Will you forget?
How could she think he’d forget her? The woman had a screw loose if she thought he’d forget anything, a single moment. If he’d been in human form, his hands would be burning with the memory of her lean form, the softness of her skin. The scent of her pumped through his blood like an aphrodisiac.
In the darkness, all he could see was the hypnotic blue of her eyes.
Damn it, he was screwed.
CAMPING sucked. Trying to set up a tent in smothering darkness sucked. She’d lost half the necessary pegs to pin the string things into the floor and the strings she’d managed to tie down, she tripped over. Twice.
The torch she’d bought kept falling over and pointing the light every which way but where she needed it. She’d lucked out on the moon; clouds blocked it and the stars.
Baylee kicked at the heap of material on the ground. She’d walked for nearly two hours, walking straight past the clearing she’d spent the night with Daxon in and almost crumbling under the weight of the memories. The clearing throbbed with them, with all the passion and vivid emotion they’d created there.
Now she found herself in unchartered territory, a part of the forest she’d never explored. Saying she was lost would be an understatement, she thought with a sigh. Cold, alone, with a stupid tent she couldn’t put up...Daxon better fall to his knees and kiss her feet.
There was so much out here she’d never thought of. A symphony of owls called to one another. Some hooting sounded as though it came from above her head; more seemed to come from miles away. Haunting and yet so lulling. She wanted to stretch up and touch feathered wings, just to feel the texture.
The temperature kept dropping, leaving her shivering inside her super-expensive new jacket. Cursing, she decided it might be better to sleep tangled in the mess of the tent rather than freeze to death in her sleep leant against a tree.
Baylee managed to ferret out the pillow and inflatable mattress from the depths of her rucksack, spent an exhausting twenty minutes blowing the infuriating thing up, then shoved it into the collapsed opening. The sleeping bag followed along with Baylee.
In the end, she made a nest. Warmth tried to come back to her hands and feet. Without the wind chill, her body had an easier time hoarding its heat.
Funny, she thought sadly, all the nights through her thirty years she’d spent sleeping alone and the solitude never bothered her. One night with Daxon inside her, wrapped around her, and he’d ruined any chance she had of ever reconciling with being alone.
How did people stand it? Did they crave the heat and solid comfort of another’s body as they slept in their lonely beds? Or did it only apply to a specific individual? Did they lie awake at night, wishing as she did now, for strong arms to curl tightly around them, to reduce the world to only two warm bodies enthralled in each other?
Questions rolled into fantasies. Daxon’s hands roaming over her, plundering her sensitive points, exploiting all the places he’d promised. Experiencing the glorious twining of pleasure and pain from his teeth sinking into her flesh, the pride she felt at being marked by him.
Her fingers went to the curve of her neck, touched beneath the jacket and her undershirt. She frowned, surprised. Dax had bitten her there, hadn’t he? He’d bitten her there first and again on the other side...she scrabbled frantically for the other shoulder.
“Oh shit.”
Nothing. No bite marks, no raised or bruised flesh. She hadn’t imagined it. She could still feel the exquisite pressure before his teeth broke through her skin.
No wonder her friends hadn’t said anything. It hadn’t occurred to her at that moment in time, not with the revelations and the argument that followed, but none of them had said anything about Daxon biting her. That would have been a point of contention and more than one question regarding her sanity would have cropped up.
The entity inside her stirred, purred in that way it had.
Baylee shivered. The noises it made reminded her too much of the sounds Daxon’s panther had made for her. But shifters had to be born, right? They weren’t like werewolves...she hoped. She snorted; werewolves, that was ludicrous. But if shapeshifters and vampires and goddamn faeries were real, the thought that shifters didn’t just have to be born wasn’t so funny.
Tingling spread through her belly like wildfire. She pressed her hands to her stomach but the sensation crept over her, bit by bit. Images of Daxon as the panther filtered through her brain: the feline grace and lean body; the massive paws, powerful head and rippling muscles.
Her hands changed first, much to her surprise. She cried out, holding them in front of her as fingers ballooned into fleshy masses until they resembled skin mittens. They segmented off, became more paw-like.
“Oh, you sonofabitch, Dax.” Baylee stifled a scream as black fur, thick and soft, sprouted over her skin, tickling feverishly as it sprang from her flesh. “Oh fuck. Fuck, how do I stop this?”
Bones started to crack, breaking and reforming, completely altering her skeletal structure. Pain sheered through her, all at once consuming yet fleeting. She heard her clothes rip, watched with stunned eyes as rags fell from a body she no longer recognized.
Her eyesight switched. The darkness no longer swallowed her but lit up as though a spotlight illuminated her surroundings. She fought against the suffocating restriction of the tent, newly formed claws shredding the material like fingers through cobwebs.
Baylee’s mouth ached. Two long canines popped from her gums. She ran her tongue over them, suppressed the deep rumble of satisfaction. They were made for killing, for ripping and tearing flesh. She could all but taste the coppery flavor of hot blood in her mouth.
Well, this was different. Baylee grinned to herself as she prowled around her little campsite, testing the flexibility and litheness of what she’d become. She figured she ought to be freaked out, but between her own curiosity and the eagerness of the thing inside her, freaking out came low on the list of to-do’s.
Chasing her tail became a high priority. It fascinated her, that long black snake trailing along behind her, twitching madly. Another ten minutes she spent on springing and retracting her claws. Then sharpening them on the nearest tree.
Visually and audibly, her world increased further. She could see insects, hear their tiny legs scuttling along. Small prey—mice and rabbits in particular—were already scampering away at the smell of a new predator.
Oh God, the scents. As a human, her range of smell could be likened to an artist’s palette of basic colors; as the wild cat, the palette blossomed into an array of watercolors, every color imaginable.
Hungry.
Baylee froze. Where had that voice come from? Ears twitching, she turned in a slow circle.
Hungry. Hunt. Kill. Feed.
Oh dear Lord. She could communicate with the beast? Could Daxon do that? She’d never heard him talking to himself; she’d have remembered something like that.
Hungry. Okay, they could deal with that. Relying on the cat’s ingrained instincts, she stalked through the trees, following deer paths and bunny trails until she found the clearest, freshest scent. Keeping downwind, she followed the markers easily; a patch of urinated ground, a scattering of droppings. Her head cocked, catching the slight rustle from up ahead.
Hungry.
Yes, yes, I know. Hungry, I get it. You’re going to have to catch the damn thing, Baylee explained testily. I don’t know the first thing about hunting or killing. You want it, you do it.
Show you.
Baylee felt her new body crouch. It seemed every hair stood at alert, seeking out the prey, attuned to the heartbeat of the buck. She could smell the pungent, overpowering stench of the male deer but as yet, no trace of fear.
Twenty feet? She could cover that in seconds; her muscles bunched, ready to propel the lean, mean, black missile she’d become toward the target. Poised on the edge of her pads, she rocked forward a step, another, as stealthy as a ninja until her nighttime snack appeared.
Well shit, Baylee thought, that big bastard outweighed her by a good one-fifty, if not more. Probably a lot more, she recalculated. She didn’t have a clue how or where to get hold of the massive twelve-point buck to bring it down, or what she’d do with it...after.
The panther did. Without hesitation, the animal inside her snatched the controls from Baylee’s tenuous grip and sprang, launching from a standstill, exploding from the depths of the undergrowth like silent death.
Baylee saw the buck turn, the powerful hindquarters tightening for the leap, but it was too late. Her extended claws sank deep into muscle, ripping through them like silk, and set the buck to screaming. Her weight overbalanced the magnificent animal, sent them both tumbling to the ground.
It thrashed wildly but she hung on, using claws and teeth to climb up its body. The panther’s eyes focused on the rapid pulse at the buck’s throat, then Baylee cringed as her jaws clamped down over it, massive canines sinking in deep first, ripping into flesh. Blood spurted, earthy and rich and hot, into her mouth as the buck’s bawling faded to gurgling, then to silence.
Excellent.
The panther fed ravenously, tearing through thick hide to the meat beneath, gorging itself on the sustenance. Bones crunched, snapped, under her strong jaws. And Baylee finally let herself freak out.
Chapter Eight
By the tenth day of Baylee’s disappearance, Hangman’s Haunt was on full red alert. Search parties made up of volunteers on foot, on horseback and ATVs searched for days. A rancher from fifty miles south offered the use of his light aircraft to scour the land for miles on end.
A team of riders and hounds found where Baylee had camped. Their discovery sent shockwaves through the town; shredded clothing scattered like confetti and the remains of her tent blowing mournfully in the wind.
The sheriff pronounced her dead, despite the lack of a body and the absence of blood. Wild animals had dragged the corpse away, he suggested in respectful tones, and the unstable weather bringing rain in torrents had washed away any blood evidence.
Considering the time of year, it was assumed she’d had the poor luck to run into a bear readying for hibernation, and had come off the wrong end of the confrontation. Sad, very tragic, but one of those things that came with living in a town surrounded by God’s creations; after all, she’d gotten herself into a twist and gone off camping at one of the worst times of the year...
In Baylee’s apartment, her friends sat in stunned silence. Pale, gaunt, haunted by their last conversation with Baylee, they had no words for their loss. Around them, she smiled shyly from photos, memories falling around their ears like autumn leaves.
“She’s not dead.” Brenna said it quietly, firmly, with her eyes downcast. “Come on, guys, this is Baylee. Our Baylee. She’s not dead.”
Voice hollow, Allix spoke softly. “I saw the spot, Bren; you didn’t. Something...she’s gone. The damn bear, whatever the fuck did this, made sure there was nothing left.” She stifled a sob, verbally at least. It reverberated instead through her body, a vicious shudder. “It’s his fucking fault. If he hadn’t waltzed in here and seduced her, none of this would have happened.”
“We can’t blame Daxon for this,” Cassie murmured, wiping lethargically at tears. “He doesn’t even know what’s happened.”
“He doesn’t deserve to know!”
Brenna sighed as though the world rested on her chest. “Daxon loved her, Allix. I saw it in his eyes when he brought her home that morning; whether he wanted to admit it or not, he loved her. And when he asked if he should walk away...when I told him to go...I saw his heart break.”
“We did this,” Cassie said. “We pushed her into running away because we interfered. She’d be here right now, safe with us, if we hadn’t tried to take her life into our hands and shape it the way we thought it should go.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true enough. God knows admitting it out loud is easier than feeling it fester in here.” Cass touched her fingers to her chest. “We can’t change what we did, what’s gone on, but we can admit we were wrong. We can ask Baylee for forgiveness, mourn her, grieve for our loss.”
“You can’t ask forgiveness from a dead woman.” Allix snapped.
“She’s not dead,” Brenna repeated.
“You’re in denial!”
“We’re all in denial, Allix! How can we not be? The girl we grew up with, the woman she grew into, is lost somewhere and everyone’s given up on her.” Frustrated, Brenna shot to her feet and strode over to snatch up a framed shot of the four of them, grinning madly at the camera. “This is who we are. A unit. A family. Family doesn’t just give up!”
“Fuck this shit. I can’t deal with this.” Allix shook her head and stomped out, slamming the door behind her.
Brenna watched her go, throat constricting viciously. “Cass?”
Brown eyes swimming, Cassie laid her hand on Bren’s arm, squeezing lightly. “I wish I could be as vehement in believing Baylee’s alive, Bren. But too many things line up for that wish to come true. I’m sorry. Look, come home with me tonight. Don’t stay here by yourself.”
Brenna shrugged her off. “Don’t concern yourself with me, Cassie. I’ll stay here until Baylee comes home. Someone has to look after Colleen.”
“Brenna, you can’t just close yourself off—”
“I can,” Brenna interrupted gently. “It just got a whole lot easier.”
HE FOUND THE THIRD kill in ten days near the top of the mount. It disturbed him; the kills were fresh but he hadn’t found any evidence of older ones. He knew nature took care of the dead in its own way, returning flesh to the earth to provide nourishment for the living, but even so, he should have found older carcasses, bones, something.
Daxon retreated to the higher ridges when hearing the commotion running rife through the lower forest. Baying hounds, the shouts of humans and whinnies of horses, the rev and thrum of engines. They’d sent wildlife scattering for miles.
Then all had gone silent, and dread settled heavy in his gut. Out of instinct, he shifted back to human, turned on the phone and called Baylee’s cell. It went straight to voicemail. “Baby, you better be in a strop.”
He could run back to the car, drive to Hangman’s Haunt and check on her. He could head straight down the forest and do the same. But when that niggling feeling told him to stay where he was, he listened. His beast knew...something. And the fucking thing wouldn’t give him a clue.
Dax looked up at the sky, saw dawn coming. As usual, his beast fought with him over the urge to rest. Panthers were nocturnal creatures, and the signaling of the sun rising equaled bedtime. This time he shrugged and conceded control, allowing the beast to take over.
Once in feline form, he chose a fully-grown ponderosa pine to climb, and the sturdiest branch he could find to hold his substantial weight. What he loved about this form was its natural ability to climb. Barely anything posed an issue for the big cat.
He dozed for a while. Sunlight streamed down on him in warm strands, heating his pelt until he purred with the sensation. His paws flexed gently, imagining a kill between them, juicy and warm, just right to finish off his nap.
As if he’d called it, he heard the panicked gallop of hooves on the forest floor and snapped fully awake. A juvenile deer, a year old and not much more, flew toward the tree where he hid. Heavier footprints thudded along behind it.
He knew the moment it caught his scent; it slid to a stop, terrified and trapped. It took off again, veering off to the right as a black bullet shot past.
Kaiyan, he thought with relief. Finally.
He dropped effortlessly to the ground, surprising the other panther into skidding to a halt. It turned, hackles raised, and yowled in warning.
Not Kaiyan, Daxon realized in surprise. Too small, too petite...almost feminine...but that was impossible. He studied the lines of it and yes, she was definitely female; his beast wanted to preen for her, beckon her in.
Two thing
s hit him at the same time, filling him with astonishment and horror: the first revelation struck him as their eyes met, his green to her midnight blue. Even as he stepped back in surprise, her scent hit him.
Baylee?
Daxon shifted quickly, staring at his perfect mate. Naked, vulnerable, he crouched slowly. She didn’t have control over her beast, that much was obvious. Those big blue eyes glared at him with menace as her canines exposed in a feral snarl. “Baylee. Listen to me, I know you can hear me, baby. Change back, change forms. Remember your human self, how it feels to be a woman.”
The snarl turned wet, enraged. She took a stride forward.
He held his hands out, palms up, and kept their eyes locked. One sign of weakness and, dominant male or not, she would go for his throat. “I’d know you anywhere, Baylee, in any form. Come back to me.”
Something flickered over the panther’s face; confusion, fear. Baylee retreated several steps, then turned and ran.
“Fuck.” Daxon shifted on the fly, tearing after her. Losing her now would be chaos. He barely managed to keep her in sight at first; she’d become an artist at dodging and weaving through the trees and undergrowth, leaping clusters of rocks.
He maintained a steady pace; she’d halfway tired herself with the deer hunt and he knew it wouldn’t be long before she tired enough that she could no longer flee. As the minutes passed, he gained on her. A few more, and he could see her legs starting to wobble as she forced herself to keep going.
Three feet behind her, Dax pounced, knocking her back end from under her and sending them both sliding across the dirt. He leaped on her, and the real fight began.
Baylee’s panther fought for its life; teeth out and ready for the killing bite, claws fully extended as she batted at him, slicing at his flesh. She could hardly breathe.
Daxon ended the problem once and for all, covering her slender body completely with his more substantial weight and pinning her to the floor. He heard her whimper and lovingly licked at her face, her ears, until all resistance fell away and she surrendered to him.
Wild: Hangman's Haunt Book 1 Page 11