Michel/Striker

by Alexandra Ivy

  I try and keep it light. Keep the banter. The flirtation. “Did the Pantera Delivery Service bring something sweet?”

  “I haven’t looked.”

  Oh. My heart kicks inside my chest. Was the worry for naught? Is he going to give me what I want? “Then what do you suggest for dessert?” I ask.

  “A run.”

  No. Not what I want. My brows slam together. “I’m confused. You want to go jogging?”

  “No.” He can’t contain his grin. “Our pumas. Out there. Exploring the Wildlands.”

  This time, my heart kicks for a different reason. A longing I haven’t felt—or maybe haven’t allowed myself to feel—in a long time. “I really don’t know if I can.”

  He pushes his chair back and stands up. “You can. And quickly. Before we have a visitor, or a Hunter on patrol.” His nostrils flare. “If a male is even close to this cottage, he’ll come searching. And if he finds you, I may have to kill him.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “I’m dead serious, Twelve.”

  His eyes confirm that statement. Flashing all kinds of possessiveness. This male doesn’t make sense.

  “Wouldn’t you be relieved, Striker?” I challenge, standing up. “Someone to take the job you don’t want?”

  His face hardens, and his whole body goes rigid. “You don’t understand. Don’t get—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head.

  “What?” I press. I feel naked now. “What don’t I understand?”

  “Nothing. Just forget it. I want to go for a run. A hunt. And I want you to come with me.” His eyes shimmy down my body, and a low, soft growl rumbles in his chest. “Try, Twelve. Close your eyes and go inside.”

  “I don’t feel her at all,” I say, but close my eyes anyway. I want to know my cat again. At least, I think I do. I’m so out of touch with who I am, what I am… “How can I bring her out if I don’t feel her?”

  I hear him move closer to me. Feel the heat off his body. “She’s just been locked away,” he says softly. “Like you.”

  A shiver runs through me and I open my eyes. He’s a couple feet away, his expression intense, entranced. And behind his eyes, I can see the fearsome cat reflected.

  “She wants to come out,” he tells me. “I promise. Close your eyes.”

  I do, and I try again. I breathe deeply and call upon her. Is that how I did it before? I doubt it. I listen for her. Wait to feel her. Feel something. But…it’s white noise. Nothing. Tears threaten and I bite my lip.

  “Don’t you dare,” he growls.

  My eyes stay closed. “What?”

  “Give up.”

  I’m not about to. It’s just frustrating. But I won’t. I go silent again, and push down…deep…I call for her. I don’t know her name, but I call for her…

  “Maybe this will help,” I hear him say.

  I crack one eye, and by the time my vision focuses, Striker is in his puma form. He’s glorious. A massive black cat with emeralds for eyes. He glares up at me, growls and hisses. And when he does, I feel something stir…inside. Of me. Something that wishes to growl back.

  I close my eyes again. And again I push down. As I do, I feel Striker’s puma brush against my left leg. I inhale. Soft, yet hard muscle. Again, I feel the stirring inside. Both in my heart, and in my sex. I gasp as I feel him on my right, his massive head nuzzling my hip. There. She’s there. No. Here. I start to tremble. This is right. I go inside and she springs forth. I feel the rough tongue of Striker’s puma on my right ass cheek just seconds before I dissolve into my cat.

  A roar collects in my ears. My puma’s ears. And my eyes open. His cat is facing me, looking me over. And I feel…

  Goddess, I feel.

  He snarls at me, then turns, bounds down the stairs and takes off into the coming night.

  I don’t need any more invitation than that. I spring from the porch, hit the rough ground and follow him.

  ***

  Striker

  My cat wants her cat.

  As we run along the bank of the bayou, as we dart in and out of the cypress and weeping willows, and now, as we sit side by side, on the healthy, magical border of the Wildlands, The Cougar’s Den in the distance, my cat wants her cat.

  I am different inside my puma than most. Acutely aware of who I am without this fur and muscle and fangs. Of the male I am. I can think totally separately. Reason. And yet with Twelve beside me, I find I am unable to control my puma. In fact, I am pretty sure it wishes to control me.

  I glance her way. She’s a stunning cat. The color of rich mahogany wood. Her eyes are a deeper, darker shade of blue, rimmed with black. She stares at The Den in the distance, and the town beyond. What is she thinking? Does she want to run? Leave the Wildlands, and start fresh on her own?

  I wouldn’t blame her, but the thought fills me and my puma with a shocking sense of dread. Not because I would fail in my mission to get further information about this female and her history and her time in the lab. For Raphael, and for the cause. But because I can’t stand the idea of her out there, unprotected.

  I am her protector.

  A soft growl rumbles in my throat, causing her to turn and look at me. Those dark blue cat eyes narrow and she rises and inches toward me, stopping only when her nose is nearly touching mine.

  My cat wants her cat.

  Christ, I’ve never even thought about taking a female in puma form. I know some do. Especially mates. But it’s never crossed my mind.

  Until now.

  And then she leans in and licks me.

  Her tongue, pink and rough, across my face. And my cat goes rigid. Inside and out, humming with a need it’s never experienced before. The ultimate hunt.

  She sits back on her haunches and waits. Her eyes wide and curious. A question. Will you take me this way, Male?

  I’m up on my feet in seconds, and start circling her, growling, mewling, showing her my teeth. Showing her what could very well be sinking into the back of her neck if my cat goes rogue. Around I stalk, rubbing myself against her. Making sure she has my scent on her fur. It is absolutely certain that I would kill any male who so much as looked at her right now.

  The thought fills me with sickness. And dread. That would be the ultimate possession. Mine. Mine. Mine. A low snarl erupts from my throat. If my cat takes her cat, we will be bound. The puma is not like the male. It cares nothing for history and pain, complications and vows. It never reacted to the one who left me, the mate. She was never the puma’s choice. Only mine. The beast is smarter than the male, clearly.

  No. You don’t get to have her. It’s my male self speaking now. You don’t get to have her if I don’t.

  Madness wants to claim me. I can’t allow it. I shut my eyes and I force my shift. Painful as it is, because the cat wants so desperately to remain. To climb on her back. To bite her neck.

  To take her, hard and unyielding.

  But I push and push and push until I feel it recede and me come forward. Feel my clothes coat, then cover, my skin. Feel the breath enter through my mouth, not my nose.

  Twelve’s puma is watching me. She looks resigned. Gone is the playful cat who was purring as I rubbed against her. I hate to see it, but it’s necessary.

  Then before my eyes, she shifts too. From mahogany cat to beautiful naked female. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even try to cover herself. She is incredibly comfortable in her nakedness. I, on the other hand, wish I had a fucking blanket to throw over her. What if a Hunter comes by on patrol? He would see her perfect pale flesh, her round bottom, those pink nipples that are tightening into points as we sit here.

  She’s shaking her head at me. “You deny even my cat?” she says. “I told you, I don’t want anything serious or lasting or permanent from you.”

  Even though I’m in male form, the puma hovers just below the surface, and my voice is low and feral. “My cat would.”

  She gives me a confused look. I forget she has no memory of the time when she was a puma, when she was around pum
as. She has no idea of our ways, rituals or mating.

  “It’s not just the cat,” I continue with a bitter edge. “A connection like that might make me, the male, end up wanting something from you. Something I shouldn’t want.” My voice lowers. “Can’t want.”

  Twelve is silent for a moment as she seems to consider this. Around us, the sounds of night on the bayou intensify. And the light from the moon overhead seems to spotlight the six inches of ground between us.

  “Who?” she says, finally.

  I stare at her, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Who did this? Who caused this?” She reaches out and touches my temple.

  Her fingers are soft and cool and I have to restrain myself from leaning into them or turning my head and licking them.

  “Who fucked with your brain?” she continues, her eyes pinned to mine. From the cat’s dark blue to such pale intensity. “And you can tell me because if anyone understands all of that, it’s me.”

  I refuse her. Myself, too. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I want to pull away. Shit, I want to run away. But I can’t.

  “I won’t push you for answers,” she says. “In fact, I won’t ask again. I just want you to know that pain is pain, no matter how it comes into our lives and rearranges and takes over and destroys. It’s all the same. And if you want to tell me, I would listen without judgment. I would listen.”

  Inside my chest, something heavy resides. It’s not a heart because that was taken and crushed long ago. Maybe it’s my lungs. After all, I do feel slightly breathless.

  Her fingers sweep over my cheekbone in the most soothing way. I love it and hate it equally. But I want it to stop. How I accomplish that, however, is idiotic. I lean in and kiss her neck. One kiss. Right where her pulse thrums against the skin. I hear her breath catch and, as I thought, she drops her hand.

  This is it. I should pull away completely now, shift back into the puma and take off toward the Wildlands. But the scent of her skin has invaded my nostrils and my bloodstream. My dick is growing harder by the second, and I don’t know if it’s the drugs in her system or the pheromones, but I’ve never wanted to taste anything more.

  My tongue laps at the band of muscle, then I scrape my teeth gently across it. She hisses and arousal scents the air. She must’ve been turned on before. Inside her cat. Or maybe it was the cat. Regardless, she is wet and hot now, and I want to bite her. Mark her and taste her blood. I groan against her skin, but resist. Instead, I continue kissing my way up her neck to her ear. With a snarl of need, I lick the shell. She releases a breath and leans into me. Shivers. And another waft of intense desire hits my nose.

  Goddess, how does one resist?

  My teeth attack the lobe and nip. She cries out and arches her back. My eyes flicker open and I see that her lips are parted. She’s breathing heavy. For one second, I swear she’s going to shift into her puma. I feel…something…against my tongue, or inside myself. But the second passes, and I’m suddenly being shoved to my back.

  I hit grass, and without a word, Twelve is on me, straddling me, her pussy grinding against my zipper. My brain fries and I grab her backside and thrust her forward, until she’s sitting on my chest. Gorgeous pink pussy surrounded by dark, wet curls.

  The perfect view.

  She gives me a hiss of annoyance. Wants me to stop staring. I oblige, but give her something else to hiss about. I slide two fingers deep inside her. She gasps and I growl. She’s so tight and hot, and all I want to do is replace my fingers with my dick. As I slowly pump inside her, I watch. Eyes closed, mouth open, she rocks. Her body is magic; pale, supple flesh writhing under the light of the moon. My thumb brushes over her clit and when she lifts herself a few inches off my chest, I snarl. Her pussy is glistening, the brown curls a temptation to my hungry mouth. I remember how she tastes, how my tongue went searching for the hot, swollen prize inside.

  She’s riding me now, my fingers drenched in her cream. Up and down, impaling the two digits like she should be impaling my cock. My brain is full of that image. Well, that and how her perfect breasts are bouncing, the nipples hard and tight and high, as she moves.

  “Stretch over me, Twelve,” I command. “I need your sweet tits in my mouth. I need to suck them as your pussy is sucking my fingers.”

  “Oh, Goddess,” she groans, but instantly complies. And in seconds I’ve latched on to her left nipple. Moaning at the sensation, she freezes in place, and lets me work her over, nipping and sucking at her hot little tit while I thrust up deep inside her.

  “Look at me,” I command as I press the pads of my fingers against the sensitive part of her pussy. The part that makes her cream.

  The part that makes her come.

  I remember. Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

  And she does. All over my fingers and down her right thigh. Her eyes clinging to mine. And this time, she knows who I am. Not the ‘it.’ Not the creature.

  “Striker,” she breathes.

  “Oh, yeah, beautiful,” I grind out, pumping her gently as she starts to come down from her climax. “You feel so fucking good.”

  “That was…” she breathes. “Goddess, that was amazing. But…”

  Our eyes meet again, and a flash of ire moves through me. Why? Fuck me. Why? I don’t want to hear the but. Because I know what it is. What she wants. And my cock is screaming for me to give it to her. It’s all I can do not to unzip, lift her up and drop her down on the thing. Hell, it’s already straining against my fly like a goddamned monument, wanting to get out.

  But she says it anyway.

  “It’s not enough.”

  Gut tight, everything tight, I ease my fingers from her and pull away, come to my feet. While my back is turned, so she can’t see me, I slide both digits in my mouth and just taste. I stifle a groan because she’s so fucking sweet. And because I hate how I’ve allowed my brother and my ex-female to steal the pleasure and desire I want to feel in this moment—that I want to take.

  “Time to go home,” I say, though as soon as the word is out of my mouth I want to steal it back. That cottage is no home. It’s a temporary hiding place. For us both.

  As I turn back to face her, Twelve is already shifting into her cat. But I don’t miss the look in her eyes. Those pale blue orbs are hazy with climax, but it’s there. The ugliness. The frustration. The regret. And it bites at my insides.

  She wastes no time in doing exactly as I’ve suggested. Leaving me, dashing across the marshland, heading for the cottage. And this time, it’s me who follows her.

  CHAPTER 5

  Twelve

  Sleeping in a bed—an actual bed, after years of a hard, antiseptic-smelling pallet on the floor of a cell in the lab—is pure heaven. Sleeping alone? Not so much.

  I don’t understand this about myself. I should be content, more than content, with a huge, comfortable bed all to myself, with no fear of being watched or wakened or snuck-up on. But I’m distracted. And…

  I can still feel his fingers inside me.

  His mouth is imprinted on my neck.

  I fall back against the pillows. You need to stop. Get your mind off him. I promise you, his mind is off you.

  In the other bedroom. Door closed.

  I reach for the iPad the Pantera Diplomats have given me, and turn it on. I’m pretty unfamiliar with technology. Especially the newer gadgets. I saw workers at the lab using them, but we weren’t allowed close enough to see how things worked or what was available on the different devices. Along with the clothes, Dr. Julia gave me a tutorial on the basic working of the small computer, and a recommendation as to what to watch. A television program called “Scandal,” that she swore was “The greatest thing ever.”

  I blink at the screen and scan the contents, check out the different programs, and decide to just go with the woman’s advice. Political drama, sexy, suspenseful. Sounds good. I push Play and tuck in for the first episode. Halfway through, I’m wishing I had popcorn. Halfway th
rough the next one, I’m totally hooked. And halfway through the third, there’s a knock at my door.

  I stab the Pause button and glance at the clock. Eleven fifteen. What is he doing?

  “Striker,” I call.

  The door opens, and he walks in wearing only a pair of gray pajama bottoms. Really unfair. They hang low on his hips, and make my mouth water.

  I clear my throat. “Is it too loud?”

  “What?”

  “My show.” I point to the iPad.

  His brows draw together. “Oh. No.”

  I wait. Both for him to give me a reason why he’s in here, and for him to put on a shirt. Seriously, it’s like being a diabetic and having a hot fudge sundae shoved in my face. The male has the most perfect body. A trim waist that vees upward to broad shoulders and powerful biceps. Then there’re the waves of corded muscle and the line of hair leading down to his…

  “I want to apologize,” he says finally.

  It takes my brain a second to register what he’s saying as I’ve been temporarily held captive by his beauty.

  “For what?” I ask.

  He looks around, uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Striker.”

  “Okay. Treating you like—”

  “A mission?” I finish for him. Then because I’ve been watching hours of relentless flirtation, I add, “Or refusing to keep treating me like a mission?” I can’t help myself. My mouth quirks up at both corners. The thing is, I’m not angry with him, or insulted. I understand that he wants zero attachment. I understand that it’s a life raft he seems to cling to. But I can’t make that my business. I have enough to think about with my own sanity and future. “Listen, it’s fine,” I tell him. “No harm done. Promise.”

  Unconvinced, he comes over and sits on the bed, near my hip. “I feel like I have to explain.”

  “You really don’t.”

  “I do.”

  I heave out a breath. Perfect. I was just getting over him. Well, thinking about him, anyway, as I watched this crazy show. And now he has to sit in front of me without a shirt, showing off his hip bones and his green eyes and those hands and fingers…