The Trouble with Leopard Queens and Shifter Wars: Cary Redmond, #3
By Kat Simons
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About this ebook
Trouble Takes a Holiday…
Though for Cary Redmond, meeting her shifter boyfriend's mother for the first time doesn't feel much like a vacation. Dealing with Deacon's gorgeous ex-girlfriend, his complicated family, the truth about who he really is, her faery mentor's emotional declarations, and the troublesome conflict escalating between the leopards and the cougars just adds spice to an already interesting month.
Cary's used to surviving in the midst of chaos and impending preternatural wars. The real trick will be surviving Deacon's protective mother who just happens to be the Queen of the Leopards.
Life in Cary's seventh year as a Protector just keeps getting more interesting.
And more deadly.
Kat Simons
Kat Simons earned her Ph.D in animal behavior, working with animals as diverse as dolphins and deer. She brought her experience and knowledge of biology to her paranormal romance fiction, where she delights in taking nature and turning it on its ear. After traveling the world, she now lives in New York City with her family. Kat is a stay-at-home mom and a full time writer.
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The Trouble with Leopard Queens and Shifter Wars - Kat Simons
2
The small square outside the restaurant, across from the Max platform looked innocuous enough. Like nothing much was happening, just people coming and going on a Friday night in January when the weather in Portland was actually pleasant and not raining.
Then Cary spotted the girl jerking out of the hold of a grown man. She was short and from the glimpse Cary got of her face, she looked maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. She was wearing a head scarf, a hajib, which the man pulled at. The girl stepped away again, holding her hajib in place. And then she gasped.
Cary was already running through the throngs of moving people, but despite her Protector powers kicking in, giving her a speed she couldn’t normally achieve, she realized with a shock of pain and fear that she wasn’t moving fast enough. Too many people in the way. Things happening too fast.
Shit! She wasn’t going to get there in time.
She couldn’t even see what the man was doing, but she knew in her gut she was going to be too slow.
In the next instant, the world around her blurred. She had a moment to gasp. And then she was between the girl and the man, and she realized the man was holding a gun...
That had just gone off.
The bullet hit Cary in the shoulder, square and true. She took the impact with as little backward movement as she could manage against the momentum of the moving bullet. It still hurt like hell. And she wasn’t looking forward to the bruise this would cause.
But like any good Kevlar vest, the bullet crumbled against her skin without penetrating, flattening into a useless lump of metal and collapsing onto the sidewalk with a little chinking noise.
Cary put her hands on her hips and glared at the man who’d just shot her—though he’d been aiming for the girl. A teenager! Cary was outraged. The man was easily six foot tall, a good half a foot or more taller than the teenager, and thickly muscled. His brown hair was cut short and streaked with gray. His fatigues didn’t fit him properly, too tight across his stomach, too loose in other places. Between his five o’clock shadow, the faint stench of alcohol and sweat clinging to him, and the slightly greasy look of his pale skin, he was a wholly unappealing excuse for humanity.
That was very rude,
Cary said to him. "Do you mind telling me why you just shot me while attempting to shoot a teenager?" She was fairly vibrating with her anger. She hated bullies. And she hated people who attacked kids even more. It was one of the reasons she’d kept doing this job over the years.
He snarled some curses at her and some offensive racial slurs at the teenager, which just pissed Cary off even more. She was tempted to try out some of the new things Lucy had been teaching her. Then he raised his gun again and pointed it at her chest.
She lowered her chin, holding his gaze, and said, No.
He blinked. The gun wavered.
And before he could straighten his arm, Deacon was beside him, gripping his wrist hard enough to break bones.
The man cried out and dropped the weapon. Deacon, eyes slightly glowing, didn’t release his wrist, forcing the man to fold to his knees. The man started sweating profusely.
You’re breaking my wrist, man. You’re hurting me!
Shut up,
Cary said. "You were just holding a gun on me and a kid. Just because she had a head scarf? You deserve to have your hand ripped off and it’s only because he’s a nice man that he hasn’t done that yet."
No,
Deacon said, the growl of his leopard clear in his tone. I haven’t ripped his arm off yet because the police are coming and I don’t want to deal with the paperwork.
Ah,
Cary said with a nod. Well, that’s fair enough. Paperwork can be a real pain.
She showed her teeth to the still whimpering asshole, then turned to face the girl. She was several yards behind Cary, her arms crossed over her chest, her dark eyes wide in her way-too-young face.
Cary stepped closer to draw her gaze away from the man who’d been threatening her. Hi,
she said to the girl. I’m Cary. Are you okay?
The girl nodded.
Did he hurt you when he grabbed you?
Cary asked gently. Do you need a doctor?
The girl shook her head.
Do you have people somewhere nearby to help you get home, friends or family? Or do you need a ride?
Cary wasn’t about to leave her alone now. Looking at her closer, she realized she wasn’t fourteen or fifteen. If she was twelve, Cary would be amazed. And she looked traumatized. It was all Cary could do not to pull the girl into a hug to comfort as much as to continue protecting.
The girl swallowed a few times, then said, very quietly, My father’s store is just there.
She pointed to the opposite side of the road to a small sundries shop.
I’ll walk you there, just to make sure you’re okay,
Cary said. She glanced back at Deacon just as the police were walking up to him. Warily, she noted with some worry.
Deacon was smiling broadly at them, though he still had the asshole in a brutal grip. Cary blinked and looked at the cops again. Her shoulders relaxed when she recognized Deacon’s cop friend. She’d met him once but his name escaped her. His irritating partner was with him, but both men approached Deacon without their guns out or any other sign of aggression so Cary assumed Deacon could handle the situation.
She took a few seconds to consider the fact that Deacon had raced her through the crowd so she could get in front of the asshole before he shot the girl.
Deacon had used Cary as a shield, ensuring she was between him and the asshole so he didn’t get shot either, which might have been offensive to anyone else. But the gesture, his helping her to make sure a child wasn’t killed, made her chest swell with tender emotions. That he’d trusted to her skills, that he hadn’t tried to take the bullet himself and had instead pulled the girl out of range…
Cary fell a little more for her mate in that moment.
To the girl, Cary said, Let’s just take you to your family. If the police need to take your statement, they can do that there.
Also, Cary didn’t want to talk to the police officers, even if one was a good friend of Deacon’s. She’d been shot. And she wasn’t bleeding. That wasn’t easy to explain. There were witnesses too, but she kind of hoped it had all happened so fast no one realized the bullet had actually hit her.
Human brains had a hard time accepting what they didn’t know was possible. In the past, if there had been witnesses to her Protector skills, the witnesses typically made up plausible sounding excuses to explain what they’d seen—the bullet missed and hit a light pole; the knife obviously missed her completely; the fall wasn’t as hard as it looked; that guy looked drugged up, she was lucky to avoid him; obviously the car hadn’t been going as fast as it looked.
In fact, Cary had found that the occasional witness made up better excuses and justifications for what happened than Cary usually did. So she’d leave it to them to explain away how she’d been shot without getting hurt and concentrate on getting the girl back to her family.
She caught Deacon’s eye first, nodding toward the shop so he’d know where she’d gone. He gave her a barely perceptible nod and a little smile.
She grinned back. Their fourth date and another interesting end to it. Ah well. At least she’d gotten her dinner this time.
3
T ell me again what happened to this coat?
Marianne said, scowling at the jagged tear through the sleeve.
Marianne, one of Cary’s best friends in the whole world, was also her go-to woman for all things clothing. Marianne was a seamstress by day, secret magical weaver by night. Or really any time. And she was very good at keeping Cary in clothing that could handle the abuse Cary put it through.
Cary blanched. I was just a little late getting there so the bullet caught me.
She pulled a face. I’d just eaten dinner. I was full.
You go on hella weird dates, girlfriend.
I saved Jasmine from getting shot,
Cary said. I’ll take that over an uninterrupted date any day.
Which is why you got roped into your current job,
Marianne said with a fond smile. The look turned to a fierce frown in the next instant. Why weren’t you wearing something I’d made for you? You wouldn’t have this rip if you had.
My only coat from you is the leather one and I wanted to wear something a little fancier for dinner. I was hopeful we’d get a quiet night.
She shrugged and ducked her head.
Then just ask me to make you a fancier coat,
Marianne said. I’ve been itching to make you proper dress up clothes, but you keep telling me there’s no point. I had to make and then send you the little black dress before you’d wear it.
Cary had actually worn that dress on her second date with Deacon. It had survived the wizard-vampire thing, but her high heels hadn’t. Which was why she’d stuck to slacks and flats for their last two attempts at dates.
There hasn’t been a point before now,
Cary said with a sigh. Her romantic life had been sorely lacking since becoming a Protector. It hadn’t exactly been hopping before that, but she’d at least had the occasional date. Since becoming a Protector she’d been with exactly two men and neither had last long because she kept disappearing on them to go do her job.
Frankly, the fact that Deacon was still around two and a half months later was pretty amazing.
Well now you have a mate,
Marianne said. She waggled her eyebrows. A gorgeous one at that. You need date clothes. I will make you the best date clothes your ass has ever been in.
Will they show off my ass?
Cary said with a cheeky grin.
Of course!
She laughed as Marianne disappeared into a back room where she kept additional bolts of material.
Marianne was a seamstress bar none. She could create the most gorgeous clothing from her imagination without a pattern—which impressed the hell out of Cary—and design outfits that suited their wearers impeccably. The fact that she could also slip a little magic into her creations only magnified her genius.
Technically, Marianne was a weaver, the kind from myths and legends that could weave flax into gold. She found that boring, though, and much preferred designing women clothing with the best pockets every created by anyone ever.
Cary had met Marianne before becoming a Protector, when she’d still been working as a vet tech. Marianne had volunteered on the weekends at the veterinary office. They’d gotten along well then, bonding over 80s music and the no-fruit-on-pizza ethos. But they’d become best friends after Cary became a Protector, when she’d gone to Marianne for help. Cary had lost her car and house keys five times and her wallet twice before acknowledging she needed that help. At the very least, she needed pockets with zippers and reinforcements because diving between bad guys and good guys had a tendency to make ordinary pockets ineffective for holding stuff inside.
Marianne had taken one look at the shredded denim jacket Cary had brought her, and—after Cary had helped prevent Marianne from being kidnapped by the imp messenger of a goblin king—created a range of jeans, shirts, and a leather jacket specifically designed to prevent rips and tears and to keep things in. Reinforced-with-magic material that didn’t tear easily at the swipe of a shifter’s claws. Pockets that sealed closed with a touch, or if Cary forgot to close them, automatically kept their contents from falling out. Hidden spaces in her outfits that could hold a lot more than seemed possible from the outside. One of the pockets in her leather jacket could hide all kinds of weapons safely without worrying about them going off, or piercing the leather, or in the case of magical objects, accidentally getting triggered.
All these years later, Cary had no idea how she’d lived her life without Marianne in it. And not just for the perfect work clothes. They still bonded over no-pineapple-on-pizza and 80s music. As well as the struggles of leading a life that intersected with the mystical when so many of their loved ones were mundane.
Marianne’s two sisters were also weavers, so she had family that understood. Cary’s younger sister, Valerie, knew what she did, in an abstract hadn’t-seen-it-in-practice kind of way, but no one else in her family had a clue. And Marianne’s girlfriend, the partner she’d been with for ten years, was an ordinary woman, a nightclub owner, and completely unaware of Marianne’s magical ancestry. Marianne couldn’t bring herself to reveal that side of her life to Gina. Cary couldn’t really blame her.
Balancing the mundane world with the magic world wasn’t ever easy. And Cary was grateful every day for her friends, because they at least understood.
Marianne came out from the back room with a huge skein of white wool. This is for a new winter coat,
she explained. A fancy one.
Do you think white is a good idea for me? Cause, you know, it’s harder to hide…stuff on white.
It’ll be perfect. Very classy. Trust me. I’ll be back.
Wait, what else do you need?
Cary called, leaning sideways where she was sitting on one of the huge staging tables in Marianne’s storefront.
As it was after regular shop hours and Marianne didn’t have any private appointments, the shop’s glass front door was locked and the shades had been lowered over the glass front walls. The lights in the main room were set at a comfortable illumination that didn’t glare or make Cary feel like she was in an office, but gave Marianne enough light to see well. One of Marianne’s two assistants had swept the wooden floor of the main room before clocking out, giving the pale wood a lovely glow. The whole place smelled of cinnamon from Marianne’s favorite air freshener and the faintly musky undertone of piles of material.
Lining for the coat,
Marianne called from the backroom. And some pretty material for a dress…
Her voice trailed off. Then as she came back into the work room. And some fancy shirts and slacks since all that diving around in front of bad guys that you do makes the skirts trickier.
Yeah, I’d rather not flash my underwear to all of Portland on a regular basis,
Cary said, wincing and laughing at the thought. I’d love a pretty dress,
she continued, eyeing the skeins of jewel-colored material Marianne had brought out with a sigh of longing, but I’m not sure I’ll get the chance to wear it very often. That skirt I wore to the girls’ night when the wizard tried to kill me is one of the very few skirts I own.
I am aware.
Marianne shook her head at Cary’s reminder of the wizard attack outside Angie’s house back in November. Marianne and Lucy hadn’t arrived yet, but Cary and Angie had told them all about it. It had been one of the main topics of that night. Also Deacon. And Jaxer, Cary’s erstwhile former mentor. And Gina. And Lucy’s latest crush. And Lucy’s dojo. And Angie’s psychic readings business. And retirement investments. And a pretty long ramble about the mating behaviors of different shapeshifter species, but that was after the entire bottle of tequila was empty and Cary barely remembered that part.
The silhouette of that skirt really suited your shape,
Marianne said, tapping a blue tipped finger against her plum-colored lips. Marianne’s favorite accessory these days was lipstick, and this particular shade really complimented her dark brown skin. But I think I’ll give you a flip shape on the dress skirt,
she said with a sharp nod. Something more fitted to your hips, flaring around your knees…
I’m still not sure a dress is necessary,
Cary said, though inside she was doing a little happy dance at the idea of one.
Stop arguing. You know I’m putting in the good magic. The skirt won’t fly up at inopportune times, it’ll flow around you like ordinary material, but will stretch and adjust to any movements you need to make, just like good yoga pants. And best of all…
She held Cary’s gaze, a twinkle in her dark eyes, drawing out the suspense.
What, what?
Cary said, leaning closer.
Marianne lowered her voice, leaned in to Cary and said, Pockets.
Cary whooped.
Marianne laughed and snapped out her tape measure. Let’s get some numbers,
she said. You look like you’ve lost weight.
Hardly,
Cary said. Deacon feeds me too well. I’ve probably gained.
Whatever. It looks good on you.
She grinned wickedly. So does Deacon.
Ha, ha.
Cary pretended to scowl.
An hour, many measurements, and a few debates over color later, Cary left Marianne’s shop with a promise to return in two days for the new clothes.
She was almost to her car parked on the street not far from Marianne’s boutique when a dark shape stepped from the shadows of a nearby tattoo parlor, looming over her and blocking her path.
4
Cary gasped and stepped back, a jolt of fear and adrenaline surging through her blood, before she recognized the shape.
Jaxer, damn it, you scared me.
She put a hand on her heart, and not just for show.
Not only did she have a wizard out to kill her, but she didn’t have anyone nearby to protect. Which meant she was as vulnerable to muggings and attacks as anyone else. And while she was more confident of her self defense skills these days, she hadn’t had to put Lucy’s training to the test in a real-life situation yet.
I thought you’d been training more with Lucy,
Jaxer said, his comment echoing her thoughts and making her scowl deeper. You should be able to kick my ass easily now.
She snorted. Right.
Since Jaxer was one of the Fae, she doubted her rudimentary self defense skills would do her any good if they ever actually fought, even if the idea of kicking his ass was extremely tempting just then. He’d been around long enough—although how long he refused to tell her—to learn a bit more about fighting than she had or likely ever would. And combat wasn’t even Jaxer’s greatest talent.
That was glamour, the ability to make other people see and feel what he wanted them to, a type of illusionary magic that went way beyond what ordinary witches or wizards could do. Jaxer’s magic made his illusions feel like reality. Even people who could normally see through glamours, like other Fae, or Angie if she was wearing the right charm, couldn’t sense Jaxer’s illusions. Cary didn’t know the full extent of that particular power, but she’d seen him do some pretty impressive things, like somehow convincing ordinary humans that they didn’t want to wander down a particular street while Cary was busy keeping nasty bad guys from doing bad things.
Jaxer even disguised his own appearance with a constant glamour that Cary suspected actually made him slightly less beautiful that he was in real life. But only slightly. Jaxer was a gorgeous man and too vain not to flaunt it.
What are you doing here?
she asked as he fell into step next to her on her way to her car. She’d parked on the street about two blocks from Marianne’s shop, but since it wasn’t raining, the walk was pleasant.
Getting new outfits?
Jaxer asked, ignoring her question.
Jaxer…
She put a warning note in her tone.
He raised his hands in mock defense. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,
he said. No more wizard attacks?
She shook her head. It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was on a constant edge of anticipation, which was frankly exhausting. Have you found out anything?
Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be helping her anymore. But he claimed that his searching for the wizard wasn’t a violation of the Seventh Year rules since he thought this threat had to do with a case that had happened before the start of her test year. She didn’t argue the point very hard because she needed all the help she could get.
He dropped a casual arm across her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side.
She frowned at him. Are you about to deliver bad news?
What makes you say that?
He pretended an innocent expression, but she wasn’t buying it.
Spill
she said.
He sighed dramatically. Can’t I just enjoy an evening stroll with my favorite protégée?
No. What have you found?
Fine. I haven’t found much. But I have found a link back to Sheldon.
I knew it,
Cary growled.
Sheldon was a teenage wizard who’d kidnapped Deacon at Halloween in order to swap bodies—Sheldon intended to send his essence into Deacon’s body, send Deacon’s essence into his own body, and then kill his old body—and Deacon along with it!—so he could keep a shapeshifter’s body. It was a pretty skeevy plan, and Jaxer and Deacon had apparently been working together to uncover it, but then Deacon got trapped and Jaxer sent Cary in to save him.
To this day, Cary was pretty sure Jaxer regretted everything to do with that night.
She and Deacon had assumed the teenage wizard, an evil little bastard, had been killed when his own power backlashed on him off of Cary’s shields. But when Jaxer had gone in to clean up the mess she’d left behind…no body.
I told you I saw him in the middle of Holland’s army, didn’t I?
she said, feeling vindicated. That had been a busy night and she still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but knowing she hadn’t been seeing things helped her piece of mind.
You did, and you were right and very smart to make the link.
He kissed her cheek. Good instincts.
She scowled at the kiss and the condescension, and made a show of wiping her cheek. He grinned.
So who’s the old wizard and what does he have to do with Sheldon?
she asked. She’d gotten a look at the wizard the second time he’d attacked her. He wasn’t anyone she knew, which was why all this had been so frustrating. She was used to knowing the people who wanted to kill her.
I don’t know for sure who he is yet,
Jaxer said. But Sheldon had a master…a mentor of sorts who was training him. I haven’t been able to identify the master. I’m pretty sure he’s the one after you, though.
But why?
She huffed. Sheldon is apparently not dead. If he didn’t kill himself on my shields, and if he’s still alive, why would his master want me dead? Sheldon I could understand. I interrupted his disgusting plan to steal Deacon’s gorgeous body.
Jaxer snorted at her description, and she tossed him a smug grin.
So I can see Sheldon wanting me dead,
she finished. And Sheldon knew I was a Protector. He didn’t seem to know how to kill me, though. He just wanted me as a bodyguard. Do you suppose he told his master and it’s his master who figured out how to kill me?
Apparently, since he’s nearly got to you twice now.
She shivered and Jaxer’s arm on her shoulders tightened. She leaned into him for just a moment before realizing that she wasn’t supposed to be relying on him anymore.
Okay, so maybe the master is just helping Sheldon get revenge?
she continued. I suppose that makes some kind of evil sense. And Sheldon had that evil glint in his eye so I doubt he’s hanging with a good and benevolent mentor.
While I couldn’t get a name, the hints of information I’ve gathered agree with you,
Jaxer said. The master is not a nice man.
She barked a laugh heavy with irony. Ya think?
She sighed. So… What do I do about him? I can’t hide in my house and hope he forgets about me. The Nags won’t let me.
If they would let her, she’d probably have been spending a lot more time at home in bed with Deacon. Which sounded like a great way to hide out from a vengeful wizard.
If I can figure out who he is,
Jaxer said, we can always negotiate with him to get him off your back.
Yeah, he seems like the negotiating type.
They reached her car and stopped beside the passenger side door. Cary slid out from under Jaxer’s arm to face him. But that counts as helping me,
she pointed out. If you try to negotiate with him, you’re helping me.
Not with your job,
Jaxer said with a casual shrug.
She frowned a little at the movement. How could one being be so damned graceful without even trying. I’m not sure the Nags would see the distinction.
If you negotiate,
Jaxer said, I’ll just be there to keep you safe. You can protect me and I’ll have your back.
I can take Angie to do that. She’s a witch and knows how to shield against magic.
Jaxer tucked his chin, looking offended. And I don’t?
How would I know?
she countered. You never have told me everything you can do. Outside of the glamour and a few skills with a sword, you’ve been very tight-lipped about your talents all these years. Which is a little strange given how vain you are.
I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or an insult,
he said, leaning in close so his face was right in hers.
Your choice.
She grinned at him, a part of her relieved. Since the weeks before her seventh year started, Jaxer had been acting really strange. Their banter tonight felt a lot more like the old Jaxer, and she’d missed that. She’d missed her friend.
He lowered his voice. I have a lot of talents you don’t know about,
he said. Yet.
She snorted. But her amusement died along with her relief when he leaned in even closer, pressing his body up against hers, his gaze dropping to her lips. Jaxer was a touchy-feely kind of guy and always had been. This was different. The intensity in his gaze set her heartbeat thumping hard in what she suspected was…fear.
Jaxer?
she asked, her voice quiet. What the hell are you doing?
"Trying not to do something I’ve wanted to do for years," he murmured.
Huh?
His lips lifted in a faint smile. I adore you, Cary Redmond.
Okay.
I love you,
he said quietly, brushing a finger down her cheek.
You better mean that in a friendship kind of way,
she said, though her voice sounded choked and breathless.
I don’t. And I’ve been trying to tell you that for two months.
No, you haven’t.
Stop telling me what I feel and what I’ve been doing.
Stop talking nonsense. You’ve never shown any signs of interest in me before.
Because I couldn’t,
he growled. I was your mentor. It wasn’t allowed.
He cupped her face between his palms. I’m not your mentor anymore.
Don’t you dare kiss me,
she said.
I kiss you all the time,
he pointed out.
Not like this.
She let out a shaky breath and gripped his wrists, not pushing him away but holding him in place. Jaxer, you can’t mean this. You’re just feeling weird about having to abandon me to the seventh year.
No. I’ve done that with Protector protégés for two centuries. You’re different.
She shook her head, not wanting to hear this. It broke her heart in a way she couldn’t quite explain to herself. Jaxer… Deacon.
He snarled. Yes. Deacon.
Hey, it’s your fault I even know him.
Mores the pity. But you know you have a choice now. You aren’t bound by this mate bond the way he is. And he will get over it.
Jaxer had been the one to point out to her that because she was human and not a leopard shifter,