Hunted (7 page)

At least CJ no longer looked at me with that patient “humor her” expression she’d worn when I first asked if she minded if I drew what I wanted her to do as my tattoo. I knew she thought she’d have to redo the image before making the stencil. I didn’t even blame her. She didn’t know me, so she didn’t know my one real talent was art. Unfortunately, it is next to impossible to make a living as an artist, especially if you’re on the run and likely to have to move without notice--or the chance to pack your belongings.

Even though part of me waited for the validation of my work that she could give, I was more worried about Matt’s reaction. He’d recognize the markings on the totem in the background as those for his clan and pride. But there were others as well. Would he recognize them and would he understand why it was so important for me to include them?

As if sensing my concern, his hands tightened on my shoulders where they had rested the entire time I sketched. A moment later, his lips brushed the top of my head. I waited, heart pounding, as he reached out to move the sketch so he could get a better look. His approval meant a great deal and I prayed he gave it--and soon.

“You are a woman of many talents, Finn,” he said, admiration clear. “This is beautiful.”

“Thanks. But at the risk of shattering any illusions you might have about me, this is my only real talent.”

“Somehow I doubt that. I have a feeling you’re selling yourself short.” He pushed the sketch over to CJ. “I recognized our markings. I assume the dates are your parents’ birthdays.”

I nodded, emotion tightening my throat. God, even after all this time, I missed them so much.

“The other symbols on the totem, though, I’m not so sure about. I think I recognize the Oklahoma clan marking. I don’t recognize the other.” He didn’t ask, but I could hear the unspoken question. “Nor do I see the mark of the Northern California clan.”

I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. I’d revealed more of myself to him in the last day than I had to anyone but my parents. So far he’d been very supporting and understanding. Hopefully, that would continue.

“I’ll never willingly bear the markings of the Northern California clan.” If there was bitterness in my voice--and there was a lot of it--I didn’t care. “The clan betrayed my parents and all of our kind by not finding out what really happened the day they died. If they were killed by one of us, then their killer should be forced to face our judgment. If they were killed by a normal, we need to know why. It is possible our secret is no longer safe and you know what that could mean for all of us. Hell, Matt, if they really did kill themselves, there has to be a reason and we need to know that. There was no note and nothing in either of their histories to account for suicide actually happening.

“But there’s another reason why I’ll never bear the clan’s marking. When Michael tried to claim me as his mate, only a few members of the clan--my aunt and uncle and a half a dozen others--spoke against it. There were mumblings from others, but only they stood by me and said what he planned was wrong.”

Tears burned my eyes as I remembered the scene. Michael had denounced them as working against the best interest of the clan. He’d reminded the others that I’d be sixteen in a matter of months, close enough to my majority as far as he was concerned to be claimed. I was, he said, the daughter of the previous clan leaders so I must understand the necessity of what he planned.

What I’d understood was that he took what he wanted without concern for the consequences. He felt his position as clan leader entitled him to do whatever he wanted, whether it violated our laws or not. As for violating the laws of the outside world, those obviously didn’t exist in his mind.

When he banished Aunt Jane, Uncle Lou and the others from the clan, he’d shown he didn’t care about anyone or anything except himself. It proved that he would do whatever he wanted, whether it was good for pride and clan or not. And that, I knew, did not bode well for my future.

The night before they left, I’d listened in growing disbelief as Aunt Jane told me I had to run. I had to get as far away from Michael as possible and I had to do it now, before he realized what I was going to do. I couldn’t go back to the house I’d shared with my parents. If there was anything I wanted from there, she’d make sure it found its way to me somehow, probably through friends and family in other clans. But I had to go underground. I couldn’t go to anyone Michael knew was associated with our family. She knew it was a lonely, difficult path she was setting me on but she was afraid it was the only way I’d survive.

I hadn’t questioned her. How could I when she was telling me something I’d already figured out? So, over the next hour we established ways for me to contact my grandparents and others close to the family without giving away my location. Hopefully, it would be enough to keep me safely out of Michael’s hands. Then she’d hugged me, pressed a wad of cash into my hands and told me it was time to go. If God was willing, I’d soon be able to come home, wherever that might be.

Neither of us expected that journey to last as many years as it had.

And I was home. I’d known it--well, my jaguar had--the moment I saw Matt. Now, if he understood . . . .

“Maybe I should excuse myself.” CJ looked uncomfortable, kind of like a kid walking in on her parents in the middle of a very serious discussion.

“No, please. You’re a member of Matt’s home pride as well as of the clan, so you need to know. Besides, I want you to witness something. That way you can confirm the validity of my claim of lineage should anyone question it.”

“Finn?” Matt’s concern was clear when I stood and moved to the counter, reaching for his cell phone.

“Matt, the totem represents my bloodline. My parents may have been clan leaders for the Northern California clan, but neither originated there. My father grew up in Wichita, Kansas. His family has been in Kansas, mainly in the Dodge City and Wichita areas, since shortly after the Civil War. They originally came from Pennsylvania. Their ancestors came from Ireland and Germany for the most part.

“My mother was from Tulsa. Her family has been there for generations. Her maternal line includes survivors of the Trail of Tears. I have Cherokee and Seminole blood through her, as well as more Irish.”

I could have named each of my relatives going back at least five generations. Most of our kind can. Because there are so few of us, relatively speaking, bloodlines often become important to make sure we aren’t mating with someone too closely related. I didn’t name them though. I had something else in mind, something important if I really was going to be Matt’s mate and a leader in pride and clan.

I blew out a breath and steeled myself. This was the moment of truth. Or at least one of them.

“Matt, I assume you know how to contact the head of the Oklahoma clan?” It really wasn’t much of a question. Still, I waited until he nodded. “Please call them. When you are sure you’re talking to Irene Walkinghorse, let me have the phone.”

For a moment, he simply looked at me, a thousand questions reflected in his eyes. Then he looked down at the cell phone I held out to him. He took it and I waited as he programmed in a number. Time slowed as we waited. How many times the other end of the call rang before it was answered, I don’t know. It felt like a lifetime. Then, finally, he identified himself and confirmed he was, in fact, talking with Irene Walkinghorse. He asked her to hold on a moment and handed me the phone.

“It’s me,” I said simply. My grandmother gasped slightly before regaining control. “Shenandoah.” That was our code word I was safe.

“Dallas?” she asked simply.

“Yes. I need you to confirm my identity and bloodline to the clan leader. He’s offered me a place here and I want to accept. But I want him to know exactly who I am before we make it official.”

“Jennings?” She spat the name like an epitaph.

“Is part of the reason. I’ll explain later, I promise. Please answer any of Matt’s questions and he has my permission to explain why he’s asking.” I looked at him and he nodded, understanding easing his concerned expression.

“All right.”

 I could tell we’d be having a long talk about all this, but it had to wait. Something told me I needed to secure my position here as quickly as possible. Once Michael learned how close his trackers had come to capturing me, he wouldn’t give up. He hated losing and he’d already proven he didn’t care about the sanctity of clan territory. That meant he’d do just about anything if he thought he could get me back.

I handed the cell phone back to Matt. Nerves on edge, stomach churning, I walked out of the kitchen. Unless I was badly mistaken, the call would take some time. He might be as drawn to me as I was to him, but he was still clan leader. He’d not forget his responsibilities just because our cats wanted us together. That meant he’d quiz my grandmother as much as possible, confirming my bloodline, my early training and what little she could tell him about my years after fleeing California.

None of which would match her questions. Since I had no desire to listen in and I couldn’t leave the house--no, I wouldn’t leave the house. Matt would worry and there was no guarantee the trackers, or their human agents, weren’t watching. So I returned to the guest bedroom and its adjoining half-bath. Just then, nothing sounded better than standing under a hot shower and letting the water ease my muscles, suddenly tight with worry.

The water was beginning to cool when a slight draft warned me I was no longer alone. Someone was in the bathroom. Matt’s scent reached me and a moment later the shower door opened. I didn’t turn. I didn’t even lift my head. Instead I let the water cascade down on me and waited, smiling slightly as hands found my shoulders and then made their way to my waist and pulled me close.

“You keep surprising me, Finn,” he said softly. I moaned as his hands cupped my breasts. “If I had any doubts about our being mates--and I didn’t--I most certainly don’t now.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Not with his hands playing with my breasts, his mouth moving to the crook of my neck. Part of me, one very small and quiet part, told me this wasn’t me. I didn’t have sex in the shower with a man I barely knew. I certainly didn’t when there was someone else in the house. But the rest of me didn’t care. Nothing mattered beyond what he was doing with his hands and mouth. I’d never felt so alive before.

He nipped and licked and sucked and all rational thought left me. I tried to turn. I wanted to face him, to touch him as he touched me. But I couldn’t. He held me where I was. One hand cupped my right breast and the other found its way between my legs.

His fingers teased. His lips drove me wild. My hands braced against the tile, my head thrown back, my mouth open. The shower beat down on me and my heart beat in rhythm with it.

“Matt.”

It was barely more than a whisper. He spun me to face him, his hands closing around my waist. My hands clasped behind his neck and my mouth found his. Finally. I’d wanted, needed this for what seemed like my whole life. Nothing existed before this moment and I’m not sure anything would after. I didn’t care. Nothing else mattered except I was here, being loved by the man who was my mate, my other half.

“In me,” I gasped, every nerve as alive as it had been the day before after the taser. But this was so different, so right. “I need you in me.”

“Not yet.”

He smiled and I groaned as his finger plunged into me. I ground against his hand, desperate for release. But no. Not this way. I’d come for him gladly but I wanted this first time to be ours--both of us giving the other satisfaction and release.

As if sensing my thoughts, not that coherent thought was possible just then, he withdrew his finger. My cat, so close to the surface now, protested. My hands dug into his shoulders and I nipped at his lower lip. His hands closed about my waist and we moved as one. He lifted. My legs wrapped about him. Finally.

Finally!

With the water beating down on us, we became one. Never had it been like this. I held him close, slowing the rhythm, trying to draw it out. This was too wonderful, too perfect to end quickly. But his need was as desperate as mine. I threw my head back and screamed, primal and triumphant.

Mine, all mine.

When conscious thought returned, I realized we were standing, sort of. What we were really doing was holding one another up against the far wall of the shower, cold water beating down on us. Our arms were wrapped around one another. In the back of my mind, my jaguar was purring in satisfaction. Well, if she thought the opening act was good, wait until she got a look at what I planned now.

Matt was about to learn he wasn’t the only one who could get someone all hot and bothered.

“God, Finn, you’re going to kill me,” he groaned as I dropped to my knees before him.

I smiled and took him into my mouth, teasing with tongue and breath. His groan turned to a moan and I felt him stiffen. His hands fisted in my hair. I glanced up, pleased to see his head thrown back much as I imagined mine had been not that long ago, mouth open. His chest rose and fell with quick breaths. I have to admit, there are a number of benefits to being a shape-changer. Our ability to recover more rapidly than normals was definitely at the top of the list.

Grinning around his erection, I ran my tongue over the tip of his penis and then pulled away. Before he could protest, I guided him down to the shower floor. A moment later, I straddled him. Now it was my turn. I guided his hands to my waist and leaned in to kiss him. This was just the beginning, a promise of what our life together could be like.

“The water’s cold,” he complained later.

“Yeah.”

Muscles cramped, I knew better than to try to stand. Instead, I sat up just enough to be able to reach the faucet handle. A quick twist and the water stopped pounding down on us. Then I pushed open the shower door and crawled out. Yes, crawled. Yes, my jaguar was laughing at me. I told her to shut up and, using the sink, carefully pulled myself to my feet.

“I take it you had a good talk with my grandmother,” I said as Matt handed me a towel.