It was that damned tabloid reporter’s fault. Somehow a handful of scientists had gained access to blood and tissue samples from werekind. Sara Beth didn’t believe for one second this had happened by accident—someone inside the community had to be responsible. The world’s shapeshifters had kept their existence secret far too long for a small group of humans to accidentally discover them. Most of the scientific and news communities had dismissed the findings, but Jeff Nichols, the crackpot journalist, was all over the story.

Worse, he’d identified her as a werewolf. A werewolf! The wolves were descendants of King Lycaon, who, along with his sons had been granted the ability to shift by the Greek god Zeus. They were completely unrelated to the foxes, who’d been created by ancient Germanic gods as warriors. Their common ancestor was Reginhard. As the legends and fables were passed from generations and crossed cultures, Reginhard became the surname of the werefox alpha, Reynard.

She had no idea how Nichols had stumbled on her, but he could at least get the story straight. She was a fox, dammit, not some overgrown, bad-tempered puppy. Her clan thought it was hilarious. The whole mess appealed to them. After all, foxes were known as pranksters in most mythology. Of course, they weren’t the ones with their faces plastered all over those awful rags, were they?

She heard a truck crank up and—glancing out the window—saw it drive away. She finished washing the grout off her hands and hurried upstairs. The house was almost finished. She’d come to see how the final stages were progressing and had been roped into assisting with tiling the kitchen backsplash. Truthfully, she didn’t mind. It was the kind of thing she loved and also the reason she’d got degrees in architecture and design. After school, she’d joined the family construction business. She’d only been in charge of the residential side of the company for three years, but she’d been working in it since she was a kid.

The stairs opened onto a large landing that had been designed at the client’s request as a library/lounge area. The second story had natural teak floors, which contrasted nicely with the crisp white built-in bookcases that surrounded the landing. The bedrooms on either side of the library differed only in color. She went through the guest room before moving to the opposite end of the landing to the master suite. She’d given the client exactly what he wanted and had to admit the man had good taste.

The back wall was all windows and French doors that led to a balcony, which stretched the length of the house. The room had a sitting area in an alcove that managed to feel private even though it was open, and the bathroom was to die for. She took her time checking it out. It was done in warm earth tones, had a huge walk-in shower and a tub she was convinced would hold four. It was positively decadent. Sighing, she flipped off the light switch and went back downstairs.

In contrast to the traditional upstairs, the first story looked like something out of a slick urban magazine. The floors were polished concrete and the front half of the house was an open living, dining and kitchen area. A small guest bath was tucked into a short hall which led to the final room. The house featured the first studio she’d built for a working artist and so far it was the least-finished room. Only the floors and walls were complete. She had an appointment with the artist later in the week to discuss work surfaces and storage areas.

She heard the front door close as more of the guys left and hastened to follow them. As soon as she stepped outside, she felt watched. Damn, she was getting sick of this. She let her fox side rise to the surface and sharpen her vision, but she didn’t see anything or anyone who didn’t belong when she looked around. Was danger really lurking or was she just paranoid? It seemed ludicrous to believe someone was watching her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling. She decided to swing by her parents’ house. One of her brothers was bound to be there for lunch. It would be easy to rope one into having a look around.

She stepped off the porch to the sidewalk, giving the area another visual sweep. Nothing looked suspicious. There were a couple of guys getting in a truck and another couple on the far side of the yard, packing up the tools by the new retaining wall. She waved as she headed toward her own vehicle. She’d arrived late and had to park a bit down the street.

It was broad daylight, bright and growing chilly as the first storm of the season moved in. She felt like she was walking through town alone at night, though. She dug her keys out of her pocket, eyeing the tree line beside her, and activated the remote when she was in range. By then her senses were screaming. She took a deep breath to test the air. At first all she scented was woods, the last honeysuckle of the season and fresh cut grass. Then there was the faintest hint of man. When the scent’s owner stepped out from behind a tree, she cried out, more from surprise than fear.

She was damned glad she had when she met his gaze and took another deep breath. His scent was putrid in a way she’d learned to associate with violence. Malevolence. His eyes glittered, his expression anticipatory. He was several inches taller than her, bulky the way bodybuilders were, balding and scary as hell. Then he lunged for her. Her heart thudded in her chest and she backpedaled, just managing to stay on her feet and pivot to run away. She had agility and a shifter’s heightened speed on her side, but if the last two guys on today’s crew—both werewolves—hadn’t been so close she would have been caught. She felt something sting her shoulder through the thin long-sleeved shirt she wore. The two shifters, raced toward her in human form, yelling her name. She made it another couple of steps before her knees went out and her vision dimmed.

His lip curled in derision. His scorn wasn’t even at taking up with a human associated with the werewolves. That was bad enough. Hell, his youngest brother had gone further and mated a werewolf. No, it was because Jason was completely whipped. It was one thing to shack up with a woman. His practiced eye looked her over, and she was one hell of a woman, but mating? Mating made you weak. Mating made you stupid. He’d seen it over and over again the last few months as each of his brothers fell. Definitely not for him.

Calling on his experience as the family’s security expert, he schooled his expression into one of disinterest and got out of the car. The north Florida humidity hit him like a blow. Dolphin territory. Even in early winter it was warm and balmy. How could anyone live here? The leopard clan claimed everything west of the Mississippi, and he’d be glad to get back to his own land and more specifically home, to the family’s resort, Refuge, in the Arizona desert. At least they had seasons.

Scanning the area as he walked, he strode through the yard. Scrub and small trees. There was nothing appealing in it and its proximity to the wolves just made it worse. The Gulf Coast may belong to the dolphins, but almost everything east of the Mississippi was wolf land. Jason had escaped here after Celeste’s alleged death and other than finding her alive hadn’t had much luck with the place. This was the area where Jason had a fought a werewolf and a hurricane. The need to take action also ruffled his fur.

As he approached, the couple moved. Jason came to meet him at the porch’s edge while Celeste remained seated on the hammock. She watched him warily, suspicion and unease clear on her face. Nico tried to force some of the predator that lived in him farther below the surface. He needed answers from the woman. Scaring her silly was unlikely to get them.

“Brother.” Jason stood with his feet braced apart and his arms crossed over his chest. “What brings you here?”

It was like that, was it? Could be he had the cool reception coming. He hadn’t been very diplomatic the last time they spoke, but his focus was single-minded. He cocked an eyebrow.

“You know why I’m here.”

He and his brother both looked at Celeste. She shifted under the double scrutiny, and Nico was shocked to see her expression and body language change. Gone was the timid mouse, replaced by someone harder, someone bolder. A she-wolf readying to protect her own. He wondered why that image popped into his mind. Her family may be wolves, descendants of King Lycoan and his one hundred sons granted the ability to shift into wolves by Zeus, but she was human. That must be it.

She stood, and he approached, forcing his features to relax, hoping his smile wasn’t a grimace. When he’d first met her over a year ago, she would have shrunk back from his advance regardless. Now she stood her ground, eyes stony. Jason joined her, and she took his hand. Nico noticed it was shaking a little. Not as brave as she pretended to be, but there was no smell of fear from her, no sign of retreat. He had to admire her backbone.

“Celeste. It’s good to see you well.”

She nodded. Curtly. Once. “Thank you.”

He sighed. This was going to be more difficult that he’d anticipated. He turned to his brother, forcing his voice to be free of censure. “I had to come. Dad wouldn’t have given up on any of us.”

Instantly, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Jason stiffened, his eyes growing glacial and a low growl welling in his throat. Nico’s statement hadn’t only accused his brother of giving their father up for dead but also his mate. He was relieved when Celeste slid her hand up the inside of Jason’s arm and calmed the beast lurking inside him. She turned cold, angry eyes on him.

“I do have one thing that may help you.” She held up a hand to hold off the questions rushing through his mind. “Inside.”

He followed them to a small kitchen and sat at the table she pointed out. Jason sat across from him and glowered. Nico was on thin ice here in the warm southern winter. Celeste poured three cups of coffee and placed a bowl of sugar on the center of the table. When she would have taken her own seat, Jason pulled her into his lap. She sat there easily, and Nico ignored the twist in his gut. He didn’t want that. The easy companionship. The warm willing woman who would always be his responsibility.

He stirred sugar into his cup and waited for her to speak. The silence stretched, and when he looked up again she had a faraway look on her face. He cleared his throat, and she jerked. Jason’s arms tightened around her waist, and he glared at Nico. Celeste rubbed circles on his arm and whispered in his ear. He relaxed, but only marginally. Nico almost sighed again. He didn’t like this armed truce that had developed between him and his brothers. Celeste twisted and looked him in the eye.

“I don’t remember anything. That hasn’t changed. No amount of badgering me is going to change that either.”

It was irritation not awkwardness that made him want to fidget. There was no way being dressed down by this human slip of a woman embarrassed him. He forced himself to sit still. He needed her information too badly to go cat on her right now. She was the sole—and surprise—survivor of the plane crash that had taken his father’s life. But if the human had lived in secrecy, why not the wereleopard leader?

“I don’t remember,” she emphasized again. Did he imagine the apology in her voice? “But my dad finally told me that it was the birds who found me. The plane…went down in their territory. It was a Messenger—Ajax Petros—who found me and notified my family.”

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. The birds who made up the Messenger Corps were reputed to all be trained fighters and they zealously protected the neutrality of the group. This Messenger though, this Ajax Petros, kept popping up, kept feeding his family pieces of information. Now it appeared she had another connection to them, a more tangible connection. He was the only Leonidas brother not to meet her yet, and he was damned curious. He’d been on his way to see her when he’d decided to visit Jason first. Now he was glad he did—it provided the perfect excuse to enter bird territory.

It was a start. It was something to go on. He knew the crash was on bird land, of course, but other than a video they’d sent only after he badgered them into it, he knew almost nothing about it. Now he had a name to go by at least.

“Thank you, Celeste,” he said gently. Looking at the tense lines around her eyes, he had an idea how much it cost her to try to remember that time. He stayed only long enough to be polite. Determined to find answers. Determined to find the truth.

He guided his vehicle into a space next to the Honda. Grabbing his binoculars, he stepped out. He’d just run up the dune and scan the beach for stragglers. He made it to the front bumper of the truck before he froze, assaulted by familiar smells.

Fear. Blood. Celeste.

Not fucking possible.

Celeste was gone, taken from him in the cruelest way—forever. He must have finally lost what was left of his mind.

Over the wail of the wind, he heard a low mewling sound, like a kitten in pain, and he lurched into movement, quickly circling the compact car. A small figure lay on the ground, a woman with long blonde hair matted red with blood.

Celeste’s hair. Celeste’s scent.

Celeste is dead you idiot. Get it together.

Fur ruffled under his skin as he approached her. The logical thinking man knew Celeste was gone. The wereleopard who lived on instinct insisted this was its mate, and someone had hurt her.

He growled, low and threatening, man and leopard beginning to merge in growing fury when he knelt and carefully rolled her over.

Celeste…alive.

His chest tightened when he brushed the hair off her face, but he pushed all conflicting emotions away. No time for that now—he had to get her to safety. What the hell was she doing here anyway?

He easily lifted her and carried her to his truck. The driver’s side door was still open, and he maneuvered his way in while holding her against his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath, dragging her scent deep into his lungs. A feeling he could only describe as joy overwhelmed him, and he choked on a sob. In any other circumstances he would have laughed. Big, bad, Jason Leonidas crying like a baby? But she was alive. How many times had he wished he could change the past? How many times had he wished he could go back and insist she not get on that damned plane?

Fury replaced the joy. Where the fuck had she been? She’d abandoned her mate. She’d let him think she was dead. The only thing that kept him from shaking her awake and demanding answers was her sudden moan of pain. He held her too tightly, knew she’d probably bear bruises later from his rough embrace. Gently, he laid her across the bench seat, resting her head on his lap.

He cranked the engine, put the truck in drive and headed for the ranger cabin where they would ride out the storm. He glanced down at her, ran a finger over his mark on her shoulder. Together again. Together at last.

She stirred, agitated, but remained unconscious, and he frowned. How long had she been out? Smoothing his hand over her hair, he murmured, “Shh, baby. Almost there.”

His voice seemed to soothe her, and she settled. Within minutes, he’d stopped the truck and carried her into the small building he called home. He paused in the living room, wondering if he should lay her on the couch. Hell no. She was his mate—she belonged in his bed. A few steps down the hall and he was striding into his room. He pulled the blanket back, laid her down and stepped away.

He struggled to get his mind past the shock of her presence. He needed to have a look at the wound on her head, clean it up and see if he could wake her. Forcing himself to focus, he gritted his teeth and stared down at her. How had he missed the impossibly small bikini? Even that was too much concealment though, and he wanted it gone, wanted her uncovered and exposed to his hungry gaze. He remembered too well what the scraps of material covered. The small perfect breasts. The generously rounded hips and hot pussy that always welcomed him, no matter how he’d previously loved her. His cock sprang to hard, throbbing attention. She groaned again, rolling her head against the pillow and spurring him to action. First things first.

He got his emergency kit, a clean cloth and a bowl of cool water. Placing the items on the nightstand, he shifted her over enough that he could sit next to her and dipped the cloth in the water. The wound was on her right temple, and he cleaned it as gently as possible while still being thorough. She’d been hit with something, and the gash was long but not deep. The butterfly bandages in the kit would be fine to close it, but first he had to make sure there was no sand in the wound. His biggest concern was concussion, but that worry was alleviated as he worked. Her breathing was even and steady, and once her eyes fluttered open to focus on him for a few seconds. He was pleased to see no dilation in her pupils. She closed them with a sigh. It was her scent, however, that really eased his mind. He didn’t catch one whiff of anything that would indicate an injury in her brain. It had been a glancing blow. It was probably a combination of the heat, surprise and the hit that had her sleeping so soundly. She’d be fine in a couple hours.

When he was sure the cut was cleaned, he disinfected the area, pressed the edges together, and sealed it shut. He exchanged the bloodied cloth for an unsoiled one and refilled the bowl with clean water. Sitting next to her on the bed, his hip against hers, he hesitated. Cleaning the wound was one thing, cleaning the rest of her might be out of line. But fuck, it had been a long time, and he couldn’t not touch her.

After dipping the washcloth, he bathed her face, the fine high cheekbones, the perky nose, the stubborn chin he’d loved beyond reason. He frowned when he saw the long scar up the side of her cheek. It hadn’t been there before. His gaze raked her body, lingering over the flat smooth belly and the faded scars that crisscrossed the top of her bathing suit bottoms. There were more scars on her legs, and he gently wiped away crusted sand from her knees while he thought it over. She hadn’t had any of these scars the last time he’d seen her, but it had been awhile since the plane crash. Her injuries had time to fade like these.

He searched his memory of that time and knew he paled under his deep tan. His father’s death in the same crash hadn’t registered for months. He’d been mad with grief and consumed by fury at Celeste’s family when they told him she’d died in that crash, for refusing to let him see her body. He’d blamed them for her death, still did, despite the proof she was alive.