Welcome, newsletter subscribers, to a hidden page on my website just for you! Below is a peek into the first three chapters of Marked by Love. Enjoy!!
Marked by Love
A Zodiac Shifters novella
Chapter One
Danae scooped up the tarot cards, one by one, her fingers trailing over the dark cotton tablecloth. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as much to stall as to calm her nerves. The cards were never wrong, although this time, she wished they were. Lavender, sweet and strong, filtered into her lungs, its calming effect easing the tension in her shoulders. At last, she opened her eyes and focused on her client.
The elderly woman tightened her grip around her tissue and wiped the cloth over her lips, the off-brand red lipstick a shade darker in the age lines around her mouth. Poor lady…rough times were ahead.
Since Danae had settled in the sleepy town of Brinnon, Washington a few months ago, she’d come to care for Amelia, one of the community’s elder residents. On the edge of the Olympic Peninsula, the town, along with its neighbor, Quilcene, were a short ferry ride from neighboring Seattle. That brought a lot of tourist trade to Danae’s palm and tarot card reading business, which worked in her favor, not only providing a steady source of income, but also a place for her to hide.
Danae settled her hand over the older woman’s and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m afraid we’re done for this week.”
Through the thick lenses of her glasses, Amelia blinked. A few grey curls twirled over the frame. “Oh, yes, of course.”
She wrapped her gnarled fingers around the worn wooden cane resting on the edge of the table. Her lips pursed, and her brows pulled together. With dogged determination, she pushed against the cane and stood. She wavered for a moment then a smile bloomed on her face as if she’d achieved a major victory.
Perhaps she had.
If the cards were any indication, victories would be hard to come by in her future.
Her movement stirred the air. Atop the antique desk, the bright red ember tip of incense flared to life, a line of ashes caught in the tail portion of the cat-shaped holder. Lavender, the key ingredient in Danae’s homemade special paste was abundant from many farms in the area. It was a crucial component to hide her Panthera scent and keep the safe house hidden from her enemy, the Gossum.
With care not to seem too eager, Danae strode over to the older woman. She wanted to wrap her arms around her, help her to the door, but she’d get a whack with the cane if she did.
Been there, done that.
Instead, she walked next to her, providing moral support and a steady arm, if needed.
“Thank you, my dear. These weekly visits mean more to me than you know. I so appreciate your insights.” She slipped a couple of twenty dollar bills into Danae’s palm.
The money wasn’t much, but it would help keep the safe house operating, at least for a while longer. She shoved the bills into her pants pocket and glanced around the old Victorian home. Two claw-foot chairs surrounded an old sofa, the wooden back marred with chips and nicks accumulated over the decades. A threadbare rug sat under their clawed feet, as if the furniture had used the mat as a scratching post.
Her fingers twitched. Sometimes, her internal panther longed to do the same.
“Is Jeremy waiting for you?” Danae opened the old oak door. The squeak of the hinges pierced through the rain’s constant drizzle.
Amelia removed her glasses and placed them in her sweater pocket. Creases formed around her eyes as she squinted. “Yes, my grandson is in the car. Here he comes.”
The slam of a car door echoed off the house. A dark form headed up the walkway.
Amelia turned to face Danae. “Today is my birthday, March twenty-fifth.”
“Yes, I remember. You’re an Aries. Happy birthday.” Danae’s stomach twisted. She’d already wished the woman a happy birthday. Amelia’s memory loss was another sign of the fate the cards had shown her.
“When is yours?” Her eyes, yellowed with age, glittered with curiosity.
I’ll be 648 years old on my next birthday. A Panthera’s life span could exceed well over three thousand years, but there was no way she’d tell Amelia that bit of info. Instead, Danae patted her on the arm. “August twentieth. I’m a Leo.”
“Generous and warm-hearted. That suits you. I’m sure someday you’ll find a good man, one that loves you dearly.” The older woman chuckled and took a step forward.
Danae held her breath. That was so not going to happen.
Jeremy bounded up the two-step porch, umbrella in hand, and gripped his grandmother’s arm. “I’ve got you.”
With a swift flick of her wrist, she whacked her cane against his leg. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Ooof!” He rubbed the spot, and his gaze darted to Danae. He shrugged, his blue eyes twinkling.
Danae stifled a laugh. “Next week, Amelia?”
“Yes, see you then.” The elderly lady gripped her grandson’s arm and they headed toward the car. Rain slid down the umbrella and dripped off the pointy, metal tips. Cocooned beneath the material, Amelia huddled close to her grandson. The umbrella provided a bit of protection, but there were worse things to need refuge from than the rain.
Danae cringed. It was best for them that they weren’t aware of the battle raging in the dark of night, the one that could enslave the entire human race.
Rain pinged against the large picture window. In the faint hues of early evening, a waterfall of liquid sunshine drained over the gutter. Her shoulders slumped.
Gary, the man who did minor repairs in exchange for some of her special incense, had fallen from a ladder last week at his home and broke his leg. He wasn’t coming around anytime soon. She’d have to clean the gutters herself. Another thing to add to her already full to-do list.
Danae closed the door and leaned her forehead against the hard grain. The cool wood was a welcome balm against her skin.
A slow, familiar creak echoed from the top of the stairs. She stiffened. Lamont.
“Is the human female gone?” His deep, masculine voice sent a chill over her arms, raising the fine hair at her nape.
“Yes. It’s safe to come down now.” As she turned to face him, her claws elongated from her fingers, a natural defensive response. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to retract the pointed weapons.
With determined strides, he descended the staircase, his scuffed boots and dark jeans coming into view. His belt buckle reflected the light from the entryway, and her cat-like eyes constricted, blocking out the glare.
A dark shirt covered well-defined muscles in his abs and chest. As he continued his descent, his facial features became visible. Two days’ worth of scruff covered his chin. His aquiline nose and high cheekbones were harsh, and his eyes, those haunted, yellow orbs, burned cold and hard.
A knot formed in her stomach. She headed for the kitchen, eager to put some distance between them. “I assume you’re leaving. Would you like something to eat before you head out?”
“That would be generous.” He stalked behind her, the floor shaking with every step.
She opened one of the cupboard doors, and the loose handle rattled against the wood, mirroring her shattered nerves. Her fingers curled around her favorite frying pan’s handle. She yanked it from its resting spot and placed it on the burner.
“I have eggs and toast. Will that work?” Her voice wavered, and she mentally kicked herself for letting her uncertainty show.
He was just another rogue warrior here to rest in the safe house before continuing his fight for their goddess, Alora, against the Gossum.
Most warriors congregated in the underground Keep, the one hidden in the vast cave systems in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest. A few stray warriors fought the war for Earth’s water on their own terms, searching for Gossum scouts. Yet, Lamont had made it a habit to stop by her safe house on a regular basis, his visits becoming more frequent.
The knot in her stomach tightened.
“That sounds lovely.” He approached her from behind, and his scent of fire embers and coal overwhelmed her. After trailing his fingers through her hair, he brought a few strands to his lips. With much fanfare, he audibly inhaled. “I can’t get enough of your lemony scent.”
She pulled away from his grasp and tugged her dagger from her belt. Her pulse pounded loud in her ears. By touching his mouth to her hair, he’d left his pheromones, marking her in an intimate way.
With the tip of her blade, she pointed to the piece of paper tacked to the wall and strategically placed behind the chair set at the end of the kitchen table. “House rules state no touching the owner, among other things. Maybe you need to read them again.”
He lowered his head in a mock bow, his gaze never leaving hers. “My apologies. No need.”
She sheathed her knife and raised her chin. “Good. I expect you to abide by them. Now, about those eggs.”
She followed his glance through the window into the darkening evening. The earlier rain was gone, and the moon’s rays cast strange shadows over the landscape, turning treetops into sharp, pointy teeth. “Please, don’t go to the trouble for me.” His gaze narrowed, a tic pulsing in his jaw. “Duty calls me to the forest.”
She released her pent-up breath. Despite her unease, she couldn’t bear to see him, or any other warrior, go to battle on an empty stomach. “Here,” she grabbed a couple of cookies from the plate nestled next to the cookbooks and condiments, “take these.”
He stalked toward her. A slow, predatory smile revealed his pointed fangs. His fingers grazed over hers, sheltering the cookies in their combined grasps. “Thank you. Your kindness is…,” his gaze dropped to her lips, then returned to her eyes, “exemplary.”
Bitter and hot, bile rose in her throat, and she clamped down on the growl that started in her chest. With a quick tug, she pulled her hands away, leaving the cookies in his palm. “I thought I’d made myself clear. As a Panthera warrior, you are welcome in my safe house, but I expect you to abide by the rules. You’ve seen my weapon. I assume you know my reputation.”
“Of course. A male or two mentioned your touchiness with that blade.” He bit into one of the cookies, his fangs sinking into a chocolate chunk embedded in the soft dough. With a quick wink, he walked the short distance to the back door. He twisted the knob, and the bells hanging from the curtain rod jingled.
A moment later, he was gone.
She leaned against the counter, her ragged breaths coming hard and fast. Her trembling fingers curled into a tight fist. Males can’t be trusted.
There was always a risk a rogue male would try to bite her, force her to mate to him. Over the years, she’d perfected her skill with her dagger, her throwing stars, and when all else failed, her claws. She traced the faded scar at the base of her neck. Once mated to a male she didn’t love, she’d experienced betrayal firsthand.
Even to this day, the bitterness still stung. Thank the gods he was dead. A pang tugged at her chest. Despite her distrust, a part of her deep inside longed for something more.
She glanced out the window. Sooner or later, I’ll have to deal with Lamont. Would he try to possess her? Her gut tightened.
In other circumstances she’d kill a male for threatening her, but they needed all the warriors they could get, and she wouldn’t risk Alora’s wrath nor weaken their position in the war.
Nervous energy raced through her veins. A run, that’s what she needed, something to distract her from Lamont’s disgusting leer. Before she could change her mind, she followed him into the dusky evening, but turned the opposite direction, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Chapter Two
Aramond placed his palm against the cedar’s rough bark. The tree’s sweet scent infiltrated his senses and that was far better than the tart, astringent smell of his enemy. Yet, he itched to find a Gossum, take out his frustration on something other than himself. A twitch flitted across his eyelid, pulsing, tugging at the thin skin. He wiped his palm over his face, rubbing at the annoying tic.
In the darkening shadows of early evening, he focused his Panthera’s shifter senses on the forest around him.
A stream bubbled over some rocks to his right, a mouse quivered under a bush to his left, an owl hooted. He flared his nostrils, breathing in the scents around him. On the air was the cedar, along with damp foliage, and the unmistakable bitter aroma of a Gossum—his enemy.
Distant, yet there.
He clenched and unclenched his fingers. For almost seven hundred years, he’d fought Gossum. Neither his kind nor the enemy belonged here. No, they played an elaborate game, a war. The prize—Earth’s water and the fate of humankind. At least he worked on the right team, supporting his goddess Alora. Forced to avoid the killing rays of the sun, thanks to an error on Alora’s part, night was their only time to battle the enemy, but winning this war was more important than ever now that he’d found his daughter. Aramie.
His breath caught in his throat. He brought his fist to his chest and rubbed at the pleasant ache. Her beautiful dark hair and brown eyes mirrored his own. Recently reunited with her, he couldn’t bring himself to wander too far from the underground Keep.
Always on the move, he’d never had a territory of his own.
Yet, as an alpha male, he wouldn’t bow down to another, not even his daughter’s mate and Pride leader Demir. So, he did what he knew best, fought the battle on his terms, as a lone Panthera warrior.
He pushed away from the cedar and morphed into his panther, his clothes slipping beneath his fur. A long growl eased from his chest and echoed off the trees. His claws dug into the soft loam, his muscles burning with unspent energy.
He burst from his hiding spot, his paws flitting over the ground.
A sense of euphoria filled his chest, and he ran on, eager to find his enemy.
The astringent smell grew stronger, burning his nostrils. He slowed to a stop. His breath panted in and out of his lungs. He peered around a large boulder, searching for any sign of his enemy. Soft, muffled chuffs echoed through the surrounding trees. Branches in a nearby pine swayed to and fro.
The muscles in Aramond’s back tensed, his hackles rising along his spine. On quiet feet, he closed the distance, stalking the creature like prey.
A crack rent the air.
One of the tree’s branches fell, crashing into the underbrush. A shower of dew from the ground ferns flew into the air.
The grunts increased. A figure, hidden among the early shadows, slipped from the tree. Once human, the creature still wore a pair of torn, ragged pants and the remnants of a shirt. His pasty bald head glowed in the dim light. A Gossum.
Aramond growled, alerting the creature to his location. What fun was it to take out the enemy without a fight?
The Gossum stood and focused his ink-black eyes on Aramond. A long, slow hiss eased from its lips, along with its long, pointed tongue. The end cracked like a whip, the barb glistening with poison.
Aramond prowled closer, his attention never leaving his enemy.
The Gossum placed his hand against a nearby pine tree. His fingernails extended, the tips digging into the bark. A few chunks rained down around his feet. He chuckled. “You can’t win this war. We’ve received an influx of troops from the north. It’s only a matter of time until you’re all dead.”
Aramond morphed into his human shape, his clothes reforming onto his body. He drew a throwing star from his pocket. The cool steel against his fingers was like an old friend, welcome and familiar. “The only death I see in the future is yours.”
The Gossum moved away from the tree. He shot a glance over his shoulder. Perhaps assessing his escape route?
“Come now, don’t tell me you’re going to run. That’s not sporting, but go ahead. I promise to make your death swift.” Aramond smiled.
Branches in a nearby tree rustled. Another Gossum slithered to the ground, landing not far from his cohort. The newcomer wore a blue bandana around his throat. His claw-like fingers grazed over the material, snagging the end. “I like our odds better.”
A shot of adrenaline poured into Aramond’s veins, pinpointing his vision. “Do you now? Interesting, we’ll just see how that plays out.”
As a lone warrior, he’d fought multiple Gossum before and survived. Not that it mattered. There was no mate in his life to miss him. There was only one female he’d ever wanted and she’d mated to another male. His one regret…letting Danae slip through his fingers.
The first Gossum smirked. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement. A bargain, per se. Are you willing to hear me out?”
Aramond stepped closer, his boot squishing a mushroom poking through the soil. The more information he could obtain from his enemy, the better. “Tell me more.”
A smile revealed the creature’s serrated teeth. “Ah, got your attention did I? Good. I’m willing to extend an olive branch, so to speak. Come to our side, help us end this war. You will be well rewarded, of that, I promise.”
“Really?” Aramond laced his voice with sarcasm.
“But of course. Enemies to friends, yes?” He raised the hairless skin over his eyes.
Aramond’s fingers tightened around his weapon, the blade’s edges slicing into his palm. The scent of his own blood filled the air. “You mistake me for something I’m not…a traitor.”
Aramond launched his throwing star. The weapon whizzed through the air.
Loud chuffing sounds burst from the Gossum’s throat. He ducked, but the throwing star hit its mark, embedding into the creature’s dark orb. The Gossum slid to the ground, his torso and limbs disintegrating into a pile of black goo.
The male with the bandana took a step back, then bolted through the trees.
Coward…
Aramond strode with purpose to the dead Gossum. Wet sludge coated the ferns, forcing the fronds to lean over and bear the weight. A single point of his weapon poked through the muck, gleaming in the moon’s light. He retrieved his throwing star, wiping his treasured possession against the moss along a nearby tree.
One down, one to go.
With a quick turn, he pursued his enemy deeper into the forest.
Chapter Three
Danae’s paws scraped over the rock’s edge, the jagged surface rough against the pads of her feet. Murhut Falls roared in the distance, the rumble of water sluicing over stone eerily similar to a growl. The scent of pine, fresh rain, and damp earth filled her senses.
No sign of Gossum.
She relaxed, the muscles in her back and shoulders easing.
Situated on the edge of a large ravine, her favorite pine tree beckoned. With practiced calm, she shifted into human form, her jeans, sweater, and tennis shoes reforming onto her body. She headed to her treasured spot and sat on the soft bed of pine needles. Several stuck to her palm, and she brushed them away.
After raising her arms above her head, she stretched, a pleasant ache ringing through her tired muscles. The run was what she’d needed, an opportunity to escape the house’s confinement, her problems, and, most of all, Lamont.
Opening the safe house had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way to settle down and help out in the war. She blended in well enough with the local humans, but she hadn’t anticipated the amount of repairs needed on the old place.
Without Gary’s help, she wasn’t sure she could keep the old Victorian.
A long sigh escaped her lips. Her gaze drifted upward. The galaxy lit up the night sky in a sparkling array of lights. Where was Orion, the hunter? She focused on the twinkling patterns, searching…searching…
There, on the horizon. Her chest expanded as familiar warmth filled her. Buried within the solar system of the third star on Orion’s belt was her home, Lemuria. Someday, when either the war ended or she died, her spirit would return there.
Before she could stop herself, her gaze tracked along the path of Orion’s belt until her focus landed on the Taurus constellation. The bull’s most familiar feature, his face, was a series of stars in the shape of a ‘V.’ At one end, Aldebaran, the brightest member of the constellation formed the bull’s bloodshot eye, glowing with an eerie red-orange hue.
He seemed to glare at Orion, menace dripping from his gaze.
A low growl eased from her throat, and her nails dug into the bed of pine needles. Taurus reminded her of Dradon when he was angry, for her dead mate’s eyes had glowed a similar shade of red.
A slight wind kicked up, and a dry oak leaf skittered over the rocks at the edge of the ravine. Her nose twitched as she scented the breeze. The hair at the back of her nape rose.
Gossum.
She snarled.
With a quickness born of her species, she stood. Danae slid her hand into her sweater pocket and caressed the hilt of her dagger.
The crack of a large branch.
A feral cry.
The Earth shook with the beat of running footsteps.
Getting closer.
She turned toward the commotion. Traipsing through the forest at a fast clip was her enemy. She couldn’t mistake the bald head and pale skin. Once human, he’d had a life, probably on the streets of Seattle or Portland, one of the many homeless that sought refuge in the large cities. Her enemy preyed on the downtrodden, changing them from human men to Gossum with a single bite.
A part of her pitied the poor creature, but she’d kill him just the same given the chance.
He burst through the trees. At the sight of her, he stilled. His nostrils flared and his once human, dark orbs focused on her. A low, menacing hiss eased from his lips.
She pulled the dagger from her pocket.
His tongue whipped from his mouth, extending to its full six foot length. The barbed tip nearly hit her nose. Spittle landed on her cheek, wet and slimy.
Disgust roiled in her gut. She threw her dagger. It sailed through the air with a soft whoosh.
He jerked his head and the knife sailed past him, embedding into a pine tree with a loud thunk.
Crap. That was her only weapon, the rest still on her bedside table. She’d have to fight him in panther form.
A smile tugged at his lip, revealing his serrated teeth. He raised his hand, his blade-like claws glinting in the soft moonlight.
Movement flashed out of the corner of her eye. A male Panthera burst from the trees. Sleek and toned, his strong muscles flexed beneath his dark fur.
He tackled the Gossum, taking him down. The pair rolled, end over end. Bits of rubble and pine needles scattered across the path in their wake.
The panther’s snarl filled the air, along with his familiar scent.
She stilled. Aramond.
Even in his panther form, she recognized him. The dark sheen in his fur, the intensity in his eyes, the chip on the end of one fang. How was this possible? She hadn’t seen him in over six hundred years.
I thought he was dead.
Something in her chest fluttered, but then bitterness filled her mouth.
Father lied to me.
She took a step forward looking for a way to help, but the pair battled too close together. Aramond bit the Gossum in the shoulder.
The creature screamed and raked its claws down Aramond’s back.
Aramond lost his grip, his lips pulling tight over his fangs. The beast squirmed out of reach and took off, into the forest.
Aramond’s hackles visibly rose, and a loud, furious snarl burst from him. He peered over his shoulder, his gaze narrowing on her. The fur on his back smoothed, the hackles disappearing.
She took a step toward him, curiosity pushing her forward. “Aramond?”
He shifted. In place of a large black panther, a tall male stood. He wore ragged blue jeans and a torn white T-shirt. Thick, dark hair covered his head and the shadow of a beard coated his strong jaw. Almond skin accentuated deep brown eyes that reflected the moon’s rays. He was as she remembered—strong, stoic, beautiful.
Time seemed to slow. She held her breath.
“Danae…” His deep, soothing voice floated across the space between them.
“Where have you… Why did you…” The half-formed, painful questions tumbled from her mouth.
His brow furrowed over his arresting eyes. He stiffened, yet his nose twitched. His gaze scanned behind her into the forest before he flicked to the faded mark on her neck then met her eyes.
“Where is your mate…Dradon?” His voice turned harsh at the mention of her ex-mate’s name.
She opened her mouth then closed it again, unwilling to risk herself with any male, even him. Males can’t be trusted.
She took a step back.
Not far away, in the cover of the darkened forest, a hiss echoed—Gossum.
Aramond turned to face the threat.
She used his distraction to capitalize on the opportunity. After slipping into her panther form, she darted for the forest. Aramond brought back memories, recollections of a time long ago. Her fear of him, as much as of the Gossum, made her bolt. Eons ago, she’d trusted him, longed to bond with him.
Not anymore.
She couldn’t allow him to find her. Maybe, if she was lucky, he wouldn’t track her. Deep in her traitorous heart, a part of her prayed he would.
Danae scooped up the tarot cards, one by one, her fingers trailing over the dark cotton tablecloth. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as much to stall as to calm her nerves. The cards were never wrong, although this time, she wished they were. Lavender, sweet and strong, filtered into her lungs, its calming effect easing the tension in her shoulders. At last, she opened her eyes and focused on her client.
The elderly woman tightened her grip around her tissue and wiped the cloth over her lips, the off-brand red lipstick a shade darker in the age lines around her mouth. Poor lady…rough times were ahead.
Since Danae had settled in the sleepy town of Brinnon, Washington a few months ago, she’d come to care for Amelia, one of the community’s elder residents. On the edge of the Olympic Peninsula, the town, along with its neighbor, Quilcene, were a short ferry ride from neighboring Seattle. That brought a lot of tourist trade to Danae’s palm and tarot card reading business, which worked in her favor, not only providing a steady source of income, but also a place for her to hide.
Danae settled her hand over the older woman’s and gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’m afraid we’re done for this week.”
Through the thick lenses of her glasses, Amelia blinked. A few grey curls twirled over the frame. “Oh, yes, of course.”
She wrapped her gnarled fingers around the worn wooden cane resting on the edge of the table. Her lips pursed, and her brows pulled together. With dogged determination, she pushed against the cane and stood. She wavered for a moment then a smile bloomed on her face as if she’d achieved a major victory.
Perhaps she had.
If the cards were any indication, victories would be hard to come by in her future.
Her movement stirred the air. Atop the antique desk, the bright red ember tip of incense flared to life, a line of ashes caught in the tail portion of the cat-shaped holder. Lavender, the key ingredient in Danae’s homemade special paste was abundant from many farms in the area. It was a crucial component to hide her Panthera scent and keep the safe house hidden from her enemy, the Gossum.
With care not to seem too eager, Danae strode over to the older woman. She wanted to wrap her arms around her, help her to the door, but she’d get a whack with the cane if she did.
Been there, done that.
Instead, she walked next to her, providing moral support and a steady arm, if needed.
“Thank you, my dear. These weekly visits mean more to me than you know. I so appreciate your insights.” She slipped a couple of twenty dollar bills into Danae’s palm.
The money wasn’t much, but it would help keep the safe house operating, at least for a while longer. She shoved the bills into her pants pocket and glanced around the old Victorian home. Two claw-foot chairs surrounded an old sofa, the wooden back marred with chips and nicks accumulated over the decades. A threadbare rug sat under their clawed feet, as if the furniture had used the mat as a scratching post.
Her fingers twitched. Sometimes, her internal panther longed to do the same.
“Is Jeremy waiting for you?” Danae opened the old oak door. The squeak of the hinges pierced through the rain’s constant drizzle.
Amelia removed her glasses and placed them in her sweater pocket. Creases formed around her eyes as she squinted. “Yes, my grandson is in the car. Here he comes.”
The slam of a car door echoed off the house. A dark form headed up the walkway.
Amelia turned to face Danae. “Today is my birthday, March twenty-fifth.”
“Yes, I remember. You’re an Aries. Happy birthday.” Danae’s stomach twisted. She’d already wished the woman a happy birthday. Amelia’s memory loss was another sign of the fate the cards had shown her.
“When is yours?” Her eyes, yellowed with age, glittered with curiosity.
I’ll be 648 years old on my next birthday. A Panthera’s life span could exceed well over three thousand years, but there was no way she’d tell Amelia that bit of info. Instead, Danae patted her on the arm. “August twentieth. I’m a Leo.”
“Generous and warm-hearted. That suits you. I’m sure someday you’ll find a good man, one that loves you dearly.” The older woman chuckled and took a step forward.
Danae held her breath. That was so not going to happen.
Jeremy bounded up the two-step porch, umbrella in hand, and gripped his grandmother’s arm. “I’ve got you.”
With a swift flick of her wrist, she whacked her cane against his leg. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Ooof!” He rubbed the spot, and his gaze darted to Danae. He shrugged, his blue eyes twinkling.
Danae stifled a laugh. “Next week, Amelia?”
“Yes, see you then.” The elderly lady gripped her grandson’s arm and they headed toward the car. Rain slid down the umbrella and dripped off the pointy, metal tips. Cocooned beneath the material, Amelia huddled close to her grandson. The umbrella provided a bit of protection, but there were worse things to need refuge from than the rain.
Danae cringed. It was best for them that they weren’t aware of the battle raging in the dark of night, the one that could enslave the entire human race.
Rain pinged against the large picture window. In the faint hues of early evening, a waterfall of liquid sunshine drained over the gutter. Her shoulders slumped.
Gary, the man who did minor repairs in exchange for some of her special incense, had fallen from a ladder last week at his home and broke his leg. He wasn’t coming around anytime soon. She’d have to clean the gutters herself. Another thing to add to her already full to-do list.
Danae closed the door and leaned her forehead against the hard grain. The cool wood was a welcome balm against her skin.
A slow, familiar creak echoed from the top of the stairs. She stiffened. Lamont.
“Is the human female gone?” His deep, masculine voice sent a chill over her arms, raising the fine hair at her nape.
“Yes. It’s safe to come down now.” As she turned to face him, her claws elongated from her fingers, a natural defensive response. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to retract the pointed weapons.
With determined strides, he descended the staircase, his scuffed boots and dark jeans coming into view. His belt buckle reflected the light from the entryway, and her cat-like eyes constricted, blocking out the glare.
A dark shirt covered well-defined muscles in his abs and chest. As he continued his descent, his facial features became visible. Two days’ worth of scruff covered his chin. His aquiline nose and high cheekbones were harsh, and his eyes, those haunted, yellow orbs, burned cold and hard.
A knot formed in her stomach. She headed for the kitchen, eager to put some distance between them. “I assume you’re leaving. Would you like something to eat before you head out?”
“That would be generous.” He stalked behind her, the floor shaking with every step.
She opened one of the cupboard doors, and the loose handle rattled against the wood, mirroring her shattered nerves. Her fingers curled around her favorite frying pan’s handle. She yanked it from its resting spot and placed it on the burner.
“I have eggs and toast. Will that work?” Her voice wavered, and she mentally kicked herself for letting her uncertainty show.
He was just another rogue warrior here to rest in the safe house before continuing his fight for their goddess, Alora, against the Gossum.
Most warriors congregated in the underground Keep, the one hidden in the vast cave systems in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest. A few stray warriors fought the war for Earth’s water on their own terms, searching for Gossum scouts. Yet, Lamont had made it a habit to stop by her safe house on a regular basis, his visits becoming more frequent.
The knot in her stomach tightened.
“That sounds lovely.” He approached her from behind, and his scent of fire embers and coal overwhelmed her. After trailing his fingers through her hair, he brought a few strands to his lips. With much fanfare, he audibly inhaled. “I can’t get enough of your lemony scent.”
She pulled away from his grasp and tugged her dagger from her belt. Her pulse pounded loud in her ears. By touching his mouth to her hair, he’d left his pheromones, marking her in an intimate way.
With the tip of her blade, she pointed to the piece of paper tacked to the wall and strategically placed behind the chair set at the end of the kitchen table. “House rules state no touching the owner, among other things. Maybe you need to read them again.”
He lowered his head in a mock bow, his gaze never leaving hers. “My apologies. No need.”
She sheathed her knife and raised her chin. “Good. I expect you to abide by them. Now, about those eggs.”
She followed his glance through the window into the darkening evening. The earlier rain was gone, and the moon’s rays cast strange shadows over the landscape, turning treetops into sharp, pointy teeth. “Please, don’t go to the trouble for me.” His gaze narrowed, a tic pulsing in his jaw. “Duty calls me to the forest.”
She released her pent-up breath. Despite her unease, she couldn’t bear to see him, or any other warrior, go to battle on an empty stomach. “Here,” she grabbed a couple of cookies from the plate nestled next to the cookbooks and condiments, “take these.”
He stalked toward her. A slow, predatory smile revealed his pointed fangs. His fingers grazed over hers, sheltering the cookies in their combined grasps. “Thank you. Your kindness is…,” his gaze dropped to her lips, then returned to her eyes, “exemplary.”
Bitter and hot, bile rose in her throat, and she clamped down on the growl that started in her chest. With a quick tug, she pulled her hands away, leaving the cookies in his palm. “I thought I’d made myself clear. As a Panthera warrior, you are welcome in my safe house, but I expect you to abide by the rules. You’ve seen my weapon. I assume you know my reputation.”
“Of course. A male or two mentioned your touchiness with that blade.” He bit into one of the cookies, his fangs sinking into a chocolate chunk embedded in the soft dough. With a quick wink, he walked the short distance to the back door. He twisted the knob, and the bells hanging from the curtain rod jingled.
A moment later, he was gone.
She leaned against the counter, her ragged breaths coming hard and fast. Her trembling fingers curled into a tight fist. Males can’t be trusted.
There was always a risk a rogue male would try to bite her, force her to mate to him. Over the years, she’d perfected her skill with her dagger, her throwing stars, and when all else failed, her claws. She traced the faded scar at the base of her neck. Once mated to a male she didn’t love, she’d experienced betrayal firsthand.
Even to this day, the bitterness still stung. Thank the gods he was dead. A pang tugged at her chest. Despite her distrust, a part of her deep inside longed for something more.
She glanced out the window. Sooner or later, I’ll have to deal with Lamont. Would he try to possess her? Her gut tightened.
In other circumstances she’d kill a male for threatening her, but they needed all the warriors they could get, and she wouldn’t risk Alora’s wrath nor weaken their position in the war.
Nervous energy raced through her veins. A run, that’s what she needed, something to distract her from Lamont’s disgusting leer. Before she could change her mind, she followed him into the dusky evening, but turned the opposite direction, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Chapter Two
Aramond placed his palm against the cedar’s rough bark. The tree’s sweet scent infiltrated his senses and that was far better than the tart, astringent smell of his enemy. Yet, he itched to find a Gossum, take out his frustration on something other than himself. A twitch flitted across his eyelid, pulsing, tugging at the thin skin. He wiped his palm over his face, rubbing at the annoying tic.
In the darkening shadows of early evening, he focused his Panthera’s shifter senses on the forest around him.
A stream bubbled over some rocks to his right, a mouse quivered under a bush to his left, an owl hooted. He flared his nostrils, breathing in the scents around him. On the air was the cedar, along with damp foliage, and the unmistakable bitter aroma of a Gossum—his enemy.
Distant, yet there.
He clenched and unclenched his fingers. For almost seven hundred years, he’d fought Gossum. Neither his kind nor the enemy belonged here. No, they played an elaborate game, a war. The prize—Earth’s water and the fate of humankind. At least he worked on the right team, supporting his goddess Alora. Forced to avoid the killing rays of the sun, thanks to an error on Alora’s part, night was their only time to battle the enemy, but winning this war was more important than ever now that he’d found his daughter. Aramie.
His breath caught in his throat. He brought his fist to his chest and rubbed at the pleasant ache. Her beautiful dark hair and brown eyes mirrored his own. Recently reunited with her, he couldn’t bring himself to wander too far from the underground Keep.
Always on the move, he’d never had a territory of his own.
Yet, as an alpha male, he wouldn’t bow down to another, not even his daughter’s mate and Pride leader Demir. So, he did what he knew best, fought the battle on his terms, as a lone Panthera warrior.
He pushed away from the cedar and morphed into his panther, his clothes slipping beneath his fur. A long growl eased from his chest and echoed off the trees. His claws dug into the soft loam, his muscles burning with unspent energy.
He burst from his hiding spot, his paws flitting over the ground.
A sense of euphoria filled his chest, and he ran on, eager to find his enemy.
The astringent smell grew stronger, burning his nostrils. He slowed to a stop. His breath panted in and out of his lungs. He peered around a large boulder, searching for any sign of his enemy. Soft, muffled chuffs echoed through the surrounding trees. Branches in a nearby pine swayed to and fro.
The muscles in Aramond’s back tensed, his hackles rising along his spine. On quiet feet, he closed the distance, stalking the creature like prey.
A crack rent the air.
One of the tree’s branches fell, crashing into the underbrush. A shower of dew from the ground ferns flew into the air.
The grunts increased. A figure, hidden among the early shadows, slipped from the tree. Once human, the creature still wore a pair of torn, ragged pants and the remnants of a shirt. His pasty bald head glowed in the dim light. A Gossum.
Aramond growled, alerting the creature to his location. What fun was it to take out the enemy without a fight?
The Gossum stood and focused his ink-black eyes on Aramond. A long, slow hiss eased from its lips, along with its long, pointed tongue. The end cracked like a whip, the barb glistening with poison.
Aramond prowled closer, his attention never leaving his enemy.
The Gossum placed his hand against a nearby pine tree. His fingernails extended, the tips digging into the bark. A few chunks rained down around his feet. He chuckled. “You can’t win this war. We’ve received an influx of troops from the north. It’s only a matter of time until you’re all dead.”
Aramond morphed into his human shape, his clothes reforming onto his body. He drew a throwing star from his pocket. The cool steel against his fingers was like an old friend, welcome and familiar. “The only death I see in the future is yours.”
The Gossum moved away from the tree. He shot a glance over his shoulder. Perhaps assessing his escape route?
“Come now, don’t tell me you’re going to run. That’s not sporting, but go ahead. I promise to make your death swift.” Aramond smiled.
Branches in a nearby tree rustled. Another Gossum slithered to the ground, landing not far from his cohort. The newcomer wore a blue bandana around his throat. His claw-like fingers grazed over the material, snagging the end. “I like our odds better.”
A shot of adrenaline poured into Aramond’s veins, pinpointing his vision. “Do you now? Interesting, we’ll just see how that plays out.”
As a lone warrior, he’d fought multiple Gossum before and survived. Not that it mattered. There was no mate in his life to miss him. There was only one female he’d ever wanted and she’d mated to another male. His one regret…letting Danae slip through his fingers.
The first Gossum smirked. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement. A bargain, per se. Are you willing to hear me out?”
Aramond stepped closer, his boot squishing a mushroom poking through the soil. The more information he could obtain from his enemy, the better. “Tell me more.”
A smile revealed the creature’s serrated teeth. “Ah, got your attention did I? Good. I’m willing to extend an olive branch, so to speak. Come to our side, help us end this war. You will be well rewarded, of that, I promise.”
“Really?” Aramond laced his voice with sarcasm.
“But of course. Enemies to friends, yes?” He raised the hairless skin over his eyes.
Aramond’s fingers tightened around his weapon, the blade’s edges slicing into his palm. The scent of his own blood filled the air. “You mistake me for something I’m not…a traitor.”
Aramond launched his throwing star. The weapon whizzed through the air.
Loud chuffing sounds burst from the Gossum’s throat. He ducked, but the throwing star hit its mark, embedding into the creature’s dark orb. The Gossum slid to the ground, his torso and limbs disintegrating into a pile of black goo.
The male with the bandana took a step back, then bolted through the trees.
Coward…
Aramond strode with purpose to the dead Gossum. Wet sludge coated the ferns, forcing the fronds to lean over and bear the weight. A single point of his weapon poked through the muck, gleaming in the moon’s light. He retrieved his throwing star, wiping his treasured possession against the moss along a nearby tree.
One down, one to go.
With a quick turn, he pursued his enemy deeper into the forest.
Chapter Three
Danae’s paws scraped over the rock’s edge, the jagged surface rough against the pads of her feet. Murhut Falls roared in the distance, the rumble of water sluicing over stone eerily similar to a growl. The scent of pine, fresh rain, and damp earth filled her senses.
No sign of Gossum.
She relaxed, the muscles in her back and shoulders easing.
Situated on the edge of a large ravine, her favorite pine tree beckoned. With practiced calm, she shifted into human form, her jeans, sweater, and tennis shoes reforming onto her body. She headed to her treasured spot and sat on the soft bed of pine needles. Several stuck to her palm, and she brushed them away.
After raising her arms above her head, she stretched, a pleasant ache ringing through her tired muscles. The run was what she’d needed, an opportunity to escape the house’s confinement, her problems, and, most of all, Lamont.
Opening the safe house had seemed like a good idea at the time, a way to settle down and help out in the war. She blended in well enough with the local humans, but she hadn’t anticipated the amount of repairs needed on the old place.
Without Gary’s help, she wasn’t sure she could keep the old Victorian.
A long sigh escaped her lips. Her gaze drifted upward. The galaxy lit up the night sky in a sparkling array of lights. Where was Orion, the hunter? She focused on the twinkling patterns, searching…searching…
There, on the horizon. Her chest expanded as familiar warmth filled her. Buried within the solar system of the third star on Orion’s belt was her home, Lemuria. Someday, when either the war ended or she died, her spirit would return there.
Before she could stop herself, her gaze tracked along the path of Orion’s belt until her focus landed on the Taurus constellation. The bull’s most familiar feature, his face, was a series of stars in the shape of a ‘V.’ At one end, Aldebaran, the brightest member of the constellation formed the bull’s bloodshot eye, glowing with an eerie red-orange hue.
He seemed to glare at Orion, menace dripping from his gaze.
A low growl eased from her throat, and her nails dug into the bed of pine needles. Taurus reminded her of Dradon when he was angry, for her dead mate’s eyes had glowed a similar shade of red.
A slight wind kicked up, and a dry oak leaf skittered over the rocks at the edge of the ravine. Her nose twitched as she scented the breeze. The hair at the back of her nape rose.
Gossum.
She snarled.
With a quickness born of her species, she stood. Danae slid her hand into her sweater pocket and caressed the hilt of her dagger.
The crack of a large branch.
A feral cry.
The Earth shook with the beat of running footsteps.
Getting closer.
She turned toward the commotion. Traipsing through the forest at a fast clip was her enemy. She couldn’t mistake the bald head and pale skin. Once human, he’d had a life, probably on the streets of Seattle or Portland, one of the many homeless that sought refuge in the large cities. Her enemy preyed on the downtrodden, changing them from human men to Gossum with a single bite.
A part of her pitied the poor creature, but she’d kill him just the same given the chance.
He burst through the trees. At the sight of her, he stilled. His nostrils flared and his once human, dark orbs focused on her. A low, menacing hiss eased from his lips.
She pulled the dagger from her pocket.
His tongue whipped from his mouth, extending to its full six foot length. The barbed tip nearly hit her nose. Spittle landed on her cheek, wet and slimy.
Disgust roiled in her gut. She threw her dagger. It sailed through the air with a soft whoosh.
He jerked his head and the knife sailed past him, embedding into a pine tree with a loud thunk.
Crap. That was her only weapon, the rest still on her bedside table. She’d have to fight him in panther form.
A smile tugged at his lip, revealing his serrated teeth. He raised his hand, his blade-like claws glinting in the soft moonlight.
Movement flashed out of the corner of her eye. A male Panthera burst from the trees. Sleek and toned, his strong muscles flexed beneath his dark fur.
He tackled the Gossum, taking him down. The pair rolled, end over end. Bits of rubble and pine needles scattered across the path in their wake.
The panther’s snarl filled the air, along with his familiar scent.
She stilled. Aramond.
Even in his panther form, she recognized him. The dark sheen in his fur, the intensity in his eyes, the chip on the end of one fang. How was this possible? She hadn’t seen him in over six hundred years.
I thought he was dead.
Something in her chest fluttered, but then bitterness filled her mouth.
Father lied to me.
She took a step forward looking for a way to help, but the pair battled too close together. Aramond bit the Gossum in the shoulder.
The creature screamed and raked its claws down Aramond’s back.
Aramond lost his grip, his lips pulling tight over his fangs. The beast squirmed out of reach and took off, into the forest.
Aramond’s hackles visibly rose, and a loud, furious snarl burst from him. He peered over his shoulder, his gaze narrowing on her. The fur on his back smoothed, the hackles disappearing.
She took a step toward him, curiosity pushing her forward. “Aramond?”
He shifted. In place of a large black panther, a tall male stood. He wore ragged blue jeans and a torn white T-shirt. Thick, dark hair covered his head and the shadow of a beard coated his strong jaw. Almond skin accentuated deep brown eyes that reflected the moon’s rays. He was as she remembered—strong, stoic, beautiful.
Time seemed to slow. She held her breath.
“Danae…” His deep, soothing voice floated across the space between them.
“Where have you… Why did you…” The half-formed, painful questions tumbled from her mouth.
His brow furrowed over his arresting eyes. He stiffened, yet his nose twitched. His gaze scanned behind her into the forest before he flicked to the faded mark on her neck then met her eyes.
“Where is your mate…Dradon?” His voice turned harsh at the mention of her ex-mate’s name.
She opened her mouth then closed it again, unwilling to risk herself with any male, even him. Males can’t be trusted.
She took a step back.
Not far away, in the cover of the darkened forest, a hiss echoed—Gossum.
Aramond turned to face the threat.
She used his distraction to capitalize on the opportunity. After slipping into her panther form, she darted for the forest. Aramond brought back memories, recollections of a time long ago. Her fear of him, as much as of the Gossum, made her bolt. Eons ago, she’d trusted him, longed to bond with him.
Not anymore.
She couldn’t allow him to find her. Maybe, if she was lucky, he wouldn’t track her. Deep in her traitorous heart, a part of her prayed he would.
Want to read more?
Marked by Love is available for pre-order at a special price that won't last long after release day, so snag your copy now!
Marked by Love is available for pre-order at a special price that won't last long after release day, so snag your copy now!