Shadowed Lover

by Lauren Dawes

  “Tony was kind enough to put us up. We got in late last night.”

  She traced the lines of the geometric pattern on the comforter beside her, her stomach tightened. “And the meeting starts tomorrow?”

  “Yes, although I have no idea what needs to be discussed. Everything that was pressing was discussed on Monday.”

  “Is everyone there?”

  “All the Leos and their mates, yes.”

  “Mom didn’t want to stay home?”

  “You remember Tony’s mate, Shelly? She’s organized for the females to go on a winery tour while the males talk shop.”

  “That was nice of her,” Neve said absently, the quiet discomfort getting heavier in her stomach. She pressed her hand to the spot just below her navel. “Is Mom looking forward to it?”

  “Tell her I’m dying to try some new wines!” her mom called in the background.

  Her dad laughed. “Did you get all that?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a heavy beat of silence before he asked, “How’s Drake treating you? Is he being respectful?”

  She flushed with heat at the memories of what she and Drake had done the day before. She guessed respectful was one word for it. Drake had been a phenomenal lover, but it wasn’t like she could say that to her father and Leo. Clearing her throat, she said, “Fine, Dad.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t sound so sure.”

  She nodded although it was pointless. “He’s made me feel very welcome.”

  “Good,” he replied softly. “I can’t tell you how much your mother and I appreciate him taking you in this way. It’s highly against protocol, and if the Trinity found out, I’m sure they’d have a thing or two to say about it.”

  “I think your secret is safe, Dad,” she replied. “Look, I’m going to go down and get some breakfast. Call me after the meeting?”

  “Okay, kitten. We’ll talk to you then.”

  “Love you!” her mom called.

  Neve smiled faintly. “Tell Mom I love her too. Talk to you soon.”

  She hung up and put her phone down onto the comforter. She ran her fingers over the pattern once more, her mind taking her back to the night before. She’d fallen asleep after she and Drake had…made love? Maybe not that. She felt like it was more than a fuck for him, though. It had meant something to him, but it had also meant something to her.

  She’d tried to resist that low-level vibration that seemed to charge through her body when he was around, but when he’d come to her, his knuckles bloody and smelling of Mateo, it had increased to a level she couldn’t ignore anymore. Despite reassuring him that she was fine, he’d clearly taken his questions to Mateo and not liked the answers.

  Really, she should’ve been rolling her eyes at his reaction. She wasn’t his. He had no claim on her, but she knew it was a lie. And last night had confirmed it. When she’d woken this morning, her bed was empty but warm, the pillow still smelling of Drake. Her cat seemed content with the knowledge that he had stayed until this morning.

  Sliding from the bed, she was still naked, her discarded towel a neat pile of terry cloth in the center of the floor. She pulled on fresh underwear, bra, and pajamas, and opened her bedroom door. The house was quiet, but it was also so big that if someone was in another wing of the house and making noise, she doubted she’d be able to hear it.

  She made her way to the kitchen, pausing before the closed door. Pressing her ear to it, she listened. Someone was definitely singing. Badly. She pushed it open and stuck her head into the room. Yup, there was a male dressed only in an apron and some running shorts using a spatula as a microphone as he belted out a disco classic. She leaned against the doorjamb, enjoying the show. He had tanned skin and muscles that were showcased by very little body fat. The strap of the apron looping over his neck was a crisp white, but it wouldn’t stay that way, judging by the mess he was making.

  He jumped in a circle toward the stove, shaking his hips to the beat. Neve put the back of her hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh. She must’ve failed, though, because the guy whirled around, his black hair flopping into his face. Shoving it out of the way, his green eyes widened before a blush graced his high cheekbones. Pulling out his phone, he shut the music off.

  “Don’t stop on my account.” She pushed off the wall and sat at the kitchen counter. “You’ve got some moves.”

  “Thanks,” he said softly. He undid the waist ties on the apron and motioned to take it off, when he realized he was wearing very little else beneath it. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I apologize for my state of undress.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Would you excuse me?”

  “Sure.” He bolted from the room only to return a few minutes later with a running shirt on. He gave her a genuine smile when he walked back in.

  “I apologize again,” he said. “You must be Neve. It’s an honor to have you in our home.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My name’s Grayson.” He held out his hand to her and they shook. She instantly liked him. His handshake was firm, but not so much so that he tried to crush her hand in his. It wasn’t so limp-wristed that she felt like she was shaking hands with a jellyfish either.

  “You look familiar,” she said.

  He shrugged easily, sliding the apron back over his head. “I can’t imagine where you’ve seen me before. Now, what can I get you for breakfast?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to—”

  “Nonsense. You’re our guest. Now tell me, will it be waffles, pancakes, or eggs?”

  “Pancakes sound good, but only if you’re making them for yourself, too.”

  He flashed her a grin. “Pancakes, coming right up.”

  She turned when the door to the kitchen swung open and Mateo walked in. No, he didn’t just walk. He swaggered like he owned the damned place. She stared at him, wondering if he was going to try and seduce her like he’d done before, or whether Drake’s warning had done the job. He glanced at her, his nostrils flaring briefly before giving her a curt nod. He opened up the stainless steel and glass industrial fridge, pulling out a carton of juice.

  “Would you like some?”

  She glanced around. Was he talking to her? “Oh, um, sure?”

  “Thanks for offering, Mat. I’d love a glass, too,” Grayson deadpanned.

  Mateo snorted and pulled three glasses from the cabinet over the sink. He poured their juice out then returned the carton to the fridge. Each of his movements was precise—smooth. The sienna tattoo on his right arm seemed to writhe on his skin. She tore her eyes away from it when he placed the sweating glass in front of her with an easy smile.

  “So I just want to apologize for what happened yesterday.”

  Wow. Didn’t see that one coming. “It’s fine,” she replied, taking a sip just to keep her hands busy. If she didn’t, she’d be liable to fuss with her hair or pull at her pajamas. She glanced down as if just remembering she was in them. Why had she thought that was a good idea?

  “It’s really not. I’m sorry I got up in your face like that, and I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  “It’s fine.” Jesus, was that all she could say? Talk about a broken record.

  “It would mean a lot to me if you accepted my apology. I was an asshole, and you didn’t deserve that.”

  She glanced over at Grayson, who had stopped flipping pancakes and was now staring at Mateo. Like the guy never apologized. Or was nice.

  “I didn’t know who you were,” he added.

  Oh. “So because I’m the Leo’s daughter, I’m suddenly to be treated differently?”

  He blinked at her. “No. You’re Drake’s. I should’ve realized that last night, but…” He let his sentence drift off before he finished with a shrug. “So, yeah. I apologize. Sincerely.”

  He took a sip of his juice, his gaze still on her face.

  “Accepted. Thank you.”

  He nodded, an accord struck between them, then took a seat beside her at the i
sland and focused his lavender eyes on Grayson.

  “Yo, Gray, you look good with an apron on.”

  “You should’ve seen him before,” she said, laughing when Grayson’s eyes cut to hers. Slowly, he shook his head, mouthing the word please to her.

  “Oh, do tell,” Mateo said, turning his body toward her. “Tell me all your dirty secrets.”

  Grayson was still giving her a pleading look, so she shrugged and said, “Nah. I don’t want the guy to spit in my pancake batter.”

  And that was how it continued for the next however long it took for Grayson to cook them all pancakes. He’d just placed a platter stacked with them into the middle of the counter when Drake prowled through the door. Literally prowled, like his cat was holding the reins on his mind. He was dressed in PT gear, sweat beading on his brow and making the front of his shirt stick to his muscled chest. Neve let out an appreciative breath.

  His yellow eyes went from Grayson to Mateo, narrowing on the latter. “I hope you haven’t forgotten your manners, M,” he all but growled.

  Mateo put his hands up, the silent plea for what the fuck did I do. “I’m always a gentleman.”

  “Actually, I’m always the gentleman,” Grayson said. Drake looked at Neve for confirmation, and it was only at her nod that he relaxed. He strolled over to where she was sitting, standing behind her so closely that she could feel the heat rolling off his body. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of fresh sweat and determination, but under that was his own dark spices.

  Grayson’s expression flickered with confusion for a moment before smoothing out as he said, “Take as much as you want, Neve.”

  She looked around. “Aren’t you guys eating too?”

  “Yeah, but only after you and the other female in the house are fed.”

  She paused for a moment, finally pressing the pancake she’d speared onto her plate. “Is she one of your mates? The other female?”

  Drake’s heavy palm landed on her shoulder and a frisson of longing went through her. “Mateo, go and get Jett.”

  “Sure.” He pushed out of his chair and disappeared from the kitchen. Drake still hadn’t removed his large palm, the heat of which was warming more than just her shoulder. Grayson was still shuttling pancakes from the pan over to the platter, his eyes lingering on Drake for a moment.

  “Eat, Neve,” Drake rumbled, finally taking a seat beside her. His large thigh pressed against her, touching from hip to knee. She got busy cutting her pancake and spreading some sweet butter on top. Next came some fruit and a dash of syrup. She felt Drake’s eyes on her the whole time.

  “You’re staring,” she said, putting a forkful into her mouth.

  He leaned in so his mouth was against her ear. “I love that I can still smell myself on you.” His voice was a low growl.

  Dammit, why hadn’t she thought to take a shower before coming down here? Inhaling sharply, she realized why Mateo had made that comment about being Drake’s. He would’ve scented him on her, and now with his current behavior, he was making sure everyone knew about it.

  She turned her head when Mateo returned. He darted his purple-eyed gaze between her and Drake, and she shifted over a little.

  “He’ll be down in five,” Mateo said, planting his ass back down on his stool. He looked longingly at the stack, but made no motion to take anything. Who knew the Revenant were so…courteous.

  “Who’s the other female?” she asked. “If not one of your mates, why is she here?”

  “Her name’s Katya,” Drake said. “She’s Jett’s sister.”

  She tried to keep the surprise off her face. To her knowledge, she was the only outsider to have been brought under the personal protection of the Revenant.

  “What’s she doing here?” she asked carefully.

  “The same reason you’re here,” Drake replied softly, his yellow eyes like melted butter. “She’s under our protection.” He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, hesitated, before finally adding, “Her baby sister was taken on Monday morning.”

  “That’s what you told my father when you picked me up.” Of course. No wonder he wanted to keep that news to himself for a bit longer. “How old is she?” Her voice was barely a whispered croak, but Drake’s cat’s hearing was good enough to pick up on the question.

  His palm was warm where he placed it on her thigh. “Ten.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her eyes opening once more when she heard voices on the other side of the kitchen door.

  It swung open, and a male with sandy-blond hair and blue eyes was leading a dark-haired female inside. Her green eyes widened as she took in the room and all the people.

  Jett said something softly into her ear and placed his hand on the small of her back, leading her to the last chair at the island. Grabbing a plate, he loaded it up with pancakes then got her some juice.

  “Hello,” Neve said, breaking the silence. She cleared her throat. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Neve.”

  “I know who you are,” Katya replied, her voice cautious. “You’re the Leo’s daughter.”

  She nodded, adding, “I’m sorry about—”

  “I have to go,” Jett said loudly, cutting her off.

  Katya’s eyes widened until even Neve could see the white all around. “Where are you going?”

  Jett’s blue eyes darted around the room, not settling on anyone’s face in particular. “Just to take care of some business. You’re safe here.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back soon.”

  27

  Asher drummed his fingers on the desk he was sitting behind, a phone pressed to his ear and his shoulder cocked at a strange angle.

  “Are you on your way?”

  “Yeah, we are. Do you have what we want?”

  He stroked the cellophane baggies lined up at his elbow like good little soldiers. “Don’t I always?”

  His question was met with a growl, and without even seeing the male’s face, Asher knew exactly what that single noise meant—he was getting desperate for the next hit.

  “How long has it been?” he asked softly, knowing he had the guy’s balls in a vice. Asher was their only source of arnastu, as he liked to call it. He thought it was a nice play on words, twisting their revered word for their blood-bonded mate into something much darker and more addictive.

  “Maybe a week.”

  He smiled. “You must be desperate for another taste of that power then.”

  Another growl trickled over the line, and this time, the threat was felt like someone had just pressed the muzzle of a gun into the top of his spinal column. Absently, he ran his hand over the back of his neck to assure himself the sensation was just a figment of his imagination.

  “We’re about three hundred miles away.”

  “Good. Everything is lining up perfectly on my end. Let’s ensure it stays that way.”

  He hung up, his eyes back on the dozen clear bags filled with off-white powder. To a casual observer, the drugs contained within the cellophane could be mistaken for blow or speed, but if a human were to ingest this, it would have absolutely zero effect. These drugs were specific to shifters, to Shadows. Those males were the ones who were bred to fight and protect their Leos and the pride. They were the ones who were blessed with latent powers of increased speed, faster shifts, and super strength. Once these powers were activated, it made them the ultimate super soldier. The downside? Well, there wasn’t one…

  Unless you were the Shadow.

  The drug was addictive, and the more they took, the more they needed it and the less effective it became. It was the perfect Catch-22.

  Standing up from his desk, Asher walked the perimeter of his room, studying the large collection of leather-bound tomes—many of them first editions. Reaching out, he reverently touched the gilt script on the spines, his fingertip undulating over the embossed letters. Everything was going according to plan, and by the afternoon, he was going to be the one standing tall.

  Out
side his office, the grandfather clock began its somber declaration of time. Five chimes. He was going to be late. Taking his suit jacket from the back of his chair, he slid it on and shuffled his shoulders until the fabric settled onto them. Dragging the cuffs down, he made sure everything was in place before strolling from the room and meeting his butler, Reggie, out in the hall.

  “Ready, sir?”

  “Indeed,” he replied, opening up the door and walking outside. He hung back as Reggie opened up the back door of his Rolls Royce Phantom, and he slid into the supple leather that felt like butter against his palms. Once the door was shut behind him, he leaned back into all that opulence and breathed out long and slow. He came from old money, his grandfather owned a number of metal works that profited greatly from the outbreak of the World War—the First that was.

  His own father…well, the male he had called father had invested well and the son had reaped the benefits. Of course, he couldn’t have any competition for that wealth, so Asher had done what he’d had to and dispatched his siblings with surprising efficiency. Death by misadventure had been the official ruling, but only he knew the real methods.

  As the Phantom sped smoothly out of the Hollywood Hills, he kept his eyes on the window, watching the blur of the passing scenery change from low-lying shrubs and palatial homes to neon signs and human filth. His cat shifted beneath his skin, the animal getting restless with all the noise and smells that were so foreign to it.

  Almost two hours later, they arrived at their destination. Like any male of good breeding, he waited for Reggie to open up the passenger door and slipped out of the leather seat. The air was cool, the different altitude making the weather shift, gearing down to a temperature where he longed to have a heavier jacket over his shoulders.

  “I shall wait for you here, sir,” Reggie announced, standing stock-still beside the driver’s side door. Asher nodded. Good help was so hard to find, and he was very glad he had found this human. Glancing up at the house of the Leo, he ducked his head and moved toward the door. In truth, the Yellow Eye Leo was not expecting him. Asher was neither a high-ranking jaguar, nor was he a trusted advisor. He was, regrettably, nothing more than another member of the pride, but all that was about to change.