Impulse: Southern Arcana, Book 5 (31 page)

He spoke from experience, an experience that Julio hadn’t quite trusted before he’d left New Orleans and figured out that some things were stronger than blame and self-doubt. Things like tenacity, like giving a shit about more than yourself. “I have things to do. I told you that before, and it hasn’t changed. But it’s not a job anymore. It’s a way for me to make people’s lives better, and I’ll take it.”

“Good.” But darkness shadowed the word, a renewed tension Julio could see in the empath’s tight shoulders and tiny frown. “Remember to stay grounded. It’s easy to lose yourself in the lives you can touch. To be swept away. You can give those who look to you hope and happiness and safety, but before you can give anything, you need to have it in your own life.”

“We’re not talking about me anymore, are we?”

Callum didn’t look away from Sera and her mother. “We’re talking about you learning from the experiences and mistakes of others.”

Callum’s
experiences and mistakes. “You don’t think my situation is a little different?”

“In most of the ways you’d notice and none of the ways that matter. It’s the urge at the heart of it. You want to help people. The stronger you are, the more you can accomplish.”

“I’ll remember that,” he promised, then nodded toward the garden. “Think it’s time yet?”

“Very nearly.” The empath finally turned to face Julio. “I’ve been working with her since you called me. The charms Patrick provided will mask your scent, and scent has always been her strongest trigger. Approach slowly, and hold your ground if she challenges you. Be what you are, Julio. A dominant protector. Sera’s protector, because that’s what Kelly needs to know.”

Maybe so, but rushing things could cause an ugly scene that would only upset Sera. “If we need to hold off, we can.”

“Don’t flinch now, Mendoza. You can do this. I won’t let it get out of hand.”

“Right.” Julio shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the stone path. Sera sat with her back to him, and he caught Kelly’s gaze and held it as he approached.

Anger tightened the older woman’s eyes. She flowed to her feet as Julio drew close and put her body in front of Sera’s. “Run, honey. You need to run.”

“Mom, no.” The sunlight caught on Sera’s engagement ring as she rose and grabbed her mother’s arm. “This is him. This is Julio. He won’t hurt either of us.”

Kelly dragged in a deep breath, tasted the wind—and froze. A furrow appeared between her brows. “What are you?”

“I’m a wolf,” he answered quietly. “And I’m Sera’s fiancé.”

She blinked at him. “Sera’s not a wolf.”

“I know that. Don’t really care.”

For a few seconds she looked baffled, so comically confused it might have been grimly amusing under other circumstances. Then a shrewdness narrowed her eyes, a glint of pure cunning. “You won’t feel bad about killing coyotes.”

“I won’t kill anyone unless I have to.” He reached for Sera’s hand. “But no one is going to hurt her.”

Kelly caught his wrist, her slender fingers closing tight enough to bruise. When he didn’t tear his arm away, she released him and took a careful, cautious step back, herding Sera behind her.

Sera’s hopeful expression had started to crumple. Her shoulders slumped. “Maybe we should come back another day.”

“Hush.” Kelly still watched him, her narrowed eyes staring at him as if she could see more than just the physical world. She cocked her head and listened to the wind as it teased at the flowers on the tree above their heads.

The scent of magnolias curled around them. Sera shifted her stance, giving him a helpless look that melted into hope as Kelly returned to her chair. “Mama?”

Kelly arched one eyebrow. “I’m waiting for a proper introduction. You weren’t raised in a barn, Seraphina.”

Sera cleared her throat and slipped her hand into Julio’s. Her fingers trembled until they clenched tight, clinging as she forced out the too-casual words. “Mom, this is Julio Mendoza. He’s a member of the Southeast council, and I’m going to marry him. Soon.”

“Julio Mendoza.” Kelly Sinclaire smiled. “Welcome to the family.”

About the Author

How do you make a Moira Rogers? Take a former forensic science and nursing student obsessed with paranormal romance and add a computer programmer with a passion for gritty urban fantasy. To learn more about this romance-writing, crime-fighting duo, visit their webpage at
www.moirarogers.com
, or drop them an email at
[email protected]
. (Disclaimer: crime-fighting abilities may appear only in the aforementioned fevered imaginations.)

Look for these titles by Moira Rogers

Now Available:

Red Rock Pass

Cry Sanctuary

Sanctuary Lost

Sanctuary’s Price

Sanctuary Unbound

Southern Arcana

Crux

Crossroads

Deadlock

Cipher

Building Sanctuary

A Safe Harbor

Undertow

…and the Beast

Sabine

Kisri

Children of the Undying

Demon Bait

Hammer Down

Bloodhounds

Wilder’s Mate

Hunter’s Prey

Archer’s Lady

Coming Soon:

Enigma

Haunted Sanctuary

Their desire could be their destruction...or their greatest strength.

Cipher

© 2011 Moira Rogers

Southern Arcana
,
Book 4

Fourteen months ago, Kat Gabriel learned a brutal truth. Under the wrong circumstances, her empathic ability is no gift. It’s a deadly weapon. Now her soul bears the inescapable weight of those deaths—and it aches for the loss of the easy relationship she once shared with Andrew Callaghan. Unleashing her power saved his life, but she couldn’t save his humanity.

Since the attack that turned him into a werewolf, Andrew’s sole focus has been to make himself stronger. Pushing her away hurt like hell, but Kat doesn’t need a friend. She needs a protector strong enough to shield her from the supernatural world that forced her to kill. Strong enough to resist their volatile connection.

As Kat’s quest to understand the violent legacy of her past leads her into the darkest underbelly of the psychic world, Andrew is at her side. Yet every step forward rips open old emotional wounds and shakes their control. Where they’re headed, distractions of any kind can be fatal—especially when the greatest threat they pose is to each other.

Warning: This book contains a dangerous shapeshifter who could kill you with his bare hands, an empathic hacker who could kill you with her mind, a psychic cult determined to kill everyone, a lot of violence, a little bit of hope, and a happily-ever-after seven years in the making.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Cipher:

She did what he’d done. Reached up and framed his face with her hands, and shivered at the texture of his beard against her palms. “I will never be afraid of you, Andrew Callaghan.”

His chest heaved with shaking breaths, and he groaned as he grabbed her wrists. “It’s dangerous, Kat.
I’m
dangerous.”

“So am I.” She swiped her thumbs over his cheeks and willed him to believe the same words he’d told her the day before. “Andrew, I’m still mostly burned out, and you’ve got strong shields for someone who’s not a psychic. But I couldn’t just hurt you—I could destroy you. I could drive you to your knees and make you crawl for me. I could take away everything you are.”

He closed his eyes, but he didn’t release her. “Then that makes this a doubly bad idea.”

Andrew was going to walk away from her again, and the tense parts of her that had started to unwind over the last few days would shatter. The only way to save anything was to let him go before he came up with a polite, stilted reason. “I understand.”

“No. No, you really don’t.”

He bent his head and kissed her.

The world stopped.

His lips were warm. Firm. As firm as the fingers locked around her wrists, holding her hands to his face. She’d played out this moment in a thousand girlish daydreams and more than one guilty adult fantasy, and imagination hadn’t provided the little details. The heat of his body, the strength of his grip, the way she melted, like chocolate left in the July sun, and from nothing but that innocent contact.

His lips, on hers. Parting, and oh
God
, he knew how to kiss, like he was hungry, like he loved the taste of her, and Kat became mortally certain that her knees were going to give out if he got his tongue in on the action. Her body throbbed with the rhythm of his mouth moving on hers, until she was one exposed nerve, and she would have begged him to touch her anywhere—everywhere—if she wouldn’t have had to stop kissing him.

When he released her wrists, it was only to grip her hips and lift her, mold her to his body, and she moaned her gratitude. He was harder than he looked, an unforgiving wall of muscle and smooth skin, so distracting and arousing that she didn’t realize they were moving until he stepped over the threshold.

Into the bedroom.

“Open,” he rasped, and lowered her to the bed.

Her back touched the mattress—gentle, so damn gentle—and Andrew stretched out over her, shirtless and beautiful, and her brain fritzed out like a fried circuit board as she obeyed and parted her lips.

He touched them with his tongue, a soft sweep of one lip and then the other, and kissed her again, deeper, one hand winding in her hair. That stirred old memories, brought to life every unacceptable fantasy she’d had of their anger and hurt and longing all coalescing into a dark passion that would satisfy her body even as it cut her heart to pieces.

But there was no darkness in the grip of his hand, just a gentle control, a sweet hint of dominance that barely deserved the description, but thrilled her anyway. The throbbing was back, magnified into an ache that pulsed in time with the stroke of his tongue. Every time she tried to catch a breath it escaped in tiny, helpless noises that would have embarrassed her if she hadn’t been burning alive.

He dragged his mouth to her chin and then her throat, nipping lightly when she tilted back her head. The scrape of his teeth curled her toes, and the sheer insanity of the way her body reacted splintered fear through her.

She fisted both hands in his hair and dragged his head back, panting for breath. “What are we doing? Are we—”

He panted too, his eyes glazed with pleasure and need. “Are we what?”

If she let him keep touching her, she’d fly apart before she got her pants off. “We can’t do this without talking about it. Sex with an empath as strong as I am—it’s not that simple. I could hurt you. Hurt
both
of us.”

Andrew’s chest rumbled, as if a growl formed that he didn’t quite voice. Then he rolled away. “I didn’t think.”

Disappointment made her voice shake. “You shouldn’t have to. It wouldn’t be that bad if you were anyone else…but with you I’m—I’ve got—” She covered her face with her hands, and now she was disappointed and embarrassed. “My empathy might as well be hardwired into my sexual responses. Is there a girl version of premature ejaculation?”

He choked on a snort. “I don’t think anyone minds it, usually.”

Maybe her violent reactions had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with chemistry. Maybe wanting Andrew so long had built a tension that would make even innocent touches feel fantastic. Maybe she was in denial.

Maybe she didn’t care.

The room seemed too warm as she rolled to her knees. Andrew had his hand over his face, which made asking the question a lot easier. “If it gets too overwhelming…can we stop?”

He rolled to his side, propped on one elbow, and studied her, his expression intense. “We can stop whenever you want. Whenever you need to.”

Christ, she was a teenager, making rules about where her prom date could touch her while they groped in the back of his car. Except she’d never gone to prom. She’d been sixteen her senior year, struggling with the violent surges in power that made puberty a worse nightmare for a psychic than for the average hormone-riddled teen.

And Andrew—Andrew was
not
a teenage boy. He was six-foot-something of shapeshifter alpha bastard who had to have his share of instinctive needs. “That’s not going to drive you crazy?”

“I have two hands, Kat,” he reminded her. “I can take care of things myself.”

It was not remotely okay to pause and savor that image, but she couldn’t stop herself. Andrew, stretched out, his face slack with pleasure, the muscles in his arm flexing as he curled his fingers around—

She slapped her hands over her face and actually whimpered. “That was mean.”

“Was it?”

Anything else she said would reveal her newly formed and overwhelming need to watch him and his two hands take care of things. So she leaned down and kissed him again.

He held the back of her head and fit his mouth to hers, slow this time. Easy. A gentle kiss from a controlled man trying to make her feel safe, with no clue that his tender protectiveness turned her inside out.

If her empathy had been at full power, she would have come when he stroked his hand from her hair to her collarbone, and then down to her breast. She moaned, imagining how much hotter his callused fingertips would be against her suddenly tight nipples.

Not that the silly butterfly tank top offered much protection. Kat shuddered and tore her mouth free of his, then shoved at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back. Sliding one leg over his body was reckless, and straddling his stomach was
insane
. “You’re too hot. My brain is going to overheat.”

Muscle flexed under her as he shifted slightly and gripped her hips. “Isn’t that the point?”

The fine hair on his arms tickled her palms as she touched him, sliding both hands up until they passed his shoulders and she was stretched over him, clutching the blankets on either side of his head. A position of power—if you were fool enough to think an alpha shapeshifter couldn’t dominate a lover from flat on his back.