Captive Moon (14 page)

When she opened her eyes, Antoine hadn’t moved. Apparently, he’d figured out that she was working through something and was waiting—if not patiently, then silently.

He was the linchpin to all of this. Every instinct she had screamed it at her. He had offered help and she would be a fool not to take every advantage she could. She needed information, at the least, and probably assistance, too. But she would get neither by remaining in the basement, swimming and playing with cubs.

She strode forward confidently. A sweeping look around as she walked revealed every potential trap, every weapon that could be used in a fight if it came to it.

“Is there a problem?” he asked quietly as she passed him to enter the stairwell.

“Not anymore.” Her deep near-snarl was met with the shadow of a smile.

When he closed the door behind him, he flicked a wall switch and the stairwell was flooded with light from a series of fixtures. She looked up to a small door at the top of a long flight of stairs. Since there were no other landings or hallways, she presumed that was their goal. She continued to climb the stairs while he followed smoothly.

“When you get to the door, turn left. Fiona’s bedroom is first on the right.”

She slowed and glanced over her shoulder, keeping herself steady with one hand on the rail. “Fiona is your sister? Is this her house?”

“Yes, no, and… yes. Fiona is my sister, and this is my sister’s house. But it’s not Fiona’s. The house belongs to my older sister, Amber, and her husband, Charles.”

Tahira opened the door when she reached the top of the stairs. Her calves were protesting just a bit.

“Amber’s a pretty name,” she said as Antoine turned off the light and closed the door to the stairs.

He shrugged. “I preferred it when she was called Yvette. It suited her better. But Charles requested Amber.”

When she neared the bedroom on the right, Antoine reached past her to open the door. His sweaterclad shoulder brushed her robe, but it felt like skin against skin. His aura seemed to slide along hers like satin, raising enough goosebumps to want to make her rub her arm to warm it.

He put a light hand on the small of her back as she entered the room, It turned her legs to jelly and forcibly reminded her of the feeling of his arms tight around her. With her heart pounding loud enough that it should echo in the huge room, she tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound idiotic or incredibly forward.

“So, she changed her name just for him? That’s sweet. What did your parents think of that? Mine would scream bloody murder if I changed my name.” Her mouth felt dry and her throat tight as he stepped farther into the room and closed the door with a click that seemed far too loud.

She should move, get out of his way so he could show her the closet—but she seemed to be frozen in place, waiting for… something.

His soft voice right next to her ear made her shiver and nearly lose her balance. “Did you know that your hair has two different scents, mon chat du feu? It smells both of sandalwood where it is dark, and toasted cinnamon.”

“Wha… uhm… what does that mean?” Her voice cracked and then trailed into a whisper as he slid his hands down the arms of the robe.

“I do not know. Perhaps it is because—”

She shook her head slightly and felt his nose right next to her ear. He leaned even closer, until his breath pushed against her eardrum with wet heat. “No, that’s not what I was trying to ask. What does ‘mon shot do few’ mean?”

He moved away from her ear just a bit. “Mon chat du feu? It is a French phrase. Why do you ask?”

“Because you keep saying it to me. But I don’t know what it means.”

He paused long enough that she wasn’t sure he was going to answer. When he did, he had stepped back a pace and his voice sounded worried. “I see. It means ‘my fire cat’. When you were putting logs on the fire, the coals made your hair glow and the strands smell of smoke.” She turned around to see his expression. He was smiling slightly, but it didn’t match the concerned expression in his eyes. “Does it bother you? I thought you might prefer it to the rather clichéd mon chérie or even that which many of my friends use—mon petit chou.”

“And what does that mean?”

He chuckled, and the sound seemed to wash over her like warm water. Even the roots of her hairs tingled when he laughed like that. “It means, ‘my little cabbage.’ ”

When she opened her mouth in surprised amusement, he shrugged gracefully. “We are a very down-toearth people in France. So, too, are our endearments. A very nice or obliging person is a cabbage. It’s similar to ‘my dear’ or ‘my friend’ in America.”

He stepped around her and walked toward an ornate wardrobe with his hands clasped behind his back.

“It’s strange. I remembered thinking mon chat du feu would suit you, but I didn’t realize I was saying it out loud.”

Once again, his voice and scent betrayed nothing. But she noticed his knuckles were white where one hand gripped the other before he unclasped them to open the cabinet doors. “In any event, come look through Fiona’s outfits to see if there is anything that suits you. I will leave you to dress and then we can go downstairs together.”

She was already looking in the wardrobe, moving hangers aside, and pulling several possible outfits into the light, so she almost didn’t hear him. But when the lamps from the hallway lit up the floor near her feet, all of the questions sprang again to her mind, still unasked and unanswered. “No! Wait! Don’t leave.”

Antoine paused in the doorway. He was annoyed and concerned that his hand was shaking ever so slightly. There were too many things to deal with today without becoming attracted to this young Hayalet. It was more of a struggle than he liked to keep his voice bland, but it was necessary if he were to avoid the circumstances in his vision. “No? I would have thought you would prefer to try on clothing without an audience.”

Her arms were full of hangers of clothing. Her frustrated expression matched the hot metal scent rising from her. She pointed with a free finger to the trifold silk divider wall in the corner, “I can change behind that. But… well, you know this Ahmad. I haven’t a clue what he’ll find acceptable. Besides, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Antoine sighed, closed the door, and took a seat at Fiona’s desk. She was entitled to as many answers as he could afford to give, but the questions she’d asked thus far had been more than a little uncomfortable. When was the last time he’d called a woman by an endearment? Even one he was dating? And to do it completely unconsciously—merde! But he had offered to prepare her to meet Ahmad, and he would honor his word. He would certainly give Gran—or, rather, Giselle no more reason to question his judgment or dedication to his duty. He was still completely befuddled by her accusations, especially considering how very hard he worked to learn the details of the various motions that came before the council. He would have to find some way to convince her not to complete the challenge, because it was unlikely she could defeat him in battle. But killing her would destroy him inside, and his sisters would never forgive him for her loss.

Tahira stepped behind the screen. She hung the hangers on a wall hook that was just outside the screen’s protection. She flipped through the outfits several times before selecting a white, ankle-length wrap-around skirt that he’d seen Fiona wear several times, along with a pale blue ruffled shirt. She pulled them behind the screen with her. He heard the whisper of cloth stretching and moving, and realized that he could see her silhouette through the screen, backlit by the light seeping from behind the lace draperies. He cleared his throat and stared at the carvings on the bed posters, trying desperately not to imagine the image that would match the nicely curved shadow.

Perhaps talking would help. “So, you have questions?”

“Bunches. But I don’t know where to start.”

Antoine started to open his mouth to reply when she tossed the still-damp suit over the top of the screen and continued speaking. “Let’s start with—how did you just happen to show up at a German police station looking for a tiger on the same day that I happened to have been taken to one?”

That’s right! She hadn’t been in the room when he’d explained the day to Matty and Margo. Naturally, she would be suspicious of his motives. He certainly would be.

For a few minutes, he explained how the day transpired—from Simon’s disappearance to his visit to the woods, scenting her and finding out she was still alive.

“So,” she said, stepping from around the screen and doing a quick pirouette. “It was just good luck on my part that your day sucked?”

He smiled a bit, but it was filled with sorrow. “You might say that. Simon was one of my favorites, and I’m very sad about his death. He was young and talented, and his loss will upset the whole troupe when they learn of it. But I’m certainly glad that I arrived so the Kommissar didn’t discover a naked young woman with streaked hair in a cage in his basement.”

Her expression was rueful and her scent was awash with embarrassment. “Oh yeah. That would have been a terrific image. Especially with one black eye from being kicked right where the guard kicked the tiger.” She pointed to the outfit. “Yes? No?”

Antoine snorted and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s lucky it wasn’t me in the cage. I would have taken his foot off—at the knee. Fortunately for him, German food gives me indigestion.”

She exploded with laughter that carried the sweet, tangy odor of happiness. “Yeah, they all smelled like cabbage, and that gives me gas.”

He looked Tahira up and down slowly, admiring the play of strong muscles that flexed under the cloth. How sleek and dangerous she looked in her animal form, and how lovely that the image carried over to her human side. “Skirt yes, but not the shirt. The shoulders sit wrong. Fiona has very long arms.”

Tahira smirked, held out her arms and wiggled her fingers, showing that the sleeves extended well past the unpolished nails. “Ya think? What kind of cats are you guys, anyway—cheetahs? I thought tigers were the biggest cats. And trust me, I wanted to take off the cop’s foot. But then they would have just up and shot me.”

Putting his boots up on the desk, he watched her lithe form disappear behind the screen once more.

“Definitely a point. They weren’t exactly the poster children for quiet restraint.” This time he didn’t turn away from the exquisitely curved shadow as she removed the top, but he noticed that she was missing a few accessories, so he stepped to the wardrobe and rummaged through the drawers below the closet area. He selected several possible items and tossed them over the top of the screen. He could see her pick them up, and then turn toward him with hands on hips.

“Hey! Can you see through this thing? How did you know I’m not wearing a bra?”

“Not at all,” he lied smoothly, grateful that Fiona had left some of her Wolven cologne in her room for him to use. As head of the Sazi police force, Fiona had access to the secret cologne that masked the scent of emotions to other shapeshifter noses. Normally, it was forbidden for council members to use it, but he decided it wise to partake while the challenge might still be averted. “But you arrived in a bathing suit. Even if you had been wearing underclothes, they would be wet. Yes?”

The shadow tilted its head and shrugged. “Oh. Forgot about that. Well, I’m not too big on wearing other people’s undies, but they still have tags on… so, okay, thanks. And you didn’t answer—what kind of cat are you and your sisters?”

“Cats,” replied Antoine, “Plural. Fiona and I are twins, and we’re half lion and half cougar. My sisters Amber and Aspen are also twins, and they are half lion, half bobcat. The traits of our fathers seemed to determine the type of cat we turn on the moon. From our mother, who was a lioness, we inherited size and strength. So I suppose the answer is that I’m a cougar; but a really large one. And I can roar like either a lion or cougar depending on my needs.”

“But you’re French. Are there cougars in France?”

“Again, my father was the cougar. He was American. Mama was French. Our family arrived in France long, long ago from what is now Algeria. Our estate in Strasbourg has been in the family for centuries.”

“So you’re pretty rich then, huh? Matty said downstairs that you’re some sort of councilman. Does that mean you’ve got pull with your people? Do you have any resources that can help me find my brother?”

Antoine took a deep breath. Here was the question he had been dreading, and he still wasn’t sure how to answer it. He still disagreed with Ahmad and Giselle about this, but perhaps there was a way to spin the discussion to get the responses they needed.

After a long moment, he finally said, “I am indeed the representative for the werecats on our council. I’m hardly rich through family connections, though. The estate was quite run-down when it was deeded to me. It’s why I started the show. The upkeep is a tremendous financial burden, but I get by. Whether I have pull to help you depends on what you need, and whether you would be willing to help me in return.”

She peeked her head around the corner of the screen, eyes narrowed and dark with suspicion. Her nostrils were flared, seeking some sign of his intent. “How would I be able to help you? I’m just an ordinary shifter from California and am in no position of authority in the kabile. Hell, even my grandfather thinks I’d be better off dead.”

Now came the delicate stage. Antoine steepled his fingers over his chest. “What you have to offer isn’t within your family, but within yourself, Tahira.”

Her expression stilled and her eyes glittered with a growing anger. She ducked back behind the screen and yanked another outfit from its hanger. The movements pushed the burned caramel scent over the screen. “I see. It’s like that. I’d read that about you.”

Antoine furrowed his brow because he didn’t understand her comments. Her actions behind the screen were quick and sharp as she buttoned and hooked a new outfit into place. He heard jingling of metal, like tiny bells. “I’m not sure you understand what I’m trying—”

“No, no,” she replied with fire edging her words. “I understand perfectly. Is this more what you had in mind?”