Saving Autumn Page 8

  A security guard sat at a desk, manning the entrance. Chogan briefly considered ignoring him and barging through to find the location of Annabel Christie’s office himself, if she even warranted her own office rather than just a desk. But he figured if he wanted to bring things into the open, he needed to do things the civilized way.

  He approached the man on the desk. “Hey, I need to see Annabel Christie.”

  The man looked up at him with narrowed-eyed suspicion. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but she’ll want to see me. Tell her it’s Chogan Pallaton.” He flashed a grin that was intentionally wolfish. He couldn’t help himself. “The wolf.”

  The man’s eyes widened and he sat back in his chair. Without another word, he lifted the receiver of the phone on his desk and hit a couple of buttons. “Ms. Christie, you might want to get down here. There’s a certain ... man ... here for you.”

  He set the receiver down. “She’ll be right down.”

  Chogan smiled again, though he knew the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you so much.”

  He took a seat on a narrow, foam-filled couch in the lobby. Within minutes, the elevator doors at the back of the building opened and the redhead stepped out. She wore a navy pantsuit, an outfit chosen, he suspected, to get her noticed for her reporting skills instead of her looks. In a way, he was pleased. This was sure to be a report that would draw most of the city and guaranteed to boost her career.

  “Chogan,” she said with a guarded smile. “It’s good to see you again.” He got to his feet, and she reached out and shook his hand, firm and warm, though not as warm as his. “I had been wondering where you’d gotten to. I’d been hoping to do a follow-up on the other day. Your appearance has certainly had an impact on the city, not that it’s all been good.”

  He nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m here. I made a mistake with what I did. It was too much for people to take, and the violence and mess out there,” he gestured to the doors and the outside world, “is because people are frightened. I want to make things right.”

  “So you’d be willing to go on air again? Perhaps this time in an interview situation?”

  “Sure. That’s what I’m here for.”

  She smiled at the security guard who’d been watching them with an open mouth. “Thanks, Matt,” she said. “I’ll take things from here.”

  Chogan followed her, not to the elevator this time, but through a set of doors to their right and down a corridor.

  “I just need to make a call. Find out if I can get you in as breaking news.” She whipped a cell from her jacket pocket and stepped out of what she assumed to be earshot, though with Chogan’s shifter hearing, he caught every word.

  “Margret, it’s Annabel ... I don’t care if he’s in a meeting, just put me through to him.” There was a pause, then she said, “Chogan Pallaton has finally shown up ... Yes, he’s here now ... He’s willing to go back on air, let me run him through some questions ...”

  Chogan studied some framed awards on the wall, trying to pretend he couldn’t hear.

  “I know what they said.” She lowered her voice to a hissed whisper. “I’ll do whatever is necessary.” Then she hung up.

  He didn’t like the sound of that. He tried to approach casually, hands in his leather jacket pockets. “What’s necessary?”

  “Sorry?” She turned to him, her cheeks pink, flustered.

  “You said, ‘I’ll do whatever is necessary.’” He flashed his most charming smile. “Sorry, couldn’t help over hearing.”

  “Oh, right. To get the story out. I’ll do whatever is necessary to get the story out there.”

  He wasn’t totally sure he believed her.

  He followed her down a windowless corridor and through another set of doors, into a sparsely furnished space, also without windows. The main items in the room were a couple of huge cameras and overhead booms for sound. A couple of guys fiddled around with the equipment. Someone carrying a small chest with a handle rushed over to Annabel and shooed her toward the set of stools in front of the cameras. The woman opened the box and began to powder the reporter’s face.

  The woman from makeup turned to Chogan. He lifted both hands and shook his head, his eyebrows drawing together in amusement. “I don’t think so.”

  The fussing came to a stop and everyone positioned themselves; Chogan sat opposite Annabel on the stools, the camera and sound men behind their equipment. Within seconds, a man Chogan recognized from his previous appearance threw open the doors to the studio and strode in. He didn’t even acknowledge Chogan, focusing all his attention on the reporter beside him.

  “You better make this worth my time, Annabel,” the producer snapped. “Make it good.” He lifted a hand and began to count, “Five ... Four ... Three ...” He fell silent, mouthing the last two numbers before bringing his hand down to start the cameras rolling.

  Annabel Christie faced the camera with a neutral expression and addressed the viewers beyond. “Many of you will recognize the man sitting beside me as the same man who, somewhat unbelievably, turned into a wolf on this very news channel. His change has been met with disbelief and fear. I can say to those disbelievers, what happened was real.” She turned to him. “Chogan Pallaton. Can you tell me your reason for wanting to appear on television again?”

  He took a steady breath and began. “I want people to realize that we’re not monsters. We’re creatures more aligned with the spiritual world than any other. You have no reason to fear us. Most of us have family who are fully human. We don’t hate humans, we simply want to be recognized as a being in our own right.”

  “You say we have no reason to fear you?”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Then how do you explain these clips? They were recorded earlier this morning on a number of different cell phones and sent into the studio.”

  A small screen was already in front of the stools where they sat, something he assumed was normally used for autocue. Images appeared, remarkably clear for cell phone footage. He stomach churned. He wasn’t the only person seeing this. The footage would be going out to thousands.

  A huge lion bounded down the street toward a group of people, rearing up onto her hind legs and swiping at the signs they were holding. Chogan was unable to read what was written upon the sign, the lion’s body blocked the way, but he assumed it was something similar to the one he’d kicked on the street. The image changed and he heard a muffled shouting. The phone was lifted upward to record a massive owl plummeting from the sky, talons outstretched. People screamed. The shot changed again, this time capturing a giant silver wolf snapping and snarling.

  A shot of recognition made him sit back. Blake! What was he doing getting involved in a public situation? That wasn’t his style at all.

  “I’m sure they were provoked,” he said, perfectly aware of how lame that sounded.

  “So you think it’s okay for ... what do you call yourselves? Shifters? To use your obvious advantage of size and strength to overpower what was previously a peaceful demonstration.”

  “They were inciting hatred.”

  “They were simply saying what many have been thinking. Your friends’ actions merely confirmed what everyone has been afraid of.”

  “I don’t even know those shifters,” he lied. Damn! This isn’t going the way I planned at all!

  “You don’t know them? So how many of you are out there?”

  Chogan shrugged. “I couldn’t say for sure. Maybe one in every one thousand are spirit shifters. Some people don’t even know they have a touch of a spirit guide, they just think they’re particularly observant or have a knack for picking when someone is about to knock on their door or for when a cab is about to come around the corner. They don’t realize they have a spirit guide helping them along the way.”

  She smiled, but the expression was hard. He’d thought he had an ally in the pretty redhead, but he’d been wrong. “That’s all sounding a bit fantastical now, isn�
��t it? Are you saying I could have a spirit guide looking after me?”

  He met her gaze, equally cool. “No, not you.”

  Chapter Ten

  PETER HAD DRIVEN the back streets to stay as far away as possible from any more trouble. It meant they’d needed to go around in a circle in order to get to his home in the Near North Side, but they’d had little choice if they wanted to stay away from the riots.

  Mia was still shaking from their experience, and she barely even registered the grandeur of Peter’s big Victorian home as he pulled into the drive. He jumped from the car and raced around the car to her side, opening the door for her. For once, she didn’t mind his tendency toward old-fashioned behavior as he took her by the arm and helped her out. Her legs felt like they didn’t belong to her and she was grateful for his support. Together, they walked up the paved drive with its small privet hedges and mounted the five steps that led to the house. Four white pillars held up the porch roof overhead, and a thick walnut front door barred the way. Peter used a key from the chain which also held his car keys and opened the front door, allowing her to go in first.

  Mia didn’t even have the head space to be impressed by his large home.

  Instead, she found herself pacing the impressive hall, with its polished parquet flooring, shaking her head, her hands spread out in front of her, trying to make sense of it all.

  “I can’t believe what was happening out there. You know this is all crazy, right? I mean, I saw what you changed into, so I know this is real, but that doesn’t make it any less crazy. And those people, all the ones who were attacking the car, those people didn’t even know you were one of them, one of the things they’re ranting and raving about.” In the back of her mind, she was dimly aware that she was doing a little ranting and raving herself.

  “People are scared of what they don’t understand,” Peter said, watching her, the hint of a smile on his normally serious face, as if he found her outburst amusing.

  “Well, they shouldn’t be scared of you! It’s the other crazies out there who are causing the problems. It’s the regular humans. I mean, you,” she gestured toward him with hands that trembled and flitted, like two agitated birds, “are probably one of the most steadfast, unthreatening people I know. Why would anyone want to hurt you? You’re gentle, and strong, and ridiculously handsome …”

  She realized what she had said and drew in a sharp breath. “I mean—”

  But he didn’t let her finish. A couple of steps placed him directly in front of her. Her breath stuttered in her lungs, not knowing if she was supposed to be inhaling or exhaling. Her head spun, her heart thumping, with anticipation of what might happen next.

  He reached out and touched her chin, gently lifting her face so those serious gray-green eyes bored into hers. Her lack of height meant she needed to crane her neck, so he ducked his head, pressing a firm, warm kiss to her mouth. She kissed him back with a passion that surprised her. Their teeth bumped, and they smiled against each other’s lips.

  Her hands found his shirt, and she pulled at the buttons, opening his shirt, suddenly desperate to touch his skin. The heat of his body made her wonder if he had a fever, but then she remembered what he’d said about shifters having a higher body temperature than regular humans. A spattering of soft, dark hair created a triangle between his nipples. A line ran down from his chest, between the valley of his abdominals to his navel and then disappearing down the waistband of his pants. She felt like the trail of hair was enticing her to follow.

  One of Peter’s hands was at the back of her neck, his fingers raking through her short dark hair. He shucked the shirt from his back and broke their kiss to pull her t-shirt over her head. How long has it been since I’ve been naked with a man? Too long. She felt a little self-conscious, standing in front of him just in her jeans and bra, the lacy material doing little to cover the curves of her breasts. She moved to cover her chest with one arm, but Peter caught her hand, pulling her arm down to her side. She caught his eyes, how they’d grown darker, an intensity bubbling behind them like storm clouds building.

  “Don’t cover yourself,” he said, his voice hoarse with desire. “You’re perfect.”

  From out of nowhere, everything she’d been through over the past few days, from the abduction to the attack downtown, swept over her. It was as if finding herself in Peter’s arms had subconsciously allowed her to release her emotions.

  “I was so frightened.” She was on the edge of tears, the world trembling before her.

  He pulled her to him, her cheek pressed against his chest as he smoothed her hair beneath his palm. “Shush, don’t be. You were safe. I could never let anything happen to you.”

  With a smile, she lifted her face to him. He kissed her again before taking her by the hand and tugging her into the nearest room—which turned out to be the living room—and toward the couch.

  He gathered her against him, capturing her mouth once more. His kiss was deep and sweet, his tongue dancing with hers with almost expert teasing. Had she ever been kissed in such a way? The heat of his skin seared her flesh, and with one quick movement he’d unclasped her bra, allowing it to fall from her body onto the floor.

  Both their hands were at the buttons of each other’s pants, desperate to remove the clothing still dividing them. They kicked off their shoes and helped each other with their remaining clothing. Naked, Peter took her by the hand once more and tugged her down to the couch so that she straddled his thighs. She reached between them, cupping his hard length in her palm. His skin felt silky and hot, and she stroked him, making him groan and lean his head against the back of the couch, exposing the sharp line of his jaw, the delicate skin of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

  Mia ducked down and ran her tongue across his jaw, licking and nibbling, tasting the faint hint of whatever aftershave he’d put on that morning, the more masculine, earthy taste of his skin. She worked her way down his body, stopping briefly at his nipples to lave them with her tongue, before lowering herself back off the couch so she knelt on the floor. She opened her mouth and took him between her lips, drawing him in. Peter groaned again, one arm flung across his eyes, as if he needed to hide his desire from her. He thrust his hips to meet the movement of her mouth. His other hand lightly touched the back of her neck, encouraging her.

  His breath quickened and he pulled himself straighter on the couch, touching her shoulder. “Mia, stop. You’re going to make me …”

  She lifted her mouth from him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t ever say sorry for doing that. I just want to be inside you.”

  He pulled her up with him and carefully reclined her on the couch, as though she were fragile and he thought she might break. His mouth found hers, while his left hand skimmed down the curves of her body, stroking her skin, the heat of his fingers making every nerve ending tingle. His hardness pressed against her hip and she twisted to meet him.

  Something dawned on her, and though she didn’t want to spoil the moment, she couldn’t keep quiet. “Wait, we need …”

  “Oh crap. Hang on.” He put out a hand. “Do not move a single inch.”

  She grinned up at him, languidly reclined, already relaxed from his attention.

  Peter returned clutching a condom, quickly tore the package open and sheathed himself. He reclaimed his position, lying beside her on the couch. His fingers cupped her cheek and he kissed her again, long and deep. Mia parted her thighs and wrapped her ankles around his hips, pulling him closer. It only took a slight shift in position and he pushed inside her, filling her so fully, so sweetly, she thought she might lose her mind. All thoughts of her earlier fear and the troubles in the city vanished from her mind.

  Whatever else happened, she knew one thing—the only place she wanted to be was in Peter’s arms.

  Chapter Eleven

  NOT WANTING TO hang around at Blake’s for his return, Autumn had made her way home, deliberately keeping her head down to avoid the crowds
of people who seemed determined to cause trouble. Now, she sat on her couch, remote in hand, surfing through the mindless channels droning on the television. A fat couple sat on stage shouting at each other, while the host made a half-hearted attempt to calm them down despite his obvious delight in the drama … click … a commercial for a shiny new car, the vehicle winding down a suspiciously empty mountain road … click …

  Her heart clambered into her throat, her eyes wide as she leaned forward, almost leaping to her feet.

  Chogan was on television again. His strong-featured, handsome face was rigid with anger as a redhead reporter—one she recognized—threw questions at him about spirit shifters being a danger to humanity.

  Shit.

  For once, she was glad Blake was out of the city. He’d go mad when he found out Chogan was on live television talking about shifters again. If he were here right now, he’d be storming out and going straight to the news channel. She realized he wouldn’t find any sign of Chogan back at the reservation. Unless he got an idea about Tala’s location, it would be a wasted trip.

  Her eyes flicked to the bottom of the screen, and she sighed. The show wasn’t live after all, but a repeat of a broadcast shown earlier that day. Chogan may have been at the news channel studios a few hours ago, but, considering the grilling the young woman was putting him through, she doubted he’d be there still.

  An unexpected pang of longing tightened in her chest. She wished she could see Chogan, talk to him about his plans, try to reason with him. But such a thing was impossible. Blake had been unable to find him, so what chance did she stand? She was alone.

  Autumn sighed and threw down the remote in frustration. She wished she could do something useful—she hated sitting around waiting for everyone else. She needed her mind to be busy.

  Her gaze shifted over to the bookcase and the piles of books she’d collected over the years, most of which she never seemed to have time to read. Now, it seemed she had time, but she’d never be able to focus enough to get into a story. She wished she still had a job to go to. The government had paid out her contract, despite her only having worked a matter of days, so money wasn’t a problem. But she wasn’t used to not working and it was driving her crazy. Even between contracts, she’d normally be researching a new position or speaking on a panel somewhere. Because she thought she’d be busy for the foreseeable future working with Dumas, she’d cleared out her schedule.