two halves of his psyche went to war. While his tiger was pushing him to hunt and kill, his human was arguing for restraint. Because he was in tiger form, it would be easy to go with the voice of his inner animal. His tiger instincts were strong, but he fought them. Reluctantly. Now was not the time. This was definitely not the place.
The werewolves had been given a powerful warning. They knew what they were dealing with. They would be back—tenacity was one of wolves’ strongest traits—but Khan would be ready for them.
With a feeling of resignation—a tiger always knew when to give up the hunt—he turned back toward Sarange’s house. He should shift back before he was seen. That way, his only problem would be that he was a naked man in the heart of Beverly Hills. That, and the fact that he needed to talk to Sarange about what she had just witnessed. He had hoped to ease her in gently to his shifter status. The werewolves had taken that opportunity away from him.
Shifting back, he kept to the shadows. Even in his human form, he retained elements of his inner cat. They showed through in his strength, speed and agility. When he had fought the four men back in Sarange’s bedroom, there was no hesitation. He had known he could take them on and beat them. Just as he knew now he could scale the wall surrounding her house. Nimble as his inner cat, he pulled himself up and over the wall, dropping into a crouch on the other side.
Khan’s eyes scoured the darkened yard, his keen vision easily picking out the security cameras. Sarange had live-in security, but no one had been roused by the arrival of four intruders. The werewolves had somehow bypassed her security system. His protective instincts went into overdrive again, his hands curling into the shape of tiger claws. If I hadn’t been here...
He forced his breathing back to a regular rhythm. He had been here. He would be here. But they still didn’t know what the werewolves wanted from her. All they knew for sure was this wasn’t a robbery. This was about Sarange.
Using the ornate shrubs and flowers as cover, he made his way across the yard. Stepping onto a patio table, he climbed from there onto the balcony. Swinging himself over the rail, he looked around for something to cover his nakedness. He couldn’t see anything. Maybe that was because his gaze was immediately captured by an ice-blue stare.
Arms folded across her chest, Sarange was standing in the doorway, blocking his entrance to the room. “You can start talking now.”
“I was hoping to shower first. Maybe find some clothes.”
“You turned into a tiger.” He wasn’t sure whether the wobble in her voice was caused by anger or shock. It didn’t matter. She kept going, coming toward him until he was pressed up against the balcony rail and she had to tilt her chin to look up at him. “I need to know what’s going on.”
He caught hold of her upper arms, and as soon as he touched her, she collapsed into his arms. The feel of her body against his drove every other thought out of Khan’s mind, and a harsh groan of surrender was dragged from him. His whole body was entranced by her. His eyelids half closed as if weighted and he lowered his head, compelled by a force beyond his control to graze Sarange’s lips with his.
I don’t want to control this.
The instant his mouth touched hers, their ragged breathing united in a single rhythm. Sarange melted into him, nuzzling his lips with her own. He clutched her tighter to his wildly beating heart, deepening a kiss that left Khan reeling. Achingly tender, it should have been unique. So why the hell did it feel so familiar?
His body was on fire, his arousal in danger of reaching epic proportions. Khan needed to regain control of the situation. But he was naked, with a beautiful woman in his arms. Restraint, never easy for him, was getting harder by the second.
“I’m hungry.” He murmured the words into her hair.
“I can tell.” She glanced down at his erection. In the moonlight, he could see a blush staining her cheekbones.
Khan groaned as temptation almost got the better of him. He pressed his forehead to hers. “No, I really am hungry. For food. Shifting affects me that way.”
“Shifting?” She wrinkled her brow. “Is that what you call it when you change?”
“Yes. I’m a shape-shifter.”
She was silent for a moment. When she raised her eyes to his, the anger was gone. He wasn’t sure he could name the emotions that replaced it. There was a healthy dose of understandable confusion, but he thought he could see acceptance. Of what, he wasn’t sure. His shifter self? Or of them?
“Take a shower. The security guards have spare uniforms. I’ll see if I can find something to fit you. Although—” there was that blush again “—you are very big. Then we’ll go down to the kitchen. You can talk while you eat.”
* * *
Khan had already eaten the remains of a cold chicken, a quiche and a bowl of potato salad. He had washed this feast down with a half quart of milk. Now he was prowling the kitchen, opening cupboards and regarding Sarange with a look of dismay. “No cookies?”
“I don’t really eat sweet things.”
“Let me guess.” He pointed to the chicken carcass. “You’d rather eat the meat than the salad. You like your steak rare. No one ever quite cooks it bloody enough for you, am I right?”
She blinked at him, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling slightly. On one level, it didn’t matter how she liked her steak. On another, it was scary that Khan could somehow get inside her head and know that much detail about her.
“Is your special tiger sense telling you that?” What else is it telling you? Is it telling you who those men—those werewolves—are, and what they want with me?
Khan came to sit on a stool next to her at the counter. “I’m not sure I have a special sense. Maybe it was a lucky guess.”
She shook her head. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“I know.”
He gazed into space, gathering his thoughts, and she took a moment to study him. The sweatpants and T-shirt she had found were stretched tight over his bulging muscles, and his hair was still damp from the shower. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she could see the tiger in the man. It was there in the tawny tint of his hair, the broad, arrogant nose, the fiery gold eyes. In the lines of his body, she could see the coiled strength of the mighty beast, the long, lithe sinews and the powerful muscles. Most of all, she could see it in his mannerisms. Khan was a cat. He was the ultimate rebel. His movements were all stealth and grace.
He was breathtaking, and yet...he was the opposite of everything she had believed she wanted in a man. In the past, she had never admired flashy good looks and strength. She’d have run a mile from a promiscuous narcissist like Khan. So why did it feel like everything, her whole life, her next breath—who I am—was wrapped up in this man?
Was that why she had accepted his shape-shifting, if not with ease, at least with composure? Although her mind was still struggling to make sense of what she had seen, she had felt no real surprise or skepticism. Instead there had been a sense of “So that’s what this is all about.”
Yet a man to whom she was attracted—more, this was so much more than straightforward attraction—had changed into a tiger before her eyes. She should be cowering in a corner at least. Probably there should be screaming involved. Sitting next to him, gazing at him as if her whole world hinged on his next breath, was possibly not the most sensible approach to how this night was unfolding.
Sarange had a feeling she had waved goodbye to sensibility around the time she first set eyes on Khan.
“I’m not an expert on the history of shape-shifters.” When he turned back to face her, the smile in his eyes undid her. Took everything she was and unraveled it. Sarangerel Tsedev came apart and became...just his. “You would need to talk to Ged if you want an in-depth analysis.”
“I want to know about you. Anyone else can wait. Start