear her head, turning on the shower as an afterthought. The aches from the shift were still with her, her body tasted like him, and her thoughts were fuzzy with cat brain. Not to mention sex brain.
Could she have really wanted him to find her?
As she lathered up the soap and arched under the hot spray, she imagined his face the night they’d met. In spite of herself, she smiled. If he’d been the man she’d hoped he was, then yes, she’d wanted him to find her. If he’d wanted to find her again, she wanted him to have a chance. Sporting, as Nana had said.
How hard could he have searched if he’d only run into her accidentally—now when he was here on business? Not very hard.
Her smile vanished. He hadn’t really cared enough to find her.
What should her new name be? She ran through a list in her mind but was miserable with all of them. When she got out of the shower, she dressed in black leggings and a black sweater, feeling as grim and hopeless as she ever had.
She’d never been in such terrible danger of losing Jamie. The stress, the worry, the fear of Lars taking him from her would kill her if it went on. How could she live day after day, year after year under such a threat?
She returned to Jamie’s crib and watched him sleep. Curled up on one side, he clutched a stuffed baby tiger, a gift Kara had bought the day she’d found out she was pregnant.
Life on the run wasn’t possible. It would be bad for her, but more importantly, it would be bad for Jamie.
The only thing to do was stand and fight.
“Fight her, damn it!” Lars yelled into the phone as he finished dressing in one of the Novo Club rooms, pants on and unfastened, his clean shirts hanging on a small butler serving caddy as he paced nervously around the stone-walled room, fuming. His shift last night had been a grave error. The news channels were filled with lurid tales of a wild tiger on Newbury Street, terrorizing the streets of Boston. Morgan had gracefully brought a small television into his quarters so he could monitor the morning news situation.
But none of that mattered. His lawyer was on the phone, and Lars was determined.
“Sir, we can’t draw up custody papers so quickly. We’ll need until midafternoon, possibly tomorrow morning, to complete the process, and even that would be an expedited process.”
“I don’t want to hear the word ‘can’t.’”
“You don’t know that the child is yours.”
“Then do whatever legal maneuvers we need to perform to find out! I want an answer within twenty-four hours.” Lars threw his phone across the room, the shatter of glass against stone satisfying for about two seconds. He was close to punching the wall, his blood still settling back into his human form, his legs so full of impulse he began jumping in place to push out energy.
A pull-up bar attached to the wall provided some relief as he grabbed it. Five chin-ups in, he felt his shoulder blades turn from rock to molten lava, the fury bleeding out his pores as he exerted himself. Ten pull-ups and his triceps groaned, but he ignored them.
As long as the thought of her betrayal could be shoved aside by any means necessary—including destroying his arms—Lars would take it.
Why? Why, why, why hadn’t she told him about the baby? Was the little boy his? Did he really have a son—and with his mystery woman? Reeling at the thought, he punished himself, the pull-ups harder to execute, the challenge welcomed by his frantic mind. Anything to focus on.
Anything.
When he could pull his chin to the bar no longer, he dropped to the floor, agile and prowling, grabbing a T-shirt and throwing it on, fastening his pants as an afterthought. The old guard in the shifter world demanded a dress code for the Novo Club, but not in the fitness center. He needed to lift.
He needed to make his blood burn with anything but the thought of her touch.
As Lars padded out into the hallway, running an angry, throbbing hand through his thick hair, Morgan appeared, a shadow on wheels.
“New telephone, sir?”
“Yes. And a drum set.”
A discreet nod. That was all it took. Morgan knew.
The club’s fitness center was small but enough. Free weights, a few machines, a small saltwater pool, and a bear.
Yes, a bear.
“Lars!” Derry boomed, giving him a smile. The man held a three-hundred-pound barbell in one hand. “I take it you’re here to spot me?”
“Shove your jovial bullshit up your ass, Derry. Give me that.”
“Ah, and a fine day to you too, sir.” Derry handed over the barbell as if it were a broom. Lars grunted with the effort of the exchange, propelled by the blinding horror of what Kara had done to him, sorrow for lost time swapping quickly with outrage.
“I may have a child!” he blurted out. “A fucking child. One I’ve been kept from. Either I’ve been fooled, or I’ve been suckered.”
“Lars, you may be many things, but a sucker and a fool aren’t two of them.”
Lars grabbed a second barbell, adjusted the weights accordingly, and began lifting, one after the other, rotating his elbows and wrists in a pattern that soon soothed him as much as it exhausted him. He needed to drive her out of his blood.
No matter how many rhythms he tried, she would not leave.
The Beat remained.
Changing positions, he sat on a lifting bench and reclined, balancing the barbells above him, working his lats and pecs. Derry stared at him, drinking a sports drink, the bright label out of place in this fitness center, itself paradoxical in the cavernous, nineteenth-century haven that shifters two generations ago had built as a safe house.
“Fucking beat,” Lars muttered.
“I’m beat too. Bored as well. Jessica and her sister are upstairs with Molly picking out clothing for some charity event.”
Lars remembered his manners. Barely. “How”—grunt—“goes your wedding planning?”
“Wedding planning? I’m a prop in my own wedding, I assure you. If they could miniaturize me and turn me into a cake topper, they would.” Derry smiled to himself, then frowned. “Me, about to be married. Can you believe it?”
“Me, a father. Can you believe it?” Lars mimicked.
“Are you certain? That the baby is yours?”
“No.”
“Then why torture yourself until you know?”
The drumbeat wouldn’t stop. Even as Kara had fled the limo last night, it had roared on. Even as he’d shifted and wandered the streets in tiger form, it had been a sonorous companion, his heartbeat amplified to something godlike.
“Because I know,” Lars confessed, racking the barbells, slamming the metal around as if it were a pillow. He paced, heedless of his formal dress pants, sweat soaking his shirt. He was a mess. He knew it.
“How?”
If he said it, Derry would take him for a fool. The Beat was old legend, the stuff of fairies and wood nymphs. No one believed that shit these days, right?
Might as well admit to being anally probed by aliens in the desert.
“I just… The dates line up.”
Derry gave him a stern look, sniffing elegantly. “You’re a terrible liar, Lars. Always have been. Even when we were kids.”
B
uh-BOOM! Buh-BOOM!
The Beat grew louder within, making him slide against the wall, down on his ass, knees up, elbows resting on them as he ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “Jesus, Derry, I’m going crazy. I need a drum set. I need to bang on something.”
“How about a lovely filly from the Plat? I’m sure you could bang on—”
“I can’t stop this fucking beat.” Allowing himself to just breathe, giving in to the pain of what Kara had done, he felt his heart melt as the beat continued.
“Beat?” Lars expected mirth in his tone, but his friend just stared at him.
“I know. I’m crazy, right? But I felt it with her three years ago. I had no idea what it was, but—”
A beefy hand the size of a dinner plate covered his shoulder. “I do understand. Every pounding revelation of it.” Kind blue eyes, a deeper shade of blue than Lars’ own, met his. “Why do you think I’m marrying Jessica?”
“I didn’t realize,” Lars said softly. “It’s hard enough to believe, but… with a human?”
“Don’t look at me like that! Gavin has it with Lilah too.”
“I’m just… wow.” Lars let his head sink down, resting his forehead on his knees. “I thought it was only a shifter legend. That only two shifters could feel it.”
Derry shrugged. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Isn’t everything?”
Derry’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, bushy eyebrows flying up in surprise. Turning his screen toward Lars, he said, “Giant tiger loose on Newbury Street? Seriously, Lars?”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t help it.” Lars sighed. “My father is going to kill me.”
“Expect a reprimand from Asher, too. He’s declared himself head of the shifter world these days.” Derry pressed the play button on a video.
Our news team caught footage of the Siberian tiger, shown here as it sprints across traffic, headed for Boston common. Animal control specialists say the tiger found its way to the Charles River and disappeared. Exotic animal ownership has led to…
“Exotic animal, eh? When bear shifters get spotted in cities, we’re usually found near dumpsters, so they call us trash eaters, starvation pushing us into the cities.” Derry’s face made it clear he’d prefer to be called an exotic animal.