LINDA WINSTEAD JONES

THE MAGICAL CHRISTMAS CAT

Nalini Singh, Erin McCarthy, Linda Winstead Jones, Lora Leigh

NALINI SINGH

Wishes

December 8, 060

Dear Santa Clam,

I'm not sure I believe in you anymore, but I don't know who else to ask, so I hope you're not just imajinary like daddy says. I'm in the hospital, but don't worry, I don't want you to use up your majick to make me better. The M-Psy came and looked at my leg and said I'd walk again. You know the Psy don't have feelings. I think that means they can't tell lies. And the nice changeling nurse—the one that can shapeshift into a deer—she told me with rebuilt rehab, I'd be o. k.

The reason I'm writing to you is because I'm lonely. Don't tell my mom, o.k. ? She comes to see me but she's always so sad. She looks at me like I'm broken, like I'm not her strong little girl anymore. And my daddy doesn't visit me. He never paid any utenl attention to me anyways, but it still makes my heart hurt.

I know you can't make my daddy come see me, but I was wondering, since you're majick, do you think you could send me a friend? Someone fun who wanted to be with me and who didn't care that my leg was all mangled up. The kids here are nice, but they all go home after a little while. It would be wonderful to have someone who was mine, someone who didn't have to leave.

My friend can be human or Psy or changeling. I won't mind. Maybe you could find someone who was lonely, too, and then we could be unlonely together? I promise I'll share all my things, and I'll let her (or even a boy) choose the games we play.

I think that's all. Thanks for lisening.

Annie

p.s. I don't mind if you don't give me any other presents at all.

p.p.s. I'm sorry about the speling mistakes. I had to miss a lot of school but now I'm trying really hard to catch up with the hospital's computer tutor.

CHAPTER 1

Annie looked up and met the angry eyes of the seven-year- sitting at the child-sized desk in front of her own, arms crossed and lip jutting out. Bryan glared at her, the fury of his leop­ard apparent in every line of his body. Annie was used to teaching changeling children—a lot of DarkRiver kids came to this school, close as it was to their territory. She was used to their affectionate natures, their occasional accidental shifts into leopard form, and even their shorter tempers when compared with those of human children. What she was not used to was such blatant disobedience.

"Bryan," she began, intending, once again, to try to get to the bottom of this.

He shook his head, stuck out his chin. "I'm not talking to any­one but Uncle Zach."

Annie glanced at her watch. She'd called Bryan's uncle twenty minutes ago, not long after last bell. "I left a message. But he might not check it straightaway."

"Then we wait."

She almost smiled at the stubbornness of him, but knew that that would only make matters worse. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me why you hit Morgan?

"No."

Annie tucked back a strand of hair that had escaped the bun she'd anchored with a pair of lacquered chopsticks in a vain attempt at style. "Perhaps we could talk to your mom together—would you feel more comfortable discussing things with her?"

She'd already called Mrs. Nicholson to tell her that Bryan would be late getting home. The woman had taken it in her stride—she had three boys. "And one of them's always in detention," she'd said with a laugh, love in every syllable. "Since you're waiting on Zach, he can drive this misbehaving baby home."

"Bryan?" she prompted, when her little mischief-maker re­mained silent.

"No. You promised I could wait for Uncle Zach." He scowled. "Promises are for keeping, that's what Uncle Zach always says."

"That's true." Giving in, she smiled. "Let's hope your uncle
makes it here soon."

"Hot date?" The voice was rich, dark, and completely out of place in her classroom.

Startled, she stood to face the man leaning in the doorway. "Un­cle Zach?"

A smile that cut her off at the knees. "Just Zach's fine." Vivid aqua-colored eyes, straight black hair cut in a careless way, copper-gold skin and bones that spoke of an ancestor from one of the native tribes. "You called."

And he'd come.

She felt her cheeks blaze as the thought passed through her head. "I'm Annie Kildaire, Bryan's teacher."

When Zach accepted the hand she'd extended in a gesture of au­tomatic politeness, the heat of him seared through her skin to burn her on the inside. She felt her breath catch and knew she was going even redder. Dear God, she was useless around beautiful men. And "Uncle" Zach was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

He was also staring at her. Probably at her always messy knot of hair, her bright red cheeks, her mortified brown eyes. Tugging at her hand, she tried to extract it. He held on as he glanced at Bryan. His nephew continued to sit there with a mutinous expression on his face. Seeing their clasped hands, he favored his uncle with a look that shouted "traitor."

Zach returned his attention to Annie. "Tell me what happened."

"Could you—" She tugged at her hand again.

He looked down, seemed to consider it, then finally let go. Fin­gers tingling in sensory memory, she quickly moved to busy herself tidying the stack of book reports on her desk. "If you'd like to take a seat?" He towered over her. That wasn't particularly difficult, but he was big in a very intimidating way. Solid shoulders, pure hard muscle and lean strength. A soldier, she thought, aware of some of the ranks within the DarkRiver pack, Zach had to carry the rank of soldier.

"I'd rather stand."

"All right." She didn't sit either. It didn't give her much of an advantage—or any advantage if she was being honest—but if she sat down with him looming all big and intense over her, she'd probably lose the power of speech. "Bryan punched a classmate dur­ing last period. He refuses to tell me what caused the incident."

"I see." Zach frowned. "Why isn't the other boy here?"

She wondered if he thought she was playing favorites. "Morgan is in the sick bay. He's rather . . . delicate."

Zach raised an eyebrow. "Delicate?"

She wanted to glare at him herself. He knew perfectly well what she was talking about. "Morgan gets sick very easily." And had a mother who treated him as if he was made of spun glass. Given that the same thing had driven Annie insane as a child, she might've tried to talk to Mrs. Ainslow about it, except that it was obvious Morgan liked the fussing. "He was too upset to stay near Bryan, though I would've preferred to talk to them together."

"Human?" Zach asked.

"No," she said, trying not to feel too satisfied by his look of sur­prise. "Swan."

"Swans aren't predators"—which, Annie knew, was why Mor­gan's family had been allowed to stay in DarkRiver territory—"but they're not exactly weak."

"While all humans are?" she was irritated enough to say.

He raised an eyebrow. "Did I say that, sweetheart?"

Her face heated from the inside out. "I am Bryan's teacher."

"Not mine." A grin. "You could be though. Wanna play class­room, Teach?"

She dealt with DarkRiver cats throughout the year, but for the most part, they were mated pairs, or couples in long-term relation­ships. She had no clue how to handle a teasing male who was clearly not only aware of the effect he had on her but confident enough to take advantage. Focus on the facts, she told herself, just focus. "Bryan is normally very good." He was, in truth, one of her best students. "He's kind, intelligent, and before today, he's never once hurt a classmate."

Zach's expression turned serious. "Strength is for protecting, not hurting. Bryan knows that as well as anybody in the pack."

Annie's heart clutched at the absolute way he said that, as if it was simply a fact of life. That core of unflinching honor was one of the things she most admired about the DarkRiver males she'd met. The other was the way they didn't make even the slightest attempt to hide the adoration they felt for their mates. It was . . . nice.

It was also yet another point of contention between her and her mother. Professor Kimberly Kildaire had very determined views on what men should be like. The word "civilized" appeared often in the description, along with generous helpings of "rational"—a man who teased with sensual ease was far too wild to ever make the professor's cut.

However, Annie knew her own mind, and her reaction to Zach was anything but rational. "That's why," she said, forcing herself to think past the nerves that threatened to turn her mute, "I was so surprised by what he did. Frankly, I have no idea what could've caused it. Morgan and Bryan don't even tend to play together."

"Give me a couple of minutes with him." With a nod, he walked to his nephew. "Come on, Jumping Bean, let's talk."

"Over there." Bryan got up and led his uncle to the back of the classroom. Annie looked away out of politeness, knowing she wouldn't have been able to hear the conversation even if they hadn't moved—changeling hearing was generally far more acute than a human's. But, and though she tried to keep her eyes on the book reports, her curiosity got the better of her.

She looked up to see Zach crouched in front of Bryan, his arms braced loosely on his knees. The position had raised the sleeve of his T-shirt to expose part of a tattoo on his right biceps. She squinted. It was something exotic and curved, something that beckoned her to stroke. Thankfully, before she could surrender to the urge to get closer, Bryan began to gesture so earnestly, she wondered what on earth he was saying.

"I didn't even hit him that hard, Uncle Zach." Bryan blew out a breath that made his dark brown bangs dance. "He's a sissy."

"Bryan."

"I mean he's 'delicate,' " Bryan said, proving he had very big ears. "He's always crying, even when nobody does any-thing on pur­pose. He cried yesterday when Holly elbowed him by accident."

"Oh?"

"Yeah—Holly's a girl. And she's human."

Zach knew exactly what Bryan meant. No matter their animal, changelings were physically tougher than humans. Their bones were stronger, their bodies healed faster, and, in the case of preda­tory changelings, they could do a hell of a lot more damage. "Which doesn't explain why you hit him." He knew and liked his nephew. The boy had been born with a solid code of honor, a code that had been strengthened by the rules DarkRiver men lived by. "You know we don't bully weaker people."

A shamefaced expression. "I know."

"Did the cat get angry?" The leopard was part of who they were. But for the younger ones, the wilder side of their nature was some­times difficult to control.

Right then, Bryan's curvy temptation of a teacher shifted up front. Her delectable scent whispered over on disturbed air cur­rents, ruffling the leopard's fur in the most enticing way. He barely bit back a responsive groan. Sometimes, adults had trouble with the cat, too. "Come on, JB. You know I'm not going to get mad at you if you lost control."

"Yeah, I guess I kinda got mad." Bryan shuffled his feet. "I wanted to growl and bite, but I hit him instead."

"That's good." A leopard's jaws could do a lot of damage.

"And it wasn't just the cat," his nephew elaborated. "It was all of me."

Zach understood. They weren't human, and they weren't ani­mal. They were both. "What made you angry?"

"Morgan said something mean."

Zach knew that sometimes it was those who appeared weakest who bore the nastiest of streaks. At least Ms. Kildaire seemed well aware of that—he hadn't missed the fact that she hadn't automati­cally blamed Bryan. "Tell me what it was."

Bryan darted a glance toward his teacher, then leaned closer. "I didn't want to say anything to Miss Kildaire, 'cause she's nice, and I like her."

"I like her, too." A truer statement had never been said. There was something about the little teacher with her jet-black hair and dark brown eyes that had the cat purring in interest. He wondered if she realized she had one hell of a sexy mouth, then wondered if she'd let him do all sorts of wicked things to that mouth, hater, he promised himself. Right now, Bryan needed him. "What does this have to do with Ms. Kildaire?"

"Morgan said that his mother said that Miss Kildaire is sitting on a shelf."

Zach had to think about that one for a few seconds. "He said she's on the shelf?"

"Uh-huh." An emphatic nod. "I don't know why Miss Kildaire would sit on a shelf, but that's what Morgan said."

"I'm guessing there's more."

"And then Morgan said that his mother said that Miss Kildaire was too fat to get a man."

What a load of horseshit, Zach thought. Morgan's mother was probably some shriveled-up jealous twit. "I see."

"And then Morgan said she was a cripple."

Zach had a sudden urge to punch out the little rat himself. "Go on."

"I told him to take it back. Miss Kildaire is the nicest teacher at the school, and she's not a cripple just 'cause she has a sore leg sometimes and has to use a cane." Temper flared in Bryan's eyes, the irises shifting to the jagged green of the leopard.

"Hold the cat, Bryan," Zach said, forcing a choke hold on his own anger. Cubs had to be taught control. Once, a long time ago, the animal fury of changelings had run unchecked, and it had led to the carnage of the Territorial Wars.

The other races might've forgotten those tormented years, but changelings never would. And they'd never allow it to happen again. "Hold it." He put his hand on Bryan's arm and allowed a low growl to rise from his throat. It was a gesture of dominance, and it worked to bring Bryan's leopard back under control.

"Sorry."

Zach felt his own cat pacing inside him before it became dis­tracted by the exquisite scent of the luscious Ms. Kildaire. "It's okay. We all had to learn."

"Yeah." Bryan blew out a breath. "Anyway, Morgan kept saying she was a cripple, and I got mad and hit him."

Zach found himself in a quandary. He really couldn't disagree with his nephew's actions, but punching out another kid was against the rules. He looked into Bryan's intelligent face and made the only deci­sion he could. "JB, you know we don't condone this kind of violence."

Bryan nodded.

"But I understand the provocation." Lying wasn't how the pack worked. And Bryan was old enough to know that understanding didn't mean approval.

His nephew's face melted into a smile. "I knew you would." He threw his arms around Zach's neck.

Zach hugged that small, sturdy body and waited until Bryan drew back before asking, "Why didn't you call your dad? He would've understood, too." Joe ran a bar that was a favorite gather­ing place for the pack, but he was also a fellow soldier.

"He's watching Liam's soccer game today. I didn't want to mess that up—Liam's been practicing his kicks for like a month."

Zach ruffled his nephew's hair. "You're a good kid, JB." Standing, he nodded at the cubbyholes that lined the back of the classroom. "Grab your stuff while I go sort this out with Ms. Kildaire."

Bryan grabbed his hand. "You won't—"

"I won't say anything. Promise."

Relaxing, Bryan went to a cubby to their right and began to gather his things.

Zach watched Annie rise from her chair as he walked over and had to fight the urge to growl that she sit back down. He'd noticed her shakiness earlier—her left leg was bothering her. But if he said what he wanted to, he'd be as bad as that runt, Morgan. Annie Kil­daire had to be perfectly capable if she was running a classroom of seven-year-olds.

"Did he tell you?" she asked in that husky voice that brushed like black velvet over his skin. The cat stretched out, asking for more. Being stroked by Ms. Kildaire, he thought, both sides of him in agreement, might just be the best Christmas present ever.

"Yes, he gave up the goods."

She waited. "And?"

"And I can't tell you." He watched her brow furrow, her lips purse. He couldn't decide if he wanted to bite down on that full lower lip or lick the upper one.

"Mr. . . . Zach."

"Quinn," he supplied. "Zach Quinn."

Her cheeks flared with little red spots of temper. "Mr. Quinn, Bryan is a child. I expect you to act like an adult."

Oh, he had plenty of plans to act like an adult around Ms. Kil­daire. "I promised JB."

She stared at him, then blew out a breath. "And promises are to be kept."

"Yes."

"What do you suggest I do?" She folded her arms. "I have to punish him, and I can't do that without knowing why he did what he did."

"I'll take care of it." Bryan had hit someone, and his nephew knew he'd be disciplined for it, provocation or not. But some things, Zach knew, were worth fighting over. "I'll make sure the punishment fits the crime."

"It's a school matter."

"It's a leopard matter."

CHAPTER 2

Understanding filtered into those pretty melted-chocolate eyes. "He's usually so well controlled, I forget he's only seven."

"Boy'll grow up to be one of the dominants, probably a soldier." He glanced behind him. "Ready?"

Bryan nodded, backpack slung over his shoulder. "Yep."

Zach watched as his nephew walked up to the desk and said, "I'm sorry I dis—"a frown of concentration—"disrupted the classroom. But I'm not sorry I hit Morgan."

Zach was looking at Annie and saw her struggle to hide a smile. "That's not a very good attitude, Bryan."

"I know. And I'm ready for the punishment. But I'm still not sorry."

Brown eyes flicked to him. "Is stubbornness a family trait?" Her lips curved just a little, just enough to make everything in him sit up in attention.

"Now that, sweetheart," he said, a stunning realization taking form in his chest, "is something you'll have to decide for yourself." Well, hell.

She colored again. "Thank you for coming in, Mr. Quinn. I'll look forward to seeing Bryan in class on Monday."

He didn't move, tasting the realization that had him by the throat. It was hot, wild, right. Utterly, absolutely right. The knowl­edge made his smile slow and seductive. "Why don't you walk out with us?" The corridors had been close to empty when he arrived, and he couldn't hear any movement now. No way was he leaving sweet Annie Kildaire alone in a building with winter darkness only an hour away at most.

"I'll be out in a moment." She began to gather the papers on her desk.

"We'll wait." He glanced at Bryan. "Can you wait?"

"Yep." A sunny smile. "But I'm hungry."

Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a muesli bar he'd grabbed on his way here. "I got you this for the ride home."

Bryan caught it with cat-quick reflexes and happily went off to scramble into a seat, backpack at his feet. Meanwhile, Ms. Kildaire was giving him a guarded kind of look. "Really Mr. Quinn—"

"Zach. You can only call me Mr. Quinn when you're angry."

"Mr.—"

"Zach."

Her hand fisted. "Fine. Zach."

He smiled, liking that she was already comfortable enough to argue with him. Some women found him a little too dangerous to play with. And he very much wanted to play with Annie. "Yes, Teach?"

He could hear her gritting her teeth. "I'll be perfectly fine walk­ing out alone. I do it every day of the week."

He shrugged, enjoying the verbal sparring. "I'm here today."

"And what you says goes?" Looking down, she shoved her pa­pers into an untidy pile.

"Unless you can talk me out of it." He saw her jaw set and knew she was gritting those human teeth again. All that beautiful pas­sion, he thought in pleasure, hidden behind the shyness that had first stained her cheeks. .

"And why should I be talking you out of anything?" She grabbed what looked like a black leather-synth satchel and put the papers inside. "You're nobody to me."

The cat didn't like that. The man didn't either. "That wasn't very nice."

She turned to shoot him a glare, then recommenced packing her satchel. He could almost see her trying to figure out if he was being serious or if he was teasing her. That it took her that much focus, told him she hadn't been teased much. That was a shame. Because when Annie got mad, she forgot to be shy.

Now, she slapped her satchel closed and swung it over her shoul­der. Or tried to. Zach slid it out of her hand and brought the strap over his head, settling it diagonally across his body.

"Mr. Quinn!" She looked like she wanted to bite him.

His cat purred in interest, even as Bryan giggled. "Nobody calls Uncle Zach that."

"Yeah, nobody does," Zach added. "Come on, Jumping Bean. We're moving out." He nodded at the coat thrown carelessly over the back of Annie's chair. "Don't forget that. It's cold out." He began to walk to the door, knowing she'd have no choice but to follow.

After a taut second, she did. He heard her clothing rustle as she put the coat on over her stern gray pants and tailored white shirt, his mind obliging him with a fantasy slide show of the feminine softness he knew lurked underneath. Pity it was all covered up now.

"After you, Teach." Letting Bryan scamper a few feet ahead, he held the door open and watched Annie Kildaire walk toward him.

Her limp was very slight, but even that meant the injury had to have been horrendous. Either that, or the impairment was a natu­ral one surgeons hadn't been able to repair fully. And there wasn't much surgeons couldn't repair these days. "What happened to your leg?" he asked once they were out in the hallway.

She faltered for a second before her shoulders squared. "There was a freak bullet-train derailment when I was seven. My leg was crushed so badly, it was pretty much unrecognizable as anything other than meat with a few fragments of bone."

He heard the simmering pride in her, had the sense that she was bracing herself for a blow. "They did a good job of reconstructing it. Titanium?"

He could tell from her expression that that wasn't the response she'd expected. "No. Some kind of new plassteel. Very high-tech. It 'grew' as I grew, so I only needed a couple of extra surgeries over the years."

"And now?"

"I shouldn't need any work done on it unless I injure the leg in some way."

Zach knew that couldn't be all of it. "Still hurt?"

She hesitated. "Sometimes." She indicated a corridor to their left. "I want to make sure Morgan's been picked up."

"JB, hold up." Knowing he could trust the boy not to dart out­side, he followed Annie the short distance to the sick bay. Looking over her shoulder, he saw the darkened interior. "He's gone."

She jumped. "You walk like a cat!"

"I am a cat, sweetheart." He wanted to tease her again, so he let a low growl rumble up from his chest. "See?"

Streaks of vibrant color stained her cheeks once more. But she didn't back down. "Are you planning to move?"

"No." He drew in a deep breath, fighting the urge to nuzzle at her throat. "You smell good. Can I taste you?" It was a half-serious question. "Just a little?"

"Mr. Quinn!" She took a step around him and headed off.

But he'd already caught the tart bite of arousal in her scent. Satisfied, he followed, on his best behavior now. It wouldn't do to scare Annie away. Not when he planned to keep her.

A moment later, they reached the front door, where Bryan was waiting. Zach pulled it open. "Stay with me," he told his nephew. The boy was leopard-fast, but he was still a boy. Sometimes, he didn't look where he was going, and cars could hurt him as easily as they could a human or Psy child.

The outside air was cold, but it made Zach sigh in exhilaration. Being outdoors was in his blood, the reason why he loved his day job as a ranger in Yosemite. The work fitted naturally into his du­ties as a DarkRiver soldier—he could run patrols and check up on his wild charges at the same time.

"Where's your car?" he asked Annie, noticing that her face had brightened, too. Sexy, kissable Annie Kildaire liked being outside as much as he did. It pleased the cat, soothed the man.

"Over there." Giving him a look still colored with the tart kiss of temper, she pointed to a little compact that would cut his legs in half if he was ever insane enough to try to fold himself inside. But she was on the small side, he thought, wondering if she'd mind tussling with a taller man. The idea of the games he wanted to play with Annie made him grin. "JB and I will walk you over."

She didn't argue with him this time, simply asked about his ve­hicle. He jerked a thumb in the direction of the rugged all-wheel-drive parked a few spaces away.

"I suppose you need that in the forest?" Her voice held a touch of wistfulness.

"Yeah." DarkRiver's territory covered a lot of beautiful but harsh land. And now that they had allied with the SnowDancer wolves, that territory included the Sierra Nevada mountains. "Have you ever been out in Yosemite?" The nearest edge of the massive for­est was only about an hour from here, the reason why this school was so popular with the pack. Many of them lived on the fringes of Yosemite.

"Just the public areas." She pressed her thumb to the door of her car, deactivating the security lock. "I guess those sections only make up a tiny fraction of your territory?"

Zach nodded. In the past, DarkRiver had been relaxed about of­fering access to other parts of the forest—so long as people obeyed the rules that protected the land and its wild inhabitants. However, right now, with the Psy Council looking for any weakness in their defenses, they'd become more stringent. Nobody but Pack went in past what DarkRiver considered the public boundary. Of course, members of the pack could bring guests in. "Want to see more?"

Her expression was startled. "I—" She snapped her mouth shut, and he saw her gaze dip to her leg. The movement was so quick, he would've missed it if he hadn't been watching her so closely.

Someone, he thought, a growl building inside him, had done a number on her confidence. "I can drive you up tomorrow," he said, clamping down on the anger, "show you some of the sights most people never get to see."

"I shouldn't." But temptation whispered through her eyes. "I have to prepare for the class's contribution to the Christmas pag­eant." A fond look directed at Bryan.

His nephew jumped up and down. "We're going to do the story of how the Psy once tried to cancel Christmas. It's gonna be so funny!"

"Make sure you get me a ticket," Zach said, but his mind was on how to secure Annie's company for tomorrow. Challenge might work. Or perhaps . . . "Once-in-a-lifetime offer," he said with a smile that he tried to keep from being ravenous. If she caught even a hint of what he truly wanted from her, she'd never get into a car with him, much less let him drive her into the lush privacy of the forest. "Pack's getting strict about who we allow in."

She bit down on that full lower lip of hers, arousing his jealousy. He wanted to do the biting.

"Well," she said, clearly torn.

Then Bryan clinched the deal for him. "You should come, Miss Kildaire! Then after, you can come to the picnic."

"Picnic?" She looked at Zach. "It's winter."

"Winter picnic," he said, as if that was normal. It was, for Dark­River. "It's informal, just a chance for people to get together before the Christmas madness."

"Please come, Miss Kildaire," Bryan pleaded. "Please."

He saw Annie melt at that childish plea and knew he had her.

"All right," she said, and looked up. Her smile faded . . . be­cause he'd let the cat seep into his eyes, let her see the dark hunger pumping through his blood.

"I'll pick you up at nine." He leaned closer, drawing in the scent of her. "Be ready for me, sweetheart."

Annie closed the door to her apartment and asked herself if she'd lost her mind. Not half an hour ago, she'd agreed to spend an entire day with a man so dangerous, a sane woman would've run in the opposite direction . . . instead of fantasizing about kissing him on those should-be-illegal lips. Her entire body went hot as she remembered the look in his eyes as he'd asked her to be ready for him. Dear God, the man was lethal.

"Calm down, Annie," she told herself. "It's not like he's really going to do anything." Because while Zach Quinn might've flirted with her, might even have looked at her as a man looks at a woman he wants, she was pragmatic enough to know that it had probably been nothing more than a momentary diversion on his part. A man that good-looking had to have women begging to crawl into his bed.

The idea of Zach sprawled in bed, all gleaming skin and liquid muscle, made her stomach flutter. Then she imagined him crooking a finger, that teasing smile playing over his lips. "If he ever looks at me like that," she whispered, pulling the chopsticks out of her hair as she walked into the bedroom, "I'm a goner." Her black hair tumbled around her face in a mass of soft curls.

Zach's hair had looked heavier than hers, sleeker.

Her thoughts went from his hair to what he might look like in leopard form. A predator, all muscle and power covered with a gold-and-black coat. Would he allow a woman to stroke him? Her fingers tingled in awareness, and standing as she was in front of the vanity mirror, she saw her lips part, her eyes widen. The ache between her thighs turned into an erotic pulse.

Her cell phone beeped.

She ignored it, shocked by the raw intensity of the hunger surg­ing through her. She'd never before reacted this passionately to a man, until her entire body trembled'with the force of it. "Lord have mercy." Because if this was what simply thinking about him did to her, how in the world was she going to survive being alone with him for an entire day?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

She answered the cell just to shut off the sound. "Yes?"

CHAPTER 3

"Angelica, what's the matter? You're snapping."

She took a deep breath. "Nothing, Mom. I just got home."

"Well, it's Friday, so you can relax a little. Drink that chamo­mile tea I got you."

Annie hated chamomile tea. "You know I don't like it." "It's good for you."

She'd heard that so many times it no longer made any impact. "I think I want to be bad, today." And it wasn't herbal tea on her mind. "Very, very bad."

"Honestly, Angelica!" Kimberly blew out a frustrated breath. "Forget the tea. I wanted to tell you to dress nicely for dinner to­morrow night."

Dinner? Annie's stomach sunk to the bottom of her toes as she realized she'd blanked the event from her mind. "Mom, you said you wouldn't—"

"He's a nice young professor from London. Over here on a sabbatical."

"When you say young . . ."

"He's only forty-three, dear."

Annie was twenty-eight. "Oh." She rubbed her forehead. "The thing is—"

"No arguments. Your father and I want you settled. We won't be around to look after you forever."

"I can look after myself." She felt her hand fist, released it with effort. There was no point in getting angry, not when this was a conversation they'd been having for more years than she could re­member. "I'm not a child."

"Well you can't spend the rest of your life alone." Her mother's tone was harsh, but it held an edge of desperation—Kimberly re­ally was worried by the thought of her daughter living a solitary life. She'd never bothered to wonder if Annie was single by choice. "Professor Markson is a lovely man. You could do a lot worse."

What her mother actually meant, Annie thought with a stab of old resentment, was that it wasn't as if she had any other options. To Kimberly, Annie was a damaged,and fragile creature most men would bypass. "Is Caro coming?"

"Of course not." Her mother made a sound of annoyance. "We want the professor's attention on you. Much as I like her, your cousin tends to steal the limelight, even now that she's married."

Annie's headache intensified—Caro was usually the only point of sanity at these ritual humiliations. "Right."

"I'll expect you at seven for cocktails."

"I might be a little late."

"Work?"

"No." How did she say this? "I, er, arranged an in-depth tour of Yosemite." Though she didn't live far from the forest, her parents were closer to San Francisco. Even in a high-speed vehicle, it would take her over an hour to make the trip.

"Really, Annie. You knew we were having this dinner."

"I said I didn't want to be set up on any more dates." Especially when she had no intention of marrying or entering into a long-term relationship. Ever. And most certainly not when the men came in expecting someone like Caro and got Annie instead. "I'll try to be there as soon as I can, but I can't promise anything."

Her mother hung up after a few more sharp words. Rubbing her forehead, Annie walked out of the bedroom and to the bath­room, cell phone still in hand. After that call, she definitely needed the soothing properties of a bath liberally laced with mineral salts. Stripping off, she sat on the edge of the tub while it filled, taking the chance to massage some of the stiffness out of her thigh.

Does it hurt?

Such a simple question, without judgment or pity. It had un­done her just a little. Not only that, but Zach had continued to flirt with her even after discovering that she was less than perfect. It might not have meant much to him, but it had meant something to her.

No, Angelica, you can't do that. Your leg's too weak.

Too often, it felt as if her mother had been born into the wrong race. She would've made a good Psy, with her analytical mind and need for perfection in all things.

The only place Kimberly had failed was with Annie.

Her mood might've dimmed again, but she was too busy day­dreaming about kissing Zach on those beautiful lips of his. The man was too sinful to be real. And the way he flirted . . . wow. It would've been nice to be confident enough to flirt back. "Instead of blushing and going tongue-tied," she muttered.

She'd seen enough DarkRiver couples to identify the kind of women dominant changeling men found attractive—and Zach was definitely a dominant. Those women were all striking in some way, but it was their self-assurance that really shone through. Vividly intelligent, they didn't hesitate to speak their minds, or give back as good as they got. Feminine strength didn't scare men of Zach Quinn's ilk, it enticed them.

And that was exactly what attracted her to him. She knew after having met him only once that he'd never tell her she couldn't do something. Zach would simply expect her to match him. And that was a seduction all on its own.

The bath pinged to alert her it was full. She was about to step in when her eye fell on the cell phone she'd left on top of her discarded clothes. She grabbed it, deciding to give Caro a call. Her cousin was an expert on men, and it was advice on that subject that Annie needed right now.

Putting it within reach, she sank into the hot water with a moan. After ten minutes of just lying there soaking in the heat, she reached out to get the phone. It beeped an incoming call as her fingers brushed the case. Rolling her eyes because it was probably her mother again, she flipped it open without checking the display and answered audio only. *

"It's me," she said, dropping her head back against the wall and pressing her feet flat against the end of the bath.

"Hello, me."

Her breath stuck in her throat at the sound of that sensually amused voice. "Zach . . . Mr. Quinn—" She'd have jerked upright except that she was frozen in place.

"Zach," he corrected. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"No, I"—water dripped as she raised a hand to push streamers of hair off her face—"I was just relaxing."

"In the bath?"

She blinked, mortified that she'd left the visual feed on by ac­cident. But no, it was switched off. "Leopards have good ears."

Her cheeks colored. "Of course." She stayed very still, not want­ing him to hear her splashing about.

"I didn't mean to intrude into your relaxation time." An apol­ogy made in a voice that was close to a purr.

Annie told herself to breathe. "That's okay." Realizing he couldn't see her, she stopped fighting herself and allowed her face to suffuse with the pleasure she got from simply listening to him. She'd never before met a man with a voice like Zach's—so mascu­line, but with that delectable hint of play. As if while he might be a honed blade of a soldier, he knew how to laugh, too. "Was there a problem with Bryan?"

"No, JB's fine. No runs with the other kids for a week for him."

Annie frowned. "I thought he'd have entertainment privileges suspended."

Zach chuckled, and it rippled through her like living fire. "That is his favorite form of entertainment. Leopard changel-ings, espe­cially boys his age, hate being trapped inside."

"Of course." She remembered one of the other parents saying something along those lines during a parent-teacher conference. "Was that what you called to tell me?"

"That, and I wanted to warn you about the cold up in the higher elevations. We might even hit some snow. Dress in layers."

"Okay." She bit down on her lower lip, wanting to keep him on the phone but not knowing what to say to achieve that goal. "So, 9:00 a.m. tomorrow?"

"Hmm." He sounded distracted to her ears.

"I should let you go," she began.

"Tired of me already?"

She really didn't know how to deal with him. "No." Another male chuckle. "Tell me something about you, Annie."

"What do you want to know?" Why did he want to know?

"How long have you been a teacher?"

"Five years," she said with a smile. "I started teaching new en­trants, but for the past couple of years, it's been kids Bryan's age."

"You like it."

"I love it." She found she'd relaxed again, soothed by the timbre of his voice, so easy, so deliciously male. "What do you do?"

"I'm a forest ranger, specializing in the predatory species that call Yosemite home."

The work fitted him better than anything she could've imag­ined. "Do you like what you do?"

"It's in my blood." He paused. "Someone's at the door. I'll pick you up at nine on the dot. Sweet dreams." The last was a husky murmur laced with temptation.

"Bye." She ended the call and just sat there, flushing alternately hot and cold. Surely she was reading too much into the conversation. He'd called to make sure she dressed right. The way his voice had felt like a caress over her most sensitive skin . . »-that was the result of her pulse-pounding susceptibility to him. It didn't mean he wanted her, too.

But she couldn't quite stop herself from hoping.

Zach pulled open the door to his small home, already aware of his visitor's identity. He'd picked up the scent the instant the other changeling stepped out of his vehicle.

"Luc." He welcomed his alpha inside. "What's up?" Lucas walked in, dressed in a dark gray suit that said he'd come straight from DarkRiver's business HQ.

"Nice place."

"Nice suit." Opening the cooler, he threw Lucas a sleek glass bottle before taking one for himself.

"What the hell is this?" Lucas scowled at the pale blue liquid inside. "And the suit's camouflage."

"It's some new energy drink Joe's come up with." He twisted off the top. "We're supposed to give him feedback."

Lucas took a pull. "Not bad—for something that looks like it glows in the dark."

Zach grinned. "So, why the camouflage?"

"I had a meeting with a Psy group today."

"New deal?" DarkRiver had recently completed its second major construction project for Psy Councilor Nikita Duncan. The success of the venture had been so dramatic, they'd attracted considerable interest from other Psy businesses.

"Signed and sealed." Lucas's grin was very feline in its satisfac­tion. "I wanted to talk to you about some of the land you cover dur­ing your duties as ranger."

Zach nodded. "Is there a problem?"

"Shouldn't be, but I want you to keep an extra sharp eye out. Psy don't usually venture anywhere near our territory, but they've been changing the rules recently."

"You think they might be trying to use the land to familiarize themselves with the forest," Zach guessed. Psy weren't, as a rule, comfortable in wide-open spaces. They preferred the cities, with their towers of glass and steel. But as Lucas's mate, Sascha, showed, the psychic race was supremely adaptable.

"I don't think it's happened yet, but there's a possibility it might-—we'd be fools if we didn't prepare for the unexpected."

"I'll keep you updated." He put down his empty bottle beside the one Lucas had just finished. "You didn't really come here for that." Lucas's caution was something Zach was a senior-enough sol­dier to figure out for himself.

Lucas shrugged, the clawlike markings on the right side of his face standing out in vivid relief. "I was passing through to talk to Tammy about the Christmas celebrations, decided to drop in, touch base."

Since Tammy and Nate were Zach's closest neighbors, that made sense. "Tell Nate I saw his cubs chasing a dog yesterday." Lucas grinned.

"Sounds about right."

"Can I ask you a question?" Lucas raised an eyebrow and waited.

"How fragile are humans?" He'd had human lovers before, but he'd never wanted any woman, human or changeling, with the raw fury that colored his hunger for Annie. It worried him that he might hurt her in passion. "How much do I have to hold back?"

"They're not as breakable as we tend to think," Lucas said, and Zach knew he was speaking from experience. Physically, Psy were even weaker than humans, yet Lucas was very happily mated to Sascha. "Just don't use the same force on her that you'd use on me or one of the other males and you'll be fine."

"Who said there's a 'her'?"

"There's always a her."

"Her name is Annie, and I'm bringing her to the picnic to-
morrow."

Lucas's eyes gleamed cat green. "You're introducing her to the pack? When did you meet her?"

"Today."

"Well, hell." Lucas rocked back on his heels. "She have any idea what that means?"

"She's a little wary, but she likes me," he said, thinking of how her eyes had drunk him up. A man could get used to being looked at that way. Especially when the woman doing the looking was someone he'd like to eat up in small, delicious bites. "I'm going to court her first." But he already considered her his—because not only did Annie Kildaire arouse his most primal instincts, she was his mate . . . and he was a possessive kind of cat.

CHAPTER 4

Annie was ready by eight the next morning. Feeling jumpy and overexcited, she checked her clothing in the mirror one more time. She'd taken Zach's advice and layered it up, beginning with a plain white tee and a thin V-necked cashmere-blend sweater that felt divine on her skin . On the bottom, she'd worn her favorite jeans, along with a pair of hiking boots, in case the drive turned into a walk. Completing her outfit was an insulated puffy jacket.

"I look like an egg." Caroline had made her buy the cheerful yellow garment, insisting it brightened her face. Annie had agreed because it looked sunny. But it wasn't exactly flattering. Oh well, she thought, peeling it off and putting it on the little backpack that held her camera and water, it wasn't as if this was a date. Sweet dreams.

The memory of Zach's voice sent desire skittering through her veins. All she could think about was what it would be like to have that voice whisper in her ear while those strong hands touched her with bold confidence. "Oh, man." She pressed a hand flat to her stomach. "Calm, Annie. Calm." It was difficult to listen to her own advice when she'd spent the whole night dreaming about him. The tattoo she'd glimpsed on his biceps fascinated her—in her dreams, she'd stroked her fingers over the exotic lines of it, pressed her lips to that muscled flesh . . . and then touched another, harder part of his body.

"A whole day" she almost moaned, and went to shove a hand through her hair before realizing she'd pulled it back into a ponytail. Now she glanced into the mirror and made a face. She'd eschewed makeup—who went to a forest with makeup on?—but had given in to the urge to slick on some gloss. It plumped up her lips . . . except that her lips were already plump. "Argh." Too late, she remembered why she never used gloss. She was searching for a tissue to wipe it off when the doorbell rang. "Who on earth?" Run­ning to the door, she pulled it open.

A leopard in human skin stood on the other side. "I was hop­ing to wake you," he drawled, leaning against the doorjamb. "But you're all dressed." He tried to look sad, but the wicked lights dancing in his eyes made that .impossible.

"You're early," she said, unable to stop staring at him. He was wear­ing a pair of faded blue jeans, hiking boots and a soft gray sweatshirt stamped with the San Francisco Giants emblem. Casual clothes, but his hair was still damp from the shower and his jaw freshly shaven.

It was all she could do not to run her fingertips over that smooth skin and nuzzle the masculine scent of him into her lungs.

"I woke up early—had somewhere I wanted to be." He smiled at her, slow and persuasive. "Are you going to invite me in?" Raising a hand, he showed her a brown paper bag bearing the logo of a nearby bakery. "I brought breakfast."

She knew she shouldn't let him get his own way so very easily, but stepped aside in welcome. "What did you bring?"

"Come and see." He waited for her to close the door, then fol­lowed as she led the way into the kitchen through the living room of her apartment. "You like to read."

She saw him glance at the paperbacks on the shelves, stacked on the coffee table, placed face down on the arm of her sofa. "Yes."

"Me, too." He put the bag on the counter and slid onto a stool. "Why are you standing over there?"

She looked at him from the other side of the counter. "I thought I'd make coffee."

"Okay." He kept the bag closed. "But you're not seeing what's in here until you come around to this side."

He was definitely flirting. And she was definitely playing with fire by allowing it to go on. Because if there was one thing she knew about predatory changeling men, it was that they were quite ferally possessive—and belonging to anyone was simply not on her agenda. Of course, she was also getting way ahead of herself. He was only flirting. It wasn't as if he planned to drag her off to the chapel. "What do you read?" she asked, telling herself it was okay to try to flirt back, that this pull she felt toward him was nothing more than sexual attraction.

"Thrillers, some nonfiction." He looked around her open-plan kitchen and living room. "It's a small place."

"For you, maybe." He was so big, so unashamedly male, he took over the space . . . threatened to take her over, too.

He glanced at her, expression shifting to something darker and infinitely more dangerous. "Hmm, you're right. You're a bit smaller than me."

She tried to control her erratic breathing as she finished put­ting on the coffee. He just sat there and watched her with a feline patience that had her nerves sparking in reaction.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Last five years. I moved in after I got the teaching job."

"Did you live at home before that?"

She laughed through the thudding beat of her pulse. "Lord, no. I was outta there at eighteen."

"You ever get lonely, Annie?" he asked, his tone liquid heat over her skin.

"I like living alone. I intend to keep it that way." She thought she'd surprised him with that, but instead of replying, he lifted up the bag and raised an eyebrow. It was a dare. Annie had never con­sidered herself particularly courageous, but she walked around the counter. He nodded at her to take the stool beside his.

Knowing it would be silly to refuse, she got up, rubbing her thigh with one hand. He noticed. "It hurt today?"

"What?" She looked down. "Oh, no, not really. It's habit." It was always a little achy in the mornings. "So, breakfast?"

His eyes went cat on her between one instant and the next. She sucked in a breath at the intensity of that green-gold gaze. "Wow."

He smiled. "Let's play a game."

She had a feeling that playing with this big kitty cat was a very bad idea, but since she'd already given in to her insanity, she said, "What're the rules?"

"Close your eyes. Eat what I give you, and tell me what it is."

The notion of having him feed her had her heart racing at the speed of light. "What do I get if I guess correctly?"

"Mystery prize." His lashes lowered, and she thought she caught a glimpse of something edgy, something that blazed with raw male heat, but when he looked back up, there was nothing but amuse­ment in those leopard eyes. "Yes?"

"Yes." She watched mesmerized as he opened the paper bag with those hands she wanted to have all over her.

"Close your eyes, sweetheart."

She swallowed hunger of a far different sort and let her lashes flutter down. It made her even more aware of the scent of him, the warmth of him, the sheer presence of him. When he shifted posi­tion to put one of his feet on the outside of her stool, effectively trapping her, she opened her mouth to tell him . . . something.

But his finger brushed over her lips. "Taste."

He was all around her, in her blood, in her breath. Losing her train of thought, she closed her teeth over the pastry he put to her lips. The flaky stuff just about melted in her mouth, and she licked her lips without thinking about it.

Zach seemed to go very still, but when he spoke, his words were light. "Guess?"

"Danish."

"Wrong." She went to open her eyes, but he said, "No, keep them shut."

"Why?"

"I'm going to give you another shot. Right now, you owe a sin­gle forfeit. Let's see if we can even the decks."

"Forfeit?" She wondered why the thought sent excitement arc­ing through her. "You never said anything about a forfeit."

"You never asked."

As she'd thought—playing with this cat was an invitation to trouble. "Now I am."

"Later. First, taste this." He put something else to her mouth, and she bit down, determined to get it this time—he sounded far too delighted by the idea of having her owe him a forfeit.

She smiled. "Blueberry muffin."

A finger brushed over her lips, making her eyes snap open. "A crumb," he said.

"Oh."

He didn't smile this time, watching her with an intensity that reminded her that for all his playfulness, he was a DarkRiver soldier. And DarkRiver controlled the greater San Francisco area. More than that, they were allied with the bloodthirsty SnowDancer wolves.

"What're you thinking?" he asked her.

"That you're dangerous."

"Not to you," he said. "I wouldn't bite unless you asked very nicely."

Heat flooded her cheeks at the teasing promise, and she was more than glad to hear the coffeemaker ping. "Coffee's done, I'll grab it."

He let her go, but she had a feeling the game had only just be­gun. And that she was the prey.

Zach wanted to groan in frustration as he watched Annie move about the kitchen. He'd come within an inch of kiss­ing the life out of her when she'd licked her lips. Perfect, luscious, bitable lips. He'd resisted the temptation for two reasons. One, the cat liked the chase. And two, the man liked the idea of having An­nie melt at his touch. He planned to seduce her until she purred for him.

"Coffee." She put a cup in front of him, and he took a sip, at­tempting to behave when what he really wanted to do was haul her close and just take. Patience, he told himself. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Annie with the wild fury of his hunger.

"It's good." Sighing in appreciation, he passed her the muffin and a flaky croissant with a chocolate center. "The reason for your forfeit."

She scowled at the pain au chocolat. "So do the win and loss cancel each other out?"

"No. I'll collect my forfeit." His eyes drifted to her lips and lin­gered there. "A kiss, Annie. You owe me a kiss."

Her lips parted, her breath whispering out in a soft gasp. "And"—she coughed—"my winnings?"

"I'll give them to you later today." He wanted to drink up the scent of her, spiced as it was by the seduction of her growing arousal. However that arousal was nowhere near enough to satiate the sav­agery of his own need. But the cat was a patient hunter. By the time this day was through, he planned to have coaxed and tempted Annie Kildaire until she was as desperate for him as he was for her. "Now eat, or we'll be late."

She nibbled at her croissant, shooting him quick glances as he finished off the bagel he'd bought for himself. "When are you going to . . . collect?" she asked afterward, clearing away the cups with feminine efficiency that failed to mask her responsive awareness.

"I've got all day." He slid off the stool and smiled. "Ready?"

"You look very much the cat when you smile that way," she said. "You're enjoying teasing me."

He walked over and took the basket she'd picked up from the small table in one corner. "What's this?"

"I packed a couple of things for the picnic, and some snacks for the ride."

He peeked in. "Chocolate cake?"

"Chocolate mud cake," she said, with an adorable note of pride that made him want to claim his forfeit then and there. "I made it last night, gave it time to settle."

"You'll be Sascha's new best friend." Leaning in, he brushed his lips over her ear. "And yes, Teach, I like teasing you."

Annie still hadn't gotten over the sensation of his lips on her skin as Zach pulled away from her ground-floor apartment and out into the street. Open sexual heat laced his teasing, but she wasn't sure quite how far he'd take it. If he pushed, would she surrender?

The temptation was blindingly strong. Not only was he beauti­ful in the most masculine way, she flat out liked him. Being with Zach, if only for a night, would be, she already knew, a delight. He wouldn't be the least bit selfish, she thought. His partner's pleasure would matter to him. And, given his nature, he wasn't likely to want any kind of a commitment.

It was perfect.

Yet Annie found herself hesitating. Already, she reacted to him more deeply than she had to any other man her entire life. What would it do to her to sleep with him, to know him that inti­mately . . . then watch him walk away? Her mind flicked to a slide show of images. They were all of one woman. A woman with years of disappointment in her eyes.

"Look."

She jerked up at the sound of his voice. "What?"

"There." He pointed out the windshield.

Her eyes widened at the parade of old-fashioned automobiles on the other side of the road, all huge bodies and gleaming paint. They were so old they had no hover capacity, but there was something very sexy about them. "They look amazing. I wonder where they're going?"

"I read something about a vintage-car show about a twenty-minute drive from here. We could swing by after the picnic today."

Despite her fear at how quickly he'd gotten under her skin, she couldn't help but be delighted that he wanted to spend more time with her. Hard on its heels came disappointment. "I have to be back by six," she said. "Family dinner."

Zach shot her a quick glance. "You don't sound too enthusias­tic."

She understood the surprise in his voice. All the DarkRiver cats she knew had one thing in common—family was the bedrock of their world. And Pack was one big extended family as far as they were concerned—she'd had senior pack members turn up to parent-teacher conferences more than once when the parent was ill or un­avoidably delayed. "My mom keeps trying to set me up with men."

Zach's expression changed and, for the first time, she saw the ruthless soldier in him. "What kind of men?"

"Academics." She shrugged. "Mom and Dad are both professors at Berkeley—math and physics respectively."

"Are academics your type?"

"No."

He glanced at her again, and those eyes had gone leopard on her. "Are you sure?"

"Quite." She found herself refusing to be intimidated by the sense of incipient danger in the air. If she gave an inch, Zach would take a mile. And while she might not be a dominant female, it was important that he respect her. She frowned. Of course it was impor­tant, but that thought, it had been so vivid, so strong, so visceral—as if her mind knew something it wasn't yet ready to share.

Then Zach spoke again, breaking her train of thought. "So you'll be skipping the dinner." It was an order plain and simple.

Annie opened her mouth. What came out was, "No, I'll take you."

CHAPTER 5

Zach's grin was openly pleased. "What's the blind date going to say?"

She couldn't believe she'd just done that, ordered him to do something. More, she couldn't believe he'd agreed. "Probably, 'Thank God.' "

"Huh?"

"My cousin Caroline works at the university, too. The men come in expecting a statuesque, intellectual, blond beauty and get me."

"So?"

She scowled, wondering if he was teasing her again. "So, I'm about as opposite Caro as you can get."

"If they ignored you, that's their loss. Too damn bad for them." He shrugged. "Do you want to put on some music?"

She blinked at the way he'd swept aside the disappoint-ments of the past with that simple statement. If she hadn't already liked him, that would've done it. "No, I need to tell you something about my mom." She swallowed, realizing she'd made a mess of things. If she hadn't mentioned the dinner, she could've avoided this altogether.

Zach groaned. "Don't tell me, she's a vegetarian?" he said, as if that was the worst thing possible.

She supposed for a leopard changeling, it was. "No." For once, he couldn't make her smile despite herself. "My mum is a little"— she tried

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 775