Vibrations against my chest jerk me awake. My phone with the incoming call displayed on the screen slides off my body. I snatch the cell before it hits the hardwood floor and answer. “Hello?”
“Did Ilan name the baby yet?”
At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, I stiffen. My gaze lands on the sleeping newborn resting peacefully in the bassinet, then I slip from the living room down the narrow hallway to my bedroom and close the door so as not to wake him. “Who is this?”
“A friend.”
I’m not going to fall for that again. “Not one of mine.”
The man’s laugh is low, deeper than Ilan’s and more of a grunt than a sign of amusement. “Of course not, little human. I don’t associate with your kind unless I have to.”
The hairs on my arm stand up. I’m talking to a shifter. I flick my gaze to the door. If Ezra wasn’t still being stubborn and remaining in his jaguar form, I’d have him talk to this man. Ezra’s sulked downstairs since Ilan left, however.
“My kind?” I force a laugh that sounds as strained as I feel. “If you’re pranking me, this conversation ends here and your number’s getting blocked.”
“You’d be foolish to block a friend’s number when death is coming.”
Gripping my phone tighter, I move to the window and push the curtain aside. My partial view of St. Michael’s church strengthens me. I saw enough death yesterday to last me a lifetime. “You have two seconds to tell me who you are and why you’re calling before I hang up.”
“A friend, and I want to know what Ilan named the baby.”
My jaw aches from clenching it. “Stop playing games with me. I don’t know what baby you’re talking about.”
“The one in your living room. I’m assuming that’s where you’ve stashed him, anyway. It’s the only room without windows.”
A chill slips over me. I ease away from my bedroom window, letting the curtain fall into place, and take backward steps to the door. I don’t care what mood Ezra is in. He needs to hear this conversation with this shifter who knows too much about my house and Ilan’s nephew.
Casting a glance at the sleeping baby, I tiptoe down the hall and through the living room to the stairwell door.
“Aren’t you going to speak, little female? I know you’re still there. I hear you breathing.”
“I’m still here.” I open the door and make my way down the stairs.
“Then tell me what I need to know. Is the baby well? Does he have a name?”
Why is this strange shifter so concerned about Ilan’s nephew? Because that is concern I hear in his voice. I’m sure of it.
I zero in on where Ezra’s jaguar form is standing at the base of the stairwell, then jog down the rest of the stairs. No longer do I fear the predator in my house. He’s my protector, just as Ilan promised. I need Ezra to act as one now. Except he’s not shifting into his human form. I drop to my knees next to him and tilt the phone slightly. Hopefully, Ezra will be able to hear.
“If you’d rather face death alone, I’ll retrieve the baby and leave you and Ilan to your fate.” The voice on the line hardens. I’m angering him. I’d bet money on it.
Ezra’s yellow cat eyes focus on me. I’ll take that as a sign he’s listening. “I’m not answering your questions until I have your name.”
“I’m Ilan’s father.”
I look to Ezra for some indication of whether it’s possible this is Ilan’s father on the line. From what I picked up from Ilan’s conversations, he doesn’t have anyone besides his brother Gabriel. Ezra’s steady stare doesn’t give me anything to go on either.
“Then why aren’t you talking to him?” Most fathers would call their son before some random woman for information. At least I would assume they would.
“Because death hasn’t arrived yet. You still have a chance to escape it.” The man’s voice lowers as if conveying a secret. “It’s too late for Ilan, but I want you to take the baby with you. Save him from the life awaiting him. I have no desire to raise another Kane.”
Ezra’s ears tip back. His head lowers. Still he doesn’t shift. I may as well be on my own.
A slow breath calms my racing heart. “What life is awaiting him?”
The shifter’s hoarse laugh fills the line. “The same Ilan has lived, one built on the foundation of those he’s killed.”
Ezra leans against my legs as if he knows those words chill me. I rest my free hand on his back, using him to steady myself.
“You’re speaking in riddles. I know nothing of death coming.” It came and went already, leaving three dead at Ilan’s house. And he saved me from becoming the fourth. If Ilan’s built his life on saving people like me, I won’t condemn him for it. This world he lives in isn’t black and white. Even I see that, and I haven’t known about shifters long.
“You will know it intimately if you stay. Pack up the baby and leave. Now. I’ll meet you in Charleston. Crescent Moon Tavern. Ask for Jarah.”
The call cuts. My hand trembles as I lower it. I glance into Ezra’s cat eyes. Nothing recognizable shows in them. I can’t read a jaguar’s expression. “Shift and talk to me, Ezra. What do you know of this man claiming to be Ilan’s father?”
Ezra turns and climbs the stairs. His tail curls around the edge of the door, pulling it partially closed behind him. He ignored my question. Dismissed me.
With my free hand balled into a fist, I storm up the stairs, ready to give the stubborn shifter some advice about women. Because ignoring them is not the way to go. At the archway between my living room and kitchen, I stop. Ezra, in his human form, is sitting on a kitchen chair with a dish rag over his groin. A tiny dish rag.
My face warms. At least Ezra won’t see the blush that’s no doubt darkened my cheeks. The small square of cotton over his penis draws attention to the fact that he’s very naked and, if I’m honest with myself, very fit. Whoever ends up with him will be one very satisfied woman.
“Let me preface this by saying I don’t know Ilan well. He’s more of an acquaintance than a friend.”
Ezra’s voice is rough, as if he’s not used to speaking. Of course, he probably doesn’t talk to people much if he spends a lot of time in his animals’ forms.
I peek into the living room, checking on the sleeping baby, then slip my phone into my pocket and take a chair opposite Ezra. “Ilan treats you as if you’re his friend.”
“I’m an Alexander.”
“An Alexander? As in that’s your last name?” It’s the most logical guess anyway, but I’m learning not to assume anything in Ilan’s world.
“Last name. Pride name.” Ezra nods. “It defines my loyalties and enemies. Ilan is important to Dante. Dante is important to my pride.”
“So Ilan is important to you.” I finish the obvious conclusion to his statement.
“Yes.” Ezra waves an arm, nearly knocking over a water bottle I left on the table. “Which is why I’m here, trapped in this man-made structure with innocents.”
I grab the water and take a sip before recapping the bottle. The deliberate action gives me a chance to plan my next words. I’m not a therapist, but I enjoy helping people. The empathy comes in handy working in a bar. People come to drown their sorrows as often as they stop in to have a good time. “You don’t spend much time with humans, do you?”
“I’m blind.” Ezra leans over the table. “Makes it a little hard to interact with them.”
“That’s an excuse.”
Ezra bares a mouthful of feline fangs at me and hisses.
I jerk back, the plastic bottle crunching. Water spills over my arm, wetting my flannel shirt. I ease my tight grip on the water bottle and wipe my wet sleeve on my legs. “Humans go blind too. Saying you don’t know how to interact is an excuse. Blind humans interact just fine around other people.”
“It’s not an excuse.” The harsh bite to his words matches the bitter expression he wears. “It’s the truth.”
Like this, Ezra’s an open book. Makes picking my words easier, and while I dread the ones I’ll say next, they need to be spoken. Ezra doesn’t strike me as the type of man who wants to be coddled. He’d rather wallow in self-pity. That’s a lonely place to stay.
“The truth is you’re making excuses for your behavior. Now the only question is… Why?” I set the mutilated water bottle on the table and lean forward, matching Ezra’s pose. “Do you want to hear my guesses?”
“No.” The word drops hard between us. “Don’t worry about my fate when yours is hanging on the line.”
The reason Ezra shifted into his human form returns, bringing back my concern and worry. Part of me doesn’t want to uncover the answer even though I’m the one who demanded Ezra tell me everything he knows.
My shoulders slumping, I dip my chin. “Then give me answers. Do I need to worry about death coming with Ilan involved? He seemed certain he’d find that other lion shifter.”
“I’m sure he will. I doubt that’s what Jarah’s referring to.”
“Is Jarah Ilan’s father?”
“Biologically, no.” Ezra sits back. “But Jarah is as much a parent to Ilan as you will be to that baby in the other room.”
My gaze strays to the darkened living room. Without windows, it stays dim, even in the daytime. I’ve spent many days sleeping there after closing the bar at three and crawling into bed at close to daybreak. The room is also perfect for a newborn who needs to sleep and eat as much as possible. And his slumber gives me a chance to take advantage of Ezra’s willingness to talk.
“Jarah’s trustworthy, then?” If so, I can’t help but wonder why he wants me and the baby away from Ilan.
“I’ve never met Jarah. Few people have. He’s an ancient.” Ezra slides forward and feels for the edge of the table before dropping his elbows on it. “And I mean that literally, Sara. He’s one of the oldest Royals walking this earth. A firstborn.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “But Jarah wants to see me.”
“Sounds that way.”
“Why?” The single word tightens my chest with a wave of anxiety.
“He told you. Death is coming.”
“But what does that mean?”
Ezra shrugs. “Could mean many things considering we’re talking about Ilan. He is death.”
A rock drops in my belly. I exhale slowly. It doesn’t help. I feel as though I’ve been punched in the stomach. “He’s death? Can you explain that a little more, please?”
“Ilan’s an assassin, but he’s also known as an angel of death or an angel of the Host.”
Assassin.
The word stabs me in the chest, right over my heart. Or at least that’s what it feels like. I press the heel of my hand against the ache there. Ilan’s betrayed me. Made me think he was honorable. That he was a good guy who saved humans and babies.
The image of Ilan holding the little boy in the next room returns and pushes out the disturbing implications of Ilan actually being an assassin.
“Ilan’s an assassin.” There’s doubt in my voice, but I have to speak the truth. I can’t see Ezra lying about something like this.
“Many of our kind revere the angels of death, treating them almost as kings or actual deities.” A soothing quality slips into Ezra’s voice as if he knows how much his announcement shook me. “It’s said that if you look an angel in the eye, death has passed over you. At least that day.”
I latch on to Ezra’s explanation and twine it into the memory of Ilan with his nephew. “So he’s not a bad guy, then?”
Ezra laughs, a deep, rich sound. “Shifters are predators pretending to be humans, Sara. We’re all a little bad. We kill what threatens our loved ones, just as the wild animals we house would if they roamed free. Ilan takes it a step further and kills whoever he’s told needs to die. No questions asked. I don’t know if that makes him bad or not. That’s only something you can decide.”
Pushing against the edge of the table, Ezra stands. The dish rag slips. I jerk my gaze to his face. He plants his hands on the table and leans close. “And you better decide quickly. Ilan will bite you the minute he gets you naked. I don’t doubt that for a second. You’re his. He won’t want to lose you.”
I resist the urge to touch my shoulder. While I examined the vicious-looking bite the minute Ilan left with Dante and Uri, I haven’t had a chance to consider what it means other than a wicked scar from an overzealous boyfriend. If that’s what Ilan is to me. We never got a chance to talk after he kissed me…after he bit me. Covering the bite and focusing on what had to be done was more important. Now, though? I want to know what Ilan’s bite means, even if I have to get my answers from someone else.
“Bite me?” I lick my lips and hope I sound curious and not guilty. “As in, sink his fangs into me?”
“Yes. Here.” Ezra slaps his hand over the spot where his shoulder meets his neck. “He’ll bite you here, claiming you as his.”
“And what exactly does it mean to be claimed by him?”
Ezra’s features pinch, the confused look softening this rough man’s features. “It’ll mean you’re his, but if that’s not something you want, take Jarah’s offer. He’ll make sure death doesn’t find you when it comes here. I believe that. While I don’t know him, his name is well known. His word is law. He is the Host.”
“I don’t know. I—”
“Think about it.” Ezra cuts me off. “And if you decide to leave, I’ll even go with you to Charleston. As a human.”
For a man who doesn’t interact with humans, Ezra’s offer is immense. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
A small dip of his chin is the only response I get. His image fades. A lion’s replaces it. A dark shaggy mane to match Ezra’s messy hair brushes against my arm as he turns and heads into the living room. He settles in front of the bassinet, and I make my way to my bedroom.
With the door closed, I step in front of the mirror and unbutton the top few buttons on my flannel, then push the soft material away from the four raised points of the bite Ilan left on me. While Ezra’s offer was significant, it came too late. There’s no denying my situation.
I’ve been claimed by an assassin.