Another car drove past, slowing dramatically until it moved past the vista. Ana closed her hands around his wrists, holding his hands where they cupped her head, and lifted her gaze to his—luminescent brown eyes that caught him as securely as the warmth of her fingers. “But how do you know this is what you want?”
He instantly sensed this wasn’t about fishing for compliments. He hunted for truth.
“For sure?” he said. “You don’t. You just believe. You feel, and you follow it. The rest either comes or it doesn’t.” He slid one hand around to the back of her neck and lifted slightly, changing her balance just enough so she stepped forward, bringing them together in the most unmistakable way. His other hand slid down to the small of her back, absorbing every inch of the curves along the way and stopping just above the round swell of her bottom.
No way would she miss all the evidence of his response to her, from the tension in his body to the distinct erection so uncomfortably trapped by his jeans.
She drew a sharp breath, and her hands tightened on his arms—at least until he laughed, just a short huff of amusement. “Breathe,” he advised her, and brushed his cheek against hers. “If you faint, I’ll never figure this out.”
At that, she stepped back, brushing her hand over the pocket he’d decided held her phone. “Figure what out?”
“Whether you want me, too,” he said as matter-of-factly as anyone could. “Because I don’t want yes. I want hell, yes.”
Finally, she laughed. “Either way, we’re not getting back on that motorcycle until you’re a little more relaxed, are we?”
“No,” he said, and grinned. “We certainly are not.”
She scraped windblown hair from her face. “You don’t doubt yourself much, do you?”
He shrugged, his peripheral vision catching yet another car on approach. “All the time,” he told her. “But I don’t fear the doubt.”
Failure was another story. He could sell her nightmares about failure.
“You know,” she said, “you’re right. You knew it, didn’t you? Meeting. Liking. Wanting more. Yes, I’d love to go on a hike with you while I’m here. Yes, I feel...and I want to follow it.”
This grin came along with a slow burn of warmth—a spot inside himself that made itself quiet long enough for him to feel the simple pleasure of the moment.
But damn, it didn’t do a thing for his ability to hop back on that bike.
The approaching car slowed enough so he thought it might stop, then moved on. Gawkers, he decided, fully aware of the moment they’d interrupted.
At least, he thought it right up until he felt the unmistakable taint of a Core working. He turned sharply from Ana, eyes narrowing, body readying—for attack, for defense, for the challenge of identifying the working just as quickly as he could even if he had very little means to protect from it. His shields were only moderate and, without laboratory conditions and warding to enhance them, of only minimal use against a direct working.
Ana whirled to follow his attention, cuing from his body language—shrinking back, but also readying herself—a shift of balance, a grab for the jacket pocket where he’d be damned if she hadn’t probably stashed that pepper spray. “What—?”
Late model midsize SUV, a dark metallic green. Driver, passenger and enough tint to the windows so he couldn’t say anything else of them.
And then it was gone, and the car accelerated away just as any other sightseer might have done.
“Ian?”
He tried to stand down; he tried to convince himself he hadn’t felt the working—a thing that had passed too quickly to identify it as anything other than a detection amulet. His fingers drummed a pattern against the side of his leg. He hadn’t quite found the right words, his mind too full of their vulnerable position here on the mountainside, the ramifications of Core presence, the phone calls he should be making—when she rested a hand on his arm.
Silence.
He turned to her, startled by it—not quite able to respond to it.
“Are you all right?” Nothing uncertain in those brown eyes now, just concern, her arching eyebrows raised in question.
“I’m—” he said, and shook his head. “It’s nothing.” And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just as simple as sightseeing posse members with an alert working—one that would warn against Sentinel presence simply because some Core members were no more prepared to deal with Sentinels than a light-blood support tech wanted to deal directly with Core.
No wonder they had sped away, if that had been the case.
“Nothing,” he told her again. “And I’ve got an idea. You, me, takeout of your choice and a movie at your place tonight.” Not that he wouldn’t gladly spend the whole day with her, hitting the Railyard artisans or Old Town or even the O’Keeffe museum—but he had the sudden impulse to check in with the lab and see if they’d made any progress without him, and to check in on Fernie, who in spite of her cheerful send-off, hadn’t seemed quite herself today.
“Me, you, takeout and a movie at my place,” she agreed. “And then... I guess we see.”
Dammit. It was going to take forever before he could get on that motorcycle again.
Chapter 3
Ana closed the door behind Ian Scott and leaned against it with a sigh, still fully feeling the movement of his mouth over hers and the way it woke everything inside her. Pounding heart, warmth pooling in intimate places, the frisson of those faintly pointed canine teeth on her skin, her breath coming just a little bit fast.
Until reality hit, a blow that momentarily took her breath away altogether.
She wasn’t here to feel. She was here to plant two amulets and gather information. Tonight, when he came back with takeout and his unsuspecting, habitually wry hint of a smile.
He is snow leopard, Ana Dikau. He is beast.
She slipped a hand into her front pocket, running her fingers over the tiny listening amulet she hadn’t yet planted.
Because I’m doing well so far. Because I don’t want to risk blowing the operation if he finds it. Because he’s more sensitive to such things than his dossier indicated he would be. The amulet-tainted car along the overlook road had told her that much.
It was all true. But she didn’t know if such reasons would convince Hollender Lerche, a man with little patience for underperformance. And she did know that this was her one and only chance to prove herself to the organization that had never quite found her of value. Certainly never treated her as though she was of value.
If she could just do this one thing for them...
“Ana.”
She jerked her hand out of her pocket with a guilty start. “Mr. Lerche! What are you doing here? Ian might have come inside—”
He emerged not from the great room of this modest vacation rental, but from her bedroom—dressed in his usual suit, heavy silver flashing at his ear and wrist and fingers, his skin a darker shade than hers and his features heavier. She flushed, a furious heat on her cheeks, but the look on his face silenced her, and then so did his words. “Surely not into the bedroom, Ana. Woo him, dearest. Don’t fuck him.”
She knew better than to respond. He didn’t want her; he wanted only to claim and control her. To distress her, because it made him feel more than he was.
The problem was, knowing those things didn’t change his status with regard to hers—and it didn’t change his effect on her. The dread in her stomach, cold and hard and a little bit sick. The way she felt smaller and weaker. And the way just once, she wanted to feel as though she belonged in this society to which she’d been born.
Maybe if she tried harder. Maybe if she was stronger. Maybe if she didn’t let her sentimental tendencies get in the way, as they always had. Then again, few women rose in the ranks, preferring the anonymity and protection of an early marriage. No man in the A
trum Core would touch another’s spouse.
Now and then it occurred to Ana that it should be enough that a woman simply didn’t want to be touched. But experience proved otherwise.
Certainly Hollender Lerche felt free enough to touch her—as he did now, grasping her jaw in a hard grip and then tightening his blunt fingers even further, bringing a sting of involuntary tears to Ana’s eyes. “We need to talk, Ana.”
“He’ll be back in this evening for dinner.” Desperate words, barely intelligible. And that’s all she said, because suggesting that he not leave a mark would only invite him to hurt her in ways that wouldn’t.
His grip didn’t ease. “I’m not concerned about an hour from now. I’m concerned about now. And why you haven’t activated the second amulet. The one that should be planted on your friend Ian Scott.”
“How—” But Ana didn’t finish the question. She squeezed her eyes closed in understanding. “The car. The working Ian felt. That was someone checking up on me?”
“An entirely necessary precaution, it would seem,” he said, and gave her a little shake before releasing her with a disdainful flick of his fingers. He turned away, withdrawing a folded handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his fingers.
“But he’s an AmTech. He felt it. He knows we’re here—”
“That was always a risk.” Lerche snapped the words. The modicum of security she’d gained at his distance evaporated. “Entirely on your shoulders, Ana dear. If you were trustworthy, we wouldn’t have risked exposure. As it is, it seems we had good reason.”
“I just need a little more time!” she cried, trying and failing to soften the resentment threading her plea. She scrambled to find the right words, hoping to distract him. “He’s more sensitive about amulets than we thought—and besides, if I plant it on the wrong item of clothing, the amulet could sit in a closet for days.”
“You’re cozy enough with him,” Lerche said, tucking the handkerchief away and squaring the lapels of his suit. “Carry the activated amulet on your person until you can make that decision.”
But I—
This time she managed to keep the words to herself—a protest at her loss of privacy would not be well received. It might even make him realize that such concern had caused her to delay in the first place.
She’d wanted to talk to Ian Scott without being overheard. She’d wanted to connect with him her own way.
Although she’d never expected to connect with him at all. Or to relax behind him on the motorcycle, clasping his hips as if such closeness was a familiar thing, or to respond so strongly to his presence.
To his touch.
Snow leopard.
Surely she should have been frightened. More than just nervous and unfamiliar, but downright terrified of what he was and of what she’d seen him do.
Snow leopard.
And yet he’d been gentle with her. He’d been respectful. He’d been careful. And he’d allowed every decision to be hers.
Not that she’d truly had a choice. The Core demanded of her to do this thing—to get close to him, to plant spy amulets on him, to learn of him what she could.
You could have said no. In her heart, she knew that. No, don’t kiss me. No, don’t touch me that way.
If she’d wanted.
Lerche’s voice was a silky thing, all the more dangerous for it. “What are you thinking, my little Ana?”
“About the best way to do what you’ve asked.” As if there was any other answer.
His hand flashed out to pat her cheek—nigh on close to a slap, and enough to rock her head, jarring her vision. “You betray yourself, Ana. I haven’t asked you to do anything. I’ve told you what you’ll do.”
She covered her burning cheek. “Of course,” she said, and hated that her voice wasn’t quite steady. “I misspoke.”
He eyed her coldly enough so she knew she wouldn’t be forgiven that easily. “It’s fortunate for you that we don’t have the time to bring someone else up to speed on this operation. See that you do better this evening. Wear the amulet yourself until you have the opportunity to plant it to our advantage.”
“Yes,” she said, forcing herself to drop her hand and stand straight but not facing him directly. Not a hint of confrontational body language. “Of course I will.”
He smiled in tight satisfaction. The kind of smile that said he knew he was better than she was, that he was entitled to more respect than she was, that he was in control of his own destiny in ways she would never be. “I’ll be watching.”
Only after he’d gone did she allow herself to explore her hot cheek and tender jaw, and wonder whether he’d gone so far that bruises would bloom beyond what she could hide with casual makeup.
First step, an ice pack. She dumped ice into a zipper storage bag and wrapped it in a thin towel, curling up on the couch while she did the things that would calm her—thinking only of the cool relief of the ice and soft cushions of the couch and the quiet of this place. Reminding herself what the Sentinels were and why she did this—and of how much of that Sentinel other she could see in Ian at any given time.
Of how easily he’d killed a man the week before.
But somehow, as she dozed off, her thoughts wandered back to the forest that week earlier when Ian had heard the hiker’s peril. The way he’d bounded forward without hesitation. The way he’d flowed from one form to another, surrounded by a cloud of stunningly beautiful energies. How he’d done it for a stranger—and what would he do for one of his own?
What would it be like to be with someone who cared that much?
She didn’t heed Lerche’s voice in her head, so scornful that she’d already forgotten Ian’s true reasons for what hadn’t been a rescue at all—the excuse to turn loose his beast, a thing so fearsome that it had turned on the man he should have been saving.
She thought instead of being allowed choices, and of respect, and of how deeply he’d responded to her without the hint of a harsh touch.
She didn’t mean to fall so completely asleep with Ian on her thoughts, but she did. She woke an hour later with her jaw stiff and her body humming in memory of gentle hands and skillful mouth. She froze, making sure of herself—am I still alone?
Silence. A clock ticking. A brief flurry of birds outside.
No, Lerche hadn’t returned. Nor had anyone else made themselves at home here. Slowly, she unwound from her dreams, from the sensations.
From the fantasy of being loved.
And then she drew herself up and headed to the kitchen, dumping the bag of melted ice in the sink and heading to the bathroom to freshen up. Her cheek was no longer red, and she thought it wouldn’t bruise at all. Her jaw was a different story—pale impressions from Lerche’s fingers with the bruising coming up between them.
She pulled out her makeup bag.
* * *
Ana had an hour before Ian arrived. It was long enough to ply her skills with powder and brush, and to dim the bright reflected sunshine of a late afternoon in the fall—angling the blinds, drawing the shades. She set the table so the remaining light would fall on his face and not hers, placing a half-full glass of iced tea as a casual claim to the correct seat.
She might not have worried at all. When she opened the door to him, take-out bags in hand, she found an entirely different man than the one with whom she’d spent the morning. This one looked worn and pale and pained, and just a little bit baffled. She instantly forgot her concerns about hiding her bruises. She even forgot her mixed feelings about putting herself in the hands of a Sentinel for the evening—one who had been perfectly appropriate during their very public afternoon ride, but who might now reveal another side of himself.
“Ian!” she said. “You look—” and then stopped herself. She’d learned that mentioning someone else’s condition tended to draw scrutiny to herself
, and she didn’t want that.
Besides, “You look terrible” didn’t seem like a great opening for the evening.
But Ian just laughed, low as it was. “I do look terrible,” he said. “I’m not one for headaches, but—” He shook his head, most gingerly.
She relieved him of the sandwiches. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can do lunch tomorrow, if you’d like. Or dinner tomorrow evening.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Distracted as he was, his gaze still pinned her—an intense stare peering out from beneath a civilized veneer. “I can forget about the headache if you can.”
She gestured him into the little rental house. “I’ll draw the blinds—maybe we can find an old movie.”
“Bogart?” Ian said, head tipped with interest. Even not at the top of his game, he exuded intelligent energy and restlessness—at least until he tripped over the threshold as he entered the house. “Whoa,” he said. “Smooth.”
“You’re sure—”
“I’m sure,” he told her. “Let’s eat that food while it’s fresh.”
She took the bag to the table, pulling out cartons and filling the room with the yeasty scent of fresh bread and savory herbals. He wandered in after her as she set ice water before his place and closed the blinds a bit more, feeling more secure about her ability to hide the bruises as they settled in for the meal, full of the small talk of such moments. Plain old normal small talk from a man who wasn’t quite normal at all, while Ana thought about the amulet in her pocket. The one she’d been commanded to invoke.
Ian clearly wasn’t quite focused. He fumbled his fork in the salad, nearly knocked over the salad dressing, and seemed to find his thick, layered deli sandwich as much by feel as by sight.
“Have you considered seeing a doctor?” Only in retrospect did she realize that of course he wouldn’t, because Sentinels never did go to mundane doctors—not the strong-blooded Sentinels, at any rate. They wouldn’t be able to hide enough of their true nature.
“If things don’t get better.” Ian ran a thumb up and down the ice water as if, even now, he couldn’t find a way to be still. “I don’t get sick often. I’m probably not much of a patient.”
Sentinels: Leopard Enchanted Page 4