Bayou Heat Collection Two

by Alexandra Ivy

  No. She couldn’t.

  When it pounced a fifth time, she didn’t move. Refused her instincts. Breath stalled, teeth gritted, she held her ground. Pissed, the cat snarled. Snapped its teeth at her. Move, foolish human, it seemed to be saying. But it didn’t touch her.

  Tears pricked Taylor’s eyes, but she willed them away. She shook her head, feeling like her heart was going to explode. “No.”

  Nostrils pulsing with each breath, it glared at her.

  “I can’t go back there.” She glanced behind her.

  “My life is over if I go back there.”

  When she turned to face it again, the cat’s head was swaying from side to side as if to say, ‘What do you think awaits you here, human?’

  “I was hoping for protection,” she said, her voice cracking. She was done. Done running. Done planning every move she made. “I was hoping to stay here. Live here. Contribute in any way I could. I was hoping to hide.” She laughed suddenly. “Do you know what that’s like? Being so afraid you just want to crawl into a hole and stay there?” She shrugged. “Indefinitely.” Her eyes came up and locked with those silver orbs. “Do what you gotta do, puma. I know I’m in your world, on your land. Kill me if you must. Because if I go back there, I’m dead anyway.”

  For long seconds, the only sound in the bayou was the rain and the rushing water. The massive cat stared at her, regarded her, then started to move. But it didn’t come at her. Instead, it paced from side to side, every once in a while glancing her way, as if it were pondering an idea…or a question. Then suddenly it stopped.

  Taylor held her breath. Please don’t make me leave. This time, when it padded toward her, it didn’t leap or pounce or back her up against the border. Instead, it sort of corralled her down the shore of the bayou like a sheepdog. Light wasn’t in abundance so she had to trust that it wasn’t leading her into a sinkhole or swamp—hope it was taking her into town.

  “I’m sure you get people coming across your border for the wrong reasons,” she said as she trudged through the overgrown wetlands. “Or trying to. Curious tourists and irritating reporters. I’m not curious or a reporter.” Her voice dropped. “I’m not anything.”

  The cat didn’t make a sound, but she felt its head, solid with muscle, warm breath at her back. It nudged her onward.

  “I just want to be safe,” she continued, swiping rain from her eyes. “I just want to know what that feels like again.”

  She knew she was rambling. But she wanted the cat to see her as more than a pesky, unwanted human. She wanted it to see her as a being it could help.

  After a few minutes of walking, they came to a stand of cypress. Taylor started to veer left, but the cat darted out in front of her, cutting her off. Taylor stopped sharply, looked from the trees to the cat.

  “What?”

  Once again, the cat came forward and nudged her toward the tallest, broadest tree. The power in just that small movement was staggering. Confused, Taylor looked all around. What was it trying to tell her? The panic rose again in her throat and she swallowed hard. Was this the border? Just in another area of the Wildlands? Then she saw it. In the trunk of that one massive cypress. Or what should be a trunk.

  She squinted against the rain and her pulse kicked in her blood. There was a doorway in the trunk, as tall or taller than she was. How was that possible? To her left, the cat growled, then knocked its head in the direction of the hollowed-out tree.

  Oh, god. Her heart sank into her soaking wet shoes. It wasn’t taking her to town. Wasn’t forcing her across the border. “You want me to go in there? Why?”

  The cat looked up at the sky, then back at her and snarled.

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand. Please. I need to find Raph—”

  Her words were cut off by a strike of lightning and the rain that had been falling lightly just seconds ago upgraded into a virtual torrent. Within seconds, Taylor felt as though she was underwater. And without another thought, she bolted for the door in the cypress.

  ***

  Want.

  Not food.

  Female.

  Not puma.

  He rolled his neck, dug his claws into the wet ground.

  Human.

  Raphael? She wanted Raphael. He knew the name. Had come across the Hunter when he’d found his way to the Wildlands so many years ago. When he’d finally escaped.

  Bite. Claw. Tear flesh of humans. Release…

  A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest as he padded into his nest. He gave a good shake, then sank to his belly and watched the woman. Human woman. It was a stench he normally despised. Anything human, really. But she also carried the scent of warmth inside her, and desire and vulnerability. That was new. That he didn’t understand.

  She was looking around his dwelling like she was surprised to find it clean.

  Should it be filled with shit and bones, human?

  No. He lived as puma only, true, but he liked his dwelling kept with fresh moss, clean blankets. He hunted and consumed and relieved himself outside the den.

  She turned to look at him then, sodden and hopeful, her dark green eyes desperate to understand—know her fate. As if he carried that power within him. He would admit to her beauty. The fur on her head was long and thick and lighter than the sun. Her body was perfect for mounting. Her breasts were large and could feed young. Her face…it made him momentarily forget what human women were capable of. What they had done to him, both in and out of his cage. That they had wanted his suffering, then demanded he give them pleasure. His mind ventured back. His senses too. He could catch their stench on the air before they even unlocked the door to the clinic’s hallway. Disgust, desire, anticipation.

  His eyes narrowed on the woman before him, and he opened his nostrils further. This human did not scent of anything like that. It was strange, yet intriguing. She carried some fear and panic in her pores. But there was something else. Something he hardly recognized. Something from long ago. Something he’d shared with the Pantera female he’d been caged with. A hope for comfort?

  He growled low and blackly.

  “Please.” She sat down, her back against the wall. “Please, don’t.”

  What did she expect of him? To rush? Attack? To lick? Bite? Feast on her delectable human flesh?

  Heat rumbled through him. His caustic thoughts and suggestions had been only sarcasm. And yet, they’d entered his mind and instead of remaining, had snaked through his body like liquid fire. He tucked his head into his chest and closed his eyes. He should force her to leave. Rain was just water. It hurt nothing. Especially a human. They were, after all, made of slick, impenetrable grease. She would find her way to town, perhaps. Find the male she sought. Raphael.

  His lip curled. Now he remembered. This Raphael was a leader in the Pantera. A Suit, they called it. He was the go-between with humans and Pantera. Yes, he sometimes heard the Hunters speaking of it as they passed by on patrol.

  He lifted his head. Now she was sitting with her knees to her chest. She looked exhausted. Her eyes wilting like a Dyesse lily after that fete the Pantera loved so much. He should ignore her until the skies dried up. But instead, he got up and padded over to her. Eyes wide, biting her lip, she pressed as far back against the wood as she could. He had liked licking her. At first, he’d wanted to taste her emotions, her fear, to know her mindset. But he’d gotten carried away. Her neck intrigued him. The beat of pulse under his tongue.

  Her eyes moved over him. “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she said in an almost-whisper. “Or if you’re thinking. Maybe this is an instinct thing to bring me in here. Maybe it’s protecting your borders. Maybe it’s the crazy rain, and you’re actually protecting me. But all I’m asking for is safety for a short time. Until I can figure out what I’m going to do.”

  Safety. He had asked for that once. Not for himself. But for the Pantera female. His friend. Instead they stuck another needle in her arm.

  His nostrils flickered, catchin
g a scent. He inhaled deeply.

  Blood.

  Human.

  It was faint.

  Hunger roared through him. He dipped his head to the woman’s hand and nudged his nose up the seam of her wrist until… A low growl vibrated in his throat. She’d had something put around her forearms. Something that had dug into her skin. Caused her to spill blood.

  His gaze flipped up.

  She was staring at him. “It was the day I told him I was leaving,” she said, her eyes tired but strong. “That I never wanted to see him again. He didn’t accept that.”

  A sudden tornado of fury exploded within him, and he let loose a series of cries, a wild cat’s way to curse and howl and rant. She had been caged too.

  She grabbed her arm and held it to her chest protectively. “But I got out. When I could I got out and ran. That was three weeks ago. He won’t stop looking for me.”

  Fuck! Was he truly sitting here, feeling empathy for a human? After all they had done to him? All they had inflicted on him?

  “I’m not a wimp, I swear,” she said quickly. “I tried the police. Tried friends, hiding out. Changing my address, phone number. But nothing worked. He’s got too many connections.” She inhaled deeply. “I saw an article in the newspaper about the Wildlands. How there are some humans here. Mates, they called them.” Her eyes pricked with sudden tears. “I was hoping…” she added softly. Then she swiped at the tears with one of her paws and sagged against the wall. “It smells so good here. The minute I crossed the border, the air changed. Wet and fresh and cool.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the open door. Outside, the rain had receded to a fine mist, and a sliver of moonlight was trying its best to break from a cloud and spread some light across the bayou.

  He turned back. She was leaning on a mound of blankets, her eyes heavy-lidded. “I’m so tired. I’ve been running for two days.”

  What was left of the male inside him reacted to her words, pushing the cat forward until it placed a paw on her shoulder and pressed her gently until she lay down on the strip of clean rug. As she stared up at him, unsure, he scratched at her, very softly on her shoulder and arm until her muscles relaxed and her eyes closed.

  Go to the doorway, curl up in a ball and rest.

  But the puma remained where it was, watching the woman sleep. He didn’t know what he was going to do with her. But he worried that she might be cold. Or hungry.

  CHAPTER 2

  Taylor woke to the gray-green light of dawn and a man’s naked body curled up next to her. For a second or two she lay there frozen, trembling, believing she’d failed—believing she was back in New Orleans, Edgar beside her. But as the dust of sleep faded from her eyes, she realized the man pressed to her side was the antithesis of Edgar.

  Her ex was of medium height, thin and wiry, with short black hair. The man beside her now was tall, had a mane of thick hair the color of caramel, and every inch of him was hard, smooth muscle.

  She let her eyes move over him. He reminded her of a sculpture from the Renaissance, perfectly carved and chiseled muscle from calves to buttocks to torso and even to his face. His face…was it possible for something so fiercely beautiful to exist outside of a museum? Such strong features, like granite, yet his heavy mouth was soft and his eyelashes were long and thick.

  Without thinking, she reached out and ran the pad of her thumb across his cheek. Soft. She smiled.

  A low, tense growl vibrated from his throat, and in seconds the man was up on all fours, eyes blazing down on her, teeth bared.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, pressing back against the wall of the cypress. Oh my god. What had she done? “I didn’t mean anything by it. I—”

  Her words were cut off by the look on his face. A moment ago he had been all predatory antagonism. Now, alarm, panic and shock registered in his features. He glanced down at his body. So did Taylor. Oh… She swallowed thickly. He was erect. And very, very large. She’d never seen…anything…

  It’s true. God…it’s all true. The pumas are human. Or can change into humans. Amazing. Incredible.

  Her eyes lifted. He was staring at her intently, those silver eyes now flecked with pale blue trying to comprehend what was happening.

  “I’m so sorry for touching you,” she whispered, her heart kicking against her ribs. “It’s just I’ve never seen anyone like you before. You’re…magnificent.”

  His eyes narrowed, and once again, he looked down. At his hard sex, and his thighs, belly, forearms. When he lifted his head again, his eyes held stark, icy panic.

  “How…” His voice sounded raspy, unused.

  “What?” What was wrong with him?

  “This.” He reached up and clutched his throat. “How am I…male?”

  She didn’t understand. “What do you mean?” Wasn’t this how it worked for the Pantera? Shifting from one state of being to the other? She shook her head. “When I went to sleep you were a cat. And when I woke up…” You were lying next to me, warm and nude and glorious. “You were like this.”

  The color drained from his handsome face. “No…I…am puma,” he managed. “Always. No.”

  His anxiety was palpable and Taylor wasn’t sure what to say or do. Was this not how the Pantera shifted? Were they not males or females at all, but always in cat form? Again, on instinct, she leaned in and touched him, offering him some level of comfort. Her hand on his shoulder. His skin was hot to the touch. Not the kind that burned, but the kind that melted. She felt her insides liquefy, felt her belly tighten.

  “You,” he growled softly, his eyes probing her.

  “Taylor,” she whispered.

  They were close. So close she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. His gaze swept over her face, hesitating when he came to her lips. Taylor swiped at the bottom one with her tongue.

  “Human,” he uttered.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He leaned closer, but didn’t touch her. A sense of urgency erupted within Taylor, and she wanted nothing more than to feel this male’s lips on hers. Crushing against her, stealing her breath—

  The thought was seized from her mind as a feral snarl burst from the male’s throat. He jerked back, and his nude body stiffened. In seconds, hair began to sprout from his skin. Taylor watched in shock and fascination as the man with the chiseled muscles and beautiful mouth became a glorious golden beast.

  Her back to the wall of the tree, heart beating a violent rhythm in her chest, Taylor stared at the animal, mouth open. It stared back. For one moment, she believed she saw him—the male—behind the puma’s silver eyes; his anxiety, his curiosity, his desire. But that look was gone in an instant, and something else had taken its place. Something vicious. Ears flat, teeth bared, he cocked his head to one side.

  “We’re supposed to be patrolling,” came a man’s voice outside the tree.

  Taylor tried to sit up, but the puma remained where it was.

  “I scent human female, Rage.” This time it was a woman’s voice.

  “Are you sure?” Rage returned.

  “Yes, Lena,” another man put in. “Be sure. You know how he gets when we try to engage him in anything.”

  “I know what I smell, Parish,” she said with a snort.

  Taylor stared up at the puma. It stared right back at her. What do we do? What do I do? she silently asked him.

  The man called Parish cursed loudly, then bellowed, “Séverin, do you have a human in your treehouse?”

  Séverin. The name coated her skin like honey. “Is that your name?” she asked him.

  He didn’t answer. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. His ears were pinned back. His entire being was aggressive animal ready to spring.

  “I can’t believe you called his place a treehouse,” Lena said dryly. “Bad form, boss.”

  “Séverin?” Parish yelled again. “Come out here and talk to us before we have to come in.”

  “Talk to us?” Rage put in with a sniff. “He hasn’t uttered a word since h
e came here, and you expect—”

  “No expectation, brother,” Parish cut in. “Just hope. Always hope.” He growled softly. “Dammit. Séverin! Last time I’m saying it—”

  Without warning, Séverin turned and barreled through the opening in the cypress. Shit! He was going to get into trouble because of her. Maybe even hurt. Taylor was on her feet in an instant, following him. Cool morning air rushed her skin as she hit the doorway and remained. Holy hell. Séverin was directly in front of her, just a foot or two away. He was in full fighting stance, ears pinned back, teeth bared—his growl a warning for the three people standing in a semicircle beside the shore of the bayou. No, she corrected herself. Not people. Pantera. They were staring at Séverin, no doubt worried about his sudden show of ferocity. They only looked up when Taylor spoke.

  “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I’m okay.”

  Three sets of incredible colored eyes took her in. Taylor glanced at each one in turn, acknowledging them with an encouraging nod. Both the males were tall and dark-haired, and like Séverin, heavily muscled. The woman was about Taylor’s height with straight, shoulder-length red hair and a wicked expression. She spoke first.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  Séverin growled and lunged at her.

  Lena held her ground, but crouched slightly as if ready for whatever was about to come her way. She glanced at Parish. “What the hell?”

  The male with the long dark hair didn’t reply. He was staring intently at Séverin.

  “My name’s Taylor,” she called out quickly. Last thing she wanted was a fight. And one she had brought on because of her presence.