Predator's Serenade (2 page)

Lia cringed. “Look, I know Soren has issues too. But underneath it all, he’s a good guy. He helped Ry and me when we really needed it, and I’m sure he’ll be good for Gunnar.”

“And then what? They make friends, and we go back to Alberta in two weeks. Just because Gunnar had some chats with a musician doesn’t mean kids won’t bully him, or that he’ll be able to control his rage. I’m so scared he’ll lash out again…”

“He won’t. I’m sure of it.” Lia put her hands on Gioia’s shoulders and stared her in the eyes. “Don’t give up hope.”

Gioia put her glasses back on and met her gaze, eyeing Lia through watery lenses. Damn specs were useless during a crying fit. One day when she won the lottery, she’d sign up for that expensive laser surgery. For now, she’d have to settle for being sopping wet and blind as a bat. Any extra funds she had, which wasn’t much, went to Gunnar’s music lessons. And with his obvious talent, there was no way she was cancelling those. “I can’t give up hope. He’s my baby. I’ll do anything it takes. Even talk to Soren Snow.”

Lia squeezed her shoulders and smiled. “Come on, let’s go find Gunnar. Maybe he’ll come back if we tempt him with junk food.”

“I don’t know about Gunnar, but I could go for a deep-fried Mars bar right now. With extra fried shit and whipped cream on top. And a six-pack of Sleeman’s.”

Lia nodded, her eyes crinkling. “Gioia Clementine, I knew you were my kind of woman.”

A day later, shortly after Soren arrived, Ryland dragged him out of the main lodge toward the woods. He’d barely brushed his lips against a coffee cup, never mind having a chance to unload his drum kit. Instead, Ry ushered him at a determined pace, leading the way between the maples and oaks. As numerous insects made a beeline for Soren’s citified skin, he swatted at the miniscule beasts.

Ah, the great outdoors. The bracing fresh air hit Soren, and he got a whiff of wood burning somewhere nearby. With his superior ursine sense of smell, he picked up on another scent from a few miles away: roasting marshmallows. Delicious, but so predictable.

God, he hated fresh air. And campers. There were a lot of them here. Aside from the main lodge, the resort boasted many cabins and areas where guests could camp. Everyone on Gemini Island was a shifter: guests and employees. Ryland had created the fishing lodge as a haven and temporary retreat for those of their kind. Even though Soren was a bear shifter, he’d always felt uneasy being around other shifters. He just preferred hanging with humans in the city. Okay, so maybe it was because humans sensed something special in him and tended to idolize him.

Nothing wrong with being loved, was there?

“Ry,” he complained, “can’t I have five minutes to unpack before you haul me up in front of this pipsqueak?”

Ryland turned and glared at his brother, dark eyes gleaming. “You promised to help. I’m just holding you to your promise. You get distracted easily. I saw you checking out my new desk clerk when you arrived.”

“Where’s Marci anyway?” Soren asked, referring to the clerk who usually staffed the front desk. Little, mousey Marci with the braces and fear in her eyes.

“I promoted her. She works in the back office now.” Ryland turned and marched toward a glen of tall maples, offering a backward glance at Soren. “Coming?”

Soren glared back, his narrowed gaze burning a hole in Ryland’s plaid shirt. “What am I supposed to say to this kid?”

“How about ‘Hello, my name is Soren’ for starters?”

“I don’t even know what kids like these days.” He searched the recesses of his brain for something that would appeal to today’s young minds. “What about
Scooby-Doo
? Do kids still watch
Scooby-Doo
?”

Ryland shook his head. “Maybe, in forty-year-old reruns. Gunnar’s a musician. Talk music, for crying out loud. Entertain him with stories about…I don’t know, Beethoven and shit!”

Soren pointed a finger at him. “Dude, how many times do I have to tell you? Beethoven and shit do not belong in the same sentence.” He exhaled on a long, frustrated breath. “And why are we in the goddamn woods? Where is this kid?”

“Last I heard, he was with his mom. Up a tree.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“No, really,” Ryland explained. “He’s up a tree. He likes to climb them to escape Gioia, his mother. Luckily, she’s a persistent little thing. She usually climbs right up after him.”

“Mama bears, eh?” Soren chuckled at his joke.

Ryland stopped walking and turned to Soren. “Actually, she’s not,” he said in a perplexed whisper. “Gioia isn’t a shifter. She’s still human.”

Soren stared at him out of the corner of his eye. “How’s that possible? She gave birth to a shifter kid, so she must have mated with a shifter.”

His brother’s eyes grew wide. “I know. It’s the weirdest thing. Somehow, even in mating with her husband, Gioia never became a shifter. I’ve never seen that happen.”

It was weird. Not that Soren liked to spend his leisure time discussing shifter biology, but even he knew Gioia Clementine’s state was virtually impossible to achieve. You mated with a shifter, you became one. It was that simple. Just another reason shifters had to be so careful about those they fucked. Sure, Soren slept with human women, but he’d never felt compelled to mate with one. For that, he’d need to mark her as his own, and he hadn’t met a woman yet that he wanted to keep for a lifetime. Mating was final and involved an extraordinary pull toward one’s partner. Frankly, he was relieved it hadn’t happened to him. He wasn’t really the settling down kind of guy.

The world was full of Irina Ivanovs, and he hadn’t had a chance to discover them all yet.

“So what does Gioia’s husband say about all this?” asked Soren, now a little more curious about Gunnar’s mother.

Ryland frowned. “Not much. He’s dead.”

As a wave of peculiar empathy washed over Soren, he leaned on a nearby maple for support. For Gioia to lose her mate must have been devastating. Mated shifters meant the world to each other. Soren had seen first-hand how crazed Ryland had become when Lia’s life was in danger. Not a pretty sight. How could Gioia Clementine have lost her mate and still be standing upright? She ought to be clawing her way into the ground to get at her dead husband, would feel as if she were dying inside herself. “That complicates things.”

“You have no idea,” said Ryland, rolling his eyes. “Things are very complicated for Gioia right now. Anyway, I’ll tell you more later. For now, let’s just get the introductions over.”

He led the way into a small clearing by the lake. Lined by tall trees, summer’s greenery cast a leafy shade over the spot. Soren followed, looking down at his motorcycle boots, still wondering about Gunnar’s mom and wondering why he was so curious about her in the first place. Ryland stopped moving. Soren stopped behind him. He looked up.

The first things he saw were the sexiest high arches he’d ever had the pleasure of glimpsing. Or rather, a pair of feet dangling from a high tree branch. They were pretty, feminine feet with cute toes. No nail polish. They looked soft, clad in strappy flat sandals that emphasized the curve of her foot. Those arches were so hot he could imagine himself planting kisses all over them. So help him, he didn’t have a foot fetish, but he'd always had a thing for high arches on a woman.

He allowed his vision to pan slowly up her body. There was indeed a woman attached to those feet. A tolerable-looking one, he supposed, despite her ridiculously hot feet. Perhaps the rest of her wasn’t quite of the Irina Ivanov standard. Mind you, even Irina hadn’t been as winsome as her pictures, and her lips had been downright scary.

Mental note: succulent lips are not a good thing on a woman when they stand six inches out from her face
.

No, this Gioia woman had a much quieter beauty, if he could call it that. Round hips and womanly legs, wrapped in jeans with big pink flowers all over them. A knockout rack, but it was hidden under a light sweater that covered her from wrist to neck. No cleavage showing at all, a total tragedy. She had puffy black hair curling down to her shoulders. The woman needed a bit of hair relaxer or mousse or something. Her face could be considered aesthetically pleasing, with a tiny moue of a mouth and dark eyes, but she had these huge glasses on. She looked like a little owl doll.

Soren suddenly felt the need to spring for a pair of contacts for her. He also had the strange urge to unbutton his jeans. They felt tight all of a sudden. Reaching down with a discreet hand, he adjusted his strangely inflated cock.

“Gunnar, please?” Her voice cracked with a hint of desperation but retained a distinctly sexy timbre. Soft and sweet with a gravelly touch, as if she’d just rolled over in bed and hadn’t quite shaken off the cobwebs. “It’s been hours.”

Man, how long had she been pleading with the kid? And was she born with that sexed-up voice? Soren ignored what had to be rolling hunger pangs in his stomach.

Even though he had trouble looking away from Gioia, he glanced toward the child. He only saw foliage. The boy knew how to stay well-hidden.

Ryland called out to Gioia, and she looked over at them. And then she glanced at Soren and froze.

Once again, a strange wave of feeling rolled over him. His pulse jumped into a new, erratic beat. Was it nausea? It had to be nausea. He shouldn’t have eaten all those fatty snacks on the plane. Either that or her loud flower pants were giving him a headache.

Gioia reached for a branch as if to steady herself, but missed. She pitched forward off her perch, letting out a high-pitched yelp. Soren raced toward her, unthinking, and put out his arms just in time to catch the soft, fragrant bundle. She caught her breath and looked at him from behind those owl glasses.

Big, brown eyes blinked at him. Once, twice, three times. She cleared her throat.

Put her down, you fuckwad!
He dropped her to her feet, and she gave a little whoop of surprise.

Somewhere deep inside him, his bear came to life. He hadn’t listened to his inner bear much, preferring to favor his human side. Hell, he didn’t even shift much. But right now his bear caused a ruckus, howling against his rib cage as if needing to get out. He had a sudden image of his polar bear getting red in the face.

Because of her.

He couldn’t stop staring at the queer, little woman. And she looked at him as if he were the ghost of Elvis.

Ryland moseyed over, a smug grin playing on his lips. He bit his lip as if stifling a guffaw. “Gioia, this is my brother, Soren. Soren, Gioia.”

Meanwhile, Ryland spoke to Soren using the telepathy common to their kind. “
Fuck me, little brother. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”

“What do you think you’re seeing?”

Ryland laughed silently. “
A bear recognizing his mate. I’d know that look anywhere.”

“Don’t fuck with me. That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, well, that dumbstruck look in your eye is what I used to wear when I first met Lia. Remember?”

“Yeah, but…but this is me. I’d expect you to look dumbstruck!”

“Now, now. Don’t get testy, Soren. What’s happening inside you? Bear feeling a little grumpy? A little hungry, maybe?”

“Ryyyyy…Oh, fuck. No, no, no. I refuse to acknowledge what you're saying.”

“Oh, this is priceless. The playboy, snagged by the soccer mom.”

“Get outta my head, you sick piece of…”

Gioia’s suspicious gaze darted between the two of them. “Um, thanks for catching me, Soren.” She adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Nice to meet you?”

Soren gaped at her, unable to make his lips work. He swallowed, the walls of his throat resembling the arid landscape of the Sahara. His normally deep voice emerged but about two octaves higher. “Okay.”

Now she was staring at him like he was a tool. He sounded like a tool. What the hell was going on here?

Ryland, clearly beside himself, exploded into a fit of laughter. Fuck him, there were tears in his eyes. “I think the traditional response, Soren, is ‘nice to meet you too.’” And then he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his stupid plaid shirt.

Gioia transferred her glassy-eyed stare to him. “Is something wrong?”

Ryland put a hand over his mouth and attempted to calm his badly timed fit of revenge-driven hilarity. “Nothing at all. How’s Gunnar?”

Gioia sighed and peered up at her son’s perch. “Still up there. Won’t come down. He hasn’t eaten for hours. I’m waiting for him to fall off his branch from dehydration.”

Soren stepped forward, relieved to be out of Gioia’s piercing line of sight for a second. Now if he could just get the sexy lilt of her voice out of his eardrums. He shook his head like a dog emerging from a dip in the lake and stared at the tree. Black Converse high-tops dangled from one of the highest branches.

Ryland walked over to the tree and called up to the kid. "Gunnar, there's someone here you'll wanna meet."

The Converses stopped waggling in the air and hung straight. Soren watched, conscious of Gioia creeping up behind him to observe. Why was she standing so close to him? He was tempted to turn and shoo away the little bird of a woman, but her unruly hair smelled too good. Was that vanilla mixed with peaches? He allowed his nostrils to flare. What sort of devilry created a shampoo that smelled so delicious? Trying to ignore her tasty scent, he focused on the kid. Soren knew a lot hinged on this moment; he just wasn't sure what.

After a tense minute, the Converses scrambled down the trunk, accompanied by a lanky body. Gunnar looked about five feet tall, a few inches shy of his mom. He wore tight, torn jeans, a T-shirt, and a denim jacket with the sleeves ripped off. He twirled a set of drumsticks as if they were an extension of his hand. The boy had talent and good taste. On his jacket, he'd pinned a button with Soren's face on it.

He moseyed over as if he had nothing but time. His laid-back air didn’t match up with his rounded, hazel eyes. Within seconds, he narrowed his gaze, trying not to appear so starstruck. He blew up an errant chunk of brown hair from his brow and stopped in front of them.