Alyx

I sat at my grandmother’s table, kneading out yet another batch of sweet dough. “Tell me again why you’ve been possessed by the spirit of the baking gods this morning.”

Gram removed a tray from the oven and placed it on a set of hot pads. My heart squeezed when I recognized them as the ones I’d woven for her on one of those plastic looms at summer camp twenty years ago.

“Reid is back,” she said cheerfully, as if that explained everything. “He loves my homemade cinnamon rolls.”

“Ooo ... Is he a special friend of yours?” I waggled my eyebrows for effect.

“Oh, heavens no, child. He’s not a day over thirty-five. Younger, I’d say.”

“Honestly, Gram, I think he’s a little young for you.” My grandmother might have been young at heart, but there were limits.

I blew a rebellious strand of golden hair out of my face, knowing that, if I looked into a mirror, streaks of flour would be dusting my cheeks.

Her bright blue eyes twinkled. “Aye, that he is, Alyx.”

I felt an all too familiar niggling prickle at the back of my neck, the one that usually preceded my grandmother’s well-intentioned but unwelcomed meddling. She might be a notorious matchmaker, but that didn’t mean I would let her play Cupid with me.

“You can stop right there,” I warned. “I know that look in your eye, and you can just forget it. I’m not interested.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Gram gave the bowl of cream cheese icing a few stirs then started slathering the warm, buttery rolls, her face the picture of innocence. I knew better.

I rolled out the dough with surgical precision, the movement so rote I didn’t even have to think about it. “Lying doesn’t suit you, Gram.” I used a spatula to cover the perfect rectangle with her super-secret mix of butter, cinnamon, and a hint of nutmeg, then rolled it up and began slicing it into perfect swirls.

“Alyxandra,” she began. Her voice was gentle, yet the air around me sparked with power. “Reid is a good man. He might be able to help you.”

He could have been God’s gift to women and it wouldn’t have made any difference to me. I wasn’t interested.

I covered the rolls with a damp cloth, then set them over by the wood stove to let them rise. “I don’t need anyone’s help, Gram,” I said softly but firmly. “I can handle it.”

I appreciated my grandmother’s concern—I really did—but I preferred to keep my personal problems just that—personal. The less involved my family was, the better. Because when it came to getting what he wanted, Roger Chamberlain could be ruthless. A lifetime of wealth and privilege had convinced him that he was entitled to anything he wanted, including me.

However, what Roger didn’t seem to realize was that I wasn’t available, not for him, not for anyone who thought to use me for their own gain. No amount of pretty words, empty promises, or marriage proposals would change that.

Besides, Roger’s interests were not based in the heart as he would have me believe, but in whatever organ dealt with the lust for power. While he didn’t know all my secrets, he suspected I had special abilities, and that was unacceptable. I didn’t want my family anywhere on his radar. He wouldn’t think twice about using them to get to me and I was not going to let that happen.

I shouldn’t even be here, really, but I didn’t know where else to go. It was one of the reasons I was living in the apartment above my grandfather’s old shop like a boarder instead of at the house with Gram. In the event Roger showed up before I moved on, I didn’t want him to suspect who Grace was or what she was to me.

Three months ago, he had shown up at my apartment outside of Charlotte. Six months before that, he had tracked me down in Jacksonville. It was only a matter of time before he extended his long reach and paid me another visit. The arrogant ass figured, if he pursued me long enough, I would finally give in.

That was a great, big hell no.

I couldn’t explain any of that to Gram, though. She sensed something was wrong, but I couldn’t tell her the truth—that I had screwed up big time. That I had broken the most sacred rule of those gifted with special abilities—to never reveal our secrets outside the family.

It had been unintentional, but it had happened, and now I needed to deal with those consequences. The key word there was “I,” not “we.”

I could take my grandmother’s fussing and meddling, but I couldn’t bear to see her hurt because I had messed up. The less she knew, the safer she was. Therefore, instead of telling her the real reason I was laying low in Nowaskannock, I’d offered vague allusions to “man trouble.” That kind of thing was universal, regardless of ancestry, race, or religion, and easily believed. Besides, strictly speaking, it was the truth. Roger Chamberlain was a man, and he was definitely trouble.

Before she could press for more information, a sharp rap upon the kitchen door startled me.

Gram gave me a worried glance before peeking out between the brightly colored curtains. “It’s just Reid, child. Relax.”

That was my cue to skedaddle.

“I have to go.”

I was already up, sliding into my lined, black leather jacket, and halfway to the door that led out the back before she said, “Please, Alyx, just meet him.”

“No.” The word came out more harshly than I’d intended, and I immediately felt bad.

No part of my crappy situation was her fault. I’d gotten myself into this mess, and I was going to get myself out ... somehow.

“I’m sorry, Gram. I have to head in early today. Dylan’s having another spinal tap this morning, and I promised I’d be there.”

Her face immediately softened. “Oh, that poor child. Let me wrap up some rolls for you to take to him.”

I nodded in concession. “I think he’d like that. Thanks, Gram. I’ll pick them up on my way out.”

* * *

Reid

When the door opened, I looked down into the smiling face of my elderly neighbor, and my acute olfactory senses shot straight into heaven with the smells of freshly brewed hazelnut coffee and warm, buttery baked goods.

“Mmm ... Are those your special cinnamon rolls I smell, Mrs. Quirke?”

“You know they are,” she laughed, taking my coat and hanging it on one of the oversized hooks by the door. “Come on in, dear, and sit down. And must I ask you again to call me Grace?”

Remembering my manners, I wiped my boots on the welcome mat before entering.

Grace was already pouring me a mug by the time I sat down at the old table, scarred by many years of use. As always, the kitchen was bright and cheery with its sunny yellow walls and whitewashed trim. The cabinets were old but gleaming with polish. The furniture, well-worn and welcoming.

“You were hurt again,” she accused, her hawk-like gaze having caught my slight limp.

“It’s nothing.” I closed my eyes as I took that first incredible sip. Damn, the woman could teach Starbucks a thing or two about making good coffee.

Grace pierced me with her bright blue eyes. “Don’t you lie to me, Reid MacIntyre. I may be an old woman, but I am not stupid.”

I flashed her the grin I had perfected with my own grandmother years earlier. She’d always seen right through my bullshit, too.

“And don’t bother putting on the charm, either. Won’t do you a lick of good with me, boy.” Her words were stern but her expression was tender.

She pulled two huge, gooey rolls from the finished tray and put them on a plate in front of me, smiling indulgently as I took a bite and groaned. “There is nothing in this world that tastes better than your homemade cinnamon rolls, Mrs. Quirke, and these are even more exceptional than usual.”

“My granddaughter made them,” she said slowly, and I noticed the tone of her voice had changed.

I kept my smile, but the short hairs on the back of my neck prickled. As a shifter, I never ignored my instincts—this was clearly a warning. I opted to proceed, but with extreme caution. After all, gathering intel on the mysterious tenant over the workshop was one of my primary objectives this morning.

“I take it your granddaughter is the one living in the apartment out back?” I asked casually.

“You’ve seen her, then?”

“More like her shadow,” I admitted, not sure how much I should mention. I wanted information, not to get the girl in trouble. Her sneaking around might be wholly innocuous.

“Like a wraith, that one is. She works late into the night and is afraid of waking me when she comes in.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a nurse at Nowaskannock Hospital. Pediatric oncology unit.” Grace finished wrapping something on the counter, then grabbed the bowl of icing and started covering another batch of rolls.

“You mean kids with cancer?” Of all the profiles I had run through my mind after seeing the stealthy little figure in black last night, that hadn’t been one of them.

Grace’s brows knitted together. Concern filled her eyes as she nodded.

“You worry about her,” I guessed.

“Yes,” Grace admitted, “I do.”

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to respond to that, so I wisely kept my mouth shut, even though my interest ratcheted up a notch.

The low hum of the small, black bike resounded through the kitchen, shaking Grace from her reverie. “Oh, the rolls!” she exclaimed, jumping up for some aluminum foil. “Reid, be a dear and run these outside please. My hip is acting up today with this ridiculous cold weather.”

Chances were, Grace’s hip was more than capable of making it to the door just fine, but I wasn’t about to call her on it. She wanted me to meet her granddaughter, and I had to admit, I was mildly curious.

I dutifully stood and took the warm package to the door, where I found myself face-to-face with a figure wrapped in black. Actually, we were more like face-to-chest. She was small enough that the top of her helmet barely reached my chin.

Scents of cold air, leather, and a uniquely feminine musk filled my lungs, rousing my slumbering wolf and bringing him closer to the surface.

Judging by the sudden tensing of her body, she had been expecting Grace to open the door, not me. As she lifted her head up and up, her face hidden behind mirrored, wraparound visor, I felt the heat in my body rise with her gaze until I was pretty sure she was looking into my face.

I made a half-hearted attempt at a friendly smile, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Her stance became instantly wary. The sharp tang of fear tickled my nostrils even as she took a hefty step backward.

In her haste to retreat, her foot went beyond the stoop and she lost her balance. I reached out, and the instant my hand wrapped around her wrist, the contact zapped through me like a live wire. She must have felt it, too. She pulled away as if burned, landing hard on her rear end with a soft “umph.” I took a step forward to help her, but she backpedaled on her hands right into the driveway.

“Easy,” I said, putting my hands up to show her I meant no harm, only then realizing I still held the rolls.

In a move of fluid grace, she got to her feet. I might not have been able to see her eyes, but I could damn sure feel them lasering into mine, searing my skin and making me instantly hard.

My wolf was now fully alert. I wished to hell I could see what was generating all that power beneath that visor.

“Here.” With a slow, easy movement, I lobbed the foil package.

She snatched it out of the air easily with one hand. The next second, she was straddling the bike and shooting off like a bat out of hell.

I stood in the doorway, watching until I could no longer see the taillights.

I had put the fear of God into my fair share of people before, but that had been with deliberate intent. This woman had reacted to my simple presence.

I closed the door, turning right into Grace’s knowing gaze.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, patting my arm.

“Is she like that with everyone?”

“Yes,” Grace said sadly. “Except me and the kids she cares for.”

“Why?” I clamped my mouth shut. The word had tumbled out before I could stop it. It really wasn’t any of my business.

My wolf disagreed, clawing at my insides for more information.

Grace poured us both another cup of coffee then sat back down at the table. She pulled the big bowl of icing toward her once again, making swirls with the spatula as she considered her answer. The familiar actions seemed to soothe her.

I waited patiently until her sharp eyes found mine.

“You’re not the only one with dark secrets, Reid,” she said finally.

I was only mildly surprised Grace knew I had some dark secrets. I was beginning to realize there might have been more to my wizened old neighbor than met the eye. Either she was an exceptionally cognizant human, or something more. Definitely not a shifter, but maybe something. Hey, I wasn’t foolish enough to believe shifters were the only preternatural beings walking around.

“Maybe I can help.” I shouldn’t have said that, either. What was wrong with me? Getting personally involved beyond the occasional home repair would have been a blatant disregard of my own rules. It went against every tenet of rational, acceptable behavior as far as I was concerned, yet my instincts were urging me forward.

“Maybe,” Grace said on a sigh. “Maybe.” Her eyes lost some of their direct focus, reinforcing my theory that there was more to Grace than met the eye.

I sat quietly, drinking my coffee, letting her get to it in her own time. I had nothing better to do. My only other option was to head back to my empty house and find something to keep my hands and mind occupied. Grace’s intriguing granddaughter was already commanding a fair portion of my thoughts, so I decided to appease my wolf and tough it out.

After a while, Grace gave a barely imperceptible nod, obviously having come to a decision.

I held my breath.

“Would you like to see a picture of her?”

The question wasn’t what I had expected, but I nodded and smiled politely while my wolf paced anxiously back and forth. Hadn’t I just wished I could see what was hidden beneath that helmet?

Grace retrieved a photo album from the small rolltop desk in the corner and sat down next to me. Then she paused, her hands on the cover. “Reid,” she said slowly, “Alyxandra is very precious to me.”

My green eyes met her blue ones. She didn’t turn away, one of the few capable of holding my gaze. If anything, her resolve seemed to strengthen.

“Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Did I? She was worried about her granddaughter, I got that. However, her words weighed heavier than mild concern. I was pretty sure it was a veiled warning along the lines of “Beware, all ye who enter here,” but I had never backed down from a challenge, even one that set off alarm bells in the back of my head.

“Yes, ma’am,” I found myself saying.

Her blue eyes flashed with approval. “Good.”

I pushed down my unease, smothering it beneath a sense of anticipation. When was the last time I had actually felt excited about something? Every mission carried with it some sense of apprehension, but this ... this was different. This was what my grandfather would have called prescience. A sense of destiny.

Grace set the album on the table between us. The moment she opened the cover, the apprehension that had been building exploded like a bomb in my chest.

Grace’s granddaughter was gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous. Petite, with luscious curves. Golden hair like sunshine.

And huge, liquid amber eyes, with those dark striations I knew so well.

Mate! my wolf howled immediately.

Oh, fuck no! my human half yelled back.

Every rational part of my brain screamed for me to stop now, right now, and mind my own business. I was only here temporarily, on forced medical leave to recover from the injury that nearly shattered my right leg. A mental leave to get my shit together before I did something reckless that cost someone his life.

But the irrational parts—my heart, my soul, my dick—they all ganged up against the smarter parts and beat the living hell out of them. They wanted her, as evidenced by a clawing need deep in my belly.

Grace watched me closely. Too closely. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

I nodded, hiding my internal turmoil beneath a practiced mask of neutrality. I didn’t trust myself to speak. Part of me insisted I was mistaken, but I wasn’t. There was no mistaking those eyes. They were the eyes that had been haunting me. The ones I had been seeing in my dreams. Even in the still photograph, they gave the illusion of a flowing current. Ever moving. Alive. Beseeching. Promising ...

“This was taken a few years ago,” Grace was saying as my mind struggled to come back online. “She came to stay with me for a few weeks when I broke my hip. A great help she was, too. Couldn’t have made it through without her.”

So, she was beautiful and loved her grandmother. She was also sexy as hell, and had a thing for black leather and speed. God help me.

The next hour passed quickly as Grace showed me picture after picture of Alyxandra—even her name made my wolf want to growl and claim—ranging from the time she had been a little girl—more hair than girl—up to the one a few months earlier. In every one, my gaze was immediately drawn to her eyes first, and only once I had paid them proper homage could I look at everything else in the picture.

I watched her blossom from a cute little thing into a goddess. There was no other word for it. Through the photos and stories Grace recounted, I learned she was fierce, stubborn, and a daredevil at heart. That didn’t jibe with the skittish creature I had encountered earlier.

A wave of protectiveness rushed to the surface, unnerving in its intensity.

By the end of the album, Grace still hadn’t told me anything particularly useful. When I finally asked her point blank what kind of dark secrets her granddaughter needed help with, she refused to tell me, saying that it was up to Alyx to decide what she would and would not share. When I followed that up with a perfectly reasonable “How exactly do you think I can help?” she simply smiled enigmatically and said I would have to figure that one out on my own.

Unaccommodating female.

Yet, I couldn’t help but embrace the challenge she’d lain out before me.

Mission accepted.