Insatiable

by Rachel E Rice

“Get off me. You’ve killed my rabbit and she was pregnant.”

  Damon gazed at this young girl and glanced at the dead rabbit. “It’s not your rabbit now. it’s mine.”

  “You’re an animal.”

  “Yes I am and I’m glad you can recognize when you’re in danger. I just might eat you,” and he winked at her. The joke was lost on her. “Who are you and where did you come from?” She looked at him with a blank stare. “What is your name?”

  “I don’t have a name. What is your name?” He held her by the wrist. She stood five feet to his six feet statue. She looked thin as if she hadn’t eaten in months. He pulled her back into the cave and sat her down.

  “You need to eat.”

  “If you think I’m going to eat my rabbit...”

  “This wasn’t a female rabbit it was a male,” Damon said holding her wrists as she twist and turned trying to bite him.

  “I don’t care if you eat it or eat at all. I just thought you could use some food.” Damon pulled her up and she resisted but for the girl it was like pushing a boulder up a hill. She wasn’t a match for Damon’s strength. He picked her up like a piece of paper and dropped her on a chair in front of a counter which had been made by his father’s father. The girl glanced around.

  “Is this your home?” Her voice small and sour.

  “For now.” He walked to a large pot and took out a piece of meat and dropped it into a plate. “Is this my rabbit?”

  “No. But it is rabbit. If it makes you feel better I’ll eat your rabbit.”

  She took a small bite of the meat. Then a larger bite. “What kind of hunter hunts a small defenseless creature? You’re not what I call a hunter.”

  Damon sat across from her and with a piece of meat in his mouth and his sharp glaring eyes looking at her he said, “What would you call a hunter?”

  “Someone who can kill a bear or a moose.”

  “Have you ever killed a bear or a moose?”

  “No. But that’s my idea of a hunter. Not one who chases down defenseless rabbits.”

  “It takes skill to chase a rabbit and kill it with your hands,” Damon said with a chuckle enjoying the girl’s company. It was refreshing to talk to someone.

  “Oh and I guess you did that? I bet if I look further it will have a bullet hole in its fur.” Damon picked up the fur near his leg in a basket and threw it at her.

  “Check it. There’s no bullet holes,” he said satisfied that he had proven his point. He waited for her to say she was sorry or admit that he was a hunter. But she never did. He handed her some water and she drank it.

  Damon knew enough about the world of men to know that she hadn’t come from that world. He studied her further. She was a shifter, but he wouldn’t know what kind until he had tested her first. Before he let her stay overnight he had to find out.

  He didn’t want to wake up and discover she was a lioness or a werepanther. Although she could have been a werepanther because of her dark hair and dark emerald eyes. The werewolves got along with werepanthers but the females were not to be trusted.

  The female werepanther could fuck you one minute, and tear you apart the next if they were angry. So that union of werewolves and werepanthers were unsustainable. There was no way they could get along because of their temperament. But the sex between the two were off the charts, Damon thought remembering his one encounter. The biting and scratching and the fucking on all fours brought back fond memories where he shook his head and smiled.

  Exhaustion from her trek in the woods and the food had the werefemale sleepy. She lowered her head, it bobbed up and down and then she fell off the chair. Damon anticipating her fall reached and grabbed her holding her in his arms. He glanced down at her.

  She had a beautiful round face with dark flowing hair. The garment she wore only covered her taut thighs and everything else had been exposed to him. He looked down at her with her eyes closed and felt his manhood pulse for the first time in months. With the girl in his arms, and her naked body exposed to him, he took a moment to enjoy the inviting scenery. Then her eyes opened wide.

  “What are you doing to me?” She leaned and bit his hand and he dropped her. When she hit the large rug she shifted into a werefemale. Damon stood watching at her. She was a werewolf just like him. And with a please smug look, he shifted his head to the side, and shot her a wide toothy smile.

  She stood growling and showing her small incisors as a warning. “What are you smiling about? Stay away from me,” she snarled.

  “You don’t want to do that again. This is the second time you’ve bit me and it won’t be a third,” he said with a quiet voice. “Because if you bite me again, I’m going to show you what a werewolf does to a werefemales. You might like it, but if you don’t, then I don’t care.”

  The girl backed away from Damon and found a corner where she sat curled up on a rug with her hands wrapped around her legs.

  Damon had her scent and now he had a hard on and the moon was full tonight.

  Chapter 5

  When Tracker left the kitchen where he argued over Saadia with Damon, he headed to the local club. As he pulled up his motorcycle he looked around. In that short time he had been in Mexico, things had changed. The town appeared to change fast these days. The club no longer had as many shifters hanging on the outside riding their expensive bikes or cars.

  There were now BMWs or Audis the kind his brother Hunter drove. The kind of cars that signaled the town had become more civilized with all the wealth of lawyers, and the doctors who came to the town to work in the research hospital.

  Devin had done well for himself when he revitalized the town into a haven for the humans making six and seven figures. But what had it done for the down and out wereshifters but displace then to the outside of town where they could raise hell at a local bar. “It was unfair,” Tracker had argued to the council. “This town was built for shifters not humans. This is now what our grandfather Harper envisioned. The only ones who are benefitting are the humans.”

  Wilder had argued, “Samsaville was built for the Samsas and for their children to live in a good environment.”

  But Tracker knew too many humans with too many guns would ruin the town that his grandfather had built. Soon no one would be safe, not shifters, or humans living together in this once beautiful place.

  “Humans have a way of fucking everything up,” Lycell commented to the council.

  “And so do werewolves,” Wilder said with a deliberate stare.

  Samsaville had become a research town and now Tracker had to look forward to seeing and conversing with doctors and he didn’t care for that.

  He knew right away that he didn’t want to be in Samsaville long. Although it was his home it didn’t feel like home anymore and he blamed that on his brothers Hunter and Devin. Wilder’s sons were like Wilder, too conservative, and a stickler for laws Tracker thought were outdated. But he hadn’t plan on staying long enough to change the laws.

  Tracker slowed his bike and cut the switch. He parked it in one of the parking spaces which said reserved. Those spaces were always reserved for a member of the Samsa family. Tracker needed a drink, now, and the only place he knew where he didn’t have to fight his way in or out was here.

  He thought he wasn’t a drinker until he spent a few mornings in Mexico and that’s where he got his taste for Tequila. He promised himself one shot and he would head out west. He wondered about Saadia because he hadn’t seen her since they brought Thorn back and she spoke to her father. And he hadn’t seen her after the argument with Damon.

  Robert had forbid him to see Saadia. No one could tell Tracker what to do, and no one did, only Robert dared say anything because he’s Saadia’s father, and Tracker respected Robert, and he didn’t want to hurt Saadia anymore than he had.

  When the doorman stepped aside and opened the door to the bar, he said, “Good evening Mr. Samsa. What will it be tonight?” Tracker’s plans were to get a drink, get on his motorcycle, and head back to Mexico
.

  “One drink is all I’m looking for.”

  “Have you seen the new nurses? A lot has improved since you’ve been here.”

  “I see that. I was just thinking that this club has changed not for the best but for the worst. There’s no life here.”

  “That’s just the façade. With these doctors and nurses you can’t tell, but they’re party animals. No pun intended, Mr. Samsa I mean...”

  “I know what you mean,” Tracker said with a raised eyebrow.

  Tracker glanced around the place, “What happened to the shifters? This use to be a shifter hangout.”

  “Use to be until your brother Devin renovated it to get rid of the shifters and send them on the outskirts of town. They hang out at the Rusty Nail. Too much was going on what with the killings starting up. Funny but just as all you Samsas came back, the killings started up again.” He looked at Tracker, and Tracker scowled at him.

  “I don’t mean to insinuate that it had anything to do with your family, but it is sort of strange.”

  “Strange. Yes strange.” Tracker turned away from the young bouncer with the red hair and a short squatty body with a wide chest and a large stomach. He looked as if he spent time lifting weights to counter the massive amount of food he consumed.

  The red head was no match for any of the shifters that had once frequent the bar, but he was well matched for a reserved doctor who had drank too much and decided to perform an exam on one of the young nurses.

  The place resembled something that you would find in San Francisco. No doubt Devin and Hunter had their hands in this, Tracker thought as he glanced around standing with his helmet in his hand and wearing his leather jacket, leather biker pants, and white tee shirt under the jacket. Strolling over to the bar with soft music in the background, Tracker stood and didn’t sit. He wasn’t going to be there long.

  The bartender stooping down placing something under the bar raised up to see Tracker. She leaned forward with a bright smile. “What will you have handsome?”

  She had long red hair, stood five feet three with large breasts straining a small low cut black and white blouse, a small waist, and round curvy hips. Tracker swiped his tongue across his lips.

  “You in about fifteen minutes in the back room bent over.”

  “That doesn’t give me much time.”

  “I’m willing to wait a half an hour.”

  “Just enough time for my relief to come. Don’t you want to know my name,” she asked?

  “I know just enough. Anything more would make this too personal. I don’t want to get familiar. It makes for a messy and complicated relationship. I just want to keep it simple. We go in the back or to your place or I get a hotel room and we fuck until dawn and we never have to see each other again. Just plain old lust and sex. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No. But I know your name, Mr. Samsa.”

  “Well that may complicate things. In that case I’ll have one Tequila shot.” As Tracker waited, the door opened, and he turned to look at the woman and man strolling in. They were dressed in uniforms. It was a doctor and nurse discussing shop. But it wasn’t seeing a doctor and a nurse deep in talk which made him turn around, it was the voice. The female’s voice. Low and sexy and seductive.

  He could still hear her whispering in his ear the last time they were together. “Fuck me, Tracker. Fuck me hard and never stop.”

  He had heard that voice in his sleep and in his dreams. It was Saadia’s voice. He could never forget it. The couple continued to the back and sat in a booth to Tracker’s right. After taking a shot of the liquor, Tracker turned and watched at Saadia until she sat, and the man sat beside her.

  Tracker had a hard on and he didn’t know if it was because of Saadia or because he was being threatened by another male.

  The wolf in him wanted to tear the human apart. But he somehow kept it at bay.

  They were still in their uniforms he and Saadia. She in her blues and the doctor sitting with his white coat with his name printed on front, as if anyone would miss that he’s some kind of doctor, Tracker thought.

  The jealous nature he inherited and couldn’t deny, had reared its ugly head and he couldn’t control it.

  When the doctor pushed in closer to Saadia and placed his arm on the leather frame behind her, she glanced at him with a closed smile. Tracker thought about walking out and he even made a gesture as if he would turn and leave. But he turned the opposite way and strutted in Saadia’s direction.

  She was his and he would claim her if just for this night and he would leave. At least that was his plan.

  He stood in front of their booth with his head raised high with the smirk of an arrogant ass who had just lost something he claimed he didn’t want, but knew all along that he was fooling himself. Fooling his mind and fooling his body.

  Saadia glanced up at the tall figure standing before her table. She had seen Tracker at the bar. Who in this town and at this club would dress like him? Only Tracker would dress in this manner since the town turned conservative and most of the shifters had left or conformed.

  “Mr. Samsa, this is Dr. Stringer.”

  The doctor a lean and hungry looking human appeared to be nervous. He didn’t look like Saadia’s type. Her type was the strong tall muscular self-assured handsome werewolf standing before her, but nonetheless, she sat with him smiling broadly, and she allowed him get close to her.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Samsa.” He stood to shake Tracker’s hand but Tracker’s eyes were on Saadia, and feeling that Tracker was unfriendly, the doctor retreated back to his seat and took Saadia’s hand. This in turn upset Tracker. His thick eyebrow raised and his teeth gritted. His hands curled into fist to his side.

  Trackers eyes narrowed, his mouth tightened, and his jaw stiffened. He slanted his head and for the first time his eyes met the doctor’s.

  “Did Saadia inform you that I’m her fiancé?”

  Immediately the doctor’s hand moved ever so slowly from the top of Saadia’s hand. He knew Tracker was a shifter, and he knew Tracker owned the town, and he knew that if he wanted to stay in the town, or remain alive, he had to respect the Samsas, and taking one of their women wouldn’t be a good career move.

  “I’m not engaged to you,” Saadia protested loudly above the piano music that had taken the place of a live DJ. “I’ve moved on with my life.” Tracker and Saadia hadn’t notice then that the doctor had eased out of his seat near Saadia and crept through the door without ordering a much needed drink for the night.

  “Your life belongs to me. I’m your mate.” And Tracker reached over and took Saadia by the wrist and pulled her up. He lifted her over his shoulder, she went quietly, and he marched through the club as the whispers increased, then through the open door as if he was carrying a sack of potatoes. He strolled through the crowded club with Saadia over his shoulder and hardly anyone protested.

  It was his town and what could they say without repercussions and she was the research doctor’s daughter and the word around town was that they had been promised to each other since they were children.

  What was there to say or do except mind their own business?

  The Samsas were also known for their generosity and calm natures and clear heads around humans. The Samsas had protected the town from gangs of shifters who threatened the calmness and civility of the humans, and given them needed jobs, so they turned their heads when they saw two young shifters argue over who loved whom. And one being a Samsa.

  They saw that they were in love and why should they interfere with what they thought was a mating ritual they didn’t understand. After all, humans did far worse things in public than carrying their women out on their shoulders.

  When Tracker reached the front of the club, he placed Saadia on her feet. She pushed Tracker in his wide hard chest. “See what you did. You ran off the only man in town that would date me. He was the only one not afraid of you.”

  “Then he’s a fool.”


  Tracker smirked and twitched his mouth to the side, “He looked frightened to me, but then I don’t know what frightens men. It seems everything,” he said with a loud laugh. Saadia turned and walked away down the sidewalk, passed two stores that sold hardware and IPhones.

  Before she could get any further, Tracker caught up to her. “You can’t walk home this time of night.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m going to take you home.”

  “My father is home and he hates you.”

  “I know, but I love his daughter.”

  “When did you discover that?”

  “Just now,” Tracker said stopping Saadia by standing in front of her.

  “Well that’s not good enough.” And she pulled away and walked around him and continued her stroll up the street amid the dim lights of the street lamps. When she reached a hill she heard the roar of Tracker’s motorcycle.

  “Do I have to come and get you or are you going to come quietly.” Saadia stopped and looked at Tracker. “I see you want it the hard way.” And he chuckled at his own words. Saadia on the other hand didn’t find anything the least bit funny. She turned and crossed the street in front of the bike.

  As Tracker placed the stand of his bike down and moved his leg across, Saadia gave in and he helped her on the back of the bike. “What am I to tell my father?”

  “Tell him that you had to pull a double shift.” She swiveled around and looked at him. “It’s not exactly a lie,” Tracker said as a mischievous grin crossed his mouth. He started his bike, gave Saadia the helmet, and took off west down Main Street.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To Hunter’s old apartment.” He neglected to tell Saadia that it was the place where two young lion shifter’s had lost their lives. He neglected to tell her several things.

  Tracker zoomed up the street and down another and in ten minutes they were parked at the apartment. It was one of the first new apartments built in the town. A lot of care had been taken to make it the best place for professionals to stay and then bring their families until they had proven themselves and moved up to the houses being built by Devin and Hunter.