To Lie With Lions: A BBW Shifter Romance (Wolf Rock Shifters Book 4)

by Carina Wilder

  “May I help you?” asked the woman, whose face was serious though she seemed to be fighting a desire to grin.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Malcolm,” said Nash.

  “Mr. Malcolm is in a meeting currently.” The woman was eyeing him, sizing him up like an art object. Nash felt uncomfortable and yet something in her amused him. “I’m his Jill-of-all-trades, mistress of none, Susannah,” she added.

  “Nice to meet you, Susannah. I’m Nash.”

  “I know,” she said, nodding. “I knew the moment I saw you who you were. You’re that young lion shifter who lives on the ranch that my girl likes so much.”

  “The ranch, or me?”

  “I’ll never say.”

  That’s very loyal of you,” said Nash, though he knew perfectly well what Susannah meant. “Do you know when Mr. Malcolm might be finished?”

  “I don’t. But if you’d like, you may wait in the drawing room,” she replied, offering with her right hand to guide Nash towards the mysterious chamber.

  “Sure, that’d be great,” said Nash.

  He was ushered into a dark room whose walls were coated in bookshelves, displaying leather-bound tomes. One large window displayed the back yard of the house, which was more like a football field, and though its curtains were mostly closed, Nash could see just how far back the property sprawled.

  “Have a seat,” said Susannah. “I’ll send Mr. Malcolm your way when he’s through. And don’t you worry about a thing, darlin’. That man’s all growl and no bite. Big ol’ toothless tiger.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Nash smiled uneasily. He wasn’t so sure that Conrad Malcolm would treat him with the same gentleness as one of his employees. Something in the lion told him to be extremely wary of the tiger shifter.

  He sat down on an elegant-looking leather couch and waited, his fingers rapping gently against the upholstery. After several minutes of restlessness, Nash rose and began to walk around the room, looking at the books that lined the walls. Many of them had to do with politics and history, which were of interest to the young man, but Nash needed something more. He was looking for some sort of insight into Malcolm’s character.

  Eventually he came upon a photo of what looked like Cecile and her father on a ski trip. He realized as he leaned in that it wasn’t her at all, but her mother, as they stood with a small girl between them. Malcolm’s wife had been as beautiful as her daughter.

  Why had Cecile behaved so oddly? Was it something Nash had done? Surely not. Then again, women were a mystery. And a tiger shifter was a plain enigma. Nash had never encountered a tiger, let alone tried to begin a relationship with one. He knew that they were supposed to be unpredictable, occasionally flighty and aggressive, but Cecile’s behaviour was more like that of two different people. It made no sense.

  “What can I do for you?” asked a deep, round voice from behind Nash as he continued to study pictures on the shelf. He hadn’t heard the man in the doorway cross the hall. He turned and saw that other men were filing past, behind the imposing figure who stood between Nash and the procession of businessmen.

  “Mr. Malcolm,” said the young man. “I’m Nash Richardson. I’m a friend of Cecile’s.”

  “You’re the ranch hand.”

  “I’m the son of the man who owns the ranch, if that’s what you mean. Most recently I was a university student.” Nash felt himself stiffening, resisting the desire to be argumentative with this man.

  “No matter. In this house, you are a ranch hand. What is it that you want? You’ve missed my daughter; she’s in town.”

  “Right. I saw her take off in the SUV,” said Nash. Malcolm looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face. “Anyhow,” continued the lion shifter, “I’m here to see you.”

  “What about? I’m a busy man.”

  “I’m wondering if you know what’s been going on in Wolf Rock. The sort of protection racket that seems to have sprung up since…”

  “Since? Since I moved here, you mean? Yes, I know of it. If nothing else, my daughter likes to go on about it.” Mr. Malcolm poured himself a glass of scotch out of a crystal decanter and took a sip.

  “I don’t mean to level accusations at you. I’m just curious as to your own experience. You do run businesses in the area, don’t you?” Nash found himself shifting his weight from one foot to the other in an attempt to get comfortable. His lion was pacing impatiently within him, wanting to let out a growl at the man, to assert a sort of territorial dominance. But he attempted to keep it at bay.

  “I do. Several, in fact, and a few of them have also had the threats that you mention. Men, shifters, coming by like animals and threatening harm for no reason to make a few measly dollars. Pathetic.”

  “So you’re saying that you have nothing to do with any of it?”

  “So you’re saying that you are, in fact, accusing me?”

  “I’m simply trying to get to the bottom of things. To cancel out any suspects, as it were.”

  The man turned to him, his glass in hand, and stared Nash in the eye. His own eyes, like his daughter’s, were a blue so light as to look almost snow-coloured, and there was a coldness in him that Nash found daunting for a moment. He had no doubt that he could take the man on in a physical confrontation, but the notion of a moral one was heart-chilling. He concluded in that moment that this man was a sociopath; devoid of ethics, empathy or kindness.

  “Young man,” said Malcolm, “if anyone were likely to engage in this sort of thuggish activity, it would be a man who needs money. A man who seeks power. Not a man who has both and everything to lose. No, I am not your suspect. I am a victim, like you claim to be. Though it seems to me that you are a much more likely candidate.”

  “Me!”

  “You live on a ranch. You have little money. You are young and foolish enough to pursue the daughter of the most powerful man in the area. Yes. You.”

  Nash was quietly seething now. The great cat within him wanted to let out a deafening roar at this man. The human wanted to punch a fist through one of Malcolm’s priceless decanters. “I hate to tell you, sir, but the most powerful man in this area is the wolf alpha, Tristan. Money is of no significance to most shifters.”

  “I suppose you think I’m an anomaly, then?” asked Cecile’s father, who was pacing up and down the room himself, showing hints of the beast within him.

  “I do think that, yes.”

  “Perhaps I am. But I want to offer my daughter a good life; not that of some cat in a tree or a mud den. I want her to know the finer things. We shifters are gifted with talents beyond the ability to transform into animals; we should take advantage of these gifts.”

  “And what is your gift?” asked Nash.

  “I am blessed with the ability not to care what someone like you thinks of me. Not to worry about stepping on toes. To be able to proceed with impunity through life and to take what I want, when I want it. If I could pass the gift onto Cecile, I would.”

  “Except where I’m concerned.”

  “Cecile needs to learn to want better than you.”

  “I see. Well, I think I’ve heard enough. Thank you for your time. I’ll be leaving now.” Nash walked forwards to leave, but Malcolm blocked his path to the door. Only as the young man walked directly at him did he move aside, gesturing with his hand as though to say, “Good riddance to you, young lion.”

  Nash made his way towards the front door and freedom, not sure whether to laugh or grind his jaw at the notion that he’d have to escape over the wall as he came, when the dominating voice of Malcolm spoke again.

  “Young man, I expect you to keep your hands off my daughter, just so we’re clear.”

  Nash didn’t turn around, or even acknowledge the words.

  Five

  The lion shifter drove into town, thoughts reeling in his mind. He was no private investigator, but maybe Malcolm had a point; why would a man who was already rich and powerful need more wealth? And why would he risk his empire by committing illegal acts? It d
idn’t add up, somehow, but Cecile had looked so strange when she’d first found out what was going on in town.

  Nothing was resolved as he got out of the car and walked down the main street. He had no destination in mind; he only wanted to clear his head and find some concrete answers.

  As he made his way by a coffee shop, he heard a hand rapping against glass and looked to his right. Cecile was sitting, facing him and smiling broadly. Nash glared at her, hesitating in his annoyance before deciding to enter the café. Women. What in God’s name was with this one?

  He’d experienced enough game-playing by the young women at college; he didn’t need this shit from a shifter. It was only unfortunate that he felt so drawn to her. The feelings were foreign to him, and much as he attempted to dismiss her from his mind for being too high-maintenance or too difficult, he had nothing in the way of success. She was leaving her mark on him, though to date it had not left a physical scar. Worse than that, though, she had branded herself on something within him.

  Cecile walked up and kissed him on the cheek when he’d let the door close behind him.

  “How are you?” she asked. “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you today.”

  “I’m fine. But what the hell are you talking about? What was that, Cecile?”

  Her smile disappeared. “What was what?”

  “I saw you an hour ago and you acted like I had leprosy. Now you’re all happy to see me.”

  “What do you mean, you saw me an hour ago? No, you didn’t.”

  “Yeah, I did. You even spoke to me. What, are you saying you don’t remember?”

  “I’m saying it didn’t happen. An hour ago I was having a massage at the hotel. I just finished about fifteen minutes ago.” Cecile’s voice was moving into hostile territory now. “And if you don’t believe me, you can damn well go ask them.”

  “Well, sorry, but I don’t believe you. I know what I saw, and I’m not a fucking idiot.”

  With that, Cecile opened her mouth as though to speak but seemed to think better of it. She grabbed her coat and all but ran out of the café, leaving Nash confused and angry, standing alone. He watched as she got into a car and drove off. A new-looking Toyota sedan. He had watched her leave the house in an SUV.

  He sat, slumped in a chair, as he began to wonder if he was going mad.

  Nothing was making any sense.

  Cecile wiped away a tear as she drove, annoyed that any man could make her shed the damn things. She was a tough woman, she knew, and hard to hurt. But Nash was real; he was a good guy, or at least she’d thought he was. The sort of salt-of-the-earth man that every woman wanted, deep down. He was beautiful to look at, but it was his nature that she’d grown fond of. He had in him the instincts of the lion; one who would watch over his mate and eventually over their young. She supposed that it was the impression that he was strong and protective that had drawn her to him in the first place. Something in her wanted him, not only sexually, but she saw him as a potential father to her offspring; a litter of cubs who would take after them both.

  White tigers in nature were known to be infertile, but not so as shifters. She knew that she was capable of bearing offspring, and her body and instincts told her that Nash was the mate she’d always wondered about, since she’d been a young girl.

  Now she wanted to laugh through her tears. How was it that this man whom she hardly knew had made his mark on her in this way? And yet, she’d heard of this happening with shifters. They saw their mate and they knew. Everything in them kicked in at once, wanting to resolve the situation: wanting to secure the path to their future, to their mate, to their own happiness. Nash, she’d thought, was that future, in spite of her father’s very human and very snobbish objections.

  But Nash was acting like a lunatic. It was hard for even the strongest woman to love a madman, let alone like him.

  Nash decided at last to head back to the wolves’ cabin. He wanted to report on his findings to someone and to see if anything else had been uncovered on their end. Even though Dascha didn’t seem like the greatest alpha the world had ever seen, there wasn’t much in the way of an alternative.

  He pulled up the dirt road that led to their cabin and drove in slowly, pondering what he’d say. As he approached the house, he saw a large SUV parked out front. It looked like the same car that Cecile had driven that morning.

  As he got out he closed the door behind him. The cabin’s door opened and Zoe walked out.

  “Oh, hi,” Nash said, wiping his forehead with the back of a gloved hand. “What are you doing here?”

  Zoe smiled. “I hang out here a lot, remember?” she said.

  “Of course. Sorry. I’ve had a bit of a confusing day.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see you, Nash. I’m sort of having a crisis of conscience,” she said.

  Nash pulled his gloves off. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I’d ask you to sit down but the ground’s too cold for that,” she said. “Even shifters can get hemorrhoids.”

  “Fair enough. But do you want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, feeling agitated. The fact that nothing in his hometown was making sense was irritating him now, rather than just frustrating him.

  “The woman you saw today at Malcolm’s chalet was me,” she said. “Not Cecile.”

  “What? How is that even possible? Are you some master of disguise?”

  Zoe didn’t reply. Instead, she altered before his eyes, her hair going dark and sleek, her features changing rapidly and smoothly into familiar ones. It was like watching a strange hallucinogenic animation. Cecile now stood before Nash, smiling at him.

  He stepped back, convinced that he’d simply lost his mind.

  “I’m a shape-changer,” the woman said, her voice now sounding very much like Cecile’s. “And that includes people as well as animals.”

  “Jesus,” said Nash. “I…I’ve never seen someone who could do this.”

  “Most people, or even shifters, haven’t. I’m sorry that I freaked you out.” With that, Zoe became herself again.

  “But why did you do that?” asked Nash. “What were you doing at her house?”

  “I found out that there was to be a meeting there this morning, of a bunch of affluent businessmen. It seemed important.”

  Nash remembered the men he’d seen leaving the meeting room.

  “Okay,” he said, “but…”

  “I thought that if I could get into the house, maybe I could get into the meeting.”

  “And did you?”

  “No. I only heard a little. They did talk about the protection racket, but I don’t know that any of them are directly involved. It seemed to be a big source of concern for most of them—people threatening their livelihoods. These are all businessmen who rely on tourism to stay on the upswing in the area, Nash. It wouldn’t serve them very well to shoot themselves in the foot.”

  “Well, damn. That brings us back to square one, doesn’t it?”

  “In a way. It doesn’t necessarily absolve Malcolm. It just means that he’s not necessarily part of the group that’s behind all this. We’re beginning to suspect that it’s a smaller organization, run by just a few shifters. The key is going to be to figure out who and how to stop them.”

  “Well, that’s a bit tricky, isn’t it? We can’t just go around asking people, ‘Hey, listen, are you in the mafia? Because if you are, I’m going to have to eat your face.’”

  “No, but that’s not the worst idea in the world,” laughed Zoe. “But listen: we’re having a small meeting at my place tonight.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and handed it to him. On it was a small, hand-drawn map. “You should come. It’s at seven o’clock.”

  “Why at your place and not here at the pack’s cabin?”

  “Because I don’t want Dascha involved. He’s a suspect, remember?”

  “Right, of course. Okay, I’ll be there. In the meantime, there’s somewhere I need to be.” Nash’s mind had settled on the notion that he
was in fact sane, which meant that he owed a young woman an apology.

  “I’m sorry if I ruined things for you and Cecile,” said Zoe. “I really didn’t expect to see you at the house. You surprised me.”

  “I know. It’s okay. I’ll see if we can work things out.”

  “Good. You will. I’m sure of it.”

  Nash phoned Cecile that afternoon, relieved when she answered.

  “Listen,” he said, “I know you must think I’m a giant ass, but I want to explain to you what happened. I think you and I could help each other.”

  “Is that what this is about to you, Nash? Helping each other?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t,” she replied. She was going to make him work for it, he could see.

  “Cecile,” said Nash, exasperated and wishing she could just read his thoughts, “Can I come and see you? I want to talk.”

  There was a momentary silence and then the response: “Fine.”

  “Where can we meet?”

  “Come over to my father’s place. He’s gone out. I’ll let you in.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a great idea.”

  “I am. Come over right now, before I change my mind, Nash.”

  “All right.”

  Nash hopped into his car and began the drive, trying to keep his speed down. He wasn’t sure now if it was his mind or his cock that was controlling his body. Something about having this woman command him suited her and him very well. It aroused him thoroughly that she was so determined; so much like him and yet so feminine, so sexy. Though he was unaccustomed to being told what to do by anyone. His whole life he’d been the alpha male of every group, and even now saw the wolves and other shifters turning to him for guidance when their own alpha was gone.

  But all of that went out the window when this gorgeous, sexy woman came into the picture. Part of Nash wanted to just kneel in front of her and worship her, or at the very least kiss every inch of the most intimate parts of her. Inside, his lion paced frenetically, anticipating the moment when he would taste her tiger’s flesh.