“Would she mind?” Kirby loved her new position and wanted to do a good job; she wasn’t too proud to ask for help from more experienced teachers.
“No, she’s a sweetheart. I’ll get her number from the pack directory, tell her to give you a call.” His lips curved again. “Of course, that means you have to give me your number.”
“Or I could ask Vera for Annie’s contact details,” she teased, the compulsion to touch him so aggressive that she had to fold her arms to keep from reaching out. Still, a wild, unknown part of her lunged at him, as if it would shove out of her very skin.
“Oh, that’s just mean.” Scowl darkening his features, he reached across to tug at her hair. “Did you meet Vera at the kindergarten?”
“Two of her grandchildren attend and she comes in as a volunteer a couple of times a week.” The other woman had, for reasons of her own, taken Kirby under her wing at their first meeting, becoming her first friend in this city. “Do you always work on Sundays?”
“Only when necessary.” Settling into his seat as they hit the highway, he said, “Tell me more stories about the kids you teach.”
Smiling, Kirby did, then Bastien told her about his pack, about the forests he loved, asked her what it had been like to live in Georgia. The time passed in a heartbeat, until she blinked in surprise at realizing they were almost to her apartment.
“I—” She hissed out a breath.
“Kirby?” Bastien’s gaze snapped to her, returned to the road a second later. “I’ll pull over.”
“No, it’s nothing.” Wincing, she rubbed her abdomen, the stabbing sensation already subsiding, as it had the other three times she’d felt it since moving to San Francisco. “I’ve been eating too much pier fast food,” she admitted, scrunching up her nose.
It was all so new and different: the water, the seagulls, the rich clam chowder served in a sourdough bowl that she’d had twice already this week, including for lunch today. “I just have to get back on the straight and narrow and I’ll be fine.”
Bastien frowned. “We’ll go to a clinic, just in case.”
Shaking her head, she indicated a parking space in front of the three-story building in Chinatown where she’d found an affordable apartment courtesy of the fact it was the size of a shoebox. She didn’t mind. What mattered was that it was within walking distance of the kindergarten and in the heart of the city, meaning she never experienced the icy kiss of absolute aloneness. “I don’t feel sick really.” It was a sharp, vicious pain when it struck, but then it faded, which was why she kept talking herself into more pier food.
Having parked the car, Bastien touched the back of his hand to her forehead. “No fever at least.” He took a card from the wallet he’d thrown into a holder when he entered the car. “This is my number. Call me if you feel worse. I’ll drop by on my way home to check in on you.”
Used to taking care of herself, she said, “You don’t have to.” The comment went directly against the huge part of her that wanted to crawl into his lap and ask him not to leave, her skin aching for his.
“Kirby, I’m a dominant predatory changeling male,” he said, as if that explained everything, his tone suddenly unbending. “I also have a mother who’d box my ears if I left you alone in this situation, not to mention what Vera would do to me.” A deep smile that creased his cheeks. “Have pity.”
Kirby didn’t have to argue with herself to answer. No, the battle was to maintain some kind of control over a body and a mind that were rocketing out of her control. “All right,” she said, stomach fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with pain. “Do you work from the DarkRiver building?”
Stepping out, he opened the passenger door for her and waited until she was on her feet before leaning back against the car to say, “No. My team and I have a dedicated space in the Financial District.”
Only a few minutes away, the madness in her whispered.
“I’ll be there till about seven.” Rising to his full height, Bastien curved his hand around the side of her neck for a moment. “I’ll come by right after.” He brushed his thumb over her pulse. “Yes?”
Throat dry, she nodded. “Yes.”
His gaze dropped to her lips and for a second she thought he’d kiss her, but then he drew back his hand, the green of his eyes leopard-wild. “Rest.” A rough command. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Heart a staccato drumbeat against her ribs, she watched him prowl around to get into the driver’s seat. Cat, definitely a cat.
CHAPTER 3
Bastien loved numbers, loved the high-stakes energy of the financial world—but thanks to his family and his pack, he also had a solid, stable head on his shoulders. It was what made him so good at what he did.
Most of DarkRiver’s investments were medium to high yield, low-risk, which meant that if carefully managed, as Bastien managed them, the pack was immune to market fluctuations. However, and with his alpha’s knowledge and authorization, he also had a small percentage in extremely high-yield, extremely high-risk investments that kept their portfolio from stagnating.
Over the years since he’d taken charge of that portfolio, he’d increased DarkRiver’s financial assets exponentially, and he had no intention of stopping that trajectory. So yeah, he liked his job, liked that what he did helped maintain and support his pack, but today, the hours couldn’t pass fast enough. His leopard snarled inside his mind, wanting to go to Kirby, and it took all of his human willpower not to give in, not to find her, bite down on her neck, mark her.
Shoving a hand through his hair, he grabbed a bottle of cold water in a futile attempt to cool things down. He could be as possessive as any predatory changeling, but he’d never felt such a feral need to brand a woman. Not that his response to her was exactly a surprise.
Kirby, after all, was his mate.
It didn’t always happen this hard, this fast. Mercy and her mate, Riley, had known one another for years before the mating dance slapped them both sideways. But for some, it happened in that first, stunning instant of contact.
The knowing was visceral, as if he’d sensed the other half of himself, her presence intoxicating to his senses.
The soft and the wild, the two scents that were both hers.
He frowned. The feline whisper to Kirby’s scent hadn’t made another appearance the entire time he’d spent with her and that was impossible for a changeling, so she was definitely human. His human. Leopard and man, both parts of him smiled, figuring he’d have plenty of time to work out the complex mystery of her scent.
Had she been changeling, he’d have—No, he’d have done exactly the same things he planned to do to win his sexy little human mate. He’d court her, seduce her, pleasure her . . . and by the time she realized what was happening, she’d already be his. The last thing he could afford to do was come on so strong that he scared her.
With that thought in mind, he rolled up his sleeves and focused on figures that today seemed as dry and as boring as dust, in spite of the financial turmoil caused by the recent political shift among the Psy. That’s what a lot of people didn’t understand—the psychic race might’ve been standoffish to a large degree until recently, but all three races—human, changeling and Psy—were connected on a global level; civil war in one sphere affected them all.
Sometimes, it was subtle, as with the market fluctuations, other times overt.
Bastien’s mouth set in a grim line as he considered the toxic bomb discovered ten days prior in the city’s central skytrain station.
“But that,” he muttered, “isn’t what you need to be thinking about right now. Get to work so you can spend as much time as possible with Kirby in the coming week.”
He did exactly that, was ready for a break when his phone rang a couple of hours later, Grey’s number on the display. “What do you want, shrimp?”