Shifter's Dance (7 page)

“Oh, I have another idea!” She turned to face him
after he set her down, her hands moving quickly as she spoke. “What
if, instead of a
grand jeté
like that one, you lifted me
toward yourself, up over your head, and then I slid down your body
on the way down—here, let me show you…Just lift me up, I’ll do the
rest.”

The moment she was in his arms, he understood. Her
arms flung wide, her head back, then her hands moved to his
shoulders. She seemed to hang in the air for a long silent moment,
and then she slid down his body to the floor, the wide grin on her
face turning sweet and hesitant as he set her down, holding her
close to his chest.

“You’re incredible,” he said, staring into her
unseeing eyes. His hand moved up to cup the side of her face, to
draw her into a kiss, and she stepped away, scrubbing the back of
her hand across her forehead.

“You’d make a pretty good dancer.” She smiled at
him. “Thanks for your help.”

And then she turned her back to him, walking to the
stereo and turning off the music. She slipped the raggedy shoes off
her feet and pulled the iPod from the dock. Behind him, Stephen
heard someone clapping, and he turned to see Cemil standing in the
doorway.

“Very well done, Romy.” The blond man smiled broadly
at her, raising the hairs on Stephen’s neck in challenge. “I wish
I’d seen you perform on the stage, but even in our little yoga
studio, you’re quite captivating. You even managed to make this old
bear look graceful.” He stepped into the room, clapping a hand down
on Stephen’s shoulder. It was all Stephen could do to keep from
ripping the hand from its owner. Cemil smiled at him unrepentantly,
clearly able to read his thoughts.

“Thanks, Cemil.” Romy grinned in his direction,
wiping the sweat from her forehead with her T-shirt. “I’ll see you
guys at dinner.” Picking up her cane, she strolled from the room,
sweeping it in front of her.

“You’re welcome,” Cemil called after her.

“Why does her iPod work and my iPhone doesn’t?”
Stephen asked.

“She needs her music. Your brothers will live
without you for a week, and your spiritual growth depends upon
it.”

“Whoa, Rowan. I didn’t come here for any healing or
spiritual growth. I don’t know what you think is going on. I’m here
to give Rekkus and Cyrus some security information, and as soon as
the portals open and I can report back to the Syndicate, I’m
going.”

“Yes, that’s why the Syndicate sent you here. But
that’s not why we made room for you.” Cemil grinned at him before
he strode out of the studio.

She couldn’t deny it any longer. She couldn’t stop
thinking about Stephen as she dressed for dinner. When she was away
from him, she was on edge, uneasy, adrift. When he was close by,
she felt grounded, centered. And when he touched her? The muffled
isolation disappeared. Not once had he treated her like he felt
sorry for her. Instead, he treated her like she was the most
amazing person he’d ever known. So why was he holding back?

She’d indulged her own little fantasy that morning
when he’d come into the studio. It had been amazing to dance with a
partner again, even if he was only helping her work out the steps
for that part of the dance. The way his hands had felt on her body,
the reverent way he’d touched her—she hadn’t wanted to stop, and
long after she’d decided how the sequence would go, she’d kept at
it, just to feel him touching her again.

As she walked into the dining room, the muffled
conversations of other diners roared in her ears. Confused, she
paused for a moment, trying to isolate a familiar voice.

“Let me help you.”
Cemil.
She felt his gentle
hand on her elbow and smiled up at him.

“Thanks.”

“Why don’t you join me for supper tonight?” His
voice was quiet, but she had no trouble hearing him. She
nodded.

“Sure.”

As soon as he had her seated, she heard another
familiar voice on her other side.

“I made you a special herbal shake, Romy. After that
workout you had this morning, I thought you might need an extra
energy boost. Cemil says he caught the end of it, and you were
amazing. I wish I’d seen it.”

“Thanks, Sage,” she said as Sage pressed a glass
into her hand. “And thank you for the ointment. It’s
wonderful.”

“You’re welcome, of course. We do our best to help
all of our guests with whatever troubles them.” Sage patted her
shoulder once, and then walked away.

“She’s gone,” Cemil confirmed. “But we’ve got
company. Your friend Stephen is headed this way, and he’s got a
thousand storm clouds on his face.” He took her hand. “I’ll send
him away if you like.”

Romy blushed. “He and I need to talk.”

“It can wait until he’s in a better mood.” Cemil’s
voice rose slightly. “Stephen. We’re having a delightful
conversation and you look like you swallowed a wasps’ nest. Can I
help you with something?”

“Get your hands
off
her.”

Romy sat up in surprise. The voice didn’t even sound
like Stephen’s—sure it was the same deep timbre, but the roughness,
the hoarseness was not the big man she’d come to know. Was he
honestly jealous of Cemil? Cemil who was just being nice to a
guest?

“Calm down, Stephen,” Cemil cautioned him, a bit of
steel in his voice.

“It’s okay, Cemil.” Romy turned toward Stephen’s
voice. “Stephen? Why don’t we go for a walk after dinner? Cemil
will walk me to your table when I’m ready. Have a nice meal.”

She felt Cemil squeeze her hand lightly as Stephen
emitted a rough growl. As if he had a right to act so boorish when
he was the one who’d run out on her this morning?
He did try to
apologize.

“Fine.” Stephen nearly spit out the word, and it
felt like an almost physical slap to the face. Her cheeks flushed
as she heard him walk away. She didn’t play games with her lovers.
This was rude.

“It’s not rude.” Cemil let go of her hand. She had a
feeling if she could see his face, he’d be smiling. “That was
necessary. Besides, you’re cute as can be, but you’re not my type,
not that he’d know anything about that. The jealousy won’t hurt
him—it will help him figure out what he really wants from you.”

* * * *

Stephen was fuming. The vamp, the same vamp he’d had
dinner with the first night, started to sit at the table with him,
but a scowl sent him scurrying. He watched as Cemil flirted with
his
woman, each lilting laugh that made its way over to him
sending him deeper into his own wrath. When Sage fluttered by and
offered him some kind of “soothing” herbal smoothie, he was tempted
to walk over there and dump it on Cemil’s head. Instead, he took it
and sipped slowly.

When Cemil finally stood and helped Romy gather her
cane, Stephen leapt to his feet. He was halfway across the room in
a flash, taking her hand and snarling at the younger Rowan
brother.

“Get lost.”

“Stephen!” Romy sounded scandalized. “Thank you, for
your company during dinner, Cemil. It was lovely.”

“Good night, Romy.” Cemil squeezed her elbow and
disappeared into the crowd while Stephen stared at her.

God, she was beautiful.
What had ever made
him think a sturdy mama bear was what he needed? This tiny sprite
of a dancer with her will of steel and her feisty attitude,
this
woman
was the mate he needed.

“We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do,” she agreed, allowing him to escort her
outside. “Will you walk me back to the hot springs? My feet are
aching after this morning.”

“Of course.”

As they walked, he tried to think of a way to
explain what he was. She had no idea about the Para world, though
she’d been surrounded by it for days now. How could he explain it
all, let alone the whole
“By the way, dear, you’re my fated
mate, the one person in the world I’m supposed to fall in love with
and live happily ever after. How do you feel about cubs?”

As it turned out, he didn’t need to explain it. He
was so wrapped up in his own thoughts, the wolf that appeared in
the path startled him.

Ears laid back, it snarled, sharp white teeth
snapping. Not one of the adolescent wolves visiting for tomorrow
night’s full moon, this was a full grown male, which meant its
presence here was not accidental. A mature Were could control its
shift—this one was trouble.
They know
. Whoever was after
Cyrus knew Stephen was the one bringing information to the
island.

“What is it?” Romy’s voice shook.

“Get behind me,” he ordered, pushing her back.

“What is it? Is there some kind of animal? Stephen?”
He heard the panic in her voice and cursed himself for not paying
closer attention to their surroundings.

“
Yes, dammit.
” He snarled, moving toward the
wolf. He was pretty sure he could handle it without shifting, but
it would be close. As he closed in on the creature, trying to
determine the best hold to take it down, he heard a whisper-quiet
voice behind him.

“Hello, lovely.”
Vampire.
He should have
known the way the vamp had been following him around the island.
Hell.

“Please, help my…my friend.” He heard Romy pleading
with the other man, and for a moment, Stephen was torn between
attempting to take the vamp and the wolf both in his human form.
Impossible. He needed to protect his mate. He’d have to shift.

“Romy, get to the Haus, now. Tell the first person
you encounter to get Rekkus or Cyrus.
Run!”
he shouted,
letting his shift take over. He lunged for the vamp, who lurched
out of his way just as he felt lupine teeth snapping at his
heels.

“Stephen?” Romy heard a strange bellow, completely
different from the other sounds she’d heard, as she backed away.
The cold man who had approached her had dropped her hand and seemed
to be involved in the scuffle with the animal that had wandered
into their path, but what the hell was going on with Stephen? She
tried to separate the noises, to make them make sense in her mind,
but she couldn’t.

“
Fuck!”
She tripped over a root, or a rock,
or something and sprawled on her backside. She heard another bellow
and she couldn’t help but cringe.
Stephen.

She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did; Stephen
was making that noise, and he was in pain. She had to help him. He
might be confusing and jealous, but he was
hers.
She
scrabbled around on her hands and knees, finding a rock. She stood,
holding it in both hands, and she listened.

The cold man was quiet, but she could hear his
labored breathing. Stephen was louder, larger, and the grunts of
pain were coming from him. A whining, dog-like noise came from
lower to the ground. The animal. She focused on the sound. A dog? A
wolf? Something like that. She took a deep breath, and let the rock
fly. There was a yelp, and Romy grabbed her cane, turned, and ran
toward the Haus. She hadn’t gone far when she stumbled into warm,
firm hands.

“Hush now, you’re okay.”

“Cemil?”

“My brother and Rekkus will take care of this. No
one has ever died at the Wiccan Haus. They aren’t going to let
Stephen be the first.”

“Oh my God, Stephen.” She felt a wrenching pain in
her gut. “What’s attacking him?”

“He hasn’t explained anything, has he? Your man is
very stubborn, Romy. Come with me.” Cemil scooped her up and swung
her around until she was perched on his back like a child having a
piggy-back ride. Before she could protest, he was running back
toward the sounds of the fight, a fight which, from the sound of
it, was nearly over.

“It’s okay. Rekkus is there with him. Nice throw, by
the way. Not many humans can take down a werewolf with a rock.”

“W-W-Werewolf?”
Did Cemil seriously just say
werewolf?

“Yep. And you knocked him down for the count. Rekkus
has the vampire in custody now, and Stephen is sitting on your
wolf.”

“Vampire?” Of course he said vampire. She’d hit a
werewolf
with a rock; the other thing had to be a vampire.
The absurdity of it forced a hysterical sound from her.

“Indeed. You might as well know it all, Romy Lewis.”
Cemil set her down on the ground. “Be gentle with Stephen. You’re
new to him also,” he said low in her ear before he dropped her
hand.

“Go ahead, Stephen. I’ll take the wolf from
here.”

She heard that strange bellow again, smelled
something large and strange.
No.
Her brain shuttered.

“Stephen?”

The large, strange, bellowing thing came closer to
her, but she wasn’t afraid.
Stephen?

She reached a tentative hand.
Fur
. Thick,
coarse fur. Not soft like a dog’s exactly. Rougher, bigger.

“Are you a werewolf too?” she asked, sliding her
hands deeper into his fur as she heard an offended snort. Suddenly,
it was Stephen’s warm, naked chest she touched, her hands curling
into hair that only this morning had been pressed against her naked
breasts. His big, familiar hands bracketed her face, and she turned
it toward one of them, instinctively seeking the warmth of his
touch.
Oh, Stephen, what are you, lover?

When he spoke, his voice sounded strangled,
tight.

“No, sweetheart. I’m a bear.”

* * * *

Say something, Romy.
Her blue eyes widened,
and then a breath came out of her, harsh and strained.

“Take me back to the Haus,” she whispered, reaching
for his hand.

“Okay.”

When they walked in through the front door, Myron
gave him a reproachful glare before handing him a towel off a
housekeeping cart. He wrapped it around himself as Myron gestured
for the bellhop to take Romy’s hand and guide her away to the
elevator, her cane slapping against the floor, her back rigid. She
didn’t say a word to Stephen as she walked away, but just before
she’d dropped his hand to take the bellhop’s, she’d given him a
gentle squeeze. Stephen held onto that tiny sliver of hope.