Southern Shifters: Pryde and Precious (Kindle Worlds Novella) (6 page)

The former lieutenant frowned. “What is it?”

“I think she was the bait, and I stepped into the trap. Go…we’re not on clan lands. They can and may have already dispatched a team to retrieve her.” If he was right, they hadn’t been after the formula but the intelligence apparatus his clan had in place. Best case scenario, he’d walked right into it and would only have to defend her from her own kind. Worst—someone else set the trap entirely. Either way… “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Carter nodded, catching Daniel before the other cat could charge forward. “Send word if you need assistance.” They headed for their vehicles and John watched them go, not relaxing his vigilance until their motor faded from his hearing. A breeze carried no unfamiliar scents, and he listened for sounds that didn’t belong. Cats moved with stealth, but they weren’t the only creatures in the world who could pass through in silence.

Withdrawing his phone from his pocket, he sent a text to his crew to check all of her items for tracking information. He needed to check her tablet and digital devices he’d had brought for her to review. If they required a network to transmit, he hadn’t allowed her to connect to his Wi-Fi booster.

Too many variables. Too many opportunities. He should have considered how easily their search engines flagged the emails and how quickly he tracked her. Pivoting, he strode inside. Arianna Ferrars seemed like the last scientist to have been assigned to the project. She as much as admitted she had neither the skill nor the education in the specifics for it.

The Psi wasn’t in the living room. Not swearing, he paused to listen for her. No sound came from upstairs…harsh inhales and exhales echoed from the direction of the kitchen. Tracking her to the kitchen, he frowned. She wasn’t at the table or the counter. Circling the island, he almost gaped at finding her tucked into the corner by the pot-bellied stove. He’d picked up the decorative piece on a lark. His grandmother had one in her home in the old country, and it reminded him of her.

Kneeling before Arianna, he cupped her pale cheek. Her eyes opened to reveal startling wide pupils. Dilated so far, they seemed to swamp the brown in darkness.

“What’s wrong?”

“Head. Hurts.” She ground her teeth at the end of each word. Pain lashed both syllables.

“What can I do?” He didn’t know enough about the psi. After cradling her face, he glanced around the kitchen then back to her. Had she hit her head? He saw no sign of a bruise or wound.

She squeezed his arm, her slender hand barely gripping his biceps. “Water.”

“Okay.” He stood and went for a glass. Once he’d filled it, he carried it back over to her. Squatting once more, he wrapped her hands around the glass. “Drink.”

“No.” Her weak smile sent a curious flutter through his heart. “Water. I need to be in water…running water would be better.” Every word seemed to cost her, so he plucked the glass away and saved his questions for later. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her through the house and up the stairs straight to his bedroom and through it to the shower. It was the largest one in the house. Switching the water on, he plunged inside it with her. The cold braced him and she let out a yelp, but it would warm up soon enough.

T
he water plastered
her hair to her face, and her clothes stuck to her. The cold, like the metal earlier, proved bracing to her system. At first, she wasn’t sure how she stayed on her feet, then strong hands on her hips swung her from directly beneath the water to leaning against the tile. John gazed down at her with his intense blue eyes, and she tipped her head to rest against the tile. The rush of water, the sound of it, filled her ears and blotted out the last of the voices. Firmer walls replaced the thin mesh of her shields and the world went quiet. Finally.

Sighing, she relaxed and pressed a hand to his chest. “Thank you.” It took real effort to exhale the words.

“What happened?” Was it her imagination or did he growl?

“I told you, I’m not a very good psi.” Had she told him? She didn’t remember. “Not really exceptional in any way. My shields collapsed the day you came to my apartment.” Yesterday? It was only the yesterday she’d met him. Why did it seem so much longer?

“Why didn’t you say anything? Does this contact hurt you?”

“No.” She licked the moisture off her lips, suddenly thirsty. “You don’t—the other four. They were so angry, or maybe they just needed answers. I couldn’t take hearing them.”

“They’re gone.”

“I know.” She’d wanted to curl into a ball after she’d managed to mute the voices, but it had taken forever. The ice picks their words had driven into her brain left her feeling punctured, as though by real weapons. “My shields are firming again. I’ve never been very good at it.”

“That’s why you live away from others?” The speed at which he grasped her situation should have concerned her. John was her kidnapper—albeit a friendly, caring, and protective kidnapper. Was she suffering from Stockholm syndrome in less than a day? Shoving aside the distractions of her wandering mind, she studied the man standing in the shower with her. Like her, he was fully clothed and the water soaked him, but he made no attempt to protect himself from the water. Thankfully, the coolness turned to heat so her shivering began to ease.

“Yes.” The truth didn’t endanger anyone nor betray any great secrets save her own. “It was something of artists’ colony. The humans there were very focused on themselves or their work. Their thoughts didn’t leak the way others do—those in security or military…” How ironic. Hadn’t he said he was in the military? Didn’t he do security for his clan? So why did his thoughts not pummel her? A question to explore later. “I could work and live there comfortably. It wasn’t easy within the clan nor in other places…”

“What about your job?”

“What about it?” With every breath, she grew a little stronger. Her shields held and the bruises in her mind eased. The water warmed her, even if it did leave her clothes uncomfortably stuck to her flesh. “I work in a greenhouse primarily and in a lab. I rarely seen anyone, and I don’t have an assistant. It’s one of the reasons I love the work so much. Once a week at most, we have a meeting. Most of the other lab techs I work with are as focused on their projects as I am on mine…”

“So they don’t leak thoughts either?”

“Leak is the wrong word.” She tried to summon a smile. “It’s like how you kept looking out the window when we were talking earlier. You’re always aware of your surroundings.” It wasn’t a question. “You anticipate who could come or what might happen. You probably study other people when you’re in crowded situations, looking for key markers or identifiers. Anything that might cause them to act out of character or do something dangerous.”

One swift nod. Unsurprising. “This is different from those around you?”

“Pretty much. I don’t care what other people are doing or whether they are coming in or going out. I worry about my plants, the next part of the hybridization project, and those around me are the same.”

John grunted. “So when I opened the door to your apartment? Your shields collapsed because of me?”

“No—at least I don’t think so. I couldn’t hear your thoughts, even when we were here and I was awake. You’re almost silent. It’s rather nice actually.”

Some of the tension around his eyes eased at her admission. “But the others bothered you?”

“Yes. One of them…they are worried about Inferon and me and the formula…they were not happy that you wouldn’t let them take me into custody.”

He pushed some of the soaked hair off her face. “Too bad.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Hmm?” Was he playing dumb or did he really not know what she meant?

“For not turning me over to them. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, little one. Are you well enough to stand in here on your own now?” He withdrew the contact and she missed it as he eased back a step. The reaction bothered her nearly as much as the way her mind had been pummeled earlier.

“Yes.” Though she missed the connection with him, however intangible it was. “Thank you again.”

“Of course. I told you I would protect you.” He stepped out of the shower, and stripped away his soaked shirt. The muscles along his back rippled with every action. “I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

“You didn’t grab many of my things.”

“No, and I’m not going to bring you any of them. I need to check them for trackers.”

A jolt rippled through her. “Trackers?”

The man—no, the predator—who turned to face her seemed altogether different from the man offering her comfort a moment before. “You shouldn’t have been given Project Pryde. It’s beyond your area of specialty.”

Hadn’t she tried to convince him of that earlier when he’d asked her so many questions? “Yes.” Folding her arms, she hugged herself. Even in the soaked clothing clinging to her with the heated water pouring down, she went cold. What had he learned?

“Who gave you the assignment?”

“My boss…”

“At the lab where you work as a botanist?”

Could she tell him the truth? A part of her resisted the idea, withdrawing from the possibility of betraying those of her clan she owed her loyalty. Another part wanted to tell him, to confess what she knew and to see what he could determine. Though a stranger, she trusted him. “I want to tell you,” she admitted.

“But you’re not quite sure you should trust me yet.” The lack of judgment in the statement buffered her hesitation.

“No, I’m not sure. If it helps at all, I want to.” She tried to keep her gaze on his face and not on the bare chest and the silky pelt covering his flesh. It was fine, and white, but the dampness had darkened it to noticeable against water droplets shimmering on his skin.

“I can accept you want to, and I can accept that you don’t. I can’t protect you without more information.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Where she found the courage to challenge him, she had no idea but it seemed the right response. He tossed the wet shirt onto the counter and stalked over to the open shower door. Power eddied around him, but though he crowded the entrance, he didn’t close on her. Excitement skittered through her blood.

“Can’t.” He formed the syllable on such a solid foundation, she didn’t doubt him for an instant. “Not when I think you were the bait instead of the project.”

“What?” Pushing away from the tile, she reached to shut off the water. Her mind was her own again, and the pain had lessened to a dull ache. “How can I be the bait?”

“Dry off and change.” His gaze stroked over her, kindling a fresh wave of heat that had nothing to do with the water. “Then we’ll talk. We may have to leave, so be ready to go.”

Leaving her to mull over those words, he pivoted and exited the bathroom. His absence roared through her, a keen sensation of loss, and she couldn’t put her finger on the why.
Am I going crazy?

L
eaving Arianna to dry off
, John ignored the wet steps he took across his bedroom. He retrieved a shirt and some shorts which would likely fit her. The drawstring the shorts would at least keep them up. He tossed the dry clothes into the bathroom, careful to keep his gaze averted. After damn near drowning in her sweet scent in the rapidly heating shower, he didn’t quite trust himself if he were to see her naked.

She was someone for him to protect, not seduce. The more he learned about her, the more certain he became that his cat was correct—Arianna was not their enemy. Of course, the realization left him with another host of problems. Stripping off his clothes, he left them and his shoes in a damp stack on the tile floor outside of his bedroom. Most of the house was tiled or wooden floors. Only in the bedrooms had he allowed carpet. He liked the different tactile sensations.

Though he spent little time at the mountain retreat, he was hedonistic enough to admit he wanted creature comforts. Too many hours spent amongst humans or others of his kind left him raw. The mountain home had been designed to soothe his senses and give him the isolation he craved. He was a solitary being, though his brother often flouted their nature by being a party animal.

A brief smile curved his lips at the thought of Dominic. Unlike John, he hadn’t Americanized his name or tried to blend with the clans. He’d gone his own way, giving them only as much information or loyalty as required to earn a spot. Then he roamed. If he saw John now, he’d probably laugh at his fascination with the little Psi.

Dragging on a pair of jeans, John glanced at the closed bathroom door. The sound of her moving around, peeling off her wet clothing, teased him. Her muttered curse followed by water splashing gave him another curiosity to track. He and Dominic had been fourteen when their mother wandered off. They knew how to hunt, how to track and how to survive. Neither of them really needed their mother to feed or clothe them. Over time, they’d migrated from the village schools to the larger towns. Eventually, they’d immigrated to the United States.

He liked his place. The military had been a good choice for him. It provided him with food, shelter and marketable skills. The clan appreciated his efforts, but though he helped and served their security, he never really sought to be a part of them. Dominic eventually continued on, surrounding himself with other cats or humans who enjoyed his particular lifestyle.

A band groupie who became a roadie, then eventually a band member himself. He loved music, the louder the better. John always thought it was the nomadic lifestyle that appealed to his brother, the only other cub to survive their childhood. They’d had seven siblings altogether, but only Dominic and John matured.

Normal, his mother would tell him. Only the strong could make it from cub to adulthood. Sometimes he wondered about her, where she was and whether she had other cubs. Maybe she’d simply moved on with her life, her duty as a maternal complete. He and Dominic had certainly learned to manage on their own without her assistance.

“I’m sorry,” Arianna murmured. Sometime during his distraction, she’d opened the door. Her damp hair still hung in soft tendrils past her shoulders. It seemed to possess more mass when wet than dry. She’d put on his borrowed clothes, and they dwarfed her frame and hid her curves.

He disliked the effect immensely. “For what?”

“You’re not dressed.” Though she turned her head to afford him privacy, he could almost feel the skate of her gaze over him. Not puffing out his chest proved to be even more difficult. What the hell did he care if she liked his body?

“I’m presentable.” He shrugged off her modesty and retrieved a shirt from one of the drawers. Tugging it on, he left his feet bare. The casual clothes offered them an air of familiarity they didn’t really possess. “We’ll throw your things in the dryer if you want.” It came out gruffer than he intended.

“I’m not complain—” She cut herself off, then folded her arms. “Okay, maybe I am. We need to talk and make some decisions.” Firm conviction underscored her tone. So much better than the helpless whimper she’d echoed in the kitchen earlier.

“You are feeling better.”

“Yes. Water helps. Running water especially.” She gave a little shrug, but kept her arms folded. Her knuckles whitened where she gripped herself. So the confidence was a game for her or a façade. Letting it be, he motioned toward the door.

“How does it help?”

She walked down the hallway, half-turned toward him. The predator in him approved of her posture. The back was a vulnerable area, leaving her exposed to threats. She’d already told him she wanted to trust him, but she didn’t. Not yet. It pleased him that she didn’t trust easily. Winning her confidence would be much sweeter if he had to work for it.

“Running water, I don’t know that it helps everyone, but it’s always helped me.” Downstairs, she walked to the window rather than the sofa. Her steps were steady, and she didn’t waver on her feet. If anything, she seemed more pulled together than she had since she woke from passing out the second time. “I’ve always had trouble with shielding. When we’re young, they train us to work on these mental exercises for discipline. We need to be able to focus even under duress. The stronger the telepath the more you need the shields.”

He checked his phone for messages, then went to her tablet and powered it down. Her laptop hadn’t been turned on yet, and he had her other devices in sealed cases which would block signals. Adding the tablet to the others, he glanced to where she leaned against the window, studying the mountain ranges visible from his porch. No human habitations encroached too close. The nearest town was an hour south and the nearest neighbor a half hour on foot to the north. Considering her explanation, he scanned the room for anything else of hers he might have missed. If she had a tracking device in her clothes, the water might have shorted it—what the shower didn’t, the washing machine would. He had only grabbed her a couple of things.

“I thought you said you weren’t an especially powerful telepath.” He’d paid attention to her earlier rambling.

“I’m not. I can’t really transmit, but when people are too close—if I don’t have my shields up—I am bombarded by thoughts. Fragments really. The more powerful their emotional state, the greater the chance is that I’ll get sucked into it.” She blew out a breath.

“Keep talking, I’m just going to grab your clothes.” He took the steps two at a time.