Snaking shadows framed her face, making her skin deathly pale. Hideous black tears streamed down her cheeks, her dark eyes closer to empty pits. A scream rocketed up from her lungs only to die on her lips as the shadows behind her congealed into one form.
Holy fuck!
She bolted for the door, not bothering to look over her shoulder.
She knew it was following her.
—
Tristan dragged his claws down the wall, breathing in through his mouth to keep Kennedy’s addictive scent from overloading his senses any more than it already had. Closing his eyes wasn’t helping, not when he couldn’t stop picturing her arching against him—eyes closed, lips parted, her hands drawing her shirt up and showing off her incredible breasts.
He dropped his forehead to the wall. Thinking about her breasts wasn’t helping him quiet the animal demanding that he return to her. The cat raked at the edges of his mind as he raked at the walls, fighting the urge to give in. To make her scream for him as he thoroughly fucked her until neither of them could move.
The taste of her lingered on his tongue, driving him out of mind with lust. Every time she’d moaned, raked him with her nails or pushed her slick sex against his mouth, his cock had throbbed harder.
Sweet Avalon, he needed to get a grip. She was off-limits, an employee—human. The latter should have been enough to cool his insides. It had in the past. Indulging in a one-night stand with a human to scratch an itch was one thing, but no human had ever come so close to unchaining him completely.
What was it about her that pulled him in so many directions? One minute he ached to see her smile, to talk to her the way so many Pendragon’s regulars did, laughing and flirting. And the next he could think of nothing but ripping her clothes off and sinking deep between her thighs, filling her, making her his.
The cat growled in feverish agreement, confusing him further. Tristan enjoyed sex as much as any male and never had a problem keeping things simple in that department. But the animal in him had never before displayed such a preference for anyone. The cat’s need for closeness and touch had always been easily satisfied.
But with Kennedy…
He paced the length of the hall, ordering himself to think this through. There was more at stake here than him losing his mind. More unknown variables he needed to figure out. Like the tattoo on her back, or more importantly why she’d chosen that particular tattoo.
Was it just a coincidence that she’d branded the sexy curve of her lower back with a Fae glyph? Or had a Fae seduced her and left his mark behind as some kind of inside joke? Tristan’s insides turned to stone at the thought of anyone branding her that way…
His head snapped up, the scent of an enemy invading his senses.
The wraith.
He sprinted toward his suite, jerking his shirt over his head. Colors blurred across his vision, muscles lengthened and bones realigned as the cat broke loose. The familiar comfort of the shift barely registered beneath the furious need to protect Kennedy and rip out his enemy’s throat.
A moment later he heard her scream.
Chapter Four
Why was there never a bouncer around when you really needed one?
Kennedy judged the distance between her and the shadow closing in. One bouncer wouldn’t get the job done anyway. She’d need a whole freakin’ team, and that frantic realization definitely nudged the boundary between sane and losing her damn mind.
Another scream stretched up her throat as she darted around another corner, quickly silenced when she slammed into a sidewall that jutted out into the hall. Knocked backward on impact, she scrambled away from the all-too-real hallucination mere feet away. Her back came up against the wall, her damp palms sliding across the polished floor in vain. She couldn’t get enough traction to regain her footing.
Not real. Not real.
An inky black hand materialized within the shadow. Five distinct claws lengthened to deadly razor-sharp points and reached for her. A burst of adrenaline exploded through her bloodstream, and she shot across the floor, escaping the shadow’s lunge. Real or not, she felt the current of air rush across her face as she narrowly missed a swipe of the thing’s claws.
“Tristan!”
For the first time, his name made it past her lips. She planted her hands and shoved her weight forward, poised like a runner primed for the hundred meter dash—a runner frozen in her tracks.
Oh Jesus.
Suddenly the shadow behind her didn’t seem that big of a threat at all. Eyes wide, she couldn’t move, didn’t dare. In front of her another dark blur shot around the corner. Its monstrous paws pounded across the floor, its large black head lowered, mouth agape, revealing one too many sharp teeth. The menacing growl that rode the air stopped her heart in her chest.
Unlike the shadow, the large black cat didn’t seem like a hallucination at all. She could all but feel the puffs of air that flared the animal’s nostrils, could smell the wild, earthy scent as it stalked closer.
Its gaze darted to her face, the animal’s iridescent blue eyes sweeping over her before fixing on the darkness behind her. Not even the certainty that the shadow hovered over her shoulder, its gnarled claws prepared to slash at her, could make her look away from the cat.
She might have laughed then, a hysterical no-fucking-way laugh that probably echoed the halls of every loony bin in the country—if she could have drawn enough oxygen from her lungs. Instead, she remained paralyzed and out of options.
Moving would draw the cat’s attention, and while she had no clue if or how the shadow would hurt her, she could far too easily imagine the cat’s teeth tearing into her skin.
“Nice kitty.” She cringed as the words left her lips. The last thing the animal looked was nice. Vicious predator. Deadly meat-eater. Those were a much better fit. And if she didn’t get a grip, didn’t lock down the panic slithering up her spine, she might as well dangle a damn string in front of the animal and prepare to lose an arm.
And that was probably a best-case scenario.
Pain sliced through her hand, and she cried out, cradling it against her chest. As she frantically rubbed at the invisible ice pike drilling through the webbed marking, the cat’s growl deepened and she held her breath at the whisper of movement behind her.
The cat sprang forward.
Kennedy hit the floor, unsure which of the two had knocked her sideways. The cat, she thought, remembering the brush of smooth fur across her arm before she’d been knocked over. Another burst of pain shot up her arm but was quickly forgotten as the snarls and growls managed to drown out the sound of her pulse thundering in her ears.
If Alice had smoked crack before falling down the rabbit hole, she would have undoubtedly witnessed something exactly like the confrontation unfolding no more than five feet from Kennedy. Right about now, though, she’d gladly take the Mad Hatter and Cheshire cat over the pair circling each other.
She knew she should move, run while the two faced off, but her limbs refused to cooperate. Maybe she clung to the hope she was imagining everything and moving meant believing it. Or maybe she knew she was better off doing nothing to draw attention to herself. Or maybe…
Moving almost too fast for her to see, the pair collided, all dark shadows and vicious slashes of claws. The phantom’s eerie silence chilled her to the bone, second only to the hissing and growling coming from the cat.
Move, Kennedy.
This time the internal command took hold, and she scrambled up on all fours. Then she made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. The shadow’s claws caught the side of the cat and a trail of crimson dripped from its paw. The sight of the blood pooling on the floor didn’t faze her nearly as much as the murderous growl that echoed through the hall.
Darting to the right, the animal planted itself firmly between Kennedy and the phantom. Neither moved as the seconds stretched into minutes. Kennedy inched backward, freezing in place when the phantom retreated, melting into the surrounding shadows as q
uickly as it had appeared.
She didn’t tear her gaze away from the dark hall until she sensed movement from the corner of her eye.
The cat had soundlessly closed the distance between them. On instinct, she jerked back against the wall. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind she wouldn’t get far before the animal took her down.
One foot. Two. Three.
Another inch and she’d feel the brush of the cat’s whiskers against her cheek.
Oh God.
Smooth fur brushed her cheek, and her eyes shot open. She hadn’t realized she’d even closed them until she found herself staring into the cat’s blue eyes. Again, the animal nudged her with his large head. She waited for another growl or a flash of its teeth. Sitting back on its haunches, the cat stared at her. Unprepared for any more surprises, Kennedy shook her head.
“Are you another hallucination?” she asked, more to be sure she could still speak. She had to be dreaming, right? Why else would it be there, let alone rolling to its side and settling one massive paw over her hand instead of chewing it off.
No one kept an animal like this as a pet, did they?
The lazy drum of the cat’s tail thumped on the floor, and her heart began to slow.
“This is crazy.”
Closing its eyes, the cat pressed his cool nose to her arm. Kennedy tensed, waited. When the cat made no move to use her fingers for an appetizer, she wiggled her hand out from beneath the heavy paw.
The cat cracked open one eye, the intense color almost shocking against the shiny black coat. Holding her breath, she tentatively ran her thumb across the top of its paw. The cat exhaled, the sound reminding her of a sigh. Feeling braver, she ran her palm a little higher, her gaze darting to its eyes.
A soft rumble echoed in the hallway.
She scanned the hall before bringing her attention back to the large animal sprawled next to her. Was it…purring?
Like a deflated balloon, she slumped back against the wall. Now what? She dragged her hands through her hair.
Almost as though he read her mind, the cat climbed to its feet. With another nudge, Kennedy forced her rubbery knees to hold her weight. She took her time standing, hindered by her lingering fear and the certainty she was much too close to overdosing on adrenaline, if such a thing were possible.
She sidestepped away from the cat, wanting to go find Tristan. She could handle a lot, but was clueless when it came to wild animals that weren’t safely tucked in large cages.
The animal moved to block the hall.
Great.
She tried edging around to the other side. The cat countered her move, then began padding closer. Backing up, she found herself being herded toward Tristan’s room. She spared half a thought for slamming the door, keeping the cat in the hall, but it moved too quick.
Once her knees hit the edge of the sofa, the animal sat and watched her. Kennedy scanned the room, searching for what she didn’t know. A way past her furry savior? A way to let Tristan know she needed him?
“You have no idea how much I wish I was more of a cat person right about now,” she said.
The cat cocked its head.
“Only had a Husky growing up,” she rambled on. “Called him Buck, like from Call of the Wild.”
A sound that reminded her of a snort puffed past the cat’s nostrils.
“No, I don’t suppose you’d be a fan of dogs, huh? You should have been around earlier. Could have used you to chase off some Dobermans.”
The cat flicked its tail as though it were annoyed, then turned and padded out of the room.
Kennedy stared at the empty doorway.
Holy shit.
—
“You’re bleeding.”
Tristan ignored his sister, keeping his forehead pressed to the wall. The smooth surface helped to cool his feverish skin. He drew in another steady breath, followed by another, and another.
He didn’t know why he bothered, the caged animal prowled restlessly inside, demanding to return to Kennedy. He’d shifted back to think, a near impossibility in his cat form when his instinct to protect the human trumped everything else.
Everything but the lust streaming through him in choking waves.
Gods, he needed her. Needed her hands in his hair, her mouth crushed beneath his, her body pinned under him. His stomach clenched, his muscles stretched taut, caught on the fierce edge of desire so hot it burned through his veins.
“Tristan.” His sister’s voice turned impatient. “I said you’re bleeding.”
“I know.” The sting from the gash barely registered compared to the overwhelming urge to take the remaining steps to his suite and return to Kennedy.
And then what? Try to explain? Tell her it had really been him moments ago? Kiss her?
Yes. Kiss her. Trace every naked curve with his tongue, learn every sweet spot that would make her shudder for him.
Fierce arousal battered away at his resolve to keep his distance, undermined his determination not to overwhelm Kennedy. And if he barreled through the door and dragged her into his arms—into his bed—overwhelming her would be one hell of an understatement.
Whether she recognized it or not, she’d responded to him on another level. She felt the intense physical connection between them, hungered for his touch the way he did hers. Not even the incident in the car or with the dogs had stopped her from inviting his touch, from craving it.
Not taking advantage of that fact, not dismissing her need for answers in favor of satisfying the primal instinct to take her was the only thing keeping him in the hall.
But for how long?
He felt every move she made on the opposite side of the door hum under his skin. The whisper of her hair, the rush of breath past her lips, the rustle of clothes he ached to peel away. His heightened awareness of her made any logical attempt at an explanation a fading possibility.
“Is it from the wraith?”
He glared at his sister, wishing she’d go away so he could concentrate on Kennedy.
“The wraith cut you, Tristan.”
He glanced at the already healing injury, struggling to figure out why it should matter when the woman in his room was all he needed. Her intoxicating scent wrapped around him, pulling him back to her.
“Focus, Tristan. The wraith,” Briana prompted.
Yes, the wraith. His claws burst from the ends of his fingers. He needed to find the mercenary first, then he could return to Kennedy.
He shoved away from the wall and strode down the hall.
“Wait a minute,” Briana hissed.
“Can’t,” he shot over his shoulder, preparing to shift back.
“The wraith. It’s Lucan.”
He stopped, but didn’t turn around. The soft reminder tempered the cat’s thirst for the wraith’s spilled blood. Lucan was an ally. Reminding himself of that helped Tristan get a better grip on his control. “I know.”
“So you also know he’s bound by his contract whether he wants to kill Kennedy or not.”
“That’s all that kept me from ripping his throat out.” Barely.
“Then he’s waiting on the west perimeter.”
That caught his attention. “You’re monitoring him?”
“From the moment he stepped foot on the property.”
“So why didn’t you put in an appearance a few minutes ago?” He forced the question out, determined to focus on the situation at hand.
She shrugged, her expression almost distracted. “You had it under control. And I didn’t want to freak Kennedy out any more than she already was.”
“How did you know he was here?” He searched his sister’s face, wondering why he got the impression she wasn’t telling him something.
“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself why he’s hanging around?”
“He has a job to finish?”
“Or?” she pressed, sounding irritated that he wasn’t catching on.
“I’m really not in the mood for twenty questions, Briana.”
She planted herself in his path. “Or he figured out something you still haven’t.” She nodded to the cut that had already stopped bleeding. “Any other time you would have gone Stonehenge by now.”
He frowned at the cut, focusing. The venom in a wraith’s claws, resulting from the vast amount of blood they drank, could weaken other immortals when exposed. The venom, like the sun, triggered the shift to stone-cold gargoyle instantly. As indestructible as he was in his stone form, it would have left him completely helpless. Would have left Kennedy vulnerable.
The cat snarled at the thought of being unable to protect her.
Only those who had found their mates could control the shift to stone that might otherwise leave their loved ones…
Oh hell.
He stared at the cut as though the slice from Lucan’s claws would somehow confirm the bewildering possibility.
“You’ve finally connected the dots I see.”
He swallowed past the dry knot lodged in his throat. “It’s not possible. I would have recognized it sooner.”
“Obviously not.”
“Kennedy’s my mate?” Only his mate’s presence could give him control over Rhiannon’s curse.
“So it would seem.”
“But she’s human.” He shook his head, searching for another explanation. “She can’t be my mate.” The denial outraged the cat.
“Why else would Lucan have backed off?”
“You’re the one who pointed out that he’s bound by his contract to kill her.”
Brianna’s expression softened. “That doesn’t make him a complete monster. He’s in control right now, and he’ll fight it as long as he can.”
The underlying compassion in his sister’s voice didn’t escape Tristan’s notice.
“If he left without eliminating his target, it’s obvious he wants to talk to you.”
“Knowing I’ll kill him.”
She arched a brow. “And why would you kill him over a human?”
“To protect what’s mine.” The snarled response was automatic. Instinctive.
The satisfied look on his sister’s face had him closing his eyes. Sweet Avalon, could Kennedy really be his mate? He’d been drawn to her, intrigued by her from the beginning. No other female had snared his attention so completely. If it was true, shouldn’t he have figured it out before now?
Primal Hunger: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 1 Page 5