by Diana Seere
“Yes. I know.”
“I was annoyed you hadn’t told me about that earlier,” Jess added.
“Annoyed? That’s it?”
“Well, maybe a little freaked out too,” Jess said.
“It certainly freaked me out the first time it happened. You see—”
“But it proved you and Gavin were fated for each other,” Jess said. “That had to be nice. You don’t have the agony of doubting—”
“There was plenty of doubt.”
“But the book settled things. Even Asher has to admit he was wrong about you two,” Jess said.
Lilah slapped her hands against the wheel. “You spoke to Asher. Of course that’s what happened. Of course! I knew it couldn’t just be because of me and my shifting.” She hit the wheel again. “That man needs a woman. He’s out of control.”
“Don’t blame Asher. At least he explained things to me. You were hiding—”
“I don’t know what he said, but don’t you believe it, whatever it was. He doesn’t know any more than I do, or Gavin does, about why I became a shifter when I did. It broke all tradition, all myth, all law.”
“But the book—”
“Listen to me, Jess. Don’t interrupt. Just listen to me. That book is old and strange, and not even the Stantons really understand it. What they expect is for a human mate to maybe—sometimes, not always—become a shifter after bearing a child with one. There have been centuries of humans and shifters loving and bearing children with one another, but they aren’t very good about keeping records. And each of those families were so damn secretive, hiding their origins and histories as if their survival depended on it, which of course it does, with the world being what it is.”
Jess clung to one of the little things Lilah had said. “Humans only sometimes become a shifter when they have kids with one?”
“Until me, the Stantons assumed it was the only way for a human to become a shifter, ever. And hardly a sure thing. My turning into a wolf really messed up Asher’s worldview, let me tell you. And that man’s worldview needs messing up.”
“I hate him.” Jess spat out the words.
“Oh, no, don’t say that,” Lilah said quickly, then her voice softened. “I’ve seen inside him, Jess. The damage. The pain. The grief. What we see is just a shadow of who he used to be. Deep down, he’s a wonderfully loving, caring man. Whatever he did to you and to me, it was only to protect the brothers he loves so much.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Made Gavin choose between us.” Lilah sighed. “Poor Asher.”
“Poor Asher? How can you say that?”
Lilah gave her a sad smile. “Because Gavin chose me, of course. I’m his One.”
“And then Asher took it back. Figures. He’s all bluff.”
“No,” Lilah said, “he’s all grief. Don’t you hear me? He’s mourning the loss of his own One. Imagine if you lost Derry—”
“I’ve already lost Derry.”
“You know you haven’t. You just have to fight for him. But Asher… well, his wife is lost forever. She died in childbirth. A human, like us, she couldn’t survive the transition to live with the shifters.” Lilah shuddered. “He feels responsible. If not for him, if not for his love, she’d be alive. Alone, but alive. It gnaws at him. I can feel it when I look into his eyes.”
The chill sank into Jess’s blood. She hugged her arms over her chest. “She died giving birth?”
“To his son. Who also died.” Lilah’s voice cracked. “Later Gavin told me how Asher buried their ashes with his bare hands at the house in Montana, in the winter, his fingers and knees bleeding into the snow, the frozen ground, almost killing himself from exposure.”
Jess’s eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t speak for a moment. “Up near his cabin?”
“Where we had the bonfire,” Lilah whispered. “Our commitment ceremony. That was sacred ground.”
Tears began to flow freely now. “Asher didn’t mind?”
Turning in her seat, Lilah reached up, cupped Jess’s cheek, and gazed intently into her eyes. “It was his idea.”
Jess shook free. “I don’t believe it. Right afterward, he was trying to get rid of me. He practically flew me home himself.”
“It’s what he does,” Jess said. “He thinks he’s protecting his siblings. If you and Derry let him break you, then you deserve to be broken.”
“Is that you talking or him?”
Lilah gave her a look, then started the car. The moon reappeared as the wind blew smoky clouds out of its way, the sudden luminescence glittering on Walden Pond like a dance. The SUV’s engine rumbled in Jess’s head, a soothing whine smoothing out as Lilah backed up.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. I just need to wander.”
Jess had to admit to herself that being in motion was easier than standing still. Something troubled Lilah, though, her fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel.
“Spit it out,” Jess demanded.
Lilah didn’t even try to pretend. “Are you really sure Derry’s the One for you? He’s such a smooth talker, and his reputation as a party animal isn’t undeserved.”
Jess snorted. Lilah frowned.
“What’s so funny?”
“‘Party animal’ fits Derry on so many, many levels.”
The two shared a laugh. As the tension lifted, Jess felt she could be more open. It felt so good to be with Lilah, spending time together. Just the two of them.
And now they had even more in common.
“I hear him in my head. I feel him in my heart. Not like a crush or wishful thinking. It’s real,” Jess said.
Lilah nodded, her head bobbing in quick agreement. “Then it’s true.”
“Plus the sex is so damn good. Oh my God, Lilah, why didn’t you tell me sex could be like that?”
Lilah began coughing uncontrollably. Then she laughed like a hyena.
“Don’t tell Gavin any of that, ever!” Lilah rasped. “He’s incensed that Derry hooked up with you.”
Jess bristled. “It’s not just a hookup.”
“I know. Truly.” Jess realized Lilah was driving them back to her apartment.
“What are you doing? I want to go to Derry’s loft to see if he’s there.”
“He’s not.”
Lilah’s tone spoke thousands of words. “You know where he is?”
“Yes.”
“It must be the club.”
“You know about it?”
Jess gave Lilah a sour look. “Do I know about it? I work there, Lilah.”
“Oh.” Lilah wiggled in her seat and tapped her fingers again. Secrets. Her sister was hiding more secrets from her.
“Then take me to the club.”
“He doesn’t want company.”
“How do you know?”
“Eva and Sophia. They’re with him. He’s fine. He just… He’s been through a lot.”
“Haven’t we all?” Jess huffed. This didn’t make sense. Lilah’s nerves, Derry’s seclusion. Was he hurt? Was he involved in some problem?
And then it hit her.
“Derry’s the one who turned in those videos, isn’t he? I saw him punch Archie in the foyer at the club, and—oh, Lilah.” She could tell she was right from the look on Lilah’s face.
“Let him be, Jess. It’s been a long day for him.”
“I want to see him! Apologize. Hell, grovel at his feet and tell him what a fool I’ve been!” Jess’s voice cracked, and a sob captured her throat.
Lilah’s hand lifted from the steering wheel and went to Jess’s knee. “You’ll have time. Plenty of time. But tonight let me hang out with you at the old apartment.”
Jess just nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.
Too overwhelmed to anything. All she heard was her own heart, chiming like a tower clock.
A deep beat.
The Beat?
And then she heard him. He said one simple word.
Yes.
Derry was so close to excusing himself from the gallery floor and banging his head against a brick wall until he passed out.
Not the best approach to being social, but it was a tempting option. A fine publicity stunt as well, if he were seeking attention.
Instead, he reached for his second tiny glass of Champagne and hoped for the best.
The mixed media art show featuring nudes had a simple title:
Her.
Professor Lethbridge had suggested the title, raving like a fawning loon about the size of the Stanton family donation, insisting on three art exhibits devoted to nudes: Her, Him and They.
All Derry cared about was knowing that his own “Her” would be in attendance. As he finished his mouthful of drink, he caught a flash of purple dress from the doorway, then a familiar calf, loose hair in waves cascading down her back.
Her.
And she would soon be all his.
“Jess!” Professor Lethbridge called out. “We’re unveiling the final painting. You simply must gather ’round with the rest of the interns and see this beauty!” Clapping like a schoolmarm, the professor collected a motley crew of students. He could tell they were students by the way they shoveled free alcohol down their throats.
He stepped to the right, half-hidden by a long, red curtain that bisected the enormous gallery, and watched from afar. Jess reached up to her temple and rubbed the spot right above her cheekbone.
I’m here, he thought.
She jolted visibly, her hand shaking as it fluttered down to her lips. Jess looked around the room, eyes like a predator’s.
But the prey hid behind the red velvet curtain.
“Derry.” A firm hand on his shoulder made him reel back out of instinct, caught off guard by the interruption, his elbow catching someone’s belly as he pushed back and pivoted, turning around to find himself staring at a very pale, gasping, and quite angry Edward.
Derry rubbed his eyes, for surely he was hallucinating. What they hell was in that Champagne? Edward couldn’t be here. He hated the city.
Sophia popped up behind Edward, her hands on his shoulders, urging him to take deep breaths, eyes on Derry, blazing with anger. “Why did you hit him?”
“He surprised me!” Derry said. “I was deep in thought!”
“How deep? The earth’s core?”
Sophia’s eyes flitted across the room until she clearly saw Jess. “Have you spoken with her?” Standing on the edge of the crowd, a few feet from the throng of students, he saw the woman from the Plat, Molly, Lilah’s friend. Molly turned and gave Edward a dazzling smile. The buffoon didn’t notice, but then again, he was still recovering.
“No,” Derry said. “And what the hell are you two doing here?”
Edward finally unfolded himself and stood upright, giving thanks for the water Sophia handed him. He took a sip and said, “Sophia told me about your painting. Gavin couldn’t be here, and—”
“You told everyone?” he growled at Sophia, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his bulging eyes.
“Not Asher, silly. Of course not. But I told Gavin and Edward. You have a gift, Derry. We’re here to support you,” Sophia replied, giving him a kiss on the cheek, reaching up with her thumb to smear off the lipstick mark she must have left.
I miss you.
The words shot through his mind like a bullet, piercing every part of him that formed his sense of self, and he closed one eye, wincing in pain.
Edward’s brow folded in concern, and Derry heard Sophia call out his name, but then, oh then, a cloth was whisked away from the eight-by-eight-foot painting of Jess that was the show’s centerpiece, the crowd around it gasping, small, intimate sounds of appreciation bubbling up to make the static of community in his ears.
“Jesus,” Edward whispered, and Sophia linked one of her arms through each of theirs and just stared at the painting of beautiful, gorgeous, achingly authentic Jessica Murphy immortalized by paint, sweat, compassion, hope, lust, faith, fear and knowing.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Sophia murmured, tears spilling down her cheeks, the sight of her emotional reaction gutting Derry.
“I had no idea you could do this,” Edward said.
“Paint?” Derry joked.
Edward’s face remained serious, his eyes troubled. “No, Derry. This isn’t just painting. You take emotion and give it an image.”
Derry’s heart skipped a beat.
Jess’s back was to him, her body frozen, head tipped up just enough for him to know she was taking in every square inch, her eyes missing nothing. What was she thinking?
More important—what did she feel?
I love you.
When Professor Lethbridge, with a dramatic flourish, removed the cover from the last painting, Jess froze in shock.
It was her. Dominating the center of the room, reaching up to the ceiling, was an eight-foot-high painting of her. In the nude. Every inch of skin, every hair, every nipple—right there.
A shared gasp whistled through the crowd. Two of the people standing next to her turned to stare, their eyes wide, before returning their gaze to the painting. They’d recognized her. There was no mistaking her. He’d captured her perfectly.
The other paintings and sculptures in the show were also of nudes, of course, but she’d barely noticed them. Mixed media had made Cubism seem boring. But this…
Since the moment she’d walked into the gallery, her birthmark had throbbed like a brand-new tattoo, so intensely she’d dipped into the bathroom to take a look. The mark had disappeared a while ago, then reappeared.
She frowned.
It disappeared when she and Derry were together. A couple.
And it had reappeared when they had split up.
There was no time to contemplate the meaning of that, just as Professor Lethbridge waved her over to a group of students urgently struggling with a six-foot labia sculpture made from recycled tires.
She’d felt him, been sure he was there—he was the artist, and this was his show—but she’d been unable to find him.
But all of a sudden, it didn’t matter. She knew where he was.
Right there. On the canvas.
I love you, the paint said, caressed by his brushes, by his soul.
Her heart was pounding. I love you too, Derry.
She had to find him. Now.
Ignoring the curious looks of those around her, she turned away from the painting and maneuvered through the crowd to an empty corner. Feeling weightless, she wrapped her arms around her chest and squeezed, trying to keep herself from flying apart completely. Nothing seemed to matter anymore: the other students, the professor, her job, her future. The material universe faded away. All that mattered was finding Derry as soon as possible.
Where are you?
For some unfathomable reason, he was hiding from her. The man who had created that painting—more than a man, more than a painting—had nothing to fear from her but the force of her own love. Was that it? Was he afraid of where their feelings would lead?
Simply looking hadn’t found him; perhaps she had to use deeper senses. With her birthmark aching, she closed her eyes and cast out her thoughts and feelings, searching for a hint of his powerful physique, his charming spirit, his irresistible vitality.
He was so close she could almost taste him. Inhaling, but keeping her eyes closed, she pivoted on one heel and turned to face the spot where she felt his presence.
Come to me, my love, she thought. Beneath closed eyelids, tears pooled. Perhaps he wasn’t afraid of her loving him too much; he was afraid she couldn’t love him enough. Hadn’t she left him without a word? Wiping the escaping tears off her cheeks, she added, Forgive me.
The form she sensed was silent and came no closer.
She turned back to face the wall again, not wanting the others to see her cry. Shame washed over her, leaving her hot and shaky. Maybe it was too late. The painting wasn’t an expression of his love. Maybe it was a g
ood-bye. Like the other paintings of women, it was nothing more than a memento. Woman of the month, not of his life.
Oh no. She was sobbing in the middle of an art show right in front of her professor and dozens of other students. With that painting on the wall, she’d never get out of here without completely humiliating herself.
“For God’s sake, my darling, forgive you for what?”
His deep, familiar voice surrounded her, forming a fortress of love that shut out the world. Without turning around, she inhaled deeply and wiped her cheeks with shaking hands, suddenly aware that she probably looked terrible, with melting mascara and swollen eyes.
“For leaving you,” she whispered.
“You had cause,” he said roughly. “More than enough.”
“No, I was wrong. I assumed—” she finally turned around and looked up into his midnight-blue eyes, the gallery lights reflecting in the irises like stars. Her explanation died on her lips. The only words she could remember were I love you, I love you, I love you.
He was so beautiful, so good. Seeing him again made her knees weak, and she had to lean against the wall behind her for support.
“Whatever you believed, I’d given you cause to believe it,” he said.
“No, it wasn’t fair, just because you knew Archie didn’t mean—” But she couldn’t talk about that infamous prick here where they might be overheard. She glanced past Derry to the crowd. Several faces were indeed pointedly aimed in their direction. “Oh, Derry, I really need to explain, but not here.”
Just a hint of his former rakish grin flickered across his lips. “And I need to touch you, but not here.”
Flushing, she grinned back at him. “Pity.”
His mirth faded, leaving a seriously ravenous look on his face. His gaze dropped to her lips. She realized that both of them were breathing heavily.
“Oh, to hell with it,” he said, taking her in his arms. When she snaked up her arms and slid them around his neck, he growled, pinned her against the wall, buried his hands in her hair, and lowered his mouth to hers for a hard, hungry, desperate kiss.
Through the sound of rushing blood in her brain, she was vaguely aware of whistles, bubbling laughter, and then applause from the other side of the room. The show attendees continued like this for the full length of the kiss—the first kiss, and then the second—cheering and clapping, but Jess was too enraptured in the strong, euphoric sweetness of Derry’s embrace to care. Let them do whatever they wanted. As long as she had Derry, she didn’t give a damn what they thought.