by Leslie Chase
Her pussy gripped him tight again and again as he thrust, each stroke harder and deeper, filling her completely until he came inside her. His iron grip on her hips like a vice, pulling her down onto him as he growled wordlessly, as his cock emptied into her. At last, he too, was spent.
Finally, he relaxed and sank slowly to the floor of the shower, carrying her gently to the ground, the two of them still locked together as they clung to each other. They both panted, Maxwell with deep, controlled breaths and Lenore in shallow gasps. She couldn’t tell how long they lay there, the hot water pouring over their bodies. At last, Maxwell recovered enough to kiss her tenderly on the shoulder, sending delighted shivers through her.
He withdrew carefully, removing the condom and tying its base before he tossed it into a waste bin beside the shower. Turning back to her, he looked her deep in the eyes, and offered her a smile of such deep happiness and satisfaction that it made her heart warm.
“Kiss me,” he told her, and she obeyed unthinking. It felt so right, both to do what he told her and to be in his arms, safe and secure. He pulled her to him, a hand in her hair and the other on her ass, and this time their kiss wasn’t urgent - instead, it was slow, passionate and sensual. Lenore had never felt a kiss like that, and the sensation of him against her as they held each other was perfect.
She ran her hands over the firm, smooth skin of his back, reveling in the feel of him, trying to hold onto the moment, to savor it and miss nothing about it. His face rested against hers, his jaw just a little scratchy. She admired his body, all taught muscle and control. His hands, strong yet gentle. Her fingers traced across a raised patch of skin on his back, maybe a scar, the only imperfection she could find on him.
Eventually, they parted. Maxwell reached up to switch off the water, and stroked damp hair out of Lenore’s eyes, smiling again.
“Now it’s time for breakfast, and then we have to get moving,” he told her, standing and helping her to her feet.
Her headache was gone, she realized, though her legs were still weak - probably due more to what they’d just finished doing than anything from the previous night. She watched Maxwell wordlessly, smiling broadly and uncontrollably, as he got out and grabbed towels for the two of them.
It was when he turned his back that she saw the mark she’d traced with her fingers. A raw, raised red line, scored across him, clearly fresh, even if it was healing. For a moment she couldn’t work out what might have caused a wound like that, and then she remembered. The gunshot wound in the tiger’s flank last night in the memory or dream had looked like that, somehow. But that didn’t make sense, she thought as she quickly toweled herself off, watching him do the same. One, if it was a gunshot wound from last night it shouldn’t be healing so fast. Two, Maxwell was a man, not a tiger. And three, HE WAS NOT A TIGER!
But somehow, despite the obvious objections, it looked just like that wound to her.
5
The Truth, or Some of It
They emerged from the bathroom to find that room service had come and gone, and that they had set a table with a hearty breakfast under metal domes. Maxwell gave a satisfied sigh as he dove into a pile of scrambled eggs and bacon. Lenore hesitated for a moment, considering asking for some cereal instead, but the temptation was too much. Besides, she needed to build up her strength, she reasoned. She’d had quite a workout this morning, and she deserved to make up for that with a big breakfast.
Guiltily, she scooped up some eggs and as she ate, she realized that her excuse was actually true - she was famished! For a little while, they occupied themselves with eating.
Lenore couldn’t keep her mind off that scar, though. Seated across from Maxwell she couldn’t see it, but she could picture it in her mind, and the memory of the tiger’s matching wound kept intruding. She looked at him, watching his eyes, his beautiful amber eyes, and remembered the tiger’s gaze. They were the same color, the same intensity.
Finishing her last bite of bacon, she put down her knife and fork and drew a deep breath. She had to know.
“What’s going on?” She asked, immediately annoyed at the plaintive sound of her voice. But now that she’d started to question the situation, she couldn’t stop. “Who are you, what are you, and what happened last night?”
Maxwell forked another heap of crispy bacon onto his plate - god, the man had an appetite - and then looked up at her, frowning slightly. Lenore shut her mouth with a snap, afraid of his disapproval. He didn’t seem annoyed at the questions, rather he looked like he was trying to decide how to answer. At last he sighed.
“It was too much to hope that we could finish the morning first, I suppose,” he mused, more to himself than to her. “But you are right, you’re due an explanation, and would be even if we weren’t going to be traveling together. Very well.”
Traveling? Lenore swallowed nervously, wondering what he meant. On the one hand it was very forward of him to simply presume that she’d agree; but then, on the basis of this morning’s experience, he wasn’t wrong.
“My name is Maxwell Walters, as I told you,” he continued, either not noticing her confusion or ignoring it. “I have been honest with you for the most part, and for the rest I apologize. I was at the museum gala to reclaim a piece of my heritage, one which popped up unexpectedly, and I thought that you could help me with that.”
So he was just after the Sword after all, not interested in me. Her heart sank. I was just a way in. Well, that isn’t a surprise, is it? Why would a man like this be interested in me for myself?
That thought he seemed to notice - he paused in his explanation, and his mouth fell into a deeper, almost angry, frown. His eyes flashed.
“Stop that, Lenore. I may have gone there for the Silver Sword, but that doesn’t change the fact that I found you. A much more important find for me, and I will not have you doubting my interest in you just because of the unfortunate circumstances of our meeting.”
His words made her shiver, both at the intensity of his voice and at the way he looked at her while he spoke. With a hunger, a need, that Lenore hadn’t seen directed at her by anyone else. Ever. It was frightening and exhilarating to be seen like that, and the genuine note of warning in his voice made a tingle run through her. She nodded, accepting his rebuke, and he continued.
“As to what I am, I think you have guessed the answer to that. I am a shifter, a tiger shifter. That is the family connection to India I mentioned, and my connection to the Silver Sword.” He said it so calmly, so reasonably, that it took a moment for what he was saying to sink in.
“You mean that you -” Lenore broke off, and tried again. “That tiger was -”
“The tiger was me, yes. And you already knew that, didn’t you?” His eyes flashed again, and she blushed. “Here’s something that I don’t think you’ve realized yet: you might have saved my life last night. The man you tackled knows how to fight my kind, he’s trained for it. His gun was loaded for that - if he’d had a clear shot, he would have at least have wounded me seriously, possibly worse.”
Oh. Lenore had almost forgotten that she’d done anything at all during the fight - the idea that she’d actually achieved something was hard to take in.
“But you saved me too,” she objected quickly.
“Yes I did,” he said, leaning across the table to stare into her eyes. “And you should remember this, Lenore. I will put myself between you and any harm that comes your way. No matter what.”
Lenore felt her cheeks heat, and her heart pounded at that. He was so sincere, so unbelievably intense, that in that moment she couldn’t doubt him for even a moment. This man would stand between her and a bullet. She couldn’t fathom why he’d choose to do that for her, but she knew without question that it was true.
“So, uh, where’s the Sword?” she said, finally recovering enough to speak. She tried to change the subject to something a little less charged. Like a question of stolen museum antiquities. She wasn’t sure where she was going with it, whether she’d
try to convince him to return it or not. Though he said he valued her, she didn’t think he would be easily persuaded to part with it.
Maxwell frowned at the question, and shook his head. “I don’t know. There were other attackers loose in the museum, and I had to prioritize. There wasn’t time to grab you and it both, so I left the sword. Presumably the hunters have it now, and unfortunately I don’t have a quick way to track them down straight away. It’s a disappointment, but more than made up for by meeting you on the hunt. After all, I’d never really expected to have a chance to get the Sword, so missing out on it doesn’t really change anything.”
“Oh. I’d assumed that you had it somewhere,” Lenore admitted, not sure how to feel about the fact he’d chosen to save her over taking what he’d come to the museum for. “Who were those people? Enemies of yours? And what’s so special about that blade? I thought it was just a particularly fine ornamental talwar, but people are killing over it!”
“You don’t need to worry about them,” he told her firmly.
Lenore just looked at him, and after a moment, he shrugged and continued.
“Hunters of some kind, obviously; that’s sometimes a problem people like me have to face. I don’t know who those ones were specifically, and I’m not sure it matters since they said they were working for someone else. Them having the sword is not ideal, of course, but these days a blade edged in silver isn’t as much of a threat as a bullet would be, so it’s not too much of a concern. Their employer might just be a collector of magical artifacts, or they might be actual enemies of mine. In which case they’ll keep looking for me. But even then, if they find me, I’m not worried. I can take care of myself. I am not an easy man to find when I don’t want to be found.” He paused for only a moment before continuing.
“As for the blade, it’s a dueling sword for my people. Silver is one way to get around our healing, so for really serious disputes we used to use swords like that to settle it. There’s some magic on the blade to keep the silver sharp in a real fight, and some other tricks as well. Of course, in a really serious argument it would all come down to tooth and claw, but these were special blades. Practically holy, I think, though I’ve never actually seen one before. The blades are mystically linked to their wielders after they draw blood, so no one who owns one properly will want to let it out of their sight.”
It made sense, Lenore thought. It explained why no records could be found about this piece - if no one knew about shifters, their personal weapons would hardly be common knowledge either. And stealing back a family treasure was something that she could understand, even if it wasn’t exactly legal. Better than a random museum robbery, though!
His last sentence made her frown, remembering the feel of the sword in her hand. The fight was a bit of a blur, but she’d cut the man attacking her, hadn’t she? Did that mean that, if this was all true, she was linked to the sword now? It seemed unbelievable, but then, so did so much else about the situation. She remembered how the sword had felt nearly alive in her hand.
Before she could ask about that, they were interrupted by the trilling of a phone. Maxwell frowned at that, reaching out to snag a phone from the dresser next to him. Glancing at the screen, his frown deepened.
“I’m sorry Lenore, I have to take this - hello?”
Whoever was calling, it clearly wasn’t good news. For the first time, Lenore saw Maxwell look worried.
“Are you sure?” he asked into the phone, standing. “Okay. Bring the car around to the back, we’ll need to leave in a hurry.”
He hung up, moving quickly to the closet set into the room’s wall, pulling it open.
“Well, that changes things. Time to get dressed, Lenore, we have to leave. Now.”
He was already dressing with smooth, economical grace. Lenore stared at him for a moment, until he turned and fixed her with a look. “I said get dressed. We have to leave, right away. I’m not sure how they managed it, but someone has tracked me here. It might not be my enemies, I suppose, but I can’t risk you being in danger, Lenore, not now.”
She nodded shakily, the rapid change of pace catching her off guard. Her dress from last night was in the closet beside his suit and she quickly pulled it on, while Maxwell carefully listened at the door for approaching footsteps. She’d have thought him terribly overdramatic, if it wasn’t for the fact that last night they’d been faced with gunmen.
As it was, she hoped he was being cautious enough.
6
Escape
Without her heels on, Lenore felt even smaller beside Maxwell as he hurried her out of the door and into the corridor. But better that than being slowed down by the impractical shoes - and she would never have been able to keep up the pace that he was setting if she’d worn them! He practically dragged her towards the elevators.
“Are you sure this is necessary?” She asked quietly as they stepped past a housekeeping trolley. The floor seemed deserted apart from that.
“No,” Maxwell admitted. “But I will not take chances with your safety, so we’re doing it anyway.”
He seemed distracted, his attention focused elsewhere, and Lenore decided not to argue. If there wasn’t a threat, she’d just be annoying him - and if there was, well, the last thing she wanted to do was get in the way of him keeping her safe.
He stopped dead, staring at the lift doors. The number display above it ticked upwards, and Lenore realized that she didn’t know which floor they were actually on. Maxwell clearly did, though; a moment before the lift chimed to announce its arrival, he grabbed her and dragged her through the door to the stairwell beside it.
Lenore bit down on a yelp as he manhandled her inside and closed the door behind them with a careful silence. Outside, she heard quiet footsteps - not so silent as Maxwell could be, but quiet enough that she wouldn’t have heard them if she hadn’t been listening for them.
Maxwell waited, still and silent, until whoever it was had moved past. Then he took Lenore by the hand and took the stairs quickly, pulling her along behind him. They’d made it down one flight of stairs before the door above them opened.
“Run,” Maxwell growled, pushing Lenore ahead of him. She glanced up fearfully, seeing a man looking over the edge of the landing above them, a pistol in his hand. The man shouted something in a language she didn’t understand, harsh and brutal sounding, pointing the gun down at them, and she heard running footsteps behind him. She froze.
Maxwell snarled wordlessly as he grabbed and lifted her as though she weighed nothing, carrying them both forwards in a tumble as a bullet tore through the space she’d occupied a second earlier. His strong arms cradled her to him as he bounded down the stairs, and she felt his heart pounding in his chest. She just wanted to cling to him, to curl up in his arms and ignore the peril they were in.
Behind them, she heard the echoed footsteps of their pursuers, running nearly as fast as Maxwell. But he was far enough ahead that they couldn’t get another shot at him, and his reckless leaps were carrying him down faster than they could manage. Lenore peeked over his shoulder and, seeing no sign of their pursuers, tried to relax.
Ahead of them, the doors to the stairwell burst open with a crash and another shout in that harsh language. Lenore screamed, twisting around to see two more attackers standing in the doorway, raising their guns.
Time seemed to slow, and she honed in on the enormous barrels of the weapons as they rose towards her, Maxwell’s momentum carrying them towards their death.
Maxwell didn’t hesitate. With casual ease, he threw Lenore forwards, between the ambushers. Time snapped back to normal for her as she knocked them aside, tumbling out of the stairwell and landing awkwardly on a plush carpet which absorbed most of the impact. “Car!” Maxwell snarled at her, his tone brooking no argument, and before the word was out of his mouth he was changing.
Lenore gasped at the sight. One moment, she could see him framed between the two assassins, their weapons sweeping back up towards him, and then instead of t
he gorgeous man who’d been carrying her, there was a tiger in mid-pounce. The transformation took almost no time at all, there was a fleeting impression of change and then the big cat was on them.
One of the gunmen turned to follow her, the barrel of his gun tracking her fall when the tiger struck him with all his weight. Lenore felt a dull impact on her shoulder and looked down, drawing breath for a scream. But instead of a wound, she saw a dart sticking out of her arm, and felt a numbness spreading from it. Picking herself up, she yanked it out and began to run, looking for an exit.
Behind her, she heard a man scream, and a tiger roar. No one chased her, at least for the moment - their attackers had more pressing things to worry about than her escape. But how could she leave Maxwell behind?
On the other hand, she asked herself as she pushed through a door into a deserted kitchen, how could she possibly help? The closest she came to knowing how to fight was from watching action movies, or studying old weapons!
Her right arm hung limply by her side, and she felt her thoughts slowing as she fumbled her way out of the back door of whatever hotel this was. Maxwell had asked for the car to be brought to the back hadn’t he? Hopefully she’d be able to spot the right one.
It was, as it turned out, obvious - a bright red convertible idled outside the kitchen door, top down and engine running. At the wheel sat a gorgeous woman, blond, tall and athletic, waving to her as she stumbled outside.
“You must be Lenore,” the driver said with a grin. “Well, get in, I expect Max is in a hurry to get out of here.”
Collapsing into the passenger seat, clutching her arm and feeling her head swim, Lenore swallowed nervously and stared at her, doubts creeping back. With someone this gorgeous at his beck and call, what would Maxwell want with her? Had she just been convenient the night before?