When both his mate and his father died in a freak accident, Jason, the oldest Leonidas brother left home and became a park ranger in the Florida Panhandle. The distance and solitude suit him. After all, the less he cares, the less he hurts.
With a hurricane bearing down on the coast, his job is to secure and evacuate the park. As the storm worsens to a point where evacuation is no longer possible, he discovers Celeste Lykaios injured and unconscious. The problem is…his mate died over a year ago.
Celeste’s world has turned upside down. After being gravely injured in a plane crash, Jason abandoned her. In a mere twenty-four hours she finds out her werewolf step-father lost her birth father’s land, her family hid her survival from Jason, and her new fiancé is a killer. She goes to the only person she is certain can keep her safe, driving straight into a hurricane only to be attacked before she finds him. She wakes up in Jason’s home with no idea how she got there or why.
They take shelter from the storm to unravel the betrayal that split them apart, but first have to face the danger stalking Celeste.
When the storm passes, one question remains. If his mate–a human–survived the airplane crash that was supposed to have taken her life and the life of his father…what happened to the stronger wereleopard leader?
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Jason Leonidas steered the park service vehicle into the beach parking lot and growled when an exiting truck almost ran him off the hardtop. The other driver’s tires squealed as he took the turn. “Reckless,” Jason muttered. He would have gone after the idiot and given him a ticket and a lecture, but he saw one car left in the lot. The storm was coming in bigger and faster than the weather center’s models had predicted, and its course had completely changed, leaving Tampa safe but barreling straight for Panama City. His first priority was to make sure the park was empty. Then he’d go hole up somewhere safe.
READ MOREHe guided his vehicle into a space next to the Honda. Grabbing his binoculars, he stepped out. He’d just run up the dune and scan the beach for stragglers. He made it to the front bumper of the truck before he froze, assaulted by familiar smells.
Fear. Blood. Celeste.
Not fucking possible.
Celeste was gone, taken from him in the cruelest way—forever. He must have finally lost what was left of his mind.
Over the wail of the wind, he heard a low mewling sound, like a kitten in pain, and he lurched into movement, quickly circling the compact car. A small figure lay on the ground, a woman with long blonde hair matted red with blood.
Celeste’s hair. Celeste’s scent.
Celeste is dead you idiot. Get it together.
Fur ruffled under his skin as he approached her. The logical thinking man knew Celeste was gone. The wereleopard who lived on instinct insisted this was its mate, and someone had hurt her.
He growled, low and threatening, man and leopard beginning to merge in growing fury when he knelt and carefully rolled her over.
Celeste…alive.
His chest tightened when he brushed the hair off her face, but he pushed all conflicting emotions away. No time for that now—he had to get her to safety. What the hell was she doing here anyway?
He easily lifted her and carried her to his truck. The driver’s side door was still open, and he maneuvered his way in while holding her against his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath, dragging her scent deep into his lungs. A feeling he could only describe as joy overwhelmed him, and he choked on a sob. In any other circumstances he would have laughed. Big, bad, Jason Leonidas crying like a baby? But she was alive. How many times had he wished he could change the past? How many times had he wished he could go back and insist she not get on that damned plane?
Fury replaced the joy. Where the fuck had she been? She’d abandoned her mate. She’d let him think she was dead. The only thing that kept him from shaking her awake and demanding answers was her sudden moan of pain. He held her too tightly, knew she’d probably bear bruises later from his rough embrace. Gently, he laid her across the bench seat, resting her head on his lap.
He cranked the engine, put the truck in drive and headed for the ranger cabin where they would ride out the storm. He glanced down at her, ran a finger over his mark on her shoulder. Together again. Together at last.
She stirred, agitated, but remained unconscious, and he frowned. How long had she been out? Smoothing his hand over her hair, he murmured, “Shh, baby. Almost there.”
His voice seemed to soothe her, and she settled. Within minutes, he’d stopped the truck and carried her into the small building he called home. He paused in the living room, wondering if he should lay her on the couch. Hell no. She was his mate—she belonged in his bed. A few steps down the hall and he was striding into his room. He pulled the blanket back, laid her down and stepped away.
He struggled to get his mind past the shock of her presence. He needed to have a look at the wound on her head, clean it up and see if he could wake her. Forcing himself to focus, he gritted his teeth and stared down at her. How had he missed the impossibly small bikini? Even that was too much concealment though, and he wanted it gone, wanted her uncovered and exposed to his hungry gaze. He remembered too well what the scraps of material covered. The small perfect breasts. The generously rounded hips and hot pussy that always welcomed him, no matter how he’d previously loved her. His cock sprang to hard, throbbing attention. She groaned again, rolling her head against the pillow and spurring him to action. First things first.
He got his emergency kit, a clean cloth and a bowl of cool water. Placing the items on the nightstand, he shifted her over enough that he could sit next to her and dipped the cloth in the water. The wound was on her right temple, and he cleaned it as gently as possible while still being thorough. She’d been hit with something, and the gash was long but not deep. The butterfly bandages in the kit would be fine to close it, but first he had to make sure there was no sand in the wound. His biggest concern was concussion, but that worry was alleviated as he worked. Her breathing was even and steady, and once her eyes fluttered open to focus on him for a few seconds. He was pleased to see no dilation in her pupils. She closed them with a sigh. It was her scent, however, that really eased his mind. He didn’t catch one whiff of anything that would indicate an injury in her brain. It had been a glancing blow. It was probably a combination of the heat, surprise and the hit that had her sleeping so soundly. She’d be fine in a couple hours.
When he was sure the cut was cleaned, he disinfected the area, pressed the edges together, and sealed it shut. He exchanged the bloodied cloth for an unsoiled one and refilled the bowl with clean water. Sitting next to her on the bed, his hip against hers, he hesitated. Cleaning the wound was one thing, cleaning the rest of her might be out of line. But fuck, it had been a long time, and he couldn’t not touch her.
After dipping the washcloth, he bathed her face, the fine high cheekbones, the perky nose, the stubborn chin he’d loved beyond reason. He frowned when he saw the long scar up the side of her cheek. It hadn’t been there before. His gaze raked her body, lingering over the flat smooth belly and the faded scars that crisscrossed the top of her bathing suit bottoms. There were more scars on her legs, and he gently wiped away crusted sand from her knees while he thought it over. She hadn’t had any of these scars the last time he’d seen her, but it had been awhile since the plane crash. Her injuries had time to fade like these.
He searched his memory of that time and knew he paled under his deep tan. His father’s death in the same crash hadn’t registered for months. He’d been mad with grief and consumed by fury at Celeste’s family when they told him she’d died in that crash, for refusing to let him see her body. He’d blamed them for her death, still did, despite the proof she was alive.
COLLAPSE
