"Fayne?" Mac's voice came on the line. "What's wrong?"
"We have a problem," he growled. "Edward."
Mac paused and Fayne could almost hear the wheels turning in his friend's head. "He's surfaced?"
"He's coming after Max. He left a calling card last night."
"Where is Max?"
"Bliss took him to South America to observe an archeological dig. You know how that kid is rock crazy." Fayne chuckled. "They won't be back for a few weeks yet. I can't get hold of her from here, and they only call once a week. Ask Sinjin to contact her, and tell her to stay put and be on the watch for anything out of the ordinary."
"Do you think Edward knows where Max is?"
"No, Bliss removed him from the country through extraordinary means." He paused before continuing to allow the implication of his words to sink in. "I'm afraid Edward will find him another way. He and Max were joined mentally for several years."
"Hmm... I don't know anything about that. I'll get with Sinjin immediately and we'll see if he can reach Bliss to let her know what's happening. Is there anything else you need? Do you want us to return home?"
"No, I don't think that'll be necessary. Do me a favor and see if you can find Renault. I might need his help."
"You realize Renault has vanished and no one's seen him for months. Sinjin thinks he returned to cat form permanently. I can't guarantee we'll find him."
Fayne grimaced at the thought of his old friend hiding alone somewhere in the world. With the preternatural world in uproar and Renault's father leading the revolt, it wasn't safe for him to be alone. It wasn't safe for any of them. "I keep hoping he'll surface."
"All of us do. In the meantime, I'll notify Alexandre and Val. Don't be surprised if you receive visitors soon."
He grinned. "I'd be surprised if I didn't."
"Take care and keep an eye on Erihn. She's very dear to all of us."
"That I will." Fayne cleared his throat. "Mac, if anything happens to me, you and Jen will look after Max won't you?"
"Nothing will happen to you if you're careful. Besides, the good guys always win." Mac strove for a light tone.
"Last, Mac, they always win last."
"First or last, as long as we win. I'll see what I can do from my end and I'll get back with you."
"Thanks."
He hung up the phone and reached for the photo. Max was truly a gift to him. While were-cats could sire children, Fayne had never found a woman with whom he wanted to raise a family. No mortal woman had ever held his attention for longer than a few months, and he'd never met a female were-cat he could stand to be around for any period of time. They were too competitive, even if they were fantastic in bed.
Then Max had arrived in his life. Max, at the age of four, had been sold to the vampire Elder, Edward, a rather vile vampire of the lowest denomination. Edward was mute and, with Max's psychic and clairvoyant talents, he'd been able to communicate effortlessly with the outside world. Without Max, he was relegated to using pen and paper like other mortals. Edward had planned on raising the child and turning him into an immortal human servant once he reached a proper age. Edward and Max together for all eternity, that is, until Fayne stepped in.
Edward had become embroiled in the intrigues of Mikhail and his ill-fated bid for the position of Master on the Council of Elders, the ruling body for the entire preternatural underworld. Fayne was a reluctant participant on the council. Like most were-cats, he was more interested in physical pleasures than the politics of the damned.
But, after Mikhail's defeat at the stone circle on the last winter solstice, Edward had abandoned Max, leaving him to certain death and enabling the vampire to save his own worthless hide. Fayne had rescued Max and adopted him into his life and his heart.
Max had spent the better part of the last nine months in seclusion with Fayne and a few select friends here in Jennifer's house. Deeply traumatized by his ordeal at the hands of Edward, Max still suffered from nightmares and debilitating panic attacks. Over time they'd lessened, but they hadn't vanished completely.
His heart swelled with pride as he thought of how Max seemed to be adjusting well to his first excursion into the world. He was enjoying his time in South America. A few natives, crumbling clay pots and a pile of mud could do amazing things for a six-year-old. On the phone a few days ago, Max had sounded less fearful and more like the little boy he should've been.
He loved his son and he'd do anything to keep him safe.
Fayne set the picture back down and rolled over onto his stomach. He closed his eyes, knowing he'd done all he could do for now. He'd set the wheels in motion and notified the troops. After he removed Erihn from the line of fire, he would be free to go after Edward.
This time, nothing would stop him from killing the vampire.
A thud overhead woke him from a sound sleep.
Fayne lay still, listening to Erihn's soft footsteps above. A rush of desire ran through him at the thought of her uninhibited response of last night. It'd taken every ounce of willpower to send her to bed alone when he'd have given his eyeteeth to bed her and keep her there for a week.
She was a firecracker and he wanted her more than ever. Unfortunately, keeping her safe was more important than appeasing his animal nature. First, he had to clear the remains of the mudslide out of the drive. Then he had to convince her to leave as soon as possible. And he had a good idea how to accomplish that.
He rose from the bed, his lip curling at the sight of the dirty sheets. No matter, he'd take care of them later. He rushed through a quick shower and pulled on a pair of shorts while trying to keep his mind off the delectable female upstairs.
Sprinting up the steps to the main floor, he paused on the landing. Her scent teased his senses, and he was pleased to note she'd used rose geranium oil in her bath again. Silently, he stepped into the hall and the first thing he saw was Erihn, sitting on a couch in a beam of sunlight.
Dressed in an ivory lace dress and a fluffy, cocoa-colored sweater, she looked like an angel. Her hair was pulled back into one long, thick braid that trailed over her right shoulder. She sat with the diary in her lap while scribbling furiously in a notebook, her pen scratching over the paper.
Fayne broke into a sweat as an odd sinking feeling kicked in his stomach. He felt like he'd ridden an express elevator up forty floors, leaving his stomach on the third. As he watched, her bare toes, nails painted a shell pink, curled and uncurled on the Berber carpeting. A rush of desire left him with the need to claw the door molding to splinters.
No doubt about it, he was in trouble.
Silently, he retreated down the steps to slip out the back door.
Erihn frowned at her notes. According to the journal, there were only two ways to become a were-cat. One was to be born of two were-cat parents. A were-cat and a mortal could have were-cat offspring, but the chances were slim. The only other way was to be scratched or bitten by a were-cat near the full moon.
She gnawed the end of her pen. Now, the problem, of course, was how to get the hero to scratch the heroine. In bed, maybe? An accident? She wrote a question mark next to her note. She'd have to come back to that one.
Next was the issue of changing form. How did a were-cat change into cat form and back again? She glared at the diary, sitting on the arm of the couch. The stupid thing read like stereo instructions. Some of it she couldn't make heads or tails of while the bulk of the later information was written in a language she was unable to decipher. There were times she was tempted to try reading the thing backwards rather than forwards.
Erihn sighed. She was going to have to come up with something. In Velvet Lover, she hadn't addressed the issue of changing from human to were-cat, but it was going to be an integral plot point in the new book.
The sound of the door opening jarred her from her musing. Fayne came in and shut the door behind him before walking down the hall toward her. She greedily drank in the bronzed expanse of his chest, filthy from his backbreaking labor in
the drive. He stopped in the archway, his gaze intent upon her. Baggy purple shorts hung low on his hips and she saw them twitch as her gaze skimmed over the front.
She looked at his face, a quiver running under her skin as her body heated and softened as if preparing for his touch. Even covered in muck and pine pitch, he was still the handsomest man she'd ever seen.
"Morning." He rasped.
Erihn shivered as if he'd physically touched her. She cleared her throat. "It's afternoon. I have some tea here if you'd like some." She indicated the pitcher and glasses on the table before her.
He said nothing. She forced herself to remain still as his hungry gaze moved over her. He waved a hand to indicate the dirt. "I need to get cleaned up."
"Okay, take a glass with you." She leaned forward and poured a glass of the icy herbal tea. Rising, she walked across the room to hand it to him. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't take her offering, then he reached out and accepted the glass, taking care to avoid touching her.
"Thank you."
She forced a bright smile. "I'll go make something to eat."
"That isn't necessary."
"I insist. You've spent most of the morning working outside, the least I can do is provide you with food."
His eyes pierced hers, searching. She sensed he wanted to say something, instead he nodded abruptly. "Thanks."
She heaved a sigh of relief as he turned and walked down the steps to his room. She still wanted him even though he unnerved her. There was something about him, something animal, untamed. By rights, it should terrify her, but she sensed his restraint. He wasn't manic like Chapman or intimidating like Val. While Fayne was unpredictable, there was a softer side, a tenderness to him. It was that side which drew her like a moth to the flame. Now she had to be careful she didn't get burned.
Erihn returned to the couch and took great care replacing the diary in its box. She tucked it into her purse for safekeeping. She picked up her notebook and pen and carried them with her into the kitchen. Dropping her supplies on the counter, she checked the fridge before deciding on grilled cheese sandwiches. Pulling the ingredients out of the fridge, she piled them on the butcher-block island. She selected a large non-stick pan from the pans dangling overhead. Humming under her breath, she added a teaspoon of butter and set the pan on the stove to heat as she stared at her scrawled notes.
Need something to make hero appear more sympathetic.
She frowned. What would make her were-cat hero appear more sympathetic?
A pet?
Would were-cats have pets? No, probably not. How about a debilitating illness that would come and go, like malaria? No. According to the diary, were-cats were almost indestructible to human diseases. Unlike werewolves, were-cats were immune to silver bullets and wolf-bane. They healed quickly and, so far, she hadn't found anything in the diary that addressed what could kill them.
Erihn started as she smelled scorching butter. Whipping the frying pan off the burner, she set it aside and slapped the sandwiches together haphazardly, her mind still on her book. What made human men appear vulnerable to women?
Babies.
Stunned, she froze, cheese dangling in mid-air. That was it! She dropped the cheese and snatched up her pen.
Give the hero a child.
Where did the child come from?
Make that an abandoned child.
Of course, with a child, he'd have to lose the motorcycle. No one would transport a small child on the back of a bike. Erihn gnawed on her lip. That might present a problem, though, as she was determined to give the hero a motorcycle. Maybe he could own a car also?
She scribbled a few more notes. Satisfied she had everything down, she turned her attention back to lunch.
"Oh bother!" She shook her head as she picked up the now-cold frying pan. How long had she been standing around dithering?
"Problems?"
She spun around, almost dropping the pan. Air quickly left her lungs when she saw the way Fayne watched her. Hair slicked back from his shower, he was dressed in black jeans and a brilliant purple velvet vest that made his eyes look almost pansy-purple. All that bare skin just waiting for her to explore...
She swallowed audibly. "Umm, what? Did you say something?"
"Are you okay?" He stepped forward soundlessly and she noted that his feet were bare. There was something sexy about a man's bare feet.
"Yes." She stepped back and bumped into the stove. She turned and dropped the pan on the hot burner. Pull it together, Spencer.
"What are we having?"
"Grilled cheese." Erihn dropped more butter in the pan and reached for the sandwiches.
"Sounds good. Is that pitcher of tea still in the living room?"
"Yes, I forgot to bring it in here."
"I'll get it."
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him walk to the living room, leg muscles rippling beneath his jeans as he moved. It should be a crime to wear jeans that well. She fought the urge to sigh like a besotted teenybopper. What was wrong with her? She'd never lost her mind over a man before. She dropped the sandwiches into the butter as Fayne returned with the pitcher. The tattoo caught on his arm caught her attention.
"Why did you get a tattoo?" she blurted.
He glanced at the ring of thorns on his arm. "It's to remind me of something I learned long ago." He refilled both their glasses, then went to the freezer to get more ice. "Your tea's good. What's in it?"
"Herbs. Mint, mostly. It's a nice, calming blend for the morning. I make it myself." She poked at the sandwiches, checking to make sure they weren't burning. "Can I ask what the lesson was?"
He took a long drink of his tea, almost draining the glass. "Something in here tastes familiar."
"Probably chamomile. It's used in a lot of foods."
"Hmm, could be." He refilled his glass and sat down at the small kitchen table. "Now what where you saying?"
"What did the thorns..."
He nodded, "Oh yeah...I remember now. The thorns are to remind me of the perils of my pervious life, as it were."
"What do you mean by previous life?" Erihn neatly flipped the sandwiches, then turned to face him. "Do you mean you've lived before?"
He laughed, and it wasn't like his normal, rolling chuckle. It was an out and out guffaw. He took a big drink from the glass and set it down with a crack. "Have I lived before! Boy, have I ever." He shook his head as if bemused. "Wow, my head feels funny."
Erihn frowned. He wasn't acting like himself at all. Was he sick? "Fayne?"
He stared out the windows in the direction of the bird feeders. Erihn glanced outside to see two crows flirting with each other. One darted a few feet away before stopping to bellow at the other. Erihn turned to see Fayne watching the birds intently. His gaze flicking back and forth as they played.
"Fayne, are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah..." he sighed. "I'm just g-g-great." The word ended with a strange, animal-like growl.
"Are you allergic to anything?" His eyes focused on hers, his dilated pupils setting off alarm bells in her mind. "Did you take anything before you came upstairs?"
"No." He shook his head then frowned. "Not 'llergic to anything."
"Are you a diabetic?"
"Nope."
Erihn started toward him, concerned. Something was very wrong, and thanks to the mudslide further down the mountain, she couldn't even call an ambulance. "Fayne, I think..."
Fayne startled her by jumping to his feet. He wobbled a bit, causing her to reach out and steady him. His arm was warm beneath her hand. He waggled a finger in front of her nose.
"That's your problem. You think too much." He giggled, then rubbed his stomach. "Wow, I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" He moved to the refrigerator, his steps lacking their normal grace.
If he was sick, what should she do?
"Food's burnin'," he announced.
Erihn spun and grabbed the pan off the burner. Maybe if she fed him, he'd feel better. Hurriedly she found a plate
and slid the hot sandwiches onto it. She turned as he pulled a pint of mint ice cream out of the freezer.
"Sandwiches are ready."
"'Kay." He wandered back to the counter, wrestling with the top of the carton all the way. Finally, he wrenched it off. "Tadddaaa."
"Do you have a fever?" she asked, trying to put her hand on his forehead.
He frowned and batted her hand away from his face. "Mm fine," he mumbled. He pulled open a drawer to paw through the cutlery. He located a spoon and dug into his prize.
Erihn managed to cup her hand around the back of his neck. Ignoring the shiver that tingled over her skin, she found him quite warm. Too warm, in fact.
"Fayne, you have a fever."
"No doan't," he mumbled around a mouthful of ice cream. "Boy, it's hot in here. Do you think it's hot in here? I know I do. Have I ever told you how much I hate clothing?" He relinquished his spoon and reached for the snaps on his jeans. "I really hate clothing."
"Fayne..." She reached to stop him.
"If I had my way, I'd run around nekkid all the time. I think everyone should run around nekkid..."
Erihn gulped as he unbuttoned his jeans. He didn't appear to have anything on underneath.
"Fayne..."
"Thatz my name, doan wear it out," he snorted with laughter.
Erihn caught her lip between her teeth. Obviously, he was ill. Maybe she should try and get him into bed. "I think, maybe, you should lie down for a while."
He grinned. "Remember what I said..." he trilled in a singsong voice. He shook his head and dropped his pants at the same time. "Voila!"
Erihn gasped, "Oh, my lord." Her gaze fastened on his hipbone. A tattoo of a panther covered his hip from his waist to the top part of his thigh. A panther on the prowl, crouched, its expression intent. It was one of the most amazing things she'd ever seen... on a human body, that is. There was something incredibly erotic about a tattoo hidden by clothing. She blinked. It certainly wasn't hidden now.
Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 3 Page 10