Changeling Moon (18 page)

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Authors: Dani Harper

BOOK: Changeling Moon
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“Uh huh. Is it my imagination or are you a teensy bit defensive about your gift?”
“I'm not—okay, I guess maybe I am. You and Jessie keep calling it a gift. My mom, her sisters, and my grandmother do too. Me, I'm not so sure.” She told him what she had shared with Jessie, her fears and her frustrations. Especially the frustrations.
“So you want it to tell you things in advance, give you time to warn people, help people.”
“Of course I do! What good is it if all I get to do is stand over bodies?”
“You write their stories. And you tell the truth. That's something.”
“Not enough, not for me. I will
never
forget that child's face, the one killed by the drive-by—” She choked up then. And she obviously hadn't meant to say so much. Connor said nothing, just waited as she took a few breaths and cleared her throat. Her voice was much softer when she spoke again. “I don't want to just record tragedy. I don't think I can. I think it would break something in me after a while.”
Connor reached across the table then and held her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “Can't anyone in your family teach you how to focus your talent? I once heard psychic ability described as a radio receiver of sorts, and if that's so, perhaps you can learn to tune in to the signal.”
She shook her head. “My mother, my aunts, my grandmother—none of them have a clue how to instruct in that area because they've all had their talent in spades pretty much since birth. And it's pretty hard to look for that kind of help in secret. I've always tried to keep it hidden from anyone outside of my immediate family.”
“Why?”
“Are you kidding? Look, I don't know what kind of a world you grew up in, but you don't know what it was like . . . .” She rested her chin in her hand and sighed. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much the whole book thing still upsets me.”
It was like pulling teeth, but Connor was prepared to ask questions all night if he had to. “What
book thing
?”
She took a deep breath. “My mother is Jayne Tallyson.”
Connor whistled long and low. “I think I'm getting the picture now.” Jayne Tallyson was a household name. The book was
Seeing with an Inner Eye
. He'd read it himself more than once, but decided he wouldn't get any points for saying so.
“It came out when I was in eighth grade and it became a bestseller.”
“Did that make things hard for you?”
“People talk. Adults talk and their kids hear, and then their kids talk. My mom and Aunt Tildy were interviewed on TV. And somebody asked them if everyone in their family was psychic.”
“They said
yes
,” he guessed.
“They sure did. I don't think they realized what effect it would have on my life. I didn't share much of it with them for fear of hurting their feelings. But a lot of kids started pestering me to tell their fortunes—you know, tell them what they were getting for their birthday, who their boyfriend was going to be, that kind of stuff. I wouldn't do it—
couldn't
do it even if I wanted to—and they were mad. Some already disliked me because I got good grades, and they thought I cheated through my alleged psychic powers.” Zoey pulled her hand away from Connor's and began toying with her napkin.
“So you caught a lot of grief over an ability you didn't even use. Sounds like high school was pretty rough.”
She nodded. “Everyone talked about me—kids, teachers, neighbors, store clerks. I was kind of quiet and so they started referring to me as
The Weird Kid
. So I got even quieter.
Creepy Girl. Freakazoid.
The only time I was asked for a date in my hometown was when someone dared the guy to do it.”
“Ouch. That had to hurt a lot.”
“It sure does when you're a teenage girl. I applied to a college on the other side of the country, someplace where no one knew me. It was a breath of fresh air—for once, I was just like everyone else. I even made a few friends.
“Then my mother showed up on campus for a surprise visit and somebody recognized her.” She shifted in her chair, stared out the window as if seeing the past before her. “My mother signed autographs for half an hour and accepted an invitation to speak at a sorority that night. I couldn't deal with it. I walked away and refused to be seen with her, but the damage was done.”
“She blew your cover.”
“Big time. She didn't even understand what was wrong, why I was upset. After she left, things were still okay with a couple of my friends, but others disappeared. You know, the paranormal is really trendy, but people aren't so excited about it when it turns up in their roommate or their girlfriend.” She turned away from the window, and it hurt him to see so much sadness in her face. “That's when I decided to change my name. I had to. I changed my major and went to a different university.”
“You didn't cut ties with them, did you?” He could understand that she might have been tempted. It had always been difficult for the children of celebrities to have a life of their own, but in this century's media-frenzied climate, it would be almost impossible.
“No, of course not. I phoned Mom every Sunday morning like always. Still do. But I admit, the idea of not telling them where I lived crossed my mind.” She laughed, but not with humor. “Only for about five minutes though. I mean, how do you hide from a family of psychics?”
“That'd be quite a challenge.”
“No, the
real
challenge was making them all promise not to come see me, especially my mother. No more visits, surprise or otherwise. Ever. No mentioning my name in public, no showing family pictures to the media. They didn't understand then and they still don't get it. I love them but we still fight about it.”
Zoey ran a hand through her hair, then put the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Good grief. I didn't mean to go on so much. It's just that it's a new experience for me to talk about this aspect of my life and not have someone think I'm strange or abnormal.”
“You're not strange. Not even a teensy bit abnormal.” He tried to make it sound light, but inside him sudden anger flashed like lightning toward whoever or whatever had made this vibrant woman doubt herself for an instant. “You're perfect just as you are.”
 
Zoey took in a breath that was going to come out as a laugh—until she caught sight of Connor's face. His eyes had gone silvery, and the intensity in them had her swallowing that breath and feeling as if there suddenly wasn't enough air in the room. Maybe not in the entire atmosphere. . . .
Without warning, Connor was on his feet, and she was wrapped tight in his powerful arms. He had made love to her with his lips before, but these kisses were hard, hot and hungry, as if he desperately needed to express something he had no words for. As if he simply
needed
.
She had needs too. A bolt of pure electricity seemed to rocket through her core, ricochet crazily through her belly and zap her nipples to attention. In fact, every cell in her body was at attention and focused on this man. She needed. Now.
And this time, she was determined to
have
.
Chapter Seventeen
H
e was leaning into her yet Zoey didn't back up a single step. She matched his passion with her own, licked and nipped at his mouth, his tongue. Bit his chin again but lapped over it softly to ease the sting. There was no hesitation in her as her hands clawed lightly down his back, then slid around to flick open his jeans. Her fingertips circled upward, tugging apart his denim shirt. Buttons flew, but there was no pause, no uncertainty as she brushed her lips across his bare chest and gently seized a nipple in her teeth.
He froze, sucking in his breath. Her tongue played with the captive nipple, then she nuzzled her way to its mate before resuming her original mission—to get this man naked. Her hands outlined the hard muscles of his upper body, rubbed up and over his broad shoulders, then eased the shirt down his powerful arms, over the strong hands. She held the warm garment close to her face as she stepped back for a moment, instinctively drinking in the scent of him as she took in the sight. He stood perfectly still, allowing her to look.
Fully clothed, the man was sigh-worthy. Shirtless, his jeans unbuttoned and riding low on his hips, he was simply heart-stopping. The candles' glow revealed a powerful body that combined strength with an easy grace, yet she sensed that the difference between
Day Connor
and
Night Connor
went deeper than appearance. There was something dangerous here, a force barely leashed. It radiated from him, unseen yet palpable. She hesitated. . . .
And he winked.
Just that quickly he was back to the Connor she knew, his pale gray eyes amused. She laughed a little, more at herself than anything, but didn't move closer, not yet. Instead her fingertips moved to the buttons of her blouse. The amusement vanished from his face. It was his turn to watch, to look. To want.
Peeling away the plaid material, she dropped it to the floor and ran her hands over her lace-trimmed cami. There was no bra beneath it and her nipples stood out plainly. His eyes followed her fingertips as she slid first one thin strap off her shoulder, then the other—
She never saw him move. In one heartbeat, she was standing, in the next, she was tangled on the floor with Connor. He peeled away the camisole as he mouthed her throat, running his tongue and teeth over her pulse. He devoured her breasts as he shucked her jeans. She nearly came as he clutched her ass hard, his big, work-roughened hands rasping deliciously against her skin. Connor was all raw need, hungry and wild, and Zoey urged him on, the wildness thrumming in her own veins as well. All conscious thought had fallen away and what was left was basic, primal—and urgent.
She wrapped her long legs around him, pulling him into her, chanting
now
with every breath. The unyielding floor should have been uncomfortable. Instead she reveled in the way it gave her leverage, allowed her to angle her hips upward in a way that buffered nothing and accepted everything. And everything was exactly what she wanted.
Now
turned to
Yes
as he thrust hard and drove deep, shocking the breath from her as her core exulted.
Yes.
The rhythm pounded in her body, in her veins, in her mind.
Yes.
Tension throbbed and built, roiled and grew rapidly to impossible heights. As burgeoning clouds before a thunderstorm yearn for the lightning, her body craved the explosive release even as she feared its intensity.
Yes. Yes. YES.
She imploded on a stuttered gasp, just as Connor poured himself into her. For the longest of moments she was suspended in pure sensation, unseeing save for strange sparkles of blue light behind her eyes. And for one brief second she thought she heard the howl of a wolf.
 
Connor's senses returned slowly. First was smell. The air was satisfyingly ripe with sex. Better still was a scent he had already memorized in every cell of his body. He pulled that scent deep into his lungs like a drowning man draws air, then released it with a soft growl. Woman scent.
His
woman. Zoey.
The candles had guttered out and twilight had given way to darkness, yet nothing was hidden from his Changeling vision. He could easily see the unique color of Zoey's hair and the golden freckles that blanketed her skin, and he couldn't be more pleased that, yes indeed, those freckles covered her shapely ass too. He'd have to make a point of counting—and kissing—every last one of them.
As his awareness expanded, there was warmth and softness along the length of his body where her skin pressed against his. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder. Closing his eyes again, he found it hard to tell where she left off and he began, as if they had melted into each other. Even their hearts beat together.
His heart was hers, permanently, and he knew it. It had been tipping and teetering since he met Zoey, but tonight his heart had just plain fallen off a cliff and might never reach bottom. That was all right with him. He could feel, too, the immense satisfaction of his inner wolf, content and peaceful now that it had found and claimed its mate at last.
Mate.
He had a mate. He'd half given up hope of ever finding one. Wolves mated for life and so did Changelings. Changelings, however, lived longer than wolves, much longer than humans too. Because of that, relationships with humans were not formed lightly. There might be sex now and then with a willing partner, but the drive was infrequent. But all that changed when the inner wolf recognized its mate.
Connor nuzzled Zoey's soft hair and sighed. He hadn't intended to lose control. He'd been a more considerate lover behind the damn garden shed at the Watsons' than he'd been tonight. Still, she'd surprised him by accepting the wildness he couldn't contain, taking it in and giving back.
And then some.
He'd thought her passionate the night of the party. Now, he realized that term didn't come close to describing her.
Still, passionate or not, Zoey probably wouldn't be comfortable waking up on the kitchen floor in the dark. Connor gathered her closer to him and maneuvered until he could roll to his knees. She was a tall woman, curvy and solid. To his Changeling strength, however, she might as well have been a child, and he stood effortlessly without waking her. Instead of taking her to bed right away, however, he paused for a moment to wonder at the marvel in his arms. Two weeks ago he'd been alone and half expected to remain that way. Now he was skin to skin with this exciting woman, and she was his
mate
. It should feel strange at best, scary at worst, but instead it felt good, natural, even normal—as if she'd always been with him.
Connor crossed his fingers that Zoey felt the same as he carried her upstairs.
I've got a helluva lot to tell her.
 
Connor banged his elbow twice as he tried to maneuver them both through the bedroom door, and Zoey couldn't help giggling.
“You're not asleep,” he chided.
“I confess. I just wanted to be carried,” she laughed. “It was pretty nice, too.”
“You didn't seem to like it much when I carried you up to your apartment that first night.”
“That was completely different.”
She squealed as he tossed her into the middle of an enormous bed and pounced on her with mock growls and gentle bites. She tried to fend him off with both hands, squirming out from under him and finally making a break for the floor. He let her go—she knew darn well she had little hope of breaking free unless he permitted it—and she bounced over to the middle of the room.
And
what
a room. It was enormous, almost the whole of the second story. Zoey spotted a switch on the wall and flipped it, sucking in her breath at what the myriad of recessed lights revealed. Great ivory beams converged to a peak along the center of the high ceiling. A stone fireplace with a tall slender window on each side graced the east end of the room, but it was the west end that was particularly inspired. The entire wall, floor to ceiling, was made of windows.
She exhaled slowly as she let her gaze travel appreciatively over the decor. There was little in the way of furniture, but it was well chosen and natural colors prevailed. The enormous bed was near the center of the room, facing the wall of windows. It was simply framed in dark wood and dressed in rich earth-toned sheets and comforters. A glance around the broad headboard revealed a sitting area backed against it, opposite the fireplace. A sumptuous leather couch was made even more inviting by the dozen or so richly textured pillows scattered over its cushions and stacked on the thick furry rug in front of it. A half dozen books were comfortably piled on an end table. Zoey could easily picture herself relaxing in front of the fire on a cool evening with the latest paperback. Although, with a hot naked man in the house—like the one currently sprawled across the bed—she doubted she would get any reading done.
“This is really beautiful,” she breathed. “There's a harmony here. No distractions. Nothing jars the eye. Everything is very functional, yet it's warm and inviting at the same time. And there's all this glorious space.”
“You like it.”
“Very much. Did you design this yourself? What am I saying, of course you did, just like you did the downstairs. What a wonderful sanctuary.”
“That's the right word,” he said. “Everyone needs a refuge at the end of the day. I like open space, and I like comfort, plus I love to look at the sky. This is the next best thing to sleeping under the stars.”
“Better. There are no wolves.”
He made an odd choking sound and had to clear his throat. “Well, not every night.”
She laughed at that and switched off the lights, standing still until her eyes adjusted. “It's even beautiful in the dark.”
It was. The pale beams were silvery and the rising moon cast the faintest of light into the eastern windows. It pooled on the dark floor like water.
“Come see the outside.” Connor rose from the bed and extended a hand, leading her to a door in the glassed wall and out onto a wide deck. Treetops framed it on each side but nothing obscured the view of the hills in the distance or the glistening river. “The stars are just coming out.”
Zoey looked up at the night sky in wonder. Connor was right. New stars seemed to appear even as she watched. A cool breeze reminded her that she was stark naked and yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world to be standing outside beneath the stars. With Connor. She nestled back against him comfortably, grateful for his intense body heat, for his powerful arms wrapped around her.
Safe and warm.
Maybe not so safe. . . . She grinned as she felt his erection nudging at her hip. She stroked it softly with her fingertips, felt it rise and bump her hand as if asking for more. She slid her hand along the fiery length of it and gripped it hard. Connor was a large and powerful man—but it satisfied her tremendously to feel the tremor that passed through him from her touch. To her surprise he removed himself from her grasp, turned her to face him and held her at arm's to length.
“God, baby, don't do that just yet or I'll lose my mind again.” He grasped one of her hands and held it to his lips, kissed each fingertip gently. “I was too rough with you before. I didn't mean to be.”
“Maybe I liked it.”
“Only maybe?”
She made a grab for him but he eluded her easily. “No fair! Your arms are longer.” Before she could blink, she was wrapped up tight against him.
“Can you reach me now?” he grinned.
“Much better,” she laughed and wriggled, rubbing her breasts against his hard chest, rocking her pelvis against his powerful thigh. She was gratified to hear the hiss of breath drawn in through his teeth. Without warning, he scooped her up. She didn't have time to protest before they were through the door—and no elbows were banged this time—with Connor striding across the room. To her surprise he bypassed the bed and set her feet on the deliciously soft rug in front of the couch.
“Sit down,” he whispered.
She sat a little gingerly, expecting the leather to be cold. Instead its buttery soft surface warmed immediately to her skin and she relaxed back. Connor knelt and lightly stroked his strong hands over her, ankle to thigh, fingertips to shoulders. His great strength was leashed, his touch tender as he traced tiny circles and swirls over almost every square inch of her. And the
almost
was driving her crazy. Calves and belly, collarbone and ribs. Places that seldom received much attention were extravagantly fondled, traced, and teased. Zoey squirmed, craving Connor's touch and yet it left such heightened sensitivity in its wake that her skin felt electrified. Her breasts were aching, her nipples straining, begging to be kissed. Yet Connor ignored their call, simply continuing to stroke the unsung parts of her body with his fingertips. Zoey could feel the moisture pooling between her legs and yet he didn't touch her there either. She was buzzing with sensation, her body taut and yearning.
“Turn around,” he whispered and her core clenched hard. It was all she could do to move as he guided her into position, knees on the seat of the couch, her arms resting on its back.
Oh God, oh God.
She jumped as he ran his hands gently over her hips, the roughness of his palms rasping lightly over her back, her shoulders. Soothing and igniting at the same time, delicious torture. She trembled as he stroked the back of her thighs, still drawing endless patterns upon her. She was wet for him, so wet that a droplet of moisture trickled down her inner thigh with the same painstaking slowness as Connor's caresses. She wanted him to take her, needed him, she was so damn ready for him. . . .

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