The Shapeshifter's Bride

Chapter Eight

Daisy sensed him before he appeared—a shift in the library's atmosphere, molecular and electric. The air thickened, particles rearranging themselves around an impending storm. When Christian materialized in the doorway, silhouetted against dying afternoon light, her breath caught in her throat. A primal response rippled beneath her skin—desire wrapped in warning.

Something had changed. His usual leonine confidence had contorted into something darker, more dangerous. Shoulders hunched beneath supple black leather, legs crossed at the ankles, hands buried deep in pockets—a coiled predator preparing to strike. The hard line of his jaw worked silently, a muscle pulsing in counterpoint to the veins threading his throat. Silver eyes, normally cool and assessing, burned with banked fury. Whatever phone call had pulled him away earlier had transformed him from guardian to avenger.

Until today, Christian had moved with a self-possession that stirred something primitive in her core. Not arrogance, as she'd first assumed, but certainty—a man intimately familiar with his body's capabilities, its limits and strengths. Time had forced revisions of her initial judgments, perhaps even grudging admiration. Her fingertips tingled with sudden, unbidden urge to smooth away the knot between his brows, to work the tension from his shoulders beneath her palms. The forbidden image flickered through her mind with dangerous clarity—his skin warm beneath her touch, muscles yielding to her fingers, a soft groan escaping his lips as the strain dissolved under her ministrations.

He lifted his head, catching her stare with preternatural awareness. Heat bloomed across her cheeks, spreading down her neck in a telltale flush as she busied herself with straightening books, suddenly fascinated by alphabetical order. Nervous energy vibrated through her limbs at the prospect of sitting beside him in the car, too close within the leather-scented confines of his Range Rover. The leopard inside her stirred, stretching languidly against the cage of her ribs, waking to hunger and possibility.

It wanted to mark him, to claim him with scent and touch and taste. Madness. She dug fingernails into her palms until crescents of pain grounded her in reality, the sharp sting a counterpoint to dangerous yearning.

"It's six o'clock, dear. Closing time." Mrs. Sullivan's voice cut through her thoughts, weathered hand patting her arm with grandmotherly affection. "Were you having so much fun putting away books that you lost track of time? Your poor bodyguard has been waiting patiently for you for a good ten minutes now!" The elderly woman leaned closer, powder and lavender scent enveloping Daisy as lips curved in wicked conspiracy. "And that's not a man you should keep waiting for long."

Warmth spread across Daisy's chest and throat as she murmured excuses, retreating to the office for her belongings. The ancient wall mirror captured her reflection—wild tendrils escaping her chignon like prison-breakers, framing her face in raven chaos. More alarming was the fever-brightness in her eyes, pupils dilated to obsidian pools that nearly eclipsed emerald irises, cheeks flushed with color that owed nothing to cosmetics. Her heartbeat pulsed visibly in her throat, a primal drumbeat echoing beneath her skin. A nervous laugh escaped her lips, high and unfamiliar to her own ears.

*Oh, Daisy, this is sooooo not good...*

The leopard pushed against her consciousness with growing insistence, claws scraping at the walls of its confinement. Its growl vibrated through her skull as she approached Christian, forcing her to steady herself against sudden vertigo. The creature wanted freedom, wanted *him*, its desperation manifesting as physical ache beneath her skin, hot and demanding. She sent a silent command for retreat, power gathering behind her mental barriers. The beast retaliated with a metaphysical swipe at her mind before subsiding into sullen compliance, still rumbling warnings of eventual escape.

Christian straightened at her approach, leather jacket creaking softly with the movement. His gaze swept her from crown to toe, missing nothing—not the loose strands of hair, the slight tremor in her fingers, nor the rapid pulse at the hollow of her throat. His large hands cupped her face with unexpected gentleness, thumbs brushing her cheekbones as silver eyes searched hers with unsettling intensity, penetrating layers of pretense.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She pulled away, skin burning where he'd touched her, nerve endings singing with aftershocks. His proximity set every cell alight, her blood a rushing river of awareness. The leopard purred its approval, hungry for more contact. She needed to Change soon before the creature drove her into madness, before control slipped through her fingers like water.

"Let's go, then." His voice roughened to gravel, leather jacket whispering as he opened the door. He scanned their surroundings with predatory vigilance before guiding her down the steps, fingers a brand against her elbow, five points of heat penetrating cotton sleeve to skin beneath. "Alec wants you dressed and ready for dinner within the hour."

"Well, I wasn't planning on going to dinner in my pajamas." She slid into the passenger seat, leather cool against her overheated skin, the scent of him concentrated in the confined space—cedar and rain and something wilder, untamed. Her carefully constructed fantasies for the evening had involved comfortable clothes and mindless television before slipping into the woods for the Change, not social obligations with her controlling brother.

Christian circled the vehicle with measured grace, movements fluid despite the tension evident in every line of his body. He settled behind the wheel, space between them shrinking to nothing inside the vehicle's confines. The air grew heavy, charged with unspoken currents. His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel as he spoke, tendons standing in stark relief against tanned skin.

"One of your suitors has arrived to meet you."

"One of my what?" The word hung between them, archaic and loaded with implication. Memory flashed—hyenas taunting about Alec selling her to the highest bidder, words she'd dismissed as calculated cruelty. "Is that how Alec is planning to get rid of me, unload me on some bumpkin leopard from God knows where?"

Christian turned toward her, moonlight-pale eyes reflecting dashboard glow, and the scent hit her like a physical blow. Beneath his familiar clean fragrance of night air and forest rain lurked something rancid and ancient—decay and darkness and endings. Her stomach twisted with primal recognition, instinct overriding reason.

"You smell like death." She pressed against the door, putting whatever distance she could between them in the confined space.

Silence stretched between them, his gaze heavy on her skin before he turned away, key scraping in the ignition with metallic finality. "One of your females was found dead this morning." Pain roughened his voice, scraped it raw, exposed the vulnerability beneath cultivated control. "I don't know if you know her. Her name was Leila Harris. She was... murdered." His throat worked, Adam's apple bobbing with suppressed emotion. "She was seven months pregnant."

Ice cascaded through Daisy's veins, freezing her from within. Leila—vibrant, beautiful Leila with her fiery copper hair and infectious laugh. High school confidante, co-conspirator, one of the few "acceptable" leopards in the Grand Dame's estimation. Their friendship had withered with time and distance, but the loss carved a hollow space beneath Daisy's ribs, empty and aching.

Something in Christian's voice, in the tension radiating from his shoulders and the careful way he avoided her eyes, suggested deeper wounds than professional detachment.

"Did you know her very well?"

His gaze flickered toward her, muscles tightening along his jaw as he braked for a red light, the vehicle settling into momentary stillness. Traffic lights painted his face in alternating crimson and shadow, highlighting the austere planes of his features.

"She came around the house a few times for dinner with her husband, Jamie. I've dealt with Jamie more than her, but she was a very nice woman. Alec called Jamie this morning to let him know."

The words were right, measured and appropriate, but something lay beneath them—a current of heartbreak that suggested intimacies unspoken. Jealousy flared, surprising in its intensity and possessiveness. Had he loved her? The thought burned, acid and unwelcome.

"How... did she die?"

"It's better that you ask your brother." The finality in his tone brooked no argument, steel beneath velvet.

Daisy shook her head, hair loosening further from its restraints. "You said she was murdered." The word slithered along her spine like something venomous, seeking entry. "Do you know by whom?"

Silver eyes flashed to hers, winter storms breaking. "Do you think if we had any idea who it was, I'd be sitting here with you playing chauffeur? We'd be hanging the bastard by his ankles now and skinning him alive."

The promise of violence in his voice wasn't empty rhetoric but cold certainty, a glimpse of capacity for savagery that normally lay hidden beneath civilization's thin veneer. His fury crackled between them, the electrical current normally connecting them transformed to dangerous voltage that threatened to consume them both. Every instinct urged escape from the confined space, but she remained frozen, arms wrapped around her middle as though holding herself together through will alone. Conflicting desires warred within her—comfort him or protect herself from the raw power emanating from his skin.

What she wouldn't give for vodka's merciful oblivion. Christian had confiscated her Finlandia, but tiny bottles from BevMo lay hidden in her overnight bag like emergency flares. She craved the burn down her throat, the blessed numbness spreading through limbs and mind, providing temporary respite from grief and fear. Once home, she needed solitude and liquid courage to face Alec, to process Leila's death without audience to her weakness.

She closed her eyes, head falling back against the headrest, surrendering momentarily to exhaustion. Darkness behind her lids bloomed into vivid imagery—Leila dancing through sunflowers, copper hair aflame in golden light, laughing, beckoning. The scene shifted with dream-logic suddenness. Leila naked, spread-eagled on dirt, staring sightlessly at a crimson sky. A thin red line appeared from neck to pubis, the flesh parting like ripe fruit. From the wound, an infant spilled forth, silent cries lost to unhearing ears.

"s**t!" Daisy lurched forward, fingers clawing into her hair, dislodging pins from her chignon. Sweat plastered clothing to her skin, heart hammering against her ribcage like caged bird seeking freedom. "Oh, God." The image burned behind her eyelids, indelible and accusing.

"What?" Christian pulled to the curb with screeching suddenness, his hand warm and steady on her shoulder. "Tell me what's wrong."

Reality reasserted itself in fragments—Alec's mansion looming beyond the windshield, gravel drive gleaming in dying sunlight. "Oh, God..." Her fingers twisted in Christian's sleeve, anchoring herself against horror's undertow. "Was Leila found in a field somewhere cut open from neck to waist and her baby ripped out?"

His expression froze, silver eyes unreadable mirrors reflecting only her own fear back at her. "How did you know?"

"Because I saw her!" Sobs wracked her body, hot tears tracking down her cheeks in salty rivulets. "I saw her..."

---

Hysteria transformed Daisy into a wild creature in his arms, fighting his embrace with the desperate strength of the truly terrified. Nails raked, teeth snapped, primal sounds tearing from her throat as she battled his restraint. What did she mean she *saw* her? Alec had never mentioned clairvoyance among his sister's talents. Christian was beginning to suspect Daisy Sawyer transcended normal categorization, even among their kind.

"Daisy, darling girl, it's all right," he murmured against her hair, jasmine scent mingling with salt tears, even as her nails caught his chin, drawing blood in scarlet ribbons down his throat. Still, he held her, whispered comfort against her temple, hands stroking the tense curve of her spine beneath thin cotton. Gradually, her trembling subsided, body softening against him, resistance melting into surrender, palms coming to rest on his shoulders like reluctant flags of truce.

When she lifted her face, tears sparkled on lashes like morning dew, mascara tracing mourning lines down her cheeks. He retrieved tissues from beneath the seat, taking several to gently clean her face. She wouldn't want Alec witnessing vulnerability—the armor of indifference too precious to surrender. His thumb traced the delicate curve of her cheekbone, marveling at skin like silk beneath his touch, warm and vital against his fingertips. He tucked a stray lock behind her ear, fingers lingering at the tender hollow beneath her lobe, where pulse jumped beneath his touch.

Her gaze dropped to his chin, tracing the rapidly healing scratch. "Wow, I hope you heal more quickly than I do." She dabbed at the already-fading wound with her tissue, the gentle pressure a contrast to earlier violence. "You do heal more quickly than I do. It's all gone." Rueful laughter, soft and broken as glass. "I could have taken your eye out. Could you have healed that?"

His body could recover from nearly anything—save decapitation, though ancient texts spoke of remedies even for that among his ancestors. Only soul-wounds proved fatal to his kind. When the spirit decided the body had carried its burden long enough, death came regardless of spells or magic, summoned by weariness deeper than bone.

"Perhaps." He worked at a stubborn streak of mascara beneath her eye, the intimate gesture blurring boundaries between protector and something more dangerous. "But I don't suggest you try it. It might make me angry. You wouldn't like me if I'm angry."

"Who says I like you now?" Arched brow, defiant chin, the spark returning to emerald eyes.

He couldn't tell her he sensed her body's reactions—quickened pulse fluttering beneath delicate skin, shallow breath parting rose-tinted lips, the bloom of color across her cheeks like dawn breaking. More telling was his own response to her proximity—the uncontrollable surge of desire that defied centuries of self-discipline, tightening his body with need that bordered on pain. He'd dismissed old stories of fated mates as myth, fireside tales of life forces intertwining like silver ribbons between souls. Yet what else explained the electrical current flowing between them at every touch, the inexplicable certainty that she belonged with him, to him? Inconvenient fate, when Daisy Sawyer deserved to belong to no one but herself. His thumb traced her lower lip, memorizing its softness, the slight tremor that betrayed her despite bravado.

"I can do that." She took the tissues, turning away to face the mirror on the visor, the sudden distance a physical ache.

"What did you see, Daisy?"

Her hand froze before resuming its task, a shiver traveling her spine like electrical current. The hand in her lap trembled, fine bones visible beneath translucent skin. He covered it with his own, but she pulled away as though burned, tucking it against her hip where he couldn't reach. The rejection stung, though he understood her reluctance. She wanted him but didn't trust him—with good reason. His gaze traced the graceful curve of her neck, the determined angle of her jaw, the delicate shell of her ear with its tiny silver stud. Every inch of her called to him, but self-preservation kept his hands at his sides. Touch her again and he might never stop.

"Has anything like that ever happened to you before today?"

She crumpled the tissue in her fist, turning to face him with shadows swimming in emerald depths. "Do you mean, have I ever been eviscerated and left to die in the dirt? No."

The image twisted in his mind, Daisy suffering Leila's fate, copper replaced by raven, green eyes vacant instead of blue. He banished it before rage consumed him, before the beast inside clawed its way to freedom, hungering for vengeance.

"That's not what I meant. What you saw today, in your vision—have you ever seen anything like it?"

"Thankfully, the torture and savage murder of women is not on my brain's regularly scheduled program, no." Green eyes narrowed, suspicion crystallizing to certainty. "Leila isn't the first, is she? There have been other women. That's why Alec has you following me around. How many?"

Three others before Leila, each death more savage than the last. Whoever hunted their females escalated with each kill, artwork growing more elaborate, more grotesque. Without intervention, the violence would continue to spiral, consuming female after female until none remained.

"Four, including Leila." Truth seemed the only offering worth making. Alec had been foolish to shield her; Daisy was too perceptive for such deception. Knowledge might inspire caution where commands failed.

"Four." She rubbed her arms as though suddenly cold despite the evening heat, fingers tracing unconscious protective sigils against her skin. "And neither you nor Alec thought that I should know about it? The females of my community are getting slaughtered left and right, but you two decided I should be kept ignorant of it?"

He could blame Alec, shift responsibility to protect himself from her anger, but what purpose would that serve beyond momentary relief? Better to accept responsibility than risk her anger manifesting in dangerous ways—with him the likely target. "I have nothing to say in my defense."

"Well, at least you're honest." Her gaze assessed him, measuring truth against expectation. "Keeping yourself from speaking lies out loud shouldn't be too hard for you since you're about as talkative as my brother's giant." She winced suddenly, fingers pressing against her temple as pain lanced through her. "I lied. I had a vision this afternoon. It was bad. It felt like a migraine—"

"Alfred didn't say anything." Anger flared, hot and sudden. The factotum's loyalty should extend to reporting everything affecting Daisy's welfare, especially something with potential connection to the murders.

"I asked him not to." Her fingers brushed his forearm, the contact electric even through leather, sending sparks dancing beneath his skin. "I saw one of our female leopards in her house. It's Marylou Chen. She was just in her kitchen, making dinner for her husband, Steve. That was all I saw, but I had this feeling that she was in danger."

His hands found her shoulders, gentle despite urgency thrumming through his veins. "Jesus, Daisy. Thank you for telling me. I hope we're not too late."

She doubled over, arms wrapping around her middle as though containing something threatening to burst free. When he reached for her, she flinched away, rejecting comfort with a grimace of pain. "I hate this. I hate all of it. Why do I have this burden?"

"I don't know, Daisy. I truly don't. But I'm grateful that you do. Maybe your visions will help us catch the killer and prevent more deaths."

Tears welled in emerald eyes, transforming them to faceted jewels. "I don't want Alec to know I have this ability. He already thinks I'm a freak."

He sighed, shaking his head with the weight of impossible choices. "I have to tell him. He has to know everything about the situation, Daisy-girl. That's how a good Alpha makes informed decisions."

She wiped tears with angry motion, streak of mascara marring her skin like war paint. "And yet you ask me to trust you?"

"Daisy, please, try to—"

She snatched her purse from the floor, yanking the passenger door open with enough force to rock the vehicle. "Well, if I want to be presentable to my suitors, I might as well begin getting ready now. I wouldn't want to be late for dinner when my brother and I have so much to talk about." The door slammed behind her with gunshot finality.

Watching her stride toward the house, spine straight with indignation, hips swaying beneath casual denim, Christian contemplated what he would do if anyone dared harm her. Violence had never been his nature; he preferred retreat from unwinnable battles, resolution through wisdom rather than bloodshed. The temptation to drive away whispered seductively, engine purring beneath his hands, promising freedom from complication. But his oath to protect Daisy anchored him, binding him more surely than chains ever could. His kind never gave promises they couldn't fulfill, words carrying weight beyond mortal understanding.

He had already broken one sacred vow, watched the consequences unfold in blood and tears. He would not fail again, even if keeping this promise consumed him entirely.