BAYON/JEAN-BAPTISTE
BAYOU HEAT 3-4
BY
ALEXANDRA IVY
& LAURA WRIGHT
Bayon/Jean-Baptiste
Bayou Heat 3-4
Digital Edition
Published by Laura Wright
978-0-9886245-1-1
Copyright © 2013 by Alexandra Ivy and Laura Wright
All Rights Reserved.
Editor: Julia Ganis
Cover Art by Patricia Schmitt (Pickyme)
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
BAYON
BY ALEXANDRA IVY
The Legend of Opela and Shakpi
Deep beneath the bayou, Shakpi stirred in the darkness of her prison. For centuries she’d been trapped beneath the choking layers of magic. Her sister, Opela’s, last gift to her beloved Pantera.
Ancient fury surged through her, sending out shockwaves that shook the land above her. It was all the fault of those damned cats.
In the beginning, it was just her and Opela. Twin sisters born of magic, meant to rule the world. They had done everything together, never needing anyone else.
Then Opela became obsessed with her desire for children. She’d claimed that there was no point of existence if she couldn’t possess creatures to love. Without thought for anyone but herself, Opela created a new race, the Pantera, to call her children.
Shakpi had done everything in her power to stop her sister. They’d had each other. Why did they need anyone else? But Opela had refused to listen to her pleas, instead lavishing her love and devotion on her Pantera.
Consumed with envy, Shakpi had plotted to kill the freaks of nature. Mortal creatures weren’t meant to be blessed with Opela’s magic. Or given the ability to shift into puma form. They were an abomination that had to be destroyed.
She’d been confident that her sister would understand her desire to return to the life they’d had before. A time when they’d both been happy. Together.
Born to destroy, Shakpi was unable to create her own children to act as instruments of her revenge. Instead she infected humans with her malevolent toxin, giving them the power to spread it among the bayou, destroying the magic that gave the Pantera their power.
How could she possibly have suspected her sister would make the ultimate sacrifice? That Opela would use her life-force to entrap Shakpi in this tomb to save her children?
But the bitch had underestimated Shakpi.
After centuries of being locked in stasis, her tentacles were at last reaching beyond her prison, touching the weak, the desperate, and the greedy.
Her infection was spreading and this time nothing would stop her from destroying her enemies…
Chapter 1
The Wildlands deep in the bayous of Louisiana would never be considered a place of peace.
The magical land of the Pantera was filled with puma shape shifters who had all the aggression of their animal nature plus the usual volatile emotions of their human nature. It was a combination that encouraged plenty of passion and conflict. Which meant that more than a little blood had been shed over the centuries.
But never before had there been enemies capable of slipping past the Wildlands’ borders to directly attack the Pantera.
The shockwaves were still rippling through the gathered Pantera as Bayon raced to the edge of their territory. He couldn’t help Raphael, who remained with his pregnant mate, Ashe. He had no talent for healing or for combating the mystic evil that was trying to destroy the babe she carried.
Bayon was a Hunter. A tall, golden haired man with eyes that fluctuated from leaf green to deep gold when he was aroused, and the solid muscles of a warrior. His talent was tracking down the bastards who dared to come into his homeland, and destroying them.
Well, first he intended to torture them. Slowly. Painfully. He needed to know who they were and if they were actually disciples of Shakpi, the Pantera’s ancient enemy.
First, however, he had to complete his current mission for Raphael.
He slowed his blinding speed as he neared the private house that was practically hidden among the weeping willows.
Most Pantera preferred to live in the main community with their various factions. There were the Diplomats who dealt with all things political, including their network of spies, as well as the Geeks who performed their magic with computers. There were the Nurturers who had built one of the world’s finest medical facilities as they searched for the reason the Pantera had lost the ability to procreate. There were the elders who were the ultimate rulers of the magical race of puma shifters, and their spiritual leaders.
And then there were the Hunters.
The warriors who protected their people with a ruthless efficiency.
There were, however, a few Pantera who sought isolation.
Parish, the leader of the Hunters, had lived in the caves at the far side of the Wildlands after his sister had been killed by humans. Everyone had understood his need to mourn in private.
Bayon didn’t know what had driven Jean-Baptiste, one of their finest Healers, to shut himself off from his family and live so far from everyone else, and he had no intention of asking. Pantera might live as a tight-knit community, but that only meant they had to have firm boundaries when it came to privacy. Shoving your nose in someone’s business was a good way to get it snapped off.
Vaulting onto the wraparound porch of Jean-Baptiste’s cabin, Bayon slammed his fist against the heavy wooden door, frowning when no one answered.
Dammit. He knew Jean-Baptiste was inside.
So why the hell was he ignoring him?
“Jean-Baptiste,” he growled, his voice edged with impatience. He didn’t have time for this shit. “I know you’re in there. Open the fucking door.”
A string of ugly curses reverberated through the cabin before the door was yanked open to reveal a six foot plus, male Pantera with dark brown hair that hit below his jawline, and eyes a peculiar shade of amber. He was dressed like Bayon in faded jeans and shit-kickers with a white T-shirt pulled over his leanly muscled torso. But unlike Bayon, he was wearing a heavy leather jacket that covered the numerous tats that Bayon had only glimpsed from a distance. Oh, and he had the sort of piercings that made him look like he should be in a motorcycle gang, not walking the halls of a hospital.
“What the hell?” Jean-Baptiste snarled.
“You’re needed.”
The amber eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Bayon’s hands clenched, the raw fury still pulsing through him. “Raphael’s mate was attacked.”
It was obvious the news hadn’t yet reached the Healer. “Where?”
“Here. In the Wildlands.”
Jean-Baptiste jerked in shock at Bayon’s blunt explanation, the air prickling with his angry disbelief.
“Impossible.”
Jean-Baptiste was right. It should have been impossible.
Which only pissed off Bayon more.
“Yeah well, tell her that,” he said.
There was a long silence as Jean-Baptiste struggled to wrap his brain around the unprecedented event.
“When did it happen?”
“During the hunt.”
Stepping onto the porch, Jean-Baptiste paced the wooden planks with a
grim expression, his thoughts obviously dark.
“Who would dare to enter the Wildlands?”
Bayon peeled back his lips, revealing his elongated canines. “That’s what I intend to find out. But first, Raphael wants you at the infirmary.”
Jean-Baptiste came to a sharp halt, his jaw clenched. “In case it escaped your notice, mon ami, I’m not on duty.”
“Too bad,” Bayon said, in no mood to tiptoe around his friend’s feelings. Whatever shit was going on with this male was going to have to be put on the back-fucking-burner. Nothing was more important than saving Ashe and her baby. “You’re needed.”
The amber eyes glowed with the power of his cat. “No.”
Bayon stepped forward, one of the few not afraid to get into this male’s grill. “Look, I don’t know what bug crawled up your ass—”
“There are other healers who are better suited to treat a human,” Jean-Baptiste snapped.
Bayon refused to back down. “Raphael doesn’t want your healing abilities.”
His companion stilled. “Then what?”
“They sense something is trying to possess Ashe. Or the baby,” he revealed. “They need you to travel to New Orleans to find a gris-gris to hold off the evil until we can determine the source of the attack.”
“Shit.” With a grimace, the Healer shoved a hand through his hair, knowing this wasn’t a duty he could decline. Their very future might depend on saving the babe. “Tell him I’ll—”
“You tell him. I’m a Hunter, not a damned messenger,” Bayon growled, already heading toward the edge of the porch and leaping over the thicket of yellow cow lily.
By the time he touched the ground he’d already shifted into his cat form, the surge of magic jolting through him with heart-pounding pleasure.
His roar echoed through the thick, humid air. Mère de dieu. There was nothing as intoxicating as releasing his animal to hunt. His lips stretched over his massive teeth, as his cat reminded him there was one thing more intoxicating.
Hot, balls-deep sex that made a woman scream with pleasure.
No. Not just a woman.
The right woman.
Something denied to him for far too long.
With an impatient shake of his head, he dismissed the painful thought. Now wasn’t the time.
Running lightly over the marshy ground, he used his acute senses to search for any trace of the intruders, finding nothing until he reached the narrow river where Ashe had been attacked. He growled low in his throat as he caught the sour scent of the intruders and followed the stench to the edge of their territory.
The intruders had either been the luckiest bastards in the world to have entered the Wildlands and stumbled across the very person they wanted to kill—or they had a way to track her.
Magic? Or a more mundane human technology?
He made a mental note to have Ashe searched for a tracking device small enough to have been hidden beneath her skin. Raphael said she’d been to a doctor just before the strangers tried to attack her the first time.
The medic could easily have tagged her without her knowing.
Sensing Parish’s approach, Bayon reluctantly returned to his human form, straightening to watch the glossy slate gray cat prowl forward. With a shimmer of magic, Parish shifted to human form revealing a man over six feet tall with broad shoulders and long, inky black hair. His face was angular, speaking of a predatory nature emphasized by the two healed scars near his right ear and mouth.
“They crossed here,” Parish snarled, looking more feral than usual. Together they studied the opening between the cypress trees where the attackers had entered the Wildlands. “Goddammit. I should have done a more thorough search. We have sensed a growing danger for years.”
Bayon shook his head. The leader of the Hunters was as hard on himself as he was on his warriors.
Harder.
Parish had never quite forgiven himself for his sister’s death.
Maybe now that he’d finally mated he could find some peace.
“Yes, sensed, but we had no tangible proof until recently,” Bayon pointed out. “There’s nothing we could have done, Parish.”
“I cannot change the past, but I can the future.” Parish jerked his head toward two large pumas who slid silently through the tangled foliage. “The guards will be doubled until further notice.”
Bayon squatted down, absorbing the sour scent of the intruders. It made the hair stand up on his nape.
“How did they get through the magic?” Bayon demanded.
“That is what you will discover.”
It was, indeed. Bayon had no intention of returning until he had some answers. “I’ll need my weapons.”
Parish nodded. “Do you want to take backup with you? I can send Talon.”
Bayon narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
“We cannot judge the level of danger,” Parish reminded him, his features carved from granite. “If this is truly the work of the ancient evil we fear, we cannot afford for anyone to take chances.”
Bayon shuddered.
All Pantera grew up with the legend of the twin sisters who created the Wildlands. Opela was the ultimate mother of the Pantera, while her sister, Shakpi, had grown jealous of Opela’s love for her children and tried to destroy the Pantera by using human disciples who’d been twisted by her evil. Eventually, Opela had no choice but to imprison her sister.
Was it possible that Shakpi was actually still alive? That she was trying to break out of her mystical prison? Perhaps even touching the world with her evil?
His thoughts shied from the possibility. He had to focus on finding the bastards responsible for hurting Ashe and her baby.
He’d leave the potential threat of a malevolent goddess seeking revenge in the hands of the elders.
“I won’t take any chances,” he muttered, raising his hands as Parish eyeballed him with a stern expression. “I swear.”
“Fine. Keep in contact.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Bayon turned to head back to the rooms he shared with his fellow Hunters, but before he could take off, Parish was standing in front of him.
“Bayon.”
“What?”
“I know you enjoy testing the limits of my patience by doing your own thing,” the Pantera warned. “If I do not hear from you I will come hunting your ass.”
“I’ll call.” Bayon rolled his eyes. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
***
Keira didn’t know how long she’d been locked in the cage hidden in the suffocating attic.
In the beginning of her captivity, she’d used a rock to scratch the passing days on the floor. She’d needed some way to maintain her sanity.
But the days became weeks, and then months, and then endless years, making it impossible to keep track of the time that was slipping away from her.
She knew this wasn’t her first prison. She had a vague memory of waking up surrounded by gray cement blocks that had held her beneath the ground. After that had been a cramped space that she’d assumed was a storage shed, followed by a root cellar that had smelled of damp earth and rotting potatoes.
There were others, but her memories were so muddled she couldn’t sort through them.
They were like her. Broken. Fractured. Some of them shattered beyond repair.
Most days she knew her name. Keira. Keira Montreuil. She repeated it over and over, desperate to cling to her previous life.
And she knew she was a Pantera, despite the fact that she couldn’t reach her cat no matter how desperately she tried.
But beyond that, her world was a blur punctuated only by occasional visits by her captors to bring her food.
And speaking of the devil…
She smelled him before he ever climbed the steps to the attic.
The rank, sour stench that assaulted her senses and made her gag in disgust.
With an effort she forced herself to her feet. She felt constantly lethargic, no mat
ter how much she ate or rested, convincing her that she was somehow being weakened. Her guess would be the metal collar she wore around her neck. Her captors used it to send an electrical jolt through her when they wanted to punish her. But she suspected there was something in the composition of the collar that kept her debilitated.
How else could they keep her trapped?
A cage, no matter how well-built, would never hold her prisoner. Not if she was at her full strength.
And it wasn’t as if the attic could contain her.
The window that overlooked a small backyard was narrow, but she could easily squirm through it. And if nothing else, she could climb onto the stack of dusty boxes in the corner to bust through the rotting timbers of the roof.
But she wasn’t at her full strength.
That had been stolen from her, just as the comfort of her cat had been stolen.
And it didn’t matter if was the result of the metal collar or poison or some magical curse. The end result was that she felt so exposed and embarrassingly vulnerable she wanted to curl in a corner and hide.
Instead, she was standing in the center of the cell when a human male crossed the warped floorboards and shoved a tray of mush that passed as food through a small slot in the door. Keira grimly moved to catch the tray before it fell. The shit tasted bad enough without having to eat it off the floor.
The man smirked, his brown hair greasy and his narrow face in need of a shave. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt that always looked like it needed to be washed. There was a cunning intelligence, however, in the mud-brown eyes and a sadistic hunger in his gaze as it slid slowly down her slender body.
Thanks to the old-fashioned cheval mirror in one corner of the attic she knew precisely what he was seeing. Sleek black hair that was pulled into a braid hung halfway down her back. Eyes that looked a dull yellow. Delicately carved features. Skin that was pale from a lack of sunlight. And a sleek, too-thin body that was covered by a pair of spandex exercise pants and matching sports bra.
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