Legends Mate

by Jennifer W Smith

  “Oh, that explains it.” The receptionist scooped up a line of playing cards and randomly shuffled them. “Yeah, we had a cancelation just this morning, and now you’re here to fill the spot. Perfect.”

  Relief washed over Luna at her good fortune. Plus the reasonable room rate the receptionist mentioned put her at ease.

  “I’m Myron, by the way. And here is your room key. You’ll find, at the Wiccan Haus, while you don’t always get what you asked for, we strive to give you what you need—and so you’ll find a saltwater tap in your bathtub.”

  “Wow, thanks.” Luna gazed at the name tag on Myron’s uniform. It read Trixie. Distracted by the obvious name confusion, Luna turned away with her room key—slamming into a hard wall of flesh. Sirens, in general, were on the small side. All the ones she knew were no taller than five feet; most resembled adolescents. The man she bumped into towered over her. She retreated one step, wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell—her nose had rammed the broad bones between the man’s nipples. She rubbed the soreness away with her palm. He stayed rooted to his spot while she took another rearward step. Dried mud encased the man’s worn boots. Dirt-smudged legs covered in dark hair disappeared into his tattered cargo shorts. At his waist, through the faded Army-green T-shirt, his muscular body expanded up and out like the trunk of a tree to his broad shoulders and shapely, hard limbs. Immediately, her thoughts conjured her water god. She had never seen anyone as tall or physically perfect as her god—until now. Perfect, despite the grime.

  She arched her neck, throat stretched, and she slowly raised her gaze in curiosity. A shaggy beard hung from his face; his thick eyebrows were drawn together as he penetrated her with his gaze. The fern-green of his eyes resembled the forests beyond the Wiccan Haus. Lucky for her, smell wasn’t her strongest sense because a tang filled her nostrils. Her keen eyesight assessed the tower in front of her—a scruffy, smelly mountain man—ew.

  “Excuse me, miss,” he said.

  The deep baritone voice left its vibration under her skin. Dropping her hand from her nose, she rubbed the gooseflesh on her arm. She nodded hastily, dashing around him, and then crossed the lobby to the elevator. Pushing the elevator button, she fiddled with the room key and watched the woodsman across the room. His broad shoulders evoked images of the water god and sparked a longing within her. Oh, how she had spent hours rubbing oil into clusters of muscles, rolling like hills and valleys under her small hands.

  Something near the man’s shoulder caught her eye. Out of the woven dreads in his waist-long hair poked a furry face.

  Gross! He has a rodent living on him! What a shame. If he wasn’t so mangy….

  The elevator opened, and Luna hastened into the empty chamber. She gave the woodsman a fleeting look before the doors closed. She pressed number two, and it illuminated. Number two—her second chance. She came here to heal, not make friends, and certainly not to find romance.

  What was I thinking?

  ***

  “Nathaniel Quinn is it you under all that scruff?” Myron smiled at him, lifted the deck of cards, and skillfully shuffled them in her bejeweled hands.

  “I couldn’t stay away.”

  They both knew he never came to the island for pleasure.

  “Oh, so you’re here for rest and relaxation? A makeover perhaps?” The receptionist had known him a long time. She flipped over one card face up and was about to flip another, but she stopped when the door to the security office opened and the head of security stepped out. She briefly glanced over.

  Nate laughed at her last comment regarding a makeover. Some of the other human passengers on the ferry gawked at his unkempt appearance. Clearing his throat, he ran his fingers through his scruffy hair. “I’m in desperate need of a haircut and a beard trimming. Can I make an appointment in the spa?”

  “For you, there is an immediate opening. Let me get your room key, and you can head right in whenever you’re ready.” She stashed her cards and collected his key.

  Taking his key, he winked a thanks to Myron. She smiled charmingly and calmly despite the head of security scrutinizing them. Nate’s nostrils flared, picking up the distinct scent of his weretiger friend. Impatience rolled off the security officer Rekkus, who waited to speak to him.

  His long strides ate up the room’s expanse, and he stopped short of pulling Rekkus into a bear hug when he saw the man’s displeased expression.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” Rekkus asked under his breath.

  “I was away from home with my sled dogs on business when you contacted me. I came as quickly as I could.”

  Rekkus tipped his head in the direction of the security office, but his expression changed when Cemil entered the lobby.

  “I need a moment.” Rekkus moved to head off Cemil while Nate walked into the darkened room lit by a wall of digital monitors.

  One of the four owners sat behind a desk. Cyrus Rowan lifted his brows.

  “Excuse my scruffiness, sir, but I came straight away,” Nate said.

  “We are lucky to have you, Nate. Rekkus was convinced you put the Para Elite force in your past.”

  “With a threat to the island and your safety, well, sir, you’ve done a lot for me.” Nate never forgot the people who had his six. Years ago, after he had taken out an entire coven of rouge vampires, he’d been severly injured. His team got him to the Wiccan Haus, and the staff had eventually healed him.

  Cyrus nodded. “So, I heard a rumor you’re breeding sled dogs in northern Canada now?”

  “Yes. My associate is running affairs while I’m away.” Nate bent to set his backpack on the floor against the wall and tugged at the zipper. He made a subtle sucking noise between his teeth while holding the pack open. A blur of fur scurried the length of his arm and dropped inside the safety of the worn canvas bag. He stood and faced Cyrus again.

  Cyrus stared at the pack only a moment; he made no comment about what he saw.

  Nate was grateful for Cyrus’s reserve. He’d tried to leave the red squirrel behind. The persistent squirrel had followed him for five hundred miles before Nate gave up trying to ditch him. The little furball had stuck with him ever since the day Nate rescued him two years ago; he couldn’t help the little woodland animal bonded with him.

  Cemil entered the office followed by Rekkus, who closed the door, giving them privacy. Cemil was exasperated. “Don’t the guests read the brochure? I was outside again apologizing to visitors that cell phones don’t work on the island. And I reminded them it’s clearly stated on our website. People just can’t unplug.”

  “Yes, well, we have a more important matter to discuss, Cemil,” Cyrus said to his brother.

  Rekkus crossed his arms over his solid chest and leaned against the desk Cyrus sat behind. Nate took in the vision of the two men. They were best friends, both dressed in black, and both wearing the same blank expressions with their gazes pinned on Cemil. Nate sensed Cemil’s discomfort at their unforgiving stares and intense attention.

  “What did I do?” Cemil’s voice raised a notch, unwilling to own up to his obvious indiscretion. He turned his head and fiddled with his hair, avoiding their scrutiny. Suddenly, he noticed Nate. “Oh, hello.” Cemil gave him a once over.

  Nate shifted uncomfortably, gave a curt nod, and averted his attention to Rekkus.

  “Who is that? She’s not on the list.” Rekkus pointed to a paused screen, the still-shot magnified.

  Nate stared at the image of a girl—the same girl who’d bumped into him at the front desk a few minutes ago. She wore the same dress, but the picture had been captured outdoors. He surmised the footage was from earlier today. His body tensed. How had this lovely young woman caused Rekkus’s disgruntlement?

  Cemil seemed to reluctantly peel his gaze from Nate and followed Rekkus’s finger to the screen. He raised his eyebrows. “That’s Luna. She is sort of…a siren—but not from this realm. She swam onto the beach.”

  Cyrus said, “We know s
he swam onto the beach. Myron warned us someone gifted would break through the magical barrier.”

  Not much slipped past Myron, Nate silently accepted. It seemed her cards often forewarned of potential threats, although Nate hadn’t sensed anything unusual in Myron’s exchange with the siren. Apparently, the cards had their limits.

  “Right. Only Myron told me first. So I took security with me to see who it could be. And there it is, I met Luna.” Cemil crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Cemil, why have you allowed a stranger to stay at a time when the Syndicate warns of an assassination attempt on your brother’s life?” Rekkus asked and gestured toward Cyrus, who didn’t move a muscle.

  Nate anchored his attention on Cyrus, recalling prior threats. Cyrus Rowan had a bounty on his head. Rekkus’s concern was justifiable, but Nate was conflicted with the target. He didn’t see this delicate beauty as that kind of threat. Nate understood being head of security for the island was a monstrous responsibility, and, to add to his pressure, Rekkus was also Cyrus’s personal bodyguard. For this trip, Nate’s sole assignment was to flush out threats. He would answer to these men.

  “Poor, little thing has had her heart broken. I knew it the moment I touched her hand. I believe she is only here to heal, Rekkus,” Cemil said.

  Cemil’s gift as an empath gave him a true sense of people when he touched them. His opinion of Luna filled Nate with relief. Nate glimpsed at the monitor, committing her profile to memory.

  “I don’t like coincidences. A para cancels last minute, and then this siren conveniently slips past our underwater details and waltzes in here. We know nothing about her. She could be dangerous.” Rekkus scowled at Cemil.

  Nate hid a grin when Cemil flung his hands up and shook them with mock fear. He bit his lip when Cemil waved dismissively and said, “Oh, Rekkus, all sirens are dangerous.”

  The weretiger growled.

  Rekkus took security very seriously—in fact, he took everything seriously. Contained rage oozed from the man at Cemil’s careless teasing.

  “However”—Cemil said after his brother narrowed his eyes at him—“I don’t sense she’s here to harm anyone. Cyrus has nothing to fear from that little guppy. Also, I informed her she’d need to sign a contract regarding her songs.”

  Cyrus tapped his leather-covered finger on the desk. “I have an idea.” The three men turned their attention to Cyrus, who leaned forward, placing his gloved hands together. “While Nate is here undercover, we can have him watch her…befriend her…find out why she’s really here. Maybe she knows something?”

  Cemil gazed over his shoulder at Nate. “I thought you looked familiar. I didn’t recognize you with all that…hair.” He smiled, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Are you trying to connect with your inner-species?”

  Nate grinned and let the teasing slide. His species, the Sasquatch who roamed northern Canada, were sought after by the Syndicate’s Elite force because of their sheer size and strength. Problem was most were loners, and many had gentler sides not conducive for combat. Nate knew these plights all too well; however, the Syndicate paid generously.

  Ignoring Cemil’s snickering, Nate focused on the image of the siren. From the moment he’d stepped into the lobby earlier, he’d picked up her scent. Steadily, he’d followed it until he stood close behind her. Like a deer drawn to a saltlick, his urge to touch her…taste her lips…had been overwhelming. He’d been so close, when she swung around, her long, black hair brushed his clothes. For the first time in his life, he froze while his brain ran diagnostics on his body. What had he felt? It was the true and urgent pull of wild instinct and heightened senses onset by this girl. Trying to recover from his shock and confusion, he’d gulped and forced his breathing to remain steady. When she’d abruptly bumped her nose to his chest, he prayed he acted normal instead of appearing like a starved bear sniffing honey. The accidental touch had sent a jolt through him. But nothing compared to when she’d tilted her head and blasted him with her eyes, as clear and large as a starless winter night. Then, to his greatest disappointment, she had wrinkled her nose, dismissed him, and moved away. Maybe she hadn’t recognized it—but he had. He had just found his mate.

  “That’s an interesting idea.” Nate cleared his throat, wondering how this could happen. The potential threat was his destined mate.

  Rekkus straightened to his full 6’5” frame and crossed to the totem pole of a man. “Could work.” He nodded. “Luna is your new detail.”

  A weary chuckle escaped Nate at his sticky predicament as he absorbed the weight of his assignment.

  The weretiger scrunched his nose. “You’re not going to entice anyone with your rank earthiness. Get cleaned up, and we’ll have a briefing this evening after the meal is served. You must attend like the rest of the guests since you’re undercover.”

  Cemil seemed to breathe through his mouth and griped, “He’s not wrong. Though the smell of man is tempting, your smell is a bit overwhelming. Not to mention your clothes are in bad need of washing…or burning.”

  Nate’s attention snapped to Rekkus. Did the weretiger just laugh?

  Chapter Two

  The mandatory dinner hour forced Luna to leave the comfort of her room. The smell of cooked meat hit her nose as soon as the elevator door opened. She diverted to the front desk to drop off the signed “no singing or humming” contract delivered to her room earlier. Myron accepted it with a reassuring smile.

  Again, the aroma of cooked foods wafted past her. Reluctantly following the scent, she slowed her pace as she passed the lodge’s boutique and sundries shop. The colorful sundresses and accessories displayed in its wide, glass windows caused her to run her hand over her clothing. She’d swum to the island in the one dress she wore now. Excessive clothing in the ocean was impractical, so it had slipped her mind to pack any extra. But now she was among others—out of the water—the dresses, as colorful as coral, intrigued her. Luna couldn’t wait to try them on but couldn’t do so now because the boutique was closed during dining hours. She cursed under her breath.

  In the refection of the window, two blonde women passed behind her, commenting loudly on the bikinis also appealingly displayed. Luna waited for the blondes to disappear through the open doors at the end of the hallway before she followed them.

  Entering the room, she was disappointed every table already had guests, though there were a few empty seats among them. The two blondes had taken the last vacant table. Something about their giggly, bubbly demeanors annoyed Luna, and so there was no way she was sitting with them. Determined to find somewhere else to sit, she spotted a lone man at the corner table with a book in his hand. Older and distinguished, he appeared harmless enough, so she advanced in his direction. Dread churned in her stomach at the thought of eating with these humans.

  Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea.

  Just as the man set his book aside and a polite smile spread across his face, Luna noticed a second room with more seating. Without giving the man another thought, she veered right and crossed into the other space. A strange feeling passed over her. Scanning the room, she concluded no humans dined in there. She scurried to the closest empty table and sat down with relief. However, just inside the main dining room adjacent to her table and in her direct line of sight sat the blondes. Er.

  One blonde flirted with their waiter, and her husky voice grated on Luna’s nerves. Glancing around the backroom, she found the guests in here a bit more…exotic. Though she sensed they were nonhuman, she couldn’t exactly detect what they were.

  “Look at that tall, dark, and doable man,” the blonde with the husky voice said.

  Interest piqued, Luna leaned slightly forward to get a better angle on the entrance. An exceptionally tall and broad man strode in, his manner casual and easy. He paused when Cemil stopped to speak with him. Brows drawing together, she scrutinized him. It can’t be. But how many men could possibly be as big as the one she’d bumped into at check-in
? He wasn’t the same—exactly. This man had thick, wavy brown hair to his shoulders, and his dark beard was trim and stylish around his strong jawline. His white linen shirt was crisp, and his navy shorts were pressed with creases. He was a larger model of the Nantucket yachters she’d seen off the Massachusetts coast.

  Wow. What a transformation! She couldn’t stop staring.

  “I’d like to lock my legs around him,” the other blonde commented to her friend.

  “I wonder if he’s big everywhere?” The husky pitch rose higher. They both preened and tittered.

  Sinfully, Luna wondered the same thing. A strange flutter started in her belly then melted south. She squirmed in her seat. Snatching the menu, she held it up in front of her face, but her gaze lingered on the woodsman above the laminated paper. Cemil glanced in her direction, as did the woodsman. Luna shrunk behind the menu. After a few seconds, she peeked over the top again only to panic when he walked her way.

  “Ooh Lord, he’s coming this way,” one blonde said.

  They tossed their hair and beamed smiles at him as he approached, but he passed them by.

  Luna set her menu down and scanned the tables, wondering who the sexy stranger would sit with. He’d fit right in with the shaggy wolf shifters who ate and laughed boisterously across the room. At least, she was fairly certain they were wolf shifters. The stranger reached her table in only a few long strides.

  “Good evening. May I join you?”

  The fresh scent of pine wafted off him, and she inhaled deeper, contemplating an excuse. Surprisingly, she couldn’t think of one. She breathed out a pent-up exhale. Obliged, she offered the free chair. Instead of staring at him, she stole a look at the blondes who slouched with disappointed pouts on their mouths. Their sullen letdown shouldn’t have meant anything to Luna—but it did.

  “I’m Nathaniel Quinn—Nate.” He held his hand out.

  She stared at his paw of a hand for a moment before she slipped hers into his. It was warm, and the palm was calloused.