Awakening The Shifter

She spent the night content to drift in and out of sleep, enjoying the deep contentment his presence brought. Strange snippets of dreams gripped her as slumber pulled her deeper into its embrace. Four men who all looked alike. Blue Fire. Great Tiger. Golden Eagle. The words meant nothing and everything. Each time she stirred and opened her eyes, Khan was there, watching over her.

Her life had just changed forever, and she didn’t know whether fear or excitement was her strongest emotion. She only knew she had never felt either with such intensity.

* * *

Sleeping was one of Khan’s favorite activities. Fortunately, he could do it pretty much anywhere. When he was on stage, he expended huge amounts of energy, and afterward his inner tiger took over to restore his energy. While on tour, he had been known to spend half the day sleeping. It wasn’t considered unusual among his bandmates. Diablo and Dev were also werecats. No one flinched when Finglas bowed down before the full moon, Torque took to the skies or Ged disappeared into the forest for hours. There was mutual respect among the group for the diverse traits of the individual members.

So sleeping in a chair at Sarange’s bedside shouldn’t be a problem for him. Physically, it wasn’t. He could curl his long limbs into a comfortable position and, catlike, be asleep in seconds. Even though they hadn’t spoken about her attackers and their motivation, the possibility that they might return was at the back of Khan’s mind. He wasn’t afraid of that. They wouldn’t sneak up on him while he slumbered. Khan didn’t know who these people were, but he could go from sleeping to waking in an instant. The slightest sound, movement, scent, even a shift in the air would alert him to danger. His every sense would power up and be ready to take on the enemy. His fingers curled into the shape of claws as he looked forward to the prospect of confronting them.

No, it wasn’t the physical practicalities of sleeping in a chair that bothered him. It was the problem of being so close to Sarange and not touching her. He had crossed a line tonight. Resistance had become acceptance. He had been fighting his attraction to her so hard that he had ignored another part of his role as a mate...protection. Alongside the admission that he had a duty to care for her, some of the barriers he had worked so hard to erect had come tumbling down. He couldn’t remain antagonistic toward her when he needed to be at her side 24/7. He didn’t know what the future had in store, but the present held a new rapport. Khan could snarl about the quirk of fate that had brought them here, but he was honest enough to admit he liked it. A little too much.

Although why watching Sarange sleep should bring him so much pleasure, he had no idea. She lay curled on her side in the huge bed, with one hand under her uninjured cheek. Her braid hung like a glossy rope over her shoulder, and the bedclothes had slipped down to reveal her pink pajama top. Her features were relaxed, her long lashes shadowing her cheeks, her lips slightly parted. And, alongside the fire in his blood, something softer bloomed within him.

He’d had enough torture. There was only so much nobility one person could stand. Slipping off his shoes, he leaned over Sarange and pulled the comforter up to her shoulders before lying down next to her. He was fully dressed. She was beneath the bedclothes. Resisting temptation would be a new experience, but he was prepared to try it.

Holding his breath in an attempt not to disturb Sarange, he settled his weight, turning on his side and mirroring her position. This was the problem with being a solitary being living among social creatures. Khan was used to doing what made him feel good without considering others. He stopped short of breaking the law and tried not to hurt anyone—either physically or emotionally—in the process. Even so, he had a lot in common with the ultimate hedonists who had colonized this human world. Like a domestic cat, Khan sought his pleasures, took them and only considered others as a means of getting what he wanted.

Right now his perfect pleasure was lying next to him...but he wasn’t going to take her. His life had changed the moment he saw Sarange. The fabric of who he was comprised a unique pattern, woven by his experiences. It was ever-changing with old colors and textures fading and disappearing and new ones emerging. Even Khan had no idea how long he had been alive, or where his life had begun. Held in captivity in China, he had been in his tiger form when he was captured. The darkness, despair, hunger and weakness of his imprisonment had lasted many lifetimes. His captors had used silver to weaken him, but they couldn’t kill him. He was unique, and that frustrated them. Now and then, he suspected his captors might have been werewolves, but he had no idea why they wanted him. A weretiger against a group of werewolves? It should have been no contest. That had been his last coherent memory of his capture until he was rescued by Ged.

Kept in a cage barely larger than a large dog kennel, deprived of natural light and half-starved, Khan had been close to death when Ged, acting on a story passed on by one of his informants, found him.

Ged was an enigma, even to his closest friends. A werebear of giant proportions, in his human form he poured his considerable talents into the day job. How he balanced managing one of the most successful rock bands in the world with his other persona was a mystery. Ged helped shifters who were injured, damaged or at risk of harm. Khan knew very little about his rescue work, only that Ged was the founder of an international team. Like the Red Cross for shifters.

Ged had always hoped that, once Khan was restored to full health and the trauma of his captivity had receded, his memory would return. It never had. There were snippets now and then. Of stalking deer along thicketed watercourses. Of vast, arid deserts. Of peering into shoreline bracken. Of crawling through a latticework of tangled low shrubs, emerging into willow and poplar forests. Nothing of himself, of who he was. Who is Khan? He had no idea.

Yet lying here, breathing in time with Sarange’s rhythm, inhaling her sweet scent, he felt something stir inside him. Barely enough to call a memory, different to the bonds that bound him to her physically and emotionally. Certainty. That was what it felt like. A confidence that this woman was part of who he was. That pattern in the fabric of his life? The vibrant threads Khan didn’t recognize had been woven by a different hand. Hers.

He didn’t know how that could be so when Sarange believed herself to be human. She had no memory of herself as a shifter, let alone a shifter whose life had intersected his own. They both appeared to have a remembrance short circuit. Now that they had met, was it possible they would trigger each other’s memories?

On that optimistic note, Khan draped an arm over her waist and rubbed his cheek against the silken mass of her hair. Sarange murmured in her sleep and he smiled as he closed his eyes. This was the only pleasure he needed.

* * *

Sarange came awake abruptly, unsure what had alerted her to danger. Moonlight streamed in through the light drapes as her eyes searched the darkened corners of the room, seeking confirmation of what she already knew. Someone was in the room. No, not someone, there was more than one person, standing just inside the balcony doors. Before she could do anything, the strong arm around her waist tightened its grip and a hand moved up to cover her mouth. Her first instinct was to struggle, but then she remembered.

Khan. He was signaling for her to stay silent. Sarange gave a slight nod to show she understood and he moved his hand away. Although his touch reassured her, she couldn’t help being concerned. If the same men had returned, it would be four against one. Surely it would be better if she used her cell phone alarm and got security up here?

With a stealth that amazed her, Khan slid from the bed. Noiseless and unerring, he made his way across the room. His night vision must be incredible. A crash and a cry signaled that he had reached the intruders.

Sarange weighed her options. She could lie still and speculate about what was happening. Or she could find a way to go to Khan’s aid. Switching on the lamp at the side of the bed, she froze in horror at the scene unfolding in her luxurious bedroom.

The four men who had tried to abduct her earlier were back. Even as fear kicked in and her heart rate soared, she took a moment to notice all over again the weirdness of their similarity to each other. She had fought them; she knew they weren’t in disguise. They didn’t just look alike. They were identical. Were they quadruplets? Clones? She swallowed hard. Was it possible that they weren’t human?

Unsure where that last thought had come from, she snaked out a hand for the cell phone on her bedside table. Khan was going to need help after all.

“Don’t call security.” Khan’s voice was like a whiplash. He was half-turned away from her, but he must have seen the movement out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve got this.”

One of the men was already bleeding hard from a cut across his cheek. Did Khan have a knife? Sarange couldn’t see anything in his hand. She remembered when Khan had burst into the house earlier. Marco had tried to stop him from seeing her and had suffered scratches to his face as a result. The wound on this intruder’s face was too deep to have been caused by fingernails...

She slid from the bed, trying to scour the room for something she could use as a weapon while also keeping her eyes on Khan. The four men began to circle Khan, their manner predatory. She didn’t like the matching smiles on their faces. It looked too much like they were snarling.

One of the men lunged and Khan was on him in a blur of movement, fighting like a wild animal. He didn’t adopt a conventional style. Feet, fists, teeth and nails all went into the attack. His opponent went down fast under the onslaught.

The other intruders joined in, leaping on Khan. As incredible as it seemed, he kept going without pause. Swinging, slashing, powering into them. It was like watching a giant beast taking on a group of lesser creatures.

But something was happening. As if acting on an unseen signal, the four men were changing. It was swift and subtle. One second their human bodies were being tossed around by Khan as they attempted to bring him down onto the expensive cream-and-rose rug. The next, their facial features had elongated. In place of a nose, they each had a snout. Instead of a mouth, they had huge jaws with sharp snapping teeth. Their limbs stretched, becoming lithe and muscular. As they shook off the remains of their clothing, Sarange saw thick brown fur covering their bodies. A new scent pervaded the air. Like animal fur and carrion, it reminded her that she wasn’t dreaming.

Wolves? Sarange shook her head in an attempt to clear it. These were no ordinary wolves. There are four werewolves in my bedroom.

As if in confirmation of that thought, one of them threw back his head and gave a single, triumphant howl.

Even as she tried to process why four werewolves had come for her and tried to abduct her, Sarange’s thoughts were on Khan. This took the danger to a whole new level. He might have been able to fight four men—although that must have taken some kind of superhuman strength—but this? Four sets of lethal canines trying to rip out his throat? Four sets of claws aimed at his belly?

Khan didn’t seem concerned. On the contrary, he was smiling as he faced the werewolf pack.

And...oh, my goodness. This can’t be happening.

Yet somehow she knew it was going to happen. The transformation was over in the blink of an eye. Khan’s clothing burst apart. Beneath the remaining shreds there was brilliant orange fur slashed across with diagonal stripes, each as thick, black and straight as a hand-drawn charcoal line. In his place, a giant tiger reared on its hind legs, lips drawn back in a snarl that revealed white fangs almost as wide as Sarange’s wrist.

The attitude of the werewolves changed in an instant from aggression to fear. Whimpering, they abased themselves, pressing their bellies into the floor and flattening their ears.

Khan dropped onto all fours. Even by the dim light provided by the moon and the lamp, Sarange could see the ripple of pure muscle beneath his thick pelt. And why am I noticing his muscles when there is a tiger in my bedroom? A tiger in place of the man who had his arm around me minutes ago?

The sound that filled the room was a soft, echoing rumble of pure menace. Originating in the depths of the tiger’s deep chest, it shook every part of Sarange’s body, even though she knew it wasn’t intended for her.

How do I know that? How do I know he’s not going to turn on me once he’s finished with those werewolves?

The answer was simple. He was Khan. And he was hers.

At the sound of the tiger’s growl, the wolves scrambled into action. Heading for the open doors, they couldn’t scramble over the balcony rail fast enough. Khan followed them, his movements deceptive. That big body appeared to barely expend any energy, but he covered the space between him and the werewolves in double time, staying just behind them.

As Khan sprang from the balcony, Sarange ran to see what was going on. From her vantage point, she watched as the security lights below, triggered by movement, came on. The alarm remained silent, and she guessed the intruders must have disabled it and the security cameras before they broke in.

Below her, the elegant patio resembled a scene from a movie, as four werewolves crouched behind deck furniture to avoid the prowling tiger. Eventually, they broke free and headed across the lawn toward the pool. Khan was after them in a bound. The last view Sarange had was when he caught up with them on the extreme edge of her property.

With a shaky exhale, she turned on the lights and sat on the bed, waiting for his return. Because he would return. And when he did, he had some explaining to do.

Chapter 5

Khan knew the werewolves wouldn’t be able to outrun him. He’d never come across another shifter that could match him for speed. The problem was, once the werewolves leaped over the perimeter wall surrounding Sarange’s property, they did exactly what he expected them to. They split up and ran in four different directions.

Wolf instincts. He could never understand it. They would sacrifice one for the sake of the pack.

Khan’s inner tiger was prompting him to kill, but his human senses were urging caution. He could catch one of the werewolves, but forcing the guy to shift back and start talking? That needed privacy and time. And a tiger in the heart of Beverly Hills didn’t have the luxury of either of those things. He faced a choice. Risk bringing chaos and carnage into the heart of the human world, or let the werewolves go.

The two halves of his psyche went to war. While his tiger was pushing him to hunt and kill, his human was arguing for restraint. Because he was in tiger form, it would be easy to go with the voice of his inner animal. His tiger instincts were strong, but he fought them. Reluctantly. Now was not the time. This was definitely not the place.

The werewolves had been given a powerful warning. They knew what they were dealing with. They would be back—tenacity was one of wolves’ strongest traits—but Khan would be ready for them.

With a feeling of resignation—a tiger always knew when to give up the hunt—he turned back toward Sarange’s house. He should shift back before he was seen. That way, his only problem would be that he was a naked man in the heart of Beverly Hills. That, and the fact that he needed to talk to Sarange about what she had just witnessed. He had hoped to ease her in gently to his shifter status. The werewolves had taken that opportunity away from him.

Shifting back, he kept to the shadows. Even in his human form, he retained elements of his inner cat. They showed through in his strength, speed and agility. When he had fought the four men back in Sarange’s bedroom, there was no hesitation. He had known he could take them on and beat them. Just as he knew now he could scale the wall surrounding her house. Nimble as his inner cat, he pulled himself up and over the wall, dropping into a crouch on the other side.

Khan’s eyes scoured the darkened yard, his keen vision easily picking out the security cameras. Sarange had live-in security, but no one had been roused by the arrival of four intruders. The werewolves had somehow bypassed her security system. His protective instincts went into overdrive again, his hands curling into the shape of tiger claws. If I hadn’t been here...

He forced his breathing back to a regular rhythm. He had been here. He would be here. But they still didn’t know what the werewolves wanted from her. All they knew for sure was this wasn’t a robbery. This was about Sarange.

Using the ornate shrubs and flowers as cover, he made his way across the yard. Stepping onto a patio table, he climbed from there onto the balcony. Swinging himself over the rail, he looked around for something to cover his nakedness. He couldn’t see anything. Maybe that was because his gaze was immediately captured by an ice-blue stare.

Arms folded across her chest, Sarange was standing in the doorway, blocking his entrance to the room. “You can start talking now.”

“I was hoping to shower first. Maybe find some clothes.”

“You turned into a tiger.” He wasn’t sure whether the wobble in her voice was caused by anger or shock. It didn’t matter. She kept going, coming toward him until he was pressed up against the balcony rail and she had to tilt her chin to look up at him. “I need to know what’s going on.”

He caught hold of her upper arms, and as soon as he touched her, she collapsed into his arms. The feel of her body against his drove every other thought out of Khan’s mind, and a harsh groan of surrender was dragged from him. His whole body was entranced by her. His eyelids half closed as if weighted and he lowered his head, compelled by a force beyond his control to graze Sarange’s lips with his.

I don’t want to control this.

The instant his mouth touched hers, their ragged breathing united in a single rhythm. Sarange melted into him, nuzzling his lips with her own. He clutched her tighter to his wildly beating heart, deepening a kiss that left Khan reeling. Achingly tender, it should have been unique. So why the hell did it feel so familiar?

His body was on fire, his arousal in danger of reaching epic proportions. Khan needed to regain control of the situation. But he was naked, with a beautiful woman in his arms. Restraint, never easy for him, was getting harder by the second.

“I’m hungry.” He murmured the words into her hair.

“I can tell.” She glanced down at his erection. In the moonlight, he could see a blush staining her cheekbones.

Khan groaned as temptation almost got the better of him. He pressed his forehead to hers. “No, I really am hungry. For food. Shifting affects me that way.”

“Shifting?” She wrinkled her brow. “Is that what you call it when you change?”

“Yes. I’m a shape-shifter.”

She was silent for a moment. When she raised her eyes to his, the anger was gone. He wasn’t sure he could name the emotions that replaced it. There was a healthy dose of understandable confusion, but he thought he could see acceptance. Of what, he wasn’t sure. His shifter self? Or of them?

“Take a shower. The security guards have spare uniforms. I’ll see if I can find something to fit you. Although—” there was that blush again “—you are very big. Then we’ll go down to the kitchen. You can talk while you eat.”

* * *

Khan had already eaten the remains of a cold chicken, a quiche and a bowl of potato salad. He had washed this feast down with a half quart of milk. Now he was prowling the kitchen, opening cupboards and regarding Sarange with a look of dismay. “No cookies?”

“I don’t really eat sweet things.”

“Let me guess.” He pointed to the chicken carcass. “You’d rather eat the meat than the salad. You like your steak rare. No one ever quite cooks it bloody enough for you, am I right?”

She blinked at him, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling slightly. On one level, it didn’t matter how she liked her steak. On another, it was scary that Khan could somehow get inside her head and know that much detail about her.

“Is your special tiger sense telling you that?” What else is it telling you? Is it telling you who those men—those werewolves—are, and what they want with me?

Khan came to sit on a stool next to her at the counter. “I’m not sure I have a special sense. Maybe it was a lucky guess.”

She shook her head. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I know.”

He gazed into space, gathering his thoughts, and she took a moment to study him. The sweatpants and T-shirt she had found were stretched tight over his bulging muscles, and his hair was still damp from the shower. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she could see the tiger in the man. It was there in the tawny tint of his hair, the broad, arrogant nose, the fiery gold eyes. In the lines of his body, she could see the coiled strength of the mighty beast, the long, lithe sinews and the powerful muscles. Most of all, she could see it in his mannerisms. Khan was a cat. He was the ultimate rebel. His movements were all stealth and grace.

He was breathtaking, and yet...he was the opposite of everything she had believed she wanted in a man. In the past, she had never admired flashy good looks and strength. She’d have run a mile from a promiscuous narcissist like Khan. So why did it feel like everything, her whole life, her next breath—who I am—was wrapped up in this man?

Was that why she had accepted his shape-shifting, if not with ease, at least with composure? Although her mind was still struggling to make sense of what she had seen, she had felt no real surprise or skepticism. Instead there had been a sense of “So that’s what this is all about.”

Yet a man to whom she was attracted—more, this was so much more than straightforward attraction—had changed into a tiger before her eyes. She should be cowering in a corner at least. Probably there should be screaming involved. Sitting next to him, gazing at him as if her whole world hinged on his next breath, was possibly not the most sensible approach to how this night was unfolding.

Sarange had a feeling she had waved goodbye to sensibility around the time she first set eyes on Khan.

“I’m not an expert on the history of shape-shifters.” When he turned back to face her, the smile in his eyes undid her. Took everything she was and unraveled it. Sarangerel Tsedev came apart and became...just his. “You would need to talk to Ged if you want an in-depth analysis.”

“I want to know about you. Anyone else can wait. Start by explaining what you meant when you said you are a shape-shifter.”

“It means I can take on the physical form of an animal while maintaining my human consciousness.” He regarded her warily, as though unsure of her reaction.

“Can you do it any time you want?”

Khan nodded.

“But you control it? It doesn’t just happen without warning?”

Another nod.

“Can you become any animal you choose?”

“No, I’m a weretiger. My DNA is part human, part tiger.” There was a note of pride in his voice. “With an extra shifter-something thrown in for good measure.”

“Were you born this way?” She had so many questions, but no uncertainty. He was telling the truth. Even if she hadn’t seen the evidence for herself, she would know it.

He pulled in a long, slow breath. “Most shifters are born with their abilities. Rarely, they are converts. That means they are turned by a bite. It can happen in conflict. If a shifter leaves a victim close to death but still alive, that person will himself become a shifter.”

“Like the horror stories of werewolves?” Sarange thought of the movies that had scared her when she first came to America. Although nothing could have prepared her for the scene that had played out in her bedroom a few hours ago.