Rafa
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Rafa opened the theatre door. It was dark inside, lit only by a spotlight onstage. A man stood in the bright circle of light, singing about the beauty of outer space.
It had been years and years since Rafa had been at a play rehearsal. He’d been the star of his high school drama club, coasting on his looks, height, and confidence to make up for his merely passable acting skills. Paris, the other star, had been the one with real talent. He hoped this play would be her big break. She deserved it.
He followed her down the aisle between rows of empty seats. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he made out the shapes of people sitting in the front row. Paris whispered in his ear, pointing them out to him.
The petite woman with a cascade of curly hair, typing rapidly on a laptop, was “Grace, the stage manager.”
The man peering over her shoulder, a tray of coffee cups in his hands, was “Carl, Grace’s assistant.”
The woman with her hair yanked into a tight bun, scribbling in a notebook, was “Ruth, the NASA science consultant.”
The tall man in a European suit was “Lubomir, the director.”
Rafa stopped in the aisle, behind Grace. With his keen shifter senses, he could hear her speaking into the microphone of her headset. Though she spoke very softly, her words were perfectly articulated and very fast. “Stand by for the set change. Stand by sound. I’m standing by on lights. On a single call, lights, sound, set...”
There was a split second of silence. Then, as the last note of the song died out, she hit a button on her laptop. “Go!”
In that instant, the spotlight blinked out, the stage took on an eerie red glow, a weird “outer space” noise sounded, and a backdrop of red sand and boulders appeared. It was all done with perfect precision, at that woman’s command.
Grace seemed extremely competent. Rafa’s hopes rose that she’d be able to give him a better idea of what was going on.
He folded his arms across his chest, not wanting to interrupt her work. Then he noticed another headset slung over the empty seat behind her. Rafa recalled how they worked from his high school theatre days. Put one on, and you could hear and speak to everyone wearing one.
It might be enlightening to listen in on what was going on backstage. He picked it up—engrossed in her work, the stage manager didn’t notice—and put it on.
In contrast to the smooth cadence of Grace’s words, a chaotic babble met his ears.
“Grace, the track for the Mars backdrops is jammed!”
“Grace, Brady says to remind you to tell the prop guy to put extra sugar in the jello he has to eat onstage!”
“Grace, the light that does the comet effect just burned out!”
“Grace, some guy’s throwing up in the alley right outside the stage door!”
“Grace, I saw a rat run under Mars rock number eight!”
Rafa’s mind reeled. He waited for Grace to call a halt to the scene to deal with all those problems.
Instead, she went on speaking in that same fast, soft, very clear voice: “Stand by sound. I’m standing by on lights. All stagehands not needed for the next set change, go fix the Mars backdrop track. Lights and sound, go. Tell Brady I already reminded props he wanted more sugar. Stand by to bring on Mars rock number twelve. We’ll fix the comet light during the break. Mars rock go. Put a note on the stage door with a vomit warning.”
As Rafa listened in amazement, he saw everything onstage unfolding smoothly, with lights shifting and sound effects happening and a red rock placed onstage. If he hadn’t been wearing the headset, he’d have had no idea that anything at all was wrong.
“Stand by sound,” murmured Grace. “About the rat—”
A piercing shriek made Rafa wince. It didn’t come across the headsets, but emanated from backstage. “AIEEEEEE!”
An actress bolted headlong onstage, shrieking, arms flailing. “A RAT! A RAT! HEEEEEEELP!”
The actors onstage stopped singing and looked confused.
“Hold please!” Grace’s voice rang out, clear and commanding. “Melissa, the rat is nowhere near you. There’s nothing to be—”
“It’s in my PAAAAANTS!” screamed the actress, kicking out frantically. “It’s climbing up my ankle—my shin—my knee—NOOOOOOOO!!!”
A tiny furry missile flew out of her pant leg and went sailing over the footlights and into the audience. Instinctively, Rafa cupped his hands and caught it.
“Good catch, Rafa,” said Paris with a chuckle. “All those years in the outfield came in handy.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” said the woman with the notebook. “Wild rats carry rabies.”
“A rat!” The actress was in full-blown hysterics, slapping frantically at her pants. “A horrible sewer rat! Filthy! Disgusting! I’ll have to have rabies shots!”
Grace hit a button, and warm yellow lights illuminated the entire theatre. Rafa cautiously parted his cupped hands and peered inside them. A small white rat sat panting in his hands, its sides heaving. It was soft and furry, with tiny prickling claws. He could feel its little heart pounding, so fast that it made its whole body vibrate. But it made no attempt to claw or bite.
“You caught it?” came Grace’s incredulous voice. “Hey, who are you?”
Still looking down at the rat, he replied, “I’m Rafa Flores. Paris’s bodyguard.”
“Paris doesn’t need a bodyguard,” Grace said grimly. “This show is what needs protection.”
Rafa was still examining the rat. Clean white fur. Completely tame. This was no wild rat—someone had bought it in a pet store. And, presumably, released it backstage to wreak exactly the sort of havoc it had caused.
“Hey.” It was the stage manager again. “Let me take a look.”
He opened his hands a little farther.
“That’s not a wild rat,” she said instantly. “That’s a pet. Melissa, you don’t need to worry about rabies. What we all need to worry about is who let it loose.”
Rafa was already smiling as he began to look up. He hadn’t seen any more of Grace than the back of her head in a dark room, but from what he’d heard, she was smart as a whip and could multi-task like an air traffic controller. She’d already saved Paris’s life once. Grace would be the perfect assistant to help him solve—
Their eyes met.
Mine!
The roar of his lion sounded inside his head, possessive and triumphant.
Rafa barely stopped himself from jumping in surprise. He’d been lost in Grace’s beautiful eyes. They were very dark brown, and bright as black diamonds.
When he managed to tear himself away from her eyes, it was only to get lost in her other features, one by one. Her mane of curly hair dyed a rich purple that went beautifully with her olive skin. Her plump, kissable lips. Her eyebrows that arched as if she was perpetually raising them in mock surprise. Her delicious curves. The swell of her hips. The abundance of her breasts. The sweet plumpness of her legs and arms.
Her quirky punk-meets-sexy fashion sense, expressed in chunky black boots adorned with chains and zippers, fishnet stockings, a pink and white plaid miniskirt, a long-sleeved black shirt slashed almost to shreds and worn over a shocking pink tank top, and a necklace of safety pins.
Rafa knew that he was staring dumbly at her, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. But he couldn’t help it. At last, long after he’d lost all hope, he’d found his mate.
Before he’d given up on the whole idea of mates, he’d always figured his would be tall, slim, and probably blonde, but definitely beautiful in the way that gets women on the cover of magazines. Traditionally feminine. Wearing a pretty dress. She’d be Paris Hale, basically, only he’d be in love with her the way he’d never been in love with Paris.
Grace Chang was the opposite of everything he’d ever imagined. Though he thought she was beautiful, it wasn’t in a way that would ever land her on the cover of a fashion magazine. As for femininity, from what he’d seen of her, that scrappy little punkette had her own idea of what that meant, and it had nothing to do with tradition.
An unexpected laugh burst from Rafa’s lips.
He’d been so stupid.
He’d thought he wanted what every other man in America wanted. And all the time, someone so much more real and vivid and wonderful than any of those imaginary supermodels was living right under his nose in Santa Martina.
The king of beasts has found his queen, growled his lion. And oh, she is worthy of us!
He had to make a good impression on her.