“Does he now?” Conor eased himself onto the couch, making himself more comfortable than his hostess would have liked. “And what sorts of facts does he butcher, then?”
“Never mind,” said Lily, who remained in a standing position across the large sitting room, unwilling to demonstrate any friendly body language. Whether this was for her sake or his, she wasn’t yet certain. “So listen, you never explained why you’re here, other than to attempt to trick me into admitting that you’re irresistible.”
“Ah, so you admit it.”
“I do no such thing. I’m merely trying to figure out why you’re now sitting on my couch instead of studying at home.”
“I suppose I was hoping that we could study together,” said Conor, “And that you had notes from today’s class that I could look over.”
At last, an explanation that makes some sort of sense, thought Lily. “I do,” she said. “You’re welcome to look at them, though it was really just a lot of review.”
“Right, that’s fine. I just need to see if I missed anything.”
Lily picked up the worn notebook from the coffee table and handed it to Conor, who flipped through it, looking for the latest entry.
“Old school, you are,” he laughed, noting her penmanship, which bore a sort of antiquated quality. Her handwriting was more like calligraphy than printing or cursive, and it looked almost as though she’d used a quill to write. Perhaps her fountain pen had an internal feather that remained hidden.
But he stopped when he came to a few red markings on one page. The notes read:
People of Cornwall dead in plague: 100,000.
In red, Lily had written “Wrong. The entire population was only around 90,000. The deaths were primarily only in areas inhabited by humans—our kind was impervious.”
“What’s this?” asked Conor.
Lily froze for a moment, realizing what he’d seen. If he figured out what he was looking at it could raise a lot of questions…
Before two seconds had passed, she’d snatched the book from his hands. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I was thinking of writing a novel about ancient Cornwall. Fiction, of course. Completely. Science fiction, even.”
“Relax,” said Conor, smiling once again. “I was only teasing you. Your notes are your own, Lilliana.”
Something about the way her name rolled off his tongue sent a shot of electricity down her spine, seeming to continue its trajectory down the back of each leg and into her toes.
“I…I know,” she said. “I’m just private about things like that. Here, I’ll find today’s notes for you.”
She turned to that day’s page and tore it from the book, handing it over.
“Thank you,” Conor said, pulling a tablet out of the messenger bag that he’d been carrying. He photographed the page on each side and then aimed the contraption towards her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, throwing her hands in front of her face, but too late.
“Taking a photo of you,” he said. “You’re so beautiful that I wanted a memento.”
“Well…don’t,” Lily managed, turning away. “I don’t like having my photo taken.” In fact she wasn’t certain that she ever had, aside from for her student identification card.
“It’s a shame,” said Conor, standing. He walked over to her and, without any hesitation, put a hand under her chin, raising her face so that her eyes caught his own. She couldn’t help but stare; their colouring was so odd, so indefinable, and the variations seemed to pull her in so that she was momentarily swept up within their depths.
She wondered for a moment if he’d noticed how strange her own eyes were, with their shades of green, yellow and even some red. She’d once considered buying tinted contact lenses to conceal them, but had decided that it was best simply to avoid eye contact with anyone.
But avoiding any sort of contact with this man seemed like a mistake, and in fact she would have liked a good deal more of it. His body, its tall, broad form, seemed to beg to be touched. The chest before her strained against the sweater which covered it and Lily could see the outline of defined muscles under the tight sleeves. She wanted nothing more than to run a finger over the lines of his body, to explore his shape…
But even so she pulled away, turning towards the kitchen, his fingers slipping away as he released her jaw from his gentle touch.
“Can I fix you a cup of tea?” she asked, her back to him.
“No. I should go,” replied the voice behind her, which seemed to have gone cold all of a sudden. “Thank you for the notes. I’ll see you at the exam.”
Yes, Conor’s lovely deep voice had lost its warmth, as though her implicit rejection had caused him to suffer a blow. Lily turned to respond, only to see his back as he made his way to the front door.
She wanted to follow, to put a hand on his arm and stop him, to say, “Conor, I’m not what you think I am. It’s complicated. Please, don’t go. I’ll tell you everything.”
But she couldn’t.
* * *
4
Torn, Chapter Four
Perhaps, Conor mulled, he’d been wrong about her, or maybe his dubious gifts had failed him. Lilliana didn’t seem to gravitate towards him in the same way that he did towards her, to put it mildly; at her flat she’d shown a sort of animosity and chilliness that didn’t denote a desire for intimacy.
And yet he could smell desire on her, and he’d seen it in his mind’s eye: the two of them together, somehow, somewhere far away.
When he’d touched her, her scent had altered as though to alert him of her wish for more. But then again, maybe he’d imagined all of it. His gifts for sight seemed to have twisted themselves into convincing him that she was meant for him and yet he still had no idea who or what she was: only that with each moment that he spent near her, his desire to understand their connection grew.
As he walked away from her flat, he tried to force images into his mind like those he’d seen at first; those sketched pictures of Lilliana making her way through her life in London. Who was this woman, really? There was more to her than he could uncover, and yet at first this had all seemed like an open and shut case: he wanted her. She, by all appearances, was single. She’d even come close to admitting that he was somewhat attractive.
But something was creating a block; a wall between them which he was unable to penetrate. Perhaps it was she herself who had erected it, as though creating a strong barrier around herself in order to keep the threat of affection at bay.
And he felt as though he would soon lose her if he didn’t find a way to keep her with him in this place. An image came to him of her at last, a suitcase in hand, nodding a farewell to her London flat.
* * *
Lily’s mind continually returned to Conor, though she tried her best to cram for the exam over the next day or so. But there he was, like a recurring dream: his face, his voice, his attractive strangeness. She told herself that any apparent allure was merely in her imagination—he seemed odd and fascinating only because he was from another place and time. Soon she would be with the sort of people and shifters with whom she was familiar, and realize that his exoticism wasn’t so intriguing as she’d originally thought.
Meanwhile, she insisted silently, she would excel at the exam, prove to her family that she should return to school the following autumn and perhaps forego any Rituals for the time being. She was young, after all, and likely had a very long life ahead of her. There would be plenty of time to mate.
Of course, something within her also told her that mating would be rather a lot of fun, if it involved someone like Conor. When she looked at him or heard his voice, she felt her body gravitate inadvertently towards him, wanting more. It took all her human strength to pull the dragon within her away from him, to resist his charms. That face, that voice. That body. The thought of finding a man who excited her that much, of being with him permanently…
But there would be two men, ultimately. And that would be…interesting.
Although it had always been the tradition of her family’s and many shifters’ bloodlines, men didn’t seem overly excited about sharing their women. It would take a special sort of mate to accept the existence of his equal, and particularly in bed. They had such funny insecurities, most males. Much as women had their hang-ups, at least they didn’t beat one another up—usually—or declare war on each other. Yes, thought Lily. Men are insane. It was unfortunate that they were so damned sexy.
When Conor had touched her it had taken everything inside her to turn away. Never had she felt so weakened by another person. This was pure desire, a craving, and as the hours passed away from him it only grew stronger. As the exam approached she could think of little other than the fact that he would be in the room with her. She would be able to make out his scent even before seeing him. And once her eyes landed on him she would feel a heat rise up within her body, communicating her desire as if she didn’t already know perfectly well how much she wanted him.
How in God’s name was she to focus on a history exam with that in the room?
But it wouldn’t do to dwell on him. She would be leaving soon, traveling back home. She would see Rohan, her twin, whom she hadn’t talked to in ages. He might be able to figuratively slap some sense into her; he’d always been so good at that.
Lily had missed her brother while he’d been off studying on his own in America. It seemed that each of the siblings was curious about their mother’s world, immersing themselves in different ways in their modern surroundings. She found herself wondering if Rohan had managed to land himself in hot water where a lady was concerned.
For his sake, she hoped not.
* * *
On the morning of the History exam, she rose and showered before having an earnest conversation with her steamy reflection in the bathroom’s mirror.
All right, young woman. No getting distracted. He is simply a young man with a lovely face, lovely body, lovely voice and lovely hands. Just because you want to devour him whole is no reason to let him derail your entire future. Focus. You are a shifter of the Dire Wolf clan of Dundurn, and above this sort of behaviour. He is a simple human and unworthy of you, who are being guided by your stupid hormones. Now stop it.
The words came easily enough. Whether she believed them or not was a whole other matter.
She pulled on jeans and a soft cashmere sweater, denying silently that her choice of clothing had anything to do with the flattering way in which the fabric hugged her curves or how it felt under the palm of her hand. She told herself that it wasn’t for Conor’s sake that she chose a pleasing shade of red lipstick, either, or that she paid special attention to any other makeup. Or added a spritz of perfume. No, this was all simply a matter of routine.
As she made her way on foot towards the campus, butterflies surged up within her, her déor gently signalling her that a worthy candidate was within reach: a man with whom she could bond, who would give her sexual pleasure. Whose mouth could find ways to please her like nothing she’d ever experienced.
“Stop it,” she growled softly. “You don’t belong at this particular party.” Her human tried in vain to calm the creature within, the fiery beast who would have loved to make itself known to the university’s population, to claim its mate before all of them. It wasn’t the most practical-minded side of Lily.
It was only when she’d finally entered the classroom where the exam was to take place that she was able to breathe deeply and calm herself, planting historical fact after fact in her mind and reminding herself that the day’s only crucial task was to write the exam and to pass it.
About thirty students were spread around the room, but Lily could neither see nor smell Conor. Of course, she had arrived quite early. This was a good thing; it would give her a chance to shove herself into a distant corner where she could remain safely hidden from his dangerous gaze.
She sat by a narrow aisle next to the wall far from the other students and opened her notebook one last time, ignoring her own red markings. Remember the nonsense, she told herself. Use all the fiction you were taught. For the next three hours that’s your truth. It was difficult to keep her eyes fixed on the words she’d scrawled all over the pages over the last few months, but necessary.
Finally the professor walked in, carrying a thick armful of papers which he then began to hand out the smattering of students who’d arrived as early as she had. More were coming in, one by one seating themselves reluctantly. Zombies, as always.
But where was Conor? Surely he wouldn’t miss an exam.
As Lily gratefully accepted the stapled pile of paper that was handed to her, her nose picked up the scent at last: that musky smell, the most delectable one she’d ever encountered. And against her will she turned her eyes to the door.
There he was, standing in the open doorway, his eyes fixed on her. The expression on his face was initially unreadable—serious, not playful in the way that she was accustomed to seeing in him. But not resentful or angry—he wasn’t holding a grudge as a result of her coldness the other evening.
No. This was something else. If she had to describe it, she would say that he looked hungry.
Please don’t come any closer, she muttered under her breath as he made his way up the aisle towards her. But he stopped a few rows down, his eyes never leaving her face, turning away only when the professor handed him an exam.
Lily turned her eyes once again to the paper in front of her. The first question was something about William the Conqueror. Yes, she thought. I can do this.
And then she found herself once again lifting her gaze, her eyes locking on the dark brown hair on the back of Conor’s head, willing him to turn around and yet demanding that he do no such thing.
Each time she attempted to refocus on the task at hand, her mind returned to him. Something, it seemed, was very wrong with her—this newfound obsession was not the plan for her life. She told herself that he didn’t exist. He wasn’t there, twenty feet from her. She couldn’t smell his scent on the air or feel an ache at her core for his touch. He was merely a fantasy who would cease to exist in a matter of days.
Next question: The War of the Roses. Good. She knew about that, too.
Her hand took over from her brain, drafting answers as though on auto-pilot. And her eyes, determined not to screw her over, remained locked on the pages as they flew by, her responses pouring out in her strange, anachronistic handwriting.
And finally, after two hours of this torture, she was finished. She had only to hand the exam back to her professor and to walk out of the room for good.
She grabbed her bag and the exam, stood, and began the walk down the aisle’s deep stairs. It was only when she found herself trapped in the narrow route to the professor’s desk at the front of the classroom that she realized that there was no way to reach him without passing Conor.
But from the looks of things, the young man was preoccupied with his own exam. His head was down and he was writing in furious strokes, apparently as eager to finish as she’d been.
And he was no shifter; he wouldn’t smell her coming. Perhaps she could just tiptoe by without his even noticing her presence…
She took one step and then another and soon she was close enough to touch him. She paused for a moment and inhaled deeply before proceeding, a new confidence in her stride. In her mind he was merely another student; a stranger, even, and she would never see him again anyhow, so what did it matter?
It was when she’d all but convinced herself of this that she froze, feeling the sweep of a hand on her back, fingers gliding slowly down the soft cashmere of her sweater, leaving a trail of prickling skin underneath. That touch…
She all but sprinted now towards the professor, laid the exam his desk, smiled at him and left the room without turning back to see if Conor was watching her. Once in the hallway, she thrust her back against the wall, put a hand to her chest and breathed heavily as though she’d been deprived of oxygen for several minutes.
If one tou
ch had done that to her, she wondered, what would a night with him feel like?
* * *
5
Torn, Chapter Five
Over the next few days Lily began to prepare for the brief journey home, which meant little more than tidying her flat and packing up the few things that she intended to bring home with her in her satchel.
Conor was nowhere to be seen, though she manufactured more than one excuse to head to the university’s campus over her last days in London. His absence was a good thing, she reminded herself as her eyes scanned the grounds for his tall frame. That hand on her back had merely been a sort of pat to say good-bye, like any friend might offer, and to read anything into it was silly and unrealistic.
And so on her second-last day in London she’d resigned herself to the notion that they were parting as casual friends who knew little of one another, and that was how things would remain. In all likelihood she would never see him again. And yet, the word “never” was like a hot brand in her flesh. Somehow she’d developed a crush on him, though the c-word seemed woefully inadequate to describe this thing that had happened to her. She wanted him to be hers; she wanted, even, to bring him home. To introduce this virtual stranger to her parents, her brother. To see what her wise Nana, Freya the phoenix shifter, thought of him.
How was she supposed to force herself to forget him? She’d crammed to get all manner of historical “facts” into her mind, and yet there was no opposing activity which she could employ to rid herself of a memory, the feel of his breath on her skin. His scent. His fingers.
She was in so much trouble and there was no cure other than time and distance, both of which she’d have soon. Hundreds of years and many miles would separate them, and she could begin the process of pushing him from her mind. The only pity was that she couldn’t hurry up the process.
Seeking Her Mates Boxed Set: A Shifter Menage Serial (All Five Parts) Page 3