Authors: Crystal Jordan
Prowl the Night (16 page)
He let his forehead rest against the back of her skull, water raining down on them, dripping from their hair, their faces, their limbs. His heart pounded, his breath bellowing out. It took a long time to come down from that high, and he held her as he enjoyed those moments. She twitched in his arms, and he forced himself to ease his weight away from her.
“We've just killed the point of this shower.” She sighed and reached for the soap, scrubbing off quickly. Tossing the bar toward him, she let him do the same.
Leaving him to rinse himself and turn off the water, she stepped out to dry off with a thick terry cloth towel. Frowning, he stepped out and dried himself as well, then hooked the towel around his hips. Just as she had after their first time, she didn't even look at him. He had a feeling if he let her get away with it, she'd scurry out of the room, dress, and be gone without saying another word to him.
Not that he had a lot of experience with this kind of thing, but this didn't seem like the normal reaction of a woman who'd just found her mate. He strolled over to the bathroom door while she brushed her hair and planted himself on the threshold, keeping her from leaving.
“Can I ask you something?” He folded his arms across his chest and saw her gaze turn wary as she faced him. She nodded, set down the brush, picked it up, then dropped it again. Her fingers shook a bit. Nerves? Or something more? He took in the odd reaction, adding it to the list of other reactions that didn't seem to fit. “Why wouldn't you let me mark you?”
“We've only just met, Rafe.” She bunched her fingers in the towel she had wrapped around her. “It's hardly unreasonable to want to get to know you before I . . . before we . . .”
“Before we're mated?” He leaned a shoulder against the door frame, still effectively blocking her escape. “Sure, that's reasonable, but you can't even say the word. That tells me something else is going on here. So, let's try this again. Why wouldn't you let me mark you, my mate?”
“I don't want a mate,” she burst out, then covered her mouth and closed her eyes. She shook her head. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it that way, but . . .”
“But you don't want a mate.” He finished the thought for her, and it shredded that fragile connection between them. God, it hurt. She was right, they didn't know each other, but that didn't seem to stop the ache that spread like a bruise inside him. He felt like he'd been sucker punched. “I see.”
“I'm really sorry.” She knotted her fists in the towel. “It's not you. I just . . . I have my reasons for not wanting to mate. I honestly hoped I didn't have one. I'm sorry.”
“What are your reasons?”
“My brother. I'm sure you've heard about him. Everyone has.” Her gaze hit the top of the vanity, and her face smoothed of all emotion.
She was lying. Or at least not giving him the whole truth. Years of observing human behavior told him so. Every Panther instinct inside him confirmed it. There was far more to the story than that. “And that's your only reason?”
“Isn't that enough?” She lifted her chin, but her expression remained blank.
If he pushed her now, she'd never tell him. He knew it down to his bones. So he just nodded and stepped aside to clear her path. The look of intense relief that crossed her face only justified his suppositions. There was something she didn't want to talk about, which meant she was hiding somethingâsomething that made her not want to be mated. He shoved aside how that stung him. His mate was upset enough to deny what every Panther hoped to find. If he focused on how that pained him rather than rooting out what had turned her against the very idea of mating, then he'd never change her mind.
While he'd never really thought to find a mate himself, and had forgone the traditional mating tour at thirty in favor of his career, he wasn't set against it the way she was.
Time for a strategic retreat. He could break through her reserve slowly. She was in San Francisco for the two weeks of the summit, so he had some time, and he'd use that to his advantage.
They both dug through their abandoned bags for clean outfits. His was a pair of well-worn khakis and a fleece pullover. Hers was a silk shirt, skirt, and heels. When it came to the differences in their positions in the Prides, that just about said it all. He lived out of a backpack while on assignment, so he didn't even travel with a spare pair of shoes. He'd have to go barefoot until he cleaned up his boots.
She brushed an invisible piece of lint off her blouse. “I have to go present myself to Antonio. I'm sure the housekeeper informed him of my arrival.”
“Eva is the butler, not the housekeeper, but you're right. She's very efficient.” He threaded his belt through the loops on his pants, buckling it in place. “If Antonio didn't sense your arrival in his domain, he's been told by now.”
He plucked his wallet and cell phone from his old pants and transferred them to his new ones. Then he shrugged into his backpack, scooped up the dirty clothes and blood-spattered boots, and opened the door to let both of them out. Her face held that same calm she seemed to have perfected, but her hands were balled at her sides. It was the hands that gave her away, and he knew to watch for that now.
He didn't think he'd let her in on the fact that she had a tell. She'd likely train herself out of it and into even more control, and he liked having some insight into the woman who was his mate. They stood in the hallway outside her roomâhe was reluctant to leave her, and he'd bet she was even more reluctant to deal with the leader of a Pride unfriendly to hers.
“Good luck with Antonio. He's a fair man, a
good
man.” He offered a reassuring smile, hoping she'd relax a little. “I trust him.”
good
man.” He offered a reassuring smile, hoping she'd relax a little. “I trust him.”
Her gaze searched his face for a long moment. What she was looking for, he couldn't guess, but she must have found it, because she let her breath ease out. “Okay. I'll keep that in mind.”
“Do you want me to go with you? I can introduce you.” Most of the time, Rafe didn't deliberately throw himself into Pride matters, but he found himself wanting to do anything to break the tension that seemed to be screaming through her body. “It might make it easier to have a third party in the room.”
“No, no.” She shook her head, making her still-damp hair fly around her face. “I can do this myself. I
will
do this myself. Antonio's a fair man, so I'll be all right. Thanks for the luck. I hope I don't need it. Good-bye.”
will
do this myself. Antonio's a fair man, so I'll be all right. Thanks for the luck. I hope I don't need it. Good-bye.”
Staying where he was, he watched her walk away until she disappeared down the stairs. He tried to assure himself that they were both right, that she'd be fine, that she didn't need his help, that Antonio was a good leader and he'd treat her with respect, no matter what he thought of her father or brother.
She
would
be fine. He tamped down on any concern that might be niggling at the back of his mind.
would
be fine. He tamped down on any concern that might be niggling at the back of his mind.
“Rafe!”
He turned, already prepared to be wrapped up in the huge bear hug by Ben Aguilar. “Benedicto, my man!”
To say Rafe welcomed the distraction was an understatement, and the chance to see one of the people he was closest to in the world was one of the best reasons he'd had for coming home.
They slapped each other on the back, laughing. It had been too long since he'd seen the younger man. Holding him by the shoulders, he pushed Ben away. “Let me look at you. Damn, I think you've gotten even taller.”
“Maybe.” His sandy hair curled over his forehead, his blue eyes far too old for his age. He grinned and shrugged out of Rafe's grip. “It's good to see you. How was Cairo?”
“Good, good. Always interesting, you know.”
Yeah, Ben did know. They didn't talk about how Rafe had found the underfed sixteen-year-old boy wandering through Africa, working where he could, and occasionally hawking a few photographs from his one and only real possession in the worldâa camera his mother had given him before she'd watched him be turned out of the Australian Pride for being a non-shifter.
Now twenty, the kid had grown into a young man whom Rafe was damn proud he'd had a hand in helping get where he was. A few more years and the kid was going to be one of the most recognizable photojournalists in the business. Rafe had yet to see something Ben couldn't get a sellable picture of, from wildlife and warfare to fashion and sports.
At first, Rafe had made sure that Ben had food to eat, but the boy's pride had balked at taking handouts. So, Rafe had dragged the kid along with him on assignments, letting him take the pictures that went along with his travel writing. It hadn't taken long for magazines to start offering Ben assignments of his ownâhe was just one of those rare talents that people couldn't help but notice. Perhaps it was just a natural gift, but Rafe thought the boy's experiences had given him a keen view on the world that translated to his photos.
Ben sniffed the air a bit, his eyes glinting with good humor. “Man, you stink.”
The frank speaking wasn't something everyone got from Ben, and it was nice to see him smile. It had taken months after they'd met before the boy had cracked a grin. Rafe shrugged. “Eid al-Adha.”
“Well, that explains the blood. Nothing like the Islamic Feast of the Sacrifice to make things exciting.” The young man pointed to the stained clothes Rafe carried.
He chuckled. “Exactly. This is going to turn into a great story.”
“Can't wait to hear everything, but I'll let you get over the jet lag first.” Ben angled his shoulder to point down the hall to Rafe's room.
The younger man didn't mention that Rafe was standing in a hallway outside a room that wasn't his, carrying dirty clothes, and obviously fresh from a shower. The scent of sex might have washed away, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what he might have been doing.
“I don't think I can sleep yet.” Rafe shook his head and started toward his room to drop his stuff. Ben guessing what had been going down was one thing, but the rest of the Pride was another matter. “So tired, I'm wired.”
Meeting Teresa, touching Teresa, had done nothing to help him wind down enough to sleep. He'd thought he'd crash when he got to the mansion, but now he wasn't sure when he'd be able to stop his mind from running like a crack-addled gerbil on an exercise wheel.
“I've been there.” Walking alongside him, Ben slid his hands into his pockets. “Isabel's got something good coming out of the oven. I've been smelling it for the last half hour.”
Food was always something that interested Ben, no doubt from the years where a full belly had been rare. It was no surprise that he'd made friends with the Pride's chef.
“Let's eat, then.”
After Antonio had come to power and mated with a woman who had also been thrown out as a teen for being a non-shifter, Rafe had gone to the leader and asked if Ben could join the North American Pride.
It had broken Rafe's heart to see one of his own kind abandoned for a supposed flaw he had no control over. There was no way he could walk away from the young Panther, regardless of his ability to shift or not. Rafe had roamed the world for years, seen all manner of superstitions and what they did to people, but his own race's fear of non-shifters was one he would never understand. He hoped it changed someday, but he was glad Ben had a place in the Prides again.
Tossing his gear on the worn leather couch in his room, Rafe turned to lead the way down to the kitchen. When they reached the ground floor, he got a whiff of Teresa. That captured his attention, made the concern he'd been pointedly ignoring rear its ugly head. She was in Antonio's office, and when they passed the double doors, he dragged in a deep breath, trying to sort out all the scents in the den to see if fear was also floating on the air. No. He sensed no fear, no anger or unrest. He forced himself not to stop, not to knock and go in.
He glanced at Ben. “When do you leave on your next job?”
Ben's gaze went from the office doors to Rafe, no doubt catching the same female scent that had also emanated from the room Rafe had stood outside with his dirty clothes. One of Ben's eyebrows quirked upward, but he didn't comment on it. “Not for a week or so. I'm doing a shoot this week for Andrea. She's got a new line launching.”
A grin broke across Rafe's face and he threw an arm around Ben's shoulders, dragging him into a headlock. “Sounds perfect for you. Haute couture and free food from catering services.”
“You have no idea.” A short laugh burst out of Ben, and he slapped Rafe's belly. “Babes in bikinis this time. It's a rough life, man.”
Rafe chuckled, letting the younger man go as they stepped into the kitchen. “Sounds like it. Have fun with the models.”
“Yeah, I have my eye on one of them. Should be . . . interesting.”
Ben didn't say it, but Rafe knew most Panthers still refused to associate with him. The Pride accepted him, but there was acceptance as a Pride member and then there was ridding oneself of old prejudices enough to want to get close. Panther females avoided him, and most tried not to touch himâas though his condition was some sort of contagious disease.
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