Captured by her Cougar (Cougar Creek Mates Shifter Romance Series Book 2)

by Felicity Heaton

  “Ivy spoke with her.” Which should have been enough for Taya, but the look she gave him asked if both he and his brother had lost their minds, allowing another human to talk with her. “Ivy knows her.”

  “How do we know Ivy isn’t part of Archangel too?”

  Storm growled and closed the gap between them, so his body pressed against hers as he glared down at her and bared his fangs. “You want to reconsider that question, Taya? This is Rath’s territory, so you might want to think twice about questioning the motivations of his mate.”

  “I’m just saying what others are thinking, Storm.” She reached out to lay a hand on his chest and he caught her wrist in a bruising grip before she could, squeezed her tightly enough that she flinched and tears lined her dark lashes.

  “Anyone fucks with Rath, or Ivy, and they fuck with me, Flint and Cobalt too. We don’t have to protect you all. Our lives would be a lot damn easier without the responsibility, and without having to look after your homes. Just think about that for a second.” He towered over her, squeezed her wrist a little tighter to get his point across, showing her that she was no match for him, and neither were any of the males in the vicinity. “If you all want me to chase you off this land, go ahead and mess with me. I’ll fucking do it.”

  Her dark eyes widened and he stepped closer to her, pulled her arm up so she couldn’t escape him as she wanted to when she tried to back away.

  He brought his face down, practically nose to nose with her.

  “I told you once, Taya. You leave Gabi the fuck alone, or I won’t just chase you off my land. I’ll bury you in the fucking woods with the Archangel bastards.”

  She gasped, her eyes flying wider, and staggered as he shoved her away from him. A few of the cougars in the area looked at them, eyes leaping from him to Taya as she grasped her wrist, holding it to her chest.

  He growled at them all and flashed fangs, a need to fight flowing through him.

  Threatening one of the pride over a human of questionable background was bad enough, but fighting the males and females over her would be unforgivable.

  So rather than letting loose as he wanted, he bottled up his aggression and the anger pouring like hot acid through his veins, and stalked towards his cabin.

  Towards the female responsible for his need to fight.

  He slammed his palm against the door, shoving it open.

  Little Bird gasped and her eyes landed on him, searing him, stoking the fire inside him until it burned like an inferno, wild and dangerous inside him.

  His eyes narrowed on her.

  He kicked the door shut.

  And advanced on her.

  CHAPTER 7

  Shit was going to go south at any moment. Storm felt it in his bones as his cougar side shifted restlessly and prowled under his skin, had golden fur sweeping over his body beneath his clothes. He told himself to turn around and walk the other way, to run to work off this aggression blazing in his blood, but he found himself stalking forwards instead.

  Towards the source of his need to fight.

  Gabi.

  Her blue-grey eyes were enormous as she stood beyond the brown couch, her hands tucked against her breasts, skin pale against the dark green of her t-shirt. Fear flashed in those eyes, almost convinced him to pull his shit together and leave her alone, to go outside and cool off in the river or something.

  But then fear turned to fight, to an aggression of her own, and gods, he wanted to goad it, needed to provoke her so she would fight him.

  He wanted to fight her more than he wanted to fight the males of the creek.

  Wanted her barbs and that flash of fury in her eyes, her defiance as she threw them in his face and refused to back down.

  It was dangerous, but he craved it.

  Her eyes narrowed and her jaw set, and he almost moaned when he felt the fury rising inside her, knew that any moment now she was going to find her voice and hit him with everything she had.

  “I thought you were gone off whoring yourself again,” she bit out with a sly smile and a flash of fire in her eyes. “I was about to check the door to make sure. I figured if I found it unlocked, the little head was in control again.”

  He growled at that, tried to mean it but it sounded too damned playful in his ears. Not that she noticed. She shrank away as if he had threatened her, clearly hadn’t learned to read his tells yet or the difference between his growls. That one hadn’t been aggression. It had been born of a need to tell her that if he was thinking with his little head, it was because of her.

  No other female came close to her.

  “I’m not a man-whore.” He stood his ground when she bustled past him, wanting to groan as she moved close to him and he caught her scent. She had used some of the products he had given her, but stilled smelled of her natural scent that reminded him of a sunny beach, one that made him want to stretch out naked and bask in it.

  “Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, and then added more punch to her words as she glanced out of the kitchen window, towards the clearing. “I saw you with her again, that brunette. She being a little clingy? It must be such a pain when they want more than one night with you. Way beyond your remit. You weren’t built to handle a relationship.”

  He growled properly at that barb, spun on his heel to bare his fangs at her too. “I can handle a relationship.”

  She scoffed. “Sure. And I loved my half-brother.”

  She was quick to look away, some of her fire fading as she fell silent.

  He struggled with his words, ached to tell her that her brother had been a bastard, scaring her like that, treating her miserably by the sound of things, using her for his own end and going as far as hating her because his mother had married her father.

  Gabi tugged his fridge open, grabbed one of his few remaining beers and huffed as she wrestled with it, trying to get it open.

  “Not used to cracking open beers?” he muttered and crossed the room, took the opener and the bottle from her and did it for her.

  She snatched the brown bottle back and glared at him. “I’m sorry… some of us have a more refined palate.”

  He snorted at that. “Or their butler did everything for them. Must be tough having to fend for yourself for once.”

  She scowled at him, looked as if she wanted to bite his head off, and then turned her cheek to him and guzzled the beer.

  Choked on it.

  She gripped the counter with one hand as she spluttered into his sink.

  When he went to pat her on the back to help her, she shot him an indignant look and pushed his arm away.

  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped and placed some distance between them.

  She drained the last of her beer and he frowned as she came back for another, managed to open it and drank it down fast.

  “Slow down.” He reached for her when she opened a third, and she shot him daggers that dared him to try and stop her. He frowned right back at her. “When was the last time you ate?”

  “I don’t bloody know,” she snapped and waved her bottle around, her blue-grey eyes duller than before. “When was the last time you fed me?”

  Shit.

  A day ago?

  His gut sank and he scooted past her, which wasn’t difficult because she leaped out of his path as if he had a disease she didn’t want to get. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed everything he found, which wasn’t much. He hated cheese, but the damned stuff could survive a nuclear apocalypse, so it was always in his fridge.

  He sliced some and set it on a plate, and opened the wooden bread bin in the corner of the kitchen, away from the door, and tossed a couple of rolls onto the plate too. He turned and held it out to her.

  She eyed it with suspicion and continued drinking her beer.

  “It’s not poisoned.” He shoved the plate towards her, expecting her to say that it probably was.

  Her face softened as she stared at the food, her voice growing distant as she murmured, “Did you make the bread?”<
br />
  Her eyes lifted to his, the sparkle of curiosity in them turning into surprise when he didn’t answer.

  He hiked his shoulders, set the plate down on the end of the counter and grabbed the last beer, because he was damned if he was going to let her drink it next when he needed it more.

  “I don’t know how to bake.” She sank on the arm of the couch, staring despondently at the rolls, as if she had failed in life because she hadn’t mastered cooking.

  “What’s the point in learning when you have a butler, right?” He meant it as a joke to lighten the mood, but her face darkened.

  “You know me so well,” she bit out. “I must be such an open book since you seem to know everything about me. I’m a vapid, designer label wearing, airhead bimbo who only cares about spending her family’s money and partying with her equally as vapid friends. Living the high la-di-da life.”

  “It had crossed my mind.” It hadn’t, but he wanted her to fight again, preferred this side of her to the one that had been emerging, a side that had been miserable, on the verge of tears again because she hadn’t mastered tossing some ingredients together. His bread tasted shit. Rath had told him that more than once, refused to eat it whenever he made it.

  He was no master baker.

  He grinned inside a little at that.

  Master baker.

  “You son of a bitch!” She flew at him while he was focused on his pun, and he didn’t have time to evade.

  Her palm struck hard, smacking loudly against his left cheek, knocking his head to his right. A million needles pricked his skin and he growled as the sharp pain faded, leaving heat blooming on his skin.

  She went to hit him again and he caught her wrist and casually swigged his beer as she wrestled against him, trying to free herself.

  When she failed to make any progress physically, she lashed out verbally.

  “What gives you the bloody right to act like you know everything? You know nothing about me, Storm. Nothing!” She continued ranting but he had trouble taking it in as his name in her voice echoed in his mind, and gods, he liked it.

  He didn’t like it when she kicked him in the shin.

  He released her, because it was better than getting beaten up, and took another mouthful of his beer.

  She huffed as she snatched it from him, twirled away from him as he growled and tried to get it back and brought it to her lips.

  She slowed, her eyes widening as the rim of the bottle pressed against her sweet lips, and he could almost hear her thought as it ran through her mind.

  Probably because it screamed in his too.

  His lips had been all over that bottle she now held to hers, and damn, he wasn’t a fucking cub, was a sexually mature male, but part of him still felt as if she had just kissed him.

  He was on her now, in her as she lowered the bottle and self-consciously licked her lips, taking him into her.

  He growled.

  Her cheeks pinkened.

  She averted her eyes and he could see her trying to find her voice, stoking the fire again so she could continue arguing with him rather than settling into another strained silence.

  One that had him yearning to kiss her.

  “You judged me too.” Those words came out more bitter than he had expected as he closed the gap between them and swiped his beer from her. “I’m a man-whore. A brainless, led by my cock, male who only wants to sink his dick into women, fuck them til they’re raw and then move on. No strings attached.”

  Maybe that wasn’t far off the mark, but it still stung that she thought of him that way.

  “You haven’t shown me you’re any different to that.” She made a grab for the bottle.

  He held it above her head, where she couldn’t reach it, and when she stopped trying to get hold of it, he brought it to his lips and swigged it long and slow with his eyes locked on hers.

  The pink stain on her cheeks darkened.

  She tasted sweeter than he had expected and it wreaked havoc on him, had that need to kiss her rising, until he strained against it, had to fight to hold himself back.

  “Believe me, Little Bird,” he growled low. “There’s more to me than you think.”

  “That’s not a denial.” She stole his beer and he snarled at her, flashed fangs in a show of aggression that did nothing, didn’t frighten her in the slightest.

  That told him two things.

  Little Bird was braver than he had expected.

  And she didn’t truly believe he would hurt her.

  Or maybe the alcohol had gone straight to her head.

  She tossed him a ‘so there’ look as she brought it to her lips, and damn if they kept swapping spit this way, he was going to have a hard time stopping himself from grabbing her and kissing her.

  “It’s my beer.” He reached for it, but she held it behind her back and shook her head.

  “I thought I told you? It’s my cabin now, so it’s my beer.” She backed off, lifted the beer to her lips again and swigged. She waved the bottle around as she looked at his home. “All of this is mine. Everything in it.”

  He couldn’t hold back the low growl that rumbled through his chest at those words.

  Couldn’t stop himself from pushing away from the counter and coming to stand over her as he husked.

  “Even me?”

  His cougar side leaped to that conclusion so swiftly common sense was left behind, his instincts seizing her words and reading into them and the way her eyes darkened, her pupils dilating to gobble up the blue of her irises as she looked at him.

  She went to shake her head.

  Dropped the damned bottle so it smashed on the wooden floor at their feet and seized his jumper in both hands, dragging him down to her.

  Her mouth claimed his, seared him with a kiss that stamped her name on his soul.

  He growled, grabbed her and twisted with her, pinned her to the wall near the bathroom as he kissed her, devoured her little gasp and savoured her heat as she pressed against him, all soft and tempting. He moaned as she scraped short nails over his chest through his jumper, shuddered as she tangled her tongue with his. She tasted like beer.

  Was as intoxicating too.

  He clutched her waist, swallowed her breathless groan as he palmed her curves and kissed her harder.

  Common sense caught up.

  Slammed on the brakes as it screamed at him that it was all an act, that she hated him, was afraid of him, had told Ivy as much just hours ago.

  It was a lie.

  A trick.

  She had tried it before and it hadn’t worked then, and it wouldn’t work now.

  He growled and shoved away from her. She sagged against the wooden wall, panting hard, her breasts straining against her dark t-shirt and luring him into looking at her again. He wouldn’t.

  He shook his head and chuckled mirthlessly, which had her instantly sobering and staring at him, her face slack and no trace of passion in her eyes.

  “That’s fucking low…” he muttered and then rounded on her, his anger rising as it hit him that he had almost fallen for her trick, still wanted her now even when he knew it was a lie and she was just using him. “Trying to get me to let you leave by fucking me. Not going to happen, Little Bird.”

  Her mouth flapped open and then snapped shut.

  “I wouldn’t screw you if you were the last man on Earth,” she barked and smoothed her clothes down, her hands trembling as she focused on them. “I have a fiancé, remember?”

  Low blow.

  She had a fiancé she hated, didn’t want, but she was using it to push him away and punish him when she was the one who deserved to be pushed aside and punished.

  “You seemed to have forgotten that when you were kissing my fucking brains out.” He couldn’t keep the bite from his voice as his emotions got the better of him, pushed him to lash out and hurt her in return. “You might be engaged, but you want me, Little Bird. Not some fucking banker.”

  Her eyes flew wide, and he saw in the
m that she had just realised he had heard everything she had told Ivy and it horrified her.

  He braced himself for her incoming salvo.

  “Yeah, well… you want me too.” She pointed to his jeans, and he couldn’t exactly deny that given the raging hard-on he was sporting. “Or maybe your little head is just saying it’s past time for your next man-whore appointment with one of the local sluts.”

  Storm snarled at that, because she was fucking obsessed with the idea he was screwing all the females in the area.

  When he only wanted to fuck her.

  Damn, he wanted more than just fucking with her.

  And that had him pacing away from her, needing fresh air again to clear his head and get it straight.

  He yanked the door open.

  “Run away,” she shouted at his back, her tone mocking, digging that knife between his ribs again. “Go on! Run!”

  That had his hackles rising, because it was exactly what he was doing, and it hit home that it was what he always did whenever things got too serious and he ended up in danger of getting hurt.

  He ran.

  He had run yesterday, had damn near made it to Calgary before he had finally got his head straight, and he was running from her again now, fleeing because he feared getting his heart fucked up again.

  Only this time it would be so much worse.

  If Gabi broke his battered heart, it would probably kill him.

  But fuck, her words prodded something inside him that snapped, had him pivoting on his heel and slamming the cabin door behind him, and stalking towards her, because he wasn’t going to stand by and let her think he was weak and afraid.

  That he ran from everything.

  She was halfway to the bedroom when her shoulders tensed and she turned, her eyes wide as she spotted him advancing on her.

  She held her hands up, her soft voice edged with fear. “Storm.”

  He didn’t stop.

  Wouldn’t stop this time.

  He wasn’t afraid of a little human. He wasn’t.

  She backed off, but the fear that had been in her voice didn’t reach her eyes. Those shone with passion, with need that called to him, tugging him towards her.