Raphael | Parish (10 page)

Sidling up next to her, Annette clucked her tongue as she watched Julia scribble on Marilyn Dubroux’s chart. “Damn shame. Best baby doctor this hospital’s ever seen.”

The words pinged inside Julia’s heart. She was good at her job because she believed in it so much, truly cared about each and every new family that came to the hospital. She wanted their first moments as a unit to be special because after they left, when they got home, sometimes things changed.

“You want to stay at my place tonight, Sugar?”

Julia turned to face the nurse. With her beehive of graying brown hair and warm, chocolate eyes, Annette Monty was hard to resist. She had that kind of older woman, motherly charm that was so irresistible to one who’d lost her own mother at a young age. But encouraging a connection that was just days away from being severed wasn’t wise.

“Thanks, Annette,” Julia said, giving the woman a soft smile. “But I have a hotel room.”

“He paying for it?”

The sour note in Annette’s voice made Julia flinch. “No.”

“Bastard.”

Julia’s lips pressed together and she returned to her charts.

“The worst kind of asshole,” Annette continued.

Yes
. And what a fool she’d been to believe herself in love with him.

“Wish he wasn’t my boss.” The nurse sniffed with irritation. “If I didn’t need this job, I might just walk right into that new office of his and—”

That brought Julia’s chin up once again. She eyed the woman seriously. “Don’t even think about it. You have three teenagers at home, and Dell is still recovering from knee surgery.”

Impassioned brown eyes softened. “You’re a good, kind gal, Julia Cabot. That man should be strung up from the nearest light pole for hurting you like he did—not getting a gawd damn promotion.”

Head of pediatric surgery. It was amazing how some people were rewarded for bad behavior. Dr. Gary Share: mega-talented physician, desperately disappointing man.

Annette wasn’t about to let the subject go. Keeping her voice just above a whisper, she hissed, “Brings you all the way out here from California, promises you a home and a family, and,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “takes that
salope
into your bed.”

A still shot flashed in Julia’s mind, the same one she’d been seeing every day and night for a week. Lunch hour, coming home to bring Gary, who’d been up all night in surgery, a hot meal. She’d heard it, heard them, the minute she’d walked into the house, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. She’d walked up those stairs, heart pounding, food clutched in her shaking hands, and into the bedroom she shared with Gary.

It’s a surreal experience to see the person you care about and trust most in the world lying on their back, legs spread, with one of the new nurses from emergency on top of them. But it’s something else entirely when they don’t even stop, when they don’t pull out or even have the decency to look horrified when they utter breathlessly, “
What are you doing here, Julia
?
You’re supposed to be at the hospital
.”

“You going to stay here in New Orleans or go back home to Hollywood country?”

Annette’s question tore Julia from her unrelenting vision, and she cleared her throat. “I haven’t decided where I’m going.”

Or when
.

It was a little pathetic to admit. She’d given her notice a week ago, been living in a hotel and she couldn’t seem to plan her next move. Where should she go? Where did she belong? Her mother was dead, her father had never been in the picture, and she had no siblings, and the few friends she’d managed to make in medical school were scattered around the country. It had been the main reason she’d accepted Gary’s offer to move to New Orleans. She’d been smitten with him, surely, and the idea of a new city, a job that was waiting for her. But the one thing she’d wanted above all else was a chance to create a life, a community—a family.

Lucky little Garth.

She smiled to herself as she handed all her files to the nurse behind the desk.

“Come stay with me, Sugar,” Annette said, touching Julia’s shoulder. “One night. We can play Yahtzee, watch something with a lot of hot men running around without their shirts on, and take down that box of wine I have in my pantry.”

Julia laughed softly, shook her head. “Did anyone ever tell you that you are the sweetest, kindest and pushiest woman…” Her words died as her gaze caught sight of something down the hall. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“That they have, Sugar,” Annette continued with a soft rumble of laughter. “So what do you say? I’m off in an hour.”

Air wasn’t getting into Julia’s lungs. She tried to breathe normally, but her insides refused to cooperate. Her hands formed fists and her lips went dry. Walking down the hall toward her, all five foot eleven, perfectly cropped blond hair, pressed pants and a coldly charming smile, was the slimeball himself.

Dr. Gary.

God, what was wrong with her? Why was she reacting like this? Insecure and embarrassed? He’d screwed her over! He’d kicked her out of the house he’d made sure to keep in his name, ‘suggested’ she find a new place to work, then moved his afternoon delight in before she’d even found herself a hotel.

“Turn around, Sugar, and face me. Don’t let that towheaded rat bastard see your face.”

Annette might have been one of the bossiest, most loveable irritants around, but at that moment, Julia had never been more grateful to have her near.

* * *

Inside the empty hospital room, Parish crouched near the open doorway, nostrils flaring as he took in the scent of his prey. A delectable combination of vanilla and female sweat. A low growl vibrated in his throat.

“What are you doing, Parish?” Michel hissed behind him. “You sound feral.”

Feral?
Yes
. Hungry.
Always
.

She smelled especially appetizing.

As he watched the human female interact with her co-worker, his body stirred, and even though Pantera couldn’t shift outside the magical boundaries of the Wildlands, his cat scratched at the base of his skull. The puma was intrigued by her, too.

Granted, he despised humans, didn’t trust them with anything but destruction, but he’d never scented anything like her—never
seen
something like her in his life. Skin the color of cream, hair, long and straight and sun-lightened yellow, eyes as pale blue as the bayou sky he awoke beneath every morning, and a smile that was equally sweet as it was sad. She wasn’t very tall. With the small heel on her sexy black shoes, maybe she’d reach his shoulder, but he liked that. His hands could easily wrap around her small waist as he gathered her in his arms, crushed her body to his and took off back to the Wildlands.

Another growl escaped his throat, and his breathing changed. Beside him, Michel cursed. The Suit was one of the many spies the Pantera had living and working outside the Wildlands, and was Parish’s New Orleans contact. The Political Faction of the Pantera was always on the alert, needing to know about any human-based threat to their species, or a physical one that could affect the magic of their land.

Tonight’s mission, however, was something vastly more important. The miracle the Pantera had spent over five decades praying for could finally be upon them, and the female with the addictive scent, sunlit hair and black kitten heels was the key to its success.

“Parish,” Michel said with more force than he’d shown all night. “Do I need to pull you back here?”

Parish grinned broadly.
As if that were possible
. “That’s my doctor.”

“Yes, but you can’t just barrel down the hospital hallway and take what you want.”

Watch me
. His eyes narrowed into predatory slits and he moved forward, but Michel put a hand on his shoulder to stay him.

Parish shrugged him off, then growled, his canines vibrating with their need to drop.

“Goddamit, Hunter.” The Pantera spy cut in front of him. The male wasn’t as tall as Parish, but he was broad shouldered in his suit and tie, and his green eyes flashed with the thick heat of the bayou. “It doesn’t work this way. If we want to keep our alliance with human law enforcement, and the identities of our spies hidden, protocol and rules cannot be broken.”

“Rules don’t apply to Hunters,” Parish snarled.

Michel’s frown deepened. “Inside the Wildlands, that may be true. But this is the human world.”

Parish didn’t care where they were. “Raphael wants a female doctor for his pregnant human. She will help deliver the first Pantera child in decades.” His gaze cut once again to the blond woman who was bending over to retrieve her co-worker’s pen from the floor. Parish growled softly at her, his assignment. He suspected she would look very appealing on her hands and knees before him.

“I think this is a mistake,” Michel remarked dryly. “Perhaps someone from the Nurturer Faction should be sent—”

Parish’s gaze ripped back to the male before him. “Too late. I will have her.”

Michel cursed. “This is not a store, and she is not for purchase.”

“I’m not buying, Michel, I’m taking.”

Even as he said it, the possessive purr in Parish’s tone surprised him. He’d never felt such an immediate and intense need for a female. No doubt she’d be afraid of him when he approached. Most females were. Perpetually on the hunt, he didn’t have the softness, the easy manners of some other Pantera males. But he would try to be gentle with her.

The male shook his head and sighed. “I don’t understand Raphael’s choice in sending you.”

“Do you not?” It was in fact a job for both himself and his second-in-command, Bayon. But the other male had been called away on some emergency when they’d arrived in New Orleans. Knowing Bayon, the emergency probably had large breasts, a ripe ass and the morning free. “I am leader of the Hunters, and Raphael’s mate carries our future within her womb.” One dark eyebrow lifted sardonically. “Never send a Suit or a Nurturer to do a Hunter’s job.”

Michel reddened and his lip curled.

“You’ve done your part. Go back to work.” Parish pushed past the male, his nostrils already filling with her scent once again.

“Do not hurt her.”

Parish didn’t even glance back, but his lips did twist into a humorless smile as the woman left the nurses’ station and headed for the bank of elevators. “She will be well taken care of.”

CHAPTER 2

THE French Quarter, the nerve center of downtown New Orleans, was overflowing with people, and yet the moment Julia hit Gravier Street, she knew she was being followed. Living in Los Angeles, always working late, taking the bus everywhere or walking home, her instincts had been tested, proven and finely honed. Just seconds after leaving the hospital, she’d felt something, sensed someone keeping pace with her, but she hadn’t stopped or turned around. That was an amateur’s move. One that could easily get the looker hurt or killed.

Don’t ever let the bogeyman know you know he’s there
.

Her mother’s words, back when she’d still been able to communicate, had fallen on teenage know-it-all ears. But one night after a late class, Julia had found herself on the terrifying and ill-prepared end of a mugger’s switchblade. The lesson had cost her a computer, medical school books, ID, credit cards, cash and a week’s worth of sleep. From that day forward, her mother’s warning remained steadfast in her head.

Don’t ever let the bogeyman know you know he’s there until you’re ready to either lead him directly into the path of a cop, you have a clear and realistic way to ditch him, or you can bring him with you into a crowd of people and make a huge goddamn stink
.

The hair on the back of Julia’s neck prickled and she quickened her pace, heading directly into the eye of the NOLA bar crawl.

Just a few blocks to the hotel
.

As the sound of cool jazz, and the scents of body odor, grilling crawfish and stale beer came at her on the warm air, her eyes searched the massive crowd for a cop, but came up empty.

What did he want? she wondered, the concentrated sounds of revelry enveloping her, driving up her adrenaline, making her senses incredibly keen. Didn’t he know she had nothing?

Shit. Less than nothing?

Didn’t he know she’d already been robbed this week? Of a life, a future, a promise?

The noise grew in strength, and the crowd thickened. Instead of fear, anger started to stir within her. Anger that had been festering in her chest, waiting, squeezing, aching to find release. Maybe this was it. The time.

The
bogeyman
.

It was in that moment she felt a hand brush her waist. Her pulse jerked in her blood and instinct fed her already jacked-up rage. Coming to a sudden halt, she whirled around and faced the bastard who had just dared to touch her.

Eyes the color of melted gold met her.

Julia froze where she stood, her anger leaking from her gut like a punctured balloon. All she could do was stare at the creature before her. He was stunning, incredible, unlike anything she had ever seen before. Around her, the crowd noise dissipated to a dull hum, but she barely noticed. Her gaze was slowly traveling the length of him, taking in his predatory stance and powerful muscle and tanned skin. He wore plain clothes; jeans and a black T-shirt with scuffed combat boots. But he was the furthest thing from plain she’d ever seen. Far over six feet tall with broad shoulders and long, ink-black hair that was tied back at his neck. A few stray pieces had escaped and were licking at the ridges of his sharply drawn features. His face was shockingly handsome, tan and smooth, except for the two healed scars near his right ear and mouth. Her nails scraped against her palms as she thought about running her index finger over the small white lines.