Free Soul of Flame by Merryn Dexter Page A

soaps and carry the scent with him while they were apart.
    “I thought we could take a walk later. I’ve heard great things about the hot springs if you—” He stopped scrubbing his hair with a towel. He spoke to an empty room. His sneaky little mate had escaped in the few minutes it took him to use the bathroom. Her absence settled along his skin like the ashes coating the fireplace.
    He dressed, taking the time to clean out the hearth and build a new fire ready to be lit on her return. The needs of his mate came first, but if she thought she could evade him for long, she would be sorely disappointed. Shim might not be able to hold his shift, but he retained every single one of his predatory instincts, and he was on the hunt. He’d successfully claimed Ceara’s body, now to fight for her heart.
     
     
    Myron greeted Shim with a broad grin and a wink, pausing in her conversation with Cyrus. The dark-haired Wiccan looked relaxed, bantering back and forth with the receptionist. Did the nature of their relationship extend beyond employer and employee?
    Rekkus stepped out of the office behind reception. His attention swiveled straight to him. Moving with imperceptible swiftness, he glided from behind the desk to place himself between Shim and Cyrus. He might be head of security on the island, but first and foremost he served as Cyrus’ bodyguard. A flare of nostrils and a single blink were the only tells Rekkus gave to acknowledge Shim’s altered scent. He leaned into Cyrus to whisper something. The Wiccan removed the mirrored glasses from his face. Tilting his dark head to one side, he studied Shim with piercing blue eyes, identical to his sister’s.
    “Fascinating. Do you feel any different?” An undercurrent of excitement laced the man’s voice, and Shim grasped at it like a lifeline.
    Could it be so simple? Was his mating the key to breaking the curse? Clad only in a T-shirt and sweatpants, it took moments to shed his clothing. He’d changed in his room in the barracks before heading to the main Haus. He had nothing to hide about his activities of the previous night, but Ceara might not appreciate the rumors it would cause if he did a walk of shame in the same clothing he’d worn to dinner. Especially if she was under the misapprehension theirs was a casual fling.
    Myron whistled, clapping her hands together. “One of the great things about this job is the amount of fine ass I get to see,” she exclaimed.
    Rekkus snarled, grabbed his arm, and shoved him into a room behind reception, Cyrus on their heels.
    “Not in front of the humans, dammit! It took all of Cemil’s considerable powers of persuasion to get them to swallow our explanation after your stunt in the bloody dining room.”
    “You spoil all my fun,” Myron pouted.
    Cyrus shook his head and closed the door in her face.
    Too close to prevent his shift, Shim dropped onto all fours, calling forth his jaguar. The familiar snap and twist of bone and sinew—a pain he would always welcome—and his body shifted to his animal form. Nails elongated to claws; black fur rippled over his skin, washing down his spine. His tail sprang forth. Bracing the pads of his thick paws on the cool tile floor, he flexed his claws, shaking out the last aches of his shift. His jaguar chuffed at Rekkus, the tiger’s strong musk an irritant in such close quarters. The big man curled a lip and gave him the finger.
    Cyrus crouched before him, tapping a finger under his powerful jaws. He lifted his head higher, permitting the Wiccan to examine his eyes. For a few blissful moments, he embraced the unity with his other self, thanking the Fates for delivering his mate and ending his suffering.
    A slow burn, a familiar and dreaded itch, started between his shoulder blades. He rolled his neck, not wanting to acknowledge it. The man before him blurred, a ripple of agony danced along his spine, and the curse struck. Roaring in despair, he forced the jaguar down and resumed his human