by Chant, Zoe
“I wasn’t avoiding anything.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
This was beginning to feel more like an interrogation than a rescue mission. “The only reason I was out today was to run an errand for one of my relatives.”
“The only reason?”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. What the hell was his problem?
“Look, I’m grateful that you helped me, but I don’t see how my reasons for being out here are any of your business.” She forced herself to look into his eyes, not thinking there could be any danger in it.
That was a mistake.
Oh, God.
His eyes were so dark they pulled her in. Something fluttered in her chest. Blood pressure problems following a stressful event, she told herself, but she wasn’t convincing anybody. Least of all the slow, languid heat that poured through her limbs. It was the complete opposite of the vigilant bundle of nerves she’d always thought of as her true self. And between them… a spark.
Her lips parted. Sitting in the armchair across from her, he looked just as stunned. He leaned forward. The deep line between his eyebrows eased. “Did you—”
A flicker. Something alive and curious looked out from behind his eyes. She knew at once that it wasn’t him. It was something else: an inner animal, staring out even while he was in human form.
He was a shifter.
Idiot. This was why she never met anyone’s eyes. Not for long enough for something like this to happen, anyway.
She tore her eyes away, before he could hunt in them and find nothing there.
She had to get this conversation back on track.
“How did you—” She didn’t know how she was going to end the sentence. Find me? Know I was there? Get me back here? She shook her head, hoping it would knock loose some inspiration, and instead it throbbed. She hissed in a breath and put one hand to the back of her skull.
“Let me.” The man stood up. Her stomach flip-flopped. He was tall. Not tall and broad, like the Belgraves, but not slender, either. He was lean and powerful, like the joy of flight given form.
He sat down beside her on the sofa and reached for the back of her neck. She tipped her head forward and held her hair out of the way. It was tangled and matted. Which wasn’t worth feeling self-conscious about, but her cheeks heated up regardless.
“You weren’t bleeding when I brought you in, but you have a lump. I’d guess you fell, hit something just hard enough to stun, and the cold did the rest.” His fingers were gentle as he inspected the bruise and Delphine closed her eyes automatically. It almost didn’t matter that it hurt, if he was touching her. “It’s still swollen. I’ll get you some ice.”
She couldn’t take it anymore. The tip-tilted feeling inside her, her uncertainty—it was too much.
Delphine twisted until she could look up into the man’s face. This close, she could see the color of his eyes: so dark a brown they were almost black.
He hadn’t moved his hand when she turned around. His fingers rested against her cheek.
She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to kiss him almost as much as she’d ever wanted anything.
And it was that almost that stopped her from doing it.
“What’s your name?” she whispered.
He held her gaze. “Hardwick.” His eyes flickered. “And yours?”
“Delphine Belgrave.”
“I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but…”
Her brain itched. She glanced around the room, half-expecting to see one of her relatives lounging in a corner. The brain-itch was her one claim to any sort of shifter magic. She couldn’t hear telepathic words, or talk to anyone else using only her mind, but when someone tried to talk to her mind-to-mind, she got a little, scratchy buzz in the back of her head. Like static from a T.V. in another room. But there was nobody here except her and the strange, watchful man.
And that was definitely telepathy. She turned back to the man, like a pendulum swinging back on course. If she’d had any doubts before—and her life was all doubts—this settled it. He must be a shifter. Which meant—
It meant that at last, she was on solid ground. This was something she knew how to handle.
She bit her lip. “You’re a shifter, aren’t you?”
His eyelid flickered in recognition. But he still wasn’t giving anything else away.
That didn’t matter. She had enough to go on.
She smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Your secret’s safe with me. All of us Belgraves are shifters, too.”
Chapter Six
Hardwick
Hardwick flinched.
The lie cracked against his temple like a fist. Delphine stared at him, cool and collected. No sign on her face that she’d just lied to him.
His griffin screeched unhappiness. He schooled his face to careful neutrality, turning his flinch into a natural pulling-away.
“That so?” he asked, mildly. He was asking for it, he knew, but—
“Yes,” Delphine said, her English accent not giving anything away. “We’re all winged lion shifters.”
Ouch.
“I see.”
She licked her lips—a sudden betrayal of nervousness, or another calculated move? Hardwick felt himself slipping into work mode. This woman, his mate, was lying to him. Why? What was she hiding?
His griffin hitched its wings, a small, anxious movement that gave away more than Hardwick wanted to admit to himself.
He answered its silent question.
I know she’s meant to be mine. But I can’t—don’t you feel that? It’s like she’s wrapped so many lies around herself that it hurts even when she’s not talking.
It clacked its beak softly.
Of course I want to help her—just let me figure this out. I have to think—damn it!
He stood up. Delphine’s eyes stayed glued to his, and he turned away, unreasonably unsettled. “I’ll get that ice,” he muttered, and stalked away.
Icy wind tugged at his hair as he grabbed a tea towel and the pick from beside the front door and headed out to the out-building he was using as an extra freezer.
Whoever had last rented the place had the same idea; the block of ice he hacked chunks off looked like something out of Little House on the Prairie. Simpler than an ice machine, though.
He wrapped a few shards of ice in the towel and paused, staring back at the cabin.
He’d felt the moment his griffin recognized the woman as his mate. He’d felt it when he first saw her, face-down and unconscious in the snow. A cold hand had gripped his heart and not let go. Not when he raced to her side and found the pulse in her neck. Not when she’d murmured half-formed words as he lifted her from the snow. Not when he’d brought her back up to the cabin and wrapped her in blankets, warm beside the fire, and found the lump on the back of her head.
Not even when she woke up.
He could see it now. Even with his eyes open, staring at the cabin, he could see the moment she’d woken up fully from the restless half-consciousness he’d found her in.
It was as though the sun had come down to Earth for a vacation. Her hair was honey-bright, her skin glowing with golden health as she lost the last of the snow’s chill. Beneath expressive half-moon eyebrows a few shades darker than her hair, her eyes were a compelling mix of brown and sparkling citrine. And when she’d looked at him—
She was older than he’d initially guessed, he thought now. She’d looked younger when she was sleeping, and still for a moment after she woke up. Then something else had settled over her features. A sharpness that added age and exhaustion to her in a way that made his heart clench further under its icy coating.
He knew that look. He’d seen it enough times, on the other side of an interview room. It was the look of someone trying to twist a situation to their own benefit.
So, it didn’t matter what he’d felt, when he was saving her life, or afterwards. It didn’t matter that the icy fist around his heart had melted the moment her golden ey
es met his. That his heart had reached out for her. Or that his griffin had unfurled its wings and raised its head, gazing at her without the same painful suspicion that he greeted all strangers with.
How naïve.
He ran through her lies in his head.
All of us Belgraves are shifters, too.
We’re all winged lion shifters.
She was a Belgrave. No lie there. Which meant either Belgraves were some other sort of shifter than winged lions… or not all of them were.
She hadn’t responded when he tried to communicate with her telepathically.
All this suggested that she was a non-shifter from a shifter family—but why lie about something like that? It happened. Sometimes shifters were born from non-shifter families, and sometimes non-shifters were born from shifter families. It might have something to do with genetics. He didn’t know that anyone had done research into it. It was just one of those things that all shifters knew.
So why lie?
There had to be something more to it. And much as he wanted to find out why this woman wrapped herself in lies, much as he wanted to help her the way he dedicated his life to helping others, he didn’t have time for something more right now. He needed rest. A total retreat.
He needed for his goddamned head not to hurt every time he looked into those golden, lying eyes.
He was still trying to make his head stop spinning when he got back inside and stomped the snow off his boots. Delphine was still sitting on the sofa. She’d gathered the blankets around herself like a cloak, and just for a moment before she turned to look at him, she seemed… worried.
Then she noticed he’d returned, and her face smoothed over. Except for that exhausted sharpness at the edges of her eyes and the tilt of her head.
“Ice,” he said, and handed it to her. She pressed the bundle against her head with a sigh.
“Thank you.” She gave a grateful smile. “I know it’ll heal quick enough, but this helps the pain, at least.”
This time, he managed to hide his wince of pain.
“Something to drink?”
“Oh—coffee, if you have it.”
He thought of the poisonous cup he’d dropped earlier. “You might regret that. I’ve only got instant.”
“I’m not that fussy. Instant’s fine.” A white lie. The sort of thing he could shrug off in January but stuck like a burr in December.
“Your funeral.”
He filled the kettle again and set it on the always-on iron stove. There was only one spare mug on the counter. He cursed and scouted around the floor for the one he’d dropped. Delphine gave him a curious expression as he grabbed it and made a half-hearted attempt to mop up the spill.
She kept watching him as he spooned instant coffee into the mugs and waited for the water to boil. He didn’t look back at her, but he was as sure of her eyes on him as he was of her restlessness as the silence lengthened.
“Thank you,” she blurted out at last. “For s-saving my life. I didn’t know there was anyone else out here. I thought—” She let out a heavy breath. “I don’t know what I thought.”
His griffin whined as the lie hit home. He snorted. I don’t need you to tell me that wasn’t the truth.
“Call it a Christmas miracle,” he suggested, wondering what it was that she had thought in the moments before she fell into the snow.
“I suppose.” Blankets rustled as she moved around. “I’m curious, actually. I know it sounds ungrateful, but I’m dying to know what you’re doing all the way out here. At Christmas.”
Four sentences, and not one of them was a lie. He was almost impressed.
The kettle whistled, and he poured water into the mugs. “Milk, sugar?”
“Yes to milk, no to sugar.”
He fixed her drink, then hesitated, and decided to take his black. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
Her bright eyes tracked him as he sat down opposite her, in the same worn armchair he’d been in when she woke up.
He braced himself and took a sip of his coffee. Delphine did the same. Her eyes went distant and horrified. “Oh. Um. Yum,” she said. It was so unconvincing a lie, he wondered why his griffin bothered to point it out.
But point it did. With claws.
Rubbing the pain in his temple, he put his cup down. “You wanted to know what I’m doing out here?”
“What can I say? Apparently, I’m the sort of person to look a Christmas miracle horse in the mouth. Or something.”
“Griffin, not horse.”
“Sorry?”
He leaned back. This mystery woman, his mate, deserved to know what she was dealing with.
And part of him wanted to see how she would react to the truth.
“Griffin,” he said gruffly. “You pegged me as a shifter earlier, you might as well know what I am.”
“A griffin shifter.” Her eyes—didn’t shine, exactly. The expression in them was more complicated than that. “Pine Valley is full of surprises. Dragons, hellhounds, a pegasus… and now a griffin shifter. When did you move here?”
“I didn’t.” To her silent question, he added, “I’m on vacation. A week’s… decompression… and then back to work. I’m a detective.”
“You’re a detective? That sounds like a difficult job.” And she was definitely looking uncomfortable now.
This whole hell of a situation just kept getting worse.
Hardwick snorted. “I’m better suited for it than most,” he said. Moment of truth. “My griffin can tell when people are lying.”
He watched her react, and the sudden flash of understanding mixed with terror and regret on her face made him feel almost regretful, himself. Then she pulled herself together so quickly he could almost taste her drawing more lies around herself, and he was on his guard again.
Her face closed over. The absence of any expression was the only hint he had that she was thinking like mad beneath the surface—but he was convinced she was.
Who is this woman?
Chapter Seven
Delphine
“Oh… good,” Delphine croaked. Hardwick’s eyes twitched. “That does sound useful. For a detective.”
Fuuuuuuck, she thought to herself.
He could tell when people were lying? Then he already knew that she’d lied to him. The question was: how much?
Was it a detailed thing? If she said something untrue, could he home in on the truth based on that, or would he just know that that specific thing was a lie? Could she—
She bit down on the inside of her cheek. Could she be honest with herself about what she was planning to do here?
Could she lie to the man she thought was her soulmate?
Could she not?
She was taking too long. The pause was becoming suspicious. She nestled in among her blankets and wrapped her hands around her coffee mug gratefully. The warmth inside the cabin and the woolen blankets had driven most of the chill from her limbs, but it was winter. No matter how warm you already were, a hot drink was always welcome.
She took a sip of the coffee and almost choked.
Well. A hot drink was almost always welcome. Had he used coffee for this, or gravel?
“I’m here on vacation, too,” she said. “Along with what feels like most of my family, though I’m sure I’m forgetting a few second cousins who’ve managed to slip under the radar.”
“And you’re all winged lion shifters?”
The question was casual enough. As casual as her idiotic sip of coffee had been, and just as much of a mind-game. Delphine resisted the urge to narrow her eyes at him.
He knew she was lying. And he was—testing her? Teasing her?
She should have felt outraged—or really, terrified, given what the truth would do if it came out—but instead she felt an excited fizz down her spine.
Fine. If he wanted to play? She could play. She still felt off-balance, like she wasn’t sure whether he was seriously interrogating her or just bantering, but this was… almo
st fun.
“For untold generations. Or told generations, if my Aunt Grizelda manages to corner you when she’s in a genealogy mood.”
Did that count as a lie? The bit about Aunt Grizelda was almost too true. Was avoiding the fact that one member of the current generation was not a winged lion shifter close enough to the truth?
His eye flickered again, but she couldn’t tell whether that was because she’d hidden a lie in her answer, or he’d just swallowed another mouthful of coffee. Honestly, the stuff was dreadful. Which she reminded herself by taking another sip and choking it down before adding:
“The others are all visiting with the Heartwells today—do you know them?”
Hardwick shook his head.
“Dragon shifters. I met them last year. They live in a secluded valley a few miles out of town, where they can fly without being seen. I know a lot of my cousins were looking forward to stretching their wings after being cooped up in a plane for ten hours. My brothers, too. I just hope they actually waited until they got up there before shifting. I’ve had enough experience getting winged shifters un-stuck from inside cars to last a lifetime.”
All true. All perfectly inane, perfectly true small talk.
And she knew what he was about to ask next. She could see it in his eyes. So, she got in first.
“I would have l-loved to go flying, too. But my grandfather wanted some groceries picked up from this specialist store down the mountain, so I was happy to offer to run the errand.”
Hardwick winced. Delphine almost did, too. What a slip-up. Of course she wouldn’t have loved to go flying. She would have had to ride on one of her relatives, and what better way to reveal that she couldn’t shift?
It couldn’t have been the other thing she said that was a lie. She had been happy to run around after Grandfather’s port. More than happy. Overjoyed. Ecstatic. Relieved beyond belief.
That counted as happy, didn’t it?
“Of course, by now the port’s probably frozen and everyone’s wondering where on Earth I am,” she continued.