J. Geissinger - Shadow’s Edge

Jenna stood poised at the arched doorway, one hand resting lightly against the head of a marble statue of a muscled panther in midleap. The other trailed slowly down the narrow, cinched curve of her waist outlined beneath the scarlet red Valentino gown he’d told her not to wear, but had known she would exactly because of it.

She was serene, smiling mysteriously as if she hadn’t a care in the world, as if she were not facing down an entire room full of eager beasts ready to pounce on her at a moment’s provocation, the living dark heart of the tribe gathered as one to bear witness to her glory.

Or her imminent destruction.

She was always beautiful, in his memories, in his best fantasies. But now she became, with the candlelight marking her skin and the shadows dancing over her face and body in layer upon silky layer, something searingly magical and poetic, like the brilliance of a sunbeam slicing through a thundercloud.

She wore her hair madonna-loose, tumbling in gorgeous honeyed waves down over her bare shoulders, over the milky white contours of her throat and chest and arms that stood in perfect contrast to the vivid hue of her gown.

A part of his mind—the part that could still think, that was not dazed by her magic—noted her sensual, knowing smile, the look of calm control in which she took all of them in, a roomful of silent and deadly accusers.

She shifted her weight. The high slit in her gown slithered open, revealing one long, bare expanse of perfectly toned and curved leg, which ended in a delicate high-heeled sandal of crimson red. He felt the beat of his heart as his gaze moved over that finely turned ankle, up that bare calf and knee and thigh so familiar in his memory, familiar from the erotic, aching dreams that wrung him dry night after night like a poison that ate through his blood.

Mine , he thought, hungry. The word flooded him with something like despair.

Her eyes found his across the room. Her sensual smile now deepened to something distinctly provocative.

Christian exhaled through his teeth, a soft whoosh of astonishment, and it broke the spell.

Leander stepped forward, the blood pumping back into his heart. He crossed the silent ballroom, people falling back, agog, to let him pass. He came to a stop a few feet away from her, close enough to smell her subtle perfume of fresh air and winter roses, close enough to reach out and stroke her arm.

With concentrated effort, he restrained himself from touching her. He gave a little bow instead. “Jenna,” he said, smooth and light, “you’ve decided to join us. I’m happy to see you.”

Her lips quirked. A fleeting shadow crossed her face, then disappeared. She reclaimed her composure with a toss of her head. “Well, I do hate to miss a party,” she said, equally light. She fixed him with a level gaze, her chin lifting. “And I was growing tired of the enforced solitude.”

Someone new approached, but Leander was unable to look away from her.

She was safe. She was here, standing so blithe and beautiful in front of him, having somehow gotten past her retinue of guards. She appeared unhurt—more than unhurt, she appeared luminous. Exquisitely so. And oddly confident. Recklessly confident, he would say, in light of the current circumstances.

He felt every eye in the room burning like firebrands into his back.

But she remained as if separated from them all by a layer of glass: serene, unperturbed, as if she thought herself nothing more than a curiosity in a museum case, a shrunken head brought back from the deepest bowels of the Amazon, on display for all to see.

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“Careful, love,” he said, his voice stroking. “They’re all looking for any reason to lock you up and throw away the key. Don’t give them one.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow in return, cool and haughty as Cleopatra before the Romans. “They? Not you ?”

He smiled, very slightly, in spite of himself. “My reasons are different from theirs, of that I can assure you,” he murmured. He held her gaze for what felt like an eternity, willing her to respond, to give him any clue she felt anything at all for him.

But naturally she gave him nothing but a chilly smile and her perfect profile as she turned her head to the person now upon them.

“Jenna.” Morgan glided to a stop next to his elbow. “You look lovely.” Leander saw the two of them exchange a secret, knowing smile.

“It’s my favorite, I think,” Jenna said, offhand. She smoothed her palm over the layers of ruched silk gathered just under the bodice, at the swell of her breast where it met the upper part of her ribcage. “I’ve never been partial to red, but this one...well, the fit is perfect.” She glanced sidelong at Leander, her smile warming almost imperceptibly. “For some strange reason, I just love it.”

“May I get you something to drink?” Morgan asked her, deferential.

“Champagne?” Jenna replied, still smiling. “That seems rather appropriate, don’t you think?” Morgan nodded, her lips mashed together, and drifted away toward a waiter.

“You two seem to be forging quite the friendship,” Leander said, watching her go. There was something amiss here, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. She and Morgan were close now, it seemed...and how the hell had she gotten past the guards?

Every minute fissure and crack in the room had been sealed off before her arrival. Even the door was protected with invisible sealant to block her from Shifting to vapor and escaping. No precaution had been spared, but somehow it hadn’t mattered.

The music started up again and people were beginning to talk, if only in hushed whispers. Every eye in the room was still trained on the two of them.

Jenna’s smile deepened, became mocking. “I’ve been told, by a very reliable source, that it’s good to have friends.” The green in her eyes turned a shade darker. “People whom you can trust in times of need.”

Morgan returned and handed Jenna a glass of champagne, its crystal bowl filled with madly roiling bubbles. She did it so politely Leander imagined an invisible curtsy with the gesture. Another look passed between them, and Morgan placed her fingers lightly on Jenna’s forearm before turning to move back into the crowd, toward a still-gaping Christian.

His gaze was fixed firmly on Jenna’s leg, still insouciantly jutting from the high slit in her dress. It then traveled slowly up her waist, her breasts, her face.

Christian realized Leander was staring at him at precisely the moment Morgan reached his side.

Leander met Christian’s eyes with a cool, steady look of his own, until his brother dropped his gaze and turned away. Morgan said a few words into his ear. Christian nodded stiffly, then stalked off into the crowd.

“Are you? In need, that is? Of anything?” Leander asked, turning back to Jenna.

“I am...well.” He thought he saw something in her eyes, something that might have been either pain or anger, swiftly erased.

“Yes, Morgan said as much. Though not much else,” he added, pointedly.

She only smiled, still mysterious.

“You weren’t badly hurt?” he prompted.

“My foot wasn’t badly hurt, no,” she equivocated, moving her gaze over the gathering in the ballroom. “It’s healed now. Thank you for your concern.”

“So quickly?” he pressed, unconvinced. “There seemed to be a great deal of blood—”

“Morgan is a very good nurse,” she replied vaguely, peering over his shoulder.

This polite, sterile conversation was beginning to make the palms of his hands itch.

What had she been doing for the last four days? Why had she not spoken with him? With anyone else but Morgan? When could he speak with her alone? Why the hell was she being so remote ?