When the sun goes down, passion is unleashed.

Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 1

Kennedy Beaumont loves her bartending job, even if her spirited nature sometimes gets her in trouble. Like threatening to hose down one of Pendragon’s co-owners. When it comes to Tristan, she could use a good hosing down herself—maybe it’ll help her stop casting him as the star of her wickedest dreams. Since he goes out of his way to avoid her, it ought to be easy to put him out of her head—until he reluctantly offers her a ride home.

Gargoyle shape-shifter Tristan Callaghan hasn’t had time for anything other than recovering the mystical dagger that was used to permanently lock his brother in a prison of stone. The cat inside him should have stopped craving Kennedy’s touch long ago, but now that she’s sitting next to him in his car, his very human need for her is sharper than ever.

The distraction is costly. In a split second, Kennedy finds herself thrust into a dangerous, millennia-old hunt for Excalibur. A hunt that marks her for death—and leaves Tristan with a painful choice—sacrifice his family, his quest…or the one woman meant to be his.

Warning: There’s nothing tame about this alpha male hell-bent on claiming his mate. Featuring bone-melting explicit sex, graphic language, violence and a little harmless bite…or two.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201

Primal Hunger
Copyright © 2009 by Sydney Somers
ISBN: 978-1-60504-669-3
Edited by Lindsey McGurk
Cover by Kanaxa

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: September 2009
www.samhainpublishing.com

Primal Hunger

Sydney Somers

Chapter One

“What are you going to do, fire me?”

Bold words for a woman who adored her job, even if she was the one holding the hose, and Kennedy Beaumont knew it.

Drops of water from the warning shot she’d fired glistened on the bar between her and the two men who looked ready to tear each other’s throats out. Despite the pounding beat of music—courtesy of the house band—more than a few heads had swiveled in her direction the second she’d snatched the hose from beneath the counter and promised to drench the pair if they didn’t knock it off.

Not that the threat would have been a problem if both men were drunk or hassling her. Unfortunately, the quiet regular with dark blond hair and a wicked-looking scar that curved from the corner of his mouth to his ear had never uttered a disrespectful word to her, never even needed to be cut off and dumped in a cab.

The other guy was her boss—sort of.

Tristan Callaghan ran a hand through his dark hair as though she’d actually gotten him wet. Intimidating on a good day and downright feral looking when pissed off—like now—his piercing blue eyes routinely locked her feet to the floor. But grinning, furious or indifferent, his heavy gaze never failed to unleash a slow curl of warmth that wrapped around her backbone. Never failed to make it impossible to fully satisfy the hot ache that pulsed between her thighs.

But not even her body’s predictable response to Tristan’s presence swayed her to lower the hose. Not when he looked just wild enough to jump the bar and take it from her if she showed the slightest weakness.

In her six months working at Pendragon’s she’d learned the only thing the bar’s patrons respected was a steel-edged spine and the guts to back it up. Backing down from a fight—hell, even breaking eye contact too quickly—often caused more trouble than holding your ground.

That alone kept her arm up, her fingers poised on the trigger. “Well?”

A ghost of a smile caught the regular’s mouth, and Tristan scowled at him. For a moment she thought she might have to carry through on her threat, then he turned and vanished into the sea of bodies crowded around the bar.

Kennedy stared after him, not really surprised he hadn’t said a word. He never had much to say to her, not even after his month-long absence. More than once she’d caught herself envying the other waitresses he regularly flirted with and teased. But not her. Never her.

“I think you can lower your weapon now.”

She gave the regular, Dolan, a dirty look. “No thanks to you.”

He shrugged and reached for his beer, studying her over the rim of his glass. Unlike half the men, whose attention strayed to her chest at least twice while ordering a drink, she’d never caught him looking at anything but her face.

She finally replaced the hose, sweeping the area to be sure Tristan didn’t plan to finish what the pair had started the second her back was turned. Pendragon’s was packed again tonight, the crowd just hitting its drinking stride. Between filling orders and cleaning up after sloppy drinkers there wasn’t much time for chatting and even less for her usual people watching.

And in a place like this there was never a shortage of interesting people coming and going. Half the time it seemed like the bouncers only let in the most unusual people lined up outside. Many of regulars acted more like animals than human beings, and that was before they consumed amounts of alcohol that should have landed at least half of them in the hospital with alcohol poisoning.

As long as the bouncers ran a tight ship and her tip jar continued to fill, she didn’t worry about it. Much.

Wiping down the counter, she allowed herself a quick breather, wondering if Tristan had already left for the night. The whisper of awareness across the back of her neck said no, but she hadn’t spotted him a while.

“What do you see in him?”

Kennedy glanced behind her. “Who?”

Dolan arched a brow. “The cat.”

She frowned.

He rolled his eyes. “Tristan.” He forced it out as if the name curdled on his tongue like sour milk.

Cat? More than once she’d compared Tristan to a sleek predator, usually when he managed to sneak up on her or the few times she’d walked into the office as he came slowly awake, stretching. She hadn’t imagined anyone else, least of all a guy, making the same ridiculous comparison.

“Well?” he prodded when she remained silent.

“He’s my boss.” She turned away long enough to pour a glass of draft for another customer.

“You’re attracted to him.”

She shrugged. “He’s easy on the eyes.” Very easy. “But then so are at least half a dozen overpaid actors. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“He’s different.” Dolan’s brows drew together as though he couldn’t possibly figure out why that was.

It was Kennedy’s turn to roll her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but there is nothing going on between me and Tristan.”

He cocked his head thoughtfully, his gaze far too probing. “But you’ve thought about it.”

Too many times to count. Her attraction to Tristan hummed under her skin like a fever that wouldn’t break. The month he’d been away should have been plenty of time to get over the waste-of-time crush. But the second she’d turned around to find him standing on the opposite side of the counter tonight that same hot awareness had burrowed straight through her stomach.

It didn’t help that he was the only one she fantasized about these days. She’d never been one to shy away from what she wanted when it came to sex or taking care of her own needs. That she couldn’t achieve that same intense pleasure without imagining him there with her—his hands trailing across her skin, his mouth slowly devouring her—left her increasingly frustrated.

“Need a refill?” She nodded to Dolan’s empty glass without answering his question.

He shook his head, an oddly resigned expression falling over his face.

For some reason Kennedy suspected the look had nothing to do with passing on another beer. Thankfully, the pace picked back up and she didn’t have time to think about their unusual conversation, or wonder where Tristan had vanished.

“So what was that about?”

Tristan cursed under his breath and straightened from the catwalk that looked out over the crowded bar. He didn’t glance in his brother’s direction, knowing nothing short of a serious brawl or a threat to one of their own drew Cale from his office. “Nothing.”

“When Kennedy reaches for that hose, she usually has a damn good reason for it.”

“She’s crazy?” Tristan offered.

Cale snorted. “You just think that because she’s one of the few who actually stand up to you.”

“One of these days that’s going to get her into trouble.” Maybe not with him, but sooner or later she’d piss off the wrong immortal and wind up hurt.

“So then why didn’t you take the hose from her?”

Tristan didn’t answer. It was far wiser to keep his mouth shut than admit he hadn’t gotten over his fascination with the human. He was pretty damn sure if he’d gotten close enough to touch her, he wouldn’t have stopped at prying the hose out of her hand.

Not when her deep brown eyes soothed the wildest parts of him and at the same time unleashed a hunger he didn’t know how to satisfy. The second he’d entered the bar and caught her scent, the cat inside him growled possessively. Only when he’d felt the pull of her, the animal prowling restlessly inside him, did he realize how much he’d missed her.

He’d left town to hunt down a lead as much as to let his craving for the human’s touch pass. One look from Kennedy tonight, one stubborn arch of her brow as she pointed that hose at him, and he’d wanted to grin at the challenge she presented. Wanted to feel her fingers wrapped around more than that makeshift weapon.

Cale nodded below. “Any problem with Dolan that I should know about?”

“We just had a little disagreement.”

“One that involved Kennedy.”

“The Fae was…watching her,” he finished lamely.

“He wouldn’t be the first.” Cale studied him carefully.

Tristan shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood for one of Cale’s infamous “don’t screw the staff” talks. Admitting he’d allowed the Fae to provoke him with vague comments about Kennedy wouldn’t go over so well with his brother. It wasn’t going over so well with him.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure why he’d let Dolan get to him at all. The bar was packed with attractive females and more than one had crooked her finger at him tonight. Instead, he continually caught his gaze sliding back to the spirited blonde behind the bar.

Below, Kennedy smiled at a guy at the counter—a damn dragon—who tried impressing her with some smoke and mirrors trick as dull as Avalon’s barren region. A moment later she laughed and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. The dragon’s hand came up to catch her shoulder, holding her close as he whispered something back.

Tristan nearly snarled. Tangling with the dragon would be a hell of a lot more interesting than the Fae. The Fae who chose that moment to turn in his chair. It took Dolan only a second to pick Tristan out above and grin at him.

Bastard.

“Where’s the dagger?”

If Cale noticed his attention had strayed back to Kennedy, he didn’t let it show. Relieved his brother was letting the subject drop, Tristan brought his beer to his mouth. “In the vault at your place.”

He hadn’t wanted to carry around the enchanted weapon any longer than necessary. Too many immortals coveted the six daggers, which when united would reveal Excalibur’s resting place, to risk bringing it here. It didn’t matter which side of the covenant the immortals below intended to honor, Tristan knew where his own clan’s loyalties lay—with Arthur.

While some awaited Arthur’s return, others wanted to make sure Morgana, his half-sister, remained in power. Without Excalibur the sorceress’s reign might be limited to the kingdom of Camelot, but all of Avalon would be at her mercy if she got her hands on Arthur’s sword.

“Any trouble acquiring it?”

“Not this time.” He’d expected the fledgling sorceress who had used the mystical weapon to curse their brother would be ready to fight him for it. Instead, Tristan had found her lair eerily deserted. Twice before he’d come close to tracking her and the dagger, only to lose her trail and have to start over.

“He doesn’t blame you.”

“And you would know that how?” Seeing as Cian had been locked in his gargoyle form for nearly a century, he couldn’t say a damn word about the price he’d paid for Tristan taunting a sorceress.

Cale pushed away from the railing. “I’ve got something to take care of tonight, so if I’m not back before dawn, we’ll meet at the house tomorrow night to figure out how we use it to break the curse.”

If not for Rhiannon’s fury following Arthur’s death, they could have damn well discussed it in the morning. The goddess hadn’t cared that her son was prophesized to awaken and finish the war begun centuries ago. She’d blamed the gargoyle clans for his defeat at Camlann and believed it fitting they should spend their daylight hours trapped in their stone form as punishment.

With centuries to get used to her punishment, he should have been less bitter about the whole thing. Maybe if the lost daggers weren’t the only way to return Excalibur to Arthur and have the curse lifted against his people. A seemingly colossal undertaking when it had taken him over a hundred years to locate just one of them.

Tristan nodded as his brother walked away. Exhaustion pulled at him, the long hours of searching for the dagger finally catching up to him. He finished off his beer and managed to occupy himself with watching the band for a while.

More than sleep, he needed one of the females below if he stood any chance of forgetting the human tonight. One redheaded enchantress in particular had glanced in his direction half a dozen times in the last hour.

Sparing a brief look at the bar, he noticed the dragon had wisely moved on and Kennedy busied herself with tidying up. He swore the woman didn’t know how to stand still. Countless times he’d imagined helping her burn off the excess amount of energy she radiated.

Seeming to sense his gaze, Kennedy glanced up. The flashing lights and thick shadows should have prevented her from picking him out so easily, yet he felt the moment she locked on to him.

The cat growled softly then louder, tearing to get loose as Tristan eased back into the darkness and out of sight.

—

Kennedy didn’t know the inner workings of her Chevy Impala any more than she knew quantum physics or how to speak Chinese. And that was a problem for three reasons.

One—the secondhand car she’d scraped every cent to buy refused to start. Two—the flickering street lamp overhead made the quiet stretch of road downright eerie with its pulsing light and crackling hum. Three—and undoubtedly the most troubling of all—she couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching her.

She peered at the maze of hoses and wires under the hood, struggling not to give into the paranoia that slithered across the back of her neck. Even with the late hour, she wouldn’t have considered the area treacherous. Acknowledging that did nothing to stem the creeped-out sensation that crawled under her skin. If anyone had followed her from the bar, they were doing a damn good job of staying out of sight.

For the millionth time, Kennedy cursed her roommate. If not for having to cover all the bills after her ex-roommate had bailed on her, she would have been able to afford a vehicle with a purring engine, not a death rattle. Unfortunately her choices had been limited, as her depleted bank account could attest to, proving yet again the only person she could count on was herself.

Herself and roadside assistance.

Kennedy reached in through her open window for her cell phone. Staring at the engine block wasn’t getting her anywhere. Give her unruly drunks, temperamental waitresses and bouncers with more brawn than brain and she could work wonders. Stranded at three in the morning, however, made those skills feel as useful as tying a cherry stem into a knot using just her tongue.

She glanced at the display screen of her cell phone and groaned. No signal. Perfect. Giving the area another quick scan, she walked a few feet away from her car, hoping to figure out why her phone wasn’t getting any reception. She was right downtown, for Christ’s sake.

A black BMW convertible cruised past her, its brake lights brightening the surrounding gloom as the car came to a stop a few meters in front of her. Kennedy’s heart sped up before she got a hold of herself. The familiar vehicle reversed, and while she should have been relieved to no longer be alone, her insides stretched taut.

“Car trouble?” Tristan asked, turning the volume down on the music pumping out from the speakers.

She glanced over her shoulder at the raised hood of her car. “Nah. I just like playing grease monkey in the middle of the night for kicks.”

Tristan grumbled something under his breath and turned off his car before throwing open his door. A few confident strides carried him to her crap car, its faded blue paint looking even less attractive when parked so close to Tristan’s shiny BMW.

“Do you know much about cars?” she asked when he started poking around under the hood. She tried to bite back as much of her skepticism as she could, which wasn’t much. It was either be skeptical or stare at his phenomenal ass, and the former seemed like a smarter move.

He spared her a sharp glance, but said nothing. She hovered over his shoulder, watching him check caps and fluid levels. She was opening her mouth to point out that she had known enough to check the obvious, when he straightened abruptly and pivoted on his heel, knocking into her.

Kennedy clutched the front of him to steady herself, her grip on his T-shirt seeming to drag him even closer. Too close. Heat radiated from him and his rich masculine scent overwhelmed her senses. She studied the strong column of his neck—she didn’t dare meet his gaze—thinking she’d like to press her mouth to the small scar where his neck met his shoulder.

His muscles tightened beneath her hand and a soft sound, almost a growl, rumbled in his chest. Then he moved past her, sliding behind the wheel of her car as though she hadn’t been a heartbeat from crossing the line. And running her tongue up his throat to meet his mouth definitely would have qualified.

As if she hadn’t already pushed her luck with him tonight.

Kennedy closed her eyes, leaned her forehead against the edge of the propped-up hood. If this kept up, she was seriously going to have to consider looking for a new job.

Drawing one more steadying, get-over-him-already breath, she edged around to the driver’s side. No matter how many times Tristan cranked the ignition, the engine didn’t turn over. An expression that bordered on desperation furrowed his brows.

He didn’t look at her when he climbed out, slamming the door behind him.

“If I’m keeping you from something or someone…” She trailed off, thinking of the slinky redhead she’d noticed him with earlier.

“You’re not.” His annoyed tone suggested otherwise.

“Look, if your cell is working I can just call a tow truck and you can be on your way.”

He turned around quickly, scanning the area for something. “Yours isn’t working?”

She shook her head. “No signal.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, tearing his gaze from across the street long enough to check the screen. He tilted the phone up as though it would suddenly capture whatever waves the damn things transmitted on.

“No reception either, huh?”

Shaking his head, he shoved the phone back in his pocket. He propped one hand on the edge of the hood, his expression wary.

Kennedy turned to follow his gaze, a chill darting up her spine as she searched the dark street behind her.

“I’ll give you a lift home.”

She wouldn’t have objected if he hadn’t sounded as though he’d rather lie down in the middle of the street and wait for the next car to run him over. “You know—”she reached into her car and grabbed her purse, “—I think I’ll just walk back to work and catch a ride with one of the girls.”

“Everyone’s gone already.”

She frowned. “Even Cale?” She swore the man slept at the bar most nights.

Tristan scowled. “My brother had plans. I’ll take you.” He didn’t wait for her to agree before opening the BMW’s passenger door.

Knowing she’d be stupid to refuse a second time, especially when the sensation of being watched continued to linger, she locked her car and joined him. The lowered roof gave her an uncompromised view of the convertible’s expensive interior. Still, she hesitated to slip into the black leather seat that looked soft enough to melt beneath her.

She turned her head in Tristan’s direction, disturbed to find him standing closer than she’d realized. Close enough that his thigh brushed hers, forcing her to tip her head back to meet his eyes. She might not have a water hose pointed at him now, but the fierce gaze he pinned her with made her wish she did.

He planted an arm on the car behind her, blocking her in. In case she changed her mind?

He leaned forward, and her pulse jumped as his rough jaw whispered across her cheek. She closed her eyes, a wave of delicious warmth uncoiling deep in her belly.

“Don’t forget to buckle up.”

Tristan was already rounding the front of the car when she realized he’d moved away from her. She sank into the seat and closed the door, resisting the urge to fan her face. Between the lingering humidity that promised a sheet-tangled sleep and her internal temperature skyrocketing, she had to be flushed from head to toe.

Hand on the door, Tristan froze.

“What’s wrong?”

He whipped around. The sound of a wild animal—a pissed off animal—rumbled on the air.

It wasn’t…coming from Tristan? Kennedy straightened to get a better look around.

Without warning, Tristan vaulted over the door and dropped into his seat. He shoved the key into the ignition and the car roared to life just as something sailed past the front of Kennedy’s face.

“Down,” Tristan yelled, pushing her lower in the seat. “Fuck.”

She raised her head enough to see something red sticking in his neck. No sooner did he pluck it out than another dart struck his shoulder. The snarl of fury that burst past his lips made her heart pound faster.

His head lolled forward and he forced it back, his hand clumsily searching for the gearshift.

“Drive,” he mumbled. “Kennedy…drive…”

His words slurred together before his head fell to the side, his eyes closed.

Shit!

Another dart lodged into the trim around the windshield. Without a clue where they were coming from, she scrambled into Tristan’s lap, her feet tangling with his in search of the gas pedal. She didn’t take even a second to glance around before shoving the gearshift into drive and punching the gas.

The BMW shot forward and her fingers tightened on the wheel that dug into her bare thighs. She drove right through the stop sign ahead, and then the next one. She half hoped a cop car might notice and offer some kind of help from whoever had just attacked them.

Her gaze snapped to the rearview mirror in search of pursuing headlights. But instead of seeing the dark stretch of road behind them dotted with the occasional street lamp, her face stared back at her.

Her face but for the black, bleeding eyes.

Kennedy let loose the scream she’d been clinging to for the last two minutes and looked over her shoulder. The backseat was empty. Another terrifying glance at the rearview mirror revealed nothing but passing landmarks that blurred past.

What the hell?

Grateful for almost no traffic, she ramped up their speed, taking turns at random to throw off anyone who might be following. The tops of her thighs felt rubbed raw from each crank of the steering wheel, but she didn’t stop driving. Not until she hit the other side of town and found herself facing the docks between the industrial park and acres of land slated for condo development.

She shoved the car into park, but didn’t turn it off. Neither could she pry her eyes off the rearview mirror.

Shock. There was no other explanation for what she’d seen. The feeling of being watched, coupled with the attack and Tristan losing consciousness had drop-loaded too much adrenaline into her system.

When a few more minutes passed and no one pulled up behind them, she relaxed back against Tristan. Feeling around the wheel, she released the catch and tipped it up, giving herself a little more breathing room. Once her heart stopped threatening to break right through her ribs, she turned to check on Tristan.

The slow rise and fall of his chest confirmed he was still breathing.

Kennedy cupped his face. “Tristan?”

No response.

She tapped his cheek. “Come on, wake up.” Nothing. She dropped her head to his shoulder. “Please, please wake up.”

A flash of red between the seats caught her attention. She plucked the small feather-tipped dart from the leather, careful not to stick herself with it.

What was in it, some kind of tranquillizer? And why the hell had someone shot darts at them to begin with? A drive-by, carjacking or mugging she could understand—even if she’d been parked in a fairly safe part of downtown—but darts?

Kennedy tried again to rouse him, then reached for her purse. Half the contents had been spilled across the floor of the car during her drag race through town. She gave up on feeling around for her cell phone when she remembered Tristan’s. Turning so she sat across his lap, her feet in the passenger seat, she dug into his pocket. Her fingers had just brushed the phone’s edge when a soft sound left Tristan’s lips.

She nearly whimpered in relief. “Tristan? Tristan, wake up!”

His lashes didn’t so much as flutter. Hoping she hadn’t imagined the small response, she waited another few seconds, willing him to open his eyes, then continued to try and free his cell phone.

“Oh, come on.” She squirmed forward, twisting a bit to get a better grip inside his jeans pocket.

An arm clamped around her. “Don’t. Move.”

Part warning, part plea, the growled command stopped her in her tracks.

Chapter Two

Sweet Avalon.

The cat in him stretched its claws in pure pleasure, wanting more of the soft female slowly driving him out of his mind. Indulging the beast, Tristan pressed his face against her throat. Silky tendrils of her hair slid along his cheek.

Kennedy.

He breathed deep, inhaling her enticing scent until his blood ran hot. She resisted the hand pressed against her back, the one coaxing her closer, but he only smiled against her skin. The more she resisted, the more both man and cat craved a brush of her fingers, a taste of her lush mouth.

She wanted him. That she planted a palm in the middle of his chest did nothing to change that fact. Not when his senses drowned in the tease of her increasing arousal. Needing to feel more of her, he slipped a hand beneath her shirt and spanned his fingers across her lower back.

Her sharp intake of breath echoed in his ears, and he knew she felt it too. The same tangle of need that caught him hard in the gut every time they were in the same room.

“Closer,” he demanded, opening his mouth on the curve of her neck. She arched beneath his lips, slowly sagging against him, her body melting into his. He wanted to roar in primal satisfaction.

Tristan tunneled his fingers through her hair, cupping her nape as he ran his tongue from the soft hollow of her throat to the corner of her mouth. Gods, he’d known she’d taste this good, feel this good. And he wanted more. More bared skin. More quick catches of her breath. More of her wrapped around him.

She murmured something but the words ran together in his head. The hazy fog he couldn’t shake drenched her voice in lulling dips and waves that drove the cat wild. With one hand buried in her hair, his other swept up the inside of her leg. He bit at her bottom lip, catching the lusty sigh that rolled off her tongue the moment he molded his palm along the inside of her thigh.

Kennedy squirmed in his lap, and he hissed out a breath at the sweet friction against his cock.

“Tristan.” Her voice sounded far away, but no less turned-on than he was.

He inched higher, groaned louder when she squirmed again. He knew without slipping beneath the hem of her shorts that she was growing hotter, wetter. Nipping a path along her jaw, he skimmed his fingers higher to her shirt, tugging at the fabric until he could work a hand beneath to cup her breast.

Her nipple jutted against her lacy bra. Fumbling with the clasp, he jerked the material down and grazed the puckered flesh. He needed to see her breasts, to run his tongue between them, over them. He ached to watch her face as he licked the dark pink tips before sucking her into his mouth.

“Tristan, listen—”

He trapped her nipple between his thumb and finger, tugging gently. Her whimper of pleasure only made him harder. Lifting his hips, Tristan tugged her down to grind against his shaft. With the sweet curve of her ass nestled so snug to him, it was all he could do not to thrust against her like a savage animal.

The cat didn’t think there was a damn thing wrong with that.

“Touch me.” The gravelly plea didn’t sound like him, but that didn’t stop him from snagging her hand and bringing it between them.

The first tentative brush of her palm was nothing more than a tease. He laced his fingers through hers, tightening her hold on his cock. They both moaned as she stroked him through his pants.

“We have to stop,” she whispered, her protest quickly lost beneath his tongue.

He angled her head back, sinking fast and hard into a hungry kiss. He’d been thinking about it for months. Every time he noticed her smile or glower he’d thought about covering her mouth with his, pushing his tongue inside until she gave it up to him. Gave him everything.

And everything was exactly what he wanted right now. The hot, naked, burying himself inside her kind of everything. The finding ways to make her scream in pleasure kind of everything.

“Harder.” He gripped her fingers tighter, guiding them up and down his shaft, then turned his attention back to the sweet spot between her legs.

The brush of his thumb inside the hem of her shorts made her tremble, so he did it again and again, moving a little higher each time. The lacy edge of her panties was the only thing preventing him from tracing the damp folds of her sex.

“Stop.”

The demand managed to penetrate the silky fog clinging to Tristan’s mind. He reluctantly forced his eyes open, knowing the dream was going to slip away from him. With one more lazy sweep of his mouth across hers, one more slick stroke of his tongue, he drew back, prepared to find himself alone.

A maze of fuzzy colors blurred across his vision. He struggled to focus.

“Tristan?”

Kennedy’s voice no longer sounded far away. Second by second he processed the dry ache in his throat, the faint pain that throbbed in the back of his skull—the female curled up in his lap.

Not a dream.

He glanced down. His hand really was halfway up her shorts, the heat of her skin warming him straight through to the bone. Lifting his gaze, he took in her raised shirt. A glimpse of one full breast peeked out from beneath the bunched material. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with the shaky breaths that whispered across his cheek. A rosy flush clung to her neck and throat, and her damp lips…

Tristan forced his attention all the way to her eyes. Definitely not a dream.

Shit.

—

Don’t freak out.

Kennedy repeated the same three words to herself for the dozenth time since Tristan had finally opened his eyes. Staying calm after the last twenty minutes was about as likely as a bachelor party turning down a free strip show.

Tristan’s possessive hold on her thigh was the only thing keeping her halfway grounded—at least until he looked at her. Really looked at her. Her earlier relief evaporated as his brows drew together in confusion. Not that she blamed him. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d gone from reluctantly accepting a ride to letting him feel her up.

She’d been so damn grateful he wasn’t out cold that her brain took a while to catch up with her senses. The ones headed for full-blown short circuit since the moment he’d tugged her closer. Forget what his mouth had done to her, the lazy trace of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth…

“You’re okay.” They were both okay. Mostly.

“Am I?” He glanced down, drawing his hand away from her.

Without the added distraction of his hands trailing over her skin—not to mention the slightly panicked expression on Tristan’s face—she scrambled back into the passenger seat.

“What happened?”

Kennedy righted her clothing, not meeting his gaze when she felt him watching her. She plucked the dart from between the seats and held it up. “Someone was either really bored tonight or a zookeeper couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning to go postal.”

“Zookeeper?”

“Can’t really think of who else carries around tranquillizer darts.” And that was a serious stretch of the imagination. So why didn’t he look half as confused as she felt? “Are you in any trouble?” Cale hadn’t said much about Tristan’s month-long vacation.

“Me? You were the one stranded on the side of the road.”

“I’m not the one they shot, unless they have really bad aim.” She studied the dart he took from her. “Could this just have been someone’s idea of a sick joke? Otherwise, wouldn’t you have been unconscious longer?”

Tristan set the dart in the console beneath the mounted GPS. He stared out at the harbor. “You drove us here?”

“Like a bat out of hell.” The memory of black, bleeding eyes staring back at her in the mirror made her shiver.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Still a little freaked out is all.” And struggling not to look over her shoulder to make sure they really were alone in the car.

“I’m not sure what happened,” he began.

“It’s fine,” she interrupted. “You weren’t yourself…and I…” Hadn’t cared why he’d kissed her. Hadn’t cared about anything but enjoying the way he opened his mouth over hers, slowly drinking her in.

God, did taking so long to slow things down count as taking advantage of him?

Tristan arched a brow. “I started to say that I’m not sure what happened back at your car, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a mentally unstable zookeeper.”

Her gaze slid to his. “Oh. Right.” Clearly she was the only one wondering how she’d let her hormones override her commonsense. At least he could blame his actions on whatever had been in the dart.

A sexy grin curved his lips.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’ve just never seen Kennedy Beaumont flustered before.”

“Stick around. I’m just hitting my stride,” she mumbled, raking her hands through her hair.

A chill danced down her spine, and she whipped around.

Empty backseat. Deserted development lots stretched back into the darkness. No poltergeist Kennedy waiting to pounce.

If she’d been back at the bar she would have poured herself a double shot of whiskey right about now. The alcohol would have gone a long way to soothe her frayed nerves and, if she was lucky, erase the taste of Tristan that lingered on her lips.

He started the car, adjusting the wheel before he put his hand on the gearshift.

“We need to call the police.” Since attempting to use his phone had landed her in a hot situation moments ago, she bent to feel around at her feet for hers.

A tight grip on her wrist jerked her upright. The worried look on Tristan’s face made her stomach roll. “What?” She followed his gaze to the black mark on top of her hand.

“Where the hell…” Kennedy rubbed at the ink stain that reminded her of a spider web. The mark didn’t fade no matter how hard she rubbed it. “I don’t know where this came from.”

“Did you let someone draw this on you?”

“Yeah. In between the wet T-shirt contest and my pole dance.” She snorted. “You saw how busy we were. I think I’d remember someone playing Picasso on my hand.”

He didn’t comment, and his silence made it harder not to be seriously creeped out by the flawless design she couldn’t explain. She tried rubbing it off on her shorts, but he pulled her hand up to his face for closer inspection.

“What did you see tonight?”

“Not much. One minute you were jumping into the car and the next you were out cold. I didn’t see anyone, but then I didn’t exactly sit there and bask in my surroundings.” She’d no doubt broken a few speed records getting out of there.

Releasing her hand, Tristan leaned forward, and she could have sworn he…smelled her. “You’re afraid.”

“Can’t say the experience was typical for me.”

He shook his head. “I mean now. You’re afraid now.”

“Let’s see you hallucinate and wind up with a weird mark on your body and not panic a little.”

“Hallucinate?”

Kennedy closed her eyes. “My imagination just ran away with me when I played Indy 500.” Or so she’d thought. She glanced at her hand, damn sure she wasn’t imagining the black mark.

“Tell me what you saw.”

The deadly serious tone had her focusing all of her attention on Tristan for the first time since she’d scrambled off his lap. The same tension from earlier radiated from him, and she half expected another dart to come sailing through the darkness and embed itself in his neck.

“Could we put the top up now?” They might be miles away from the quiet street where she’d parked her car, but the longer they sat there, the more vulnerable and exposed she felt.

“Kennedy,” he prompted after the roof rose with the press of a button, sealing them in.

She let out a breath. “I saw myself, but not. I looked in the mirror, but I had black eyes. Bleeding black eyes.” She shuddered. “Definitely not the CoverGirl look I was going for with my mascara tonight.”

“Do you have to be a smartass all the time?”

“It’s sarcasm or rock quietly in the corner. Forgive me for picking the option that doesn’t involve a strait jacket.”

“Where were you when you saw it?”

It, not yourself. The distinction felt important somehow, and Kennedy searched his face wondering why he sounded so reasonable. Shouldn’t he be looking at her like she was one signature short of being admitted for a full psychiatric work-up?

“A couple miles from my car. It was there one moment and gone the next.” And still freaky as hell to recall. She curbed the impulse to look in the back seat again. Barely.

Tristan shifted the car into drive, leaving the harbor behind.

“Are we going to the police?” Not that they could offer much in the way of descriptions of the assailant.

“No. Cale’s.” Seeing as Tristan favored his lair in Avalon more than their home here, he tended to consider the house as Cale’s.

“Your brother’s? Don’t you think we need to report what happened? The guy who shot you could have hurt someone else by now.”

“What makes you think it’s a guy?”

She shrugged. “Pendragon’s does attract a wild crowd. I suppose you could have pissed off the wrong woman tonight.” Enough of them had spent the evening checking him out.

He scowled at her. “I think the mark on your hand proves that this isn’t about me.”

She watched the speedometer rise as he cruised through the next green light. “That’s working under the assumption that it’s connected to my crippled car and our mystery dart shooter.”

“Don’t forget your hallucination.”

Like that was possible. “There’s no way all those things are connected.” Not unless someone had slipped something a hell of a lot stronger than a roofie into her water tonight and she was actually passed out somewhere dreaming all this up.

“Anything is possible.”

Kennedy stared at him. “I think I liked it better when you ignored me.” At least her life was a whole lot less surreal then.

“I don’t ignore you.”

“Yeah, you’re Mr. Sociable whenever you get within ten feet of the bar,” she quipped.

He shot her an impatient look. “I just got back into town.”

“Please. You chatted up every waitress in the place tonight. Bouncers too.” And if she didn’t change the subject, he’d know exactly how closely she’d followed his every move. She didn’t want to think about how that made her look, let alone coupled with how she hadn’t been in a rush to stop his roaming hands earlier.

“So how will going to Cale’s help?” she asked when they fell into a strained silence.

He didn’t answer her.

Turning in her seat to face him, she cocked her head. “What was it that you said about not ignoring me?”

—

The throbbing in the back of Tristan’s head intensified—until she shifted in her seat and her sweet scent enveloped him.

Ignore her? Not likely. Not when he couldn’t draw a breath without taking her in. Had he really been so long without a female that every whisper of movement on the seat next to him could so thoroughly snare his attention? He was pretty sure she could fall asleep and he’d find it as equally fascinating as watching her nibble on her bottom lip. The same plump lip he’d sucked into his mouth earlier.

Cale was going to kick his ass. By now his scent was all over Kennedy and no “roadside assistance” explanation was going to justify that. Certainly not when he could barely get his lust, let alone his hard-on, under control.

Avoiding her questions wasn’t completely intentional. It took far too much concentration to keep his hands off her, and even more to figure out why she’d been marked by a wraith.

Like the gargoyle clans, the former Knights of the Round Table had also been punished for Arthur’s fall. Forced to drink blood to survive, wraiths were bound to fulfill the terms of any pact made with Rhiannon for their services. The elusive mercenaries were usually contracted to take out immortals. Tristan had never heard of them targeting a human before. They rarely posed a serious enough threat.

So who wanted Kennedy dead?

He chanced a quick glance in her direction. She stared out the passenger window, idly rubbing at the symbol on her hand. He knew the bartender rarely backed down from a confrontation, a trait he’d been convinced would come back to bite her in the ass when Cale had hired her. So who the hell had she pissed off without him or Cale hearing about it? Or had they both been too preoccupied with tracking down the dagger?

It didn’t make any sense. It would take a serious offense for an immortal to use a wraith instead of handling it themselves. Unless they didn’t want to be linked to her death.

His chest constricted, and he shoved thoughts of the wraith’s success out of his mind. Cale would know how to handle it. He’d hired her, making Kennedy and her problem Cale’s responsibility.

The cat growled in protest.

“I still don’t see why we’re not going to the police first.” Kennedy studied him, confusion lingering in her pretty brown eyes.

He jerked the wheel to the right, swerving at the last second to avoid a pothole he would have noticed if he hadn’t been staring at her again. “We’re closer to Cale’s.”

A few minutes later he stopped in front of the gate that kept unwanted visitors— mainly humans—off the property. He frowned at the security console. The number sequence that would open the gate jumbled together in his mind, and the harder he tried to recall the code, the harder his head pounded.

“Problem?”

Not compared to the spider web on her hand, but he didn’t tell her that. Instead, he shook his head and hit the intercom button. Whatever the wraith had used in the darts was still screwing with his head. The mercenary couldn’t have been expecting Tristan would show up to give Kennedy a ride or the darts would have been loaded with something a lot more potent.

Cursing his sister, who should have answered, he stabbed the intercom again. Another minute ticked off, and he gave up, digging out his cell phone this time. When Briana still didn’t answer, he shoved the phone back in his pocket. Reversing back onto the street, he parked the car and climbed out. Kennedy followed suit, glancing around.

“It’s safe.”

She cast him a dubious glance, trailing after him as he walked the front perimeter of the stone wall bordering the property. “This is Cale’s place, right?”

“Last time I checked.” He spotted the tree towering above the wall on the corner of the lot. “Stay right here.”

Her spine snapped straight. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll just be a few seconds. You’re safe. Promise.” Until the wraith tracked her here, but that was one more certainty he didn’t plan on sharing. “I’ll be right back.”

Ducking around the corner, he sprang up—high enough Kennedy would have asked questions—and grabbed the top of the stone wall, pulling himself over. From there he jumped easily into the tree and then back to the front of the wall overlooking the street.

“Give me your hand.”

Kennedy peered up at him. “How did you get up there?”

“Footholds on the other side.”

She stared at his outstretched hand. “I’m sure I can climb it too.”

“This is faster. Unless you’re scared of heights,” he taunted, grinning when she planted one foot on the wall and pushed off, catching his hand.

A burst of warmth exploded up his arm, the sensation tunneling straight to his groin. He tightened his grip and hauled her up the wall.

She grabbed ahold of him when she reached the top to steady herself. “Work out much?”

His grin widened as he savored the feel of her body tucked close to his. Her hand drifted down his arm, but the narrow wall didn’t leave her much room to back away.

“Do you do everything the hard way?”

“This coming from the woman who relies on water hoses to settle disputes at a crowded bar.”

A reluctant smile drew his attention straight to her mouth. He spanned his fingers across her lower back, preventing her from edging away from him. He’d let her go in just a minute, first indulging the cat’s need to touch her. The man, however, wanted a whole lot more. Hours more. Days.

Kennedy shivered. “You’re not still mad about that, are you?”

He shook his head. “But I can’t promise I won’t retaliate the next time.” Because the need to lower his head and run his mouth along the slender curve of her neck threatened to overwhelm him, he nodded to the thick branch extending from the tree. “Ladies first.”

Easing out of reach, she stepped gingerly onto the branch, clinging to the overhead limbs for balance. When she reached the trunk, she moved to another branch and waited for him to climb down first.

The cat wanted to climb higher in the tree and wait for the wraith to make another appearance, but he needed to get her inside first. His feet hit the ground and he reached up to help her down.

“Crap,” she hissed, skidding down the tree.

He should have caught her easily and kept them both upright. Maybe it was the drugs slowing his reflexes, or maybe he wanted to feel her sprawled across his chest when the impact knocked them both to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Her eyes widened and she tried sliding off him.

He anchored one arm across her back, keeping her still. “Not really.” He probably wouldn’t be okay for a long time. The closer she got, the more he wanted her there, proving his attraction to Kennedy ran much deeper than he’d imagined.

“You’re bleeding.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, wincing in sympathy.

“Just a scratch.” He barely registered the scrape on his cheek from connecting with the tree bark during the fall. Barely registered anything but all the places she was nestled against him. The only thing better than having her draped across him, would be her draped across him naked.

She stared in the direction of the main house, exposing the tempting curve of her throat.

Tristan didn’t think about it, he lifted his head and closed his mouth over her skin.

Kennedy moaned, and he ran his lips higher, sliding one hand into her hair and coaxing her down. Her thigh slipped between his legs, rubbing his arousal. The friction unleashed a groan in his chest, and he grazed her with his teeth before sucking her harder between his lips.

Why did she feel so good, taste so good? Attempting to wrap his mind around it didn’t matter to the animal basking in the feel of her fingers threading the ends of his hair, dragging him closer.

In the distance a lone howl, then a series of barks echoed through the night, and he tried to remember why that was important.

Fuck. The dogs.

“Oh, shit.” Kennedy scrambled off him, and he rolled to his feet as a pack of Dobermans tore across the grass toward them.

Chapter Three

“Run!” Tristan laced his fingers through hers, pulling her after him.

“Can’t you call them off?”

“No.”

If the dogs were actually real, he would have made the effort. The Dobermans, however, were nothing more than an elaborate glamour Briana bargained with a Fae for. Tristan knew they weren’t real, but there was no way to convince Kennedy of that with the pack bearing down on them. As long as she believed they could hurt her, damage could be done.

Shifting was a last resort as far as he was concerned. She had enough questions without witnessing him shift into a large black cat, and he didn’t need her running from him too.

“They’re too close.”

Only a few dozen meters to the house. “Don’t look—” The rest of the order lodged in his throat when the ground rushed up to meet him. The fall dragged Kennedy down with him, giving the dogs time to rapidly close the distance.

He rolled, pinning her beneath him. “Don’t move.”

Her chest contracted with every sharp breath she sucked in. “Somehow I don’t think running helped things.”

Tristan glared at the snarling animals circling them. He shot a quick glance at the house, hoping Briana had returned with dawn approaching and heard her favorite new toys getting on his last nerve.

Kennedy stared up at him with wide eyes, then turned her head to follow the lead dog as it stalked closer. The fingers she fisted in his shirt twisted tighter. “I always liked dogs.”

When the lead Doberman got too close, the need to shift rippled beneath Tristan’s skin. The cat prowled the edges of his mind, ready to break free. He kept his gaze locked on the threat, growling in warning.

Kennedy went motionless beneath him, but he didn’t take his eyes off the dog. Where the fuck was Briana?

“Tristan.” Her fingers dug into his skin.

“It’s okay.”

“What’s wrong with your voice?”

He didn’t look at her, didn’t want her to pay any closer attention to his eyes. At least if the Doberman had been real it would have noticed Tristan’s eyes now reflected the light from the house, would have caught the scent of a predator and backed the fuck off.

The muscles under the dog’s fur bunched in preparation for attack. Tristan’s claws burst from his fingers, and he ducked his head, shielding Kennedy.

Silence.

The padding of impatient feet no longer treaded the ground. The menacing snarls evaporated on the night air.

He lifted his head, relieved to find the dogs had vanished.

“Where did they go?” Some of the tension drained from Kennedy’s body, but she didn’t let go of him.

Tristan was saved from answering by the sound of approaching footsteps. A moment later, Briana rounded the hedge leading back to the garage.

“Aren’t you a little old for wrestling like a cub?”

Scowling at his baby sister, Tristan pushed to his feet and helped Kennedy up.

Briana’s gaze flickered to the woman next to him, surprise blinking across her face. “Hey, Kennedy.” Her attention darted back to Tristan. “Where’s your car?”

“I couldn’t remember the secret password,” he snapped, motioning for Kennedy to precede him to the house.

“What happened to your shirt?”

He followed Briana’s gaze to the jagged rip on the back of Kennedy’s shirt. One more tug would probably tear the fabric in two.

Kennedy looked over her shoulder to check the damage. “My night keeps getting better and better.”

“A little rough, weren’t you?” Briana snickered.

Tristan narrowed his eyes. “It wasn’t me.” He glanced at Kennedy for confirmation, second-guessing himself the moment the words left his mouth. It wouldn’t have been that big of a stretch if things had gotten out of hand in the car. He’d damn well wanted her enough to tear through layers of clothing to reach bare skin.

“I think it snagged on a branch when I fell out of the tree.”

“I see you still know how to show a girl a good time,” Briana mocked, opening the door and heading inside.

“Did you call off the dogs?” Kennedy asked.

“Yeah.” Briana shot him a questioning look.

“A little bloodthirsty, aren’t they? Or have you guys had a problem with break-ins?”

Briana shrugged, nodding to the room on the left. “You look like you could sit down and I need to borrow my brother for a second.”

Kennedy hesitated.

“I’ll just be a minute and then I’ll find you something else to change into.” For reasons he didn’t want to think about, Tristan gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before letting her go.

“Cale is going to kick your ass,” Briana hissed, spinning on her heel and striding farther down the hall.

“It’s complicated.” And getting more complex by the hour. No wonder the dagger hadn’t been that difficult to acquire. Fate was keeping tonight as her ace in the hole.

“He is so going to kick your ass. Sex is never complicated for you, so if that’s your first line of defense, I’d seriously reconsider using that when Cale gets home.”

“We didn’t have sex.”

Briana scoffed.

“We’ve got a bigger problem than what happened when I was a little…high,” he settled on, though he knew the drugs had merely paved the way for what he’d been thinking about doing to Kennedy for months.

“High? Don’t tell me you were diddling with an enchantress?” Briana didn’t bother to veil her distaste for the Lady of the Lake’s wanton offspring.

He shook his head. “Kennedy was marked by a wraith.”

—

For the hundredth time, Kennedy stared at the mystery mark on her hand. The drive to Cale’s had given her plenty of time to mentally run through her night and pin down when someone might have had an opportunity to…what? Rub a temporary tattoo on her skin without her being aware of it or noticing it hours ago?

Marks didn’t magically appear on a person’s body, and yet she had no explanation for the creepy spider-web design. At the very least she would have noticed it when she’d fiddled with the wires and hoses under the hood of her car. Then Tristan had shown up, but he hadn’t touched her hand.

And everything had really gone to hell after that.

She leaned back against the plush beige sofa and closed her eyes. Her heart no longer threatened to punch straight through her chest, but she couldn’t stop her stomach from twisting her insides into knots.

Nothing made sense. Not her piece-of-crap car dead on the side of the road, the darts, the hallucination, the dogs vanishing without a sound. And then there was Tristan. Cool and remote when offering her a ride. Hot and intense when she’d been in his lap and headed for the best orgasm of her life.

She wasn’t even going to wonder why his voice had sounded more animal than human or think about the feral glow she’d glimpsed in his eyes outside before he’d covered her body with his. If she did, she might lose the tenuous grip she had on her mind.

Holding up her hand, her gaze traced the web’s intricate pattern. Tristan knew something. More than once he’d avoided answering her in the car. While she’d like to think he chose not to comment because he didn’t want to outright question her mental stability, her gut said otherwise. Life had taught her to scrutinize the telling silence more than any excuse and explanation, and Tristan hadn’t said much at all.

The only thing more surreal than the events of the last hour was the possibility Tristan had information that might begin to explain any of it. She would give him another minute with his sister and then he really needed to start talking. Starting with his reason for coming here instead of going to the police.

“How are you doing?”

Kennedy forced her eyes open, vaguely annoyed to see that familiar, distant expression on his face. He didn’t move from the doorway, which she should have been grateful for considering how much his presence distracted her on a completely physical level.

She had never been one to be led around by her libido, but twice tonight she’d let herself be distracted by him. First in the car and then lying on the front lawn for Christ’s sake. Even now she tried not to think about the tease of his mouth on her throat.

A knowing grin ghosted across his lips, and she remembered he’d asked her something.

“Like I’ve worked back-to-back double shifts during Ava-fest.” Pendragon’s week- long anniversary party was nothing short of exhausting and nearly as wild as tonight had been.

“Cale will hopefully be home shortly.”

“And he’ll make it all better, will he?”

Straightening, Tristan crossed the room. He settled on the arm of an overstuffed chair. She couldn’t help but notice it was also the furthest piece of furniture from her, short of the dainty bench that probably wouldn’t have held his crossed legs, much less the rest of him.

“Cale’s the problem solver of the family.”

“And you’re the troublemaker.”

A glint of wickedness brightened his eyes. “How do you figure?”

“Seems like I’ve been in trouble since you walked into the bar tonight.”

He averted his face, and she cringed.

“That didn’t come out right.” She sighed. “Just tell me this kind of stuff isn’t the norm for you.”

“I can admit that coming to with an attractive woman curled up in my lap doesn’t happen nearly enough.”

“I was trying to get your cell phone out of your pocket.” She frowned, realizing he hadn’t actually answered her question. The evasion felt important, but her mind was too overwhelmed. The more she tried to align the pieces, the more her thoughts ran together.

He frowned. “What’s wrong?” He moved to the sofa, the cushion dipping under his added weight.

She studied him from beneath heavy lids. The concern in his voice didn’t match his stiff shoulders or the way he seemed careful not to get too close. He fisted one hand in his lap, his gaze sweeping over her.

“I shouldn’t be so tired, should I?” Shouldn’t she be pacing the room, pressing him for answers to the questions that hovered on the edge of her mind?

“You’ve had a busy night.” His attention slipped to the mark on her hand.

“What does it mean?”

“More trouble,” he answered, smiling crookedly.

Kennedy suspected the playful grin was supposed to soften the serious response. Too bad those gorgeous blue eyes of his didn’t sell her on the whole there’s-nothing-to-worry-about package.

No doubt sensing more questions, Tristan stood, offering his hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up and maybe we can figure this out.”

We? Did that mean he wasn’t planning on ditching her the second Cale showed up? He’d certainly left her with that impression moments ago. She glanced down. “It’s the grass-stained knees, huh?”

Another slow smile, one that succeeded at catching her in the stomach. His hand closed around hers, gently pulling her up. She brushed against him, and he went completely still.

She tipped her face up. “You okay?” Because she wasn’t. Not when they were this close. For a moment her exhaustion and disbelief faded, replaced by a slow burn that tunneled through her middle.

His grip on her hand tightened, and he closed his eyes.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, the memory of his lips sliding across hers drenching her mind until she leaned up and brushed his jaw. The coarse layer of stubble rasped her cheek and a needy whimper stuck in her throat.

Feeling the weight of his stare, she tilted her head back, unprepared for the dangerous glimmer shining in his eyes. She scrambled back a step, as surprised at the warning imprinted on his face as she was by the wave of lust that caught her hard in the belly.

“Tristan?” Had some secondary side effect of the drugs kicked in? Or now that the drugs were clearing out of his system had he remembered how much he disliked her?

“This way.” His granite tone left no room for argument or questions as he led her away.

The maze of halls and rooms blurred past as she watched him from the corner of her eye. He clenched his jaw, his expression strained as he strode through the mansion, his usual confident stroll abandoned in favor of a clipped pace she worked hard to keep up with.

He moved through an open door, closing it soundly behind them. Releasing her hand, Tristan passed through the main room of a small suite. Though the main room boasted all the necessary furniture—sofa, chair, desk, flat-screen television—it lacked the personal touches that would make the room feel really lived in.

When he didn’t reappear, she trailed into the next room. A dresser, bedside table and king-sized bed filled most of the space. Light spilled from yet another doorway and from the sound of water running, she assumed it led to a bathroom.

He poked his head out, motioning her inside. The tight quarters made her instantly aware of how close he stood, and she tried to pay attention to the clean clothes and towels he pointed out. Her knees shook a little, but she could no longer be sure if it was triggered by some kind of delayed shock or his proximity. The longer she spent in his presence, the faster her blood pushed through her veins.

“I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Wait.” She grabbed his hand, and he hissed out a breath. Ignoring the protest that rose to his lips, she pushed him toward the tub. “Sit.”

Wary, he lowered to the porcelain edge, watching her as she ran warm water, then wet a face cloth folded neatly next to the taps. She wrung out the cloth and turned to face him.

Still as a statue, he leaned away from her. “What are you doing?”

Without answering she dabbed at the dried blood on his face.

“You don’t need…” The rest of his objection was lost to a deep sigh. His shoulders relaxed and he leaned into her palm, his eyes drifting shut as she tipped his face up to clean the scrape.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” She gently probed at the worst of dried blood.

“Not like you think.”

Her gaze slid down to meet his. Closing his fingers around her hand, he took the cloth from her. She didn’t look away as he set it on the vanity behind her, didn’t breathe as he drew her fingers down his cheek to his jaw.

A hundred questions rose in her mind but quickly felt distant and unimportant compared to the desire licking through her body.

Tristan gripped her waist, tugging her closer. Close enough to nuzzle her stomach, his warm breath seeping straight through her thin T-shirt. For a long moment, neither of them moved. She threaded her fingers through the ends of his hair, afraid to ask what he was doing.

Whatever it was, she wanted more. She’d been wanting more for months and the short distraction in the car had only flamed her hunger for him.

Slowly, he pushed her shirt up and pressed his lips to her sensitized flesh. Kennedy shuddered, her breath catching in her throat as he trailed lower. The hot sweep of his tongue circled her navel and he murmured something she didn’t understand. Then his fingers tugged at the snap on her shorts.

The sound of her zipper giving way made the soft ache between her thighs pulse fiercely. This time she understood him when he whispered her name, his voice rough, seductive. Her shorts slid down an inch, and he opened his mouth on her skin. The wet heat sent a shockwave of need tearing through her.

Tristan repeated the decadent exploration, laving each inch of her he exposed until her shorts were pooled around her feet. Left in her T-shirt and lacy thong underwear, she clung to his shoulders, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than she had all night.

“Very nice.” He traced the edge of her thong, his finger rubbing up the middle of her cleft.

She bit down to soften her moan of pleasure, already thinking about his fingers sliding along her damp sex. The urge to squeeze her legs together and catch his hand between them made the back of her knees tremble.

He raised his head, his blue eyes glittering possessively as they locked on hers. He didn’t ask for her permission as he hooked his fingers on either side of her underwear and tugged them off.

“I have to know,” he growled, teasing his thumb through her short curls.

Only a whisper of a touch and she rocked up on her heels. “Know what?” Breathless, she stared down at him.

“How good you taste.” His thumb slid up her damp seam, parting her for his mouth. “Already wet for me,” he mused, satisfaction flashing across his face. “Have I made you wet before, Kennedy?”

“Yes.” Even if it hadn’t been true, she would have lied to make sure he didn’t stop the lazy caress of his fingers. Every torturous brush closer to her clit sizzled along her nerve endings.

“Good.” Two fingers pushed at her snug opening, and she cried out when he buried them inside her.

A moment later she felt his hot breath tease across her sex, and then he pressed his mouth against her. She wasn’t sure who groaned the loudest. The slow, wicked strokes of his tongue made it impossible to concentrate on anything but the curls of release that uncoiled deep in her womb.

Raking her fingers over his shoulders, she arched into his greedy mouth. “Harder,” she pleaded, unable to stop herself from rocking against him.

His lips closed around her clit, his tongue swirling around the aching knot.

“Yes, more.” God, she needed more. Her pulse raced and a steady warmth streaked across her skin, drawing her nipples into hard points. She lifted one hand to her stomach, sliding beneath her shirt until she grazed the underside of her breast.

“Let me see,” he demanded.

Caught on the edge of release, she found no reason to deny him, and tugged impatiently at both her shirt and bra. She sighed as the restrictive fabric gave way, moaned when she drew her thumb across the tight peak.

A growl of appreciation burst from Tristan’s throat. He pumped his fingers into her drenched sex harder, matching the ruthless rhythm with his mouth. The quick teasing licks lengthened, the sweet suction deepened.

Kennedy buried her fingers in his hair, holding him to her as she came. Wave after searing wave rippled through her, dragging her under. She wasn’t aware her legs had given up on keeping her upright until she slid to the floor.

Tristan’s arms locked around her, trapping her against him. He pushed her hair back from her face, his finger delicately tracing her jawline. The look of raw need imprinted on his face made it impossible to slow her thundering heart. He lowered his head, and Kennedy curled her fingers around his shirt in heady anticipation.

His stubbled cheek grazed her skin as he slid down to meet her mouth. He hesitated, his lips drifting across hers. The feather-light contact made her whole body clench, and when she thought she couldn’t take any more of his teasing, his tongue pushed between her lips, sweeping fast and deep.

Steadier, she kneeled between his parted legs, meeting the hungry thrust of his tongue with her own. Kissing him in the car had been slow and hot. This time his mouth scorched her, conquered her. She tasted herself in his kiss, and it ignited a fresh wave of lust that settled between her thighs.

“Need you,” he gritted out, a noticeable tension tightening his limbs.

Fisting her hair in his hand, he moved down her neck, nipping a little harder with his teeth. He followed each scrape with a lap of his tongue, curving around her shoulder and lower…

She whimpered when he abruptly stopped. Then his hands gripped her shoulders and he jerked her around.

“Where did you get this?” His thumb circled the tattoo at the base of her spine, the accusation in his voice icing her bloodstream.

“From a tattoo parlor,” she offered, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“When? Why?”

She frowned at the clipped questions. Having seen the kind of women who often snagged his attention, she couldn’t imagine he found the tattoo distasteful. “My twenty-first birthday. Had a little too much to drink and discovered the evidence of my wild night the next morning.”

His gaze dropped to her tattoo one more time, and then he stood. He drilled his hands through his hair. With his back turned to her, she snagged her shorts and panties from the floor and hastily stepped into them. She’d adjusted her bra and shirt when he finally glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

“I’m going to see if Cale is back yet. Feel free to have a shower if you’re up for it. Then we’ll talk.”

He vanished through the door before she could object. She followed him back into the main room, but found it empty. The hall too. The man clearly excelled at making a quick exit.

Given their history, or lack thereof, she shouldn’t have been surprised by his abrupt departure. Still, she understood why his vanishing act stung a little, but what she couldn’t wrap her head around was why she suddenly felt more alone than she had in a very long time.

Not the least bit eager to analyze that on top of everything else, she turned on the shower and stripped down. Once beneath the hot spray, she closed her eyes, almost grateful to be alone. She needed some time to unravel her thoughts about the rest of the night without his proximity screwing with her hormones. When they shared the same space she struggled to concentrate, and when he actually put his hands on her…

Before she got herself worked up again—and after that kind of orgasm it wouldn’t take much—she pushed Tristan out of her head. After rinsing shampoo from her hair, she found herself studying the mark on her hand. The longer she stared at the black curves and angles, the more exhaustion pulled at her.

Keeping the shower brief, and still no closer to figuring out how she ended up here instead of talking Tristan into taking her to the police, she toweled off quickly. She dragged on the pair of borrowed drawstring shorts and oversized T-shirt. Immediately, Tristan’s scent filled her head and her nipples hardened as the fabric settled against her breasts.

Kennedy shook her head, clinging to her determination to get some real answers. She wouldn’t allow Tristan or anyone to sweep her concerns under the proverbial rug. She wouldn’t let herself settle for anything but the entire truth, a promise she’d made to herself after her mother’s death.

Insanely attracted to Tristan or not, she’d get some answers. And he’d need a lot more than his sister or a pack of vicious dogs to save his ass if he lied to her about any of it.

Satisfied that she had at least one thing worked out in her head, Kennedy scanned the top of the vanity for a comb. Finding nothing, she checked the medicine cabinet. No comb there either.

She closed the cabinet, her hand freezing on the corner of the mirror. Heart in her throat, she lifted her gaze to her reflection.

Snaking shadows framed her face, making her skin deathly pale. Hideous black tears streamed down her cheeks, her dark eyes closer to empty pits. A scream rocketed up from her lungs only to die on her lips as the shadows behind her congealed into one form.

Holy fuck!

She bolted for the door, not bothering to look over her shoulder.

She knew it was following her.

—

Tristan dragged his claws down the wall, breathing in through his mouth to keep Kennedy’s addictive scent from overloading his senses any more than it already had. Closing his eyes wasn’t helping, not when he couldn’t stop picturing her arching against him—eyes closed, lips parted, her hands drawing her shirt up and showing off her incredible breasts.

He dropped his forehead to the wall. Thinking about her breasts wasn’t helping him quiet the animal demanding that he return to her. The cat raked at the edges of his mind as he raked at the walls, fighting the urge to give in. To make her scream for him as he thoroughly fucked her until neither of them could move.

The taste of her lingered on his tongue, driving him out of mind with lust. Every time she’d moaned, raked him with her nails or pushed her slick sex against his mouth, his cock had throbbed harder.

Sweet Avalon, he needed to get a grip. She was off-limits, an employee—human. The latter should have been enough to cool his insides. It had in the past. Indulging in a one-night stand with a human to scratch an itch was one thing, but no human had ever come so close to unchaining him completely.

What was it about her that pulled him in so many directions? One minute he ached to see her smile, to talk to her the way so many Pendragon’s regulars did, laughing and flirting. And the next he could think of nothing but ripping her clothes off and sinking deep between her thighs, filling her, making her his.

The cat growled in feverish agreement, confusing him further. Tristan enjoyed sex as much as any male and never had a problem keeping things simple in that department. But the animal in him had never before displayed such a preference for anyone. The cat’s need for closeness and touch had always been easily satisfied.

But with Kennedy…

He paced the length of the hall, ordering himself to think this through. There was more at stake here than him losing his mind. More unknown variables he needed to figure out. Like the tattoo on her back, or more importantly why she’d chosen that particular tattoo.

Was it just a coincidence that she’d branded the sexy curve of her lower back with a Fae glyph? Or had a Fae seduced her and left his mark behind as some kind of inside joke? Tristan’s insides turned to stone at the thought of anyone branding her that way…

His head snapped up, the scent of an enemy invading his senses.

The wraith.

He sprinted toward his suite, jerking his shirt over his head. Colors blurred across his vision, muscles lengthened and bones realigned as the cat broke loose. The familiar comfort of the shift barely registered beneath the furious need to protect Kennedy and rip out his enemy’s throat.

A moment later he heard her scream.

Chapter Four

Why was there never a bouncer around when you really needed one?

Kennedy judged the distance between her and the shadow closing in. One bouncer wouldn’t get the job done anyway. She’d need a whole freakin’ team, and that frantic realization definitely nudged the boundary between sane and losing her damn mind.

Another scream stretched up her throat as she darted around another corner, quickly silenced when she slammed into a sidewall that jutted out into the hall. Knocked backward on impact, she scrambled away from the all-too-real hallucination mere feet away. Her back came up against the wall, her damp palms sliding across the polished floor in vain. She couldn’t get enough traction to regain her footing.

Not real. Not real.

An inky black hand materialized within the shadow. Five distinct claws lengthened to deadly razor-sharp points and reached for her. A burst of adrenaline exploded through her bloodstream, and she shot across the floor, escaping the shadow’s lunge. Real or not, she felt the current of air rush across her face as she narrowly missed a swipe of the thing’s claws.

“Tristan!”

For the first time, his name made it past her lips. She planted her hands and shoved her weight forward, poised like a runner primed for the hundred meter dash—a runner frozen in her tracks.

Oh Jesus.

Suddenly the shadow behind her didn’t seem that big of a threat at all. Eyes wide, she couldn’t move, didn’t dare. In front of her another dark blur shot around the corner. Its monstrous paws pounded across the floor, its large black head lowered, mouth agape, revealing one too many sharp teeth. The menacing growl that rode the air stopped her heart in her chest.

Unlike the shadow, the large black cat didn’t seem like a hallucination at all. She could all but feel the puffs of air that flared the animal’s nostrils, could smell the wild, earthy scent as it stalked closer.

Its gaze darted to her face, the animal’s iridescent blue eyes sweeping over her before fixing on the darkness behind her. Not even the certainty that the shadow hovered over her shoulder, its gnarled claws prepared to slash at her, could make her look away from the cat.

She might have laughed then, a hysterical no-fucking-way laugh that probably echoed the halls of every loony bin in the country—if she could have drawn enough oxygen from her lungs. Instead, she remained paralyzed and out of options.

Moving would draw the cat’s attention, and while she had no clue if or how the shadow would hurt her, she could far too easily imagine the cat’s teeth tearing into her skin.

“Nice kitty.” She cringed as the words left her lips. The last thing the animal looked was nice. Vicious predator. Deadly meat-eater. Those were a much better fit. And if she didn’t get a grip, didn’t lock down the panic slithering up her spine, she might as well dangle a damn string in front of the animal and prepare to lose an arm.

And that was probably a best-case scenario.

Pain sliced through her hand, and she cried out, cradling it against her chest. As she frantically rubbed at the invisible ice pike drilling through the webbed marking, the cat’s growl deepened and she held her breath at the whisper of movement behind her.

The cat sprang forward.

Kennedy hit the floor, unsure which of the two had knocked her sideways. The cat, she thought, remembering the brush of smooth fur across her arm before she’d been knocked over. Another burst of pain shot up her arm but was quickly forgotten as the snarls and growls managed to drown out the sound of her pulse thundering in her ears.

If Alice had smoked crack before falling down the rabbit hole, she would have undoubtedly witnessed something exactly like the confrontation unfolding no more than five feet from Kennedy. Right about now, though, she’d gladly take the Mad Hatter and Cheshire cat over the pair circling each other.

She knew she should move, run while the two faced off, but her limbs refused to cooperate. Maybe she clung to the hope she was imagining everything and moving meant believing it. Or maybe she knew she was better off doing nothing to draw attention to herself. Or maybe…

Moving almost too fast for her to see, the pair collided, all dark shadows and vicious slashes of claws. The phantom’s eerie silence chilled her to the bone, second only to the hissing and growling coming from the cat.

Move, Kennedy.

This time the internal command took hold, and she scrambled up on all fours. Then she made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. The shadow’s claws caught the side of the cat and a trail of crimson dripped from its paw. The sight of the blood pooling on the floor didn’t faze her nearly as much as the murderous growl that echoed through the hall.

Darting to the right, the animal planted itself firmly between Kennedy and the phantom. Neither moved as the seconds stretched into minutes. Kennedy inched backward, freezing in place when the phantom retreated, melting into the surrounding shadows as quickly as it had appeared.

She didn’t tear her gaze away from the dark hall until she sensed movement from the corner of her eye.

The cat had soundlessly closed the distance between them. On instinct, she jerked back against the wall. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind she wouldn’t get far before the animal took her down.

One foot. Two. Three.

Another inch and she’d feel the brush of the cat’s whiskers against her cheek.

Oh God.

Smooth fur brushed her cheek, and her eyes shot open. She hadn’t realized she’d even closed them until she found herself staring into the cat’s blue eyes. Again, the animal nudged her with his large head. She waited for another growl or a flash of its teeth. Sitting back on its haunches, the cat stared at her. Unprepared for any more surprises, Kennedy shook her head.

“Are you another hallucination?” she asked, more to be sure she could still speak. She had to be dreaming, right? Why else would it be there, let alone rolling to its side and settling one massive paw over her hand instead of chewing it off.

No one kept an animal like this as a pet, did they?

The lazy drum of the cat’s tail thumped on the floor, and her heart began to slow.

“This is crazy.”

Closing its eyes, the cat pressed his cool nose to her arm. Kennedy tensed, waited. When the cat made no move to use her fingers for an appetizer, she wiggled her hand out from beneath the heavy paw.

The cat cracked open one eye, the intense color almost shocking against the shiny black coat. Holding her breath, she tentatively ran her thumb across the top of its paw. The cat exhaled, the sound reminding her of a sigh. Feeling braver, she ran her palm a little higher, her gaze darting to its eyes.

A soft rumble echoed in the hallway.

She scanned the hall before bringing her attention back to the large animal sprawled next to her. Was it…purring?

Like a deflated balloon, she slumped back against the wall. Now what? She dragged her hands through her hair.

Almost as though he read her mind, the cat climbed to its feet. With another nudge, Kennedy forced her rubbery knees to hold her weight. She took her time standing, hindered by her lingering fear and the certainty she was much too close to overdosing on adrenaline, if such a thing were possible.

She sidestepped away from the cat, wanting to go find Tristan. She could handle a lot, but was clueless when it came to wild animals that weren’t safely tucked in large cages.

The animal moved to block the hall.

Great.

She tried edging around to the other side. The cat countered her move, then began padding closer. Backing up, she found herself being herded toward Tristan’s room. She spared half a thought for slamming the door, keeping the cat in the hall, but it moved too quick.

Once her knees hit the edge of the sofa, the animal sat and watched her. Kennedy scanned the room, searching for what she didn’t know. A way past her furry savior? A way to let Tristan know she needed him?

“You have no idea how much I wish I was more of a cat person right about now,” she said.

The cat cocked its head.

“Only had a Husky growing up,” she rambled on. “Called him Buck, like from Call of the Wild.”

A sound that reminded her of a snort puffed past the cat’s nostrils.

“No, I don’t suppose you’d be a fan of dogs, huh? You should have been around earlier. Could have used you to chase off some Dobermans.”

The cat flicked its tail as though it were annoyed, then turned and padded out of the room.

Kennedy stared at the empty doorway.

Holy shit.

—

“You’re bleeding.”

Tristan ignored his sister, keeping his forehead pressed to the wall. The smooth surface helped to cool his feverish skin. He drew in another steady breath, followed by another, and another.

He didn’t know why he bothered, the caged animal prowled restlessly inside, demanding to return to Kennedy. He’d shifted back to think, a near impossibility in his cat form when his instinct to protect the human trumped everything else.

Everything but the lust streaming through him in choking waves.

Gods, he needed her. Needed her hands in his hair, her mouth crushed beneath his, her body pinned under him. His stomach clenched, his muscles stretched taut, caught on the fierce edge of desire so hot it burned through his veins.

“Tristan.” His sister’s voice turned impatient. “I said you’re bleeding.”

“I know.” The sting from the gash barely registered compared to the overwhelming urge to take the remaining steps to his suite and return to Kennedy.

And then what? Try to explain? Tell her it had really been him moments ago? Kiss her?

Yes. Kiss her. Trace every naked curve with his tongue, learn every sweet spot that would make her shudder for him.

Fierce arousal battered away at his resolve to keep his distance, undermined his determination not to overwhelm Kennedy. And if he barreled through the door and dragged her into his arms—into his bed—overwhelming her would be one hell of an understatement.

Whether she recognized it or not, she’d responded to him on another level. She felt the intense physical connection between them, hungered for his touch the way he did hers. Not even the incident in the car or with the dogs had stopped her from inviting his touch, from craving it.

Not taking advantage of that fact, not dismissing her need for answers in favor of satisfying the primal instinct to take her was the only thing keeping him in the hall.

But for how long?

He felt every move she made on the opposite side of the door hum under his skin. The whisper of her hair, the rush of breath past her lips, the rustle of clothes he ached to peel away. His heightened awareness of her made any logical attempt at an explanation a fading possibility.

“Is it from the wraith?”

He glared at his sister, wishing she’d go away so he could concentrate on Kennedy.

“The wraith cut you, Tristan.”

He glanced at the already healing injury, struggling to figure out why it should matter when the woman in his room was all he needed. Her intoxicating scent wrapped around him, pulling him back to her.

“Focus, Tristan. The wraith,” Briana prompted.

Yes, the wraith. His claws burst from the ends of his fingers. He needed to find the mercenary first, then he could return to Kennedy.

He shoved away from the wall and strode down the hall.

“Wait a minute,” Briana hissed.

“Can’t,” he shot over his shoulder, preparing to shift back.

“The wraith. It’s Lucan.”

He stopped, but didn’t turn around. The soft reminder tempered the cat’s thirst for the wraith’s spilled blood. Lucan was an ally. Reminding himself of that helped Tristan get a better grip on his control. “I know.”

“So you also know he’s bound by his contract whether he wants to kill Kennedy or not.”

“That’s all that kept me from ripping his throat out.” Barely.

“Then he’s waiting on the west perimeter.”

That caught his attention. “You’re monitoring him?”

“From the moment he stepped foot on the property.”

“So why didn’t you put in an appearance a few minutes ago?” He forced the question out, determined to focus on the situation at hand.

She shrugged, her expression almost distracted. “You had it under control. And I didn’t want to freak Kennedy out any more than she already was.”

“How did you know he was here?” He searched his sister’s face, wondering why he got the impression she wasn’t telling him something.

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself why he’s hanging around?”

“He has a job to finish?”

“Or?” she pressed, sounding irritated that he wasn’t catching on.

“I’m really not in the mood for twenty questions, Briana.”

She planted herself in his path. “Or he figured out something you still haven’t.” She nodded to the cut that had already stopped bleeding. “Any other time you would have gone Stonehenge by now.”

He frowned at the cut, focusing. The venom in a wraith’s claws, resulting from the vast amount of blood they drank, could weaken other immortals when exposed. The venom, like the sun, triggered the shift to stone-cold gargoyle instantly. As indestructible as he was in his stone form, it would have left him completely helpless. Would have left Kennedy vulnerable.

The cat snarled at the thought of being unable to protect her.

Only those who had found their mates could control the shift to stone that might otherwise leave their loved ones…

Oh hell.

He stared at the cut as though the slice from Lucan’s claws would somehow confirm the bewildering possibility.

“You’ve finally connected the dots I see.”

He swallowed past the dry knot lodged in his throat. “It’s not possible. I would have recognized it sooner.”

“Obviously not.”

“Kennedy’s my mate?” Only his mate’s presence could give him control over Rhiannon’s curse.

“So it would seem.”

“But she’s human.” He shook his head, searching for another explanation. “She can’t be my mate.” The denial outraged the cat.

“Why else would Lucan have backed off?”

“You’re the one who pointed out that he’s bound by his contract to kill her.”

Brianna’s expression softened. “That doesn’t make him a complete monster. He’s in control right now, and he’ll fight it as long as he can.”

The underlying compassion in his sister’s voice didn’t escape Tristan’s notice.

“If he left without eliminating his target, it’s obvious he wants to talk to you.”

“Knowing I’ll kill him.”

She arched a brow. “And why would you kill him over a human?”

“To protect what’s mine.” The snarled response was automatic. Instinctive.

The satisfied look on his sister’s face had him closing his eyes. Sweet Avalon, could Kennedy really be his mate? He’d been drawn to her, intrigued by her from the beginning. No other female had snared his attention so completely. If it was true, shouldn’t he have figured it out before now?

“Nothing else explains why you’re still standing here. Or why you need her so badly,” she added.

He stopped, realizing he’d turned around to return to Kennedy. “How do you know what I need?” he asked, irritated that he couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying to the human. Even talk of the wraith and protecting her didn’t stem the need to see her, talk to her. Touch her.

“It’s…ah…a little obvious.”

He gave her a blank look.

His sister cleared her throat and nodded to his groin.

“Jesus, Briana.” He jerked around, hiding his erection like an embarrassed teen caught jerking off. One quick snap finished the button he’d left undone after yanking them back on earlier.

He dragged his hands through his hair. “I met her months ago and still spent every damn day as a statue.”

“Meeting your mate doesn’t automatically prevent the shift at sunrise. It only gives us control over it. Your need to protect your mate gave you control over it when Lucan cut you.”

He shook his head against her logic even though the doubts were slowly receding.

“Have you actually tried fighting it at dawn?”

Why would he? For over a millennium the change had been an unavoidable part of his existence.

Gods, could Kennedy truly be his mate?

The cat roared in affirmation.

Eager to return to her—whatever the reason—he strode for the front door.

“Tristan.” Briana touched his arm as his hand closed over the knob. “The sun will be up in a few minutes.” Meaning she’d be heading to the roof. “Lucan is…” She trailed off. “Just be careful, okay?”

Something in her tone made him think she’d wanted to say something else but held back.

He nodded and slipped out into the night. Because he could travel faster on four legs, he stripped off his pants and shifted. Around him the night came into sharper focus, but it was the wraith’s scent that hit him first, filling his nostrils.

Growling, he retreated a few steps, then clamping down on the need to find Kennedy, he sprinted toward the western perimeter. His steps slowed as he padded up a short incline that looked down at the mansion.

Lucan stood with his back to him, his earlier phantom form abandoned for his human one. “I had no idea,” the mercenary said without turning around. “Not until I tracked her here did I realize how fully you were involved in the situation, and even then I never expected her to be your mate. I was only instructed on how to deal with Cale.”

His brother? Tristan waited for the wraith to explain, preferring to stay in cat form should the wraith attack. He wanted to give his friend the benefit of the doubt, but he’d witnessed the bloodlust that consumed Lucan when a contract compelled him to kill. Tristan knew better than most how vicious the former knight could be when he gave in.

Lucan finally turned to face him. Already Tristan noticed the signs of strain on Lucan’s face from denying himself the kill. It was only a matter of time before the tremors that made his friend clench and unclench his fist worsened.

“I’ve been ordered to negotiate for the dagger. If it’s not turned over in forty-eight hours, I’m bound to fulfill the terms of the contract.”

Tristan snarled.

Lucan gave him a weary look. “I’m sorry my friend. I’ll be close if you want to talk.” He paused. “Two days, Tristan. That’s all I can give you.” Lucan’s shape grew dark at the edges, then he was no more than a shadow fading into the night.

Two days. Two days to turn over the dagger or Lucan would hunt down Kennedy. Two days to figure out how in the hell he could sacrifice his brother’s freedom.

But if she truly was his mate, how could he possibly sacrifice her?

—

Kennedy stared at the closed door, unable to talk herself into opening it and searching for Tristan. She clutched at a faded leather belt, tightening her grip until her knuckles whitened. As far as weapons went she might as well have been armed with an arsenal of cotton balls, but holding onto something felt better than cowering in the closet. Too bad doing exactly that wouldn’t seriously sabotage the image she hadn’t lost her ever lovin’ mind.

Movement on the other side of the door made her pulse pick up speed, and her gaze locked on the turning handle. Unless the oversized pussycat also had an opposable thumb, it wouldn’t be opening the door. Breaking through it, sure, but slowly twisting the knob around until she felt every near-soundless click…

“Hey.”

Tristan. Relief swept through her, relaxing her spine. Marginally. “Shut. The. Door.”

“Kennedy—”

She shook her head. “Before Puss in Boots comes back, preferably.”

He arched a brow, but did as she asked. His gaze dropped to the belt in her hand and the chair she’d dragged in front of her.

“Don’t tell me you were a lion tamer in a former life?”

“Are you laughing at me?”

He struggled not to smile. “No.”

“You take off and leave me to deal with something from the Phantom Zone and a wild animal jacked up on super catnip, and now you’re laughing at me?” Death wish, meet Tristan.

His half grin faded. “You’re not hurt, are you?” In the space of a heartbeat his gaze turned critical. “I didn’t think it touched you.” Closing the distance, he frowned intently as though he might see any injuries through the borrowed clothing.

She stared at him, gripping the belt tighter when he tried tugging it loose. “It. You said ‘it’.”

Tristan tugged again. “Are personal pronouns against some bartending code I’m unaware of?” He changed tactics, smoothing his fingers across her wrist.

The soft caress succeeded in slowing her runaway heart, and she found herself relinquishing her weapon.

“I didn’t imagine it, did I? That thing. The cat. They’re both real.” She didn’t want them to be. If there was something wrong in her mind, she could fix that. A shrink, some meds, something. Accepting Casper and his furry nemesis actually existed would be a whole lot harder. “I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone, haven’t I?”

“He’s harmless.”

Somehow knowing Tristan referred to the cat, she shook her head. “A week-old kitten is harmless. That beast could have used my bones for toothpicks.”

“He prefers his meat cooked most of the time, if that makes you feel better.”

“Oh, much.” She snorted, then closed her hand, only to remember Tristan had taken the belt and tossed it on the nearby table. “Please tell me what the hell is going on. Because the more I try convincing myself none of this can actually be happening, the more real it becomes.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Please.” She touched his hand, barely curbing the urge to launch herself straight into his arms. Not since her mother’s death had she felt so helpless, so unsure of what the hell to do.

His fingers curled tightly around hers, too tightly. Her gaze darted up to meet his. For a moment she thought he meant to kiss her, triggering a flare of warmth in her belly that defied reason. Uncertain, afraid, bewildered—sure. But aroused?

Caught off-guard, she stumbled back a step. Tristan spun away from her, driving the tension up between them with his silence.

“I need to know what’s happening.”

“Give me a minute,” he snapped.

Frustration swelled inside her. “You’ve already had a whole lot longer than that to start explaining.”

He said nothing.

She took the few steps separating them and planted herself directly in front of him. “Damn it, Tristan. Talk to me.”

“I can’t.” The words sounded forced, almost growled.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because talking is the last thing I want to do right now.”

It took her a minute to see past the rigid shoulders, clenched jaw and the tense lines bracketing his mouth. Another moment to search his eyes for the cause of his sudden anger.

And just a heartbeat to fully realize he wasn’t pissed off at all.

“Tristan?” Wary, she backed up. “What’s wrong?”

He laughed, the sound laced with frustration. “That same thing that’s been wrong for months.” He moved toward her and she retreated further.

A devilish smile, one that instantly reminded her of a cat cornering a canary, curved his lips. “What’s wrong is watching you, catching your scent and craving your touch. Night after night. Always wanting what I couldn’t have. Never giving in.”

“Until tonight,” she said softly. He had certainly given in when she’d all but wrapped herself around him in the car. Forget what his mouth had given her in the bathroom earlier.

He cocked his head, his gaze sliding down her front, lingering on her chest before dipping lower to the borrowed baggy shorts. The heated look on his face made her feel as though she were wearing a string bikini bottom instead, emphasis on string.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Until tonight.” Another confident step in her direction.

Another retreat, one that brought her up against a small table. “That doesn’t explain—”

He silenced her with a shake of his head. “This is going one of two ways, and neither of them involve any explanations.”

The annoyance she wanted to feel, that she should have felt, deserted her, leaving her confused and just a little bit nervous. “Because talking is the last thing you want to do?”

He nodded, erasing the last of the space between them.

“So what is it that you want to do, because I’m really not up for another hour—”

His thumb brushed her bottom lip, silencing her before he splayed his fingers along her jaw. The same eyes she’d been fantasizing about for months bored into hers. She knew what came next, and her belly tightened in anticipation even as she braced herself for it. As she hungered for it.

Everything from the brush of his thumb at her throat to the way he moved in, his chest crowding her, his leg nudging her thighs apart, said soft and slow. But when he opened his mouth over hers, his lips hot and greedy, his tongue pushing in to sweep across hers, the kiss turned fast and hard and downright explosive.

She rose up on her toes, snatching a breath before he captured her mouth again. He tangled his hands in her hair, angling her head back a little more. Despite the fierce kiss that promised she’d beg for more before he was through, he gently cupped her nape.

The scorching trail he followed down her neck would have turned her into a puddle at his feet if not for his other hand grazing her breast. Tension, hot and sharp and so damn good, echoed in her core, keeping her feet firmly planted.

It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed her—and she hoped like hell it wouldn’t be the last—but this felt more…real. Not a sleepy seduction or a coaxing tease, just raw and unrestrained and breaking her apart inside.

Looping her arms around his neck, Kennedy hung on, rubbing herself against his thigh. Tristan’s appreciative groan slid into a thick growl when she sucked his bottom lip between hers. He pressed against her, jostling the table behind her. Something shattered on the floor. Probably something expensive.

“—of guessing what you’re thinking,” she finished when the crash succeeded in thankfully slowing things down. She needed a second to process everything.

“Do you really need to guess what I’m thinking about?”

She swallowed, her eyes sliding shut as he ran his mouth down her throat, nipped her shoulder.

“Stop.” She planted a hand against his chest, ignoring the soft ache between her thighs. “I can’t do this now. I need to know what’s going on.”

At first she thought he planned on giving her some space, then he lifted her, setting her on top of the small table. He flattened one hand on the wall near her head. The other slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, his fingers trailing across her skin.

Nothing about the predatory look on Tristan’s face matched the lazy caress, as though he were holding back. She shivered, resisted closing her eyes and sinking into another kiss that would surely fry the last of her rational brain cells.

She refused to let that happen. Not again. Twice tonight she’d let her hormones override her common sense. It couldn’t—wouldn’t—happen again. “We need to slow down.”

A frustrated groan rumbled past his lips, lips lazily brushing the corner of her jaw. “We need to stop talking.” His teeth grazed her throat.

She thought about pushing him away, but anticipating the brush-off, Tristan snared her wrist and brought it to his mouth.

“Please, Kennedy.”

“This doesn’t make sense. Before tonight, you didn’t even like me.” Clinging to that fact helped to slow the flames that licked through her veins wherever his lips touched her skin.

He tucked her hair behind her ear, giving him uncompromised access to her neck. “I liked you too much.”

“Then why ignore me for months?” Why drive her crazy wanting him when he felt the same way?

“To stop this from happening.”

She parted her lips to ask him what this was. He bit her bottom lip, dragging it between his before sliding his mouth over hers completely. She moaned, felt herself melt a little into his arms. Strong, muscular arms, lifting her up, wrapping her around him, and carrying her toward the other room—the bedroom.

“Wait.” Kennedy wiggled free of his hold, putting some distance between them. She couldn’t keep a clear head when he touched her. Even out of arm’s reach she felt the pull of him. Every cell in her body craved him like an addictive drug, yet she clung to the faint voice warning her to tread carefully. “We can’t do this.”

“Yes. We can.” He might as well have said, “Yes, we will.” The subtle tilt of his head, as though he were already imagining them doing a whole lot more with a lot less clothing on worried her.

Worried her more because every second that passed left her achingly aware of him. Her skin still buzzed from the last brush of his fingers. Her lips still damp from his mouth.

Why was it so damn hard to concentrate? “Tell me why you brought me here. What came after me? Where were you and where in the hell did that animal come from?”

“Is that everything?” He moved toward her, his steps casual, his expression determined.

She shook her head. “Why can’t I stop this?” She pressed her hand to her belly, which clenched with every purposeful step in her direction.

He stopped in front of her, his gaze burrowing right into her heart. “Because right now this is more important than anything else.”

“It shouldn’t be.” Nothing should matter but getting this figured out, and at the same time the deepest parts of her knew he was somehow right. And that made even less sense.

He lifted a hand to touch her face, and her breath caught then locked in her lungs when he changed his mind. “This goes one of two ways. Either I walk out the door and try getting a hold of myself. Or—” his gaze darkened, his voice low and rough, “—I start peeling your clothes off.”

Chapter Five

Arousal streamed through her. “Why does that sound like some kind of ultimatum?”

“Choose.”

The demand unleashed a wave of molten butterflies in her stomach. Instead of moving toward him, she skirted back toward the leather sofa, anticipating his pursuit.

He didn’t disappoint her.

“Okay, now it feels like you’re stalking me.”

He grinned, never letting her get too far from him. “Then tell me to leave, Kennedy.”

“And be alone in the house with that big-ass cat? Doesn’t sound like a bright move to me.”

“I don’t think he would mind keeping an eye on you.”

“It’s not his eyes I’m worried about.” Too bad the image of all those teeth and razor sharp claws didn’t stay with her long enough to cool the fever burning her up inside. She was starting to think nothing could, and even worse, that she didn’t really want it to.

“Then tell me to stay.”

“Of course I want you to stay. I just need—”

“Answers? Later.”

“Now,” she insisted, dodging back toward the doorway only to stop short of opening it. She didn’t know what scared her the most. Facing the panther or jaguar or whatever the hell it was, or staying and giving in to Tristan.

He stepped up behind her. “Am I making you nervous?”

“No.”

“Angry?”

“I want to be.”

“Aroused.” It wasn’t a question.

Kennedy shook her head, unable to voice the denial.

His soft laugh called her a liar. “Then tell me to go. Now. Before I lose the last of my control.”

She turned her head and her cheek brushed his jaw. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

“I want to do a lot of things, but hurting you definitely isn’t one of them.”

Closing her eyes, she said, “I need a minute.” But not nearly as much as she needed him to touch her right that very second.

“You’ve already made up your mind,” he challenged.

Had she? Kennedy started to shake her head, wondering if she’d ever been so confused and impossibly turned on.

“Okay then.” He moved around her.

“This is insane, Tristan.”

He gripped the door handle.

Everything inside her cried out to stop him and it had nothing to do with being afraid of being alone. There was a lot more to be scared of in here, with him.

Tristan opened the door.

Don’t leave.

He stepped through.

She parted her lips.

“You’re killing me here, you know that?” The almost playful comment was lost beneath the desperate edge in his voice, like hot steel dragged across granite.

“Stay.” One word was all she could manage when she feared letting him stay more than letting him walk away. She knew attraction, she knew all about getting caught up in something hot and unpredictable, but none of that felt anywhere close to riptide threatening to drag her under now.

Tristan didn’t move and she waited, half expecting him to ask her if she was sure.

He didn’t. In two short strides he stood in front of her, his hands sliding into her hair, his mouth opening over hers. And the moment he slipped his tongue into her mouth, sweeping slow and deep, she came dangerously close to climaxing.

From a kiss.

She gripped his shirt, clinging to him as her knees trembled and all the hot places inside her jumped a hundred degrees.

His hands slid down her back, then easily beneath the borrowed shorts. “No panties.”

“After my shower…” she trailed off, the feel of his palms on her bare ass negating any need for explanations.

“Your next one won’t be alone.”

His grated response set fire to her belly, and then he urged her backward, toward his bedroom. Keeping track of their progress became impossible when the more he kissed her, the more she wanted to feel his mouth everywhere.

Moments later, the back of her legs bumped the edge of the bed, and she looped her arms around him to keep from falling back.

Tristan laughed. “I’ve got you.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” She didn’t wait for him to come back to her mouth, going up on her toes to steal another kiss instead.

The arm that snapped around her back, dragging her hard against his chest, made her grin. If she could get to him half as bad as he got to her…

As if sensing her thoughts, he shook his head. One quick glance at his face and she knew whatever patience he had left, whatever had been stopping him from peeling her clothes off, had run out.

He caught the bottom of her T-shirt and tugged it over her head. When the material bunched around her wrists, he closed his fingers around them, holding them above her head.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, running his thumb down her throat, between her breasts…

Her eyes drifted shut.

He abruptly released her wrists. “Who did that to you?”

She frowned at the harsh demand, then remembering the jagged pink scar on her left side, turned away from him. Habit had her searching for the top she’d allowed him to strip off without thinking. A first for her. It had taken weeks for her to show the scar to the few men she’d let into her bed in the past.

“Tell me who did that to you.”

She folded her arms across her chest, hiding the scar as best she could. “Easy, Billy the Kid. There’s no one to meet at sunset for a showdown. I was in a car accident when I was twelve.”

His expression softened. “Were you badly hurt?”

“I was in the hospital for a few weeks.” Damn it, where had her shirt gone?

He moved closer and she angled her right side away from him.

“You don’t need to hide yourself from me.”

“I’m not.” She might have stood half a shot at sounding convincing if she’d met his eyes when she said it.

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

Spotting her shirt, she bent down to scoop it up. “Uh-huh.” Not only had she heard that before, she’d caught the sneaky, appalled glances of more than one man when he noticed the scar. And then there were the flawless women she regularly spotted Tristan with, the kind who probably didn’t even have a smudge in their nail polish let alone a permanent scar five inches long.

Kennedy wanted to think it was a good sign that after the night she’d had, she could still be self-conscious enough to feel like she wouldn’t measure up to them. At least that was normal. Stupid, but normal.

“Wait.” Tristan reached for her, catching hold of her wrists and trapping them behind her back with only one of his hands.

She really didn’t want to be turned on by how strong he was, how easily he cut off a retreat, and at the same time managing to eliminate any space between them. Their bodies touched from chest to knees, his T-shirt rasping over her bare skin with every ragged breath he drew, his hard thigh between hers and pushing against her sex.

“It doesn’t matter.” As if to prove his point, he ran his gaze down her body, and when his attention focused entirely on her breasts, her heart pounded at the heat that flashed in his eyes.

He didn’t give her a chance to voice another objection. Cupping her breast, he dragged his thumb back and forth across her nipple, the friction from her bra magnifying the heady sensation. He trapped the puckered tip, tugging gently.

The answering echo of pleasure in her core demanded attention, and she rubbed against his thigh, biting her lip to silence her moan.

“Don’t.” His mouth covered hers in a long, hungry slide. “I want to hear it, want to hear how much you like it.”

“Oh, I like it.” Too much. Way too much.

Releasing his grip on her arms long enough to pull his shirt off, he wasted no time in returning to her mouth. He anchored one arm around her back, keeping her close. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, the smooth wall of muscle warming her straight through.

She tensed when his fingers grazed her scar, and as though he realized the source of her tension, he let his hand drop to her waist and thrust his tongue between her lips, coaxing her up on her toes for another bone-melting kiss.

And then another, and another.

His arousal brushed her abdomen and they both groaned. The rough denim triggered a wave of heat that tunneled straight through her middle. Needing to feel him, she drew her palm down his chest and past the button on his jeans.

She heard his breath hitch, knew he waited.

“Do it,” he growled.

Kennedy closed her hand over his arousal, sliding upwards just as he rocked his hips, grinding against her palm.

Without warning, he spun her around, jerking her back against his chest. The rough gesture should have worried her. Instead she reveled in it, reveled in the seeming power she had over him, making him come a little more undone with every passing second.

Tristan sank to the edge of the bed, pulling her into his lap. His cock fit hard against her ass. There wasn’t much time to think about how she wanted to arch her hips and sink back on him without any clothes getting in the way. He pushed her bra strap down, replacing the thin material with his mouth.

Bringing one arm up, she locked it around his neck, indulging in the scuff of his stubble along her shoulder. And then her bra fell away from her heavy breasts, the sudden tease of air hardening the tips even further. She watched him lazily pluck at her nipple, squirming until not even squeezing her legs together eased the ache between her thighs.

“You want to come, don’t you?” He rested his palm against her sex, circling, drawing the hem of her shorts higher and higher.

“Yes.” God, yes. The first threads of release churned in her belly, snaking lower…lower. “Tristan,” she begged.

A soft laugh against her ear. He slipped a finger under the edge of her shorts, and she cried out when the pad of his fingers teased her opening. Slick and soft, he worked higher, parting her folds.

Kennedy lifted her hips, silently guiding him.

She didn’t need to. His fingers expertly stroked her cleft, and when she bounced just a little in his lap, seeking the release that whispered across her nerve endings, he clamped an arm across her waist.

Unable to wait, she arched up to meet his hand, his slippery strokes circling her clit. Pleasure streamed through her, drawing her muscles tighter. She didn’t hold back, moaning deep in her throat as she came, rocking to the slowing rhythm of his fingers.

Boneless, she relaxed against him.

“Wow,” she murmured.

Tristan didn’t respond, didn’t even move.

She tipped her head back, surprised by the strain edging his mouth and around his closed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I need a minute.” For the second time tonight his voice bordered on feral.

“You wanted this, wanted me. Don’t put the brakes on now.”

“I don’t want to scare you.”

Scare her? “Look at me,” she pleaded, and when he didn’t, she laced her fingers through his, guiding them along her sex. “Don’t stop, Tristan.”

His eyes snapped open, the startling blue depths brighter, wilder.

“Your eyes,” she whispered releasing his hand. But instead of moving away from him, the fear imprinted on his face stopped her. She turned around in his lap, her movements slow and tentative. “How?”

Not contacts, she realized, gently tipping his face up as though it were just a trick of the light. Her pulse kicked into next gear. Definitely not contacts, almost not even human.

“What are you?”

“Yours.” He gripped her waist, his hands sliding higher to splay across her bare back. “Just yours.”

—

Tristan thought his heart would hammer straight through his chest. He stared at Kennedy, caught between waiting for her to decide what to do, and burying himself deep inside her. He needed his jeans off, needed to feel her slide along his hard length so bad he couldn’t sit still.

Studying him intently, she inched closer. He couldn’t help it, he shifted on the bed, brushing against her and fighting the urge not to jerk his pants around his ankles and sink further between her thighs.

Kennedy tensed, and he knew she deserved some answers, but it was increasingly impossible to concentrate on anything but how good she felt in his arms. If he started to explain anything—and he highly doubted he could—they would have to stop, and he was damn sure he couldn’t do that.

She was his mate and he couldn’t let her go without making her his. It was as simple and as incredibly complicated as that.

He dared to run his fingers along the waistband of her shorts, dipping his fingers inside. She didn’t object, so he kept going, sliding them down over her ass until he could reach the damp crease from behind.

Wet, so hot and wet, it was a wonder he only slipped a finger inside her. She gripped his neck, but she didn’t stop him. Pumping softly, he pushed two fingers into her snug opening, groaning when her slick inner walls clenched around him.

Her whimper of pleasure spurred him on.

Bolder, he thrust harder, filling her more completely. When she sank her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, he knew he’d overcome a huge hurdle. The cat roared in satisfaction, and Tristan knew there would be no stopping, no slowing down. Not until he claimed her in every way.

He rolled, ripping off her shorts and pinning her beneath him. He spared a moment to indulge in the feel of her body arching up to meet his, then he slid down, dragging his tongue across her skin. Every few inches he paused, sucking her between his lips.

Kennedy moaned, and he grinned, pleased she responded to his touch. Moving back up, he nuzzled her neck, tasting the curve of her shoulder, nipping at her. He wanted inside her so damn bad his insides shook. He needed another minute to get under control before he even touched his zipper. Having watched the pink tips of her breasts get hard, her lips part with her shuddering breaths, her thighs slide open, he knew he was close to exploding.

“Tristan.” Unafraid, she used her hold on his hair to coax him back to her mouth.

This time he couldn’t keep the kiss slow or soft. He thrust his tongue between her lips, taking a long, deep taste. She rocked her hips, grazing his cock, and he pushed her harder into the mattress.

Catching a hold of her hands, he trapped them against the bed and bent to close his lips over her nipple. She tugged at his hold, but he didn’t ease up, focused instead on sucking her into his mouth.

Her back arched, her breath hissing out as her fingers dug into his. He sucked harder, finally releasing her wrists as he traced the curve of her breast on his way to her other nipple.

A flick of his tongue, a graze of his teeth and Kennedy moaned, her hands trailing down his back, then around his hips to the front of his pants. Her palm brushed the length of his cock, and he groaned against her breast.

As much as he wanted to drag this out for her, he couldn’t wait a moment longer. He stood and stripped off his jeans, freeing himself. Her hot gaze slid down his body, fixing on his cock. She sat up, drawing his attention to her breasts and then the damp center of her he wanted most to lose himself in.

She closed her hand around him, and his jaw snapped shut. His eyes slid closed and he sucked in a harsh breath. Counted to five. None of it helped. None of it could slow down the clawing need to claim her.

Tristan leaned over her, grinning when she inched further up the mattress away from him, as if she sensed the predator in him craved the pursuit. He snagged her ankle, dragging her toward him. Her legs parted further, letting him see everything from her pale inner thighs to the soft curls and glistening sex.

He easily covered her body with his, and the sensation of skin against hot skin triggered a wave of lust that grabbed him hard in the gut. Kennedy ran her fingers along his jaw, her expression hungry, and at the same time almost anxious.

His eyes, he realized.

“You’re—” he stopped himself from saying mine at the last second, “—safe with me. Always.”

She nodded, lifting her hips and nestling herself snuggly against him.

His eyes damn near rolled back in his head. He slanted his mouth across hers, wanting to take his time, wanting to reassure her that she hadn’t made a mistake giving in, but couldn’t stop himself from taking her mouth the same way he ached to take the rest of her—hard, fast and deep.

He gripped her hips and thrust inside her. Their raw moans of pleasure rode the air, and when he could force his eyes open, he found her staring up at him. Her eyes glittered with the same relentless need that had him in a choke hold.

“Wait,” she murmured wrapping her legs around him.

He forced himself to relax his grip, a near impossibility when the walls of her sex tightened around his cock.

“Just…” She lifted her bottom, deepened the angle, let him slide a little deeper.

Sweet Avalon.

And then he reared back and plunged in…deeper. A fierce growl ripped from his chest, and then he pumped his hips, fucking her harder. Tension licked along his limbs, drawing him tighter…tighter.

Kennedy cried out beneath him, her sex clenching. He grit his teeth, riding the waves of her release until she softened beneath him. Still, she protested when he slid from her, then eagerly rolled to her belly when she realized he wanted her from behind.

A moment was all he allowed himself to stare at her, to memorize the image of her up on her knees, her hair trailing down her back, her gorgeous bottom turned up, her sex wet and ready. So few women realized how incredibly sexy they looked this way, and his mate made every other female in existence pale in comparison.

He grabbed her hips, fitting himself against her opening.

“Tristan,” she pleaded.

He buried his cock deep inside her. She moaned loud and deep, her fingers clutching at the blankets as he rocked back and filled her again, and again and again. Release stormed through his body, and pumping his hips, he bent down, sealing his lips over the curve of her neck and her shoulder.

And as his fierce orgasm rattled him to his very soul, he bit her.

—

Kennedy cringed at the icy ache in her hand and shoved it under her pillow. It didn’t help. She took her time waking up, wondering what she’d banged her hand on. After prying open her gritty eyes, she lifted her hand up for inspection.

One heart-pounding glance at the spider-web tattoo and everything came crashing back. Work, her useless car, the cat, Tristan.

This was Tristan’s room. His bed.

She looked under the blanket, confirming she was spectacularly naked. Naked and alone. Clearly something hadn’t gone right even though she remembered every second of the sex. Hot, amazingly incredible sex. Even thinking about it reawakened every cell in her body. Her nipples hardened, and for a few seconds, she wanted nothing more than to find Tristan and do something about her very aroused state.

Thankfully she glanced at the mark on her hand and the sensation was short lived. She needed to know what the hell was going on, starting with how he’d managed to make her forget her need for answers earlier.

If she possessed half his skill at avoidance, never mind how easily he’d distracted her from the truth—with sex no less—she could turn in her bartending apron for a healthy political career.

Kennedy sat up, ignoring the aches in muscles she hadn’t used in quite sometime. She tracked down her clothes, stepping into her shorts before dragging the borrowed T-shirt over her head.

A sting on her shoulder made her wince. Gently, she probed at her shoulder, felt a scratch of some kind. She glanced at the bathroom, then remembering what had happened in there the last time she was alone, decided she’d take a look at the minor scrape later.

At the door she hesitated, thinking about the oversized feline that was hopefully locked up somewhere. Given Tristan’s determination to avoid answering her questions, she wasn’t about to sit around and wait for him. Though she couldn’t lay all the blame at his door. As much as she wanted to be angry that he’d managed to call most of the shots, she knew she’d let him.

She couldn’t remember ever letting the need for sex consume her like that, but it sure as hell wouldn’t get in the way now. She hoped. Worried that calling out would bring super kitty her way, she quietly wandered the halls. The moment she stepped foot in the empty kitchen, her stomach growled. Food, she decided, would have to wait a little longer.

Kennedy turned to leave, stopped by a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. Crossing the checkered tile floor, she opened the French doors, blinking at the bright sunlight that warmed her face.

Beyond the large patio, Tristan stood with his back to her. Wearing just his jeans, he stood barefoot in the dewy grass, his eyes closed, face turned up to the sun. He didn’t turn at the sound of the door closing behind her, or even when she padded across the chilled stone patio and stepped up beside him.

The sheer blissful smile on his face surprised her.

“Tristan?”

He grinned and nodded at the sky without opening his eyes.

She squinted at the puffy clouds. “What is it?”

“The sun.”

Ooookay. “And?”

“It’s the first time I’ve felt it on my face in centuries.”

Chapter Six

Tristan watched her brows draw together, unprepared for how much such a simple gesture could awaken the cat that wanted to spend hours curled around her, feeling her touch.

She shook her head. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

Letting out a breath, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Her wary expression and straight spine weren’t exactly inviting a brush of his fingers across her cheek, let alone a long, slow kiss. Burying his hands in his pockets was the only way he could think of to avoid stroking her plump bottom lip.

Another breath. “I haven’t seen the sun since the fifth century.”

“And by century you mean…”

He inwardly braced himself. “Hundred year spans.”

She glanced at her hand and his stomach turned over at the reminder of her death sentence. “I don’t suppose you’re just off your meds?”

Leave it to Kennedy to try brushing it off as a joke. He shook his head.

She sank to the ground so quickly he could only flinch when she landed on her butt.

He crouched next to her, mesmerized by the way the sunlight glinted off her hair. He touched the ends of the blond strands shot through with shades of bronze and gold. How had he never noticed that about her hair before?

Tristan tipped her face up so it was not lost in shadows. He’d lived in the dark long enough. For months he could have felt the sun warm his back as it did now, and if he’d listened to the cat, to the instincts that drew him to Kennedy from the start, he would have been able to.

Her eyes slid shut. “I want to be dreaming.”

“And last night?” He studied her brows, her lashes, her lips.

She looked away from him. “Are you talking about the pre-feline part of the evening or after that?”

He smiled. “You’re not still scared of him, are you?”

“Right about now there isn’t much I’m not scared of.”

“But not me?” He’d been rougher with her than he’d wanted in bed, unable to completely control the cat’s need to dominate.

“You? No. But the things you make me feel scare me to death.”

He cupped her face, trying not to hope she felt half as much of a bond as he did. “What things?”

“Things I’m having a hard time controlling.”

Having no idea what humans experienced when bonding to immortal mates, he struggled to find the right words to say. “Maybe you need to loosen the reins then.”

She eased away from him. “You can’t keep doing that.”

“What?”

“Making me want to kiss you.”

He grinned. “I’m not making you do anything.”

She snorted. “You’re supposedly fifteen centuries old. I’m pretty sure that must come with a few perks.”

“Like coercing you into getting naked?” If he didn’t catch the heat that flared in her eyes he might have been offended.

She shoved to her feet. “I don’t know.” He trailed after her, but she spun around to face him. “Stay there.”

“Aren’t you worried I can hocus-pocus you into stripping from a distance?”

“You find this funny?” She sounded even less impressed than she looked.

“Just the part where you think I can snap my fingers and have you naked and in my bed. Though it would be a neat trick.” And gave him all sorts of images in his head.

She gave him a doubtful look.

“Trust me, if I could do that we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

“What are you?”

“Besides turned on?”

She scowled at him.

“You need answers and I need to be close to you, so let’s go inside.”

“Bed is a bad idea.”

He noticed she didn’t say no. “I was thinking more along the lines of breakfast, but I’m fine with returning to my room.”

“Breakfast is good,” she said hastily, preceding him inside.

Tristan took his time, watching her first-class ass until she grabbed a stool. She’d no sooner plunked down before pushing back to her feet and pacing nervously. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter closest to her.

She shot him a wary look, but continued to eat up the stretch of floor between him and the island in the middle. Every few steps she turned and changed direction, and each time he caught her scent, his gut tightened.

Finally, she stopped directly in front of him. It only took her a moment to realize her mistake. He didn’t give her a second to retreat, backing her up against the island. Planting a hand on either side of her, he leaned in. Her hair tickled his cheek as he ran his jaw along hers, then down her neck.

“Back off.”

Quiet but undoubtedly sincere, and just a little bit dangerous, the order succeeded in getting his attention. There was no way he could keep his hands off her, but he wouldn’t be able to talk to her if he didn’t distract himself with something else.

He turned away long enough to gather a few things from the pantry and fridge.

“You’re cooking?”

“It keeps my hands busy.” He nodded to the stool directly beside the island. If he couldn’t touch her, standing close to her would have to do. For now. “Ask your questions.”

“How can you be so old?”

Of course she’d start with a hard one. Hard for her to hear the answer to. “I’m immortal.”

She stared at him.

“I can’t die,” he began.

“I know what immortal means.” Her gaze moved over him top to bottom, and hopefully missing how aroused he was. “You can’t be human.”

He grabbed her hand, held it over his heart. “I am right now.”

“And the rest of the time?”

Gods, when had just talking ever turned him on so much? Paying attention to her very valid questions couldn’t have been harder when the urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him.

Forced to give in or release her hand, he went with the latter.

“How is it even possible?” Kennedy continued. “How can you be so old and have never felt the sun? I guess I can cross vampire off my list.” She paused, and her eyes narrowed as she recalled what he’d done. “You bit me.”

“I got a little carried away.” Uncomfortable with his guilt over that, he cracked a few eggs so he didn’t have to look at her.

“Is that some kind of immortal fetish?”

“Not exactly.”

She pushed her hands through her hair. “Okay. Let’s start with last night.” She held up her hand. “How did I get this?”

“You’ve been marked by a wraith.” At her arched brow he added, “They’d be the ones closer to vampires.”

“Is that what came after me in the bathroom too?”

The cat prowled in the back of his mind, disliking mention of the wraith. “Yeah.”

“It wants me dead right?” She didn’t wait for him to acknowledge that. “Why?”

“Because I have something it wants.” He hadn’t expected many to learn he had the dagger so soon, let alone have time to make arrangements to take it from him. He must not have been the only one to learn the sorceress possessed a dagger, simply the first one to reach it.

“So why didn’t it mark you then?”

“Going after you was more effective.”

Her frown matched his earlier confusion. “I don’t understand. We’ve barely spoken.”

“The wraith originally planned on making a deal with Cale.”

“None of this is making sense. Cale is just my boss.” She stopped. “He’s immortal too, isn’t he?”

Tristan nodded.

“So what did you take?” The accusation in her tone rubbed him the wrong way.

“I’m not a thief.” Not exactly anyway. “It’s a mystical dagger.”

“Mystical. Of course it couldn’t be something simple, like priceless.”

“It’s that too.” And judging by the look on her face, hearing that hadn’t helped.

“So it does something?”

He set the bowl of eggs aside. “It’s part of a set. Once united the daggers will lead to a sword.”

“Someone wants me dead over a sword? Gee, whatever happened to the good old-fashioned greed, passion or revenge motives?”

“They’re after Excalibur.”

She laughed. “As in Knights of the Round Table and King Arthur? That Excalibur?”

“That would be the one.”

—

Kennedy’s laughter faded, and she searched his face for a sign he was conning her. The sincere expression on his face didn’t reassure her at all. Either he was telling the truth, or he’d convinced himself he was. Neither possibility seemed all that favorable.

“You’re looking for Excalibur? And when you find it?” Maybe if she could figure out why they wanted the sword, she’d know how to get herself out of this mess. Although mess didn’t seem to come close to describing the last ten hours.

“We’ll guard it.”

“Until?”

Tristan hesitated. “Until Arthur reawakens to claim it.”

“The King Arthur. So you’re what, friends with the guy?” Wasn’t the brain built to shut done when there was too much information to process? And if discovering that immortals, wraiths and mythical monarchies actually existed wasn’t too much to handle, she’d dance topless on the bar during her next shift.

Assuming she lived that long.

He held out his hand. “Come.”

She reluctantly placed her hands in his. Last night he’d pulled her through the halls so quickly there hadn’t been time to notice much of her surroundings. Now she simply had too much going on in her head to register anything but a blur of polished tile floors and painting-covered walls.

At least until they passed through a series of rooms and reached a large heavy wooden door that looked like something out of a Brothers Grimm fairytale. Half expecting to find a stone staircase descending into a dungeon on the other side, she glanced around the empty room, empty but for the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the far wall.

She took her time following him to the mirror. There was nothing in the room to give off a heavy vibe, but the sense of something in the room with them slowed her steps. Both her hand and lower back tingled the closer she drew to the mirror.

“If this is something—”

Tristan cut her off, speaking in a language she didn’t recognize.

“—kinky…” she finished, watching the mirror’s surface shimmer, their reflection awash in a silvery rainbow that faded, leaving an image of a sundrenched meadow. “That can’t be real.”

He took her head and when she realized what he meant to do, she resisted.

“Trust me,” he pleaded, those fathomless blue eyes of his sucking her in.

“With the exception of some bad choices in boyfriends, I haven’t trusted anyone since I was twelve.”

His lip curled at the mention of boyfriends, then he frowned. “Since the car accident,” he guessed.

Surprised by his perceptiveness, she focused on the mirror. There were way too many questions to allow herself to be coerced—distracted—into talking about the past.

“I would never let anything hurt you.”

Part of her believed him. The other part was simply too stunned by how much she already trusted him to give in entirely. Still, the soft caress of his thumb along the inside of her wrist soothed her apprehension, and she let him guide her closer to the mirror.

She brushed her fingers across the surface, still expecting to find it hard and cool. Instead, her fingers pushed through the shimmery membrane. A breeze whispered across her hand, the meadow’s bright sun warming her instantly.

“How is this possible? And if you say hocus-pocus I’ll hit you, I swear.”

Tristan smiled.

“What is that place?”

“Avalon.”

She let her hand drop and the world skidded a little sideways for a moment.

He wrapped an arm around her waist as though he expected her to hit the ground again. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“Assuming I believe it.” Being drugged seemed like such an easier explanation for everything.

“You’re right.”

“I am?” Somehow she’d expected him to be annoyed she doubted it, doubted him. But how could she not? Even Alice really only had a talking cat and the Mad Hatter to deal with.

“Seeing is believing, right?” His tone made her heart pound so fast it nearly burst through her chest.

He took a step back, unsnapped his jeans.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you answers.”

Even though it was what she wanted, what she’d demanded, she reached out to touch him, to stop him.

A shimmer of silver, like with the mirror, waved in front of her. The tattoo on her hand tingled like it was moving across her skin.

She drew her hand back, frowned at the unchanged brand. Weird. No, she’d surpassed weird a few thousand light years ago.

A soft thump, followed by a familiar purr snapped her gaze up.

Tristan had…vanished, run, hid—all of them would have worked for her, but she knew none of them would have been right. God help her, she knew, even though she didn’t want to.

Tristan and the black cat were one and the same.

—

“I need a drink.” Two hours later and Kennedy’s urge to get blindingly wasted hadn’t passed.

“Try eating something,” Tristan encouraged.

“I really have no urge to see what regurgitated omelet looks like, thanks.”

He pushed a stack of pancakes in her direction instead.

She didn’t glance at the plate. “Pass.”

He forked one onto an empty plate, poured syrup over it and cut off a chunk. “Come on, one bite.”

Her stomach growled despite the dubious glance she spared for the fork he held up. “I’m a little old to be fed.”

“That’s not what this is.” At her doubtful look, he shrugged. “Come on, I make kickass pancakes. Seriously.”

She took a bite to humor him, waiting for the dripping piece to settle like lead in her stomach. Instead the heavenly taste lingered on her tongue long after she swallowed. “Wow.” Not even her mother’s family recipe had tasted this good.

He grinned, started to cut off another piece, but she snagged the fork instead.

“I’ll feed myself.”

“Spoilsport.”

Kennedy leaned away from him. After shifting back to his human form—naked—Tristan had tugged his jeans back on. She’d figured out an hour ago that he knew just how much the sight of his bare chest played havoc with her senses.

Focusing on her plate was the only way she could ignore how he deliberately invaded her personal space, finding one excuse after another to touch her. It had started off innocent enough. Asking her to pass him something when he returned to answering her questions and cooking, stealing every chance he could to brush her hand or lean into her while reaching past her.

By her guess, one more innocent touch would permanently rewire her insides.

Finished with her pancake, she pushed the plate aside. Tristan countered the move by nudging the plate of omelets—undoubtedly cold omelets—in her direction.

“No thanks.”

“Who’s going to eat all this?”

She glanced at the breakfast feast laid out across the table in bowls and dishes. “I’m not the one who felt compelled to cook way too much food.” Enough for a football team probably.

“The only thing I’m compelled to do is touch you.”

“And risk losing a paw.”

A threat he obviously no longer took seriously since he stepped in front of her. His reluctant agreement to give her some space to process everything—which would probably take days, weeks really—looked to be running out.

And heaven help her that she didn’t care half as much as she should.

Even when she’d fired question after question at him, she’d remained intimately aware of every move he made. The long, hot glances she ignored, the way he tilted his head when he got close enough to smell her hair, the rough edge that took hold of his voice each time she denied his touch.

A freaking cat. A very big, very lethal cat.

Alice had nothing on her.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, Kennedy couldn’t fight the yawn that snuck up on her.

Tristan tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’re tired.”

“Would have guzzled a few Red Bulls if I’d known how last night was going to turn out.”

He tugged her to her feet. “You need to sleep.”

She slanted him a suspicious look. “Is that code for sex?”

“Later.”

Kennedy snorted, but he merely shrugged and led her out of the kitchen. By the time she reached his room, she’d yawned three more times and could barely keep her eyes open. That didn’t stop her stomach from tightening the moment she noticed the bed, its sheets still rumpled from earlier.

Shutting the door, he looked over his shoulder at her. A long, sexually charged look.

Oh my. “I’ve really had one hell of an afternoon…”

His hand went to the fly of his jeans.

“…and think sleep would be best.” Somehow she managed not to choke on her words, suddenly preoccupied with watching him tug down his zipper.

Tristan cocked his head, dragging his gaze from her feet, up to her eyes. “You’re a lot of things, Kennedy, but a convincing liar isn’t one of them. You would welcome my touch and we both know it.”

“If that’s true, what’s stopping you?” As far as challenges went, it fell miserably short.

His hand encircled her wrist and she nearly whimpered at the contact. He coaxed her into the bathroom.

She glanced in the mirror and tried not to cringe. “Bad hair days are a turn off for big cats, huh?”

“Not even close.” He nuzzled her neck, and her eyes drifted shut. “You’re exhausted, and to be honest, so am I.”

Trailing back toward the bed, she skidded to a stop when he stepped out of his jeans.

Her every nerve ending stood at attention as he tossed his pants onto a chair, not displaying a hint of modesty as he stood before her beautifully naked—and aroused. She couldn’t help but let her gaze roam down his powerful chest, then lower…lower.

Tristan grinned at her blatant perusal.

She cleared her throat. “You sleep naked.”

He laughed. “Yes, but this is to keep you safe.”

“From who, the clothing fairy?”

His laugh deepened, and that was all the warning he offered before the air between them shimmered and she found herself staring at the cat.

The instinctive urge to run lasted only a second, maybe two. She’d forgotten how big he was like this, bigger than any animal she’d seen in a zoo or on television. Now she almost wished she’d paid attention to those documentaries. Maybe then she’d feel like she could handle being herded toward the bed by a man-eating predator.

Did Tristan eat meat in cat form? Had she anticipated him shifting on her like this, she would have made a point to ask that rather important question when she’d been interrogating him earlier.

The cat batted her hand with his head, and her pulse jumped. Hesitant, she opened her palm and he rubbed himself beneath her hand, arching his back. He circled her and a flick of his tail caught her across the butt.

“Cute.”

He jumped up on the bed, pawed at the blanket until satisfied with the arrangement, then sank down. Crossing his paws, he lowered his head, but didn’t close his eyes until she stretched out next to him—very, very slowly.

Without warning, he dropped his big head on her stomach, effectively pinning her in place. As if that wasn’t strange enough, he nudged her arm until she got the point, purring when she ran her fingers along his sleek coat.

“Have I mentioned how completely surreal all this is?”

He cracked open an eye, puffed out through his nostrils.

“You’re right,” she said, guessing at what he was thinking. “If you could talk like this, I would have really freaked out.”

—

Kennedy turned her face into the warm spray of water, then leaned forward, letting the water sluice down her spine. Unlike in her own cramped apartment shower, she wasn’t in a hurry to rush through the motions. The longer she lingered behind the frosted glass panes, the more she could put off facing the very real, very black and furry reality curled up in the middle of Tristan’s bed.

She squeezed some shower gel into her palm, and the familiar soapy scent—Tristan’s—made every cell in her body stand up and take notice. She closed her eyes, breathing in the soap, and regretted it the second another whiff of the stuff made her nipples harden.

The near-constant state of arousal really had to let up. Yet even as the pro orgasm but pro self-control part of her brain came to that conclusion, she trailed her hand down her stomach, wishing it was Tristan’s. Wishing it was Tristan’s palms cupping her breasts, his thumbs swirling through the soap to circle her nipples.

Kennedy darted a look over her shoulder, toward the closed bathroom door. Her hand slid lower, gliding across her skin. She closed her eyes, sinking deeper into a fantasy she’d entertained dozens of times before. Only now she knew the animal that lived inside him, and damned if knowing he walked that fine line between the logic of a man and the savage instincts of a predator didn’t take her fantasy to a whole new level.

One so deep she didn’t notice she wasn’t alone in the bathroom until the door clicked. Knowing who it was didn’t stop her heart from quickening.

Naked, Tristan opened the shower door, lingering in the doorway. A heated smile curved his lips, his gaze sliding up her body. “Morning.”

Completely exposed, Kennedy turned away on instinct. Fantasizing about him sharing the space and experiencing it were apparently two different things. She glanced over her shoulder, tracking his progress across the wet tile floor. Not until he stood within arm’s reach did she look away from his face.

He stepped closer to the spray and water beaded on his chest, dripping down…down. The trail snaked over his defined abdomen before reaching his aroused cock. Kennedy let out a breath, clenching her thighs around the heavy ache deep in her core.

“Need some help?” He took the shower gel from her and set it aside, reaching for a bottle of shampoo instead. After squeezing a generous amount into his palm, he nodded for her to turn around.

She took her time, just a little bit preoccupied with the brush of his arousal against her bottom. The moment he started working the shampoo into her hair, her spine turned to rubber, and the longer he massaged her hair into a heavy lather, the harder his shaft bumped against her.

“Turn around and close your eyes.”

When she complied, he tipped her head back, rinsing the shampoo out. Without opening her eyes, she knew right down to the centimeter how close he was to her mouth. As if he’d read her mind, he brushed his lips across hers.

Somehow, she managed to contain her frustration when he pulled back.

“I think you missed a few spots earlier.” Tristan returned to the shower gel, soaping up his hands and running them down her arms.

“Good thing you showed up when you did then.”

His hands slid around to her belly, roaming higher.

“I thought cats didn’t like water.”

“I happen to be a big fan of a little water play.” To emphasize his point he bent and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

She moaned, slipping her hands into his hair and holding him against her. He curled his tongue around her, flicking the tip before pulling her hard between his lips.

“Again,” she begged.

He laughed and dropped to his knees, pushing her out from beneath the full onslaught of the spray. She flattened her palm against the wall when he lifted her leg, carefully setting it on the ledge running the perimeter of the shower.

“Much better,” he murmured, having improved his view of her damp sex.

Kennedy shivered at being on complete display, unprepared for the sheer pleasure that came from the very slow, very hot kiss Tristan pressed to her sex. Riveted, she watched his tongue slide up her cleft, moaning low and deep as he laved the slick knot nestled between her folds.

She clutched at the slick tiles, needing leverage to keep from sliding to the floor in front of him. As though he understood her problem, he slipped his hands up, cupping her ass. Pressing his mouth to her inner thigh, his tongue hot against her cooling skin, he took his time returning to her sex.

He ignored the not-so-subtle roll of her hips and the half-hearted pleas that came out rough and just a little bit desperate. She couldn’t help it, the agonizing pace of his lips sliding across her body, the alternating chafe of his stubble with the smooth, slick sweeps of his tongue were steadily driving her out of her mind.

Tristan sealed his mouth over her, laving her clit with soft, quick strokes. Crying out, she arched up, her muscles tight. He gripped her bottom harder, his fingers digging into her and keeping her trapped against his mouth.

As if she’d try to escape the decadent torture pushing her toward release. Knowing he hand a good hold of her, she dared to let go to the wall and slid her hands into his damp hair. She rose higher on her toes with every lazy flick of his tongue, eased down again with every slow suck until she writhed shamelessly against his mouth.

The more she bounced her hips to his mindless pace, the more ruthless he became, licking and sucking, pushing his face against her.

“Oh God,” she whispered, reaching for the climax coiling deep in her sex, moaning loudly when it crashed over her, stealing her breath.

Slowly the rest of her surroundings came back into focus. The water still beat the tile floor relentlessly, steam clouded the air, making what just happened more like a dream than real.

—

Tristan softened his grip on her ass, but didn’t let her ease away from him. Not that there was anywhere to go with the wall at her back and him at her feet, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. She met his gaze, her cheeks flushed, her lips parting around the breaths she sucked in.

Without looking away, he dipped his head, tasting the very center of her.

She trembled, but kept staring down at him. “I need a minute. I can’t…” she shook her head, “…again.”

Oh yes she could.

Anticipating the attempt to squirm free, he pressed her even harder against the wall, keeping his lips soft. Knowing how sensitive she was only made him that much determined to make it good for her. Again and again. If this was all she believed was between them for now, he’d make damn sure she never doubted how incredible it was.

Tracing her folds with his tongue, he took his time memorizing the taste of her. She whimpered softly and the sound grabbed him hard in the gut and groin. Her hands left him, stretching over her head as if to pull herself away from the feather-light tease of his tongue, only to drop back to her sides on a shaky moan.

He loved watching her sink farther into pleasure, her breasts rising and falling with her quickening breaths, loved feeling the press of her thigh against his cheek, holding him to her. And most of all he loved knowing he could do this to her, could stroke and lick and suck her to the point she threatened to slide into his arms.

“Tristan,” she hissed, grinding against his mouth.

Faster now, he ran his tongue up her cleft, stopping at her clit. The slick knot felt plump beneath his lips, and he greedily closed his mouth over her.

She threaded her fingers through the ends of his hair, tugging just hard enough to make staying on his knees a testament to his control. His cock hung heavy and aching between his legs, and he wanted inside his mate.

Soon. He pushed two fingers against her opening, pumping them into her wet sex. She rocked her hips forward, and he laved at her damp flesh, pushing a little harder and a little harder. Her body bowed against him, her release filling his senses until he could have pleasantly drowned in it.

Pushing to his feet just slow enough to avoid them both slipping and ending up in a tangled heap, he pressed her against the wall. His shaft hit her belly, and he groaned, sliding his arms around her.

She pushed up on her toes and her sweet sex teased along the head of his cock. Catching her thigh, he lifted it to his hip, opening her wider and sinking between her folds.

They both moaned, and he found her mouth, thrusting his tongue between her lips to tangle with hers. The hot walls of her sex clenched around him, and he surged forward, sliding deeper. But it wasn’t enough. He gripped her waist, lifting her until both legs locked around his waist.

They hit the wall hard, and he almost lost his grip. Already so close, he didn’t care. She flexed her hips, rocking against him, and he used what little leverage he had to thrust into her.

Her head fell to the side and he buried his face against her neck, driving himself in and out of her sex and falling apart faster than he could have imagined. It shouldn’t have been possible to need her so much so quickly, to want to give her everything, to share his bed, his life, his heart.

“Oh…oh.” She dug her heels into his ass, grinding harder. “Tristan, please.”

Working his hips, he pumped deeper, groaning when her climax hit and her sex spasmed around him. His own release ripped through him, leaving him rocking inside her even after his orgasm faded and his muscles relaxed.

—

The sky was nearly dark outside when Tristan finished drying off and reached for his pants. He could hear Kennedy in the bathroom, easily pictured her slipping another one of his shirts over her head. As much as he liked the idea of her wearing his clothes, he liked the idea of taking them off her later even more.

He pulled his pants up just as she emerged from the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway and the flash of carnal interest in her eyes made him achingly hard. Now he realized why newly mated gargoyles were rarely seen. If he had his way he’d take Kennedy back to his lair on Avalon right this second and spend weeks keeping her all to himself, learning about her, teaching her about his clan, showing her his favorite spots, discovering every way to wring pleasure from her body for hours on end.

Except she was human. Humans couldn’t cross the mirror without stopping their fragile hearts. Not even the Avalon-born humans, who had escaped Morgana’s enslavement after Arthur’s fall, could cross over.

Kennedy strolled toward him. “What’s with the scowl? I thought cats were fairly nocturnal.”

He yanked on a clean T-shirt, ignoring the tension that clutched his heart. “Which is why I want to get this over with.”

“Get what over with?”

He took her hand and led her into the hall. “We don’t have much time.”

By the time they climbed the stairs and reached the roof, the last stretch of sunlight faded from the western skyline.

“Wow.” Kennedy stared at the two stone gargoyles in front of them. “They look like you.”

The pair were identical to anyone who didn’t know his siblings in their cat form, anyone who didn’t recognize the sly prowess imprinted on Briana’s form. Few could hunt and corner their prey as fast as Briana.

Normally Cian’s playful side came through in his gargoyle state, his endless amusement most noticeable in the curl of a paw or the tilt of his head. For the last century he’d looked riled, ready to strike and forever prevented from it.

Next to him, Kennedy froze, the sound of stone cracking making her frown. She ventured closer as fine lines of bright white streaked across Briana. Anticipating the explosion of light, Tristan stepped closer to his mate.

Kennedy brought her hands up to protect herself from the chunks of stone that broke away, and he watched her expression morph from surprised to curious when the pieces disintegrated before reaching her. That didn’t stop her from tensing up when Briana padded through the settling dust and stared up at Kennedy with glittering feline eyes.

“My sister,” Tristan said.

“When you mentioned gargoyle, you really meant it, huh?”

Briana circled Kennedy once, pacifying the cat’s instincts to rule out any threat, then disappeared down the stairs.

He started to follow her inside, stopped when Kennedy hadn’t moved to do the same.

“Is that Cale?”

Tristan shook his head. “That’s my other brother, Cian.”

“Does he like playing statue or something?”

A vise clamped down on his chest. “A sorceress did that to him. He can’t break free.” He headed for the stairs, relieved when she followed.

“Some kind of spell?” she guessed, and when he nodded asked, “How long has he been like that?”

“Over a century.”

“And there’s no way to free him?”

They reached the hall, and he headed for Briana’s room. “We’re working on it.”

Fully dressed, Briana stepped into the hall before they reached her door. “I guess you told her everything, huh?” Her gaze zeroed in on the mark on Kennedy’s neck, and she arched a brow, silently asking if everything included the truth about their bond.

He gave a subtle shake of his head, but Kennedy caught the cryptic look passed between them. “What?”

“I’ve got something that will help.” Briana nodded to the puncture marks on his mate’s neck.

Kennedy probed at the healing bite mark. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, actually.”

Briana nodded down the hall. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

With a suspicious look, Kennedy jerked her thumb in the opposite direction. “I need coffee, so come and find me when you’re done.”

“You didn’t tell her?” Briana hissed the moment Kennedy was out of earshot.

Guilt gave his stomach a good, hard nudge. He ignored it. “I think learning what we are is a big enough shock for one day, don’t you?”

Briana scoffed. “Seeing as you’re not a woman, I think you might be seriously underestimating how big a deal being claimed can be.”

Not wanting Kennedy to get too far away, he started for the kitchen, choosing not to acknowledge Briana’s are-you-out-of-your-mind glare.

“How did you explain that to her anyway. Just a love bite?”

“Things got out of control.” And then some. “I hadn’t exactly planned on it.”

“Remind me to step out of the line of fire when you break it to her like that.”

Curious and just a little bit worried, he had to ask. “Think she’ll be mad?”

Briana’s expression said it all—he was a dead man. “Forgetting for a moment that she’s human, what woman wouldn’t be thrilled to know she’s been bonded to an immortal for the rest of her life without her consent?”

Tristan winced. “It won’t be pretty, huh?”

“Assuming she lives long enough to hear it.”

The cat growled first, then the man.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…” She blew out a breath. “She’s been marked. Short of finding out who engaged the wraith to take her out, there’s nothing much to be done except give Lucan the dagger.”

He whirled around. “And leave Cian trapped like that?”

“At the cost of your mate?”

Closing his eyes, Tristan curbed the impulse to lash out at his sister for the impossible position he was in. “I know.”

Briana stopped just outside the kitchen. “Where’s Cale?”

“He never came back last night.”

“That’s not like him.”

“Keeping tabs on him?”

His sister rolled her eyes. “He always tells me when he won’t be home by dawn.”

“Why don’t you try tracking him down.”

She nodded. “What about you?”

He’d spent most of the time Kennedy had slept working out a game plan. “I’m going to find out who’s using Lucan to get the dagger. Dolan was watching her closely last night.”

“Dolan?” Having overheard them, Kennedy stepped into the hall. “You think he could have something to do with this?”

“After the way that Fae was watching you? Yeah.”

“Fae? Another immortal race?”

Surprised they hadn’t touched on the subject of the Fae during that afternoon’s question and answer period, he nodded. “The oldest in Avalon.”

Kennedy’s doubtful expression caught him off guard. “Dolan has never been anything but nice to me.”

“How nice?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not like that. He usually watches my back. I think his scar tends to intimidate people.”

Scar?

“How long has he been hanging around?” Briana asked.

Kennedy shrugged. “A few weeks I think.”

Briana crossed her arms. “He could have been learning her routine to make it easier for the wraith.”

“What if you can’t find out who wants me dead?” Nothing in Kennedy’s voice betrayed her worry, but she edged closer to Tristan, accepting the hand he wrapped around hers.

“Tell her.”

“Briana,” he warned.

His sister ignored him. “The only way to save you is to turn over the dagger that will free Cian, or Tristan will have to fight Lucan.”

“Lucan?” Kennedy visibly struggled to keep up.

“The wraith,” he answered.

“You know him?”

“He’s a friend,” Briana said.

Tristan snorted.

Kennedy shook her head. “You can’t give him the dagger.”

“Tristan won’t win a fight.”

He glanced at Briana. “Your faith in me is staggering. I’m not going to die,” he added, turning his attention to Kennedy. “One of those perks to being immortal.”

“I’m pretty sure you mentioned something about beheading earlier. Immortal or not that sounds pretty permanent, wouldn’t you say?” She glanced at Briana for confirmation.

His sister nodded, and he glared at her.

“We’ll find the contractor,” he promised.

“Are you sure Dolan is involved?”

Tristan searched Kennedy’s face, wondering at her skepticism. “Are you sure he isn’t?”

“I don’t know.” She pushed her hair back from her forehead. “How are you going to find him?”

“We’ll make him come to us.”

Her brow furrowed. “How?”

“We offer him a bargain.”

—

Kennedy stared at the stone cat inches from her feet. She hadn’t moved for twenty minutes, running the events of the last two nights through her head and coming back to the same conclusion every time.

She couldn’t let Tristan die for her.

One person had sacrificed their life for hers already, and that had been enough. Tristan only had twelve hours left to track down whoever was using her as a pawn, and the odds of him finding that immortal weren’t looking too good. He hadn’t given up hope Dolan was involved, but wanted to wait to summon the Fae until he’d regained his strength, something only achieved by playing gargoyle for a while.

She’d told him she’d be fine for a little while. Turned out, saying it wasn’t nearly as hard as believing it. Not even Briana’s assurance that Lucan would keep his word to give Tristan time kept Kennedy from scanning the corners of the room in search of shadows that shouldn’t be there. Tristan had insisted that he’d know if she needed him, though she still wasn’t clear on how if he was solid as a rock, and he hadn’t offered much in the way of explanation.

Ignoring her promise to wait for him, she sat up. She couldn’t put it off any longer, not when her life and Cian’s were at stake. Tristan had only known her for a few months compared to the centuries spent with his brother, yet he was willing to risk his life for her for reasons he continued to keep to himself.

And she knew there was something he wasn’t saying. More than once she’d caught the knowing glances between him and Briana. The fact that he continued to hold out on her made it easier to follow through on her plan. She excelled at taking care of herself, and despite how much she wanted to trust Tristan to fix everything, the thought of him dying trying to protect her…

The sudden pressure on her chest threatened to cut her in half. She closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the bed until the crippling sensation eased and she could stand. That she had to force herself out of the room, away from him, proved just how attached to him she’d gotten in such a short time.

Too attached. She was falling for him. Fast and hard and without a clue how to slow it down.

She paused at the front door, her hand clenched around the handle. Having been introduced to Tristan’s world so recently, she didn’t harbor any illusions that she actually knew what she was doing. Odds were her instincts had been way off, but she couldn’t sit back and do nothing.

She’d done that once, let her fear paralyze her and lost the only thing that had mattered to her. She wouldn’t lose Tristan too.

Taking a breath, Kennedy wrenched the door open and stepped outside. Goose bumps raced across her skin despite the warm afternoon air. Each step out of the shade felt one step closer to salvation and one step closer to death.

She closed her fist around the charm she’d taken from Tristan’s room. “Dolan of the Fae, I wish to make a bargain.”

Chapter Seven

“And why would I want to make a bargain with you?”

Kennedy whipped around at the amused inquiry and found Dolan leaning against the front door, arms crossed. He looked the same as he had the other night, right down to his faded jeans and plain white T-shirt. Given the little she’d learned about the Fae from Tristan, she’d half expected something about him to look different this time.

She squared her shoulders. She’d never been intimidated by Dolan before, and she’d be damned if she started now. “I thought the Fae enjoyed bargaining.”

“And what else has the cat told you?”

“Not much,” she admitted, most of which she’d rather forget at the moment. Like how easily Fae could bewitch humans, leaving them at their mercy.

Dolan shoved away from the door. “So why are you coming to me for help?”

She frowned. “You’re not surprised I know about you.”

“It was inevitable.” He started to say something else, but stopped, his gaze locking on her hand. Something akin to concern flashed across his face. “When did you get that?”

“Two nights ago.”

An inexplicable rage darkened the Fae’s face, turning the scar a deeper pink. “He let you be marked? I knew I should have gutted the bloody gargoyle the second I noticed him watching you.”

Kennedy cocked her head, puzzled by Dolan’s reaction. “If you’re referring to Tristan, he plans to fight the wraith.”

“I never figured the cat was annoying and stupid.” He paced away from her, swiveling back to face her. “What is the wraith after?” When she hesitated, he added, “You’re the one who called me for help, deifiúr.”

Going with her gut, Kennedy met his gaze straight on. “A mystical dagger.”

His sighed, proving she hadn’t needed to elaborate any more than that. “And of course the selfish bastard won’t just hand it over.”

“His brother—”

Dolan waved a hand, cutting her off. “So you would make a bargain with me for his brother’s benefit?”

She shook her head. “I can’t let Tristan die for me.”

“Why not?”

Not caring to examine her feelings for Tristan at the moment, let alone share them with anyone else, she arched a brow. “Do I need to complete a medical questionnaire too, or can we get on with it already?”

A hint of a smile touched Dolan’s lips, quickly overshadowed by a disapproving scowl when he noticed the bite mark on her neck. If she hadn’t suspected it meant something significant before, she certainly did now.

“Will you help me or not?” Kennedy prompted.

“And if I refuse?”

“I’m screwed.”

Dolan shook his head, and her heart sank. She turned away, heading for the front door.

“There are rules, you know. The bargain is void the second you tell anyone the terms.”

Despite Tristan’s warnings about bargaining with the Fae, she nodded for Dolan to continue.

“In exchange for helping him with the wraith, you will come with me at the time of my choosing.”

A sliver of unease shot through her veins. “Go with you where?”

He crossed his arms, but didn’t answer her.

“For how long?”

His expression turned calculating. “A week.”

“And then I go back to my regular life?” Assuming she didn’t end up bewitched and catering to Dolan’s every whim. A risk she’d take if it meant Tristan wouldn’t end up killing himself to keep her safe. She couldn’t live with two deaths on her conscience for that reason.

“Regular is a bit boring, don’t you think?”

It was her turn to scowl.

Dolan rolled his eyes. “I hope he’s worth it.”

“He is.”

—

The moment the cold stone broke away from his body, Tristan knew Kennedy wasn’t in the room. It took only a few moments to pick up on her scent, and he padded down the hall in the direction of the kitchen.

Oblivious to the large cat stalking her, she bent over to dig a pan out from a bottom cupboard. Not wanting to freak her out, he quickly shifted and stepped up behind her. The floor creaked under his foot, and Kennedy whirled around, a wooden spoon clutched in her hand.

Tristan caught her wrist a moment before she would have nailed him in the chest with it.

Her shoulders relaxed, a relieved smile curving her lips. “Good reflexes.”

He grinned. “Come back to bed with me and I’ll show you how good they really are.”

“Back to that, are we?” Her breath hitched on the last syllable, her eyes sliding shut as he opened his mouth on the inside of her wrist.

“Can’t help it.” He nipped the tender skin, then gently sucked it between his lips.

Kennedy gave a soft whimper and tugged her hand free, then turned around. “I’m hungry for something else at the moment.”

The cat growled, eager to play her game. Her words said one thing, but her scent said something very different. Something hot and tangled…

He eyed the mess of scrambled eggs in the frying pan, cringing when she poked the massacred food with the wooden spoon. He didn’t think it was possible for anyone to screw up scrambled eggs, but the slightly charred lumps proved him wrong. “Maybe you should put that down before one of us gets hurt.”

“Is that some kind of dig about my cooking?”

He brushed her hair aside. “Let’s just say you make a better bartender.”

“I’ll have you know that my cooking hasn’t killed anyone.”

Yet. Smart enough to keep that thought to himself, he tugged the spoon out of her hand. “Let me help ensure it stays that way.” He snapped off the burner and shoved the frying pan to the back of the stove. Before she could protest, he turned her around and set her up on the island.

“You’re naked.” Arousal hummed beneath the innocent observation.

“So glad you finally noticed.”

She slipped a hand between them and cupped his balls. “Hard not to.” Running her palm up his cock, Kennedy kissed his neck. “So how did you…sleep?”

Tristan shook his head.

“No more talking, right?”

“You’re catching on.” Wrapping his hand around her ponytail, he playfully tugged her head back and slanted his mouth across hers.

Moaning softly, she relaxed against him, and he slid his tongue between her lips. The first wet taste of her drop-loaded a rush of pure, carnal lust into his system, and he groaned against her mouth.

Her fingers tightened around his cock, and he eased his legs a little wider to give his mate complete access.

“What happened to going to your room?” she teased.

“Can you do that and walk at the same time?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, guessing at her response. “I didn’t think so.”

Her rich laugh whispered across his cheek, and he turned his mouth to catch hers for a drugging kiss. Smooth, hot and—

Another scent lay buried beneath her arousal, almost masked somehow.

He leaned back, scrutinizing her face. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

The flicker of guilt in her eyes said it all. She’d been talking to the Fae.

Clamping down on his anger, he stepped back, crossing his arms. “What was Dolan doing here?”

Kennedy shook her head, remaining silent.

She wouldn’t—couldn’t—have summoned him. The longer he stared at her, however, waiting for her to say something, the worse the ache in his stomach became. Damn it.

Intending to demand an explanation, he paused, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

The wraith.

He headed for the door. “Stay inside.”

“Wait.”

“The wraith is here,” he said without turning around. “Go back to my room and wait for me. Please?” he added when he realized his voice sounded more animal than man.

“Okay.”

On the way out, he snagged a pair of pants from the closet. Lucan had promised to give him forty-eight hours. Knowing his friend hadn’t given in and gone after Kennedy while he’d been regaining his strength was the only thing preventing him from going for the wraith’s throat.

He found Lucan in the same spot as before. The undeniable scent of blood filled Tristan’s nostrils. The wraith had fed recently. Tristan spared a quick thought for the unlucky human who would have been killed by the infection from the bite, assuming the wraith hadn’t bled the poor bastard dry.

“Not as threatened tonight?” Despite that he’d fed recently, the wraith wasn’t looking too hot. Dark circles hung under the mercenary’s eyes, his face pale, his pulse more erratic. Already the signs of denying himself a kill were taking their toll.

“My sister seems to think I can trust you.”

Lucan smiled weakly. “You wouldn’t have needed her to vouch for me once upon a time.”

“That was before you targeted my mate.”

The wraith sighed. “I didn’t come to rehash our last conversation.” He glanced toward the house. “She met with the Fae.”

“I guess you haven’t strayed too far from the property then.” At Lucan’s unapologetic look, he clenched his jaw. “When did they meet?”

“Just a few hours ago. She bargained with him.”

Fuck. “What were the terms?” he asked, already suspecting the answer.

“I think he realized I was close and prevented me from overhearing anything.”

“Worried?”

“When a Fae is involved? Always.”

“You didn’t need to tell me.”

Lucan shrugged. “She’s your mate. How can you best protect her if she’s conspiring against you?”

Conspiring? Annoyance flared in Tristan’s chest. “If Kennedy talked to Dolan then it was to find out he wasn’t involved.”

“And you know the human so very well?”

“Well enough,” he growled.

“So it’s not possible she’s working with the Fae to get the dagger from you?”

Tristan crossed his arms. “If Dolan engaged you, you’d be rolling on the ground in pain for revealing him.”

“Perhaps my contractor simply beat them both to it.”

The memory of the Fae glyph on Kennedy’s back surfaced. Tristan dismissed it almost immediately. “If they’re working together she wouldn’t have needed to bargain with him.”

“Complications arise.” Lucan glanced down at the house. “Does she know she’s your mate?”

“No.”

“Are you certain? Maybe she figured it out and didn’t care for the match to be permanent.”

The cat roared in denial. “Who engaged you?”

Lucan stared at him.

Tristan shrugged. “You seemed awfully chatty, figured it couldn’t hurt to just ask.”

“If you’re looking to tip the scales, you’ll have to find that information somewhere else.” His eyes darkened to black pools, revealing how close to the edge the mercenary already was. “You a few hours left, maybe not even that.” He turned away, paused. “I am sorry, Tristan.”

“You sound convinced you’ll defeat me if it comes to that.”

“If only I couldn’t.”

Tristan didn’t wait to watch the mercenary leave, suspecting he wouldn’t venture too far from Kennedy.

Briana waited for him at the edge of the driveway, her attention locked on the trees in the distance. “Cale still isn’t back. He’s not answering his phone and no one at Pendragon’s has seen him since the other night.”

“The sun just set.”

“He should have been back last night. Something is wrong.”

Tristan wished he could disagree. His brother wouldn’t have disappeared without a word, not when they had the dagger and were one step closer to freeing Cian. “We’ll find him.”

“Before or after your suicide mission?”

“I’ll be fine.” He opened the front door and stepped inside.

Briana grabbed his arm, bringing him to a halt. “No, you won’t. Did you know there isn’t even one instance of a wraith being killed? Not one, Tristan.”

“I can’t give him the dagger and I won’t let him kill Kennedy.”

“We’ll get it back again.”

“I can’t just leave Cian like that.” Not when it should have been Tristan trapped in his gargoyle form for taunting the sorceress.

“And when you’re killed, I’ll have lost two of my brothers.”

Kennedy came around the corner.

Briana glanced at her. “He won’t survive this. Lucan is a trained killer. That’s what he does.”

Reading his sister’s intentions, he snarled. “Don’t.”

“No. You won’t listen to me. Maybe you’ll listen to your mate.”

“Briana!”

Kennedy frowned. “Mate?”

Briana nodded. “That’s right. You’re his mate. That bond doesn’t survive death.”

“I can’t… I didn’t…” Disbelief flickered across Kennedy’s face.

“Somewhere along the way fate and Mother Nature got together and figured out who your perfect match is, biologically, emotionally, physically.” Briana nodded to Tristan. “He’s it.”

Gaze critical, Kennedy turned to him. “Is that true?”

“He wouldn’t have claimed you otherwise,” Briana answered for him.

“Claimed me?” She followed Briana’s gaze to the healing bite mark on her neck. “As in property?”

“It’s not like that.” Tristan glared at his sister. “I’ll explain everything but first I need to know what Dolan was doing here.”

Briana whistled. “The Fae? Didn’t see that one coming.”

“You made a deal with him, didn’t you?” Tristan pressed.

Kennedy said nothing, her expression bordering on defiant.

“You need to tell me. Dolan can’t be trusted.”

She gestured to the bite mark. “And you can?”

“Yes.” The doubt in her eyes twisted his insides. Although frustrated, he couldn’t expect her to blindly trust him. It would have been helpful—unrealistic—but damn helpful.

“Because you’re my mate?”

Yes. However, he was smart enough to realize that sharing that probably wouldn’t win him any points here. “Because no one else will protect you like I will.”

“Because no one else will die for me, you mean? I can’t live with another death on my conscience.” She spun on her heel and strode away from them.

Briana stopped him from pursuing Kennedy. “Give her a few minutes before going all Neanderthal on her.”

“Thanks to you,” he snapped.

She threw out her arms in disgust. “Someone needs to get through to you.”

“It wasn’t your place.”

“And it’s not your place to determine this family’s future.”

“But it’s Cale’s? Sorry, but he is not my keeper.”

Her eyes flared at the comment, and she turned away.

Damn it. “Wait a second. Look, it may not come to a fight. Lucan said something about tipping the scales.”

“And?”

“Maybe it’s nothing, but I think he was trying to tell me something. There was a dragon talking to Kennedy the other night. He was tall and lanky, had dark hair and wore the mark of the McKibben clan. I need to know who he is.”

“Since when did the dragons care about Excalibur?”

“Maybe Morgana is starting to make them nervous.” Tristan couldn’t imagine the dragons getting involved after this long unless the power-hungry sorceress was eyeing their territory.

She let out a breath, nodded. “Give me an hour and I’ll get you a name.”

—

“You should have said something,” Kennedy said through the closed bathroom door. Already the walls felt like they were closing in, but short of another face-off with her phantom assassin, she didn’t trust herself not to reach for something worse than a water hose where Tristan was concerned.

“I wanted to give you some time to get used to being with me first.”

A fresh wave of disbelief and anger swept through her. “You say that like I don’t have a choice.”

No response.

“Oh, that’s right,” she added. “You took that choice away from me. It’s a wonder you didn’t just club me over the head and drag me home to your cave.” She considered her surroundings. “Although you pretty much did, huh?”

“Kennedy,” he began.

She planted her palms against the door. “If this is where you tell me you’re sorry or that you’re going to fix it, you’d be better off batting around a ball of yarn right now.”

“I’m not fixing anything. I’m sorry you found out that way, but it doesn’t change anything.”

She wrenched the door open, unprepared to find Tristan leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door. Ignoring the instinct to back away from him—very, very slowly—she took another step forward, planting her feet directly in front of him. Although terrified that her life was spinning beyond her control for the second time, she refused to back down.

“You might come from a different world than I do, but that doesn’t mean you control me.”

The stubborn look on his face softened. “I just want to keep you safe.”

“From the wraith, maybe. But who’s going to protect me from you?” At his confused expression, she added. “You both branded me. Why is your mark any different?”

He cocked his head, his gaze turning perceptive. “What’s bothering you more? That we’re mated, or that someone told you before you realized how deep the connection between us runs?” He palmed her cheek, his proximity sending off warning bells in her head even as her whole body clenched. “You know there’s something between us.”

“Lust,” she provided.

His devilish grin should have annoyed her. Maybe it would have if he wasn’t sweeping his thumb back and forth across her jaw like that.

“It’s more than that.” His tone dared her to deny it.

“Like whatever it was that made you bite me?”

“Claim you,” he corrected.

“And what if I don’t want to be claimed? What if I don’t want to belong to you or anyone else?”

He arched a brow. “Just if? I must be growing on you.”

She jabbed her finger into his chest. “Don’t you dare make light of this.”

“I take my mate very seriously.” His attempt to look solemn didn’t even get off the ground, not when a cocky grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Kennedy scowled, proving how unimpressed she was. And if it also masked just what that grin did to her, all the better. “How long have you known?”

“A couple of days.”

“And it’s just okay with you? That I’m the one biology and fate somehow determined was meant for you?”

His hand slid down her neck, his thumb doing that seductive sweeping thing to her throat. “If it means that I get to spend every day figuring out how to make you laugh and smile, and every night learning how to drive you absolutely wild in bed, then that’s more than okay with me.”

“This is crazy.”

“Crazy is denying it because you didn’t anticipate it.” He pressed his lips to her cheek. “Crazy is pretending you don’t feel what I do to you.”

Her breath hitched. “Good sex does not guarantee a lasting relationship.”

“Good?” He slid lower, heading straight for her mouth. “I was thinking more like phenomenal. Earth-shattering even.” His lips grazed hers.

Kennedy didn’t dare let herself draw a breath. “You’re doing it again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She heard the smile in his voice.

“You’re trying to distract me.” And it might not have been such a bad thing if she wasn’t a tad preoccupied with the whole mate development.

Desperately needing space, she eased back a step, then two more.

Tristan didn’t even try to hide his satisfaction.

“Stop it,” she warned, then at his innocent look added, “Stop looking like you enjoy pursuing me.”

He shrugged unapologetically. “The hunt is half the fun.”

“I am not your prey.”

“Then stop trying to figure out a way to get past me.”

She eyed the bedroom door again. “You can’t just keep me in here.”

“I could always restrain you.” His hot gaze roamed over her. “For your own good, naturally.”

“I want you to leave.” Preferably before she gave serious thought to giving in to the feverish buzz humming under her skin. There was too much at stake to sweep it all under the proverbial rug to be dealt with later.

He came closer. “Say that again, only try sounding like you mean it this time.”

She bolted, huffing out a breath when he caught her around the waist and pushed her against the door. How in the hell had he gotten it closed so damn fast?

“Look at me, Kennedy.”

Not until he repeated the throaty demand a second time did she realize she’d squeezed her eyes shut. “No.”

“Please.”

She shook her head, biting down on her lip to silence the thoughts that would sabotage every survival instinct she possessed.

“Come on, Kennedy.” He nipped at her jaw. “Look at me.”

The past and present collided and she shoved past him. “Do you know how I got this scar?” She jerked her shirt up, intentionally exposing her marred skin. “A drunk driver ran our car off the road and into the river. I was barely conscious and my mom couldn’t get my seat belt undone right away.

“The car was taking on freezing cold water and the impact of hitting the drunk driver and guard rail had smashed up the door frames. In the process of freeing me and getting us clear of the car, my mother severed her femoral artery. She died a few minutes after dragging me to shore.”

He pulled her into his arms. “Kennedy—”

She averted her face. “Don’t kiss me,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me want you more than I already do. Don’t make me fall for you. Not when…” The words stuck in her throat. She lifted her hand to his face. “Don’t die on me too.”

“After I’ve just found my mate? Not a chance.”

“God, I don’t even know what to do with that.”

“Just give it some time. Give us some time.”

Time to get even more attached? Not a good idea. Something on her face must have said exactly that because Tristan gripped her arms.

“Nothing is going to happen to me. You need to trust me. I’ll be fine.”

There wasn’t time to voice her doubts. He trapped her face in his hands and captured her mouth in a drugging kiss, one that wrenched her heart into a dizzying backspin. She covered his hands with hers, leaning into him. One by one her reservations and fears retreated, stripping her down to the bone.

For one heart-crushing moment she thought about putting an end to the kiss, an end to the ever-deepening feelings she had for him before she ended up hurt and alone all over again.

But she couldn’t do it, couldn’t stop herself from twining her arms around him and holding on, and it had nothing to do with biology or fate or being claimed. She’d been so overwhelmed by everything she’d learned in the last few days she’d failed to notice how alive being with him made her feel.

“Don’t shut me out,” Tristan pleaded, pressing his face against her neck. “Be mad, be scared, but don’t be alone in it.”

She started to shake her head, trying to find the words that could begin to express just how much she didn’t want to be alone.

“Do I have to beg?” He dropped to his knees, the playful glint in his eyes undermining his solemn expression. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her stomach. “Be with me,” he murmured against her.

“Unless you’re afraid,” he taunted when she couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I’m not afraid.”

“Prove it.” He followed the arrogant challenge up by tugging at the hem of her shirt.

She brushed his hand away, anticipating his next move. As eager as her body was to feel his rough palms sliding over her skin, he couldn’t be the one always calling the shots.

She nodded at the bed. “Sit.”

He hesitated, and when she ran her finger along the hem of her shirt, drawing it higher, he moved to the edge of the mattress. Since she hadn’t expected him to go along with her so quickly, she paused, questioning her next move.

“Don’t stop.”

She pressed her finger to his lips. “No more talking.”

Heat flared in his eyes, the wild blue depths more feline than human. Kennedy grasped the edge of her shirt and drew it up, exposing her midsection, then dragging it higher. When she caught herself turning instinctively to the right to keep her scar out of his immediate line of sight, she stopped.

Forgetting yesterday and refusing to worry about tomorrow, she needed to share all of herself with him, even if it was only for tonight. Holding his gaze, she stripped off her shirt.

A sound somewhere between a groan and a growl rumbled in Tristan’s chest. She smiled, taking off everything but her bra and panties. His fingers curled into the blanket, as though he knew he couldn’t yet touch her.

Kennedy took the last step remaining between them. She slipped her bra strap off one shoulder, then the other, drawing out every second until she unclipped the back and let it fall to the floor. Her nipples hardened under Tristan’s scorching gaze.

He shifted on the edge of the bed, but waited, a predator knowing that eventually his moment to strike would come. Words escaped her as she tugged off his shirt, running her fingers down the smooth layers of muscle stacked atop muscle.

Tristan caught her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her palm before letting her go. He didn’t wait for her to tell him to lie back, stretching out on his own a moment before she could get the words out. Propping one hand behind his head, he managed to look like he’d orchestrated the show, only his clenched jaw and hungry dark eyes betraying his increasing restlessness.

Catching the edge of her panties, she slipped them over her hips and slowly down her legs. Naked to the core, she took another breath, wondering where her courage had suddenly fled. She stood up to rowdy drunks and stone-cold assholes on a nightly basis, and yet one look at Tristan waiting for her made her tremble inside and out.

His lips parted, and she half expected him to order her to get on the bed already.

Instead he drank in the sight of her for what felt like hours, then, “I need you.”

Not I want you. Not I’ll keep you safe. Just I need you, and never before had three little words ever touched her or unleashed such sheer longing that her knees almost gave out.

Crawling across the bed, she didn’t waste any more time. She didn’t object when he fumbled to help her get his pants off. That he didn’t rush her when she pushed him back and straddled his hips, brushing the full length of his cock, spoke volumes about his restraint.

She leaned down, sliding her mouth over his. “Touch me,” she whispered against his lips.

“I don’t know that I trust myself to just yet.” The rough confession sizzled through her bloodstream like fire streaking toward gasoline.

Stealing another kiss, letting the savage intensity lick through her system, she then leaned back and took every inch of his shaft deep inside her.

Chapter Eight

Sweet Avalon. Tristan sucked in a breath, grappling for the control she’d effectively shredded, first with her tantalizing strip show and then with a kiss that slayed him on the spot.

She rocked her hips, and he pushed up, sinking deeper. He fisted his hand under his head to keep from grabbing her and rolling her beneath him. Every sweet bounce of her ass, the soft grind when she took him fully inside her, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts—so damn close to his mouth and much too far away—threatened to undo him here and now.

She rode him slow and easy, her quick breaths growing faster and closer together. Damn but she was gorgeous. Everything about her—the fiery spark in her eyes, the unabashed arch of her spine, the sexy, confident smile—spoke of her strength, even the scar she didn’t try to hide from him this time.

He ran his hand up her thigh, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent them from rolling straight back in his head when she quickened her pace. Digging his heels into the mattress, he rocked up, wanting it harder.

She shook her head, and at first he thought she meant to draw the torture out, to take him to the edge one soft, carnal bounce at a time. Not a bad way to go really, but then she dropped her head back and all he could think about was pulling her down to catch one of her nipples between his lips.

Sliding his hands higher, he cupped her breasts, thumbing her jutting nipples. Kennedy moaned, and he took a chance, coaxing her down. She hovered over him and he leaned up, closing his mouth over one hard tip. He caught her hips, holding her down where he fit so deep inside her.

He didn’t know how long they just held on that way, the sweet walls of her sex clenching around his cock as he sucked her nipples between his lips, laving the swollen tips with his tongue.

Whimpering, Kennedy pushed him back down, riding him harder, almost ready to come. His jaw clamped down, his own release streaming closer and closer. Tension wound his spine tighter, and he slipped his hand up the inside of her thigh. He brushed his thumb over her clit and she cried out, pumping wildly.

Tristan couldn’t tear his gaze away from her, not when she brought her arms up, catching the mass of blond waves and drawing it away from her face. The raw seductive heat in her eyes would have pushed him right over the edge if she hadn’t arched up and cried out, her orgasm setting him off. He bucked his hips beneath her, driving himself hard and deep until his own release crashed over him.

And when Kennedy collapsed against his chest, breathless, a soft smile on her lips, he wondered for the first time exactly who had claimed who.

—

Tristan turned his head to look at Kennedy stretched out beside him. As much as he wanted to spend the rest of the night just like this, he knew he couldn’t put the discussion off any longer. “Tell me about your bargain with Dolan.”

She closed her eyes briefly. “I can’t. You know that.”

“You don’t know him.”

“And you do?” she challenged.

Frustration ate at him. “I know his race. The Fae never agree to anything unless it’s to their benefit. That’s how they work.”

Kennedy rolled away from him, and his stomach turned to lead.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.”

She sat up, jerking the sheet off the bed and trapping it against her front when she whipped around to face him. “I haven’t had a damn say in any of this since it started. Not being marked, or brought here or claimed.”

Judging by her tone, what just happened between them hadn’t brought her much closer to accepting their bond.

“But this,” she continued. “My deal with Dolan…I’m in control of that.”

“That’s exactly what he wants you to believe, but whatever you asked for, whatever he demanded for the trade, he’ll twist it around.”

When she remained silent and turned away from him, Tristan snagged her wrist, jerking her back down to eye level. “Damn it, tell me.”

“Or what? You’ll claim me again, only this time stripping me of my free will as well? You expect me to trust you, just like that, when you don’t trust me.”

“When it comes to the Fae, I trust no one.”

She pulled her hand free, but remained seated on the edge of the bed.

“You wear their mark. Your tattoo, it’s a Fae glyph.”

Surprise blinked across her face. “It’s coincidence.”

“Is it?”

“Whatever you’re thinking—stop. I knew nothing of your world until a couple of days ago.”

“Yet you managed to summon Dolan pretty easily.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So because I was smart enough to pay attention when you and Briana were talking about it, my motives are suddenly suspect?”

“That’s not what I meant.” He shoved his hand through his hair, struggling to figure out how the conversation had taken such a turn.

Kennedy stood ten feet away, arms crossed, waiting. For what he didn’t know. An apology? A solution? A way out of being his mate?

Thankfully a knock on the door saved him from saying the wrong thing and making the situation undoubtedly worse.

“Tristan? I have the name you’re looking for.”

“I’ll be right there.” He yanked on his clothes. “We’ll finish our conversation when I get back.”

“Can’t wait,” she quipped. She didn’t so much as glance in his direction as she gathered up her clothes and vanished into the bathroom.

—

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

Kennedy turned from the window, abandoning her study of the drops of rain splattering on the glass. A flash of lightning followed a boom of thunder loud enough to rattle the panes.

Briana turned away from her computer. “Whatever Dolan agreed to, it won’t be to fight Lucan. The Fae don’t interfere with Rhiannon.”

“Afraid of her, are they?”

“Trust me, you would be too if you came face to face with her.”

Kennedy started to shrug, then silently questioned the wisdom of inviting that kind of trouble. She knew little of the goddess, but wouldn’t put it past fate to throw a few more wrenches into the mix.

“He’s not so bad you know. Tristan,” Briana added as if there were any doubt who she meant.

“We barely know each other.”

“And you think knowing each other is what keep marriages together?”

Massaging her temples to ease the headache she’d had since Tristan left hours ago, Kennedy sank down on the sofa. “Are we even talking about marriage here? Mated. What does that mean? Should I expect him to woo me by leaving dead birds on my doorstep?”

Briana laughed. “You know the part in traditional wedding vows about till death do you part? Being mated is a lot like that. I’m sorry I blurted it all out at you like that.”

“Are you really?”

“Not sorry that you knowing might give Tristan a reason to reconsider. But I’m sorry I sort of shoved it down your throat that way.”

“Did you recognize your mate right away?”

Briana didn’t say anything.

“Tristan and I met months ago. If we really have some kind of bond, how come he didn’t realize it before now?”

“You’re not worried about being his mate, are you? You’re worried that he made a mistake.”

Pushing to her feet, Kennedy paced back toward the window. “I’m human. You’re all immortal. Doesn’t that seem like someone screwed up somewhere?”

“I can see how it would be easier to believe that,” Briana said gently.

“Nothing about any of this is easy.” She rubbed at the spider-web tattoo, shivering for the dozenth time in the last half-hour.

“He’s not wrong.”

“How do you know?”

“We just do. Even when our mate is someone we never expected, even when we try to pretend it can’t be or know we can’t be together, we know.”

Kennedy couldn’t imagine what was worse. Discovering that kind of connection to someone else—an immortal someone—or acknowledging that bond and knowing you couldn’t have a future together.

“Tristan?”

The alarm in Briana’s voice had Kennedy whipping around.

The sight of Tristan leaning in the doorway, his shirt ripped, blood staining the front of him, pushed her heart into her throat. “You’re hurt.”

“Just a scratch.”

He might have been able to keep the pain from his voice, but the way he favored his right leg as he crossed to the sofa and sat wasn’t so convincing.

Carefully, Kennedy eased down next to him. He cupped her nape and drew her closer, rubbing his cheek against hers.

“Who did this to you?”

“See, I am growing on you.”

“The dragon got away, didn’t he?” Briana asked.

Kennedy didn’t need to look at Tristan to know the answer. His grip on her tightened, his other arm coming up to pull her against his chest. Relieved he’d returned in one piece, she didn’t say a word when he growled something about his mate against her hair.

“What happened?” Briana sat opposite them.

“I shredded one of his wings pretty bad, but the bastard still somehow managed to fly away.”

“Over the city? Rhiannon’s huntresses won’t be happy to hear that.”

“Huntresses?” A sharp pain in Kennedy’s hand caused the last syllable to stick in her throat.

Tristan frowned, but didn’t notice the way she rubbed the tattoo. “They keep the rest of us from betraying our existence to humans. If he’s not already on their radar, he will be now.”

“And soon wishing he had let you put him out of his misery.” Briana shuddered.

“So this guy was the one you thought hired the wraith?”

“Him or another of his clan and he was tasked to deal with Lucan.”

Kennedy closed her eyes. “So that’s it then.”

“No.” Briana stood. “We give Lucan the dagger.”

“You need it for Cian,” Kennedy argued.

“We found it once, we’ll find it again.” Tristan’s sister strode out of the room.

Tristan grabbed Kennedy’s hand, leading her along as he followed his sister. “Briana, wait. This isn’t your call to make.”

Briana scoffed. “Says who? I haven’t listened to you since we were kids, and Cale… Cale is not my keeper either. He knows what it’s like to lose a mate and would never expect you to sacrifice yours for anyone.”

“Cale lost his mate?” Kennedy followed them down a winding staircase off the mirrored room.

Tristan nodded, his attention returning to his sister. “What about Cian?”

“He wouldn’t want you to die freeing him.” At the bottom of the stairs, Briana opened a door that led into a state of the art room that looked like some highly classified military lab straight out of spy movie.

“It’s a glamour,” Tristan explained when Kennedy stared in awe around the room. “An illusion courtesy of a Fae who owed Briana a favor.”

“Is that why it looks so—” she cocked her head, “—fuzzy?”

Tristan and Briana exchanged puzzled glances before she punched in a code on a keypad.

“Briana,” Tristan began.

“It’s gone.”

“What?”

His sister stepped to the side, revealing an empty safe. “The dagger is gone.”

Tristan shook his head. “I put it there myself.”

Ignoring the icy itch beneath the spider-web tattoo, Kennedy asked, “Who else besides you two had access?”

“Only Cale,” Briana answered.

A sudden stab of pain in her hand made Kennedy cry out. Son of a bitch. She clasped her hand to her chest as the burning sting traveled across her wrist.

Tristan gently brought her hand up to eye-level.

Before her eyes, the tattoo began to disintegrate, the black ink melting into her skin. “What’s happening?”

“It’s a toxin.” Fury darkened his words. “It’s meant to weaken the target, make the kill easier.”

Gritting her teeth against the fire that clawed up her arm, Kennedy shook her head. “Why didn’t it happen before? Why now?”

“Because our time is up.”

—

Tristan jerked his head at Briana. “Upstairs.”

She glanced past Kennedy’s head. “It’s too late. Lucan’s already here.”

Pulling Kennedy behind him, he faced the room’s only exit. Seconds ticked off in his head as the sensation of being stalked slithered up his spine.

“Show yourself.”

The shadows beyond the door converged, the seething blackness stretching across the floor and into the room.

“The dagger’s gone, Lucan. It’s not even here to give you.” Tristan tightened his grip on Kennedy. Her breathing grew increasingly ragged as she leaned a little harder against him. In another couple of minutes, maybe less, her knees would give out.

The mercenary hovered just inside the door.

Briana edged forward. “Tristan’s telling the truth.”

Although faceless, the wraith’s attention undoubtedly shifted to his sister.

Not wanting Briana caught in the crossfire, he pushed Kennedy closer to her and stepped between them and the wraith. “We need more time, Lucan. Tell your contractor the dagger is gone.”

“It’s too late, Tristan.” Anguish filled Briana’s voice. “He’s too far gone. You won’t get through to him until…”

Until Kennedy was dead. “No.” He watched the wraith circle them. The cat clawed and snapped inside him, trying to tear through his skin to get out.

The wraith lunged for Kennedy, and Tristan shifted, his bones reshaping and aligning. His vision sharpened, the instinct to kill the threat to his mate drowning everything else out.

“Tristan!”

He ignored Kennedy’s panic, needing to stay focused on tracking his enemy. Briana had her. Or so he thought until Kennedy weaved on her feet, pitching sideways as she went down—and landing in the direct path of the wraith.

No!

Tristan sprang forward, but not before the wraith’s claws materialized and slashed down. Kennedy’s eyes widened and she recoiled from the strike to her midsection, curling in on herself. Blood pooled on the floor around her, the scent of it shoving him to the edge. He leapt for the wraith, catching hold of the mercenary.

Wounded, Lucan struggled to hold onto his phantom form, his black eyes void of anything but death as he fought Tristan off.

Behind him, Tristan saw Briana haul his mate back, her horrified expression turning grim. Distracted, he didn’t move fast enough to avoid a rake of the wraith’s claws.

Tristan stumbled, blood dripping down his limbs.

“Tristan, I think we’re losing her.”

Briana’s words didn’t penetrate until the wraith suddenly backed off, something the mercenary wouldn’t do unless he sensed he’d succeeded in taking out his target.

Needing to be by his mate’s side, he turned his back on the wraith, shifting to gather her into his arms. Glassy eyes stared up at him. Blood poured from the deep gashes he was afraid to look at. He knew they were bad, knew from Kennedy’s cool, clammy skin, her pale face, the way her chest worked faster and harder to breathe.

“Tristan?” Confusion drew her brows together. Her gaze slid around the room before coming back to his face. “It hurts. Everything hurts.”

He glanced helplessly at Briana, then back at Kennedy. “It’s going to be okay.” The lie snaked across his chest, made breathing impossible. He touched her face, leaving smudges of blood on her cheek.

The cat roared in denial, clawing at the edges of his mind.

Kennedy lightly gripped his wrist, her fingers slipping off him almost the second she touched him. He caught her hand and held it against his chest, willing her to hang on. There was no ambulance on the way for her, no surgery that would repair the fatal damage, no magic that could save her in time, yet he didn’t let go.

He rested his forehead against hers, hating himself for what he’d let happen to Cian, for what he’d let happen to his mate. Her eyes slid closed, each of her breaths growing softer, slower. The invisible fist gripping his heart promised to leave him as lost and broken as Kennedy, and he didn’t care.

“She’s gone,” Briana whispered, touching his shoulder.

No. He tightened his hold on Kennedy.

Briana crouched next to him. “Tristan.”

An anguished sound ripped up his throat, and he turned, seeking the wraith.

“Take her,” he ordered Briana, his lethal tone at odds with the way he carefully handed his dead mate to his sister.

He pushed to his feet, the ripple of his near shift humming under his skin.

“Wait.”

Out of nowhere, Dolan stepped between them.

“Get out of my way,” he snarled.

The bastard shook his head. “Kennedy bargained for your life.”

“The Fae don’t interfere with Rhiannon’s mercenaries.”

Dolan shrugged. “I’m not preventing Lucan from attacking you. I’m preventing you from attacking him, which would naturally force him to defend himself.”

“Kennedy is dead. What she bargained for no longer fucking applies.” The verbal acknowledgment of his mate’s death shattered something inside him, and his claws burst through his skin.

The Fae turned, facing the wraith. “She has died a mortal’s death. I believe your engagement has been completed.”

Lucan hesitated as the pair exchanged some kind of silent communication, then retreated. The cat snapped and snarled, needing to feel the wraith’s throat pinned beneath its jaws.

Dolan bent down next to Kennedy, ignoring the deadly growl from Briana.

Abandoning his thirst for the wraith’s spilled blood, he stalked toward the Fae. “Get away from her.”

Unfazed, Dolan tipped his head, considering. “Would you sacrifice your bond with Kennedy if it meant she would live?”

Hope flared in his chest even as his throat constricted. The cat snarled at the thought of living without its mate, yet the man didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The Fae searched Tristan’s face, nodding slowly. He glanced back at Kennedy, watching.

Every breath Tristan drew hammered between his ears. “What are you doing?”

“Patience, gargoyle.”

Still the Fae crouched unmoving over Kennedy. Seconds stretched into minutes and nothing happened. The faint glimmer of hope Tristan allowed himself slowly dimmed, replaced by the certainty that the Fae was fucking with him.

He grabbed Dolan, shoving him back. “What game are you trying to play?”

“Tristan!”

Releasing the Fae, he turned at the sound of Briana’s voice, his gaze darting to the shimmery cloud surrounding Kennedy’s body.

“What are you doing to her?”

“Nothing,” Dolan answered.

The iridescent waves settled over his mate’s skin like creamy liquid silk, seeping into her skin, brightening her color.

“If this is some kind of trick…” he warned, afraid to believe his eyes.

Dolan shook his head. “No trick. She’s a changeling.”

Tristan’s heart stopped in his chest. “She’s Fae? I thought that tradition was no longer practiced?” Long before Tristan’s time Fae children were hidden and raised in the human world to ensure survival of family lines during times of war.

“There are some families who continue with it.”

“And the Fae glyph on her back?”

“Sometimes we lose track of the changelings. The brand surfaces when they reach maturity and we use it to find them.”

Tristan frowned. “She didn’t know.”

“The brand binds her magic, keeping her from harming herself or those around her until she learns what she is.”

He studied Dolan. “You have a scar don’t you? You hide it with glamour.”

Amused, Dolan arched a brow. “Admiring my pretty face, gargoyle?”

Tristan scowled. “Kennedy said you had a scar. She saw through the glamour, didn’t she?”

“It’s inconsistent in changelings, but happens.” That was all the explanation Dolan offered.

Impatience warred with lingering disbelief as Tristan crouched over his mate. “Why isn’t she waking up?” He smoothed her hair back from her face.

“Clearly you haven’t died before. You don’t just bounce back from that instantly. She’ll wake up when she’s ready.”

Almost as though she heard them, Kennedy’s eyelashes fluttered. He took her hand, forcing himself not to squeeze it too tight. “Come on, Kennedy. Open your eyes.”

“Give her a minute,” Dolan snapped.

Tristan growled at the Fae, but never took his eyes off his mate. She groaned, struggled to open her eyes.

“Easy,” he warned when she moved in his arms, surprised by her strength.

“Oh God,” she murmured, cupping his face. Her eyes searched his, and she shook her head. Tears glistened in the soulful brown depths. “You died didn’t you?” She locked her arms around him. “God damn you.”

“I’m not dead.” He eased back, trailing his fingers across her smooth skin, delighting in the feel of her warm and alive and, not surprisingly, mad at him.

Her brows creased. “Then why do you look so shiny and…” She noticed Dolan. “You promised to keep him safe. You—” She cocked her head. “You look like he does.” Her attention shot to Briana. “You too. What the hell is going on?”

“It takes some time to adjust. You’re in one piece and so is the cat.” He held his hand out to her. “Do you remember your part of our bargain?”

She nodded slowly, but Tristan pulled her away from the Fae.

Confusion gave way to a disturbing resignation. “I have to go.”

“No.” He wouldn’t lose her again.

“Didn’t you say you would sacrifice your bond, your claim on her, if it meant she would live?”

He glared at Dolan. “You bastard.” He lunged for the Fae, catching only empty air.

“I need a minute,” Kennedy pleaded, pushing to her feet as the Fae appeared next to her.

“A deal is a deal,” Dolan reminded her gently.

“I know, I just…” Her gaze locked on Tristan. “I couldn’t let you die for me.”

“Don’t go,” he pleaded.

A forced smile curved her lips, and she held up her hand. The wraith’s mark had faded completely. “I’m not your responsibility anymore.”

“It was never like that,” he argued, feeling her slipping away from him even though he could almost touch her. The cat pushed at his skin, wanting out, wanting to keep her. They belonged together no matter what he had let the Fae trick him into agreeing to. To lose her now… “Stay with me.” The words clawed at his heart.

“I’m sorry.” A tear tracked down her cheek, but instead of reaching for him, she took Dolan’s outstretched hand, and they vanished.

—

One month later

Kennedy didn’t move when she heard the footsteps behind her. She’d run the scenario through her head a thousand times, tried to imagine how she’d feel, what she’d say. None of that factored into the sheer strength of the awareness that caught her hard in the chest.

She ran her hand across the front of the bottles lined up behind the counter. Taking a breath, she dared a glance in the mirror behind the bar, surprised to find only empty chairs and tables reflecting back at her.

Kennedy whirled around, sweeping her gaze across the empty room.

“Looking for me?”

Her heart kicked against her ribs, and she slowly turned to find Tristan standing a foot away from her. “I forgot how quiet you are.”

Rough around the edges didn’t come close to describing the untamed vibe he was giving off. Judging by the state of his rumpled clothes, he’d probably slept in them. He hadn’t shaved in at least a week, and his eyes were a little bloodshot.

She spied the open bottle of Jack Daniels and the solitary shot glass sitting next to it at the end of the bar.

He circled around her, his gaze assessing. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you have an opening for a bartender.” Although the layer of dust on the counter and closest tables suggested Pendragon’s had been closed for a while.

“Did you?” Tristan stepped up directly behind her, his question whispered against her ear.

Her belly tightened, and she closed her eyes, unprepared for the onslaught of need that heated her blood.

“I thought you chose Dolan? Wasn’t that part of your bargain?”

She swallowed. “I agreed to give him a week. He failed to mention that time passes more slowly on Avalon. Had I realized…” She turned her head, bit down on a whimper when she grazed his jaw.

“You would have what? Agreed to spend more time with him?”

“I had a lot to learn.”

“And exactly what did Dolan teach you?”

She frowned at the bitterness in Tristan’s voice. “You’re jealous?”

He growled, and she turned to face him. She parted her lips, but the opportunity to speak was lost to the sweet slide of Tristan’s mouth. His strong arms clamped around her, his hold as possessive as it was arousing.

Testing him, she resisted his grip, nipping hard at his bottom lip.

Satisfaction flashed in his eyes, and he backed her up, trapping her against the counter. Bottles clinked together and a few glasses left on the lower ledge fell over, smashing at their feet.

Neither of them looked away from each other. He threaded the ends of her hair between his fingers, his teeth grazing her jaw before he slanted his mouth over hers. She moaned this time, sinking hot and fast into the kiss.

He didn’t protest when she snagged the front of his shirt and hauled him closer. Close enough she could feel the strength in his chest, the pounding of his heart under her palm, the way his breath hitched when she pushed her tongue between his lips and swept inside.

Tristan groaned, his hold on her tightening. She quickly lost track of everything unresolved between them, so caught up in the kiss rapidly slipping out of control. Each hungry slide of his lips, every silky sweep of his tongue, worked her over and inside out. If craving his touch had nearly crippled her before, now it threatened to destroy her completely.

“Touch me,” she pleaded, slipping her hands under his shirt.

“And what would Dolan think about that?”

She smiled against his mouth. “If you’re so hung up on him, I could call him for you.”

His eyes flashed murderously, and she realized he didn’t know.

“Tristan, Dolan is my brother.”

He went perfectly still. “Your what?”

Kennedy grinned. “My brother. He says ‘hi’ by the way.”

He growled, and she laughed.

“Yeah, that’s what he thought you’d say.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” He glanced around the room, as if eager for Dolan to put in an appearance.

She winced. “He’s sorry about that, actually, making you think my survival hinged on you giving me up.” She grabbed his hand when he looked ready to hunt her brother down. “Really,” she added, stretching the truth a bit. Tristan didn’t need to know her brother hadn’t minded misleading him at all.

Sensing the truth, he scowled. “I’ll bet.” He cupped her face, sweeping his thumb across her cheek. “No more disappearing like that on me.”

She cocked her head. “Is that an order, cat?”

He rolled his eyes. “Your brother is already influencing you, I see.”

Crossing her arms, she prompted, “You didn’t answer the question.”

“I’m not looking for a slave, Kennedy. I don’t think of my mate as any less than my equal.”

“Am I? Your mate,” she clarified when his brows snapped together.

Exasperation darkened his face. “What the hell has Dolan been telling you?”

“Nothing you haven’t pointed out on more than one occasion.” She glanced at the floor, telling herself she’d known it would all come down to this. The time spent in Avalon, the warnings from Dolan, none of it made the apprehension gnawing at her stomach any easier to deal with.

“You don’t trust the Fae,” she said simply. She held out her arms. “How can you handle having one for a mate?”

Relief eased his handsome face. “Fae or not, I never would have let you go if I’d thought I had a choice.” He brushed his thumb across the healed mark of her claiming she still felt all the way to the bone. “I want to build a life together, if you’ll have me.”

She knew enough to recognize it was the closest the predator in him could come to asking her to stay with him. He might not have given her any warning before claiming her initially, but the worry she glimpsed in his eyes now proved he hadn’t assumed he was the only one with a say about their future.

Smiling, she struggled not to throw her arms around him just yet. “And my brother? I’m just learning about what—who—I really am. I need him in my life.”

Tristan huffed out a breath. “He told you to say that, didn’t he?”

“No.” She even managed to keep a straight face.

“Apparently becoming immortal doesn’t make you any better of a liar.” He gripped her hips, drawing her close. “If I have to put up with him to have you in my life, I’ll deal with it.”

Grudgingly, she thought, grinning.

He slipped his hand up her shirt, his fingers trailing across her skin. Her eyes slid shut, relief giving way to desire. His hand roamed higher and she tensed in delicious anticipation of him cupping her breast. He didn’t.

“What’s wrong?”

Puzzled, he lifted her shirt, running his finger along her scar. “You still have it?”

She nodded, watching him intently.

“You don’t hide it with glamour.” The approval in his voice made her heart squeeze.

She covered her hand with his, no longer just accepting that the scar was a part of her, but grateful for it. “My mother—my human mother loved me enough to die for me. I didn’t want to lose the reminder of her strength.”

Coaxing her up to meet his mouth, Tristan dragged her into another breath-stealing kiss.

“Where are we going?” she asked when he broke away and turned her toward the bar’s exit.

“Home,” he answered, then came to a stop. “We’ll live wherever you want.”

“And if I wanted to continue working here?”

The brightness in his eyes dimmed. “Cale is still AWOL.”

She knew he’d disappeared with the dagger, but had expected he would have turned up by now. “You haven’t heard from him?”

“Just a quick note that said he had something important to take care of and he’d be back when he could.”

Kennedy pushed up on her toes and brushed her lips across his, hating the worry she read on his face. “Then I guess we should make sure this place is still up and running when he gets back, huh?”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Of course, I expect a hefty raise.”

“Naturally,” he murmured against her lips. “Any other negotiations we need to get out of the way?”

“Just say the magic words and I’m all yours.”

“Pretty please,” he offered.

“Nope.”

“Let’s get naked?”

Laughing, she shook her head and locked her arms around his neck. “You’re getting warmer.”

With an arrogant look, Tristan scooped her into his arms. “How about hocus-pocus?”

About the Author

A born and raised Maritimer, Sydney Somers fell in love with writing at the age of eight. Since finishing her first book in 2002, Sydney has written over twenty-five romances—one of which will forever remain hidden under her bed.

When she’s not tracking down remote controls, chasing two very energetic little boys or exterminating rogue dust bunnies, Sydney can be found curled up with a good book or working on her next sexy, paranormal romance. She loves to hear from readers and invites them to e-mail her (sydney@sydneysomers.com) or drop by her website (www.sydneysomers.com) any time.

Look for these titles from Sydney Somers

Now Available:

Shadow Destroyers
Unbreakable
Stripped Away
Storm Warning

Spellbound
Say You’re Mine
Don’t Let Go
Whatever It Takes

Enslaved
Waitin’ on a Hero
Call Me Cupid
Talons: Caged Desire

Coming Soon:

Primal Attraction

The best laid plans can come back to bite you in the ass…

Whatever It Takes

© 2009 Sydney Somers

Spellbound, Book 3

Government Operative Gideon Bishop thrives on high-risk situations, but even his most volatile mission is nothing compared to coming face-to-face with his past. He’s spent the last four years trying to forget Tate Calder and their scorching affair, but the only way to get the information he needs is to keep her close—and keep his hands off her. Because the only thing riskier than protecting a woman who insists on hiding the truth is giving in to the attraction that still crackles between them.

All Tate wants is a quiet holiday with zero interruptions from her family, and even fewer from the witches’ council bent on recruiting her. Instead, she finds herself on the run from lethal mercenaries and the police with the one man she never expected to see again. To protect her family’s secrets, she’ll do whatever it takes to keep Gideon from learning the truth.

Even if it means risking her heart to seduce him—over and over again.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Whatever It Takes:

Tate craned her neck for any glimpse of flashing lights through the rear windshield. The only thing worse than fleeing a murder scene would be getting caught in the act.

“Turn left.”

Gideon jammed the pedal to the floor and shifted as they swung around the corner and up a narrow driveway.

“Around back.” She pointed to the far side of the white building without taking her eyes off the road behind them. Even if someone had noticed what direction they fled in, no one knew what car they were driving. Still, a car like this got noticed and it was just a matter of time before it garnered the wrong kind of interest.

When he pulled up alongside a parked tractor-trailer, she climbed out of the car and jogged to the small garage a few feet away.

She held the closed padlock in her hand. “Patefacio.”

When the lock disengaged, she pushed the double doors open and motioned for him to drive inside. With the car parked, he slid from the vehicle, no longer masking his pain as well as before.

She used the inside door connected to the clinic, pausing to enter the security code before proceeding.

“This is a vet’s office,” he said, scanning the pet care posters and shelves packed with vet-recommended food.

Tate shrugged. “I did suggest a real hospital, but you passed.”

He followed her into one of the rear exam rooms which had windows facing the ocean. Should anyone pass by this way they wouldn’t notice any lights on inside and get curious. Since the body count had doubled, she imagined few of Les’s men would be getting much sleep tonight.

“Take a seat.”

He didn’t move past the doorway, instead watching her root through drawers for the necessary supplies. “You pull a lot of bullets out of people?”

Unsure if he asked because he could see her hands shaking, she countered with, “Do you put that many in people?” She regretted the question almost instantly, certain she didn’t really want to know the answer. Talking might keep her from thinking about what she had to do, but there had to be smarter topics than his bullet-to-kill ratio.

He hadn’t elaborated on what he did for the government, so either he was lying about that to begin with or he worked for some branch of the CIA or another obscure agency.

As if the whole situation could feel any more surreal.

She motioned to the stuff she’d laid out. “What else do I need?”

“Besides a medical degree?” He surveyed everything with no small amount of skepticism.

“Take off your shirt.”

“How about we slow down for a second, Florence Nightingale.”

She scowled at the second crack about her on-the-fly nursing skills, but noticed he sounded more strained than before.

“Take off your shirt,” she repeated. “I’ll be right back.” She ventured down the hall until she came to the office. In its usual cupboard, she withdrew the bottle of whiskey Lena kept here for her husband. The older couple were friends of her father’s and the reason she’d fallen in love with living on the island to begin with.

She stopped, glanced at the phone. Hesitating another moment, she snatched it up and punched in Sawyer’s number.

“Not a good idea.”

She jumped as Gideon’s hand closed over hers. He replaced the phone, but didn’t back off when she turned around. She flattened a palm on the desk, needing all the support she could muster with Gideon breathing down her neck—literally. While she had always been able to hold her own with her brother and cousins, she didn’t know how much fight she had left in her tonight.

“If I don’t let my family know I’m okay, they’ll go on the warpath.”

He gave her a doubtful look.

“You don’t know my family.” Or the Tribunal.

“You can call them when we’re off the island,” he conceded.

“That won’t be until morning.”

“And there’s no way to know how long these guys have been interested in you. We can’t rule out the possibility they’ve already done their homework and know who in your family to watch.”

She frowned. “Now you’re talking like more than a couple guys are involved in this.”

“Maybe. Maybe not, but we’re better off not taking that kind of chance.”

“Okay,” she managed, though if a phone call was out, that meant she’d have to wait for an opportunity to make a personal visit without Gideon knowing.

He opened his mouth, but she shook her head. “If you’re about to say that I need to trust you, save your breath.”

A half smile caught the corner of his mouth, and she realized he had stripped off his shirt. The bandage wrapped around his biceps was dark red, and she couldn’t help but wonder how the night would have turned out if the bullet had struck another few inches to left.

“Hey.”

Between his soothing tone and proximity, she should have known better than to raise her head and meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry you got caught up in this, Tate.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll figure this out and you can get back to your life.”

“And pretend none of this happened?” Pretend her friend hadn’t been murdered today? The excitement of the last hour caught up with her, piling on top of everything else the last twelve hours had delivered, and a tear slipped down her cheek.

She reached up to brush it away, but Gideon beat her to it. Instead of his using his hand, he caught the tear with his lips.

A shockwave rippled through her, the sensation intensifying the longer his lips lingered against her skin. His mouth moved lower, but before he could reach her lips, a creak sounded in the hall.

Gideon whipped around so fast her head spun, his gun in his hand and pointed at the silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Someone want to tell me what the hell is going on in here?”

Evolution got an astronomical kick in the pants. Now it’s kicking back…

Demons are Forever

© 2009 Wynne Hayworth

Afterglow. Our world is changed. Mutated. Now home to humans who possess DNA belonging to creatures once thought to be only the stuff of legends. So what if the neighbor howls at the moon every month? No big deal as long as he mows his lawn.

A savage killer munching on helpless victims, however, is a big deal to Detective Buck Shand.

Buck is thinking less legend and more nightmare as he surveys the most recent in a series of brutal slayings. It’s beyond even his special talents, and he’s going to need help with this one. It arrives in the shapely form of Dr. Lian Herrick, a woman with her own form of Afterglow mutation—a demon that will shake Buck’s everyday world to its foundations and turn his brain inside out.

Will their combined skills be enough to track and stop a savage killer? Possibly. If they can keep their minds on business and their hands off each other long enough to lure a beast who feeds on sex—then kills for pleasure.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Demons are Forever:

He was gentle, warm, touching her mouth at first then licking at the seam and urging her lips apart. His tongue slipped inside as she welcomed his intrusion, sucking on it, teasing it with her own then sliding past it to learn his contours, the hardness of his teeth, the softness of the skin around them.

Warmth blossomed between them, the warmth of lovers sated and the promise of passion to follow. Buck held her face cupped in one hand, not doing anything more than kissing her.

She lost herself in that moment, overwhelmed by the tenderness, the delightful knowledge that this might well be the first real kiss she’d ever experienced. The dark confines of the truck disappeared, leaving only Buck and his mouth. Her body still thrummed with the remembered pleasure of an orgasm that had shaken her world. But her mind and her heart relished the simple joy of a man’s mouth on hers, a man’s hand cradling her cheek and a man’s warmth enveloping her.

Finally they parted on a sigh.

“Mmm. Nice.” He whispered the words as he stroked her cheek then let her go. “I can’t let this stop here, Lian. I won’t.”

She gazed at him. “I don’t want it to either. But it’s complicated, Buck.”

“I know.” He seemed to pull himself together, shaking off the sensual tenderness and becoming once again the cop on the case. “First things first.” Reaching for the keys, he withdrew them from the ignition and nodded at her door. “If you’re ready, let’s go inside and deal with the case. For now we work. Later, we…” His lips turned up wickedly at the corners. “Later, we’ll play with that demon of yours.”

Unused to such blunt honesty, Lian could only follow his orders. “Okay.”

They walked quietly across the empty garage to the elevators. She couldn’t think of anything to say that hadn’t already been said and sensed Buck’s thoughts turning back to the murders. She simply took comfort from his presence at her side.

It wasn’t until they reached the squad room and found the captain frowning over the latest crime scene photos that he finally spoke.

“Cap, Herrick here thinks she may have picked up on something.”

“What?” The captain’s head snapped up.

Lian lifted her chin. “We both sensed much the same sort of thing that Detective Shand felt at the earlier scene. The lust, the hunger to feed, the overwhelming sexual urges.”

“So?”

She didn’t mistake the captain’s curtness for anything other than what it was, a man desperate to do his job and stop such senseless butchery. “I have some limited cognitive abilities of my own. What I felt was a creature driven by lust. The killing? That may not have come from him.”

The captain frowned and motioned to chairs. “Sit. Explain.”

Lian wearily took a seat and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m not sure how to describe it. You’ve seen the photos. It was bad, as bad as it gets, I reckon.”

Buck nodded. “I’ve never seen worse, Cap.”

“You don’t have to tell me. In all my years, I’ve never seen worse either. Go on.”

She marshaled her thoughts. Neither man would appreciate a lengthy exposition. “It’s my opinion that this creature, whatever he—it—is, wants the sex. The urge to kill is coming from elsewhere, a direction to its mind, perhaps. An exploitation of its instincts. I don’t know. There’s a conflict I sensed, a confusion when the killing begins. Almost as if it’s being told what to do from that point on.”

The captain frowned. “How the hell is that possible?”

Buck shrugged. “Who knows? At this point, after seeing that slaughter, I’m ready to believe anything. To take a stab at any crazy notion if it gets us close to stopping these killings.”

“So we’ve got a creature that seems invisible and leaves no DNA or forensic evidence after having savage sex and then ripping girls to pieces. And now you’re telling me that the sex is one thing and the killing’s another?”

“Yes.” Lian stared at him. “As insane as it sounds, yes. I think this whatever it is is being controlled. Being forced to kill. The sexual urge is incredibly strong, and there’s violence mixed in to it, no question. But I doubt it would go as far as it has without a nudge from something or someone else.”

“Jesus H.” The captain stared at the photos again. “How the hell do we deal with this?”

Buck leaned forward. “We can’t do any more than we’re doing right now. We have to follow our procedures. The techs are still working this scene—perhaps they’ll find something, some minute particle that’ll put us ahead of where we are right now. Fisher’s talking to people. If anyone can get info out of the Bogs crew, he can. Maybe a girl saw something she didn’t think mattered. Sooner or later, Cap, this thing’s gonna make a mistake. When it does, we’ll be there.”

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