Secrets at Midnight(27)

He groaned. “I should be up for sainthood.” Finding a blanket, he covered her sleeping body . . . and smiled at her drowsy murmur of his name before she snuggled down again.

A few minutes later, he called Lucas to update him on Kirby’s shift and species, then requested his alpha reach out through DarkRiver’s network of allies and friends to see if anyone knew of a lynx pack that had lost a Canadian lynx child approximately twenty-three years ago. He couldn’t assume Kirby had come from Canada, however, as there were American packs that included Canadian lynx. A number had even emigrated to join packs in Europe’s colder climes.

While wild lynx tended to be solitary, or stick to very small groups, changeling lynx had been influenced by the human half of their nature—akin to other feline changelings—to create larger, tightly bonded packs. Someone had to be missing a child, though the fact that Kirby had never been claimed argued against that.

Bastien hoped he was wrong. His mate had been alone so long—he wanted her to have a family, a pack. He was ready to offer his own in a heartbeat, but he also knew she’d have questions about her past, her existence as a lynx that he and his packmates wouldn’t be able to answer.

“Bastien?”

Having been stirring the protein-rich stew he’d made for her, he turned to find Kirby sitting up in bed, blanket wrapped around her body. Warm and soft with sleep, she was so perfect his heart ached. “There you are, little cat.” Turning off the cooker, he went to the bed and, taking a seat, cuddled her into his lap.

A yawn, her nose warm as she nuzzled at his throat. “I really am. A little cat.”

“You’re a Canadian lynx,” he said, his leopard rolling around in the sweet and wild taste of her, her two different scents now gorgeously combined into a single strong and unique thread. “Cute tufted ears and all.”

She froze, a dark shadow passing over her face. “A lynx?”

“Hey.” Fisting his hand in her hair, he rubbed his nose over her own. “What’s the matter?”

“C-can we still be together?” Kirby forced herself to ask, the idea of losing Bastien making her cat—a lynx!—hiss and snarl. “If I’m a lynx?” Not that it mattered; she would fight for him until her claws were bloody and her body broken. He was hers.

“Did I ever tell you about Mercy’s mate?” Bastien said with a slow smile that made her abdomen clench.

“Yes. His name is Riley.”

“He’s a wolf.”

Kirby’s cat sat up inside her, shook its head. Kirby felt like doing the same. “A wolf?”

“Yeah, that’s what my brothers and I said.” A scowl. “Planned to beat him up for it, too, but he adores Mercy so we tolerate him.”

Kirby saw right through the bluster. “You really like him,” she said, joy bubbling through her.

“Maybe.” A playful bite of her jaw, his teeth grazing her skin.

“Grr—”

Laughing from deep in his chest when she slapped a hand over her mouth, he drew away that hand to drop a tender kiss to the center of her palm. “You need to eat, my ferocious lynx,” he said, but seemed powerless to stop himself from dipping his head and running his lips up the sensitive line of her throat.

She arched into the caress.

“You’re all pretty skin and curves and luscious heat.” A wet kiss to the point just above her pulse; it made her shudder and curl her hand around his nape.

“I want to push off this blanket”—another kiss—“and spend all night exploring every delicious inch of you.”





CHAPTER 9





An hour later, dressed in one of Bastien’s shirts and a pair of panties from her overnight bag, Kirby finished eating and decided she could cheerfully murder the man beside her. Despite his aroused body and erotic kisses, he’d made it clear he had no intention of going any further, regardless of her repeated assurances that he would in no way be taking advantage of her.

“I feel gloriously, vividly alive,” she said as he fed her a thin slice of ripe pear, the dark, masculine scent of him making her breasts swell, her cat rubbing up against her skin in an effort to get closer to him. “It’s as if I’ve only been half-awake this entire time.”

She let him slide a second slice of succulent fruit between her lips, a drop of juice dripping down her chin. Bastien leaned over from where he was sprawled in the chair next to her own, still wearing just those well-loved jeans that hung distractingly low on his hips, and licked it off. Her breasts strained further, the place between her thighs damp. When his eyes went to half-mast, night-glow green glinting at her as his chest rose in a deep inhale, she had to fight to withhold a whimper.