Leopard's Kiss (Shadow Guardians) (Shadows Guardians Book 1) (14 page)

But at the same time, he couldn't let her go.

He'd made a promise to keep her safe, and both their lives depended on it. Silently, he took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her palm. He didn't know what, exactly, he was promising her. He knew it wasn't to bond over love and connection, but at the same time, he was offering her something more than what he understood, trying to cross that chasm into her world.

Her face softened and she smiled, a smile so tender that part of the gritty steel around his heart seemed to crack. "I accept," she said. "Thank you."

He nodded, relieved that she understood without forcing him to articulate that which he couldn't explain. He leaned on the counter, his hands flanking her hips, somehow needing to be close to her, close enough to breathe her scent and absorb her energy, to reassure himself that he was right to trust her. He caught the same delicate scent as before...but this time, he noticed another scent underlying it. Something earthier. Something he recognized.

He met her gaze, not pulling back. "Tell me about the white leopards."

She paled. "Slade—"

"I'm here, Anya. I'm sticking with you. I brought you into my place. My fate is entwined with yours. It's time to let me in."

She lifted her chin. "You said you never make a promise you can't keep. You wouldn't promise not to kill me before."

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you want me to promise?"

"That if I tell you the truth, that you will never repeat it to anyone, that you will never betray me, and that you will never let anyone read the knowledge in your mind. You will do whatever it takes to make sure no one ever knows what I tell you.
Ever.
No matter what the cost to you."

Ever? No matter what the cost? "That's a tremendous promise," he said, after a moment. "I have no idea what the future will bring. I can't trap myself."

"I know." She didn't back down. "But I can't accept less."

He stepped back, grabbed his beer, and paced the kitchen. The only thing that kept him alive was the ability to do whatever it took to survive no matter what the moment brought him. He had no loyalty to anyone, except his brother, and that made him agile. If he carried her secret, protecting it would be a burden that he'd have to shoulder his entire life. Hell, he didn't even know what he was promising, since he didn't even know her secret.

He took a long drink of his beer, aware of her watching him, and waiting.

"Is it so bad to have something to live for besides killing people?" she asked softly. "You have enough money. Maybe it's time to let something else matter."

"I already have something that matters," he snapped.

Her eyes widened, and he swore. He hadn't meant to reveal that.

"What is it?" She leaned forward, her fingers wrapped around her glass. "Who matters to you, Slade? I know there's someone."

He turned toward her, frustration roaring through him. "What if I have to choose? What if I have to make a choice between him and your secret? What then?"

She stared at him, not even reacting to his veiled admission that there was someone else in his life. "You find a way to do both," she said simply.

"What if there's not? What then?"

"You find a way to protect both." She leaned forward. "Don't you understand, Slade? There's always room for more goodness in your life. It just makes you stronger."

"It makes you vulnerable," he snapped.

She sighed. "You just don't understand, do you?"

"I understand fine. I—"

"When I was born, my mother had tattoos put on the bottom of my feet. They're an ancient rune designed to keep shifters from shifting," she said. "I've had them my whole life. I've never shifted, but I don't know if it's because of the runes, or because I'm not a shifter."

He swore, realizing she was telling him her secret. He wasn't ready to commit to her yet. "Don't tell me—"

She stood up. "My mother was a white leopard. So was Marjorie. So is Julia. Am I one? I don't know for sure, but if I had to say, I think I am. I think that if I took the tattoos off my feet, I would shift." She walked over to him. "I'm a white leopard, Slade. The most prized, most endangered, and most hunted shifter alive. That's my secret. You might not have given me your promise with your words, but I know I have it. I trust you."

Slade stared down into her vibrant blue eyes, fear tearing through him at the enormity of what she'd shared with him. Not just that her family were white leopards, but how to expose hers. Her secret would make her a target of all the worst scum he'd ever met, collectors who had the money, power, and ruthlessness to get whatever they wanted. "Why did you tell me?"

"Because you need to know, and because you need to realize that you can make that promise to protect me." She met his gaze. "And because I trust you."

Something shifted inside him, something warm and real, something he'd never felt before. His heart thudded, once, then twice, as if it were beating for the first time in years. How could she have offered him this? Her secret, her identity, her truth was all she had. Her mother had died because of it. And she'd given it to
him
?

"Was I wrong?" she asked. "To tell you?"

Yes.
He wanted to roar his denial, to berate her for being so naïve, to tear the knowledge out of his brain. He wasn't in the business of protecting secrets, of preserving confidences, of making choices to benefit someone else. He didn't even know how to do that. "All I know is how to live by myself," he said. "I only know how to protect myself."

"What about 'him?' The one you mentioned earlier. Don't you protect him?"

"Yes, but—"

"Slade." She clasped his hands, her fingers warm and delicate in his roughened ones. "You're so much more than you realize. You never would have been chosen as my guardian if you weren't worthy. Accept it. Accept what I gave you. Let it make you stronger."

He gripped her fingers, something surging inside him, something desperate, something that wanted to step into the role he'd been given. What if he
was
more? What if he could do something greater than what he'd accepted as his life and his fate? What if he could do something as simple and tremendous as preserving the spirit of this incredible woman standing before him? He touched her hair, running his fingers along the tangled strands that fell across her shoulders. But how could he make a promise like that?

But even as he asked it, he knew it was too late. The moment she'd shared her truth with him, he'd accepted responsibility for protecting it. It didn't matter whether he officially promised her or not. He'd made it the moment she'd told him the truth.

She smiled, triumph gleaming in her eyes. "You don't need to say it. I can read it in your eyes."

He glared at her, sliding his fingers to the nape of her neck. He was pissed, but at the same time, there was a part of him that was deeply relieved, even excited. He never would have made that promise, but now that it had become a part of him, it felt right. It felt good. It felt powerful. "You manipulated me," he said, scowling at her.

She nodded, unrepentant. "It appears to be the best way to manage you."

"I don't like it." His fingers tightened along the back of her neck.

"I know."

"But I admire it."

Her face softened, and he felt the tension ease from her body. He realized then that despite her bravado, she'd been worried. "Thank you."

"I don't admire many people." Her skin was unbelievably soft, so silky that he almost felt like he'd soil her simply by touching her with his tainted hands. "No one, actually." Except his brother.

She smiled, raising her hand to rest it on his chest. "I don't trust very many, so I guess we both must be incredibly fantastic to win each other over."

"Fantastic?" He leaned forward, just close enough to catch a whiff of her scent. "Fantastic is a superficial, vapid, stupid word." She smelled incredible. He wanted to taste her again. Not drain her. Just a whisper of a touch. "You're not fantastic." He lightly brushed his lips along her jaw.
God, yes.
"You're courageous. Loyal. Smart as hell." He kissed the curve of her neck, his gut tightening when she sucked in her breath. "You're irritating and manipulative."

"Which you admire." Her hands went to his shoulders and she closed her eyes, going utterly still.

"Which I admire," he agreed softly as he traced intimate circles along the back of her neck. "You're the most alive, vibrant, warm, engaging, demanding person I've ever met." He lightly, so lightly, caught her earlobe between his teeth.

She made a small noise of pleasure, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. "I'm the only person you've ever actually noticed," she said. "You have nothing to compare me to."

He pulled back, searching her face. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. "You're right," he said softly. "It's only you. You're my only frame of reference, but you're all I need." Son of a bitch. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to taste her mouth again, to draw her against him, to feel her body flush against his. He literally burned for her, on every level of his being.

Her eyes widened, and her gaze flicked to his mouth, then back to his eyes. "I've never let anyone in either," she whispered. "Not the way I've trusted you. I wanted you to know my secret. If I die, I want to die knowing that there's someone left in this world who knows who I really am."

Anger surged through him, and he tightened his grip on the back of her neck. "You don't get to die," he snarled. "I just found you." Desperate fear ripped through him, a stark, gaping terror of reverting to the absolute isolation he'd existed in for so long, if she died. "Do you understand?
You don't get to die!
"

Confusion flickered across her face at his vehemence. "I'm not planning to but—"

He couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't hold off. He just couldn't do it. He needed what she gave him too badly. "Mine," he whispered, just before he dragged her against him and claimed her as his own.

A
nya was completely
unprepared for the emotional depth of Slade's kiss. In the safe house, it had been rough-edged attraction. Pure sex. Unbridled lust. In the hallway, it had been something else. Something gentler. But this one was raw emotion, exactly what she'd craved from him initially, only a thousand times more than she would ever have expected from this cold, ruthless loner.

His fingers were tight in her hair, his grip desperate, as if he were afraid she would slip away. His other arm was locked around her back, trapping her against him. She could feel the muscles in his arm flexing, straining against his instinct to grip her so tightly that he would hurt her. His kiss was deep, penetrating, and demanding, thrusting his need into her, flooding her with emotions so raw, so dark, so fierce that she could barely breathe.

He was overwhelming her, almost suffocating her with the depth of his need, but at the same time, it was hauntingly beautiful, mimicking the emotions she kept wrapped so tightly inside her.

She slipped her arms around his neck, and instantly, he grabbed her hips and lifted her against him, taking what little she could offer him and turning it into more. He locked her legs around his waist, angling his head as he kissed her more deeply, scrambling her mind with kisses so desperate and intimate that she could barely even think.

He carried her across the floor, not breaking the kiss long enough for her to see where he was taking her. His kiss...God, his kisses were extraordinary, igniting feelings and emotions in her that she'd never felt before. She wanted to crawl inside him and connect with him forever, be in his arms every moment for the rest of her life, and turn herself over to him for protection and safekeeping.

But at the same time, she wanted to protect him. She wanted to safeguard the emotions he was pouring into her. She was desperate to preserve the raw, emotional side of him that he was sharing with her. She knew it was a gift, something he'd never do on purpose, something he would probably take back as soon as he regained control, shrinking into the cold, lifeless killer he worked so hard to be.

He leaned forward, and she felt herself sink into a decadently soft fabric. She broke the kiss to look around, and she froze when she realized they were in a bedroom. His bedroom. A massive bed of the most beautiful wood she'd ever seen. Custom silk curtains. Crown molding. Gorgeous antiques. More original paintings by legends. Pure sophistication and class, a haven so beautiful and elegant that she knew he'd designed every inch of it with precision and care to make it his. And he'd shared it with her.

She propped herself up on her elbows, as he pulled back, standing beside the bed, staring down at her with an expression of such unguarded longing that her heart ached. This was the man who claimed he needed no one? How had he possibly survived a lifetime with no human connection of any kind?

She sat up and held out her arms to him. "Come," she said gently.

He shook his head, his hands flexing by his side. "I'm afraid I'll hurt you," he said, his voice hoarse. "I...I don't know what to do... My kiss kills..."

The agony in his voice almost broke her heart. "You don't kill with your kiss," she said softly, understanding finally dawning. "You kill with your mouth. I was wrong when I said you defile the kiss. When you kill, it's not a kiss. It's just a weapon. When you kissed me just then, that was a
kiss
." She got up on her knees so she was level with him and she buried her fingers in his shirt. "Kiss me," she said. "Feel the difference."

Stark longing flashed across his face, but he didn't reach for her. "What if you're wrong, Anya? What if I lose control and realize, too late, what I've done?" He went down on his knees, looking up at her, balling his fists in the comforter. "I lose who I am when I kiss you. I become someone different, someone who's no longer in control."

"No, you don't lose who you are." She sat on the edge of the bed, her knees on either side of his hips. "You find your true self when you kiss me." She framed his face with her hands and leaned forward to kiss him.

He went utterly still when her lips touched his. Tension vibrated through him, fear entrenched so deeply in him he couldn't shake it. His entire frame was taut, his muscles strung so tightly she knew he was ready to spring away from her...but he didn't.

He remained utterly still, frozen in place, as she kissed him. Tender kisses, but not holding back. She leaned into him, letting her body mesh with his. The heat from his skin melted into her, sending warmth catapulting through her.

Still he didn't move, his hands fisted in the comforter. His breathing was tight, his muscles flexed, as if he were waging a tremendous battle. "I can't do this," he said, his voice raw.

"Do what?" She pulled back to look at him.

"Care. Touch. Kiss." His face was desperate. "I can't survive coming alive for you. Do you understand the life I've led? If I saw it through your eyes...I couldn't survive it. I have to stay the way I am."

Anya dropped her hands and sat back. His torment was evident, tearing him apart, and guilt ratcheted through her. He'd chosen this life because of the murder of his family, a boy thrust into a world he was too young to understand. He'd done what he had to do to survive and try to make his life one that he could endure. What right did she have to destroy the foundation of his life just because she craved intimacy with him so much? Her life had been ruined by others. Why did she think making him seduce her was better for him?

She sighed and let go of him. "I'm sorry." She swallowed. "I just...I've just been lost for so long, and when I'm with you, I feel like I can breathe again. You make me feel safe. You make me care again." She flopped back on the bed and folded her hands behind her head. "We don't have time for sex anyway. We just—"

He sprang from the floor and landed on top of her in a single, effortless move. He was on his knees and elbows, holding himself above her, not touching, but somehow, it was more sensual and more intense than if he had been. "I want you," he whispered, his dark gaze boring into hers. "When you let me go just then, I didn't like it."

She swallowed, heat searing though her body. "What do you want from me, Slade?"

"I want you to disappear from my life." But as he said it, he moved his knees, allowing his hips to ease down on top of hers. "I want you to vanish from my mind and my memories, so I never remember what it felt like to kiss you." He threaded his fingers through her hair, his eyes darkening. "I want to never feel again like I felt when I realized I hurt you with my kiss."

Her belly started to tremble. His voice was hoarse and raw, as if he were struggling to say the words. "I wish my mother and Marjorie hadn't been murdered," she whispered. "But we can't make the past go away. I'm sorry I've caused you pain, but I never want to forget you. I don't want you to take away my memories of you. I want to always remember what it's like to be kissed by you, to feel your hands on my body, to see the way you look at me, like I'm your greatest hell, and your most powerful salvation. I'm not afraid of you, Slade. You're the one thing in my whole life that I'm not afraid of."

"Anya." Her name was a reverent whisper on his lips, and his fingers tightened in her hair. "Make me stop, because I can't do it myself."

"No. I won't stop you." Tears filled her eyes. "You make me feel alive, Slade. You make me feel brave, cherished, and protected."

He swore under his breath, even as he lowered his head, pausing with his mouth a breath from hers. "You make me weak," he whispered. "You make me feel."

She placed her hands on his chest, and then slid them around to the back of his neck. "Feeling makes you stronger," she whispered. "It hurts, I know, but it's pain that empowers."

"I'm not afraid of that kind of pain." His fingers tightened in her hair. "But I'm fucking terrified of what it could make me do." And then he kissed her, a deep, ravenous, burning kiss that stripped her of everything but her need for him.

She pulled him closer and kissed him back, groaning as he lowered himself the rest of the way onto her, his body pinning her to the luxurious bedding. The kiss was desperate and haunting, as if it were pulling the darkness from both of them and using it to bind them together, using tears, loss, and loneliness to break down the walls keeping them apart.

She clung to him as he kissed her, terrified of losing this moment, this man, this chance to feel again. He was dangerous and isolated, but she knew she'd reached him. She mattered to him, this man who let nothing get close to him. She wanted to help him, to somehow get him away from this life that was trying to destroy him...but at the same time, she needed him. He gave her hope, he gave her courage, and he made her feel like she truly existed.

They were the same in some ways, two people who had lived in shadows their whole lives, unable to connect with anyone, unable to even exist as someone's memory. Until now. Until they'd found each other. Until they'd come to life in each other's arms.

"Anya." He whispered her name as he palmed her belly, sliding his hand beneath her shirt. His touch was searing, burning over her skin, igniting the same desire that he'd awakened so easily in the safe house.

It was different this time, though, because this time, she knew him. It wasn't raw lust or attraction. It was deeper, different, and real. With a deft move of his fingers, he unfastened her bra and cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple in a tantalizing rhythm.

She twisted beneath him, her body aching for more, every nerve on fire for his touch. She tugged at his shirt, and he immediately sat up and ripped it over his head. His body was heavily muscled, with scars crisscrossing his flesh, a co-mingling of strength and vulnerability. She spread her palms on his chest, catching her breath at the feel of so much skin. In the safe house, he'd kept his clothes on the whole time, so this was her first moment of seeing him, of touching him, of stripping away his shields that protected him.

"The expression on your face..." He touched her cheek, and she looked at him. His face was unguarded and vulnerable, almost wondering as he watched her. "I'm not used to anyone really seeing me," he said quietly. "You see me, don't you?"

She smiled, understanding what he meant. She'd lived in shadows as well. "I do," she said, meeting his gaze. "I see
you
, Slade, not some shadowy assassin. I see a real man, one who bleeds, breaks, and rebuilds."

He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckle. "I kill. It's all I do. It's all I am. Don't delude yourself that I'm more than that just because I have to play the role of guardian with you. Never forget that I'm the Black Swan."

She tilted her head, studying him, no fear in her eyes. "Why are you called the Black Swan? Swans aren't predators."

"Because my mom's favorite bird was the swan. There was a family of swans that lived on a lake near our house. The day she was killed, they flew past the house. The setting sun made them look black, as if they were mourning her death and honoring her." He shrugged. "So, I became the Black Swan in her memory, so I would never forget why I killed, and why I became an assassin."

Anya's face softened. "You named yourself out of love," she said, her voice filled with awe. "You're so caring and gentle, Slade. How could you possibly delude yourself that you could survive in isolation when you care so deeply?"

The way she looked at him made something twist inside him, as if she would never believe he was the monster he knew he was, no matter how many times he tried to make sure she understood. It pissed him off, but at the same time, it awakened something fierce and primal inside him, something that wanted to trap her, protect her, and ensure that nothing ever happened that could strip of her of the way she saw the world. He leaned forward, bracing his weight on his palms on either side of her head. "I want to tear off every piece of your clothing. I want to bury myself inside you until I own you on every level of your soul. I want to rip away every wall you've built up, until there's nothing left but the real you."

Desire swelled through her, an intense, aching need that cried out for his pain, for hers, for the way they could save each other. "Kiss me," she whispered. "Just kiss me and see what happens."

He tunneled his fingers through her hair, sinking his hips deeper against hers. "I'm afraid of my kiss." He thumbed her breast, teasing her nipple until her body ached from the torment he was twisting inside of her. "I've never given a shit about anyone I've killed, until you." He palmed her chest, spreading his hand over her heart. "But if my kiss kills you, it would break me."

Tears filled her eyes at the rawness of his words, at the pain he was allowing her to see. "I'll stop you."

"You won't know. They never know." He ran his hands over her hips again, and then slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her jeans. "No kissing," he whispered. "Just touching."

She gasped as his fingers slipped into her folds. "I want to kiss you. I need it." Kissing was different than touching or sex. It was about intimacy, and it made it personal.

"I can't." With one deft move, he unfastened her jeans, then rolled to the side to pull them off. His eyes were burning with heat as he slid them off her, his hands stoking fires along her thighs. She sat up to pull her shirt off, but he was there first, disrobing her with reverence and a sensual intimacy that made her heart tighten.

"You, too." She reached for his jeans, but he stood up and shed them himself, giving her a full view of his gloriously male body. His muscles were cut, his thighs tremendous and powerful, his cock hard and ready. Her belly clenched, not just for how powerful he was, but for the fact that he was standing before her, allowing her to see him, after he'd lived his entire existence as a shadow that no one was allowed to remember.

She held out her hand to him, and he came, easing onto the bed beside her. He didn't try to kiss her or ravage her. He simply propped himself up on his elbow and traced his fingers along her side, over her hips, and down the outside of her thigh. His expression was pure reverence, almost awe, as he watched his hand move along her body. "So beautiful," he whispered. "Your skin is so soft. I've never felt anything like it."