CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE

“Take her inside,” Tate advised him. “You can fill her in there.”

Isaiah had been about to do exactly that, since not only was she shivering but he’d rather they talked in private. “Come on, I’ll tell you everything once we’re in the house.”

He ushered her up the path, through their front door, and into the living area. There, he guided her to the sofa.

She sat stiffly, her lips tight, her expression expectant. “Why would a harpy eagle come after you? And can I kill it?”

He wouldn’t have thought he could want to smile at such a time, but the urge tugged at one corner of his lips. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the avian shifter in our custody, so no, you can’t kill it. As for why it came for me”—he sat beside her—“have you ever heard of the Vercetti Pack?”

“Yes. What shifter hasn’t?”

Twisting toward her, he draped an arm over the back of the sofa. “They tried to kidnap a kit from our pride last week. I killed the youngest brother, Samuele, but the others got away.”

She did a slow blink. “You killed one of the Vercetti brothers?”

“Yes.”

Shock slapped Quinley, making her lips part on a silent gasp. On the one hand, it was great that a Vercetti was gone from the world—they contributed nothing good to it. On the other hand … “The other three won’t let that go, Isaiah. You’re a target now.”

Her inner cat stirred uneasily, her gut roiling. She already felt sick from the scent of his blood, knowing he’d been severely injured. That he then simply dipped his chin in answer, not seeming all too concerned about it, made her cat’s eyes narrow in temper.

Agitation flared through Quinley. “And you didn’t think to tell me this?” The words came out on a hiss.

He winced. “I was going to tell you tonight. I assumed there was time for me explain everything before they made any overt moves. I shouldn’t have waited.”

No shit. “You think the harpy eagle is part of the Vercetti Pack?”

He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Yes. I think he was supposed to carry me to wherever the brothers waited. They’d want the kill to be up close and personal.” Again, he didn’t sound all that bothered.

Quinley was bothered. She scrubbed a hand down her face, muttering a curse. “This isn’t good, Isaiah. Not at all. I knew that you were protecting a target, I didn’t realize you are one. What’s being done about it?”

“Members of my pride are doing their level best to locate the pack, as are Alex’s three uncles. Until we know where the pack hides, we can’t act.”

She examined his expression, feeling her eyes go slitted as she sensed, “You’re not too bothered that they came for you, because it might be the only way you can get to them.”

“I want to completely erase the threat they represent, and I want it done as fast as possible. That might only happen if they make appearances, because they’re somehow managing to evade detection. We have no idea how.”

She swore again. “Your wounds are definitely healed?”

“All healed,” Isaiah promised, resting a hand on her nape, not liking how pale she was. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now about the Vercetti Pack situation. I know it had to have been a fuck of a shock to come home and see me like this.”

She rubbed at her arms. “You’re not supposed to get hurt.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

“But they will come back for you, won’t they?” She bit down on her bottom lip. “Maybe you shouldn’t act as Tate’s bodyguard for a while. Maybe you should instead have a guard of your own.”

His cat bristled. “Not necessary.”

“Because dominant shifters can protect themselves, right,” she said, her voice dry. “It’s arrogant to think that you’re invulnerable just because you’re a dominant.”

“I don’t think I’m invulnerable, I just believe I can protect myself better than anyone else can.” But, yeah, it was partly an ego thing.

“Not if you’re too busy worrying about watching someone else’s ass.”

Isaiah frowned, pensive. “You do make a good point there. It might be worth Tate having me temporarily replaced so that he isn’t caught in any crossfire.”

She sniffed. “Much as I am concerned for Tate, I’m more bothered about you getting caught up in anything. It isn’t wise for someone else’s safety to be your priority at a time when your own is at risk.”

He tapped her chin with one finger. “Your safety is my priority, but I completely understand what you’re saying. I also agree. I’ll talk to Tate about it tomorrow. For now, I just want us to relax and have dinner before your stuff gets delivered.”

“Okay.” She drew in a deep breath. “First, you might want to know that Zaire stopped by the salon.”

It took a few moments for the words to penetrate. “Say that again.”

Her gaze slid to the side. “Uh …”

Outrage. Contempt. Jealousy. A dark territorialism. All of it blended inside Isaiah. Boiled in his blood, hot and thick as lava. “Seriously, say that again.”

Quinley nibbled on her lower lip. “Zaire stopped by the salon.”

Unbelievable. “When?”

“Just as I was about to leave.”

His cat flexed his claws, his upper lip quivering in an ugly snarl. He didn’t want Zaire anywhere near her.

Isaiah very nearly snarled himself. The fucker had no right. He’d given her up, he’d bound himself to a different female, he’d stayed away from Quinley all these years. He didn’t get to turn up now that she was claimed by another. “What did he want?”

“He’d heard I mated you and, uh”—she scratched at her cheek—“he said it tore off his blinders.”

Isaiah cursed, pushing off the sofa, unable to sit still while so many dark emotions scratched and bit at him. “So he’s claiming he believes you two were fated?”

“I denied it at first; said it was just a crush. He didn’t buy that. Funny, really, because he was the one who originally stated it was a crush,” she mused, though she seemed to be speaking more to herself than Isaiah. “Back then, I’d been the one to argue differently.”

“You should have called me.”

Her brow pinched. “What for? He wasn’t insulting or abusive. Just annoying. I was due to head home anyway.”

She seemed so blasé about it. Like it was no biggie for the other half of her fucking soul to show at her place of work and finally, after so many years, acknowledge that they were fated. It wasn’t “nothing” at all. In fact, depending on what Zaire wanted from her and just how much she might—consciously or subconsciously—be willing to give him, this could mean a lot.

Isaiah set his hands on his hips. “Did he try to persuade you to leave me?”

“No. He actually seems pissed off that the blinders are gone. I think that, while a part of him might have once been curious to know if I was right in what I once declared, he would rather not have known for sure.”

“Because then his mind wouldn’t play the what if game.”

She shrugged, seeming not to care either way. “Maybe.”

“What are his intentions?”

“He doesn’t have any. He doesn’t now want me. The only thing that really bothered him other than no longer having the bliss of ignorance is that I’ve entered an arranged mating with someone I barely know. He believes it won’t work out. I told him he was wrong and then left.”

Isaiah narrowed his eyes. “And how do you feel about all this?”

“Annoyed, mostly. What he did was super shitty. For all he knew, I was holding onto hope that I’d one day have him. He didn’t do me the courtesy of staying away just in case. And Nazra, his mate, is hardly going to like that he showed up if she hears about it. More, it isn’t fair to you that he did that.”

Nazra, his mate.

Those words smoothed over Isaiah’s hackles like warm syrup. They were so casually spoken—no bitterness or hurt had laced her tone. It had been a matter-of-fact remark. She didn’t view Zaire as hers in any sense.

Her head tilted. “You thought I’d, what, be all flattered and excited?”

“It would have been understandable if some part of you had felt hopeful that he’d walk away from her to pursue you.”

She frowned. “No part of me hopes that.”

“Yes, I’m getting that impression.”

“It’s not an impression. It’s a fact.” Quinley stared up at Isaiah, genuinely surprised at just how bugged he was by Zaire’s visit. Oh, she’d known he’d be pissed. Such a visit was bound to pluck at any possessive strings in Isaiah that had come to life after they branded each other. But she hadn’t expected him to get quite so wound up about it.

She also hadn’t thought he would worry that any part of her pined for Zaire. She’d been very clear that that wasn’t the case. He hadn’t seemed dubious at any point before now, so she’d assumed he’d taken her at her word.

Resolved that he’d have no doubts, she leaned forward and added, “Even if I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t want Zaire. I couldn’t accept him. Neither could my cat. Just as you couldn’t accept Lucinda now that she’s preg—” Quinley cut herself off at his flinch.

Her blood ran cold. Well, that explained why he doubted she’d fully let go of Zaire. He couldn’t imagine it was true because, despite his claims, he hadn’t been able to do the same with Lucinda. Ouch.

Logically speaking, it was understandable. But—stung at knowing that the male she’d claimed still hurt at being unable to have another woman—Quinley wasn’t feeling very understanding right then. Nor was her cat—a growl rumbled in the feline’s chest.

Quinley slowly pushed to her feet. “What I said was true, Isaiah. I can’t make you believe me. Maybe you will in time.” She began heading for the kitchen.

And a hand snapped around her wrist.

“Stop.” The order was low but firm, and there was a tender note in it that surprised her.

Grinding her teeth, she stayed still as Isaiah approached her left side and stepped fully into her space.

He placed his mouth near her ear. “You saw me flinch,” he began, his voice soft, “and you’re thinking I haven’t let her go. You’re wrong. I flinched because my cat dug his claws into me. He doesn’t like thinking of her pregnant—for him, it’s the ultimate betrayal.”

Oh.

Isaiah took her by the shoulder and gently turned her to face him. “Listen to me. It isn’t that I don’t believe you. I just wanted to be sure where your head is at.”

Quinley sighed, knowing she’d overreacted a little. The truth was that a lifetime of having to defend herself against false rumors meant she was too used to not being believed. When people who mattered to her doubted her word on something, it always hit harder than it needed to. Add that to her assumption of why he’d flinched and, yes, she’d clammed up.

“And yeah, what Zaire did is fucking with me a little,” Isaiah continued. “I don’t want him anywhere near you. My cat would like to slice his throat.”

Her brows knit in surprise. “I didn’t think your cat would be bothered.”

“Oh, he’s bothered. It’s part of why he reacted so badly when you brought up Lucinda’s present condition—he’s already agitated from Zaire’s behavior, and he wasn’t exactly calm before then thanks to the harpy eagle. Do you have the little shit’s cell phone number?”

“No. Why?”

An innocent shrug. “I’d like to talk to him.”

Her nape prickled at the far too casual note in his tone. “If you mean to warn him off, that’s not necessary. He won’t turn up again. There was no real point to him showing up today—I think it was just a spur of the moment thing driven by a realization that knocked him off-balance. He’ll regret it when his thoughts are clear.”

His eyes searched her face. “You seem sure of that.”

“He never wanted me, Isaiah. Never will. He made it very plain years ago.”

“How old were you at the time?”

“Sixteen.”

So young,thought Isaiah. To be sent away by your fated mate at any age would be difficult. But to be only a juvenile—someone who was in the vulnerable stage of still growing into their own skin and developing a sense of self—it had to have hit that much harder, cut that much deeper. “What happened exactly?”

“You sure you want to hear this story?”

He gently rested his hands on her upper arms. “I’m sure.”

She nibbled on her lower lip, hesitant.

He’d done damage here, he realized. She was now so worried he’d think she pined for Zaire on some level that she’d prefer not to speak of him. Isaiah didn’t want that. He needed for her to feel she could talk to him about anything.

“Maybe it’s better if we just forget he exists,” she said.

Isaiah curled his arms around her and held her close, protectiveness filling him at how small she was in comparison. “There’s no need for that. He’s not so important that we need to convince ourselves he never entered your life. The fact is he did, and whatever happened after that placed you on the path that eventually led you to me. I’d like to hear about it.”

A resigned sigh slid out of Quinley. “Okay, fine.” She gently placed her hands on his chest. “When I was fourteen, I got cornered by some male pride members. They wouldn’t really have assaulted me, they just felt confident they could toy with me because I was unranked.”

Fuckers. “What does a lack of status have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with it where black-foots are concerned. Only ranked members and their families are considered important. The rest of us live near the perimeter of the territory and don’t really socialize with them.”

Outrage speared through Isaiah yet again. “So, in the event of an attack, you’re the first line of defense?”

“More like sacrificial pawns, but yes. We’re all taught combat, but that’s really only so we can keep intruders at bay long enough for the ranked to get prepared.”

Son of a bitch. “That’s fucked up. The more vulnerable members should be protected.” It infuriated his cat that she’d been so at risk all these years.

“Black-foots don’t really operate that way,” she said with a careless shrug. “My kind have always had an obsession with status. I’ve never really understood it, but that might be because I’m a submissive. Ranks generally only mean something to dominants.”

To black-foot dominants, maybe, but it didn’t apply to all shifters. In Isaiah’s opinion, her breed had serious issues. But then, many would say that same thing about his own. “Anyway, back to your story …”

“Yeah, so, Zaire intervened and chased the boys off. Looking into his eyes, picking up his scent, I just knew in that moment that I was staring at the person who fate had selected for me. It hit me like a brick. The knowing was crystal clear—there’s no mistaking it, is there?”

“No, there isn’t.” It was a realization that hit soul-deep.

“But he didn’t have the same reaction. Just visibly checked I was fine and then walked off. I was so shocked I didn’t say anything to him. I ran home and told my sisters. They suggested I give him time to pick up on what I’d sensed. I think they knew he would have rejected me if I said anything. I followed their advice.”

“But giving him time didn’t amount to anything,” Isaiah guessed.

“I would have held out longer, but when I was sixteen I overheard that he might sign a mating contract. I knew Harlan hoped to pair him with Nazra, and I knew Zaire was ambitious enough to go along with it if it meant being Alpha. He also cared about her, I could see that. So I panicked.”

“And you told him.”

“Picture it. There I was, an unranked submissive, telling a born-alpha who was also the son of an Alpha pair—someone who’d therefore be considered way above my reach—that we were fated; insisting he couldn’t sign a mating agreement that would grant him both Nazra and the right to one day rule my pride.” She shook her head, sighing.

He personally didn’t see how Zaire being a born-alpha or the son of Alphas should place him out of Quinley’s reach. He was about to say as much, but then she spoke again.

“Maybe he just thought I was ridiculous, maybe he just cared so much for her, or maybe he was so focused on his becoming-an-Alpha-goal that it was to the exclusion of all else. But he wouldn’t consider that I might be right.”

“Was he harsh in his rejection?”

“At first, he tried letting me down gently; tried convincing me I was just crushing on him. I insisted he was wrong. I wouldn’t let it go. He got pissed at me and, in a bid to make me really listen, he hit me with what he thought were ‘hard truths.’ Said he didn’t feel the slightest pull toward me; that his cat had no interest in me; that he wasn’t attracted to submissives so it made no sense he’d be paired with one.” She puffed out a breath. “I wasn’t hopeful that he’d later change his mind, which is good because he never did.”

“Did he tell Nazra what you said?”

“No. But her friend did. Fila overheard it all. She told everyone but twisted it—said I threw myself at him, tried to force a claiming bite on him, and even made an attempt to strip. None of it was true, I swear.”

He palmed the back of her head, pinning her with a reassuring look. “I believe you.”

“Not all do. I stated loud and clear that Fila was talking tripe. The more I insisted I wasn’t lying, the more of a liar I apparently was in the eyes of some. Harlan believed me, though. But he was also worried that I’d push Zaire to see the light, so he put me in a corner.”

Isaiah felt his skin prickle in unease. “What does that mean?”

“He promised he’d keep Nazra and her cronies from coming for me and my family if I stayed away from Zaire and spread the word that I’d been wrong and it was just a crush.”

His cat bared his teeth, her words rekindling his anger. An Alpha protected their pride members; they didn’t fucking manipulate them into silence. “Harlan is as much of a goddamn letdown as Zaire.” He understood now why she hadn’t seemed all that comfortable with him at the FindYourMate HQ. “Did Nazra and the others leave you be?”

“They never came at me physically, but rumors do damage of their own. And people also slung insults my way or snubbed me or whatever. Aside from my family, those who believed me rarely spoke up for me, not wanting to draw negative attention their way.”

Jesus, her pride almost as a whole was as big a disappointment as both its current Alpha male and the one who’d soon take over. “What about Zaire? Did he defend you?”

“He did say the rumors weren’t true, but I find that people who—for whatever reason—want to hate or ridicule someone will believe just about anything to give them an excuse to be a shit to that someone.”

A grim sense of understanding snaked through Isaiah. “You’re right about that.”

“You’ve dealt with bullshit rumors too,” she remembered. “Will you tell me about what happened? You don’t have to.”

No, but it wouldn’t be fair of him to hold back when she’d opened up the way she had. He’d be throwing it back in her face.

Isaiah pulled in a breath. “There was a kid in the pride who I never got along with. Jenson. We butted heads constantly. I was supremely pissed when I found out he’d been slapping my ex around. I threatened to make him pay. That night, someone set his house on fire with his family in it.”

“And he was the only one who died?” she asked, her voice a mere murmur.

“Yes. A few people jumped to the conclusion that I was the arsonist, including his parents. But my mom and dad swore I was home at the time; that it couldn’t have possibly been me.”

“That wasn’t enough for people to drop it?”

“It was for most. But Jenson’s parents, Cherrie and Kristopher, insisted my parents were lying, and they did their level-best to ensure everyone else thought the same. They basically embarked on a hate campaign. They even tried pressuring my old Alpha Vinnie to kick me out of the pride.”

Her upper lip quivered slightly. “Fuckers.”

He grunted. “It was hard to do something so mundane like go to the deli. I’d hear people whispering; see them looking at me weird. I could sense that some truly believed I’d done it.” For a short time—as he’d vacillated between fury, humiliation, and hurt—he’d pulled back from the majority of the pride and avoided socializing.

She slid her hands up to clasp her fingers behind his nape. “Did you ever find out who really did it?”

“It turned out to be Jenson’s cousin. Apparently, Eddie had confided in him that he believed a member of our pride was his true mate. Jenson’s response had been to start dating her.”

“What?”

“He was a shit that way.”

In that case, he’d probably pissed off a fair few people, so it seemed particularly unfair to Quinley that some of the pride had immediately suspected Isaiah. Then again, there was the whole threatening-to-make-Jenson-pay thing. Still, pledges of vengeance were tossed out all the time; they were mostly just said in the heat of the moment.

“Trusting that Vinnie wouldn’t declare Eddie guilty unless confident it was true, most who’d suspected me then backtracked,” said Isaiah. “But Jenson’s parents didn’t.”

“They couldn’t admit they were wrong.”

“By that point, they’d invested so much negative emotion and energy in the belief that it was me that they just couldn’t let it go. On top of that, they blamed me for their nephew being ‘wrongly punished;’ said Eddie was just a scapegoat.”

Quinley shook her head, furious on his behalf. “I get that they must have badly needed someone to blame. But to latch onto you when there was no proof, and then to refuse to believe—even to this day—that what you’ve been saying all this time was true … What possible peace can they find in holding onto their beliefs this way?”

“I’m not sure they want peace. They certainly didn’t want me to have it.” He paused. “There were times when I considered embracing the rumor, since defending myself sometimes only made people seem less likely to believe me. I think it’s in some people’s nature to enjoy seeing others torn apart or ruined or hurt.”

She nodded, grave. “I think that, too.”

“My parents suffered for it. Cherrie would constantly knock on their door, rant at my mom, accuse them of being terrible parents. Kristopher would turn up to drag his mate home, but he’d always end up in an argument with my dad.”

Practically able to feel the emotional wound throb inside him, she leaned into him and rested her head on his chest. “I’m sorry that happened.”

His arms tightened around her. “I thought maybe it would limit my chances of becoming an enforcer. Don’t get me wrong, I was aware that Vinnie believed me to be innocent. But it’s important that the pride feel they can trust the enforcers, and a handful of them didn’t. I think he thought the problem would resolve itself eventually, but it never did. Jenson’s family persisted in their beliefs.”

“Do they still give you or your parents trouble?”

“No. They spent the last few years pretty much pretending we don’t exist. That suited us fine. It suited us even better when they left the pride.” Nuzzling her hair, he hummed. “But I’d rather we didn’t talk about them anymore. Especially when I can hear your stomach rumbling.”

“I’m so hungry it’s about to eat itself,” she confessed.

He snorted. “Then let’s get you fed. Your stuff will arrive soon, and you’ll want to have finished your dinner before it does.”

It was literally ten minutes after they’d eaten their evening meal that her family arrived. Isaiah and Will did most of the heavy lifting so the females could focus on unpacking the boxes. Meanwhile, little Corey and Ren chased each other around the house.

She’d been telling the truth when she’d said she wasn’t bringing much. And yet, having her things among his seemed to change the “tone” of the house.

His living room now featured throw-cushions, her knick-knacks, new coasters, and framed photographs. A tall mirror was hung in the hallway, plants were sprinkled around various rooms, her coats were placed on the rack, and her kitchenware was added to his own.

She had some Christmas bits and bobs—baubles she put on the tree, LED candles she placed on shelves, a garland she set on the fire mantel, and some ornaments she spread around.

At her request, he and Will set her reading chair and books in the bedroom while the females placed more of her personal belongings throughout the space—filling the dresser, vanity, and closet. Other bits were taken to the en suite bathroom.

Once they were done, they took the empty boxes to the large van Will had borrowed to deliver her stuff. Her family stayed long enough to have a quick coffee, but then they left.

Quinley did a long stretch. “I’m tired after that, but resting isn’t gonna happen right now. My cat is itching to get out and do some marking.”

“So let her out,” urged Isaiah, eager to meet the little feline.

Quinley went to the patio door and opened it enough that her cat would be able to squeeze through. “I’m not getting undressed outside,” she explained. “It’s too damn cold.”

He watched her as she stripped—a show he enjoyed despite how quickly it was over. Clearly to escape the chilly air filtering through the open patio door, she shifted instantly.

Isaiah smiled down at her cat. Light-green eyes took him in, curious. She looked much like a tabby or Bengal cat. Black spots and tiger-like stripes decorated her tawny fur. Thick dark bands surrounded her long tapering tail.

“Hey, there,” he murmured, going down on his haunches. “Come over here,” he softly coaxed.

Her small pointed ears pricking forward, she cautiously padded toward him.

“Good girl.”

Pausing near his thigh, she prodded him with a paw he knew would be black—hence where the name of her breed came from. “Want a stroke, do you?” He petted her gently, focusing mostly on her head and neck, since she seemed to prefer being stroked in those areas.

His own feline watched her every movement, admiring her grace; feeling a little left out.

Apparently done being stroked, she wandered off. Isaiah hung back as she rubbed herself over furnishings, leaving a few claw marks here and there—marking their territory as partly hers.

He followed her into the yard and remained on the patio while she darted around, fast as fucking lightning. No, faster.

She sprinted. Climbed. Jumped. Rolled. And then found herself a goddamn spider, which she promptly ate.

Isaiah grimaced. “To each their own, I guess.”

His cat pushed for supremacy, done being an observer.

Isaiah returned inside long enough to shed his clothes and leave them in a pile beside hers on the floor. Be gentle with her,he told his cat.

The animal sniffed, insulted that Isaiah would think he’d do otherwise, and then lunged to the surface.

Settling into his fur, the pallas cat padded into the yard. The other feline jerked up her head, spotted him, froze. He slowly sat on the deck, not intending to play, only to watch.

She eyed him closely for long moments before turning away. He watched as she ran, played, clawed trees, hunted.

After a while, they returned to the house. She shifted first, and her human half looked down at him. Her mouth curving, she said, “Hi.” Like her cat had earlier, she remained still, just watching him.

He still wasn’t too sure he liked having another person in his space, but it didn’t matter. She was his to protect. So the cat held back a moody growl and shifted.

Isaiah pushed to his feet, relieved his animal had been so well-behaved. “That went well enough.”

“It did,” she said, clearly relieved.

“Your cat sure has a lot of energy.”

“Dude, that was nothing. She can run for literally hours.”

He frowned. “But she won’t, right? I know black-foots are roamers, but we’re not like the Crimson Pride—we don’t have lots of land where she can run free without worry of being attacked.”

“She won’t go too far,” Quinley assured him, snatching her panties from the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, redressing?”

“No point in that.” He took the panties from her hand. “I’m about to fuck you, and I’d rather you were naked for that.”

“Oh. Well. Okay, then.”