by Nalini Singh
Settling with his back against a tree, legs out in front of him, he watched her pet the utterly lazy, spoilt creature now sprawled in her lap. That lynx was going to follow her around every time she was in the area, he thought with an affectionate grin for his wild counterpart. Bastien would likely find it on the branches outside their aerie, waiting for her.
Well done, cat, he thought a little ruefully, his own leopard yet deprived of her touch.
KIRBY and Bastien finally reached their destination a half hour from that meeting, the lynx having left them ten minutes earlier with an affectionate brush of his body against Kirby’s legs. Now, Kirby watched Bastien climb up to the aerie hidden in the arms of a massive tree, one so big, she couldn’t take it all in.
This world intoxicated her with its magnificence, the way Bastien moved in it, his muscles fluid, a primal song. He’d climbed the tree using his claws, yet had left only faint marks on the trunk that would soon close over, not a single gouge to be seen. Just one more sign that he wasn’t an intruder here, but an accepted part of this incredible ecosystem, one who respected the land that nurtured him.
“Rope ladder coming down!” he called out after disappearing behind the leaves with her duffel.
“Thank—” She screamed as Bastien jumped from his high perch . . . to land with the pouncing grace of the cat he was, his powerful body ending up in a crouch.
“Sorry if I scared you.” A sheepish look. “I forget it looks dangerous.”
“No.” Kirby waved the hand she’d thrown out in a futile attempt to stop him. “I’m used to changelings jumping out of trees,” she said through her still-thumping heart. “Most of them are five years old, and the trees are only a hundred times shorter than this one, but same principle.” In truth, he’d been magnificent, a fact she could appreciate now that she wasn’t swamped in terror.
His smile creased his cheeks, his green eyes backlit with an untamed glow. “A smartass. I like it.” Tugging at her so she fell against his chest, he ran his hands boldly down to her butt, squeezed. “I like this ass even better. Makes me want to bite.”
Kirby’s entire body went molten, but she wasn’t about to let him get away with teasing her so outrageously without repercussions. Hauling him close with one hand on his nape, the other in his hair, she claimed a hot, tangled kiss from this man who made her forget she wasn’t experienced, her actions driven by naked instinct. A second later, she was backed up against the nearest tree trunk, his hands petting and molding her flesh as their mouths engaged in erotic battle.
Moaning, she returned kiss for kiss, touch for touch, delectably conscious of the hard push of his arousal against her abdomen. He was so big, so strong, his touch a drug to her senses. Gasping a breath between kisses, she returned to their private war, hooking her legs around his waist when he hitched her up.
A snarl, his mouth tearing away from her own, though there was no danger that she could see, no reason to stop. The lightning heat of his glare had her narrowing her eyes, her fingertips prickling. “What?”
“What? What?” He closed one clawed hand very carefully around her throat. “I’m trying to be a good guy by not seducing you when you’ve had one hell of a shock, and what do you do but kiss me all sexy and aroused and wet.” Growled-out words. “How the hell am I supposed to keep from devouring you?”
Kirby wanted to pounce on him for that blunt declaration. “I don’t feel vulnerable or taken advantage of,” she assured him, petting his beautiful chest through his T-shirt.
His snarl rumbled against her breasts.
“In fact,” she murmured, looking at him through half-lowered lashes, “why don’t I take advantage of you?” The idea of having his naked body as her personal playground made her breath catch—surely she’d figure things out as she went along, especially since she had a partner who made no bones about wanting her.
“I’ll be gentle.” She didn’t know where this sexual confidence was coming from, but it felt so, so good to play with Bastien. “Promise.” Kissing his throat, she ran her hands over his shoulders.
Mine. It was a feral thought, should’ve scared her. It didn’t. No, it made her want to purr as Bastien had begun to do.
Having already learned it was his weak spot, she continued to kiss his throat, the taste of him her own personal aphrodisiac.
This is how he should react to me, said the awakening wildness within her, possessive and sensual and with no time for the rules of civilized behavior. This is how it should be between us.
“Grr.” Pulling her mouth from his throat, Bastien snapped his teeth at her, making her jump . . . before her nipples went achingly tight, her body honey slick in welcome.
Bastien’s nostrils flared. “No.”
“No?” Muscles clenching around an emptiness she knew only he could fill, Kirby poked him in the chest. “Don’t you try to tell me you know best.”
He leaned in with his hands braced on the trunk on either side of her head, stubborn male will and feline temper. “When you’re bruised and hurt inside, I damn well will.”
She bared her own teeth at him. “Who made that rule?”
“I did.” A nip of her kiss-swollen lower lip.
She growled low in her throat, wanting to claw him. Not to hurt. Never to hurt. Just so he’d know she wasn’t helpless, was a worthy playmate.
Bastien hissed out a breath, his lips curving. “Hello, little cat.”
In front of him, Kirby snatched back the hands she’d had on his chest, staring once more at the curved tips of her claws. The most stunning change though, was one she couldn’t see; her eyes had turned a pale, pale gold with a vivid black pupil.
Tapping a claw, Bastien grinned. “Cute.”
A dangerous pause. “Cute?” Placing one hand back on his chest, she dug those pretty claws in enough that he felt it. “Want to take that back?”
“Hell, no.” Not when it got her claws on him. Not able to resist in spite of his attempt at good behavior, he kissed her again, rocking his painfully aroused body into the inviting softness of hers.
Melting, she rubbed up against him, her claws going up to prick at his shoulders as she kneaded. His cock threatened to explode and embarrass him at that unambiguous sign of welcome. Cupping her jaw, he indulged himself in another deep, raw kiss before putting at least a meter between him and his mate—who’d drawn his blood just enough for it to be foreplay.
Face flushing, she reached down to undo her coat and throw it aside. “I’m all hot,” she said, her breasts pushing against the shirt she had on underneath.
Bastien thought for a second that she intended to win their sensual battle by baring herself to the skin—and yeah, who was he kidding, he’d never last if Kirby pressed her naked curves against him—but then she tugged at her collar, said, “I’m really hot.” Kicking off her shoes, she tore off her socks. “Bastien, why is it so hot?” It was a plea, her eyes flicking from gold to hazel and back again. “I can’t breathe.”
And he realized they’d run out of time.
CHAPTER 8
Thinking back rapidly to what Dorian had told him, he said, “Kirby, look at me,” putting every ounce of his dominance in his voice. No matter the nature of the creature that lived within Kirby, it wasn’t as dominant as Bastien’s leopard. That knowledge was instinctive, a survival mechanism built into every changeling, predatory or not.
Whimpering, Kirby met his gaze, unable to refuse the order. It was why he’d never given her any such order in their time together thus far, and never would in their ordinary life. He didn’t ever want his mate to obey him simply because her animal saw him as the more dominant, would tear himself to shreds before he stole her free will.
Today, however, she was frightened, panicking, the fear a shivering darkness in her eyes; both parts of her nature needed him to take charge. And though he was unprepared for such a violent and sudden shift, having expected to have time to ease her into it with the pack healer’s help, no way in hell was he going to a
llow anything to go wrong.
“Give in,” he ordered, Dorian’s advice about the need for Kirby to trust the trapped creature within resonating in his mind. “Give in¸ Kirby.”
Crying out, Kirby went to her knees, pressing a fisted hand to her abdomen. Her eyes were huge and wet when she looked up. “Bastien, it’s clawing at me!”
She was, he realized, too confused to understand him, her focus shot. Going down in front of her, he put his hands on either side of her head, anchoring her in the instant. “No, it just wants out.” He kept his tone firm, steady. “It isn’t trying to hurt you.”
When her breathing went shallow, perspiration breaking out over her skin in a fine shimmer, he locked his eyes with hers. “Stop fighting, Kirby,” he said, once more using his dominance to force her to concentrate. “Accept your animal. That’s all it wants.”
Her face disappeared under his touch and he felt the plush kiss of fur before she was back, terror in every jagged breath, her eyes cycling between human and cat too hard, too fast. “No, no, something bad . . . something bad is happening!”
Partial shifts could be held on purpose, but it took considerable skill. This was dangerous, parts of her going in and out—because her arm had just done the same thing. “Kirby,” he growled, too afraid for her to temper his voice. “Listen to me. Nothing bad is happening.” It had been a child’s cry that had come out of her mouth, of the cub she’d been when her world went up in flames. “This is a good thing, a beautiful thing.”
Another scream, a trickle of blood from her nose.
No, no, no. Shifting should never be this horrible pain. “You can’t fight it, baby. If you do, you’ll rip yourself apart.” He controlled the urge to yell, conscious that might scare the animal within her, make her devolve further. “Trust in the shift. Let it happen.”
She shook her head, skin clammy and claws digging into his wrists in feral desperation. “I won’t be able to come back.” Piercing terror, her legs shifting in and out to leave her fighting for balance.
“You will.” He steadied her. “You will.”
This time when she cried out, her skin bubbled with pinpricks of blood, as if her body was being turned inside out. Frantic, the human part of him turned to the leopard, found an answer in the animal’s linear thinking. “I’ll shift first,” he said, shaking her wrists enough to capture her attention. “Your cat will follow mine.” It was a gamble, one that relied on the level of her trust in him. “I’m more dominant.”
“Cat?” Dazed golden irises met his.
“Yes.” The fact she’d no doubt assume he meant she was a leopard, too, would work in his favor. “Your cat will do what I say.” At least until his Kirby found her confidence again.
Her clawed hands dropped to dig into the fallen leaves, her body shaking hard enough that her teeth clattered. “I’m so afraid.”
“Don’t be.” Cupping her face, he kissed her, hoping the tactile reassurance would allow her to hear him. “It’s not an intruder, baby. It’s just another part of you.”
ANOTHER part of me.
A part she’d forgotten and kept trapped for a lifetime.
Of course it hurt. It—they—hurt so much.
“I’ll be able to come back?” she sobbed, drowning in shame at having done this horrifying thing . . . and then her mind shifted and she felt so ashamed at having left her human half alone all this time . . . before the human part of her was looking out at Bastien once again.
“Yes.” Absolute confidence in Bastien’s voice, no room for argument. “Now, just think of your cat and become your other self.” He dissolved into a million particles of shattering light, his clothes disintegrating off him, and then there was a big, heavily muscled leopard in front of her, its forehead gently bumping her own.
Heart thundering at the proximity of a creature so dangerous and extraordinary, she felt a need, such terrible need to be the same, to run, to look at the world through eyes far more keen than the human ones that were all she could use now. It hurt to be shut away, to be tied up, to be only half. Why was she doing this to them? It was time to run, to play, to be together . . . to be with him.
Frighteningly aware her thoughts weren’t exactly human, Kirby attempted to wrench back control. Searing pain in her rib cage, claws raking her bloody.
Bastien snarled in a violent fury of sound.
And the pain stopped.
Your cat will follow mine.
Scared still, she held the primal green gaze of the leopard who had made her a promise, and trusted.
It was agony but it wasn’t pain. It was a stunning, dazzling ecstasy and it tore her up then put her back together. Afterward, she wobbled, her body’s center of gravity dramatically altered. Her view, too, had changed, become low—she was staring at the black spotted golden chest of the leopard in front of her.
Small, thought the cat that was her, tipping up its head to look at the larger predator. When he butted his face against her own, she felt happy . . . then shy, ducking her head . . . to see that her fur was a thick silvery gray with hidden bits of black. Lifting up a paw that seemed too big for a small cat, she looked at it quizzically, but then the leopard nuzzled at her and she dropped the paw, too happy to be with him to worry about why her fur was the wrong color.
He recognizes me!
It was a joyous thought. Even though she’d been hiding for so long, scared and guilty and afraid, he knew her. She’d fought the ugly fear to wake up because she’d found him, needed him to see her, accept her, claim her.
The other half of her had been brave all this time; now she had to be brave.
The leopard nipped at her ears. She jumped with a startled yowl. When the leopard huffed in laughter, she decided to pounce, show him she could play, too. Except her body went the wrong way and she ended up tumbled to the side. Prowling over, the leopard nudged her back up on all four paws, then put one of his own paws very carefully in front of the other. Again and again.
She didn’t understand why he was moving so slowly when he was strong and graceful. She wanted to see him run, wanted to run with him, the wind rippling through their fur.
Head tilted to the side, she continued to watch his strange behavior, and because she didn’t want him to move too far away, put her paws forward like he’d done. And she didn’t fall, was walking! Oh! Oh! Now she understood, now she knew he was teaching her.
Adoring him even more, she brushed her tail over his . . . but fell short. About to angle her head to look back, see what was wrong with her tail, she felt his twine around her own. Shy again, she looked down, her attention caught once more by her strange silver-colored paws. Lifting one up, she stared at it carefully, retracting and releasing her claws, spreading her toes. Big paw. Small cat. Still a cat.
Satisfied, she put it down and leaned her body against his, the warm beat of his heart a steady pulse against her fur.
When he walked again, she walked with him, his tail twining and untwining around her own, her body brushing his. He took her to a place that wasn’t too far, but had many scents. It confused her. Until he showed her how to pick one and track it, then nipped at her ear again when she tried to do too many things at once.
This time, she swiped at his leg with her claws to remind him she wasn’t weak.
Growling at the swipe, he bared his teeth.
She bared her own back at him.
And the leopard bent down to look into her eyes. Staring back, she reached up with a clawed paw and patted his face. He nipped at her nose, not in rebuke this time, but in affection. Happy, so happy, she butted her head against his and then they played, wild and free and without fear.
BASTIEN shifted into human form, and carefully lifted up the gorgeous Canadian lynx who was Kirby into his arms. She’d fallen asleep after two hours of play and exploration, her small body vibrant with energy. Now, she didn’t stir as he judged the distance to the aerie and took a running start, managing to climb up to the balcony outside it even though he only
had the use of his feet and one hand.
Retracting his claws, he carried Kirby inside the open-plan space and placed her on his bed. His scent would comfort her in her sleep, because while the human half of Kirby hadn’t yet figured out what he was to her, the lynx knew. That lynx had fur of an astonishingly lush silvery gray marked with tiny patches of black on the legs. The black appeared again in the adorable tufts on her pointed ears and the end of her short tail.
“God, you are so beautiful, human or cat.”
Indulging himself with several luxuriant strokes through her fur, he finally forced himself to get up and pull on some jeans. Then, certain Kirby would sleep for a while yet, he jumped down and ran to the car to grab the groceries. His mate would be starving when she woke, the shift burning energy like wildfire, not to mention the way they’d explored together.
Keeping an eye on her as he prepared the meal, he wasn’t the least surprised when she shifted spontaneously in her sleep, a lusciously curved nude woman now on his bed, her skin flawless honey.
He groaned. “I should be up for sainthood.” Finding a blanket, he covered her sleeping body . . . and smiled at her drowsy murmur of his name before she snuggled down again.
A few minutes later, he called Lucas to update him on Kirby’s shift and species, then requested his alpha reach out through DarkRiver’s network of allies and friends to see if anyone knew of a lynx pack that had lost a Canadian lynx child approximately twenty-three years ago. He couldn’t assume Kirby had come from Canada, however, as there were American packs that included Canadian lynx. A number had even emigrated to join packs in Europe’s colder climes.
While wild lynx tended to be solitary, or stick to very small groups, changeling lynx had been influenced by the human half of their nature—akin to other feline changelings—to create larger, tightly bonded packs. Someone had to be missing a child, though the fact that Kirby had never been claimed argued against that.