Guardians of the Portals by Nya Rawlyns

Author:Nya Rawlyns
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, dark urban fantasy, science fiction romance, action-adventure, alternative history
Publisher: PubRight
Published: 2014-05-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

The words echoed strangely, phantom shapes, ovoid and alien. Caitlin set the bit of wood down, her fingers still tingling from the contact. She reached for ... something, but the image faded. Like a waking nightmare, madness and clarity wrapped her in their soft embrace.

The kitchen had been maximized for efficiency. It sat at the rear of the cabin, enclosed, almost an afterthought to the open spaces, with the soaring ceiling, and stairs leading to the loft and the sleeping areas. A door to her left led to an alcove—a laundry and mud room, so necessary in rural Vermont—then a corridor of sorts, more an enclosed walkway linking the main house with the garage and an attached shed crammed with hardwood logs. The enclosed corridors were a necessity in winter, protecting the occupants from the elements as they moved from the comfort of the living quarters to the more utilitarian workrooms and storage areas.

Troubled by the faint remembrance, and the disturbing physicality of the hallucination, she walked to the back door, undecided. The man had yet to return, a mercy really for she would be hard pressed to even look at his face without her embarrassment giving her away. Why had she forced a contact so intimate, so fleeting?

Time is your enemy. You must slow it down, stopper its passage, observe how it coats the surface, shifting. Like oil on water, part of, yet not, carried, dispersed. Gather those bits, see how they change and reform. Make it your own.

Caitlin glided into the anteroom and quietly eased the door closed. Never and always alone, her spirit—more than anything—craved solitude. She reached for her quilted jacket, and startled as she stared in the mirror next to the coat rack.

Damn, I hadn't meant to shift.

The red hair always amused her. She pulled at the unruly mop, so different in feel and texture than her own pin straight, muddy blonde tresses. The tee-shirt strained against now generous breasts, though without containment the effect seemed matronly rather than alluring. She smoothed the soft cotton and adjusted the neckline to accommodate her body's new proportions. Her finger tips brushed across her nipples, the sensation oddly arousing as the nubs hardened instantly.

She flushed. Muscle memory. His fingers, thick, calloused, rough. Assaulting, demanding, owning her body—a possession so pure, so simple ... so right. His and his alone.

But no longer...

This new link was like a dam breached as Wolf's hard body pressed against hers, a wall of passion loosed in a rush. It settled into a steady flow, never ending, sluicing through her center.

What was happening to her? Why him? Why now?

She hadn't meant to change. Her body had automatically responded to the remembered stimulation. She wondered if each time she shifted, the template became permanent, filed away for later, then unconsciously selected to suit circumstances, an Amazon warrior for him, prim proper schoolteacher for someone else. Mercifully it hadn't happened when he'd practically crushed her against the door jamb. That might have been difficult to explain.

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