Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(8)

The knowing was visceral, as if he’d sensed the other half of himself, her presence intoxicating to his senses.

The soft and the wild, the two scents that were both hers.

He frowned. The feline whisper to Kirby’s scent hadn’t made another appearance the entire time he’d spent with her and that was impossible for a changeling, so she was definitely human. His human. Leopard and man, both parts of him smiled, figuring he’d have plenty of time to work out the complex mystery of her scent.

Had she been changeling, he’d have—No, he’d have done exactly the same things he planned to do to win his sexy little human mate. He’d court her, seduce her, pleasure her . . . and by the time she realized what was happening, she’d already be his. The last thing he could afford to do was come on so strong that he scared her.

With that thought in mind, he rolled up his sleeves and focused on figures that today seemed as dry and as boring as dust, in spite of the financial turmoil caused by the recent political shift among the Psy. That’s what a lot of people didn’t understand—the psychic race might’ve been standoffish to a large degree until recently, but all three races—human, changeling and Psy—were connected on a global level; civil war in one sphere affected them all.

Sometimes, it was subtle, as with the market fluctuations, other times overt.

Bastien’s mouth set in a grim line as he considered the toxic bomb discovered ten days prior in the city’s central skytrain station.

“But that,” he muttered, “isn’t what you need to be thinking about right now. Get to work so you can spend as much time as possible with Kirby in the coming week.”

He did exactly that, was ready for a break when his phone rang a couple of hours later, Grey’s number on the display. “What do you want, shrimp?”

“Do you want to come over tonight?” his younger brother asked. “Sage and I are getting pizza and watching the basketball game.”

“Thanks, but not tonight.”

“Better offer?”

“Way better.” His entire body grew taut at the thought of Kirby; if she no longer felt ill, he had every intention of talking his way into staying. God, he wanted to pet her, hold her, nuzzle his face into the curve of her neck and draw in that intriguing scent that made no sense.

If, however, she was still sick, he’d coax her into going to a clinic. And if Kirby proved stubborn about it, he’d pick her up and take her. She could be mad at him later—after the doctors checked her out. Bastien did not mess around when it came to looking after the people who mattered to him.

“Not one of the women from the luncheon?” Grey’s voice broke into his thoughts, his brother’s surprise open. “I thought Sage said you snuck out early—he’s cranky about that, by the way.”

“She’s no one you two know.” He wasn’t ready to share Kirby with his family or his pack yet. Not only did he want her all to himself until he was drunk on her, he didn’t want to risk her being overwhelmed by the Smith clan or his affectionately nosy packmates. “I’ll see you later this week. And tell Sage he can be cranky when he’s been ambushed by a setup as many times as I have.”

“When should I start worrying?”

“Not for a few years yet.” Hanging up after a bit more back and forth with his brother, he knuckled down to work again.

There were three more calls, two from packmates who needed advice about personal financial matters, the third from his father. Michael Smith had obviously been talking to his mate, and was checking up on his son. Happy to answer his father honestly, Bastien told him he was fine. Hell, he was ecstatic.

That visceral excitement had intensified to fever pitch by the time he left the office.

Kirby sounded sweetly delighted when she answered the intercom and cleared him into her building, her accent redolent of mint juleps and magnolia trees. Deciding he was going to kiss her on that lush mouth of hers as soon as possible, licking and tasting and indulging, he took the steps to her apartment three at a time, making it there just as she opened the door.

A slight gasp, followed by a shy smile that made him want to bite, her pretty honey-colored hair in a ponytail that bared the delicate skin of her nape. “That was fast.”

Leopard stretching under his skin at her proximity, he allowed himself to tug on a curling tendril of hair that had come loose from the tie. “I bring gifts to bribe my way inside.” He held up the bag from a family-run restaurant one block over. “Chicken noodle soup. Good for whatever ails you. And if you’re feeling better . . .” He showed her the frozen yogurt he had fantasies of feeding her spoonful by spoonful, and yeah, maybe he wanted to lick it from her skin for his own dessert, but he was a cat. Kirby couldn’t be too surprised if he gave in to temptation.

“So?” he teased gently when she didn’t step back, her caressing gaze on his shoulders, his chest. It was all he could do not to cup her jaw, claim a hot, deep kiss, tell her she could touch him anytime she wanted.

Cheeks coloring, she invited him into the tiny space that would’ve normally made his leopard stir-crazy. “I feel fine,” she said. “I had a couple of twinges right after you left, but then nothing.”

From the scent and look of her, her skin glowing, she didn’t appear ill. Yet once again, he caught a hint of that other scent, wild and inexplicable, that confused his leopard. “Have you been spending a lot of time around another cat lately?” he asked, though the scent was too integrated into her body to be anything other than her own.