The Shapeshifter's Bride

Chapter Five

Daisy slammed the bathroom door and collapsed against it, her pulse hammering wildly beneath her fingertips as she sought the thrumming beat at the base of her throat. The smooth wood felt cool against her overheated skin, a sharp contrast to the electric current still dancing along her nerve endings. She slid down until her bottom met the chill embrace of marble, her body boneless, unstrung.

Her hands skimmed cautiously over her arms, half-expecting the spark of static that might jump between her fingertips and skin. The fine hairs rose to meet her touch, crackling with an energy that had nothing to do with the bathroom's humidity and everything to do with *him*. Christian Eastwick. The man who didn't even need to touch her to set her entire body humming like a live wire. Being near him was like standing before an electrical storm with a metal rod in hand, feeling the universe daring her to reach out, to connect, to complete the circuit that would either illuminate or obliterate her.

"What is happening?" The words escaped her lips before she could catch them, hanging in the steamy air like a confession.

It was her biggest clue that Christian wasn't human. Humans left her feeling hollow, indifferent. Fellow leopards made her skin crawl with an itchy, maddening sensation that drove her to the edge of sanity. But Christian... Christian made her feel *disrupted*. As if someone had rearranged her internal wiring without a blueprint for putting it back together. He spun her right round, baby, right round like a record, baby... right round, round, round.

Daisy clutched her head between her arms, forehead dropping to her knees as the earworm took hold. How could she protect herself against something—someone—she couldn't even classify? How could she build defenses when she didn't know what weapons to use?

He lingered in her thoughts like the ghost note of a song, present even in silence. Last night, when he'd come to fetch her for dinner, she'd planned to barricade herself in this ornate prison. Alec had summoned her to the table, but she'd refused, determined to bribe some leopard minion for pizza and binge "Squid Games" instead. But Christian had simply popped the door hinges—so casually, as if doors were mere suggestions rather than barriers—and leaned against the jamb, all coiled power and effortless authority.

She'd thrown a sneaker at his forehead, a direct hit that should have at least made him flinch. Nothing. Not even a blink of those silver eyes that seemed to see straight through her brittle shell to the mess underneath. When he'd offered—so politely, the bastard—to carry her over his shoulder downstairs, she'd had no choice but to follow. The thought of his hands on her body, those large palms spanning her waist, fingers pressing into the curve where hip met thigh... No. She couldn't risk that touch. Not when she already felt like she might combust from proximity alone.

During dinner, he'd watched her from across the table, his gaze a tangible weight that she could feel against her skin. Conversation had been strained, with Daisy refusing to acknowledge Alec and Christian offering only the barest responses when addressed. The one blessing had been the absence of that maddening itch that usually plagued her around other shifters. For reasons she couldn't fathom, Christian's presence dampened the symptoms that typically drove her to claw at her own skin. She still felt uncomfortable, but for the first time since coming home, she didn't feel like peeling herself raw. He was like premium anti-itch cream in a devastatingly attractive package.

After dinner, he'd replaced her door knob with one that didn't lock, a silent message that privacy was now a privilege she no longer possessed.

Then came the dreams. Dreams that left her tangled in sweat-damp sheets, her body aching with unfulfilled desire. Dreams where she knew the taste of his mouth without ever having sampled it—rich and complex like aged whiskey or dark chocolate, the kind that melts slowly on your tongue, revealing new depths with each moment. Dreams where her skin sparked and sizzled beneath his touch, where her breasts felt heavy and sensitive, craving the rasp of his palms, where her lips parted on silent pleas for his mouth to claim them. Dreams where her inner leopard clawed desperately against its cage, frantic to be released, to claim or be claimed.

She'd almost bolted for his room, would have thrown herself at his mercy if Alfred hadn't barged in and yanked her back to reality, back to the surface where reason still existed.

Daisy banged her head against the door in frustration. She hated this feeling of powerlessness, this surrender to primal needs that bypassed her carefully constructed defenses. She hated desiring a man who looked at her like she was an inconvenient stain he couldn't quite remove. Everything he knew about her came filtered through Alec's biased lens, and she'd done little to prove those assumptions wrong—had, in fact, deliberately reinforced them with her bratty behavior.

"Why do I even give a s**t?" she muttered, the question ricocheting off the marble walls.

And she didn't want to care. Shouldn't care what one of Alec's lackeys thought of her. I don't, I don't, I don't... But there was a traitorous part of her that wanted to see something—anything—in those silver eyes besides cool assessment. She was used to the way men looked at her, the heat that flared in their gazes as they took in her curves, her olive skin, her midnight waves. But Christian's gaze remained clinical, detached, as if she were a particularly complicated math problem rather than a woman of flesh and blood and fire.

Maybe he was gay. He and Alec seemed unnaturally close, their silent exchanges at dinner speaking of a bond that went beyond mere friendship. She sighed at her own pettiness. Nice, Daisy, real mature—just like those frat boys who assume any woman who rejects them must be a lesbian.

Maybe it was better this way. She wouldn't know how to handle a man like Christian even if he did desire her. She was all jagged edges and half-truths, nothing someone like him would want to untangle.

She reached under the sink for her emergency stash—a bottle of Finnish vodka, the only kind she could drink straight. Finlandia was her crutch, her chemical shield against the misery of being surrounded by shifters whose very presence made her skin feel like it was crawling with fire ants. A healthy swig of vodka and a handful of Oxy was enough to take the edge off—not enough to kill a shifter like her, but just enough to dull the constant friction against her senses. It was also the perfect antidote to self-pity.

Drunk was infinitely preferable to wallowing.

The first hint of buzz caressed her mind like phantom fingertips, gentle and persuasive. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the pleasant vertigo, feeling her body melt against the cool floor. This was her favorite part of intoxication—the slow loosening of rigid control, the weightless floating sensation, and best of all, the blissful I-don't-give-a-f**k feeling that settled over her like a blanket. Her metabolism wouldn't allow it to last more than a couple hours, but oh, what glorious hours they would be.

She would have been content to remain there, a puddle of momentary peace, if not for the sudden pounding against the door that rattled her bones and thundered through her vodka-soaked brain like cannon fire.

"What the hell is taking you so long? Did you O.D. in there?"

Daisy cracked open one eye and groaned, pushing herself away from the door before it could crush her. She scrambled to her hands and knees, crawling toward the clawfoot tub with movements that felt uncoordinated and sluggish. She slumped against its side, her limbs draped over the rim like wet laundry left to dry.

The door burst open with a crack that reverberated through her skull.

Christian's eyes widened when he spotted her, then narrowed with something that looked dangerously like concern as he strode across the room. "Jesus," he muttered, strong arms sliding beneath her body to lift her from the floor.

She hadn't had time to evade his touch—not that she could have in this state, with her brain swimming through molasses and her tongue feeling too thick for her mouth. Under normal circumstances, she could outrun and outjump most shifters she knew. But now, cradled against his chest like something precious and fragile, all she could register was the delicious heat of his skin against hers. It wasn't an ordinary warmth—it was like being touched by living flame, a fire that burned somewhere deeper than physical sensation.

"Goddamn it, Daisy, what did you take?" he demanded, his voice tight with an emotion she couldn't identify. When she didn't respond, he gave her a gentle shake. "Tell me!"

Her lips refused to part, sealed together as if superglued.

"You stupid, stupid girl. Wake up!" There was something raw in his voice now, something that belied the harshness of his words.

Why was he being so mean? Maybe if she kissed him, showed him with her body what her tongue-tied mouth couldn't articulate... No, that wouldn't work. He didn't even like her. He was just Alec's hired muscle, a glorified babysitter assigned to keep her in line.

If she could move her arms, she'd punch him. Or maybe stroke the hard planes of his chest, slip her fingers beneath his shirt to explore the ridges and valleys of muscle she just knew lay hidden there...

"Come on, Daisy, open your eyes. Don't make me call Alec."

The name was like a bucket of ice water. Alec. Christian was his loyal soldier. Just another in a long line of men who would hurt her, betray her. She didn't need Christian. Didn't need the secure cradle of his arms or the gentle sweep of his fingers as he brushed her hair from her face.

And then something happened.

Deep inside her, where the leopard prowled restlessly behind its cage of human flesh, another presence stirred. Something older, darker, more primal than even her shifter nature. It unfurled like smoke, filling the hollow spaces of her soul, and then pushed outward through her skin, through the barrier between intention and reality.

"s**t!"

Christian's exclamation rang in her ears as she was suddenly, violently released. The world tilted and spun, gravity reasserting itself as she sailed through the air, landing with a soft thud on her bed. Through blurry vision, she saw Christian's body propelled in the opposite direction, as if thrown by invisible hands. He crashed into the bathroom wall with a sickening sound of impact, marble cracking beneath the force of his body, and then slid to the floor in a boneless heap.

Cold sobriety shot through her veins, burning away the haze of vodka. "Oh God, oh God, I killed him..." She scrambled to his side, her fingers trembling as they brushed his shoulder. "Christian? Are you okay?"

But the familiar blanket of crawling discomfort announced her brother's arrival before she could assess the damage.

"f**k, Daisy, what the hell did you do to him?" Alec's voice was sharp with accusation.

Before she could formulate an answer, Christian groaned and stirred. She watched in fascination as the cut above his brow knitted itself together, blood retreating beneath healing skin. Her fingertips whispered across his cheek, and she couldn't suppress the shiver that raced up her arm at the contact.

Christian caught her hand briefly before pushing it away. "I'm fine." His lips curved in a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "Learned my lesson. Never bother a leopard before her morning coffee."

Daisy opened her mouth to protest, but the warning in Christian's gaze silenced her. She took a deep breath and pressed her back against the wall, suddenly aware of how small the bathroom felt with both men inside it.

"Good one, brother, you could have been killed." Alec extended a hand and hauled Christian to his feet. "You sure you're all right? Do you want me to call Dr. Hathaway?"

"Dude, I'm fine," Christian said, brushing marble dust from his shirt. "Your little sister has one hell of a right hook."

Daisy stared at him in disbelief. Why was he lying for her? Christian avoided her gaze, but something in his stance—a subtle tensing of his shoulders, a slight angling of his body toward her—suggested he wanted her to remain silent. And what could she possibly say that wouldn't sound delusional? Hey, big brother, I think I just telekinetically threw your friend across the room with my mind. It was impossible. She'd never displayed any such ability before. It couldn't have happened. It didn't happen. Which meant she should definitely keep her mouth shut.

"And why would Daisy be punching you?" Alec's gaze flicked between them, suspicious.

Christian shrugged one shoulder casually. "Tried to get her out of bed. Figured she needed some time to pretty herself up before heading out, or she'll be late for her first day at the library."

Alec seemed satisfied with the explanation. "A 'f**k off' would have sufficed, little sister. You don't need to add aggravated assault to your list of crimes."

"Whatever," Daisy muttered, pushing past Alec to escape the suffocating space. Both men looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. She gritted her teeth, painfully aware of how exposed she was in just a tank top and panties. "If it's not too much to ask, could you gentlemen leave so I can finish prettying myself up?"

"If you say so," Alec replied, heading for the door. "And hurry it up, will you? I don't want your probation officer coming to the door looking for you."

"Never a dull moment around here," Christian murmured once Alec had gone.

Daisy found him watching her with an expression she couldn't decipher. Was that wariness in those silver depths? Curiosity? Something deeper, more dangerous? She rubbed her arms vigorously, suddenly self-conscious of her state of undress. "Well, I should... umm, I should get ready."

Christian nodded. "You can use my bathroom if you wish. I wouldn't want you to cut your feet on the broken marble back there."

"I heal quickly."

"Nevertheless."

As he turned to leave, Daisy caught his sleeve, her fingers brushing against the warm skin of his wrist. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry about—"

"You shouldn't apologize for something you didn't do." His voice was quiet but firm.

Daisy frowned, perplexed. "But..."

"Shut up, Daisy. For once, do as you're told." He returned to the bathroom and emerged moments later carrying the Finlandia and the orange pill bottle. "You have five minutes. Or I'm gonna come back and drag you out of here."

"Thank you." The words felt inadequate, weighted with questions she wasn't sure how to ask.

He didn't respond as he walked out the door, but she felt his presence linger, an electric charge that refused to dissipate even after he'd gone.

* * *

The digital clock on the Range Rover's dashboard read seven-fifty. Daisy cradled a travel mug of coffee in her hands, the warmth seeping through her palms a poor substitute for the heat she'd felt rolling off Christian's skin earlier. He sat beside her in the driver's seat, fingers tapping against the steering wheel in precise rhythm with the gentle patter of rain against the roof. Coltrane's "Lazy Bird" drifted from the speakers, filling the space between them with notes that seemed to dance and twine like lovers.

The library waited just beyond the windshield—a three-story brick building with white double doors closed against the weather, though the sign indicated it was open. Daisy sipped her coffee and grimaced. Alfred had ruined it with too much sugar, turning what should have been a bitter pleasure into cloying disappointment. She set the mug in the cup holder and pulled her purse onto her lap, an unconscious signal of her readiness to escape the electric confines of the car.

"I'll stick around for a bit to check the place out." Christian's voice was casual, but the underlying tension in his shoulders betrayed his alertness.

"Yeah." Daisy tugged her jacket tighter, though whether she was protecting herself from the rain or from him, she couldn't say. "I should go."

"All right."

He exited the car and circled around to her side, his movements fluid and predatory despite the veneer of human mannerism. His eyes scanned their surroundings with calculated precision before he opened her door. "Wait," he said sharply as she moved to step out.

"What?" she demanded, irritation masking the way her pulse kicked up at his commanding tone.

He held up a hand, the gesture both protective and restraining. Daisy was preparing a scathing retort when she felt it—a sensation that skittered along her spine like claws. Similar to the crawling-ants feeling that other shifters triggered, but different somehow. Rougher, sharper, like sandpaper dragged across raw nerve endings. Her gaze lifted beyond the dashboard to where a man and woman stood beside a lamp post five feet away.

The woman was a flame-haired vision of tacky excess, poured into a leopard-print tube dress that showcased every abundant curve. Torn fishnet stockings and knee-high boots completed the ensemble. The man beside her was equally theatrical in his torn black t-shirt and red leather pants. A silver chain connected a nose ring to something beneath his shirt—n****e, Daisy presumed, suppressing a wince. They had the disheveled, hungry look of predators at the end of a long night rather than the beginning of a day.

"Stay," Christian ordered, his body shifting subtly to shield her, muscles coiled beneath his casual clothing.

"What are they?" she asked, her voice embarrassingly breathless. Butch up, Daisy...

"Hyenas."

In that moment, with danger lurking just beyond the glass and Christian's body a living barrier between her and harm, Daisy couldn't help but wonder about what had happened in the bathroom. How had she thrown him—a man who was clearly powerful, clearly other—with nothing but a surge of emotion? And why was he protecting her secret, even from Alec?

More importantly, why did the memory of his arms around her, even during a moment of danger, send a rush of heat through her core that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a hunger she wasn't ready to name?