Stonebound: Shifters Forever Worlds (Skeleton Key) (3 page)

T
ino had read
and reread the letter his mother had left him.

He returned to his solitary apartment next to his mother’s villa in the countryside, and delved into his sculpting until his hands were aching and bleeding. He’d ignored attempts his friends made to get him to come out. He sent the help away and told them to worry about the main house and leave him alone.

His hair grew long; his mind went blank. He tried to process the information his mother had left for him. How could this be?

He didn’t believe it for a second. He couldn’t.

Tino should have been paying better attention. God knows, you don’t operate equipment with half your mind elsewhere.

But he wasn’t.

A sharp pain signaled the sliced skin on the inside of his arm.

Blood spurted forth.

The stinging pain was one thing, but the blood flowing from his body was another.

He tried to staunch the flow. He tied a belt around his forearm hoping that would lessen the blood loss.

To no avail. He watched the crimson life-giving liquid leaving his body and pooling on the floor.

As if mesmerized, he couldn’t move and didn’t think to seek help.

He had no death wish. This wasn’t the problem. By now he’d lost enough blood that he couldn’t think straight.

The worst part was recognizing that, but being too weak to rise to his feet to go to the villa for assistance from the help.

Are you fucking kidding me? I could die because of this?

An anger seared through him, followed by a roaring sound. It felt like a wildlife show turned up to full volume. The bellowing roars filled his head, made his ears ache, and his skull felt on the brink of imploding.

A new stinging sensation on his fingertips took over, diminishing the throb from the cut. It felt like someone was yanking them out with plyers.

Wondering why his fingers would hurt, Tino glanced down.

He released a primal yell that drowned out the roaring in his mouth.

“No. No.” The words were a grunted growl.

His fingernails had changed. They’d grown darker and were extending into claws.

This had to be worse than an acid trip.

He fell to his knees, caught his fall with his palms and stayed there, on all fours, staring at the black claws that extended from his fingertips.

Are you fucking kidding me?

That thought was interrupted by a creaking and stretching noise that sounded as if it were coming from within him.

He doubled over in pain, landing in a fetal position, his eyes closed against the sheer agony of the experience.

This had to be what it felt like to be drawn and quartered.

Or stretched on one of those medieval torture machines.

He released a yell that turned into a scream that brought to mind a scene from a movie, where a man had his still-beating heart ripped out of his torso.

Tino raised his hands to his torso. Except—

That wasn’t what happened.

He didn’t have hands anymore. He had furry paws attached to large-knuckled legs. Lion legs.

The pain continued, ripping through him with the force of a tornado holding a nail-gun.

And suddenly—

It was over.

Just like that.

The pain was completely gone.

And life was normal.

Except—

He glanced at the reflection in the large doors that led to the veranda.

A fierce lion, dark-maned and broad chested stared at him.

Only that lion, was him.

A flash of fear coursed through Tino, but instantly vanished, and he couldn’t imagine why his fear of the beast went away.

Tino shook his head in confusion.

In the reflection, the lion shook his head, mighty mane flowing from the effort, as if it were being windblown.

Tino opened his mouth to talk, but all that came out was a chuffing sound.

God. Now I can’t talk?

What if the help came in?

I’m so screwed.

They’d call the authorities and—

Dead lion.

Dead Tino.

Tino sat back on his haunches—correction: he thought. He sat back on his lion’s haunches.

Now what?

The lion cocked his head at the reflection.

Wait. I didn’t do that. He did it. You did it.
Tino addressed the lion in his head.

The lion roared.

And crazy as it sounded to Tino, and he’d have no way to explain it if anyone ever asked, he understood exactly what the lion said.

The lion asked if he was ready to listen to him.

I am.

* * *

H
ours and hours passed
. While Tino was in his lion’s form, the blood stopped flowing and his body healed, as the lion explained to him, was the way that shifters healed.

He told Tino about a hibernation process that would heal him even if he was on the brink of death in his lion form.

The lion told him how he’d been suppressed by the witch’s spell and kept at bay. The witch’s spell had deteriorated enough so that when Tino was weakened, the lion could come forth.

Now what?
Tino asked the lion, confused about this unchartered territory.

His lion told him he’d rather not be buried anymore.

I don’t know how to handle this, you, me, all of it.

The lion grunted a chuffing sound, told Tino to find someone who could help him.

Like who?
Tino studied the full-maned beast half of himself in the reflection.
Who the hell could help me with this without wanting to kill me?

The answer came to Tino right before his lion could tell him.

My father.

Of course, a lion shifter could help him with his lion shifting. With how to handle this, how to manage being both a man and a feline.

In the reflection, the lion’s eyes glowed amber with pleasure.

I’ll go find him first thing tomorrow. Right after I get a haircut and make myself presentable.

The lion growled.

Tino was pulled from his thoughts, wondering what troubled the beast.

Before he could ask what was wrong, the lion had leapt to his paws, and was making for the other side of the room, heading toward the open French doors.

I’m not sure this is wise,
Tino tried to warn his lion. It would not bode well for them if someone saw him in this form.

The lion assured him it would be a short excursion.

Thirty minutes later the sun set. After a short nap beneath the shaded canopy of an olive tree near the brick wall that surrounded the villa, his lion bounded to his feet and loped toward Tino’s apartment.

Slipping inside the doors, the lion stopped and turned to face the reflection in the now darkened room.

I can see in the dark.

The lion chuffed a small sound, then apologized.

For?
Tino asked.

The agony they’d have to deal with, the lion said.

A tremor ran through Tino, a growl of pain came from his lion’s lungs as the planes in his face shifted, as his body adjusted, shrinking, realigning, pushing him back into his human form.

Tino looked down. He was fully human. Covered in his bloody clothes, except the clothing looked like he’d been wrestling with an army.

Felt like he had, too. His body ached, his head felt like it was going to burst.

Are you there?

His lion responded with a low roar.

So the lion stayed inside?

You’ll always be in me?

The lion snorted his agreement, unless Tino resorted to having a witch suppress him again.

Never. Never again.

Tino opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a dry hacking sound. He reached for a glass of water, downed it in a single gulp and then tried again.

“What the hell.”

He could talk!

Except his voice sounded like his lungs had been run through a cheese grater.

“We have a busy day tomorrow. We have to find our father.”

Marco Ricoletti could help him, teach him the way of the lion shifters.

T
wo days later
, one day after he’d planned to, Tino was on his way to find his father.

He was freshly shaved and showed and had paid the barber a visit, having him take down the long hair and bring it to a more respectable buzz.

He’d found Marco Ricoletti’s address with the help of his mother’s attorneys. That extended the delay in getting to Marco’s.

I need to start thinking of him as my father, not as Marco.

Maybe later.

His father lived in a villa. In Rome.

All this time, so close, and yet I never knew.

Tino looked at the gates before him. Solid metal. In the distance, on a slight hill, the villa glowed in the morning light. The sun’s rays highlighted the walls, glinting off the windows. He pressed the intercom button and when a voice answered, he spoke. “Cristiano Carrera.”

The gate swung open. Cristiano slipped into his coupe and nosed the car slowly up the drive, fighting the urge to floor it, anxious to meet the father he’d never known. Eager to ask questions about his relationship with his mother.

Sadness pierced Tino’s core at the thought of his mother. God. He missed her.

Would Marco miss her? Would he care? They clearly didn’t keep in touch—or did they?

No, he knew his mother wouldn’t have done that.

Tino put the car in park and bounded up the stairs two at a time. He paused in front of the door, deliberating if he should knock or ring the doorbell.

He didn’t have to make that decision. The door opened and a dark haired, green-eyed woman in a black, clingy, calf length dress studied him with a curious look in her eye.

The housekeeper?

“I’m Iniga.”

That didn’t tell him much. “I’m Cristiano Carrera. I was hoping to see Marco Ricoletti.” Tino glanced behind her, wondering where he was.

“The nature of your business?”

Tino frowned, that wasn’t her business. Or maybe she was his personal assistant or secretary.

“He’s here?”

Iniga shook her head. “He’s not. I’m his wife. He’s traveling. Away on business.”

Disappointment shot through Tino.

“Oh. Maybe I should come back at another time, Signora Ricoletti.”

“Oh, nonsense. Come in for some refreshments.” She tugged on his sleeve.

Why not?

She could tell him about his father. Maybe set up a get together, break the ice, even.

Fifteen minutes later, on a plush wing chair, across from the attractive woman, Tino had drunk half the cup of coffee.

His lion snarled in Tino’s head. He pushed the lion away.

It’s a very good idea. I think she can help me.

The lion’s responding snarl was insistent, and loud.

Tino took a long draw off the coffee, then set the almost empty cup down.

“You never said what it was you needed from my husband, Signor Valenti.”

“I’m sorry, Signora.”

“Call me Iniga.”

“Iniga.” Tino rubbed his temple. His lion had quieted, but a strange wooziness had taken over.

Could he tell her? Should he? She’d find out sooner or later, from Marco later, if not from Tino today.

“It’s awkward. I don’t know how long you’ve been with Marco…” He wasn’t sure how to proceed.

She frowned. “Continue.”

Tino nodded, wishing he could shake the fuzziness away.

“Marco is—”

“Your father.” A grimace fleetingly crossed her face, then the sign of distaste was replaced with a blank expression.

“H—H—How—”

“How did I know?” The green in her eyes had a dangerous glint.

He nodded. Why was his tongue paralyzed?

“You look exactly like him. What else could you be? And you are a lion shifter. Were a lion shifter.”

Were? What did she mean? He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

“Your lion is taking a long, long nap, Cristiano Carrera.” She rose, her dress swishing as she took angry stilted steps, pacing about the room. “What makes you think I want an interloper ruining my plans?” She was holding a key, made of glass, about the length of her palm, with a skeleton’s head and two teeth.

Tino watched the key, transfixed as it caught and refracted light.

He was becoming disoriented. Her words were fading in and out as Tino struggled to remain focused.

Iniga knew about him. Knew about his lion. Then he realized. She’d sent his lion away. It was as if he—

Fuck. Fuck.

Tino tried to reach out to his lion. Nothing. No luck at all.

She’s a witch. That’s why my lion is gone.

“You fool—” She whirled around. “You will not ruin this. No.”

Tino couldn’t focus. She was a fast moving, fast talking blur.

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, before he could react, though he had no idea how he’d have reacted, Tino was gone.

He was there. He could see her but…

Everything faded to black.