The Mating Game: Werewolves of Montana Book 8

by Bonnie Vanak

  She brightened. “Truly?”

  “Truly. First, I need a little background.” After he waved his hand, a thick book appeared in his lap.

  Ciara blinked. “What’s that?”

  “Your file.” Xavier made a sideways motion with his hand, and the file opened. Each page was opaque, filled with elegant, black runes.

  Her mother was a Nymph in the rugged mountains of Colorado. Her father was a panther shifter, who had made the Everglades his home but had gone to Colorado on a vacation and happened to chance upon Ciara’s mother while she was in heat.

  Nine months later, Ciara made her appearance.

  As a half-breed, she was always bouncing from one world to another. During the times when her mother’s colony went into a mating heat, Ciara was sent to live with her father in Florida.

  She never learned about her uniqueness, for no one bothered to teach her when she was younger. And by the time Ciara reached her fourteenth year, her mother had caved to the pressure of the colony and decided to send her to live with her father for good.

  Ciara leaned close. He found her lack of fear refreshing.

  “My life, laid out in a book.” She looked at him as he shut the file and made it vanish. “I can tell you exactly what chapter went wrong. I came to live with my dad, who loved me, and I loved him. But I’m more Nymph than panther, and I’m not Nymph enough for the ones in my mother’s colony. I don’t fit in. I’m a half-blood mutant.”

  “You are not a mutant,” he said fiercely. “And I’ll guide you through this so you can get through the next time without reservation.”

  “You mean I need a reservation for a sex partner each time this happens to me?”

  He started to answer then realized she teased him. “I’m certain you’ll have plenty of willing lovers. You are quite pretty. But first, we have to get you to your first lover.”

  Xavier frowned. “There is a colony of panther shifters on the east coast, about four hours from here. They’re led by a shifter named Gabriel. Have you never met any of them?”

  “My father was going to take me there, but he fell ill. I spent most of my time caring for him.” She looked away, hugging her knees. “I should have found a sexual partner by now, but I must confess, I’m quite clueless for a Nymph. That’s how I got into trouble with those Skin cowboys. I asked them if they would be willing to have sex with me.”

  Surprised, he frowned, not liking the idea all of a sudden of Ciara having sex with a Skin. “And that’s when they all came after you?”

  He found himself fiercely protective of this frail Nymph.

  “No, they came after me when I took my clothing off. And then I changed my mind.” She plucked at his jacket. “And lost my clothing as well.”

  “I’ll conjure clothing for you. A few dresses, some shoes…”

  “No.”

  Xavier raised a dark brow. “No? You cannot go running about stark naked, my dear. This is not a nudist colony.”

  “I don’t need a wardrobe. Only one outfit to cover myself, and then I’ll pay you back.”

  He frowned. “There is no need.”

  Ciara sighed. “I don’t like being in debt to anyone. I don’t enjoy material things when I know you can snap your fingers and it appears.”

  Again, he had the oddest feeling he knew her from some place. “Have we met before?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened. “You ask me that question, and you’re the all-powerful wizard?”

  Xavier chuckled. He liked her spunk.

  Returning to the car, he found an old, black T-shirt and a pair of jeans he’d tossed into the back seat as spare clothing. The shirt fit him and would serve as a dress for her. He brought it back and handed it to her, and she wriggled into it. It draped down to mid-thigh. At least she was covered now.

  Ciara fingered the material, and her nostrils widened. She inhaled the scent of the fabric and then gave him a shy smile.

  “Thanks. It smells like you. Sage, spices, rainwater, and the delicious smell of hot chocolate on a cold night.”

  For a moment, he was speechless. A craving so deep and powerful came over him that he almost found it hard to breathe.

  She was delicate and frail, her skin pale as starlight, her eyes green as soft moss. Xavier stared at her, tempted to wrap his fingers around her wrist and tug her away, feeling delicate bones beneath her porcelain skin as he took her into the woods, lay her down upon the earth, and taught her the pleasures that existed between a man and a woman. He saw himself spreading her legs wide and guiding himself straight into her pink, wet center that no man had ever before touched…

  Giving himself a mental shake, he scowled. What the blazes? She was his charge, and he needed to guide her, not fuck her. It was the natural sensuality of the Nymph, weaving through the air, affecting even him.

  “Are you ready to come with me?” he asked curtly.

  She nodded. Xavier waved a hand, transporting them into his Mustang. She looked around with a soft smile, as if dematerializing and reappearing was an everyday thing.

  “I like your car.”

  Xavier nodded and started the ignition. He accessed the road, concentrating on the traffic.

  The male he’d chosen to initiate Ciara into sex was a handsome, virile cougar shifter who made his home in southern Florida. A real tomcat, he’d refused to settle down and find a mate and preferred to spend his days beachcombing or hunting in the forest. But Marc had a deeply sensual nature, the perfect fit for a virgin Nymph.

  Fit. Bad pun. Xavier grimaced.

  After a few miles, Xavier spotted a farm supply store. Orange riding lawnmowers and green-and-yellow tractors lined the outside. A salesman climbed on one, demonstrating to a customer how the engine revved.

  After parking and shutting off the ignition, he climbed out then went around the Mustang to open the car door for her.

  She smiled again. “You’re very polite.”

  And better to keep an eye on you, in case the store is filled with cowboys and farmers who would be all over you like a stallion on a mare in heat. With a hand on the small of her back, he escorted her inside.

  Fortunately, only a bored-looking salesgirl at the cash register and an elderly man examining feed were in the store. Xavier found the clothing department and gestured to the women’s section.

  “What do you like?”

  Ciara tried on a T-shirt with glitter and blue jeans with sequins on the back pockets. She had good taste.

  “Shoes?” he asked.

  She made a face. “I loathe wearing shoes.”

  He fetched a pair of flip-flops, and she tried them on. They fit perfectly.

  After removing the tags on the clothing and flip-flops, he paid for the purchases with his Black Card. Ciara headed for the car.

  Xavier glanced outside while the cashier handed him the credit card receipt.

  Sitting on the orange riding lawnmower the salesman had abandoned, Ciara moved the controls. The machine jerked forward then roared into the parking lot as she shrieked with delight, laughing.

  Xavier’s blood ran cold. Oh shit.

  Clutching the bag with the purchases, he ran outside just as she crashed the lawnmower into the parking lot fence.

  Dropping the bag, he raced over to her. Ciara climbed off, shaking her head.

  “You okay?” he asked, his heart racing, his blood pumping hard. Gods, he felt his very knees shake.

  She looked up beneath the fringe of her long, dark lashes. Then she laughed and clapped her hands. “That was fun! I’ve always wanted to ride one of those things after seeing them in the suburban areas where Skins have acres and acres of grass.”

  Xavier shook his head, unable to get angry because he was so relieved she wasn’t hurt. He picked up the abandoned purchases, thrusting them at her. “Get into the car and stay there.”

  He returned to the shop. The bored clerk, who no longer looked bored, snapped her gum. “You’ll have to pay for the lawnmower. One thousand seven hundred
dollars.”

  “One thousand seven hundred dollars,” he muttered, handing over his card again.

  Miss Ciara Verde’s first mating heat was costing him a lot.

  When he returned to the Mustang, he clapped a lid on his temper. To his shock, his hands trembled a little as he started up the car. Watching her crash the lawnmower had deeply rattled him.

  “Where are we headed to now?” she asked.

  “I need to book us a hotel where you’ll meet Marc, your first partner.”

  “Can you find a hotel on the beach?” Her tone was wistful.

  He made an executive decision and typed in his cell phone. Useful things, these Android phones.

  Several minutes later, they arrived in the parking lot of a beachside hotel. Xavier opened the door for Ciara. He’d booked two beachside suites next to each other, each complete with a small kitchenette, living room, king-sized bed, and a balcony overlooking a wide, sandy beach and the Gulf of Mexico.

  Ciara’s delight was obvious as he escorted her to their connected rooms.

  “It’s a lovely afternoon. Let’s walk on the beach,” she told him. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll meet you outside.”

  Xavier wasn’t accustomed to women giving him orders, but with her, it felt more like a friend giving a suggestion than being bossed around. “All right,” he said, fascinated and intrigued.

  She met him outside by the stairwell a few minutes later. He still wore his business attire. Ciara blinked. “You’re wearing that to walk on the sand?”

  Xavier glanced down. He waved a hand, and a khaki shirt adorned with green palm trees and a pair of black shorts replaced the suit and shirt. On his feet were neon-green flip-flops.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She brightened. “Oh yes. You are much more handsome like this. You were too sober before.”

  Amused, he corrected her. “Somber.”

  “That too.”

  They left the hotel and passed a tiki bar with a grassy roof. Sounds of a blender whirring and glasses clinking filled the air. Xavier drew in a lungful of salt air and felt himself relax. The sun shone in a cloudless, blue sky. Seagulls flew overhead, giving their eerie cries. They walked across the wide stretch of hot, tawny sand to the water’s edge and began to head south along the shoreline, water lapping at their feet. Shells crunched beneath his flip-flops.

  A minute later, they came upon a boy about four years old building a sandcastle at the edge of the water. Sitting nearby in beach chairs, the boy’s proud parents looked on. Trolls, in their Skin forms.

  Ciara squatted down and began to help, digging up wet sand with her fingers and dripping it over the lopsided structure. “Such a lovely castle!”

  Xavier stuffed his hands into his pockets and grinned. Her carefree spirit and innocence tugged at a part of him he’d thought long dead.

  He joined them. “That a fine castle.”

  The parents’ grins dropped. The mother gasped and shrank back in her chair, and then the father stiffened and hissed to her, “Bow.”

  The pair flung themselves upon the sand and prostrated before Xavier. The boy gave his parents a bewildered look, and Ciara’s jaw dropped.

  Other families looked stunned. A group of Ogres followed suit, dropping to the sand and prostrating themselves.

  The Skin couples looked at him. “Is that a prince?” one Skin woman asked the man beside her.

  Xavier’s feeling of serenity evaporated, replaced by cynical resignation. “Rise,” he said in a low voice.

  The parents stood, while the family of Ogres resumed their seats.

  All his charges were terrified of him. They’d learned to be so, for it was a reputation he’d cultivated. It kept volatile Others in check and fearful of committing some offense that would have him turning them into ash.

  He was accustomed to fear. But for once, he wished he could be an ordinary man, out for a stroll with a pretty girl.

  Ciara tugged at his hand. “Help us. Find some shells. The turrets need decorations.”

  Grinning at her bossy attitude, he found shells and dropped to the sand, placing the shells on the castle. The Troll parents were very nervous. He could scent their fear. Xavier made a mental note about that.

  When the castle was finished, Ciara applauded. “Oh, that was fun!”

  He focused his attention on the boy, who silently appraised the castle. He had a dull look about him, as if mentally incapacitated or drugged. But there was something else. Xavier’s senses pricked as he caught the boy’s scent.

  He heard rustling behind him, and then something wet and slimy landed on his neck and the back of his head.

  “Jellyfish,” Ciara sang out.

  Several gasps sounded from the Ogre family and the Troll parents. They looked shocked, as if she’d tried to stab him, the mighty Crystal Wizard, instead of playing a prank.

  Xavier wiped away the seawater running into his eyes. He pulled off the slimy seaweed and dropped it onto the sand. The boy giggled, the dull look finally leaving his expression.

  Xavier grinned back.

  Standing nearby, Ciara poked the seaweed with a toe, a wide smile on her face. “The mighty Crystal Wizard scares away the big, bad jellyfish with a single look!”

  Then the mighty Crystal Wizard—oh yes, he was so mighty that he scared jellyfish—stood to his full height.

  He whirled, caught Ciara into his arms, and hoisted her over one shoulder. Shrieking with laughter, she struggled, but his grip was firm.

  Xavier marched into the water until he was waist deep, quite a ways out, and then dumped her into the Gulf of Mexico as she laughed. She bobbed up and stood, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

  “That was fun!”

  He stared into her pretty, green eyes, mesmerized by a woman for the first time in…what? Centuries?

  Since his ex-lover Andromeda had caught him in her snare more than six hundred years ago.

  Remembering how that love affair had ended made his chest ache all over again. He swore he would never fall in love again, but Xavier could never resist a pretty woman.

  And Ciara stood before him, in all her fresh, young beauty.

  Then she whirled around, her nose in the air, her gaze sharp, as if she had seen something. Ciara waded out of the Gulf, and he followed, curious as to what she wanted and why he couldn’t read her mind.

  When they were out of the water, Ciara grabbed his hand. “Come.”

  He followed her as she raced along the shore and then dropped down beside an injured bird. The sandpiper hopped on one foot, dragging its wing. Ciara took the bird into her hands.

  “He’s too far gone, and I cannot heal him,” Xavier said.

  Holding up the bird to him with a beseeching look, she whispered, “Please. Help him.”

  It was only a bird. Nature had taken its course, and the bird would soon die. But the wounded look on her face, mixed with the hope and trust, revived something inside him he’d thought long dead.

  Xavier cradled it in his hands and sent healing energy into its little body. When he opened his hands, the bird stood, blinked, and then flew off.

  Ciara clapped her hands, her face shining with delight. “You’re amazing. Thank you!”

  Xavier felt an odd sense of pride and pleasure in her praise. Silly. He was a powerful wizard who could make the waves crash upon the shore, slay Ogres with the flick of a finger, or cure them with another, and yet this act of healing a bird with a broken wing made him feel as if he’d moved mountains.

  The adoring look on her face was worth curing several more sandpipers.

  She stood, brushing sand off her knees. “Let’s walk.”

  Clasping his hand, she accompanied him as they walked in the water’s edge. Xavier wasn’t accustomed to this. Most Others were too intimated by him, or fearful, except females who desired him in their beds. And then after the sex, they left him, for no one liked to be with a wizard who might fuck you one night and fry your brains the next if you disple
ased him. Ciara’s earlier fear had evaporated, and he found her innocent trust charming and exhilarating.

  He could almost believe he was an ordinary man, out for a stroll with a pretty girl at his side.

  Xavier looked down at her. “What do you usually do with your time, Ciara?

  “Since Dad died, I’ve worked in a local grocery store as a cashier. Money is tight, but I make enough to survive and buy art supplies.”

  He looked down at their clasped hands and gently disentangled his fingers. Xavier stooped down to select a sand dollar washed up on the beach. He turned it over. Seeing it was still alive, he flung it back into the Gulf.

  “What kind of art do you enjoy?”

  “Painting. And drawing. I like drawing comic book illustrations. Especially Superman.”

  Stopping, he stared at her, stricken by a deep sense of déjà vu. And then an ache pounded in his temples. Xavier winced and rubbed his head.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Slight headache.”

  Tilting her head, she frowned. “You need a cold drink and perhaps some food. Come on.”

  Tugging at his hand, she turned around and headed back for the hotel. Sunstroke, him? But it was a novelty, having her concerned. He wasn’t used to anyone taking care of him.

  Back at the hotel, when they were upstairs, outside their rooms, he jammed his hands into his pockets. “Would you like to have dinner with me? I saw a restaurant down the street that’s supposed to have good seafood.”

  This was bad. He should conjure groceries or a meal and leave her alone. She wasn’t his, wasn’t meant to be his.

  Ciara smiled, and it was like watching a light snap on in a dark room. “Give me thirty minutes to shower and meet me downstairs.”

  5

  At the restaurant she’d found, they dined on cracked crab and brown rice at a table overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. Xavier picked at his meal, too enchanted by her enthusiasm and laughter to focus on eating. He didn’t require food but liked to eat for the taste.

  Not tonight. Tonight his taste ran toward a petite Nymph who enthralled him with her arguments about classic art versus modern art.