Treagar's Redemption, page 2
part #1 of Woodland Creek Series
“You there! Get up!”
There was no way in this time or any other he was thrown into that Marcus would willingly get up and be displayed like a sorry carcass of meat. From his unfortunate travels he knew and understood the language they spoke, but he was not going to give them the satisfaction of knowing he did.
“I said get up!”
“Can’t you give him anything to wear? It’s already embarrassing as it is.”
That sweet voice. It had compassion threading through it. It was what Marcus concentrated on. Even if only for the voice he’d hold on to the only kind sound in a harsh place and time.
What year is it?
“Since when were suspects criminals before they are formally charged?” she argued. “I would have expected you to bring clothes after your foray into the woods for people not to see that protruding belly of yours.”
“Paisley, enough!”
“Why, Dad? Because we have different laws for Woodland Creek shifters and another set of rules for those who are not from here?”
“We don’t even know if he’s a shifter,” James said in irritation.
“What if he is?”
“God, all right!” The man who ordered Marcus up, growled in annoyance. “Just to shut you up.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she said. The anger in her voice disappeared, replaced by sweetness and gratitude. “I knew you were a reasonable man.”
Marcus cracked open one eye, relieved that the dizziness had subsided. He saw the retreating figure of the sheriff, who swayed like a bear.
“You shouldn’t annoy the sheriff like that.”
The woman sighed. “You’re right. But seriously, Dad, sometimes I think food is all he thinks about.”
“Paise,” he warned.
“Okay, okay.” The girl Marcus now knew was Paisley relented.
Marcus closed his eye quickly before she turned to look at him, but what he saw was enough.
Enough for a spark of hope to flare in his heart.
* * *
Paisley walked out of the jail and strode to Sheriff Trent, who studiously avoided her as he went through whatever clothes they had in the closet behind his desk. There was a cornucopia of clothes inside a cardboard box that looked like it was about to give up holding the load inside it. Paisley swallowed the annoyance that built in her gut at the sheriff. The prisoner’s vulnerability tugged at her. His head was bowed, his chin close to his chest. There was a noble air around him, a cut above the rest of humanity. His fine muscular body was a study in perfection, hard dips and planes carved from bronze and yet he was a man who had been brought down low, curling into himself to preserve whatever modesty he had left. Good thing he was the only prisoner. Hardly anyone in Woodland Creek went to jail and she could understand why the sheriff wanted a jail tenant. However, the fact remained that without any clothes he would be the cynosure of everyone’s eyes and it made Paisley uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to muster even a seed of contriteness. “That was uncalled for.”
The sheriff continued riffling through the clothes.
“Look, how can I make it up to you?” She ventured before she had a thought. “How about if I make you a coffee cake plus a blueberry cheesecake to go with it?”
There was a break in the sheriff’s movements before he continued.
“Please, Sheriff,” Paisley coaxed. “Lots of coffee crumble…”
The scowl faded from his face.
“Come on, what do you say?” She blew out a breath. “Look, Coop, how would you feel if you were in jail without a strip of clothing and then to be ogled at like some wild animal?”
“But I am an animal.” The scowl was back.
“Only for moments at a time and you stay in the forest until you become human again.” She reasoned gently. “Any shifter worth their salt wouldn’t go around buck naked in town.”
“Fine.” He straightened up with a huge exhale and gave her the clothes he unearthed. “Coffee cake with lots of crumble and cheesecake should do.”
“Thank you, Sheriff!” Paisley embraced Cooper to his embarrassment. He awkwardly patted her on the head and slowly grinned when she took the clothes and went back to the cell.
“Food, works all the time,” she muttered under her breath.
James Halleran turned around at the sound of Paisley returning. They stood side by side, watching the man who remained unmoving. She couldn’t help but wonder that if the man was indeed guilty, what would have caused him to become rabid. Curiosity also bit at her heels. Where did he come from? Was he alone? Did he have a family? For some reason Paisley had a strong feeling that there was more to this stranger.
“Dad, I don’t think he has anyone here,” she whispered, looking at her father. “I also don’t think that he’s the man who killed the backpacker. If no one is going to take his case, will you defend him?”
Her father arched a brow in surprise. “What makes you think he’s not the one?”
“C’mon, Dad, look at him. Would the murderer allow himself to be near their victim’s body and smear his naked self with their blood?”
“You can never tell, Paise.” James cocked a glance at her. “Murderers have some pretty weird practices.”
“You’re already passing judgement,” she chided, a frown on her face.
Her father chuckled. “Why are you so quick to save him?”
“It’s not like we already know he’s guilty,” she mumbled, looking at the stranger. She worried her lower lip. “Something tells me he is innocent.”
James arched a brow. “Go on.” He looked at the prisoner.
“Look at his fingers.”
“I can’t. They’re cupping his manhood.”
Paisley colored. “Okay. Sorry. Just the hands. Look at his hands.”
“What about them?”
“There is no blood,” Paisley hissed. “If he is guilty of killing that backpacker, his hands should have blood. If he’s a shifter, both his hands and mouth should have blood. But it’s only on his mouth. Why is that?”
James’ frown deepened. True enough, the blood on his face looked as though it had been painted on his face and his body.
“We will need to speak to him when he wakes and see his hands more closely.”
Paisley hesitated before leaving the clothes on the floor in a neat pile inside the cell. She spoke to the stranger, “I’m leaving some clothes for you. We’ll be back later.”
* * *
Once he heard the door close and lock, Marcus let the tension bleed out from him, slowly stretched, and lay on his back, still covering himself. He opened his eyes and watched the concrete ceiling above him. He was familiar with the architecture of this time. Several times he had been pulled into the 20th and 21st centuries, but landing in a place where there were shifters was a first. Shifters! What were the odds that he would find a place that had beings like him?
Rising carefully, he sat on the edge of the cot before standing to get the clothes, the cold from the concrete floor seeping through the soles of his feet to enter his legs. There were no shoes to go with the clothes left for him, but he was grateful. It wasn’t as though he didn’t walk barefoot after a transformation. The denims were a tad loose around his narrow waist but hugged his buttocks and tapered down his muscular legs. The checkered shirt was snug around his broad shoulders and would not close over the upper part of his chest, so he had to leave it open. Just as he was straightening the shirt over his muscled stomach, the jail door swung open and he watched his rescuer with hooded eyes as she approached him.
She was beautiful.
Her long black tresses flowed like the finest silk, shimmering between black and midnight blue. And her eyes, they were the darkest blue Marcus had ever seen, reminding him of deep sapphires. They sparkled with an element of surprise and curiosity. She wore denims and white T-shirt that skimmed her form without looking indecent as many of the women Marcus saw of this time were inclined to do. Her breasts were perfection, not overly large or small. They were just enough to fill his hands. Marcus felt the familiar tightness in his chest and groin.
No. Not again. Never again. His mind dared him, taunted him, told him he would not win.
“Hello.” Her voice flowed over him. The lilt in her tone belied the strength that ran through it. He watched mesmerized her slightly rounded lips, lifted in a soft smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Why are you so friendly?” Marcus blurted before he could think.
Her brow arched before her gaze perused him further.
And he liked the way her gaze raked his body.
No more.
“Because you don’t come from here,” she said. “A stranger in a strange place. You could use a friendly face.”
His mouth twitched. “Are you a poet?”
She looked away as she gave a soft snort and shook her head. “That just came to mind.” She cocked her head to one side. “Your accent, it sounds Italian, but you speak English without hesitation. Almost natural.”
Marcus nodded. “But not exactly the Italian you know. You…you are American?”
She nodded. “Irish and Native American. Anishinaabe.”
“I have been here several times in the past.” He looked around. “Not exactly inside a prison.” He moved forward, the jail bars the only thing dividing them. His gaze darted at the jail door. “Can you tell me where I am?”
“Woodland Creek,” she said, and as her gaze perused him once more.
Marcus was transfixed. Delicious shivers ran up and down his spine at the way Paisley looked at him that he had the sudden urge to kiss her. Merda! How could he have carnal thoughts at a time like this?
“Your clothes don’t fit you too well. We’ll need to get you new ones.”
Marcus looked at the back of his hands that still had remnants of human blood he tried to remove from his face earlier. He suppressed a shudder at the stickiness drying on his fingers. “I am not going anywhere. As long as I have something to cover myself…thank you.” At her questioning stare, he added, “I saw and heard you when you left the clothes for me.”
She blushed. “Oh.”
“Marcus Theodoric Treagar.” He bowed.
“Paisley Halleran.” She extended her hand but stopped mid-way. “We need to find out how you got that blood on your hands.” She nudged her chin before looking up. “And your mouth.”
Marcus’ jaw tightened. “I wiped the blood from my mouth when I tasted it. I have no idea where this blood came from. I do not even know how I arrived here.” He looked at her, his thoughts rising in turmoil. “You spoke of shifters earlier. This place…?”
Paisley’s mouth straightened, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “A home for shifters. Why?”
“Can you help me? Because I am one too.”
..
When Marcus asked for her help and admitted that he was also a shifter, Paisley was struck speechless. Neither did she have any doubts that she had to help Marcus get to the bottom of this quagmire he was in. It wasn’t only the desperation threading through his voice much as it was helplessness that came at the end of one’s tether. The powerlessness that exuded from a man whose presence commanded everyone’s attention and was bigger than the entire Woodland Creek…so okay, that was an exaggeration, Paisley mused. It was such an anomaly.
There was something about Marcus that pulled at her. It was probably because he’d be eye candy to every female around him, hands down, and inhabit every woman’s lascivious thoughts. Paisley shook her head.
There’s something more. I just can’t figure what it is.
Paisley had to crane her neck up to look at him since she barely reached his shoulders. She judged him to be about a few years older, maybe thirty to her twenty-five. He was huge, but his movements reminded her of powerful cats, like panthers or lions. He wore his hair longer than most, just a little below his ears. His muscular arms could probably carry an entire tree trunk. The shirt he wore was so ill-fitting that it strained against his biceps, a broad chest that had a dusting of hair that cut a line down his abs sleekly hewn with flat planes of tight muscles. Her gaze traveled down to his waist, and lower still. Paisley’s heart hopscotched the same time her mouth watered. God, what was happening to her? She had never salivated over a man before and she had seen many handsome men who were animal rights activists or CEOs of their conglomerates. Nothing prepared her for the raw appeal this man had on her. Heck, if she had been a shifter the same as his kind, she would’ve morphed into her beast and allowed him to do whatever he pleased. Warmth spread throughout her body like a slow building forest fire and her sex took notice.
“What do you shift into?” She flicked her hair way, a symbolic gesture of shunning her carnal thoughts aside.
“A sabretooth.”
“Wow.” Paisley expelled a breath. “That’s…old.”
His eyebrow arched in amusement and his lips twitched.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling the heat crawl up her neck to her face. Okay, so she didn’t exactly want to be a morphing beast from the Pleistocene period. She cleared her throat. “Where are you from?”
Marcus sobered. He ambled back to the cot and leaned on the wall beside it. “I am not sure you will believe me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve come from a different time.”
“A different time.” Paisley stepped back from the bars, her face sceptical, her question more of a statement.
A shifter that shifted through time. It was like some sort of double whammy. Whatever, but damn, he looked so forlorn. All Paisley wanted to do was to reach out and take that bleakness cloaking him away from his shoulders.
“Right,” she spoke, sighing again. “First things first. Let’s try to bail you out from here.”
Marcus tried to cross his massive arms over his chest, but the shirt was too tight without any room for movement left. In the end, he gave up and clasped his hands on his lap.
“How are you going to do that? I have nothing,” he said with skepticism. “Not even a stitch of clothing until you graciously gave me some.”
“My father will defend you.” Paisley bristled. From the forlorn shifter, Marcus Treagar suddenly exuded an arrogant air with just the way he stood.
A master of the world lording it over all his possessions. That’s rich coming from him.
“You think your father can set me free,” he stated.
“You’re asking me to believe that you can shift through time like it’s sci-fi come to life,” she scoffed. “You’re here in Woodland Creek. This is reality. Another real fact? Dad is a defense lawyer. So yeah, he can set you free.”
“And all this?” Marcus swept his arm, encompassing the narrow cell. “Shifters living in harmony with humans. Many will think that’s impossible, si?”
“We keep to ourselves, rules that govern our existence and the extent of our interaction. Humans live here, too. I’m one of them,” Paisley remarked. “Besides, this is the only life I know. It’s not like I bandy it about that there are shifters and—”
“Cara mia, you talk too much.” The deep rumble of his voice, even from a distance, was like having his lips against her skin. It was sensual, filled with heat that stoked the answering warmth in the apex of her thighs. The thoughts that passed like melted chocolate in her mind. Sweet, decadent, deliciously sinful.…oh man, she was in deep shit. The sensations starting to run rampant inside her made her want to moan and wish that the grills weren’t separating them. Cara mia. She liked that, then brought herself up short. What the hell?
“My father will help you.” Paisley stressed. Thank God her voice didn’t betray her. “And F.Y.I. a lot of people accept the existence of the paranormal in the real world.”
“People.” He arched his damned brow again. “But we are people, cara.”
“Whatever! Humans then.” Paisley rolled her eyes. “Human beings who don’t have squat paranormal or time shifting abilities.”
Marcus looked away, shaking his head. He raked his hand midway through his hair before letting his arm fall to his side. He turned back to the cot and bent down to sit, but mid-way, the seam of his borrowed jeans ripped at the sides and along his inner thighs. The sound rent the air like spits from an automatic.
“Cazzo!” Marcus growled and paced the narrow space, his muscles straining against his shirt and thigh tight jeans. Graceful fluid steps flaunted his strength to perfection making Paisley more aware of his virility.
Marcus stopped. Paisley saw the remorse on his face before he looked away.
“Forgive my language. It is not something that should be said in front of a woman.”
“What did you say?”
He turned to face her, his eyes darkening to nearly deep molten gold. “Fuck.”
“Oh,” she was flummoxed and yet excitement started to flow like a brook inside her. The cuss word that exploded from his lips excited her more than it offended her, her mind running on overdrive. The rest of the words he uttered were so fast she had a hard time following.
“Look.” She raised her hand, stopping him. “Let me talk to Dad. He’s just outside with the sheriff. Don’t tell him any lies and he’ll find a way to get you out, even on bail.” She pivoted toward the prison door.
“Paisley, wait.”
She turned. “Yes?” Delicious shivers trickled down her spine at the sound of her name on his lips.
He paused only for a moment.
“Why are you doing this?” Curiosity glimmered in his eyes. “Believe me, I am very grateful and will be deeply in your debt.” He placed his hand on his heart. “But why?”
She looked down at the dusty floor, the grains of dust swirling around her feet.
“Because I don’t believe you did it.”
With a quick smile, she left.
* * *
In all the years Marcus had time traveled, shifting just in time to escape the noose, the axe, or the firing squad, no one had ever been as convinced about his innocence as Paisley. He surveyed his cell. Despite having lain on the narrow cot earlier and irritated that his feet were dangling by the edge, he would’ve given anything to sit for even a little while. The thought that he would have to leave the cell without a stitch of clothing if they tore apart was enough reason to stop him cold. He’d have to wait until the evening when the jail closed, when he could remove his clothes and become comfortable in his own skin again.
