A Lion After My Own Heart (7 page)

And failed.

This man stands, and I realize he's easily over six feet tall. Broad like a door. It's his eyes that make me want to start apologizing for something. Anything. They're the same blue as Alexander's, but his are cruel, cold, and absolutely merciless. I have no doubt that this man would kill me with zero remorse if he thought it was remotely necessary. I decide to make sure he never thinks that.

It's fascinating. He looks like Alexander, the same features, but where Alexander is handsome and appealing, this man is bleak and harsh. There's not a speck of humanity in his face. He may be in human form, but this is a predator, an animal, through and through.

"Blake." His voice is a whipcrack. "What are you doing here?"

Blake bends his head as if to a king, and then gestures to me. "This is Myra Cole, a reporter from Boston. She's come to talk to you about your son."

Aurion turns his full regard upon me, and it's like a cloak of lead has fallen onto my shoulders. Good lord, growing up with this guy as a dad had to be the
worst
. His blue eyes flick up and down me, and then he shakes his head. "I don't talk to reporters. Get her the hell out of here."

And with that, he turns and begins walking back to his cave entrance.

Blake gives me an apologetic shrug, and half turns to start walking back.

Hell
no.

"Excuse me, Mr. Aurion?" I take a couple of steps after him. "Your son is running for mayor."

Aurion pauses, but doesn't look back at me. Instead, he says one word so filled with menace that I actually get goose bumps. "
Blake
."

It's a command and a threat both. I'm not even being considered. The werewolf takes hold of my arm, but I shrug him off. Suddenly I just have to know. Alexander grew up with this man. In this place. I have to know what happened, and what drove him away to Boston to begin a double life, pretending to be human, wanting to be mayor. Why? I don't know, exactly. But it comes down to that pain and vulnerability I saw in his eyes, hidden behind his mask of confidence and competence.

"Mr. Aurion.
Sir
. When I write my story, it will ruin your son. And it could bring hundreds of reporters here to speak to you if you don't speak to me. These hills will be crawling with them."

Aurion turns then to stare at me, and I gulp. I've never actually gulped before, only read the expression in books, but I swallow audibly and step back.

"You have been dismissed, human." Aurion steps toward me, and I have to fight to not turn and run. "I am the leader of this cairn. None dare oppose me, much less a little human woman like you. I told you to leave. So leave.
Now
."

"Or what?" I step forward, feeling crazy, but not caring. I've had to face down my share of corrupt politicians, criminals and other angry people. When push comes to shove, I will
not
let anybody intimidate me. I don't care who you are. I became a reporter precisely to confront assholes like this, and show them that the truth cares nothing for how rude or abusive they are.

"Or what?" Aurion seems taken aback by the question. As if the answer should be so obvious that he doesn't even deign to respond. "Or I'll drag you back down to the valley myself by the throat, woman."

"Go for it." I raise my chin and shove my fists onto my hips. "You don't scare me. I'm a reporter. Whatever you do to me will be read by millions. And when Alexander's lies are made public, and the whole world comes looking for revenge for being duped, I'll be there to point them at you. At this cairn. And everything will change."

Aurion pauses, eyes narrowing. "Change?"

"Oh, yes." I'm on a roll now. I almost never get angry. It's so much better to be nice. To be funny. To treat people well and have them treat you well in return. But when I finally do lose my cool, I don't care what trouble I might get in. I'll speak my piece, I'll get my story, and
that's
what's made me a kick-ass reporter. "You've got two choices. Either speak to me now, and tell me your side of the story, or stay quiet, and have the world come to its own conclusions. That could set off riots. You're old enough to remember how things were. Do you want to return to that time?"

I'm talking completely out of my ass. I don't want to return to that time. Nobody does. And I want no part in fear-mongering. But I've met Aurion's type before. The only thing he'll respect is a show of force. And this is all I've got.

Aurion rears to his full height and crosses his arms over his chest. He glares at Blake and then looks back at me. "Ask your questions, human. I'll answer. And then by the Earth Mother, you'll leave one way or another."

I feel a wave of relief swamp through me. The other shifters are staring at me wide-eyed. I'm guessing folks don't try to stand up to Aurion much. "Why do you think Alexander is hiding his shifter nature?"

"Why?" Aurion's contempt is clear. "Because he's weak and is trying to deny what he is."

"And what's that?"

Aurion leans down so that his large face is thrust into mine. "A superior creature."

"Superior?" I don't lean back. "To what?"

"To you, little monkey. He is a werelion of my lineage, a born ruler. Yet he hides amongst you humans, pretending to be one of you. He is pathetic. A failure. I feel nothing but shame and disgust."

"Wow," I say. "You must have a whole host of 'Dad of the Year' awards back there in your cave."

Aurion's eyes narrow and I hear Blake shift nervously behind me. I actually do regret saying that. Probably not a good idea.

"Watch your tongue," whispers Aurion. "Or I will lose what little patience I have left."

"OK, OK." My mind is scrambling. "Has Alexander always denied his true nature?"

"No." Aurion straightens. "Only at the end of his teenage years, when I was preparing him for leadership. It was then that the fault in his spirit showed through, and he stopped shifting."

"And why are you shifters so superior?" I know I'm asking for trouble.

"Why?" Aurion turns to the others and laughs, and they laugh with him. He looks back to me. "We live in harmony with the planet. We don't destroy it like you humans do. We are stronger. Faster. Better lovers. More charismatic. We live longer. We never get sick. We have the intelligence of a human, and the intuition of the wild. We do not suffer from the poverty, abuse, and pollution that you humans do in your cities. We have dignity. Pride."

I nod slowly. That's actually all true. Wait. Am I supposed to defend humanity now? I think of the evils plaguing humanity across the world and decide to sidestep that responsibility. I'm not here to debate. I'm here to report. "What happened to Alexander's mother?"

"She was shot by a human when Alexander was but a cub. I will not speak of this further." Aurion's voice becomes as hard as iron.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." My voice becomes hushed. I'm getting a better idea now. A sense of how the pieces fit together. "Thank you. For talking to me."

Aurion's laughter is cruel. "You are done? Good. Blake, take her. If she's not gone within the next ten heartbeats, I shall grow very, very angry."

Blake's grip on my arm is firm, but I don't plan to fight him. Instead, I turn and together we quickly leave the clearing, heading back down the mountain. We don't speak. I'm aware of how much I pushed my luck. But now I can only think of one thing. I need to speak to Alexander.

Chapter 8

Blake introduces me to his wife Rachel when we get back to Honeycomb Hall, calling me the craziest woman he's ever met. This merely gets a skeptical look from Rachel, who's a gorgeous, curvy gal with the kind of stern, almost grandmotherly authority that might even make Aurion blink. I'm given a room in which to shower and change, and for ten long minutes I simply let the shower scald and scour away the dirt, sweat, and fear from my body.

Grabbing an extra-comfy robe from the hook, I wrap my hair in a towel and sit on the edge of the bed and grab my phone. I have to call Alexander. I have to talk to him. A quick check reveals that I've missed hundreds of important tweets while climbing to the cairn. The world keeps ticking, and I feel like I've fallen off the map. My finger's no longer on the pulse, and it feels weird, almost disorienting. I've also got direct messages and emails from Mercia. I read a couple, and put off writing her back.

I still don't know what I'm going to do.

I flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
To write or not to write, that is the question.
I know now that Alexander fled his father and the cairn, and maybe even his nature, when he left Honeycomb Falls. I'm starting to get a sense of why he decided to run for mayor, why he might dedicate himself to public service. The story is right there. Dramatic. Scandalous. A big reveal. The scoop of my career. And yet... I can't bring myself to write it. Can't bring myself to shatter the man who stands at its center, delicious and handsome and mysterious: Alexander Adams.

Finally I sigh and sit back up. Lying around mooning about the man won't change anything. Before I can lose my nerve, I dial his number, and then bite my lower lip. He won't answer. It's going to go to voicemail. He's a super important, busy guy. He's probably flirting with twelve gorgeous -

"Ms. Cole?"

How did I forget about the effect his voice has on me? Low and rumbly, a kind of growly hotness that sends a flush from the nape of my neck down to the area between my legs. Oh, my.

"Mr. Adams." I swallow as I try for a stern voice. "We have to talk."

"I know." He sounds strangely calm.

"You know?" I blink. That I didn't expect.

"Yes, Helen said it might be best."

"Helen? From the Gypsy Cafe?" My voice is getting higher and higher with each question.

He laughs quietly. "The same."

"But... Did she call you?"

"No. I stopped in for coffee."

I can tell he's enjoying this. My mind is like a car that's trapped in a parallel parking spot. It keeps reversing and going forward, but going nowhere. "You're here? In Honeycomb Falls?"

"First time in almost two decades." I can vaguely hear wind over the phone line. "Hasn't changed a bit."

"But. But." This isn't fair. Why can't I ever sound smooth and sophisticated? "I thought you never wanted to come back here. That this was, like, the black hole of your life, the one thing you refused to even think about?"

"It is. It was. But then along came a certain Ms. Cole, looking ravishing and innocent but with claws of her own. I knew you'd come here. I knew you'd start asking questions. And that simply saying no to you wouldn't be enough. We have to talk. So I drove over this morning. Eric - my aide - has put my schedule on hold. Until I've... dealt with you."

"Dealt with me?" I cross my legs and squeeze. "That sounds almost like a threat."

"Oh, no." How can his voice sound so intimate, when all we've done is shared a bottle of wine? "It's not a threat. It's a promise. Before the day is through, we're going to have reached an understanding."

"Oh," I say. "Well." My mind is blank. I feel like just smiling and trying to imagine what that might involve.

"Meet me at the Wise Salmon. They have a nice wine bar. We'll talk there."

"Wise Salmon. Check. OK. I'll be there in half an hour."

"Good. I'll see you soon, Ms. Cole." And then he hangs up.

Oh, my. I fan my face. He's going to deal with me. We're going to reach an understanding. I have so many questions to ask him, but I realize that right now, at this very instant, there's only one thing that truly matters:
what am I going to wear?

Half an hour later I'm all tricked out in one of Rachel's outfits. That girl has got style, and thank god she checked in on me as I was about to head out in a dirty shirt and tomorrow's pair of jeans. One decisive emergency intervention later and here I am, wearing a form-fitting purple top with a subtle metallic tint and black paisley patterns worked over it, my arms bare, and black pants that hug my hips and ass yet feel comfortable and flattering. Luckily my black pumps are more than adequate, with my hair hanging down over my shoulders and my now increasingly used overcoat. At this point, I may just have to bite the bullet and keep it.

And, as I enter the cute little restaurant that looks out over the Conway River, I realize it's the same overcoat I've worn every time I've met Alexander. I have a panicked moment as I see him sitting at the heavily polished wooden bar. Has he seen me in it all three times? I duck behind a column and desperately try to remember. No. He didn't see me wear it at the fundraiser.
Phew.

Stepping out with new confidence, I see that Alexander's blue eyes are locked on me.

Crap
.

Did he just see me dive behind the column? One of his eyebrows is arched in amusement. I will not blush. I will
not
blush. I raise my chin and stride toward him, as if it's normal for every self-respecting gal to dive behind a column at the sight of a gentleman at the bar.

"Hey," he says, and I almost groan at the smoky rumble of his voice. All sorts of images flash through my mind. Like, me being a viola and his fingers plucking my strings, caressing my curves. Or his being a predator stalking me through the tall grass of the savannah, and hearing his growl just before he leaps.

"Stop that," I say before I can help myself.

Alexander pauses, completely surprised. "Stop what?"

I sit on the stool, pretending to be miffed and looking off to the side. "That whole sexy-as-hell voice that I am
sure
you're doing on purpose. Don't you have a normal voice that you use when you're about to be interrogated?"

Alexander blinks rapidly, coughs, shifts his weight on his stool and frowns. "Ahem." For a moment I think he's going to actually try to use a different voice, but then he laughs. "Wait, what?"

I sigh. "Never mind. I guess I'll just have to suffer through it."

He laughs again, giving up any attempt of directing the conversation. I can tell from the way his eyes are sparkling that he's enjoying himself. I restrain the urge to grin. So am I. Enjoying myself. No man I have ever met has made me want to act this crazy.