Deliciously Mated (3 page)

She only had to spend this one night indoors. And talk to whoever manned the front desk tomorrow.

Clara moved and realized the paste on her legs had transformed into a semi-hard shell. Whoa. Now what? The directions said remove the mask carefully but quickly, in swift downward motions. Aw, crap. This was going to hurt like hell.

Shoring up her courage, she grasped a spot just above her knee and jerked down hard.

She let out a gasp as searing pain shot from her leg to a spot between her eyes, tapping there like a hammer against a nail.

Satan’s hot hairy mama
. What had she gotten herself into?

Sticking her leg directly in the stream of hot water, she attempted to wash away the paste, but it was no dice. The stuff was like cement mixed with cockroach shells—because those things are indestructible.

Clara looked around. She didn’t have any more time to waste. She needed to clean up here and find a place to stow away until morning.

Her poor, poor legs. She was going to have to do this the hard way.

Gripping another piece of the shell, she counted to three in her head. But her hands didn’t move.

One, two, three. Pull.

A bigger strip came off this time, and Clara’s throat constricted around a cry. Before she could think about it anymore, she yanked another piece, and then another, tears mixing with the warm water of the shower. When one leg was free of hair, she went after the other one, scraping at the mask with her nails until there was nothing of it left.

Panting and raw, she leaned against the tiled wall and watched as it collected around the drain.

Holy shit. Holy freaking shit
.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself into action.

Rinse hair. Now
.

She contorted so the water couldn’t hit her tender legs, and scrubbed vigorously at her mop. Then she turned the water off and burst from the stall. Snatching a towel from the shelf nearby, she wrapped it around her head and went back for another. She leaned against the counter to catch her breath and shot a glare at the open shower door.

The shower from hell. She never wanted to shower again. Give her a natural hot spring bath any day.

Clara squeezed her eyes closed, breathing deep to calm her nerves.

Just a little longer. Just a little more work to do. Then she’d have her book, and she’d go home. To her skink. To her mattress made of a sleeping bag and newspapers.

Just a little longer.

Chapter Five

The lunch rush was over and the kitchen was prepping for dinner, their biggest meal of the day. But all Eagan could think about was a dirty little female and her notebook he had stuffed in his back pocket.

He’d skimmed the contents fifty times since finding it in the lobby but it still didn’t make any sense. Destiny definitely needed to explain herself. But she hadn’t returned his calls.

Eagan stirred the giant pot of beef stew before sliding a pan of cheddar biscuits into the oven.

“We need the cobblers in now,” he called over his shoulder.

“Almost done with the peach,” Bailey replied, short of breath. The cougar was usually quick on her toes, but she was lagging today.

“Blueberry?”

“Done. Counter behind you.”

Eagan twisted, grabbing the tray and sliding it into the lower oven.

Layna pushed through the kitchen doors as he was closing the oven. She held the phone up. “Destiny is calling… again.” She frowned. “Never thought I’d get to say that twice.”

“Finally,” Eagan huffed, reaching for the receiver. But Layna held it out of his reach.

“There’s something you should know first—”

Eagan scowled. “Give me the fucking phone.”

One eyebrow came up, and she smiled ruefully. “Fine.” She passed the phone to him and turned to leave. “It’s your damn funeral.”

Eagan stepped out from behind the prep counter and pushed the speaker to his ear.

The first thing he heard was a gruesome scream. His blood ran cold at the sound. Something was wrong.

“Destiny?”

“
WHAT?!
”

Eagan winced, pulling the phone away from his ear.

The hell?

A tortured moan came from the other end of the earpiece, and then, “How much longer? I can’t do this three tiiiiiimes.”

“Give me the phone.” Diz’s voice came calmly in the wake of Destiny’s roar.

“No. I can talk. I need to talk… just…” Another roar of pain cut off her words.

Holy shit.

There were countless minutes of heavy breathing and then she finally sounded normal. Sort of.

“Eagan? You still there?”

“Uh…” Was the right answer yes? “Yes?”

“Good, okay. Make this quick because another contraction will happen in about… one minute.”

Contraction. Oh… damn. Destiny was in labor.

“This about the book?” she asked when Eagan remained silent.

“Yeah. Uh… you sure you want to do this now?”

“I’m sure. What’s up?” She said the words as if she hadn’t chomped his ear off just seconds ago.

“You said to read it.”

“That’s right.”

“And I did.”

“Perfect!” she exclaimed as if the book held some secret to life.

“But it doesn’t make any sense.”

“What do you mean?”

Eagan turned to face the wall even though that wouldn’t keep Bailey from overhearing the conversation.

“All it is, is page after page of lists. Random things and amounts. Foods, brand names, things like that. And dates. And addresses. There’s no rhyme to it. It’s just an eternity long list.”

“Ahh,” Destiny said.

“Ah?”

“You read the wrong book.”

Eagan frowned. “Wrong book?”

“Or maybe the right one. I can’t be sure.”

A whimper passed through the line.

“Destiny, that makes no sense.” His voice rose with frustration.

“Because you read the
wrong
goddamn
MOTHERFUCKING
BOOK!” And then another agony-induced scream ripped through the phone.

“Okay, okay.” Eagan tried for a placating tone. “I’ll just, you know, read all the books that I find that aren’t mine and hope one of them makes sense.”

“Yeah,” she snapped. “You do that.” And then the line clicked dead.

Eagan looked at the phone, wondering if that had really just happened. Destiny was a sweet female. She’d never raised her voice even once when she’d stayed at the lodge.

“A small cat having wolf babies,” Bailey murmured. “That has to hurt.”

Eagan turned to look at her. Bailey had a point. Destiny wasn’t like the cats around the lodge. She was a wild species, but definitely not considered large.

“Bethany is human and she had a panther baby. I don’t remember her turning murderous.”

Bailey laughed. “You weren’t there for the delivery. Should’ve seen Doc Davis. She had nail marks the whole length of her arms.”

Eagan’s eyes peeled wide. “Doc let a human mark her up?”

Bailey shrugged, pushing the peach cobbler into the oven. “She’s all about patient care. Plus, I think she felt sorry for her.”

Eagan shook his head. He didn’t know the first thing about females having young. Probably would never learn either.

He handed the phone to Bailey. “Take this back to Layna, would you?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Dinner time came, and the dining room filled with guests and employees. Eagan stayed busy, prepping dishes while the waiters served them. But his mind remained where it had been all day. On the woman and the book. But mostly the book.

Was it a wish list? Things she was looking to steal? Maybe she was contracted to steal the items and made money when she delivered. Except that didn’t sit well with him. She wasn’t stealing high-priced items from the lodge. The things they were missing were small time. Camping supplies, food, clothing…

Survival
supplies he realized.

Eagan’s grip tightened on the rag he was using to wipe down the counter.

Survival. Was that why his thief was stealing?

He pulled the notebook from his back pocket and flipped through the pages.

One quart, whole milk

One loaf bread, whole wheat

Processed cheese singles, 24 ct.

He skipped a few pages.

AA batteries

Lighter fluid

Weather radio

Pocket knife, five inch

Lavender soap, one bar

His heart raced. His mouth hung open as he turned page after page, finding similar items. He skipped back to the beginning to note the dates. The earliest one was nearly six years ago.

Six years.

Eagan swallowed the lump in his throat. Finger leading his eyes, he combed through each page. Fishing rods, tackle, a variety of tools, a hairbrush, toilet paper. The next page had only one item listed.

Box full of scrap paper/cardboard

The words had been scratched out and replaced with,

Box full of love letters

Irreplaceable

Put off burning them as long as I could. Almost too long. I’m so sorry, Rose and Arnold.

Forgive me
.

Eagan stood there so long, staring at that page, reading it over and over. When he finally looked up, the kitchen was clean and Bailey was gone.

Irreplaceable.

He thumbed through the book again. These were notes. Records of what she’d taken over the years. There was only one reason she’d keep track. It was because she intended on paying it all back.

His thief… she was homeless. She took the things she needed to survive. And she planned on making amends one day.

Eagan’s chest ached.

What had happened to her? Why was she alone in the woods and homeless for so long? He remembered the shocked look in her eyes when he’d grabbed her. She hadn’t said a word, but he could feel her surprise. When was the last time she’d been touched? The last time she’d interacted with other people?

A protective instinct rose up in him. He didn’t know her or how she came to be such a clever thief, but the need to help her clawed at him inside. He couldn’t rat her out to Magic. Not yet. Not until he at least tried to make this better.

Eagan tucked the notebook back into his pocket and ran a hand through his spiky hair as he paced the tiled floor. She’d be back. She’d need to eat. And he had a feeling she wouldn’t leave her book.

He knew what to do.

He rushed to the walk-in to find the leftover stew. All the remaining food from the day was open to whoever wanted it. Usually cats who’d missed dinner would come scrounging for it, but it was so late, they were likely done for the night. Piling his arms full of cobbler and biscuits, he brought it all to the counter. Luckily, it was still warm.

Reaching over the counter, he pulled down some to-go containers, filling the first to the brim with the hearty stew he’d made for the lodge. He added a drizzle of sour cream and a sprig of parsley before putting the lid on. The second container, he filled with Bailey’s cobblers. One piece of each, in case his female didn’t like one of the flavors. He bagged up several biscuits and added them, along with a napkin and utensils to the pile of offerings.

Rubbing his palms together, he stood back, looking at the food. Something was missing.

Ah, yes. He snapped his fingers, and then bent to retrieve a small saucepan. Setting it on the stove, he turned the burner to low and went to the pantry for chocolate. He broke the bar into pieces and added them to the pan, pouring in milk and a dash of vanilla and cinnamon. The early October nights were chilly. She’d appreciate his specialty hot chocolate to keep her warm.

Damn. His stomach cramped at the thought of where she must live. The cats knew these woods like their own names. If she was in a tent or a cabin, they’d know of it. And she was certainly nearby or she wouldn’t frequent the lodge for her necessities. He imagined her holing up in a cave or sleeping in the trees like fucking Katniss or something.

Eagan shook his head.

As adept as she was at stealing, she was probably fine. But he had to know for sure. This was the way.

He stirred the chocolate until it was smooth and steaming, and then he poured it into a foam cup. He added a dollop of whipped cream, another sprinkle of cinnamon, and then the lid.

There. Everything was perfect.

He cleaned up the new mess he’d made, jotted a note for his thief, took one last look at his work, and then forced himself out the door.

She’d come tonight. He knew it. The book was too important.

Chapter Six

Sneaking into the lodge this time seemed harder. Not because they’d added anymore security measures. In fact, Clara was pretty sure the cook hadn’t outed her. Leaving this morning had been too easy. Nobody even looked at her twice. She’d managed to find the lost and found without speaking to anybody. She’d just guessed it was behind the front counter and she’d rummaged through it early, when the lady who manned it was getting her coffee.

Her book was nowhere to be found. Which meant the cook kept it. Which meant she had to search the kitchen.

Maybe it seemed harder because this trip to the lodge wasn’t to fulfill her needs. It was to recoup something dear to her. And that she’d risk getting caught just to get it back.

Clara swallowed the bile in her throat as she slinked through the empty hall toward the lobby. The entire inside of the main building was decked out in creepy fake cobwebs, sparkly pumpkins, and haunted house cutouts. By the door was a vampire statue with red blinking lights for eyes.

Halloween was coming. The idea brought a smile to her face. It was always one of her favorite holidays. As a child, she’d loved dressing up in her mom’s homemade costumes. For a few hours she could be someone else. Not a Destacio. Not a rich kid showered in too many expensive things. Not the daughter of a careless alcoholic. But a princess or a witch or Minnie Mouse or whatever her imagination wanted. She could be scary if she wanted, and growl at the kids who made fun of her. Or she could ignore them altogether because it was Halloween and it didn’t matter what ugly thing they said about her. Sometimes she’d even wished she could actually be what she dressed up as. Someone new altogether.

That desire didn’t fade as she grew. And now she
was
someone else. The Clara Destacio she’d been born as was transformed.

She almost giggled as an image of the old Michael J. Fox movie Teen Wolf flashed through her mind. The imagery wasn’t that far off if you considered the way her legs had looked the day before.

Clara ducked behind the counter to rifle through the lost and found once again, but came up with nothing. She spotted a set of winter gloves. They’d be useful. And it was likely they’d been sitting here waiting to be claimed since last winter. But she couldn’t bring herself to grab them. The guilty sensation she was normally able to push aside niggled at her chest, pressing its ugly face against the window of her soul.

How many things were in that book of hers? How many times had she taken what didn’t belong to her in the name of survival. It wasn’t right. She’d
chosen
the woods. Chosen to separate herself from society. To live off the land, free of the eyes of people. But who was she kidding? She wasn’t living off the land. She was living off other people, haunting them as surely as a ghost trapped in their attic.

Shame filled her until her cheeks were hot with it.

She shoved the gloves back in the basket, hating that she couldn’t take something she needed, hating that she needed to take them in the first place.

Hating herself.

She clenched her teeth together, willing herself not to cry.

The kitchen. She’d been on her way to check the kitchen. She’d noticed a desk in the corner with note pads and menus. It was obviously where the cook planned his meals. Perhaps he’d left her notebook there, among the others.

Clara went through the dining room this time instead of directly into the kitchen. It was smart to never take the same way in. Change things up.

The room was empty and dark, so she ghosted past the tables and sidled up to the swinging doors that separated the dining area from the kitchen. Her hand caught in a fake cobweb and she jumped at the feel of the sticky strings in her fingers.

When she was free of the decoration, she peeked through the window in the door. The kitchen was empty, with only one row of lights on. She remained watching for several minutes just to make sure, but there was no one else around. Cautiously, she pushed through the door, blinking against the brighter light. Zeroing in on the desk in the corner, she started for it, but her eyes caught on the prep counter and she stalled.

Several containers of food sat tempting her, but what pulled her forward wasn’t the smell of savory beef. It was the scrap of paper sitting next to it. Old, and with pink lines instead of the usual blue. It was from her lost book.

With shaking hands, she reached for it, eyes tumbling over the scrawled words written there.

Write down what you need and I’ll get it for you. But you have to quit stealing from us or I won’t be able to help you
.

Clara’s throat burned with the threat of unshed tears. Help her. The cook wanted to help her? She looked at all the food he’d left her. She let the note fall to the counter and wrapped her hands around the foam cup. Whatever was inside was still warm. She lifted the lid, holding the steaming drink to her nose. Hot chocolate. With cinnamon like her abuela used to make.

She choked up. He made her food. She’d stolen from him, stolen from many, and when he’d caught her, he didn’t shun her or turn her in. He made her food. And it was clear he’d read her book. He knew how awful she was. How many things she’d taken. But instead of judgment, this man had chosen kindness.

Her hand went to her chest, pressing against the sharp pain there. It wasn’t the first time someone had extended kindness to her when she didn’t deserve it. And just like the last time, she wanted to run from it.

But she couldn’t. Not until she got her book back. It was the one thing that made her a little less a monster.

On shaking legs, Clara went to the desk for a pen and scribbled her own note on the back of the paper. Then with tears in her eyes, she ate the food he’d prepared for her.

The stew was hearty, the meat tender and the sauce, seasoned perfectly. The biscuits crumbled when she bit into them, the flavor of sharp cheese and garlic singing along her taste buds. It was the best meal she’d eaten in six years, made even better by the kindness behind the gesture. As long as she lived, she’d never forget this. She tucked the dessert in her backpack and carried the remaining hot chocolate out with her.

She walked right out the front door, not caring about the cameras or if her scent, which she hadn’t bothered to hide, gave her away. She was as good as caught anyway. If not by the authorities, then by the compassion shown to her by a perfect stranger she’d done wrong.

This time, it wasn’t her father’s sins she had to account for. It was her own. And the only way to do it, was to let this play out.

Fear was her shadow as she made her way back to the deep woods.

***

Eagan was up before the sun. The benefits of not being able to sleep. He’d tossed in his bed most of the night, his thoughts on the female. When it was finally close enough to sunup, he quickly showered and dressed. Locking up his cabin, he took his four wheeler through the dark and winding roads that separated the lodge from the cats’ homes.

Nobody was up yet, or if they were, they were being as quiet as he was.

In the lobby, he gave Count Dracula a knock on the noggin to wake him up.

“
Muuu-ah-ah-ah. Velcome to my castle. Care for a bite?
”

“Not today, man,” Eagan breathed in good humor.

His steps took him quickly to the kitchen. As soon as he was through the doors, his nose perked up. He stopped, inhaling deep to imprint the scent. His eyes fell closed and his muscles went limp, his jaguar reacting in a way he’d never experienced before.

Lavender and the green of the spruce trees. And something else.
Woman
. Hot, wild woman. His woman.
His
.

Eagan’s breath rushed in and out of his chest, making his nostrils flare. He stalked forward, eyes on the counter. There was nothing left of the food he’d intended for her and that settled his cat some. But on the counter was the piece of paper from her notebook. He lifted it to his nose, inhaling deep. She’d inadvertently left her scent there. Lotion perhaps. But for sure, she’d skipped the hunting attractant this time.

A sly smile curved his lips. Finally, her scent. He could track her now. And he would. Because she was his.

His mate
.

He’d vowed to never search for her. He’d made the pact with his clan like everyone else. But she’d found him, and under the most unlikely circumstances. This was fate.

His grin faded as he lowered the paper.

He could track her… and so could anyone else. Magic for example. Or Gash. Right now, it was fine. Her scent would mingle with the other humans at the lodge, but if she returned… if her scent was discovered where items went missing…

Eagan’s eyes flew across the words she’d left him.

Please, I need my notebook back. If you return it, I swear I’ll never come back here again.

In theory, that was exactly what needed to happen. If she kept coming here, she’d be caught. But reality was a bitch, because Eagan couldn’t let her get lost in the woods, never to be seen again. He couldn’t go sleepless at night wondering if she was okay, if she had what she needed, if she was taking other people’s hard earned things. It was clear she regretted her actions. Was he supposed to let her keep doing them?

He frowned, his heart crashing against his ribcage.

He couldn’t have her. Magic would never allow it. But he
needed
to be sure she was safe and no longer homeless.

Bailey burst through the doors, and Eagan quickly shoved the note in his pocket.

“Oh, hey. Morning, boss.”

“Morning, Bailey.”

“You’re here early.”

“Yeah. Uh, busy day ahead, you know.” Eagan shrugged off his jacket and reached for his apron.

He was going to deal with his mate later, but for now, he had to go about his duties. Any deviation would catch Magic’s attention. And tonight was the long awaited kick-off of their weekly campfire stories. People would be coming in from the neighboring town of Weston to hear Gash tell spooky tales about the woods. All in preparation for Halloween week when they’d turn those woods into a haunted attraction for their guests. It was a short and sweet celebration, unlike their massive month-long Christmas one, and a much needed break from the preparations for it. Magic said they’d be all out of Christmas spirit if they didn’t have a break. Thus The Haunting at Lake Haven was born.

Eagan loved the way the cats celebrated holidays, but today, he wished he could set it aside.

He inhaled again. One last stroke of her scent before they began cooking, and all traces of her were gone.

Forget creepy campfire stories. He had his own ghost to find.