She needed to come back from the dead.
Chapter Nine
Darkness dropped in quickly as Daxon drove her back to Hangman’s Haunt. Headlights paved the way through the mountain roads, highlighting the treacherousness of their journey home; one wrong move, a lapse in attention, and they’d die a horrible fiery death at the bottom of a ravine.
The first hour slipped by easily enough, filled with conversation of Baylee’s time trapped within the she-panther and how she felt about it. Dax offered encouragement, support. One thing became vitally clear; Baylee couldn’t be left alone until she’d mastered her beast. Sheba, as Baylee had christened it, posed too much of a threat to Baylee’s human existence.
When his lover fell quiet, he glanced at her. Fast asleep, looking lovely and young and innocent. Plans would have to be put into effect as soon as he could manage to line pieces into place. The safest place he could think of for Baylee’s sake, and for her friends’, was home.
His mother and sisters would take her in as one of the family, teach her the ways of a shifter clan. Baylee would be adored; the females in his family were more than a little eager for him to find his mate. There would be a celebration when he brought his little witch home.
On the other hand, his father, brothers and uncles would probably regard her with suspicion. Shifters were naturally wary of strangers; Baylee couldn’t be an exception, not with how she’d mysteriously acquired her shifting ability.
But having the sheer acres of land available to train her, to help her command the panther, was an incredible perk. She could run and play and hunt to her heart’s content.
Daxon glanced at the forest, frowned. He still needed to find Kaiyan; perhaps their father would be in a better mood if Dax brought his brother back along with his anomaly of a mate. He just had to survive Baylee’s friends.
He flicked on the radio, tuned into a country western channel and let guitars, fiddles and lonesome lyrics escort them back to the Haunt. Peace found him, despite the confusion of the last few hours, and his mind wandered to a life with Baylee.
It was all very well and good assuming she’d be happy relocating to the coast, but she’d never known home as anything other than Montana. She belonged with him, with others of her kind now, and he’d have to prove that to her.
And if she wouldn’t? What then?
He studied the mountains, the woodland. Nature at its finest. The lands his clan roamed were protected, privately owned. Trespassing, poaching, was strictly forbidden, reinforced with punishment no mortal law would approve. Out here, they ran the risk of hunters.
Baylee wouldn’t be the only one at the mercy of rifle-toting headhunters; cubs were prone to wandering, frolicking, exploring their habitats from a young age. Born blind and remaining so for the first couple weeks of life, they were vulnerable.
He would just have to persuade her to move across the country, he decided. Trade frozen winters for beaches and family.
Dax hummed along with the radio for a while. Country western wasn’t his usual style, but he found a few songs with a catchy beat and smart lyrics he thought he could get used to. Catchy enough to find himself tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
He pulled his cell phone over his head and put it on charge. He might have been bare-chested and the temperatures dropping, but between the air blowing from the heaters and his own natural hot-bloodedness, the cold didn’t touch him, at least not yet.
He’d only had one change of clothes in the truck; he’d claimed his pants—more because he’d foregone underwear and didn’t feel like driving bare-ass naked—and let Baylee take his shirt, despite the fact it covered her like a dress.
Reminding himself she had nothing on under the flimsy material was not the best idea he’d ever had. His beast stretched, immensely pleased with the notion they might have her again. He craved that connection, the sweet taste of her blood in his mouth as his body invaded hers.
And that, Dax told him with a scowl, is why you’re not going to be left unattended with her again. This is all your fault, you know. I don’t know how or why, but you fucking changed her. What the hell did you do?
The beast purred in satisfaction. What nature intended.
Daxon hit the brakes, sent the truck skidding. Baylee barely moved, much to his relief. He had bigger surprises to deal with.
He’d lived with the beast since the day they’d been born intertwined, the human and the essence of the shifter. Knotted together so firmly, only death could part them. And in all those years, not once had his beast spoken directly to him. He’d just read him, Daxon realized with a start. He’d learned to read the inflections of the beast; he’d not once suspected the damn thing could talk to him.
Are you kidding me, seriously? After all this time, you start communicating with me properly?
Only because we are whole now. All of us. The circuits of our paths are complete, so we are complete. We shall function more efficiently together. The beast yawned lazily. Destiny finds us all, Daxon. You and I, we have always been a team. Sheba, his tone turned back to a purr, and Baylee are now matched. Both of them are ours, and we are one.
“She’s really called Sheba?” Daxon muttered out loud.
Sheba, yes.
“And you? What are you called?” Daxon considered punching himself, knocking some brains back into his head. He was holding a full conversation with a shifter entity, and the entity seemed to be quite well spoken.
Vex. I am Vex. Took you long enough to ask.
“I didn’t know I could ask,” Daxon snapped back. “Can we all do this, talk to our shifter sides?”
If the paths forged are completed, yes. An unsubstantial match where the path is uneven...no. All four points must meet and be true.
“Good to know. But Baylee’s not a shifter, Vex. Not birthed of our blood. Yet we find ourselves here, don’t we, with the woman of our dreams who now possesses abilities to match our own. What did you do?”
She is blood-born. Her lines go back many generations. Her blood began too many moons ago to count, but somewhere within her history, mortal merged with shifter blood, became unique. It diluted, of course, as her ancestors returned to breeding with only their own, but Baylee is a product of decades of genetic evolution.
“We can’t turn mortals. For God’s sake, we’re not werewolves.”
Two bites, given in passion, received in trust. One bestial bite, one human. Enough to rouse dormant powers. Destiny has Her ways of ushering us all down the right pathway, boy. You should know that.
Blowing out a long breath, Daxon set the truck back in motion. “So, we’re responsible for this. Has this happened before?”
Vex took a moment to think, and the moment brought silence. No. I have no memory of anything such as this occurring throughout my many lives. She will be important to us as a species, I think. The first of her kind but perhaps not the only. The bridge to strengthen the weaknesses in our genetic makeup.
“Right now, I’m not concerned about the species. Her survival is my top priority, Vex. She’s vulnerable out here, especially if her...if Sheba overpowers Baylee again.”
She does not mean to.
“What does that mean?” Frustrated, Daxon shook his head.
Sheba is young—think of her as a cub. Neither Sheba nor Baylee have the experience we two have; their acquaintance is too short. You and I have been together from the start, with guidance from others to bond us. Sheba is excited, eager to explore; the human has not learned the necessary measures to harness such excitement. It will come.
“That’s all very well,” Daxon snarled, “until that excitement gets them both shot through the head, or worse.” That image turned his stomach. His beautiful girl laying cold, blood trickling from her mouth and the fatal wounds hunters’ bullets created. “Protecting them is our duty now, Vex. Love, trust, and blood binds us as one. If they die...”
We die.
DAXON’S VOICE SWAM through her head. Vaguely, she wish
ed he had an accent—she had a weakness for Scottish and Irish accents—so the words could weave lyrically through her tired mind like a lullaby. Instead, her brain hooked onto the one-sided conversation—was he on the phone?—and felt the breath leave her body.
“...If they die...”
We die. Sheba whispered in Baylee’s mind.
No. Dying wasn’t an option. Not for a long time, anyway. Baylee had plans for the future and most of them now included Daxon. Besides, they weren’t in any sort of situation where life and death came into play. If Daxon was correct, she was presumed dead by everyone who knew her.
That was going to be one hell of a conversation, Baylee mused. How exactly did one go about returning from the dead? Act natural, blasé about it all? She’d simply gone for a hike in the woods, gotten turned around and left her gear out in the open to be mauled by a wild animal?
They won’t believe that, Sheba scoffed. You’re supposed to be smart?
Baylee lifted an eyebrow. Full sentences. I’m impressed.
I can talk coherently as long as my base needs are met. In times of hunger, arousal, stress, I may revert to monosyllabic sentence structures. I apologize if my previous actions distressed you; I didn’t mean to usurp control so completely.
What. The. Hell. Baylee tamped down the urge to hyperventilate. Having something else take up residence inside her head, be able to exchange forms, was one thing. She’d come to accept that, thought she’d acclimated to sharing herself with a non-speaking entity. Even the odd few words Sheba had uttered after the first change hadn’t been hard to get used to after the initial shock.
But this? No, she couldn’t go through the next fifty or sixty years of life holding constant dialogue with another voice. Even as she thought it, she imagined the boot being on the other foot.
Sheba came across as being intelligent. Smart, talkative, almost friendly. From what Baylee knew of panthers—which was incredibly little—they seemed to prefer solitary existence. Other than mating, rearing cubs, and anything else connected to ensuring the species continued.
Cutting Sheba off from all communications was just heartless. Fifty or sixty years of imposed silence on a sentient being—solitary preferences aside—required a depth of cruelty Baylee just didn’t possess.
Thank you. I would not cope well without you.
Baylee remembered what it felt like when Sheba ruled their body. Trapped behind a thick, clear wall with access to all her senses—touch, taste, sound, vision—but trapped nonetheless. A passenger strapped in the seat with no access to the controls. I’m starting to understand that.
On the front seat of Dax’s truck, Baylee stirred, pushed up so she sat straight for a moment before sagging into the seat. Her lips curved when Dax reached over and grasped her hand, linking their fingers tightly together. Her tummy fluttered happily. “Are we crazy, Dax?”
“Quite possibly.”
“I’m being serious here,” she complained.
“As am I. What are we crazy about?”
“Sheba’s talking to me. As in, chatty.”
Daxon slid his gaze toward her. “Yes, Vex has made himself known. Apparently, we’ve created a link between us which enables us to communicate more freely with them. This is a good thing, Baylee.”
“Really? I’m not used to having someone else in my head.”
“Really. I think it’s something we’ll both have to get used to, baby. I’ve had Vex inside me since birth; I’ve come to understand him more in the last hour than I have in the thirty-six years prior.” Dax squeezed her hand gently. “Think of it as bonding.”
Between the hand squeeze and her own haywire system, Baylee wanted to do some bonding of her own with Dax. Somewhere along the line, she’d become a sexual creature. That shocked her; she’d never thought of herself as an intrinsically sexual person—after all, she’d been a virgin until Daxon strolled into her life.
She clenched her thighs tightly, but by the way his head tilted toward her, she knew he’d caught her scent. He confirmed this by transferring his hand from hers onto the long muscle of her upper leg. “I’m ready if you are.”
He growled. “Teasing me will only intensify your punishment.”
“Who’s teasing?” Baylee bit her bottom lip, toyed with the buttons on the shirt she wore. One that smelled like him. “Teasing would be unfastening these, one...by one...by one...” She popped them free as she spoke.
He muttered something over and over as he snatched his hand away and clutched the wheel with white knuckles. It sounded like reddish but it made no sense to Baylee.
She finished the buttons, spread the shirt wide so her breasts were proudly displayed. She stroked her thumb over one nipple, hummed in appreciation as it rose, tightened into a taut pink nub. “Reddish?”
“Red ass.” Daxon corrected through clenched teeth.
“Oh, we’re back to spanking.” Wildness spread through her like fever. Baylee turned on the seat so she knelt with her bottom facing him. Flipping up the shirt tails, she bared her ass to him with a saucy wiggle of hips. “Would it look good in a pretty shade of red?”
“Baylee.”
She wiggled again. “Yes, sir?”
The blow landed on her right cheek, making her yelp and jump forward, cracking her head into the window. Before she could recover, another landed just below the first. This time she howled. The third spank struck along the crease of her buttock and thigh. “Daxon!”
“Wrong position to get any real force behind them,” he said wickedly, his tone dropping by an octave or three. His dominant tone. His hand slipped between her thighs, testing the seam of her pussy.
Baylee felt it give, the slickness allowing his questing fingertip the briefest access. She moaned in acquiescence, then squealed and rapped her head into the glass again as he thrust two fingers deep inside her.
“Obviously that doesn’t matter to you, seeing as you’re dripping wet. Ah-ah, don’t you dare move. You dare distract me when I’m driving? You’ll stay in that position until I say otherwise. You move,” he repeated darkly when she tried to sit down, “and I’ll tie you in place.”
His fingers worked her, driving inside, pulling out, merciless in his movements. A flush covered her in heat when she heard the wet, explicit sounds her pussy made around his digits. The vibration of the moving vehicle amplified his touch.
“Head and shoulders down on the seat,” he instructed when her body trembled on the edge of orgasm. “Don’t you just love bench seats in trucks? Come in handy for so many reasons.”
Baylee whimpered out a desperate plea as she obeyed, pressing herself down to the cool leather. She was so close, she could feel muscles quaking, straining to tumble over the last inch of restraint.
“Come.”
An ecstatic cry left her lips as her hips bucked, the first glorious wave sweeping over her like a tsunami. Then she squeaked out a protest, hands gripping leather fiercely as his fingers moved up, leaving her spasming pussy empty, and pushed without hesitation into her rear passage.
Panting moans, the briefest of resistance, and the anal penetration merged seamlessly into the tempest of orgasm.
Baylee heard the screech of brakes, braced herself against gravity as it pulled her forward, shoved her back. Daxon’s intrusion vanished, and she stayed where she was, gulping in air as the truck door slammed. Within seconds, her own door ripped open and she was yanked out and the shirt ripped off over her head before she was spun around and pushed back down first face onto the seat.
Daxon kicked her legs apart a second before his cock rammed home. She arched up into him; he shoved her back down. Belatedly, she realized she’d snapped something inside him that kept his animalistic side tame.
His weight came down on her, pinning her beneath him as his hips pistoned, fucking her with no hint of the caring lover he’d shown her before. His breath came in grunts, the sound of powerful exertion turning her on beyond belief.
She screamed his name, rearing up so
her back touched his chest as he struck a vital place deep inside her. Instantly, his arms crossed over her body, securing her tightly against him. Clever fingers caught her nipples, tugged and twisted at the delicate points with sadistic focus.
Baylee’s head dropped back onto his shoulder, completely at Dax’s unforgiving mercy. He worked her mercilessly, sweat slicking them together. Her mind clouded, focused on nothing but the hard drive and withdrawal setting her body alight with unforgiving fire.
Daxon growled and slipped a hand up to her throat, circling it lightly with strong fingers. The threat was there, letting her know without a doubt she was firmly under his control. “Touch yourself. You’ll come with me.”
She couldn’t. For one, self-pleasuring didn’t really bring her much...pleasure. And the second, more pressing reason was the oversensitivity of a certain part of her anatomy. “Daxon, I can’t.”
“You can and you will,” he growled in her ear. “It’s not a request.”
She shivered in feminine delight. She adored that tone, a dash of dominance mixed in with the beastly snarl of what resided in them both. Even as she thought it, she felt Sheba stir, preen for the attention of the male. Not unlike, Baylee thought with a smirk, her shameless display that brought them to this point.
“If you don’t,” he warned, “I will.”
Her hand dropped between her legs, stroked the protuberant bundle of nerves with a light touch. Even that made her hiss in discomfort. Oversensitive, overstimulated, her clitoris begged for mercy.
The fingers on her nipple abandoned it, moved down and covered her hand. His firm touch replaced her hesitant one, pinching and agitating her until she found herself balanced on the edge of a savage peak. His thrusts hammered her, faster, harder, harder, harder.
When he drove inside her to the hilt, his fingers clutching her clit brutally, her vision flashed white. The scream ripped from her throat, scoring tender flesh. Her wanton pussy sucked at his throbbing cock, milking his orgasm as his own shout of release echoed loudly.
Wild: Hangman's Haunt Book 1 Page 13