Sevastyan ignored him. Luan and Arno ignored him.
“It is important for the honor of our lair,” Arno continued, as if Matherson hadn’t interrupted his brother.
“Of course. I understand completely. We have plenty of cleanup to do, but the man has to go. He’s been stalking my woman,” Sevastyan said.
Luan nodded. “I am aware of his crimes.” For the first time he looked down at Matherson, his dark eyes settling on the man. There was no malice. No personal animosity. “You betrayed every sacred law of the lair, Franco Matherson.”
“I have money. So much,” Matherson cried, thinking to bribe them.
“You failed to protect and hold sacred our women or protect and treasure our children,” Arno intoned.
“You committed crimes against the outside world and humanity,” Luan continued.
“You hunted and killed others of our species knowing they were near extinction,” Arno added to the list of crimes.
“You risked exposing all of us to outsiders,” Luan said.
“You hunted and murdered other shifters, men and women, for the sole purpose of your pleasure. You have been sentenced by the elders of the lair to die as an abomination,” Arno pronounced.
There was no waiting. No hesitation. Luan plunged a sharp blade directly through Matherson’s throat while simultaneously Arno’s blade went through the man’s heart. Sevastyan regarded the open, shocked eyes as they stared, horrified and unbelieving that anyone would dare take his life. He had too much money. Too much power. People did what he ordered. He bought and sold people. No one would dare kill him.
“I heard his good friend Basil Andino disappeared recently,” Luan said matter-of-factly. He pulled his knife free and casually wiped blood from the ceremonial knife onto Matherson’s shirt. “He was last seen drinking in a bar with a young Russian woman. They left together and no one has seen either of them since.”
Sevastyan raised an eyebrow. “I thought Andino was a married man. What would he be doing in a bar with a woman?”
Luan nodded. “That is so. Perhaps the rumor is not true.” He bowed. “Thank you again. My lair owes you a favor.”
20
SEVASTYAN woke in the middle of the night the way he often did. The moon was high, a silver ball shining through the wall of glass, and stars scattered like diamonds across a dark sky. It was a perfect night. He turned his head to look down at the woman lying so still beside him.
Flambé rarely moved in her sleep. She always curled up, her bright red hair a splash of crimson against the black sheets. The artist in him loved that picture, the contrast of red and black. It was why he often used those colors of ropes on her.
She slept nude, the way he liked, and he was tempted to wake her. He would, but not yet. It was rare that he got the chance to touch her so gently, when her nerve endings allowed it, and he had taken full advantage. He’d made love to her as tenderly as possible the night before. Slowly. Making them both wait. His fingers threaded through hers. Looking into her eyes
. Seeing into her heart. Her soul. Giving her his. God, but he loved her.
He began to untangle his body slowly from Flambé’s. He liked to sleep with his arm locked around her waist. One thigh over hers. Sometimes her breast cupped in his palm. His cheek on top of her head. He wrapped himself around her. He knew it was because oftentimes it still felt as if she had one foot out the door. She would suddenly, inexplicably withdraw from him, and he knew she was second-guessing herself, becoming fearful again. He had a fear that she might try to run and instinctively, he held her closer.
At first, whenever Flambé became afraid, Sevastyan would try to step up his tenderness, being thoughtful, making certain he spent more time with her and being more attentive. Over time, he realized those things backfired. She associated the niceties that shifters did for their women with setting them up for the bigger fall later. Once he realized she didn’t respond well to his sweetness, he would fall back on his rope art and the connection they had through that. Eventually, she would talk to him and after, when he held her, she would relax into him and be able to let go of her insecurities.
The fact that she had those trust issues upset her more than it did him. He reached down and caught at her silky hair, letting it slide through his fingers the way he always slid the ropes through his fingers, feeling protective of her. She had worked hard on their property, more so on the outside than the inside of their home. She’d made few changes to the interior, but the outside was already so transformed he barely recognized the property. Ania had been shocked, admitting the landscaping was unbelievably beautiful and should be written up in a magazine.
Very slowly, so as not to disturb his woman, Sevastyan slid from the bed and padded across the room to the long, thick glass wall. Ordinarily, he would have lowered the privacy screens so Flambé could sleep in going into the weekend, but he liked full moons, and so did she. Most full moons, he kept the screens up so when he woke, he spent time absorbing the beauty of the night.
Opening the door, he slipped out onto the balcony and wandered around to face the large two-story indoor garden. The two garages had fit seamlessly together. They had their own version of a lush garden of paradise in that giant glass rectangle housing trees, waterfalls and luscious plants of all kinds. Small stone pathways wandered through the garden where chairs or a couch invited one to sit and rest or read or play depending on the mood.
Small lockers were hidden, housing his ropes in different areas as well as other toys and weapons they might need in an emergency. Sevastyan believed in being prepared for anything. For the leopards there were climbing routes as well as places for them to curl up and lie together up high in the loft concealed among the plants.
In one corner of either end were bathrooms, thankfully already built in. Flambé had remodeled them to fit with the theme and they were artfully draped with plants on the outside. The doors were an archway with flowering vines crawling up. There was a small kitchen off either of the bathrooms where refrigerators housed their very cold water, something he always insisted on for both of them. He ran hot and she needed to stay hydrated.
There was something very special about the indoor garden. He couldn’t quite decide if it was because the two of them had made the plans together and worked side by side doing quite a lot of the planting once her crew had gotten all the big items in. She’d showed him how to plant the smaller shrubs and flowers and he’d gotten good at it.
They laughed a lot together while they worked. He took orders from her and she talked a lot about things that mattered to her. She’d been a little shy at first, but in the end, because he clearly was interested in anything Flambé, she talked more and more to him. He found that because she gave up little things about herself, he was more willing to answer questions about himself and give her things about him no one else really knew. That garden was the place they shared the most of themselves while they worked. It was still young, and there was still so much more work to do, but both looked forward to it.
Sevastyan scented Flambé before he felt her hand move up the back of his thigh to his left buttock. It was an intimacy she would never have shown a few short weeks earlier and it set his heart tripping. Her hair slid over his skin, following the path of her fingers and he closed his eyes, absorbing the feel of the silky strands as they moved over his left cheek. Then he felt her lips, soft and warm, kissing him, shaping his firm muscles right before her teeth nipped daringly.
He laughed softly and caught her arm, bringing her around to the front of him, locking her there, her back to his front so they were both looking out over their property. “It’s so beautiful, Flambé. The difference you’ve made not only to our land, but to me, to our home, defies all logic. I had no idea one woman could change my life the way you have.”