Shifters Vignettes: Emma and Connall Read online

  “I don’t even know where to look,” Emma said, her eyes flitting this way and that. A sexy natural ginger, an all-American looking blond…

  “Crap,” Emma cursed, recognizing that blond man. It was Sam, from the parking lot earlier. This was going to be a long event. Letting out a big sigh, she turned her interest from the procession of hot guys to her solo cup. She nodded and agreed with Stace’s comments as everyone moved into place, half-hearted.

  Suddenly the sensation of being watched returned full-force, giving her a chill despite the sticky heat. She was only partially listening to Stace, she realized guiltily.

  “This must be why they’re all dressed up. They’re all like… groupies!” Stace said, the pieces clicking together. “This is fascinating.”

  “Mm-hm,” Emma agreed, caving to her impulse and looking around to try to spot her invisible friend. No luck.

  “I call the one with the curly hair,” Stace pointed, drawing Emma’s attention back to the field.

  “He is very good looking,” she agreed, sipping her drink.

  Emma released a silent sigh, already bored. The game started, making her realize she had absolutely no concept of the rules of rugby. Truth be told, she’d sort of thought it might be just like soccer.

  Watching the players pass the ball in various direction and seeing it punted across the field untold times, Emma concluded that she’d been extremely wrong. She passed the first quarter by focusing on the ball, trying to teach herself the basics.

  Two drinks later and with about ten minutes left on the clock, Emma startled slightly when a loud wave of applause and whistles broke out in the crowd. Stace shot to her feet, cheering loudly. Emma must have missed a goal somehow. She’d drifted off into thought, trying to figure out whether the mystery presence she felt might be some kind of psycho stalker. It didn’t feel that way, somehow.

  Frowning, she stood to see over the other women. Then she had to laugh. No goal had been scored after all, but several of the men had taken off their shirts to show off glorious, well-defined chests and abs. It was pretty drool-worthy.

  She blinked in surprise as she spotted Sam, shirtless and sexy. He was running with the ball, a big grin spread over his face. Apparently he wasn’t paying attention though, because a huge dark-haired man slammed into him so hard that the CLAP of flesh against flesh resounded loudly.

  “Oooh,” Stace said sympathetically. The brown-haired guy tackled Sam to the ground and the ball moved on without them, picked up by a teammate.

  The dark-haired guy got up first, muscles rippling beautifully in his back as he extended a hand to fair-haired Sam. Sam pointedly ignored the offer of assistance, getting up and trotting off.

  The rejection didn’t seem to sting the other guy any, because he just shrugged and turned to jog back toward his team’s goal. The second he turned to face her fully, Emma froze in place. That incredible face, those incredible Grecian looks. This was no stranger after all.

  It was none other than her impossible, too-gorgeous-for-words dream lover. In her dreams, this was the man that had wrestled her to the ground and penetrated her everywhere possible. He’d tongued every sensitive spot on her body, made her cry out in agony and pleasure. He’d been so good in her fantasies that she would wake in the night, bathed in sweat and unable to resist slipping her hand down to finish what he’d started.

  And now he had stopped dead on the field, staring straight at her. Emma’s heart began to race, her breathing growing faster and shallower. Even from this distance, her body was responding to his gaze.

  Impossible! Her head spun as she stared at him, disbelieving.

  “Who’s tall dark and handsome staring at?” Stace asked, elbowing Emma. As if Emma wasn’t paying attention, wasn’t locked into place by his gaze.

  A whistle blew, breaking the spell. Emma blinked rapidly, her brain feeling like mush. When she looked down again, her dream man had turned and headed toward the action on the field. Had she imagined the whole thing? Shit, maybe she really was going crazy!

  “Let’s check out the concessions. And by concessions, I mean super hot guys,” Stace said, standing to follow the streams of women heading down to the open area next to the locker rooms. Emma tipped her cup up, finishing off half a drink in one go. She needed something to steady her nerves before she had some kind of mental breakdown.

  They headed down to the concession area, Stace buying a bag of cotton candy with childlike glee. Stace headed over to their group of friends and joined their animated discussion of which player was the hottest. Suddenly it was a million degrees, and her masses of heavy hair weren’t helping. Emma smiled and rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously, breaking off from the group and getting in the concession line for a bottle of water.

  As she waited in line, she began plaiting her hair into a thick braid. She didn’t have anything to secure it with, but it was better than nothing. Tension crept over her body as she stepped up to the window to order her water. As she paid, the fine hairs at the nape of her neck prickled in warning. That presence, those eyes. She was burning from the inside out, feeling naked in this crowd of strangers.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled to the concession girl, turning to head for the bathroom and splash some water over her face. Instead she found herself flattened against a wall of living steel.

  Strong hands gripped her, setting her back a step. She looked up and right into the face of her dream man, all the more real because of his fathomless hazel eyes. Strange, in her dreams she’d never noticed his eyes at all. She quickly shook off his grasp, unnerved.

  “Come with me,” he said, frowning down at her. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to a set of unoccupied bleachers, sitting down and crossing his arms.

  Emma sat next to him, unsure what to expect. What did you say to your imaginary friend, exactly?

  “What are you?” he snarled quietly, leaning close to look straight in her eyes.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, confused. She dropped her eyes, unable to bear the searching intensity of his gaze.

  “I don’t have time for games. You’ve appeared to me in my dreams for a year, haunting me. Now you’ve tracked me here and stared me down in front of hundreds humans. You’re not a Shifter, and you’re not an Ascendant, so what the hell are you? Not vampire, obviously. A witch?” he growled.

  Emma’s mouth dropped open.

  “You’re insane,” she said, somehow disappointed. It wasn’t an unfair conclusion, just not what she’d hoped the man of her dreams would label her innate skills.

  “I’m insane? I’m not the one doing all of this! You’re the one who’s been calling to me, bringing me into your fantasies. If I had known you were here in New Orleans, I would have come to find you,” he said, frowning. “But now you’ve sought me out, so don’t play coy. Tell me who you are and what you want.”

  Emma’s brows drew together and she shook her head.

  “I didn’t find you on purpose. You’re not even real!” she insisted, confused. Why the heck would her imaginary lover be so… realistic? Fantasies were supposed to be sweet and simple, not at all like this man.

  A whistle blew, and the man looked over his shoulder. It must be a signal to return to the game. Turning back to her, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. His steel grip frightened her, but not as much as the heat radiating off his body.

  “We’re not finished here,” he growled. “I will find you after the game, little witch.” He dropped her hand, trotting off toward the field without a backward glance. Emma brought her hand to her throat, releasing a pent-up breath.

  “There you are!Stace said, coming up and flinging an arm around Emma’s shoulders. You wandered off. Let’s head back to the bleachers, shall we?” Emma automatically shrugged out of the embrace.

  “Actually, I’m not feeling well all the sudden,” Emma said. She didn’t have to lie about that, either. She felt pale and shaky after her run-in with the crazed man. Worse, she felt like she couldn’t e
scape the smell of him. The scent of cedar clung to her, sticking to her skin magnetically.

  Stace gave her a worried look, reaching out a hand to feel her forehead. Emma winced and shied away, waving off her friend’s concern.

  “You do look a little out of it,” Stace admitted. “Maybe you should head home a little early. Of course, that means you’ll have to leave all the margaritas and hot guys for me.” Stace flashed her a teasing smile, giving her a quick hug.

  I will find you after the game, little witch.

  Emma gave a little shiver. She had no problem leaving all the hot guys to Stace, especially her eerie new acquaintance. Waving to Stace, she hurried out to her car. A man she’d seen in her dreams had approached her, touched her, maybe even threatened her. Something was very wrong here. Her hands shook a little trying to get the car door unlocked, and she almost cried with relief when she pulled out of the parking lot without incident.

  Still, Emma didn’t truly relax until she’d double bolted the door to her downtown loft. After closing all the windows and locking the French doors that led to the terrace, Emma stripped and climbed into her wonderfully soft, inviting loft bed. Pushing thoughts of the strange incident from her mind, she tossed and turned for ages before falling asleep.

  3

  Chapter Three

  “I’m telling you, Declan, I touched her. She was right there, as real as you and me,” Connall said. Slamming his watered-down whiskey on the battered wooden bar, he groaned aloud. The more whiskey he drank,the thicker his lilt grew. “But I didn’t even get her name!”

  Declan gave him a skeptical look, shooting the last of his drink before setting the tumbler down with a clink.

  “You’re sure it’s not just a bit of fancy running away with you, then?” Declan drawled in his own heavy Irish accent. Get the two men together, and it was like a bad American commercial for St. Patty’s Day. Connall glared at his oldest friend, unamused.

  “She’s real enough, alright,” he grumbled, giving the other man a hateful look. Declan was known for being a lady-killer, his height and lean frame accentuating dark hair and searingly blue eyes. Connall wasn’t bad off, but it was hard to look good next to a man like Declan.

  “And you just let her walk out on you, then?” Declan asked, raising a hand to signal the bartender for another round. They’d played a great match today, and kicked some serious ass against the Texas pack. Now it was time for celebrating, or at least getting face-plant drunk.

  Connall finished his whiskey and pushed the glass away, annoyed.

  “Would you believe she ran off even after I told her we weren’t finished?” he snorted, scowling at the bar.

  “Strange thing, that. Girls don’t exactly like to be pushed about, apparently,” Declan replied.

  “And since when you are a font of wisdom about females? Last I checked, you never kept one in your bed longer than sunrise,” Connall smirked. At least he wasn’t the only fuckup where women were concerned.

  “As a matter of fact, I have it straight from Jace Copeland himself,” Declan said.

  “And what does fair Jace know about about women? He’s a lone wolf if I ever met one.”

  “Not anymore. He caught himself an Ascendant, name of Tessa. She’s hot as all get-out, blonde and tiny and all. Can’t separate them these days, now that they’re mated.”

  Connall shot Declan a surprised glance. Copeland was a good man, sure, but he wasn’t the settling down type. At least that’s what Connall had always assumed. In this case it wasn’t bad to be wrong, though.

  “Well all right, then. To Jace,” Connall said, raising his freshly refilled drink.

  “To Jace!” Declan said, tapping his glass to Connall’s before taking a huge gulp. Declan winced as he swallowed, giving himself a shake.

  “Right then! I think I’d better be scouting around for someone to warm my bed, then. Can’t sleep alone the night of a winning match!” Declan said, sliding off the barstool and giving Connall a hearty slap on the back.

  “Yeah, yeah. Off with you, you slut,” Connall teased, watching his friend stride purposefully toward a table of women. Declan flipped him the bird as he went, making Connall chuckle. Now there was a man who would never get bogged down in one female, he thought.

  Connall had long thought of himself in the same terms, but here he was ignoring the looks of several willing human women as he paid his tab and and headed to the elevators to find his hotel room and his bed. He could take a woman with him tonight, but now that he knew the female of his fantasies was real… no, no one else would do.

  Once in his room he stripped and threw himself onto the bed, laying on his back and closing his eyes. He allowed his mind to drift, envisioning the woman in all her perfection. Long red hair, deep blue eyes, and that body… gods, that incredible body. Tits for days, and she was filled out in just the right places. Retracing those curves in his mind was making him salivate just a bit.

  And the way she’d stared him down today - unthinkable. Human women lusted after Connall, but deep down they couldn’t trust him. Feared him, feared the wolf that lurked just beneath the surface and wanted out so desperately. Some primal instinct put them on edge, and Connall couldn’t blame them one bit.

  And Shifter females - well, Connall spent all his time in the human world. As a Scout, he traveled in search of new Ascendants that had yet to be brought into the Shifter world. Once he found them, he simply dropped them back at the closest pack’s Den and continued on his way. No time to make friends with the locals, no matter how lovely. There were too many of his kind walking about with no idea what they were or how much danger they were in. Women didn’t even register on his radar most of the time unless they were Ascendants, humans meant to join his world.

  Which is why this obsession, this dream now come to life, was so all-consuming. Here was a female, perfect in every physical way, that looked him straight in the eye and seemed to challenge him.

  Yes, Connall had to have her. And since he couldn’t get the real woman tonight, he’d take the second best option. Closing his eyes, he waited for sleep to come. And with it, the female he believed was destined to be his and his alone.

  His female always wore something that made his mouth water, and this time was no exception. Connall walked through the now-familiar doorway into the room where their interludes always took place, and almost staggered when he saw her. She stood at the window of the dreamscape bedroom, her back turned though he could tell by the way her body tensed that she knew he’d arrived.

  She wore a tauntingly-short, perfectly ivory negligee that accentuated the fresh cream of her skin and the startling auburn of her hair, which was pulled into a long, messy braid at her back. She was barefoot, which always excited him for some reason. He knew when she turned around, she would also be free of makeup - no artifice for his woman. Connall preferred his women natural in any case.

  And so it was, when she turned and gave him that devastatingly soft smile that always felt like a blow to the chest. When she turned his eyes automatically drifted down to her long, bare legs and then back up to her breasts - that sinful little scrap of fabric was sheer, and now he could see the dusky-pink outlines of her nipples and the darkened vee of hair where her thighs met.

  “There you are,” she said softly, walking over to the bed and sitting down. She looked up at him expectantly. He growled his appreciation for the sight of her waiting for him like that, craving his touch. He went to her without thought, sinking down onto the bed and pulling her close.

  He inhaled deeply of her scent, a rich sweetness like honeyed amber. Connall slid his hand up to cup her jaw, tilting her lips up to ready her plump lips for his kiss. He leaned down and brushed his mouth against hers. Once, twice, a third time, until she reacted with a little sigh and her body softened in his arms.

  Then he kissed her properly, his lips finding hers roughly again and again as he worked them over her mouth. He coaxed her lips open and explored the sweetness inside, reveli
ng in the fact that she tasted exactly as she smelled.

  Her hands drifted up to clasp around his neck, fingers burying themselves possessively in his hair. Connall laid back on the bed, pulling her onto his body as he went. His hands slipped down from her face to outline her neck and shoulders, her waist and hips, before finding snug purchase against the fullness of her bottom.

  When he slid his hands down under the skimpy negligee, he groaned. She was completely nude underneath, all soft, rounded skin. He couldn’t help but smooth his touch up to frame her waist and and then her ribs, climbing high up enough to brush the undersides of her breasts.

  She moaned, pressing fervently into his touch. Encouraged, Connall reached up and cupped her breasts, marveling at the fact that they were more than a handful even to his enormous hands.

  He pulled back from the kiss and disentangled his hands, then stripped off the filmy little garment that kept him from seeing and tasting all of her beauty. But instead of putting his mouth to her breast as he so wanted, he moved back and looked her in the eyes.

  “Don’t… don’t stop,: she said, looking disappointed. Her sweet face pulled into an unmistakable pout, which only emphasized her kiss-swollen lips.

  “I need something from you first,” Connall said, licking his own lips as he stared at her pert little mouth.

  “Oh,” she said, a sly smile appearing on her face. She reached out for the fly of his slacks, just that brief touch making him painfully hard.

  “Not that,” he groaned, grabbing her hands before he got carried away and lost his point entirely. When she looked hurt, he sighed.

  “I mean, yes, I want that. More than you can imagine. But first there’s something I need even more than your mouth on my skin, little witch.”