 
### Table of Contents

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Author's Note

Acknowledgments

About The Author

Destined
KENYAN HEAT

A Darkin World Novella

Book 0.1

A.B. Robinette

Copyright © 2018 by A.B. Robinette

Cover by A.B. Robinette

Title image by Maddison Robinette

Book and Cover design by A.B. Robinette

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system - except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review - without permission in writing from the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This is an Indie work of fiction. If you find any mistakes that I may have missed, please let me know so I can fix them. Thank you!

Visit my website: abrobinette.com

Email me: abrobinette@abrobinette.com
_For my husband, my Marine_.

# CHAPTER ONE

_May 5, 2023_

"You'd be a queen."

Ife bit back a scoff. Although Zaire Akinyi was handsome, rich, and powerful, he was also clearly insane. He'd already claimed numerous "queens" since coming to power. She doubted many had been willing. Yes, their inner beasts were lions, but that didn't mean their human selves wanted to be part of a pride where only one man was their mate and not a true mate at that.

"I'm happy as a lowly doctor. But thank you for the offer," Ife told Mr. Akinyi firmly.

Zaire had invited her to an outdoor café in the inner city for lunch with the pretense of scouting Ife for a new hospital he was opening. The subject never presented itself. Instead, he pressured her about becoming one of his mates. Ife felt like a fool for accepting the invitation. She'd known his reputation before she'd agreed to join him.

Around them, a steady stream of people teemed. Some were civilians in their western clothes, going about their daily lives. Most were Zaire's military men and women decked out in full tactical gear. He was the First of Africa, which in the shifter world meant he was the alpha of alphas on the continent. But to humans, he was simply a well-known and beloved general.

Unbeknownst to the non-supernatural populace, Akinyi had grown rich off this third, apocalyptic world war. It sickened Ife that he'd profited while others suffered in the most horrific of ways. Mentally, she checked another imaginary mark in the con column regarding the man.

A frown appeared between the werelion's shade-covered eyes. Zaire always wore dark, mirrored sunglasses. It was as if he were hiding something, furthering Ife's distrust of the male. A split-second later, his features smoothed. "You should run with us tonight before you make a decision," he softly, yet forcibly urged.

With their lion forms so close, Ife knew it was madness to accept Zaire's offer. She was starting to believe he was feral and, therefore, dangerous as either man or beast. He'd likely make use of the full moon to track, pin, and mate her without consent.

Due to an ancient curse put upon their people by a long-dead witch, their beasts came to the fore each full moon. The change was forced on them at the zenith of each lunar cycle. In retaliation for the evil spell, the witch race had been shunned by the others ever since - much good it did Ife's own, the shifters.

Although Ife had been born into the Masai-Mara pride, when she came of age after her first shift at the age of thirteen, she didn't officially join. She was still but a child, too young to make such a monumental decision which would see her pledge life-long fealty to their alpha through blood magic. Added to that, it'd become an antiquated practice that children were no longer forced to endure until they knew their minds.

Four years later, Ife left for university in England. At the time, it felt like she had all the time in the world before settling down into the Masai-Mara pride. When war broke out while she was working on her doctorate, she further delayed her return to her family and country.

Ife had waited too long. Most, including her parents, were lost in the conflict. The Masai-Mara pride was no more. Now, other shifters considered her a loner. With no male family members or alpha to protect her, werelions such as Zaire saw her as fair game. It was why he viewed her as easy prey for a forced mating.

Fighting a shudder, Ife looked at the delicate watch on her wrist. A pinky ring in the shape of a lily flashed in the sunlight. It'd been a gift from her mother after Ife's first shift. Its golden light reflected back at her off of Zaire's darkly mirrored sunglasses.

"My break is over." Ife rose and picked up her freshly filled container of coffee. "I need to return to work."

The man across from Ife stood as she did. One of Zaire's lieutenants, a shifter she recognized but didn't know the name of, came to attention behind him. The First towered over her, flashing a bright white smile. "Become my queen, and you won't need to work," he tried one last persuasion.

A sound, halfway between impatience and disgust, left her throat before she could stall its escape. Ife hurriedly took a step back, creating more space between them as Zaire's features darkened. "Thank you for lunch." The words were firm once more. She wouldn't give the alpha any wiggle room no matter how on edge he made her feel.

Giving the First a brief nod toward their table indicating the hardly-touched food, Ife turned and left without another word. She was afraid Zaire would call her back to make more demands, ones that weren't as easy to ignore. He didn't, but Ife knew that one of his lackeys followed her from the cafe at a discreet distance. The same shifter had been doing so for the past few weeks, ever since she'd come under the First's radar. His name was Kojo, something-or-other. She'd never learned the werelion's surname.

Bomb-scarred buildings passed by unseen as Ife walked the busy streets. They were five years into what had quickly been dubbed World War Three. Much had changed in that time. Cities such as Nairobi had significantly thinned in their number of citizens and livable spaces. The world over, people fled inland and away from the populated areas that made for tempting targets for soldiers and their drones. That didn't stop the death toll. Earth's populations had more than halved since the conflict started.

Then seven months ago, Kenya's capital was deemed safe by Zaire. He'd risen to become their country's new, defacto leader. Some brave souls returned to the city. But most stayed hunkered down in their hidey holes to await a lasting peace.

Nearly all the world was in chaos. Even the United States' government was no longer in charge of its citizens. Factions ruled, and those not in power were swept up in their wake. One good thing about Zaire, as promised, he brought stability to their small pocket of the planet. Although Nairobi's population was nowhere near pre-war levels, it was higher than it'd been a few months prior.

Ife was one who'd come back, lured by the promise of safety and an inner drive to lend her people aid. With her medical training, she felt she could best put her expertise to use in the country of her birth. She might not have been able to lend assistance to her family or pride when they needed her, but she could help the humans who remained.

Biting back the tears that welled in her throat, Ife came upon a multi-storied building. It'd once had a different use, that of an upscale apartment complex. However, with the city's hospitals naught but bombed-out rubble, it was quickly repurposed and secured to serve the city's sick and injured.

"Hello, Dr. Bayo," George, the human guard at Nairobi County Hospital's doors, greeted. The simple salutation stopped Ife's emotions from spiraling downward into a dark hole. She needed to keep her wits about her; patients waited within.

"Did you have a good lunch?" he asked. George knew Ife had had lunch with the African First. In a show of wealth and power, Zaire came to pick her up in his expensive, sleek black sedan. He was easily recognized. The humans in Kenya viewed him as their hero.

"Yes, it was fine," came Ife's quick reply. She was glad humans couldn't smell lies as shifters could. With a negligent wave over her shoulder in George's general direction, she walked further into the building, then caught the elevator. Riding it to the fourth floor, she strolled down a few corridors before coming to her office.

The male werelion trailing Ife never entered the building. Another powerful man was its owner. Zaire's lackey waited outside so as not to ruffle any feathers. Later, however, Kojo would follow her home. She'd tried leaving via other exits, yet he always found her.

Soon Ife's patients took priority. Zaire and his plans for her became annoying, buzzing gnats in the back of her mind. It was a little over an hour before sunset when she recalled her predicament. Ife knew she was cutting it close but hoped to outsmart the African First. She wasn't willing to risk her beast giving into Akinyi's wishes if he found her when the moon was high. If that happened, she'd likely end up mated without any say.

The general's goon was gone by the time Ife exited the hospital a few minutes later. Kojo likely feared being caught in town when the change overtook him. It was a concern she shared.

Heart in her throat and umbrella in hand, Ife caught a bus leaving town. With petrol prices high, the service had been suspended until a few months prior. Zaire found a way to procure the precious fuel source, and now the buses were running once more. This one headed southwest, toward the Ngong Hills. She'd learned the African First and his lackeys liked to run to the north in the Masai-Mara pride's former territory. The direction she decided on should see Ife safe from him and his insane plans.

Less than an hour out of town, the bus made its last stop in Ngong, a city that had doubled in size when Nairobi's citizens fled. There, missiles shot from warships hadn't decimated the area as they had Kenya's capital.

Many countries witnessed similar destruction. Boundary lines were redrawn many times, and leadership was uncertain. Even the U.S. and U.K. had fragmented governments that were no longer able to soothe a terrified populace. This war had fractured the world.

No one paid Ife any heed as she walked further out of town and toward the hills. Where once open, friendly faces would have met her, now Ife saw distrust. She wept for the people of her childhood. No evidence of them could be found in these tight-featured, shifty-eyed strangers.

Ife's fast-walk turned into a jog, then an all-out run. When her inner beast took over, her human side was pushed down deep. She didn't want to "wake" with the taste of humans on her tongue. Great care was taken for that not to happen. Because of it, she'd never violated her Hippocratic Oath and stolen a person's life.

Moonrise neared as sunset did. It was ever thus with a full moon. Ife stopped in an unpopulated area with acacia and baobab trees fanning out overhead. They weren't thick enough to offer much cover.

With one, last glance around to make sure she was alone, Ife lifted her dress over her head. Her undergarments soon followed. Rolling the bundle together, she placed it on top of her shoes then stowed them under a prickly bush.

As the sun died, the moon was born. A wave of anguish came over Ife. Although she had no children of her own, she likened what she felt to what women described while in labor. Another stronger contraction hit soon after the first. This time, bones popped out of their sockets. Ife panted through the pain. Before she could catch her breath, another wave was upon her, then another. Within less than a minute, a lioness stood where once a woman had.

Ife's beast shook herself to settle her fur. Then, she loped off to find dinner.

# CHAPTER TWO

A low, rumbling warning sound came from deep in Nathan Allen's throat. Usually laid-back, he surprised his teammate - Private First Class Richard Thomas Mills the Eleventh - by fisting the collar of his shirt and pulling him so close their noses nearly touched. The other four men on the team were only surprised it'd taken Nate so long to put the annoying shaman in his place.

The man in Nathan's grasp was young, even by human standards. At twenty years old, Private First Class Mills' height put him four inches taller than Nate's six-foot-seven frame. The kid was lankier, and not nearly as muscled, however.

"What are you going to do, Sergeant Allen?" Mills sneered. Although shamankind were known for their extreme arrogance, this kid was drowning in his.

"Keep talking, and we'll see." Nate's grip tightened. His fingers itched to wrap themselves around the shaman's throat. He was seconds away from partially shifting and letting his beast loose.

The kid must have seen how close Nate was to losing his shit because his pale face blanched above a dark, patchy five o'clock shadow. Nathan knew his deep chocolate eyes likely began to change to amber as his beast fought for dominance. It happened with shifters when their emotions ran high.

"It was a joke." The kid's Adam's apple bobbed above Nate's grasp.

"I'm not laughing."

Although they were a team, these men were practically strangers. They didn't know of Nate's past. When Mills began talking about the "pussies" Zaire Akinyi slaughtered to become First, Nathan saw red. Those slaughtered werelions had been his parents. He'd been nine when they lost their lives, his father in a sanctioned fight that was rumored to have been rigged. Zaire killed his mother when she refused to become Akinyi's mate by default. A pride member secreted Nate away before the power-hungry man could murder him as well.

He'd quickly been adopted by American parents and shipped out of Africa. His name, Nassor Jelani, was changed to Nathan Allen. Although he'd been young, he never forgot his birth name and vowed to reclaim it one day. Even after all the years he spent in the U.S., Nate never completely lost his Zambian accent and, therefore, his tie to his place of birth.

To have his shifter parents called "pussies," all these decades later brought to the surface old feelings Nate had thought buried. Sadness, loss, anger, and helplessness welled within once more. His parents hadn't been weak but betrayed by an evil man. They deserved more respect, especially in death.

Mills sucked in a breath. "Your next words better be an apology," Nate warned. The shaman race's magic was in their words. The kid better not be gearing up to throw out curses at him.

"Everything okay?" a deep, German-accented-with-English voice asked.

Nate stared hard at the young man. "Just waiting for an apology from Dick here, Lieutenant," he ground out from between clenched teeth.

Corporal Andrew Stevens shared his race with Mills. The older man laughed at the nickname Nate had just given Richard. It was likely that the name would stick. The knowledge had to have been hard on the vainglorious youth, especially when Stevens whisper-chuckled, "Private Dick." It was surprising that a shaman would side with a shifter against one of his own. That too had to sting.

Dick's hazel eyes darted to those of their commander. First Lieutenant Wolfrick Jaeger was a tall, muscled werewolf. He was so "alpha," no one wanted to mess with him. Mills' gaze shifted to look out at the Ngong Hills when he found no sympathy there.

"I'm sorry for calling your kind pussies," Dick finally managed to force out the apology. It must've cost the egotistical, cocky prick considerably to have to bend. Still, it wasn't enough. Nate wanted to rain blows and insults of his own on the young man.

"Sergeant Allen," Jaeger said in a calm, commanding tone. "You have your apology."

Nate's jaw tightened as he forced his grip on the young shaman's collar to loosen. The insincere utterance of regret wasn't nearly enough. But their team leader had given an order. Flexing aching fingers, his look promised PFC Mills death with one more mishap.

"We good here?" Jaeger asked, his greener-than-grass eyes pinning Nate.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Mills answered instead. The shaman's hubris had been scared out of him for the moment.

"Allen?" The commanding tone brought Nate's gaze from the shaman back to the First Lieutenant. The werewolf was an inch taller and slightly bulkier than Nathan, but it wasn't the werewolf's size alone that garnered respect.

"Yeah, we're good."

With a slight motioning of his dark blond head, Wolfrick Jaeger silently ordered Mills to follow, then walked back to his tent. It was apparent in the slope of the young shaman's shoulders that he knew he was in for a dressing-down. Still, Nate's temper simmered.

"You running with us tonight?" their Master Sergeant and Weapons Expert, Brice Everett, asked as he clapped Nate on the shoulder. The tall, light blonde-haired man was another werewolf. Nate felt as if he were hemmed in by that breed of shifter. Their proximity made his skin feel tight and itchy.

"No," came Nate's short reply. Unused to such comradery, he shrugged off the hold and walked toward a stubbled grass, wooded hill surrounding their camp. Werewolves had no sense of "personal space."

They were a rag-tag and unlikely bunch, thrown together by the First of North America and the shaman council's chancellors. As such, their team was small and made up of the best their races had to offer. Each man doubled up on their positions within the group. There were three shaman and four shifters, with Nate being the odd-man-out as the lone werelion. He'd been fighting solo for so long that he felt itchy around the other men, especially the wolves.

Since his skin was the correct shade for the area and he spoke the local dialect, Nate was the one who was seen in Nairobi. His previous position as a sniper made it challenging to adjust to being the frontman, the one who was to be noticed. It wasn't a smooth transition, and he dreaded going into the capital each time there was a need. But with their recon team being so small, he had to multitask just like everyone else.

As Nate walked further from their makeshift camp, his thoughts turned to the reason he'd accepted this mission: Zaire Akinyi. He wondered if Jake Ramirez, the North American First, knew of Nate's past when he'd handpicked him for this deployment. One of their allies was feeding the enemy intel and weapons. The number one suspect soon became Akinyi after a lost shipment of arms was traced back to this area. At the very least, the other werelion was a link to the kingpin of the organization.

Whether Ramirez knew of Nate's past association with the African First, he couldn't say. But this was one opportunity he wouldn't pass up, the sole reason he'd become a part of the operation. Finally, after the mission was completed, he'd see to justice for his parents.

The pull of the hidden moon called. Nate picked up his pace, putting more distance between himself, annoying young shaman, and the rest of the team. By the time he stopped, he was out-of-breath. The horizon was swallowing the last rays of the sun.

It was May in Nairobi, and that meant Autumn was well on its way. They were still in the "long rainy" season. The downpours usually lasted a half-hour, then the sun came out to dry everything off before the next deluge. It looked as if it would rain before sunrise, Nate noted with a sigh. He'd likely be putting on wet clothes.

Finding a nice, secluded spot in the acacia-filled heights, Nate began to remove his clothing. Soon after, the moon gained prominence. The sound of bones dislocating, realigning, and shoved back into place with unrelenting force soon permeated the damp night air. Agony-filled moments later, Nathan's enormous beast stood and shook its mane, settling into its form. All evidence of the man was gone.

Padding through the dirt and grass, he set off to hunt any prey unlucky enough to cross his path. It was hours later when Nate's beast picked up another scent, far more compelling than the wild hog currently in his maw. Whatever it was, it smelled of sunshine in the dead of night mixed with sweet-smelling acacia flowers. It reminded him of summer.

Curiosity caused him to drop the dead hog and track the scent. Lifting his nose, the beast cast about for its origin. It was coming from the south and slightly west. He moved closer, picking up his pace to a lope as it became stronger. Ahead, tall grass moved, then parted to reveal a lioness. Too late, the beast saw she was stalking prey. As he stopped in his tracks, the horned animal heard and rose from its prone, sleeping position in the underbrush. Others joined, and soon there was a small stampede.

The lioness ran after her fleeing prey. Unfortunately, the antelope she'd picked was too spry and slipped from her grasp. She lunged, claws extended, then tumbled upon landing as the animal suddenly bolted in another direction. The Ngong Hills soon swallowed it. The beast was too far away to catch the prey for her.

The lioness rose to her feet. Her sides heaved as the lion approached. As she panted and radiated excess body heat, the smell of sun and flowers enveloped him. One eye rolled in his direction before her head turned. It was apparent from her size and behavior that she, too, was a shifter.

The man rose inside the beast. Excitement filled him. He'd never met another werelion. Although the Allens were loving and understanding stepparents, they'd been human. He remembered from his time with the pride that homo sapiens were never to know of their existence. It was why he'd retire early whenever the moon was full.

Nate's first shift at the age of thirteen almost had him giving the secret away. He remembered feeling the pull on his bones one evening while away at a baseball tournament. It was his first overnighter. Knowing what was happening, Nathan left his room, saying he wasn't feeling well. He snuck out of the motel and found relative solitude just in time.

That first change had been scary. Nate hadn't known what to expect as far as the overwhelming of his senses and pain went. Never before had he felt so alone.

And now, he found one of his own. The beast fought for dominance once more and shoved the man within down deep. This was his time.

The lion wanted to mark the lioness, rub his scent all over her. The man was more than willing to give in to his beast's wishes. He gave up dominance and went away quietly.

The werelion was a few feet away when the lioness turned to face him. There was a glint in her eye that the bright moonlight made seem sinister. Before he could heed his intuition, she struck. An angry swipe of her claws made four deep scratches on his sensitive nose. As he yowled in shock and pain, she roared her fury at him.

The beast shook his head to alleviate the sting. The lioness, her spleen vented, turned and loped off toward the trees. He didn't follow, understanding that his presence wasn't welcome.

In the chill light of day, Nate redressed. The clothes he'd hidden were damp from the light rain. Perturbed, he walked back to camp and was the last shifter to arrive. His wounds had healed, but the memory of the lioness remained.

The other shifters were riding the high that came after communing with their inner beasts. They wanted to head into Nairobi. Nathan was still puzzling over the werelioness he'd met and absentmindedly agreed to the field trip. Maybe he could find a bar and let large quantities of alcohol calm his mind, however briefly.

# CHAPTER THREE

"Wolves? In Kenya?" Beneath the dripping rim of a colorful umbrella, Nate found a beautiful face drawn down in question. The woman's head was cocked to the side at a jaunty angle as she stopped in the middle of the street to watch three men cross.

Nate trailed behind his teammates. Their commander turned back, having easily heard the woman's question. Dark blonde brows rose above striking, green eyes as he caught Nate's own.

It was mid-morning. The rain had begun not an hour before. Unseen, bodies streamed past as Nate looked to the woman once more. He finally answered, "Unfortunately." His lips twisted in a sour expression.

Master Sergeant Everett snorted further up the road, drawing Nate's attention. A fist raising a single, middle-fingered salute shot above his platinum blonde head. Although they were dressed as locals, Nate blended in with the Nairobi population better than the others. The foreigner's rude gesture was noticed by more than a few people, causing murmurs as they milled past.

Suddenly, a passerby ran into the back of the mysterious beauty. The jarring, accidental shove sent her and a collection of rain off the umbrella and into Nate. It drew his attention from his teammate. Deftly, he caught the woman against him, saving her from a fall onto the wet pavement. Looking up at him, she smiled. It was then he noted her eyes were a medium brown with a tinge of green around the edges.

"Thank you," the beauty all but purred. A hand came up to rest on Nate's left pectoral and tested the firmness it found there. Then, the woman pressed her soft curves against him, and Nate's focus narrowed even further.

Nate's nostrils flared. The beauty's scent was familiar, that of the sun and acacia blossoms. Summer filled his senses for a brief time. Eyes widening, he realized she was the lioness from the previous night. In his peripheral, he barely noted Wolfrick's two-thumbs-up before the rest of his team left him standing in the middle of the roadway.

Were she human, Nate would've been suspicious. But recognizing the scent, he knew she was a shifter. Just like him and the wolves on his team, she was riding the high experienced after a full moon shift.

Ife noted the American were's eyes turn the amber of his beast. A single blink later, they returned to a deep, chocolate brown. She nearly purred again in satisfaction as her nails flexed into the firm muscle beneath them. Something about him felt familiar.

Straightening, Ife observed, "You are not a wolf." She was familiar with that breed of shifter and the way they moved from her time in England. She'd never taken one of them as a lover, preferring human males. As a result, she'd been celibate for more than a year. She'd been celibate for far too long.

Grasping Ife's hand, the shifter led them through the crowd. He headed in a direction opposite the wolves. In a quiet tone, he eventually answered. "I'm a lion."

Coming to walk beside him once they were on the sidewalk, Ife felt the corners of her lips lift in her slow, Cheshire cat smile. "As am I," she told him.

Although Nate recognized her, the female didn't seem to know him. It might be for the best because of how they'd left things the previous night. Younger shifters had a hard time recalling what their beast did during a full moon. This lioness could've been in her early twenties, or she could've been a hundred. Gauging age by looks alone in the races was difficult. They grew older at a much slower rate than humans. It was also possible that she did remember their first meeting and decided to play coy.

After a few feet, Nate let the lioness steer him onward. They were in a more affluent neighborhood. Just two years before, the place would have been bustling with foot and vehicle traffic. It was a sad testament to how much this war had taken from citizens all over the world that there were few people and fewer cars.

Nairobi wasn't a safe place, yet Ife had returned home after earning her M.D. at Queen Mary University of London. Once war broke, she'd felt a soul-deep need to help her people. Zaire made that possible several months prior by declaring Nairobi secure. So far, peace held.

As they walked, Ife felt the werelion's eyes traveling over her body. She was thankful he didn't try to touch her. It would've been a proclamation she could ill afford to have Zaire's man, her shadow, witness.

"Tell me where we are going, and I'll lead," Mister Tall, Dark Chocolate, and Scrumptious said low, near Ife's ear. The sound of his deep voice sent goose pimples along her flesh.

It was a shifter male thing. What the werelion was really saying was that he respected Ife and would stand between her and danger. As such, she didn't take umbrage.

Shaking her head at his request, Ife retained the lead and put more distance between them. Although he was _her_ choice, she needed to exercise caution. Zaire's goon Kojo wouldn't be far. She hadn't seen him yet this morning, but that didn't mean he wasn't around.

Her choice in post full moon lover dressed and looked like a local with military-short hair. The style had been in fashion since shortly after the beginning of the war. He was also clean-shaven, another popular trend. Although his Swahili was good, Ife heard American in his accent and surmised he was from that country. Whether he was a refugee or something else entirely, she couldn't say.

An eight-story, modern building loomed on her left. "Wait a few minutes," Ife murmured outside its doors. Although the werelion was a few feet behind her, she knew he heard. "Room 802," she informed him under her breath. Then without a backward glance, she walked inside and toward the elevator.

Ife felt twitchy in her own skin. It was always like that after a shift. The best way to settle it was to rub up against another until the itchy feeling stopped. It was likely why wolves were prowling the streets of Nairobi, why she was taking an unknown male to her bed. As pregnancy had become scarce in her race and STI's were impossible to get, she was "safe."

_At least he's not Zaire_ , Ife thought as she unlocked her door. She kept it on the latch, put her umbrella in its stand, then went into her bedroom. Working fast, she shucked her dress and utilitarian underwear. Throwing them in the hamper on her way to her dresser, she clucked at the dust on her skin. Running all night as one's beast, far outside of town, wasn't the cleanest of exercises. The rain hadn't washed it all off.

Grabbing a pair of white, lacy, and barely-there undies, Ife practically ran to her bathroom. Turning on the tap, she knew she didn't have time to wait for the water to heat. Grabbing a washcloth, she wetted it and began removing the dust from her skin.

Nate let the door close softly behind him. He picked up the sound of water running in what he assumed was the bathroom. Unlacing his boots, he toed them off and scooted them to the side of the entryway. Untucking a charcoal grey t-shirt from his jeans, he made his way toward the source of the now-silent tap. The fire in his blood heated as he stopped in the doorway.

"Hello," Nate said stupidly and gripped the doorframe in a bid for control.

The delectably luscious werelioness was standing before a mirror above the sink, adjusting the strap on a white, lacy bra. She had on a matching thong. The material's color contrasted with her Cimmerian skin. Voluptuous curves hugged the lingerie tightly. She turned, and Nate could easily discern dark areolas and their erect peaks through the thin material.

Ife's lips lifted as the male shifter's amber gaze rose from her body and met hers. His right hand clutched the forgotten, grey material at his waist. His left held onto the doorframe with a white-knuckled grip. A sharp spike of desire rose within her. She liked the effect she was having on him.

With a slow, feline gait, she came closer. Stopping before the immobile man, Ife reached out a hand to cover his right one. "Need help?" she asked, then chuckled when he merely blinked at her.

The sound of Ife's voice triggered a reaction. The werelion's hand left the doorframe and came around to cup her neck. With slight pressure, he brought her closer so that a mere centimeter separated their bodies. Waves of heat rose from him, enveloping her in a warm embrace.

Heart pounding from excitement, Ife tilted her head just before their lips met. The firm softness of his pressed against hers most deliciously. Opening her mouth, she let him inside. Their tongues played as he pushed her further into the bathroom and against the wall opposite the sink.

Ife moaned as the werelion's hand left her neck and came around to slide down and cup her breast. A lace-covered, taught nipple brushed against his palm, producing a purr from deep within her throat.

Ife's forgotten hand between their bodies flexed. Freeing it, she reached around to grab the back of his shirt. Tunneling her hands underneath, she lifted it as she explored the warm, smooth muscle beneath. The thin, soft material caught at his armpits, and she gave a slight tug. He got the silent message and bent down so that she could remove it.

They parted briefly but came back together once the soft cotton barrier was gone. Ife slid against the werelion. Finally, they were flesh to warm flesh. It was what her body had been demanding since the sun rose this morning, and she became "human" once more.

Before their kiss could continue, Ife heard a sound in the corridor outside of her apartment. Putting distance between herself and the sexy man before her, she softly cursed. She'd forgotten about her shadow.

Nate's eyes narrowed as he looked back at the beautiful woman. "Are you mated?" He'd also heard the heavy tread of a boot in the hall. Seeing her in a new light, he took another, healthy step back. Eyes narrowing, his gaze raked the female shifter. There were instances of a forced mating, one that wasn't right for either party. It could've been something like that for her. A true mate would never sleep with another. Studying the werelioness' neck and exposed flesh, he looked for the telltale mark. He saw none.

"No. I am not. But that doesn't stop Zaire from trying." Shaking her head, the werelioness reached across Nate, her breasts brushing up against his arm. An electrical jolt raced through him at the whisper of contact. Not seeming to feel the same, she grabbed the dress off a hanger on the back of the door.

Nate's breath stilled as his brain finally processed her words. It was a common enough name. Still, he couldn't help but ask, "Zaire Akinyi?"

"Yes, he thinks to claim all unmated females in Africa." Bending down, Ife snatched the werelion's shirt off the floor. Rising, she took a moment to eye his chest and the magical tattoos there. Her gaze slipped to his stomach and admired the eight pack he sported. Maybe there was a way to get rid of Kojo so she could have her way with this man.

Taking the shirt from the female, Nate silently cursed. Akinyi was a vile bastard who'd tried something similar with his mother. Added to that, just by being in the lioness' apartment, he could blow his cover and mission by pulling unwanted attention from the First. A small part of him wanted to force the confrontation so he could finally kill Zaire, his life-long enemy.

Dressing, Nate ignored that last, small voice and put thoughts of vengeance aside. The mission had to come first. Still, he admitted to himself that he didn't want to leave the werelioness. He sensed there was something there, something between them. It was more than the need to scratch each other's itch after a full moon shift. It was more than her being the first werelion he'd met.

Unfortunately, Nate couldn't stay to figure out what it was that drew him to her. A pissing match between the First of Africa and him wouldn't go over well with his commander or his team. They were there to do recon, not draw notice from an alpha of alphas, their target.

The werelioness turned on the sink and began to wash off Nate's scent. She acted as if she were done with him. But he wasn't done with her, he vowed as he tiptoed into the entryway and grabbed his boots. Pausing, his head cocked as he sensed another's presence on the other side of the door.

The lioness came out dressed in a white dress spattered with colorful floral prints. She was wiping her face dry with a towel. The woman stopped short when she spied him, and Nate pressed his fingers to his lips. He thrust his chin at the door in silent communication.

The beauty's eyes narrowed. Not taking them off Nate, she asked aloud, "Is that you, Kojo?"

A quick noise as if someone were straightening from a crouch could be heard in the corridor. With a sharp tilt of her head, the lioness indicated the balcony. Nate, understanding what she was thinking, yet not liking it one bit, walked to the sliding glass door. As she began yelling at this Kojo fellow, he opened it, stepped outside, and softly closed it behind him.

With him gone, the female opened her apartment door. Shifting his body, Nate hid from view. Her voice came to him clearly through the sliding glass door.

"You can tell Zaire that such tactics won't work with me. I will not be bullied or coerced."

"You smell like another male," the one named Kojo said over her protests.

"I work in a clinic. I often smell like others," came the female's carefully worded reply. Shifters could smell a lie.

The male huffed. "You'd better not have a man up here."

An unfeminine snort filled the silence after the warning. Then, "Leave me alone, Kojo. You and your First aren't welcome here. Go." The door slammed, and Nate heard a bolt slide home.

"I think I'll stay where I am." They both heard the man's muffled threat before he slid down the wall and sat beside her door.

Nate looked down over the railing. It was too far for even a shifter to jump without injury. With a sigh, he tied the laces of his boots together, then slung them over his shoulder. It looked like he was climbing up to the roof, to find its access to the building. Wonderful.

# CHAPTER FOUR

Four days following the morning after the full moon, Ife was still thinking of the man she'd taken home. In that short time, there'd been two bombings in Nairobi and a handful of others in outlying areas. Zaire was out of the city with a large portion of his army. His peace was no more.

When new patients came in, the shifter's was the first face Ife searched for in the sea of wounded. The mystery man was never among the casualties, however. She could only hope he wasn't injured or worse.

It was a ridiculous fear as Ife knew he was a shifter. Most wounds weren't fatal to their race. Besides, were he severely injured, human medicine wouldn't help. Shaman healing and nature would be the mystery werelion's best chances for recovery if that were the case.

Ife worked long hours putting humans back together. The most heart-wrenching cases were the children. The ugliness of war should never have touched them. But those who fought targeted the innocents first. They knew how best to destroy their enemies.

Ife was on her way to check on such a child. At six years old, he'd been born before the war, yet it was all he'd ever known. The young boy had come to her hospital yesterday, covered in burns and broken bones.

"How are you feeling today, Tumaini?" Ife called in a calm, comforting tone as she pulled the curtain back with one hand. His name meant "hope."

In the crook of her other arm, Ife cradled Tumaini's chart. She gave it a quick look to see if there were any worrying changes, as she awaited the boy's reply. When one wasn't forthcoming, she glanced up to find a smiling Tumaini wasn't alone. Her pulse immediately picked up its pace, and her breath caught in the back of her throat.

"We meet again, Dr. Bayo," _he_ greeted in a deep, smooth tone. It was topped with a sexy smile. Ife could only stare stupidly. As the silence stretched, his grin widened.

"Mr. Allen saved me," the boy named Hope cut into their silent exchange. Even though he was injured and on pain medication, excitement emanated from his small form. His soul was alive with it, and it seemed as if it filled every one of his pores before emitting into the air around them. Ife was fast learning that it was Tumaini's natural state. The feeling was contagious, and she found herself grinning in return.

The smile dimmed as Ife recalled why the boy was in her ward. There'd been a missile strike, the first in months. Judging by the burns on the child's skin and the impact fractures in his bones, Tumaini had been near when it struck. "That was very brave of Mr. Allen," Ife said, grateful to finally have a name to put to the man who'd continuously occupied her thoughts.

The werelion preened. Taking a deep breath, Ife smelled him under the antiseptics and medicine. The scent of his spicy, musky scent calmed her racing heart.

"Please, call me Nate. I brought Tumaini here yesterday," Mr. Allen explained further.

A slight frown marred her brow as Ife bent to check the progress of Tumaini's healing. She hadn't seen him the previous day when the boy was admitted. "Is that short for Nathan?" she asked inanely.

"Yes," came Nate's somewhat distracted answer. He took the opportunity her diversion with the boy's chart afforded and looked Ife Bayo up and down. She had broad cheekbones that tapered down to a small chin. Today, her hair was a free mass of blonde-tipped curls that framed her heart-shaped face. It reminded him of the mane of his beast, causing him to smile. Glancing up just then, she saw it and returned the gesture haltingly, uncertain at its cause.

In Nate's ear, a barely audible Corporal Tony Anderson said, "I don't know if you're equipped to flirt, Allen. It's painful listening to you." The barely discernible, tiny earpiece was turned down low enough that no other shifter could listen in on the conversation. His kind had the best hearing of all the races.

Nate ignored the annoying man as best he could. Lieutenant Jaeger, Master Sergeant Everett, and Corporal Anderson - another pain-in-the-ass werewolf - were all downstairs waiting in a vehicle driven by the annoying, young Dick.

All four were witnesses to Nate trying and failing to woo Dr. Bayo. His team members' main objectives were to surveil the hospital, keep Nathan safe, and to look for any sign of Akinyi or his men. Not to give him a hard time as he tried to get closer to Ife.

Turning up the heat in his gaze, Nate looked at Dr. Bayo. A slight flush in her cheeks rewarded him. It was heady, knowing she was still affected by him even without the post full moon yearning affecting them.

Feeling her insides warm at the smolder in Nate's gaze, Ife remembered their short time together. A heartbeat later, her smile froze then slipped as she refocused on her patient. It would do no good to let her long-neglected libido take over just then. There was no way to scratch that particular itch then and there.

Ife was finishing up redressing Tumaini's burns when the boy's mother came in carrying a glass container of ugali. It was a common dish in these parts, a type of cornmeal porridge. The smell reminded Ife of her mum, who used to make it when she was young.

Nate gave Mrs. Mwangi his seat as soon as the woman entered. Tumaini's mother handed him the container of ugali along with her heartfelt thanks. He accepted both graciously, then left shortly after. There wasn't much space in the small room for more than three people.

Mrs. Mwangi, Ife learned, had been out at the market when the missile hit. Her husband was off fighting in the war, and Tumaini was their only child. The mother was anxious to move them out of Nairobi. It was a sentiment shared by many of the non-military citizens. Zaire's promise of safety now rung hollow for many, not just Mrs. Mwangi.

Ife assured the woman that her son would be well enough to travel in a few days. He was already up with help after surgery. Physical therapy would see him bounce back in no time. Children were resilient.

The burns were mostly first degree. The previous day, Ife learned from Tumaini that a stranger - Nate - had covered the boy with his body. The American must have been severely scorched. Being a shifter, however, he'd likely healed within a day. As a result of the werelion's quick actions, the boy's injuries weren't extensive, only appearing on his left arm and leg.

Leaving the room, Ife was surprised to see Nate waiting for her further down the corridor. Her stomach did a little flip as he straightened from his careless lounge against the wall, cradling the container of ugali in his palms. With a slow gait, he came toward her.

"I thought you'd left," was the only thing Ife could think to say as she watched his smooth stride.

The left side of Nate's mouth kicked up in a crooked smile. "No," came the simple response. He stopped before her, and Ife's fingers twitched. They wanted to trace the lines of that sexy half-grin.

Instead, Ife cleared her throat. She was a strong, independent woman, she reminded herself firmly. There was no reason for her to act like a love-struck horny teen.

"Did you have more questions about Tumaini's condition?" The tone of the question was cool, professional. Nate likely stuck around for the boy, Ife thought. Not for her, she assured her racing heart.

The smile slipped as Ife's demeanor changed. Interest turned to confusion in Nate's chocolate eyes. Perhaps her supposition was incorrect, and he hadn't waited for news of the boy but, rather, he'd stayed back for her.

What did Nate expect? Did he wish for a repeat of the other day? Their post full moon hormones were no longer in overdrive. Oft-times those quickly formed relationships didn't last longer than the few hours it took to get the "high" out of one's system. But why else would he pursue Ife so many days after?

Tamping down her feelings of distrust before they could overtake her, Ife consciously smoothed her expression. Then, she willed her heartbeat to slow. Nate likely heard its initial uptick, but she vowed he'd never know the reason. Let him think it was due to annoyance.

Nate's features hardened at the cold reception he received. He'd thought the woman - Ife - sensed there was something special between them as he did. He'd thought this new mission would be easy to complete, that it'd be done before anyone could get hurt.

Nathan wanted nothing more than to grab hold of Ife, pull her close, and kiss her. That should remind her of the passion they shared only a few days prior, break the hardened shell that now encased her. It would banish this cold, professional woman he didn't recognize to the far corners of her being.

With a mental shake of his head, Nate told himself Dr. Bayo's change of heart was for the best. Jaeger had orders to use Ife to get to Zaire. Once command learned of Akinyi's unholy obsession with mating all free females in Africa, and Nathan's connection with Ife, who in turn had a link to the African First, they'd devised a plan to draw the other werelion back to Nairobi and within their reach.

Of course, Nate had balked initially. But in the end, he had to do as commanded. Ife wouldn't thank him if she learned he'd found her only to use her as bait.

It'd taken three days, the horrors of war, and a miracle to locate her. Ife hadn't returned to her apartment in that amount of time. It was by dumb luck that Nate spotted her when he brought Tumaini in. She'd been busy with other patients, but he'd asked a nurse about the female and gained her name. Then, it'd taken his commander another twenty-four hours to convince Nate to accept the new mission and come back to Nairobi to reestablish contact.

Regardless of Nate's or Ife's feelings, he needed to draw her closer to get the team within striking distance of Akinyi. Tracking the African First was their top priority. The mission, as always, must come first.

A flirtatious grin reformed on Nate's face. "I know the boy is in capable hands. I was waiting to catch you alone. Do you have any plans tonight?"

Anderson groaned in Nate's earpiece. "Real smooth, Allen."

Nate knew this wasn't going well, and a part of him was happy about that. Still, he didn't need the Corporal's play-by-play of the disastrous situation. Or Everett's laughter in the background.

No, Ife didn't have plans that night. Well, other than going home, taking a shower, scarfing down some food, and collapsing in her bed. It'd been a rough few days, and she'd been kept too busy to go back to her apartment. Her bed was singing its siren song, calling her home. The ones at the hospital were no better than military cots.

Added to that, there was something about Nate's boldness that unsettled Ife. It reminded her too much of Zaire's pushiness. "I'm swamped," she told him, dodging a direct answer to the question. To shifters, lies had an acidic, stinging stench to them. Therefore, deflection was her best option.

"I can see that," Nate said beside her as Ife hurriedly made her way to her office. "Are you 'very busy' later?"

"Oooh," the Corporal purred in Nate's ear. The drawn-out syllable went up, then lowered a couple of octaves. It caused more than one voice to raise in laughter in the damned SUV. It was tempting to tell them all to shut up and let him concentrate.

Ife's attempts at brushing him off only made Nate want to try harder. He'd scented his prey, and now he was committed to the hunt. Besides, Nathan still wanted her, simple as that. Perhaps he could use the distasteful mission to his advantage.

Stopping in the doorway to her office, Ife blocked the large werelion from entering. "Look," she began. "I can understand you wanting the company of one of your kind. There couldn't have been many of us in the States." After a furtive glance down the hall, she added, "Believe me, I know wolves are an acquired taste - one not everyone obtains."

The werewolves in Nate's ear groaned, causing him to bite back a smile. He concentrated hard on keeping his features smooth. Dr. Bayo's next words soon erased the mirth he felt.

"But," Ife continued unaware that she'd just insulted three such beasts, "I'm not here to help you get back to your roots. That is a journey you'll have to travel on your own." Whatever circumstances landed Nate in the States, she wasn't his ticket to reconnecting with their species or Africa.

"Ouch," Anderson breathed in Nate's ear. It was hard for Nathan not to wince in reaction. But he wasn't giving up yet. The more Ife pushed, the more it pulled him toward her.

Stepping back, Ife grabbed the edge of the door to her office. Before she could close it, Nate grasped it above her hand, cradling the jar of ugali in the opposite palm. He possessed more strength than she, so it was pointless to try and slam it shut in his face.

Leaning in, Nate locked eyes with Ife. "You are correct in assuming a part of my interest in you is because we share beasts. But that isn't the whole of it, and I think you know that." He came closer until their noses were mere centimeters from each other. Hazel eyes widened but remained locked on his. "Surely you felt what we shared wasn't because of some post full moon high. I know I felt it," he told her in all honesty. Nathan's tone dipped to a lower octave, "So I ask again, are you 'very busy' tonight?"

"Damn, our boy has game after all." Nate's fingers itched to switch off the earpiece.

Heartbeat hammering, Ife's gaze dipped from those dark chocolate eyes to the full lips that were so tantalizingly close. When they lifted in a smug smile, her gaze darted back to Nate's.

There was no denying Ife's continued attraction to the werelion. It'd never stuck around before. Usually, she was done with her lovers after a night or two tops, well before they were finished with her. With Nate, however, it was proving to be different. The realization alarmed her, making her want to run. But she was a lioness, she thought stubbornly. This was her country, her city. If anyone were to leave, it would be him.

Taking a moment to rein her rampaging hormones in, Ife eventually answered in a moderated tone she was proud to have achieved. "No, I'm not busy tonight." The werelion had expertly backed her into a corner, one where she had no choice but to be truthful.

"In that case, how about I come to your apartment at seven?"

Before Anderson could comment, Nate acted as if he had an itch. He switched the hidden earpiece off just as the werewolf began voicing his next smart-assed comment. It was difficult enough to get Ife to agree to a date without an audience.

Ife's eyebrows rose at Nate's bold question. Although her body was on board with whatever he had planned, her mind was not. She was more than a little taken aback by his forwardness.

Suddenly, a bark of laughter escaped Nate, and he straightened. "I meant so I could take you out. Not that I'm opposed to staying in if that's what you'd rather do." He winked at Ife.

"I could use a night out," Ife quickly replied. It was past time she wrestled back the reins of her destiny. Her life was fast spinning out-of-control. First Zaire and now Nate were pulling and pushing her where they wanted. Damn the African First and his schemes. And while she was at it, damn Nate and his plans as well. She would make some of her own.

"It'd probably be best to meet you somewhere," Ife said smoothly, taking control of the situation. She was thinking of Akinyi's watchdog and his penchant for following her. Giving Kojo the slip shouldn't be too difficult if she were quick. She could rush into her apartment, turn up the TV, and grab the things she needed to get ready for the date. Then, Ife could climb to the roof, use the back exit, and come to her office to get ready. Zaire's lackey would think she was staying in for the night and remain to guard her door.

He seemed to understand Ife's concern, for Nate gave a single nod of his head. "How about we meet at African Meats at seven?"

Ife knew the place. "See you then," she said before closing the door. Leaning against its hard surface, she took in a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, she prayed she hadn't just made a colossal mistake.

# CHAPTER FIVE

Nairobi Central was a bombed-out shell of its former self. Many of its schools and establishments lay in the rubble that no one had bothered to clean. After the first few explosions during the war's beginning, city officials tried to clear the debris. It soon became too much for their diminished workforce. Besides, shortly after the initial bombings came the mass exodus of civilians. There was no longer a need to rebuild. Not enough men or women were left to accomplish the feat or to support the local businesses.

African Meats differed from the norm. It was on the site where once the Ashkir Restaurant stood. The buildings on either side were naught but rubble, yet the eatery remained virtually untouched. Its new owners expanded the footprint of their establishment, overtaking former, neighboring businesses and repurposing their materials. It was now easily double the size it'd once been. Its interior was redone with higher-grade furnishings and décor. The restaurant now served as a place for high-ranking officers and the business elite to rub elbows. Or as the perfect venue in a war-torn city for a man to romance a woman.

Ife paused African Meats, looking through the place's large windows. Her gaze scanned the occupants to see if she could spot any of Zaire's inner cadre within. Twisting her mother's gold ring on her pinky with her thumb, she carefully examined those in uniform. None were the African First's men as far as she knew. They didn't move or behave like shifters. It should be safe for her to enter.

Stalling further, Ife took some time to smooth the black skirt of her low-cut dress. It ended just at her knees and was held in place by spaghetti straps. The time on the delicate, gold watch read a few minutes past seven.

Sighing, Ife wished their plans had been more specific. She wasn't sure if Nate was going to meet her outside, or if he was already within. His handsome features weren't among the sea of strangers. Maybe he was running late?

Bending down, Ife adjusted the strap on her six-inch, stiletto heels. They were relatively new and pinched a bit. Using the move as an excuse to look behind her, she glanced to the left and the right. Blowing out a breath of relief when she didn't see any of Akinyi's goons, Ife placed her finger between the strap and her ankle, running it across her heel. Hopefully, loosening it wouldn't cause her to fall on her face.

No one was in sight. It seemed Ife had escaped her apartment unnoticed. Kojo was likely lounging against her door, none the wiser.

Straightening, Ife sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils. Releasing it through her mouth, she grabbed hold of the handle. It was past time to see if her date was already inside.

Before Ife could pull it open, a smiling Nate was there, holding the massive wooden door for her. A maître d' stood aside, grinning. "I was wondering if you'd decide to run." He must've been waiting behind the entrance, out of sight of the large picture window.

"Hardly," Ife scoffed. With her heels, she was as tall as Nate. They'd be on even footing in more ways than one. "I was checking to see if I was followed," she continued in a low tone so that the human wouldn't overhear. "It appears I've given my shadow the slip."

"Clever woman," Nate murmured, and a warm glow spread in Ife's chest at his praise. In his black slack and white shirt evening wear, he looked scrumptious.

Mentally shaking her head, Ife banished all naughty thoughts. Now was not the time to revisit their first meeting in her apartment. Later, however, who could say where the night would take them?

Placing a hand at the small of her back, Nate walked Ife to a somewhat secluded table far from the windows. The werelion had likely come early to make sure the place held no threats. It was that male shifter thing again.

"Have you been here before?" Nate enquired after the server came by to ask what they wanted to drink. Both ordered wine even though the alcohol would have no lasting effect.

"No, this is my first time," Ife answered. There was a loaf of freshly baked bread on the table. Cutting off a slice, she buttered it and took a bite.

"It's my first time as well." Following her example, Nate did the same.

"It's good," Ife observed. The bread had rosemary and other herbs to make it flavorful.

Their drinks came, and they ordered their meal. As they ate and talked, Ife relaxed by increments in Nate's company. She stopped tensing every time the door opened or somebody walked past their table. With little encouragement, she found herself opening up and telling the man across from her about her time in England.

"The maternity ward was my favorite," Ife was reminiscing about her time as an intern. "I liked visiting the newborns in the nursery." She felt her smile slip. It'd always been difficult for their race to procreate, but it'd become impossible lately. For whatever reason, in the past few years, shifter women could no longer become pregnant. If they were lucky enough to do so, it usually resulted in a miscarriage by the end of the first trimester. Some feared it was a sign of species stagnation. Others believed it to be the result of a curse, one cast upon them by either the denizens of hell or witches. Truthfully, shifters viewed the two races as one and the same. Regardless, it was highly unlikely that Ife herself would ever become a mother.

Nate's large hand reached across the table. His wrist twisted, so it was palm up, a silent offer of comfort. Ife hated to show weakness. She never had before in front of an unmated, unrelated male. Still, she found herself placing her palm against his. His strong fingers closed around hers and gave a gentle squeeze. They sat like that for a moment, hands clasped atop the white linen tablecloth. Life went on around them, but it seemed to pause for Ife as she stared into the comforting, brown eyes across the table. He may be as single-minded in his pursuit of her as Zaire, but Nate didn't alarm her in the same way the other werelion did.

With a mental shake of her head, the spell was broken. As Ife freed her hand, she vowed to stop comparing the two men. They were vastly different. For one, Nate would never use her for his own purposes. He wasn't batshit crazy, nor was he looking to add another female to his harem.

"What is it you do?" Ife asked to ease the awkwardness she felt after letting go of Nate's hand. Besides, she was curious. She wanted to know more about this mysterious werelion who'd come so suddenly into her life.

"I'm a businessman," came Nate's vague reply after a short pause. Ife didn't scent a lie, but it didn't smell as crisp as the full truth would either.

The spark of interest dimmed in Ife's eyes. It was an outward indication that Nate's answer wasn't what she wanted to hear. It was purposely vague, but slightly true. He was in the business of fighting his country's wars. To the world outside of the military, he was a businessman who dealt with exports. It was his cover. Nathan was portraying an arms dealer for Akinyi's benefit. And it was true - he did have military-grade weapons to sell once the African First took the bait.

At least Nate had convinced the commander he didn't need supervision. The earpiece was in, but it was switched off until he needed backup. His teammates were a few blocks away in the battered, black SUV they used to drive into town. Brice Everett was buzzing around outside with a drone, so Nate wasn't completely alone. If the Master Sergeant saw he needed help, his team would be there.

Giving the werelion a sharp look, Ife let him know she didn't appreciate the vague answer, especially after having been open and vulnerable only moments before. Suspicion rose once more. Nate was acting as cagey as the African First.

Quelling the sudden mistrust, Ife reminded herself she wasn't going to compare the two men anymore. Instead, she asked another question. "Is your business what brought you to Nairobi?"

"Yes," Nate answered a little too quickly. Was that relief Ife witnessed as tightened muscles eased in his features? "That and I wanted to visit the place of my birth."

"You were born in Kenya?" Ife asked with some surprise. She'd thought him American from his accented Swahili.

"No, I was born in Zambia," Nate clarified. "My parents died when I was a child, and an American couple adopted me. I haven't been back to Africa since."

"I'm sorry," Ife told him softly. Her father was long gone, but her mother had only passed recently in one of the bombings in Nairobi. It happened less than a year ago. Her death was another reason Ife came back. With no family to claim the body, her mum was put in a pauper's grave. Finding her grave, she moved her mother, so she was buried next to her mate, Ife's father.

"Thank you," Nate said simply, breaking into Ife's sorrow. "Although it was a long time ago, I still miss them."

"Dessert?" their waiter interrupted. Not that Ife minded. Their talk had entered the realm of maudlin once more.

Nate looked at her, and Ife shook her head. She wasn't in the mood for sweets. Added to that, she was beginning to feel itchy. Staying in one place for too long would make it easier for her shadow to find her once he noticed she was gone.

After Nate paid the bill, they left. On the walkway out front, he grabbed Ife's hand. "We've got a couple hours before curfew."

One thing Zaire instilled as soon as he came to power in Nairobi was a ten PM curfew. Ife thought it silly as most bombings happened during the day, just like the one that had injured Tumaini. No one was rioting in the streets either, so she felt it was nothing more than a measure to show the city's citizens their hero general was in control of their lives. The human leaders were essentially puppets whose strings were being pulled by a powerful man. The curfew was a suppressive measure, one that demonstrated the African First was in charge, and not the people's democratically elected leaders.

Hand-in-hand, Nate steered them toward the Jeevanjee Gardens. Its crumbled paths and damaged statues were reminiscent of ancient ruins in the dim light of night. Although not whole, the moon was still more full than not. Clouds covered the heavenly orb, making shadows barely discernable. Using their enhanced senses, it was easy to pick their way through the darkness covering the gardens.

They spoke softly of happier subjects. Nate told Ife of his life on a farm in southern Illinois. His recollection of the first time he'd experienced snow had her in stitches. This new openness soothed the previous suspicion she'd had in him.

Ife told Nate of what it was like running with the wolves in England. Although of the same race, a werelion's and werewolf's demeanors were nearly opposite. Added to that, pride dynamics contrasted sharply with those of a pack.

Nate commiserated, telling Ife he preferred to be on his own rather than an awkward addition to a werewolf's pack. There were no lions in the States as far as he knew. He'd been forced to spend the full moon with the wolves or alone. Often, he chose a solitary run.

Her story about an English alpha who got a little too fresh with her was cut short when Ife saw movement up ahead. A soft breeze brought her a scent, and she froze. "My shadow has found me," she breathed, her voice lower than a whisper.

Nate's gaze followed Ife's. A towering figure crouched and was poorly hidden behind the badly damaged statue of Alibhai Mulla Jeevanjee. "Kojo?" he guessed.

At Ife's nod in the affirmative, Nate felt his beast rise. It wouldn't mind alerting Zaire's man to the fact that the lioness was _his_.

Nate followed his beast's push. Logic that had the taint of the animal within urged that it would bring the First home all the faster. Then, Nathan could end this deception and be with Ife honorably. Besides, he'd wanted to kiss her again since they reconnected earlier in the day.

Nate's lion silently purred deep within. It was more of a feeling than an action. It recognized Ife as its mate and would go along with its human half's plans if that meant getting closer to her.

Ife tried to pull away, but Nate brought her near. Narrowed hazel eyes glared in suspicion, and he couldn't help but smile. Head dipping, his lips brushed gently against hers. Placing her palms on his shoulders, she pushed back. He followed, never allowing their mouths to part.

At first, Ife tried to remain unaffected. Thoughts of Zaire and Kojo clung to her mind. But Nate's lips pressed to hers in gentle urgency had a drugging effect. Before long, she forgot all about the other two men and was kissing him back.

On her moan, Nate's tongue slipped between Ife's lips. Their kiss heated, and both forgot all about shadows, missions, and age-old enemies. Nate walked Ife backward to the toppled statue of a robed woman. Only the pedestal stood.

Pulling Ife to him, Nate lifted her. With one hand, he cleared away the rubble left on the statue's base. He pushed the tight skirt of her dress higher as his hands ran up her warm, smooth thighs. She sat on the naked foundation, and her knees parted, making space as Nate moved closer.

Flexing his fingers against the supple flesh beneath them, Nate pulled Ife forward until she was balancing on the edge of the base. The move caused her to wrap her legs around him so that she wouldn't slip off the ledge. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss.

Ife leaned back a few inches and untucked Nate's white dress shirt. Their lips remained unparted as her hand tunneled underneath. Testing his firm abs with her fingertips caused a cat-like purr to escape from her throat's depths. With her other hand, she found a globe of his ass and gave a gentle squeeze urging him forward.

Nate understood Ife's silent command and moved closer as her legs tightened around his lower back. His hard length pressed against the throbbing juncture between her thighs. The rumbling hum in her throat mixed with a low moan. Oh, how she wanted this man!

Lightning flashed behind Ife's closed lids. A loud crack of thunder was a signal that brought the rain forth. Its boom and the resulting drops cooled her ardor, brought her back to herself.

Looking up into the weeping heavens, Ife laughed. Nate sucked a droplet off her exposed neck, causing her to shiver deliciously. Before they could continue on their path to scratching one another's itch, she shook her head at him. As she pressed a halting palm on that magnificent, rockhard chest, she closed her knees. Gracefully hopping off the statue's base, Ife rearranged the skirt of her dress.

Suddenly, Kojo loomed in Ife's mind. Glancing to the left, she saw her shadow looming in the rain-bruised background. There was no way he'd missed her and Nate's display of passion. Ife's mood plummeted. "I'd better go," she groaned as she gave the skirt of her dress one last, hard tug to settle it into place. "This is going to be hard to explain."

As she recalled her earlier protests, Ife paused in her grooming. Her hands left her skirt and went to her hips. Eyes narrowing at Nate, she demanded, "Why did you do that knowing my shadow was watching?" Although she didn't mean them to, her next words sounded harsh. "You'd better go."

Nate flinched in the face of Ife's anger. His head hung low as he looked at her from beneath his lashes. He'd forgotten that Kojo wasn't the only witness. Nathan would likely hear all about the heated embrace from Everett and his other teammates when he got back to camp.

"Sorry," Nate murmured. "I couldn't help myself." Not able to stop himself once more, he gave Ife another quick peck on the mouth. It was chaste, lacking in the passion they'd previously shared. "Goodnight," he whispered against her lips.

Without any further explanation for his actions, Nate left Ife at the ruined statue. There were a couple of reasons for the heated embrace. He couldn't tell her the main one, that of using her as bait to entrap Zaire. The other one had to do with his inner lion. It was just as dangerous as the previous reason. He didn't think she'd like to hear how his beast thought she was its mate. It was far too soon for such a declaration.

Walking toward the street, uncertain of how Dr. Bayo felt about him, Nate swore quietly under his breath. Turning back, he could barely make out her form against the statue's base. All he could discern was that she was still facing him, probably glaring at his silhouette. Her shaded outline held none of the answers he sought, so he turned back around and continued on his way to rejoin his teammates.

After giving Ife a jaunty wave over his shoulder, Nate was quickly swallowed by the rain-swept landscape and gloom of the stormy night. With a sigh, she straightened from her lean against the damaged pedestal. She didn't even glance at Kojo as she walked past him and began her soggy trek home in the opposite direction. Her instincts had been correct. It'd been a colossal mistake to agree to this date. Her life had just become more complicated.

# CHAPTER SIX

"Who was that man?"

For the first time, Kojo wasn't content only to follow. He walked beside Ife, peppering her with questions he had no right to ask.

Ife ignored the werelion and his interrogation. Instead, with her lips still tingling from Nate's kiss, her tongue darted out and ran along them. The taste of him lingered. Biting back a low sound of pleasure, she recalled just how his flavor had come to be on her lips.

"You smell familiar," Kojo's words penetrated Ife's lust-induced fog. "Was he the one in your apartment a few days ago?"

Blowing out a long, heartfelt breath, Ife crossed an intersection. If her doltish shadow connected the dots, Zaire would be sure to find out and step up his efforts to "win" her. Then neither she nor Nate would know a moment's peace.

Ife's eyes darted to the tall werelion keeping pace with her. Would the African First kill Nathan, or would he have a lackey handle his dirty work?

With a loud huff, Ife thought Nate had brought it on himself. He knew Kojo was watching and what that would mean.

Blowing out another breath, Ife's step haltered. If the American died, he only had himself to blame. With a mental shake of her head, she continued onward toward her apartment building.

Still, Ife thought, she'd miss Nate. Her heart ached at the realization.

The thought and the feelings it induced shook her, causing Ife to miss her next step. She wasn't falling for Nate, was she?

Never before had she been in a romantic relationship, so she had no knowledge of what name to put to her current emotions. Surely it was too soon to call it love?

Beside Ife, Kojo nattered on, blissfully unaware of anything other than the dire points he felt the need to make. She ignored his words as he did her stumble. He was single-minded, this lackey of Akinyi's.

Pausing outside her building, Ife gave Kojo a look. Eventually, he wound down and glared back at her. With a last, "You'd better not see that man again," he left. Ife knew he wouldn't go far and would follow a few moments later to sit sentinel outside of her apartment.

Pulling the door open with more force than necessary, Ife entered the foyer. Her building didn't have a doorman or other security measures. It barely had a functioning supervisor. She was lucky she was an independent woman of the modern world, living in such a place.

Just last week, she'd repaired the sink. It'd backed up from a clog, causing a disgusting, stinking mess.

As she unlocked her door, Ife's mind returned to Nate and their date. Why had he kissed her, she wondered for the hundredth time? He'd said he couldn't help himself, but she sensed there was more to it than that. Was he staking a claim, knowing Kojo watched them from afar?

Ife waited for anger and distrust to come to the fore. As she put the kettle on for tea, those emotions never surfaced. Instead, a warm glow welled in her chest. Rubbing the spot with the knuckles of one hand, the other reached into the cupboard for a mug.

As she stared blindly at the counter, Ife's hands came up and braced the edge. Head hanging down, she realized she no longer recognized herself. The Ife of old was self-assured, independent, and needed no man in her life. Nate was quickly filling a void within her that she'd never been aware existed. Her outer shell had even cracked enough to show him one of her vulnerabilities, that of wanting children.

The kettle whistled, startling Ife. "Dammit," she swore and turned off the burner. She was no longer in the mood for tea. Putting the mug away, she then poured the water out into the sink. Then, she went into the bathroom and washed off her makeup.

Padding to her room, Ife undressed, then climbed into bed. Closing her eyes, she waited for sleep to rescue her from her tumultuous thoughts.

When slumber finally claimed her, it was apparent she couldn't escape the sexy, enigmatic Nate even then.

A massive lion chased Ife through fields of acacia blossoms. The trees themselves were nowhere in sight in the open, flower-covered meadow. Their long stems brushed against her legs as they pounded through the fragrant field.

Suddenly, the beast pounced. As Ife fell, he caught her in his gentle paws, and she rose to a vibrantly blue sky in his embrace. Upon reaching the sun, they floated back down to earth. When they landed, it was Nate who was holding her. Then, he lay her down in those flower-covered fields. Amid the sweet-smelling blossoms, they made love.

The dream left Ife aching upon waking the next morning. Cursing, she threw back her covers. Then, with firm resolve, she put the werelion out of her mind as she readied for work.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Did you escape unscathed?" The co-star of Ife's wet dream was lounging in the doorway to her office. Nate looked well-rested and sexy as hell in a tight, sky blue t-shirt and dark jeans. The light color reminded her of the vibrant sky in her midnight fantasy. A blush fought its way to the surface and stained her cheeks.

"Yes, no thanks to you," Ife groused, trying to cover her flush and play it off as anger.

"Uh-oh, sounds like I'm in trouble." Nate's smile and good humor belied the words. He didn't sound or look contrite in the least.

Pushing her patient files to the side of her desk, Ife leaned back in her chair. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stated, "You purposely made my life more difficult with that kiss."

Nate's smile slipped, and he straightened from his relaxed position. "Kojo didn't harm you, did he?"

"No, but he will tell Zaire, and I'll be stalked more aggressively." Ife glowered at Nate from under her lashes.

Coming more fully into her office, Nate stopped in front of Ife's desk. Bracing his large hands on its edge caused the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms to flex in a mesmerizing way. "I'd happily uncomplicate your life. Just say the word."

Ife's eyes shot from those distracting muscles to Nate's dark chocolate brown ones. Her brows pinched in the middle as their gazes held. Was he saying he'd fight Zaire for her? Or - her breath hitched - that he'd mate her, effectively taking her off Akinyi's list? Neither was what Ife wanted. The second option would lead to the first. And she didn't want to be mated - no matter how attracted to the American she was - Ife reminded herself fiercely. She'd remain independent if she had a say - which she did.

"I'm more than capable of taking care of my own problems, thank you," Ife told Nate stiffly.

Giving a single nod, Nate straightened. "Just so long as you know, the offer is there."

Ife blew out a breath and uncrossed her arms, resting them on her chair. "Have you come to see Tumaini?" she asked, letting Nate's offer sit on the table. She wasn't willing to have anyone fight her battles for her.

Pulling out the chair opposite, Nate gave a slight shake of his head as he sat. He put an ankle over his knee and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. The pose reminded Ife of a lion lounging in his territory, relaxed but ready to pounce at a moment's notice. "I came to see you."

Butterflies took flight in Ife's stomach at Nate's admission. Her hand twitched. She wanted to press it to her abdomen to still them. Instead, she used her thumb to spin the gold pinky ring on her finger. The way this man affected her was bordering on ridiculous.

"But I did stop in to see how he's doing on the way here," Nate clarified with a slight, lopsided grin. "He seems to be doing well. Anxious to leave the city, but well."

"Yes, he and Mrs. Mwangi will leave tomorrow for Nakuru." It meant a lot to Ife that Nate was still concerned about Tumaini's wellbeing. He wasn't all that bad, even if he had purposely complicated her life.

Nate briefly wondered if he could accompany the mother and child to Nakuru. It'd be a dangerous journey. He'd like to make sure the pair reached their destination unharmed. As soon as the thought popped into his head, he knew Jaeger wouldn't give him leave to do so. Their mission took precedence. "You'll be told when they arrive?" he asked.

"Yes," Ife answered. The single syllable was drawn out and lifted slightly at the end. There was an adorable teasing light in her hazel eyes. The Cheshire cat smile Nate had grown to love played about her lips.

Nate's own lifted in reaction. He knew that Ife knew he'd like to be informed as well. As the silence stretched, it became apparent she was going to make him give voice to the request. Slowly, he prompted, "And will you tell me as soon as you hear?"

Hips shifting in her chair, Ife leaned back. The move made her look more relaxed. Her lips pursed as she considered her reply. That bewitching glint in her green-rimmed light brown eyes remained. "I could be persuaded to inform you," she replied after a brief moment of contemplation.

Huffing out a quick laugh, Nate responded, "Bribed, you mean."

A slender shoulder lifted negligently.

Nate leaned forward and braced one forearm on his knee. "Very well, what will this information cost me?"

"I'm feeling," Ife's voice dipped to a lower octave. Nate watched as a change came over her face. The glint in her eye went from teasing to sultry. "Hungry," she finished.

Clearing his throat, Nate shifted in his seat. He was suddenly feeling hungry, as well. The memory of the taste of Ife's lips came to the fore. His mouth watered.

Ife's chair creaked as she stood. Her gait was loose, her hips rolling with each step as she approached him. Nate's eyes tracked her every move.

"You can buy me lunch," Ife stated as she passed the now very alert werelion. She laughed when her words finally penetrated his lust-fogged brain. By that time, she was out of arm's reach.

"Evil woman." Ife heard the creak of Nate's chair as he stood. A low, wicked chuckle bubbled up her throat at his words.

Halting before the umbrella stand, Ife contemplated whether she needed hers or not. It was the long rainy season, so it'd likely come in handy. But it was somewhat burdensome, being full-sized with a long, wooden handle.

"You've got a wicked streak, haven't you?" Nate asked, stopping right behind Ife. Looking down, she noted his large feet bracketing her own. He was so close she could feel the heat of his body along her back. The breath from his words tickled the loose-hanging curls at her neck, and she had to fight a shiver.

A strong, masculine hand reached forward. Ife couldn't help but wonder at Nate's next move. Would he lay it over her belly and pull her closer? Her eyes closed, fantasizing about what he might do next. The fire she'd kindled with her sensual teasing built within her as well.

After a breathless moment, Ife heard a whisper of sound but felt nothing. Opening her eyes, she watched as her furled, white umbrella with orange and yellow flowers sailed past her. Looking over her shoulder, she glimpsed Nate turn and walk out of her office, umbrella now snugly tucked under his arm.

She wasn't the only one with a wicked streak, Ife thought. She'd just been burned by the fire she kindled.

Catching him in the hall, Ife walked beside Nate. When he transferred the umbrella to his opposite hand and captured her own, she couldn't help but grin. As her fingers laced with his, a different kind of warmth rose within her. It was subtler, less intense, but more enduring. The feeling spread outward from the center of her chest.

Encouraged by the simple gesture, Ife moved closer to Nate's side. Briefly, she worried about her shadow seeing them walking together, their hands linked. Then, she gave a mental shrug. Let Kojo report back to Zaire. If Nathan didn't care, neither would she.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

"You're losing sight of your mission." Jaeger stopped Nate before he could walk toward the team's black SUV.

They were getting a late start this morning. Nate's commander had been closeted in his tent with higher-ranking officials. So far, their mission hadn't been scrapped, but that was subject to change on the American First's or the Shaman Council's whim. The First Lieutenant was staying behind to deal with the higher-ups. Nate was happy it wasn't him as he was eager to reach Nairobi and his werelioness.

"I haven't lost sight of anything," Nate nearly snapped.

Worried, green eyes met Nate's when he turned to face his commander. "I don't want you to become too invested in the female," Jaeger expressed his concern softly.

It'd been two weeks since Nate had been given the orders to use Ife as a way to draw Zaire back to Nairobi. The African First had to have known by now that Nathan was all over the lioness he wanted to force a mating upon. Yet, he remained abroad - in India as of the latest report. As a result, Jaeger and higher command were having second thoughts about using Ife as bait. Unfortunately, now Nate was committed to his assignment. He didn't want it to be pulled.

In the time they were allotted, Nate and Ife had grown closer. Whether she felt as he did - that he was her mate - he couldn't say. The beast within had been convinced from nearly the onset. It seemed unsettled at Jaeger's words and was clawing to come to the surface. Swallowing, Nathan fought an inner battle with the lion for control. If he was told to stand down, to leave Ife be, he knew there would be trouble from his other half. If it gained supremacy, it'd push Nate to a far corner as it destroyed anyone in its path to her.

_We'll come back for her_ , Nate tried to soothe the beast. It would be like living a half-life until the end of this assignment if he were forced to leave Ife. It was a vow meant to calm him as well as the lion within. But he knew in reality, he could never leave her.

Brice and his damned drone saw too much. It was little wonder Jaeger questioned Nate's commitment to the mission. If it came between Ife or his team, Nathan was no longer confident in which he'd choose. As with his beast, he now accepted she was his mate. And he didn't want to wait to claim her.

Letting out a long breath, Nate felt his shoulders relax. He'd won the battle with his beast this round. "And if I said your concern is a little too late?"

Wolf's eyes narrowed in a pained expression. "Your team and mission have to take priority." Nate's commander's features hardened. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

The werewolf was saying that when it came time, Nate would have to put Ife aside to complete his mission. Akinyi wouldn't deal with someone who he felt was stealing his woman. Hell, he'd probably have to give Ife to the bastard, tied with a bow.

_Never_ , Nate swore as his stomach turned. Swallowing the bile, he ground out between clenched teeth, "Yes, Lieutenant." It was the truth. He did understand. He also knew the consequences were he not able to give Ife up to Akinyi. The word traitor flitted through his mind.

"Do you feel you can continue?"

Of course, Nate could continue. The real question was, could he stop when it was time? The answer was a resounding "no," of course. "Yes, sir," came his eventual reply.

Whether his commander knew what Nate was really saying, he couldn't tell. With a single, sharp nod, Jaeger dismissed him. Nathan didn't need any more encouragement than that.

As he, Dick, Everett, and Anderson made the five-and-a-half-mile trek into Ngong, Nate thought of Ife. They'd gone on many dates since the first. Kojo was an annoyingly constant presence, but they'd grown used to her shadow. Besides, he'd become easy to avoid. The lackey wouldn't follow them indoors. That became their escape from the bothersome Kojo and his dire warnings.

The other three men in the battered black SUV chatted amongst themselves, having grown used to Nate's preference for privacy.

On reaching Ngong, people wanting a ride into Nairobi rushed toward the vehicle and signaled for Mills to stop. The buses were running sporadically now that Zaire was out of the country. Fuel shipments were being interrupted once more, causing shortages and astronomical prices. The team's SUV wouldn't take on extra passengers, so they slowly moved past the crowds.

For a time, Nate was distracted from his thoughts as Dick navigated the packed streets. What felt like hours later, they left Ngong and were on their way to Kenya's capital. His attention was free to return to its favorite topic once again.

Nate and Ife had shared their life stories, yet he was careful to keep his connection to Akinyi a secret. When Ife told him what ultimately brought her back to Nairobi, it'd been hard not to share his memories about his parents' deaths. But that would've exposed his connection to Zaire. His mate was highly intelligent. She would have questioned Nathan's interest in her, asked about things he couldn't answer.

The secrets Nate was forced to keep from Ife began to rub against his very soul. He couldn't wait for the time he could be honest with her. He'd tell her of his real job, his connection to Zaire, and that he'd first met her the last full moon.

There was a point not long ago that Nate had to tell Ife he was staying outside of Ngong, and that small piece of honesty felt good. She'd wondered why he never took her to his place. They always went to her apartment to escape Kojo, and unbeknownst to her, Everett's drone. Nate often spent the night doing nothing more than holding her and talking. He was fast becoming more than a little sexually frustrated.

The SUV arrived in Nairobi to chaos. Nate's thoughts quieted as he sat up in the back seat, instantly alert. People streamed past, crying, and shouting. Some were bloody, their clothing charred. Military personnel stopped the vehicle, blocking it from going any further into the city. One man dressed in fatigues came to the driver's window and told Mills to turn around.

Heart in his throat, Nate gripped the handle. The SUV was mid-turn when he opened his door and exited. Curses followed him as Nathan blindly rushed through the city. Ignoring the shouts of his teammates and local military personnel, he fished his cell phone out of his pants pocket. As he dialed Ife's number, he pressed onward and through the panicked masses. A few blocks from the hospital, she still wasn't answering his call. It was a common occurrence, he tried to assure himself. Many cell towers were destroyed, making service spotty at best.

A block from the hospital's street, some men wearing uniforms tried to stop Nate. They ordered him to turn back. His look promising death quelled their commands. "Just try and stop me," he uttered low, then continued onward.

Blood pounding in his ears, Nate rounded the last corner and came to a sudden stop. Stowing his cell phone, he took in the scene before him. The hospital lay in a partially collapsed, smoldering heap. From the looks of it, it'd been at the epicenter of an explosion. Other adjacent buildings seemed to have come out unscathed. That meant the blast had likely been localized, with a single target in its crosshairs.

Feet moving once more, Nate made his way toward the hospital. He prayed Ife was no longer inside. As he passed the bystanders and wounded, he searched their faces for any sign of her. Only strangers met his gaze. Not even Kojo was among them. Hopefully, that was a good sign. Deep down, Nathan knew it wasn't. Where there were injured humans, his mate was sure to be tending to them. But she wasn't outside on the street, and her shadow was also absent.

A guard he'd come to know stopped Nate at the entrance with a hand to his chest. "I'm sorry, Mr. Allen, but I can't let you in," George told him apologetically. The human knew of Nate's relationship with Ife. "The structure is unstable. Anyone who could be evacuated has been."

Removing the stalling hand from his shirt, Nate asked the massive human, "Where is Dr. Bayo?"

George shook his head sadly. "It was her floor that was bombed. I'm afraid she is believed to be among the casualties."

A deep, wordless yowl escaped Nate's throat, causing George to start. It wasn't a sound one would classify as human. "Unless I have confirmation, I'm not accepting that she's dead," Nathan stated in a gruff tone. His beast was close to the surface, clawing for dominance.

The security guard gave one last warning as Nate moved past him. "Be it on your head," George intoned. Then, the hospital's head of security muttered about how no one ever listened to him.

George's words flew past Nate as he used his shifter-enhanced speed and strength to climb over debris. The elevator was an obvious no-go, so he cleared the stairs of fallen sheetrock and ceiling panels. Beginning his climb, Nathan wasn't confident that George hadn't witnessed his super-human display. At this point, however, he was past caring if humans knew of their existence.

Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an hour. Finally, Nate was on the fourth floor. Pushing on the door in the stairway, he found it blocked. Cursing, he shoved harder. It moved barely an inch. Gritting his teeth, Nathan began ramming it with his shoulder. By the dozenth battering, there was an opening a foot wide. Squeezing an arm through, he shoved a steel beam from the upper floor out of the way. It'd fallen against the door and made a loud clang as it fell backward. Obstruction cleared, he was able to open the portal and survey the damage.

Debris was scattered everywhere, dripping with fire retardant and water. The hall was barely recognizable from the one Nate had visited so many times in the past. Fear for Ife tried to rise as he visualized the best path forward.

Focusing on his task kept panic at bay. Nate made his way cautiously down the corridor even though his body screamed for faster action.

Smoke still billowed from the sopping, charred mess around him. Its acrid smell filled Nate's nostrils, making him cough as it stuck in his throat. George was correct; somewhere on this floor was undoubtedly where the blast originated.

Taking a left, Nate made his way to the office at its end. His journey was far too slow, impeded by so many obstructions in his path. Gritting his teeth, he fought the urge to race forward. Such carelessness had the potential to lead to costly mistakes.

Not accepting what his eyes were telling him, Nate came to what used to be Ife's office door. Only a gaping hole remained. His stomach did a sick, little flip as he took in the destruction. Once he forced his feet to move forward, he noted a pile of flesh just inside the entrance. It indicated where the bomber once stood. Nothing but a few pounds of meat was left of the man. Nathan recognized the scent under the smell of chemicals and char. The would-be assassin had been someone he knew.

It all made a sick sort of sense.

Not wasting any more, precious time on the pile of flesh, Nate moved past it and into the office. Annihilation met his gaze. Ife's minimal amount of furniture was strewn about the small space. A few of the larger pieces had been blasted into what remained of the walls. The ceiling had a large hole, and through its ruined tiles, he could make out the room above. The residue left from fire retardant showed firefighters had been to the office, but they hadn't discovered Ife.

At the back of the room, the single, average-sized window's glass was shattered. A warm breeze blew in unfettered. Fresh air fought for dominance over the smell of chemicals, burned materials, and smoldering remains. As far as Nate was concerned, it was losing its battle. The window was far too small to win against what had been assaulting his nostrils since he reached the fourth floor.

Nate contemplated the odds of Ife having been blown out of that window in the blast. If she had been, her chances of survival would have gone up exponentially. A four-storied fall wasn't life-threatening for a shifter. There'd likely be broken bones, but those would heal within a week.

A few seconds later, Nate's mind caught up to what his nose was telling him. The faint smell of sunshine and acacia flowers was fresh. Ife was somewhere in the destroyed office.

The blood pounding in Nate's ears drowned out all other sounds. Carefully, he worked his way into the room, looking for any sign of Ife. With slightly shaking fingers, he picked up pieces of drywall and ceiling that blocked his path. After what seemed an eternity, he was at its center.

Stopping, Nate breathed in deep and let out a calming breath. Once his racing heart quieted, he cocked his head to listen for any sign of life. Toward the back wall that framed the broken window, he picked up the faint sound of a heartbeat. It was sluggish and faltering, but it was there.

Haste replaced caution as Nate made his way to the source of his hope. Ife's large, dark wood desk was shoved up against the wall. It was cracked in various places from taking the brunt of the blast - shrapnel embedded in its charred surface. Large chunks were missing from its middle. Tarnished metal legs punctured what was left of the sheetrock.

A dark hand covered in white dust and fresh burns was barely visible as it lay lifeless on a pile of debris. The gold ring in the shape of a lily on the left pinky told Nate's eyes what his nose already knew. Ife was pinned between her desk and the wall.

Taking precious moments, Nate gave that hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll have you out of here in no time, _paka_." It meant kitten in Swahili. Whether Ife heard, he couldn't say. Her hand lay listless in his.

Leaving her, Nate cleared the area around and behind the desk. Ife's prone body was covered in injuries and weeping blood. Her lab coat was in tatters and, covered with blood and scorch marks, it was white no more.

With a low groan, Nate noted that one of the desk's legs had been shoved through Ife's lower thigh, just above the knee. It, too, was embedded in the wall behind her. Luckily, she wasn't conscious and felt no pain.

Sucking in a breath, Nate whispered, "I'm sorry, _mapenzi_." The Swahili word translated to mean "beloved." "This is going to hurt." Grabbing the embedded leg in front of Ife's thigh with one hand, he wrapped the fingers of the other around a wooden edge. With a mighty pull in opposite directions, Nate dislocated the desk's leg from its top.

Ife didn't react. No moan or wince was forthcoming, which was worrisome.

Heart in his throat, Nate stood and dislodged the rest of the desk from the wall then flung it toward the opposite corner of the room. Obstruction removed, he knelt beside Ife's still-pinned thigh. He didn't want to weaken her further by separating the metal leg from her flesh and allowing blood to flow freely. It would have to stay.

Gently detaching the table leg from the wall, Nate picked Ife up and began retracing his steps. It was then he found the injury on the back of her head. The wound was bleeding profusely. Feeling around gently, he found a hole about the size of a baseball there. Another curse escaped him.

Gritting his teeth, Nate picked up his speed. Rushing through the corridors, he gently cradled Ife against him. Finally, they were exiting the building, and he carried Ife out onto the street. George gave him a strange look, disbelief mixed with pity. The security guard clearly thought Ife was past saving if not already dead.

Just then, a familiar, battered black SUV came screaming around the corner. It stopped outside of a barrier the local police had erected. Sprinting and ignoring incredulous stares from the assembled humans, Nate carried his severely injured mate to the vehicle. Brice opened the back door and slid across the seat, making room for him and Ife.

"You shouldn't have gone without us," Everett admonished as Nate settled into the back seat.

"If I'd waited for us to find another route, I would have been too late to save her."

Once Ife was securely cradled in Nate's lap, Mills took off at unsafe speeds. Shifting his hip and mate slightly to one side, Nathan fished out his cell phone. After resettling, he thumbed through his contacts, then dialed a number. On the third ring, Owen Walker, their corpsman, a shaman healer answered. "I'm bringing you a patient. She's in critical condition. We'll be in Ngong in about twenty minutes," he said succinctly as they sped past roadblocks and out of Nairobi.

"I'll be ready," Doc promised. Then, the line went dead.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

"Kojo!" Ife's eyes popped open. Instead of seeing the man who'd served as her shadow for the past several weeks, her wide gaze found no one. The scene of the werelion's death replayed in her mind as her blurry eyes tried to take in her unfamiliar surroundings.

Ife, having just finished her rounds, sat at her desk to look through lab results. Kojo suddenly appeared in her open doorway. It was odd because he'd never come into the hospital before. That fact alone put her instincts onto high alert. Added to that, he was wearing a long raincoat. It wasn't something their hot-blooded race and the current warm, unseasonably sunny day warranted.

"You should have listened," Kojo lamented. His eyes were glassy. "I'm sorry," was the only warning Ife received before her world was turned upside down. As the last syllable rung like a death knell in her office, he took out a device. The slim, cylindrical trigger pulled from his inside coat pocket was one she'd become familiar with during this long, damned war.

The raincoat hadn't yet reclosed when Ife sprang into action. Knees shoving her chair back as she gripped the nearest edge of her desk, she knocked it over with one, firm push. Then, using it as a shield, she crouched behind it a nanosecond before the light and sound of the explosion filled her senses.

The noise was deafening, and Ife felt her ears pop. As the concussive force from the blast shoved the desk against the wall with air-stealing force, she was swept along like a rag doll. Once she caught her breath, her nose was assaulted with the coppery smell of blood and bomb-making material. Charred flesh and burning man-made materials were soon added to the mix.

The building's sprinklers came on a half-second later. Struggling to raise herself a couple of inches to peer over the desk, Ife's stomach dipped at what she saw. Blown pipes made sure the room wasn't evenly covered with fire-suppressing water. There wasn't enough pressure for it to reach her end of the office.

Before panic could set in, Ife forced her sluggish mind to take stock. Flames licked greedily at the wall beside her. They hadn't reached her yet, but if firefighters didn't come and put them out within the next fifteen minutes, she'd be burned alive. She also smelled smoldering wood. Somewhere, her desk was aflame.

Letting herself fall back, Ife took stock of her current predicament. She was pinned at a weird angle on her side. The desk sandwiched her against the wall, and she couldn't move. There was a nasty gash at the back of her head that caused wooziness and nausea. The blast had thrown her cranium-first into the sheetrock. She wouldn't be surprised to find her skull had cracked upon impact.

With the hand not trapped beneath her body, Ife tried to shove the unwieldy desk away. It wouldn't budge. The couple of inches she managed to rise weren't enough to free her trapped arm. Her injuries weakened her, and the major one at the back of her head was making it hard to think. She'd have to wait for help to come; for someone to rescue her.

Nate popped into Ife's mind then. Before he could play the role of savior, however, she lost consciousness. So, how had she ended up in this unfamiliar place?

After rapidly blinking for a few seconds, the haze finally lifted, and Ife's eyes focused. She found herself in a large, double-roomed tent, lying on a queen-sized bed. Judging by the lumps and the stale scents of multiple bodies, the mattress was old and well-used.

Inside, the tent's interior was dark, lit by a single gas lantern turned down to its lowest setting. There were two average-sized, vinyl windows. Night had fallen, and so they offered no added illumination.

Ife spotted another flap toward the back on her left. It was drawn. Squinting her eyes, she peered into the dim recesses. There was a three-piece bathroom that appeared utilitarian. Her bladder woke up at that point. Ignoring it, she tried to figure out where she was before she used the toilet.

Gaze shifting toward the front "door," Ife's ears pricked. They'd caught a sound. Was she being held captive? Had Zaire "saved" her after it was known she'd survived his attack?

The main flaps were down, hiding the identity of whoever lurked beyond. A gentle rain pattered on the canvas roof, trying to deaden all other sounds. As Ife held her breath, her hands searched for some sort of weapon, but only soft cloth met them.

Suddenly, the canvas parted, allowing more artificial light inside from the tent's "doorway." In the distance, Ife noted other structures similar to the one she was in lit against the night sky. They were all well-spaced and erected upon wooden platforms. It was then she realized where she was. Chemi Chemi was once a permanent tented camp within the Ngong Hills. As a child, she'd come here during a vacation with her parents. Some of the structures had been moved, yet the landscape hadn't changed.

Eyes flicked to the figure that ducked into the tent, Ife breathed a sigh of relief. Her nose told her who it was before her eyes could. Relaxing her fingers, she unfisted the comforter and watched as Nate twisted slightly. He bent down and picked up a tray that had been placed on a table outside on the wooden deck.

It was then Ife connected the dots. When Nate said he lived outside of Ngong, he must have been referring to the abandoned resort.

When he spotted Ife, Nate's smile lit the dim interior. "You're awake," he observed as his heavy tread crossed the wooden floor. The deep baritone of his voice soothed her rioting emotions and aching head.

Instinctively, Ife's hand went to check her hair. It was likely matted, and she probably looked as much of a mess as she felt. Instead of encountering familiar, tight curls, her fingers hit cloth. Stifling a groan, she realized her head was wrapped in a bandage, mummy style. Stomach sinking, she knew there was nothing she could do about her appearance. The only thing she could do was pray she didn't look as horrid as she felt.

Propping herself up on an elbow to better greet Nate, Ife was instantly sorry. Nausea hit hard and fast, causing her to flop back without any grace. Dropping sharply onto her pillow elicited a pained gasp. The bandage would have to stay. Her head injury hadn't fully healed yet.

"Be careful," Nate admonished as he hurriedly put the tray down on a nightstand beside the bed. "Doc will gut me if you re-injure yourself."

"Who?" Ife panted, closing her eyes.

"Owen Walker. He's the shaman healer who put you back together."

"Never heard of him," Ife gulped as she rode out the dual waves of pain and nausea.

"Well, he won't be happy if you undo all of his healing."

Ife wanted to ask how long it'd been since her gnarly experience with a suicide bomber, but it was difficult to speak. "Kojo," she eventually managed to breathe out on a whimper.

"I know it was him," Nate said in a gruff tone.

"How long?" Ife asked shortly.

"It's been a few hours," Nate answered, giving Ife's hand a gentle squeeze.

Then, the light sound of dishes clinking sounded beyond her closed lids. The cool rim of a cup pressed against Ife's lips. "Here, drink this," Nate coaxed softly.

Eyes peeling open, Ife gazed up at Nate. It looked as if he hadn't slept in a week. There was a five-o-clock shadow shading his cheeks, jaw, and upper lip. The clothes he wore were wrinkled, and there was a coffee stain on his t-shirt.

Lips parting, Ife allowed the room-temperature liquid to enter. As she swallowed the herbal tea, Nate promised, "It'll help with the nausea. You lost a lot of blood. Your burns were severe, and your leg was impaled, shattering the bone. Then, there's the head wound." He paused to clear his throat. "For a moment, I feared you wouldn't make it."

A grunt was Ife's only response. For a split second upon waking, she thought she might have died and gone to the hereafter.

The medicinal tea began working as promised. But painkillers wouldn't help a shifter for long. Their metabolisms were too high, and the effects usually wore off before they could do much good.

"I thought I might be dead," Ife finally admitted as the agonizing ache in her head and leg ebbed. Cautiously, she sat up and was pleasantly surprised to find that the pain stayed away, as did the nausea.

The bed dipped when Nate sat next to Ife. His large, warm hand picked up hers and gave it a light squeeze. Her gaze shifted to stare into his earnest, dark chocolate eyes. "I'll never let that happen," he vowed. Although she knew it was an empty promise - there was no real way to prevent another's death - Ife found herself believing him. A measure of comfort filled her with the words.

The ends of her lips tilted slightly. "Thank you," Ife said softly.

"How is my patient?" a tall, tanned man asked from the entrance to Ife's tent. His dark brown head bent as he stepped within. Judging by his words, he must be Owen Walker, the shaman healer who'd saved Ife's life. Sharp, brown eyes looked her over from a stiff-featured face. They hardened further when they landed on Nate.

"On the mend," Ife hurried to assured the shaman. When that hard gaze zeroed in on her and Nate's clasped hands, she felt instantly uncomfortable. Freeing her grasp, she placed her hands in her lap so as not to cause more friction between the werelion and the shaman. Whatever the relationship between the two men was, it didn't appear to be friendly.

Nate stood with a sigh. Walker was still pissed at him for threatening to castrate the shaman if anything happened to Ife. More unfortunate things were said when her heart briefly stopped. A fist clenched at his side with that particularly bad memory. It'd been the head injury that caused her brush with death. The damage was too severe, and her body couldn't heal it fast enough. In the end, Nate reminded himself, Doc had saved Ife with his shaman medicine. An apology was in order.

"About before," Nate began.

Owen cut him off with the shake of his head. "You're too close to this." Nate knew Doc meant Ife. "I don't think you should be here."

The muscles in Nate's jaw clenched. He knew Walker meant well, but it was difficult to walk away.

By now, it was likely their commander had been informed about Nate's actions. Brice had debriefed Jaeger on their way to the compound and Doc probably shortly after stabilizing Ife. Nathan hadn't left her side until just before she woke, but his own meeting with Wolf was imminent. The First Lieutenant had to know by now that his earlier warning had come too late.

The word "traitor" whispered through Nate's mind once more. That was what he'd be labeled if he were to put Ife before his team or their mission. In a mythical utopia, there would be a way where he wouldn't have to choose. Unfortunately, their reality was far from perfect.

"I'll be back," Nate promised. It was difficult not to grab Ife's hand and give it another squeeze. Instead, his head dipped once in her direction. Then, he walked toward the exit. Feeling as if her eyes were on him, his spine stiffened. She'd witnessed his dismissal, and that dented his pride. Before the tent flap dropped into place, he couldn't help but look back. It wasn't his imagination. Nathan caught Ife's gaze and held it until the falling canvas blocked his view.

On Nate's way to the mess, Everett found him. The werewolf must have been lying in wait. The blonde man's next words confirmed Nathan's earlier speculation. "The commander wants to see you."

Biting back a sigh, Nate changed course. Everett fell into step beside him. After several feet, Brice broke the silence. "Is she your mate?"

Every fiber of Nate's being screamed, "Yes!" It was difficult not to tense up or give voice to the answer. Instead, Nate lifted a relaxed shoulder. "Perhaps," was the only answer he was currently willing to give.

Everett grunted in response. Whether it was a sound of acceptance or one indicating he knew Nate was all but lying, he couldn't say. Likely, it was apparent to all on his team that the answer was a resounding affirmative.

Before he laid such a claim, Nate wanted to find out if Ife felt the same. If she didn't, he was screwed. Chances were he'd turn feral and need to be put down by his commander or the First of America, whichever was closest at the time. That was a sobering realization. It was best to find out if Ife viewed him as her mate before he claimed she was his.

At Jaeger's tent, Everett left Nate with a friendly clap on his back. Not used to being so freely touched, he stiffened. Wolves were big on invading personal space. In contrast, lions were more reserved in showing open affection outside of their pride, especially with those who did not share their beast.

"Enter," the First Lieutenant called, likely having heard Nate and Brice's approach.

Doing so, Nate left Everett outside. He stopped before his commander's desk and saluted. Then, he stood at attention. His eyes were trained straight ahead, above Jaeger's head. The silence stretched as the First Lieutenant studied him. It soon became difficult for Nate not to fidget under such close scrutiny. Why he was suddenly feeling guilty, he couldn't say.

The slight sound of Jaeger shifting in his chair broke the tense hush. "At ease," he commanded.

Nate's position shifted, yet his gaze remained fixed.

"You brought a civilian to our command," Jaeger began. He wasn't one to mince words. "I do not recall giving you permission to do so."

Stiffening, Nate swallowed. "No, sir."

"Your actions put your team and our mission in jeopardy."

After it became apparent Wolf was waiting for a response, Nate gave one. "Yes, sir." It was more than likely Akinyi thought Ife dead, but now was not the time to point that out to his commander.

Quiet followed Nate's words. As it stretched, the air became thick, nearly choking. Then, Jaeger sighed. "Ife Bayo was an asset whether she knew it or not. It was understandable that you brought her here. We are the ones who put her in harm's way."

Wolfrick Jaeger was tough as a commander, but he was fair.

"Yes, sir," Nate replied. In his peripheral, he saw the First Lieutenant dip his head in the direction of one of the chairs bracketing his desk. "Have a seat."

"Yes, sir." Nate pulled out a chair and sat stiffly at its edge.

Jaeger shook his head. "No need to be so formal." Nate's spine remained erect. With another sigh, the commander continued, "Very well, I wish to talk of the woman now that she is here." At Nate's continued silence, the First Lieutenant blew out a breath. "Do you think anyone will come looking for her?"

"No, sir." At Jaeger's hard look, Nate elaborated. "She has no family left here. Her friends have either moved on or are fighting in the war. Akinyi likely thinks her dead. It'd be best if she stayed here. Let him believe his attack was successful."

"Agreed," Wolf said as he relaxed back in his chair. "But she stays on the outskirts of the camp. She can know we are U.S. military, but nothing of why we are here. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Nate was quick to agree. It was more than he'd hoped. A weight lifted from his heart. He felt lighter than he had in hours.

Jaeger studied him for a moment. Nate bent enough to make eye contact. After a moment, his commander asked, "Is she your mate?"

"Perhaps," Nate repeated the word he used with Everett.

Wolf snorted, likely knowing the truth and thinking Nate was lying to himself. "Just so long as you don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, sir." A smile rang through in Nate's response.

Jaeger shook his head. "I'm not certain whether to be jealous or happy that I'm not in your situation."

The smile came to the fore. "There is only one Ife Bayo," Nate said. "You should definitely be jealous."

Nate's commander grunted, but there was a friendly crease at the edges of the man's green eyes. "Just see that your woman stays away from certain areas. You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Nate replied and rose. "Thank you, sir." He saluted his commander once more, then left.

Nate's outlook was much improved. Ife was alive and healing. Zaire Akinyi would no longer bother her, and she was close to where Nate could keep her safe. He felt downright giddy.

# CHAPTER NINE

"I'm healed and want to return to my practice."

Ife felt an itch beneath her skin that began to bore through and settle into her very bones. For over a week, she'd played the patient. That was over now. She was completely healed and wanted to return to her work.

"You cannot go back," Nate began in a calm, reasonable tone. He'd been wonderful throughout Ife's healing. The werelion helped her to the bathroom while her leg healed and kept her well-supplied with Owen's pain-defying herbal teas. Whenever the nightmares came, he was there to help chase them away. They were currently all that remained of her ordeal.

With her ability to move about restored, Ife felt her environment closing in on her. Her world was restricted to her tent and its immediate surroundings. Added to that, now that her injuries were mended, Nate would leave for large parts of the day. While he was gone, she had nothing to do and no one to talk to in order to keep mind-numbing boredom at bay. Of course, Nathan wouldn't tell her where he went or what he did when he returned in the evening.

Nate was with the U.S. military. He'd confessed it to Ife when he came back to her tent that first day. During their date at African Meats, Nathan had managed to misrepresent what he did for a living without her smelling his deception. That he could be so secretive, so cagey made her not want to trust him with other things, like her heart.

Ife was conflicted as to how she felt about the werelion now that she could step back and better assess her situation. It wasn't a nice place to be, especially after having survived an act of terror and being confined near him. Although Nate was attentive, even loving in his care of her, she refused to give in to her beast's wishes and claim him as her mate. Not until she knew all that he continued to keep from her would she bond with him. Falling in love with him was also out of the question. She decided that her human side would continue to guard their heart.

Raising a hand, Ife cut off the rest of Nate's words. "I know Zaire thinks I'm dead, and that's how it must remain if I'm to be safe from him." Nate and his men had even gone so far as to stage a funeral for her, to help bolster the deception.

Blowing out a breath, Ife continued, "But I'm tired of this inactivity. Find something for me to do, else I will leave. If not for Nairobi, then somewhere else."

Ife learned the city's only hospital was the one Zaire had built. It was in a more secure location and had the best, state-of-the-art equipment. The African First had used his attack against her to sow fear and discord. He'd discredited his rival, Nairobi County Hospital's owner, who had been one of the last hold-outs. Zaire now owned all the business real-estate in Kenya's capital, including her old apartment.

Nate made a frustrated sound deep in his throat. "Why can you not be happy here for a little longer? My mission is nearly complete; then, we can leave together." He'd already promised himself he would retire from the Marines and bow out of this war once Akinyi was caught. No longer was vengeance his top priority.

Ife's narrow chin jutted out stubbornly. "Leave together? You mean back to America, don't you?" She shook her head. "No, Kenya is my home. I will not leave her or my people in their time of need. Not for anything or anyone."

Hurt blossomed in Nate's deep chocolate eyes. Ife's words had wounded the man that had been her savior, the one who her beast recognized as its mate. But, she argued with herself, it was best to voice her feelings now so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings later. She'd left the land of her birth once and was unwilling to do so again. If it were habitable, she'd be inhabiting it, simple as that.

Ife's inner debate did little to drive down the guilt churning in her belly. Although she was frustrated and infuriated by Nate's dishonesty, she didn't want to inflict pain. She hadn't meant to lash out in such a clumsy manner.

"I'll speak with Lieutenant Jaeger." Nate rose from the canvas chair he was seated in and loomed over Ife. Stiffly, he awaited her consent.

Ife met Wolfrick Jaeger after she'd come back to consciousness, on the same day she'd been attacked. He was a large man, built for command. Although their meeting was short and consisted of Wolf outlining where she could and could not roam, Ife had a feeling he was a fair man. She could be happy with him deciding her fate in the short-term. But only for a time, and that was coming to a close. The urge to take back the reins of her life pressed against her, she'd need to do so soon, else risk her sanity.

Ife's head dipped once, "Please do."

Usually, Nate kissed Ife before he left. This time, he went without even a peck on the cheek. She missed that show of affection more than she wanted to admit, Ife thought, watching his stiff shoulders disappear behind the tent's flaps. Her words and the hurt they caused came back to her as she listened to his pounding steps leave her wooden porch.

Clenching her teeth to stave off another stab of guilt, Ife rose from her seat. She busied herself with cleaning her temporary home. The bed was made, the clothes that Nate grabbed from her apartment before Zaire's men descended were put away, and the floor was swept. There wasn't anything left to do, and the werelion had only been gone for fifteen minutes.

Walking out onto the porch, Ife leaned the broom against the railing and surveyed the rest of the camp. Nate's teammates were bustling below the steep hill where her lone tent sat. There weren't many men in his company, but there were plenty of chores to be done. She'd met each of them throughout her stay. Besides Nate, she knew the healer Owen Walker best. He was a kind individual, for a shaman. That race wasn't known for being warm and cuddly.

Ife spied Nate and Owen leave Wolfrick's command tent together. Her werelion walked in the opposite direction without a backward glance toward her location. His lack of interest caused another ball of unpleasant emotions to spear her gut. It was the healer who came up the hill toward her instead. He was taller than Wolf and as dark of hair as Nate. The way he carried himself reminded Ife of the gunslingers she'd seen in old Westerns. It was in the roll and sway of his hips she decided when he came to a stop below her porch's first step.

"Come with me," Owen said by way of greeting. Then, he turned about and led the way from Ife's temporary home.

Over the shaman's head, Ife found Nate's figure crouch as he entered the rear seat of their team's battered SUV. He hadn't come back to say goodbye, hadn't turned to wave farewell. Her fingers itched, wanting to rub away the ache in her heart. But she had an attentive audience, she reminded herself, and so stayed the motion. Instead, she spun the ring on her pinkie with her hand held tightly to her side to hide the gesture.

"Where are we going?" Ife asked as they headed perpendicular to the main camp. She felt a little naughty as she walked across the boundary Wolf had set. They were still technically outside of the base; the main bulk of tents were some distance away. But they were closer than she'd ever been before.

"Are you sure you won't get into trouble taking me this far into camp?"

"So full of questions," Owen drawled with his slightly southern accent. "The Lieutenant gave orders that I was to make use of you. You can now come and go as far as the medical tent."

The structure he spoke of was about 250 meters away from Ife's. Still, it seemed as if her whole world opened. With those added meters, her perception changed. She felt as if she were no longer a caged animal, and the urge to leave lessened.

Climbing the stairs, Owen tied the flaps back on the med tent. Standing aside, he motioned for Ife to enter. A small reception area came into view as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. There were two chairs against each wall and a wooden desk that took up prominence in the center of the room. Behind it was a canvas drape that closed the area off from the rest of the tent and gave one a sense of privacy.

Following Owen through the second "doorway," Ife was greeted with three cots on either wall and an operating theater at the back. It wasn't as technologically advanced or sterile as her own, but those of the races weren't as fragile as humans. They also had magic to aid them in healing. Shaman and witches did, anyway.

Ife thought Owen would stop to show her the medical equipment, but his heavy tread on the wooden planked floor kept going. Lifting her gaze from the antiquated tools, she followed and found herself outside in a matter of seconds. A dug-out cellar of sorts took up prominence to her right. The shaman walked toward it and lifted a newly hewn door made of baobab.

"Nu," Owen barely breathed the archaic word. Torches within lit instantaneously. Dark smoke wafted out of the cellar's earthen top through concealed holes. Squinting, Ife watched as it was picked up and swallowed by a soft, warm breeze.

Turning back, Owen asked, "Coming?" Then, he disappeared into the hillside.

Warily, Ife eyed the structure. It appeared stable enough but went deeper underground than she'd ever wanted to go. Watching the top of Owen's dark head descend, she guesstimated he went down a dozen and a half steps before the floor evened out into a corridor or room.

Sucking in a deep breath as if she were about to dive into deep waters, Ife went past the threshold. As she descended the pinkish-orange sandstone steps, she wondered if Owen used his magic to carve them out of the hillside. The damp smell of earth enclosed her as she moved closer to the bottom. As it settled on her bare skin, she noted that the air was comfortably humid and cool. The heat given off by the torches kept the temperature from dipping into "chilly."

The roughly hewn stairwell opened into a spacious chamber. Numerous shelves and cupboards hugged the walls of the elongated, oval room. Beneath and beside them were long workbenches, which extended the length of the underground structure. Books, bottles, and herbs were scattered about every available, flat surface. It reminded her of a medieval alchemist's laboratory she'd seen in a painting.

"Wow," Ife breathed as she came to a stop in the middle of the room. "What is this place?" She couldn't help but do a slow circle as she took it all in. The walls were packed earth, and roots from various plants stuck out of them haphazardly. They didn't look stable, but they _felt_ that way.

"It's my foundry," Owen said shortly, looking at Ife as if she were some curiosity invading his cabalistic space. Then seeming to dismiss her, he turned toward a workbench and busied himself with the bottles.

Ife's narrowed eyes pinned the back of the shaman's dark, brunette head. The clank of bottles and slide of a hefty tome filled the chamber. "And what do you do here?" she pressed after a moment.

Turning his head slightly, Owen informed Ife, "I make medicine. Like the tea you drank when you first woke." It had eased her pain and nausea for hours after the first "dose." No other medicine she knew could do that. Well, no human medicine had that effect on a shifter.

A frustrated whoosh of breath escaped Owen's lips. "I was told you were a healer. This can't be your first time in a foundry."

Ife bit back an angry yowl at Owen's attitude. It made her hackles rise. Through gritted teeth, she explained succinctly, "I'm a human trained doctor. So yes, this is my first time in a shaman foundry."

Owen's head shook a few times. "How am I supposed to work with that?"

Ife sensed Owen was about to decide she was too much trouble and not worth the bother. Her rioting emotions plummeted. Now that she'd seen the foundry, she was intrigued. Never had she been taught the most basic of magics - that of plants. Even humans could work it with some success.

"I won't be any trouble. I'm a fast learner," Ife rushed to assure the healer.

Owen's dark eyes narrowed as he studied her. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he said, "We'll see."

It wasn't a flat out "no," and Ife felt her lips tilt upward. Owen had just put her on probation. She was confident she could pick up whatever he taught. She refused to be kicked out before she could even try.

"Where do you want me to begin?" Ife walked over to stand next to Owen.

"I suppose at the beginning," the healer said haltingly. Then, "You mean to tell me you've never learned any of the basics?"

"Yes," Ife's short answer was somewhat defensive. It wasn't her fault she'd never met a shaman healer. As a result, she'd only studied human medicine with human teachers.

Grumbling under his breath, Owen began pulling down some jars filled with dried herbs. He continued, "First you'll need to know the natural benefits of these. I don't think I'll have to tell you the words we shaman use to...activate them." He muttered to himself, "It's been a while since I had an apprentice." He followed that observation with, "But, she's not of my race, so it may be impossible to teach her even the basics."

Not liking being relegated to "she" and "her," Ife remained quiet. This was her chance to learn something beyond science. Swallowing her pride, she vowed to be a good student and listen to whatever the shaman healer was willing to teach.

Although shifters had been born of a cursed shaman clan, their magic was no longer the same. Outside of plant, which was a subsection of earth, or pack magic, weres had none. For the first time, Ife wished she could tap into her shaman roots.

Pulling up a stool next to Owen, Ife waited on his direction. After a slight hesitation, he sifted through his books, then opened one up and lay it in front of her. It was about the fundamental healing properties of common herbs. Even at a glance, she found their magical uses were different than what humans had taught her.

The next several hours found Ife studying more than she had in university. She also learned Owen's God Complex was strong. She didn't know if it was because he was a shaman or if it was merely his inherent nature. By the time they left, however, she thought she saw a smile in his eyes. At the very least, there was a grudging acceptance in his attitude toward her. That was progress as far as she was concerned.

With the word, "Du," Owen extinguished the torches.

Clutching a hefty old tome to her chest, Ife smiled at the healer. "When should we meet next?"

The heavy wooden door was dropped into place before Owen answered. "Tomorrow, O-800."

Ife hoped she'd be able to sleep that night. Eight AM came earlier than expected after a night of insomnia. "Very well!"

Coming into the reception area, Ife met Nate as he was ducking under the opened flap. His nostrils flared as he took in the various scents of herbs and her. "Looks like you enjoyed yourself," he said as he extended a hand forward to pull a dried stub of lavender free from one of her curls.

Reaching up to pat her hair, Ife wondered, "How did that get there?"

Nate's persona dimmed somewhat as he looked further into the tent. By the sound of heavy footfalls on the wooden boards, Ife knew Owen headed their way. She was expecting a pissing match, but the werelion merely asked the shaman, "How did it go?"

Owen snorted. "Other than having to retrain the human knowledge out of her, I'd say well."

Nate's brows rose, and he took the book of herb lore from Ife. "High praise, indeed." And it was, coming from the prickly shaman. Turning back to her, he asked, "Ready to eat?"

"I know I am," Owen rubbed his flat belly.

"I wasn't asking you," Nate quipped as they left the med tent.

"But Ife invited me." Was that a pout she heard in the shaman's tone? Surely not. A glance back showed her nothing. Owen remained as emotionless as ever.

"I was going to ask Owen about what I can take for my nightmares." Ife didn't want Nate to think she dreaded being alone with him. She didn't, even after their fight that morning.

"Shell-shocked from your recent brush with death?" Owen bluntly guessed. His use of the archaic medical term showed his age where his smooth, young-looking features didn't.

Nate made a warning sound low in his throat at the shaman's clumsy handling of Ife's ordeal. Then, he addressed her. "You could have asked Doc when you were sequestered in the foundry with him." It was an accusation. Apparently, the werelion was still feeling raw from her earlier words.

"The opportunity never arose," Ife shot back, with no small amount of snark in her tone.

"Yeah, I'm out," Owen told their backs. "I'll drop an amulet by for your nightmares. If that's ok with you, Allen," he finished.

"Yes. Fine," Nate replied shortly.

Ife blew out a breath. Being in Nate's presence used to be comfortable. Since that morning, it seemed as if they were destined to fight. Guilt rose once again as she remembered her comment about not leaving Kenya for anything or anyone. Was it because of that? Or was it because of Nate's "job" and his keeping secrets that caused tension? It was likely both, she thought glumly.

Unfortunately, each felt as if they were the wronged party. Neither was willing to talk about what was bothering them. They ate in silence. Ife took the amulet Owen had dropped off and went to her bed. Nate made a pallet in the common area of her two-room tent. He was as far from the bed as he could be without actually sleeping outside.

Ife read for a while but soon put the book on herbal lore on her nightstand. It landed with a shaking thud. Then, with an overly aggressive motion, she turned off the kerosene lamp. Flopping back onto her pillow, she blindly stared up at the canvas roof for infinite minutes. Her thoughts raced. Finally, punching her pillow as she turned, she lay on her side with a huff, facing away from Nate. After eventually closing her eyes, her circuitous ruminations instantly stilled. Sleep didn't evade her as she'd feared. The amulet worked as well as Owen's tea. For the first time since her ordeal, Ife slept through the night and didn't dream.

# CHAPTER TEN

With a heavy heart, Nate headed into Nairobi. Nearly two weeks had passed since the explosion at Ife's hospital. Akinyi was back in town, and Nate, posing as an arms dealer, had an appointment with the African First. Finally, he'd come face-to-face with the man who'd taken his family. Nate hoped he wouldn't blow the opportunity by ripping Zaire's throat out then and there. After his fight with Ife, he was no longer feeling so magnanimous about his need for revenge against the werelion.

Stretching stiff shoulders, Nate was reminded of the past few nights spent on Ife's floor. The tension between them was still there, an incessantly dark presence in the room. They'd reached a détente of sorts. Ife no longer hounded him about wanting to feel useful, and he didn't bring up leaving together again. Hell, they barely spoke to each other. The unease between them made Nate's heart hurt.

"You still in the doghouse, Allen?" Brice had noticed Nate's stretch. The Master Sergeant was acting as his private security, as was the other shifter in the black SUV, Corporal Tony Anderson. Mills was driving.

"Mind your own business Everett," Nate warned.

From the front, Dick barked a short laugh. "If you don't want the woman, Doc will take her."

Anderson, sitting in the passenger seat, cuffed the young man upside the head. "Best not to stick your nose in shifter business," he warned the lone shaman. "You could get dead."

Nate unclenched his fist. The shifters on the team knew that Ife was _his_. Those of the shaman persuasion were slower to understand that fundamental truth. Walker continued to make moves on Nathan's woman. She seemed clueless to them, but Nate and the rest of the team weren't. Lieutenant Jaeger volunteered to talk with the recalcitrant healer. He declined the offer. He'd deal with it himself.

If only Nate knew whether Ife felt the same as he did. Then, he could come clean about all he'd been hiding. It was different between mates than it was between humans and their spouses. A shifter mate would never betray the other's confidence.

From the driver's seat, Dick grumbled about having to work with shifters. After that, nothing but the sound of the engine and the occasional bump in the road was heard. It was a solemn group that arrived in Nairobi twenty minutes later. A few more turns and several miles saw them arrive at their destination. The vehicle stopped in front of an abandoned warehouse. Mills cut the engine. The two werewolves acting as security exited first. Brice opened the door, and with a command for Richard to stay with the vehicle, he hopped out and onto the cracked pavement. Nate followed.

Since Akinyi didn't know Nate was a shifter, he kept his movements slower, less agile. He played up his role as a human. The two werewolves flanking him did likewise as they entered one of the dock doors and walked to the center of the warehouse. Zaire and his men were already there. As with Nathan, there were two on either side of the African First.

Nate consciously made his gait loose. His shoulders hung relaxed as he approached. He didn't want the other werelion to know how pissed he was just by the sight of him. As far as Akinyi knew, Nathan believed a random act of terror had killed his lover. It was a common enough occurrence in their world. Besides, there was nothing to link it back to Zaire.

How Nate longed for the day when all this subterfuge finally came to an end.

"You are the American?" Akinyi called, his voice echoing in the space. He was seated in a display of power. The werelion acted like a king, lounging on his folded chair as if it were a throne. Zaire, believing in his own portrayal, didn't rise once Nate's group reached him.

"I'm currently between countries," Nate quipped. He knew his American English was accented, as was his Swahili. It was the easiest way for him to explain that away. Plus, there was a bit of truth to it, and so Zaire wouldn't smell a lie. Nathan felt torn between his adopted country and the one of his birth; toward his team and Ife.

"Ha!" Akinyi barked. He was far too relaxed for Nate's liking. "A common occurrence in these troubled times."

_I just need to complete this deal_ , Nate reminded himself. Then, they'd track the weapons and take out those enemies as well. Once his mission was complete, then Nate was free to leave the team and kill Zaire.

"I can see you are not one for chit-chat," Akinyi continued as Nate and his men stopped ten feet from the seated man. "Very well, tell me what you have to offer, and we will see if it's what I need."

After some haggling over Nate's stock and the prices, Akinyi built his wish list. He agreed to purchase thirty Tomahawk Block V missiles, two hundred M4 machine guns, one-hundred grenade launchers, and fifty m224 mortars. They were to be delivered within three days. After a final inspection, Zaire would authorize the payment.

It was too long of a wait in Nate's estimation. He'd have to cool his heels for that much longer before he challenged his long-time nemesis. He couldn't do so until the weapons were shipped off to Zaire's cohorts. Then, the team could find their other enemies and perhaps the one the African First was working for. After that, Nate would be free to pursue his vengeance.

"So, how did it go?" Mills asked as they pulled away from the warehouse.

"Well," Everett answered. "Make sure we aren't followed," he finished.

"Yes, sir." Surprisingly, Dick didn't follow that up with a smart-assed comment.

As they drove back to base camp, Brice called their commander and refilled Jaeger in on what transpired. The First Lieutenant heard all that went on through their earpieces, but it was always best to get a firsthand account to fill in any holes that might have been missed.

Redundancy, thy name is military, Nate thought as he and the rest of the team went to Jaeger's tent. After a more formal debriefing, he left to find Ife. Of course, she was in Doc's foundry. Discovering her there wasn't a shock. What was surprising was the sight of the shaman behind Ife, leaning forward with his arms bracketing her waist.

The full moon was close, Nate had just met with his lifelong enemy, and his relationship with Ife was on rocky ground. It was little wonder he snapped.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

With a heavy heart, Nate headed into Nairobi. Nearly two weeks had passed since the explosion at Ife's hospital. Akinyi was back in town, and Nate, posing as an arms dealer, had an appointment with the African First. Finally, he'd come face-to-face with the man who'd taken his family. Nate hoped he wouldn't blow the opportunity by ripping Zaire's throat out then and there. After his fight with Ife, he was no longer feeling so magnanimous about his need for revenge against the werelion.

Stretching stiff shoulders, Nate was reminded of the past few nights spent on Ife's floor. The tension between them was still there, an incessantly dark presence in the room. They'd reached a détente of sorts. Ife no longer hounded him about wanting to feel useful, and he didn't bring up leaving together again. Hell, they barely spoke to each other. The unease between them made Nate's heart hurt.

"You still in the doghouse, Allen?" Brice had noticed Nate's stretch. The Master Sergeant was acting as his private security, as was the other shifter in the black SUV, Corporal Tony Anderson. Mills was driving.

"Mind your own business Everett," Nate warned.

From the front, Dick barked a short laugh. "If you don't want the woman, Doc will take her."

Anderson, sitting in the passenger seat, cuffed the young man upside the head. "Best not to stick your nose in shifter business," he warned the lone shaman. "You could get dead."

Nate unclenched his fist. The shifters on the team knew that Ife was _his_. Those of the shaman persuasion were slower to understand that fundamental truth. Walker continued to make moves on Nathan's woman. She seemed clueless to them, but Nate and the rest of the team weren't. Lieutenant Jaeger volunteered to talk with the recalcitrant healer. He declined the offer. He'd deal with it himself.

If only Nate knew whether Ife felt the same as he did. Then, he could come clean about all he'd been hiding. It was different between mates than it was between humans and their spouses. A shifter mate would never betray the other's confidence.

From the driver's seat, Dick grumbled about having to work with shifters. After that, nothing but the sound of the engine and the occasional bump in the road was heard. It was a solemn group that arrived in Nairobi twenty minutes later. A few more turns and several miles saw them arrive at their destination. The vehicle stopped in front of an abandoned warehouse. Mills cut the engine. The two werewolves acting as security exited first. Brice opened the door, and with a command for Richard to stay with the vehicle, he hopped out and onto the cracked pavement. Nate followed.

Since Akinyi didn't know Nate was a shifter, he kept his movements slower, less agile. He played up his role as a human. The two werewolves flanking him did likewise as they entered one of the dock doors and walked to the center of the warehouse. Zaire and his men were already there. As with Nathan, there were two on either side of the African First.

Nate consciously made his gait loose. His shoulders hung relaxed as he approached. He didn't want the other werelion to know how pissed he was just by the sight of him. As far as Akinyi knew, Nathan believed a random act of terror had killed his lover. It was a common enough occurrence in their world. Besides, there was nothing to link it back to Zaire.

How Nate longed for the day when all this subterfuge finally came to an end.

"You are the American?" Akinyi called, his voice echoing in the space. He was seated in a display of power. The werelion acted like a king, lounging on his folded chair as if it were a throne. Zaire, believing in his own portrayal, didn't rise once Nate's group reached him.

"I'm currently between countries," Nate quipped. He knew his American English was accented, as was his Swahili. It was the easiest way for him to explain that away. Plus, there was a bit of truth to it, and so Zaire wouldn't smell a lie. Nathan felt torn between his adopted country and the one of his birth; toward his team and Ife.

"Ha!" Akinyi barked. He was far too relaxed for Nate's liking. "A common occurrence in these troubled times."

_I just need to complete this deal_ , Nate reminded himself. Then, they'd track the weapons and take out those enemies as well. Once his mission was complete, then Nate was free to leave the team and kill Zaire.

"I can see you are not one for chit-chat," Akinyi continued as Nate and his men stopped ten feet from the seated man. "Very well, tell me what you have to offer, and we will see if it's what I need."

After some haggling over Nate's stock and the prices, Akinyi built his wish list. He agreed to purchase thirty Tomahawk Block V missiles, two-hundred M4 machine guns, one-hundred grenade launchers, and fifty m224 mortars. They were to be delivered within three days. After a final inspection, Zaire would authorize the payment.

It was too long of a wait in Nate's estimation. He'd have to cool his heels for that much longer before he challenged his long-time nemesis. He couldn't do so until the weapons were shipped off to Zaire's cohorts. Then, the team could find their other enemies and perhaps the one the African First was working for. After that, Nate would be free to pursue his vengeance.

"So, how did it go?" Mills asked as they pulled away from the warehouse.

"Well," Everett answered. "Make sure we aren't followed," he finished.

"Yes, sir." Surprisingly, Dick didn't follow that up with a smart-assed comment.

As they drove back to base camp, Brice called their commander and refilled Jaeger in on what transpired. The First Lieutenant heard all that went on through their earpieces, but it was always best to get a firsthand account to fill in any holes that might have been missed.

Redundancy, thy name is military, Nate thought as he and the rest of the team went to Jaeger's tent. After a more formal debriefing, he left to find Ife. Of course, she was in Doc's foundry. Discovering her there wasn't a shock. What was surprising was the sight of the shaman behind Ife, leaning forward with his arms bracketing her waist.

The full moon was close, Nate had just met with his lifelong enemy, and his relationship with Ife was on rocky ground. It was little wonder he snapped.

An angry yowl behind her made Ife straighten. The sudden move had her knocking heads with Owen. Then, the shaman simply vanished.

"You've gone too far," Nate roared. Ife turned in time to see his meaty fist connect with Owen's jaw.

"What are you doing?" Ife yelled. "Have you gone mad?"

Grabbing the healer by the throat, Nate addressed Ife. "You let him put his arms around you," he accused.

Owen broke free and threw his own punch. Nate doubled over as air whooshed out between his lips. Those condemning, gold-rimmed chocolate eyes bored into Ife's.

Shaking her head in denial, Ife explained, "He was showing me how best to crush the herbs."

The two scuffled a bit more, severing eye contact. After a brief interlude filled with grunts and curses, Nate panted out, "There is only one way to crush herbs." Going back on the attack, he threw and landed a punch, then continued, "You just _crush them_."

Nate's words gave Ife pause. Feeling like an idiot when she realized he was right, her stomach sank. She'd been too caught up in the excitement of learning something new. Owen had been making subtle moves on her, ones that she had willfully ignored. She hadn't wanted to give them credence, make them a reality by confronting him. That would've only served to alienate the shaman and jeopardize the furthering of her education.

Tossing the pestle and mortar at the two men's heads, Ife watched as the damned, crushed herbs flew out in an arc. Venting her spleen, Ife roared, "Fine!" Skirting around the scuffling men, she headed for the exit. "When you're done trying to kill each other, I'll be outside," she said in a marginally calmer tone over her shoulder.

Stomping on each step on her way up, Ife wished they were Owen's or Nate's head by turns. Once she reached the top, she sucked in a deep breath. The air was crisp and full of the promise of rain. Leaning against a corner pole of the med tent, she called herself all kinds of a fool. Below, the sounds of the continued battle drifted up and out of the foundry. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the entrance, waiting for the fight to end.

"- finds out he used her, then Doc will have a chance."

Ife's whole being stilled. She had a sinking suspicion she knew who the young shaman named Richard was speaking about. From the sound of the footfalls, there were two men, and they'd just entered the med tent. They were walking toward the back, toward her.

"Not with these beasts," the third shaman on Nathan's team sneered. His name was Andrew Stevens. Ife's skin prickled in warning whenever he was near. Giving in to the need to rub the tingles away, she ran her palms vigorously up and down her arms.

After a brief pause, Andrew chided, "You have a lot to learn about the races, young Mills. Even if the lioness finds out Allen used her to get to Akinyi, she'll forgive him."

Ife felt her world close in on her as her stomach dipped in a sickening drop. It became hard to breathe. Her heart leaped into her throat and began pounding frantically, cutting off her air.

"Oops," Andrew said as he opened the tent flap and spotted Ife. The look on his face told her he meant for his conversation to be overheard. He must have known she was there, listening.

Stevens' short, insincere apology followed Ife as she ran up a grass-covered hill. The heavens opened up, crying as she did. Rain washed away her tears as she continued on her desperate journey to nowhere. Anywhere any of the shaman or Nate wasn't was an improvement in her surroundings.

Blindly Ife raced, concentrating only on the ground beneath her feet. Dirt quickly turned to mud, causing her to slip. Falling a few times, she caught herself with her palms. Ignoring the blood-drawing scrapes, she popped back up and continued to run.

For the second time in several minutes, Ife felt like a fool. How could her beast have believed Nate was its mate? For all these weeks, they'd been duped. With a sinking feeling, she realized she hadn't guarded her heart closely enough. Although she'd promised herself she wouldn't do so until she found out all of Nate's secrets, Ife had gone and fallen in love with him.

Breathing heavily, Ife came to a stumbling stop at the final acceptance of her feelings for the werelion. Her legs nearly gave out from fatigue. Bending over, hands on her knees, she sucked in huge gulps of air. They came out on ugly sobs.

Footsteps pounded up the hill behind her. Ife couldn't recall how many she'd climbed and descended in her erratic flight away from Nate. Her mind urged her body to move, but it was spent. There was no more energy in her legs left to expel. Stumbling downhill a few meters, she landed on her knees. Head bowed, she berated herself while she caught her shuddering breath.

Lifting her head to the weeping sky, Ife let it try to wash away her despair. But it stubbornly stayed, only continued to build inside of her. Finally, no longer able to contain it, she let out a long, wordless roar. It embodied all she felt: rage, betrayal, frustration, and heartache. The angry heavens answered her cry of anguish as thunder reverberated around her.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Ife!" Nate called upon spotting her. She was hunched over and on her knees in the mud. "Are you injured?"

When he'd left the foundry, Owen defeated, Nate had been met by a wide-eyed Dick and a contrite Stevens. Ife was nowhere in sight. With a wordless point in the direction up the hill, Mills let Nate know where she'd gone. Why she'd fled, he didn't know, but he suspected one of the shaman was the reason.

As he took off after her, Nate couldn't help but wonder if Ife might have preferred Doc over him. That would've been a reason for her to flee the encampment. She had to have known he'd come out the victor in their fight, as long as Walker didn't use his magic. Perhaps she hadn't wanted to witness the shaman's defeat?

Nate's stomach dropped. The thought that Ife viewed the Owen as her mate clanged around in his mind as he ran. Savagely, he pushed it away. He wouldn't accept that. Not until he heard it from Ife's lips.

Upon reaching Ife, Nate dropped down, his knees bracketing hers. When his arms came around her from behind, she tried to shrug them off and move away. But Nate only pulled her back, closer to his chest.

Shivers wracked Ife's body. Her skin was cool and wet, yet she seemed uninjured beneath his roaming hands. She shivered again. Switching their inquisitive course, Nate ran his palms briskly up and down her arms in a bid to warm her.

"Let me go." Ife's command wasn't nearly as assertive as she needed it to be. Nate ignored her, continuing in his efforts to try and heat her chilled flesh. It was a wasted effort; she didn't think she'd ever feel warm again. The heart in her chest seemed naught but a shriveled, frozen shard of ice.

"Why did you run off?" Nate tried again.

"Why do you care?" Ife shot back. A soft sob ruined her fiery response.

Behind Ife, Nate tensed. All movement ceased as his arms locked like stone around her. "Do you feel that Owen Walker is your mate?" he asked with soft violence.

"My God, you are so stupid!" Freeing a hand from Nate's tight embrace, Ife wiped angrily at her tears.

"Something that could be easily remedied if you'd talk to me." Nate's tone was gentle, but there was a thick thread of annoyance at its center.

A sound of pure frustration erupted from Ife's throat. After a calming moment of silence to ease her ragged breathing, she stated, "You used me." It was easier to admit without Nate looking at her.

Grunting out a curse, Nate remained like a stone statue behind Ife. A couple of heartbeats passed before he blew out a long breath. It tickled the wet curls at her neck. Ife reached up and rubbed the spot with her free hand.

Nate bent his head slightly and turned it, so his lips weren't far from her ear. "I'd like to be honest with you, Ife." His velvety low voice rumbled through her back. Sucking in a breath, he all but whispered on the exhale, "I can't say I didn't use you to get on my target's radar. But-"

"No," Ife erupted, cutting Nate off and struggling to get some distance between them once more. "There is no 'but.' Even the repulsive, _Andrew_ knew." It was irrational, but that the shaman was aware of her role as bait felt like a more significant betrayal.

Arms tightening further, Nate pulled Ife onto his lap. "Even though I was ordered to get close to you, that's not why I did it, mapenzi."

Ife stilled at Nate's use of the endearment. Carefully, she asked, "Then why did you do it?"

"Because," Nate began softly, "I was the lion who ruined your kill during the last full moon." His head bent forward, and he nuzzled Ife's neck. "You clawed my nose, but I knew I deserved it."

Ife sucked in a breath. Memories of what their beasts did on their one night of freedom per month were patchy for those as young as she. Hearing it from Nate caused her to recall more pieces of the incident.

"When I caught your scent the next morning, I knew you were that fierce lioness."

Nate's warm mouth clamped around the sensitive point where Ife's shoulder joined her neck. Goose pimples spread as he lightly sucked at the spot. Before she could bite it back, a low moan escaped Ife's parted lips. Eyes closing, her head fell back on his shoulder, giving him better access.

"My beast recognized the scent of its mate," Nate whispered. Warm breath puffed out at the sensitive spot as he spoke, causing Ife to shiver for a wholly different reason.

When Nate's partial admission finally made its way into Ife's passion-filled brain, her breath caught in her throat. He hadn't claimed she was _his_ mate, she reminded herself, only that of his beast's. Even so, her heart picked up its pace, seeming to mirror the fast staccato of the falling raindrops on the waterlogged ground.

Lips shifting to her neck, Nate seemed content to lazily play there for a while. Ife began to respond, then he stopped and drew in a deep breath. On the warm exhale came his soft admission, "I recognized _my_ mate, Ife Bayo."

With his full admission, Ife found herself forgiving him. Stevens had been correct, damn him anyway. Twisting her torso, so she was facing him, Ife cupped Nate's cheek. Rough whiskers tickled her palm. Healing, just above her fingers, was a gash from his recent fight with Owen. She waited for his dark, gold-rimmed eyes to meet hers. Holding his gaze, she tenderly confessed, "I was slower in recognizing mine, Nathan Allen."

"Nassor Jelani," Nate murmured as his head dipped.

Ife briefly wondered what he meant before all thought fled as Nate's lips met hers. Darting out, his tongue flicked across the seam of her lips. Opening them, Ife eagerly welcomed his entrance. Her tongue slid along his in naughty play.

Lifting her slightly, Nate turned Ife to face him. Her legs fell onto either side of his, and she scooted up his lap, closer to him. His hard length pressed against her. The thin material of her yoga pants wasn't much of a barrier. With a slight movement of her hips, she ran her core along his steely shaft. A purr escaped her throat as pleasure sparked and spread from her center to her extremities.

Nate's hand came around to splay across Ife's ass. He drew her hard against him, then pushed down, causing her to ride his rigid length in a slow, single stroke. Something between a sigh and a moan came from her throat as her clit rubbed against his shaft. Hips flexing, she repeated the move.

Nate's other hand tunneled beneath Ife's rain-soaked t-shirt. Her breath hitched as its warmth spread across her chilled, lower stomach. His long fingers gently wrapped around the dip above her waist. Pressing downward with both hands, he reminded her to continue her previous movements. Ife cupped his upper jaw and deepened their kiss as her hips shifted, and she slid down his shaft. Even through the material of their clothing, the move elicited pleasure.

Satisfied that Ife wouldn't stop, Nate's palm at her waist slid upward. Running themselves lightly up her cleavage, his fingertips then changed course and slipped between her bra and chilled flesh. There, they found a taut nipple. After giving it a gentle tug that shot electrifying sensations to her palms, his hand switched position. Their warmth encompassed her breast, causing a brief tremble in her movements. With his thumb, he rolled the rigid peak in a gentle caress. A moan escaped Ife, muffled by his mouth still on hers. She felt the light caress all the way to her aching core.

Lifting his head, Nate tried to get his libido under control. He wasn't a beast and didn't want to claim his mate in the rain and mud like one. His hands grasped Ife's hips, stilling their movement.

"Having second thoughts?" Ife's tone was an octave lower, and her eyes glowed the amber of her beast. Although she tried to hide it, Nate heard the uncertainty in her tone.

"No," Nate was quick to assure his mate. Before he could explain, Ife's hand came between them to cup his hard length through his dark slacks. They were drenched, and so he felt her caress almost as if it were flesh on flesh. Her palm traveled up and down his shaft as her soft heat had done.

"Good," Ife said as her hand left Nate and reached up to remove the tie that had come loose during his scuffle with Owen. Looking at him, she noticed the puffy bruise on his jaw had nearly healed. The wounds on his knuckles were on the mend as well. His bottom lip was split, but it too was closing. She wouldn't hurt him as she took the lead.

Undoing the buttons on Nate's white dress shirt, Ife moved in closer and licked at the wound on his lip. His breath hitched as the tangy taste of blood blossomed on her tongue.

Grabbing Nate's hands from her hips, Ife placed them on the ground behind him. Then, she pulled his drenched, clinging shirt down and over his muscular shoulders. It grew taut at his elbows, and she stopped. The clinging material trapped him, minimizing the movement of his arms. Deepening her kiss, she explored the warm, wet hills and valleys of his chest. Then, her trailing fingers dipped lower, to the top of his pants.

Nate strained to stop Ife, but his damned shirt trapped his arms. His mate deserved a warm bed and a roof overhead for her claiming.

Lifting her mouth from Nate's as he struggled with the clinging shirt, Ife commanded, "Don't you dare free yourself."

"Not here," Nate pled as he fell back onto his palms.

"What's wrong with here?" A naughty glint entered her eye as Ife unzipped Nate's pants. Her hand slipped between the material and his aching flesh. Fingers encircling him, she stroked his hard length in a slow cadence.

Swallowing back a moan as pleasure shot through his abdomen, Nate attempted to appeal to Ife's human half. "You deserve better." Unfortunately, the words came out more like a question. Nearly all his focus was on what Ife's hand was doing to him. When her grip tightened, he grunted between clenched teeth, trying not to give voice to his true wishes.

"What nonsense," Ife replied simply as she shimmied down his torso. Catching Nate's gaze, she reminded him, "No freeing yourself." Then, her head dipped, and his tip slipped between her lips.

As Ife's hot tongue ran along the slit of his cock, Nate's head fell back. He caught himself straining, wanting to cup her head and have her take him deeper into her mouth. But his woman didn't want him to break free. Instead, Nathan fell further back onto his elbows and gave a single, suggestive thrust of his hips. He was rewarded by wet heat clamping around him, encasing him almost to the root.

Ife lifted her head on a long, tight suck. It sounded as if Nate bit back a whimper. "Stay just like that," she directed, looking up the hills and valleys of his muscular, horizontal torso and catching his eye. After making sure the command was heard, Ife pulled his pants down his thighs. The material bunched at his bent knees, prohibiting further movement. But the part of him she wanted was now completely free.

Hands slipping around Nate's hips, Ife cupped the taut globes of his ass. One slid around to the font and up his stomach. Unbidden, a purr rumbled through Ife's throat as her fingertips learned the contours of his abs. They glided to the magical, African tribal themed tattoos he had on his arms. The body art wasn't for aesthetics alone. They were shaman made and gave the person they were drawn on added strength and power. Tracing them to his chest, her hand came to rest over his frantically beating heart.

Catching her mate's gaze, Ife reiterated, "Don't move." He was a big, bad shifter and should be able to hold the pose - hips thrust upward, offering her a tasty treat.

Breaking eye contact when she felt confident Nate would do as he was told, Ife's head turned toward his rock-hard cock. The hand gripping his ass came around to grasp his shaft. A mouth-watering moment later, her tongue slipped around its apex. On his moan, her lips wrapped around his length. Then, she took him in, all the way to the back of her throat.

Ife was encouraged by the half-yowl, half-sigh that came from Nate's throat. It rumbled through her fingers on his chest and to her heart. Slipping up his shaft a few inches, she then sucked him deeper into her mouth. With her next ascent, she pulled nearly free before drifting back down. Her tongue swirled along the head of his cock with each upward motion. Emboldened by the sounds she was eliciting from the werelion, Ife soon set a vigorous pace.

"Mapenzi," Nate panted after a few moments. "You need to stop."

Shaking her head slightly, Ife refused to listen. There would be no stopping today. After a few more, tight sucks, a roar erupted from Nate that rivaled the thunder above. He came with a shuddering force. The hot, salty taste of him coated Ife's tongue.

A split-second after his last twitch, Nate erupted. "Dammit, Ife!" he cursed as he left her mouth. "Why did you do that?"

Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, Ife rose onto her knees and sat back on her heels. Looking at Nate, she licked off the last drop of the salty fluid from them. "Because I wanted to," she stated simply.

Nate popped to his feet. With angry motions, he finished undressing. Soon, Ife was rewarded by the sight of all his dark, rain-kissed skin and muscles. Brows dipping, his look wasn't exactly friendly as he glowered at her. Using his soaked shirt, he wiped the mud from his hands. Tossing it to the ground, he stalked toward her.

"We Marines have a saying," Nate stated, stopping before Ife. "Adapt and overcome."

Reaching down, Nate pulled Ife to her feet. "I plan to do just that." Wicked promise lit those dark, gold-rimmed eyes as he stared intently at her. It sent a thrill through Ife.

Pressing her against the thick, smooth trunk of a baobab tree, Nate's fingers snaked under Ife's shirt. Before she knew it, the saturated piece of cotton material skimmed up her torso and over her head. With a flick of a wrist, it was discarded.

Gathering Ife's wrists in one hand, Nate placed them high above her head. "Keep your hands there," he directed, then let go, confident she'd follow his orders. She was stretched taught against that smooth bark. The branches of the tree soared aloft. Ife found no handholds. Still, as excitement filled her, she found she was committed to playing his game.

"Pink and lacey?" Nate's voice was low. Shivers coursed through Ife as a gentle fingertip traced the jagged edge of her bra. Then, it dipped between the material, finding her sensitized flesh. That single digit grazed her nipple, causing Ife's back to arch on a moan.

The whole time, Nate closely watched Ife's reactions to his touch with the golden eyes of his beast. Their gazes locked. It was sexy as hell.

Pulling the lace aside, Nate's head dipped. Eyes still on hers, he flicked her nipple with his tongue. Ife had little time to react to that caress before his mouth encased the rolled bud in its warm, moist environs. With a wet suck, it popped out from between his tightly clamped lips.

"Oh," Ife moaned as she felt the sensation deep in her sex. Her lids slid closed.

"Open your eyes," Nate demanded roughly.

Ife's eyes popped open and found his.

A few moments ticked past. After he was assured Ife would watch him, Nate's free hand spread across her belly. It leisurely explored the softness it found there. Such a simple touch elicited excitement from her. It was there in her rapid heartbeat and hitched breath. She was very responsive, his woman.

Need dropped heavily to Ife's core as Nate's free hand traveled over her bare stomach. Making a slow path across her rain-chilled flesh, it stopped at the rim of her yoga pants. Anticipation built as Nate's attention turned to Ife's other nipple. His middle finger languidly played with the elastic waistband but never broke the barrier.

Ife lifted her hips, trying to tell Nate what she wanted without words. Moments of sweet teasing past, building her need for his touch. Begging for an end to the torment was on the tip of her tongue.

Nate watched Ife the whole time. The glowing amber eyes of his beast held knowledge of what he was doing to her. Then, a heartbeat later, his finger dipped lower, gliding past the elastic waistband. It slid beneath her matching, pink lace panties. With unerring precision, it slipped between her wet folds and found her throbbing core.

Ife cried out as that single digit penetrated her. Her head rolled back, and her eyes closed on the ecstasy of Nate's touch. A thrust of her hips made his finger slide in deeper.

Nate moaned as Ife's tight sheath encased him. "Watch me," he ordered between clenched teeth. "Open your eyes, mapenzi." Golden eyes found him once more as she rode each of his thrusts, intent on finding her release.

Suddenly, Nate's finger was gone. "Not yet," he told Ife, his voice low and gravelly. A whimper escaped her parted lips as he squatted before her. Gripping the elastic waist of her pants, he pulled them and her thong down in a single move. Eagerly kicking off her shoes, she waited for him to finish undressing her.

Kneeling before Ife, Nate breathed deep, taking in the scent of his mate. His eyes roamed over her writhing body. It was curvaceous and made for sin. Lifting one of her legs, he draped it over his shoulder. The move opened her to him.

Nate's eyes flicked upward and caught Ife's liquid, golden gaze. "Remember mapenzi," he warned, "keep your hands where they are."

Ife's frustrated retort was cut off when Nate's head dipped forward. Using his left hand, he spread her folds. The middle finger on his right slid down her wet, slick heat until it found the sensitive nub at her center. Ife's hips lifted as he gave it the attention it craved. Then, that naughty digit slipped further down. She let loose a long, drawn-out moan as it entered her once again.

Nate bent so near, Ife could feel his heated breath against her core. His gaze held hers. "Remember," was all he said before his mouth found her.

"Ah," the word was a long benediction. As Nate sucked Ife's clit between his lips, her eyes began to slide closed with pleasure. The nails on her fingers elongated to those of her beast. Ife dug them into the smooth bark of the baobab tree.

"No," Nate commanded, and Ife's eyes snapped open. "Watch me," he ordered softly.

A frustrated groan escaped Ife's lips as her nails found purchase in the smooth bark. Nate was driving her crazy. But she did as she was told. Under her close scrutiny, tongue flicked out to caress the sensitive bud at the apex of her sex. Pleasure raced through her limbs with each, slow stroke. It was difficult not to close her eyes and revel in all he was doing to her.

Another finger joined the first. Their hurried tempo caused Ife to writhe against Nate's mouth. She panted as she rode those naughty digits and his tongue, straining for the release that was so tantalizingly close.

Finally, the inner fire Nate kindled, ignited. Flames of pleasure shot to Ife's fingertips and toes. She came hard, riding wave upon cresting wave of heat. Her gaze was still locked on Nate's as her orgasm ebbed.

Once the last shudder coursed through Ife, Nate shifted his shoulder. The move caused her leg to slip free. Her knees were jelly, barely able to support her weight. The only thing holding her up was the claws penetrating the smooth bark of the tree.

"I've got you. You can let go now," Nate said as he caught Ife around the hips. Then he eased her down onto his lap. His cock was hard again, she noted as it pressed hotly against her stomach.

Wrapping her arms around Nate's neck, Ife rose slightly onto tremulous knees. Her hips nudged forward. A sigh escaped her parted lips as the tip of him slid along the tingling flesh of her sex.

Nate cupped the globes of Ife's ass in a firm grip. Then, he positioned her above him. Applying slight pressure, she slid down his swollen staff. Breath catching in the back of her throat, she took him in, all the way to his base.

Fiercely, Nate's lips captured Ife's. Hands shifting to her hips, he guided her up in an unhurried slide. Then, he let her slip back down to the root of his cock. Her heated, tight sheath gripped him snuggly with every upward stroke.

Warm palms glided up Ife's trim waist, then stopped to cup her breasts. She still wore her bra. The lace-covered cups were pulled down to bare her nipples. Nate's mouth left hers to capture one of the dusky peaks between his lips. Tongue flicking out, he rolled it across her taut flesh.

Ife moaned, the sound coming from deep within. With each caress of his mouth, their slow rhythm picked up speed. Its incremental increase brought Ife to the edge of the familiar cliff.

As Ife tumbled gently over the precipice, Nate's head lifted. His mouth found the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She felt the bite that would see them forever linked all the way to her core. It set off another orgasm on the heels of the first.

Gums tingling as her teeth elongated to those of her beast, Ife cut her tongue on them. It wasn't necessary for her to bite Nate; blood magic was already bonding them. But, as her teeth sank into his flesh, Ife felt the rightness of it. As with her, pain became pleasure and triggered his release.

The waves of shared ecstasy faded, and Ife's forehead fell to rest on Nate's shoulder, just to the side of her bite. They were both panting, trying to catch their breath. A contented purr rumbled across Nate's chest as he pulled her closer. It set loose her own, and for an endless moment, they sat like that, each happy to be in the other's arms.

She'd found her mate, Ife thought contentedly. War and suffering were widespread, but on that muddy, rainswept hillside, they'd discovered a moment of bliss. They'd found each other.

# CHAPTER TWELVE

"Who is Zaire to you?" Ife rolled onto her stomach and braced her chin on folded hands. It'd been three days since their mating, and they'd rarely left her tent since then.

The shifters on Nate's team gave them their space, shooting knowing smiles whenever the pair came across them. Those of the shaman race were more reserved, especially Owen, who flat-out scowled every time he saw them. Ife felt horrible for inadvertently leading the healer on, but in all fairness, he was old enough and should have known better.

Beside Ife, Nate stretched on the bed and braced one hand behind his head. He stared at the canvas ceiling, memories he alone could see playing through his eyes. Through their mating bond, she felt his more powerful emotions. With the flashbacks came soul-deep sadness, emotional pain, and a rage that caused her breath to catch. That last one sent terror through her.

"He murdered my parents," Nate began, his voice deepened with grief. Then, he told Ife all, holding nothing back. "I remember that day, even after all these years. My friends and I were playing football on our compound's central field. We saw a car coming down the driveway. It was a novelty as we rarely had visitors."

Clearing his throat, Nate turned toward her. Capturing the back of Ife's hand in his palm, he began to lazily spin her pinky ring with his finger without seeming to realize what he was doing. "We ran after it and saw a gigantic - to our young eyes - shifter climbing the stairs to my parents' house."

Swallowing, Ife was no longer positive that she wanted Nate to continue. The man he described had to be Zaire. She knew firsthand the evil acts the African First was capable of committing. Turning her hand palm up, she laced her fingers with his, lending silent strength as she received it in return.

"I wasn't allowed in," Nate continued after a time. "Only later did I learn the alpha of the Kobowen pride came from Sudan to challenge my father. Zaire was that alpha," he said, confirming Ife's suspicions. "At the time, my father was the First of Africa."

A gasp escaped Ife. Firsts, being the shifter rulers withing a region, were like kings of their domain. Although it wasn't a hereditary title, sons usually took over for their fathers. Having come from such strong stock, they were often the most powerful shifter under their sires. Nate was practically a prince.

Her mate didn't seem to hear Ife's gasp, for he continued. "My father had no choice but to accept. My mother kept me close to her side as we watched. I remember my father was winning when a commotion distracted him. Akinyi used the distraction to kill my father. To this day, I can't recall what it was, only that it caused my father's death."

Sucking in a deep breath, Nate's arm tunneled under Ife, and he brought her close to his chest. The beat of his heart drummed against her ear. "My mother cried out that Zaire had cheated, that he was no real First. Enraged, he grabbed her by the hair with a hand that was still dripping with my slain father's blood. My mother was torn from my side."

The clearing of Nate's throat was loud in Ife's ear. "That was the last I ever saw of her. Akinyi killed her when she fought him as he tried to force a mating on her."

As he'd done with countless others since that time, Ife sadly thought. As Zaire had tried with her, she added. When it became apparent she wouldn't allow it, he'd attempted to kill her.

Freeing her clasped hand, Ife reached around Nate. Pulling him close, she hugged him tightly. Her earlier predicament with Zaire must have brought back painful memories.

"A loyal friend of my parents' took me from the compound. There were American missionaries in Ethiopia. They learned I was an orphan and arranged for me to be adopted. My new parents' names were John and Katherine Allen."

Nate leaned back to capture Ife's gaze. Then, he confessed, "My true name is Nassor Jelani." His thumb traced Ife's cheek before he continued. "I cannot claim it until Zaire Akinyi is dead. He can't know I'm the cub who got away."

"Why not?" Ife asked softly, bringing her hand around and placing it over Nate's heart.

"Because he is needed for our mission to succeed. If he finds out, he'll try to kill me, and months of careful planning will be ruined."

Turning on his side, Nate - no, Nassor, Ife reminded herself - faced her. Head lying on the pillow, he reached up and covered Ife's hand still over his heart. "We meet again this afternoon."

Ife made a face. She didn't like the thought of Nate being in danger. However, she knew he wouldn't be the man she loved if he turned his back on his team, his mission, or even his vengeance. It wasn't something she'd ever ask of him.

"But, I don't have to leave just yet." Nate - Nassor pulled Ife closer, and his lips captured hers. They made love slowly, sweetly. Several hours later, he was showered and dressing in his business attire.

"You will be careful, won't you?" Ife pulled her lower lip between her teeth. One hand lay limp in her lap, and she spun her pinky ring with her thumb. A blanket was wrapped around her chest, held closed with her other hand. Her eyes avoided making contact with Nassor's.

In her peripheral, Ife noted her mate pause in tying his tie. It hung loosely over his shoulders as Nassor walked toward her. Gently cupping her cheek, he waited for her to look at him. "I will be fine, mapenzi. Everyone but Stevens is going on this mission."

Relief flooded Ife when she realized Owen wouldn't be alone in camp with her. It died a little when she realized she'd be stuck alone with Andrew, however. There was something off about that man.

Although Ife made another face, Nassor could feel her worry for him ease through their mating bond. It helped to know that she had confidence in him. He'd make sure it wasn't misplaced, and he silently vowed to come back to her whole.

Reaching up, Ife finished tying Nassor's tie for him. Then, Brice was there. "Let's go, Allen," he ordered with a wink at Ife.

Bending down, Nassor gave Ife a quick peck on the lips. Then grabbing his suit jacket, he left with one, last look over his shoulder. The memory of Ife sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands in her lap, rapidly blinking tears from her eyes, would stay with him for a long time. Nassor vowed to do his damnedest never to give her cause to cry again.

"About time," Walker groused as he stood inside the opened passenger door of the truck, which had been delivered earlier that morning. Inside its covered bed contained all the weapons Akinyi ordered. They came equipped with magically enhanced tracking devices. The American First and Shaman Council weren't taking any chances of losing this shipment.

Nassor felt relieved that it was Stevens who was staying behind with Ife. She didn't like him, but at least Doc wouldn't be around her while he and the team were out of camp. The shaman healer was still butthurt that she'd chosen Nassor.

Stepping into the black SUV, Nassor sat in the back. Jaeger was on his left and Anderson on his right. Up front Mills was in his usual position, that of driver. Everett drove the transport vehicle with Walker riding shotgun. They followed the SUV, making their way toward the location Akinyi set up to finalize the deal.

Brice had done reconnaissance earlier with his drones. They knew all of the location's strengths and weaknesses. Stevens stayed behind to operate the drones so Brice could play bodyguard. He was to keep an eye on them from above and warn of any nasty surprises headed their way.

With the transport truck being heavily laden, it took more than an hour to reach their destination. Their vehicles pulled onto what looked to be an abandoned private airstrip. Zaire and his men were already there.

Stevens' voice sounded in their earpieces. With the aid of one of Brice's drones, he gave them the lay of the land before they arrived at their final destination. He reported that there wasn't anything out of the ordinary on the airstrip.

Exiting the vehicle on Anderson's side, Nassor took the lead. The First's ever-present, mirrored sunglasses were balanced on the bridge of his nose. Still, Nassor managed to lock eyes with his nemesis. There was a smug look on Zaire Akinyi's face that made his blood boil. The bastard knew he was about to get everything he wanted. Again.

_For now_ , a bestial voice growled in Nassor's mind. The reminder helped stave off the internal rage that was building.

Jaeger checked everyone's positions before they moved forward. Walking toward his age-old enemy, Nassor remembered to keep his gait like that of a human. The African First still thought he was dealing with someone of that race. It was likely why he'd brought so few men as backup.

Grasping Akinyi's outstretched hand in a business-like handshake, Nassor asked without preamble, "Do you have the payment ready?" It was apparent to all that he was eager to have the meeting over with ASAP. In his peripheral, he noted his First Lieutenant's shoulders stiffen. They should have known someone who craved solitude as much as a sniper did, wouldn't be a good fit for "lead." Jaw locking, Nassor tried to find patience so he wouldn't blow the Op.

"Yes," Akinyi answered without any indication that he was offended by Nassor's abrupt question. "All is in order." The other werelion tried to smile and appear friendly. It came across as oily and untrustworthy. "First," he continued, "I'd like to look over the merchandise."

"Of course," Nassor agreed, woodenly. Once the deal was completed, he'd be that much closer to being able to kill the man before him, he reminded himself.

Both groups walked back to the truck. Doc lifted the canvas flaps, and three of Akinyi's men crawled inside. The shaman stood aside, whisper-chanting his cloaking magic. Human-made trackers worked best, but they were easily found. With Walker's help, these would remain undetected. They also had charms attached, ones that would keep the devices "on," no matter what human-made tech was applied post-check.

It was unlikely Akinyi had magic users of his own. The other races treated shifters as if they were filthy plague carriers. Therefore, the trackers should work no matter what Zaire or his men did to them.

Time seemed to crawl, and Nassor itched to look at his watch. Ife's fear for him came across their mate bond once more. It began to affect his own emotions. As the minutes dragged by, he began to feel downright ornery.

At least three-quarters of an hour passed before Akinyi's men gave their nod of approval. They hopped out of the truck, and the groups walked back to the neutral zone between their respective vehicles. The African First seemed giddy. Any moment, Nassor expected him to rub his hands together ala old movie villain.

Eyes narrowing, Nassor watched his nemesis. He didn't trust the man's behavior. It was out of place, unwarranted.

The others seemed not to notice as the transaction went through without a hitch. The electronic payment was made, and Brice hopped out of the driver's seat of the transport vehicle. The werewolf handed his keys to one of Akinyi's men. In his earpiece, Nassor heard Jaeger instruct Stevens to follow the truck with his drone. No reply was forthcoming as the vehicle drove away.

Two sedans with blacked-out windows arrived, tires kicking up dust as they came to an abrupt halt on the hardpacked dirt. They were at the far edge of the runway, out-of-place, yet not close enough to be considered an immediate threat. As their First Lieutenant walked away trying to get ahold of Stevens, Akinyi smiled. "It was nice doing business with you, _Nassor Jelani_."

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

For several, infinite minutes, Ife sat, staring blindly at the closed tent flap. Nassor was going into unknown danger. Although she knew it was impracticable, she wished she could have gone with him. If she were there watching, surely no harm would befall him.

Giving her head a firm shake, Ife rose from the edge of the bed. She needed to do something to take her mind off Nassor's meeting with that crazy bastard, Zaire Akinyi. While tidying up their little lover's nest, she found she wished they could return to the blissful time of unawareness following their mating. Then, it was only the two of them. The world outside moved on, but they were oblivious to anything but each other. Unfortunately, it was impossible to go backward. One could only move forward through life.

The tent was put to rights in no time, leaving Ife with nothing to occupy her mind and its wild, worried thoughts. In the end, she decided to shower, then go to the foundry. With Owen gone, she could continue with her studies without a glowering shaman looming. There, tomes waited to be read, and herbs awaited experimentation. Hopefully, immersing herself in such delicate work would help keep her mind off Nassor and his mission.

Setting down an armful of lanterns she carried, Ife lifted the heavy, wooden door. The familiar scent of damp earth assailed her as she picked them back up and descended the stairs. One light was held aloft to guide her steps. Unfortunately, she couldn't light the torches as Owen did with but a spoken word.

Arriving at the heart of the now-familiar foundry, Ife set the other lanterns on a worktable. With the one still clutched in her hand, she set about searching for the ancient book she'd wanted to read before the unfortunate incident a few days prior. Finding it in no time, she set it down and opened it on the rough, wooden surface of a worktable. Next, she hunted for the herbs she needed for the "be at peace" potion she wanted to make. It was for Owen. If she did it correctly, perhaps it would help him to forgive her.

Ife turned on the other lanterns, spacing them, so the table she worked on had even light. Grabbing a pestle and mortar, she set it on the roughly hewn surface. Reading the book as if it were a recipe, she added the carefully measured herbs that needed crushing. A quiet rhythm soon overtook her as she focused solely on her work.

Lost between the pages of the book, it took a moment for Ife to register the sound of quick, booted footfalls descending the stairs. Looking over her shoulder, she was displeased to find Andrew Stevens coming off the last step. His features were tight when he spoke. "You need to come with me. It's Nate. He needs you."

Brows dipping, Ife found she didn't smell a lie in Andrew's words. Still, she didn't trust him. When the shaman impatiently grasped her upper arm and pulled her toward the stairs, she balked. Jerking free, she demanded, "What's happened?"

Andrew scowled at Ife's actions and words. Thunderclouds seemed barely contained behind those dark eyes of his. Any moment, she expected lightning to shoot out of them at her.

Alarm bells clanged in Ife's very bones at Steveson's reaction. Before she could give her perception of his actions much thought, the shaman turned and started up the stairs. "I'll tell you on the way."

Heart in her throat, Ife began to follow. Andrew must have lit the torches with whispered words of magic. The stairs were no longer shrouded in darkness.

As Ife climbed, she looked at Stevens' back, trying to make sense of her situation. But her head kept on drowning out what her intuition was screaming. Surely, she could trust the man Wolfrick Jaeger left behind to watch over her. Nassor even had faith in Andrew and his abilities. It was Owen he didn't like. Besides, what if even now her mate was dying?

Halfway up, Ife paused. Their mating bond would have told her if Nassor were in such dire straits. The only things she could feel through it were her mate's impatience and annoyance. Those were not emotions she'd associate with danger or dying.

Looking over his shoulder, Andrew eyed Ife from two steps above. He was a foot taller than her from that position, and it seemed as if he loomed menacingly. The flickering light of the torch's flame behind him played eerily across his cold features. She fought a shiver at the ominous sight. "We must hurry," he urged.

"What happened?" Ife reiterated, her chin jutting out stubbornly.

A frustrated sound came from between the shaman's closed lips. "There's no time," he began.

Taking two backward steps down the stairs, Ife created more distance between them. It was only then she felt safe enough to confess, "I don't believe you."

"Dammit," Andrew cursed and turned. Pounding down the few steps separating them, he stopped at the one above Ife. Grabbing her arm in a vice-like grip, he swore once more. Then he muttered, "I don't have time for this."

Mouth opening, Andrew sucked in a breath. Magic swirled and thickened in the air around Ife. She knew the shaman was preparing a spell. Before he could speak the words, she acted. Partially transforming her free hand into a human-lion hybrid, she throat punched him. Coming back at the shocked shaman with her be-clawed fingers, Ife thrust her nails in and grabbed hold of his larynx. With a mighty pull, it came free of his throat.

A breathy yell escaped the bloody hole. It sent chills through Ife. Her stomach did a sick flip at the sight of the gore she'd caused. This was far different than anything she'd done on an operating table to save someone's life. This was purposefully causing harm and went against the oath she took upon becoming a Doctor of Medicine.

With the full moon so close, Ife's beast was nearer to the surface. In a move born of self-preservation, she let the lioness within loose. Almost immediately, her stomach settled, and a cold sense of purpose overcame her. The bloody mass of vocal cords dropped onto the stone step with a wet plop. Her beast didn't concern herself with causing injury or harm to someone who she viewed as an enemy.

Andrew recovered from the initial shock of the sudden attack. Wildly, he threw an anemic punch. The lioness easily deflected it.

"Silly shaman," a voice that was a mix between Ife's and her beast's taunted. "Don't you know shifters are more powerful with the full moon so near?"

Andrew's eyes widened. His mouth worked, yet only a wet whispering of sound came forth. Eyes narrowing, the intelligent beast analyzed her prey. The shaman race was patriarchal. No doubt Stevens had no real experience with strong women. Ife had surprised him, but the lioness knew that wouldn't last long. Shaman healed more quickly than shifters. This battle needed ending before he had a chance to recover the use of his voice and, therefore, magic.

When the shaman stopped panicking and squared off, determination in his eyes, the beast knew her time had run out. Andrew's grip tightened on the lioness' forearm. Reaching behind his back, he grabbed a tactical knife. Bringing it forward, he pulled her toward him, intent on stabbing her in the gut. It was a painful wound, but not fatal to a shifter. The shaman wanted revenge before he killed her.

Before the blade penetrated more than her shirt and the second layer of dermis, the lioness deflected Andrew's jab. The knife sliced along the material, baring her midriff and producing a thin line of blood. Kneeing the shaman in the groin, the werelioness raked at his eyes with her claws. Anticipating the move, the weakened man threw his head back. He was too late. The beast's nails gouged his eyes, blinding him.

Creating inches of distance between them, the lioness decided it was time to end this. Playing with food was for tame, little kittens. In a lightning-quick move, the beast reached forward. Her clawed hand thrust into the man's torn throat and grasped his spinal column. With a mighty jerk, she pulled it free and cut it with her bestial teeth.

The shaman dropped to his knees. With the severing of his spine, the loud beating of his heart was silenced. Bloody eye sockets stared at the lioness as she stepped aside, allowing him to fall forward and down the stairs. He was dead before he reached the bottom.

With the threat against them gone, the beast within quieted. It left Ife alone with what she'd done. Never before had she killed a man. Yes, she'd seen death as a doctor, and she'd killed prey as her lioness, but never had she taken a person's life. It went against everything Ife the M.D. believed.

With her beast now silent, her bloodied paws returned to human hands. Racing up the stairs toward fresh air, Ife bent over. Hands braced on her knees, she took in deep breaths. Bile rose as the contents of her stomach soured. She fought not to throw them up onto the dirt-packed earth.

"Where is he?" an unknown male asked in Swahili. He was close, but not in Ife's line of sight. It came from the opposite side of the med tent.

Another unknown male replied, "Let's find out."

Whoever they were, they were searching for Andrew. That didn't bode well for Ife as she doubted they were friendly. Seconds before they emerged around the corner, she turned to escape up the hill. It was the same one she'd run up after learning Nassor had used her to lure Zaire back to Nairobi. This time, without the rain and mud, it was easier to climb. Unfortunately, the same could be said for the two males giving chase. They were also shifters, judging by how quickly they caught her.

"No!" Ife shouted in frustrated denial as one grabbed her about the waist. She'd just killed a man. Surely that was more than enough of a price to pay for her freedom.

The other man came up to gag Ife after the first got a better, movement-binding grip. There was little she could do in the shifter's vice-like embrace. He held her so tightly, she couldn't breathe. Regardless, Ife continued to struggle and try to free herself.

"We'll just wait until you pass out," the second man said, crouching before Ife. The disheartening words already sounded tinny and hollow as he cocked his head to the side and studied her. It was apparent he was a patient man and would wait for the inevitable.

Ife, still fighting to breathe, knew she was seconds away from doing what he predicted, what he wanted. She didn't want to give this asshole the satisfaction, but there was little she could do to loosen the first man's hold.

Too late, she thought to let her beast loose once more and shift fully into her half-form. The most Ife could transform before the black dots in her vision became total darkness was her left foot. It didn't stay altered for long.

"We have her," the talkative, second one told someone. It sounded as if he were at a great distance, the words barely discernable.

Cold metal cuffs tightened on Ife's wrists. Then, she felt nothing as she lost consciousness.

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

At once, Nassor was on alert. How had the African First learned his identity? "My name is Nathan Allen," he replied, using his adopted name. Being a shifter, Zaire would be able to smell the lie if Nassor had used a cover.

"Nonsense," Akinyi chuckled. The rest of Nassor's team stopped what they were doing and listened intently to the conversation. "You are the image of your father. He's not a man I'm likely to forget. I knew who you were the moment I set eyes on you during our first meeting." Zaire's laughter sent chills through Nassor. "By the time the full moon rises, I will have your life as well."

With a flick of the wrist, the back door of the far-off sedan opened. A bound and gagged Ife was pulled through. That's when it occurred to Nassor that the fear he felt through the bond hadn't been for him. It'd been his mate's. Akinyi's delay in checking over the weapons now made sense. He'd needed the added time to kidnap Nassor's mate and bring her to the airstrip.

Ife was a thing of beauty, fighting and hissing at the men who guarded her. Although her hands were cuffed behind her, she hit the shifters holding her with her head and shoulders. She kicked at them with her feet. They were having a hard time keeping her subdued.

There was blood on her shirt, which was torn at the midriff. Nassor didn't know what had transpired before she'd been captured. His mind imagined the worst. A part of it whispered not to be too hasty, but it was drowned out by the pounding rage in his ears. He knew men like Akinyi and what their subordinates were capable of doing to those they viewed as weaker. He'd avenge his mate, then help her deal with what they'd done to her.

One of her guards had enough. A meaty fist quickly subdued Ife. Nassor took a step in her direction, but as she slumped in the brute's arms, Akinyi's words stalled him. "Once you are dead, I'll take your woman," the African First announced triumphantly.

It would be a repeat of what happened to Nassor's parents. Cursing, he silently vowed he wouldn't let that happen. He'd break the sick cycle Akinyi seemed to be caught up in.

Turning back to the crazy son-of-a-bitch, Nassor swore once more that he'd avenge his mate. He'd begin with this man who'd taken so much from them both. Calling his beast to the fore, he started changing into his half-form. It was the most he could achieve with the full moon not yet risen. Over the sound of his bones rearranging themselves, he heard Jaeger command him to stand down.

With a mental shake of his head, Nassor decided to disregard his commander's order. As soon as Akinyi announced he knew his true identity, the only possible outcome of this meeting was guaranteed. It meant death for one or the other. This time Nassor made a vow to the ghosts of his parents that it was Zaire who would die.

Akinyi drew on his links to all the African prides and packs. With their help, the bastard was the first to achieve his half-form. A clawed hand swiped at Nassor while he was in mid-transformation. With his joints messed up, it was hard to deflect. In the path of the swipe, four long and stinging cuts formed on his upper chest. Nassor roared his feelings at the African First as he clumsily danced back on the pads of his feet.

The doors of the first sedan opened and four, large men exited. They, too, began to shift as the ones holding Ife waited for their turn. A handful of Akinyi's men who were nearer followed their leader in calling forth their beasts. They and those too far off to lend much aid looked to be the only shifters on the First's side.

Behind him, Nassor heard the werewolves on his team's joints pop as they dislocated to make room for the larger half-man, half-beast form. They'd meet their enemy in their more powerful builds. They were still outnumbered, but their change meant the odds would be more evened.

"Verdammt," Jaeger swore somewhere behind Nassor. Then more popping was heard as the commander transformed. Under the cacophony of shifting weres, the sound of chanting shaman joined the fray. A quick look over his shoulder showed Nassor that Mills and Owen were heading for Ife and the six shifters guarding her. It chafed, allowing Walker to rescue his mate, but his age-old enemy was keeping him too busy to do it himself.

The humans in Zaire's employ panicked when they saw the monsters amongst them. They started shooting anything with claws and fur, including their own men. A few bullets hit Nassor before the opposing shifters subdued them. Within seconds, their guns were silenced.

Ignoring the painful sting - the bullets would have to be surgically removed later as the wounds were already closing - Nassor swiped a clawed hand at Akinyi's neck. The sharp nails didn't go as deep as Nassor wanted. Zaire dodged the attack. When his nails came loose, blood sprayed in an outward arc, spurting from the First's neck.

The gruesome wound wasn't enough to kill the African First. As with Nassor's bullet wounds, Akinyi's superficial ones were already closing. He'd have to virtually decapitate the madman before he could kill him. Mythical silver bullets wouldn't do the job either. About the only thing to see that a shifter was well and truly dead would be to take off his or her head or rip out their heart.

Before Nassor could try again, Zaire went on the attack. The First swiped low, nearly disemboweling him. Nassor jumped back, not a moment too soon. The tattered, white dress shirt bled as the First's stinging claws dug deep. Red-stained strips fell to the ground.

"You can't defeat me," Zaire taunted. "I'm happy my previous attack didn't kill Dr. Bayo. With you dead, I will be able to add her to my collection."

A lip lifted on Nassor's muzzle. "That won't happen. I'll happily rid the world of you first."

With a mighty roar, Zaire went back on the attack. Nassor blocked the swipe that was meant to take off his head. Shifting slightly to the side, he kicked the African First in the solar plexus. It wasn't nearly as impactful as he would have liked. His dress shoes were split at the toes to make room for his larger feet and claws. They were still mostly on, making it a clumsy blow. Nassor wanted to follow the kick with a swipe from the nails on his feet, open the bastard up and make him suffer before he was finally put down like the rabid animal he was. When he had a few seconds, he toed off cumbersome the wing-tips. He would not let another opportunity go to waste.

Nassor's kick sent the First's ever-present sunglasses flying. When the madman looked up at him, it wasn't only the promise of painful death he saw in Akinyi's eyes. They were mirror black, not the amber of his beast. Evil seemed to seep from their boundless depths.

It wasn't something Nassor was expecting to see. Truth be told, he'd never witnessed its like before. The sight caused him to miss the blow Zaire threw in an upward motion. It felt as if the First were trying to tunnel his fist into Nassor's heart via his diaphragm.

Fighting to regain his breath, Nassor stumbled backward. Akinyi followed, those black eyes leering. Their gazes locked. Unbidden, a shudder of disgust made its way through him.

"Are you even a shifter?" Nassor couldn't help but gasp as he tried to regain the lost breath from Akinyi's previous blow.

The only response Nassor received was that evil grin. It was eerie, seeming to come from the depths of hell itself. Whatever Zaire was now, it wasn't what he had once been. The man was a shifter no more.

Dancing back, Nassor kept his distance. He knew Zaire viewed this as a deathmatch. It was what he wanted, as well. The world didn't need the likes of Akinyi in it any longer. It needed a chance to heal, and only peace would give it time to do so. The former werelion would only continue to war and create strife. It was written there, in those dark, unholy eyes.

Breath regained, Nassor attacked with a mighty roar. The beast within was unleashed, and it wanted blood. Both men were solely focused on their opponent. They were bloodied and weakened from blows and swipes that hit home. Still, the will to be the victor was strong within each.

It wasn't until she was on them that either noticed Ife was free. " _Kuma nina_ ," the werelioness swore as she struck Zaire from behind. She was in her half-form and took out the First's right knee with one clawed hand. Ife hamstrung him with the other and watched him fall with pitiless golden eyes.

"Mapenzi," Nassor gasped as the werelion fell to his uninjured knee. The shock of what Ife said stayed his hand from delivering the death blow. She'd called Zaire a mother fucker, yet it was much worse in Swahili.

"Stand down, Allen," Jaeger ordered, catching a hissing and spitting Ife by the arms. The First's men were either dead or subdued.

"My name," he panted, "is Nassor Jelani." It felt good to publicly claim his birth name.

"Listen to me," Ife roared, gaining Wolfrick's attention. "Zaire Akinyi must die," she stated once the werewolf looked at her. "He is evil. He perverted Andrew to his cause. I had to-" whatever she was going to say stopped as she clamped her mouth shut. Nassor could only guess. His mate had suffered so much at the First's hands. Akinyi had nearly killed her only weeks before. The nightmares were lessening, yet they still crept into her sleep. Whatever Stevens had done at Zaire's behest would only add to her trauma.

Looking back at the African First, Nassor was torn. He knew it would be cathartic for him to kill the bastard kneeling before him. It would help Ife to see the man dead as well. Yet, his Lieutenant had ordered him to stand down. If he did not follow through, he risked being labeled a traitor.

"We need to interrogate him," Jaeger appealed, attempting to reason with Nassor and trying to salvage his operation. The werewolf must have sensed how torn he was between mate and country. "Stand down," Wolf repeated. "That's an order," he tacked on as if Nassor didn't already know.

"The bastard won't give you anything," Ife spat. "He knows all your plans. Andrew-" again, she clamped her mouth shut. Nassor was beginning to really worry about what Stevens might have done to his mate. His eyes narrowed as he took in her bared midriff peeking through her bloodied, cut shirt.

Akinyi threw back his head and laughed. "The bitch is right."

Taking a step toward Zaire, Nassor was stopped by Everett's hand on his chest.

Eyeing the conflict between the American military men, the African First bragged, "I do know everything."

Jaeger handed a still-struggling Ife off to Doc of all people. Nassor's look promised the shaman pain and slow death if he touched her inappropriately. Walking over to Akinyi, the commander asked, "What do you mean by 'everything'?"

The African First only smiled, unwilling to say more.

"I told you that bastard wouldn't give you anything," Nassor's mate raged. "Zaire is feral; look at his eyes if you don't believe me. He needs to be put down." With those words, she elbowed Owen in the stomach in a bid for freedom. The shaman said something low in Ife's ear, and Nassor's woman calmed. Having magic used against his mate set his teeth on edge.

Jaeger's attention turned toward Ife. "No one here can put the African First down. We are American military and cannot take his place. Those green eyes pinned Nassor. "The mission must come first, Allen. You need to put this man's past actions behind you."

It rankled that Jaeger wouldn't recognize him by his real name. Added to that, the commander was wrong. Nassor's passport said his country was the U.S., but Africa was the land of his birth. Looking at the thing that had once been a shifter, he decided he would happily suffer the consequences that came with ridding the world of this particular evil.

Before anyone could stop him, Nassor lunged past Brice. This time, his aim was true. He took out the son-of-a-bitch's throat, cutting so deep his opponent was nearly decapitated. Gripping the bastard's head with bloodied claws, he finished the job with a mighty jerk, roaring his victory. Finally, the evil that'd been a plague in his life from the time Nassor was nine years old was dead.

A misty black smoke rose out of the hole in Akinyi's torso.

"No!" Jaeger bellowed before Nassor could comprehend what he'd just seen. Then, the commander lunged toward him. A meaty fist hit his jaw, causing him to spin. Blood flooded his mouth. Spitting out the iron-tinged liquid did no good. More soon flooded forth. Turning his head, Nassor glared at the First Lieutenant. His fist clenched, wanting to deliver a similar blow.

"Arrest him," the commander ordered. Brice and Anderson came up to flank Nassor, each grabbing a wrist. "I'll see you tried for treason and court-martialed," Jaeger finished.

It wasn't a surprise to Nassor. He knew he'd be labeled a traitor and tried in a military court accordingly. Still, it was worth it to have Zaire Akinyi no longer plaguing this world.

Ife freed herself from Walker. Demeanor calm and head held high, she strode regally toward Nassor. "You will not touch the First of Africa," she commanded.

With a start, Nassor realized she was correct. Because he'd killed Akinyi, he became the African First. The American shifters were on his soil. Technically, he now outranked Wolfrick Jaeger. Brice and Anderson realized it and released him, then backed away.

"Zaire Akinyi was feral and had been for decades," Nassor began. "He needed to be put down."

"He needed to be interrogated," the commander reiterated, controlled violence thickening his voice. "We don't know if he knew about the trackers."

Nassor lifted an arm, caught Ife when she drew near, and pulled her to his side. The two other shifters came to stand beside their First Lieutenant. They didn't want to risk misstepping and start an unnecessary war with the new alpha of alphas in Africa.

Suddenly, the weight of responsibility settled on Nassor's shoulders. He realized what being First meant. Once things were resolved here, he would need to meet with the prides and packs. It would take time to gain their trust. Eventually, he vowed, he'd broker peace between them where Akinyi had created strife.

Nassor took in a deep breath to center himself and his raging thoughts. Head bending, he nuzzled his mate's neck. Ife's summer scent washed over him, settling his rioting emotions. "You know he wouldn't have told you anything," he murmured.

Looking up, Nassor caught Wolf's gaze. "The weapons will be delivered, I'll see to that," he promised. "I'll also find out who they are going to. Your mission was a success, Jaeger. Take the win."

Wolf spat out a curse as he eyed the werelion pair. He was apparently unwilling to call his mission a success with the dead lead's sightless eyes staring up at him. "You're nothing but a pussy-whipped traitor," Jaeger vented. "I can't trust you."

Shoulders stiffening at the insult, Nassor intoned, "Still, I'll see that you track the weapons to our enemies. I'll also give you his men to question."

Grunting, Jaeger accepted the concession and signaled for his subordinates to round up the prisoners. "You better hope I never see you outside of Africa," he warned.

"What I hope," Nassor shot back, his temper flaring to life once more, "is that your mate puts you through hell. And I hope I'm there to witness it." Maybe then Wolf would understand why Nassor had done what he did.

Before Jaeger could speak, Nassor continued, "I'll give you two days to leave Africa. If you come back," his eyes narrowed at his former First Lieutenant, "I will view it as a challenge."

The man who'd once been his commander left without another word. Nassor's stomach did a sick flip as he watched his former team drive off with Zaire's men. How had everything gone so wrong, he wondered? A man he'd come to admire was now an enemy.

"He'll forgive you one day." Ife reached up and placed her hand over Nassor's aching heart. With a kiss to her temple, he accepted her message of hope.

Tired of the scenery, Nassor said, "Let's get out of here." Turning, he steered his mate toward one of Akinyi's abandoned vehicles. Time, they said, healed all wounds. However, some were so deep that the scars still had the power to hurt, even decades later.

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Morning dawned after the full moon. Nassor had removed the humans' bullets with a clawed nail, then he and Ife ran as their beasts. They'd gone northeast of Kenya's capital, to his mate's birth pride's former territory. Then, they'd taken the car back to Nairobi this morning. In some ways, it seemed as if the previous evening's events were far in the past. In others, they were fresh and had the power to sting.

Nassor came out of the shower in his mate's apartment. He needed to give her space to grieve the loss of the many possessions Zaire's men had destroyed during the time they thought her dead. The place looked as if a tornado had ripped through.

Ife was no longer sitting in the middle of her scattered belongings, Nassor noticed as he came down the hall and into her living room. Instead, she was busily cleaning up the mess. "Need help?" he offered.

Ife eyed Nassor's bare chest for a moment. Her mate wore a pair of sweatpants and naught else. They were borrowed from the trunk of the car they'd taken from the airfield. The full moon high was still riding them both. With a quick shake of her head to banish lustful thoughts, Ife pointed to the rubbish bin. "Anything unsalvageable goes in there."

After a quarter-hour, Nassor sighed. His head rose from the stack of papers on his lap, and he caught Ife's gaze. "Why do I feel guilt along with the sorrow? You've done nothing wrong, mapenzi."

Blinking rapidly, Ife looked away. She hadn't told him of Andrew's demise by her hand. They'd barely made it out of Nairobi before the full moon was upon them. Then come morning, they'd made love, returned to the city, and she'd found her apartment in tatters. There hadn't been a moment where she could confess. It looked as if the dreaded time had come.

"Something happened with Andrew," Ife began.

At the spoken words, instant alarm screamed across their bond. Nassor rose and pulled her into his arms. Ife's cheek was smashed against one, hard, and warm pec. "Whatever that bastard did, it wasn't your fault."

Nassor thought Ife had been raped. It was there in his words and his actions. "It's not that," she was quick to assure him. "I killed him."

"Good. The bastard deserved it," Nassor said, hugging Ife closer.

Ife could tell her mate didn't quite believe that was all to the story. "Really," she pressed. "He tried to take me to Zaire's men. He said you were in trouble and needed me." Raising her head, she looked at Nassor. "I could feel that wasn't true through our mate bond and so I refused to go along with him. That's when he got physical and tried to make me go. My beast took over and ended up killing him."

Nassor gazed at Ife intently for a time. She could see the shift in his eyes when it finally penetrated his mind that she hadn't been sexually assaulted. His head dipped, and he captured her lips, offering her silent comfort. Hungrily, she took all that he gave.

Before Ife could forget about her wrecked apartment, her kidnapping, and having slain a man, Nassor broke the kiss. "I'm still glad you killed that bastard. It saves me from having to hunt him down."

Shaking her head at him, Ife left Nassor's embrace. She knew it would take some time to get over having caused another's death. But her mate was there to lend her his understanding and strength. It was a journey she wouldn't have to travel alone.

On their drive back to Nairobi, they'd received a call from Richard Mills of all people. He explained all that he and Owen found during the shifters' full moon romp. Most notable was the news that Andrew had played both sides. Stevens hadn't told Zaire as much as they'd feared. The hidden trackers remained undiscovered, and the first shipment had been delivered to a vampire burrow in Egypt. They were known as demon-spawn and were notorious sympathizers toward their evil brethren. Hell had a hand in this war it would seem. The extent of its denizens' reach or what their endgame was, no one could say. It was uncertain whether they'd ever know.

The young shaman had also packed up their things and delivered them to Ife's apartment while the moon was high. They still resided in Nate's duffle bag in the hall. Once her place was put to rights, she'd unpack.

For the next few hours, Ife and Nassor worked at reordering her apartment. Her mate was downstairs, throwing away another bagful of trash. By increments, it felt as if her life was being put back together, becoming less cluttered.

The doorbell rang. "Did you forget your key?" Ife asked as she opened the door. Instead of her mate, a group of unknown men greeted her. They filled the small hall, trailed along the landing, and disappeared down the stairs.

Stepping back, Ife was intent on slamming the door in their collective faces.

"Wait," the one nearest said, holding his hand out to stop the door from closing. "We mean you no harm."

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Ife demanded.

"We are pride alphas," came his quick reply. "We are here to see the First."

"If you'd let me up these damned stairs, then you could see me." Nassor sounded as put-off by the congregation of powerful shifters as Ife was. The men parted, allowing him to squeeze past.

Coming to stand next to Ife in the doorway, Nassor addressed the werelion who'd spoken. "You seem to speak for the rest of the males. What is your name, and why are you here." With the last, his chest puffed up, and he stepped slightly in front of Ife, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I am Dango Keita, alpha of the Mopti pride." It came as no surprise that the large male shared her and Nassor's beast. Although the main shifter in Africa was werelion, not all were of that breed. Some were cheetahs, jackals, or even the rarer hyenas. But, as with the animal kingdom, lions were at the top of that list. "We are only a small number. Others are further away or fighting in the war. They'll eventually come to meet the new First and pledge themselves to you." Dango's arm swung to encompass all the males in the hall. "As we have done today."

After introducing himself, Keita bowed his head and cocked it to the side, presenting Nassor with his jugular. It was a sign of subjugation, showing the First that Dango recognized him as the more powerful beast.

Uncrossing his arms, Nassor partially shifted. Standing before Keita, he gripped the man's upper arms and bent his head. Like with a mating, he bit the werelion, this time in the jugular. The mixing of Nassor's blood with another shifter's was how an alpha bonded with his subordinates. It was blood magic mixed with that of pride or pack.

The bond set instantly. Now, the Mopti pride, through Dango, was linked to the First of Africa. They would lay down their lives to protect Nassor, and by extension, Ife.

Soon, the others in the stairwell and hall followed suit until the last and weakest of them paid homage. This alpha behaved as spastically as a hyena. It wouldn't surprise Ife if that were his inner being as he was smaller than the others. By the time they were done, only a handful of the most powerful alphas had stayed behind. The others had cleared out as soon as they pledged their allegiance and bonded with the First in Africa. Dango, unsurprisingly, was among those who stayed.

"We would like to thank you for putting an end to Zaire Akinyi's decades of terror," Dango spoke for the congregation once more. "You've freed countless females from forced matings. They are now able to find their true mates." There was hope in his eye and tone when he spoke the last sentence. Ife silently wished him luck in finding his mate.

"We feel you will be a better First, even if you are American," the Mopti alpha added.

"I was born to Africa," Nassor interjected. Ife felt his annoyance through their mate bond.

Dango smiled, "Good. We expect you to heal Her."

The group left soon after, and Ife softly closed the door. Nassor was silent, processing all that had transpired. After a few moments, he looked at her. "You seem to be taking all this well."

Walking over to Nassor, Ife rose onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. "That is because I have you beside me, my love."

Nassor's head bent as his hands snaked around Ife's waist. They cupped her ass, and he pulled her close, so their bodies were flush against one another. "I'll always stand beside you." His head dipped, and their lips met.

A full minute later, Ife broke the kiss. Inspired by the Malian alpha's words, her mind had been working overtime. "Together, you and I will do as Dango said. We will pull our country out of this unwinnable war that no one wanted. We'll be the first to broker peace. From the ashes of devastation, Africa will emerge, beautiful and proud."

Plans moved and firmed in Ife's mind. Borders in Africa, as with the rest of the world's countries, had been redrawn. Some places had even ceased to exist. Across the globe, governments were no more. The slate would be cleared, allowing them to rearrange and build as they saw fit. Ife knew they'd have to work behind-the-scenes with humans to bring order to the chaos. But Africa would rise from the ashes. Nassor would be its invisible king, and Ife would stand proudly beside him as its unseen queen.

There was a naughty glint in Nassor's eye that stalled Ife's feverish plans. "But first," he said, pulling her close, "I believe I deserve a reward for all my hard work."

Nassor had helped to clean up her apartment and her life. One of Ife's hands left his neck and traveled over the bared hills and valleys of his physique. Cupping his hard length through the sweatpants, she practically purred. "You do indeed," she breathed as her chin rose. Her lips captured his. Soon, all of their problems dimmed, then faded away for a few hours.

Ife knew they'd put in the hard work to reorder their lives and those who dwelled in Africa. It would be a long, complicated process, but it could be done. First, however, they deserved a little play.

# Author's Note

Thank you for reading **Kenyan Heat**!

As this is a self-published novel, I rely heavily on word of mouth and reader reviews to make it successful. If you enjoyed this novel, please feel free to tell your friends. Also, a short review to let me know what you liked about **Kenyan Heat** would be greatly appreciated!

# Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my family and friends who continue to support me throughout this writing process. To my biggest fans, my husband Bryon, my sister-in-law Robin, Mary and my sister from another mister Beth: thank you for helping me when I was stuck, with editing and listening to me "gossip" about the characters. I really appreciated your willingness to be my sounding boards. Also, thank you to my daughter for painting the title page art. Your artistic skills never cease to amaze me! Thank you to my dear sister, Jennifer for allowing me to use your office when I needed a place to write without interruption. To my mother, thank you for encouraging me to get out of my shell and do book signings. Thank you for your support during them as well. Last, but definitely not least, thank you to the rest of my team: Aunt Kathy, Karen, Taunya, Jessica, Aunt Terry, and Amy. You all mean the world to me. *smooches*

# About The Author

My love of reading began at an early age. I fully admit to being a geek, and reading the dictionary, skipping from one entry to the next. Words, their meanings, and origins held a great fascination for me. Later, I found I liked a certain genre - romance. I read mainly historical, modern, and of course, paranormal romances.

It wasn't until I was in my mid-twenties that I discovered the joy of writing, and I haven't stopped since! I love creating strong, female characters, and putting them in tough situations. Using my (overactive) imagination, I built worlds in which these characters live. All of this is reflected in the Darkin World.

# Destined

Book Two of the Darkin World Series is available now on Kindle, Nook, Apple Books, and at Smashwords.

**CHAPTER ONE**

Breqlynn slammed the blonde shifter against a wall, then got in her opponent's face. "Didn't your mother teach you not to touch what doesn't belong to you?"

Blood dripped from Breq's split upper lip. A ticklish trail trickled down her chin. Using the collar of her shirt, she mopped it up with her free hand. Luckily the cotton material was absorbent as well as black and so wouldn't show the stain.

Being a witch in a were-run bar, Breqlynn couldn't risk leaving evidence of her identity behind. Blood was blood - its smell and consistency were the same across the board unless you were a vamp. But a single drop could be used to track, tie or compel. Rule number one to being in a race that all other races hated: don't leave a trace.

The cursed ones, as her brethren called them, had a good reason to want to kill any witch on sight. So long ago that no one remembered the exact era, one of Breqlynn's foremothers cursed a shaman clan. A couple of centuries after, the shifters were born. All these millennia later, the hate was still flowing strongly on both sides.

It was Breq's damn fault. She should have known a nightclub named _Shifters_ in a were-run town such as Butte wasn't meant for the local miners. As soon as she'd stepped inside to meet her client, she noticed the place was full of tall, powerfully built patrons. Not being the dimmest bulb in the bar, she knew this was a sure sign of weres.

Breqlynn masked her magic in response. Since the curse, the shifter race had been cut off from using all but plant and pack magic. Still, they could sense it in others.

The werebeast in her grip struggled for freedom. Letting go of her shirt, Breqlynn brought her other hand up and slammed the blonde into the wall. The move showed the shifter that Breq was highly pissed and more than able to end the encounter swiftly.

"Well?" Breqlynn all but purred at the woman beneath her grip.

"I gave it back," came the snarled reply. Although temporarily subdued, the fight wasn't entirely out of the blonde. Breq would have to rectify that.

As if sensing her plan, Griffin - the client - brought Breqlynn's attention to his red-headed ass. "She did. I have it right here."

Griffin had been one of Breq's first clients. She knew he didn't like conflict, yet trouble seemed always to find him and - by association - her.

Suddenly, the artifact the female shifter had tried to steal was in Breq's face. Griffin waved it under her nose as if she were a dog and the egg-shaped antique a bone. She couldn't help but wince as it bumped her lip, causing freshly clotted blood to flow once more.

The blossoming pain brought Breqlynn's focus back to the one who'd caused the original injury. Her eyes narrowed at her target. With a jerk of her chin, she shooed Griffin away from her and her intended victim.

"You touched _me_ , bitch." Breq's hand reared back, and she threw a punch, giving a similar wound. Ah, Karma was sweet.

Around them, the other patrons noticed the commotion, even over the irritating electronic music. They began to gather. Soon, the two women were surrounded by a rowdy audience. Cursed ones were notorious for being hot-tempered. A fight was nothing new, but it was something they loved to watch.

"By the looks of her, you've got this Kaylee!" one of the onlookers cheered.

Breqlynn didn't allow his shout to break her focus. It was because of this that she saw the woman in front of her begin to shift.

_Shit_. Shifters were more powerful when they brought their inner beasts to the fore. Breqlynn could transmorph, but her animal was a raven. In that line-up, wolf won. Unfortunately, she couldn't defend herself with her magic either. If she did, it would announce to all the cursed race that she was a witch. A "Ha-ha, just slumming it for the night," would not go over well with this lot.

The blonde was only half-transformed because the moon wasn't yet full. Luckily for Breq, this was the furthest the other woman could come to communing with her inner beast. Still, this Kaylee was dangerous.

Bending down, Breq pulled a set of knives from the top of her boots. They were six-inch long, double-sided blades made of wolframite. The athame, traditionally used as ceremonial knives, had been inherited from her mother's twin. Their hilts were covered in black leather. Peeking through them were flecks of bloodstone that came together to form the image of an oak tree.

The knives had magical properties. Infused with aether and earth, they were bound to Breqlynn alone. The stones and the symbol they formed gave their owner additional strength, power, and protection. Now that she had her own set of "claws," Breq felt more confident.

The one called Kaylee looked over her elongated snout, equipped with tons of nasty, sharp teeth and eyed Breqlynn's weapons for a moment. It was apparent to the she-wolf that they were magical knives, but others of the races had such weapons. They weren't necessarily athame as some preferred swords, bows and the more modern guns.

The shifter's long-fingered claws snapped in indecision. Kaylee had no way of knowing with what kind of magic the blades Breqlynn wielded were infused. Maybe she would stand down?

The shifter lunged.

_Nope_. All second thoughts in the blonde's head had taken a flying leap. The migraine-inducing strobe lights made it difficult to track Breq's opponent's movements. Once the she-wolf was within striking range - which happened in a single flash of light - Breqlynn side-stepped, pivoted and jammed her foot into the side of the shifter's kneecap. Even over the music and shouts of the crowd, the sound of cartilage snapping could be heard. With a howl, her adversary went down.

Dancing back on her toes, Breqlynn readied herself for the next round. She was ever thankful for the training her cousin insisted upon giving. He was the protector of their family and took his job seriously.

With a stumble that nearly had her falling face-first into a high-top table, Kaylee righted, then used its lip to steady herself. Somewhat off-balance, she turned. Even from ten feet away and with the strobe lights, Breq could see the promise of death in the other woman's eyes.

Lifting her busted lip, Breqlynn sneered. _Bring it, bitch_.

As if she heard, the she-wolf began to close the distance. Her limp was pronounced, but she was pissed enough to ignore the pain. The blonde had tunnel vision. This fight was Breqlynn's.

Only a few feet separated them when a large man stepped behind Breq's opponent. He grabbed what was left of the woman's shirt at the neck and pulled her up short. The female shifter turned her head, snarling. Giving her a swift jerk caused her head to snap and tunnel vision to clear. Kaylee blinked and saw who it was that held her. Instantly, she went quiet and hung limply in his grip.

The man's gaze flicked to Breqlynn, and she quickly stowed her blades. Satisfied Breq was no longer a threat, his eyes fell back on the she-wolf.

"This may be a club for our kind Kaylee, but what is the number one rule?" His voice was deep, nearly a growl, and there was an accent. Oxford English with a hint of German if Breq weren't mistaken. Goosebumps formed along her arms at the sound.

"No shifting where a human might see." Kaylee sounded contrite and began to change back once the man released her. Her shirt had busted at the seams, as had her cheeky shorts. Someone threw a pair of sweats at her.

"Exactly." His gaze left the she-wolf and pinned Breqlynn. "You are not of the Anaconda-Pintler pack."

_No shit_? _Well, color me surprised_. Breq tried not to fidget under the man's intense scrutiny. She could tell he was wondering if she were even a shifter. At five-foot-eleven, she was tall enough, but she lacked the muscle structure and the beauty. Maybe he'd figure she was a shaman instead. Those two races were a lot friendlier toward each other than witches and weres.

The man's eyes still held Breq's as he addressed his recalcitrant pack member. "Go home, Kaylee. Try not to find any more trouble."

"Yes, Wolf," Kaylee mumbled and shuffled away to change into the sweats.

_Wolf_? _Really_? His parents must have had a sick sense of humor. Breqlynn fought to keep her mirth buried down deep.

"You," the male stabbed a finger at Griffin, "and you," that finger zeroed in on Breq, effectively erasing her need to laugh, "come with me."

Breqlynn's best and oldest client came up on her left as they followed the apparent alpha of the local pack. Few men could command that much, immediate respect in the shifter community. It meant this "Wolf" ruled all of the Rockies, including those in Canada.

Breqlynn glared at the man beside her.

"What?" Griffin asked, all innocence.

Waiting until they cleared the door that one of the two, towering stationed pack members opened for them, Breq answered, "You know what." Although her tone was barely above a whisper, she didn't trust that the alpha before them wasn't listening. His kind had the most heightened senses of all the races.

The hall they walked down was long. Once the door closed behind them, the annoying music became dulled.

They continued a few steps in silence. "Why here?" Breq couldn't help but ask.

"Had business in the area," Griffin mumbled.

Snorting, Breqlynn went before Griffin, entering the alpha's office. The large man was already on his way to his desk.

"Please, sit," the shifter changed direction and walked to a sideboard. "Would either of you care for a drink?"

"No, thank you." Griffin was the epitome of politeness.

Although Breq's lip was sealed, it still hurt. "I'll have a whiskey, neat." The weight of her client's eyes fell on her. She knew what Griffin was thinking; he knew what she was. Witches were notorious light-weights. She didn't plan on drinking the alcohol, but she wanted something in her hands.

The alpha turned, and Breq noticed for the first time he had pure, green-as-grass eyes. Faint lines radiated from their corners as if he smiled a lot. His dark blond hair was cut short, but not military short and had wisps of white at the temples. He looked to be in his late thirties, something that made him _old_ regarding the races. Their kind aged far slower than humans.

At her height, Breqlynn wasn't used to feeling small. The shifter made her feel just that. He was at least six-eight and judging by the outline of muscle she could see stretch across his chest beneath the taut cotton of his shirt; he was built.

A glass filled with amber liquid came into Breq's view, breaking her ogle-fest.

_Dude's a cursed one. That's a no-go, and you know it._

Yeah, but she could still look and appreciate, which Breqlynn continued to do over the rim of her glass as Wolf walked back to his desk. Only when he sat and looked directly at her, did she shift her attention to the mountain scene behind him. It looked like the Anaconda-Pintler range which surrounded Butte. The artist was genuinely gifted, capturing the rugged beauty of the area.

"I'm Wolfrick Jaeger, First of North America," he said by way of introduction.

Breqlynn swallowed hard and couldn't help but look at him once more. Firsts were the alphas of alphas. That meant he was the leader of all North American packs.

Breq's eyes quickly cut to Griffin and narrowed. Her client had the worst luck of anyone she'd ever met. Unfortunately, it seemed to be rubbing off on her.

"And you are?" the First asked, bringing Breqlynn's attention back to the larger-than-life man behind the desk.

Jaeger wouldn't recognize the family name Breq, her sister and cousin used to disguise their race. Their real surname of Darkin was far too recognizable in their world. With it, the shifter would know her. Although truth be told, there weren't many named Breqlynn Darrah in Montana, let alone the world either. She'd have to get creative.

Wolf studied the female in front of him. There was something about her he couldn't quite peg. Her eyes - he'd thought them black or deep brown in the bar area but now saw they were a dark shade of blue rimmed by a lighter hue of that same color - studied him in turn.

The female looked to be in her mid-twenties. She could have been that old or two hundred. Gauging age by looks alone in the races was hard.

The man on her left answered first. "I'm Griffin Maxwell and this," he jabbed a thumb in the female's direction, "is Br-"

"Brooke Smith," she finished. Her voice had a smoky quality that turned each word into something sultry. The sound shot straight to his cock, and Wolf felt the need to clear his throat at the sudden discomfort.

The interruption made it apparent that Brooke didn't want to be known. Wolfrick found he was intrigued. He'd been on this earth long enough that soul-crushing boredom had set in about two hundred years ago. Not much caused him to sit up and take notice anymore. This lithe creature was doing just that. Poor thing. She had no idea his inner wolf now identified her as prey.

Wolfrick let the silence stretch. It was a tactic he used while interrogating shifters who landed before him. Usually, they'd grow so nervous they gave up all he wanted to know. Sometimes it worked so well that he'd hear shit he didn't want to know. Ever.

As he studied Brooke, Wolfrick couldn't help but wonder if she were of his race. If so, what kind of shifter was she? Most inner beasts were wolves such as he. It was believed this was because the original, witch-cursed clan had been from the Carpathian Mountains, part of which was currently claimed by the country of Romania. Those shaman's foremost spirit animal had been the wolf.

Wolfrick had a feeling Brooke didn't share his beast but was something else entirely.

The female wasn't a human if her reaction to Kaylee's half-form was any indication. That meant she was of one of the races, but he'd have known if a shaman was visiting. That group was ever mindful of the protocols when entering shifter territory.

Although they were cousins of sorts, shifters and their one-time brethren were polite enemies at best. The other race looked down on Wolf's, seeing them as little more than embarrassing half-breeds who'd once shared their blood.

Wolfrick's nostrils flared as he took in Brooke's scent. Beneath the soap, shampoo, and lotion, she smelled of fresh air and wildflowers. It had his wolf's head perking up even more.

_Mate_? it asked, and Wolf mentally shrugged. He was too old and had grown too jaded to have his hopes raised by a mere scent. There were whispers of him turning feral since he'd lived so long without finding one. Those were shrugged off as well. If he went rogue, he'd surely be the first to know.

Unlike the female wolves, this woman before Wolfrick wasn't what one would label as curvy. Her physique would have been called willowy in times past. She didn't bear the beauty his race was noted for either. That was hardly an indication as on rare occasions; not all shifters were striking in face and form.

Brooke reminded Wolf of the tales of Cleopatra. As with the reports of the ancient queen, the woman before him wasn't a great beauty. But she did possess a kind of magnetism. He felt pulled toward her and doubted he was the first man to feel drawn.

Wolf's gaze lowered. In the V of Brook's low-cut tee, he could see tantalizing peeks of her small breasts. Just the right size to fit in his palms or mouth.

Some type of cat, perhaps?

With her dark hair and pale skin, Wolfrick pictured Brooke to be a white Bengal tiger. She was fierce enough to be one of that breed. Not many could hold his gaze for long, which caused him to wonder if she were an alpha in her own right. If she had a pack within his territory, he'd have known. However, even with her American accent, she was not an alpha he'd met. Perhaps she was a loner, a shifter without a pack.

Eyes flicking to her mouth; Wolf saw the cut in Brooke's upper lip was already healing, which again proved she wasn't human. Her skin was so pale that it caused her red, full lips to stand out on her sharp-featured face. They were the only soft thing he found there.

That mouth of Brooke's conjured images that had Wolfrick instantly hard. It had been many centuries since any female caused such a quick and intense reaction in him. Not since he was a lad.

Shifting in his chair to find some small comfort in his now too-tight jeans, Wolf focused once more on the man with Brooke. He briefly wondered what their relationship might be, then decided it didn't matter. If she were this Griffin's, she wouldn't be for much longer.

Wolf's smile was not-so-nice as he asked, "Mind telling me what happened out there?"

Breqlynn was glad when the shifter's attention turned from her. She couldn't believe the reactions her body experienced under the werebeast's intense focus. Her nipples hardened at his scrutiny of her breasts. She wriggled in her seat to look at Griffin and tried to get her lower parts to behave.

_You disgust me_ , she told them. They ignored her.

"I'm an antiquities dealer. I was in town on another matter and asked Bre-Brooke," Griffin's eyes flashed nervously toward her then back to the cursed one, "to meet me. She acquired this for me." He held up the antique. "I have an interested party who is eager to have it in their collection."

"You have yet to conclude our business," Breq was quick to remind Griffin. She'd almost been given her angel wings procuring that item. Twice.

Hearing the threat in Breqlynn's tone, Griffin handed the artifact back to her.

"The one named Kaylee came to our table and-" Griffin halted, blushing to the roots of his red hair.

Sighing and wondering - not for the first time - how he could be so virginal, Breqlynn picked up the tale. "The female was all over Griffin." The man looked like the old actor who portrayed the fictional character of Jamie Fraser on TV. Before the Third World War, entertainment in the form of movies, theater, television, and music had been big. Now, over half a century after it began, the living were more concerned with reconstructing and cleaning up the mess left to them by their forefathers. As a result, the old stuff was still popular. "Because he's clueless and was more interested in the artifact, she snatched it away from him to gain his attention."

"I'm not clueless." At Breq's steady stare, Griffin protested. "I'm not! It's just that I'm still not used to the forwardness of females in this area." Another blush crept into those dark red, whisker-stubbled cheeks.

Breq's eyes rolled. Whatever race Griffin was from, he was not a witch. In their society, women were dominant. Their leader and ruling conclave had always been made up of females.

Breqlynn didn't feel the zing of magic coming from Griffin. Except for the tattoo in the shape of his namesake that hugged his left side and rib cage, there was none. The body art had some magic coming off it, but it wasn't unheard of to commission bespelled tattoos for things such as protection, strength or even luck. It wasn't a good luck charm, that much was certain.

Griffin could have been masking his magic, but they'd known each other for years. If that were the case, he'd never slipped once.

"I had yet to receive compensation," Breqlynn continued over her client's protests, "so I chased the she-wolf down and took it back. I'd just returned it for Griffin's inspection when I was sucker punched. You saw the rest," she all but growled the last.

There was a brief, tense pause in the conversation as the North American First mulled over Breq's words. His direct gaze trapped her once more.

"May I?" the cursed one stretched his hand, palm-up across the desk. After a slight hesitation, Breqlynn dropped the piece into it and sat back. Taking a sip of whiskey, she remembered that she didn't want to drink anything when her split lip burned.

Breqlynn was about to feed the First a bullshit line about it all being legal when she mentally shrugged. One such as Jaeger wouldn't give two shits about how it came to be in her possession.

Beside Breq, Griffin nervously shifted in his chair. "I have another meeting I'm running late for."

At - Breq glanced at her watch - 11:44 PM? Highly doubtful.

"If you don't need me for anything else, I'll be going," Griffin finished, trying to sound sure of himself and failing miserably.

_Coward_ , Breqlynn thought with an inner sneer.

At a negligent wave of dismissal from the First, Griffin sprang from his chair. Silence stretched after the door clicked shut and Jaeger thoughtfully palmed the egg-shaped antique. A slight frown marred his brow. Shifting the clay piece, he looked at the inside of his hand. Breq saw a red speck of blood before he closed his fingers around the cut and his attention refocused on the artifact.

Breqlynn's eyes narrowed. The artifact had never done that to her, and she'd held it many times. It was smooth clay with no sharp edges or slivers.

Wolfrick gingerly pinched the piece between his thumb and forefinger, then brought it up to eye level. He was studying the cuneiform writing around the middle, Breq realized. It was from the Early 1st Dynastic period of Sumer. The 1st Dynasty of Ur, 26th century BC, to be more specific.

"It says _ig_ , see, _taka_ , take hold of and _zu_ , meaning wisdom or knowledge." Breqlynn had studied it a lot since having acquired the piece. The true meaning of the words were still a puzzle to her.

"Do you know what it does? I can feel magic coming off it." Wolf was concerned as it had tasted his blood. He knew little good could come of that.

"Not a clue." That smoky, sexpot voice filled Wolf. Looking up, he breathed deep to gauge if Brooke spoke the truth. He didn't scent a lie.

For the first time, it occurred to Wolf this might be a trap of some sort. The surviving shifters decided to have a leader, a king. He was one of the favorites to win, even after the smear campaign trying to portray him as a feral. Romeo Vasiliev, the other First jockeying for the position, was not happy as he wanted an easy victory. Wolf's adversary's packs were in Russia and, come to think of it, had a few of the rare, white Bengal tiger females in their ranks.

Brooke's accent could be a ruse. Wolfrick's eyes narrowed at the woman across from him. Could she have been sent to spring this trap?

"See, take, know? What could that mean?" As Wolf repeated the words, magic pulsed from within the artifact. Something had awakened.

"What did you do?" Brooke's eyes went wide with shock. Wolf didn't miss their accusatory glint. Was she a great actress or genuinely concerned?

A grunt escaped from Wolfrick as the magic swelled. It entered him, seeming to attach itself to his very soul.

The need to call out a warning to his packs was tantamount. Wolfrick reached for his connection to them. Opening eyes he didn't remember closing, he was immediately drawn to Brooke's. The sounding of an alarm to his people was abandoned as he drowned in their depths.

_Mate_. There was no question in Wolf's beast's tone. It was a statement of fact. Then, magic pulsed once again, and the link to his wolf was abruptly cut.

The chair crashed behind Wolfrick as he stood. An overwhelming urge to have the female in his arms filled him. Everything else was forgotten - pack, severed link to inner beast, blood magic, everything. He shoved the desk out of his way. As it crashed against the wall, he went for her. Before its splintered pieces fell to the floor, Brooke met him halfway. The force of them coming together knocked him back a half-step.

Breqlynn stood on her tiptoes and brought Jaeger's face to her own. She'd never felt a pull so powerful. Knowing it was due to the magic he'd triggered did nothing to stem the want inside of her.

Want? What an insignificant word. It was more like an unquestioning need. As Breq's tongue slipped into Wolfrick's mouth, she felt as if she'd die if he weren't inside her. Like. Right. Freaking. Now!

That thought in mind, Breq nearly ripped the seam of Jaeger's form-fitting tee as she tore it from his jeans. With trembling fingers, she undid the top button of his pants and slipped down to the next. Before long, she had him free and pulled them down over his hips.

Jaeger was going commando. Perfect. With a satisfied sigh against his lips, Breq gripped his hard length in the palm of her hand.

At the first stroke, the shifter growled as he worked off Breqlynn's shirt and bra. His scorching mouth found her nipple, and she gripped his head with her free hand, holding him there. The other left his straining cock and reached around to grab his firm, bare ass, pulling him closer to the juncture between her thighs.

Breq was wet and throbbing. She needed the cursed one in a way she'd never needed any man before.

*** * * * * * * * * * * ***

The cell phone rang in his hand. Checking the caller ID, Griffin unlocked his car and sat in the driver's seat. All semblance of the bumbling art dealer was gone. In its place was a man with whom one did not wish to fuck.

Shutting the door, Griffin put the key fob in a cup holder. Starting the vehicle, he then flicked the screen with the pad of his thumb.

There were no greetings or niceties when the call was answered. Griffin simply stated, "It is done." Not waiting for a reply, he hung up and drove away.

## Table of Contents

  1. Table of Contents
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. CHAPTER ONE
  5. CHAPTER TWO
  6. CHAPTER THREE
  7. CHAPTER FOUR
  8. CHAPTER FIVE
  9. CHAPTER SIX
  10. CHAPTER SEVEN
  11. CHAPTER EIGHT
  12. CHAPTER NINE
  13. CHAPTER TEN
  14. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  15. CHAPTER TWELVE
  16. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  17. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  19. Author's Note
  20. Acknowledgments
  21. About The Author
  22. Destined

