Читать книгу Awakening The Shifter - Jane Godman - Страница 10

Chapter 1

This was where Khan felt alive. The only place he knew for sure he existed. The heavy, thumping beat of the drums pounded in time with his heartbeat. The screams of the crowd pulsed along his nerve endings. Exhilaration fizzed through his bloodstream, sending his energy levels into overdrive.

In front of an audience of thousands, or in this case, tens of thousands, with millions more watching on TV or live streaming...this was the only place his life had any purpose.

He didn’t move. Head bowed, arms outstretched. Fire and fury exploded around him, but Khan waited. Pumped up the expectation beyond fever pitch and kept it hanging. Teased and tormented until the yelling and pleading from his fans became a fervor in his blood.

When he finally raised his head, he felt his own vigor pulse through the audience. The devil horn sign was repeated over and over as far as the eye could see. Two fingers at the side of the head. The sign of the beast. Our sign. Nothing matched this...except maybe sex. The two experiences were similar, with the need for release becoming overwhelming. The climax came when he delivered his performance, poured himself into his spectators, gave them everything he had.

Dense smoke rolled like fog from the stage and, within it, colored strobe lights danced in time with the drumbeat. Giant LED screens at the rear of the stage projected alternating images of fire, close-ups of snarling animals and the band’s logo, a stylized symbol resembling three entwined number sixes. At the side of the stage, explosions went off at random intervals, shooting orange flames high into the night sky.

The other members of Beast were unleashing a storm around him. Behind his vast, gleaming circle of drums, Diablo exuded raw, brooding vitality. His chest was bare and his tattooed biceps bulged as he hammered out a manic beat, his blue-black hair flopping forward to hide his face.

At the front of the stage, red-haired Torque, on lead guitar, was all burning drama and flickering movement. The air around him glowed with life, and he matched the sweeping arc of his hand on his guitar to the explosions at the side of the stage. In contrast, Dev, on rhythm guitar, held his body statue still, the movement of his flying fingers the only sign of life. His white-blond hair and pale skin added to the illusion that he was carved from ice. Slightly to the left of center, just behind Dev, Finglas was lost in his bass guitar, a faraway expression on his face.

“Unforgettable.” Khan felt the stadium still as he elongated the word, starting on a whisper and ending on a screech. He knew the power of his own voice, knew what people said. Is Khan the best rock singer ever? Does he have the greatest vocal range of all time? Or is he just a showman?

Khan didn’t give a damn about speculation and comparisons. Tonight, in Los Angeles—and at the simultaneous concerts in Manchester, England, and in Sydney, Australia—as long as they were talking about him, that was all that mattered.

“Unforgettable” was their bestselling track from the album of the same name. As he launched into the number and the crowd sang along, Khan gave them what they expected. Throwing back his red-gold mane of hair, he swaggered, swayed and jumped around the stage in skintight leopard print pants and a flowing white shirt slashed to the waist. His voice ranged from husky purring to wild yelping, with acrobatics to match.

He ended the song in one of his favorite ways. Approaching Diablo, Khan howled out the final chorus while dry humping the drum kit. It was always a crowd pleaser. It was less popular with Diablo, whose expression became even more tempestuous. Ged Taverner, Beast’s manager, frequently warned Khan that he would one day push Diablo too far.

“When I’m asked to identify your body, Tiger Boy, there’ll be a drumstick through the center of your eye.”

Acknowledging the adulation of the crowd, Khan returned to the front of the stage. Before he could speak, he was conscious of a change in the atmosphere. A curious hush fell over the packed stadium, something Khan had never known. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Silence? Where was the validation in that?

A slender figure swept onto the stage. Sarangerel Tsedev, known as Sarange, was unmistakable. One of the few people in the world who, like Khan, needed only one name. Even if that hadn’t been so, her place on the stage was assured, her ability to silence thousands well established.

Although she was one of the most famous singer-songwriters in the world, Sarange was also the organizer of this concert. The Animals Alive Foundation was her nonprofit organization. Tonight was about raising awareness of endangered species. She had driven forward this vision, persuading the biggest names in the entertainment industry to come along with her. All across the globe people were watching this spectacle unfold and donating millions. The final tally was likely to be billions. Against all the odds, she had succeeded in uniting the world in a common cause.

It had always been the plan that Sarange would join Khan for the official Animals Alive anthem. This was the finale, the culmination of all her hard work. What was striking about this encounter was that it was the first time two of the biggest names in the music scene had met in person.

Khan had seen Sarange on screen many times, of course. He had heard her described as one of the most beautiful women in the world, and that accolade had piqued his interest. Yes, she was stunning. He had acknowledged it and promptly forgotten about her. Now, as Beast played the first few bars and she walked toward him, he realized she was a whole lot more than stunning.

She wore a simple full-length white shift dress. High-necked at the front, swooping almost to the cleft of her buttocks at the back, slit to the thigh on both sides. The evening breeze molded the lightweight material to her body as she walked, highlighting the perfection of her figure. Her waist-length hair was iron straight, its blue-black sheen emphasized by the strobe lighting. As Sarange drew closer and raised her microphone, singing the first few lines of the song she had written—a love song to the creatures of the planet—he caught his first glimpse of eyes that were like chips of blue ice.

Forcing himself to focus, he circled her, growling out his response. The audience went ballistic. Could they feel it? Sense what he had experienced the moment she walked into view?

Khan knew what was happening, knew what the legends said. It was like a mantra imprinted into every shifter’s psyche.

When you find your one true love, you will mate for life.

He had heard the stories about how a shifter instantly knew its mate. How the sudden hit of attraction and lust was like nothing he, or she, had ever encountered before. It was said to be irresistible, an injection of pure, molten heat straight into the bloodstream.

Yes, he’d heard other shifters talk about that feeling. He’d just never believed it. Until now. Until he’d seen Sarange. Breathed her in. Felt her touch his soul.

And now he was in deep trouble. For so many reasons. The thoughts tumbled over themselves as he continued to perform on autopilot. As far as the world was concerned, he was Khan, charismatic lead singer of the hugely successful rock band Beast. And that’s exactly who he was. Who his human was.

But, like all shifters, Khan had two equal sides to his psyche. They existed in harmony, the traits of one complementing the other. He was a weretiger. Half human, half tiger, he had the ability to shift seamlessly from one form to the other. Because of the life he had chosen when he met Ged—if “met” was the best word to use to describe the encounter—he spent most of his time in human form, but that didn’t mean his inner tiger had been subdued. Those instincts were as powerful as ever. For Khan, as for all shifters who chose to live among mortals, day-to-day living was a constant balancing act, a striving to maintain anonymity.

Rock star by day, tiger by night. He was the mightiest of the big cats, with teeth, claws and a personality to match, but that was his deepest, darkest secret. He wasn’t about to reveal it to anyone, particularly not Sarange, darling of the paparazzi. It didn’t matter how much she made the blood in his veins sizzle, or how much she triggered a zipper-straining reaction farther south. It didn’t even matter that she had her own, equally compelling secret.

Because, as soon as he saw her, he knew. Sarange’s secret was the same as Khan’s. She was a shifter, too. Khan had scented her before he saw her. That gorgeous face and stunning body hid the soul of a werewolf. That knowledge made everything Khan was feeling right now so far beyond screwed up he thought he might just be going crazy.

He was a tiger. She was a wolf. Cats and dogs? They were natural enemies. Put them together and the claws came out and the fur flew. Even if Khan had been able to do what the legends said—settle down, take a mate—it would never be her.

The tales about the unbreakable bond between true mates hadn’t foreseen this particular problem. They dealt only in success stories. Happily-ever-afters. It was always possible Khan’s dilemma had never arisen until now. He needed answers. Having found a mate he didn’t want, a shifter couldn’t walk away—could he? Once the bonds were forged, could they be broken?

He was about to find out.

* * *

There had never been any question about who the headline act would be. Never any doubt about who would sing the Animals Alive anthem as the concert closed. Beast was the hottest rock band in the world. Although Sarange hadn’t been to any of their concerts, or met them in person, she intended to tap into that raw power.

Even if the lead singer was a total jerk.

She had watched enough footage of the band over recent weeks to reach a simple conclusion. Khan was a strutting, narcissistic show-off. She knew better than anyone that that was the perfect qualification for a rock star. Unfortunately, there was enough evidence to prove he was exactly the same offstage. She’d been hoping to enlist Beast’s continued help after the concert. It made sense. Beast. It had the potential to be the perfect partnership. Their name combined with hers, their pulling power, the two contrasting audiences...between them, they could have taken awareness of the plight of endangered species to a whole new level. Having watched interviews with Khan and done her research into his lifestyle, she’d changed her mind. Promiscuous, arrogant, conceited, he just about summed up everything she disliked in a man...in a person. Khan described himself as “the guy who dived head-on into hedonism.” Yeah. He was a jerk.

As she walked out onstage, she gave herself a firm reminder. This was for the Animals Alive Foundation, the non-profit organization she had founded. Its mission was to maintain the environments of endangered species through fundraising and education. All she had to do was get through one song. Five minutes out of her life to get the attention of Beast’s followers. She didn’t have to like this guy to sing with him. Performing was what she did best. She achieved a melting expression as she sang the first lines of the anthem that meant so much to her.

Sarange was used to crowds, but this was an emotional high like nothing she had ever experienced. This was the culmination of over two years of hard work. Of being told it would never happen. Big fund-raising gigs were last century. Austerity measures meant there was no spare cash. People, not animals—that was the way nonprofit worked these days.

Kicking open slammed doors. Pulling down barriers with her bare hands. It was one of her strengths, but it had been hard. Fighting the establishment one interview and rally at a time. If we don’t care for animals, how can we care for each other? When they are extinct, your regrets will be worthless. Sound bites. Slogans. Pins. Banners. Every album she made, every photo shoot, every gig...like a general rallying her troops, she used each as another opportunity to get more people on her side.

But the feeling that tore through her as she reached Khan had nothing to do with the triumph or relief of this night. It had nothing to do with viewing figures or pledges. It was about him. Something crackled in the air between them and around them. It was electrifying, thrilling and scaring her at the same time.

The film footage she had watched hadn’t done Khan justice. He was startlingly handsome. Tall, with a lithe, muscular grace, his features almost perfect. He had high, carved cheekbones, a straight nose and breathtaking amber eyes. Almost perfect because his mouth was too full and sensual for perfection. But those eyes...they were mesmerizing. Set under slanting brows, they reminded her of a cat’s in the way they drew her in and refused to let her go. As he closed the gap between them, he was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t fathom. He could have been playing a part for the audience, but, if he was, he was good. Frighteningly good. Because she was instantly swept away by the hunger in his gaze.

This song wasn’t supposed to be sexy, for God’s sake. But the way Khan was standing behind her, not touching her, but almost touching her, his body moving in sinful time to the music...nothing had ever affected her this way. It was as if he was an illegal high and she was dragged into addiction after her first hit.

As they sang the last verse, Sarange was barely aware of the other acts who had performed throughout the course of the evening joining them on the stage. This night would go down in history. It would be remembered as the night she had alerted the world to her cause. And in her own life it was the night everything would change because she had met Khan.

When the song ended and the sound of Khan’s voice died away, she felt bereft. He still hadn’t touched her. Not once had he placed a hand upon her. She closed her eyes, willing him to do it now. To wrap his arms around her waist as he stood behind her on the stage. To let her feel the warmth of his body as they swayed in time to the music.

She opened her eyes to see a close-up of her face projected onto the giant screen at the rear of the stage. To the watching millions, the look of enchantment in her eyes had to do with the concert. Only Sarange knew the truth. She wondered if Khan had guessed. He was the reason for her rapture. Turning her head, she sought his gaze for confirmation.

She didn’t get it. Khan had already left the stage.

* * *

Because of the number of acts performing in the stadium, there hadn’t been enough dressing rooms for everyone, and Beast had been forced to share. They had arrived in Los Angeles that morning at the end of a three-month tour. Now that the concert was over, their tour bus would be taking them to New York, where the band was based. Predictably, the roads around the stadium were blocked. Their security team had advised them to remain in the dressing room, and they faced a lengthy wait before they could depart.

It was always the same when they were together for any length of time. At least on the bus there were sleeping compartments where they could escape each other’s company. Now there were five massive egos competing for space in a small room.

“This sounds like the start of a bad shifter joke,” Dev said.

Diablo scowled at him from under lowered brows. “What does?”

“Us, all crammed into this room. You know. A tiger, a dragon, a black panther, a snow leopard and a wolf...” Apparently sensing he had lost his audience, Dev shrugged and lapsed into silence.

The atmosphere had reached the point where sizzling tension was about to become boiling animosity, when Sarange burst through the door and jabbed a finger into Khan’s chest. “You arrogant jerk!”

Khan, who was stretched full-length on the only sofa in the room, opened his eyes as she leaned over him. Although her presence made his pulse soar, he managed to hide the effect she had on his emotions.

“I’m an arrogant jerk who is trying to get some rest.” He closed his eyes again.

“How dare you walk off that stage like it didn’t matter? Like you had someplace more important to be?”

Khan sighed and uncurled his limbs. Stretching, he got to his feet and looked down at her. Her hands were on her hips, and her lips were drawn back. Werewolves generally steered clear of confronting him. The hierarchy that existed in the animal world also applied to shifters. Tigers outranked wolves. It was a simple matter of superior size, strength, razor-sharp claws and lethal teeth. Even so, Sarange was displaying clear signs of wolf rage. Snapping and snarling. Normally he found it so unattractive. On her it was hot as hell.

“I thought I was a volunteer out there on that stage.” Khan kept his voice light, knowing how much it would annoy her. He needed to infuriate her further if he was going to push her away. “Pardon me for not realizing I signed up to the slavery option.”

Her indrawn breath was so harsh it sounded like a growl. He had to grip his hands hard at his sides to stop himself from shoving her up against the wall right there and then before hauling up the hem of that too-sexy dress.

“I think this is our cue to leave.” Torque jerked a thumb in the direction of the door.

“Really?” Dev looked from Sarange’s furious expression to Khan’s watchful one. “Looks like this could get interesting.”

“No need to go, guys.” Khan tossed the words over his shoulder without breaking eye contact with Sarange. “Our visitor isn’t staying.”

He saw Torque wince at his dismissive tone. That distaste was the effect Khan wanted to have on Sarange. He needed to drive her away. Right away. Make her view him with hatred and contempt. If he couldn’t make this aching, burning longing go away, he could at least make sure nothing ever came of it.

Although she was looking at him with scorn, Sarange wasn’t going anywhere. She had come here with a purpose, and with classic wolf tenacity, she was going to see it through. His bandmates had clearly recognized her intention and, following Torque’s lead, were heading for the door. Khan couldn’t even call them on it. Couldn’t question their loyalty. Over the years, his relationship with them had become the closest thing he had to friendship. But he was a tiger. A big cat loner. Powerful, sensual, selfish and controlling. His need to dominate the group was far greater than his human need to be liked.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Sarange was back on the attack. Like a beautiful wolf gnawing on a bone. “I was warned about you. Narcissist. Playboy. Jerk. That’s what I was told. I don’t know why I thought you’d be different.”

“Nor do I.”

A strangled sound of fury issued from her throat. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

He laughed. “This is nothing. I can get a lot worse.”

She drew a breath. “You made a commitment to this concert. You were the headline act. When you walked out on the finale, you gave a message to the audience that it didn’t matter—”

He flapped a hand at her. “I get it. Let it go, wolf girl.”

Her brow furrowed. “Wolf girl? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Khan stared down at her, incredulity jolting him out of his attempted nonchalance. She appeared genuinely confused. What the hell reason could she have to pretend not to be a werewolf? Was it possible Sarange didn’t know she was a shifter? He’d never heard of that happening before, couldn’t believe it was conceivable. Yet she was looking at him as though he was crazy.

Maybe that was the explanation. He might just be crazy after all. Had he gotten this all wrong? Could it be that she wasn’t a werewolf? He dismissed that thought instantly. Khan’s shifter instincts were pure and true. Beneath the expensive perfume she wore, the scent of Sarange’s skin made his nostrils flare. She smelled of female wolf. Of lichens and berries, frost and pine. Of dark, sharp evergreens and ice-hard ground. It was an aroma that should have been alien to his inner cat. Instead, it was making his mouth water.

He wanted to taste her so much it hurt. And Sarange felt it, too. It was there in the depths of those unusual light eyes, in the flare of her nostrils, the way her nipples tightened and pressed against the thin cloth of her dress and in the warm, honeyed scent of her arousal. In the way her breathing came hard and fast as she faced him with a mixture of confusion and passion clouding her features.

Sarange moved first, wrapping her arms tight around Khan’s neck and pulling his lips down to hers. She kissed him hard and hungry, claiming his lips as anger and lust powered through them both. Khan was helpless. No matter how hard he tried to resist, his need for her was too strong. His large hands seized her toned buttocks through the cloth of her dress, squeezing hard as he pulled her tight against him.

It was more conflict than kiss as Sarange squirmed desperately in his hold, her hands clawing at his shoulders. Their mouths clashed, tongues fighting, caressing, battling for supremacy. Khan was instantly rock hard, harder than he’d ever been. As he pressed his erection into the soft curve of her belly, Sarange moaned and broke free.

A dozen conflicting thoughts chased around in Khan’s head as, breathing hard, they glared at each other.

Tigers and wolves...cats and dogs. How can she not know?

Make her leave.

Beg her to stay.

Kiss her again. This time make it last forever.

Just as he lifted a hand to slide it behind her head and draw her back to him, Sarange stalked out of the room.