Fixation Read online

  “Hush, little one.”

  Little? I was at least a hundred fifty pounds of well-muscled jaguar flesh. I could shred him with my claws, crush his skull in my teeth if I chose.

  “But is that what you want?”

  Huh?

  “To crush my skull?” Balam crouched down with easy grace and looked at me. “Or do you want to be human again?”

  Wonderful. He could read my mind. That was supposed to be my superpower.

  “Don’t worry, Maya. You’re still very special.” He stretched out a hand. I could have bitten it off, but instead I nudged it with my nose, arching into the caress that ran up my skull and down my back. “Now let me make this better, querida.”

  If I could have sighed, I would have done so. Instead I sat back on my haunches and watched as Balam pulled out a small metal brazier and a bag of charcoal from the truck, along with a little burlap bag. Setting the brazier on the ground, he put in a few briquettes and waved a hand over it. Fire sprung up from the charcoal without the benefit of lighter fluid or matches. I might have been freaked out if I hadn’t spent the night having amazing sex in both human and jaguar form, and now stuck in the latter. As far as I knew, this was still just one more chapter in an amazing dream sequence.

  Balam started chanting in a melodious and ancient-sounding language I didn’t understand. The flames flared higher, shot with improbable streaks of brilliant emerald green and vibrant peacock blue, the tendrils looking as though they were reaching for the sky. Pulling a leather pouch from around his neck, Balam reached into it and extracted pulled out the little figurine that’d gotten me into this mess in the first place. Then he opened the burlap bag and extracted what looked like a pinch of dried herbs. Still chanting, he tossed the herbs into the fire. The flames shot into the sky with a crackling roar.

  Balam quickly brought out the figurine and tossed it into the fire with an exclamation uttered in the same melodious language as his chanting. As Balam’s voice rose in intensity and volume the flames twisted around one another, writhing in the air as if in pain. The pain reflected in my gut as sharp knives started slicing through my stomach and chest. No, make that sharp knives dipped in white-hot fire and spiced with some foul poison. Yes, it hurt that much.

  I dropped to the ground, howling with betrayed anguish. I was dying; I had to be dying to hurt this badly. My insides were being ripped to pieces by invisible blades or claws, and the copper taste of blood filled my mouth. It felt as if giant hands were twisting my muscles like I would wring a towel to squeeze out extra moisture. I curled into a fetal ball and screamed as the pain became too much to handle.

  Screamed.

  I screamed.

  Not howled.

  I looked down at my body, no longer covered in fur, paws transformed into hands, claws now short trimmed nails. I hurt, oh god, how I hurt, but the sight of my smooth-skinned human body made me weep with relief even as I wanted to die from the bone-shattering agony racking my limbs.

  “Maya...” Strong arms wrapped around me, warm hands rubbing up and down my arms and legs, spreading tingly heat through my body that helped dissipate the bone-wracking pain. I sobbed as the invisible shards of glass stabbing every inch of my body dissolved into blessedly numbing warmth washing through me, soothing the pain, relaxing my muscles until I lay in a limp mass in Balam’s embrace.

  “My brave girl...” Hands continued to massage my body, up into my shoulders and neck, strong fingers caressing my scalp. I was still but for the occasional hiccupping sob accompanying the aftershocks of the mind-shattering pain still fresh in my muscle-memory.

  Something pressed against my lips, a rim of hard plastic. “Drink, Maya...” Cool water trickled down my throat and I swallowed gratefully, the liquid easing the rawness caused by my screams.

  Minutes, or maybe hours, passed as I lay in a stupor in Balam’s arms, aware of his fingers playing in my hair, brushing it back from my forehead much the same way my mother used to do when I was ill as a child. My body wanted to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t cooperate. I was too conscious of Balam’s proximity. Even if the mind-blowing sex of last night had been in my dreams, my partner was here; flesh and blood, smelling of musk and indefinable yet enticing spices. It was all too much for me, a sensory overload of both pain and pleasure.

  I just wanted to be home in my bed.

  “And you will be there soon, I promise.” Fingers stroked the hair back from my forehead. I stared up into Balam’s gold-flecked green eyes.

  “Are ... are you reading my mind?” My voice cracked when I spoke. My throat felt as though I’d been gargling Drano with a salt chaser.

  He smiled. “No. You spoke out loud.”

  “Oh...” I coughed, wincing at the pain. Balam immediately poured more water into my mouth, helping me into a sitting position as he did so. Sitting up somehow made everything seem more real, even things that had to have been part of my weird fever dreams. Thinking of those things made me want to lie right back down again and check out of consciousness for a few more hours, but part of me knew that was only postponing the inevitable, whatever that might be. So I forced myself to focus on my surroundings.

  Which led me to the abrupt realization I was naked.

  Butt-ass birthday suit naked.

  I gasped and (yes, I really did) covered my chest with one arm and my nether regions with the opposite hand, like Venus on the half shell.

  Almost immediately a soft blanket appeared in Balam’s hand. He tucked it against and around my body, cocooning me in warmth and somewhat restoring my modesty. “Is this better?”

  I nodded, clutching the blanket to my chest with both hands. I was starting to feel almost human again. The bone-shattering pain faded to a dull ache, the kind of muscle throbbing that comes the day after a particularly tough workout or following a nasty bout of the flu.

  “How long have I been...” I stopped, not wanting to hear the words “how long have I been a jaguar” come out of my own mouth. That felt too much like buying a first-class ticket to Crazy Town. Instead I asked, “What time is it?”

  “Nearly five.”

  “Is it Sunday?”

  He nodded. So I’d only lost part of a day, not a hundred years like some shapeshifting Rip Van Winkle.

  That was still too much. I’d lost part of a day through no action or stupidity of my own, not even a migraine, and that just pissed me off.

  “I want to go home. Now.” My voice dripped ice, at least as well as my lacerated throat could manage.

  “You are angry with me.”

  “Damn right I am.” I struggled to sit up without the support of Balam’s undeniably strong arms. “You used me.”

  “No, Maya. I needed you.”

  I managed to pull away from him, supporting myself with one arm so I didn’t topple back to the ground. “What the hell does that even mean?”

  Balam gave a heavy sigh, shutting his eyes as he did so. Then he opened them again and looked at me. “Let me take you home and I’ll explain everything to you. We need to get you some nourishment to replenish what your body has lost with the change.”

  The thought of food made my stomach churn. “I don’t think I’ll be eating any time soon.”

  “Trust me—”

  “Not likely,” I muttered.

  He ignored my interruption. “The nausea will pass and when it does, you will be hungry.”

  I let Balam help me to my feet, blanket wrapped firmly around me. Which reminded me--.

  ”What happened to my clothes?”

  Balam guided me to the passenger seat of his vehicle, leaving the door open. “Wait here.”

  Like I was going to go tearing off into the woods wrapped in nothing but a blanket. Besides, even with Balam’s help, the effort it took to get to the car and sit upright both exhausted and disoriented me. Shutting my eyes, I tried to pretend the world wasn’t spinning around me in stomach-churning circles. Ugh.

  “Here.” I opened my eyes to see Balam holding the jeans
, T-shirt, and hoodie I’d been wearing when I’d gotten in my sleeping bag last night. And was that my lace g-string? Yup, sure was. Seeing them made me feel oddly better. I mean, if he still had my clothes, didn’t it prove he hadn’t planned on ditching or, worse, killing me. Okay, he could be waiting to dispose of me and my wardrobe at the same time. But that seemed like overthinking the whole thing, right?

  I reached for my clothes and tried to stand at the same time. Not a good idea. I almost immediately sank back into the passenger seat, willing myself not to throw up.

  “Let me help you.”

  I would have refused his assistance had things like raising my arms above my head and bending down to pull on pants not made my vision blur. Besides, he got me into this mess. The least he could do was play ladies’ maid for the night. Heat suffused my face as he slid my g-string up my legs and the blanket slipped off my shoulders, leaving my breasts bare to the cooling air—and his gaze.

  “Shirt, please,” I said stiffly. He obliged, pulling the tee over my head as gently as possible. I slid my hands into the armholes, feeling better once the shirt covered my breasts and torso. I will say he did his best to help me maintain my modesty. He couldn’t help the fact the touch of his fingers made my skin tingle with anticipation. I felt even better once my jeans and hoodie were in place, even though my skin prickled under the fabric like a bad case of sunburn.

  He brought my shoes, battered pink Converse knockoffs I’d bought at a swap meet. He helped me slip my feet into them, tying the laces with an economy of movement I could only admire. He managed to combine efficiency with an innate sensuality that brought back vivid memories of those clever hands and fingers on my body.

  The memory made me blush, heat suffusing my face and no doubt turning it a lovely shade of red. No matter how tan or burned I was, my skin announced any embarrassment felt as clearly as a neon sign reading, “Maya is currently experiencing humiliation, thanks for noticing.”

  “Shall I take you home?”

  “Yes, please.” A thought occurred to me. He’d told Jeri I’d gone home with a migraine. So—

  “Where’s Agnes?”

  Balam looked understandably blank.

  “Agnes. My truck!” This time his look included a raised eyebrow. I glowered at him. “Yes, I name my cars.” He tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile and I growled. “Don’t judge me.”

  “Apologies, Maya. Your ... er ... Agnes is at the address on your driver’s license.”

  “You drove Agnes without asking?” For whatever reason, this pissed me off more than the whole temporarily being trapped in the form of a jaguar there. I mean, yes, my truck was kind of a beater, but it’d been my first new vehicle when I first bought it and I didn’t let anyone else drive it. Ever.

  Balam had the good grace to look embarrassed. “I apologize, Maya. Normally I wouldn’t dream of using someone else’s belongings without permission—”

  “Except for the whole dream sex thing,” I muttered, even though that hadn’t exactly been without permission.

  “—but these were unusual and extreme circumstances. I assure you your truck is undamaged and sitting in front of what I assume is your home.”

  “Jack’s gonna wonder what’s up with that. I usually park in the driveway.”

  “Who is Jack?” Was it my imagination or was there a hint of possessiveness in his tone?

  “My landlord.”

  Balam frowned. “Most landlords don’t keep track of their tenants’ comings and goings.”

  “He’s also a friend.” I didn’t offer any further explanation.

  He made a low noise in his throat that sounded almost like a growl, but didn’t pursue the matter. Good thing, ‘cause if Balam was going to get all alpha on me after one night of fantastic—and possibly imaginary—sex, that was so not my problem.

  Reaching over me, Balam fastened my seatbelt and tucked the blanket around me. He brushed a lock of stray hair out of my face with gentle fingers. “Try to get some rest. I know the way to your house.”

  Okay, that was kind of stalkery. I almost said something, but already the warmth of the blanket and the comfort of plush leather seats were lulling me into a slumber happily free from pain—and weird-ass dreams.

  Chapter Eight

  “Maya...” Someone shook me gently by one shoulder. “Maya, we’re here.”

  I pushed the hand away from my shoulder, unwilling to pull myself up from one of the most comfortable naps I’d had in a long while.

  I heard a low, masculine chuckle. “Shall I carry you inside?”

  My eyes flew open to find Balam’s impossibly handsome face a few inches from my own as he leaned inside the open passenger door. He’d already unbuckled my seatbelt and looked like he was prepared to make good his offer to carry me into my house.

  “No! I can walk!”

  Ouch. Throat still sore.

  Balam raised an eyebrow, but stepped backwards to give me room.

  Fully awake now, I swung my legs out the door and stood very slowly, using the “oh shit” handle to pull myself up. Other than the raw throat and some residual weakness, the pain, dizziness, and nausea were all pretty much gone.

  Balam had parked across the street from the house, my truck directly in front of it. Jack’s motorcycle was in the driveway and lights were on in the house. I wondered what the odds were of sneaking in through the garage and into my home without him noticing.

  “I need my keys.”

  Balam reached into one of the pockets on his designer jacket, pulled out my “I Support My Local Cathouse” keychain, and dropped it into my outstretched hand. I made my way only slightly unsteadily to the pedestrian door, Balam right behind me. I sensed that if I stumbled, he’d be there to catch me.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  Unlocking and opening the door as quietly as possible, I crept through the garage, trying not to bump into any of the effluvia and thus alert Jack to my presence. Hopefully he was entertaining one of his girlfriends and wouldn’t want to interrupt the proceedings by checking on me. Balam followed so silently it was as if his feet were lined with velvet—or feline pads.

  We reached the courtyard and the motion light flicked on above my door. Almost immediately Jack’s back screen door swung open with enough force to slam against the outside wall.

  Crap.

  I turned as Jack appeared in the doorway, his gray sweatpants and T-shirt spattered with paint in various shades of purples and blues. Paint also smeared his shaggy hair, clumps of it standing on end, which meant Jack was not having a good day. He tended to run his fingers through his hair during times of stress and even if he hadn’t, I could sense the tension radiating from him in an almost palpable cloud.

  “Jesus Christ, Maya, where the hell have you been?” Anger and worry battled in his voice.

  I felt Balam tense up behind me, his aura both protective and predatory.

  Jack stepped off the porch and I stepped in front of Balam as Jack continued, “Your truck shows up in the middle of the night, you park on the street, you’re not home this morning...”

  “Jack, this is Balam. He brought my truck home last night because I was too sick to drive. Migraine.”

  Jack gave Balam a cursory nod without really looking at him. “So you couldn’t call and let me know you were okay? I left you half a dozen voice mails. You could have returned maybe one of ‘em!”

  Ooh, boy. Add possessiveness to the vibe now pouring off Balam in waves.

  “Jack, look, I’m sorry, but I was pretty much out for the count once the vomiting stopped.” I put a placating hand on his arm. “I slept all the way home or I would have called, okay?”

  “It is a strange landlord who worries so much about a tenant.” Balam stepped forward, the lower register of his voice holding a low rumble that sounded suspiciously like the beginning of a growl.

  “Oh yeah?” Jack swiveled around and glared at Balam, finally taking a good look at him. The two men faced off, t
estosterone practically crackling in the air between them. “Not that it’s any of your goddamned business, but Maya’s like a little sister to me, okay? So when her truck shows up and she doesn’t, I’m gonna be worried!”

  At the words “little sister” I felt the tension dissipate from Balam almost instantly, and his attitude changed on the spot. “She is lucky to have you looking out for her, then.”

  “And just who the hell are you?” Jack snarled, unwilling to back down.

  “He’s loaning one of his jaguars to the breeding program,” I interjected. “And donating a hefty sum of money to the compound.”

  Balam smiled, a totally charming and natural smile, and held out his hand. “Balam Cadejo. I am visiting from Belize.”

  For a moment it looked as though Jack would ignore the proffered hand, but then he heaved a sigh and shook it. “Jack Van Dorn. Sorry for the agro but I’ve been worried sick since I realized she wasn’t here.”

  “My apologies, then,” Balam said with believable sincerity. “Had I known, I would have explained the situation to you when I dropped off Maya’s truck.”

  “Why did you drive her truck all the way to San Francisco?” Jack’s suspicious question actually echoed my own unasked query on this subject. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense for her to just drive home after her migraine went away?”

  “I had business in the city,” Balam answered without hesitation. “ Maya’s generosity in trusting me with her truck prevented me from the need to hire a taxi to bring me here. And now I have my own vehicle for the duration of my stay.”

  I found myself admiring the ease at which Balam spun his tales, as well as the elegance of his language. His speech patterns weren’t exactly formal, but they had a certain grace most people lacked. His smoke and velvet voice didn’t hurt either.

  “Well, as long as everything’s okay,” Jack said when Balam was finished. “Gotta say I’m shocked Maya let you borrow her truck.”

  “She was very generous indeed,” said Balam. I had a feeling he was talking about more than my truck.

  “I must have been too sick to know what I was doing,” I said pointedly.