Into the Night [Into the Heart 2]

by Caitlyn Willows

  He and Joaquin stared at each other, bound together by culture, tragedy, revenge, and now...

  "You two wouldn't be starting without me, would you?” Carmen's sultry voice drifted toward them. Her voice alone had brought the strongest of men to their knees. She'd been their secret weapon all these years, easily worming information out of anyone and everyone they required in their hunt to rid the world of the skinwalkers. Now all that charm, and those shape-shifter pheromones, oozed their way.

  Wyatt had never felt more powerless. It was all he could do to keep from jerking her between them and taking her where they stood. Joaquin's fingers already curled around her bicep, drawing her near. The cat in her lurked beneath her features, fading in and out, merging her smile and eyes with those of the feline. Like a beacon calling them closer until escape was impossible.

  Her fingernails elongated, hinting at the claws they could become in the blink of an eye. She raked them down Joaquin's chest, leaving behind shallow, bloody scratches. Joaquin grabbed her wrists in a tight hold. Carmen's cat smile came out. She purred and rubbed her full breasts against him. More pheromones flooded the air.

  Fear and distrust backlit Joaquin's gaze. The man was as hard as Wyatt—any control they might have possessed over their erections was now in Carmen's lethal hands. A female shape-shifter determined to mate was impossible to resist.

  Clearly, she could have had this joining anytime she'd wanted and officially seized the alpha spot she coveted. Why now? If he could have threaded two coherent words together, Wyatt would have asked her.

  She twisted toward him. Her wrists were still bound in Joaquin's hands. Wyatt silently begged him not to let go. He feared Carmen—the sexual power she exerted, and the determination he saw behind her golden gaze. She smiled at him, and Wyatt saw saliva glisten on her fangs. She butted her head against his chest, rubbed her scent over him. Whiskers tickled his skin before she dragged her cat tongue down his torso.

  Wyatt winced with the pain. He knew she'd purposely drawn blood with her rough tongue. He cupped his genitals to protect them from her assault. Carmen's purr deepened. He glanced up at Joaquin for strength to pull away from her. Neither of them possessed it. Whatever spell entrapped them, only Carmen had the key to free them.

  "Come.” She slithered up his body, raking her breasts over his chest while she rubbed her ass over Joaquin's cock. “It's time.” She led them toward the clan.

  It seemed they had little choice but to obey. Wyatt recognized the signs well. She was primed for mating, nature in its rawest, purest form asserting itself. Maybe Carmen was right—maybe this was coded in their DNA.

  Her dominance grated against Wyatt's senses, as it was meant to do. He and Joaquin were to tame the beast raging inside her, prove they were worthy of such strength. Carmen's submission would bless them as continued rulers, proof to the clan of her trust, her need to bear a child of unique caliber. It was a ceremony as old as time itself, one not witnessed since the event binding him to Ka-ra. How could Joaquin and Carmen not have recognized the signs? Was he the only one to have deduced the reason, because he recalled the past while the others chose to ignore it? Now who was wiser?

  His blood heated with the memory of his last time on the altar. Ka-ra had been surly and aggressive for months prior to that night. Biting, scratching, daring him to take her ... and he had. Their couplings had been frenzied and wild. He'd done some biting of his own. Like with Trina tonight.

  Wyatt's step faltered. Trina's image supplanted Ka-ra's. It was her heat he felt as he'd thrust into her, not Ka-ra's. Trina's body that wrapped around his, arched against him. Her sounds when she came, rippling through him, still reverberating through his mind. God, her scent lingered on his face, too, making his mouth water for more.

  He damned her for intruding at this sacred moment; damned himself for letting her.

  Wyatt engaged his jaguar senses and lifted his nose to the air. Trina still hadn't left. The smell of her overrode the stench of ash, the kiss of the ocean breeze, the pulse of pheromones pouring from Carmen.

  He growled beneath his breath and took the lead. Joaquin matched his step, and Wyatt could only surmise that somehow the other's man primal instincts had kicked in. Hauled behind them, her wrists still bound in the circle of their grip, Carmen had to trot to keep up. The shift in goals pumped more pheromones their way. This time, Wyatt and Joaquin countered with equal measures of testosterone.

  Carmen groaned in response, so reminiscent of Ka-ra on their bonding night, it made Wyatt ache. Trina would have intimate knowledge of that, too. Did she watch from the shadows and crave to be in Carmen's place? His cock stiffened to the bursting point at the thought.

  Heads turned their way as Wyatt, Joaquin, and Carmen neared the clan. They shifted back into human form as the trio stepped into their midst. Wyatt had just enough time to assimilate the fact that Rose, Dean, and Paolo weren't there with the rest of the gang. He wasn't sure if they'd gone off to be alone, or if Rose had overheard his and Joaquin's overly loud conversation and left angry. She had as much right to be queen as Carmen. In either event, he'd deal with the fallout tomorrow and pray they all understood this act was for Carmen's peace of mind and nothing more.

  Joaquin swung Carmen into his arms, lifted her leg around his hip, and thrust his erection deep inside. She cried out and arched back, reaching for Wyatt. Joaquin's gaze locked onto his, waiting for him to make the final move. Or not.

  Wyatt gazed up at the sky, searching the heavens for the stars the city lights kept hidden. He remembered the silence of the crowd the night he and Ka-ra had their royal bonding, the low thrum of drums as they came together on the altar. He'd vowed she would be his only queen. He'd lost her within weeks of their binding ceremony and had been mourning ever since. His grief had been a driving force, a means to an end—the destruction of the evil that had taken her.

  Now what?

  The pain of her loss was finally gone. Wyatt had had his chance to say good-bye. But when did the loneliness end? He started. He wasn't doing this ceremony for Carmen's peace of mind. He was doing it for his own, to sever his final link with Ka-ra. To let go.

  He dropped his gaze back to Joaquin's and stepped into the heat of Carmen's body. Precum flooded his glans. Gripping his cock in his fist, Wyatt smeared the substance around her anus. Carmen writhed in Joaquin's arms and nuzzled her face against his neck. Wyatt resisted the urge to bite her shoulder. That right should be Joaquin's alone.

  Carmen gasped as he pierced the snug band of her anal muscle. He slid deep, reveling in her tightness and the throb of Joaquin's erection against his. Then they stroked together.

  But it wasn't Joaquin or Carmen he felt. It wasn't Ka-ra either, though the drums of their royal bonding still beat in his head.

  It was the woman who waited in the darkness, torn between staying and leaving, that he couldn't help craving. A woman drawn there by a memory that wasn't hers.

  A woman he didn't want, and sure as hell didn't trust.

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  Chapter Three

  Trina dressed in a daze. Her muscles felt like jelly, her knees quivered in an effort to keep her upright. She had that lazy, well-fucked feeling that made her long for the comfort of her bed and a warm body to cuddle against. Now if she could only get in her car and drive home.

  She sank to the cool, damp grass and leaned against a tree trunk to put on her shoes and socks. Her head buzzed. Her body ... It didn't feel like hers. It hadn't for quite a while. Her hands shook. Trina clenched them into loose fists until the tremors died. She'd swear she could feel the nails elongating, digging into her palms. A trickle of cold sweat wiggled down her spine, wicked away by the waistband of her panties.

  Trina pulled in a hard breath. A thousand different scents assaulted her. She shook her head to clear it and tumbled to one side. Vertigo. Damn, it was happening again. Trina caught herself before she fell and eased down onto the cool grass. Nausea roiled in her stomach. She wrapp
ed her arms around her midriff in a desperate attempt to keep from throwing up. The buzz in her head grew to a roar. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain she knew was coming. It slammed into the back of her skull with the force of a sledgehammer.

  She tucked into a fetal position, shaking arms clutching her knees. Blackness clouded her mind, and she felt herself drop into a void. Her body convulsed, as if it were trying to leave the confines of her skin. Trina couldn't say if the seizure was real or just the workings of her troubled mind. Finally, the sensation passed, and she peeled her eyelids open.

  She was sprawled on the ground, her fingers digging into the soft grass like a lifeline. Deep gouges bloodied her forearms. She panted, as if she'd run a marathon, each hard breath amplified as the pain in her head drifted away.

  Trina pushed herself upright. She felt weak now, every movement an effort. Braced against the tree once more, she hugged her knees. This was why she'd sought the jaguar shape-shifters out. She wanted answers. Needed them. Except the pull of sex, the smell of sweat and hormones, the magic of whatever they were, had taken over instead. She'd been compelled to strip off her clothes, to watch, to join them.

  Then Wyatt had been upon her, tracking her, reeking of sex and maleness, asserting his dominance. And she caved, letting him do whatever he wished, take whatever he wanted. The loss of control, the total submission, affected her in ways she'd never imagined. The old Trina would have nipped that in the bud without blinking. But this person she'd become, this person she didn't recognize...

  She buried her face in her hands to squelch the rush of tears. Trina didn't know what she'd become. She needed help—their help. Somehow she had to convince them to do so, convince them she wasn't crazy or nosy or whatever she'd been before. She needed to convince herself, too. She didn't know which task was harder, getting someone to believe she'd changed, or trying to believe it herself.

  No, she knew what was hardest—asking for help in the first place. It'd taken her a great deal of soul-searching to get to this point—finding the clan and following them. She couldn't let the opportunity pass now. The chances of finding them again would be few after tonight; they'd be more watchful now that she'd gotten too close. Of course, Trina could always corner Wyatt at the institute.

  Just like he could corner me.

  Trina's pulse leaped at the thought. She hugged herself at the memory—the promise—of his hard, hot body looming over hers. Here was a man who took control without asking, who took it because it was his right. If he could do all this to her in the space of an hour and with an audience, what would he do if he had privacy and all the time in the world? The things he could do to her body! The things he could do to her heart.

  She shook her head. No, being alone with Wyatt Caldwell was a big mistake. It was better to get this over with tonight. To make the shape-shifters listen and give her the answers she needed.

  If they could.

  Trina pushed to her feet and brushed her hands down her T-shirt. Her ragged nails snagged on the cotton. Her forearms stung. She didn't want to see how much damage she'd done to herself while she was out of it. The truly bizarre thing was that, by morning, any sign of injury would be gone anyway.

  It was one of those new mysteries happening to her, like how she could now see in the dark, how her body healed overnight, how her sense of smell rivaled that of a bloodhound. She'd learned to accept the enhanced abilities; after all, what other choice did she have? But the isolation, turmoil, and confusion they caused were driving her slowly insane. Or maybe she'd always been close to the edge, and these events were accelerating her decline. The last few nights she'd spent watching the jaguars was the first time she'd felt connected to anything in six months. No wonder she'd hesitated to shatter that by approaching them.

  God, you're pathetic.

  Trina winced at the words her conscience threw at her. The last time she'd heard those exact words had set her on a course from which she'd sworn she'd never deviate. Never again was she going to be the victim in any way, shape, or form.

  Trina sighed. That decision had isolated her as well. How ironic she'd be suffering this—she looked at her hands—whatever this was, now.

  She lifted her chin and tried to catch the clan's scent. A cacophony of smells slammed into her—the zoo, the residue from the autumn fires, the ocean, vehicle exhaust. Blood.

  Fresh nausea clenched her stomach before she considered it was probably her own blood filtering into the mix. She'd only had six months to learn how to deal with a super-sensitized sniffer. Sorting smells in the rain forest was vastly different than doing so in the city.

  Trina shook her head. No, this was a lot of blood. Something big had been killed and recently, too, since the stench of decomposition hadn't set in. Now that was a smell she'd never had a problem identifying. Living in the rain forest, life and death were never more than a hundred yards away, and nature quickly reabsorbed the loss. But this...

  She debated on whether to call the police. The conversation played in her mind. I think something's dead. No, I don't know what. I don't know if it's a person. No, I don't know where. Somewhere in Balboa Park. No, I'm not a fucking psychic. This isn't a crank call.

  Trina sighed and let it go. Without specifics, there wasn't anything she could do to help. She clenched her fist against her thigh and forced her attention on finding the clan. Except too many scents vied for her attention, making it difficult to sort them out.

  Now what? Did she wander the park, hoping to run into them? Disillusioned, she wrapped her arms around her midriff as she determined her next move. Wyatt's scent drifted upward. Trina smiled. Of course, he'd been all over her. His scent would naturally be on her.

  She inhaled and felt a rush of goose bumps over her skin. Her breath hitched as her body remembered the hard thrust of his cock. Her clit swelled, apparently prepared to sniff him out on its own if the need arose. Ah, he was close. Her clit thrust greedily against her panty crotch. Trina damned the little traitor for wanting Wyatt so badly. She scuffed her hands over her arms in a futile attempt to banish the desire burning inside and then lifted her nose to the air to catch Wyatt's scent.

  There. Trina expanded her senses and caught a whiff of the rest of the clan. They'd congregated not too far away. Pulling in a breath and warning her libido against getting sidetracked, she headed in that direction.

  She scanned as she hurried along, wanting to catch sight of them before they did her. A gentle breeze in her direction kept her downwind from them. Advantage and the surprise that went with it were hers, if she used it correctly.

  Soft grunts of sex diverted her attention to the side. Two of the men had separated from the clan for a private tryst. She sifted through the remnants of Ka-ra's memories in her mind, but couldn't find any information to tell her who these men were. That didn't surprise her. The shape-shifters had numbered in the thousands when Ka-ra was taken from them. The woman wouldn't have known everyone. Necessity and survival would have pulled the remaining members together, many of whom might have been strangers to Ka-ra.

  Trina's personal knowledge of the thirteen was sketchy. She'd only met Wyatt Caldwell face-to-face six months before, even though she'd worked for him for years. Contact prior to that had been through his intermediary, Barry Page, who she thought resembled a weasel more than a jaguar. Her association with Joaquin Valera had been so brief, Trina would have dismissed it under normal circumstances. Hell, she would have dismissed them all. Any man not fuckable and thereby unable to get Trina what she wanted back then hadn't been worth remembering. But in that brief time she'd housed Ka-ra's soul, Trina recognized Joaquin as Ka-ra's beloved older brother. And his beautiful wife, Carmen, Ka-ra's best friend and confidante. A true sister of the heart.

  Trina heard the word “queen” on the breeze. She cocked her head to one side, but nothing more came her way. She shook her head clear and continued on, locked onto Wyatt's scent. Trina licked her lips, longing for a taste of his skin against her tongue, h
is cock in her mouth. She'd wrap her fingers around his sac and give him a milking he'd never forget.

  Wyatt's and Joaquin's voices rumbled her way a few seconds before they came into view. Night vision and the full moon allowed her the pleasure of seeing them in all their glory—their long, hard cocks thrust proudly from their nests of dark hair, precum glistening from the tips. One step closer and their cocks could duel. Heat shimmered around them. Trina couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to be between such powerful men.

  Obviously, someone else had the same thought, too. Carmen slinked toward the men. Ka-ra's memories of the woman might be laced with love, but Trina recognized a predatory female when she saw one. After all, she'd been one herself for most of her life. Men were to be used for what they could bring to her, then tossed aside. Hurt before they could hurt her. Used before she could be used.

  In hindsight, it'd been one hell of a way to live. Trina hadn't realized that until six months ago, when that chance event in an underground cave had momentarily fused Ka-ra's soul to hers. She'd been struggling to find a way to break that awful cycle of using people—especially men—for her own aims ever since. Here was more evidence of how destructive living that way could be.

  Sex poured off Carmen in red waves, encompassing the men. Trina could smell her lust, her determination to take control, no matter the cost. Trina stared, aghast. This was worse than anything she had ever done. Her behavior was by guile. This one used otherworldly force to get her way. Magic or spell-casting, Trina wasn't sure. But she did know it wasn't natural. Or maybe it was. After all, how much did she really know about shape-shifters? Until six months ago, she never knew they existed, and she certainly wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it for herself ... and felt it.

  Trina's gaze darted to Carmen's fingernail tips. She slithered between the two men. The feline she could become superimposed its shadow over her. Her nails elongated into claws, then shifted back to nails, as if echoing the beat of a feral heart. Carmen raked them down Joaquin's chest, leaving bloody scratches behind. One swipe, and both men would be dead.