old school," I whisper. "That would be to the death."
Blake nods. "It would."
I stand up. "I have to call Alexander. Can I ask him to come here?"
Rachel nods. "Of course."
"Excuse me," I whisper, pulling out my phone. With my heart in my throat, I step out into the hallway and call his number.
Chapter 12
I lie in my bed and listen as Myra lets herself out. I feel at once energized and gripped by despair. Never have I connected so powerfully with a woman. It goes beyond her voluptuous, dangerous curves. Beyond her vivacious energy, her irrepressible humor, that spark of life that lights up the darkness in which I've labored. I've mated with plenty of women in my time, and each has been enjoyable in her own way, some even wonderful. But Myra has something special. Compassion. A real desire to make a difference, which I not only understand, but which mirrors my own. She's so special, and I can feel her slipping through my fingers again, slipping out of my life.
How can that be? We just did things that blew my mind, that I know blew hers, spent hours straining and tasting and licking and fucking so that we know each other's bodies better than most married men and women. Yet as she left through my front door, I felt that gulf opening up between us again, her career and her need to tell the truth conflicting with my lies.
I get out of bed, restless, my anger simmering. I pace down the steps and stand naked at the window, gazing out into the night. My lies... I'm running on a platform of honesty, transparency, and integrity, yet my very identity is a lie. I've told myself that I do what I do for the greater good, but can that be so if I have to lie to achieve it?
I look at my hand. I look human. My skin is pale, my fingers long and powerful. I turn it to study my palm. My humanity is only skin deep. Within me is a caged lion, buried deep and muzzled. I've fought my instincts for so long. The urge to shift and roar, to run and hunt, to luxuriate in the sun and take in the world through my shifter senses. Now that struggle is going to claim a new casualty.
Myra Cole. With her insouciant grin and bouncing curls, with her amazing breasts and delicious cleft. When I parted her legs and licked her slowly from ass to clit I could have died and gone to heaven. From the sounds she made, she could have done the same. So why is she gone? Why is she leaving?
Because of my lies.
I am a living lie. How can I keep going? My lie will be exposed. And then?
I clench my hand into a fist, and feel my lion rumble deep down in my chest. No. I will not let him free. I am more than him. I am more than a shifter. I am more than my father.
That old pain, that deep and terrible anger, rises within me. Doors at the depths of my mind strain to open. Rattle their chains. Old memories. Memories of terror and abuse. 'Lessons' my father taught me to make me stronger. I press my face into my palms. Breathe . Be in control. Be calm.
Yet Myra's body and soul have awakened a passion that I'm having trouble restraining. My lion is fighting his leash. He wants out. He wants to roar. I grit my teeth and shake my head.
No. I will not be weak. I won't!
I hear the sound of the lash. My father striving to provoke me. Whipping me as I refuse to fight him. His mocking laughter as I remain seated. His whip scouring the skin off my shoulders which immediately grows back. Pathetic! You're no lion, you're more rat or weasel. Stand, boy! Fight me!
I growl audibly and almost slam my fist through the window. Instead, I whirl away and stride across the room, but there's nowhere to go. The loft is too small. I stop again. What can I do? Return to Boston? Forget Myra Cole? Hope for the best? Plan for damage control?
I can hear Myra's gasp even now, the way she threw back her head as pleasure coursed through her, how she bit her generous lower lip as I touched her. Her dark nipples, her full breasts, her scent, her heat, her hot wet slit -
I'm going to
Blake nods. "It would."
I stand up. "I have to call Alexander. Can I ask him to come here?"
Rachel nods. "Of course."
"Excuse me," I whisper, pulling out my phone. With my heart in my throat, I step out into the hallway and call his number.
Chapter 12
I lie in my bed and listen as Myra lets herself out. I feel at once energized and gripped by despair. Never have I connected so powerfully with a woman. It goes beyond her voluptuous, dangerous curves. Beyond her vivacious energy, her irrepressible humor, that spark of life that lights up the darkness in which I've labored. I've mated with plenty of women in my time, and each has been enjoyable in her own way, some even wonderful. But Myra has something special. Compassion. A real desire to make a difference, which I not only understand, but which mirrors my own. She's so special, and I can feel her slipping through my fingers again, slipping out of my life.
How can that be? We just did things that blew my mind, that I know blew hers, spent hours straining and tasting and licking and fucking so that we know each other's bodies better than most married men and women. Yet as she left through my front door, I felt that gulf opening up between us again, her career and her need to tell the truth conflicting with my lies.
I get out of bed, restless, my anger simmering. I pace down the steps and stand naked at the window, gazing out into the night. My lies... I'm running on a platform of honesty, transparency, and integrity, yet my very identity is a lie. I've told myself that I do what I do for the greater good, but can that be so if I have to lie to achieve it?
I look at my hand. I look human. My skin is pale, my fingers long and powerful. I turn it to study my palm. My humanity is only skin deep. Within me is a caged lion, buried deep and muzzled. I've fought my instincts for so long. The urge to shift and roar, to run and hunt, to luxuriate in the sun and take in the world through my shifter senses. Now that struggle is going to claim a new casualty.
Myra Cole. With her insouciant grin and bouncing curls, with her amazing breasts and delicious cleft. When I parted her legs and licked her slowly from ass to clit I could have died and gone to heaven. From the sounds she made, she could have done the same. So why is she gone? Why is she leaving?
Because of my lies.
I am a living lie. How can I keep going? My lie will be exposed. And then?
I clench my hand into a fist, and feel my lion rumble deep down in my chest. No. I will not let him free. I am more than him. I am more than a shifter. I am more than my father.
That old pain, that deep and terrible anger, rises within me. Doors at the depths of my mind strain to open. Rattle their chains. Old memories. Memories of terror and abuse. 'Lessons' my father taught me to make me stronger. I press my face into my palms. Breathe . Be in control. Be calm.
Yet Myra's body and soul have awakened a passion that I'm having trouble restraining. My lion is fighting his leash. He wants out. He wants to roar. I grit my teeth and shake my head.
No. I will not be weak. I won't!
I hear the sound of the lash. My father striving to provoke me. Whipping me as I refuse to fight him. His mocking laughter as I remain seated. His whip scouring the skin off my shoulders which immediately grows back. Pathetic! You're no lion, you're more rat or weasel. Stand, boy! Fight me!
I growl audibly and almost slam my fist through the window. Instead, I whirl away and stride across the room, but there's nowhere to go. The loft is too small. I stop again. What can I do? Return to Boston? Forget Myra Cole? Hope for the best? Plan for damage control?
I can hear Myra's gasp even now, the way she threw back her head as pleasure coursed through her, how she bit her generous lower lip as I touched her. Her dark nipples, her full breasts, her scent, her heat, her hot wet slit -
I'm going to
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