by Lyla Oweds
And sure enough, my suspicions were confirmed. “You want to run away to an island, marry me, have my children? I say yes to all of the above.”
“That’s not what I was saying at all!” How had things come to this? I pulled my hand from his, cradling it to my chest as I stared at the center console. “I was trying to tell you that I really, really like you. I’ve never felt like this before. But I don’t know how to handle it. I’m scared.”
The humor fled his expression, and his gaze turned serious. “What do you mean?” His voice grew dark, and the mood in the vehicle closed within a second. “What scares you?”
“You’re not my mate.” A shiver passed through the air. “And I’m not stupid, I know you’re more powerful than me.”
“I don’t have to be your mate. I’m not a shifter,” Michael pointed out, his mouth thinning.
“You don’t need to be a shifter to be a shifter’s mate,” I told him—not many outsiders knew this little-known fact. “But when a shifter and a non-shifter get together, it is when the shifter is mated to that person. The bond still exists. But you’re not my mate, and I really like you.”
“Gloria.” He sighed. “You like me.” My face heated, there wasn’t even a question in his voice. And he continued. “I’m not stupid. I’ve watched you for years. Even though you’ve denied it, you watched me too. You’re half in-love with me already. So what does it matter if we’re not mates? Isn’t that, in shifter physiology, purely biological? Being a mate doesn’t have anything to do with feelings.”
I blinked at him. How did he—
“From the moment I saw you, I knew you were meant for me.” Michael smiled softly. “You don’t think I’ve spoken to my friends about this concept before?”
Who in the world had he spoken to about this?
“Why do you want to keep our relationship a secret?” he asked, repeating his earlier question. The sudden power in his voice caused my attention to spike, and my pulse raced at the severe look on his handsome face. “Tell me the truth.”
“People are going to talk about me, more than they do already. An onmyoji and shifter aren’t exactly a conventional pairing…” I was ashamed at how stupid this sounded.
“I never took you as the sort to conform to society’s standards.”
I shook my head. “I don’t normally care about what people think, or I try not to. But when people gossip about you, it has a way of wearing you down. It hurts when people want to meet you just because you’re an oddity. You’ll get hurt.”
“Who the hell cares about what negative people say?” Michael’s expression was almost deadly, his tone serious. But I didn’t miss the slight trembling of his fingers as his touch brushed over my cheek.
My fingers closed over his. “Don’t lie, you care.”
“I’m an onmyoji,” Michael said, pressing his palm to mine. The drive-in lights shrouded his car into soft shadows, but there was enough light to let me make out the churning storm of his gray eyes. “Besides contracting with shikigami and terrorizing shifters for fun, we are seers.”
“Yes.” Why was he telling me this?
“It doesn’t only apply to divination. Seeing also applies to energy. Witches read the energy of the earth, while an onmyoji reads a person’s energy.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine as his eyes shut. “A person’s energy is made up of the behaviors they exhibit: the words they say, how they treat other people, and the activities they partake in. You’re beautiful and not just on the outside.”
My face was on fire, and my breath caught, but he didn’t notice.
“Did you know your aura is red?” he said. “It’s slightly darker than your hair and your skin when you’re embarrassed or angry.”
“What does it mean?” I breathed.
“You’re courageous,” he answered without hesitation. “Passionate. And strong, both physically and mentally.”
“Are you changing the subject?” Why was he talking about this? It had nothing to do with what we were discussing.
“No.” Michael’s gaze returned to mine. “Your aura is pure because your intentions are honest. You don’t strive to hurt people, but you will hurt others to protect the weak. However, there are ways of tainting your aura—of attracting negative forces to you. And one of those ways is talking badly of others. Words spoken or written with intention to ridicule only end up harming the castor instead. Because every person, no matter what their level of ability or their gifts, has the power of manifestation. Negative energy always begets negative energy, and foul intentions always rebound on the instigators.”
“So I’m supposed to ignore what they say and hope karma will get them?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief from my voice. “You’re usually more aggressive than this.”
“Karma will get them,” Michael said. “But remember, people who gossip aren’t happy to begin with, so they’re only harming themselves even more in the end. Don’t be mad at them. Feel sorry for them instead. Barring your concerns about ‘others,’ what else worries you?”
Well, since we were being honest and deep, I couldn’t lie. “My family.”
“Don’t worry about their acceptance. I’ll charm them to like me. I’m a very likeable person.” Michael’s face lowered to my shoulder. His cheek brushed against my own, his voice soft. “If that’s what you need, I’ll meet with them. I’ll play any shifter games you want. Just don’t worry, Gloria. It will all work out.”
“How do you know?”
He grinned against my neck. “Do you forget who you’re talking to?”
“Is this arrogant Michael talking or fortuneteller Michael?” I asked, my heart pounding. “What did your reading about me say?”
His hand that had been lightly trailing down my arm froze, and his breath hitched.
“Michael?”
“We’ll talk about it later.” He pulled back, gripping my chin. His eyes were a swirl of chaos, the sky before a storm. “Right now, I just want to be with you.”
I couldn’t look away from those eyes, from the smoldering power swirling beneath. It threatened to consume me, and my senses expanded outward. The sound of his breathing grew louder. His scent, a sweet spicy cologne. His finger against my skin, scorching.
The world faded, and the storm washed over me. “Yes…”
And the fire consumed me as his mouth lowered to mine. Arms wrapped over my shoulders, pulling me into his embrace. Somewhere in the distance, the movie played, breathy actors engaging in the same play—the same sinful touches—as Michael and me.
It wasn’t enough, and we weren’t following the rules. But I didn’t care.
“Michael—” I gasped as his lips left mine, trailing a line down the corner of my jaw. At some point, I’d been pushed against the passenger door, and the weight of his body pressed against me.
His touch traveled, first lingering over the edge of my low neck of my dress. In this outfit, my cleavage was hardly on display, even though the cut was suggestive. But with the way he lowered his gaze to my chest and the dipping touch of his fingers as they cupped my breasts through the fabric, it felt as though I wore nothing.
Or too much.
He swallowed my gasp as his mouth closed over mine once again, and my moans muffled as his tongue tangled with mine. I was breathless, all my senses engaged with his, so there was no surprise when his wandering touch returned to my knee, like it had that day in the office. And my every nerve followed the movement of his hand as he ran his palm up my thigh, pushing up my skirts along the way.
My heart rushed, excitement coursing through my veins. The condom I’d grabbed from the protesters was still in my clutch, but I hadn’t seriously thought I’d be using it so soon.
It had only been a pipe dream.
“I’ve waited so long for this. I’m going to make you feel so good.” Michael’s lips brushed against mine. “If you don’t want it, say no.”
I was dizzy with the feel of him against me, with his scent. My f
ingers entangled in his shirt, and there was an ache at my core.
What was he asking? What would I say ‘no’ about?
Before I could even ask, he’d moved back into his seat, his hands grasping my ass and pulling me down until I was flat on my back. I blinked at him, the roof of the car slowly returning to focus as he moved to his knees, his body pressing over me.
But he lay on me only for an instant, his mouth capturing mine once again. Only one breath passed as he cupped my breasts and then trailed his fingers lower.
His touch scorched my skin, moving over my thighs as his attention moved higher, until he’d reached his goal. My dress was over my waist, exposing my legs and panties to his view.
Michael’s eyes flared with a heat that caused my stomach to clench, and his fingers gently traced the lines of my white panties. I almost didn’t dare breathe.
A long moment passed. The only sound was my shallow breaths as his hand remained warm over my skin. And then his gaze returned to mine.
“Gloria.” There was a reverence in his face, in his voice. “Can I?”
He could do anything he wanted. I never wanted him to stop touching me. “Yes.”
His lips brushed mine once more, then he was gone. With a tug, he pulled the edges of my panties and then slid them down over my hips until I was at last free of them. The rising warmth spreading over my chest and neck hadn’t even reached my face before he was between my knees, kneeling at my feet. His hands cupped my ass as my lower body was lifted into the air.
The sound of waves lulled in the distance—the movie, continuing on as the two of us remained hidden in the increasingly steamy vehicle. It was a cool night, a strange contrast to the rising heat inside the car. And I blinked at the window, noting that it was impossible to see outside anymore.
Something was on the seat, digging into my upper back, but it didn’t matter. All of my senses were on the feel of Michael’s breath over my mound. He was close, so close. The shivering that had taken over me almost caused my teeth to chatter. This was too soon, and I should have been ashamed. But I didn’t care.
“Michael.” I reached toward him, brushing my hand over his shoulder. “What—”
Michael’s burning gaze lifted, a strand of his perfect blond hair falling over his eyebrow. But it was only for an instant, before he lowered his head, burying his face in my core.
My heart stopped, and a strangled sound tore through my lips as his tongue teased over my sensitive skin. Color washed over me, and this was only with the slightest of touches.
But then I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, and my soul shattered into a million pieces.
It had been a few days since my date with Michael, and my spine still tingled every time I thought about him. Of course, it didn’t help that we continued to work together every day. He hadn’t said anything to Mr. Kohler or Gregory about us being a couple, and I still couldn’t bring myself to have that conversation.
However, in the end, it didn’t appear to matter. Michael seemed content to remain as we were.
Who knew that my first attempts at oral sex were so persuasive? That was something to keep in mind.
But we hadn’t actually done the deed, which both relieved and disturbed me. I couldn’t deny that I really wanted Michael to own me in every way. But when things had begun to go there, my thoughts flashed to Gregory.
His cryptic statement about me being his future wife.
No. I had to talk to him, but I had no idea what to say. And why did the thought of hurting him make my stomach twist.
Besides that. What about Caleb?
The thought ran through my mind, unbidden. And the point of my pencil snapped as it dug into the library desk.
It had been difficult enough seeing Gregory every day—the man frolicked in clueless oblivion. And Michael, he’d caught me staring at the fae more than once. And each time there was an annoying grin on his face.
I wanted to hate him for it.
But then there was Caleb. Who, outside of the slight interlude where he’d introduced me to Jordan Bigelow, hadn’t come back again. I’d never been involved in a quintet before, so perhaps it was normal to feel an absence when not in their presence.
In that case though, why didn’t I feel the same loss with Jordan or David? I hadn’t seen either of them in the same length of time.
It was a fae thing; it had to be. While I was their natural predator, somehow, they’d become my weakness.
That was why I couldn’t sleep at night. It was why, even now, I imagined Caleb’s scent in this room. He was ‘The Professor.’ Surely, he spent some time in the library.
My head jerked forward, and I snapped awake. Unlike Michael, who seemed content to wait for the case to proceed at its snail’s pace, I’d taken to searching the census records for Victoria Estrada on my lunch break. But my weariness was making it impossible to focus.
I didn’t know why I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I’d never met the woman, and she was from a rival pack. But it was difficult to deny the sense of kinship I’d felt toward her. She was eleven when her sister was killed. Interviews had stated she had been highly distraught and unapproachable.
And then she’d just… disappeared.
I wanted to help, but I wasn’t sure how. Someone adept at research would sure come in handy right about now.
“What are you looking for?” As if my thoughts had summoned him, Caleb Weaver slid into the seat across from me, resting his folded arms over a stack of heavy books. “You’ve been staring at this page for ten minutes.”
My heart raced—I was slipping. Or he was trickier than I thought. But I somehow doubted that was the case. Especially since I had smelled him but had brushed it off.
“Can I help you with anything?” he asked, his tone deceptively polite. The harsh edges had faded, and his voice was infused with the smooth seductiveness of his people.
It was a fae thing. Goshdarn it, why were they so appealing?
“Please don’t address me in that way.” I stared at the yellowing pages in front of me. “It makes me feel… dirty.”
Hungry. That was the word I wanted to use. But I would never admit that out loud.
“What are you talking about?” Caleb sounded genuinely confused. The hurt in his voice caused me to glance up, sure that I’d broken his sensitive heart.
But he was only frowning, not devastated. His lips puckered in the picture of puzzlement. His eyebrows were furrowed and eyes curious. The expression made him look even more vulnerable.
My mouth went dry. The instinct I’d been trying to ignore was back, stronger than before. He had said he didn’t need my protection, but his words meant nothing. It was killing me to hold back from shielding him from the world.
It was easier to forget how weak he was, to pretend when he spoke like a ruffian. Especially in moments like this, when his focus was entirely on me. Our eyes were locked, and it felt as though he could sense my every emotion.
Why was he smirking?
“Don’t pretend you’re a gentleman, it sounds wrong.” I pressed my lips together.
“What do you know?” Caleb leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. His full mouth turned down, and my gaze remained fixated at the small dip of his center lip. “Perhaps this is how I normally speak. Would you like me to switch?”
I was barely resisting the urge to beg him to do just that. He even looked more approachable today. He’d abandoned the jacket for a scholarly, and almost nerdy, look. While he wasn’t as strong looking as his brother or Michael, he wasn’t weak either. The short sleeves of his green and gray striped shirt barely kissed his biceps, and his sinewy arms showed off his strength and elegance.
Gregory was more powerful than me in terms of raw ability. Michael was physically and magically overpowering.
But Caleb, although weaker, wouldn’t go down without a fight. How much of a challenge would he pose to me? I’d win, but it might be interesting to find out.
“Gloria
?” My name flowed smoothly from his lips, and his perfect brow rose as he watched me curiously. “What’s on your mind, baby? You didn’t answer.”
This time when he spoke, the street accent had returned to his voice. And my heart began to flutter.
No. This was worse, way worse. When had this changed? He should definitely go back to talking like a normal human being.
“You look like crap.” Caleb’s mouth dipped farther.
Why was he such an idiot, and why wasn’t I angry? Instead, his rudeness lacked the bite of sincerity.
Clearly, he lacked people skills, normal people didn’t talk like this. Hadn’t the man gone to a co-ed university?
“And now your face resembles an overripe tomato,” he observed coolly, and his gaze flickered over my red sweater. “And you’re wearing red,” he judged. “At least go with pink. Red isn’t a good color for you.”
“You’re incredibly rude,” I pointed out. Even though he hadn’t been speaking out of spite—only the subtle hint of inquisitiveness, and not bitterness, was present in his scent—my ardor had calmed.
And he clearly knew nothing of fashion—this shade complimented my skin perfectly.
“You and Gregory both have an… abundance of candor to you, despite you both being highly educated.” I tilted my head, watching him. This had been something I noticed throughout our encounters together. “Did you not socialize much growing up? Didn’t you have friends who were girls?”
“No.” Caleb frowned, the curious look fading from his expression. Something dark began to grow there in its place. “Of course not. Our family doesn’t interact with the outside world.”
“Your family?” I was surprised he’d answered. “I know it’s rude, but… I was going to ask about your and Gregory’s relationship. You don’t have the same last name…”
“Gregory is the second born into the main family branch.” Caleb’s attention drifted past me as he spoke. “We have the same father. My mother was one of his mistresses. I was given her last name.”