by Marla Monroe
But it was the package below that captured her entire attention, so much so that she didn’t notice when her hands dropped from covering her breasts. Gaston’s cock lay relaxed against his abdomen, a long, thick fifth appendage that would have done a bull proud. Seriously, the man was hung. As she watched, his cock began to show signs of life as it slowly hardened and stretched upward along his belly.
Mortified, she jerked her eyes upward to meet his and realized he’d been staring at her breasts, which were now uncovered. Heat rushed up her neck to her face, assuring her that she looked like a strawberry now. How could she have stared at him like that? Sure, he was impressive, and well, impressive, but…
“Cher, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You are beautiful. Don cover yourself from us,” Gaston said in a deep, purring voice that had her swaying toward him before she realized it.
Shayla threw her hands over her breasts so hard it hurt in her haste to cover herself. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening to her. And why did her side hurt? They’d said she had a wound. How did she end up with a wound?
“You said I was wounded? What happened to me? Did one of those big panthers take a swipe at me or bite me? Do I need rabies shots?” her voice squeaked at the thought.
Beau started chuckling all over again. “Non, beb. You weren’t bitten or scratched, and even if you had been, we don’t carry the rabies.”
“You were shot. It went all the way through and didn’t hit anything serious. You are going to be sore for a few days, but already your body is healing itself. We are baffled by this since you are not a shifter.” Gaston cocked his head and turned on his side to more fully face her. “Have you always healed this fast? Will you please tell us your name, cher?”
His mesmerizing voice almost held sway over her, but she broke free and glared at him. Why did he keep using that purring cadence that seemed to capture all of her attention and nearly make her forget anything and everything but him and what he wanted? Was it some sort of magic? She was in New Orleans, where according to her old friend, anything can happen and usually did.
“Stop it,” she said in a breathy voice. “I can’t think when you do that.”
His brows shot up so high they were almost comical on his angular face.
Beau spoke up without the laughter in his voice but with the sound of awe instead. “How are you able to do that?”
“Do what?” she asked, frowning at him.
“Resist his will. He is our LeRoy. Even I can’t resist him if he really, really wants me to obey him. I’m his brother and Second of the Marécages les Chatts, the Swamp Cats,” Beau said.
“I don’t think I understand. You’re not making sense. Speak English, Beau.”
He shook his head with a soft smile. “Ah, beb. I am speaking English. You dunna’ want to hear the truth. We are shifters. We are the great cats of the swamps. You saw us last night. I suppose being shot has shocked you and you dunna’ trust your memory right now.”
“Your name, female!” Gaston demanded once more.
The push to tell him was almost more than she could resist, but she glared at him and remained silent. Where had this sudden stubbornness come from? She hadn’t been this brave in a long time. Here she was completely nude in bed with two strange men who claimed to turn into cats, and she was provoking the leader. Her sanity must have seeped out with any blood loss she’d had from being shot. That little piece of knowledge still hadn’t fully registered with her either. Yes, she could feel the discomfort to her side, but she couldn’t remember it happening.
“Please, cher. Tell us what to call you,” Beau said quietly as he slowly crawled across the bed to lie next to her once again.
She’d so not looked at the equally impressive dick that had hung between his legs when he’d moved. Huffing out a breath, she sighed. She wasn’t a child. She needed to find out exactly what was going on and convince them to take her back to the hotel.
“Shayla. My name is Shayla Marino.”
“Thank you, Shayla. That is a beautiful name, worthy of a queen. Welcome to our pride,” Gaston said, inclining his head toward her.
“We will care for you and assure that you have anything you need,” Beau said with a broad smile.
“No. I mean, thanks, but no. I have to go home at the end of the week, and I need to find my friends now. They are going to be worried about me.” Panic at their formal-sounding words threatened to choke her.
“Non, beb. You belong here now. Your place is with us and service to the pride as their queen,” Beau said.
“Oh, no. I must have hit my head and this is all a dream, a nightmare really. Didn’t you say I was injured? I’m just having fever-induced dreams.” She sank into the pillow behind her and squeezed her eyes shut in hopes that she could fall deeper into sleep and this would be out of her mind.
“Aw, beb. You aren’t dreaming. This is real. I will show you.” Beau’s deep voice sounded so sad that she couldn’t help but to open her eyes and look up at him.
“S–show me?” she squeaked.
“Dunna let her hurt herself, brah,” he said as he slid to the foot of the bed to crouch.
Gaston moved so fast that she didn’t have time to be alarmed or to anticipate the pain of moving he would cause. One second he was sitting next to her, and the next he’d sat her up and scooted behind her, pulling her back so that she rested against his chest.
“I’m sorry, cher. I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to run. I will keep you safe and still. Just relax against me and let me take your weight. You’re only causing yourself more pain trying to pull away,” Gaston told her in that melodic purr that left a trail of goose bumps across her arms.
“What’s going on? What is Beau going to do down there?” she asked, afraid that she already knew and wishing she would be wrong.
“He is going to show you who we are—who you belong to now.”
Chapter Four
Beau’s body began to shimmer as, before her eyes, fur poured over skin and his handsome face lengthened and rounded into the muzzle of a cat. His arms and legs changed into the long, sinewy legs of a predator, complete with claw-tipped paws the size of plates.
“Oh, my, God,” she whispered, feeling her body begin to quake.
“Shhh, sweet cher. Calm yourself. It is only Beau, and he will not harm you,” Gaston crooned to her.
The massive black panther stretched first his front legs, sending his butt high into the air where his tail swished back and forth, then his back legs. He crawled up the length of the bed to where she had a death grip on Gaston’s hands as they wrapped around her middle to keep her still. There he stopped and gently nuzzled her hand with a slightly warm nose that was still wet to the touch. She couldn’t move, frozen in fear just like she’d heard it described before.
A rough, wet tongue rasped over the back of her hand then up her arm, and the loudest, sexiest purr she’d ever heard erupted from the big feline. She could almost feel the vibrations in her own chest.
Wait! I am feeling them in my chest.
It was Gaston’s purr that was reverberating through her body. Between him and his brother, she was surrounded by purring male perfection that just couldn’t be real. She slowly let go of Gaston’s hand with one of her own and reached out to slide her fingers through the thick fur of Beau’s cat, marveling at how good it felt—not exactly course, but not soft either. It felt strong and secure between her fingers.
“See. He would never bring harm to the one who makes us whole. You are our queen, our sanity.” Gaston slowly released his hold on her but carefully moved one hand down to cover the sore spot low on her side.
Beau took one step closer and leaned in to her so that his muzzle rubbed the side of her face. She shivered as his whiskers tickled her cheek, and she giggled.
“Stop that. It tickles.”
The big cat licked her shoulder before continuing up her neck to her ear. She swatted at him before realizing what she w
as doing. This was a panther, not some kitten. She froze as her heart sped up in fear at what she’d done.
“Cher. I told you he wouldn’t hurt you. You could hit him and he would just move away from you. Don’t fear our cats, beb.” Gaston nuzzled against the side of her head, his warm breath tickling her ear.
“You both turn into panthers,” she said, staring at Beau who had settled down to lay his head in her lap, careful to stay away from her side.
“Actually, we shift into humans. We are the panther,” Gaston told her. “It is our true nature.”
She looked down where his hand still lightly covered her side. “Let me see where I got shot. I shouldn’t be able to move like this if I was really shot.”
She heard the exasperation in his sigh as he slowly removed his hand and lowered the sheet even more to reveal the entire bandage.
“Relax against me, Shayla.” She slowly relaxed against him as he carefully peeled back the bandage from the side of her pelvis just above the birthmark she carried.
She couldn’t believe her eyes. A small hole the size of a dime marred her skin a little over an inch above the mark. Dried blood covered the bandage he’d just pulled back, but the wound looked older than eight or so hours. She started to touch it, but both Beau and Gaston reacted at the same time to stop her.
“Don’t, cher. You’ll hurt yourself.” Gaston captured her hand in his.
“Why does it look like it’s more than a few hours old? How long have I been here?”
“Only about seven hours,” he said, covering her wound up again. “You don’t normally heal this fast?”
She pulled the sheet up to cover her exposed breasts once more. “Not really. I mean, I’ve always healed faster than most people, but I guess I never really thought about it all that much. This, though, is a lot faster. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Beau.” Gaston jerked his head, and the big cat got up and took a few steps back before he crouched and the majestic animal morphed back into the handsome Beau she’d first met. And he was still very naked.
“C–can’t you put some clothes on?” she finally managed to get out.
Gaston climbed out from behind her and walked over to the dresser on the other side of the room. She followed the site of his luscious ass as he moved. Shayla had never seen one so utterly squeezable before. Then there were two. Beau joined his brother at the dresser, and she was greeted with another equally gorgeous ass to gaze on. As they pulled on jeans sans underwear, she almost wished she hadn’t asked them to get dressed.
“What about me? I need something to put on,” she said as they turned around.
“I’ll get your things. We’ll help you wash up and dress, but you can’t get out of bed just yet. You haven’t healed enough, and if that wound breaks open, you could bleed out,” Gaston told her.
“Just get me my clothes. I can manage by myself.” She held the thin sheet tight to her chest like a shield.
Beau smiled at her. “I will bring them to you, beb.”
She watched as he quickly slipped out the door, closing it securely behind him. When she looked back at Gaston, he’d crossed the room to open another door. This one led to their bathroom. He strode inside, and seconds later the unmistakable sound of water running could be heard. He was running a bath. The idea of someone as wild and untamed as him running her bath boggled her mind. The man was a king according to them, yet he was tending her wound and running her bath.
Beau returned with her suitcase and purse. Her boring, sensible bag hanging around his neck struck her as funny. She slapped her hand over her mouth as stupid giggles left it. He grinned at her, his dark eyes shining as he set the suitcase on the opposite side of the bed and unzipped it. Then he removed her purse from around his neck and handed it to her.
“Thank you.”
“Anything for you, beb. I think Gaston has your bath ready. Hold on.”
Before she realized what he was going to do, Beau had slipped his hands beneath her bare bottom and back and lifted her in his strong arms as if she weighed nothing.
“Oh, my God! Put me down, Beau. I’m too heavy.” While she hadn’t been the smallest in college, after the attack, she’d gained weight and now wore a size sixteen with her wide hips. She was forever conscious of her weight.
“Pshaw!”
Alarm poured over her as anger colored his face for a second before he just shook his head and strode toward the bathroom. When he entered the oversized room that screamed of luxury with its stone floor and massive sunken tub, all she could do was stare and close her mouth with a snap. A huge walk-in shower that was larger than her entire bathroom at home took up one entire wall. Gaston’s gruff voice jerked her head back to the two men.
“Qué?”
Beau nodded at his brother and broke into their bastardized version of French that she supposed was a dialect for New Orleans-born natives. She only caught some of the words as they spoke so rapidly. Lissette had told her that Cajun was an Acadian-type language that had evolved over time but was now dying out in the younger generations. Obviously these people, or shifters, didn’t think so.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded, wiggling in Beau’s arms. “And put me down!”
“Put her on the counter, frère,” Gaston said in a deceptively calm voice.
Beau lowered her gently to the cool marble countertop but remained next to her as if he was afraid she’d fall off. His brother disappeared for a few seconds but soon returned with a small box that he placed on the counter next to her.
“I’m going to bandage you so that you can sit in the water for a while. You’ll feel better if you soak some of that soreness out of you,” he said.
She didn’t answer. She was highly aware that she was completely naked and vulnerable to the two men. So far they hadn’t taken advantage of her state of undress, but men weren’t normally able to rein in their hormones for long when temptation was near. She didn’t consider herself much temptation, but she was alone with them and completely at their mercy. She had no doubt that she couldn’t fight them off if they meant her harm. Just being men in the amazing condition they were in made them able to control her. Add in the fact that they were panthers as well, and, well, she had no chance of getting away.
Panthers. Did I really see him change into a panther? That meant that what happened at the cemetery was real, as well.
Worry for her friends had her heart racing all over again. Gaston froze in the middle of applying some sort of plastic dressing over the healing wound on her side.
“Quoi y a?”
“What? Um, oh. Nothing. Nothing is wrong,” she said figuring out what he’d asked. Her French was definitely not up to par.
“Don lie to me, ’tit monde. I can feel your distress. Am I hurting you, cher?”
Didn’t that mean little world? Was he calling her his little world?
“No. I’m just worried about my friends. I didn’t dream what happened out in that cemetery last night, did I?” she asked.
Gaston and Beau exchanged glances. Gaston shook his head once and returned to what he was doing.
“Non, cher. No dream. There is a war going on for the control of the city among the preternatural living here. Over the years demons have begun to take hold of the area, and we fight them. The vampires fight for themselves, believing only they should control. But there are some who wish peace, to live peacefully amongst the humans without fighting amongst each other. I’m not so sure it be possible. Too many rulers in a tiny plot of land. Non,” Beau said, shaking his head.
“So, there are demons and vampires, too?” she asked, sure that the thing that had attacked them had been a demon.
Beau spoke up as Gaston began working on the exit wound on her back.
“There are many creatures that humans don’t really know about, cher. Most would call us the Loup-Giroux, or werewolf, but we are shifters. We are not all the same as they make us. The Giroux are wolves and we are panthers. They make out that
all of the unknown are evil. They fear the Lutin, da hobgoblin that are only mischievous but not dangerous, when in fact it is something much worse toying with them,” he said shaking his head. “Yet they play with da voodoo and Vadun as if it is nothing when in fact they could unleash things much worse than the rest of us could ever be. Pauvre t’bête, poor things. They know nothing of what they play with in the dark arts.
“I know that all legends are based on fact,” she said. “So what is it that they think are the Lutin?”
“Demon spawn,” Gaston said, interrupting his brother. “They enjoy making mischief and feed off of fear, gaining power anytime someone believes they are there.”
“But like the vampires and witches, there be some that don hold to them old ways and leave the human realm alone. They will sometimes help fight, but mostly they keep to themselves. There be good witches and black witches—Voodoo, Vodun, or Santeria—but most here practice the black arts,” Beau added.
“Don ignore your instincts, cher. There are things that hold no explanation in this world, and good or bad, don matter if the entities think you might be a danger to them,” Gaston said, finishing up on the bandage to her back. “There. This keep your bobo dry while you soak out the stiffness.”
Beau huffed. “Bobo my ass, frère. She could have died,” he said as he lifted her from the counter before slowly easing her down his body, careful of her left side.
He said something she didn’t understand to his brother then walked her carefully over to the sunken swimming pool-sized tub and held her hand as she slowly walked down the steps into the deliciously warm water. She swore the tub was big enough for all three of them before it dawned on her they’d probably had it put in for that reason. They’d obviously expected to share a woman between them. The bed had been larger than a king, as well. Was it a Cajun thing to share a woman, or a panther thing?
As she relaxed back in the tub, a strange tingling spread all over her body. She realized that Gaston must have added some sort of bath salts to the water. It smelled fresh like flowers.