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.
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.
Thank you for reading the first chapter of Marked by Love. If you'd like to read more, the story is available at the following retailers.