Chapter 20

ANITA

When Stryker takes my hand, I smile and tug him toward the closest door. Pushing it open, I blow out a relieved breath when I find a full bathroom. I nudge Stryker until he's sitting on the closed toilet lid, then I turn and search the room for supplies.

I bite back a cheer when I find a small first aid kit under the sink—small is better than nothing—and I clutch it to my chest when I rise. Setting the kit on the counter, I take stock of the meager supplies, then turn back toward Stryker and startle when I find him standing only a few inches away.

Blinking away my nerves, I look down at his injuries and frown when his fur blocks my view.

I purse my lips, then glance up at him from under my lashes, clearing my throat awkwardly. "Are you able to switch back to your human form?" I ask gently, because not all beastlings are able to return once they've been in their altered form for any length of time.

A grimace crosses his face, then he bows his head like he can't bear to look at me, and he gives a little shrug. "I…don't know. I haven't tried in so long that I'm not sure anymore." He rubs his jaw against his shoulder nervously, keeping his eyes lowered. "I'll give it a try."

The ‘for you' is just a whisper in the air, and my heart flutters in my chest.

His voice is so low and lost that I struggle against the need to hug him. The impulse is so out of character for me that heat fills my cheeks, and I feel like an awkward teenager all of the sudden.

A grimace of pain crosses his face, then his skin ripples, and his fangs clench tight. A growl rumbles in his chest, as if his beast is fighting him. Despite knowing his beast could lash out at me, I can't resist the need to comfort him, and I gingerly rest my hand on his shoulder.

He shudders at the touch but doesn't pull away. The rumble in his chest fades, then his fur gradually recedes. I don't know why I expected him to get smaller, but he remains the same size, coming around six feet tall if I had to guess. He's without a shirt, leaving the large expanse of his chest bare. His worn jeans barely cling to his narrow hips, the material soiled and stained after months of abuse.

His shoulders are impressively broad despite the starvation he suffered, his body so lean, his ribs are pronounced, and my stomach lurches at what he had to endure. Not an ounce of fat remains on his frame, detailing every line of his muscles. I'm so distracted by his beauty that a trickle of blood running down his side snaps me out of my musings.

I quickly scan him, wincing at the number of scars decorating his body under the layers of dirt. There are too many to count at a glance, and I dismiss them to focus on the recent injuries. A nasty bite mark savaged his shoulder, but it's the numerous claw marks that draw my attention.

There are over a dozen of them. They are all bleeding, and I can't stop from scolding him. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt this badly?"

I grab a washcloth, busying myself by soaping it up to cover the shaking in my fingers. It's not until he brushes his fingers over my shoulder that my head snaps up, and I gasp when I catch the image of him in the mirror.

I'd been so distracted by his injuries, I didn't look up at his face, and now I can't look away.

He's stunning!

I think I was expecting him to have pale hair, but the shaggy strands are pure black, the ends ragged, as if sheared off by his claws. It's messy and chaotic and absolutely gorgeous, but what really captures my attention are the two furry white and black ears sitting on the top of his head.

Oh, he still has his human ears, so it looks like he's wearing some sort of headband.

As if sensing my attention, they twitch under my gaze, and my fingers itch to reach out and touch them.

My eyes drop to his face, but he avoids my gaze, a dark blush filling his pale cheeks. His face is so symmetrical, it doesn't look real—his nose is broad, his lips full, his jaw strong. His blue eyes are so bright, they appear almost otherworldly. They shimmer, and I realize the orbs are reflective. The slit pupils should be repellent, but I find them oddly captivating.

I expected him to be older, but he's barely twenty years old, if that.

He hastily drops his hand and steps back, and I can't stop my gasp when I see his tail. It's so long that it swishes back and forth in agitation. Even curled up, it still skims the floor, and I'm completely enchanted. It's about three inches in diameter and so fluffy that I barely stop myself from reaching out and touching it to see if it's as soft as it looks.

When he moves, blocking my view, I blink rapidly to shake off my fascination. Cursing myself for being so distracted, I clear my throat awkwardly and touch his arm. "Don't go," I plead with him softly. He's been in beastling form so long that he's no longer completely human, some of his leopard characteristics lingering, and I find it absolutely adorable.

"I'm sorry for staring. Pretty men turn me into a bumbling idiot." I give him a self-deprecating grin, not even trying to fight my blush. It would be impossible.

He startles at my words, his head snapping up, and he searches my face. Whatever he finds must satisfy him, because he grins slowly. I don't miss the double fangs peeking out from between his parted lips. I should be intimidated, but I shiver when I imagine what it would feel like if he nibbled along my neck or more delicate bits.

He straightens in front of me, standing to his full height for the first time, watching me for the slightest flinch.

It's a test.

My fingers practically strangle the washcloth in my hand, nervous that I might come up lacking. Swallowing hard, I decide to start wiping away the dirt streaking his torso and carefully clean the wounds, glad to have the distraction.

He doesn't flinch under my ministrations. Once he's clean, I'm so mesmerized by the flex of his muscles that I'm unable to resist trailing my fingers over his pale flesh. I swear a slight purr rumbles under my fingertips, but then I shake my head at my own foolishness.

Pushing my silly fantasies away, I focus on the claw marks sliced along his ribs and hips. A few of them are light scratches, while others look like someone had been trying to dig their fingers into his body and shred his flesh.

Cursing myself for getting distracted, I probe the wounds and avoid his gaze. "It doesn't look too bad. The bleeding has mostly stopped. I don't think you'll need stitches."

"I heal fast," he murmurs absently, reaching toward me hesitantly. When I don't protest, he gently traps a curl of my hair in his hand and rubs the strands between his fingertips.

Deciding to take advantage of the distraction, I brush my fingers along one of the many raised scars slashed across his chest, then lift a questioning brow. "Yet you scar."

His expression tightens, lines crinkling around his eyes, and he shrugs. "Beastlings scar when certain chemicals are poured into their wounds. We still heal, but?—"

"It scars," I mutter, brushing my fingers along another scar, then another and another. "Starvation doesn't help matters either."

"It slows our healing even more," he agrees, shivering under my touch then unconsciously shuffling toward me in silent permission to explore more.

I'd swear fur actually brushes against my palm.

I almost give into temptation when I glance down and spot a tiny flame licking up the back of my hand. I jerk away and shake my head at my stupidity, calling myself all kinds of a fool for having forgotten for even a second that my touch could be deadly.

My conscience twinges at such a stupid mistake, and my throat tightens at how close I came to hurting him. I curl my fingers into a fist, only breathing again when the flames snuff out with a tiny plume of smoke.

When he reaches out and lifts my chin, I lurch backward to avoid his touch, unable to even look at him. "Don't. I would never forgive myself if I hurt you, even accidentally."

I back away from him, unwilling to chance his safety…only to slam into something hard behind me. With a yelp, I whirl, my flames instinctively flaring to life at the unknown threat.

Heart pounding in my chest, it takes me a second to recognize Soren, then I lower my eyes in shame. My flames immediately stutter before going out, as if contrite for threatening him.

"You're afraid of hurting him," Soren speaks softly. "You like him."

It's not an accusation, but utter mortification curdles my insides, and I can't look at either of them. When I try to scoot around Soren, he steps into my path, not moving until I glare up at him.

"What if I promise you won't hurt him?" Specks of silver swirl around his dark eyes, something that only happens when he's being sweet, which I notice only seems to occur around me.

I desperately want to believe him, but I'm not willing to risk their safety to test it. "You can't know that. You can't guarantee?—"

"You like us both. I think your abilities recognized that." He takes a step toward me, and I retreat, only stopping when I crash into Stryker standing directly behind me. Before I can wiggle away, Soren leans closer, squishing me between them.

I wish I could say that I didn't like it, but their nearness is almost like a drug, and it takes all my control not to rub against them. Logic dictates I keep my distance, but the heat simmering in my veins is desperate for more.

Though I should know better, I'm starting to get attached to the men. I'm a loner by nature. I never expected to find one person I like, much less four, and I'm not sure I trust it. Emotions only lead to trouble, and the last thing I want is to drag them down with me.

Sadness fills my chest, the ache like a bubble expanding beneath my ribs, and I force myself to look away.

It hurts too much to see what I can never claim for my own.

My powers are changing, becoming stronger.

Soon, it won't be safe for me to be around anyone.

It would kill me if I hurt them because I caught a stupid case of feelings.

"You could barely withstand my flames, and you're a hellhound." I turn and stare directly into his eyes, daring him to argue. "How would the others even stand a chance?"

A slow smile spreads across his face, sexy enough to distract me for a moment. "How about we do a little test? If I'm wrong, I vow that we'll keep our distance."

Stryker growls in protest, pushing himself closer until he's plastered against my back, and I shiver when I feel every inch of him.

"Trust me," Soren says, and I'm not sure if he's talking to me or Stryker.

Stryker pauses, his hand flexing on my hip, then his cat chuffs. "You're her mate."

Soren smirks, never breaking eye contact with the leopard. To my ever loving shock, he agrees. "I am, but then again, so are you."

"Say what the fuck now?" I glance between them, my mind boggling at the mention of one mate, much less two. "Everyone knows that beastlings don't mate mages."

I wait for them to agree, but they remain silent.

"Right?" I ask, unable to smother a spark of excitement at the thought of having not only one mate but two, and flames dance under my skin at the idea of claiming them both.

Only then do I realize how much I want that.

Want them.

If Soren is right, then I'm willing to do anything for the chance to claim them. I won't let my family take that from me too. Inhaling deeply, I glance at Soren, slightly suspicious of his easy capitulation. I cross my arms protectively in front of me, then lick my dry lips. "What kind of test?"

"Kiss him," he says simply.

"W-What?" I sputter, my face burning at his order.

He lifts a challenging brow, a silent dare, then he speaks slower, as if I had trouble understanding him the first time. "Kiss. Him."

I swallow hard, more heat filling my cheeks, and I wish I could say it's in embarrassment, but I'm surprised by how much I want that kiss. Wiping my sweaty palms against my pants, I turn to glance up at Stryker with more than a little trepidation, almost afraid to look at him, and it takes all my courage to meet his bright blue eyes.

STRYKER

Idon't move, afraid to even breathe and scare her off. She looks so terrified that I want to strangle Soren. I wanted to go slow and work my way into her heart, not giving her a choice to love me until it was too late.

Now I might never get the chance.

Maybe I should be jealous she already has a mate, but I'm not surprised someone like her has already been claimed.

It's smart.

She needs a strong guard to keep her safe.

One mate is not nearly enough, but joining an existing pack makes everything both easier and harder. Beastlings are overprotective of their mates and very territorial. The fact that he even allowed her in a room alone with me is a small miracle.

While the ultimate choice is up to the woman, not every beastling survives the selection process. Accidents happen to prospective mates who fail to meet the expectations of the rest of the pack. No beastling would take a risk when it comes to their mate's safety.

A woman like Anita attracts danger as easily as breathing. Though she might smell like sugar and spice and everything nice, the darkness clinging to her says she battled nightmares and came out a warrior.

She doesn't need a mate to keep her safe, which means she can be super selective. That Soren would push her toward me fills me with hope and trepidation.

This is a test, one that I can't fail, or I fear I won't get a second chance.

When Anita shuffles toward me, stopping only inches away, I inhale her delicious scent, and my breath stalls in my lungs, desperate to savor every little bit of her.

I should protest—this is not part of my plan—but I so desperately want her kiss, I can't find my voice. My beast won't allow me to pass up this chance, afraid we might not get another one.

As I wait for her to make the first move, I hold myself so rigid that my muscles tremble under the strain. I've been imprisoned for so many years that my body doesn't remember a time when even a simple touch hasn't brought pain. I'm terrified my control might snap, and I'm not sure if I'll lash out or take what I want.

Tiny shards of red shimmer in her amber eyes, and my breath catches. Instead of putting me off, my cock strains against my pants, desperate for her attention. Never taking her gaze from mine, she rests her hand against my chest as lightly as a butterfly, but it hits with the strength of a sledgehammer.

A purr immediately catches in my chest, and I can't stop the embarrassment that heats my neck and blooms across my cheeks. My breath leaves me in a shudder, and my cock actually leaks.

From just a touch.

I'm so fucking screwed.

Heat spreads through my chest at the contact, and it feels so good that I reach behind her and latch onto the counter to keep myself from grabbing her like a handsy kraken. The movement brings my face even closer to hers, and my claws sink into the wooden countertops as I struggle to remain sane.

She smells so good that my mouth waters and my fangs ache to mark her with my bite. Logically, my brain knows it's too soon, but my leopard has been deprived of human contact for so long that he's nearly feral.

I close my eyes to resist temptation, afraid to meet her gaze. Something inside me would wither and die if she ever looked at me with fear.

Her other hand lightly touches my face, and I go lightheaded. I inhale sharply, idly wondering when I stopped breathing. My eyes snap open, only to find her face hovering only inches away from mine.

I must have been leaning toward her without even being aware of it.

She peers into my eyes as if searching for something, and I'm terrified to move even a fraction and break the spell she has cast over me.

"You really don't feel any pain?" There is a touch of wonder in her voice, the tension slowly seeping out of her.

"Pain?" I scoff, my purr rattling even louder in my chest. My beast is barely contained, throwing itself at the cage of my body, desperate to get to our mate and claim her. My control fractures a little, and I lean forward until my erection presses against her, my voice turning into a growl. "I can feel your touch down to my soul, and it's all I can do not to use my claws to strip you of your clothing, wrap those gorgeous legs around my waist, and thrust into you until you're screaming my name.

"Then I'll do it again and again until you admit that you're mine and give me permission to sink my fangs into your delicate shoulder and claim you for everyone to see." I'm panting by the time I finish, so out of my mind with lust that I don't censor my words.

When her mouth drops open and she blinks her too wide eyes at me, my heart sinks.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

I fucked up and ruined my one chance.

I'm not a virgin, but it's been a long damn time since I've been close enough to touch a woman, much less do anything more. My family kept me secluded, not out of any love or concern, but because I was valuable. Male leopards are rare. We're kept like pampered pets in gilded cages. I managed to escape before I could be forced into service as a breeder.

My whole childhood was spent learning how to service a woman and give them pleasure. Most men would be overjoyed at the task, but it only made me more reserved with the opposite sex.

I only managed to escape by sheer luck.

Unfortunately, my luck ran out quickly, my survival skills leaving something to be desired. I'm not weak, I'm more than capable of fighting, but my lack of people skills got me into trouble. After a few months of precious freedom, surviving on my wits alone, I landed myself in a cage of a different sort.

I was to be sold to the highest bidder, either cut open for parts or milked for my seed.

Fun times.

Then Anita burst into my life and rescued me without expecting anything in return.

She gave me hope, and I fucked things up with my rusty flirting. I have years of training on bedding a woman, but I have absolutely no skills on how to win them over.

My beast whines in the back of my mind, my chest tightening until I wonder if I'm having a heart attack. I'm terrified of moving in fear of driving her even further away. When she steps back, a lump forms in my throat, and my heart sinks like a rock, the tiny flicker of hope in my soul snuffing out.

Unable to face her rejection, I close my eyes and turn away. My leopard cries in denial, claws slashing my insides to get my attention, demanding we fight.

My whole life has been one battle after another.

Maybe it was all practice to win her over, and my resolve to do whatever it takes to earn her love solidifies. Despite this minor setback, I'm not about to give her up without a fight.

I'll just have to figure out another way to steal a piece of her heart.