Free Soul of Flame by Merryn Dexter

scent, marking her his forever. The siren call of the full moon rippled through him, and Shim threw his soul wide open as the mating bond snapped into place.
    His strength gave out, and he fell sideways, twisting his hips so she landed on top, not wanting to crush her with his weight. Her sweat-dampened hair draped over his face, but he didn’t have the strength to brush it away. Chest heaving, he sucked in oxygen, reveling in the new connection to his mate.
    “I’m still mad at you.” She panted, although made no move to separate their bodies.
    Shim chuckled, tracing a finger down her side, loving the shiver of goose bumps rising to greet his touch.
    “Give me a minute to recover, and we can start that fight again, mi tesoro .”
     
    The spicy scent of ginger and peppercorns tickled his nose. He cracked an eyelid, squeezing it closed at the bright sunshine flooding through the window above the bed. Water pattered against tile before shutting off. Forcing himself to his elbows, he watched the bathroom door swing open and Ceara appeared in a cloud of scented steam, body and hair wrapped in matching dark-green towels.
    She rubbed a spot on her shoulder. He grinned to himself, knowing she traced the mark he’d placed on her skin during their second coupling. A matching one rode high on her hip, a trophy from the third time he took her. His jaguar stirred, the cat still drunk on the scent and sensation of claiming their mate. She intoxicated him, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her back into bed with him.
    “Good morning, querida .” He purred, patting the empty side of the bed next to him.
    “Good morning, Shimeer.” Her voice sounded haughty, a little cool, and he held back a snarl of displeasure.
    The cream cotton sheets knotted about his legs, thwarting his efforts to grab her when she skirted the bed. Keeping her back to him, she pulled clothing from the chest of drawers tucked away in the corner. Wrestling free, he flung back the sheet, pausing on the edge of the bed when she turned to face him. A faint blush stained her throat and the top of her chest. His erection stiffened further under her stare. Stroking his flesh, he contemplated all the ways he wanted to play with his mate. Regardless of her icy tone and stiff posture, his woman’s scent told a different story. A day in bed would soon have his little spitfire sinking her nails into him.
    “There’s some tea if you want it.” Her voice brisk, she tugged on plain cotton shorts and a matching tank-style bra. He growled, hating the material shielding more of her delectable skin.
    “Come back to bed, flamita . I have lots of plans for you, and none of them involve you wearing any clothing.”
    Ignoring him, she pulled on a pair of stretchy yoga pants to match the navy, long-sleeve top she already wore. The material covered his marks on her skin. He snarled, wanting them on show. While shifters would recognize his scent claim the instant they came into contact with Ceara, his bite would act as a visible display, warning other paras to keep their distance, too.
    She is my mate and should be proud to display them .
    “I’ve got an appointment this morning. Sage has arranged for me to meet with one of the other healers, and I’m willing to try anything at this point.”
    He sighed to demonstrate his aggravation at being thwarted by practicalities. Romping with his beautiful little fae would have to take a backseat for the moment. Her healing was of paramount importance to him. He wanted her fit and whole, and it was also time to focus on his own problems. Not being able to use his jaguar form to protect her was unacceptable. He would swallow any number of noxious potions, suffer the indignities of “downward-facing dog” if the Rowans believed it would break him free of the curse.
    His jaguar grew increasingly restless, the tug of the full moon making it worse. He jumped from the bed and headed for the shower. At least he could use his mate’s