Her Strength

Nude

The bath had been oddly luxurious considering I’m technically a hostage and even though I refused to enjoy even a moment of it, I had to admit that being clean did feel nice.  Paola had left new clothing on the sink—just a pair of gray joggers and a white t-shirt—with a new toothbrush resting upon it.

    She’d thought of everything, I guess.

    After a quick brush and change, I’d wandered out of the bathroom, blindly turning a corner an nearly walked into a large black jaguar.  I felt the rush of panic at the presence of the motionless jungle cat, poised in a seated position, staring at me but calmed a bit when I realized the cat is also . . . a human.  A shifter.  Right?

    “Hi,” I muttered, not sure what else to do.

    No nod or acknowledgement, just a yellow, icy glare.

    Great.

    Anxious, I shifted my weight, taking a nervous step sideways, down the hall, toward what I hoped was the front of the house.  I could make a break for it but I was pretty sure a creature this size would have no problem outrunning me though.  Even if I tried to run into a nearby room and shut the door between us, I was pretty sure it could easily lunge forward and it’s not like I could hold it’s body weight.

    How heavy is a jaguar normally?

    Like three hundred pounds probably.  And I wasn’t convinced this was a normal size jaguar anyway.  It seemed . . . really big.

    “You’re, um, not going to eat me, right?” I asked timidly, taking another side-step.

    There was a loud huff and I hesitated, wondering how to take that.

    Was that a sigh?  Was he angry with me?

    It was all muscle and, rising to it’s feet, I froze back against the wall, trying to come up with some kind of solution to this problem—and then it walked away. Toward the opposite end of the hall, the opposite direction, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.  Then he stopped walking and it’s large head turned back toward me, eyes leveling me with another soul reaching glare.

    He . . . wants me to follow him?

    “Should I follow you?”

    Another huff.

    “Is that a yes?”

    And the jaguar . . . it rolled its eyes at me.

    A jaguar was giving me attitude.

    My inner child started screaming because shifters are real.  They’re real.  And if they’re real just as Cronan had said that meant . . . the mermaid was real too.  Elves.  Faeries.  Dragons. Gods.  I was so shocked and awed that by the time I’d won back some rational thought, the jaguar was already walking again and I got the gist that I was supposed to follow after him.  So . . . against my better judgement, I did just that.

    He took me all the way across the mansion, to a bedroom.

    My bedroom?

    It couldn’t be—it was probably the grandest room I’d ever seen.

    Large picture windows took up almost the entire wall, French doors leading out to a large patio with another view of the cliff, just from a slightly different angle.  The bed was large, probably a California King, adorned in super expensive looking gold bedding.  There was even lights strung up along the large bedposts alongside a tapestry of sorts falling like a waterfall across the bed.

    It was fairytale-ish.

    Not at all befitting my current situation.

    When the jaguar went to leave, I called out to it.  “Wait.”  It did, turning back to me.  “Um, I think we’re in the wrong room.  Shouldn’t I be tied up somewhere?  Sleeping in a dungeon maybe?”

    The jaguar c****d his head to the side, still staring at me.

    Unsettling wasn’t the right word.

    “Can’t you . . . change back?” I whispered.  “Please?”

    Another eye roll.

    And then the jaguar was changing, shifting, I guess.  The c***k of bones—I watched dumbly as a nude man rose from a crouched position, staring at me blankly.  Shamelessly.

    Averting my eyes to the ceiling, I mumbled, “Don’t you have clothes?”

    “So many demands,” he grumbled.  His voice was rough, deep, the same as earlier.

    “Um, I’m sorry.  I just . . . you were a big cat—”

    “Jaguar,” he huffed.

    “Right,” I mumbled, eyes shifting down to take in his face.  Tanned, strong jawed, with piercing blue eyes, his shaggy brown hair fell in messy curls, framing his young face.  Are all mythological creatures gorgeous?  My eyes wandered south, over his torso, and I immediately snapped my eyes back to the ceiling, remembering that he wasn’t wearing pants.  “I don’t mean to bother you, I just . . . this can’t be where you meant to take me.  There’s some kind of mistake.”

    “Xavier doesn’t make mistakes,” the man assured me.

    He seemed oddly defensive of a guy who called him "big cat" in Italian.  “But why am I here?”

    “You are a Rosario—”

    “Blackwell,” I corrected.  “My last name is Blackwell.”

    “But you have the blood of a Rosario, no?”

    Forcing my eyes back to his, I took in his quirked brow and frowned, realizing I may not be talking to a man at all.  Despite his frightening build, something about his face, his features—he kind of reminded me of Theo.  “How old are you?”

    The man boy looked annoyed.  “This is your room.  Deal with it.”  And then he was changing, shifting again, and the jaguar seemed completely uninterested in discussing anything further, already moving quickly out of the room, leaving me alone.

    They left me alone a lot for a captive.

    Did they think I wouldn’t try to run?

    That I’d just do what I was told?

    Moving to the balcony, sizing up the distance to the ground again, I watched as the jaguar strolled on outside, lying down in the grass just below.  He didn’t even bother looking up at me, probably didn’t have to.

    Trapped.

    And Zech—he was trapped here too.  Somewhere.

    I thought about him passed out on a bed.  Knocked out.

    I needed to find him.

    With his help, we might be able to get the hell out of here.