FROM THE DEEP

With stories by

Karin Huxman

Taylor Manning

Shelley Munro

Sea Change © copyright August 2005, Karin Huxman

The Lady of the Loch © copyright August 2005, Taylor Manning

Currents Run Deep © copyright August 2005, Shelley Munro

Cover art by Kat Richards, © copyright August 2005

ISBN 1-58608-630-8

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

SEA CHANGE

By

Karin Huxman

Full Fathom Five, by William Shakespeare

Full fathom five thy father lies;

Of his bones are coral made;

Those are pearls that were his eyes:

Nothing of him that doth face,

But doth suffer a sea change

Into something rich and strange.

Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell:

Ding-dong.

Hark! Now I hear them – Ding-dong, bell.

From The Tempest

Chapter One

1840

Marianne Shore turned her face into the cool October air that raked across the island from the Atlantic. Her heavy skirts anchored her to the narrow decking of the “widow’s walk” that made its way around the periphery of the rooftop. A cast iron rail edged the walk. She gripped it with both hands, glad for the added support as she stared first down to the harbor and then out to the endless horizon of the sea.

The dazzling sun turned the restless sea into glittering diamonds. Marianne searched the horizon again, hoping to see a square-masted whaler come into view. Her husband was the captain of the Whelp. The ship was weeks late coming into port. Winter came harsh and early to Nantucket Island. Everyone with a man on a ship at sea counted the days until they were safe again.

She spied a young boy zipping through the crowd on the wharf. Fair hair poked from around the edges of his cap. He ran up her street and then to the back of the house where the cook or the housekeeper would let him in. A fine tremor ran through her, of excitement or of anxiety, she knew not which.

After one more glance at the surrounding water, Marianne gathered her skirts and entered the winding staircase that would bring her back to the living quarters. Three stories high, her home on Wharf Street was hard to heat in the winter and getting that run down look to it. She’d run out of money to hire a man to keep the front garden in order. The fence had several boards missing and could use a good layer of whitewash.

She sighed and pressed her hand to her bosom. Money, she hated that there wasn’t enough. She considered the running boy. Maybe he’d brought news of the Whelp and of Silas. Her skirts rustled as she walked faster. The lightly laced corset she wore, only to fend off stares from the other wives if she didn’t, cut into her sides. Slowly and with dignity, she told herself again.

Silas had liked her exuberant ways when he’d met and wooed her in Jamaica, her true home, three years ago. But once they’d returned to his home on Nantucket, he’d become obsessed with her behavior and dress. He’d wanted her to be a proper sea captain’s wife.

She set those thoughts aside as she reached the final landing. Mrs. McCann, the housekeeper, stood at the bottom of the stairs, the fair headed boy beside her. He grasped a bit of foolscap in one hand. As Marianne stepped off the bottom step, he grabbed the grubby cap off his head and stared at his feet.

“Well?” Marianne asked.

Mrs. McCann’s face was ashen. “The boy brought news, ma’am.” She shook the boy. “Go on, tell her.”

“Aye, the man at Nantucket Wholesale Whaling sent me with this note for Mrs. Shore, the captain’s wife. Are you Mrs. Shore?”

Mrs. McCann cuffed him. “Of course she is. What’s wrong with you? Go on, give it to her. Tell her.”

He turned his head so that he looked at Marianne sideways through narrowed eyes. The back of her neck prickled.

She cleared her throat and held out her hand. “Well?” she said again.

The boy handed her the grubby piece of paper. She read, “The Whelp comes into port shortly. We ask your company here at the shipping office today at the hour of noon to settle your late husband’s affairs.”

Marianne stared at the paper. What did it mean? Settle her late husband’s affairs? He could settle them himself when he made port in two weeks.

“Ma’am? Is it good news, Mrs. Shore?” Mrs. McCann asked. Her hands clenched in the voluminous folds of her apron.

The words on the paper started to sink in. Marianne shook her head. The boy’s shuffling feet caught her attention.

“What do you know of this?” she asked him, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

He shuffled some more, then he looked at her sideways again and said, “I heard tell that your husband, the good Cap‘n Shore himself, fell overboard. His portion of the earnings go to you.” Mrs. McCann shook him. “Ma’am,” he added.

“That’s ridiculous,” Marianne snapped. “Overboard indeed. Mrs. McCann, give this imp some sweet from the kitchen and send him on his way.”

Mrs. McCann led the boy towards the back of the house. Marianne crossed the polished pine floorboards to the parlor. She pulled the doors closed behind her and slumped into the nearest chair. Dear God, she thought, could it be true?

Her heart beat rapidly as she reread the words on the paper and remembered what the boy had said. It must be some mistake, she thought. It had to be. She was here on this godforsaken piece of rock, nothing like the warm, palm covered lands where she’d grown up, only because Silas had insisted on bringing his bride home to the family.

His family was as cold as the sea and as hard as the rocks that barricaded this island from it. The fact that she’d been unable to conceive had not been a point in her favor. Still, she was part of their family now that she was Silas’s wife. In their taciturn way they’d tried to welcome her.

She shook the stray memories from her mind. She looked at the watch pinned to her blouse. It was ten and thirty minutes. Where had the time gone? It had been little past nine when she’d come down from the widow’s walk. Widow, would that be her title now?

Never one to turn and run, Marianne stood, crumbling the ill message in her hands. Mr. Morrison, the owner of the Whelp and owner of the Nantucket Wholesale Whaling warehouse would have the answers. He was a grave, crooked old man who smelled of vinegar. It was not a meeting she looked forward to.

* * * *

Jonah McAdams scowled. The stench of a whaling town was the main reason he rarely visited one. If he hadn’t heard of a store of precious ambergris, worth over four-hundred dollars a pound by some reckoning, he wouldn’t have made port in Nantucket.

He leaned over the dockside rail of his schooner, Poseidon, and stared at the crowded dock below. Men swarmed the sea-washed boards. They pushed barrels, toted bales of dry goods, and hauled on the pulley ropes in the act of loading or unloading some ship or other. This was home port to many whaling ships. The din was incredible. Here and a there a handful of women and children stood in hesitant groups amid the organized chaos around them.

Enough.

Jonah spoke briefly to his first mate then strode down the gangway and stepped into the crowd. For a moment the mass of men heaved against him. Then he began to move and a path opened before him. He heard snatches of whispered conversations eddy in his wake. He’d always heard them.

“Jonah, bad luck name for a sailor, mate….”

“The Devil has green eyes like him, I reckon….”

“Never lost a ship or cargo to storm, heard tell….”

“Swims like a fish….” Jonah grimaced at that one. The truest of the lot, yet no man had ever seen him swim. If he had, Jonah would have lost his foothold in this world.

He stopped listening to the babble and found his way to a swinging sign over a battered door. The wooden sign, sporting a sperm whale blowing, swung in the cool breeze. Nantucket Wholesale Whaling was painted on the lintel of the door. This was the place.

The cold, cavernous room smelled like fish and oiled rope and wooden barrels. Apparently Nantucket Wholesale Whaling sold more than the products of whaling. They had goods on hand to supply any ship. He’d heard that they also traded in the kinds of goods he carried, silk from China, spices from the Indies, in exchange for their whale oil, whale bone, and other by-products of hunting a whale.

Jonah closed the door and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. He heard voices off to his right and wandered in that direction. No doubt Abe Morrison, the owner, was waiting for him in his office.

A soft female voice murmured into a silence. The sound struck Jonah still. Her voice--he couldn’t understand the words--held confusion and unhappiness. It had the familiar quality of his people, an undulating huskiness that whispered to him.

Impossible, he told himself. He continued towards the voices again. A circle of lamp light revealed a trio of people. The woman sat straight as a mast on a plain wooden chair. An elderly man, white haired and bewhiskered sat in the other chair, a large desk between the two. The third man, younger with a smug face and a weak chin, stood behind the older man.

Just as Jonah stepped into the light, the woman said, “If that is the case, then I will require immediate transport to Jamaica. There is nothing left for me here.”

The liquid tones that bespoke a Caribbean upbringing had Jonah staring at her. Her dark hair gleamed in the soft light, what he could see of it under her proper bonnet. His fingers itched to tear off that bonnet and let her hair free. A few tendrils curled from under the back of the hat. He wondered if she’d simply hauled it on top of her head and jammed the bonnet on the best she could.

The younger man spoke. “Mrs. Shore, our firm will happily take care of the disposal of any property left in your name. But your late husband did not own much. The house you live in is owned by his parents, as are most of the furnishings. Of course, your portion of the cargo is substantial.”

“Then all I need to do is find passage.” Her voice, though musical, was strained, Jonah noticed. A new widow….

“I’ll see what I can do, madam,” the elderly gentleman said. “We have but a few whaling ships traveling south this time of year. They’ll not take a female on board.”

“Yes, I am an expert on bad luck,” she replied.

Jonah cleared his throat, eavesdropping did not suit him, and he’d learned all he needed or wanted to know.

The three turned his way. Mr. Morrison and the other man nodded at him. The woman, Mrs. Shore, stared. Her eyes, green as the sea, opened wide, her nostrils flared, and he detected the beginnings of a blush on her cheeks. He often had that effect on women.

“What do you want?” the young man said, his nose in the air, his thumbs stuck into his vest.

A posturing sea pup if ever there was one.

Jonah inclined his head to Mrs. Shore and spoke to Mr. Morrison. “Sir, I have business with you. I’ve heard you have a certain commodity for which I have many fine wares to trade.”

Morrison harrumphed. “Your name, sir?”

“McAdams, Jonah McAdams of the Poseidon. Recently returned from the Orient.”

“Ah, Captain McAdams, you’ve a reputation.” Morrison didn’t say what that reputation pertained to. He studied Jonah for a moment, then turned back to Mrs. Shore. “Madam, Nantucket Wholesale Whaling and I are very sorry for your loss. As soon as the Whelp docks and we can ascertain the cargo, I will cut you a check for your late husband’s share of the earnings and send it wherever you wish. I’ve had a message that the ship’s luck finally changed on this voyage.”

“It seems my husband’s luck changed also,” she said. She stood. “Very well, when do you expect the ship to make port?”

“A day or two, madam.”

“And you will find me passage on a ship?” Her hands held the back of the chair so tightly that her knuckles showed white even in this light.

“I shall do what I can, madam.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morrison.” She nodded to both men at the desk and swept past Jonah without turning her head.

Her scent stayed with him, like a fair weather breeze on a warm day, and just as dangerous.

He refocused on the men who looked at him expectantly. “Shall we get down to business, gentlemen?”

Thirty minutes later Jonah was striding back to the Poseidon. No deal had yet been reached. These Yankees enjoyed a good bargain and they were adept at getting the best of any deal. It had been decided that Morrison and Matthew Keagan, the younger of the two men, would come aboard the Poseidon this evening for a meal. They would inspect his goods in the hold and decide on how much ambergris they were willing to part with.

Dark lowering clouds and a stiffening wind made Jonah want to set sail and feel the waves crashing with a coming storm. He inhaled deeply of the scents around him, sifting through the unwashed people and muddy lanes until he could smell the freshness of the ocean. He also smelled food and realized how hungry he was. Just in front of him a door swung open letting out two men and the mouth-watering aroma of meat pasties. Jonah went through the door to satisfy at least one of his hungers.

THE LADY OF THE LOCH

By

Taylor Manning

Chapter One

Aeryn cocked her head and listened. There it was again. The pitiable sound carried such unmistakable need that Aeryn felt her heart tug in sympathy. It was a heart-call--one heart to another--and it came from the rushes at the edge of the loch. Stepping gingerly forward, she pushed aside first one clump of reeds, then another, moving slowly, looking down, seeking the source of the call.

"Did you find it?" Nib asked, following close behind her, his breath hot on her neck.

"I think it is farther this way." Aeryn swept aside another stand of rushes and peered down at the marshy ground.

Her hand flew to her breast and she gasped.

"Well? What is it?" Nib shoved his long nose over her shoulder to get a closer look. "I’m hungry. Is it something to eat?"

"Oh no, my dear Nib, you dinna want to eat this."

Nib leaned further forward, flopping his horsy mane into her face, and stared down. "Why ... it’s a...."

Aeryn brushed Nib’s mane out of her eyes and said, "Yes. It’s a bairn." She smiled as the babe, wrapped in a bright new tartan of black and forest green, ceased its mewling and looked up at her with huge emerald eyes.

"Hello, wee one," she cooed. "What are you doing here on my loch?"

"Are you sure I canna eat it?" Nib smacked his lips.

Aeryn turned and scowled at her kelpie friend. "No, Nib. You willna eat the human baby. Its heart called to mine. Obviously it was put here for me to find, so I shall take it in, just as do all the other ladies of the loch."

Returning her gaze to the child, she felt her heart settle into a warm glow. "I will foster this child as if it were my own."

Nib’s nostrils flared as he blew out a sound of disgust. "Dinna matter. Bairns upset my stomach anyway."

Aeryn ignored her waterhorse friend and reached down for the plaid-swaddled bundle.

As she lifted him into her arms she could tell by its weight that the babe was not newborn, but how old was it? She had no idea how to judge such things, for her mother had not taught her much about caring for a child, fey or human.

As the child seized onto her finger and pulled it into his mouth, she realized there was one thing she did know.

"Nib, I need a goat. Quickly."

* * * *

A wail of pure anguish echoed off the keep’s stone walls and reached into the marrow of Leith MacEwan’s bones. He shivered and leapt to his feet, his hand instinctively flying to the hilt of his broadsword.

All the men of Niall Campbell’s clan who had been lounging before the fire in the great hall did the same, each spinning around to face the source of the cry.

The wail came from the laird’s wife as she stumbled down the staircase from above. MacEwan watched as Campbell ran to her side and the woman flung herself into his arms.

"He is gone. My babe...." she wailed as she collapsed.

Campbell’s face paled as he pulled her up and held her firmly by the shoulders. "Ellen, who is gone?"

"Malcolm." She covered her face with her hands and her wailing grew louder.

MacEwan took in the scene, trying to make sense of it all. Malcolm. That was the name of Campbell’s new son by this, his second wife. The bairn was the long-awaited son needed to ensure Clan Campbell’s future. If something had happened to him....

MacEwan forced the thought away as he broke into a run, following the laird who had loosed his hold on his wife and flown up the castle stairs.

Taking the stairs two at a time, MacEwan's mind sifted through the possibilities. The babe could be with his nurse somewhere else in the keep. Yet the anguished wailing continued, convincing him even as he tried to dispel the feeling, that indeed something dire had happened.

The bairn had been stolen?

Or worse?

He and Campbell reached the nursery a moment later, immediately followed by the rest of the men of the clan. Even to MacEwan, completely unfamiliar with nurseries, the room seemed desolate, as though the walls themselves had a terrible story to tell.

Campbell stumbled to the cradle and MacEwan didn’t have to look to know no bairn lay there, for Campbell fell to his knees and slammed his clenched fist against the stone floor.

"Cruachan!" The battle cry of Clan Campbell echoed through the empty chamber.

MacEwan approached the anguished man and laid a hand on his shoulder. "We will find who did this."

"Yea, and should any harm come to my boy, the villain shall pay in kind."

The words were uttered through gritted teeth and MacEwan knew there would be Hell to pay.

"What is it? What has happened?"

The woman’s voice came from behind him and MacEwan turned in time to see a lass with unbound flaming red hair push past the Campbell men, then him, to reach the laird’s side.

Guessing this was Campbell’s daughter, Tyra, the one he had been sent to wed, he allowed himself a moment to inspect the lass with whom he was to ally the MacEwans of Otter.

Her face was comely enough, with curved full lips and eyes of purest blue. She stood tall and slender, yet with a roundness of breast and loin that promised comfort in bedding. That thought took on a life of its own as he pictured the long legs hidden beneath her gown and what lay between them.

He swallowed hard.

Feeling guilty for letting his lustier musings get in the way of the missing bairn, MacEwan pulled his attention back to the matter at hand as Campbell looked up at his daughter.

"The bairn is gone," the laird told the lass.

Tyra’s blue eyes widened and MacEwan swallowed again. Would they widen so when he...? He squashed the thought.

"He is gone? Where? Who?"

Even knowing his offer for the girl’s hand had not yet been accepted, MacEwan felt responsibility to the family he expected to be joined to his own. The missing child would become his brother, and in time, his ally.

"I shall find the child," MacEwan said.

Campbell’s gaze shot to MacEwan’s face as the older man struggled to gain his feet.

"Nay, you are a guest in my home. ‘Tis my place to find my son."

MacEwan nodded. "Yea, but you canna do it alone. I am the best of Clan MacEwan’s trackers. If the villain who stole your bairn left this keep on foot, I can follow him."

With sorrow-filled eyes, Campbell studied him for a moment, then nodded. "I thank you, MacEwan. And if you find my son, I will grant you my daughter’s hand in marriage as you have asked."

"What?"

Both men turned toward Tyra. "Will I have no say in this? Am I a horse or a sword to be given as a prize?"

MacEwan was taken aback by the strange reaction of the lass whose brother, the future laird of her clan, was missing. But he thought her next reaction even stranger when she looked him up and down as if he were a prized bull for sale. He felt his nether parts instinctively respond to her gaze, and gave a silent sigh of relief when she turned back to her father and nodded.

"I agree. If he finds my brother, I will marry him."

Her forthrightness made MacEwan smile in spite of himself. He wouldna mind getting to know the strong-willed lass better, but not now. Time was wasting. He needed to work, and quickly, if the babe were to be found.

"When was the last time you saw the bairn?" he asked Tyra.

"Yestreen eve. I helped his mother put him to bed."

MacEwan nodded. The weeping of the grief-stricken lady still echoed throughout the keep.

"I would speak with her, then the rest of the household, and quickly. We must learn when the child was last seen."

Hours later, as the sun rose, and having gained no valuable information from the mother, the nurse, or any of the others, MacEwan stepped out of the despair of the keep into the fresh spring air. While Campbell organized the search of the chambers inside, he would begin the hunt outside.

Having only arrived after nightfall the day before, MacEwan had not been able to appreciate the beauty of Campbell’s keep. The grand house sat up on a hillside, a good defensible position, but well up from the stout protective wall. The view from the top step reached far beyond, and MacEwan took in the dew-sprinkled glory of the surroundings.

To the north, mists veiled high ridges around. To the east, meadows and fields stood ready for planting, while to the south lay Loch Bemis, its glassy surface reflecting the sun’s soft yellow rays. Like a long looking glass, it mirrored the images of the trees and rushes skirting its western shore, giving the impression of a mystical underwater realm. His fancy imagined a whole world beneath the wind-tickled waters of the loch, where the fey carried on their lives just as did ground-dwellers above.

But he had no time for such idle fancies. Shaking off his reverie, MacEwan moved down the steps and into the courtyard. A light rain had turned the dust of the night before into mud, just now beginning to dry in the morning sun.

He allowed a grim smile to turn the corners of his lips. This would be easier than he had thought.

Many sets of footprints had stirred the muck, some of shoes, some of cuarans, and some of bare feet. He followed each, one by one, and was beginning to despair when at last he came across a set which led in an unexpected direction--toward the sheer face of the outer wall.

The footprints led him to an almost hidden postern gate. Surely these were the footprints of someone from the keep, for strangers would nae be told the location of the small opening in the protective wall.

Passing through the gate he let the tracks lead him on.

Toward the loch.

Unease made his skin crawl and a brooding darkness fell over him. A bairn and the cold waters of the loch were a frightening combination.

His anxiety grew as the footprints neared the spongy ground. The villain had carried the bairn to the loch. Then what? Tossed him in to drown? A cold temper seeped through him.

No. The prints suddenly turned and moved along the shore into the rushes. He loosed a sigh as hope returned that he would find the child alive.

Pushing his way into the reedy growth, he easily followed the trail until....

He stopped short. Before him lay a trampled mass of broken rushes. And there, hoof marks. Bending down, he looked closely at the prints slowly filling with water. Beside them lay another set of prints. Smaller than those he had been following.

A conspirator? On horseback?

The sound of a horse’s whinny snapped him erect.

There, in the bracken not a stone’s throw ahead, stood a sleek stallion with a coat more lustrous and mane more flowing than any he had ever seen. The huge beast was as black as the devil and from the way he pranced, more wicked.

As MacEwan watched, spellbound by its beauty, the stallion reared and clove the air with its massive hooves then galloped off, tail held high.

Only then did MacEwan see the willowy form that had been standing beside it. An involuntary gasp escaped his lips. It was a woman of unearthly beauty. Unbound blonde hair cascaded to her knees, a snow-white gown rippled like air around her willowy form, and her face glowed with what could only be enchantment. Then he heard her shout.

"Hurry, Nib. The bairn is near to chewing my finger off."

CURRENTS RUN DEEP

By

Shelley Munro

Chapter One

Well ... hello, gorgeous.

Asia Bolino tried not to stare and slid slowly into the Norah Jones number, following the cue from the accompanying musician. Her heart shifted into an erratic gallop while a wave of heat engulfed her body. Turn around, she pleaded silently. Oh, looking good. Go on. Turn right around. Let me get a good look at you....

Aw, rats!

Disappointment throbbed through her voice before she pulled herself together and continued smoothly singing the song. She knew that face, and the man was off limits. Way off limits.

Roman Anderson.

What was he doing slumming it in the Blue Venetian Nightclub?

Her mother would have a conniption if she became involved with an Anderson. Ah, well. No harm appreciating the view. Because there was no getting away from it--the man was a mighty fine specimen. To hear her family talk he was the devil incarnate, but jeepers, the man oozed sex appeal. She inhaled sharply as she viewed his rear end. Yep, he looked good from all angles.

Asia held the final note before letting it trail off. The music ended, and she smiled at the audience, graciously accepting the applause with a regal incline of her head.

Roman Anderson was not the man for her. She sighed inwardly accepting the truth but not liking it. Feuds were the pits, especially when they limited the gene pool for shape shifters like her. The warring between the Transient Orcas and the Resident Orcas was stupid and meaningless in these modern times, but Asia knew there were those who actively encouraged the rift between the tribes.

The introductory bars of another Norah Jones favorite pulled Asia back to professionalism. She started to sing in her trademark smoky voice pleading the audience to come away with her. The low buzz of chatter in the nightclub faded, letting Asia know she was doing a good job. She let her eyes drift closed, threw back her head and poured her heart out in the music. For the three minutes of the song, she held the audience enthralled. The music faded and for a heartbeat, there was total silence before the applause broke out. Asia’s eyes popped open. She grinned broadly and bowed from the waist, giving the group of businessmen at the front table, Roman Anderson included, an excellent view of her creamy cleavage. She straightened, snagging Roman’s gaze in a long drawn out moment. He closed one brown eye in a wink and grinned at her, robbing her of breath.

Maybe he was adopted. She could corrupt him, she thought, taking half a step toward him before common sense kicked in.

“That’s the end of Scarlet’s segment for now,” an announcer said over the loudspeaker. “She’ll be back for another at midnight.”

Asia stepped down from the stage and headed to the bar for her customary glass of sparkling water. She leaned against the shiny, wooden bar and inhaled deeply, wanting to fan the heat from her face. She resisted, feeling a little pique. A man hadn’t affected her this way since her ill-fated romance with her ex-manager. She should know better than to lust after a pretty face.

Asia waited while Frank, the barman, served a group of young women out for a hen’s night judging by the screeching and laughter. She noticed several of them were eyeing up Roman. None of her business! But she couldn’t prevent the satisfaction that stole through her when Roman totally ignored them.

“Hey, Frank. It’s busy tonight,” she murmured when he had finished serving the rush of customers. The sharp tang of smoke contrasted with the sweetness of the floral scent wafting from the young women standing beside her.

“Sure is, Scarlet.” Frank placed a glass in front of her. “Looks like someone is trying to get your attention.” He gestured behind her with a jerk of his blond head.

Asia smelled the green, fresh scent of outdoors, then the warm muskiness of a male body. She turned ready to voice a protest.

“Sorry, Scarlet.” Roman’s voice was husky and strummed pleasantly across her nerves. It matched the sexy body perfectly. “I didn’t mean to crowd you. Someone pushed me.” His brown eyes twinkled down at her, a novel experience for Asia since she hit six foot in her bare feet and looked down at most men. “Not that I’m sorry. You feel as good as you look.”

An uncustomary blush climbed her neck and seeped into her cheeks. Why did the enemy have to be so sexy? So tempting?

“No problem,” she drawled, pausing to take a sip of icy water. The cool liquid soothed her fluster until she glanced at Roman again. Shoot. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. He obviously had no idea who she was. So what did she do now? Play safe and tell him she wasn’t interested or walk on the wild side?

“My name is Roman Anderson.” He held out his hand to cement the formal introductions.

“Scarlet,” Asia said with a note of caution.

“Pleased to meet you, Scarlet. Could I interest you in a late supper after you’re finished up here?”

A negative reply formed in her mind. “Yes,” she whispered. Oh, boy. Ma would lock her up and throw away the key. Except … Asia thought rapidly and decided one night with Roman Anderson was worth the risk. The family was away and wasn’t expected back until the following month. Her mother had muttered something about having a yearning for the fish off the coast of South America. No doubt they’d sample the local delicacy of seal meat while they were there basking in the foreign waters. One date. Asia glanced at Roman’s dark, handsome face. Hard to believe he was the killer whale monster depicted by her family. Where was the harm in one date?

“Yes,” she repeated in a firm voice.

“Great.” The man didn’t act as though her acceptance was a given, and she liked that. “Where should I meet you?”

Asia hesitated, trying to work out what to do to maintain secrecy yet not tip Roman off that things were not quite right. “Outside the side entrance just after one?”

“I’ll be there,” he promised, his dark eyes glowing. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you. Very much.”

A frisson of pure lust swept through Asia. Her gaze drifted across his face, his mouth, and she wondered what it would feel like to touch him, to lean her weight into him.

The soft clearing of a throat jerked her back to the present. Amusement coated his smile, bringing a renewed flush of heat to her cheeks.

“Hold that thought,” he murmured, blowing her a kiss before returning to his table.

Asia sighed, her heart thumping as if she’d finished a hundred meter sprint. The last segment of her act couldn’t finish soon enough.

* * * *

Roman let his gaze wander over Scarlet. Statuesque. Curvy. Striking red hair that matched her name. He wondered if the color was real before deciding it didn’t matter. The woman oozed confidence along with sexual allure, keeping the audience enthralled with her husky voice. It thrummed through him, jerking his cock tight in pleasurable anticipation. He hadn’t come into the nightclub with the intention of finding a woman for the night, but one look at Scarlet had changed his mind.

“Nice looking woman,” the man to his right murmured after noting the direction of Roman’s gaze.

Damn, he didn’t like being so transparent. Not when there was business involved. “Yeah,” he said finally, aware that he couldn’t push away the man without some sort of comment. “I spoke to her when I went up to the bar. Intelligent woman.”

“Pity,” the man said with a laugh. “Sometimes uncomplicated sex is best.”

“I’ll admit I was tempted,” Roman said with a shrug. Instinct made him skirt the truth, the fact he was meeting her later and hoped to round the evening off with a hot and heavy session in the sack. “But once I wrap up our business discussions I’m heading back to the island. Duty calls. I’ll have to forego pleasure this time around.”

“Yeah, I heard you live on Auckland Island. Pretty secluded place. What’s it like?”

“Some people call it the end of the Earth. My family has lived there for generations. We like it. It’s home.” And perfect for their shape shifting species--the Resident Orcas. Most of them owned land in New Zealand, some in Australia and further a field, but they all returned to the secluded Auckland Islands, deep in the Southern Ocean where they could change at will, frolic and hunt in the ocean without fear of detection.

“Modern technology and transport must have brought you closer,” the man observed.

“Sure. With helicopters and small planes, it means we’re not so cut off from the mainland.” But the island still ran on a feudal system, and as head of the tribe, he was fighting off a small, vocal group who didn’t like the old ways. Roman fought a scowl at the thought. He was going to have to take action against the leaders before they ripped the tribe apart. The split that had occurred thousands of years ago in their species had done enough harm. He wouldn’t put the tribe through that again.

“Hell, I envy the man who goes to bed with her each night,” the man said in a change of subject.

Roman nodded, his gaze remaining on Scarlet while she performed an old Marilyn Monroe number. His breath caught halfway up his throat while his body reacted again in a way that was purely sexual. Damn. A woman hadn’t affected him in this way since his early teens. Suddenly Roman couldn’t wait to see where their date would lead.

* * * *

Asia stepped out of her dressing room and headed through the bar. It was empty now save for the cleaners and with the lights on full it seemed sad and tacky, like a woman dressed way too young for her age. A vacuum cleaner hummed and the clink of glasses sounded as Frank stacked them into the glass washing machine.

“Night,” she called to Frank.

“See you next week,” he answered before continuing with his cleaning behind the bar. Asia waved and headed for the side door that opened out into a small alley. Anticipation thrummed through her body. Nervous, she licked her lips and wiped moist palms across the seat of her black trousers. She’d left the red wig on, conscious that Roman might recognize the long black hair or at least consider her and shape shifters for a fleeting moment. She didn’t want the date to end before it began. Like many female Orcas, Asia had a lock of white hair at her temple that appeared striking against her black hair. Since she’d worked on the mainland, Asia dyed it black to avoid speculation. She thanked the impulse that had led her to touch up her roots this morning because Roman would know the significance of the lock of white hair.

Asia slipped out the side door and paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. At the far end of the small alley, light from a streetlamp spilled in from the main street. Asia heard the rumble of a car before it turned into the adjacent street and faded, leaving a throbbing silence.

Fumes from rotten food rose from the rubbish skip between her and the exit of the alley. A shadow shifted, separating from the brick wall of the nightclub. Roman was waiting. A combination of relief and excitement fizzled through her veins. Asia paused to take a deep breath, knowing she was running a risk yet unable to withstand the temptation. A girl would need to be stark raving mad to turn down a date with Roman.

A metallic clang broke the night. A shout. The smack of fist against human flesh. Asia rounded the skip at a sprint and saw three darkly clad men beating up Roman.

“Hey!” she hollered. “Stop that!”

Two of the men paused but the third plowed a fist into Roman’s belly and kicked him viciously. Roman fell, his head colliding with the footpath in a sickening thump.

Asia rushed forward, screeching at the top of her voice. “Fire! Fire! Someone help. There’s a fire!”

One of the men spoke in a low, guttural voice--too low for Asia to catch the words. She kept running and almost turned her ankle in a pothole. Damned high heels! “Fire!” she shouted, righting herself and ignoring the pain in her panic to stop them from hurting Roman.

The three men melted away but not before one of them kicked Roman several times in the ribs. Asia leapt at him, ready to do some damage of her own but he was too strong and thrust her away like an unwanted piece of litter. Her butt hit the footpath with enough force to jar her whole body. Jagged pain snaked up her spine, making her eyes water.

“Oh,” she muttered, moving gingerly to find the extent of the damage. Bruised, she decided, but there was nothing broken.

The side door she’d exited through burst open, pummeling the brick wall with a bang. Excited voices neared from behind, and she heard the rapid retreat of footsteps. Bother and damn. They’d escape before anyone could do anything. She had no idea what they looked like either since they’d worn balaclavas that hid their faces. Asia clambered to her feet and dragged her aching body over to Roman. A nasty gash on his forehead and another on his left cheekbone marred the previous perfection of his features. Blood dripped down his face giving him a grotesque appearance. Asia checked his pulse. Still breathing, but he didn’t seem conscious.

“Roman, can you hear me?”

Asia was aware he shouldn’t go to a hospital. The last thing any of them needed was a curious doctor or lab technician. The Resident Orcas probably had their own healer the same as their tribe did. Asia eased out a frustrated breath wondering what to do. Damn, she couldn’t take Roman to their healer either. That would be more dangerous than the hospital.

A groan dragged her mind away from the dilemma.

“Roman,” she whispered.

“What happened?” Frank crouched down beside them.

“Are you all right?” a cleaner asked, her wrinkled face pale with concern.

Roman struggled to sit, groaning even though Asia helped him.

“Someone attacked him,” Asia said. “Roman, you okay? Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“No. I’m fine,” he said, but he didn’t sound like the Roman of earlier.

“I’ll call the cops. And an ambulance,” Frank added.

“No,” Asia said instinctively. On seeing Frank’s incredulous look she tried to make things right. “I don’t think he needs an ambulance. I’ll take care of him.” Judging by the expression on Frank’s face, she’d only succeeded in making it worse.

“What were they after? Do you think it was money?” the cleaner asked with avid curiosity.

Asia frowned at the question. “They didn’t seem interested in stealing anything. Maybe it was drug related.” The attack had seemed almost frenzied. Drugs were the only explanation that made sense.

“We’d better call the cops,” Frank said, turning to head inside.

Asia stayed him with a hand on his forearm. “It’s late. I’ll do it tomorrow morning, otherwise none of us will see our beds before daybreak.” Asia pulled out a cell phone and pressed a speed dial number. “Cab for Scarlet at the Blue Venetian Nightclub please. Ten minutes? Great.”

She closed the phone with a snap and glanced at Roman. His eyes were focused and open. “You okay? Do you think anything’s broken?”

“I’m fine.” He attempted to stand and wavered a fraction before Asia wrapped her arm around his waist to steady him. Roman didn’t look fine. His cheeks were pale and judging by his scrunched up brow, his head ached. And his voice held only a fraction of the self-assurance she’d noticed earlier. Asia suppressed a snort. Kind of ironic really. She’d wanted a hot date and all that might entail, but now it looked as though she’d end up with babysitting duties.

“You’d better go and finish up,” Frank told the cleaner. She nodded but turned away unwillingly as if she thought she might miss something. “I’ll wait until the taxi arrives.”

A white Fairlane pulled up outside the nightclub ten minutes later as promised by the dispatcher. Asia waved goodnight to Frank and climbed into the back seat with Roman. The fifteen-minute trip home to her Newmarket apartment was completed in silence. Roman lay slumped in the corner of the cab, his eyes closed. Asia cast him a worried look. Perhaps she should have risked a visit to the hospital?

Asia leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Just in front of the car parked up there.”

The taxi pulled up, and Asia handed the driver a credit card. With the payment taken care of, she turned to Roman. “You awake?” She gave his shoulder a gentle nudge and let out a sigh of relief when his eyes opened and he seemed more alert.

Roman yawned. “We home?”

“Yes.” Asia grabbed her bag and slid from the cab, waiting to steady him if he needed her help. “I’m sure you’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.” She hoped. If he didn’t show signs of drastic improvement tomorrow morning, she’d have to think about calling the Transient’s healer. And that would really stir things up.

Asia slipped her arm around his waist and led him toward the entrance to the apartment block she lived in whenever she was in the city.

“My head’s sore,” Roman mumbled. “Tired.”

“We’ll have you in bed soon,” Asia promised. Mention of bed brought an entirely different scenario to her mind. Story of her life, she thought, shoving the vision out of her head. It refused to leave. The play of muscles beneath her hand and his masculine scent undid all her good resolutions to play Good Samaritan. The initial attraction she’d felt had strengthened. Weird, considering she wasn’t one to make snap judgments. According to her family, she was the original planner, and they didn’t say that in a nice way. Asia admitted it. She considered things from all angles before coming to a decision, weighing up the pros and cons. And there was nothing wrong with running her life in that way, even if her family thought differently.

“Here we are.” Asia pulled away from Roman to rifle through her bag for her keys.

“You look very sexy tonight,” he murmured, his smoky voice sending shivers of delight through her. “It’s a pity I’m feeling so tired. Perhaps we can discuss how sexy you look again tomorrow morning?”

The keys slipped from her hands and landed on the tiled floor with a metallic clang. Asia stooped to pick them up, then stood.

“What do you say? We on a promise?”

Asia felt her jaw go slack and hurriedly clamped her lips together. She hadn’t heard wrong! “Um ... okay.” He’d probably forget he’d said that by the morning. After opening the door, she directed Roman inside. She flicked on the hall light, paused to lock the door, then guided him toward the bedroom--her bedroom. Asia swallowed the nerves that leapt up from her stomach to combine in a knot at the back of her throat. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

“I’m gonna shower before hitting the sack. Okay with you, sweetheart?”

“Um, sure.” The idea of him, naked in her shower pushed her libido a notch higher. Oh, this wasn’t fair! He’d remember everything tomorrow and head back to his island kingdom without another word of sex or bed or anything resembling horizontal.

“You going to shower with me?”

Asia felt herself blink. Oh, man, was she tempted, but it wasn’t right to take advantage of a man in this condition. “You need to sleep. If I shower with you we’ll get sidetracked.”

Roman’s dark gaze moved slowly down her body, then back up to her face. A sexy smile bloomed on his battered face. “That is true,” he acknowledged. “Maybe you’re right. It’ll be quicker if I shower on my own.” He slipped the ripped and bloody suit jacket off and let it drop to the floor.

When he started to undo his shirt Asia decided it was time to flee. “I’ll grab you a clean towel.” She shot from her bedroom as if a pack of Resident Orcas were after her. Her breathing had turned choppy, and her palms were moist. She felt as though she’d swum across the Tasman Sea from Australia to New Zealand in record time. Asia wiped the dampness from her palms and took a deep breath. This couldn’t go on. She was an adult, for goodness sake! With trembling hands, she tugged open the cupboard and seized several towels.

The pipes clanked, indicating Roman had found the shower and turned on the water. Just the image of his naked body made her break out into a cold sweat. Asia scowled. Suddenly all she could think of was sex. The rush of pleasure at the moment of orgasm. Doing it with Roman. Her steps slowed. She heard the shower door open and close and imagined his naked body. Muscled. Tanned. Very touchable.

Oh, boy.

Asia fanned her flushed face. Sucking in a deep breath, she headed for the bathroom and temptation. “He’s injured,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t be thinking about him like this.” Besides, he’s a sworn enemy of our tribe.

Asia stepped into the bathroom, her gaze shooting toward the shower. Despite the fragrant steam that filled the room, she could see his body without difficulty. And it was just as spectacular as she’d imagined.

The water shut off, and the shower door opened. Asia thrust the towels at Roman, trying hard not to stare. It was all of two seconds before her resolve weakened, and she sneaked a peek. Powerful shoulders gave way to a tight, trim waist and slim hips. Muscles. Oh, yeah ... muscles! Tight, toned and sexy. Asia craved a touch. The only trouble was that he’d just been pummeled like a punching bag. She shouldn’t have sex on the brain. This crush she had on Roman Anderson was bad news. A quick roll in the sack and a few hasty kisses were one thing, but this insidious craving for more had to stop! Before someone got hurt. Before she got hurt. A relationship between members of opposing tribes was out of the question. Her family would never speak to her again, and Asia freely admitted that would hurt. Despite their faults, she loved her family members and couldn’t imagine going through the rest of her life never seeing them. Being isolated. A male wasn’t worth that kind of sacrifice, not even an orca who turned her on.

“You’re going to feel sore tomorrow,” she muttered after catching his dark gaze on her face. Damn, that was definitely interest she saw in his eyes. This had to stop. Now. Be strong!

“Maybe,” he conceded, glancing down at his colored ribs in a disinterested manner. “I’m tired. Just want to sleep.” He leaned closer to buzz a kiss across her lips before dropping the towel on the floor and sauntering back to the bedroom.

Asia gaped at his bare ass and then at the wet buttercup yellow towel on the bathroom floor. She didn’t know which disturbed her most--the expanse of naked temptation or the fact that he expected her to pick up after him. Her astonishment turned to a scowl, and she kicked the towel out of her way. It hit the wall and settled, damp and taunting, in a soggy pile. A groan from the bedroom had her sprinting to investigate. She arrived beside her queen-sized bed to see Roman sprawled out, still buck-naked and looking very comfortable. Asia swallowed another attack of sudden lust. Her fingers itched to touch. The front view surpassed the rear one, she decided on a decadent sigh. Jeepers, this was not fair! Asia stepped a little closer. A soft chuckle jerked her gaze from his groin region.

“Hold that thought, babe.” He gave a sleepy grin and let his eyes drift closed. “Cause I intend to collect on it tomorrow.”

Asia stared, studying Roman with a combination of awe and astonishment and desire. Oh, yes, despite logic telling her seeing Roman was a mistake and her acceptance of the problems a relationship between the two would bring, she desired him.

She wanted him.

She craved, dammit!

A gentle snore erupted, interrupting her mental struggles about what was right and proper. At least he was sleeping and peacefully. In the morning, she’d send him on his way and put the whole sorry episode behind her. Meantime, Roman Anderson was sleeping in her bed. Heaving a resigned sigh, Asia collected her nightie from under the pillow on the other side of the bed. The only thing that was going right tonight, she decided. With a last look at Roman, she headed for the spare bedroom.

The alarm went off way too early, but thoughts of Roman had kept her awake for what was left of the night, tossing and turning until the bedclothes were in a helpless mess. Asia stumbled from the bed and slammed her palm down on the off button of the alarm. The piercing racket shut off leaving blissful silence. Asia cast a longing glance at the bed but dragged herself away, knowing she needed to check on Roman. Her steps quickened, and she burst into her bedroom.

Roman lay on his side with his back to her. Not a sound broke the silence in the bedroom and alarm grew in Asia. She rushed up to the bed, her heart thudding in sudden horror. Was he dead? Had she screwed up by not taking him to the hospital? She rounded the bed and leaned over to peer closely. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t. Asia imagined the kafuffle and shivered inwardly. The man wasn’t breathing. With a trembling hand, she reached out to touch his shoulder. Just as her hand touched his bare skin, he moved.

Asia let out a shriek and tried to jump away from the bed.

“Morning, babe. I missed you.” He held her fast, despite her struggles, then jerked her onto the bed.

Asia toppled against his naked chest, shock rendering her silent for an instant.

“Where have you been? I woke up and you weren’t here.”

Asia thumped him in the middle of the chest and immediately felt guilty when he winced. “Sorry. You gave me a fright. I thought you were sick.”

“My ribs are sore, and I have a bit of a headache, but apart from that I feel fine.” Roman nuzzled the soft skin of her neck and shifted slightly so their bodies were aligned.

A shiver swept the length of her body, and she was acutely conscious of the fact that Roman was naked beneath the sheet and all she wore was a thin silk nightie. She wriggled.

“Babe, watch that wriggling.”

Asia was slow to understand, then he took her hand and placed it firmly on his morning erection. The glint in his dark eyes confirmed exactly where his thoughts were headed.

“Um, I don’t think you ... we should do this so soon after--”

“What’s wrong with wanting to make love to my wife?” Roman demanded, and he kissed her, sealing her denial against his lips.