When A Lioness Growls (A Lion's Pride Book 7)

by Eve Langlais

  “Maybe if you shut your mouth, woman, for more than five seconds, I could tell you.”

  “If you’re going to beat around the bush, then I’m going to jump in. If you don’t like it, gag me. I know you’ve got something just the right size to do that.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “And sexy.”

  “Very,” he growled. “Which is I should have left you at the resort.”

  “But then we wouldn’t be having a blast out in the middle of nowhere.”

  Sigh.

  Fist pump. She had her hat trick.

  “Hey, sweetcheeks, is it me, or do I smell chicken.”

  “Isn’t the expression fish? And I thought you bathed.”

  Why did he always have to make the most awesome jokes at the wrong times? She punched him in the arm. “You’d better mean fish in a delicious sushi kind of way. But, seriously, I smell something cooking.”

  He frowned, his features taking on a devilish cast in the glowing light of her stick. He inhaled deep. “Hot damn, I smell it too.”

  “Could it be someone camping out here?” she asked.

  “Doubtful. While they allow some small daytime treks, according to them, no overnights are allowed. Definitely no fires. The boar my group hunted down was skinned out here but brought back to the resort for cooking.”

  “So someone is breaking the rules.” Rule-breaking plus a lioness in a special-order suit equaled a good time about to happen.

  He sounded thoughtful as he stood and stared up the mountain. “If there is someone living out here, then they could perhaps be the person who stole Shania and wiped her memories.”

  And even if they weren’t, this cat had to know. “Let’s invite ourselves to dinner.”

  Treading quietly, she made a mental note to modify her costume, given her Lycra slippers with their slim rubber did not provide much protection against the sharp rocks on the ground.

  “I should have worn my heels,” she grumbled.

  “Can’t run in heels,” he remarked.

  “Says a man. I can run just fine in them. I’m the pride champion.”

  “I would have thought it was talking the most without taking a breath.”

  “No, that belongs to Melly. Biatch has incredible lungs.”

  “I think you need a rematch.”

  She jumped up and pecked him on the cheek. “Aren’t you just sweet. And I know exactly how to practice. You’ll have to time me when I’m giving you head.”

  He stumbled.

  She flicked her hair and followed her nose. In the process, they stumbled along a scantily used path comprised of bent blades of scraggly grass and wilting leaves that had been brushed aside one too many times. But other than a few expected smells, rodents, wild boar, even a goat, there was nothing sentient. No shifter, no human. Yet, it wasn’t an animal who’d made the path and dropped the sandwich wrapper.

  As the scent of food grew stronger, they found themselves at the base of the volcano, the lumpy surface of it rising. The smell wafted down on them from above, the volcano not quite as steep here, but still challenging enough.

  “Guess we’re climbing,” he noted. He’d reverted back to his hybrid shape for the hunt, and whilst he seemed more animalistic than man, he spoke perfectly fine. Looked mighty fine, too, even if he wasn’t a lion.

  The only thing he wore was a pair of dark shorts. As they climbed, his taut butt moving ahead of her, she imagined them bedazzled with a giant F on the ass. Francois the Ferocious. It had a nice ring. She wondered if he’d be open to a cape. Then again, he did have those awesome wings.

  Something buzzed close by her cheek. The damned insects had found them, and they showed no respect for this lioness on a mission. Biting her indeed.

  As if that wasn’t irritating enough, the damp air made her perspire. Lovely. Nothing said hot seductress more than stanky pits.

  Then her nails, the beautifully French manicured nails, broke on the rough rocks. She could have sobbed. Now how would she rake them down Francois’s back later in bed?

  Complaining wasn’t an option. Not when the mystery thickened and the smell of food cooking got stronger. The aroma appeared to waft from a cave, the opening of it boasting a wide ledge swept free of debris. Having reached it first, Francois turned around and offered her a hand, the first one since they started the climb. A man who respected her as an equal, but could still show some courtesy.

  Did they have time for a quickie?

  “Do you smell anything?” he asked. Was this a hint that he noticed her wet panties? “Human, or shifter?”

  Trust him to stay focused. She held in a sigh and inhaled. Then sniffed again. She shook her head. “Other than some yummy stew, I don’t smell anything at all.”

  Which didn’t seem right. A clear path rose up the mountain. She could see the disturbance as they climbed, even found a tuft of fabric caught on a jagged edge. But not a single scent.

  “Could it be a whampyr?” she asked. “Most of you don’t smell.”

  “What do you mean most? We don’t at all. You can’t smell us unless we choose to wear a scent.”

  False. Perhaps at first she couldn’t read his flavor, but now that they’d been intimate, the musk of him, a very subtle essence unlike any she’d ever scented, marked him.

  “You didn’t answer the question. Could it be a whampyr?”

  “I don’t think so. We can usually recognize our own kind.” He frowned. “And we are not solitary creatures. We tend to congregate in colonies.”

  “How do we know there’s not a colony in that mountain?”

  “Because.”

  “What do you mean because?”

  “There is no proper food source here.”

  “The jungle is full of life.”

  “We can’t survive on animals alone, and the population here is too sparse to feed on without notice.”

  “How do you eat at home? Do you like go hunting for crooks and stuff and suck them dry? Raid blood banks?”

  “We don’t do things that will have us noticed. Gaston provides.”

  “What if he didn’t?”

  “Then we would adapt.”

  “Rumor has it that the whampyrs that revolted against Gaston had a thing for shifter blood.”

  “It is true that your life’s essence is rather sweet to us. But it is also forbidden. The treaties between shifters and whampyr are old. It is why Gaston could show no mercy to those who betrayed him.”

  “Does this mean you could be in big doo-doo if someone found out you nipped me?” If that was the case, she’d have to be careful not to tattle too much about their sexual exploits.

  “The rule has some flexibility. If a whampyr and a shifter become unlikely allies or lovers, then some exchange of fluids is expected and allowed. So long as it is mutual.”

  “In other words, we can totally become a couple.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  She blew a raspberry. “Give it up, sweetcheeks. You have no excuse to avoid me.”

  “On the contrary, I have a long list of reasons to avoid you.”

  “But you won’t. Because you like me.”

  “Who said I liked you?”

  “Do you really want me to force you to prove it out here on a ledge to the tantalizing smell of soup?”

  “I want to pretend you don’t exist so I can return to the way things were.” He sounded so grumpy.

  Because I rocked his world.

  “The way things were was boring.”

  “Says who?” he replied.

  “Me, because I wasn’t a part of it.”

  He almost cracked a smile. “You are definitely not boring.”

  “And I taste good.”

  “Divine. But it means nothing.”

  “Afraid your buddies will tease you if they find you’re dating a cat?”

  “More concerned your king will decide to tear my head off and use it as a soccer ball for daring to seduce instead of protect you.�
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  “Arik won’t care if we slept together. Although, if I get hurt, he might get a teensy bit upset. And speaking of getting hurt, we’ve been standing out here way too long. Let’s go see what’s in the cave.”

  He shook his head. “I think we should go back. Leave right now.”

  “Are you serious?” At his stoic countenance, she grumbled, “You couldn’t decide this before I wrecked my manicure?”

  “I was being sarcastic.” He almost cracked a smile. “Why would we leave now? I came here looking for something, and we might have found it. Are you coming?”

  “I already did three times,” she said with a snicker.

  “It will be four once we solve this mystery.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” She pushed past him, and almost bit her tongue as he slapped her ass. The man had a hidden naughty side, and it pleased her inordinately to see it emerging.

  They slipped inside the cave, the smell of chicken, sautéed onions, and spices making her mouth water. The sounds of the jungle—cawing of birds and buzzing of insects—diminished the farther they went into the cave. Which, she realized after a bit, was more of a tunnel, the rock smoothed and yet distinctly lava born.

  As proper predators, there was no need to demand silence. They automatically kept quiet, watching their steps as they made their way through the bored hole. From a distance, the pulsing beat of music haunted its way to them. There came a break in the tempo, and a voice gabbling indicated a radio playing. There was also a noticeable hum in the air and the smell of fuel, indicating the presence of a generator. They’d found more than just a simple person camping for the night.

  Had they found the lair of the liotaur? Were they about to burst into his camp and catch him?

  If they played their cards right and got there quick enough, then maybe they could eat his soup before dragging him back to the resort for questioning.

  Reaching the end of the tunnel, they could see more clearly. Light, the kind that came from dancing flames, lit the interior of their passage. Francois flattened himself on one side of the tunnel. She took the other as they reached the opening and peeked out to see a huge cavern.

  The music on the radio burst with strong drums and piano as a new set began. It muffled any possible voices. Who knew how many people were here in the heart of the volcano?

  Excitement practically had her dancing. Her lioness meowed to get out.

  Not yet. We need to look around more first.

  A glance around the cavern showed a small slope from the cave that rolled into the bottom of the hardened lava floor, where tents were pitched. Large military grade ones.

  “What is this place?” she whispered. Because this was more than just a camp for a man dressing or shifting as a lion to steal women for debauchery.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t like it. Stick close.”

  As if she needed Francois protecting her.

  When he went one way, she went the other and ignored his hissed, “Get back over here.”

  She flashed him a finger and kept going. He either trusted her or he didn’t.

  He passed the test, letting her do her own thing, which was kind of cool. She took that faith in her abilities to heart and made sure to peek all around, noting that they weren’t truly in a cavern but an open bowl, the heart of the volcano itself.

  Overhead, netting hung over part of the camp, covering a stack of crates piled to the side. The camouflage looped across, hiding what hid within from anyone flying above. The open sections didn’t have much that could be easily seen from above, the dark tents probably blending in, and no one would hear anything from high above.

  But why all the secrecy?

  The organization of the installation had her pulling out her phone and clicking quickly, taking a multitude of images and some videos. Only as she panned around to grab a panorama did she notice more caves riddling the side of the volcano. One even had a carved arch framing it. The signs of ancient habitation occurred only on one side, with the other half of the volcano appearing unfinished and lumpy.

  Perhaps there was some truth to the ancient legends about people living within the volcano. However, ancient stories didn’t explain what happened here now.

  She sensed a presence and whirled. Despite realizing there was no threat, Francois still got gut punched. Even a whampyr should know better than to sneak up on a lioness.

  “Was that necessary?” he gasped, his body no longer big and gray but sexy and—mine.

  “No. Gonna spank me?” she asked with a wink. When he glared, she grinned. “Don’t be grumpy. I promise to kiss it better later.”

  “We should go.”

  “Did you discover something? What is this place?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. Whatever it is, though, there’s money behind it. There’s a helicopter landing pad on the other side of that large tent. And the generators? There’s two industrial-sized ones, one to run the main camp and another to run some kind of medical lab.”

  “A lab out here? For what?”

  “I don’t know. The cages were empty.”

  Cages? Why would someone need cages?

  “They won’t be empty for long.” The words were spoken by someone with no scent. None at all and a stranger.

  Before Stacey could whirl and act, a dart hit her in the ass.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Everyone reacts differently when attacked. Some drop to their knees and beg for mercy. Others cry. Some become enraged.

  Only Stacey would laugh, clap her hands, and sing, “Run, run as fast as you can. I’m faster than the Gingerbread Man.” And then she darted at the guy holding the tranquilizer gun. A guy whose eyes widened as she charged toward him.

  JF could understand why. Fur sprouting, body changing, Stacey let her lioness come out to play.

  The beautiful feline, with her russet-tinged fur, hit the ground with four feet, only she never reached the guy who shot her full of drugged darts. Three by JF’s count. She slowed and wavered, the chemical cocktail strong enough to take down even a shifter.

  So of course he shouted, “I told you someone darted me!”

  It was, after all, a perfect “I told you so” moment.

  They also tried to dart him again. But this time JF expected it, and dodged. It occurred to him he could change forms in a blink of an eye. In his whampyr shape, he could fight with more deadly force and grace; however, the odds of winning? Not so good given at least two of the guns aimed at him had bullets that would hurt.

  He had a split second to decide—go full-on whampyr and attack, see just how good fighters the three men surrounding them were, or play the part of weakling and see what was truly going on.

  Seeing Stacey collapse, the drugs working quickly on her, decided him. He couldn’t risk her getting hit in the crossfire. Nor did he dare change when he still had no idea what he faced. The two men with guns trained on him had no scent. None at all. Were they whampyr like him? He couldn’t tell, especially since they didn’t bear any marks on their skin.

  Staring at them meant he didn’t dodge the dart aimed at his back. The drugs invaded his system, and he felt a slight lethargy. Only slight. His body had already learned to adapt from his last dosage. A whampyr trait that protected them from poisons.

  They won’t take me down so easily again.

  A part of him wanted to smile, the cold beast within eager to play. Except he wanted to know more before he tore off any heads. Decapitated bodies didn’t speak very well.

  So JF sank to his knees slowly and then managed to collapse so that he at least partially covered Stacey.

  Someone who wanted them dead wouldn’t bother with a sleeping agent, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious with her.

  As to when he started to give a fuck what happened to her…perhaps he should blame it on a spider bite or something in the food. He didn’t know when or how or why it occurred, and yet he felt something for the woman. Something more than just hunger or lust. An em
otion that overcame the anger at his past.

  Who cared if a lioness had betrayed him a long time ago?

  Did it matter if they were so different?

  She’s mine.

  So why wasn’t he going beast mode on these ambushing bastards?

  Because sometimes caution was the better part of valor.

  Stifling the monster within that wanted to feed, he let himself go completely limp and didn’t react when hands pulled at him, lifting him. JF heard their surprise.

  “He’s not as heavy as he looks,” said Doofus Number One.

  Well duh. Heavy bodies were harder to fly.

  “She is,” grumbled Doofus Number Two.

  Stacey wasn’t heavy. Just solid. And whoever complained was lucky she slept because he’d wager money that kind of remark would see someone disemboweled.

  “What the fuck is she wearing?” asked Doofus One.

  “I don’t know, but my girlfriend could probably make a fortune on stage wearing it.”

  We should feast on their eyeballs. Playing the part of sleeping victim was all well and good, but if they dared to start stripping his princess, all bets were off.

  They weren’t carried too far, the rustle of canvas indicating they’d entered a tent. Given he’d done a quick scout, JF was not too surprised to hear the rattle of metal.

  Hitting the ground hard, the thin blanket covering it not a true cushion, he could now state with certainty that he knew the purpose of the cages. JF could smell the scent of those who’d passed before, such as the woman who’d just been recovered.

  Slam. Click.

  His cage shut behind him, but he didn’t hear a second click, indicating the other one had locked Stacey up.

  “She’s awful pretty,” muttered the second Doofus.

  Yup, definitely eating his eyeballs first.

  “You know what the boss said about touching the merchandise. We can’t leave any traces on them.”

  “I’ve got gloves.”

  Then he’d eat his hands.

  “I guess if we use a rubber…”

  That was quite enough. JF’s lip peeled back as he prepared to act, only a sharp rebuke, “Touch her and I’ll cut your dick off myself,” stopped him.