Shifter Fated Mates: Boxed Set

by Mandy M. Roth

  The pool of water was deep, the edges clear, the center an intense turquoise. He was more interested in the fact that the pool was sacred, the waters a mirror to fates.

  So he waited. And in his waiting, lusted for that which would be his again.

  * * * *

  A month later

  Reya Lynx wished the customers were out of the gallery. An energy hummed under her skin and she wondered if anyone else felt it, wondered what exactly it meant. The late summer air pressed hot and dry against the large windows of Horizons Gallery. As the sole owner of the artistic jewelry shop in the trendy New Mexico town of Taos, she normally wanted customers in, wanted them to browse, wanted them to buy. Today she was ready to leave.

  She scanned the street beyond the windows.

  Could it be Lorenzo?

  At the thought of her husband, she rubbed the ring on her finger, a symbol, more modern than a tradition for either of them, but it served its purpose—a reminder, a hope.

  Reya glanced down at the wide silver band, the carvings to ward off evil, the edges lined with tiny marbled turquoise, to let her know when danger approached—or so legend went. She smiled. Lorenzo had given it to her not even a year ago.

  It had nothing to do with the normal marriage proposal. For they were neither lovers nor haters, estranged, engaged nor married. They were mates—for the most part. Of course their relationship was rather confusing. It didn’t matter that they had loved, and lost, hated and blamed, worried and hoped for the other through the centuries. What was, simply was. No matter the time, sooner or later they found their way back to each other. Then again, sooner or later something usually ripped them apart.

  Lorenzo Craigen, as he was currently known, was her mate. He always had been and he always would be.

  She knew that, even loved him for it. He was, at present, pissed at her for the fact that though she was living with him, she still kept her own place here in town. Still stayed at her place a couple of times a month, sometimes more. As yet, he didn’t demand her acceptance of what was between them. He understood she needed to sort through things. Theirs was not a normal union either by human or were nature. Both were strong, willful, and independent. She, however, was more cautious. More wary.

  Commitment phobic?

  They’d met so long ago in the village in the canyon, its terra cotta walls protecting that lost civilization. A canyon that would become known as Chaco Canyon. They had lived with the Anasazi. Young, they’d fallen in love. A forbidden love it seemed. The shaman of their people had wanted her.

  At the memory of Sael, she shivered. The dark shaman had ripped them apart, cursing the young lovers, sending them away. Lorenzo had been turned into a werecat under the instructions from Sael, to be a descendant of the great mountain lions while she’d been consigned to the shifting forces of the lynx felines. For years she’d been at the mercy of Sael until Lorenzo had rescued her.

  Then had come the most peaceful time. A time for many of her people to fear when the Spanish came. But for her, for Lorenzo, living in the pueblos, it had been perfect. She could close her eyes and remember the sacred lake nestled higher in the mountains, the peace of unadulterated nature, remember the sound of the ceremonial drums deep in the kiva rumbling through the ground. But that time too, ended in pain. Pain of losing Little Moon—their child. A child of blessings, or promise—dead by Sael. Again dark years followed and yet again, Lorenzo found her, finally hunting down Sael and killing him. That should have been the end, but lies, illusions and heartache tore them apart again.

  Most mates were together, always, forever, without any breaks or questions. After Sael’s death, she, however, denounced her bond with Lorenzo. Not that it broke it.

  Now though, over two hundred years later, they were together again. She just wasn’t certain she wanted to become his…possession. In her opinion, Pride Law of mates was a bit antiquated. Nor did she want to lose him.

  Not that he’d let her.

  So why the hesitancy, she wondered. He didn’t demand answers. Yet. She figured it was only a matter of time before he did. That had been their agreement when she’d moved out there with him last year. He wouldn’t push, nor would she on their pasts, as long as those pasts stayed just there—in the past.

  But the dreams had started again. Nightmares, that she couldn’t talk about. Not with Lo. Too much darkness, too much pain. She never wanted him to know about those dreams, what they meant, where they came from.

  If he knew…

  So she started staying at her place again a couple of nights a week in the last couple of weeks. That was all she could get away with.

  He told her she was being stubborn. Probably right. She was stubborn, but then she’d learned to be. If one were stubborn, they didn’t let others rule them, didn’t become a damn doormat or worse. And she’d been both at the hands of men who only wanted to control.

  Shaking off the thoughts, she knew her time of reprieve was up.

  She rested her hand on her still flat stomach and shivered.

  What if she was wrong?

  Was she wrong?

  Was she right?

  Damn.

  She thought she might be pregnant, the thought brought excitement even as it brought horrible fear.

  What if she lost this child as she had the last?

  Her hands trembled.

  Pain at the thought of losing Little Moon washed over her. It hardly mattered it happened hundreds of years ago. Some pains should never be.

  Swallowing, she looked out at the bright street again.

  “Excuse me, miss?” The patron in a sundress, glasses shoved up over her blond hair motioned to the glass case before her.

  Charles, Reya’s assistant walked around from behind the counter. His sharp hazel eyes studied her. “Did you want to try on the strand of corral and turquoise?” He hurried over and Reya walked into the back, her thoughts too muddled and confused to mess with her customers. Charles was capable. Hell, she’d bought the place from him, expanded their selections, and renamed the gallery.

  Now it was hers and he was still here, guiding and protecting.

  She shut her computer down after checking her email. The rumble of Charles voice and the tinkle of the bell above the door told her the customers were done. Or did someone else step in?

  She glanced out her small office and saw the shop was blessedly empty. Sighing, she picked up her jacket and reached for the lights.

  The phone rang.

  Hurrying to her desk, she answered.

  “Is this Reya Lynx?” a man’s voice asked.

  “Yes. Who’s calling please?”

  “This is S. Whitehall out at Cuba. Well, near Cuba. I have a conflict with our original meeting.” A moment of silence.

  Whitehall, the newest artist she’d found and was still trying to sign.

  “Yes, Mr. Whitehall what can I do for you? Do we need to reschedule at a later date?”

  Again silence greeted her before wind hushed on his end of the line. “I was wondering if we could meet this weekend. I’ll be leaving in a few days and not sure when I’ll be back.”

  She thought for a minute. She’d rather not, but she really wanted this guy’s stuff. If she rearranged some things… Lorenzo had mentioned doing something this weekend, but maybe he could go with her. Nodding, she asked the caller. “Just a minute please.” She hit the hold button and hollered, “Charlie?”

  “Reya.” He stood behind her in the doorway.

  “Oh, sorry. Didn’t know you were there. Can you watch the shop this weekend? Or at least tomorrow? I need to go see that new artist I was telling you about. Out near Cuba.”

  Charles frowned. “What’s his name again? Whitehall?”

  She nodded.

  Charles shrugged. “Well, you know me. Where else would I be?”

  She set up a time to meet the potential artist and hung up smiling. Maybe she’d finally sign him. His work was phenomenal. Slightly pagan in a Celtic influence, but
predominantly Southwest. He worked with silver and copper mostly. No bead work, no flashing colors, just…earthy. Charmed and energized pieces, or at least that was what she saw when she looked at his work.

  “Lorenzo going with you?” Charles asked as they walked up front.

  Ever since last fall, it seemed someone was always watching out for her. Something she herself was pissed about. But Lo would not back down. He’d almost lost her too many times he’d said, including last fall when she’d been the object of revenge. Sael’s sister, Selinna, had created a nightmare. The only good thing was that it brought her and Lo back together.

  It hardly mattered if she wanted the pride’s interference or not, she got it.

  “I don’t know, haven’t talked to him about it yet. We’d thought of going camping or something this weekend, just to get away. We’ll see.”

  Charles was fifty-two with dark, graying hair, a goatee and a penchant to sprouting out tidbits of wisdom she usually found annoying. He was handsome with his sharp features and habitual khakis and pullovers. His hazel eyes narrowed. “Be careful.”

  She nodded, gave him a quick hug and said, “I’ll call you and let you know how it goes.”

  “Do that.”

  The doorbell tingled as she walked through it. The cool mountain air was crisp this evening, promising colder temps before too long. The trees were bursting in bright yellows and orange. She loved this time of year. Next was the long cold winter, summer was often hot and spring was generally muddy thanks to snow melts. But fall…Fall was her favorite.

  She tugged her leather jacket tighter around her and strode down the sidewalk towards her house several blocks from the gallery. She enjoyed living in town, the hustle and bustle of the shop keepers, gallery owners, tourists. She kind of missed it, truth be known. Lorenzo’s ranch was so quiet.

  Part of her knew she didn’t belong here. She belonged with Lorenzo. That was simply Pride Law. Where the alpha was, so was his mate. Period.

  So she didn’t exactly accept all of being his mate. Not yet. Maybe that was what kept her. Their history was too confusing for anyone to set by simple laws.

  Okay, that and fear.

  She really hated fear. But there had been so much pain in their past, and fear of pain had turned her into a sissy. A wishy-washy sissy that could never make up her mind. She’d moved some things—okay most of her things—out to his place, but kept her house here in town.

  Reya touched her stomach and tried not to hope. Tried not to see what could be, forced herself not to remember what had been.

  Again, she felt it.

  A faint humming itch under her skin.

  She stopped. Something black slithered up her spine.

  Reya looked one way then the other. Motorists were parked at the red light, tourists walked hand in hand and in groups to restaurants or shops. Laughter floated on the air.

  An image long buried, long shielded rose in her mind.

  “Please,” she begged.

  “Please what, Precious?”

  She hated that name. Hated the way he said it.

  She knew he loved it when she begged, when she pleaded. The cage she was in barred her view of him…

  Reya shook off the dark memory.

  Where the hell had that come from? The nightmares lately? She’d blocked that time of her life. Blocked it from herself and from Lorenzo for years. There were some things she knew, he wouldn’t be able to deal with.

  All the thoughts of the past had messed with her mind. That was all it was.

  Deciding she needed a bit of help, she hurried the rest of the way to her house, daring herself not give into the fear that suddenly seemed to surround her, pulled at her, teased her and fed.

  She needed to see White Lilly.

  Opening the door to her house, she felt someone inside and froze. Her heart beat kicked against her ribs.

  “No need to fear, for love’s sake. Come in. In my old age, it’s cold already and winter’s not even here,” a robust voice said from the kitchen area.

  Reya huffed out a sigh of relief. Seems the bruja always knew when she was needed. Something Reya couldn’t quite understand.

  “Lilly, what are you doing here and how did you get in?” Reya tossed her jacket over the chair back and stared at the woman calmly drinking a cup of tea at the kitchen table.

  White Lilly was almost seventy, her hair still long, but gray, worn in two braids on either side of her head and lay like forgotten ribbons on her chest. She wore a pouch around her neck, the leather almost as gray as her hair, the bead work broken and frayed. Inside were protection bundles of special herbs to ward off evil spirits.

  Some of Lilly was eccentric and for bluster, some was for the fact she appreciated the old ways, but most was simply because she believed. She was known as one of the strongest brujas in the region.

  They’d become more than mentor and student in the last months. They were friends and Reya loved the lady like her grandmother.

  The eyes staring out of the wrinkled face always took Reya by surprise. Blue as the Caribbean.

  Lilly raised an arthritic finger, the knuckles worn from Lilly’s hobby of weaving—of which she really wasn’t all that proficient. It hadn’t stopped the woman from continuing the practice throughout her entire life.

  “You, child, need to be careful.”

  For a moment, Reya held that blue stare, then she looked down and ran her hand over the smooth tan leather of her jacket.

  “Why?”

  Lilly snorted. “You don’t know? I just sense things, for crying out loud. I’m not omnipotent. I just pass on the knowledge I know, not guesses.” Lilly’s oversized sweater engulfed her small frame.

  Reya turned and sure enough, there was Lilly’s walking stick, complete with her dangles of feathers, leather, beads and strips of neon pink and tie-died green.

  Eccentric might be a bit of an understatement.

  The gnarled hand pushed a leather pouch towards Reya across the table. “Wear this. I made it for you after my dream.”

  Tentatively, she reached for the pouch. “What’s inside?”

  Lilly smiled. “I can’t give away all my secrets.” But the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Perhaps, Reya, you should think of the importance of the future and claim before The Council to be Lorenzo’s mate. You would be protected then.”

  Importance of the future? Her hand went again to her stomach. The Council? The Council, like any government had many and varied levels. The Council ruled the immortals, shifters, the living dead. She often thought of them as the legislative branch of the immortal world, more an oligarchy than a normal democracy. The Council had local levels, regional and international levels. And admitting to accepting Pride Law and being Lorenzo’s mate before The Council… Lilly was right, she would then be completely under protection simply because she was Lorenzo’s. And he was the ruler of the werecats of this region.

  Those blue eyes offered no quarter, but seemed to see right through Reya. “Yes, you would be well protected, and so will those you carry.”

  “Those?” Reya asked startled.

  Lilly smiled and stood. “Wear the protection. Watch your back and go to Lorenzo. He’ll be at my door otherwise and the man gives me hot dreams I shouldn’t be having at my age—at least not about him.”

  With that, Lilly grabbed her walking stick, thumped to the door and let herself out. But Reya had heard her, heard the chants the old witch had muttered as she left.

  Protection.

  What or who did Reya need to be protected from?

  The house was empty, the energy inside calm. The fear that had followed her from the shop stopped at the door.

  Lorenzo.

  Perhaps it was time for all or nothing. Yes, she’d moved out there and gave them a chance but keeping her place here in town allowed her a…safety net. Just in case. She’d tried to rent it several times and as yet had not been able to go through with it.

  Time to go forwards, wasn’t
it? She wanted to be his mate, and was in his eyes and half The Council.

  She stood there rubbing her hand over her abdomen. She knew what life was like without him, and knew more, what it was like with him.

  Chapter Two

  Detective Lorenzo Craigen of the New Mexico State Police pulled his pickup truck into the driveway of his ranch. His ranch house sprawled across the land, the adobe a deep orange in the setting sun. Reya’s car was already parked out front under the golden leafed cottonwoods. He relaxed at the knowledge she was here, with him—at least for now. Damned stubborn woman. She was his mate. Her place was with him, yet half the time she chose to stay in town, needing her space—whatever the hell that meant. Okay, not half the time, but one night away from him and he never slept. He worried about her. Her place was right next to him.

  They had some things to discuss.

  Stepping from the truck, he breathed deep and shut the door. Simple day, all around, thank goodness. No local murders. Two days ago there was the old man that died in his sleep. Lo and two others had to go out to the nursing home and investigate another passing. The surviving daughter of one of the guests had thought her mother had been killed by negligence. If only the rest of the day had been that easy. Instead, he’d had to meet with The Council.

  As the werecat leader of this region he had much to answer for. The Council was still pissed at him for the battle last fall between the allied wolves and coyotes against his cats. Against him. Against Reya. They seemed to think he could have negotiated a more peaceful outcome.

  Not when it was Reya. If anyone harmed her, it was death. Plain and simple. No negotiating about it.

  He sighed and realized part of him looked forward to the fight he knew they’d have. Then again, maybe he’d wait until this weekend.

  It was Thursday. He planned to take Reya somewhere. He had no idea where yet, but he would. His boots were silent on the rocks as he strode up the walkway. He let himself into the side door of the laundry room. The dryer whirred, the air warm and fresh from the white sheets Reya tossed into the dryer. The air also smelled of burned something or the other. Reya was cooking? He shook his head. What did he forget? Not their anniversary—no matter which one they were celebrating. Not her birthday. Sure as hell wasn’t his birthday….