Chapter One
“Cue the music. Welcome to Shifting Reality, blah, blah, blah, etcetera, etcetera. Tonight, instead of regaling you with my latest sexual conquest—don’t be disappointed—or my roommates unusual, um, eating habits, I thought we’d go back to the beginning. Just you and I, alone, having an intimate one on one. But first, let’s address those naysaying emails.
“This video journal has been online for nearly a year. If, after all you’ve seen and heard, you don’t yet believe—then you are no doubt one of those people who still thinks the earth is flat and there isn’t an alien colony on the moon. That’s okay. I love a little healthy skepticism. It turns me on. I’m beginning to think the government is on to something. The more I put the truth out there, the less you believe it.
“But if you have a shadow of a doubt, or if you’re interested in getting to know me a little better, what I’ve planned to celebrate our one year anniversary should be right up your alley—and mine. Saint, Mac and a few of my more interesting friends are having a contest—think Survivor meets Fear Factor, only a lot more relaxed, far more comfortable, and I promise you won’t have to put anything in your mouth…that you don’t thoroughly enjoy.
“We will choose nine humans to come and play at an obnoxiously large castle in Scotland owned by your favorite vampire and mine, my roommate Mac. If picked, you’ll be the starring attraction for a week of Shifting Reality. Those who stay at home will be able to play as well, asking our guests questions, and suggesting the trouble they’d like to see us get into together. Those who can last all seven days will receive fifty thousand dollars each, a vacation in Scotland and some up close and personal time with yours truly. Which, let’s be honest, is the best prize of all. Here kitty, kitty. You know you wanna play.”
Margo paused the video on his cocky smile, complete with sharpened incisors. God, he was sexy. She licked her lips, then blushed, though no one could see her. No one knew she was watching him.
Thomas “Tomcat” Lyons, the star of Shifting Reality and her most sizzling fantasies. Had it only been six months since her friend forwarded her that email? The one that contained one of his juicier journals, where he described what he felt when he took a woman. How intensely he could scent her need, how each woman had her own special aroma that changed with her arousal?
At first she thought it was just a random link. An R-rated one to be sure, but still. She’d seen the web address at the bottom and curiosity compelled her to search the unusual site. She’d clicked on each and every journal entry, sitting in front of her computer for hours. She’d watched it evolve from one man’s private rant at having to hide what he truly was, to cameras capturing unusual but captivating conversations between the three stars of the series.
There was Mac, the rather moody vampire, clearly uncomfortable at being in the spotlight, despite his beauty. Saint, the distracted techno-genius, a morally ambiguous demon half-breed who enjoyed computers more than Margo enjoyed chocolate. And then there was Thomas Lyons. Smart as a whip, kinky enough to own one, and so openly and unapologetically sexual that you could almost believe he was what he claimed to be. Namely, a genuine non-human cat shifter.
Realistically, Margo knew that the trio had to be actors. They were certainly gorgeous enough. Or hungry scriptwriters looking for backing. Several people had taken their stories online during the writer’s strike, opening up an opportunity for new talent.
Perhaps it was a unique pitch meant for her boss, and they thought they could get to her through her friend. Being an assistant for the head of a production company ensured she had a lot of people finding creative ways to meet her. As though she had any control over what the company chose to develop. Sidling up to her at parties, in grocery stores, even singing telegrams explaining why their story was the next big thing. Star Wars set as a musical in the fifties or something equally world-altering. But this was different.
There were no behind the scenes bloopers, no bios to indicate they were actors, or information on how to contact them. Nothing on their site took away from the illusion that these men were not men, but creatures, straight out of fantasy and myth. And the men themselves so perfectly played their roles that even Margo, cynic that she was, found herself drawn into their world.
Like dark chocolate, steamy romance novels and shoes, Shifting Reality had become her closet addiction, her secret guilty pleasure. She’d logged onto the site under a screen name to discuss the show with likeminded others. She took her laptop to bed each night to watch the latest installment or bemoan the lack of one. She’d even chatted with him several times. Or someone pretending to be him. Online you could never be sure. Thomas Lyons. She flirted with him under her screen name in a way she’d never have the courage to in person. Despite kno
wing he was a made up character, an illusion, she lusted after him.
She couldn’t understand why she was so drawn to him. Hadn’t she sworn off bad boys long ago? And he was a bad boy in every sense of the word. If he was real, he was one of those men Margo would never allow herself to date, even casually. He went through women and men like a drunk went through wine, loving every sip, but always moving on to the next shiny new bottle. No apologies, no remorse. He was a tomcat after all. It was his nature.
Still, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She felt like a teenager, a groupie. She was way too old for this, but she couldn’t deny it. She had a crush on a guy who liked to play dress up and have his teeth sharpened.
The link to enter the contest flashed beneath the frozen video, taunting her. There was no time in her life for wishful thinking. She was surrounded by eccentric and visionary directors and writers. She had to be the calm, realistic center.
Anyone who’d known her when she was younger would laugh until they cried hearing that. Margo Sheffield, responsible and realistic? She had changed a lot in the last few years. For the better, in her opinion. The wild child who’d come to Hollywood on a dare, who’d had dreams of fame as a singer only to end up getting into one bad situation after another, was a part of the past. Dead and buried, though Margo knew she would spend the rest of her life paying for her youthful mistakes.
She studied Thomas Lyon’s knowing grin again and sighed. She needed to get out more. Find a normal man to daydream about. In L.A., that would be a challenge, but surely there was one guy out there. Just one who hadn’t been a semi-star on a reality show, a moody rocker who wouldn’t appreciate her or an agent who promised anything to anyone, as long as he got what he wanted. She mentally added “man who believed he could grow a tail and whiskers on command” to her list. So why was she hesitating? Why was her finger still restless, itching to click her mouse, to enter the contest?
She looked down at Hailey, sliding her hand through the blue-black fur of the sleeping cat. “At least I’m a cat person.” She sighed. “It’s not like I’d be chosen anyway.” But she knew it would drive her crazy if she didn’t try. The part of her that melted every time she heard Thomas’s seductive purr knew she had to take this chance. A chance in a billion to see him face to face.
Margo opened the link and filled out the small entry form. Maybe the wild child inside her wasn’t buried quite deep enough.
“No more.”
Thomas hopped over the back of the couch, his agile body moving in a way no human’s could. He landed to sit comfortably, legs crossed on the coffee table as he popped a potato chip into his mouth. “Don’t get your kilt in a twist, Mac, you agreed to this, remember?”
The tall Scotsman snarled as he paced the living room. “I believe you mentioned something about freedom in the anonymity of the Internet. That we’d be lost in the masses, and there would be no true repercussions for baring our proverbial souls.” He stopped to glare at Thomas. “People are following me whenever I show myself, Lyons. Other vampires are split into two camps. They either want to be on the show, or they are planning my demise for allowing you to continue to out us. That sounds like repercussions to me.”
“They’re called fans, Mac Attack. It isn’t like they’re carrying torches and pitchforks.” Thomas chuckled. “Not yet anyway. As for the vampire threats, you can take them. You’re the toughest bloodsucker I know.”
Saint spoke up from his position on the leather recliner without lifting his gaze from his laptop. “The forums are already lighting up like Christmas trees, and the contest post is going viral.”
“Viral?”
Thomas snorted. “That’s a good thing in this case, Mac. Now you just need to let the current residents at Castle Continuously Depressing know we’re having guests.”
Mac crossed his arms. “Only if you remember our deal. After I allow you to turn my home into your own private testing ground, this ends. No more waking to find a camera attached to my headboard. No more deep in depth interviews about the taste of Type A versus Type O positive. I have lived a dozen lifetimes with no more than a family painting to prove my existence. And now I’ve been recorded sleeping merely to answer a random question on your damn site about whether or not a vampire snores. So no more invasions of my privacy, or Saint’s, or you’ll be looking for a new roommate…and we all know who keeps this place in cream and caviar.”
Thomas watched Mac storm out to the balcony and disappear into the night, becoming the mist. He was always envious of that ability. Arrogant bastard. Problem was, Mac was right. He stared at the ceiling morosely. It had gotten out of hand. He’d never imagined people would actually pay attention to one small website among so many. Or that he’d enjoy it this much.
He wasn’t sure when it began to bother him, hiding what he was. Maybe it always had. His was a proud species. Cats weren’t known for their humility, after all. He didn’t want to dominate humans, but pretending to be one of them, pretending he wasn’t stronger, faster, more agile and a hell of a lot longer lived…well that sucked.
Clark Kent he wasn’t. The alter ego, play-acting routine had long grown stale. But he’d lived with it for so long. Swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and suffered in silence. Until that one night. He recalled it with great clarity. He’d been penned up for too long, and he felt the desire to unleash his lion for a late night run. He’d shifted back to his human form in an alley behind his favorite nightclub. He was feeling wild, longing for the sexual release the beast within him craved. Before he could enter the club he heard the scream. A young woman had seen him, watched his body morph, watched his fur disappear and clothing come from out of the ether to cover him.
He’d reacted instinctively. Done what he’d done a thousand times before. He’d pulled her into his arms, swamped her with his pheromones, then found her friends and convinced them she was drunk. When she’d rambled on and on about seeing a lion in the alley, about her sudden need to have sex, they’d all chuckled, joking with her about her inability to hold her liquor before they decided to take her home. It was a scenario Thomas had played out before, but this time…it had gotten to him.
He started thinking about the injustice of it all. Why couldn’t he shift when he wanted to? Why did Mac have to change locations, “die” and leave his inheritance to himself over and over again? And Saint. Well, Saint was different. He had no desire to leave the house or his computer to explore the world outside. He said the demon half of him didn’t play well with others. At least, not in person. But what about all the other shifters and vampires out there? What about the ghosts? They accepted humans and their right to exist, why couldn’t they live out in the open as well?
He’d gotten home that night railing at the Fates, going on and on until Saint had walked out of the room and brought him one of his extra computers. He’d shown him how to use the webcam and how to start a blog. Mainly, Thomas now believed, to get him to shut up.
It was like catnip. He’d begun to talk into the camera and, like a sinner at confession, it had all poured out. All his frustrations, what he was, everything. It had been cathartic. Freeing. Addictive. When people began to comment on his blog, discussing his video posts in the chat room, going with what they considered his fantasy…well, he enjoyed that too. Here he could talk to them, answer questions, get into arguments about myth versus reality. Here he could be himself.