Wild Things (BBW Paranormal Shifter Romance): Shifter Lovers Romance (7 page)

“Then
it’s settled. And we need to finish packing your things. Come.” Anacelia held
out her hand. “Help me. I’m too old to do this alone.”

Senna
had said no more about her tryst. She’d sat at her dressing table, had gone
through her jewelry, putting necklaces with diamonds and sapphires into their
boxes and bags, putting a small pile of rings and bangles in a black velvet
bag. She tucked the bag in a drawer. Anacelia had finally finished packing the
last trunk and stood, wiping her hand across her forehead.

“This
is too much for an old woman.”

“I
wish it were not needed, or that we could just unpack all of this.” Senna
looked over the boxes and trunks and parcels. Her rooms were a shambles.

“Senna,
I don’t have the strength to unpack this. Stop thinking about what cannot be
changed. I’ll draw a bath…”

“No.
I want a walk before dinner. And I want to eat alone in my sitting room. If I
can find a chair and table that isn’t covered with my belongings.”

“As
you wish.” Anacelia bowed. Senna thought she saw the woman wince as she
straightened. “I’ll bring up a tray. What would you like?”

Senna
waved her hand. “Nothing much. Anything.” She glanced through the arches, over
the balcony railing to the garden below. “Or, wait…roast capon, two. Figs, of
course. And that wine I like. And cake, date cake.”

Anacelia
gave a brief laugh. “It’s good to see your appetite has returned. You won’t be
losing your curves, after all.” She bowed again and left the room.

Senna
turned toward the balcony, watching the sun begin its final dramatic
performance for the day. Maybe Gabriel would come to her tonight, her last
night in the palace. If so, then there would be food enough…

Abruptly
she turned away. It was foolish to pin hopes on this, on him climbing up the
balcony, coming to her again. Just because she wanted him to come to her didn’t
mean he could. She knew nothing of his life here, what his duties were. Or even
where he was.

“You’re
just being silly, Senna. Just…silly.”

She
dug through the clothes left out for her travels, unearthing her sunshade. It
was late afternoon, edging into evening, but the sun was still bright enough to
bring out those hateful freckles Anacelia teased her about. She was certain no
one at the Ottway’s palace would ever bring her lemon juice to fade her
freckles, or even care that she had them.

It
was easier to slip down the back stairs. The guards stepped aside and she
swished past them into the garden, the sunshade held above her head.

The
garden was her Father’s. He claimed it calmed his mind to walk among the trees
and roses, plants he’d put into the ground with his own hands. Many times Senna
had found him, on his hands and knees, digging in the dirt. Beside him would be
a confused manservant, holding tools or a plant, waiting for instructions. And
heaven help that servant who was careless with a plant, knocking off buds or
tearing foliage.

Now
she was taking what would be her last walk through this garden. Each tree held
a memory; the lemon she’d helped plant when she was just old enough to toddle
after her father. The roses that marked the entrance to her mother’s crypt. The
small marble building was set in a corner of the garden. Her father had planted
two roses beside the doors and the vines had grown up around the arch, covering
the building, scenting the air with their heady fragrance. She’d been only a
baby, but she’d remembered coming here in her father’s arms, listening to him
tell her about her mother. How beautiful she was, how she sang like an angel.
How Senna looked just like her mother. The roses, he’d said were white for her
purity, red for her passion.

She
reached up, plucking a red rose, holding it to her nose. The scent was
intoxicating. Tears came to her eyes. She would miss this, these walks, her
father’s garden. Maybe, if she could put aside her distaste for the man, she
would ask the Ottway if she could plant roses.

The
sun was setting, the light changing as she walked through the garden. It was
cooler now, under the trees, in the shadows beneath the archways. Somewhere
above her she heard the flap of wings and a snow-white dove flew out, into the
indigo sky. It was too perfect, too perfect. And she hated the idea of leaving
it all behind.

But
it was getting dark. Her heart jumped in her chest. If Gabriel was going to
come to her, it would be after dark. She should be ready, waiting, perfumed and
clean of the dust and dirt of packing. Waiting for him in the cool dimness of
her room, in something silky. Revealing. Or nothing.

Her
face flushed at the thought. At the idea of being wanton and alluring for a
man, of being provocative. Of being as passionate as the rest of the rose in
her hand. Of putting herself on display, knowing full well what that display
could lead to. And wanting it.

She
ran back to her room, barely noticing the tray of food on the table. The
bathroom smelled of rosemary and orange, the tub filled with steaming water.
Dropping her clothes on the floor, she smiled. Anacelia had worked her magic
again, with impeccable timing. She wondered if she had spies in the palace,
telling her where Senna was, when she was out of her room, when she was back.
However she did it, Senna was glad.

The
bath was magical, the water silky, like a lover’s caress. Blushing, she thought
she knew now what that felt like. She sank down, the water lapping against her
body. For a moment she let her hands slide over her stomach. Anacelia had asked
if she’d missed her moon cycle. She’d been careless keeping track; there had
never been any reason. Until Gabriel. And then she’d been too swept away with
the whole experience to pay attention. And then the hurried confusion of the
visit to the Ottway, the announcement of the marriage. Details like her moon
cycle had slipped out of her grasp.

Maybe
there was a baby there, waiting. It would be Gabriel’s. And if she were, then
she would have something of his, no matter what happened. She would always have
that. And that was a secret she would never, ever share.

When
the room had grown dark, she climbed out of the water. There were decisions to
be made, which robe to wear, or even if to wear one. She was almost giddy as
she went through the few garments she’d told Anacelia to leave unpacked, things
to sleep in, robes and shifts. He’d seen the blue robe the last time, and
before that, she’d been wearing a white silk gown. But it had been dark, and
he’d taken it off so quickly. Maybe tonight, their last night, she’d wear red.
For the new confidence he’d given her, for the way she felt about him. The
intensity of her love. For passion.

The
silk clung to her body, skimming over her curves, hugging her breasts. She felt
like a woman, not a girl.

She
went to the door of her room and turned the key in the lock. Someone was coming
for her at dawn, to take her things to the train, and then take her. The last
thing she and Gabriel could have, was someone coming in unexpectedly. She
turned back, looking at the chaos that was her room. But all that really
mattered was the bed. Grabbing the few boxes and parcels left on the covers,
she dropped them on the floor.

The
food was still there, the capons cooled now on their covered dish. She wasn’t
hungry, but she nibbled on a fig, and a piece of cheese. She poured half a
glass of wine, drank it slowly. It was dark outside, and she took the wine and
cheese onto the balcony. The garden below was quiet except for the soft rustle
of wind through the palms. She listened for a moment, then looked up at the
stars overhead. The moon was past full, hadn’t risen yet. The stars were
brilliant, thousands and thousands of them, brighter than any of the diamonds
in her jewelry.

As
she watched, one streaked across the sky, a comet, a bright fuzzy tail
streaking behind it. Before it disappeared she closed her eyes and made a wish.

“With
all my heart and all my soul, make it so Gabriel and I can be together. Make it
so this marriage to the Ottway never happens.”

When
she opened her eyes the comet was gone. But she felt different, as if the world
had moved a few degrees in her favor. As if whatever deity riding the comet had
heard her.

But
she was chilled and went back to her bed, pulling a mohair shawl around her
shoulders. It was still early, really. She’d have some more cheese, another
fig. And wait. It had been very late when he’d come to her the first time, not
quite so late the last time.  And the moon rose later each night. There
was still time. Still there was time for him to come to her.

She
curled against the padded headboard, pulling the coverlet over her shoulders.
Her eyes felt heavy with sleep. She’d close her eyes, for just a minute. He’d
wake her, surely he’d wake her. He had before.

Her
eyes closed, and for a moment she heard his voice. But then she thought it was
only the wind. And the wind lulled her to sleep.

Someone
was knocking on the door, softly, but she heard it. She opened her eyes, coming
awake instantly, but in confusion. Gabriel never knocked at her door. And it
was light, the sky the lemon-yellow of early dawn, not the soft darkness of
night.

The
knocking started again, louder this time, and the door rattled against the
lock. Someone called her name. When she sat up, the empty wine glass fell to
the floor, breaking into shards. The bed was damp with spilled wine.

“Just
a minute.”

She
climbed out of bed, stepping around the broken glass. The plate of food was
still there, untouched. She refused to believe what she saw, there must be some
mistake. Or simply that it must still be the same day, it had to be. She’d
fallen asleep before dark; that was all. But she’d seen the comet crossing the
dark sky, made a wish on it.

But
she had to accept the truth; Gabriel had not come to her. He had stayed away.

“Senna.
Open the door.”

She
tied the robe closed, clasping the shawl around her shoulders and crossed to
the door. She turned the key. Anacelia was there, looking worried. Behind her
were several manservants, big strong men who waited patiently.

“Senna?
Are you well? You look pale as the moon.” Anacelia took Senna’s hand as she
stepped into the room.

“You,
wait there.” With her free hand she closed the door, leaving the men in the
hall.

“I’m
fine…really.” She didn’t feel fine, but she couldn’t admit she was dying inside
of disappointment. “I…I didn’t sleep well.”

“You
drank wine and didn’t eat. No wonder you slept badly. Here. Sit.”

Anacelia
brought the tray of food, setting aside the plate of capons. “Here. Cheese and
figs, and the date cake. It’s a bit dry, but it will do. You can’t start this
day weak with hunger.”

“I’ll
faint and then take to my bed.”

“They’ll
just carry you to the train. Senna, no one is going to wait for you to gain
your strength. Your wedding day is only two days after you arrive; the Ottway
will not stand for your delay. There have been plans made, guests arriving…a
feast at least.”

Senna
picked at the cake, nibbling on a piece. It stuck in her throat when she
swallowed and she coughed. Anacelia scurried away, returning with a cup of
water.

“Here.
Drink. And we must hurry. The train was seen only a short distance away.”

Anacelia
took up the brush, running it through Senna’s hair with vicious strokes. Senna
listened to the woman muttering about hair, and pins, and why they’d been
packed, what to use.

“At
least you bathed. After I tame this mess, we’ll get you into your traveling
costume.”

Senna
pulled a face, but a sharp tug from Anacelia’s brush silenced her words. “Fine.
I’ll wear the Ottway’s gift. It’s been repaired?”

“It
has.” Anacelia was working furiously, braiding and twisting and pinning. “And
put on your jewels. The gifts from the Ottway.”

Senna
took up rings, sliding them on several fingers, then managed to attach large
earrings while Anacelia jerked her head to and fro.

“And
that hateful corset? It’s horrid, too small. I’m not sure why the Ottway
thought I was a child, with no shape.”

At
that Anacelia laughed, her frantic brushing coming to a halt. “That, you will
be happy to learn, has mysteriously disappeared. You may wear one of your own.”

Senna
managed a smile. “Small favors. At least I’ll be able to breathe.” Senna
reached for a heavy silver necklace set aside from her own stash of packed
jewelry. She held it for a moment, then lifted it, set it against her neck.

“And
maybe it will improve your temper. Here, let me.” Anacelia took the ends of the
necklace, clasping it quickly.

Senna
drew a breath for a reprimand at Anacelia’s words, but she didn’t have the
heart today. Instead she reached for the little velvet bag on her dresser.

“Anacelia,
stop fussing with the hair for a minute.” She turned in the chair, reaching for
Anacelia’s hand. “Here. These are for you…” For a moment her throat closed
shut, the words choked off. She coughed again.

“These
are for you…”

The
brush hit the floor with a thud. Anacelia’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no, Senna. No.
You can’t…” Eyes on the bag, she took a step back as if it were a viper, poised
to strike. “Those are yours.”

“They
are mine. And they are mine to do with as I please. And…” She stood up, taking
a step, grabbing Anacelia’s hand, pressing the little bag into it. “And as
Princess, I command that you take these.”

Anacelia’s
eyes glistened with tears, but she reluctantly took the bag. It was clear she
wanted to look inside, but she clutched it tightly, then it disappeared into
the folds of her sari. “Senna. I will treasure these for the rest of my life.”
The woman stepped forward, hugging Senna. They stood for a long time, arms
around each other.

Finally,
Anacelia pushed away. “You must dress. Quickly. There are men in the hall
waiting.”

“Let
them wait.” But she dropped the shawl as Anacelia went to the wardrobe, pulling
out the hated traveling silks, handing over the white silk shift. Anacelia
turned away as Senna dropped her robe, pulled the silk over her head. It
fluttered around her body, and for a moment she longed for Gabriel to appear in
the archway, climb over and take her away from all of this.

But
he didn’t, and Anacelia helped her into the complicated layers of silks, and
finally her own corset. Anacelia laced and tightened it, but instead of stays
poking her in unfortunate places, the garment molded to her, waste cinched in
above the flair of her hips, the rise of her breasts covered with layers of
bright silk. Anacelia reached up, restraining the last thick coils of hair up
with pins. Then she helped Senna into detested silk veils, and then the
overcoat.

“I
feel like I’m wearing enough clothes for an army.” Already she was perspiring
beneath the corset. “I’m going to melt before I get to the train.”

Anacelia
slapped a fan into Senna’s hand. “Here. You know how to use this. And once the
train starts moving, there will be air moving. You’ll survive.”

Anacelia
bustled to the door, flinging it open. “In, in.” The men, leaning against the
wall, looked up in surprise, moving slowly into the room. “Hurry. Stop lazing
around out there.” She clapped her hands, and the men came to life. Senna stood
aside as Anacelia directed who was to take what, admonishing them to be
careful.

Finally,
the men had taken all her worldly possessions away. Oddly, once they were gone,
the boxes and trunks, the silks and gems and books, brass rolls of music and
windu-p music box—the music she fought over with her father, those things he
found so scandalous—once gone, they seemed trivial, meaningless. All she wanted
in the world was a man she could not have. And a man who, quite possibly, now did
not want her.

“You
must leave now, or you’ll be late. The Ottway’s train will surely be here by
now.”

Senna
let Anacelia bustle around, draping a jeweled shawl around her shoulders,
pressing the oft-forgotten sunshade into Senna’s hands. Then she stepped back,
casting a practiced eye over her charge.

“Fine.
You’ll do. Now, you need to hurry. Your carriage is waiting for you.” Anacelia
opened the door to the hall, all but pushing Senna ahead of her.

“Anacelia,
is the Ottway paying you to get me to the train on time?”

“No.
But it will fall on my head if you’re not dressed in the right clothes, and at
least in your carriage on time.”

Senna
hurried down the hall, afraid the woman would resort to pinching her to get her
moving.

But
Anacelia wasn’t following her. She was standing in the doorway to the room. The
woman’s intent gaze was familiar, but behind that Senna saw the shine of tears
in the woman’s brown eyes. Senna backtracked. 

“Anacelia.
What is it?”

“Nothing.
Or…everything.”

Anacelia
looked up, letting the tears fall. “I don’t know how to say good-bye to you. I
don’t want to. I want to just close the door and pretend you’re in the garden,
or with your father…”

Senna
dropped the sunshade, and pulled the woman into her arms. “I know…I feel the
same. There is so much here…everything that matters to me. I don’t want to go…I
don’t want to leave you.”

They
were both crying now and Senna thought it would be so easy to just push Anacelia
inside, lock them both in her room and ignore anyone who came looking for them.
They had capons and wine and date cake…

“Senna!
Daughter. What are you doing, still here? I’ve been waiting at your carriage.”

Anacelia
pulled out of Senna’s arms, stepping back into Senna’s room. Senna turned to
face her father, pulling herself up, straightening her shoulders. Her father
hated what he called weak posture. Now he took a step forward, bent down and
picked up the sunshade. He looked at it in puzzlement, then handed it to Senna.

“Thank
you. I was just…coming down. I…I forgot my sunshade.” Short of brandishing it
like a sword, she held it out for her father to see.

Her
father’s puzzlement grew, but he held out his arm. Senna took it and he
escorted her down the hall. Escort was what it might look like to everyone
standing in the hall or on the wide stairs, but to Senna it felt like the grip
of steel cuffs, a foreshadowing of her life with the Ottway. She walked past
the palace luminaries, the staff in the background—the dark looming figure of
the Prime Minister – without glancing at any of them.

But
she held her head high, and in a swirl of silks she let her father escort her
out of the palace onto the wide terrace. Beyond, the sun was shining brightly
and she gently disengaged her arm from her father’s. He scowled, but she waved
the sunshade, then opened it.

She
took the first steps down toward her carriage, leaving her father behind. There
were people watching from behind railings, but she ignored them, focusing on
her carriage, on the footman waiting with the little embroidered stool. The man
glanced up, then looked down, set the stool on the ground and stepped back,
waiting.

Then
the whole scene blurred in a film of tears. Among all the people assembled, ,
the one face she wanted to see was not there. Not among the shifters, not
masquerading as her footman, not the man wearing shiny goggles, ready to drive
her carriage. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.

“Your
Highness.” The footman bowed, held out his arm. She set her hand on his sleeve
and stepped up into the carriage. And it was empty. She struggled for a moment
with the sunshade, wishing suddenly to just throw it under the carriage and
have done with it. But she’d carry it, if for no other reason than Anacelia had
pressed it into her hands.

The
footman closed the door, then disappeared. A moment later she felt the rock of
the carriage as he climbed on the back. The driver got into his compartment,
and there was the ritual of starting the engine. With a hiss of steam, the
engine came to life. The driver adjusted his goggles and they lurched through
the gates of the palace.

She
tried to watch out the window, looking for a red sash or beret in the crowd,
but they were moving too fast. Sitting back, she tried to push away the sadness
and loss she felt. It was hard, but she’d be damned if she’d arrive at the
Ottway’s dominion tear-stained and pining for home, and what she’d left behind.
Or who.

The
carriage thumped over the grate and then picked up speed on the way to the
station. Dust swirled around the car, obscuring most of the view. Not that
there was anything to see. Aliens had come closer and closer to the palace, and
now there were these huge, ugly walls she hated. The road to the rail station,
once lined with date palms and fruit sellers with carts full of brilliant colored
oranges and lemons and melons, was now a dusty corridor with dead trees, more
walls, all to be traveled at top speed.

All
too soon, the carriage shuddered to a stop at the station. She waited for
someone to open the door, peering through the dust at the Ottway’s train,
belching great clouds of steam into the hot morning air. It had already been turned
around on the great roundabout, facing back the way it had come.

Finally,
the door opened and she leaned out, setting her hand on the footman’s arm, setting
her foot onto the stony ground. With the sunshade hooked over her arm, she let
the man escort her to the car she would be riding in to her new home.

He
set the footstool down and helped her up the steps. The door closed behind her,
and she was alone in the dim compartment. It took her a moment for her eyes to
adjust.

And
once they did, she realized she was in the same car she’d ridden home in the
last time she’d been on this train. The tapestries covering the divan were the
same, the rugs on the floor still bearing the imprints of the heels of her
slippers from her journey home. She was relieved to see her travel bag sitting
on the dusty carpet by the side of the divan. A small plate of cheeses and
fruit sat on a small table, along with a bottle of wine wrapped in a plain
silver container. It was basic, common, something far below her station. And
the car was dirty.