Michel/Striker

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Michel.” A lovely flush stained her cheeks as several nearby Pantera clapped in gleeful pleasure at his open display of possession. “Have you lost your mind?”

  He leaned down to press his lips to her forehead. “I think we already established that I lost it the moment I caught sight of you,” he reminded her.

  She chuckled as he carried her away from the glade and toward his home that was tucked in a lovely tangle of cypress trees.

  “Sometimes you’re a very, very good Diplomat,” she assured him.

  His cat brushed beneath his skin, his claws already slicing through his skin in preparation of marking her.

  “I intend to be an even better mate,” he swore.

  She shivered, her ready desire scenting the air with sweet arousal. “Mate.”

  His gaze swept over her face. “Are you ready?”

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she regarded him with all the love he’d tried to deny.

  “Michel, I’ve waited my entire life for you.”

  STRIKER

  by

  Laura Wright

  CHAPTER 1

  Twelve

  I am a nerve. Raw and humming. The one inside me, pushing, pushing, calling me by my name—my number—keeps me intact. It keeps me from breaking apart and existing no more. It came to me…how long ago? Hours. Days? I don’t remember what those are. Did I ever know?

  Pain. Burning. Hungry pain.

  It has pulled out of me.

  I growl at it. More. More.

  It knows what I mean. It understands my sounds. It understands my teeth. I’ll bite it. Consume it, if it doesn’t come…

  Ahhhhh…

  It’s flipped me. Something soft catches me, my face, my belly. My hips are yanked up. It’s inside me again. Deep. And it’s thrusting. I feel…better. But not enough. I need the wash of its semen. Spreading over me. Inside me.

  Healing me.

  Eyes wet. Mine. Why? Pain…but not in my body. My heart. Will this end? Ever end? Not who I used to be. My name is not Twelve. And yet it is.

  Hands cup my breasts. I press into them. They are good. Big. Hot. Squeezing me. It—the one inside me—gives me what I want. Always gives. It is good.

  My claws dig into the softness. Claws. That’s what they are, yes? I think.

  What is thinking?

  It makes sound when it’s inside me. I like this sound. My blood is rushing. My insides are exploding. I follow it.

  I am coming. It is coming. My body grips, holds tight, sucks until I get want I want. The wash. It hits hard. So hot I can’t breathe. And then it spreads…the relief…inside and over and throughout.

  I lie there, panting. Content. My tears dry.

  My eyes are clear. I look and see. Where I am. The room. Pretty. White and blue and cool, and warm. I’ve been here before, I think.

  What is thinking?

  Then I’m covered. My skin is very warm. Like my insides. And I am safe.

  It makes me safe.

  I sleep.

  ***

  Striker

  Seventy-two hours of constant fucking makes a male hungry. The Pantera female is sleeping. I stand at the door watching her, downing a sandwich. I hope she gives me at least fifteen minutes this time. I need fuel. I should change the sheets. Lot of come on that white cotton. Not to mention the rips and tears. For some serious debauchery, they’ve given us one sweet-ass cabin. It’s like Martha Stewart decorated it, then said, “Let’s dial this shit back a little, friends.”

  She stirs, and so does my cock. I’m ready. Hell, I’m always ready. It’s part of the reason they chose me. The other part I refuse to acknowledge.

  My eyes run over her. Long, pale, naked limbs, small breasts, an ass that will no doubt consume my thoughts for years, long, thick black hair that falls near to the top of that ass—and an angel face that displays every emotion imaginable even though her mind is not her own. She’s lying on her belly, still asleep, her ass pink from my ready hand. I ‘met’ her just seventy-two hours ago, but I know every inch of her.

  Every. Inch.

  A Pantera male—a normal, sane, feeling Pantera male—would have claimed this female as his own by now. Couldn’t help it. Not only does she give off an unusual and debilitating scent that would have every male in the Wildlands fighting to fuck her, but something happens to our kind with long-term rutting. We connect. We bond. That’s why I was brought in. I’m not your normal, sane or feeling Pantera.

  I don’t connect with anything.

  She stirs again, but this time she rolls onto her back and shows me that sweet, glistening pussy. My cock fills with blood. I haven’t even bothered to put on underwear. What’s the point? I finish off the roast beef, down the bottle of water on the bedside table, and get back to business.

  This female needs sex. Semen. Constantly. And I’m here to give it to her. Until she returns to sanity.

  If she returns.

  Her eyes open then and she finds me looming over her. Her eyes are almost otherworldly—the palest blue I’ve ever seen—and they light up when they scale down my chest and abdomen and hit my cock. As usual, she growls. The sound is savage, like she wants to tear me apart and consume. But instead of getting the hell off the bed and out of the cabin, I inch closer. Because every time she does it—that low, feral growl—my dick weeps.

  I grab her knees and instantly she lets them fall to the sides. Her eyes pinned to my dick, she slides her hands down her flat belly to her pussy and opens the wet lips for me. My cock releases a drop of come. It’s the only thing on me that feels deeply.

  She growls again and snaps her teeth. If I don’t get my tongue on her or my cock inside her, she’ll bite me. She’s already done it twice. Granted, I barely felt it because I was coming, but it broke the skin. Was going to call in one of the female docs, but both gashes stopped bleeding pretty quick, and there wasn’t time for a sew-up job anyway. Besides, she doesn’t seem to like others around. Watching. Can’t blame her, with what she’s been through.

  I crawl between her legs. She’s deliciously slick, and I’m always hungry for pussy. Shit. Seventy-two hours in bed. While there’s a war brewing outside this cabin. Things a Hunter should be a part of. Military using the blood of our kind for…what? Research? To create some kind of super soldier? And Stanton Locke’s ‘master’ is still out there, doing damage, spending billions to keep himself alive. And then there’s the secret enclave of Pantera in the Florida Everglades that Hiss has gone to.

  I should be working.

  Not playing.

  But Raphael and his new second-in-command, Shadow, think this female might have valuable information to share. I just need to get her to a place of coherence so we can unlock what she knows.

  Again she growls at me, her teeth bared.

  I grin and whisper softly, “Easy, Twelve. You will have what you need.”

  The moment I drop my head, her fingers are threaded in my hair, and her nails dig into my scalp. I’ll be bleeding before this is over.

  My lips close over her clit and I suck.

  CHAPTER 2

  Twelve

  There are memories locked inside my mind. I know I have a mind. And a body. And a heart. A cat. And a hunger for this…it. This thing—no. This creature? No…

  My eyes open. I stare. Hard. Try to focus, to see what is truly there. The thing…creature…its eyes—darkest green—slam into mine. The eyes make my insides feel hot and soft. Not like the others. Why? Why is the creature different? My vision cuts left. Over the hard planes of the creature. Light. From the window. Windows. I love windows. They give me hope. I used to live outside the windows. Right now the light is gray and peaceful. But the air is cold. I feel it rush over my skin. I need more warmth, heat, come from the creature—NO! STOP! It is not a creature. Think. Think.

  Male.

  The word is long and strange as it’s dragged from my brain. A shudder goes through me. Males scare me. Yet, I want them. Need them to survive. They wan
t me too. All the time. It didn’t used to be this way…I think. I think…I can’t escape it. But this male—is different. Not like the others. No madness. Only hunger. Only desire. And touching. Heat. He is holding me. He is inside me.

  I open my mouth, try to speak. But nothing comes. I want to know the creat—the male’s name. If he has a name. The others…just numbers, like me. No looking into my eyes. No words. No holding. I was food. Something to consume.

  “Are you going to bite me again, my little puma?” the male asks as he continues to thrust inside me.

  I like his voice. I try. Push for words. My throat. But nothing comes. Can I speak? Can I do anything but growl and grunt and groan?

  His eyes flash, not with anger over my struggle, but with understanding. He leans down and covers my mouth, takes my tongue inside and sucks. The feeling is wondrous, and I moan as my body turns to fire. It wasn’t like this. Before. With the others. As humans watched. Staring, assessing, while they put pencil to paper.

  I’m so filled. He fills me. My sex and my mouth and everything in between. The creature—NO! Think. The male. This male. Who is he?

  Where am I?

  In that moment, he drags his mouth away and his eyes are on mine again. I’m going to break. Open. I wrap my legs around him and let him pound into me. Let him fill me.

  Fuck! Goddess, if only I could have you, he rasps.

  Hot, wet, he comes inside me. And as I follow him, as I cry into the cold air and the gray light, something clicks in my mind. I reach for the male and clasp his face. “Your name,” I whisper. “Who are you?”

  His eyes, once glazed, so green, focus on mine. “Fuck, you’re back?”

  Where was I?

  And then, like a tsunami, my mind is deluged with images. Of the clinic. Of the drugs, and the needles, and the pain. Of being taken…from where? My home, my family…then male after male. They want me, and yet they don’t. So much pain from desire. But nothing works. Not my hand. Nothing except the males…

  Then days of silence. No males. No nothing. All pain.

  And blackness.

  Fear. It’s inside me. I think I’m screaming.

  Pain. In my arm. And the warmth is gone. The safety. I’m not filled anymore. Not held anymore. The green eyes…

  “What the hell happened?” I hear a female voice. So worried, but far away.

  “She spoke.” The male. The creature. I need him. Want him. “But then…shit, it was like it was too much for her. She went crazy. Started screaming.”

  I’m fading. I reach for him. But it’s cold air.

  “You can get dressed and go,” the female says. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Go.”

  I can’t stay awake.

  I miss him already.

  ***

  Striker

  “You look fresh as a fucking daisy,” Pride says the second we shift out of our cats and enter the Suits’ headquarters.

  I don’t answer the young Hunter. He’s new and therefore unclear about the way I work. Quiet. Capable. Done. Instead, I take the stairs two at a time.

  “So,” he presses, following close behind me. “How was it? Your…” I can practically hear him grinning. “Assignment?”

  “Over.” The mansion is running at high speed today. Suits and a few Geeks, all focused, deep in conversation or eyes glued to their screens. Only a handful look up as we walk by, and just one acknowledges my presence. Life inside the Wildlands has changed now that the outside world is aware of our existence. I constantly feel on guard. It’s a shame, but it’s reality.

  “Come on, brother,” Pride continues, irritating me as we walk down the hall. “Give me something.”

  “I’m not your brother.”

  But he isn’t listening. Which doesn’t bode well for him. “Three days with a gorgeous female puma who’s so amped up all she wants is to get fu—”

  I have him against the wall before he can say another word. No. Before he can say that word. My puma is scratching to get out, but I harness it. It would kill this male if I let it.

  “Listen to me,” I say softly. Behind me is a conference room. It’s gone quiet. “Say another word about her, and I’ll see that you don’t say another word ever again.”

  The blond male’s blue eyes widen. “Shit, sorry, all right? Just talking. Getting to know one another. That kind of thing.”

  I release him and back off. “Not interested, Rookie.”

  “Lian and Rage were right about you,” he says, glancing around at the Suits watching our interaction. “I should’ve listened.”

  “Yes, you should’ve.” I turn and head for Raphael’s office. My quick anger surprises me. Especially in regard to the female. Normally, I would’ve ignored the stupid male’s comments altogether.

  The leader of the Diplomats is seated behind his oak desk, long blond hair pulled back in a leather thong, nose in a bunch of paperwork. Without looking up, he points to the leather chairs facing him. “Have a seat.”

  Pride practically vaults into the chair. “What’s up, boss?” he asks as if nothing at all just happened outside the door.

  Raph looks up, glances at me. I shrug. Young cub. What else is there to say? He nods, then begins, “As you both are aware, there is a group of our kind in the Everglades.”

  “The Cadejo,” I say.

  He nods. “Hiss is there now with his mate, Gia, and her family. I have not been in contact with them. We thought this might happen, but I don’t like it. I think it’s time to connect. I want to establish diplomatic relations with them. That’s where you come in.”

  “Cool,” Pride says, grinning.

  “Is it just going to be the two of us?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  Raphael’s gold eyes find mine. I’m hoping to see sympathy or humor there. But it’s all seriousness. “Shadow will be going too. I don’t want to send too many Pantera, or all Hunters. I don’t want them thinking we’re infiltrating. Plus I need my most experienced here in the Wildlands.”

  I nod. “Understood.”

  “We want to make friends with the Cadejo, Striker,” he says pointedly. “We may need them some day.” Soon, he doesn’t say. But he doesn’t have to. I know exactly what’s at stake with humans sniffing around our borders and men like Locke imprisoning and using our kind.

  Leaning forward in his chair, like a child waiting to see his first Dyesse lily bloom, Pride asks, “When do we leave?”

  “Three days.”

  “Hot damn. I’ll be ready.”

  I stare at Raphael. The male is a master at keeping every thought, every feeling hidden. But so am I, and I know there’s something he’s not telling me. Something he’s waiting to tell me.

  And I know I’m right when he turns to my young partner. “Pride, go to Shadow’s office. She’s waiting for you.”

  “What?” he balks.

  “Yes,” I say quickly. “Tell your sister hello for me. Tell her I have great sympathy for her.”

  The young Hunter growls low in his chest, but gets up and heads for the door. He may be a young, rookie cub, but he is Pantera, and would never defy Raphael.

  As soon as he’s gone, I look at the leader of the Suits. The seriousness in his eyes is gone. In fact, he’s trying hard to suppress a smile.

  “That wasn’t very nice.”

  I sniff. “Neither was putting me with an infant. Especially when you know I have the nurturing skills of a mother wolf spider.”

  “You will not eat this young. He’s entirely too big.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I almost took a bite out of his larynx just outside your door.”

  “He does ask inane questions at times.”

  “Or disgusting, insulting, degrading ones.”

  Raph’s brows draw together. “What do you mean?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing.” But he remains silent, waiting—it’s his way—so I halfheartedly explain. “He wanted details about my…mission with Twelve
.”

  “Ahhhh…” He eyes me, studies me for a moment, then leans back in his chair. “She’s doing well.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  He nods. “You didn’t, but I thought maybe you’d like to know.” He inhales sharply, curses. “She’s telling Doc Julia about what happened to her in there. What Locke and the others did to her. All in the name of baby production and more pure Pantera blood for his master. I can’t believe our own were treated this way.” His puma flashes, the shape in his eyes changing. “I want to kill every last one of them.”

  We will. It’ll take time, but we’ll have our revenge. “Did she offer any details about who else held her captive? Who worked beside Locke? Names? Locations?”

  His eyes move over my face, like he’s trying to understand my lack of ferocity over what was done to Twelve. Being a prisoner takes many forms, boss.

  “Not yet,” he says. “There’s much to ease out of her.”

  I cock my head.

  “It will take a gentle hand.”

  “There’s a reason why you sent Rookie to visit his sister, isn’t there? Not to just shoot the shit with me?”

  He nods. “She doesn’t want to stay at the clinic. And after what she’s been through, I completely understand why.”

  What this has to do with me… “So let her stay elsewhere.”

  “We have. We…will. But—”

  There it is. The but. The reason I’m sitting here.

  “She isn’t comfortable staying alone.”

  The emphasis on that last word has my gut tightening. It was just three days ago that Raphael called me in here for Mission One: fuck the female back to health and sanity. Now he’s looking for what? Someone to guard her?

  My eyes flash ferocity at my superior. “No.”

  He sighs. “It’s just until you leave for the Everglades.”

  “No.”

  “Goddess, Striker,” he grinds out. “There isn’t that option. Not if I order you to.”