Turned by a Tiger Read online

  She dealt with her teeth, desperately needing something mundane to focus on as she gathered herself. When she had rinsed her mouth out and cleaned her toothbrush, and it was back in the holder, she sucked down a deep breath to steady her nerves and then walked through the bedroom and into the living room as calmly as she could with her heart jittering around all over the place in her chest.

  The second she entered the living room, he looked over the back of the couch at her.

  Damn.

  Tiger was fine with a capital F.

  Gorgeous.

  Wild.

  His glossy black hair was chopped crudely around the sides, as close to his scalp as he could manage, but left longer on top, a little wavy and wild, and a fine shadow of stubble caressed his square jaw. Damn. His lips were devastating, full and tempting, beckoning her and rousing a fierce need to kiss him.

  The black slash of his right eyebrow slowly rose.

  Sherry shook herself out of the trance he had put her in just by looking at her.

  “You’re up… and still here.” She smiled at him, and felt stupid for stating the obvious.

  She should have said something better, although she wasn’t sure what better would have been. Damn nerves. So there was a hot guy, a damn hot guy, sitting on her couch staring at her, there was no reason to let it affect her this badly. He was just a guy after all.

  For a moment, she felt sure he would smile right back, but his lips didn’t quirk and his amber eyes didn’t shine. They both remained flat and cold.

  “Ready to talk yet, Tony?” she said, a little more cautious now, keeping some distance between them as the mood shifted in the room, taking some of her nerves with it because he clearly wasn’t riding the same wavelength as she was, didn’t look at all interested in her as he had last night.

  Maybe she had surprised him with her sudden appearance, or he was different to the Adonis that had invaded her dreams.

  The black slashes of his eyebrows dipped low.

  Okay, so he didn’t appreciate the Tony tag but she didn’t know his name, and calling him Tiger felt too personal.

  Too intimate.

  He had drawn a line between them, one she had needed because it had shaken the last vestiges of the dream from her, freeing her of its fantasy and reminding her that she had vowed she wasn’t going to do this. She wasn’t going to think of Tiger in that way.

  She really wasn’t.

  She moved to stand at the end of the couch and frowned at the sight of him. He had removed most of the plasters and bandages she had put over his wounds, leaving only the one that covered the deep gash that cut across his stomach on his left side. He had also washed his black trousers. In the shower? Where he had left all the dirty dressings in the tray like an animal.

  Or a man.

  He was healing though, and looked healthier already.

  He nodded, tipped his head back and sighed, one that stirred wicked heat that licked at her belly and breasts, and roused naughty thoughts despite her attempts to squash them before they could take hold.

  His eyes opened a crack and slid towards her as they narrowed.

  Sherry moved away, hurrying towards the kitchen, hoping to escape before he could pick her up on the way she reacted to him. Kyter had told her once that shifters were sensitive to scents, could smell when a female wanted them or a male wanted to fight them. Something about pheromones.

  She didn’t want him scenting things on her.

  Not because it would be embarrassing, but because she had the feeling that he was already something to someone else.

  Someone called Jayna.

  A vicious hiss sounded in her head, her heart spitting at that name with venom.

  “Want some coffee?” she said, managing to keep the sharp bite of jealousy out of her voice, and then added as she peered back at him, “Or cereal? I might have a box of Frosties somewhere.”

  He scowled over at her, and then did something that surprised her.

  He laughed.

  It was warm, rich, and a little awkward, as if he wasn’t used to laughing, or perhaps he had meant it to sound mocking and sarcastic, but it had come out real and surprised him too.

  The lack of lines bracketing those kissable lips backed up the feeling she had that he rarely smiled.

  Sherry stared at them.

  And stared.

  Stared.

  Lost herself a little in how good they had felt in her dream, against her lips, her throat. Her breasts.

  “You’re not very funny,” he said, a dull edge to his tone.

  She blinked herself back to him, caught the look in his amber eyes that said he wanted to pick her up on her spacing out while gazing at his mouth, but he was going to let it slide this time.

  “So… coffee, Tony?” It seemed like a good way to hide in the kitchen for a few minutes and get herself back under control.

  Something about him made her usual cool and collected circuits go haywire, as if he was overloading her senses and she just couldn’t keep control around him. He stirred dangerous impulses, and a tempting little voice that coaxed her into going along with them.

  He didn’t help when he stood, all delicious muscle bunching and flexing as he twisted towards her, and said, “Talon.”

  She stared at him, needing a moment to catch up, because she was still doing a slow replay of just how his powerful body moved, how it came alive and screamed of strength, prodded that feminine part of her that reacted to him on a biological level in response.

  Male. Strong. Powerful. Perfect breeding material.

  Now she was starting to sound like the damn shifters she worked with.

  She was more than biology, than nature, and she wasn’t going to give into it. She had never been one for lust before, for letting her body control her, and she wasn’t going to start now.

  “Sorry, Tony?” she muttered, making a valiant attempt to pull her eyes away from the thick ropes of muscle that formed one hell of an impressive eight pack, and the twin slabs that cried out for her to smooth her palms over them, and trace the tattoo that covered the left one.

  Maybe even lick it.

  He prowled towards her, his body a living symphony as his long legs devoured the small distance between them, and the feel of his eyes on her had her blood rolling from a simmer to a white-hot boil.

  “Talon,” he husked, too damn sexy sounding for his own good.

  Or hers.

  He stopped close to her, near enough she could feel the heat coming off him, could smell the lingering scent of her body wash on his skin. Skin she wanted to lick and nip at until he sighed in that way he had while sitting on her couch, all contentment and satisfaction. She started when his fingers brushed her jaw, and didn’t resist him as he slowly lifted her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

  Stunning.

  Gold shone around his wide pupils.

  Hunting her?

  Kyter and Cavanaugh had taught her to tell when a shifter was on the hunt by the way their eyes changed.

  They had also taught her that desire altered them in the same way.

  Maybe Tiger wanted her after all.

  “My name is Talon,” he murmured, as if he had read her thoughts. “And yours is Sherry.”

  “You remember that?” she said, a little breathless, a hell of a lot lost.

  He nodded, a tiny dip of his head, enough that his eyes didn’t leave hers. They pulled her deeper under his spell, held her fast and refused to let her go.

  “I…” she stammered, heart thumping, blood racing, and the sensible and cautious part of her began to push through the haze of desire, the heat of her need, and regain ground. “I…”

  “You what?” He lowered his eyes to her mouth, as if challenging her to admit that need.

  That consuming desire to feel his lips on hers.

  “I should call Kyter.”

  Shit, had she really just said that?

  She wanted to scream when he immediately dropped his hand
from her face and stepped back, distancing himself.

  Stupid sensible part of her.

  Said part reminded her that it was possible Talon had a woman already. As if she could forget the way he had called her name. Damn it, but she did keep forgetting though. She kept getting caught up in him, and it was dangerous. She couldn’t let herself get swept up in the moment. She needed to maintain some distance between them.

  It was for the best.

  “I’ll tell him your name is Tony.”

  He scowled again, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “You really aren’t very funny… or original.”

  “You seem too serious to recognise funny when you see it,” she countered, enjoying the sudden lightness between them and the sense of connection it sparked in her.

  “Sorry… the past six months haven’t done much for my sense of humour.” He shoved strong fingers through his unkempt black hair, pushing it back from his face, and all the light left his eyes.

  Sucked the funny right out of her with it.

  A weight settled on her chest. “You were in Archangel for six months?”

  Far longer than she had guessed.

  She couldn’t imagine what they had done to him in that time, or how he had managed to come through it alive, and seemingly sane. How many times in those long months had he ended up as badly beaten as he had been last night?

  Talon nodded and rubbed his hand over his hair again, scrubbing the back of it and making his muscles tense in a teasing way that she struggled to ignore, trying to focus on his story and not his body. It was difficult, but the distant edge his eyes gained, and the way his deep voice dropped to a low whisper was enough to have her focus firmly fixed on his face and his welfare.

  “I was there a month or so before the elf prince and that female’s brother were guests there.”

  “That was around six months ago. Which means…” she tailed off, unable to say it, because a shadow flitted across his face, stealing all the colour from his golden skin and making his eyes as cold as a glacier, as distant as the stars.

  He bowed his head, and heaved a sigh that had his shoulders trembling. “I was there longer than that.”

  Talon dug both hands into his hair and grasped his head, his grip so fierce his muscles tensed and veins popped, standing out beneath his skin. His arms shook, and she ached to move closer, to place her hands on his wrists as she had last night and keep him grounded, and with her.

  “I…” he rasped and his lips drew back in a grimace that flashed long canines as he growled viciously. “It all sort of blurred… I tried keeping track… guess I failed at that too.”

  She didn’t like the note of resignation and self-damnation in his voice, or the way his strength visibly left him right before her eyes.

  Fuck keeping her distance.

  Sherry closed the gap between them, brought her hands up and took hold of his forearms without any trace of hesitation, because he needed her.

  He needed this comforting touch to chase away all the vicious blows he had been dealt in recent months.

  He needed to know that there were still good people in this world, ones who were there for him if he needed them and if he would accept them and their help.

  He stilled, his body tense beneath her hands, as solid as a rock, and then slowly lifted his head and looked at her through long inky lashes, his amber eyes questioning her, asking her why she kept reaching for him like this.

  She hid nothing from him, wished she was brave enough to tell him in words and not just with her eyes that she did it because she cared, because she wanted to pull him up from that black abyss that kept trying to swallow him and set his feet back on solid ground. She wanted to tell him that until he found his strength again, he could rely on hers.

  “Coffee?” She offered him a smile, a small one she hoped would coax him into letting go of his head before he caused any permanent damage.

  A hint of a smile curved his lips, and in his eyes she caught the gratitude he couldn’t express, the silent thank you aimed at her for not keeping her distance from him, for coming to him and comforting him rather than withdrawing and thinking him crazy and dangerous.

  “Feel free to forage for food while I make it.” She took hold of his left wrist, brought his arm down and led him into the kitchen.

  Heat travelled down her spine, and she swore he was looking at her. She snuck a glance at him and found him staring at her backside. Wasn’t he something to someone else? Or maybe he was a bit of a player, and Jayna had just been another lover?

  Sherry knew the appeal of the no-strings-attached style of relationship, normally went in for that herself.

  So why did the thought of a roll in the hay with Talon followed by a kiss goodbye leave her cold?

  She busied herself with the coffee maker while Talon prowled around the small kitchen, taking up far too much space and making it impossible for her to pretend he wasn’t there and get her head straight.

  And her heart.

  She blamed it for her sudden desire to have more than a one night stand with a hot guy.

  “Milk, Tony?” She poured two mugs of coffee.

  He froze with his head in the refrigerator, withdrew and slowly turned towards her, the scowl back in place.

  His deep voice rolled through the room, curled around her and did wicked things to her body.

  “Talon,” he said with determination, with a hard edge that was both a demand and a command, one that thrilled her as she imagined him ordering her around in the bedroom in that same voice. “Talon. Say it.”

  A sudden onset of nerves swept through her as she looked into his hard amber eyes, looked at him for all that he was, and realised that if she said his name, the flimsy barrier she had tried to construct between them by avoiding using it would fall.

  Leaving her exposed.

  He straightened to his full height, towering over her, at least the same height as Kyter’s six-five. Talon was broader though, heavy with muscle, cutting an imposing figure as he stared her down, silently demanding she do as he wanted.

  “Tiger,” she blurted and went to face the coffee mugs again.

  Talon moved in a blur of speed, suddenly pressed right against her, and had her cheek in his palm again, bringing her head back around to face his.

  “Talon.” His tone could have made diamonds it was so hard, so sharp and pressing.

  She swallowed hard, trembling from head to toe as she drowned in his amber eyes, watching the gold shimmering among the amber.

  Her mouth turned dry.

  She swept her tongue across her lips to wet them.

  His gaze fell there, grew hungry and heated, and turned the fire up inside her.

  “Talon,” she whispered.

  His eyes shot to hers.

  His throat worked on a hard swallow.

  “Dear gods,” he muttered and just as quickly as he had closed the distance between them, he opened it up again, disappearing into the living room.

  She stared at where he had been, reeling from the suddenness of his disappearance, and how shocked he had sounded. How pained.

  What the ever living fuck?

  He had wanted her to say his name, and then he had reacted as if she had hurt him by saying it, and had fled the room, clearly not wanting to be near her anymore.

  Why?

  Sherry picked up both coffees and set them back down on the faux granite counter when her hands shook so badly she was in danger of spilling the hot liquid everywhere.

  She curled her hands into fists and squeezed them tight, trying to stop them from trembling. If only she could stop her heart from trembling just as easily.

  Or stop the pain that echoed in it.

  Was it because of this mysterious Jayna? Had she sounded too much like her? Or did he feel he was betraying Jayna by flirting with her?

  She stared at the coffee, the pain fading as anger sparked inside her, and the barrier he had torn down by demanding she say his name rose up again around her
heart, stronger now.

  Screw him.

  He wasn’t going to play with her emotions like this.

  She grabbed the coffees, turned on her heel and swept into the room with her head held high.

  And stopped dead when she saw him.

  He was attempting to wear a trench in her wooden floor, pacing the length of the room beyond the couch, from the door to her bedroom on her left to the wall on her right.

  His right thumb worried his lower lip, his eyes fixed on the floor just a few feet in front of him, and his left arm wrapped across his stomach, his hand clutching his hip with a tight grip.

  As if he was trying to hold himself together.

  What was bothering him? His time in captivity, or the way he had reacted to her saying his name?

  She wanted to know, but there was something else she wanted to know even more.

  Something that was bothering her.

  She set the coffees down on the low table near him, straightened to face him and said without hesitation, “What else did you fail at?”

  He paused mid-step and looked at her, something strange shining in his eyes before he blinked, something she wanted to decipher because it looked to her as if she had caused it and his pacing.

  All by simply saying his name.

  He frowned at her.

  “You said you failed at that too when talking about keeping track of the time… too… so what else did you fail at?”

  He averted his gaze, his eyes darkening and growing haunted as he stared blankly at the TV screen, and murmured, “I was meant to protect someone.”

  Her heart hitched. “Someone called Jayna?”

  His head whipped around, his amber eyes wide as they met hers.

  She looked away from him, doing her best to ignore that hissing in her heart, that pain that radiated through it whenever she thought about this one called Jayna and what she might mean to Talon.

  “You shouted her name before you came around last night.” She refused to look at him when he moved a step towards her, and backed off, keeping the distance between them steady and the furniture in his path to her, because if he touched her again, her barriers would crumble, and she needed to keep him locked out of her heart.