Prowl the Night (3 page)

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Authors: Crystal Jordan

BOOK: Prowl the Night
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The room looked like him. The rich furnishings were all leather and dark wood, with wild accents. One entire wall was blood red, and a pair of crossed
katanas
were mounted on it. Gifts from her Pride. A spear sat above them, from his visit to Africa. It emphasized how different they were—power and violence versus peace and serenity.
A small smile curled one corner of his mouth, and he looked happy to see her, which was so unusual these days, it was almost enough to make her burst into tears. She shoved away the storm of emotions that threatened to batter her into the ground. Peace and tranquility, she reminded herself. Her mouth opened, but no words came forth. When it came to her mate, she didn't know
how
to say what she needed to say. Not without creating strife between them, and she couldn't stand the conflict.
Hell, she didn't even know
what
to say to him anymore.
 
Ciri just stood there staring at him, and Tomas had no idea how to react to her sudden appearance. Normally, she avoided his office and anything that reminded her of his status in the Prides. The thought both worried and annoyed him, as it always did, but he dismissed it.
“Have a seat. I'll get us some coffee.” He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek as he passed on his way to a large wooden sideboard his mother had sent from Brazil.
Ciri's essence overlaid the more masculine scents in the room, and it was all he could do not to drag her into the nearest dark corner and have his way with her. But there was work to do, and never enough time to do it. “Did you stop off at the calligrapher's to pick up everything we ordered for the dinner and ball?”
It was supposed to take place the night before the summit began, and would ease people into peaceful negotiations and good will. Tomas was in charge of planning it, as well as other parts of the summit. He'd also volunteered to be a neutral party and try to get the European Pride involved. A phone call with Spain was on his schedule for later this evening.
“No. I was about to go into the shop when I sensed I was being followed.” Ciri shivered in the warm room, her arms wrapping around herself.
Tomas froze with his hand poised over the coffee carafe, a jolt of shock punching through him. His hackles rose, and the Panther within him snarled. “A human threatened you?”
Her eyes were wide when they met his, upset obvious in their dark depths. “A Panther hunted me.”
“A Panther? Someone from this Pride?” His talons scored his palms when he fisted his fingers. If one of Antonio's people had gone after Ciri, Tomas would shred the offender to ribbons. “Who? I want his name.”
She made a negative sound in her throat. “It wasn't anyone I've met before. He wasn't from this Pride.”
Tomas blinked, shaking his head to push away the feral instincts and let the logical man rule the moment. A Panther in North American territory that wasn't in the Pride? The number of Panthers on the planet was incredibly limited, which was an ongoing problem for their race. For a cub to be conceived, both parents had to be in Panther form and claimed in a mate bond. Not all Panthers had mates, and their breeding rate was low. Extinction was an ugly possibility that always loomed over their people. The likelihood that an unknown Panther existed outside the purview of the Prides was little or none. “Are you sure it was a Panther?”
It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it as soon as the words came out of his mouth. He tried to backpedal, but her hiss cut him off.
“I know what I sensed, Tomas. He was a Panther—one I've never met before. He was large, with dark hair and tanned skin. And he hunted me.” Her words were stiff. There was something in her gaze that was almost reproachful. It was a look he'd become far too used to in the last few months.
“All right. He was a Panther.” He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible. The last thing he wanted was to make accusations. “Are you certain he wasn't someone you'd met before?”
“You think I'm lying about all of this?” Her chin lifted, her expression daring him to admit it.
“I never said anything of the kind. Don't put words in my mouth. I'm asking how certain you are about what you sensed, but I don't think you're lying.” And he didn't. No matter what else might be wrong with their marriage, he knew Ciri wouldn't deliberately deceive him.
“But you think no one else will believe me.” Her lips flattened into a line.
He sighed. “You've had some difficulty adjusting here, and people know that. It's not unfeasible for them to think this is an offshoot of that.”
“You think they'll say this is some kind of excuse to get out of North America because I can't adjust?”
“I can't control what other people think, Ciri. But, yes, it is possible that Antonio and Solana will think that.” If they did, it could be a serious problem for Tomas. He'd have to consider how best to deal with this before he approached them. It was no secret to anyone that Ciri's dislike of this Pride and her newly elevated rank among Panthers had been a sore spot since the moment they'd left Japan.
“I know what I sensed.” Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits and she hissed low in her throat, which was unusual for her. She usually avoided confrontation of any kind—and he thought it was unhealthy to let bad feelings fester. Something else they disagreed on. At the moment, the Panther was as evident as the woman, and cats were fearless. “I'm an adult, Tomas. I don't feel the need to make up imaginary friends
or
imaginary foes. If I wanted to leave here, I could buy a plane ticket to Tokyo right now.”
Matching anger flashed inside him. He struggled to control it. His father was always in command of himself, and expected the same of Tomas, but it wasn't in his nature to back down from a challenge. Ciri had the ability to push all his buttons in seconds. The mere mention that she could leave, that she might get on a plane and abandon him iced his anger down to chilly dread. No. He couldn't lose her. Not ever. He tried to muddle through the mess they were in as best he could, tried to show her by example that they could handle living here for a while.
The least she could do was make an attempt to fit in and get along with the people here. “You could
try
—”
“I
have
tried, Tomas.” She rose from her seat, her hands planting on her hips. Her fangs bared. “I accept that this is where we live, but I don't like it here. I
don't
have to like it here.”
He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. How the hell had they gotten onto this topic anyway? Everything seemed to devolve into this same argument—when he could even get her to talk about it. “No one said you did, but you should try to make the best of it. It's not forever.”
“Yes, because then you'll drag me down to Brazil for the rest of my life.” She tossed her dark sheet of hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms. “Another foreign Pride that I didn't care for.”
He threw his hands in the air. “We were only there for a few days, and the Pride was still in mourning for my grandfather. You didn't see everyone at their best. At least give it a chance.”
She just stared at him, a mutinous jut to her chin. “It's not like I have a choice, do I? I haven't had a choice in any of this.”
“Neither have I!”
“No, but we're with your old friends now, and your cousin is here. You get to talk endless politics, which you love, and then we get to go to your Pride forever.” Her eyes went wide, her lips pursing. “That sounds terrible for you.”
He tried to keep from her just how confused and jumbled up he felt most of the time, because he didn't want to add to her misery, but how could she not see they were equals in this? This wasn't exactly how he'd seen his life going either. He dragged in a breath and tried for some restraint. “You're being unreasonable.”
A disgusted sound erupted from her, and she spun toward the door. “Then let's stop the conversation if it's so trying for you. I hate fighting with you anyway. Good-bye.”
That spurred him into action. He grabbed her arm. “Ciri, wait. Don't do this.”
“I haven't done anything. You're the one acting as though I'm a fool or a child because I don't care for this Pride, because I miss my own people, because
someone here hunted me.
I think it's perfectly reasonable to be upset about all of those things.” A sheen of tears in her eyes belied the scorn in her voice. “Clearly, my mate doesn't want to hear what concerns me. How silly and childish of me to think so. Excuse me.”
“Wait, please. I don't want us to fight right now either.” He reeled her in, and set his hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly. “I do want to hear what concerns you, and I do believe you were followed. I never said you were childish, and I
never
called you a liar. I'll ask Antonio to look into this.”
“Thank you.” The words were brittle, and her gaze told him she doubted that he'd do as he said. That stung, but he was fair enough to admit this fight hadn't made it sound like he had much faith in her, even though that hadn't been his intention. What a mess they'd made of things, and they only seemed to make it worse whenever they spoke.
He kissed her forehead because he couldn't resist the temptation to have his hands on her as often as he could. “Of course.”
It was the way of Brazil, to touch, to kiss. Other Prides didn't share that local quirk, so he'd learned to curb it, but in his own land and among his own family, he felt free to reach out. With Ciri, he reveled in it when they were alone. He could never get enough of touching her, and it fed a need that ran far deeper than his culture. She was his mate, and he would crave her all the days of his life. It was that simple, and that complex, especially with the strain in their relationship.
She leaned closer to him when his lips brushed her forehead. She was almost in his arms, almost close enough to truly kiss him. He stopped himself, but he wanted her.
Dios,
how he wanted.
 
Ciri was suddenly desperate for the closeness, the contact. Anything to drive away the fear that had gripped her. Anything to hold it at bay, just for a little while.
Anything to avoid her entire life.
She wasn't doing very well at acceptance or harmony today. Shoving her fingers into his hair, she pulled him down for a kiss. She felt him startle, could taste the surprise on his lips.
He groaned, his breath emerging as a ragged gasp. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Don't I seem certain?” Cupping his cock through his pants, she pressed herself against him. “I don't want to think about what happened today. Help me forget.”
A dark flush raced over his cheeks. When was the last time she'd initiated sex between them? Weeks, maybe longer. She'd followed his lead, allowing her feral side to dictate her actions. Now, she needed this connection so much it shredded her normal reserve. The last thing she could stand right now was to be alone, her mind trapped in an endless loop of the terror she'd felt. Her heart contracted at the thought, and as hard as she'd been trying to push it away, it wouldn't be ignored. Somehow, she had to burn off this feeling. This was as good a way as any. Better than crying over things she couldn't change—she'd tried that in the last six months and it didn't help at all.
Her mate shuddered and groaned at her touch, and a rush of power filled her. Yes. This was what she needed. No longer helpless—right now, she was in control. Passion swamped her, and dampness gushed between her thighs. Yes, this was how it should be. Not just avoidance or anger, but desire.
Stroking her hand up and down the length of his shaft, she felt him grow thicker, harder. A little moisture seeped through his slacks and she grinned. His hips thrust forward, harsh sounds of lust spilling from his lips.
“Ciri, look at me.”
Meeting his gaze, she was caught, drawn in by the need on his face. He was just as handsome as he had been the day she'd met him. His dark hair was brushed back in thick waves from his forehead and tapered to a neat point at the back of his neck. She used to love to thrust her fingers into those locks and muss them up, just to encourage him toward a little peaceful relaxation. When they were in private, he didn't need to be a Pride heir or an expert in politics and business or anything other than her mate.
He hadn't listened. They never seemed to get through to each other, and it made her heart ache.
“Ciri . . . please.” The desperation on his face, the way his chest heaved for breath, the gold that swirled in his dark irises, the deadly points to his fangs, all told her exactly how much he craved her. That he was willing to beg only fed the power coursing through her veins. That he didn't try to take control from her told her he understood how much she needed this.
Good. For once, they were on the same page.
She reached for his belt, jerking the leather free from the buckle. In moments, she had it and his fly open. Her fingers slid into his slacks, and his hot flesh was in her hand. Pulling his cock from his pants, she stroked him with one hand and reached in with the other to cup the soft sacs at the base of his shaft. She rolled them between her fingers. He choked, his intense gaze locking on her, and she could feel the effort it took to restrain himself. His passionate Latin nature was never more in evidence than when he was aroused.

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