by Nalini Singh
Finding strength in the affection, she told him the rest. “The only reason anyone knew my first name was that it was stitched into my pajamas.” Her last name, Rosario, had apparently been the name of the street where she’d been found. “That’s the only other piece of information I have.”
“Your adoptive parents might—”
“I was raised in care.” Kirby didn’t like to think of the seventeen long, agonizingly lonely years she’d spent in the system, but if the truth to her present lay in her past, then she had to find the will. “I had terrible, screaming nightmares as a child.” A sympathetic social worker had given her that information after she grew old enough to wonder why she didn’t have a family when other infants and toddlers were quickly adopted.
“I kept being chosen for adoption, then returned.” Like a broken machine being sent back to the warehouse for a refund. “They finally stopped trying to place me when I was six and I spent three years in state institutions for troubled children before the nightmares faded”—as far as the world was concerned at least—“and I was cleared for the foster care system.”
Bastien’s claws threatened to release. He wanted to break something, shred those who had wounded his mate when she’d been a small, vulnerable cub unable to fight for herself.
“I remember, you know,” she said quietly, her eyes on the ground. “Being taken by people who said they wanted me, feeling happy and hopeful, and then being brought back because I wasn’t good enough.”
“Bastards.” So angry he was trembling, he closed his hand around the side of her neck and pressed his lips to her temple.
Kirby lifted her hand to his hair, petting him in gentle strokes. “It wasn’t so bad, being in care. I wasn’t abused or anything.”
Bastien’s leopard growled within at that unwitting indictment on her childhood. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” He pressed his forehead to hers, his rage cut with violent pride.
“No, I’m a coward.” Breaking away in a jerking movement, she paced to the end of the balcony and back. “I tell myself I’m still angry at my parents for leaving me, that that’s why I’ve never requested my records. The truth is, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes shone wet, her shoulders knotted. “Because if I read those records, then I can’t avoid the truth any longer, can’t pretend that maybe I’m not alone, that one day someone will come for me.” She dashed away her tears. “I’m twenty-four years old and I’m still hoping. How stupid is that?”
“You don’t get to do that.” Bastien pulled her stiff body into his arms, his fury at what had been done to her a vicious storm within. “You don’t get to hurt yourself, and you never ever get to call yourself stupid.”
She thumped fisted hands against his side. “Why? Who’re you to give me that order?”
Bastien didn’t even think about it—his mate was hurting and needed reassurance. “I’m yours,” he said bluntly, wrapping his hand around her ponytail and tugging back her head so he could look into those beautiful, pain-filled hazel eyes. “You are not alone. Do you understand?” There was nothing in his life more certain than what he felt for her, and it was no longer simply about the primal pull of the mating bond. It was about Kirby. Sweet, strong, sometimes snarly Kirby. “I will always be here for you.”
Her breathing erratic, Kirby didn’t respond to his declaration. Instead, she tugged her hair free and said, “I’ll e-mail the records request today.” She refused to meet his gaze, her own obstinately on the glittering water in the distance. “It’ll probably take a few days for the files to come in.”
Bastien gritted his teeth to hold back the leopard’s anger as she surreptitiously wiped away the tracks her tears had left on her face. It wasn’t Kirby’s fault she didn’t believe him—no doubt all those prospective adoptive parents had promised her forever, too. But he wasn’t his mother’s most stubborn boy for nothing.
Kirby would soon discover that when Bastien Michael Smith made a promise, he kept it.
FEELING bruised on the inside, Kirby didn’t argue against Bastien’s nudge back into the warmth of the apartment, but when he made her a cup of sweet tea and ordered she drink it, she put her hands on her hips. “Stop growling at me!” She might be shaky, horribly tempted to believe in his every promise, but she was not and never would be, a pushover.
“I am not growling at you,” he growled, thumping down the mug of tea on the counter.
Of course the hot liquid splashed all over his hand. Grabbing his wrist when he hissed and pulled back, she stuck it under the cold water tap. “Don’t move,” she snapped when he went to pull it away, shooting him a glare as he growled again, the sound vibrating against her skin. “You’re worse than my students.”
No warning, no nothing, he just leaned down and nipped the tip of her ear sharply with his teeth. “Bastien!” Jumping, she let go of his wrist long enough for him to wrap his arm around her, trapping her between his weight and the sink.
Her entire body sang at the proximity of his, hard and hot and deliciously overwhelming against her back, but her worry about him kept her focused. Taking his wrist again, she put it under the tap. “It’s a bit red.”
He nuzzled at her, licked out at her skin.
Kirby couldn’t control her shiver. “Cat.”
A smile against her skin. “I like the taste of you.” Another lick, his free hand braced against the sink to block any escape.
Kirby didn’t want to escape this muscled masculine trap. “So,” she said, trying to keep her brain in gear, “I have some changeling blood—”
“No, it’s more than that.” He kissed her nape, making her toes curl, and she thought that, perhaps, this gorgeous man was attempting to distract her from the pain of the childhood loss that had so badly scarred her.
Eyes burning, she turned and pressed her lips to his jaw.
Rubbing his cheek against hers, he continued to speak. “Changeling genes are dominant, at least when it comes to shifting. A full or half-changeling child always shifts—and your scent tells me you fall into that category. Even if you’re latent, you should know what you are.”
“So I’m some kind of freak,” Kirby muttered. “Great.”
Bastien’s snarl raised every hair on her body. “What did I tell you about hurting yourself?” With that furious comment in a voice that barely sounded human, he broke her hold, turned off the tap, and spun her to face him.
Kirby stood her ground, recognizing the predator in him, but dead certain he would never hurt her. That certainty held even when he placed his hands on her hips, his claws slicing out to lie against the fabric of her coat.
“You’re not a freak. You’re Kirby.” His tone dared her to disagree.
Skin uncomfortably aflame all at once, she dropped her hands to the belt of her coat and undid it, shrugging off the thick fabric to throw it aside. Bastien’s hands went right back to where they’d been, strong and dangerous over denim and cotton.
“Sexy, smart, beautiful Kirby.” It was a purr of sound.
And then he kissed her.
One hand unraveling her ponytail, the other sliding under her shirt to lie on the curve of her waist, his skin rougher than her own, and his mouth enslaving hers.
She felt his claws, but he didn’t so much as scratch her as he tasted her like she was his favorite dessert. With tiny bites and long, slow licks that demanded she join in. When she did, stroking her tongue against his, he purred, the vibration shivering through her entire body to make her wonder what it would be like if they were both naked.
“Bastien.” Her nipples tight little points, she gripped his shoulders, exquisitely aware of him shifting one big hand to her butt to help her attain the right angle to rub against the rigid temptation of his cock, her claws kneading his—
Shoving away with a tiny scream, she stared at her hands. “Oh God.” The claws retracted almost before she was sure she’d seen them. “I—”
Bastien put his hands on either side of Kirby’s body, o
nce more trapping her against the counter and keeping her within touching distance. “Yes,” he said. “You just semi-shifted.” And, because he hated to see her so lost, so scared, he nipped her ear again. Hard enough to sting.
“Argh!” Gripping his hair, she tugged his face down to her own. “Stop that or I will really bite you.”
There she was, his tough Kirby who’d built a life for herself through sheer grit and determination. “Promise?” His cat batted playfully at her, wanting out of Bastien’s human skin so she could play with him in reality. Soon, he promised the leopard.
“You’re—” Releasing him after a hard, infuriated kiss that made his chest rumble in another purr, she said, “I think I better take leave from work until this is all sorted out.”
Bastien nodded.
“I’m so new I’ll lose my job if I don’t go back within a week.” Her temper faded into a sadness that had him wrapping his arms around her. “I really liked this job.”
Protective as he was, Bastien wanted to fix everything for her, but he knew Kirby wouldn’t thank him for it. “My sister tells me that’s the top kindergarten in the city.” Mercy’s mate had apparently already begun to scope things out, even though it would be six months yet before their babies were even born. “They wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t the best—you’ll find another position when you’re ready.”
A small nod against his chest. “My rent’s paid up for the next two weeks at least.”
That statement, Bastien couldn’t let pass, because as Kirby needed to have pride in her work, he needed to care for her. Shifting so he could look at her face, he said, “You don’t ever have to worry about a place to live.” He’d hidden his intentions at the start so as not to rush her, but after hearing of what she’d gone through as a child, he wanted her to know she was wanted, adored. “Right now, we need to go to the aerie.” The natural surroundings would put her animal more at ease.
Small white teeth sank down into her lower lip. “I hardly know you,” she whispered, but made no move to pull away, instead petting his chest with small, absent strokes, as if to soften the impact of her words.
“Some people”—he closed his hand over hers—“we know in a heartbeat.” Leopard and man both looked into the unusual hazel of her eyes and saw their future. “Others, we’ll never know, even if we speak to them for a thousand years.”
Blinking rapidly, Kirby buried herself against his chest. “I’m so scared, Bastien.” Her voice trembled.
“I’m with you every step of the way, little cat.” He held her close, the side of his face pressed against the softness of her hair. “We’ll do this together.”
CHAPTER 7
Chest tight, Kirby made the records request on their way to her apartment to pick up what she’d need for a few days at the aerie. When Bastien reached across to run his knuckles over her cheek, she leaned into the touch, so painfully happy that he was in her life.
Some people, we know in a heartbeat.
He was right, and despite her fear at the violent depth of their fledgling connection, at how much it would hurt if he changed his mind and rejected her, she wasn’t going to back away. Bastien was too important, too wonderful, and she wanted him to be hers, only hers, the possessive thoughts at once shy and wild.
When he suggested they stop at the fresh goods market on their way out of the city, she gladly fell in with the idea. “I think doing something mundane will be good right about now.”
Forty-five minutes and a quick snack at the attached café later, the wicked cat next to her was coaxing her into surrendering to the lure of a slice of organic carrot cake with cream-cheese icing, when she heard, “Bas!”
Startled, she looked up from the tempting display to see a man with rich brown hair and hazel eyes darker than her own prowling toward them. Despite the difference in coloring, the Smith familial stamp was unmistakable.
“Sage.” Bastien scowled. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Mom messaged, asked if I could grab a few things for her, drop them off on the way home.” Sage’s words may have been for Bastien, but his eyes never moved off Kirby. “I’m the good-looking brother,” he said with a smile so charming, it was adorable. “Sage.”
Kirby liked him at once, comfortable in a way she rarely was with strangers . . . but of course, he was Bastien’s brother, and she trusted Bastien down to the bone. “Kirby.”
“Cake, huh?” Sage rubbed his jaw, blew out a breath. “I’d go for the double chocolate with vanilla frosting myself.”
Throwing an arm around her shoulders, Bastien said, “Stop flirting, you’re terrible at it,” to his brother, but she could tell it was only pretend, the two men obviously friends as well as family.
FIFTEEN minutes after they’d run into Sage, Bastien closed the fresh groceries in the trunk of the car and pointed a finger at his brother. “Don’t tell Mercy, Herb.”
Sage rocked back on his heels, a glint in his eye. “Worried she’ll scare away your girl, Frenchie?”
“I don’t think Kirby’s the scaring-away type, are you, little cat?” Proud of the woman who was his own, he cupped her cheek, ran his thumb over her lower lip.
Coloring, she nonetheless pressed a kiss to his palm. “If I was,” she pointed out, “all your growling would’ve done it already.”
Bastien saw Sage’s eyes go leopard at that instant and knew his brother had realized exactly what was at stake. Not that he wouldn’t tell Mercy and Grey anyway—but he wouldn’t mention it beyond that tight circle. Not yet, not until Bastien was ready. He and his siblings might rag on one another, but they’d never mess with something so important.
Leaning close to Kirby, Sage whispered, “Ask him about the infamous kitten defurring episode.”
“Remind me to strangle you later.” Bastien opened the passenger door for Kirby, saw his brother’s smirk turn into a grin when Kirby waved at him after getting into the car, her eyes sparkling.
“Frenchie, huh?” she said, once they were on their way again, the laughter in her tone welcome.
“I really need to strangle him. Surely, my folks wouldn’t notice one less son.”
Shoulders shaking, Kirby turned in her seat to face him. “You’re close.”
“Yep, all four of us are pretty tight-knit.” Every one of his memories of childhood included one or the other of his siblings. “Not that we didn’t fight like feral wolves sometimes,” he told her. “In one notorious incident, Grey, who was only a tiny cub at the time, got mad at Sage and clamped his teeth on the tip of Sage’s tail.”
Kirby’s smile lit up her whole face. “What happened?”
Wanting to kiss her breathless, he said, “Stubborn bastard refused to let go, despite Mercy and me trying our hardest.” The memory made his leopard huff with laughter. “When Sage tried to shake him off, he just dug his claws into the earth and growled in the back of his throat. We finally had to admit defeat and call in the Power of Mom.”
Kirby’s laughter filled the car. “Tell me more.”
He went to do just that when his phone rang. “Sorry. Probably work.”
To his relief, Kirby didn’t seem to mind the fact that he had to be in contact with the office for most of the trip, her eyes on the scenery. Still, he didn’t like her so quiet, her fingers twined to strained whiteness around one another.
“What music do you like?” he asked between calls.
“Cheery, chirpy pop.”
Wincing, he pulled up a station that delivered exactly that. “You owe me.”
“Come on”—she turned in her seat to face him once more—“it’s not that bad.”
“I’m sorry? I can’t hear you past the sugar blocking my eardrums.”
She mock punched him and his leopard purred. He wanted to luxuriate in her touch, wanted to demand the most intimate, most private skin privileges, but while he delighted in skin-to-skin contact with her, he wouldn’t push her to consummate their relationship. If he woke to see regret in
Kirby’s eyes, it would fucking break him. No, when they took that step, he needed his mate with him all the way, confident and passionate and demanding in her own right.
“It’s not a long walk from here,” he said some time later, parking in a nominated area within the pack’s forested territory. “We have to be careful of the natural vegetation.”
Having been twisting her neck to look every which way as they drove in, Kirby stepped out to spin around happily on the spongy carpet created of fallen leaves and pine needles. “I want to explore everything!”
Her unhidden delight eased any concern he might’ve had about her being comfortable in the rich green wilderness that sang to his changeling soul. Slinging the duffel with her stuff over his shoulder, he clasped her hand in his, eager to have her in his home. “I’ll run back for the groceries.” He couldn’t wait to show her all his favorite spots in the forest, his leopard as excited as a cub.
When a lynx with thick golden-brown fur wandered over just as they were about to reach the aerie, Kirby froze on a wondering gasp. “Is that . . .”
“Not a changeling.” Crouching down, he ran his hand over the creature’s back, its tufted ears standing straight up. “But, he’s a friend of mine.”
Kirby came down beside him, one of her hands braced on his thigh in the sweetest torture. “Will he allow me to pet him?” Wistful need.
“Here.” Taking hold of her hand after she settled on her knees, he held it out to the lynx’s nose. “Don’t feel bad if he decides against you,” Bastien said, wanting her to enjoy her first brush with the area’s natural wildlife. “The damn beast took six months to deign me acceptable.”
Except the lynx took one sniff at Kirby and jumped up to place his front paws on her thighs. “Bastien, oh, he’s beautiful.” Face suffused with joy, Kirby began to stroke the cat.
Bastien considered the intriguing tableau. Regardless of species, none of the wild creatures were this friendly to anyone outside the pack. Of course, Kirby had such neat little claws . . . yeah, they could’ve been of a lynx.