by Mel Teshco
She grinned at the image. She only hoped every single room of every motel would be checked and double-checked before Blake’s enemies realized they’d been duped.
She managed one more bite of the duck coated in some kind of orange-zest crumb, before declining anything more.
Blake methodically polished off all six plates.
His smile gleamed behind the sputtering flame when he explained, “It takes a lot of fuel to shift shape, for cells to alter and heal.”
She couldn’t help but smile once again in return, though she wondered how the scant trail mix they’d shared back at the barn had been near enough fuel for him. “There’s always the strawberries and champagne, if you’ve got any hole left in your belly to fill.”
He stood, moving behind her to pull out her chair. He took her hand and drew her close. “They’re for later,” he said huskily.
“Oh?”
“For after we meet the elusive shape-shifter hater, where I can hopefully resolve things with him.”
She arched a brow. “So you’re planning to sweet talk your way out of him hating you?”
He shrugged, looking at ease for someone who’d been sent into hiding thanks to her father’s findings. “I can’t run forever.” His eyes caught hers under the candlelight. “Not if I have any hope of settling down.”
She exhaled slowly, trying not to let emotions rule her head. “Is that what you want?”
He nodded. “With you. More than anything.”
Her breath caught. A strange lump settled in her throat. She only hoped his optimism paid off.
Chapter Five
An hour later they climbed out of the taxi. Alexia entered the club on Blake’s arm, dressed in the slinky red gown he’d chosen. Red wasn’t just passion, it was power—something she’d need plenty of if she hoped to get through the night with her nerves still intact.
At a tiny stage set near the downstairs bar, an ebony-skinned man in a tweed jacket serenaded patrons in a low, crooning voice, his fingers gliding across the keys of a grand piano.
Blake led her past the pianist to the escalator nearby, which took them upstairs to where booth seats offered views of the floor below. They ordered a drink from the main bar before sliding into one of the leather seats opposite each other.
Down below, groups and couples were already spilling in through the front glazed doors from the street. At the other end of the room, long-haired musicians, tats gleaming on their bared arms, were setting up on a big stage.
None of it soothed the fear escalating within, and she chewed her lower lip, decidedly sick inside. Blake was putting his life on the line to ensure there was a future for them. But was the risk too great?
Blake took hold of her hand. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head and confessed, “I’m scared.”
He squeezed her hand. “You have nothing to fear. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I’m scared for you!
“I brought you here for good reason.” He nodded toward the cameras mounted in strategic places on the ceiling. “They are all the proof we need if our man tries something underhanded.”
She didn’t want proof. She wanted him safe. And she didn’t doubt for one second that underhanded tactics would be the order of the night.
But she had no time to believe his reassurance. Blake gestured to the heavyset man lumbering through the opened doors, a white cane tucked under one arm. “Speaking of whom…here’s our man.”
Her mouth dropped open. Leon. She knew that man well!
He’d been her father’s biggest supporter and closest confidant. Her heart squeezed tight, a painful lump in her chest. Surely it couldn’t be true? Leon couldn’t possibly be behind the thugs who’d tried to kill them. He’d been like an uncle to her. And had been the moneyed, driving force behind her dad’s exploratory digs.
Damn it! He’d comforted her after her father’s death.
He’d also been noticeably absent at the funeral, a little voice reminded.
She screwed her eyes shut, shocked beyond reason. It was all too surreal. Leon had paid men to kill Blake? To kill her?
Her eyelids flicked open. The man below looked around. When his hard gaze lifted and connected with hers, recognition was instant. His brows snapped together, and he stepped onto the escalator.
Blake tapped the seat next to him. “Sit beside me, on the outside.”
On legs gone weak, she changed seats. “Why?”
“In case you need a quick exit.”
“I thought you said—”
“It’s just a precaution.” His grin was self-assured. “Cats are cautious by nature.”
The man who finally stood beside their table was on the high side of fifty, bitter dislike stamped onto his face as though a permanent scowl.
Blake didn’t stand, and the antagonism between the two men was palpable. He indicated the seat opposite. “Take the weight off your feet.”
He wasn’t being polite.
The man hesitated. Suspicion glinted behind his cold stare.
“I guess you know me now.” Blake swept a hand toward her. “And this is Alexia—”
Leon glowered. “I’m well aware who you both are.” He swept her a look of deep scorn. “Your father was a hero of mine. He was great…honorable.”
He said the word “honorable” as though she was now the antithesis.
Repressing a shiver of revulsion as the older man moved stiffly into the booth opposite them, she turned to Blake. “This asshole is Leon Tane. I thought he was a good friend. Guess I was wrong.”
Blake’s eyes narrowed, his appraisal every bit that of a cat ready to pounce. “I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, Leon, but then I’d be lying.”
Leon jerked straight back to his feet. His cane clattered onto the floor. A vein in his forehead bulged as he leaned forward, pressing his weight on outspread hands at the edge of the table. “The feeling is all too mutual, you piece of shifter scum.”
“Tell me,” Blake asked, seemingly unaffected, “what do you have against me and my kind?”
The older man’s eyes flashed with hatred and deep distrust. “You mean you don’t know?” He settled back into his seat with a shake of his head before taking his time to retrieve the cane. “One of your filthy kind murdered my father, left him for dead in a government reserve in the outback. He was mutilated almost beyond recognition but he fought to stay alive.”
The nostrils of Leon’s bull-like nose flared, the whites of his eyes bloodshot with rage. “Wild dogs got the blame. But he managed to croak out the words ‘shape-shifter’ and ‘panther’ to me just before he died.”
Blake expelled a breath, not denying his accusation. “I see.”
“No, you don’t!” Leon snarled. “Your species are noxious, dangerous. A threat to the entire human race. And I for one can’t wait to kill every last one of you before it’s too late.”
Alexia’s hand balled into a fist beneath Blake’s hold. How could this demented man possibly think all these deaths would bring his father back? “Does that include killing every human sympathizer?” she asked coldly.
“Fucking the enemy isn’t going to make them go away,” Leon said, turning a leering stare her way. “Pity though. While Thomas had droned on and on about his work I had plenty of dirty fantasies about your pretty piece of ass.”
Alexia gritted her teeth against the surge of vitriol that threatened to erupt. She and her dad had trusted this man. More fool them.
Blake leaned across the table, and the two faced off like a pair of dogs snarling before attack. “You’re just the same as your father,” Blake ground out. “He was the reason one of our tribeswomen—a normally shy, gentle shape-shifter—went rogue.”
“You think I give a shit my father wanted a piece of timid pussy? That rogue shifter needs to pay for his death!”
Raw pain and regret momentarily slashed Blake’s face as he gritted, “Her name was Vivianna. And she did pay.”
&
nbsp; Alexia sucked in a breath. Was? Past tense? Her belly clenched, dread coiling deep inside. “Blake, what are you saying?”
He lowered his voice, but grief made it harsh when he pushed back into his seat and turned to her. “I’m saying she’s dead. By killing a human she broke ancient shape-shifter laws.” With his free hand, he tossed back his drink in a single swallow. “Her shifter partner, Shad, was given the ‘honor’ of eliminating her.”
Oh, shit. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Sudden comprehension swirled through her mind like the coming together of a fragmented dream. “The shape-shifter bones my father found, they were hers, weren’t they?”
Blake nodded. “She was our historian, our scroll keeper. She knew better than anyone what punishment would be meted out. After she…afterward, we buried her at the mouth of a sacred aboriginal cave. Right where we knew she’d want to be at rest.”
Was that why Leon had backed her father? He hadn’t been interested in her father’s beliefs at all, and certainly hadn’t feared the unknown entity that was a shape-shifter. Revenge had been his only motive.
Blake rubbed at the condensation on his glass. “Vivianna fled back to our ancestral home in the bush, not far from where she murdered Leon’s father. Shad never spoke of what happened, but I’m guessing when he found Vivianna, she instinctively began shifting shape in an attempt to escape.” Blake shook his head, as if to clear it. “But no matter the motive, no matter what the human did to her, she went rogue, became a murderer.”
Alexia resisted clapping a hand to her mouth in horror. Just who was the real victim here?
Blake focused on the hostile man opposite. “The shape-shifters would have devised a suitable punishment for your rapist father, but Vivianna took matters into her own hands just hours after the event.”
Leon stood, jeering, “Sounds to me like she got what she deserved. Animals shouldn’t have rights or privileges. They’re not human, never will be.” He turned to Alexia. “Perhaps your father wasn’t any better than them after all—imagining the shifter maggots as something to be revered.” One side of his lips curled. “At least your father had his pride though and didn’t beg for his…”
“Beg for his what?” she croaked, feeling every bit of her blood drain from her face.
Leon smirked and added, “Life.” He leaned even closer and murmured, “Before I murdered him.”
Roiling sickness pulled at her belly from bleak, black, horrified fury. Blake put a hand over hers, stilling her. He squeezed gently, pacifying her. Somehow, in her haze of shocked emotions, she understood he wanted her to stay calm, to outwit the enemy—her father’s murderer.
Leon grinned, but it was the cruel mirth of a madman. “Frankly, it was amusing seeing his precious only daughter imagine he’d taken his own life. So easy really, what with his depression after I blackmailed Liz into stealing his information then giving false and unsubstantiated reports.”
Her soul shrank. What did this monster have over Liz and God knew how many other reporters? “How did you think you could ever get away with it?” she whispered starkly.
“Think I’d get away with it? Oh please, you stupid girl. I did get away with it.” He straightened with a wink, so cocky and sure. “It’s always handy to have high-ranking police officers under my pay.” He clucked his tongue. “Flash a bit of money to the right ones, the desperate ones, and they are all too easy to corrupt.”
Unlike my father.
Somehow, despite the fact he’d been murdered, she was comforted by the knowledge her dad had stayed strong, had never committed suicide. Her doubts about her father taking his life had been warranted. Of course they had. She should never have even once believed otherwise. “Well, if you lowlifes will excuse me,” Leon announced grandly, “I have your murders to plan.”
Blake squeezed her hand once more as Leon retrieved his cane and hobbled away in a drift of chilling laughter. Standing, Blake announced. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll want to go anywhere just yet.”
Leon pivoted, his expression both amused and annoyed. “What makes you think that?”
Blake pulled out an audio recording device from his jacket pocket. “Your confession at committing a murder, perhaps?”
The surprise that flickered across the older man’s face was almost instantly replaced by rage. All consuming, murderous fury. “You bastard!” he roared.
Alexia sat in stunned incomprehension as Leon charged toward them, too fast surely for a man of his age and size. She cried out as Blake thrust her forward, away from danger. She fell to the floor and twisted around, watching the drama unfold as though it were acted out in slow motion.
Leon wielded his cane like a spear, and she abruptly understood why. Tipping one end of the cane, she caught the flash of a lethal blade beneath the bright lights.
There was no time to yell a warning, no time for anything at all. She could only watch as Blake vaulted nimbly onto the table. In a blur of speed, he sidestepped the blade, took hold of its long handle and, making use of Leon’s momentum, wrenched it high.
Leon held tight—and that was his undoing. He tumbled up and over the table, over the half wall of glass. She heard his outraged shout, immediately silenced by a dull, heavy thud as he hit the floor below.
A stunned hush filled the club. Then chaos.
Everyone scrambled to either assist the man below, or reach for their phones, calling for help.
“Hey, are you two all right?” asked a young man, his bleached-blond hair offset nicely by a tweed suit. His brow furrowed with concern. “Don’t worry, I witnessed him pull that blade on you. You acted in self-defense.”
Blake nodded. “Thank you.” He turned his attention on her when she clambered to her feet, swaying unsteadily. “You’re okay?”
“I think so.”
He moved from the table and pulled her into the refuge of his arms, keeping her there for some minutes until sirens could be heard in the distance and Leon’s sudden, horrified cry echoed below. “I can’t feel my legs!”
Chapter Six
Tremors overtook her body as Leon continued to cry out, his words almost incoherent now. “Is he paralyzed?” she whispered.
“He deserves nothing less.” The blond man pressed a business card into Blake’s hand. “Call me if it should turn out you need a good lawyer.” He shrugged. “Or another witness.”
Her chest hurt, but in a good way. There really were honorable people still left in the world.
Movement caught her periphery Liz Hemlock. The muscles in her belly clenched hard. Oh, hell no. Not here. Not now.
But of course, Leon would have ensured the reporter would be there, nothing short of a vulture ready to pick up any scrap and run with it.
The other woman stalked toward their table, all business in her tight cream trouser suit, her thick flame-red hair caught back into a tight topknot. She reached into her jacket pocket and flipped open a pad, her trembling fingers giving away her excitement at the chance of such a coup.
Blake stiffened, but this time it was Alexia’s turn to squeeze his hand. This round was her fight.
“You won’t need that pen or paper,” Alexia announced.
Liz arched a thin red brow. “Oh I will. This is some story.”
She really was a piranha.
“Mm. Though I have doubts this news is as big as you being blackmailed by Leon into breaking into houses to steal information, and then fabricating the rest.” The reporter’s face dropped. She shook her head, but her face leached of color. “Nice try,” she bluffed. “Shame you can’t prove a thing.”
Alexia turned to Blake. “Honey, will you show her the evidence, or will I?”
Blake ran a thumb under her chin, murmuring wryly, “You’re doing a great job so far. I wouldn’t want to mess things up.”
He handed her the device, and Alexia pressed the play button with relish.
This one’s for my dad.
As Leon’s words replayed, Liz backed away wi
th her hands out. “I never meant to hurt anyone. Leon…he just…he knows stuff about me, about my family. He had me backed into a corner and wouldn’t let up.”
From her periphery, ambulance crew lifted Leon carefully onto a stretcher. He had to have been sedated and medicated given how quiet he lay. Police had also arrived, and Alexia knew it wouldn’t be long before they rode the escalator up to question the suspect.
She closed the distance with the reporter and swept a hand to the floor below. “I doubt he’ll be bothering anyone for some time, if ever. Either way, I want you to leave me alone.” She leaned closer, unleashing every bit of tension with every word she spoke. “And I want you to write another article, this time featuring my father as the ethical, honest and brilliant man he always was.” She took a breath, adding a little less harshly. “And I’ll forget every disgusting, malicious and untruthful piece of trash you ever printed.”
Liz swallowed. But there was no longer any reason for her to put up a fight. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
“And I want you to refute everything you’ve ever said about the existence of panther shape-shifters.”
Liz stopped her backpedaling. “How can I do that and clear your father’s name?”
“You’re a reporter. You’ll think of something.”
“So you’re saying they are real, then?” the reporter all but squeaked.
Blake stepped beside Alexia, his hand entwining with hers. She heard his low, rumbling growl. She looked up, smothering a smile at the glint of his growing incisors inside his slightly opened mouth, the narrowed, catlike glow of his eyes directed at the reporter. “Some things are better left alone, wouldn’t you say?” he growled. “Panthers…hunt.”
Liz’s face paled, impossibly white. “I won’t breathe a word to anyone. I give you my word.”
Though Alexia knew the reporter’s word didn’t mean much in the bigger scheme of things, she also knew the redhead would look after her own best interests.